programme was for him to go back from here in command of the fourth supporting party, and there were no supplies for an increase in the main party.

In this march we encountered a high wind for the first time since the three days after we left Cape Columbia. It was dead on our faces, bitter and insistent, but I had no reason to complain; it was better than an easterly or southerly wind, either of which would have set us adrift in open water, while this was closing up every lead behind. This furnished another advantage of my supporting parties. True, by so doing it was pressing to the south the ice over which we traveled, and so robbing us of a hundred miles of advantage.

We concluded we were on or near the eighty-eighth parallel, unless the north wind had lost us several miles. The wind blew all night and all the following day. At this camp, in the morning, Bartlett started to walk five or six miles to the north to make sure of reaching the eighty-eighth parallel. While he was gone I selected the forty boat dogs in the outfit and had them doubled, and I picked out five of the best sledges and assigned them expressly to the Captain's party. I broke up the seventh for material with which to repair the others, and set Eskimos at the work.

Bartlett returned in time to take a satisfactory observation for latitude in clear weather, and obtained for our position 87.48, and that showed that the continued north wind had robbed us of a number of miles of hard-earned distance.

Bartlett took the observation here, as had Marvin five camps back, partly to save my eyes, but largely to give an independent record and determination of our advance. The observations completed and two copies made, one for him and the other for me, Bartlett started on the back trail in command of my fourth supporting party, with 2 Eskimos, 1 sledge, aand 18 dogs. When he left, I felt for a moment pangs of regret as he disappeared in the distance, but it was only momentary. My work was still ahead, not in the rear. Bartlett had done good work and had been a great help to me. Circumstances had thrust the brunt of the pioneering upon him instead of dividing it among several, as I had planned.

He had reason to take pride in the fact that he had bettered the Italian record by a degree and a quarter and had covered a distance equal to the entire distance of the Italian expedition from Franz Josef Land to Cagni's farthest north. I had given Bartlett this position and post of honor in command of my fourth and last supporting party, and for two reasons— first, because of his magnificent handling of the Roosevelt; second, because he had cheerfully stood between me and many trifling annoyances on the expedition.

It

Then there was a third reason. seemed to me appropriate, in view of the magnificent British record of arctic work, covering three centuries, that it should be a British subject who could boast that, next to an American, he had been nearest to the Pole.

With the disappearance of Bartlett I turned to the problem before me. This was that for which I had worked for thirty-two years, for which I had lived the simple life, for which I had conserved all my energy on the upward trip, for which I had trained myself as for a race, crushing down every worry about success.

For success now, in spite of my years, I felt in trim-fit for the demands of the coming days and eager to be on the trail. As for my party, my equipment, and my supplies, I was in shape beyond my most sanguine dreams of earliest years. My party might be regarded as an ideal which had now come to realization—as loyal and responsive to my will as the fingers of my right hand.

Four of them carried the technique of dogs, sledges, ice, and cold as their heritage. Two of them, Hansen and Ootam, were my companions to the furthest point three years before. Two others, Egingwah and Sigloo, were in Clark's division, which had such a narrow escape at that time, and now were willing to go anywhere with my immediate party and willing to risk themselves again in any supporting party. The fifth was a young man who had never served before in any expedition, but who was, if possible, even more willing and eager than the others for the princely gifts-a boat, a rifle, a shotgun, ammunition, knives, etc.-which I had promised to each of them who reached the Pole with me; for he knew that these

I had no fault to find with the conditions. My dogs were the very best, the pick of 122 with which we left Columbia. Almost all were powerful males, hard as nails, in good flesh, but without a superfluous ounce, without a suspicion of fat anywhere; and, what was better yet, they were all in good spirits.

My sledges, now that the repairs were completed, were in good condition. My supplies were ample for forty days, and, with the reserve represented by the dogs themselves, could be made to last fifty.

Pacing back and forth in the lee of the pressure ridge where our igloos were built, while my men got their loads ready for the next marches, I settled on my programme. I decided that I should strain every nerve to make five marches of fifteen miles each, crowding these marches in such a way as to bring us to the end of the fifth long enough before noon to permit the immediate taking of an observation for latitude.

Weather and leads permitting, I believed I could do this. If my proposed distances were cut down by any chance, I had two means in reserve for making up the deficit: First, to make the last march a forced one, stopping to make tea and rest the dogs, but not to sleep. Second, at the end of the fifth march to make a forced march with a light sledge, a double team of dogs, and one or two of the party, leaving the rest in camp. Underlying all these calculations was a recognition of the ever-present neighborhood of open leads and impassable water and the knowledge that a twenty-four hours' gale would knock all my plans into a cocked hat, and even put us in imminent peril.

At a little after midnight of April 1, after a few hours of sound sleep, I hit the trail, leaving the others to break up

camp and follow. As I climbed the pressure ridge back of our igloos I set another hole in my belt, the third since I started. Every man and dog of us was lean and flat-bellied as a board and as hard. It was a fine morning. The wind of the last two days had subsided, and the going was the best and most equable of any I had had yet. The floes were large and old, hard and clear, and were surrounded by pressure ridges, some of which were almost stupendous. The biggest of them, however, were easily negotiated, either through some crevice or up some huge brink.

I set a good pace for about ten hours. Twenty-five miles took me well beyond the eighty-eighth parallel. While I was building my igloos a long lead formed by the east and southeast of us at a distance of a few miles. A few hours' sleep and we were on the trail again. As the going was now practically horizontal, we were unhampered and could travel as long as we pleased and sleep as little as we wished. The weather was fine and the going like that of the previous day, except at the beginning, when pickaxes were required. This and a brief stop at another lead cut down our distance. But we had made twenty miles in ten hours and were halfway to the eighty-ninth parallel.

The ice was grinding audibly in every direction, but no motion was visible. Evidently it was settling back into equilibrium, and probably sagging due northward with its release from the wind pressure.

The

The

Again there was a few hours' stop, and we hit the trail before midnight. weather and going were even better. surface, except as interrupted by infrequent ridges, was as level as the glacial fringe from Hecla to Columbia, and harder.

We marched something over ten hours, the dogs being often on the trot, and made 20 miles. Near the end of the march we rushed across a lead 100 yards wide, which buckled under our sledges and finally broke as the last sledge left it.

We stopped in sight of the eighty-ninth parallel, in a temperature of 40° below. Again a scant sleep, and we were on our way once more and across the eighty-ninth parallel. This march duplicated the previous one as to weather and going. The

last few hours it was on young ice, and occasionally the dogs were galloping.

We made 25 miles or more, the air, the sky, and the bitter wind burning the face till it crackled. It was like the great interior ice cap of Greenland. Even the natives complained of the bitter air. It was as keen as frozen steel.

A little longer sleep than the previous ones had to be taken here, as we were all in need of it. Then on again.

Up to this time, with each successive march, our fear of an impossible lead had increased. At every inequality of the ice I found myself hurrying breathlessly forward, fearing that it marked a lead, and when I arrived at the summit would catch my breath with relief-only to find myself hurrying on in the same way at the next one. But on this march, by some strange shift of feeling, this fear fell from me completely. The weather was thick, but it gave me no uneasiness.

Before I turned in I took an observation which indicated our position as 89.25. A dense, lifeless pall hung overhead. The horizon was black and the ice beneath was a ghastly, chalky white with no relief—a striking contrast to the glimmering, sunlit fields of it over which we had been traveling for the previous four days.

The going was even better and there was scarcely any snow on the hard, granular, last summer's surface of the old floes, dotted with the sapphire ice of the previous summer's lakes.

A rise in temperature to 15 below reduced the friction of the sledges and gave the dogs the appearance of having caught the spirits of the party. The more sprightly ones, as they went along with tightly curled tails, frequently tossed their heads, with short, sharp barks and yelps.

In twelve hours we made 40 miles. There was no sign of a lead in the march.

I had now made my five marches, and was in time for a hasty noon observation through a temporary break in the clouds, which indicated our position as 89.57. quote an entry from my journal some hours later:

I

"The Pole at last! The prize of three centuries, my dream and goal for twenty years, mine at last! I cannot bring myself to realize it.

"It all seems so simr'e and common

place. As Bartlett said when turning back, when speaking of his being in these exclusive regions, which no mortal has ever penetrated before:

"It is just like every day!'"

Of course, I had many sensations that made sleep impossible for hours, despite my utter fatigue-the sensations of a lifetime; but I have no room for them here.

The first thirty hours at the Pole were spent in taking observations; in going some ten miles beyond our camp and some eight miles to the right of it; in taking photographs, planting my flags, depositing my records, studying the horizon with my telescope for possible land, and searching for a practicable place to make a sounding.

Ten hours after our arrival the clouds cleared before a light breeze from our left, and from that time until our departure in the afternoon of April 7 the weather was cloudless and flawless. The minimum temperature during the thirty hours was 33 below, the maximum 12.

We had reached the goal, but the return was still before us. It was essential that we reach the land before the next spring tide, and we must strain every nerve to do this. I had a brief talk with my men. From now on it was to be a big travel, little sleep, and a hustle every minute. We would try, I told them, to double march on the return—that is, to start and cover one of our northward marches, make tea and eat our luncheon in the igloos, then cover another march, eat and sleep a few hours, and repeat this daily.

As a matter of fact, we nearly did this, covering regularly on our homeward journey five outward marches in three return marches. Just as long as we could hold the trail we could double our speed, and we need waste no time in building new igloos. Every day that we gained on the return lessened the chances of a gale destroying the track. Just above the eighty-seventh parallel was a region some fifty miles wide which caused me considerable uneasiness. Twelve hours of strong easterly, westerly, or northerly wind would make this region an open sea. In the afternoon of the 7th we started on our return, having double fed the dogs, repaired the sledges for the last time, and

discarded all our spare clothing to lighten the loads. Five miles from the Pole a narrow crack filled with recent ice, through which we were able to work a hole with a pickax, enabled me to make a sounding. All my wire, 1,500 fathoms, was sent down, but there was no bottom. In pulling up the wire parted a few fathoms from the surface and lead and wire went to the bottom. Off went reel and handle, lightening the sledges still further. We had no more use for them now.

Three marches brought us back to the igloos where the Captain turned back. The last march was in the wild sweep of a northerly gale, with drifting snow and the ice rocking under us as we dashed over it. South of where Marvin had turned back we came to where his party had built several igloos while delayed by open leads. Still further south we found where the Captain had been held up by an open lead and obliged to camp. Fortunately, the movement of these leads was simply open and shut, and it took considerable water motion to fault the trail seriously.

While the Captain, Marvin, and, as I found out later, Borup, had been delayed by open leads, we seemed to bear a patent charm, and at no single lead were we delayed more than a couple of hours. Sometimes the ice was fast and firm enough to carry us across; sometimes a short detour, sometimes a brief halt for the lead to close, sometimes an improvised ferry on an ice cake, kept the trail without difficulty down to the tenth outward march. Igloos there disappeared completely, and the entire region was unrecognizable. Where on the outward journey had been narrow cracks, there were now broad leads, one of them over five miles in width, caught over with young ice.

Here again fortune favored us, and no pronounced movement of the ice having taken place since the Captain passed, we had his trail to follow. We picked up the old trail again north of the seventh igloos, followed it beyond the fifth, and at the big lead lost it finally,

From here we followed the Captain's trail, and on April 23 our sledges passed

and called and danced themselves helpless. As Ootah sat down on his sledge he remarked in Eskimo: "The devil is asleep or having trouble with his wife, or we never should have come back so easily."

A few hours later we arrived at Crane City under the bluffs of Cape Columbia, and after putting four pounds of pemmican into each of the faithful dogs to keep them quiet, we had at last our chance to sleep. Never shall I forget that sleep at Cape Columbia. It was sleep, sleep, then turn over and sleep again. We slept gloriously, with never a thought of the morrow or of having to walk, and, too, with no thought that there was to be never a night more of blinding headache. Cold water to a parched throat is nothing compared with sleep to a numbed, fatigued brain and body.

Two days we spent here in sleeping and drying our clothes. Then for the ship. Our dogs, like ourselves, had not been hungry when we arrived, but simply lifeless with fatigue. They were different animals now, and the better ones among them slept on with tightly curled tails and uplifted heads and their hind legs treading the snow with piston-like regularity.

We reached Hecla in one march and the Roosevelt in another. When we got to the Roosevelt, I was staggered by the news of the fatal mishap to Marvin. He had been either less cautious or less fortunate than the rest of us, and his death emphasized the risk to which we had all been subjected, for there was not one of us but had been in the sledge at some time during the journey. The big lead, cheated of its prey three years before, had at last gained its human victim.

a little west of Cape Columbia. When the last sledge came up, I thought my Eskimos had gone crazy. They yelled

tidal observations at other points. The supplies remaining at the various caches were brought in, and on July 18 the

Roosevelt left her winter quarters and was driven out into the channel pack of Cape Union. She fought her way south in the center of the channel and passed Cape Sabine on August 8, or 39 days earlier than in 1908 and 32 days earlier than the British expedition in 1876.

We picked up Whitney and his party and the stores at Etah. We killed seventyodd walrus for my Eskimos, whom I landed at their homes. We met the Jeanie off Saunders Island and took over her coal, and cleared from Cape York on August 26, one month earlier than in 1906.

On September 5 we arrived at Indian Harbor, whence the message, "Stars and Stripes nailed to North Pole," was sent vibrating southward through the crisp Labrador air.

The culmination of long experience; a thorough knowledge of the conditions of the problem gained in the last expedition -these, together with a new type of sledge which reduced the work of both dogs and driver, and a new type of camp cooler which added to the comfort and increased the hours of sleep of the members of the party, combined to make the present expedition an agreeable improvement upon the last in respect to the rapidity and effectiveness of its work and the lessened discomfort and strain upon the members of the party.

Pro

As to the personnel, I have again been particularly fortunate. Captain Bartlett is just Bartlett-tireless, sleepless, enthusiastic, whether on the bridge or in the crow's-nest or at the head of a sledge division in the field. Dr. Goodsell, the surgeon of the expedition, not only looked after its health and his own specialty of microscopes, but took his full share of the field work of the expedition as well, and was always ready for any work. fessors Marvin and McMillan have secured a mass of scientific data, having made all the tidal and most of the field work, and their services were invaluable in every way. Borup not only made the record as to the distance traveled during the journey, but to his assistance and his expert knowledge of photography is due what I believe to be the unequaled series of photographs taken by the expedition. Hansen in the field and Percy as steward were the same as ever, invaluable in

their respective lines. Chief Engineer Wardwell, also of the last expedition, aided by his assistant, Scott, kept the machinery up to a high state of efficiency. Mr. Gushue, the mate, who was in charge of the Roosevelt during the absence of Captain Bartlett and myself, and Bo's'n Murphy, who was put in charge of the station at Etah for the relief of Cook, were both trustworthy and reliable men, and I count myself fortunate in having had them in my service.

The members of the crew and the firemen were a distinct improvement over those of the last expedition. Every one of them was willing and anxious to be of service in every possible way. Connors, who was promoted to be bo's'n in the absence of Murphy, proved to be particularly effective. Barnes, seaman, and Wiseman and Joyce, firemen, not only assisted Marvin and McMillan in their tidal and meteorological observations on the Roosevelt, but Wiseman and Barnes went into the field with them on their trips to Cape Columbia, and Condon and Cody covered 1,000 miles hunting and sledging supplies.

As for my faithful Eskimos, I have left them with ample supplies of dark, rich walrus meat and blubber for their winter, with currants, sugar biscuits, guns, rifles, ammunition, knives, hatchets, traps, etc., and for the splendid four who stood beside me at the Pole a boat and tent each to requite them for their energy and the hardship and toil they underwent to help their friend Peary to the North Pole.

But all of this-the dearly bought years of experience, the magnificent strength of the Roosevelt, the splendid energy and enthusiasm of my party, the loyal faithfulness of my Eskimos-could have gone for naught but for the faithful necessaries of war furnished so loyally by the members and friends of the Peary Arctic Club. And it is no detraction from the living to say that to no single individual has the fine result been more signally due than to my friend the late Morris K. Jesup, the first President of the club.

Their assistance has enabled me to tell the last of the great earth stories, the story the world has been waiting to hear for 300 years the story of the discovery of the North Pole.