“Well, now, sir,” Tumm continued, “winter tumbled down on Gingerbread Cove, thick an’ heavy, with nor’east gales an’ mountains o’ snow; but ol’ Bill Hulk weathered it out on his own hook, an’ by March o’ that season, I’m told, had got so far along with his shoulder muscles that he went swilin’ [sealing] with the Gingerbread men at the first offshore sign. ’Twas a big pack, four mile out on the floe, with rough ice, a drear gray day, an’ the wind in a nasty temper. He done very well, I’m told, what with the legs he had, an’ was hard at it when the wind changed to a westerly gale an’ drove the ice t’ sea. They wasn’t no hope for Bill, with four mile o’ ice atween him an’ the shore, an’ every chunk an’ pan o’ the floe in a mad hurry under the wind: _they_ knowed it an’ _he_ knowed it. ‘Lads,’ says he, ‘you jus’ run along home or you’ll miss your supper. As for me,’ says he, ‘why, I’ll jus’ keep on swilin’. Might as well make a haul,’ says he, ‘whatever comes of it.’ The last they seed o’ Bill, I’m told, he was still hard at it, gettin’ his swiles on a likely pan; an’ they all come safe t’ land, every man o’ them, ’ceptin’ two young fellers, I’m told, which was lost in a jam off the Madman’s Head. Wind blowed westerly all that night, I’m told, but fell jus’ after dawn; an’ then they nosed poor ol’ Bill out o’ the floe, where they found un buried t’ the neck in his own dead swiles, for the warmth of the life they’d had, but hard put to it t’ keep the spark alight in his own chilled breast. “‘Maybe I’m through,’ says he, when they’d got un ashore; ‘but I’ll hang on so long as I’m able.’ “‘Uncle Billy,’ says they, ‘you’re good for twenty year yet.’ “‘No tellin’,’ says he. “‘Oh, sure!’ says they; ‘you’ll do it.’ “‘Anyhow,’ says he, ‘now that you’ve fetched me t’ _land_,’ says he, ‘I got t’ hang on till the _Quick as Wink_ comes in.’ “‘What for?’ says they. “‘Nothin’ much,’ says he; ‘but I jus’ got to.’ “‘You go t’ bed,’ says they, ‘an’ we’ll stow them swile in the stage.’ “‘I’ll lie down an’ warm up,’ says he, ‘an’ rest for a spell. Jus’ a little spurt,’ says he, ‘jus’ a little spurt—o’ rest.’ “‘You’ve made a wonderful haul,’ says they. “‘At last!’ says he. “‘Rest easy,’ says they, ‘as t’ that.’ “’Twas the women that put un t’ bed. “‘Seems t’ me,’ says he, ‘that the frost has bit my heart.’ “So ol’ Bill Hulk was flat on his back when I made Gingerbread Cove with supplies in the first o’ that season—anchored there in bed, sir, at last, with no mortal hope o’ makin’ the open sea again. Lord! how white an’ withered an’ cold he was! From what a far-off place in age an’ pain an’ weariness he looked back at me! “‘I been waitin’, Tumm,’ says he. ‘Does you hear?’ “I bent close t’ hear. “‘I’m in a hurry,’ says he. ‘Isn’t got no chance t’ pass the time o’ day. Does you hear?’ “‘Ay,’ says I.