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Here, some of you fellows, run down to the cove and tell my skipper to come here at once." So I stood there, just outside the door, watching a man scramble down the road, who finally returned with Stefansson. Helen stood perfectly still, except for the toe of one of her boots, which was tapping a tattoo on the boards. "Get the Snowbird under weigh at once," I shouted. "Run up to St.
Stefansson would have a fit if he saw a rope end that wasn't crown-spliced, or a flemish coil that was not reminiscent of the works of old masters. The way he keeps his poor crew polishing the brasses must make life dreary for them, yet they seem to scrub away without repining. I have told you that Jim Brown, our second, is a native of these parts and responsible for our coming.
He was perfectly willing, also, to welcome "classy" dogs, as George and Dan called them, like Stefansson, Lipton, or dainty Margaret Winston, from Kentucky.
Carry all the sail she'll bear and all the steam she'll take. Look lively and don't waste a minute. Here, you Sammy! Go aboard too and help pilot her back if it's dark or foggy. Good luck to you and jump her for all she's worth!" I suppose I spoke like a crazy man, but the two started down hill. Stefansson, who has long legs, only beat the old fellow by a skip and a jump.
How many fool things are we doing now, I wonder, to cause posterity to laugh, as foolish as the dying of Sir John Franklin in a land where Stefansson grew fat; many, I guess, as foolish as we did when Magnus Thorkelson and I were Vandemark Township. The sod grew too mature for breaking after the first of June, and not enough time was left for it to rot during the summer; and my cows left with Mr.
I am sure he understood that I was just forcing myself to talk, and that he could say nothing that would make me feel better. Then there was a knock at the door, and Stefansson came in with one of his long faces. "Good evening," said Daddy. "Have a cigar? The box is there on the table. I have good news for you, since I know you don't enjoy this place much. Too far from Long Island Sound, isn't it?
Eggy looks over the line, picks out a square-jawed, bull-headed, pie-faced Yon Yonson, with stupid, stary, skim-milk eyes, and leads him to the front. "A direct descendant of the old Vikings," says he, "a fellow countryman of the heroic Stefansson, of Amundsen. Just now he works as a longshoreman.
"All right, get those fellows at work in the engine room, Stefansson. They haven't had much to do of late." Our skipper departed and I was so happy that I wanted to dance. In the kitchen Susie was washing dishes and assisting her work by intoning the most doleful hymn. I turned up the lamp a little, and things seemed ever so much more cheerful. So I suppose that I have been ever so foolish.
Stefansson told me himself that never in his experience, and it has been wide, had he found such dogs as those 'Scotty' bought for their Canadian Arctic Expedition. And I believe," with conviction, "it is because Nome dogs, through the races, are acknowledged to be the best in all the North for both sport and work."
Early in the winter of 1913, Vilhjalmur Stefansson, an Icelander from Manitoba, set out on one of his explorations of the Arctic regions of Canada. Public opinion had been so roused and excited over Admiral Peary reaching the North Pole on April 6, 1909, that the Canadian Government felt that they owed it to the Empire to make some attempt at charting the northern regions for the Dominion.
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