202 THE LAST VOYAGE OF THE KARLUK 
get along so we stopped, built our igloo, drank some 
tea and turned in. 
At six o’clock the next morning, the fourth of 
April, we left the dogs and the sledge in camp and 
went ahead with pickaxes to make a trail through 
the rough ice. It was a fine, clear day. From a 
high rafter I could see an open lead on the other 
side of the belt of rough ice, and beyond the lead 
the ice-foot, itself, as it is called in Arctic parlance, 
—the ice which is permanently attached to the land 
and extends out into the sea. 
At ten o’clock, leaving Kataktovick to continue 
the road-making with the pickaxe, I went back to 
the camp, harnessed up the dogs and drove them 
along the trail that we had made. When we 
reached the open lead we had to look for a place to 
cross. Finally we found a point where the moving 
ice nearly touched the still ice. The dogs, however, 
were so frightened that they were afraid to stir. 
We tried to make them jump across the crack but 
they lay down and would not budge. While we 
delayed thus the crack widened; the moving floe was 
drifting away. I made up my mind that it was 
now or never, so I cut the traces, jumped across the 
widening gap and pulled the sledge across. Then I 
threw a rope to Kataktovick and pulled him across 
flying. The dogs we managed to grasp by traces 
or wherever we could get hold of them and dragged 
