mark time. The cold increased. Storms were more continuous and came with
greater force. We were cooped up in our underground den with but a
peep-hole through the silk of our old tent to watch the sooty nocturnal
bluster. We were face to face with a spiritual famine. With little
recreation, no amusements, no interesting work, no reading matter, with
nothing to talk about, the six hours of a watch were spread out to
weeks.
We had no sugar, no coffee, not a particle of civilized food. We had
meat and blubber, good and wholesome food at that. But the stomach
wearied of its never changing carnivorous stuffing. The dark den, with
its walls of pelt and bone, its floor decked with frosted tears of ice,
gave no excuse for cheer. Insanity, abject madness, could only be
avoided by busy hands and long sleep.
My life in this underground place was, I suppose, like that of a man in
the stone age. The interior was damp and cold and dark; with our
pitiable lamps burning, the temperature of the top was fairly moderate,
but at the bottom it was below zero. Our bed was a platform of rocks
wide enough for three prostrate men. Its forward edge was our seat when
awake. Before this was a space where a deeper hole in the earth
permitted us to stand upright, one at a time. There, one by one, we
dressed and occasionally stood to move our stiff and aching limbs.
On either side of this standing space was half a tin plate in which
musk-ox fat was burned. We used moss as a wick. These lights were kept
burning day and night; it was a futile, imperceptible sort of heat they
gave. Except when we got close to the light, it was impossible to see
one another's faces.
We ate twice daily--without enjoyment. We had few matches, and in fear
of darkness tended our lamps diligently. There was no food except meat
and tallow; most of the meat, by choice, was eaten raw and frozen. Night
and morning we boiled a small pot of meat for broth; but we had no salt
to season it. Stooped and cramped, day by day, I found occasional relief
from the haunting horror of this life by rewriting the almost illegible
notes made on our journey.
My most important duty was the preparation of my notes and observations
for publication. This would afford useful occupation and save months of
time afterwards. But I had no paper. My three note books were full, and
there remained only a small pad of prescription blanks and two miniature
memorandum books. I resolved, however, to try to work out the outline of
my narrative in chapters in these. I had four good pencils and one
eraser. These served a valuable purpose. With sharp points I shaped the
words in small letters. When the skeleton of the book was ready I was
surprised to find how much could be crowded on a few small pages. By a
liberal use of the eraser many parts of pages were cleared of
unnecessary notes. Entire lines were written between all the lines of
the note books, the pages thus carrying two narrations or series of
notes.
By the use of abbreviations and dashes, a kind of short-hand was
devised. My art of space economy complete, I began to write, literally
developing the very useful habit of carefully shaping every idea before
an attempt was made to use the pencil. In this way my entire book and
several articles were written. Charts, films and advertisement boxes
were covered. In all 150,000 words were written, and absolute despair,
which in idleness opens the door to madness, was averted.
Our needs were still urgent enough to enforce much other work. Drift
threatened to close the entrance to our dungeon and this required
frequent clearing. Blubber for the lamp was sliced and pounded every
day. The meat corner was occasionally stocked, for it required several
days to thaw out the icy musk ox quarters. Ice was daily gathered and
placed within reach to keep the water pots full. The frost which was
condensed out of our breaths made slabs of ice on the floor, and this
required occasional removal. The snow under our bed furs, which had a
similar origin, was brushed out now and then.
Soot from the lamps, a result of bad housekeeping, which a proud Eskimo
woman would not have tolerated for a minute, was scraped from the bone
rafters about once a week. With a difference of one hundred degrees
between the breathing air of the den and that outside there was a
rushing interchanging breeze through every pinhole and crevice. The
ventilation was good. The camp cleanliness could almost have been called
hygienic, although no baths had been indulged in for six months, and
then only by an unavoidable, undesirable accident.
Much had still to be done to prepare for our homegoing in the remote
period beyond the night. It was necessary to plan and make a new
equipment. The sledge, the clothing, the camp outfit, everything which
had been used in the previous campaign, were worn out. Something could
be done by judicious repairing, but nearly everything required
reconstruction. In the new arrangement we were to take the place of the
dogs at the traces and the sledge loads must be prepared accordingly.
There was before us an unknown line of trouble for three hundred miles
before we could step on Greenland shores. It was only the hope of
homegoing, which gave some mental strength in the night of gloom. Musk
ox meat was now cut into strips and dried over the lamps. Tallow was
prepared and moulded in portable form for fuel.
But in spite of all efforts we gradually sank to the lowest depths of
the Arctic midnight. The little midday glimmer on the southern sky
became indiscernible. Only the swing of the Great Dipper and other stars
told the time of the day or night. We had fancied that the persistent
wind ruffled our tempers. But now it was still; not a breath of air
moved the heavy blackness. In that very stillness we found reasons for
complaint. Storms were preferable to the dead silence; anything was
desirable to stir the spirits to action.
Still the silence was only apparent. Wind noises floated in the frosty
distance; cracking rocks, exploding glaciers and tumbling avalanches
kept up a muffled rumbling which the ear detected only when it
rested on the floor rock of our bed. The temperature was low--
-48 deg. F.--so low that at times the very air seemed to crack. Every
creature of the wild had been buried in drift; all nature was asleep.
In our dungeon all was a mental blank.
Not until two weeks after midnight did we awake to a proper
consciousness of life. The faint brightness of the southern skies at
noon opened the eye to spiritual dawn. The sullen stupor and deathlike
stillness vanished.
Shortly after black midnight descended I began to experience a curious
psychological phenomenon. The stupor of the days of travel wore away,
and I began to see myself as in a mirror. I can explain this no better.
It is said that a man falling from a great height usually has a picture
of his life flashed through his brain in the short period of descent. I
saw a similar cycle of events.
The panorama began with incidents of childhood, and it seems curious now
with what infinite detail I saw people whom I had long forgotten, and
went through the most trivial experiences. In successive stages every
phase of life appeared and was minutely examined; every hidden recess of
gray matter was opened to interpret the biographies of self-analysis.
The hopes of my childhood and the discouragements of my youth filled me
with emotion; feelings of pleasure and sadness came as each little
thought picture took definite shape; it seemed hardly possible that so
many things, potent for good and bad, could have been done in so few
years. I saw myself, not as a voluntary being, but rather as a
resistless atom, predestined in its course, being carried on by an
inexorable fate.
Meanwhile our preparations for return were being accomplished. This
work had kept us busy during all of the wakeful spells of the night.
Much still remained to be done.
Although real pleasure followed all efforts of physical labor, the
balking muscles required considerable urging. Musk ox meat was cut into
portable blocks, candles were made, fur skins were dressed and chewed,
boots, stockings, pants, shirts, sleeping bags were made. The sledge was
re-lashed, things were packed in bags. All was ready about three weeks
before sunrise. Although the fingers and the jaws were thus kept busy,
the mind and also the heart were left free to wander.
In the face of all our efforts to ward aside the ill effects of the
night we gradually became its victims. Our skin paled, our strength
failed, the nerves weakened, and the mind ultimately became a blank. The
most notable physical effect, however, was the alarming irregularity of
the heart.
In the locomotion of human machinery the heart is the motor. Like all
good motors it has a governor which requires some adjustment. In the
Arctic, where the need of regulation is greatest, the facilities for
adjustment are withdrawn. In normal conditions, as the machine of life
pumps the blood which drives all, its force and its regularity are
governed by the never-erring sunbeams. When these are withdrawn, as they
are in the long night, the heart pulsations become irregular; at times
slow, at other times spasmodic.
Light seems to be as necessary to the animal as to the plant. A diet of
fresh meat, healthful hygienic surroundings, play for the mind,
recreation for the body, and strong heat from open fires, will help;
but only the return of the heaven-given sun will properly adjust the
motor of man.
As the approaching day brightened to a few hours of twilight at midday,
we developed a mood for animal companionship. A little purple was now
thrown on the blackened snows. The weather was good. All the usual
sounds of nature were suspended, but unusual sounds came with a weird
thunder. The very earth began to shake in an effort to break the seal of
frost. For several days nothing moved into our horizon which could be
imagined alive.
About two weeks before sunrise the rats woke and began to shake their
beautiful blue fur in graceful little dances, but they were not really
alive and awake in a rat sense for several days. At about the same time
the ravens began to descend from their hiding place and screamed for
food. There were only three; two were still conversing with the Eskimo
maidens far away, as my companions thought.
In my subsequent strolls I found the raven den and to my horror
discovered that the two were frozen. I did not deprive E-tuk-i-shook and
Ah-we-lah of their poetic dream; the sad news of raven bereavement was
never told.
The foxes now began to bark from a safe distance and advanced to get
their share of the camp spoils. Ptarmigan shouted from nearby rocks.
Wolves were heard away in the musk ox fields, but they did not venture
to pay us a visit.
The bear that had shadowed us everywhere before midnight was the last to
claim our friendship at dawn. There were good reasons for this which we
did not learn until later. The bear stork had arrived. But really we had
changed heart even towards the bear. Long before he returned we were
prepared to give him a welcome reception. In our new and philosophical
turn of mind we thought better of bruin. In our greatest distress during
the previous summer he had kept us alive. In our future adventures he
might perform a similar mission. After all he had no sporting
proclivities; he did not hunt or trouble us for the mere fun of our
discomfort or the chase. His aim in life was the very serious business
of getting food. Could we blame him? Had we not a similar necessity?
A survey of our caches proved that we were still rich in the coin of the
land. There remained meat and blubber sufficient for all our needs, with
considerable to spare for other empty stomachs. So, to feed the bear,
meat was piled up in heaps for his delight.
The new aroma rose into the bleaching night air. We peeped with eager
eyes through our ports to spot results. The next day at eleven o'clock
footsteps were heard. The noise indicated caution and shyness instead of
the bold quick step which we knew so well. There was room for only one
eye and only one man at a time at the peep-hole, and so we took turns.
Soon the bear was sighted, proceeding with the utmost caution behind
some banks and rocks. The blue of the snows, with yellow light, dyed his
fur to an ugly green. He was thin and gaunt and ghostly. There was the
stealth and the cunning of the fox in his movements. But he could not
get his breakfast, the first after a fast of weeks, without coming
squarely into our view.
The den was buried under the winter snows and did not disturb the
creature, but the size of the pile of meat did disturb its curiosity.
When within twenty-five yards, a few sudden leaps were made, and the
ponderous claws came down on a walrus shoulder. His teeth began to grind
like a stone cutter. For an hour the bear stood there and displayed
itself to good advantage. Our hatred of the creature entirely vanished.
Five days passed before that bear returned. In the meantime we longed
for it to come back. We had unconsciously developed quite a brotherly
bear interest. In the period which followed we learned that eleven
o'clock was the hour, and that five days was the period between meals.
The bear calendar and the clock were consulted with mathematical
precision.
We also learned that our acquaintance was a parent. By a little
exploration in February we discovered the bear den, in a snow covered
cave, less than a mile west. In it were two saucy little teddies in
pelts of white silk that would have gladdened the heart of any child.
The mother was not at home at the time, and we were not certain enough
of her friendship, or of her whereabouts, to play with the twins.
With a clearing horizon and a wider circle of friendship our den now
seemed a cheerful home. Our spirits awakened as the gloom of the night
was quickly lost in the new glitter of day.
On the eleventh of February the snow-covered slopes of North Devon
glowed with the sunrise of 1909. The sun had burst nature's dungeon.
Cape Sparbo glowed with golden light. The frozen sea glittered with
hills of shimmering lilac. We escaped to a joyous freedom. With a
reconstructed sled, new equipment and newly acquired energy we were
ready to pursue the return journey to Greenland and fight the last
battle of the Polar campaign.
[Illustration: GUILLEMOT]
HOMEWARD WITH A HALF SLEDGE AND HALF-FILLED STOMACHS
THREE HUNDRED MILES THROUGH STORM AND SNOW AND UPLIFTED MOUNTAINS OF ICE
TROUBLES--DISCOVER TWO ISLANDS--ANNOATOK IS REACHED--MEETING HARRY
WHITNEY--NEWS OF PEARY'S SEIZURE OF SUPPLIES
XXIX
BACK TO GREENLAND FRIENDS
On February 18, 1908, the reconstructed sledge was taken beyond the ice
fort and loaded for the home run. We had given up the idea of journeying
to Lancaster Sound to await the whalers. There were no Eskimos on the
American side nearer than Pond's Inlet. It was somewhat farther to our
headquarters on the Greenland shores, but all interests would be best
served by a return to Annoatok.
During the night we had fixed all of our attention upon the return
journey, and had prepared a new equipment with the limited means at our
command; but, traveling in the coldest season of the year, it was
necessary to carry a cumbersome outfit of furs, and furthermore, since
we were to take the place of the dogs in the traces, we could not expect
to transport supplies for more than thirty days. In this time, however,
we hoped to reach Cape Sabine, where the father of E-tuk-i-shook had
been told to place a cache of food for us.
Starting so soon after sunrise, the actual daylight proved very brief,
but a brilliant twilight gave a remarkable illumination from eight to
four. The light of dawn and that of the afterglow was tossed to and fro
in the heavens, from reflecting surfaces of glitter, for four hours
preceding and following midday. To use this play of light to the best
advantage, it was necessary to begin preparations early by starlight;
and thus, when the dim purple glow from the northeast brightened the
dull gray-blue of night, the start was made for Greenland shores and for
home.
We were dressed in heavy furs. The temperature was -49 deg.. A light air
brushed the frozen mist out of Jones Sound, and cut our sooty faces. The
sled was overloaded, and the exertion required for its movement over the
groaning snow was tremendous. A false, almost hysterical, enthusiasm
lighted our faces, but the muscles were not yet equal to the task set
for them.
Profuse perspiration came with the first hours of dog work, and our
heavy fur coats were exchanged for the sealskin _nitshas_ (lighter
coat). At noon the snows were fired and the eastern skies burned in
great lines of flame. But there was no sun and no heat. We sat on the
sledge for a prolonged period, gasping for breath and drinking the new
celestial glory so long absent from our outlook. As the joy of color was
lost in the cold purple of half-light, our shoulders were braced more
vigorously into the traces. The ice proved good, but the limit of
strength placed camp in a snowhouse ten miles from our winter den. With
the new equipment, our camp life now was not like that of the Polar
campaign. Dried musk ox meat and strips of musk fat made a steady diet.
Moulded tallow served as fuel in a crescent-shaped disk of tin, in which
carefully prepared moss was crushed and arranged as a wick. Over this
primitive fire we managed to melt enough ice to quench thirst, and also
to make an occasional pot of broth as a luxury. While the drink was
liquefying, the chill of the snow igloo was also moderated, and we crept
into the bags of musk ox skins, where agreeable repose and home dreams
made us forget the cry of the stomach and the torment of the cold.
At the end of eight days of forced marches we reached Cape Tennyson. The
disadvantage of manpower, when compared to dog motive force, was clearly
shown in this effort. The ice was free of pressure troubles and the
weather was endurable. Still, with the best of luck, we had averaged
only about seven miles daily. With dogs, the entire run would have been
made easily in two days.
As we neared the land two small islands were discovered. Both were about
one thousand feet high, with precipitous sea walls, and were on a line
about two miles east of Cape Tennyson. The most easterly was about one
and a half miles long, east to west, with a cross-section, north to
south, of about three-quarters of a mile. About half a mile to the west
of this was a much smaller island. There was no visible vegetation, and
no life was seen, although hare and fox tracks were crossed on the ice.
I decided to call the larger island E-tuk-i-shook, and the smaller
Ah-we-lah. These rocks will stand as monuments to the memory of my
faithful savage comrades when all else is forgotten.
From Cape Tennyson to Cape Isabella the coast of Ellesmere Land was
charted, in the middle of the last century, by ships at a great distance
from land. Little has been added since. The wide belt of pack thrown
against the coast made further exploration from the ship very difficult,
but in our northward march over the sea-ice it was hoped that we might
keep close enough to the shores to examine the land carefully.
A few Eskimos had, about fifty years previously, wandered along this ice
from Pond's Inlet to the Greenland camps. They left the American shores
because famine, followed by forced cannibalism, threatened to
exterminate the tribe. A winter camp had been placed on Coburg Island.
Here many walruses and bears were secured during the winter, while in
summer, from Kent Island, many guillemots were secured. In moving from
these northward, by skin boat and _kayak_, they noted myriads of
guillemots, or "acpas," off the southeast point of the mainland. There
being no name in the Eskimo vocabulary for this land, it was called
Acpohon, or "The Home of Guillemots." The Greenland Eskimos had
previously called the country "Ah-ming-mah Noona," or Musk Ox Land, but
they also adopted the name of Acpohon, so we have taken the liberty of
spreading the name over the entire island as a general name for the most
northern land west of Greenland. In pushing northward, many of the
Eskimos starved, and the survivors had a bitter fight for subsistence.
Our experience was similar.
[Illustration: PUNCTURED CANVAS BOAT IN WHIH WE PADDLED 1,000 MILES
FAMINE DAYS WHEN ONLY STRAY BIRDS PREVENTED STARVATION DEN IN WHICH WERE
SPENT 100 DOUBLE NIGHTS]
[Illustration: BULL FIGHTS WITH THE MUSK OX ABOUT CAPE SPARBO]
Near Cape Paget those ancient Eskimos made a second winter camp. Here
narwhals and bears were secured, and through Talbot's Fiord a short pass
was discovered over Ellesmere Land to the musk ox country of the west
shores. The Eskimos who survived the second winter reached the Greenland
shores during the third summer. There they introduced the _kayak_, and
also the bow and arrow. Their descendants are to-day the most
intelligent of the most northern Eskimos.
To my companions the environment of the new land which we were passing
was in the nature of digging up ancient history. Several old camp sites
were located, and E-tuk-i-shook, whose grandfather was one of the old
pioneers, was able to tell us the incidents of each camp with remarkable
detail.
As a rule, however, it was very difficult to get near the land. Deep
snows, huge pressure lines of ice, and protruding glaciers forced our
line of march far from the Eskimo ruins which we wished to examine. From
Cape Tennyson to Cape Clarence the ice near the open water proved fairly
smooth, but the humid saline surface offered a great resistance to the
metal plates of the sled. Here ivory or bone plates would have lessened
the friction very much. A persistent northerly wind also brought the ice
and the humid discomfort of our breath back to our faces with painful
results. During several days of successive storms we were imprisoned in
the domes of snow. By enforced idleness we were compelled to use a
precious store of food and fuel, without making any necessary advance.
Serious difficulties were encountered in moving from Cape Clarence to
Cape Faraday. Here the ice was tumbled into mountains of trouble.
Tremendous snowdrifts and persistent gales from the west made traveling
next to impossible, and, with no game and no food supply in prospect, I
knew that to remain idle would be suicidal. The sledge load was
lightened, and every scrap of fur which was not absolutely necessary was
thrown away. The humid boots, stockings and sealskin coats could not be
dried out, for fuel was more precious than clothing. All of this was
discarded, and, with light sleds and reduced rations, we forced along
over hummocks and drift. In all of our Polar march we had seen no ice
which offered so much hardship as did this so near home shores. The
winds again cut gashes across our faces. With overwork and insufficient
food, our furs hung on bony eminences over shriveled skins.
At the end of thirty-five days of almost ceaseless toil we managed to
reach Cape Faraday. Our food was gone. We were face to face with the
most desperate problem which had fallen to our long run of hard luck.
Famine confronted us. We were far from the haunts of game; we had seen
no living thing for a month. Every fiber of our bodies quivered with
cold and hunger. In desperation we ate bits of skin and chewed tough
walrus lines. A half candle and three cups of hot water served for
several meals. Some tough walrus hide was boiled and eaten with relish.
While trying to masticate this I broke some of my teeth. It was hard on
the teeth, but easy on the stomach, and it had the great advantage of
dispelling for prolonged periods the pangs of hunger. But only a few
strips of walrus line were left after this was used.
Traveling, as we must, in a circuitous route, there was still a
distance of one hundred miles between us and Cape Sabine, and the
distance to Greenland might, by open water, be spread to two hundred
miles. This unknown line of trouble could not be worked out in less than
a month. Where, I asked in desperation, were we to obtain subsistence
for that last thirty days?
To the eastward, a line of black vapors indicated open water about
twenty-five miles off shore. There were no seals on the ice. There were
no encouraging signs of life; only old imprints of bears and foxes were
left on the surface of the cheerless snows at each camp. For a number of
days we had placed our last meat as bait to attract the bears, but none
had ventured to pay us a visit. The offshore wind and the nearness of
the open water gave us some life from this point.