. AN ARTIST IN THE FROZEN ZONE 



We could only remain a certain length of time, for fear 

 of being frozen in for the whole winter, as the ice was 

 making fast. The wind almost blew the tent down during 

 our preparations. It was impossible to keep the oil stoves 

 lighted, rain and snow fell, and uncertain light made work- 

 ing most difficult. Yet here was my chance; the Eskimo, 

 shivering despite the blankets wrapped around him, was 

 standing in position. My plan was to get as much of 

 him at one casting as possible, for it was the last chance 

 of the season. A thick wall of clay was built around 

 him. Mr. Figgins and myself painted him all over with 

 vaseline. Pail after pail of plaster was mixed and poured 

 over the shivering body; the dust from the barrel as the 

 plaster was shoveled out filled the tent and made us look 

 like millers. I believe the chattering Eskimo was prom- 

 ised a gun to stand this dose. 



Five pails had been mixed and we had to hurry. It was 

 like feeding torpedo boilers. Slowly the white fluid rose 

 around the Eskimo. Our backs ached; perspiration 

 dripped from our brows and froze. Outside the gale was 

 furious, for the wind had risen and we were having bad 

 weather. The work on the meteorite occupied all the 

 attention of every one else. I saw that I should need 

 more help ere the plaster reached the shoulders. In went 

 pail after pail. I was trying to speak Eskimo words, 

 English — anything to keep the model quiet. Figgins also 

 tried Eskimo. I called for some one to give me a hand, 

 but no one heard. Suddenly I saw Figgins throw his arms 

 around the lower part of the figure, as the beautiful plaster 

 began to ooze out. I frantically threw myself around it 

 also and hugged on the other side. Meanwhile the Eskimo 

 commenced shouting something, which brought some of 

 the tribe to the tent. They poked their heads through 

 the tent flap, giggled, laughed, and kept on laughing. 



At this moment I felt that unless I got help, the whole 

 thing would fall apart. I shouted "Help!" twice, then 

 "Bear a hand, quick!" This brought five of the sailors 

 and Captain Bartlett, who on the instant burst out laugh- 

 ing to see Figgins, who was six feet tall, and myself, four 

 feet four inches, spread out like eagles on the ground 

 with our arms around the mass of man, clay and plaster. 



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