A WALK - THE SICK. 
83 
isolated, upon coarse sandstone: its cubical contents 
cannot be less than sixty tons. Tired as I am by this 
hard walk, I feel that it has rewarded me Avell. It 
was too cold for the pocket-sextant; but I managed 
to sketch in such features of the opposite coast as were 
not marked in our charts of last August. I had a 
full view of the inland glacier throughout a linear 
trend of twenty miles. I can measure the profitless 
non-observing routine of the past winter by my joy 
at this first break-in upon its drudgery. God knows 
I had laid down for myself much experimental ob¬ 
servation, and some lines of what I hoped would be 
valuable travel and search; but I am thankful that 
I am here, able to empty a slop-bucket or rub a 
scurvied leg. 
“ My people had done well during my absence, and 
welcomed me back impressively. 
“March 24, Saturday.—Our yesterday’s ptarmigan 
gave the most sick a raw ration, and to-day we killed 
a second pair, which will serve them for to-morrow. 
To my great joy, they seem on that limited allow¬ 
ance to hold their ground. I am the only man now 
who scents the fresh meat without tasting it. I 
actually long for it, but am obliged to give way to 
the sick. 
“Yesterday’s walk makes my scorbutized muscles 
very stiff. I went through my routine of labor, and, 
as usual in this strange disease, worked off my stiff¬ 
ness and my pain. 
“ Bonsall and Petersen are now woodmen, preparing 
