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"I am a regular milksop!" he exclaimed, "a cry-baby, that can't stand the least pain! And at my age, too!"
"Come, Johnson; go in at once, or you will be frost-bitten. Look at your hands-they are white already! Come, come this minute."
"I am not worth troubling about, Mr. Clawbonny," said the old boatswain. "Never mind me!"
"But you must come in, you obstinate fellow. Come, now, I tell you; it will be too late presently."
At last he succeeded in dragging the poor fellow into the tent, where he made him plunge his hands into a
bowl of water, which the heat of the stove kept in a liquid state, though still cold. Johnson's hands had hardy touched it before it froze immediately.
"You see it was high time you came in; I should have been forced to amputate soon," said the Doctor.
Thanks to his endeavours, all danger was over in about an hour, but he was advised to keep his hands at a good distance from the stove for some time still.
That morning they had no breakfast. Pemmican and salt beef were both done. Not a crumb of biscuit remained. They were obliged to content themselves with half a cup of hot coffee, and start off again.