72 FOUR YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [April 



It had now been blowing so long that as we crawled 

 into the igloo that night I hoped it would blow itself 

 out before morning, for go we must, as there was no 

 game here. Breakfast over, a cloud of snow whirled 

 up into our faces as we kicked out the snow block form- 

 ing the door, causing us to dive into our bags for wind- 

 proofs to prevent the snow from driving into our sheep- 

 skin shirts. Laying a course by the wind, we headed 

 out across the bay into the drift, hoping to strike well 

 up the coast. It was only a few miles, but it seemed many 

 before we found ourselves among a series of low hills, 

 the sledges dragging on gravel. We headed north, fol- 

 lowing the interminable windings of the shore, which 

 was so low and shelving that time and time again we 

 kept our course only by following the tidal crack. It 

 cleared up beautifully that night as we were finishing 

 the igloo. Hvitberget seemed so near that we were 

 quite disappointed in the day's work. 



On April 11th we reached what we thought must be 

 Cape Thomas Hubbard. Another furious wind-storm 

 compelled us to take refuge in another dugout beneath 

 a high, black cliff, and here we were determined to re- 

 main until it cleared up, so as to give us our bearings. 

 In the morning we were startled by the crunching of 

 snow at our entrance — the supporting party had come 

 on schedule time. I was mighty glad to see Green and 

 his two Eskimo boys. Their sledges contained every- 

 thing that I needed to fill out twenty-five full days on 

 the Polar Sea. If Crocker Land were only 120 miles 

 distant from shore, as Peary thought, and as indicated 

 on the latest maps, then we should go out in twelve 

 days and back in seven, at the most. Two or three 

 days on the new land, together with storms and 



