and to escape the icy air we retired early to our berths. During the
night the speed of the yacht increased, and when we appeared on deck
again, at four o'clock in the morning, the rays of the August sun seemed
actually warm.
We passed the ice-battered and storm-swept cliffs of Cape Parry and
entered Whale Sound. On a sea of gold, strewn with ice islands of
ultramarine and alabaster, whales spouted and walrus shouted. Large
flocks of little auks rushed rapidly by.
The wind was light, but the engine took us along at a pace just fast
enough to allow us to enjoy the superb surroundings. In the afternoon we
were well into Inglefield Gulf, and near Itiblu. There was a strong head
wind, and enough ice about to make us cautious in our prospect.
We aimed here to secure Eskimo guides and with them seek caribou in
Olrik's Bay. While the schooner was tacking for a favorable berth in the
drift off Kanga, the launch was lowered, and we sought to interview the
Eskimos of Itiblu. The ride was a wet one, for a short, choppy sea
poured icy spray over us and tumbled us about.
There were only one woman, a few children, and about a score of dogs at
the place. The woman was a remarkably fast talker, long out of practice.
She told us that her husband and the other men were absent on a caribou
hunt, and then, with a remarkably rapid articulation and without a
single question from us, plunged incessantly on through all the news of
the tribe for a year. After gasping for breath like a smothered seal,
she then began with news of previous years and a history of forgotten
ages. We started back for the launch, and she invited herself to the
pleasure of our company to the beach.
We had gone only a few steps before it occurred to her that she was in
need of something. Would we not get her a few boxes of matches in
exchange for a narwhal tusk? We should be delighted, and a handful of
sweets went with the bargain. Her boy brought down two ivory tusks, each
eight feet in length, the two being worth one hundred and fifty dollars.
Had we a knife to spare? Yes; and a tin spoon was also given, just to
show that we were liberal.
The yacht was headed northward, across Inglefield Gulf. With a fair
wind, we cut tumbling seas of ebony with a racing dash. Though the wind
was strong, the air was remarkably clear.
The great chiselled cliffs of Cape Auckland rose in terraced grandeur
under the midnight sun. The distance was twelve miles, and it was twelve
miles of submerged rocks and shallow water.
It was necessary to give Karnah a wide berth. There were bergs enough
about to hold the water down, though an occasional sea rose with a
sickening thump. At Karnah we went ashore. There was not a man in town,
all being absent on a distant hunting campaign. But, though there were
no men, the place was far from being deserted, for five women, fifteen
children and forty-five dogs came out to meet us.
Here we saw five sealskin tents pitched among the bowlders of a glacial
stream. An immense quantity of narwhal meat was lying on the rocks and
stones to dry. Skins were stretched on the grass, and a general air of
thrift was evidenced about the place. Bundles of seal-skins, packages of
pelts and much ivory were brought out to trade and establish friendly
intercourse. We gave the natives sugar, tobacco and ammunition in
quantities to suit their own estimate of value.
Would we not place ourselves at ease and stay for a day or two, as their
husbands would soon return? We were forced to decline their hospitality,
for without the harbor there was too much wind to keep the schooner
waiting. Eskimos have no salutation except a greeting smile or a parting
look of regret. We got both at the same time as we stepped into the
launch and shouted good-bye.
The captain was told to proceed to Cape Robertson. The wind eased, and a
descending fog soon blotted out part of the landscape, horizon and sky.
It hung like a gray pall a thousand feet above us, leaving the air below
this bright and startlingly clear.
TO THE LIMITS OF NAVIGATION
EXCITING HUNTS FOR GAME WITH THE ESKIMOS--ARRIVAL AT ETAH--SPEEDY
TRIP TO ANNOATOK, THE WINDY PLACE, WHERE SUPPLIES ARE FOUND IN
ABUNDANCE--EVERYTHING AUSPICIOUS FOR DASH TO THE POLE--DETERMINATION
TO ESSAY THE EFFORT--BRADLEY INFORMED--DEBARK FOR THE POLE--THE
YACHT RETURNS
IV
ALONE WITH OUR DESTINY, SEVEN HUNDRED MILES FROM THE POLE
We awoke off Cape Robertson early on August 13, and went ashore before
breakfast. The picturesque coast here rises suddenly to an altitude of
about two thousand feet, and is crowned with a gleaming, silver ice cap.
Large bays, blue glacial walls and prominent headlands give a pleasing
variety. It is much like the coast of all Greenland. On its southern
exposure the eroded Huronian rocks provide shelter for millions of
little auks. They dart incessantly from cliff to sea in a chattering
cloud of wings. Rather rich and grassy verdure offers an oasis for the
Arctic hare, while the blue fox finds life easy here, for he can fill
his winter den with the fat feathered creatures which teem by millions.
The Eskimos profit by the combination, and pitch their camp at the foot
of the cliffs, for the chase on sea is nearly as good here as in other
places, while land creatures literally tumble into the larder.
As we approached the shore, ten men, nine women, thirty-one children and
one hundred and six dogs came out to meet us. I count the children and
dogs for they are equally important in Eskimo economy. The latter are by
far the most important to the average Caucasian in the Arctic.
Only small game had fallen to the Eskimos' lot, and they were eager to
venture out with us after big game. Mr. Bradley gathered a suitable
retinue of native guides, and we were not long in arranging a compact.
Free passage, the good graces of the cook, and a knife each were to be
their pay. A caribou hunt was not sufficiently novel to merit a return
to Olrik's Bay, where intelligent hunting is always rewarded, but it was
hoped we might get a hunt at Kookaan, near the head of Robertson Bay.[4]
Although hunting in the bay was not successful from a practical
standpoint, it afforded exciting pleasure in perilous waters. Even
during these hours of sport, my mind was busy with tentative plans for a
Polar journey. Whenever I aimed my gun at a snorting walrus, or at some
white-winged Arctic bird, I felt a thrill in the thought that upon the
skill of my arms, of my aim, and upon that of the natives we were later
to join, would depend the getting of food sufficient to enable me to
embark upon my dream. Everything I did now began to have some bearing
upon this glorious, intoxicating prospect; it colored my life, day and
night. I realized how easily I might fail even should conditions be
favorable enough to warrant the journey; for this reason, because of the
unwelcome doubt which at times chilled my enthusiasm, I did not yet
confide to Bradley my growing ambition.
Returning to the settlement, we paid our hunting guides, made presents
to the women and children, and set sail for Etah. An offshore breeze
filled the big wings of the canvas. As borne on the back of some great
white bird, we soared northward into a limpid molten sea. From below
came the music of our phonograph, curiously shouting its tunes, classic
and popular, in that grim, golden region of glory and death.
It is curious how ambition sets the brain on fire, and quickens the
heart throbs. As we sped over the magical waters, the wild golden air
electric about me, I believe I felt an ecstasy of desire such as mystics
achieved from fasting and prayer. It was the surge of an ambition which
began to grow mightily within me, which I felt no obstacle could
withstand, and which, later, I believe carried me forward with its wings
of faith when my body well nigh refused to move. We passed Cape
Alexander and entered Smith Sound. We sped by storm-chiselled cliffs,
whereupon the hand of nature had written a history, unintelligible to
humans, as with a pen of iron. The sun was low. Great bergs loomed up in
the radiant distance, and reflecting silver-shimmering halos, seemed to
me as the silver-winged ghosts of those who died in this region and who
were borne alone on the wind and air.
Nature seemed to sing with exultation. Approaching a highland of emerald
green and seal brown, I heard the wild shouting of hawks from the
summit, and from below the shrill chattering of millions of auks with
baby families. And nearer, from the life enraptured waters, the minor
note of softly cooing ducks and mating guillemots. From the interior
land of ice, rising above the low booming of a sapphire glacier moving
majestically to the sea, rang the bark of foxes, the shrill notes of the
ptarmigan, and from an invisible farther distance the raucous wolf howl
of Eskimo dogs.
Before us, at times, would come a burst of spouting spray, and a whale
would rise to the surface of the sea. Nearby, on a floating island of
ice, mother walrus would soothingly murmur to her babies. From invisible
places came the paternal voices of the oogzook, and as we went forward,
seals, white whales and unicorns appeared, speaking perhaps the sign
language of the animal deaf and dumb in the blue submarine.
Occasionally, there was an explosion, when thunder as from a hundred
cannons echoed from cliff to cliff. A berg was shattered to ruins.
Following this would rise the frightened voices of every animal above
water. Now and then, from ultramarine grottoes issued weird, echoing
sounds, and almost continually rising to ringing peals and shuddering
into silence, reiterant, incessant, came nature's bugle-calls--calls of
the wind, of sundering glaciers, of sudden rushes of ice rivers, of
exploding gases and of disintegrating bergs. With those sounds pealing
in our ears clarion-like, we entered the "Gates of Hades," the Polar
gateway, bound for the harbor where the last fringe of the world's
humanity straggles finally up on the globe.
As we entered Foulke Fiord, half a gale came from the sea. We steered
for the settlement of Etah. A tiny settlement it was, for it was
composed of precisely four tents, which for this season, had been
pitched beside a small stream, just inside of the first projecting point
on the north shore. Inside this point there was sheltered water for the
Eskimo's kayaks, and it also made a good harbor for the schooner. It is
possible in favorable seasons to push through Smith Sound, over Kane
Basin, into Kennedy Channel, but the experiment is always at the risk of
the vessel.
So, as there was no special reasons for us to hazard life in making this
attempt, we decided to prepare the schooner here for the return voyage.
These preparations would occupy several days. We determined to spend as
much of this time as possible in sport, since much game abounded in this
region. Before we landed we watched the Eskimos harpoon a white whale.
There were no unexplored spots in this immediate vicinity, as both
Doctor Kane and Doctor Hayes, in the middle of the last century, had
been thoroughly over the ground. The little auks kept us busy for a day
after our arrival, while hares, tumbling like snowballs over
wind-polished, Archaean rocks, gave another day of gun recreation. Far
beyond, along the inland ice, were caribou, but we preferred to confine
our hunting to the seashore. The bay waters were alive with eider-ducks
and guillemots, while, just outside, walruses dared us to venture in
open contest on the wind-swept water.
After satisfying our desire for the hunt, we prepared to start for
Annoatok, twenty-five miles to the northward. This is the northernmost
settlement of the globe, a place beyond which even the hardy Eskimos
attempt nothing but brief hunting excursions, and where, curiously,
money is useless because it has no value.
We decided to go in the motor boat, so the tanks were filled with
gasoline and suitable food and camp equipment were loaded. On the
morning of August 24, we started for Annoatok.
It was a beautiful day. The sun glowed in a sky of Italian blue. A light
air crossed the sea, which glowed dully, like ground glass. Passing
inside of Littleton Island, we searched for relics along Lifeboat Cove.
There the _Polaris_ was stranded in a sinking condition in 1872, with
fourteen men on board. The desolate cliffs of Cape Hatherton were a
midsummer blaze of color and light that contrasted strongly with the
cold blue of the many towering bergs.
As we went swiftly past the series of wind-swept headlands, the sea and
air became alive with seals, walruses and birds. We did little shooting
as we were eagerly bent on reaching Annoatok.
As we passed the sharp rocks of Cairn Point, we saw a cluster of nine
tents on a small bay under Cape Inglefield.
"Look, look! There is Annoatok!" cried Tung-we, our native guide.
Looking farther, we saw that the entire channel beyond was blocked with
a jam of ice. Fortunately we were able to take our boat as far as we
desired. A perpendicular cliff served as a pier to which to fasten it.
Here it could rise and fall with the tide, and in little danger from
drifting ice.
Ordinarily, Annoatok is a town of only a single family or perhaps two,
but we found it unusually large and populous, for the best hunters had
gathered here for the winter bear hunt. Their summer game catch had been
very lucky. Immense quantities of meat were strewn along the shore,
under mounds of stone. More than a hundred dogs, the standard by which
Eskimo prosperity is measured, yelped a greeting, and twelve
long-haired, wild men came out to meet us as friends.
It came strongly to me that this was the spot to make the base for a
Polar dash. Here were Eskimo helpers, strong, hefty natives from whom I
could select the best to accompany me; here, by a fortunate chance, were
the best dog teams; here were plenty of furs for clothing; and here was
unlimited food. These supplies, combined with supplies on the schooner,
would give all that was needed for the campaign. Nothing could have been
more ideal.
For the past several days, having realized the abundance of game and the
auspicious weather, I had thought more definitely of making a dash for
the Pole. With all conditions in my favor, might I not, by one powerful
effort, achieve the thing that had haunted me for years? My former
failures dogged me. If I did not try now, it was a question if an
opportunity should ever again come to me.
Now every condition was auspicious for the effort. I confess the task
seemed audacious almost to the verge of impossibility. But, with all
these advantages so fortunately placed in my hands, it took on a new and
almost weird fascination. My many years of schooling in both Polar zones
and in mountaineering would now be put to their highest test.
Yes, I would try, I told myself; I believed I should succeed. I informed
Mr. Bradley of my determination. He was not over-optimistic about
success, but he shook my hand and wished me luck. From his yacht he
volunteered food, fuel, and other supplies, for local camp use and
trading, for which I have been thankful.
"Annoatok" means "a windy place." There is really nothing there to be
called a harbor; but we now planned to bring the schooner to this point
and unload her on the rocky shore, a task not unattended with danger.
However, the base had to be made somewhere hereabout, as Etah itself is
still more windy than Annoatok. Moreover, at Etah the landing is more
difficult, and it was not nearly so convenient for my purpose as a base.
Besides, there were gathered at Annoatok, as I have described, with
needed food and furs in abundance, the best Eskimos[5] in all Greenland,
from whom, by reason of the rewards from civilization which I could
give them, such as knives, guns, ammunition, old iron, needles and
matches, I could select a party more efficient, because of their
persistence, tough fibre, courage and familiarity with Arctic traveling,
than any party of white men could be.
The possible combination of liberal supplies and valiant natives left
absolutely nothing to be desired to insure success, so far as
preliminaries were concerned. It was only necessary that good health,
endurable weather and workable ice should follow. The expenditure of a
million dollars could not have placed an expedition at a better
advantage. The opportunity was too good to be lost. We therefore
returned to Etah to prepare for the quest.
At Etah, practically everything that was to be landed at Annoatok was
placed on deck, so that the dangerous stop beside the rocks of Annoatok
could be made a brief one. The ship was prepared for the contingency of
a storm.
Late in the evening of August 26, the entire population of Etah was
taken aboard, the anchor was tripped, and soon the _Bradley's_ bow put
out on the waters of Smith Sound for Annoatok. The night was cold and
clear, brightened by the charm of color. The sun had just begun to dip
under the northern horizon, which marks the end of the summer double
days of splendor and begins the period of storms leading into the long
night. Early in the morning we were off Annoatok.
The launch and all the dories were lowered and filled. Eskimo boats were
pressed into service and loaded. The boats were towed ashore. Only a few
reached Annoatok itself, for the wind increased and a troublesome sea
made haste a matter of great importance. Things were pitched ashore
anywhere on the rocks where a landing could be found for the boats.
The splendid efficiency of the launch proved equal to the emergency, and
in the course of about thirteen hours all was safely put on shore in
spite of dangerous winds and forbidding seas. That the goods were spread
along the shore for a distance of several miles did not much matter, for
the Eskimos willingly and promptly carried them to the required points.
Now the time had come for the return of the schooner to the United
States. Unsafe to remain longer at Annoatok at this advanced stage of
the season, it was also imperative that it go right on with barely a
halt at any other place. The departure meant a complete severance
between the civilized world and myself. But I do not believe, looking
back upon it, that the situation seemed as awesome as might be supposed.
Other explorers had been left alone in the Northland, and I had been
through the experience before.
The party, so far as civilized men were concerned, was to be an
unusually small one. That, however, was not from lack of volunteers, for
when I had announced my determination many of the crew had volunteered
to accompany me. Captain Bartlett himself wished to go along, but
generously said that if it seemed necessary for him to go back with the
schooner, he would need only a cook and engineer, leaving the other men
with me.
I wanted only one white companion, however, for I knew that no group of
white men could possibly match the Eskimos in their own element. I had
the willing help of all the natives, too, at my disposal. More than that
was not required. I made an agreement with them for their assistance
throughout the winter in getting ready, and then for as many as I wanted
to start with me toward the uttermost North. For my white companion I
selected Rudolph Francke, now one of the Arctic enthusiasts on the
yacht. He had shipped for the experience of an Arctic trip. He was a
cultivated young German with a good scientific schooling. He was strong,
goodnatured, and his heart was in the prospective work. These were the
qualities which made him a very useful man as my sole companion.
Early on the morning of September 3, I bade farewell to Mr. Bradley, and
not long afterward the yacht moved slowly southward and faded gradually
into the distant southern horizon. I was left alone with my destiny,
seven hundred miles from the Pole.
BEGINNING PREPARATIONS FOR THE POLAR DASH
THE ARCTIC SOLITUDE--RETROSPECTION AND INTROSPECTION--THE DETERMINATION
TO ACHIEVE--PLANNING OUT THE DETAILS OF THE CAMPAIGN--AN ENTIRE TRIBE
BUSILY AT WORK
V
THE POLE, THE ROUTE, AND THE INCENTIVE
When the yacht disappeared I felt a poignant pang at my heart. After it
had faded, I stood gazing blankly at the sky, and I felt the lure of the
old world. The yacht was going home--to the land of my family and
friends. I was now alone, and, with the exception of Francke, there was
no white man among this tribe of wild people with whom to converse
during the long Arctic night that was approaching. I knew I should not
be lonely, for there was a tremendous lot of work to do, although I had
unstinted assistance. In every detail, the entire six months of labor
including the catching of animals, the drying of meat, the making of
such clothes and sledges as would be necessary, and the testing of them,
would have to be managed by myself. Turning from the rocky highland
where I stood, a wild thrill stirred my heart. The hour of my
opportunity had come. After years of unavailing hopes and depressing
defeats my final chance was presented! In the determination to succeed,
every drop of blood in my body, every fibre of me responded.
Why did I desire so ardently to reach the North Pole? What did I hope to
gain? What, if successful, did I expect to reap as the result of my
dreams? These questions since have been asked by many. I have searched
the chambers of my memory and have tried to resolve replies to myself.
The attaining of the North Pole meant at the time simply the
accomplishing of a splendid, unprecedented feat--a feat of brain and
muscle in which I should, if successful, signally surpass other men. In
this I was not any more inordinately vain or seekful of glory than one
who seeks pre-eminence in baseball, running tournaments, or any other
form of athletics or sport.
At the time, any applause which the world might give, should I succeed,
did not concern me; I knew that this might come, but it did not enter
into my speculations.
For years I had felt the lure of the silver glamor of the North, and I
can explain this no more than the reason why a poet is driven to express
himself in verse, or why one child preternaturally develops amazing
proficiency in mathematics and another in music. Certain desires are
born or unconsciously developed in us. I, with others before me, found
my life ambition in the conquest of the Pole. To reach it would mean, I
knew, an exultation which nothing else in life could give.
This imaginary spot held for me the revealing of no great scientific
secrets. I never regarded the feat as of any great scientific value.
The real victory would lie, not in reaching the goal itself, but in
overcoming the obstacles which exist in the way of it. In the battle
with these I knew there would be excitement, danger, necessary
expedients to tax the brain and heroic feats to tax the muscles, the
ever constant incentive which the subduing of one difficulty after
another excites.
During the first day at Annoatok, after the yacht left, I thought of the
world toward which it was going, of the continents to the south of me,
of the cities with their teeming millions, and of the men with their
multitudinous, conflicting ambitions. I could see, in my mind, the
gigantic globe of my world swinging in cloud-swept emerald spaces, and
far in the remote, vast, white regions in the north of it, far from the
haunts of men, thousands of miles from its populous cities, beyond the
raging of its blue-green seas, myself, alone, a wee, small atom on its
vast surface, striving to reach its hitherto unattained goal. I felt, as
I thought of my anticipation and lonely quest, a sense of the terrible
overwhelming hugeness of the earth, and the poignant loneliness any soul
must feel when it embarks upon some splendid solitary destiny.