Finding traveling so troublesome in the storm, and much difficulty in getting observations, Lockwood resolved to remain there for better weather, all sleeping as much and eating as little as possible. Indeed, Brainard agreed with Lockwood that, if the easterly trend of the coast should continue, they had better spend their time in going directly north over the sea. On the 11th, it being still stormy and no other land in sight, they remained in their sleeping-bags on the island, which from its shape was first called “Shoe Island,” but afterward “Mary Murray.” All of them suffered greatly with cold feet in the mean while; and, although Lockwood’s feet were wrapped in blankets, furs, and socks, they were like lumps of ice. To husband their few rations, they had eaten very little of late, and doubtless to this may be attributed their cold feet. The dogs were ravenous for food. When feeding-time came, it was amid blows from the men and fights among the dogs that the distribution was made. Old Howler was conspicuous on these occasions. That he might secure all he could, he bolted ball after ball of the frozen mass, and then would wander around, uttering the most unearthly howls while the mass was melting in his stomach. He was, indeed, a character. He had an air of utter weariness and dejection, as well he might, for who can be more miserable than the dethroned monarch, jeered, cuffed, and condemned by his late subjects? One day one of the dogs swallowed a live lemming, and the little animal went squealing all the way down to the corporation.