CHRISTMAS TIME--DEATH--RETURN OF LIGHT AND HOPE--DISASTERS AND FINAL
DELIVERANCE.
Christmas came at last, but with it came no bright sun to remind those
ice-bound men of our Saviour--the "Sun of Righteousness"--whose birth
the day commemorated. It was even darker than usual in Refuge Harbour
on that Christmas-day. It was so dark at noon that one could not see
any object more than a few yards distant from the eyes. A gale of wind
from the nor'-west blew the snow-drift in whirling ghost-like clouds
round the _Hope_, so that it was impossible to face it for a moment. So
intense was the cold that it felt like sheets of fire being driven
against the face! Truly it was a day well fitted to have depressed the
heartiest of men. But man is a wonderful creature, not easy to
comprehend! The very things that ought to have cast down the spirits of
the men of the _Hope_ were the things that helped to cheer them.
About this time, as I have said, the health of the crew had improved a
little, so they were prepared to make the most of everything. Those
feelings of kindliness and good-will which warm the breasts of all
right-minded men at this season of the year, filled our Arctic voyagers
to overflowing. Thoughts of "home" came crowding on them with a power
that they had not felt at other times. Each man knew that on this day,
more than any other day of that long, dark winter, the talk round a
well-known hearth in Merry England would be of one who was far, far away
in the dark regions of ice and snow. A tear or two that could not be
forced back tumbled over rough cheeks which were not used to _that_ kind
of salt water; and many a silent prayer went up to call down a blessing
on the heads of dear ones at home.
It blew "great guns outside," as Baker said, but what of that? it was a
dead calm in the cabin! It was dark as a coal-hole on the floes. What
then? it was bright as noon-day in the _Hope_! No sun blazed through
the skylight, to be sure, but a lamp, filled with fat, glared on the
table, and a great fire of coal glowed in the stove. Both of these
together did not make the place too warm, but there were fur-coats and
trousers and boots to help defy the cold. The men were few in number
and not likely to see many friends on that Christmas-day. All the more
reason why they should make the most of each other! Besides, they were
wrong in their last idea about friends, for it chanced, on that very
day, that Myouk the Eskimo paid them a visit--quite ignorant of its
being Christmas, of course. Meetek was with him, and so was Oomia, and
so was the baby--that remarkably fat, oily, naked baby, that seemed
rather to enjoy the cold than otherwise!
They had a plum-pudding that day. Butts said it was almost as big as
the head of a walrus. They had also a roast of beef--walrus-beef, of
course--and first-rate it was. But before dinner the captain made them
go through their usual morning work of cleaning, airing, making beds,
posting journals, noting temperatures, opening the fire-hole, and
redding up. For the captain was a great believer in the value of
discipline. He knew that no man enjoys himself so much as he who has
got through his work early--who has done his duty. It did not take them
long, and when it was done the captain said, "Now, boys, we must be
jolly to-day. As we can't get out we must take some exercise indoors.
We shall need extra appetite to make away with that plum-pudding."
So, at it they went! Every sort of game or feat of strength known to
sailors was played, or attempted. It was in the middle of all this that
Myouk and his family arrived, so they were compelled to join. Even the
fat baby was put into a blanket and swung round the cabin by Jim Croft,
to the horror of its mother, who seemed to think it would be killed, and
to the delight of its father, who didn't seem to care whether it was
killed or not.
Then came the dinner. What a scene that was, to be sure! It would take
a whole book to describe all that was said and done that day. The
Eskimos ate till they could hardly stand--that was their usual custom.
Then they lay down and went to sleep--that was their usual custom, too.
The rest ate as heartily, poor fellows, as was possible for men not yet
quite recovered from scurvy. They had no wine, but they had excellent
coffee, and with this they drank to absent friends, sweethearts, and
wives, and many other toasts, the mere mention of which raised such
strong home-feelings in their breasts that some of them almost choked in
the attempt to cheer. Then came songs and stories--all of them old,
very old indeed--but they came out on this occasion as good as new. The
great event of the evening, however, was a fancy ball, in which our
friends Butts, Baker, Gregory, and Pepper distinguished themselves.
They had a fiddle, and Dawkins the steward could play it. He knew
nothing but Scotch reels; but what could have been better? They could
all dance, or, if they could not, they all tried. Myouk and Meetek were
made to join and they capered as gracefully as polar bears, which
animals they strongly resembled in their hairy garments. Late in the
evening came supper. It was just a repetition of dinner, with the
remains of the pudding fried in bear's grease.
Thus passed Christmas-Day; much in the same way passed New Year's Day.
Then the men settled down to their old style of life; but the time hung
so heavy on their hands that their spirits began to sink again. The
long darkness became intolerable and the fresh meat began to fail.
Everything with life seemed to have forsaken the place. The captain
made another trip to the Eskimo village and found the huts empty--the
whole race had flown, he knew not whither! The private theatricals were
at first very successful; but by degrees they lost their interest and
were given up. Then a school was started and Gregory became head
master. Writing and arithmetic were the only branches taught. Some of
the men were much in need of instruction, and all of them took to the
school with energy and much delight. It lasted longer than the
theatricals did. As time wore on the fresh meat was finished, scurvy
became worse; and it was as much as the men who were not quite knocked
down could do to attend to those who were. Day after day Tom and
Gregory and Sam Baker went out to hunt, and each day returned
empty-handed. Sometimes an Arctic hare or a fox was got; but not often.
At last rats were eaten as food. These creatures swarmed in the hold
of the brig. They were caught in traps and shot with a bow and a
blunt-headed arrow. But few of the men would eat them. The captain
urged them to do so in vain. Those who did eat kept in better health
than those who did not.
At last death came. Mr Mansell sank beneath the terrible disease and
was buried on the island. No grave could be dug in that hard frozen
soil. The burial service was read by his sorrowing comrades over his
body, which was frozen quite hard before they reached the grave, and
then they laid it in a tomb of ice.
Time hung heavier than ever after that. Death is at all time a terrible
visitant, but in such a place and under such circumstances it was
tenfold more awful than usual. The blank in so small a band was a great
one. It would perhaps have depressed them more than it did had their
own situation been less desperate. But they had too fierce a battle to
fight with disease, and the midnight gloom, and the bitter frost, to
give way to much feeling about him who was gone.
Thus the long winter passed heavily away.
The sun came back at last, and when he came his beams shone upon a pale,
shattered, and heart-weary band of men. But with his cheering light
came also _hope_, and health soon followed in his train. Let young
Gregory's journal tell the rest of our story, little of which now
remains to be told.
"_February 21st_.--I have to record, with joy and gratitude, that the
sun shone on the peaks of the ice-bergs to-day. The first time it has
done so since October last. By the end of this month we shall have his
rays on deck. I climbed to the top of a berg and actually bathed in
sunshine this forenoon! We are all quite excited by the event, some of
us even look jolly. Ah! what miserable faces my comrades have! so pale,
so thin! We are all as weak as water. The captain and I are the
strongest. Baker is also pretty well. Crofts and Davis are almost
useless, the rest being quite helpless. The captain cooks, Baker and I
hunt, Crofts and Davis attend to the sick. Another month of darkness
would have killed the half of us.
"_March 10th_.--I shot a bear to-day. It did my heart good to see the
faces of the men when I brought them the news and a piece of the flesh!
The cold is not quite so intense now. Our coldest day this year has
been the 17th of January. The glass stood at 67 degrees below zero on
that morning. What a winter we have had! I shudder when I think of it.
But there is more cause to be anxious about what yet lies before us. A
single bear will not last long. Many weeks must pass before we are
free. In June we hope to be released from our ice-prison. Fresh meat
we shall then have in abundance. With it strength will return, and
then, if God permits, we shall attempt to continue our voyage northward.
The captain is confident on the point of open water round the Pole.
The men are game for anything in spite of their sad condition."
Thus wrote Gregory at that date. Many weeks later we find him writing
as follows:
"_June 15th_.--Free at last! The ice has been breaking up out at sea
for some time past. It gave way in Refuge Harbour yesterday, and we
warped out in the night. Everything is ready to push north again. We
have been feeding heartily for many weeks on walrus, seals, wild-fowl,
and last, but not least, on some grasses which make bad greens, but they
have put scurvy to flight. All the men are well and strong and fit for
hard work--though nothing like what they were when we first came here.
Could it be otherwise? There are some of us who will carry the marks of
this winter to our graves. The bright beautiful sunshine shines now,
all day and all night, cheering our hearts and inspiring hope.
"_June 16th_.--All is lost! How little we know what a day may bring
forth! Our good little brig is gone, and we are here on the ice without
a thing in the world except the clothes on our backs. I have saved my
note-book, which chanced to be in my breast-pocket when the nip took
place. How awfully sudden it was! We now appreciate the wise
forethought of Captain Harvey in sending the large boat to Forlorn-Hope
Bay. This boat is our last and only hope. We shall have to walk forty
miles before we reach it.
"Our brig went down at three o'clock this afternoon. We had warped out
into the floes to catch a light breeze that was blowing outside. For
some time we held on steadily to the northward, but had not got out of
sight of our winter quarters when a stream of ice set down upon us and
closed in all around. At first we thought nothing of this, having
escaped so many dangers of the kind last autumn, but by degrees the
pressure increased alarmingly. We were jammed against a great ice-field
which was still fast to the shore. In a few moments the sides of our
little vessel began to creak and groan loudly. The men laboured like
tigers at the ice-poles, but in vain. We heard a loud report in the
cabin. No one knows what it was, but I suppose it must have been the
breaking of a large bolt. At any rate it was followed by a series of
crashes and reports that left no doubt in our minds as to what was going
on. The ice was cracking the brig as if she had been a nut-shell.
`Save yourselves, lads!' cried the captain. One or two of the men made
a rush to the hatchway, intending to run below and save some of their
things. I ran to the cabin-ladder in the hope of saving our log-book
and journals, but we all started back in horror, for the deck at that
moment burst open almost under our feet. I cast one glance down through
the opening into the hold. That glance was sufficient. The massive
timbers and beams were being crushed together, doubled up, split, and
shivered, as if they had been rotten straws! In another moment I was on
the ice, where the whole crew were assembled, looking on at the work of
destruction in solemn silence.
"After bursting in the vessel's sides the ice eased off, and she at once
began to settle down. We could hear the water rushing furiously into
the hold. Ten minutes later she was gone! Thus end our hopes of
farther discovery, and we are now left to fight our way in an open boat
to the settlements on the south coast of Greenland. We have little time
to think. Prompt action must be our watchword now, if we would escape
from this world of ice.
"_July 20th_.--I have not entered a line in this journal since our
vessel was lost. Our work has been so severe, and our sufferings so
great, that I have had no heart for writing. Our walk to the place
where we left the boat was a hard one, but we were cheered by finding
the boat all safe, and the provisions and stores just as we left them.
There was not enough to last out the voyage, but we had guns and powder.
It is in vain to attempt to describe the events of the last few weeks.
Constant, and hard, and cold work--at the oars, with the ice-poles--
warping, hauling, and shoving. Beset by ice; driving before storms;
detained by thick fogs; often wet to the skin; always tired, almost
starving--such has been our fate since that sad day when our brig went
down. And yet I don't think there is one of our party who would not
turn about on the spot and renew our voyage of discovery, if he only got
a chance of going in a well-appointed vessel. As it is, we must push
on. Home! home! is our cry now.
"_August 1st_.--We are now in clover, after having been reduced to think
of roasting our shoes for breakfast. For three days last week we ate
nothing at all. Our powder has been expended for some weeks past. On
Monday we finished our last morsel of the gull that Pepper managed to
bring down with a stone. Tuesday was a terrible day. The agony of
hunger was worse than I had expected it to be. Nevertheless, we tried
hard to cheer each other as we laboured at the oars. Our only hope was
to fall in with natives. Signs of them were seen everywhere, and we
expected to hear their shouts at every point of land we doubled. The
captain suggested that we should try _shoe-soup_ on Wednesday morning!
He was more than half in earnest, but spoke as if he were jesting.
Pepper cocked his ears as if there was some hope still of work for him
to do in his own line. Jim Crofts pulled off his shoe, and, looking at
it earnestly, wondered if the sole would make a very tough chop. We all
laughed, but I cannot say that the laugh sounded hearty. On the
Thursday I began to feel weak, but the pangs of hunger were not so bad.
Our eyes seemed very large and wolfish. I could not help shuddering
when I thought of the terrible things that men have done when reduced to
this state.
"That evening, as we rounded a point, we saw an Eskimo boy high on a
cliff, with a net in his hand. He did not see us for some time, and we
were so excited that we stopped rowing to watch him in breathless
silence. Thousands of birds were flying round his head among the
cliffs. How often we had tried to kill some of these with sticks and
stones, in vain! The net he held was a round one, with a long handle.
Suddenly he made a dashing sweep with it and caught two of the birds as
they passed! We now saw that a number of dead birds lay at his feet.
In one moment our boat was ashore and we scrambled up the cliffs in
eager haste. The boy fled in terror, but before he was well out of
sight every man was seated on a ledge of rock with a bird at his mouth,
sucking the blood! Hunger like ours despises cookery! It was fortunate
that there were not many birds, else we should have done ourselves harm
by eating too much. I have eaten many a good meal in my life, but never
one so sweet, or for which I was so thankful, as that meal of raw birds,
devoured on the cliffs of Greenland!
"That night we reached the Eskimo village, where we now lie. We find
that it is only two days' journey from this place to the Danish
settlements. There we mean to get on board the first ship that is bound
for Europe--no matter what port she sails for. Meanwhile we rest our
weary limbs in peace, for our dangers are past, and--thanks be to God--
we are saved."
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Reader, my tale is told. A little book cannot be made to contain a long
story, else would I have narrated many more of the strange and
interesting events that befell our adventurers during that voyage. But
enough has been written to give some idea of what is done and suffered
by those daring men who attempt to navigate the Polar seas.