1917] THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEPTUNE 313 



A ringing command from her bridge sounded very familiar. 



**Is that you, Bob?" I yelled. 



**0f course! Who in hell do you think it is?" was the charac- 

 teristic reply. 



On the quarter-deck I was introduced to a Mr. Burbank, a friend 

 of Captain Bartlett's from Pittsfield, Massachusetts, and Dr. G. S. 

 Knowlton, of New York, the surgeon of the relief expedition. 



"How's the war?" was my first question. 



"The war is still on. America has joined the Allies." 



"Who is President of the United States?" 



"Wilson." 



These bits of information were extremely interesting in view of 

 the fact that the Etah argumentative society of four members, which 

 held its meetings daily at 8 p.m., over a cup of tea and biscuit, had 

 been divided (Comer, Hovey, and myself holding one view, and Jot 

 the contrary) over the results of the world struggle. That the Ger- 

 mans were not in Paris we strenuously endeavored to demonstrate 

 at every convocation, but without success. That there were Ger- 

 mans in sufficient numbers in our country to assume control at the 

 orders of Kaiser William we were strangely reluctant to admit. 

 But upon one point we all happily agreed. Wilson could not pos- 

 sibly be re-elected. He was eliminated without opposition. 



Home! Why, it was like going to another world ! Happy? Yes 

 — no! Naturally we wanted to see friends and relatives, but the 

 Great Northland gets a relentless grip on a man. Its drift ice, its 

 towering white bergs, its glittering domes, its receding ice-cap, the 

 stretching trail, the galloping dogs, the happy, laughing, contented 

 Eskimos — all attracting, appealing, and ever calling. 



We reluctantly bade good-by to those faithful helpers 

 who had made our work possible. We had been happy 

 together. They had been faithful to the end. E-took- 

 a-shoo, Arklio, and Ak-pood-a-shah-o — I can never for- 

 get them. There was not a smile on the face of a single 

 Eskimo as they slowly descended the rope ladder to 

 the boat which I had given them. We threw down the 

 painter. It remained where it fell. Not an oar was 

 lifted. The boat drifted toward the shore and toward 

 Borup Lodge, now their home. We waved our hats 

 until the black dots merged into the distance. And 



