Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-03-23

weed in our hair" we promised ourSelf
Yet the next thing we knew Billy the cook
was standing in the doorway applying saliva
to his forelock. 1t was breakfast time. We were
still afoat. The sea nymph had been cheated
by the telescope. eyesight Of the Newfound-
land lookouts. heavy fog surrounded us
Now when we passed berg it was within a
few yards Family the bergs glimmered through
the mist. Whether we hit one or not seemed
a matter of fate. Yet always at the last mo-
ment the squirting watcher let out yell Port
or "Starboard" the helm was thrown over and
we slipped by with little to spare. These men
appeared, to possess some subtle instinct, some
sixth sense that enabled them 10 see objects
long before they were actually visible to the
naked eye, and this was Just as we'll
With intermittent patches of clear weather
and fog we spent the day lodging icebergs.
The coast of Labrador disappeared. 1t was not
much of loss. Then we entered vast field of
pack-ice that seemed to stretch indefinitely into
the distance As we poked our nose into mar
row open lead, the outlook as gloomy as
the portals of the underworld with the fires out.
1t was foggy, drizzly and cold
The ship was woven like shuttle through
the threadlike openings. At the masthead a
lookout selected the line of least resistance. His
cry of Port" "Starboard. or Hard over" was
echoed by theNhelmSman and the wheel whirled
accordingly. His voice was never silent. AS a
result our course became serpentine inebriated
zizzag devious and diabolical. No single min
ute passed without its being changed. The
majestic bergs had left us as though con-
temptuous of the degenerate pack following at
their heels.
AT times the helm did not respond quickly
enough and then we would strike pan with
thump that made the crockery rattle. It was
hard to get used to these shocks, especially
after dark They gave one the feeling that
the whole brumal contents of Davis Straits
was about to burst through the schooner's
planks
From time to time small isthmuses of rotten
ice blocked out progress These were charged
at full speed. The schooner would ride up on
them until she was almost out of water before
breaking through and proceeding on her way.
This AZ interesting Running into q blind
pocket was also more or less of a sporting
proposition for as like as not the pans would
close in behind us and seal US up In a nice
little lagoon. Then the only thing left to do
was crash the gate" so to speak, and the
schooner would shiver to her very keel from
the impact.
THE helmsmans job is not only laborious,
but exacting. 1t is not job for an
amateur. On one famous Antarctic expedition
a scientist was at the wheel while they were
coming the vessel through the pack-ice.
Hard a port" the hoarse cry came down from
the masthead. Nothing happened. The crash
that followed almost took the masts out of
ner. "Wny IN FaraQlSe u1QnC you nara q p0rt?'
yelled the lookout. IT couldn't" the scientist
answered, 81 was blowing my nose"
For "a hours we wandered around in a laby-
rinth of ice like a cat chasing its own tail. The
silence was heavy: the sea devoid of motion.
Then toward evening the pans suffused with a
soft rosy afterglow, began to heave gently, and
bird or two put in an appearance
The skipper studied these omenS like witch
doctor and apparently found them propitious,
for he relieved himself of prophecy. We're
nearing open water" he said, and, as testi-
monial to the fact that his prophecies rarely
mscarried an hour later we were climbing the
pyramidal seas of Davis Strait For the next
four days we continued to climb them and
slip down their oily TANKS with hypnotic regu-
larity. "The dear knows where we now"
Billy the cook remarked when he came up one
day for a breath of air.
It was a life of strange contrasts; at times,
peaceful, again fun of acrobatic activity, but
never dull. Twenty-Five men crowded into q
wooden hull constitute a positive guarantee
against dullness So does spontaneous combus-
ton in cargo of fireworks. The mess room
housed Is of us; IL In the double decked hunks
and one on a cot It's dimensions were almost
20 by IS feet and the mess table, which was
screwed to the floor, occupied most of it. There
was hardly room enough to hutter an eyelash.
The hunks were curtainless so conscious or
unconscious, ones life story was matter Of
public record. The most intimate personal de-
tails were subjected to the microscopic scrutiny
Of IL pairs of curious eyes.
Speaking roughly every one from Helen of
Troy down has had private life. They have
demanded it as natural right yet nobody
In that mess room had one worth writing about.
Innocent little habits considered part of ones
charm at home, became there bizarre eccen-
tricities. Attempting to play the part Of the
shrinking violet was useless. It was at once
noticed and remarked on. If you didn't like
the cut Of a mans pajamas you told him SO
and the accepted method Of dealing with any.