My Arctic Journal, 1893

Whilst the greatest effort has been made to ensure the quality of this text, due to the historical nature of this content, in some rare cases there may be minor issues with legibility. I rarely, if ever, take up the thread of our Arctic expe riences without reverting to two pictures: one is the first night that we spent on the Greenland shore after the depar ture of the Kite, when, in a little tent on the rocks - a tent which the furious wind threatened every moment to carry away bodily - she watched by my side as I lay a helpless cripple with a broken leg, our small party the only human beings on that shore, and the little Kite, from which we had landed, drifted far out among the ice by the storm, and invisible through the rain. Long afterward she told me that every unwonted sound of the wind set her heart beating with the thoughts of some hungry bear roaming along the shore and attracted by the unusual sight of the tent; yet she never gave a sign at the time of her fears, lest it should disturb me.