THE LONG NIGHT
It may well be doubted if it is possible for a person who has never
experienced four months of constant darkness to imagine what it is.
Every school boy learns that at the two ends of the earth the year is
composed of one day and one night of equal length, and the intervening
periods of twilight; but the mere recital of that fact makes no real
impression on his consciousness. Only he who has risen and gone to bed
by lamplight, and risen and gone to bed again by lamplight, day after
day, week after week, month after month, can know how beautiful is the
sunlight.
During the long arctic night we count the days till the light shall
return to us, sometimes, toward the end of the dark period, checking off
the days on the calendar--thirty-one days, thirty days, twenty-nine
days, and so on, till we shall see the sun again. He who would
understand the old sun worshipers should spend a winter in the Arctic.
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
ILLUMINATION OF THE ROOSEVELT IN WINTER QUARTERS ON A MOONLIGHT NIGHT
Showing the Ice Pressure Close to the Ship]
Imagine us in our winter home on the _Roosevelt_, four hundred and fifty
miles from the North Pole: the ship held tight in her icy berth, a
hundred and fifty yards from the shore, the ship and the surrounding
world covered with snow, the wind creaking in the rigging, whistling and
shrieking around the corners of the deck houses, the temperature ranging
from zero to sixty below and the ice-pack in the channel outside
groaning and complaining with the movement of the tides.
During the moonlit period of each month, some eight or ten days, when
the moon seems to circle round and round the heavens, the younger
members of the expedition were nearly always away on hunting trips; but
during the longer periods of utter blackness most of us were on the ship
together, as the winter hunting is done only by moonlight.
It must be understood that the arctic moon has its regular phases, its
only peculiarity being the course it appears to travel in the sky. When
the weather is clear there is starlight, even in the dark period; but it
is a peculiar, cold, and spectral starlight, which, to borrow the words
of Milton, seems but to make the "darkness visible."
When the stars are hidden, which may be much of the time, the darkness
is so thick that it seems as if it could almost be grasped with the
hand, and in a driving wind and snowstorm, if a man ventures to put his
head outside the cabin door, he seems to be hurled back by invisible
hands of demoniacal strength.
During the early part of the winter the Eskimos lived in the forward
deck house of the ship. There was always a fire in the galley stove, a
fire in the Eskimo quarters, and one in the crew's quarters; but though
I had a small cylindrical coal stove in my cabin, it was not lighted
throughout the winter. Leaving the forward door of my cabin open into
the galley a part of the time, kept my cabin comfortably warm. Bartlett
occasionally had a fire in his cabin, and the other members of the
expedition sometimes lighted their oil-stoves.
On the first of November we adopted the winter schedule of two meals a
day, breakfast at nine, dinner at four. This is the weekly bill of fare
which Percy, the steward, and I made out and which was followed
throughout the winter:
Monday. _Breakfast_: Cereal. Beans and brown bread. Butter. Coffee.
_Dinner_: Liver and bacon. Macaroni and cheese. Bread and butter. Tea.
Tuesday. _Breakfast_: Oatmeal. Ham and eggs. Bread and butter. Coffee.
_Dinner_: Corned beef and creamed peas. Duff. Tea.
Wednesday. _Breakfast_: Choice of two kinds of cereal. Fish, forward
(that is, for the sailors); sausage, aft (for the members of the
expedition). Bread and butter. Coffee. _Dinner_: Steak and tomatoes.
Bread and butter. Tea.
Thursday. _Breakfast_: Cereal. Ham and eggs. Bread and butter. Coffee.
_Dinner_: Corned beef and peas. Duff. Tea.
Friday. _Breakfast_: Choice of cereal. Fish. Hamburger on starboard (our
own) table. Bread and butter. Coffee. _Dinner_: Pea soup. Fish.
Cranberry pie. Bread and butter. Tea.
Saturday. _Breakfast_: Cereal. Meat stew. Bread and butter. Coffee.
_Dinner_: Steak and tomatoes. Bread and butter. Tea.
Sunday. _Breakfast_: Cereal. "Brooze" (Newfoundland hard biscuit,
softened and boiled with salt codfish). Bread and butter. Coffee.
_Dinner_: Salmon trout. Fruit. Chocolate.
Our table conversation was mainly with regard to our work. We would
discuss the details of the last sledge trip, or talk over the plans for
the next one. There was always something going on, and the minds of the
men were so occupied that they did not have time to yield themselves to
the traditional, maddening winter melancholy of the Arctic. Moreover,
men of sanguine temperament had been selected, and much material in the
rough had been carried along in order to keep everybody busy working it
into shape for use.
On Sunday mornings I breakfasted in my cabin, thus leaving the men to
themselves. On these occasions conversation was less technical and
ranged from books to table manners, and sometimes Bartlett seized the
opportunity to give his companions half-serious, half-humorous advice on
the matter of table conduct, telling them that the time would come when
they must return to civilization, and that they must not allow
themselves to get into careless habits. Thus the academic and the
practical elements of the party met on even ground.
I have never adopted rigorous rules for the members of my expeditions,
because it is not necessary. There were regular hours for meals in the
mess rooms. It was understood that lights should be out at midnight, but
if any man wanted a light later, he could have it. These were our rules.
The Eskimos were allowed to eat when they pleased. They might sit up
late at night, if they chose, but their work of making sledges and fur
clothing had to proceed just the same the next day. There was only one
rigid rule for them: that no loud noises, such as chopping dog meat or
shouting, were to be made from ten o'clock at night until eight in the
morning.
While living on the _Roosevelt_, in winter quarters, we abandoned much
of the routine of ship life afloat. The only regular bells were those at
ten and twelve at night, the first a signal for all loud noises to
cease, the latter a signal for lights to be turned out. The only watches
were those of the regular day and night watchmen.
With the exception of a few cases of grip, the health of the party was
good during the whole period of our life at winter quarters. Grip in the
Arctic, coincident with epidemics in Europe and America, is rather an
interesting phenomenon. My first experience with it was in 1892,
following one of the peculiar Greenland storms, similar to those in the
Alps--a storm which evidently swept over the entire width of Greenland
from the southeast, raising the temperature from the minus thirties to
plus forty-one in twenty-four hours. Following that atmospheric
disturbance every member of my party, and even some of the Eskimos, had
a pronounced attack of grip. It was our opinion that the germs were
brought to us by this storm, which was more than a local disturbance.
Aside from rheumatism and bronchial troubles, the Eskimos are fairly
healthy; but the adults are subject to a peculiar nervous affection
which they call _piblokto_--a form of hysteria. I have never known a
child to have _piblokto_; but some one among the adult Eskimos would
have an attack every day or two, and one day there were five cases. The
immediate cause of this affection is hard to trace, though sometimes it
seems to be the result of a brooding over absent or dead relatives, or
a fear of the future. The manifestations of this disorder are somewhat
startling.
The patient, usually a woman, begins to scream and tear off and destroy
her clothing. If on the ship, she will walk up and down the deck,
screaming and gesticulating, and generally in a state of nudity, though
the thermometer may be in the minus forties. As the intensity of the
attack increases, she will sometimes leap over the rail upon the ice,
running perhaps half a mile. The attack may last a few minutes, an hour,
or even more, and some sufferers become so wild that they would continue
running about on the ice perfectly naked until they froze to death, if
they were not forcibly brought back.
When an Eskimo is attacked with _piblokto_ indoors, nobody pays much
attention, unless the sufferer should reach for a knife or attempt to
injure some one. The attack usually ends in a fit of weeping, and when
the patient quiets down, the eyes are bloodshot, the pulse high, and the
whole body trembles for an hour or so afterward.
The well-known madness among the Eskimo dogs is also called _piblokto_.
Though it does not seem to be infectious, its manifestations are similar
to those of hydrophobia. Dogs suffering from _piblokto_ are usually
shot, but they are often eaten by the Eskimos.
The first winter moon came early in November, and on the 7th MacMillan
started for Cape Columbia for a month of tidal observations, taking with
him Jack Barnes, a sailor, Egingwah, and Inighito and their wives.
Poodloonah, Ooblooyah and Seegloo went as MacMillan's supporting party,
to carry supplies, and Wesharkoopsi and Keshungwah started for Cape
Richardson to bring back the musk-ox skins which had been left there
during the fall hunting trips.
The tidal observations by MacMillan at Cape Columbia were made in
connection with the tidal observations which were constantly going on at
Cape Sheridan during the fall and winter, and with those taken later at
Cape Bryant on the other side of Robeson Channel. These tidal
observations of the expedition of 1908-09 were the farthest north of all
continuous series ever recorded anywhere, though similar observations
had been taken by the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition at Fort Conger, about
sixty miles southwest.
Marvin and Borup, during the November moon, continued the tidal
observations at Cape Sheridan. The tidal igloo, which was built on the
ice just inside the tide crack, about one hundred and eighty yards from
the ship, was an ordinary Eskimo snow igloo and was used as a protection
to the men in taking the observations at the tide staff. This staff,
about twelve feet long, was driven into the bottom, and its length was
marked off in feet and inches. As the tide rose and fell, the ice and
the igloo moved with the water, but the staff remained stationary, and
by the position of the ice upon the staff we measured the tides, varying
with the day, the moon and the season.
The tides along the north coast of Grant Land are remarkable for the
slightness of the rise and fall, which varies from an average of 1.8
feet at Cape Sheridan to .8 at Cape Columbia. As is well known to
navigators, the tides at Sandy Hook, New York, sometimes rise twelve
feet, while the tides in the Bay of Fundy are often over fifty feet; in
Hudson Strait they are about forty, and there are places on the coast of
China where the extreme rise is even greater.
The two Eskimo women were sent to Cape Columbia with MacMillan's party
because the Eskimo men like to have their families with them when they
go on long trips. The women are useful in drying and mending the fur
garments which are constantly going to pieces in the rough usage of the
sledge trips. Some of them can drive a dog team as well as the men, and
many of them are good shots. I have known them to shoot musk-oxen and
even bears. They do not attempt the walrus, yet they can paddle a kayak
as well as the men--to the limit of their strength.
The accomplishments of the Eskimo women are of the useful rather than
the ornamental kind. The handling of the native lamp, for instance,
requires great skill. If the lamp is well trimmed, it is as clear and
smokeless as our own lamps; if it is neglected, it smokes and smells
vilely. As the Eskimos are not highly romantic, a woman's skill in
dressing skins and in making clothes largely determines the quality of
husband she is likely to get. The Eskimo men have not a very critical
eye for feminine beauty, but they are strong in appreciation of domestic
accomplishments.
Even so early as November we began to be worried about the dogs. Many of
them had died; they were nearly all in poor condition, and the food was
none too abundant. It is always necessary to take up twice as many dogs
as will be needed, in order to provide for probable accidents. On the
8th of November there were only one hundred and ninety-three out of the
two hundred and forty-six with which we had left Etah in August. The
whale meat brought for them seemed to be lacking in nutrition.
Four more that were in the worst condition were killed, to save the dog
food, and on the 10th we had to kill five more. Then we tried the
experiment of feeding them on pork, with the result that seven more
died. I began to wonder whether we should have enough dogs left for the
spring journey toward the Pole.
It is absolutely impossible to figure on the Eskimo dog's uncertain
tenure of life. The creatures will endure the severest hardships; they
will travel and draw heavy loads on practically nothing to eat; they
will live for days exposed to the wildest arctic blizzard; and then,
sometimes in good weather, after an ordinary meal of apparently the best
food, they will lie down and die.
On the 25th of November we again overhauled and counted the dogs. There
were now only one hundred and sixty left, and ten of these were in bad
condition. But I discovered that day, on having the frozen walrus meat
ripped up on the forecastle, that we had a greater supply than we had
believed, and the discovery drove away the nightmare which had been
haunting us. From now on the dogs could be fed a little more generous
allowance of the best kind of food. For, after we had tried practically
everything, including our bacon, it was found that walrus meat agreed
with them better than anything else.
The importance of this matter must not be lost sight of for an instant.
Dogs, and plenty of them, were vitally necessary to the success of the
expedition. Had an epidemic deprived us of these animals, we might just
as well have remained comfortably at home in the United States. All the
money, brains and labor would have been utterly thrown away, so far as
concerned the quest of the North Pole.