GREENLAND BY THE POLAR SEA 



there it is only 250 kilometres to Etah, the country of hares and 

 reindeer. 



As a light in the distance shines the possibility of meeting 

 my ship, the Cape York, at Etah in the beginning of Septem- 

 ber, and the thought of getting home to Denmark this autumn 

 undeniably stiffens our energy considerably. 



CAMP 12 



(1,130 metres above sea-level. Distance, 21 kilometres). 



August 18th-19th. — At eight o'clock in the morning we set 

 off, but it was soon apparent that it would not be a good day. 

 With the wind half a point abeam we walked heavily through a 

 very strong drift of south-south-west. Now and then the gusts 

 would be so violent that we tottered on our skis, but on we must 

 go, the knife at our throats ! I was on the point of being over- 

 whelmed by tiredness a few times during the fight against the 

 rough snow-showers, but there was nothing for it but to swallow 

 the pain and forge ahead. With our decreasing provisions this 

 was an uncanny race. Stubbornly we toiled ahead for five 

 hours until one o'clock ; then suddenly the drift increased to a 

 storm which swathed us all in white layers of snow. We 

 stopped on the spot, as all resistance was in vain. 



To pitch the tent in weather like this proved both a fight and 

 an art, but we did succeed. It was impossible to clear anything 

 of snow, and all baggage was quickly thrown into the tent in its 

 snow-covered state, whereafter we ourselves sat down in a circle 

 like perching hens and let the storm blow. Such is the situa- 

 tion whilst I am writing this. The Fohn has thawed the snow 

 in our clothes and we are wet through. The fine " snow-sand " 

 of the glacier drifts in through the seams of the tent and covers 

 us ; but we try to take it all in good spirits, singing American 

 football songs which we remember from McMillan's gramo- 

 phone whilst we cook a panful of pemmican gruel. 



A few hours later the violent showers, which threaten to 

 rob us entirely of our old tent, cease, and the wind becomes a 

 steady and persistent gale. Having eaten the gruel, we lie 

 down to sleep, leaving the storm to its own moods. 

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