Seaman dragged him into the cabin, hid in the dimly lit cabin, and when the changing sailors passed, he disappeared down the stairs to the deck.

"Could it be drifting right this way for us?" The companion answered his own with another incoherent question, his eyes wandering around, searching for a place to go, and finally converging on Seaman.

It could be seen that he needed a little approval, a nod of the head, or an affirmation, but Seaman couldn't give it to him.

I have never seen a large iceberg, and the large ice floes are much more visible. Ice floes are often used as a reference point for movement, they have no sails, their limited movement is not worth the speed of the ship, and after a few moments of effort, they are left behind, and the crew knows that they are some distance closer to their destination.

He had never seen an iceberg, but he felt that it should not be an exception. From the simple logical reasoning, it seems that the answer must be given in the negative, but Seaman does not want to admit this, "Who knows? Maybe it's not the same one at all. ”

This statement effectively convinced his companions, as well as Seaman himself. The probability of encountering two large icebergs in a row that has not been seen in ten years is too small to calculate, but it is much more likely than the iceberg moving at the speed of a ship.

The two of them took advantage of the last bit of light to touch the cabin and decided to sleep. The manager of this batch of shifts is the captain himself, and the trusted Binghai old man is at the helm of Becker, maybe they will wake up and the matter will be solved?

With this in mind, Seaman combed his not-so-dry hay bunk, shared the frozen meat of the day with his companions in the dark, and slept separately, praying that he would not see it again when he woke up the next morning.

The fatigue of the day's work did not make the night more peaceful, and the bumps and ups of the sea interrupted the already tossing and turning sleep. He heard scattered footsteps on the deck overhead, presumably adjusting the sails again.

The things I saw during the day came back to my memory more than once, and I was remembered when I was sleepy, and I matched the panicked expressions of my companions. He recalled the images, the sails unfurled, the ship moving at full speed, flung the pieces of ice floes behind his head.

That thing on the horizon wasn't thrown off. It was so far away, too far to see any detail, far enough for Seaman to deal with himself and his companions with what he saw in the morning and evening.

In the corner of the heart that is not easy to detect, there is a thought that I am glad that I only watched it twice, otherwise I would not be able to find an excuse to avoid it. It's just that he can't realize it himself, and he mutters that it's just two icebergs that happen to appear in the same direction, trying to empty the chaotic memory picture.

Awakened from a light slumber for the third time, Seaman heard the sounds of other sailors talking from the other sailors who had fallen asleep earlier. They thought they had lowered their voices. In the intervals between the waves, these sounds are like patches of moonlight shining in through a small window, and the environment dictates that no matter how faint they are, they will be noticed.

The content of the conversation is something that you dare not say when you can see the sea and the sails. Occasionally, the waves crashing on the cabin partially obscured it, and the first half of the whisper was swallowed up, and the second half of the sentence flowed like cold droplets into the ears of those who were silently eavesdropping.

“…… That would seem to get a little bigger in the afternoon? ”

Unintentional words burrowed into Seaman's mind, and he couldn't wait to compare the memories of the morning and evening views of the icebergs, forgetting that he had just comforted himself that they were two different ones. The black shadow embedded in the afterglow of the setting sun is really bigger than what I saw in the morning.

The sleepiness that had been accumulated for half the night was swept away, and only then did he face his heart and admit that he could not deceive himself, and that what he saw in the morning and evening was two different things.

Seaman felt damp in the hay laid beneath him, and the water stained a large piece of underwear. Touching behind him, the surface of the leather jacket was dry as before, and the cold sweat on his body was oozing out at some point.

He turned over and reached out to wake up his companion, but found that the other party had not fallen asleep either. There was no snoring, replaced by the sound of long, irregular breathing, indicating that his heart was not at peace.

Not only here, but the cabin, which used to be full of snoring, was so quiet that you could hear the whispers clearly, and I wonder how many sleepless people listened to the late-night conversations, remembering the foreign object that was inconvenient to talk about in a place where the sails and the horizon could be seen, without saying a word.

"Heavenly Father willing." Seaman ripped open his collar, held the winged ring amulet hanging from his neck, pressed it to his forehead, and plugged his ears until dawn.

The same prayer came from beside him, and Seaman knew that it was another sailor, hoping that the power of the Father could extend to this wild land without churches, to banish evil, and to bless him to stand on deck again tomorrow morning and not to see it.

An atmosphere was contagious in the cabin, with whispered prayers everywhere, a simple scripture or two, and the more devout people on a daily basis could recite fragments of exorcism from the sacred scriptures.

The sacred hymn was somewhat comforting, as if the small space had returned to the civilized world, and the radiance of the Father blessed His faithful, even though it was the dark and cramped cabin that witnessed such prayers, not the icons of the church vaults.

After receiving some comfort, tiredness welled up, and Seaman made a promise to go to church to donate when he returned safely. Scattered footsteps on the deck were heard, and the cables were pulled in unison, and the sails were adjusted again.

……

Seaman thought he would be woken up at dawn by the onslaught of the changing sailors, but he was awakened by the chill on his bare skin.

The light coming in from the window was no longer moonlight, but it was not as bright as normal daylight, as if it had passed through a layer of gauze, and had become floppy and weak, providing only a minimum of illumination.

Habitually propping himself up on the bulkhead, the slippery feeling almost caused him to fall headlong into the hay. Seaman took a deep breath, and the cold vapor so thick that it slowed his breath drifted, as if he were diving underwater.

"What's the situation?" The dampness was heavier than the eve of the storm, and Seaman wiped his hands on his trousers, the clothes stained with a cold dampness, and the clammy feeling seeped down the untied neckline. I didn't sweat last night, and my sticky clothes stuck to my back.

Bowing his head to round his sleeping companions, his hands and feet stretched out across the floor, Seaman leaned against the bulkhead towards the exit to the deck.

The uncertain lighting conditions cost him more time to read the road carefully, and it took him several times as much effort to find the stairs.

Looking up, Seaman did not see the faint morning light he had assumed, but a chaotic white, the light above which had passed through a long barrier, and was now at the end of the crossbow, dissipated.

Rubbing his eyes in confusion, Seaman moved towards the deck, climbing the water-soaked slippery wooden steps hand and foot to the unusually quiet deck.

He finally knew what the heavy cold vapor between his breaths was.

The boundless mist surrounded them, and the tumbling thick white rushed towards the ship, with the bitter chill characteristic of the ice sea, covering all the surfaces that could condense, transmitting the cold to the skin and the mood of everyone who had fallen to the bottom at this time.

Along with the limitation of the view was the speed of the ships, the wind was too weak to blow away the fog, and there was no need for a reference, and it was evident from the sluggish sails that their speed would not be able to get out of the boundless ice fog for a while.

What the hell is going on? Seaman was tempted to ask the sailors who were nervously staring overboard on either side of the ship, but the men in the stern made him give up the idea.

Captain Becker leaned against the wheel, staring ahead, fulfilling his duty of controlling the rudder. Hearing the footsteps, he glanced at Seaman and waved his hand with a straight face to signal him to go to the shift.

Such captains were rare, and for the most part Becker was an easy-going and talkative man, preferring to sneak a little lazy and let the first mate and boatswain take over, go back to the captain's quarters to enjoy the leisurely time, and chat with the sailors on deck.

There are no reef undercurrents on the icy sea, no matter how bad the vision is, he can go straight forward, and hitting the ice floes with small bumps at most is not worth his full attention.

"Go to your post, Seaman, it's not your first day on the ship." Seeing that Seaman was still hesitating in place, Becker reminded him, and his eyes under the brim of his hat seemed to see through his thoughts, "Some fog, see too much." ”

Seaman walked up to the nearest sailor and tapped him on the shoulder. The man turned his head, his hand still firmly grasping the edge of the boat, unwilling to leave, and the red fingers that had stayed up all night in the cold fog were unconsciously forced, as if they were about to buckle into the wood.

He looked at Seaman and then at the captain, preferring to remain frozen rather than leave.

"Change shifts, don't stop!" Becker yelled at them. Anyone can see that this loose old man is not patient today, and what is consuming most of his energy, and he has no time to solve the sailor's small problems.

Compelled by the captain's majesty, the man reluctantly let go of the ship's edge, his nervous and frightened eyes did not leave the white mist, until he left the deck at the captain's command and disappeared into the hatch.

"If you see something on the sea, remind me to turn in time." Becker commanded.

This sentence was a bit redundant, and Seaman could see that everyone was on guard. He took advantage of the captain's gaze and touched the palm of the sailor next to him gripping the edge of the ship, "What are you looking for?" ”

He didn't think that this visibility distance would allow the captain to spot something as small as an ice floe in time, and he couldn't deftly avoid it if he did.

The frozen stiff lips snorted and spat out the answer that he had already guessed:

"That thing from yesterday."

"Heavenly Father willing." The prayer was habitually blurted out, and Seaman immediately discovered a bad sense of humor in it, and in a way, yesterday's prayer was fulfilled in a strange way.

The sailors hoped that they would not see anything on the horizon again today, but they did not expect that the cold fog would drop overnight, and not only could they not see it, but they could not see anything now.

"Last Night......

"It's closer." He knew what Seaman was asking and interrupted it with a brief answer, staring intently into the mist, as if that would allow him to break through the barrier and see where it went.

An iceberg that they had never seen before, or something that looked like an iceberg, came towards them in the cold fog of the vast sea of ice that they could not see.

Seaman touched the water on the edge of the boat and held it horizontally in the air, not feeling the wind he wanted.