Chapter II

From her berth in the Harlem, the Kawa steamed, or to be more exact, gasolined, to the landing stage of the N.Y.Y.C. station at the foot of East Twenty-second St. Our progress had been one of triumph. Every passing ship had hailed us by bell, whistle or horn, to which was added the hoarse blare of sirens from the converted breweries which line the banks. Gay stevedores threw their caps in the air and tossed lumps of coal in our direction, surely a magnificent tribute with coal at its present price. Street urchins shouted unintelligible remarks and all manner of citizens joined in the usual riparian rites. Passing under the stern of a United Fruit Company steamer, the cook waved a farewell from his galley and dumped a bucket of potato peelings in our path.

Off Blackwell's Island the scene was particularly affecting, the inmates giving me an appreciative greeting, the trusties rushing to the sea wall and gazing longingly in my direction while those in durance vile plucked off their shoes and beat upon the cell bars to attract my attention. With my glasses, I thought I recognized one or two familiar faces but I can not be sure. At any rate I feel certain that their hearts went out to me even as mine went in to them, and I could but paraphrase the remark of Dean Bullock, "There, but for the Grace of God, is the whole Traprock Expedition."

UN DÉJEUNER À LA BOUGIE

The candle which Dr. Traprock presented to the beautiful Ikik as
a love-token was generously shared by her with her co-wives. Its
appeal, curiously, was entirely gustatory, the flavor of refined wax
being a revelation to the native taste after their customary fare of
seal-fat and fish-oil.

Here we see the charming Yalok nibbling her share of the prized
dainty. The candle shown is one of six, specially cast for Dr.
Traprock by the Candlemas Club of Pittsburgh. Each one was designed
to last a month and thus bring light into the Arctic night. The
donors doubtless will be surprised and pleased at the knowledge that
the heroic-size of their gift met with great appreciation though not,
perhaps, in the way intended.

"Evening after evening," says Dr. Traprock in a private letter to
the editor, "the maidens sate about our Primus, passing the candle
from hand to hand much as we pass a loving-cup, though with less
reluctance. Each would nibble perhaps an inch from the coveted
cylinder and then hand it to her neighbor, crying, 'Lapatok's turn!'
or 'Klipitok's turn!' with the heartiest good-will imaginable."

The eminent explorer adds in a later paragraph, "Yalok seemed the
most greedily fond of the great taper and on one occasion narrowly
escaped death from choking on the wick which became wound about her
palate. Seeing her inordinate appetite for the strange food, Ikik
gallantly ceded her share, but I solaced the latter by secretly
giving her the beeswax tomato from my mending kit upon which she
feasted in private with vast delight!"

It is hard to imagine a more touching human sidelight than the above
intimate incident. The Editor has forwarded a copy of Dr. Traprock's
letter to the Candlemas Club where it is suitably framed and hung in
the swimming-pool.

The reception at the Yacht Club station was a gay affair. It was positively my first appearance upon any landing-stage. The efficient steward had arranged an authoritative punch and many a hearty toast was pledged and responded to with feeling. But we were soon on our way again. My final orders sealed with the official-seal of the Explorers Union, were placed in my hands by the venerable President, Waxman, who was greatly affected at parting. He had been eating peanuts of which he was passionately fond, and I recall that he thrust a few of them into my hands after saying, "Traprock, we expect a great deal ..." he choked, and was unable to complete his sentence.

At exactly two o'clock, on the flood tide, we backed out of the pier and under Triplett's guidance worked our way sideways to mid-channel. The steward at the Yacht Club dipped his colors and fired a commodore's salute with his brass half-pounder to which I replied in proper fashion, lining up the entire expedition at the rail, eyes-right, while Triplett blew our Klaxon and shook a chain of sleigh bells which Frissell had brought along "because they seemed so northern."

It was during this lining-up process that I discovered that one man was missing. It was Wigmore, the snow and ice expert, who had failed to put in an appearance and I was greatly depressed by the fact which seemed to me to be an evil omen. Moreover he was an extremely valuable man with vast experience in alpine work as well as in the practical phases of glaciology with which he came in contact in his work as general-manager of the Higley Ice Cream Cone Co. But marine law is rigid. We were due to sail at two sharp, Wigmore or no Wigmore, and we sped off without him.

But my disappointment was to be almost immediately assuaged. When we were about an eighth of a mile above the Canal Street bridge, the last of the great arches which spans the river, Swank rushed up to me and cried, "Look, look. There he is----!"

I followed the direction of his pointing finger. Sure enough, there was Wigmore, a tiny speck, running along the center span of the bridge. He was in full Alpine costume with rope, ax, pick and felt hat, and I saw to my amazement that he was going to board us. With the nimbleness of a chamois he scrambled over the railing, instantly beginning a spider-like descent of his rope which he had hooked above. Silhouetted against the sky I could see the curved feather in his cap, a minute question mark. The question in my mind was one of hair-raising anxiety. Would he make it, or not? Upon the answer seemed to depend the whole success or failure of our venture. His descent was timed to a nicety. Just as the Kawa plowed beneath him he gave a shake of his body, loosening the fastening, and dropped lightly to the deck amid our resounding cheers. Was it only in imagination that I saw the Goddess of Liberty wave her gigantic, torch-bearing arm, as if she too felt the thrill of a brave deed, nobly done?

"Bravo, Wigmore," I cried. "But what detained you?"

"My equipment, sir," he said, coming to attention. "They wouldn't let me into my apartment. The clerk thought I was a line-man for the Edison Company."

We all laughed heartily at the incident and settled down to routine-life on ship-board. Our last farewell from the great port of the Metropolis was from the Detention Ward on Ellis Island. The Pesthouse band was out in full-force and blew germs into the air with much enthusiasm, but Triplett had laid a course to windward so that we felt no apprehension.

It is perhaps not amiss at this point to say something regarding the highly important part played in our expedition by the Kawa herself. She may be said, I think, to be the star of a distinguished cast, or more accurately, that she divided stellar honors with me. For one of the conditions which was part of my bargain with good old Waxman and his associates was that I should actually take my ship to the Pole!

The expression on the faces of the worthy committee of the E.U. when I accepted this astounding condition is something that I must leave to the reader's imagination.

"Yes, gentlemen," I had said to them. "It can be done, and it will be done. Either I hitch the Kawa to the Pole or I never return!"

My announcement was greeted with cheers.

Immediately upon my return from Boston I closeted myself with Captain Triplett in the cozy nautical room of the Book-lovers Library and we jointly went over the layout of the Kawa from stem to stern. We were surrounded by files of drawings and a great mass of data upon naval architecture with special reference to Arctic conditions. From the outset I was imbued with a conviction that we should find nothing of real importance in what had been done before. A careful study of my predecessors convinced me that they had uniformly been on the wrong track. What they had tried to do was to fight the ice. What I proposed was to humor it.

The outstanding feature of such vessels as the Fram and the Roosevelt was their rigidity. Their construction followed the general principle of the onion, consisting of numerous layers of heavy oak sheathing shored up from the inside with a veritable cob-web of balks, stanchions and braces. In addition to this, the sides of these ships were shaped so as to offer as small a vulnerable target as possible. The idea was that the stupendous pinch and pressure of the ice-pack failing to get a firm hold of the vessel should project her up from and out of the ice. This idea is graphically illustrated by an ordinary, household orange seed pinched sharply between the thumb and forefinger. But I could not help smiling at the naive short-sightedness of these earlier men, for, assuming as sometimes happened, that the constructive features functioned as outlined, what then? The ship was merely lifted up until she canted over at a ridiculous and uncomfortable angle where she lay on the ice, a helpless and absurd spectacle. Further motion in any direction was plainly impossible except at the whim of the floe itself which often evinces a contradictory tendency to move southward instead of northward as per schedule.

While not wishing to discard entirely the idea of elusive conformation I saw at once that radical innovations would be necessary in order to accomplish my object. In a word, I proposed to convert the Kawa into a non-rigid type of vessel.

"Triplett," I said, during our first conference, "what is the slipperiest animal you know?"

The ancient mariner scratched his head reflectively before replying. "Seals."

"Right!" I cried. "Go to the seal, thou sluggard! Triplett, it's an idea! We'll make the Kawa as easy to handle as a greased hot water bottle."

For many days we worked over the plans and eventually began actual operations on the Kawa herself, hauling her out for the purpose at Tutbury's shipyard. She was completely eviscerated. Her oak ribs and keel were removed and replaced by Austrian bent-wood, of the finest temper. A thin layer of yew-planking was laid over her sides with lapped, sliding joints, filled with elastic roofing-cement. Outside of this came a second layer of slippery elm (3/8" × 2-1/2") laid diagonally so that the joints crossed those of the yew. The entire hull was then covered with seal-skin, fur side out. When she slid from the ways on her re-launching the Kawa took the water as noiselessly as a musk-rat, and it was with the greatest difficulty that we made her fast as she slipped from the ship-wright's grasp at the slightest pressure.[3]

"Gosh-t-a'mighty," grinned Triplett. "She's a seal!"

You may be sure I utilized Whinney's scientific ingenuity and it is to him I owe two innovations which contributed greatly to our success. One of these was the magnetic bowsprit, highly sensitized by induction-coils run from the exhaust of our 20 h.p. Tutbury engine; the other was the thermal water-line, the temperature of which could be raised to 180 degrees by turning a switch which connected with our storage batteries. Both of these inventions worked perfectly.

Thanks to the bowsprit the problem of steering our svelte craft, about which Triplett had expressed some doubts, became a simple matter. Left to herself she invariably came up into the north and as that was the direction we wished to go all was well. The thermal water-line made passage through all but the thickest ice comfortable and easy. For many years the Kawa had had no water-line whatever so that we were uncertain how she would behave. The new one consisted of a thin layer of copper fastened to the elm siding, underneath the seal skin. I like to think that the little Kawa behaved so nobly because she knew her water-line was not visible.

Thus we arrived at a type of construction which gave us the strength and elasticity of a water-tight basket. What we had lost in rigidity we gained in feather-like lightness. Before her engines were installed the Kawa floated on the surface like a toy balloon. When loaded, as she usually was, she drew two-feet-six. The installation of the engine and stowing of stores also had a tendency to stabilize the hull and keep her masts pointing upward which was a distinct advantage.

In addition to these marine features it was necessary to consider the eventuality of encountering solid, impenetrable ice in the region of the pole, ice through which even the thermal water-line would not make it possible for us to melt our way. Authorities agree that such ice may be expected north of eighty-six, even though we planned to time our arrival in that vicinity for mid-summer when, as is well known, the weather is extremely hot. This is the fascination of Arctic travel; one never knows what to expect. Our problem, then, was to make the Kawa equally at home on the floe or in the open leads, a glorified sea-sled. My previous experience with the various types of sledges convinced me that for my purpose they were useless. My object was to take the Kawa to the Pole. Then why not make the Kawa herself a sled?

I recognized instantly the feasibility of my scheme, which consisted of folding guide-runners framed of carefully selected greenheart. When not in use these runners extended horizontally along the counter, giving my little craft a singularly bird-like appearance. Incidentally they formed convenient luggage carriers similar to those attached to the running boards of automobiles and, in fair weather, could be used as piazzas or sleeping porches covered with a high pile of bear-skins to make occupancy easy.

WHAT THE WELL-DRESSED EXPLORER WILL WEAR

Fine feathers do not make fine birds, but aigrettes are still forty
dollars a stalk. Something of this thought evidently dominated the
mind of Warburton Plock in the selection of his wardrobe. Plock, who
is shown against a typically iglootinous background, was the only
member of the expedition who paid no heed to his leader's advice in
this regard, namely, to dress off-the-Eskimos. Instead of so doing
he ordered his outfit built for him by Buskwa, the leading tailor
of Nome. The garments were taken aboard at St. John's and formed a
large part of Plock's luggage. They varied in design from a simple
going-away suit to the most elaborate mufti, sports costume and
evening dress.

In the attached fashion-plate the fastidious explorer is clad in
the well-known "Buskwa-model" morning suit, which is made from the
pelts of unborn teddy bears. This, according to the wearer, is the
super-correct thing for the Young-Man-About-the-Pole. The accessory
cane and cigarette are personal touches calculated to attract the
attention of whomsoever he may meet north of Eighty-six. Vanity, in
the Great White Spaces as elsewhere, precedes a fall, but usually
only by a step or so. To be fair to the house of Buskwa it should be
stated that Plock's garments were invariably tastefully designed and
well-made. No detail of findings or linings was slighted. They were,
however, entirely unsuited to the rigors of Polar climate.

The Buskwa trade is chiefly derived from the wealthier Chicoutimi
families living along the Mad River and points South. To single out
a single defect, the self-drawing fish-pockets are doubtless useful
features to a people who spend many hours in the salmon streams. In
the icy polar region the cold air naturally forced its way through
the sartorial scuppers with the result that the wearer was soon
forced to don another suit to avoid freezing. At the time of his
attempted escape Plock was wearing his entire wardrobe, seven suits
in all, which were recovered with the body of the fugitive. The
clothes were later eaten by members of the return-party, who more
than once had occasion to pay tribute to the tailor who had selected
such delicious materials.

Thus you have a fairly complete idea of my metamorphosed vessel, adapted to meet any and all conditions.

But one word more, as to stores and equipment, and I will promise not to bore my readers further with these deadly technical details, which I fully realize have prevented the success of many a tale of Arctic adventure. In making up my lists I was guided by a principle which I have followed all my life, namely, that of taking with me only those things for which a proper substitute could not be found in the high latitudes. This simple thought I always practise in a restaurant, for instance, where I never by any chance order anything which might be served in my home. Just prior to leaving New York I heard a gentleman ask for corned-beef hash in the Ritz! I could but pity him. Yet it is this apparently trivial tendency which has sent many an expedition off to the Arctic circle burdened with voluminous packs of furs and crushing weights of supplies, all of which could be most easily secured from the Eskimos themselves who, with the possible exception of the Cambodians, are the most friendly people I have ever encountered.[4]

Our clothing then was of the lightest. We started our journey dressed in plain business suits such as are worn by guides in the Canadian wilderness, but stowed in our duffle-bags were ample quantities of light underwear, both union and non-union, while included in my personal kit were three pairs of medium-weight, woolen longs with reinforced or sliding seats to make progress over the ice more easy. For outer wear during the warm season we carried the conventional tennis flannels and Palm-Beach suits and I am thankful to Swank for the suggestion that we include the tropical helmets which had shielded us so faithfully in the Filberts. They proved of inestimable value.

Most travellers into the land of refrigeration insist upon taking in with them bales of hay with which to pack their boots and thus absorb the moisture which would otherwise result in aggravated cases of cold feet. For this particular product I substituted a type of breakfast food of my own invention called "wheat whiskers" which comes in compacted cubes of farinaceous filament. These, when needed, can be teased out to four times their initial bulk. The advantages of this product are evident, since it is both excellent boot-packing and nourishing food, or, as Frizzie put it "good for both hoof and mouth disease." Another dual personality in our list of stores was the solid alcohol, primarily intended for fuel, but also edible. This necessity was under my immediate jurisdiction as the responsible head of the party.

Too much credit can never be given to those great American institutions, the 5-and-10-cent stores, from which we were able to obtain at slight cost the necessary snow-goggles, ice-picks, cooking utensils, etc., which form a part of every expedition. From the same source we also purchased a sizable number of toys for use in bartering with the natives. All these lighter elements of our baggage were rolled in bolts of mosquito netting in the folds of which were packed fly-swatters (two per man), bottles of citronella, green fishing-veils, and other objects useful in combating the teeming insect life which springs into being at the first touch of the Arctic sun.

These, then, were our general stores. Each individual looked after the equipment necessary for his own department. Sections of the Kawa, amidship, were allotted in alphabetical order, where, with a narrow aisle between, were tightly crammed Plock's anthropological charts, Miskin's map-cardboards, surveying instruments and colored crayons, Sloff's batteries, Wigmore's alpine ice instruments (including a horn), Dane's mummy-cases and scarabs, Whinney's camera supplies and radio-outfit, and Swank's paints and palettes. Frissell's personal impedimenta was unique and had no bearing whatever upon scientific research. It consisted of eighteen different fancy-dress costumes, wrapped up in which were a ukelele and six pogo sticks. At later intervals he kept producing smaller musical instruments, magic egg-cups and other entertaining devices which more than once rescued our spirits from the depths of black despair. Triplett carried, as usual, only his pouch of extra glass eyes and a small, well-worn, black bag which, to my certain knowledge, he never opened. I think he felt that it gave him dignity and was demanded of him, just as baggage is considered necessary by some punctilious hotel clerks. Whenever we left ship for more than a day, Triplett insisted on carrying his black bag. He looked as if he were about either to embalm a body or tune a piano. I could never quite decide which. One day when he was ill, during the latter part of our trip, I peeked in the bag. It contained the upper half of a pair of pajamas and the photograph of a beautiful,--but I feel that respect for the old fellow's romantic heart, hidden deep beneath his tough hide, forbids me to say more. Somehow that little black bag became to me a symbol of its owner, concealing beneath its alligator-skin rind the elements of some exquisite life-incident!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 3: A quarter-scale model of the re-modeled Kawa has been presented to the Smithsonian Institute by the Jibboom Club of New London, Ct. Needless to say all structural and mechanical details are thoroughly protected.]

[Footnote 4: As guest of King Sisawath II in 1908, I was presented with the Bkatha or Freedom of the Palace, which was more than I could possibly use.]

Chapter III

_The choice of a route. Off at last. We take aboard a passenger.
Seeds of discontent. Into the long twilight. Radio reversals. The ice
at last. Trouble with our water-line. Its happy solution._