he expedition began its never-ending battle to
the southward.

The lanes of open water, as foreshadowed by the water-blinks that
Ferriss had noted in the morning, were frequent; alternating steadily
with hummocks and pressure-ridges. But the perversity of the ice was all
but heart-breaking. At every hour the lanes opened and closed. At one
time in the afternoon they had arrived upon the edge of a lane wide
enough to justify them in taking to their boats. The sledges were
unloaded, and stowed upon the boats themselves, and oars and sails made
ready. Then as Bennett was about to launch the lane suddenly closed up.
What had been water became a level floe, and again the process of
unloading and reloading had to be undertaken.

That evening Big Joe and two other dogs, Gavriga and Patsy, were shot
because of their uselessness in the traces. Their bodies were cut up to
feed their mates.

"I can spare the dogs," wrote Bennett in his journal for that
day--a Sunday--"but McPherson, one of the best men of the command,
gives me some uneasiness. His frozen footnips have chafed sores in
his ankle. One of these has ulcerated, and the doctor tells me is
in a serious condition. His pain is so great that he can no longer
haul with the others. Shall relieve him from work during the
morrow's march. Less than a mile covered to-day. Meridian
observation for latitude impossible on account of fog. Divine
services at 5:30 p.m."

A week passed, then another. There was no change, neither in the
character of the ice nor in the expedition's daily routine. Their toil
was incredible; at times an hour's unremitting struggle would gain but a
few yards. The dogs, instead of aiding them, were rapidly becoming mere
encumbrances. Four more had been killed, a fifth had been drowned, and
two, wandering from camp, had never returned. The second dog-sled had
been abandoned. The condition of McPherson's foot was such that no work
could be demanded from him. Hawes, the carpenter, was down with fever
and kept everybody awake all night by talking in his sleep. Worse than
all, however, Ferriss's right hand was again frostbitten, and this time
Dennison, the doctor, was obliged to amputate it above the wrist.

"... But I am no whit disheartened," wrote Bennett. "Succeed I must
and shall."

A few days after the operation on Ferriss's hand Bennett decided it
would be advisable to allow the party a full twenty-four hours' rest.
The march of the day before had be