voyageurs had died on the trail, that the Iroquois Indian, Michel, had
murdered Hood, and that in self-defence he had been obliged to shoot
Michel.
Pending the relief of the party, which was on November 7, the members
existed on Labrador tea (an infusion from a plant thus used by the
Indians), on lichens, and the refuse of deer killed the year before. The
deerskins gathered up in the neighborhood were singed of their hair and
then roasted, while the horns and bones were either roasted or used in
soup. Two of the Canadians died on this diet. Of a partridge shot and
divided into six portions Franklin says: "I and my companions ravenously
devoured our shares, as it was the first morsel of flesh any of us had
tasted for thirty-one days."
The praiseworthy conduct of Franklin and of his companions in
prosecuting the work of outlining the arctic coasts of North America is
not to be measured alone by the fortitude and courage shown in crossing
the barren grounds. An unusual sense of duty, akin to heroism, could
alone have inspired Franklin and Richardson to attempt the exploration
under the adverse conditions then prevailing in that country. A warfare,
practically of extermination, was then in progress between the Hudson
Bay Company and the Northwestern Company. This struggle, under the
instigation of misguided agents, aroused the worst passions of both
half-breeds and of Indians, who were demoralized by the distribution of
spirits. By diversions of hunters many people were starved, while others
were murdered outright. Franklin's sad experiences in the public service
at Fort Enterprise were duplicated by the starvation and deaths of
innocent people at other remote points through commercial cupidity or
rivalry.
Disastrous and lamentable as was the outcome of the journey across the
barren lands, it indicated in a striking manner the superior staying
powers of the English as pitted against the hardy voyageurs--Canadians,
Eskimos, Indians, and half-breeds. Five of the fifteen voyageurs
perished and one of the English. Doubtless the latter survived largely
through their powers of will, acts of energy and of heroic devotion to
the interests of the party--one and all.
THE RETREAT OF ROSS FROM THE _VICTORY_
"For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes."
--SHAKESPEARE.
Among the many notable voyages in search of the northwest passage,
although less spectacular in phases of adventurous exploration than some
others, there is none which deserves more careful examination than that
of Sir John Ross in the _Victory_. Not only did this voyage make most
important contributions to the various branches of science, but it was
unequalled for its duration and unsurpassed in variety of experiences.
It was fitted out as a private expedition, largely at the expense of
Felix Booth, sheriff of London, was absent from 1829 to 1833, and was
the first arctic expedition to use steam as a motive power.
Sailing in the small paddle-wheel steamer _Victory_, Ross passed through
Baffin Bay into Lancaster Sound, whence he shaped his course to the
south. Discovering the eastern shores of North Somerset and of Boothia,
he put his ship into winter quarters at Felix Harbor, which became his
base of operations. Rarely have such valuable explorations been made
without disaster or even serious hardships. Boothia was found to be the
most northerly apex of the continent of North America, while to its
west King William Land and other extended areas were discovered.
Of surpassing interest and importance was the magnetic work done by
James Clark Ross, a nephew of Sir John. Many persons do not realize that
the place to which constantly points the north end of the needle of the
magnetic compass is _not_ the north geographic pole. The locality to
which the compass turns is, in fact, nearly fourteen hundred miles to
the _south_ of the north pole. With this expedition in 1830, James Clark
Ross by his many observations proved that the _north magnetic pole_, to
which the needle of the compass points, was then very near Cape
Adelaide, in 70 deg. 05' north latitude, 96 deg. 44' west longitude.[1]
The adventures of the crew in their retreat from Boothia Land by boat
and sledge are recorded in this sketch.
* * * * *
Captain Ross failing to free his ship from the ice the second summer, it
was clear to him that the _Victory_ must be abandoned the coming spring.
It was true salmon were so abundant in the lakes of Boothia that five
thousand were caught in one fishing trip, which netted six tons of
dressed fish, but bread and salt meat, the usual and favorite food of
the crew, were so short that it had become necessary to reduce the daily
issues. Fuel was so reduced that none remained save for cooking, and the
deck had to be strewn with a thick coating of gravel, for warmth,
before the usual covering of snow was spread over the ship. Creatures of
habit, the seamen now showed signs of depression bordering on discontent
if not of despair.
[Illustration: Boothia Peninsula and North Somerset.]
There were two routes of retreat open to Ross, one being toward the
south, attractive as being warmer and possibly more ice-free. He chose,
however, the way to the north, which, desolate as it might be, was known
to him both as to its food supplies and also as to the chances of
meeting a ship. Every year the daring Scotch whalers were fishing in
Lancaster Sound, and at Fury Beach, on the line by which he would
travel, were large quantities of food, boats, and other needful
articles--landed from the wreck of Parry's ship _Fury_ in 1825.
Ross did not plan his abandonment of the _Victory_ any too early, for in
January Seaman Dixon died and his mate Buck lost his eyesight from
epilepsy. Signs of the dreaded arctic horror, scurvy, were not lacking,
as the foolish seamen were averse to the antiscorbutic lime juice and
refused to take the fresh salmon-oil ordered by the doctor. Ross was
also affected, his old wounds breaking out afresh, reminders of the day
when as a lieutenant he had aided in cutting out a Spanish ship under
the batteries of Bilbao.
Knowing that the _Victory_ would be plundered by the natives after its
abandonment, Ross provided for a possible contingency of falling back on
her for another winter, and so constructed a cave inshore in which were
cached scientific instruments, ship's logs, accounts, ammunition, etc.
Sledge-building began in January, and the dismantling of the ship
proceeded as fast as the weakness of the crew permitted.
It was impossible to reach the open water of Prince Regent Inlet without
establishing advance depots of provisions and of boats, as the
conditions at Fury Beach were unknown. Floe-travel was so bad, and the
loads hauled by the enfeebled men so small, that it took the entire
month of April to move a distance of thirty miles two boats and food for
five weeks, while open water was not to be expected within three hundred
miles.
On May 29, 1832, the British colors were hoisted, nailed to the mast,
duly saluted, and the _Victory_ abandoned. With the true military spirit
Ross was the last to quit his ship, his first experience in forty-two
years' service in thirty-six ships.
The prospects were dismal enough, with heavily laden sledges moving less
than a mile an hour, while the party were encumbered by helpless men:
these were moved with comfort by rigging up overhead canvas canopies for
the sledge on which a man could be carried in his sleeping-bag.
The midsummer month of June opened with the sea ice stretching like
solid marble as far north as the eye could reach. The change from
forecastle to tent, from warm hammocks and hot meals to frozen blankets
and lukewarm food, told severely on the worn-out sledgemen whose thirst
even could be but rarely quenched until later the snow of the land began
to melt. Now and then a lucky hunter killed a hare, or later a duck,
still in its snowy winter coat, which gave an ounce or two of fresh meat
to flavor the canned-meat stew.
Six days out the seamen, demoralized at their slow progress, sent a
delegation asking the captain to abandon boats and food so that
travelling light they might the earlier reach the Fury Beach depot. Ross
with firmness reprimanded the spokesman and ordered the men to take up
the line of march. He knew that food could not be thus wasted without
imperilling the fate of the party, and that boats were absolutely
essential. While striving to the utmost with the crew, coming a week
later to a safe place he cached both boats, and taking all the food
sent his nephew ahead to learn whether the boats at Fury Beach were
serviceable. After a journey in which young Ross displayed his usual
heroic energy and ability, he brought the glad news that although a
violent gale had carried off the three boats and seriously damaged one,
yet he had secured all so that the boats of the _Victory_ could be left
behind.
July 1 brought the party to Fury Beach, where despite orders and
cautions some of the hungry seamen gorged themselves sick. But the ice
was still solid. Ross therefore built a house of canvas stretched over a
wooden frame, and named the habitation Somerset House, as it was on
North Somerset Land. Work was pushed on the boats, which were in bad
shape, and as they were of mahogany they were sure to lack the fine
flotation qualities of those left behind. Ross fitted his two boats with
mutton sails, while the nephew put in sprit-sails.
Fortunately the food at Fury Beach had escaped the ravages of arctic
animals, though the clever sharp-nosed foxes had scented the tallow
candles, gnawed holes through the boxes, and made way with them all.
Everything was arranged for a long sea trip, each boat being loaded with
food for sixty days and had assigned thereto an officer and seven
seamen. The ice opening suddenly and unexpectedly, they started north on
August 1, moving by oar-power, as the water lanes were too narrow and
irregular for the use of sails. On the water once more, the crew thought
their retreat secure. They had hardly gone eight miles before they were
driven to shore by the moving pack, and were barely able to draw up
their boats when the floes drove violently against the rocks, throwing
up great pressure-ridges of heavy ice and nearly destroying the boats.
The men had scarcely begun to congratulate themselves on their escape
from death in the pack when they realized that they were under
conditions of great peril. They found themselves on a rocky beach, only
a few yards in width, which was a talus of loose, rolling rocks at the
base of perpendicular cliffs nearly five hundred feet high. As the ice
which cemented the disintegrating upper cliffs melted, the least wind
loosened stones, which fell in numbers around them, one heavy rock
striking a boat's mast. Unable to escape by land, hemmed in by the
closely crowding pack, they passed nine days unable to protect
themselves, and fearing death at any moment from some of the falling
stones, which at times came in showers. They were tantalized by the
presence of numerous foxes and flocks of game birds, but they did not
dare to fire at them, fearing that the concussion from the firing would
increase the number of the falling rocks.
With barely room for their tents under the disintegrating precipice,
with decreasing food, in freezing weather, without fuel, and with the
short summer going day by day, they suffered agonies of mind and of
body. Fortunately the ice opened a trifle to the southward so that they
were able to launch the lightest boat, which went back to Fury Beach and
obtained food for three weeks. Driven ashore by the ice-pack on its
return, the crew from Fury Beach managed with difficulty to rejoin the
main party on foot. In this as in other instances they had very great
difficulty in hauling up their heavy mahogany boats, it being possible
to handle the heaviest only by tackle.
Through the opening ice they made very slow progress, being often driven
to shore. Most rarely did anything laughable occur, but one experience
gave rise to much fun. One morning the cook was up early to celebrate a
departure from their usually simple meal. The day before the hunters had
killed three hares, and the cook now intended to make a toothsome
sea-pie, for which he was celebrated among the men. Half-awake, he
groped around for his foot-gear, but could find only one boot. Rubbing
his eyes and looking around him, he was astonished to see a white fox
near the door of the tent calmly gnawing at the missing boot. Seizing
the nearest loose article, he threw it at the animal, expecting that he
would drop the boot. The half-famished fox had no mind to lose his
breakfast, and holding fast to the boot fled up the hill, to the disgust
of the cook and to the amusement of his comrades. To add to the fun they
named the place Boot Bight, though some said that there was more than
one bite in the lost boot.
A strong gale opening the sea, they improved the occasion by crossing
Batty Bay, when the heavy mahogany boat of Ross was nearly swamped. She
took in so much water that the crew were wet up to their knees, and it
required lively work and good seamanship to save her.
After more than seven weeks of such terrible struggles with the ice, the
three boats reached the junction of Prince Regent Inlet and Lancaster
Sound, only to find the sea covered with continuous, impenetrable
ice-floes. Ross cached his instruments, records, specimens, etc., for
the following year, so as to return light to Somerset House.
There were objections to returning south on the part of some of the
crew, who suggested that under the command of young Ross (and apparently
with his approval) the stronger members should "take a certain amount of
provisions from each boat and attempt to obtain a passage over the ice."
This meant not only the division of the party, but almost certainly
would have resulted in the death of all. For the crossing party, of the
strongest men, would have reached a barren land, while the sick and
helpless would have perished in trying to return alone to Somerset House
(Fury Beach). Ross wisely held fast to this opinion, and the return trip
began.
The delay caused by differences of opinion nearly proved fatal, owing to
the rapidly forming new ice through which the boats were only moved by
rolling them. The illy clad men now suffered terribly from the cold, as
the temperature was often at zero or below. It was so horrible to sleep
in the open, crowded boats that they sought the shore whenever possible.
Generally there was neither time nor was there fit snow to put up a
snow-hut, and then the men followed another plan to lessen their
terrible sufferings and sleepless nights. Each of the seamen had a
single blanket, which had been turned into a sack-shaped sleeping-bag so
that their feet should not become exposed and freeze while they were
asleep. Each of the three messes dug a trench, in a convenient
snow-drift, long enough and wide enough to hold the seven sleeping-bags
when arranged close together. Thrown over and covering the trench was a
canvas sail or tent, and the canvas was then overlaid with thick layers
of snow, which thus prevented any of the heat of the men from escaping.
Very carefully brushing off any particles of snow on their outer
garments, the men carefully wormed themselves into their sleeping-bags,
and by huddling together were generally able to gain such collective
heat as made it possible for them to drop off to sleep.
Whenever practicable they supplemented their now reduced rations by the
hunt, but got little except foxes and hares. The audacity of the white
arctic foxes was always striking and at times amusing. Once a thievish
fox crept slyly into a tent where the men were quietly awaiting the
return of a comrade for whose convenience a candle was kept lighted. The
candle smelt and looked good to Master Fox, who evidently had never seen
such a thing as fire before. Running up to the candle, he boldly snapped
at it, when his whiskers were so sorely singed that he departed in hot
haste. All laughed and thought that was the end of the affair. But a few
minutes later, discomfited but not discouraged, Master Fox, with his
scorched head-fur, appeared again in the tent. He had learned his
lesson, for avoiding the candle he snapped up the sou'wester of the
engineer and made off with it though a watching sailor threw a
candlestick at him.
The weather soon became most bitterly cold, and as they sailed or rowed
toward Fury Beach the sea-water often froze as it fell in driblets on
their garments. Food was reduced a third, as Ross knew that a return in
boats was now doubtful. A gale drove them to a wretched spot, a rocky
beach six feet wide beneath frowning cliffs many hundreds of feet high.
Their food was now cut off one-half, and the daily hunt brought
little--a few foxes and sea-gulls, with an occasional duck from the
southward-flying flocks.
Near Batty Bay they were caught in the ice-pack two miles from land and
their fate was for a time doubtful. Only by almost superhuman efforts
did they effect their release. The cargo was carried ashore by hand, and
by using the masts as rollers under the hulls of the boats--though often
discouraged by their breaking through the new, thin ice--they managed at
last to get the boats safe on shore. It might be thought that three
years of arctic service would have taught the men prudence, but here one
of the sailors in zero weather rolled a bread-cask along the shore with
bare hands, which caused him to lose the tips of his fingers and obliged
other men to do his duty.
It was now necessary to make the rest of the journey to Fury Beach
overland. Fortunately there were some empty bread-casks out of which the
carpenter made shift to build three sledges. The party left everything
behind for the journey of the next spring, taking only tentage, food,
needful tools, and instruments. The way lay along the base of
precipitous cliffs, with deep drifts of loose snow on the one hand, and
on the other rough ridges of heavy ice pushed up from the sea. Hard as
were the conditions of travel for the worn-out seamen, they were much
worse for the crippled mate, Taylor, who could not walk with his
crutches, and who suffered agony by frequent falls from the overturning
sled on which he had to be hauled. The first day broke one sledge, and
with zero temperatures the spirits of the men were most gloomy. Being
obliged to make double trips to carry their baggage, some of the sailors
complained when told off to return for the crippled mate. Ross shamed
them into quiet by telling them how much better was their case to be
able to haul a shipmate than was that of the wretched mate dependent on
others for life and comfort.
How closely the party was pressed by fate is shown by their eating the
last morsel of their food the day they reached Somerset House. As they
approached a white fox fled from the house, but though dirty, cold,
hungry, and exhausted, they were happy to reach this desolate spot which
they now called home.
Apart from the death of the carpenter, the winter passed without any
distressing events, though some of the men failed somewhat in strength.
It was a matter of rejoicing that in the early spring they obtained
fresh meat by killing two bears. The carcass of one of them was set up
as a decoy, and one of the seamen stuck a piece of iron hoop into it as
a tail. Soon frozen solid, it attracted another bear, who rushed at it
and after capsizing it was killed by a volley from sailors lying in
wait.
Careful plans were made for the summer campaign. Stoves were reduced to
one-fourth of their original weight and sledges were shod from ice-saws.
The three sledges were fitted with four uprights, with a canvas mat
hauled out to each corner. On this upper mat the sick and helpless men
were laid in their sleeping-bags, and thus could make with comparative
comfort any sledge journeys that might be necessary. It was deemed
advisable to provide for travel either by land or by sea.
The ice of Prince Regent Inlet held fast far into the summer, and at
times there stole into the minds of even the most hopeful and courageous
a fear lest it should not break up at all. Birds and game were fairly
plentiful, far more so than in the preceding year, but all hope, care,
and interest centred in the coming boat journey. No one could look
forward to the possibility of passing a fifth year in the arctic regions
without most dismal forebodings as to the sufferings and fatalities that
must result therefrom. The highest cliffs that commanded a view of the
inlet to the north were occupied by eager watchers of the ice horizon.
Day after day and week after week passed without the faintest signs of
water spots, which mark the disintegrating pack and give hopes of its
coming disruption. Would the pack ever break? Could that vast, unbroken
extent of ice ever waste away so that boats could pass? A thousand
times this or similar questions were asked, and no answer came.
Midsummer was far past when, by one of those sudden and almost
instantaneous changes of which the polar pack is possible, a favorable
wind and fortunate current dissipated the ice-covering of the inlet, and
alongshore, stretching far to the north, an ice-free channel appeared.
With the utmost haste the boats were loaded, the selected stores having
long been ready, and with hearts full of hope they started toward the
north. Ross and his officers fully realized that this was their sole and
final chance of life, and that failure to reach the whalers of Barrow
Strait or Baffin Bay meant ultimate death by starvation.
Amid the alternations during their voyage, of open water, of the
dangerous navigation of various ice streams, and of the tantalizing land
delays, when the violent insetting pack drove them to the cliff-bounded
beaches of North Somerset, even the feeblest worked with desperate
energy, for all knew that their lives depended on concerted, persistent,
intelligent action.
The ice conditions improved as they worked to the north end of Prince
Regent Inlet, and finally the pack was so disrupted and wasted that they
crossed to Baffin Land without difficulty.
Skirting the northern coast of that desolate land, they sailed to the
eastward, hoping almost against hope to see a friendly sail, for the
season was passing and the nights had begun to lengthen rapidly.
On the morning of August 25, 1833, their feelings were raised to an
intense pitch of excitement by the sight of a sail, which failed to
detect in turn the forlorn castaways. Though some fell into deep despair
as the ship stood away, the more rational men felt assured of their
final safety, since whalers were actually in the strait. A few hours
later they were fortunate enough to fall in with and to be picked up by
the whaler _Isabella_, a remarkable incident from the fact that she was
the arctic ship which Sir John Ross had commanded in his expedition of
1818 to Baffin Bay.
When Ross answered the hail from the astonished captain of the
_Isabella_, it was a unique and startling greeting that he received. For
when answering that he was Captain John Ross, the captain of the whaler
blurted out, "Why, Captain Ross has been dead two years," which was
indeed the general belief.
After investigating the affairs of the expedition, a committee of
Parliament reported "that a great public service had been performed
[with] deeds of daring enterprise and patient endurance of hardships."
They added that Captain John Ross "had the merit of maintaining both
health and discipline in a remarkable degree ... under circumstances the
most trying to which British seamen were perhaps ever subjected."
Through daily duty well done, by fidelity to work in hand, and
by unfailing courage in dire extremities, Sir John Ross and his
expeditionary force won their country's praise for heroic conduct.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] While the north magnetic pole constantly changes its position, yet
such movements are very slow, and while at present its exact situation
is not known, its locality is quite near this.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE
"He came not. Conjecture's cheek grew pale.
Year after year, in no propitious gale
His banner held its homeward way,
And Science saddened at her martyr's stay."
--ANON.