222 SPITSBERGEN chap, xvi 



It is hard in writing a book of travel to convey to the 

 reader a truthful idea of the stages of suspense, expectation, 

 and disgust through which one passes, without wearying him 

 with repetition of details. Every hour that now went by 

 was rilled with nothing but wonder about the missing boat. 

 Why did it not come ? Had it gone to the bottom, or 

 been wrecked on the shore of the fjord ? Then there was 

 our faithful comrade, Garwood ; he must have reached 

 Advent Point full two days ago. Why had he not brought 

 a boat round for us ? Was it that he could not get any 

 of the Advent Bay boats ? Or had some misfortune over- 

 taken him? Had he missed Williamson and the ponies, 

 or had the ponies gone astray ? or had he come to grief 

 on a solitary climb, or fallen into a crevasse ? Such were 

 the questions we spent hours in debating, but never an 

 answer did we find, and never a sail hove in sight. The 

 sun went round and round in a brilliant sky, and days 

 possible for work were taken away one by one, whilst we 

 remained helpless by the now well-known shores of Sassen 

 Bay, skinning foxes and cooking, and watching the deserted 

 fjord for a sail that did not appear. 



No previous day that we spent in Spitsbergen was more 

 glorious for cloud-effects than this. In the early morning 

 fine masses of cumuli marched across the southern hills, 

 white and tall, their bases high over the mountain crests. 

 In the afternoon a faint mist, delicate and grey, brooded 

 upon the fjord and almost obliterated the feet of the hills 

 to the north, but let their tops appear against the sky in 

 absolute distinctness. Then came low-sweeping beds of 

 soft white cloud, some thousand feet above sea-level, which 

 crawled about like huge dragons, clinging to the hill-sides. 

 One hung on to the Temple. Another crept out of Klaas 

 Billen Bay and round the nearer headland, casting a deep 

 shadow on the water. Meanwhile above Cape Thordsen a 



