1917] THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEPTUNE 319 



without notable incident. Heavy weather and thick 

 fog consigned most of us to our bunks and Bartlett to 

 the bridge. The old Neptune pounded her way south 

 with a bandage drawn tightly across her nose to prevent 

 her from imbibing too much water. She angrily tossed 

 this aside, throwing the responsibility upon Mr. Cross- 

 man, our chief engineer, to keep her free of that steady 

 stream running aft to the pumps. 



A dark line on the starboard bow on the morning of 

 the 22d meant much to us who had been away so long. 

 It was our first view of the Southland — Labrador. Again 

 I saw those deep fiords with the almost numberless 

 islands and inside runs tlirough which I had cruised in 

 1910-11-12. A simple people there, but honest, frank, 

 delightful. 



The hills came up rapidly out of the sea, domes of 

 gray rocks molded by the oncoming glaciers of seons 

 ago, now sterile and forbidding, serving as bulwarks 

 against the onslaught of southerly drifting ice-fields. We 

 eagerly scanned the inner reaches of the bays for signs 

 of vegetation. How we longed to see trees again! 



A few hours at Turnavik, the Bartlett fishing-station, 

 and then on again toward the south, sending our de- 

 spatches by wireless to the Makkovik Station as we 

 passed. 



We encountered our first real touch with the world's 

 great war on the morning of the 24th. As we approached 

 Sydney Harbor, a power-boat shot out from the eastern 

 shore. We were boarded, inspected, and given per- 

 mission to proceed through the gates of the long line 

 of chained pontoons, our entrance from the quietness 

 and peace of the North into the turmoil and bloodshed 

 of warring nations. 



