Evening star., 1924-01-27

of the northland and the aurora aus.
trails of the southland, and, in be-
tween those mysterious regions, the
wonders of the known world.
Perhaps OF all the strange lands
visited by the Carnegie. Easter Is
land. several thousand miles off the
coast of Chile, was the strangest
A mere heap Of stones and lava, fifty
miles square. II remains today rs the
unsolved mystery OF the Pacific Its
sole white inhabitants are its Chilean
governor and his plantation manager
a Greek sailor. who. firing of the un-
certain life Of the sea, happened 70
land there once and decided TO re-
main.
No trees relieve the monotony OF
its barren landscape, no streams
freshen its parched soil. Cisterns
wells and a few springs on the beach,
uncovered at low tide and fed from
lakes in extinct volcano craters by
subterranean canals, supply the
drinking water. The trail of the Pa
cific whaler has left it's mark upon
Easter Island, and the 200 natives
who survive are cOnglomeration of
all races. with only a trace of their
original Polynesian ancestry remain
ing. Once a year the Chilean govern
ment sends a vessel with mail and
supplies out to Easter Island, but
sometimes, when shipping is scarce,
two years elapse between sailings.
Upon the rising slopes Of Mt Rano
Raraku several somber- -visaged native
main as mournful sentineIs of the
sealed past. Staring seaward with
unseeing eyes, they seem TO gaze
with depressing solemnity upon the
spell hound traveller who happens to
stop at Easter Island. Only Il COM
paratively few persons have visited
these relics of an unknown age. but
they have not failed 70 leave upon
those few a gloomy sense OF despair
whenever they are called 10 mind.
The images are cut from lava with
sharp stones. They are mere busts.
Austere and unsmiling. they present
the outstanding mystery of the island.
Nearby arc the caves in which the
early natives of Easter Island lived,
the dying tribes left such gloomy
monuments to puzzle posterity.
x !; > =
THE Carnegie might spin yarns by
the dozen of solitary souls. liv-
ing a life of lonesome confinement on
the tiny islands that fringe the ragged
edges of civilization, but, could It
speak, none would be more striking
than that of the lonely woman Of
South Georgia. She Is the only wom-
meteorological observer, and the near
est woman TO her lives zoo miles
away across the cold icc-strewn
South Atlantic.
Her home is bit OF a shack near
the beach and around it the whalers
strew the carcasses of the monsters
from which they have taken the oil
and blubber that bring money up in
the civilized north. Surrounded by
the carcasses of these dead giants of
the sea, with only the rough whalers
and the crews of an occasional
freighter to bring her fresh news of
the outside world, she lives on frugal
South Georgia Island because her
husbands work keeps him there,
and her place, she thinks, is by his
side.
Sailing the seas in the interest of
science is not the least hazardous
task in the world and more than once
the Carnegie has missed disaster by
minutes or inches. In one day she
passed thirty icebergs, many of them
large enough to crush her hull like
an eggshell were she to venture too
the graveyard of the bergs.
During the circumnavigation of the
south pole Lindsay Island was pass
ed, Capt. Ault taking the Carnegie
to within three miles of the shore.
1t is one spot in the world that few
mariners see and is completely sur
rounded by huge bergs that came to
grief upon it's Icy coast.
Now, after a tempestuous career in
every land known to man, the Car.
negie is back home--safely tied up to
her new dock. To preserve her deck
equipment from the wear of the
weather a heavy tarpaulin has been
stretched across her from stem to
stern and the passerby would scarce
Iy recognize her as the trim little
yacht with one Of the most remark
able records of any ship afloat.