supposing that there is open water around the North Pole. They have
been rendered somewhat doubtful, be it remarked in passing, by the
results of Captain Nares’s expedition; and it has been proved beyond
all question that there is not an open sea directly communicating with
the place where Kane and Hayes observed tidal changes. But, apart
from direct evidence of this kind, two serious errors affect Maury’s
reasoning, as I pointed out eleven years since. In the first place,
a tidal wave would be propagated quite freely along an ice-covered
sea, no matter how thick the ice might be, so long as the sea was not
absolutely icebound. Even if the latter condition could exist for a
time, the tidal wave would burst the icy fetters that bound the sea,
unless the sea were frozen to the very bottom; which, of course, can
never happen with any sea properly so called. It must be remembered
that, even in the coldest winter of the coldest Polar regions, ice
of only a moderate thickness can form in open sea in a single day;
but the tidal wave does not allow ice to form for a single hour in
such sort as to bind the great ice-fields and the shore-ice into one
mighty mass. At low tide, for a very short time, ice may form in the
spaces between the shore-ice and the floating ice, and again between
the various masses of floating ice, small or large (up to many square
miles in extent); but as the tidal wave returns it breaks through these
bonds as easily as the Jewish Hercules burst the withes with which the
Philistines had bound his mighty limbs. It is probable that if solid
ice as thick as the thickest which Nares’s party found floating in the
Palæocrystic Sea—ice 200 feet thick—reached from shore to shore of
the North Atlantic channel, the tidal wave would burst the barrier as
easily as a rivulet rising but a few inches bursts the thin coating
which has formed over it on the first cold night of autumn. But no such
massive barriers have to be broken through, for the tidal wave never
gives the ice an hour’s rest Maury reasons that “the tidal wave from
the Atlantic can no more pass under the icy barrier to be propagated
in the seas beyond, than the vibrations of a musical string can pass
with its notes a fret on which the musician has placed his finger.” But
the circumstances are totally different. The ice shares the motion of
the tidal wave, which has not to pass under the ice, but to lift it.
This, of course, it does quite as readily as though there were no ice,
but only the same weight of water. The mere weight of the ice counts
simply for nothing. The tidal wave would rise as easily in the British
Channel if a million Great Easterns were floating there as if there was
not even a cock-boat; and the weight of ice, no matter how thick or
extensive, would be similarly ineffective to restrain the great wave
which the sun and moon send coursing twice a day athwart our oceans.
Maury’s other mistake was even more important so far as this question
of an open sea is concerned. “No one,” as I wrote in 1867, “who is
familiar with the astronomical doctrine of the tides, can believe for
a moment that tides could be generated in a land-locked ocean, so
limited in extent as the North Polar sea (assuming its existence) must
necessarily be.” To raise a tidal wave the sun and moon require not
merely an ocean of wide extent to act upon, but an ocean so placed that
there is a great diversity in their pull on various parts of it; for it
is the difference between the pull exerted on various parts, and not
the pull itself, which creates the tidal wave. Now the Polar sea has
not the required extent, and is not in the proper position, for this
diversity of pull to exist in sufficient degree to produce a tidal wave
which could be recognized. It is certain, in fact, that, whether there
is open water or not near the Pole, the tides observed by Kane and
Hayes must have come from the Atlantic, and most probably by the North
Atlantic channel.
Captain Hall’s expedition in the _Polaris_ (really under the command
of Buddington), in 1871–72, will be probably in the recollection of
most of my readers. Leaving Newfoundland on June 29, 1871, it sailed up
Smith’s Sound, and by the end of August had reached the 80th parallel.
Thence it proceeded up Kennedy Channel, and penetrated into Robeson
Channel, the northerly prolongation of Kennedy Channel, and only 13
miles wide. Captain Hall followed this passage as far as 82° 16´ north
latitude, reaching his extreme northerly point on September 3. From it
he saw “a vast expanse of open sea, which he called Lincoln Sea, and
beyond that another ocean or gulf; while on the west there appeared,
as far as the eye could reach, the contours of coast. This region he
called Grant Land.” So far as appears, there was no reason at that time
why the expedition should not have gone still further north, the season
apparently having been exceptionally open. But the naval commander of
the expedition, Captain Buddington, does not seem to have had his heart
in the work, and, to the disappointment of Hall, the _Polaris_ returned
to winter in Robeson Channel, a little beyond the 81st degree. In the
same month, September, 1871, Captain Hall died, under circumstances
which suggested to many of the crew and officers the suspicion that
he had been poisoned.[23] In the spring of 1870 the _Polaris_ resumed
her course homewards. They were greatly impeded by the ice. A party
which got separated from those on board were unfortunately unable to
regain the ship, and remained on an ice-field for 240 days, suffering
fearfully. The ice-field, like that on which the crew of the _Hansa_
had to take up their abode, drifted southwards, and was gradually
diminishing, when fortunately a passing steamer observed the prisoners
(April 30, 1872) and rescued them. The _Polaris_ herself was so injured
by the ice that her crew had to leave her, wintering on Lyttelton
Island. They left this spot in the early summer of 1872, in two boats,
and were eventually picked up by a Scotch whaler.
Captain Nares’s expedition followed Hall’s route. I do not propose to
enter here into any of the details of the voyage, with which my readers
are no doubt familiar. The general history of the expedition must be
sketched, however, in order to bring it duly into its place here. The
_Alert_ and _Discovery_ sailed under Captains Nares and Stephenson, in
May, 1875. Their struggle with the ice did not fairly commence until
they were nearing the 79th parallel, where Baffin’s Bay merges into
Smith’s Sound. Thence, through Smith’s Sound, Kennedy Channel, and
Robeson Channel, they had a constant and sometimes almost desperate
struggle with the ice, until they had reached the north end of Robeson
Channel. Here the _Discovery_ took up her winter quarters, in north
latitude 81° 44´, a few miles north of Captain Hall’s wintering-place,
but on the opposite (or westerly) side of Robeson Channel. The _Alert_
still struggled northwards, rounding the north-east point of Grant
Land, and there finding, not, as was expected, a continuous coast-line
on the west, but a vast icebound sea. No harbour could be found, and
the ship was secured on the inside of a barrier of grounded ice, in
latitude 82° 31´, in the most northerly wintering-place ever yet
occupied by man. The ice met with on this sea is described as “of most
unusual age and thickness, resembling in a marked degree, both in
appearance and formation, low floating icebergs rather than ordinary
salt-water ice. Whereas ordinary ice is from 2 feet to 10 feet in
thickness, that in this Polar sea has gradually increased in age and
thickness until it measures from 80 feet to 120 feet, floating with
its surface at the lower part 15 feet above the water-line. In some
places the ice reaches a thickness of from 150 to 200 feet, and the
general impression among the officers of the expedition seems to have
been that the ice of this Palæocrystic Sea is the accumulation of many
years, if not of centuries; “that the sea is never free of it and never
open; and that progress to the Pole through it or over it is impossible
with our present resources.”
The winter which followed was the bitterest ever known by man. For
142 days the sun was not seen; the mercury was frozen during nearly
nine weeks. On one occasion the thermometer showed 104° below the
freezing-point, and during one terrible fortnight the mean temperature
was 91° below freezing!
As soon as the sun reappeared sledge-exploration began, each ship being
left with only half-a-dozen men and officers on board. Expeditions were
sent east and west, one to explore the northern coast of Greenland, the
other to explore the coast of Grant Land. Captain Stephenson crossed
over from the _Discovery’s_ wintering-place to Polaris Bay, and there
placed over Hall’s grave a tablet, prepared in England, bearing the
following inscription: “Sacred to the memory of Captain C. F. Hall, of
U.S. _Polaris_, who sacrificed his life in the advancement of science,
on November 8, 1871. This tablet has been erected by the British Polar
Expedition of 1875, who, following in his footsteps, have profited by
his experience”—a graceful acknowledgment (which might, however, have
been better expressed). The party which travelled westwards traced
the shores of Grant Land as far as west longitude 86° 30´, the most
northerly cape being in latitude 83° 7´, and longitude 70° 30´ west.
This cape they named Cape Columbia.
The coast of Greenland was explored as far east as longitude 50° 40´
(west), land being seen as far as 82° 54´ north, longitude 48° 33´
west. Lastly, a party under Commander Markham and Lieutenant Parr
pushed northwards. They were absent ten weeks, but had not travelled
so far north in the time as was expected, having encountered great
difficulties. On May 12, 1876, they reached their most northerly point,
planting the British flag in latitude 83° 20´ 26´´ north. “Owing to
the extraordinary nature of the pressed-up ice, a roadway had to be
formed by pickaxes for nearly half the distance travelled, before any
advance could be safely made, even with light loads; this rendered it
always necessary to drag the sledge-loads forward by instalments, and
therefore to journey over the same road several times. The advance was
consequently very slow, and only averaged about a mile and a quarter
daily—much the same rate as was attained by Sir Edward Parry during
the summer of 1827. The greatest journey made in any one day amounted
only to two miles and three quarters. Although the distance made good
was only 73 miles from the ship, 276 miles were travelled over to
accomplish it.” It is justly remarked, in the narrative from which I
have made this extract, that no body of men could have surpassed in
praiseworthy perseverance this gallant party, whose arduous struggle
over the roughest and most monotonous road imaginable, may fairly be
regarded as surpassing all former exploits of the kind. (The narrator
says that it has “eclipsed” all former ones, which can scarcely be
intended to be taken _au pied de la lettre_.) The expedition reached
the highest latitude ever yet attained under any conditions, carried
a ship to higher latitudes than any ship had before reached, and
wintered in higher latitudes than had ever before been dwelt in during
the darkness of a Polar winter. They explored the most northerly
coast-line yet traversed, and this both on the east and west of their
route northwards. They have ascertained the limits of human habitation
upon this earth, and have even passed beyond the regions which animals
occupy, though nearly to the most northerly limit of the voyage they
found signs of the occasional visits of warm-blooded animals. Last, but
not least, they have demonstrated, as it appears to me (though possibly
Americans will adopt a different opinion), that by whatever route the
Pole is to be reached, it is not by that which I have here called
the American route, at least with the present means of transit over
icebound seas. The country may well be satisfied with such results
(apart altogether from the scientific observations, which are the
best fruits of the expedition), even though the Pole has not yet been
reached.
Must we conclude, however, that the North Pole is really inaccessible?
It appears to me that the annals of Arctic research justify no such
conclusion. The attempt which has just been made, although supposed at
the outset to have been directed along the most promising of all the
routes heretofore tried, turned out to be one of the most difficult
and dangerous. Had there been land extending northwards (as Sherard
Osborn and others opined), on the western side of the sea into which
Robeson Channel opens, a successful advance might have been made along
its shore by sledging. M’Clintock, in 1853, travelled 1220 miles in 105
days; Richards 1012 miles in 102 days; Mecham 1203 miles; Richards and
Osborn 1093 miles; Hamilton 1150 miles with a dog-sledge and one man.
In 1854 Mecham travelled 1157 miles in only 70 days; Young travelled
1150 miles and M’Clintock 1330 miles. But these journeys were made
either over land or over unmoving ice close to a shore-line. Over an
icebound sea journeys of the kind are quite impracticable. But the
conditions, while not more favourable in respect of the existence of
land, were in other respects altogether less favourable along the
American route than along any of the others I have considered in this
brief sketch of the attempts hitherto made to reach the Pole.
The recent expedition wintered as near as possible to the region of
maximum winter cold in the western hemisphere, and pushed their journey
northwards athwart the region of maximum summer cold. Along the course
pursued by Parry’s route the cold is far less intense, in corresponding
latitudes, than along the American route; and cold is the real enemy
which bars the way towards the Pole. All the difficulties and dangers
of the journey either have their origin (as directly as the ice itself)
in the bitter Arctic cold, or are rendered effective and intensified
by the cold. The course to be pursued, therefore, is that indicated
by the temperature. Where the July isotherms, or lines of equal summer
heat, run northwards, a weak place is indicated in the Arctic barrier;
where they trend southwards, that barrier is strongest. Now there are
two longitudes in which the July Arctic isotherms run far northward
of their average latitude. One passes through the Parry Islands, and
indicates the sea north-east of Behring’s Straits as a suitable region
for attack; the other passes through Spitzbergen, and indicates the
course along which Sir E. Parry’s attack was made. The latter is
slightly the more promising line of the two, so far as temperature is
concerned, the isotherm of 36° Fahrenheit (in July) running here as
far north as the 77th parallel, whereas its highest northerly range in
the longitude of the Parry Islands is but about 76°. The difference,
however, is neither great nor altogether certain; and the fact that
Parry found the ice drifting southwards, suggests the possibility that
that _may_ be the usual course of oceanic currents in that region.
North of the Parry Islands the drift may be northwardly, like that
which Payer and Weyprecht experienced to the north of Novaia Zemlia.
There is one great attraction for men of science in the route by the
Parry Islands. The magnetic pole has almost certainly travelled into
that region. Sir J. Ross found it, indeed, to be near Boothia Gulf,
far to the east of the Parry Islands, in 1837. But the variations of
the needle all over the world since then, indicate unmistakably that
the magnetic poles have been travelling round towards the west, and at
such a rate that the northern magnetic pole has probably nearly reached
by this time the longitude of Behring’s Straits. The determination of
the exact present position of the Pole would be a much more important
achievement, so far as science is concerned, than a voyage to the pole
of rotation.
There is one point which suggests itself very forcibly in reading the
account of the sledging expedition from the _Alert_ towards the north.
In his official report, Captain Nares says that “half of each day was
spent in dragging the sledges in that painful fashion—face toward the
boat—in which the sailors drag a boat from the sea on to the sand;”
and again he speaks of the “toilsome dragging of the sledges over
ice-ridges which resembled a stormy sea suddenly frozen.” In doing
this “276 miles were toiled over in travelling only 73 miles.” Is it
altogether clear that the sledges were worth the trouble? One usually
regards a sledge as intended to carry travellers and their provisions,
etc., over ice and snow, and as useful when so employed; but when the
travellers have to take along the sledge, going four times as far and
working ten times as hard as if they were without it, the question
suggests itself whether all necessary shelter, provisions, and utensils
might not have been much more readily conveyed by using a much smaller
and lighter sledge, and by distributing a large part of the luggage
among the members of the expedition. The parts of a small hut could,
with a little ingenuity, be so constructed as to admit of being used as
levers, crowbars, carrying-poles, and so forth, and a large portion of
the luggage absolutely necessary for the expedition could be carried by
their help; while a small, light sledge for the rest could be helped
along and occasionally lifted bodily over obstructions by levers and
beams forming part of the very material which by the usual arrangement
forms part of the load. I am not suggesting, be it noticed, that by any
devices of this sort a journey over the rough ice of Arctic regions
could be made easy. But it does seem to me that if a party could go
back and forth over 276 miles, pickaxing a way for a sledge, and
eventually dragging it along over the path thus pioneered for it, and
making only an average of 1¼ mile of real progress per day, or 73 miles
in all, the same men could with less labour (though still, doubtless,
with great toil and trouble) make six or seven miles a day by reducing
their _impedimenta_ to what could be carried directly along with them.
Whether use might not be made of the lifting power of buoyant gas, is
a question which only experienced aëronauts and Arctic voyagers could
answer. I believe that the employment of imprisoned balloon-power for
many purposes, especially in time of war, has received as yet much less
attention than it deserves. Of course I am aware that in Arctic regions
many difficulties would present themselves; and the idea of ordinary
ballooning over the Arctic ice-fields may be regarded as altogether
wild in the present condition of the science of aëronautics. But the
use of balloon-power as an auxiliary, however impracticable at present,
is by no means to be despaired of as science advances.
After all, however, the advance upon the Pole itself, however
interesting to the general public, is far less important to science
than other objects which Arctic travellers have had in view. The
inquiry into the phenomena of terrestrial magnetism within the Arctic
regions; the investigation of oceanic movements there; of the laws
according to which low temperatures are related to latitude and
geographical conditions; the study of aerial phenomena; of the limits
of plant life and animal life; the examination of the mysterious
phenomena of the Aurora Borealis—these and many other interesting
subjects of investigation have been as yet but incompletely dealt with.
In the Polar regions, as Maury well remarked, “the icebergs are framed
and glaciers launched; there the tides have their cradle, the whales
their nursery; there the winds complete their circuit, and the currents
of the sea their round, in the wonderful system of oceanic circulation;
there the Aurora is lighted up, and the trembling needle brought to
rest; and there, too, in the mazes of that mystic circle, terrestrial
forces of occult power and of vast influence upon the well-being of man
are continually at work. It is a circle of mysteries; and the desire to
enter it, to explore its untrodden wastes and secret chambers, and to
study its physical aspects, has grown into a longing. Noble daring has
made Arctic ice and snow-clad seas classic ground.”
_A MIGHTY SEA-WAVE._
On May 10th, 1876, a tremendous wave swept the Pacific Ocean from Peru
northwards, westwards, and southwards, travelling at a rate many times
greater than that of the swiftest express train. For reasons best known
to themselves, writers in the newspapers have by almost common consent
called this phenomenon a tidal-wave. But the tides had nothing to do
with it. Unquestionably the wave resulted from the upheaval of the bed
of the ocean in some part of that angle of the Pacific Ocean which is
bounded by the shores of Peru and Chili. This region has long been
celebrated for tremendous submarine and subterranean upheavals. The
opinions of geologists and geographers have been divided as to the real
origin of the disturbances by which at one time the land, at another
time the sea, and at yet other times (oftener, in fact, than either
of the others) both land and sea have been shaken as by some mighty
imprisoned giant, struggling, like Prometheus, to cast from his limbs
the mountain masses which hold them down. Some consider that the seat
of the Vulcanian forces lies deep below that part of the chain of the
Andes which lies at the apex of the angle just mentioned, and that the
direction of their action varies according to the varying conditions
under which the imprisoned gases find vent. Others consider that there
are two if not several seats of subterranean activity. Yet others
suppose that the real seat of disturbance lies beneath the ocean
itself, a view which seems to find support in several phenomena of
recent Peruvian earthquakes.
Although we have not full information concerning the great wave which
in May, 1876, swept across the Pacific, and northwards and southwards
along the shores of the two Americas, it may be interesting to consider
some of the more striking features of this great disturbance of the
so-called peaceful ocean, and to compare them with those which have
characterized former disturbances of a similar kind. We may thus,
perhaps, find some evidence by which an opinion may be formed as to the
real seat of subterranean activity in this region.
At the outset it may be necessary to explain why I have asserted
somewhat confidently that the tides have nothing whatever to do with
this great oceanic wave. It is of course well known to every reader
that the highest or spring tides occur always two or three days after
new moon and after full moon, the lowest (or rather the tides having
least range above and below the mean level) occurring two or three days
after the first and third quarters of the lunar month. The sun and moon
combine, indeed, to sway the ocean most strongly at full and new, while
they pull contrariwise at the first and third quarters; but the full
effect of their combined effort is only felt a few days later than when
it is made, while the full effect of their opposition to each other,
in diminishing the range of the oceanic oscillation, is also only felt
after two or three days. Thus in May, 1876, the tidal wave had its
greatest range on or about May 16, new moon occurring at half-past five
on the morning of May 13; and the tidal wave had its least range on or
about May 8, the moon passing her third quarter a little after eleven
on the morning of May 4. Accordingly the disturbance which affected the
waters of the Pacific so mightily on May 10, occurred two days after
the lowest or neap tides, and five days before the highest or spring
tides. Manifestly that was not a time when a tidal wave of exceptional
height could be expected, or, indeed, could possibly occur. Such a
wave as actually disturbed the Pacific on that day could not in any
case have been produced by tidal action, even though the winds had
assisted to their utmost, and all the circumstances which help to make
high tides had combined—as the greatest proximity of moon to earth,
the conjunction of moon and sun near the celestial equator, and (of
course) the exact coincidence of the time of the tidal disturbance
with that when the combined pull of the sun and moon is strongest. As,
instead, the sun was nearly eighteen degrees from the equator, the moon
more than nine, and as the moon was a full week’s motion from the part
of her path where she is nearest to the earth, while, as we have seen,
only two days had passed from the time of absolutely lowest tides, it
will be seen how utterly unable the tidal-wave must have been on the
day of the great disturbance to produce the effects presently to be
described.