...
The return on the poop was like the return of wanderers after many years
amongst people marked by the desolation of time. Eyes were turned slowly
in their sockets, glancing at us. Faint murmurs were heard, "Have you
got 'im after all?" The well-known faces looked strange and familiar;
they seemed faded and grimy; they had a mingled expression of fatigue
and eagerness. They seemed to have become much thinner during our
absence, as if all these men had been starving for a long time in their
abandoned attitudes. The captain, with a round turn of a rope on his
wrist, and kneeling on one knee, swung with a face cold and stiff; but
with living eyes he was still holding the ship up, heeding no one, as
if lost in the unearthly effort of that endeavour. We fastened up James
Wait in a safe place. Mr. Baker scrambled along to lend a hand. Mr.
Creighton, on his back, and very pale, muttered, "Well done," and gave
us, Jimmy and the sky, a scornful glance, then closed his eyes slowly.
Here and there a man stirred a little, but most of them remained
apathetic, in cramped positions, muttering between shivers. The sun was
setting.
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