GOOD-BY TO MARVIN
Up to this time no observations had been taken. The altitude of the sun
had been so low as to make observations unreliable. Moreover, we were
traveling at a good clip, and the mean estimate of Bartlett, Marvin, and
myself, based on our previous ice experience, was sufficient for dead
reckoning. Now, a clear, calm day, with the temperature not lower than
minus forty, made a checking of our dead reckoning seem desirable. So I
had the Eskimos build a wind shelter of snow, in order that Marvin might
take a meridian altitude for latitude. I intended that Marvin should
take all the observations up to his farthest, and Bartlett all beyond
that to his farthest. This was partly to save my eyes, but principally
to have independent observations with which to check our advance.
The mercury of the artificial horizon was thoroughly warmed in the
igloo; a semi-circular wind-guard of snow blocks two tiers high was put
up, opening to the south; a musk-ox skin was laid upon the snow inside
this; my special instrument box was placed at the south end and firmly
bedded into the snow in a level position; the artificial horizon trough,
especially devised for this kind of work, was placed on top and the
mercury poured into it until it was even full, when it was covered
with the glass horizon roof.
[Illustration: MARVIN TAKING AN OBSERVATION IN A SNOW SHELTER]
Marvin, then lying full length upon his face, with his head to the south
and both elbows resting upon the snow, was able to hold the sextant
steady enough to get his contact of the sun's limb in the very narrow
strip of the artificial horizon which was available. A pencil and open
note-book under the right hand offered the means of noting the altitudes
as they were obtained.
The result of Marvin's observations gave our position as approximately
85° 48´ north latitude, figuring the correction for refraction only to a
temperature of minus 10 F., the lowest temperature for which we had
tables. It was from this point that, reckoning twenty-five miles for our
last two marches, we calculated the position of Camp 19, where Borup
turned back, as being 85° 23´, as against our respective dead reckoning
estimates of 85° 20´, 85° 25´, and 85° 30´. This observation showed that
we had thus far averaged eleven and a half minutes of latitude _made
good_ for each actual march. Included in these marches had been four
short ones resulting from causes the recurrence of which I believed I
could prevent in future. I was confident that if we were not interrupted
by open water, against which no calculations and no power of man can
prevail, we could steadily increase this average from this time on.
The next march was made in a temperature of minus thirty and a misty
atmosphere which was evidently caused by open water in the neighborhood.
About five miles from camp we just succeeded by the liveliest work in
getting four of our five sledges across an opening lead. Getting the
last sledge over caused a delay of a few hours, as we had to cut an ice
raft with pickaxes to ferry the sledge, dogs, and Eskimo driver across.
This impromptu ferry-boat was cut on our side and was moved across the
lead by means of two coils of rope fastened together and stretching from
side to side. When the cake was ready, two of my Eskimos got on it, we
threw the line across to the Eskimo on the other side, the Eskimos on
the ice raft took hold of the rope, the Eskimos on either shore held the
ends, and the raft was pulled over. Then the dogs and sledge and the
three Eskimos took their place on the ice cake, and we hauled them over
to our side. While we were engaged in this business we saw a seal
disporting himself in the open water of the lead.
At the end of the next march, which was about fifteen miles, and which
put us across the 86th parallel, we reached Bartlett's next camp, where
we found Henson and his party in their igloo. I got them out and under
way at once, sending by one of them a brief note of encouragement to
Bartlett, telling him that his last camp was beyond 86°, that he would
probably sleep that night beyond the Norwegian record, and urging him to
speed us up for all he was worth.
In this march there was some pretty heavy going. Part of the way was
over small old floes, which had been broken up by many seasons of
unceasing conflict with the winds and tides. Enclosing these more or
less level floes were heavy pressure ridges over which we and the dogs
were obliged to climb. Often the driver of a heavily loaded sledge would
be forced to lift it by main strength over some obstruction. Those who
have pictured us sitting comfortably on our sledges, riding over
hundreds of miles of ice smooth as a skating pond, should have seen us
lifting and tugging at our five-hundred-pound sledges, adding our own
strength to that of our dogs.
The day was hazy, and the air was full of frost, which, clinging to our
eyelashes, almost cemented them together. Sometimes, in opening my mouth
to shout an order to the Eskimos, a sudden twinge would cut short my
words--my mustache having frozen to my stubble beard.
This fifteen mile march put us beyond the Norwegian record (86° 13´ 6´´;
see Nansen's "Farthest North," Vol. 2, page 170) and fifteen days ahead
of that record. My leading sledge found both Bartlett and Henson in
camp; but they were off again, pioneering the trail, before I, bringing
up the rear as usual, came in. Egingwah's sledge had been damaged during
this march, and as our loads could now be carried on four sledges, owing
to what we had eaten along the way, we broke up Marvin's damaged sledge
and used the material in it for repairing the other four. As Marvin and
two Eskimos were to turn back from the next camp, I left here his
supplies for the return and part of his equipment, in order to save
unnecessary transportation out and back. The time employed in mending
the sledges and shifting the loads cut into our hours of sleep, and
after a short rest of three hours we were again under way, with four
sledges and teams of ten dogs each.
The next march was a good one. Bartlett had responded like a
thoroughbred to my urging. Favored by good going, he reeled off full
twenty miles, notwithstanding a snowstorm part of the time, which made
it hard to see. The temperature, which varied from 16° to 30° below
zero, indicated that there was more or less open water to the west, from
which direction the wind came. During this march we crossed several
leads covered with young ice, treacherous under the recently fallen
snow. Along the course of one of these leads we saw the fresh track of a
polar bear going west, over two hundred miles from land.
[Illustration: REPAIRING SLEDGES IN CAMP]
At half-past ten on the morning of the 25th I came upon Bartlett and
Henson with their men, all in camp, in accordance with my instructions
to wait for me at the end of their fifth march. I turned them all out,
and every one jumped in to repair the sledges, redistribute the loads,
weed out the least efficient dogs, and rearrange the Eskimos in the
remaining divisions.
While this work was going on, Marvin, favored by clear weather, took
another meridian observation for latitude and obtained 86° 38´. This
placed us, as I expected, beyond the Italian record, and showed that in
our last three marches we had covered a distance of fifty minutes of
latitude, an average of sixteen and two-thirds miles per march. We were
thirty-two days ahead of the Italian record in time.
I was doubly glad of the result of the observations, not only for the
sake of Marvin, whose services had been invaluable and who deserved the
privilege of claiming a higher northing than Nansen and Abruzzi, but
also for the honor of Cornell University, to the faculty of which he
belonged, and two of whose alumni and patrons had been generous
contributors to the Peary Arctic Club. I had hoped that Marvin would be
able to make a sounding at his farthest north, but there was no young
ice near the camp through which a hole could be made.
[Illustration: A MOMENTARY HALT IN THE LEE OF A BIG HUMMOCK NORTH OF
88°]
About four o'clock in the afternoon Bartlett, with Ooqueah and Karko,
two sledges, and eighteen dogs, got away for the advance. Bartlett
started off with the determination to bag the 88th parallel in the next
five marches (after which he was to turn back), and I sincerely hoped
that he would be able to reel off the miles to that point, as he
certainly deserved such a record.
Later I learned that he had intended to cover twenty-five or thirty
miles in his first march, which he would have done had conditions not
been against him. Though tired with the long march and the day's work in
camp, after a short sleep the night before, I was not able to turn in
for several hours after Bartlett got away. There were numerous details
which required personal attention. There were letters to write and
orders for Marvin to take back, together with his instructions for his
projected trip to Cape Jesup.
The next morning, Friday, March 26, I rapped the whole party up at five
o'clock, after a good sleep all round. As soon as we had eaten our usual
breakfast of pemmican, biscuit, and tea, Henson, Ootah, and Keshungwah,
with three sledges and twenty-five dogs, got away on Bartlett's trail.
Marvin, with Kudlooktoo and "Harrigan," one sledge, and seventeen dogs,
started south at half-past nine in the morning.
No shadow of apprehension for the future hung over that parting. It was
a clear, crisp morning, the sunlight glittered on the ice and snow, the
dogs were alert and active after their long sleep, the air blew cold and
fresh from the polar void, and Marvin himself, though reluctant to turn
back, was filled with exultation that he had carried the Cornell colors
to a point beyond the farthest north of Nansen and Abruzzi, and that,
with the exception of Bartlett and myself, he alone of all white men had
entered that exclusive region which stretches beyond 86° 34´ north
latitude.
I shall always be glad that Marvin marched with me during those last few
days. As we tramped along together we had discussed the plans for his
trip to Cape Jesup, and his line of soundings from there northward; and
as he turned back to the land his mind was glowing with hope for the
future--the future which he was destined never to know. My last words to
him were:
"Be careful of the leads, my boy!"
So we shook hands and parted in that desolate white waste, and Marvin
set his face southward toward his death, and I turned again northward
toward the Pole.