140 FOUR YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [Feb. 



joined by the other two sledges, which had crossed 

 the Sound far to the north. 



At length we emerged from a maze of bergs, holes, and 

 snowbanks, and concluded to make camp on the west- 

 ern shore of Northumberland Island. All harnesses were 

 removed from the dogs; coats, boots, whips, skins were 

 taken into the igloo; and the sledges were stacked up 

 against the cliff out of reach of the starving dogs. If 

 the weather permitted, they would be fed at our next 

 station, forty miles away. Five days of hard work, and 

 on one of those days covering a hundred miles, is quite 

 enough to give a dog an appetite. 



We were off in the morning, determined to make our 

 distance. That march in the moonlight across the great 

 white expanse of sea ice between Northumberland 

 Island and Cape Chalon (Peteravik) stands out promi- 

 nently in my memories of five years of Arctic work. We 

 drove from behind with whip and voice; I mingled with 

 my dogs and cheered them on; then I rushed far out 

 ahead, to whistle and call. I resorted to every expedi- 

 ent to place another mile under our feet. The tired, 

 weakened dogs, with drooping heads and straight tails, 

 plodded wearily on, the perfectly empty sledge crawling 

 at a snail's pace behind them. 



Gradually all the sledges dropped into the gray light 

 far in the rear; I was alone. I held the course steadily 

 toward black-striped Cape Chalon. There the Eski- 

 mos were in camp and must have meat. Fearful lest I. 

 might miss the igloos in the dark, the dogs were directed 

 toward the front of the Clements Markham Glacier 

 with the intention of following closely the shore north- 

 ward. 



The jaded dogs smelled home long before the lighted 



