If the reader will imagine crossing a river on a succession of gigantic shingles, one, two, or three deep and all afloat and moving, he will perhaps form an idea of the uncertain surface over which we crossed this lead.

Such a passage is distinctly trying, as any moment may lose a sledge and its team, or plunge a member of the party into the icy water.

On the other side there was no sign of Bartlett's trail.

This meant that the lateral movement (that is east and west) of the ice shores of the lead had carried the trail along with it.
After an hour or two of marching, we found ourselves in the fork of two other leads, and unable to move in any direction.

The young ice (that is, the recently frozen ice) on the more westerly of these leads, though too thin to sustain the weight of the sledges, was yet strong enough to bear an Eskimo, and I sent Kyutah to the west to scout for the captain's trail, while the other Eskimos built out of snow blocks a shelter from the wind, and repaired some minor damages to our sledges.
In half an hour or so Kyutah returned from the west, signaling that he had found Bartlett's trail.