On hearing this information I suffered a temporary access of despair.
He had escaped me, and I must commence a destructive and almost endless
journey across the mountainous ices of the ocean, amidst cold that few
of the inhabitants could long endure and which I, the native of a
genial and sunny climate, could not hope to survive. Yet at the idea
that the fiend should live and be triumphant, my rage and vengeance
returned, and like a mighty tide, overwhelmed every other feeling.
After a slight repose, during which the spirits of the dead hovered
round and instigated me to toil and revenge, I prepared for my journey.
I exchanged my land-sledge for one fashioned for the inequalities of
the frozen ocean, and purchasing a plentiful stock of provisions, I
departed from land.
I cannot guess how many days have passed since then, but I have endured
misery which nothing but the eternal sentiment of a just retribution
burning within my heart could have enabled me to support. Immense and
rugged mountains of ice often barred up my passage, and I often heard
the thunder of the ground sea, which threatened my destruction. But
again the frost came and made the paths of the sea secure.
By the quantity of provision which I had consumed, I should guess that
I had passed three weeks in this journey; and the continual protraction
of hope, returning back upon the heart, often wrung bitter drops of
despondency and grief from my eyes.
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