At this time we had established regular nightly patrols, each man taking his turn at patrolling all night around and around the ice floe, on his skis, looking for open water. The mental strain during this period was terrific, for we never knew when the cake we were on might break beneath us. On June 2nd, at 5 P.M., we decided that our slip was worthy a trial. We started up the motors and taxied across the floe and down the slip, but we had built our slip too steep, and, therefore, not having enough speed, the plane simply sagged through the ice and for 1,000 meters we merely plowed through it. We shut off the motors and prepared to spend the night in the lead. At midnight I was awakened by Captain Amundsen yelling that the plane was being crushed. I could plainly hear the pressure against the metal sides. We lost no time in getting everything out onto some solid ice near by, and by working the plane up and down permitted the incoming ice to close in beneath her from both sides. It was a narrow escape. We had expected the plane to be crushed like an eggshell. Riiser-Larsen’s only comment after the screwing stopped was, “Another chapter to be added to our book!” Before morning our first heavy fog set in. The Arctic summer was upon us. From then on the fog hung like a pall over us and for the remainder of our stay in the Arctic we were never free from it, although we were always able to see the rim of the sun through it and knew that above it the sky was clear and the sun shining brightly, but we could not rise into it. With the coming of the fogs the temperature rose to freezing. We were gradually working our way over towards where the N 24 was lying. During the day we would level off a new course, but there was not sufficient wind in which to rise, and as usual our heavily loaded plane broke through the thin ice,-- “Trailing like a wounded duck, working out her soul. Felt her lift and felt her sag, betted when she’d break; Wondered every time she raced if she’d stand the shock.”