SELECTING MEN
In my polar parties the matter of personnel has been different from
that of other expeditions because of my extensive utilization of
the Eskimos. From the beginning of my interest in polar matters my
conception of an ideal polar party was one in which the rank and file
should be composed of Eskimos, with one or more white men in command.
But I was not able to realize this ideal at the start of my polar work,
and in my first expedition the entire work was done by the six members
of my party. In my second expedition the Eskimos assisted for a short
distance on the ice-cap. In the work and journeys of my long expedition
of 1898–1902 (four years, three months, and seventeen days), my plans
crystallized into actual shape, and all parties were made up of Eskimos
and a white man or two, sometimes one member of my party commanding
fifteen or sixteen Eskimos. In my last two expeditions of 1905–06 and
1908–09 the system was still further perfected.
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History
CAPTAIN ROBERT BARTLETT]
In these last two expeditions another phase entered. With the close of
my 1898–1902 expedition I had worked out the ultimate possibilities
of sledging from a base south of the 79th parallel, and recognized that
the pole could not be reached from such a base. The preliminary journey
from the base to the most northern land made too serious a drain upon
the energies of dogs and men to enable them to negotiate the final and
most difficult part of the journey over the surface of the polar ocean.
The only answer to the problem was a ship which would put me within
striking distance of the pole.
The result was the _Roosevelt_, and in my last two expeditions the
presence of a ship added to the personnel of my expedition the new
element of ship’s officers and crew. Thus in the final evolution of
my work my parties were made up of three elements: myself and my
assistants for the exploration sledge-work; the ship’s officers and
crew; and the Eskimos, these last being more numerous than both the
others combined.
The Eskimo element is taken up more fully in another place, and I shall
not go into it here. The selection of the ship’s personnel threw no
burden of time or attention on my shoulders, as, with the exception
of the chief engineer and his assistant, whom I myself selected, and
who were Americans, I turned this matter over to Bartlett, himself a
Newfoundlander, and held him responsible for a picked crew of these
ideal, hardy ice-navigators.
In the general scheme of work it was not expected that any of this
ship personnel should take part in the sledging expeditions. Bartlett’s
eagerness to have a share in the sledge work, however, together with
his personal qualifications, made him an invaluable addition to my
field parties, and two or three of the men before the mast volunteered
for, and did good, preliminary depot and hunting work.
My own particular work of selecting personnel was confined, therefore,
to the limited number of my own assistants, and in the last expedition
three of these, Henson, Percy, Marvin (I mention them in the order
of length of service), were tried and faithful men from previous
expeditions.
The day of large parties in successful polar work has passed. Effective
results in these regions can, and in the future will be, obtained by
very small parties. The records of some of the earlier expeditions show
the fallacy of the popular idea that there is safety in numbers.
Franklin’s party of 138 men, the largest in the history of polar
exploration, equipped with everything that the ample resources of the
British Government could provide in that day, met with disaster, not a
single member surviving to tell the fate which overtook them. Too large
a party was, in my opinion, the direct cause of the utter loss of this
expedition, and many of the tragedies which have preceded and followed
it would not have occurred had the parties been small ones.
The whole situation in polar regions is against large parties.
Starvation is inevitable when, as a result of the loss of ship or
supplies, a large number of men find themselves dependent upon the
resources of the country even for a short time, whereas a small company
would have an abundant food-supply. On more than one occasion, on long
sledge journeys with one or two companions, a single hare has made a
hearty meal for us, which, followed by a good sleep, made it possible
for us to travel some days more without meat. Had there been five or
six of us, the portion of each would only have aggravated our hunger,
and the strength and endurance of none would have been materially
increased.
An illustration of this is an incident in the land beyond the ice-cap
on my second trip across northern Greenland. Five hundred miles
separated me and my companions from any other human beings. Then I
wrote:
I saw a fresh hare-track, and a few hundred yards beyond came upon
the hare itself, squatting among the rocks a few paces distant.
With the sight of the beautiful, spotless little animal, the
feeling of emptiness in the region of my stomach increased. I
called to Matt, who was some little distance back, to stop the dogs
and come up with his rifle. He was so affected by the prospect
of a good supper that, though usually a good shot, his first
and second bullets missed the mark; but at the third the white
object collapsed into a shapeless mass, and on the instant gaunt
hunger leaped upon us like a starving wolf upon its prey. A little
pond, surrounded by high banks a short distance away, offered the
advantage of ice for cooking purposes, and here we camped, lit our
lamp, and cooked and ate the entire hare. It was the first full
meal we had had since the Eskimos left us thirty-five days ago--the
first meal possessing proper substance and staying quality to fit a
man for a heavy day’s work.
While we were enjoying our feast, it began snowing, and at its
conclusion we lay down as we were, upon the snow-covered shore of
the little pond, without tent or sleeping-bag or anything except
the clothes we wore, and, with the snowflakes falling thickly upon
us, slept.
Demoralization is also much more easily caused by a disloyal or
cowardly member in a large party than in a small one. The success of
any expedition depends upon the magnetism and force of its leader. His
example is contagious, his courage, activity, and cheerfulness being
reflected in each person of his party up to a certain mark.
But the infusion of fresh courage into a member whose mental and
physical strength has been impaired by cold, hunger, or discouragement
is a drain upon the leader’s nerve force. The larger the party, the
more difficult it becomes to fill it with courage and hopefulness
when confronted by serious disappointment or disaster, or to put down
insubordination. The impetus of a sledge party in particular centers in
the physical condition of its leader, and my various sledge-journeys
have shown me how vital it is that things that drain his energies
should be reduced to a minimum.
[Illustration: MATTHEW A. HENSON]
[Illustration: HENSON IN FULL WINTER COSTUME WITH SNOWSHOES]
Next after the leader and a suitable ship, is an ice master, and an ice
navigator must be born to the art.
He must possess good judgment, nerve, endurance, quick decision, and an
uncanny prevision as to what the ice is going to do next.
Bartlett is the type I have in mind, accustomed to the ice and to ships
from his early teens, wide experience in different portions of the
globe, great endurance, abundant nerve, good judgment, and with the
intensive training and experience of two voyages with me in what is
probably the worst ice-navigation of the north polar regions.
To this has now been added his unusual experience during his voyage in
the _Karluk_ in Bering Sea.
Much has been accomplished by small parties in polar work. Schwatka
made his great sledge-journey with four white men and an Eskimo.
Captain Holm made his eastern Greenland trip with four men; Payer’s
party of seven in Franz-Josef Land was found impracticable, and was
reduced to three. Striking examples of what _one_ determined man can
accomplish are found in the records of Hall’s early explorations and
Graah’s sledge-trip along the eastern coast of Greenland. Nansen’s
most striking work was done with a party of two. Captain Cagni’s main
party to the then highest north, 86° 34´, numbered four. Amundsen
reached the south pole with a party of five. Scott’s south pole party
numbered five. Stefansson did valuable work through several years with
one companion. My own work has been done with from two to six in the
party, the latter being the number in my north pole party.
I have always limited my parties to the number absolutely necessary for
the work I had laid out, believing that every addition means an element
of danger and failure. My reconnaissance of the Greenland inland ice in
1886, resulting in the penetration of the ice-cap to a greater distance
than ever before by a white man, and the attainment of the greatest
elevation on the ice-cap, was made with only one companion.
My Greenland expedition in 1891–92, the record of which includes the
determination of the insularity of Greenland, a survey of Inglefield
Gulf and Whale and Murchison sounds, the first accurate and complete
record of the arctic Highlanders, was composed of seven members. And
the 1200-mile sledge-trip across the Greenland inland ice-cap was
accomplished by me and one companion.
The work of my expedition of 1893–95, covering a period of twenty-five
months, included a second sledge-journey of 1200 miles across the
ice-cap, the discovery of the Cape York meteorites, the completion of
the survey of the region about Whale Sound, and the completion of the
study of the natives. There were fourteen members in this party, eleven
of them returning in August, 1894, leaving three of us to carry on the
work for the last year. Summer trips were made in 1896 and 1897 to
secure the last and largest of the meteorites. There were five men in
the first party, seven in the last.
Twenty-one white men, including the crew and firemen of the
_Roosevelt_, and forty Eskimos made up the personnel of my 1905–06
expedition, which resulted in the attainment of “farthest north.” The
personnel of my last and successful attempt to reach the pole (1908–09)
included twenty-two white men and forty-nine Eskimos.
As to the quality of the personnel of a polar expedition, my experience
has proved over and over again the accuracy of my theory that it should
be made up wholly of young men, of first-class physique, perfect
health, education, and attainment. Such men, interested in their work
and the success of the expedition, with resources within themselves
and plans for the future, are able to resist in a large measure the
depressing effects of the long polar night, and in field-work their
enthusiasm more than makes up for lack of experience or toughened
endurance.
To nine out of ten the word polar is synonymous with cold. To one who
has spent a year within the arctic or antarctic it is more likely to
be synonymous with darkness. Any healthy man properly fed and clothed
can pass the year in these regions with little discomfort so far as the
cold is concerned. But when it comes to almost four months of polar
night, it is different. A man of the most sanguine temperament cannot
avoid entirely its effects, and there are those of nervous temperament
whom a night in the arctic would drive insane. Not that it is so
extremely dark, for the three or four winter moons give a brilliant
light, and at other times the darkness is not greater than at home on
starlit nights in the winter. It is only during heavy storms that the
darkness becomes intense and tangible. It is the absence of the actinic
or the physiological effects of the sun’s rays and the contraction of
the physical horizon by the darkness which render a polar night so
trying. As far as I was able I have selected blondes for the personnel
of all my expeditions.
Men for the field-parties should be wiry, and their weight should be
within the limits of not less than two pounds, nor more than two and a
half pounds per inch of height. This means for a six-foot man a minimum
of 144 pounds, a maximum of 180 pounds, and a mean of 162 pounds.
When I returned from the north pole sledge-trip, which was a trip of
arduous and protracted exertion, but not a journey on half-rations, as
had been the case on some of my earlier trips, my own weight, stripped
to the buff, was 160 pounds, which, by the way, was the same weight
to which I trained for my junior-class crew in college at the age of
twenty.
[Illustration: OO-TAH
This photo of my best Eskimo, taken immediately after our
return from the North Pole, indicates the type of Eskimo for
Polar work. The portrait shows the protecting roll of bearskin
about the face.
]
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History
GEORGE BORUP]
Small, wiry men have a great advantage over large ones in polar
work. The latter require more material for their clothing, and usually
eat more than the former. Large men take up more space than small ones,
necessitating the building of larger snow igloos when on the march,
or the carrying of larger tents than would be needed for a party made
up of small men. Every pound in weight beyond the maximum requirement
tends to lessen a man’s agility; in fact, renders him clumsy and more
apt to break his equipment. For instance, if a large man on snow-shoes
stumbles, a sudden lunge to save himself more often than not results in
a broken snow-shoe. The decided disadvantage which a large man is under
in crossing a lead or new ice is apparent. This was brought to mind
with striking forcefulness in crossing the “Great Lead” on our return
from “farthest north” in 1906, when my little party came the nearest we
have ever come to death. Two miles of young ice, which would not for
an instant have supported us without snow-shoes, had to be crossed,
the party spreading out in widely extended skirmish-line, with fifty
or sixty feet between each man, each one of us constantly and smoothly
gliding one shoe ahead of the other with the greatest care and evenness
of pressure, the undulations going out in every direction through the
thin ice as we advanced.
I was the heaviest one in the party,--160 pounds net,--and fortunately
I had six-foot snow-shoes. Yet for a considerable part of the distance
I doubted if I should ever reach the firm ice. The chief engineer of
the _Roosevelt_ was a heavy man, weighing 235 pounds or more, and as
we stooped to untie our snow-shoes on firmer ice, one of my Eskimos,
Ahngmalokto, turned to me with the remark that if the chief had been
with us, he never would have reached firm ice. And he was quite right.
Some Arctic travelers advise against having men who have had previous
polar experience, as likely to make them opinionated and insubordinate.
There is much in this, and it is a precept well to be followed
particularly if the leader is new at the work. Few men, having had
experience in a certain direction and associated in a subordinate
position with an inexperienced leader, are big enough to be loyal to
their commander.
The usual result is constant slurring criticism which is sure to have
its effect upon other members of the expedition, and opposition either
direct and active or sullen and passive.
The last man of all is the one who is always wondering whether he will
ever get back home or not, and is constantly congratulating himself as
a hero because he is in the terrible polar regions and still alive.
I know of no better test of character than a season spent in the polar
regions. In these regions men get to know one another better in a few
months than they would in a lifetime at home. There is something about
the life which very quickly shows the true caliber of a man. If he is
a cur, or has a yellow streak it is sure to come out. In making up my
last party I was exceptionally fortunate, for I had the membership of
the preceding expedition to select from. Every one was glad to make the
success of the expedition first and personal feelings and ambitions
secondary. My party was efficient and congenial, and never had I spent
a winter in the arctic so free from friction and petty annoyances.