A FROZEN SUMMER. 383 



the pack. The absolute monotony ; the unchanging 

 round of hours ; the awakening to the same things and 

 the same conditions that one saw just before losing 

 one's self in sleep ; the same faces ; the same dogs ; the 

 same ice ; the same conviction that tomorrow will be 

 exactly the same as to-day, if not more disagreeable ; 

 the absolute impotence to do anything, to go anywhere, 

 or to change one's situation an iota; the realization 

 that food is being consumed and fuel burned with no 

 valuable result, beyond sustaining life ; the knowledge 

 that nothing has been accomplished thus far to save 

 this expedition from being denominated an utter fail- 

 ure ; all these things crowd in with irresistible force on 

 my reasoning powers each night as I sit down to reflect 

 upon the events of the day, and but for some still small 

 voice within me that tells me this can hardly be the 

 ending of all my labor and zeal, I should be tempted to 

 despair. 



All our books are read, our stories related ; our games 

 of chess, cards, and checkers long since discontinued. 

 When we assemble in the morning at breakfast we 

 make daily a fresh start. Any dreams, amusing or pe- 

 culiar, are related and laughed over. Theories as to 

 whether we shall eventually drift N. E. or N. W. are 

 brought forward and discussed. Seals' livers as a 

 change of diet are pronounced a success. The temper- 

 ature of the morning watch is inquired into, the direc- 

 tion and velocity of the wind, and if it is snowing (as 

 it generally is) we call it a " fine summer day." After 

 breakfast we smoke. Chipp gets a sounding and an- 

 nounces a drift E. S. E. or S. E., as the case may be. 

 We growl thereat. Dunbar and Alexey go off for 

 seals with as many dogs as do not run away from them 

 en route. The doctor examines Danenhower and Iver- 



