He heard a breath behind him. Very slowly, he rolled over on his other side. He could see nothing near, but he waited patiently. Again came the breath and cough, and he saw between two rocks not a score of feet away the head of a wolf. It seemed sick. As he looked it coughed again.
This at least was real, he thought, and turned on the other side so that he might see the reality of the world which had been covered from him before by the dream. But the sea still shone in the distance and the ship was clearly seen. Was it reality after all? He closed his eyes for a long while and thought, and then he remembered. He had been going north by east, away from the river Dease and into the Coppermine Valley. This wide river was the Coppermine. That shining sea was the Arctic Ocean. That ship was a whaler（捕鲸船）. He remembered the Hudson's Bay Company chart he had seen long ago, and it was all clear and reasonable to him.
He sat up and turned his attention to immediate affairs. He had worn through the blanket wrappings, and his feet were like raw meat. His last blanket was gone. Gun and knife were both missing. He had lost his hat somewhere, with the matches, but the matches against his chest were safe and dry inside the tobacco bag and oil paper. He looked at his watch. It marked eleven o'clock and was still running. Clearly he had kept it wound.
He was calm. Though extremely weak, he did not feel pain. He was not hungry. The thought of food was not pleasant to him, and whatever he did was done by reason alone. He tore off his trousers legs to the knees and tied them about his feet. Somehow he had succeeded in keeping the tin bucket. He would have some hot water before he began the terrible journey to the ship.