SLOWLY SOUTH

Evening Star, Issue 20058, 26 December 1928, Page 4

SLOWLY SOUTH

)N A WORLD OF ICE ' LIFE OH CITY OF HEW YORK Press Association—By Telegraph—Copyright. ' NEW YORK, December 23. A radio message from Commander Byrd’s the City of New York, “ Our days go bumpingly by. Ramming the pack and pushing huge ice cakes aside, now backing, now struggling ahead sturdily, the little ship makes her way slowly south. Always there is the grumbling, crunching, and hiss of ice alongside, the shouts of orders from those conning us through, together with the barking and whining of°the impatient dogs. Outside is a white field of snow-covered ice, smooth or rolling or broken and twisted into a thousand fragments that have been welded together under the tough winter cold. • - ,» Life goes gaily nevortnelcss. busy

with their many tasks or resting in their bunks between watches, the men joke and laugh at each other, hurl good-natured jibes over mistakes, or break into song from siieer lightheartedness! There is much humour in the heterogeneous crew. Thus a scientist and a. stoker eating side by side tends to cement that good-fellowship which finds refuge in banter at each other’s foibles. We would be very uncomfortable if we could not laugh, and as it is no more- loyal or unselish crew ever sailed the seas. This is evident m that (|iieor way ’in which a man will show consideration for another’s feelings or do something to help him down in the tiny forecastle,, forward of the larger forecastle and messrooin. “In the midst of a severe storm the first mate is playing his big accordion to the delight of those around him. It’ is a small room, with four large bunks along each side in two tiers. An electric bulb overhead shines yellow through the smoke of many pipes. The blue haze against the ceiling, curling round ponderous beams and elbows, is thick like the snow and the log outside, making dim the corners ot the room. A litter of packing cases, bugs, and suit cases is on the floor, which is paved with bits of paper and string, matches and things which tired men drop and forget to pick up. Hanging from the partitions and the ceiling and from hooks and strings arc ski boots, lanterns, bags and bits of clothing, heavy coats, and oilskins. There isa smell of dampness and tobacco and the musty odour of boots. Some pictures of those left behind are tacked on the inner walls of the hunks, the smiling faces of women looking down on one of the most masculine places on earth —a ship’s forecastle. “Old Martin Bonne, the sailmaker, across the- way, loans on his sewing machine, a smile creasing his leathery check on each side of his beaked nose, his eyes blinking continuously, as if lie were about to fall asleep. Walrus wc call him. Bert Balclicn, the aviator, sprawls on a pile of bags contentedly listening, and liabe Smith, another pilot, stretches his long legs hallway across the room caressing the bowl of his pipe with grimy hands. “That is good,” says Bale-hen, with a characteristic nod of his head, as the storm finishes, playing something reminiscent ol his homeland, and his face slowly relaxes in a half-smile. There is something very line about this man, whose life has been spent wresting a living from tiie eternal ice of the north. His gentleness and courtesy are more marked because of his rugged strength. He plays a gay song, his grey eyes smiling at us as lie moves his head in time to the music, and our bodies unconsciously sway and our feet tap the Hour. ' The whole forecastle sways sideways as the ship runs up on a Hoe and slides off again, and a rumbling, tearing sound conics through the planks. No one pays any attention, as we are used to it now. “Through the open door to the larger forecastle, which runs almost to amidships, can be seen the conipanioiiway steps coming down from the hatch. Smoke blows through and flows upwards to be torn apart in eddies by the cold air rushing down. The long mess table is on the side. In this large room everyone, including Coinniaiulei Byrd, cals, and around the sides are bunks for lifty men. Light from the hatch and a few bulbs illuminate the forward end, but the room fades away into a dense shadow, from which conics the sound of men arguing or laughing as they await their turn at the table. Dishes" clatter, and there are cries ol “ More soup,” and demands to know what in the blar.es became ol the butter. Even during the meals sonic men arc sleeping behind curtains of nondescript material, which cut off sonic of tiie light. We eat in three messes, and the long table is filled cadi time, Charles, the major domo. having brought order out of the chaos which existed at the first, when everyone tried to cat at once. He is resplendent in whiskers, and he carries a towel/A indeterminate grey around his neck. His hands are the cleanest aboard, for which all arc thankful, tor it is Charley who dips out the soup and passes the cake. Syd (Treason and Dick Conter, the assistant stewards, help him. Syd rushing food from the galley and Dick washing up the dishes. The ship lurches against the ice cake, and Liiigren spills soup on someone’s hair and down his neck, and while the sprinkled one roars picturesque objections Lofgreii- calmly mops up his victim with a di.sli towel. “Stumble up steep steps and you find the decks littered with boxes and dug crates. Cases of stores are opened there because there is no other place to open them. This accumulated confusion is cleared away on one, side so that the galley may be readied. A breath of warm air laden with the smell of roasting meat and the appetising odour of new bread floats out of tbe open door. It is warm in there, and good shelter from the chill wind that blows off the ice. and someone is generally hugging tbe stove and chattinng George Tennant, the cook, round and benign, with n calm which nothing can disturb. George smiles upon all who come, and discusses in a low monotone, which never varies, incomprehensible things which'the men do outside the galley—his ordained world. No matter how we roll, with water sloshing about bis ankles.’ imperturbably he turns out good things to cat.”—Australian Press Association/