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  LITTLE AMERICA

  LITTLE AMERICA

  AERIAL EXPLORATION IN THE ANTARCTIC THE FLIGHT TO THE SOUTH POLE

  RICHARD EVELYN BYRD

  ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD

  Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

  Published by Rowman & Littlefield

  A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.

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  Distributed by NATIONAL BOOK NETWORK

  Copyright © 1930 by Richard E. Byrd

  Cloth edition originally published by G. R Putnam’s Sons in 1935

  First Rowman & Littlefield paperback edition © 2015

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

  Paperback: 978-1-4422-4170-1

  E-book: 978-1-4422-4171-8

  The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSJ/NISO Z39.48-1992.

  Printed in the United States of America

  TO MY MOTHER ELEANOR BOLLING BYRD

  FOREWORD

  THE efficiency of a polar expedition varies on the whole according to the adequacy of its preparations, the worth of its equipment and scientific gear, the services of its personnel and staff of scientists and the length of its stay in the field. These things require a great deal of money nowadays, and no explorer could possibly foot the bill on the strength of his own pocketbook. He is dependent upon the generosity of friends and the public. This has been true in my case especially, for the problem of financing two of my last three expeditions has fallen first upon me and then upon friends. This last expedition to the Antarctic was, for reasons explained in subsequent pages, a costly one. Preparations for it were extensive, its equipment and scientific gear was new, modern and, in many cases, especially designed for the problem; its scientific staff was more than competent and the expedition itself was away from the United States for nearly two years. This was according to the original plan, the realization of which was possible only through the support of friends, who out of their keen interest in scientific research provided the sinews of exploration.

  To them, therefore, I must acknowledge my debt first of all. In a sense this is the debt of the nation, for the expedition, which had for its immediate objectives the investigation of the south polar regions, had also as its purpose the extension of national efforts in a field which had been sadly neglected, the Antarctic continent.

  So many names come into mind at once that it is difficult to know where to begin.

  There are, for example, Mr. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., and Mr. Edsel Ford. They were not only principal backers of this last expedition, but also of the North Polar expedition. What they gave me in friendship, sympathy and aid when things were darkest are beyond price.

  There are men and organizations that stand with them—Mr. Charles Evans Hughes, the Fisher brothers, Mr. Vincent Astor, Dr. John H. Finley, Dr. Isaiah Bowman and the American Geographical Society, Mr. K. H. Fulton, Mr. George Coe Graves, Mr. George A. Thorne, Jr., Mr. R. W. Bingham, Mr. Paul Block, Mr. Charles V. Bob, Mr. Robert W. Daniel, Mr. Charles F. de Ganahl, Mr. F. Fuller, the Daniel Guggenheim Fund for the Promotion of Aeronautics, Mr. August Heckscher, Mr. George L. Johnson, Mr. Sam Katz, Paramount News, Mr. F. H. Rawson, Estate of Henry W. Oliver, Mr. Julius Rosenwald, the late Thomas Fortune Ryan, The Tidewater Oil Company, Mr. William H. Todd, Mr. Harold S. Vanderbilt, Mr. Donald Woodward and Mr. Robert S. Breyer.

  To the National Geographic Society and its officers, Dr. Gilbert Grosvenor and Dr. John Oliver La Gorce, I owe much. They assisted in the financing of the first expedition I accompanied to the Arctic, and to this last expedition to the south polar regions they made a large contribution, in addition to supplying the services of one of our scientists. They stood squarely behind the expedition, ready and eager to help in every way.

  So, too, in the case of my dear friend, Mr. Raymond B. Fosdick. Time and time again, when the going was discouragingly hard he came to the fore and smoothed the way.

  To Mr. Adolph Ochs, publisher of the New York Times, Mr. Arthur Sulzberger and Mr. Frederick T. Birchall, both of the Times; Mr. Joseph Pulitzer, publisher of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch; Mr. David Lawrence, of the Consolidated Press, and the editors and publishers of the associated newspapers which published the reports on our expedition, I have a large obligation. They understood what we were up against and were always thoughtful and cooperative.

  There are as well the hundreds of American firms which most generously donated valuable supplies. And there were also hundreds of persons who helped the expedition in many ways—giving money, services and cooperation. Among these I include the hundreds of persons who made small contributions to the expedition.

  There are many more, all equally deserving of mention, and it is a pity that they cannot all be mentioned. Merely to list the names would fill many pages; and my publishers are already in despair at the number that have thus far appeared.

  Yet I do not feel that the story of the expedition is too fully told. There are many things which, I have been informed, are not interesting to the general public but belong rather to the four fat volumes dealing with the scientific results of the expedition on which the scientific staff is now working. So, presto, out they go.

  Then, too, there are incidents which, because of their distance from the main scene of operations, could not be incorporated except as a very incongruous tail on a story the body of which is perhaps much too large. I have in mind such an incident as that which took place on the arrival of the Eleanor Boiling at Panama, in May, 1930, on the return home. It was the first time these men had set foot on American soil in nearly two years. They eagerly looked forward to their first holiday in two months after a blistering voyage across the Pacific. Yet when told, on landing, that the City, which was 500 miles out, was shy of coal, beset by head winds, and far behind her schedule, they instantly volunteered to cut the holiday short and go out to her assistance. It made no difference that they were short-handed themselves. Captain Brown and his crew put out to sea without hesitation; and Chief Engineer McPherson went into the fireroom and handled a shovel himself.

  This is typical of many such beautiful acts that are part of the memory of the expedition. It was the spirit of the men throughout. If only for that reason I regret the structural limitations of the book. And if I have failed to mention the names of any members of the expedition, I hope it will be understood that the omission was not deliberate. They were all worthy.

  But, here, the tail has become the head, the groans of the publishers are increasing and I had better desist with the hope that if I have left unsaid anything that should be said, it will be understood that the inexorable limits of space, as publishers measure it, have made it necessary.

  R. E. BYRD

  Chicago

  November 16, 1930

  3 A.M.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER

  I.—NOTES FROM A JOURNAL

  II.—THE PLAN—THE PREPARATION AND THE PROBLEM

  III.—THROUGH THE PACK

  IV.—WE ESTABLISH A BASE

  V.—THE BATTLE TO UNLOAD

  VI.—DISCOVERY BY FLIGHT

  VI
I.—DISCOVERY OF A NEW LAND TO THE EASTWARD

  VIII.—INCIDENT ON THE ROCKEFELLER MOUNTAINS

  IX.—WINTER—BIRTH OF A CITY

  X.—CIVILIZATION DOES NOT MATTER

  XI.—MORE PLANS AND PREPARATIONS

  XII.—THE START OF THE SOUTHERN PARTIES

  XIII.—THE BASE-LAYING FLIGHT

  XIV.—FLIGHT TO THE SOUTH POLE

  XV.—EASTWARD BEYOND THE HORIZON

  XVI.—DEATH OF A CITY

  XVII.—THE GEOLOGICAL SLEDGE TRIP

  APPENDIX

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  RICHARD EVELYN BYRD, REAR ADMIRAL U. S. N., RET.

  Frontispiece

  DR. LAURENCE M. GOULD, GEOLOGIST AND SECOND IN COMMAND

  CAPTAIN ASHLEY C. MCKINLEY, AERIAL SURVEYOR AND THIRD IN COMMAND

  CAPTAIN FREDERICK C. MELVILLE, MASTER OF THE City of New York

  CAPTAIN GUSTAV L. BROWN, MASTER OF THE Eleanor Boiling

  THE Ross BARRIER

  A TYPICAL ANTARCTIC TABULAR BERG IN THE PROCESS OF DECAY

  THE City TAKES GREEN WATER OVER THE WINDWARD RAIL

  THE City of New York IN PACK ICE

  THE Eleanor Boiling IN THE PACK

  THE City of New York AT DISCOVERY INLET

  AERIAL VIEW OF THE City of New York BERTHED ALONGSIDE THE BAY ICE IN THE BAY OF WHALES

  THE DOGS, BLESS ‘EM, WITH PAUL SIPLE, BOY SCOUT

  A WEDDELL SEAL AND CRAB-EATER SEAL HAVE A SLIGHT DISAGREEMENT

  WHO, INDEED, BUT THE EMPEROR PENGUINS!

  ALL IN A DAY’S UNLOADING

  DOG TEAM ON THE BAY ICE, WITH PRESSURE RIDGES IN BACKGROUND

  THE CREW OF THE Eleanor Bolling

  THE AVIATION MECHANICS

  THE FORD HANGAR, WITH MULROY AND PARKER IN BACKGROUND

  THE City AND THE Bolling UNLOADING ON THE BARRIER THE BAY OF WHALES

  SEA SMOKE

  UNLOADING THE Floyd Bennett FROM THE Bolling TO THE BARRIER

  THE MESS HALL, WITH THE NORWEGIAN HOUSE IN THE REAR UNDER CONSTRUCTION

  “SO LONG, GOOD LUCK.” THE WINTER PARTY BIDS CREW OF THE City of New York FAREWELL

  MEN AT WORK DURING BLIZZARD BUILDING TUNNEL

  THE WINTER PARTY

  THE FOKKER ON A FROZEN LAKE AT ITS BASE IN THE ROCKEFELLER MOUNTAINS

  VICTIM OF THE WIND’S FURY

  LITTLE AMERICA

  COMMANDER BYRD AT THE ENTRANCE OF THE HOLE LEADING TO THE ADMINISTRATION BUILDING

  A FROZEN INFERNO

  THE LONELIEST CITY IN THE WORLD

  CHARLES E. LOFGREN, PERSONNEL OFFICER

  GEORGE W. TENNANT, CHIEF COOK

  VICTOR H. CZEGKA, MACHINIST.

  RUSSELL OWEN OF THE NEW YORK Times

  MARTIN RONNE, TAILOR

  THE RADIO DEPARTMENT

  THE MAIN SNOW TUNNEL

  BALCHEN AND STROM BUILD A SLEDGE

  ROTH, RUCKER AND JUNE AT WORK

  DR. FRANCIS DANA COMAN

  WILLIAM C. HAINES

  FRANK T. DAVIES

  COLD WEATHER CLOTHING

  “IT ISN’T SO HOT”

  THE AVIATION PILOTS IN CONFERENCE IN THE LIBRARY

  RETURN OF THE SUN

  DOG TEAMS HAULING LOADS ON THE BARRIER AS SEEN FROM THE AIR

  THE GEOLOGICAL PARTY

  THE GEOLOGICAL PARTY AT AMUNDSEN’S CAIRN

  THE SUPPORTING PARTY

  DE GANAHL AND WALDEN ON THE TRAIL COMMUNICATE WITH BASE

  THE END OF A LONG HAUL

  THE CREVASSES AT LAT. 82° 12’ S

  FISHER MOUNTAIN

  THE SOUTH POLAR PLANE, THE Floyd Bennett

  OVER “THE HUMP”

  ON THE WAY TO THE POLE

  THE PLATEAU IN THE NEAR VICINITY OF THE SOUTH POLE

  IN THE GRIP OF THE ICE AGE

  COASTING DOWN THE GLACIER WITH RUTH GADE ON THE RIGHT

  AN ICE ISLAND SEEN ON THE FLIGHT TO THE EASTWARD

  OPEN WATER IN ICE-COVERED LAND DEFIES THE ICE AGE

  AN UNUSUAL GLACIER OF THE EDSEL FORD RANGE

  WHALES TRAPPED IN A CRACK THAT SUDDENLY OPENED UP

  AN ANTARCTIC SKYSCRAPER VENTURES INTO THE BAY OF WHALES

  THE City IN HER TOUGHEST BATTLE.

  A WELCOME SIGHT

  MAPS

  LITTLE AMERICA, ANTARCTICA

  FIELD OF OPERATIONS OF THE GEOLOGICAL SLEDGING PARTY

  LITTLE AMERICA

  LITTLE AMERICA

  CHAPTER I

  NOTES FROM A JOURNAL

  1928 was probably the busiest year of my life. So the journal which I had promised myself I should keep, day by day, suffered in consequence. The few hours of quiet and isolation I had, generally came after midnight, on top of an exhausting day; and these naturally found me wanting in the spirit to write; the morrow in variably brought tougher problems. Nevertheless I did occasionally find time to make entries in my journal; and from these I have been persuaded to select the following, in the belief that they may show by reason of their immediacy, some of the difficulties and hopes that attended us as we got ready to go south.

  I A.M.

  The Owl, en route Boston,

  Sept. 28, ’ 28

  The time is up. We must be getting southward. The last dollar that I can beg is raised. Four ships, with most of our equipment on board, are already on their way, headed for New Zealand. In their holds and on their cluttered decks are over 500 tons of supplies and material; there are at least 5,000 different kinds of things, ranging from thumb tacks to airplanes; and every single thing is essential, in one way or another, to our unrelieved stay in the Antarctic. I hope that everything is there. There can be no return now. We are going into the largest non-shop area in the world, more than 2000 miles from the nearest human dwellings, and for nine months out of every twelve shut off even from these by the impenetrable pack ice. So we stand or fall according to our preparations here in Manhattan, nearly 10,000 miles away from our Antarctic base. A pity if we should become vitally dependent upon some trivial, forgotten things. Through my brain runs a provoking rhyme … “For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost …” I seem to have forgotten the rest, but the moral is clear anyway. No matter. We have done our best; if something is forgotten, some trifle necessary to the support of 82 men, for nearly two years, then it will have to be one of those things with which Providence bedevils humans who reach out for too much. For we have estimated, calculated and considered until heads whirled; we have divided and sub-divided to the nth degree; we have laid out our plans on a cosmic order, setting up, as it were, an ideal scheme—an expedition equipped with the most nearly perfect instruments for gathering information in the most efficient and modern way; and these’ plans we have painfully contracted into the narrower, more modest limits fixed by the funds at our disposal, surrendering first of all the luxuries, the relatively least essential, until we got down at last to the hard. rock level of irreducible minima.

  It has been a real fight, this battle of New York. Minor crises fell hard upon major crises. None of us has rested. Nearly all of us are exhausted. We have been stimulated by the knowledge that the battle ahead in the frozen world will be won or lost by the battle of preparation. We are not done yet—not by any means. There is still an immense debt.—I owe more money than I used to think existed.

  But debt or no debt, I must have a few days at home, so I am on my way. Merely starting is relief.

  Though my mood borders closely on despair there wells up a greater gratitude. My own friends and the American public have been surpassingly generous. Time and time again we felt the weight of our task carrying us sliding down the rope that leads to failure, only to find the burden lightened at the bitter end by the grace of some friendly act.

  But enough of this for now. Tomorrow I breakfast at home.

  At Home, Boston

  Sept. 30, ’ 28

  Morning.

  Precious moments, these—very little time for note-making. Indeed, for the past ten years aviation,
exploration, the Navy and public life have allowed me little time for anything, even home life. And now I am off again; this time on the longest errand of all.

  Knowing how often during the long Antarctic winter night my mind will come back to this place, I am cramming it with impressions, snatching them like a glutton. Yet even these last moments are crowded with outside influences, and the hands of the clock seem to be racing around—ticking away seconds that will not come again.

  What with long distance telephone calls, telegrams, newspaper reporters, friends, it has been impossible to keep even these last few days to ourselves. For the millionth time I have been pressed to draw my family and home life into newsprint. We do not want to do this. Marie is averse to publicity, and I must say that the reporters have been fair. However much they beg her and however provoked they may become over her steadfast refusal to be interviewed or, as one said, “humanized,” they nevertheless respect her attitude; she and the children now bear an almost charmed freedom from the camera. I have had reason on a hundred occasions to note the high sense of fairness and honor among newspaper men. Not a few of them have shared my confidence; none has yet deliberately broken it.

  But here’s Dickie—he calls me. This notebook immediately becomes nothing. Dickie, only eight, but already a perfect companion.

  The rascal has just surprised me with a gift of $4.35. He worked all summer, doing odd jobs, and saved his money, bit by bit. Gravely I told him that his contribution would help. “I’ll make some more, daddy, and send it,” he said.

  We’re off now, Dickie and I, for our last rom p and play together—a kite, a boat and an airplane. When I get back he’ll be ten.