The wind continued its infernal howling past the igloo and among the pinnacles of the rafter close by all night. I was so comfortable physically, however (barring my stumps which were always cold when I was not walking, and sometimes even then) that there was nothing to distract me from its hell-born music, or keep me from thinking of the unbearable delay. It seemed as if I had been here a month. The wind which had been a little south of true west swung more to the south, the drift was less dense, as if the bulk of the snow were packed, and I fancied there was less weight in the wind in the evening. I hoped to God it would clear soon. I was curious also to see if the continued blow had materially changed our position to the east. There had been no detectable disturbance in the ice since the morning of the 6th. This could be accounted for in two ways; one that the ice was already jammed to the eastward, and the old floes too heavy (and with no young ice between) to permit any compacting or shutting up; the other that the central pack (detached from the land ice along the big lead) was moving eastward as one mass. I could not help thinking that in the latter case, the differences of wind pressure and water resistance of the different floes would cause more or less motion among them, or at least cause strains that would be more pronounced. It would be surprising if the “Hudson” was not wide open now, and I hoped Marvin and Clark were across it with their supplies, and the former near enough to overtake me in a march or two from here. If the “Hudson” was open and they the other side of it, it would necessitate a decided modification of my plans, for the season was too late now for me to wait for them to come up. I must push on with what I had here, and take the chances of good going, long marches, and the certainty of eating dog again before I got back to land. April 10th was another miserable day. The wind not quite so violent, but still continuing with a heavy drift that made travelling out of the question. Temporarily at least I had got past chafing at the delay and simply longed for the cessation of the infernal music, and to see the bright sun glinting on the ice-fields again, as a thin-blooded invalid in winter longs for the soft breath of summer. I cheated as much of the time away as possible, planning what I would do when I got back, and then I ran against the black wall, unless I win _here_, all these things fall through. Success is what will give them existence. Then I went over again what I should do in the various contingencies, if it ever cleared, but that did not take long. I knew what I should do in every contingency I could think of. And always through the black shadow of impending failure showed the steady light of so many days nearer my island and its people. I quote from my Journal: