READY FOR THE DASH TO THE POLE--THE COMMANDER'S ARRIVAL
The Diary--February 23: Heavy snow-fall and furious winds; accordingly
intense darkness and much discomfort.
There was a heavy gale blowing at seven o'clock in the morning, on
February 22, and the snow was so thick and drifty that we kept close to
our igloos and made no attempt to do more than feed the dogs. My igloo
was completely covered with snow and the one occupied by Dr. Goodsell
was blown away, so that he had to have another one, which I helped to
build.
The wind subsided considerably, leaving a thick haze, but after
breakfast, Professor MacMillan, Mr. Borup, and their parties, left camp
for Cape Colan, to get the supplies they had dumped there, and carry
them to Cape Aldrich. I took one Esquimo, Pooadloonah, and one sledge
from the Captain's party, and with my own three boys, Ooblooyah, Ootah,
and I-forget-his-name, and a howling mob of dogs, we left for the
western side of Cape Columbia, and got the rest of the pemmican and
biscuits. On the way back, we met the Captain, who was out taking
exercise. He had nothing to say; he did not shake hands, but there was
something in his manner to show that he was glad to see us. With the
coming of the daylight a man gets more cheerful, but it was still
twilight when we left Cape Columbia, and melancholy would sometimes
grip, as it often did during the darkness of midwinter.
Captain Bartlett helped us to push the loaded sledges to Cape Aldrich
and nothing was left at Cape Columbia.
When we got back to camp we found Professor Marvin and his party of
three Esquimos there. They had just reached the camp and were at work
building an igloo.
Professor Marvin came over to our igloo and changed his clothes; that
is, in a temperature of at least 45° below zero, by the light of my
lantern he coolly and calmly stripped to the pelt, and proceeded to
cloth himself in the new suit of reindeerskin and polar bearskin
clothing, that had been made for him by the Esquimo woman,
Ahlikahsingwah, aboard the _Roosevelt_. It had taken him and his party
five days to make the trip from Sheridan to Columbia.
February 26: This from my log: "Clear, no wind, temperature 57° below
zero." Listen! I will tell you about it. At seven A. M. we quit trying
to sleep and started the pot a-boiling. A pint of hot tea gave us a
different point of view, and Professor Marvin handed me the thermometer,
which I took outside and got the reading; 57° below; that is cold
enough. I have seen it lower, but after forty below the difference is
not appreciable.
I climbed to the highest pinnacle of the cape and in the gathering
daylight gazed out over the ice-covered ocean to get an idea of its
condition. At my back lay the land of sadness, just below me the little
village of snow-houses, the northern-most city on the earth (Commander
Peary give it the name Crane City), and, stretching wide and far to the
northward, the irresistible influence that beckoned us on; broken ice, a
sinister chaos, through which we would have to work our way. Dark and
heavy clouds along the horizon gave indication of open water, and it was
easy to see that the rough and heavy shore-ice would make no jokes for
us to appreciate.
About an hour or so after the midday meal, a loud outcry from the dogs
made me go outside to see what was up. This was on the afternoon of
February 26. I quickly saw what the dogs were excited about.
With a "Whoop halloo," three Komaticks were racing and tearing down the
gradient of the land to our camp, and all of us were out to see the
finish. Kudlooktoo and Arkeo an even distance apart; and, heads up,
tails up, a full five sledge-lengths ahead, with snowdust spinning free,
the dog-team of the ever victorious Peary in the lead. The caravan came
to a halt with a grandstand finish that it would have done you good to
witness.
The Commander didn't want to stop. He immediately commenced to shout and
issue orders, and, by the time he had calmed down, both Captain Bartlett
and George Borup had loaded up and pushed forward on to the ice of the
Arctic Ocean, bound for the trophy of over four hundred years of
effort. The Peary discipline is the iron hand ungloved. From now on we
must be indifferent to comfort, and like poor little Joe, in "Bleak
House" we must always be moving on.