Boy Aviators Polar Dash | Page 8

I'll write you up as the discoverer of the
ship of Olaf and--"
"That's enough," suddenly interrupted Frank, "if you want to do me a
favor, Billy, never mention any more about that till Captain Hazzard
himself decides to tell us about it. We only let what we know of the
secret slip out by accident and we have no right to speculate on what
Captain Hazzard evidently wishes kept a mystery till the time comes to
reveal it."
"I'm sorry, Frank," contritely said Billy, "I won't speak any more about
it; but," he added to himself, "you can't keep me from thinking about
it."
As Frank had anticipated, Captain Hazzard agreed to ship Billy Barnes
as a member of the expedition. He was to be a sort of general secretary
and assist the boys with the aeroplane and motor sledge when the time

came. The reporter's face, when after a brief conference it was
announced to him that he might consider himself one of the Southern
Cross's ship's company, was a study. It was all he could do to keep
from shouting at the top of his voice. The contrast between the dignity
he felt he ought to assume before Captain Hazzard and the desire he felt
to skip about and express his feelings in some active way produced
such a ludicrous mixture of emotions on Billy's face that both the boys
and the captain himself had to burst into uncontrollable laughter at it.
Laughter in which the good natured Billy, without exactly
understanding its cause, heartily joined.
A week later the final good-byes were said and the Southern Cross was
ready for sea. She was to meet a coal-ship at Monte Video in the
Argentine Republic which would tow her as far as the Great Barrier.
This was to conserve her own coal supply. The other vessel would then
discharge her cargo of coal,--thus leaving the adventurers a plentiful
supply of fuel in case the worst came to worst, and they were frozen in
for a second winter.
In case nothing was heard of them by the following fall a relief ship
was to be despatched which would reach them roughly about the
beginning of December, when the Antarctic summer is beginning to
draw to a close. The commander of the Southern Cross expected to
reach the great southern ice-barrier in about the beginning of February,
when the winter, which reaches its climax in August, would be just
closing in. The winter months were to be devoted to establishing a
camp, from which in the following spring--answering to our fall--the
expedition would be sent out.
"Hurray! a winter in the Polar ice," shouted the boys as the program
was explained to them.
"And a dash for the pole to cap it off," shouted the usually unemotional
Frank, his face shining at the prospect.
As has been said, the Southern Cross was an old whaler. Built rather
for staunchness than beauty, she was no ideal of a mariner's dream as
she unobtrusively cleared from her wharf one gray, chilly morning

which held a promise of snow in its leaden sky. There were few but the
stevedores, who always hang about "the Basin," and some idlers, to
watch her as she cast off her lines and a tug pulled her head round till
she pointed for the opening of the berth in which she had lain so long.
Of these onlookers not one had any more than a hazy idea of where the
vessel was bound and why.
As the Southern Cross steamed steadily on down the bay, past the bleak
hills of Staten Island, on by Sandy Hook, reaching out its long, desolate
finger as if pointing ships out to the ocean beyond, the three boys stood
together in a delighted group in the lee of a pile of steel drums, each
containing twenty gallons of gasolene.
"Well, old fellow, we're off at last," cried Frank, his eye kindling as the
Southern Cross altered her course a bit and stood due south down the
Jersey coast.
"That's it," cried Billy, with a wave of his soft cap, "off at last; we're
the three luckiest boys on this globe, I say."
"Same here," was Harry's rejoinder.
The blunt bows of the Southern Cross began to lift to the long heave of
the ever restless Atlantic. She slid over the shoulder of one big wave
and into the trough of another with a steady rhythmic glide that spoke
well for her seaworthy qualities. Frank, snugly out of the nipping wind
in the shelter of the gasolene drums, was silent for several minutes
musing over the adventurous voyage on which they were setting out.
Thus he had not noticed a change coming over Harry and Billy.
Suddenly a groan fell on his ear. Startled,