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- 



