Jens, the untiring Esquimau hunter, was drowned, his kayak being cut by the sharp edge of a piece of ice.

Ellis, Whisler, Israel, the astronomer, and Dr.Pavy, the surgeon, one by one, passed away.
But why continue the pitiful chronicle?
To tell the story in detail is impossible here--to tell it baldly and hurriedly, means to omit from it all that makes the narrative of the last days of the Greely expedition worth reading; the unflagging courage of most of the men, the high sense of honor that characterized them, the tenderness shown to the sick and helpless, the pluck and endurance of Long and Brainard, the fierce determination of Greely, that come what might, the records of his expedition should be saved, and its honor bequeathed unblemished to the world.

And so through suffering and death, despairing perhaps, but never neglecting through cowardice or lethargy, any expedient for winning the fight against death, the party, daily growing smaller, fought its way on through winter and spring, until that memorable day in June, when Colwell cut open the tent and saw, as the first act of the rescued sufferers, two haggard, weak, and starving men pouring all that was left of the brandy, down the throat of one a shade more haggard and weak than they.
Men of English lineage are fond of telling the story of the meeting of Stanley and Dr.Livingston in the depths of the African jungle.

For years Livingston had disappeared from the civilized world.

Everywhere apprehension was felt lest he had fallen a victim to the ferocity of the savages, or to the pestilential climate.