Wilfred Thomason Grenfell,
Adrift on an Ice-Pan
(1909)
“ Yet I saw I must have the skins of some of my dogs,—of which I had eight on the pan,—if I was to live the night out. There was now some three to five miles between me and the north side of the bay. There, immense pans of Arctic ice, surging to and fro on the heavy ground seas, were thundering into the cliffs like medieval battering-rams. It was evident that, even if seen, I could hope for no help from that quarter before night. No boat could live through the surf. ”
