ILL-FATED PREPARATION

It was a sweltering July day in Manhattan, 1933. Sweat trickled down the brows and necks of those who climbed the stairs to a 5th floor room in the Amherst Hotel. They entered the room petitioners of one kind or another. Men and women, Hispanic, Negro, and White, rich and poor, desperate and confident. Sometimes, great shouting came from behind the door. Other times, jovial laughter and the clink of glasses.

Eventually, 30 were chosen.

The lucky men gathered at the same hotel on the first of September of that year. As they trickled in, and were instructed to head post-haste to the SS Gabrielle, on Pier 74B. Some in suits, some in poor laborers clothes, some not even in that (for this was the Depression, and times were hard), they made their way to the mid-sized cargo ship. William Moore, clipboard in hand, greeted them and sent them off to Dr. Green, the medical officer, and then Peter Sykes, on whom their lives would depend.

After much bending over and coughing, they made their way to the out-fitting room.

"You just gotta understand, the ice wants to kill you. It's nothing personal. The ice wants to kill everything."

Dazed Africans simply needing a job were told about aircraft silk and reindeer fur. Measurements were taken. Equipment was tried on.

They made their way back to the hotel after a day of frenzied fittings and settle-in activity. Three of them, Brian, Paul, and Jeremiah (a Shaftoe, I'm sure you know a cousin of his), went in search of pleasing but illegal liquids. They were not disappointed, for Paul Kelley has connections in that area.

The next morning, the Rose Room at the hotel was filled at 8am sharp. Two large groups formed, along with a large number of men awkwardly staring at nothing. Eventually, Starkweather and Moore themselves entered, and called the meeting to order. After some team-fostering introductions, details of the expedition were divulged. The ship would be leaving on the 11th, traveling to Tasmania via the Panama Canal for a final supply run. From there, it would land on the Ross Ice Shelf; and a base camp constructed. The main purpose of the expedition is to find Lake's camp, and explore new territory around it. The ship would leave on the 1st of February--the Gabrielle waiting offshore the entire time.

The other shoe then dropped. Nothing had been loaded on the ship yet and so everyone's help would be needed to inspect things thoroughly before loading. Delicate items were to be carried on personally.

For the rest of the day, cargo was inspected and loaded. Things were a mess. Nothing was right. More often than not, everything had to be ordered again. The word `sabotage' began to be murmured worriedly.

At 4:30AM on the 3rd of September, an outraged set of screams woke the hotel. "MOORE! THAT DAMN WOMAN! MOORE! OPEN THIS DOOR!" A bleary Moore stepped out of the room in a robe, and was thrust a newspaper article. Words were exchanged, and doors were slammed, and as Starkweather stalked off, he shouted again. "And Moore? Get me a damn woman!" The newspaper article fluttered to the floor, forgotten.

It told of Acacia Lexington, aiming to be the first woman to set foot on the South Pole.

The next day, Starkweather was absent from breakfast, but the murmurs were louder. It was announced that there would be 3 woman joining the expedition, and that the departure had been moved up to the 9th.

That day brought more and more incorrect supplies. Gossip continued, with Lexington being mentioned in dark corners. The seasoned expedition travelers started shaking their heads worriedly.........

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