The Argosy — page 162: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

150 Peril on the Sea. The Norwegian leather jacket and fur cap, fitted with lappets for the ears, warded off frost-bites. In addition to these articles of clothing, he drew over his reindeer-skin boots and nether garments a sleeping-bag, which is a bag made from reindeer or other skin, and long enough to envelope the whole figure ; a highly necessary protec- tion in a climate where an inadvertent exposure to frost would deprive one of the toes for the rest of one’s life. So equipped, Carl Hansen mechanically continued his task of keeping the Concordia straight with the wind ; until, through the semi- darkness of the sixth day, he saw land close before him. Then the blood quickened in his veins, and, steering for the shore, he searched for a sheltered cove. Fortunately, he found one that formed a miniature harbour. Here he made soundings with his oar, and found a position to anchor in, which enabled him to wade on shore. Wild and inhospitable was the scene. Rugged rocks, surmounted by spectral-looking glaciers, bound the dreary coast : not a sign of habitation or trace of humanity. He stood alone ; a solitary ‘waif amid the towering, forbidding pinnacles of ice; far from his fellows, and without hope of succour. But two pressing needs blunted the sense of his desolation. Thirst and want of sleep made paramount demands for the present. So he collected a pailful of snow, and having melted it, satisfied himself with long, life-renewing draughts. Then he proceeded to make himself as comfortable as possible in the cuddy, and soon fell into a slumber which lasted for twelve hours. He awoke refreshed, and, strong with new hope and energy, ate the small portion of food he had allotted for each day, washed it down “with another copious draught of melted snow, and then proceeded to explore. He managed to climb a rocky cliff that was not quite so inacces- sible as most on the coast, and leaving marks as he went, that he might be able to retrace his path, he wandered a mile or two in each direction, hoping to find some trace of human life, perchance a Lapp fisherman’s hut. But Carl Hansen sought in vain; nothing but a dreary waste of snow, edged and dotted over with hills of ice, whose points sharply pierced the air, rewarded his search. The wind had now dropped to a calm, and, as he groped his way back to the boat, he could hear the sound of his own footfalls on the crisp snow echo behind him through the dead silence. To his excited imagination it seemed as though he was followed by a ghostly and relentless pursuer, who, with grim leisure, sure of his prey, dogged his steps. A panic of fear seized him, and he commenced to run ; then, with a strong effort of will, he checked his flight, and turned to peer around him. Nothing was visible, as far as he could see, but the stationary hummocks of snow and glaciers of ice, looming larger through the deepening darkness—for night was approaching. comicbooks.com