Free Trial by Ice by Richard Parry

than an American flag had ever been before.” Grinnell held out the standard. “Now, I give it to you, sir. Take it to the North Pole, and bring it back a year from next October.”
    Hall must have seethed inwardly at the name of his enemy. Here was a challenge he would meet. He would beat Hayes's mark or die in the process.
    Hall stepped forward and grasped the weathered banner. “I really feel from the bottom of my soul that this flag, in the spring of 1872, will float over a new world; a new world, in which the North Pole star is its crowning jewel.”
    While members of the Geographical Society warmly applauded what they saw as a heroic link between both ice caps, seasoned salts viewed the presentation as something far different. Insubordinationand strife had riddled the Wilkes expedition, leading eventually to Wilkes's court-martial. Bad luck hampered the Wilkes party, and to the superstitious sailors, anything associated with that trip carried the same stigma. Both Kane and Hayes had carried the flag, and they, too, had had problems.
    Deepwater sailors are a highly superstitious lot. Facing the raw power of a storm at sea, a force able to make even the largest vessel seem insignificant, many a mariner has found religion. As Herman Melville wrote: “He who would learn to pray, let him go to sea.” Over hundreds of years of losing to the oceans, seamen learned to grasp at anything that might improve their odds. Traditions and superstitions abound, enough to fill a book. Don't start a voyage on Friday, never ship aboard with a black seabag, fresh-cut flowers brought aboard mean an impending deaththe litany goes on and on. Always stepping on board with your right foot first led to the common phrase, used even by landlubbers, of putting your right foot forward. First the
Periwinkle's
name had been changed to
Po-laris,
and now it would fly the colors of an ill-fated predecessor. It did not bode well.
    Without thinking, Grinnell had laid another Jonah upon the
Polaris.
    Whether due to that or not, cracks opened in the
Polarises
organization. As the
Polaris
readied herself to sail, the cook, one of the common seamen, and one of the firemen jumped ship and deserted. Wilson, the assistant engineer, also vanished. Apparently Wilson and the fireman found working under Emil Schuman too loathsome to bear even for three days. The steward turned out to be consistently drunk and was set on the beach. Last, the ship's carpenter, Nathan Coffin, fell ill with an inflammation of the lungs and was hospitalized when the ship sailed. But at the eleventh hour Tyson's special orders arrived, and he clambered aboard. At this time he simply accompanied Captain Hall at the captain's pleasure. He would have to wait for the arrival of the coal tender
Congress
to receive his appointment as assistant navigator.
    Below strength, the
Polaris
still steamed out of the Brooklyn Navy Yard on June 29 as the sun set over the land. The slanting rays of the sun flickering over the western landscape of buildings,trees, and squat hills fired the low-hanging clouds to the east. Tongues of crimson and orange licked along the underbellies of the nimbus and altocumulus clouds covering the harbor. So far, so good, many of the sailors sighed: Red sky at night, sailors' delight.
    Seventeen hours later the
Polaris
anchored at New London, Connecticut. The special stop was made to pick up Alvin Odell. A veteran of naval action during the Civil War, Odell came highly recommended to fill the slot of assistant engineer. John Herron and William Jackson signed aboard as steward and cook, respectively. Adding another fireman and common seaman brought the crew to full complement.
    Word also reached Hall that the carpenter, Nathan Coffin, had recovered from his illness and survived the navy doctors as well, no mean feat given the state of medical knowledge at that time. Coffin would join them in Greenland when the
Polaris
rendezvoused with the
Congress.
The newly graduated