Renowned Adventurer Sets His Sights on the Bottom of the World
New York (AP)—World famous explorer James Starkweather announced today that he would lead a party of scientists and explorers into uncharted parts of the Antarctic continent this fall.
Starkweather, accompanied by geologist William Moore of Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts, intends to continue along the trail first blazed by the ill-fated Miskatonic University Expedition of 1930–31.
The Starkweather-Moore Expedition will set sail in September from New York City. Like their predecessors, they intend to use long-range aircraft to explore further into the South Polar wilderness than has ever been done before.
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For the last several months, the Starkweather-Moore Expedition has been in the news. Newspapers and radios feature occasional coverage about Starkweather and his plans. Recruitment has been accomplished by telephone or by telegram.
Jackson Edwards read with interest the stories about the upcoming expediton led by Starkweather and Moore. The news from the Miskatonic expedition a few years ago had fascinated Jackson and now with medical school behind him and a 3 year surgical residence, followed by marriage, family and decades of private practice stretching ahead of him, Jackson saw a chance for one grand adventure. Decision made, he quickly made his way to the Western Union office and drafted a telegram for the expedition leaders.
To: Starkweather & Moore
From: Jackson Edwards, M.D.
Re: Antarctic Expedition
Gentlemen, Would like apply position as expedition doctor STOP Finished top 10 class Johns Hopkins STOP Bachelor degree summa cum laude biology STOP Grew up North Dakota ranch so cold weather experienced STOP References available on request STOP Can leave immediately STOP Request response in care of Johns Hopkins med school STOP
Dot
TO: Starkweather & Moore
From: Peter Zuyev
I humbly solicit a place in your expedition STOP I can claim no scientific knowledge or great education STOP I am a Cossack of the Russian Steppes, and am accustomed to hard-ship STOP I rode with the Whites in the Siberian and Tran-Baikal campaigns STOP I can ride, shoot, and track STOP For the last three years I have been trapping and prospecting in the Canadian Rockies STOP Please post your response to the attention of Jean Valois, Yellowknife, Canada STOP
TO: Starkweather and Moore
FROM: Albert Samuel.
I ain't no good at this. STOP. I ain't got much book learnin'. STOP. I ain't even no fancy navy man with a uniform and a gun. STOP. I'm a damn good sailor, though. STOP. Been around the world. STOP. Twice. STOP. I can swing a fist, and ain't afraid of no fight, neither. STOP This might be my last berth. STOP. Been with the sea since I was twelve. STOP. Wanna go out in style. STOP.
I FITZSIMMONS INTERESTED IN JOINING YOUR EXPEDITION... STOP. PREPARED TO INVEST FINANCIALLY IN VENTURE... STOP. BRING EXPERIENCE WITH ELECTRICAL REPAIR, MECHANICAL REPAIR, NAVIGATION, AND CAN DRIVE, FLY OR SHOOT JUST ABOUT ANYTHING... STOP. PLEASE REPLY AT 12 BURRBURY HILL, CAMBRIDGE MA FOR AFFIRMATION... STOP.
I. fITZSIMMONS
DM Only
Isabelle has no intention of revealing that she is a she until after the expedition has began, and will take every precaution to keep from being prejudiced against.
The letter is written in a plain, simple hand on good quality paper.
Dear Mr. Starkweather,
I am writing to apply for a position in your Starkweather Moore Expedition to the Antarctic. I had the honor of serving on the City of New York under Rear Admiral Richard E. Byrd during his 1928 expedition, and helped establish his base camp on the Ross Ice Shelf. There I became well versed in snow shoeing, dog sledding, and served honorably enough that I was invited to return in 1929. I am proud to state that I was present when Sir Byrd landed his Trimotor after flying to the South Pole and back in eighteen hours. At the end of that summer I returned to New York, and was unable to return with Byrd for his final 1930 exploration due to family concerns.
I would be honored to provide assistance as an experienced polar explorer, and can provide several letters of recommendation.
Respectfully,
Gabriel Conroy
The Cossack broods in one of his favorite watering holes.
I don't know Jean, I might be too much of a peasant for this Antarctic Expedition. Is the Bull and Johnny Two Ravens still planning on prospecting Charlie Creek this summer?
TO: STARKWEATHER & MOORE
FROM: CURTIS WINTERS
HEARD EXPEDITION STILL LOOKING FOR PILOTS WITH POLAR EXPERIENCE STOP WAR EXPERIENCE STOP FLEW WITH ELLSWORTH AND AMUNDSEN IN 1925 EXPEDITION STOP ITALIA RESCUE IN 1928 STOP SKILLED WITH FIREARMS MACHINES DEMOLITIONS STOP RECOMMENDATIONS AVAILABLE STOP
Yo-de-la-de-hoo
A response reaches each of you perhaps a week after your telegram or letter is sent. The message is succinct, but spells out what you most desired: an invitation to be interviewed by Mr. Starkweather and Moore.
Dear Sir/Madam,
Thank you for your application to join the Starkweather Moore Expedition. We are gratified by your interest, and request your presence in New York City for a final interview. If still interested, please present yourself before the end of July at the Amherst Hotel on 44th Street in Manhattan, New York.
New York City in July of 1933 is simmering under a wave of heavy wet heat which wilts shirt collars and hat brims and makes everyone uncomfortable. Outdoors, an occasional fitful breeze shifts litter on the sidewalk; indoors, there is no relief at all.
The streets are clogged with black Renault Vivasports, Singer 9's, Chevrolet Eagles, and Morris Tens. The sidewalks are crammed with the jobless and destitute, as the effects of the Great Depression begin to truly be felt, and everywhere men stand with the curved backs and sloped shoulders of the desperate and defeated, staring out at the fortunate few who still stride to work with purpose and dignity.
The Amherst Hotel is a mid-sized five-story older building on the corner of 8th Avenue and 44th Street in Manhattan, two short blocks from Times Square, in a quiet business district.
The hotel lobby is small and dark, with oiled paneling and a pair of rather pallid potted palms by the door. The desk clerk, a thin, sallow fellow with black hair, nods eagerly and chatters away as he checks your name against a list of interviewees.
"Right you are, pal, you're expected on the fifth floor. Just head on up. The whole floor's been rented out by the Expedition, don't you know? Very flash. Please to meet ya, and if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask for me. Name's Tim. I'm on the desk days, eight to six."
A claustrophobic elevator of gilded brass and black iron rattles its way to the fifth floor, though a narrow staircase serves those who don't trust the elevator's antique machinery.
The main hallway of the fifth floor is well appointed, with a slightly worn carpet leading down the hall and delicate sconces of opaque white glass containing modern electric lights. A large wooden door stands slightly ajar at the end of the hall, allowing admittance to the presence of two men.
One of them is standing, a broad shouldered, aristocratic man with fine, wavy black hair and piercing dark eyes. Dressed in an immaculate suit replete with tie and pocket kerchief, he turns to the door as you enter and smiles broadly.
"Good afternoon. A potential candidate for the Expedition, I don't doubt? Do come in. It's a pleasure to meet you, a true pleasure." He approaches to clasp one of your hands with both of his, and shakes animatedly before turning to gesture at the seated gentleman who is only now slowly rising to his feet. "This is Mr. Moore, and I am Mr. Starkweather."
Mr. Moore is neatly groomed, his frame compact and slender, his face framed by his goatee and glasses. His expression is polite and neutral, and he makes no move to approach or shake hands. An incline of his head is all he offers, and then he sits once more, straightening his tweed jacket as he does so.
Misters Moore and Starkweather, pleased to meet you, Jackson says as he shakes hands with Starkweather. I'm Doctor Jackson Edwards from Johns Hopkins, please call me Jack. Thank you for seeing me.
Jackson takes the offered chair and sits down facing the two men. My credentials gentlemen, Jackson says as he passes a piece of paper to Starkweather. As you can see, I have just finished medical school. I believe that I could be an asset to your expedition as both a doctor and a biologist. I have arranged to delay my surgical residency by a year if selected to become part of your team. I am happy to answer any questions you may have.
Mr. Starkweather takes the paper and steps back to the desk, which he leans against as he glances over Jackson's credentials, skimming its contents before handing it to Moore.
"I see you attended a fine school. I myself graduated from Christ Church, Oxford, where I earned a 'Blue' for playing rugby against Cambridge." He says this almost carelessly, as if it's of no real importance to him. "Of course they asked me to stay in Oxford but I declined - I wanted to get out there and do something useful."
Starkweather pauses as he studies Jackson's frame. "You play any sports in school, Mr. Edwards? You look like you're no stranger to the outdoors."
Mr. Moore meanwhile, is carefully reading Jackson's paper, taking his time as he scrutinizes each line and detail, lips pursed in thought.
Mr. Starkweather takes the paper and steps back to the desk, which he leans against as he glances over Jackson's credentials, skimming its contents before handing it to Moore.
"I see you attended a fine school. I myself graduated from Christ Church, Oxford, where I earned a 'Blue' for playing rugby against Cambridge." He says this almost carelessly, as if it's of no real importance to him. "Of course they asked me to stay in Oxford but I declined - I wanted to get out there and do something useful."
Starkweather pauses as he studies Jackson's frame. "You play any sports in school, Mr. Edwards? You look like you're no stranger to the outdoors."
Mr. Moore meanwhile, is carefully reading Jackson's paper, taking his time as he scrutinizes each line and detail, lips pursed in thought.
At Hopkins, no. In high school sure. Football in the fall, basketball in the winter and baseball in the spring. Of course my school was so small all the boys had to play to be able to have a team. I'd say I was a pretty fair country boy player, especially baseball. I played second and thought I was going to be the next Rogers Hornsby, that is until those boys starting throwing curves. I have to admit, never could hit the curve, Jackson finishes with a smile. Lucky for me, surgery doesn't require hitting a curveball.
Isabelle takes a deep breath before entering the room. Maybe if I pretend there is nothing unusual about a woman adventurer, they'll follow suit.
"Hi. Isabelle Fitzsimmon's the name. If it can be driven, flown, or sailed chances are I can handle it, and then fix it if it's broken. I can shoot a rifle, and know my way around the wilderness. And most importantly I can pay my own way".
Curtis takes the train up from Washington and arrives at the hotel having gone from nasty heat and humidity to more nasty heat and humidity. "Nice to meet you Tim. I'm Curtis. Whole floor, eh? How many folks do we have up there besides Starkweather & Moore?"
After chatting with Tim a bit longer, Winters heads for the elevator. He raps softly on the door at the end of the hall and exchanges pleasantries with the organizers. "Greetings. Nice to meet both of you. Very excited about the prospect of this Expedition gentlemen. Learned to fly in the war, but have to say my experiences the last few years in the north have been even more challenging. I'm hoping my skills might be a good addition to your team."
Starkweather listens to Jackson recount his sporting past with a fierce grin of affirmation, nodding sharply and letting out a bark of laughter at his hopes of being the next Hornsby.
"I hear you, my boy. I too dreamed of glories beyond accounting whenever I took the field, but life has required more meaningful ventures from me than simply striving against another team."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pipe and rolled up bag of tobacco. "Now, where we're to venture - those deathless climes, as some poet or other put it - you may indeed be thrown a curveball by Mother Nature herself. How far does your medical knowledge extend to the dangers posed by the Antarctic? Frostbite? Snow blindness? Hypothermia? Have you dealt with these, and know how to treat them?"
Starkweather busies himself with loading his pipe, but shoots Jackson a sharp glance to check his expression as he does so.
Isabelle's reception is markedly different than that which the men receive. Upon opening the door, Starkweather breaks off his conversation with Moore, and turns to her with raised eyebrows. His expression immediately becomes respectfully curious, as if prepared to graciously give her directions to her correct destination.
But as Isabelle speaks her piece, no doubt determined and perhaps in a bit of a rush, Starkweather's expression turns to one of incredulity, followed rapidly by a paternal, even patronizing expression of exasperation as he waits for her to finish her delivery. Shaking his head, he's about to answer when she utters her last sentence: And most importantly, I can pay my own way.
This draws his attention with a snap, and his expression immediately becomes calculating. Rubbing at his freshly shaved jaw, he studies her openly, eyes literally rising from her feet to her eyes, and then glances sidelong at Moore, whose eyebrows are raised high in surprise.
"Well, Ms. Fitzsimmons. We do appreciate your coming to our hotel, and thank you for your interest in the Expedition. But this journey will be no place for a woman, especially not a young one such as yourself."
Starkweather breaks off, clearly wrestling with his own thoughts. "Perhaps you don't understand what's involved. We'll be traveling by ship to the Antarctic, which will by necessity involve extremely close quarters with sailors, scientists, pilots - men of all stripes. Privacy will be non-existent. All hands will be put to work, from scrubbing the deck to maintaining watch at night."
He speaks slowly, as if she were a precocious child that has evinced unusual interest in how to operate a dangerous piece of machinery. Overriding any response she might attempt to make, he plows on.
"And that is the easy part! The land we are to explore is unforgiving, alien to our kind, and dangerous in the extreme. Countless past expeditions have lost men to the icy clutches of the cold. Privation, hardship, and brutally hard work are all that you can expect."
He scrutinizes her, leaning forward at the waist, hands in his pockets. "Do you really think this sounds like an environment fit for a woman?"
Starkweather's grip is firm and vigorous, and he pumps Curtis' arm as if they were closing on a deal in which Curtis might be getting the raw end of the bargain.
"A pilot, eh? Capital. We've already signed on two pilots, Douglas Halperin and Ralph Dewitt, but by god, the very success of this expedition will depend on having experienced, reliable pilots that can navigate those wicked polar winds and take us to Lake's camp at the foot of the Miskatonic Range."
Starkweather steps back to lean against Moore's table, and gestures for Curtis to sit in a leather upholstered chair. "You said 'up North', Mr. Winters. Care to be more specific? Where and what have you flown?"
Starkweather listens to Jackson recount his sporting past with a fierce grin of affirmation, nodding sharply and letting out a bark of laughter at his hopes of being the next Hornsby.
"I hear you, my boy. I too dreamed of glories beyond accounting whenever I took the field, but life has required more meaningful ventures from me than simply striving against another team."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pipe and rolled up bag of tobacco. "Now, where we're to venture - those deathless climes, as some poet or other put it - you may indeed be thrown a curveball by Mother Nature herself. How far does your medical knowledge extend to the dangers posed by the Antarctic? Frostbite? Snow blindness? Hypothermia? Have you dealt with these, and know how to treat them?"
Starkweather busies himself with loading his pipe, but shoots Jackson a sharp glance to check his expression as he does so.
Jackson smiles and nods as Starkweather asks his questions about dealing with the dangers of the Antarctic. Well, Mr. Starkweather, folks in the rest of the 48 think of North Dakota as the Antarctic of the states. I know that it's not, but at least after growing up there, cold weather isn't something that's shocking to my system.
Jackson's face grows serious as he answers the questions as if he as being quizzed by one of his professors. Frostbite? Rule 1 is prevention. No exposed skin. Layers of clothing. If frostbite does occur, slowly apply indirect warmth to area. No rubbing and definitely no rubbing it with snow. That an old wife's tale. Snow blindness. Again, number 1 rule is prevention. Everyone must wear tinted goggles. If blindness does occur the optic nerve must have a chance to recover. Keep patient in a dark room, if no dark room is available then wrap eyes in guaze and cover with light proof cloth. Hypothermia. Same rule 1. If hypothermia does occur must raise internal body temperature. Submerging in warm water is fastest, if warm water is not available then bundle in blankets.
Starkweather listens with an increasingly distracted air, nodding occasionally but blinking and seeming to look through Jackson by the end of his succinct explanation of how best to handle and treat polar maladies.
"Well!" Starkweather pushes off the desk where he'd been leaning, "It does indeed sound like you know what you're talking about. Capital! A medical man never goes amiss on an expedition like this. Now tell me, Mr. Edwards, can you sing?"
Moore shakes his head in a tidy, minimalist fashion as he looks back down at Jackson's paperwork, but Starkweather looks expectantly at Jackson, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, I don't mean any Caruso stuff, but can you shout a bit with the boys?"
"I can work as hard as any man, and to question a woman's toughness is to disregard the pleasure of Childbirth". "There is nothing I can say to you to change your mind... so I make this offer. Give me a test. Give me a way to prove myself, then if I can't hold up to your test, I will bother you no more.".
"Now, now," says Mr. Starkweather, raising his hands in a placating manner. "Let's not be so hasty. I never said you couldn't change my mind. I simply... I simply wished to ensure that you were completely aware of what you were asking to be part of."
Starkweather bites down on the stem of his pipe as he glances back at Moore again. Then, in a different tone, almost hesitatingly, he asks, "You said something about paying your way. I assume you were quite serious? The Expedition is always in need of extra funding. If you will forgive me for being so direct, what manner of sum would you be willing to contribute?"
Hmmm...I can sing loud but not too well...I did always like this song...
Jackson begins to loudly and not too far off-key sing...
Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts
They had a quarrel one day,
Johnny he vowed that he would leave her
Said he was going away,
He's never coming home, etc.
Jackson trails off and looks expectantly at Starkweather with a grin on his face. Any specific requests?
Winters returns the handshake with his own firm grip and smiles at the interest, sitting in the chair and leaning back with a leg across is knee. "Learned to fly in the Great War. Started out with in a Curtiss flying boat, but had the good fortune to get upgraded to S.E. 5a in 1918. Sure raised some hell with the Germans once I had a proper fighting plane. Picked up a few other talents that might be useful in a pinch. Creativity was a useful skill in the Army Air Service." He pauses for a moment and leans forward, "But post war is probably more your interest. Spent a few years flying for the Post Office Department into all sorts of crazy places, mostly small towns in the mountains out west. Made a little money flying in a few barn-storming shows too. Sure made for some wild stories. Then in 1924 I heard from a buddy that Roald Edmundsen and Lincoln Ellsworth were looking for pilots for a try on the North Pole. I'm sure you've heard the tale. Flew a pair of Dornier-Wal flying boats. We were well-prepared, but had to abandon due to mechanical problems. Had quite the time getting back home, but I must say that I learned a lot about surviving in the ice and cold before we found a ship to help get us home. A couple years later I was one of the pilots who helped with the Airship Italia rescue." He shakes his head. "That was quite the adventure too." Uncrossing his legs, he sits up and puts a hand on his chin. "What you've got planned isn't going to be easy. You'll need pilots with experience in bad spots who won't panic when things go wrong. And things will go wrong no matter how well you plan."
Starkweather's grin is approving, though whether he's encouraged by Jackson's simple willingness to sign or if he appreciates his actual voice is debatable.
"Excellent. That's quite sufficient, though I do hope to hear more of those verses once we're underway and on the ice. One must always look out for the corps d'espirt on a voyage like this, and a willingness to rub elbows with the crew is absolutely vital."
Starkweather's grin becomes almost fierce as he chomps down on the stem of his pipe and stares at Jackson. "This expedition is to take us beyond the borders of mankind's furthest explorations thus far. We are to venture into the polar extremes, and see what no other men have seen before. We are more than explorers, my good man, we are pioneers! Others shall surely follow in our footsteps, but we, we brave few, we shall have the honor - nay, the glory! Of seeing what the Miskatonic expedition failed to see. We are making history here, Mr. Edwards, and our names shall be carved into the very block of stone on which the likes of Wellington, Julius and Caesar, and other such greats have been immortalized."
Starkweather strides across the room to Jackson and extends his hand. "Will you join us?"
Starkweather beams at Curtis as he speaks with what almost looks like pride in his accomplishments, as if capturing Curtis for the expedition will only serve to further enhance his own personal glory and accomplishments. He nods easily in time with Curtis' words, glancing occasionally at the silent Moore, right up until the very last few sentences, at which his expression darkens considerably.
"Well, of course we can't expect fair weather while we're there, but nor do we want men who are prone to gloomy predictions. You will find, Mr. Winters, that my experience will most definitely out balance any of the vicissitudes of fate, and that we shall not only be amply stocked, funded, and prepared, but that the talented men who are to accompany us south will ensure that our venture is executed flawlessly."
For a moment Starkweather simply glowers at Curtis, but then his expression changes like the sun rising from behind the clouds. "And having a man of your skill and experience will only help to make it so. You flew with Roald, hey? Now that's an honor. Any man that was good for Amundsen is good for me."
He grins and relaxes again. "Tell me, Mr. Winters. Do you play any musical instruments? Can you pluck a banjo, as they say here in the States? We're to be crammed chin and foot in the same vessel for months. A little conviviality goes a long way in such conditions."
Winters slaps his knee and says, "Of course, sir. With sufficient planning, resources and talent, we ought to be able to overcome anything." He gives the final question some thought, "Well, there were a few harmonicas back in the barracks in Europe and I tried one once or twice, but I suppose rhythm has been more my talent. A couple sticks don't take up too much space and drums are easily improvised from a variety of materials. Perhaps I can provide the beat for those with the banjos and harmonicas."
Starkweather's clearly won over by the knee slap, if anything else, and he nods encouragingly as Curtis muses over his musical background.
"Excellent. I'm looking for willingness more than anything, so if you're amenable to pitching in when the boys look to liven up that polar night, than you're a man after my own heart."
Starkweather's grin becomes almost fierce as he chomps down on the stem of his pipe and stares at Curtis. "This expedition is to take us beyond the borders of mankind's furthest explorations thus far. We are to venture into the polar extremes, and see what no other men have seen before. We are more than explorers, my good man, we are pioneers! Others shall surely follow in our footsteps, but we, we brave few, we shall have the honor - nay, the glory! Of seeing what the Miskatonic expedition failed to see. We are making history here, Mr. Edwards, and our names shall be carved into the very block of stone on which the likes of Wellington, Julius and Caesar, and other such greats have been immortalized."
Starkweather strides across the room to Jackson and extends his hand. "Will you join us?"
Jackson shakes Starkweather's hand firmly and with a big smile on his face says I'd be honored to join the expedition sir! He nods at Mr. Moore and adds I look forward to working with you sir.
Jackson turns back to Starkweather, We will need medical supplies. Has the expedition already arranged for those? If so, may I check the list and, if not, may I give you a list of suggested items?
Curtis stands and extends his hand, delivering a firm handshake. "Yes, sir. It is quite an honor to be selected and it would be a thrill to fly over and walk upon lands where no man has ever set foot. Thank you."
After years in the Canadian Rockies, Zuyev is a little out of sorts surrounded by this civilized opulence.
in heavily accented English I am not a learned man. But I am a survivor. I know the snow and the ice. I suffer hardship without complaint. My loyalty, when given, is complete and total. You will forgive the superstition of a Cossack, but I believe I have a destiny to be fulfilled with this expedition.
"Now, now," says Mr. Starkweather, raising his hands in a placating manner. "Let's not be so hasty. I never said you couldn't change my mind. I simply... I simply wished to ensure that you were completely aware of what you were asking to be part of."
Starkweather bites down on the stem of his pipe as he glances back at Moore again. Then, in a different tone, almost hesitatingly, he asks, "You said something about paying your way. I assume you were quite serious? The Expedition is always in need of extra funding. If you will forgive me for being so direct, what manner of sum would you be willing to contribute?"
"Well I know well what's in store, and look forward to it". "I could possibly donate a fairly substantial sum of money myself, however my father is William Fitzsimmon, I'm sure you've heard of him, and he is always looking for exciting investments. If you accept me for the mission, I'll arrange a meeting to discuss this with him".
Credit Rating.
Starkweather's grip is as firm as before, and he pumps Jackson's hand energetically before relinquishing his hand.
"Medical supplies are well in order. Dr. Greene - you will be meeting him soon - has put in his requests, but I'm sure we can review his orders and see if you have any suggestions."
Starkweather turns to Moore. "Do you have the manifests on hand? No? Well, we'll mail you a list of the medical supplies, and if you have anything to amend, simply respond with your suggestions listed. Good?"
Starkweather ushers Jackson toward the door. "Now, the expedition will leave the docks of New York aboard the S.S. Gabrielle in early September. Return to this hotel on September 5th, and we will see to all further details at that point. Agreed? Good!"
"That's the spirit!" Starkweather's grip is just as firm, and he pumps Curtis' arm as if trying to draw oil from the ground. "Who knows what we shall discover? What wonders that shall beggar the imagination of mankind? We are a select party, and by God, we shall reach out and touch the greatest mysteries that yet remain on this ever shrinking planet. Fame, fortune, and scientific discoveries - they are all ours for the taking!"
Starkweather beams at Curtis and Moore, and then nods, as if getting down to business. "Now, the S.S. Gabrielle departs from the docks here in New York in mid September. Be a good fellow and arrive on September 5th. You can present yourself here at this hotel, and we shall work out all further details from there. Agreed?"
Starkweather inhales pensively through his nose, and holds his breath as he considers Isabelle, hands on his hips. Lips pursed, he glances back at Moore, who sits with an inscrutable expression.
"Well." He blows on his breath. "William Fitzsimmon, hey? That's a name that will open doors. If he's willing to write a check underwriting the participation of his little daughter on such a fraught voyage, well. Can't say I would speak highly of his parenting skills, but dollars speak for themselves. Let's arrange a meeting. You probably don't need to attend, my dear, as we men shall be discussing financial matters. Is he here in New York? If so, the sooner we meet the better. If we reach an agreement, then - yes. I will allow you to accompany us on this expedition."
Starkweather looks worried. "Though I can't guarantee your safety or comfort. You will have to forswear all the niceties of civilization the moment you step on the S.S. Gabrielle."
Starkweather's eyebrows rise up to almost humorous heights as he considers the Cossack. He blinks, glances back at Moore, and then shoves his hands in his pockets and sticks out his lower lip, studying the newcomer through shrewdly narrowed eyes.
"A Russian? My dear fellow, what are you doing here in New York? It must have been quite the adventure that brought you to these shores."
Starkweather furrows his brow. "What's your name, my good man? Are you looking to sign up as a camp crew worker, or do you claim to have actual polar experience? Do you fancy yourself a polar guide?"
Very good sir, and thank you again. I look forward to meeting Dr. Greene. I will be back in New York by the end of August. Until then I can be reached at my family's ranch in North Dakota. Jackson writes contact information on a piece of paper torn out of a small notebook that he had in his jacket pocket and hands it to Moore before he leaves the suite.
My name is Peter Zuyev. I know snow, ice, the mountains. I can track, ride, and shoot. I can set broken limbs. I can give orders and take them. I'm prepared to serve this expedition in any way I can.
Starkweather listens carefully, his expression still inscrutable.
"Interesting. You sound... versatile. Tell me, Mr. Zuyev. What attracts you to this expedition? We are traveling as far from Russia and the lands you know as can be imagined. And..."
Starkweather looks moderately uncomfortable in voicing his next question. "Are you a socialist? Did you partake in the revolutions that have shaken Russia these past few years?"
Starkweather inhales pensively through his nose, and holds his breath as he considers Isabelle, hands on his hips. Lips pursed, he glances back at Moore, who sits with an inscrutable expression.
"Well." He blows on his breath. "William Fitzsimmon, hey? That's a name that will open doors. If he's willing to write a check underwriting the participation of his little daughter on such a fraught voyage, well. Can't say I would speak highly of his parenting skills, but dollars speak for themselves. Let's arrange a meeting. You probably don't need to attend, my dear, as we men shall be discussing financial matters. Is he here in New York? If so, the sooner we meet the better. If we reach an agreement, then - yes. I will allow you to accompany us on this expedition."
Starkweather looks worried. "Though I can't guarantee your safety or comfort. You will have to forswear all the niceties of civilization the moment you step on the S.S. Gabrielle."
"I find civilization to be over-rated. A bit dreary and boring". "I'm sure father will meet with you... but you might have better luck saving my going on the mission as a surprise. Father so loves surprises".
Without asking, Isabelle takes a cigarette out of her purse, lights it, and begins to smoke, crossing her legs, and bouncing her foot as she does so.
Zuyev glowers somewhat angrily at Starkweather.
I was a soldier in the Tsar's cavalry. I fought the Reds across the breadth of Siberia.
He slaps his leg.
I will walk with a limp to the end of my days thanks to a Bolshevik bullet.
Curtis nods, "Agreed sir. I very much look forward to the journey. Is there anything I should do to help with your preparations or will a timely arrival on September 5th be sufficient?"
Starkweather simply stares at Isabelle with a blank look that betrays his complete lack of knowing how to respond. After a moment he coughs, gathers himself and frowns.
"Well, I must say, I'm quite the proponent of 'civilization' as you put it. It's to both advance knowledge and the reach of 'civilization' that we strive to penetrate the last few bastions of the unknown. But be that as it may."
He coughs again, not due to the smoke, but simply as a means of gathering himself. "Assuming my meeting with your father goes well, you can expect to receive a formal invitation via telegram. You will be expected to present yourself here at the Amherst Hotel by September 5th. I will warn you one last time, should you join our venture, you should expect to experience hardship, a complete lack of decorum and -"
Mr. Moore cuts in, his quiet, precise voice stopping Starkweather's gathering steam. "Come, James. The young lady has clearly made up her mind, and is aware of what the expedition entails."
Mr. Starkweather scowls, and then sighs. "Well, I did my best to warn you."
He steps forward and extends his hand. "A provisional welcome, then, Ms. Fitzsimmon. If all goes well, we should see you again soon."
Mr. Starkweather's eyes go wide with admiration, and then he breaks out his pipe. "Do you smoke, Mr. Zuyev? I have some fine South Carolina tobacco I'd be happy to share."
He spends a minute lighting his pipe, and the inhales and blows out a cloud of oily, fragrant blue smoke.
"So. You are clearly a man of resources. A soldier, and with fine, traditional values. Your experience in Siberia will stand us in good stead. Still, you didn't answer my question. Why this Expedition? Why the Antarctic?"
"Come September 5th, there will plenty for us all to do." Starkweather doesn't sound all that thrilled. "Reviewing invoices, manifests, checking our cargo, loading the S.S. Gabrielle, and your case, taking the planes out for test flights and ensuring all our machinery is in tip top shape. Don't you worry, Mr. Winters. Enjoy the summer, for come the fall, we shall all be working like the dickens."
Starkweather grins. "Until then, sir!"
Taking the offered tobacco.
I've seen much blood-shed, much savagery. I've done things no man could be proud of. I would like an opportunity to do something that betters man, something I could be proud of; something noble, something that adds to the sum of human understanding.
"Understood," says Starkweather. "Well, you've come to the right company, my good man. We'll achieve wonders that shall amaze our species, and our names shall ring like clarion calls across the halls of history."
Starkweather chomps on his pipe and nods, as if getting down to business. "Now, the S.S. Gabrielle departs from the docks here in New York in mid September. Be a good fellow and arrive on September 5th. You can present yourself here at this hotel, and we shall work out all further details from there. Agreed? Good!"
It is September, 1933. The New Deal passed during the spring, but swarms of unemployed workmen still haunt the streets. Artist and philanthropist Nicholas Roerich is to host a $100-a-plate charity dinner for drought-stricken Chinese in two weeks, while thousands starve in New York State alone. Just down 34th Street the new Empire State Building looms. A couple of months ago Primo Camera knocked out Jack Sharkey here in New York City, in six rounds to take the heavyweight title. The New York Giants lead the National League. Monopoly is a popular new parlor game. The New York Society for the Suppression of Vice is preparing its "friend of the court" brief for the upcoming trial United States v. One Book Entitled "Ulysses. " Prohibition will be repealed soon…
And tied up on the north side of Pier 74 along the Hudson River shore of New York City is the SS Gabrielle, her stern to the city, her bow to the open sea.
For the last several months the Starkweather-Moore Expedition has been in the news. Newspapers and radios feature occasional coverage about Starkweather and his plans. Equipment and supplies have apparently been trickling into the expedition warehouses for weeks, and the nation is breathlessly anticipating the Expedition's imminent departure.
The four of your arrive in New York by various means, and make your way to the Amherst Hotel. Arriving at about the same appointed hour, the four of you converge on the hotel and see three men lounging before the front door, large cameras with great big expansive flashes afixed to the top hanging from their necks. Their suits are drab and sloppily worn, their hats sitting on the back of their heads, and they speak amiably in low voices to each other as they smoke crooked cigarettes.
As the four of you approach the hotel's front door, the three men glance in your direction, mark your intention to enter, and snap to attention.
The first, a short man with wiry red hair, steps up close, camera held at the ready. "Hoy there, you gents signing up for the Starkweather Expedition? Hey? May I ask your names? Do you really think the Expedition has a shot where Pabodie failed?"
His voice is a machine gun patter, delivering the words in a furious tumble. His two friends spread to the sides, each calling out different questions of similar nature.
Jackson is tanned, fit and rested after spending a month in the sun working on the ranch. He sees but doesn't really take note of what's going on in the country as he makes the long train trip from Minot's small station, through Fargo, Minneapolis, Detroit, Chicago, Buffalo and finally to Grand Central station in Manhattan. Instead, his mind is full of excitement about the upcoming expedition combined with a bit of worry as he realizes that he is one of only two doctors that will have to keep the group alive and well thousands of miles away from civilization in literally one of the toughest environments on earth.
Arriving in New York, he grabs his duffel bag containing his clothing, his small medical kit and a picture of his fiancé and heads to the Amherst for his date with destiny. Jackson's musings are interrupted when a man with a camera steps into his path as Jackson prepares to enter the hotel and begins to pepper him with questions which are soon joined by variations of the same questions by two other similarly dressed gentlemen. Excuse me please, Jackson says as he pushes towards the door and ignoring the questions enters the peace of the hotel lobby.
Looking around the lobby, Jackson spots a hotel employee and asks, is Mr. Starkweather in the same suite as before? Once he confirms Starkweather's location, Jackson makes his way to the suite and knocks on the door...