HANS AND HIS FAMILY.--PETOWAK GLACIER.--A SNOW-STORM.--THE
ICE-PACK.--ENTERING SMITH'S SOUND.--A SEVERE GALE.--COLLISION
WITH ICEBERGS.--ENCOUNTER WITH THE ICE-FIELDS.--RETREAT FROM
THE PACK.--AT ANCHOR IN HARTSTENE BAY.--ENTERING WINTER
QUARTERS.
It was five o'clock in the evening when I reached the schooner. The
wind had freshened during our absence; and, unwilling to lose so
favorable an opportunity for pushing on, I had hastened on board.
Otherwise I should gladly have given some time to an examination of
the native village which lies a few miles to the eastward of the
cape, on the northern side of a conspicuous bay, near a place called
Kíkertait,--"The Place of Islands."
In anticipation of a heavy blow and a dirty night, McCormick had,
during my absence, taken a reef in the sails, and the little schooner,
with her canvas shivering in the wind, seemed impatient as a hound in
the leash. When the helm went up, she wheeled round to the north with a
graceful toss of her head, and, after steadying herself for an instant,
as if for a good start, she shot off before the wind at ten knots an
hour. Capes, bays, islands, glaciers, and icebergs sank rapidly behind
us; and, rejoicing over their extraordinary fortune, the ship's company
were in the best of spirits. As we dashed on through nest after nest of
icebergs, it was curious to observe the evidences of reckless daring
which inspired their thoughts. Dodge had the deck, and Charley, as
dare-devil an old sailor as ever followed the fortunes of the sea,
had the helm; and it seemed to me, as I sat upon the fore-yard, that
there was some quiet understanding between the two to see how near they
could come to the icebergs without hitting them. We passed through
many narrow places; but instead of finding the schooner in the middle
of the channel, she generally managed to fall off to one side or the
other at the critical moment (of course, by mere accident); and when I
shouted a remonstrance at the lubberly steering, I was answered with
the assurance that the schooner would not obey her helm with so much
after-sail on, when running before the wind; so I accordingly hove
the schooner to, and close-reefed the mainsail; and now, either from
the want of a reasonable excuse for doing otherwise, or from a real
difficulty being overcome, the vessel was made to keep somewhat nearer
to a straight course; and we dashed on through the waveless waters with
a celerity which, in view of our surroundings, fairly made one's head
swim.
[Sidenote: A HAZARDOUS PASSAGE.]
I was once not a little alarmed. Before us lay what appeared to be
two icebergs separated by a distance of about twenty fathoms. To go
around them was to deviate from our course, and I called to Dodge
to know if he could steady the schooner through the narrow passage.
Ever ready when there was a spice of danger, he willingly assumed
the responsibility of the schooner's behavior, and we approached the
entrance; but, when it was too late to turn either to the right or
left, I discovered, much to my amazement, that the objects which I had
supposed to be two bergs were in fact but portions of the same mass,
connected together by a link which was only a few feet below the
surface of the water. The depth of water proved, however, to be greater
than at first appeared, but the keel actually touched twice as we shot
through the opening; and while the schooner was, with some hesitancy
and evident reluctance, doing this sledge duty, I must own that I
wished myself anywhere else than on her fore-yard.
[Sidenote: HANS AND HIS FAMILY.]
The officers and men amused themselves with our new allies. Hans was
delighted, and he expressed himself with as much enthusiasm as was
consistent with his stolid temperament. His wife exhibited a mixture of
bewilderment and pride; and, apparently overwhelmed with the novelty of
the situation in which she so suddenly found herself, seemed to have
contracted a chronic grin; while her baby laughed and crowed and cried
as all other babies do.
The sailors set to work at once with tubs of warm water and with soap,
scissors, and comb, to prepare them for red shirts and other similar
luxuries of civilization. At this latter they were overjoyed, and
strutted about the deck with much the same air of exalted consequence
as that of a boy who has been freshly promoted from frock and shoes
to pantaloons and boots; but it must be owned that the soap-and-water
arrangement was not so highly appreciated; and well they might object,
for they were not used to it. At first the whole procedure seemed to
be great sport, but at length the wife began to cry, and demanded of
her husband to know whether this was a white man's religious rite, with
an expression of countenance which appeared to indicate that it was
regarded by her as a refined method of Christian torture. The family
were finally stowed away for the night down among the ropes and sails
in the "ship's eyes;" and one of the sailors who played chamberlain
on the occasion, and who appeared to be not overly partial to this
increase of our family, remarked that, "If good for nothing else, they
are at least good lumber for strengthening the schooner's bows against
the ice."
[Sidenote: PETOWAK GLACIER.]
The coast which we were passing greatly interested me. The trap
formation of Disco Island reappears at Cape York, and the land
presents a lofty, ragged front, broken by deep gorges which have a
very picturesque appearance, and the effect was much heightened by
numerous streams of ice which burst through the openings. One of these
figures on the chart as Petowak Glacier. Measuring it as we passed
with log-line and chronometer, it proved to be four miles across. The
igneous rocks are interrupted at Cape Athol, on the southern side
of Wolstenholme Sound, and the lines of calcareous sandstone and
greenstone which meet the eye there and at Saunders Island and the
coast above, toward Cape Parry, brought to my recollection many a hard
struggle of former years. They were familiar landmarks.
At eight o'clock in the evening we were abreast of Booth Bay, the
winter quarters in my boat journey of 1854. I could distinguish
through my glass the rocks among which we had built our hut. They were
suggestive of many unpleasant memories.
[Sidenote: MEETING THE ICE PACK.]
Soon afterward the sky became overcast, and a heavy snow began to fall.
The wind dying away to a light breeze, we jogged on through the day,
and, passing Whale Sound, outside of Hakluyt Island, were, at five
o'clock in the evening, within thirty miles of Smith's Sound. Here we
came upon an ice-pack which appeared to be very heavy and to stretch
off to the southwest; but the air being too thick to warrant us in
approaching near enough to inspect its character, we began to beat
to windward with the hope of reaching the lee side of Northumberland
Island, there to await better weather. In this purpose we were,
however, defeated, for, the wind falling almost to calm, we were
forced to grope about in the gloom, seeking an iceberg for a mooring;
but the waves proved to be running too high to admit of our landing
from a boat, and we passed the night in much uneasiness, drifting
northward. Fortunately the pack was moving in the same direction,
otherwise we should have been carried upon it. The breakers could be
distinctly heard all the time, and on several occasions we caught sight
of them; but, by availing ourselves of every puff of wind to crawl
off, we escaped without collision. Once I was satisfied that we had no
alternative but to wear round and plunge head foremost into the danger,
rather than await the apparent certainty of drifting broadside upon it;
but at the critical moment the wind freshened, and, continuing for a
few hours, we held our own while the pack glided slowly away from us.
Our dogs had made a heavy drain upon our water-casks, and the watch was
engaged during the night in melting the snow which had fallen upon the
deck. We also fished up from the sea some small fragments of fresh ice
with a net. By these means we obtained a supply of water sufficient to
last us for several days.
[Illustration:
CHART
of
SMITH SOUND
Showing
DR. HAYES TRACK
and discoveries
1860-61
]
[Sidenote: ENTERING SMITH'S SOUND.]
The wind hauled to the northeast as the morning dawned, and the clouds
broke away, disclosing the land. Cape Alexander, whose lofty walls
guard the entrance to Smith's Sound, appeared to be about twenty miles
away, and Cape Isabella, thirty-five miles distant from it, was visible
on the opposite side. Holding to the eastward toward Cape Saumarez,
we found a passage through the pack near the shore, but afterward the
greater part of the day was passed in a provoking calm, during which,
being embarrassed by a strong tidal-current that set us alternately up
and down the coast, we were obliged almost constantly to use the boats
to keep ourselves clear of the bergs, which were very numerous, and
many of them of immense size. We were, however, at length gratified to
find ourselves passing with a fair wind into Smith's Sound, the field
of our explorations. Standing over toward Cape Isabella, we had for a
time every prospect of good fortune before us, but a heavy pack was,
after a while, discovered from the mast-head, and this we were not long
in reaching.
This pack was composed of the heaviest ice-fields that I had hitherto
seen, and its margin, trending to the northeast and southwest, arrested
our further progress toward the western shore. Many of the floes were
from two to ten feet above the water, thus indicating a thickness of
from twenty to a hundred feet. Had they been widely separated, I should
have attempted to force a passage; but they were too closely impacted
to allow of this being done with any chance of safety to the schooner.
The ice appeared to be interminable. No open water could be discovered
in the direction of Cape Isabella. The wind, being from the northeast,
did not permit of an exploration in that direction; so we ran down to
the southwest, anxiously looking for a lead, but without discovering
any thing to give us encouragement.
[Sidenote: STOPPED BY THE PACK.]
We were not, however, permitted to come to any conclusions of our own
as to what course we should pursue, for the most furious gale that it
has ever been my fortune to encounter broke suddenly upon us, and left
us no alternative but to seek shelter under the coast. Our position
was now one of great danger. The heavy pack which we had passed the
night previous lay to leeward of us, and was even visible from the
mast-head, thus shutting off retreat in that direction, even should our
necessities give us no choice but to run before the wind.
The entries of my diary will perhaps best exhibit the ineffectual
struggle which followed:--
_August 28th, 3 o'clock, P. M._
Blowing frightfully. We have run in under the coast, and are partly
sheltered by it, and trying hard to find an anchorage. But for the
protection of the land we could not show a stitch of canvas. We are
about three miles from Sutherland Island, which lies close to Cape
Alexander, on its south side, but we have ceased to gain any thing
upon it. We can carry so little sail that the schooner will not work
to windward; besides, here under the coast, the wind comes only in
squalls. If we can only get in between the island and the mainland we
shall be all right. I have not been in bed since the day before leaving
Tessuissak, and during these six days I have snatched only now and then
a little sleep. If our anchor once gets a clutch on the bottom I shall
make up for lost time.
I ought to have been more cautious, and sought shelter sooner. A
heavy white cloud hanging over Cape Alexander (Jensen calls it a
"table-cloth") warned me of the approaching gale, but then I did not
think it would come upon us with such fury.
It is a perfect hurricane. My chief fear is that we will be driven out
to sea, which is everywhere filled with heavy ice.
August 29th, 12 o'clock, M.
There has been a dead calm under the coast for an hour. The
"table-cloth" has lifted from the cape, and there is a decided change
in the northern sky. The light windy clouds are disappearing, and
stratus clouds are taking their place. The neck of the gale appears to
be broken.
2 o'clock, P. M.
[Sidenote: A SEVERE GALE.]
My calculations of the morning were quite wrong. The gale howls more
furiously than ever. We are lying off Cape Saumarez, about two miles
from shore. Failing to reach Sutherland Island, we were forced to
run down the coast with the hope of finding shelter in the deep bay
below; but the wind, sweeping round the cape, drove us back, and we are
now trying to crawl in shore and get an anchor down in a little cove
near by, and there repair our torn sails. We are a very uncomfortable
party. The spray flies over the vessel, sheathing her in ice. Long
icicles hang from the rigging and the bulwarks. The bob-stays and other
head-gear are the thickness of a man's body; and, most unseamanlike
procedure, we have to throw ashes on the deck to get about.
I can now readily understand how Inglefield was forced to fly from
Smith's Sound. If the gale which he encountered resembled this one, he
could not, with double the steam-power of the _Isabella_, have made
headway against it. Were I to leave the shelter of these friendly
cliffs I should have to run with even greater celerity;--and, very
likely, to destruction.
The squalls which strike us are perfectly terrific, and the calms which
follow them are suggestive of gathering strength for another stroke.
Fortunately the blows are of short duration, else our already damaged
canvas, which is reduced to the smallest possible dimensions, would fly
into ribbons.
[Sidenote: SEEKING SHELTER.]
The coast which gives us this spasmodic protection is bleak enough. The
cliffs are about twelve hundred feet high, and their tops and the hills
behind them are covered with the recent snows. The wind blows a cloud
of drift over the lofty wall, and, after whirling it about in the air,
in a manner which, under other circumstances, would no doubt be pretty
enough, drops it upon us in great showers. The winter is setting in
early. At this time of the season in 1853-54 these same hills were free
from snow, and so remained until two weeks later.
10 o'clock, P. M.
[Sidenote: A WILD SCENE.]
We have gained nothing upon the land, and are almost where we were at
noon. The gale continues as before, and hits us now and then as hard
as ever. The view from the deck is magnificent beyond description. The
imagination cannot conceive of a scene more wild. A dark cloud hangs
to the northward, bringing the white slopes of Cape Alexander into
bold relief. Over the cliffs roll great sheets of drifting snow, and
streams of it pour down every ravine and gorge. Whirlwinds shoot it
up from the hill-tops, and spin it through the air. The streams which
pour through the ravines resemble the spray of mammoth waterfalls, and
here and there through the fickle cloud the dark rocks protrude and
disappear and protrude again. A glacier which descends through a valley
to the bay below is covered with a broad cloak of revolving whiteness.
The sun is setting in a black and ominous horizon. But the wildest
scene is upon the sea. Off the cape it is one mass of foam. The water,
carried along by the wind, flies through the air and breaches over the
lofty icebergs. It is a most wonderful exhibition. I have tried in vain
to illustrate it with my pencil. My pen is equally powerless. It is
impossible for me to convey to this page a picture of that vast volume
of foam which flutters over the sea, and, rising and falling with each
pulsation of the inconstant wind, stands out against the dark sky, or
of the clouds which fly overhead, rushing, wild and fearful, across the
heavens, on the howling storm. Earth and sea are charged with bellowing
sounds. Upon the air are borne shrieks and wailings, loud and dismal
as those of the infernal blast which, down in the second circle of the
damned, appalled the Italian bard; and the clouds of snow and vapor are
tossed upon the angry gusts,--now up, now down,--as spirits, condemned
of Minos, wheel their unhappy flight in endless squadrons,
"Swept by the dreadful hurricane along."
In striking contrast to the cold and confusion above is the warmth and
quiet here below. I write in the officers' cabin. The stove is red-hot,
the tea-kettle sings a home-like song. Jensen is reading. McCormick,
thoroughly worn out with work and anxiety, sleeps soundly, and Knorr
and Radcliffe keep him company. Dodge has the deck; and here comes the
cook staggering along with his pot of coffee. I will fortify myself
with a cup of it, and send Dodge below for a little comfort.
* * * * *
The cook had no easy task in reaching the cabin over the slippery
decks.
[Sidenote: A CABIN SCENE.]
"I falls down once, but de Commander see I keeps de coffee. It's good
an' hot, and very strong, and go right down into de boots."
"Bad night on deck, cook."
"Oh, it's awful, sar! I never see it blow so hard in all my life, an'
I's followed de sea morn 'n forty year. And den it's so cold. My galley
is full of ice, and de water it freeze on my stove."
"Here, cook, is a guernsey for you; that will keep you warm."
"Tank you, sar!"--and he starts off with his prize; but, encouraged by
his reception, he stops to ask, "Would de Commander be so good as to
tell me where we is? De gentlemens fool me."
"Certainly, cook. The land over there is Greenland. That big cape is
Cape Alexander; beyond that is Smith's Sound, and we are only about
eight hundred miles from the North Pole."
"De Nort' Pole, vere's dat?"
I explained the best I could.
"Tank you, sar. Vat for we come--to fish?"
"No, not to fish, cook; for science."
"Oh, dat it? Dey tell me we come to fish. Tank you, sar." And he pulls
his greasy cap over his bald head, and does not appear to be much wiser
as he tumbles up the companion-ladder into the storm. Somebody has
hoaxed the old man into the belief that we have come out to catch seals.
August 30th, 1 o'clock, A. M.
The wind is hauling to the eastward, and the squalls come thicker
and faster. We are drifting both up and from the coast, and I fear
that if we recede much further we shall be sent howling to sea under
bare poles. It is not a pleasing reflection--a "pack" and a thousand
icebergs to leeward, and an unmanageable vessel under foot. McCormick
is struggling manfully for the shore.
10 o'clock, A. M.
[Sidenote: AT ANCHOR.]
We reached the shore this morning at 3 o'clock, and anchored in four
fathoms water. The stern of the schooner was swung round and moored
with our stoutest hawser to a rock; but a squall fell upon us soon
afterward with such violence that, although the sails were all snugly
stowed, the hawser was parted like a whip-cord; and we now lie to our
"bower" and "kedge," with thirty fathoms chain.
And now, in apparent security, the ship's company abandon themselves
to repose. Weary and worn with the hard struggle and exposure, we were
all badly in need of rest. An abundant supply of hot coffee was our
first refreshment. But, notwithstanding their fatigue, some of the more
enthusiastic members of the party went ashore, so anxious were they to
touch this far-north land.
8 o'clock, P. M.
I have just returned from a tedious climb to the top of the cliffs. At
an elevation of twelve hundred feet I had a good view. The sea is free
from ice along the shore apparently up to Littleton Island, from which
the pack stretches out over the North Water as far as the eye will
carry. There appears to be much open water about Cape Isabella, but I
could not of course see the shore line. Above the cape the ice appeared
to be solid. Although the prospect is discouraging, I have determined
to attempt a passage with the first favorable wind.
[Sidenote: VIEW FROM THE CLIFFS.]
The journey was a very difficult one, and when I had reached the
summit of the cliff I was almost blown over it. The force of the wind
was so great that I was obliged to steady myself against a rock while
making my observations. Knorr, who accompanied me, lost his cap, and it
went sailing out over the sea as if a mere feather. The scene was but a
broader panorama of that which I described in this journal yesterday.
It was a grand, wild confusion of the elements. The little schooner,
far down beneath me, was writhing and reeling with the fitful gusts,
and straining at her cables like a chained wild beast. The clouds of
drifting snow which whirled through the gorges beneath me, now and
then hid her and the icebergs beyond from view; and when the air fell
calm again the cloud dropped upon the sea, and the schooner, after a
short interval of unrest, lay quietly on the still water, nestling in
sunshine under the protecting cliffs.
There are yet some lingering traces of the summer. Some patches of
green moss and grass were seen in the valleys, where the snow had
drifted away; and I plucked a little nosegay of my old friends the
poppies and the curling spider-legged _Saxifraga flagelaris_. The frost
and snow and wind had not robbed them of their loveliness and beauty.
The cliffs are of the same sandstone, interstratified with greenstone,
which I have before remarked of the coast below.
McCormick has replaced the old foresail which was split down the
centre, with the new one, and has patched up the mainsail and jib, both
of which were much torn.
An immense amount of ice has drifted past us, but we are too far
in-shore for any masses of considerable size to reach the vessel.
Three small bergs have, however, grounded in a cluster right astern
of us, and if we drag our anchors we shall bring up against them. A
perfect avalanche of wind tumbles upon us from the cliffs; and instead
of coming in squalls, as heretofore, it is now almost constant. The
temperature is 27°.
I made a trial to-day with the dredge, but nothing was brought up from
the bottom except a couple of echinoderms (_Asterias Grœnlandica_ and
_A. Albula_). The sea is alive with little shrimps, among which the
_Crangon Boreas_ is most abundant. The full-grown ones are an inch
long, and their tinted backs give a purplish hue to the water.
August 31st, 8 o'clock, P. M.
[Sidenote: DRIVEN FROM SHELTER.]
Night closes upon a day of disaster,--a day, I fear, of evil omen. My
poor little schooner is terribly cut up.
[Sidenote: BACK IN SMITH'S SOUND.]
Soon after making my last entry yesterday I lay down for a little rest,
but was soon aroused with the unwelcome announcement that we were
dragging our anchors. McCormick managed to save the bower, but the
hedge was lost. It caught a rock at a critical moment, and, the hawser
parting, we were driven upon the bergs, which, as before stated, had
grounded astern of us. The collision was a perfect crash. The stern
boat flew into splinters, the bulwarks over the starboard-quarter were
stove in, and, the schooner's head swinging round with great violence,
the jib-boom was carried away, and the bow-sprit and foretop-mast were
both sprung. In this crippled condition we at length escaped most
miraculously, and under bare poles scudded before the wind. A vast
number of icebergs and the "pack" coming in view, we were forced to
make sail. The mainsail went to pieces as soon as it was set, and we
were once more in great jeopardy; but fortunately the storm abated,
and we have since been threshing to windward, and are once more within
Smith's Sound. Again the gale appears to have broken; the northern sky
is clear. Our spars will not allow us to carry jib and topsail;--bad
for entering the pack.
The temperature is 22°, and the decks are again slippery with ice.
Forward, the ropes, blocks, stays, halyards, and every thing else, are
covered with a solid coating, and icicles a foot long hang from the
monkey-rail and rigging. If they look pretty enough in the sunlight,
they have a very wintry aspect, and are not at all becoming to a ship.
I tried this morning to reach Cape Isabella, but met the pack where
it had obstructed us before. Some patches of open water were observed
in the midst of it; but we found it impossible to penetrate the
intervening ice. My only chance now is to work up the Greenland coast,
get hold of the fast ice, and, through such leads as must have been
opened by the wind higher up the Sound, endeavor to effect a passage
to the opposite shore. Of reaching that shore I do not yet despair,
although the wind has apparently packed the ice upon it to such a
degree that it looks like a hopeless undertaking. I have already an
eye upon Fog Inlet, twenty miles above Cape Alexander on the Greenland
coast, and I shall now try to reach that point for a new start.
While I write the wind is freshening, and under close-reefed sails we
are making a little progress. My poor sailors have a sorry time of it,
with the stiffened ropes. The schooner, everywhere above the water, is
coated with ice. The dogs are perishing with cold and wet. Three of
them have already died.
September 1st, 8 o'clock, P. M.
We have once more been driven out of the Sound. The gale set in again
with great violence, and in the act of wearing the schooner, to avoid
an iceberg, the fore-gaff parted in the middle; and, unable to carry
any thing but a close-reefed staysail, we were forced again to seek
shelter behind our old protector, Cape Alexander. McCormick is patching
up the wreck and preparing for another struggle.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: ENTERING THE PACK]
The next two days were filled with dangerous adventure. The broken
spar being repaired, we had another fight for the Sound, and got again
inside. The pack still lay where it was before, and again headed us
off. There was a good deal of open water between Littleton Island and
Cape Hatherton, and apparently to the northwest of that cape; but there
was much heavy ice off the island, with tortuous leads separating the
floes. I determined, however, to enter the pack and try to reach the
open water above. Taking the first fair opening, we made a northwest
course for about ten miles, when, finding that we were unable to
penetrate any further in that direction, we tacked ship, hoping to
reach the clear water that lay above the island.
We were now fairly in the fight. The current was found to be setting
strongly against us, and it was soon discovered that the ice was coming
rapidly down the Sound, and that the leads were already slowly closing
up. We worked vigorously, crowding on all the sail we could; but we
did not make our point, and soon had to go about again; or rather,
we tried to; for the schooner, never reliable without her topsail,
which we could not carry owing to the accident to the topmast, missed
in stays; and, fearful of being nipped between the fields which were
rapidly reducing the open water about us, we wore round; and, there
not being sufficient room, we were on the eve of striking with the
starboard-bow a solid ice-field a mile in width. There was little
hope for the schooner if this collision should happen with our full
headway; and being unable to avoid it, I thought it clearly safest to
take the shock squarely on the fore-foot; so I ordered the helm up, and
went at it in true battering-ram style. To me the prospect was doubly
disagreeable. For the greater facility of observation I had taken my
station on the foretop-yard; and the mast being already sprung and
swinging with my weight, I had little other expectation than that, when
the shock came, it would snap off and land me with the wreck on the ice
ahead. Luckily for me the spar held firm, but the cut-water flew in
splinters with the collision, and the iron sheathing was torn from the
bows as if it had been brown paper.
[Sidenote: IN THE PACK.]
And now came a series of desperate struggles. No topsail-schooner was
ever put through such a set of gymnastic feats. I had been so much
annoyed by the detentions and embarrassments of the last few days that
I was determined to risk every thing rather than go back. As long as
the schooner would float I should hope still to get a clutch on Cape
Hatherton.
Getting clear of the floe, the schooner came again to the wind, and,
gliding into a narrow lead, we soon emerged into a broad space of open
water. Had this continued we should soon have been rewarded with
success, but in half an hour the navigation became so tortuous that
we were compelled again to go about and stand in-shore. And thus we
continued for many hours, tacking to and fro,--sometimes gaining a
little, then losing ground by being forced to go to leeward of a floe,
which we could not weather.
[Sidenote: BESET.]
The space in which we could manœuvre the schooner became gradually more
and more contracted; the collisions with the ice became more frequent.
We were losing ground. The ice was closing in with the land, and we
were finally brought to bay. There was no longer a lead. And it was
now too late to retreat, had we been even so inclined. The ice was as
closely unpacked behind us as before us. With marvelous celerity the
scene had shifted. An hour later, and there was scarcely a patch of
open water in sight from the deck, and the floes were closing upon the
schooner like a vice. Utterly powerless within its jaws, we had no
alternative but to await the issue with what calmness we could.
The scene around us was as imposing as it was alarming. Except the
earthquake and volcano, there is not in nature an exhibition of force
comparable with that of the ice-fields of the Arctic Seas. They close
together, when driven by the wind or by currents against the land or
other resisting object, with the pressure of millions of moving tons,
and the crash and noise and confusion are truly terrific.
We were now in the midst of one of the most thrilling of these
exhibitions of Polar dynamics, and we became uncomfortably conscious
that the schooner was to become a sort of dynamometer. Vast ridges were
thrown up wherever the floes came together, to be submerged again when
the pressure was exerted in another quarter; and over the sea around
us these pulsating lines of uplift, which in some cases reached an
altitude of not less than sixty feet,--higher than our mast-head,--told
of the strength and power of the enemy which was threatening us.
We had worked ourselves into a triangular space formed by the contact
of three fields. At first there was plenty of room to turn round,
though no chance to escape. We were nicely docked, and vainly hoped
that we were safe; but the corners of the protecting floes were slowly
crushed off, the space narrowed little by little, and we listened to
the crackling and crunching of the ice, and watched its progress with
consternation.
[Sidenote: FORCE OF THE ICE-FIELDS.]
At length the ice touched the schooner, and it appeared as if her
destiny was sealed. She groaned like a conscious thing in pain, and
writhed and twisted as if to escape her adversary, trembling in every
timber from truck to kelson. Her sides seemed to be giving way. Her
deck timbers were bowed up, and the seams of the deck planks were
opened. I gave up for lost the little craft which had gallantly carried
us through so many scenes of peril; but her sides were solid and her
ribs strong; and the ice on the port side, working gradually under the
bilge, at length, with a jerk which sent us all reeling, lifted her out
of the water; and the floes, still pressing on and breaking, as they
were crowded together, a vast ridge was piling up beneath and around
us; and, as if with the elevating power of a thousand jack-screws, we
found ourselves going slowly up into the air.
My fear now was that the schooner would fall over on her side, or that
the masses which rose above the bulwarks would topple over upon the
deck, and bury us beneath them.
We lay in this position during eight anxious hours.
At length the crash ceased with a change of wind and tide. The ice
exhibited signs of relaxing. The course of the monster floes which were
crowding down the Sound was changed more to the westward. We beheld the
prospect of release with joy.
[Sidenote: THE SCHOONER IN DANGER.]
Small patches of open water were here and there exhibited among the
hitherto closely impacted ice. The change of scene, though less
fearful, was not less magical than before. By and by the movement
extended to the floes which bound us so uncomfortably, and with the
first cessation of the pressure the blocks of ice which supported the
forward part of the schooner gave way, and, the bows following them,
left the stern high in the air. Here we rested for a few moments
quietly, and then the old scene was renewed. The further edge of the
outer floe which held us was caught by another moving field of greater
size, when the jam returned, and we appeared to be in as great danger
as before; but this attack was of short duration. The floe revolved,
and, the pressure being almost instantly removed, we fell into the
water, reeling forward and backward and from side to side, as the ice,
seeking its own equilibrium, settled headlong and in wild confusion
beneath us from its forced elevation.
Freed from this novel and alarming situation, we used every available
means to disengage ourselves from the ruins of the frightful battle
which we had encountered; and, as speedily as possible, got into
a position of greater safety. Meanwhile an inspection was made to
ascertain what damage had been done to the schooner. The hold was
rapidly filling with water, the rudder was split, two of its pintles
were broken off, the stern-post was started, fragments of the
cut-water and keel were floating alongside of us in the sea, and, to
all appearances, we were in a sinking condition.
Our first duty was to man the pumps.
[Sidenote: THE SCHOONER CRIPPLED.]
We were many hours among the ice, tortured with doubt and uncertainty.
We had to move with great caution. The crippled condition of the
schooner warned us to use her gently. She would bear no more thumps.
Forward we could not go, because of the ice; retreat we must, for
it was absolutely necessary that we should get to the land and find
shelter somewhere. The rudder was no longer available, and we were
obliged to steer with a long "sweep."
The wind hauled more and more to the eastward, and spread the ice.
Although at times closely beset and once severely "nipped," yet, by
watching our opportunity, we crept slowly out of the pack, and, after
twenty anxious hours, got at last into comparatively clear water, and
headed for Hartstene Bay, where we found an anchorage.
The damage to the schooner was less than we had feared. A more careful
examination showed that no timbers were broken, and the seams in a
measure closed of themselves. Once at anchor, and finding that we were
in no danger of sinking, I allowed all hands to take a rest, except
such as were needed at the pumps. They were all thoroughly worn out.
On the following day a still further inspection of the vessel was made;
and, although apparently unfit for any more ice-encounters, she could
still float with a little assistance from the pumps. One hour out of
every four kept the hold clear.
Such repairs as it was in our power to make were at once begun. We
could do very little without beaching the vessel, and this, in the
uncertain state of the ice and weather, was not practicable. The rudder
hung by one pintle, and after being mended was still unreliable.
While McCormick was making these repairs I pulled up to Littleton
Island in a whale-boat, to see what the ice had been doing in our
absence. The wind was dead ahead, and we had a hard struggle to reach
our destination; but, once there, I found some encouragement. There
was much open water along the coast up to Cape Hatherton, but the pack
was even more heavy at the west and southwest than it had been before.
To enter it would be folly, even with a fair wind and a sound ship.
There was clearly no chance of getting to the west coast, except by
the course which I had attempted with such unhappy results two days
previous.
We were not a little surprised to discover on Littleton Island a
reindeer. He was sound asleep, coiled up on a bed of snow. Dodge's
rifle secured him for our larder and deprived the desolate island of
its only inhabitant.
During our absence, Jensen had been out with Hans, and had also
discovered deer. They had found a herd numbering something like a
dozen. Two of them were captured, but the rest, taking alarm, escaped
to the mountains.
[Sidenote: ANOTHER TRIAL.]
The wind falling away to calm, we got to sea next day under oars, and
again entered the pack. More ice had come down upon the island, and all
our efforts to push up the coast were unavailing. The air had become
alarmingly quiet, considering that the temperature was within twelve
degrees of zero, and there was much fear that we should be frozen up
at sea. A snow-storm came to add to this danger; but still we kept
on at the cold and risky work of "warping" with capstan and windlass,
whale-line and hawser, sometimes making and sometimes losing, and often
pretty severely nipped.
At length we were once more completely "beset." The young ice was
making rapidly, and I was forced reluctantly to admit that the
navigable season was over. To stay longer in the pack was now to insure
of being frozen up there for the winter, and accordingly, after having
exhausted two more days of fruitless labor, we made what haste we could
to get back again into clear water. This was not, however, an affair to
be quickly accomplished. He who navigates these polar seas must learn
patience.
[Sidenote: RETREAT FROM THE PACK.]
Our purpose was, however, in the end safely accomplished, and, a breeze
springing up, we put back into Hartstene Bay; and, steering for a
cluster of ragged-looking islands which lay near the coast at its head,
we came upon a snug little harbor behind them, and dropped our anchors.
Next morning I had the schooner hauled further in-shore, and moored her
to the rocks.
Meanwhile the crew were working with anxious uncertainty; and when I
finally announced my intention to winter in that place they received
the intelligence with evident satisfaction. Their exposure had been
great, and they needed rest; but, notwithstanding this, had there
been the least prospect of serviceable result following any further
attempt to cross the Sound, they would, with their customary energy
and cheerfulness, have rejoiced in continuing the struggle. But they
saw, as their faces clearly told, even before I was willing to own it,
that the season was over. I record it to their credit, that throughout
a voyage of unusual peril and exposure they had never quailed in
the presence of danger, and they had to a man exhibited the most
satisfactory evidence of manly endurance.
[Sidenote: ENTERING WINTER HARBOR.]
The reader will readily understand that to me the failure to cross
the Sound was a serious disappointment. Hoping, as heretofore stated,
to reach the west coast, and there secure a harbor in some convenient
place between latitude 79° and 80°, it was evident to me that in
failing to do this my chances of success with sledges during the
following spring were greatly jeopardized. Besides--and this to me
was the most painful reflection--my vessel was, apparently, so badly
injured as to be unfit for any renewal of the attempt the next year.
[Illustration]