He felt neither fatigue nor the heat of the warm water about him.
Night came, and the moon rose, lighting up with a sickly glow the diseased world that had swallowed him.

He lay in the bottom of his canoe, covering his face with his caribou coat, and tried to sleep.

But sleep would not come.

Before dawn he struck on, watching his compass by the light of matches.

All that day he made no effort to swallow food.
But with the coming of the second night he found the air easier to breathe.