And any vessel that might have approached this colossal magnet must have incurred certain destruction.

Our schooner must have perished, even as its boat had been dashed into a shapeless wreck.
West now reminded us that it was imprudent to prolong our stay upon this Land of the Sphinx--a name to be retained.

Time pressed, and a few days' delay would have entailed our wintering at the foot of the ice-barrier.
The order to return to the beach had just been given, when the voice of the half-breed was again heard, as he cried out: "There! There! There!" We followed the sounds to the back of the monster's right paw, and we found Dirk Peters on his knees, with his hands stretched out before an almost naked corpse, which had been preserved intact by the cold of these regions, and was as rigid as iron.

The head was bent, a white beard hung down to the waist, the nails of the feet and hands were like claws.
How had this corpse been fixed to the side of the mound at six feet above the ground?
Across the body, held in place by its cross-belt, we saw the twisted barrel of' a musket, half-eaten by rust.
"Pym-my poor Pym!" groaned Dirk Peters.
He tried to rise, that he might approach and kiss the ossified corpse.

But his knees bent under him, a strangled sob seemed to rend his throat, with a terrible spasm his faithful heart broke, and the half-breed fell back--dead! The story was easy to read.