﻿AT 
  THE 
  NORTH 
  POLE 
  ELLSWORTH 
  327 
  

  

  egotism 
  ! 
  Yet 
  there 
  it 
  was, 
  plainly 
  crossing 
  a 
  large 
  ice 
  floe. 
  Only 
  a 
  

   polar 
  bear, 
  but 
  then, 
  something 
  alive 
  and 
  seeking, 
  like 
  ourselves. 
  

   At 
  this 
  sight 
  the 
  sense 
  of 
  utter 
  solitude 
  — 
  the 
  illusion 
  of 
  disembodi- 
  

   ment 
  — 
  that 
  had 
  taken 
  possession 
  of 
  me, 
  as 
  I 
  seemed 
  to 
  float 
  through 
  

   the 
  void 
  like 
  a 
  lost 
  soul, 
  beyond 
  the 
  confines 
  of 
  a 
  three-dimensional 
  

   world, 
  vanished, 
  and 
  in 
  its 
  place 
  sprang 
  hope. 
  Just 
  ahead, 
  so 
  it 
  

   seemed, 
  lay 
  Alaska, 
  the 
  goal 
  of 
  our 
  dreams. 
  

  

  But 
  as 
  we 
  approached 
  the 
  Alaskan 
  coast 
  fears 
  assailed 
  us; 
  for 
  

   there 
  we 
  ran 
  into 
  the 
  only 
  storm 
  during 
  our 
  entire 
  voyage 
  — 
  fog, 
  

   wind, 
  and 
  sleet 
  — 
  and 
  for 
  31 
  hours 
  we 
  battled. 
  In 
  flying, 
  as 
  in 
  life, 
  

   it 
  is 
  not 
  what 
  we 
  see, 
  but 
  what 
  we 
  can 
  not 
  see, 
  that 
  we 
  fear. 
  Each 
  

   moment 
  held 
  not 
  only 
  something 
  new, 
  but 
  something 
  unpredictable. 
  

   Ice 
  coated 
  the 
  aerial 
  wire 
  and 
  froze 
  the 
  windmill 
  driver 
  of 
  our 
  gen- 
  

   erator, 
  which 
  supplied 
  the 
  electrical 
  energy 
  to 
  operate 
  the 
  transmit- 
  

   ter 
  and 
  charge 
  the 
  storage 
  batteries. 
  All 
  our 
  efforts 
  to 
  establish 
  

   communication 
  with 
  Alaska 
  were 
  of 
  no 
  avail. 
  The 
  last 
  message 
  

   from 
  Alaska, 
  before 
  the 
  wireless 
  ceased 
  to 
  work, 
  reported 
  a 
  cyclone 
  

   that 
  seemed 
  to 
  be 
  stationary 
  over 
  Bering 
  Sea. 
  Ice 
  crust 
  formed 
  in 
  

   the 
  bow 
  of 
  the 
  ship, 
  which 
  was 
  alarming, 
  not 
  only 
  because 
  it 
  loaded 
  

   her 
  down, 
  but 
  also 
  because 
  it 
  spoiled 
  her 
  trimming. 
  We 
  tried 
  to 
  

   counteract 
  the 
  effect 
  by 
  moving 
  the 
  fuel 
  from 
  the 
  bow 
  tanks 
  and 
  

   sending 
  the 
  crew 
  aft. 
  Needless 
  to 
  say, 
  our 
  greatest 
  danger 
  lay 
  in 
  

   the 
  ice 
  that 
  was 
  torn 
  loose 
  from 
  the 
  sides 
  of 
  the 
  ship 
  by 
  the 
  whirl- 
  

   ing 
  propellers 
  and 
  thrown 
  against 
  the 
  gas 
  bags. 
  An 
  ice 
  block 
  of 
  the 
  

   most 
  fantastic 
  shape 
  settled 
  on 
  the 
  sun 
  compass, 
  which 
  stopped 
  the 
  

   clockwork 
  and 
  put 
  it 
  out 
  of 
  action 
  for 
  the 
  rest 
  of 
  the 
  flight. 
  

  

  It 
  was 
  a 
  surprise 
  to 
  find 
  by 
  observation 
  at 
  4 
  a. 
  m. 
  on 
  May 
  13 
  that 
  

   we 
  were 
  in 
  a 
  nearly 
  north-south 
  position 
  on 
  a 
  line 
  striking 
  the 
  

   Alaskan 
  coast 
  and 
  passing 
  only 
  21 
  nautical 
  miles 
  west 
  of 
  Point 
  

   Barrow, 
  because 
  it 
  had 
  been 
  nearly 
  12 
  hours 
  since 
  the 
  last 
  longitude 
  

   observation. 
  At 
  6.45 
  a. 
  m. 
  land 
  was 
  sighted 
  ahead 
  on 
  the 
  port 
  bow, 
  

   and 
  at 
  T.25, 
  after 
  a 
  voyage 
  lasting 
  48 
  hours, 
  we 
  reached 
  the 
  coast. 
  

   Flat 
  and 
  snow 
  covered, 
  it 
  was 
  the 
  most 
  desolate 
  looking 
  coast 
  line 
  

   imaginable, 
  but 
  it 
  was 
  land 
  and 
  that 
  was 
  enough. 
  

  

  Passing 
  over 
  the 
  coast 
  line, 
  the 
  fog 
  became 
  denser 
  and 
  denser, 
  

   obliging 
  us 
  to 
  go 
  lower 
  and 
  lower 
  in 
  order 
  to 
  be 
  able 
  to 
  see 
  far 
  

   enough 
  ahead 
  so 
  as 
  not 
  to 
  run 
  against 
  obstacles. 
  At 
  last, 
  abreast 
  

   of 
  Cape 
  Beaufort, 
  it 
  became 
  impossible 
  to 
  see 
  any 
  longer, 
  and 
  we 
  

   rose 
  through 
  fog 
  and 
  cloud 
  into 
  bright 
  sunshine. 
  Heavy 
  layers 
  of 
  

   fog 
  drifted 
  beneath 
  us, 
  and 
  only 
  now 
  and 
  then 
  through 
  openings 
  in 
  

   it 
  could 
  we 
  glimpse 
  the 
  barren 
  peaks 
  of 
  the 
  Endicott 
  Range, 
  over 
  

   which 
  we 
  were 
  passing 
  — 
  far 
  too 
  little 
  to 
  enable 
  us 
  to 
  make 
  out 
  our* 
  

   whereabouts. 
  When 
  we 
  believed 
  ourselves 
  as 
  far 
  south 
  as 
  we 
  should 
  

   go 
  we 
  tried 
  to 
  drop 
  underneath 
  the 
  fog 
  and 
  so 
  find 
  the 
  way. 
  We 
  

  

  