art of its load, the
Commander's sextant, the mercury, and the coils of piano-wire that were
the essential portion of the scientific part of the expedition. My
kamiks (boots of sealskin) were stripped off, and the congealed water
was beaten out of my bearskin trousers, and with a dry pair of kamiks,
we hurried on to overtake the column. When we caught up, we found the
boys gathered around the Commander, doing their best to relieve him of
his discomfort, for he had fallen into the water also, and while he was
not complaining, I was sure that his bath had not been any more
voluntary than mine had been.

When we halted on April 6, 1909, and started to build the igloos, the
dogs and sledges having been secured, I noticed Commander Peary at work
unloading his sledge and unpacking several bundles of equipment. He
pulled out from under his _kooletah_ (thick, fur outer-garment) a small
folded package and unfolded it. I recognized his old silk flag, and
realized that this was to be a camp of importance. Our different camps
had been known as Camp Number One, Number Two, etc., but after the
turning back of Captain Bartlett, the camps had been given names such as
Camp Nansen, Camp Cagni, etc., and I asked what the name of this camp
was to be--"Camp Peary"? "This, my boy, is to be Camp Morris K. Jesup,
the last and most northerly camp on the earth." He fastened the flag to
a staff and planted it firmly on the top of his igloo. For a few
minutes it hung limp and lifeless in the dead calm of the haze, and then
a slight breeze, increasing in strength, caused the folds to straighten
out, and soon it was rippling out in sparkling color. The stars and
stripes were "nailed to the Pole."

A thrill of patriotism ran through me and I raised my voice to cheer the
starry emblem of my native land. The Esquimos gathered around and,
taking the time from Commander Peary, three hearty cheers rang out on
the still, frosty air, our dumb dogs looking on in puzzled surprise. As
prospects for getting a sight of the sun were not good, we turned in and
slept, leaving the flag proudly floating above us.

This was a thin silk flag that Commander Peary had carried on all of his
Arctic journeys, and he had always flown it at his last camps. It was as
glorious and as inspiring a banner as any battle-scarred, blood-stained
standard of the world--and this badge of honor and courage was also
blood-stained and battle-scarred, for at several places there were blan