ON BOARD THE SCHOONER.--REVIEW OF THE JOURNEY.--THE RETURN DOWN
KENNEDY CHANNEL.--A SEVERE MARCH IN A SNOW-STORM.--ROTTEN
ICE.--EFFECTS OF A GALE.--RETURNING THROUGH THE HUMMOCKS.--THE
DOGS BREAKING DOWN.--ADRIFT ON A FLOE AT CAIRN POINT.--THE
OPEN WATER COMPELS US TO TAKE TO THE LAND.--REACHING THE
SCHOONER.--PROJECTING A CHART.--THE NEW SOUND.--MY NORTHERN
DISCOVERIES.
Port Foulke, June 3d.
Back again on board the schooner after two months' toiling and
journeying on the ice.
Since I left her deck on the 3d of April, I have traveled not less than
1300 miles, and not less than 1600 since first setting out in March.
I am somewhat battered and weather-beaten, but a day or so of rest
and civilized comfort, the luxury of a wash and a bed, and of a table
covered with clean crockery filled with the best of things that my old
Swedish cook can turn out, are wondrously rejuvenating,--potent as the
touch of Hebe to the war-worn Iolas.
[Sidenote: REVIEW OF THE JOURNEY.]
Affairs seem to have gone on well at the schooner. Radcliffe has given
me his report, and it is satisfactory. McCormick has presented a full
history of events since leaving me among the hummocks; but I refrain
now from recording them until I have set down some of the leading
incidents of my journey, while they are yet fresh in my mind. Besides,
McCormick tells me that he is unable to repair the schooner that she
may be ice-worthy; and, as I am unwilling to accept this conclusion
without a further examination than I have yet been able to make, I
postpone any further allusion to the matter. To confess the truth, the
last days of the homeward journey used us all up pretty thoroughly;
and, although the confined atmosphere of the cabin is oppressive to me
after so long an exposure in the open air, yet the doctor (which is my
_doppelganger_) warns me to keep to this lounge for a day or so. I am
not, however, forbidden to write.
I have returned well satisfied that Kennedy Channel is navigable; and
it remains only to be proven whether Smith Sound will open sufficiently
to permit a passage through. With steam, I should have no doubt
whatever of my ability to force it; with sails, of course, the effort
is filled with greater uncertainty; and yet, I think, the chances are
with me.
I am fully convinced that a route to the Pole,--a route, certainly,
not wholly unobstructed by ice, yet free enough at least for steam
navigation, is open every summer from Cape Frazer; and if I can pull
through to that point, then I shall have accomplished the full measure
of my desires. In truth, this is the real difficulty. My views of the
whole matter will be set down here on the spot as opportunity offers
from day to day. To-morrow, I hope to be sufficiently recovered from
the fatigues of the journey to begin the discussion of my materials,
and the projection of my chart.
And now, with a heart filled with thankfulness to that Great Being
who suffereth not even a sparrow to fall to the ground without His
notice, I have here the happiness to record that in these two months of
perilous traveling, He has spared me and every member of my party from
serious accident or permanent injury.
June 4th.
[Sidenote: THE RETURN.]
I have worked up some of my sights, and rudely sketched in the
coast-line of my track-chart. It makes a respectable show for our
summer's sledging. Since the middle of March, I have covered the entire
ground gone over by Dr. Kane's various parties, except the coast of
Washington Land, and have extended the former surveys considerably
to the north and west. But the important additions which I have been
enabled to make to the geographical knowledge of the region I regard as
of secondary interest to the circumstance that my journey has shown the
practicability of this route into the Polar Basin.
My return southward from the shores of the Polar Sea is not recorded
in my field-diary. There is no record after we had turned our faces
homeward. That water-soaked and generally dilapidated-looking book,
which now lies open on the table before me, breaks off thus:--
"Halted in the lee of a huge ice-cliff, seeking shelter from a fierce
storm that set upon us soon after we started south. We have made about
ten miles, and have from forty to fifty yet to make before we reach
Jensen. We have given the dogs the last of our food. It is snowing and
blowing dreadfully."
[Sidenote: LONG AND WEARY MARCH.]
The storm continued with unabated violence through the next day; and as
the wind shrieked along the tall cliffs, carrying with it the drifting
snow, I thought that I had scarcely ever seen or heard any thing more
dismal. Unable to bear the chilliness of our imperfect shelter, (we
had no means of making a snow-hut,) we pushed on, wading through deep
drifts in addition to climbing the rocks and masses of ice, which, in
going north, had everywhere more or less embarrassed our progress. The
snow-drifts were often so deep that the dogs had much trouble in wading
through them, and it was all that they could do to drag the now quite
empty sledge. After a time they became so much exhausted that it was
with the utmost difficulty that we could force them forward. The poor
beasts fell in their tracks the moment the whip ceased to be applied. I
had never before seen them so much broken. To halt was of little use,
as rest, without food, would do harm rather than good; and as we had no
shelter, and in the item of food were as badly off as the dogs, there
was nothing for us to do but to hold on and get through to Jensen's
camp, or perish in the storm. Fortunately, the wind was at our backs.
We kept on in our winding course through the pelting snow, and reached,
finally, the north side of the bay above Jensen's camp; and then the
hardest part of the journey was to come. The tramp across that bay
comes back to me now as the vague recollection of some ugly dream.
I scarcely remember how we got through it. I recall only an endless
pounding of the dogs, who wanted to lie down with every step, the
ceaseless wading, the endless crunch of the wearied feet breaking
through the old snow-crust, the laborious climbing over hummocks, the
pushing and lifting of the sledge,--and, through the blinding snow, I
remember, at length, catching sight of the land and of hearing the cry
of Jensen's dogs; and then of crawling up the ice-foot to his snow-hut.
Through all these last hours, we were aware of a desire to halt and
sleep; and it is fortunate for us that we did not lose consciousness of
its dangers.
Without waiting to be fed, the dogs tumbled over on the snow the
moment they were left to themselves; and we, dragging ourselves inside
the hut which McDonald had made to shelter his sick companion, fell
into a dead, dead sleep. Jensen noted the time. We had been twenty-two
hours on the way, since leaving our shelter beneath the ice-cliff.
[Sidenote: A LAST LOOK.]
When we awoke, the storm had died away, and the sun was shining
brightly. McDonald had looked after the dogs, and had ready for us a
hot pot of coffee and an abundant breakfast, which thirty-four hours'
fasting had prepared us fully to appreciate. Refreshed by this, I
climbed the hill-side for a last look at the sea which we were leaving.
The gale had told somewhat upon it. The dark water-sky to the northeast
had followed us down the coast, the wind had acted upon the open places
in the ice, and the little waves had eaten away their margins, and
magnified them greatly, while many of the old floes had finally yielded
to the immense pressure of the wind, and had moved in their winter
moorings, tearing up the rotten ice about them. Several cracks had
opened almost to the shore, and the "hinge" of the ice-foot had mainly
tumbled away.
Jensen was better, but still moved with much difficulty and pain. By
sitting on the sledge, however, he thought that he should be able
to drive his dogs; so I gave Knorr our entire cargo. This cargo was
now reduced to small dimensions, and consisted of nothing but our
buffalo-skins, rifle, my instruments, and a few geological specimens.
Our food was consumed to the last pound, and hence we must go
supperless if we did not reach our next cache, where, if the bears
should not have discovered it, we had one meal buried under a heap of
stones.
June 5th.
I resume the narrative.
The march to the cache was a very tedious one, but we took it
leisurely, and got through with it in sixteen hours, to find our food
unmolested. The repeated halts to rest the dogs gave me abundant
leisure to search among the limestone cliffs for further fossil
remains, and my exertions were rewarded with a valuable collection. It
is, perhaps, too much to say that they are fossils of the Silurian era,
from a hasty examination; but I think it more than probable.
[Sidenote: THE SHORE-ICE.]
I had also opportunity to measure some of the masses of ice which had
been forced upon the shore. In many places these masses were crowded
together, forming an almost impassable barrier. In other places the
ice-foot had been torn through, and in one spot a table sixty feet in
thickness and forty yards across had been crowded on the sloping shore,
pushing up the loose, rocky _débris_ which lay at the base of the
cliffs; and when the pack that had caused the disturbance had drifted
away, this fragment was left with its lower edge above the tide. Around
it were piled other masses; and, in order to pass it, we were obliged
to climb far up the hill-side.
Our next day's journey was even more difficult, as we became entangled
among deep snow-drifts below Cape Frazer, and, on account of the
rotten condition of the ice lining the shore, we could not take to
the ice-fields. We tried twice, and came near paying dearly for the
experiment. One of the teams got in bodily, and was extricated with
difficulty; while, on the other occasion, I, acting in my usual
capacity of pilot, saved myself from a cold bath with my ice-pole,
which, plunging through the rotten ice and disappearing out of sight,
gave me timely warning; so we put back again to the more secure
land-ice.
In the bay below Cape Napoleon we found, on the following day, secure
footing, and reached Cape Hawks without difficulty, in two more
marches. Thence we proceeded to follow our outward track through
the hummocks. The sledges being now light, and Jensen having so far
improved as to be able to walk, we experienced less embarrassment than
on our outward journey; but the dogs were now in a very different
condition, and lightness of load leveled not the hummocks and made not
the steep places smooth, nor the ice less sharp, nor the snow-crusts
less treacherous. The task was wearisome and exhausting to the last
degree,--a hard struggle, destructive to the energies of men and dogs
alike.
Some snow had fallen, but, fortunately, the wind had drifted it from
our tracks in many places, and we found our way to the small provision
caches which we had left going north, and, luckily, they had all
escaped the observation of the bears except one; but, having made a
good march on the first day from Cape Hawks, we picked up the first
cache we came to, and thus saved a day's food,--a piece of good fortune
which we had not counted upon.
[Sidenote: SIGHTING GREENLAND.]
The coast of Greenland rose at length into view, and, steadily rising
day by day, we came within sight of Cairn Point; but, for some time
previous, we were warned of the rapid advance of the season by the dark
water-sky which lay before us, showing that the open water extended up
to the Point, for which we were shaping our course. On the north side
of it, however, the ice appeared to be solid. Thinking that we could
make the land in that direction, we pushed on, picking our way over
the rough and thicker ice, and avoiding the younger ice, which was
everywhere porous, and occasionally worn completely away. At length,
when about a mile from land, we came upon a crack, which had opened not
more than a foot. Crossing this, we held in directly for the Point,
but, unfortunately, the wind was blowing heavily down the Sound; and,
as we neared the land, we found that the water had eaten in between
the ice and the shore, obliging us to keep up the coast. To our horror
and dismay, we now discovered that the crack which we had crossed had
opened at least twenty yards, and we were adrift upon an ice-raft in an
open sea, without power to help ourselves.
[Sidenote: ADRIFT ON AN ICE-RAFT.]
The movement of the ice was slow. After waiting a short time,
irresolute as to what course we should pursue, it was observed that
the outer end of the loosened floe was moving, while the inner edge
was almost stationary, owing to a small iceberg, which, being aground
and fastened to the floe itself, formed a pivot about which we were
revolving. If this berg held, it was evident that the floe would strike
the land, and we approached nearer to its margin.
The event which we had so eagerly desired now happened; and, dashing
forward when the collision came, we managed to get upon the land-ice.
The tide, being at full flood, facilitated the undertaking. The contact
did not long continue. The rotten edge of the floe broke loose from the
little berg which had given us this most fortunate assistance, and we
were not sorry to see the ice-raft drifting away without us.
[Sidenote: TAKING TO THE LAND.]
By this time, the dogs had become more broken. They had borne up
admirably during the journey north, but the scant rations which we had
left behind for the return journey were found to be insufficient to
support their strength, especially as they had, for some time, Jensen's
additional weight to carry. One of them gave out completely, and died
in a fit, during the first day's journey in the hummocks; two others
followed soon afterward; while another, having become unable either to
pull or follow, was shot. Much to my surprise, as soon as the bullet
struck the animal, wounding him but slightly and causing him to set
up a terrible cry, his companions in the team flew upon him and tore
him to pieces in an instant, and those who were lucky enough to get a
fragment of him were tearing the flesh from his bones almost before the
echo of his last howl had died away in the solitude.
The sea below Cairn Point was filled with loose ice, evidently broken
adrift by a very recent gale. By keeping to the land-ice we managed
to work our way down the coast, and got around Cape Hatherton; but,
below this, the ice-foot, too, was gone, thus obliging us to take to
the land. To cross the mountains with our sledges was, of course,
impracticable; so we were compelled to abandon them until such time as
we could come for them in a boat.
The land journey was very tedious and tiresome, exhausted and foot-sore
as we were already; but we managed better than the dogs. Most of them
sneaked away as soon as loosened from the sledges, and would not follow
us; and when sought for could not be found. I did not feel apprehensive
for them, as I supposed they merely needed rest, and would follow
our tracks to the vessel. Three of them only stuck to us. One is the
noble old beast, Oosisoak; another is his brave queen, Arkadik; and
the third Nenook, the finest of Kalutunah's dogs. Three others have
come in since; but four are yet missing. I have sent out to seek them,
without success. I much fear that they will not have strength to drag
themselves on board.
[Sidenote: A NEW SOUND.]
And so my journey ended. If it has had its disappointments, it has had,
too, its triumphs and successes. It was unfortunate that I did not get
the boat over the Sound, together with a good supply of provisions;
but, failing in this, the failure of the foot-party was of little
moment. No amount of assistance could, with sledges alone, have helped
me further north; or, if I had got further, could have ever got me back
again.
June 8th.
I have finished the plotting of my chart, and I find, as I have already
had occasion to observe, that the coast-line from Cape Sabine to Cape
Frazer differs somewhat from that shown from my journey in 1854,
which was made under the embarrassments of partial snow-blindness
and a vapory atmosphere. The most important feature in connection
with this old survey is the fact that the Sound opening westward from
Smith Sound, above Cape Sabine, formerly escaped my observation. The
existence of this Sound was abundantly confirmed during my return
journey; and my materials, now reduced and put on paper, give me the
correct conformation of the coast. The Sound is somewhat wider than
Smith Sound, narrowing, however, steadily, from a broad entrance,
something like Whale Sound. Whether it continues to the westward,
parallel with Jones and Lancaster Sounds, separating the Ellesmere
Land, of Inglefield, from the Grinnell Land of my former exploration,
of course, remains to be proven; but, that such is the fact, I have no
doubt.
[Sidenote: NOMENCLATURE.]
I give to this Sound the name of my vessel. The first conspicuous
Cape which appears on its south side I name Cape Seward, and the
most remote point of visible land lying beyond it, Cape Viele. The
three last conspicuous Capes on the north side I name as follows:
the most westerly, Cape Baker; that next to it, Cape Sawyer; and the
third, Cape Stetson. The apparently deep indentations of the coast
which lie between these bold headlands are designated as Joy Bay and
Peabody Bay. The two large islands lying in the mouth of the Sound
I have distinguished as Bache Island and Henry Island. Eastward of
Cape Stetson I have applied such names as seemed to me appropriate to
distinguish the prominent landmarks; but it is unnecessary to mention
them here, as the map tells its own story. In those parts of the coast
which were plotted by Dr. Kane from my old survey, I have endeavored
to adhere, as far as practicable, to his nomenclature; and such parts
of the shores of Kennedy Channel as were seen by Morton alone, I have,
for the most part, simply applied Dr. Kane's names, without inquiring
very particularly as to their corresponding places on the two maps. I
think this course, in the main, preferable to that somewhat confusing
system which deprived Captain Inglefield of the benefits of his survey
of Smith Sound; and I have, besides, the additional satisfaction
of joining Dr. Kane in paying respect to many distinguished men of
science, dead and living, and among them to none that contribute
more gratification than that of M. de la Roquette, Vice-President of
the Geographical Society of Paris; and to Sir Roderick Murchison,
President of the Royal Geographical Society, London, and Dr. Norton
Shaw, its Secretary. The coast-range, which forms such a conspicuous
feature of Grinnell Land, I have followed Dr. Kane in designating as
Victoria and Albert Mountains.
The highest point attained by me I have called Cape Lieber; a
remarkable peak rising above it, Church's Monument; and the Bay, which
lies below it, is named in respectful remembrance of Lady Franklin. The
conspicuous headland which I vainly attempted to reach, on the last day
of my northward journey, I have named Cape Eugénie, thinking, in this
manner, to express my high appreciation of the many acts of kindness
to this expedition and to myself which I owe to French citizens, by
remembering their Empress. Another prominent headland appearing beyond
it I designate as Cape Frederick VII., in honor of the King of Denmark,
to whose subjects in Greenland I am indebted for so many serviceable
attentions. And to the noble headland which, in faint outline, stood
against the dark sky of the open sea--the most northern known land upon
the globe--I name Cape Union, in remembrance of a compact which has
given prosperity to a people and founded a nation. In naming the bay
which lies between Cape Union and Cape Frederick VII., I am desirous of
expressing my admiration of Admiral Wrangel, whose fame in connection
with Arctic discovery is equaled by that of Sir Edward Parry only. And
the lofty peak which overlooks the Polar Sea from behind Cape Eugénie,
I name Parry Mountain. With this eminent explorer I will now divide
the honors of extreme northern travel; for, if he has carried the
British flag upon the sea nearer to the North Pole than any flag had
been carried hitherto, I have planted the American flag further north
upon the land then any flag has been planted before. The Bay between
Capes Frederick VII. and Eugénie I name in honor of the distinguished
geographer, Dr. Augustus Peterman; and two large bays lower down the
coast I call, respectively, after Carl Ritter and William Scorsby.
[Sidenote: WASHINGTON LAND.]
In plotting my survey I have been a little puzzled with the Washington
Land of Dr. Kane's map, and I am much tempted to switch it off twenty
miles to the eastward; for it is not possible that Kennedy Channel can
be less than fifty miles wide; and, since I believe that Smith Sound
expands into the Polar Basin, I must look upon Washington Land merely
as an island in its centre,--Kennedy Channel lying between it and
Grinnell Land on the west, and Humboldt Glacier filling up what was
once a channel on the right.
[Illustration]