A NEW START.—SPECULATIONS.—IN A FOG.—POLAR SCENERY.—STOPPED BY ROTTEN ICE.—LOOKING AHEAD.—CONCLUSIONS.—THE OPEN SEA.—CLIMAX OF THE JOURNEY.—RETURNING SOUTH.
The unexpected breaking down of my strong man, Jensen, was a misfortune only one degree less keenly felt than the previous failure of the foot party, and it troubled me much; for, while I lost the services of a stout arm and an active body, I was naturally anxious about his safety. With a helpless man on my hands, and with four hundred and fifty miles of rough ice between me and the schooner, and with but scant depots of provision by the way, calculated only for a journey with empty sledges, I must own that I was somewhat perplexed.
When the morning came, Jensen was found to have improved but little and was scarcely able to move. I promptly determined to leave him in charge of McDonald, and to push on with Knorr alone. Lest accident from rotten ice (the only one that I had to fear) should befall me, I left with McDonald five dogs, with directions to await us as many days, and then make the best of his way back to Port Foulke.
Our simple breakfast over, I was once more plunging through the hummocks, making my last throw. Our track lay across a bay so deep that the distance would be more than quadrupled if we followed its tortuous windings of the shore upon the land-ice.
