IN SIGHT OF LAND
March 30—the thirteenth day of our journey from Icy Spit—was the
first fine day we had had. We broke camp at dawn. Almost at once we
encountered open water and from that time until dark crossed lead after
lead. One of them was half a mile wide. It was filled with heavy pieces
of ice, frozen into precarious young ice, the whole mass only solid
enough to enable us to get a few things at a time over on the sledge.
We had to unharness our dogs and haul the lightly loaded sledge across,
picking our way from one heavy piece to another as a man zigzags his
way across a creek on stepping-stones. It took a good many trips to get
everything over.
The sunset was clear and all around the horizon there was not a cloud
in the sky. Looking to the southwest I saw what I was inclined to
believe was land. Perhaps the wish might be father to the thought, and
the days of travel over the white surface of the ice, with the constant
effort to find a place to cross the innumerable leads had brought my
eyes to a state of such acute pain that I could not see as well as
usual. I turned my binoculars on the cloudlike mass on the horizon but
still I remained in doubt.
So I called to the Eskimo and, pointing, asked him, “That land?”
He answered that it might be.
Then I gave him the glasses and sent him up on a high rafter to look
more carefully. After a moment he came back and said that it might be
an island like Wrangell Island but that it would be of no use to us. He
seemed depressed by the hard day we had had, crossing so many leads.
Finally he turned to me and said:
“We see no land, we no get to land; my mother, my father, tell me long
time ago Eskimo get out on ice and drive away from Point Barrow never
come back.”
I tried to hearten him by telling him that Eskimo out on the ice did
not have to get back by themselves but that the white men would bring
them back and that I had been a long distance out on the ice with
Eskimo and we had all got back safely. He still seemed pretty much
discouraged, so I took the glasses and went up on the rafter to see for
myself, though his eyes were in a better condition than mine. I made
every effort to see as well as I could and was convinced that I was
looking at the land. When I called Kataktovick up to look again he was
still very dubious.
That night in our igloo when we were making our tea, he asked me to
show him the chart. I did so and pointed out the course we had taken
and where we were bound. He appeared somewhat encouraged, though still
of the opinion that the land was not Siberia but merely an island,
not set down on the chart. When I tried to brace him up, however, by
saying, “If you ’fraid, you no reach land,” he did not respond very
enthusiastically and slept less soundly than usual that night.
The next day dawned fine and clear. We got out of our igloo before
sunrise, when the horizon was bright and objects along the surface of
the ice were sharply defined against the sky-line; sunrise and sunset
are the best times to see anything at a distance. A good night’s sleep
had rested my eyes and when I looked through my binoculars from the top
of the ridge I could see the land distinctly, covered with snow. I was
surprised to be able to see it so clearly. I called to Kataktovick to
come up.
“Me see him, me see him _noona_ (land),” he said; he had been up on the
rafter, he added, before I had got out of the igloo.
“What you think him?” I asked. “You think him all right?”
“Might be, might be, perhaps,” he replied.
Evidently he was still dubious about its being Siberia. He had been
satisfied by the chart the night before; at Shipwreck Camp and again
at Wrangell Island I had explained the charts to him, had shown him
where we were going, what we were going to do with the charts, how far
away Siberia was and how far we should have to travel to meet Eskimo,
expressing the distances by comparing them with the distance from Point
Barrow to the deer camp, for instance, or down to Cape Lisburne, trips
that were familiar to him. Now, however, he still appeared skeptical
of the identity of the land we were looking at. He said it was not
Siberia. When I asked why, he replied that he had been told by his
people that Siberia was low land. I explained to him that the shore
was, it was true, low in many places, running out for miles into the
sea. This low fore-shore was known as the tundra; owing to the distance
we could see only the hinterland behind it, which was high. Kataktovick
listened to my explanation and then shook his head. It might be an
island, he said; Alaskan Eskimo on the Siberian shore, so he had been
told, are always set upon and killed by the Eskimo there. I told him
as best I could that the Siberian Eskimo were just as kindly disposed
towards wayfarers as the Alaskan Eskimo and that he had nothing to
fear. I think he still rather hoped that the land we saw was not
Siberia but a new island, so that he might postpone as long as possible
the horrible fate he was convinced was in store for him.
From the time we started that morning we had leads of water and
treacherous young ice to contend with. In some places we could get
across easily; in others we had to make wide detours. At noon we
stopped on the north side of a narrow lead and Kataktovick made a
little snow igloo to serve as shelter while we rested for awhile. He
understood perfectly how to use the Primus stove and he made some
tea. While he was doing this I reconnoitered to the eastward, walking
probably two miles before I came to a point where we could cross. When
I returned to the sledge the Eskimo had the tea ready and we found it
most refreshing. We could always eat bear meat whenever we were hungry.
It got frozen on the sledge, of course, but with a knife or a hatchet
we would chip off small pieces, or sometimes we would thaw it out by
rolling it up in our shirts and letting our bodily heat melt the frost.
We now went on to the eastward to the point I had selected for crossing
the lead. There was young ice here but it was not very strong, so we
had to adopt our customary expedient of pulling the sledge over and
back lightly loaded. Once across we went on for some time without
trouble with open water but presently found ourselves among heavy
raftered ice, with high pinnacles and in between them masses of snow,
deep and not very hard. We had to use the pickaxe a good deal and the
dogs had hard going. Three of them were getting to be very sick.
Towards the end of the day we could see the land distinctly, about
forty miles away. When we built our igloo at dark we had made at least
ten miles to the good, though our actual march had been longer than
that. The Eskimo appeared very much depressed. I was naturally feeling
cheerful myself because in two or three days we should be on land.
Furthermore I believed most of our troubles with open leads would soon
be over, as we approached nearer the shore ice, though the going would
probably be rough from the pressure of the running-ice on the still
ice, just as we had found it in getting away from Wrangell Island.
During the latter part of our day’s journey I fell and hurt my side.
My eyes troubled me more than ever, because I broke the glass in my
goggles and, though I had another pair, I did not find that they suited
me as well as those to which I had become accustomed. Kataktovick, too,
wore goggles.
On April 1 we made a good day’s march. The going was rather rough, but
we were fortunate in finding the young ice firm enough to bear us so
that we did not lose much time in getting across the leads to the big
floes where it was smoother and more level. About three o’clock in the
afternoon we came to a belt of raftered ice and deep, soft snow, where
we had to use the pickaxe. After two hours’ work we got through and had
good going the remainder of the day.
We got away from our igloo at six o’clock the next morning and found
that the going continued good for a while. After a time we came to
another patch of rough, heavy ice, with open leads, which we had to
cross. Then we came to a long strip of firm, young ice and had good
travelling, later reaching older floes and raftered ice; we managed to
make our way round the ends of the rafters and did not have to use the
pickaxe at all. This was a great relief for we wasted no time in making
a road. The dogs, however, were pretty nearly worn out and could only
be made to work by constant urging; in fact, during the day two of them
gave out completely.
We made camp at half past seven. The land was not over fifteen or
eighteen miles away, so we knew that we had done a good day’s work.
At about one o’clock the next morning, while we were asleep, the ice
split near the igloo and opened about two feet. We had to get out of
the igloo at once because, although the crack did not come inside, it
was so near that the walls split on the south end. Shortly after we
got out the ice began to move about and we had to work fast to save
the dogs. Some of them had been tethered and others loose; now we let
them all loose to give each a better opportunity if the ice broke up
any more, taking our chances on getting them together again in the
morning. We removed everything from the igloo and loaded up the sledge,
lashing everything tight. The night was fine and clear, with brilliant
star-light and no wind whatever, all of which was in our favor, though
it was still so dark that we could not see our way around.
We stayed up the rest of the night and at dawn had some meat and
pemmican and drank some tea. As soon as it was light enough we got
away, hoping that by night we should be on land. The ice was in motion
everywhere, however, and there were open leads on every hand. We had
light enough to see what we had to do but there was a great deal of
condensation and we could not see very far. The ice was grinding and
groaning, and splitting in all directions about us as we travelled and
the noise made the dogs so uneasy that at times they were practically
useless. Finally, about three o’clock in the afternoon, the light was
so bad and the ice was moving so constantly that we could not get
along so we stopped, built our igloo, drank some tea and turned in.
At six o’clock the next morning, the fourth of April, we left the dogs
and the sledge in camp and went ahead with pickaxes to make a trail
through the rough ice. It was a fine, clear day. From a high rafter
I could see an open lead on the other side of the belt of rough ice,
and beyond the lead the ice-foot, itself, as it is called in Arctic
parlance,—the ice which is permanently attached to the land and
extends out into the sea.
At ten o’clock, leaving Kataktovick to continue the road-making with
the pickaxe, I went back to the camp, harnessed up the dogs and drove
them along the trail that we had made. When we reached the open lead
we had to look for a place to cross. Finally we found a point where
the moving ice nearly touched the still ice. The dogs, however, were
so frightened that they were afraid to stir. We tried to make them
jump across the crack but they lay down and would not budge. While we
delayed thus the crack widened; the moving floe was drifting away. I
made up my mind that it was now or never, so I cut the traces, jumped
across the widening gap and pulled the sledge across. Then I threw a
rope to Kataktovick and pulled him across flying. The dogs we managed
to grasp by traces or wherever we could get hold of them and dragged
them across. Before long the lead had opened to a considerable width.
We were now on the land ice, free from open water, and had only
rafters, rough ice and deep snow to contend with. I sent Kataktovick
on towards the land to see how the going was and I started in to make
a road with the pickaxe, while the dogs rested by the sledge. In about
an hour he came back and said that after he had got through the rough
ice he had found the going good. We both worked on the road with our
pickaxes and in the afternoon got about through the rough ice to
smoother going beyond. I went back and brought up the dogs and the
sledge and by the time I reached Kataktovick he was through the rough
ice. It was a fine, clear day, without any wind; the temperature, I
should judge, was about fifty below zero.
The good going did not last long for we soon came to rough ice, with
deep, soft snow. Here we had to wear our snowshoes again. For a good
part of the way across from Wrangell Island we had not been able to use
them because the ice was too rough and jagged and, furthermore, we had
had so much jumping to do, getting across the leads, that we could not
spare the time necessary to put the snowshoes on and off, or run the
risk of breaking them. Our footgear was wet, too, and the ugsug rawhide
straps across the toes sank in so far that there was danger that our
feet would freeze by the stopping of the circulation. Yet, wherever
it is practicable to wear them, snowshoes are indispensable in Arctic
travel and I should as willingly do without food as without snowshoes.
At this point we threw all the supplies off the sledge excepting enough
for one day and, with the sledge light, made the road with pickaxes
towards the land.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN BARTLETT’S CHART OF THE ALASKAN COAST FROM THE
MACKENZIE RIVER TO BERING STRAIT]
The Eskimo now showed by his manner that he was feeling more
optimistic. Finally, as we were working our way through the rough ice,
he said that he smelled wood-smoke, and asked whether I smelled it,
too. I did not but I had no doubt that he did, for an Eskimo’s sense
of smell is remarkably acute. I felt sure that we were not far from
human habitation, though just what this might be I could only guess.
From the leaves of the “American Coast Pilot” that I had with me, I
was able to learn that “the northeast coast of Siberia has been only
slightly examined, and the charts must be taken as sketches and only
approximately accurate. The first examination was by Cook, in 1778; the
next exploration was by Admiral von Wrangell in 1820; in 1878, Baron
Nordenskïold, in the _Vega_, passed along the coast, having completed
the N. E. passage as far as Pitlekaj, where he was frozen in and
wintered. In 1881 the coast was examined in places by Lieut. Hooper
of the U. S. S. _Corwin_, and the description of the salient points
here given is from the report of the _Corwin_.” This was not exactly
what could be called up-to-date information. In the _Karluk’s_ library
had been a copy of Nordenskïold’s “Voyage of the _Vega_,” but it was in
German, a language which I am unable to read. The pictures indicated
that woods extended in places down to the shore and that reindeer
lived in the woods. What I particularly wanted to know, however, was
in what condition the Siberian natives now were, what food they had to
eat, and whether they were afflicted with tuberculosis, to which so
many primitive races have succumbed after contact with the beneficent
influences of civilization, for more than thirty years had elapsed
since Nordenskïold’s journey and in that length of time radical changes
in numbers or habitation might have come to the whole population.
Late in the afternoon we got through the rough ice and for the
remaining mile or so to the shore had good going. At five o’clock in
the afternoon we landed on the Siberian coast. It was the fourth of
April and we had been seventeen days on the march. The distance we
had actually gone in making the journey was not less than two hundred
miles.
The first thing the Eskimo saw when we reached the land was the trail
of a single sledge along the tundra.
“_Ardegar_ (that’s good),” he said; “Eskimo come here.”
I asked him if it was Siberia and he said it was.
“Where we go?” I asked.
Without a moment’s hesitation he pointed to the east.
A snowstorm had already begun, while we were still on the march, and it
was now coming on with rapidly increasing violence, so we set to work
at once and in half an hour had an igloo built, and a shelter for our
dogs, now reduced to four. When we got inside the igloo we made tea,
boiled some of the bear meat we had with us and ate until we could eat
no more. Then we turned in. It seemed pretty good to sleep on land
again.