“To-day we have been almost happy, and had almost enough to eat.”
On December 9, there is rejoicing because Brainard and Long shot two blue foxes.
“We are all very weak,” writes Lieutenant Lockwood, ten days later, “and I feel an apathy and cloudiness impossible to shake off. It is a great difficulty to know each night just how much bread to save for breakfast on the morrow,—hunger to-night fights hunger to-morrow morning. I always eat my bread regretfully. If I eat it before tea, I regret that I did not keep it; and if I wait until tea comes, and then eat it, I drink my tea hastily and do not get the satisfaction I otherwise would. What a miserable life, when a few crumbs of bread weigh so on one’s mind! It seems to be so with all the rest. All sorts of expedients are tried to cheat one’s stomach, but with about the same result.”
On December 21, Lieutenant Greely says:—
“Sergeant Brainard is twenty-seven to-day. I gave him half a gill of rum extra on that account, regretting my inability to do more for him. He has worked exceedingly hard for us this winter; and, while all have done their best, his endurance, unusual equanimity of temper, and impartial justice in connection with the food have been of invaluable service to me.”
“Mouldy hard bread and two cans of soup make a dinner for twelve,” says Brainard. “At Fort Conger ten cans of soup were needed to begin dinner. But even the dire calamity which now confronts us is insufficient to repress the great flow of good nature in our party generally.”
“A terrible scene occurred in our wretched hut during the morning,” writes Brainard, March 24, 1884. “While preparing breakfast (tea) the cooks had forgotten to remove the bundle of rags from the ventilators in the roof, and the fumes thrown off by the alcohol lamps, being confined to the small breathing space, soon produced asphyxia. Biederbick, one of the cooks, was the first to succumb to its effects, and Israel immediately afterwards became insensible. At the suggestion of Gardiner, all the rest of us rushed for the door, and the plugs were at once removed from the roof and the lamps extinguished. By prompt attention, Dr. Pavy succeeded in reviving Israel and Biederbick. Those who went outside were less fortunate than those who fainted in their bags. As soon as they came in contact with the pure outside air, all strength departed, and they fell down on the snow in an unconscious state. In consequence of the absence of all animation, many of us were frost-bitten—Lieutenant Greely and myself quite severely. The lives of several of the men were probably saved through the noble efforts of Gardiner, who, though weak and sick, did all in his power to get us in the hut.... During the excitement of the hour about half a pound of bacon was stolen from Lieutenant Greely’s mess, and as soon as the fact became known, great indignation was expressed that in our midst lived a man with nature so vile and corrupt—so utterly devoid of all feelings of humanity—as to steal from his starving companions when they were thought to be dying. A deed so contemptible and heartless could not long remain concealed from those who had been injured. We were not disappointed in the discovery that Henry was the thief. He had literally bolted the bacon, and his stomach was overloaded to such a degree that, in its enfeebled state, it could not retain this unusual quantity of food, and his crime was thus detected. Jens afterwards reported having seen him commit the theft, and illustrated by signs his manner of doing it.”
“Poor suffering Elison!” he writes a few days later. “This morning he turned to the doctor and said, ‘My toes are burning dreadfully, and the soles of my feet are itching in a very uncomfortable manner; can you not do something to relieve this irritation?’ He little dreams that he has neither toes nor feet: they having sloughed off in January.”
On March 21, Greely makes this entry:—