Whisperings and murmurings were heard all round the cutter's decks.
Obadiah Coble shrugged up his shoulders, as he took an extra quid--Dick
Short walked about with lips compressed, more taciturn than ever--Jansen
shook his head, muttering, "Te tog is no tog"--Bill Spurey had to repeat
to the ship's company the legend of his coming on board over and over
again. The only persons who appeared not to have lost their courage were
Jemmy Ducks and poor Smallbones, who had been put in his hammock to
recover him from his refrigeration. The former said, "that if they were
to sail with the devil, it could not be helped, pay and prize-money
would still go on;" and the latter, who had quite recovered his
self-possession, "vowed that dog or devil, he would never cease his
attempts to destroy him--if he was the devil, or one of his imps, it was
his duty as a Christian to oppose him, and he had no chance of better
treatment if he were to remain quiet." The snow-storm continued, and the
men remained below, all but Jemmy Ducks, who leaned against the lee side
of the cutter's mast, and, as the snow fell, sang, to a slow air, the
following ditty, it probably being called to his recollection by the
state of the weather.

'Twas at the landing-place that's just below Mount Wyse,
Poll leaned against the sentry's box, a tear in both her eyes,
Her apron twisted round her arms, all for to keep them warm,
Being a windy Christmas-day, and also a snow-storm.

And Bet and Sue
Both stood there too,
A-shivering by her side,
They both were dumb,
And both looked glum,
As they watched the ebbing tide.