ROUTINE LIFE. 
301 
that is, all of them. It is the only palliation I can 
offer for my meagreness of incident. As for the study 
we used to talk about — even you, terrible worker as 
you are, could not study in the Arctic regions. 
" Within a little area, whose cubic contents are less 
than father's library, you have the entire abiding-place 
of thirty-three heavily-clad men. Of these I am one. 
Three stoves and a cooking galley, four Argand and 
three bear-fat lamps burn with the constancy of a vest- 
al shrine. Damp furs, soiled woolens, cast-off boots, 
sick men, cookery, tobacco-smoke, and digestion are 
compounding their effluvia , around and within me. 
Hour by hour, and day after day, without even a bunk 
to retire to or a blanket-curtain to hide me, this and 
these make up the reality of my home, 
"Outside, grim death, in the shape of —40°, is try- 
ing — most foolishly, I think — ^to chill the energy of 
these his allies. My bedding lies upon the bare deck, 
right under the hatch. A thermometer, placed at the 
head of my cot, gives a mean tempera,ture of 64° ; at 
my feet, under the hatchway, +16° to -4°— ice at my 
feet, vapor at my head. The sleeping-bunks aft range 
from 70° to 93° ; those forward, regulated by the med- 
ical officer, from 60° to 65°. 
" We rise, the crew at six bells, seven o'clock, and 
the officers at seven bells, half an hour later. Thus 
comports himself your brother. He sits up in the 
midst of his blankets, and drinks a glass of cold water; 
eyes, nose, and mouth chippy with lampblack and 
undue evaporation. Oh ! how comforting this water 
is ! That over, a tin-basin, in its turn, is brought round 
by Morton, mush-like with snow ; and in this mixt- 
ure, by the aid of a hard towel, with a daily regular- 
ity that knows no intermission, he goes over his entire 
skeleton, frictionizing. 
