THE PROSPECT. 
343 
we fail in passing with them, I think our fortunes are 
fixed. The young ice bore a man this morning: it 
had a bad look, this man-supporting August ice ! The 
temperature never falls below 28°; but it is cold 
o’ nights with no fire. 
“August 18, Friday.—Reduced our allowance of 
wood to six pounds a meal. This, among eighteen 
mouths, is one-third of a pound of fuel for each. It 
allows us coffee twice a day, and soup once. Our fare 
besides this is cold pork boiled in quantity and eaten 
as required. This sort of thing works badly; but I 
must save coal for other emergencies. I see ‘darkness 
ahead.’ 
“ I inspected the ice again to-day. Bad! bad!—I 
must look another winter in the face. I do not shrink 
from the thought; but, while we have a chance ahead, 
it is my first duty to have all things in readiness to 
meet it. It is horrible —yes, that is the word—to look 
forward to another year of disease and darkness to be 
met without fresh food and without fuel. I should 
meet it with a more tempered sadness if I had no 
comrades to think for and protect. 
“August 20, Sunday.—Rest for all hands. The 
daily prayer is no longer ‘Lord, accept our gratitude 
and bless our undertaking,’ but ‘ Lord, accept our grati¬ 
tude and restore us to our homes.’ The ice shows no 
change: after a boat and foot journey around the entire 
southeastern curve of the bay, no signs! 
“I was out in the Red Eric with Bonsall, McGary, 
Hans, Riley, and John. We tracked her over the ice 
