I was standing quietly by the pantry door when the steward returned.

“Sorry, sir.  Kettle barely warm.  Shall I light the spirit lamp?”

“Never mind.”

I came out on deck slowly.  It was now a matter of conscience to shave the land as close as possible—­for now he must go overboard whenever the ship was put in stays.  Must!  There could be no going back for him.  After a moment I walked over to leeward and my heart flew into my mouth at the nearness of the land on the bow.  Under any other circumstances I would not have held on a minute longer.  The second mate had followed me anxiously.

I looked on till I felt I could command my voice.

“She will weather,” I said then in a quiet tone.

“Are you going to try that, sir?” he stammered out incredulously.

I took no notice of him and raised my tone just enough to be heard by the helmsman.

“Keep her good full.”

“Good full, sir.”

The wind fanned my cheek, the sails slept, the world was silent.  The strain of watching the dark loom of the land grow bigger and denser was too much for me.  I had shut my eyes—­because the ship must go closer.  She must!  The stillness was intolerable.  Were we standing still?

When I opened my eyes the second view started my heart with a thump.  The black southern hill of Koh-ring seemed to hang right over the ship like a towering fragment of everlasting night.  On that enormous mass of blackness there was not a gleam to be seen, not a sound to be heard.  It was gliding irresistibly towards us and yet seemed already within reach of the hand.  I saw the vague figures of the watch grouped in the waist, gazing in awed silence.

“Are you going on, sir?” inquired an unsteady voice at my elbow.

I ignored it.  I had to go on.

“Keep her full.  Don’t check her way.  That won’t do now,” I said warningly.

“I can’t see the sails very well,” the helmsman answered me, in strange, quavering tones.

Was she close enough?  Already she was, I won’t say in the shadow of the land, but in the very blackness of it, already swallowed up as it were, gone too close to be recalled, gone from me altogether.

“Give the mate a call,” I said to the young man who stood at my elbow as still as death.  “And turn all hands up.”

My tone had a borrowed loudness reverberated from the height of the land.  Several voices cried out together:  “We are all on deck, sir.”

Then stillness again, with the great shadow gliding closer, towering higher, without a light, without a sound.  Such a hush had fallen on the ship that she might have been a bark of the dead floating in slowly under the very gate of Erebus.

“My God!  Where are we?”

It was the mate moaning at my elbow.  He was thunderstruck, and as it were deprived of the moral support of his whiskers.  He clapped his hands and absolutely cried out, “Lost!”