January 21—Thirteen of us down with sickness. I asked the surgeon, who was lying mortally ill, whether any remedy might be found in his chest. He answered he had used as many remedies as he knew and if God would not help, there was no remedy. It need scarcely be explained that lack of exercise and fresh vegetables had brought scurvy on Munck’s crew. In accordance with the spirit of the age, the pestilence was ascribed not to man’s fault but to God’s Will. January 23—This day died my mate, Hans Brock, who had been in bed five months. The priest sat up in his berth to preach the sermon, which was the last he ever gave on this earth. January 25—Had the small minute guns discharged in honor of my mate’s burial, but so exceedingly brittle had the iron become from frost that the cannon exploded. February 5—More deaths. I again sent to the surgeon for God’s sake to do something to allay sickness, but he only answered as before, if God did not help there was no hope. February 16—Nothing but sickness and death. Only seven persons now in health to do the necessary work. On this day died a seaman, who was as filthy in his habits as an untrained beast. February 17—Twenty persons have died. February 20—In the evening, died the priest. Have had to mind the cabin myself, for my servant is also ill. March 30—Sharp frost. Now begins my greatest misery. I am like a lonely wild bird, running to and fro waiting on the sick. April 1st—Died my nephew, Eric Munck, and was buried in the same grave as my second mate. Not one of us is well enough to fetch water and fuel. Have begun to break up our small boats for fuel. It is with great difficulty I can get coffins made. April 13—Took a bath in a wine-cask in which I had mixed all the herbs I could find in the surgeon’s chest, which did us all much good. April 14—Only four beside myself able to sit up and listen to the sermon for Good Friday, which I read. May 6—Died John Watson, my English mate. The bodies of the dead lie uncovered because none of us has strength to bury them. Doom seemed to settle over the ship when Munck, himself, fell ill in June. On the floor beside his berth, lay the cook’s boy dead. In the steerage were the corpses of three other men. On the deck lay three more dead, “for”—records Munck—“nobody had strength to throw them overboard.” Besides himself, two men only had survived. These had managed to crawl ashore during ebb tide and had not strength to come back.