KNOCKING AT THE GATEWAY 89 



for punctuation the shock and jar of our crashing 

 assaults upon the floes. 



We steamed northward into the fog beyond Etah, 

 Greenland, on the afternoon of August 18, 1908. This 

 was the beginning of the last stage of the Roosevelt's 

 journey. All now on board would, if they lived, be with 

 me until my return the following year. As an ungentle 

 reminder of what was ahead of us, though going at 

 half speed because of the fog, we struck a small berg 

 a little way out from the harbor. Had the Roosevelt 

 been an ordinary ship instead of the sturdy ice-fighter 

 that she is, my story might have ended right here. 

 As it was, the shock of the impact jarred things con- 

 siderably. But the berg suffered more than the ship, 

 which only shook herself like a dog coming out of 

 the water, and with the main mass of the berg swaying 

 heavily on one side from the blow we had given it, and 

 a large fragment we had broken off churning the water 

 on the other side, the Roosevelt scraped between them 

 and went on. 



This little incident made a strong impression on 

 the new members of my party, and I did not think it 

 necessary to tell them that it was only a mosquito 

 bite to the crunching and grinding between the jaws 

 of the heavier ice that was in store for us a little farther 

 on. We were working in a northwesterly direction 

 toward the Ellesmere Land side, and headed for Cape 

 Sabine, of terrible memories. As we steamed on, the ice 

 became thicker, and we had to turn south to get out of 

 the way of it, worming our course among the loose floes. 

 The Roosevelt avoided the heavier ice; but the lighter 

 pack she shoved aside without much difficulty. South 



