14
THE FATE OF THE JEANNETTE.
intellectual being center and whence they mass, is thus always one, and its genera-broadly radiate. He sees the past sweep-tions separate in time, united in nature; ing on through the present and flowing and so, instead of studying Greek, because widely into the far future. He sees that it is Greek, he studies it to understand humanity, both individually and in the himself.
--march over the rough ice. The story is familiar. Nothing, perhaps, has so touched the national heart "in this, the nineteenth century of time," as the sad home-coming of Capt. De Long and his men. Blinded by snow and sleet, bruised and torn by the moving ice, disheartened as one by one the men gave up, strengthened by hope when the main-land was reached, but weakened by despair when it turned out to be a desolate, frozen country—a vast track of snow and ice, with the wind moaning through the giant black trees, no signs of life except here and there a deserted hut, and the silence only broken by the occasional weak cry of a tiny snow bird. It was only a grave for the wanderers. After plodding on for a few weary days they sank down, waiting for help to come, and it came shortly. They dropped to sleep. The snow fell softly and silently, and kindly covered their poor, scarred bodies. There, months afterwards, in that lonely spot, far from human aid, with only the moon keeping watch, rescuers found Capt. De Long and his brave men. And the Arctic tragedy was ended, from which so much was expected and so little accomplished.
THE FATE OF THE JEANNETTE.
CORA E. PIERSON, Scientific Department, LAWRENCE, KANSAS.
THE departure of the Arctic steam-ship Jeannette from San Francisco harbor, in the summer of 1878, will be long remembered. The wharves black with enthusiastic friends, steam-whistles shrieking, the thundering vollies of a hundred guns, long lines of yachts dipping their colors as the ship moved out into the ocean, all combined to make the occasion impressive and memorable.
Let us follow the Jeannette in her long cruise into the region where "utmost winter nips." She pushes out into the Pacific full of buoyancy and glee, holding steadily on her northern course, hoping to reach shelter before winter comes on, but finds her far away from land—out in mid-ocean—the massive ice-floes gradually forming about her, and shutting her into a vice-like prison. Imagine the expedition lying there that long Arctic winter—the ship standing out in bold relief against the clear, brilliant sky, the ghastly moon and the cold stars, the awful silence, and the long stretch of snow-covered ice. It must have been a scene of "the grandest, wildest and most awful beauty."
With the summer hope returned to the commander and his crew, but'twas a vain hope. The summer slipped away and a second winter came, and still they lay locked in that death grip. Finally, after twenty-one months of imprisonment, the Jeannette gave up the struggle. She went down, and with her all the high hopes and anticipations that had gathered about her perished.
Then came that frightful four-months
How different was the home-coming. Slowly the funeral procession winds its way over the frozen fields of the North, casting its long, dark shadow before; that shadow penetrated the nation's heart; cheers and bright hope proclaimed the setting forth of the expedition, tears and the silence of the grave announced its return. And tenderly did a loving, tearful nation bear its dead heroes to their last resting