his whole countenance. It is at these times that he is most
subject to tempestuous fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of
it, for I have known him lock himself up so that no one might
approach him until his dark hour was passed. He sleeps badly, and
I have heard him shouting during the night, but his cabin is some
little distance from mine, and I could never distinguish the words
which he said.

This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one.
It is only through my close association with him, thrown together
as we are day after day, that I have observed it. Otherwise he is
an agreeable companion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant
a seaman as ever trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the way in
which he handled the ship when we were caught by a gale among the
loose ice at the beginning of April. I have never seen him so
cheerful, and even hilarious, as he was that night, as he paced
backwards and forwards upon the bridge amid the flashing of the
lightning and the howling of the wind. He has told me several
times that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him, which is
a sad thing for a young man to say; he cannot be much more than
thirty, though his hair and moustache are already slightly
grizzled. Some great sorrow must have overtaken him and blighted
his whole life. Perhaps I should be the same if I lost my Flora--
God knows! I think if it were not for her that I should care very
little whether the wind blew from the north or the south to-morrow.

There, I hear him come down the companion, and he has locked
himself up in his room, which shows that he is still in an
unamiable mood. And so to bed, as old Pepys would say, for the
candle is burning down (we have to use them now since the nights