My office was that of general exhorter and encourager. It would never have done for me to take the lines and do any actual pulling; the men would have lost respect for me at once. But I was never idle for a moment. Armed with an old riding crop, a relic of my days as M.F.H. of the Derby Hounds, I circled about my straining comrades, shouting encouragement and occasionally flicking them smartly on back and buttock. They responded valiantly, though not a few black looks were thrown at me. At the top of every ice hurdle we stopped to rest and I issued extra rations of alcohol plug. It was little enough to repay these gallant chaps for their exertions and surely this was no time to play the niggard with the "A-P" as we called it. Once refreshed, and the ice slide ready, we coasted down the northward incline and spun merrily across the level floe. Late in the day, I called a halt. My comrades, somewhat exhausted by their exertions and a little affected, perhaps, by my generous distributions of A-P, sank on the ice near their traces or crawled up on the Kawa's soft counter and fell asleep. I was glad of their unconsciousness for I was very much excited. We must be nearly there! Before us rose a gentle snow eminence, the merest swelling in the white plain, such as would be called a mountain in the middle west.[15] Beyond this, unless I was mistaken, lay the Pole. "Triplett," I said excitedly, "can you make a quick observation?" "Sure," he observed. One glance at the low hanging sun was enough for my old navigator. Rolling back his eyes he looked for a moment into that reliable brain of his. I saw that he was taking a mental observation! Marvellous man! In breathless silence, I waited. "Eighty-nine and--nine tenths," he whispered. Sweat stood out on his forehead and rolled in little rivers through his corrugations. This sort of thing was plainly exhausting. Quickly handing him an emergency plug I rose. At that moment Warburton Plock came toward me. Though I disliked him more than ever, he had been deferential and polite since I had faced him down in his silly fuss over my orders, so that I listened attentively while he spoke. "Doctor, with your permission I'm going to unship the magnetic bowsprit and set it here as a beacon. We must be way above the Magnetic North by now and it is pulling us backward instead of forward." "Very good," I answered. "Your idea has merit." He touched his cap pleasantly and went forward. I liked the idea of leaving a beacon or cairn. It is the proper thing among explorers. Here and there we had run across them, an occasional pile of snow, topped by a gin bottle enclosing a message from some previous expedition, empty containers of various sorts whose labels were mute memorials to the achievement of the great white race! Walker, Haig and Booth, imperishable names these, with a solemn splendor when found on the white register of the North.