The temperature having somewhat moderated, I determined to set out in the evening of the third of April. Although the sun had not yet reached the horizon at midnight, there was quite light enough for my purposes, and by traveling in the night instead of the day we would have greater warmth while in camp, which is really the time of greatest danger from the cold; for when on the march men have usually little difficulty in keeping warm, even at the lowest temperatures, provided there is no wind. Besides this, there is still another difficulty obviated. The constant glare of the mid-day sun is a very severe tax upon the eye, and great caution is needed to guard against that painful and inconvenient disease known as "snow-blindness." In order to protect my men against it, as much as possible, I had supplied each of them with a pair of blue-glass goggles. [Sidenote: THE FIELD PARTY.] [Sidenote: THE START.] My field party consisted of every available officer and man in the schooner, twelve in number. We were all ready to start at seven o'clock; and when I joined them on the ice beside the schooner their appearance was as picturesque as it was animated. In advance stood Jensen, impatiently rolling out his long whip-lash; and his eight dogs, harnessed to his sledge, "The Hope," were as impatient as he. Next came Knorr with six dogs and the "Perseverance," to the upstander of which he had tied a little blue flag bearing this, his motto, "_Toujours prêt_." Then came a lively group of eight men, each with a canvas belt across his shoulder, to which was attached a line that fastened him to the sledge. Alongside the sledge stood McCormick and Dodge, ready to steer it among the hummocks, and on the sledge was mounted a twenty-foot metallic life-boat with which I hoped to navigate the Polar Sea. The mast was up and the sails were spread, and from the peak floated our boat's ensign, which had seen service in two former Arctic and in one Antarctic voyage, and at the mast-head were run up the Masonic emblems. Our little signal-flag was stuck in the stern-sheets. The sun was shining brightly into the harbor, and everybody was filled with enthusiasm, and ready for the hard pull that was to come. Cheer after cheer met me as I came down the stairway from the deck. At a given signal Radcliffe, who was left in charge of the vessel, touched off the "swivel," "March," cried McCormick, crack went the whips, the dogs sprang into their collars, the men stretched their "track ropes," and the cavalcade moved off. The events which follow I will give from my "field-book," trusting that the reader will have sufficient interest in my party to accompany them through the icy wilderness into which they plunged; but for this we will need a new chapter. CHAPTER XXVI.