Next morning they learned that one of the hands was missing.
Everyone remembered the cruel work the day before and thought, “He’s been washed overboard by the waves.” It was a nasty feeling, but as they were set to all kinds of jobs at dawn they had no opportunity to discuss it among themselves.
“Who’d go and throw themselves into freezing water like this! He’s hiding. If I find him, the bastard. I’ll half murder him!”
The height of the storm had passed, but when the ship struck the waves which rose up in front of her they washed over the deck as easily as you cross your own threshold. As if its whole body was wounded after this long day and night struggle, the ship made a kind of limping sound. Light smoke-like clouds, so low that you could almost reach them, struck the masts and were curved downwards. The cold rain continued. As the waves rose, it could be seen piercing right into them. It was more eerie than the rain a lost traveller meets in a forest.
The rope was frozen hard as an iron bar. One student met the cabin-boy rushing up the companionway two steps at a time.
“Listen a minute,” said the boy, pulling him into a corner away from the wind, “I’ve got something interesting to tell you.”
It had happened at about two o’clock that morning. The waves were dancing up as high as the deck, at times breaking over it in great cascades. Their bared teeth showed up blue-white through the darkness. Because of the storm no one could sleep.
