Windows of Love

undue credit for having heroically read it through out of pure love ofscience: I was one of its unfortunate reviewers.) The wild form producesseed, and grows in Cochin China, the Philippines, Ceylon, and Khasia.Like most other large tropical fruits, it no doubt owes its originaldevelopment to the selective action of monkeys, hornbills, parrots andother big fruit-eaters; and it shares with all fruits of similar originone curious tropical peculiarity. Most northern berries, like thestrawberry, the raspberry, the currant, and the blackberry, developedby the selective action of small northern birds, can be popped at onceinto the mouth and eaten whole; they have no tough outer rind ordefensive covering of any sort. But big tropical fruits, which laythemselves out for the service of large birds or monkeys, have alwayshard outer coats, because they could only be injured by smaller animals,who would eat the pulp without helping in the dispersion of the usefulseeds, the one object really held in view by the mother plant. Often, asin the case of the orange, the rind even contains a bitter, nauseous, orpungent juice, while at times, as in the pine-apple, the prickly pear,the sweet-sop, and the cherimoyer, the entire fruit is covered withsharp projections, stinging hairs, or knobby protuberances, on purposeto warn off the unauthorised depredator. It was this line of defencethat gave the banana in the first instance its thick yellow skin; and,looking at the matter from the epicure’s point of view, one may sayroughly that all tropical fruits have to be skinned before they can beeaten. They are all adapted for being cut up with a knife and fork, ordug out with a spoon, on a civilised dessert-plate. As for that mostdelicious of Indian fruits, the mango, it has been well said that theonly proper way to eat it is over a tub of water, with a couple oftowels hanging gracefully across the side.

The varieties of the banana are infinite in number, and, as in mostother plants of ancient cultivation, they shade off into one another byinfinitesimal gradations. Two principal sorts, however, are commonlyrecognised–the true banana of commerce, and the common plantain. Thebanana proper is eaten raw, as a fruit, and is allowed accordingly toripen thoroughly before being picked for market; the plantain, which isthe true food-stuff of all the equatorial region in both hemispheres, isgathered green and roasted as a vegetable, or, to use the moreexpressive West Indian negro phrase, as a bread-kind. Millions of humanbeings in Asia, Africa, America, and the islands of the Pacific Oceanlive almost entirely on the mild and succulent but tasteless plantain.Some people like the fruit; to me personally it is more suggestive of avery flavourless over-ripe pear than of anything else in heaven or earthor the waters that are under the earth–the latter being the mostprobable place to look for it, as its taste and substance are decidedlywatery. Baked dry in the green state ‘it resembles roasted chestnuts,’or rather baked parsnip; pulped and boiled with water it makes ‘a veryagreeable sweet soup,’ almost as nice as peasoup with brown sugar in it;and cut into slices, sweetened, and fried, it forms ‘an excellentsubstitute for fruit pudding,’ having a flavour much like that ofpotatoes _a la maitre d’hotel_ served up in treacle.

Altogether a fruit to be sedulously avoided, the plantain, thoughmillions of our spiritually destitute African brethren haven’t yet for amoment discovered that it isn’t every bit as good as wheaten bread andfresh butter. Missionary enterprise will no doubt before long enlightenthem on this subject, and create a good market in time for Americanflour and Manchester piece-goods.

Though by origin a Malayan plant, there can be little doubt that thebanana had already reached the mainland of America and the West IndiaIslands long before the voyage of Columbus. When Pizarro disembarkedupon the coast of Peru on his desolating expedition, the mild-eyed,melancholy, doomed Peruvians flocked down to the shore and offered himbananas in a lordly dish. Beds composed of banana leaves have beendiscovered in the tombs of the Incas, of date anterior, of course, tothe Spanish conquest. How did they get there? Well, it is clearly anabsurd mistake to suppose that Columbus discovered America; as ArtemusWard pertinently remarked, the noble Red Indian had obviously discoveredit long before him. There had been intercourse of old, too, between Asiaand the Western Continent; the elephant-headed god of Mexico, thedebased traces of Buddhism in the Aztec religion, the singularcoincidences between India and Peru, all seem to show that a stream ofcommunication, however faint, once existed between the Asiatic andAmerican worlds. Garcilaso himself, the half-Indian historian of Peru,says that the banana was well known in his native country before theconquest, and that the Indians say ‘its origin is Ethiopia.’ In somestrange way or other, then, long before Columbus set foot upon the lowsandbank of Cat’s Island, the banana had been transported from Africa orIndia to the Western hemisphere.

If it were a plant propagated by seed, one would suppose that it wascarried across by wind or waves, wafted on the feet of birds, oraccidentally introduced in the crannies of drift timber. So the coco-nutmade the tour of the world ages before either of the famous Cooks–theCaptain or the excursion agent–had rendered the same feat easy andpracticable; and so, too, a number of American plants have fixed theirhome in the tarns of the Hebrides or among the lonely bogs of WesternGalway. But the banana must have been carried by man, because it isunknown in the wild state in the Western Continent; and, as it ispractically seedless, it can only have been transported entire, in theform of a root or sucker. An exactly similar proof of ancientintercourse between the two worlds is afforded us by the sweet potato, aplant of undoubted American origin, which was nevertheless naturalisedin China as early as the first centuries of the Christian era. Now thatwe all know how the Scandinavians of the eleventh century went toMassachusetts, which they called Vineland, and how the Mexican empirehad some knowledge of Accadian astronomy, people are beginning todiscover that Columbus himself was after all an egregious humbug.

In the old world the cultivation of the banana and the plantain goes

back, no doubt, to a most immemorial antiquity. Our Aryan ancestorhimself, Professor Max Mueller’s especial _protege_, had already inventedseveral names for it, which duly survive in very classical Sanskrit. TheGreeks of Alexander’s expedition saw it in India, where ’sages reposedbeneath its shade and ate of its fruit, whence the botanical name, _Musasapientum_.’ As the sages in question were lazy Brahmans, alwayscelebrated for their immense capacity for doing nothing, the report, asquoted by Pliny, is no doubt an accurate one. But the acceptedderivation of the word _Musa_ from an Arabic original seems to me highlyuncertain; for Linnaeus, who first bestowed it on the genus, calledseveral other allied genera by such cognate names as Urania andHeliconia. If, therefore, the father of botany knew that his own wordwas originally Arabic, we cannot acquit him of the high crime andmisdemeanour of deliberate punning. Should the Royal Society get wind ofthis, something serious would doubtless happen; for it is well knownthat the possession of a sense of humour is absolutely fatal to thepretensions of a man of science.

Besides its main use as an article of food, the banana servesincidentally to supply a valuable fibre, obtained from the stem, andemployed for weaving into textile fabrics and making paper. Severalkinds of the plantain tribe are cultivated for this purpose exclusively,the best known among them being the so-called manilla hemp, a plantlargely grown in the Philippine Islands. Many of the finest Indianshawls are woven from banana stems, and much of the rope that we use inour houses comes from the same singular origin. I know nothing morestrikingly illustrative of the extreme complexity of our moderncivilisation than the way in which we thus every day employ articles ofexotic manufacture in our ordinary life without ever for a momentsuspecting or inquiring into their true nature. What lady knows when sheputs on her delicate wrapper, from Liberty’s or from Swan and Edgar’s,that the material from which it is woven is a Malayan plantain stalk?Who ever thinks that the glycerine for our chapped hands comes fromTravancore coco-nuts, and that the pure butter supplied us from the farmin the country is coloured yellow with Jamaican annatto? We break atooth, as Mr. Herbert Spencer has pointed out, because the grape-curersof Zante are not careful enough about excluding small stones from theirstock of currants; and we suffer from indigestion because the Capewine-grower has doctored his light Burgundies with Brazilian logwood andwhite rum, to make them taste like Portuguese port. Take merely thisvery question of dessert, and how intensely complicated it really is.The West Indian bananas keep company with sweet St. Michaels from theAzores, and with Spanish cobnuts from Barcelona. Dried fruits from Metz,figs from Smyrna, and dates from Tunis lie side by side on our tablewith Brazil nuts and guava jelly and damson cheese and almonds andraisins. We forget where everything comes from nowadays, in our generalconsciousness that they all come from the Queen Victoria Street Stores,and any real knowledge of common objects is rendered every day more andmore impossible by the bewildering complexity and variety, every dayincreasing, of the common objects themselves, their substitutes,

This book was born out of a living encounter with the members of theChristian Education Conference to which I lectured at the AmericanBaptist Assembly at Green Lake, Wis., in August of 1958. As I stepped tothe speaker’s rostrum to begin my first lecture to that group, and myfirst to so large a group of Baptist lay people, I wondered whether I asan Episcopalian and they as Baptists had images of each other that wouldhelp or hinder our communication. I shared with them my question andlearned later they had been asking themselves the same question. Iexplained that I had prepared myself to speak to them in the hope thatthrough me some of the truth of God would be heard by them, and Iexplained also that their lives were to be their preparation for hearingwhat I had to say; that is, that I hoped they would work as hard to hearme as I would work to make myself understood. They responded in goodspirit, so that the Spirit of God spoke through and to all of us.

I describe this occasion because it produced the experience and contextout of which the present book appeared. _Herein Is Love_ is, I believe,an outward and visible sign of the fellowship of the Holy Spiritexperienced on that occasion; and I offer it as a means of opening toothers the possibility of participating in this fellowship of the HolySpirit.

The theme of the book grows out of that experience: As the love of Godrequired incarnation in Jesus of Nazareth in order that it might bereceived by us, so the Word of God’s love in our day calls for personsin whom it may be embodied. The church, as the embodiment of divine lovein human relationships, has tremendous responsibilities andopportunities in our modern culture. The old and familiar biblicalsymbols and stories do not always communicate their meanings to mentoday, and we must find a language that does. The language of the livedlife of both man and God is the one that we shall use here in an attemptto open to us the meaning of the life of man and of God.

I

SOME FRIGHTENED FRIENDS

“There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.”–_1 John 4:18_

“It seems to me that the church has lost its influence. Nobody pays muchattention to it any more, except some of its own members; and they don’tseem to be interested in anything except their own activities. The timewas when the word of the minister carried weight. Some may not haveagreed, but when the church spoke they paid attention. It’s not true

talking of the Pyramids,? says Mr. Whiffler, quite as a matter ofcourse, ?reminds me of the twins. It?s a very extraordinary thing aboutthose babies?what colour should you say their eyes were?? ?Upon myword,? the friend stammers, ?I hardly know how to answer??the factbeing, that except as the friend does not remember to have heard of anydeparture from the ordinary course of nature in the instance of thesetwins, they might have no eyes at all for aught he has observed to thecontrary. ?You wouldn?t say they were red, I suppose?? says Mr.Whiffler. The friend hesitates, and rather thinks they are; butinferring from the expression of Mr. Whiffler?s face that red is not thecolour, smiles with some confidence, and says, ?No, no! very differentfrom that.? ?What should you say to blue?? says Mr. Whiffler. Thefriend glances at him, and observing a different expression in his face,ventures to say, ?I should say they /were/ blue?a decided blue.? ?To besure!? cries Mr. Whiffler, triumphantly, ?I knew you would! But whatshould you say if I was to tell you that the boy?s eyes are blue and thegirl?s hazel, eh?? ?Impossible!? exclaims the friend, not at allknowing why it should be impossible. ?A fact, notwithstanding,? criesMr. Whiffler; ?and let me tell you, Saunders, /that?s/ not a commonthing in twins, or a circumstance that?ll happen every day.?

In this dialogue Mrs. Whiffler, as being deeply responsible for thetwins, their charms and singularities, has taken no share; but she nowrelates, in broken English, a witticism of little Dick?s bearing uponthe subject just discussed, which delights Mr. Whiffler beyond measure,and causes him to declare that he would have sworn that was Dick?s if hehad heard it anywhere. Then he requests that Mrs. Whiffler will tellSaunders what Tom said about mad bulls; and Mrs. Whiffler relating theanecdote, a discussion ensues upon the different character of Tom?s witand Dick?s wit, from which it appears that Dick?s humour is of a livelyturn, while Tom?s style is the dry and caustic. This discussion beingenlivened by various illustrations, lasts a long time, and is onlystopped by Mrs. Whiffler instructing the footman to ring the nurserybell, as the children were promised that they should come down and tastethe pudding.

The friend turns pale when this order is given, and paler still when itis followed up by a great pattering on the staircase, (not unlike thesound of rain upon a skylight,) a violent bursting open of thedining-room door, and the tumultuous appearance of six small children,closely succeeded by a strong nursery-maid with a twin in each arm. Asthe whole eight are screaming, shouting, or kicking?some influenced by aravenous appetite, some by a horror of the stranger, and some by aconflict of the two feelings?a pretty long space elapses before alltheir heads can be ranged round the table and anything like orderrestored; in bringing about which happy state of things both the nurseand footman are severely scratched. At length Mrs. Whiffler is heard tosay, ?Mr. Saunders, shall I give you some pudding?? A breathlesssilence ensues, and sixteen small eyes are fixed upon the guest inexpectation of his reply. A wild shout of joy proclaims that he has

adulterates, and spurious imitations. Why, you probably never heard ofmanilla hemp before, until this very minute, and yet you have beenfamiliarly using it all your lifetime, while 400,000 hundredweights ofthat useful article are annually imported into this country alone. It isan interesting study to take any day a list of market quotations, andask oneself about every material quoted, what it is and what they dowith it.

For example, can you honestly pretend that you really understand the useand importance of that valuable object of everyday demand, fustic? Iremember an ill-used telegraph clerk in a tropical colony oncecomplaining to me that English cable operators were so disgracefullyignorant about this important staple as invariably to substitute for itsname the word ‘justice’ in all telegrams which originally referred toit. Have you any clear and definite notions as to the prime origin andfinal destination of a thing called jute, in whose sole manufacture thewhole great and flourishing town of Dundee lives and moves and has itsbeing? What is turmeric? Whence do we obtain vanilla? How manycommercial products are yielded by the orchids? How many totallydistinct plants in different countries afford the totally distinctstarches lumped together in grocers’ lists under the absurd name ofarrowroot? When you ask for sago do you really see that you get it? andhow many entirely different objects described as sago are known tocommerce? Define the uses of partridge canes and cohune oil. Whatobjects are generally manufactured from tucum? Would it surprise you tolearn that English door-handles are commonly made out of coquilla nuts?that your wife’s buttons are turned from the indurated fruit of theTagua palm? and that the knobs of umbrellas grew originally in theremote depths of Guatemalan forests? Are you aware that a plant calledmanioc supplies the starchy food of about one-half the population oftropical America? These are the sort of inquiries with which a newedition of ‘Mangnall’s Questions’ would have to be filled; and as toanswering them–why, even the pupil-teachers in a London Board School(who represent, I suppose, the highest attainable level of humanknowledge) would often find themselves completely nonplussed. The factis, tropical trade has opened out so rapidly and so wonderfully thatnobody knows much about the chief articles of tropical growth; we go onusing them in an uninquiring spirit of childlike faith, much as theJamaica negroes go on using articles of European manufacture about whoseorigin they are so ridiculously ignorant that one young woman once askedme whether it was really true that cotton handkerchiefs were dug up outof the ground over in England. Some dim confusion between coal or ironand Manchester piece-goods seemed to have taken firm possession of herinfantile imagination.

That is why I have thought that a treatise De Banana might not, perhaps,be wholly without its usefulness to the modern English reading world.After all, a food-stuff which supports hundreds of millions among ourbeloved tropical fellow-creatures ought to be very dear to the heart ofa nation which governs (and annually kills) more black people, taken in

now, though.”

Mr. Clarke eyed the others in the group as if he were testing theirreactions to the statements he had just made. The church had alwaysgiven him a sense of security, and now he was both worried that itseemed to have lost its power, and resentful that people no longerlistened to its teaching.

He was one of a group of leaders of a local congregation who, at therequest of their minister, were meeting to re-examine the purpose of thechurch. Not all of the group had arrived as yet, and the minister of thecongregation, Mr. Gates, had been detained in his office by an emergencycall upon his pastoral care.

Within the minute after Mr. Clarke finished, Mr. Wise spoke up. He was athoughtful and compassionate member of the congregation who often raisedthe kind of questions that carried the discussion to deeper levels. Whenhis questions were ignored, as they often were, he would smilegood-naturedly and continue both as a contributor and as a questionraiser. Turning to Mr. Clarke, he said: “I think I know how you feel.The statements of our ordained spiritual leaders are important, but doyou think we should equate their words with–”

As usual, Mr. Wise’s comment was interrupted, and this time by Mr.Churchill who, with evident irritation, protested against any concernover what others thought about the church. He said: “The church has gotto be the church, and the world is different from it. I don’t like this’return to religion’ business. Christianity and the church aren’tsupposed to be popular movements. If people want to join the church,that’s fine; but if they don’t, that’s their lookout. Let’s be thechurch and leave the world to itself.”

“But why was Christ born _into the world_–” began Mr. Wise.

“I don’t agree,” exclaimed Mrs. Strait, responding to Mr. Churchill’scomment and not hearing Mr. Wise. “I think we should be concerned aboutthe world; concerned enough, at least, to set a good example, so thatpeople will know what they’re supposed to live up to and to do. Afterall, Jesus told us how we should live, and He did so in such simplewords that even children can understand them. All we have to do–andit’s written there for us to read–is to keep the commandments, imitateJesus, and live a good life for ourselves and others.”

“Yes, but if it’s that simple, why don’t church people live better–”

“Not at all! _Not at all!_” pronounced the stately Mr. Knowles with somedisdain. “I don’t agree with any of you. Our difficulties today resultfrom the ignorance of our people, and the answer to the problem iseducation. We need to teach, and teach again. Church people must knowtheir faith and know why they believe in it. When I was a child I was

the mass, than all the other European powers put together. We haveintroduced the blessings of British rule–the good and well-paidmissionary, the Remington rifle, the red-cotton pocket-handkerchief, andthe use of ‘the liquor called rum’–into so many remote corners of thetropical world that it is high time we should begin in return to learnsomewhat about fetiches and fustic, Jamaica and jaggery, bananas andBuddhism. We know too little still about our colonies and dependencies.’Cape Breton an island!’ cried King George’s Minister, the Duke ofNewcastle, in the well-known story, ‘Cape Breton an island! Why, so itis! God bless my soul! I must go and tell the King that Cape Breton’san island.’ That was a hundred years ago; but only the other day theBoard of Trade placarded all our towns and villages with a flamingnotice to the effect that the Colorado beetle had made its appearance at’a town in Canada called Ontario,’ and might soon be expected to arriveat Liverpool by Cunard steamer. The right honourables and other highmightinesses who put forth the notice in question were evidently unawarethat Ontario is a province as big as England, including in its bordersToronto, Ottawa, Kingston, London, Hamilton, and other large andflourishing towns. Apparently, in spite of competitive examinations, theschoolmaster is still abroad in the Government offices.

GO TO THE ANT

In the market-place at Santa Fe, in Mexico, peasant women from theneighbouring villages bring in for sale trayfuls of living ants, eachabout as big and round as a large white currant, and each entirelyfilled with honey or grape sugar, much appreciated by the ingenuousMexican youth as an excellent substitute for Everton toffee. The methodof eating them would hardly command the approbation of the Society forthe Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. It is simple and primitive, butdecidedly not humane. Ingenuous youth holds the ant by its head andshoulders, sucks out the honey with which the back part is absurdlydistended, and throws away the empty body as a thing with which it hasnow no further sympathy. Maturer age buys the ants by the quart, pressesout the honey through a muslin strainer, and manufactures it into a verysweet intoxicating drink, something like shandygaff, as I am crediblyinformed by bold persons who have ventured to experiment upon it, takeninternally.

The curious insect which thus serves as an animated sweetmeat for theMexican children is the honey-ant of the Garden of the Gods; and itaffords a beautiful example of Mandeville’s charming paradox thatpersonal vices are public benefits–_vitia privata humana commoda_. Thehoney-ant is a greedy individual who has nevertheless nobly devotedhimself for the good of the community by converting himself into aliving honey-jar, from which all the other ants in his own nest may help

drilled thoroughly in the knowledge of the Bible, and I once won a prizefor knowing more Bible verses than any other child. We need more adulteducation, and our children must be filled with the truth so they canrecite it forwards and backwards. In my estimation, there is too muchemphasis now on persons and not enough on the content of the faith.”

“But didn’t Jesus say, ‘For God so loved the world–’”

“It seems to me,” interrupted Professor Manby, “that all of you are intoo much of a hurry. Some scientists estimate that man has been eightmillion years coming to his present state of life. In contrast,civilized man is only four thousand years old. This being true, weshould be more patient. Given time, man will solve his problems.”

“But has man’s character developed in pace with his knowl–”

At that moment the Reverend Mr. Gates, with several other members of thecommittee, came into the room, and after greeting everyone he said: “Nowlet’s get down to business. As you know, I’ve called this meeting inorder that we may consider the purpose of our church in this community.I think we need a clearer understanding of why we are here. I wish wecould be surer that we are serving God’s purposes and not our own. Iwish we all would assume as true that God’s purposes for His church andfor us are greater than anything we may think they are, and that wewould hold our opinions and beliefs open to His correction and renewal.”

“How can we be any clearer about the purpose of this church than to keepit open and its organizations going, so that people can come to it ifthey want to,” exclaimed Mr. Churchill abruptly.

Mr. Wise now got to his feet, and with a twinkle in his eye beganspeaking: “You’ve all interrupted me several times, but now I’m going tospeak my piece. I think Mr. Gates is right. We do need occasionally torethink the reason for our existence as a church, lest it become aprivate club that caters to our own special needs. Our discussion so fartonight suggests that we want the church to be what we need it to be. Wewant God cut down to our own pattern and size. It may be that our churchis too small for God, and that we’ll turn out to be a religious, butgodless, club.”

“But how could that happen to us?” protested Mrs. Strait. “If we dowhat’s right, God will love us and use us as His obedient servants.”

“I wish Mr. Gates would set us straight on these matters. Were you goingto say anything more, Pastor?” inquired Mr. Clarke.

“Yes, I’ll have more to say,” replied Mr. Gates slowly, “but this is notmy problem only. That’s why I called you together. We need to help eachother think this question through. But to do that, we all shall need thespirit of Christ to help us. We need to look at the concepts and

themselves freely from time to time, as occasion demands. The tribe towhich he belongs lives underground, in a dome-roofed vault, and only oneparticular caste among the workers, known as rotunds from theirexpansive girth, is told off for this special duty of storing honeywithin their own bodies. Clinging to the top of their nest, with theirround, transparent abdomens hanging down loosely, mere globules of skinenclosing the pale amber-coloured honey, these Daniel Lamberts of theinsect race look for all the world like clusters of the little AmericanDelaware grapes, with an ant’s legs and head stuck awkwardly on to theend instead of a stalk. They have, in fact, realised in everyday lifethe awful fate of Mr. Gilbert’s discontented sugar-broker, who laid onflesh and ‘adipose deposit’ until he became converted at last into aperfect rolling ball of globular humanity.

The manners of the honey-ant race are very simple. Most of the membersof each community are active and roving in their dispositions, and showno tendency to undue distension of the nether extremities. They go outat night and collect nectar or honey-dew from the gall-insects onoak-trees; for the gall-insect, like love in the old Latin saw, isfruitful both in sweets and bitters, _melle et felle_. This nectar theythen carry home, and give it to the rotunds or honey-bearers, whoswallow it and store it in their round abdomen until they can hold nomore, having stretched their skins literally to the very point ofbursting. They pass their time, like the Fat Boy in ‘Pickwick,’ chieflyin sleeping, but they cling upside down meanwhile to the roof of theirresidence. When the workers in turn require a meal, they go up to thenearest honey-bearer and stroke her gently with their antennae. Thehoney-bearer thereupon throws up her head and regurgitates a large dropof the amber liquid. (’Regurgitates’ is a good word which I borrow fromDr. McCook, of Philadelphia, the great authority upon honey-ants; and itsaves an immense deal of trouble in looking about for a respectableperiphrasis.) The workers feed upon the drops thus exuded, two or threeat once often standing around the living honey-jar, and lapping nectartogether from the lips of their devoted comrade. This may seem at firstsight rather an unpleasant practice on the part of the ants; but afterall, how does it really differ from our own habit of eating honey whichhas been treated in very much the same unsophisticated manner by thedomestic bee?

Worse things than these, however, Dr. McCook records to the discredit ofthe Colorado honey-ant. When he was opening some nests in the Garden ofthe Gods, he happened accidentally to knock down some of the rotunds,which straightway burst asunder in the middle, and scattered their storeof honey on the floor of the nest. At once the other ants, tempted awayfrom their instinctive task of carrying off the cocoons and young grubs,clustered around their unfortunate companion, like street boys around abroken molasses barrel, and, instead of forming themselves forthwithinto a volunteer ambulance company, proceeded immediately to lap up thehoney from their dying brother. On the other hand it must be said, tothe credit of the race, that (unlike the members of Arctic expeditions)