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cooked before the rest of our party arrived; it took them but five hours to walk the nine miles. They were doing well, and, considering the circumstances, were in wonderful spirits. Most fortunately the day was windless, with a clear sun. All enjoyed the refreshment we had got ready; the crippled were repacked in their robes; and we sped briskly toward the hummock-ridges which lay between us and the "Pinnacly Berg."

It required desperate efforts to work our way over the surface floes, – literally desperate, for our strength failed us anew, and we began to lose our self-control. We could not abstain any longer from eating snow; our mouths swelled, and some of us became speechless. Happily the day was warmed by a clear sunshine, and the thermometer rose to -f degrees in the shade; otherwise we must have frozen.

Our halts multiplied, and we fell half-sleeping on the snow. I could not prevent it. Strange to say, it refreshed us. I ventured upon the experiment myself, making Riley wake me at the end of three minutes; and I felt so much benefited by it that I timed the men in the same way. They sat on the runners of the sledge, fell asleep instantly, and were forced to wakefulness when their three minutes were out.

By eight in the evening we emerged from the floes. The sight of the “Pinnacly Berg" revived Us. Brandy, an invaluable resource in emergency, had already been served out in table-spoonful doses. We now took a longer rest, and a last but stouter dram, and reached the brig at 1 P. M., we believe without a halt.

I say we believe; and here perhaps is the most decided proof of our sufferings: we were quite delirious, and had ceased to entertain a sane apprehension of the circumstances about us. We moved on like men in a dream. Our foot-marks, seen afterward, showed that we had steered a bee-line for the brig. It must have been by a sort of instinct, for it left no impression on the memory.

Bonsall was sent staggering ahead, and reached the brig, God knows how, for he had fallen repeatedly at the track lines; but he delivered with perfect accuracy the messages I had sent by him to Dr. Hayes. I thought myself the soundest of all, and I can now recall the muttering delirium of my comrades when we got back into the cabin of our brig. Yet I have been told since of some speeches and some orders too of mine, which I should have remembered for their absurdity if my mind had retained its balance.

Petersen and Whipple came out to meet us about two miles from the brig. They brought my dog team, with the restoratives I had sent for by.Bonsall. I do not remember their coming. Dr. Hayes entered with judicious energy upon the treatment our condition called for, giving morphine freely, after the usual frictions.

He reported none of our brain symptoms as serious, referring them properly to the class of those indications of exhausted power which yield to generous diet and rest. Mr. Ohlsen suffered some time from strabismus and blindness; two others underwent amputation of parts of the foot, without unpleasant consequences; and two died in spite of all our efforts.

This rescue party had been out for seventy-two

hours. We had halted in all eight hours, half of our number sleeping at a time. We traveled between eighty and ninety miles, most of the way dragging a heavy sledge. The mean temperature of the whole time, including the warmest hours of three days, was at —41 degrees. We had no water except at our two halts, and were at no time able to intermit vigorous exercise without freezing.

ELISHA K. KANE.

Biography.- Elisha Kent Kane (1820-1857), the celebrated Arctic explorer, entered the University of Virginia in 1836, afterward studied medicine, and entered the navy as a surgeon. After visiting many parts of the world, he joined an expedition to the Arctic regions in 1850. In 1853, he commanded a second expedition which made important discoveries. His work, “Second Grinnell Expedition in Search of Sir John Franklin,” is a thrilling narrative.

Notes. - Pitched our tent means fixed our tent firmly in position to shelter us.

82.-THE BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD.

můr'flęd, wrapped with some

thing to dull the sound. tat too', a beat of drum at night

as a signal for retiring. sěrried, croroded. re môrse'less, un pitying; cruel.

bịv'ou〠(biv'wăk), encampment

without tents.
em bälmed', loved ; preserved

from decay.
mär'tial (shăl), warlike.
€on'se erāt ed, sacred.

The muffed drum's sad roll has beat

The soldier's last tattoo;
No more on life's parade shall meet

The brave and daring few.
On Fame's eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards with solemn round

The bivouac of the dead.

No answer of the foe's advance

Now swells upon the wind,
No troubled thought at midnight haunts

Of loved ones left behind :
No vision of the morrow's strife

The warrior's dream alarms:
No braying horn or screaming fife

At dawn shall call to arms.

Their shivered swords are red with rust;

Their pluméd heads are bowed ; Their haughty banner, trailed in dust,

Is now their martial shroud; And plenteous funeral tears have washed

The red stains from each brow, And their proud forms, in battle gashed,

Are free from anguish now.

The neighing steed, the flashing blade,

The trumpet's stirring blast,
The charge, the dreadful cannonade

The din and shout, are past;
No war's wild note, nor glory's peal,

Shall thrill with fierce delight
Those breasts that never more shall feel

The rapture of the fight.

Like the dread northern hurricane

That sweeps the broad plateau, Flushed with the triumph yet to gain,

Came down the serried foe.
Our heroes felt the shock, and leapt

To meet them on the plain;
And long the pitying sky hath wept

Above our gallant slain.

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