their hunger by gnawing at the dead bodies of their brothers.
I determined, at mid-day, to kill a big Eskimo dog and drink his blood, as I had read only a few days before in “Farthest North” of Dr. Nansen’s doing,—that is, if I survived the battle with him. I could not help feeling, even then, my ludicrous position, and I thought, if ever I got ashore again, I should have to laugh at myself standing hour after hour waving my shirt at those lofty cliffs, which seemed to assume a kind of sardonic grin, so that I could almost imagine they were laughing at me. At times I could not help thinking of the good breakfast that my colleagues were enjoying at the back of those same cliffs, and of the snug fire and the comfortable room which we call our study.
