The width of the crevasse was about six feet, so I hung
freely in space, turning slowly round.

A great effort brought a knot in the rope within my grasp, and, after a
moment's rest, I was able to draw myself up and reach another, and, at
length, hauled myself on to the overhanging snow-lid into which the rope
had cut. Then, when I was carefully climbing out on to the surface, a
further section of the lid gave way, precipitating me once more to the
full length of the rope.

Exhausted, weak and chilled (for my hands were bare and pounds of snow
had got inside my clothing) I hung with the firm conviction that all was
over except the passing. Below was a black chasm; it would be but the
work of a moment to slip from the harness, then all the pain and toil
would be over. It was a rare situation, a rare temptation--a chance to
quit small things for great--to pass from the petty exploration of a
planet to the contemplation of vaster worlds beyond. But there was all
eternity for the last and, at its longest, the present would be but
short. I felt better for the thought.

My strength was fast ebbing; in a few minutes it would be too late. It
was the occasion for a supreme attempt. New power seemed to come as I
addressed myself to one last tremendous effort. The struggle occupied
some time, but by a miracle I rose slowly to the surface. This time I
emerged feet first, still holding on to the rope, and pushed myself out,
extended at full length, on the snow--on solid ground. Then came the
reaction, and I could do nothing for quite an hour.

The tent was erected in slow stages and I then had a little food. Later
on I lay in the sleeping-bag, thinking things over. It was a time when
the mood of the Persian philosopher appealed to me:

Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet?

I was confronted with this problem: whether it was better to enjoy life
for a few days, sleeping and eating my fill until the provisions gave
out, or to "plug on" again in hunger with the prospect of plunging at
any moment into eternity without the great luxury and pleasure of food.
And then an idea presented itself which greatly improved my prospects.
It was to construct a ladder from alpine rope; one end of which was to
be secured to the bow of the sledge and the other to be carried over
my left shoulder and loosely attached to the sledge harness. Thus, if
I fell into a crevasse again, it would be easy for me