Seppala Drives to Win!

There's a race on the Trail into Candle
With a Nome Sweepstakes team in the game --
Hear the rhythm and beat of the fast-flying feet
Of the dogs that have earned them a name!
But this contest is not for a record,
Neither cup nor a purse is the goal;
For Seppala, intent, on one mission is bent --
Of racing with Death for a Soul.

Some victories may fade and grow dimmer,
Some laurels no longer stay green;
But his undying race is the heartbreaking pace
Neck and neck with an entry unseen.
For at Dime there was crushed, in a moment,
Bobby Brown, well-beloved far and wide;
Whose life ebbing fast strikes the driver aghast,
As he faces his harrowing ride.

There's the broken and pain-tortured body
Lying heavy on Stevenson's lap.
There are unuttered fears, and his friends' bitter tears,
As they fasten each buckle and strap.
Then the swift-spoken word to the leader,
While as swiftly he answers the same:
"There's a race to be run and a stake to be won --
Come, Togo, live up to your name!"

After weary miles stretching to Candle,
There is skill and a hope for the best.
"Give all of your speed, taking never a heed
Of hunger and thirst, nor of rest."
They are dashing o'er limitless tundra,
Over depths where the ice menace lies;
And the glare of the sun, on that nerve-wracking run,
Is a flame to their half-blinded eyes.

There's the sting and the rage of the blizzard,
As the Arctic unleashes its gale;
There's the night falling gray at the end of the day,
And there's Death riding hard on their Trail.
Man's pluck, and the strength of a dog-team --
"On, Togo! We trust to your pace."
There's the flash of a light -- then there's Candle in sight --
And Seppala beats Death in the Race!

-- by Esther Birdsall Darling
1917, Nome, Alaska