AN ARCTIC RESCUE 



for clothing. He could scarcely speak in an intelligible 

 manner, all his utterances being thick and mumbling, his 

 lips twitching convulsively. 



Colwell leaped out of the boat, and the man instinctively 

 pulled off his glove to give him his hand. Then briefly and 

 quickly the following colloquy took place. 



" Where are they? " asked Colwell. 



" In the tent," pointing over his shoulder, " across the 

 hill. The tent is down." 



" Is Mr. Greely alive? " 



" Yes, Greely's alive." 



" Any other officers? " 



" No." And then in an absent-minded manner, he re- 

 peated, " The tent is dOwn." 



" Who are you?" 



" Long." 



Long was taken into the cutter, and Colwell, with some 

 of his companions, started toward the point indicated by 

 Long. 



It was a desolate expanse of rocky ground they crossed 

 before they came up to the tent. A man of soldierly bear- 

 ing came out of the tent. It was Sergeant, now Major, 

 Brainard. He drew himself up and was about to salute, 

 when Colwell grasped his hand. 



And then? Oh, the ghastliness of it all as Colwell looked 

 within the tent! Men dying of starvation, emaciated, suf- 

 fering the tortures of the damned, almost unable to move 

 or even to articulate. One raised his head a little, as Col- 

 well lifted the flap of the tent, and feebly put on a pair of 

 eyeglasses. 



" Who are you?" 



There was no response in words, nothing but a vacant 

 stare. 



" Who are you? " came the question again. 



Then one of the other men faintly answered: 



" That's the Major — Major Greely." 



Colwell crawled into the tent, and took Greely's hand. 



" Greely, is this you? " 



" Yes," came the reply, in wavering, broken accents. 

 " Yes — seven of us left — here we are, dying like men. Did 

 what I came to do — beat the best record." 



33 



