ETAH TO CAPE SHERIDAN
Leaving Etah soon after midnight of August 16th, the _Roosevelt_ swung
out from the harbour of Etah and severed all communication with the
civilised world. Below decks the ship was filled with coal until her
plank sheer was nearly to the water; on deck were more than two hundred
Eskimo dogs; and on the topgallant forecastle, and the tops of both
forward and after deck-houses were over half a hundred Eskimos, men,
women and children, and their belongings.
The heavy pack ice surging down Smith Sound, past Littleton Island, gave
me an opportunity to see what good work the ship could do and as we
bored through it toward Cape Sabine, she realised my expectations in
regard to her, even though very deeply loaded and her boiler power
reduced to one-half. The sharply raking stem was a revelation even to
me, though it was my idea. Deep and heavy as the ship was, she rose on
the opposing ice without pronounced shock, no matter how viciously she
was driven at it, and either split it with the impact, or wedged it
aside by sheer weight.
Bartlett obeyed my first orders, to give her full speed and I would be
responsible, with some misgivings. The sealing captains are always very
cautious with their ships when first going out heavy with coal.
At the end of an hour or two he was enthusiastic, both at the ease with
which the most crushing blows could be delivered, and the whaleboat-like
facility with which the ship wheeled and twisted through the tortuous
passages.
But there were some areas of ancient ice which a thousand _Roosevelts_
merged in one could not have negotiated, and we were soon deflected to
the southwest, and only when within some ten miles of Cape Isabella did
we find it practicable to work northward again.
Cape Sabine and Payer Harbour, which had been my headquarters for
sixteen months in 1901–1902, were densely packed, permitting no near
approach, and we bored away to the northeast, till the ice became
impracticable for further advance, then retraced our route, and worked
towards Bache Peninsula, getting about half-way across Buchanan Bay when
we were stopped by large floes barring our passage to open water under
Cape Albert. The ice later appearing more favourable to the eastward, we
retraced a portion of our route and I very carefully reconnoitred Sabine
and Payer Harbour again as I was loath to give up my sub-base there,
this being part of my programme as outlined to the Club. But the
conditions were entirely impossible, and making a detour to the east,
the _Roosevelt_ gained the open water at Bache Peninsula, and steaming
to the bight south of Victoria Head, the northwestern headland of the
peninsula, landed a depot of boats, coal, and provisions.
The value of this locality for the southern sub-base of an expedition
going north by the Smith Sound or “American” route was immediately
apparent to me in 1898, and in any future work it should be given
preference over Payer Harbour. Its advantages are contiguity to a
valuable game region, accessibility during any month in the year, and
its less changeable and boisterous climate.
The work of landing the depot occupied about ten hours of the 18th, and
while the work was in progress I went away with three Eskimos to a
neighbouring valley which I knew, and secured three musk-oxen, a large
bull, a cow, and a yearling, the latter being brought aboard alive. This
animal was of the greatest interest to the crew and the “tenderfoot”
members of the expedition, and the arrival of nearly eight hundred
pounds of fine fresh beef created a very agreeable impression on
everyone.
Up to this time the rush of getting on board my Eskimos and dogs,
restowing the ship and fighting the ice, had left me no time for a
thought beyond the demands of each hour. Now as I trod the moss patches
beside the murmuring stream whose quieter reaches were crusted with ice,
saw the fresh tracks of big game and a little later the shaggy black
bulks of the musk-oxen with heads lowered and hoofs stamping, in the way
I knew so well, my pulses bounded rapidly and I felt that I had come
into my own again.
From Bache Peninsula we steamed for Hayes Point through scattered ice,
with the heavy pack close on the starboard hand. Conditions were
different from those of 1898, when the _Windward_ was five days crossing
the mouth of Princess Marie Bay. The night was fine and I could make out
every well-known rock along the Cape D’Urville shore where the
_Windward_ wintered in ’98–’99. Looking into the distant depths of
Princess Marie Bay, numerous episodes with bear and seals and musk-oxen
crowded upon me. We experienced some trouble with ice near Hayes Point
and Cape Frasier, and finally dodged into Maury Bay and anchored at noon
of the 19th, to escape the large fields of very heavy ice which were
moving rapidly southward before a fresh northerly wind, crashing with
savage fury against the iron bastion of Cape John Sparrow under which we
lay.
Vigilantly watching the ice and taking advantage of every opportunity,
we squeezed and hammered our way into Scoresby Bay, hugging the shore
closely, and thence to Richardson Bay. Twice we nearly reached Cape
Joseph Goode only to be forced back by the oncoming floes to a shelter
under Cape Wilkes, close to my “Christmas” igloos of 1898, where on that
unfortunate midwinter journey to Fort Conger, during which I froze both
my feet, I had spent Christmas and opened a small box from loved ones at
home.
Rawlings Bay was packed and the ice along the Grinnell Land shore
apparently unbroken. On the Greenland side it appeared less dense.
During this time the weather was fine.
The aspect of the ice was so extremely unfavourable, northward on the
Grinnell Land side, that I determined to test my belief gained in my
last four years of work in this region, that the Greenland side of
Kennedy and Robeson Channels offered as a rule more favourable
opportunities for navigation than the Grinnell Land side.
[Illustration:
ENTERING THE SMITH SOUND ICE
]
[Illustration:
OPEN WATER OFF CAPE LUPTON
]
[Illustration:
THE SQUEEZE NEAR “THE GAP”
]
Firm in my confidence in the capabilities of the _Roosevelt_ and against
all the so-called canons of Arctic navigation in this region, she was
headed eastward in the afternoon of the 21st and driven into the thick
of the channel pack. The ice encountered was very large and heavy, and
its southward drift inevitably swept us down; still we made fair
progress eastward and after a severe and protracted struggle, during
which Bartlett and the mate remained continuously in the fore rigging
and I in the main rigging, we broke out into loose ice off Cape Calhoun
and began boring northward towards Crozier and Franklin Islands. The
channel between Franklin Island and Cape Constitution was attempted and
found impracticable. The main channel pack was then negotiated close
under the vertical western cliffs of Franklin Island. We then had fairly
good going, interrupted by barriers of heavy but rather loose ice to Joe
Island.
Stopped here by an impervious jam, the _Roosevelt_ was made fast to the
ice-foot which along the southern end of the island is of most
stupendous character, and accompanied by Captain Bartlett I climbed to
the summit of the island, from whence we saw the eastern portion of Hall
Basin clear of ice to Cape Lupton and apparently to Cape Sumner. The
western portion of the basin and as far as we could see north and south
along the Grinnell Land coast was densely packed with heavy ice.
With the turn of the tide the tension in the channel pack along the
western shore of the island relaxed somewhat, and hurrying back to the
_Roosevelt_, a few hours of severe work forced the barrier, and in the
teeth of a strong and bitterly cold north wind which kicked up a very
respectable sea and sent the spray flying over our bows, we steamed to
Cape Lupton, reaching it at midnight of the 22d. While steaming through
this open water we passed Thank God Harbour, the winter quarters of
Hall’s _Polaris_ on our right and Discovery Harbour, the winter quarters
of the _Discovery_, and site of Fort Conger, on our left.
A few miles north of Cape Lupton, while smashing through a narrow tongue
of ice, a sudden swirl of the current which at times runs like a
mill-race in this deep channel, swept the ice together in a way that I
can only liken to the sudden scurry of fallen leaves before an autumn
breeze, pinched the _Roosevelt_ between the big cakes, and smashing her
against the ice-foot, ground her along its vertical face with a motion
and noise like that of a railway car which has left the rails and is
bumping along over the ties. Very fortunately for us she scraped into a
shallow niche in the ice-wall, and was hastily secured with every
available line.
The entire flurry lasted less than five minutes, but in that time the
steering gear was almost disabled. The back of the rudder was twisted on
the stock, the heavy iron head-bands and fittings broken, and the steel
tiller rods snapped. Temporary repairs were effected, and as soon as the
pressure relaxed we steamed on around Cape Sumner and tied up to the
fast ice in Newman Bay under Cape Brevoort, to repair our damaged
steering gear and await the opening of a lead across Robeson Channel to
Cape Union or vicinity.
[Illustration:
BRINGING OFF THE “POLARIS” BOAT FROM BOAT CAMP, NEWMAN BAY
]
[Illustration:
CAPE SUMNER, GREENLAND
]
[Illustration:
BIRTHDAY CAPE, WRANGEL BAY, GRINNELL LAND
]
The winter’s ice was still intact in the bay, its surface level and
granular, and the pools of water upon it covered with ice strong enough
to support a man’s weight.
As soon as the lines were secured I walked ashore and climbed to the
summit of Cape Brevoort. The crest of the northward-facing cliffs
commanded the entire northern approaches to Robeson Channel, from
Repulse Harbour across to Cape Rawson and southward along the Grinnell
Land coast to Lady Franklin Bay. The Greenland coast south of Sumner was
hidden by the cliffs of that cape. The ice all along the Grinnell Land
coast, and in the centre of the channel, and to the northward as far as
I could see, was densely packed. The water in which we had come north
still remained open and the _Roosevelt_ could have worked her way close
to the shore along the Greenland coast to Repulse Harbour and possibly
to Cape Bryant, had my objective point been in that direction. No
indication of lead or crack across the channel was to be seen. While on
the summit a school of narwhal came sporting down the shore close to the
ice-foot below us.
In Newman Bay we remained five days mending the rudder, replacing the
tiller chains with wire cables, and crossing to the south side of the
bay, where I took on board the _Polaris_ boat left here by Chester and
Tyson of Hall’s party in 1871, at Boat Camp. Then as the northern ice
filled into the bay, we were gradually crowded out of our shelter behind
Boat Camp delta, and tide by tide forced out to Cape Sumner, sometimes
grazing the shore as we dodged a floe. During this time the Bay filled
completely with ice and the entire northern part of the channel was
packed solid. Captain Bartlett and Marvin made several trips to the top
of Cape Sumner to reconnoitre the channel but without satisfactory
results.
The turn of the tide the morning of the 28th set us out again, and,
impatient of the delay, and encouraged by the behaviour of the
_Roosevelt_ in crossing the channel at Cape Calhoun, fires were cleaned,
machinery thoroughly inspected, and at 4:30 A. M. the _Roosevelt_ was
driven out for another contest with the channel pack in which at the
time no pool or lane of water was visible.
Just off the point of Sumner a brief nip between two big blue floes
which the swift current was swinging past the Cape, set the _Roosevelt_
vibrating like a violin string for a minute or so before she rose to the
pressure.
From this we pushed out and began the attempt to cross to the west side,
through ice almost continuously up to our plank sheer and frequently of
such height that the boats swinging from the deck house davits had to be
swung inboard to clear the pinnacles. The delay and inaction of the past
five days had become unendurable.
The _Roosevelt_ fought like a gladiator, turning, twisting, straining
with all her force, smashing her full weight against the heavy floes
whenever we could get room for a rush, and rearing upon them like a
steeplechaser taking a fence. Ah, the thrill and tension of it, the lust
of battle, which crowded days of ordinary life into one.
The forward rush, the gathering speed and momentum, the crash, the
upward heave, the grating snarl of the ice as the steel-shod stem split
it as a mason’s hammer splits granite, or trod it under, or sent it
right and left in whirling fragments, followed by the violent roll, the
backward rebound, and then the gathering for another rush, were
glorious.
At other times, the blue face of a big floe as high as the plank sheer
grinding against either side, and the ship inching her way through, her
frames creaking with the pressure, the big engines down aft running like
sewing-machines, and the twelve-inch steel shaft whirling the
wide-bladed propeller, till its impulse was no more to be denied than
the force of gravity.
At such times everyone on deck hung with breathless interest on our
movement, and as Bartlett and I clung in the rigging I heard him whisper
through teeth clinched from the purely physical tension of the throbbing
ship under us: “Give it to ’em, Teddy, give it to ’em!”
More than once did a fireman come panting on deck for a breath of air,
look over the side, mutter to himself, “By G— she’s got to go through!”
then drop into the stoke-hole, with the result a moment later of an
extra belch of black smoke from the stack, and an added turn or two to
the propeller.
At midnight all that could be said was that we were nearer the west side
than the east, and steadily drifting southward with the pack. I quote
from my journal: “Slow and heart-breaking work. The _Roosevelt_ is a
splendid ice-fighter and if she had her full boiler power she would be
irresistible. The ice is very heavy, in large floes, some of them
several miles in diameter and their edges sheer walls of blue adamant. I
shall be glad when we are through.” In one of her charges the
_Roosevelt_ left a considerable piece of the stem just under the
figurehead as a souvenir upon the top of a berg-piece which she was
obliged to butt out of her path. In another, a blue floe twelve to
fifteen feet in thickness was split fairly in two.
Until 4 A. M. of the 29th we continued slowly to near the Grinnell Land
side. Then but little progress was made for several hours, then another
start which was kept up with occasional interruptions until 4 P. M.,
when after thirty-five and one-half hours of incessant strain and
struggle, we drove out into a small pool of water under the northern
point of Wrangel Bay. The battle had been won by sheer brute insistence
and I do not believe there is another ship afloat that would have
survived the ordeal.
Bartlett and I went to our rooms, worn with the long tension, and I fell
asleep instantly.
It was the second birthday of a man-child in the distant home, and in my
dreams I saw the round face with its blue eyes and crown of yellow hair,
smiling at me from the savage mass of black clouds which shrouded the
summit of the cape under which we lay. God bless you, little man.
Soon after getting into Wrangel Bay, and while I was asleep, a piece of
heavy ice whirling under the stern twisted the back nearly off the
rudder, and the entire night was occupied in temporarily repairing the
damage. A hunting party of Eskimos sent out during the night returned
the forenoon of the 30th with eleven hares and six musk-oxen. Late in
the afternoon an unsuccessful attempt was made to reach Lincoln Bay,
from which we were driven back by heavy floes moving southward, and at
midnight we were again in Wrangel Bay dodging about to keep clear of the
shifting ice, while past the capes the big floes were going south with
almost race-horse velocity, the channel and summits of all the land dark
with fog. The 31st was spent in the bay keeping clear of the floes which
swung into and around it, the night thick with falling snow. Made an
early start at 3:30 A. M. September 1st, in fog and a blinding
snowstorm, and steamed to the north side of Lincoln Bay, where the
unbroken pack again barred our passage and we moored to the exposed face
of the ice-foot.
Again I quote from my journal: “A wild morning with snow driving in
horizontal sheets across the deck, the water like ink, the ice ghastly
white, and the land invisible except close to us as we almost scrape
against it on the port side. Summer is at an end and winter has
commenced.” Scarcely had we made fast to the ice-foot when the ice
filled the bay completely.
With the ebb-tide at night much of the ice inside of us passed out,
grazing against our side, but no lead formed at the Cape and no
opportunity occurred to get north.
With the turn of the flood, the ice came in again with a rush, and the
corner of a large floe caught the stern, bent the back of the rudder
over to the other side and forced the ship bodily ashore. Here she hung
until high-water, with a heavy berg-piece pressing against her stern and
threatening momentarily to press her up the shore beyond possibility of
floating again.
Almost unmanageable with her twisted rudder, it was a slow and difficult
job to work her through the running ice farther up the bay to a
supposedly less-exposed berth, snowing and blowing all this time. Here
the back of the rudder was straightened somewhat.
Early in the morning of the 3d, a moving floe forced the _Roosevelt_
ashore again, where she hung until the next high-water, and she was
hardly pulled off when another floe jammed her hard and fast aground
again. I was very anxious to get out of this dangerous and trying
position, where the rapid and vicious movements of the ice were a
constant menace, but a reconnoissance from an elevation near the
_Roosevelt_ indicated that the channel north of us was simply solid with
ice.
Shortly after midnight of the 3d, the _Roosevelt_ floated again and, a
southerly breeze forming a little water at the mouth of the bay, we
steamed out at 3:30 A. M. and succeeded in getting under the delta of
Shelter River just south of Cape Union, and in butting into a natural
dock among some stranded berg-pieces. Here the ship had one foot of
water under her keel and as we moored her, the slack ice through which
we had come jammed tight with floes packing against the barrier at Cape
Union. Here we enjoyed a fine day with the temperature in the low
twenties and experienced a few hours of peace. The river delta to the
north and stranded berg-pieces to the south protected us from the
attacks of the heavy floes passing rapidly a few yards outside of us.
Eskimos sent out for hare here obtained thirty-six. We were now only
some fifteen miles from the _Alert’s_ winter quarters, and a clear run
of two or three hours would enable us to beat the record for ships in
this region, and save the game for us.
The 5th of September was a memorable day, one that practically ended my
fears and anxieties. At 3:30 A. M. we got under way after about an
hour’s backing and butting to get out of our niche. A narrow strip of
water close inshore showed as far as Cape Union where a narrow but
apparently dense barrier pressed against the Cape. Would it let us
through? As we neared the barrier it was evidently only about a mile
wide, with water beyond it extending to Cape Rawson. I kept both watches
of firemen on, and routed out the chief engineer ahead of his watch,
because it was evident that we must get through _now_. In a few minutes
the _Roosevelt_ was in the thick of it, throbbing like a motor, the
black smoke pouring from her stack, and successfully forced her way
through. Cape Union was passed at 4:30 A. M. South of Rawson the ice ran
close in against the shore but was looser outside, and we made a wide
detour to the northeast, the captain, the mate, and myself in the
rigging. The ice was in large, heavy floes and in rapid motion swinging
into the mouth of the channel on the flood-tide. The anxious moments
were numerous both as to whether we should get through, and also as to
whether we should escape a serious nip.
Soon we opened up the _Alert’s_ cairn at Floeberg Beach and could see a
narrow canal of water extending close to the ice-foot, and at 7 A. M.
the _Roosevelt_, racing with the incoming pack, was driven through a
narrow stream of ice and fairly hurled into a niche in the face of the
ice-foot under the extremity of Cape Sheridan and made fast. The ice was
packed heavily against the point of the cape and grinding past it.
Before our lines were made fast the ice had closed in upon us and the
open water behind us was rapidly disappearing.
We were now about two miles beyond the _Alert’s_ position, moored to the
exposed face of the ice-foot, with the nose of the _Roosevelt_ pointing
almost true north. I felt now that the risks, the chances of the voyage
were past. The ship might be lost by being forced ashore, for our
position was an extremely exposed one, but we were not likely to lose
provisions and equipment, and with these the remainder of the programme
could be carried out, and even should she get no farther she would have
done her duty and achieved the purpose of her being.
With my feelings of relief, was a glow of satisfaction that by a
hard-fought struggle we had successfully negotiated the narrow,
ice-encumbered waters which form the American gateway and route to the
Pole; had distanced our predecessors; and had substantiated my prophecy
to the club, that with a suitable ship, the attainment of a base on the
north shore of Grant Land was feasible almost every year.
Previous to the _Roosevelt_, only two other ships, the _Polaris_ and the
_Albert_, had completely navigated these channels; and two others, the
_Discovery_ and the _Proteus_, had penetrated them as far as Discovery
Harbour.
Our freedom of movement and ability to leave the shelter of the land and
cross and recross the channel at will through the heaviest ice, was also
gratifying to me.
In the voyage from New York to Etah we had passed the latitudes of the
most northern extremities of North America, Europe and Asia.
Since leaving Etah, we had passed the latitudes of the most northern
extremities of Spitzbergen and Franz Joseph Land, and now only the
northern points of the two most northern lands in the world, Cape Morris
Jesup and Cape Columbia, lay a little beyond us. The northern-reaching
fingers of all the rest of the great world lay far behind us below the
ice-bound southern horizon. We were deep in that gaunt frozen border
land which lies between God’s countries and inter-stellar space.