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

there was always the food to complain about
Billy the cook made marvellous bread; his soups
were a culinary careSS and most of his other
dishes never failed. but his boiled potatoes were
lead-they would kill at 20 PAGES. His bacon
was an oily horror, while his coffee was nothing
short Of hell-broth. The answer was simple.
At am. he arose, boiled his potatoes, fried
his bacon and did an incarnation over his
coffee: then, pushing them back on the stove
let them stew in their own Juice until 1880. The
results were no worse than might be expected.
But the system could not be varied. It was
timeworn custom of the Banks"
Scientific duties helped fill in our time. They
were not arduous In fact, they merely con-
sisted In throwing Theoretically sealed bottles
overheard. It might be argued that anybody
could do that, and so they could, but not with
one hand holding on to the Arctic Circle. We
were probably the most northerly bottle-throw-
ers OF the season. Within them were slips of
paper bearing our latitude and longitude and
a request in three languages that the chance
finder mail them back to the photographic
Bureau, Washington, D. c., at his own expense
All this, of course. was for the purpose of fer
reting out the paths Of the ocean currents.
OUR expedition was bone dry, so the
"empties" thus employed were ginger ale
bottles. To be sure there was considerable
quantity of alcohol for the preservation of
specimens, but the Government with great unc-
GtOu Hdu EeuOeTeQ IL UNIT 1Or human cOnSump@
ton, as though fearful that the absence of q
sniff and frisk" ordinance above the Arctic
Circle might lead us into temptation No rum
rations were allowed for the crew, nor was
there any medicinal alcohol even. A little
later when we got shipwrecked we would have
been glad of both. So cast ginger ale
bottles into the sea with the hope that they
would remain true to us even if they landed in
Cuba.
One evening there was a spanking breeze
blowing from the south, and we tore through
the water with everything drawing Suddenly,
far to the east, some one sighted the coast of
Greenland. 1t was nothing but faint nebu-
lous streak lying at the edge of heaving bois-
ferrous sea, yet 1t seemed drenched with ro-
nance and mystery as we stared at it. 1t was
our land fall the home of aborigines and pre-
historic solitudeS of ice and snow. Our imagi-
nation peopled it with trolls gnomes and
dwerghS, who guarded the secrets of its glaciers
while the kraken skunk about looking for odds
and ends. 1t was a sight to stir ones blood.
But now the argument started, where were
We? Or course, we knew 1t was Greenland,
but just what part? There is 1850 miles of
it. The skipper thought we were of Godthaab.
The professor, on the other hand considered
that the general conformation indicated pro-
pinquity to Sukkertoppen. Personally, we
couldn't see much choice; both places sounded
like a gargle. The skipper took a sounding.
No bottom. "You see it can't be Sukkertoppen,"
he announced. OF course We saw. Nobody has
ever found bottom of Sukkertoppen. well,
anyway" he soethed us, 81 know we're about
65 degrees north" We were just about to slip
over the Arctic Circle.
In the morning we were in plain sight OF the
coast. Terrific mountain ranges Of black baSalt,
covered with patches of white snow, lined the
shore. It was q jagged, Alpine skyline, dour
and hard looking, and entirely devoid of infor-