Sept. 22. Another day of pushing and sailing our boat-sledge. The sail is a success, and a great help. We have made good time, but there is no sign of dry land yet, and our last sandwiches are gone. To-morrow it will be tablets or nothing. We have not confessed it to each other, but I think it will be nothing. Even Mr. Sturritt looks wretched when it comes mealtime. He steadily refuses the sandwiches, however.
It is clear and cold to-night, but it was much warmer through the day than yesterday. We are almost too warm, in fact, when we are pushing the boat. Gale never loses heart. He keeps up the deception with Edith, though this is not so easy as it would seem. He told her to-day that we were “laying up,” because of adverse winds. Her voice in the telephone seems weaker than it was, perhaps because of our reaching a lower level, and the increasing distance. Like the Marconi system, this may require that one end of the circuit should be much higher than the other in order to get the best results. Ferratoni thinks the jar of our fall may have affected the instrument, too. I hope and pray that it will not fail us altogether, for the voices from the ship are our greatest comfort. Last night, just as I was dozing off I heard my name called gently.
“Nicholas!”
It was Edith’s voice, and close to my ear. I answered softly, for the others were already sleeping. Then she said:
“Nicholas, Zar is going to sing to me, don’t you want to hear, too?”
“Oh, yes, I should love to.”
There came a mumble of protest in the receiver. Evidently Zar did not altogether approve of singing us both to sleep at once, even though so many frozen miles lay between. Then this ceased, and a moment later, vibrating across the wastes in a rich, crooning chant, came her song of the “Old Brown Cows.”[[2]]
[2].
[[Listen]]
