NO SUPPLIES — COOKERY. 
41 
which this wind comes, some open water it may be, 
that is drawing nearer to us, to minister after a time 
to our escape. But we must go alone. I have given 
up all hope of rescuing our little vessel. She has been 
safeguard and home for us through many lengthened 
trials; but her time has come. She can never float 
above the waves again. How many of us are to be 
more fortunate ? 
“ February 9, Friday.—Still no supplies. Three of 
us have been out all day, without getting a shot. 
Hans thinks he saw a couple of reindeer at a distance; 
and his eyes rarely deceive him. He will try for them 
to-morrow. I have fitted out for him a tent and a 
sleeping-bag on the second table-land; and the ther¬ 
mometer is now so little below zero that he will be 
able to keep the field for a steady hunt. Our sick are 
sinking for want of fresh food. It is the only specific: 
—I dislike to use the unphilosopliical term; but in our 
case it is the true one. In large quantities it dissi¬ 
pates the disease; in ordinary rations it prevents its 
occurrence; in small doses it checks it while sustaining 
the patient. We have learned its value too well to 
waste it; every part of every animal has its use. The 
skin makes the basis of a soup, and the claws can be 
boiled to a jelly. Lungs, larynx, stomach, and entrails, 
all are available. I have not permitted myself to taste 
more than an occasional entrail of our last half-dozen 
rabbits. Not that I am free from symptoms of the 
universal pest. I am conscious of a stiffness in the 
tendons, and a shortness of breath, and a weariness of 
A 
