me for many years! The natives were naturally excited. The dogs caught
the contagious enthusiasm, and barked joyously. At eight o'clock in the
morning our whips snapped, the spans of dog teams leaped forward, and we
were off.
My Polar quest had begun!
Most of the tribe had seemed willing to go with me, and to take all
their dogs, but the men and the dogs finally selected were the pick of
the lot. All were in superb physical condition, this matter of condition
being something that I had carefully looked out for during the winter
months. I regard this as having been highly advantageous to me, that
I have always been able to win the friendship and confidence of the
Eskimos; for thus I found them extremely ready to follow my advice
and instructions, and to do in general anything I desired. That
I could speak Eskimo fairly well--well enough to hold ordinary
conversations--was also a strong asset in my favor.
When we started, a few stars were seen between thin clouds, but the
light was good. A soft wind came from the south; the temperature was
-36 deg. F. The Greenland ice-cap was outlined; a belt of orange in the
south heralded the rising sun. The snow still retained the purple of
twilight. The ice was covered with about three inches of soft snow over
a hard crust, which made speed difficult. Before noon the sky was gray,
but the light remained good enough for traveling until 4 P. M. A course
was made about northwest, because a more direct line was still
impractical.
A water sky to the west and south denoted open water. At 3 P. M. we ran
into bear tracks, and the sledges bounced along as if empty. The tracks
were making a good course for us, so the dogs were encouraged. By four
o'clock the feeble light made it dangerous to proceed. Two hunters still
followed the bear tracks, while the others built three snowhouses for
camp. Nothing was seen of the bears.
The dogs were tied to holes cut in the ice, and we crept into our
snow-mounds, tired, hungry and sleepy. The night was extremely
uncomfortable--the first nights from camp always are.
The next day brought a still air with a temperature of -42 deg. F., and
brilliant light at eight o'clock. We had made twenty miles through the
air-line distance from Annoatok, and Cape Sabine was but thirty miles
away. We had been forced so far north that we still had thirty miles
before us to the Cape. The dogs, however, were in better trim, and we
had no doubt about reaching the off-shores for the next camp. We
followed the edge of ice which had been made in a wide open space in
December. Here the traveling was fairly level, but above was a hopeless
jungle of mountains and ridges of ice. We made about three miles an
hour, and were able to ride occasionally.
At noon of February 20th we stopped, and coffee was served from our
ever-hot coffee box. A can had been placed in a box, and so protected by
reindeer skins that the heat was retained for twelve hours during the
worst weather. This proved a great luxury.
While we sat regaling ourselves, a great ball of fire rose along the icy
horizon. Our hearts were glad. The weather was bitterly cold; the
temperature was 51 deg. F.: but the sun had risen; the long night was at
end. There was little else to mark the glory of sunrise. The light was
no brighter than it had been for two hours. The sky remained a purple
blue, with a slight grayness in the south, darkening toward the horizon.
The snows were purple, with just a few dashes of red in the road before
us. This unpretentious burst of the sun opened our spirits to new
delights. Even the dogs sat in graceful rows and sounded a chorus of
welcome to the coming of the day.
Although Cape Sabine, on February 20, was in sight, we still headed for
Bache Peninsula. Impossible ice and open water pushed us farther and
farther north. It was three o'clock before the Cape was seen over the
dogs' tails. Soon after four the light failed, the land colored to
purple and gold toward the rim of the horizon, and we were left to guess
the direction of our course. But Eskimos are somewhat better than
Yankees at guessing, for we got into no troubles until 9 P. M., when we
tried to scale the rafted ice against Cape Sabine. With only the camp
equipment and dog food, the dogs crept up and down in the black hills of
ice, while we followed like mountain-sheep.
Here had been the camp of the ill-fated Greely expedition. It recurred
to me that it was a curious whim of fate that this ill-starred camp of
famine and death, in earlier days, should have marked the very outset of
our modern effort to reach the Pole. But later we were to learn that
under similar conditions a modern expedition can meet the same fate as
that of the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition.
We turned about, took the advance supplies, and picked a course through
Rice Strait, to avoid the rough ice northward. Here the surface was
good, but a light wind, with a temperature of -52 deg. F., came with great
bitterness. The dogs refused to face the wind, and required someone to
lead the way. The men buried their faces in the fur mittens, leaned on
the upstanders, and ran along.
Passing Cape Rutherford on February 22, we followed the coast. Here the
wind came from the right, caught the tip of the nose, burning with a
bleaching effect, which, in camp later, turned black. At Cape Veile the
cache igloo was sighted, and there camp was pitched.
In the morning the minimum thermometer registered -58 deg. F. We were
evidently passing from the storms and open water of Smith Sound, from
warm, moist air to a still, dry climate, with very low temperature. The
day opened beautifully with a glow of rose to the south, which colored
the snows in warm tones. At noon the sun showed half of its face over
the cliffs as we crossed the bay and sought better ice along Bache
Peninsula. That night we camped near the Weyprecht Islands. The day,
although bright, proved severe, for most of the natives had frostbites
about the face. Along Bache Peninsula we saw hares staring at us. Four
were secured for our evening meal. In the very low temperature of -64 deg.
F. the hunters suffered from injuries like burns, due to the blistering
cold metal of their guns.
Dog food had also to be prepared. In efforts to divide the walrus skin,
two hatchets were broken. The Eskimo dog is a tough creature, but he
cannot be expected to eat food which breaks an axe. Petroleum and
alcohol were used liberally, and during the night the skin was
sufficiently softened by the heat to be cut with the hatchets. This
skin seems to be good food for the dogs. It is about one inch thick, and
contains little water, the skin fibre being a kind of condensed
nutriment, small quantities of which satisfy the dogs. It digests
slowly, and therefore has lasting qualities.
The lamps, burning at full force, made the igloos comfortable. The
temperature fell to -68 deg. F. It was the first satisfying sleep of the
journey for me. The economy of the blue fire stoves is beyond
conception. Burning but three pounds of oil all night, the almost liquid
air was reduced to a normal temperature of freezing point.
Francke used alcohol stoves, with a double consumption of fuel. The
natives, in their three igloos, used the copper lamp, shaped after the
stone devices, but they did no cooking.
In the morning of the 23d we heard sounds to the south, which at first
we thought to be walrus. But after a time the noise was interpreted as
that of the dogs of the advance party. They were camped a few miles
beyond, and came to our igloos at breakfast. One musk ox and eleven
hares had been secured. The valley had been thoroughly hunted, but no
other game was sighted.
The ground was nearly bare, and made sledge travel impossible. They were
bound for Annoatok at once. This was sad news for us. We had counted on
game with which to feed the dog train en route to the Polar sea. If
animals were not secured, our project would fail at the very start, and
this route would be impossible. To push overland rapidly to the west
coast was our only chance, but the report of insufficient snow seemed to
forbid this. Something, however, must be tried. We could not give up
without a stronger fight. The strong probability of our failing to find
musk ox, and extending the expedition for another year, over another
route, made it necessary to send Francke back to headquarters to guard
our supplies. There was no objection to the return of most of the other
party, but we took their best dogs and sledges, with some exchange of
drivers.
With this change in the arrangements, and the advance supplies from Cape
Sabine and Cape Viele, each sledge now carried eight hundred pounds.
Beyond, in Flagler Bay, the ice luckily became smooth and almost free of
snow. An increased number of dogs, with good traveling, enabled us to
make satisfactory progress, despite the steadily falling temperature.
The head of Flagler Bay was reached late at night, after an exhausting
march of twenty-five miles. A hard wind, with a temperature of -60 deg. F.,
had almost paralyzed the dogs, and the men were kept alive only by
running with the dogs. Comfortable houses were built and preparations
made for a day of rest. On the morrow we aimed to explore the land for
an auspicious route. Many new frostbites were again noted in camp. One
of the dogs died of the cold.
The party was by no means discouraged, however. We were as enthusiastic
as soldiers on the eve of a longed-for battle. The reduced numbers of
the return party gave us extra rations to use in times of need, and the
land did not seem as hopeless as pictured by the returning natives. A
cache was made here of needful things for use on the return. Other
things, which we had found useless, were also left here.
EXPLORING A NEW PASS OVER ACPOHON
FROM THE ATLANTIC WATERS AT FLAGLER BAY TO THE PACIFIC WATERS AT BAY
FIORD--THE MECCA OF THE MUSK OX--BATTLES WITH THE BOVINE MONSTERS OF
THE ARCTIC--SUNRISE AND THE GLORY OF SUNSET
XI
BREAKING A TRAIL BEYOND THE HAUNTS OF MAN
Early in the morning of February 25 the dogs were spanned to sledges
with heavy loads, and we pushed into the valley of mystery ahead. Our
purpose was to cross the inland ice and descend into Cannon Bay. The
spread of the rush of glacial waters in summer had dug out a wide
central plain, now imperfectly covered with ice and snow. Over this we
lined a trail.
On each side of us were gradual slopes rising to cliffs, above which I
noted the blue wall of the overland sea of ice, at an altitude of about
two thousand feet. Nowhere did this offer a safe slope for an ascent. We
now explored the picturesque valley, for I knew that our only hope was
to push overland to Bay Fiord. The easy slopes were enlivened with
darting, downy hares. Some sat motionless, with their long ears erect,
while they drank the first golden air of sunrise and watched the coming
of new life. Others danced about in frisky play.
As we pushed along, the ascent of the slope was gradual. The necessity
for crossing from side to side to find ice or snow lengthened our
journey. Only the partially bare earth gave us trouble. The temperature
was -62 deg. F., but there was no wind. The upper slopes glittered with
bright sunshine. Winding with a stream, we advanced twenty miles. Beyond
there was the same general topography. The valley looked like a pass.
Clouds of a different kind were seen through the gorges. At various
places we noted old musk ox paths. I knew that where game trails are
well marked on mountains one is certain to find a good crossing. This
rule is equally good in the Arctic as elsewhere. At any rate, there was
no alternative. The tortures of the top had to be risked. Pushing
onward, we found no fresh signs of musk ox. A few bear tracks were seen,
and a white fox followed us to camp. We shot sixteen hares, and for the
evening meal unlimited quantities of savory hare meat made an appetizing
broth.
On the day following, everything was advanced to this point. A prolonged
search for musk ox was made, with negative results.
On the morning of the 27th, full loads were taken on our sledges. With
slow progress we advanced on the rising bed of the stream, the valley
moved, and the river ice was found in one channel, making better travel.
Hare and fox tracks increased in number. The side slopes were grassy,
and mostly swept bare of snow by strong winter winds. Sand dunes and
gravel lines were also piled up, while huge drifts of pressed snow
indicated a dangerous atmospheric agitation. Here, I knew, were
excellent feeding grounds for musk ox and caribou. But a careful
scrutiny gave no results for a long time.
To us the musk ox was now of vital importance. The shorter way, over
Schley Land and northward through Nansen Sound, was possible only if
game in abundance was secured en route. If the product of the chase gave
us no reward, then our Polar venture was doomed at the outset.
One day, with a temperature of -100 deg. below the freezing point, and with
a light but sharp Arctic wind driving needles of frost to the very bone,
we searched the rising slopes of ice-capped lands in the hope of
spotting life.
For three days the dogs had not been fed. They sniffed the air, searched
the horizon, and ranged the wilds with all the eagerness of their wolf
progenitors. The hare and the fox were aroused from their winter's
sleep, but such game was not what we now desired. Only meat and fat in
heaps could satisfy the wants of over a hundred empty stomachs.
After a hard pull, ascending miniature, ice-covered hills, winding about
big, polished boulders, we entered a wider section of the narrow
gorge-like valley. Here the silurian rocks had broken down, and by the
influence of glacier streams and glaciers, now receding, a good deal of
rolling, grass-covered land spread from cliff to cliff. Strong winter
gales had bared the ground. We sat down to rest. The dogs did likewise.
All searched the new lands with eager eyes. The dog noses pointed to a
series of steep slopes to the north. They were scenting something, but
were too tired to display the usual animation of the chase. Soon we
detected three dark, moving objects on a snowy sun-flushed hill, under a
huge cliff, about a thousand feet above us. _"Ah-ming-mah!"_ shouted
E-tuk-i-shook. The dogs jumped; the men grasped glasses; in a second the
sledge train was in disorder.
Fifty dogs were hitched to three sledges. Rushing up three different
gulches, the sledges, with tumbling human forms as freight, advanced to
battle. The musk oxen, with heads pointed to the attacking forces,
quietly awaited the onrush.
Within an hour three huge, fat carcasses were down in the river bed. A
temporary camp was made, and before the meat froze most of it had passed
palates tantalized by many days of gastronomic want.
Continuing our course, we crossed the divide in a storm. Beyond, in a
canyon, the wind was more uncomfortable than in the open. Something must
be done. We could not long breathe that maddening air, weighted by frost
and thickened by snows. The snow-bank gave no shelter whatever, and a
rush of snow came over, which quickly buried the investigators. But it
was our only hope.
"Dig a hole," said Koo-loo-ting-wah.
Now, to try to dig a hole without a shovel, and with snow coming more
rapidly than any power of man could remove, seemed a waste of needed
vital force. But I had faith in the intelligence of my savage
companions, and ordered all hands to work. They gathered at one corner
of the bank, and began to talk and shout, while I allowed myself to be
buried in a pocket of the cliffs to keep my tender skin from turning to
ice. Every few minutes someone came along to see if I was safe.
The igloo was progressing. Two men were now inside. In the course of
another hour they reported four men inside; in another hour seven men
were inside, and the others were piling up the blocks, cut with knives
from the interior. A kind of vestibule was made to allow the wind to
shoot over the entrance. Inside, the men were sweating.
Soon afterward I was told that the igloo was completed. I lost no time
in seeking its shelter. A square hole had been cut, large enough for the
entire party if packed like sardines. Our fur clothing was removed, and
beaten with sticks and stones.
The lamps sang cheerily of steaming musk ox steaks. The dogs were
brought into the canyon. A more comfortable night was impossible. We
were fifty feet under the snow. The noise of the driving storm was lost.
The blinding drift about the entrance was effectually shut out by a
block of snow as a door. Two holes afforded ventilation, and the
tremendous difference between the exterior and the interior air assured
a circulation.
When we emerged in the morning the sky was clear. A light wind came from
the west, with a temperature of -78 deg. F. Two dogs had frozen during the
storm. All were buried in the edge of a drift that was piled fifteen
feet. An exploration of the canyon showed other falls and boulders
impossible for sledge travel.
A trail was picked over the hills to the side. The day was severe. How
we escaped broken legs and smashed sleds was miraculous. But somehow, in
our plunges down the avalanches, we always landed in a soft bed of snow.
We advanced about ten miles, and made a descent of five hundred feet,
first camping upon a glacial lake.
The temperature now was -79 deg. F., and although there were about nine
hours of good light, including twilight, we had continued our efforts
too long, and were forced to build igloos by moonlight. Glad were we,
indeed, when the candle was placed in the dome of snow, to show the last
cracks to be stuffed.
In the searchlight of the frigid dawn I noticed that our advance was
blocked by a large glacier, which tumbled barriers of ice boulders into
the only available line for a path. A way would have to be cut into this
barrier of icebergs for about a mile. This required the full energy of
all the men for the day. I took advantage of the halt to explore the
country through which we were forcing a pass. The valley was cut by
ancient glaciers and more modern creeks along the meeting line of two
distinct geological formations. To the north were silurian and
cambro-silurian rocks; to the south were great archaean cliffs.
With the camera, the field-glass, and other instruments in the sack, I
climbed into a gorge and rose to the level of the mountains of the
northern slopes. The ground was here absolutely destitute of vegetation,
and only old musk ox trails indicated living creatures. The snow had all
been swept into the ditches of the lowlands. Climbing over
frost-sharpened stones, I found footing difficult.
The average height of the mountains proved to be nineteen hundred feet.
To the northeast there was land extending a few miles further, with a
gradual rising slope. Beyond was the blue edge of the inland ice. To
the northwest, the land continued in rolling hills, beyond which no
land-ice was seen. The cliffs to the south were of about the same
height, but they were fitted to the crest with an ice-cap. The overflow
of perpetual snows descended into the gorges, making five overhanging
glaciers.
The first was at the divide, furnishing in summer the waters which
started the vigorous stream to the Atlantic slopes. It was a huge stream
of ice, about a mile wide, and it is marked by giant cliffs, separated
by wide gaps, indicating the roughness of the surface over which it
pushes its frozen height. To the stream to which it gives birth, flowing
eastward from the divide, I will give the name of Schley River, in honor
of Rear-Admiral Schley.
The stream starting westward from the divide, through picturesque rocks,
tumbles in icy falls into a huge canyon, down to the Pacific waters at
Bay Fiord. To this I will give, in honor of General A. W. Greely, the
name Greely River.
The second and third glaciers were overhanging masses about a half-mile
wide, which gave volume in summer time to Greely River.
The fourth was a powerful glacier, with a discharging face of blue three
miles long, closing up a valley and damming up a lake about four miles
long and one mile wide. The lake was beyond the most precipitous of the
descending slopes. The upper cliffs of the walled valley to Flagler Bay
were still visible, while to the west was seen a line of mountains and
cliffs which marked the head of Bay Fiord, under which was seen the ice
covering the first water of the Pacific upon which our future fortunes
would be told. To this sea level there was an easy descent of four
hundred feet on the river ice and snowdrifts, making, with good luck, a
day's run of twenty miles.
Returning, at camp I was informed that not only had a trail been cut,
but many of the sledges had been advanced to the good ice beyond. Two of
the sledges, however, had been badly broken, and must be mended at dawn
before starting.
The day was beautiful. For the first time I felt the heat of the sun. It
came through the thick fur of my shoulders with the tenderness of a warm
human hand. The mere thought of the genial sunbeams brought a glow of
healthful warmth, but at the same time the thermometer was very low,
-781/2 deg. F. One's sense of cold, under normal conditions, is a correct
instrument in its bearing upon animal functions, but as an instrument of
physics it makes an unreliable thermometer. If I had been asked to guess
the temperature of the day I should have placed it at -25 deg. F.
The night air had just a smart of bitterness. The igloo failed to become
warm, so we fed our internal fires liberally with warming courses,
coming in easy stages. We partook of superheated coffee, thickened with
sugar, and biscuits, and later took butter chopped in squares, which was
eaten as cheese with musk ox meat chopped by our axes into splinters.
Delicious hare loins and hams, cooked in pea soup, served as dessert.
The amount of sugar and fat which we now consumed was quite remarkable.
Fortunately, during the journey to the edge of the Polar sea, there was
no urgent limit to transportation, and we were well supplied with the
luxury of sugar and civilized foods, most of which later were to be
abandoned.
In this very low temperature I found considerable difficulty in jotting
down the brief notes of our day's doings. The paper was so cold that the
pencil barely left a mark. A few moments had to be spent warming each
page and pencil before beginning to write. With the same operation, the
fingers were also sufficiently warmed to hold the pencil. All had to be
done by the light and heat of a candle.
To economize fuel, the fires later were extinguished before retiring to
sleep. In the morning we were buried in the frost falling from our own
breath.
It was difficult to work at dawn with fur-covered hands; but the Eskimo
can do much with his glove-fitting mitten. The broken sledges were soon
repaired. After tumbling over irregular ice along the face of the
glacier, the river offered a splendid highway over which the dogs
galloped with remarkable speed. We rode until cold compelled exercise.
The stream descended among picturesque hills, but the most careful
scrutiny found no sign of life except the ever-present musk ox trails of
seasons gone by.
As we neared the sea line, near the mouth of the river, we began to see
a few fresh tracks of hare and musk ox. Passing out on the south of Bay
Fiord, we noted bear and wolf tracks. Then the eyes of the hunter and
the dog rolled with eager anticipation.
The sun flushed the skies in flaming colors as it was about to sink
behind a run of high peaks. The western sky burned with gold, the ice
flashed with crimson inlets, but the heat was very feeble. The
temperature was -72 deg. F. We had already gone twenty-five miles, and were
looking forward to a point about ten miles beyond as the next camping
place, when all my companions, seemingly at once, espied a herd of musk
ox on the sky line of a whale-backed mountain to the north.
The distance was about three miles, but the eagle eyes of the natives
detected the black spots.
We searched the gorge with our glasses. Suddenly one of the Eskimos
cried out in a joyous tone: "_Ah-ming-ma! Ah-ming-ma!_"