JANUARY 23.—Only eleven of us now remain; and the probability is very great that every day must now carry off at least its one victim, and perhaps more. The end of the tragedy is rapidly approaching, and save for the chance, which is next to an impossibility, of our sighting land, or being picked up by a passing vessel¹, ere another week has elapsed not a single survivor² of the Chancellor³ will remain.  
The wind freshened considerably⁴ in the night, and it is now blowing pretty briskly from the northeast. It has filled our sail, and the white foam⁵ in our wake is an indication that we are making some progress. The captain reckons that we must be advancing at the rate of about three miles an hour.
 
Curtis and Falsten are certainly in the best condition among us, and in spite of their extreme emaciation⁶ they bear up wonderfully under the protracted⁷ hardships we have all endured. Words cannot describe the melancholy⁸ state to which poor Miss Herbey bodily is reduced; her whole being seems absorbed into her soul, but that soul is brave and resolute⁹ as ever, living in heaven rather than on earth. The boatswain, strong, energetic man that he was, has shrunk into a

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