here was a biting northeasterly breeze, and the dogs traveled forward
in their own white cloud of steam. On the polar ice we gladly hail the
extreme cold, as higher temperatures and light snow always mean open
water, danger, and delay. Of course, such minor incidents as frosted and
bleeding cheeks and noses we reckon as part of the great game. Frosted
heels and toes are far more serious, because they lessen a man's ability
to travel, and traveling is what we are there for. Mere pain and
inconvenience are inevitable, but, on the whole, inconsiderable.

This march was by far the hardest for some days. At first there was a
continuation of the broken and raftered ice, sharp and jagged, that at
times seemed almost to cut through our sealskin kamiks and hareskin
stockings, to pierce our feet. Then we struck heavy rubble ice covered
with deep snow, through which we had literally to plow our way, lifting
and steadying the sledges until our muscles ached.

During the day we saw the tracks of two foxes in this remote and icy
wilderness, nearly two hundred and forty nautical miles beyond the
northern coast of Grant Land.

Finally we came upon Bartlett's camp in a maze of small pieces of very
heavy old floes raftered in every direction. He had been in his igloo
but a short time, and his men and dogs were tired out and temporarily
discouraged by the heart-racking work of making a road.

I told him to take a good long sleep before getting under way again; and
while my men were building the igloos, I lightened the loads of
Bartlett's sledges about one hundred pounds, to put them in better trim
for pioneering in this rough going. The added weight would be less
burdensome on our own sledges than on his. Notwithstanding the crazy
road over which we had traveled, this march netted us twelve good miles
toward the goal.

We were now across the 87th parallel and into the region of perpetual
daylight, as the sun had not set during the last march. The knowledge
that we had crossed the 87th parallel with men and dogs in good
condition, and plenty of supplies upon the sledges, sent me to sleep
that night with a light heart. Only about six miles beyond this point,
at 87 deg. 6', I had been obliged to turn back nearly three years before,
with exhausted dogs, depleted supplies, and a heavy and discouraged
heart. It seemed to me then that the story of my life was told and that
the word failure was stamped across it.

Now, three years older, wi