One could barely sit, much less stand, and the atmosphere of the saloon may be better imagined than described.

Every aperture tightly closed; every one, with the exception of the captain, Gerome, and myself, sea-sick; no food, no fire, though we certainly did not miss the former much.
About ten o'clock Z---- weighed anchor and stood out to sea.

It would not be safe, he said, to trust to our slender cable another night.
About midnight I struggled on deck, to get a breath of fresh air before turning in.

The night was fine and clear, but the sea around black as ink, with great foaming white rollers.

The decks, a foot deep in snow, were deserted save by Z---- and the steersman, whose silhouettes stood out black and distinct against the starlit sky as they paced the rickety-looking little bridge flanked by red and green lights.