On the day after the night there were no men present or fit to go to work.
Next morning, at break of day, Dawson said good-by.

The thousands that lined the bank wore mittens and their ear-flaps pulled down and tied.
It was thirty below zero, the rim-ice was thickening, and the Yukon carried a run of mush-ice.

From the deck of the Seattle, Daylight waved and called his farewells.

As the lines were cast off and the steamer swung out into the current, those near him saw the moisture well up in Daylight's eyes.

In a way, it was to him departure from his native land, this grim Arctic region which was practically the only land he had known.