AN ARCTIC HONEYMOON 



By FLORENCE LEONARD LEE 



O one who has never penetrated that mysterious 

 realm of ice and snow, a bridal trip to Greenland 

 does not sound alluring. Indeed some of the 

 ^L remarks we heard from our home friends led us to 

 think there were those who did not envy us, who, 

 in fact, even doubted our possession of well-bal- 

 anced minds. Many times I heard repeated the old 

 adage, " They who know nothing, fear nothing." 

 This may have applied to me, but not to my fiance, and 

 when through the kindness of that " Hero of the North," 

 Lieutenant Peary, the chance to go to the Arctic Regions 

 was offered, we quickly made our preparations, and were 

 married July 6, 1897. Before that day was ended, those 

 who had cavilled joined with us in great longing for a 

 breath of the frigid zone. The heat was so intense that 

 we momentarily expected to see the organist topple over, 

 wilted like a tallow dip. Even the rice thrown at us on 

 our departure appeared to me to be partially cooked. 



After spending the intervening time in Boston with 

 relatives, we sailed from that harbor, July 19, on the 

 unpretentious whaling ship, " Hope." On board were 

 Lieutenant Peary's party, a number of scientists, students 

 and professors, Albert Operti, the artist, a most delightful 

 traveling companion, who could joke even when seasick- 

 ness had him in its clutches, and who rose superior to 

 every inconvenience or disturbing element on shipboard; 

 Arthur Moore, whose handsome face and youthful ardor 

 for adventure won him a place in our favor; his friend, 

 Lansing Baldwin, whose violin woke strange sweet echoes 

 on that Arctic Sea; J. D. Figgins, taxidermist, and Dr. 



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