travelled northward until, on the 15th of April, they reached 77° 1’
N. lat. Then the wild northerly gales compelled them to retrace their
steps. On their return they were fortunate enough to shoot some bears,
whose blubber supplied them with fuel to warm their food; and the
wind filling the sails which they had hoisted on their sledges, they
progressed with such rapidity as to reach the ship on the 27th of April.
At the northernmost point attained by this party,--lat. 77° 1’,--the
belt of land-ice which skirted the shore seemed to the travellers to
be four miles in width and several years old. They speak of it as a
“bulwark built for eternity.” Out to seaward, the ice, which was very
hummocky, stretched in an unbroken expanse.
[Illustration: “INTO A WATER-GAP.”]
Two other sledge-parties were sent out early in May: one of these
was employed in making geographical and scientific explorations of
the neighbouring coast of Greenland; the other in attempting the
measurement of an arc of the meridian. Their journeys were difficult
enough and troublesome enough, and made large demands on the energies
of those who undertook them. Crossing hummocks and rugged ice was
weary work, and sometimes the whole party plunged into deep drifts of
snow. On one occasion, the sledge was precipitated into a water-gap,
or crevasse; and before it could be recovered and hauled up on the
ice-floe, they were compelled to unload it, and remove each article,
one by one. Then again they would have to make their way through a
storm of pitiless violence; the north wind driving the frozen snow into
their faces with a fury that almost blinded them. Up to their knees in
the new snow, they pressed forward with a dogged intrepidity; enduring
hardships and triumphing over obstacles of which the “mob of gentlemen
who stay at home at ease” can form no adequate conception.
The bears now increased in numbers and in boldness, as if they had
determined to besiege the small company now left on board the ship. The
greatest caution was necessary to prevent accidents; and though several
were shot, their death did not appear to terrify the survivors.
The thaw began about the middle of May, and towards the close of the
month the sledge-parties were forced to wade through the water which
flooded the surface of the sea-ice.
In June, large portions of land-ice were continually breaking off, and
much open water could be descried in the south-east. But it was not
until the 10th of July that the ice around the ship broke up. Four days
later, boating became practicable, and a voyage was made to the Eskimo
village on Clavering Island. It ended in disappointment,--the village
having been deserted, and the huts having fallen into ruin.
On the 22nd of July, the _Germania_ once more steamed to
the northward, to renew the attempt of the preceding year. Her
boiler-tubes, however, leaked so seriously, that it was evident
the boiler would speedily fail altogether. After some delay it was
temporarily patched up; and by following a narrow channel between
the loose pack-ice and the firm ice-belt of the coast, she contrived
to push forward to the north-east cape of Shannon Island, in lat.
75° 29’ N. Here the ice barrier showed itself compact, solid, and
insuperable. The _Germania_, therefore, on the 30th of July, made
for the southward, and continued her explorations in that direction.
The “Mackenzie Inlet,” which Captain Clavering discovered in 1823, was
found to have disappeared; its place being occupied by a low, flat
plain, on which herds of reindeer were pasturing. So unaccustomed were
they to the sight of man, and so fearless of danger, that five of them
were speedily shot.
On the 6th of August, the _Germania_ discovered and entered a
broad, deep fiord in lat. 73° 13’. It was perfectly free from ice; but
a fleet of huge icebergs was sailing out of it with the current. It was
soon noticed that the farther they ascended this picturesque sea-arm,
the warmer became the temperature of the air and of the surface water.
It threw off several branches, and these wound in and out among lofty
mountains. Their declivities were washed by cascades, and their ravines
filled with glaciers; so that the prospect thus unexpectedly opened up
of the interior of Greenland was singularly romantic and impressive.
Some of the adventurers ascended a mountain 7000 feet in height;
but even from this lofty watch-tower no limit could be discerned to
the western or principal arm of the fiord. In about 32° W. long.
the mountain-range rose, it was ascertained, to an elevation of
14,000 feet. The _Germania_ penetrated for seventy-two miles
into this remarkable inlet, and reached 26° W. long.; but her boiler
acting irregularly, and Captain Koldewey being apprehensive of the
consequences if it wholly failed, commenced his homeward voyage on
the 17th of August. He re-entered the pack-ice at the mouth of the
fiord, and was occupied until the 24th in forcing his way through
it,--reaching the open, iceless sea in lat. 72° N. and long. 14° W.
[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE “GERMANIA” IN A SNOW-STORM.]
The _Germania_, owing to the uselessness of her boiler, made the
rest of her voyage under sail, and arrived at Bremen in safety on
the 11th of September, with all well on board. It is worth notice
that, with the exception of two accidental wounds, this interesting
expedition was accomplished without any kind of sickness,--a
circumstance which speaks highly for the forethought and carefulness of
those engaged in equipping and conducting it.
We have been indebted for our brief notice of the voyage of the
_Germania_ to a paper by Captain Sir Leopold M’Clintock, who
sums up its results in a condensed and intelligible form; and to the
narratives by Captain Koldewey and his officers, translated by Mr.
Mercier, and published under the direction of Mr. H. W. Bates.
The Greenland shore, under the seventy-fifth parallel of latitude, is
not the frozen desert which it has hitherto been supposed to be. It is
frequented by large herds of reindeer, as many as fifty having been
sighted at a time. Musk-oxen were by no means rare, but made their
appearance in troops of fifteen or sixteen; while smaller animals, such
as ermines and lemmings, were also met with. Birds were not numerous;
shoals of walruses were noticed, but no whales.
Geographically speaking, the voyage was valuable from the observations
obtained in reference to a region which previously was almost unknown.
The absence of natives, and of all recent traces of them, is a
remarkable fact. In 1829, Captain Graab found the northern Greenlanders
ranging as high as 64° 15’ N. lat.; but they knew nothing of any human
beings living further north; nor could they themselves travel in that
direction, the way being blocked up by huge impassable glaciers.
In 1822, when Scoresby partially explored the Greenland coast between
the parallels of 70° and 72° 30’, he discovered many ruined habitations
and graves, but no recent indications of human beings.
In the following year, Captain Clavering met with a party of Eskimos
in 74°; but neither he nor Scoresby found reindeer or musk-oxen; and
the fact ascertained by the _Germania_ that, in 1869, these
animals were numerous, and devoid of any fear of man, gives reason to
suppose that few, if any, of this isolated tribe of Eskimos are now in
existence. Now, as the musk-oxen, and also the reindeer, seem to have
wandered hither from the _northward_, we may conjecture that the
natives followed the same route.
“If it be true,” says M’Clintock, “that this migration of men and
animals was effected from west to east along the northern shore of
Greenland, we naturally assume that it does not extend far towards the
Pole; that, probably, its most northern point is at the eastern outlet
of Kennedy Channel, and that it turns from thence sharply towards the
east and north-east,--the distance, in a straight line, to the most
northern point reached by Koldewey, is not more than six hundred miles.
It is not less strange than sad to find that a peaceable and once
numerous tribe, inhabiting a coast-line of at least 7° of latitude in
extent, has died out, or has almost died out, whilst at the same time
we find, by the diminution of the glaciers and increase of animal life,
that the terrible severity of the climate has undergone considerable
modification. We feel this saddening interest with greater force when
we reflect that the distance of Clavering’s village from the coast of
Scotland is under one thousand miles! They were our nearest neighbours
of the New World.”
* * * * *
Returning suddenly to the sixteenth century, we find the names of
some Dutch seamen of eminence inscribed in the record of early Arctic
Discovery, and amongst these the most illustrious is that of William
Barents. We refer to him here, because he is connected with Carlsen’s
voyage in 1869, which went over much the same ground as that which the
Dutch explorer had surveyed nearly three hundred years before.
The merchants of Amsterdam having fitted out a ship--the
_Mercurius_, of one hundred tons--to attempt a passage round
the northern end of Novaia Zemlaia, the command was given to William
Barents; who accordingly sailed from the Texel on the 4th of June 1594.
He sighted Novaia Zemlaia, in lat. 73° 25’ N., on the 4th of July,
sailed along its grim, gaunt coast, doubled Cape Nassau on the 10th,
and struck the edge of the northern ice on the 13th. For several days
he skirted this formidable barrier, vainly seeking for an opening; and
in quest of a channel into the further sea, he sailed perseveringly
from Cape Nassau to the Orange Islands. He went over no fewer than
seventeen hundred miles of ground in his assiduous search, and put
his ship about one-and-eighty times. He discovered also the long line
of coast between the two points we have named, laying it down with
an exactness which has been acknowledged by later explorers. His men
wearying of labour which seemed to yield no positive results, Barents
was under the necessity of returning home.
[Illustration: MATERIALS FOR THE HOUSE.]
In 1596 the Amsterdammers fitted out another expedition, consisting
of two strongly-built ships, under Jacob van Heemskerch and Jan
Cornelizoon Rijp, with Barents as pilot, though really in command.
In this voyage the adventurers kept away from the land, in order to
avoid the pack-ice, and sailing to the westward, discovered Bear Island
on the 9th of June. Then they steered to the northward, and hove in
sight of Spitzbergen exactly ten days later. They supposed, however,
that it was only a part of Greenland, and were led to bear away to the
north-west--a course which was speedily arrested by the eternal icy
barrier. Barents then coasted along the western side of Spitzbergen;
and the north-western headland being frequented by an immense number of
birds, he called it Vogelsang.
On the 1st of July he again made Bear Island, and here he and Rijp
agreed to separate. Of the latter we know only that he was unsuccessful
in an attempt to find an opening in the ice on the east of Greenland,
and that he returned to Holland in the same year. Of the former the
narrative is painfully full and interesting.
Quitting Bear Island, he reached Novaia Zemlaia on the 17th of
July, sighting the coast in lat. 74° 40’ N. Keeping along it with
characteristic perseverance until the 7th of August, he passed Cape
Comfort; but only to find himself once more face to face with the
dreary spectacle of the far-reaching Polar ice. It so hemmed and fenced
him in on every side, that he was unable to extricate his vessel from
it; and being driven into a bay, which he named Ice Haven, “there they
were forced, in great cold, poverty, misery, and griefe, to stay all
the winter.” For the heavy pack-ice drifting into the bay closed it up,
and closed around the ship until she was held fast as in iron bonds.
[Illustration: ATTACK ON A BEAR.]
Barents and his sixteen followers now prepared to encounter with a good
heart the trials of the long Arctic winter-night. They displayed, in
truth, a courage, a patience, and a good fellowship which were heroic.
Finding a large supply of drift-wood, they constructed, with the help
of planks from the poop and forecastle of the vessel, a sufficiently
commodious house, into which they removed all their stores and
provisions. They fixed a chimney in the centre of the roof; a Dutch
clock was set up and duly struck the weary hours; the sleeping-berths
were ranged along the walls; a wine-cask was converted into a bath.
All these ingenious devices, however, availed but little against the
terrible feeling of depression which is induced by the continuance for
so many weeks of a blank and cheerless darkness.
The sun disappeared on the 4th of November, and the cold thereafter
increased until it was almost intolerable. Their wine and beer were
frozen, and lost all their strength. By means of great fires, by
applying heated stones to their feet, and by wrapping themselves up in
double fox-skin coats, they barely contrived to keep off the deadly
cold. In searching for drift-wood they endured the sharpest pain,
and often braved imminent danger. To add to their troubles, they had
much ado to defend themselves against the bears, which made frequent
assaults on their hut. However, they contrived to slaughter some of
the audacious animals, and their fat provided them with oil for their
lamps. When the sun disappeared the bears departed, and then the white
foxes came in great numbers. They were much more welcome visitors, and
being caught in traps, set in the vicinity of the house, supplied the
ice-bound voyagers with food and clothing.
[Illustration: SETTING FOX-TRAPS.]
When the 19th of December arrived, they found some comfort in the
reflection that half the dreary season of darkness had passed away,
and that they could now count every day as bringing them nearer to
the joyful spring. They suffered much, but endured their sufferings
bravely; and celebrated Twelfth Night with a little sack, two pounds of
meat, and some merry games. The gunner drew the prize, and became King
of Novaia Zemlaia, “which is at least two hundred miles long, and lyeth
between two seas.”
On the 27th of January every heart rejoiced, for the glowing disc of
the sun reappeared above the horizon. But it brought with it their old
enemies the bears, against whom they found it necessary to exercise the
greatest vigilance.
On the 22nd of February they again saw “much open water in the sea,
which in long time they had not seene.” During the whole month violent
storms broke out, and the snow fell in enormous quantities.
On the 12th of March a gale from the north-east brought back the ice,
and the open water disappeared; the ice driving in with much fury and
a mighty noise, the pieces crashing against each other, “fearful to
hear.” Up to the 8th of May the ice was everywhere, and their sad eyes
could look forth on no pleasant or hopeful scene. Then it began to
break up, and the gaunt, weary explorers prepared to tempt the sea once
more. They set to work to repair their two boats, for their ship was
so crippled and strained by the ice that she was injured beyond their
ability to repair.
[Illustration: RELIEVED.]
On the 14th of June they quitted the place of their long captivity;
Barents, before they set out, drawing up in writing a list of their
names, with a brief record of their experiences, and depositing it in
the wooden hut. He himself was so reduced with sickness, want, and
anxiety that he was unable to stand, and had to be carried into the
boat. On the 16th, the captain, hailing from the other boat, inquired
how the pilot fared. “Quite well, mate,” Barents replied; “I still hope
to mend before we get to Wardhouse,”--Wardhouse being an island on the
coast of Lapland. But he died on the 19th (or, as some authorities say,
on the 20th), to the great grief of his comrades, who appreciated his
manly character, and placed great reliance on his experience and skill.
The adventurers met with many difficulties from the ice,--sometimes
being carried out far from the ice-belt, and at others being compelled
to haul the boats for long distances over the rough surface of the
floes to reach open water. It has been well observed that there are
many instances on record of long ocean-voyages performed in open boats,
but that, perhaps, not one is of so extraordinary a character as that
which we are describing,--when two small and crazy craft ventured to
cross the frozen seas for eleven hundred miles, continually endangered
by huge floating ice-masses, threatened by bears, and exposed for forty
days to the combined trials of sickness, famine, cold, and fatigue.
At length they arrived at Kola, in Lapland, towards the end of August;
and, strangely enough, were taken on board a Dutch vessel commanded by
the very Cornelizoon Rijp who had commanded the sister discovery-ship
in the previous year. They reached the Maas in safety in October 1597.
* * * * *
No voyager appears to have sailed in the track of Barents, or, at all
events, to have visited the place where he wintered, until 1871. No
one but he had rounded the north-east point of bleak Novaia Zemlaia.
In 1869, however, and on the 16th of May, Captain Carlsen, a Norwegian
of much experience in the North Sea trade, sailed from Hammerfest in a
sloop of sixty tons, called the _Solid_. On the 7th of September
he reached Ice Haven, and on the 9th discovered a rude wooden house
standing at the head of the bay. Its dimensions were 32 feet by 20,
and it was constructed of planks measuring from 14 to 16 inches in
breadth, and 1½ inches thick. These, it was evident, had belonged to
a ship, and amongst them were several oak beams. Heaps of bones of
seal, bear, reindeer, and walrus, as well as several large puncheons,
were collected round the hut. It was the winter-prison of Barents and
his companions, and had never been entered by human foot since they
had abandoned it. The cooking-pans stood over the fireplace, the old
clock hung against the wall; there were the books, and implements, and
tools, and weapons which had been of so much service two hundred and
seventy-eight years before. It was an Arctic reproduction of the legend
of the hundred years’ sleep of the fairy princess.
Captain Carlsen gives the following list of articles found in the lone
hut on the shore of Novaia Zemlaia:--
Iron frame over the fireplace, with shifting bar; two ship
cooking-pans of copper, found standing on the iron frame, with
the remains of a copper scoop; copper bands, probably at one
time fastened round pails; bar of iron; iron crowbar; one long
and two small gun-barrels; two bores or augers, each three
feet in length; chisel, padlock, caulking-iron, three gouges,
and six files; plate of zinc; earthenware jar; tankard, with
zinc lid; lower half of another tankard; six fragments of
pepper-pots; tin meat-strainer; pair of boots; sword; fragments
of old engravings, with Latin couplets underneath them; three
Dutch books; a small piece of metal; nineteen cartridge cases,
some still full of powder; iron chest, with lid, and intricate
lock-work; fragments of metal handle of same; grindstone; an
eight-pound iron weight; small cannon-ball; gun-lock, with
hammer and flint; clock, bell of clock, and striker; rasp; small
auger; small narrow strips of copper band; two salt and pepper
pots, about eight inches high; two pairs of compasses; fragment
of iron-handled knife; three spoons; borer; hone; one wooden,
and one bronze tap; two wooden stoppers for gun muzzles; two
spear or ice-pole heads; four navigation instruments; a flute;
lock and key; another lock; sledge-hammer head; clock weight;
twenty-six pewter candlesticks and fragments, six in a complete
state of preservation; pitcher of Etruscan shape, beautifully
engraved; upper half of another pitcher; wooden trencher,
coloured red; clock alarum; three scales; four medallions,
circular, about eight inches in diameter, three of them mounted
in oak frames; a string of buttons; hilt of sword, and a foot of
its blade; halberd head; and two carved pieces of wood, one with
the haft of a knife in it.
On the 14th of September Captain Carlsen sailed from the Ice Haven,
and kept along the east coast of Novaia Zemlaia, encountering bad
weather and contrary winds, but succeeding in his chief object, the
circumnavigation of the island, which he accomplished on the 6th of
October. He returned to Hammerfest early in November.
* * * * *
Our chronological summary now brings us to the Austrian Polar
expedition of 1872. The command was intrusted to Lieutenant Payer, an
accomplished seaman who had served under Captain Koldewey; Carlsen was
engaged as pilot; and the steamer _Tegethoff_ was carefully and
abundantly equipped for the voyage. The plan laid down by Lieutenant
Payer was well-conceived; namely, to round the north-eastern point of
Novaia Zemlaia, and sail eastward until he made the extreme north of
Siberia, where he proposed to winter. In the spring, travelling-parties
would be sent out on exploring journeys; and the voyage, in summer,
would be continued as far as Behring Strait.
The _Tegethoff_ steamed out of Tromsö Harbour on the 13th of
July; first fell in with the ice on the 25th, in lat. 74° 15’ N.; and
on the 29th sighted the coast of Novaia Zemlaia. Here she was caught
in the pack; but steam being got up, repeated charges were made at
the enemy, and she was carried bravely into an open water-way, about
twenty miles wide, to the north of the Matochkia Strait. On the 12th
of August she was joined by the _Isbyörn_ yacht, with Count
Wilczck and some friends on board. The two vessels anchored close to
the shore, in lat. 76° 30’ N., and on the 18th celebrated the Emperor
of Austria’s birthday. Daily excursions were made by sledge-parties
to the adjoining islands, resulting in an accumulation of botanical
and geological specimens, besides slaughtered bears and foxes, and
quantities of drift-wood. On the 23rd the vessels parted company,--the
_Tegethoff_ steaming to the northward, and the _Isbyörn_
endeavouring to push southward along the coast. On reaching the mouth
of the Petchora, Count Wilczck and his friends left her to proceed on
the return voyage to Tromsö, while they ascended the Petchora in small
boats to Perm, and returned to Vienna by way of Moscow.
The _Tegethoff_ spent the winters of 1872 and 1873 in the Icy Sea,
and made some discoveries of interest. It returned in safety in the
summer of 1874.
* * * * *
In 1871 an American expedition was fitted out under the command of
Captain Charles Francis Hall, who had already gained distinction by
his explorations in the Polar regions and his long residence among the
Eskimos. Through the liberality of Mr. Grinnell, assisted by the United
States Government, he was provided with a stout and well-found steamer,
the _Polaris_, which sailed from Brooklyn on the 29th of June. She
carried a crew of seventeen officers and men,--Mr. Buddington being
sailing and ice master, and Mr. Tyson assistant navigator,--besides six
adult Eskimos and two children; and a scientific staff consisting of
Dr. Emil Bessel, Mr. Bryan, and Mr. Frederick Meyers.
A few days previous to the sailing of the expedition, Mr. Grinnell
presented Hall with the historic flag which Lieutenant Wilkes, in 1838,
had borne nearer to the South Pole than any American flag had been
before,--which Lieutenant De Haven, and afterwards Dr. Kane, and lastly
Dr. Hayes, had carried further north than any other ensign. Captain
Hall, in receiving it, expressed his conviction that, in the spring of
1872, “it would float over a new world, in which the North Pole Star is
the crowning jewel.”
On the 3rd of July the _Polaris_ entered the land-locked
harbour of St. John’s, Newfoundland, where she remained a week while
her machinery underwent some repairs. Then she proceeded north to
Holsteinberg, in Greenland; but failed in procuring a supply of coal
or a stock of reindeer furs, both of which were much desiderated. On
the 4th of August she arrived at the Danish settlement of Godhaven, and
happily found the United States steamer _Congress_, which had been
despatched with extra stores and supplies. Thence she steamed northward
to Upernavik, which was reached on the 18th. So far her progress seemed
to have been peculiarly fortunate; but already dissensions had broken
out among the officers, which augured ill for the eventual success of
the expedition. In his despatches home, however, Captain Hall made
no allusion to this discouraging circumstance; and his biographer
explains this silence by “his idiosyncrasy, which enabled him to sink
everything else in the one idea of pushing on to the far north.”
Upernavik, with its little colony of Danish officials and Eskimo
natives, was left behind on the 21st of August, and the _Polaris_
continued her adventurous course. Six days later, she arrived at Kane’s
winter-quarters in 1853–55, and at the point where he abandoned his
little vessel, the _Advance_. Next day her crew found a huge
wall of ice in front of them, and doubled round it by steering to
the west-north-west. Then again putting their vessel’s head to the
northward, they made their way up Kennedy Channel, and gained the
threshold of what Dr. Kane had supposed to be the Open Polar Sea. They
discovered, however, that it was bounded by land on either side, with
a vast expanse of ice stretching far beyond it. Careful observation
showed that it was, in reality, a _bay_, which Kane had mistaken
for the open sea when its land-boundaries were hidden by fog. It is
about forty-five miles wide.
Thence they entered a channel similar to that of Kennedy, which
measured about seventeen miles in breadth, and was obstructed by heavy
ice. Their progress now was slow and difficult, and many of the crew
wore rueful countenances, as if they were going “to sail off the edge
of the world.” A more serious obstacle was the timidity of Captain
Buddington, who showed himself opposed to pushing further northward.
Hall, therefore, resolved to carry the steamer in-shore, land some of
his stores, and prepare for wintering at this advanced point of “Ultima
Thule.”
At midnight, on the 4th of September, Captain Hall raised an American
flag on this land, the northernmost site on which any civilized flag
had been planted. When it was waving in the breeze, he proclaimed that
he took possession of the surrounding region of snow and ice “in the
name of the Lord, and for the President of the United States.” He then
returned on board the _Polaris_, and her anchor was let go. The
place was only a bend in the coast, and afforded no protection as a
harbour; they therefore steamed through the open water, and searched
further to the southward; but finding no more sheltered quarters, they
returned to their former anchorage, and began to land provisions,--the
wind moaning sadly, and the snow falling in heavy showers.
On the 7th, they weighed anchor and steamed in nearer to the shore;
bringing the ship round behind an iceberg, which lay aground in
thirteen fathoms of water. This huge mass of ice proved to be about 450
feet in length, 300 feet in breadth, and 60 feet in height; lat 81°
38’ N., long. 61° 45’ W. The berg was named “Providence Berg,” and the
cove in which they had established themselves, “Thank God Harbour.”
On surveying the surrounding country they found nothing calculated to
brighten the prospects of the coming winter. The coast-hills rose from
nine to thirteen hundred feet in height, and were furrowed and scarred
with great cracks and fissures, which bore witness to the rough usage
of frost and ice, wind and weather. To the south lay a large glacier,
which swept round in a wide circuit, and fell into the bay immediately
north of their anchorage. Traces of Eskimos were discernible here and
there; circles of stones, indicating where they had pitched their
tents. The landscape was all of a dull neutral tint, a kind of cold
gray; for, as yet, the winter snow had not clothed it with its mantle
of dazzling whiteness. For this, however, the adventurers had not long
to wait. A snow-storm began on the 27th of September, and lasted for
six-and-thirty hours.
[Illustration: FUNERAL OF CAPTAIN HALL.]
On the 10th of October Captain Hall organized a sledging expedition,
as a preliminary to an extended journey in the spring. There were two
sledges, each drawn by seven dogs; Captain Hall and Eskimo Joe in
one sledge, and Mr. Chester and Eskimo Hans in the other. They were
absent until the 24th, but owing to the roughness of the ice had
accomplished only fifty miles, and had made no discovery.
Meantime, the crew had been engaged in banking up the ice around the
ship, in order to protect it from collision with drifting floes;
the deck was partly roofed over, and covered with canvas; and other
preparations were made to resist the terrible inclemency of an Arctic
winter. These, however, were temporarily suspended by the sudden
illness of Captain Hall. On the 1st of November he was a little better,
but on the 3rd his malady, which appears to have been a form of
paralysis, took a turn for the worse; and the end came so rapidly that
the eager-hearted, enthusiastic explorer, who had braved so many harsh
experiences in the Polar World, “fell asleep” early on the morning of
the 8th. A grave was immediately prepared for the reception of his
remains about half a mile inland; a shallow grave, for the ground was
frozen so hard that it was scarcely possible to break it up, even with
picks; and on the 11th, the funeral took place. The time chosen was
half-past eleven in the morning; yet it was so dark that Mr. Bryan
read prayers by the light “of a lantern dimly burning.” All the ship’s
company were present. The coffin was hauled on a sledge, over which, by
way of pall, was spread the American flag with its stars and stripes.
The captain and officers, Dr. Bessel, and Mr. Meyers, followed as
mourners; and strange and picturesque must the melancholy procession
have appeared, as it wound its way through ice and snow, while a weird
boreal light or gleam in the air revealed the outlines of the distant
hills, rising like a rampart on the edge of the snow-covered plain, and
flickered every now and then over the frozen expanse of the ice-bound
bay.
Thus, says Captain Tyson, thus ended poor Hall’s ambitious projects;
thus was stilled the effervescing enthusiasm of his ardent nature.
“Wise he might not always have been, but his soul was in his work; and
had he lived till spring, I think he would have gone as far as mortal
man could go to accomplish his mission. But with his death, I fear that
all hopes of further progress will have to be abandoned.” That Tyson
was right in his conjecture, our narrative will show.
* * * * *
Captain Buddington succeeded to the command, and one of his first
measures was to discontinue the Sunday service, for reasons which he
does not seem to have explained, and we are unable to imagine. So far
as we can gather from the published records of the expedition, he was
a man unfitted to bear responsibility,--a man without enthusiasm in
himself, and incapable, therefore, of stimulating it in others. Nor
could he secure the obedience of his inferiors. Seamen are always
prompt to detect the weakness of their officers; and the crew of the
_Polaris_ soon assured themselves that their new captain was
deficient both in courage and resolution.
However, the winter gradually closed in upon the little ice-bound
company of the _Polaris_, and they were called upon to endure,
with such patience as was at their command, the severities of the
long Arctic night. It was very dark, yet not totally dark. For an
hour or two at noon it was possible to wander a short distance from
the snow-roofed vessel; but, once away from it, the gloom and silence
of everything around settled down on the wanderer like a pall. There
were none of the usual sounds of Nature to relieve the deep oppression
of the scene. “The other evening,” says Tyson, “I had wandered away
from the ship, disgusted with the confusion and noise, and longing for
a moment’s quiet. Once beyond range of the men’s voices, there was
absolutely no other sound whatever. It was quite calm--no wind, no
movement of any living creature; nothing but a leaden sky above, ice
beneath my feet, and _silence everywhere_. It hung like a pall
over everything. So painfully oppressive did it become at last, that I
was frequently tempted to shout aloud, to break the spell. At last I
did; but no response came, not even an echo.
‘The space was void; there I stood,
And the sole spectre was the solitude.’”
[Illustration: AN ARCTIC SNOW-STORM.]
On the 1st of January 1872, it is recorded that eighty days had elapsed
since the adventurers had seen the sun. The internal economy of the
_Polaris_, meantime, was pitiably disorganized. There was no
discipline, no order, no method. The men did what they pleased, and
consequently made night hideous by their prolonged carousals. The
officers disagreed among themselves, and the object of the expedition
appeared to have been lost sight of, or no longer to excite any deep
or permanent interest. It was even discussed as a proper and probable
course to abandon the proposed northward exploration, and, as soon as
the ice broke up, to make all haste back to New York.
Early in February, the daylight began to gain upon the night a little,
and the Eskimos hunted for seals, as they could be heard under the
ice making their breathing holes. Storms were very frequent--storms
which drove the snow afar in dense, blinding clouds; and false moons
and other atmospheric phenomena attracted the attention of the curious
observer. On the 28th, after an absence of one hundred and thirty-five
days, the sun reappeared; and never was royal guest more eagerly
welcomed by a loyal people. Its rays seemed to bring with them a
promise of new life. Men’s hearts grew lighter in spite of themselves,
and all felt as if they had been relieved from a heavy and intolerable
burden. Not that the temperature showed any perceptible difference. The
thermometer indicated 37° below zero on the 1st of March!
Passing over a couple of months which present no incidents of
importance, we find that on the 9th of May the monotonous dulness of
the expedition was broken by a sledge-journey to the north, undertaken
by Captain Tyson, with Meyers, Joe, and Hans as companions. They were
absent from the ship six days; striking inland, in an east-north-east
direction, to Newman Bay, and thence keeping more to the north, until
they reached lat. 82° 9’. Mr. Meyers surveyed the shores of Newman Bay,
and Captain Tyson endeavoured to secure some game. One day they came
on a large herd of musk-oxen. These animals act very curiously when an
attack is made upon them. They form a circle, stern to stern, and await
the assault of their enemies. The dogs surround them, and keep them at
bay. Not unfrequently a dog gets tossed. Though Joe and the captain
fired and reloaded as fast as they could, the poor brutes offered no
resistance; but when eight had fallen, the remainder took to flight.
The slaughtered oxen were then flayed, and the best pieces cut up for
conveyance to the ship.
These cattle develop their great size and weight on what might be
supposed to form a very slender diet. Their food is the mosses and
lichens which grow on the rocks; and to obtain it, they must first
scrape away the snow with their hoofs. At the first sign of danger, the
calves shelter themselves under their parents’ body; and their hair is
so long as to afford the young a very complete and satisfactory screen.
The musk-ox is an animal of considerable bulk. Several of those shot by
Tyson and the Eskimos weighed from 500 to 600 lbs. each. In proportion
to their size and weight, their legs are very short.
Early in June, Captain Buddington resolved to despatch a couple of
boats, for the purpose of exploring the neighbouring coast, and
discovering, if possible, an open water channel to the north. One
of these was placed under the command of Mr. Chester; the other, of
Captain Tyson. Mr. Chester’s boat was nipped in an ice-floe, and
crushed to pieces. The crew escaped with difficulty, but the historical
flag was lost. Captain Tyson pushed forward to Newman Bay, where some
eider-ducks, gulls, and dove-kies were shot. Joined by Mr. Chester--who
had returned to the ship, and secured the safety-boat--he found his
further progress arrested by that compact, insuperable field of ice
which is the despair of Arctic navigators. All attempts to get further
to the north proved in vain; and orders to return having arrived from
Captain Buddington, there was nothing to be done but to rejoin the
_Polaris_.
The summer passed away, and still the _Polaris_ lay beset among
the ice; or, rather, drifted slowly to the southward, along with the
floe to which it was attached. No sledge-expeditions were organized;
and Captain Buddington’s sole concern was to watch for an opportunity
of getting out into the open channel, and returning to New York. Some
slight progress southward was occasionally made; but towards the end
of October it became evident that the explorers would have to spend a
second winter in their frozen captivity. They had been carried beyond
Rensselaer Harbour, where Dr. Kane wintered during 1853–55, and began
the construction of a store-house for provisions, in case the ship
should be endangered by the drifting ice.
This dreaded catastrophe did indeed occur, on the night of the 15th.
The pressure of the floe was tremendous, but the _Polaris_ bore
it bravely, though groaning and creaking in every timber. After awhile,
however, it was found that she had started a leak aft, and that the
water was gaining on the pumps. The discovery seems to have startled
Buddington out of all coolness or reflection. He threw up his arms,
and cried out to “throw everything on the ice.” Immediately all was
chaos. The men seized whatever lay near to their hands, and threw it
overboard. A quantity of stores had been previously placed on the deck,
in anticipation of such an event; but these were now hurled on the floe
in indiscriminate confusion, and with considerable loss. Captain Tyson
and some of the men got overboard, with the view of arranging things
in, at least, a semblance of order; but while he was thus engaged, the
ice commenced cracking. Shortly afterwards it exploded under his feet,
and broke in many places; the ship drove away in the darkness, and
Tyson and his companions immediately lost sight of her.
* * * * *
It was a terrible night. The wind blew a hurricane, and the snow fell
heavily in drifting, whirling masses. “We did not know,” says Tyson,
“who was on the ice, or who was on the ship;” but seeing some musk-ox
skins lying across a wide crack in the ice, he pulled them towards him
to save them--and behold, rolled up in one of them were two or three of
the children of Hans the Eskimo! Some of the men were afloat on small
pieces of ice, but by means of the whale-boat these were rescued; and
when the gray light of morning dawned on the scene, Tyson ascertained
that eighteen persons, besides himself, were castaways. These were--Mr.
Meyers, meteorologist; Heron, steward; Jackson, cook; six seamen; Joe
and Hans, the Eskimos, and their wives and children.
The piece of the floe on which they were cast was nearly circular,
and about four miles in circumference. It was not level, but full of
hillocks, and of ponds or small lakes, which had been formed by the
melting of the ice during the short summer. The ice varied greatly in
thickness. Some of the mounds, or hills, were probably thirty feet
thick; the flat parts not more than ten or fifteen. The surface was
exceedingly rugged, and the hummocks were white with snow.
Tyson’s first task was to inspect the stock of provisions that had
been collected on the floe. It consisted of fourteen cans of pemmican,
eleven and a half bags of bread, one can of dried apples, and fourteen
hams; and if the ship did not return for them, they might have to
support themselves upon this supply all through the dreary winter,
or die of starvation. Fortunately, they had a couple of boats; and
Tyson’s second care was to load these, embark his little company, and
endeavour to reach the shore. In this attempt they were balked by the
drifting ice; and before they could repeat it they caught sight of
the _Polaris_. Immediately they ran up a rough and ready signal;
but no one seemed to be keeping a look-out, and the castaways had the
mortification of seeing her drop away behind Littleton Island, without
undertaking any search for her missing crew.
Tyson therefore resolved to cross to the other side of the floe, and
make for the land, perhaps lower down than the _Polaris_ was, so
as to intercept her. Everything was thrown away, except two or three
days’ provisions, and the boats were got ready. But the men were slow
and reluctant; oars were wanting; a violent gale arose; and as night
was coming on, Tyson found himself compelled to abandon his intention.
On the following day, the ice again broke; and now the adventurers were
drifting with one boat on one piece of ice, while the other boat, a
part of their provisions, and an extemporized hut of poles, remained on
the main part of the original floe. The ice-raft which carried Tyson
and his companions measured about 150 yards each way.
[Illustration: THE CASTAWAYS ON THE ICE.]
[Illustration: ADRIFT ON THE ICE-FLOE.]
On the 21st, however, the boat and provisions were recovered. Joe,
with the keen eye of an Eskimo, caught sight of the bow of the boat,
projecting from a fragment of the broken ice. Followed by his faithful
ally, Tyson went in search of it, leaping like a chamois-hunter
from crag to crag. Six of the dogs had accompanied him. These were
harnessed to the boat, and with the help of sturdy arms dragged it
over the disrupted floe. The whole party then removed to the large
floe, where some snow-houses were speedily erected. They formed quite
an encampment: one hut, or rather a sort of half-hut, for Mr. Meyers
and Captain Tyson; Joe’s hut for himself, his wife, and their adopted
daughter; a hut for the men; a store-house for provisions, and a
cook-house,--all united by arched galleries, built of consolidated
snow, with one main entrance, and smaller ones branching off to the
several apartments or huts. Hans built his _igloë_ separately,
but close by. All were constructed after the Eskimo fashion--that is,
the ground being levelled off, one half of the floor toward the end
furthest from the entrance was slightly raised above the other or front
half. The raised part, as we have previously explained, serves as
parlour and bedroom; the lower area, as workshop and kitchen. The walls
and arched roof were built up of square blocks of hard snow, packed
hard and close by the force of the wind. A square of about eighteen
inches of this compressed snow or ice served for window.
This good work done, Tyson took stock. Successive expeditions
had gathered together nearly all that was on the ice when the
_Polaris_ drifted from them, and he found that their stores
included two boats--one of which, however, was being broken up for
fuel--and one kayack, a good supply of powder and shot, eleven and a
half bags of bread, fourteen cans of pemmican, fourteen hams, ten dozen
cans of meats and soups, one can of dried apples, and about twenty
pounds of chocolate and sugar mixed. The pemmican cases were large,
each weighing forty-five pounds; the meats and soups were only one and
two pound cans; the hams were small; the dried-apple can counted for
twenty-two pounds. Evidently, when divided among nineteen people, this
supply could not last many weeks; and unless they reached the land, or
could catch seals, starvation seemed their probable ultimate fate. The
allowance was reduced to eleven ounces for each adult, and half that
amount for the children,--rations painfully inadequate to the proper
support of the human frame in a Polar region and during an Arctic
winter.
[Illustration: RECOVERY OF THE BOAT BY CAPTAIN TYSON.]
On the 23rd of October they lost sight of the sun. At this time they
were about eight or ten miles off-shore, and forty to fifty miles west
of Northumberland Island, in lat. 77° 30’ nearly. The Eskimos were on
the watch for seals day after day, but without success. In truth, it
is not easy to find the seal in winter, as they live principally under
the ice, and can be seen only when it cracks. A warm-blooded animal, it
cannot always remain beneath the frozen surface without breathing, and
for this purpose they make air-holes through the ice and snow. These,
however, are so small at the surface, not exceeding two and a half
inches across, that they are not easily distinguished, especially in
the twilight-gloom of an Arctic winter day.
The floe, or ice-raft, on which the crew of the _Polaris_ had
found shelter, continued to drift slowly to the southward, impelled
by wind and current. The weather was so severe that it was worse than
useless to attempt to reach the shore. The castaways therefore huddled
themselves together in their _igloes_, or huts of snow, or took
such diversion as hunting for fox or seal afforded. Or when a gleam of
fair weather afforded an opportunity, Tyson took a short drive in his
sledge, and explored as much as he dared of the ice lying towards the
shore. On the 1st of November an attempt was made to reach the land,
the dogs being harnessed to the sledge, and the boat loaded with the
most essential articles; but the state of the ice rendered all efforts
of this kind fruitless.
[Illustration: IGLOES CONSTRUCTED BY THE CASTAWAYS.]
One day, Joe and Hans, the Eskimos, went out in quest of game. In
wandering through the hummocks they lost one another, and Joe, after
trying his luck alone, made his way back towards the hut before night
came on; he fully anticipated to find that Hans had preceded him, and
was much alarmed when he heard that he had not returned. Accompanied
by Robert, he started in search of him. As they sped along through the
rapidly-gathering darkness, they saw what appeared to be a Polar bear
approaching them; loaded their pistols, and prepared to give him a
warm reception, when, fortunately, the creature throwing up his arms,
and standing erect, they perceived that it was their missing comrade.
He had used both hands and feet in climbing the rough hummocks, and
his fur clothing being covered with snow, the deception was tolerably
complete.
On the 21st of November, Captain Tyson writes in his diary: “We
are living now on as little as the human frame can endure without
succumbing; some tremble with weakness when they try to walk. Mr.
Meyers suffers much from this cause; he was not well when he came on
the ice, and the regimen here has not improved him. He lives with the
men now; they are mostly Germans, and so is he, and the affinity of
blood draws them together, I suppose. Since he has housed with the
men, I have lived in the hut with Joe, Hannah, and Puney. Puney, poor
child, is often hungry; indeed, all the children often cry with hunger.
We give them all that it is safe to use. I can do no more, however
sorry I may feel for them.”
* * * * *
But it is unnecessary to trace the misfortunes and sufferings
of Captain Tyson’s little company day by day. Their wretched
condition--adrift on a raft of ice, insufficiently clothed,
insufficiently fed, poorly housed, without any of the comforts that
generally make an Arctic expedition endurable, buffeted by snow-storm
and tempest, in constant apprehension lest their insecure raft
should break up--requires no exaggeration of colouring to produce
its full impression on the reader. In January 1873, it was found
that the provisions were diminishing with terrible rapidity; and
this was due not so much to the regular daily consumption as to the
secret pilferings of the crew, who were not controlled by any bonds
of discipline, and yielded Captain Tyson an imperfect and reluctant
obedience. They were all Germans, except Heron, an Englishman, and
the cook, a man of colour, and their conduct was a disgrace to their
nationality. They seem to have thought that their raft was carrying
them swiftly towards Disco in Greenland, where abundant supplies could
easily be obtained; but, in truth, they were drifting in the direction
of Labrador, and the safety of all demanded the sternest economy of
their small stock of provisions.
[Illustration: HANS MISTAKEN FOR A BEAR.]
[Illustration: DIFFICULT TRAVELLING.]
The cold was now excessive,--35° below zero at noon, and 37° at
midnight. On the 13th, it sank below 40°. On the following day,
however, a strong westerly gale blew up; the cold became more
moderate--the temperature rose to -14°. Under the influence of the
gale, the ice began to crack and grind and break up; the natives
launched a kayack; a seal was hunted down, and the castaways feasted
gloriously. This, however, was but a transient gleam of good fortune.
On the 17th the glass again sank to 38°, and no more seals were
visible. The men were now reduced to less than twelve ounces of food
daily, which was not sufficient to furnish internal warmth, or to
strengthen the system against the terrible effects of the Arctic
climate.
The 19th was, to some extent, a day of hope; for, after an absence of
eighty-three days, the sun once more rose above the misty horizon.
Eskimo Joe took advantage of the burst of daylight to undertake a
hunting expedition. About five miles from the hut he found open water,
and shot two seals, but could land only one; the young ice carried the
other away. Encouraged by the cheerful glow of the sun, he stayed out
later than usual, and it was very dark before he returned. A light of
burning blubber was kindled to guide him to the hut. It shone out upon
the gloom of the night like a pharos.
[Illustration: THE GUIDING LIGHT.]
The 25th of January marked the one hundred and third day of the
castaways’ voyage on the ice-raft, and they severely felt the
monotonous wretchedness of their existence. It was a beautiful day,
and perfectly calm; but the thermometer indicated 40° below zero.
At midnight the heavens were illuminated with all the glories of a
brilliant aurora. They seemed to be ablaze: from the south-west to
the north-east, from the horizon to the zenith, the magnetic fires
shot here and there, and wavered and undulated, like flame driven by a
strong wind. At one time the splendour was almost overpowering, and the
straining eye was fain to seek relief in darkness.
On the 1st of February a violent gale arose, blowing from the
north-west, and the ice, rolling and rocking beneath its influence,
split up into great cracks and fissures which threatened the safety of
the castaways. Huge blocks fell off from the floe; and the vast bergs
which had hitherto accompanied, and partly sheltered it, moved rapidly
before the wind. Everything acknowledged the might of the storm; but
as yet the adventurers had not been disturbed, though surrounded by
mountains of ice heavy enough, if driven against their encampment,
to have crushed them to atoms. Thus far they had floated safely, but
the position was one to cause reflection: at some time or other the
ice must break up, they knew; but whether they would survive the
catastrophe was beyond conjecture. They could only wait and hope.
[Illustration: DRAGGING A SEAL.]
* * * * *
Here is a picture of the interior of one of the _igloes_, or
snow-huts:--
“Joe and Hannah are sitting in front of the lamp, playing checkers
on an old piece of canvas, the squares being marked out with Tyson’s
pencil. They use buttons for men, as they have nothing better. The
natives easily learn any sort of game; some of them can even play a
respectable game of chess; and cards they understand as well as the
‘heathen Chinee.’ Cards go wherever sailors go, and the first lessons
that the natives of any uncivilized country get are usually from
sailors.
“Little Puney, Joe and Hannah’s adopted child, a little girl, is
sitting wrapped in a musk-ox skin; every few minutes she says to her
mother, ‘I am _so_ hungry!’ The children often cry with hunger. It
makes one’s heart ache, but they are obliged to bear it with the rest.”
* * * * *
The gale continued on the 2nd, with blinding showers of snow--fine,
penetrating, pungent. Next day the weather moderated, and the glass
rose to 15° below zero. Dark clouds lowered in the horizon, preventing
the land from being seen, if any shore were near. But the rapid rise
in the temperature, after so strong a north-west gale, allowed Tyson
to hope that the wind had mastered the current, and was forcing them
towards the Greenland shore.
[Illustration: RETURN OF THE SUN.]
Though all around nothing was visible but ice and icebergs, the scene
had a certain beauty of its own--a strange weird beauty, like that
of a dream-picture. When the sun shone on the bergs, and lighted up
their massive or fantastic forms, all the prismatic colours of the
rainbow flashed through the “crystal pendants” or “projecting peaks.”
The interest of the scene was enhanced by the variety of its forms.
Every berg appeared to have had its individual history, and its broken
outline and furrowed surface bore witness to the experiences it had
undergone--storm and rain, wind and water. Some rose up around the
castaways like solid ramparts; others represented the spire of a Gothic
cathedral, the pinnacle of a Turkish minaret, the glittering walls of a
palace: all were beautiful, yet terrible in their beauty, conveying a
profound feeling of might and destructive power.
[Illustration: SHOOTING NARWHAL.]
On the 5th, and again on the 7th, a seal was caught, and the little
company enjoyed a plentiful meal. On the latter day a couple of
narwhals were shot, but both sank before they could be reached. These
narwhals are sometimes called sea-unicorns, or monodons, in allusion
to the long horn, six to eight feet in measurement--or, rather, the
elongated tooth--which projects from the upper jaw; a formidable
weapon, tapering from base to point, with a spiral twist from left to
right. Strange stories were told of these sea-unicorns by the early
navigators; but science has made short work of legend and fable.
* * * * *
Day after day, the history of _our_ navigators was the same; no
stirring romance, but harsh reality:--wind and snow, snow and wind--a
wind which almost froze the life-blood of those exposed to it, and
snow which fell so fast and thick as to wrap the scene in the gloom of
desolation. Still, the ice-raft drifted southward; slowly but surely
drifted through the darkness of the night and the twilight obscurity
of the day; while the little company it carried suffered much from
increasing weakness, though better provided with food than formerly,
owing to the frequent capture of narwhal and seal. Occasionally the
mists cleared off, and the sun streamed out in meridian splendour,
lighting up every feature of the “ice-scape”--may we coin the
word?--around them. But, too frequently, “snow and blow, blow and
snow,” was, as Tyson remarks, “the order of the day.”
Hope lives eternal in the human breast; and though it had sunk very low
in the hearts of our adventurers, it suddenly rekindled on the 19th
of February, when they caught sight of the west coast, at no greater
distance than thirty-eight or forty miles. Its flame was kept alive on
the 21st by the discovery that the thermometer had risen to 3° above
zero. Next day it had risen to 20°, or within 12° of freezing-point;
and men inured to the rigour of an Arctic winter spoke of such weather
with cheeriness as “very comfortable.” The cloud upon the prospect now
was the want of food, for the game had begun to fail. The hunters went
forth every morning, but returned empty-handed. The feebleness of the
party increased in an alarming degree. It took several men to carry a
light Eskimo kayack, which for an ordinary man is not even a burden.
What was to be done? The only chance of life seemed to lie in reaching
the shore; but how were these gaunt, frail skeletons to convey their
boat across the rugged ice until they reached the open water?
[Illustration: DRAGGING THE OOGJOOK (SEE PAGE 295).]
[Illustration: SUNLIGHT EFFECT IN THE ARCTIC REGION (SEE PAGE
291).]
They decided, however, on making the attempt, in the hope of reaching
a place called Shaumen, a little to the north of Cape Mercy, in lat.
65° N., where game, and sometimes Eskimos, were to be found. In spite
of all their efforts, they were foiled by a succession of blinding,
lashing, beating snow-storms. The mercury sank again to 24° below zero,
and their position grew desperate. They were reduced to one meal--and
such a meal!--_per diem_. Great was their joy on the 28th when
the hunters brought in thirty-seven dove-kies, or two apiece. They
were cooked without delay, and eaten up to the last morsel, except
the feathers. Greater still was their joy on the 2nd (of March), when
Eskimo Joe shot a monster oogjook (a large kind of seal), the largest
they had ever seen--such a monster that it took all hands to drag
its carcass to the huts. Peter danced and sung in the exuberance of
his delight, and everybody felt that for a time they were saved from
starvation. On measurement, this glorious oogjook proved to be seven
feet nine inches in length, or fully nine feet including the tail.
The ice-raft was now approaching Cumberland Gulf, and Tyson calculated
that they had reached lat. 65° N. They drifted more and more rapidly;
and if they did not die of famine,--if the ice did not break up too
suddenly,--there was a probability of their reaching the whaling
ground, and falling in with some friendly ship. The gales, however,
were frequent and severe; the thermometer continued very low--32° to
34° below zero; and the sufferings of the whole company were intense.
Even the Eskimos were sorely afflicted; though without these bold and
patient hunters, the white men must certainly have perished.
[Illustration: FIRST SIGHT OF A WHALE.]
On the 7th of March there were indications of the breaking up of the
floe. It cracked and snapped beneath them, with a sound like that of
distant thunder. So far as the surface was concerned, however, no signs
of fracture were visible; the eye, straining in every direction, saw
nothing but an unbroken expanse of ice. And thus it continued until the
12th, when, during a terrible storm, the threatened catastrophe took
place, the ice-raft being shattered suddenly into hundreds of pieces,
on one of which, not more that one hundred yards by seventy-five, the
adventurers found themselves adrift! Oh, what a night of dread anxiety
they passed, expecting every moment that this piece too would give
way, and plunge them into ruin! But it held together; and when the
wind abated, and the snow ceased to fall, and the wild hurtling of the
broken ice was hushed, they could look around them, and realize their
position. The condition of the ice had undergone an absolute change;
the “floes” were driven up into a “pack,” and huge blocks, of all
shapes and sizes, were heaped up and jammed together in inextricable
confusion.
[Illustration: FACE TO FACE WITH A POLAR BEAR.]
[Illustration: AN ARCTIC ICE-SCAPE (SEE PAGE 292).]
Noting that on the 21st of March seven seals replenished the empty
larder of our adventurers, and that on the 26th whales were visible for
the first time,--a welcome sign, as indicating their approach to the
fishing-grounds,--we pass on to the 29th, which was marked by a curious
incident. Shortly after dark, Tyson heard a noise outside his hut; he
had just taken off his boots, preparing for rest; Joe, too, was on the
point of retiring, but thinking the ice was breaking up, he went out
to view the “situation.” In a few seconds he hastily returned, pallid
and frightened, and exclaiming, “There is a bear close to my kayack!”
The kayack lay within ten feet of the entrance to the hut. Both Joe
and Tyson’s rifles were outside; Joe’s within the kayack, and Tyson’s
lying close to it; but Joe had his pistol in the hut. The captain
put on his boots, and then both crept cautiously out. Seal-skins and
lumps of blubber were lying about in all directions; and Bruin, having
dragged some of these about thirty feet from the kayack, was banqueting
at his ease. Joe crept into the sailors’ hut to alarm them. Meantime
Tyson crawled stealthily to his rifle, but in taking it knocked down
a shot-gun standing by. The bear heard it, but Tyson’s rifle already
covered him; he growled; Tyson pulled the trigger, but the gun would
not go off; a second, and a third time--it did not go; but Tyson did,
for the bear now rushed full upon him. Retiring to the hut, he put
another cartridge in, and then again crept out into the open, taking up
a position where he could see the animal, although the night was dark.
The bear, too, saw his assailant, and faced towards him; but this time
the rifle-ball went straight to its mark; the bear ran about two rods,
and fell dead.
The victim was a “sea-bear,” _Ursus maritimus_, and supplied the
company on the ice-raft with a welcome change of diet.
[Illustration: ON BOARD THE BOAT.]
[Illustration: BREAKING UP OF THE ICE.]
[Illustration: JOE CAPTURES A SEAL.]
As the piece of ice was gradually wearing away, the adventurers of
the _Polaris_ resolved on an effort to regain the main pack,
which would necessarily be safer. With their sleeping-gear, tent, and
a supply of shot and powder, they embarked on board the boat, and
stood to the westward; and on the 4th of April, after a succession of
rough experiences, reached the “pack.” Here they were not much better
off, for a violent gale blowing from the north-east, the ice began to
break off in huge fragments; and soon the area at the command of the
navigators was so small, that they were compelled to reload the boat,
and prepare for a hurried departure. The wind, however, subsided, the
pack closed up, and things returned to their normal condition.
[Illustration: A NIGHT OF FEAR (SEE PAGE 296).]
On the 18th of April the castaways were somewhat reinvigorated by the
capture of a seal, which Joe brought ashore in his kayack, and by the
appearance of land to the south-west. But in this wild Arctic region
the weather in spring is subject to surprising changes, and on the
20th another gale began to blow. Such was its fury that it drove a
heavy swell of sea across the ice-raft, which washed away every article
that was loose. Billow after billow followed with ever-increasing
violence; and tent, and skins, and nearly all the bed-gear, were swept
into the boiling waters. Only a few articles were saved, which, along
with the women and children, had been stowed in the boat. To save the
boat tasked the energies of all the party, who had to hold on to it,
with might and main, to prevent it from being carried out to sea. All
through the dreadful night the men were on the watch against this
crowning disaster; all through the dreary night, from 9 P.M.
until 7 A.M., straining every nerve, calling into play every
resource of energy. Ever and anon, one of the tremendous billows would
plunge downward, and lift the boat bodily, and the men with it, and
carry it and them forward on the ice, almost to the opposite edge of
the floating raft; several times the boat heeled partly over, and was
hauled back only by the more than human strength which the crew derived
from a knowledge of their position. The boat gone, all was lost!
Terrible was the work; had the waters been smooth, the task would not
have been easy; but they were filled with loose ice, which rolled about
in blocks of all shapes and sizes, and with almost every wave these
came toppling and rolling and driving forward like an avalanche, and
fell about the heads and limbs of the men as they clung desperately
to the boat. But God mercifully supplied them with the strength they
needed; and so, labouring to the uttermost, they waited and watched
for the day. For twelve hours scarcely a sound was uttered except the
crying of the children, and Tyson’s stern command to “Hold on,” or
“Bear down,” with the responsive “Ay, ay, sir” of the men.
[Illustration: A “HELL OF WATERS.”]
Day dawned at last, with a dull gray light over the restless sea, and
Tyson saw with indescribable thankfulness a large raft of ice floating
within reach. He determined to make for it, though the men hesitated
to launch the boat into such a “hell of waters.” But it was done;
the women and children were first got on board, and then all the men
embarked in safety. By dint of hard pulling, they gained the ice,
landed, refreshed themselves with a morsel of food, and then, on this
new ice-raft, laid down to rest. The following morning found them “safe
and sound,” after all their trials, with the exception of a few bruises
and contusions.
On the 22nd of April another bear was killed; and just in time, for
the whole party were without a morsel of food. This lasted them for
three or four days; and then, on the 25th, as starvation once more
stared them in the face, they resolved on a desperate effort to make
the land. What else were they to do? The rain fell in torrents; the
wind blew a hurricane; the ice-raft was constantly wasting away; they
had no provisions. True, the boat was frail and leaky, and the sea ran
high; but as the ice would not much longer afford them even a footing,
a decision was forced upon them.
[Illustration: DRAGGING THE BOAT ON TO A FLOE.]
So in their crippled, overloaded boat they set out, the wind blowing
a gale, and a tremendous sea running, full of small knife-like blades
of ice. After eight hours’ labour at the oars, they came to a piece of
floe, and encamped upon it for the night. At daylight on the 28th they
again launched their boat; and after much weary work in threading their
way through a fleet of icebergs, they got into comparatively open water.
At half-past four, a joyful sight!--a steamer right ahead, and bearing
north of them. The castaways hoisted their colours, and pulled towards
her. She was a sealer, going south-west, and making her way through the
floating ice. The hearts of the castaways beat with joy at the prospect
of speedy relief; but, alas, they were doomed to disappointment! She
did not see the miserable little company in the overloaded boat; and it
was impossible for them to overtake her. Night gathered over the sea,
and she disappeared.
[Illustration: CLINGING TO THE BOAT (SEE PAGE 308).]
Reaching a suitable piece of floe, they boarded it, and again encamped
for the night, under a sky which was clear and calm, and shone with the
glory of stars. The sea, too, was tranquil, and, notwithstanding their
disappointment, they felt more hopeful than before; it was evident they
had reached the borders of civilization, and might rely upon obtaining
help. With seals’ blubber they kindled beacon-fires on the ice; and
divided their men into two watches.
The next day they sighted another steamer, launched their boat, and
pulled lustily towards her. In vain: she did not see them, and after a
couple of hours’ hard work they were hemmed in by the ice, and could
make no progress. They landed on a floe, and hoisted their colours;
collected and loaded all their rifles and pistols, and filled the
echoes with the ringing report of three simultaneous volleys. They
heard three shots in reply, and--glorious sight!--saw the steamer
directing her course towards them. They shouted with all their might;
but in the keen air their voices seemed to pass away soundlessly.
Presently the steamer changed her course, tacking south, then north,
then west, as if she were vainly endeavouring to force a passage
through the accumulated ice. Yet there seemed no insuperable obstacle
in her path. The fugitives fired again, and again; but she came no
nearer, and late in the afternoon steamed away to the south west.
At sunset they descried land in the same direction, about thirty-five
miles distant.
On the following day, the 30th of April, Tyson was lying in the boat,
his watch having just ended, when the look-out raised a sudden shout:
“There’s a steamer! there’s a steamer!” As if fresh life had been
poured into his veins, Tyson sprang to his feet, ordered all the guns
to be fired, joined his companions in a loud simultaneous cry, and
raised their colours to the head of the boat’s mast. Hans leaped into
his kayack, and was despatched to intercept the ship, if possible,
as there was some danger of losing sight of her in the fog which
prevailed; but, happily, she bore down towards them. Hans paddled on,
and in his broken English shouted, “American steamer.” He was not
understood by those on board, but they kept their course, and in a
few minutes lay alongside of the ice-isle which sheltered Tyson and
his company. Oh, what three loud, hearty, joyful cheers acknowledged
their deliverance! These were immediately returned by the crew of the
steamer, which proved to be the sealer _Tigress_, of Conception
Bay, Newfoundland.
We quote from Captain Tyson’s simply-worded narrative:--
“Two or three of their small seal-boats were instantly lowered. We,
however, now that relief was certain, threw everything from our own
boat, and in a minute’s time she was in the water; while the boats of
the _Tigress_ came on, and the crews got on our bit of ice, and
peeped curiously into the dirty pans we had used over the oil-fires. We
had been making soup out of the blood and entrails of the last little
seal which Hans had shot. They soon saw enough to convince them that we
were in sore need. No words were required to make _that_ plain.
“Taking the women and children in their boats, we tumbled into our
own, and were soon alongside of the _Tigress_. We left all we had
behind, and our all was simply a few battered smoky tin pans and the
_débris_ of our last seal. It had already become offal in our
eyes, though we had often been glad enough to get such fare.
“On stepping on board, I was at once surrounded by a curious lot of
people--I mean men filled with curiosity to know our story, and all
asking questions of me and the men. I told them who I was, and where
we were from. But when they asked me, ‘How long have you been on the
ice?’ and I answered, ‘Since the 15th of last October,’ they were so
astonished that they fairly looked blank with wonder.
“One of the party, looking at me with open-eyed surprise, exclaimed,--
“‘_And was you on it night and day?_’
“The peculiar expression of the tone, with the absurdity of the
question, was too much for my politeness. I laughed in spite of
myself, and my long unexercised risibles thrilled with an unwonted
sensation.”
Tyson and his party were picked up in lat. 53° 35’ N.; a fact which
will give the reader some idea of the wonderful voyage they had
accomplished on their various ice-rafts.
They were treated with thoughtful kindness on board the _Tigress_,
which on the 7th of May turned her head towards Newfoundland. On the
following day she put into Conception Bay, where the Americans landed,
and remained until the 12th. They then started for St. John’s; and
the news of their remarkable experiences having preceded them, found
themselves on their arrival the objects of a very general and lively
curiosity. After a short stay, they were conveyed to Washington on
board the United States steamship _Frolic_. And here ends their
strange, eventful history.
We must now return to the _Polaris_.
When she drifted away in the darkness of that stormy night, she had
on board fourteen persons: Captain Buddington, Dr. Emil Bessel,
Messrs. Bryan and Chester, and ten officers and seamen. What had
become of them and their vessel? Such was the natural question which
arose on the safe arrival at Washington of Tyson and his companions;
and the American Government quickly came to the determination of
organizing a relieving party to seek for and bring back the survivors
and remains, if any, of the _Polaris_ expedition. The steamship
_Juniata_ was immediately despatched to form a depôt of supplies
on the coast of Greenland in advance. She reached Upernavik on the
31st of July, and there brought into use her steam-launch, the
_Little Juniata_; which, manned by a gallant crew, pushed forward
into the icy waters of Melville Bay, but without coming upon any
traces of the missing explorers. Meantime, the American Government
purchased the _Tigress_, and fitted her up for a thorough cruise
in the Arctic seas. With Captain Greer in command, and Mr. Tyson as
acting-lieutenant, and a crew of eleven officers and forty-two men,
“all told,” the _Tigress_ set sail on the evening of July 14th,
and dropped anchor at St. John’s on the morning of the 23rd.
On the 11th of August we find her at Upernavik, where she took on board
a supply of coal from the _Juniata_. She then proceeded northward,
falling in with the heavy pack-ice near Cape York. The 14th saw her off
the Eskimo settlement of Netlik. She was now approaching Northumberland
Island, in the neighbourhood of which, or of Littleton Island, it was
supposed the _Polaris_ had parted from the ice-floe. Captain
Greer carefully examined Northumberland Island, but without success.
He then made for Littleton Island; and a boat was lowered to go on
shore, carrying Lieutenant White, Captain Tyson, and other officers.
What was their surprise, as they approached, to discover some human
figures and a couple of tents on the mainland, near Littleton Island.
The figures proved to be Eskimos; and through the agency of Eskimo
Joe, who was on board the _Tigress_, it was soon ascertained that
Captain Buddington had deserted the _Polaris_ on the day after
her separation from the floe; that he and his companions had erected
a house on the mainland, and wintered therein; had fitted it up with
sleeping-berths for fourteen men, the full number, and furnished
it with stove, table, chairs, and other articles removed from the
abandoned ship; that during the winter the party had built and equipped
a couple of sailing-boats; and that “about the time when the ducks
begin to hatch” they had departed for the south.
[Illustration: SAVED!]
The Eskimo chief, or leader, added that Captain Buddington had made him
a present of the _Polaris_; but that the gift proved of no effect,
for in a violent gale she broke loose from the ice, drifted out into
the channel, and foundered.
Further search brought the crew of the _Tigress_ to the winter-camp
of the _Polaris_ crew. It was situated in lat. 78° 23’ N., and long.
73° 46’ W. Some manuscripts were found there, with the log-book, the
medical stores, and remains of instruments; and these, with whatever
else that seemed of intrinsic value, having been removed on board the
_Tigress_, the expedition bore away to the southward, and on the 16th
of October reached St. John’s, Newfoundland, where they received the
welcome intelligence of the rescue of the _Polaris_ party under the
circumstances we shall now relate.
We return to the eventful night of the 15th of October 1872. During the
tremendous gale that then raged along the Arctic coast, the bow-hawser
of the _Polaris_ snapped like a “pack-thread,” the anchors
slipped, and the ship drifted away into the darkness. The wind forced
her in a north-easterly direction; and next morning those on board
found her “a little north of Littleton Island, in Smith Sound, having
been exactly abreast of Sutherland Island during a portion of the
night.”
As she was leaking rapidly the pumps were set to work; and the fires
with much difficulty being lighted, the ship was got to obey her helm.
It was then found that the following officers and men remained on
board:--Captain Buddington; Mr. Chester, chief mate; William Merton,
second mate; Emil Schuman, chief engineer; Odell, assistant-engineer;
Campbell and Booth, firemen; Coffin, carpenter; Sieman, Hobby, Hays,
and Manch, seamen; Dr. Emil Bessel, meteorologist; and Mr. Bryan,
astronomer and chaplain.
A look-out was kept, it is said, for the nineteen who were missing,
but no signs of them being discovered, Captain Buddington came to
the comfortable conclusion that they had saved themselves in the
boats. Doubting the feasibility of carrying the _Polaris_ to the
southward, he determined to abandon her, and winter on shore. With this
view she was run in as near land as possible, and finally grounded
in Kane’s Life-boat Cove, lat. 78° 23’ 30″ N., and long. 73° 21’ W.
Here, on the 17th of October, Captain Buddington prepared to establish
a winter-camp; and the next few days were occupied in removing from
the stranded vessel all the food and fuel, and such articles as could
conduce to the comfort and sustenance of the party through the ensuing
winter.
With spars, bulk-heads, and canvas brought from the _Polaris_ a
commodious house was erected, measuring twenty-two feet in length,
and fourteen feet in width. It was thoroughly water-tight; warmed
inside by a stove; and banked outside with masses of compact snow. In
the interior the sides were lined with fourteen sleeping-berths. A
table and chairs and lamps added to the general comfort; so that our
explorers were prepared to brave a Polar winter under more favourable
conditions than those experienced by most Arctic navigators.
In the course of a few days a party of native Eskimos, with five
sledges, made their appearance, and their friendly labours were
found of no little value. They considered themselves amply repaid by
a few presents of knives, needles, and the like, and after a short
stay returned to their settlement at Etah. However, others soon
took their place; and eventually two or three families built their
_igloes_ in the neighbourhood of the American camp. The Eskimo
women made themselves very useful by making and repairing clothing, and
rendering other feminine courtesies; while the men, when game became
plentiful, supplied the little settlement with a welcome abundance of
fresh meat. Nor was this the only advantage derived from the presence
of the Eskimos; on the contrary, it had an excellent effect on the
_morale_ of the men, who did not feel that utter isolation, that
sense of being cut off from human companionship, and separated from the
rest of the world, which is one of the severest trials of wintering in
the Arctic regions. The heavy pressure of the long, dark Polar night
was wonderfully lightened by the kindly attentions and mirthful society
of the Eskimos.
It is probable that some of the _Polaris_ crew never spent a
happier winter. There was no want of food, no suffering from cold;
their quarters were warm, cheerful, and well-lighted. Time did not hang
heavily on their hands; for when the house-work was done, when the
fires were replenished, the lamps trimmed, and the day’s provisions
cooked, they amused themselves with reading or writing, or played at
chess, draughts, and cards. It is true they had no communication with
the world without, and no intelligence could reach them from friends
or kinsmen; but, _surgit amari aliquid_--in the cup of human
happiness a bitter drop is always found!
When the worst of the winter was past, they began, under the direction
of the carpenter, to construct a couple of boats, with the view of
returning homeward as soon as the ice broke up. Each was twenty-five
feet long, square fore and aft, and five feet beam; capable, that
is, of carrying seven men, with provisions for about two months, in
which time they might reasonably calculate on reaching the civilized
settlements. It was the end of May before the condition of the ice
enabled them to set out. Then they broke up their camp, rewarded their
Eskimo friends, carried on board stores and provisions; and, finally,
early on the morning of the 1st of June they bade farewell to their
winter-home, and sailed out into the waters of Smith Sound.
Their voyage was unmarked by any disastrous incident, and presents
a strange contrast to the dangerous experiences of Tyson and his
companions. Wherever they landed, they obtained an abundant supply of
aquatic birds, seal, and other game. They were all in good health,
well-fed, well-clothed. Their boats were sound and strong. The winter
had long passed away, and the glorious summer sun poured its full
radiance on the calm surface of the Arctic sea. Sailing pleasantly
along, they touched at Hakluyt Island, and subsequently landed on the
west shore of Northumberland Island. The pack-ice detained them there
until the 10th. They then entered a water-way toward Cape Parry, but
were subsequently forced back by the ice to the place whence they had
started. On the 12th the channel was clearer. They set sail again;
crossed the southern part of Murchison Sound; doubled Cape Parry; and
halted for rest and refreshment on Blackwood Point, near Fitz Clarence
Rock. Thence they made, in due succession, for Wolstenholme Island, and
Cape York,--names which recall the adventures of the earlier explorers.
Their course now assumed a more difficult character, as they had come
face to face with the ice of Melville Bay,--that great expanse of
Arctic waters which is surrounded by glacier-loaded shores, and has
always been a favourite “whaling-ground.” Here they encountered some
difficulty with the “pack;” the “leads,” or water-ways, curiously
intersecting one another, and striking far into the ice, and so closing
up that it was often necessary to haul their boats across a kind of
promontory, or tongue, from one lead to another. Their troubles,
however, were of brief duration. On the twentieth day after leaving
Life-boat Cove, they sighted a steamer, beset in the ice, at a distance
of thirty or thirty-five miles from Cape York. She could not come to
_them_, it was true, but they could go to her; and this they
prepared to do. They had not traversed half the distance, however,
before they met a body of eighteen men from the ship; for they too
had been seen, and recognized as white men, and relief immediately
despatched. The friendly vessel proved to be the _Ravenscraig_ of
Dundee, Captain Allen, lying in lat. 75° 38’ N., and long. 65° 35’ W.
It was now found, according to the narrative of the expedition,
that the relief did not come much too soon, for the boats had been
considerably injured by contact with the rough hummocky ice. And the
fatigue of hauling them over such a surface may be inferred from
the fact that it took the _Polaris_ crew, with their eighteen
relief-men from the _Ravenscraig_, six hours to reach the latter
vessel. The difficulty was increased by a deep slushy snow, which lay
thick upon the ice, and which was not only heavy and disagreeable to
the wayfarer, but exceedingly dangerous, as more than one found by
sinking into the pitfalls it treacherously concealed.
But they reached the _Ravenscraig_ at midnight, and received a
hearty welcome from Captain Allen, who was able also to communicate
the grateful intelligence that their comrades, the little company sent
adrift on the ice-raft, were all in safety.
It has been well said that the _Polaris_ expedition proved
curiously prolific of startling and exciting incidents. From the time
when Captain Bartlett of the _Tigress_ rescued the “exhausted
waifs” of the ice-floe, until the last scene in this romantic drama
was enacted, the public mind had been kept in a condition of continual
expectancy by the progress of events connected with the story of these
Arctic explorers. The lamentable death of Captain Hall,--the long
voyage on the ice-floe through the gloom of the Polar night,--the
return of the nineteen castaways after so many hairbreadth escapes
and wonderful adventures,--the departure of the _Tigress_,--the
discovery of Buddington’s winter-camp,--and now the rescue of him
and his crew by the Dundee whaler, formed a series of surprising and
exciting events, which, if not of epical interest, would certainly seem
to furnish matter for a poet’s song. Even the early annals of Arctic
exploration, with their narratives of the achievements and sufferings
of Hudson, Davis, Barentz, present no incidents of a more remarkable
character. As men dwelt upon them, they came to acknowledge that the
“age of romance” was not ended yet.
On the 18th of September 1873, the _Arctic_ whaling-steamer arrived at
Dundee with eleven of the _Polaris_ survivors, who had been transferred
to her from the _Ravenscraig_, as the latter was not homeward bound.
Three others reached America in the _Intrepid_; and thus the expedition
of the _Polaris_ terminated without any loss of life, if we except the
unfortunate death of her enthusiastic commander, Captain Hall.
It added nothing, it is true, to our geographical knowledge of the
Arctic World; and yet it was not without some useful results. The
_Polaris_, at all events, approached nearer to the North Pole
than any one of her predecessors; and men of science were thenceforth
justified in asserting that the hope of complete success was no longer
chimerical. The distance to the pole from the point reached by the
_Polaris_ was comparatively so trivial, as to afford good reason
for believing that it would not long baffle human resolution and
enterprise. Then, again, it was established as a fact beyond doubt that
Europeans could securely winter in a latitude of 81° 38’; that a ship
well built and well equipped might push northward as far as 82° 16’;
and that no insuperable obstacles to its further advance could then be
detected. It was also shown that the temperature, even in lat. 82°, was
not of a nature to overcome the energy and enthusiasm of men accustomed
to life and adventure in the Arctic World. These data, so conclusively
established by experience, constituted a source of great encouragement
to future navigators, and permit the conclusion that the _Polaris_
expedition, with all its disasters and mismanagement, helped forward
the great work of discovering the North Pole.
“We now know,” says Mr. Markham, “that the American vessel commanded by
Captain Hall passed up the strait, in one working season, for a direct
distance of two hundred and fifty miles, without a check of any kind,
reaching lat. 82° 16’ N.; and that at her furthest point the sea was
still navigable, with a water-sky to the northward.”
The _Polaris_, however, was nothing better than a river-steamer
of small power, ill adapted for encountering the perils of Arctic
navigation,--with a crew, all told, of thirty men, women, and children,
including eight Eskimos. If she could accomplish such a voyage without
difficulty, and could attain so high a latitude, it was reasonable to
anticipate that a properly equipped English expedition, under equally
favourable circumstances, would do, not only as much, but much more,
and carry the British flag into the waters of the circumpolar sea, if
such existed. With this view, the Admiralty fitted out the _Alert_
and the _Discovery_, under Captains Nares and Stephenson. Every
precaution that science could suggest was adopted to ensure the
completeness of their equipment; and the two ships, accompanied as far
as Disco by H.M.S. _Valorous_ as a tender, left England on the
29th May 1875.
* * * * *
The British Expedition, consisting of the _Alert_ and the
_Discovery_, did not succeed in all it was intended to accomplish;
and yet it can hardly be spoken of as a failure. It did not reach that
conventional point of geographers, the North Pole, but it penetrated
within four hundred miles of it; and it ascertained the exact nature of
the obstacles which render access impossible, except under conditions
not at present in existence. We agree with a thoughtful writer in the
_Spectator_ that this was a most important service rendered both
to Science and the State. We now know that by the Smith Sound route a
ship may attain to within 450 miles of the Pole; and that, afterwards,
a journey about as long as from London to Edinburgh must be undertaken,
in a rigorous climate, with the thermometer 50° below zero, over ice
packed up into hillocks and hummocks which render sledge-travelling
almost impracticable, or practicable only by hewing out a path with
the pickaxe at the rate of a mile and a half a day. And further: the
work would have to be begun and completed in four months, or, from lack
of light and warmth, it could not be done at all. These are serious
difficulties, and whether it is worth while for men to encounter them,
where the gain would be problematical, we need not here inquire.
Before any attempt can be made, some provision must be discovered
for protecting those who make it against the excessive cold, and for
a surer and swifter mode of conveyance than the sledge affords. The
journalist to whom we have referred speculates that science may furnish
future expeditions with undreamt-of resources,--with portable light
and heat, for instance, from the newly-discovered mines at Disco;
preventives against scurvy; electric lights; supplies of dynamite for
blowing up the ice; and a traction-engine to traverse the road thus
constructed; but, in the meantime, these appliances are not at our
command. We must be content with the measure of success achieved by
Captain Nares and his gallant followers.
And these well deserve the gratitude of all who think the fame and
honour of a nation are precious possessions. They have shown clearly
that the “race” has not degenerated; that Englishmen can do and suffer
now as they did and suffered in the old time. They displayed a courage
and a fortitude of truly heroic proportions. And the experiences of
Arctic voyaging are always of a nature to require the highest courage
and the sternest fortitude. The long Arctic night is in itself as
severe a test of true manhood as can well be devised. The miner works
under conditions for less laborious than those to which the Arctic
explorer submits, for he enjoys an alternation of light and darkness;
his underground toil lasts but for a few hours at a time. Yet we know
that it tries a man’s manly qualities sorely! What, then, must it be to
keep brave and cheerful and true throughout a prolonged night of one
hundred and forty-two days--that apparently endless darkness, almost
the darkness of a sunless world?
We know, too, that continuous work, without relaxation, for month
after month, will break down the nerves and shatter the intellect of
the strongest. Yet we read that the men of the _Alert_ toiled
like slaves, on one occasion, for seventy-two days, in cold so extreme
that the reader can form no conception of its severity, and with the
dread constantly hanging over them of that terrible and most depressing
disease, scurvy. Owing to their inability to procure any fresh game, as
most former expeditions had done, each of the extended sledge-parties,
when at their farthest distance from any help, was attacked by it.
The return-journeys were, therefore, a prolonged homeward struggle of
men who grew weaker at every step, the available force to draw the
sledge continually decreasing, and the weight to be dragged as steadily
increasing, as, one after another, the men stricken down had to be
carried by their enfeebled comrades.
It has been well said that in such exploits as these there is a
sustained heroism which we cannot fully appreciate, because we cannot
fully realize the terrible character of the sacrifices involved. But it
is comparatively easy for us to understand, and therefore to admire,
the courage of Lieutenant Parr, when he started alone on a journey
of thirty-five miles, with no other guide for his adventurous steps
than the fresh track of a wandering wolf over the ice and snow, in
order to carry help and comfort to his failing comrades. It is easy
to understand, and therefore to admire, the devotion of Mr. Egerton
and Lieutenant Rawson, when, at the imminent risk of their own lives,
they nursed Petersen, the interpreter, while travelling from the
_Alert_ to the _Discovery_, with the temperature 40° below
zero. Petersen, who had accompanied them with the dog-sledge, fell ill;
and with a noble unselfishness they succeeded in retaining heat in the
poor fellow’s body by alternately lying one at a time alongside of him,
while the other by exercise was recovering his own vital warmth. We
can also acknowledge and admire the constancy of Captain Nares, who,
in that horrible climate, lived thirty-six days in the “crow’s-nest,”
while his ship laboured among the grinding, shivering, crushing ice,
until exhaustion overcame him. And we can acknowledge and admire the
bravery and faithfulness of the men of the sledge-parties who, for days
and weeks, drew the sledges and their comrades, with gloom above and
around them, ice and snow everywhere bounding the prospect, and in a
temperature which seemed to freeze the blood and benumb the heart.
What a tale, says a writer in the _Times_, what a tale of
unrequited suffering it is! Surely not “unrequited;” for those who
suffered, suffered at the call of duty, and have been rewarded by the
approval of their countrymen, and by the consciousness of having done
something great, of not having lived in vain. “How lightly do all talk
of glory; how little do they know what it means! The little army had to
cut its way through the ice-barriers, dragging heavily-laden sledges,
and going to and fro, the whole force being often required for each
sledge, content to make a mile and a quarter a day, in pursuit of an
object still four hundred miles off, through increasing difficulties,
and with barely five months, or one hundred and fifty days, wherein
to go and return. The labour is a dreadful reality; the scheme itself
a nightmare, the phantasy of a disordered brain. Even the smaller and
subsidiary expedition for planting a depôt last autumn cost three
amputations. The cold was beyond all former experience for intensity
and length, and the physical effect of a long winter spent in the ships
under such conditions is particularized as one reason why the men
were less able to endure cold, labour, and the want of proper food.
Every one of the expeditions, whatever the direction, came back in the
saddest plight,--some dragging the rest, and in one case only reaching
the ship through the heroism of an officer pushing on many miles alone
to announce his returning comrades, and to procure the aid by which
alone they were saved from destruction. These are episodes, but they
are the matter which redeems the story and makes its truest value. They
tell us what Englishmen will do on occasions beyond our feeble home
apprehensions, when once they have accepted a call, and are in duty
bound.”
* * * * *
At the time we write no elaborate record of the expedition has been
published, and the materials of the following sketch are collected
therefore from various narratives which have appeared in the daily
journals. We shall begin by endeavouring to place before the reader,
with the assistance of Mr. Clements R. Markham, a rapid summary of
what the expedition accomplished. And then we shall describe its more
interesting incidents.
* * * * *
The object of Captain Nares and his followers was to discover
and explore as considerable a portion of the unknown area in the
Polar Regions as was possible with reference to the means at their
disposal, and to the positions the vessels succeeded in reaching as
starting-points. The theories about open Polar basins and navigable
waters which once obtained have long been discarded by practical Arctic
geographers. A coast-line, however, is needful as a means of progress
to “the threshold of work;” and it is needful, too, in order to secure
the desired results of Arctic discovery in the various departments of
scientific inquiry.
The expedition, then, in the first place, had to force its way through
the ice-encumbered channel which connects Baffin Bay with the Polar
Ocean; a channel which successively bears the names of Smith Sound,
Kane Basin, Kennedy Channel, Hall Basin, and Robeson Strait. Smith
Sound opens out of Baffin Bay between Capes Alexander and Isabella. The
_Alert_ and the _Discovery_ passed these famous headlands and
entered the Sound on July 29, 1875; and from that date until September
1, when the _Alert_ crossed the Threshold of the Unknown Region,
they fought one continuous battle with the ice. The _Polaris_,
it is true, had made a rapid passage on the occasion of its memorable
voyage; but the circumstances were exceptional. Generally the Sound is
blocked up by heavy floes, with winding waters caused by the action
of wind and tide. With great difficulty our two ships forced the
barrier; but their success was due in no small measure to the skill
and vigilance of Captain Nares, who allowed himself no rest until
they were out of danger. At length, after many hairbreadth escapes,
and many laborious nights and days, and much energy and devotion on
the part of the officers, and equal courage and industry on the part
of the men, the expedition reached the north shore of Lady Franklin
Inlet, and found a safe, commodious harbour in lat. 81° 44’ N. Here
the _Discovery_ took up her winter quarters, as had previously
been arranged; and the _Alert_, after a brief interval of repose,
continued her northward progress.
This she was enabled to do through the opportune opening up of a
water-lane between the shore and the ice. Bravely she dashed ahead,
rounded Cape Union, so named by the men of the _Polaris_
expedition, and entered the open Polar Ocean. Then, in lat. 82° 20’
N., the white ensign was hoisted on board a British man-of-war in a
latitude further north than the ship of any nation had reached before.
Soon afterwards the solid masses of the Polar pack-ice began to close
around the adventurous vessel; and on the 3rd of September 1875, the
_Alert_ was fast fixed in her winter quarters, on the ice-bound
shore of the inhospitable Polar Sea in lat. 82° 27’ N.
This, says Mr. Markham,[11] was the first grand success; and it
assured the eventual completion of the work. For, owing to the
admirable seamanship of Captain Nares, and to the zeal and devotion
of the officers and crew, the _Alert_ had been carried across
the Threshold, and was _within_ the Unknown Region. A point of
departure was thus obtained, which rendered certain the achievement of
complete success; inasmuch as in whatever direction the sledge-parties
travelled, valuable discoveries could not fail to be the result.
The autumnal excursions, during which depôts of provisions were
established for use in the work of the coming spring, were not
performed without a very considerable amount of suffering. Lieutenant
May and two seamen were so severely frost-bitten, that, to save their
lives, amputation was found necessary.
As will be seen from the latitude given, the ships wintered further
north than any ships had ever previously wintered. The cold exceeded
anything previously registered, and darkness extended over a dreary
period. The winter, however, was not spent idly: observatories
were erected, and a mass of valuable scientific data industriously
accumulated.
“But the crowning glories of this ever-memorable campaign were,”
as Mr. Markham exclaims, “achieved during the spring.” Three main
sledge-expeditions were organized: one, under Commander Markham and
Lieutenant Parr, instructed to keep due north, as far as possible,
into the newly-discovered Polar Ocean; another, under Lieutenant
Aldrich, to explore the American coast, westward; and the third, under
Lieutenant Beaumont of the _Discovery_, to survey the north coast
of Greenland, facing eastward. Each party consisted of two sledges; and
the six, with their gallant crews, set out on the 3rd of April 1876,
determined to vindicate and maintain the reputation of British seamen.
They separated at Cape Joseph Henry; and before they again met, this
was what they achieved:--
Commander Markham and Lieutenant Parr pushed northward as far as lat.
83° 20’ 26″ N.; being the most northerly point which any explorers have
attained. They may therefore be fairly and justly regarded as “the
Champions” of Arctic Discovery, until some successors, more fortunate
than they, shall surpass their glorious feat.
Lieutenant Aldrich struck westward; rounded Cape Colombia in lat. 83°
7’ N.; and explored 220 miles of the American coast-line, previously
not laid down on any map.
Lieutenant Beaumont crossed Robeson Strait, and surveyed the northern
coast of Greenland for about seventy miles.
“In order,” it is said, “that these three main parties might do their
work successfully, every soul in the two ships was actively employed.
The depôt and relieving parties did most arduous work, and the officers
vied with each other in promoting the objects of the expedition, while
the most perfect harmony and unanimity prevailed. Captain Feilden and
Mr. Hart were especially active in making natural history collections;
and Lieutenants Giffard, Archer, Rawson, Egerton, and Conybeare did
admirable work in exploring and keeping open communications.” When
the sledge-parties returned to the ships, Captain Nares found that
they had suffered terribly; but he also found that their success had
been complete. They had solved a geographical problem; no open sea
surrounded the Pole, as so many sanguine spirits had anticipated. The
way northward was over a waste of ice--of ice broken up into hummocks
and ponderous masses. And with the appliances they possessed further
progress was impossible; the expedition had reached its _ne plus
ultra_.
The work was done, and Captain Nares perceived that nothing more could
be gained, while valuable lives might be lost by remaining longer
in the Polar Ocean. He decided upon returning to England, with the
following rich results to show as the reward of an heroic enterprise:--
First, the expedition had discovered a great Polar Ocean, a knowledge
of which cannot fail to prove of exceeding value to the hydrographer.
Next, the shores of this ocean had been explored along fifty degrees of
longitude, and important collections formed of specimens of the Arctic
fauna, flora, and geology. The channel connecting the Polar Ocean
with Smith Sound had also been carefully surveyed, and an accurate
delineation effected of either shore. Geological discoveries of high
value had also been made; as, for example, that of the former existence
of an evergreen forest in lat. 82° 44’ N.,--a fact significant of vast
climatic changes. And, lastly, interesting observations in meteorology,
magnetism, tidal and electric phenomena, and spectrum analysis had
been carefully recorded. The expedition of 1875–76 must, therefore, in
view of these results, be classed among the most successful which ever
adventured into Arctic waters; though it failed, like its predecessors,
to gain the North Pole.
* * * * *
The _Alert_ and the _Discovery_ left the shores of England
in May 1875. After a voyage of five weeks’ duration they arrived at
Lievely, the port of Disco Island, on the west coast of Greenland.
This small settlement numbers about ninety-six inhabitants, Danes and
Eskimos,--generally speaking, a mixed race. The Danish Inspector of
North Greenland resides here, and he received the expedition with a
salute from three brass cannon planted in front of his house. There
is a well-conducted school, attended by about sixteen children; and
a small church, where the schoolmaster reads the Lutheran service
on Sundays,--the priest coming over from Upernavik occasionally, to
perform marriages, christenings, and other religious services.