They did not try
to find out. A mutter more or less did not matter. It was too cold
for curiosity, and almost for hope. They could not spare a moment or
a thought from the great mental occupation of wishing to live. And the
desire of life kept them alive, apathetic and enduring, under the cruel
persistence of wind and cold; while the bestarred black dome of the sky
revolved slowly above the ship, that drifted, bearing their patience and
their suffering, through the stormy solitude of the sea.
Huddled close to one another, they fancied themselves utterly alone.
They heard sustained loud noises, and again bore the pain of existence
through long hours of profound silence. In the night they saw sunshine,
felt warmth, and suddenly, with a start, thought that the sun would
never rise upon a freezing world. Some heard laughter, listened to
songs; others, near the end of the poop, could hear loud human shrieks,
and opening their eyes, were surprised to hear them still, though very
faint, and far away. The boatswain said:--"Why, it's the cook, hailing
from forward, I think." He hardly believed his own words or recognised
his own voice.
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