Up and down my cabin I would walk with hands buried in my pockets,
revolving these thoughts and working myself up, against my will, to a
fever of regret and self-accusation.
Talk about Purgatory--the Purgatory of dear old Father Dan! That was to
come after death--mine came before, and by the holy saints, I had enough
of it.
Two months passed like this; and when the water of the Sound was open
and our ship did not appear, mine was not the only heart that was eating
itself out, for the spirits of my shipmates had also begun to sink.
In the early part of the Antarctic spring there had been a fearful
hurricane lasting three days on the sea, with a shrieking, roaring
chorus of fiends outside, and the conviction now forced itself on my men
that our ship must have gone down in the storm.
Of course I fought this notion hard, for my last hopes were based on not
believing it. But when after the lapse of weeks I could hold out no
longer, and we were confronted by the possibility of being held there
another year (for how were our friends to know before the ice formed
again that it was necessary to send relief?), I faced the situation
firmly--measuring out our food and putting the men on shortened rations,
twenty-eight ounces each and a thimbleful of brandy.
Pages:
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858