The Washington times., 1936-12-29

Sp1GZ6uDS e II
Island, the bleak, icy wilderness
appalled, them. They were brave
men, but fighting demons was out
of their line. They would go to
the bat with anything but q spook
or an ice devil.
A rattle-headed lad from the
fo'castle gave the boys an idea.
He told of having been chased
across the ice by q beast with red
eyes and a demoniac howl.
Obviously, that suggested a good
"out." They filled the log with
most explicit reports Of horrend-
GUS monsters and wicked mer-
maids swarming around the ship.
Then they sailed home. The king
believed them. It was a tribute
to both the imagination and
credulity Of the day.
On December 81, 80-year-old
Gen. David L. Brainard, last
survivor Of the Greedy expedition,
was honored by being made the
first honorary member of the
American Polar Society. Only six
of the IS men of the Greedy ex-
petition survived. General Greedy,
paying tribute to General Brain
ards heroisn, said:
'Brainard was the most re-
markable Of . number of re-
markable men On that expedi-
ton"
The above two expeditions are
lirked here as pertinent to the
story of human courage in mans
gradual dominance Of the planet,
and the hazards Of his conqueSts.
We hear much of the flabbiness of
modern man. The story of mod
ern exploration - Greedy, Scott,
Amundsen, Peary and the rest
seems to this writer to refute all
this.
Modern mans white bones In
the white Arctic attest the fact
that, fully as much as any Of his
bone-crunching forebears, he will
fight and endure. There seems
to be a lag in romanticizing the
great histrionicS of modern life.
Taking Beowulf and his gang, the
jouSters, filters, hawkers, the
Round Table crowd, and the rest
of the raw material of the
Medieval fabulists, looking over
their act and the cast of char
acters, we have them beaten any
way you look at it, with all their
Shielded scutcheons blushed with
blood Of kings and queens"
There is great Greek tragedy
IN Capt. Robert Falcon SCOTS
death in the Antarctic: in
Amundsen reaching the pole five
weeks before him; in Amundsen's
death in the ice fields, flying to
rescue other men. In fact, so
swiftly has drama moved through
late decades, we can glimpse it
only in outline, and the free and
moving telling of the tale must
await bards of later age.
There's the roar and surge of
adventure in many an obscure
breast. know a true story of the
last IL years which puts it in
small compass; a story, incident
ally, which has to do with the
Arctic.
In a small town in Massachu-
sets there was a small, method
cal, patient man who was q
teacher of physics in q high
school. His universe had been re-
duced to the exactitudes Of three
laws of motion, and the exigencies
Of caring for the furnace and keep
ing meticulous accounts.
He had two deep, burning ambi-
tions, of which he rarely spoke
and then wistfully, as one speaks
of the hopelessly unattainable.
One ambition was to play the saxo-
phone. His wife and neighbors
Squelched that. The other was
to be an Arctic explorer, and that,
OF course, was just something to
dream about.
But he was a man Of splendid
technical abilities and did some
fine original work on inner-com-
bustion engines which found it's
way into Government records.
Donald Macmillan, readying the
stout, WiScasset-b little Bow
doin for the Arctic, needed an ex-
pert on certain details of DiSsel
engine construction and operation.
The researches Of the high school
teacher came to light.
The shy little man was swept
from his school yard and home
orbit, and soon, he was threading
the Straits of Belle Isle, on the
threshold of the Arctic, off for a
year in the Polar ice, and down in
the throbbing engine room he
clutched a saxophone big enough
to bail out the ship, and from time
to time he tootled and croaked
happily.
AMBITION REALIZED
In the Far North they were six
months under the ice which
Shrouded the ship. When spring
broke, the mood Of the six en-
toned men, barring the engineer,
was akin to madness. AL through
the long Arctic midnight the little
man had worked on "Silver
Threads Among the Gold" At
least he had it.
AS the ship hit the equinoctial
storms, standing on her nose in
Hudson'S Bay on her way out,
there came from below the roar
Of the storm, the squealing of Mac
Millan's blue foxes, the clatter Of