A short shrift seemed to me better than a long one, and I
envied the dead dogs whose troubles were over so quickly. Indeed, I
came to balance in my mind whether, if once I passed into the open
sea, it would not be better by far to use my faithful knife on myself
than to die by inches. There seemed no hardship in the thought. I
seemed fully to sympathize with the Japanese view of hara-kiri.
Working, however, saved me from philosophizing. By the time I had
skinned these dogs, and with my knife and some of the harness had
strung the skins together, I was ten miles on my way, and it was
getting dark.
Away to the northward I could see a single light in the little village
where I had slept the night before, where I had received the kindly
hospitality of the simple fishermen in whose comfortable homes I have
spent many a night. I could not help but think of them sitting down to
tea, with no idea that there was any one watching them, for I had told
them not to expect me back for three days.
Meanwhile I had frayed out a small piece of rope into oakum, and mixed
it with fat from the intestines of my dogs. Alas, my match-box, which
was always chained to me, had leaked, and my matches were in pulp. Had
I been able to make a light, it would have looked so unearthly out
there on the sea that I felt sure they would see me.
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