330 A COLD SUPPER. 



open a seal-skin tobacco-pouch, shook out its contents, 

 and ate it ; and another bolted our only piece of soap. 

 This looks bad for our future cleanliness, but thirty- 

 two days, at these low temperatures, have worn off the 

 sharp edge of fastidiousness. At first we had always 

 a morning wash with a handful of snow ; but latterly 

 we are not so particular, and we shall not grieve over 

 the soap as much as we might have done some weeks 

 ago. 



Our provisions are disappearing with alarming ra- 

 pidity ; and yet, whenever I stint the dogs in the least, 

 down they go. If the dogs fail me, then nothing can 

 be done, and I am completely at fault. Two days 

 more must surely bring us to land. We are making 

 in for Cape Hawks, but we are compelled to own that 

 the Cape grows from day to day very little bolder. 

 The numerous baitings to rest the dogs, and the 

 forced halts caused by the breaking of the sledges 

 and traces, when I can do nothing to speed the start, 

 give me fine opportunities for plotting the coast ; and 

 my " field-book " and " sketch-book " are both well 

 used. 



May 6th. 



A most miserable day's work brought to a most 

 miserable end. McDonald spilled our smoking-hot 

 supper on the snow ; and, as we could not afford a 

 second allowance of fuel (lard and rope-yarns), we 

 were in as great danger of going to bed supperless as 

 Baillie Nicol Jarvie, at the Clachan of Aberfoil, be- 

 fore the red-hot coulter brought the churly Highland- 

 ers to reason ; but, luckily, McDonald managed, much 

 to our satisfaction, to scrape up the greater part of 

 the hash along with the snow, and we ate it cold. 

 The coffee was, however, of course, irrecoverable, and 



