For our time at Ocean Camp had not been one of unalloyed bliss.

The loss of the ship meant more to us than we could ever put into words.

After we had settled at Ocean Camp she still remained nipped by the ice, only her stern showing and her bows overridden and buried by the relentless pack.

The tangled mass of ropes, rigging, and spars made the scene even more desolate and depressing.
It was with a feeling almost of relief that the end came.
"November 21, 1915 .-- This evening, as we were lying in our tents we heard the Boss call out, 'She's going, boys!' We were out in a second and up on the look-out station and other points of vantage, and, sure enough, there was our poor ship a mile and a half away struggling in her death-agony.

She went down bows first, her stern raised in the air.