e before me and I
accused myself of a thousand offences which I had thought dead and
buried and forgotten.

Some of these were trivial in themselves, such as hot and intemperate
words spoken in childhood to my good old people at home, disobedience or
ingratitude shown to them, with all the usual actions of a naughty boy,
who ought to have been spanked and never was.

But the worst of them concerned my darling, and came with the thought of
my responsibility for the situation in which I felt sure she found
herself.

A thousand times I took myself to task for that, thinking what I ought
and ought not to have done, and then giving myself every bad name and my
conduct every damning epithet.

Up and down my cabin I would walk with hands buried in my pockets,
revolving these thoughts and working myself up, against my will, to a
fever of regret and self-accusation.

Talk about Purgatory--the Purgatory of dear old Father Dan! That was to
come after death--mine came before, and by the holy saints, I had enough
of it.

Two months passed like this; and when the water of the Sound was open
and our ship did not appear, mine was not the only heart that was eating
itself out, for the spirits of my shipmates had also begun to sink.

In the early part of the Antarctic spring there had been a fearful
hurricane lasting three days on the sea, with a shrieking, roaring
chorus of fiends outside, and the conviction now forced itself on my men
that our ship must have gone down in the storm.

Of course I fought this notion hard, for my last hopes were based on not
believing it. But when after the lapse of weeks I could hold out no
longer, and we were confronted by the possibility of being held there
another year (for how were our friends to know before the ice formed
again that it was necessary to send relief?), I faced the situation
firmly--measuring out our food and putting the men on shortened rations,
twenty-eight ounces each and a thimbleful of brandy.

By the Lord God it is a fearful thing to stand face to face with slow
death. Some of my shipmates could scarcely bear it. The utter solitude,
the sight of the same faces and the sound of the same voices, with the
prospect of nothing else, seemed to drive most of them nearly mad.

There was no sing-songing among them now, and what speaking I overheard
was generally about the great dinners they had eaten, or about their
dreams, which were usually of green fields and flower-beds and