2 8o SPITSBERGEN chap, xx 



man hut, drawn by the resistless attraction of a human 

 interest. Footprints in a steep gully piled with sand showed 

 the way to it. They had been preserved beneath a covering 

 of snow. Truth to tell, there was little enough to see — a 

 mere framework of beams, the wreck of sleeping-bunks, 

 floors, and doorways, a heap of coal, piles of withered- 

 up potatoes and peas, foul remnants of old clothes, empty 

 cartridges, a packet of photograph developer, and such like 

 rubbish. It was interesting to hear Bottolfsen's reminis- 

 cences. " When we opened the door one morning there was 

 a big bear standing close to it, just where you are now. He 

 seemed to be waiting for some one to come out. I caught 

 sight of him in time and called to the skipper to look out. 

 I only stopped him just in time, for the bear would have been 

 on him in a moment. We shot the bear. Perhaps this 

 may have been his skull, though I don't think so — it is not 

 large enough." 



Strolling about, looking at the rubbish, I came upon what 

 looked like a candle-end wrapped in paper. It seemed too 

 hard for a candle, and I threw it violently on the rock at my 

 feet, to see if it would break, for it was hard frozen. A yard 

 or two farther on was a pile of similar objects. "What are 

 these ? " I asked. " Oh," said Bottolfsen, " those are part of 

 the case of dynamite ! " I did not try to break any more 

 of them. 



The back of the island's ridge afforded a fine view over 

 sea and land. Clouds had lifted somewhat, and the larger 

 islands more amply displayed the lonely grandeur of their 

 weather-beaten, snow-draped flanks. Even nearer at hand to 

 the south were the crags of North-East-Land's North Cape, 

 with the Castrens Islands by it, whilst far to the east Cape 

 Wrede and Cape Platen lifted their bold fronts beneath the 

 cold, white blink that showed where the fast ice bound the 



