BARTLETT REACHES 87° 47´
Our hopes were soon realized, for at one o'clock in the morning, March
30, when I awoke and looked at my watch, the murmur from the closing
lead had increased to a hoarse roar, punctuated with groans and with
reports like those of rifles, dying away to the east and west like the
sounds from a mighty firing line. Looking through the peep-hole, I saw
that the black curtain had thinned so that I could see through it to
another similar, though blacker, curtain behind, indicating still
another lead further on.
[Illustration: CROSSING A LARGE LAKE OF YOUNG ICE, NORTH OF 87°
("As Level as a Floor" for Six or Seven Miles. In Places This Ice Was so
Thin That It Buckled Under the Sledges and Drivers)]
At eight o'clock in the morning the temperature was down to minus 30°,
with a bitter northwest breeze. The grinding and groaning of the ice had
ceased, and the smoke and haze had disappeared, as is usual when a lead
closes up or freezes over. We rushed across before the ice should open
again. All this day we traveled together, Bartlett's division, Henson's,
and mine, constantly crossing narrow lanes of young ice, which had only
recently been open water. During this march we had to cross a lake of
young ice some six or seven miles across--so thin that the ice buckled
under us as we rushed on at full speed for the other side. We did our
best to make up for the previous day's delay, and when we finally camped
on a heavy old floe we had made a good twenty miles.
The entire region through which we had come during the last four marches
was full of unpleasant possibilities for the future. Only too well we
knew that violent winds for even a few hours would set the ice all
abroad in every direction. Crossing such a zone on a journey north, is
only half the problem, for there is always the return to be figured on.
Though the motto of the Arctic must be, "Sufficient unto the day is the
evil thereof," we ardently hoped there might not be violent winds until
we were south of this zone again on the return.
The next march was to be Bartlett's last, and he let himself out to do
his best. The going was fairly good, but the weather was thick. There
was a strong northerly wind blowing full in our faces, bitter and
insistent, and the temperature was in the minus thirties. But this
northerly wind, though hard to struggle against, was better than an
easterly or westerly one, either of which would have set us adrift in
open water, while, as it was, the wind was closing up every lead behind
us and thus making things easier for Bartlett's supporting party on its
return. True, the wind pressure was forcing to the south the ice over
which we traveled, and thus losing us miles of distance; but the
advantage of frozen leads was more than compensation for this loss.
So good was Bartlett's pace during the last half of the march that if I
stopped an instant for any purpose I had to jump on a sledge or run, to
catch up, and during the last few miles I walked beside Bartlett in
advance. He was very sober and anxious to go further; but the program
was for him to go back from here in command of the fourth supporting
party, and we did not have supplies enough for an increase in the main
party. The food which he and his two Eskimos and dog teams would have
consumed between this point and the Pole, on the upward and return
journeys, might mean that we would all starve before we could reach the
land again.
Had it been clear we should undoubtedly have covered twenty-five miles
in this march; but it is difficult to break a trail in thick weather as
rapidly as in clear, and this day netted us only twenty miles. We knew
that if we were not on or close to the 88th parallel at the end of this
march, it would be because the northern winds of the past two days had
set the ice south, crushing up the young ice in the leads between us and
the land.
The sun came out just as we were preparing to camp, and it looked as if
we should have clear weather the next day for Bartlett's meridian
observations at his "farthest north."
When our igloos were built, I told the two Eskimos, Keshungwah and
Karko, that they were to go back with the captain the next day; so they
could get their clothes as dry as possible, as they probably would not
have time to dry them on the forced march home. Bartlett was to return
with these two Eskimos, one sledge, and eighteen dogs.
After about four hours' sleep, I turned everyone out at five o'clock in
the morning. The wind had blown violently from the north all night, and
still continued.
After breakfast Bartlett started to walk five or six miles to the north
in order to make sure of reaching the 88th parallel. On his return he
was to take a meridian observation to determine our position. While he
was gone I culled the best dogs from his teams, replacing them with the
poorer dogs from the teams of the main party. The dogs were on the whole
in very good condition, far better than on any of my previous
expeditions. I had been throwing the brunt of the dragging on the
poorest dogs, those that I judged were going to fail, so as to keep the
best dogs fresh for the final spurt.
My theory was to work the supporting parties to the limit, in order to
keep the main party fresh; and those men who I expected from the
beginning would form the main party at the last had things made as easy
as possible for them all the way up. Ootah, Henson and Egingwah were in
this group. Whenever I could do so I had eased their loads for them,
giving them the best dogs, and keeping the poorest dogs with the teams
of those Eskimos who I knew were going back. It was a part of the
deliberate plan to work the supporting parties as hard as possible, in
order to keep the main party fresh up to the farthest possible point.
From the beginning there were certain Eskimos who, I knew, barring some
unforeseen accident, would go to the Pole with me. There were others who
were assigned not to go anywhere near there, and others who were
available for either course. If any accidents occurred to those men whom
I had originally chosen, I planned to fill their places with the next
best ones who were all willing to go.
On Bartlett's return the Eskimos built the usual wind shelter already
described, and Bartlett took a latitude observation, getting 87° 46´
49´´.
Bartlett was naturally much disappointed to find that even with his
five-mile northward march of the morning he was still short of the 88th
parallel. Our latitude was the direct result of the northerly wind of
the last two days, which had crowded the ice southward as we traveled
over it northward. We had traveled fully twelve miles more than his
observation showed in the last five marches, but had lost them by the
crushing up of the young ice in our rear and the closing of the leads.
Bartlett took the observations here, as had Marvin five camps back
partly to save my eyes and partly to have independent observations by
different members of the expedition. When the calculations were
completed, two copies were made, one for Bartlett and one for me, and he
got ready to start south on the back trail in command of my fourth
supporting party, with his two Eskimos, one sledge, and eighteen dogs.
I felt a keen regret as I saw the captain's broad shoulders grow smaller
in the distance and finally disappear behind the ice hummocks of the
white and glittering expanse toward the south. But it was no time for
reverie, and I turned abruptly away and gave my attention to the work
which was before me. I had no anxiety about Bartlett. I knew that I
should see him again at the ship. My work was still ahead, not in the
rear. Bartlett had been invaluable to me, and circumstances had thrust
upon him the brunt of the pioneering instead of its being divided among
several, as I had originally planned.
Though he was naturally disappointed at not having reached the 88th
parallel, he had every reason to be proud, not only of his work in
general, but that he had surpassed the Italian record by a degree and a
quarter. I had given him the post of honor in command of my last
supporting party for three reasons: first, because of his magnificent
handling of the _Roosevelt_; second, because he had cheerfully and
gladly stood between me and every possible minor annoyance from the
start of the expedition to that day; third, because it seemed to me
right that, in view of the noble work of Great Britain in arctic
exploration, a British subject should, next to an American, be able to
say that he had stood nearest the North Pole.
With the departure of Bartlett, the main party now consisted of my own
division and Henson's. My men were Egingwah and Seegloo; Henson's men
were Ootah and Ooqueah. We had five sledges and forty dogs, the pick of
one hundred and forty with which we had left the ship. With these we
were ready now for the final lap of the journey.
We were now one hundred and thirty-three nautical miles from the Pole.
Pacing back and forth in the lee of the pressure ridge near which our
igloos were built, I made out my program. Every nerve must be strained
to make five marches of at least twenty-five miles each, crowding these
marches in such a way as to bring us to the end of the fifth march by
noon, to permit an immediate latitude observation. Weather and leads
permitting, I believed that I could do this. From the improving
character of the ice, and in view of the recent northerly winds, I
hoped that I should have no serious trouble with the going.
If for any reason I fell short of these proposed distances, I had two
methods in reserve for making up the deficit. One was to double the last
march--that is, make a good march, have tea and a hearty lunch, rest the
dogs a little, and then go on again, without sleep. The other was, at
the conclusion of my fifth march, to push on with one light sledge, a
double team of dogs, and one or two of the party, leaving the rest in
camp. Even should the going be worse than was then anticipated, eight
marches like the three from 85° 48´ to 86° 38´, or six similar to our
last one, would do the trick.
[Illustration: CAMP AT 85° 48´ NORTH, MARCH 22, 1909]
Underlying all these calculations was the ever-present knowledge that a
twenty-fours' gale would open leads of water which might be impassable,
and that all these plans would be negatived.
As I paced to and fro, making out my plans, I remembered that three
years ago that day we had crossed the "big lead" on our way north, April
1, 1906. A comparison of conditions now and then filled me with hope for
the future.
This was the time for which I had reserved all my energies, the time for
which I had worked for twenty-two years, for which I had lived the
simple life and trained myself as for a race. In spite of my years, I
felt fit for the demands of the coming days and was eager to be on the
trail. As for my party, my equipment, and my supplies, they were perfect
beyond my most sanguine dreams of earlier years. My party might be
regarded as an ideal which had now come to realization--as loyal and
responsive to my will as the fingers of my right hand.
My four Eskimos carried the technic of dogs, sledges, ice, and cold as
their racial heritage. Henson and Ootah had been my companions at the
farthest point on the expedition three years before. Egingwah and
Seegloo had been in Clark's division, which had such a narrow escape at
that time, having been obliged for several days to subsist upon their
sealskin boots, all their other food being gone.
And the fifth was young Ooqueah, who had never before served in any
expedition; but who was, if possible, even more willing and eager than
the others to go with me wherever I should elect. For he was always
thinking of the great treasures which I had promised each of the men who
should go to the farthest point with me--whale-boat, rifle, shotgun,
ammunition, knives, et cetera--wealth beyond the wildest dreams of
Eskimos, which should win for him the daughter of old Ikwah of Cape
York, on whom he had set his heart.
All these men had a blind confidence that I would somehow get them back
to land. But I recognized fully that all the impetus of the party
centered in me. Whatever pace I set, the others would make good; but if
I played out, they would stop like a car with a punctured tire. I had no
fault to find with the conditions, and I faced them with confidence.