A RELISHING LUNCH. 
19 
quietly preparing a special outfit, and will leave with 
the first return of moonlight. 
“McGary, my relief, calls me: he has foraged out 
some raw cabbage and spiced it up with curry-pow¬ 
der, our only remaining pepper. This, with a piece 
of corn-bread,—no bad article either,—he wants me 
to share with him. True to my old-times habitude, 
I hasten to the cabbage,— cold roast-beef, Worces¬ 
ter sauce, a head of endive, and a bottle—not one 
drop less—of Preston ale, (I never drink any other.) 
McGary, ‘bring on de beans!’ 
“January 18, Thursday, midnight.—Wind howling 
on deck,—a number nine gale, a warm southeaster 
directly from the land. The mean temperature of this 
wind is —20°. Warm as this may seem, our expe¬ 
rience has taught us to prefer —40° with a calm to 
—10° with a gale in the face. 
“If we only had daylight, I should start as soon as 
the present wind subsides, counting on a three days’ 
intermission of atmospheric disturbance. But we have 
no moon, and it is too dark to go tumbling about over 
the squeezed ice. I must wait. 
“I alluded yesterday to my special equipment. Let 
me imagine myself explaining to the tea-table this 
evening’s outfit, promise and purposes. 
I. Itinerary .—From brig Advance, Kensselaer Har¬ 
bor, to the Esquimaux huts of Etah Bay, following the 
line of ice-travel close along the coast:— 
