For the last half of this march the ice was raftering all about us and beneath our very feet under the pressure of the howling gale.

Fortunately we were traveling nearly before the wind, for it would have been impossible to move and follow a trail with the gale in our faces.

As it was, the dogs scudded along before the wind much of the time on the gallop.

Under the impact of the storm the ice was evidently crushing southward and bearing us with it.

I was strongly reminded of the wild gale in which we regained "storm camp" on our return march in 1906.