This he calculated was the tip of a long point jutting out into the Bay, half-way between The Jug and the Post.

Ten miles of the distance was behind him.

He drew farther out upon the ice.
There were times when Andy had to throw himself prone upon the ice with his face down and sheltered by his arms to escape suffocation.
"'Tis gettin' wonderful nasty," he said, "but I'll have plenty o' grit, like Jamie says, and with the Lord's help I'll pull through." Then he found himself repeating over and over again the prayer: "Dear Lord, help me through! 'Tis to save a life, and the scout oath! Dear Lord, help me through!" The gale had now risen to such terrific proportions that often he was compelled to crawl upon his hands and knees.

With each momentary lull he would rise and stagger forward.

His legs worked at these times without conscious effort.