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Show the Catskills, his mortal body, entombed en-tombed in. 11 nighty mausoleum, now and forever sails the great Northern ocean, seeking, perchance, that open highway to the East. After Tta Hundred Years. BY HERBERT L. COGGINS. (Copyright, 1S01. by Daily Story Pub. Co.) Late in the spring of 1S72 the steamship steam-ship Polaris, having fought" ita way through Fury strait, entered the open Waters of Boothia bay. Of all the people peo-ple who knew of the voyage, only through the exciting accounts which filled the newspapers of the time, few Indeed can imagine its hardships, the long dark days when the ice had rendered ren-dered the boat helpless, the dreary yet scarcely darker nights which sleep feet was enveloped in a great coat of fadfd Vrown fur. A hood which, doubtless, doubt-less, haf once been attached to the coat, was pulled over the head, exposing ex-posing only the heavily bearded face. "One of Sir John Franklin's party?" I queried, as we paused, spent and breathless, after our exertion. "Possibly; but the chances are it's some one later. We'll soon know, anyway." any-way." , Tile doctor was already breaking the rotun thongs of the jacket preparatory to a search. A thorough .search brought forth nothing which would tell of the dead, alone made bearable, and a cold which human sense could only register as pain. At that time I was assistant to Dr. Thayer, the biologist of the expedition, expedi-tion, and had been looking forward to the cruise as one long tour of pleasurable pleasur-able excitement. Pleasurable? I had used that word, but now, as I look back and shudder, it seems meaningless. Days of excitement excite-ment there were by the score; times when the awful question of death rose up before us. Still, they but make a sombre background for the single hour which is stamoed indelibly upon my JljLftf' '4 T l I VA A i 1 h memory. The Polaris was anchored in latitude C9.40.17, longitude 84.60. To the east was Mellville Peninsular, a typical portion of Northwestern British America, Amer-ica, to my mind the most dreary and desolate bit of land on this whole round globe. The snow of the previous year had A false lining. ' although our hopes were greatly raised by the discovery of a large gold locket and chain hidden by the overgrowth of .beard. This the doctor removed, but an examination proved the locket to be empty. Then, having done all that lay in our power, we replaced the body in its ancient tomb. Ev the time we had reached the Po- worn away, leaving exposed an almost barren waste. Away from the shore low moss-covered "tundra," or frozen swamps, spread themselves on all pides, while here and there a margin Of stunted tree growth cut a dull line across the bleak surface. Around tnd bove all was the funeral gloom of an Arctic silence. Out in the bay great ice floes were moving slowly southward. Against the darkened sky we could see them in the jiistance, huge frozen mountains, approaching ap-proaching steadily and silently like a jfleet of ghostly vessels bound on some weird mission of destruction. It was on the 7th of May, a particularly particu-larly large berg drifted so close to the Polaris that the doctor and I took the yawl and rowed over to it in the hope laris the great bleared sun had dipped below the, horizon. As we stepped on deck, I looked back. A soft diffused light was poured over the ocean, and here and there brightening up as it fell upon the ice floes. The object of our visit was now several miles to the south, but to my imaginative eye it seemed larger than ever. "Who could have perished alone and so far North ?"I thought. As I wondered won-dered the idea grew upon me that the stranger was no ordinary person. Surely, Sure-ly, no one ever had a grander monument monu-ment than yon stately pyramid. No not even those "old Egyptian kings. 1 took my last look at the floating sepulchre sepul-chre as I went below. By the next morning if "had passed forever from our sight. All this was a generation ago. The dear old doctor has passed away, leaving leav-ing only one thing to be regretted the unfinished volume of his great work. That I, his friend and co-worker, should finish it was his last wish. It was in the preparation of this task while looking over i his notes, that I of killing a stranded bear or musk ox. I shall not speak of our tedious struggles strug-gles along that icy cliff, nor of our weary wanderings over its cold mountainous moun-tainous surface. Terrible as they were It is not because of them that the day Is memorable to me. Unsuccessful in the search and with only the thought of getting back to the Polaris in my mind, I was wearily making my way along the small level stretch of ice to which our boat was anchored when my eye caught on something which caused me to pause. A few feet ahead of me and buried an inch or two below the surface was some dark opaque object. "Fur!" I exclaimed; "some fossil." The St. Petersburg mammoth came to my mind. My shout brought the doctor doc-tor hurrying towards me. He, too, was taken with the same idea and with our hatchets we began the workof excavation. ex-cavation. A minute later the doctor sprang back, and I heard his hatchet fall clanging upon the ice. "Good God," he cried, "look!" His last blow had left but a thin, transparent lens of ice above the object ob-ject of his search. A shiver, as of some ague, passed through my nerves. I recognized, not the limb of some long buried fossil, but, staring up at us with awful composure, a human face. Had I been alone I would never have taken a second look. To the doctor, however, ran across a ragged brown leaf, torn from some old forgotten volume. Curious Curi-ous to know the reason for preserving such a fragment, I glanced over it. "At the festival given by the East India company, on board the ship The Trader's Increase, December 30, 1609, His Majesty, King James I., presented Sir Thomas Smythe, Governor of the Company, with a very faire necklace of gold bearing a locket wherein was his own portrait." ' A description followed, which, as I read, sent a hundred echoing visions through my brain. I had never seen the necklace, and yet how vividly the description pictured itself in my mind. Then suddenly, as the recognizing of a former friend, I thought of the locket which we had taken from that corpse in Boothia bay. For months, ever since the doctor's death, it had been stowed away in my desk at home. Probably then the doctor also had been struck with the description, but his failing memory had doubtless prevented pre-vented him from associating it with the locket in his possession. Still it was only a similarity. The trinket found in the Arctic America bore no connection with Sir Thomas Smythe of three centuries back. Sir homas Smythe. Again I am confronted by that name. Is it not more tiian a coincidence? I read on. It was that rare old volume, "The Daring Dar-ing Navigators of the XVII. Century." "When Henry Hudson set forth on that last fatal quest of the northwest route to the Indies Sir Thomas Smythe, then Governor of the Company, did present- to him for a talisman for a safe voyage the golden necklace which had been given first to Sir Thomas by "Good God!" he cried. "Look!" such sights were less repulsive, and his Instinct for investigation instantly reasserted re-asserted itself. An hour's hard work enabled us to lift the body from its icy tomb. I can see it now. The massive head and broad shoulders, the poweriul limbs, and even the stern expression of that rigid face. In spite of my aversion, the physical aspect of the man filled me with awe. Never has that picture arisen to my vision and the mist of years have come between without impressing im-pressing me with the belief that it was n0 common clay that we touched that d(1The entire iody from shoulders to His Majesty King James. I closed the book. Five minutes later I was once again, gazing into the old locket for a clue which nowhere met my eyes. In final disgust I dropped the trinket from by fingers and it struck the stone tablet of my desk. I heard a sound as of the action of a stiffened spring, and beheld a false lining, which I had taken for the' inner case, gaping open before me. Below this disk was a miniature in oil. The porcelain por-celain was cracked and the colors faded, but the face ws the face of James 1. And so, while the genial ghost of old Henry Hudson bowls ninepins with his mecvy trolls far in the depths of |