The chances were about one in a thousand that I should be seen at
all, and if I were seen, I should probably be mistaken for some piece
of refuse.
To keep from freezing, I cut off my long moccasins down to the feet,
strung out some line, split the legs, and made a kind of jacket, which
protected my back from the wind down as far as the waist. I have this
jacket still, and my friends assure me it would make a good Sunday
garment.
I had not drifted more than half a mile before I saw my poor komatik
disappear through the ice, which was every minute loosening up into
the small pans that it consisted of, and it seemed like a friend gone
and one more tie with home and safety lost. To the northward, about a
mile distant, lay the mainland along which I had passed so merrily in
the morning,--only, it seemed, a few moments before.
By mid-day I had passed the island to which I had crossed on the ice
bridge. I could see that the bridge was gone now. If I could reach the
island I should only be marooned and destined to die of starvation.
But there was little chance of that, for I was rapidly driving into
the ever widening bay.
[Illustration: DR. GRENFELL AND JACK
WITH THE JACKET MADE FROM MOCCASINS]
It was scarcely safe to move on my small ice raft, for fear of
breaking it. Yet I saw I must have the skins of some of my dogs,--of
which I had eight on the pan,--if I was to live the night out.
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