COPENHAGEN TO THE UNITED STATES
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC—RECEPTION IN NEW YORK—BEWILDERING CYCLONE OF EVENTS—INSIDE NEWS OF THE PEARY ATTACK—HOW THE WEB OF SHAME WAS WOVEN
XXXII
Peary's Underhand Work at Labrador
It seemed that, coming from the companionless solitude of the North, destiny in the shape of crowds was determined to pursue me. I expected to transfer from the Melchior to the Oscar II at Christiansaand, Norway, quietly and make my way home in peace. At Christiansaand the noise began. On a smaller scale was repeated the previous ovation of Copenhagen.
On board the Oscar II I really got more sleep than I had for months previous or months afterwards. After several days of seasickness I experienced the joys of comparative rest and slept like a child. My brain still seemed numbed. There were on the boat no curiosity-seekers; no crowds stifled me nor did applause thunder in my ears.
Every few minutes, before we got out of touch with the wireless, there were messages; communications from friends, from newspapers and magazines; repetitions of the early charges made against me; questions concerning Peary's messages and my attitude toward him. When the boat approached Newfoundland the wireless again became disturbing. Then came the "gold brick" cable.
At this time, every vestige of pleasure in the thought of the thing I had accomplished left me. Since then, and to this day, I almost view all my efforts with regret. I doubt if any man ever lived in the belief of an accomplishment and got so little pleasure, and so much bitterness, from it. That my Eskimos had told Mr. Peary they had been but two days out of sight of land seemed probable; it was a belief I had always encouraged. That Mr. Peary should persistently attack me did arouse a feeling of chagrin and injury.
I spent most of my time alone in my cabin or strolling on the deck. The people aboard considered Peary's messages amusing. I talked little; I tried to analyze the situation in my mind, but wearily I gave it up; mentally I was still dazed.
During the trip Director Cold, chief of the Danish United Steamship Company, helped me with small details in every way; Lonsdale, my secretary, and Mr. Cold's secretary were busy copying my notes and my narrative story, which I had agreed to give to the New York Herald. I had made no plans; my one object was to see my family.