FOOTNOTES:[8]The trick is one I learned from an old limehouse "pug" whom I befriended in the east-end of London. He could only show me his gratitude by teaching me the secrets of his trade, which have served me on many an occasion.[9]The entire party on H.M.S. Daffodil, were sunk by a German submarine off St. Jean deLuz. I escaped, having disembarked at Brigus, N.F., in order to join my regiment at Derby, Conn.[10]The Arctic mosquito differs from his southern brothers, the commonstegomia muflans, in that he does not strike and get away. Like the Canadian "wingle," where he bites he burrows, and that with such rapidity that one must be swift of stroke indeed who would escape his attack. Within a few seconds he disappears beneath the cuticle and dire illness is the result. It is not commonly known but I am convinced that the Arctic variety is the carrier of the scurvy germ, that dreaded terror of travellers. (See Windenborg's treatise "Die Arbeiten Stegomanische und Fleibeiten von dem Nord-deutsches Landes," which, while making many absurd claims as to German supremacy in polar regions, contains at the same time much solid information). T.[11]The ever-watchful Canadian game commission has taken up this matter (which vitally affects the mitten industry) and is conducting at the Govt. Laboratory in Ottawa a series of experiments with various hare-restorers. W.E.T.[12]Since his return to New York, Dr. Traprock has formulated a bill to be introduced at the next session of Congress. The bill is aimed directly at the Fordney tariff-schedule, which imposes the highest duties on whale-bone since whales were first discovered. This, according to Dr. Traprock, is accountable for the corsetless flapperism of today. "The higher the whale-bone the lower the corset," is his trenchant comment.—Ed.
FOOTNOTES:
[8]The trick is one I learned from an old limehouse "pug" whom I befriended in the east-end of London. He could only show me his gratitude by teaching me the secrets of his trade, which have served me on many an occasion.
[8]The trick is one I learned from an old limehouse "pug" whom I befriended in the east-end of London. He could only show me his gratitude by teaching me the secrets of his trade, which have served me on many an occasion.
[9]The entire party on H.M.S. Daffodil, were sunk by a German submarine off St. Jean deLuz. I escaped, having disembarked at Brigus, N.F., in order to join my regiment at Derby, Conn.
[9]The entire party on H.M.S. Daffodil, were sunk by a German submarine off St. Jean deLuz. I escaped, having disembarked at Brigus, N.F., in order to join my regiment at Derby, Conn.
[10]The Arctic mosquito differs from his southern brothers, the commonstegomia muflans, in that he does not strike and get away. Like the Canadian "wingle," where he bites he burrows, and that with such rapidity that one must be swift of stroke indeed who would escape his attack. Within a few seconds he disappears beneath the cuticle and dire illness is the result. It is not commonly known but I am convinced that the Arctic variety is the carrier of the scurvy germ, that dreaded terror of travellers. (See Windenborg's treatise "Die Arbeiten Stegomanische und Fleibeiten von dem Nord-deutsches Landes," which, while making many absurd claims as to German supremacy in polar regions, contains at the same time much solid information). T.
[10]The Arctic mosquito differs from his southern brothers, the commonstegomia muflans, in that he does not strike and get away. Like the Canadian "wingle," where he bites he burrows, and that with such rapidity that one must be swift of stroke indeed who would escape his attack. Within a few seconds he disappears beneath the cuticle and dire illness is the result. It is not commonly known but I am convinced that the Arctic variety is the carrier of the scurvy germ, that dreaded terror of travellers. (See Windenborg's treatise "Die Arbeiten Stegomanische und Fleibeiten von dem Nord-deutsches Landes," which, while making many absurd claims as to German supremacy in polar regions, contains at the same time much solid information). T.
[11]The ever-watchful Canadian game commission has taken up this matter (which vitally affects the mitten industry) and is conducting at the Govt. Laboratory in Ottawa a series of experiments with various hare-restorers. W.E.T.
[11]The ever-watchful Canadian game commission has taken up this matter (which vitally affects the mitten industry) and is conducting at the Govt. Laboratory in Ottawa a series of experiments with various hare-restorers. W.E.T.
[12]Since his return to New York, Dr. Traprock has formulated a bill to be introduced at the next session of Congress. The bill is aimed directly at the Fordney tariff-schedule, which imposes the highest duties on whale-bone since whales were first discovered. This, according to Dr. Traprock, is accountable for the corsetless flapperism of today. "The higher the whale-bone the lower the corset," is his trenchant comment.—Ed.
[12]Since his return to New York, Dr. Traprock has formulated a bill to be introduced at the next session of Congress. The bill is aimed directly at the Fordney tariff-schedule, which imposes the highest duties on whale-bone since whales were first discovered. This, according to Dr. Traprock, is accountable for the corsetless flapperism of today. "The higher the whale-bone the lower the corset," is his trenchant comment.—Ed.
Chapter V
The last ten miles. A mental observation. We lose our magnetic bowsprit. The Big Peg at last! "The Lady, first!" We celebrate our arrival. I glimpse a vision.
The last ten miles. A mental observation. We lose our magnetic bowsprit. The Big Peg at last! "The Lady, first!" We celebrate our arrival. I glimpse a vision.
Chapter V
July fourth, 1921.
"Eighty-nine and two tenths!" said Capt. Triplett.
"Eighty-nine and two tenths," echoed Miskin, jotting down the figures.
Our navigator lowered the astrolabe through which he had been peering and folded up his artificial horizon. He then figured for a few moments on the edge of the taffrail, scrupulously erasing the calculation with a combination of saliva and sleeve before he announced in his usual formula:
"She proves. Key-rect as hell."
I piped down the engines and ordered the company abaft. We were working through an open lead at the time.
The moment had come for another important announcement. These were of almost daily occurrence at this time, each stage of our journey having been marked by the establishment of arecord for ship travel. It had therefore become my custom to call the men together as soon as our position had been officially announced, at which time we held a sort of business "causerie," chatted over what had been accomplished, discussed the future plans and policy of the expedition and so on, much as is done today in business organizations whose lack of business gives them ample time for such recreations.
THE AVOWALIt was not to be expected that the temperamental Swank would long remain proof against the attractions of the beguiling Klinka maidens and here we have evidence of him running true to form, the form in this case being that of Klipitok, the youngest of the Mrs. Makuiks. The scene is the sub-polar apartment of the Kryptok hunter, hewn from the ageless ice.Obviously a tender passage is in progress. The jaunty Swank, holding in his hand a bunch of lapland-larkspurs, which, it should be remarked, were completely out of season at the time, is not only saying it with flowers but with all the practised ardor of a grade A Romeo."You are the sweetest thing in the world," he whispers. "I have never met anyone like you in all my life."The child hears and believes."You are so original!" she murmurs, bending her seal-like ear."And you so aboriginal!""More!" she sighs passionately."Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?"At this point, due to the rising temperature, great drops of water began to fall from the ice-roof and a harsh command from Makuik drove the lovers into the open air.In justice to Mr. Swank it should be stated that all wife-wooing was conducted with the full knowledge and consent of the husband. Makuik's ulterior motive, doubtless, was to secure additional hunters for his tribe. Alas, for Swank's romantically planned honeymoon, it was doomed to end as so many do, in disappointment.
THE AVOWAL
It was not to be expected that the temperamental Swank would long remain proof against the attractions of the beguiling Klinka maidens and here we have evidence of him running true to form, the form in this case being that of Klipitok, the youngest of the Mrs. Makuiks. The scene is the sub-polar apartment of the Kryptok hunter, hewn from the ageless ice.
Obviously a tender passage is in progress. The jaunty Swank, holding in his hand a bunch of lapland-larkspurs, which, it should be remarked, were completely out of season at the time, is not only saying it with flowers but with all the practised ardor of a grade A Romeo.
"You are the sweetest thing in the world," he whispers. "I have never met anyone like you in all my life."
The child hears and believes.
"You are so original!" she murmurs, bending her seal-like ear.
"And you so aboriginal!"
"More!" she sighs passionately.
"Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?"
At this point, due to the rising temperature, great drops of water began to fall from the ice-roof and a harsh command from Makuik drove the lovers into the open air.
In justice to Mr. Swank it should be stated that all wife-wooing was conducted with the full knowledge and consent of the husband. Makuik's ulterior motive, doubtless, was to secure additional hunters for his tribe. Alas, for Swank's romantically planned honeymoon, it was doomed to end as so many do, in disappointment.
The Avowal
Today, more than ever, I felt the responsibility of my position. Having gained in assurance and poise by reason of experience at previous meetings, my words were terse and well-chosen.
"Men," I said, "and lady" (bowing to Sausalito, who waved a tennis shoe at me), "the end is well nigh come. The goal for which we have labored is almost in sight. The Pole, reputed inaccessible, is at hand. No longer the interminable leagues intervene. No longer do the long miles stretch between us and our object. We have annihilated space—and time!" (Cries of "Hear, Hear!")
"Men of the Traprock Expedition, tried, true and trusty Traprockians, we have almost completed our journey, we are nearly there, the long-sought——"
A tremendous cheer interrupted me. My companions were unable to control themselves, and myoratorical intuition told me that it was the moment to stop.
With a sweeping gesture toward the North, I shouted the magic monosyllable "Mush!" and sat down.
In polar travel the last ten miles are invariably the hardest. One is spent and exhausted. Ice conditions north of eighty-seven are increasingly difficult. Absolutely nothing has been done by either Canadian or United States Governments toward keeping the national highways in condition. Raftered floes, composed of sheets of twenty-foot ice, piled up like badly shuffled playing cards, often directly oppose one's progress.[13]
But all things yield to an iron will. We had not come thus far to be thwarted and our nearness to success roused me to feverish energy. As I look back on that last day I am amazed at some of the things we did.
It has never been my habit to dodge a difficulty and true to this principle we made straight at every barrier. There was no dodging or deviating. Some we climbed, some we tunneled (the Kawa's mastsfolded back along her deck), some we blew up, though I hesitated to resort to this process for the practical reason of wishing to save my ice bombs, and the more sentimental dislike of breaking the mystic silence of the North with a sound so extraneous and artificial as that of blasting.
The northern silence has always seemed so pure and chaste that the thought of shattering it was extremely repugnant. It was like violating a virgin. It was, however, necessary to do this at times.[14]
Toiling, sweating, cursing, singing and shouting with excitement, we fought our way foot by foot, mile by mile, over the rough ice-cap.
It was marvellous to see how the Kawa behaved, how magnificently her pliant flanks adapted themselves to the jagged contours, how intelligently and naturally she oozed over and between difficulties, pressed in here, bulging out there, svelte, seal-like and delicious.
My office was that of general exhorter and encourager. It would never have done for me totake the lines and do any actual pulling; the men would have lost respect for me at once. But I was never idle for a moment. Armed with an old riding crop, a relic of my days as M.F.H. of the Derby Hounds, I circled about my straining comrades, shouting encouragement and occasionally flicking them smartly on back and buttock. They responded valiantly, though not a few black looks were thrown at me.
At the top of every ice hurdle we stopped to rest and I issued extra rations of alcohol plug. It was little enough to repay these gallant chaps for their exertions and surely this was no time to play the niggard with the "A-P" as we called it. Once refreshed, and the ice slide ready, we coasted down the northward incline and spun merrily across the level floe.
Late in the day, I called a halt. My comrades, somewhat exhausted by their exertions and a little affected, perhaps, by my generous distributions of A-P, sank on the ice near their traces or crawled up on the Kawa's soft counter and fell asleep.
I was glad of their unconsciousness for I was very much excited. We must be nearly there!
Before us rose a gentle snow eminence, the merest swelling in the white plain, such as would be calleda mountain in the middle west.[15]Beyond this, unless I was mistaken, lay the Pole.
"Triplett," I said excitedly, "can you make a quick observation?"
"Sure," he observed. One glance at the low hanging sun was enough for my old navigator. Rolling back his eyes he looked for a moment into that reliable brain of his. I saw that he was taking a mental observation! Marvellous man! In breathless silence, I waited.
"Eighty-nine and—nine tenths," he whispered. Sweat stood out on his forehead and rolled in little rivers through his corrugations. This sort of thing was plainly exhausting.
Quickly handing him an emergency plug I rose.
At that moment Warburton Plock came toward me. Though I disliked him more than ever, he had been deferential and polite since I had faced him down in his silly fuss over my orders, so that I listened attentively while he spoke.
"Doctor, with your permission I'm going to unship the magnetic bowsprit and set it here as a beacon. We must be way above the Magnetic Northby now and it is pulling us backward instead of forward."
"Very good," I answered. "Your idea has merit."
He touched his cap pleasantly and went forward. I liked the idea of leaving a beacon or cairn. It is the proper thing among explorers. Here and there we had run across them, an occasional pile of snow, topped by a gin bottle enclosing a message from some previous expedition, empty containers of various sorts whose labels were mute memorials to the achievement of the great white race! Walker, Haig and Booth, imperishable names these, with a solemn splendor when found on the white register of the North.
I watched the work with interest. Plock and Miskin were busy at the bow-chains, Swank, Wigmore and Frissell prepared the site, hewing out rude blocks with their ice picks, while Sausalito cackled encouragement. She was knitting a slip-on of reindeer yarn.
Suddenly a shout of dismay rose from under our forefoot. I saw Plock and Miskin struggling with the bowsprit. Evidently they had completely miscalculated the strength of the magnetic pull.
"Help!" cried Plock.
I sprang forward, even as the others threw down their picks and dashed toward the bow.
We were too late.
Jammed against the side of the ship, his hands torn and bleeding Miskin was forced to relinquish his grasp. With but the weight of Plock at its butt end the long pole shot off at an angle across the ice.
"Leave it go!" I ordered.
But Plock was too dazed, too enraged to hear me. Fortunately at a distance of two hundred yards his head struck a ridge of ice and he keeled over.
Free of all hindrance, the steel stick bounded off with amazing rapidity, leaving a faint trail, straight and true to the Magnetic North. I watched it through my glasses until it disappeared over the horizon to the southwest,—and there it is today, for all to see who visit those strange regions, a record of the Traprock Expedition placed there by a power more mysterious and greater than that of human hands.
Plock was gathered up and the company once more assembled.
This time I wasted no words. "Men, we are there. Beyond yonder eminence is the Pole. Ten minutes, twenty at most, and then—rest!"
ABOUT TO BE CAPTUREDThis picture represents what is probably the high-spot in Dr. Traprock's absorbing narrative, namely, the moment just before the author and his friend Swank burst from their hiding-places and captured Ikik, the Klinka maid, who is seen crouching over the bait which in this case was the scarlet hunting-coat worn by Dr. Traprock during many an exciting chase, though none, we venture to say, compared to this. Critics of this picture have said that the coat seemed unnecessarily voluminous. In explanation it may interest our readers to know that at meetings of the Derby Hounds, which organization takes its origin from the ancient Epsom Hunts of England, the M.F.H. wears the medieval hunting costume, the folds of which cover the rider, horse and at times several of the hounds as well. The thought of our intrepid friend Traprock thus clad in full cry suggests an inspiring sight. He says himself with his usual modesty, "The coat has always attracted women, but I have usually been in it."Better than words our illustration, snapped by Swank through the eye of "Dr. Pease," gives an idea of the simple beauty of the Klinka summer-furs. Though she has thrown aside her oomiak she is plainly apprehensive. Something is in the air, she knows not what.It was Dr. Traprock's intention to capture the maid as politely as was consistent with success. After the diving-tackle which he has described he had expected to deliver a conciliatory speech beginning, "Madame, I assure you my intentions are perfectly honorable." Makuik's arrival interrupted this program but we feel that in justice to Dr. Traprock his plan should be known lest some of our readers assume that he was unnecessarily rough. In the old Norman, "Chroniques de la Noblisse," we find significant note referring to Jean Marie Piegeroche, an early ancestor of the author. Says the historian, "Fort comme la mort, beau comme le soleil, et toujour rosse mais pas trop rosse." "Strong as death! Beautiful as the sun, rough ... but not too rough." It is indeed the Doctor.
ABOUT TO BE CAPTURED
This picture represents what is probably the high-spot in Dr. Traprock's absorbing narrative, namely, the moment just before the author and his friend Swank burst from their hiding-places and captured Ikik, the Klinka maid, who is seen crouching over the bait which in this case was the scarlet hunting-coat worn by Dr. Traprock during many an exciting chase, though none, we venture to say, compared to this. Critics of this picture have said that the coat seemed unnecessarily voluminous. In explanation it may interest our readers to know that at meetings of the Derby Hounds, which organization takes its origin from the ancient Epsom Hunts of England, the M.F.H. wears the medieval hunting costume, the folds of which cover the rider, horse and at times several of the hounds as well. The thought of our intrepid friend Traprock thus clad in full cry suggests an inspiring sight. He says himself with his usual modesty, "The coat has always attracted women, but I have usually been in it."
Better than words our illustration, snapped by Swank through the eye of "Dr. Pease," gives an idea of the simple beauty of the Klinka summer-furs. Though she has thrown aside her oomiak she is plainly apprehensive. Something is in the air, she knows not what.
It was Dr. Traprock's intention to capture the maid as politely as was consistent with success. After the diving-tackle which he has described he had expected to deliver a conciliatory speech beginning, "Madame, I assure you my intentions are perfectly honorable." Makuik's arrival interrupted this program but we feel that in justice to Dr. Traprock his plan should be known lest some of our readers assume that he was unnecessarily rough. In the old Norman, "Chroniques de la Noblisse," we find significant note referring to Jean Marie Piegeroche, an early ancestor of the author. Says the historian, "Fort comme la mort, beau comme le soleil, et toujour rosse mais pas trop rosse." "Strong as death! Beautiful as the sun, rough ... but not too rough." It is indeed the Doctor.
About to be Captured
With hearty good will they sprang to their positions and we shot forward up the gentle grade.
Exactly twelve minutes later we reached the crest and below us, sparkling in the sunlight, stood the Pole itself.
How can I possibly describe the scene and the sensations of that inspiring moment? Physically the outlook was perhaps unimportant save for a feature that set my blood tingling while it stilled my heart in reverence. This feature was Peary's cairn!
It was untouched, unchanged.
From the moment the object of the Traprock Expedition was announced I had been haunted by a vague fear that some other group would head straight for my goal, dragging with them some hapenny-tuppenny ships model wherewith to wither my laurels.
It was not so.
Before us, a few hundred yards distant in the center of a shallow bowl stood the rude monument of the great Commander, just as he had left it. From the summit and flanks of the miniature mountain fluttered the tattered ensigns he hadplaced there, our country's flag, the red cross, the D.K.E. banner and the others.
The Stars and Stripes were nailed to a stout spar, evidently an extra yard-arm or spare jigger from the Roosevelt. This mast still stood, a graphic symbol of the Pole itself, as if the giant axis of the earth projected beyond its surface. It was slightly out of plumb and the wood toward the base was somewhat abraded.
But of the vandalism of late visitants there was not a trace. No picnic baskets or discarded lily-cups marred the snowy surroundings. No other ship, great or small, had made fast to Mother Earth's last mooring.
We rushed toward the spot in helter skelter fashion, but ten yards from the cairn a thought, almost morbid in its chivalrousness, seized me.
I must stop this mad rush.
How?
Whipping out my Colt I fired three shots in quick succession. It was the return-to-the-ship signal. The crowd hesitated, irresolute.
On the instant I dashed ahead and faced about.
"Gentlemen," I cried, "though thousands of miles from home, remember, youaregentlemen. The lady, first!"
Offering Sausalito my arm we climbed the slope together.
The others arrived en masse. Swank, Plock, Sloff, they were all like children playing a game of prisoner's base, with the Pole as home. Poor Whinney was "it."
In the excitement of the moment I had forgotten him. He was a pitiful spectacle as he came tap-tapping his way across the ice, feeling each step with his cane. We watched him in silence until I saw that he was going to miss the Pole entirely and if not stopped would soon be bound south again for an indefinite period. Tenderly Sausalito and I led him to the cairn while her rich voice murmured comfort in his ear. He was beside himself with emotion and hot tears kept welling from under his goggles.
"The touch of a woman's hand!" he sobbed, as he smoothed mine with his.
Frissell's arrival was characteristic. He made the last sixty yards between the Kawa and the Pole on a pogo stick—a new—in fact the only—record for an event of this kind.
Second only to ourselves was the Kawa and willing hands soon hauled her across the intervening distance and made her fast.
The great objective of my polar push had been gained and with a reverent heart I called the men together for short but appropriate ceremonies.
After a prayer of thanksgiving by Miskin, we sang as much of the Star Spangled Banner as we could remember and ate a silent toast to the memory of great explorers who had come and gone. I then made a few appropriate remarks, outlining the progress of polar travel from Norse days down to the present and we then proceeded to the picturesque "planting of the flags." It was a charming picture in the amber sunlight, not unlike the final chorus of some great operatic spectacle in which the nations of the earth are gathered together.
Forming in a circle we marched slowly about the cairn singing the ancient song: "Nordenskold—Nordenskold—helvig am trein," each man planting his flag at the close of a verse, in the order named:
Traprock, U.S.A., Swank, Sons of American Revolution; Whinney, Guidon of the Derby Fencibles (sometimes called the "Desperate Derbies"); Sausalito, Lucy Stone League; Frissell, Dutch Treat Club of New York; Plock, Explorers Union; Miskin, National Geographic Society; Triplett, New Bedford Chamber of Commerce; Sloff, Ass. Astronomers of America; Wigmore,Society for the Preservation of New England Antiquities; Dane, Egypt.
With the cairn thus gaily decorated and the Kawa's full alphabet of signal flags flying fore and aft spelling the word "Victory," the formal ceremonies were over and I gave the order for complete rest, relaxation and enjoyment.
How thoroughly these instructions were carried out may well be imagined. Three days' rations of every sort were dragged from the hold and spread about us. Without further urging all hands fell to. Every man had five A-P's and a bountiful supply of potted ham, herring and salt codfish.[16]This somewhat arid diet was washed down with copious draughts of melted snow thickened with A-P, and the celebration soon attained a terrific muzzle velocity. Songs echoed across the surrounding plain, merry tales were passed about, tales which brought a dull glow to Sausalito's cheeks and caused old Triplett to slap his thigh with delight.
Frissell was a host in himself. He performed tricks of magic, imitations and feats of acrobaticsand ventriloquism, appearing successively in various costumes from his inexhaustible supply. The quiet Miskin disclosed an unsuspected social gift and lured us into guessing games.
"What is the distance from Bremen to Hong Kong?"
We were staggered. Miskin, from the store of his librarian experience, knew the answer. It was dull, but helped to keep the others sober for a few extra hours.
The three days' rations lasted, I think, about one full 24-hour day.
A single unpleasant incident marred the close of the entertainment.
Plock, who was enormously exhilarated, crawled toward me and pointed toward the D.K.E. flag above us.
"D.K.E. song," he said thickly.
I eyed him coldly.
"I can only sing it with a Brother."
To my disgust he stretched out a very dirty hand, and gave me the grip!
"Mew Chapter," he murmured.
It was revolting. That it should be Plock of all others!
We did the "Band of Brothers" together—myoath compelled it—but I have never voiced its loving sentiments so half-heartedly.
Quiet fell at last. So did most of my companions. One by one they toppled over. Whinney was the last to go. It is said that the loss of one function strengthens another and I suppose that the absence of eyesight gave him staying power. But he finally succumbed, smiling happily and crooning to himself—"I don't no' whish is, m' I blin'-drunk or drunk-blin'"; and he was gone.
My last memory is of Frissell saying "my next imitation" and then playing "taps" on a mouth organ. I knew the impossibility of competing with a parlor entertainer. Nothing will quiet such chaps but a dead audience. So I rolled over, and slept the sleep of a tired but happy explorer.
What awakened me I cannot say, but I am sure that it was something unusual, for my awakening was not gradual or difficult. It was the same quick instant leap to consciousness as that which rouses the suburban wife when she leans across the interim between the twin beds and whispers tensely to her husband, "Horace, someone is trying to get into the dining-room window!"
SOMETHING NEW IN DRAMATICSA happy thought in the formation of the personnel of the Expedition was the inclusion of Frissell, the professional entertainer, who is here shown playing a leading part in the amateur theatricals which it was his delight to organize. The scene chosen for illustration is the famous shipping episode from "The Taming of the Shrew." Reginald Swank, who is no mean dramatic critic, tells us that Frissell's "Petruchio" was a spirited performance, while Snak's "Katharine" rivalled Ada Rehan at her best. The nautical background added a novel touch to the somewhat hackneyed vehicle and it is safe to say that Shakespeare is permanently established among the Klinka and Kryptok tribes.Not content with the success of this production, Frissell plans to bring to Broadway a newly organized company, "The Polar Players." They will appear in repertoire while the B and C companies tour the provinces. The Winter Garden has already been engaged for the venture, Al Jolson obligingly shifting to the Metropolitan Opera House. Tickets for the première of this interesting novelty, which is set for November 1st, may be had by application to any of the well known speculators. Mr. Frissell has already shown photographs of some of his best scenes to prominent professional critics. A few sample opinions may be of interest.George Jean Nathan: "Foreign and therefore good."Heywood Broun: "Lacking in background; we like it."Al Woods: "Niftik."Dorothy Parker: "I hate actors, but these people are different."Frederick O'Brien: "Taupo aloha che."The Literary Digest: "Better than the average and more average than the best."David Belasco: "All to the spot-light."Bernard Shaw: "They go further back than Methusaleh."
SOMETHING NEW IN DRAMATICS
A happy thought in the formation of the personnel of the Expedition was the inclusion of Frissell, the professional entertainer, who is here shown playing a leading part in the amateur theatricals which it was his delight to organize. The scene chosen for illustration is the famous shipping episode from "The Taming of the Shrew." Reginald Swank, who is no mean dramatic critic, tells us that Frissell's "Petruchio" was a spirited performance, while Snak's "Katharine" rivalled Ada Rehan at her best. The nautical background added a novel touch to the somewhat hackneyed vehicle and it is safe to say that Shakespeare is permanently established among the Klinka and Kryptok tribes.
Not content with the success of this production, Frissell plans to bring to Broadway a newly organized company, "The Polar Players." They will appear in repertoire while the B and C companies tour the provinces. The Winter Garden has already been engaged for the venture, Al Jolson obligingly shifting to the Metropolitan Opera House. Tickets for the première of this interesting novelty, which is set for November 1st, may be had by application to any of the well known speculators. Mr. Frissell has already shown photographs of some of his best scenes to prominent professional critics. A few sample opinions may be of interest.
George Jean Nathan: "Foreign and therefore good."
Heywood Broun: "Lacking in background; we like it."
Al Woods: "Niftik."
Dorothy Parker: "I hate actors, but these people are different."
Frederick O'Brien: "Taupo aloha che."
The Literary Digest: "Better than the average and more average than the best."
David Belasco: "All to the spot-light."
Bernard Shaw: "They go further back than Methusaleh."
Something New in Dramatics
I suddenly found myself sitting bolt upright, straining my ears through the lightness.
What was it?
What uncanny influence had snatched me bodily out of the depths of stupor?
All about me lay my companions. I counted them dazedly. Triplett, Sausalito, Swank,—yes, they were all there, not one missing.
"It was nothing" I thought, and stretched myself, preparatory to replacing my aching head in its original position.
And then my hair literally rose on that same head and a creeping chill crept up my spine.
Close at hand, just back of me, rose a soft, exquisite, purling sound, the sound of a woman's laughter! Whirling about I caught a fleeting glimpse of her.
It was just a flash. She was peering over the edge of the cairn. The instant my eyes met hers I knew that I had seen the most beautiful woman in the world!
Leaping silently to my feet, for I did not wish to waken my comrades, I raced toward the cairn. As I rounded the curve I heard again that silvery laughter, spiced, I thought, with a note of mockery.
"One second, my beauty!" I muttered, "and Ishall have you!" Remember, I had been for months in the solitudes. My blood pounded in my temples.
Sweeping gracefully around the cairn I arrived on the opposite side.
Desolate and empty, the ice bowl curved to its rim.
Not a living soul in sight.
FOOTNOTES:[13]The only highway comparable to the above, in my experience, is the main street of Portchester, N.Y., which has been torn up since the memory of man. Some of the rocks in the middle of this thoroughfare are of volcanic origin. The detours are even worse.[14]The explosive used is a development of Whinney's along suggestions made by me. I am not at liberty to give the chemical formula, but its lines of force are bi-lateral instead of perpendicular as is the case with lyddite and the other nitroglycerine derivatives. To any one especially interested in ice blasting I shall be pleased to furnish additional information. W.E.T.[15]The lowest mountain in the world is Mt. Clemens, Mich., which has an altitude of 6 ft. above lake level. I once climbed it on crutches. W.E.T.[16]These compact and easily carried food stuffs formed a large part of our store. With the addition of a little water they increase greatly in bulk and nutritive value. The idea came to me when stranded for two weeks in the Dry Tortugas, during which time I lived entirely on an old carriage sponge which I found on the beach. W.E.T.
FOOTNOTES:
[13]The only highway comparable to the above, in my experience, is the main street of Portchester, N.Y., which has been torn up since the memory of man. Some of the rocks in the middle of this thoroughfare are of volcanic origin. The detours are even worse.
[13]The only highway comparable to the above, in my experience, is the main street of Portchester, N.Y., which has been torn up since the memory of man. Some of the rocks in the middle of this thoroughfare are of volcanic origin. The detours are even worse.
[14]The explosive used is a development of Whinney's along suggestions made by me. I am not at liberty to give the chemical formula, but its lines of force are bi-lateral instead of perpendicular as is the case with lyddite and the other nitroglycerine derivatives. To any one especially interested in ice blasting I shall be pleased to furnish additional information. W.E.T.
[14]The explosive used is a development of Whinney's along suggestions made by me. I am not at liberty to give the chemical formula, but its lines of force are bi-lateral instead of perpendicular as is the case with lyddite and the other nitroglycerine derivatives. To any one especially interested in ice blasting I shall be pleased to furnish additional information. W.E.T.
[15]The lowest mountain in the world is Mt. Clemens, Mich., which has an altitude of 6 ft. above lake level. I once climbed it on crutches. W.E.T.
[15]The lowest mountain in the world is Mt. Clemens, Mich., which has an altitude of 6 ft. above lake level. I once climbed it on crutches. W.E.T.
[16]These compact and easily carried food stuffs formed a large part of our store. With the addition of a little water they increase greatly in bulk and nutritive value. The idea came to me when stranded for two weeks in the Dry Tortugas, during which time I lived entirely on an old carriage sponge which I found on the beach. W.E.T.
[16]These compact and easily carried food stuffs formed a large part of our store. With the addition of a little water they increase greatly in bulk and nutritive value. The idea came to me when stranded for two weeks in the Dry Tortugas, during which time I lived entirely on an old carriage sponge which I found on the beach. W.E.T.
Chapter VI
Fatal procrastination. Our one-dimensional position. An extraordinary ornithological display. I confide in Swank. His plan. I capture my vision. The Klinkas. An embarrassing incident.
Fatal procrastination. Our one-dimensional position. An extraordinary ornithological display. I confide in Swank. His plan. I capture my vision. The Klinkas. An embarrassing incident.
Chapter VI
The succeeding days were occupied with the business of getting settled. Our eight-day clock recorded July 7th before we finally got down to work. By throwing up a waist-high wall around the base of the cairn we formed a circular dugout into which we moved our belongings, a man to each segment. Already the weather had begun to moderate and I found my medium-longs comfortable.
Sections of our camp were covered with tarpaulins and of course we had the Kawa to retire to in case of need. A passing shower warned me that the short Arctic summer was waning but I figured that we had ample time to remain at least three weeks longer. We had but begun our scientific work, our food supply was generously sufficient, and moreover, my men had come a long way and were entitled to a rest.
Ah! How vainly does the mind of man delude itself with false reasoning. Back in my brain nibbled the maggot of curiosity. Deep in my man-being the age-old impulse lusted for a sight of the mysterious ice-maiden. Like the old viking in the Saga—"Moe entilgig sas, moe Tillig as var—"[17]I would have procrastinated forever. As it was my delay ... but I am now getting south of myself.
Speaking of "getting south" we were in a curious position, one previously remarked on, but which has received scant attention. I refer to the fact that there was left to us but one direction. We had nowhere to go but south. The idea seemed so fantastic that I verified it by actual test. The empiric is after all the only actual, as Spencer says. Standing close together four of us were able to touch the Pole with our backs. At a signal we all stepped forward five paces.
We had all gone south!
And yet, Triplett and I had gone in exactly opposite directions: so had Whinney and Wigmore who were assistants.
There are some things that are beyond the mind of man. Whinney said that it was very simple. He explained that since it was already possible, in athree dimensional world, to reduce motion to one direction (which is the equivalent of one dimension) he was sure that further research would show us the way to arrive at a point in which there would be no direction at all.
"How would you get back?" I asked.
Although nonplussed he started in on a wordy explanation in the midst of which I sneaked softly away, leaving him still talking under the impression that I was at his side.
My unfortunate friend had taken up writing to mitigate his black loneliness and the click of his typewriter could be heard at any time. He was writing a description of our voyage and it surprised me to see how much clearer and more interesting his account became after his eyes were stricken and he was obliged to rely for information on what was told him rather than on what he had seen. It has long been a theory of mine that too much actual experience makes a man inarticulate, while the reverse is stimulating and beneficial.[18]A realization of the devastating dullness of most polar accounts has further confirmed this view.
In the meantime our serious work was progressing. My plan was to keep one of the men with me, giving the others freedom to pursue their respective lines of research. This made it possible for me to be at home most of the time and so not miss any recurrence of the feminine phenomenon I had noted.
AFTER THE BATHNo libel has received wider acceptance than the often made statement that the Eskimos are an uncleanly people. It is true that during the winter season the skin is protected by frequent applications of various animal-oils such as seal, walrus, otary, sperm and pemmican. Only thus could the skin be protected against the rigors of the Polar winter. The usual specification employed by the Klinka tribe is as follows: (1) One (1) coat of otary oil thoroughly brushed in. When this has dried apply (2) one (1) coat of Makuik-mixture (1/3 otary to 2/3 whale, sperm or equal), applied hot with a soft tundra sponge or seal-flipper; (3) two (2) coats grade A pemmican, applied separately; (4) finish coat of walrus-oil rubbed to a high polish. Fastidious individuals frequently add a coat of guppy-wax which results in a soft lustrous surface. By this method the entire body is hermetically sealed (just as our New England forebears used to seal their preserves and jams with paraffin) and the skin is kept immaculately clean.As soon, however, as the Spring sun has ameliorated the low temperature the native feels that it is time to slough his oily protection. Nature demands that his pores come up for air. This is accomplished by exposure to the sun's rays. The wax and substrata rapidly liquefy and are easily scraped-off with curved bone knives admirably adapted to the work in hand. The natives assist each other. One of the pleasantest experiences of Dr. Traprock and his men was that of watching a lovely Klinka scraping an acquaintance, aided by the friendly suggestions of her companions.When the final oil-coat is removed and all pores are wide open the body is rolled in clean snow and rubbed vigorously with a dried salmon-fin.The adjacent photograph shows little Kopek returning in his mother's oomiak after his Spring scouring. The snowy whiteness of his tender skin is ample proof of the hygienic wisdom of the Klinka method.Note the iglootinous character of the background. The perforated mounds are really hives, the winter quarters of the Poks or Arctic snow-bees which lay blue honey in large quantities from June to September.
AFTER THE BATH
No libel has received wider acceptance than the often made statement that the Eskimos are an uncleanly people. It is true that during the winter season the skin is protected by frequent applications of various animal-oils such as seal, walrus, otary, sperm and pemmican. Only thus could the skin be protected against the rigors of the Polar winter. The usual specification employed by the Klinka tribe is as follows: (1) One (1) coat of otary oil thoroughly brushed in. When this has dried apply (2) one (1) coat of Makuik-mixture (1/3 otary to 2/3 whale, sperm or equal), applied hot with a soft tundra sponge or seal-flipper; (3) two (2) coats grade A pemmican, applied separately; (4) finish coat of walrus-oil rubbed to a high polish. Fastidious individuals frequently add a coat of guppy-wax which results in a soft lustrous surface. By this method the entire body is hermetically sealed (just as our New England forebears used to seal their preserves and jams with paraffin) and the skin is kept immaculately clean.
As soon, however, as the Spring sun has ameliorated the low temperature the native feels that it is time to slough his oily protection. Nature demands that his pores come up for air. This is accomplished by exposure to the sun's rays. The wax and substrata rapidly liquefy and are easily scraped-off with curved bone knives admirably adapted to the work in hand. The natives assist each other. One of the pleasantest experiences of Dr. Traprock and his men was that of watching a lovely Klinka scraping an acquaintance, aided by the friendly suggestions of her companions.
When the final oil-coat is removed and all pores are wide open the body is rolled in clean snow and rubbed vigorously with a dried salmon-fin.
The adjacent photograph shows little Kopek returning in his mother's oomiak after his Spring scouring. The snowy whiteness of his tender skin is ample proof of the hygienic wisdom of the Klinka method.
Note the iglootinous character of the background. The perforated mounds are really hives, the winter quarters of the Poks or Arctic snow-bees which lay blue honey in large quantities from June to September.
After the Bath
After a comfortable breakfast my followers departed in various directions, each carrying his luncheon which Sausalito put up for him. She, by the way, had become the uncrowned queen of all hearts and I felt more than justified in having acceded to Triplett's sinful wishes.
Plock found it difficult to make any headway with his anthropology because he could discover no inhabitants. Up to July 20th, he kept entering regularly in his journal: "Density of population 1/316 to square mile."
"It hardly seems enough," said Frissell brightly.
Plock gave him a sour look.
"I was not speaking of mental density," he said.
In zoology he was more successful, though he complained bitterly that my "no hunting" edict cramped his style.
"You can't study life without taking it," he said.
I thought he was referring to the magazine.
"My family have been taking it since Vol. 1, No.1," I retorted, "and you know perfectly well it has always been anti-vivisection."
"Who said anything about vivisection?" he demanded, "though for that matter, that's just one of Life's kinks, something that was wished on 'em in a will. Let me kill a few animals first, and I'll cut 'em up, and maybe eat 'em afterward!"
He licked his lips greedily. In him, too, dormant appetites were stirring, the blood thirst of the tiger! Strange irony, that he should be the first to go.
Nevertheless he brought in some interesting live specimens caught with ingenious snares and traps, among other things numerous birds, ptarmigan, pelican and pemmican and a pair of polar kittens, the young of the Felis-polaris, those quaint cats which always point toward the north.[19]These charming creatures soon became our pets and took avidly to the condensed milk which Sausalito prepared for them.
The pair of nesting pemmican who had pre-empted our crow's nest were a source of constantinterest. Three magnificent eggs about the size of footballs were jealously watched day and night. Plock informed us that the young birds might hatch any day now and warned us to be ready for interesting developments. Though I believed him I was unprepared for anything as novel as what took place.
Fortunately the event transpired on a Sunday—July 23rd to be exact—which was a day of rest. We had just finished divine service when Plock pointed excitedly toward the main truck.
"She's going to hatch!" he yelled.
The mother bird had risen from the nest. Between her powerful legs she clutched one of the perfect ovates. Circling the Kawa three times she uttered a piercing shriek and dropped the egg.
"Key-ryste!" ejaculated Triplett.
Plock motioned for silence.
The egg struck the floe with a deep boom off our weather lee and a dense cloud of bright orange smoke filled the air in the midst of which we saw the fledgling pemmican in full flight, rising to join its mother. The male or bull pemmican now added himself to the party and together they made off to the edge of the ice bowl where the young one alighted.
"Stand back," warned Plock. "Cover up your noses."
The saffron laying fumes were drifting toward us, and their odor was overpowering and indescribable. Even as I crouched behind our bulwarks I thought of my old friend Lucien Sentent, the nasal gourmet of Battambang and wished he were with us. He could have had my share!
Three times this curious phenomenon was repeated and though vastly diverted we were glad when it was over.
Along other lines, Miskin covered a large number of cardboards with maps. He was preparing a folio, "The Pole and its Environs," he called it. A difficulty was that of locating any other point in relation to the Pole. Triplett's science could go no further than it had.
"Son," he said to Miskin, who had been anxiously asking which direction New York was. "Son, I kin tell yer where we be, but not where we ain't."
So Miskin tried the effect of the Pole in various positions on the sheets and said he would fill in the details later.
Swank got some excellent photographs using Whinney's camera, some of which are reproduced with this book. The views from the Pole itself wereparticularly interesting, but his best results were to come later.
Wigmore kept adding to his collection of snow crystals and algæ which he packed carefully in cracked ice, while Whinney, even in his darkened condition found it possible to tinker with his radio outfit. Sloff helped him rig his antennae to the Pole itself and we began to get messages with increasing clarity.
Thus it will be seen that all our little band were busy and that not an hour was wasted.
But deep in my heart lurked a determination to see again my lady of mystery. As the days lengthened to weeks without my having made any progress I at last confided in Swank.
He was incredulous but logical and infinitely woman-wise.
"You were cuckoo," he said. "But if you weren't, the only way to get her is to rouse her curiosity. Then grab her."
"How?" I asked.
He pondered a moment before replying.
"See those snow men?"
I nodded. Frissell had occupied his valuable time carving effigies for what he called his "Hall of Ill-fame, or Northern Musee of the World'sWorst Worms."—Volstead, Anderson, Dr. Pease, John Roach Straton, Anthony Comstock and others. While I deprecated his taste I had no suspicion how thankful I should be for its results.
"Here's the idea," Swank continued. "Get everybody else out of the way for a whole day, see? Then plant a decoy over on the other side of the cairn where you saw the woman; something bright and snappy in color."
"My old hunting coat!" I suggested.
"Just the thing. Then you and I creep into a couple of Frizzie's masterpieces, poke out their prune-stone eyes and watch."
"Swank!" I cried, grasping his hand, "you are a genius."
He shrugged his shoulders modestly.
"In more ways than one," he conceded.
The plan was simple of execution. My only problem was Whinney, Sausalito and Triplett who commonly stuck around home. This I solved by sending Sausalito off for a day's picnic with Whinney so that the Captain followed, as a matter of course. Since Reginald had been unable to see Sausalito and only heard her vibrant voice, he had become dangerously fond of her, a fact which Triplett's one eye was quick to notice. They, therefore,departed, Sausalito leading Whinney with Triplett trailing. The others had gone long ago. Swank and I at once began our preparations.
Twenty feet from the foot of the cairn I spread my M.F.H. coat on the snow. Its vivid scarlet with the Derby brown collar and turn-back cuffs made a vivid spot amid the surrounding whiteness. Swank meanwhile was burrowing into the back of Dr. Pease. A moment later I was enclosed in Volstead, a disguise which I had never thought to assume. The air was suffocating inside and to fortify myself I nibbled a fragment of A-P with ironic appreciation of the contrast between the outer man and the inner. Swank, not to be outdone, solaced himself with a smoke which must surely have irked the cold semblance of the arch anti-cigarettist. But I hissed a warning and the blue smoke spiral ceased.
From then on we waited. The time was interminable. It was probably not more than thirty minutes, but it seemed hours. My A-P was exhausted and I began to think of quitting.
Then, with a suddenness that nearly caused me to fall through Volstead's abdomen, things began to happen. I glanced at Dr. Pease; he was trembling slightly, or maybe it was my own excitement.
DINNER IS SERVEDThe closeness of primitive man to the abysmal brute is strikingly illustrated in the accompanying photograph. Makuik at mealtime must surely remind the reader of the Bronx Park Zoo at that time which the poet beautifully describes:"Between the dark and the daylight,When the lions release their lung-power,Comes a pause in the day's occupationWhich is known as the feeding-hour."Eskimo diet varies with the season. During the long winter it consists mainly of the fatty overcoats worn by seal, walrus and otary. Another favoriteplateis made, en casserole, with alternate layers of whale-blubber and seal-flippers. The result tastes very much like stewed tennis-shoes. These wobbly dishes, garnished with seal-eyes, are served on squares of hide and are scraped-up with flippers or guppy-fins. Both hide and flipper are eaten at the close of the meal which eliminates the tedious dish-washing, wiping and putting-away of so-called civilized housekeeping. These blubberous foods supply the calories (about 2000 to the square inch) necessary to combat the absurd temperature of the winter season.When the sun re-appears in the spring and the song of the first lapwing is heard, the Eskimo begins to think intently of raw meat. "Ukuk matok tomatok," he mutters to himself. "I must have some vitamines."The scent of a bear two miles to windward crazes the native huntsman and speedily sets him to sharpening his spears and knives to razor-keenness. Yet so strict is his observance of Kryptok law that when a kill has been made he will touch no morsel until the meat has been divided according to the custom, for the chief the sirloins and porterhouses, for the lesser men the second and third joints and for the women the ribs, rump, neck and feet or whatever else is left.According to Makuik bear's-meat is greatly prized because of its toughness. It is considered effeminate to eat tender meat. The sound of an Eskimo meal is not unlike a Red-Cross bandage-tearing session.A study of the photograph under the microscope clearly shows the vitamines winding their curiously spiral course up and down the meal.The absence of table manners is not remarkable when one considers the absence of tables.
DINNER IS SERVED
The closeness of primitive man to the abysmal brute is strikingly illustrated in the accompanying photograph. Makuik at mealtime must surely remind the reader of the Bronx Park Zoo at that time which the poet beautifully describes:
"Between the dark and the daylight,When the lions release their lung-power,Comes a pause in the day's occupationWhich is known as the feeding-hour."
Eskimo diet varies with the season. During the long winter it consists mainly of the fatty overcoats worn by seal, walrus and otary. Another favoriteplateis made, en casserole, with alternate layers of whale-blubber and seal-flippers. The result tastes very much like stewed tennis-shoes. These wobbly dishes, garnished with seal-eyes, are served on squares of hide and are scraped-up with flippers or guppy-fins. Both hide and flipper are eaten at the close of the meal which eliminates the tedious dish-washing, wiping and putting-away of so-called civilized housekeeping. These blubberous foods supply the calories (about 2000 to the square inch) necessary to combat the absurd temperature of the winter season.
When the sun re-appears in the spring and the song of the first lapwing is heard, the Eskimo begins to think intently of raw meat. "Ukuk matok tomatok," he mutters to himself. "I must have some vitamines."
The scent of a bear two miles to windward crazes the native huntsman and speedily sets him to sharpening his spears and knives to razor-keenness. Yet so strict is his observance of Kryptok law that when a kill has been made he will touch no morsel until the meat has been divided according to the custom, for the chief the sirloins and porterhouses, for the lesser men the second and third joints and for the women the ribs, rump, neck and feet or whatever else is left.
According to Makuik bear's-meat is greatly prized because of its toughness. It is considered effeminate to eat tender meat. The sound of an Eskimo meal is not unlike a Red-Cross bandage-tearing session.
A study of the photograph under the microscope clearly shows the vitamines winding their curiously spiral course up and down the meal.
The absence of table manners is not remarkable when one considers the absence of tables.
Dinner is Served
Swiftly and noiselessly a large block of snow at the base of the cairn itself moved to one side disclosing a laughing face, the same lovely countenance upon which I had gazed several weeks before. The wearer listened for a full minute with bird-like intentness, then leaped lightly out and straightened up, a long-limbed, graceful creature wearing the conventional summer furs of the Northern Eskimo. Her hood was thrown back showing a glimpse of entrancing shoulder but what dazzled me most were the starry blue eyes, fair skin and wealth of molten, golden hair!
Her first act was to circumnavigate the cairn which she did with the same silent rapidity that marked her every motion. She then made directly for the lure, bending over it, touching it cautiously and finally raising it and burying her face in its scarlet folds, while her laughs rang out muffled but intoxicating.
This was my chance!
Bursting through my prison walls I rushed toward her while Swank, by arrangement, crashed out of Pease, darted to the entrance, slid the block into place and sat on it. I was upon her before she had a chance to move.
"Akalok!" I cried (the Northern dialect for"friend"), as we rolled over and over in the snow. My old football training stood me in good stead for I had made a perfect diving tackle. Inwardly blessing the name of Ted Coy, I pinned the lithe, palpitating body to the snow, repeating more tenderly the soft appellation, "Akalok, Akalok."
But my triumph was shortlived.
For the first time her lips moved and from between them burst a wild, frantic cry, strangely familiar to my ears.
"Makuik! Makuik!"
At the repetition I heard a shriek of pain from Swank and glanced over my shoulder in time to see him rise in the air. The ice block was shattered beneath him and I saw an ugly stub of seal-spear, thrust accurately where he had formerly sat. Directly back of him leaped an ape-like figure as swart and scowling as a Japanese war mask. He carried a terrific weapon, a keen-edged blubber cutter, with which he made directly at me.
At ten paces I recognized him but too late to stop the impending blow. Firing over my shoulder, a tricky shot at best, I shattered the bone blade into a thousand fragments, at the same instant jumping to my feet and shouting—"Makuik! Tapok!"
I had given my name, "Tapok," the Icelandic pronunciation, and at the sound he stopped like a man shot.
"Makuik!" I cried again.
His ferocious scowl faded through stupefaction to astonishment and gleeful recognition.
"Tapok!" he rumbled, spreading his arms wide. "Kata pokokIkiknakatok!"
I regret that I cannot translate his remark which was highly improper and referred definitely to the woman, Ikik, who stood trembling beside us. She had raised her oomiak and now, to hide her blushes, folded her glorious hair across her face so that she resembled some divine being, half goddess, half skye-terrier. Back of the screen I saw her blue eyes shining and caught a suppressed gurgle of mirth. All, then, was not lost.
In the meantime the cairn was humming like a mighty hive while through a re-opened aperture crawled other individuals, first a younger Eskimo, a mere stripling, followed by four other Eskimos, all radiant blondes. One of them carried a child, slung over her shoulder in her oomiak.
At a command from Makuik, Swank was helped to his feet, the spear being extracted from his person by Snak, a slender maiden with a mischievoussmile who deftly poulticed the wound with a handful of snow.
If the reader is astounded at the sudden turn of events he can imagine my feeling when my eyes rested on Makuik, mighty hunter of the Kryptok tribe, whom I had last seen twenty years ago when we had fought our way four hundred miles across broken ice from Ki, an uncharted speck north of Iceland, to Archangel. It is a long story. Suffice it to say that I had saved his life twelve times during the trip while he had done nearly as well by me. We had sworn eternal blood-brotherhood and the word of an Eskimo is as good as his bond; better, in fact.
The Kryptok tongue came back to me fluently and I quickly assembled the family group—for such it was—in our dugout where a distribution of A-P and such small presents as I could lay my hands on transformed what had been two hostile camps into one joyous assemblage.
While the women gurgled their satisfaction over their new fly swatters and empty herring boxes, vying with each other in their attempts to ease Swank's pain, Makuik explained the situation.
The women were all his wives, fruits of victorious battle. They were of the Klinka tribe, perfect blondes, as I have noted. The young man was his oldest son by an Iceland mother.
"Too old. I eat. No good wife ... good eat," he explained frankly.
The infant was his youngest. There would be others. His party had been caught at the Pole by an unexpectedly early summer. For protection from the heat they had taken to the cairn, there to await the winter freeze which would make travel comfortable and possible.
"But why did you hide?" I asked.
"Me not know," he said, smiling craftily. "You have trees."
"Trees?" I mused, then burst out laughing. Of course! He referred to my imperial and goatee, which I have worn since my service in the Bodansky Zouaves, and which he had never seen!
It was as clear as day.
Chuckling with delight, the old warrior showed me over their living quarters while I marvelled at his vigor, preserved in this world of ice. The interior of the cairn was astounding. Instead of entering a domed chamber, similar to the many igloos I have inhabited, we went down, down for a surprising distance. The entire habitation was hewn from the eternal ice to depths far beyond thereach of sun or storm. It was a three-room-and-bath arrangement, the latter consisting of a trough, at a slightly lower level than the main floor, filled with lucent seal oil. The rooms were respectively, living-room (which also served as kitchen and dining-room), bedroom, simply furnished with community sleeping-bag, etc., and storeroom, piled high with blubber, fur-steaks, walrus eyes and other Eskimo dainties. The temperature was slightly below freezing, a delightful change from the prostrating heat we had been enduring, though I will confess that I began to think longingly of mittens and bear-skins and was glad when we once more ascended into warmer atmosphere.
I reached the surface just in time to meet the returning members of my party who, needless to say, were faint with astonishment at the change in conditions.
General introductions were in order and a blithe evening meal was soon under way. But how different a feast from the man-made orgy that had disgraced our arrival. How completely the presence of these gentle savage women had altered the complexion of our enjoyment.
Sprawling about Ikik and Snak, and the other three, Yalok, Klikitok and Lapatok (whose babehad been placed in its cold storage niche), my companions engaged in all sorts of innocent foolery. Though they spoke not a word of each other's language a subtle understanding had sprung up between them. Was it the common strain of Caucasian blood or simple sex calling to even simpler sex? I cannot answer.
Frissell had produced a lavish supply of toys from his pack which made an enormous hit. Ikik had a colored doll which she nursed affectingly. Lapatok joyfully wound a police rattle, while Snak, Klikitok and Yalok sucked rubber teething-rings with evident relish.
Makuik reserved for himself a monkey-on-a-stick which he regarded as a sceptre, the mechanism of which pleased and mystified him.
At nine o'clock Whinney announced triumphantly that his radio was working. He switched it on and we listened in awe while a far-away voice, introduced as Miss Anita Scatchett of the New Jersey State Normal School, told a Bedtime story, "How the Animal Crackers Came Alive."
I say "we listened in awe." I must amend that statement. For a few moments I was mildly impressed. It did seem odd to think of a gentlespinster in Newark, thousands of miles away, speaking to these children of nature. But as far as our guests were concerned, the feature was a dud. The subject matter soon began to bore us all and we shut it off, to Whinney's disgust.
A FAR-OFF FASHION-PLATEIn the charming scene herewith depicted, Yalok, the beautiful Klinka belle, is posing as if she were a mannequin on parade in some lovelyal fresco fête, as indeed she is. The background in itself is interesting, showing, at stage right, the Tarpaulin Tea-House erected and conducted during the Summer months by Herman Swank, Dr. Traprock's artistic fellow-voyager. To this picturesque châlet the Eskimo maidens turned with womanly instinct and its accommodations, limited to two, were in great demand. Mr. Whinney, when not entertaining a personal guest, sat outside. But these intimate details need not detain us.The principal figure is Yalok who, for the purposes of photography, has donned the very latest 1922 Spring-model sports-suit. She wears, it will be noted, "a woman's crowning glory"—her own hair. The other glories are supplied by the hair of various animals indigenous to the Arctic.Reading from North to South this snappy get-up consists of the otary over-smock or slip-in with sliding sleeves of unborn-seal, the roomy "roamers" of polar bearskin and the pliantchassures. The sleeves, another loose seal effect, modestly cover the entire arm or arms and flare back vehemently from the gauntlets, which may be eider-down or up. The roamers, again, cut loose from conventional lines and melt suavely into the retroussée wading slippers. The last mentioned articles are fashioned from the pelt of the Amok, which usefully grows hair on both sides of its hide. The fore-and-aft apron or windshield is nattily edged with ermine and at the back runs smartly into a train. A last-minute accessory is the fly-swatter, Dr. Traprock's gift to the lady, which is held at the correct angle of 45°.More important, however, than mere costume is the art of wearing it, an art in which this lovely model is evidently entirely at home. Her position is that demanded of a debutante in the most exclusive Eskimo society, when she is presented to a distinguished foreigner, the head modestly bowed, the eyes downcast, the arms in an alluring come-and-get-me position and the feet gracefully parted in the middle.A final touch of chic unreproduceable by photography but which has all the allure of a truly Parisianpomboire, is the perfume (Eau de Musk-ox) which adds its ineffable odor to this arctic rose, a hovery halo, and exquisite ectoplasm.
A FAR-OFF FASHION-PLATE
In the charming scene herewith depicted, Yalok, the beautiful Klinka belle, is posing as if she were a mannequin on parade in some lovelyal fresco fête, as indeed she is. The background in itself is interesting, showing, at stage right, the Tarpaulin Tea-House erected and conducted during the Summer months by Herman Swank, Dr. Traprock's artistic fellow-voyager. To this picturesque châlet the Eskimo maidens turned with womanly instinct and its accommodations, limited to two, were in great demand. Mr. Whinney, when not entertaining a personal guest, sat outside. But these intimate details need not detain us.
The principal figure is Yalok who, for the purposes of photography, has donned the very latest 1922 Spring-model sports-suit. She wears, it will be noted, "a woman's crowning glory"—her own hair. The other glories are supplied by the hair of various animals indigenous to the Arctic.
Reading from North to South this snappy get-up consists of the otary over-smock or slip-in with sliding sleeves of unborn-seal, the roomy "roamers" of polar bearskin and the pliantchassures. The sleeves, another loose seal effect, modestly cover the entire arm or arms and flare back vehemently from the gauntlets, which may be eider-down or up. The roamers, again, cut loose from conventional lines and melt suavely into the retroussée wading slippers. The last mentioned articles are fashioned from the pelt of the Amok, which usefully grows hair on both sides of its hide. The fore-and-aft apron or windshield is nattily edged with ermine and at the back runs smartly into a train. A last-minute accessory is the fly-swatter, Dr. Traprock's gift to the lady, which is held at the correct angle of 45°.
More important, however, than mere costume is the art of wearing it, an art in which this lovely model is evidently entirely at home. Her position is that demanded of a debutante in the most exclusive Eskimo society, when she is presented to a distinguished foreigner, the head modestly bowed, the eyes downcast, the arms in an alluring come-and-get-me position and the feet gracefully parted in the middle.
A final touch of chic unreproduceable by photography but which has all the allure of a truly Parisianpomboire, is the perfume (Eau de Musk-ox) which adds its ineffable odor to this arctic rose, a hovery halo, and exquisite ectoplasm.
A Far-off Fashion Plate
A few moments later I rose with a start. Something in the air chilled me with horror. Glancing toward the horizon I gasped, then quickly caught myself.
The sun was half hidden below the horizon! The light was distinctly dim!
I thought no one had noticed my involuntary start, but Makuik, though seemingly absorbed in his monkey, leaned toward me and whispered, "Night come."
Night! My God! It had stolen upon us unaware. We would be caught, trapped in the deadly grip of the North King who had claimed so many brave men before us.
The darkened atmosphere suggested but one thought.
"Bed," I said. "Sleep."
My oblivious companions took it as a signal for dispersal. They rose reluctantly. Good-byes were said. Noses were rubbed affectionately.
Then an embarrassing episode took place.
Makuik, who had marshalled his flock before him, suddenly seized the lovely Ikik by the shoulder and thrust her into my arms.
"You take," he said, smiling broadly. "Me give."
Her warm body pressed against me, not unwilling. It is the Kryptok custom, as usual as giving a man a drink.
Confused and inefficient, I stood there. But my perplexity was shattered by another surprise. A compact, wiry form hurled itself between us. It was Sausalito, her face livid with fury!
"You let that woman be!" she shrieked, panting, glaring.
Makuik shrugged his shoulders and pushed the Eskimo woman roughly toward her fellow wives. Then, turning, he glanced contemptuously at Sausalito.
"No good ... you eat." He leered, swinging off toward his sub-cellar.
"Dog-face!" screamed Sausalito. "Pig's-foot...."
Triplett's great hammer fist struck her squarely on the jaw and she sank limp in his arms.
Late that night I lay tossing on my blankets, prey to a thousand conflicting emotions, fear, joy,and sickening anxiety, beneath which, like the burden of a refrain, ran the overwhelming thought: "She loves me. Sausalito loves me. What shall I do?"
It was the first time such a proposition had ever daunted me.