The health of Simpson became alarming; an obstinate cold, violent rheumatism, and intolerable pain forced him to lie down on the sledge, which he could no longer guide. Bell took his place; he was not well, but was obliged not to give in. The doctor also felt the influence of his terrible winter excursion, but he did not utter a complaint; he marched on in front, leaning on his stick; he lighted the way; he helped in everything. Hatteras, impassive, impenetrable, insensible, in as good health as the first day, with his iron constitution, followed the sledge in silence. On the 20th of January the weather was so bad that the least effort caused immediate prostration; but the difficulties of the ground became so great that Hatteras and Bell harnessed themselves along with the dogs; the front of the sledge was broken by an unexpected shock, and they were forced to stop and mend it. Such delays occurred several times a day. The travellers were journeying along a deep ravine up to their waists in snow, and perspiring, notwithstanding the violent cold. No one spoke. All at once Bell looked at the doctor in alarm, picked up a handful of snow, and began to rub his companion's face with all his might. "What the deuce, Bell?" said the doctor, struggling. But Bell went on rubbing. "Are you mad? You've filled my eyes, nose, and mouth with snow. What is it?" "Why," answered Bell, "if you've got a nose left, you owe it to me." "A nose?" said the doctor, putting his hand to his face. "Yes, Mr. Clawbonny, you were quite frostbitten; your nose was quite white when I looked at you, and without my bit of rubbing you would be minus nose." "Thanks, Bell," said the doctor; "I'll do the same for you in case of need." "I hope you will, Mr. Clawbonny, and I only wish we had nothing worse to look forward to!" "You mean Simpson! Poor fellow, he is suffering dreadfully!" "Do you fear for him?" asked Hatteras quickly. "Yes, captain," answered the doctor. "What do you fear?" "A violent attack of scurvy. His legs swell already, and his gums are attacked; the poor fellow is lying under his blankets on the sledge, and every shock increases his pain. I pity him, but I can't do anything for him!" "Poor Simpson!" said Bell. "Perhaps we had better stop a day or two," said the doctor. "Stop!" cried Hatteras, "when the lives of eighteen men depend upon our return! You know we have only enough provisions left for twenty days." Neither the doctor nor Bell could answer that, and the sledge went on its way. In the evening they stopped at the foot of an ice-hill, out of which Bell soon cut a cavern; the travellers took refuge in it, and the doctor passed the night in nursing Simpson; he was a prey to the scurvy, and constant groans issued from his terrified lips. "Ah, Mr. Clawbonny, I shall never get over it. I wish I was dead already."