A boy's-eye view of the Arctic

by Kennett Longley Rawson

After work was over for the day I became painfully aware that loading gasolene had discovered a number of tender muscles of which school athletics had never made me aware. But this condition did not prevent my looking forward with zest to a dance that was to be given in honor of the High School Graduation. This was to be held that evening, and the outstanding feature of the graduation was that the graduates were to receive their diplomas from the hand of the Commander, who had especially cut short his stay in Boston in order to be present.

With the big event of the evening in mind, we went below and holy-stoned our gasolene-soaked hides religiously. Then we turned to and attacked our first meal on shipboard, and we vowed that if all the other meals were as good, we should never have cause to complain.

After we had waded through our food, we started for the High School. A short walk landed us there, and we nosed our way through the mob gathered about the entrance. As we entered, the exercises were just beginning, and the Commander was on the point of entering into his presentation speech. We listened to his speech and the ones following with interest mingled with impatience. Finally the graduates were graduated, and the dance was on. Then came our long awaited opportunity to meet the Commander. The mate led us over and presented us. I had never before seen the Commander, but I had heard enough about him to whet my curiosity to a degree where I wanted to know the man from the myth. From the moment I met him I knew that I was serving under a Commander who was a real leader and a man among men. This impression has never left me, but has since been constantly strengthened.

After we had chatted together for a few minutes, with characteristic good humor, the Commander told the mate to see that we met all of the sweet young things and had plenty of dancing, for it would be some time before we danced again. We accepted the Commander’s suggestion as a sacred duty, and obeyed it to the letter.

“The morning after the night before” was rather a painful period, as dancing until the midnight oil is low and then arising at the crack of dawn does not incline one to rhapsodize over the sunrise. But that morning, without the aid of our usual battery of alarm clocks, we were awakened by the shrill blast of a steamer’s siren. We all tumbled into our clothes as fast as our sleep-numbed bodies could make the grade. The first person on deck yelled, “Here comes the Peary!” True enough, in another moment we could make out the white lettering against the black bow. We gave a lusty cheer as she sidled up to the dock, and then stood by to make fast her lines. In a few moments she was safely moored, and we were swarming aboard to examine our companion of the long cruise.

The first objects to attract our attention were the three navy airplanes on the after deck. On these three canvas-swathed forms hung all our hopes. If they failed, it would mean sure death for their intrepid occupants. In their undress condition they did not look very imposing, but in my imagination I already heard the roar of the mighty engines tuning up in the lee of some sheltering icepan. I visioned the flash of the white foam as they skimmed along for the take-off, and I saw them recede into the western sky with an ever-diminishing whirr of engines, outward bound on those flights from which we hoped so much. Again I saw these proud argosies of the air, this time returning triumphant with the secret of the ages disclosed. However, the cook’s sudden cry for breakfast, mingled with the savory odors of bacon and coffee effectually dissipated all this sort of dreaming.

After breakfast we got acquainted with our shipmates on board the Peary. There were eight naval aviators under the leadership of Commander Richard E. Byrd, who has since distinguished himself in his daring flight over the Polar Sea, and there were also several scientists and photographers. The ship was under the general direction of Commander E. F. McDonald, who was second in command of the expedition and in charge of radio communication. Captain George Steele was master of the ship and in direct charge of the navigating and safety of the vessel.

At this time arrived the remaining members of the Bowdoin’s crew, namely, Maynard Owen Williams, author and photographer, known to many by his fine articles and pictures in the National Geographic Magazine; and Onnig D. Melkon, motion picture expert, whose job was to preserve a motion picture record of the expedition for later use in the Commander’s lectures. These two completed the ship’s crew, and now with our full complement we were counting the minutes till sailing time.

At last the great day came. The departure was an event of national importance. Town, state and nation were all officially represented. In addition to these were thousands of interested citizens and visitors come to wish us bon voyage. Among the latter were most of the families of the crew, including my own. Two o’clock was the zero hour, and after short exercises at the town hall, the Commander came aboard and gave the long awaited order: “Cast off.”