of an expedition must be strictly limited to
the carrying capacity of dogs and reindeer. However, this gentleman's
ignorance was perhaps excusable, seeing that his experience of Russian
travel had been solely gleaned in a railway car between Moscow and the
German frontier. I am told that the same individual severely criticised
me for not travelling through Siberia in summer, thereby avoiding the
severe hardships arising from intense cold. He was, of course, unaware
that during the open season the entire tract of country north-east of
Yakutsk is practically impassable owing to thousands of square miles of
swamp and hundreds of shallow lakes which can only be crossed in a
frozen condition on a dog-sled. Even the natives of these regions never
attempt to travel between the months of May and September.

Paris is my home, and I am not ashamed to own that, like most Parisians,
I suffer, when abroad, from a nostalgia of the Boulevards that a
traveller were perhaps better without. It was therefore as well that our
departure for New York took place on a dreary December day, when the
beautiful city lay listless and despondent, swept by a wintry gale and
lashed by gusts of driving sleet. The sky was sunless, the deserted
thoroughfares rivers of mud mournfully reflecting bars of electric light
from either side of the street. As my cab splashed wearily up the Rue
Lafayette I thought that I had never seen such a picture of desolation.
And yet it were better, perhaps, to remember Paris thus, than to yearn
through the long Arctic night for the pleasant hours I had learned to
love so well here in leafy June. Bright days of sunshine and pleasure in
and around the "Ville Lumiere!" cool, starlit nights at Armenonville and
Saint Cloud! Should I ever enjoy them again?

"The De Windt Expedition" left Paris on December 19, 1901. Preliminary
notices of the journey in the French Press had attracted considerable
notice in Paris, and a small crowd of journalists and others had
assembled at the Gare du Nord to wish us God-speed. We were three in
number--myself, the Vicomte de Clinchamp (a young Frenchman who acted as
photographer), and George Harding, my faithful companion on many
previous expeditions. The "Nord Express" was on the point of departure,
but a stirrup-cup was insisted upon by some of De Clinchamp's
enthusiastic compatriots, and an adjournment was made to the Buffet,
where good wishes were expressed for our safety and success. After a