May 10th.
At the same hopeless work again; and again we go into camp among the hummocks. I dare not hope that we will reach the shore to-morrow, for I have been so often disappointed; but the shore will be reached some time, if there is an ounce of food left or a dog left alive to drag it with. I have settled down into a sort of dogged determination.
May 11th.
In camp at last, close under the land; and as happy as men can be who have achieved success and await supper.
"CAPE FLY-AWAY." As we rounded to in a convenient place for our camp, McDonald looked up at the tall Cape, which rose above our heads; and, as he turned away to get our furnace to prepare a much-needed meal, he was heard to grumble out in a serio-comic tone: "Well, I wonder if that is land, or only 'Cape Fly-away,' after all?"
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