In the last issue (...of SEARCH magazine which reprinted this story - Branton...) John Bringingham tells how he found a diary in a wrecked plane down in the far northland. This is that story.

Lon Merton was born in Chicago in 1883. His family moved to a farm in the Midwest and Lon grew into adulthood there: After losing.his parents and suffering through an unfortunate love affair, Lon went to Europe, eventually ending up in Norway where he signed on with a fishing crew and headed for the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean.

Upon nearly completing a successful season, the vessel was caught in a terrible storm. Told to abandon ship, Lon and the sick sailor found themselves adrift on an ice floe.

They never saw their ship again. Soon his companion died, yet Lon continued to drift northward with shelter and provisions from the lifeboat.

After a long while he noticed the air was warmer . : .

I think it was on the tenth day that I forgot to wind my watch, and in consequence, I became somewhat lost as to time and direction. I thought, however, that I still drifted northward. There was VERY LITTLE ICE to be seen, and in fact, my own piece (of ice) had diminished considerably.

I now began to think seriously of launching my boat in case the ice block should break up. One day after I had awakened from a long sleep; I thought I saw land to the NORTHWARD. It was so much like low, black clouds on the horizon, that I did not have much hope; but there was no change in them which there would have been, had they been clouds. So my hope became stronger as the hours passed. If that was land I must try to reach it.

I inspected the boat closely. It was a good sized one, strong and fully rigged with oars and a mast and sail of necessary. I could row fairly well, and might manage to use the sail in fair breezes.

(One section here seems to be missing - Branton)

...came which produced snapping in the ice nearly up to my camp, made me hasten to work. I cut a groove in the ice from the boat to the water and with the aid of a lever managed to move the boat a few inches at each push. It was slow work but at last I had the boat close to the water. I lost no time in loading, placing on board everything that I thought would be of use to me. I had provisions enough for a month, but the question of fresh water compelled me to remain on the ice for twenty-four hours longer melting ice by the oil lamp for water to fill a good sized cask. Then, when all was ready, I pushed the boat into the water and jumped in.

There was a fair breeze, I judged from the cast, and I carefully hoisted the sail, steering as near to the wind as I dared. For a good many hours, I made progress. Then the wind freshened and I had to lower my sail somewhat. In time, the wind changed to quite a gale and veered around so that it blew straight from what I supposed was the land which I was seeking. I then had to lower the sail completely, and do what I could with the oars to keep my boat from driving too much and being filled with the waves. For a time the gale continued and the sea rolled high. To get a little sleep was the worst, and I believe a good many twenty-four hours went by with me watching and working during the twenty.

It seems to me now, that again I ought to have given up as lost, but I did not. True, I became very tired and worn out, but I did not lose hope. I may as well acknowledge it here, that a higher power had charge of me, and was shaping events.

After a time the wind ceased again and then I rowed and rowed. I was getting weak, but the land appeared to get a trifle nearer, and that gave me hope. Soon I had the sail up again, and then I made better progress. I could now see the outlines of rounded hills. I was sure of it. As I drew nearer, they became bolder, and rocky points pierced the blue sky. I could see no trace of snow on them, which surprised me exceedingly.

Then at last I sailed up under the lee of high, precipitous cliffs. I sought for a place to land, but everywhere there was nothing but sheer rock (a rock barrier) to the water. I skirted the cliffs for a whole day before I found an opening into the land. By taking in the sail and rowing carefully, I managed to slip into a small cove, where a smooth, sandy beach reached inland some distance. The first thing I did on landing, was to securely fasten the boat, and then lie down in it and go to sleep.

I slept a good long time, I am sure. I felt much better after it, and then I ate a good meal. My water was getting low, and my first thought was to search for more. Leaving everything in the boat, I climbed up over the hills. All was rock not a vestige of soil or vegetation. At some distance up, I looked out over the water and saw the white ice in the distance. It seemed to be coming nearer, but that, I thought, was due to me climbing. I toiled upwards a good many hours but I found nothing but rock. Looking down at the sea, I was now sure the ice was setting in rapidly towards the shore. I was fearful of my boat, so I hurried down again. I reached the shore, barely before the ice. It came on with a dull crushing roar and pitted itself up against the rocks. My boat was somewhat protected, but I hastily carried some of my most valuable articles up the hills out of reach of the advancing ice. With terrific power the ice jam crushed against the rocks as if it would dislodge the very mountains. The ice arose higher and higher. As far as I could see, it was coming on. I had barely gotten away from my third trip to the boat, when a great rush of ice tumbled into the cove, filling it up completely. My boat was crushed, and lay buried under a great mass of ice.