e. He was ready and anxious to take the
back-trail. His five marches were up and he was glad of it, and he was
told that in the morning he must turn back and knit the trail together,
so that the main column could return over a beaten path.

Before going to sleep, Peary and he (Captain Bartlett) had figured out
the reckoning of the distance, and, to insure the Captain's making at
least 88 deg. north, Peary let him have another go for a short distance
northward, and at noon on the day of his return, the observations showed
that Captain Bartlett had made 87 deg. 47' North Latitude, or practically
88 deg. north. "Why, Peary," he said, "it is just like every day," and so it
was, with this exception, like every day in the Arctic, but with all of
every day's chances and hazards. The lion-like month of March had
passed. Captain Bartlett bade us all farewell. He turned back from the
Farthest North that had ever been reached by any one, to insure the safe
return of him who was to go to a still Farther North, the very top of
the world, the Pole itself.

While waiting for Bartlett to return from his forced march, the main
party had been at work, assorting dogs (by this time without much
trouble, as only one was found utterly unfit to make progress), and
rearranging loads, for the Captain had almost three hundred miles of
sea-ice to negotiate before he would reach _terra firma_, and he had to
have his food-supply arranged so that it would carry him to the land and
back to the ship, and dogs in good enough condition to pull the loads,
as well as enough sledges to bear his equipment. When he did come back
to our camp, before the parting, he was perfectly satisfied, and with
the same old confidence he swept his little party together and at three
P. M., with a cheery "Good-by! Good Luck!" he was off. His Esquimo boys,
attempting in English, too, gave us their "Good-bys." The least
emotional of all of our partings; and this brave man, who had borne the
brunt of all of the hardships, like the true-blue, dead-game,
unconquerable hero that he was, set out to do the work that was left for
him to do; to knit the broken strands of our upward trail together, so
that we who were at his rear could follow in safety.

I have never heard the story of the return of Captain Bartlett in
detail; his Esquimo boys were incapable of telling it, and Captain
Bartlett is altogether too modest.

CHAPTER XV

THE POLE!

Captain Bartlett and his tw