So overpoweringly sweet was the thought of springing once more, like the beasts of Circe, from a walrus into a man.  At this time I was tearing my bear’s-meat just like a bear; I was washing my hands in walrus-blood to produce a glairy sort of pink cleanliness, in place of the black grease which chronically coated them.

Worn as I was, I made little delay to set out for that ship; and I had not travelled over water and ice four hours when, to my in-describable joy, I made out from the top of a steep floe that she was the Boreal.  It seemed most strange that she should be anywhere hereabouts:  I could only conclude that she must have forced and drifted her way thus far westward out of the ice-block in which our party had left her, and perhaps now was loitering here in the hope of picking us up on our way to Spitzbergen.

In any case, wild was the haste with which I fought my way to be at her, my gasping mouth all the time drawn back in a rictus of laughter at the anticipation of their gladness to see me, their excitement to hear the grand tidings of the Pole attained.  Anon I waved the paddle, though I knew that they could not yet see me, and then I dug deep at the whitish water.  What astonished me was her main-sail and fore-mast square-sail—­set that calm morning; and her screws were still, for she moved not at all.  The sun was abroad like a cold spirit of light, touching the great ocean-room of floes with dazzling spots, and a tint almost of rose was on the world, as it were of a just-dead bride in her spangles and white array.  The Boreal was the one little distant jet-black spot in all this purity:  and upon her, as though she were Heaven, I paddled, I panted.  But she was in a queerish state:  by 9 A.M.  I could see that.  Two of the windmill arms were not there, and half lowered down her starboard beam a boat hung askew; moreover, soon after 10 I could clearly see that her main-sail had a long rent down the middle.

I could not at all make her out.  She was not anchored, though a sheet-anchor hung over at the starboard cathead; she was not moored; and two small ice-floes, one on each side, were sluggishly bombarding her bows.

I began now to wave the paddle, battling for my breath, ecstatic, crazy with excitement, each second like a year to me.  Very soon I could make out someone at the bows, leaning well over, looking my way.  Something put it into my head that it was Sallitt, and I began an impassioned shouting.  ‘Hi!  Sallitt!  Hallo!  Hi!’ I called.

I did not see him move:  I was still a good way off:  but there he stood, leaning steadily over, looking my way.  Between me and the ship now was all navigable water among the floes, and the sight of him so visibly near put into me such a shivering eagerness, that I was nothing else but a madman for the time, sending the kayak flying with venomous digs in quick-repeated spurts, and mixing with the diggings my crazy wavings, and with both the daft shoutings of ’Hallo!  Hi!  Bravo!  I have been to the Pole!’