Evening star., 1928-12-23
byrd COMPANIONS .
|. ENJOY ADVENTURE
Crew Finds Life Pleasant
Despite Struggle Against
Ice FIoeS.
BY RUSSELL OWEN.


By wireless to The star and the New York
Times
ON BOARD THE CITY OF NEW
YORK, December 22.-Our days go on
bumpingly. Ramming the pack, push
ing huge cakes aside, now backing,
now struggling ahead little, the sturdy
little ship makes it's way slowly south.
Always there Is the grumbling and
crunching hiss of ice along the side,
the shouts of orders from those con-
ming us through, the barking and
whining of impatient dogs. Outside
is the white field Of snow-covered ice,
smooth and rolling or broken and twist
ed into a thousand fragments that
have been welded together under the
touch Of Winter cold.
Life goes gayly, nevertheless. Busy
with their many tasks or resting in
their hunks between watches, the men
joke and hurl good-natured gibes or
break into song. ..
Hum0r Among Crew.
There is much humor in a crew of
this kind, with scientist and stoker
eating side by side and commenting
with that good fellowship which finds
refuge in banter on each others
tOlbleS.
We would be very uncomfortable if
we could not laugh. AS it is, no more
loyal and unSelf1sh crew ever sailed
the seas.
Down in the tiny forecastle, forward
of the larger forecastle and messroom.
Sverre Strom. the first mate, is playing
his big accordion.
1t Is small room with four large
hunks along each side in two tiers An
electric bulb shines yellow through the
smoke of many pipes. The blue haze
makes dim the corners of the room.
A litter of packing cases, bags and
suit cases is on the floor, which Is paved
with the things which tired men drop
and forget to pick up.
Pictures Tackled on Walls.
Some pictures of those left behind
are tackled on the inner walls of hunks
Sverre Stron, his huge form lean
ing back against the wall, looks up at
the deck above as his big fingers find
the many keys of his instrument.
His eager, lean face is burned by the
blast Of many an Arctic night; his rnedi-
tative and deep-Set eyes, under bleached
scraggly syebrows, lock far away as he
plays the songs Of his own land
leans on his sewing machine, smile
creasing his leather cheek on each side
of his beaked nose, his eyes blinking
continuously.
Bernt Balchen, the aviator, sprawls
on pile OF bags, contentedly listening
as Dean (Babe) Smith, another pilot,
stretches his long legs half way across
the room.
There is something very fine about
this man strom whose life has been
spent in the eternal ice of the North
a gentleness and courtesy more marked
because Of his strength. He plays a
gay song.
The forecastle sways sideways as the
again. and a runbling, tearing SCUM
comes through the planks.
Long Table for All.
Through the open door to the larger
forecastle, which runs almost to amid
ship. can be seen the companionway
steps, coming down from the hatch
The long mess table Is on one side.
In this large room every one, ilclud-
ing Comdr. Byrd, eats, and around tn
sides are bunks for so men. The rooE
fades away into dense shadow.
Dishes clatter and there are cries for
became of the butter. Even during thu
meals some of the men are sleeping
there, nondescrip curtains cutting 0f
some Of the lights. Bags are everywhe.
under foot and clothing hangs FRI
lines In the eni-obScurity.
A few, oblivious of the noise. are read
ing in their hunks or are sitting near
the hatch smoking, sewing on clothes
or writing letters which VIII be sent
home some day. We eat In three
messes, Charles Lofgren, major domo,
having brought order out of the. chaos
which existed when every one tried to
eat at once. He is resplendent in Dun
dreary whiSkers and carries a towel
around his neck.
His hands are the cleanest aboard,
for which all are thankful, as it is
Charley who dips out the soup. Sgd
Greason, the steward. and Dick Confer.
the assistant steward, help him.
There are always late arrivals who
meet with the best possible defense the
Scathing sarcasm Of Lofgren as he in
forms them to the minute just how late
they are.
Spilled Soup No Worry.
The ship lurches and Lofgren spills
soup on some ones hair and down his
neck, while the sprinkled one roars
picturesque objections. Lofgren calmly
mops up his victim with towel.
Stumble up the deep steps to the
deck and through the accumulated con-
fusion is cleared way on one side to
the galley.
A breath of warm air. laden with the
smell Of roasting meat and new bread
floats out of the open door. It IS
warm In there and some one Is gen.
orally hugging the stove and chatting
with George Tenant, the cook
Benign with calm which nothing
can disturb, George smiles upon all
who come and discuss in a low mono
tone, the things which the men do out
side the galley. No matter how we roll,
George imperturbably turns out good
things to eat. He is bit skeptical of
human intelligence in motives, but it
Is only necessary to go to George with
a sad expression to get cup Of cocoa.
A good egg Is George, whose cynicisn
has not robbed him Of his humanity.
There are dogs in cages on each side
Of the galley.
High up on the deckhouse in the cut
ting wind Is Silk Hat Harry Adams,
the second mate, coming us through.
He wears fur hat with silk crown.
hence his name. He is not very large
and, with his hands In his pockets and
his shoulders hunched up, he looks as
If he had been shriveled by the wind.
(copyrisht, 1928. by the New York Times
Co. and the st. Louis Post-Dispatch. All
rights for publication reserved through
out the world) s-...