Bering Strait, the American whaling-ship _Navrach_ was abandoned August
14, 1897. Twenty-one of her seamen perished on the moving ice-pack of
the Arctic Ocean in their efforts to reach land across the drifting ice.
Captain Whitesides with his brave wife and six of the crew intrusted
their fortunes to the sea, and almost miraculously escaped by using a
canvas boat, which was alternately hauled across the floes and launched
where open water was reached. On landing at Copper Island, off the coast
of Asia, the party was in danger of death through starvation when
rescued by the United States revenue-cutter _Bear_, which chanced to
touch at that point. The news of the loss of the _Navrach_ and the
reports of very bad ice conditions in the Arctic Ocean created great
alarm in the United States, owing to the fact that no less than eight
whale-ships with crews of two hundred and sixty-five men were missing
that autumn. Appeals for prompt aid were made to the President of the
United States by the members of the chamber of commerce of San
Francisco and by other interested persons. Refitting in three weeks'
time, the United States revenue-cutter _Bear_, manned by volunteers
under Captain Francis Tuttle, R.C.S., sailed from Seattle on November
27, 1897, and wintered at Unalaska. The story of the relief of the
whalers, happily and heroically accomplished by this expedition, forms
the substance of this sketch.
* * * * *
From the character of the duties of the revenue-cutter service its
officers and men are not favored with such frequent opportunities for
adventurous deeds as are those of the army and of the navy, but whenever
occasion has arisen they have ever shown those qualities of courage,
self-sacrifice, and devotion which go far to inspire heroic action.
As the period of navigation had already passed for the northern seas,
the _Bear_ was to winter at Dutch Harbor, Unalaska, communicating with
the distressed seamen by an overland expedition, which should aid and
encourage them until the spring navigation should make their rescue
possible. If practicable the land party was to be set ashore on the
north side of Norton Sound, near Cape Nome, which would require some
eight hundred miles of sledge travel at the least.
From the eager volunteers for this arduous and novel service, Captain
Tuttle approved of Lieutenant D. H. Jarvis, commanding, Lieutenant E. P.
Bertholf, and Dr. S. J. McCall, with a reindeer driver, Koltchoff.
[Illustration: Northwestern Alaska.]
With dauntless courage and skill Captain Tuttle skirted the growing
ice-fields of Bering Sea, seeking in vain a lead through which he could
reach Norton Sound, but it was finally clear that the ship could not be
put north of Nunavak Island without danger of her loss as well as
sealing the fate of the whalers. The winter darkness, storm conditions,
an uncharted coast, and drifting ice forced him to land the party as far
north of Kuskowim Bay as could be safely reached. Fortunately, on
December 16, a wild, stormy day, the shore ice drifted far enough
seaward to enable a hasty landing to be made near Cape Vancouver. There
were forebodings of evil in attempting this winter journey now stretched
out to fifteen hundred miles, under conditions which increased its
perils. But with the splendid confidence and magnificent vitality of
youth, the fearless revenue-officers hailed with satisfaction the
beginning of their arduous journey of mercy and relief.
South of the landing was a deserted village, but fortunately a few miles
to the north, near Cape Vancouver, was the still occupied Eskimo
settlement of Tunanak. Ashore, Jarvis found himself in difficulty, for
the snow-free rocky beach was impassable for his sledges, while he was
without boats. Here, as elsewhere on this journey, the native aid was
obtained on which he had counted from the knowledge of the kindly
feelings of these children of the ice that he had gained in his past
cruises in the Bering Sea region. As there was now an ice-free channel
along the coast, the Eskimo sea-hunters deftly lashed together in pairs
their kayaks (skin canoes), catamaran fashion, and piled thereon
helter-skelter the various supplies. Jarvis and Bertholf watched this
cargo-stowing with great anxiety, not unmingled with doubt as to the
outcome of the voyage. Following the progress of the kayaks and shouting
advice and encouragement from the sea-shore, they were dismayed to see
now and then a breaking wave threaten to overwhelm the boats and to find
that the short sea trip had ruined much of the precious flour and
indispensable hard bread.
Overhauling his cumbersome, heavy sledges and inspecting his few
unsuitable dogs, he knew that they could never do all the work required.
Fortunately he found a half-breed trader, Alexis, who agreed to furnish
dogs, sledges, and serve as a guide to the party as far as the army post
at Saint Michael. As the half-breed knew the short shore route and was
familiar with the location and supplies of the succession of native
villages, this enabled them to drop much of their heavy baggage and
travel light. Their outfit was carefully selected, consisting of
sleeping-bags, changes of clothing, camp-stoves, rifles, ammunition,
axes, and a small supply of food.
Their three native sledges were open box-frames, ten feet by two in size
and eighteen inches high, resting on wooden runners a foot high. Tough,
pliant lashings of walrus hide bound together with the utmost tightness
the frame and the runners. This method of construction, in which not a
bit of iron enters, avoids rigidity and thus gives a flexibility and
life to the sledge which enables it to withstand shocks and endure hard
usage, which would soon break a solid frame into pieces. A cargo-cover
of light canvas not only closely fits the bottom and sides of the
box-frame but overlaps the top. When the cargo-cover is neatly hauled
taut and is properly lashed to the sides of the sledge the load, if it
has been snugly packed, is secure from accidents. Its compact mass is
equally safe from thievish dogs, from the penetrating drift of the
fierce blizzards, and from dangers of loss through jolts or capsizings.
Of a single piece for each dog, the harness used by the natives is
of seal-skin; the half-breeds often make it of light canvas, not
only as better suited to the work but especially for its quality of
non-eatableness which is a vital factor during days of dog-famine on
long journeys. The harness is collar-shaped with three long bands; the
collar slips over the dog's head and one band extends to the rear over
the animal's back. The other bands pass downward between the dog's legs
and, triced up on each side, are fastened permanently to the back-band,
where there is also attached a drag-thong or pulling-trace about two
feet long. In harnessing, the three loops described are slipped
respectively over the head and legs of the dog.
The animals are secured in pairs to the long draught-rope of the sledge
by the Alaskan pioneers, who much prefer this method to the old plan
of the natives whereby the dogs were strung out in single file.
With the dogs in couples the draught-line is shorter, so that the
better-controlled animals will haul a larger load.
In the first day's journey they crossed a mountain range two thousand
feet high, and in making the descent of the precipitous northern slope
Jarvis records a sledging expedient almost unique in sledge travel. The
four Eskimo drivers detached the dogs from the sledge, and winding
around the runners small chains so as to sink in the deep snow and
impede their progress, prepared to coast down the mountain. Two men
secured themselves firmly on each sledge, and when once started the
descent was so steep that the sledges attained a fearful speed, which
brought them almost breathless to the bottom of the range in ten
minutes.
Jarvis describes in graphic language the trying task of feeding the
always famished, wolf-like dogs: "They are ever hungry, and when one
appears with an armful of dried fish, in their eagerness to get a stray
mouthful the dogs crowd around in a fighting, jumping mass, which makes
it difficult to keep one's balance. After throwing a fish to each dog,
it takes all of us with clubs to keep off the larger fellows and to see
that the weaker ones keep and eat their share. When being fed they are
like wild animals--snarl, bite, and fight continually until everything
is eaten."
As the dogs, worn-out by the hard journey, could not be replaced by
fresh ones at the Eskimo colony of Ki-yi-lieng, Bertholf and Koltchoff
waited there to bring them up later, while Jarvis and McCall pushed on,
marching across the Yukon delta in temperatures below zero daily. They
found the natives of this alluvial region wretchedly poor and illy
protected against the bitter cold. To the eye they were a motley crowd,
as they had levied tribute for clothing on the birds of the air, the
beasts of the tundra, the fish of the river, and the game of the sea.
There were trousers and heavy boots from the seal, inner jackets of the
breasts of the wild geese, fur ornamentation of the arctic fox, and the
poorer Eskimos even made boots, when seal were lacking, from the tanned
skin of the Yukon salmon.
With all their dire poverty they were not unmindful of their duty to
strangers and always offered the shelter of the _khazeem_ (a hut built
for general use by the unmarried men, from which women are rigidly
excluded). His sense of fastidiousness had not yet left Jarvis, who
surprised the Eskimos by tenting in the midwinter cold rather than
endure the tortures of the stifling _khazeem_, which to the natives was
a place of comfort and pleasure. Of this half-underground hut Jarvis
says in part: "The sides are of drift-wood, filled in with brush. The
roof is ingeniously made by laying logs along the sides and lashing them
thereto with walrus thongs. Two logs notched on the ends to fit securely
are then laid across the first logs on opposite sides, but a little
farther in toward the centre. This method is repeated until a sort of
arch is formed, which is filled in with earth-covered brush leaving a
small hole in the centre of the roof. Other drift-wood, split in rough
slabs, forms the floor, leaving an entrance space about two feet square.
From this hole in the floor, which is always several feet below the
level of the surrounding ground, an entrance passage has been dug out
large enough for a man to crawl through it into the main earth-floored
room. Over the entrance opening is hung a skin to keep out the air,
while the roof opening is covered with the thin, translucent, dried
intestines of the seal or walrus, which gives faint light during the
day.
"In the _khazeem_ the animal heat from the bodies of the natives, with
that from seal-oil lamps, raises the temperature so high that the men
sit around with the upper part of the body entirely naked. The only
ventilation is through a small hole in the roof, invariably closed at
night in cold weather. The condition of the air can be better imagined
than described, with fifteen or twenty natives sleeping inside the small
room."
The culmination of danger and suffering on the march in the delta
journey was at Pikmiktellik, when they strayed from the trail and nearly
perished in a violent storm. Almost as by miracle they staggered by
chance into the village long after dark, so exhausted that without
strength to put up their tent they gladly occupied the dreaded
_khazeem_.
Twelve days brought them to Saint Michael, where they were given cordial
and humane aid from Colonel (now General) George M. Randall, United
States Army, and the agents of the Alaska Commercial and North American
Trading Companies. Without such help Jarvis must have failed. The feet
of his dogs were worn bare by rapid, rough travel of three hundred and
seventy-five miles, the rubber-covered, goat-skin sleeping-bags were
cold and heavy, which in bitterer weather would be actually dangerous.
Deerskin clothing and fresh dogs were necessary for rapid travel with
light loads on which final success depended.
Leaving orders for Bertholf, yet far behind, to bring up relief supplies
from Unalaklik to Cape Blossom, by crossing the divide at the head of
Norton Bay, Jarvis and McCall pushed ahead on January 1, 1898. The
third day out they met a native woman travelling south on snow-shoes,
who told them that she was with her husband and Mate Tilton of the
_Belvedere_; the two parties had passed each other, unseen, on trails
three hundred feet apart. Tilton brought news even worse than had been
expected. Three ships had been crushed by the ice-pack, two losing all
their provisions, while five other ships were frozen up in the ocean
ice. As the worn-out mate went south, Jarvis pushed on with new energy,
realizing the great need ahead.
Severe storms and deep snow made travel very slow, and at times the
runners sank so deep that the body of the sledge dragged, while the dogs
were almost buried in their efforts to struggle on. They soon realized
that actual arctic travel is far from being like the usual pictures of
dog-sledging. Instead of frisky dogs with tails curled over their backs,
with drivers comfortably seated on the sledge cracking a whip at the
flying team, snarling dogs and worn-out men tramped slowly and silently
through the unbroken snow.
It very rarely occurs that there is either a beaten or a marked trail,
so the lead is taken by a man who keeps in advance, picking out the best
road, while his comrades are hard at work lifting the sledge over bad
places or keeping it from capsizing. The king dogs, who lead the way and
set the pace, never stray from the broken path save in rare instances of
sighting tempting game, but follow exactly the trail-breaker. One day
Jarvis came to fresh, deep snow, where it took all four men to break a
way for the sledge, and when they themselves were worn out they had the
misery of seeing their utterly exhausted dogs lie down on the trail,
indifferent equally to the urging voice or the cutting whip. That
wretched night the party had to make its camp in the open instead of at
one of the native huts which were always in view.
The dog teams were sent back from the Swedish mission, Golovin Bay,
where reindeer were available. Of this new and unusual method of travel,
Jarvis, who drove a single-deer sledge, says: "All hands must be ready
at the same time when starting a deer-train. As soon as the other
animals see the head team start they are off with a jump, and for a
short time they keep up a very high rate of speed. If one is not quick
in jumping and in holding on to his sledge, he is likely either to lose
his team or be dragged bodily along.
"The deer is harnessed with a well-fitting collar of two flat pieces of
wood from which short traces go back to a breastplate or single-tree
under the body. From this a single trace, protected by soft fur to
prevent chafing, runs back to the sledge. A single line made fast to the
halter is used for guiding, and, kept slack, is only pulled to guide or
stop the deer. A hard pull brings the weight of the sledge on the head
of the deer and generally brings him to a stop. No whip is used, for the
timid deer becomes easily frightened and then is hard to control and
quiet down. The low, wide sledges with broad runners are hard to pack so
as to secure and protect the load." As the dogs naturally attack the
deer, it was henceforth necessary to stop outside the Eskimo villages,
unharness the animals, and send them to pasture on the nearest beds of
reindeer moss.
Jarvis thus relates his straying during a violent blizzard: "Soon after
dark my deer wandered from the trail, became entangled in drift-wood on
the beach, and finally wound up by running the sledge full speed against
a stump, breaking the harness, dragging the line from my hand, and
disappearing in the darkness and flying snow. It was impossible to see
ten yards ahead, and it would be reckless to start off alone, for the
others were in advance, and I might wander about all night, become
exhausted, and perhaps freeze. I had nothing to eat, but righting the
sledge I got out my sleeping-bag in its lee and made myself as
comfortable as possible." His comrades were greatly alarmed as a
reindeer dashed by them, and fearing disaster hastened back on the
trail, which, although followed with difficulty on account of the
blinding snow, brought them to the lieutenant still unharmed.
If the relief expedition was to be of use to the shipwrecked men it was
important that food should be carried north. As this was impossible by
sledge, it was evident that the sole method was to carry meat on the
hoof. The sole sources of supply consisted of two herds of reindeer, at
Teller and at Cape Prince of Wales. If these herds could be purchased,
and if the services of skilled herders could be obtained and the herd
could be driven such a long distance then the whalers could be saved. To
these three problems Jarvis now bent his powers of persuasion and of
administrative ability, feeling that lives depended on the outcome and
that he must not fail.
The reindeer belonged in part to an Eskimo, Artisarlook, and in part to
the American Missionary Society, under the control and management of Mr.
H. W. Lopp. Without the assent and active aid of these two men the
proposed action would be impossible. Would he be able to persuade these
men to give him their entire plant and leave themselves destitute for
men whom they had never seen and knew of only to hold them in fear?
Would they consider the plan practicable, and would they leave their
families and go on the arctic trail in the midst of an Alaskan winter?
If they thought it a bounden duty, what was to happen to their families
during their absence? Day after day these questions rose in the
lieutenant's mind to his great disquietude.
With Jarvis and Bertholf there was the stimulus of the _esprit de
corps_, the honor of the service, always acting as a spur to their
heroic labors, while in the case of Dr. McCall there was also that sense
of personal devotion to the relief of suffering that inspires the
medical profession as a whole.
On January 19 Jarvis reached the house of Artisarlook, when he "almost
shrank from the task." From this untaught, semi-civilized native,
wrestling for a bare subsistence with harsh, forbidding nature, what
favor could be expected? The starving men were of an alien race, and of
that class from which too often his own people had reaped degradation,
suffered outrage, and endured wrongs too grievous to be ignored or
forgotten. To relieve these men Artisarlook must voluntarily loan his
entire herd of reindeer without certainty of replacement. He must leave
behind him his wife, unprotected and subject to the vicissitudes of an
arctic environment. He must also endure the hardships and sufferings
incident to a midwinter drive, in the coldest month of the year, of
reindeer across a country unknown to him--a desperate venture that might
cost him his life. Altruistic souls of the civilized world might make
such sacrifices, but would this Alaskan Eskimo?
Of the crisis Jarvis writes: "I almost shrank from the task. He and his
wife were old friends, but how to induce them to give up their
deer--their absolute property--and how to convince them that the
government would return an equal number at some future time was quite
another matter. Besides, he and the natives gathered about him were
dependent on the herd for food and clothing. If I took the deer and
Artisarlook away these people were likely to starve unless some other
arrangements were made for their living.
"I explained carefully what the deer were wanted for; that he must let
me have the deer of his own free will, and trust to the government for
an ample reward and the return of an equal number of deer.
"Artisarlook and his wife Mary held a long and solemn consultation and
finally explained their situation. They were sorry for the white men at
Point Barrow and they were glad to be able to help them. They would let
me have their deer, one hundred and thirty-three in number, which
represented their all, if I would be directly responsible for them.
"I had dreaded this interview for fear that Artisarlook might refuse,
but his nobility of character could have no better exposition than the
fact that he was willing to give up his property, leave his family, and
go eight hundred miles to help white men in distress, under a simple
promise that his property should be returned to him."
Has there ever been a finer instance of the full faith of man in brother
man than is shown in this simple pact, by word of mouth, under the dark,
gloomy sky of an Alaskan midwinter? Far from the business marts of
crowded cities, in the free open of broad expanses of country, there are
often similar instances of man's trusting generosity and of personal
self-sacrifice, but more often between those of kindred race than
between the civilized man and the aborigine.
Giving written orders on the traders to tide over the winter for the
natives, Jarvis pushed on, leaving Artisarlook and his herders to follow
with the deer. Meantime the lieutenant had adopted the native garb,
saying: "I had determined to do as the people who lived in the country
did--to dress, travel, and live as they did, and if necessary to eat the
same food. I found the only way to get along was to conform to the
customs of those who had solved many of the problems of existence in the
arctic climate." His clothing consisted of close-fitting deerskin
trousers and socks, with hair next to the skin; deerskin boots, hair
out, with heavy seal-skin soles; two deerskin shirts, one with hair out
and the other with hair toward the skin; close hoods, with fringing
wolfskin, and mittens, the whole weighing only about ten pounds. In
stormy weather he wore an outer shirt and overalls of drilling, which
kept the drifting snow from filling up and freezing in a mass the hair
of the deerskins.
The five days' travel to the Teller reindeer station, near Cape Prince
of Wales, were filled with most bitter experiences. The temperature fell
to seventy-two degrees below freezing; the sea ice over which they
travelled became of almost incredible roughness; while fearful blizzards
sprang up. With increasing northing the days became shorter and the
exhausted reindeer had to be replaced by dogs. Much of the travel was in
darkness, with resultant capsizings of sledges, frequent falls, and many
bodily bruises. Of one critical situation he reports: "The heavy sledge
was continually capsizing in the rough ice. About eight o'clock at night
I was completely played out and quite willing to camp. But Artisarlook
said _No!_ that it was too cold to camp without wood (they depended on
drift-wood for their fires), and that the ice-foot along the land was in
danger of breaking off the shore at any minute. In the darkness I
stepped through an ice-crack, and my leg to the knee was immediately one
mass of ice. Urging the dogs, we dragged along till midnight to a hut
that Artisarlook had before mentioned. A horrible place, no palace could
have been more welcome. Fifteen people were already sleeping in the hut,
the most filthy I saw in Alaska, only ten by twelve feet in size and
five feet high. Too tired to care for the filth, too tired even to eat,
I was satisfied to take off my wet clothing, crawl into my bag, and to
sleep." Failure to find the house and to have his frozen clothing dried
would have cost the lieutenant his life.
On arriving at Teller station he had a new problem to solve--to win over
the agent. He had high hopes, for although this representative of a
missionary society was living on the outer edge of the world, yet he had
become familiar with the vicissitudes of the frontier, and from vocation
and through his associations was readily moved to acts of humanity.
Jarvis set forth the situation to Mr. W. T. Lopp, the superintendent,
adding that he considered Lopp's personal services to be indispensable,
as he knew the country, was familiar with the customs and characteristics
of the natives, and was expert in handling deer. Lopp replied that
"the reindeer had been builded on by his people as their wealth and
support, and to lose them would make a break in the work that could
not be repaired. Still, in the interests of humanity he would give them
all, explain the case to the Eskimos, and induce them to give their deer
also [aggregating about three hundred]." Lopp also gave his own
knowledge, influence, and personal service, his wife, with a noble
disregard for her own comfort and safety at being left alone with the
natives, "urging him to go, believing it to be his duty."