March 16th. (The writing is almost illegible) Plock.
March 19th. Finished Plock. Tough, as always."
March 20th dawned as a day of despair. My companions, weakened by starvation, refused to pull another ounce. We had come to a standstill. Scarcely able to stand, desperate, but still unwilling to admit myself beaten, I set forth alone.
Swank would have accompanied me but fell as he attempted to climb down to the ice and was unable to rise.
"Don't go," he pleaded.
"Herman," I said, "if the Traprock expedition perishes, Traprock will be the first man to go."
I wrung his hand and departed. Four miles from the ship I fainted. Regaining consciousness I crawled on, on my hands and knees. Another spasm of dizziness seized me and I sank down to rest. As I did so, a far-off sound reached me, the faint roaring of a bull seal. Peering across the floe I saw him dimly. He must have been slightly over a mile away. At 6000 yards I fixed him tremblingly on the crossed wires of my telescopic sight. Even then his image was vague, but it was now or never.
Bang! A louder roar reached me and I saw the great brute raise himself convulsively. But would he still escape me? No! He lay still.
When I reached him two hours later I saw, somewhat to my chagrin, why he had not moved. He was a giant chap of the "phoca barbata" family, the bearded seal. His beard was frozen in the ice.