WE WALK ACROSS 95 



down my load I started out to see if I could not find 

 something that would burn. 



In the ordinary way you might as well look for — what 

 shall I say ? — a bishop at Rosherville, as for a piece of 

 wood on Kolguev, excepting by the coast. By an ex- 

 traordinary bit of good fortune, however, I came upon a 

 small piece which had doubtless dropped off a sleigh. 

 Carrying it back, I set to work to chip it with my knife. 

 Every little chip (it was very hard, and would not split) 

 I treasured as carefully as though it had been diamond 

 — more carefully. At last, having made about two 

 handfuls, and having piled up moss and green creeping 

 birch, I really got a fire — -a poor smouldering thing like 

 weed-burning — but still a fire. Into this the kettle was 

 stuffed. And after an incredible amount of blowing - and 

 choking and blowing again the kettle really sang. It 

 wouldn't boil, but it did sing ; a great concession under 

 the circumstances. 



I made some Bovril this time ; it is safer than tea with 

 lukewarm water. 



This was a pretty good place. For there was a sort 

 of little dry ditch which as you lay on your back just 

 caught your shoulder-blades nicely and kept off the 

 draughts. 



So we slept there till 7.30 p.m. After this we rose 

 another hill, and then came to a bad obstacle. 



The hill formed a sort of amphitheatre. Circling 

 round it, we dropped by steep slopes to the edge of a 



