The bay was now about three miles away, and the continued roaring of a big glacier at the head of the bay came to our ears.

This glacier, which we had noticed during the stay at Peggotty Camp, seemed to be calving almost continuously.
I had hoped to get a view of the country ahead of us from the top of the slope, but as the surface became more level beneath our feet, a thick fog drifted down.

The moon became obscured and produced a diffused light that was more trying than darkness, since it illuminated the fog without guiding our steps.

We roped ourselves together as a precaution against holes, crevasses, and precipices, and I broke trail through the soft snow.

With almost the full length of the rope between myself and the last man we were able to steer an approximately straight course, since, if I veered to the right or the left when marching into the blank wall of the fog, the last man on the rope could shout a direction.