Dr. Walter E. Traprock and Snak

MY
NORTHERN EXPOSURE

THE KAWA AT THE POLE

BY

WALTER E. TRAPROCK

F.R.S.S.E.U., N.L.L.D.

AUTHOR OF "THE CRUISE OF THE KAWA"

WITH TWENTY-ONE FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

The Knickerbocker Press

1922

Copyright, 1922

by

G.P. Putnam's Sons

Made in the United States of America

DEDICATED

TO

IKIK, SNAK, YALOK, LAPATOK
AND KLIPITOK

(THE ONLY ESKIMOS I EVER LOVED)

AND

SAUSALITO

FOREWORD

BY

Irving T. Grosbeak, R.O.T.C.

AT DURFEE COLLEGE, XENIA, O.

For hundreds of years men have struggled amid snow and ice to reach one or the other of the earth's poles. Why? What has attracted them? What has been the lure which has led them from warm firesides and comfortable radiators to suffer the rigors of a most annoying climate?

We search in vain among the writings of modern polar explorers for a satisfactory answer to this question.

In earlier days we find credible reasons for this fanatical zeal, reasons which were material and commercial. In the dark ages we know that hardy Norsemen sought an Ultima Thule beyond the Arctic Circle. The Irish also claim credit for the earliest discoveries. They would. These voyages were mere forays undertaken with the hope of advantages in barter and exchange. Following the establishment by Columbus of the globular theory of earth formation we read, likewise, of many futile attempts to reach the fabled wealth of India by short cuts and northwest passages. The adventurous Cabots, fearless Frobisher and gallant Gilbert were mainly occupied with material aims, the securing of additional colonies for the crown, additional gold for the royal treasury. They were out for the cush.

But when we turn to modern days in which the forbidding character of the northland has been well understood we are more puzzled to find a reasonable explanation for its fascination. We meet frequently that strange phrase, "the lure of the North," which is later described in terms of unspeakable hardships. We are told that this or that expedition was undertaken in order "to add to the sum of human knowledge" though that addition proves to be a series of tidal observations and barometric readings which could have been arrived at with sufficient exactness by scientific computations.

Moreover, without belittling the courage and determination of our gallant Peary, it is evident that his exploit was not discovery in its strictest sense. The pole had been located for centuries as being the exact point of convergence of the meridional lines. Its precise position was known. To reach it, then, was a problem in transportation rather than one of actual discovery. This problem Peary solved magnificently and since that memorable April 6th, 1909, the flags of the United States, Delta Kappa Epsilon (Gnu Chapter), the world's Ensign of Peace, the Navy League and the Red Cross have flapped concertedly at the top of the world.

And yet the mystery has remained. We can not read the stories of these brave men, from the most successful to the least, without wondering what it was which actually drew them into the regions of eternal ice and snow. We can but suspect some great, unrevealed truth, some untold secret lying back of the veil of fog, shrouded in the darkness of the long Arctic night.

May we not well ask, "Has the entire truth been told? has the last word been spoken which will forever answer the natural question, why go there?"

It has remained for Walter E. Traprock to answer that question in no uncertain terms. The writer has no hesitation in saying that since the perusal of Dr. Traprock's log the entire northern question has been illuminated with perpetual sunshine.

It is not within the province of this foreword to go into details. The reader can, at the close of this book, lay it down with the thought that he knows the whole story of the North, the truth, the whole truth, and a lot else.

But it would be wrong for us to lay our pen aside without a word of explanation as to how the Traprock Polar Expedition came to be undertaken, for the circumstances were at once so dramatic and unusual as to warrant their preservation in definite form. In the spring of 1921, following Traprock's amazing discovery of the Filbert Islands, a meeting of the Explorers Union of the United States was held in the Federation Rotunda in Cambridge, Mass. The name of Traprock was in every mouth and to many it was distinctly unpalatable. A three days meeting resulted in the formation of the Traprock Polar Expedition. One half of the necessary funds was supplied by the Federation, the remainder being pledges by individuals.[1] But here is the dramatic truth which has never before been stated.

THE FEDERATED EXPLORERS NEVER EXPECTED DR. TRAPROCK TO RETURN!

The entire expedition was a deliberate plot on the part of jealous scientific men to forever remove from the field of action their most brilliantly successful rival. How this dastardly effort failed is told in the succeeding pages, which add fresh lustre to the crown, fresh laurel to the brows of America's intrepid son, Walter E. Traprock.

A mere statement of the fact that the first condition of Traprock's contract was that he should not only reach the Pole himself but that he should take his ship there will indicate the handicaps which were imposed from the start.

Did Traprock flinch or evade? Did he hesitate or shilly-shally?

Let the ice-bergs answer! Let the seals bark reply! Let the north wind howl its answer.

Better still, let the testimony of Traprock be graved on the Palisades of Time, that the world may know forever just exactly "Why Explorers Leave Home!"

Irving T. Grosbeak. Hall of Applied Ceramics, Durfee College, Xenia, O.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] All of these individual pledges are still outstanding.—Ed.

CONTENTS

"The Camera Cannot Lie"

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Dr. Walter E. Traprock and Snak]
[Triplett the Undaunted]
[Un Déjeuner à la Bougie]
[What the Well-dressed Explorer will Wear]
[The Big Hunting]
[The Two Bears]
[The Nine o'Clock Bottle]
[Intensive Optimism]
[The Avowal]
[About to be Captured]
[Something New in Dramatics]
[After the Bath]
[Dinner is Served]
[A Far-off Fashion Plate]

[A Nimrod of the North]
[An Arch Archeologist]
[The Battle on the Brink]
[Ode to the Aurora]
[A Moment Musical]
[Dirty Work at the Igloo?]
[A Consultation]

Photographs by
N. COURTNEY OWEN

MY NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Chapter I

The Origin of the Expedition. A memorable meeting. Inklings of a plot. My innocent enthusiasm. Our personnel. I put the proposition up to Triplett.

MY NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Chapter I

"Mush!"

The cry of command rang out on the frosty air.

"Mush!"

Again the surrounding ice echoed the word which seems, more than any other, to tell the whole story of the North.

At its repetition, my sturdy followers hurled their bulks against the trace-collars while a babel of exhortation shattered the silence. "Let's go!" "We're off." "Attaboy!"

The Traprock Polar Expedition was on its way!

We had reached the edge of the great polar-pack. Those of my readers whose knowledge of ice packs is limited to those which can be wrapped in an ordinary hand-towel can, of course, form no impression of the magnitude and desolation of the scene which lay before us. As far as the eye could see....

But I am far north of my narrative. It would be an obvious injustice to my companions and fellow-polarists to omit mention at this time of the personnel of our extraordinary expedition, the most complete and carefully organized that ever set out toward the Big Peg.

Let us go back, then, in memory to the eventful meeting of the Explorers Union, held in Cambridge on Friday, April 1st, 1921. I can see the picture with vivid distinctness, the shining bald-heads and snowy crowns of the aged members, o'er arched by the larger but no more dignified dome of the Rotunda itself, the bright spots of light on the polished mahogany table, the swift fingered secretary, who had gorgeous henna hair, I remember—I can see it all;—and I can hear clearly the voice of old Dr. Waxman, the President, (whose exploits in the Ant-Arctic will be well remembered,[2]) as he rose and said,

"Well then, gentlemen, it is settled. Traprock must go."

The company as one man echoed the President's remark.

"Traprock must go!"

With the sound of this verdict ringing in my ears I delivered a short speech of appreciation. Little did I realize at the time the sinister influences which had been at work to bring about the very result which so filled my heart with pride. Little did I know that among the men who sat by my side that evening sharing with me the hand and hip of friendship, passing me an occasional peanut from the store which the President was cracking with his gavel, little did I imagine that among them were some to whom the words "Traprock must go" meant a far different thing from what it did to me. But as old Tertullian has it, "Nemo me impune lacessit"—"What you don't know won't hurt you"; and so from a full heart I thanked them.

At the end of twenty minutes, President Waxman interrupted me to ask, "When can you start?"

I heard one of the older members whisper, "Not 'when can he start?' When can he stop?"

"Now." I answered with characteristic brevity, giving the whispering member a look which he will never forget.

The meeting broke up forthwith. Before leaving the Rotunda, Adolph Banderholtz, Secretary-for-Polar-Affairs of the Explorers Union (which I shall hereafter refer to as the E.U.) handed me a typewritten list of names.

"These are our nominations for the expedition," he said with his shallow smile. "You will find them admirably equipped in their respective departments. Good-bye."

TRIPLETT THE UNDAUNTED

Captain Ezra Triplett, the navigator of Dr. Traprock's metamorphic yawl needs no introduction to students of marine accomplishment. To lay-readers perhaps a brief preamble is in order. Born a not-too-simple son of New Bedford, Mass., Triplett has climbed the rope-ladder of success from cabin-boy to Captaincy, from poop-deck to mast-head. Gifted with uncanny nautical skill this Captain Courageous is equally at home on ice.

Seldom if ever has the camera been more successful in catching the very soul of the sitter, who in this case is standing. But whether assis or debout Ezra Triplett is always master of the situation. The animals in the background are not dogs but Amoks, those wild vulpines of the North which have been trained by hand to obey their master's voice.

The whip, coiled snake-like about the Captain's friendly artics, is an entirely superfluous emblem of authority, for this remarkable man achieves his results by the power of the human eye alone. In this connection it should be noted that Triplett is limited to a single optic. The one on the right as one faces the photograph is phony, the original having literally leaped out of its socket many years ago during an exciting kangaroo hunt. The eye, rolling away into the bush, was never recovered in spite of a handsome reward-notice in the Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide press. Thus Triplett lost not only the sight of the eye but the eye itself. What the Captain achieves with his single orb is nothing short of amazing and we have frequently seen him face-down such fearless fellow-men as George Jean Nathan merely by turning towards them his blind eye.

Both attitude and costume are superbly characteristic, the massive oak-timbered frame filling to repletion the bearskin jerkin with its practical one-man-top. As a protection for the nether limbs Triplett invariably wore light woolen pajamas with gee-string exits and entrances. This scant covering was ample even in the severest weather, owing to the fact that Triplett's own limbs are clothed with a heavy coat of natural fur which, in his own words, is "grown on the place."

Triplett the Undaunted

He extended a limp hand which I hurt as much as possible by using a peculiar grip taught me by an old swaboda in the Malay peninsula. He went deathly white and faded from my view. I fear I do not always realize my strength.

Banderholtz is one of the type of arm-chair explorers which I particularly detest. Everything he does is superficial. In the early days when airplanes were safer than they are now because they would not rise more than six feet from the ground, he gained a great reputation as a birdman on the strength of once having been up in a captive-balloon in the Bois de Boulogne.

But this is no place for personal animosities. I caught the midnight train to New York, rang for the Porter and insisted that my section be un-made and a table furnished. Now that the matter was settled I was burning with a desire to work out the details. All night I toiled away, the click of my typewriter being the only sound except an occasional curse from the occupants of nearby berths. An old gentleman in upper-seven disturbed me somewhat with his snoring but gradually the sound blended itself with the snorts of the sea-lions which I was already hearing in imagination and I became oblivious to all interruption. When the train pulled into Grand Central my preliminary work was complete. My various lists, personnel, food, equipment, scientific objects, etc. had all been sketched out. The remaining weeks of April were devoted to the detail of complete organization, all of which I attended to personally.

Since I have already spoken of the E.U. list of names, I may as well dispose of the subject at this time. Quite naturally it was composed, in the main, of scientific men, men famed each in his particular field. I knew them by their works, and a casual glance at the list convinced me that our expedition would compare with the best in its scientific departments.

The first name was that of Warburton Plock, whose reputation in anthropology, zoology and biology fitted him to size up and classify any living thing. Plock's work on simians and femurae is the accepted monkey-manual in most menageries. I shall never forget the impression it made upon me the first time I read it.

The important studies of cartography, oceanography, topography and kindred subjects were allotted to Elmer E. Miskin, of the E.U. library forces. Miskin was what one might call a self-made explorer. He had worked his way up from the bottom of the paper basket, through a long course in filing and cataloguing. While a boy in the grade schools of his native town of Peapack, N.J. he had shown early promise by winning five consecutive gold stars in map-drawing and one of his prize-winning creations with the Orange Mountains represented by caterpillars glued on the cardboard now hangs behind the door of the Principal's office of the Hooker Avenue School. This was his first experience in the field.

Three other names complete the E.U. list, Croyden Sloff, magnetician, electrician and victrologist, Winchester Wigmore, snow- and ice-expert and Bartholomew Dane, egyptologist.

It was with surprise that I saw the name of Warburton Plock. We had met frequently in the old days when we used to gather round the keg at the E.U. meetings and our feelings had always been antipathetic. But I resolved that no fancied grudges should cloud the sky of our venture and immediately wired Plock a cordial telegram saying, "Am counting on your loyal support and hope I shall get it."

It is hardly necessary to say that my own selections for travelling companions included my old friends Herman Swank, the artist, and Reg Whinney, scientist, whose loyalty and devotion during my South Sea travels have forged links of friendship which can never be broken. Swank's enthusiasm at the prospect of actually painting the aurora borealis from life was unbounded. He at once thought of his colleagues in the colorful modern school. "I'll have them skinned a mile," he cried.

Other men may possibly excel in special lines, but I am confident that as an all-round scientist, Whinney can give them all cards and spades. His fund of general information saved me thousands of dollars for he combined several people in one. For instance he knew quite enough about medicine to be our official doctor. As soon as he received the polar invitation he set about studying polar diseases, snow blindness, scurvy, chill-blains, frost-bite and so on. He was an expert photographer and got results from a 3¼ × 4¼ Kodak that surprised everybody including himself. He had also become keenly interested in radiography and brought a complete outfit aboard with him, using his own body as a spool upon which to coil his antennae until they could be rigged in a proper manner. Most men have two sides, but Whinney had at least a dozen. He combined many men in one. Way back in our college days I recall that he was taken on the Christmas trip of the Glee Club because he could play the banjo and he made the banjo-club because he could sing. He wasn't good at either but he averaged well.

In addition to Swank and Whinney, I made another selection based on painstaking thought. I asked my life-long friend, Sydney Freemantle Frissell, to go along as recreationist and entertainer. Northern expeditions, especially through the long hours of the Arctic night are very dull affairs. Along about midnight, with morning three months away, the party is apt to die. Then is when a man like Frissell is invaluable. He has no brains whatever, but the most amazing vitality and can wake up any assembly by sheer audacity. I deliberated a long time as to whether to get Ed Wynn or Frissell, but finally decided in favor of Frizzy as he could come and Wynn couldn't.

Needless to say, our Captain was the same staunch old oak-framed navigator, Ezra Triplett, who had gotten the Kawa into so many tight holes in the past.

"What ship?" he asked when I put it up to him.

"Kawa," I said.

"Done, by thunder," he roared.

Honest Ezra Triplett! Loyal, staunch friend, quaint, saturnine, creature that he is.

"Doc," he said, "I'd like darn well to take one of my wives along. It's gonter be kinder lonely up there in the ice with all you boys off gunnin'."

I smiled indulgently at the old man's foibles.

"Which one do you want to take?"

"The gal from Sausalito," he explained. "I ain't seen her in about a year, an' I'm gettin' kinder fed-up on ... you know ... Noo York."

I nodded. "We'll have to keep it secret. You know I've absolutely forbidden it. She can join us at St. Johns and come aboard as wardrobe woman. No one must suspect that she is your wife."

Triplett shifted his quid and slowly winked his false eye.

"She ain't," he said.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] "Ants of the Ant-Arctic" by W.W. Waxman, F.O.B.

Chapter II

Our triumphant departure. A man missing. Wigmore's gallant embarkation. The Kawa herself. A new idea in construction. A few boresome details.

Chapter II

From her berth in the Harlem, the Kawa steamed, or to be more exact, gasolined, to the landing stage of the N.Y.Y.C. station at the foot of East Twenty-second St. Our progress had been one of triumph. Every passing ship had hailed us by bell, whistle or horn, to which was added the hoarse blare of sirens from the converted breweries which line the banks. Gay stevedores threw their caps in the air and tossed lumps of coal in our direction, surely a magnificent tribute with coal at its present price. Street urchins shouted unintelligible remarks and all manner of citizens joined in the usual riparian rites. Passing under the stern of a United Fruit Company steamer, the cook waved a farewell from his galley and dumped a bucket of potato peelings in our path.

Off Blackwell's Island the scene was particularly affecting, the inmates giving me an appreciative greeting, the trusties rushing to the sea wall and gazing longingly in my direction while those in durance vile plucked off their shoes and beat upon the cell bars to attract my attention. With my glasses, I thought I recognized one or two familiar faces but I can not be sure. At any rate I feel certain that their hearts went out to me even as mine went in to them, and I could but paraphrase the remark of Dean Bullock, "There, but for the Grace of God, is the whole Traprock Expedition."

UN DÉJEUNER À LA BOUGIE

The candle which Dr. Traprock presented to the beautiful Ikik as a love-token was generously shared by her with her co-wives. Its appeal, curiously, was entirely gustatory, the flavor of refined wax being a revelation to the native taste after their customary fare of seal-fat and fish-oil.

Here we see the charming Yalok nibbling her share of the prized dainty. The candle shown is one of six, specially cast for Dr. Traprock by the Candlemas Club of Pittsburgh. Each one was designed to last a month and thus bring light into the Arctic night. The donors doubtless will be surprised and pleased at the knowledge that the heroic-size of their gift met with great appreciation though not, perhaps, in the way intended.

"Evening after evening," says Dr. Traprock in a private letter to the editor, "the maidens sate about our Primus, passing the candle from hand to hand much as we pass a loving-cup, though with less reluctance. Each would nibble perhaps an inch from the coveted cylinder and then hand it to her neighbor, crying, 'Lapatok's turn!' or 'Klipitok's turn!' with the heartiest good-will imaginable."

The eminent explorer adds in a later paragraph, "Yalok seemed the most greedily fond of the great taper and on one occasion narrowly escaped death from choking on the wick which became wound about her palate. Seeing her inordinate appetite for the strange food, Ikik gallantly ceded her share, but I solaced the latter by secretly giving her the beeswax tomato from my mending kit upon which she feasted in private with vast delight!"

It is hard to imagine a more touching human sidelight than the above intimate incident. The Editor has forwarded a copy of Dr. Traprock's letter to the Candlemas Club where it is suitably framed and hung in the swimming-pool.

Un Déjeuner à la Bougie

The reception at the Yacht Club station was a gay affair. It was positively my first appearance upon any landing-stage. The efficient steward had arranged an authoritative punch and many a hearty toast was pledged and responded to with feeling. But we were soon on our way again. My final orders sealed with the official-seal of the Explorers Union, were placed in my hands by the venerable President, Waxman, who was greatly affected at parting. He had been eating peanuts of which he was passionately fond, and I recall that he thrust a few of them into my hands after saying, "Traprock, we expect a great deal ..." he choked, and was unable to complete his sentence.

At exactly two o'clock, on the flood tide, we backed out of the pier and under Triplett's guidance worked our way sideways to mid-channel. The steward at the Yacht Club dipped his colors and fired a commodore's salute with his brass half-pounder to which I replied in proper fashion, lining up the entire expedition at the rail, eyes-right, while Triplett blew our Klaxon and shook a chain of sleigh bells which Frissell had brought along "because they seemed so northern."

It was during this lining-up process that I discovered that one man was missing. It was Wigmore, the snow and ice expert, who had failed to put in an appearance and I was greatly depressed by the fact which seemed to me to be an evil omen. Moreover he was an extremely valuable man with vast experience in alpine work as well as in the practical phases of glaciology with which he came in contact in his work as general-manager of the Higley Ice Cream Cone Co. But marine law is rigid. We were due to sail at two sharp, Wigmore or no Wigmore, and we sped off without him.

But my disappointment was to be almost immediately assuaged. When we were about an eighth of a mile above the Canal Street bridge, the last of the great arches which spans the river, Swank rushed up to me and cried, "Look, look. There he is——!"

I followed the direction of his pointing finger. Sure enough, there was Wigmore, a tiny speck, running along the center span of the bridge. He was in full Alpine costume with rope, ax, pick and felt hat, and I saw to my amazement that he was going to board us. With the nimbleness of a chamois he scrambled over the railing, instantly beginning a spider-like descent of his rope which he had hooked above. Silhouetted against the sky I could see the curved feather in his cap, a minute question mark. The question in my mind was one of hair-raising anxiety. Would he make it, or not? Upon the answer seemed to depend the whole success or failure of our venture. His descent was timed to a nicety. Just as the Kawa plowed beneath him he gave a shake of his body, loosening the fastening, and dropped lightly to the deck amid our resounding cheers. Was it only in imagination that I saw the Goddess of Liberty wave her gigantic, torch-bearing arm, as if she too felt the thrill of a brave deed, nobly done?

"Bravo, Wigmore," I cried. "But what detained you?"

"My equipment, sir," he said, coming to attention. "They wouldn't let me into my apartment. The clerk thought I was a line-man for the Edison Company."

We all laughed heartily at the incident and settled down to routine-life on ship-board. Our last farewell from the great port of the Metropolis was from the Detention Ward on Ellis Island. The Pesthouse band was out in full-force and blew germs into the air with much enthusiasm, but Triplett had laid a course to windward so that we felt no apprehension.

It is perhaps not amiss at this point to say something regarding the highly important part played in our expedition by the Kawa herself. She may be said, I think, to be the star of a distinguished cast, or more accurately, that she divided stellar honors with me. For one of the conditions which was part of my bargain with good old Waxman and his associates was that I should actually take my ship to the Pole!

The expression on the faces of the worthy committee of the E.U. when I accepted this astounding condition is something that I must leave to the reader's imagination.

"Yes, gentlemen," I had said to them. "It can be done, and it will be done. Either I hitch the Kawa to the Pole or I never return!"

My announcement was greeted with cheers.

Immediately upon my return from Boston I closeted myself with Captain Triplett in the cozy nautical room of the Book-lovers Library and we jointly went over the layout of the Kawa from stem to stern. We were surrounded by files of drawings and a great mass of data upon naval architecture with special reference to Arctic conditions. From the outset I was imbued with a conviction that we should find nothing of real importance in what had been done before. A careful study of my predecessors convinced me that they had uniformly been on the wrong track. What they had tried to do was to fight the ice. What I proposed was to humor it.

The outstanding feature of such vessels as the Fram and the Roosevelt was their rigidity. Their construction followed the general principle of the onion, consisting of numerous layers of heavy oak sheathing shored up from the inside with a veritable cob-web of balks, stanchions and braces. In addition to this, the sides of these ships were shaped so as to offer as small a vulnerable target as possible. The idea was that the stupendous pinch and pressure of the ice-pack failing to get a firm hold of the vessel should project her up from and out of the ice. This idea is graphically illustrated by an ordinary, household orange seed pinched sharply between the thumb and forefinger. But I could not help smiling at the naive short-sightedness of these earlier men, for, assuming as sometimes happened, that the constructive features functioned as outlined, what then? The ship was merely lifted up until she canted over at a ridiculous and uncomfortable angle where she lay on the ice, a helpless and absurd spectacle. Further motion in any direction was plainly impossible except at the whim of the floe itself which often evinces a contradictory tendency to move southward instead of northward as per schedule.

While not wishing to discard entirely the idea of elusive conformation I saw at once that radical innovations would be necessary in order to accomplish my object. In a word, I proposed to convert the Kawa into a non-rigid type of vessel.

"Triplett," I said, during our first conference, "what is the slipperiest animal you know?"

The ancient mariner scratched his head reflectively before replying. "Seals."

"Right!" I cried. "Go to the seal, thou sluggard! Triplett, it's an idea! We'll make the Kawa as easy to handle as a greased hot water bottle."

For many days we worked over the plans and eventually began actual operations on the Kawa herself, hauling her out for the purpose at Tutbury's shipyard. She was completely eviscerated. Her oak ribs and keel were removed and replaced by Austrian bent-wood, of the finest temper. A thin layer of yew-planking was laid over her sides with lapped, sliding joints, filled with elastic roofing-cement. Outside of this came a second layer of slippery elm (3/8" × 2½") laid diagonally so that the joints crossed those of the yew. The entire hull was then covered with seal-skin, fur side out. When she slid from the ways on her re-launching the Kawa took the water as noiselessly as a musk-rat, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we made her fast as she slipped from the ship-wright's grasp at the slightest pressure.[3]

"Gosh-t-a'mighty," grinned Triplett. "She's a seal!"

You may be sure I utilized Whinney's scientific ingenuity and it is to him I owe two innovations which contributed greatly to our success. One of these was the magnetic bowsprit, highly sensitized by induction-coils run from the exhaust of our 20 h.p. Tutbury engine; the other was the thermal water-line, the temperature of which could be raised to 180 degrees by turning a switch which connected with our storage batteries. Both of these inventions worked perfectly.

Thanks to the bowsprit the problem of steering our svelte craft, about which Triplett had expressed some doubts, became a simple matter. Left to herself she invariably came up into the north and as that was the direction we wished to go all was well. The thermal water-line made passage through all but the thickest ice comfortable and easy. For many years the Kawa had had no water-line whatever so that we were uncertain how she would behave. The new one consisted of a thin layer of copper fastened to the elm siding, underneath the seal skin. I like to think that the little Kawa behaved so nobly because she knew her water-line was not visible.

Thus we arrived at a type of construction which gave us the strength and elasticity of a water-tight basket. What we had lost in rigidity we gained in feather-like lightness. Before her engines were installed the Kawa floated on the surface like a toy balloon. When loaded, as she usually was, she drew two-feet-six. The installation of the engine and stowing of stores also had a tendency to stabilize the hull and keep her masts pointing upward which was a distinct advantage.

In addition to these marine features it was necessary to consider the eventuality of encountering solid, impenetrable ice in the region of the pole, ice through which even the thermal water-line would not make it possible for us to melt our way. Authorities agree that such ice may be expected north of eighty-six, even though we planned to time our arrival in that vicinity for mid-summer when, as is well known, the weather is extremely hot. This is the fascination of Arctic travel; one never knows what to expect. Our problem, then, was to make the Kawa equally at home on the floe or in the open leads, a glorified sea-sled. My previous experience with the various types of sledges convinced me that for my purpose they were useless. My object was to take the Kawa to the Pole. Then why not make the Kawa herself a sled?

I recognized instantly the feasibility of my scheme, which consisted of folding guide-runners framed of carefully selected greenheart. When not in use these runners extended horizontally along the counter, giving my little craft a singularly bird-like appearance. Incidentally they formed convenient luggage carriers similar to those attached to the running boards of automobiles and, in fair weather, could be used as piazzas or sleeping porches covered with a high pile of bear-skins to make occupancy easy.

WHAT THE WELL-DRESSED EXPLORER WILL WEAR

Fine feathers do not make fine birds, but aigrettes are still forty dollars a stalk. Something of this thought evidently dominated the mind of Warburton Plock in the selection of his wardrobe. Plock, who is shown against a typically iglootinous background, was the only member of the expedition who paid no heed to his leader's advice in this regard, namely, to dress off-the-Eskimos. Instead of so doing he ordered his outfit built for him by Buskwa, the leading tailor of Nome. The garments were taken aboard at St. John's and formed a large part of Plock's luggage. They varied in design from a simple going-away suit to the most elaborate mufti, sports costume and evening dress.

In the attached fashion-plate the fastidious explorer is clad in the well-known "Buskwa-model" morning suit, which is made from the pelts of unborn teddy bears. This, according to the wearer, is the super-correct thing for the Young-Man-About-the-Pole. The accessory cane and cigarette are personal touches calculated to attract the attention of whomsoever he may meet north of Eighty-six. Vanity, in the Great White Spaces as elsewhere, precedes a fall, but usually only by a step or so. To be fair to the house of Buskwa it should be stated that Plock's garments were invariably tastefully designed and well-made. No detail of findings or linings was slighted. They were, however, entirely unsuited to the rigors of Polar climate.

The Buskwa trade is chiefly derived from the wealthier Chicoutimi families living along the Mad River and points South. To single out a single defect, the self-drawing fish-pockets are doubtless useful features to a people who spend many hours in the salmon streams. In the icy polar region the cold air naturally forced its way through the sartorial scuppers with the result that the wearer was soon forced to don another suit to avoid freezing. At the time of his attempted escape Plock was wearing his entire wardrobe, seven suits in all, which were recovered with the body of the fugitive. The clothes were later eaten by members of the return-party, who more than once had occasion to pay tribute to the tailor who had selected such delicious materials.

What the Well-dressed Explorer Will Wear

Thus you have a fairly complete idea of my metamorphosed vessel, adapted to meet any and all conditions.

But one word more, as to stores and equipment, and I will promise not to bore my readers further with these deadly technical details, which I fully realize have prevented the success of many a tale of Arctic adventure. In making up my lists I was guided by a principle which I have followed all my life, namely, that of taking with me only those things for which a proper substitute could not be found in the high latitudes. This simple thought I always practise in a restaurant, for instance, where I never by any chance order anything which might be served in my home. Just prior to leaving New York I heard a gentleman ask for corned-beef hash in the Ritz! I could but pity him. Yet it is this apparently trivial tendency which has sent many an expedition off to the Arctic circle burdened with voluminous packs of furs and crushing weights of supplies, all of which could be most easily secured from the Eskimos themselves who, with the possible exception of the Cambodians, are the most friendly people I have ever encountered.[4]

Our clothing then was of the lightest. We started our journey dressed in plain business suits such as are worn by guides in the Canadian wilderness, but stowed in our duffle-bags were ample quantities of light underwear, both union and non-union, while included in my personal kit were three pairs of medium-weight, woolen longs with reinforced or sliding seats to make progress over the ice more easy. For outer wear during the warm season we carried the conventional tennis flannels and Palm-Beach suits and I am thankful to Swank for the suggestion that we include the tropical helmets which had shielded us so faithfully in the Filberts. They proved of inestimable value.

Most travellers into the land of refrigeration insist upon taking in with them bales of hay with which to pack their boots and thus absorb the moisture which would otherwise result in aggravated cases of cold feet. For this particular product I substituted a type of breakfast food of my own invention called "wheat whiskers" which comes in compacted cubes of farinaceous filament. These, when needed, can be teased out to four times their initial bulk. The advantages of this product are evident, since it is both excellent boot-packing and nourishing food, or, as Frizzie put it "good for both hoof and mouth disease." Another dual personality in our list of stores was the solid alcohol, primarily intended for fuel, but also edible. This necessity was under my immediate jurisdiction as the responsible head of the party.

Too much credit can never be given to those great American institutions, the 5-and-10-cent stores, from which we were able to obtain at slight cost the necessary snow-goggles, ice-picks, cooking utensils, etc., which form a part of every expedition. From the same source we also purchased a sizable number of toys for use in bartering with the natives. All these lighter elements of our baggage were rolled in bolts of mosquito netting in the folds of which were packed fly-swatters (two per man), bottles of citronella, green fishing-veils, and other objects useful in combating the teeming insect life which springs into being at the first touch of the Arctic sun.

These, then, were our general stores. Each individual looked after the equipment necessary for his own department. Sections of the Kawa, amidship, were allotted in alphabetical order, where, with a narrow aisle between, were tightly crammed Plock's anthropological charts, Miskin's map-cardboards, surveying instruments and colored crayons, Sloff's batteries, Wigmore's alpine ice instruments (including a horn), Dane's mummy-cases and scarabs, Whinney's camera supplies and radio-outfit, and Swank's paints and palettes. Frissell's personal impedimenta was unique and had no bearing whatever upon scientific research. It consisted of eighteen different fancy-dress costumes, wrapped up in which were a ukelele and six pogo sticks. At later intervals he kept producing smaller musical instruments, magic egg-cups and other entertaining devices which more than once rescued our spirits from the depths of black despair. Triplett carried, as usual, only his pouch of extra glass eyes and a small, well-worn, black bag which, to my certain knowledge, he never opened. I think he felt that it gave him dignity and was demanded of him, just as baggage is considered necessary by some punctilious hotel clerks. Whenever we left ship for more than a day, Triplett insisted on carrying his black bag. He looked as if he were about either to embalm a body or tune a piano. I could never quite decide which. One day when he was ill, during the latter part of our trip, I peeked in the bag. It contained the upper half of a pair of pajamas and the photograph of a beautiful,—but I feel that respect for the old fellow's romantic heart, hidden deep beneath his tough hide, forbids me to say more. Somehow that little black bag became to me a symbol of its owner, concealing beneath its alligator-skin rind the elements of some exquisite life-incident!

FOOTNOTES:

[3] A quarter-scale model of the re-modeled Kawa has been presented to the Smithsonian Institute by the Jibboom Club of New London, Ct. Needless to say all structural and mechanical details are thoroughly protected.

[4] As guest of King Sisawath II in 1908, I was presented with the Bkatha or Freedom of the Palace, which was more than I could possibly use.

Chapter III

The choice of a route. Off at last. We take aboard a passenger. Seeds of discontent. Into the long twilight. Radio reversals. The ice at last. Trouble with our water-line. Its happy solution.

Chapter III

Those of my readers who have not deserted during the cataloguing of our supplies may be interested in knowing something of our route. The lines of approach to the Pole are, of course, infinite in number. Let me illustrate this fact in a simple way.

A direct projection of the northern hemisphere would resemble a pie with the Equator at its rim and the Pole at its center. Now imagine our pie cut into four quarters. We have, obviously, four ways to the Pole. But now suppose the arrival of unexpected company, four in number; a less generous distribution of our pie becomes necessary. The scientific housewife would at once solve the difficulty by cutting the pie on intervening lines. We now have eight pieces to our pie and, consequently, eight ways to our pole. If we have eight we may have sixteen, if sixteen, thirty-two, and so on, by subdivision, to infinity. Q.E.D.[5]

THE BIG HUNTING

As soon as the early August frosts warn the Eskimo huntsman that winter is nigh, he begins to think about his food-supply. In fact this is a thing he thinks about most of the time. Food is the paramount consideration in polar-regions. It is the standard of value, the source of warmth, the unit of measure it is everything.

There are in reality but two seasons, Winter and Summer, in the regions immediately surrounding the Pole. Hunting is impossible in the one because of the intense cold. But between the two periods come a few days, a week at most, of intermediate temperature, too short to be called Spring or Autumn, but too valuable to be lost. It is during these short spells that the native must lay in his winter or summer supply of meat, skins, etc. Consequently he is always in a hurry.

The photograph shows Makuik at his favorite sport of seal-slaughtering. Dr. Traprock tells us that owing to the amazing abundance of game in these remote regions it was possible for the mighty hunter to pursue his prey for four days without stopping for rest or food save for an occasional hunk of flesh or fat torn from one of his victims en passant.

"Makuik's elation," says the intrepid author, "became almost unpleasant." As the herds of seal, walrus and otary accumulated about him their blood seemed to go to his head. Uttering a low crooning cry which rose to a wild screech at every thrust of his raktok (trident) he leaped about the floe with the soft agility of a Mordkin. An extraordinary sight was to see him hurl his weapon into a passing flock of pemmican, spearing a fine bird on each of its prongs. But his favorite game was seals because of their comparative inability to escape and their rich food-value. Incidentally the skins would make excellent gifts for his wives during the approaching Yule-tide season (Kryptok-Boknik-lok or Feast of Food). Makuik evidently believed in "doing his Christmas stabbing early."

At the close of the "big hunting," Makuik had to his credit, besides countless other game, four hundred and seventy seals. The photograph pictures him making three holes in one, a feat which no golf-player can ever hope to rival.

The Big Hunting

The question immediately arose as to which route I should select. I decided on the straightest, just as I had decided, in Cambridge, to take the Kawa to the North Pole instead of the South because it was nearer. Obviously I must reach the polar ice-pack before making my beeline as my ship was adapted for but two elements, ice and water. Travel over bare ground was not contemplated. Wheels had never entered my head. How nearly this fact cost us our lives makes a thrilling story but one which comes later.

Thus, our object was to round Cape Race and pick our way through Davis Strait which runs due north through Baffin Bay, well beyond the Arctic Circle. This is the most direct water route from New York.

Our last glimpse of the homeland was the white water over Sow-and-Pigs Ledge off Cuttyhunk, from which we set a course North by slightly East to pick up the gas-beacon at mouth of St. John's Harbor. As we swashed along outside of Cuttyhunk I saw through my glasses a signal flag waved from the piazza of the old fishing club which I recalled having visited as a small boy in '88 when the last sea-bass was hauled from those waters. A moment later a small boat put off from the beach near the lighthouse and rowed in our direction. It was a hard pull for the sturdy islanders but we stood by and finally took their helmsman aboard who handed me a letter marked "Rush" which proved to be a notice from the Westchester Lighting Company informing me that there was still a payment due on my gas range. As I had opened this missive in the privacy of my cabin I was able to go on deck and tell the messenger, rather curtly, that there was "no answer" and the good fellows rowed away, giving us a hearty cheer as we turned our nose to the open sea.

St. John's was our first port-of-call for I had to redeem my promise to Triplett to pick up the woman, "Sausalito," as he called her. I think the old man was inspired by the thought of seeing her, for he gave us an exhibition of navigation that was an eye-opener. After leaving Cuttyhunk we ran into a dense fog. For forty-eight hours this continued, thick and impenetrable. Once we heard the distant sound of the cod-fishers on the Banks singing their morning song—an unspeakable chantey about a dissolute person named Mary Brown—but we saw no gleam of binnacle, sun or shorelight. Yet through this murk, with the magnetic pull on our bowsprit tending always to veer us from our course, Triplett led us with such accuracy that at exactly the appointed time we caught the distant flash of the beacon and knew that our first leg had been completed.

My followers knew nothing of my plan to take Sausalito aboard and my instructions to Triplett were to keep silent. The lady's first appearance was not reassuring. She was standing on a dilapidated pier head, valiantly defending herself from volleys of stones hurled by native village lads. Crouching behind a rusty try-out kettle she responded in kind, directing her missiles with vicious speed and accuracy. A curious morning picture.

"That's her," chuckled Triplett. "She allus were a speritted female."

The others looked on wonderingly as the Captain dropped over the stern into our cockle-boat, pulled toward the dock and took the bulky figure aboard.

"Who the devil is this?" asked Plock, scowling darkly, as they neared our counter.

"My sewing woman," I said briefly. "Lend a hand, man."

He did so with an ill grace, and a moment later I saw him whispering to Wigmore and Sloff with every evidence of displeasure. I myself was not a little upset at the over-exuberance of Triplett's manner toward this strange woman. She was a dark, unkempt creature with bright gray-blue eyes which contrasted strangely with her brown cheeks. Her hair, what we could see of it, under her man's cap, was nondescript; teeth irregular. Two extraordinary qualities, however, she had—a smile which vivified her oddness with an unearthly beauty, a brilliant, mocking irradiation that made her look magically youthful, a crone metamorphosed into a little girl, and a voice—O, a mystery of still waters!—such a voice!—a deep resonant contralto, at once caressing and vibrant, with strange breaks and husky notes, melting softnesses and brazen clangor! The Captain was delighted with the reunion.

"My leetle apple!" he cried, patting her, and, indeed, the term was not inexact as her dusky cheeks flashed with pleasure 'neath his great paws.

"How you've grown, Ezra!" she laughed, pointing to his capacious girth.

"Ain't I, though," he assented; "mostly 'round the water-line!"

I felt that it was time I intervened.

"Gentlemen," I said to the group which had gathered in the waist, "this is Mrs. Sausalito, our sewing woman...."

Then Triplett fairly spiked my guns by adding,—

"And my wife!"

I could have killed the old fool! I hustled them both below and turned back to face an indignant ship's company.

Block bustled up officiously. "See here, Traprock," he blustered, "we don't like this. You know...."

"STOP!" I commanded in a voice that shook the Kawa to the place where her keel would have been had she had one. "To begin with, I want you, Plock, to know that I am not 'Traprock' to you or to any one else. I am 'Doctor Traprock, Sir'—do you understand?"

Plock growled an uneasy assent as I continued.

"I know perfectly well what is in your minds, namely, that the understanding was that there should be no wives on this voyage. This Sausalito woman was engaged by me as seamstress. If she is Triplett's wife, as he says, it is news to me. In any case I want it thoroughly understood that I am Boss on this ship. To your posts! Ready-about to wear ship. Triplett, take the helm." (He had come smirking out of the cabin.)

With surly "Aye, aye, sirs," they took up their duties, as I struck sharply on the table-bell which was screwed to the combing, the faithful Tatbury began its revolutions and once more the little Kawa slid gracefully through the long Atlantic swells.

It was a magnificent day but I was frankly depressed. Already a cloud of discord had arisen in the ranks. Already an ominous rift had opened. What might happen in the future only the future could tell. I was filled with disquieting memories of what had occurred to other Arctic explorers whose cohorts had been split by dissension and bitterness. I knew full well how they had separated, sometimes to perish under the very shadow of the Pole itself, sometimes to fight their way back to civilization in broken fragments which spent the remainder of their lives in vilifying each other. Little did I realize how much more tragic was to be the outcome of this apparently trivial incident.

In the meantime I was lulled into false security. Two weeks of glorious weather made our progress exceed even my sanguine schedules. Once clear of Cape Race our course lay almost due north and the full force of the magnetic pull on our bowsprit could be utilized. To this we added, in favoring weather, a mainsail forward and a jigger aft so that we were able to conserve our fuel supply most satisfactorily.

Our trip through Davis Strait into Baffin Bay was a sight-seeing trip new to most of my men and I was glad to be able to point out to them the objects of interest along either shore, on the left the cozy English hamlets of Mugford, Chislinghurst-on-Trent and Philpot Island, on the right the quaint Greenlandic fishing villages of Fiskernoes, Svartenhunk and Sükkertoppen, names eloquent of their respective origins.

The days grew steadily longer. We were approaching the long twilight. On a memorable Tuesday in June we crossed the Arctic Circle. This is always an exciting event but particularly so for those who experience it for the first time. Needless to say, we observed the ritual honored by mariners the world over. This follows closely the ceremony celebrated in the tropics when "crossing the line," with the variation that, instead of Neptune coming aboard, the aquatic visitor is the North King, a snowy potentate who is received with due honor by all the ship's company, especially the novices, who are forced to bring him presents and perform tricks at his behest. We hove-to in a narrow inlet on the Baffin shore known by the romantic name of Petty's Bight, where we spent a blithe two hours. Triplett played the kingly rôle while I acted as master of ceremonies. I must admit that this did not tend to calm the somewhat ruffled feelings of my following but it made a merry interlude in our routine.

During the long evenings Sausalito, laying aside her busy needle, would read to us books from her own library, "The Sheik" and the works of Ethel Dell, Harold Bell Wright and the Johnstons, Sir Harry and Owen. It was surprising how entertaining these things became to our little isolated band. Often after a particularly serious page the reader's sunlike smile would flood the main-deck and the whole company would burst into peals of laughter; then once more we would sit enthralled. It must have been her voice. Frissell, alone, absented himself from these readings and sat apart, lost in the perusal of "If Winter Comes" which he supposed was a work intended for polar novices.

At this juncture Whinney was having a most annoying time with his radio outfit upon which I had counted to keep the company amused. The best he could get was a series of noises which, in themselves, were interesting but scarcely entertaining. At times the magna-vox or "loud squeaker" as Frissell called it, would emit dismal cat-calls such as I have often heard from the upper gallery of theatres.

"That's Arlington!" Whinney would exclaim.

Again the sound would be that of penny-a-pack firecrackers such as one gives to children.

"Newark is calling us!" Whinney would say seriously. "Wait a minute."

A series of readjustments and Jimmy Valentine motions with the combination would result in a raucous scraping as if a discouraged Victrola had cut its throat.

"Pittsburgh!" would be the operator's triumphant comment. "Wait a minute!"

We waited many a minute and hour, patiently expectant, but nothing happened. The most trying thing was Whinney's explanation. He would fix us mournfully with his brown eyes, while at the same time trying to fix the machine and say solemnly:

"The length of the antennae is in direct relation to the wave length of the tuner. At the same time the vacuum tubes must be connected with or, at least, related by oscillation to the tuning circuit. When a ship is in motion the undue number of electric 'strays' disturbs the delicate filaments of the tickler and absolutely wrecks the radio activity."

"I had one of those Radio-Rex things," cried Swank. "My sweetie gave it to me for Xmas."

"I suppose you gave her a tickler," rumbled Triplett.

THE TWO BEARS

Ikik is solemn. Ikik is offended. Her tender heart is roused. Why? In the answer lies the story of one of the most charming incidents of the Kawa's entire polar-cruise. In another picture the reader will see Makuik descending with murderous intent, on the back of a large polar-bear. Shortly after the kill it was discovered that this bear had just become a mother. Her offspring—there was but one—was immediately adopted by Ikik. Mother-love, which flourishes even in the high latitudes, surrounded the little cub with every protection. First reared as a bottle-bear, the bearlet passed safely through the teething period and soon became the regular attendant of his foster-mother who fed him solicitously at every meal.

It was this devotion which brought about the disturbance recorded by the camera. Warburton Plock seems to have developed an insatiable fondness for toasted-blubber. Not content with his own share he resorted to the cowardly practice of prigging from Toktok, as this ursus minimus was called. His method was characteristic of the man, combining cunning with greed. Having privately constructed a small cube of wood corresponding in size to the usual blubber-portion he would attract Toktok's attention and ostentatiously bury the decoy in the snow at some distance from the actual feeding ground. Then, while the little chap was busily digging for the supposed dainty Plock would swipe the real blubber which Makuik distributed with an impartial hand.

Ikik was no match in logic for the wily scientist.

"You are robbing my baby!" she wailed in the present instance.

"Yes," agreed Plock, "and your baby is under the impression that he is robbing me."

Needless to say Dr. Traprock settled this matter in his own direct fashion. As he said in conversation with the writer, "It is impossible to argue with such fellows. The only practical thing is to crown them."

The Two Bears

The whole business vastly amused the old salt. He could see nothing but foolishness in Whinney's maneuvers, "trying to git God-a'mighty on the 'phone," as he put it.

But the attempts whiled away many an idle moment, and day by day we were passing landmarks which told me clearly that our goal was nearer. The water became steadily colder, a fact which we verified by the usual scientific method of dipping out pailfuls from time to time and taking their temperature with a bath thermometer.

At the northern end of Kane Basin where Greenland makes out toward Ellesmere and Grant Land we began to encounter ice. My readers can perhaps imagine the thrill which was mine when I first heard the soft scrape of frozen lips against the Kawa's silky skin!

Ice at last! Ice! the vaunted terror of the north! Leaning over the garboard streak I watched anxiously to see how our gallant carrier would take to the element for which she was designed. It was a magical performance and a warm glow of satisfaction suffused my heart as I noted how she slipped through the glazed surface. Far beyond in the northern sky gleamed the "ice blink," that luminous brightness which told of frozen fields and floes in the great beyond. We could feel the chill of their vast bulk as we sat on deck of an evening.

We were now at the 82nd parallel and were passing through what is known as mulch ice, which is of about the same consistency and saltiness as ordinary brine. Wigmore made a number of interesting experiments with a small freezer, using corn starch and condensed milk from his own equipment and was able to produce a fair quality of ice cream which had a slightly oily flavor doubtless due to the presence of seals. From then on the ice developed into what is called squidge-ice, thicker and more lumpy than mulch, but still navigable. This, however, soon became a solid sheet, from four to ten inches in thickness, the Kawa's progress became slower and with something like acute anxiety I requested Whinney to switch on the thermal water line.

The effect surprised even Whinney whose inventive imagination had proven itself capable of foreseeing almost anything which might happen and many which might not. We were instantly surrounded by a dense fog of our own making!

The ice edges of the squidge coming in contact with the candescent copper vaporized immediately and the atmosphere on board became that of a Turkish steam-room. As is often the case it was not so much the heat as the humidity.[6] Our clothing was wringing wet and we were perspiring at every pore. It was easy to see what the fatal result would be when we shut off the electric spark and exposed our wide-open pores to the icy breath of the north. Pneumonia and consumption, if not worse, were almost certain.

Ordering all hands below for a rub-down we came to a standstill and for two days did nothing more than maintain our position by quarter-speed revolutions of the Tutbury. At the end of that time Whinney emerged from the main hatch, where he had been incubating his ideas, with a look of suppressed elation which told me that he had found a solution of our difficulty. Without a word he set about stringing wires from the storage batteries to two points on the forward rail on a line with the capstan. In less time than it takes to tell it he had lashed two electric fans to the projecting sides of the guide runners and screwed the wires into the poles after which he walked aft and came to attention.

"You may fire when ready, sir," he said, hand-at-visor.

I gave the signal and once more the throb of the engines shook our jelly-like sides, once more we heard the hiss and crackle of the squidge as it gave way before our burning zone but—a new sound! We also heard the blended sonority of the two fans as they pushed a powerful current of air along our water line. Dense and low, the fog streamed past us like parted rivers of milk, to rise in soft clouds far to the southward.

A spontaneous cheer burst from my anxious band and we gave Whinney three times three with a right good will. At Triplett's suggestion—for he was overjoyed at being able to see where he was going—I ordered "half holiday" and issued five plugs of solid alcohol in honor of our resumed motion. It was a happy evening we spent in the little cabin, Triplett, Sausalito and I, while the others sat on deck in the pale sunlight, crooning the old song which has been sung by polar explorers since viking days, "Nordenskold! Nordenskold! Tilig am poel."[7]

Triplett's adjustable yard-arm which controlled our conviviality was occasionally shifted to keep the low circling sun directly over it and many a toast was eaten as the cheery plug passed round. My last conscious memory after my fifth quid, was the sound of Frissell's ukelele above my head and beside me the unabashed endearments of Triplett talking to his "apple."

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Ekstrom illustrates the same point in his lectures by using a cake (usually chocolate) in place of a pie. The objection to this method is that the segmental walls have a tendency to crumble, confusing the illusion of polar travel. Otherwise his system follows mine.
W.E.T.

[6] In Taupol, the southernmost of the Maladive Islands, I lived for three months in a similar climate without injurious results but it must be borne in mind that I wore only a one-piece suit of Khitra (gobang leaves). T.

[7] "Northland! Northland! I for you am." Undoubtedly the fragment of an old Saga of Icelandic origin. A modern musical derivative was once popular in American folk song with the refrain, "Hip, Hooray, we're off for Baffin's Bay, etc." See W.J. Krehbiel's "Gems of Greenland," pp. 94-96.

Chapter IV

We reach the polar cap. The strange incident of the missing Orders. Who stole the papers? The Arctic summer. A sportsman's Paradise. Notes from my journal. Whinney's sad experience.

Chapter IV

"Men, it is the Ice."

These words rang with a portentous solemnity as I delivered them to the entire ship's company.

We had reached the solid floe. About us, white and interminable, stretched the polar pack, with here and there inky streaks, the open "leads" which often yawn between the very feet of unwary travellers. But for us, the way lay straight. Glancing at the compass and adjusting my gesture parallel to its needle, I pointed.

"Yonder lies the Pole!"

The seriousness of the moment imposed a silence broken only by the screams of distant flocks of pemmican and the yooping of seals—for we were in the land of prolific game. The second leg of our journey was accomplished. The great test still remained, the long tug over the rough floor to the Main Post itself.

"Men of the Traprock Expedition," I continued, "you have served me long and faithfully. The reward of our efforts lies close at hand. Yonder, I repeat, lies the Pole. Captain Triplett's last observation shows that we are at 86° 13´ 6-7/8´´, fifteen miles better than all previous records, Nansen's, Steffanson's and Peary's excepted. We are running ahead of schedule time. From now on our progress will be slower. But, though we will not be dragging light sledges over the ice, remember that we carry our base of supplies with us. 'Tis an arduous task, lads, but with fair weather and good luck we'll win through yet!"

THE NINE O'CLOCK BOTTLE

Here we have a typical scene in Camp Traprock during the late days of the Arctic-Indian-Summer. Bartholomew Dane, the Egyptologist and Sausalito are busily engaged nursing the expeditionary mascot, Toktok, a tiny bear-cub which was adopted by Ikik after the demise of its parent. The picture can give no idea of the painstaking care which was lavished upon the little pet. As in the case of many infants it was extremely difficult to find a food upon which he would gain his orthodox ounce a day. Various forms of nourishment were tried, the happy formula being finally found in a four-ounce bottle administered every four hours, the meal consisting of modified whale's-milk to which was added minute particles of "wheat-whiskers," a cereal-diluent to the perfection of which Dr. Traprock has devoted many years of study.

Ikik, to whom credit must be given for the capture of the cub, was hopelessly ignorant of how it should be cared for. Her idea was that common to most primitive mothers, namely, that the infant should be immediately put upon a meat or fat diet. The result of this treatment was loss of weight and incessant crying on the part of Toktok. Fortunately the ship's library contained a copy of Holt's "Care and Feeding of Infants," a book which Dr. Traprock says he never feels safe without.

Both Dane and Sausalito are wearing the summer costumes which are practically a necessity during the heated term. Dane's tropic helmet with its deeply overhanging cornice undoubtedly saved him from the dreaded snow-blindness which so fatally attacked his companion Whinney. The attractive dress worn by Sausalito is part of a wardrobe assembled by her as she passed through Canada on her way to join the expedition. The fur-edged chemisette and roll-down buskins are similar to the parade uniform of the O'Howese Toboggan Club.

The Nine O'Clock Bottle

The cheer which greeted this announcement surprised me by its feebleness. I had felt that I was doing rather well. Plainly a number of voices were silent. Puzzled and apprehensive I glanced toward my men. Warburton Plock, oily and deferential, stood slightly in advance of the others.

"Have you read your orders?" he asked.

"My orders?" I replied,—"my orders from whom?"

"Your sealed orders," he repeated, smiling craftily, "the ones Waxman handed you when we left."

I did not like his tone. I detested the familiar way in which he spoke of the aged president of the Explorers Union. His manner was that of veiled bravado. The air was highly charged as before a coming storm.

"My brief-case ... cabin ... Swank.... Fetch."

I was excited and spoke monosyllabically, but Swank, like a faithful dog, disappeared at the word "fetch" down the companion-way. In the interval of his absence a thousand black thoughts whirled through my brain. These mysterious orders, what were they? A plot ... something was afoot, some deadly blow aimed to dash the cup of accomplishment from my grasp as I raised it to my lips. To my credit I can say that, even in this agonizing moment, I absolved Dr. Waxman of any share in this dastardly work. I seemed to see his benevolent sheep-like face smiling a good-bye, while before me, glowered Plock, palpably gloating at my discomfiture. But orders were orders and duty was duty. Traprock must be true! With a hand that trembled in spite of my best efforts, I grasped the brief-case which Swank proffered and, turning it so that all might see, I opened it.

It was empty!

I stood like a conjurer surprised by his own trick.

A threatening growl rose from the group huddled about Plock who now came forward boldly, his face distorted with passion. The mask was off.

"This is buncomb, Traprock," he shouted. "You have done away with those orders! Where are they? You know perfectly well that your instructions are to...."

What he was about to divulge will never be known. Whipping up my left arm I caught his heel with my right foot and the back of his head struck the ice with a crack that roused the distant pemmican to renewed screaming.[8]

"Stow that dunnage," I said quietly, and the limp carcass was tossed aboard where it lolled grotesquely over the hatch-combing.

"To your places, you others...."

A slow, straining heave at the traces brought the Kawa up on her guide-runners and she moved gracefully across the ice.

Pondering mournfully on the strange turn of events, wondering who could have purloined the fateful packet, but taking care to show no exterior sign of my perplexity, I trudged on, occasionally breaking the silence with a single word of command.

"Mush."

Day succeeded day, days scarcely marked by any change, and yet there was no sign of the missing document. The most rigid search was fruitless and, gradually, the incident was forgotten.

So unbroken was the sunlight that it was only by exercising great care in keeping our watches wound that we were able to know definitely just what day it was. As time wore on, confusion arose. Miskin insisted that it was Wednesday, Swank held out for Thursday and so on. But it mattered little. They were all days of accomplishment and of glorious Arctic summer, growing steadily hotter as we climbed up the glacial coverlet. We were now beyond the latitude of my previous "farthest" (87° 21' 22") which I had reached with the Royal Geographic Expedition which met such a tragic fate on its return trip to England.[9]

The insect pests began to be very troublesome and I thanked the high Gods for the green veils and mosquito-bars which made life tolerable. A part of every man's equipment was an atomizer containing four fluid ounces of oil-of-citronella, and a fly-swatter attached to his wrist by a thong of reindeer sinew.[10]

I was amazed at the tropic temperature of these high latitudes. At noon the thermometer frequently stood around 90° Fahr. in the shade and it must be remembered that there was no shade. Our thinnest garments were none too comfortable nor were we able to say, as is usual, that the nights were cool, for again it should be borne in mind that there were no nights. Hour after hour the brazen disc of the sun circled round the heavens, staring pitilessly at the moon which, strange phenomenon! shone palely above the opposite horizon as if the two great planets were balancing to partners in a stately astronomical dance.

At definite periods sleep was the order of the day, an enforced regulation. During our waking hours we struggled on, at times wading through mulch and squidge, at times sailing through seas of melted ice. Yet, though the sun's rays were hot, there still remained the solid pack below, too vast to be more than touched on the surface by this fleeting summer.

Though we were surrounded by animal life it was much too warm for hunting. In fact the very thought of such things as blubber and fur was nauseating. Our civilized diet and clothing were better suited to our stomachs both inside and out. But how quickly the warm polar weather passed none knew better than I and from my place in the bow I urged my men on until even Swank and Whinney cast reproachful glances at me over their streaming shoulders.

"You aren't taking the Kawa to the Pole, she's taking you," they complained.

"Mush," I replied.

A fact which was the cause of surprised comment by several members of the expedition was that we had thus far encountered no Eskimos on our journey. I confess that I myself was somewhat perplexed. In a country in which game abounded it seemed strange to find no hunting parties. I could account for this phenomenon by two courses of reasoning; either the natives had gone south to escape the intolerable weather which we were experiencing—for it will be remembered that these simple folk have practically no way of combating heat—or their hunters might possibly have fallen victims to the mistake so common to nimrods the world over, of leading their bands into localities in which there was no game whatever. Upon consideration the latter conclusion seemed the more probable for it follows a great general law of humanity. Each of my readers doubtless numbers among his acquaintance a sportsman who makes an annual pilgrimage into inaccessible regions in search of caribou, deer, salmon or big-horn and who invariably returns with a tale of disappointment. "It has been a very poor year for caribou." "There was too little water—or too much." These excuses are familiar to any one who holds converse with the disciples of rifle and rod.

Our case was different. We were a scientific group, not occupied with the capture of animal trophies and so we naturally saw a great deal of game.

It is difficult for me to set down the amazing amount of interesting live stock which flourished about us at every stage of our journey. In the lower latitudes these were the more familiar caribou, rabbits, wolves, and deer.

A sight I shall never forget was one which confronted us shortly after clearing the westernmost point of Wrangel Island. This was in the earlier stages of our journey while we still enjoyed a few hours of restful darkness. Through the murky night I heard a low muttering sound with an occasional note of complaint or discontent. The noise was not single and distinct but vast and widespread as if a large area of land had become vocal. "What do you suppose is wrong?" I asked Triplett with whom I was keeping watch. "There's allus somethin' wrong on Wrangel," said that worthy imperturbably. But I could see that he was interested for he kept his good-eye alternately on our compass and the dim bulk of land that loomed on our quarter.

Dawn came on apace and a marvellous picture lay before us. Far into the interior, on the snowy slopes, were millions of reindeer feeding on the Christmas trees which do so well in this locality. The noise I had heard was the swishing of great branches and the guttural grunts of these picturesque mammals as they devoured their provender. Others of my men had stolen on deck and stood silently watching. Frissell was greatly excited.

"Who said there wasn't any Santa Claus!" he cried, and at the sound of his voice the huge herd tossed its broad-leaved antlers and rushed madly toward the distant horizon while Frizzie urged them on with cries of "Now, Vixen, now, Dasher!" It was an odd but interesting scene.

The Arctic hares were not as numerous as I have seen them on my previous northern trips and those I observed through my glasses were of poor quality and sickly physique. Evidently the gradual dying out of the lapland lark-spurs, which are the natural cover of the hares, has worked havoc among these charming creatures.[11]

But now, beyond eighty-six, we had left behind us these semi-domestic creatures and were among the truly Arctic animals, those weird denizens of berg and floe which civilization sees only in zoological gardens or vaudeville performances. From my station near the forepeak I swept the horizon hourly with my glasses cataloguing the myriad species of Arctic life and entering them in my journal with notes as to quantity, quality and other attributes which had a bearing on the commercial or scientific value of the type referred to. I can give no better idea of this sportsman's paradise than by quoting a few extracts from the volume.

INTENSIVE OPTIMISM

As long as brave deeds are recognized and heroic fortitude receives its just due the name of Reginald Whinney will shine forth in letters of gold. Reference is made in the text to his tragic attack of snow-blindness on the very eve of the arrival of Dr. Traprock (and party) at the Pole. This untoward visitation (by which we mean Whinney's affliction, not the Traprock Expedition), would in itself have been enough to break the heart of any ordinary man, but not the heart of a Whinney. To such as he adversity is as the sunshine to the flower or the flower to the bee, a new source of inspiration and sweetness.

In the early days of his blindness he was, of course, greatly depressed. "I am put out but not crushed" was his simple comment. Having recourse to his typewriter he recorded that touching paraphrase of Milton ending with the line, "They also serve who only sit and type." Then came the magnificent "Ode to the Aurora," after which the sun of his vision seemed to burst through the walls of his temporary night. Full of sparkling wit and joyous laughter he fully earned his soubriquet of "Sunbeam-of-the-North." Even before breakfast he was mirth personified; in the evening, he was irrepressible. The Eskimos found in him a source of inexhaustible wonder. To a race living far beyond the sound of a songbird his carollings were nothing short of a miracle.

Dr. Traprock has confessed that at times his friend's gaiety was trying. During the frightful sufferings of the return journey, for instance, it was upsetting to face starvation and death to the accompaniment of "I love a lassie," warbled by the stricken scientist from the forepeak. But as the Doctor acutely remarks, "How unjust to condemn a man who was doing the only thing left for him to do, namely, trying to cheer us up. Moreover I knew that his optimism was but blind. Incessant cheerfulness, when sincere, is impossible to stand; I can enjoy it when I know that it masks a broken heart."