, and when it is packed by the
wind it is almost as solid as ice. It is from the packed snow that the
blocks used to form the igloo-walls are cut.

At the end of four hours, we came to the igloo where the Captain and his
boys were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. In order not to
interrupt the Captain's rest, we built another igloo and unloaded his
sledge, and distributed the greater part of the load among the sledges
of the party. The Captain, on awakening, told us that the journey we had
completed on that day had been made by him under the most trying
conditions, and that it had taken him fourteen hours to do it. We were
able to make better time because we had his trail to follow, and,
therefore, the necessity of finding the easiest way was avoided. That
was the object of the scout or pioneer party and Captain Bartlett had
done practically all of it up to the time he turned back at 87 deg. 48'
north.

March 29, 1909: You have undoubtedly taken into consideration the pangs
of hunger and of cold that you know assailed us, going Poleward; but
have you ever considered that we were thirsty for water to drink or
hungry for fat? To eat snow to quench our thirsts would have been the
height of folly, and as well as being thirsty, we were continually
assailed by the pangs of a hunger that called for the fat, good, rich,
oily, juicy fat that our systems craved and demanded.

Had we succumbed to the temptations of the thirst and eaten the snow, we
would not be able to tell the tale of the conquest of the Pole; for the
result of eating snow is death. True, the dogs licked up enough
moisture to quench their thirsts, but we were not made of such stern
stuff as they. Snow would have reduced our temperatures and we would
quickly have fallen by the way. We had to wait until camp was made and
the fire of alcohol started before we had a chance, and it was with hot
tea that we quenched our thirsts. The hunger for fat was not appeased; a
dog or two was killed, but his carcass went to the Esquimos and the
entrails were fed to the rest of the pack.

April 1, the Farthest North of Bartlett: I knew at this time that he was
to go back, and that I was to continue, so I had no misgivings and
neither had he. He was ready and anxious to take the back-trail. His
five marches were up and he was glad of it, and he was told that in the
morning he must turn back and knit the trail together, so that the main
column could return over a beaten pa