position. The wind continued to tear along in a mad rage, but we found
shelter in our canoe, dozing away for a few moments while one paced the
ice as a sentinel. Slowly a lane of quiet water appeared among the
floes. We heard a strangely familiar sound which set our hearts
throbbing. The walrus and the seal, one by one, came up to the surface
to blow. Here, right before us, was big game, with plenty of meat and
fat. We were starving, but we gazed almost helplessly on plenty, for its
capture was difficult for us.
We had only a few cartridges and four cans of pemmican in our baggage.
These were reserved for use to satisfy the last pangs of famine. That
time had not yet arrived. Made desperate by hunger, after a brief rest
we began to seek food. Birds flying from the land became our game at
this time. We could secure these with the slingshot made by the Eskimos,
and later, by entangling loops in lines, and in various other ways which
hunger taught us.
A gull lighted on a pinnacle of our berg. Quietly but quickly we placed
a bait and set a looped line. We watched with bated breath. The bird
peered about, espied the luring bait, descended with a flutter of wings,
pecked the pemmican. There was a snapping sound--the bird was ours.
Leaping upon it, we rapidly cut it in bits and ravenously devoured it
raw. Few things I have ever eaten tasted so delicious as this meat,
which had the flavor of cod-liver oil.
The ice soon jammed in a grinding pack against the land, and the wind
spent its force in vain. We held our position, and two of us, after
eating the bird, slept until the sentinel called us. At midnight the
wind eased and the ice started its usual rebound, seaward and eastward,
with the tide.
This was our moment for escape. We were about ten miles off the shore of
Cape Vera. If we could push our canvas canoe through the channels of
water as they opened, we might reach land. We quickly prepared the boat.
With trepidation we pushed it into the black, frigid waters. We
hesitated to leave the sheltering berg which had saved our lives. Still,
it had served its purpose. To remain might mean our being carried out to
sea. The ultimate time had come to seek a more secure refuge on _terra
firma_.
Leaping into the frail, rocking canoe, we pushed along desperately
through a few long channels to reach a wide, open space of water
landward. Paddling frantically, we made a twisting course through
opening lanes of water, ice on both sides of us, visible bergs bearing
down at times on us, invisible bergs with spear-points of ice beneath
the water in which our course lay. We sped forward at times with quick
darts. Suddenly, and to our horror, an invisible piece of ice jagged a
hole in the port quarter. Water gushed into the frail craft. In a few
minutes it would be filled; we should sink to an icy death! Fortunately,
I saw a floe was near, and while the canoe rapidly filled we pushed for
the floe, reaching it not a moment too soon.
A boot was sacrificed to mend the canoe. Patching the cut, we put again
into the sea and proceeded.
The middle pack of ice was separated from the land pack, leaving much
free water. But now a land breeze sprang up and gave us new troubles. We
could not face the wind and sea, so we took a slant and sought the lee
of the pans coming from the land.
Our little overloaded canoe weathered the seas very well, and we had
nothing to gain and everything to lose by turning back. Again we were
drenched with spray, and the canoe was sheeted with ice above water. The
sun was passing over Hell Gate. Long blue shadows stretched over the
pearl-gray sea. By these, without resort to the compass, we knew it was
about midnight.
As we neared the land-ice, birds became numerous. The waters rose in
easy swells. Still nearer, we noted that the entire body of land-ice was
drifting away. A convenient channel opened and gave us a chance to slip
behind. We pointed for Cape Vera, dashed over the water, and soon, to
our joy, landed on a ledge of lower rocks. I cannot describe the relief
I felt in reaching land after the spells of anguish through which we had
passed. Although these barren rocks offered neither food nor shelter,
still we were as happy as if a sentence of death had been remitted.
Not far away were pools of ice water. These we sought first, to quench
our thirst. Then we scattered about, our eyes eagerly scrutinizing the
land for breakfast. Soon we saw a hare bounding over the rocks. As it
paused, cocking its ears, one of my boys secured it with a sling-shot.
It was succulent; we cut it with our knives. Some moss was found among
the rocks. This was a breakfast for a king. I returned to prepare it.
With the moss as fuel, we made a fire, put the dripping meat in a pot,
and, with gloating eyes, watched it simmering. I thrilled with the joy
of sheer living, with hunger about to be satisfied by cooked food.
Before the hare was ready the boys came along with two eider-ducks,
which they had secured by looped lines. We therefore had now an advance
dinner, with a refreshing drink and a stomach full, and solid rocks to
place our heads upon for a long sleep. These solid rocks were more
delightful and secure than pillows of down. The world had indeed a new
aspect for us. In reality, however, our ultimate prospect of escape from
famine was darker than ever.
[Illustration: ARCTIC HARE]
UNDER THE WHIP OF FAMINE
BY BOAT AND SLEDGE, OVER THE DRIFTING ICE AND STORMY SEAS OF JONES
SOUND--FROM ROCK TO ROCK IN QUEST OF FOOD--MAKING NEW WEAPONS
XXIV
IMPRISONED BY THE HAND OF FROST
No time was lost in our onward course. Endeavoring at once to regain the
distance lost by the drifting berg, we sought a way along the shores.
Here, over ice with pools of water and slush, we dragged our sledge with
the canvas boat ever ready to launch. Frequent spaces of water
necessitated constant ferrying. We found, however, that most open places
could be crossed with sledge attached to the boat. This saved much time.
We advanced from ten to fifteen miles daily, pitching the tent on land
or sleeping in the boat in pools of ice water, as the conditions
warranted. The land rose with vertical cliffs two thousand feet high,
and offered no life except a few gulls and guillemots. By gathering
these as we went along, a scant hand-to-mouth subsistence daily was
obtained.
Early in August we reached the end of the land-pack, about twenty-five
miles east of Cape Sparbo. Beyond was a water sky, and to the north the
sea was entirely free of ice. The weather was clear, and our ambitions
for the freedom of the deep rose again.
At the end of the last day of sledge travel, a camp was made on a small
island. Here we saw the first signs of Eskimo habitation. Old tent
circles, also stone and fox traps in abundance, indicated an ancient
village of considerable size. On the mainland we discovered abundant
grass and moss, with signs of musk ox, ptarmigan, and hare, but no
living thing was detected. After a careful search, the sledge was taken
apart to serve as a floor for the boat. All our things were snugly
packed. For breakfast, we had but one gull, which was divided without
the tedious process of cooking.
As we were packing the things onto the edge of the ice, we espied an
oogzuk seal. Here was a creature which could satisfy for a while our
many needs. Upon it one of our last cartridges was expended. The seal
fell. The huge carcass was dragged ashore. All of its skin was jealously
taken. For this would make harpoon lines which would enable the shaping
of Eskimo implements, to take the place of the rifles, which, with
ammunition exhausted, would be useless. Our boots could also be patched
with bits of the skin, and new soles could be made. Of the immense
amount of oogzuk meat and blubber we were able to take only a small
part; for, with three men and our baggage and sledge in the little
canvas boat, it was already overloaded.
The meat was cached, so that if ultimate want forced our retreat we
might here prolong our existence a few weeks longer. There was little
wind, and the night was beautifully clear. The sun at night was very
close to the horizon, but the sparkle of the shimmering waters gave our
dreary lives a bright side. On the great unpolished rocks of the point
east of Cape Sparbo a suitable camping spot was found, a prolonged feed
of seal was indulged in, and with a warm sun and full stomachs, the tent
was unnecessary. Under one of the rocks we found shelter, and slept with
savage delight for nine hours.
Another search of the accessible land offered no game except ducks and
gulls far from shore. Here the tides and currents were very strong, so
our start had to be timed with the outgoing tide.
Starting late one afternoon, we advanced rapidly beyond Cape Sparbo, in
a sea with an uncomfortable swell. But beyond the Cape, the land-ice
still offered an edge for a long distance. In making a cut across a
small bay to reach ice, a walrus suddenly came up behind the canoe and
drove a tusk through the canvas. E-tuk-i-shook quickly covered the cut,
while we pulled with full force for a pan of drift-ice only a few yards
away. The boat, with its load, was quickly jerked on the ice. Already
there were three inches of water in the floor. A chilly disaster was
narrowly averted. Part of a boot was sacrificed to mend the boat.
While at work with the needle, a strong tidal current carried us out to
sea. An increasing wind brought breaking waves over the edge of the ice.
The wind fortunately gave a landward push to the ice. A sledge-cover,
used as a sail, retarded our seaward drift. The leak securely patched,
we pushed off for the land ice. With our eyes strained for breaking
seas, the boat was paddled along with considerable anxiety. Much water
was shipped in these dashes; constant bailing was necessary. Pulling
continuously along the ice for eight miles, and when the leads closed at
times, jumping on cakes and pulling the boat after us, we were finally
forced to seek a shelter on the ice-field.
With a strong wind and a wet fall of snow, the ice-camp was far from
comfortable. As the tide changed, the wind came from the west with a
heavy, choppy sea. Further advance was impossible. Sleeping but a few
minutes at a time, and then rising to note coming dangers, as does the
seal, I perceived, to my growing dismay, a separation between the land
and the sea ice. We were going rapidly adrift, with only interrupted
spots of sea-ice on the horizon!
There were a good many reefs about, which quickly broke the ice, and new
leads formed on every side. The boat was pushed landward. We pulled the
boat on the ice when the leads closed, lowering it again as the cracks
opened. By carrying the boat and its load from crack to crack, we at
last reached the land waters, in which we were able to advance about
five miles further, camping on the gravel of the first river which we
had seen. Here we were storm-bound for two days.
There were several pools near by. Within a short distance from these
were many ducks. With the slingshot a few of these were secured. In the
midst of our trouble, with good appetites, we were feeding up for future
contests of strength.
With a shore clear of ice, we could afford to take some chance with
heavy seas, so before the swell subsided, we pushed off. Coming out of
Braebugten Bay, with its discharging glaciers and many reefs, the water
dashed against the perpendicular walls of ice, and presented a
disheartening prospect. These reefs could be passed over only when the
sea was calm. With but a half-day's run to our credit, we were again
stopped.
As we neared our objective point, on the fast ice inside of a reef, we
were greeted with the glad sight of what we supposed to be a herd of
musk ox. About three miles of the winter ice was still fast to the land.
Upon this we landed, cleared the canvas boat, and prepared to camp in
it. I remained to guard our few belongings, while the two Eskimo boys
rushed over the ice to try to secure the musk ox with the lance. It was
a critical time in our career, for we were putting to test new methods
of hunting, which we had partly devised after many hungry days of
preparation.
I followed the boys with the glasses as they jumped the ice crevasses
and moved over the mainland with the stealth and ease of hungry wolves.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was low in the northwest, throwing beams
of golden light that made the ice a scene of joy. The great cliffs of
North Devon, fifteen miles away, seemed very near through the clear air.
Although enjoying the scene, I noted in the shadow of an iceberg a
suspicious blue spot, which moved in my direction. As it advanced in the
sunlight it changed from blue to a cream color. Then I made it out to be
a Polar bear which we had attacked forty-eight hours previous.
The sight aroused a feeling of elation. Gradually, as bruin advanced and
I began to think of some method of defense, a cold shiver ran up my
spine. The dog and rifle, with which we had met bears before, were
absent. To run, and leave our last bit of food and fuel, would have been
as dangerous as to stay. A Polar bear will always attack a retreating
creature, while it approaches very cautiously one that holds its
position. Furthermore, for some reason, the bears always bore a grudge
against the boat. None ever passed it without testing the material with
its teeth or giving it a slap with its paw. At this critical stage of
our adventure the boat was linked more closely to our destiny than the
clothes we wore. I therefore decided to stay and play the role of the
aggressor, although I had nothing--not even a lance--with which to
fight.
Then an idea flashed through my mind. I lashed a knife to the steering
paddle, and placed the boat on a slight elevation of ice, so as to make
it and myself appear as formidable as possible. Then I gathered about me
all the bits of wood, pieces of ice, and everything which I could throw
at the creature before it came to a close contest, reserving the knife
and the ice-ax as my last resort. When all was ready, I took my position
beside the boat and displayed a sledge-runner moving rapidly to and fro.
The bear was then about two hundred yards away. It approached stealthily
behind a line of hummocks, with only its head occasionally visible. As
it came to within three hundred feet, it rose frequently on its hind
feet, dropped its forepaws, stretched its neck, and pushed its head up,
remaining motionless for several seconds. It then appeared huge and
beautiful.
As it came still nearer, its pace quickened. I began to hurl my
missiles. Every time the bear was hit, it stopped, turned about, and
examined the object. But none of them proving palatable, it advanced to
the opposite side of the boat, and for a moment stood and eyed me. Its
nose caught the odor of a piece of oogzuk blubber a few feet beyond. I
raised the sledge-runner and brought it down with desperate force on the
brute's nose. It grunted, but quickly turned to retreat. I followed
until it was well on the run.
Every time it turned to review the situation, I made a show of chasing
it. This always had the desired effect of hastening its departure. It
moved off, however, only a short distance, and then sat down, sniffed
the air, and watched my movements. As I turned to observe the boys'
doings, I saw them only a short distance away, edging upon the bear.
Their group of musk oxen had proved to be rocks, and they had early
noted my troubles and were hastening to enter the battle, creeping up
behind hummocks and pressure ridges. They got to within a few yards of
the brute, and then delivered their two lances at once, with lines
attached. The bear dropped, but quickly recovered and ran for the land.
He died from the wounds, for a month later we found his carcass on land,
placed near camp.
For two days, with a continuation of bad luck, we advanced slowly.
Belcher Point was passed at midnight of the 7th of August, just as the
sun sank under the horizon for the first time. Beyond was a nameless
bay, in which numerous icebergs were stranded. The bend of the bay was
walled with great discharging glaciers. A heavy sea pitched our boat
like a leaf in a gale. But, by seeking the shelter of bergs and passing
inside of the drift, we managed to push to an island for camp.
With moving glaciers on the land, and the sea storming and thundering,
sleep was impossible. Icebergs in great numbers followed us into the
bay, and later the storm-ground sea-ice filled the bay. On August 8,
following a line of water along shore, we started eastward.
A strong wind on our backs, with quiet waters, sent the little boat
along at a swift pace. After a run of ten miles, a great quantity of
ice, coming from the east, filled the bay with small fragments and
ensnared us.
Now the bay was jammed with a pack as difficult to travel over as
quicksand. We were hopelessly beset. The land was sought, but it offered
no shelter, no life, and no place flat enough to lie upon. We expected
that the ice would break. It did not; instead, new winter ice rapidly
formed.
The setting sun brought the winter storms and premonitions of a long,
bitter night. Meanwhile we eked a meagre living by catching occasional
birds, which we devoured raw.
Toward the end of August we pushed out on the ensnaring pack to a small
but solid floe. I counted on this to drift somewhere--any place beyond
the prison bars of the glaciers. Then we might move east or west to seek
food. Our last meat was used, and we maintained life only by an
occasional gull or guillemot. This floe drifted to and fro, and slowly
took us to Belcher Point, where we landed to determine our fate. To the
east, the entire horizon was lined with ice. Belcher Point was barren of
game and shelter. Further efforts for Baffin's Bay were hopeless. The
falling temperature, the rapidly forming young ice, and the setting sun
showed us that we had already gone too long without finding a winter
refuge.
Our only possible chance to escape death from famine and frost was to
go back to Cape Sparbo and compel the walrus that ripped our boat to
give up his blubber, and then to seek our fortunes in the neighborhood.
This was the only reachable place that had looked like game country.
With empty stomachs, and on a heavy sea, we pushed westward to seek our
fate. The outlook was discouraging.
During all our enforced imprisonment we were never allowed to forget
that the first duty in life was to provide for the stomach. Our muscles
rested, but the signals sent over the gastric nerve kept the gray matter
busy.
We were near to the land where Franklin and his men starved. They had
ammunition. We had none. A similar fate loomed before us. We had seen
nothing to promise subsistence for the winter, but this cheerless
prospect did not interfere with such preparations as we could make for
the ultimate struggle. In our desperate straits we even planned to
attack bears, should we find any, without a gun. Life is never so sweet
as when its days seem numbered.
The complete development of a new art of hunting, with suitable weapons,
was reserved for the dire needs of later adventures. The problem was
begun by this time. By an oversight, most of our Eskimo implements had
been left on the returning sledges from Svartevoeg.
We were thus not only without ammunition, but also without harpoons and
lances. We fortunately had the material of which these could be made,
and the boys possessed the savage genius to shape a new set of weapons.
The slingshot and the looped line, which had served such a useful
purpose in securing birds, continued to be of prime importance. In the
sledge was excellent hickory, which was utilized in various ways. Of
this, bows and arrows could be made. Combined with the slingshot and the
looped line snares, the combination would make our warfare upon the
feathered creatures more effective. We counted upon a similar efficiency
with the same weapons in our hoped-for future attacks upon land animals.
The wood of the sledge was further divided to make shafts for harpoons
and lances. Realizing that our ultimate return to Greenland, and to
friends, depended on the life of the sledge, the wood was used
sparingly. Furthermore, hickory lends itself to great economy. It bends
and twists, but seldom breaks in such a manner that it cannot be
repaired. We had not much of this precious fibre, but enough for the
time to serve our purpose. Along shore we had found musk ox horns and
fragments of whale bone. Out of these the points of both harpoon and
lance were made. A part of the sledge shoe was sacrificed to make metal
points for the weapons. The nails of the cooking-box served as rivets.
The seal skin, which we had secured a month earlier, was now carefully
divided and cut into suitable harpoon and lassoo lines. We hoped to use
this line to capture the bear and the musk ox. Our folding canvas boat
was somewhat strengthened by the leather from our old boots, and
additional bracing by the ever useful hickory of the sledge. Ready to
engage in battle with the smallest and the largest creatures that might
come within reach, we started west for Cape Sparbo. Death, on our
journey, never seemed so near.
[Illustration: OBSERVATION DETERMINING THE POLE--PHOTOGRAPH FROM
ORIGINAL NOTE]
[Illustration: BACK TO LAND AND TO LIFE--AWAKENED BY A WINGED
HARBINGER]
BEAR FIGHTS AND WALRUS BATTLES
DANGEROUS ADVENTURES IN A CANVAS BOAT--ON THE VERGE OF STARVATION, A
MASSIVE BRUTE, WEIGHING THREE THOUSAND POUNDS, IS CAPTURED AFTER A
FIFTEEN-HOUR STRUGGLE--ROBBED OF PRECIOUS FOOD BY HUNGRY BEARS
XXV
GAME HAUNTS DISCOVERED
The stormy sea rose with heavy swells. Oceanward, the waves leaped
against the horizon tumultuously. Pursuing our vain search for food
along the southern side of Jones Sound, early in September, we had been
obliged to skirt rocky coves and shelves of land on which we might seek
shelter should harm come to the fragile craft in which we braved the
ocean storms and the spears of unseen ice beneath water.
We had shaped crude weapons. We were prepared to attack game. We were
starving; yet land and sea had been barren of any living thing.
Our situation was desperate. In our course it was often necessary, as
now, to paddle from the near refuge of low-lying shores, and to pass
precipitous cliffs and leaping glaciers which stepped threateningly into
the sea. Along these were no projecting surfaces, and we passed them
always with bated anxiety. A sudden storm or a mishap at such a time
would have meant death in the frigid sea. And now, grim and suffering
with hunger, we clung madly to life.
Passing a glacier which rose hundreds of feet out of the green sea,
heavy waves rolled furiously from the distant ocean. Huge bergs rose and
fell against the far-away horizon like Titan ships hurled to
destruction. The waves dashed against the emerald walls of the smooth
icy Gibraltar with a thunderous noise. We rose and fell in the frail
canvas boat, butting the waves, our hearts each time sinking.
Suddenly something white and glittering pierced the bottom of the boat!
It was the tusk of a walrus, gleaming and dangerous. Before we could
grasp the situation he had disappeared, and water gushed into our craft.
It was the first walrus we had seen for several weeks. An impulse, mad
under the circumstances, rose in our hearts to give him chase. It was
the instinctive call of the hungering body for food. But each second the
water rose higher; each minute was imminent with danger. Instinctively
Ah-we-lah pressed to the floor of the boat and jammed his knee into the
hole, thus partly shutting off the jetting, leaping inrush. He looked
mutely to me for orders. The glacier offered no stopping place. Looking
about with mad eagerness, I saw, seaward, only a few hundred yards away,
a small pan of drift-ice. With the desire for life in our arms, we
pushed toward it with all our might. Before the boat was pulled to its
slippery landing, several inches of water flooded the bottom. Once upon
it, leaping in the waves, we breathed with panting relief. With a piece
of boot the hole was patched. Although we should have preferred to wait
to give the walrus a wide berth, the increasing swell of the stormy sea,
and a seaward drift forced us away from the dangerous ice cliffs.
Launching the boat into the rough waters, we pulled for land. A triangle
of four miles had to be made before our fears could be set at rest. A
school of walrus followed us in the rocking waters for at least half of
the distance. Finally, upon the crest of a white-capped wave, we were
lifted to firm land. Drawing the boat after us, we ran out of reach of
the hungry waves, and sank to the grass, desperate, despairing, utterly
fatigued, but safe.