Meanwhile the westerly wind--our coldest wind at this time of the year--was rising rapidly. It was very tantalizing, as I stood there with next to nothing on, the wind going through me, and every stitch soaked in ice-water, to see my _komatik_ some fifty yards away. It was still above water, packed with food, hot tea in a Thermos bottle, dry clothing, matches, wood, and everything for making a fire to attract attention, if I should drive out far enough for someone to see me--and yet it was quite beyond my reach. It is easy to see a black object on the ice in the day-time, for its gorgeous whiteness shows off the least thing. But, alas! the tops of bushes and large pieces of kelp have so often deceived those looking out that the watcher hesitates a long time before he takes action. Moreover, within our memory no man has ever been thus adrift on the bay ice. The chances were one in a thousand that I would be seen at all, and, even if I were, I should probably be mistaken for a fragment of driftwood or kelp. To keep from freezing I took my long moccasins, strung out some line, split the legs, and made a kind of jacket, which preserved my back from the wind down as far as the waist. I had not drifted more than half a mile before I saw my poor _komatik_ disappear through the ice, which was every minute loosening up into small pans. The loss of the sledge seemed like that of a friend, and one more tie with home and safety lost. By midday I had passed the island and was moving out into the ever-widening bay. It was scarcely safe to stir on the pan for fear of breaking it, and yet I saw I must have the skins of some of my dogs--of which there were eight on the pan--if I was to live the night out. There was now from three to five miles of ice between me and the north side of the bay, so I could plainly see there was no hope of being picked up that day, even if seen, for no boat could get out. Unwinding the sealskin traces from my waist, around which I had them coiled to keep the dogs from eating them, I made a slip-knot and passed it over the first dog’s head, tied it round my foot close to its neck, threw him on his back, and stabbed him to the heart. Poor beast! I loved him like a friend, but we could not all hope to live. In fact, at that time I had no hope that any of us would, but it seemed better to die fighting.