Nevertheless rising far above either praise or blame stands the
beauty of that message which came out from the lonely tent in the
wilderness. In utter physical weakness, utter loneliness, in the
face of defeat and death, my husband wrote that last record of his
life, so triumphantly characteristic, which turned his defeat to a
victory immeasurably higher and more beautiful than the success of
his exploring venture could ever have been accounted, and thus was
compassed the higher purpose of his life.
For that it had been given to me to fulfill one of those lesser
purposes by which he planned to build up a whole, that would give
him the right to stand among those who had done great things
worthily, I was deeply grateful. The work was but imperfectly
done, yet I did what I could.
The hills were white with snow when the ship came to Ungava. She
had run on a reef in leaving Cartwright, her first port of call on
the Labrador coast; her keel was ripped out from stem to stern, and
for a month she had lain in dry dock for repairs at St. John's,
Newfoundland. It was October 22nd when I said good-bye to my kind
friends at the post and in ten days the _Pelican_ landed us safe at
Rigolette.
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