A LAST LOOK. 367 



on the snow the moment thev were left to themselves ; 

 and we, dragging ourselves inside the hut which Mc- 

 Donald had made to shelter his sick companion, fell 

 into a dead, dead sleep. Jensen noted the time. We 

 had been twenty-two hours on the way, since leaving 

 our shelter beneath the ice-cliff. 



When we awoke, the storm had died away, and the 

 sun was shining brightly. McDonald had looked 

 after the dogs, and had ready for us a hot pot of 

 coffee and an abundant breakfast, which thirty-four 

 hours' fasting had prepared us fully to appreciate. 

 Refreshed by this, I climbed the hill-side for a last 

 look at the sea which we were leaving. The gale 

 had told somewhat upon it. The dark water-sky to 

 the northeast had followed us down the coast, the 

 wind had acted upon the open places in the ice, and 

 the little waves had eaten away their margins, and 

 magnified them greatly, while many of the old floes 

 had finally yielded to the immense pressure of the 

 wind, and had moved in their winter moorings, tear- 

 ing up the rotten ice about them. Several cracks 

 had opened almost to the shore, and the "hinge" of 

 the ice-foot had mainly tumbled away. 



Jensen was better, but still moved with much diffi- 

 culty and pain. By sitting on the sledge, however, 

 he thought that he should be able to drive his dogs ; 

 so I gave Knorr our entire cargo. This cargo was 

 now reduced to small dimensions, and consisted of 

 nothing but our buffalo-skins, rifle, my instruments, 

 and a few geological specimens. Our food was con- 

 sumed to the last pound, and hence we must go sup- 

 perless if we did not reach our next cache, where, if 

 the bears should not have discovered it, we had one 

 meal buried under a heap of stones. 



