HALL AND THE “POLARIS”
We now come to one of the most curious figures in the whole history
of Arctic exploration, that of the American, Charles Francis Hall,
who, in the year 1864, set sail for Smith Sound in the barque
_Polaris_. Hall came from Cincinnati, and in his earlier days he
followed the peaceful avocation of a blacksmith. He was an ambitious
man, however, and something of a dreamer, and he had not the least
intention of spending all his days at the forge. Journalism claimed
his attention for a while, and he became editor of the Cincinnati
_Daily Penny Press_, but his heart yearned towards the Polar regions,
and, though he had never seen the sea in his life, he felt himself
irresistibly impelled to quit the life in which he was already
beginning to win some measure of success for the more hazardous
career of an Arctic explorer.
It was probably the fate of the Franklin expedition which first made
him turn his thoughts seriously in this direction. He firmly believed
that the English explorers had been absolutely wrong in their methods
of conducting the search. The only way by which success could
possibly be obtained was, he imagined, by settling among the Eskimos,
by acquiring their language, their ways and their confidence, and
so obtaining from them any information which they might possess
concerning the fate of Franklin’s party, many of whom he believed to
be still alive.
[Illustration: ESKIMO ARCHITECTS
FROM A DRAWING BY CAPT. LYON]
Hall seems to have imagined that he was “called” to undertake this
task himself, so, with an energy and enterprise which must command
our admiration, he promptly set about the fulfilment of his mission.
Funds having been provided by Henry Grinnell and a number of other
men who were interested in the project, he set sail in the barque
_George Henry_ with a crew of thirty officers and men, including an
interpreter. His object was to proceed direct to Boothia, and there
to spend three years among the natives, living with them as one of
themselves, and completing the history of the Franklin expedition.
This scheme, however, he only partially fulfilled. He lived with the
natives, it is true, and became by far the greatest authority of the
day on their manners and customs, but, beyond demonstrating that what
was known as Frobisher Strait was in reality a bay, he did nothing
towards adding to the world’s knowledge of the Arctic regions,
or towards elucidating the mystery of the fate of the Franklin
expedition. He returned home in 1862, and occupied himself for some
time in writing up an account of his experiences.
Two years later he sailed in the barque _Monticello_ on his second
expedition. On this occasion he made for Repulse Bay, where he
proposed getting into touch with the natives and acquiring from them
all the information that they possessed about Franklin’s party and
ships. Unfortunately, it appears that the natives knew how dear his
mission was to him, and, not wishing to disappoint him, employed
their imagination to fill in the gaps in their actual knowledge.
As was only inevitable, Hall ultimately discovered that the
circumstantial tales with which they regaled him were largely flights
of fancy, and, completely disillusioned, he made his way home again
to America.
During his sojourn with the Eskimos, however, he had acquired a real
taste for Arctic exploration, and he at once decided that, as there
seemed to be nothing further to be learned about the _Erebus_ and
_Terror_, he had better direct his attention towards the North Pole.
He was a man of unbounded enterprise, and he soon found friends who
were ready to help him to launch his new project. Chief among these
was Mr Robeson, Secretary of the American Navy Department, through
whose offices Congress voted him $50,000 towards his expenses. A
wooden river gunboat of 387 tons, originally called the _Periwinkle_
but rechristened the _Polaris_ was placed at his disposal, and in
this he set sail from New London on July 3, 1871.
Truth to tell, the expedition was never really marked out for
success, as is pointed out by Sir A. H. Markham in the following
passage: “He (Hall) had no advantages of education, and was
unacquainted with nautical astronomy. He was thus in no sense a
seaman, but rather an enthusiastic leader depending on others
to navigate his vessel and to render his discoveries useful. He
possessed, however, one great advantage. His two previous expeditions
had thoroughly acclimatised him, and given him a complete knowledge
of Eskimo life. The men who accompanied him were also badly chosen.
Buddington was an old whaling captain, without any interest in
the undertaking; and Tyson (the assistant navigator) was a man of
the same stamp. Chester, the mate, was a good seaman and excellent
harpooner, but one who had merely shipped from the inducement of high
pay. Dr Bessels, a former student of Heidelberg, who had served in
one of the German Arctic expeditions and in the Prussian army during
the invasion of France, was the only man of scientific attainments in
the ship, and the only man, besides Hall, who felt any enthusiasm for
the objects of the voyage. Altogether it was an ill-assorted company,
without zeal for discovery, without discipline or control, and in
which every man considered himself as good as his neighbour.”
It was, perhaps, a little unfortunate that this expedition, which
was so poorly adapted to make full use of its opportunities, should
have been more favoured by luck than any of its predecessors. After
stopping at Upernivik to pick up Hans Christian, who brought with
him his wife and a family which had already attained to considerable
dimensions, the _Polaris_ sailed merrily on past Rensselaer Harbour,
through the so-called “open Polar Sea,” through Kennedy Channel,
across Hall Basin and up Robeson Channel, till, on August 30, she was
in lat. 82° 16´, 250 miles, beyond the furthest point reached by any
previous explorer. It seems, indeed, that she might have penetrated
even further than that without much difficulty had Hall only been
a practical seaman, for the stream of ice by which she was stopped
was quite insignificant, and there was a magnificent water-sky
away to the northward. Buddington, however, was dead against the
attempt, and Hall, of course, was obliged to follow his advice, so
the _Polaris_ was allowed to drift southward, until, on September
3, when she had reached lat. 81° 38′, she found herself in a small
indentation called Thank God Bay, in which she was made snug for the
winter.
Two months later a gloom was cast over the company by the tragic
death of Hall. On returning, rather chilled, from a sledge journey,
he was unwise enough to descend at once to the cabin and drink hot
coffee, though his experience of life in the Polar regions ought to
have taught him that it was extremely dangerous to do this without
first divesting himself of his furs and allowing his system to be
toned up to the high temperature of his cabin. Within a few hours he
became seriously ill, and a fortnight later he died. Dr Bessels gave
it as his opinion that his death was due to apoplexy.
The command now devolved on Buddington, who showed himself singularly
unfitted for his duties. In the first place, he abolished the Sunday
services, a step which is always inadvisable, and which, in this
case, was absolutely criminal, as the men were quite ill-disciplined
enough as it was. In the second place, he developed a taste for
sending out exploring parties and calling them back to the ship
again for no comprehensible reason, so that no discoveries of any
value were made, in spite of the exceptionally favourable situation
in which the expedition was then placed. It was, however, after the
_Polaris_ had been set free and while she was on her way home that he
gave the most convincing proof of his incompetence, with the result
that a large portion of his crew came within an ace of absolute
disaster. The ship happened to be caught in the ice with which she
drifted into Baffin Bay. On October 15 she was severely nipped,
whereupon the panic-stricken Buddington promptly cried out, “Throw
everything upon the ice.” Of course the whole ship was instantly
cast into the direst confusion. The sailors hurled everything that
they could lay hands on on to the floe, including a bundle which was
subsequently found to contain two of Hans Christian’s offspring. Men,
women, and children leapt after them, and though Tyson did his best
to calm them his efforts were not of much avail. While everything was
still in confusion and while half the crew were on the ice and the
rest on board, the ship suddenly freed herself and flew off before
the wind at the rate of ten or eleven knots an hour.
It was not until morning came that the castaways were able to take
a serious survey of their situation. They found that they numbered
nineteen, among them being two Eskimo women, and Hans Christian’s
youngest child, Charlie Polaris, which had seen the light of day on
board the ship after which he was named while she was lying in winter
quarters. The floe on which they were cast away was over a mile in
diameter, but though, for the time being, it made a serviceable raft,
there was, of course, no knowing when it would split up.
For over six months, that is to say, from the middle of October
1872 to the end of April 1873, the floe drifted steadily south,
diminishing in size as it went. The most serious split occurred on
March 11, after which it only measured a hundred yards in length
by seventy in breadth. Provisions, too, which were never exactly
plentiful—they had started on their adventurous voyage equipped only
with eleven and a half bags of bread, fourteen small hams, some cans
of meat and soup, a little chocolate and sugar, and 630 pounds of
pemmican—became painfully scarce, and had they not been able to eke
out their menu with a few dogs which had been thrown on to the ice,
and with sundry seals which had been caught during the latter part of
their voyage, they would have died of hunger.
Fortunately for them, the floe drifted down into the track of the
whalers, and on the last day of April they were picked up by the
_Tigress_, of Conception Bay, Newfoundland, which conveyed them
safely to St John’s.
Of the remainder of the voyage of the _Polaris_ herself there is very
little to be said. With fourteen men on board, she was driven north
to Life Boat Cove, where she was safely anchored. Her crew promptly
unloaded her and built a house on shore, where they spent the winter
in tolerably comfortable circumstances, being supplied by the Eskimos
with all the fresh meat that they required. In the spring they made
a couple of boats out of the ship’s timbers, in which they set sail
for the south on June 3. They were ultimately picked up by the whaler
_Ravenscraig_ of Dundee.
As has already been indicated, the results of this expedition might
have been far greater than was actually the case. The _Polaris_,
it is true, penetrated further north than ever ship had penetrated
before. Dr Bessels made many valuable researches into animal and
vegetable life in those regions, and it was conclusively shown that
Kane’s open Polar Sea and the coast-line laid down by Hayes were
quite fictitious. But more might easily have been achieved had the
expedition been better conducted.