PARRY’S EXPEDITIONS (_continued_).
Five Thousand Pounds earned by Parry’s Expedition—Winter
Quarters—Theatre—An Arctic Newspaper—Effects of Intense Cold—The
Observatory Burned down—Return to England—Parry’s Second
Expedition—“Young” Ice—Winter at Lyon’s Inlet—A Snow Village in
Winter and Spring—Break-up of the Ice—The Vessels in a Terrible
Position—Third Winter Quarters—Parry’s Fourth Winter—The _Fury_
Abandoned—The Old _Griper_ and her Noble Crew.
A very important event—at least, so far as concerned the members of
Parry’s expedition—was that which occurred on September 4th, 1819. On that
day the commander had the satisfaction of announcing to officers and crew
that they had crossed the meridian of 110 W. from Greenwich, by which they
had become entitled to the reward of £5,000 offered by the Government to
“such of His Majesty’s subjects as might succeed in penetrating thus far
to the westward within the Arctic circle.” To a bluff headland near this
point the appropriate name of Cape Bounty was given. After many perils in
the ice, a secure harbour was selected for their winter quarters at
Melville Island, but before they could enter it a canal, two and one-third
miles, had to be cut through the ice. This feat was performed in three
days by the united efforts of “all hands” from both vessels; and as they
would probably have to remain eight or nine months in that spot, Parry
began the arrangements for promoting the comfort and health of his crews,
the wisdom of which has often since been admitted and imitated by others,
but which were not very commonly understood then. Parry, however, has
hardly had a superior in these matters since. The vessels were well housed
in, and all that was possible done for warming and ventilating the decks
and cabins. An anti-scorbutic beer was brewed, and issued in lieu of
spirits. Some difficulty was experienced in the very cold weather in
making it ferment sufficiently to become palatable. A theatre was
organised on board the _Hecla_, in the arrangements for which Parry took a
part himself, “considering,” says he, “that an example of cheerfulness, by
giving a direct countenance to everything that could contribute to it, was
not the least essential part of my duty, under the peculiar circumstances
in which we were placed.” A little weekly newspaper, _The North Georgia
Gazette and Winter Chronicle_, edited by the since illustrious Sabine, was
organised, and helped to employ many contributors, and divert their minds
“from the gloomy prospect which would sometimes obtrude itself on the
stoutest heart.” For this desolate spot was destined, as it proved, to be
their home for nearly ten months. The animals had nearly all left; seals
were not found in the neighbourhood; even gulls and ducks avoided Melville
Island, where the only vegetation consisted of stunted grasses and
lichens. The cold was intense, and such experiences as the following did
not offer much inducement for prolonged trips from the vessels.
One John Pearson, a marine, had imprudently gone out without his mittens,
to attempt hunting, and with a musket in his hands. A party from the ships
found him, although the night was very dark, just as he had fallen down a
bank of snow, and was beginning to feel that degree of torpor and
drowsiness which, if indulged, inevitably proves fatal. “When he was
brought on board,” says Parry, “his fingers were quite stiff, and bent
into the shape of that part of the musket which he had been carrying; and
the frost had so far destroyed the animation in his fingers on one hand
that it was necessary to amputate three of them a short time after,
notwithstanding all the care and attention paid to him by the medical
gentlemen. The effect which exposure to severe frost has in benumbing the
mental as well as the corporeal faculties was very striking in this man,
as well as in two of the young gentlemen who returned after dark, and of
whom we were anxious to make inquiries respecting Pearson. When I sent for
them into my cabin, they looked wild, spoke thick and indistinctly, and it
was impossible to draw from them a rational answer to any of our
questions. After being on board for a short time the mental faculties
appeared gradually to return with the returning circulation; and it was
not till then that a looker-on could easily persuade himself that they had
not been drinking too freely.” At other times excursions were made when
the thermometer was 40° or 50° below zero without special inconvenience.
The fact is that one’s safety or danger much depends on the absence or
prevalence of wind. Even the natives of extreme latitudes have been frozen
to death during its prevalence. On February 24th, 1820, a fire broke out
in their house ashore, and in their anxiety to save the valuable
instruments it contained, sixteen men incurred frost-bite, the thermometer
on that day being from -43° to -44° (76° below freezing). One man, by
incautiously leaving his gloves off, had afterwards to suffer the
amputation of most of his fingers. When he arrived on board his hands were
plunged in cold water, the surface of which was immediately covered with a
skin of ice by the cold suddenly communicated! “The appearance,” says
Parry, “which our faces presented at the fire was a curious one, almost
every nose and cheek having become quite white with frost-bites in five
minutes after being exposed to the weather; so that it was deemed
necessary for the medical gentlemen, together with some others appointed
to assist them, to go constantly round while the men were working at the
fire, and to rub with snow the parts affected, in order to restore
animation.”
On the 16th day of February the greatest degree of cold was experienced,
the thermometer having descended to -55°, and remained for fifteen hours
at -54°; the less to have been expected as the old year had closed with
mild weather. On the following day, Parry says, “notwithstanding the low
temperature of the external atmosphere, the officers contrived to act, as
usual, the play announced for this evening; but it must be confessed that
it was almost too cold for either the actors or the audience to enjoy it,
especially those of the former who undertook to appear in female dresses.”
As early as March the snow commenced to melt, according to Parry’s
statement. This, however, could only possibly mean under the rays of the
midday sun, as, at the same time, we are told that the thermometer stood
at -22° to -25° in the shade (the latter 57° below the freezing point of
water). In May the ships were again afloat, the men having cut the ice
around them. But the sea, as far as the eye could reach, was still “one
unbroken and continuous surface of solid and impenetrable ice,” not less
than six or seven feet in thickness. It was not till the very last day of
July that the ice broke up, and on August 1st the ships stood out to sea.
Many a “nip” and “heavy rub,” as Parry describes it, did the ships sustain
after this; but in spite of perils from the ice, which would become
monotonous in the telling, the expedition reached England safely in the
latter part of October; and, in spite of all casualties, but one man out
of ninety-four had died during their eighteen months’ absence—a fact which
certainly speaks volumes for Parry’s unremitting care and attention to the
health of his crews.
[Illustration: ESQUIMAUX OF WEST GREENLAND.]
In 1821-3 we again find the indefatigable Parry in the field, this, the
second voyage under his direct command, being undertaken for the discovery
of a north-west passage. The vessels employed were the _Fury_ and the
_Hecla_, and the expedition left the Nore on May 8th, 1821. Most of the
experiences recorded in his work were similar to those already mentioned;
and only a few general facts and extracts from his journal are therefore
presented. Two winters were passed by him among the frozen realms on this
voyage, and several geographical examinations of importance made. The
Frozen Strait, Repulse Bay, and many islands of the same neighbourhood,
were carefully explored. Parry, in his journal of October 8th, gives the
following interesting description of the formation of “young” ice upon the
surface of the sea, and the obstacle which it forms to navigation.
“The formation of young ice upon the surface of the water is the
circumstance which most decidedly begins to put a stop to the navigation
of these seas, and warns the seaman that his season of active operations
is nearly at an end. It is indeed scarcely possible to conceive the degree
of hindrance occasioned by this impediment, trifling as it always appears
before it is encountered. When the sheet has acquired the thickness of
about half an inch, and is of considerable extent, a ship is liable to be
stopped by it, unless favoured by a strong and free wind; and even when
retaining her way through the water at the rate of a mile an hour her
course is not always under the control of the helmsman, though assisted by
the nicest attention to the action of the sails; but it depends upon some
accidental increase or decrease in the thickness of the sheet of ice with
which one bow or the other comes in contact. Nor is it possible in this
situation for the boats to render their usual assistance by running out
lines or otherwise; for having once entered the young ice, they can only
be propelled slowly through it by digging the oars and boat-hooks into it,
at the same time breaking it across the bows, and by rolling the boat from
side to side. After continuing this laborious work for some time with
little good effect, and considerable damage to the planks and oars, a boat
is often obliged to return the same way that she came, backing out in the
canal thus formed to no purpose. A ship in this helpless state, her sails
in vain expanded to a favourable breeze, her ordinary resources failing,
and suddenly arrested in her course upon the element through which she has
been accustomed to move without restraint, has often reminded me of
Gulliver tied down by the feeble hands of Lilliputians; nor are the
struggles she makes to effect a release, and the apparent insignificance
of the means by which her efforts are opposed the least just or the least
vexatious part of the resemblance.”
[Illustration: AN ESQUIMAUX SNOW VILLAGE.]
It was now again time to fix upon winter quarters, and in an extensive
opening of the American mainland, which they named Lyon’s Inlet, a
suitable harbour was selected. The arrangements for the comfort and
employment of the crews were much as before. The Sabbath was carefully
observed, schools and harmless amusements provided, while the interests of
science were not neglected. An observatory and house were erected for
magnetic and astronomical observations. On February 1st a number of
Esquimaux arrived, who had erected a temporary village some two miles from
the ships. They, unlike some before seen in the vicinity of Hudson’s
Strait, who had become debased and demoralised by their constant
intercourse with whaling vessels, were of the unsophisticated order, and
were quiet, peaceable, and, strange to say, reasonably clean. Some of the
women, having handsome garments, which attracted the attention of those on
board, began, to their astonishment and consternation, to divest
themselves of some of their outer clothes, although the thermometer stood
at the time at 20° below zero; but every individual among them having on a
complete double suit of deer-skin, they did not apparently suffer much in
consequence. Parry’s description of their little snow village is graphic
and interesting. Not a single material was used in the construction of the
huts but snow and ice. The inner apartments of each were circular, with
arched domes about seven or eight feet high, and arched passage-ways
leading into them. The interior of these presented a very uniform
appearance. The women were seated on the beds at the side of the huts,
each having her little fireplace, a blubber lamp, with all her domestic
arrangements and domestic chattels, including all the children and some of
the dogs, about her. When first erected these huts had a neat and even
comfortable appearance. How differently did they look when the village was
broken up at the end of winter. Parry thus describes them:—“On going out
to the village we found one-half of the people had quitted their late
habitations, taking with them every article of their property, and had
gone over the ice, we knew not where, in quest of more abundant food. The
wretched appearance which the interior of the huts now presented baffles
all description. In each of the larger ones some of the apartments were
either wholly or in part deserted, the very snow which composed the beds
and fireplaces having been turned up, that no article might be left
behind. Even the bare walls, whose original colour was scarcely
perceptible for lamp-black, blood, and other filth, were not left perfect,
large holes having been made in sides and roofs for the convenience of
handing out the goods and chattels. The sight of a deserted habitation is
at all times calculated to excite in the mind a sensation of dreariness
and desolation, especially when we have lately seen it filled with
cheerful inhabitants; but the feeling is even heightened rather than
diminished when a small portion of these inhabitants remain behind to
endure the wretchedness which such a scene exhibits. This was now the case
at the village, where, though the remaining tenants of each hut had
combined to occupy one of the apartments, a great part of the bed-places
were still bare, and the wind and drift blowing in through the holes which
they had not yet taken the trouble to stop up. The old man Hikkeiera and
his wife occupied a hut to themselves, without any lamp or a single ounce
of meat belonging to them, while three small skins, on which the former
was lying, were all that they possessed in the way of blankets. Upon the
whole, I never beheld a more miserable spectacle, and it seemed a charity
to hope that a violent and constant cough with which the old man was
afflicted would speedily combine with his age and infirmities to release
him from his present sufferings. Yet in the midst of all this he was even
cheerful, nor was there a gloomy countenance to be seen in the village.”
It was not till July 2nd that the ships were enabled to move from their
icy dock, and they at first starting encountered severe dangers. Captain
Lyon, Parry’s associate in command, thus speaks of the situation of the
_Hecla_:—
“The flood-tide, coming down loaded with a more than ordinary quantity of
ice, pressed the ship very much between six and seven A.M., and rendered
it necessary to run out the stream cable, in addition to the hawsers which
were fast to the land ice. This was scarcely accomplished when a very
heavy and extensive floe took the ship on her broadside, and, being backed
by another large body of ice, gradually lifted her stern as if by the
action of a wedge. The weight every moment increasing obliged us to veer
on the hawsers, whose friction was so great as nearly to cut through the
bilt-heads, and ultimately set them on fire, so that it became requisite
for people to attend with buckets of water. The pressure was at length too
powerful for resistance, and the stream cable, with two six and one five
inch hawsers, went at the same moment. Three others soon followed. The sea
was too full of ice to allow the ship to drive, and the only way by which
she could yield to the enormous weight which oppressed her was by leaning
over the land ice, while her stern at the same time was entirely lifted
more than five feet out of the water. The lower deck beams now complained
very much, and the whole frame of the ship underwent a trial which would
have proved fatal to any less strengthened vessel. At this moment the
rudder was unhung with a sudden jerk, which broke up the rudder-case and
struck the driver-boom with great force. In this state I made known our
situation by telegraph, as I clearly saw that, in the event of another
floe backing the one which lifted us, the ship must inevitably turn over
or part in midships. The pressure which had been so dangerous at length
proved our friend, for by its increasing weight the floe on which we were
borne burst upwards, unable to resist its force. The ship righted, and, a
small slack opening in the water, drove several miles to the southward
before she could be again secured to get the rudder hung; circumstances
much to be regretted at the moment, as our people had been employed, with
but little intermission, for three days and nights attending to the safety
of the ship in this dangerous tideway.”
The _Fury_ experienced nearly the same dangers, and for days the situation
of both vessels was most precarious. Later, the ice having cleared to some
extent, they were enabled to make good headway, and on July 16th they
discovered a great deal of high land to the northward and eastward. This,
from the inspection of a rude chart which had been constructed by an
intelligent Esquimaux, was decided to be that island between which and the
mainland lay a strait leading into the Polar Sea, of which they had heard
much from the natives. Several land journeys were made, and one attempt at
taking the ships through, but though it was abundantly determined to be a
passage, they were obliged again to go into winter quarters before they
had succeeded. They were not extricated till nearly _one year_ afterwards,
and then not until a broad canal, 1,100 yards in length, had been cut
through the ice to the sea. The scurvy had made its appearance among the
crew, and Parry, after consultation with his officers, reluctantly turned
the vessels’ bows in a homeward direction.
Parry made a third voyage in 1824-5, passing his _fourth_ winter in the
Arctic regions. The same vessels were employed; and at the end of winter
the _Fury_ was so terribly damaged by the ice that she had to be
abandoned. But Parry, however disappointed with the results of this
voyage, once more, as we shall see hereafter, braved the perils of the
Arctic; but we must first record the circumstances connected with a
northern expedition which in chronological order comes properly before it.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN LYON AND HIS CREW OFFERING PRAYERS FOR THEIR
PRESERVATION.]
In 1824 Captain George F. Lyon was despatched, in the _Griper_, to
complete surveys of north-east America, but not specially to attempt
discovery. The _Griper_ was an old tub of a vessel, utterly unfitted for
its work, and it is rather of the voyage itself, as displaying the
advantages of perfect naval discipline under great disadvantages, than for
any other reason, this unfortunate expedition is recorded. The vessel was
a bad sailer, and constantly shipped seas which threatened to sweep
everything from the decks. In Sir Thomas Rowe’s Welcome—the passage
between Southampton Island and the mainland—fogs and heavy seas were
encountered, while no trust could be placed in the compasses, and the
water was fast shallowing. Lyon was obliged to bring the vessel “up with
three bowers and a stream anchor in succession,” but not before the water
had shoaled to five and a half fathoms, the ship all the while pitching
bows under. So perilous was their position that the boats were stored with
arms, ammunition, and provisions; the officers drew lots for their
respective boats, although two of the smaller ones would have inevitably
been swamped the moment they were lowered. Heavy seas continued to sweep
the decks, and when the fog lifted a little a low beach was discovered
astern of the ship, on which the surf was running to an awful height, and
where, says Lyon, “no human power could save us if driven upon it.”
Immediately afterwards the ship, lifted by a tremendous sea, struck with
great violence the whole length of the keel, and her total wreck was
momentarily expected. In the midst of all their misery the crew remained
twenty-four hours on the flooded decks, and Lyon himself did not leave for
his berth till exhausted after three nights’ watching. Few on board
expected to survive the gale. Still, every precaution was taken for the
comfort of the men, who were ordered to put on their best and warmest
clothing to support life as long as possible. The officers each secured
some useful instrument for future work, if, indeed, the slightest hope
remained. “And now,” says Lyon, “that everything in our power had been
done, I called all hands aft, and to a merciful God offered prayers for
our preservation. I thanked every one for their excellent conduct, and
cautioned them, as we should, in all probability, soon appear before our
Maker, to enter His presence as men resigned to their fate. We then all
sat down in groups, and, sheltered from the wash of the sea by whatever we
could find, many of us endeavoured to obtain a little sleep. Never,
perhaps, was witnessed a finer scene than on the deck of my little ship,
when all hope of life had left us. Noble as the character of the British
sailor is always allowed to be in cases of danger, yet I did not believe
it to be possible that among forty-one persons not one repining word
should have been uttered. The officers sat about wherever they could find
shelter from the sea, and the men lay down, conversing with each other
with the most perfect calmness. Each was at peace with his neighbour and
all the world; and I am firmly persuaded that the resignation which was
then shown to the will of the Almighty was the means of obtaining His
mercy. God was merciful to us; and the tide almost miraculously fell no
lower.” They were spared, and on the weather clearing discovered that they
were about the centre of the Welcome. The spot where they had been in such
imminent danger was named appropriately the Bay of God’s Mercy.
In the middle of September, when off the mouth of the Wager River, a gale
arose, and the sluggish _Griper_ made no progress, but “remained actually
pitching forecastle under, with scarcely steerage way.” The ship was
brought up, and the anchors fortunately held. Thick-falling sleet covered
the decks to some inches in depth, and withal the spray froze as it fell.
The night was pitchy dark; several streams of drift ice came driving down
upon the ship. Lyon says that it was not possible to stand below decks,
while on deck ropes had to be stretched from side to side for the men to
hold by. Great seas washed over them every minute, and the temporary
warmth this gave them was most painfully checked by the water immediately
freezing on their clothes. At dawn on the 13th their best bower anchor
parted, and later all the cables gave way. The ship was lying on her
broadside. Nevertheless, each man stood to his station, and in the end
seamanship triumphed; the crippled ship was brought safely to England. The
cool, unflinching courage of the men and the undisturbed conduct of the
officers were matters for highest praise. The royal navy could not be
proud of the _Griper_, but could, most assuredly, of the _Griper’s_ crew.