and stop chattering teeth. Breaking camp is a matter of but a minute,
for things fall almost automatically into convenient packs. The sledges
are loaded and lashed in a few minutes. Then the teams are gathered to
the pulling lines, and off we go with a run. The pace for dog and man is
two and a half miles an hour, over good ice or bad ice, hard snow or
soft snow, or tumbling over neckbreaking irregularities. There is no
stop for lunch, no riding, or rest, or anything else. It is
drive--drive.
At times it was impossible to perspire, and the toxin of fatigue,
generating unearthly weariness, filled the brain with fag. When
perspiration oozed from our pores, as we forced forward, step by step,
it froze in the garments and the warmer portions of our bodies were
ringed with snow. Daily, unremittingly, this was our agony.
In starting before the end of the winter night, and camping on the open
ice fields in the long northward march, we had first accustomed our eyes
to frigid darkness and then to a perpetual glitter. This proved to be
the coldest season of the year, and we ought to have been hardened to
all kinds of Arctic torment. But man gains that advantage only when his
pulse ceases to beat.
Continuing the steady stride of forward marches, far from land, far from
life, there was nothing to arouse a warming spirit. Along the land there
had been calms and gales and an inspiring contrast, even in the dark
days and nights, but here the frigid world was felt at its worst. The
wind, which came persistently from the west--now strong, now feeble, but
always sharp--inflicted a pain to which we never became accustomed.
The worst torture inflicted by the wind and humid air of an Arctic pack
came from a mask of ice about the face. It was absurdly picturesque but
painful. Every bit of exhaled moisture condensed and froze either to the
facial hair or to the line of fox tails about the hood. It made comical
caricatures of us.
Frequent turns in our course exposed both sides of the face to the wind
and covered with icicles every hair offering a convenient nucleus. These
lines of crystal made an amazing dash of light and color as we looked at
each other. But they did not afford much amusement to the individual
exhibiting them. Such hairs as had not been pulled from the lips and
chin were first weighted, and then the wind carried the breath to the
long hair with which we protected our heads, and left a mass of dangling
frost. Accumulated moisture from the eyes coated the eyelashes and
brows. The humidity escaping about the forehead left a crescent of snow
above, while that escaping under the chin, combined with falling breath,
formed there a semi-circle of ice. The most uncomfortable icicles,
however, were those that formed on the coarse hair within the nostrils.
To keep the face free, the Eskimos pull the facial hair out by the
roots, the result of which is a rarity of mustaches and beards. Thus,
with low temperature and persistent winds, life was one of constant
torture on the march; but cooped in snowhouses, eating dried beef and
tallow, and drinking hot tea, some animal comforts were occasionally to
be gained in the icy camps.
[Illustration: BRADLEY LAND DISCOVERED
SUBMERGED ISLAND OF POLAR SEA
GOING BEYOND THE BOUNDS OF LIFE]
[Illustration: SWIFT PROGRESS OVER SMOOTH ICE
BUILDING AN IGLOO
A LIFELESS WORLD OF COLD AND ICE]
We forced the dogs onward during two days of cheery bluster, with
encouraging results. At times we ran before the teams, calling and
urging the brutes to leaping progress. On the evening of March 26, with
a pedometer and other methods of dead reckoning for position, we found
ourselves at latitude 84 deg. 24', longitude 96 deg. 53'.
The western horizon remained persistently dark. A storm was gathering,
and slowly moving eastward. Late in the evening we prepared for the
anticipated blast. We built an igloo stronger than usual, hoping that
the horizon would be cleared with a brisk wind by the morrow and afford
us a day of rest. The long, steady marches, without time for
recuperation, necessarily dampened our enthusiasm for a brief period of
physical depression, which, however, was of short duration.
Daily we had learned to appreciate more and more the joy of the sleeping
bag. It was the only animal comfort which afforded a relief to our life
of frigid hardship, and often with the thought of it we tried to force
upon the weary body in the long marches a pleasing anticipation.
In the evening, after blocks of snow walled a dome in which we could
breathe quiet air, the blue-flame lamp sang notes of gastronomic
delights. We first indulged in a heaven-given drink of ice-water to
quench the intense thirst which comes after hours of exertion and
perspiration. Then the process of undressing began, one at a time, for
there was not room enough in the igloo for all to undress at once.
The fur-stuffed boots were pulled off and the bearskin pants were
stripped. Then half of the body was quickly pushed into the bag. A brick
of pemmican was next taken out and the teeth were set to grind on this
bone-like substance. Our appetites were always keen, but a half pound of
cold withered beef and tallow changes a hungry man's thoughts
effectually.
The tea, an hour in making, was always welcome, and we rose on elbows to
take it. Under the influence of the warm drink, the fur coat with its
mask of ice was removed. Next the shirt, with its ring of ice about the
waist, would come off, giving the last sense of shivering. Pushing the
body farther into the bag, the hood was pulled over the face, and we
were lost to the world of ice.
The warm sense of mental and physical pleasure which follows is an
interesting study. The movement of others, the sting of the air, the
noise of torturing winds, the blinding rays of a heatless sun, the pains
of driving snows and all the bitter elements are absent. One's mind,
freed of anxiety and suffering, wanders to home and better times under
these peculiar circumstances; there comes a pleasurable sensation in
the touch of one's own warm skin, while the companionship of the arms
and legs, freed from their cumbersome furs, makes a new discovery in the
art of getting next to one's self.
Early on March 27, a half gale was blowing, but at noon the wind ceased.
The bright sun and rising temperature were too tempting to let us remain
quiescent. Although the west was still dark with threatening clouds we
hitched the dogs to the sleds. We braced ourselves. "Huk! Huk!" we
called, and bounded away among the wind-swept hummocks. The crevices of
the ice wound like writhing snakes as we raced on. We had not gone many
miles before the first rush of the storm struck us. Throwing ourselves
over the sleds, we waited the passing of the icy blast. No suitable snow
with which to begin the erection of a shelter was near. A few miles
northward, as we saw, was a promising area for a camp. This we hoped to
reach after a few moments' rest. The squall soon spent its force. In the
wind which followed good progress was made without suffering severely.
The temperature was 41 deg. below zero, Fahrenheit, and the barometer 29.05.
Once in moving order, the drivers required very little encouragement to
prolong the effort to a fair day's march despite the weather. As the sun
settled in the western gloom the wind increased in fury and forced us to
camp. Before the igloo was finished a steady, rasping wind brushed the
hummocks and piled the snow in large dunes about us, like the sand of
home shores.
The snowhouse was not cemented as usual with water, as was our custom
when weather permitted. The tone of the wind did not seem to indicate
danger, and furthermore, there was no open sea water near. Because of
the need of fuel economy we did not deem it prudent to use oil for fire
to melt snow, excepting for water to quench thirst.
Not particularly anxious about the outcome of the storm, and with senses
blunted by overwork and benumbed with cold, we sought the comfort of the
bags. Awakened in the course of a few hours by drifts of snow about our
feet, I noted that the wind had burrowed holes at weak spots through the
snow wall. We were bound, however, not to be cheated of a few hours'
sleep, and with one eye open we turned over. I was awakened by falling
snow blocks soon after.
Forcing my head out of my ice-encased fur hood, I saw the sky,
cloud-swept and grey. The dome of the igloo had been swept away. We were
being quickly buried under a dangerous weight of snow. In some way I had
tossed about sufficiently during sleep to keep on top of the
accumulating drift, but my companions were nowhere to be seen. About me
for miles the white spaces were vacant. With dread in my heart I uttered
a loud call, but there came no response.
A short frenzied search revealed a blowhole in the snow. In response to
another call, as from some subterranean place came muffled Eskimo
shouts. Tearing and burrowing at the fallen snow blocks I made violent
efforts to free them, buried as they were in their bags. But to my
dismay the soft snow settled on them tighter with each tussle.
I was surprised, a few moments later, as I was working to keep their
breathing place open, to feel them burrowing through the snow. They had
entered their bags without undressing. Half clothed in shirt and pants,
but with bare feet, they writhed and wriggled through the bags and up
through the breathing hole.
After a little digging their boots were uncovered, and then, with
protected feet, the bag was freed and placed at the side of the igloo.
Into it the boys crept, fully dressed, with the exception of coats. I
rolled out beside them in my bag. We lay in the open sweep of furious
wind, impotent to move, for twenty-nine hours. Only then the frigid
blast eased enough to enable us to creep out into the open. The air came
in hissing spouts, like jets of steam from an engine.
Soon after noon of March 29 the air brightened. It became possible to
breathe without being choked with floating crystals, and as the ice
about our facial furs was broken, a little blue patch was detected in
the west. We now freed the dogs of their snow entanglement and fed them.
A shelter was made in which to melt snow and brew tea. We ate a double
ration.
Hitching the dogs we raced off. The monotonous fields of snow swept
under us. Soon the sun burst through separating clouds and upraised icy
spires before us. The wind died away. A crystal glory transfigured the
storm-swept fields. We seemed traveling over fields of diamonds,
scintillant as white fire, which shimmered dazzlingly about us. It is
curious to observe an intense fiery glitter and glow, as in the North,
which gives absolutely no impression of warmth. Fire here seems cold.
With full stomachs, fair weather and a much needed rest, we moved with
renewed inspiration. The dogs ran with tails erect, ears pricked. I and
my companions ran behind with the joy of contestants in a race. Indeed,
we felt refreshed as one does after a cold bath.
Considerable time and distance, however, were lost in seeking a workable
line of travel about obstructions and making detours. Camping at
midnight, we had made only nine miles by a day's effort. The conditions
under which this second hundred miles were forced, proved to be in every
respect the most exciting of the run of five hundred miles over the
Polar sea. The mere human satisfaction of overcoming difficulties was a
daily incentive to surmount obstacles and meet baffling problems. The
weather was unsettled. Sudden storms broke with spasmodic force, the
barometer was unsteady and the temperature ranged from 20 deg. below zero to
60 deg. below zero. The ice showed signs of recent agitation.
New leads and recent sheets of new ice combined with deep snow made
travel difficult. Persistently onward, pausing at times, we would urge
the dogs to the limit. One dog after another went into the stomachs of
the hungry survivors. Camps were now swept by storms. The ice opened out
under our bodies, shelter was often a mere hole in the snow bank. Each
of us carried painful wounds, frost bites; and the ever chronic
emptiness of half filled stomachs brought a gastric call for food,
impossible to supply. Hard work and strong winds sent unquenched thirst
tortures to burning throats, and the gloom of ever clouded skies sent
despair to its lowest reaches.
But there was no monotony; our tortures came from different angles, and
from so many sources, that we were ever aroused to a fighting spirit.
With a push at the sled or a pull at the line we helped the wind-teased
dogs to face the nose cutting drift that swept the pack mile after mile.
Day after day we plunged farther and farther along into the icy despair
and stormy bluster.
Throughout the entire advance northward I found there was some advantage
in my Eskimo companions having some slight comprehension of the meaning
of my aim. Doubtless through information and ideas that had sifted from
explorers to Eskimos for many generations past, the aborigines had come
to understand that there is a point at the top of the globe, which is
somehow the very top of the world, and that at this summit there is
something which white men have long been anxious to find--a something
which the Eskimo describe as the "big nail." The feeling that they were
setting out with me in the hope of being the first to find this "big
nail"--for, of course, I had told them of the possibility--helped to
keep up the interest and courage of my two companions during long days
of hardship.
Naturally enough, I could not expect their interest in the Pole itself
to be great. Their promised reward for accompanying me, a gun and knife
for each, maintained a lively interest in them. After a ceaseless
warfare lasting seven days, on March 30 the eastern sky broke in lines
of cheering blue. Whipped by low winds the clouds broke and scurried.
Soon the western heavens, ever a blank mystery, cleared. Under it, to my
surprise, lay a new land. I think I felt a thrill such as Columbus must
have felt when the first green vision of America loomed before his eye.
My promise to the good, trusty boys of nearness to land was unwittingly
on my part made good, and the delight of eyes opened to the earth's
northernmost rocks dispelled all the physical torture of the long run of
storms. As well as I could see, the land seemed an interrupted coast
extending parallel to the line of march for about fifty miles, far to
the west. It was snow covered, ice-sheeted and desolate. But it was real
land with all the sense of security solid earth can offer. To us that
meant much, for we had been adrift in a moving sea of ice, at the mercy
of tormenting winds. Now came, of course, the immediate impelling desire
to set foot upon it, but to do so I knew would have side-tracked us from
our direct journey to the Polar goal. In any case, delay was jeopardous,
and, moreover, our food supply did not permit our taking time to inspect
the new land.[13]
This new land was never clearly seen. A low mist, seemingly from open
water, hid the shore line. We saw the upper slopes only occasionally
from our point of observation. There were two distinct land masses. The
most southern cape of the southern mass bore west by south, but still
further to the south there were vague indications of land. The most
northern cape of the same mass bore west by north. Above it there was a
distinct break for 15 or 20 miles, and beyond the northern mass extended
above the eighty-fifth parallel to the northwest. The entire coast was
at this time placed on our charts as having a shore line along the one
hundred and second meridian, approximately parallel to our line of
travel. At the time the indications suggested two distinct islands.
Nevertheless, we saw so little of the land that we could not determine
whether it consisted of islands or of a larger mainland. The lower coast
resembled Heiberg Island, with mountains and high valleys. The upper
coast I estimated as being about one thousand feet high, flat, and
covered with a thin sheet ice. Over the land I write "Bradley Land" in
honor of John R. Bradley, whose generous help had made possible the
important first stage of the expedition. The discovery of this land gave
an electric impetus of driving vigor at just the right moment to
counterbalance the effect of the preceding week of storm and trouble.
Although I gazed longingly and curiously at the land, to me the Pole was
the pivot of ambition. My boys had not the same northward craze, but I
told them to reach the land on our return might be possible. We never
saw it again. This new land made a convenient mile-post, for from this
time on the days were counted to and from it. A good noon sight fixed
the point of observation to 84 deg. 50', longitude 95 deg. 36''. We had
forced beyond the second hundred miles from Svartevoeg. Before us
remained about three hundred more miles, to my alluring, mysterious
goal.
[Illustration: ARCTIC FOX]
BEYOND THE RANGE OF LIFE
WITH A NEW SPRING TO WEARY LEGS BRADLEY LAND IS LEFT BEHIND--FEELING THE
ACHING VASTNESS OF THE WORLD BEFORE MAN WAS MADE--CURIOUS GRIMACES OF
THE MIDNIGHT SUN--SUFFERINGS INCREASE--BY PERSISTENT AND LABORIOUS
PROGRESS ANOTHER HUNDRED MILES IS COVERED
XVII
TWO HUNDRED MILES FROM THE POLE
A curtain of mist was drawn over the new land in the afternoon of March
31, and, although we gazed westward longingly, we saw no more of it. Day
after day we now pushed onward in desperate northward efforts. Strong
winds and fractured, irregular ice, increased our difficulties. Although
progress was slow for several days we managed to gain a fair march
between storms during each twenty-four hours. During occasional spells
of icy stillness mirages spread screens of fantasy out for our
entertainment. Curious cliffs, odd-shaped mountains and inverted ice
walls were displayed in attractive colors.
Discoveries of new land seemed often made. But with a clearing horizon
the deception was detected.
The boys believed most of these signs to be indications of real land--a
belief I persistently encouraged, because it relieved them of the panic
of the terror of the unknown.
On April 3, the barometer remained steady and the thermometer sank. The
weather became settled and fairly clear, the horizon was freed of its
smoky vapors, the pack assumed a more permanent aspect of glittering
color. At noon there was now a dazzling light, while at night the sun
kissed the frozen seas behind screens of mouse-colored cloud and haze.
At the same moment the upper skies flushed with the glow of color of the
coming double-days of joy.
As we advanced north of Bradley Land the pack disturbance of
land-divided and land-jammed ice disappeared. The fields became larger
and less troublesome, the weather improved, the temperature ranged from
20 deg. to 50 deg. below zero, the barometer rose and remained steady, the day
sky cleared with increasing color, but a low haze blotted out much of
the night glory which attended the dip of the nocturnal sun. With dogs
barking and rushing before speeding sleds, we made swift progress. But
the steady drag and monotony of the never changing work and scene
reduced interest in life.
The blankness of the mental desert which moved about us as we ran along
was appalling. Nothing changed materially. The horizon moved. Our
footing was seemingly a solid stable ice crust, which was, however,
constantly shifting eastward. All the world on which we traveled was in
motion. We moved, but we took our landscape with us.
At the end of the day's march we were often too tired to build snow
houses, and in sheer exhaustion we bivouacked in the lee of hummocks.
Here the overworked body called for sleep, but my mind refused to close
the eyes. My boys had the advantage of sleep. I envied them. Anyone who
has suffered from insomnia may be able in a small degree to gauge my
condition when sleep became impossible. To reach the end of my journey
became the haunting, ever-present goading thought of my wakeful
existence.
As I lay painfully trying to coax slumber, my mind worked like the
wheels of a machine. Dizzily the journey behind repeated itself; I again
crossed the Big Lead, again floundered in an ice-cold open sea. Dangers
of all sorts took form to harass me. Instead of sleep, a delirium of
anxiety and longing possessed me.
Beyond the eighty-fourth parallel we had passed the bounds of visible
life. Lying wakeful in that barren world, with my companions asleep, I
felt what few men of cities, perhaps, ever feel--the tragic isolation of
the human soul--a thing which, dwelt upon, must mean madness. I think I
realized the aching vastness of the world after creation, before man was
made.
For many days we had not seen a suggestion of animated nature. There
were no longer animal trails to indicate life; no breath spouts of seal
escaped from the frosted bosom of the sea. Not even the microscopic life
of the deep was longer detected under us. We were alone--alone in a
lifeless world. We had come to this blank space of the earth by slow but
progressive stages. Sailing from the bleak land of the fisher folk along
the out-posts of civilization, the complex luxury of metropolitan life
was lost. Beyond, in the half savage wilderness of Danish Greenland, we
partook of a new life of primitive simplicity. Still farther along, in
the Ultima Thule of the aborigines, we reverted to a prehistoric plane
of living. Advancing beyond the haunts of men, we reached the noonday
deadliness of a world without life.
As we pushed beyond into the sterile wastes, with eager eyes we
constantly searched the dusky plains of frost, but there was no speck of
life to grace the purple run of death.[14]
During these desolate marches, my legs working mechanically, my mind
with anguish sought some object upon which to fasten itself. My eyes
scrutinized the horizon. I saw, every day, every sleeping hour, hills of
ice, vast plains of ice, now a deadly white, now a dull gray, now a
misty purple, sometimes shot with gold or gleaming with lakes of
ultramarine, moving towards and by me, an ever-changing yet
ever-monotonous panorama which wearied me as does the shifting of
unchanging scenery seen from a train window. As I paced the weary
marches, I fortunately became unconscious of the painful movement of my
legs. Although I walked I had a sensation of being lifted involuntarily
onward.
The sense of covering distance gave me a dull, pleasurable satisfaction.
Only some catastrophe, some sudden and overwhelming obstacle would have
aroused me to an intense mental emotion, to a passionate despair, to the
anguish of possible defeat.
I was now becoming the unconscious instrument of my ambition; almost
without volition my body was being carried forward by a subconscious
force which had fastened itself upon a distant goal. Sometimes the
wagging of a dog's tail held my attention for long minutes; it afforded
a curious play for my morbidly obsessed imagination. In an hour I would
forget what I had been thinking. To-day I cannot remember the vague,
fanciful illusions about curiously insignificant things which occupied
my faculties in this dead world. The sun, however, did relieve the
monotony, and created in the death-chilled world skies filled with
elysian flowers and mirages of beauty undreamed of by Aladdin.
My senses at the time, as I have said, were vaguely benumbed. While we
traveled I heard the sound of the moving sledges. Their sharp steel
runners cut the ice and divided the snow like a cleaving knife. I became
used to the first shudder of the rasping sound. In the dead lulls
between wind storms I would listen with curious attention to the soft
patter of our dogs' feet. At times I could hear their tiny toe nails
grasping at forward ice ridges in order to draw themselves forward, and,
strangely--so were all my thoughts interwoven with my ambition--this
clenching, crunching, gritty sound gave me a delighted sense of
progress, a sense of ever covering distance and nearing, ever nearing
the Pole.