quietly off, and poor Johnson forgetting his sufferings in his despair.
"I am a regular milksop!" he exclaimed, a cry-baby, that can't stand the least pain! And at my age, too!”
"Come, Johnson; go in at once, or you will be frost-bitten. Look at your hands–they are white already! Come, come this minute."
"I am not worth troubling about, Mr. Clawbonny, said the old boatswain. "Never mind me!"
"But you must come in, you obstinate fellow. Come, now, I tell you; it will be too late presently."
At last he succeeded in dragging the poor fellow into the tent, where he made him plunge his hands into a bowl of water, which the heat of the stove kept in a liquid state, though still cold. Johnson's hands had hardly touched it before it froze immediately."
"You see it was high time you came in; I should have been forced to amputate soon," said the Doctor.
Thanks to his endeavors, all danger was over in about an hour, but he was advised to keep his hands at a good distance from the stove for some time still.
That morning they had no breakfast. Pemmican and salt beef were both done. Not a crumb of biscuit remained. They were obliged to content themselves with half a cup of hot coffee, and start off again.
They scarcely went three miles before they were compelled to give up for the day. They had no supper but coffee, and the dogs were so ravenous that they were almost devouring each other.
Johnson fancied he could see the bear following them in the distance, but he made no remark to his companions. Sleep forsook the unfortunate men, and their eyes grew wild and haggard.
Tuesday morning came, and it was thirty-four hours since they had tasted a morsel of food. Yet these brave, stout-hearted men continued their march, sustained by their superhuman energy of purpose. They pushed the sledge themselves, for the dogs could no longer draw it.
At the end of two hours they sank exhausted. Hatteras urged them to make a fresh attempt, but his entreaties and supplications were powerless; they could not do impossibilities.
