Search for Sir John Franklin _continued_.—Sledge journey of
Captain Austin’s squadron.—Return of _Prince Albert_ under
command of Captain Kennedy.—Bellot.
[Sidenote: _SEARCH FOR SIR JOHN FRANKLIN_]
The British searching squadron, including the _Resolute_, the
_Assistance_, the _Pioneer_, and the _Intrepid_, while wintering in the
vicinity of Cornwallis Island and Griffith Island, had held frequent
communication and planned for exploration journeys on sledges to be
undertaken as early as possible the following spring. Before the winter
became too severe, depots of provisions were established to be used by
the sledging parties, and the men trained in sledge dragging and walking
exercises that they might be in good physical condition when the time for
a test of endurance should arrive. Under the direction of Captain Austin,
detailed plans were formed for careful exploration of islands and lands
along Parry Strait. To Captain Penny was entrusted the thorough search of
Wellington Channel.
As early as the 12th of April, 1851, the parties intended for the
westward explorations, numbering one hundred and four men, proceeded
under the command of Captain Ommaney to the northwest end of Griffith
Island, and there the entire encampment was closely inspected by Captain
Austin.
[Illustration: E. K. KANE]
The extraordinary records of the six “extended” parties, those with
instructions to go the farthest possible distance, were as follows:
First, the sledge _Reliance_, under Captain Ommaney, travelled on south
shore, was absent sixty days, and covered four hundred and eighty miles,
two hundred and five of which was previously unknown coast. Second, the
sledge _True Blue_, under Lieutenant Osborn, travelled on the south
shore, was absent fifty-eight days, covered five hundred and six miles,
and discovered seventy miles of coast. The third sledge, _Enterprise_,
under Lieutenant Brown, travelled on south shore, was absent forty-four
days, and covered three hundred and seventy-five miles, including one
hundred and fifty of previously unknown coast. The _True Blue_, making
the most western point reached 103° 25´ west longitude, a point about
halfway between Leopold Island and Point Turnagain on the American
continent.
Of the three parties designed for the search of the north shore, the
first sledge, _Lady Franklin_, under command of Lieutenant Aldrich,
was absent sixty-two days, covered five hundred and fifty miles, and
discovered seventy miles of coast. The second sledge, _Perseverance_,
under Lieutenant M’Clintock, was absent eighty days, and covered seven
hundred and sixty miles, forty miles of which was previously undiscovered
coast. The third sledge, _Resolute_, under Surgeon Bradford, was absent
eighty days, and covered six hundred and sixty-nine miles, and discovered
one hundred and thirty-five miles of coast.
To Lieutenant M’Clintock was due the honour of reaching the farthest
west, 74° 38´ north latitude, and 114° 20´ west longitude. On this
journey M’Clintock reached Bushman Cove, Melville Island, where Parry had
encamped June 11, 1820. Traces of his stay were found by M’Clintock and
later, upon crossing to Winter Harbor, on a large stone boulder he found
the following inscription:—
His Britannic Majesty’s
Ships Hecla and Griper,
Commanded by
W. C. Parry and Mr. Liddon,
Wintered in the adjacent
Harbor 1819-20.
A. Tisher. Sculpt.
It was evident that no man had visited the spot since that early date,
and a hare was found near the rock so tame that she would almost
allow the men to touch her. M’Clintock added the figures 1851 to the
inscription and prepared to return to the ships, which he reached July 4.
The parties organized for the purpose of depositing provisions, setting
up marks, and making observations, were absent from the ships during
periods of from twelve to thirty-four days. Strange as it may seem, they
underwent greater hardship and suffered more than the “extended parties,”
which returned in excellent condition, whereas no less than twenty-eight
men were frost-bitten, and one died from exhaustion, of those sharing the
shorter excursions.
The six parties designated for the exploration of Wellington Channel were
under the command of Captain Stuart, Messrs. Marshall, J. Stewart, and
Reid, and Surgeons Sutherland and Goodsir.
From the outset, April 17, they encountered disagreeable weather, which
considerably delayed their progress. However, Captain Penny, who had
general supervision, was fortunate enough to discover “a wide westward
strait of open water, lying along the further side of the lands which
flank Barrow’s Strait and Parry’s Strait.” Entering the ice lanes with
a boat, he penetrated up Queen’s Channel as far as Baring Island and
Cape Beecher. Being able to proceed no further, he returned to the
ships. At this point “a fine open sea stretched invitingly away to the
north, but his fragile boat was ill-equipped for a voyage of discovery.
Fully persuaded that Franklin must have followed this route, he failed,
however, in convincing Captain Austin of the truth of his theory, and as,
without that officer’s coöperation, nothing could be effected, he was
compelled to follow the course pointed out by the Admiralty squadron,
which, after two ineffectual attempts to enter Smith and Jones sounds,
returned to England.”
An unlikely tale told to old Sir John Ross by the Eskimos near Cape York,
to the effect that in the winter of 1846 two ships were wrecked in the
ice off Cape Dudley Digges and afterwards ransacked and burned by the
natives, and the crew massacred, determined Sir John to investigate the
story as closely as possible and then return in the _Felix_ to England.
Even after his return home, he seems to have been firm in the belief that
Sir John Franklin and the crew of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ perished in
Baffin Bay.
Having made a close inspection of this bay before his return, he
describes the results of his search as follows: “Many important
corrections and valuable additions were made to the charts of the much
frequented eastern side of Baffin Bay, which has been more closely
observed and navigated by this than any former expedition; and, much to
my satisfaction, confirming the latitude and longitude of every headland
I had the opportunity of laying down in the year 1818.”
We turn now to continue the story of another expedition.
The little _Prince Albert_, which spoke the _Advance_ and _Rescue_ in
Baffin Bay, July 12, 1851, on her return trip to northern waters, had
been most carefully overhauled and refitted for her arduous enterprise.
Her commander was Captain Kennedy, and second in command was Lieutenant
J. Bellot, a young French officer noted for his adventurous spirit and
charming personality, who had volunteered his services. Among the crew,
all of whom were picked men, was John Hepburn, who had accompanied Sir
John Franklin on that first land expedition which came near proving
fatal to the entire party. Another of the men had accompanied Dr. Rae on
his first journey to Repulse Bay, and a third had accompanied Sir John
Richardson in his boat journey through the interior of America.
Discouraging conditions of ice and weather met the gallant crew in Prince
Regent Inlet. Ploughing a way through a tortuous course, the _Prince
Albert_ succeeding in reaching Elwin Bay only to find it ice-bound and
impassable. Batty Bay and Fury Beach were also impossible of access,
and now the condition of the ice becoming so alarming, they gave up an
attempt at the west side of the inlet and made a hasty retreat to Port
Bowen,—where traces of Sir Edward Parry’s party, which wintered there in
1825, were still discernible.
To avoid wintering at so great a distance from the scene of the
explorations planned for the following spring, they recrossed the strait
and approached the shore for the purpose of making a landing. Captain
Kennedy, accompanied by four of the crew, cast off in a gutta-percha boat
and made for the beach. Upon landing, Captain Kennedy ascended the cliffs
of Cape Seppings, and decried Port Leopold free from ice. Hoping to put
the _Prince Albert_ in this safe harbour, he at once made an attempt to
rejoin his ship, but, upon reaching the shore, found to his consternation
that, owing to the sudden moving of the ice-pack, he could not rejoin
her and that she was being merrily carried down-stream in spite of every
effort of the men on board to stop her progress. The shadows of night
came upon them rapidly, and the tempestuous roaring, grinding, and
tossing of the ice was all that could be seen or heard.
A most uncomfortable night followed their unlucky adventure. Their boat
was the only available shelter, and this served for a covering under
which one man at a time took an hour’s uncomfortable rest, while the
others exercised to keep their bodies from freezing. The next morning at
dawn, upon mounting the cliffs once more, their alarm was increased by
the melancholy fact that the ship had completely disappeared from view.
No more forlorn castaways can be imagined. The only mitigating
circumstance in their sorry condition was the knowledge that on the other
side of the harbour at Whaler Point, Sir James Ross had left a deposit
of provisions about two years before. To this point their steps were now
directed, and upon reaching the depot their hopes revived somewhat when
they found the condition of the provisions excellent. The house left by
Sir James Ross was in fair condition, the flag and record were easily
found, and, resigned to their fate, Kennedy and his companions determined
to face the possibility of passing the long Arctic winter with the best
possible grace.
“It was now,” says Kennedy, “the 10th of September. Winter was evidently
fast setting in, and, from the distance the ship had been carried during
that disastrous night, whether out to sea or down the inlet we could not
conjecture—there was no hope of our being able to rejoin her, at least
during the present season. There remained, therefore, no alternative but
to make up our minds to pass the winter, if necessary, where we were. The
first object to be attended to was the erecting of some sort of shelter
against the daily increasing inclemency of the weather; and for this
purpose, the launch, left by Sir James Ross, was selected. Her main mast
was laid on supports at the bow and stern, about nine feet in height,
and by spreading two of her sails over this a very tolerable roof was
obtained. A stove was set up in the body of the boat, with the pipes
running through the roof; and we were soon sitting by a comfortable fire,
which, after our long exposure to the wet and cold, we stood very much in
need of.”
[Sidenote: _RETURN OF THE PRINCE ALBERT_]
It was the intention of Captain Kennedy to make sledge journeys
to distant points in the hope of sighting the _Prince Albert_ or
discovering traces of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_,—but before the necessary
preparations were completed, some five weeks after their separation from
the ship, a shot echoed through the stillness, and Lieutenant Bellot and
seven of the crew of the _Prince Albert_ came to their rescue. After two
previous attempts to find their long-lost comrades, they had succeeded
in dragging the jolly-boat all the way from Batty Bay, where the _Prince
Albert_ was securely moored. Of this happy reunion, Captain Kennedy
writes:—
“It can hardly be a matter of surprise that the reaction in the state
of our feelings, consequent upon this unexpected meeting with our
long-lost friends, should have been striking and immediate, and in direct
proportion to our former solicitude and dejection.
“It was but five weeks ‘by the chime’ since our disastrous separation
from the _Prince Albert_; but they were five _years_ of dreary anxiety
and despondency fast merging into something like despair. We had a jovial
evening, let the reader be well assured, in our little launch that 17th
of October, and a jovial housewarming, out of Her Majesty’s stores at
Port Leopold, enjoyed none the less from the absence of any grim vision
of a long reckoning to discharge with ‘mine host’ on the morrow. And we
kept it up, too, let me tell you, with long yarns of our adventures, and
rough old sea songs; and in brimming cups of famous chocolate, ‘cheering
but not inebriating,’ drank most loyally (at Her Majesty’s expense) a
happy meeting with H. M. S. _Erebus_ and _Terror_, and their gallant
crews.
“It was some days after this before our preparations for returning to the
ship were completed. At last, on Wednesday, the 22d, exactly six weeks
after our first detention at Whaler Point, we set out; after depositing
a paper in the cylinder, containing information of our proceedings up to
this date, and placing all the loose stores in proper order and security
for the use of any party that should come after us.
“Our provisions and ‘traps’ of all kinds were stowed on a strong sleigh.
A mast was then set, and a sail hoisted in the jolly-boat, and away we
went before a spanking fair wind over the smooth ice of Leopold Harbor
at a rate which ‘all the King’s horses’ could hardly have been equal to.
We had not gone half across the bay, however, before our sleigh, wholly
unused to this style of locomotion, broke down, and it cost us the best
part of the day, before we could repair our damage and start afresh.”
“In our endeavor to reach Mr. Bellot’s encampment of the 16th,” continues
Mr. Kennedy, “we continued on foot longer than we should have done, and
the consequence was, that being overtaken by night before looking for
camping ground, we found ourselves, before we were aware or had time
to reflect on the predicament we had got into, groping about, in the
darkness, and with a heavy shower of snow falling, for some bit of terra
firma, (for we had been all day upon the ice), where we could pitch the
tent. We stumbled at last, after making our shins more freely acquainted
than was altogether agreeable with the sharp edges of the broken ice,
into a fine square of clear beach, between some heavy masses of stranded
ice. Choosing out the softest part of a shelving rock of limestone of
which the beach was composed, we pitched the tent, spread the oilcloth,
and with some coals, which we had brought with us from Whaler Point,
boiled a good kettle of tea for all hands.
“All these preparations were, however, but introductory to another, which
we found a most difficult problem indeed—namely, to contrive how we were
all to pass the night in the single little tent we had brought with us.
We all got in, certainly, and got the kettle in the middle; but as for
lying down to sleep it was utterly out of the question. A London omnibus
on a racing day after five o’clock, was the only parallel I could think
of to our attempt to stow thirteen men, including our colossal carpenter,
into a tent intended for six. At last, after some deliberation, it was
arranged that we should sit down six in a row, on each side, which would
leave us about three feet clear to stretch our legs. Mr. Bellot, who
formed the thirteenth, being the most compact and stowable of the party,
agreed to squeeze in underneath them, stipulating only for a clear foot
square for his head alongside the tea-kettle. Being unprovided with a
candlestick, even if there had been room to place one anywhere, it was
arranged that each of us should hold the candle in his hand for a quarter
of an hour, and then pass it to his neighbor, and thus by the aid of
our flickering taper, through the thick steam of the boiling kettle, we
had just enough light to prevent us putting our tea into our neighbor’s
mouth, instead of our own.
“‘Well, boys,’ suggests our ever jovial first mate, Henry Anderson,
‘now we are fairly seated, I’m thinking, as we can do nothing else,
we had best make a night of it again. What say you to a song, Dick?’
Whereupon, nothing loath, Mr. Richard Webb strikes up, in the first style
of forecastle execution, ‘Susannah, don’t you cry for me,’ which is, of
course, received by the company with the utmost enthusiasm, ‘Mr. Webb,
your health and song,’ and general applause, and emptying of tea-cans,
which Mr. John Smith, pleading inability to sing, undertakes to replenish
for the night.
“‘Irvine, my lad, pass the candle, and give us the “Tailor.”’ Mr. Irvine,
you must understand, gentle reader, has distinguished himself by some
extraordinary performances on the blanket-bags, during our late detention
at Whaler Point, in virtue of which he has been formally installed
‘Tailor of the Expedition.’
“‘The Tailor’ is accordingly given, _con amore_, and is a remarkable
history of knight of the thimble, who, burying his goose, like Prospero
his books, ‘beyond the reach of plummet,’ becomes a ‘Sailor bold,’ and
in that capacity enslaves the heart of a lovely lady of incalculable
wealth, who, etc., etc. We all know the rest. ‘Kenneth, you monster,
take that clumsy foot of yours off my stomach, will you?’ cried out poor
Mr. Bellot, smothered beneath the weight of four-and-twenty legs, upon
which the carpenter, in his eagerness to comply, probably drives his foot
into Mr. Bellot’s eye. And so, passing the song and the joke around, Mr.
Bellot, occasionally making a sudden desperate effort to get up, and
sitting down again in despair,—with a long ‘blow’ like a grampus, we
make what Anderson calls ‘a night of it.’ No management, however, can
make our solitary candle last beyond twelve o’clock, or thereabouts.
Notwithstanding this extinguisher to the entertainments of the evening,
Mr. Anderson, while some are dozing and hob-a-nobbing in their dreams,
may still be heard keeping it up with unabated spirit in the dark,
wakening every sleeper now and then with some tremendous chorus he has
contrived to get up among his friends, for the ‘Bay of Biscay,’ or some
favourite Greenland melody, with its inspiriting burthen of ‘Cheeri-lie,
ah! cheeri-lie!’”
[Illustration: THE “RESCUE” IN MELVILLE BAY]
A warm welcome awaited the lost ones, when a few days later they reached
the ship.
“With our return to the vessel,” writes Mr. Kennedy, “may be said to
have closed all our operations, as far as the ship was concerned, in
the Arctic seas for the year 1851. There remained now only to make our
arrangements for the vessel passing the next six or eight months where we
were, and for preparing for our own winter journeys.”
Preparations were completed by January 5, 1852, and the morning of that
day the men on snow-shoes, with dogs dragging the sledges, started off
amid the cheers of their comrades and the yelping and barking of the dogs.
“The first object of the journey,” continues Mr. Kennedy, “was, of
course, to ascertain whether Fury Beach had been a retreating point to
any of Sir John Franklin’s party since it was visited by Lieutenant
Robinson, of the _Enterprise_, in 1849. A secondary object, should our
expectations in this respect not be realized, was to form a first depot
of provisions here, with the view of carrying out a more extended search
as soon as circumstances would permit. It was desirable at the same time
to ascertain the state of the roads, by which, of course, I mean the
yet untrodden surface of the snow or ice, in the direction in which we
meant to go, before commencing any transport, on a large scale, between
the ship and Fury Beach; and it was thought advisable, therefore, to go
comparatively light. A small supply of pemmican was all we took with us
in addition to our travelling requirements, consisting of a tent and
poles, blanketing and provisions for a week, some guns and ammunition,
fuel, and a cooking apparatus, in all weighing from two hundred to two
hundred and fifty pounds.”
From the outset the travelling was difficult and arduous. “... not
infrequently after toiling to the top of an incline, a lurch of the
sleigh would send us careening in a very lively and unexpected manner to
the bottom. Here follows an incident in our first day’s journey, which
caused us some amusement at the time, and carried a lesson with it,
whenever we had to encounter any of these obstacles afterward.
“We had got about halfway up one of those villainous steeps, when our
entire cortège gave unmistakable signs of a tendency to seek a sudden
descent. There was just time for us to cast off the traces, all but poor
Mr. Bellot, who was not sufficiently alert in disengaging his, when away
went the sleigh and dogs, and Mr. Bellot after them into an abyss at the
bottom, where the only indication of the catastrophe that could be seen
was some six inches of Mr. Bellot’s heels above the surface of the snow.
We dug him out ‘a wiser and a better man’ for the rest of the journey,
whenever any of these pestilent slopes had to be encountered thereafter.”
[Sidenote: _CAPTAIN KENNEDY—BELLOT_]
On the 8th, the distance to Fury Beach being very short, Mr. Kennedy
decided to leave the sledge and two of the men, and press on with Mr.
Bellot, and one man unencumbered.
“It may be imagined with what feelings,” says Kennedy, “when we really
had come upon it, we approached a spot round which so many hopes and
anxieties had so long centred. Every object, distinguished by the
moonlight in the distance, became animated to our imaginations, into
the forms of our long-absent countrymen; for had they been imprisoned
anywhere in the Arctic Seas, within a reasonable distance of Fury Beach,
here we felt assured some of them at least would have been now. But alas!
for these fond hopes! How deeply, though perhaps unconsciously cherished,
none of us probably suspected, till standing under the tattered covering
of Somerset House, and gazing silently upon the solitude around us, we
felt as we turned to look mournfully on each other’s faces, that the last
ray of hope as to this cherished imagination had fled from our hearts.
It is perhaps necessary for the vigorous prosecution of any difficult
object that for the moment, some particular circumstance in the chain of
operations by which it is to be effected, should seem to us so vitally
important that the eye is blinded to all beyond. The spot on which we
now stood had so long been associated in our minds with some clue to the
discovery of the solution of the painful mystery which hung over the
fate of Franklin, and had so long unconsciously perhaps coloured all
our thought, that it was not without a pang, and a feeling as if the
main purpose of our expedition had been defeated, that we found all our
long-cherished anticipations shattered at a blow by the scene which met
our eyes. Thus my friend and I stood paralyzed at the death-like solitude
around us. No vestige of the visit of a human being was here since
Lieutenant Robinson had examined the depot in 1849. The stores, still
in the most perfect preservation, were precisely in the well-arranged
condition, described in the clear report of that energetic officer.”
“His own notice of his visit,” continues Mr. Kennedy, “was deeply buried
in the snow, and the index staff he had placed over it was thrown down
and gnawed by the foxes. Wearied with a long and fruitless examination we
took up our quarters for a repose of a few hours in Somerset House, the
frame of which was still standing entire, but the covering blown to rags
by the wind, and one end of the house nearly filled with snow. We lighted
a fire on the stove which had heated the end occupied by Sir John Ross’s
crew during the dreary winter of 1832-33.
“After refreshing ourselves with a warm supper, and nodding for a few
hours over the fire, we set out about 11 P.M. on our return to our
encampment, which we reached by 2 A.M. of the following morning. Our
return from this point to the ship, which we reached about 5 P.M. of
Saturday the 10th, was not marked by any incident worthy of notice.
“We had deposited at our encampment a 90-pound case of pemmican, a bag
of coals, two muskets, and some ammunition, which, while it served as a
reserve for future explorations in this direction, materially lightened
the labour of the dogs, and allowed us time for a more minute examination
of the coast than we had been able to make during the outward journey.
The result, however, was not in any respect more successful. No traces of
any kind were discovered which could throw light on the objects of our
search.
“Thus ended our first journey to Fury Beach, and its results satisfied
us that, in the present state of the ice in Prince Regent’s Inlet, the
more extended explorations of the coastline, which we had calculated
on being able to commence on our return to the ship, could not now be
safely undertaken, and must for the present be postponed. We were most
reluctantly compelled, therefore, to pass the next month in the ship,
occupied in the same general routine duties as those on which we had been
during the earlier part of the winter.”
Captain Kennedy gives a vivid description of Arctic gales and the dangers
of travel during a tempest. “About eight A.M. in the morning of the 13th
February,” he writes, “Mr. Bellot, the carpenter, Andrew Irvine, Henry
Anderson (the first mate), and myself left the ship, taking with us
two cases of pemmican, and three tin jars, each containing two gallons
of spirits of wine, on a sledge, drawn by five Eskimo dogs, for the
purpose of depositing them a short distance on the way to Fury Beach,
and returning in the evening. After proceeding for a few hours, and
making very fair progress along a tolerably good path, a strong wind
arose, which by one P.M. had increased to a perfect hurricane, so thickly
charged with snow that, in attempting to cross a bay on our return, we
lost sight of the land by which our course homeward had been guided. In
short, after wandering about for some time, scarcely able to distinguish
each other at the distance of a few paces, we found that we had fairly
lost our way. In this dilemma, we set two of the five dogs loose from
the sledge, in the hope that they would act as guides better than when
drawing; but this proved to be a mistake, as they would not leave the
others. At last, however, they all set off together, taking the sledge
with them and leaving us to our fate. As we afterwards found, they
reached the ship without any difficulty, and, as may readily be supposed,
put every one on board in a perfect fever of terror and anxiety as to
what had become of us. In the meantime, we had gone on floundering over
broken ice, until we had once more stumbled on the land, but where or
what the land was we had fallen upon, nobody knew. It was something
certainly to know we were not marching over the Inlet or out to sea,
in which case we would have marched on, and in all probability never
returned; but in other respects we had rather lost than gained by getting
on terra firma. With an atmosphere as thick as pea-soup, and no sun,
moon, or stars to be seen, there was no keeping the shore (and to go on
one side or the other was to incur the certainty of losing ourselves
again, either on the Inlet or on the land) without hugging close up and
into a break-neck line of stranded fragments of ice, which indicated the
direction of the beach.
“Along this formidable path we floundered on—now coming bump up against
some huge fragment of ice, or pitching over the top of it into a hole,
excavated in the snow at the bottom, by the whirling eddies of the wind;
now walking, now crawling, occasionally tumbling into the snow, until
we were all brought up by a cry of pain from one of the men who had
met a ‘_bouleversement_’ over the edge of a bank of ice. It was a sad
accident, but the worst of it was, that after setting him on his legs,
nothing could induce him to move a step farther. Here he was, and here
he maintained he must remain ‘_coute qui coute_.’ There was no reasoning
with the poor fellow, who certainly had sustained a very severe injury,
but not anything like so bad as he had imagined it, and it would never do
to leave him lying here. So feigning to take him at his word, we proposed
to bundle him up in a buffalo-robe and bury him in the snow for the
night—comforting him with the assurance that we would certainly come back
for him in the morning. This Arctic prescription had a magical effect
upon our patient—the back and the broken bones were speedily forgotten,
and in a short time he was on his legs again, and we all trudging on
once more in the old rough and tumble style of progression, till about
midnight, we found ourselves standing under the lee of something which
looked like a bank of snow, but which, to our great gratification, proved
to be the powder house we had erected on shore in the beginning of the
winter. A consultation was now held whether we should cut our way into it
and pass the night here, ‘accoutred as we were,’ or make for the ship,
which we now knew could not be far off. Our decision was for the latter,
and the only question now was, how to steer for the vessel. This, too,
was decided upon at last, by each of the party pointing in turn, in the
direction in which he thought the vessel lay, and then taking the mean
of the bearings. To prevent our separating in the drift (for some of the
party had by this time got so benumbed with cold, as to be unable to
use their hands to clear their eyelids, and had thus become literally
blind with the accumulation of the snow on their eyes), it was agreed
that at certain intervals we should call and answer each other’s names,
and that those whose eyes had suffered least should take the others in
tow. In this order, we proceeded for the vessel, and fortunately by the
guidance of a solitary star, that could be faintly distinguished through
the drift, got near enough to the ship to hear the wind whistling through
the shrouds and were thus guided, rather by the ear than by the eye, to
her position, and soon afterwards found ourselves on board, where we were
received once more as those from the dead.
“These short journeys, however arduous, in which caches were established
for future use, were only preliminary skirmishes to the ‘grand journey’
planned by Captain Kennedy with much forethought and in preparation for
which days had been occupied in making suitable apparel, trappings,
and sledges. It was expected that the journey would take at least
three months. The particular direction our route ought to assume, was,
of course, a matter to be regulated very much by the nature of the
circumstances that might arise in the course of it. On one point only we
were decided, viz. that it should embrace Cape Walker to which, as the
point of departure of Sir John Franklin for the unknown regions to the
W. and S.W., had he decided upon this course, and not gone up Wellington
Channel, much interest naturally attached.
“There were fourteen of the crew disposable in the ship,” continues
Captain Kennedy, “of whom four picked men were to go with Mr. Bellot and
myself to Cape Walker, while the rest were to accompany us, as a fatigue
party, as far as Fury Beach, which was to form the starting-point of the
journey. Parties sent out on different occasions during the last two
months, had taken in advance six cases of pemmican, six muskets, and
a bag of coals. One case of pemmican, as already mentioned, had been
deposited in January a few miles north of Fury Point. Our provisions,
clothing, and bedding, drawn upon two Indian sleighs by our five dogs,
had, of course, been reduced to whatever was strictly indispensable. Five
gallons of spirits of wine were taken as a substitute for fuel. With
proper management and economy, we hoped to make this last us till the
spring, when, by the plan we proposed adopting, of travelling during the
night instead of the day, we trusted, should a necessity arise for so
doing, to be able to dispense with the use of fuel altogether.
“On the morning of the 20th of February, a scene of general bustle and
excitement showed that all our arrangements had been completed, and that
the long-deferred start for the grand journey was about to take place.
A detachment of five men, Mr. Bellot, and myself, were all that could
leave the ship at this time; the others appointed to join us being still
under the doctor’s attendance for slight and temporary inconvenience,
frost-bites, etc. The whole crew, however, had mustered to see us as far
as the south point of Batty Bay, all but our dear Hepburn, who, unable
to control his manly emotion at parting with so many old friends, and
above all at being unable to accompany us, took a touching farewell
of us at the vessel: ‘God bless you,’ said he, grasping my hand with
affectionate warmth, ‘I cannot accompany you, and I cannot let all these
men witness my emotion: let me part with you here, and may God grant
that we meet in life and health, after the long and hazardous journey
you are about to undertake.’ Though this veteran hero saw much hardship
and hazard in store before us, he would have seen none whatever had he
been allowed to accompany us, but I could not for a moment entertain the
idea of employing him on a journey, when there were so many younger men
all emulous to be engaged on it, and more particularly when his services
on board ship were so indispensable; and, by his kindly consenting to
remain, I was relieved of all anxiety as respected the _Prince Albert_.
“Reaching the south point of Batty Bay, with our friendly escort, our two
parties once more separated with many kindly and touching farewells and
then, with three hearty cheers, diverging in our different routes, we
were soon lost to each other in the mist and snow.”
The fury of the equinoctial gales greatly impeded the advance of the
party, frequently detaining them for several days at a time.
Sledges, moccasins, and snow-shoes were greatly damaged under the hard
conditions of travel, and it was found necessary when the whole party
had assembled at Fury Beach to send back to the ship for additional
supplies. They also made use of the excellent stores found at the Fury
Beach which had been left there thirty years before. It was decided,
after careful calculation, that six men could carry provisions for the
proposed journey of three months’ duration; that fourteen men should
travel as far as Brentford Bay, at which point eight would return to the
ship, the remaining six to proceed, carrying with them all provisions and
necessaries for the remainder of the trip.
The total dead weight of this equipment, including sledges and tackling,
might be estimated at about two thousand pounds. “The whole was lashed
down,” writes Kennedy, “to the smallest possible compass on four
flat-bottomed Indian sleighs, of which our five Eskimo dogs, assisted
by two men to each sleigh, took two, while the rest of the men took the
other two.”
The day of their start proved mild and pleasant, and at first the
travelling was good, the ice being sufficiently smooth to make easy and
rapid progress. But such good fortune did not remain with them long, and
the inevitable gales made travelling most difficult and painful. The
usual snow huts were erected at night, under which they took such comfort
as their short hours of rest afforded them. Frost-bites caused them much
suffering, and to protect their faces they resorted to curious expedients.
“For the eyes,” writes Kennedy, “we had goggles of glass, of wire-gauze,
of crape, or of plain wood with a slit in the centre, in the manner of
Eskimos. For the face, some had cloth-masks, with neat little crevices
for the mouth, nose, and eyes; others were muffled up in the ordinary
chin-cloth, and, for that most troublesome of the facial members, the
nose, a strong party, with our always original carpenter at their head,
had gutta-percha noses, lined with delicate soft flannel.” Though
admirable in theory, these contrivances proved failures in practice, and
were all discarded except the chin-cloths and goggles.
On the 6th of April they reached Brentford Bay, and the fatigue party
began their retrograde journey to the ship. At this point Kennedy
discovered a strait running westward, separating North Somerset from
Boothia Felix. This he named Bellot Strait, in honour of the brave young
officer who had secured the affectionate regard of commander and crew.
From here the party crossed Victoria Strait to Prince of Wales Land,
naming many of the prominent headlands, bays, and islands.
On April 17 the thermometer stood at plus 22, “a temperature,” writes
Kennedy, “which, to our sensations, was absolutely oppressive. One of
our dogs, through over-exertion, fainted in his traces, and lay gasping
for breath for a quarter of an hour; but after recovering, went on as
merrily as ever. These faithful creatures were perfect treasures to us
throughout the journey. They were all suffering, like ourselves, from
snow-blindness, but did not in the least relax their exertions on this
account. The Eskimo’s dog is, in fact, the camel of these northern
deserts; the faithful attendant of man, and the sharer of his labors and
privations.”
The flat country over which they were travelling, and the close proximity
of the Magnetic Pole, which rendered their compass of little use, made
it particularly difficult to keep a westerly course. It was hoped that
this direction would lead to a sea which would conduct them northward to
Cape Walker. From this point they hoped to ascertain if there was any
westward channel or strait through which Sir John Franklin might have
penetrated. After marching for thirteen days, and reaching the hundredth
degree of west longitude, without coming to a sea, Kennedy decided to
turn northward to Cape Walker.
“Being now satisfied,” he writes, “that Sir James Ross had, in his land
journey along the western shore of North Somerset, in 1849, mistaken
the very low level land over which we had been travelling for a western
sea, I felt no longer justified in continuing a western course. Whatever
passage might exist to the south-west of Cape Walker, I felt assured must
now be on our north. I determined therefore, from this time forward, to
direct our course northward, until we should fall upon some channel which
we knew must exist not far from us, in this direction, by which Franklin
might have passed to the southwest.”
The channel for which they were in search could not be found. Boisterous
gales still pursued them, and the men began to show the effects of
exhaustion and exposure in the form of the dreaded scurvy. They,
therefore, turned eastward again and, reaching Cape Burney, they made
next for Cape Walker, which first loomed in the distance the 4th of
May. Their disappointment was great at finding no trace of Franklin’s
expedition.
“Wearied and dispirited beyond description,” writes Captain Kennedy,
“at the fruitless result of our long and anxious labours, we returned
to our encampment, guided through a heavy snow-storm by the report of
guns, which I had directed to be fired every fifteen minutes, to make
preparation for our return homeward. This could be effected either by
pushing directly for Batty Bay, across North Somerset, a distance in a
straight line of not more than six days’ journey, or by following the
coast round to Whaler Point, and thence to the ship.” The latter route
was chosen, though the distance was nearly double that of the other, and
after an absence of ninety-seven days and covering about eleven hundred
miles, they at last reached the ship May 30. A remarkable journey “for
six men and five dogs, dragging for most of the way two thousand pounds’
weight, and sleeping in snowhouses, encamping on frozen seas, and rarely
having a fire when they halted to recruit.”
Preparations for the return to England were now commenced. June and July
passed without the vessel becoming free from the ice, but by the 6th of
August, after sawing and blasting, the little craft was liberated. At
Beechey Island, which Captain Kennedy reached the 19th, he found the
depot ship _North Star_, now attached to Sir E. Belcher’s expedition,
engaged in sawing into winter quarters. Proceeding in her course, the
_Prince Albert_ reached England, after an uneventful voyage, October 7,
1853.