The _Jeannette_ expedition, 1879-1881.—In command of Captain
George W. De Long.—Leaves San Francisco, touches at Ounalaska,
August 2, reaches Lawrence Bay, East Siberia, August 15.—Last
seen by whale bark _Sea Breeze_ near Herald Island, September
2.—The _Jeannette_ beset in ice-pack, September 5, never
again released.—Daily routine of officers and crew.—Ship
springs a leak.—A frozen summer.—Sight of new land.—A second
winter in the pack.—The _Jeannette_ crushed.—Abandonment.—The
retreat.—The fate of the three boats.—Death of De Long’s
party.—Melville’s search.
The American Arctic expedition of 1879, commanded by Lieutenant George W.
De Long of the United States Navy, was equipped and financed by Mr. James
Gordon Bennett, proprietor of the _New York Herald_. The object of the
expedition was to reach the North Pole by way of Behring Strait.
[Sidenote: _THE “JEANNETTE” EXPEDITION, 1879-1881_]
The bark-rigged steam yacht of four hundred twenty tons, _Pandora_, which
had already seen considerable service in Arctic water, was purchased from
Sir Allen Young. By special act of Congress she was allowed to sail under
American colours, be navigated by officers of the United States Navy, and
to change her name from _Pandora_ to _Jeannette_. The _Jeannette_ was
reënforced and refitted for the arduous service expected of her, and her
officers and crew, thirty-three in number, carefully selected for their
especial fitness for the undertaking.
Among the number, Lieutenant De Long and Lieutenant Chipp, the executive
officer, had seen Arctic service while attached to the U. S. steamer
_Juanita_, which had been sent by the government in search of the
_Polaris_ in 1873; Engineer Melville had been attached to the _Tigress_,
while that ship had been on the same errand, and Seaman Wm. F. C.
Nindemann had sailed on the _Polaris_ and been a member of the ice-drift
party.
Lieutenant John W. Danenhower, U. S. N., was appointed navigator; Dr. J.
M. Ambler, surgeon; Jerome J. Collins, meteorologist; Raymond L. Newcomb,
naturalist; and William M. Dunbar, ice pilot.
The _Jeannette_ left San Francisco July 8, and moved slowly toward the
Golden Gate amid the cheers and waving of handkerchiefs from thousands
of spectators on the wharves and on Telegraph Hill. A salute of ten guns
was fired from Fort Point, while a convoy of white-sailed craft of the
San Francisco Yacht Club escorted her out to the broad Pacific. Pursuing
her course, the _Jeannette_ made for Ounalaska, one of the Aleutian
Islands, which she reached August 2. There additional stores were taken
aboard, and four days later she pursued her course, to St. Michaels,
Alaska, where she anchored the 12th of August. Dogs and fur clothing were
purchased, and two Alaskans, Anequin and Alexai, were hired to accompany
the expedition as dog drivers. By the 25th of August, she had reached St.
Lawrence Bay, East Siberia, where Lieutenant De Long learned that a ship
supposed to be the _Vega_ had gone south in June. She then rounded East
Cape and touched at Cape Serdze, from which point Lieutenant De Long sent
his last letter home.
Captain Barnes of the American whale bark _Sea Breeze_ saw the
_Jeannette_ under full sail and steam, on the 2d of September, 1879,
about fifty miles south of Herald Island; on the 3d of September she was
sighted by Captain Kelley of the bark _Dawn_; and at about the same time
Captain Bauldry of the _Helen Mar_ and several other whalers saw smoke
from the _Jeannette’s_ smoke-stack in range of Herald Island. She was
standing north. These were the last tidings heard of the expedition by
the outside world for over two years.
On the 5th of September, the _Jeannette_, having boldly entered the ice
in an attempt to push through and winter at Herald Island or Wrangell
Land, was beset and never again left the ice-pack, but drifted at the
mercy of this formidable foe, until she was crushed, and finally sank
many months afterward.
Hoping against hope that a release would come, first in the fall with
the promise of Indian summer, then in the spring with the breaking up
of the ice-pack, Captain De Long saw the weeks and months glide by, and
followed the complicated drift of the _Jeannette_, as she coquetted with
her jailer, turning and twisting in her course, suffering the constant
pressure of her enemy, that hourly threatened her destruction and
pursuing an uneven drift north and eastward.
The daily routine during the long imprisonment was practically as
follows:—
6 A.M. Call executive officer.
7 A.M. Call ship’s cook.
8:30 A.M. Call all hands.
9 A.M. Breakfast by watches.
10 A.M. Turn to, clear fire-hole of ice, fill barrels with snow,
clean up decks.
11 A.M. Clear forecastle. All hands take exercise on the ice.
11:30 A.M. Inspection by executive officer.
12 M. Get soundings.
1 P.M. One watch may go below.
2 P.M. Fill barrels with snow. Clear fire-hole of ice.
3 P.M. Dinner by watches.
4 P.M. Galley fires out. Carpenter and boatswain report
departments to executive officer.
7:30 P.M. Supper by watches.
10 P.M. Pipe down. Noise and smoking to cease in forecastle,
and all lights to be put out, except one burner of
bulkhead lantern. Man on watch report to the
executive.
During the night the anchor watch will examine the
fires and lights every half hour, and see that there
is no danger from fire. All buckets will be kept on
the starboard side of the quarter-deck, ready for use
in case of fire.
This programme was varied only as contingencies arose; by threatening
disaster from ice pressure; by the chase of bears; the capture of walrus
and seals; or by hunting parties who travelled over the ice in search of
game, or took a daily run with the dogs.
[Sidenote: _CAPTAIN GEORGE W. DE LONG_]
“Wintering in the pack,” comments De Long, “may be a thrilling thing to
read about alongside a warm fire in a comfortable home, but the actual
thing is sufficient to make any man prematurely old.”
On January 19, 1880, owing to serious convulsions of the ice, the
_Jeannette_ sprung a leak. The deck pumps were at once rigged and manned,
and steam raised on the port boiler to run the steam pumps. This last
caused great difficulty and delay, owing to the temperature in the
fire-room being -29°, the sea-cocks being frozen, which necessitated
pouring buckets of water through the man-hole plates, before the pumps
could be operated. Through Melville’s indomitable energy, the pumps
were effective by afternoon. Though all hands worked until midnight,
the serious situation was only partially controlled, the men working
knee-deep in ice water, Nindemann standing down in the fore-peak,
stuffing oakum and tallow in every place from which water came. Under
the direction of Lieutenant Chipp, a bulkhead was built forward of the
foremast, which partially confined the water. In the meantime, Melville,
working night and day, rigged an economical pump with the Baxter boiler,
with which the ship was pumped for nearly eighteen months.
Lieutenant Danenhower, who had been suffering for some time with his
eyes, had become totally incapacitated for service, and on the 22d of
January submitted to an operation performed by Dr. Ambler. Two days
later, De Long comments on the gravity of his own responsibilities:—
“My anxieties are beginning to crowd on me. A disabled and leaking
ship, a seriously sick officer, and an uneasy and terrible pack, with
constantly diminishing coal pile, and at a distance of 200 miles to the
nearest Siberian settlement—these are enough to think of for a lifetime.”
The drift of the _Jeannette_ for the first five months had covered
an immense area; she had approached and receded from the one hundred
eightieth meridian, drifting back to within fifty miles from where she
had entered the pack. By the 3d of May, however, fresh southeast winds
began, and the ship took up a rapid and uniform drift to the northwest.
Hope for release, which had been buoyant in May, was deferred until June,
and when that month glided by with no signs of liberation, it passed
to July and gradually faded with the brief passage of a frozen summer.
The _Jeannette_, again uncertain in her drift, added to the general
disappointment of the commander. The ring of despair and realization of
failure are voiced in an entry August 12:—
“Observations to-day show a drift since the 9th of five and a half miles
to S. 38° E. The irony of fate! How long, O Lord, how long?”
On September 1, the _Jeannette_ for the first time since her imprisonment
stood on an even keel; but four days later, one year from the time she
flung her fortunes to the enemy, she was again held fast in its frozen
grip. During the month she was put in winter quarters for the second
time. The approach of the long night with its added anxieties brought
little change to the members of the expedition. The question of fuel was
the most serious problem, and the amount used was figured to the most
economical basis. Weary days dragged along without novelty or change. “So
far as I know,” writes De Long in January, 1881, “never has an Arctic
expedition been so unprofitable as this. People beset in the pack before
have always drifted somewhere to some land, but we are drifting about
like modern Flying Dutchmen, never getting anywhere, but always restless
and on the move. Coals are burning up, food being consumed, the pumps are
still going, and thirty-three people are wearing out their hearts and
souls like men doomed to imprisonment for life. If this next summer comes
and goes like the last without any result, what reasonable mind can be
patient in contemplation of the future?”
Four long weary months were to elapse before a relief came to break
the monotonous situation. On May 16, 1881, the _Jeannette_ stood in
latitude 76° 43´ 20´´ N., longitude 161° 53´ 45´´ E., land was sighted
to the westward, which proved to be an island (later named Jeannette
Island), the first that had greeted the weary eyes of officers and men
since March 24, 1880, when the ship had been in sight of Wrangell Land.
On May 24, a second island was seen. On the 31st, Melville, Dunbar,
Nindemann, and three others started with a dog sledge and provisions,
for an investigation of the newly discovered island. The party landed
on June 3, hoisted the American flag, and formally took possession of
the land in the name of the United States and giving it the name of
Henrietta Island. They built a cairn and deposited a record. The journey
had been fraught with great danger and hardship. “The ice between the
ship and the island had been something frightful,” writes De Long. “After
digging, ferrying and its attendant loading and unloading, arm-breaking
hauls, and panic-stricken dogs made their journey a terribly severe one.
Near the island the ice was all alive, and Melville left his boat and
supplies, and, carrying only a day’s provisions and his instruments, at
the risk of his life went through the terrible mass, actually dragging
the dogs, which from fear refused to follow their human leaders. If this
persistence in landing upon this island, in spite of the superhuman
difficulties he encountered, is not reckoned a brave and meritorious
action, it will not be from any failure on my part to make it known.”
The approach of spring had revealed to Dr. Ambler a pale and stricken
crew. Danenhower had long been a sufferer; Lieutenant Chipp was ill;
Mr. Collins was recuperating slowly from a severe illness; Alexai,
the Alaskan, was suffering from ulcers, and others of the crew showed
incipient signs of scurvy.
[Sidenote: _THE “JEANNETTE” SINKS_]
On the 12th of June, 1881, while in 77° 15´ north latitude, and 155° east
longitude, the _Jeannette_ experienced a final pressure from the ice,
from which she sank within a few hours. As soon as it was realized that
her fate was sealed, orders were issued that all provisions, boats, etc.,
should be transported to a safe distance upon the ice; this was done
without confusion or excitement. “When the order was given to abandon the
ship,” writes one of the officers, “her hold was full of water, and as
she was keeling twenty-three degrees to starboard at the time the watch
was on the lower side of the spar deck.”
The men encamped upon the ice, and by four o’clock on the morning of the
13th, “amid the rattling and banging of her timbers and iron work, the
ship righted and stood almost upright, the floes that had come in and
crushed her slowly backed off, and she sank with slightly accelerated
velocity; the yard arms were stripped and broken upward parallel to the
masts; and so, like a great, gaunt skeleton clapping its hands above its
head, she plunged out of sight. Those of us who saw her go down,” adds
Chief Engineer Melville, “did so with mingled feelings of sadness and
relief. We were now utterly isolated, beyond any rational hope of aid;
with our proper means of escape, to which so many pleasant associations
attached, destroyed before our eyes; and hence it was no wonder we felt
lonely, and in a sense that few can appreciate. But we were satisfied,
since we knew full well that the ship’s usefulness had long ago passed
away, and we could now start at once, the sooner the better, on our long
march to the south.”
The following week was spent in preparations for the retreat; the route
was laid due south, it being the intention of Captain De Long to make
for the Lena River, after a brief stop at the New Siberian Island. The
day’s march was accomplished under the most trying circumstances, the
lateness of the season and the ruggedness of the ice necessitating
road-making, bridging, and rafting, or dragging the loads through slush
and water that lay knee-deep in the path. The foot-gear of the men became
practically useless as a result of constant wettings, and every device
was resorted to to keep the bare feet from contact with the ice. “A large
number,” writes Melville, “marched with their toes protruding through
their moccasins; some with the ‘uppers’ full of holes, out of which the
water and slush spurted at every step. Yet no one murmured so long as his
feet were clear of ice, and I have here to say that no ship’s company
ever endured such severe toil with such little complaint. Another crew,
perhaps, may be found to do as well; but _better_, never!”
[Illustration: CAPTAIN G. W. DE LONG
_From a portrait in the possession of A. Operti, Esq._]
[Sidenote: _DAILY ROUTINE OF OFFICERS AND CREW_]
Nine loaded sledges and five boats carrying sixty days’ provisions, had
to be hauled across the moving floes in the course of the day. The road
had to be travelled no less than thirteen times, seven times with loads
and six times empty handed, thus walking twenty-six miles in making
an advance of two. The sick, with the hospital stores and tents, were
under the care of Dr. Ambler. Thus the march over the frozen ocean was
continued for several weeks when, to the consternation and dismay of
Captain De Long, he found upon taking observations, that by the northerly
drift of the pack they were losing ground daily and had drifted some
twenty-four miles to the northwest. This disheartening intelligence
was kept from the men, with the exception of Melville and Dr. Ambler.
Changing their course to south-southwest, the party continued their
slow and wearisome progress until the 11th or 12th of July, when the
mountainous peaks of an island gladdened the eyes of the shipwrecked
crew. Inspired to renewed effort, the men pushed on, finally landed, and
Captain De Long took possession in the name of God and the United States,
naming this new territory Bennett Island. Nine days were spent on this
island, during which the boats were repaired. A cairn was built and a
record left. The final departure from Bennett Island took place August
6. In the meantime, the brief summer had gone; already young ice was
forming, and the streams and rivulets that had gladdened the men’s eyes
upon their arrival had disappeared as the cold grasp of winter prepared
to hold them fast.
It had been decided by Captain De Long to divide the party into three
sections, and to proceed by boats; to this end Lieutenant Chipp was
assigned to the second cutter in command of nine men; Chief Engineer
Melville to the whale-boat in command of nine men, De Long reserving the
command of the first cutter and twelve men. Instructions to Chipp and
Melville directed that they should keep close to the captain’s boat, but
if through accident they should become separated, to make their way south
to the coast of Siberia and follow it to the Lena River, then ascend the
Lena to a Russian settlement.
For the next eighteen days, the retreat was made by working through
leads, hauling the boats out, and making portages across floe pieces
that barred their progress; and occasionally as much as ten miles was
made a day to the southwest. Vexatious delays were caused by the fast
approaching winter, and, upon reaching Thadeouiski, one of the New
Siberian Islands, the pinch of diminishing rations began sorely to be
felt. Game, which had been occasionally secured during the early part of
the retreat, had been scarce of late, and the outlook began to take on
the gray aspect of a desperate future.
[Sidenote: _CHIEF ENGINEER MELVILLE_]
From now on, the retreat was one long, desperate struggle against famine
and gales and piercing cold. Describing the experiences of September 7,
Melville writes:—
“Standing to the southward, we shortly came up with a large floe alive
with small running hummocks and stream ice. It was blowing stiffly,
the sea was lumpy, and our boats careering at a lively rate. Pumping
and bailing to keep afloat, we suddenly came unawares upon the weather
side of a great floe piece, over which the sea was breaking so terribly
that for us to come in contact with it meant certain destruction.
It was floating from four to six feet above water, its sides either
perpendicular or undershot by the action of the waves, which dashed
madly over it, the surf flying in the air to a height of twenty feet;
and, where the sea had honeycombed it and eaten holes upward through
its thickness, a thousand waterspouts cast forth spray like a school of
whales. Round about, down sail, and away we pulled for our lives. De
Long, being fifty or a hundred yards in advance of me, and so much nearer
danger, hailed me to take him in tow, which I did, and together we barely
managed to hold our precarious position. The second cutter was away
behind again, but upon coming up seized the whale-boat’s painter; and
so we struggled in line, and at last succeeded in clearing the weather
edge of the floe. It was a long pull and a hard pull. The sea roared and
thundered against the cold, bleak mass of ice, flying away from it like
snowflakes and freezing as it flew; the sailors, blinded by the wind
and spray, pulled manfully at the oars, their bare hands frozen and
bleeding; and the boats tossed capriciously about with the wild waves and
the unequal strain of the tow-line. Drenched to the skin by the cruel icy
seas which poured in and nigh filled the boats, the overtaxed men, as
they faced the dreadful, death-dealing sea and murderous ice-edge, found
new life and strength and performed wonders....
“Our boats were well bunched together, and although it was now pitch
dark, we could yet for a while discern each other looming up out of the
black water like spectres, and plunging over the crests of the waves.
Presently the second cutter faded away, but as mine was the fastest boat
of the three, I experienced no difficulty in following De Long. Indeed,
in my anxiety to obey the order ‘Keep within hail,’ I at times barely
escaped running the first cutter down....”
“Toward midnight,” continues Melville, “we approached the weather edge of
the pack, the roar of the surf reaching our ears long before we could see
the ice. I involuntarily hauled the whale-boat closer on the wind, and
by so doing lost sight of the first cutter, but the terrible noise and
confusion of the sea warned me beyond doubt of the death that lay under
our lee. Presently out of the darkness there appeared the horrid white
wall of ice and foam. Not a second too soon. ‘Ready about, and out with
the two lee oars if she misses stays.’ This, of course, from the heavy
sea, she did; and quick as thought my orders were obeyed. As we turned
slowly round, a wave swept across our starboard quarter filling the boats
to the seats. Ye Gods! what a cold bath! And now we were in the midst
of small streaming ice, broken and triturated into posh by the sea and
grinding floes, and this was hurled back upon us by the reflex water and
eddying current in the rear of the pack, which was rapidly moving before
the wind. With bailers, buckets, and pumps doing their utmost, the two
lee oars brought us around in good time, and we filed away on the other
tack, the waves still leaping playfully in as though to keep us busy and
spice our misery with the zest of danger.
“When day broke, neither of our companion boats was in sight. The wind
had moderated greatly, and we were now in quiet water among the loose
pack,—perhaps the most miserable looking collection of mortals that ever
crowded shivering together in a heap. We looked, indeed, so utterly
forlorn and wretched that just to revive and thaw, as it were, my drowned
and frozen wits, I burst forth into frenzied song. Of a truth, as we
sat shaking there, our situation was nigh desperate; we were down to an
allowance of a pint of water to each man per day, now that De Long was
separated from us; but upon the suggestion of some one in the boat, I
set up the fire-pot and made hot tea. We were thus breakfasting when the
first cutter hove in view. I at once joined company, and shortly after
the second cutter made her appearance and we were again together. The sea
soon calmed, _les misérables_ thawed out, the morning became as pleasant
as the memorable May mornings at home, and we again were bright and alive
with hope.”
[Sidenote: _A SECOND WINTER IN THE PACK_]
The following day, September 12, after a night’s encampment upon a floe,
the party landed in Semenovski, and the hunters had the good fortune to
secure a deer, which provided them for the first time in many months a
full and delicious meal. Cape Barkin, the point of destination, was found
to be only ninety miles distant, and, after a day’s rest and depositing
a record at Semenovski Island, the party embarked once more full of hope
and courage that Cape Barkin might be reached after one more night at sea.
The three boats sped forward to the southwest in a rising sea, the
gale increased, and the heavy seas grew hourly more formidable and
threatening. De Long and Chipp were experiencing great difficulty in the
management of their overloaded boats. Melville, in his endeavour to obey
the order to keep within hail, was all but swamped by the fury of the
waves as they broke over the whale-boat.
In an endeavour to answer signals from De Long, Melville shouted down
the wind that he must run or swamp—De Long waved back, motioning him
onward. Melville hoisted sail, shook out one reef, and the whale-boat
shot forward like an arrow. De Long then signalled Chipp; for an instant
the second cutter was seen in the dim twilight to rise on the crest of a
wave, then sink out of sight; once more she appeared; a tremendous sea
broke over her; a man was seen striving to free the sail; she sank again
from view, and, though seas rose and fell, one after another, the second
cutter with all on board was never seen again.
The whale-boat plunged on at a spanking rate and was soon out of sight of
De Long. The question now was whether she would outlive the gale—and to
insure greater safety Melville ordered a drag anchor to be made of tent
poles weighted with such available material as came to hand.
What a night, lying anchored at the mercy of the gale, bailing out with
pumps, buckets, and pans the heavy seas as they broke over the boat;
hungry and thirsty men, soaked to the skin with repeated ice-cold baths,
half frozen from exposure to the icy blasts. A little whiskey was all
they had during that fearful night, and in the morning a quarter of a
pound of pemmican served as breakfast to the wretched crew. The gale
still raged about them with unabated fury. But by afternoon it had abated
sufficiently for them to get under way, and the morning of the 14th found
them sailing through young ice, and in shoal waters, which they avoided
by steering to the eastward all day. Short rations of a quarter of a
pound of pemmican three times a day, without water, was all they had,
and another miserable night settled upon the toilers, as they bailed the
water-logged whale-boat, the water turning to slush the minute it was in
the boat.
The men were now undergoing severe sufferings from thirst. The following
day they were fortunate in reaching one mouth of the Lena River, and,
proceeding up this stream, they disembarked for the first time, after
five days of misery. Taking shelter in a deserted hut, lately vacated
by natives, they thawed their aching bodies around a cheering camp
fire, brewed a pot of tea, and ate of a stew made of a few birds shot
at Semenovski Island. But their swollen limbs, blistered and cracked
hands, gave them excruciating pain, and another sleepless night added to
their misery. Two more toilsome days were spent pulling up the river and
encamping at night under a cold and cheerless sky.
On the 19th of September, 1881, Melville’s party had the good fortune to
fall in with natives, who treated the forlorn men with great kindness
and generosity, and on the 26th of September they reached the Russian
village of Geemovialocke, where they subsisted until they were able to
communicate with the commandant at Belun.
Upon the separation of the boats already described, De Long experienced
the same threatened destruction of the first cutter that had caused
Melville so much anxiety in the whale-boat. After three miserable
days and nights of exposure to the merciless seas, he decided to make
a landing by wading ashore September 17, at a point 73° 25´ north
latitude, 26° 30´ east longitude. Owing to the shallow water, it was
found necessary to abandon the boat, and the wretched, enfeebled party,
destitute, save for four days’ scant provisions, began their fatal march
on the inhospitable tundra of northern Siberia, in search of a settlement
ninety-five miles distant. De Long’s record of this weary tramp is one
long agony of a slowly perishing party. Everything was abandoned that
was not absolutely necessary, but in spite of lightened loads, the
half-frozen men limped and hobbled slowly along, falling in their tracks,
the weaker assisted by the stronger, but even then the ground covered
was inconsiderable, so that on September 21, upon reaching some deserted
huts, De Long records:—
“According to my accounts we are now thirty-seven miles away from the
next station! and eighty-seven from a probable settlement. We have two
days’ rations after to-morrow morning’s breakfast, and we have three
lame men who cannot make more than five or six miles a day; of course,
I cannot leave them, and they certainly cannot keep up with the pace
necessary to take.”
The hunters were fortunate in securing occasional deer, but the
unfortunate condition of Erickson, whose frozen feet necessitated the
amputation of his toes, retarded their progress, and October came in
cold and blustery to find the miserable party still far away from human
aid. For nine days more they struggled along the barren shores of the
Lena; game failed, and their food was exhausted. Erickson died and was
buried in the river. Nindemann and Noros started on a forced march for
assistance from the nearest settlement at Ku Mark Surka; they carried
their blankets, one rifle, forty rounds of ammunition, and two ounces of
alcohol—but no food!
On October 10, De Long makes the following entry:—
“One hundred and twentieth day. Last half ounce alcohol at 5.30; at 6.30
send Alexey off to look for ptarmigan. Eat deerskin scraps. Yesterday
morning ate my deerskin foot-nips. Light S.S.E. airs. Not very cold.
Under way at eight. In crossing creek three of us got wet. Built fire and
dried out. Ahead again until eleven. Used up. Built fire. Made a drink
out of the tea-leaves from alcohol bottle. On again at noon. Fresh S.S.W.
wind, drifting snow. Very hard going. Lee begging to be left. Some little
beach, and then long stretches of high bank. Ptarmigan tracks plentiful.
Following Nindemann’s tracks. At three halted, used up; crawled into a
hole in the bank, collected wood, and built fire. Alexey away in quest of
game. Nothing for supper except a spoonful of glycerine. All hands weak
and feeble but cheerful—God help us.”
Three days later there is an entry, “We are in the hands of God, and
unless He intervenes we are lost.”
On October 16, the faithful hunter, Alexey, broke down, and the next day
he died. On the 21st Kaack was found dead between the captain and Dr.
Ambler, and about noon Lee died, and on October 22 De Long writes:—
“One hundred and thirty-second day. Too weak to carry the bodies of Lee
and Kaack out on the ice. The doctor, Collins, and I carried them around
the corner out of sight; then my eye closed up.”
On Monday, October 24, there is the simple entry: “One hundred and
thirty-fourth day. A hard night.” And three days later, “Iversen broken
down,” and the next day, “Iversen died during early morning.” On October
29, “One hundred and thirty-ninth day, Dressler died during night.” On
October 30, Sunday, the last record of the brave De Long was written:
“One hundred and fortieth day. Boyd and Görtz died during night. Mr.
Collins dying.”
The forced march of Nindemann and Noros is one of the most remarkable
tests of human suffering and endurance in the annals of Arctic history.
It is a record of travelling across the wilderness without food except
as they brought down an occasional ptarmigan and lemming; sighting with
the eyes of starving men a herd of deer which fled before they could
approach sufficiently near to fire at them; struggling through wretched
days to crawl into a snow hole at night, where they lay the night through
wet to the waist, alternately sleeping for five-minute intervals, one
man rousing the other that he might knock his feet together to keep them
from freezing and taking up the march upon the strength of an infusion
of Arctic willow tea and boot-sole. Crossing a couple of streams they
sought shelter from a raging gale in a wretched hut where a refuse pile
of deer bones were burned and eaten. Near another hut was found a little
rotten fish—this eked out with strips cut from seal-skin clothing was all
that stayed the pangs of hunger as they marched on. The 16th of October
found their strength fast waning. Noros was complaining of illness and
spitting blood. Two days later they reached a place set down on later
maps as Bulcour; it consisted of three deserted huts.
“Near by was a half kayak with something in it. Noros tasted it. It was
blue moulded and tasteless to them, but it was fish, and they took it
with them to the other huts. They found nothing more, and after gathering
some drift-wood they made a fire and tried to find some food in the
mouldy fish.”
On Friday, October 21, they were too weak to push on, but spent the day
in careful husbanding of their resources. Measuring their fish, they
found that by taking each two tin cupfuls a day they had enough for ten
days. Sewing up the fish in their foot-nips and skull caps, they arranged
straps to these bundles for carrying.
The next day, while still too weak to proceed, they heard a noise outside
the hut, like a flock of geese sweeping by, and Nindemann, seizing his
gun looked through the crack of the door. Seeing something moving which
he thought were reindeer, Nindemann advanced, when the door suddenly
opened and a man stood on the threshold. Seeing the rifle, the man fell
upon his knees, but when Nindemann reassured him by throwing the weapon
to one side, friendly communication was established between the stranger
and the forlorn men. Sympathizing with their desperate plight, he let
them know by signs that he would return in three or four hours, or days,
they could not tell which.
About six o’clock the same evening, the stranger, accompanied by two
other natives, returned, bringing with them a frozen fish, which they
skinned and sliced, and while Nindemann and Noros were devouring the
first real food that they had had for many a day, the men brought in
deer-skin coats and boots for them. Assisting them into the sleighs,
they drove off with them along the river to the westward for a distance
of about fifteen miles to where some other natives were located in two
tents. These treated the sailors with great kindness. By signs and
pantomime Noros and Nindemann tried in every possible way to explain
to these natives about De Long and the remainder of the first cutter’s
party, but they failed to understand, and two days later, after reaching
Ku Mark Surka, the same efforts were renewed without success. In despair
of securing assistance, the men implored to be conveyed to Belun, which
they reached October 26.
[Sidenote: _ABANDONMENT_]
An interview with the commandant at Belun left the men still uncertain if
they were understood, or the plight of De Long’s forlorn party made clear
to the official, who, however, repeated that he would take a paper to the
“Captain,” who Nindemann supposed to be his superior officer. Sick and
weak from dysentery, scantily clothed, and insufficiently fed, the men
were located in a miserable hut which had been assigned to them, when on
the evening of November 2, 1881, the door opened and a man dressed in fur
entered. As he came forward, Noros exclaimed, “My God! Mr. Melville! Are
you alive? We thought that the whale-boats were all dead!”
The official, having already knowledge of the safety of the whale-boat’s
party, had immediately communicated with Melville, who in all haste came
to Belun. The whale-boat party were now on their road from Geemovialocke
to Belun. The intrepid Melville was now determined upon an immediate
search for De Long’s party, and to this end hastened back, meeting
Danenhower at Burulak, where he gave him instructions to proceed with
the entire party to Yakutsk, a distance of twelve hundred miles, and to
communicate with the Russian government and the United States minister.
Melville was by no means recovered from his long exposure, and his frozen
limbs caused him great suffering, but nevertheless he went back over the
track of Nindemann and Noros step by step. On November 10, the natives
who had accompanied him announced they must return as the provisions
were exhausted, but Melville commanded them to go on, declaring they
would eat dog as long as the twenty-two lasted, and when these gave out
he should eat them. Such determination won the day, and they proceeded
to the settlement of North Belun. Here a native brought him one of De
Long’s records, left on the march. From these natives he learned in which
direction the records had been found, and pressing on, in spite of his
frozen feet, which were in such a condition he could no longer wear his
moccasins, he reached, November 13, the hut where De Long’s first record
had been left, a distance from North Belun of thirty-three miles. Could
De Long’s chart but have shown the native settlement of North Belun, the
whole party would doubtless have been saved.
On November 14 following the northeast bank of the river he came to the
shores of the Arctic Ocean and found the flag-staff where articles from
the first cutter had been cached. Loading his sled with all the articles
found there, including logbook, chronometer and navigation box, he
returned to North Belun. With fresh dog teams he set out again November
17, in an endeavour to find the hut where Erickson died. Fierce storms
and lack of food forced Melville to take refuge in a snow-hole dug about
six feet square and three or four feet deep.
“The storm continued to blow,” writes Melville, “the whole of that night,
the next day and the next night. It was impossible to move until the
next day morning, when it cleared up a little, but in the mean time, we
had nothing to eat. It was too stormy to make a fire to make tea, and
the venison bones which the natives had dug out were full of maggots. We
chopped this up in little cubes and swallowed it whole, which made me so
sick after it warmed up in my stomach that I vomited it all out again.”
Melville reached Ku Mark Surka November 24, and at Belun three days
later, after an absence of twenty-three days, in which he travelled no
less than six hundred and sixty-three miles over the tundra of Northern
Siberia in the face of an Arctic winter. Upon reaching Yakutsk December
30, 1881, where Danenhower and his party had preceded him, Melville
retained Nindemann and Bartlett to assist him in the spring search, and
instructed Danenhower to proceed with the other nine men to Irkutsk,
distant over nineteen hundred miles, from thence to America.
The spring search was made under the following instructions from the Navy
Department at Washington:—
“Omit no effort, spare no expense in securing safety of men in second
cutter. Let the sick and the frozen of those already rescued have every
attention, and as soon as practicable have them transferred to a milder
climate. Department will supply necessary funds.”
In the meantime J. P. Jackson, special correspondent of the _New York
Herald_, had arrived at Irkutsk, on his way to the Lena Delta. The Navy
Department detailed L. P. Noros to accompany him. Lieutenant Giles B.
Harber, U. S. N., accompanied by Master W. H. Schuetze, had been sent to
search for Lieutenant Chipp and his party.
[Sidenote: _MELVILLE’S SEARCH_]
Melville, with Nindemann and Bartlett as assistants, engaged three
interpreters and reached Belun the second week in February. A month
was spent in collecting dogs and provisions and establishing depots of
supplies at Mat Vai and Kas Karta. On March 16, 1882, accompanied by
Nindemann, Melville proceeded to a place called Usterda, where Captain
De Long had crossed the river to the westward. A search was now made for
the hut where Erickson had died.
Snow covered the country and effectively obliterated all traces of
previous travellers. Storms forced their return to Kas Karta, and a fresh
start was made. The party divided to insure a more thorough search.
“We followed the bay,” says Mr. Melville in his narrative, “until late
in the evening, having visited all the headlands; finally we came up to
the large river with the broken ice. I jumped upon the headland or point
of land making down in the bay and found where an immense fire had been
made. The fire bed was probably six feet in diameter, large drift-logs
hove into it, and a large fire made, such as a signal fire. I then hailed
Nindemann and the natives, saying ‘Here they are!’ They thought that I
had found the place where the De Long party had been. Nindemann came upon
the point of land, and said that neither he nor Noros had made a fire of
that kind, only a small fire in the cleft of a bank; but he was sure that
this was the point of land they had turned going to the westward, and
that this was the river along which he and Noros had come....”
“It is the custom of the people here,” continues Melville, “in making
a search to go facing the river and when they see anything to attract
them, drop off the sled and examine it, or pick it up and go on. In
this manner, about five hundred yards from the point where the fire had
been, I saw the points of four sticks standing up out of the snow about
eighteen inches, and lashed together with a piece of rope. Seeing this,
I dropped off the sled, and going up to the place on the snow bank, I
found a Remington rifle slung across the points of the sticks, and the
muzzle about eight inches out of the snow. The dog-driver, seeing I had
found something, came back with the sled, and I sent him to Nindemann
to tell him to come back, he having gone as far up the river as the
flat-boat. When they returned I started the natives to digging out the
snow-bank underneath the tent-poles. I supposed that the party had got
tired of carrying their books and papers, and had made a deposit of them
at this place, and erected these poles over the papers and books as a
landmark, that they might return and secure them in case they arrived
at a place of safety. Nindemann and I stood around a little while, got
upon the bank, and took a look at the river. Nindemann said he would go
to the northward, and see if he could discover anything of the track and
find the way to Erickson’s hut. I took the compass and proceeded to the
southward to get the bearings of Stolbovoi and Mat Vai, so I might return
there that night in case it came on to blow.
“In proceeding to a point to set up the compass, I saw a tea-kettle
partially buried in the snow. One of the natives had followed me, and I
pointed out to him the kettle, and advancing to pick it up, I came upon
the bodies of three men, partially buried in the snow, one hand reaching
out with the left arm of the man raised way above the surface of the
snow—his whole left arm. I immediately recognized them as Captain De
Long, Dr. Ambler, and Ah Sam, the cook. The captain and the doctor were
lying with their heads to the northward, face to the west, and Ah Sam was
lying at right angles to the other two, with his head about the Doctor’s
middle, and feet in the fire, or where the fire had been. This fireplace
was surrounded by drift-wood, immense trunks of trees, and they had their
fire in the crotch of a large tree. They had carried the tea-kettle up
there, and got a lot of Arctic willow which they used for tea, and some
ice to make water for their tea, and had a fire. They apparently had
attempted to carry their books and papers up there on this high point,
because they carried the chart case up there, and I suppose the fatigue
of going up on the high land prevented their returning to get the rest of
their books and papers. No doubt they saw that if they died on the river
bed, where the water runs, the spring freshets would carry them off to
sea.
“I gathered up all the small articles lying around in the vicinity of the
dead. I found the ice journal about three or four feet in the rear of
De Long; that is, it looked as though he had been lying down, and with
his left hand tossed the book over his shoulder to the rear, or to the
eastward of him.”
“Referring to the journal,” continues Melville, “I found that the whole
of the people were now in the lee of the bank, in a distance of about
five hundred yards. In the meantime, the native that had gone for
Nindemann had brought him back.”
“The three bodies were all frozen fast to the snow, so fast that it
was necessary to pry them loose with a stick of timber. In turning
over Dr. Ambler, I was surprised to find De Long’s pistol in his right
hand, and then, observing the blood-stained mouth, beard, and snow, I
at first thought that he had put a violent end to his misery. A careful
examination, however, of the mouth and head revealed no wound, and,
releasing the pistol from its tenacious death-grasp, I saw that only
three of its chambers contained cartridges, which were _all loaded_, and
then knew, of course, that he could not have harmed himself, else one or
more of the capsules would be empty.... I believe him to have been the
last of the unfortunate party to perish. When Ah Sam had been stretched
out and his hands crossed upon his breast, De Long apparently crawled
away and died. Then, solitary and famishing, in that desolate scene of
death, Dr. Ambler seems to have taken the pistol from the corpse of De
Long, doubtless in the hope that some bird or beast might come to prey
upon the bodies and afford him food,—perhaps alone to protect his dead
comrades from molestation,—in either case, or both, there he kept his
lone watch to the last, on duty, on guard, under arms.”
It now remained but to find the other bodies and bury the dead. In
due time this was accomplished. Melville writes of the spot chosen as
follows:—
“The burial ground is on a bold promontory with a perpendicular face
overlooking the frozen polar sea. The rocky head of the mountain,
cold, austere as the Sphinx, frowns upon the spot where the party
perished; and considering its weather-beaten and time-worn aspect, it is
altogether fitting that here they should rest. I attained the crest of
the promontory by making a detour of several miles to the southward of
its majestic front, and then toiling slowly to the top. Here I laid out
by compass a due north and south line, and one due east and west, and
where they intersected, I planted the cross which marks the tomb of my
comrades.”
“There in sight of the spot where they fell, the scene of their suffering
and heroic endeavor, where the everlasting snows would be their winding
sheet and the fierce polar blasts which pierced their poor unclad bodies
in life, would wail their wild dirge through all time,—there we buried
them, and surely heroes never found a fitter resting place.”
Lieutenant Harber was also in the field, as was Mr. Jackson,
correspondent of the _New York Herald_. A thorough search was made of the
Delta for Chipp’s party, without avail.
Congress having appropriated $25,000 for the expense of bringing home
to America the bodies of De Long and his unfortunate party, Lieutenant
Harber and Master Schuetze of the relief ship _Rogers_, which had been
burned off the coast of Siberia in December, 1881, left the Lena in 1883
after a year’s search, bringing with them the remains.
[Illustration: REAR ADMIRAL GEORGE W. MELVILLE, U.S.N.
_By permission of Clinedinst, Washington, D.C._]