Evening Star Newspaper, May 19, 1929, Page 6

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. MAY 19, 1929—PART 1. L e—— T NUNNE NTAR. WASGINGIGE B U MEE T W PN L e — e ———— e e e e ——————————————— BYRD AND PARTY | LIVE LIKE MOLES Winter Has Caused Explorers to Scuttle Through Glitter- ing Snow Tunnels. BY RUSSELL OWEN. (Copyright, 1929.) . ne ny and the B ot post-DIsbatch. Al Thts for Dublication reserved throush- out _the worl By Wireless o The Etar and The New York Times. LITTLE AMERICA, Antarctica, May 18.—Our whole existence has changed with the coming of Winter. We of the Byrd Expedition have become a family of moles who scuttle through glittering | snow tunnels with lanterns and flash- lights, live all day by the light of lamps, | and only emerge into the dusk of out- | doors for a short walk in the bitter | cold or for some task which must be done, temperature notwithstanding. What is our life in this lonely spot, separated by 2.000 miles of stormy sea | and ice from the nearest civilization, whereby day a glow in the northern sky tells of the lost sun and the moon | brilliantly in a band of purple, and at | night the stars bleem with unnatural Difllance and. the mysterious aurora undulates overhead in streams of col- ored light? Try to imagine one of‘ our days. It is 1 o'clock in the morning and a faint light from the moon outlines the windows of the mess hall. Only an uneasy sleeper stirring in his bunk or a snore breaks the silence. A door opens as the clock strikes a high | pitehed note, the temperature so af- fects the bell, and the yellow rays from a lantern carried by the night watchman throw a sudden illumination into the long room. There is a row of double woden bunks, their ends hung with clothes and boots, each holding a small huddled figure in a sleeping bag, heads drawn under like turtles. The Morning Fires. The watchman, clothed in furs, his parka hood over his head, thrrows some kindling into the kitchen stove—a long black stove on the side of the room op- posite the bunks—lights it and puts on coal. Silently he sits and watches it. In the gloom back of him figures stir restlessly, and one or two turn over, with many thumps and sighs. Then there is silence once more, except for the crackling of the flames and the roar of the draft. The watchman has been up all night, huddled near the stove in the libi of the other house, reading by the light of his lantern and going out every half hour to see if the aurora is flashing its messages across the sky, to mark the clouds and look in at the thermometers and thermograph, to make sure that the cold has not stopped the clockwork ;n:chlnhl‘n. It is a cold, lonely, eery job. ‘The kitchen fire going well, he pokes George, the cook, in the ribs and goes back outside, if the weather is good, through the tunnel if the wind is blow- ing hard, to the big house, which, al- though named after Edgar Barratt, has been dubbed the “country club” A Jook at his instruments and he lights the stove in the bunk room. It is soon sending & cheery roar up the pipe lead- ing along under the to the outlet in the roof. The only light is that of his lantern, and it is difficult to distin- guish the outlines of the bunks and the corridor between them leading to the far end of the building, past the hos- pital room and the radio experimental Toom, dark and cold and uninviting. Early Rising in Antaretica. ‘When 8 o'clock comes the watchman ‘wakes Larry Gould, second in command here, who is nicknamed Simon Legree, for the reasons which will become ap- parent presently. Larry leaps into his clothes with & speed which would shame a fireman going to a three-alarm fire, for as the door of our house is kept open at night it is cold. 3 g“ glow around the sides of the stove, t it takes a long time to warm the house, There is a significant silence. Heads burrow a little deeper. “Everybody out!” yells Simon. “Get up, O'Brien, you lazy, good-for-nothing Irishman! Hey, Cyclone, do you think this is a day off for a weather man? Hop to it! ~Capt. Parker, would you mind arising? ‘There is food for you, Joe, Van, Taffy! Russ, do you think you can run that fire from your sleep- ing ? This is no remote control stove. Oh, Tafly, I said get up!” “I'll get 'em up for you, Simon,” says O'Brien, huddling down in his b.Deain E n't Dana,” le whispers loudly to Doc Coman across the way, “Dana, let's get up. All to- ether now! One, two, three!” And e and Doc roll over on the other side. “Isn’t that fine, Simon?” “Confound you!” laughs Larry, with & show of great wrath, and seizes a coal shovel. O'Brien disappears into his uleeglnl bag as if somebody had yanked by the foot, howling while Larry belabors him with the shovel. “T'll ‘get up, Simon; yes, I wil.” And then Larry starts for the door and breakfast. O'Brien sighs a long sigh and relaxes again, murmuring as he goes to sleep, “It's all right, Taffy; Si- mon's gone.” But in a few minutes figures shuffie out of the gloom and gather around the stove and lantern, for the gasoline light is not turned on at first. They group elbow to elbow near the comfortable, red glow of the fire, warming their hands and pulling on the socks and boots which they could not put on in their bags. Every one has to get up for break- fast, a routine must be maintained, and nobody is permitted to lie abed Just because he wants to. That way lies breakdown and insanity. Normal life is difficult at best under confine- ment and lack of sunlight, and we have four months of darkness ahead. One by one the men pull on their parkas and go quietly out of the door, | subdued as men are the world over before breakfast. The moon is shining in a weird-looking sky. It is light- colored over the gray snow line of the horizon, and above purple or magneta. In the north is a yellow glow, which shows that the sun is shining some- where. We slip down the outside pas- sage to the mess hall, and a puff of vapor rushes in as the door is opened. News From the World. ‘Those who live in the mess hall have finished their breakfast and are stand- ing or smoking or lying on bunks en- joying the relaxation that follows a good meal and tobacco. There is talk of the far-away world, news that came in the night before over the radio, and wonder at all the awful things which happen there—floods and tornadoes and airplane wrecks and murders and burglaries. It must be a& tough place to live in, that world; not quiet and peaceful like ours, with only the Barrier and scurvy to worry about. But this breakfast is a serious affair, for we have only two meals a day, and needed immediate attention. Sometimes we have stewed prunes but usually the first dish is cereal, excellent cereal, on which is milk made from milk powder or canned milk. Very good, too. We have almost for- gotten there is such a thing as cream. Then cakes and sirup or honey. with coffee or tea, or perhaps George has been feeling particularly beneficent and has thawed out some eggs for scrambled eggs and bacon, with hot corn bread and sirup. And a few days ago he raised us all to the tenth heaven of delight with chicken a la king on toast CAMP OF BYRD AND PARTY IN ICE WASTES OF ANTARCTIC Upper: The Byrd base at Little America, Antarctica, showing the radio towers through which the party main- tains communications with the outside world. Lower: The Stars and Stripes waving over the camp where the party will spend the Antarctic Winter. Copyright by the New York Times Co. and the St. Louls Post-Dispatch. jack of all trades, gets out a sheet of aluminum and a pair of divid With his square head and beard he looks like Gen. Grant. nant, with his clipped red head and spectacles, and Arnold Clark, in his immaculate undershirt, are clearing away the remains of the meal. Mason is wrestling with a burnt transformer which is an Incredible mess of twisted wires and insulation. Peterson, with earphones clamped over his blonde head and with long legs stretched under the radio table, is trying to pick up a station in New Zealand and cussing under his breath in Norwegian. On an upper bunk Joe De Ganahl is pound- ing away on a typewriter for which he has rigged up a sliding desk which he can move back and forth over his legs. Chips picks up a saw and hammer and nails, and, with a bite in his ever- present plug of tobacco, goes off to his task of converting odds and ends of boards into something useful. In the machine shop there is the whir of a lathe where Czegka, whose passions are bridge, higher mathematics and his tools, is making a tiny screw for a for breakfast. No wonder Tafly Davies i’s xe'&m%&!lt and Paul Siple weighs 00 pounds. 'n?eo meal over, there is ihe usual riod of doldrums and lazy conversa- ion while smoking and then the men drift out to various tasks. The mess Adable .. P is cleared .and June, vhn‘ln George Ten-| 1 theodolite. He peers over his_glasses | with an unseeing glance at an intruder and goes on working silently. In the other house old Martin Ronne has seated himself and his hawklike nose over his sewing machine. Martin can make anything for man to wear —windproof clothing, canvas boots to go over reefer socks, new types of hel- mets, all sorts of things come from his busy machine where he blinks con- tentedly ail day long. “Keep working all the time, every- thing all right,” is Martin's motto. He ought to know, as he has been through two Arctic Winters with Amundsen on the Northeast passagle and came down here with the Fram. He has been sailor, mate, captain of square riggers, petty officer in the Norwegian navy, and | on three polar expeditions. His great- est pleasure is listening over the radio every other Saturday evening to his son. Martin is a great favorite. “Don’t touch those fires,” warns Cy- clone Haines. He and Harrison pull on their parkas and go out to make a balloon run. Poking the fire makes Washington Salesrooms 419 Tenth Street N.W. 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Taffy Davies is inside sup- porting the glasses, and lantern in hand he clambers through a tunnel to the house where his magnetic instruments are placed, to do mysterious things with them, 30 incomprehensible that only a few have the timerity to ask what it all means. When Taffy starts explaining, his enthusiasm lets loose a torrent of words only rivaled when he speaks of the British jury system or the Consti- tution. For Taffey is a Canadian as well as a Welshman and & physicist. Larry Gould, his agitated hair, which he threatens to clip, tumbing in all di- Gas Heated Water utomatic For the Kitchen—For the Laundry—For the Bath—Every Purpose— rections, is in the scientific workroom making lines on paper which he calls elevation and contours. They are of the Rockfeller Mountains, and any one seeking trouble may find it by casually remarking, “Those .the mountains in which you were lost, Larry?” Then his head resembles Medusa’s and sparks fly. Lost, with a theodolite and stars and a sun to shoot at—what an aspersion on a geologist! When Larry is not making geologic or geographic ml?& he is work- ing on lectures to be delivered before the student body of the Antarctic Uni- versity, of which he is board of trustees, president, dean and professor. A countenance surrounded and cov- ered by black hair and beard, from which shine a pair of exceedingly bright eyes, now twinkling with mis- chievous humor, again gay with an elfish gynicism, rests on a rather rotund body leaning against a bunk end. 0'1“ n gins Coman, preparing with deprecatory voice to go into a subject which has been forced upon him and of which the Jess educated among us scarcely recog- nize the vocabulary. There is a lot of wisdom, knowledge of men as well as of books, under the nonchalant manner of our medical man and zoologist, who will presently shrug his shoulders and dis- appear into his room to breed a vaccine culture under difficulties. ‘The door opens and a small figure alive with a quick energy bustles in with an armful of things. “Here you are, Doc,” he calls. Blackle is the supply man, and with his flashlight he burrows all morning long in tunnels and houses, bringing in food for the day, finding things for every depart. ment, laying down the law as to what one may or may not have. A tough job is G. Hamilton Black’s. And at night he may be found in his element, eyes sparkling, talking like a Coney Island barber as he runs a blackjack game for tobacco, our most valuable commodity. ||| There is movement in an upper bunk and a head appears as McKin- || ley rolls over to where he can look down || on us and sleeplly light a cigarette. He || has been up all night in his darkroom developing pictures for aerial surveys. | §f One hardly sees Mac since the dark- room has been finished. This quiet, smiling man, whose chief characteristic is a courteous charm of manner, never lacks volunteers to help him, for in some indescribable way he makes them | feel that he is working with them rather than that they are working un- der his directions. He has had a few hours’ sleep and presently will be back in his workshop to look again at his precious negatives. One would never guess from his| }| manner that he is a pilot of free house which he and Walden built, is working on & model of a ship or mak- | hi ing soles of seal hide to put on the | perfectl bottom of canvas boots. The dog drivers are exercising their dogs or chopping u& seals for food. Men on duty in e houses are sweeping, shoveling snow from the entrances and windows. brining in coal and snow for water. Every one has something to do and the day goes quickly. Through it all moves Commander Byrd, who is the focal P"‘“" the motive force, of all this activity, who gives it life and meaning. He follows everything which goes on, occasionally making sugges- tions and seldom giving orders. Yet he finds time to take a walk every day, a long one if there is little wind, and to spend long hours in reading phi- losophy—a _favorite subject—or to write and think over plans for next year. And his catholicity of taste is such that when he is weary of philo- sophic speculation or scientific read- ing he will pick up a detective story and spend a long time between pages trying to guess who is the criminal. It'}s dark when we go over for din- ner at 4 o'clock. The stars are shining brighter than we ever saw before, the moon has swung around a little further, the last touch of sienna brown in the sky has vanished and it is night at the bettom .of the world, although school has been out only an hour to the north of us. There is gayety in the mess hall. A loud-speaker is blaring forth music from home, the air is full of chatter and smoke, plates rattle and Freddie Crockett in his best French ushers us to our seats at the table. The Scene at Dinner. | ‘The accomplishments of the mess are various. One has long arms and a passion for cleanliness, another makes lightning appear slow beside and now comes Freddle with a ly good French accent ac- quired at Cambridge trying to make us believe that “ragout cras de balene” is not whale ste For we still have whale meat—Iots of it—and it is very good, although it does not appear to improve with age. We are slowly com- ing to think that the popular concep- tion of a whale as a fish may have some foundation in fact. Or we have seal flipper or roast pork or even chicken fricassee, as we did two Sundays ago. That was a day. And George's pies and cakes are so good that one forgets that he never wastes anything. The remains of scrambled eggs are liable to aprnr in the soup and be discovered only by accident and as the result of much inquiry and analysis. ‘The rest of the day is given up to anything we wish to do. In the mess hall a game of bridge starts in which Czegka is usually to be found peering over his glasses with his keen eyes. Garments are repaired and books hauled out and a brisk argument usual- ly begins to die down and then start up again in another part of the room on other subjects. The topics discussed are as varied as the opinions, given with startling frankness. ‘The bridge game in which Comdr. Byrd so delights is on in the libra: with Harrison his partner, with Mc- Kinley and Joe Rucker against them. ‘The victrola is playing, the librarian is checking up his books, answering as best he may the question, which is the same here as anywhere else in the world: “What is a good book to read?” or writing at a table in the corner. Un- der a big reflector in the other room is & group of men reading and eating popeorn fresh from a frying pan held over the stove, or perhaps having a wild and woolly game of blackjack or hearts or poker for cigarettes. It is a happy and cheerful community. Out- side is the heart-numbing cold of the Antarctic, with its dismal suggestion of what it might do if it had the chance. But unless this part of the Barrier takes it into its head to leave home we are as snug as any group of men could be. - All games end at 9 o'clock and a hour later Larry calls “Light out” and we tumble into our sleeping bags. A monologue on some weighty and im- portant topic is checked by a yell of “Good-night, Tafly.” and all is silence. A few candles blink in the darkness where books are being read until hands get too cold to hold them. Then one by one the candles go out and the night watchman is alone—alone to | wander out into the shining night and look over a silent world in which he is | the only _m('wing thing. TALKS ARE SCHEDULED. Dr. Gregg Curtis Birdsall and Dr. J. B. Gregg Curtis will deliver talks on “Vaccines, Anti-toxins and Homeop- athy,” at the monthly meeting of the Homeopathic Laymen’s League at the headquarters of the American Founda- tion for Homeopathy, 1811 H street, at 8 o'clock Tuesday night. All interested are invited. ‘The first annual conference of the laymen of the American Foundation for Homeopathy will be held at foundation headquarters May 30 to June 1, inch sive. The conference will consist o meetings each morning and evening, as well as luncheons and dinners, with speakers who are outstanding in medi- cal circles. balloons, airships and airplanes with | |§| several thousand hours in the air to his eredit. But with all his gentleness, when Mac wants something done it is somehow always done and in his way. Over a big board in the scientific room O'Brien is working with triangle and protractor on a map of the camp. Under the glare of the lamp his shaven head and long nose and jutting chin || make him look like one of those Roman emperors whose heads stick out of marble togas, but ideas one may have about him are dispelled when he utters some jibe at human frailty. Then he is unmistakably Irish. He applies himself diligently to his figures and lines. He has frozen his fingers and the long nose and his toes also, working a transit at 40 below, and for every line on the map he had to thaw him- self out. . The Aviator’s Employment. Balchen sits on the edge of his bunk | forever working a slide rule and scrib- bling and drawin designs. “Just stresses on the landing gear,” he will | say, looking up with a grin, and forth- with forget you are there. The only books which seem to interest him are on engineering airplane design and tales of exploration in the polar regions. Hanson' is busy fiXing up some new apparatus for radio experiments In connection with the aurora. He bustles about at odd hours and at midnight, when every one is abed, we are apt to hear him scurrying over the roof to look at wires he has run from the other house or coming in after work- ling late in the radio shack. Chris Braathen, in the snug little Turn of Your Faucet! AUTOMATIC GAS WATER HEATER DOWN 18 Months to Pay the Balance There is a model Pittsburg, Lovekin or Ruud Automatic Gas Water Heater to meet the requirements of your home. Come in to- day. Let us demonstrate the advantages of Gas Heated Water the automatic way to you. Installations can be made immediately with very little in- convenience to you. Make your home modern and eliminate the drudgery of wash day by having an Automatic Water Heater installed now. 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