Well, I’ll be God-damned to hell and hanged for a heathen,” says Honey.
“Pardon me, Captain, but I didn’t think the ice would do this so soon.”
Crozier doesn’t answer. He crouches to investigate the bent and extended
wood of the hull more closely.
Hull planks have been bent inward here, bulging almost a foot from the
graceful curve elsewhere along the hull’s side. The innermost layers of wood
have splintered and at least two planks are hanging free.
“Jesus God Christ Almighty,” says the carpenter, who has crouched next to
the captain. “That ice is a fucking monster, begging the Captain’s pardon, sir.”
“Mr. Honey,” says Crozier, his breath adding crystals to the ice already on the
planks and reflecting the lantern light, “could anything but the ice have done
this damage?”
The carpenter barks a laugh but stops abruptly as he realizes his captain is
not making a joke. Honey’s eyes widen, then squint. “Begging your pardon
again, Captain, but if you mean ... that’s impossible.”
Crozier says nothing.
“I mean, Captain, this hull was three inches of the finest English oak as it
was, sir. And for this trip — for the ice, I mean, sir — it was doubled with two
layers of African oak, Captain, each one and a half inches thick. And them
African oak panels was wrought on the diagonal, sir, givin’ it even more
strength than if it were just doubled straight-like.”
three inches of diagonal-laid African oak, they laid on two layers of Canadian
elm, sir, each two inches thick. That’s four more inches of hull, Captain, and
that wrought diagonal against the African oak. That’s five belts of serious
timber, sir ... ten inches of the strongest wood on earth between us and the
sea.

Chapter 9