Upon this he
very shortly climbed, his long trace of ten fathoms almost reaching
there before he went into the water.
This dog has weird black markings on his face, giving him the
appearance of wearing a perpetual grin. After climbing out on the snow
as if it were the most natural position in the world he deliberately
shook the ice and water from his long coat, and then turned round to
look for me. As he sat perched up there out of the water he seemed to
be grinning with satisfaction. The other dogs were hopelessly bogged.
Indeed, we were like flies in treacle.
Gradually, I hauled myself along the line that was still tied to my
wrist, till without any warning the dog turned round and slipped out
of his harness, and then once more turned his grinning face to where I
was struggling.
It was impossible to make any progress through the sish ice by
swimming, so I lay there and thought all would soon be over, only
wondering if any one would ever know how it happened. There was no
particular horror attached to it, and in fact I began to feel drowsy,
as if I could easily go to sleep, when suddenly I saw the trace of
another big dog that had himself gone through before he reached the
pan, and though he was close to it was quite unable to force his way
out. Along this I hauled myself, using him as a bow anchor, but much
bothered by the other dogs as I passed them, one of which got on my
shoulder, pushing me farther down into the ice.
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