CHAPTER XII. 



MY CABIN. — SURVEYING. — CASTOR AND POLLUX. — CONCERNING SCURVY. — 

 DANGERS OF EATING COLD SNOW. — KNORR AND STARR. — FROST-BITES. — 

 HANS, PETER, AND JACOB AGAIN. — COAL ACCOUNT. — THE FIRES. — COM- 

 FORT OF OUR QUARTERS. — THE HOUSE ON DECK. — MILD WEATHER. — 

 JENSEN. — MRS. HANS. — JOHN WILLIAMS, THE COOK. — A CHEERFUL EVEN- 

 ING. 



After a sound sleep had in some measure worn off 



the fatigues of the journey on the glacier, I returned 



to my diary : — 



October 28th. 



I am not sorry to get back again into my cosy little 

 cabin. I never knew before what a snug home I have 

 in the midst of this Arctic wilderness. A few days on 

 the ice and a few nights in a tent were required to 

 give me a proper appreciation of its comforts. Once 

 I had begun to regard it as a dingy, musty cell, fit 

 only for a convict. Now it is a real " weary man's 

 rest," an oasis in a desert, a port in a storm. The 

 bright rays of the " fine-eyed Ull-Erin " were not a 

 more cheering guide to the love-bound Ossian than 

 was the glimmer of this cabin-lamp as I came in last 

 night from the cold, — trudging across the waste of 

 snows. 



The curtains which inclose what is my lounge by 

 day and my bed by night have taken on "a brighter 

 crimson. The wolf and bear skins which cover the 

 lounge and the floor, protecting my feet against the 

 frost which strikes up from below, are positively luxu- 



