A BOY’S-EYE VIEW OF THE ARCTIC
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS
ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
[Illustration: Kennett L. Rawson, June, 1925.]
A BOY’S-EYE VIEW
OF
THE ARCTIC
BY
KENNETT LONGLEY RAWSON
CABIN-BOY OF THE _BOWDOIN_
_Introduction by_
COMMANDER DONALD B. MACMILLAN
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1926
_All rights reserved_
Copyright, 1926,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY,
Set up and electrotyped.
Published October, 1926.
_Printed in the United States of America by_
THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY, NEW YORK
TO MY MOTHER
Bravest of them all.
Illustrated with photographs taken by the author, and others loaned
through the courtesy of Commander Donald B. MacMillan; National
Geographic Society, taken by Maynard Owen Williams, photographer of the
Expedition; Ralph P. Robinson, Mate of the _Bowdoin_; Onnig D. Melkon,
moving picture photographer of the Expedition; Alfred Brust, Staff
Photographer of the _Boston Herald_, and George Warren Lord, Staff
Photographer of the _Boston Post_.
INTRODUCTION
To the lecturer the introduction is the most interesting part of his
lecture, in that it is generally so complimentary that his feeling
of guilt and a sense of his own inferiority mars somewhat his whole
discourse. My cabin boy, Kennett Rawson, suffers no handicap in this
respect. His work is finished. Whatever I may write will not affect its
status. His narrative stands as a testimonial of the influence of good
and much reading. Very few will believe that such language is natural
for a fourteen-year-old boy. But we knew “Ken” in the forecastle of
the little _Bowdoin_, and teachers at Hill School who have watched his
progress for two years can assure you that the book is his own.
How fortunate that a boy in his early teens could visit the scenes
of our early explorers, the headquarters of the great Peary, who,
by his work, has placed before American youth the finest example of
persistency, determination, and clean grit in all Arctic history. What
a privilege for young Rawson to stand where the immortal Elisha Kent
Kane stood with lifted ramrod and fluttering cap lining, the first to
step foot on historical Littleton Island, and to enter the Basin which
bears his name!
From the heights about Etah he has looked across to the ice-covered
hills of Ellesmere Land and Cape Sabine where Greely and his men lay
dying in 1884 and where Peary fought a losing fight in 1900-1902. He
has seen the last of the _S. S. Polaris_, which steamed farther north
than ship ever steamed, now strewn about the beach rusting, rotting
away. But memories of her Commander, the most enthusiastic of all
Arctic explorers, will always live.
Something more than pure sentiment. No boy can look upon such things,
can dwell upon the deeds of such men as Kane, Hayes, Hall, Greely and
Peary, without standing a little more erect, without visualizing his
own future and determining to have that future count for something
beyond material gain.
With mingled feelings of apprehension, doubt as to the wisdom of my
decision, I signed Kennett Rawson on the ship’s papers as “Cabin boy,
Chicago, age 14,” the youngest white lad ever to go into the Far North.
Under starlit skies and unruffled sea; in the semi-darkness of
his 10-11 watch, I watched him as he stood at the wheel “giving
her a spoke” now and then to keep her on her course, his small
sheepskin-covered form outlined against the black of the ocean. In
howling winds and with the _Bowdoin_ plunging and bucking head seas,
decks awash and life lines stretched, the same huddled form, eyes
on the compass card, doing his best, with never trace of quit, I, a
shipmate for four months, knew him. Young Rawson made good. For that
reason he goes back again with me in the Northland one week from
to-day, back to the big grey hills of Labrador with their outlying,
breaking reefs, to the inner reaches of its green bays, to its simple,
sincere people; to Greenland, once the home of the Norsemen, now the
land of the Dane and smiling half-breed; to Baffin Island, the Meta
Incognita of Martin Frobisher, the objective of many an old New England
whaling ship.
May he enjoy this fourth cruise of the _Bowdoin_ as he did her third.
“The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts,” and when those
thoughts or dreams are realized, doubly fortunate is youth.
DONALD B. MACMILLAN.
Freeport, Maine.
June 12, 1926.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
CHAPTER
I. HERE ENDETH THE LESSON 1
II. UNDER WEIGH 14
III. IN THE LAND OF ADVENTURE 22
IV. A TRULY GLORIOUS FOURTH AND SOME VERY REAL FISHING 32
V. THROUGH THE PACK TO DISASTER 41
VI. THE HEROES OF HOPEDALE 49
VII. IN ESKIMO LAND AND IN TROUBLE 56
VIII. GREENLAND! 66
IX. ICE AND MORE ICE 76
X. WE TAKE THE AIR 89
XI. MY FARTHEST NORTH 107
XII. WE BREAK INTO SOCIETY 115
XIII. STORM AND STRESS AND--HOME! 130
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Kennett L. Rawson, June, 1925 _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
The journey of the _Bowdoin_, 1925 (map) 1
The _Bowdoin_ and her crew, Wiscasset, Maine, June 20, 1925.
John Jaynes, Engineer; Commander Donald B. MacMillan;
Ralph P. Robinson, Mate; Kennett L. Rawson,
Cabin Boy; John Reinartz, short wave radio expert;
Martin Vorce, Cook; Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg, U. S.
Coast and Geodetic Survey; Onnig D. Melkon, moving
picture photographer 12
Outward Bound, June, 1925 20
The _Bowdoin_ leaving the dock at Wiscasset 20
Rawson, MacMillan at the wheel, and Dr. Grosvenor. On
way to Sydney 27
“Yonder beneath the North Star lies our destination, Lad.” 27
Commander MacMillan, Dr. Grosvenor and Dr. Grenfell,
Battle Harbor 27
Maynard Williams (left), photographer, National Geographic
Society; Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg (right), U. S. Coast
and Geodetic Survey 61
The _Bowdoin_ passing an iceberg off west coast of Greenland 63
The _Bowdoin_ caught in a nip, at Melville Bay 63
Commander MacMillan with an Eskimo child; in flying costume;
in the ice barrel 90
Brother John’s Glacier and Alida Lake, Etah, North Greenland 90
The _Peary_ 94
Expedition plane at stern of _Bowdoin_ 94
Launching first plane at Etah 95
Eskimo kiddie with mother’s coat on 104
Even Eskimo boys of Ig-loo-da-houny have a sweet tooth 104
In-you-gee-to makes a coil of rawhide line out of skin of
which he is justly proud 105
The only Eskimo family in Etah 105
The _Bowdoin_ on the rocks in North Greenland 118
Head of 2000-pound walrus killed at Etah, North Greenland 118
Oomiak: Eskimo women’s boat, made of sealskins 119
South Greenland kayak 119
At Sukkertoppen 122
Dick Salmon with large cod jigged while stormbound in
Godthaab Fiord 123
A good Eskimo puppy 126
Typical winter home of South Greenland Eskimo 126
Eskimo girls of Holsteinborg, mixture of Danish, Spanish,
English and Eskimo 126
View of Godthaab with statue of Hans Egede, first missionary
to the Eskimos of Greenland 130
Norse Church at head of Godthaab Fiord, probably built
about 1100 A. D. 130
In rough weather off Nova Scotia, homeward bound 131
The _Bowdoin_ delayed by the storm at Monhegan 131
A BOY’S-EYE VIEW OF THE ARCTIC
[Illustration: The journey of the _Bowdoin_, 1925.]
A BOY’S-EYE VIEW OF THE ARCTIC
I
HERE ENDETH THE LESSON
One warm June evening I was sitting up in my room supposedly studying,
but actually all thoughts of study had long since gone where most
good resolutions go. Who can study on a mild June evening anyway? I
can study almost any other time, but on such occasions my thoughts
go fluie, and I am off to Treasure Island or with Jules Verne. I was
somewhere in those latitudes when a rap sounded on my door. I thought
just retribution had overtaken me in the form of a master; so I opened
a text book, scattered a few papers about for realistic effect and then
went to the door.
“Long distance for you at the exchange,” said the messenger, who after
all was not a master.
I slipped into my bathrobe and reported to the master on the hall.
“Sir, long distance wants me at the exchange,” I said.
“All right, here’s your permission slip. Get it signed when you are
through. And Rawson--don’t loaf on your way back.”
“No, sir,” I said, and with this parting injunction I was off.
I took down the receiver, got my connection and yelled “hello.”
“Hello, Ken, that you?” It was Dad, and there was a note of excitement
in his voice. “Do you want to go to the Arctic with MacMillan this
summer?”
I leaned against the panel. Was I still with Jules Verne?
“What, Dad? Say it again.”
Dad laughed. “Do you want to go to the Arctic with MacMillan this
summer?”
“With MacMillan? With MacMillan?” I gasped! What was he trying to
put over? Well, at last it got across, and it didn’t take me long to
say yes. He then told me how it all happened, and my surprise and
wonderment increased at every word. At last he had to hang up, and I
went back to my room in a haze. I could hardly grasp the significance
of what I had just heard. A few minutes before I was merely a student
at The Hill; now I was an explorer. Well of course not quite that,
but something along that line, and anyway I was going on an Arctic
expedition and that’s all that mattered.
I returned to my hall and reported to the master in charge.
“Where is your slip?” he said rather shortly.
“My slip? I forgot to have it signed. Oh, sir, MacMillan and I are
going exploring in the Arctic regions!”
The master looked incredulous, but as I still retained the air of being
partly sane, he began to show real interest.
“How did you happen to choose MacMillan?” he queried.
“Oh, sir, I didn’t mean that, I meant that Commander MacMillan is going
to take me with him this summer,” I replied, rather embarrassed by my
outbreak.
“Well, just how did you get in on a thing like this?” he asked.
“For several summers I have sailed,” I said, “and I like the sea. Last
summer I was engaged in the scientific work of the Bureau of Fisheries
on a little schooner. We made a number of trips off shore, and I
gained quite a bit of experience. I liked the work so well that I told
father that I thought I should like to be an explorer instead of a
banker--father’s business. A friend of father’s, Mr. Joseph MacDonald,
being acquainted with these facts and also with Commander MacMillan,
conceived the idea that I ought to go on the forthcoming expedition
with the Commander. I fear he must have strained a point in telling of
my qualifications for a berth on the ship, but he finally persuaded
the Commander to take me. After this he broke the good news to father.
Then the two of them had the difficult task of convincing Mother that
I ought to go. My mother is like most mothers, only a little more so,
and it was quite a job to show her that the undertaking was not too
dangerous and that it would be a valuable experience. She was finally
won over, and so that’s how I am going.”
“Well,” said the master, “some people do seem to have all the luck.
Go to your room quietly, and remember that we’re still keeping school
around here.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and I went out. He had forgotten all about the slip!
If I worked hard, I had a chance of getting exempt from my examinations
at the end of the term. That meant I could go home seven days earlier
than otherwise. When I had calmed down, I made up my mind that no dust
was going to collect on my books from then on. Too much depended on my
plugging; so I tried to put away the thoughts of nice arctic coolness
on a hot June night and bury myself in my books.
The days went quickly by. They were happy days filled with hard work
between which came rosy dreams of the future--the prelude to the great
adventure. But at last came the important day--the day on which the
list of exemptions from examinations was to be posted. I parked myself
outside the Dean’s office anxiously awaiting that list. No vacation
ever had seemed so far away, and the minutes were ninety seconds
long. At last a figure appeared from within, armed with the list and
a handful of thumbtacks. There was a wild mob there by that time, but
I was in the front row. I ran my eye down the alphabet. My fate was
before me. It was there--my name. Exempt in everything! With a yelp of
joy I rushed for my room feeling for my trunk key on the way. Somehow I
got my trunk packed, did the things that had to be done before leaving,
and that night at dinner I had everything ready for an early departure
in the morning.
The next day, amid the good wishes of my somewhat envious school
friends, I bade farewell to The Hill and started for home. There I
would have a few days with my family and plenty of time to select my
outfit before going on to Wiscasset, Maine, to join the expedition. On
the train I did not buy any magazines. I just sat there and shot polar
bears and dodged icebergs; and what a grand and glorious feeling it was!
The family were at the train to meet me, and we all had so much to say
that nobody could wait for the other person to finish. Mother was so
happy that I could go and so unhappy because I would not be home for
the vacation, that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Father was
so enthusiastic that he wanted to go himself.
I had about a week before joining the expedition; this time I employed
in getting my equipment ready. I needed all manner of things, and
without a list which the Commander had furnished, we should not have
known what to get. Oilskins and rubber boots for wet weather were
very necessary, as were all sorts of warm things such as knit socks,
heavy underwear, flannel shirts, woolen trousers and a sheepskin
coat, to name but a few of the items. I also laid in a big stock of
five-and-ten-cent-store trinkets for trading with the Eskimos. The
Commander had suggested rings, necklaces, beads, perfume, soap and
various novelties, most of which certainly went like hot cakes with the
Eskimos.
At last the day arrived on which I must leave home for the last time
until my return from the north, probably in a few months, but very
possibly not for several years, maybe never. The Arctic keeps one
guessing if it does nothing else. One never can tell what successes or
disasters the next day holds.
The family were not coming east with me now, as it was necessary for
me to go on a few days early to help in the work of preparation. The
family, however, were coming on for the official farewell which was not
to be until a week later. On my way to Wiscasset, where the _Bowdoin_
was being outfitted, I stopped in New York and joined forces with Dick
Salmon, another member of the expedition. We continued our journey
by steamer to Portland and there we caught a local to Wiscasset. The
afternoon of the fifteenth, the day on which we were supposed to
arrive, found us bumping along and wishing that the train would make
more speed. But after what seemed years, the end of our trip hove in
sight as we suddenly rounded a curve. With beating hearts we gathered
our luggage and prepared to disembark. The train halted just opposite
where the _Bowdoin_ was anchored, and we stared with interest and
admiration at our new home, for such she proved to be for the next
four months. We hailed a passing launch and her skipper put us aboard
our ship. We at once reported for duty to the mate, Mr. Robinson,
who was in charge of the loading. He seemed rather surprised when he
saw me, and he said, “Why, I was told you were a great, big fellow
weighing a hundred and sixty pounds.” As I fell some pounds short of
his expectation, I told him that somebody must have been kidding him. I
think we both knew who it was. I had strong suspicions, anyway. He at
last decided that if I could work, that would help matters quite a bit.
So he told me to be ready for work early next morning and meanwhile
to make myself at home and get acquainted with the members of the
expedition who already had arrived.
I took a look around. The deck was piled high with boxes and barrels;
the running rigging was all askew on the deck--in short, chaos reigned
everywhere. This was far different from what I had pictured, and I
decided right then and there that when it comes to actual work, getting
the ship north was no more of a job than loading it. I also saw several
dishevelled workmen busily engaged in stowing the cargo in various
parts of the ship. I inquired from the mate who they were, and my
disillusionment was complete when he told me they were two scientific
experts with national reputations. I had always thought of scientists
as not quite human, people who sat around looking into instruments
and writing elaborate reports. But seeing them pitch in and work like
normal human beings did much to restore my confidence that they were
real he-men.
I looked the ship over from stem to stern. She certainly is a beauty
with lines almost as clean-cut as a yacht. But her timbering would make
a yacht’s look like a melon crate. She has the most massive timbers
of any ship I ever saw, and I think I may safely say that she is the
strongest small vessel in existence. Another very excellent feature
for Arctic work is the way the hull is shaped. It is so rounded that
the ship rises when squeezed by the ice. This is the only way that an
Arctic vessel should be built; as no matter how strong the vessel may
be, she cannot withstand the pressure of heavy ice unless she is made
to rise. The bow also is sloping, so that she may rise a short way on
a cake of ice and crush it with her weight. At the point of impact
it is armored with a heavy iron plate to give additional strength.
A rather unusual feature for Arctic vessels is also incorporated in
the _Bowdoin_, namely, having the vessel reach its full beam a short
way abaft the mainmast which, in a schooner, is quite near the stern.
This serves to shunt the ice away from the propeller, and anything to
protect the propeller is very helpful, as the breaking of a propeller
in the ice is a disaster second only to having the ship crushed;
without strong means of propulsion one cannot get very far, and sails
are a poor substitute for a propeller. She has a semi-Diesel engine
which will run on anything from whale oil to kerosene. If we ran out
of fuel in the north, we would literally “harpoon our way home,” to
quote the Commander. In spite of all these features, she is only a
small vessel, eighty-eight feet over all, fifteen tons net. She is, I
believe, the smallest vessel ever to enter the Arctic.
By the time we had finished our inspection, it was quitting time, and
our scientist-stevedores knocked off work and began to prepare to
go ashore. Dick and I soon became acquainted with them. They were
Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg, of the Coast and Geodetic Survey, and John
Reinartz, famous short wave radio expert; our hydrographer and radio
operator, respectively, both fine fellows, and we made a congenial
crowd at the inn that evening. We four were the first ones to arrive,
with the exception of the mate, the cook and the engineer. John Jaynes,
the engineer, was another very fine fellow, and we all liked John,
as we soon came to call him. In a few days we were all calling each
other by our first names and felt as if we had known each other all
our lives. John certainly could make an engine behave when it didn’t
want to, and he also could render valuable aid and advice on nearly
everything.
The cook had gone home for a couple of days to wind up his affairs, and
he did not return until the day following. The mate, “Robbie,” as we
soon called him, was a real mate. His job was to get things done in a
hurry, and he did it. But in addition to his capability as a mate, he
was a real fellow, and no one had more of the respect and friendship
of the expedition than Robbie. The Commander was still in Boston
supervising the preparation of the _Peary_, the ship that was to
carry the naval airplanes and aviators. He was not scheduled to arrive
in Wiscasset till Wednesday night; so we had several days before his
arrival. The rest of the personnel were coming up with the _Peary_ from
Boston.
[Illustration: _Photo Brust._
The _Bowdoin_ and her crew, Wiscasset, Maine, June 20,
1925.
Left to right: John Jaynes, Engineer; Commander Donald B. MacMillan;
Ralph P. Robinson, Mate; Kennett L. Rawson, Cabin Boy; John Reinartz,
short wave radio expert; Martin Vorce, Cook; Lieutenant Benjamin Rigg,
U. S. Coast and Geodetic Survey; Onnig D. Melkon, moving picture
photographer.]
After a pleasant evening and a good sleep at the local inn, the
sleeping accommodations on the vessel not yet being arranged, Dick
and I repaired to the _Bowdoin_ early the next morning. My illusions
about life on the bounding billow had undergone a change since I had
seen scientists acting as stevedores. But it was still somewhat of a
surprise when the mate ordered Dick and me to go ashore and sort and
remove the sprouts from thirty bushels of potatoes that were lying in
a neighboring storehouse. We spread the potatoes on the dock under a
broiling sun and set to work. How good an iceberg would have looked at
that moment! Some ten bushels and five blisters later, as I attempted
to straighten up to see if my back had assumed a permanent wave, the
thought struck me that Gareth scrubbing pots in King Arthur’s kitchen
had nothing on me except that he gained immortality while I was getting
an awful pain in the back. But the joke was on him; he had no Arctic
expedition as a reward for his pains. At last, however, the potatoes
were divorced from their sprouts and carefully resacked. We both
decided that our shipmates should never know how much unbargained-for
sweat they were consuming with their tubers. The mate, who later
appeared, seemed to be satisfied with our labors, and this fact greatly
reassured me. Thus, as the old ship’s log might read: “This day came in
with bliss and worked around into blisters. So ends this day.” This,
with the exception of a very pleasant dance which the delightfully
hospitable Sewalls gave that evening. Bliss again!
CHAPTER II
UNDER WEIGH
The next day was to be a very interesting one. In the first place
the Commander was coming in the evening, and secondly the cook was
arriving. The time-honored tradition on shipboard is that next in
importance to the captain comes the cook. My stomach was in full accord
with this theory, and I was anxious to see the arbiter of its destiny.
As soon as I got to know him I knew my trust had not been misplaced.
Martin Vorce was the best cook and had the finest disposition I ever
saw wrapped up in human form. There is no theory either about the
cook’s having the hardest work on the ship; it is straight fact. Mart
was always on the job, “blow high, blow low.” He had several bouts with
refractory dishes in rough weather, but he always came out on top.
After the excitement incident to his arrival had died down, we were
aware of the approach of a vessel. At first we thought it was the
_Peary_, but as she was not due till the next day we decided it could
not be she. In a short time we saw that it was a navy tug loaded to
the gunwales with gasolene. She drew alongside the dock and began
discharging her cargo. First a mound of gasolene cases that seemed as
big as the great pyramid of Cheops was hoisted out; this was followed
by a fleet of barrels, and to cap the climax three Liberty engines made
their appearance. I thought if all that was stowed aboard the _Bowdoin_
there would be no room for the rest of us. But beyond doubt, enough of
those cases would go aboard to keep me on the move for some time. My
prophecy was true. The remainder of that day and all the next I walked
back and forth across a narrow plank accompanied by the inevitable
case. Sometimes the case and I teetered dangerously near the edge;
at others we made an uneventful voyage. I almost hoped I might slip,
for in my reeking condition I felt a good swim would have been worth
ten years of my life. But I avoided this longed for disgrace through
gyrations worthy of a gymnast, and while there was no crowd to cheer me
on, I had the satisfaction of seeing the mound slowly diminish.
After work was over for the day I became painfully aware that loading
gasolene had discovered a number of tender muscles of which school
athletics had never made me aware. But this condition did not prevent
my looking forward with zest to a dance that was to be given in honor
of the High School Graduation. This was to be held that evening, and
the outstanding feature of the graduation was that the graduates were
to receive their diplomas from the hand of the Commander, who had
especially cut short his stay in Boston in order to be present.
With the big event of the evening in mind, we went below and
holy-stoned our gasolene-soaked hides religiously. Then we turned to
and attacked our first meal on shipboard, and we vowed that if all the
other meals were as good, we should never have cause to complain.
After we had waded through our food, we started for the High School.
A short walk landed us there, and we nosed our way through the mob
gathered about the entrance. As we entered, the exercises were just
beginning, and the Commander was on the point of entering into his
presentation speech. We listened to his speech and the ones following
with interest mingled with impatience. Finally the graduates were
graduated, and the dance was on. Then came our long awaited opportunity
to meet the Commander. The mate led us over and presented us. I had
never before seen the Commander, but I had heard enough about him to
whet my curiosity to a degree where I wanted to know the man from the
myth. From the moment I met him I knew that I was serving under a
Commander who was a real leader and a man among men. This impression
has never left me, but has since been constantly strengthened.
After we had chatted together for a few minutes, with characteristic
good humor, the Commander told the mate to see that we met all of the
sweet young things and had plenty of dancing, for it would be some time
before we danced again. We accepted the Commander’s suggestion as a
sacred duty, and obeyed it to the letter.
“The morning after the night before” was rather a painful period, as
dancing until the midnight oil is low and then arising at the crack
of dawn does not incline one to rhapsodize over the sunrise. But that
morning, without the aid of our usual battery of alarm clocks, we were
awakened by the shrill blast of a steamer’s siren. We all tumbled into
our clothes as fast as our sleep-numbed bodies could make the grade.
The first person on deck yelled, “Here comes the _Peary_!” True
enough, in another moment we could make out the white lettering against
the black bow. We gave a lusty cheer as she sidled up to the dock, and
then stood by to make fast her lines. In a few moments she was safely
moored, and we were swarming aboard to examine our companion of the
long cruise.
The first objects to attract our attention were the three navy
airplanes on the after deck. On these three canvas-swathed forms hung
all our hopes. If they failed, it would mean sure death for their
intrepid occupants. In their undress condition they did not look very
imposing, but in my imagination I already heard the roar of the mighty
engines tuning up in the lee of some sheltering icepan. I visioned the
flash of the white foam as they skimmed along for the take-off, and I
saw them recede into the western sky with an ever-diminishing whirr
of engines, outward bound on those flights from which we hoped so
much. Again I saw these proud argosies of the air, this time returning
triumphant with the secret of the ages disclosed. However, the cook’s
sudden cry for breakfast, mingled with the savory odors of bacon and
coffee effectually dissipated all this sort of dreaming.
After breakfast we got acquainted with our shipmates on board the
_Peary_. There were eight naval aviators under the leadership of
Commander Richard E. Byrd, who has since distinguished himself in
his daring flight over the Polar Sea, and there were also several
scientists and photographers. The ship was under the general direction
of Commander E. F. McDonald, who was second in command of the
expedition and in charge of radio communication. Captain George Steele
was master of the ship and in direct charge of the navigating and
safety of the vessel.
At this time arrived the remaining members of the _Bowdoin’s_ crew,
namely, Maynard Owen Williams, author and photographer, known to
many by his fine articles and pictures in the _National Geographic
Magazine_; and Onnig D. Melkon, motion picture expert, whose job was to
preserve a motion picture record of the expedition for later use in the
Commander’s lectures. These two completed the ship’s crew, and now with
our full complement we were counting the minutes till sailing time.
At last the great day came. The departure was an event of national
importance. Town, state and nation were all officially represented. In
addition to these were thousands of interested citizens and visitors
come to wish us bon voyage. Among the latter were most of the families
of the crew, including my own. Two o’clock was the zero hour, and after
short exercises at the town hall, the Commander came aboard and gave
the long awaited order: “Cast off.”
[Illustration: _Photo Geo. W. Lord._ Outward bound, June, 1925.]
[Illustration: The _Bowdoin_ leaving the dock at Wiscasset.]
Eager hands freed the lines and amid the roar of steam whistles and
cheers from the crowd we slowly headed seaward. Governor Brewster of
Maine had furnished a band and a tug to transport them, and as we
steamed outward they poured forth a brazen blare of melody. Alumni
and students of Bowdoin College, the Commander’s alma mater, had
chartered a steamer, and the enthusiastic, leather-lunged collegians
raked us fore and aft with a series of vocal salvos that would have
driven any team on to victory. The procession was headed by two naval
vessels especially designated by the Navy Department to do honor to
the occasion. In addition to this official recognition, a large number
of yachts from far and near had gathered to join in the celebration.
But as we reeled off the miles, our escorts gradually turned back one
by one, until by the time we neared the open sea, only a persistent
few remained. Even these had returned by the time we were fairly
launched forth on the long ocean roll, and the _Peary_, too, had
deserted us, as she was going to Boothbay to take on a final supply of
water, while we set our course in solitary state for Monhegan Island.
Just as the great lighthouse began to blink, we dropped anchor under
the lee of the island. Here the guests who had thus far accompanied us,
soon followed the anchor over the side and went up to the village inn
where we shortly joined them. There, in accordance with custom, the
hospitable islanders had prepared a delicious banquet for the members
of the expedition and their guests. There we ate well indeed but not
too wisely for mariners who were about to slip their cable in the
morning.