Limited as was their supply of provisions, however, they unselfishly offered to share with Bob and his two companions the little they had, as is the custom with people who have not learned the harder ways of civilization and therefore live pretty closely to the Golden Rule.  This hospitality was a considerable strain upon their resources, for the twelve dogs in addition to their own would require no small amount of flesh and fat to keep them even half-way fed; and the whale meat that had been brought for the dogs from Ungava Post was nearly all gone.

Akonuk had been instructed by Mr. MacPherson to discover the whereabouts of these very Eskimos and arrange with two of them to go on with Bob, after which he and Matuk were to secure from them food for themselves and their team and return to Ungava.

A good part of the hardtack, boiled pork and venison still remained, for, as we have seen, the game they had killed on the way had pretty nearly been enough for their wants.  It was fortunate for Bob that they had these provisions, which required no cooking, for otherwise he would have had to eat the raw seal as the Eskimos did.  They understood his aversion to doing this, and generously, and at the same time preferably, perhaps, ate the uncooked meat themselves, and left the other for him.

March passed into April, and daily the situation grew more desperate, as the provisions diminished with each sunset.  Bob was worried.  It began to look as though he and the Eskimos were doomed to perish on this miserable island.  He was sorry now that he had not waited at Ungava for the ship, and been more patient, for then he would have reached Eskimo Bay in safety.  At first the Eskimos were very cheerful and apparently quite unconcerned, and this consoled him somewhat and made him more confident; but finally even they were showing signs of restlessness.

Every day he was becoming more familiar with their language and could understand more and more of their conversation, and he drew from it and their actions that they considered the situation most critical.  Back of the igloos was a hill a couple of hundred feet high, and many times each day the men of the camp would climb it and look long and earnestly to the north, where the heaving billows of Hudson Straits and the sky line met, broken only here and there by huge icebergs that towered like great crystal mountains above the water.  They were watching for the ice field that they hoped would drift down with each tide to bridge the sea that separated them from the distant mainland.

The early April days were growing long and the sun’s rays shining more directly upon the world were gaining power, though not yet enough to bring the temperature up to zero even at high noon, but enough to remind the men that winter was aging, and the ice hourly less likely to come back.