Search for Sir John Franklin _continued_: Sir Edward Belcher’s
squadron.—Inglefield.—Rae’s journey.—Discovery of Northwest
Passage by Captain M’Clure.—Death of Bellot.
Interest in the mysterious fate of Sir John Franklin was in no wise
lessened by the unexpected return to England of the searching squadron
in 1851. Dr. Rae’s land journey of over-eight hundred miles, including a
thorough examination of the east and north coast of Victoria Land, had
thrown no new light on the tragic situation. The American coast had now
been diligently examined from the entrance of Behring Strait to the head
of Hudson Bay, and it was generally believed that Franklin had never
reached so low a latitude.
On April 28, 1852, a thoroughly equipped squadron of five vessels—the
_Assistance_, the _Resolute_, and the _North Star_, and two steamers, the
_Pioneer_ and _Intrepid_—sailed from England under the command of Sir
Edward Belcher. The _Assistance_ and _Pioneer_ were to sail up Wellington
Channel. The _Resolute_ and _Intrepid_, under command of Captain Kellett,
were to proceed to Melville Island, there to deposit provisions for the
use of Captain Collinson and Commander M’Clure, should they succeed in
making the passage from Behring Strait, for which, as we have seen, they
had set sail in January, 1850. The _North Star_ was to remain at Beechey
Island as a depot store ship.
By the 6th of July the squadron was in Baffin Bay, accompanied by a fleet
of whalers. The ice conditions proved exasperating; the _Assistance_,
_Pioneer_, and _Resolute_ were beset and detained for a time, while the
rest of the fleet, accompanied by the whalers, stretched in a long train
of some three quarters of a mile in length and slowly pushed their way
through a narrow lane of water.
The American whaler, _McLellan_, had the lead; the _North Star_ of the
English squadron followed the _McLellan_. The weather conditions were
most favourable; no anxiety was felt for the safety of the vessels, in
spite of the fact that the lane of water gradually closed and prevented
the ships from advancing or retreating until July 7, when the report was
made that the _McLellan_ was nipped in the ice and her crew making ready
to abandon her. Carpenters, under orders of Sir Edward Belcher, put a few
charges of powder in the ice, to relieve the pressure.
[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR EDWARD BELCHER.
_By permission of The Illustrated London News._]
[Sidenote: _SIR EDWARD BELCHER’S SQUADRON_]
The next day, however, the _McLellan_ was nipped harder than ever
with the water pouring into her in a steady stream. While drifting
unmanageable, first into one ship and then into another, she was boarded
by English whalemen who proceeded to ransack and plunder her, until, at
the Captain’s request, Sir Edward Belcher placed sentries on board to
prevent further loot, and working parties proceeded to take inventory
of her stores, and remove them to a safe distance. In a day or two the
_McLellan_ had sunk to the water’s edge, and for the safety of the rest
of the fleet, a charge or two of powder put her out of the way.
The squadron reached its headquarters at Beechey Island, August 10.
Wellington Channel and Barrow Strait were found free from ice, and on the
14th, Sir Edward Belcher, with the _Pioneer_ and _Assistance_, proceeded
up the Channel. The next day Captain Kellett, with the _Resolute_ and
_Intrepid_, sailed in open water for Melville Island.
[Sidenote: _INGLEFIELD_]
While Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron was making its arduous passage to
Beechey Island, Lady Franklin had refitted the screw-steamer _Isabel_
and placed it under Commander Inglefield, R. N., with instructions to
investigate the rumour brought home by Sir John Ross to the effect that
Franklin and his crew had been murdered by natives at Wolstenholme Sound.
Setting sail from England, July 6, 1852, the little _Isabel_ made for the
northern shores of Baffin Bay, reached a higher latitude up Whale Sound
than any previous vessel, and later pushed through Smith Sound as far as
latitude 78° 28´ 21´´ N., without discovering any opposing land. Captain
Inglefield discovered that Smith Sound, generally supposed to be narrow,
was at least thirty-six miles across, expanding considerably to the
northward. The shore seemed comparatively free from snow, and the rocks
appeared of their natural colour.
Ice was met in considerable quantities, and though Captain Inglefield
was ambitious to steam through, a fortunate gale arose which blew with
such violence that the _Isabel_ was forced back, thus saving her in all
probability from a dreary winter in the ice.
By the 7th of September, the _Isabel_ sighted the _North Star_ at Beechey
Island.
“When we were near enough to see from our crow’s-nest the mast heads of
the _North Star_, I had ordered one of the twelve pounders to be fired,
and the people who were working on shore were greatly puzzled at hearing
such a sound, as they believed that nothing human but their own party
could be within hundreds of miles of them.”
Captain Inglefield soon “waited upon” Captain Pullen, and the letters for
Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron brought out by the _Isabel_ were placed
upon the _North Star_. A few hours later the _Isabel_ put off to sea,
carrying letters from officers and crew of the _North Star_ to relatives
and friends in England.
By the 12th the _Isabel_ stood off Mount Possession, by the 14th Cape
Bowen, and here Captain Inglefield landed to look for traces and erect
a cairn; nothing was discovered but the bold footprint of a huge bear
and the tiny tracks of an Arctic fox. The 23d found them in Davis
Strait. Here a terrific gale was encountered, which lasted four days and
“accompanied,” writes Captain Inglefield, “with the heaviest sea I had
ever seen, even off Cape Horn....”
As soon as the storm abated, they put for the nearest port to undergo
necessary repairs, and by October 2 they made a settlement off Hunde
Islands, a little south of Whalefish Islands. The governor came on board
to see what was wanted, and, the next day being Sunday, the crew were
given shore leave, and a general day of rest was enjoyed.
On the 5th, he writes, “I received a message from the governor, that it
was the King of Denmark’s birthday, the Eskimos would assemble at his
house, and have a dance, and the pleasure of my company was solicited for
the occasion; accordingly at six o’clock I repaired to the wooden palace
of his Excellency, and there found, crammed into a smallish chamber, as
many Eskimos as could conveniently stand.
“I had prepared myself with certain bottles by which punch could be
quickly made; and several officers and crew joining the party, by their
assistance, each of the Eskimo ladies was first supplied with a glass
full of the beverage, and afterward the gentlemen, when I made them
understand that they were to give three cheers for the King of Denmark,
which was done with a vigour and goodheartedness, that made the wooden
walls echo again.
“I had prepared another treat for them, which I am quite sure was to
many the most agreeable of the two. My coxswain came in to tell me when
all was ready, and then I begged the governor would tell the party to go
outside where I had something to show them.
“When all were assembled, the booming of one of our guns, which by signal
was fired from the vessel, not a little alarmed some of the most timid,
and their fear was not much allayed, when, from under their very noses,
a shower of rockets flew into mid-air, with a whirl that startled some
of the more ancient sages amongst them, though when no damage was found
to accrue to any of the party, the shouts of joy overpowered the noise
of the rockets. The blue lights and white lights, which were burnt to
enliven the performance, were objects of great curiosity, and I could see
some enquiring faces, eagerly watching our movements, as the port-fires
were placed to ignite them.”
“Dancing was afterwards commenced,” continues Captain Inglefield, “and
feeling that it was my duty to lead off with the governor’s wife, who
was an Eskimo, I begged the honour of her hand, for a dance, in the best
Eskimo of which I was master, and to the scraping of a disabled fiddle
bound round with twine and splints, I launched into the mysteries of an
Eskimo quadrille, which, but for the strenuous exertions of my partner,
to keep me right, I should certainly have set into utter confusion.
“It was composed of a _chaine des dames_ and a reel, complex to a
wonderful degree, and exhausting to a frightful extent; and yet it
appeared to be the determination of the whole party to continue at this
one figure till tired nature sunk.
“Unaccustomed to this kind of violent exercise, I was soon knocked up,
and tried, though unsuccessfully, to make my escape; but at last I had
the gratification of observing an elderly lady opposite beginning to
falter, and out of compliment to her I presume this dance was terminated.
“The Eskimos seem to think it is impossible to be too warm, so the doors
and windows were tightly closed, and certain lamps and tallow candles
(with which I had supplied his Excellency) soon brought the temperature
up to blood heat.
“After resting from my labour, I determined to try their waltz, which
I found was not very unlike ours, being performed somewhat in the
same manner, and the fair ladies with whom I now alternately figured
instructing me in the mysteries of the measure. Some of my sailors having
obtained permission to attend the ball, they were now solicited to give
a specimen of their skill, and accordingly a sailor’s hornpipe and reel,
with the usual heel and toe accompaniment, met with great applause. I had
had sufficient fun by nine o’clock, but the party did not break up till
after twelve; before I went away, however, at my special request, some
Eskimo melodies were sung by the party, and afterwards a Danish national
hymn by the governor. When the officers and men were returning in their
boat to the ship they were serenaded by the ladies of the party, who
joining hand-in-hand walked along the rocks towards the ship, singing a
plaintive air, which might well have been taken for their evening hymn.
And such it may have been, for these poor people, semi-civilized and
instructed as they have been by the Danes, are full of fervour and zeal
for their religion, the Lutheran, and show more real moral principle than
any nation I ever visited.”
By the 7th of October the _Isabel_ was ready for sea, but encountered
terrific gales. Upon the advice of the ice-masters, Captain Inglefield
determined to return to England in spite of a strong desire to winter and
complete the search of the west coast of Baffin Bay by sledge journeys
in the spring and the survey of Davis Strait from Cape Walsingham south,
as far as Newfoundland. However, a continuance of bad weather made such
a course impracticable, and by November 4 the _Isabel_ anchored at
Stromness; by the 10th of November she made Peterhead by way of Pentland
Firth.
[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR EDWARD INGLEFIELD, R. N.
_By permission of The Illustrated London News._]
“Besides penetrating one hundred and forty miles further than previous
navigators, and finding an open sea stretching northwards, from Baffin’s
Bay, to at least the latitude of 80°, Captain Inglefield discovered a
strait in about 77½°, which he named Murchison Strait, and which he
supposed to form the northern boundary to Greenland.” His careful survey
of the eastern side of Baffin Bay, from Carey Islands to Cape Alexander,
and his approach to Jones Sound, all contributed interesting data to
geographical knowledge, but though the natives with whom he met were
carefully interrogated, no light was thrown on the fate of Sir John
Franklin or his men, and the utter falsity of the story told by Sir John
Ross’s interpreter was satisfactorily established.
Early in the year 1853, three expeditions were fitted out, to assist
Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron already in the field, and to continue the
search for Sir John Franklin.
The _Rattlesnake_, under Commander Trollope, and the _Isabel_—again
refitted by Lady Franklin, and put in command of Mr. Kennedy—set out with
instructions to sail for Behring Strait and carry supplies to Captains
Collinson and M’Clure. Dr. Rae set out again for the further examination
of the coast of Boothia, and Captain Inglefield was sent to Barrow Strait
in command of the _Phœnix_ and _Lady Franklin_, for the purpose of
reënforcing Sir Edward Belcher.
In America the second Grinnell expedition was fitted out about the same
time for the purpose of exploring the passages leading out of Baffin Bay
into the unknown oceans around the Pole, and was placed under the command
of Dr. E. K. Kane, U. S. N., who had sailed under Lieutenant De Haven in
the first Grinnell expedition.
[Sidenote: _CAPTAIN M’CLURE_]
In the autumn of 1853, the deep interest of the British nation was
aroused by the return of Captain Inglefield of the _Phœnix_ with
despatches from the Arctic regions, containing the news that the
Northwest Passage had at length been successfully accomplished by Captain
M’Clure of the _Investigator_, who had passed through Behring Strait and
sailed within a few miles of the most westerly discoveries made from the
eastern side of America, at which point he had been frozen up for more
than two years.
Parties from the _Investigator_ had walked over the frozen ocean; and
Lieutenant Cresswell, the bearer of the despatches from Captain M’Clure,
had sailed to England, by the Atlantic Ocean, having thus passed through
the far-famed, much-sought-after, and, at length, discovered Northwest
Passage.
It will be remembered that Captains Collinson and M’Clure sailed for
Behring Strait in 1850, through which, in company with the _Plover_ and
_Herald_, they endeavoured to pass.
The _Investigator_, Captain M’Clure, was last seen on August 4, 1850,
bearing gallantly into the heart of the “Polar Pack.”
Captain Collinson, in the _Enterprise_, had concluded to winter at
Hongkong, and not until May, 1851, did he return to Behring Strait, which
he succeeded in entering. In the meantime, the _Herald_ had returned to
England, while the _Plover_ remained some time at Port Clarence as a
reserve for the vessels to fall back upon.
On parting company with the _Herald_ in Behring Strait in July, 1850,
Captain M’Clure stood north-northwest with a fresh breeze. For several
days the _Investigator_ struggled with the ice pack, now boring through
the masses, or winding among the lanes of open water. By the 7th of
August they had rounded Point Barrow, at which point clear water was seen
from the “crow’s nest.”
“The wind,” writes M’Clure, “almost immediately failing, the boats were
all manned, and towing commenced amid songs and cheers, which continued
with unabated good humour for six hours, when this laborious work was
brought to a successful termination. Being in perfectly clear water in
Smith’s Bay, a light air springing up, we worked to the eastward. At
two A.M. of the 8th, being off Point Drew, sent Mr. Court (second mate)
on shore to erect a cairn, and bury a notice of our having passed. Upon
landing, we were met by three natives, who at first were very timid;
but upon exchanging signs of friendship, which consisted of raising the
arms three times over the head, they approached the boat, and after the
pleasant salutation of rubbing noses, became very communicative, when,
by the assistance of our valuable interpreter, Mr. Miertsching, we
found the tribe consisted of ten tents (this being the only approach to
their numbers he could obtain), that they had arrived only three days
previously, and that they hold communication with a party inland, who
trade with the Russian Fur Company. The evening before, they had observed
us, but could not imagine what large trees were moving about (our masts)
and all the tribe had assembled on the beach to look at them, when they
agreed that it was something very extraordinary, and left the three men
who met the boat, to watch! They also gave the pleasing intelligence
that we should find open water along the coast from about three to five
miles distant during the summer, that the heavy ice very seldom came in,
or never left the land farther than at present, that they did not know
if there were any islands as they found it impossible to go in their
kayaks, when in pursuit of seals, farther than one day’s journey to the
main ice, and then the lanes of water allowed of their proceeding three
quarters of a day farther, which brought them to very large and high
ice, with not space enough in any part of it to allow their kayaks to
enter. The probable distance, Mr. Miertsching therefore estimates, from
his knowledge of the Eskimo habits, to be about forty miles off shore,
and, from what I have seen of the pack, I am inclined to think this is
perfectly correct, for a more unbroken mass I never witnessed.”
These natives, whose entire lives had been spent between the Coppermine
River and Point Barrow, knew nothing of Franklin’s party, and it was
therefore concluded by Captain M’Clure that the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had
not been lost on these shores.
For the next four or five hundred miles they skirted slowly the coast,
part of the time in such shallow water that they ran aground, but
fortunately without damage to the ship. The narrow lanes opening in the
ice made it often necessary to retrace their course, but by the 21st of
August they had passed the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and made the
Pelly Islands.
Upon reaching Warren Point, natives were seen on shore, and Captain
M’Clure, desiring, if possible, to send despatches by them to the Hudson
Bay Company’s posts on the Mackenzie, the boats were ordered out.
It was found that these Eskimos had no communication with the Mackenzie,
being at war with the neighbouring tribes, and having had several
skirmishes with the Indians of that quarter. A chief of the tribe had a
flat brass button suspended from his ear, and in explanation of where he
got it, he replied: “It had been taken from a white man, who had been
killed by one of his tribe. The white man belonged to a party which had
landed at Point Warren, and there built a house; nobody knew how they
came, as they had no boat, but they went inland. The man killed had
strayed from the party, and he (the chief) and his son had buried him
upon a hill at a little distance.” It could not be ascertained just when
this event occurred, and though Captain M’Clure tried to investigate the
matter, only two very old wooden huts were found, and no grave of the
white man was discovered.
Natives were constantly encountered as the _Investigator_ proceeded,
and though they seemed at first hostile and disinclined to open
communication, they invariably became friendly and gratefully accepted
the various presents bestowed upon them.
On September 5, Captain M’Clure writes:—
“The weather, which had been squally, accompanied by a thick fog during
the early part of the day, cleared towards noon, when a large volume
of smoke was observed about twelve miles south-west.... As divers
opinions were in circulation respecting its probable cause, and the
ice-mate having positively reported that from the crow’s nest he could
distinguish several persons moving about, dressed in white shirts, and
observed some white tents in the hollow of the cliff, I certainly had
every reason to imagine they were a party of Europeans in distress,
convinced that no travellers would remain for so long a period as we had
remarked the smoke. For their pleasure, therefore, to satisfy myself,
equally as others, I determined to send a boat on shore, as it was
now calm. The first whale-boat, under Lieutenant Cresswell, with Dr.
Armstrong, and Mr. Miertsching, was despatched to examine into the cause,
who, on their return, reported the smoke to emanate from fifteen small
mounds of volcanic appearance, occupying a space of about fifty yards,
the place strongly impregnated with sulphur, the lower mounds being
about thirty feet above the sea-level, the highest about fifty feet.
The land in its vicinity was blue clay, much intersected with ravines
and deep water-courses, varying in elevation from three hundred to five
hundred feet. The mark of a reindeer was traced to a small pond of water
immediately above the mounds. Notice of our having landed was left, which
would not long remain, as the cliff is evidently crumbling away. Thus the
mystery of the white shirts and tents was most satisfactorily explained.”
Early in the morning of the 6th of September they were off the small
islands near Cape Parry; on the same day high land was observed on the
port bow. Up to this time they had been sailing along a shore which had
been surveyed by Franklin, Back, Dease, Simpson, and others, although
theirs was the first _ship_ that had sailed in these waters.
The discovery of new territory was therefore joyfully received, and,
landing in the whale-boat and cutter, formal possession was taken in
the name of “Her Most Gracious Majesty” and the name “Baring’s Island”
bestowed upon it in honour of the first lord of the Admiralty. After
depositing a record, they returned to the ship and sailed along the
eastern coast, as it was more free of ice than that on the west. Later
it was found that the island was one whose extreme northeastern shore had
been faintly seen by Parry in 1820 and given by him the name of “Banks’
Land.”
“We observed,” writes Captain M’Clure, “numerous traces of reindeer,
hare, and wild-fowl; moss and divers species of wild-flowers were also
in great abundance; many specimens of them, equally as of the object
of interest to the naturalist, were selected with much care by Dr.
Armstrong. From an elevation obtained of about five hundred feet, we
had a fine view towards the interior, which was well clothed with moss,
giving a verdant appearance to the ranges of hills that rose gradually to
between two thousand and three thousand feet, intersected with ravines,
which must convey a copious supply of water to a large lake situated in
the centre of a wide plain, about fifteen miles distant; the sight to
seaward was favourable in the extreme: open water, with a very small
quantity of ice, for the distance of full forty miles towards the east,
insured good progress in that direction. The weather becoming foggy, our
lead was the only guide until ten A.M. of the 9th; it then cleared for a
short time, when land was observed to the eastward, about fifteen miles
distant, extending to the northward as far as the eye could reach.
“The mountains in the interior are lofty and snow-covered, while the low
ground is quite free. Several very remarkable peaks were discernible,
apparently of volcanic origin. This discovery was named Prince Albert’s
Land. The wind becoming fair, and the weather clearing, all the studding
sails were set, with the hope of reaching Barrow’s Strait, from which we
were now distant about seventy miles. The water was tolerably clear in
that direction, although much ice was lying against the western land; ...
much loose ice was also in motion, and while endeavoring to run between
two floes, at the rate of four knots, they closed so rapidly, one upon
either beam, that our way was instantly stopped, and the vessel lifted
considerably; in this position we were retained a quarter of an hour,
when the pressure eased, and we proceeded. Our advance was of short
duration, as at two P.M. the wind suddenly shifted to the northeast,
and began to freshen; the water, which a few hours previous had excited
sanguine hopes of a good run, became soon so thickly studded with floes,
that about four P.M. there was scarcely sufficient to keep the ship
freed; this by much exertion was however effected until two A.M. of the
14th, when we were beset.”
From now on, baffling winds and impenetrable floes made progress almost
impossible. The total destruction of the _Investigator_ was daily
threatened by the rushes of ice that assailed them in the narrow strait
along which they were endeavouring to proceed.
On the 17th of September, “There were several heavy floes in the
vicinity; one, full six miles in length, passed at the rate of two knots,
crushing everything that impeded its progress, and grazed our starboard
bow. Fortunately, there was but young ice upon the opposite side, which
yielded to the pressure; had it otherwise occurred, the vessel must
inevitably have been cut asunder. In the afternoon, we secured to a
moderately sized piece, drawing eight fathoms, which appeared to offer a
fair refuge, and from which we never afterwards parted.”
The smallest pools now became covered with ice; the last Arctic bird to
take flight was the eider-duck, which turned south by the 23d. By the
27th of September the thermometer stood at zero, and every preparation
was being made to house the ship for the winter. The ice was in constant
and violent motion. “The crushing, creaking, and straining,” writes
Captain M’Clure, “is beyond description; the officer of the watch, when
speaking to me, is obliged to put his mouth close to my ear, on account
of the deafening noise.”
[Sidenote: _DISCOVERY OF THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE_]
Clinging with the “tenacity of a bosom-friend” to the ice-floe to which
they were secured, “it conveyed us,” continues M’Clure, “to our farthest
northeast position, latitude 73° 7´ north, longitude 117° 10´ west, back
round the Princess Royal Islands, passed the largest within five hundred
yards to latitude 72° 42´ north, longitude 118° 42´ west, returning along
the coast of Prince Albert’s Land, and finally freezing in at latitude
72° 50´ north, longitude 117° 55´ west, upon the 30th of September,
during which circumnavigation we received many severe nips, and were
frequently driven close to the shore, from which our deep friend kept
us off. To avoid separation, we had secured with two stream-cables, one
chain, two six, and two five hawsers. As our exposed position rendered
every precaution necessary, we got upon deck twelve months’ provisions,
with tents, warm clothing, etc., and issued to each person a pair of
carpet-boots and a blanket-bag, so that in the event of any emergency
rendering it imperative to quit the vessel, we might not be destitute. On
the 8th of October, our perplexities terminated with a nip that lifted
the vessel a foot, and heeled her 4° to port, in consequence of a large
tongue getting beneath her, in which position we quietly remained.” Here
the _Investigator_ passed the winter of 1850-1851, during which season a
journey was made over the ice to the shores of Barrow Strait, which they
found connected with the strait in which they wintered, thus establishing
the fact of a northwest passage.
The journey undertaken on the morning of October 21, 1850, came near
proving fatal to Captain M’Clure. On the return trip a week later about
2 P.M. one afternoon, having seen the Princess Royal Isles and knowing
the position of the ship, he decided to leave his sledge and push ahead,
that a warm meal might be made ready for the rest of the party upon their
arrival at the ship. Night overtook him when still at least six miles
from the vessel, and a dense mist, accompanied by heavy snow, obscured
every object.
“I now,” writes M’Clure, “climbed on a mass of squeezed-up ice, in the
hope of seeing my party, should they pass near, or of attracting the
attention of some one on board the vessel by firing my fowling-piece.
Unfortunately, I had no other ammunition than what it was loaded with;
for I had fancied, when I left the sledge, that two charges in the gun
would be all I should be likely to require. After waiting for an hour
patiently, I was rejoiced to see through the mist the glaring of a blue
light, evidently burnt in the direction in which I had left the sledge.
I immediately fired to denote my position; but my fire was unobserved,
and, both barrels being discharged, I was unable to repeat the signal.
My only hope now rested upon the ship’s answering, but nothing was to be
seen; and, although I once more saw, at a greater distance, the glare of
another blue light from the sledge, there seemed no probability of my
having any other shelter for the night than what the floe afforded. Two
hours elapsed; I endeavored to see the face of my pocket compass by the
light of a solitary lucifer match, which happened to be in my pocket;
but in this hope I was cruelly disappointed, for it fizzed and went out,
leaving me in total darkness. It was now half-past eight; there were
eleven hours of night before me, a temperature of 15° below zero, bears
prowling about, and I with an unloaded gun in my hands. The sledge-party
might, however, reach the ship, and, finding I had not arrived, search
would be made, and help be sent; so I walked to and fro upon my hummock
until, I suppose, it must have been eleven o’clock, when that hope fled
likewise. Descending from the top of the slab of ice upon which I had
clambered, I found under its lee a famous bed of soft, dry snow; and
thoroughly tired out, I threw myself upon it and slept for perhaps three
hours, when, upon opening my eyes, I fancied I saw the flash of a rocket.
Jumping upon my feet, I found that the mist had cleared off, and that
the stars and aurora borealis were shining in all the splendor of an
Arctic night. Although unable to see the islands or the ship, I wandered
about the ice in different directions until daylight, when, to my great
mortification, I found I had passed the ship fully the distance of four
miles.”
Sledge journeys along the shores of Baring Island and Prince Albert Land
were undertaken, but no trace of Franklin or his party was discovered.
Traces of Eskimos were found, but only one party met with; however,
deer, musk-oxen, and bears were encountered. A bear was killed, and,
when opened, its stomach was found to contain raisins, tobacco, pork,
and adhesive plaster! This extraordinary medley led Captain M’Clure to
the conclusion that the _Enterprise_ was in the vicinity, and a diligent
search was instituted, but the only result was the discovery of a
preserved meat canister, which contained similar articles, probably the
same from which the bear had obtained his unusual meal. By the 13th of
June, 1851, all the sledge parties having returned in safety to the ship,
everything was made ready to set sail the moment the huge barriers of ice
should permit.
“The first indication of open water,” writes Captain M’Clure, “occurred
to-day (July 7th) extending some distance along the shore of Prince
Albert’s Land, about a mile in width; the ice in every direction is
so rapidly decaying, being much accelerated by sleet and rain, with
the thermometer standing at 45°, that, by the 14th, that which for the
last few days had been slightly in motion, with large spaces of water
intervening, suddenly and noiselessly opened around the vessel, leaving
her in a pond of forty yards; but seeing no possibility of getting
without its limits, we were compelled to secure to the floe which had
for ten months befriended us, and, with the whole of the pack, gradually
drifted to the southward, toward the Princess Royal Islands, which we
passed on the eastern side within half a mile.
“Upon the 17th, at 10 A.M., being among loose ice, we cast off from the
floe and made sail, with the hope of getting upon the western shore
where the water appeared to be making, but without shipping the rudder,
in consequence of being in the vicinity of several large floes, and at
2 P.M. again secured to a floe between the Princess Royal and Baring
islands (we passed over a shoal having nineteen fathoms). On the 20th, at
half-past eleven A.M., a light air sprang up from the southwest, which,
slacking the ice, gave hopes of making progress to the northeast, in
which direction I was anxious to get for the purpose of entering Barrow
Strait, that, according to circumstances, I might be enabled to carry out
my original intentions of proceeding to the northward of Melville Island,
as detailed in my letter to the secretary of the Admiralty, of July 20,
1850; or, should such not be practicable, return to England through the
strait. After most persevering efforts to penetrate into Barrow Strait,
Captain M’Clure was obliged to abandon the attempt. On the 16th of August
he determined to coast round the western shores of the island and make
the passage, if possible, to the northward of Banks Land.
“At 4 P.M. on the 18th,” he writes, “being off a very low spit of sand
(Point Kellet) which extended to the westward for about twelve miles, in
the form of a horseshoe, having a seaside thickly studded with grounded
ice, while the interior was exempt from any, I sent Mr. Court (second
master) to examine it, who reported an excellent and commodious harbour,
well sheltered from north-west to south, carrying five fathoms within
ten yards of the beach, which was shingle, and covered with driftwood.
A set of sights was obtained, and a cask, containing a notice, was
left there. Upon the morning of the 19th, we left this low coast, and
passed between two small islands lying at the entrance of what appeared
a deep inlet, running east-south-east, and then turning sharp to
north-east. It had a barrier of ice extending across, which prevented
any communication. Wishing to keep between the northernmost of these
islands and the mainland, to avoid the pack, which was very near it, we
narrowly escaped getting on shore, as a reef extended from the latter
to within half a mile of the island. Fortunately, the wind being light,
we rounded to with all the studding-sails set, and let go the anchor
in two and a half fathoms, having about four inches to spare under the
keel, and warped into four, while Mr. Court was sent to find a channel
in which he succeeded, carrying three fathoms, through which we ran for
one mile, and then continued our course in eight, having from three to
five miles between the ice and land. At 8 P.M., we neared two other
islands, the ice resting upon the westernmost, upon which the pressure
must have been excessive, as large masses were forced nearly over its
summit, which was upwards of forty feet. Between these and the main we
ran through a channel in from nine to fifteen fathoms, when an immediate
and marked change took place in the general appearance and formation of
the land: it became high, precipitous, sterile, and rugged; intersected
with deep ravines and water courses, having six-five fathoms at a quarter
of a mile, and fifteen fathoms one hundred yards from the cliffs, which
proved exceedingly fortunate as the whole pack, which had apparently
only just broken from the shore, was within half a mile, and, in many
places, so close to it, that to avoid getting beset, we had nearly to
touch the land; indeed, upon several occasions, the boats were compelled
to be topped-up, and poles used to keep the vessel off the grounded ice;
which extends all along this coast; nor could we round to, fearful of
carrying the jib-boom away against the cliffs, which here run nearly
east and west. The cape forming its western extreme I have called Prince
Alfred, in honour of his Royal Highness. On the morning of the 20th, our
further progress was impeded by finding the ice resting upon a point,
which formed a slight indentation of shore, and was the only place where
water could be seen. To prevent being carried away with the pack, which
was filling up its space, we secured to the inshore side of a small but
heavy piece of ice, grounded in twelve fathoms seventy-four yards from
the beach—the only protection against the tremendous Polar ice (setting
a knot per hour to the eastward before a fresh westerly wind), which at
9 P.M. placed us in a very critical position, by a large floe striking
the piece we were fast to, and causing it to oscillate so considerably,
that a tongue which happened to be under our bottom, lifted the vessel
six feet; but, by great attention to the anchors and warps, we succeeded
in holding on during the conflict, which was continued several minutes,
terminating by the floe being rent in pieces, and our being driven
nearer the beach. From this until the 29th, we lay perfectly secure,
but at 8 A.M. of that day, the ice began suddenly to move, when a large
floe, that must have caught the piece to which we were attached under
one of its overhanging ledges, raised it perpendicular by thirty feet,
presenting to all on board a most frightful aspect. As it ascended
above the foreyard, much apprehension was felt, that it might be thrown
completely over, when the ship must have been crushed beneath it. This
suspense was but for a few minutes, as the floe rent, carrying away with
it a large piece from the foundation of our asylum, when it gave several
fearful rolls, and resumed its former position; but, no longer capable
of resisting the pressure, it was hurried onward with the drifting mass.
Our proximity to the shore compelled, as our only hopes of safety, the
absolute necessity of holding to it; we consequently secured with a
chain, stream and hemp cable, three, six, and two five-inch hawsers,
three of which were passed round it. In this state we were forced along,
sinking large pieces beneath the bottom, and sustaining a heavy strain
against the stern and rudder; the latter was much damaged, but to unship
it at present was impossible. At 1 P.M., the pressure eased, from the ice
becoming stationary, when it was unhung and laid upon a large floe piece,
where, by 8 P.M., owing to the activity of Mr. Ford, the carpenter, who
is always ready to meet any emergency, it was repaired, just as the ice
began again to be in motion; but as the tackles were hooked, it was
run up to the davits without further damage.” Continuing his exciting
narrative, Captain M’Clure writes:—
“We were now setting fast upon another large piece of a broken floe,
grounded in nine fathoms upon the débris formed at the mouth of a large
river. Feeling confident that, should we be caught between this and what
we were fast to, the ship must inevitably go to pieces, and yet being
aware that to cast off would certainly send us on the beach (from which
we were never distant eighty yards), upon which the smaller ice was
hurled as it came in contact with these grounded masses, I sent John
Kerr (gunner’s mate) under very difficult circumstances, to endeavor to
reach it and effect its destruction by blasting; he could not, however,
find a sufficient space of water to sink the charge, but remarking a
large cavity upon the sea face of the floe, he fixed it there, which so
far succeeded, that it slightly fractured it in three places, which,
at the moment was scarcely observable, from the heavy pressure it was
sustaining. By this time, the vessel was within a few feet of it, and
every one was on deck in anxious suspense, awaiting what was apparently
the crisis of our fate; most fortunately, the stern post took it so
fairly, that the pressure was fore and aft, bringing the whole strength
of the ship to bear, a heavy grind, which shook every mast, and caused
beams and decks to complain, as she trembled to the violence of the
shock, plainly indicated that the struggle would be but of short
duration. At this moment, the stream-cable was carried away, and several
anchors drew; thinking that we had now sufficiently risked the vessel,
orders were given to let go the warps, and with that order I had made
up my mind that in a few minutes she would be on the beach; but, as it
was sloping, conceived she might still prove an asylum for the winter,
and possibly be again got afloat; while, should she be crushed between
these large grounded pieces, she must inevitably go down in ten fathoms,
which would be certain destruction to all; but before the orders could
be obeyed, a merciful Providence interposed, causing the ice, which
had previously weakened, to separate into three pieces, and it floated
onward with the mass, our stern still tightly jammed against, but now
protected by it. The vessel, which had been thrown over fifteen degrees,
and risen bodily one foot eight inches, now righted and settled in the
water; the only damage sustained was several sheets of copper ripped off
and rolled up like a sheet of paper, but not a fastening had given way,
nor does any leakage indicate the slightest defect. By midnight, the ice
was stationary, and everything quiet, which continued until the 10th of
September; indeed, from the temperature having fallen to sixteen degrees,
with all appearance of the setting in of the winter, I considered our
farther progress stopped until next year.”
Until the end of September, their course was one unvarying scene of
battling against difficulties similar to those just described. Having
reached the western extremity of Banks Land, “I determined,” writes
Captain M’Clure, “to make this our winter quarters, and, having
remarked upon the south side of the bank on which we had grounded, a
well-protected bay, Mr. Court was despatched to sound it; and, shortly
making the signal there was sufficient water, we bore up, and at
forty-five minutes past 7 A.M. we anchored in four and a half fathoms,
and that night were firmly frozen in, in what has since proved a most
safe and excellent harbor, which, in grateful remembrance of the many
perils that we had escaped during the passage of that terrible Polar
Sea, we have named the ‘Bay of Mercy’; thus finally terminating this
short season’s operations, having been actually only five entire days
under way.” From now on every preparation was made to spend the winter as
comfortably as conditions would admit.
“As there appeared much game in the vicinity,” writes Captain M’Clure,
“and the weather continued mild, shooting parties were established in
different directions between the 9th and 23d of October; so that, with
what was killed from the ship, our supply of fresh provisions at the
commencement of the winter consisted of nine deer, fifty-three hares, and
forty-four ptarmigan, all in fine condition, the former having from two
to three inches of fat.”
“In consequence of our favored position,” he continues, “the crew were
enabled to ramble over the hills almost daily in quest of game, and
their exertions happily supplied a fresh meal of venison three times a
fortnight, with the exception of about three weeks in January, when it
was too dark for shooting. The small game, such as ptarmigan and hares,
being scarce, were allowed to be retained by the sportsmen as private
property. This healthy and exhilarating exercise kept us all well and
in excellent spirits during another tedious winter, so that on the 1st
of April we had upwards of a thousand pounds of venison hanging at the
yard-arms.”
The exciting experience of Sergeant Woon, a marine, while out hunting, is
interesting. While pursuing a wounded deer, he suddenly and unexpectedly
met a couple of musk-bulls, which he succeeded in wounding. Infuriated
with pain, one of the musk-oxen rushed towards him. Having expended his
shot, the sergeant fired his “worm” at the animal, but, this having
little or no effect, the bull, though weakened from the loss of blood,
when within six feet, put his head to the ground as if for a final rush.
With quick action the sergeant fired his iron ramrod, which, entering
behind the animal’s left shoulder, passed through the heart and out at
the right flank, dropping him lifeless.
On another occasion, the presence of mind of Sergeant Woon saved the life
of a companion, a coloured man and member of the crew. It was in January
and bitterly cold; the coloured man had been out hunting and lost his
way. He began to fancy himself frozen to death, and from sheer terror
lost his wits. The sergeant met him, but could not induce the poor fellow
to follow him. The coloured man stood dazed and shivering, and finally
fell in a fit. Waiting until he was somewhat revived, the sergeant either
carried or rolled him down hills or hummocks for ten long hours, until
he got him within a mile of the ship. The sergeant was by this time
thoroughly exhausted and tried to persuade the negro to walk, but the
poor demented creature only begged to be “let alone to die.” Being unable
to persuade him, the only thing left was to place him in a bed of deep
snow, and then, with all his remaining strength, the sergeant hastened to
the ship for assistance. Returning as soon as possible to the spot where
the poor negro had been left, they found him with his arms stiff and
raised above his head, his eyes open, and his mouth so firmly frozen that
it required considerable force to open it and pour down restoratives.
He still lived, however, and eventually recovered, with no more serious
results than frost-bites to his hands, feet, and face.
The second Christmas was passed cheerfully and with a bounteous supply
of good things. “As it was to be our last,” writes Captain M’Clure, “the
crew determined to make it memorable, and their exertions were completely
successful; each mess was gayly illuminated and decorated with original
paintings by our lower-deck artists, exhibiting the ship in her perilous
positions during the transit of the polar sea, and divers other subjects;
but the grand features of the day were the enormous plum puddings (some
weighing twenty-six pounds), haunches of venison, hares roasted, and soup
made of the same, with ptarmigan and sea pies. Such dainties in such
profusion I should imagine never before graced a ship’s lower deck; any
stranger, to have witnessed the scene, could but faintly imagine that
he saw a crew which had passed upwards of two years, in these dreary
regions, and three entirely upon their own resources, enjoying such
excellent health—so joyful, so happy; indeed, such a mirthful assemblage,
under any circumstances, would be most gratifying to any officer; but
in this lonely situation, I could not but feel deeply impressed as
I contemplated the gay and plenteous sight, with the many and great
mercies, which a kind and beneficent Providence had extended towards us,
to whom alone is due the heart-felt praises as thanksgivings of all for
the great blessings which we have hitherto experienced in positions the
most desolate which can be conceived.”
In the autumn of 1852, Captain M’Clure had made known his intentions of
sending to England, the following spring, half of the officers and crew
_via_ Baffin Bay (taking the boat from Cape Spencer) and the Mackenzie.
The remainder of the crew were to stand by the ship in the hope of
releasing her in the summer of 1853, should they fail in this they would
proceed with sledges in 1854 by Port Leopold, “our provisions admitting
of no other arrangement.” In the despatch prepared by Captain M’Clure
which he sent home by the land party in 1853, occurs the following
passage:—
“Should any of her Majesty’s ships be sent for our relief, and we have
quitted Port Leopold, a notice containing information of our route
will be left on the door of the house at Whaler’s Point, or on some
conspicuous position. If, however, no intimation should be found of
our having been there, it may at once be surmised that some fatal
catastrophe has happened, either from our being carried into the Polar
Sea, or smashed in Barrow’s Strait, and no survivors left. If such be
the case,—which, however, I will not anticipate,—it will then be quite
unnecessary to penetrate further to the westward for our relief, as, by
the period that any vessel could reach that port, we must, from want of
provisions, all have perished. In such a case, I would submit that the
officers may be directed to return, and by no means incur the danger of
losing other lives in quest of those who will then be no more.”
The thrilling adventures in the American wilderness told by Franklin,
Richardson, Back, and others, foretold that this sledge journey proposed
by M’Clure would be long and hazardous in the extreme. The weaker ones
were to undertake it, thirty of the healthiest men being retained to
stand by the ships with the captain.
The curse of scurvy had long since stricken many of the crew; these could
not hope to brave another Arctic winter, and their only chance was to
penetrate the wilderness to civilization, however difficult and dangerous
the undertaking. But while M’Clure and his gallant comrades were making
every preparation for this last attempt to communicate with England,
relief came unexpectedly to hand.
[Sidenote: _CAPTAIN KELLET_]
It will be remembered that Captain Kellett of Sir Edward Belcher’s
squadron had sailed the previous August to Melville Island with relief
supplies for the _Investigator_ and _Enterprise_, in case these vessels
or members of their crews should have succeeded in making their way from
Behring Strait to that place. Upon reaching Winter Harbour, they at once
discovered a notice deposited there the beginning of the year by Captain
M’Clure, conveying the assurance of the safety of the _Investigator_
and its crew in Mercy Bay. It may be imagined with what enthusiasm such
news was received by Captain Kellett and his crew, and immediately
preparations were made for an expedition to let them know that aid was at
hand.
The unique meeting of Captain M’Clure from the west, and Lieutenant Pim
from the east, with a party from the _Resolute_, is graphically described
in a private letter from Captain Kellett.
“This is really a red-letter day in our voyage, and shall be kept as a
holiday by our heirs and successors forever. At nine o’clock of this day,
our lookout man made the signal for a party coming in from the westward;
all went out to meet them, and assist them in. A second party was then
seen. Dr. Domville was the first person I met. I cannot describe my
feelings when he told me that Captain M’Clure was among the next party. I
was not long in reaching him, and giving him many hearty shakes—no purer
were ever given by two men in this world. M’Clure looks well, but is very
hungry. His description of Pim’s making the Harbour of Mercy would have
been a fine subject for the pen of Captain Marryat, were he alive.
“M’Clure and his first lieutenant were walking on the floe. Seeing a
person coming very fast towards them, they supposed he was chased by
a bear, or had seen a bear. Walking towards him, on getting onwards a
hundred yards, they could see from his proportions that he was not one
of them. Pim began to screech and throw up his hands (his face as black
as my hat); this brought the captain and lieutenant to a stand, as they
could not hear sufficiently to make out his language.
“At length Pim reached the party, quite beside himself, and stammered
out, on M’Clure asking him,—
“‘Who are you, and where are you come from?’
“‘Lieutenant Pim, _Herald_, Captain Kellett.’
“This was the more inexplicable to M’Clure, as I was the last person
he shook hands with in Behring’s Strait. He at length found that this
solitary stranger was a true Englishman—an angel of light. He says: ‘He
soon was seen from the ship; they had only one hatchway open, and the
crew were fairly jammed there, in their endeavor to get up. The sick
jumped out of their hammocks, and the crew forgot their despondency; in
fact, all was changed on board the _Investigator_.’
“M’Clure had thirty men and three officers fully prepared to leave for
the depot at Point Spencer. What a disappointment it would have been to
go there and find the miserable _Mary_ yacht, with four or five casks of
provisions, instead of a fine large depot!
“Another party of seven men were to have gone by the Mackenzie, with
a request to the Admiralty to send out a ship to meet them at Point
Leopold, in 1854. The thirty men are on their way over to me now. I
shall, if possible, send them on to Beechey Island, and about ten men of
my own crew, to be taken home the first opportunity.”
Captain Kellett was at first inclined to favour M’Clure’s efforts to save
the _Investigator_, but, on the 2d of May, Lieutenant Cresswell reported
to Captain Kellett that two more deaths had occurred. It was then deemed
advisable that Dr. Domville should go back with Captain M’Clure and
inspect the crew. Those unfitted to pass another winter in the Arctic
were to be ordered home, and the healthy should be given their option
of going or remaining. Only four of the crew were willing to remain,
although all of the officers volunteered to stand by the vessel.
Preparations were therefore made to abandon the ship. A depot of
provisions and stores was landed for the use of Collinson, Franklin, or
any other person that might find them, and on June 3, 1853, the colours
were hoisted to the masthead, and officers and crew bade farewell to the
_Investigator_. Upon arriving at Dealy Island, they were accommodated on
board the _Resolute_ and _Intrepid_.
[Sidenote: _DEATH OF BELLOT_]
In connection with the glorious report of the discovery of the Northwest
Passage and the safety of M’Clure, Captain Inglefield brought home news
of a sad and tragic character; the death of that gallant Frenchman,
Lieutenant Bellot. He had returned to the north in the _Phœnix_ drawn
by the fatal lure of the Arctic which to his adventurous soul was
irresistible. In August, 1853, he had volunteered to lead a party to Sir
Edward Belcher’s squadron near Cape Beecher in Wellington Channel. They
started on a Friday, the 12th, from Beechey Island,—Harvey, Johnson,
Madden, and Hook, with Lieutenant Bellot in the lead,—carrying despatches
from Captain Pullen of the _North Star_.
The rottenness of the ice at this season makes travel particularly
dangerous, and Bellot was cautioned to keep close to the eastern shore
of Wellington Channel. They were provided with a light India-rubber
boat, which was easily dragged upon the sledge. The evening of the 12th,
they encamped about three miles from Cape Innes. The following day they
made considerable progress, and that night encamped upon the broken ice,
over which they had been plodding all day, near Cape Bowden. On Sunday
they noticed a crack about four feet wide running across the channel. No
special concern was felt at this discovery, and Lieutenant Bellot cheered
and encouraged the men to make for a cape in the distance which he called
Grinnell Cape. Upon reaching this cape, a broad belt of water was found
between the ice and the shore. An unfortunate wind raised a rough sea,
but Lieutenant Bellot made an attempt to reach the shore alone in the
boat, intending to convey a line by which the remainder of the party and
provisions might be brought across. The violence of the gale drove him
back, and Harvey and Madden were ordered into the boat, and successfully
made the crossing. After this the boat was passed and repassed by means
of lines, and three loads from the sledge were landed in safety. The
party on shore were hauling off for a fourth when Madden, who had hold of
the shore-line and stood up to his middle in water, called out that the
ice was on the move, and driving offshore.
Bellot saw that if Madden held on to the line much longer he would be
dragged into deep water, so he called to him to let go, which he did.
Lieutenant Bellot and his two men then hauled the boat on to the sledge
and ran it up to the windward side of the ice, intending to launch it
at once and make for the shore. Before this could be accomplished, the
ice had rapidly increased its motion and drifted so far from the shore
as to make it impossible for them to reach it. Madden and Harvey, with
indescribable feelings of alarm, hastened to an eminence, and for two
long hours watched their comrades drifting out to sea in the teeth of a
bitter breeze—amid the turbulent icebergs. As the mists and driving snow
finally closed upon their view, the two men were seen standing by the
sledge, Lieutenant Bellot on the top of a hummock.
Madden and Harvey descended to the shore and at once began their return
journey to the ship. With very little provisions, they walked round
Criffen Bay and hence to Cape Bowden, where they remained to rest. While
there, great was their joy to recognize Johnson and Hook hastening
toward them. The party now made for the ship, which they reached with
considerable difficulty and privation. The fate of poor Lieutenant Bellot
is described by William Johnson, who was with him on the ice at the time
of his death.
[Illustration: LANDING NEAR GRINNELL CAPE]
“We got the provisions on shore on Wednesday, the 17th. After we had
done that, there remained on the ice David Hook, Lieutenant Bellot, and
myself, having with us the sledge, mackintosh awning, and little boat.
Commenced trying to draw the boat and sledge to the southward, but found
the ice driving so fast, that we left the sledge and took the boat only;
but the wind was so strong at the time that it blew the boat over and
over. We then took the boat with us, under shelter of a piece of ice,
and Mr. Bellot and ourselves commenced cutting an ice-house with our
knives for shelter. Mr. Bellot sat for half an hour in conversation with
us, talking on the danger of our position. I told him I was not afraid
and that the American Expedition was driven up and down this channel
by the ice. He replied, ‘I know they were; and when the Lord protects
us, not a hair of our heads shall be touched.’ I then asked Mr. Bellot
what time it was. He said, ‘About a quarter past 8 A.M.’ (Thursday, the
18th), and then lashed his hooks, and said he would go and see how the
ice was driving. He had only been gone about four minutes, when I went
round the same hummock, under which we were sheltered to look for him,
but could not see him; and on returning to our shelter, saw his stick on
the opposite side of a crack, about five fathoms wide, and the ice all
breaking up. I then called out, ‘Mr. Bellot,’ but no answer (at this time
blowing very heavy). After this I again searched round, but could see
nothing of him. I believe when he got from the shelter, the wind blew
him into the crack, and his south-wester being tied down, he could not
rise. Finding there was no hope of again seeing Lieutenant Bellot, I said
to Hook, ‘I’m not afraid: I know the Lord will always sustain us.’ We
commenced travelling, to try to get to Cape de Haven, or Port Phillips;
and, when we got within two miles of Cape de Haven, could not get on
shore, and returned for this side, endeavoring to get to the southward,
as the ice was driving to the northward. We were that night and the
following day in coming across, and came into the land on the eastern
shore, a long way to the northward of the place where we were driven
off. We got into the land at what Lieutenant Bellot told us was Point
Hogarth.
“In drifting up the Straits towards the Polar Sea we saw an iceberg lying
close to the shore, and found it on the ground. We succeeded in getting
on it and remained for six hours. I said to David Hook, ‘Don’t be afraid,
we must make a boat of a piece of ice.’ Accordingly, we got on to a piece
passing, and I had a paddle belonging to the India-rubber boat. By this
piece of drift ice we managed to reach the shore, and then proceeded to
where the accident happened. Reached it on Friday. Could not find our
shipmates, or any provisions. Went on for Cape Bowden, and reached it on
Friday night.”
Poor Bellot—too brave—too young to die—beloved by comrades, mourned by
the simple Eskimos he had befriended—cherished in tender memory by the
nation that gave him birth and by Great Britain for whom he gave his
life,—his honoured name is linked in immortality with those brave heroes
of the Arctic, whose sepulchre is the frozen deep, whose monuments are
the eternal snows of the Great White North.
[Illustration]