298 FOUR YEARS IN THE WHITE NORTH [May 



On Friday, May 11th, we crossed over the summit of 

 the big Sparks Glacier. To my surprise, although the 

 temperature was twenty-two below zero, near the sea 

 ice on the southern side there was a spouting stream 

 of water issuing from a crevice. Freezing as it fell, it 

 looked like a composite picture of a geyser of Yellow- 

 stone Park and a winter scene at Niagara Falls. 



As I was descending the glacier, I noted the existence 

 of an unmapped island embedded in the sea ice two miles 

 from shore and about two miles south of Paget Point. 

 To my inquiry, the Eskimo boys replied that it was an 

 island; that they had often camped upon it when bear- 

 hunting; and that in size it was about that of Littleton 

 Island near Etali, which would make it a mile long and 

 a half-mile wide. This I have named Orne Island. 



How often in the North I have blessed the man of 

 centuries ago who devised the snow-shoe. It is the 

 only part of one's equipment for which one feels a real 

 affection. To strap on a pair of snow-shoes and stride 

 off over the surface through which a man has been wal- 

 lowing laboriously for hours must be very similar to the 

 sensation experienced by a spent swimmer who reaches 

 for and clutches a life-preserver. Think of the gritty 

 Englishmen of the British Expedition of 1875-76 plod- 

 ding day after day through snow thigh-deep along the 

 northern shore of Grant Land, until, finally, physically 

 exhausted by their efforts, they resorted to standing 

 pulls and the count, "One — two — three — pull!" One 

 step at a time! And remember Beaumont and his men 

 from the Discovery crawling on hands and knees through 

 deep snows across the Keltic Gulf.? They were men! 

 But, unfortunately, men who knew nothing of the 

 Indian snow-shoe. 



