A boy's-eye view of the Arctic

by Kennett Longley Rawson

By the time we had finished our inspection, it was quitting time, and our scientist-stevedores knocked off work and began to prepare to go ashore. Dick and I soon became acquainted with them. They were Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg, of the Coast and Geodetic Survey, and John Reinartz, famous short wave radio expert; our hydrographer and radio operator, respectively, both fine fellows, and we made a congenial crowd at the inn that evening. We four were the first ones to arrive, with the exception of the mate, the cook and the engineer. John Jaynes, the engineer, was another very fine fellow, and we all liked John, as we soon came to call him. In a few days we were all calling each other by our first names and felt as if we had known each other all our lives. John certainly could make an engine behave when it didn’t want to, and he also could render valuable aid and advice on nearly everything.

The cook had gone home for a couple of days to wind up his affairs, and he did not return until the day following. The mate, “Robbie,” as we soon called him, was a real mate. His job was to get things done in a hurry, and he did it. But in addition to his capability as a mate, he was a real fellow, and no one had more of the respect and friendship of the expedition than Robbie. The Commander was still in Boston supervising the preparation of the Peary, the ship that was to carry the naval airplanes and aviators. He was not scheduled to arrive in Wiscasset till Wednesday night; so we had several days before his arrival. The rest of the personnel were coming up with the Peary from Boston.

Photo Brust.

The Bowdoin and her crew, Wiscasset, Maine, June 20, 1925.

Left to right: John Jaynes, Engineer; Commander Donald B. MacMillan; Ralph
P. Robinson, Mate; Kennett L. Rawson, Cabin Boy; John Reinartz, short wave radio
expert; Martin Vorce, Cook; Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg, U. S. Coast and Geodetic
Survey; Onnig D. Melkon, moving picture photographer.

After a pleasant evening and a good sleep at the local inn, the sleeping accommodations on the vessel not yet being arranged, Dick and I repaired to the Bowdoin early the next morning. My illusions about life on the bounding billow had undergone a change since I had seen scientists acting as stevedores. But it was still somewhat of a surprise when the mate ordered Dick and me to go ashore and sort and remove the sprouts from thirty bushels of potatoes that were lying in a neighboring storehouse. We spread the potatoes on the dock under a broiling sun and set to work. How good an iceberg would have looked at that moment! Some ten bushels and five blisters later, as I attempted to straighten up to see if my back had assumed a permanent wave, the thought struck me that Gareth scrubbing pots in King Arthur’s kitchen had nothing on me except that he gained immortality while I was getting an awful pain in the back. But the joke was on him; he had no Arctic expedition as a reward for his pains. At last, however, the potatoes were divorced from their sprouts and carefully resacked. We both decided that our shipmates should never know how much unbargained-for sweat they were consuming with their tubers. The mate, who later appeared, seemed to be satisfied with our labors, and this fact greatly reassured me. Thus, as the old ship’s log might read: “This day came in with bliss and worked around into blisters. So ends this day.” This, with the exception of a very pleasant dance which the delightfully hospitable Sewalls gave that evening. Bliss again!

CHAPTER II
UNDER WEIGH

THE next day was to be a very interesting one. In the first place the Commander was coming in the evening, and secondly the cook was arriving. The time-honored tradition on shipboard is that next in importance to the captain comes the cook. My stomach was in full accord with this theory, and I was anxious to see the arbiter of its destiny. As soon as I got to know him I knew my trust had not been misplaced. Martin Vorce was the best cook and had the finest disposition I ever saw wrapped up in human form. There is no theory either about the cook’s having the hardest work on the ship; it is straight fact. Mart was always on the job, “blow high, blow low.” He had several bouts with refractory dishes in rough weather, but he always came out on top.

After the excitement incident to his arrival had died down, we were aware of the approach of a vessel. At first we thought it was the Peary, but as she was not due till the next day we decided it could not be she. In a short time we saw that it was a navy tug loaded to the gunwales with gasolene. She drew alongside the dock and began discharging her cargo. First a mound of gasolene cases that seemed as big as the great pyramid of Cheops was hoisted out; this was followed by a fleet of barrels, and to cap the climax three Liberty engines made their appearance. I thought if all that was stowed aboard the Bowdoin there would be no room for the rest of us. But beyond doubt, enough of those cases would go aboard to keep me on the move for some time. My prophecy was true. The remainder of that day and all the next I walked back and forth across a narrow plank accompanied by the inevitable case. Sometimes the case and I teetered dangerously near the edge; at others we made an uneventful voyage. I almost hoped I might slip, for in my reeking condition I felt a good swim would have been worth ten years of my life. But I avoided this longed for disgrace through gyrations worthy of a gymnast, and while there was no crowd to cheer me on, I had the satisfaction of seeing the mound slowly diminish.