overboard that makes seven. Come and look here!"
"Tend to the boat first," he said. "I've seen frozen seamen."
"You never saw the likes of this," I answered. So he ran in beside me.
The boat had her name (or that of the ship she belonged to) painted in yellow and black on the gunwale strake by her port quarter—"Margit Pedersen, Bergen": but by their faces we could not miss knowing to what country the poor creatures belonged. They were—
2. A much older man, and shorter, with a rough grey beard. He sat in the stern sheets, with his right hand frozen on the tiller. Our folk had afterwards to unship the tiller when they came to lift him out: and carried him up to the house still holding it. Later on we buried it beside him. This man wore a good blue coat and black breeches; and at first we took him to be the captain. He turned out to be the mate, Knud Lote, who had put on his best clothes when it came to leaving the ship. His eyes were screwed up, and the brine had frozen over them, like a glaze, or a big pair of spectacles.
3. Against his knee rested the head of a third man—one of the three I had first seen sitting amidships. When the other two toppled overboard this one had slid off the thwart and