THE COOKS IN DIFFICULTY.
We camped in a calm atmosphere, but in the middle of the night—bang!—down came a bugle-blast of Boreas, and then the old god blew and blew as if he had never blown in all his life before, and wanted to prove what he could do. We could hardly show our noses out of doors, and have lain huddled together in this snow den all day,—a doleful sort of imprisonment. It is with much difficulty that we have got any thing to eat, and we never should if I had not turned cook myself, and shown these innocents of mine how to keep the furnace-lamp from being blown out; for we can use only lard for fuel, and the smoke is so great that we cannot have the cooking done inside. It seems to me that nothing takes the wits out of a man so quickly as the cold. The cooks had not sense enough left to inclose themselves in a snow wall, and I had to teach them how to keep up the proper proportion of lard and rope-yarns in the lamp to prevent the flame from smothering on the one hand, and from being whiffed out on the other. We were more than two hours in making a pot of coffee, and came in out of the pelting snow-drift with our furs all filled with it; and now it melts, and the clothing is getting damp, for we do not change our dress when we crawl in between our buffalo-skin sheets.
April 8th.
Could any thing be more aggravating? The gale holds on and keeps us close prisoners. My people could no more live in it than in a fiery furnace. I never saw any thing like it. Last night it fell warmer, and snowed, which gave us encouragement; but the wind blew afterward more fierce than ever, and human eye never beheld such sights. There was nowhere any thing else but flying snow. The sun's face was blinded, and the hills and coast were hidden completely out of sight. Once in a while we can see the ghost of an iceberg, but that is rarely. We tried to brave it yesterday, and again to-day, for I wanted to go down to Cape Hatherton to bring up our cargo there. So we commenced tearing down the hut to get at the sledge; but ten minutes convinced me that half the party would freeze outright if we undertook to face the storm, and I sent the flock again under cover, and went behind the snow wall to help the cooks with their fire.
IN A SNOW BANK.
The poor dogs were almost buried out of sight. They had all crouched together in a heap; and as the drift accumulated over them they poked their heads further and further up into it; and when I came to count them to see if any had left us and run back to the ship or been frozen to death, it was truly counting noses. There were fourteen of them.
It seems rather strange to be writing on at this rate in a snow-hut, but the truth is I have no more trouble in writing here than if I were in my cabin. The temperature has come up almost to the freezing point, and it is a great relief to write. What else should I do? I have two small books which I have brought along for just such emergencies as this, and while my companions play cards and bet gingerbread and oyster suppers and bottles of rum to be paid in Boston, I find nothing better to do than read and write; and, since I cannot remain unoccupied, but must kill time in some manner, or else sleep, suppose I describe this den in the snow-bank.
THIRTEEN IN A BED.
THE SOURCE OF HAPPINESS.
"ALL IS VANITY."