Curtis stayed in New York. Having been on polar expeditions in the past, he relished the last immersion in the sea of humanity that the city represented before heading off for the isolation of the cruise and expedition. He smiles broadly upon seeing the press staking out the hotel and approaches confidently, flashing a smile for the cameras. "Curtis Winters, pilot, arriving for the expedition. Of course, we'll succeed. Starkweather and Moore have put together a top notch crew. They know what it takes." Feigning like he will stand and continue to expound upon the upcoming trip, Winters instead darts through a gap between the men and enters the hotel. Knowing the reporters will probably soon follow, he heads straight for the front desk, "Those reporters are swarming already? Just the beginning, isn't it? Curtis Winters. Checking in for Starkweather-Moore expedition. Be a good man and let's make this quick before they catch up with me." He slips the front desk a $5 bill. "Do me a favor and tell them I'm staying at another hotel altogether if you don't mind."
Zuyev goes to the nearest Eastern Orthodox church, to give thanks for this opportunity for redemption, and to pray for the success of the expedition.
What he wouldn't give for some vodka now!
The hotel lobby is exactly as you saw it last, small and dark, with oiled paneling and the same pair of rather pallid potted palms still clinging to life by the door. The desk clerk, the same thin sallow fellow with black hair, nods eagerly and chatters away while he gets the room keys. All of you are assigned rooms on the fourth floor.
"Here ya go, pal," says the clerk.
"Fourth floor, turn left at the top. You got the Professor right next door, though your boss, he's one floor up, on five. Fire escape's the end of the hall, if it gets too hot for ya. You need anything, just ask for Tim. Remember me from the summer? I sure remember you gents. I'm on desk days, eight to six."
"Yessir," he adds, "it sure is nice to see all you fellas here at last. Makes a guy feel like he's a part of the whole thing, y'know? Boy, what I wouldn't give to go off exploring the world. What a life! 'Course the wife'd never stand for it, me going off that way and all. No sir, never in a million years. You got kids? Boy, I bet yer kids are as proud as punch. . . ."
"Hey-that reminds me-I gotta note for you here. The Professor says to give one uh these to each of ya. Here ya go!"
The clerk hands each of you a short note of welcome and rings for a bellhop to carry your bags to your rooms. The notes are all the same, written in a cramped meticulous hand.
"Welcome to New York. Please be so good as to join us at the ship as soon as you have freshened up. SS Gabrielle, Pier 74-B, 12th Avenue at 34th, next to the Italian Royal Mail berth.
Regards,
Moore"
Curtis chuckles at the question about kids, "Kids, no. I'm not the best role model. Thanks for the message. I'll see you soon." Curtis unfolds the note and makes his way up his room. Freshen up? Not much need for that. I guess its time to get the hard work underway. In his room, he changes into some comfortable clothes and then heads back down to the lobby, making sure to lose the journalists before heading for the ship.
This is really going to happen Jackson thinks as he scans the note that the clerk handed him. After a quick trip up to his room to clean up and put on fresh clothes, Jackson heads out of the hotel, going out the back way to avoid the reporters. He enjoys watching the crowds as he walks to Pier 74.
Once Jackson reaches the pier, he locates the good ship Gabrielle and goes in search of either Moore or Starkweather or both.
***
It takes only a few minutes by taxi to travel the 13 blocks to the Gabrielle's berth.
The Hudson River docks are a place of constant motion. Smells of sea water, oil, fish, and damp wood are mixed with the sweat of the stevedores, and fill the air. Dozens of ships of all sizes and descriptions are tied up here, in various stages of loading or unloading. Huge cranes swing heavy loads overhead, and the ground is littered with cast-off packing materials, broken glass, and bits of metal.
You are bumped into and sworn at by the stevedores...
“Hey buddy! You blind or something?!?!?”
who stride off without looking back. It takes nimble footwork to avoid being knocked over or shouted at by one of the dockhands.
Tied up on the north side of Pier 74 along the Hudson River shores of New York City is the Gabrielle, its bow facing out.
On the south side of the pier, the brightly lit and well-maintained facilities of the Italian Royal Mail line make the expedition's berth seem shabby and unimportant. You pull up at the foot of West 34th Street, and cross over Twelfth Avenue to the pier shed front. A small sign has been stenciled and nailed up near one of the two large doors.
STARKWEATHER-MOORE ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION
PLEASE CHECK IN WITH GUARD
NO SMOKING
An overweight Port Authority guard in the small office at the door checks to see if each person's name corresponds to one on his clipboard. Once approved, you are told to "go on in, bud."
The pier extends six hundred feet into the river, and is eighty feet wide. A long narrow shed runs down the center of the pier, fifty feet wide and thirty feet high in the center. The shed's interior is piled with cargo-boxes, bales, drums, and pallets, in stacks fifteen feet high, running back from the outdoor work area in three long rows with narrow aisles in between.
A railway track runs along each side of the pier between the shed and the ship. Boxcars stand here and there on the tracks next to large open doors. By day, crews of stevedores stream up and down ramps between the boxcars and the shed, shifting cargo into the interior or moving it onto pallets and nets to be lifted upwards into the Gabrielle's holds.
You approach the Gabrielle itself.
The Gabrielle is 440 feet long and 45 feet across, rising about 20 feet out of the water. The superstructure rises three decks up off the main deck; to fore and storeboard, the forecastle and aftercastle rise up one deck.
You can already tell that the trip to Antarctica is going to be cramped.
Climbing the gangway up, and dodging various maritime types who all seem to be in a hurry to go up or down the gangway, you come up on top and stand upon the Gabrielle's deck.
As you come up, a strong-looking rangy man in his early 30s waves over to you and walks up. He looks like he's a hurry and speaks quickly.
“Hello gents. First Officer Turlow at your service. Welcome to the Gabrielle, which is where I reckon you're going to be spending a lot of time if you're part of the expedition, which I believe you are. I think you're looking for Dr. Moore? He's in the mess hall.”
He points in the direction of the door into the ship's superstructure, which rises three decks off the main deck amidships not far from you.
“Right in there. The mess is the first thing you'll see. Get some coffee and talk to your employer."
Jackson quickly follows the directions to the mess looking around in excitement at everything that he sees as this is his first visit to a real ship (he has done a bit of sailing on the Chesapeake with school friends but their sailboats don't compare at all to something like the Gabrielle).
Spotting Dr. Moore, Jackson grabs a cup of black coffee and then walks to Moore to let him know that Jackson has arrived and is ready to be put to work.
Zuyev remembers his first sea voyage, aboard the decrepit Italian steamer that took, him, and his fellow defeated Whites from Vladivostok; the beginning of his exile. Sighing, he climbs the gangway.