KNOCKING AT THE GATEWAY 93 



"At such and such a place, so far from here, is a 

 little niche behind the delta of a stream, where we can 

 drive the Roosevelt in, if necessary"; or: 



"Here icebergs are almost invariably grounded, 

 and we can find shelter behind them"; or: 



"Here is a place absolutely to be shunned, for the 

 floes pile up here at the slightest provocation, in a way 

 that would destroy any ship afloat." 



It was this detailed knowledge of every foot of the 

 Ellesmere Land and Grant Land coasts, combined 

 with Bartlett's energy and ice experience, that en- 

 abled us to pass four times between this arctic Scylla 

 and Charybdis. 



The fog lifted about nine o'clock the first night 

 out, the sun peeped through the clouds, and as we 

 passed Payer Harbor, on the Ellesmere Land side, 

 we saw, sharply outlined against the snow, the house 

 where I wintered in 1901-2. A flood of memories rushed 

 over me at sight of the place. It was in Payer Harbor 

 that Mrs. Peary and my little daughter had waited 

 for me, on the Windward from September, 1900, to 

 May, 1901, the ice being so heavy that year that the 

 ship could neither reach Fort Conger, three hundred 

 miles beyond, where I was, nor regain the open water 

 to the south and return home. That was the spring 

 when I had been obliged to turn back at Lincoln 

 Bay, because the exhaustion of my Eskimos and dogs 

 made a dash for the Pole impossible. It was at 

 Payer Harbor that I had rejoined my family; it was 

 at Payer Harbor that I had parted from them, 

 determined to make one fight more to reach the 

 goal. 



