Melkon took one long look at those two holes in the ground and scanned that stern and rock-bound coast. Then it dawned upon him that we were now in the real Arctic, far beyond the last pale of civilization and its appurtenances. With a subdued air he replied:
“Ah, now I understand.”
We had rather expected to find a considerable encampment of Eskimos and were somewhat disappointed to see that the country was apparently depopulated. But in a short time from the upper end of the fiord by the glacier we saw two kayaks approaching. Soon the Commander recognized their occupants as Noo-ka-ping-wa and In-you-gee-to, both old friends and companions of the Commander’s on former sleighing expeditions. They were delighted to see the Commander, and informed us that they represented the entire male population of the town with the exception of old Ak-kom-mo-ding-wa, who was coming as rapidly as his advanced years would allow. He soon appeared in a dilapidated canvas canoe, a gift of some explorer. He had abandoned the kayak in favor of the canoe, as the smaller craft’s cramped quarters no longer felt as comfortable as of yore. He was a comical old loafer, and his behavior caused us much amusement. His lazy habits and good-natured disposition soon gained for him the sobriquet of, “The Beloved Vagabond.”
Next morning at five o’clock sharp, we were roused out for an early start at constructing a landing place for the planes. After a hasty breakfast we piled into the boats and rowed over to the beach which had been chosen for the assembling of the planes. It was strewn with boulders and small rocks, and the only way of ridding the beach of them was to pry them out and roll them away. At this task everybody was soon engaged from the Commander down. All morning we labored, and by noon the sand was well cleared of them.
Our next task was to construct the runway for hauling the planes up to the beach, since the wheels would otherwise sink in the soft sand. For this purpose we requisitioned the sides of the cases in which the wings had been packed. To get them ashore was somewhat of a problem, and we tried several methods before we hit upon the ultimate one of lashing two boats together, thus forming a raft of sufficient stability upon which to load them.
After landing the planes, crosspieces were nailed under them, and these were weighed down with heavy rocks to keep the whole apparatus from floating away with the tide. When the runway was completed, the Navy men began bringing in the wings. In a short time the first fuselage was slung over the side of the Peary, into the water, and then brought ashore lashed between two boats in order that it might not tip over.
When the plane had grounded on the runway, all hands tailed on her tackle and walked her up the beach. Then the wings were set up, and the aviators secured them to the fuselage while we supported them on our backs. Having been assembled, the plane was then rolled back into the water and taken off to its anchorage.
The Peary.