Thus situated Dr. Kane moved on ahead, and clambered up some ice-piles and found himself upon a long, level floe. Thinking the provision party might have been attracted by this as a place to camp, he determined to examine it carefully. He gave orders to liberate Ohlsen, now just able to walk, from his fur bag, and to pitch the tent; then leaving tent, sledge, and every thing behind, except a small allowance of food taken by each man, he commanded the men to proceed across the floe at a good distance from each other. All obeyed cheerfully and promptly, and moved off at a lively step to keep from freezing; yet somehow, either from a sense of loneliness, or involuntarily, there was a constant tendency of the men to huddle together. Exhaustion and cold told fearfully upon them; the stoutest were seized with trembling fits and short breath, and Dr. Kane fell twice fainting on the snow. They had now been eighteen hours out without food or rest, and the darkness of their situation seemed to have no ray of light, when Hans shouted that he thought he saw a sledge track. Hardly daring to believe that their senses did not deceive them, they traced it until footsteps were apparent; following these with religious care they came after awhile in sight of a small American flag fluttering from a hummock. Lower down they espied a little Masonic banner hanging from a tent pole barely above the drift. It was the camp of the lost ones! It was found after an unfaltering march of twenty-one hours. The little tent was nearly covered by the drift.

Dr. Kane was the last to come up, and when he reached the tent his men were standing in solemn silence upon each side of it. With great kindness and delicacy of feeling they intimated their wish that he should be the first to go in.

He lifted the canvas and crawled in, and in the darkness felt for the poor fellows, who were stretched upon their backs. A burst of welcome within was answered by a joyful shout without. "We expected you," said one, embracing the doctor; "we knew you would come!" For the moment all perils, hunger, and exhaustion were forgotten amid the congratulations and gratitude.

The company now numbered fifteen, the cold was intense, but one half the number had to keep stirring outside while the rest crowded into the little tent to sleep. Each took a turn of two hours, and then preparations were made to start homeward.

They took the tent, furs for the rescued party, and food for fifty hours, and abandoned every thing else. The tent was folded and laid on the sledge, a bed was then made of eight buffalo skins, the sick, having their limbs carefully sewed up in reindeer skins, were then put in a reclining position on the bed, and other furs and blanket bags thrown around them. The whole was lashed together, allowing only a breathing place opposite the mouth. This embalming of the sufferers, and getting them a good meal, cost four hours of exposure in a cold that had become fifty-five degrees minus. Most of the rescuers had their fingers nipped by the frost.

When all was ready the whole company united in a short prayer.

Now commenced the fearful journey. The sledge and its load weighed eleven hundred pounds. The hummocks were many; some of them were high, and long deviations round them must be made; some which they climbed over, lifting the sledge after them, were crossed by narrow chasms filled with light snow—fearful traps into which if one fell his death was almost certain. Across these the sledge was drawn, some of them being too wide for it to bridge them, so it had to be sustained by the rope, and steadily too, for the sick could not bear to be lashed so tight as not to be liable to roll off, and the load was top-heavy.

In spite of these obstacles all went bravely for six hours. The abandoned tent was nine miles ahead, the sledge on which life depended bravely bore every strain, the new floe was gained, and the traveling improved, so that good hope was entertained that the tent, its covert and rest, would be gained. Just then a strange feeling came over nearly the whole party. Some begged the privilege of sleeping. They were not cold, they said; they did not mind the wind now; all they wanted was a little sleep. Others dropped on the snow and refused to get up. One stood bolt upright, and, with closed eyes, could not be made to speak. The commander boxed, jeered, argued, and reprimanded his men to no purpose. A halt was made and the tent pitched. No fire could be obtained, for nobody's fingers were limber enough to strike fire, so no food or water could be had.

Leaving the company in charge of M'Gary, with orders to come on after four hours' rest, Dr. Kane and Godfrey went forward to the tent to get ready a fire and cooked food. They reached the tent in a strange sort of stupor. They remembered nothing only that a bear trotted leisurely ahead of them, stopping once to tear a jumper to pieces which one of the men had dropped the day before, and pausing to toss the tent contemptuously aside. They set it up with difficulty, crept into their fur bags, and slept intensely for three hours. They then arose, succeeded in lighting the cooking lamp, and had a steaming soup ready when the rest arrived.

Refreshed with food and rest, the feeble re-adjusted, they commenced the home stretch. Once the old sleepiness came over them, and they in turn slept three minutes by the watch and were benefited. They all reached the brig at one o'clock P.M. All were more or less delirious when they arrived, and could remember nothing of what had happened on the way, with slight exception. The rescue party had been out seventy-two hours; of this time only eight hours were spent in halting. They had traveled about eighty-five miles, most of the distance dragging their sledge.