LONG AND WEARY MARCH. everywhere more or less embarrassed our progress. The snow-drifts were often so deep that the dogs had much trouble in wading through them, and it was all that they could do to drag the now quite empty sledge. After a time they became so much exhausted that it was with the utmost difficulty that we could force them forward. The poor beasts fell in their tracks the moment the whip ceased to be applied. I had never before seen them so much broken. To halt was of little use, as rest, without food, would do harm rather than good; and as we had no shelter, and in the item of food were as badly off as the dogs, there was nothing for us to do but to hold on and get through to Jensen's camp, or perish in the storm. Fortunately, the wind was at our backs.
We kept on in our winding course through the pelting snow, and reached, finally, the north side of the bay above Jensen's camp; and then the hardest part of the journey was to come. The tramp across that bay comes back to me now as the vague recollection of some ugly dream. I scarcely remember how we got through it. I recall only an endless pounding of the dogs, who wanted to lie down with every step, the ceaseless wading, the endless crunch of the wearied feet breaking through the old snow-*crust, the laborious climbing over hummocks, the pushing and lifting of the sledge,—and, through the blinding snow, I remember, at length, catching sight of the land and of hearing the cry of Jensen's dogs; and then of crawling up the ice-foot to his snow-hut. Through all these last hours, we were aware of a desire to halt and sleep; and it is fortunate for us that we did not lose consciousness of its dangers.
Without waiting to be fed, the dogs tumbled over
