The day before had been calm and sunny, but the 25th was snowy and disagreeable, with a raw northerly wind.

The snow was driving in horizontal sheets across the decks, the water was black as ink, the ice a spectral white, and the coast near us looked like the shores of the land of ghosts.

One of our berg pieces was carried away by the flood tide, and we were obliged to shift our position to the inner side of the other one; but there were other grounded bergs outside us to take the impact of the larger floes.
On general principles, I landed a cache of supplies at this point on the following day.

The possibility of losing the ship was always present; but if everything went well the cache could be made use of in the hunting season.

The supplies, in their wooden boxes, were simply piled upon the shore.