234 THE NORTH POLE 



they traveled were enveloped in the white cloud of their 

 own breath. 



I traveled ahead of my division this march, and 

 whenever I looked back could see neither men nor dogs 

 — only a low-lying bank of fog glistening like silver in 

 the horizontal rays of the sun behind it to the south — 

 this fog being the steam of the dog teams and the men. 



The going during this march was fairly good, except 

 at the beginning, where for about five miles we zig- 

 zagged through a zone of very rough ice. The distance 

 covered was at least twelve miles. Our camp that night 

 was on a large old floe in the lee of a large hummock of 

 ice and snow. 



Just as we had finished building our igloos, one of 

 the Eskimos who was standing on the top of the hum- 

 mock shouted excitedly: 



"Kling-mik-sue! " (Dogs are coming.) 



In a moment I was on the hummock beside him. 

 Looking south I could see, a long distance away, a little 

 bank of silvery white mist lying on our trail. Yes, it 

 was surely the dogs. A little later Seegloo, of Borup's 

 party, dashed up on a light sledge drawn by eight dogs, 

 with a note from Marvin containing the welcome news 

 that he, Borup, and their men had slept the previous 

 night at our second camp back; that they would sleep 

 the next night at our first camp back, and catch up with 

 us on the following day. The rear party, with its 

 precious loads of oil and alcohol, was over the "Big 

 Lead!" 



Henson at once received instructions to get away 

 early the next morning with his division of Eskimos and 

 sledges, to pioneer the road for the next five marches. 



