BOAT JOURNEY INTO IXOLEFIELD c;ULF 1 97 



the Arctic blast was upon us, literally cutting the tops off the 

 waves and hurling them in solid masses of water far up the 

 cliffs. The icebergs went tearing out of the bay like ships in 

 a ten-knot breeze. A number of these bergs sailed in toward 

 our little island, and, grounding at the upper end of the 

 channel, formed a complete breakwater. When the wild gusts 

 struck these great bergs they rocked and groaned, flung them- 

 selves at each other with thunderous crash, reeling backward 

 shattered and split from the shock, while all the time the 

 waves dashed against their outer faces, climbed in white jets 

 clear to their tops, and fell in intermittent cataracts into the 

 waters of our little harbor. It seemed as if we were at the 

 very gates of the Hyperborean Inferno. All night long this 

 struggle continued, the flying spray from the iceberg break- 

 water dashing against the tent, drenching it and all its con- 

 tents. Mr. Peary and Matt spent the greater part of the 

 night in holding up the tent-poles. 



By morning the storm had exhausted its fury, and we were 

 on our journey once more. But heavy weather soon set in 

 again, and a disagreeable drizzle continued throughout the 

 night and the greater part of the following day. We made 

 a bee-line diagonally across the gulf to Karnah, the castellated 

 clifts of which could just be discerned through the gray mist 

 which hung low over the water. Head winds and a contrary 

 flood-tide made our progress slow, and it was only after a long 

 and weary day of hard work for the men at the oars, and of 

 wet and cold and cramp for those in the stern of the boat, 



