SOME OF MY ESKIMOS LOSE THEIR NERVE
The protracted delay, hard as it was upon all the members of the
expedition, had a demoralizing psychological effect upon some of my
Eskimos. Toward the end of the period of waiting I began to notice that
some of them were getting nervous. I would see them talking together in
twos and threes, just out of earshot. Finally two of the older men, who
had been with me for years and whom I had trusted, came to me pretending
to be sick. I have had sufficient experience to know a sick Eskimo when
I see one, and the excuses of Poodloonah and Panikpah did not convince
me. I told them by all means to go back to the land just as quickly as
they could, and to take with them a note to Marvin, urging him to hurry.
I also sent by them a note to the mate of the ship, giving instructions
in regard to these two men and their families.
As the days went by, other Eskimos began to complain of this and that
imaginary ailment. Two of them were rendered temporarily unconscious by
the fumes of the alcohol cooker in their igloo, frightening all the rest
of the Eskimos half out of their wits, and I was seriously puzzled as to
what I should do with them. This was an illustration of the fact, which
may not have occurred to every one, that the leader of a polar
expedition has sometimes other things to contend with than the natural
conditions of ice and weather.
On the 9th or 10th we might possibly have crossed the lead on the young
ice, by taking desperate chances; but, considering our experience of
1906, when we had nearly lost our lives while recrossing the "Big Lead"
on the undulating ice, and also considering that Marvin _must_ be
somewhere near by this time, I waited these two more days to give him a
chance to catch up.
MacMillan was invaluable to me during this period. Seeing the
restlessness of the Eskimos, and without waiting for any suggestion from
me, he gave himself absolutely to the problem of keeping them occupied
and interested in games and athletic "stunts" of one kind and another.
This was one of those opportunities which circumstances give a man
silently to prove the mettle of which he is made.
On the evening of March 10, the lead being nearly closed, I gave orders
to get under way the next morning. The delay had become unendurable, and
I decided to take the chance of Marvin's overtaking us with the oil and
alcohol.
Of course there was the alternative of my going back to see what was the
trouble. But that idea was dismissed. There was little attraction in
ninety miles of extra travel, to say nothing of the psychological effect
on the members of the expedition.
I had no anxiety about the men themselves. Borup, I felt sure, had
reached the land without delay. Marvin, if he had been held up
temporarily by the opening of the shore lead, had the load which had
been thrown off by Kudlooktoo when his sledge was smashed, and this
load contained all essential items of supplies. But I could not believe
that the shore lead had remained open so long.
The morning of the 11th was clear and calm, with a temperature of minus
40°, which meant that all the open water was frozen over. We got under
way early, leaving in my igloo at this camp the following note for
Marvin:
4th CAMP, _March_ 11, 1909.
Have waited here (6) days. Can wait no longer. We
are short of fuel. Push on with all possible speed
to overtake us. Shall leave note at each camp.
When near us rush light sledge and note of
information ahead to overhaul us.
Expect send back Dr. & Eskimos 3 to 5 marches from
here. He should meet you & give you information.
We go straight across this lead (E. S. E.)
There has been no lateral motion of the ice during
7 days. Only open and shut. _Do not camp here._
CROSS THE LEAD. Feed full rations & speed your
dogs.
It is _vital_ you overtake us and give us fuel.
Leaving at 9 A.M., Thursday, Mar. 11.
PEARY.
P.S. On possibility you arrive too late to follow
us, have asked captain take general material from
your bags.
We crossed the lead without trouble, and made a fair march of not less
than twelve miles. This day we crossed seven leads, each being from half
a mile to one mile in width, all covered with barely negotiable young
ice. At this time the various divisions, including Bartlett's, were all
traveling together.
On this march we crossed the 84th parallel. That night the ice was
raftering about our camp with the movement of the tide. The continual
grinding, groaning, and creaking, as the pieces of ice crunched
together, kept up all night long. The noise, however, did not keep me
from sleeping, as our igloos were on a heavy ice-floe, which was not
likely itself to be broken up, most of the ice around it being young and
thin.
[Illustration: ATHLETIC SPORTS AT THE LEAD CAMP]
In the morning it was still clear, and the temperature was down to minus
45°. Again we made a fair march of not less than twelve nautical miles,
crossing in the first half many cracks and narrow leads, and in the
latter half traversing an unbroken series of old floes. I felt confident
that this zone of numerous leads which we had crossed in the last two
marches was the "Big Lead," and was of the opinion that we were now
safely across it.
We hoped that Marvin and Borup, with their men and vital supply of fuel,
would get across the "Big Lead" before we had any more wind; for six
hours of a good fresh breeze would utterly obliterate our trail, by
reason of the movement of the ice, and their search for us in the broad
waste of that white world would have been like the proverbial search for
a needle in a haystack.
[Illustration: PICKAXING A ROAD THROUGH ZONE OF ROUGH ICE]
The following march, on the 13th, was distinctly crisp. When we started
the thermometer was minus 53°, the minimum during the night having been
minus 55°; and when the twilight of evening came on it was down to minus
59°. With the bright sunshine at midday, and with no wind, in our fur
clothing we did not suffer from the cold. The brandy, of course, was
solid, the petroleum was white and viscid, and the dogs as they
traveled were enveloped in the white cloud of their own breath.
I traveled ahead of my division this march, and whenever I looked back
could see neither men nor dogs--only a low-lying bank of fog glistening
like silver in the horizontal rays of the sun behind it to the
south--this fog being the steam of the dog teams and the men.
[Illustration: A CHARACTERISTIC VIEW OF THE EXPEDITION ON THE MARCH IN
FINE WEATHER
(Indian File Used to Economize the Strength of Men and Dogs and to
Accentuate the Trail. The Passage of Each Sledge Makes the Trail Easier
for the Ones Behind It)]
The going during this march was fairly good, except at the beginning,
where for about five miles we zigzagged through a zone of very rough
ice. The distance covered was at least twelve miles. Our camp that night
was on a large old floe in the lee of a large hummock of ice and snow.
Just as we had finished building our igloos, one of the Eskimos who was
standing on the top of the hummock shouted excitedly:
"Kling-mik-sue!" (Dogs are coming.)
In a moment I was on the hummock beside him. Looking south I could see,
a long distance away, a little bank of silvery white mist lying on our
trail. Yes, it was surely the dogs. A little later Seegloo, of Borup's
party, dashed up on a light sledge drawn by eight dogs, with a note from
Marvin containing the welcome news that he, Borup, and their men had
slept the previous night at our second camp back; that they would sleep
the next night at our first camp back, and catch up with us on the
following day. The rear party, with its precious loads of oil and
alcohol, was over the "Big Lead!"
Henson at once received instructions to get away early the next morning
with his division of Eskimos and sledges, to pioneer the road for the
next five marches. The doctor was informed definitely that he was to
return to the land the next morning with two men. The rest of the party
would remain here repairing sledges and drying clothes until Marvin and
Borup came in, when I could reapportion my loads, and send back all
superfluous men, dogs, and sledges.
That night, my mind again at rest, I slept like a child. In the morning
Henson got away early to the north with his pioneer division of three
Eskimos, Ootah, Ahwatingwah, Koolootingwah, and sledges and teams. A
little later Dr. Goodsell with two Eskimos, Wesharkoopsi and Arco, one
sledge, and twelve dogs took the back trail.
The doctor had assisted me in every possible way; but his services in
the field were gratuitous and were understood so to be. His place was
naturally at the ship, where the greater number still remained, for the
moral effect of his presence even if his medical services should not be
much needed, and I did not feel justified in subjecting him further to
the dangers of the leads with their treacherous young ice. The latitude
where the doctor turned back was about 84° 29´.
In the latter part of the afternoon, March 14, another cloud of silvery
smoke was seen advancing along our trail, and a little later Marvin came
swinging in at the head of the rear division, men and dogs steaming like
a squadron of battle-ships, and bringing in an ample supply of fuel.
Otherwise his loads were light, to permit rapid traveling. Many times in
the past had I been glad to see the true eyes of Ross Marvin, but never
more glad than this time.
The sledges which were now repaired were laden with the standard loads
already described, and I found that I had just twelve. This left some
men and dogs over, so that it was not serious news when MacMillan called
my attention to a frosted heel with which he had been worrying along for
several days without saying anything to any one about it. I saw at once
that the only thing for him to do was to turn back.
It was a disappointment to me to lose MacMillan so early, as I had hoped
that he would be able to go to a comparatively high latitude; but his
disability did not affect the main proposition. I had ample personnel,
as well as provisions, sledges, and dogs; and the men, like the
equipment, were interchangeable.
Here it may be well to note that, beyond my saying to Bartlett at Cape
Columbia that I hoped conditions might be such as to give me the benefit
of his energy and sturdy shoulders to some point beyond Abruzzi's
farthest, no member of the party knew how far he was to go, or when he
was to turn back. Yet this made no difference in the eagerness of their
work. Naturally I had my definite program; but conditions or accidents
might necessitate such instant and radical modifications of it that it
seemed hardly worth while to make it known. Few, if any, other explorers
have had so efficient and congenial a party as mine this last time.
Every man was glad to subordinate his own personal feelings and
ambitions to the ultimate success of the expedition.
Marvin made a sounding about a half mile north of the camp and got eight
hundred and twenty-five fathoms, which substantiated my belief that we
had crossed the "Big Lead." This lead probably follows the continental
shelf which this sounding showed to be between there and Camp No. 4
(with the probability of its being between Camp Nos. 4 and 5), probably
at about the 84th parallel. The continental shelf is simply a submerged
plateau surrounding all the continent, the "Big Lead" marking the
northern edge of that shelf where it dips into the polar sea.
Monday, March 15, was also clear and cold, with a temperature between
45° and 50° below zero. The wind had shifted again to the east and was
very penetrating. Bartlett and Marvin started off with the pickaxes as
soon as they had finished their morning tea and pemmican, and their
divisions, with Borup and his division, followed as soon as their
sledges were stowed.
MacMillan got away for Columbia with two Eskimos, two sledges, and
fourteen dogs. The main expedition now comprised sixteen men, twelve
sledges, and one hundred dogs. One sledge had been broken up to repair
the others, three had been taken back with the returning parties, and
two were left at this camp to be utilized on the return. Of the sledges
that now went on, seven were the new type of Peary sledge and five were
the old Eskimo pattern.
After saying good-by to MacMillan I followed the other three divisions
to the north, bringing up the rear as previously. The going in this
march was similar to that of the previous one, fairly good, as it was
over the old floes. The soreness in my fractured leg which had troubled
me more or less all the way from Cape Columbia was now almost entirely
gone.
Late in the afternoon we began to hear loud reports and rumblings among
the floes, as well as the more sibilant sound of the raftering young ice
in various directions. This meant more open water ahead of us. Soon an
active lead cut right across our path, and on the farther or northern
side of it we could see that the ice was moving. The lead seemed to
narrow toward the west, and we followed it a little way until we came to
a place where there were large pieces of floating ice, some of them
fifty or a hundred feet across. We got the dogs and sledges from one
piece of ice to another--the whole forming a sort of pontoon bridge.
As Borup was getting his team across the open crack between two pieces
of floating ice, the dogs slipped and went into the water. Leaping
forward, the vigorous young athlete stopped the sledge from following
the dogs, and, catching hold of the traces that fastened the dogs to the
sledge, he pulled them bodily out of the water. A man less quick and
muscular than Borup might have lost the whole team as well as the sledge
laden with five hundred pounds of supplies, which, considering our
position far out in that icy wilderness, were worth more to us than
their weight in diamonds. Of course, had the sledge gone in, the weight
of it would have carried the dogs to the bottom of the sea. We drew a
long breath, and, reaching the solid ice on the other side of this
pontoon bridge, plunged on to the north. But we had gone only a short
distance when right in front of us the ice separated with loud reports,
forming another open lead, and we were obliged to camp.
The temperature that night was 50° below zero; there was a fresh breeze
from the southeast and enough moisture in the open water close by us to
give the wind a keen edge, which made the time occupied in building
igloos decidedly unpleasant. But we were all so thankful over our escape
from losing that imperiled sledge with its precious load that personal
discomforts seemed indeed of small account.