INCREASING DARKNESS.--DAILY ROUTINE.--THE JOURNAL.--OUR
HOME.--SUNDAY.--RETURN OF SONNTAG.--A BEAR-HUNT.--THE OPEN
WATER.--ACCIDENT TO MR. KNORR.--A THAW.--"THE PORT FOULKE
WEEKLY NEWS."--THE TIDE-REGISTER.--THE FIRE-HOLE.--HUNTING
FOXES.--PETER.
The steadily increasing darkness was driving us more and more within
doors. We had now scarcely any light but that of the moon and stars.
The hunt was not wholly abandoned, but so few were the hours wherein
we could see that it had become unprofitable. The gloom of night had
settled in the valleys and had crept up the craggy hills. The darkness
being fairly upon us, we had now little other concern than to live
through it and await the spring, and a return to active life and the
performance of those duties for which our voyage had been undertaken.
As a part of the history of the expedition, I will continue to give
from my diary our course of life.
November 5th.
Our life has worked itself into a very systematic routine. Our habits
during the sunlight were naturally somewhat irregular, but we have now
subsided into absolute method. What a comfort it is to be relieved of
responsibility! How kind it is of the clock to tell us what to do!
The ship's bell follows it through the hours, and we count its shrill
sounds and thereby know precisely how to act. The bell tells us when
it is half-past seven in the morning, and then we "turn out." An hour
later we breakfast, and at one o'clock we lunch. We dine at six, and
at eleven we put out the lights and "turn in,"--that is, everybody but
the writer of this journal and the "watch." After dinner I usually join
the officers at a game of whist, or in my own cabin have a game of
chess with Sonntag or Knorr. One day differs very little from another
day. Radcliffe shows me the record of the weather when he has made it
up, in the evening; and it is almost as monotonous as the form of its
presentation. The daily report of ship's duties I have from McCormick,
but that does not present any thing that is peculiarly enlivening. I
make a note of what is passing, in this voluminous journal,--partly
for use, partly from habit, and partly for occupation. The readings
of the magnetometer and the barometers and thermometers, and the
tide-register, and of the growth of the ice, and all such like useful
knowledge, find a place on these pages; but novelties are rare, and
when they do come I set opposite to them marginal notes, that I may
pick them out from time to time as one does a happy event from the
memory.
[Sidenote: DAILY ROUTINE.]
The ship's duties go on thus:--After breakfast the men "turn to" under
the direction of Dodge, and clear up the decks and polish and fill the
lamps; and a detail is made to go out to the iceberg for our daily
supply of water. Then the fire-hole is looked after, the dogs are fed,
the allowance of coal for the day is measured out, the store-room
is unlocked and the rations are served; and before lunch-time comes
round the labors of the day are done. After lunch we take a walk for
exercise, and I make it a rule that every one who has not been at work
two hours must spend at least that much time in walking for his health.
[Sidenote: OUR HOME.]
For my own part I take an almost daily drive around the bay or a stroll
over the hills or out upon the frozen sea. Sometimes I carry my rifle,
hoping to shoot a deer or perhaps a bear, but usually I go unarmed and
unaccompanied, except by a sprightly Newfoundland pup which rejoices in
the name of _General_. This little beast has shared with me my cabin
since leaving Boston, and has always insisted upon the choicest place.
We have got to be the best of friends. He knows perfectly well when the
hour comes to go out after breakfast, and whines impatiently at the
door; and when he sees me take my cap and mittens from their peg his
happiness is complete. And the little fellow makes a most excellent
companion. He does not bore me with senseless talk, but tries his best
to make himself agreeable. If in the sober mood, he walks beside me
with stately gravity; but when not so inclined he rushes round in the
wildest manner,--rolling himself in the snow, tossing the white flakes
to the wind, and now and then tugging at my huge fur mittens or at the
tail of my fur coat. Some time ago he fell down the hatch and broke
his leg, and while this was healing I missed him greatly. There is
excellent companionship in a sensible dog.
I try as much as a reasonable regard for discipline will allow to
cultivate the social relations and usages of home. True, we cannot
get up a ball, and we lack the essential elements of a successful
tea-party; but we are not wholly deficient in those customs which,
in the land where the loved ones are, take away so much of life's
roughnesses. And these little formal observances promote happiness and
peace. There is no place in the world where habits of unrestrained
familiarity work so much mischief as in the crowded cabin of a little
vessel, nor is there any place where true politeness is so great a
blessing. In short, I try to make our winter abode as cheerful as
possible; and we shall need all the brightness we can get within these
wooden walls, if we would not be overwhelmed with the darkness which is
outside. I want my people always to feel that, from whatever hardship
and exposure they may encounter, they can here find cheerful shelter
from the storms, and repose from their fatigues.
As far as possible, Sunday is observed as we would observe it at
home. At ten o'clock, accompanied by the executive officer, I hold
an inspection of every part of the vessel, and examine minutely into
the health, habits, and comforts of the whole ship's company; and
immediately afterward they all assemble in the officers' quarters,
where I read to them a portion of the morning service; and this is
followed by a chapter from the good Book, which we all love alike,
wherever we are. Sometimes I read one of Blair's fine sermons, and when
meal time comes round we find it in our heart to ask a continuance of
God's provident care; and if expressed in few words, it is perhaps not
the less felt.
November 6th.
[Sidenote: RETURN OF SONNTAG.]
The travelers have returned, and, as I feared, they have been
unsuccessful. Sonntag has dined with me, and he has just finished the
recital of the adventures of his party.
The journey was a very difficult one. High hummocks, deep snow-drifts,
open cracks, severe winds were their embarrassments; and these
are obstacles not to be encountered without danger, fatigue, and
frost-bites.
[Sidenote: A BEAR HUNT.]
They had much trouble in getting out of Hartstene Bay, the water coming
almost in to the land-ice. Once outside, however, they had an easy run
up the coast to Fog Inlet, where one of the sledges broke down, and
they came upon open cracks which they could not pass. After repairing
the sledge as well as they were able, they turned their faces homeward.
When a little way above Cape Hatherton, they struck the trail of a
couple of bears; and, giving chase, the animals were overtaken and
captured. They proved to be a mother and her cub.
Sonntag has given me a lively description of the chase. The bears were
started from the margin of a ridge of hummocked ice where they had been
sleeping; and they made at once for the open cracks outside, distant
about four miles. As soon as the dogs discovered the trail, they dashed
off upon it into the hummocks, without waiting to be directed by their
drivers, and utterly regardless of the safety of the sledges or of the
persons seated upon them. The hummocks were very high, and the passages
between them rough and tortuous. Had the bears kept to them they
might have baffled pursuit; for the progress of the sledges was much
interrupted, and the track could not always be followed. But the ridge
was not above a quarter of a mile in width, and the bears, striking
directly across it, evidently preferred seeking safety beyond a crack,
over which they could pass by swimming.
The first plunge into the hummocks was rather exciting. Jensen's
team led the way, and Hans, following after, rushed up pell-mell
alongside. Jensen's sledge was nearly capsized, and Sonntag rolled off
in the snow; but he was fortunate enough to catch the upstander, and
with its aid to recover his seat. The tangled ice greatly retarded
the impatient dogs, bringing them several times almost to a stand;
but their eagerness and their drivers' energy finally triumphed
over all obstacles, and they emerged at length, after much serious
embarrassment, upon a broad and almost level plain, where for the first
time the game came in view.
The delay of the sledges in the hummocks had allowed the bears to get
the start of fully a mile, and it appeared probable that they would
reach the water before they could be overtaken. The dogs seemed to
be conscious of this danger, as well as the hunters, and they laid
themselves down to the chase with all the wild instinct of their
nature. Maddened by the detention and the prospect of the prey escaping
them, the blood-thirsty pack swept across the plain like a whirlwind.
Jensen and Hans encouraged their respective teams by all the arts
known to the native hunter. The sledges fairly flew over the hard snow
and bounced over the drifts and the occasional pieces of ice which
projected above the otherwise generally smooth surface.
It was a wild chase. The dogs manifested in their speed and cry all the
impatience of a pack of hounds in view of the fox, with ten times their
savageness. As they neared the game they seemed to Sonntag like so many
wolves closing upon a wounded buffalo.
In less than a quarter of an hour the distance between pursuers and
pursued was lessened to a few hundred yards, and then they were not
far from the water,--which to the one was safety, to the other defeat.
During all this time the old bear was kept back by the young one, which
she was evidently unwilling to abandon. The poor beast was in agony.
Her cries were piteous to hear. The little one jogged on by her side,
frightened and anxious; and, although it greatly retarded her progress,
yet, in full view of the danger, she would not abandon it. Fear and
maternal affection appeared alternately to govern her resolution; but
still she held firm to her dependent offspring. One moment she would
rush forward toward the open water, as if intent only upon her own
safety,--then she would wheel round and push on the struggling cub
with her snout; and then again she would run beside it as if coaxingly
encouraging it to greater speed. Meanwhile her enemies were rushing on
and steadily nearing the game. The dogs, forgetting their own fatigue
in the prospect of a speedy encounter, pressed harder and harder into
their collars. The critical moment was rapidly approaching; and, to add
to the embarrassments of the bruin family, the little bear was giving
out.
At length the sledges were within fifty yards of the struggling
animals. Leaning forward, each hunter now seized the end of the line
which bound the traces together in one fastening, and slipped the knot.
The sledges stopped, and the dogs, freed from the load which they had
been dragging, bounded fiercely for their prey. The old bear heard
the rush of her coming enemies, and, halting, squared herself to meet
the assault, while the little one ran frightened round her, and then
crouched for shelter between her legs.
The old and experienced leader, Oosisoak, led the attack. Queen Arkadik
was close beside him, and the other twenty wolfish beasts followed in
order of their speed. The formidable front and defiant roar of the
infuriated monster split the pack, and they passed to right and left.
Only one dog faced her, and he, (a young one,) with more courage than
discretion, rushed at her throat. In a moment he was crushed beneath
her huge paw. Oosisoak came in upon her flank, and Arkadik tore at
her haunch, and the other dogs followed this prudent example. She
turned upon Oosisoak, and drove him from his hold; but in this act
the cub was uncovered. Quick as lightning Karsuk flew at its neck,
and a slender yellow mongrel, that we call Schnapps, followed after;
but the little bear, imitating the example of its mother, prepared
to do battle. Karsuk missed his grip, and Schnapps got tangled among
its legs. The poor dog was soon doubled up with a blow in the side,
and escaped yowling from the _mêlée_. Oosisoak was hard pressed, but
his powerful rival Erebus came to his relief, and led his followers
upon the opposite flank, which concentrated onslaught turned the bear
again in the direction of her cub in time to save it; for it was now
being pulled down and worried by Karsuk and his pack. For a moment
disregarding her own tormenters, she threw herself upon the assailants
of the cub, and to avoid her blows they quickly abandoned their hold
and enabled her once more to draw the frightened though plucky little
creature under her. She had come to the rescue at the critical moment,
for the poor thing was weakened with the loss of blood, and was fairly
exhausted with the fight.
By this time Jensen and Hans had drawn their rifles from the sledge,
and hastened on to the conflict. The dogs were so thick about the game
that it was some time before they could shoot with safety. They both,
however, succeeded at last in getting a fine chance at the old bear,
and fired. One ball struck her in the mouth, and the other one in the
shoulder; but neither did much harm, and brought only a louder roar of
pain and anger.
The dogs, beaten off from their attack on the cub, now concentrated
upon the mother, and the battle became more fierce than ever. The snow
was covered with blood. A crimson stream poured from the old bear's
mouth, and another trickled over the white hair from her shoulder. The
little one was torn, and bleeding from many ugly wounds. One dog was
stretched out crushed and almost lifeless, and another marked the spot,
where his agony was expending itself in piteous cries, with many a red
stain.
Sonntag now came up with a fresh weapon. A well-directed volley from
the three rifles brought her down upon her side, and the dogs rushed
in upon her; but though stunned and weakened by loss of blood, yet she
was not mortally hurt; and, recovering herself in an instant, she once
more scattered the dog's and again sheltered her offspring. But the
fate of the cub was already sealed. Exhausted by the fearful gashes and
the throttlings which it had received from Karsuk and his followers,
it sank expiring at its mother's feet. Seeing it fall, she forgot, for
a moment, the dogs, in her affection, and, stooping down, licked its
face. As if unwilling to believe it dead, she tried to coax it to rise
and make a still further fight for life. But at length the truth seemed
to dawn upon her, and now, apparently conscious that the cub no longer
needed her protection, she turned upon her tormenters with redoubled
fury, and tried to escape. Another dog was caught in the attack, and
was flung howling to join the unlucky Schnapps.
For the first time she now appeared to realize that she was beset with
other enemies than the dogs. Hans's rifle had missed fire, and he was
advancing with a native spear to a hand-to-hand encounter. Seeing him
approach, the infuriated monster cleared away the dogs with a vigorous
dash, and charged him. He threw his weapon and wheeled in flight. The
bear bounded after him, and in an instant more neither speed nor dogs
could have saved him. Fortunately, Sonntag and Jensen had by this time
reloaded their rifles, and, with well-directed shots, they stopped her
mad career. A ball, penetrating the spine at the base of the skull,
rolled her over on the blood-stained snow.
The skins being removed, and a portion of the flesh of the young bear
prepared for carrying home, the dogs were allowed to gorge themselves,
and the party pitched their tent and camped. The next run brought them
to the vessel.
The frost has nipped Jensen a little on the nose, and Hans is touched
on the cheeks; but Sonntag has come off without a scratch. They have
had a very hard journey. Every thing conspired against them; and if
they did not reach their destination, they are none the less entitled
to great credit for their persevering efforts, continued as they were
against such odds.
[Sidenote: THE OPEN WATER.]
The existence of this open water greatly puzzles me. No such phenomenon
was witnessed in 1853-55 from Van Rensselaer Harbor. Whether it extends
across the Sound, or how far to the north or south, I am unable to
judge. It is probably merely local,--dependent upon the currents and
winds.
[Illustration]
November 7th.
The wind is blowing fiercely from the northeast, and the temperature is
16° below zero. The effect of the gale has been to drive the ice away
again from the outer bay, and we are once more within the sound of the
roaring surf.
November 8th.
[Sidenote: ACCIDENT TO MR. KNORR.]
The air having become somewhat more quiet, I walked out to-day to the
open water. Knorr accompanied me. The view from the margin of the
ice was dark and fearful. Heavy mist-clouds hung over the sea. Loose
ice-fields were drifting through the blackness, crashing harshly
against each other, and sending the spray gleaming into the moonlight.
The icebergs stood out here and there in stern defiance of the jarring
elements, while the tumbling seas struck the white foam far up their
lofty sides; and out of the gloom came a wail, as of
"a thousand ghosts,
Shrieking at once on the hollow wind."
On our way back, Knorr, who has much skill in getting himself into
trouble, failed in a spring as we were making our way over some loose
floes, and he plumped bodily into the sea. The accident was not less
dangerous than disagreeable; for after I had dragged him out of
the water there were almost two miles between us and the schooner.
Fortunately he arrived on board after a vigorous run with nothing worse
than a frozen foot, which did not, however, result in any inconvenience
greater than the pain, since my former experience readily suggested
the proper remedies. The frozen member was first placed in ice-cold
water, the temperature of which was slowly increased from hour to hour
until the flesh was completely thawed out. There was no resulting
inflammation, and the foot came from the bath without even a blister.
November 10th.
[Sidenote: A THAW.]
We are in the midst of a regular thaw,--a thaw in November under the
Pole Star,--truly a strange event to chronicle. The temperature has
gone up to 11° above zero.
The cold of the last month has frescoed the house on deck with delicate
frost,--the condensed moisture that escapes from below. In many places
this frost is two inches thick, and now it is melting. The water drops
upon the deck, and every thing thereon is soaked. We have reduced the
fires and opened the windows.
November 11th.
The temperature continues to rise, and the thaw goes on. A regular
shower falls upon the deck. There is a huge puddle amidships, and the
drip, drip, drip is any thing but agreeable.
My journal is looking up,--two novelties in one day. First a thaw, and
then a newspaper. The free press follows the flag all over the world,
and the North Pole rejoices in "The Port Foulke Weekly News."
[Sidenote: "THE PORT FOULKE WEEKLY NEWS."]
During the past week everybody has been much interested in a newspaper
enterprise, bearing the above title. Thinking to create a diversion
that would confound our enemy, the darkness, I proposed some time ago
to the officers that we should publish a weekly paper, offering at the
same time my assistance. The proposition was hailed with pleasure,
and my fullest anticipations are more than realized. Mr. Dodge and
Mr. Knorr undertook to act as editors, at least for the first week,
and they have busied themselves gathering from cabin and forecastle
whatever was likely to prove attractive, and right good success have
they met with. The first number appeared to-day, and it contains some
things that are "rich and rare," and very clever, and many of the best
came from the forward part of the ship.
Its appearance makes quite an event, and, as a hygienic agent, its
importance cannot be too highly estimated. The project set everybody
on tip-toe of expectation, and for several days past very little
else has been talked about but "the paper." All the details of its
getting-up have been conducted with a most farcical adherence to the
customs prevailing at home. There is a regular corps of editors and
reporters, an office for "general news," an "editorial department," and
a "telegraph station," where information is supposed to be received
from all quarters of the world, and the relations existing between the
sun, moon, and stars are duly reported by "reliable correspondents,"
and pictorial representations of extraordinary occurrences are also
received from "our artist on the spot."
Of course, much depended upon the _eclat_ with which it burst into
being; and, conscious of this important fact, the editors spared no
pains to heighten public curiosity, by the issuing of "hand-bills" and
"posters," and all other means known among the caterers for the popular
intellectual palate. McCormick lent his assistance, and directed the
preparation of a somewhat better dinner than usual; so that, no matter
what might be the merits of this eagerly expected prodigy, it was
sure of a hearty reception. Mr. Knorr had charged himself with the
mechanical execution, and was known to have the infant periodical in
his keeping; and accordingly, after the cloth was removed, loud calls
were made for its production. While he was hauling it out from under
his pillow, (where it had been carefully stowed out of sight until the
auspicious moment should arrive,) demands were made upon him to read it
aloud. This he was about to do when some one claimed that so important
an event should not pass off so informally. "Agreeably to national
usage, we should call a meeting, organize it by the appointment of
the proper officers, and name an orator for the occasion. Then, and
not until then, can it be said that we have properly inaugurated the
important event which has transpired. The public of Port Foulke will
not rest content with any less conspicuous mark of glorification over
so momentous an occurrence as the establishment of a free press on this
remote frontier of civilization."
To this proposal no objection was made,--indeed, it was received with
much favor; and the meeting was accordingly organized by unanimously
calling Mr. Sonntag to the "chair." After naming the requisite number
of vice-presidents and secretaries, Mr. Knorr was selected orator by
acclamation. And now there commenced a violent clapping of hands and a
rattling of tin cups, mingled with cries of "order" and "hear, hear!"
in the midst of which the orator mounted the locker and addressed his
auditors as follows:--
"Fellow-citizens:--Called by the unanimous voice of this unenlightened
community to inaugurate the new era which has dawned upon a benighted
region, it is my happy privilege to announce that we have, at the cost
of much time, labor, and means, supplied a want which has too long been
felt by the people of Port Foulke. We are, fellow-citizens, no longer
without that inalienable birthright of every American citizen,--a Free
Press and an Exponent of Public Opinion.
"Overcome with the gravity of my situation, I find myself unable
to make you a speech befitting the solemnity and importance of the
occasion. It is proper, however, that I should state, in behalf of
myself and my Bohemian brother, that, in observance of a time-honored
custom, we will keep our opinions for ourselves and our arguments
for the public. The inhabitants of Port Foulke desire the speedy
return of the Sun. We will advocate and urge it. They wish for Light.
We will address ourselves to the Celestial Orbs, and point out the
opportunities for reciprocity. They are in search of happiness. We
will, in pursuance of that same time-honored custom, (which I may say
has made the press a power, sir, in this great and glorious nineteenth
century)--we will, I say, at all times freely counsel them to the
observance of both public and private virtue.
"Fellow-citizens:--This is a memorable epoch in the history
of Port Foulke. We are informed that its aboriginal name is
Annyeiqueipablaitah, which means, after it is pronounced, 'The Place of
the Howling Winds.' On this public occasion it is proper that we should
direct our thoughts to the future, especially to our sublime 'mission.'
This 'Place of the Howling Winds,' you will observe, fellow-citizens,
is on the remotest confines of our wide-spread country,--a country,
fellow-citizens, whose vast sides are bathed by the illimitable ocean,
and which stretches from the rising of the sun to the setting thereof,
and from the Aurora Borealis to the Southern Cross. But why do I say
the Aurora Borealis, fellow-citizens? Have we not left that vague
border of the national domain far behind us? Yes, fellow-citizens!
and it now devolves upon us to bring the vexed question of national
boundaries, which has been opened by our enterprise, to a point--to a
point, sir! We must carry it to the very Pole itself!--and there, sir,
we will nail the Stars and Stripes, and our flag-staff will become the
spindle of the world, and the Universal Yankee Nation will go whirling
round it like a top.
"Fellow-citizens and friends:--In conclusion allow me to propose a
sentiment befitting the occasion,--A Free Press and the Universal
Yankee Nation: May the former continue in times to come, as in times
gone by, the handmaiden of Liberty and the emblem of Progress; and
may the latter absorb all Creation and become the grand Celestial
Whirligig."
The youthful orator sat down amidst what the press would very properly
designate as "tumultuous applause." He had evidently made a favorable
impression as well in behalf of himself as of his paper, and we were
all the more eager than ever for the reading. After the rattling of the
tin cups had subsided, the reading began, and it was not interrupted
except by those marks of approbation in which men are always apt to
indulge when possessed of a satisfactory dinner, and are listening
afterward to good stories. The only regret expressed was that it should
come so quickly to an end. The expressions of approval were universal,
a vote of thanks was bestowed upon the editors, the orator was toasted,
and the occasion wound up in a very lively manner. Having but one copy
of the paper, this was handed over to the sailors as soon as Knorr
had finished reading it in the cabin, and the marks of approbation
were equally reassuring from that quarter. It contains sixteen pages
of closely written matter, a somewhat ambitious picture of our winter
harbor, a portrait of Sir John Franklin, and a spirited likeness of the
General, with his wounded paw in a sling. There is a fair sprinkling
of "enigmas," "original jokes," "items of domestic and foreign
intelligence," "personals," "advertisements," &c., &c., among a larger
allowance of more pretentious effusions. Among these latter there is
an illustrated prospectus by the senior editor, a poem by the steward,
and a song which is addressed to the General. This last the men are now
singing, and they seem to take special delight in the chorus, which
runs thus:--
"Hang up the harness and the whip,
Put up the sledge on the ship;
There's no more work for poor Gen-e-ral,
For he's going for his wind for to slip."
I am sorry to say that the prophecy therein contained is likely to
prove true, for the General is very sick. Poor fellow! he hears every
word of this unpitying merriment over his misfortunes, and, could he
speak, I have no doubt that he would sigh with Gray's cat,--
"Alas!--
A favorite has no friends!"
However, there is a verse coming, to which he is listening attentively,
and the very tears mount to his eyes with this unexpected mark of
sympathy. For his sake I give it a place here:--
"Sad times there will be when the General slips his wind,
And is gathered to his fathers down below;
And is gone far away with his broken leg and all,
And is buried underneath the cold snow."
November 12th.
The temperature has gone down within 4° of zero, but there is still
much slush and dampness. The snow lying next the ice is filled with
water, a circumstance which it is difficult to explain, since the
temperature has not, at any time, reached the freezing point, and
the ice on which the snow rests is over three feet thick. There would
appear to be a sort of an osmotic action taking place. Snow is now
beginning to fall, and, as usual, it is very light and beautifully and
regularly crystalized. The depth of snow which has fallen up to this
time is 15¼ inches.
November 13th.
Worse and worse. The temperature has risen again, and the roof over
the upper deck gives us once more a worse than tropic shower. The snow
next the ice grows more slushy, and this I am more than ever puzzled to
understand, since I have found to-day that the ice, two feet below the
surface, has a temperature of 20°; at the surface it is 19°, and the
snow in contact with it is 18°. The water is 29°.
The darkness is not yet quite absolute. With some difficulty I can
still see to read ordinary print at noon.
November 14th.
The wind has been blowing for nearly twenty-four hours from the
northeast, and yet the temperature holds on as before. At 10 o'clock
this evening it was 4½°. I have done with speculation. A warm wind from
the _mer de glace_, and this boundless reservoir of Greenland frost,
makes mischief with my theories, as facts have heretofore done with the
theories of wiser men. As long as the wind came from the sea I could
find some excuse for the unseasonable warmth.
[Sidenote: THE TIDE-REGISTER.]
I have rigged a new tide-register to-day, with the aid of McCormick, my
man of all ingenious work. If it prove as effective as it is simple, I
shall have a good registry of the Port Foulke tides. It is but a light
rope, to one end of which is attached a heavy stone that rests firmly
on the bottom of the sea. The rope comes up through the fire-hole, and
passes over a pulley and down again into the water, having at this last
end a ten-pound leaden weight. The pulley is attached to an oar which
is supported upon two pillars made with blocks of ice. Two feet below
the oar, and in close contact with the rope, there is an iron rod,
and, the rope being divided into feet and tenths of a foot by little
strings having "knots," the stage of the tide is read with the aid of a
bull's-eye lantern, as the rod passes the strings. The only drawback is
the difficulty in keeping the rope from "fouling" with the ice, as it
will do if the fire-hole is not cleared at least four times an hour.
[Sidenote: THE FIRE-HOLE.]
The fire-hole needs no description further than the mere mention of its
name. In the event of fire occurring in the schooner, this hole is our
only reliance for water; and it is therefore carefully looked after.
Thus far the watch has broken it out hourly.
November 15th.
The wind has packed the snow again, and, the temperature having crawled
down to zero, the dampness has almost disappeared.
I have presented Hans with a new suit of clothes and a pair of my
reddest flannel shirts, thinking by making him better off than Peter to
quiet his jealousy. If I have not succeeded in this, I have at least
tickled his vanity, for he is a natural-born dandy, and no person on
board is so fond of getting himself up as this same savage hunter. At
Sunday inspection no one more delights to appear in gorgeous array.
With the other Esquimaux he does not deign to associate on terms of
equality. To his finer clothes he doubtless attributes much of his
personal importance;--but such things are not confined to Esquimaux.
November 16th.
[Sidenote: STUDIES AND OCCUPATIONS.]
McCormick has established a school of navigation, and has three good
pupils in Barnum, Charley, and McDonald. There is indeed quite a
thirst for knowledge in that quarter known as "Mariner's Hall," and
an excellent library, which we owe to the kindness of our Boston
friends, is well used. In the cabin there is a quiet settlement into
literary ease. Dodge has already consumed several boxes of "Littell's
Living Age" and the "Westminster Review." Knorr studies Danish,
Jensen English, and Sonntag is wading through Esquimau, and, with
his long, mathematical head, is conjuring up some incomprehensible
compound of differential quantities. As for myself, there is no end
to my occupations. The routine of our life causes me much concern and
consumes much of my time. Perhaps I give myself needless anxiety about
the affairs of my household, and charge myself uselessly with "that
care which is the enemy of life," and which long ago disturbed the
earthly career of the good old Mother Hubbard; but then I find in it
my chief satisfaction, and the leisure hours are filled up pleasantly
enough with a book or a walk or this journal. On me the days of
darkness have not yet begun to hang heavily, but I can see weariness in
the future.
November 17th.
The temperature has fallen to 10° below zero, for which we are duly
thankful. Again the air sparkles with cold, and a dead calm has let
the frost cover the whole outer bay with ice, and the crystal plain
extends as far as the eye will carry over the Sound.
The tide-register works quite well, but the youngsters complain
bitterly of the trouble in keeping the fire-hole clear of ice, and of
reading the ice-coated knots in the darkness. Starr slipped partly
into the hole to-day, and nearly ruined the instrument by grasping it
for support. The readings are generally quite accurate, but to guard
against serious error I have my own way of making a check upon the
ice-foot. We have to-day 9 feet 7 inches between ebb and flood.
[Sidenote: HUNTING FOXES.]
The poor foxes have become the innocent victims of a new excitement.
They are very numerous, and the officers are after them with
dead-falls, traps, and guns. Their skins are very fine and pretty, and
make warm coats, although I do not perceive that they are used for this
purpose; but they go instead into the very safest corners of their
lockers. Doubtless "there's a lady in the case."
November 18th.
A calm, cold, clear, quiet day, marked by no unusual event other than
the appearance of the second number of "The News." Radcliffe brought it
out, and there was another bright evening in this darkness-beleaguered
schooner.
November 19th.
Our quiet life has been disturbed by a mysterious event. I have often
mentioned in these pages the ludicrous rivalry which grew up between
the two Esquimaux, Hans and Peter. Both have been useful, but their
motives have been very different. One has shown, like Mr. Wemmick, a
laudable desire to get hold of "portable property" by fair means; the
other has been influenced by an envious disposition quite independent
of the value attached to his gains. He is a type of a branch of the
human family who cannot view with calmness the prosperity of others.
Whether this feeling in Hans stopped with the emotion, or whether it
has expended itself in crime, remains to be seen.
[Sidenote: A RUNAWAY.]
I was quietly reading on my lounge this morning at two o'clock, when
the profound stillness was broken by footsteps in the companion-way. A
moment afterward the steward entered without the ceremony of knocking,
and stood before me with an atmosphere of alarm about him which seemed
to forebode evil. While he was hesitating for speech, I inquired of him
what on earth had brought him upon me at this hour. Was the ship on
fire? Without heeding my question, he exclaimed,--
"Peter's gone, sir!"
"Gone! Where to?"
"Gone! Run away, sir!"
"Is that all?" and I returned to my book, and bade him go back to his
bed.
"It's so, sir! He has run away, sir!"
And sure enough it was so. The earnestness of the steward's manner
convinced me at length that something was wrong, and I immediately
caused the ship to be searched. But Peter was nowhere to be found. His
hammock had not been disturbed since it had been taken down yesterday
morning, and he was evidently not in the vessel.
All hands were called, and, while I interrogated the sailors, Jensen
obtained what information he could from the Esquimaux. Peter had been
on board all the evening, had messed with the men, had smoked his pipe
and drank his coffee as usual, and he appeared to be very happy and
well contented. I was greatly puzzled to account for his absence. There
being no moon, it seemed impossible that he should have voluntarily
gone far from the vessel, and it appeared very unlikely that he would
remain long absent unless some accident had overtaken him. But the
vague and unsatisfactory answers given by Hans were calculated to
arouse suspicion. Hans at last hinted that Peter was afraid of the men;
but this was all that I could get out of him. The men declare that he
has always been a great pet with them, and I cannot learn that in any
instance he has been unkindly treated.
[Sidenote: SEARCH FOR THE FUGITIVE.]
While all this cross-questioning was going on, the lamps were being
prepared for a search. The people were divided into seven squads, and
their lights were soon seen flickering over the harbor. Two hours
elapsed, and I had begun to doubt if we should make any discovery,
when a signal came from McCormick, who had found fresh tracks on the
south side of the harbor, and, at about two and a half miles from the
schooner, he had followed them across the broken land-ice, and thence
up the steep hill. At the foot of the hill a small bag, containing
a few articles of clothing, was picked up, and these were quickly
recognized as Peter's property. There was no longer any doubt as to the
fact that the steward was right. Peter had surely run away. But what
could possibly be the motive? Where had he run to? and what had he run
for?
There being clearly no object in following the trail, we returned on
board, very much bewildered. Nobody knew any thing about it. Marcus
and Jacob declare absolute ignorance, and Hans possesses no other
information than what he has already communicated. But nevertheless, I
cannot disabuse my mind of the impression that Hans is really at the
bottom of this bad business; and I have dismissed him from my cabin
with the assurance that if I find him guilty of treachery toward Peter
I will hang him to the yard-arm without hesitation. This he is quite
competent to understand, and he declares that he will follow up Peter's
tracks and bring the unhappy boy on board. Here, for the present, this
painful episode in our quiet life must rest.
November 20th.
[Sidenote: A FRUITLESS SEARCH.]
Hans, accompanied by one of the sailors, has been out for several hours
trying to follow Peter's trail; but a strong wind had drifted the snow,
and not a vestige of his footsteps remained. Hans came back evidently a
little doubtful as to his fate; but he looked the picture of innocence
itself, and did not appear to have upon his mind any other thought than
that of sorrow for Peter's unhappy condition.
Where has the fugitive gone? Is he trying to reach the Whale Sound
Esquimaux? From Hans's account, there are probably none nearer than
Northumberland Island, a hundred miles away; and perhaps the nearest
may be still fifty miles further, on the south side of the Sound.
Possibly some hunters may temporarily reside on the north side, in
which case only is there any chance of safety to the fugitive, should
his purpose lie in that direction. It is not at all improbable that
Hans has told him positively that Esquimaux are living at Sorfalik,
which is not above thirty miles distant, and which place might be
readily reached by him, but, without dogs, the journey further south
is impracticable. It may be, however, that Hans is entirely innocent
of all concern in this mysterious business, and that it is, as Mr.
Sonntag thinks, merely an Esquimau whim, and that Peter, provoked at
some slight put upon him by one of the crew, has gone off to cool his
anger at Etah or in a snow-hut. That Hans is guilty seems to be the
general belief; and it is very easy to suppose that he has given Peter
to understand that the friendly acts of the sailors only covered a
hostile purpose; that he knew this because he understood English and
overheard their conversation, and has thus induced the poor fellow to
fly in precipitate haste from an imaginary danger. And this is the
less difficult to understand, that it would be quite in keeping with
Esquimau usage. With them, nothing is more likely to excite suspicion
of treachery than unusual friendliness, and it is not at all improbable
that Hans has first coined a lie, and then, by judiciously fanning
the kindling flame with other lies and mysterious hints, he has been
at last able to effect a grand _coup_, and drive the poor inoffensive
lad into the darkness to seek safety at Sorfalik. Maddened with the
threatening danger, he is ready for any thing,--seizes his bag and
flies. Seeing our lights on the harbor, he has dropped his bag and
hastened his retreating steps. Under this head I can now understand
the meaning of what Jensen told me some days ago, that "they have made
friends."
November 23d.
[Sidenote: PETER STILL ABSENT.]
Five days have elapsed, and still Peter does not return. I have sent to
the hut at Etali, but he has not been there, nor can any traces of him
be discovered in the quarters of our cached deer meat. Meanwhile much
snow has fallen, and a fierce gale, in which no one could live long
without shelter, has been raging.
I have had my usual walk, notwithstanding the storm. My furs are now
thrown off, and faithful old Carl is beating the snow out of them. It
was pounded in by the force of the wind to the very skin, and I was one
mass of whiteness. Beard and face were covered, as well as my clothing,
and I was not in appearance unlike what I used to imagine Kriss Kringle
might be when, "in the days of other years," I fancied him to be making
his annual tour of the house-tops.
And my walk has been one of some hardship. I ventured too far out on
the sea, and, miscalculating the force of the wind, I found, when I
had to face it on my return, that I had before me a somewhat serious
task. In the distance I could faintly distinguish the ship's light, and
as blast after blast lashed my face with snow, seemingly in malicious
spite, and each time with greater fury, I must confess that I more than
once wished myself well out of the scrape.
In truth, I was in some danger. The frost touched my cheeks, and,
indeed, I should have had no face left had I not repeatedly turned my
back to the wind and revived the frosted flesh with my unmittened hand.
[Sidenote: DRIFTING SNOW.]
But now that I have got snugly stowed away in warmth, I am far from
sorry for the adventure. My motive in going out was to get a full view
of the storm. The snow which has lately fallen is very deep, and the
wind, picking it up from hill-side and valley, seemed to fill the whole
atmosphere with a volume of flying whiteness. It streamed over the
mountains, and gleamed like witches' hair along their summits. Great
clouds rushed frantically down the slopes, and spun over the cliffs in
graceful forms of fantastic lightness, and thence whirled out over the
frozen sea, glimmering in the moonbeams. The fierce wind-gusts brought
a vast sheet of it from the terraces, which, after bounding over the
schooner and rattling through the rigging, flew out over the icy plain,
wound coldly around the icebergs which studded its surface, and,
dancing and skipping past me like cloud-born phantoms of the night,
flew out into the distant blackness, mingling unearthly voices with the
roar of booming waves.
And as I think of this wild, wild scene, my thoughts are in the midst
of it with my servant Peter. The stiffened ropes which pound against
the masts, the wind shrieking through the shrouds, the crashing of
the snows against the schooner's sides, are sounds of terror echoing
through the night; and when I think that this unhappy boy is a prey
to the piercing gale, I find myself inquiring continually, What could
possibly have been the motive which led him thus to expose himself to
its fury?
[Sidenote: COURAGE.]
After all, what is that which we call courage? This poor savage, who
would not hesitate to attack single-handed the fierce polar bear,
who has now voluntarily faced a danger than which none could be more
dreadful, fleeing out into the darkness, over the mountains and
glaciers, and through snow-drifts and storms, pursued by fear, lacks
the resolution to face an imaginary harm from his fellow-men. It seems,
indeed, to be a peculiarity of uninstructed minds to dread man's anger
and man's treachery more than all other evils,--whether of wild beast
or storm or pestilence.