ARCTIC VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY, FROM THE CABOTS TO BAFFIN.
First Scandinavian Discoverer of America.--The Cabots.--Willoughby
and Chancellor (1553–1554).--Stephen Burrough (1556).--Frobisher
(1576–1578).--Davis (1585–1587).--Barentz, Cornelis, and Brant
(1594).--Wintering of the Dutch Navigators in Nova Zembla
(1596–1597).--John Knight (1606).--Murdered by the Esquimaux.--
Henry Hudson (1607–1609).--Baffin (1616).
Long before Columbus sailed from the port of Palos (1492) on that
ever-memorable voyage which changed the geography of the world,
the Scandinavians had already found the way to North America. From
Greenland, which was known to them as early as the ninth century, and
which they began to colonize in the year 985, they sailed farther to
the west, and gradually extended their discoveries from the coasts of
Labrador, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland, to those of the present State
of Rhode Island, which, from the wild vines they there found growing in
abundance, they called the “good Vinland.”
But a long series of disasters destroyed their Greenland colonies about
the end of the fourteenth century, and as Scandinavia itself had at
that time but very little intercourse with the more civilized nations
of Southern Europe, it is not to be wondered at that, despite the
discoveries of Günnbjorn and Eric the Red, the great western continent
remained unknown to the world in general.
One of the first consequences of the achievements of Columbus was
the _rediscovery_ of the northern part of America, for the English
merchants longed to have a share of the commerce of India; and as the
Pope had assigned the eastern route to the Portuguese and the western
one to the Spaniards, they resolved to ascertain whether a third and
shorter way to the Spice Islands, or to the fabulous golden regions
of the east, might not be found by steering to the north-west. In
pursuance of these views John and Sebastian Cabot sailed in 1497 from
Bristol, at that time our first commercial port, and discovered the
whole American coast from Labrador to Virginia. They failed indeed in
the object of their mission, but they laid the first foundations of the
future colonial greatness of England.
A second voyage, in 1498, by Sebastian Cabot alone, without the
companionship of his father, had no important results, but in a third
voyage which he undertook in search of a north-west passage, at Henry
VIII.’s expense, in 1516 or 1517, it is tolerably certain that that
great navigator discovered the two straits which now bear the names of
Davis and Hudson.
The French expeditions of Verazzani (1523) and Jacques Cartier (1524),
however memorable in other respects, having been as unsuccessful as
those of Cortereal (1500) or Gomez (1524) in discovering the desired
north-western passage, Sebastian Cabot, who in 1549 was created Grand
Pilot of England, started in his old age another idea, which has become
almost equally momentous in the history of Arctic discovery--the
search for a north-eastern route to China. Accordingly, in the year
1553, a squadron of three small vessels, under the command of Sir
Hugh Willoughby, Chancellor, and Durfoorth, set sail from Ratcliffe,
with the vain hope of reaching India by sailing round North Asia, the
formation and vast extent of which were at that time totally unknown.
Off Senjan, an island on the Norwegian coast in lat. 69½°, the ships
parted company in a stormy night, never to meet again. Willoughby and
Durfoorth reached the coast of Nova Zembla, and ultimately sought a
harbor in Lapland on the west side of the entrance into the White Sea,
where the captain-general, officers, and crews of both ships were
miserably frozen to death, as some Russian fishermen ascertained in the
following spring. How long they sustained the severity of the weather
is not known, but the journals and a will found on board the “Admiral”
proved that Sir Hugh Willoughby and most of that ship’s company were
alive in January, 1554. They died the victims of inexperience; for
had they, as Sir John Richardson remarks, been skilled in hunting and
clothing themselves, and taken the precaution moreover of laying in at
the beginning of the winter a stock of mossy turf such as the country
produces for fuel, and above all had they secured a few of the very
many seals and belugæ which abounded in the sea around them, they might
have preserved their lives and passed an endurable winter.
Chancellor was either more fortunate or more skillful, for after having
long been buffeted about by stormy weather, he eventually reached
St. Nicholas, in the White Sea. From thence he proceeded overland to
Moscow, and delivered his credentials to the Czar, Ivan Vasilovitch,
from whom he obtained many privileges for the company of merchants
who had fitted out the expedition. In 1554 he returned to England,
and shortly afterwards was sent back to Russia by Queen Mary for the
purpose of negotiating a treaty of commerce between the two nations.
Having satisfactorily accomplished his mission, he once more set sail
from the White Sea, accompanied by a Muscovite ambassador. But this
time the return voyage was extremely unfortunate, for Chancellor,
after losing two of his vessels off the coast of Norway, was carried
by a violent tempest into the Bay of Pitsligo, in Scotland, where his
ship was wrecked. He endeavored to save the ambassador and himself
in a boat, but the small pinnace was upset; and although the Russian
safely reached the strand, the Englishman, after having escaped so many
dangers in the Arctic Ocean, was drowned within sight of his native
shores.
In 1556 the Muscovy Company fitted out the Serchthrift pinnace, under
the command of Stephen Burrough, for discovery towards the River Obi
and farther search for a north-east passage. This small vessel reached
the strait between Nova Zembla and Vaigats, called by the Russians the
Kara Gate, but the enormous masses of ice that came floating through
the channel compelled it to return.
In spite of these repeated disappointments, the desire to discover a
northern route to India was too great to allow an enterprising nation
like the English to abandon the scheme as hopeless.
Thus in the days of Elizabeth the question of the north-west passage
was again revived, and Martin Frobisher, who had solicited merchants
and nobles during fifteen years for means to undertake “_the only
great thing left undone in the world_,” sailed in the year 1576 with
three small vessels of 35, 30, and 10 tons, on no less an errand than
the circumnavigation of Northern America. The reader may smile at the
ignorance which encouraged such efforts, but he can not fail to admire
the iron-hearted man who ventured in such wretched nutshells to face
the Arctic seas. The expedition safely reached the coasts of Greenland
and Labrador, and brought home some glittering stones, the lustre of
which was erroneously attributed to gold. This belief so inflamed the
zeal for new expeditions to “Meta Incognita,” as Frobisher had named
the coasts he had discovered, that he found no difficulty in equipping
three ships of a much larger size, that they might be able to hold
more of the anticipated treasure. At the entrance of the straits which
still bear his name, he was prevented by the gales and drift-ice from
forcing a passage to the sea beyond, but having secured about 200 tons
of the supposed golden ore, the expedition was considered eminently
successful. A large squadron of fifteen vessels was consequently fitted
out in 1578 for a third voyage, and commissioned not only to bring back
an untold amount of treasure, but also to take out materials and men to
establish a colony on those desolate shores. But this grand expedition,
which sailed with such extravagant hopes, was to end in disappointment.
One of the largest vessels was crushed by an iceberg at the entrance
of the strait, and the others were so beaten about by storms and
obstructed by fogs that they were at length glad to return to England
without having done any thing for the advancement of geographical
knowledge. The utter worthlessness of the glittering stones having
meanwhile been discovered, Frobisher relinquished all further attempts
to push his fortunes in the northern regions, and sought new laurels
in a sunnier clime. He accompanied Drake to the West Indies, commanded
subsequently one of the largest vessels opposed to the Spanish Armada,
and ended his heroic life while attacking a small French fort in behalf
of Henry IV. during the war with the League.
The discovery of the North-western Passage was, however, still the
great enterprise of the day, and thus sundry London merchants again
“cast in their adventure,” and sent out John Davis, in 1585, with
his two ships, “Sunshine” and “Moonshine,” carrying, besides their
more necessary equipments, a band of music “to cheer and recreate the
spirits of the natives.” Davis arrived in sight of the south-western
coast of Greenland, where he saw a high mountain (Sukkertoppen)
towering like a cone of silver over the fog which veiled the dismal
shore. The voyagers were glad to turn from the gloomy scene, and to
steer through the open water to the north-west, where, on August
6, they discovered land in latitude 66° 40´ altogether free from
“the pesters of ice, and ankered in a very fair rode.” A friendly
understanding was established with the Esquimaux, and a lively traffic
opened, the natives eagerly giving their skins and furs for beads
and knives, until a brisk wind separated the strange visitants from
their simple-minded friends. The remainder of the season was spent in
exploring Cumberland Sound and the entrance to Frobisher’s and Hudson’s
Straits.
In the following year Davis undertook a second voyage to the
north-west, for which the “Sunshine” and “Moonshine” were again
engaged, with two other vessels. On June 29, 1586, he landed on the
coast of Greenland, in latitude 64°, and soon after steered to the
west. The enormous ice-floes which, as is well known, come drifting
from Baffin’s Bay until the season is far advanced, opposed his
progress. For some days he coasted these floating islands, when a fog
came on, during which ropes, sails, and cordage were alike fast frozen,
and the seamen, hopeless of accomplishing the passage, warned their
commander that “by his over-boldness he might cause their widows and
fatherless children to give him bitter curses.”
Touched by this appeal, Davis ordered two of his ships to return home,
and pushing on in the “Moonshine” with the boldest of his followers,
he reached the American shore, which he coasted from 67° to 57° of
latitude. Off the coast of Labrador two of his sailors were killed by
the natives, and September being ushered in by violent gales, he gave
up further attempts for the year, and returned to England.
On June 16, 1587, we once more find him on the coast of Greenland, in
his old tried bark the “Sunshine,” in company with the “Elizabeth” and
a pinnace. The supplies for this third voyage being furnished under
the express condition that the expenses should be lightened as much
as possible by fishing at all suitable times, the two larger ships
were stationed for the purpose near the part of the coast which they
had formerly visited, while Davis steered forward in the small and
ill-conditioned vessel which alone remained at his disposal. He first
sailed along the Greenland coast as far as 72° lat., where, having
fairly entered Baffin’s Bay, he named the point at which he touched
Sanderson’s Hope, in honor of his chief patron, and then steered to
the west, until he once more fell in with the ice-barrier which had
prevented his progress the year before. Time and perseverance, however,
overcame all obstacles, and by July 19 he had crossed to the opposite
side of the strait which bears his name. He then sailed for two days
up Cumberland Strait--which, it will be remembered, he discovered on
his first expedition--but believing this passage to be an inclosed
gulf, he returned, and again passing the entrance to Hudson’s Bay
without an effort to investigate it, repaired to the rendezvous
appointed for the two whaling-vessels to meet him on their way to
England. But who can paint his astonishment and consternation when he
found that his companions had sailed away, leaving him to find his
way home in his miserable pinnace, which, however, landed him safely
on his native shores? This was the last of the Arctic voyages of that
great navigator, for the spirit of the nation was chilled by his three
successive disappointments; and all the zeal with which he pleaded for
a fourth expedition proved fruitless.
He subsequently made five voyages to the East Indies, and was killed on
December 27, 1605, on the coast of Malacca, in a fight with the Malays.
Seven years after Davis’s last Arctic voyage the Dutch made their first
appearance on the scene of northern discovery. This persevering people
had just then succeeded in casting off the Spanish yoke, and was now
striving to gain, by the development of his maritime trade, a position
among the neighboring states, which the smallness of its territory
seemed to deny to it. All the known avenues to the treasures of the
south were at that time too well guarded by the fleets of Portugal and
Spain to admit of any rivalry; but if fortune favored them in finding
the yet unexplored northern passage to India, they might still hope to
secure a lion’s share in that most lucrative of trades.
Animated by this laudable spirit of enterprise, the merchants of
Amsterdam, Enkhuizen, and Middelburg fitted out in 1594 an expedition
in quest of the north-eastern passage, which they intrusted to the
command of Cornelius Corneliszoon, Brant Ysbrantzoon, and William
Barentz, one of the most experienced seamen of the day. The three
vessels sailed from the Texel on June 6, and having reached the coast
of Lapland, separated into two divisions; Barentz choosing the bolder
course of coasting the west side of Nova Zembla as far as the islands
of Orange, the most northerly points of the archipelago; while his less
adventurous comrades were contented to sail along the Russian coast
until they reached a strait, to which they gave the very appropriate
name of Vaigats, or “Wind-hole.” Forcing their way through the ice,
which almost constantly blocks up the entrance to the Kara Sea, they
saw, on rounding a promontory at the other end of the strait, a clear
expanse of blue open sea, stretching onward as far as the eye could
reach, while the continent trended away rapidly towards the south-east.
They now no longer doubted that they had sailed round the famous Cape
Tabin--a fabulous headland, which, according to Pliny (an indisputable
authority in those times of geographical ignorance), formed the
northern extremity of Asia, from whence the voyage was supposed to be
easy to its eastern and southern shores. Little did Brant and Cornelius
dream that within the Arctic Circle the Asiatic coast still stretched
120° to the east; and fully trusting their erroneous impressions, they
started in full sail for Holland, eager to bring to their countrymen
the news of their imaginary success. Off Russian Lapland they fell in
with Barentz, who, having arrived at the northern extremity of Nova
Zembla--a higher latitude than any navigator is recorded to have
reached before--had turned back before strong opposing winds and
floating ice, and the three vessels returned together to Texel.
Such were the hopes raised by the discovery of the imaginary Cape
Tabin that, losing sight of their habitual caution, the merchants of
Middelburg, Enkhuizen, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam immediately fitted
out a fleet of six ships, laden with all sorts of merchandise fit for
the Indian market. A little yacht was added, which was to accompany
the fleet as far as that promontory, and thence to return with the
good news that the squadron had been left steering with a favorable
wind right off to India. But, as may well be supposed, these sanguine
hopes, built on the unsubstantial fabric of a vision, were doomed to a
woful disappointment, for the “Wind-hole Strait,” doing full justice
to its name, did not allow the vessels to pass; and after fruitless
efforts to force their way through the ice-blocks which obstructed that
inhospitable channel, they returned crestfallen to the port whence they
had sailed a few months before with such brilliant expectations.
Although great disappointment was felt at this failure, the scheme of
sailing round Cape Tabin to India was, however, not abandoned by the
persevering Amsterdamers; and, on May 16, 1596, Heemskerk, Barentz,
and Cornelis Ryp once more started for the north-east. Bear Island and
Spitzbergen were discovered, whereupon the ships separated, Cornelis
and Heemskerk returning to Holland, while Barentz, slowly making his
way through the fog and ice, advanced to the most northern point of
Nova Zembla, the crew being encouraged by the tidings that from the
high cliffs of Orange Island clear open water had been seen to the
south-east. The effort to reach this inviting channel was frustrated
by the ice, which gathered about the ship as it lay near shore, and
gradually collecting under and around it, raised it far above the level
of the sea. All hope of return before the next summer now vanished, but
these brave sailors submitted with resignation to their fate, “though
much grieved,” says Gerrit de Veer, who was himself an eye-witness of
all the incidents he relates, “to live there all that cold winter,
which we knew would fall out to be extremely bitter.” Fortunately
a quantity of drift-wood was found on the strand, which served the
Dutchmen both for the construction of a small hut and for fuel.
As early as September the ground was frozen so hard that they tried
in vain to dig a grave for a dead comrade, and their cramped fingers
could hardly build the hut, which was the more necessary, as the
vessel, cracking under the pressure of the ice, gave signs of speedily
breaking up altogether. By the middle of October the rude dwelling was
completed, and though its accommodation was scanty, they were glad to
take up their abode in it at once. The best place by the central fire
was assigned to a sick comrade, while all the rest arranged their beds
as best they could on shelves which had been built round the walls. An
examination into the state of their provisions showed the necessity
of reducing their daily rations of bread, cheese, and wine, but by
setting traps they caught a good many Arctic foxes, which gave them an
occasional supply of fresh food. The sun had now entirely taken his
departure, and the long winter night of the 75° 43´ of latitude set
in, during which snowdrifts and impetuous winds confined them to their
miserable hut.
“We looked pitifully one upon the other,” says De Veer, “being in great
fear that if the extremity of the cold grew to be more and more, we
should all die there of cold, for that what fire soever we made would
not warm us.”
The ice was now two inches thick upon the walls, and even on the sides
of their sleeping cots and the very clothes they wore were whitened
with frost. Yet in the midst of all their sufferings these brave men
maintained cheerful hearts; and so great was their elasticity of spirit
that, remembering January 5 was Twelfth Eve, they resolved to celebrate
it as best they might. “And then,” says the old chronicler, “we prayed
our Maister that we might be merry that night, and said that we were
content to spend some of the wine that night which we had spared, and
which was our share (one glass) every second day, and whereof for
certaine days we had not dranke, and so that night we made merry and
drew for king. And therewith we had two pounds of meal, whereof we made
pancakes with oyle, and every man had a white biscuit which we sopt
in the wine. And so supposing that we were in our owne country and
amongst our friends, it comforted us well as if we had made a great
banquet in our owne house. And we also made trinkets, and our gunner
was king of Novaya Zemlya, which is at least 800 miles long and lyeth
between two seas.”
On January 24 the edge of the sun appeared above the horizon, and
the sight was a joyful one indeed. Now also the furious snow-storm
ceased, and though the severity of the cold continued unabated, they
were better able to brave the outer air and to recruit their strength
by exercise. With the return of daylight the bears came again about
the house, and some being shot, afforded a very seasonable supply of
grease, so that they were able to burn lamps and pass the time in
reading.
When summer returned it was found impossible to disengage the ice-bound
vessel, and the only hopes of escaping from this dreary prison now
rested on two small boats, in which they finally quitted the scene
of so much suffering on June 14, 1596. On the fourth day of their
voyage their barks became surrounded by enormous masses of floating
ice, which so crushed and injured them that the crews, giving up all
hope, took a solemn leave of each other. But in this desperate crisis
they owed their preservation to the presence of mind and agility of
De Veer, who, with a well-secured rope, leaped from one ice-block to
another till he reached a larger floe, on which first the sick, then
the stores, the crews, and finally the boats themselves were fairly
landed. Here they were obliged to remain while the boats underwent the
necessary repairs, and during this detention upon a floating ice raft
the gallant Barentz closed the eventful voyage of his life. He died as
he had lived, calmly and bravely, thinking less of himself than of the
welfare of his fellow-sufferers, for his last words were directions
as to the course in which they were to steer. His death was bitterly
mourned by the rough men under his command, and even the prospect of
a return to their homes could not console them for the loss of their
beloved leader. After a most tedious passage (for by July 28 they had
only reached the southern extremity of Nova Zembla) they at length, at
the end of August, arrived at Kola, in Russian Lapland, where, to their
glad surprise, they found their old comrade, John Cornelison Ryp, with
whom they returned to Amsterdam.
Meanwhile the spirit of discovery had once more recovered in England
from the chill thrown upon it by so many previous disappointments. In
1602, Weymouth, while attempting to sail up the promising inlet, now so
well-known as the entrance to Hudson’s Bay, was repulsed by a violent
storm, and in 1606 a melancholy issue awaited the next expedition to
the north-west, which sailed under the command of John Knight, a brave
and experienced sailor. Driven by stormy weather among the drift-ice
on the coast of Labrador, Knight was fain to take shelter in the first
cove that presented itself, and lost no time in ordering his damaged
ship of forty tons to be drawn high up on the dry sand beyond the tide
mark, where she might undergo the necessary repairs.
This position, however, not proving satisfactory, he manned his boat
next day, and while the rest of the crew were busy at work, sailed
across to the other side of the inlet to seek for some more convenient
anchorage. Leaving two men in charge of the boat, he landed with his
mate and three of his men to explore the strange coast. They climbed
the steep acclivity of the shore, lingered for a moment on the summit
of the cliffs, and before disappearing on the other side exchanged
greetings of farewell with their messmates in the boat, who little
imagined that it was a parting forever. Evening came on, and then
darkened into night; muskets were fired and trumpets sounded, but no
answer was made, and eleven o’clock arriving without any sign or signal
of the missing party, the men who had tarried on shore mournfully
returned to the ship with the dismal tidings of the loss of their brave
commander and his comrades.
During this melancholy night, passed in alternate lamentations and
plans for search and rescue, the ice had so accumulated in the channel
which the unfortunate Knight crossed the day before, that though the
boat was speedily rigged for the expedition, and the party who occupied
it were one and all uncontrollably eager to start, the morning light
convinced the most sanguine of the utter impossibility of forcing their
way across the gulf. Thus passed two wretched days of uncertainty,
rendered doubly miserable by the inactivity to which they were
condemned, when on the night of the second day the little encampment
was attacked by a large party of natives, whose hostility left no doubt
about the fate which had befallen their missing friends. A volley of
musketry soon dispersed the savages, but fearing future attacks, the
crew, now only eight in number, at once resolved to put to sea in their
crazy bark, which, though deprived of its rudder, and so leaky that the
pumps were obliged to be constantly at work, safely carried them to
Newfoundland.
In the year 1607 Henry Hudson made the first attempt to sail across
the North Pole, a plan started in 1527 by Robert Thorne, but not yet
acted upon by any one during the eighty years that had since passed.
He reached the east coast of Greenland in 73° of latitude, and then
proceeded to the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, but all his efforts
to launch forth into the unknown ocean beyond were baffled by the
ice-fields that opposed his progress.
In his next voyage (1608) he vainly tried for the north-east passage,
but his third voyage (1609), which he performed in the service of the
Dutch, led to the discovery of the magnificent river which still bears
his name, and at whose mouth the “Empire City” of the great American
republic has arisen.
In April, 1610, we find him setting sail on the last and most
celebrated of his voyages. In all but its commander, this expedition
was miserably inadequate to the object of its mission, for it consisted
only of one vessel of fifty-five tons provisioned for six months, and
manned by a crew who speedily proved themselves to be utterly unworthy
of their leader. On entering Hudson’s Straits, the large masses of ice
which encumbered the surface of the water and the thickness of the
constant fogs made them lose all courage, and they earnestly begged
their commander to return at once to England. But Hudson pressed on
until at last his little bark emerged into a vast open water rippling
and sparkling in the morning sunshine. Hudson’s Bay expanded before
him, and the enraptured discoverer was fully convinced that the
north-western route to India now lay open to the mariners of England.
It was the beginning of August, and the dastardly crew considering the
passage effected, urged an immediate return; but Hudson was determined
on completing the adventure, and wintering, if possible, on the
sunny shores of India. For three months he continued tracking the
south coasts of that vast northern Mediterranean, but all his hopes
of finding a new channel opening to the south proved vain, until at
length the ship was frozen in on November 10 in the south-east corner
of James’s Bay. A dreary winter awaited the ice-bound seamen, with
almost exhausted provisions, and unfortunately without that heroic
patience and concord which had sustained the courage of Barentz and his
companions under trials far more severe. But spring came at last, and
revived the spirits of their leader. His ship was once more afloat,
once more his fancy indulged in visions of the sunny East, when, as
he stepped on deck on the morning of June 21, his arms were suddenly
pinioned, and he found himself in the power of three of his men.
Inquiry, remonstrance, entreaty, command, all failed to draw a word
from the stubborn mutineers, and Hudson resigned himself bravely to
his fate, and, with the quiet dignity of a noble nature, looked on
calmly at the ominous preparations going forward. A small open boat
was in waiting, and into this Hudson--his hands being previously tied
behind his back--was lowered; some powder and shot and the carpenter’s
box came next, followed by the carpenter himself, John King, whose
name ought to be held in honorable remembrance, as he alone among the
crew remained true to his master. Six invalids were also forced into
the boat, which was then cut adrift, and the vessel sailed onward on
its homeward course. Nothing more was ever heard of Hudson; but the
ringleaders of that dark conspiracy soon paid a terrible penalty. Some
fell in a fight with the Esquimaux, and others died on the homeward
voyage, during which they suffered from the extremest famine.
The account of the great expanse of sea which had been reached gave new
vigor to the spirit of discovery, and new expeditions sallied forth
(Sir Thomas Button, 1612, Gibbons, 1614, Bylot, 1615), to seek along
the western shores of Hudson’s Bay the passage which was to open the
way to India. All efforts in this direction were of course doomed to
disappointment, but Baffin, who sailed in 1616, with directions to try
his fortune beyond Davis’s Straits, enriched geography with a new and
important conquest by sailing round the enormous bay which still bears
his name. During this voyage he discovered the entrances of Smith’s,
Jones’s, and Lancaster Sounds, without attempting to investigate these
broad highways to fields of later exploration. He believed them to be
mere inclosed gulfs, and this belief became so firmly grounded in the
public mind that two full centuries elapsed before any new attempt was
made to seek for a western passage in this direction, while Jens Munk,
a Dane, sent out in 1619 with two good vessels, under the patronage of
his king, Christian IV.; Fox and James (1631–1632), Knight and Barlow
(1719), Middleton (1741), Moor and Smith (1746), confined their efforts
to Hudson’s Bay, and, by their repeated disappointments, made all
expeditions in quest of a north-western passage appear well-nigh as
chimerical as those of the knight-errants of romance.