BARTLETT'S FARTHEST NORTH--HIS QUIET GOOD-BY
Leaving the Commander and Marvin at the igloos, my party took up the
Captain's trail northward. It was expected that Peary would follow in an
hour and that at the same time Marvin would start his return march.
After a few minutes' going, we came to young ice of this season, broken
up and frozen solid, not difficult to negotiate, but requiring constant
pulling; leaving this, we came to an open lead which caused us to make a
detour to the westward for four miles. We crossed on ice so thin that
one of the sledge-runners broke through, and a little beyond one of the
dogs fell in so completely that it was a precarious effort to rescue
him; but we made it and, doglike, he shook the water out of his fur and
a little later, when his fur froze, I gave him a thorough beating; not
for falling in the water, but in order to loosen the ice-particles, so
that he could shake them off. Poor brute, it was no use, and in a short
while he commenced to develop symptoms of the dread piblokto, so in
mercy he was killed. One of the Esquimo boys did the killing.
Dangerous as the crossing was, it was the only place possible, and we
succeeded far better than we had anticipated. Beyond the lead we came to
an old floe and, beyond that, young ice of one season's formation,
similar to that which had been encountered earlier in the day. Before us
lay a heavy, old floe, covered with soft, deep snow in which we sank
continually; but it was only five P. M. when we reached the Captain's
igloo. Anticipating the arrival of the Commander, we built another
igloo, and about an hour and a half later the Commander and his party
came in.
March 28: Exactly 40° below zero when we pushed the sledges up to the
curled-up dogs and started them off over rough ice covered with deep
soft snow. It was like walking in loose granulated sugar. Indeed I might
compare the snow of the Arctic to the granules of sugar, without their
saccharine sweetness, but with freezing cold instead; you can not make
snowballs of it, for it is too thoroughly congealed, and when it is
packed by the wind it is almost as solid as ice. It is from the packed
snow that the blocks used to form the igloo-walls are cut.
At the end of four hours, we came to the igloo where the Captain and his
boys were sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. In order not to
interrupt the Captain's rest, we built another igloo and unloaded his
sledge, and distributed the greater part of the load among the sledges
of the party. The Captain, on awakening, told us that the journey we had
completed on that day had been made by him under the most trying
conditions, and that it had taken him fourteen hours to do it. We were
able to make better time because we had his trail to follow, and,
therefore, the necessity of finding the easiest way was avoided. That
was the object of the scout or pioneer party and Captain Bartlett had
done practically all of it up to the time he turned back at 87° 48'
north.
March 29: You have undoubtedly taken into consideration the pangs of
hunger and of cold that you know assailed us, going Poleward; but have
you ever considered that we were thirsty for water to drink or hungry
for fat? To eat snow to quench our thirsts would have been the height of
folly, and as well as being thirsty, we were continuously assailed by
the pangs of a hunger that called for the fat, good, rich, oily, juicy
fat that our systems craved and demanded.
Had we succumbed to the temptations of thirst and eaten the snow, we
would not be able to tell the tale of the conquest of the Pole; for the
result of eating snow is death. True, the dogs licked up enough moisture
to quench their thirsts, but we were not made of such stern stuff as
they. Snow would have reduced our temperatures and we would quickly have
fallen by the way. We had to wait until camp was made and the fire of
alcohol started before we had a chance, and it was with hot tea that we
quenched our thirsts. The hunger for fat was not appeased; a dog or two
was killed, but his carcass went to the Esquimos and the entrails were
fed to the rest of the pack. We ate no dogs on this trip, for various
reasons, mainly, that the eating of dog is only a last resort, and we
had plenty of food, and raw dog is flavorless and very tough. The
killing of a dog is such a horrible matter that I will not describe it,
and it is permitted only when all other exigencies have been exhausted.
An Esquimo does not permit one drop of blood to escape.
The morning of the 29th of March, 1909, a heavy and dense fog of frost
spicules overhung the camp. At four A. M., the Captain left camp to make
as far a northing as possible. I with my Esquimos followed later. On our
way we passed over very rough ice alternating with small floes, young
ice of a few months' duration, and one old floe. We were now beside a
lead of over three hundred feet in width, which we were unable to cross
at that time because the ice was running steadily, though to the
Northward. Following the trail of the Captain, which carried us a little
to the westward of the lead, within one hundred feet of the Captain's
igloo, the order to camp was given, as going forward was impossible. The
whole party was together farther north than had ever been made by any
other human beings, and in perfectly good condition; but the time was
quickly coming when the little party would have to be made smaller and
some part of it sent back. We were too fatigued to argue the question.
We turned in for a rest and sleep, but soon turned out again in
pandemonium incomprehensible; the ice moving in all directions, our
igloos wrecked, and every instant our very lives in danger. With eyes
dazed by sleep, we tried to guide the terror-stricken dogs and push the
sledges to safety, but rapidly we saw the party being separated and the
black water begin to appear amid the roar of the breaking ice floes.
To the westward of our igloo stood the Captain's igloo, on an island of
ice, which revolved, while swiftly drifting to the eastward. On one
occasion the floe happened to strike the main floe. The Captain,
intently watching his opportunity, quickly crossed with his Esquimos. He
had scarcely set foot on the opposite floe when the floe on which he had
been previously isolated swung off, and rapidly disappeared.
Once more the parties were together. Thoroughly exhausted, we turned in
and fell asleep, myself and the Esquimos too dumb for utterance, and
Commander Peary and Bartlett too full of the realization of our escape
to have much to say.
The dogs were in very good condition, taking everything into
consideration.
[Illustration: CAMP MORRIS K. JESUP AT THE NORTH POLE
(From Henson's own Photograph)]
[Illustration: MATTHEW A. HENSON IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE SLEDGE JOURNEY TO
THE POLE AND BACK
(Showing the effect of the excessive strain. Compare with frontispiece
and with portrait facing page 139)]
When we woke up it was the morning of another day, March 30, and we
found open water all about us. We could not go on until either the lead
had frozen or until it had raftered shut. Temperature 35° below zero,
and the weather clear and calm with no visible motion of the ice. We
spent the day industriously in camp, mending foot-gear, harness,
clothing, and looking after the dogs and their traces. This was work
enough, especially untangling the traces of the bewildered dogs. The
traces, snarled and entangled, besides being frozen to the consistency
of wire, gave us the hardest work; and, owing to the activity of the
dogs in leaping and bounding over each other, we had the most _unideal_
conditions possible to contend with, and we were handicapped by having
to use mitted instead of ungloved fingers to untangle the snarls of
knots. Unlike Alexander the Great, we dared not cut the "Gordian
Knots," but we did get them untangled.
About five o'clock in the afternoon, the temperature had fallen to 43°
below zero, and at the same time the ice began to move again. Owing to
the attraction of the moon, the mighty flanks of the earth were being
drawn by her invisible force, and were commencing again to crack and be
rent asunder.
We loaded up hurriedly and all three parties left the camp and crossed
over the place where recently had been the open lead, and beyond for
more than five miles, until we reached the heavier and solid ice of the
large floes. Northward our way led, and we kept on in that direction
accordingly, at times crossing young ice so thin that the motion of the
sledges would cause the ice to undulate. Over old floes of the blue,
hummocky kind, on which the snow had fallen and become packed solid, the
rest of this day's journey was completed. We staggered into camp like
drunken men, and built our igloos by force of habit rather than with the
intelligence of human beings.
It was continuously daylight, but such a light as never was on land or
sea.
The next day was April 1, and the Farthest North of Bartlett. I knew at
this time that he was to go back, and that I was to continue, so I had
no misgivings and neither had he. He was ready and anxious to take the
back-trail. His five marches were up and he was glad of it, and he was
told that in the morning he must turn back and knit the trail together,
so that the main column could return over a beaten path.
Before going to sleep, Peary and he (Captain Bartlett) had figured out
the reckoning of the distance, and, to insure the Captain's making at
least 88° north, Peary let him have another go for a short distance
northward, and at noon on the day of his return, the observations showed
that Captain Bartlett had made 87° 47' North Latitude, or practically
88° north. "Why, Peary," he said, "it is just like every day," and so it
was, with this exception, like every day in the Arctic, but with all of
every day's chances and hazards. The lion-like month of March had
passed. Captain Bartlett bade us all farewell. He turned back from the
Farthest North that had ever been reached by any one, to insure the safe
return of him who was to go to a still Farther North, the very top of
the world, the Pole itself.
While waiting for Bartlett to return from his forced march, the main
party had been at work, assorting dogs (by this time without much
trouble, as only one was found utterly unfit to make progress), and
rearranging loads, for the Captain had almost three hundred miles of
sea-ice to negotiate before he would reach _terra firma_, and he had to
have his food-supply arranged so that it would carry him to the land and
back to the ship, and dogs in good enough condition to pull the loads,
as well as enough sledges to bear his equipment. When he did come back
to our camp, before the parting, he was perfectly satisfied, and with
the same old confidence he swept his little party together and at three
P. M., with a cheery "Good-by! Good Luck!" he was off. His Esquimo boys,
attempting in English, too, gave us their "Good-bys." The least
emotional of all of our partings; and this brave man, who had borne the
brunt of all of the hardships, like the true-blue, dead-game,
unconquerable hero that he was, set out to do the work that was left for
him to do; to knit the broken strands of our upward trail together, so
that we who were at his rear could follow in safety.
I have never heard the story of the return of Captain Bartlett in
detail; his Esquimo boys were incapable of telling it, and Captain
Bartlett is altogether too modest.