A Mans Woman | Page 5

for all that, the night was miserable. Even after that day of
superhuman struggle they were not to be allowed a few hours of
unbroken rest. By midnight the wind had veered to the east and was
blowing a gale. An hour later the tent came down. Exhausted as they
were, they must turn out and wrestle with that slatting, ice-sheathed
canvas, and it was not until half an hour later that everything was fast
again.
Once more they crawled into the sleeping-bags, but soon the heat from
their bodies melted the ice upon their clothes, and pools of water
formed under each man, wetting him to the skin. Sleep was impossible.
It grew colder and colder as the night advanced, and the gale increased.
At three o'clock in the morning the centigrade thermometer was at
eighteen degrees below. The cooker was lighted again, and until six
o'clock the party huddled wretchedly about it, dozing and waking,
shivering continually.
Breakfast at half past six o'clock; under way again an hour later. There
was no change in the nature of the ice. Ridge succeeded ridge,
hummock followed upon hummock. The wind was going down, but the
snow still fell as fine and bewildering as ever. The cold was intense.

Dennison, the doctor and naturalist of the expedition, having slipped
his mitten, had his hand frostbitten before he could recover it. Two of
the dogs, Big Joe and Stryelka, were noticeably giving out.
But Bennett, his huge jaws clenched, his small, distorted eyes twinkling
viciously through the apertures of the wind-mask, his harsh, black
eyebrows lowering under the narrow, contracted forehead, drove the
expedition to its work relentlessly. Not Muck Tu, the dog-master, had
his Ostiaks more completely under his control than he his men. He
himself did the work of three. On that vast frame of bone and muscle,
fatigue seemed to leave no trace. Upon that inexorable bestial
determination difficulties beyond belief left no mark. Not one of the
twelve men under his command fighting the stubborn ice with tooth
and nail who was not galvanised with his tremendous energy. It was as
though a spur was in their flanks, a lash upon their backs. Their minds,
their wills, their efforts, their physical strength to the last ounce and
pennyweight belonged indissolubly to him. For the time being they
were his slaves, his serfs, his beasts of burden, his draught animals, no
better than the dogs straining in the traces beside them. Forward they
must and would go until they dropped in the harness or he gave the
word to pause.
At four o'clock in the afternoon Bennett halted. Two miles had been
made since the last camp, and now human endurance could go no
farther. Sometimes when the men fell they were unable to get up. It was
evident there was no more in them that day.
In his ice-journal for that date Bennett wrote:
"... Two miles covered by 4 p.m. Our course continues to be south, 20
degrees west (magnetic). The ice still hummocky. At this rate we shall
be on half rations long before we reach Wrangel Island. No observation
possible since day before yesterday on account of snow and clouds.
Stryelka, one of our best dogs, gave out to-day. Shot him and fed him
to the others. Our advance to the southwest is slow but sure, and every
day brings nearer our objective. Temperature at 6 p.m., 6.8 degrees
Fahr. (minus 14 degrees C). Wind, east; force, 2."
The next morning was clear for two hours after breakfast, and when
Ferriss returned from his task of path-finding he reported to Bennett
that he had seen a great many water-blinks off to the southwest.
"The wind of yesterday has broken the ice up," observed Bennett; "we

shall have hard work to-day."
A little after midday, at a time when they had wrested some thousand
yards to the southward from the grip of the ice, the expedition came to
the first lane of open water, about three hundred feet in width. Bennett
halted the sledges and at once set about constructing a bridge of
floating cakes of ice. But the work of keeping these ice-blocks in place
long enough for the transfer of even a single sledge seemed at times to
be beyond their most strenuous endeavour. The first sledge with the
cutter crossed in safety. Then came the turn of number two, loaded with
the provisions and whaleboat. It was two-thirds of the way across when
the opposite side of the floe abruptly shifted its position, and thirty feet
of open water suddenly widened out directly in front of the line of
progress.
"Cut loose!" commanded Bennett upon the instant. The ice-block upon
which they were gathered was set free in the current. The situation was
one of