The evening sun dimmed over Admiral Byrd's Little America camp a day last week. Most of the expedition's 42 men were in their tents. A few were outdoors strolling nervously about their ready-packed gear and baggage. A smoke of frost was on the harbor, where their bark, the City of New York, was soon to arrive, to take them away from their 13 months and 25 days of bleakness. Talk was scant.
Then, unexpectedly, almost silently, out of the harbor murk appeared the ship. The crew called across...
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