At the end of the second day they buried part
of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff,
intending to pick it up on their return; and thus lightened, they
advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of
falling in with walruses or seals.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one
seal, and that was a small one--scarcely sufficient to afford a couple
of meals to the dogs.
They were "misfortunate entirely," as O'Riley remarked; and to add to
their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could
scarcely advance at all.
"Things grow worse and worse," remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the
twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be
unloaded ere it could be got out. "The sledge won't stand much o' sich
work, and if it breaks--good-bye to it, for it won't mend without wood,
and there's none here."
"No fear of it," cried Bolton encouragingly; "it's made of material as
tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won't give way easily, as the thumps
it has withstood already prove.--Has it never struck you, Fred," he
continued, turning to our hero who was plodding forward in silence--"has
it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we
begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get
better?"
"Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just
now that things are not going to get better.
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