318 THE NORTH POLE 



"Have you heard about poor Marvin?" he asked. 



"No," I answered. 



Then he told me that Marvin had been drowned 

 at the "Big Lead," coming back to Cape Columbia. 

 The news staggered me, killing all the joy I had felt 

 at the sight of the ship and her captain. It was 

 indeed a bitter flavor in the cup of our success. It 

 was hard to realize at first that the man who had 

 worked at my side through so many weary months 

 under conditions of peril and privation, to whose efforts 

 and example so much of the success of the expedition 

 had been due, would never stand beside me again. 

 The manner of his death even will never be precisely 

 known. No human eye was upon him when he broke 

 through the treacherous young ice that had but recently 

 closed over a streak of open water. He was the only 

 white man in the supporting party of which he was in 

 command and with which he was returning to the land 

 at the time he met his death. As was customary, on 

 breaking camp he had gone out ahead of the Eskimos, 

 leaving the natives to break camp, harness the dogs, 

 and follow. When he came to the "Big Lead," the 

 recent ice of which was safe and secure at the edges, 

 it is probable that, hurrying on, he did not notice the 

 gradual thinning of the ice toward the center of the 

 lead until it was too late and he was in the water. 

 The Eskimos were too far in the rear to hear his calls 

 for help, and in that ice-cold water the end must 

 have come very quickly. He who had never shrunk 

 from loneliness in the performance of his duty had 

 at last met death alone. 



Coming along over the trail in his footsteps, the 



