It was almost dark when I went aloft. It was a gusty, dreary night, bitterly, very bitterly cold. I was ill-clad. At intervals, the fierce and frozen drifts, like the stings of so many wasps, drove fiercely into my face; and I believe that I must confess that I cried over my crooked and aching fingers as the circulation went on with agony, or stopped with numbness. It is true, I was called down within the hour; but that hour of suffering had done me much constitutional mischief. I was stupified as much as if I had committed a debauch upon fat ale. However, I was too angry to complain, or to seek relief from the surgeon. I went on deck at half-past eight, with obtuse faculties and a reckless heart. The frigate was, with a deeply-laden convoy, attempting to hold her course in the chops of the Channel. It blew very hard. The waves were bounding about us with that short and angry leap peculiar, in tempestuous weather, to the narrow seas between England and France. It was excessively dark; and, not carrying sufficient sail to tack, we were wearing the ship every half-hour, showing, of course, the proper signal lights to the convoy. We carried also the customary poop-light of the commodore. Such was the state of affairs at a little after nine. The captain, the first-lieutenant, the master, the officer of the watch, and the channel pilot that we had taken on board off the Scilly Islands, with myself; were all on deck. Both the signal midshipmen were enjoying the comforts of sickness in their warm hammocks below. Now, I will endeavour to give a faithful account of what happened; and let the unprejudiced determine, in the horrible calamity that ensued, how much blame was fairly attributable to me. I must premise that, owing to shortness of number, even when all were well, there was no forecastle midshipman. A dreadful gust of icy wind, accompanied by the arrowy sleet, rushes aft rather heading us. "The wind is getting more round to the east. We'd better wear at once," said the pilot to the master. "The pilot advises us to wear," said the master to the captain. "Mr Farmer," said the captain to the first-lieutenant, "watch and idlers, wear ship." "Mr Pond," said Mr Farmer to the lieutenant of the watch (a diminutive and peppery little man, with a squeaking voice, and remarkable for nothing else excepting having a large wife and a large family, whom he was impatient to see), "wear." "Mr Rattlin," squeaked Mr Pond through his trumpet, "order the boatswain's mate to turn the watch and idlers up--wear ship." "Boatswain's mate," bawled out the sleepy and sulky Mr Rattlin, "watch and idlers, wear ship." "Ay, ay, sir--whew, whew, whittle whew--watch and idlers, wear ship! Tumble up there, tumble up. Master-at-arms, brush up the bone-polishers." "What an infarnal nonsensical ceremony!" growled the pilot, _sotto voce_; "all bawl and no hawl--lucky we have plenty of sea-room."