e Arcti

named the John B. Bradley, quietly withdrew from the pier at Gloucester, Massachusetts, and,

ss white, like some huge silver bird alighting upon the sunshot waters of the bay. On board, all was quiet. I stood alone, gazing back upon the p

clay and corncob pipes, were drying their seines. Other boats went by, laden with wriggling, silver-scaled fish; along the shore I could still see tons of fish being unloaded from scores of boats. Through the rosy twilight, voices came over the water, murmurous sounds from the shore, cries from the sea mixed with the quaint oa

the North, no press campaign heralded our project, no government aid had been asked, nor had large contributions been sought from private individuals to purcha

pay the costs of the hunting trip. A Gloucester fishing schooner had been purchased by me and was refitted, covered and strengthened for ice navigation. To save fuel space and to gain the advantage of a steamer, I had a Lozier gasoline motor instal

of exploration, and about one thousand pounds of pemmican. These supplies, necessary to offset the danger of shipwreck and detention by ice, were also all that would be required for a Polar trip. When, later, I finally decided on a Polar ca

ots of fire, I felt that at last I had embarked upon my destiny. Whether I should be able to follow my heart's desire I did not know; I did not dare hazard a guess. But I was leaving my

ght result in my starting for the Pole, that my final chance had come, vaguely thrilled me. Yet the full purport of my hope seemed beyond me. On the journey to Sydney my mind

erted in strivings toward some splendid, sometimes spectacular aim. My boyhood was not happy. As a tiny child I was discontented, and from the earliest days of consciousness I felt the burden of two things which accompanied me through later life-an innate and abnormal desire for exploration, t

d to test the depth, plunged to the center, where the water was above my head, and nearly lost my life. I shall never forget that struggl

w York. I sold fruit at one of the markets. I saved my money. I enjoyed no luxuries. These days vividly occur in

w York in 1890. I felt (as what young man does not?) that I possessed unusual qualifications and exceptional ability. An office was fitted up, and my anxiety over the disappearin

if a door to a prison cell had opened. I felt the first indomitable, commanding call of the Northland. To invade the Unknown, to assail the fastness of the white, frozen No

he expedition of 1891-92, as surgeon. Whatever m

and endure inconceivable hardships for, as I view it now, no profitable personal purpose of any kind. The spell was upon me then. It was

y subsequent expeditio

ssed for money. I tried to organize several co?perative expeditions to the Arctic. These failed. I then tried to arouse interest i

in confronted me. Disappointment only added to my ambition; it scourged me to a determination, a conviction that-I want you to remember this, to bear in mind the mental conviction

routine of my Brooklyn office work seemed like the confinement of prison. I fretted and chafed at the thought. Let me have a chance, and I would succeed. This thoug

l income was soon spent. Unless you have felt the goading, devilish grind of poverty

ley's interest in the trip was that of a great sportsman, eager to seek big game in the Arctic. My immediate purpose was to return again t

conscious realm, was the feeling that this, however, might offer opportunity in the preparation for a final future determination. I, therefore, wi

for the Pole, I should not have sought any geographical license from some vague and unknown authority. Though much has since been m

lowed us to Sydn

rless day in the middle of July we arrived at Battle Harbor, a little town at the southeastern point of Labrador, where Mr. Bradle

fog can be heard the sound of fisher-boat horns, often the very voices of the fishermen themselves, while their crafts are absolutely hidden from view. On this trip, however, from time to time, great fragments of fog slowly lifted, and we saw, emerging out of the gray mistiness, islands, bleak and bl

that piled up the water in great waves. It was a good test of the s

The schooner sailed into this wonderful yellow sea, which soon became a broad and gleaming surface of molten silver. Although this striking beauty of the North, which it often is so chary of displaying, possesses a splendor of color equal to the gloriousness of tropical seas, it always impresses one wit

land of light and color we sailed slowly into a region rich in animal life, a curious and striking sight. Seals floundered in the sunbeams or slumbered on masses of ice, for even in this Northland there is a strange commi

o bold relief by the brilliancy of lights and shadows, and in the remarkably clear air it seemed as if it could be reached in an hour. But this was an atmospheric deception, of the kind familiar to those who know the pure air of the Rocky Mountains, for, although the land seemed near

he wind continued fair and strong; and, with every possibl

spends the brief summer of the Arctic. We saw dismal cliffs, terra cotta and buff in color, in the crevasses of which millions of b

that one could not but wonder what freak of imagination led the piratical Eric the Red, one thousand years ago, to give to this coast a name so suggestive of luxuriant fore

waters the Eskimos love to hunt and fish, just as their forefathers have done for centuries. Shaggy looking fellows are these Eskimos, clothed in the skins of animal

only from reefs and under-water ice, but because there are no lighthouses to mark permanent danger spots and because signs of impending storm are ever on the horizon. While navigating the coast, our officers spent sleepless nights of

ed the path of the schooner. Remaining on deck until after midnight, we were rewarded by a sight of the sun magnified to many times its normal size, glowi

eeper orange, more burning crimson, and the bergs into vivid ruby, chalcedony and chrysophase walls. This suddenly-changing, kaleidoscopic whirl of color was rendered more effective because, in its midst, the cliffs of Disco rose frowningly, a great patch of blackness in artistic contrast. A pearly vapor now began to creep over the horizon, and gradually spread over the waters, imparting a gentle and restful tone of blue. This

from rock to rock. Everything was divested of the glory of the day before. The sun was slowly rising among mouse-colored clouds. The bergs were of an ugly blue, and the sea ran in gloomy lines of ebony. Although the s

Eskimos in kayaks came out to act as pilots. Taking them aboard, we soon found a snug anchorage, secure

rnor Fenker, who escorted us to his home, where his wife, a c

ector were the most important of the town. They were built of wood imported from Denmark, and were covered with tarred paper. Though quite moderate in size, the houses seemed too large and out

rd the schooner. The surprise of the evening for these two guests was the playing of our phonog

ors eagerly responded, and tumbled ashore as soon as they were permitted, leaving merely enough for a watch on board ship. Then, to the sound of savage music, the dance was continued until long after midnight. A curious kind of midnight dance it was, with the sun brightly shining in a night unveiled of glitter and color glory. The sailors certainly found pleasure in whirling about, their arms encircling fat and clumsy waists. They did admit, h

arly the following morning. As I stood on deck and viewed the passing of icebergs, glittering in the limpid, silvery light of morning like monstrous diamonds, there began to grow within me a feeling-that throbbed in pulsation with th

on. Beyond it, gradually appeared a long chain of those islands among which lies Upernavik, where the last traces of civilized or semi-civilized life are found. The wind increased in force but the horizon remained remarkably clear. Over a bounding sea we s

decided to hunt for game. With this purpose it was necessary to keep close to land. Here also came our first realistic experience with the great forces of the

onstant danger of our position, however, required a close watch for the safety of the schooner. The Devil's Thumb, a high rock

and gulls uttered shrill and disturbing cr

the glimmer of the land ice changed to an ugly gray, the pack around

of a large ice-pack, for the reason that the icebergs, the flat ice masses, and even the small floating fragments, ordinarily hold down the swells. Even when the pack begins to break, the lanes of water between the fragments thick

south as if belched from some great volcano. The gloom on the horizon was rapidly growing deeper. The sound of the wind changed to a threatening, sinister hiss. In the piercing s

he other sails being left tightly furled, and with the engine helping to push us in the desired

re dashing angrily against walls of ice. Already strong, the wind veered slightly and increased to a fierce, persistent gale. Like rubber balls, the bergs bounded and rolled in the sea. The sou

s to withstand the storms of the Grand Banks, we should still have felt anxiety, for the schoon

the cutting wind pierced one to the very marrow. Our men were drenched with spray and heavily coated with ice. Although suffering severely, the sailors maintained their courage and appeared even abnormall

SPUR OF TH

G THE STRANGE PEOPLE OF THE FARTHEST NORTH-THE LIFE OF THE STONE