Then Triplett fairly spiked my guns by adding,-- "And my wife!" I could have killed the old fool! I hustled them both below and turned back to face an indignant ship's company. Block bustled up officiously. "See here, Traprock," he blustered, "we don't like this. You know...." "STOP!" I commanded in a voice that shook the Kawa to the place where her keel would have been had she had one. "To begin with, I want you, Plock, to know that I am not 'Traprock' to you or to any one else. I am '_Doctor_ Traprock, _Sir_'--do you understand?" Plock growled an uneasy assent as I continued. "I know perfectly well what is in your minds, namely, that the understanding was that there should be no wives on this voyage. This Sausalito woman was engaged by me as seamstress. If she is Triplett's wife, as he says, it is news to me. In any case I want it thoroughly understood that I am Boss on this ship. To your posts! Ready-about to wear ship. Triplett, take the helm." (He had come smirking out of the cabin.) With surly "Aye, aye, sirs," they took up their duties, as I struck sharply on the table-bell which was screwed to the combing, the faithful Tatbury began its revolutions and once more the little Kawa slid gracefully through the long Atlantic swells. It was a magnificent day but I was frankly depressed. Already a cloud of discord had arisen in the ranks. Already an ominous rift had opened. What might happen in the future only the future could tell. I was filled with disquieting memories of what had occurred to other Arctic explorers whose cohorts had been split by dissension and bitterness. I knew full well how they had separated, sometimes to perish under the very shadow of the Pole itself, sometimes to fight their way back to civilization in broken fragments which spent the remainder of their lives in vilifying each other. Little did I realize how much more tragic was to be the outcome of this apparently trivial incident. In the meantime I was lulled into false security. Two weeks of glorious weather made our progress exceed even my sanguine schedules. Once clear of Cape Race our course lay almost due north and the full force of the magnetic pull on our bowsprit could be utilized. To this we added, in favoring weather, a mainsail forward and a jigger aft so that we were able to conserve our fuel supply most satisfactorily. Our trip through Davis Strait into Baffin Bay was a sight-seeing trip new to most of my men and I was glad to be able to point out to them the objects of interest along either shore, on the left the cozy English hamlets of Mugford, Chislinghurst-on-Trent and Philpot Island, on the right the quaint Greenlandic fishing villages of Fiskernoes, Svartenhunk and Sükkertoppen, names eloquent of their respective origins.