Accordingly, on the last day of February, the captain left with a company of three besides himself.
We took our departure at sundown, or late in the afternoon, in order to avoid the effect of sunlight upon our eyes. We learned from the experience of the natives to avoid, if possible, this evil; and hence we took the latter part of the day to commence our perilous journey, and chose darkness rather than light.
Our intentions were to travel until we should find more comfortable quarters, or perish in the attempt. We were sensible that from the severity of the cold, we must travel all the time, night and day; there could be no rest or respite for us, with safety, out of doors. If we should stop for any length of time, or sit down, death would be inevitable.
It was intensely cold when we left—such an air as is felt only in the arctic. The northern lights shone very brightly that night; wind quite high; occasionally the snow flying in dense masses around us; and besides, slumping into the snow from six inches to two feet at almost every step.
Thus we traveled, or rather, as it seemed to us, crawled along during that night, keeping our course by the sea shore as much as we could. We found no well-beaten road, or path, but we had to make one for ourselves; no plain before us, but a rugged and broken surface, both upon the frozen ocean and upon the land; immense piles of snow, wrought into a great variety of forms by the circling winds; indeed the whole scene before us was one of the wildest, grandest, and most terrific, that winter could present to mortal eyes, and such as can be seen only where Winter asserts his undisputed supremacy.
And what a night was that for human beings to be out and exposed, with no covering above us but the bright stars, and the brighter coruscations, as they would flash up from the pole and overspread the northern sky! Then we thought of home,—far distant home,—and friends, and the contrast, the strange contrast between their condition and ours! But words are poor vehicles to convey to the reader the emotions of our minds as we felt the loneliness of our condition, and the dreariness of our prospects on that dreadful night. It will never be effaced from the tablet of our memories, and in our hearts may we ever record, as long as life shall continue, the goodness of God in preserving us, and causing our eyes to behold the light of another day.
About ten o'clock on the following day, one of our number began to exhibit more than ordinary weariness, languor, and stupidity. We found he began to lag behind, and was unable to keep up with us, though we were much exhausted, and only by the greatest possible exertion were we able to keep on our feet. We had not stopped, except for a moment, since we left the settlement.
Tired and overtasked nature, however, could not always endure. We all traveled slowly; but one of our number was really making little or no progress at all. We, who were ahead, would slacken our pace, or return to meet him, assist him, and encourage him to hold out and press on. This we did many times, but we found it absolutely impossible for him to keep up with us. We had no strength to carry him; this was out of the question; and to attempt to help him along for any considerable time, or to wait for him or stay by him, it was certain we should never get any where, and all die together.
The only alternative, therefore, to which, from necessity, we were brought, was to leave him behind. Sad as was our decision in this instance, yet it was distressingly true that, if we had tarried by the way or sat down, we never should have risen again.
We pressed on for our lives. We soon lost sight of our companion in the distance, either resting or making ineffectual efforts to get along. In leaving him in those wintry wilds, we left him, as we supposed, to die. We saw no chance for his escape.