We had passed the period when there was a chance of peril, of disaster, to the whole expedition.  There might be risk ahead to individuals, and some difficulties and annoyances for all of us; but there was no longer the least likelihood of any disaster to the expedition as a whole.  We now no longer had to face continual anxiety, the need of constant economy with food, the duty of labor with no end in sight, and bitter uncertainty as to the future.

It was time to get out.  The wearing work, under very unhealthy conditions, was beginning to tell on every one.  Half of the camaradas had been down with fever and were much weakened; only a few of them retained their original physical and moral strength.  Cherrie and Kermit had recovered; but both Kermit and Lyra still had bad sores on their legs, from the bruises received in the water work.  I was in worse shape.  The after effects of the fever still hung on; and the leg which had been hurt while working in the rapids with the sunken canoe had taken a turn for the bad and developed an abscess.  The good doctor, to whose unwearied care and kindness I owe much, had cut it open and inserted a drainage tube; an added charm being given the operation, and the subsequent dressings, by the enthusiasm with which the piums and boroshudas took part therein.  I could hardly hobble, and was pretty well laid up.  But “there aren’t no ‘stop, conductor,’ while a battery’s changing ground.”  No man has any business to go on such a trip as ours unless he will refuse to jeopardize the welfare of his associates by any delay caused by a weakness or ailment of his.  It is his duty to go forward, if necessary on all fours, until he drops.  Fortunately, I was put to no such test.  I remained in good shape until we had passed the last of the rapids of the chasms.  When my serious trouble came we had only canoe-riding ahead of us.  It is not ideal for a sick man to spend the hottest hours of the day stretched on the boxes in the bottom of a small open dugout, under the well-nigh intolerable heat of the torrid sun of the mid-tropics, varied by blinding, drenching downpours of rain; but I could not be sufficiently grateful for the chance.  Kermit and Cherrie took care of me as if they had been trained nurses; and Colonel Rondon and Lyra were no less thoughtful.

The north was calling strongly to the three men of the north—­Rocky Dell Farm to Cherrie, Sagamore Hill to me; and to Kermit the call was stronger still.  After nightfall we could now see the Dipper well above the horizon—­upside down, with the two pointers pointing to a north star below the world’s rim; but the Dipper, with all its stars.  In our home country spring had now come, the wonderful northern spring of long glorious days, of brooding twilights, of cool delightful nights.  Robin and bluebird, meadow-lark and song sparrow, were singing in the mornings at home; the maple-buds were red; windflowers and bloodroot were blooming while the last patches of snow still lingered; the rapture of the hermithrush in Vermont, the serene golden melody of the woodthrush on Long Island, would be heard before we were there to listen.  Each man to his home, and to his true love!  Each was longing for the homely things that were so dear to him, for the home people who were dearer still, and for the one who was dearest of all.