Feb. 27th. Shredded-wheat supply fast diminishing. S. busy all day cleaning Plock's oomiak and leggins. Will it come to him? March 3rd. Last of leggins for lunch. Whinney slightly ill, but eyesight improving. A good day's hauling. Crossed two open leads but saw no seal. March 4th. A great day! Sighted seal herd two miles away, the first we have seen on the floe. Stalked them carefully, taking Frissell with me. By "playing seal," yooping and crawling, succeeded in getting into the very center of herd where we killed two with atomizers. A great saving of ammunition. Seal gorge tonight. March 5th. All hands ill. March 6th. Same. March 12th. Finished last of seal. Plock's oomiak tomorrow. March 14th. No food whatsoever. Very weak. March 15th. Same. Weaker. March 16th. (The writing is almost illegible) Plock. March 19th. Finished Plock. Tough, as always." March 20th dawned as a day of despair. My companions, weakened by starvation, refused to pull another ounce. We had come to a standstill. Scarcely able to stand, desperate, but still unwilling to admit myself beaten, I set forth alone. Swank would have accompanied me but fell as he attempted to climb down to the ice and was unable to rise. "Don't go," he pleaded. "Herman," I said, "if the Traprock expedition perishes, Traprock will be the first man to go." I wrung his hand and departed. Four miles from the ship I fainted. Regaining consciousness I crawled on, on my hands and knees. Another spasm of dizziness seized me and I sank down to rest. As I did so, a far-off sound reached me, the faint roaring of a bull seal. Peering across the floe I saw him dimly. He must have been slightly over a mile away. At 6000 yards I fixed him tremblingly on the crossed wires of my telescopic sight. Even then his image was vague, but it was now or never. Bang! A louder roar reached me and I saw the great brute raise himself convulsively. But would he still escape me? No! He lay still. When I reached him two hours later I saw, somewhat to my chagrin, why he had not moved. He was a giant chap of the "phoca barbata" family, the bearded seal. His beard was frozen in the ice. My shot had been wasted.[27] Fate seems sometimes to play her last trick on a man and, finding she cannot down him, suddenly gives up and turns to helping him. So it was in my case. Fortified by a draught of warm seal oil, which was like nectar to my lips, I made my way back to the Kawa with as much of the great carcass as I could carry. The rest was speedily brought aboard. The effect of the physical reinforcement was magical.