Evening star., 1925-06-19

about? What? Why, II tOalu
Amundsen setting out for the North
that white haired man-there-With
the ruddy, scanned face, smiling out
genially through the open window OF
the carriage-there-wi the RED
rose in his lapel against the back
ground of a thick, gray suit. The
slight, dark man beside him is Ellis
worth. Lincoln Ellsworth, the Amerf
can, who put up half the money for
the expedition. They're off TO fly to
the North Pole. Some stunt, eh?
With a half century of vigorous life
behind him, 80 of those years. off and
on, spent above the Arctic Circle or
below the Antarctic ring, Amundsen
looks once again toward the North.
Those clear blue eyes, crow 'S-footed
about their outer edges, look across
the heads of the little crowd into the
North and see there snow and ice
limitless eXpanses of blank whiteness.
The crowd isn't large. 1t takes only
two unofficial-looking. black beaver
capped policemen to keep it in order.
But its sincere. Most of its members
know Amundsen personally. Norway
is a tiny land. and the name of
Amundsen is great one. Oslo isn't
like New York: just four newspaper
cameramen lined up to make pic
ture for tomorrow mornings edition.
their vision the crowd Is receding,
waving it's hats and shouting, "Hurrah
hurrah.' with the quick, sharp accent
of the Norwegian tongue, like the cry
of a hunter batting his hound.
Capt. Amundsen turns into the sec
ondclaSS compartment he shares with
Ellsworth. AS he sits down. with the
slightly thick foreign accent of his
English, he says:
.'rTbev cheer now before I've done
anything. l don't like that. They'd
better wait"
Welcomes Race to Pole.
Those words form a mirror of his
character. Amundsen is a simple man.
honest. fearless. charming. AS the
last orange rays Of the setting sun
come through the window, from over
the snowy hilltops and across the clear
waters of the ford, .Amundsen talks.
But he never talks too long. or too
much. He talks reminiscently Of past
expeditions into the North and into
the South. and confidently of the pres
ent one. He wants competitors, he
says. He wants his dash TO the Pole
to be a race and not a walk-away.
At Hamar. early in the night. our
train pulls up for a Commute wait,
while we go into the railway res
taurant, just like the one at Harris
starting OUT into the West, for a bite
of supper. His fellow diners recognize
Amundsen, watch him with interest,
admiration and entertainment-be-
cause every other face is turned to-
ward the thick-set, stalwart man in
the thick, gray suit, with the red rose
In his coat lapel
All through the early half of the
night, at each station where the train
halts, group forms outside his win
dow. The shouts of the people oblige
AmundSen to raise his window blind
and peer out, until some member of
the group with the familiarity of a
little land. comes forward, shakes the
explorers hand and wishes him good
luck. In Norway Amundsen is never
addressed as Capt. Amundsen, or Mr..
Amundsen. but always as Roald
Amundsen.
We step off the train a a reasona BILE
hour into the bright, small northern
town of Trondhjem. We see immedi-
ately that it was freshened last night
by light fall of snow. The white
painted fronts of its frame houses
houses that might stand in any New
England village-glisten in the refiec-
tion of the brilliant northern sunlight.
Polar Stamps Popular.
The local photogra pher is at the
station to meet us, and after him a
kindly gentleman takes us home for
breakfast. There are just four of us
Capt. Amundsen, Ellsworth. the ex-
petitions leaders; Dr. Johan Mathe-
son. its physician, and l, corre-
spondent of The Star and the North
American Newspaper Alliance, and
the only American press represent
ative with the expedition The
rest, with the exception of Schultz
Frohlinde, director of the Dor
TIier airplane plant, and two me-
chanics, who will make the next
boat. are already in Tromso, on the
northern coast of Norway, which is
to be the expeditions real starting
pbint.
sOver breakfast, a typical Nor
wegian breakfast of coffee and milk,
cheeses and marmalades and a dozen
different cold cuts, we hear that, one
hour after the sale of polar flight
stamps had begun today in Trondhiem,
1900 of these stamps were bought up
bg the public. The special stamp, put
out in seven varicolored denomina-
tfonS, represents one of the means of
financing the expedition. After all
the troubles Capt. Amundsen has had
during the past year, this bit of news
SratifieS him.
Soon after midday we board the
Kong Harald. a Norwegian coastal
steamer of under 1000 tons, which
is TO carry us to Tromso. Amundsen
walks up the gangplank through the
cheers of several hundred students,
dstinguishable from the other towns
folk by their tiny. tasseled caps
after the students have tired of
cheering Amundsen, they cheer the
LEGAL cameraman, as he percheS about
TIE steamers rail to make a picture
Of the crowd of Trondhjems citizens
who turned out to see the Arctic ex-
piorer off on his ambitious project.
There aren't two-doZen passengers
all told in the first and second class
cabin. Besides the four of us-mem-
bers of the expedition--the others are
small business men, wives and child
rem returning to husbands and fathers
in various small, Northern ports. De-
spite the smallneSs of ship and pas
SenEer list, everything is comfortable
and the mess excellent. We are CRATE
ful for these last modest comforts,
for, beyond Tromso, there will be
few more.
We pick our way swiftly, unerring-
1y among the islands along the West
coast of Norway. The air is as bril-.
liant as the sparkle of the sunbeam
through a polished wine glass. The
sky mild blue, the water a clean,
light green. The cold is dry and in
vigorating. On either side of us, a
quarter of a mile to starboard and a
half mile to port. mountains rise up
out of the water, unevenly tossed up
hills streaked with snow. The Win
ter has been unusually mild; nowhere
have we yet seen any great depth
of snow
Towards sundown we sail directly
at what appears a solid range of
these low mountains. Suddenly our