SHERIDAN TO THE BIG LEAD
On February 19th, Captain Bartlett left finally for Cape Hecla. Marvin
and party followed the next day, Dr. Wolf and his party the next, and I
two days later.
When I left the _Roosevelt_ there was a lead of open water extending
from Cape Joseph Henry past Capes Sheridan and Rawson. The northern part
of Robeson Channel was open. There was open water along the Greenland
coast as far as the Black Horn Cliffs and apparently to Cape Bryant,
with numerous pools and leads in the sweep from Cape Henry to Cape
Bryant.
Three marches brought me to Cape Hecla, where the entire outfit was
assembled. Our encampment comprised Captain Bartlett, Dr. Wolf, Marvin,
Henson, Clark and Ryan, myself and twenty-one Eskimos, with 120 dogs—the
personnel for one main and five or six division parties, which according
to my programme I hoped would be able to advance supplies and maintain
communication to a base as high as Abruzzi’s “Farthest” for my final
point of departure.
Point Moss, some twenty miles west of Cape Hecla, was determined upon as
our point of departure from the land. Two days were spent at Cape Hecla
resting the dogs, repairing sledges, harnesses and equipment, and
restowing sledge loads, the expedition quartering in seven snow houses
and subsisting upon four musk-oxen killed just back of Cape Hecla.
On February 28th, Henson left Cape Hecla with a pioneer party of three
light sledges. Captain Bartlett and his party followed the next day,
then Clark and his party, then Dr. Wolf, then Marvin, Ryan and myself.
During our stay at Cape Hecla there was open water along the ice foot
and a large lead reaching north from the cape.
I quote from my Journal:
_March 4th._—Still blowing viciously from the west with blinding drift.
My men came in from feeding the dogs, with their clothes driven full of
snow.
Of course, everything is still stalled by the furious wind. Henson
should be three marches out on the ice, Bartlett two, and the Doctor
one. Clark is at Point Moss, I am here with four men, and Marvin should
be on Fielden Peninsula.
I have, however, no reason to complain of the weather. From the 19th
till yesterday there has been no really bad weather and the first five
days here were perfect, considering the place and the season, enabling
me to get my parties away and attend to all essential details without
serious discomfort.
Now we are well supplied with food, and the dogs have plenty to eat and
are well sheltered. The wind has closed all the water, for the time
being at least. My new device, the alcohol lamp, is working out finely
and makes tea or coffee almost in no time.
[Illustration:
WEIGHING MUSK-OX MEAT
]
[Illustration:
REINDEER AND MUSK-OX MEAT IN THE RIGGING
]
[Illustration:
CROSSING FIELDEN PENINSULA
]
Marvin came in from the ship at 9 P. M. of the 4th, with three Eskimos
and Ryan, the fireman who was to take young Percy’s place, the latter
having been invalided back to the ship with an injured eye.
On the 5th, the last eight sledges got away for Point Moss, I bringing
up the rear with Inueto, as I had to see that things remaining at Hecla
were left in order, and the permanent igloo there closed against wind
and drifting snow.
The day was clear and cold with violent gusts of wind from the northwest
driving in our faces.
My sledge being loaded with bulky articles of spare equipment, was
somewhat top-heavy and repeatedly capsized.
I arrived at Point Moss a little before midnight, after a good but
fatiguing march. It was brilliant moonlight, and the twilight arc now
swung nearly all the way through north.
March 6th I left Point Moss and headed northward from the land over the
Polar pack.
In 1902 it was just a month later that I left Hecla going north. And
four years previous, on the 6th of March, I left Payer Harbour with
eighteen sledges on a journey which took me to 84° 17′ north latitude; a
great march as regards distance and latitude covered.
I quote from my Journal: “If I can do as well this time we shall win.
God and all good angels grant it, and let me seize this great trophy for
the Flag.”
We were rather late in getting started and it was noon when we left the
edge of the ice some two miles north of the land. Here the sun was
visible for a few moments through a notch in the southern mountains. Was
it a good omen? I thought that it must be.
An ideal day, clear and calm and bitter cold, the southern sky vivid
yellow, the northern rose-coloured like my dreams.
The going was good at first though our trail was tortuous, but later
became extremely arduous.
Reaching Henson’s first igloo, Marvin, Ryan and I remained and began
working upon an additional igloo, while I sent my Eskimos ahead with
half-loads to form an advance cache and reconnoitre the ice. They
returned with a report that the ice was heavily rafted since yesterday’s
party passed and the trail faulted. Two sledges were considerably
damaged by the day’s work. My supper and breakfast of tea and raw
frozen, musk-ox steak were more than enjoyable.
Again I quote from my Journal: “The battle is on at last. We are
straightened out on the ice of the Polar Sea heading direct for our
goal.”
The 7th was another fine day, somewhat milder than the 6th with more or
less mist hiding the land and partially obscuring the sun. Good going up
to the advance loads, beyond which, after some skirmishing, we picked up
the broken trail again on young ice. While we were traversing this ice,
pronounced movement occurred and leads and rafters began to form about
us, sometimes occurring between successive sledges, and it required
rapid, effective work to assemble all the sledges upon a fragment of old
floe some hundred yards across, where we were compelled to wait some
time, until the motion of the ice ceased. When it did so, after another
brief skirmish, we picked up the trail north of us, and followed it to
the second igloo. Here two Eskimos remained with me, to build an igloo,
Marvin and Ryan taking their places with the sledges and returning with
the others to bring up the previous day’s advance loads. When they
returned they reported the ice still in motion in our rear, and that
they had reached the cache just in time to save it from being
obliterated by a huge rafter.
[Illustration:
CAPE HECLA WITH CAPE JOSEPH HENRY IN THE DISTANCE
]
[Illustration:
CAPTAIN BARTLETT AT CAPE HECLA
]
While at this camp, the floe on which my igloos were built split in two,
shattering the igloos, and the ice, evidently under severe pressure,
rumbled and groaned continuously. The 8th was a fine day with some wind
from the northwest, and the land hidden by water-smoke forming over the
numerous cracks and narrow leads resulting from the movement of the ice.
The going was comparatively good on this march, except where the
movement of the ice had faulted the trail. Two more sledges were broken
and held together just long enough to reach camp. At this camp again the
floe on which my igloos were built cracked under the terrific pressure,
and the igloos shook and trembled as if by an earthquake shock, so that
some of the Eskimos rushed out in alarm. The cracking and uneasiness of
the ice continued during our stay in this camp. The rapid increase of
daylight was marked here by the insertion of an ice window in our igloo
which enabled us to distinguish objects inside throughout the entire
night. An early start was made on the 9th in spite of heavy northwest
wind and disagreeable drift. A few hours later I met the captain
returning with his party from the cache at the end of the first
division, fixed by me at the end of the 6th march. He had left Henson
the day before, and on the way back met the Doctor and Clark, so that a
few moments’ conversation with him put me in touch with conditions and
the location of everyone ahead of me. He reported the ice in motion
everywhere, the floe upon which my advance loads were placed yesterday
drifted a mile or more to the southeast, and the trail disrupted for a
long distance. I gave him detailed instructions and he disappeared in
the rear of my party on his way to Hecla for additional loads. This was
a fairly good march though we were steadily drifting eastward. I hoped
that with the cessation of the spring tides and the continuance of the
bitter cold the ice would become more stable.
On the 10th the ice was more quiet; there was little wind: the day was
fine and the going comparatively good. I quote from my Journal: “Things
are _too_ favourable. I am oppressed with the fears of open water
ahead.”
On the 11th I overtook Clark and the Doctor at cache number one, and was
able to simplify and assist the work of both in some details. The next
two days were a continuance of the fine but bitterly cold weather. The
Three-star brandy on my sledge was frozen continuously. On the 15th I
overtook Henson and the Doctor with their parties camped together,
Henson claiming to be stalled by the weather. I gave him explicit
instructions and started him out. I then sent Marvin and his party back
to Hecla for additional supplies in order to give Henson a start, and
utilised my own and Clark’s parties in bringing up supplies from cache
number one, and in pushing loads ahead from this camp. While at this
camp the Captain came in, having been six marches from Hecla. The men
sent out on Henson’s trail reported that the going beyond here was the
best yet.
[Illustration:
DELAY CAMP AT THE “BIG LEAD”
84° 38′
]
[Illustration:
ESKIMO DRAWINGS MADE AT STORM CAMP
]
I quote from my Journal:
_March 17th._—A glorious day, clear as a crystal and the sun is shining
nearly twelve hours. The land distinctly visible, but not as far away as
I could wish. The Captain and his party pulled out early and Clark and
his party soon after. I brought up the rear a little later with my
party.
After working through about a mile of fearfully rough ice, we came out
upon what looked as if it might be (and God knows I hoped it was) the
comparatively unbroken homogeneous ice of the central Polar Sea. A
beautiful sight, the level, slightly drifted snow plain stretching away
apparently infinitely to the North.
_March 18th._—Another glorious day but bitterly cold, the brandy
remaining frozen and the petroleum white and viscid; my dogs very tired
and unambitious. It is aggravating not to be travelling faster in such
weather and going, and it is not pleasant to be at the rear attending to
loose ends, but I have the consolation of knowing that my advance
parties are, or ought to be, a good distance ahead, and that before long
I shall be in my proper place at the very head of the line, breasting
the air that comes direct from the pole uncontaminated by any form of
life. At this camp one new sledge was made out of two broken ones.
And so the work went on, the parties going and coming, myself in touch
with and pushing those ahead of me and pulling those in the rear, so to
speak, in a position where I could straighten out any little hitches and
keep the distribution of the parties such as to minimise the work of
igloo building, and prevent confusion rising when two or three parties
got bunched together. It was brute hard work and bitter cold. The brandy
continued frozen and oil viscid, but everyone was eager and cheerful.
The Captain, Doctor, and Clark on the _qui vive_ all the time, and the
Eskimos hustling with their usual willingness. On the 22d, at my camp on
a big floe selected for this purpose, cache number two was established.
Although the work was not moving with the speed which I could have
desired, it was moving with such apparent smoothness that I constantly
feared some insurmountable obstacle was waiting for us just ahead, and
yet I felt that it might be that twenty years of work, disappointment
and sacrifice would perhaps be allowed to win. During the night of the
21st at this camp the wind came on fresh from the west, blowing with
distinct fierceness all night and day of the 22d and causing pronounced
changes in the ice. Our big floe cracked and rumbled frequently and the
walls of our igloo were split but not so seriously as to be beyond
repair. Wind shelters were constructed for the dogs and they were double
rationed. Although a bitter day, the 22d was the first day since I left
land that I was held up by the weather, and I could have travelled on
this day had there been any necessity for it, but to have done so would
only have piled my party up on top of the Captain’s, who was now one
march ahead of me, and given us unnecessary and disagreeable labour and
discomfort in building an additional igloo in the wind and driving snow.
When we left this camp, I found, as I had expected, that the storm had
caused pronounced changes in the ice. Some two miles from camp a newly
formed lane of water a hundred yards or more wide gave us some trouble
to negotiate, and at two other places enormous pressure leads had been
formed across the Captain’s trail. The northern ice in every instance
had shifted to the eastward.
Several narrow leads that the Captain’s party passed, and on which the
intense cold had already formed young ice gave us no trouble. Our camp
at the end of this march was located in a hollow between two enormous
hummocks on a large old floe.
I quote from my Journal:
Though I fight against it continuously, I find it impossible under
conditions like to-day not to indulge in some thoughts of _success_ as I
tramp along, and I get so impatient that I do not want to stop at the
igloos but keep right on and on. At night I can hardly sleep waiting for
the dogs to get rested sufficiently to start again. Then I think, what
will be the effect if some insuperable obstacle, open water, absolutely
impossible ice, or an enormous fall of snow knock me out now when
everything looks so encouraging? Will it break my heart, or will it
simply numb me into insensibility? And then I think, what’s the odds, in
two months at the longest the agony will be over, and I shall know one
way or the other, and then whichever way it turns out, before the leaves
fall I shall be back on Eagle Island again, going over the well-known
places with Jo and the children, and listening to the birds, the wind in
the trees, and the sound of lapping waves (do such things really exist
on this frozen planet?).
Four good marches were reeled off from cache number two in good weather.
Ten years ago I would have called these marches fully fifteen miles
each, now I hoped they were at least twelve. In the second march there
was considerable young ice which I feared might give the Captain some
trouble on his return march. A vigorous wind at any time would cause the
big floes on either side of this ice to crumble it up like so much
window glass and leave only an irregular rafter or two to show that it
ever existed. At one of our camps the night was the most uncomfortable
yet. We and everything in the igloo were thickly covered with our frozen
breath, and it seemed impossible to make the stove give out heat enough
to boil our tea. The thermometer which I carried with me to prevent
breaking had a bubble jarred into it by my falling in rough ice and was
stubborn to remedy. There was little doubt, however, that our
temperature was in the minus sixties. Several leads in these marches
gave us some trouble, causing considerable detours and the records of
Henson and the Captain in their igloos showed that they had had the same
trouble.
I quote from my Journal:
_March 25th._—This morning I discarded the light deerskin coat in which
I had travelled thus far for an old but dry one. The former was simply
sodden while I had it on, froze solid as soon as I took it off and it
had to be thawed out in the morning with the warmth of my hands. Last
night was a little more comfortable than the previous one, but not much.
I got the bubble out of the thermometer and when I took it outside the
igloo it fell so rapidly from minus 25° F. (the temperature of our bed
platform where it had been resting close to my head) that at first I
feared it was broken. It finally stopped at minus 61½° F. During the
march it has ranged from minus 55 and minus 53 to _minus 50 in the sun_,
and yet to-day has been the most comfortable one for the past week (my
Eskimos corroborate this). Am sorry now I did not put the thermometer in
commission sooner. We must have had some record temperatures.
A dog abandoned by one of the parties ahead and which I picked up
yesterday, fed last night and tied in the other igloo so the wind would
not reach him, pricked up his hitherto dejected ears at my appearance
and after he had eaten another piece of pemmican lay down and rolled on
his back like any civilised dog. He is utterly useless, poor thing, but
has worked faithfully, no doubt, and as I have pemmican to spare just
now he shall not starve yet. To-day he has kept on in one of the teams
and his hitherto hopeless eyes brighten, I fancy, when he looks at me.
Quite a bit of young ice in to-day’s march and several magnificent old
floes with hummocks on them like ranges of hills. The sun is rapidly
creeping around to complete the entire circle, and at noon I fancy there
is a slight sensation of warmth in his rays.
To-day has been quite hazy or smoky like the days immediately after we
left the land which I do not like, as this means cracks or leads in the
ice. But the weather we are having is just the thing, cold and calm, to
cement the ice firmer and firmer, and quickly render any new cracks or
leads passable. I hope it may continue so till we get back to the land;
the colder and the calmer the better. I want no wind or mild weather
until we are back on board ship.
_March 26th._—A glorious day, and a splendid march, over the finest
going and then—bang up against it, as I have been fearing all along. I
have been dreaming too much these last few days, for which there could
be of course, but one result, a black eye to my hopes of speedy success.
Early in the morning heard the welcome sound of grinding ice and turning
out found the lead, beside which we had camped, had narrowed enough to
eliminate the unsafe ice. We were soon packed and over, following the
Captain’s new trail, which gradually swung westward until it cut
Henson’s trail beyond his igloo. (The thermometer had registered –60° F.
during the night, and stood at –52° F. when I took it up.)
After striking Henson’s trail we kept on over large old floes of hard
surface interrupted by not particularly difficult pressure ridges, and
after a good long march reached Henson’s igloo.
His record said that he was here during the storm of the 22d and had
left on the 23d. A postscript undated said there was an igloo just ahead
and a lead beyond. The Captain’s record of the 25th said he was leaving
about noon to join Henson.
I had noticed in coming up to the igloos a dark object on the northern
edge of the floe, and now assumed it to be an empty tin, or cast off
clothing on top of an igloo.
When my men came up we fed the dogs, put our gear inside, and began
making tea, when Ahngmalokto said he could hear dogs up ahead of us. I
turned the tea making over to him, and went out to investigate.
I soon met the Captain coming out to me, and found three parties banked
up here, by a broad open lead extending east and west across our course,
farther than we could see. I immediately started to investigate the lead
and from a pinnacle it looked as if there might be a chance to cross
during the night. The northern ice was slowly moving west.
I told Henson to have his men stand watch and watch, and if the chance
came to notify everyone so that a quick crossing could be effected. I
then went back to my igloo.
After my tea I sent a note to the Captain telling him if there was a
chance to cross, to travel with Henson for two days and then return, and
a note to Henson to get across the lead at the first possible moment and
push on.
Early in the morning of the 27th I went up to see how things were going,
and met the Captain coming to report that Henson had started to try and
get across to the west, and he was about to follow.
When he got away I climbed a pinnacle to reconnoitre and was not
encouraged. The lead was evidently widening. Came down and sent a note
to the Captain that if he could not get across to return with every one
and I would send him and Clark and their men back for more supplies. I
could not afford to feed all these teams and people here during what
might be a several days’ wait.
The Captain and Clark got away before noon with seven sledges, and I
moved up beside the lead. At night the lead was still widening and the
ice slowly moving west. Min. during night –66° F. temperature during day
about –60°.
The northern ice continued slowly in motion to the west during the 28th,
which was a fine day.
I sent Henson and an Eskimo west with a light sledge to trace the lead.
They reported the lead widening in that direction and a branch swinging
northwest and southwest.
Two Eskimos sent east reported the lead impracticable in that direction
and a branch swinging off to southeast. The lead was slowly widening so
that the young ice had no time to get firm.
Late in the evening, after a few preliminary cracks, the ice broke about
us with a furious rending sound, and jarring of the igloo.
Going out I found that a crack some twelve feet wide had opened in our
floe a short distance to the south, cutting us from the main floe. A
good day though hazy. Movement of northern ice decreasing, and the lead
skimming over. Another fine day followed. The movement of the ice had
practically ceased, and the lead was skimmed over so as to cut off the
dense vapour that had been obscuring our view to the north.
The Eskimos claimed to see water to the north, but I could see nothing
but mirage, and declined to believe in it until I had it at my feet.
Satisfactory observations with sextant and transit gave Lat. 84° 38′ +
Longitude 74° W. approx, and Var. 107½° W. We were somewhat farther west
than I intended owing to the constant tendency of Henson and his party
to turn to the left in negotiating leads and areas of rough ice.
I did not sleep much during the night of the 30th (not but that I was
comfortable enough physically) and we had an early tea.
A raw, cloudy, threatening morning with a breeze from S. S. W. true
which I feared would develop into a gale. In the afternoon and evening
it cleared and was fine again. I got my observations just in time.
The ice had ceased its motion entirely now, and in the afternoon of the
31st the young ice on the lead (now some two miles wide) was safe except
a strip about 100 feet wide in the centre, with a narrow band of open
water in its middle.
I sent Henson with one man and the long sledge to the east on the young
ice, and he reported the main lead narrowing and branching, one branch
running S. E. true. The band of young ice and the water crack continued
on east.
In the afternoon I had the men cut a sledge road through the rubble ice,
bordering the lead, to the young ice, as we might be able to get a start
the next day.
_Sunday, April 1st._—This was nearly a perfect day not a speck or flaw
in the blue sky anywhere, and the sun brilliant and warm
(comparatively).
It was a shame to be wasting such weather in idleness, and yet it could
not be helped, nor was it possible to be seriously downhearted in such
sunshine. In the morning the centre of the lead had closed so that a man
“walking wide” as the polar bear does, could cross it, but an easterly
movement of the northern ice during the night had opened a place some
200 feet wide on the northern side of the lead which effectually barred
crossing. The set of the current was still to the west. A light air from
N. E., N. and N. W. during the day might I hoped shut the lead up by
morning.
We continued drying our clothing in the sun and doing odd jobs to pass
away time and keep from thinking. It was wearing to be held from one’s
work and object so many days, and yet there were many chances yet. It
was still early in the season, dogs and men were in good condition, and
I could not help believing that once across this lead (the “Hudson
River?”) which is undoubtedly the tidal crack between the land ice of
Lincoln Sea and the central polar pack, we should have good going and
little interruption from water.
I had two beacons made of empty pemmican tins and placed one on the
summit of Observatory Pinnacle, and the other on a high pinnacle to the
west.
I quote from my Journal:
_April 2d._—Across the “Hudson River” at last, thank God, after a loss
of seven days of fine weather.
Ryan came in about nine last evening with his three men Ahngodoblaho,
“Teddy” and Itukashoo.
He brings a story of delay from open leads at the igloos where the
Doctor turned back; again this side of cache number two, and in his last
march here, which makes my men’s faces very long. The Captain was also
bothered by open water and was three days getting to the cache. Ryan met
him just this side.
On the other hand he says from the “Dr.’s igloos” in to the land the ice
has not moved, and that there was no wind in near the land on the 22d.
He brought very light loads. But it all helps, and Marvin and Clark must
be close behind.
My impatience about the lead would not let me sleep, so at 2 A. M. I had
tea ready and sent my two men to reconnoitre. They were gone a long
time, and I made up my mind they could find no crossing, when they
returned, and said they thought the ice would hold at a place a little
west of where we had been watching it.
Turned everyone out, and sent all the sledges across with light loads on
each and, when they returned hurried everything else on to them and went
across with everyone except Ryan and two of his men (I took the other
one with me), who started right back.
While the men were scouting I had written notes of instruction to
Marvin, Clark, Captain, Doctor, and Ryan himself, which the last-named
took back with him.
With everything over Henson packed his sledges and got away at 8 A. M.
My men built an igloo, double rationed their dogs, and I arranged their
loads, and put what remained in a prominent cache on a hummock of the
old floe on which we camped. A beautiful day but colder, and the going
north appeared to be good. I hoped it was.
The point of view makes a great difference. From here the broad “Hudson
River” looked much fairer than it did from the other side, and looking
across its shining surface to the purple shadows under the opposite ice
banks, a very strong imagination might even fancy a resemblance to its
namesake.