for in the beginning of November a bear crept up to the yacht, attracted
by odors from the cook's galley. Fortunately an alert quartermaster
detected his form outlined against the snow and at once shouted to the
dogs. Some of them ran like cowards, while others, rushing the bear,
closed in on him, biting his legs as he ran. Crossing a lane of lately
frozen sea, the bear broke through the new ice, followed by a number of
dogs who held fast to him in the water-space. One dog, old Sophy, fared
badly at close quarters, receiving a deep cut in one of her shoulders
from his sharp claws. It took four shots to kill the animal, it being a
large male bear seven feet three inches long. McClintock tells us that
"The chase and death were exciting. A misty moon affording but scanty
light, dark figures gliding singly about, not daring to approach each
other, for the ice trembled under their feet, the enraged bear, the
wolfish, howling dogs, and the bright flashes of the rifles made a novel
scene."
The escape from the pack was made under conditions that would turn one's
hair gray in a few days. For eighteen hours the chief stood fast at his
engines, while navigation was made through very high seas, with waves
from ten to thirteen feet high, which threatened to destroy the yacht by
driving against her great ice-floes which shook the vessel violently and
nearly knocked the crew off their legs.
Return to Europe for repairs seemed inevitable, but with the thought of
poor Lady Franklin in his heart, McClintock patched up the ship as best
he could in Greenland, and, crossing Baffin Bay, was driven, after a
fruitless sea-search, to winter quarters in Port Kennedy, 72 deg. N. 94 deg. W.
Hunting filled in the winter, though most animal life had gone south.
Lemmings were plentiful, about twice the size of and resembling the
short-tailed field-mouse. Bold and fearless, they enlivened the members
of the crew. An ermine visited the ship, and, being seen by one of the
dogs, the pack set up a perfect pandemonium in their efforts to catch
him. The beautiful snow-white creature rather unconcernedly watched the
efforts of the dogs to get at him under the grating of the boat where he
was safely ensconced. It was amusing to see an ermine play around the
ship, and when closely pursued by man or by dog plunge into a drift of
soft snow only to reappear at a considerable distance and in a quarter
where least expected. It was with the active little animals a kind of
hide-and-seek game, with their lives for forfeit if they were caught.
During Hobson's long journey to lay down an advance depot he lost a dog
actually from overcare. She had the bad habit of gnawing and eating her
seal-thong harness, and to prevent this Hobson caused her to be tightly
muzzled after the evening meal. One of the numberless dog-fights
occurred during the night, and with the trait so common to these
half-wolfish beasts they fell on the least defenceless, and the whole
pack bit and tore almost to pieces their muzzled and defenceless sister.
Her wounds were so many and so deep that she died during the day.
In this journey Hobson's party barely escaped perishing through a
violent northeasterly gale which drove seaward the ice-pack on which
they were encamped. McClintock says that on discovering that the entire
ice-field was adrift "They packed their sledge, harnessed the dogs, and
passed the long and fearful night in anxious waiting for some chance to
escape. A little distance offshore the ice broke up under the influence
of the wind and sea, and the disruption continued until the piece they
were on was scarce twenty yards in diameter. Impelled by the storm, in
utter darkness and amid fast-falling snow, they drifted across a wide
inlet. The gale was quickly followed by a calm, and an intense frost in
a single night formed ice strong enough to bear them safely to land,
although it bent fearfully under their weight. Their escape was indeed
providential."
[Illustration: King William Land.]
Death spared these men of action in the field, but it invaded the ship,
and Brand, the engineer, died of apoplexy.
When the sun came back after seventy-three days of absence, McClintock
decided to take the field, and started February 14, earlier than any
previous arctic traveller, for an extended journey. His great hope of
success depended on finding Eskimos in the region of the north magnetic
pole, which entailed a trip of four hundred and twenty miles, in
temperatures as much as eighty degrees below the freezing-point.
Sledging through an unknown country, wearily breaking day after day a
trail for his emaciated, untrained dogs, McClintock vainly searched the
unbroken snowy wastes for trace of sledge or of man, and anxiously
scanned the dreary landscape for sight of the longed-for igloo or hut.
The cold was intense, the land was barren of game, the region seemed
accursed in its desolation, while the conditions of travel were hard in
the extreme.
The absence of human life was far more distressing to the heroic
McClintock than the rigors of the journey, for without Inuit aid the
labors and sufferings of his crew and of himself would be unavailing.
Was it possible that the region was abandoned by beast and so by man?
Was his mission destined to be a failure? Could he succeed without
Eskimo help?
He reached the magnetic pole without seeing any one, his dogs in such
fearful plight that he could advance but one day farther. Six of the
dogs were then useless, and during the journey the poor animals had so
suffered from poor food, intense cold, and bad snow that several of them
had repeatedly fallen down in fits.
When he was quite in despair, several Eskimos returning from a seal hunt
crossed his trail and visited his camp. From the winter colony of
forty-five Boothians he gained his first tidings of the missing
explorers. One native said that a three-masted ship had been crushed by
ice to the west of King William Land, but the crew came safe to shore.
Another told of white men who starved on an island (probably Montreal)
where salmon came. That the men had perished was quite clear from the
abundance of Franklin relics among the Eskimos--buttons, knives, forks,
McDonald's medal and a gold chain, which McClintock bought at the
average price of one needle each. None of the Inuits had seen the
whites, but one native had seen some of their skeletons.
An example of the disregard of the natives for extreme cold made
McClintock shiver with pity and anger. He says: "One pertinacious old
dame pulled out her infant by the arm from the back of her large fur
dress, and quietly held the poor little creature, perfectly naked,
before me in the breeze, the temperature at the time being sixty
degrees below the freezing-point." McClintock at once gave her a needle,
for which she was thus begging, but was considerably alarmed for the
infant's safety before it was restored to the warmth of its mother's fur
hood.
Active sledging, meantime, by Young, Walker, and Hobson, had no results
beyond snow-blindness, freezings, and other suffering for these resolute
and efficient officers. McClintock himself, on his return, was scarred
by frost-bites, his fingers calloused by frequent freezings, and his
body thin with scant food, which made him eat, Boothian fashion, "frozen
blubber in delicate little slices." These physical hardships were as
nothing in return for the mental satisfaction of tidings of Franklin,
with intimations as to the locality of the regions in which further
research would doubtless produce results. He was determined to explore
the whole King William region, and thus obtain further information as to
the fate of the second ship.
McClintock then outfitted his sledge party for a journey of eighty-four
days, with Hobson as assistant, while Young was to establish supporting
depots of food, the field of operations to be southwest of the magnetic
pole.
The journey to the Boothian village was, like other arctic travel, under
bad conditions. The uncomplaining leader tells us that despite colored
glasses their eyes were inflamed and nearly blinded, while the tale was
further told by their blistered faces, frost-bitten members, cracked
lips, and split hands. The discomfort of their camps may be inferred
from the fact that it took an entire day to clear from accumulated ice
and hoar-frost their sleeping-bags and camp gear. The exhausting
character of their march is evident from the load of two hundred pounds
hauled by each man and the hundred pounds pulled by each dog.
Two Boothian families now told McClintock that one ship sank and that
the other broke up on shore where she was forced by the ice. The body of
a very large man with long teeth had been found in the ship visited by
the Inuits. The crew had gone, taking boats along, to the "large [Back]
river," where their bones were later found. An old Eskimo woman and boy
had last visited the wreck during the preceding winter, 1857-8.
On leaving the magnetic pole, in order to extend the field of search,
Hobson was sent down the west coast of King William Land. McClintock
following the land to the east of that island fell in with forty
natives, who confirmed the information earlier obtained, and from whom
he bought silver plate marked with the crests of Franklin, Crozier,
Fairholme, and McDonald.
It was the middle of May when he reached snow-clad Montreal Island,
which he fruitlessly searched with as much thoroughness as was possible
under conditions of blizzard weather and zero temperatures. Of his
travel troubles he tells us that driving a wretched dog team for six
weeks had quite exhausted his stock of patience. He relates: "None of
the dogs had ever been yoked before, and they displayed astonishing
cunning and perversity to avoid whip and work. They bit through their
traces, hid under the sled, leaped over each other until the traces were
plaited and the dogs knotted together. I had to halt every few minutes,
pull off my mitts, and at the risk of frozen fingers disentangle the
lines. When the sledge is stopped or stuck fast in deep snow, the
perfectly delighted dogs lie down, and the driver has to himself
extricate the sledge and apply persuasion to set his team in motion."
His hopes of finding tangible information as to the Franklin records had
been centred on Montreal Island, which Rae's report (p. 139) indicated
as the scene of the final catastrophe. McClintock's thorough search of
that region had been futile. Must he return to England and face Lady
Franklin with the admission that her years of effort and her sacrifice
of personal fortune had produced no additional results? Was the fate of
England's noted explorers to remain always a mystery? Were the records
of work done and of courage shown by the officers and the men of the
royal navy lost forever to the world? A thousand like and unbidden
thoughts filled incessantly the tortured brain of this the greatest
of arctic sledgemen. However, it was not in the nature of this
noble-hearted man to despair utterly, or to cease from labors to the
very end.
Sick at heart and worn in body, the indefatigable McClintock turned
shipward, and almost despairingly took up the search of the south coast
of King William Land. Here he tells us: "On a gravel ridge near the
beach, partially bare of snow, I came upon a human skeleton, now
perfectly bleached, lying upon its face. This poor man seems to have
fallen in the position in which we found him. It was a melancholy truth
that the old woman spoke when she said: '_They fell down and died as
they walked along._'" Sad as may appear the fate of this man, one of the
rank and file of the expedition, his indomitable courage in struggling
to the last moment of his life will always stand as an instance of the
high endeavor and heroic persistency of the British race.
Welcome as was the indirect information obtained in this and in other
places near by, McClintock's heart was supremely gladdened at finding in
a small cairn, prominently placed, a note from Hobson who had found an
abandoned boat, in which were two skeletons, with crested silver, etc.,
and, most vital of all, a record from Franklin's expedition.
It appears that Hobson found on the south side of Back Bay, King William
Land, a record deposited by Lieutenant Graham Gore in May, 1847. It was
in a thin tin soldered-up cylinder, and proved to be a duplicate of the
record also found by Hobson at Point Victory. The latter record was in
an unsoldered cylinder which had fallen from the top of the cairn where
it was originally placed. It was written on one of the printed blanks
usually furnished to surveying and to discovery ships to be thrown
overboard in a sealed bottle, with a request to return it to the
admiralty. This written record, in full, ran as follows:
"H. M. Ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_ 28th of May 1847. Wintered in
the ice in Lat. 70 deg. 5' N., Long. 98 deg. 23' W. Having wintered in
1846-7 [should read 1845-6] at Beechey Island, in Lat. 74 deg. 43' N.,
Long. 91 deg. 39' 15'' W. After having ascended Wellington Channel to
Lat. 77 deg., and returning by the west coast of Cornwallis Island. Sir
John Franklin commanding the Expedition. All well. Party consisting
of 2 officers and 6 men left the ships on Monday 24th May 1847.
"GM [Graham] GORE Lieut.
"CHAS F DES VOEUX Mate."
On the margin of the above record was written the following:
"April 25, 1848, H. M. Ships _Terror_ and _Erebus_ were deserted on
the 22nd of April, 5 leagues N.N.W. of this, having been beset
since 12 September, 1846. The officers and crew, consisting of 105
souls, under the command of Capt. F. R. M. Crozier, landed in Lat.
69 deg. 37' 42'', Long. 93 deg. 41' W. This paper was found by Lieut.
Irving, under the cairn supposed to have been built by Sir James
Ross in 1831, 4 miles to the northward, where it had been deposited
by the late commander Gore in [May, erased and therefor
substituted] June, 1847. Sir James Ross' pillar has not however
been found and the paper has been transferred to this position,
which is that in which Sir J. Ross' pillar was erected. Sir John
Franklin died on the 11th of June, 1847, and the total loss by
death in the Expedition has been to date 9 officers and 15 men.
"F. R. M. CROZIER, Captain and senior officer.
"JAMES FITZJAMES, Captain H. M. S. _Erebus_.
"And start to-morrow, 26th, for Back's Fish River."
These are the only records that have ever been found, and the thorough
search made by Hall, Schwatka, and Gilder make it most improbable that
any other will ever be discovered.
The heroic persistency of Hobson in locating these precious papers is
akin to that shown by the steward who fell down and died as he walked.
When ten days out from the ship Hobson found that he was suffering from
scurvy, but he went on and in a month walked lame. Near the end of his
journey of seventy-four days he was not able to walk more than a few
yards at a time, and so had to allow himself to be dragged on the
sledge. When he arrived at the ship he was neither able to walk nor even
to stand without assistance. Worthy comrades were Sir Allen Young and
Dr. Walker, whose strenuous and co-operating labors made this success
possible, for which they also paid the price in physical suffering and
in impaired health.
McClintock himself played many parts, for with his two engineers dead he
stood at a critical time twenty-four consecutive hours at the engine,
while Young from the crow's nest piloted the _Fox_ out of the ice-pack
on her homeward voyage, in August, 1859.
With characteristic modesty McClintock dwells lightly on his own work,
and ends his story with a merited tribute to "those heroic men who
perished in the path of duty, but not until they had achieved the grand
object of their voyage--_the discovery of the northwest passage_."
While the self-sacrificing heroism of McClintock and of his loyal
companions solved the mystery of the English sailor dead, which their
powerful government had been unable to reveal, yet the initiation and in
part the prosecution of this work were due to the wifely and patriotic
devotion of Lady Jane Franklin.
Well and truly has it been said of this true woman: "So long as the name
of Franklin shall be bright in the annals of British heroism will the
unwearied devotion and energy of his widow be with it remembered and
honored."
THE MARVELLOUS ICE-DRIFT OF CAPTAIN TYSON
"To die be given us, or to attain!
Fierce work it were to do again."
--ARNOLD.
Only once in our history has the United States sent forth an expedition
to reach the north pole, and that was under Charles Francis Hall,
already distinguished for his daring arctic work in search of relics of
the Franklin squadron. Hall sailed in the _Polaris_, and in a voyage of
unusual rapidity, passing through Smith Sound, added to his fame by
discovering Robeson Channel and its bordering lands. He broke the record
in navigating his ship to 82 deg. 11' north latitude, in the Great Frozen
Ocean, which was reached August 30, 1871. The _Polaris_, forced
southward by the arctic pack, wintered at Thank God Harbor, Greenland,
where Hall died of apoplexy. With his death the north-polar quest was
abandoned, and the ice-master Buddington sailed homeward the following
summer. Pushed hastily into an impassable pack, the ship was subjected
to its vicissitudes for two months without possibility of escape.
Drifting steadily southward the _Polaris_ was off Northumberland Island
on October 15, 1872, when she was nearly destroyed by a violent blizzard
and her crew was separated--half on the floating pack and the rest on
shipboard. The latter party beached the sinking ship in Life Boat Cove,
where the crew wintered. Going south in 1873 they were picked up by the
whaler _Ravenscraig_ near Cape York. The story of the separation and of
the experiences of the castaways follow.[14]
* * * * *
Above the shining waters of the blue and historic Potomac at Washington
rise the oak-crowned hills of Arlington where repose many heroic dead in
our American Valhalla. Side by side in almost countless rows stand
thousands of plain white stones which preserve for coming patriotic
generations the names and memories of those who died for the Union. Here
and there the prevailing monotony is broken by a more ambitious monument
raised by family or by friends. These men, inspired by patriotism as a
rule, did deeds of valor, with weapons in hand, in the face of an armed
foe. But the men of the American nation have conquered fate in other
fields than those of war, and such services are elsewhere commemorated
in Washington. In the Hall of Fame at our national capital each American
State places the statues of its two most distinguished servitors--in
memory of deeds done for the good and the greatness of the State. And
near by the Congressional Cemetery contains stately shafts and memorial
columns that mark the graves of other men famous in national annals
through civic worth.
Yet there are other heroes than those of war or of civic service buried
within sight of the majestic monument to Washington or of the graceful
dome of the Capitol. In the shades of Greenwood stands a plain shaft of
black marble whereon the passer-by may read as follows:
"To the memory of an arctic hero, Captain George E. Tyson, 1829-1906. In
1872-73, while adrift on an ice-floe 196 days, he saved the lives of 18
companions. _They serve God well who serve his creatures._"
This memorial, built through small contributions from self-denying men
of meagre means, was in honor of a plain man of small education, of
humble occupation, who loved his fellows. It therefore seems well that
the tale of his arctic services thus recognized should be told anew to
the rising generation of Americans that his deeds may not soon fade from
the minds of men.
The fateful disaster of October 15, 1872, which led to the Tyson
floe-drift occurred in the midst of a dark winter night when a
snow-filled hurricane wind drove huge icebergs through the solid and
seemingly impenetrable ice-field in which the _Polaris_ was fast beset.
As if by magic the solemn, quiet calm of the polar night was broken by a
series of tornado-like gusts, and soon the responsive ice-field quivered
as though upcast by a marine earthquake. The howlings of the wind were
broken by horrible groanings from the moving polar pack, while now and
then arose deafening sounds, as of a cannonade, from the explosions of
the ice-surface. It takes much to move to fear men long in arctic
service, but the quiet ship life was stirred into startled action when
heavy floes near the ship began to split into countless fragments. One
and all knew that the long-dreaded peril was upon them--the disruption
of the polar pack. For weeks they had watched with pleasure the changing
lights and reflected tints from their azure-colored neighbors--the
tall, white sentinels of the arctic seas. After pleasure the pain,
and now with terror they saw the pale blue icebergs of enormous
size--wind-driven and slow-moving--plough their way serenely through the
main pack of flat-topped paleocrystic floes scores of feet in thickness.
Under these awful pressures the huge floes, as they met, crumbling
at the edges, threw up vast masses of broken ice which in long
pressure-ridges acted as buffers. Caught in this maelstrom of whirling,
upturning ice the _Polaris_ was bodily lifted many feet, quite out of
the water, so that she careened on her beam ends.
In this crisis, amid intense excitement, some one cried out that the
ship's sides were broken in and that she was making water freely. At
this Buddington shouted: "Work for your lives, boys! Throw everything
overboard"--meaning the emergency packages of stores and provisions
which for weeks had been kept ready on deck in view of possible and
sudden shipwreck. Stores, clothing, records, boats, food, and other
articles were frantically cast upon the main floe to which the ship was
secured by ice-anchors. Fearing that the _Polaris_ would soon sink and
carry down in her final plunge everything near her, Captain Tyson busied
himself in removing and piling together, at a safe distance, the
scattered stores. While thus engaged the main pack loosened up near the
_Polaris_. The ice pressures slowly relaxed, the pressure-ridges
dropped apart, and the ship, slipping down into the sea, dragged her
ice-anchors, broke her hawser, and was driven out of sight--disappearing
almost in the twinkling of an eye, as it seemed to the dazed men yet on
the floe.
The stranded men and supplies were not on a single floe, but scattered
on several, which were separated by rapidly widening lanes of water.
Tyson acted with decision and promptness, and launching a whale-boat at
the risk of his life succeeded during that dark, tempestuous night in
bringing together the nineteen men, women, and children on the immense
floe to which the ship had been anchored for weeks. Here the exhausted
party huddled together under some musk-ox skins, which in a degree
protected them from the increasing southwest blizzard that then
prevailed; but dawn found them chilled to the bone, covered with the
heavy snow-fall of the night.[15]
Tyson took charge and at once decided to abandon the floe and the main
supplies, knowing that the party would be safe if it could reach land
and the Etah Eskimos. The ice had so drifted that the shore was within a
few miles, and the party in an attempt to reach it was hurried into the
boat, which unfortunately had only three oars and was rudderless. Two
men actually reached the land over the ice, on a scouting trip, but
later the wind, ice, and tides were so adverse that Tyson decided, as
the pack closed in front of the boat, to return to their original floe.