say cold, ef it had n' a-blowed so tarrible hard.) First step, I
stumbled upon somethun in the snow, seemed soft, like a body! Then
I comed all together, hopun an' fearun an' all together. Down I goed
upon my knees to un, an' I smoothed away the snow, all tremblun,
an' there was a moan, as ef 't was a-livun.

"'O Lard!' I said, 'who's this? Be this one of our men?'

"But how could it? So I scraped the snow away, but 't was easy to
see 't was smaller than a man. There was n' no man on that dreadful
place but me! Wull, Sir, 't was a poor swile, wi' blood runnun
all under; an' I got my cuffs[10] an' sleeves all red wi' it. It
looked like a fellow-creatur's blood, a'most, an' I was a lost man,
left to die away out there in th' Ice, an' I said, 'Poor thing!
poor thing!' an' I did n' mind about the wind, or th' ice, or the
schooner goun away from me afore a gale (I _would_ n' mind about
'em), an' a poor lost Christen may show a good turn to a hurt thing,
ef 't was on'y a baste. So I smoothed away the snow wi' my cuffs,
an' I sid 't was a poor thing wi' her whelp close by her, an' her
tongue out, as ef she'd a-died fondlun an' lickun it; an' a great
puddle o' blood,--it looked tarrible heartless, when I was so nigh
to death, an' was n' hungry. An' then I feeled a stick, an' I thowt,
'It may be a help to me,' an' so I pulled un, an' it would n' come,
an' I found she was lyun on it; so I hauled agen, an' when it comed,
't was my gaff the poor baste had got away from me, an' got it
under her, an' she was a-lyun on it. Some o' the men, when they
was runnun for dear life, must ha' struck 'em, out o' madness like,
an' laved 'em to die where they was. 'T was the whelp was n' quite
dead. 'Ee'll think 't was foolish, Sir, but it seemed as though
they was somethun to me, an' I'd a-lost the last friendly thing
there was.

[Footnote 10: Mittens.]

"I found a big hummock an' sheltered under it, standun on my feet,
wi' nawthun to do but think, an' think, an' pray to God; an' so
I doned. I could n' help feelun to God then, surely. Nawthun to
do, an' no place to go, tull snow cleared away; but jes' drift
wi' the great Ice down from the Nothe, away down over the say,
a sixty mile a day, mubbe. I was n' a good Christen, an' I could
n' help a-thinkun o' home an' she I was troth-plight wi', an' I
doubled over myself an' groaned,--I could n' help it; but bumby
it comed into me to say my prayers, an' it seemed as thof she was
askun me to pr