Evening star., 1925-06-19

| III - 20 YIN
~ec:SEF ,::sNL1Sy:m m
| Dotted line indicates Amundsen'
magnetic pole. Here their planes lam
whaling vessel is shown also, the ar
Franklin Bay.
| is, of course, an expert on the mouth
organ and another is a good tenor. A
| familiar tune, Peggy O'Neill," trans
lated into Norwegian, is their sons
hit of the moment. Life here is free
and easy, but increasingly uncom
! Portable as the days pass without g
good wash or a change of clothing.
Early one evening a severe storm
| blows up and turns us landsmen-an6
not a few of the crew-fairly inside
out. We try to sleep, but with slight
success. The foc'sle, all night long
| surpassedthe imagination of the mos
| lurid of movie directors. The mess
tables overturn and careen madly
across the floor; a bucHet swings of
| it's hook and joins the melee; ham
! mockS creek and swing sickeningly
| the sea foams at the closed portfolios
vibrates through our steel sides
slushes down through the open hatch
| The next day the weather favors US
l
/ health. Yet the one worry only yield.
to another. We become alarmed as to
| the whereabouts of the Hobby. Al
though the Hobby is 200 tons heavier
than the Farm, it is badly loaded, with
! virtually all its cargo on deck ant
! nothing in the hold. It's huge cases OF
hulls, wings, tails and engines are
lashed securely, but one can never
know what unexpected forces the VIC
lence of the sea may produce.
| After midday mess our ice pilot goe!
aloft to the crows nest, but fails tt
| find any trace of the Hobby. We
speculate on possible misfortune.
which may have befallen her. No
only are the planes aboard her. bu
four important members of the expe
/, dition-Lieuts. Riiser-Larsen and Diet
richson, Fred Green, the Rolls-Royce
mechanic, and one of our cinema
operators.
Ice Hampers Navigation.
| It. grows colder. The thermometer
is now 10 degrees below freZing. The
temperature of the water, too, is way
below the freezing point; it only fails
to thicken into ice because of its salt
Some snow is flying through the all
| and icicles form here and there or
S6
the ice horizon or blink Ions
strip of white along the waters edge
formed by the reflection of the day
| light upon the great ice fields.
! During the night we pass our first
ice-an insignificant quantity of slusf
Ice floating on the water. Bear Island
the only land between northern Nor
way and SpitZbergen, is passed at mid
night We are now almost half wa!
to Kings Bay, our destination on the
west coast of the Island of SpitZber
gen.
Just after midday a strong wind
blowing up from Starboard, kicks uI
a rough sea that rolls us nightly
There is no longer any seasicknes:
among US. but it is uncomfortable fol
a landlubber never to feel his two feet
firm on the deck.
| At 5 o'clock, on latitude 14.30, We
meet with some real ice. At firs
| chunks of it, merely fiecking the sea
| Then thickening into fields OF ioosel!
| floating cakes. Here and there an ode
piece resembling an upturned stalac
! tite, wierdly eroded by the action o1
the water, floats calmly by.
One can imagine anything out Of
/ the fantastic shapes of floating ice
great polar bear swimming through
/ the water; an Indian padding ca
noe; a white swathed corpse. Some
| of the ice is larger now, as long as
! the beam of our ship. Careful sea
| manShip is necessary. Our ice pilot
John Mass, is on top of the wheel
| house; Capt. Hagerup on the bridge
! We must dodge each chunk, or take
| it easily along our sides, for we have
| no protection on our bows. The ice
| looks soft and fleecy, but two-thirds
of every chunk is beneath the sur
| face. When one does bump us hard
| it floats past with a spot Of red paint
| it has taken from our plates. We are
| now simply on the edge of the ice
| The great fields lie to the east of us
! between here and the White Sea OF
Russia, whence the ice is being blown
| by the prevailing southeast wind.
No Sun; No Shadow.
There's scarcely any night now. We
are experiencing dull, gray world
| without the beauty and joy Of con
| trasts. No sun, no shadows, no night
| 1t is strange to look upward from my
mattress on the foc'sie floor and see
gray light coming through the hatch
at II o'clock at night. From now OF
we shall have shorter and shorter
nights. If we could only have some
real sunshine, Every day we hope
to see the sun pierce the depressing
| thickness Of clouds that have hung
over us since we left behind the north
ern coast of Norway.
Easter Sunday-and instead of best
clothes we are bit dirtier than we
| were yesterday or the day before. Our
only Easter parade is a cold process
sion of ice cakes, passing by almost
endlesSly. Since last evening it has
| hindered us seriously. When we get
| into the thick of a field, our engines
are shut down and we drift slowly
| through, while the ice crunches omin
| ously and continuously along our
sides.
Our position is somewhere off Prince
| Charles Island, which lies beside
Kings Bay. We had hoped to reach
port tonight, but with the trouble
| we have met in the ice jams we are
| hope for now is to make land early
! in the morning. Even so, we don't
know whether we can get up to the
| quay at the coal mining station there
| 1t may be necessary, if the ice re
| mains, to anchor in the midst of ii
off shore.
Easter Sunday--and our only recog
| milton of it is particularly good din
ner, with three kinds of drinks
| liquors, wine and Madeira saved from
Capt. Amundsens South Pole expedi
| ton of 1911. Also, during the after
| noon, a peculiarly fragrant and potent
"eggdnsos,'' somewhat like thick
eggnog. No lilies, but not bad Easter
Sunday at that: