By Cecil Kuhne
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Sample text
At first light we once more began to explore the area around us, but without success. We waited three days, still hoping to see him reappear. We could only assume that he must have fallen through a fissure in the ice. Perhaps he succumbed to the shock of the icy water, for he had often complained of a bad heart. We had done everything in our power to save him. Now all that I could do was to organize our departure, in order not to further endanger the lives of those who remained. This sad turn of events was enough in itself to dampen the men’s spirits; they sincerely regretted the loss of their companion, who had set off with such noble intentions, only to meet his death.
To everyone’s surprise, Brusilov handed out pieces of chocolate, and even produced a bottle of champagne. Although we had only one mouthful each, it was not the quantity that mattered, but the fact that we were at 83° latitude, toasting our respective homeward journeys! We chatted for a while about the past, the present, and the future and then bade a moving farewell to our helpful companions, who set off for the ship on their skis. The blizzard gained in strength, causing the tent to snap and groan.
Of course, I may have simply been ill at the time, as my hallucinatory state the previous day had shown; but from then on I would never forget that dream. It was still vivid in my memory, despite all our trials and tribulations, when we finally arrived safe and sound at Cape Flora. My traveling companions also gained renewed strength from my dream, and their confidence grew even greater when on that same evening we came upon a large polynya,* where we were able to shoot some seals, which gave us a supply of fresh meat and blubber for fuel.