I was, as the French say, biting my fists with impatience for that cargo frozen up-country; with rage at that canal set fast, at the wintry and deserted aspect of all those ships that seemed to decay in grim depression for want of the open water.  I was chief mate, and very much alone.  Directly I had joined I received from my owners instructions to send all the ship’s apprentices away on leave together, because in such weather there was nothing for anybody to do, unless to keep up a fire in the cabin stove.  That was attended to by a snuffy and mop-headed, inconceivably dirty, and weirdly toothless Dutch ship-keeper, who could hardly speak three words of English, but who must have had some considerable knowledge of the language, since he managed invariably to interpret in the contrary sense everything that was said to him.

Notwithstanding the little iron stove, the ink froze on the swing-table in the cabin, and I found it more convenient to go ashore stumbling over the arctic waste-land and shivering in glazed tramcars in order to write my evening letter to my owners in a gorgeous cafe in the centre of the town.  It was an immense place, lofty and gilt, upholstered in red plush, full of electric lights and so thoroughly warmed that even the marble tables felt tepid to the touch.  The waiter who brought me my cup of coffee bore, by comparison with my utter isolation, the dear aspect of an intimate friend.  There, alone in a noisy crowd, I would write slowly a letter addressed to Glasgow, of which the gist would be:  There is no cargo, and no prospect of any coming till late spring apparently.  And all the time I sat there the necessity of getting back to the ship bore heavily on my already half-congealed spirits--the shivering in glazed tramcars, the stumbling over the snow-sprinkled waste ground, the vision of ships frozen in a row, appearing vaguely like corpses of black vessels in a white world, so silent, so lifeless, so soulless they seemed to be.

With precaution I would go up the side of my own particular corpse, and would feel her as cold as ice itself and as slippery under my feet.  My cold berth would swallow up like a chilly burial niche my bodily shivers and my mental excitement.  It was a cruel winter.  The very air seemed as hard and trenchant as steel; but it would have taken much more than this to extinguish my sacred fire for the exercise of my craft.  No young man of twenty-four appointed chief mate for the first time in his life would have let that Dutch tenacious winter penetrate into his heart.  I think that in those days I never forgot the fact of my elevation for five consecutive minutes.  I fancy it kept me warm, even in my slumbers, better than the high pile of blankets, which positively crackled with frost as I threw them off in the morning.  And I would get up early for no reason whatever except that I was in sole charge.  The new captain had not been appointed yet.