leads were open here and there in every direction.
Fortunately none of them immediately crossed our trail, and the going
was much as on the previous day.

[Illustration: APPROACHING A LEAD THROUGH ROUGH ICE]

During this march we saw, above the summits of the great land mountains
which were still visible to the south of us, a flaming blade of yellow
light which reached half way to the zenith--in other words, after nearly
five months, we could almost see the sun again as he skimmed along just
under the southern horizon. Only a day or two more, and his light would
shine directly upon us. The feeling of the arctic traveler for the
returning sun after the long darkness is a feeling hard to interpret to
those who are accustomed to seeing the sun every morning.

On the following day, March 4, the weather changed. The sky was overcast
with clouds, the wind had swung completely around to the west during the
night, there were occasional squalls of light snow, and the thermometer
had risen to only 9 deg. below zero. This temperature, after that of the
minus fifties, in which we had been traveling, seemed almost
oppressively warm. The leads were even more numerous than the day
before, and their presence was clearly outlined by the heavy black
clouds. A mile or two east of us there was a lead stretching far to the
north and directly parallel with our course, which did not cause us any
apprehension. But a broad and ominous band of black extending far to the
east and west across our course and apparently ten or fifteen miles to
the north of us, gave me serious concern. Evidently the ice was all
abroad in every direction, and the high temperature and snow
accompanying the west wind proved that there was a large amount of open
water in that direction.

The outlook was not pleasant, but as some compensation the going was not
quite so rough. As we advanced, I was surprised to find that as yet none
of the leads cut Bartlett's trail. Consequently we made good progress,
and though the march was distinctly longer than the previous one, we
reached Bartlett's igloo in good time.

[Illustration: STOPPED BY OPEN WATER]

Here I found a note from Bartlett which had evidently been despatched by
an Eskimo, informing me that he was in camp about a mile farther
north--held up by open water. This explained the black, ominous band
which I had been watching for hours on the northern horizon, and which
had gradually risen as we approached until it