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The Captain Of "The Camel"
by
“One hundred and ninety degrees Fahrenheit!” he muttered in evident astonishment. “Impossible!” Turning sharply about, he ran his eyes over us, and inquired in a peremptory tone, “who’s been in command while I was runnin’ my eye over that book?”
“Well, captain,” I replied, as respectfully as I knew how, “the fourth day out I had the unhappiness to be drawn into a dispute about a game of cards with your first and second officers. In the absence of those excellent seamen, sir, I thought it my duty to assume control of the ship.”
“Killed ’em, hey?”
“Sir, they committed suicide by questioning the efficacy of four kings and an ace.”
“Well, you lubber, what have you to say in defense of this extraordinary weather?”
“Sir, it is no fault of mine. We are far–very far south, and it is now the middle of July. The weather is uncomfortable, I admit; but considering the latitude and season, it is not, I protest, unseasonable.”
“Latitude and season!” he shrieked, livid with rage–“latitude and season! Why, you junk-rigged, flat-bottomed, meadow lugger, don’t you know any better than that? Didn’t yer little baby brother ever tell ye that southern latitudes is colder than northern, and that July is the middle o’ winter here? Go below, you son of a scullion, or I’ll break your bones!”
“Oh! very well,” I replied; “I’m not going to stay on deck and listen to such low language as that, I warn you. Have it your own way.”
The words had no sooner left my lips, than a piercing cold wind caused me to cast my eye upon the thermometer. In the new regime of science the mercury was descending rapidly; but in a moment the instrument was obscured by a blinding fall of snow. Towering icebergs rose from the water on every side, hanging their jagged masses hundreds of feet above the masthead, and shutting us completely in. The ship twisted and writhed; her decks bulged upward, and every timber groaned and cracked like the report of a pistol. The Camel was frozen fast. The jerk of her sudden stopping snapped the bullock’s chain, and sent both that animal and the Dutchman over the bows, to accomplish their warfare on the ice.
Elbowing my way forward to go below, as I had threatened, I saw the crew tumble to the deck on either hand like ten-pins. They were frozen stiff. Passing the captain, I asked him sneeringly how he liked the weather under the new regime. He replied with a vacant stare. The chill had penetrated to the brain, and affected his mind. He murmured:
“In this delightful spot, happy in the world’s esteem, and surrounded by all that makes existence dear, they passed the remainder of their lives. The End.”
His jaw dropped. The captain of the Camel was dead.