CHAPTER XV

REPORT OF COMMANDER PEARY, ON WORK DONE IN THE ARCTIC IN 1898–1902

_President Jesup, and Members of the Peary Arctic Club:_

In January, 1897, I promulgated my plan for an extended scheme of Arctic

exploration, having for its main purpose the attainment of the North

Pole. During the spring of 1897, your President, Morris K. Jesup, became

interested in the matter, and suggested the idea of the present Club.

His example was followed by other prominent men, and late in May,

through the persistent personal efforts of Chas. A. Moore, backed by

letters from these and other influential men, five years leave of

absence was granted me by the Navy Department, to enable me to carry out

my plans.

It being too late that season to get the main expedition under way, the

summer of 1897 was devoted to a preliminary trip to the Whale Sound

region, to acquaint the Eskimos with my plan for the coming year, and

set them to work laying in a stock of skins and meat. These objects were

successfully accomplished, and in addition the great “Ahnighito”

meteorite of Melville Bay, the largest known meteorite in the world, was

brought home.

In December, 1897, while I was in London, the steam yacht _Windward_,

which had been used in his Franz Joseph Land expedition, was tendered to

me by Alfred Harmsworth, who offered to have her re-engined and

delivered to me in New York. This generous offer I accepted.

In the spring of 1898 the Peary Arctic Club was organised, Morris K.

Jesup, Henry W. Cannon, H. L. Bridgman, all personal friends of mine,

forming the nucleus about which the rest of you assembled, and in May

the _Windward_ arrived; but, to my regret and disappointment, the

machinists’ strike in England having prevented the installation of new

engines, she was practically nothing but a sailing craft.

The lateness of the season was such that I had to make the most of the

_Windward_ as she was. But her extreme slowness (3½ knots under

favourable circumstances), and the introduction of a disturbing factor

in the appropriation by another of my plan and field of work,

necessitated the charter of an auxiliary ship if I did not wish to be

distanced. The _Windward_ sailed from New York on the 4th of July, 1898,

and on the 7th I went on board the _Hope_ at Sydney, C. B.

1898–1899

Pushing rapidly northward, and omitting the usual calls at the Danish

Greenland ports, Cape York was reached after a voyage, uneventful except

for a nip in the ice of Melville Bay, which lifted the _Hope_ bodily,

and for a few hours seemed to contain possibilities of trouble.

The work of hunting walrus and assembling my party of natives was

commenced at once, the _Windward_ soon joined us, after which the

hunting was prosecuted by both ships until the final rendezvous at Etah,

whence both ships steamed out on Saturday, August 13th, the _Windward_

to continue northward, the _Hope_ bound for home. The Windward was four

hours forcing her way through a narrow barrier of heavy ice across the

mouth of Foulke Fiord. Here the _Hope_ left us, straightening away

southward toward Cape Alexander, and the _Windward_ headed for Cape

Hawkes, showing distinctly beyond Cape Sabine.

At 4 A. M. Sunday we encountered scattered ice off Cape Albert. About

noon we were caught in the ice near Victoria Head, and drifted back

several miles. Finally we got round Victoria Head into Princess Marie

Bay at 6 P. M. The bay was filled with the season’s ice, not yet broken

out, while Kane Basin was crowded with the heavy, moving polar pack.

Between the two, extending northward across the mouth of the bay, was a

series of small pools and threads of water, opening and closing with the

movements of the tide. At 11:30 P. M. of the 18th the _Windward_ had

worried her way across the bay to a little patch of open water close

under Cape D’Urville. Here further progress was stopped by a large floe,

several miles across, one end resting against the shore, the other

extending into the heavy ice. While crossing the bay the more important

stores had been stowed on the deck in readiness to be thrown out upon

the ice in the event of a nip. Pending the turning of the tide, when I

hoped the big floe would move and let us proceed, I landed at Cape

D’Urville, deposited a small cache of supplies and climbed the bluffs to

look at the conditions northward.

August 21st, I went on a reconnoissance along the ice-foot to the head

of Allman Bay and into the valley beyond. The night of the 21st young

ice formed, which did not melt again. On the 28th I attempted to sledge

over the sea ice to Norman Lockyer Island, but found too many weak

places, and fell back on the ice-foot. The night of the 29th the

temperature fell to –13° F., and on the 31st the new ice was four and a

quarter inches thick. On this day I went to Cape Hawkes and climbed to

its summit, whence I could see lakes out in Kane Basin, but between them

and the _Windward_ the ice was closely packed—a discouraging outlook.

Only a strong and continued westerly wind would give me any chance. I

could not leave the ship for fear an opportunity to advance would occur

in my absence.

September 2d, I started on a sledge trip up Princess Marie Bay. At Cape

Harrison the strong tidal current kept the ice broken, so that I could

not round it, and the ice-foot was impracticable for sledges. I went on

foot to the entrance of Cope’s Bay, surveying the shore to that point,

and returned to the ship after four days. During this trip I obtained

the English record from the cairn on the summit of Norman Lockyer

Island, left there twenty-two years ago. This record was as fresh as

when deposited.

September 6th, I left the ship to reconnoitre Dobbin Bay, the head of

which is uncharted, returning three days later. During this trip the

first real snowstorm of the season occurred, five and a half inches

falling.

September 12th, one-third of my provisions, an ample year’s supply for

the entire party, was landed at Cape D’Urville, my Eskimos sledging

loads of 700 to 1,000 pounds over the young ice. The night of the 13th

the temperature dropped to –10° F., and all hope of further advance was

at an end. September 15th the boiler was blown off and preparations for

winter commenced.

On the 17th I broached my plans for the winter campaign, as follows:

The autumn work was simple enough and outlined itself. It comprised two

items: the securing of a winter’s supply of fresh meat and the survey of

the Buchanan-Strait-Hayes-Sound-Princess-Marie-Bay region. In spite of

the peculiarly desolate character of that part of the Grinnell Land

coast immediately about the _Windward_, and the apparent utter absence

of animal life, I felt confident of accomplishing the former. Various

reconnoissances thus far, on the north shore of Princess Marie Bay, had

given me little encouragement, but I knew that the Eskimos had killed

one or two musk-oxen, in years past, on Bache Island, and that region

looked favourable for them. As regarded the survey, a presentiment that

I must begin it at the earliest moment had led me to make attempts to

reach the head of Princess Marie Bay.

As to the spring campaign, I proposed to utilise the winter moons in

pushing supplies to Fort Conger, to move my party to that station early

in February, and on the return of the sun start from there as a base and

make my attempt on the Pole _via_ Cape Hecla. I _might_ succeed in spite

of the low latitude of my starting point, and, in any event, could reach

the ship again before the ice broke up, with thorough knowledge of the

coast and conditions to the north.

September 18th, I left the ship with two sledges and my two best

Eskimos, with provisions for twelve days for a reconnoissance of

Princess Marie Bay. September 20th I reached the head of a small fiord

running southwest from near the head of Princess Marie Bay, and found a

narrow neck of land, about three miles wide, separating it from a branch

of Buchanan “Strait.” Bache “Island” of the chart is, therefore, a

peninsula and not an island. From a commanding peak in the neighbourhood

I could see that both arms of Buchanan “Strait” ended about south of my

position; that the “strait” is in reality a bay, and that Hayes Sound

does not exist. On the 21st and 22d I penetrated the arms of Princess

Marie Bay, designated as Sawyer and Woodward bays on the charts, and

demonstrated them to be entirely closed.

September 23d, while entering a little bight about midway of the north

shore of Bache Peninsula, I came upon two bears. These my dogs chased

ashore and held at bay until I could come up and kill them.

September 25th, I crossed Bache Peninsula on foot with my two men, from

Bear Camp to the intersection of the northern and southern arms of

Buchanan Bay. Here we found numerous walrus, and could command the

southern arm to the large glacier at its head. Comparatively recent

musk-ox tracks convinced me of the presence of musk-oxen on the

peninsula. The next day I returned to the _Windward_ to refit and start

for Buchanan Bay _via_ Victoria Head and Cape Albert in the quest of

walrus and musk-oxen. Henson, in a reconnoissance northward during my

absence, had been unable to get more than a few miles beyond Cape Louis

Napoleon, the sea ice and the ice-foot being alike impracticable. A day

or two after my return I started him off to try it again.

September 30th, I started for Buchanan Bay. Between Victoria Head and

Cape Albert I found fresh tracks of a herd of musk-oxen, and followed

them until obliterated by the wind. The walrus grounds in Buchanan Bay

were reached late on October 4th, and the next day I secured a walrus

and the remainder of my party arrived. The following day everyone was

out after musk-oxen; but, finding it very foggy on the uplands of the

peninsula, I returned to camp and went up Buchanan Bay in search of

bears. While I was away one of my hunters killed a bull musk-ox.

On the 7th I sent two men to bring in the meat and skin, while I went up

Buchanan Bay again. Returning to camp, I found it deserted. A little

later some of the party returned, reporting a herd of fifteen musk-oxen

killed. The next two days were consumed in cutting up the animals,

stacking the meat and getting the skins and some of the meat out to

camp.

October 10th, we started for the ship, which was reached late on the

12th. The ice in Buchanan Bay was very rough, and a snowstorm on the

11th made going very heavy. Five days later, October 17th, I went with

two men to locate a direct trail for getting the meat out to the north

side of the peninsula, but found the country impracticable, and returned

to the ship on the 21st. The sun left us on the 20th.

The following week was devoted to the work of preparation for the

winter. A reconnoissance of Franklin Pierce bay developed nothing but

hare tracks, but Henson came in from Cope’s Bay with a big bear,

killed near the head of the bay. This marked the end of the fall

campaign, with our winter’s fresh meat supply assured and the

Bache-“Island”-Buchanan-“Strait”-“Hayes-Sound” question settled.

The next step was the inauguration of the teaming work, which was to

occupy us through the winter. I already had my pemmican and some

miscellaneous supplies at Cape Louis Napoleon and two sledge loads of

provisions at Cape Fraser. The rapidly disappearing daylight being now

too limited for effective travelling, I was obliged to await the

appearance of the next moon before starting for a personal

reconnoissance of the coast northward. On the 29th I left the ship with

Henson and one Eskimo. The soft snow of the last two storms compelled me

to break a road for the sledges with snowshoes across Allman Bay and

along many portions of the ice-foot, but in spite of this delay we

camped at Cape Louis Napoleon after a long march.

The next day we reached Cape Fraser, having been impeded by the tide

rising over the ice-foot, and camped at Henson’s farthest, at the

beginning of what seemed an impracticable ice-foot. It was the only

possible way of advance, however, as the still-moving pack in the

channel was entirely impassable. The following day I made a

reconnoissance on foot as far as Scoresby Bay, and though the ice-foot

was then impracticable for sledges, I was convinced that a good deal of

earnest work with picks and shovels, assisted by the levelling effects

of the next spring tides, would enable me to get loaded sledges over it

during the next moon. From Cape Norton Shaw I could see that by making a

detour into Scoresby Bay the heavy pack could be avoided in crossing.

This stretch of ice-foot from Cape Fraser to Cape Norton Shaw is

extremely Alpine in character, being an almost continuous succession of

huge blocks and masses of bergs and old floes, forced bodily out of the

water and up on to the rocks. At Cape John Barrow a large berg had been

forced up on the solid rock of the high-tide level.

Returning from my reconnoissance, I camped again at Cape Fraser,

building the first of the snow igloos, which I intended should be

constructed at convenient intervals the entire distance to Fort Conger.

The next three days were occupied in bringing the supplies at Cape Louis

Napoleon up to Cape Fraser, and on the 4th of November I returned to the

ship.

The time until the return of the next moon was fully occupied in making

and repairing sledges, bringing in beef from the cache on Bache

Peninsula, and transporting supplies and dog-food to Cape Hawkes, beyond

the heavy going of Allman Bay. During much of this time the temperature

was in the –40°’s, Fahr.

November 21st, Henson and three Eskimos left with loads, and on the 22d

I followed with a party of three to begin the work of the November moon.

This work ended just after midnight of December 4th, when the last

sledges came in. It left 3,300 pounds of supplies and a quantity of

dog-food at Cape Wilkes, on the north side of Richardson Bay. These

supplies would have been left at Cape Lawrence had it not been for the

desertion and turning back of one of my men, discouraged with the hard

work, while crossing Richardson Bay. Knowing it to be essential to

prevent any recurrence of the kind, I pushed on to Cape Wilkes, camped

and turned in after a twenty-five-hours day, slept three hours, then

started with empty sledge, eight picked dogs, and an Eskimo driver, to

overtake my man. He was found at Cape Louis Napoleon, and, after

receiving a lesson, was taken along with me to the ship.

My party was left with instructions to bring up supplies which the

wrecking of sledges had obliged me to cache at various places, assemble

all at Cape Wilkes, and then, if I did not return, reconnoitre the

ice-foot to Rawlings Bay, and return to the ship.

The distance from Cape Wilkes to the _Windward_ was sixty nautical miles

in a straight line (as travelled by me along the ice-foot and across the

bays, not less than ninety statute miles); and was covered in 23 hours

and 20 minutes, or 21 hours 30 minutes actual travelling time.

Temperature during the run –50° F.

Every sledge was more or less smashed in this two weeks’ campaign, and

at Cape John Barrow sledges and loads had to be carried on our backs

over the ice jams. The mean daily minimum temperature for the thirteen

days was –41.2° F., the lowest –50° F., which occurred on four

successive days.

The experience gained on this trip led me to believe that the conditions

of travel from Cape Wilkes northward as far at least as Cape Defosse

would not differ materially from those already encountered, and enabled

me to lay my plans with somewhat greater detail. With the light of the

December moon I would proceed to Cape Wilkes with such loads as would

enable me to travel steadily without double-banking, advance everything

to Cape Lawrence on the north side of Rawlings Bay, then go on to Fort

Conger with light sledges, determine the condition of the supplies left

there that I might know what I could depend upon, and then return to the

ship.

In the January moon I would start with my entire party; move supplies

from Cape Lawrence to Fort Conger; remain there till the February moon,

the light of which would merge into the beginning of the returning

daylight; then sledge the supplies for the polar journey to Cape Hecla,

and be in readiness to start from there with rested and well-fed dogs by

the middle of March.

In pursuance of this plan, the two weeks intervening between the

departure of the November moon and the appearance of the December one

were busily occupied in repairing and strengthening sledges, and making

and overhauling clothing and equipment, to enable us to meet this long

and arduous journey in the very midnight of the “Great Night.” During

this interval the temperature much of the time was at –51° F. and lower.

December 20th, in the first light of the returning moon, I left the

_Windward_ with my doctor, Henson, four Eskimos, and thirty dogs, all

that were left of the sixty-odd of four months previous. Thick weather,

strong winds rushing out of Kennedy Channel, heavy snow and an

abominable ice-foot in Rawlings Bay delayed us, and it was not until the

28th that I had all my supplies assembled at Cape Lawrence, on the north

side of Rawlings Bay.

Cape Lawrence presented the advantage of two possible routes by which

these latter supplies could be reached from Conger, one through Kennedy

Channel, which I was about to follow, and the other _via_ Archer Fiord

and overland. In spite of the delays I felt, on the whole, well

satisfied with the work up to the end of the year. I had all my supplies

half way to Fort Conger, and had comfortable snow igloos erected at Cape

Hawkes, Cape Louis Napoleon, Cape Fraser, Cape Norton Shaw, Cape Wilkes,

and Cape Lawrence.

December 29th, I started from Cape Lawrence with light sledges for Fort

Conger, hoping to make the distance in five days. The first march from

Cape Lawrence the ice-foot was fairly good, though an inch or two of

efflorescence made the sledges drag as if on sand. The ice-foot grew

steadily worse as we advanced, until, after rounding Cape Defosse, it

was almost impassable, even for light sledges. The light of the moon

lasted only for a few hours out of the twenty-four, and at its best was

not sufficient to permit us to select a route on the sea ice.

Just south of Cape Defosse we ate the last of our biscuit, just north of

it the last of our beans. On the next march a biting wind swept down the

Channel and numbed the Eskimo who had spent the previous winter in the

United States, to such an extent, that, to save him, we were obliged to

halt just above Cape Cracroft and dig a burrow in a snowdrift. When the

storm ceased, I left him with another Eskimo and nine of the poorer

dogs, and pushed on to reach Fort Conger.

The moon had left us entirely now, and the ice-foot was utterly

impracticable, and we groped and stumbled through the rugged sea ice as

far as Cape Baird. Here we slept a few hours in a burrow in the snow,

then started across Lady Franklin Bay. In complete darkness and over a

chaos of broken and heaved-up ice, we stumbled and fell and groped for

eighteen hours, till we climbed upon the ice-foot of the north side.

Here a dog was killed for food.

Absence of suitable snow put an igloo out of the question, and a

semi-cave under a large cake of ice was so cold that we could stop only

long enough to make tea. Here I left a broken sledge and nine exhausted

dogs. Just east of us a floe had been driven ashore, and forced up over

the ice-foot till its shattered fragments lay a hundred feet up the

talus of the bluff. It seemed impassable, but the crack at the edge of

the ice-foot allowed us to squeeze through; and soon after we rounded

the point, and I was satisfied by the “feel” of the shore, for we could

see nothing, that we were at one of the entrances of Discovery Harbour,

but which, I could not tell.

Several hours of groping showed that it was the eastern entrance. We had

struck the centre of Bellot Island, and at midnight of January 6th we

were stumbling through the dilapidated door of Fort Conger. A little

remaining oil enabled me, by the light of our sledge cooker, to find the

range and the stove in the officers’ quarters, and, after some

difficulty, fires were started in both. When this was accomplished, a

suspicious “wooden” feeling in the right foot led me to have my kamiks

pulled off, and I found, to my annoyance, that both feet were frosted.

Coffee from an open tin in the kitchen, and biscuit from the table in

the men’s room, just as they had been dropped over fifteen years ago,

furnished the menu for a simple but abundant lunch. A hasty search

failing to discover matches, candles, lamps, or oil, we were forced to

devise some kind of a light very quickly, before our oil burned out.

Half a bottle of olive oil, a saucer, and a bit of towel furnished the

material for a small native lamp, and this, supplemented by pork fat and

lard, furnished us light for several days, until oil was located.

Throwing ourselves down on the cots in the officers’ rooms, after

everything had been done for my feet, we slept long and soundly.

Awakening, it was evident that I should lose parts or all of several

toes, and be confined for some weeks. The mean minimum temperature

during the trip was –51.9° F., the lowest –63° F.

During the following weeks our life at Conger was pronouncedly _a la_

Robinson Crusoe. Searching for things in the unbroken darkness of the

“Great Night,” with a tiny flicker of flame in a saucer, was very like

seeking a needle in a haystack. Gradually all the essentials were

located, while my two faithful Eskimos brought in empty boxes and

barrels and broke them up to feed the fire. The dogs left on Bellot

Island were brought in, but several died before they got used to the

frozen salt pork and beef, which was all I had to feed them. The natives

made two attempts to reach and bring in the two men left at Cape

Cracroft, but were driven back both times by the darkness and furious

winds. Finally, some ten days after we left the dug-out, they reached it

again, and found that the two men, after eating some of their dogs, had

started for the ship on foot, the few remaining dogs following them.

On the 18th of February, the moonlight and the remaining twilight

afforded enough light for a fair day’s march in each twenty-four hours;

and we started for the _Windward_. My toes were unhealed, and I could

hardly stand for a moment. I had twelve dogs left, but their emaciated

condition and the character of the road precluded riding by anyone but

myself. Lashed firmly down, with feet and legs wrapped in musk-ox skin,

I formed the only load of one sledge. The other carried the necessary

provisions.

On the 28th we reached the _Windward_, everyone but myself having walked

the entire distance, of not less than 250 miles, in eleven days.

Fortunately for us, and particularly for me, the weather during our

return, though extremely cold, was calm, with the exception of one day

from Cape Cracroft south, during which the furious wind kept us

enveloped in driving snow. The mean minimum daily temperature while we

were returning was –56.18° F., reaching the lowest, –65° F., the day we

arrived at the _Windward_.

March 3d I started one of my Eskimos for Whale Sound with a summons to

the hunters there to come to me with their dogs and sledges. Between the

3d and the 14th, a party of Eskimos coming unexpectedly, the last of the

musk-ox meat on Bache Peninsula was brought to the ship, and another

bull musk-ox killed.

March 13th, the final amputation of my toes was performed. Pending the

arrival of more natives, I sent a dory to Cape Louis Napoleon to be

cached, and had dog-food and current supplies advanced to Cape Fraser.

March 31st, a contingent of five natives and twenty-seven dogs came in.

My messenger had been delayed by heavy winds and rough ice, and the

ravages of the dog disease had made it necessary to send to the more

southerly settlements for dogs.

April 3d, Henson left with these natives and thirty-five dogs, with

instructions to move the supplies at Cape Lawrence to Carl Ritter Bay,

then push on with such loads as he could carry without double-banking to

Fort Conger, rest his dogs and dry his clothing, and if I did not join

him by that time to start back.

April 19th, my left foot had healed, though it was still too weak and

stiff from long disuse for me to move without crutches. On this day I

started for Fort Conger with a party of ten, some fifty dogs, and seven

sledges loaded with dog-food and supplies for return caches.

April 23d, I met Henson returning with his party at Cape Lawrence. From

there I sent back my temporary help and borrowed dogs, and went on with

a party of seven, including five natives. April 28th we reached Conger.

May 4th, having dried all our gear and repaired sledges, I started for a

reconnoissance of the Greenland northwest coast. I should have started

two days earlier but for bad weather. Following the very arduous

ice-foot to St. Patrick’s Bay, I found the bay filled with broken pack

ice covered with snow almost thigh deep. From the top of Cape Murchison,

with a good glass, no practicable road could be seen. The following day

I sent two men with empty sledges and a powerful team of dogs to Cape

Beechey, to reconnoitre from its summit. Their report was discouraging.

Clear across to the Greenland shore, and up and down as far as the glass

could reach, the channel was filled with unheaved floe fragments,

uninterrupted by young ice or large floes, and covered with deep snow.

Crippled as I was, and a mere dead weight on the sledge, I felt that the

road was impracticable. Had I been fit and in my usual place, ahead of

the sledges breaking the trail with my snowshoes, it would have been

different. One chance remained—that of finding a passage across to the

Greenland side at Cape Lieber.

Returning to Fort Conger, I sent Henson and one Eskimo off immediately

on this reconnoissance, and later sent two men to Musk-ox Bay to look

for musk-oxen. Two days afterward they returned reporting sixteen

musk-oxen killed, and Henson came in on the same day, reporting the

condition of the channel off Capes Lieber and Cracroft the same as that

off Capes Beechey and Murchison, and that they had been unable to get

across. I now gave up the Greenland trip, and perhaps it was well that I

did so, as the unhealed place on my right foot was beginning to break

down and assume an unhealthy appearance from its severe treatment. As

soon as the musk-ox skins and beef were brought in, the entire party,

except myself and one Eskimo, went to the Bellows and Black Rock Vale

for more musk-oxen. Twelve were killed there, and the skins and meat

brought to Conger.

Not believing it desirable to kill more musk-oxen, and unable to do any

travelling north, I completed the work of securing the meat and skins

obtained; getting the records and private papers of the United States

Lady Franklin Bay Expedition together; securing as far as possible

collections and property; housing material and supplies still remaining

serviceable, and making the house more comfortable for the purposes of

my party.

May 23d we started for the ship, carrying only the scientific records of

the expedition, the private papers of its members, and necessary

supplies. I was still obliged to ride continuously. Favoured with

abundant light and continuously calm weather, and forcing the dogs to

their best, the return to the ship was accomplished in six days,

arriving there May 29th.

During my absence Capt. Bartlett had built at Cape D’Urville, from plans

which I furnished him, a comfortable house of the boxes of supplies,

double-roofed with canvas, and banked in with gravel.

June 1st, I sent one sledge-load of provisions to Cape Louis Napoleon,

and four to Cape Norton Shaw. June 6th, I sent three loads to Carl

Ritter Bay, and two to Cape Lawrence. On the 23th of June, the last of

these sledges returned to the _Windward_, and the year’s campaign to the

north was ended. The return from Carl Ritter Bay had been slow, owing to

the abundance of water on the ice-foot and the sea ice of the bays, and

the resulting sore feet of the dogs.

June 28th, a sufficient number of dogs had recovered from the effect of

their work to enable me to make up two teams, and Henson was sent with

these, four of the natives and a dory, to make his way to Etah and

communicate with the summer ship immediately on her arrival, so that her

time would not be wasted even should the _Windward_ be late in getting

out of the ice.

June 29th, I started with two sledges and three natives to complete my

survey of Princess Marie and Buchanan bays, and make a reconnoissance to

the westward from the head of the former. My feet, which I had been

favouring since my return from Conger, were now in fair condition, only

a very small place on the right one remaining unhealed. Travelling and

working at night, and sleeping during the day, I advanced to Princess

Marie Bay, crossed the narrow neck of Bache Peninsula, and camped on the

morning of July 4th near the head of the northern arm of Buchanan Bay.

Hardly was the tent set up when a bear was seen out in the bay, and we

immediately went in pursuit, and in a short time had him killed. He

proved to be a fine large specimen.

While after the bear, I noticed a herd of musk-oxen a few miles up the

valley, and after the bear had been brought into camp and skinned, and

we had snatched a few hours’ sleep, we went after the musk-oxen. Eight

of these were secured, including two fine bulls and two live calves, the

latter following us back to camp of their own accord. The next three

days were occupied in getting the beef to camp. I then crossed to the

southern arm of Buchanan Bay, securing another musk-ox. Returning to

Princess Marie Bay, I camped on the morning of the 14th at the glacier,

which fills the head of Sawyer Bay.

During the following six days I ascended the glacier, crossed the

ice-cap to its western side, and, from elevations of from 4,000 to 4,700

feet, looked down upon the snow-free western side of Ellesmere Land, and

out into an ice-free fiord, extending some fifty miles to the northwest.

The season here was at least a month earlier than on the east side, and

the general appearance of the country reminded me of the Whale Sound

region of Greenland. Clear weather for part of one day enabled me to

take a series of angles, then fog and rain and snow settled down upon

us. Through this I steered by compass back to and down the glacier,

camping on the 21st in my camp of the 15th.

The return from here to the ship was somewhat arduous, owing to the

rotten condition of the one-year ice, and the deep pools and canals of

water on the surface of the old floes. These presented the alternative

of making endless detours or wading through water often waist deep.

During seven days our clothing, tent, sleeping-gear and food were

constantly saturated. The _Windward_ was reached on the 28th of July.

In spite of the discomforts and hardships of this trip, incident to

the lateness of the season, I felt repaid by its results. In

addition to completing the notes requisite for a chart of the

Princess-Marie-Buchanan-Bay region, I had been fortunate in crossing

the Ellesmere Land ice-cap, and looking upon the western coast. The

game secured during this trip comprised 1 polar bear, 7 musk-oxen, 3

oogsook,[3] and 14 seals.

Footnote 3:

Bearded seal.

When I returned to the _Windward_ she was round in the eastern side of

Franklin Pierce Bay. A party had left two days before with dogs, sledge

and boat, in an attempt to meet me and supply provisions. Three days

were occupied in communicating with them and getting them and their

outfit on board. The _Windward_ then moved back to her winter berth at

Cape D’Urville, took the dogs on board, and on the morning of Wednesday,

August 2d, got under way.

During the next five days we advanced some twelve miles, when a

southerly wind jammed the ice and drifted us north, abreast of the

starting point. Early Tuesday morning, the 8th, we got another start,

and the ice gradually slackening, we kept under way, reached open water

a little south of Cape Albert, and arrived at Cape Sabine at 10 P. M.

At Cape Sabine I landed a cache and then steamed over to Etah, arriving

at 5 A. M. of the 9th. Here we found mail and learned that the _Diana_,

which the Club had sent up to communicate with me, was out after walrus.

August 12th the _Diana_ returned, and I had the great pleasure of taking

Secretary Bridgman, commanding the Club’s Expedition, by the hand.

The year had been one of hard and continuous work for the entire party.

In that time I obtained the material for an authentic map of the

Buchanan-Bay-Bache-Peninsula-Princess-Marie-Bay region; crossed the

Ellesmere Land ice-cap to the west side of that land, established a

continuous line of caches from Cape Sabine to Fort Conger, containing

some fourteen tons of supplies; rescued the original records and private

papers of the Greely Expedition; fitted Fort Conger as a base for future

work, and familiarised myself and party with the entire region as far

north as Cape Beechey.

With the exception of the supplies at Cape D’Urville, all the

provisions, together with the current supplies and dog-food (the latter

an excessive item), had been transported by sledge.

Finally, discouraging as was the accident to my feet, I was satisfied,

since my effort to reach the northwest coast of Greenland from Fort

Conger in May, proved that the season was one of extremely unfavourable

ice conditions north of Cape Beechey, and I doubt, even if the accident

had not occurred, whether I should have found it advisable on reaching

Cape Hecla to attempt the last stage of the journey.

My decision not to attempt to winter at Fort Conger was arrived at after

careful consideration. Two things controlled this decision: First, the

uncertainty of carrying dogs through the winter, and, second, the

comparative facility with which the distance from Etah to Fort Conger

can be covered with light sledges.

After the rendezvous with the _Diana_ I went on board the latter ship,

and visited all the native settlements, gathering skins and material for

clothing and sledge equipment, and recruiting my dog-teams.

The _Windward_ was sent walrus hunting during my absence. The _Diana_

also assisted in this work. August 25th the _Windward_ sailed for home,

followed on the 28th by the _Diana_, after landing me with my party,

equipment, and additional supplies at Etah.

The _Diana_ seemed to have gathered in and taken with her all the fine

weather, leaving us a sequence of clouds, wind, fog, and snow, which

continued with scarcely a break for weeks.

After her departure the work before me presented itself as follows: To

protect the provisions, construct our winter quarters, then begin

building sledges, and grinding walrus meat for dog pemmican for the

spring campaign.

During the first month a number of walrus were killed from our boats off

the mouth of the fiord; then the usual Arctic winter settled down upon

us, its monotony varied only by the visits of the natives, occasional

deer-hunts, and a December sledge journey to the Eskimo settlements in

Whale Sound as far as Kangerdlooksoah. In this nine days’ trip some 240

miles were covered in six marches, the first and the last marches being

of 60 to 70 miles. I returned to Etah just in time to escape a severe

snowstorm, which stopped communication between Etah and the other Eskimo

settlements completely, until I sent a party with snowshoes and a

specially constructed sledge, carrying no load, and manned by double

teams of dogs, to break the trail.

During my absence some of my natives had crossed to Mr. Stein’s place at

Sabine, and January 9th I began the season’s work by starting a few

sledge loads of dog-food for Cape Sabine, for use of my teams in the

spring journey. From this time on, as the open water in Smith Sound

permitted, more dog-food was sent to Sabine, and as the light gradually

increased some of my Eskimos were kept constantly at Sonntag Bay, some

twenty miles to the South, on the lookout for walrus.

My programme for the spring work was to move three divisions of sledges

north as far as Conger, the first to be in charge of Henson; while I

brought up the rear with the third.

From Fort Conger I should send back a number of Eskimos; retain some at

Conger; and with others proceed north _via_ Hecla or the north point of

Greenland, as circumstances might determine.

I wanted to start the first division on the 15th of February, the second

a week later, and leave with the third March 1st; but a severe storm,

breaking up the ice between Etah and Littleton Island, delayed the

departure of the first division of seven sledges until the 19th.

The second division of six sledges started on the 26th, and March 4th I

left with the rear division of nine sledges. Three marches carried us to

Cape Sabine, along the curving northern edge of the north water. Here a

northerly gale, with heavy drift, detained me for two days. Three more

marches in a temperature of –40° F. brought me to the house at Cape

D’Urville. Records here informed me that the first division had been

detained here a week by stormy weather, and the second division had left

but two days before my arrival. I had scarcely arrived when two of

Henson’s Eskimos came in from Richardson Bay, where one of them had

severely injured his leg by falling under a sledge. One day was spent at

D’Urville drying our clothing, and on the 13th I got away on the trail

of the other divisions with seven sledges, the injured man going to

Sabine with the supporting party.

I hoped to reach Cape Louis Napoleon on this march, but the going was

too heavy, and I was obliged to camp in Dobbin Bay, about five miles

short of the cape. The next day I hoped on starting to reach Cape

Fraser, but was again disappointed, a severe windstorm compelling me to

halt a little south of Hayes Point, and hurriedly build snow igloos in

the midst of a blinding drift. All that night and the next day, and the

next night, the storm continued. An early start was made on the 16th,

and in calm but very thick weather, we pushed on to Cape Fraser. Here we

encountered the wind and drift full in our faces, and violent, making

our progress from here to Cape Norton Shaw along the ice-foot very

trying.

The going from here across Scoresby and Richardson bays was not worse

than the year before; and from Cape Wilkes to Cape Lawrence the same as

we had always found it. These two marches were made in clear but

bitterly windy weather.

Another severe southerly gale held us prisoners at Cape Lawrence for a

day. The 20th was an equally cruel day, with wind still savage in its

strength, but the question of food for my dogs gave me no choice but to

try to advance. At the end of four hours we were forced to burrow into a

snow-bank for shelter, where we remained till the next morning.

In three more marches we reached Cape Leopold von Buch. Two more days of

good weather brought us to a point a few miles north of Cape Defosse.

Here we were stopped by another furious gale with drifting snow, which

prisoned us for two nights and a day.

The wind was still bitter in our faces when we again got under way the

morning of the 27th, the ice-foot became worse and worse up to Cape

Cracroft, where we were forced down into the narrow tidal joint, at the

base of the ice-foot; this path was a very narrow and tortuous one,

frequently interrupted, and was extremely trying on men and sledges.

Cape Lieber was reached on this march. At this camp the wind blew

savagely all night, and in the morning I waited for it to moderate

before attempting to cross Lady Franklin Bay. While thus waiting the

returning Eskimos of the first and second divisions came in. They

brought the very welcome news of the killing of 21 musk-oxen close to

Conger. They also reported the wind out in the bay as less severe than

at the Cape.

I immediately got under way and reached Conger just before midnight of

the 28th—24 days from Etah—during six of which I was held up by storms.

The first division had arrived four days and the second two days

earlier. During this journey there had been the usual annoying delays of

broken sledges, and I had lost numbers of dogs.

The process of breaking in the tendons and muscles of my feet to their

new relations, and the callousing of the amputation scars, in this, the

first serious demand upon them, had been disagreeable, but was, I

believed, final and complete. I felt that I had no reason to complain.

The herd of musk-oxen so opportunely secured near the station, with the

meat cached here the previous spring, furnished the means to feed and

rest my dogs. A period of thick weather followed my arrival at Conger

and not until April 2d could I send back the Eskimos of my division.

On leaving Etah I had not decided whether I should go north from Conger

_via_ Cape Hecla, or take the route along the northwest coast of

Greenland. Now I decided upon the latter. The lateness of the season and

the condition of the dogs might militate against a very long journey;

and if I chose the Hecla route and failed of my utmost aims, the result

would be complete failure. If, on the other hand, I chose the Greenland

route and found it impossible to proceed northward over the pack, I

still had an unknown coast to exploit and the opportunity of doing

valuable work. Later developments showed my decision to be a fortunate

one.

I planned to start from Conger the 9th of April, but stormy weather

delayed the departure until the 11th, when I got away with seven

sledges.

At the first camp beyond Conger my best Eskimo was taken sick, and the

following day I brought him back to Conger, leaving the rest of the

party to cross the channel to the Greenland side, where I would overtake

them. This I did two or three days later, and we began our journey up

the northwest Greenland coast. As far as Cape Sumner we had almost

continuous road-making through very rough ice. Before reaching Cape

Sumner we could see a dark water sky, lying beyond Cape Brevoort, and

knew that we should find open water there.

From Cape Sumner to Polaris Boat Camp, in Newman Bay, we cut a

continuous road. Here we were stalled until the 21st by continued and

severe winds. Getting started again in the tail end of the storm, we

advanced as far as the open water, a few miles east of Cape Brevoort,

and camped. This open water, about three miles wide at the Greenland

end, extended clear across the mouth of Robeson Channel to the Grinnell

Land coast, where it reached from Lincoln Bay to Cape Rawson. Beyond it,

to the north and northwest, as far as could be seen, were numerous lanes

and pools. The next day was devoted to hewing a trail along the ice-foot

to Repulse Harbour, and on the 23d, in a violent gale, accompanied by

drift, I pushed on to the “Drift Point” of Beaumont (and later

Lockwood), a short distance west of Black Horn Cliffs.

The ice-foot as far as Repulse Harbour, in spite of the road-making of

the previous day, was very trying to sledges, dogs, and men. The

slippery side slopes, steep ascents, and precipitous descents wrenched

and strained the men, and capsized, broke, and ripped shoes from the

sledges.

I was not surprised to see from the “Drift Point” igloo that the Black

Horn Cliffs were fronted by open water. The pack was in motion here, and

had only recently been crushing against the ice-foot, where we built our

igloo. I thought I had broken my feet in pretty thoroughly on the

journey from Etah to Conger; but this day’s work of handling a sledge

along the ice-foot made me think they had never encountered any serious

work before. A blinding snowstorm on the 24th kept us inactive. The next

day I made a reconnoissance to the Cliffs, and the next set the entire

party to work hewing a road along the ice-foot. That night the

temperature fell to –25°F., forming a film of young ice upon the water.

The next day I moved up close to the Cliffs, and then with three Eskimos

reconnoitred the young ice. I found that by proceeding with extreme care

it would in most places support a man.

With experienced Ahsayoo ahead, constantly testing the ice with his seal

spear, myself next, and two Eskimos following, all with feet wide apart,

and sliding instead of walking, we crept past the cliffs. Returning we

brushed the thin film of newly fallen snow off the ice with our feet,

for a width of some four feet, to give the cold free access to it.

I quote from my diary for the 27th:

“At last we are past the barrier which has been looming before me for

the last ten days—the open water at the Black Horn Cliffs. Sent two of

my men, whose nerves are disturbed by the prospect ahead, back to

Conger. This leaves me with Henson and three Eskimos. My supplies can

now be carried on the remaining sledges. Still further stiffened by the

continuous low temperature of the previous night, the main sheet of new

ice in front of the cliffs was not hazardous, as long as the sledges

keep a few hundred feet apart, did not stop, and their drivers keep some

yards away to one side. Beyond the limit of my previous day’s

reconnoissance there were areas of much younger ice, which caused me

considerable apprehension, as it buckled to a very disquieting extent

beneath dogs and sledges, and from the motion of the outside pack, was

crushed up in places, while narrow cracks opened up in others. Finally,

to my relief, we reached the ice-foot beyond the cliffs and camped.”

The next day there was a continuous lane of water, 100 feet wide, along

the ice-foot by our camp, and the space in front of the cliffs was again

open water. We crossed just in time.

Up to Cape Stanton we had to hew a continuous road along the ice-foot.

After this the going was much better to Cape Bryant. Off this section of

the coast the pack was in constant motion, and an almost continuous lane

of water extended along the ice-foot. A long search at Cape Bryant

finally discovered the remains of Lockwood’s cache and cairn, which had

been scattered by bears. Three marches, mostly in thick weather, and

over alternating hummocky blue ice and areas of deep snow, brought us at

1 A. M. of May 4th to Cape North (the northern point of Cape Britannia

Island). From this camp, after a sleep, I sent back two more Eskimos and

the twelve poorest dogs, leaving Henson, one Eskimo, and myself, with

three sledges and sixteen dogs, for the permanent advance party.

From Cape North a ribbon of young ice on the so-called tidal crack,

which extends along this coast, gave us a good lift nearly across

Nordenskjold Inlet. Then it became unsafe, and we climbed a heavy rubble

barrier to the old floe ice inside, which we followed to Cape Benêt, and

camped. Here we were treated to another snowstorm.

Another strip of young ice gave us a passage nearly across Mascart

Inlet, until, under Cape Payer, I found it so broken up that two of the

sledges and nearly all of the dogs got into the water before we could

escape from it. Then a pocket of snow, thigh and waist deep, over rubble

ice under the lee of the Cape stalled us completely. I pitched the tent,

fastened the dogs, and we devoted the rest of the day to stamping a road

through the snow with our snowshoes. Even then, when we started the next

day I was obliged to put two teams to one sledge in order to move it.

Cape Payer was a hard proposition. The first half of the distance round

it we were obliged to cut a road, and on the latter half, with twelve

dogs and three men to each sledge to push and pull them, snowplow

fashion, through the deep snow.

Distant Cape was almost equally inhospitable, and it was only after long

and careful reconnoissance that we were able to get our sledges past

along the narrow crest of the huge ridge of ice forced up against the

rocks. After this we had comparatively fair going, on past Cape Ramsay,

Dome Cape, and across Meigs Fiord, as far as Mary Murray Island. Then

came some heavy going, and at 11:40 P. M. of May 8th we reached

Lockwood’s cairn on the north end of Lockwood Island. From this cairn I

took the record and thermometer deposited there by Lockwood eighteen

years before. The record was in a perfect state of preservation.

One march from here carried us to Cape Washington. Just at midnight we

reached the low point, which is visible from Lockwood Island, and great

was my relief, to see on rounding this point, another splendid headland,

with two magnificent glaciers debouching near it, rising across an

intervening inlet. I knew now that Cape Washington was not the northern

point of Greenland, as I had feared. It would have been a great

disappointment to me, after coming so far, to find that another’s eyes

had forestalled mine in looking first upon the coveted northern point.

Nearly all my hours for sleep at this camp were taken up by observations

and a round of angles. The ice north from Cape Washington was in a

frightful condition—utterly impracticable. Leaving Cape Washington we

crossed the mouth of the fiord, packed with blue-top floe-bergs, to the

western edge of one of the big glaciers, and then over the extremity of

the glacier itself, camping near the edge of the second. Here I found

myself in the midst of the birthplace of the “floe-bergs,” which could

be seen in all the various stages of formation. These “floe-bergs” are

merely degraded icebergs; that is, bergs of low altitude, detached from

the extremity of a glacier, which has for some distance been forcing its

way along a comparatively level and shallow sea bottom.

From this camp we crossed the second glacier, then a small fiord, where

we killed a polar bear.

It was evident to me now that we were very near the northern extremity

of the land; and when we came within view of the next point ahead I felt

that my eyes rested at last upon the Arctic Ultima Thule (Cape Morris K.

Jesup). The land ahead also impressed me at once as showing the

characteristics of a musk-ox country.

This point was reached in the next march, and I stopped to take

variation and latitude sights. Here my Eskimo shot a hare, and we saw a

wolf track and traces of musk-oxen. A careful reconnoissance of the pack

to the northward, with glasses, from an elevation of a hundred feet,

showed the ice to be of a less impracticable character than it was north

of Cape Washington. What were evidently water clouds showed very

distinctly on the horizon. This water sky had been apparent ever since

we left Cape Washington, and at one time assumed such a shape that I was

almost deceived into taking it for land. Continued careful observation

destroyed the illusion. My observations completed, we started northward

over the pack, and camped a few miles from land.

The two following marches were made in a thick fog, through which we

groped our way northward, over broken ice and across gigantic, wavelike

drifts of hard snow. One more march in clear weather over frightful

going—consisting of fragments of old floes; ridges of heavy ice thrown

up to heights of twenty-five to fifty feet; crevasses and holes, masked

by snow; the whole intersected by narrow leads of open water—brought us

at 5 A. M. on the 16th of May to the northern edge of a fragment of an

old floe bounded by water. A reconnoissance from the summit of a

pinnacle of the floe, some fifty feet high, showed that we were on the

edge of the disintegrated pack, with a dense water sky not far distant.

My hours for sleep at this camp were occupied in observations, and

making a transit profile of the northern coast from Cape Washington

eastward.

The next day I started back for the land, reached it in one long march

and camped.

Within a mile of our next camp a herd of fifteen musk-oxen lay fast

asleep; I left them undisturbed. From here on, for three marches, we

made great distances over good going, in blinding sunshine, and in the

face of a wind from the east which burned our faces like a sirocco.

The first march took us to a magnificent cape (Cape Bridgman), at which

the northern face of the land trends away to the southeast. This cape is

in the same latitude as Cape Washington. The next two carried us down

the east coast to the 83d parallel. In the first of these we crossed the

mouth of a large fiord penetrating for a long distance in a

southwesterly (true) direction. On the next, in a fleeting glimpse

through the fog, I saw a magnificent mountain of peculiar contour, which

I recognised as the peak seen by me in 1895, from the summit of the

interior ice-cap south of Independence Bay, rising proudly above the

land to the north. This mountain was then named by me Mt. Wistar.

Finally the density of the fog compelled a halt on the extremity of a

low point, composed entirely of fine glacial drift, and which I judged

to be a small island in the mouth of a large fiord.

From my camp of the previous night I had observed this island (?) and

beyond and over it a massive block of a mountain, forming the opposite

cape of a large intervening fiord, and beyond that again another distant

cape. Open water was clearly visible a few miles off the coast, while

not far out dark water clouds reached away to the southeast.

At this camp I remained two nights and a day, waiting for the fog to

lift. Then, as there seemed to be no indication of its doing so, and my

provisions were exhausted, I started on my return journey at 3:30 A. M.

on the 22d of May, after erecting a cairn, in which I deposited the

following record:

COPY OF RECORD IN CAIRN AT CLARENCE WYCKOFF ISLAND

Arrived here at 10:30 P. M., May 20th, from Etah via Fort Conger, and

north end of Greenland. Left Etah March 4th. Left Conger April 15th.

Arrived north end of Greenland May 13th. Reached point on sea ice

latitude 83° 50′ N., May 16th.

On arrival here had rations for one more march southward. Two days

dense fog have held me here. Am now starting back.

With me are my man Matthew Henson; Ahngmalokto, an Eskimo; sixteen

dogs and three sledges.

This journey has been made under the auspices of and with funds

furnished by the Peary Arctic Club of New York City.

The membership of this Club comprises: Morris K. Jesup, Henry W.

Cannon, Herbert L. Bridgman, John Flagler, E. C. Benedict, James J.

Hill, H. H. Benedict, Fred’k E. Hyde, E. W. Bliss, H. H. Sands, J. M.

Constable, C. F. Wyckoff, E. G. Wyckoff, Chas. P. Daly, Henry Parish,

A. A. Raven, G. B. Schley, E. B. Thomas, and others.

R. E. PEARY,

_Civil Engineer, U. S. N._

The fog kept company with us on our return almost continuously until we

had passed Lockwood Island, but as we had a trail to follow, did not

delay us as much as the several inches of heavy snow that fell in a

blizzard, which came from the Polar basin, and imprisoned us for two

days at Cape Bridgman.

At Cape Morris K. Jesup, the northern extremity, I erected a prominent

cairn, in which I deposited the following record:

COPY OF RECORD IN NORTH CAIRN

May 13, 1900—5 A. M.

Have just reached here from Etah via Ft. Conger. Left Etah March 4th.

Left Conger April 15th. Have with me my man Henson, an Eskimo

Ahngmalokto, 16 dogs and three sledges; all in fair condition. Proceed

to-day due north (true) over sea ice. Fine weather. I am doing this

work under the auspices of and with funds furnished by the Peary

Arctic Club of New York City.

The membership of this Club comprises: Morris K. Jesup, Henry W.

Cannon, Herbert L. Bridgman, John H. Flagler, E. C. Benedict, Fred’k

E. Hyde, E. W. Bliss, H. H. Sands, J. M. Constable, C. F. Wyckoff, E.

G. Wyckoff, Chas. P. Daly, Henry Parish, A. A. Raven, E. B. Thomas,

and others.

R. E. PEARY,

_Civil Engineer, U. S. N._

May 17th.

Have returned to this point. Reached 83° 50′ N. Lat. due north of

here. Stopped by extremely rough ice, intersected by water cracks.

Water sky to north. Am now going east along the coast. Fine weather.

May 26th.

Have again returned to this place. Reached point on East Coast about

N. Lat. 83°. Open water all along the coast a few miles off. No land

seen to north or east. Last seven days continuous fogs, wind, and

snow. Is now snowing, with strong westerly wind. Temperature 20° F.

Ten musk-oxen killed east of here. Expect start for Conger to-morrow.

At Cape Washington, also, I placed a copy of Lockwood’s record, from the

cairn at Lockwood Island with the following indorsement:

This copy of the record left by Lieut. J. B. Lockwood and Sergt. (now

Colonel) D. L. Brainard, U. S. A., in the cairn on Lockwood Island

southwest of here, May 16, 1882, is to-day placed by me in this cairn

on the farthest land seen by them, as a tribute to two brave men, one

of whom gave his life for his Arctic work.

May 29th, 1900.

For a few minutes on one of the marches the fog lifted, giving us a

magnificent panorama of the north coast mountains. Very sombre and

savage they looked, towering white as marble with the newly fallen snow,

under their low, threatening canopy of lead-coloured clouds. Two herds

of musk-oxen were passed, one of fifteen and one of eighteen, and two or

three stragglers. Four of these were shot for dog-food, and the skin of

one, killed within less than a mile of the extreme northern point, has

been brought back as a trophy for the Club.

Once free of the fog off Mary Murray Island we made rapid progress,

reaching Cape North in four marches from Cape Washington. Clear weather

showed us the existence of open water a few miles off the shore,

extending from Dome Cape to Cape Washington. At Black Cape there was a

large open water reaching from the shore northward. Everywhere along

this coast I was impressed by the startling evidence of the violence of

the blizzard of a few days before. The polar pack had been driven

resistlessly in against the iron coast, and at every projecting point

had risen to the crest of the ridge of old ice, along the outer edge of

the ice-foot, in a terrific cataract of huge blocks. In places these

mountains of shattered ice were 100 feet or more in height. The old ice

in the bays and fiords had had its outer edge loaded with a great ridge

of ice fragments, and was itself cracked and crumpled into huge swells

by the resistless pressure. All the young ice which had helped us on our

onward passage had been crushed into countless fragments and swallowed

up in the general chaos.

Though hampered by fog, the passage from Cape North to Cape Bryant was

made in twenty-five and one-half marching hours. At 7 A. M. of the 6th

of June we camped on the end of the ice-foot, at the eastern end of

Black Horn Cliffs. A point a few hundred feet up the bluffs, commanding

the region in front of the cliffs, showed it to be filled by small

pieces of old ice, held in place against the shore by pressure of the

outside pack. It promised at best the heaviest kind of work, with the

certainty that it would run abroad at the first release of pressure.

The next day, when about one-third the way across, the ice did begin to

open out, and it was only after a rapid and hazardous dash from cake to

cake that we reached an old floe, which, after several hours of heavy

work, allowed us to climb upon the ice-foot of the western end of the

cliffs.

From here on rapid progress was made again, three more marches taking us

to Conger, where we arrived at 1:30 A. M., June 10th, though the open

water between Repulse Harbour and Cape Brevoort, which had now expanded

down Robeson Channel to a point below Cape Sumner, and the rotten ice

under Cape Sumner, hampered us seriously. In passing I took copies of

the Beaumont English Records from the cairn at Repulse Harbour, and

brought them back for the archives of the Club. They form one of the

finest chapters of the most splendid courage, fortitude and endurance,

under dire stress of circumstances, that is to be found in the history

of Arctic explorations.

In this journey I had determined, conclusively, the northern limit of

the Greenland Archipelago or land group, and had practically connected

the coast southward to Independence Bay, leaving only that comparatively

short portion of the periphery of Greenland lying between Independence

Bay and Cape Bismarck indeterminate. The non-existence of land, for a

very considerable distance to the northward and northeastward, was also

settled, with every indication pointing to the belief that the coast

along which we travelled formed the shore of an uninterrupted central

Polar sea, extending to the Pole, and beyond to the Spitzbergen and

Franz Joseph Land groups of the opposite hemisphere.

The origin of the floe-bergs and paleocrystic ice was definitely

determined. Further than this, the result of the journey was to

eliminate this route as a desirable or practicable one by which to reach

the Pole. The broken character of the ice, the large amount of open

water, and the comparatively rapid motion of the ice, as it swung round

the northern coast into the southerly setting East Greenland current,

were very unfavourable features.

During my absence some thirty-three musk-oxen and ten seals had been

secured in the vicinity of Conger; caches for my return had been

established at Thank God Harbour, Cape Lieber, and Lincoln Bay, and

sugar, milk and tea had been brought up from the various caches between

Conger and Cape Louis Napoleon.

July was passed by a portion of the party in the region from Discovery

Harbour westward, _via_ Black Rock Vale and Lake Hazen, where some forty

musk-oxen were secured.

During August and early September various other hunting trips of shorter

duration were made, resulting in the killing of some twenty musk-oxen.

1900–1901

In the middle of September I started with Henson and four Eskimos to

Lake Hazen, to secure musk-oxen for our winter supply, it being evident

that my ship would not reach us. Going west as far as the valley of the

Very River, by October 4th, ninety-two musk-oxen had been killed. Later

nine more were secured, making a total of one hundred and one for the

autumn hunting.

From the beginning of November to March 6th, the greater portion of the

time was passed by my party in igloos built in the vicinity of the game

killed in various localities, from Discovery Harbour to Ruggles River.

April 5th I left Conger with Henson, one Eskimo, two sledges and twelve

dogs for my northern trip. At the same time the remainder of the party,

with two sledges and seven dogs and pups, started south for Capes

D’Urville and Sabine, to communicate with or obtain tidings of my ship.

On reaching Lincoln Bay it was evident to me that the condition of men

and dogs was such as to negative the possibility of reaching the Pole,

and I reluctantly turned back.

Arriving at Conger, after an absence of eight days, I found the

remainder of my party there. They had returned after an absence of four

days, having proceeded one-third of the distance across Lady Franklin

Bay. Fortunately, the night before I arrived, one of the Eskimos secured

several musk-oxen above St. Patrick’s Bay, which enabled me to feed my

dogs before starting south, which I did with the entire party on April

17th.

April 30th, at Hayes Point, I met a party from the _Windward_ attempting

to reach Conger, and received my mail, learning that the _Windward_ was

at Payer Harbour with Mrs. Peary and our little girl on board. After a

rest at the D’Urville box house, I went on to the _Windward_, arriving

May 6th.

After a few days’ rest the work of establishing new caches along the

coast northward, toward Conger, was commenced and continued until the

middle of June. Then the preparing of Payer Harbour for winter quarters

was carried on till July 3d, when the _Windward_ broke out of the ice

and steamed over to the Greenland side. July was devoted to killing

walrus, and 128 were secured and transported to Payer Harbour.

August 4th, the _Erik_, sent up by the Club, in command of Secretary H.

L. Bridgman, to communicate with me, arrived at Etah. The usual tour of

visits to the Eskimo settlements was then made, and both ships pressed

into the work of hunting walrus, until August 24th, when the _Windward_

proceeded southward, and the _Erik_ steamed away to land me and my party

and the catch of walrus at Payer Harbour.

A large quantity of heavy ice blocking the way to Payer Harbour, I

requested Secretary Bridgman to land me and my party and walrus meat, in

a small bight, some twelve or fifteen miles south of Cape Sabine, from

whence I could proceed to Payer Harbour in my boats or sledges when

opportunity offered. This was done, and on the 29th of August the _Erik_

steamed away.

1901–1902

On the 16th of September I succeeded in reaching Payer Harbour, crossing

Ross Bay, partly by sledge and partly by boat, and going overland across

Bedford Pim Island.

Soon after this my Eskimos began to sicken, and by November 19th six of

them were dead. During this time I personally sledged much of the

material from Erik Harbour to headquarters, and Henson went to the head

of Buchanan Bay with some of the Eskimos, and secured ten musk-oxen.

The winter passed quietly and comfortably. Two more musk-oxen were

secured in Buchanan Bay, and six deer at Etah.

January 2d, work was begun in earnest on preparations for the spring

campaign, which opened on the 11th of February. On this day I sent off

six sledges, with light loads, to select a road across the mouth of

Buchanan Bay, and build an igloo abreast of Cape Albert. On the 12th I

sent two of my best hunters on a flying reconnoissance and bear hunt, in

the direction of Cape Louis Napoleon.

On the 13th eight sledges went out, taking dog-food nearly to Cape

D’Urville. On the 16th my two scouts returned with a favourable report,

and on the 18th ten sledges went out loaded with dog-food to be taken to

Cape Louis Napoleon. This party returned on the 22d. On the evening of

the 28th, everything was in readiness for Henson to start the next day,

it being my intention to send him on ahead with three picked men and

light loads to pioneer the way to Conger; I to follow a few days later

with the main party. A northerly gale delayed his departure until the

morning of March 3d, when he got away with six sledges and some fifty

dogs. Two of these sledges were to act as a supporting party as far as

Cape Lawrence. At 9 A. M. of March 6th fourteen sledges trailed out of

Payer Harbour and rounded Cape Sabine for the northern journey, and at

noon I followed them, with my big sledge, the “Long Serpent,” drawn by

ten fine grays. Two more sledges accompanied me. The temperature at the

time was –20° F. The minimum of the previous night had been –38° F. We

joined the others at the igloos abreast of Cape Albert and camped there

for the night. Temperature –43° F. The next day we made Cape D’Urville

in temperature from –45° to –49°F.

Here I stopped a day to dry our foot-gear thoroughly, and left on the

morning of the 9th with some supplies from the box house. Two sledges

returned from here. Camped about five miles from Cape Louis Napoleon.

The next march carried me to Cape Fraser, and the next to Cape

Collinson. During this march, for the first time in the four seasons

that I have been over this route, I was able to take a nearly direct

course across the mouth of Scoresby Bay, instead of making a long detour

into it.

One march from Cape Collinson carried me to Cape Lawrence, on the north

side of Rawlings Bay. The crossing of this bay, though more direct than

usual, was over extremely rough ice. Learning from Henson’s letter at

Cape Lawrence, that I had gained a day on him, and not wanting to

overtake him before reaching Conger, I remained here a day, repairing

several sledges which had been damaged in the last march. Five men with

the worst sledges and poorest dogs returned from here. Three more

marches took us to Cape L. von Buch on the north side of Carl Ritter

Bay, temperature ranging from –35° to –45° F. Heavy going in many

places.

Two more marches carried us to the first coast valley north of Cape

Defosse. I had now gained two days on the advance party. The character

of the channel ice being such that we were able to avoid the terrible

ice-foot, which extends from here to Cape Lieber, and my dogs being

still in good condition, I made a spurt from here and covered the

distance to Conger in one march, arriving about an hour and a half after

Henson and his party.

I had covered the distance from Payer Harbour to Conger, some 300 miles,

in twelve marches.

Four days were spent at Conger overhauling sledges and harness, drying

and repairing clothing, and scouting the country, as far as The Bellows,

in search of musk-oxen. None were seen, but about 100 hare were secured

in the four days. Temperature during this time from –40° to –57° F.

Seven Eskimos returned from here, taking with them the instruments of

the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition, and other items of Government property

abandoned here in 1883.

On the morning of the 24th I started north with nine sledges. We camped

the first night at “Depot B.” The next march I had counted on making

Lincoln Bay, but just before reaching Wrangel Bay a sudden furious gale

with blinding drift drove us into camp at the south point of the bay.

Here we were storm-bound during the 26th, but got away on the morning of

the 27th and pushed on to Cape Union, encountering along this portion of

the coast the steep side slopes of hard snow, which are so trying to men

and sledges and dogs.

Open water, the clouds over which we saw from Wrangel Bay Camp, was

about 100 yards beyond our igloo, and extended from there, as I judged,

northward beyond Cape Rawson, and reached entirely across the channel to

the Greenland coast at Cape Brevoort, as in 1900.

Fortunately, with the exercise of utmost care, and with a few narrow

escapes, and incessant hard work, we were able to work our sledges along

the narrow and dangerous ice-foot to and around Black Cape.

The ice-foot along this section of the coast was the same as was found

here by Egerton and Rawson in 1876, and Pavy in 1882, necessitating the

hewing of an almost continuous road; but a party of willing,

lighthearted Eskimos makes comparatively easy work of what would be a

slow and heart-breaking job for two or three white men. Beyond Black

Cape the ice-foot improved in character, and I pushed along to camp at

the _Alert’s_ winter quarters. Simultaneously with seeing the _Alert’s_

cairn three musk-oxen were seen a short distance inland, and secured.

The animals were very thin and furnished but a scant meal for my dogs.

One march from here carried us to Cape Richardson, and the next under

the lee of View Point, where we were stopped and driven to build our

igloo with all possible speed by one of the common Arctic gales. There

were young ice, pools of water, and a nearly continuous water sky all

along the shore.

As the last march had been through deep snow, I did not dare to attempt

the English short cut across Fielden Peninsula behind Cape Joseph Henry,

preferring to take the ice-foot route round it.

For a short distance this was the worst bit of ice-foot I have ever

encountered. By the slipping of my sledge two men nearly lost their

lives, saving themselves by the merest chance, with their feet already

dangling over the crest of a vertical face of ice some fifty feet in

height. At the very extremity of the cape we were forced to pass our

sledges along a shelf of ice, less than three feet in width, glued

against the face of the cliff at an elevation which I estimated at the

time as seventy-five feet above the ragged surface of the floe beneath.

On the western side of the cape the ice-foot broadened and became nearly

level, but was smothered in such a depth of light snow that it stalled

us and we went into camp. The next day we made Crozier Island.

During April 2d and 3d we were held here by a westerly storm, and the

4th and 5th were devoted to hunting musk-oxen, of which three were

secured, two of them being very small. From here I sent back three

Eskimos, keeping Henson and four Eskimos with me.

Reconnoissances of the polar pack northward were made with the glasses

from the summit of the island and from Cape Hecla.

The pack was very rough, but apparently not as bad as that which I saw

north of Cape Washington two years before. Though unquestionably

difficult, it yet looked as though we might make some progress through

it unless the snow was too deep and soft. This was a detail which the

glasses could not determine.

On the morning of April 6th I left Crozier Island, and a few hours

later, at the point of Cape Hecla, we swung our sledges sharply to the

right and climbed over and down the parapet of the ice-foot on to the

polar pack. As the sledges plunged down from the ice-foot their noses

were buried out of sight, the dogs wallowed belly deep in the snow, and

we began our struggle due northward.

We had been in the field now just a month. We had covered not less than

400 miles of the most arduous travelling in temperatures of from –35° to

–57° F., and we were just beginning our work, _i. e._, the conquest of

the polar pack, the toughest undertaking in the whole expanse of the

Arctic region.

Some two miles from the cape was a belt of very recent young ice,

running parallel with the general trend of the coast. Areas of rough ice

caught in this compelled us to exaggerated zigzags, and doubling on our

track. It was easier to go a mile round, on the young ice, than to force

the sledge across one of these islands.

The northern edge of the new ice was a high wall of heavily rubbled old

ice, through which, after some reconnoissance, we found a passage to an

old floe, where I gave the order to build an igloo. We were now about

five miles from the land.

The morning of the 7th brought us fine weather. Crossing the old floe we

came upon a zone of old floe fragments deeply blanketed with snow.

Through the irregularities of this we struggled; the dogs floundering,

almost useless, occasionally one disappearing for a moment; now treading

down the snow round a sledge to dig it out of a hole into which it had

sunk, now lifting the sledges bodily over a barrier of blocks; veering

right and left; doubling in our track; road-making with snowshoe and

pickaxe.

Late in the day a narrow ditch gave us a lift for a short distance, then

one or two little patches of level going, then two or three small old

floes which, though deep with snow, seemed like a Godsend compared with

the wrenching earlier work. We camped in the lee of a large hummock on

the northern edge of a small but very heavy old floe, everyone

thoroughly tired, and the dogs dropping motionless in the snow as soon

as the whip stopped.

We were now due north to Hecla, and I estimated we had made some six

miles, perhaps seven, perhaps only five. A day of work like this makes

it difficult to estimate distances. This is a fair sample of our day’s

work.

On the 12th we were storm-bound by a gale from the west, which hid even

those dogs fastened nearest to the igloo. During our stay here the old

floes on which we were camped split in two with a loud report, and the

ice cracked and rumbled and roared at frequent intervals.

In the first march beyond this igloo we were deflected westward by a

lead of practically open water, the thin film of young ice covering it

being unsafe even for a dog. A little further on a wide canal of open

water deflected us constantly to the northwest and then west until an

area of extremely rough ice prevented us from following it farther.

Viewed from the top of a high pinnacle this area extended west and

northwest on both sides of the canal, as far as could be seen. I could

only camp and wait for this canal, which evidently had been widened

(though not newly formed) by the storm of the day before, to close up or

freeze over. During our first sleep at this camp there was a slight

motion of the lead, but not enough to make it practicable. From here I

sent back two more Eskimos.

Late in the afternoon of the 14th the lead began to close, and hastily

packing the sledges we hurried them across over moving fragments of ice.

We now found ourselves in a zone of high parallel ridges of rubble ice

covered with deep snow. These ridges were caused by successive opening

and closing of the lead. When, after some time, we found a practicable

pass through this barrier, we emerged upon a series of very small but

extremely heavy and rugged old floes; the snow on them still deeper and

softer than on the southern side of the lead. At the end of a

sixteen-hour day I called a halt, though we were only two or three miles

north of the big lead.

During the first portion of the next march we passed over fragments of

very heavy old floes slowly moving eastward. Frequently we were obliged

to wait for the pieces to crush close enough together to let us pass

from one to the other. Farther on I was compelled to bear away due east

by an impracticable area extending west, northwest, north and northeast

as far as could be seen, and just as we had rounded this and were

bearing away to the north again, we were brought up by a lead some fifty

feet wide. From this on, one day was much like another, sometimes doing

a little better sometimes a little worse, but the daily advance, in

spite of our best efforts, steadily decreasing. Fog and stormy weather

also helped to delay us.

I quote from my Journal:

_April 21st._—The game is off. My dream of sixteen years is ended. It

cleared during the night and we got under way this morning, deep snow.

Two small old floes. Then came another region of old rubble and deep

snow. A survey from the top of a pinnacle showed this extending north,

east and west, as far as could be seen. The two old floes, over which we

had just come, are the only ones in sight. It is impracticable and I

gave the order to camp. I have made the best fight, I knew. I believe it

has been a good one. But I cannot accomplish the impossible.

A few hours after we halted there came from the ice to the north a sound

like that made by a heavy surf, and it continued during our stay at this

camp. Evidently the floes in that direction were crushing together under

the influence of the wind, or what was, perhaps, more probable, from the

long continuation of the noise, the entire pack was in slow motion to

the east. A clear day enabled me to get observations which showed my

latitude to be 84° 17′ 27″ N., magnetic variation, 99° west. I took some

photographs of the camp, climbed and floundered through the broken

fragments and waist-deep snow for a few hundred yards north of the camp,

gave the dogs a double ration, then turned in to sleep, if possible, for

a few hours preparatory to returning.

We started on our return soon after midnight of the 21st. It was very

thick, with wind from the west and snowing heavily. I hurried our

departure in order to utilise as much of our tracks as possible before

they were obliterated. It was very difficult to keep the trail in the

uncertain light and driving snow. We lost it repeatedly, when we would

be obliged to quarter the surface like bird dogs. On reaching the last

lead of the upward march, instead of the open water which had

interrupted our progress then, our tracks now disappeared under a huge

pressure ridge, which I estimated to be from seventy-five to one hundred

feet high. Our trail was faulted here by the movement of the floes, and

we lost time in picking it up on the other side.

This was to me a trying march. I had had no sleep the night before, and

to the physical strain of handling my sledge was added the mental tax of

trying to keep the trail. When we finally camped, it was only for a few

hours, for I recognised that the entire pack was moving slowly, and that

our trail was everywhere being faulted and interrupted by new pressure

ridges and leads, in a way to make our return march nearly, if not

quite, as slow and laborious as the outward one. The following marches

were much the same. In crossing one lead I narrowly escaped losing two

sledges and the dogs attached to them. Arrived at the “Grand Canal,” as

I called the big lead at which I had sent two Eskimos back, the changes

had been such as to make the place almost unrecognisable.

Two marches south of the Grand Canal the changes in the ice had been

such, between the time of our upward trip and the return of my two men

from the canal, that they, experienced as they were in all that pertains

to ice-craft, had been hopelessly bewildered and wandered apparently,

for at least a day, without finding the trail. After their passage other

changes had taken place, and, as a result, I set a compass course for

the land, and began making a new road. In the next march we picked up

our old trail again.

Early in the morning of the 22d, we reached the second igloo out from

Cape Hecla, and camped in a driving snowstorm. At this igloo we were

storm-bound during the 27th and 28th, getting away on the 29th in the

densest fog, and bent on butting our way in a “bee” line compass course,

for the land. Floundering through the deep snow and ice, saved from

unpleasant falls only by the forewarning of the dogs, we reached Crozier

Island after a long and weary march. The band of young ice along the

shore had disappeared, crushed up into confused ridges and mounds of

irregular blocks.

The floe at the island camp had split in two, the crack passing through

our igloo, the halves of which stared at each other across the chasm.

This march finished two of my dogs, and three or four more were

apparently on their last legs. We did not know how tired we were until

we reached the island. The warm foggy weather and the last march

together dropped our physical barometer several degrees.

[Illustration:

SIDE

]

[Illustration:

FRONT

]

HEAD OF RANGIFER PEARYI, ALLEN. Killed near Cape Joseph Henry, _October,

1905_

[Illustration:

AHNGMALOKTO

]

[Illustration:

PEWAHTO

]

[Illustration:

AHNGODOBLAHO

]

[Illustration:

PANIKPAH

]

ESKIMOS OF THE “FARTHEST NORTH” PARTY

As we now had light sledges, I risked the short cut across the base of

Fielden Peninsula and camped that night under the lee of View Point.

Four more marches carried us to Conger, where we remained three days,

drying clothing and repairing sledges, and giving the dogs a much needed

rest. Leaving Conger on the 6th of May, eleven marches brought us back

to Payer Harbour on the 17th of May. A few days after this I went north

to complete the survey of the inner portions of Dobbin Bay, being absent

from headquarters some ten days. Open water vetoing a trip which I had

planned for June up Buchanan Bay and across to the west coast of

Ellesmere Land, the remainder of the time was devoted to assiduous

hunting, in order to secure a supply of meat for the winter, in the

contingency of no ship arriving.

On the 5th of August the new _Windward_, sent north by the Club, and

bringing to me Mrs. Peary and my little girl, steamed into the harbour.

As soon as people and supplies could be hurried aboard her, she steamed

across the Sound to the Greenland side. Here my faithful Eskimos were

landed, and, after devoting a week or so to the work of securing

sufficient walrus to carry them in comfort through the winter, the

_Windward_ steamed southward, and, after an uneventful voyage, arrived

at Sydney, C. B., on the 17th of September, where I had the pleasure of

meeting Secretary Bridgman, of the Club, and forwarding through him a

brief report of my movements during the past year.

A NEW CARIBOU FROM ELLESMERE LAND[4]

BY J. A. ALLEN

Footnote 4:

_Bulletin_ Am. Museum of Nat. History, Vol. xvi, Article xxxii.

The valuable natural history material brought by the Arctic explorer,

Commander R. E. Peary, U. S. N., to the American Museum of Natural

History on his return from his recent long sojourn in the high North

contains five specimens of Caribou taken in Ellesmere Land, Lat. 79°, in

June, 1902. They comprise four flat skins of adults without skulls, and

more or less defective, and the complete skin of a young fawn. In

colouration they are strikingly different from any other known Caribou,

being pure white except for a large dark patch on the middle and

posterior part of the back.

ELLESMERE LAND CARIBOU

_Rangifer Pearyi_, sp. nov.

Type, No. 19231 ♂ ad., Ellesmere Land, N. Lat. 79°, June 15, 1902,

Commander Robert E. Peary, U. S. N.

Entire animal pure white except an oval grayish brown patch over the

posterior half of the dorsal surface, gradually fading into white

toward the shoulders, the hair being white to the base, or of a pale

shade of lilac below the surface, where the surface colour is white.

The dorsal patch occupies an area of about 670 mm. in length by 350

mm. in width, and is drab-gray, divided by a very narrow median line

of white. The legs and feet are wholly white; the ears are slightly

tinged with gray, the hair beneath the surface being plumbeous and

showing slightly at the surface. The antlers are just budding, being

represented by small protuberances, about an inch and a half in

length, covered with short hair. Total length of flat skin, 1660 mm.

Corresponding measurement of flat skins of the dark form of Caribou

from Greenland, 1820 mm.

A female (No. 19232) is similar, except that the dark dorsal area

extends a little further forward at the shoulders, and is a little

darker. As in the male, the patch fades out to whitish toward the

shoulders. Length of the flat skin, 1560 mm.

Two other females are similarly marked, but the dorsal patch in both

is much darker, approaching dark slate gray. The region around the

base of the antlers and ears is clouded with grayish, as are the edges

of the ears; the front surface of the forelegs is dark grayish brown,

and of the hind legs faint buffy grayish brown, increasing in amount

and intensity apically from the tarsal joint to the hoofs. These skins

measure respectively 1610 and 1570 mm. in total length. In one the

antlers form knobs an inch or two in height, covered with short hair.

A fawn (No. 19235), a few weeks old, is grayish white on the head,

ears, neck, limbs, ventral surface and sides of the body, the hairs

being dusky basally and broadly tipped with white, the dusky basal

portion showing through the white enough to give a general dingy

effect. The top of the nose and a narrow band bordering the nostrils

are blackish, passing posteriorly on the upper part of the rostrum

into brownish dusky; a broad central band from the nose nearly to the

ears is darker or more dingy than the sides of the face; a rusty

brownish spot marks the point where the antlers are to appear, and

there is a faint rusty wash on the sides of the face both before and

behind the rusty antler spots. The back is marked by a strongly

defined, very narrow, ferruginous line, running from the nape to the

base of the tail, which, over the middle of the back, broadens a

little and darkens to deep dusky ferruginous; the whole dorsal area,

from a little behind the shoulders to the rump, is pale fawn colour,

darkest medially and fading out on the sides to pale buffy white. This

coloured area corresponds in position and outline with the dark dorsal

patch of the adults. A narrow, ill-defined, dusky chestnut-brown band

borders the hoofs of all the feet, but is rather broader and more

distinct on the hind feet than on the fore feet. The tail is wholly

white to the base, as in the adults.

The adult specimens, though killed in June, are in winter coat, the hair

being long, thick, and very soft, much softer and finer than in the

Greenland Caribou, and the skins are also much thinner and softer. The

skin of the fawn was preserved in brine, which may have slightly

intensified or darkened the buffy shades of the dorsal surface.

_Rangifer Pearyi_ is evidently a very distinct insular form, very

different from _R. Grœnlandicus_ in colouration and doubtless in other

features. Unfortunately only flat skins are available for examination.

Specimens of _R. Grœnlandicus_ in corresponding pelage are dark slaty

brown above, this colour fading gradually on the sides to the white of

the ventral surface, the Greenland Caribou being very much darker in its

winter pelage than the Newfoundland Caribou, which heretofore has been

the whitest known form of the group.

I am indebted to Commander Peary for the following information regarding

the occurrence of Caribou in Ellesmere Land. In a letter dated

Philadelphia, October 13, 1902, he says: “In answer to your inquiries I

will say that remains and traces of reindeer have been noted by previous

explorers at the following points in Ellesmere Land and Grinnell Land:

Alexandra Haven, Ellesmere Land; Rawlings Bay, Grinnell Land, and in the

Fort Conger region, Grinnell Land; and an antler was picked up by a

member of my party in the summer of 1901 at Erik Harbour, some twelve

miles south of Cape Sabine. The published reports of Sverdrup’s

expedition state that he found reindeer in abundance on the west side of

Ellesmere Land.

“I have seen many winter coats of the Greenland Caribou and they are

pronouncedly darker than the Ellesmere specimens.”