ARCTIC LIFE. 
169 
inclined plane, whose well-graded talus gave me ample 
time to contemplate the contingencies at its base;—a 
chasm peradventure, for my ice-pole was travelling 
ahead of me and stopped short with a clang; or it 
might be a pointed hummock—there used to be one 
j ust below; or by good luck it was only a water-pool, 
in which my lantern made the glitter. I exulted to 
find myself in a cushion of snow. 
“March 9, Thursday.—How do we spend the day 
when it is not term-day, or rather the twenty-four 
hours ? for it is either all day here, or all night, or a 
twilight mixture of both. How do we spend the 
twenty-four hours? 
“At six in the morning, McGary is called, with all 
hands who have slept in. The decks are cleaned, the 
ice-hole opened, the refreshing beef-nets examined, the 
ice-tables measured, and things aboard put to rights. 
At half-past seven, all hands rise, wash on deck, open 
the doors for ventilation, and come below for breakfast. 
We are short of fuel, and therefore cook in the cabin. 
Our breakfast, for all fare alike, is hard tack, pork, 
stewed apples frozen like molasses-candy, tea and coffee, 
with a delicate portion of raw potato. After breakfast, 
the smokers take their pipe till nine: then all hands 
turn to, idlers to idle and workers to work; Ohlsen 
to his bench, Brooks to his ‘preparations’ in canvas, 
McGary to play tailor, Whipple to make shoes, Bonsall 
to tinker, Baker to skin birds,—and the rest to the 
‘Office!’ Take a look into the Arctic Bureau! One 
table, one salt-pork lamp with rusty chlorinated flame, 
