was about to comment when he prevented her by adding, âIt was sad but we had not been married long, not become used to each other.â He wanted no interruptions.
âThe three of us, the master, a sailor and I, had managed to pull towards us some stores that floated past amidst the pieces of ice, a small cask of wine and some biscuits and cockles. I had a few nuts which Iâd put about me when I knew the boat was in trouble. On this fare during nearly a fortnight we all managed to live. But the sailor had been longer in the sea than I. He was always weak â I think he sustained some splinters from the shipâs side when the ice hit it. At the end of two weeks he died. To tell truth I resented the nibbles of biscuit he took, for I knew it was only postponing the inevitable. He died without my noticing. No rattle or convulsion, just one moment breathing, the next gone. The master seemed to give up after that though heâd been the bigger and the stronger man. The cold was so bad you couldnât tell whether either of them died for lack of food or froze to death. Anyway the master followed his man in a matter of hours. Weâd huddled together for warmth. Now my mates were dead.
âIn the day I crawled round on the icy sandbank eating a few cockles but never managing to lean into the water to catch a fish. I am not a country or coastal man. My bookselling business had been in Holborn, the skills you need there are quite different. I was a boy in Lichfield and have lived always among houses. At night I thought my blood would freeze if I slept long, and it would have done. So I stretched out the body of the sailor still bearing warmth, then lay on top of him and pulled the master over me. You might think they were decomposing â you turn up your nose â but they were not, the cold was preserving them, they were quite intact. I smelled nothing. But of course my own nose was no longer sensitive. I had to rub it often against the cold.
âThe body on the top grew colder than the one beneath, so the next night I changed them round, do you see? Putting the sailor on the top and the master underneath. And so I went on, while eating up the rest of the biscuits and the cockles â I hate them still, itâs an unnatural food for men. And then. Such a fright I had. Iâd known the sandbank was icy but thought the ice was only on top, and that thewhole was fast tied on to roots in the earth and close enough to the shore to be seen one day. But then to my horror it began to move. I had for some days detected a little warmth in the daytime air, a little less absolute cold. Now I saw that my sandbank was no such thing; it was just a piece of ice and I and the bodies of the sailor and the master were drifting out to sea. I had prayed, I suppose â yes, often, but perhaps not enough â and counted my sins. I was never a pious man though Iâve always gone along with something. I donât think my feeble prayers were answered, but I donât know. I have not Robert Jamesâs assurance on this. I was spied by a boat. It was from Schleswig-Holstein.
âThey hauled me in, made me warm, fed me small bits of mush, for I could take little â I had not eaten at all for some days. They listened to my story â or rather understood the gestures I made, coupled with some little German Iâd learned for my business. I could see horror in their faces. Indeed I mirrored it then, but I cannot say I felt much while on the sandbank. Fear I felt in plenty but not horror. Those dead men gave me their warmth. I would have done the same for them. I was sorry I didnât say farewell to either as we sailed away. The bodies of the men whoâd saved my life were pushed off the ice and made to sink. The pilot was superstitious I think for, though without clerical authority, he mumbled some words as they sank which sounded like a bit of the burial service. Itâs strange they have
âThe three of us, the master, a sailor and I, had managed to pull towards us some stores that floated past amidst the pieces of ice, a small cask of wine and some biscuits and cockles. I had a few nuts which Iâd put about me when I knew the boat was in trouble. On this fare during nearly a fortnight we all managed to live. But the sailor had been longer in the sea than I. He was always weak â I think he sustained some splinters from the shipâs side when the ice hit it. At the end of two weeks he died. To tell truth I resented the nibbles of biscuit he took, for I knew it was only postponing the inevitable. He died without my noticing. No rattle or convulsion, just one moment breathing, the next gone. The master seemed to give up after that though heâd been the bigger and the stronger man. The cold was so bad you couldnât tell whether either of them died for lack of food or froze to death. Anyway the master followed his man in a matter of hours. Weâd huddled together for warmth. Now my mates were dead.
âIn the day I crawled round on the icy sandbank eating a few cockles but never managing to lean into the water to catch a fish. I am not a country or coastal man. My bookselling business had been in Holborn, the skills you need there are quite different. I was a boy in Lichfield and have lived always among houses. At night I thought my blood would freeze if I slept long, and it would have done. So I stretched out the body of the sailor still bearing warmth, then lay on top of him and pulled the master over me. You might think they were decomposing â you turn up your nose â but they were not, the cold was preserving them, they were quite intact. I smelled nothing. But of course my own nose was no longer sensitive. I had to rub it often against the cold.
âThe body on the top grew colder than the one beneath, so the next night I changed them round, do you see? Putting the sailor on the top and the master underneath. And so I went on, while eating up the rest of the biscuits and the cockles â I hate them still, itâs an unnatural food for men. And then. Such a fright I had. Iâd known the sandbank was icy but thought the ice was only on top, and that thewhole was fast tied on to roots in the earth and close enough to the shore to be seen one day. But then to my horror it began to move. I had for some days detected a little warmth in the daytime air, a little less absolute cold. Now I saw that my sandbank was no such thing; it was just a piece of ice and I and the bodies of the sailor and the master were drifting out to sea. I had prayed, I suppose â yes, often, but perhaps not enough â and counted my sins. I was never a pious man though Iâve always gone along with something. I donât think my feeble prayers were answered, but I donât know. I have not Robert Jamesâs assurance on this. I was spied by a boat. It was from Schleswig-Holstein.
âThey hauled me in, made me warm, fed me small bits of mush, for I could take little â I had not eaten at all for some days. They listened to my story â or rather understood the gestures I made, coupled with some little German Iâd learned for my business. I could see horror in their faces. Indeed I mirrored it then, but I cannot say I felt much while on the sandbank. Fear I felt in plenty but not horror. Those dead men gave me their warmth. I would have done the same for them. I was sorry I didnât say farewell to either as we sailed away. The bodies of the men whoâd saved my life were pushed off the ice and made to sink. The pilot was superstitious I think for, though without clerical authority, he mumbled some words as they sank which sounded like a bit of the burial service. Itâs strange they have
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