Our original intention of starting again as soon as the sledges were ready was abandoned.  We did not lose very much by this; on the contrary, we gained on the whole.  The dogs —­ the most important factor of all —­ had a thorough rest, and were well fed.  They had undergone a remarkable change since our arrival at the Butcher’s Shop; they now wandered about, fat, sleek, and contented, and their former voracity had completely disappeared.  As regards ourselves, a day or two longer made no difference; our most important article of diet, the pemmican, was practically left untouched, as for the time being dog had completely taken its place.  There was thus no great sign of depression to be noticed when we came back into the tent after finishing our work, and had to while away the time.  As I went in, I could descry Wisting a little way off kneeling on the ground, and engaged in the manufacture of cutlets.  The dogs stood in a ring round him, and looked on with interest.  The north-east wind whistled and howled, the air was thick with driving snow, and Wisting was not to be envied.  But he managed his work well, and we got our dinner as usual.  During the evening the wind moderated a little, and went more to the east; we went to sleep with the best hopes for the following day.

Saturday, November 25, came; it was a grand day in many respects.  I had already seen proofs on several occasions of the kind of men my comrades were, but their conduct that day was such that I shall never forget it, to whatever age I may live.  In the course of the night the wind had gone back to the north, and increased to a gale.  It was blowing and snowing so that when we came out in the morning we could not see the sledges; they were half snowed under.  The dogs had all crept together, and protected themselves as well as they could against the blizzard.  The temperature was not so very low (-16.6deg.  F.), but low enough to be disagreeably felt in a storm.  We had all taken a turn outside to look at the weather, and were sitting on our sleeping-bags discussing the poor prospect.  “It’s the devil’s own weather here at the Butcher’s,” said one; “it looks to me as if it would never get any better.  This is the fifth day, and it’s blowing worse than ever.”  We all agreed.  “There’s nothing so bad as lying weather-bound like this,” continued another; “it takes more out of you than going from morning to night.”  Personally, I was of the same opinion.  One day may be pleasant enough, but two, three, four, and, as it now seemed, five days —­ no, it was awful.  “Shall we try it?” No sooner was the proposal submitted than it was accepted unanimously and with acclamation.  When I think of my four friends of the southern journey, it is the memory of that morning that comes first to my mind.  All the qualities that I most admire in a man were clearly shown at that juncture:  courage and dauntlessness, without boasting or big words.  Amid joking and chaff, everything was packed, and then —­ out into the blizzard.