Within the limits of this little country is found the favorite haunt of the reindeer, which find sufficient pasturage.

But we are interested for the present in this unique spot only in passing and for the reason that here we picked up the little denizens of the frigid zone who were to help us in our struggle farther north.
Before we reached this odd little oasis, but several hundred miles beyond the Arctic Circle, we came to a most significant point in our upward journey, marking as it did the grimness of the task before us.

No civilized man can die in this savage Northland without his grave having a deep meaning for those who come afterwards; and constantly, as we sailed on, these voiceless reminders of heroic bones told their silent but powerful story.
At the southern limit of Melville Bay we passed the Duck Islands, where is the little graveyard of the Scotch whalers who were the pioneers in forcing the passage of Melville Bay and who died there, waiting for the ice to open.

These graves date back to the beginning of the nineteenth century.

From this point on, the arctic highway is marked by the graves of those who have fallen in the terrible fight with cold and hunger.
These rude rock piles bring home to any thoughtful person the meaning of arctic exploration.