JOURNEY ON THE GLACIER.--THE FIRST CAMP.--SCALING THE
GLACIER.--CHARACTER OF ITS SURFACE.--THE ASCENT.--DRIVEN BACK
BY A GALE.--LOW TEMPERATURE.--DANGEROUS SITUATION OF THE
PARTY.--A MOONLIGHT SCENE.
Notwithstanding that we had no actual daylight even at noontime, yet
it was light enough for traveling; and the moon being full, and adding
its brightness to that of the retiring sun, I felt no hesitation in
carrying into execution my contemplated journey upon the glacier.
The severe gales appeared to have subsided, and I thought that the
undertaking might be made with safety.
I could do nothing at this period that would bear directly upon my
plans of exploration toward the north, and I desired to employ my time
to the best advantage. The sea immediately outside of the harbor still
remained unfrozen, and we were kept close prisoners within Hartstene
Bay--being unable to pass around the capes which bounded it to the
north and south. Both Cape Alexander and Cape Ohlsen were still lashed
by the troubled sea. There was evidently a large open area in the mouth
of the Sound, extending down into the "North Water." When the wind set
in from that direction the ice was broken up far within the bay, to be
drifted off when it changed to the eastward.
Besides this, even if the ice had closed up, so little faith had I
in the autumn as a season for sledge traveling upon the sea, that I
doubt if I should have attempted a journey in that quarter. In those
positions most favorable to early freezing the ice does not unite
firmly until the darkness has fully set in; and traveling is not only
attended with much risk, but with great loss of that physical strength
so necessary to resist the insidious influences of the malady, hitherto
so often fatal to sojourners in the Arctic darkness. And it has been
the general judgment of my predecessors in this region, that the late
spring and early summer are alone calculated for successful sledge
traveling. I recall but two commanders who have sent parties into
the field in the autumn, and in both of these cases the attempt was,
apparently, not only useless, but prejudicial. The men were broken down
by the severity of the exposure--having been almost constantly wet and
always cold--and when the darkness set in they were laid up with the
scurvy; and in the spring it was discovered that the depots which they
had established were, for the most part, either destroyed by bears or
were otherwise unavailable.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY ON THE GLACIER.]
With inland traveling the case is different. There is then no risk of
getting wet, and I have not ordinarily experienced serious difficulty
in traveling at any temperature, however severe, provided I could keep
my party dry. Some dampness is, however, almost unavoidable even on
land journeys, and this is, in truth, one of the most embarrassing
obstacles with which the Arctic traveler has to contend. Even at low
temperatures he cannot wholly avoid some moisture to his clothes and
fur bedding, caused by the warmth of his own person melting the snow
beneath him while he sleeps.
This being our first journey, of course everybody was eager to go.
I had at first intended to take the dogs, with Jensen as my only
companion and driver; but upon talking the matter over with that
individual, (in whose judgment with respect to such things I had much
confidence), I yielded to his opinion that the dogs were not available
for that kind of work. I had reason afterwards to regret the decision,
for it was found that they might have been used during some parts of
the journey with great advantage. It occurred to me, upon subsequent
reflection, that for Jensen's aspersions of the dogs an ample apology
might be found in Sonntag's broken barometer.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY ON THE GLACIER.]
Having concluded to make the journey with men alone, my choice fell
upon Mr. Knorr, John McDonald, Harvey Heywood, Christian Petersen, and
the Esquimau Peter. McDonald was one of my very best sailors--a short,
well-knit fellow, always ready for work. Christian was not unlike him
in make, disposition, and endurance, and, although a carpenter, was yet
something of a sailor. He had lived during several years in Greenland,
and had become inured to a life of exposure. Heywood was a landsman
from the far-West, and had joined me from pure enthusiasm. He was full
of courage and energy, and, although occupying a position in the ship's
company much inferior to his deserts, yet nothing better could be done
for him. He was bent upon accompanying the expedition, no matter in
what capacity.[5] With Peter the reader is already acquainted.
[Footnote 5: It affords me great satisfaction to learn recently that
Harvey Heywood has served during the late war, in the Southwest, with
great gallantry, winning for himself a commission, being attached to
the engineers, on the general staff. I found him to be an excellent
draughtsman.]
We set out on the 22d of October, the day following the celebration
which closes the last chapter. Our sledge was lightly laden with a
small canvas tent, two buffalo-skins for bedding, a cooking-lamp, and
provisions for eight days. Our personal equipment needs but a brief
description. An extra pair of fur stockings, a tin cup, and an iron
spoon, per man, was the whole of it.
[Sidenote: THE FIRST CAMP.]
Our first camp was made at the foot of the glacier. The first camp
of a journey anywhere in the world is usually uncomfortable enough,
notwithstanding it may perhaps have its bright side; but this one, to
my little party, did not appear to have any bright side at all. The
temperature was -11°, and we had no other fire than what was needed
in our furnace-lamp for cooking our hash and coffee. I believe no one
slept. Our tent was pitched, of necessity, on a sloping hill-side, and
on the smoothest bed of stones that we could find. We turned out in the
moonlight and went to work.
The next journey carried us to the top of the glacier, and it was a
very serious day's business. I have already described, in the last
chapter, the rugged character of the gorge through which we were
obliged to travel, in order to reach a point where we could scale
the glacier. The laden sledge could not be dragged over the rocks
and blocks of ice, and the men were therefore compelled to carry our
equipments, piece by piece, on their shoulders. Reaching the spot
where, with Mr. Sonntag, I had before made an ascent, we prepared to
hoist the sledge.
The scenery was here quite picturesque. We were standing in a little
triangular valley, with a lake in its centre. At our left rose the
great glacier, and at our right a small stream of ice poured through a
deep gorge. Before us stood a massive pillar of red-sandstone rock,
behind which these two streams uniting, wholly surrounded it, making it
truly an island--an island in a sea of ice. The little lake exhibited
a phenomenon which I found quite instructive in connection with my
present journey. It had been well filled with water at the close of
the thaw season, and the ice was formed upon it before the water had
subsided. When the lake had drained off under the glacier the ice was
left with no other support than the rocks. In many places it had bent
down with its own weight, and in one instance I observed that, the
pressure being finally exerted on the corners of the remaining slab,
this ice, in a temperature below zero, and six inches thick, had been
twisted into a shape resembling the mold-board of a farmer's plow.
[Sidenote: SCALING THE GLACIER.]
The first attempt to scale the glacier was attended with an incident
which looked rather serious at the moment. The foremost member of the
party missed his footing as he was clambering up the rude steps, and,
sliding down the steep side, scattered those who were below him to
right and left, and sent them rolling into the valley beneath. The
adventure might have been attended with serious consequences, for
there were many rocks projecting above the snow and ice at the foot of
the slope. The next effort was more successful, and the end of a rope
being carried over the side of the glacier, the sledge was drawn up the
inclined plane, and we started off upon our journey. The ice was here
very rough and much broken, and was almost wholly free from snow.
We had not traveled long before an accident happened to me similar
to that which had before occurred to Mr. Sonntag. Walking in advance
of the party, who were dragging the sledge, I found myself, without
any warning, suddenly sinking through the snow, and was only saved by
holding firmly to a wooden staff which I carried over my shoulder,
fearful that such a misadventure might befall me. The staff spanned the
opening and supported me until I could scramble out. The crack may not
have been very deep, but, not having found any support for my feet, I
felt glad to have been able to postpone the solution of the interesting
scientific question, as to whether these fissures extend entirely
through the body of the glacier, to some future occasion.
As we neared the centre of the glacier the surface became more smooth,
and gave evidence of greater security. The great roughness of the sides
was no doubt due to an uneven conformation of that portion of the
valley upon which the ice rested.
Journeying then about five miles, we pitched our tent upon the ice,
and, turning into it, after a hearty supper of hash, bread, and coffee,
we slept soundly,--being too much fatigued to give thought to the
temperature, which had fallen several degrees lower than during the
previous night.
[Sidenote: THE ASCENT.]
On the following day we traveled thirty miles; and the ascent, which,
during the last march, had been at an angle of about 6°, diminished
gradually to about one third of that angle of elevation; and from a
surface of hard ice we had come upon an even plain of compacted snow,
through which no true ice could be found after digging down to the
depth of three feet. At that depth, however, the snow assumed a more
gelid condition, and, although not actually ice, we could not penetrate
further into it with our shovel without great difficulty. The snow was
covered with a crust through which the foot broke at every step, thus
making the traveling very laborious.
[Sidenote: EXCESSIVE COLD.]
About twenty-five miles were made during the following day, the track
being of the same character as the day before, and at about the same
elevation; but the condition of my party warned me against the hazard
of continuing the journey. The temperature had fallen to 30° below
zero, and a fierce gale of wind meeting us in the face, drove us
into our tent for shelter, and, after resting there for a few hours,
compelled our return. I had, however, accomplished the principal
purpose of my journey, and had not in any case intended to proceed more
than one day further, at this critical period of the year.
My party had not yet become sufficiently inured to exposure at such
low temperatures to enable them to bear it without risk. They were
all more or less touched with the frost, and the faces of two of
them had been so often frozen that they had become very painful and
much swollen, and their feet being constantly cold, I was fearful of
some serious accident if we did not speedily seek safety at a lower
level. The temperature fell to 34° below zero during the night, and
it is a circumstance worthy of mention that the lowest record of the
thermometer at Port Foulke, during our absence, was 22° higher. The men
complained bitterly, and could not sleep. One of them seemed likely to
give up altogether, and I was compelled to send him into the open air
to save himself from perishing by a vigorous walk.
The storm steadily increased in force, and, the temperature falling
lower and lower, we were all at length forced to quit the tent, and in
active exercise strive to prevent ourselves from freezing. To face the
wind was not possible, and shelter was nowhere to be found upon the
unbroken plain. There was but one direction in which we could move,
and that was with our backs to the gale. Much as I should have liked
to continue the journey one day more, it was clear to me that longer
delay would not alone endanger the lives of one or two members of my
party, but would wholly defeat the purposes of the expedition by the
destruction of all of us.
It was not without much difficulty that the tent was taken down and
bundled upon the sledge. The wind blew so fiercely that we could
scarcely roll it up with our stiffened hands. The men were suffering
with pain, and could only for a few moments hold on to the hardened
canvas. Their fingers, freezing continually, required active pounding
to keep them upon the flickering verge of life. We did not wait for
neat stowage or an orderly start. Danger suggests prompt expedients.
[Sidenote: A DANGEROUS SITUATION.]
Our situation at this camp was as sublime as it was dangerous. We had
attained an altitude of five thousand feet above the level of the
sea, and we were seventy miles from the coast, in the midst of a vast
frozen sahara, immeasurable to the human eye. There was neither hill,
mountain, nor gorge anywhere in view. We had completely sunk the strip
of land which lies between the _mer de glace_ and the sea; and no
object met the eye but our feeble tent, which bent to the storm. Fitful
clouds swept over the face of the full-orbed moon, which, descending
toward the horizon, glimmered through the drifting snow that whirled
out of the illimitable distance, and scudded over the icy plain;--to
the eye, in undulating lines of downy softness; to the flesh, in
showers of piercing darts.
Our only safety was in flight; and like a ship driven before a tempest
which she cannot withstand, and which has threatened her ruin, we
turned our backs to the gale; and, hastening down the slope, we ran to
save our lives.
We traveled upwards of forty miles, and had descended about three
thousand feet before we ventured to halt. The wind was much less
severe at this point than at the higher level, and the temperature had
risen twelve degrees. Although we reposed without risk, yet our canvas
shelter was very cold; and, notwithstanding the reduced force of the
gale, there was some difficulty in keeping the tent from being blown
away.
We reached Port Foulke the next evening, after a toilsome march,
without having suffered any serious accident.
[Sidenote: JOURNEYING BY MOONLIGHT.]
[Sidenote: AN IMPRESSIVE SCENE.]
The latter part of the journey was made wholly by moonlight. The air
was found to be quite calm when we reached the base of the glacier; and
the journey down its lower face, and through the gorge, and over the
valley, and across Alida Lake and the Fiord, was made in the presence
of a scene which was very impressive. Sheets of drifting snow swept
over the white-crested hills like insubstantial spirits flitting wildly
through the night. These told that the gale yet howled above; but in
our lowly shelter the air was still as a cave in the midst of winds. No
cloud obscured the broad archway of the skies. The gentle stars, robed
in the drapery of night, rejoiced to behold their forms in the smooth
mirror of the lake. The glacier threw back the chilly moonbeams. The
shadows of the dark cliffs stole into the flood of light which filled
the valley. The white Fiord, dotted with islands, wound between the
rugged capes, and its ice-clad waters spread out into the bay and then
merged with the broad sea. In the dim distance loomed up the lofty
snow-clad mountains of the west coast. Upon the sea floated a heavy
bank of mist, which, slowly changing when moved by the wind, disclosed
within its dark bosom the ghostly form of an iceberg; and a feeble
auroral light fringed this sombre cloak of the waves. Angry flashes
darted from behind this mass of impenetrable blackness, and, rushing
fiercely among the constellations, seemed like fiery arrows shot up by
evil spirits of another world.
[Illustration]