150 SPITSBERGEN chap, x 



strange forms appeared and changed, coming and going 

 with mysterious rapidity. They were all varieties of a single 

 cloud, kept in one place by the eddying of the air and 

 casting the dark shadow, so much darker than itself, upon 

 the snow, which it almost touched with the point of its 

 lower extremity. It was a weird phenomenon and of rare 

 beauty, but even it failed to keep us on the freezing peak. 

 During the descent a white falcon was seen, soaring far 

 aloft, and a reindeer in the Sassendal, which made off the 

 moment he saw us. 



Camp, when we returned to it, was still deserted, nor did 

 the closest scrutiny reveal signs of Gregory's approach. "He 

 cometh not," we said. The wind still raged and boomed, 

 blowing dust into the tent with horrid persistence, but the 

 canvas bravely resisted, and formed a delightful shelter when 

 the doors were closed. Later on the wind dropped, but then 

 all the sky clouded over and rain began to fall (July 12). Its 

 pattering on the roof was a sound of peace that lulled us 

 pleasantly to sleep. 



Meanwhile Gregory was toiling up with the ponies and 

 sledges from Starvation Bluff in Sassen Bay. He had to 

 ford swollen rivers and to face the driving rain. It must 

 have been a miserable march. Williamson drove the second 

 pony. The two arrived when we were in the midst of our 

 deepest slumber. Then arose much cooking and setting of 

 things to rights, and not a little exchange of news, for a 

 steamer had come into Advent Bay before Gregory left and 

 brought mails from home — weekly editions of the Times, 

 illustrated papers, and letters. Sleep was banished while 

 other interests reigned, and Gregory told the tale of his 



letter 



