Marvin came in from the ship at 9 P. M. of the 4th, with three Eskimos and Ryan, the fireman who was to take young Percy’s place, the latter having been invalided back to the ship with an injured eye.

On the 5th, the last eight sledges got away for Point Moss, I bringing up the rear with Inueto, as I had to see that things remaining at Hecla were left in order, and the permanent igloo there closed against wind and drifting snow.

The day was clear and cold with violent gusts of wind from the northwest driving in our faces.

My sledge being loaded with bulky articles of spare equipment, was somewhat top-heavy and repeatedly capsized.

I arrived at Point Moss a little before midnight, after a good but fatiguing march. It was brilliant moonlight, and the twilight arc now swung nearly all the way through north.

March 6th I left Point Moss and headed northward from the land over the Polar pack.

In 1902 it was just a month later that I left Hecla going north. And four years previous, on the 6th of March, I left Payer Harbour with eighteen sledges on a journey which took me to 84° 17′ north latitude; a great march as regards distance and latitude covered.

I quote from my Journal: “If I can do as well this time we shall win. God and all good angels grant it, and let me seize this great trophy for the Flag.”

We were rather late in getting started and it was noon when we left the edge of the ice some two miles north of the land. Here the sun was visible for a few moments through a notch in the southern mountains. Was it a good omen? I thought that it must be.

An ideal day, clear and calm and bitter cold, the southern sky vivid yellow, the northern rose-coloured like my dreams.

The going was good at first though our trail was tortuous, but later became extremely arduous.

Reaching Henson’s first igloo, Marvin, Ryan and I remained and began working upon an additional igloo, while I sent my Eskimos ahead with half-loads to form an advance cache and reconnoitre the ice. They returned with a report that the ice was heavily rafted since yesterday’s party passed and the trail faulted. Two sledges were considerably damaged by the day’s work. My supper and breakfast of tea and raw frozen, musk-ox steak were more than enjoyable.

Again I quote from my Journal: “The battle is on at last. We are straightened out on the ice of the Polar Sea heading direct for our goal.”

The 7th was another fine day, somewhat milder than the 6th with more or less mist hiding the land and partially obscuring the sun. Good going up to the advance loads, beyond which, after some skirmishing, we picked up the broken trail again on young ice. While we were traversing this ice, pronounced movement occurred and leads and rafters began to form about us, sometimes occurring between successive sledges, and it required rapid, effective work to assemble all the sledges upon a fragment of old floe some hundred yards across, where we were compelled to wait some time, until the motion of the ice ceased. When it did so, after another brief skirmish, we picked up the trail north of us, and followed it to the second igloo. Here two Eskimos remained with me, to build an igloo, Marvin and Ryan taking their places with the sledges and returning with the others to bring up the previous day’s advance loads. When they returned they reported the ice still in motion in our rear, and that they had reached the cache just in time to save it from being obliterated by a huge rafter.

While at this camp, the floe on which my igloos were built split in two, shattering the igloos, and the ice, evidently under severe pressure, rumbled and groaned continuously. The 8th was a fine day with some wind from the northwest, and the land hidden by water-smoke forming over the numerous cracks and narrow leads resulting from the movement of the ice.

The going was comparatively good on this march, except where the movement of the ice had faulted the trail. Two more sledges were broken and held together just long enough to reach camp. At this camp again the floe on which my igloos were built cracked under the terrific pressure, and the igloos shook and trembled as if by an earthquake shock, so that some of the Eskimos rushed out in alarm. The cracking and uneasiness of the ice continued during our stay in this camp. The rapid increase of daylight was marked here by the insertion of an ice window in our igloo which enabled us to distinguish objects inside throughout the entire night. An early start was made on the 9th in spite of heavy northwest wind and disagreeable drift. A few hours later I met the captain returning with his party from the cache at the end of the first division, fixed by me at the end of the 6th march. He had left Henson the day before, and on the way back met the Doctor and Clark, so that a few moments’ conversation with him put me in touch with conditions and the location of everyone ahead of me. He reported the ice in motion everywhere, the floe upon which my advance loads were placed yesterday drifted a mile or more to the southeast, and the trail disrupted for a long distance. I gave him detailed instructions and he disappeared in the rear of my party on his way to Hecla for additional loads. This was a fairly good march though we were steadily drifting eastward. I hoped that with the cessation of the spring tides and the continuance of the bitter cold the ice would become more stable.

On the 10th the ice was more quiet; there was little wind: the day was fine and the going comparatively good. I quote from my Journal: “Things are too favourable. I am oppressed with the fears of open water ahead.”

On the 11th I overtook Clark and the Doctor at cache number one, and was able to simplify and assist the work of both in some details. The next two days were a continuance of the fine but bitterly cold weather. The Three-star brandy on my sledge was frozen continuously. On the 15th I overtook Henson and the Doctor with their parties camped together, Henson claiming to be stalled by the weather. I gave him explicit instructions and started him out. I then sent Marvin and his party back to Hecla for additional supplies in order to give Henson a start, and utilised my own and Clark’s parties in bringing up supplies from cache number one, and in pushing loads ahead from this camp. While at this camp the Captain came in, having been six marches from Hecla. The men sent out on Henson’s trail reported that the going beyond here was the best yet.

I quote from my Journal:

March 17th.—A glorious day, clear as a crystal and the sun is shining nearly twelve hours. The land distinctly visible, but not as far away as I could wish. The Captain and his party pulled out early and Clark and his party soon after. I brought up the rear a little later with my party.

After working through about a mile of fearfully rough ice, we came out upon what looked as if it might be (and God knows I hoped it was) the comparatively unbroken homogeneous ice of the central Polar Sea. A beautiful sight, the level, slightly drifted snow plain stretching away apparently infinitely to the North.

March 18th.—Another glorious day but bitterly cold, the brandy remaining frozen and the petroleum white and viscid; my dogs very tired and unambitious. It is aggravating not to be travelling faster in such weather and going, and it is not pleasant to be at the rear attending to loose ends, but I have the consolation of knowing that my advance parties are, or ought to be, a good distance ahead, and that before long I shall be in my proper place at the very head of the line, breasting the air that comes direct from the pole uncontaminated by any form of life. At this camp one new sledge was made out of two broken ones.

And so the work went on, the parties going and coming, myself in touch with and pushing those ahead of me and pulling those in the rear, so to speak, in a position where I could straighten out any little hitches and keep the distribution of the parties such as to minimise the work of igloo building, and prevent confusion rising when two or three parties got bunched together. It was brute hard work and bitter cold. The brandy continued frozen and oil viscid, but everyone was eager and cheerful. The Captain, Doctor, and Clark on the qui vive all the time, and the Eskimos hustling with their usual willingness. On the 22d, at my camp on a big floe selected for this purpose, cache number two was established. Although the work was not moving with the speed which I could have desired, it was moving with such apparent smoothness that I constantly feared some insurmountable obstacle was waiting for us just ahead, and yet I felt that it might be that twenty years of work, disappointment and sacrifice would perhaps be allowed to win. During the night of the 21st at this camp the wind came on fresh from the west, blowing with distinct fierceness all night and day of the 22d and causing pronounced changes in the ice. Our big floe cracked and rumbled frequently and the walls of our igloo were split but not so seriously as to be beyond repair. Wind shelters were constructed for the dogs and they were double rationed. Although a bitter day, the 22d was the first day since I left land that I was held up by the weather, and I could have travelled on this day had there been any necessity for it, but to have done so would only have piled my party up on top of the Captain’s, who was now one march ahead of me, and given us unnecessary and disagreeable labour and discomfort in building an additional igloo in the wind and driving snow. When we left this camp, I found, as I had expected, that the storm had caused pronounced changes in the ice. Some two miles from camp a newly formed lane of water a hundred yards or more wide gave us some trouble to negotiate, and at two other places enormous pressure leads had been formed across the Captain’s trail. The northern ice in every instance had shifted to the eastward.

Several narrow leads that the Captain’s party passed, and on which the intense cold had already formed young ice gave us no trouble. Our camp at the end of this march was located in a hollow between two enormous hummocks on a large old floe.

I quote from my Journal:

Though I fight against it continuously, I find it impossible under conditions like to-day not to indulge in some thoughts of success as I tramp along, and I get so impatient that I do not want to stop at the igloos but keep right on and on. At night I can hardly sleep waiting for the dogs to get rested sufficiently to start again. Then I think, what will be the effect if some insuperable obstacle, open water, absolutely impossible ice, or an enormous fall of snow knock me out now when everything looks so encouraging? Will it break my heart, or will it simply numb me into insensibility? And then I think, what’s the odds, in two months at the longest the agony will be over, and I shall know one way or the other, and then whichever way it turns out, before the leaves fall I shall be back on Eagle Island again, going over the well-known places with Jo and the children, and listening to the birds, the wind in the trees, and the sound of lapping waves (do such things really exist on this frozen planet?).

Four good marches were reeled off from cache number two in good weather. Ten years ago I would have called these marches fully fifteen miles each, now I hoped they were at least twelve. In the second march there was considerable young ice which I feared might give the Captain some trouble on his return march. A vigorous wind at any time would cause the big floes on either side of this ice to crumble it up like so much window glass and leave only an irregular rafter or two to show that it ever existed. At one of our camps the night was the most uncomfortable yet. We and everything in the igloo were thickly covered with our frozen breath, and it seemed impossible to make the stove give out heat enough to boil our tea. The thermometer which I carried with me to prevent breaking had a bubble jarred into it by my falling in rough ice and was stubborn to remedy. There was little doubt, however, that our temperature was in the minus sixties. Several leads in these marches gave us some trouble, causing considerable detours and the records of Henson and the Captain in their igloos showed that they had had the same trouble.

I quote from my Journal:

March 25th.—This morning I discarded the light deerskin coat in which I had travelled thus far for an old but dry one. The former was simply sodden while I had it on, froze solid as soon as I took it off and it had to be thawed out in the morning with the warmth of my hands. Last night was a little more comfortable than the previous one, but not much. I got the bubble out of the thermometer and when I took it outside the igloo it fell so rapidly from minus 25° F. (the temperature of our bed platform where it had been resting close to my head) that at first I feared it was broken. It finally stopped at minus 61½° F. During the march it has ranged from minus 55 and minus 53 to minus 50 in the sun, and yet to-day has been the most comfortable one for the past week (my Eskimos corroborate this). Am sorry now I did not put the thermometer in commission sooner. We must have had some record temperatures.

A dog abandoned by one of the parties ahead and which I picked up yesterday, fed last night and tied in the other igloo so the wind would not reach him, pricked up his hitherto dejected ears at my appearance and after he had eaten another piece of pemmican lay down and rolled on his back like any civilised dog. He is utterly useless, poor thing, but has worked faithfully, no doubt, and as I have pemmican to spare just now he shall not starve yet. To-day he has kept on in one of the teams and his hitherto hopeless eyes brighten, I fancy, when he looks at me.

Quite a bit of young ice in to-day’s march and several magnificent old floes with hummocks on them like ranges of hills. The sun is rapidly creeping around to complete the entire circle, and at noon I fancy there is a slight sensation of warmth in his rays.

To-day has been quite hazy or smoky like the days immediately after we left the land which I do not like, as this means cracks or leads in the ice. But the weather we are having is just the thing, cold and calm, to cement the ice firmer and firmer, and quickly render any new cracks or leads passable. I hope it may continue so till we get back to the land; the colder and the calmer the better. I want no wind or mild weather until we are back on board ship.

March 26th.—A glorious day, and a splendid march, over the finest going and then—bang up against it, as I have been fearing all along. I have been dreaming too much these last few days, for which there could be of course, but one result, a black eye to my hopes of speedy success.

Early in the morning heard the welcome sound of grinding ice and turning out found the lead, beside which we had camped, had narrowed enough to eliminate the unsafe ice. We were soon packed and over, following the Captain’s new trail, which gradually swung westward until it cut Henson’s trail beyond his igloo. (The thermometer had registered –60° F. during the night, and stood at –52° F. when I took it up.)

After striking Henson’s trail we kept on over large old floes of hard surface interrupted by not particularly difficult pressure ridges, and after a good long march reached Henson’s igloo.

His record said that he was here during the storm of the 22d and had left on the 23d. A postscript undated said there was an igloo just ahead and a lead beyond. The Captain’s record of the 25th said he was leaving about noon to join Henson.

I had noticed in coming up to the igloos a dark object on the northern edge of the floe, and now assumed it to be an empty tin, or cast off clothing on top of an igloo.

When my men came up we fed the dogs, put our gear inside, and began making tea, when Ahngmalokto said he could hear dogs up ahead of us. I turned the tea making over to him, and went out to investigate.

I soon met the Captain coming out to me, and found three parties banked up here, by a broad open lead extending east and west across our course, farther than we could see. I immediately started to investigate the lead and from a pinnacle it looked as if there might be a chance to cross during the night. The northern ice was slowly moving west.

I told Henson to have his men stand watch and watch, and if the chance came to notify everyone so that a quick crossing could be effected. I then went back to my igloo.

After my tea I sent a note to the Captain telling him if there was a chance to cross, to travel with Henson for two days and then return, and a note to Henson to get across the lead at the first possible moment and push on.

Early in the morning of the 27th I went up to see how things were going, and met the Captain coming to report that Henson had started to try and get across to the west, and he was about to follow.

When he got away I climbed a pinnacle to reconnoitre and was not encouraged. The lead was evidently widening. Came down and sent a note to the Captain that if he could not get across to return with every one and I would send him and Clark and their men back for more supplies. I could not afford to feed all these teams and people here during what might be a several days’ wait.

The Captain and Clark got away before noon with seven sledges, and I moved up beside the lead. At night the lead was still widening and the ice slowly moving west. Min. during night –66° F. temperature during day about –60°.

The northern ice continued slowly in motion to the west during the 28th, which was a fine day.

I sent Henson and an Eskimo west with a light sledge to trace the lead. They reported the lead widening in that direction and a branch swinging northwest and southwest.

Two Eskimos sent east reported the lead impracticable in that direction and a branch swinging off to southeast. The lead was slowly widening so that the young ice had no time to get firm.

Late in the evening, after a few preliminary cracks, the ice broke about us with a furious rending sound, and jarring of the igloo.

Going out I found that a crack some twelve feet wide had opened in our floe a short distance to the south, cutting us from the main floe. A good day though hazy. Movement of northern ice decreasing, and the lead skimming over. Another fine day followed. The movement of the ice had practically ceased, and the lead was skimmed over so as to cut off the dense vapour that had been obscuring our view to the north.

The Eskimos claimed to see water to the north, but I could see nothing but mirage, and declined to believe in it until I had it at my feet.

Satisfactory observations with sextant and transit gave Lat. 84° 38′ + Longitude 74° W. approx, and Var. 107½° W. We were somewhat farther west than I intended owing to the constant tendency of Henson and his party to turn to the left in negotiating leads and areas of rough ice.

I did not sleep much during the night of the 30th (not but that I was comfortable enough physically) and we had an early tea.

A raw, cloudy, threatening morning with a breeze from S. S. W. true which I feared would develop into a gale. In the afternoon and evening it cleared and was fine again. I got my observations just in time.

The ice had ceased its motion entirely now, and in the afternoon of the 31st the young ice on the lead (now some two miles wide) was safe except a strip about 100 feet wide in the centre, with a narrow band of open water in its middle.

I sent Henson with one man and the long sledge to the east on the young ice, and he reported the main lead narrowing and branching, one branch running S. E. true. The band of young ice and the water crack continued on east.

In the afternoon I had the men cut a sledge road through the rubble ice, bordering the lead, to the young ice, as we might be able to get a start the next day.

Sunday, April 1st.—This was nearly a perfect day not a speck or flaw in the blue sky anywhere, and the sun brilliant and warm (comparatively).

It was a shame to be wasting such weather in idleness, and yet it could not be helped, nor was it possible to be seriously downhearted in such sunshine. In the morning the centre of the lead had closed so that a man “walking wide” as the polar bear does, could cross it, but an easterly movement of the northern ice during the night had opened a place some 200 feet wide on the northern side of the lead which effectually barred crossing. The set of the current was still to the west. A light air from N. E., N. and N. W. during the day might I hoped shut the lead up by morning.

We continued drying our clothing in the sun and doing odd jobs to pass away time and keep from thinking. It was wearing to be held from one’s work and object so many days, and yet there were many chances yet. It was still early in the season, dogs and men were in good condition, and I could not help believing that once across this lead (the “Hudson River?”) which is undoubtedly the tidal crack between the land ice of Lincoln Sea and the central polar pack, we should have good going and little interruption from water.

I had two beacons made of empty pemmican tins and placed one on the summit of Observatory Pinnacle, and the other on a high pinnacle to the west.

I quote from my Journal:

April 2d.—Across the “Hudson River” at last, thank God, after a loss of seven days of fine weather.

Ryan came in about nine last evening with his three men Ahngodoblaho, “Teddy” and Itukashoo.

He brings a story of delay from open leads at the igloos where the Doctor turned back; again this side of cache number two, and in his last march here, which makes my men’s faces very long. The Captain was also bothered by open water and was three days getting to the cache. Ryan met him just this side.

On the other hand he says from the “Dr.’s igloos” in to the land the ice has not moved, and that there was no wind in near the land on the 22d.

He brought very light loads. But it all helps, and Marvin and Clark must be close behind.

My impatience about the lead would not let me sleep, so at 2 A. M. I had tea ready and sent my two men to reconnoitre. They were gone a long time, and I made up my mind they could find no crossing, when they returned, and said they thought the ice would hold at a place a little west of where we had been watching it.

Turned everyone out, and sent all the sledges across with light loads on each and, when they returned hurried everything else on to them and went across with everyone except Ryan and two of his men (I took the other one with me), who started right back.

While the men were scouting I had written notes of instruction to Marvin, Clark, Captain, Doctor, and Ryan himself, which the last-named took back with him.

With everything over Henson packed his sledges and got away at 8 A. M. My men built an igloo, double rationed their dogs, and I arranged their loads, and put what remained in a prominent cache on a hummock of the old floe on which we camped. A beautiful day but colder, and the going north appeared to be good. I hoped it was.

The point of view makes a great difference. From here the broad “Hudson River” looked much fairer than it did from the other side, and looking across its shining surface to the purple shadows under the opposite ice banks, a very strong imagination might even fancy a resemblance to its namesake.