In the centre of the floor stood an iron cooking-stove, which served at once the purpose of preparing food and warming the cabin, which was lighted by several small oil lamps.

These were kept burning perpetually, for there was no distinction between day and night in mid-winter, either in the cabin or out of doors.
In this snug-looking place the officers and men of the ship messed, and dwelt, and slept together; but, notwithstanding the _apparent_ snugness, it was with the greatest difficulty they could keep themselves in a sufficient degree of warmth to maintain health and comfort.

Whenever the fire was allowed to get low, the beams overhead became coated with hoar-frost; and even when the temperature was raised to the utmost possible pitch, it was cold enough, at the extreme ends of the apartment, to freeze a jug of water solid.
A large table occupied the upper end of the cabin between the stove and the stern, and round this the officers and crew were seated when O'Riley entered and took his place among them.

Each individual had his appointed place at the mess-table, and with unvarying regularity these places were filled at the appointed hours.
"The dogs seem to be disobedient," remarked Amos Parr, as his comrade sat down; "they'd be the better of a taste o' Meetuck's cat, I think." "It's truth ye're sayin'," replied O'Riley, commencing a violent assault on a walrus-steak; "they don't obey orders at all, at all.

An' Dumps, the blaggard, is as cross-grained as me grandmother's owld pig--" A general laugh here interrupted the speaker, for O'Riley could seldom institute a disparaging comparison without making emphatic allusion to the pig that once shared with him the hospitalities of his grandmother's cabin.
"Why, everything you speak of seems to be like that wonderful pig, messmate," said Peter Grim.
"Ye're wrong there intirely," retorted O'Riley.