THE succeeding pages are very little else than a transcript from
my journal. It would have been easy to condense them into a more
attractive form; but they relate to the furthest limits of our cruise,
"_long arum meta viarum_" and some of the topics which they embrace
may perhaps invite that sort of evidence which is best furnished by a
contemporary record.
"_September_ 11, Wednesday. Snow, light and fleecy, covering the decks,
and carried by our clothes into our little cabin. The moisture of the
atmosphere condenses over the beams, and trickles down over the lockers
and bedding. We are still alongside of the fixed ice off Griffith's
Island, and the British squadron under Commodore Austin are clustered
together within three hundred yards of us. Penny, like an indefatigable
old trump, as he is, is out, pushing, working, groping in the fog. The
sludge ice, that had driven in around us and almost congealed under our
stern, is now by the ebb of the tide, or at least its change, carried
out again, although the wind still sets toward the floe.
"_September_ 12, Thursday. We have had a rough night. About 4 P.M., the
heavy snow which had covered our decks changed to a driving drift; the
wind blew a gale from the northwest, and the thermometer fell as low
as +16°. All the squadron of search, with the exception of Penny, were
fastened by ice-anchors to the main ice; but the great obscurity made
us invisible to each other.
"At three the _Rescue_ parted her cable's hold, and was carried out
to sea, leaving two men, her boat, and her anchors behind. We snapped
our stern-cable, lost our anchor, swung out, but fortunately held by
the forward line. All the English vessels were in similar peril, the
_Pioneer_ being at one time actually free; and Commodore Austin, who
in the _Resolute_ occupied the head of the line, was in momentary fear
of coming down upon us. Altogether I have seldom seen a night of
greater trial. The wind roared over the snow floes, and every thing
about the vessel froze into heavy ice stalactites. Had the main floe
parted, we had been carried down with the liberated ice. Fortunately,
every thing held; and here we are, safe and sound. The _Rescue_ was
last seen beating to windward against the gale, probably seeking a lee
under Griffith's Island. This morning the snow continues in the form of
a fine cutting drift, the water freezes wherever it touches, and the
thermometer has been at no time above 17°.
"_September_ 12, 10 P.M. Just from deck. How very dismal every thing
seems! The snow is driven like sand upon a level beach, lifted up
in long curve lines, and then obscuring the atmosphere with a white
darkness. The wind, too, is howling in a shrill minor, singing across
the hummock ridges. The eight vessels are no longer here. The Rescue is
driven out to sea, and poor Penny is probably to the southward. Five
black masses, however, their cordage defined by rime and snow, are
seen with their snouts shoved into the shore of ice: cables, chains,
and anchors are covered feet below the drift, and the ships adhere
mysteriously, their tackle completely invisible. Should any of us break
away, the gale would carry us into streams of heavy floating ice; and
our running rigging is so coated with icicles as to make it impossible
to work it. The thermometer stands at 14°.
"At this temperature the young ice forms in spite of the increasing
movement of the waves, stretching out from the floe in long, zigzag
lines of smoothness resembling watered silk. The loose ice seems to
have a southerly and easterly drift; and, from the increasing distance
of Griffith's Island, seen during occasional intervals, we are
evidently moving _en masse_ to the south.
"Now when you remember that we are in open sea, attached to precarious
ice, and surrounded by floating streams; that the coast is unknown, and
the ice forming inshore, so as to make harbors, if we knew of them,
inaccessible, you may suppose that our position is far from pleasant.
One harbor was discovered by a lieutenant of the Assistance some days
ago, and named _Assistance_ Harbor, but that is out of the question;
the wind is not only a gale, but ahead. Had we the quarters of Capua
before us, we should be unable to reach them. It is a windward shore.
"11 P.M. Captain De Haven reports ice forming fast: extra anchors are
out; thermometer +8°. The British squadron, under Austin, have fires in
full blast: we are without them still.
"12 M. In bed, reading or trying to read. The gale has increased; the
floes are in upon us from the eastward; and it is evident that we are
all of us drifting bodily, God knows where, for we have no means of
taking observations.
"_September_ 13, 10 A.M. Found, on waking, that at about three this
morning the squadron commenced getting under weigh. The rime-coated
rigging was cleared; the hawsers thashed;[A] the ice-clogged boats
hauled in; the steamers steamed, and off went the rest of us as we
might. This step was not taken a whit too soon, if it be ordained that
we are yet in time; for the stream-ice covers the entire horizon, and
the large floe or main which we have deserted is barely separated from
the drifting masses. The _Rescue_ is now the object of our search.
Could she be found, the captain has determined to turn his steps
homeward.
[A] So in the original. Evidently a misprint.--(_Ed._)
"11:20 A.M. We are working, _i. e._, beating our way in the narrow
leads intervening irregularly between the main ice and the drift.
We have gained at least two miles to windward of Austin's squadron,
who are unable, in spite of steamers, to move along these dangerous
passages like ourselves. Our object is to reach Griffith's Island, from
which we have drifted some fifteen miles with the main ice, and then
look out for our lost consort.
"The lowest temperature last night was +5°, but the wind makes it
colder to sensation. We are grinding through newly-formed ice three
inches thick; the perfect consolidation being prevented by its motion
and the wind. Even in the little fireless cabin in which I now write,
water and coffee are freezing, and the mercury stands at 29°.
"The navigation is certainly exciting. I have never seen a description
in my Arctic readings of any thing like this. We are literally
running for our lives, surrounded by the imminent hazards of sudden
consolidation in an open sea. All minor perils, nips, humps, and sunken
bergs are discarded; we are staggering along under all sail, forcing
our way while we can. One thump, received since I commenced writing,
jerked the time-keeper from our binnacle down the cabin hatch, and,
but for our strong bows, seven and a half solid feet, would have stove
us in. Another time, we cleared a tongue of the main pack by riding
it down at eight knots. Commodore Austin seems caught by the closing
floes. This is really sharp work.
"4 P.M. We continued beating toward Griffith's Island, till, by
doubling a tongue of ice, we were able to force our way. The English
seemed to watch our movements, and almost to follow in our wake, till
we came to a comparatively open space, about the area of Washington
Square, where we stood off and on, the ice being too close upon the
eastern end of Griffith's Island to permit us to pass. Our companions
in this little vacancy were Captain Ommanney's _Assistance_, Osborne's
steam tender the _Pioneer_, and Kater's steamer the _Intrepid_.
Commodore Austin's vessel was to the southward, entangled in the moving
ice, but momentarily nearing the open leads.
"While thus boxing about on one of our tacks, we neared the north edge
of our little opening, and were hailed by the Assistance with the glad
intelligence of the _Rescue_ close under the island. Our captain, who
was at his usual post, conning the ship from the foretop-sail yard,
made her out at the same time, and immediately determined upon boring
the intervening ice. This was done successfully, the brig bearing the
hard knocks nobly. Strange to say, the English vessels, now joined by
Austin, followed in our wake--a compliment, certainly, to De Haven's
ice-mastership.
"We were no sooner through, than signal was made to the _Rescue_ to
'cast off,' and our ensign was run up from the peak: the captain had
determined upon attempting a return to the United States."
It could not be my office to discuss the policy of this step, even if
the question were one of policy alone. But it was one of instructions.
The Navy Department, imitating in this the English Board of Admiralty,
had, in its orders to our commander, marked out to him the course
of the expedition, and had enjoined that, unless under special
circumstances, he should "endeavor not to be caught in the ice during
the winter, but that he should, after completing his examinations for
the season, make his escape, and return to New York in the fall." In
the judgment of Commodore De Haven, these special circumstances did
not exist; and he felt himself, therefore, controlled by the general
terms of the injunction. I believe that there was but one feeling among
the officers of our little squadron, that of unmitigated regret that
we were no longer to co-operate with our gallant associates under the
sister flag. Our intercourse with them had been most cordial from the
very first. We had interchanged many courtesies, and I should be sorry
to think that there had not been formed on both sides some enduring
friendships.
In a little while we had the _Rescue_ in tow, and were heading to the
east. She had had a fearful night of it after leaving us. She beat
about, short-handed, clogged with ice, and with the thermometer at 8°.
The snow fell heavily, and the rigging was a solid, almost unmanageable
lump. Steering, or rather beating, she made, on the evening of the
12th, the southern edge of Griffith's Island, and by good luck and
excellent management succeeded in holding to the land hummocks. She had
split her rudder-post so as to make her _unworkable_, and now we have
her in tow. An anchor with its fluke snapped--her best bower; and her
little boat, stove in by the ice, was cut adrift.
"We were now homeward bound, but a saddened homeward bound for all of
us. The vessels of our gallant brethren soon lost themselves in the
mist, and we steered our course with a fresh breeze for Cape Hotham.
"As we passed the sweep of coast between Capes Martyr and Hotham, and
were making the chord of the curve, our captain called my attention
to a point of the coast line about six miles off. On looking without
a glass, I distinctly saw the naked spars of a couple of vessels.
'Brigs!' said I. 'Undoubtedly,' said De Haven; and then both of us
simultaneously, 'Penny!' On looking with the glass, the masts, yards,
gaffs, every thing but the bowsprits, were made out distinctly. Lovell
was called and saw the same. Murdaugh, who was half undressed, was
summoned; and he, examining with the glass, saw a third, which De
Haven, after a look, confirmed as a top-sail schooner, the _Felix_ of
old Sir John.
"We changed our course, ran in, and determined to convince ourselves of
their character, and perhaps to speak them. The fog, however, closed
around them. Still we stood on. Presently, a flaw of wind drove off the
vapor; and upon eagerly gazing at the spot, now less than three miles
off, no vessels were to be seen.
"I can hardly comment upon this strange circumstance. It was a complete
puzzle to all of us. Refractive distortion plays strange freaks in
these Arctic solitudes; but this could hardly be one of its illusions.
Four persons saw the same image with the naked eye, and the glass
confirmed the details. There was no disagreement. As plainly as I see
these letters did I see those brigs; and although we supposed the _Lady
Franklin_ and _Sophia_ to be ice-caught at or toward Cape Walker, I
did not hesitate to name them as the vessels before us. Ten minutes
of obscurity, we sailing directly toward them, a sudden interval of
brightness--and they had passed away.
"Some large hummocks of grounded ice were near them, and we try to
convince ourselves that they may have been closed in by changes in our
relative positions; but this is hard to believe, for we should have
seen their upper spars above the ice. I gazed long and attentively with
our Fraünhofer telescope, at three miles' distance, but saw absolutely
no semblance of what a few minutes before was so apparent."
We were obliged several times the next day to bore through the young
ice; for the low temperature continued, and our wind lulled under
Cape Hotham. The night gave us now three hours of complete darkness.
It was danger to run on, yet equally danger to pause. Grim winter
was following close upon our heels; and even the captain, sanguine
and fearless in emergency as he always proved himself, as he saw the
tenacious fields of sludge and pancake thickening around us, began to
feel anxious. Mine was a jumble of sensations. I had been desirous to
the last degree that we might remain on the field of search, and could
hardly be dissatisfied at what promised to realize my wish. Yet I had
hoped that our wintering would be near our English friends, that in
case of trouble or disease we might mutually sustain each other. But
the interval of fifty miles between us, in these inhospitable deserts,
was as complete a separation as an entire continent; and I confess that
I looked at the dark shadows closing around Barlow's Inlet, the prison
from which we cut ourselves on the seventh, just six days before, with
feelings as sombre as the landscape itself.
The sound of our vessel crunching her way through the new ice is
not easy to be described. It was not like the grinding of the old
formed ice, nor was it the slushy scraping of sludge. We may all
of us remember, in the skating frolics of early days, the peculiar
reverberating outcry of a pebble, as we tossed it from us along the
edges of an old mill-dam, and heard it dying away in echoes almost
musical. Imagine such a tone as this, combined with the whir of rapid
motion, and the rasping noise of close-grained sugar. I was listening
to the sound in my little den, after a sorrowful day, close upon zero,
trying to warm up my stiffened limbs. Presently it grew less, then
increased, then stopped, then went on again, but jerking and irregular;
and then it waned, and waned, and waned away to silence.
Down came the captain: "Doctor, the ice has caught us: we are frozen
up." On went my furs at once. As I reached the deck, the wind was
there, blowing stiff, and the sails were filled and puffing with it. It
was not yet dark enough to hide the smooth surface of ice that filled
up the horizon, holding the American expedition in search of Sir John
Franklin imbedded in its centre. There we were, literally frozen tight
in the mid-channel of Wellington's Straits.
"_September_ 15. The change of tide, or, rather, those diurnal changes
in the movement of the ice which seem to be indirectly connected with
it, gave us a little while before noon a partial opening in the solid
ice around us. We made by hard work about a mile, and were then more
fast than ever. The ice alongside will now bear a man: the wind,
however, is hauling around to the westward. With a strong northwester,
there might still be a hope for us.
"This afternoon, at 6h. 20m., a large spheroidal mass was seen floating
in the air at an unknown distance to the north. It undulated for a
while over the ice-lined horizon of Wellington Channel; and after a
little while, another, smaller than the first, became visible a short
distance below it. They receded with the wind from the southward
and eastward, but did not disappear for some time. Captain De Haven
at first thought it a kite; but, independently of the difficulty of
imagining a kite flying without a master, and where no master could be,
its outline and movement convinced me it was a balloon. The _Resolute_
dispatched a courier balloon on the 2d; but that could never have
survived the storms of the past week. I therefore suppose it must have
been sent up by some English vessel to the west of us.
"I make a formal note of this circumstance, trivial as it may be;
for at first Franklin rose to my mind, as possibly signalizing up
Wellington Channel."
Cape Hotham was at this time nearly in range, from our position, with
the first headland to the west of it; and our captain estimated that
we were about thirty miles from the eastern side of the strait. The
balloon was to leeward, nearly due north of us, more so than could be
referred to the course of the wind as we observed it, supposing it to
have set out from any vessel of whose place we were aware. It appeared
to me, the principal one, about two feet long by eighteen inches broad;
its appendage larger than an ordinary dinner-plate. The incident
interested us much at the time, and I have not seen any thing in the
published journals of the English searchers that explains it.