Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1930-04-06

the croSStreeS or decapitated by q running rope,
are generally Softened to the point of sheer
sentimentality by the loss of their ships. Some
60 down with them, others burst into wild fits
of weeping, all are the last to leave.
Our wreck wasn't sentimental, however. It
seemed to revolve entirely around manual labor.
The first IL hours were spent lashing empty
fuel casks under the schooner'S stern and lug
gng her stone ballast and movable deck cargo
to the forecaStle with the object of depressing
her bow and lifting her keel out of the wise
on the next food tide.
Then we went ashore for a mug up. There
was no solid food, as it was impossible to reach
the stores while she was standing on her head.
If she broke up, all we had to do was row
south along the coast to Upernivik, little
regatta of some 500 miles. From there we
could catch boat to Denmark in the Autumn.
The new tide rose higher. Gradually the
deck became level Old Tom GuShue leaned
over the rail with long pole, notched to show
the level of the water when we went aground.
The tide was inl For 80 minutes we strained
on the anchors. The engine sounded as though
it was about to blow up. Then Tom straight
ened up. "You might as well give over" he
said. This tides feet lower than the last"
We were stuck harder than ever,
Now we abandoned ship" Every movable
object was passed over the side and RATED
ashore. We emerged from this experience
with our minds definitely made up that We
would rather become public charge than earn
our living as Stevedore.
As we were transferring the supplies the
skipper stood over pile of boxes Look alive,
here you fellows" he bawled. Get this Mar
conf outfit ashore and be So-and-So quick about
it. The Such-and-such contraption may save
us this-and-that long row, SO be high-tiddle-
te-i-u careful of it."
We looked at the boxes with q new interest
The labels on them read: "Macaroni." They
were promptly landed on the beach with the
veneration to which they were entitled.
When the schooner was cleared of everything
that even family resembled food, we joined
the chief and the skipper in the after cabin
for the purpose of removing the ships papers,
compass, quadrant and other items of interest
that might turn up. The tide was out and the
floor tilted at such an angle we stood with
our feet on the port lockers and leaned our
backs against It, Now we discovered that
the shippers trousers had gone yest." He
had caught them on a nail and ripped them
from "keel to main truck" as he expressed it.
After considerable acrobatic climbing the chief
dug out o pair of white fiannels. They were
passed to the skipper. He got them half on
before giving up. what do you think am
blooming eel?" he exploded. Wont some
one hand me pair of trousers with some slack
in emp"
We reached him pair of ours. That's more
like it," he exclaimed with q sigh of relief as
he slipped them on. There's plenty Of play
in these"
We were temporarily fattered.
THE supplies, as they arrived on the beach,
were stacked to form the walls of refuge
hut, the roof of which consisted of a spare
sail. It was strange, but roomy. In preparing
a meal all that it was necessary for Billy the
cook to do was reach up and pull the proper
ingredients down from the walls. Its fame was
constructed from sacks of onions. its nave from
hams and flitehes of bacon, while the archi-
lecture of the baSilica leaned strongly toward
early canned tomatoes influenced slightly by
spaghetti There was room for all of us and
to spare
Now that we were snugly located on a pile
of rocks about TOO miles from the Pole, with
every prospect that before long it would be a
case of every man for himself one almost
unconsciouSly began to look his companions
over with an appraising eye.
What would they do when the veneer of
civilization was knocked off and all that re-
manned were the savage, primitive instincts Of
Self-preservation? Nobody cared.
At the moment a few hours sleep seemed
much more important than anything else We
could also have done with dish of ham and
eggs.
However, that isn't the way wrecks are man.
aged apparently. So midnight found us all
back on the schooner preparing for final eff
fort. This time the jib, jumbo and foresail
were raised to encourage the engine. We
manned the windlasS Old Tom with his meas
uring stick hung over the side "Give her
everything you've got!" yelled the skipper. We
strained and struggled, the air became blue
with vivid language. The paid hands cursed
with the fiuency of professionals. With the
diffidence natural to amateurs we followed them
as best we could. Precipitation dripped from
us. It was no use.
Now the skipper briefly gave bis views on