The Siege and Conquest of the North Pole
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Title: The Siege and Conquest of the North Pole
Author: George Bryce
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF THE NORTH POLE ***
THE SIEGE AND CONQUEST
OF THE NORTH POLE
THE
SIEGE AND CONQUEST
OF THE
NORTH POLE
BY
GEORGE BRYCE, L.R.C.P. & S. (EDIN.)
L O N D O N
GIBBINGS & COMPANY LIMITED
18 BURY STREET, W.C.
1910
PREFACE
My chief object in compiling this work has been to supply a brief
account of the main efforts which have been made to reach the North
Pole. The subject is now so extensive that few have the opportunity of
covering the whole ground. While the exciting and specially interesting
incidents have not been omitted, the book aims at giving the reader an
intelligent idea of the equipment and other means by which the work of
exploration has been carried on.
The many expeditions which have set out to find a north-west or a
north-east passage do not come within the scope of the book, except when
they have had some special bearing on the struggle for the Pole.
Those who may wish to pursue the subject further by consulting the
original authors can be assured that no works of fiction relate greater
deeds of heroism than are found in the records of Arctic exploration;
and that while they may satisfy their love for the adventurous they will
add something to their geographical knowledge.
It is hoped that the maps may be of considerable assistance in enabling
the reader to follow the narrative. The spelling of geographical and
other names is generally that adopted by the authors of the original
works.
GEORGE BRYCE.
BIRMINGHAM, _December 1909_.
CONTENTS AND LIST OF MAPS
I. PARRY’S EXPEDITION OF 1827
II. KANE’S EXPEDITION (1853, ’54, ’55)
III. EXPEDITION COMMANDED BY DR. HAYES IN 1860−61
IV. THE GERMAN EXPEDITION (1869−70)
V. VOYAGE OF THE _POLARIS_ (1871−73)
VI. THE AUSTRO-HUNGARIAN EXPEDITION (1872−74)
VII. THE BRITISH EXPEDITION OF 1875−76
VIII. THE VOYAGE OF THE _JEANNETTE_ (1879−81)
IX. GREELY’S EXPEDITION (1881−84)
X. THE NORWEGIAN POLAR EXPEDITION (1893−96)
XI. SVERDRUP’S EXPEDITION (1898−1902)
XII. ITALIAN EXPEDITION (1899−1900)
XIII. PEARY’S EXPEDITIONS (1886−1909)
XIV. DR. COOK’S EXPEDITION (1907−9)
MAPS
1. THE ARCTIC REGIONS
2. CHART OF SMITH SOUND AND KENNEDY CHANNEL
3. CHART OF PART OF EAST GREENLAND
4. KAISER FRANZ-JOSEF LAND IN 1874
5. CHART OF GREENLAND AND ELLESMERE ISLAND
6. FRANZ-JOSEF LAND
7. CHART OF SVERDRUP’S DISCOVERIES
8. CHART OF NORTHERN PART OF GREENLAND
9. CHART OF NORTH POLAR REGIONS
GLOSSARY OF ARCTIC TERMS
_Beset_, so enclosed by floating ice as to be unable to
navigate.
_Bore_, to force through loose or recent ice.
_Calf_, detached mass from berg or glacier, rising suddenly
to the surface.
_Crow’s nest_, a look-out place attached to the
topgallant-masthead.
_Dock_, an opening in the ice, artificial or natural,
offering protection.
_Drift ice_, detached ice in motion.
_Field ice_, an extensive surface of floating ice.
_Floe_, a detached portion of a field.
_Hummocks_, ridges of broken ice formed by collision of
fields.
_Ice-blink_, a peculiar appearance of the atmosphere over
distant ice.
_Ice-foot_, the ice which adheres to the coast above the
ordinary level of the sea.
_Lane or lead_, a more or less navigable opening in the ice.
_Nip_, the condition of a vessel pressed upon by ice on both
sides.
_Pack_, a large area of floating masses of ice driven
together more or less closely.
_Palæocrystic ice_, the name given by Nares to the old ice
of the Polar Sea.
_Polynia_, a Russian term for an open-water space.
_Rue-raddy_, a shoulder-belt to drag by.
[Illustration: THE ARCTIC REGIONS]
INTRODUCTION
“There’s a flag on the mast, and it points to the north,
And the north holds the land that I love;
I will steer back to northward, the heavenly course
Of the winds guiding sure from above.”
FRITHJOF’S _Saga_.
The North Pole is the centre of the Northern Hemisphere. This hemisphere
contains Europe, Asia, North America, and a large part of Africa, yet no
human being reached its centre before the eighth year of the twentieth
century A.D.
The North Pole is the point where the axis of the earth cuts its
surface. It is the point where, as Captain Hall expressed it, there is
no north, no east, no west. It is the place where every wind that blows
is a south wind. It is a point where all the meridians meet, and there
is therefore no longitude. It is one of the two places on the surface of
the earth where there is but one night and one day in every year. It is
a point from which all the heavenly bodies appear to move in horizontal
courses, and the stars never set. It is not to be confused with the
magnetic pole, which is situated about 1600 miles south of it, near the
mainland of North America. At the North Pole the magnetic needle points
due south.
The North Pole is therefore a place of absorbing interest, and until it
was reached man never rested satisfied. Ever since Robert Thorne, in the
reign of Henry VIII., offered “very weighty and substantial reasons to
set forth a discoverie even to the North Pole,” the struggle has been
going on.
In no other records of adventure do we find greater deeds of daring than
in those of Arctic travel. The dauntless courage in the face of extreme
danger, the perseverance when hope was forlorn, the self-sacrifices made
to render assistance to comrades, all stamp these pioneers of science
and commerce as heroes in the highest sense of the word. Some of their
daring exploits, their successes and disasters, are here recorded, but
the author hopes that this book will only serve as an introduction to
the original ones. After reading the thrilling narratives of Arctic
exploration, one is ready to admit that “truth is stranger than
fiction.”
The Polar regions can be reached by only three navigable routes. Either
by the wide passage between Greenland and Norway, a smaller passage
between Greenland and America, or by the narrow Bering Strait between
America and Russia.
Up till the beginning of the nineteenth century nearly all the Arctic
voyages had as the chief object the discovery either of a north-west or
a north-east passage to the Pacific Ocean.
On the 7th June 1585 two tiny craft sailed from Dartmouth in quest of
the North-West Passage. They were commanded by John Davis, a daring
explorer.
Davis sighted Greenland on 20th July, and on the 29th he was off where
now stands the Danish settlement of Godthaab. He crossed the strait
which now bears his name, and traced part of the western coast.
Davis made a second voyage in 1586, and a third in 1587. In the latter
year he reached and named Sanderson’s Hope, in 72° 41′.
Between 1594 and 1596 three expeditions were dispatched by the Dutch
towards Spitzbergen. That of 1596 is of special interest. William
Barents, the discoverer of Spitzbergen, was the chief pilot. The ship
reached Ice Haven, Novaya Zemlya, on 26th August, and here the party
were forced to winter. A house was built with wood, but the winter was
passed miserably, scurvy ultimately making its appearance among the
crew. The ship being hopelessly beset by the ice, it was decided during
the following summer to abandon it.
In two boats, the party of fifteen men started on a journey of 1524
miles. Barents himself and one of the crew were ill, and had to be
dragged on a sledge from the house to the boats. Both died on the
boat-journey. The remainder ultimately reached Russian Lapland, where
their troubles ceased.
About 274 years afterwards, the house built by Barents was discovered by
Captain Carlsen. Over the fireplace still stood the cooking-pans, an old
clock was against the wall, and arms, tools, drinking-vessels, and books
were found as they had been left nearly three centuries before.
In 1607, Henry Hudson endeavoured to reach the Pole along the east coast
of Greenland. He attained 73° at a point which he named “Hold with
Hope.”
He then examined the edge of the ice between Greenland and Spitzbergen,
and reached the latitude of 80° 23′. He named the north-west point of
Spitzbergen “Hakluyt Headland,” and on his way home he discovered the
island now known as “Jan Mayen.”
In 1610 he discovered Hudson’s Strait, and the great bay which bears his
name.
On 26th March 1616, Robert Bylot as master, with William Baffin as pilot
and navigator, set out from Gravesend in the _Discovery_, a craft of
only 55 tons. Greenland was sighted on 14th May, and on the 30th May,
Sanderson’s Hope, the farthest point of Davis, was reached. On the 9th
June he discovered Baffin Islands, in 73° 54′. He then took what is
known as the “Middle Passage” across Melville Bay, and reached the
“North Water” of the whalers of to-day.
Baffin discovered and charted Wolstenholme Sound and Hakluyt Island, and
passed north till he was within sight of Cape Alexander. He named Smith
Sound after the first Governor of the East India Company. He also
discovered Carey Islands, Lancaster Sound, and Jones Sound.
When we consider the wretched means with which these early explorers
were provided, we are lost in astonishment at their audacity and at the
success of their achievements.
It was exactly two hundred years afterwards that these northern places
were visited by Ross and Parry. Baffin’s work had been almost forgotten,
and his discoveries were not believed.
During the seventeenth century many expeditions were sent out which were
the means of opening up extensive commercial relations with Russia and
of establishing the fisheries of Spitzbergen, Davis Straits, and
Newfoundland.
During the eighteenth century several expeditions were fitted out by the
Hudson Bay Company, and a good deal of exploration was done by the
Russians. In 1728, Vitus Bering discovered the straits which now bear
his name; and in 1742, Lieutenant Chelyuskin reached the most northerly
point of Asia in 77° 34′ by sledges. In 1765, Admiral Tschitschagoff was
sent by the Czarina Catharine of Russia with three vessels to
Spitzbergen to sail towards the North Pole. He reached 80° 21′, but
found it impossible to advance farther. The following year he reached
80° 28′. In 1770 the New Siberian Islands were discovered by Liakhof.
In 1773, Constantine John Phipps, afterwards Lord Mulgrave, sailed with
the _Racehorse_ and _Carcass_, with a view of reaching the North Pole.
He reached 80° 37′, and visited some of the Seven Islands. He also
mapped the north of Spitzbergen. In this expedition the great Horatio
Nelson was captain’s coxswain on board the _Carcass_.
In 1818, Captain Buchan in the _Dorothea_, and Lieutenant (afterwards
Sir John) Franklin in the _Trent_, attained 80° 34′ north of
Spitzbergen.
In 1823, Clavering and Sabine, in the ship _Griper_, visited
Spitzbergen, and while Sabine carried on magnetic observations on the
inner Norway Island, Clavering went to sea and steered northwards, but
did not get farther than 80° 20′.
The edge of the ice had now been thoroughly examined between the coast
of Greenland and Novaya Zemlya, and it became evident that the ice could
not be pierced by a ship. It occurred to Sir John Franklin and Sir
Edward Parry that the best way of reaching the Pole would be by means of
sledging over the ice. Parry put his ideas into practice in 1827, when
he undertook his well-known expedition in the _Hecla_. He had just
returned from his third Arctic voyage in search of the North-West
Passage. His fourth voyage was an important one, and will be treated at
some length in the first chapter.
The Siege and Conquest of the North Pole
CHAPTER I
PARRY’S EXPEDITION OF 1827
In April 1826, Captain William Edward Parry proposed to Viscount
Melville, First Lord Commissioner of the Admiralty, “to attempt to reach
the North Pole, by means of travelling with sledge-boats over the ice,
or through any spaces of open water that might occur.” The proposal was
referred to the Royal Society, who strongly recommended its adoption;
and an expedition having been equipped, Parry was appointed to the
command of it.
Before making the proposal, Parry had given the subject careful
consideration. He mentions that Captain Lutwidge, the associate of
Captain Phipps in the expedition towards the North Pole in 1773,
describes the ice north of Spitzbergen to the distance of ten or twelve
leagues to have the appearance of “one continued plain of smooth
unbroken ice, bounded only by the horizon.” The testimony of Mr.
Scoresby, Jun., “a close and intelligent observer of Nature in these
regions,” was also found to agree with that given by Lutwidge. “I once
saw,” says he, “a field that was so free from either fissure or hummock,
that I imagine, had it been free from snow, a coach might have been
driven many leagues over it in a direct line, without obstruction or
danger.” In addition to these, experienced whalers, whom Parry consulted
as to the nature of the ice, agreed that it was highly favourable for
the purpose of his expedition. An important factor in determining Parry
to make the proposal was the fact that Franklin had drawn up a plan for
making the attempt on the same lines.
For the journey over the ice, two boats were constructed having great
flatness of floor, with the extreme breadth carried well forward and
aft, and possessing the utmost buoyancy, as well as capacity for
stowage. Their length was 20 feet, and their extreme breadth 7 feet. The
timbers were made of tough ash and hickory, 1 inch by half an inch
square, and a foot apart, with a “half-timber” of smaller size between
each two. On the outside of the frame thus formed was laid a covering of
Mackintosh’s waterproof canvas, the outer part being coated with tar.
Over this was placed a plank of fir, 3/16 of an inch thick; then a sheet
of stout felt; and over all, an oak plank of the same thickness as the
fir; the whole of these being firmly and closely secured to the timbers
by iron screws applied from without. “On each side of the keel, and
projecting considerably below it, was attached a strong ‘runner’ shod
with smooth steel, in the manner of a sledge, upon which the boat
entirely rested while upon the ice; and to afford some additional chance
of making progress on hard and level fields, we also applied to each
boat two wheels, of 5 feet diameter, and a small one abaft, having a
swivel for steering by, like that of a Bath chair; but these, owing to
the irregularities of the ice, did not prove of any service, and were
subsequently relinquished. A ‘span’ of hide-rope was attached to the
fore part of the runners, and to this were affixed two strong ropes of
horse-hair, for dragging the boat; each individual being furnished with
a broad leathern shoulder-belt, which could readily be fastened to or
detached from the drag-ropes.” The boats weighed 1539 lb. and 1542 lb.
respectively. Two officers and twelve men were selected for each boat’s
crew. The provisions consisted of biscuit, sweetened cocoa-powder, and
pemmican. The process of making the latter consisted in drying large
thin slices of the lean of the meat over the smoke of wood fires, then
pounding it, and lastly mixing it with about an equal weight of its own
fat. In this state it was quite ready for use, without further cooking.
The _Hecla_, which was to convey the expedition to the north coast of
Spitzbergen, left the Thames on the 25th of March 1827. They arrived at
Hammerfest on 18th April. Here they obtained a small quantity of venison
and an abundance of good fish. They also purchased a set of snow-shoes,
together with Lapland shoes (called “Kamooga”). They also took on board
eight reindeer and a supply of moss. “The quantity of _clean_ moss
considered requisite for each deer per day is 4 pounds, but they will go
five or six days without provender, and not suffer materially. As long
as they can pick up snow as they go along, which they like to eat quite
clean, they require no water; and ice is to them a comfortable bed.”
Hammerfest was left on 29th April, and on the 5th of May, in latitude
73° 30′, the first straggling mass of ice was met. After some delay in
waiting for the ice to open, Hakluyt’s Headland was reached on 14th May.
While preparations were being made to land a quantity of provisions
here, a gale came on, and forced Parry to take shelter among the
pack-ice, where he remained beset twenty-four days. Now began a search
for a suitable harbour for the _Hecla_, but it was not till the 20th
June that this was found in Treurenburg Bay. During this search Parry
reached as far north as 81° 5′, and landed a small store of provisions
on Walden Island, and another on an islet near Little Table Island.
Preparations were now made to leave the ship on the journey to the
north. Parry writes: “As it was still necessary not to delay our return
beyond the end of August, the time originally intended, I took with me
only seventy-one days’ provisions; which, including the boats and every
other article, made up a weight of 260 lb. per man; and as it appeared
highly improbable, from what we had seen of the very rugged nature of
the ice we should first have to encounter, that either the reindeer, the
snow-shoes, or the wheels would prove of any service for some time to
come, I gave up the idea of taking them. We, however, constructed out of
the snow-shoes four excellent sledges for dragging a part of our baggage
over the ice, and these proved of invaluable service to us, while the
rest of the things just mentioned would only have been an encumbrance.”
The _Hecla_ was left on the 21st June, and Low Island was reached on the
22nd. One of the ship’s cutters accompanied the two boats in order to
carry part of the provisions which were to be landed on Low Island and
on Walden Island. Open water for the boats was found until they reached
latitude 81° 12′ 51″, which was now the highest that had ever been
reached. Scoresby, in 1806, had reached 81° 12′ 42″, and with this
exception no one had ever reached the 81st degree.
Parry now writes: “Our plan of travelling being nearly the same
throughout this excursion, after we first entered upon the ice, I may at
once give some account of our usual mode of proceeding. It was my
intention to travel wholly at night, and to rest by day, there being, of
course, constant daylight in these regions during the summer season. The
advantages of this plan, which was occasionally deranged by
circumstances, consisted first, in our avoiding the intense and
oppressive glare from the snow during the time of the sun’s greatest
altitude, so as to prevent, in some degree, the painful inflammation in
the eyes, called ‘snow-blindness,’ which is common in all snowy
countries. We also thus enjoyed greater warmth during the hours of rest,
and had a better chance of drying our clothes; besides which, no small
advantage was derived from the snow being harder at night for
travelling. The only disadvantage of this plan was, that the fogs were
somewhat more frequent and more thick by night than by day, though even
in this respect there was less difference than might have been supposed,
the temperature during the twenty-four hours undergoing but little
variation. This travelling by night and sleeping by day so completely
inverted the natural order of things, that it was difficult to persuade
ourselves of the reality. Even the officers and myself, who were all
furnished with pocket chronometers, could not always bear in mind at
what part of the twenty-four hours we had arrived; and there were
several of the men who declared, and I believe truly, that they never
knew night from day during the whole excursion.
“When we rose in the evening, we commenced our day by prayers, after
which we took off our fur sleeping-dresses, and put on those for
travelling; the former being made of camblet, lined with racoon-skin,
and the latter of strong blue box-cloth. We made a point of always
putting on the same stockings and boots for travelling in, whether they
had dried during the day or not; and I believe it was only in five or
six instances, at the most, that they were not either still wet or
hard-frozen. This, indeed, was of no consequence beyond the discomfort
of first putting them on in this state, as they were sure to be
thoroughly wet in a quarter of an hour after commencing our journey;
while, on the other hand, it was of vital importance to keep dry things
for sleeping in. Being ‘rigged’ for travelling, we breakfasted upon warm
cocoa and biscuit, and after stowing the things in the boats and on the
sledges, so as to secure them, as much as possible, from wet, we set off
on our day’s journey, and usually travelled from five to five and a half
hours, then stopped an hour to dine, and again travelled four, five, or
even six hours, according to circumstances. After this we halted for the
night, as we called it, though it was usually early in the morning,
selecting the largest surface of ice we happened to be near, for hauling
the boats on, in order to avoid the danger of its breaking up by coming
in contact with other masses, and also to prevent drift as much as
possible. The boats were placed close alongside each other, with their
sterns to the wind, the snow or wet cleared out of them, and the sails,
supported by the bamboo masts and three paddles, placed over them as
awnings, an entrance being left at the bow. Every man then immediately
put on dry stockings and fur boots, after which we set about the
necessary repairs of boats, sledges, or clothes; and, after serving the
provisions for the succeeding day, we went to supper. Most of the
officers and men then smoked their pipes, which served to dry the boats
and awnings very much, and usually raised the temperature of our
lodgings 10° or 15°. This part of the twenty-four hours was often a
time, and the only one, of real enjoyment to us: the men told their
stories and ‘fought all their battles o’er again,’ and the labours of
the day, unsuccessful as they too often were, were forgotten. A regular
watch was set during our resting-time, to look out for bears or for the
ice breaking up round us, as well as to attend to the drying of the
clothes, each man alternately taking this duty for one hour. We then
concluded our day with prayers, and having put on our fur dresses, lay
down to sleep with a degree of comfort, which perhaps few persons would
imagine possible under such circumstances; our chief inconvenience
being, that we were somewhat pinched for room, and therefore obliged to
stow rather closer than was quite agreeable. The temperature, while we
slept, was usually from 36° to 45°, according to the state of the
external atmosphere; but on one or two occasions, in calm and warm
weather, it rose as high as 60° to 66°, obliging us to throw off a part
of our fur dress. After we had slept seven hours, the man appointed to
boil the cocoa roused us, when it was ready, by the sound of a bugle,
when we commenced our day in the manner before described.
“Our allowance of provisions for each man per day was as follows:—
“Biscuit, 10 oz.; pemmican, 9 oz.; sweetened cocoa-powder, 1 oz. to make
1 pint; rum, 1 gill; tobacco, 3 oz. per week.
“Our fuel consisted entirely of spirits of wine, of which 2 pints formed
our daily allowance, the cocoa being cooked in an iron boiler over a
shallow iron lamp, with seven wicks; a simple apparatus, which answered
our purpose remarkably well. We usually found 1 pint of spirits of wine
sufficient for preparing our breakfast—that is, for heating 28 pints of
water, though it always commenced from the temperature of 32°.”
They set off on their first journey over the ice on 24th June. Instead
of the fine level floes they expected, they found the ice consisting of
pieces of small extent and very rugged, obliging them to make three
journeys, and sometimes four, with the boats and baggage, and to launch
several times across narrow pools of water. They experienced a great
amount of rain, and had sometimes to wade through water from 2 to 5
inches deep upon the ice. It was rarely that they met with a surface
sufficiently level and hard to drag all their loads at one journey. Deep
soft snow was frequently met with, and proved a difficult obstacle to
overcome. At other times their way lay across small loose pieces of ice,
and the boats had to be made to serve the purpose of a bridge between
the pieces. After a laborious day’s work, they frequently found that
they had not progressed more than 2 miles. It had been calculated that
they could travel 20 miles per day over level ice. They found the
Lapland shoes, or Kamoogas, good for walking in when the snow was dry,
but when it was wet they found Esquimaux boots much superior. On the 5th
of July they had reached latitude 81° 45′ 15″, and on sounding with 400
fathoms of line failed to reach the bottom. A like result was met in
latitude 82° 17′ 10″, which was reached on 13th July. About this date
they found that they were being drifted considerably to the
south—sometimes 1 or 2 miles per day. The glare of the sun was often
very oppressive: the best preservative was found to be spectacles having
the glass of a bluish-green colour, and with side-screens to them. On
the 20th July they reached 82° 36′ 52″, less than 5 miles to the
northward of their position on the 17th, although they calculated they
certainly had travelled 12 miles. On the 25th July, Parry wrote: “So
small was the ice now around us, that we were obliged to halt for the
night at 2 a.m., being upon the only piece in sight, in any direction,
on which we could venture to trust the boats while we rested. Such was
the ice in the latitude of 82¾°!”
At noon on the 26th they found the latitude 82° 40′ 23″, and calculated
that since midnight on the 22nd they had lost no less than 13½ miles by
drift. At this time Parry writes: “It had, for some time past, been too
evident that the nature of the ice with which we had to contend was
such, and its drift to the southward, especially with a northerly wind,
so great, as to put beyond our reach anything but a very moderate share
of success in travelling to the northward. Still, however, we had been
anxious to reach the highest latitude which our means would allow, and,
with this view, although our whole object had long become unattainable,
had pushed on to the northward for thirty-five days, or until half our
resources were expended, and the middle of our season arrived. For the
last few days, the 83rd parallel was the limit to which we had ventured
to extend our hopes; but even this expectation had become considerably
weakened since the setting in of the last northerly wind, which
continued to drive us to the southward, during the necessary hours of
rest, nearly as much as we could gain by eleven or twelve hours of daily
labour. Had our success been at all proportionate to our exertions, it
was my full intention to have proceeded a few days beyond the middle of
the period for which we were provided, trusting to the resources we
expected to find at Table Island. But this was so far from being the
case, that I could not but consider it as incurring useless fatigue to
the officers and men, and unnecessary wear and tear for the boats, to
persevere any longer in the attempt. I determined, therefore, on giving
the people one entire day’s rest, which they very much needed, and time
to wash and mend their clothes, while the officers were occupied in
making all the observations which might be interesting in this latitude;
and then to set out on our return on the following day.”
The bottom was found here with 500 fathoms of line. At the extreme point
of the journey the distance from the _Hecla_ was 172 miles. To
accomplish this distance, Parry reckoned they travelled 292 miles, of
which about 100 were performed by water previous to entering the ice.
But as they travelled by far the greater part of the distance on the ice
three, and not unfrequently five times over, the total distance
estimated was 580 geographical, or 668 statute miles, being nearly
sufficient to have reached the Pole in a direct line.
Returning south, open water was reached in latitude 81° 34′, about 50
miles north of Table Island. The party had been forty-eight days on the
ice. During this journey several seals and bears were killed, and these
assisted very much both for meat and fuel. The islet at Table Island was
reached on the 12th of August, and it was found that bears had devoured
all the bread, amounting to 100 lb., left there. To this islet Parry
applied the name of Lieutenant Ross. The _Hecla_ was reached on 21st
August, after an absence of sixty-one days, and the total distance
travelled was estimated at 1127 miles. Parry writes: “Considering our
constant exposure to wet, cold, and fatigue, our stockings having
generally been drenched in snow-water for twelve hours out of every
twenty-four, I had great reason to be thankful for the excellent health
in which, upon the whole, we reached the ship. There is no doubt that we
had all become, in a certain degree, gradually weaker for some time
past; but only three men of our party now required medical care, two of
them with badly swelled legs and general debility, and the other from a
bruise; but even these three returned to their duty in a short time.”
The _Hecla_ left Treurenburg Bay on 28th August, rounded Hakluyt’s
Headland on the 30th, and arrived at Shetland on 17th September. Here
Parry left the ship, and proceeded to London _via_ Inverness.
Having finished his narrative of this attempt to reach the North Pole,
Parry makes the following observations:—
“That the object is of still more difficult attainment than was before
supposed, even by those persons who were the best qualified to judge of
it, will, I believe, appear evident from a perusal of the foregoing
pages; nor can I, after much consideration and some experience of the
various difficulties which belong to it, recommend any material
improvement in the plan lately adopted. Among the various schemes
suggested for this purpose, it has been proposed to set out from
Spitzbergen, and to make a rapid journey to the northward, with sledges,
or sledge-boats, drawn wholly by dogs or reindeer; but, however feasible
this plan may at first sight appear, I cannot say that our late
experience of the nature of the ice which they would probably have to
encounter, has been at all favourable to it. It would, of course, be a
matter of extreme imprudence to set out on this enterprise without the
means of crossing—not merely narrow pools and lanes—but more extensive
spaces of open water, such as we met with between the margin of the ice
and the Spitzbergen shores; and I do not conceive that any boat
sufficiently large to be efficient and safe for this purpose, could
possibly be managed upon the ice, were the power employed to give it
motion dependent on dogs or reindeer. On the contrary, it was a frequent
subject of remark among the officers, that reason was a qualification
scarcely less indispensable than strength and activity, in travelling
over such a road; daily instances occurring of our having to pass over
difficult places, which no other animal than man could have been easily
prevailed upon to attempt. Indeed, the constant necessity of launching
and hauling up the boats (which operations we had frequently to perform
eight or ten, and on one occasion, seventeen times in the same day)
would alone render it inexpedient, in my opinion, to depend chiefly upon
other animals; for it would certainly require more time and labour to
get them into and out of the boats, than their services in the
intervals, or their flesh ultimately used as food, would be worth;
especially when it is considered how large a weight of provender must be
carried for their own subsistence.
“In case of employing reindeer, which, from their strength, docility,
and hardy habits, appear the best suited to this kind of travelling,
there would be an evident advantage in setting out much earlier in the
year than we did; perhaps about the end of April, when the ice is less
broken up, and the snow much harder upon its surface, than at a more
advanced part of the season. But this, it must be recollected, would
involve the necessity of passing the previous winter on the northern
coast of Spitzbergen, which, even under favourable circumstances, would
probably tend to weaken in some degree the energies of the men; while,
on the other hand, it would be next to impossible to procure there a
supply of provender for a number of tame reindeer, sufficient even to
keep them alive, much less in tolerable condition, during a whole
winter. In addition to this, it may be observed, that any party setting
out earlier must be provided with a much greater weight of warm
clothing, in order to guard against the severity of the cold, and also
with an increased proportion of fuel for procuring water by the melting
of snow, there being no fresh water upon the ice, in these latitudes,
before the month of June.”
* * * * *
Parry’s attempt to reach the Pole, hauling heavy boats over the ice,
brings into prominence the determination and daring of English sailors.
Parry’s record of 82° 45′ remained unbroken forty-eight years, when a
new record was again made by English sailors in an exactly similar way
to that of Parry, but in a different region.
The next expedition of importance after Parry’s was that of Sir John
Franklin in search of the North-West Passage, and does not strictly come
within the scope of this book. Although the many expeditions which were
sent out in search of Franklin and his men were the means of tracing a
great extent of coast-line among the islands which lie to the north of
America, only one had any special bearing on the struggle for the Pole.
This was the one commanded by Dr. Kane, and will be treated in the next
chapter.
[Illustration: CHART OF SMITH SOUND AND KENNEDY CHANNEL.]
CHAPTER II
KANE’S EXPEDITION (1853, ’54, ’55)
In December 1852, Dr. Kane received orders from the Secretary of the
U.S. Navy to conduct an expedition to the Arctic seas in search of Sir
John Franklin. Dr. Kane’s plan of search was based upon the probable
extension of the land-masses of Greenland to the Far North—a fact at
that time not verified by travel, but sustained by the analogies of
physical geography. As inducements in favour of his scheme, he
mentioned—
“(1) _Terra firma_ as the basis of our operations, obviating the
capricious character of ice-travel.
“(2) A due northern line, which, throwing aside the influences of
terrestrial radiation, would lead soonest to the open sea, should such
exist.
“(3) The benefit of the fan-like abutment of land, on the north face of
Greenland, to check the ice in the course of its southern or equatorial
drift, thus obviating the great drawback of Parry in his attempt to
reach the Pole by the Spitzbergen Sea.
“(4) Animal life to sustain travelling parties.
“(5) The co-operation of the Esquimaux; settlements of these people
having been found as high as Whale Sound, and probably extending still
farther along the coast.
“We were to pass up Baffin’s Bay, therefore, to its most northern
attainable point; and thence, pressing on toward the Pole as far as
boats or sledges could carry us, examine the coast-lines for vestiges of
the lost party.”
Kane left New York on the 30th May 1853, in the _Advance_, a
“hermaphrodite brig of 144 tons.” The entire party numbered eighteen. At
Fiskernaes, Greenland, he engaged Hans Christian, aged nineteen, as an
Esquimaux hunter.
The pack was encountered in Melville Bay on 28th July, and Kane was
fortunate in passing through to the North Water by 4th August. Smith
Sound was entered on 7th August. A boat with a stock of provisions was
buried at the north-east point of Littleton Island, and a cairn was
erected on the western cape. About 40 miles north of Littleton Island
the ice was met, and the _Advance_ was forced into Refuge Harbour. After
a great deal of warping, the brig reached Rensselaer Harbour in latitude
78° 37′.
When Kane attained the latitude of 78° 41′, he made a curious
observation. He states: “We are farther north than any of our
predecessors, except Parry on his Spitzbergen foot-tramp.” This was far
from the truth. Much higher latitudes had been reached centuries before.
In the seventeenth century both the English and Dutch had reached a
higher latitude in the Spitzbergen Sea: Tschitschagoff in 1765 reached
80° 21′; Phipps in 1773 reached 80° 37′; and Scoresby in 1806 reached
81° 12′ 42″. Had Kane’s statement been confined to the route between
Greenland and America, it would have been correct, but referring as he
did to Parry’s Spitzbergen voyage, he was entirely astray.
When Smith Sound was reached, Kane had more than fifty dogs, but many of
them soon died. Preparations for the winter were made without delay: a
storehouse was formed on a small island in the harbour; an observatory
was built on another island; and a deck-house was made to protect the
_Advance_.
Arrangements were then made to form provision-dépôts along the Greenland
coast for the purpose of northern exploration. The first dépôt party
left on the 20th of September, and returned on the 15th of October. On
the 25th of September this party reached Cape Russell, where the first
cache of pemmican, together with some bread and alcohol for fuel, was
made. A second cache was made at Cape Bonsall, about 30 miles to the
north-east of the first dépôt. They reached their highest latitude, 79°
50′, on 6th October. A third cache was placed on a low island near the
Humboldt Glacier.
A sunless winter of one hundred and forty days now closed upon them. The
influence of the long, intense darkness was found most depressing. Most
of the dogs died during this winter from convulsions. The temperature
went down to as low as 68° F. below zero during February. The dreadful
scurvy made its appearance, and by the middle of March only two members
of the party were free of it. The supplies of the expedition were found
to be altogether inadequate, both as regard provisions and fuel. On the
19th of March 1854, the first spring party left the brig, with the
object of forming more dépôts. The temperature was about 40° F. below
zero. On 31st March three of this party made their appearance at the
brig unexpectedly. Kane graphically describes the incident: “They were
swollen and haggard, and hardly able to speak. Their story was a fearful
one. They had left their companions in the ice, risking their own lives
to bring us the news: Brooks, Baker, Wilson, and Pierre were all lying
frozen and disabled. Where? They could not tell: somewhere in among the
hummocks to the north and east: it was drifting heavily round them when
they parted. Irish Tom had stayed by to feed and care for the others;
but the chances were sorely against them. It was in vain to question
them further. They had evidently travelled a great distance, for they
were sinking with fatigue and hunger, and could hardly be rallied enough
to tell us the direction in which they had come. My first impulse was to
move on the instant with an unencumbered party: a rescue, to be
effective or even hopeful, could not be too prompt. What pressed on my
mind most was, where the sufferers were to be looked for among the
drifts. Ohlsen seemed to have his faculties rather more at command than
his associates, and I thought that he might assist us as a guide; but he
was sinking with exhaustion, and if he went with us we must carry him.
There was not a moment to be lost. While some were still busy with the
newcomers and getting ready a hasty meal, others were rigging out the
‘Little Willie’ with a buffalo-cover, a small tent, and a package of
pemmican; and, as soon as we could hurry through our arrangements,
Ohlsen was strapped on in a fur bag, his legs wrapped in dog-skins and
eider-down, and we were off upon the ice. Our party consisted of nine
men and myself. We carried only the clothes on our backs. The
thermometer stood at −46°, 78 degrees below the freezing-point. A
well-known peculiar tower of ice, called by the men the ‘Pinnacly Berg,’
served as our first landmark: other icebergs of colossal size, which
stretched in long beaded lines across the bay, helped to guide us
afterward; and it was not until we had travelled for sixteen hours that
we began to lose our way. We knew that our lost companions must be
somewhere in the area before us, within a radius of 40 miles. Mr.
Ohlsen, who had been for fifty hours without rest, fell asleep as soon
as we began to move, and awoke now with unequivocal signs of mental
disturbance. It became evident that he had lost the bearing of the
icebergs, which in form and colour endlessly repeated themselves; and
the uniformity of the vast field of snow utterly forbade the hope of
local landmarks.
“Pushing ahead of the party, and clambering over some rugged ice-piles,
I came to a long level floe, which I thought might probably have
attracted the eyes of weary men in circumstances like our own. It was a
light conjecture; but it was enough to turn the scale, for there was no
other to balance it. I gave orders to abandon the sledge, and disperse
in search of footmarks. We raised our tent, placed our pemmican in
cache, except a small allowance for each man to carry on his person; and
poor Ohlsen, now just able to keep his legs, was liberated from his bag.
The thermometer had fallen by this time to −49.3°, and the wind was
setting in sharply from the north-west. It was out of the question to
halt: it required brisk exercise to keep us from freezing. I could not
even melt ice for water; and, at these temperatures, any resort to snow
for the purpose of allaying thirst was followed by bloody lips and
tongue: it burnt like caustic.
“It was indispensable, then, that we should move on, looking out for
traces as we went. Yet when the men were ordered to spread themselves,
so as to multiply the chances, though they all obeyed heartily, some
painful impress of solitary danger, or perhaps it may have been the
varying configuration of the ice-field, kept them closing up continually
into a single group. The strange manner in which some of us were
affected I now attribute as much to shattered nerves as to the direct
influence of the cold. Men like McGary and Bonsall, who had stood out
our severest marches, were seized with trembling-fits and short breath;
and, in spite of all my efforts to keep up an example of sound bearing,
I fainted twice on the snow.
“We had been nearly eighteen hours out without water or food, when a new
hope cheered us. I think it was Hans, our Esquimaux hunter, who thought
he saw a broad sledge-track. The drift had nearly effaced it, and we
were some of us doubtful at first whether it was not one of those
accidental rifts which the gales make in the surface-snow. But, as we
traced on to the deep snow among the hummocks, we were led to footsteps;
and, following these with religious care, we at last came in sight of a
small American flag fluttering from a hummock, and lower down a little
Masonic banner hanging from a tent-pole hardly above the drift. It was
the camp of our disabled comrades: we reached it after an unbroken march
of twenty-one hours. The little tent was nearly covered. I was not among
the first to come up; but, when I reached the tent-curtain, the men were
standing in silent file on each side of it. With more kindness and
delicacy of feeling than is often supposed to belong to sailors, but
which is almost characteristic, they intimated their wish that I should
go in alone. As I crawled in, and, coming upon the darkness, heard
before me the burst of welcome gladness that came from the four poor
fellows stretched on their backs, and then for the first time the cheer
outside, my weakness and my gratitude together almost overcame me. ‘They
had expected me: they were sure I would come!’
“We were now fifteen souls; the thermometer 75° below the
freezing-point; and our sole accommodation a tent barely able to contain
eight persons: more than half our party were obliged to keep from
freezing by walking outside while the others slept. We could not halt
long. Each of us took a turn of two hours sleep; and we prepared for our
homeward march.
“We took with us nothing but the tent, furs to protect the rescued
party, and food for a journey of fifty hours. Everything else was
abandoned. Two large buffalo-bags, each made of four skins, were doubled
up, so as to form a sort of sack, lined on each side by fur, closed at
the bottom, but opened at the top. This was laid on the sledge; the
tent, smoothly folded, serving as a floor. The sick, with their limbs
sewed up carefully in reindeer-skins, were placed upon the bed of
buffalo-robes, in a half-reclining posture; other skins and blanket-bags
were thrown above them; and the whole litter was lashed together so as
to allow but a single opening opposite the mouth for breathing.
“This necessary work cost us a great deal of time and effort; but it was
essential to the lives of the sufferers. It took us no less than four
hours to strip and refresh them, and then to embale them in the manner I
have described. Few of us escaped without frost-bitten fingers: the
thermometer was at 55.6° below zero, and a slight wind added to the
severity of the cold.
“It was completed at last, however: all hands stood around; and, after
repeating a short prayer, we set out on our retreat. It was fortunate
indeed that we were not inexperienced in sledging over the ice. A great
part of our track lay among a succession of hummocks; some of them
extending in long lines, 15 and 20 feet high, and so uniformly steep
that we had to turn them by a considerable deviation from our direct
course; others that we forced our way through, far above our heads in
height, lying in parallel ridges, with the space between too narrow for
the sledge to be lowered into it safely, and yet not wide enough for the
runners to cross without the aid of ropes to stay them. These spaces,
too, were generally choked with light snow, hiding the openings between
the ice-fragments. They were fearful traps to disengage a limb from, for
every man knew that a fracture or a sprain even would cost him his life.
Besides all this, the sledge was top-heavy with its load: the maimed men
could not bear to be lashed down tight enough to secure them against
falling off. Notwithstanding our caution in rejecting every superfluous
burden, the weight, including bags and tent, was 1100 pounds.
“And yet our march for the first six hours was very cheering. We made by
vigorous pulls and lifts nearly a mile an hour, and reached the new
floes before we were absolutely weary. Our sledge sustained the trial
admirably. Ohlsen, restored by hope, walked steadily at the leading belt
of the sledge-lines; and I began to feel certain of reaching our
half-way station of the day before, where we had left our tent. But we
were still 9 miles from it, when, almost without premonition, we all
became aware of an alarming failure of our energies.
“I was, of course, familiar with the benumbed and almost lethargic
sensation of extreme cold; and once, when exposed for some hours in the
midwinter of Baffin’s Bay, I had experienced symptoms which I compared
to the diffused paralysis of the electro-galvanic shock. But I had
treated the _sleepy comfort_ of freezing as something like the
embellishment of romance. I had evidence now to the contrary.
“Bonsall and Morton, two of our stoutest men, came to me, begging
permission to sleep: ‘they were not cold: the wind did not enter them
now: a little sleep was all they wanted.’ Presently Hans was found
nearly stiff under a drift; and Thomas, bolt upright, had his eyes
closed, and could hardly articulate. At last, John Blake threw himself
on the snow, and refused to rise. They did not complain of feeling cold;
but it was in vain that I wrestled, boxed, ran, argued, jeered, or
reprimanded: an immediate halt could not be avoided.
“We pitched our tent with much difficulty. Our hands were too powerless
to strike a fire; we were obliged to do without water or food. Even the
spirits (whisky) had frozen at the men’s feet, under all the coverings.
We put Bonsall, Ohlsen, Thomas, and Hans, with the other sick men, well
inside the tent, and crowded in as many others as we could. Then,
leaving the party in charge of Mr. McGary, with orders to come on after
four hours’ rest, I pushed ahead with William Godfrey, who volunteered
to be my companion. My aim was to reach the half-way tent, and thaw some
ice and pemmican before the others arrived.
“The floe was of level ice, and the walking excellent. I cannot tell how
long it took us to make the 9 miles; for we were in a strange sort of
stupor, and had little apprehension of time. It was probably about four
hours. We kept ourselves awake by imposing on each other a continued
articulation of words; they must have been incoherent enough. I recall
these hours as among the most wretched I have ever gone through: we were
neither of us in our right senses, and retained a very confused
recollection of what preceded our arrival at the tent. We both of us,
however, remember a bear, who walked leisurely before us and tore up as
he went a jumper that Mr. McGary had improvidently thrown off the day
before. He tore it into shreds and rolled it into a ball, but never
offered to interfere with our progress. I remember this, and with it a
confused sentiment that our tent and buffalo-robes might probably share
the same fate. Godfrey, with whom the memory of this day’s work may
atone for many faults of a later time, had a better eye than myself;
and, looking some miles ahead, he could see that our tent was undergoing
the same unceremonious treatment. I thought I saw it too, but we were so
drunken with cold that we strode on steadily, and, for aught I know,
without quickening our pace.
“Probably our approach saved the contents of the tent; for when we
reached it the tent was uninjured, though the bear had overturned it,
tossing the buffalo-robes and pemmican into the snow: we missed only a
couple of blanket-bags. What we recollect, however, and perhaps all we
recollect, is, that we had great difficulty in raising it. We crawled
into our reindeer sleeping-bags, without speaking, and for the next
three hours slept on in a dreamy but intense slumber. When I awoke, my
long beard was a mass of ice, frozen fast to the buffalo-skin: Godfrey
had to cut me out with his jack-knife. Four days after our escape, I
found my woollen comfortable with a goodly share of my beard still
adhering to it.
“We were able to melt water and get some soup cooked before the rest of
our party arrived: it took them but five hours to walk the 9 miles. They
were doing well, and, considering the circumstances, in wonderful
spirits. The day was most providentially windless, with a clear sun. All
enjoyed the refreshment we had got ready: the crippled were repacked in
their robes; and we sped briskly toward the hummock-ridges which lay
between us and the Pinnacly Berg.
“The hummocks we had now to meet came properly under the designation of
squeezed ice. A great chain of bergs stretching from north-west to
south-east, moving with the tides, had compressed the surface-floes; and
rearing them up on their edges, produced an area more like the volcanic
pedragal of the basin of Mexico than anything else I can compare it to.
“It required desperate efforts to work our way over it,—literally
desperate, for our strength failed us anew, and we began to lose our
self-control. We could not abstain any longer from eating snow: our
mouths swelled, and some of us became speechless. Happily the day was
warmed by a clear sunshine, and the thermometer rose to −4° in the
shade: otherwise we must have frozen.
“Our halts multiplied, and we fell half sleeping on the snow. I could
not prevent it. Strange to say, it refreshed us. I ventured upon the
experiment myself, making Riley wake me at the end of three minutes; and
I felt so much benefited by it that I timed the men in the same way.
They sat on the runners of the sledge, fell asleep instantly, and were
forced to wakefulness when their three minutes were out.
“By eight in the evening we emerged from the floes. The sight of the
Pinnacly Berg revived us. Brandy, an invaluable resource in emergency,
had already been served out in tablespoonful doses. We now took a longer
rest, and a last stouter dram, and reached the brig at 1 p.m., we
believe without a halt.
“I say _we believe_; and here perhaps is the most decided proof of our
sufferings: we were quite delirious, and had ceased to entertain a sane
apprehension of the circumstances about us. We moved on like men in a
dream. Our footmarks seen afterward showed that we had steered a
bee-line for the brig. It must have been by a sort of instinct, for it
left no impress on the memory. Bonsall was sent staggering ahead, and
reached the brig, God knows how, for he had fallen repeatedly at the
track-lines; but he delivered with punctilious accuracy the messages I
had sent by him to Dr. Hayes. I thought myself the soundest of all, for
I went through all the formula of sanity, and can recall the muttering
delirium of my comrades when we got back into the cabin of our brig. Yet
I have been told since of some speeches and some orders too of mine,
which I should have remembered for their absurdity if my mind had
retained its balance.
“Petersen and Whipple came out to meet us about 2 miles from the brig.
They brought my dog-team, with the restoratives I had sent for by
Bonsall. I do not remember their coming. Dr. Hayes entered with
judicious energy upon the treatment our condition called for,
administering morphine freely, after the usual frictions. He reported
none of our brain-symptoms as serious, referring them properly to the
class of those indications of exhausted power which yield to generous
diet and rest. Mr. Ohlsen suffered some time from strabismus and
blindness; two others underwent amputation of parts of the foot, without
unpleasant consequences; and two died in spite of all our efforts. This
rescue party had been out for seventy-two hours. We had halted in all
eight hours, half of our number sleeping at a time. We travelled between
80 and 90 miles, most of the way dragging a heavy sledge. The mean
temperature of the whole time, including the warmest hours of three
days, was at −41.2°. We had no water except at our two halts, and were
at no time able to intermit vigorous exercise without freezing.”
About the beginning of April 1854, Esquimaux made their appearance. For
some time they caused trouble through stealing everything they could.
Great tact was necessary in dealing with them, but this Dr. Kane
possessed, and he was ultimately successful in making them close
friends.
On 25th April, the advance party of the next sledging expedition left
the brig, and was joined later by Dr. Kane. Deep snow was encountered,
and several of the party began to show signs of the dreaded scurvy. A
cache of provisions on which they intended to rely was found to have
been almost entirely destroyed by bears. Dr. Kane himself became ill,
and the whole party had to return when in the neighbourhood of the great
glacier of Humboldt. They cached some of their stores, and an
india-rubber boat, near Dallas Bay, in lat. 79.5°, long. 66°.
On the 20th May another sledge-party was sent off, and consisted of Dr.
Hayes and William Godfrey. They were to cross Smith’s Straits above the
inlet and make as near as possible a straight course for Cape Sabine.
This they accomplished with great difficulty, and proceeded north on the
ice along the west coast as far as latitude 79° 45′. They then returned
south as far as Cape Sabine, and recrossed the straits, arriving at the
brig on 1st June. This was a remarkable journey. The equipment was as
follows:—a light sledge and team of seven dogs, 80 lb. of pemmican, 16
lb. of bread, 18 lb. of lard and rope-yarn for fuel; a reindeer-skin
sleeping-bag for each, a lamp and pot for cooking, sextant,
pocket-compass, telescope, Sharpe’s rifle, two extra pairs of stockings
and one of boots for each. About the third day Dr. Hayes suffered from
snow-blindness, and this caused some delay. The dogs’ harness lines had
to be frequently repaired, which could only be done ultimately by
cutting strips from Godfrey’s seal-skin trousers. Great hummocks of ice
from 20 to 40 feet in height were encountered. In crossing these ridges
the sledge frequently capsized and rolled over and over, dogs, cargo,
and all. In twelve days a distance not less than 400 miles was covered;
the last day’s travel, when provisions ran short, was 70 miles.
Dr. Kane had not completed the entire circuit of the frozen waters of
Smith Sound. He could not yet say whether it was landlocked or whether a
channel existed still farther to the north. This he determined to
discover. McGary, Bonsall, Hickey, and Riley were detailed for the first
section of the new parties. They were accompanied by Morton, who had
orders to keep himself as fresh as possible, so as to enter on his
farthest north reach in the best possible condition.
They left the vessel on the 4th of June, and made for the Humboldt
Glacier. Here Morton was joined by Hans with the dog-sledge, and the two
set out on the 18th June, pursuing a northerly course nearly parallel
with the glacier, and from 4 to 7 miles distant from it, according to
the condition of the ice. The icebergs given off by the glacier
presented great difficulties, but these were finally overcome. On the
21st of June, Kennedy Channel was sighted, and they directed their
course towards the cape at the eastern side of the entrance—Cape Andrew
Jackson. Here they found open water, and it was with great difficulty
that the cape was rounded. Still proceeding north, they reached Cape
Constitution in latitude 81° 22′. An attempt to pass this cape failed.
Morton climbed up the cliff to a height of 500 feet, and could get no
farther. As far as he could see not a speck of ice was visible. He
stated: “As far as I could discern, the sea was open, a swell coming in
from the northward and running crosswise, as if with a small eastern
set. The wind was due north—enough of it to make white caps—and the
surf broke in on the rocks below in regular breakers. The sky to the
north-west was of dark rain-cloud, the first that I had seen since the
brig was frozen up. Ivory gulls were nesting in the rocks above me, and
out to sea were mollemoke and silver-backed gulls. The ducks had not
been seen north of the first island of the channel, but petrel and gulls
hung about the waves near the coast.”
Morton was absent on this journey thirty days. The open condition of
Kennedy Channel, discovered by him, had a most important bearing on some
of the expeditions which followed Kane’s. It gave strong support to the
theory of an open polar sea, which was believed in by many until the
British Expedition of 1875. Dr. Kane himself wavered between the
arguments for and against. He, however, was aware of the fact that open
water, which had frequently been described as a polar sea, had been
found by many explorers in various parts of the Arctic regions, which on
further investigation was found to be merely temporary. And Dr. Kane,
after referring to this fact, wrote: “All these illusory discoveries
were no doubt chronicled with perfect integrity; and it may seem to
others, as since I have left the field it sometimes does to myself, that
my own, though on a larger scale, may one day pass within the same
category.”
All the sledge-parties had now returned to the brig, and the season of
Arctic travel had ended. The question now to be faced was how they were
to pass a second winter in the event of the ice not liberating the brig,
which seemed likely. As Dr. Kane remarked, “there never was, and I trust
never will be, a party worse armed for the encounter of a second Arctic
winter. We have neither health, fuel, nor provisions.”
He first determined to examine the condition of the ice to the south. He
found that for 35 miles the straits were absolutely tight. He then
resolved to make an attempt to communicate with Beechy Island and obtain
assistance from Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron, which was in search of
Franklin in Wellington Channel. A whale-boat was mounted on a sledge,
and Kane with five of his men started off on the tremendous undertaking.
On some rocky islets near Littleton Island over 200 eider ducks were
killed in a few hours. They ultimately reached within 10 miles of Cape
Parry, but were stopped there by a solid mass of ice. They returned to
Northumberland Island, and obtained an abundance of auks and eiders. The
ice still remaining solid, they decided to return to the brig. There was
still no sign of the ice breaking up. On 15th August, Dr. Kane wrote:
“The season travels on: the young ice grows thicker, and my messmates’
faces grow longer, every day. I have again to play buffoon to keep up
the spirits of the party.” On the 18th of August the amount of wood was
reduced to 6 lb. a meal. A suggestion was now made by some of the party
that an effort should be made to reach the Danish settlements. On 24th
August, Dr. Kane called all hands and frankly explained his reasons
which determined him to remain with the brig. He gave his permission,
however, to such as were desirous of making the attempt to reach the
settlements to do so. Eight men decided to remain with Dr. Kane. The
others received a liberal share of the resources, and left the brig on
28th August. One of this party—George Riley—returned a few days
afterwards. Dr. Kane now took steps to make the brig as warm as possible
in view of the fact that there was little fuel left. Moss and turf were
collected with which the quarter-deck was well padded. A space about 18
feet square was enclosed below, and this was packed from floor to
ceiling with inner walls of the same material. The floor was covered 2
inches deep with oakum, on the top of which was placed a canvas carpet.
The entrance to this space was from the hold by a low moss-lined tunnel.
The whole arrangement was an imitation of the igloë of the Esquimaux.
The outer-deck planking of the brig was now stripped off and stacked for
firewood. On the 11th September the stock of game consisted of six
long-tailed ducks and three ptarmigan.
Soon after this, Dr. Kane started with Hans to try and obtain seal in
the open water some distance from the brig. Seal were sighted, but
before they could be reached the ice became thin and dangerous. An
attempt was made to reach a solid floe, but when within 50 paces from
it, the sledges broke through. What followed is best described in Dr.
Kane’s own words: “My first thought was to liberate the dogs. I leaned
forward to cut poor Tood’s traces, and the next minute was swimming in a
little circle of pasty ice and water alongside him. Hans, dear good
fellow, drew near to help me, uttering piteous expressions in broken
English; but I ordered him to throw himself on his belly, with his hands
and legs extended, and to make for the island by cogging himself forward
with his jack-knife. In the meantime—a mere instant—I was floundering
about with sledge, dogs, and lines, in confused puddle around me. I
succeeded in cutting poor Tood’s lines and letting him scramble to the
ice, for the poor fellow was drowning me with his piteous caresses, and
made my way for the sledge; but I found that it would not buoy me, and
that I had no resource but to try the circumference of the hole. Around
this I paddled faithfully, the miserable ice always yielding when my
hopes of a lodgement were greatest. During this process I enlarged my
circle of operations to a very uncomfortable diameter, and was beginning
to feel weaker after every effort. Hans meanwhile had reached the firm
ice, and was on his knees, like a good Moravian, praying incoherently in
English and Esquimaux; at every fresh crushing-in of the ice he would
ejaculate ‘God!’ and when I recommenced my paddling he recommenced his
prayers.
“I was nearly gone. My knife had been lost in cutting out the dogs; and
a spare one which I carried in my trousers-pocket was so enveloped in
the wet skins that I could not reach it. I owed my extrication at last
to a newly broken team-dog who was still fast to the sledge, and in
struggling carried one of the runners chock against the edge of the
circle. All my previous attempts to use the sledge as a bridge had
failed, for it broke through, to the much greater injury of the ice. I
felt that it was a last chance. I threw myself on my back, so as to
lessen as much as possible my weight, and placed the nape of my neck
against the rim or edge of the ice; then with caution slowly bent my
leg, and, placing the ball of my moccasined foot against the sledge, I
pressed steadily against the runner, listening to the half-yielding
crunch of the ice beneath.
“Presently I felt that my head was pillowed by the ice, and that my wet
fur jumper was sliding up the surface. Next came my shoulders; they were
fairly on. One more decided push, and I was launched up on the ice, and
safe.”
On 5th October the stock of fresh meat consisted of one rabbit and three
ducks. On the 7th they were fortunate in killing a bear.
Darkness was now creeping in on them, and some remarks of Kane on the
Arctic night are well worth quoting: “The intense beauty of the Arctic
firmament can hardly be imagined. It looked close above our heads, with
its stars magnified in glory, and the very planets twinkling so much as
to baffle the observations of our astronomer. I am afraid to speak of
some of these night-scenes. I have trodden the deck and the floes, when
the life of earth seemed suspended, its movements, its sounds, its
colouring, its companionships; and as I looked on the radiant
hemisphere, circling above me as if rendering worship to the unseen
Centre of light, I have ejaculated in humility of spirit, ‘Lord, what is
man that Thou art mindful of him?’ And then I have thought of the kindly
world we had left, with its revolving sunshine and shadow; and the other
stars that gladden it in their changes, and the hearts that warmed to us
there; till I lost myself in memories of those who are not;—and they
bore me back to the stars again.”
By the beginning of December, scurvy was making sad inroads among the
party. On the 2nd, Dr. Kane wrote: “Had to put Mr. McGary and Riley
under active treatment for scurvy. Gums retracted, ankles swollen, and
bad lumbago. Mr. Wilson’s case, a still worse one, has been brought
under. Morton’s is a saddening one: I cannot afford to lose him. He is
not only one of my most intelligent men, but he is daring, cool, and
everyway trustworthy. His tendon Achilles has been completely
perforated, and the surface of the heel-bone exposed. An operation in
cold, darkness, and privation would probably bring on locked-jaw. Brooks
grows discouraged: the poor fellow has scurvy in his stump, and his leg
is drawn up by the contraction of the flexors at the knee-joint. This is
the third case on board—the fourth if I include my own—of contracted
tendons.”
On the 7th of December, Bonsall and Petersen, two of the party that left
Kane on 28th August, returned to the brig, and the remainder of the
party arrived on the 12th. They had gone through a terrible trial. When
they arrived at the brig, the thermometer was at −50°; they were covered
with rime and snow, and were fainting with hunger. They had journeyed
350 miles, and their last run from the bay near Etah, some 70 miles in a
straight line, was through the hummocks at this appalling temperature.
For more than two months they had lived on frozen seal and walrus-meat.
Food for the whole party became more and more scarce, and Dr. Kane
determined to make a journey to Etah in order to obtain assistance from
the Esquimaux, if possible. His views on sledging at this period are
interesting: “My plans for sledging, simple as I once thought them, and
simple certainly as compared with those of the English parties, have
completely changed. Give me an 8 lb. reindeer-fur bag to sleep in, an
Esquimaux lamp with a lump of moss, a sheet iron snow-melter or a copper
soup-pot, with a tin cylinder to slip over it and defend it from the
wind, a good _pièce de résistance_ of raw walrus-beef; and I want
nothing more for a long journey, if the thermometer will keep itself as
high as minus 30°. Give me a bear-skin bag and coffee to boot; and with
the clothes on my back I am ready for minus 60°,—but no wind.
“The programme runs after this fashion. Keep the blood in motion,
without loitering on the march: and for the halt, raise a snow-house; or
if the snow lie scant or impracticable, ensconce yourself in a burrow or
under the hospitable lee of an inclined hummock-slab. The outside fat of
your walrus sustains your little moss fire: its frozen slices give you
bread, its frozen blubber gives you butter, its scrag ends make the
soup. The snow supplies you with water; and when you are ambitious of
coffee there is a bagful stowed away in your boot. Spread out your
bear-bag, your only heavy movable; stuff your reindeer-bag inside, hang
your boots up outside, take a blade of bone, and scrape off all the ice
from your furs. Now crawl in, the whole party of you, feet foremost;
draw the top of your dormitory close, heading to leeward. Fancy yourself
in Sybaris; and, if you are only tired enough, you may sleep—like St.
Lawrence on his grid-iron, or even a trifle better.”
On 17th January 1855, Dr. Kane wrote: “There is no evading it any
longer: it has been evident for the past ten days that the present state
of things cannot last. We require meat, and cannot get along without it.
Our sick have finished the bear’s head, and are now eating the condemned
abscessed liver of the animal, including some intestines that were not
given to the dogs. We have about three days’ allowance; thin chips of
raw frozen meat, not exceeding 4 oz. in weight for each man per day.”
On 22nd January, Kane and Hans left the brig to make an attempt to reach
Etah. Unfortunately, a severe snowstorm came on soon after they reached
a half-way hut. After being storm-bound two days, they attempted to push
on, but found that the snow had accumulated to such an extent that it
was impossible to complete the journey. They returned to the hut, and
next day tried the land-ice, but in vain. Kane, however, climbed a hill
from which he discovered a trough through the hummock-ridges, and level
plains of ice stretching to the south. Had the dogs not been disabled
and the moonlight waning, they could now have made the journey; but as
it was, they were forced to return to the brig, which they reached
thoroughly exhausted.
Petersen and Hans started on 3rd February to make another attempt. They
returned on the 5th, having found that the snow had become impassable.
At this time only five of the party were able to work, and even these
were not free from scurvy. On 28th February Kane had to report: “The
scurvy is steadily gaining on us. I do my best to sustain the more
desperate cases; but as fast as I partially build up one, another is
stricken down. The disease is perhaps less malignant than it was, but it
is more diffused throughout our party. Except William Morton, who is
disabled by a frozen heel, not one of our eighteen is exempt. Of the six
workers of our party, as I counted them a month ago, two are unable to
do outdoor work, and the remaining four divide the duties of the ship
among them. Hans musters his remaining energies to conduct the hunt.
Petersen is his disheartened, moping assistant. The other two, Bonsall
and myself, have all the daily offices of household and hospital. We
chop five large sacks of ice, cut 6 fathoms of 8-inch hawser into junks
of a foot each, serve out the meat when we have it, hack at the
molasses, and hew out with crowbar and axe the pork and dried apples,
pass up the foul slop and cleansings of our dormitory; and in a word,
cook, _scullionise_, and attend the sick. Added to this, for five nights
running I have kept watch from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m., catching cat-naps as I
could in the day without changing my clothes, but carefully waking every
hour to note thermometers.”
Such was the stuff of which Dr. Kane was made!
On the 6th of March, Kane made the desperate venture of sending Hans,
the only effective huntsman, on a sledge-journey to find the Esquimaux
of Etah. He took with him the two surviving dogs in the lightest sledge.
He returned on the 10th, having made the journey successfully. He found
that the plight of the Esquimaux, so far as food was concerned, had been
worse than those at the brig. Hans, however, assisted in a walrus-hunt,
and with his rifle succeeded in killing a walrus. With his share of the
meat he returned to the brig, where he was heartily welcomed.
By the end of March, Kane was able to hope that the scurvy was abating.
In his journal on 3rd April, he gives a description of the daily
routine:—
“At 7.30 call ‘all hands’; which means that one of the well trio wakes
the other two. This order is obeyed slowly. The commander confesses for
himself that the breakfast is well-nigh upon table before he gets his
stiff ankles to the floor. Looking around, he sees the usual mosaic of
sleepers as ingeniously dovetailed and crowded together as the
campers-out in a buffalo-bag. He winds his way through them, and, as he
does so, some stereotyped remarks are interchanged. ‘Thomas!’—our
ex-cook, now side by side with the first officer of the
expedition,—‘Thomas, turn out!’ ‘Eugh-ng, sir.’ ‘Turn out; get up.’
‘Ys-sir;’ (sits bolt upright and rubs his eyes.) ‘How d’you feel, Mr.
Ohlsen?’ ‘Better, sir.’ ‘How’ve you passed the night, Mr. Brooks?’
‘Middlin’, sir.’ And, after a diversified series of spavined efforts,
the mystical number forms its triangle at the table.
“It still stands in its simple dignity, an unclothed platform of boards,
with a pile of plates in the centre. Near these is a virtuoso collection
of cups grouped in a tumulus or cairn, commencing philosophically at the
base with heavy stoneware, and ending with battered tin: the absolute
pinnacle a debased dredging-box, which makes a bad goblet, being
unpleasantly sharp at its rim. At one end of this table, partly hid by
the beer-barrel, stands Petersen; at the side, Bonsall; and a limejuice
cask opposite marks my seat. We are all standing: a momentary hush is
made among the sick; and the daily prayer comes with one heart:—‘Accept
our gratitude, and restore us to our homes.’
“The act of devotion over, we sit down, and look—not at the breakfast,
but at each other.
“It may sound absurd to those who cannot understand the narrowing
interest which we three availables feel in our continued mutual ability,
for me to say that we spend the first five minutes in a detail of
symptoms. The state of each man’s gums and shins and ankles, his elbows,
loins, and kidneys, is canvassed minutely and compared with his
yesterday’s report: the recital might edify a specialist who was anxious
to register the Protean indications of scurvy. It is sometimes
ludicrous, but always sad.
“Now for the bill of fare. ‘Who cooked?’—I am describing a
gala-day.—‘It was Morton: he felt so much better that he got up at six;
but he caved in soon after’:—
“First, coffee, great comforter to hard-worked men; one part of the
genuine berry to three of navy-beans; next, sugar: what complex memories
the word brings back!—the veritable sugar has been long ago defunct;
but we have its representative molasses twice a week in our tea. Third,
butter; there it is in a mutilated vegetable-dish; my own invention,
melted from salt beef and washed in many waters: the unskilled might
call it tallow. Fourth, a real delicacy not to be surpassed in court or
camp, for Morton was up to see to it:—a pile of hot rolls of fine
Virginia flour. What else? Nothing else: the breakfast resolves itself
into bean-coffee, tallow, and hot bread. Yet a cordial meal it is. I am
sorry to hurry over it so uncourteously, for I could dwell with Charles
Lamb’s pensive enthusiasm upon the fleshpots; but I have been longer in
describing the feast than it takes us to dispose of it. I hurry on with
the interesting detail. Dinner is breakfast, with the beans converted
into soup instead of coffee; and supper boasts of stewed apples.
“Work commences at nine. Petersen is off with his gun, and the two
remaining dearly beloved Rogers arrange their carte: one makes the round
of the sick and deals out their daily allowance of raw meat; the other
goes to cutting ice. Those who can sit in bed and work, pick eider-down
or cotton, for coverlets to our boat-bedding on the escape; others sew
canvas bags for the same purpose; and Brooks balls off twine in order to
lay up ‘small stuff.’
“At times when the sun comes out very brightly, Brooks and Wilson get
permission to go on deck. One of us assists them, and, by the aid of
creeping and crawling, these poor cripples manage to sit upon the
combings of the hatch and look around in the glorious daylight. The
sight seldom fails to affect them. There are emotions among rude,
roughly nurtured men which vent themselves in true poetry. Brooks has
about him sensibilities that shame me.
“This afternoon, save to the cook, is a season of rest; a real lazy,
lounging interval, arrested by the call to supper. The coming
night-watch obliges me to take an evening cat-nap. I state this by way
of implying that I never sleep o’ daytimes.
“After supper, we have a better state of things than two weeks ago. Then
the few tired-out workers were regaled by the groans and tossings of the
sick. There was little conversation, and the physiognomy of our
smoke-blackened little den was truly dismal. Now daylight pours in from
the scuttle, the tea-kettle sings upon the stove, the convalescents rise
up on their elbows and spin merry yarns. We are not yet sufficiently
jolly for cards; but we are sufficiently thankful to do without them. At
nine, silence almost unbroken prevails throughout our dormitory, and the
watch-officer slips on his bear-skin, and, full of thoughts of
to-morrow, resigns himself to a round of little routine observances, the
most worthless of which is this unbroken record of the changing days.”
Kane now became convinced that the brig had little chance of being
released from the ice, and he began preparations for a retreat by boat
to the Danish settlement of Upernavik.
“Canvas moccasins had been made for every one of the party, and three
dozen were added as a common stock to meet emergencies. Three pairs of
boots were allowed each man. These were generally of carpeting, with
soles of walrus and seal-hide; and when the supply of these gave out,
the leather from the chafing-gear of the brig for a time supplied their
place. A much better substitute was found afterward in the gutta-percha
that had formed the speaking-tube. This was softened by warm water, cut
into lengths, and so made available to its new uses. Blankets were
served out as the material for body-clothing: every man was his own
tailor. For bedding, the woollen curtains that had formerly decorated
our berths supplied us with a couple of large coverlets, which were
abundantly quilted with eider-down. Two buffalo-robes of the same size
with the coverlets were arranged so as to button on them, forming
sleeping-sacks for the occasion, but easily detached for the purpose of
drying or airing.
“Our provision-bags were of assorted sizes, to fit under the thwarts of
the boats. They were of sail-cloth made water-tight by tar and pitch,
which we kept from penetrating the canvas by first coating it with
flour-paste and plaster of Paris. The bread-bags were double, the inner
saturated with paste and plaster by boiling in the mixture, and the
space between the two filled with pitch. Every bag was, in
sailor-phrase, roped and becketed; in ordinary parlance, well secured by
cordage.
“These different manufactures had all of them been going on through the
winter, and more rapidly as the spring advanced. They had given
employment to the thoughts of our sick men, and in this way had exerted
a wholesome influence on their moral tone and assisted their
convalescence. Other preparations had been begun more recently. The
provisions for the descent were to be got ready and packed. The
ship-bread was powdered by beating it with a capstan-bar, and pressed
down into the bags which were to carry it. Pork-fat and tallow were
melted down, and poured into other bags to freeze. A stock of
concentrated bean-soup was cooked, and secured for carriage like the
pork-fat; and the flour and remaining meat-biscuit were to be protected
from moisture in double bags. These were the only provisions we were to
carry with us. I knew I should be able to subsist the party for some
time after their setting out by the food I could bring from the vessel
by occasional trips with my dog-team. For the rest, we relied upon our
guns.
“Besides all this, we had our camp equipage to get in order, and the
vitally important organisation of our system of boats and sledges.
“Our boats were three in number, all of them well battered by exposure
to ice and storm, almost as destructive of their sea-worthiness as the
hot sun of other regions. Two of them were cypress whale-boats, 26 feet
long, with 7 feet beam, and 3 feet deep. These were strengthened with
oak bottom-pieces and a long string-piece bolted to the keel. A
washboard of light cedar, about 6 inches high, served to strengthen the
gunwale and give increased depth. A neat housing of light canvas was
stretched upon a ridge-line sustained fore and aft by stanchions, and
hung down over the boat’s sides, where it was fastened (stopped) to a
jack-stay. My last year’s experience on the attempt to reach Beechy
Island determined me to carry but one mast to each boat. It was stepped
into an oaken thwart, made especially strong, as it was expected to
carry sail over ice as well as water: the mast could be readily
unshipped, and carried, with the oars, boat-hooks, and ice-poles,
alongside the boat. The third boat was my little _Red Eric_. We mounted
her on the old sledge, the _Faith_, hardly relying on her for any
purposes of navigation, but with the intention of cutting her up for
firewood in case our guns should fail to give us a supply of blubber.
“Indeed, in spite of all the ingenuity of our carpenter, Mr. Ohlsen,
well seconded by the persevering labours of McGary and Bonsall, not one
of our boats was positively sea-worthy. The planking of all of them was
so dried up that it could hardly be made tight by caulking.
“The three boats were mounted on sledges rigged with rue-raddies; the
provisions stowed snugly under the thwarts; the chronometers, carefully
boxed and padded, placed in the stern-sheets of the _Hope_, in charge of
Mr. Sonntag. With them were such of the instruments as we could venture
to transport. They consisted of two Gambey sextants with artificial
horizon, our transit-unifilar, and dip-instruments. Our glasses, with a
few of the smaller field-instruments, we carried on our persons. Our
fine theodolite we were forced to abandon. Our powder and shot, upon
which our lives depended, were carefully distributed in bags and tin
canisters. The percussion caps I took into my own possession, as more
precious than gold. Mr. Bonsall had a general charge of the arms and
ammunition. Places were arranged for the guns, and hunters appointed for
each boat. Mr. Petersen took charge of the most important part of our
field equipage, our cooking-gear. Petersen was our best tinker. All the
old stove-pipe, now none the better for two winters of Arctic fires, was
called into requisition. Each boat was provided with two large iron
cylinders, 14 inches in diameter and 18 inches high. Each of them held
an iron saucer or lamp, in which we could place our melted pork-fat or
blubber, and, with the aid of spun-yarn for a wick, make a roaring fire.
I need not say that the fat and oil always froze when not ignited. Into
these cylinders, which were used merely to defend our lamp from the wind
and our pots from contact with the cold air, we placed a couple of large
tin vessels, suitable either for melting snow or making tea or soup.
They were made out of cake-canisters cut down. How many kindly festival
associations hung by these now abused soup-cans! One of them had, before
the fire rubbed off its bright gilding, the wedding-inscription of a
large fruit-cake.
“We carried spare tins in case the others should burn out: it was well
we did so. So completely had we exhausted our household furniture, that
we had neither cups nor plates, except crockery. This, of course, would
not stand the travel, and our spare tin had to be saved for protecting
the boats from ice. At this juncture we cut plates out of every
imaginable and rejected piece of tinware. Borden’s meat-biscuit
canisters furnished us with a splendid dinner-service; and some rightly
feared tin jars, with ominous labels of Corrosive Sublimate and Arsenic,
which once belonged to our department of Natural History, were emptied,
scoured, and cut down into tea-cups.”
The 17th of May was fixed as the date of setting out, and each man was
to be allowed 8 lb. of personal effects. Until the boats were hauled a
considerable distance from the brig, the party returned to it at night.
When the last farewell to the brig was made, the entire ship’s company
took part in the ceremonial. It is best described in Dr. Kane’s own
words:—
“We read prayers and a chapter of the Bible; and then, all standing
silently round, I took Sir John Franklin’s portrait from its frame and
cased it in an india-rubber scroll. I next read the reports of
inspection and survey which had been made by the several commissions
organised for the purpose, all of them testifying to the necessities
under which I was about to act. I then addressed the party: I did not
affect to disguise the difficulties that were before us; but I assured
them that they could all be overcome by energy and subordination to
command, and that the 1300 miles of ice and water that lay between us
and North Greenland could be traversed with safety for most of us, and
hope for all. I added that as men and messmates it was the duty of us
all, enjoined by gallantry as well as religion, to postpone every
consideration of self to the protection of the wounded and sick; and
that this must be regarded by every man and under all circumstances as a
paramount order. In conclusion, I told them to think over the trials we
had all of us gone through, and to remember each man for himself how
often an unseen Power had rescued him in peril, and I admonished them
still to place reliance on Him who could not change.”
On reaching the boats, the party were regularly mustered and divided
between the two. A rigid inspection was made of every article of
personal equipment. Each man had a woollen under-dress and an Esquimaux
suit of fur clothing—kapetah, nessak, and nannooke complete, with boots
of their own make. One pair of boots was made of canvas faced with
walrus-hide, and another inside these made of the cabin Brussels carpet.
In addition to this, each man carried a rue-raddy—a shoulder-belt to
drag by—adjusted to fit him comfortably, a pair of socks next his skin,
and a pair of large goggles for snow-blindness, made Esquimaux-fashion
by cutting a small slit in a piece of wood. The provision-bags and other
stores were numbered, and each man and officer had his own bag and a
place assigned for it, to prevent confusion in rapid stowing and
unstowing. Excluding four sick men, who were unable to move, and Dr.
Kane, who had to drive the dog-team and serve as common carrier and
courier, they numbered but twelve men, which would have given six to a
sledge—too few to move it. It was therefore necessary to concentrate
the entire force upon one sledge at a time.
The routine established by Dr. Kane was the most precise:—“Daily
prayers both morning and evening, all hands gathering round in a circle
and standing uncovered during the short exercise; regulated hours; fixed
duties and positions at the track-lines and on the halt; the cooking to
be taken by turns, the captains of the boats alone being excused. The
charge of the log was confided to Dr. Hayes, and the running survey to
Mr. Sonntag. The thermometer was observed every three hours.”
Dr. Kane prepared the hut at Anoatok for the reception of the sick, and
carried a large part of the provisions there. During the first fortnight
after the sledges left the brig he journeyed between 700 and 800 miles
in doing this work by means of his dog-sledge—a mean travel of about 57
miles a day.
Before reaching open water on the 16th of June, enormous difficulties
had to be overcome, and one man lost his life through an injury to his
back in making an attempt to keep one of the sledges from going through
the ice.
The boats had now to be caulked and swelled to prepare them for a long
and adventurous navigation.
Nearly the whole Esquimaux settlement followed and assisted them as far
as the open water, and Dr. Kane thus describes the scene near the time
of bidding them farewell:—
“Each one has a knife, or a file, or a saw, or some such treasured
keepsake; and the children have a lump of soap, the greatest of all
great medicines. The merry little urchins break in upon me even now as I
am writing:—‘Kuyanake, kuyanake, Nalegaksoak!’ ‘Thank you, thank you,
big chief!’ while Myouk is crowding fresh presents of raw birds on me as
if I could eat for ever, and poor Aningnah is crying beside the
tent-curtain, wiping her eyes on a bird-skin!
“My heart warms to these poor, dirty, miserable, yet happy beings, so
long our neighbours, and of late so staunchly our friends. Theirs is no
affectation of regret. There are twenty-two of them around me, all busy
in good offices to the Docto Kayens; and there are only two women and
the old blind patriarch Kresuk, ‘Driftwood,’ left behind at the
settlement.
“But see! more of them are coming up,—boys ten years old are pushing
forward babies on their sledges. The whole nation is gipsying with us
upon the icy meadows.
“We cook for them in our big camp-kettle; they sleep in the _Red Eric_;
a berg close at hand supplies them with water; and thus, rich in all
that they value,—sleep and food and drink and companionship,—with
their treasured short-lived summer sun above them, the _beau ideal_ and
sum of Esquimaux blessings, they seem supremely happy.
“Poor creatures! It is only six months ago that starvation was among
them: many of the faces around me have not yet lost the lines of wasting
suspense. The walrus-season is again of doubtful productiveness, and
they are cut off from their brethren to the south, at Netelik, and
Appah, until winter rebuilds the avenue of ice. With all this, no
thoughts of the future cross them. Babies squall, and women chatter, and
the men weave their long yarns with peals of rattling hearty laughter
between.
“Ever since we reached Pekiutlik, these friends of ours have considered
us their guests. They have given us hand-sledges for our baggage, and
taken turn about in watches to carry us and it to the water’s edge. But
for them our dreary journey would have been prolonged at least a
fortnight, and we are so late even now that hours may measure our lives.
Metek, Myouk, Nessark, Erkee, and the half-grown boys have been our
chief labourers; but women, children, and dogs are all bearing their
part.
“Whatever may have been the faults of these Esquimaux heretofore,
stealing was the only grave one. Treachery they may have conceived; and
I have reason to believe that, under superstitious fears of an evil
influence from our presence, they would at one time have been glad to
destroy us. But the day of all this has passed away. When trouble came
to us and to them, and we bent ourselves to their habits,—when we
looked to them to procure us fresh meat, and they found at our poor
Oomiak-soak shelter and protection during their wild bear-hunts,—then
we were so blended in our interests as well as modes of life that every
trace of enmity wore away. God knows that since they professed
friendship, albeit the imaginary powers of the angekok-soak and the
marvellous six-shooter which attested them may have had their influence,
never have friends been more true. Although, since Ohlsen’s death,
numberless articles of inestimable value to them have been scattered
upon the ice unwatched, they have not stolen a nail. It was only
yesterday that Metek, upon my alluding to the manner in which property
of all sorts was exposed without pilfering, explained through Petersen,
in these two short sentences, the argument of their morality:—
“‘You have done us good. We are not hungry; we will not take,
(steal)—You have done us good; we want to help you: we are friends.’”
Kane and his men were delayed by a gale till 19th June, when they
embarked in three boats. Of the original nineteen men, three had died.
Another, Hans Christian the Esquimaux, had fallen in love, and remained
behind. The party now, therefore, consisted of fifteen. They made first
for Hakluyt Island, where the boats had to undergo further repairs. In
the morning of 22nd June, they pushed forward through a snowstorm for
Northumberland Island, where a number of auks were secured. Murchison
Channel was crossed on 23rd June, and they encamped for the night near
the base of Cape Parry. Soon after leaving here they encountered a gale
from the north-west, and had great difficulty in escaping from the
drifting ice. By good luck, however, they landed at the breeding-grounds
of a large number of eider ducks, and were able to gather 1200 eggs a
day. Here they remained three days, until the storm abated. They now
made for Cape Dudley Digges, which they reached on 11th July. Here they
obtained an abundance of birds, and scurvy grass. The ice ahead barred
their passage, and they were nothing loath to spend a week where there
was plenty of food. On 18th July they again set out, but in doing so
were unfortunate enough to lose their best shot-gun and their kettle,
owing to the capsizing of one of the boats. Cape York was reached on
21st July. Here they left the coast-line and entered the ice-pack. On
the 28th the daily allowance of food was restricted to 5 oz. of
bread-dust, 4 oz. of tallow, and 3 oz. of bird-meat. The _Red Eric_ was
broken up for fuel, so that the whole party had now to be transported in
two boats. The short rations soon began to tell on their strength, and
the old symptoms of scurvy came back again. It was at this crisis that a
seal was seen, and the incident is thus described by Dr. Kane:—
“It was an ussuk, and so large that I at first mistook it for a walrus.
Signal was made for the _Hope_ to follow astern, and, trembling with
anxiety, we prepared to crawl down upon him.
“Petersen, with the large English rifle, was stationed in the bow, and
stockings were drawn over the oars as mufflers. As we neared the animal,
our excitement became so intense that the men could hardly keep stroke.
I had a set of signals for such occasions which spared us the noise of
the voice; and when about 300 yards off, the oars were taken in, and we
moved in deep silence with a single scull astern.
“He was not asleep, for he reared his head when we were almost within
rifle-shot; and to this day I can remember the hard, careworn, almost
despairing expression of the men’s thin faces as they saw him move:
their lives depended on his capture.
“I depressed my hand nervously, as a signal for Petersen to fire. McGary
hung upon his oar, and the boat, slowly but noiselessly sagging ahead,
seemed to me within certain range. Looking at Petersen, I saw that the
poor fellow was paralysed by his anxiety, trying vainly to obtain a rest
for his gun against the cut-water of the boat. The seal rose on his
fore-flippers, gazed at us for a moment with frightened curiosity, and
coiled himself for a plunge. At that instant, simultaneously with the
crack of our rifle, he relaxed his long length on the ice, and, at the
very brink of the water, his head fell helpless to one side.
“I would have ordered another shot, but no discipline could have
controlled the men. With a wild yell, each vociferating according to his
own impulse, they urged both boats upon the floes. A crowd of hands
seized the seal and bore him up to safer ice. The men seemed half crazy;
I had not realised how much we were reduced by absolute famine. They ran
over the floe, crying and laughing and brandishing their knives. It was
not five minutes before every man was sucking his bloody fingers or
mouthing long strips of raw blubber.
“Not an ounce of this seal was lost. The intestines found their way into
the soup-kettles without any observance of the preliminary
home-processes. The cartilaginous parts of the fore-flippers were cut
off in the mêlée, and passed round to be chewed upon; and even the
liver, warm and raw as it was, bade fair to be eaten before it had seen
the pot. That night, on the large halting-floe, to which, in contempt of
the dangers of drifting, we happy men had hauled our boats, two entire
planks of the _Red Eric_ were devoted to a grand cooking-fire, and we
enjoyed a rare and savage feast.
“This was our last experience of the disagreeable effects of hunger. In
the words of George Stephenson, ‘The charm was broken and the dogs were
safe.’ The dogs I have said little about, for none of us liked to think
of them. The poor creatures Toodla and Whitey had been taken with us as
last resources against starvation. They were, as McGary worded it, ‘meat
on the hoof,’ and ‘able to carry their own fat over the floes.’ Once,
near Weary Man’s Rest, I had been on the point of killing them; but they
had been the leaders of our winter’s team, and we could not bear the
sacrifice.”
Within a day or two after killing the large seal, another was shot, and
from that time forward they had a full supply of food. On the 1st of
August they sighted the Devil’s Thumb, and were soon among the Duck
Islands. A few days after this they met an Upernavik oil-boat, and
received some scanty news of the world. They learnt that a squadron
under Captain Hartstene had left for the north in search of them a short
time before. On the 6th of August they arrived at Upernavik, where they
were well received by the Danes—eighty-three days after leaving the
_Advance_. The squadron under Hartstene returned in time to convey Dr.
Kane and his party to America.
* * * * *
The results of Dr. Kane’s expedition were very important. Ross had
declared that Smith Sound was a bay, and although Captain Inglefield in
1852 proved that it was a sound, he reached only 78° 28′. Kane extended
our knowledge up to 81° 22′, and all indications tended to show that
Kennedy Channel led to the Polar Ocean.
No one can read Kane’s book without being impressed by the noble
character of the man. He was a hero in the highest sense of the word. It
is sad to relate that he died in Havana on the 16th February 1857, when
only thirty-seven years of age.
CHAPTER III
EXPEDITION COMMANDED BY DR. HAYES
IN 1860−61
The object of Dr. Hayes’ expedition may be given in his own words:—
“The plan of the enterprise first suggested itself to me while acting as
surgeon of the expedition commanded by the late Dr. E. K. Kane, of the
United States Navy. Although its execution did not appear feasible at
the period of my return from that voyage in October 1855, yet I did not
at any time abandon the design. It comprehended an extensive scheme of
discovery. The proposed route was that by Smith Sound. My object was to
complete the survey of the north coasts of Greenland and Grinnell Land,
and to make such explorations as I might find practicable in the
direction of the North Pole.
“My proposed base of operations was Grinnell Land, which I had
discovered on my former voyage, and had personally traced beyond
latitude 80°, far enough to satisfy me that it was available for my
design.
“Accepting the deductions of many learned physicists that the sea about
the North Pole cannot be frozen, that an open area of varying extent
must be found within the Ice-belt which is known to invest it, I desired
to add to the proofs which had already been accumulated by the early
Dutch and English voyagers, and, more recently, by the researches of
Scoresby, Wrangel, and Parry, and still later by Dr. Kane’s expedition.
“It is well known that the great difficulty which has been encountered,
in the various attempts that have been made to solve this important
physical problem, has been the inability of the explorer to penetrate
the Ice-belt with his ship, or to travel over it with sledges
sufficiently far to obtain indisputable proof. My former experience led
me to the conclusion that the chances of success were greater by Smith
Sound than by any other route, and my hopes of success were based upon
the expectation which I entertained of being able to push a vessel into
the Ice-belt, to about the 80th parallel of latitude, and thence to
transport a boat over the ice to the open sea which I hoped to find
beyond. Reaching this open sea, if such fortune awaited me, I proposed
to launch my boat and to push off northward. For the ice-transportation
I expected to rely, mainly, upon the dog of the Esquimaux.”
Dr. Hayes had a strong belief in the existence of an open Polar Sea, but
it may here be mentioned that subsequent exploration proved that his
views were not correct. On the other hand, the view of the old
geographers that for a long distance around the Pole the sea was covered
with immovable ice has also been disproved. Throughout the whole year
the ice is found to be more or less in motion, except where it is in
contact with the land.
Dr. Hayes expected to be able to start with two vessels,—one a small
steamer, to be taken out under sails, and the steam-power only to be
used when actually among the ice; the other a sailing vessel, to be
employed as a tender or store-ship. He found, however, that the fund
which he had raised with great difficulty would only enable him to fit
out and man one small sailing vessel.
A fore-and-aft schooner of 133 tons register, named _Spring Hill_, was
purchased, and after some necessary alterations, was rechristened
_United States_.
August Sonntag, the astronomer of Kane’s expedition, early volunteered
to accompany Hayes. On his return to the United States he was appointed
to the Dudley Observatory, Albany, and to accompany Dr. Hayes he
sacrificed the fine position of Associate Director of that institution.
Including Dr. Hayes, the party numbered fifteen persons. They left
Boston on 7th July 1860, and after a rough passage crossed the Arctic
Circle on 30th July. The first iceberg was met on the previous day. Some
rough weather was experienced in Davis’ Strait, and is thus described by
Hayes:—
“We were running before the wind and fighting a wretched cross-sea under
reefed fore and mainsail and jib, when the fore fife-rail was carried
away;—down came everything to the deck, and there was left not a stitch
of canvas on the schooner but the lumbering mainsail. It was a miracle
that we did not broach to and go to the bottom. Nothing saved us but a
steady hand at the helm.
“Notwithstanding all this knocking about, everybody seemed to take it
for granted that this sort of thing is very natural and proper, and a
part of the engagement for the cruise. It is at least gratifying to see
that they take kindly to discomfort, and receive every freak of fortune
with manly good-nature. I really believe that were affairs otherwise
ordered they would be sadly disappointed. They are ‘the small band of
brave and spirited men’ they read about in the newspapers, and they mean
to show it. The sailors are sometimes literally drowned out of the
forecastle. The cabin is flooded at least a dozen times a day. The
skylight has been knocked to pieces by the head of a sea, and the table,
standing directly under it, has been more than once cleared of crockery
and eatables without the aid of the steward. My own cabin gets washed
out at irregular intervals, and my books are half of them spoiled by
tumbling from their shelves in spite of all I can do to the contrary.
Once I caught the whole library tacking about the deck after an
unusually ambitious dive of the schooner, and the advent of a more than
ordinarily heavy rush of water through the ‘companion-way.’”
Land was first sighted on the 31st July, and proved to be the southern
extremity of Disco Island. Owing to a calm, Proven was not reached till
6th August. The entry into the harbour is thus described by Dr. Hayes:—
“We were escorted into the harbour of Proven by the strangest fleet of
boats and the strangest-looking boatmen that ever convoyed a ship. They
were the far-famed Kayakers of Greenland, and they deserve a passing
notice.
“The Kayak of the Greenlander is the frailest specimen of marine
architecture that ever carried human freight. It is 18 feet long and as
many inches wide at its middle, and tapers, with an upward curving line,
to a point at either end. The skeleton of the boat is made of light
wood; the covering is of tanned seal-skin, sewed together by the native
women with sinew thread, and with a strength and dexterity quite
astonishing. Not a drop of water finds its way through their seams, and
the skin itself is perfectly waterproof. The boat is about 9 inches
deep, and the top is covered like the bottom. There is no opening into
it except a round hole in the centre, which admits the hunter as far as
his hips. This hole is surrounded with a wooden rim, over which the
Kayaker laces the lower edge of his water-tight jacket, and thus fastens
himself in and keeps the water out. He propels himself with a single oar
about 6 feet long, which terminates in a blade or paddle at either end.
This instrument of locomotion is grasped in the centre, and is dipped in
the water alternately to right and left. The boat is graceful as a duck
and light as a feather. It has no ballast and no keel, and it rides
almost on the surface of the water. It is therefore necessarily
top-heavy. Long practice is required to manage it, and no tight-rope
dancer ever needed more steady nerve and skill of balance than this same
savage Kayaker. Yet, in this frail craft, he does not hesitate to ride
seas which would swamp an ordinary boat, or to break through surf which
may sweep completely over him. But he is used to hard battles, and, in
spite of every fortune, he keeps himself upright.”
Hayes expected to obtain a supply of dogs at Proven, but he found that a
disease which had prevailed among the teams during the previous year had
diminished the stock to less than half of what was required by the
people themselves, and he had to be satisfied with a few dogs of
inferior quality. The Danish officials, however, rendered Hayes all the
assistance in their power, and gave him hope of being more successful at
Upernavik, for which settlement he left on 12th August.
During the night, before reaching Upernavik, the carpenter of the
expedition, Gibson Caruthers, died suddenly. Besides Mr. Sonntag and Dr.
Hayes, he was the only member of the party who had been in the Arctic
seas, having served in the First Grinnell Expedition in search of
Franklin. He was buried at Upernavik.
Having obtained about two dozen dogs, and a supply of reindeer, seal,
and dog-skins, Upernavik was left after four days’ delay. Three
Esquimaux, an interpreter, and two Danish sailors were engaged at
Upernavik. At Tessuissak, a place about 60 miles from Upernavik, a team
of dogs, the property of the interpreter, was obtained.
When Melville Bay was reached, Hayes was delighted to find open water
with only an iceberg here and there. This was crossed in the short space
of fifty-five hours. Near the northern part of the bay a loose pack
about 15 miles wide was encountered, but under a full pressure of
canvas, little difficulty was experienced in “boring” it.
Standing close in under Cape York, Hayes kept a careful look-out for
natives. He wished if possible to ascertain whether Hans of the Kane
expedition was there. In this he was successful. Hayes writes:—
“Six years’ experience among the wild men of this barren coast had
brought him to their level of filthy ugliness. His companions were his
wife, who carried her first-born in a hood upon her back; her brother, a
bright-eyed boy of twelve years, and ‘an ancient dame with voluble and
flippant tongue,’ her mother. They were all dressed in skins, and, being
the first Esquimaux we had seen whose habits remained wholly
uninfluenced by contact with civilisation, they were, naturally, objects
of much interest to us all.
“Hans led us up the hillside, over rough rocks and through deep
snow-drifts, to his tent. It was pitched about 200 feet above the level
of the sea, in a most inconvenient position for a hunter; but it was his
‘look-out.’ Wearily he had watched, year after year, for the hoped-for
vessel; but summer after summer passed and the vessel came not, and he
still sighed for his southern home and the friends of his youth.
“His tent was a sorry habitation. It was made after the
Esquimaux-fashion, of seal-skins, and was barely large enough to hold
the little family who were grouped about us.
“I asked Hans if he would go with us.
“‘Yes!’
“Would he take his wife and baby?
“‘Yes!’
“Would he go without them?
“‘Yes!’
“Having no leisure to examine critically into the state of his mind, and
having an impression that the permanent separation of husband and wife
is regarded as a painful event, I gave the Esquimaux mother the benefit
of this conventional suspicion, and brought them both aboard, with their
baby and their tent and all their household goods. The old woman and
bright-eyed boy cried to be taken along; but I had no further room, and
we had to leave them to the care of the remainder of the tribe, who,
about twenty in number, had discovered the vessel, and came shouting
gleefully over the hill. After distributing to them some useful
presents, we pushed off for the schooner.
“Hans was the only unconcerned person in the party. I subsequently
thought that he would have been quite as well pleased had I left his
wife and child to the protection of their savage kin; and had I known
him as well then as, with good reason, I knew him afterwards, I would
not have gone out of my way to disturb his barbarous existence.”
Cape Alexander, at the entrance to Smith Sound, was reached without any
special difficulty. Standing over towards Cape Isabella on the opposite
side of the sound, there seemed a good prospect of being able to reach
it, but soon a heavy pack was met with, and a furious gale coming on
compelled Hayes to run back to the coast for shelter. On the 31st
August, during this gale, the schooner dragged its anchors. What
followed is thus described by Hayes: “McCormick managed to save the
bower, but the kedge was lost. It caught a rock at a critical moment,
and, the hawser parting, we were driven upon the bergs, which, as before
stated, had grounded astern of us. The collision was a perfect crash.
The stern boat flew into splinters, the bulwarks over the
starboard-quarter were stove in, and, the schooner’s head swinging round
with great violence, the jib-boom was carried away, and the bowsprit and
foretopmast were both sprung. In this crippled condition we at length
escaped most miraculously, and under bare poles scudded before the wind.
A vast number of icebergs and the ‘pack’ coming in view, we were forced
to make sail. The mainsail went to pieces as soon as it was set, and we
were once more in great jeopardy; but fortunately the storm abated, and
we have since been threshing to windward, and are once more within Smith
Sound.”
Hayes again attempted to reach Cape Isabella, but the pack was again
met. He then attempted to pass up the Greenland coast so as to try to
cross farther north. However, another gale set in, and he was forced to
take shelter behind Cape Alexander. When the gale subsided he again
entered the sound, but was soon beset in the ice, and the schooner was
seriously damaged. Even after this, another attempt was made to pass up
the coast, but it ended in failure, and Hayes was forced to put into
Hartstene Bay for the winter. The harbour was named Port Foulke, in
honour of William Parker Foulke, of Philadelphia, who was one of the
earliest, and continued to be throughout one of the most constant
advocates of the expedition. Port Foulke is situated about 8 nautical
miles in a north-easterly direction from Cape Alexander. An abundance of
game was found in the neighbourhood, and consisted of deer, hares,
foxes, and birds.
During October, Hayes made a journey inland, ascending a glacier, named
by Kane after his brother John, with five men, and taking with him a
sledge loaded with eight days’ provisions, a small canvas tent, two
buffalo-skins for bedding, and a cooking-lamp. The party reached a point
70 miles from the coast, at an elevation of 5000 feet. Hayes describes
it as a vast frozen Sahara, immeasurable to the human eye. He goes on to
compare the river systems of the Temperate and Equatorial Zones with the
glacier systems of the Arctic and Antarctic, and draws a delightful
picture of the great law of Circulation and Change:—
“The dewdrop, distilled upon the tropic palm-leaf, falling to the earth,
has reappeared in the gurgling spring of the primeval forest, has flown
with the rivulet to the river, and with the river to the ocean; has then
vanished into the air, and, wafted northward by the unseen wind, has
fallen as a downy snowflake upon the lofty mountain, where, penetrated
by a solar ray, it has become again a little globule of water, and the
chilly wind, following the sun, has converted this globule into a
crystal; and the crystal takes up its wandering course again, seeking
the ocean.
“But where its movement was once rapid, it is now slow; where it then
flowed with the river miles in an hour, it will now flow with the
glacier not more in centuries; and where it once entered calmly into the
sea, it will now join the world of waters in the midst of a violent
convulsion.
“We have thus seen that the iceberg is the discharge of the Arctic
river, that the Arctic river is the glacier, and that the glacier is the
accumulation of the frozen vapours of the air. We have watched this
river, moving on its slow and steady course from the distant hills,
until at length it has reached the sea; and we have seen the sea tear
from the slothful stream a monstrous fragment, and take back to itself
its own again. Freed from the shackles which it has borne in silence
through unnumbered centuries, this new-born child of the ocean rushes
with a wild bound into the arms of the parent water, where it is
caressed by the surf and nursed into life again; and the crystal drops
receive their long-lost freedom, and fly away on the laughing waves to
catch once more the sunbeam, and to run again their course through the
long cycle of the ages.
“And this iceberg has more significance than the great flood which the
glacier’s southern sister, the broad Amazon, pours into the ocean from
the slopes of the Andes and the mountains of Brazil. Solemn, stately,
and erect, in tempest and in calm, it rides the deep. The restless waves
resound through its broken archways and thunder against its adamantean
walls. Clouds, impenetrable as those which shielded the graceful form of
Arethusa, clothe it in the morning; under the bright blaze of the
noonday sun it is armoured in glittering silver; it robes itself in the
gorgeous colours of evening; and in the silent night the heavenly orbs
are mirrored in its glassy surface. Drifting snows whirl over it in the
winter, and the sea-gulls swarm round it in the summer. The last rays of
departing day linger upon its lofty spires; and when the long darkness
is past it catches the first gleam of the returning light, and its
gilded dome heralds the coming morn. The elements combine to render
tribute to its matchless beauty. Its loud voice is wafted to the shore,
and the earth rolls it from crag to crag among the echoing hills. The
sun steals through the veil of radiant fountains which flutter over it
in the summer winds, and the rainbow on its pallid cheek betrays the
warm kiss. The air crowns it with wreaths of soft vapour, and the waters
around it take the hues of the emerald and the sapphire. In fulfilment
of its destiny it moves steadily onward in its blue pathway through the
varying seasons and under the changeful skies. Slowly, as in ages long
gone by it arose from the broad waters, so does it sink back into them.
It is indeed a noble symbol of the Law,—a monument of Time’s slow
changes, more ancient than the Egyptian Pyramids or the obelisk of
Heliopolis. Its crystals were dewdrops and snowflakes long before the
human race was born in Eden.”
By the 28th October, 74 reindeer, 21 foxes, 12 hares, 1 seal, 14 eider
ducks, 8 dovekies, 6 auks, and 1 ptarmigan had been shot and brought on
board. In addition to these, some 20 to 30 reindeer had been cached in
various places. Hayes naturally came to the conclusion that men might
live indefinitely at Port Foulke without being troubled with scurvy.
On the 19th November, one of the Esquimaux, Peter, disappeared. For some
time Hayes had observed a rivalry between Hans and Peter, and he took
the side of the latter. Hans was jealous of every act of favour towards
Peter, and Hayes was inclined to believe that Hans had been the means of
frightening Peter and of making him run off. No news was received as to
his whereabouts until months afterwards, when some Esquimaux found his
dead body in a hut a long distance from the ship.
Early in December a serious disease attacked the dogs, similar to what
Kane had to deal with. Hayes had at this time thirty-six, and the first
attacked by the disease was shot. However, seven died within four days,
and during the first two weeks of December eighteen died. At the end of
the following week only nine dogs were left. This was a serious blow to
Hayes, as he relied chiefly on the dogs for transport across the ice. It
was now necessary to devise means for remedying the loss, or to arrange
new plans in conformity with the changed circumstances. The first
expedient which suggested itself was to open communication with the
Esquimaux of Whale Sound, from whom some animals might be obtained. From
Hans it was learned that there was a family living on Northumberland
Island, several families on the south side of Whale Sound, and possibly
one or more on the north side. Northumberland Island was about 100 miles
distant, and the south side of the Sound about 150. It was decided that
if a sufficient number of dogs remained alive when the moon came in
December, Sonntag should make the journey at that period, taking a
single sledge, and Hans for a driver. They set out on the 21st December,
and nothing was heard of them until the 29th January, when two Esquimaux
arrived with the news that Sonntag had died. Hans appeared two days
afterwards, and told his story:—
“The travellers rounded Cape Alexander without difficulty, finding the
ice solid; and they did not halt until they had reached Sutherland
Island, where they built a snow-hut and rested for a few hours.
Continuing thence down the coast, they sought the Esquimaux at Sorfalik
without success. The native hut at that place being in ruins, they made
for their shelter another house of snow; and after being well rested,
they set out directly for Northumberland Island, having concluded that
it was useless to seek longer for natives on the north side of the
sound. They had proceeded on their course about 4 or 5 miles, as nearly
as I can judge from Hans’s description, when Sonntag, growing a little
chilled, sprang off the sledge and ran ahead of the dogs to warm himself
with the exercise. The tangling of a trace obliging Hans to halt the
team for a few minutes, he fell some distance behind, and was hurrying
on to catch up, when he suddenly observed Sonntag sinking. He had come
upon the thin ice, covering a recently open tide-crack, and, probably
not observing his footing, he slipped upon it unawares. Hans hastened to
his rescue, aided him out of the water, and then turned back for the
shelter which they had recently abandoned. A light wind was blowing at
the time from the north-east, and this, according to Hans, caused
Sonntag to seek the hut without stopping to change his wet clothing. At
first he ran beside the sledge, and thus guarded against danger; but
after a while he rode, and when they halted at Sorfalik, Hans discovered
that his companion was stiff and speechless. Assisting him into the hut
with all possible dispatch, Hans states that he removed the wet and
frozen clothing, and placed Sonntag in the sleeping-bag. He next gave
him some brandy which he found in a flask on the sledge; and, having
tightly closed the hut, he lighted the alcohol-lamp, for the double
purpose of elevating the temperature and making some coffee; but all his
efforts were unavailing, and, after remaining for nearly a day
unconscious, Sonntag died. He did not speak after reaching the hut, and
left no message of any kind.”
Hayes was not altogether satisfied with the explanation given by Hans.
He wrote; “Although I have no good reason for doubting the truth of his
narrative, yet I cannot quite reconcile my mind to the fact that
Sonntag, with so much experience to govern him, should have undertaken
to travel 5 miles in wet clothing, especially as he was accompanied by a
native hunter who was familiar with all of the expedients for safety
upon the ice-fields, and to whom falling in the water is no unusual
circumstance. The sledge and the canvas apron which enclosed the cargo
furnished the means for constructing a temporary shelter from the wind,
and the sleeping-bag would have insured against freezing while Hans got
ready the dry clothing, of which Sonntag carried a complete change. Nor
can I understand how he should have lived so long and have given Hans no
message for me, nor have spoken a word after coming out of the water,
further than to have ordered his driver to hasten back to the snow-hut.
However, it is idle to speculate about the matter; and since Hans’s
interests were concerned in proving faithful to the officer who, of all
those in the ship, cared most for him, it would be unreasonable as well
as unjust to suspect him of desertion.”
Towards spring, Hayes had the body of Sonntag brought to Port Foulke and
buried. “And here,” writes Hayes, “in the drear solitude of the Arctic
desert, our comrade sleeps the sleep that knows no waking in this
troubled world,—where no loving hands can ever come to strew his grave
with flowers, nor eyes grow dim with sorrowing; but the gentle stars,
which in life he loved so well, will keep over him eternal vigil, and
the winds will wail over him, and Nature, his mistress, will drop upon
his tomb her frozen tears for evermore.”
When Hans returned from his visit to the Esquimaux, he brought with him
his wife’s father and mother. Hayes gives the following description of
them:—
“The personal appearance of this interesting couple was not peculiarly
attractive. Their faces were broad, jaws heavy, cheek-bones projecting
like other carnivorous animals, foreheads narrow, eyes small and very
black, noses flat, lips long and thin, and when opened, there were
disclosed two narrow, white, well-preserved rows of polished
ivory,—well worn, however, with long use and hard service, for the
teeth of the Esquimaux serve a great variety of purposes, such as
softening skins, pulling and tightening cords, besides masticating food,
which I may here mention is wholly animal. Their hair was jet black,
though not abundant, and the man had the largest growth of beard which I
have seen upon an Esquimaux face, but it was confined to the upper lip
and the tip of the chin. The face of the Esquimaux is indeed quite
Mongolian in its type, and is usually beardless. In stature they are
short, though well built, and bear, in every movement, evidence of
strength and endurance.
“The dress of the male and female differed but little one from the
other. It consisted of nine pieces—a pair of boots, stockings, mittens,
pantaloons, an under-dress, and a coat. The man wore boots of bear-skin,
reaching to the top of the calf, where they met the pantaloons, which
were composed of the same materials. The boots of the woman reached
nearly to the middle of the thigh, and were made of tanned seal-skins.
Her pantaloons, like her husband’s, were of bear-skin. The stockings
were of dog-skin, and the mittens of seal-skin. The under-dress was made
of bird-skins, feathers turned inwards; and the coat, which did not open
in front, but was drawn on over the head like a shirt, was of blue
fox-skins. This coat terminates in a hood which envelops the head as
completely as an Albanian capote or a monk’s cowl. This hood gives the
chief distinction to the dresses of the sexes. In the costume of the man
it is round, closely fitting the scalp, while in the woman it is pointed
at the top to receive the hair which is gathered up on the crown of the
head, and tied into a hard, horn-like tuft with a piece of raw
seal-hide,—a style of coiffure which, whatever may be its other
advantages, cannot be regarded as peculiarly picturesque.
“Their ages could not be determined; for, since the Esquimaux cannot
enumerate beyond their ten fingers, it is quite impossible for them to
refer to a past event by any process of notation. Having no written
language whatever, not even the picture-writing and hieroglyphics of the
rudest Indian tribes of North America, the race possesses no records,
and such traditions as may come down from generation to generation are
not fixed by any means which will furnish even an approximate estimate
of their periods of growth, prosperity, and decay, or even of their own
ages.”
Towards the end of February three other Esquimaux appeared from the
south, and from them Hayes obtained some dogs.
About the middle of March, Hayes made a preliminary journey in order to
explore the track for his extended journey to the north, and cached some
provisions at Cairn Point. He visited Rensselaer Harbour, where the
_Advance_ had been left, but no vestige of the ship remained, except a
small bit of a deck-plank which Hayes picked up near the site of the old
observatory.
The long sledge-journey began on the 3rd of April 1861. A quantity of
provisions had previously been taken to Cairn Point, which Hayes had
decided to make the starting-place for crossing the Sound. On one sledge
was mounted a 20-foot metallic lifeboat with which Hayes hoped to
navigate the Polar Sea. When Cairn Point was reached, Hayes decided to
leave the boat there, as he saw that it was impossible to take the boat
and cargo across the Sound in one journey. A storm delayed the party
several days at Cairn Point, and soon after encountering the
ice-hummocks, Hayes wrote:—
“I need hardly say that I soon gave up all thought of trying to get the
boat across the Sound. A hundred men could not have accomplished the
task. My only purpose now was to get to the coast of Grinnell Land with
as large a stock of provisions as possible, and to retain the men as
long as they could be of use; but it soon became a question whether the
men themselves could carry over their own provisions independent of the
surplus which I should require in order that the severe labour should
result to advantage. In spite, however, of everything, the men kept
steadfastly to their duty, through sunshine and through storm, through
cold, and danger, and fatigue.”
Hayes tried to make for Cape Sabine, but found the hummocks quite
impassable, and he had to bear more to the northward. On the 25th of
April he reported: “My party are in a very sorry condition. One of the
men has sprained his back from lifting; another has a sprained ankle;
another has gastritis; another a frosted toe; and all are thoroughly
overwhelmed with fatigue.”
On the 27th April he determined to send back the men, with the exception
of Knorr, Jensen, and McDonald. Only about half of the Sound had been
crossed, but Hayes decided to struggle on. Jensen became partially
snow-blind, and on the 3rd of May, when stumbling along, his leg
received a severe wrench in a crack in the ice. The land, at Cape Hawks,
was not reached until the 11th of May. Thirty-one days had been occupied
in crossing the Sound. Hayes writes:—
“The journey across the Sound from Cairn Point was unexampled in Arctic
travelling. The distance from land to land, as the crow flies, did not
exceed 80 miles; and yet, as hitherto observed, the journey consumed
thirty-one days—but little more than 2 miles daily. The track, however,
which we were forced to choose, was often at least three times that of a
straight line; and since almost every mile of that tortuous route was
travelled over three and five times, in bringing up the separate
portions of our cargo, our actual distance did not probably average less
than 16 miles daily, or about 500 miles in all, between Cairn Point and
Cape Hawks. The last 40 miles, made with dog-sledges alone, occupied
fourteen days—a circumstance which will of itself exhibit the difficult
nature of the undertaking, especially when it is borne in mind that 40
miles to an ordinary team of dogs, over usually fair ice, is a trifling
matter for five hours, and would not fatigue the team half so much as a
single hour’s pulling of the same load over such hummocks as confronted
us throughout this entire journey.
“In order to obtain the best results which the Esquimaux dog is capable
of yielding, it is essential that he shall be able to trot away with his
load. To walk at a dead drag is as distressing to his spirits and
energies as the hauling of a dray would be to a blooded horse; and he
will much more readily run away with a 100 pounds over good ice than to
pull one-fourth of that weight over a track which admits only of a slow
pace.”
The failure to get the boat, or even a foot-party, over the Sound
disarranged Hayes’ original plans. Of the 800 lb. of dog-food which he
had when he sent back the men, only about 300 lb. remained. Small dépôts
had, however, been made for the return journey. The most that Hayes now
hoped to do was to explore the route to the shores of the Polar Sea, as
a basis for further exploration to follow the event of his reaching the
west side of Smith Sound with his vessel late in the summer.
The first day’s march from Cape Hawks carried the party across the wide
bay to Cape Napoleon, and they were pleased to find that the whole load
could be carried at one time, although the travelling was far from good.
Deep snow was met, and in wading through it Jensen’s leg gave way, and
he had to be carried on the sledge. From Cape Napoleon to Cape Frazer
the travelling was good, and camp was made near the farthest point
reached by Hayes in 1854. The little flag-staff, which Hayes had
planted, was discovered, still standing erect among the rocks; but not a
vestige of the flag remained. The winds had whipped it entirely away.
On the 16th of May, Jensen’s injured leg was so painful that Hayes
decided to leave him behind in charge of McDonald.
From Cape Frazer northward the description given by Hayes of his route
is extremely meagre and vague. He states that when Jensen was left
behind he was about 60 miles to the northward and westward of Cape
Constitution, reached by Morton. About two days after leaving Jensen,
Hayes reached the southern cape of a bay which was so deep that, as in
other cases of like obstruction, he determined to cross over it rather
than to follow the shore-line. He writes: “We had gone only a few miles
when we found our progress suddenly arrested. Our course was made
directly for a conspicuous headland bounding the bay to the northward,
over a strip of old ice lining the shore. This headland seemed to be
about 20 miles from us, or near latitude 82°, and I was very desirous of
reaching it; but, unhappily, the old ice came suddenly to an end, and
after scrambling over the fringe of hummocks which margined it, we found
ourselves upon ice of the late winter. The unerring instinct of the dogs
warned us of approaching danger. They were observed for some time to be
moving with unusual caution, and finally they scattered to right and
left, and refused to proceed farther. This behaviour of the dogs was too
familiar to me to leave any doubt as to its meaning; and moving forward
in advance, I quickly perceived that the ice was rotten and unsafe.
Thinking that this might be merely a local circumstance, resulting from
some peculiarity of the current, we doubled back upon the old floe and
made another trial farther to the eastward. Walking now in advance of
the dogs, they were inspired with greater courage. I had not proceeded
far when I found the ice again giving way under the staff with which I
sounded its strength, and again we turned back and sought a more eastern
passage.
“Two hours consumed in efforts of this kind, during which we had worked
about 4 miles out to sea, convinced me that the ice outside the bay was
wholly impassable.”
An attempt to cross farther up the bay also proved a failure, and by
walking a few miles along the shore Hayes believed he saw the head of
the bay about 20 miles distant. Next day he climbed to the top of a
cliff supposed to be about 800 feet above the level of the sea.
“The view which I had from this elevation furnished a solution of the
cause of my progress being arrested on the previous day.
“The ice was everywhere in the same condition as in the mouth of the
bay, across which I had endeavoured to pass. A broad crack, starting
from the middle of the bay, stretched over the sea, and uniting with
other cracks as it meandered to the eastward, it expanded as the delta
of some mighty river discharging into the ocean, and under a water-sky,
which hung upon the northern and eastern horizon, it was lost in the
open sea.
“Standing against the dark sky at the north, there was seen in dim
outline the white sloping summit of a noble headland—the most northern
known land upon the globe. I judged it to be in latitude 82° 30′, or 450
miles from the North Pole. Nearer, another bold cape stood forth; and
nearer still the headland, for which I had been steering my course the
day before, rose majestically from the sea, as if pushing up into the
very skies a lofty mountain peak, upon which the winter had dropped its
diadem of snows. There was no land visible except the coast upon which I
stood.”
The large bay which Hayes here refers to was named Lady Franklin Bay.
The place from which his observations were made, Hayes gives as in
latitude 81° 35′, longitude 70° 30′ W. Finding his way to the north
impassable, he decided to return. Hayes at this point came to the
conclusion that he was near the shores of the Polar Basin, and that
Kennedy Channel expanded into it. After building a cairn and leaving a
record in a small glass vial, he started on his return journey.
A storm came on soon after Hayes and his companion set out. They at
first tried to shelter in the lee of a huge ice-cliff, but as they had
now given the dogs the last of their food, they decided to face the
snowstorm and make for the camp where Jensen had been left. This was
reached in twenty-two hours under great difficulties. Hayes and Knorr
had fasted thirty-four hours, and were completely exhausted. On the
return journey to the ship they had to depend entirely on the small
caches which had been left on the outward journey. Fortunately, all of
these, with one exception, were undisturbed. By the time they reached
Cape Hawks and were about to cross the Sound, Jensen’s leg had so far
improved that he was able to walk. Near the Greenland coast the ice was
beginning to give way, and it was with difficulty that they reached
land. Part of the journey to the ship had then to be made on foot across
the mountains.
During the absence of Hayes, McCormick the sailing-master had examined
the ship, and found that the damage sustained in the ice was serious. He
repaired it as well as he could, but it was not now in a condition to
stand any further collision with the ice. This was a great
disappointment to Hayes, as he intended, as soon as the ice broke up, to
make another attempt with the ship to cross the Sound, and pass up the
west coast.
On the 3rd of July, Hayes describes a walrus-hunt:—
“I have had a walrus-hunt and a most exciting day’s sport. Much ice has
broken adrift and come down the Sound during the past few days; and,
when the sun is out bright and hot, the walrus come up out of the water
to sleep and bask in the warmth on the pack. Being upon the hilltop this
morning to select a place for building a cairn, my ear caught the hoarse
bellowing of numerous walrus; and, upon looking over the sea, I observed
that the tide was carrying the pack across the outer limit of the bay,
and that it was alive with the beasts, which were filling the air with
such uncouth noises. Their number appeared to be even beyond conjecture,
for they extended as far as the eye could reach, almost every piece of
ice being covered. There must have been, indeed, many hundreds, or even
thousands.
“Hurrying from the hill, I called for volunteers, and quickly had a
boat’s crew ready for some sport. Putting three rifles, a harpoon, and a
line into one of the whale-boats, we dragged it over the ice to the open
water, into which it was speedily launched.
“We had about 2 miles to pull before the margin of the pack was reached.
On the cake of ice to which we first came, there were perched about two
dozen animals; and these we selected for the attack. They covered the
raft almost completely, lying huddled together, lounging in the sun or
lazily rolling and twisting themselves about, as if to expose some fresh
part of their unwieldy bodies to the warmth,—great, ugly, wallowing
sea-hogs, they were evidently enjoying themselves, and were without
apprehension of approaching danger. We neared them slowly, with muffled
oars.
“As the distance between us and the game steadily narrowed, we began to
realise that we were likely to meet with rather formidable antagonists.
Their aspect was forbidding in the extreme, and our sensations were
perhaps not unlike those which the young soldier experiences who hears
for the first time the order to charge the enemy. We should all, very
possibly, have been quite willing to retreat had we dared own it. Their
tough, nearly hairless hides, which are about an inch thick, had a
singularly iron-plated look about them, peculiarly suggestive of
defence; while their huge tusks, which they brandished with an
appearance of strength that their awkwardness did not diminish, looked
like very formidable weapons of offence if applied to a boat’s planking
or to the human ribs, if one should happen to find himself floundering
in the sea among the thick-skinned brutes. To complete the hideousness
of a facial expression which the tusks rendered formidable enough in
appearance, Nature had endowed them with broad flat noses, which were
covered all over with stiff whiskers, looking much like porcupine
quills, and extending up to the edge of a pair of gaping nostrils. The
use of these whiskers is as obscure as that of the tusks; though it is
probable that the latter may be as well weapons of offence and defence
as for the more useful purpose of grubbing up from the bottom of the sea
the mollusks which constitute their principal food. There were two old
bulls in the herd who appeared to be dividing their time between
sleeping and jamming their tusks into each other’s faces, although they
appeared to treat the matter with perfect indifference, as they did not
seem to make any impression on each other’s thick hides. As we
approached, these old fellows—neither of which could have been less
than 16 feet long, nor smaller in girth than a hogshead—raised up their
heads, and, after taking a leisurely survey of us, seemed to think us
unworthy of further notice; and then, punching each other again in the
face, fell once more asleep. This was exhibiting a degree of coolness
rather alarming. If they had showed the least timidity we should have
found some excitement in extra caution; but they seemed to make so light
of our approach that it was not easy to keep up the bold front with
which we had commenced the adventure. But we had come quite too far to
think of backing out; so we pulled in and made ready for the fray.
“Beside the old bulls, the group contained several cows and a few calves
of various sizes,—some evidently yearlings, others but recently born,
and others half or three-quarters grown. Some were without tusks, while
on others they were just sprouting; and above this they were of all
sizes up to those of the big bulls, which had great curved cones of
ivory, nearly 3 feet long. At length we were within a few boats’ lengths
of the ice-raft, and the game had not taken alarm. They had probably
never seen a boat before. Our preparations were made as we approached.
The walrus will always sink when dead, unless held up by a harpoon-line;
and there was therefore but two chances for us to secure our
game—either to shoot the beast dead on the raft, or to get a harpoon
well into him after he was wounded, and hold on to him until he was
killed. As to killing the animal where he lay, that was not likely to
happen, for the thick skin destroys the force of the ball before it can
reach any vital part, and indeed, at a distance, actually flattens it;
and the skull is so heavy that it is hard to penetrate with an ordinary
bullet, unless the ball happens to strike through the eye.
“To Miller, a cool and spirited fellow, who had been after whales on the
‘nor’-west coast,’ was given the harpoon, and he took his station in the
bows; while Knorr, Jensen, and myself kept our places in the
stern-sheets, and held our rifles in readiness. Each selected his
animal, and we fired in concert over the heads of the oarsmen. As soon
as the rifles were discharged, I ordered the men to ‘give way,’ and the
boat shot right among the startled animals as they rolled off pell-mell
into the sea. Jensen had fired at the head of one of the bulls, and hit
him in the neck; Knorr killed a young one, which was pushed off in the
hasty scramble and sank; while I planted a minie-bullet somewhere in the
head of the other bull and drew from him a most frightful
bellow—louder, I venture to say, than ever came from wild bull of
Bashan. When he rolled over into the water, which he did with a splash
that sent the spray flying all over us, he almost touched the bows of
the boat, and gave Miller a good opportunity to get in his harpoon,
which he did in capital style.
“The alarmed herd seemed to make straight for the bottom, and the line
spun out over the gunwale at a fearful pace; but having several coils in
the boat, the end was not reached before the animals began to rise, and
we took in the slack and got ready for what was to follow. The strain of
the line whipped the boat around among some loose fragments of ice, and
the line having fouled among it, we should have been in great jeopardy
had not one of the sailors promptly sprung out, cleared the line, and
defended the boat.
“In a few minutes the whole herd appeared at the surface, about 50 yards
away from us, the harpooned animal being among them. Miller held fast to
his line, and the boat was started with a rush. The coming up of the
herd was the signal for a scene which baffles description. They uttered
one wild concerted shriek, as if an agonised call for help; and then the
air was filled with answering shrieks. The ‘huk! huk! huk!’ of the
wounded bulls seemed to find an echo everywhere, as the cry was taken up
and passed along from floe to floe, like the bugle-blast passed from
squadron to squadron along a line of battle; and down from every piece
of ice plunged the startled beasts, as quickly as the sailor drops from
his hammock when the long-roll beats to quarters. With their ugly heads
just above the water, and with mouths wide open, belching forth the
dismal ‘huk! huk! huk!’ they came tearing toward the boat.
“In a few moments we were completely surrounded, and the numbers kept
multiplying with astonishing rapidity. The water soon became alive and
black with them.
“They seemed at first to be frightened and irresolute, and for a time it
did not seem that they meditated mischief; but this pleasing prospect
was soon dissipated, and we were forced to look well to our safety.
“That they meditated an attack there could no longer be a doubt. To
escape the onslaught was impossible. We had raised a hornet’s nest about
our ears in a most astonishingly short space of time, and we must do the
best we could. Even the wounded animal to which we were fast turned upon
us, and we became the focus of at least a thousand gaping, bellowing
mouths.
“It seemed to be the purpose of the walrus to get their tusks over the
gunwale of the boat, and it was evident that, in the event of one such
monster hooking on to us, the boat would be torn in pieces, and we would
be left floating in the sea helpless. We had good motive, therefore, to
be active. Miller plied his lance from the bows, and gave many a serious
wound. The men pushed back the onset with their oars, while Knorr,
Jensen, and myself loaded and fired our rifles as rapidly as we could.
Several times we were in great jeopardy, but the timely thrust of an
oar, or the lance, or a bullet saved us. Once I thought we were surely
gone. I had fired, and was hastening to load; a wicked-looking brute was
making at us, and it seemed probable that he would be upon us. I stopped
loading, and was preparing to cram my rifle down his throat, when Knorr,
who had got ready his weapon, sent a fatal shot into his head. Again, an
immense animal, the largest that I had ever seen, and with tusks
apparently 3 feet long, was observed to be making his way through the
herd with mouth wide open, bellowing dreadfully. I was now as before
busy loading; Knorr and Jensen had just discharged their pieces, and the
men were well engaged with their oars. It was a critical moment, but
happily I was in time. The monster, his head high above the boat, was
within 2 feet of the gunwale, when I raised my piece and fired into his
mouth. The discharge killed him instantly, and he went down like a
stone.
“This ended the fray. I know not why, but the whole herd seemed suddenly
to take alarm, and all dove down with a tremendous splash almost at the
same instant. When they came up again, still shrieking as before, they
were some distance from us, their heads all now pointed seaward, making
from us as fast as they could go, their cries growing more and more
faint as they retreated in the distance. We must have killed at least a
dozen, and mortally wounded as many more. The water was in places red
with blood, and several half-dead and dying animals lay floating about
us. The bull to which we were made fast pulled away with all his might
after the retreating herd, but his strength soon became exhausted; and,
as his speed slackened, we managed to haul in the line, and finally
approached him so nearly that our rifle-balls took effect, and Miller at
length gave him the _coup de grâce_ with his lance. We then drew him to
the nearest piece of ice, and I had soon a fine specimen to add to my
Natural History collections. Of the others we secured only one; the rest
had died and sunk before we reached them.
“I have never before regarded the walrus as a really formidable animal;
but this contest convinces me that I have done their courage great
injustice. They are full of fight; and had we not been very active and
self-possessed, our boat would have been torn to pieces, and we either
drowned or killed. A more fierce attack than that which they made upon
us could hardly be imagined, and a more formidable-looking enemy than
one of these huge monsters, with his immense tusks and bellowing throat,
would be difficult to find. Next time I try them I will arm my boat’s
crew with lances. The rifle is a poor reliance, and but for the oars,
the herd would have been on top of us at any time.”
Upon the top of the hill on the north side of the harbour a cairn was
constructed, and under it Hayes deposited a brief record of the voyage.
On the 11th July 1861, the ice broke up in the harbour, and the schooner
was once more afloat, after ten months’ imprisonment.
On the 13th July, Hayes took leave of the Esquimaux, who were sorry to
see him depart.
Hayes, although doubtful as to the prospect ahead, was determined not to
quit the field without making another attempt to reach the west coast
and endeavour to obtain some further information that might be of
service in the future. He still had a vague hope that, even with his
crippled vessel, some such good prospect might open before him as would
justify him in remaining. He therefore held once more for Cape Isabella,
but met the pack about 10 miles from the Greenland shore. He turned back
and anchored between Littleton and McGary Islands. After a few days’
delay, another attempt was made, and in two days the west coast was
reached near Gale Point, about 10 miles below Cape Isabella. Hayes then
took a whale-boat to the cape, but found it impassable.
His opinion of the situation was thus recorded at the time:—
“I am fully persuaded, if there still remained a lingering doubt, of the
correctness of my decision to return home, and come out next year
strengthened and refitted with steam. If my impulses lead me to try
conclusions once more with the ice, my judgment convinces me that it
would be at the risk of everything. As well use a Hudson River steamboat
for a battering-ram as this schooner, with her weakened bows, to
encounter the Smith Sound ice.
“I have secured the following important advantages for the future, and
with these I must, perforce, rest satisfied, for the present:—
“(1) I have brought my party through without sickness, and have thus
shown that the Arctic winter of itself breeds neither scurvy nor
discontent.
“(2) I have shown that men may subsist themselves in Smith Sound
independent of support from home.
“(3) That a self-sustaining colony may be established at Port Foulke,
and be made the basis of an extended exploration.
“(4) That the exploration of this entire region is practicable from Port
Foulke—having from that starting-point pushed my discoveries much
beyond those of my predecessors, without any second party in the field
to co-operate with me, and under the most adverse circumstances.
“(5) That, with a reasonable degree of certainty, it is shown that, with
a strong vessel, Smith Sound may be navigated and the open sea reached
beyond it.
“(6) I have shown that the open sea exists.”
In returning home, Hayes visited Whale Sound and explored it as far as
he could, and named Inglefield Gulf.
At Upernavik news was received of trouble in the United States, but it
was not till they put in to Halifax, Nova Scotia, that they learnt that
civil war had broken out. This was terrible news to Hayes. He had
intended to return to the Arctic regions with a ship fitted with
steam-power, and to continue his explorations. The war altered
everything. As soon as he reached Boston he wrote to the President,
asking for immediate employment in the public service, and offering his
schooner to the Government as a gun-boat.
Hayes’ book is written in delightful language, but grave doubts have
been cast upon the extent of his discoveries. It was afterwards found
that Lady Franklin Bay was 6 degrees farther east than Hayes placed it,
and the description given by Hayes of his farthest north does not agree
with what is seen in the neighbourhood of Lady Franklin Bay.
[Illustration: CHART of the Northern Portion of EAST-GREENLAND.]
CHAPTER IV
THE GERMAN EXPEDITION (1869−70)
The German Expedition left Bremerhaven on 15th June 1869. There were two
boats—the _Germania_ and the _Hansa_. The expedition was to make the
east coast of Greenland and then penetrate to the north as far as
possible.
The ice was reached on 15th July. On the 20th of July the two ships were
separated through a misunderstanding, and they never met again.
From the 20th of July till the end of August the _Hansa_ struggled
through the pack-ice which drifts along the coast of Greenland.
According to instructions, it was to attempt to reach Sabine Island, but
that was found impossible. At the end of August it became fast in the
ice, and drifted south.
On the 27th September the crew of the _Hansa_ began building a house
with coal-tiles on the floe. It was 20 feet long, 14 feet broad, and 6½
feet in the gable, while the side walls were 4 feet 8 inches high. For
cement, powdered snow was used, and over this water was poured, which
soon froze the whole into a compact mass.
About the middle of October the _Hansa_ was wrecked by the pressure of
the ice. It sprang a leak and slowly sank, and the crew had sufficient
time to save a good many necessary articles which were stacked round the
house on the floe.
The ice-field slowly but steadily drifted to the south. By the 3rd of
November it had passed the Liverpool coast, and had reached Scoresby’s
Sound. A walrus and several bears were shot, and supplied the party with
fresh meat. November and December passed, and nothing particular
happened. Christmas was spent in quite an enjoyable manner, after the
German fashion. On the 2nd of January 1870 a storm arose, and when it
was over it was discovered that half of the floe had been destroyed. On
the 11th another storm did great damage, and greatly reduced the size of
the floe. A huge gap opened in the ice near to the house, and all the
firewood drifted into the raging sea. The floe was now only 150 feet in
diameter, but during the night the masses of ice became closely packed
again. On the 14th another frightful storm was experienced: a fissure
opened in the ice under the house and the roof fell in, but fortunately
the inmates all escaped. Some shelter was obtained in the boats during
the next five nights, until a new house half the size of the old one was
built. This house had sleeping-room for only six men, so that from this
time the remainder had to sleep in the boats. It was not until the 7th
of May that the opportunity came to leave the floe in their boats. They
had spent 200 days on the ice. On the 4th of June they succeeded in
reaching the island of Illuidlek. They left the island on the 6th and
made for Friedrichsthal, the nearest colony on the south-west coast of
Greenland, which was reached on the 13th of June, and where they
received a hearty welcome. After a few days here, they journeyed to
Julianashaab, about 80 miles distant, from which they obtained a boat
for Europe.
* * * * *
After parting with the _Hansa_ on the 20th of July, the _Germania_
battled with the ice in various latitudes, and after great difficulties
succeeded in reaching Sabine Island on the 5th of August.
Sabine Island is one of the Pendulum Islands discovered by Clavering in
1823. The _Germania_ finally wintered in a little bay in the south-east
corner of the island, after making a trip to the north of Shannon
Island.
Several short sledging expeditions were made before winter set in, but
the main expedition to the north was made in the following spring.
Musk-oxen were plentiful, and several bears were shot. Deserted
Esquimaux huts were found, but no natives were seen by the Expedition.
The party had several serious adventures with bears. One of them is thus
described:—“Theodor Klentzer climbed the Germaniaberg to view the
landscape in the increasing midday light. Reaching the top, he seated
himself on a rock, and sang a song in the still air. As he looked behind
him, however, he saw, not many steps off, a huge bear, which with great
gravity was watching the stranger. Now, to our ‘Theodor,’ who was as
quiet and decided a man as he was powerful, this would, under other
circumstances, have been nothing; for the bear stood wonderfully well
for a shot, and could not easily be missed; but Klentzer was totally
unarmed, not having even a knife. Incredible! is it not? But, as
Lieutenant Payer writes, ‘the bears always come when one has forgotten
all about them.’
“Thus Klentzer saw himself unarmed and alone, far from his companions,
and close to the bear. Flight was the only, though a doubtful, chance of
safety, and the audacious thought struck him of plunging down the steep
side of the glacier; but he chose the softer side-slope, and began to
hurry down the mountain. Upon looking back, after a time, he perceived
the great bear trotting behind him at a little distance, like a great
dog. Thus they descended the mountain for some time. If Klentzer halted,
so did the bear; when he went on, the bear followed slowly; if he began
to run, the bear did the same. Thus the two had gone some distance, and
Klentzer thought seriously of saving himself, as the bear, finding the
chase somewhat wearisome, might press close upon his heels. He therefore
uttered a loud shout, but the bear, only disconcerted for a moment,
seemed to get more angry and approached quicker, so that he seemed to
feel the hot breath of the monster. At this dreadful moment—and it was
most likely his preservation—he remembered the stories he had heard,
and while running, pulled off his jacket, throwing it behind him. And
see! the trick answers: the bear stops and begins to examine the jacket.
Klentzer gains courage, rushes on down the mountain, sending out a shout
for help, which resounds through the silent region. But soon the bear is
again at his heels, and he must throw away cap and waistcoat, by which
he gains a little. Now Klentzer sees help approaching—several friends
hurrying over the ice. Collecting his last strength, he shouts and runs
on. But help seems in vain, for the pursuer hurries too, and he is
obliged to take the last thing he has, his shawl, which he throws
exactly over the monster’s snout, who, more excited still by renewed
shouting, throws it back again contemptuously with a toss of the head,
and presses forward upon the defenceless man, who feels his cold black
snout touch his hand. Klentzer now gave himself up for lost; he could do
no more; but the wonderful thought struck him of fastening up the bear’s
throat with the leather belt which he wore round his body. Fixedly he
stared into the merciless eyes of the beast—one short moment of
doubt—the bear was startled, his attention seemed drawn aside, and the
next moment he was off at a gallop.”
Another bear incident had a more serious ending:—
“We were sitting (writes Lieutenant Payer) fortunately silent in the
cabin, when Koldewey suddenly heard a faint cry for help. We all
hurriedly tumbled up the companion-ladder to the deck, when an
exclamation from Börgen, ‘A bear is carrying me off!’ struck painfully
on our ears.
“It was quite dark; we could scarcely see anything, but we made directly
for the quarter whence the cry proceeded, armed with poles, weapons,
etc., over hummocks and drifts, when an alarm-shot, which we fired in
the air, seemed to make some little impression, as the bear dropped his
prey and ran forward a few paces. He turned again, however, dragging his
victim over the broken shore-ice, close to a field which stretched in a
southerly direction. All depended upon our coming up with him before he
could reach this field, as he would carry his prey over the open plain
with the speed of a horse, and thus escape. We succeeded. The bear
turned upon us for a moment, and then, scared by our continuous fire,
let fall his prey.
“We lifted our poor comrade up on to the ice, to bear him to his
cabin—a task which was rendered somewhat difficult by the slippery and
uneven surface of the ice. But after we had gone a little way, Börgen
implored us to make as much haste as possible. On procuring a light, the
coldest nature would have been shocked at the spectacle which poor
Börgen presented. The bear had torn his scalp in several places, and he
had received several injuries in other parts of his body. His clothes
and hair were saturated with blood. We improvised a couch for him in the
rear of our own cabin, as his own was not large enough.
“The first operation was performed upon him on the cabin table. And here
we may briefly notice the singular fact that, although he had been
carried more than 100 paces with his skull almost laid bare, at a
temperature of −13° F., his scalp healed so perfectly that not a single
portion was missing.”
Börgen’s narrative was as follows:—
“About a quarter before 9 p.m. I had gone out to observe the occupation
of a star, which was to take place about that time, and also to take the
meteorological readings. As I was in the act of getting on shore,
Captain Koldewey came on to the ice. We spoke for a few moments, when I
went on shore, while he returned to the cabin. On my return from the
observatory, about 50 steps from the vessel, I heard a rustling noise to
the left, and became aware of the proximity of a bear. There was no time
to think, or to use my gun. The grip was so sudden and rapid that I am
unable to say how it was done; whether the bear rose and struck me down
with his fore-paws, or whether he ran me down. But from the character of
the injuries I have sustained (contusions and a deep cut of the left
ear), I conclude that the former must have been the case. The next thing
I felt was the tearing of my scalp, which was only protected by a
skull-cap. This is their mode of attacking seals, but, owing to the
slipperiness of their skulls, the teeth glide off. The cry of help which
I uttered frightened the animal for a moment; but he turned again and
bit me several times on the head. The alarm had meanwhile been heard by
the captain, who had not yet reached the cabin. He hurried on deck,
convinced himself that it was really an alarm, roused up the crew and
hastened on to the ice, bringing assistance to his struggling comrade.
The noise evidently frightened the bear, and he trotted off with his
prey, which he dragged by the head. A shot fired to frighten the
creature effected its purpose, inasmuch as he dropped me, and sprang a
few steps aside; but he immediately seized me by the arm, and, his hold
proving insufficient, he seized me by the right hand, on which was a fur
glove, and this gave the pursuers time to come up with the brute, which
had by its great speed left them far behind. He was now making for the
shore, and would certainly have escaped with his prey, had he succeeded
in climbing the bank. However, as he came to the edge of the ice, he
turned along the coast-side, continuing on the rough and broken ice,
which greatly retarded his speed, and thus allowed his pursuers upon the
ice to gain rapidly upon him. After being dragged in this way for about
300 paces, almost strangled by my shawl, which the bear had seized at
the same time, he dropped me, and immediately afterwards Koldewey was
bending over me with the words, ‘Thank God! he is still alive!’ The bear
stood a few paces on one side, evidently undecided what course to
pursue, until a bullet gave him a hint that it was high time to take
himself off.
“No one thought of pursuing him, for their first care was to carry the
wounded man on board, whither the doctor and Herr Tranmitz had gone in
order to prepare the requisites for binding up the wounds. The main
injuries were in the head, where, amongst numerous other wounds from the
bites, two especially from 4 to 6 inches long ran along the scalp, the
edges of which hung loose, leaving the skull bare for one-third to
two-fifths of an inch. The other wounds, about twenty in number, were in
part caused by striking against the fragments and rough broken edges of
the ice. It is worth while mentioning that, neither during the act of
receiving the wounds nor during the process of healing, which progressed
favourably, did I experience the smallest pain.”
The sledge-journey to the north left on the 8th March 1870. The party
consisted of ten men, and they had two sledges. The smaller sledge had
four men who were to accompany the expedition for a week, and then
return after laying a dépôt. A storm and the low temperature forced them
to return to the ship a few days after leaving.
On the 24th March they started again. During the first day one of the
men had the whole of his right foot frost-bitten, and the convoy-sledge
had to return to the ship. A herd of musk-oxen was seen on Hochstetter’s
Promontory, but none was shot. A bear was killed on the 4th of April,
and supplied the party with meat, and his fat served as fuel four days.
On the 6th of April they crossed the 76° of latitude, and on the south
side of Cape Karl Ritter discovered traces of Esquimaux summer tents. On
the 11th April, Cape Bismarck in 76° 47′ was reached, and this was the
end of the actual sledge-journey. Leaving their tent here, they
journeyed to a mountain in 77° 1′ north latitude, and 18° 50′ west
longitude, where a cairn was erected. Provisions were now running short,
and they were compelled to return. Two musk-oxen were shot at Cape
Bismarck. Like many of the other expeditions about this period, they
suffered greatly from want of snow-shoes, and frequently had to wade
through snow up to the thighs. The difficulties of such a sledge-journey
are well described by Lieutenant Payer:—
“Amongst other disagreeables of an Arctic sledge-journey is its
monotony. The ideas and wishes contained within the limited horizon of
life in the Arctic world pass as quickly away as the eye is wearied by
the monotony of the landscape.
“Conversation carried on by men straining at the traces can certainly
not be very animated. The frost prevents smoking, for the pipes freeze.
There is a continued conflict against the loss of warmth; and the cold
penetrates in a hundred different ways. Now the chin is numbed, a
painful straining of the forehead sets in, or a violent pricking of the
nostrils, which are exposed to the wind. Sometimes one stands in danger
of the heels, the toes, or the hands being frost-bitten. The hair of the
face, and even the eyelashes, get hoar with frost,—indeed, the eyes are
often completely closed,—and every frozen spot on the body must at once
be rubbed with lumps of snow resembling pumice-stone, until a warm,
pricking glow succeeds. When, as in the case of many of our party, the
frozen hands or feet were not rubbed with snow until too late, it led to
numerous blisters. The fingers swelled up into lumps, and became quite
numbed; but the noses (the whole eight of which were frozen) were more
fortunate: they emerged from a white into a red stage of enlarged
dimensions, were eventually covered with a parchment-like skin,
remaining for some time most sensitive, and by slow degrees regained
their normal condition, so that by the time we landed in Europe they
were all right again. The heat of our bodies, which we did our best to
retain by warm woollen clothes, was carried away in a moment by the
slightest wind; and if it increased, the cold crept between every button
of our seal-skin clothing; the penetrating icy wind was felt at every
stitch; the arms hung down like lead, deadly cold, and no one dared to
walk about without a mask. If the wind rose still more, curtains of
penetrating snow-crystals rose with it from the ground; then a
snowstorm, which always comes from the north, might be expected,
announcing itself by a lofty white appearance in the south, the violet
colour and close proximity of the mountains, and low-hanging clouds. But
still we risk the march forward against the thickening snow, until
painful breathing and stiffening limbs warn us to pitch our tent.
“Under ordinary circumstances this was done about 6 or 7 p.m., on a
smooth surface. A hole was quickly dug with shovels, on which the tent
was erected, and the dug-out blocks of snow laid round it for safety
against the storm, and the sledge placed as a shield to the north. The
tent was kept upright by means of four long poles, each crossed at the
top, stretched by ropes fastened to axes or piles driven into the
ground. When the sleeping-sack had been laid down in the tent, our
personal baggage settled, the kettle filled with blocks of snow by the
cook, the lamp lit, and the rations given out, our comrades, who, owing
to the increased cold since the setting of the sun, had meanwhile been
running and jumping to keep themselves warm, were allowed to enter.
“During our last half-hour’s march, each man had been busy thawing his
beard with his hands, for it had been changed into a lump of ice, so
that it might not melt whilst the cooking was going on, and so wet their
clothes and coverings. As soon as all were in their places in the tent,
the aperture was closed, and preparations made for passing the night.
“The stiff sail-cloth boots, fast frozen to the stockings which were to
form our pillows, were thawed between the hands, and with difficulty
taken off; the stockings, thick with rimy snow, were scraped, then wrung
and laid upon the breast, to dry by our only available means—our bodily
heat—so as to prepare them for the following day’s work.
“At last all have wriggled themselves into the sleeping−sack, each one
lying partly on his neighbour, and in this modest space waiting for the
evening meal.
“The first hour is spent in melting the snow, the second in preparing
the meal, which is devoured eagerly, and as cool as possible. The
development of steam during the cooking (which in the very cold weather
consumed one bottle of spirit, or 1 lb.) put us into such a vapour-bath
that we could not even see our next neighbour; the tent walls were
completely wet through; and the temperature rose rapidly. The dampness
of the coverings and clothes, from the condensation of the steam on the
rime, of course increased, and the opening of the tent door occasioned a
fall of snow within, so that by the time the cooking was over, all was
covered with a thick coating of ice or crust of snow.
“It is about eight or nine o’clock: the small rations of boiled beef,
soup, and vegetables are no longer enough to allay the daily increasing
hunger; but sleep buries that, as well as our burning thirst, in
oblivion. Only occasionally did our sparing supply of spirits allow us
to prepare an extra quantity of water.
“During the march each one carried an india-rubber or tin bottle full of
snow, on his bare body, turned as much as possible to the sun, and often
after many hours only a few spare spoonfuls (and sometimes nothing)
could be obtained from it.
“Last of all, the cook, after cleaning out the kettle, also fights his
way into the sleeping-sack, which thus attains its proper complement. A
side position is the only one possible—to-night all lie to the left,
to-morrow all to the right. Comfortable positions, such as stretching on
one’s back for example, meet with a miserable protest, as well as any
other after-movement; and when at length silence falls upon all, the
eight men form one single lump.
“The nose acts no longer merely as a condenser, as on the spring
journey; it now becomes a cold-pole, and leaving it outside the rimy and
icy covering is preferable to burying it in the questionable atmosphere
of the sack. The mouth, as the only outlet of exhalation, must remain
open, but the teeth get so cold that they feel like icicles, and the
mask, which it is necessary to wear in the night, freezes to the long
beard.
“Happy were those who, during the lowest temperature within the first
fourteen days of our journey, could really lose themselves during the
hours of rest, if only for a short time, for they were generally passed
in a painful waiting for a happy release, by—dragging!
“This general wakefulness made it unnecessary to set a special watch for
bears and foxes, which occasionally made a bold raid upon the stores in
the sledge, for they had never yet succeeded in approaching us quite
noiselessly.
“In spite of all efforts to the contrary, the cutting cold too soon
penetrated the sleeping-sack; within the tent the temperature sinks from
60° or 65° to below zero, and the body has to be again refreshed with
artificial warmth, by motion and hot food.
“The natural consequences of this state of temperature is a continually
increasing sensation of freezing until the morning. During the day the
sack has got thoroughly cold on the sledge, and must again be warmed by
bodily heat, being frozen into thick folds as hard as iron. Whoever lies
upon these seems to be lying on laths, which towards morning begin to
lose their sharpness. One or the other, we keep a bottle of snow about
us. All are shivering, scarcely any sleep. For hours together we are in
a state of suffocation, the pressure on either side causing a feeling as
though the collar-bone was being forced into the chest and the shoulders
crushed. Each lies upon his arm (which of course goes to sleep), and is
often prevented from breathing by the smell of train-oil proceeding from
his neighbour’s seal-skin. The breath condenses over the face and upon
the sloping tent-side, in long snow-webs, which fall at the slightest
movement.
“The misery of tent-life reaches its maximum during an uninterrupted
snowstorm of sometimes three days’ duration. So long as this assumes the
form of a hurricane, no one can leave the tent without danger of either
being suffocated or blown away. These Greenland snowstorms, which carry
small stones with them, greatly resemble West Indian hurricanes, only
that the sun is completely darkened by the rush of snow.
“Of course our tents would soon have been blown over, if some
precautions had not been taken. Great distress reigned within. The wind
greatly lessened the already small space by pressing in the walls.
Through the canvas, through every stitch or smallest opening, spurts a
small flood of the finest snow, like flour out of a flour-mill, or
collects itself on the inner surface, where its ever-increasing weight
at length brings it down like small avalanches. As long as the storm
rages the cold is alleviated from the equalisation of warm air over the
sea, though it seldom allows any heat to remain in the tent, so that we
were still in a cold of from 14° to 5° F.
“By degrees a covering of snow at least an inch thick lies on the sack,
under which we must patiently wait till the storm ceases. We scrape it
away with the knife, but it soon returns again. On some occasions this
snow began to melt, and penetrate the clothes, making us look like seals
coming up out of the water.
“In a steadily rising temperature, too, the snow on which we lay would
melt, and the sack get wet underneath, not to dry again till the summer,
but freeze on the sledge in those hard folds we dreaded so much. We
repeatedly felt the want of india-rubber coverings.
“This state of things often lasted from two to three days, and we waited
with an indifference bordering on stupidity, sitting squeezed, with
numbed hands, mending the gloves or stockings, almost freezing, masked;
beards full of ice, stuffed up with a chaos of frozen clothes and boots,
and, worst of all, fasting. The duration of the journey, as well as the
extent of country to be explored, depended upon the use of the
provisions. If, therefore, some part of the time was lost through
storms, this loss, in spite of hunger, thirst, and loss of strength,
could only be regained by reduced rations, which often only consisted of
a thin soup.
“The saucepan has become leaky, a small sea has formed on the sack, the
spirit-lamp runs, and repeatedly threatens to destroy the tent by fire,
which, during the storm, would be the work of a moment. The cook
grumbles, burns his fingers to-day which were frozen yesterday;—urged
on by hunger, his cooking is subject to sharp criticism, as each is
waiting for the eventful moment when the meal shall be ready.
“All food was frozen—even brandy began to freeze one night—meat in the
tins or ham had to be chopped with the axe; butter could, without any
fear, be carried in the waistcoat-pocket, to be enjoyed on the march.
“Woe to the unfortunate man who, in a lull of the storm, goes into the
open air. He is almost torn to pieces, stifled by the snow-filled air,
betrayed into snow-drifts, and yet not daring to open his eyes. Numbed
with cold, white as a miller, he returns to the tent. Here he is a
subject of horror to his neighbours in the sack, whom he intends robbing
of their warmth to thaw himself. The snow-powder blown in upon the
opening of the tent door has penetrated through all the clothes, and the
skin has to be scraped and any frost-bites that may have set in have to
be dispersed by rubbing. Indeed, the disturbance and excitement
consequent upon a walk in the open air does not subside for some hours.
“But the snow-blind suffer the most from such a state of things. Out of
consideration to them, smoking was dropped.
“The irritation caused by the white snowflakes, which with us are easily
beaten aside, cause great suffering in Greenland, from the inflamed
state of the eyes and the thick heavy atmosphere, to those who may have
been unfortunate enough to break their snow-spectacles.
“Beating them off while on the march is impossible, for the damp cloth
freezes at once to a lump of ice, making the eyes insupportably cold.
The simple bandage, on the other hand, does not save one from the steady
burning pain, which acts like needle-pricks. Opening the eye for a
moment is not to be thought of. The blind are obliged to pull with the
others, as the laden sledge cannot be moved but by our united strength.
“As a rule, we break up about 5 a.m. The thin black coffee is taken with
some ice-cold bread-dust, which effectually destroys all its warming
properties, mixed into it like a mash, and then follows laborious
packing up of the clothes, in order to be prepared for all weathers. The
frozen boots must first be thawed with the hands, and the folds taken
out, the tent freed from snow, and beaten until pliable. The
sleeping-sack receives the same treatment, which, as a sign of our
disgust and its daily increasing weight from the ice, we named ‘the
Walrus.’
“The soaked seal-skin clothing freezes at once in the air, and damp
condenses on the hair in frost-blossoms. One or the other rubs his face
with scraped snow to refresh his eyes—a novel kind of washing, in
default of water, though with the slightest breath of wind his hands are
in danger of freezing. After every snowstorm, tent and sledge have to be
dug out, and the contents cleaned with difficulty.
“All this business occupies about two hours, when the traces are taken
up with great satisfaction, as a long-looked-for release from the pain
of the nightly couch. The sledge is loosened from its frozen position,
and the journey continued, which, after twenty-three days, brought us to
77° of latitude, the most northerly point ever reached on the east coast
of Greenland.”
The coast along which this sledge-journey was made was found to be much
broken up, and the opinion was formed that the land might possibly
resolve itself into a group of islands.
The ice having broken up, the _Germania_ left its winter harbour on 22nd
July, and steamed northwards. In 75° 29′ it was stopped by ice, and had
to return to the south. Kaiser Franz-Joseph’s Fjord was afterwards
explored; and on the 17th of August the return home to Germany was
begun. By the 25th of August they were clear of the ice.
“On the 10th of September we were a few miles from Heligoland. A heavy
storm blew from the south-west, but in the evening shifted to the
north-west, enabling us to run in to shore. At daybreak, though we had
seen no pilot, we recognised Langerooge, and steered along the Southwall
to the mouth of the Weser. No sign of a ship! The Weser seemed to have
died out. Where are the pilots hidden? Are they lying _perdu_ on account
of yesterday’s storm? Well, then, we must run into the Weser without
them; the wind is favourable, the weather clear, the outer buoy will be
easy to find; there is the church-tower of Wangerooge. Suspecting
nothing, we steered on; the tower bears S.S.W., south-west by south,
south-west, but no buoy in sight. The captain and steersman look at each
other in astonishment. Can we have been so mistaken and out of our
reckoning? But no! That is certainly Wangerooge; the depth of water
agrees, our compass is correct. No doubt about it, we are in the Weser;
something unusual must have happened! Still no sail in sight! But what
is that? Yonder are the roads. There are several large vessels under
steam; they at least can give us some information. So we make for them.
We saluted the German flag, and soon the cry was heard, ‘War, war with
France; Napoleon is prisoner! France has declared a Republic; our armies
are before Paris!’ And then, ‘_Hansa_ destroyed in the ice, crew
saved.’”
CHAPTER V
VOYAGE OF THE _POLARIS_ (1871−73)
Captain Charles Francis Hall, after having dwelt with the Esquimaux
about eight years, during which he lived like one of them and acquired
their language, returned to America in 1869.
He had a great ambition to reach the spot “where there is no North, no
East, no West.” Early in 1870 he began his agitation for an expedition
to the North Pole. He lectured in various parts of the United States,
and received encouragement from the Hon. George M. Robeson, Secretary of
the United States Navy. Ultimately a wooden river gun-boat of 387 tons,
called the _Periwinkle_, was given to Hall, and was afterwards
rechristened _Polaris_. Congress also granted 50,000 dollars.
Hall, who was not himself a seaman, engaged Captain S. O. Budington as
sailing-master. Captain Budington had made thirteen whaling voyages to
Baffin’s Bay, and was therefore an experienced ice-navigator. Dr.
Bessels was naturalist, and Mr. Meyer meteorologist. Morton, of Kane’s
expedition, also accompanied Hall. Mr. Grinnell, the munificent promoter
of expeditions for the search of Franklin, presented Hall with the flag
which, in 1838, had been with Wilkes to the Antarctic regions, and which
had since been in the northern Polar seas with De Haven, Kane, and
Hayes.
Hall’s first intention was to proceed up Jones Sound, but his opinion
regarding this route changed before he left the States. He trusted
chiefly to dogs for his sledge-travelling, and did not expect to reach a
higher latitude than 80° during the first year.
The _Polaris_ left New London on 3rd July 1871, and St. John’s on 19th
July. The coast of Greenland was first seen on 27th July, and Upernavik
was reached on 19th August. Here Hans, of Kane’s and Hayes’ expedition,
was engaged as dog-driver and servant, and received a salary of 300
dollars per annum. His wife and three children, who were dressed in
ragged and filthy skin clothing, accompanied him. Their luggage
consisted of tents, tools, cooking utensils, implements of the chase,
and three or four puppies whose eyes could scarcely bear the light.
The _Polaris_ was first stopped by the ice off the western shore of
Hakluyt Island, about 5 a.m. on the 27th August, but by forcing ahead,
open water was reached the same day. At 3 p.m. on that day the _Polaris_
was opposite Cape Alexander; at 5 p.m. it was off Littleton Island;
Cairn Point was passed at 6.30; and at 8 p.m. the parallel of Rensselaer
Harbour was reached.
Smith Sound was found quite open. At midnight a heavy pack was seen, but
in about two hours its south-western point was rounded. At 3.30 a.m. on
the 28th, Cape Hawks was on the port beam, about 15 miles distant.
The width of the southern entrance of Kennedy Channel was estimated to
be about 35 miles, and it was found to narrow towards the north to about
25 miles.
The highest latitude, estimated by Hall to be 82° 26′, but afterwards
corrected to 82° 11′, was reached at 6 a.m. on the 30th August. Hall had
therefore passed from Cape Alexander, at the entrance of Smith Sound, to
his highest point in Robeson Channel, in about two and a half days. He
had carried his ship much farther north than any ship had ever reached
before.
The barrier of ice had now been reached, and it became necessary to
search for a harbour. Steaming southwards, a little bay was seen, but
after two attempts to enter it, Hall had to acknowledge defeat. He named
it “Repulse Harbour.”
Budington wished the _Polaris_ to take winter quarters in Newman Bay,
but Hall decided to try and reach the west coast. After boring for a
distance of 12 miles, the _Polaris_ was beset, and was not released
until the 4th September, when a course was made for the eastern shore.
On the 5th September the anchor was dropped about 300 yards from shore,
in latitude 81° 37′, and about 4 miles south of Cape Lupton.
Hall named Robeson Channel after the Secretary to the Navy, and the
Harbour was named “Thank-God Harbour.”
A large quantity of provisions and stores was now landed, and
preparations were at once made to explore the surrounding neighbourhood.
Traces of Esquimaux were soon found; and on the 6th September, Hall and
some of his companions ascended Cape Lupton, from which Robeson Channel
could be seen as far as Cape Union. The bay extending from Cape Lupton
to Cape Budington was named “Polaris Bay.”
A hunting-party was sent out on 18th September. It returned on the 23rd,
and reported having killed a musk-ox. This was very interesting news, as
it was the first musk-ox ever seen on the west coast of Greenland.
On 10th October, Captain Hall, Mr. Chester, and the Esquimaux Joe and
Hans started on a sledge-journey towards the north. On the 15th, Hall
camped in sight of a bay which he named “Newman Bay.” On the 18th, Hall
and Mr. Chester ascended to the top of Cape Brevoort, situated on the
north side of this bay. The return journey was made from this point.
During this journey the party slept in snow-houses. They returned to the
ship on 24th October. All were well with the exception of Captain Hall.
He complained of not having his usual amount of energy. Soon after his
return he became sick and vomited a good deal. Dr. Bessels announced
that same evening that Hall’s left side was paralysed and that he had
had an apoplectic attack. On the 29th he had marked symptoms of
insanity, and believed that an attempt was being made to poison him.
However, by the 6th November he had largely recovered, but at night he
again became alarmingly ill. On the 7th he became comatose, and died on
the morning of the 8th November. On the 10th November he was buried on
the shore of Polaris Bay, and a wooden monument was erected over his
grave.
It was a sad and unexpected ending to a life full of high hope.
On the death of Captain Hall, the command devolved upon Captain
Budington.
On the 18th November a severe gale began. It increased in violence on
the 19th, until the wind reached 52 miles per hour. It continued on the
20th and 21st, and on the latter date the _Polaris_ was found to be
afloat. With great difficulty the ship was secured to a large grounded
iceberg which was named “Providence Berg.” The _Polaris_ was thus saved
from being carried into the pack.
Nothing of special interest occurred during the remainder of the winter.
In March 1872, Joe the Eskimo, in one of his hunting expeditions,
discovered Petermann’s Fiord.
On 27th March a sledge-party in charge of Dr. Bessels set out with the
object of reaching Cape Constitution, Morton’s farthest, and
ascertaining its correct position. The party reached within 30 miles of
the cape, but had then to return.
The whole expedition were anxious to explore the region to the north,
but the strange conclusion was arrived at that it was necessary to
proceed in boats. The idea of the “open sea” had evidently some
influence with them. When a small channel formed it gave rise to high
hopes that a start with the boats would be made, but these hopes were
soon dashed when the channel closed again. Instead of setting out with
sledge-parties along the coast, the spring and part of the summer were
allowed to slip away while they waited for open water. Yet they were in
a more favourable position for making an advance towards the north of
Greenland than any party before or since.
On the 8th June a start was made from Cape Lupton with a boat, which had
previously been taken there, but it was crushed in the ice next day.
Another start was made on the 10th with two boats, and the party
succeeded in reaching Newman Bay without much difficulty, but found it
impossible to proceed farther north with the boats.
During the month of June the _Polaris_ leaked badly, and the pumps had
to be kept frequently at work. On the 26th of this month the ship was
liberated from the ice by means of saws, and Budington at once
determined to start for the north. On approaching Cape Sumner, however,
the pack was found to be impenetrable. After crossing to Cape Lieber
without finding an opening, the _Polaris_ returned to “Thank-God
Harbour.” On the 28th June, Budington received the news that the
boat-party was at Newman Bay, and he attempted to take the _Polaris_
north so as to pick up the boats, but the pack was again met at Cape
Sumner. He then sent instructions for the boat-party to return. The
boats were abandoned at Newman Bay, and the last of the party returned
to the _Polaris_ on 22nd July.
At the beginning of August, Budington determined to start towards the
south as soon as an opportunity presented itself. This occurred on the
12th August at 4.30 p.m. Next day a close pack was met, and the
_Polaris_ was fastened to a large floe and allowed to drift slowly down
the channel. Cape Constitution was passed on the 14th. During the rest
of the month, and throughout the whole of September, the drift southward
was very slow. On the 12th October the _Polaris_ was within 2 miles of
Cairn Point, and on the 14th Northumberland Island was visible. During
September and October a house was built on the floe.
On the 15th October a severe gale sprang up, and preparations had to be
made in case it was found necessary to abandon the ship. During her
drift southwards the _Polaris_ had been nipped several times, and was
leaking badly. During this gale she was again nipped so severely that
Budington ordered provisions and stores to be thrown upon the ice. The
Esquimaux women and children took refuge on the floe. While some of the
crew were carrying articles to a safe place on the floe, the _Polaris_
was suddenly drifted away from the ice. So quickly did this catastrophe
take place that the floe-party soon disappeared from view.
Budington now called all hands to muster, and found that fourteen men
remained on board. The _Polaris_ drifted rapidly until toward midnight,
when she ran into some young ice, and her progress was stayed. Next
morning the ship’s position was found to be half-way between Littleton
Island and Cairn Point. No trace of the missing party could be seen.
Later in the day the _Polaris_ reached the coast, and was secured with
heavy hawsers to large grounded hummocks.
On the 19th October two Esquimaux appeared at the ship, and on this date
it was decided to build a house on shore. More Esquimaux arrived on the
21st, and they gave great assistance in sledging articles to the shore.
The house was soon erected, and was used by the party throughout the
winter. Large numbers of Esquimaux made frequent visits, and were very
friendly with the party during the whole time of their stay.
Towards the end of February 1873 it was decided to begin the
construction of two boats in which the party intended to make a retreat
to the Danish settlements.
On the 30th May almost all the land-ice broke away, and with it the
_Polaris_ went adrift. She was carried about 200 yards towards the
south, when she again grounded. At high tide her upper deck was 2 feet
under water.
On the 3rd June 1873 the party set out for the south in their two boats.
On the 23rd of this month, in Melville Bay, not far from Cape York, they
were gladdened by the sight of a whaler. It turned out to be the
_Ravenscraig_ of Kirkcaldy, Scotland, owned by Ninian Lockhart, and
commanded by Captain William Allen. The _Polaris_ party were
enthusiastically received, and were treated with the greatest kindness.
They were ultimately taken to Dundee.
We must now return to the party on the floe. It consisted of ten
Americans and nine Esquimaux. The Americans were Tyson, Meyer, Herron,
Jackson, Kruger, Jamka, Nindemann, Aunting, Lindqvist, and Johnson. They
had two boats, two kayaks, a canvas boat, and some navigation
instruments, besides a moderate quantity of provisions.
Next day, after their separation from the _Polaris_, the floe on which
they were was found to be near Littleton Island. The party took to their
boats, intending to make for the land and to look for the _Polaris_, but
a breeze sprang up and obliged them to haul the boats on the ice. Soon
after this, the _Polaris_ was seen rounding a point 8 or 10 miles away.
Signals were made, but were not noticed by those on the vessel. After
this, the floe drifted away from land towards the west coast, then
across to the neighbourhood of Northumberland Island, and finally
southwards to the east of the Carey Islands.
The Esquimaux during this time were successful in capturing a number of
seals. The provisions were served out by weight, 11 oz. being a day’s
allowance.
During October three snow-houses were built. By November the temperature
became very low, and the effects of exposure and want of food began to
tell on the party. Some of the men trembled when they tried to walk, and
the Esquimaux children often cried with hunger, although all was given
them that could possibly be spared. The services of Joe and Hans were
invaluable: without them, the chances of life would have been very much
diminished. So keen had the appetites of the party become that the
seal-meat was eaten uncooked, with the skin and hair on.
On the 7th December the latitude of 74° 4′ was reached. During this
month the allowance of food was 16 oz. Christmas was celebrated by an
extra meal. At breakfast, an additional ounce of bread made the soup a
little thicker than usual. New Year’s Day did not pass so well. One of
the party described the dinner as “mouldy bread and short allowance.”
Captain Tyson stated that he had dined “on about 2 feet of frozen
entrails and a little blubber.”
On the 6th January 1873 the latitude was approximately 72° 7′. On the
15th of this month the temperature went down to 40° below zero. On the
19th, the sun reappeared after an absence of eighty-three days.
On the 21st February the rations were reduced to 7 oz., so that they
might last till April. At the beginning of March the temperature was
over 30° below zero, and food was scarce. On the 2nd of the month Joe
was fortunate in shooting a large seal, an “ookgook,” and it can be
imagined with what delight the starving party received it. They feasted
on it till most of them became ill. Soon after this seal was captured a
storm came on, and it was feared that the floe would break up: the noise
of the ice was like that of artillery. All the party remained dressed
and ready in case of sudden disaster. After the gale began to moderate,
it was found that the ice all around had been broken up, and that the
piece on which they were was now only about 175 yards in size.
On the 12th March the latitude was found to be 64° 32′. On the 27th of
this month a bear was shot. This was very much appreciated: the flesh
was compared to pork. On the last day of March the latitude was about
the same as Cape Farewell—the most southern point of Greenland.
On the 1st April it was found necessary to abandon the floe and take to
the boat. When all the party entered, the boat was found to be
overloaded, and 100 lb. of meat and nearly all the clothing had to be
thrown overboard. During the next few days the party were kept
continually launching and then hauling up the boat on the ice. On the
7th April the ice split across the tent; the party managed to save
themselves, but lost their breakfast. Next day the ice split between the
tent and the boat, and it was only with great difficulty that the latter
was secured.
During the next eight days they were imprisoned on the ice, and the
amount of food ran very low. On the 18th April a seal was shot by Joe
and was eaten raw. Next day a sea struck the floe on which they were
camped and washed away the tent, skins, and most of the bed-clothing. It
was with the utmost difficulty that the men prevented the boat from
being lost. They held on to the boat from 9 p.m. till 7 next morning.
During this time many of them were frequently struck by blocks of ice
and severely bruised. On the 22nd April they were saved from starvation
by the capture of a bear.
At 4.30 p.m. on the 28th April a steamer hove in sight, but failed to
see them. Next day another steamer was seen, but after the party
believed they were observed, it changed its course and disappeared. On
the 30th April, on some fog clearing away, they were overjoyed to see a
steamer close at hand. Shots and shouting soon attracted attention, and
in a few minutes it was alongside. The vessel was the sealer _Tigress_,
Captain Bartlett of Newfoundland. The party were pic
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