About 2 A. M. of Christmas Day the wind began blowing from the south and was soon howling across the ship in a level torrent of white rage. Every stay and shroud was humming like a great æolian, and the ice about us was cracking and groaning with the strain. So violent was the wind that the window of the Captain’s stateroom was blown in. At 8 A. M. it was absolutely calm, the stars shining brilliantly, temperature at –6° F. and the air resonant with the dash of waves against the opposite side of the broad lead of open water.

The mess rooms were decorated with flags by the Doctor, and there were presents for everyone, principally candies and other creature comforts contributed by friends at home, at the head of whom stood Huyler. Among my own presents were a bottle of special champagne from home, another of ancient Tokay from a thoughtful friend, two or three letters, and a pillow of fragrant fir needles from Eagle Island, in a case worked by the blue-eyed little one who herself had been born within the precincts of the “Great Night.” The Christmas dinner was a special event shared alike by those forward as well as aft and appreciated by everyone.

Our Christmas festivities had, however, a somewhat startling and entirely unexpected ending. After dinner I paced the ice-foot for a couple of hours, busy with the crowding thoughts which my letters and presents had brought to me. Returning to my room I sat down to listen to the graphophone which the Doctor had started in the neighbouring mess room. A little later the ice began cracking and groaning, and in a moment or two it was evident to me that there was a new note in its complaint, entirely different from the usual accompaniment of the running of the spring tides. I stepped out upon the quarter-deck and could not only hear but feel the ice humming and cracking, not loudly but viciously under intense pressure. I called the Captain, stepped inside to put on my coat, extinguished my fire and the one in the adjoining workroom with a dipper of water, blew but my lamp, and passed forward through the house to the main deck.

When I reached there the ice had separated from the ice-foot, and the heavy floe which had squeezed us last September was moving off carrying with it our starboard ice-wall and leaving the starboard side of the ship completely exposed, with the black water lapping against the planking.

In a surprisingly short time the ice had disappeared completely in the inky darkness, and the black water stretched apparently limitless, giving back the image of every star. There was no cause for instant apprehension, the trouble would come when the ice came back with the turn of the tide, with nothing between the ship and it to break its momentum or cushion its blow.

The Eskimos were running about in great excitement, bringing up their children and household goods from the ’tweendecks; and not caring to have a lot of women and children to fall over in case of trouble, I had the stove in the big box house fired up and sent them all ashore to that shelter with their bedding and clothing. One of the crew and one of the Eskimo men who were temporarily on the sick list were likewise sent ashore.

Then accompanied by the Captain I made a careful tour of inspection of and about the ship, pointing out the possibilities of our position, and indicating what should be done to provide as far as possible against all contingencies. A full watch was kept on and everyone else turned in with their clothes on. The following day men and officers and Eskimos were busy running out all available lines from the port bow, quarter, and amidships, and also from the mastheads.

The weather continued clear and the temperatures very moderate. The evening flood-tide caused a great deal of movement and noise all about us, but brought no direct pressure upon the ship.

I had no fears that the Roosevelt would be crushed by any onset of the ice, but I did apprehend that she might be forced bodily up on to the ice-foot, thrown on her beam ends and pushed so far inshore that it would be impossible to float her another season. Another possibility was that a particularly violent gale, such as might occur at any time, would tear us from our moorings and carry us out into the moving pack, in which event there would not be one chance in a hundred of our being able to get the ship back to her present position again.

On the morning of the 28th a gust of south wind blowing through the ventilator holes in my stateroom door woke me and I went on deck immediately. It was then very clear, with the wind light and baffling from every quarter, evidently gathering its forces. At 5 A. M. it came on with a rush from the south, and increased in fury until nothing could be heard above its roar, and the ship was completely submerged in a blinding cataract of snow. In a short time a piece of ice on our starboard quarter began groaning and grinding against the ship’s side. Fearing it might break loose and, in the event that our propeller and rudder post were frozen into it, tear our stern from its moorings, every piece of line that could be found was run out from the port quarter and made fast to the ice-foot. As in all of these gales the temperature was comparatively high, being in this instance from seven to fourteen degrees above zero. Otherwise the work would have been extremely trying and even dangerous. One of the crew stumbling in a crack a few yards from the ship lost his bearings and after some time brought up at the box houses on the shore. Some of the Eskimos coming from the box houses to the ship lost their way and groped for some time before they got their bearings. At noon the wind had moderated and our stream anchor was attached to the end of the port chain cable, placed in a hole dug for it in the ice-foot behind a large grounded floeberg, and then frozen in.

For several hours during the day the Roosevelt rolled pronouncedly on the swell, swinging round Rawson from the wild sea in the mouth of Robeson Channel.

For several days after this there was more open water in the neighbourhood than at any time since our arrival. All the upper part of Robeson Channel was open and everything to the northeast and north from Rawson round to Sheridan and beyond inky black. At 3 A. M. of January 1st, the ice came in against our starboard side with a steady roar, but the Roosevelt turned it under her like water running into a mill-race, and the pressure ceased before any unusually heavy ice came against her. A little later the ice swung completely off-shore again.

The night of the 6th was a disagreeable anniversary to me. Seven years before I was struggling across Lady Franklin Bay in bitter cold and complete darkness, to bring up finally at Fort Conger with both feet frozen.

On the 7th a new baby arrived in the Eskimo settlement, a girl, quite likely the most northerly born of all children. On the 9th the air all day was full of the groaning, roaring, grinding of the ice, though no pressure came upon the ship.

This noise and commotion of the ice occurred almost continuously during the month, varying in intensity from time to time and the Roosevelt was subjected to pressures of more or less force. It was a period of constant anxiety with the ice pack surging back and forth along the shore on each tide and liable to crash in upon us at any time. Every one slept in their clothes, all lanterns and portable lights were kept filled and trimmed ready for immediate use, and provision was made for the instant extinguishment of all fires. The welcome twilight of returning day steadily increased, a considerable contingent of the Eskimos from the interior returned to the ship in the January moon bringing letters from Marvin containing the report of more musk-oxen secured. On the 7th of February, with the first light of the February moon, Marvin himself came in with the balance of the Eskimos and dogs and the report of more musk-oxen killed. This closed the winter campaign.