“No, Wright,” returned Curtis. “Are you sure you have stowed away your gum-lancet?”
A minute after this, the land expedition had started. Cheer after cheer rent the morning sky, the guns of the Walrus and Sea Elephant fired one last salute, then all was still and silent.
Commander Curtis, as we may now call him, wanted to do as much as possible every fine day.
And this was one. For on that vast upland of snow they managed to put five and twenty statute miles between them and the ships, before the final halt was called for dinner, rest, and sleep.
This was almost a record day.
A day free from hitch or even adventure of any kind.
The sun never set now, but, just as it does in Greenland North or in Baffin’s Bay, went round and round, higher up at midday, a bright and burning silver shield, lower at midnight, and a trifle more dim or yellow.
Storms are frequent, even in summer, in this region; but there are a very large number of sunny days.
The scenery has a character entirely its own, and a charm which no one can adequately describe in words. You must have the scene before you in reality before you can realize the charm.
The order to-night was early to bed—or, rather, early to bags, for the first part of next day was to be spent in ascending a hill at the foot of which they were now pitched.