FAREWELL TO GREENLAND
Alarm about Mr. Verhoeff—A Search Instituted—Alone with Matt and the
Native Women—No News—Return of the Search-parties—Poor
Verhoeff—Packing up—I play Lady Bountiful—Pennsylvania’s Gifts to
the Natives—Farewell to Redcliffe—Fossil-hunting at
Atanekerdluk—Godhavn revisited—Godthaab—Eskimo Kayakers—Fire-swept
St. John’s—Arrival at Philadelphia—Home again.
Thursday, August 18. When we rejoined our men at midnight we learned
from Dr. Cook that Verhoeff, who left us at Bowdoin Bay, had not yet
returned, and that Gibson and Mr. Bryant, the second in command of
Professor Heilprin’s party, were in Five-Glacier Valley searching for
him. Verhoeff, after having joined Gibson, left him at the valley for a
further search after minerals, and his last words were, “If I am not
here don’t be worried; I may be gone till Tuesday or Wednesday.”
Before retiring Mr. Peary sent a note on board the “Kite,” informing
Professor Heilprin of our return, and stating that we should be ready to
say farewell to Redcliffe the next day. Soon after breakfast this
morning Mr. Peary began getting the boxes and barrels of specimens ready
for shipment, while I took charge of the household effects, provisions,
etc. While we were thus occupied our boat was seen coming from
Five-Glacier Valley. When it had approached near enough for us to
distinguish the occupants, we saw there were only two white men in
it—Gibson and Mr. Bryant. Gibson told us that they had waited at the
appointed place until their provisions gave out, and then had taken a
scout up the valley for some distance, but had seen no sign of Verhoeff.
They left a note for him, intending to return for a further search.
We now began to feel grave apprehensions regarding the missing man, and
a vigorous search was immediately determined upon. Mr. Peary set to work
to provision the boat; then, summoning about him all the native men, who
are as expert as our Indians in following a trail, he told them that
they must go with him to Five-Glacier Valley and look for Verhoeff,
promising a rifle and ammunition to the man who should first discover
him. Professor Heilprin then suggested that while Mr. Peary and his men
went up McCormick Bay to the mouth of the valley, he and his party
should go round in the “Kite” to the head of the valley in Robertson
Bay; and it was so decided, and the Eskimos were divided between the two
parties. I remained at Redcliffe with Matt and the native women and
children.
At two o’clock the search-parties left, and I turned my attention once
more to packing. The women stood around me, devoured with curiosity as
to what I would do with all these things, and plying me with questions
as to whose husband would win the coveted prize. They would not believe
that I did not know, because I had known that Mr. Peary and Astrup would
return from the inland ice.
Friday, August 19. The day is not a promising one; dark clouds are
gathering and the air seems oppressive. I trust that the search-parties
will find Mr. Verhoeff to-day, for he must be running short of
provisions by this time. We calculated that what he had could by
economizing be made to last him through Wednesday, and to-day is Friday.
There is no sign of boat or ship.
Most of our provisions are stowed away on the “Kite,” among them all the
fresh meat; in the excitement we forgot to get any out for our use, and
to-day we are living on crackers and coffee.
Sunday, August 21. When this morning’s fog lifted at noon, the “Kite”
was seen off Five-Glacier Valley. All day yesterday we watched for her
and waited for some news, but heard and saw nothing. Seeing the vessel,
I supposed of course that Verhoeff had been found, and the “Kite” had
gone round to the valley to pick up the rest of the party.
After hours of watching we saw the “Kite” get up steam and head down the
bay toward Redcliffe, and late in the afternoon she stopped opposite our
house, and the professor came off to me in a boat, only to bring the
distressing news that nothing had been seen or heard of Verhoeff. Mr.
Peary was then exploring the shore from the mouth of the valley around
Cairn Point to the head of Robertson Bay, where it was intended that the
“Kite” should join him. Another party were making thorough search
through the valley. After leaving me some provisions the “Kite”
continued on her way to Robertson Bay.
Tuesday, August 23. We have had no tidings from the search-parties since
the “Kite” left us Sunday evening. I am very much afraid that we shall
never see our lost companion alive again. The weather since he has been
in the field has been exceptionally cold, raw, and wet, and he was
clothed very lightly; besides, his food must have given out some days
ago. The natives all agree that no one could have slept without shelter
in the furious gales which we have had lately, clothed as lightly as
Verhoeff was; and as they have the experience which we lack, I cannot
help feeling that there is truth in what they say, so to-night I go to
bed with a heavy heart. With the dark winter night passed in safety and
comfort, and the long sledge journey accomplished successfully, it seems
sad indeed that we should now, on the eve of our departure, meet with so
great a loss.
Wednesday, August 24. About two o’clock this morning Mané came running
in to me with the news that the ship was coming, and I at once went out
on the beach to await her. In half an hour she dropped anchor, and Mr.
Peary, with the other members of our party, came ashore bringing the sad
tidings that Verhoeff’s footprints had been found and traced upon a
great glacier which was cut by numberless wicked-looking crevasses, and
there lost. After searching the glacier in every direction without
success, there was no doubt left that poor Verhoeff had lost his life in
an effort to cross the ice-stream. Mr. Peary cached enough provisions to
last one man a year, at Cairn Point, in case Verhoeff should, in some
miraculous way, return after the “Kite’s” departure.
It was with a feeling akin to homesickness that I took the pictures and
ornaments from the walls of our little room, pulled down the curtains
from the windows and bed, had Matt pack the books and nail them up,
sorted the things on the bed, and packed those I wanted to keep. The
tins and cooking utensils I put on the stone and turf wall just outside
of my room previous to distributing them among the natives.
My trunk packed and removed, the carpet up and the curtains down, the
improvised bookcase taken to pieces, and it was hard to imagine that
this dismantled room had once been as snug and comfortable as any
boudoir in the world. Could the walls talk they would tell of some very
pleasant hours spent there by the members of the North Greenland
Expedition of 1891–92, and of many months of real solid comfort and
happiness enjoyed by the woman who, when she left home and friends, was
told over and over again that she must expect to endure all kinds of
hardships, to suffer agony from that dreaded Arctic enemy, scurvy, etc.
[Illustration:
Receiving Gifts of Charity.
]
I next turned my attention to the various articles put aside for the
Eskimos, and after sorting them over I called all the women in the
settlement to me, and stood them in a row. There were nine among them,
including the two brides (mere children), Tookymingwah, wife of Kookoo,
and Tungwingwah, wife of Kulutingwah. When they had grasped the idea
that I was about to present them with these things they fairly danced
with joy, shouting to their husbands, and laughing and talking with each
other. I took care that Mané and M’gipsu, who had been with us
constantly sewing and curing skins, should have the more desirable
articles, while the others shared equally. After the distribution the
professor, with a few members of his party, rowed off to the “Kite,” and
in a short time returned with their boat laden with pots, kettles,
knives, scissors, thimbles, and needles for the women, and long
ash-poles, timber cut suitable for kayaks, lances, saws, gimlets,
knives, etc.—in fact, everything in the hardware and lumber line that
could be of any possible use to the men. Then all the natives were
collected on the beach and the different articles distributed among
them. I know if the good Pennsylvanians who sent these gifts could have
seen the pleasure these poor natives derived from them they would have
felt amply repaid.
We spent a couple of hours in taking photographs of the natives, their
tupics, our poor little abandoned house and its surroundings, and then
bade farewell to Redcliffe. It had been my home for thirteen months—some
of them had seemed more than twice as long as any ordinary month—and I
felt sorry to leave it to the mercy of wind and weather and Eskimo. Mané
asked me if she might pitch her tupic in my room, saying it would be so
nice and dry, and the wind could not strike it and blow it over; then,
too, no matter how cold it might be, her ikkimer would be sufficient to
heat it comfortably. I told her she might do so, but she must take good
care of the house and not allow others to destroy anything about it,
until the return of the next sun, when, if we did not come back, it
should belong to Ikwa and herself to do with as they wished.
It was about noon when I left the settlement with the last boat-load,
and as soon as we were safely on board the “Kite” the work of raising
the anchor was begun. In the meantime Ikwa and Kyo in their kayaks were
paddling round and round the “Kite,” calling to us their last good-byes.
Ikwa asked if he might come aboard just once more, and on permission
being granted, he immediately climbed over the side and jumped on deck.
Some one took a fancy to his kayak paddle, which had been broken and
mended, as only an Eskimo can mend, in at least a dozen different
places, and gave him an old sledge-runner for it. When the time came for
the Old Pirate to leave us all of us felt badly, and when he said
“Gooby,” with his peculiar accent, his eyes filled and he choked. After
this he would not turn his head in our direction, and only waved his
hand in answer to our good-byes. His picture, as he paddled himself with
the sledge-runner, curved at both ends, to the shore, will never fade
from my memory.
As the “Kite” steamed slowly down the bay the natives ran along the
beach, shouting to us and waving their hands, Kulutingwah bringing up
the rear with a torn American flag attached to a pole, which he waved
frantically to the imminent danger of those near him. I could not help
thinking, Have these poor ignorant people, who are absolutely isolated
from the rest of humanity, really benefited by their intercourse with
us, or have we only opened their eyes to their destitute condition? I
hope the latter is not the case, for a happier, merrier set of people I
have never seen; no thought beyond the present, and no care beyond that
of getting enough to eat and to wear. As we steamed down the bay we
turned our eyes on the red cliffs, and when they faded from view Cape
Cleveland and Herbert and Northumberland Islands were the only familiar
landmarks left in sight. On these we gazed with the feeling that we were
looking our last upon the scene. The old Cape, especially, seemed very
near and dear to me; twice it had sheltered and protected me from the
fury of an Arctic gale—once in the winter when Mr. Peary and the doctor
had gone to rescue “Jack,” my pet Newfoundland, from its precipitous
cliffs, and the second time only a few days ago, when we returned from
our venturesome boat journey up Inglefield Gulf.
Our home journey was almost wholly devoid of incident. Melville Bay,
smooth as glass, had lost its terrors, and we steamed through it almost
without hindrance. We reached Atanekerdluk, in the Waigatt, on August
29th, and there spent a delightful and profitable day in collecting
fossils among the “leaf beds” which have been made famous to geologists.
The following morning we arrived at Godhavn, where once more we enjoyed
the kind hospitality of Inspector and Mrs. Anderssen, and the pleasing
attentions of a daughter who had only recently returned from Denmark.
The same friendly reception awaited us at Godthaab, the capital of the
Southern Inspectorate of Greenland, where the honors of hospitality were
divided between Inspector and Mrs. Fencker and Governor and Mrs.
Baumann. It was here that Nansen descended from the ice-cap after his
memorable journey across the Land of Desolation and passed a long, weary
winter of waiting.
[Illustration:
SADDLE MOUNTAIN.—GODTHAAB.
]
The Eskimos of this region have the reputation of being the most expert
kayakers in the whole of Greenland, and we were witness to some of their
most remarkable feats, such as describing a complete revolution through
the water, and crossing one another at right angles, one canoe shooting
over the bow of the other. These performances, which are said to have
been at one time common with all the west-coast Eskimos, are rapidly
becoming a lost art, and it has even been doubted if they took place at
all.
[Illustration:
Sports of the Kayakers.—Overturning.
]
[Illustration:
Kayaker Overturned.
]
Our kind friends were so pressing in their attentions that it was not
without regret that we were forced to bid adieu to their hospitable
homes and a last farewell to the Greenland shores. After a rather
tempestuous voyage we arrived at St. John’s, Newfoundland, on September
11th, to find a scene of desolation, and wreck and ruin running in the
path of the recent conflagration. The fire had broken out two days after
the departure of the “Kite” on her last mission of good-will, and this
was the first intimation that any of us had had of the catastrophe.
Shaping our course southward, we arrived, after an uneventful voyage, at
our port of destination, Philadelphia, where on the 24th, amid a chorus
of cheers and hurrahs, and the tooting of innumerable horns and
whistles, we received the congratulations of the multitude that had
assembled to await our arrival.
I returned in the best of health, much stronger than when I left sixteen
months before. The journey was a thoroughly enjoyable one. There were
some drawbacks, it is true, but we meet with them everywhere, and were
it not for the sad loss of Mr. Verhoeff, I should not have a single
regret.