the bears on the men.
On one occasion their dead enemy proved more dangerous to them than in
life, for three of their number, who had fed on bear's liver, were nearly
poisoned to death. Had they perished, none of the whole party would have
ever left Nova Zembla. "It seemed," said the diarist, "that the beasts
had smelt out that we meant to go away, and had just begin to have a
taste for us."

And thus the days wore on. The hour-glass and the almanac told them that
winter had given place to spring, but nature still lay in cold
obstruction. One of their number, who had long been ill, died. They
hollowed a grave for him in the frozen snow, performing a rude burial
service, and singing a psalm; but the cold had nearly made them all
corpses before the ceremony was done.

At last, on the 17th April, some of them climbing over the icebergs to
the shore found much open sea. They also saw a small bird diving in the
water, and looked upon it as a halcyon and harbinger of better fortunes.
The open weather continuing, they began to hanker for the fatherland. So
they brought the matter, "not mutinously but modestly and reasonably,
before William Barendz; that he might suggest it to Heemskerk, for they
were all willing to submit to his better judgment." It was determined to
wait through the month of May. Should they then be obliged to abandon the
ship they were to make the voyage in the two open boats, which had been
carefully stowed away beneath the snow. It was soon obvious that the ship
was hard and fast, and that she would never float again, except perhaps
as a portion of the icebergs in which she had so long been imbedded, when
they should be swept off from the shore.

As they now set to work repairing and making ready the frail skiffs which
were now their only hope, and supplying them with provisions and even
with merchandize from the ship, the ravages made by the terrible winter
upon the strength of the men became painfully apparent. But Heemskerk
encouraged them to persevere; "for," said he, "if the boats are not got
soon under way we must be content to make our graves here as burghers of
Nova Zembla."

On the 14th June they launched the boats, and "trusting themselves to
God," embarked once more upon the arctic sea. Barendz, who was too ill to
walk, together with Claas Anderson, also sick unto death, were dragged to
the strand in sleds, and tenderly placed on board.

Barendz had, however, despite his illness, drawn up a