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([Illustration: Eskimo Boy With Fish.++]) │
SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA
A Narrative of the Arctic Expedition of 1875-6
by
DR. EDWARD L. MOSS, H.M.S. “ALERT”
Illustrated by
Sixteen Chromo-Lithographs and numerous Engravings
from Drawings made on the spot by the Author
[Illustration]
London:
Marcus Ward & Co., 67 & 68, Chandos Street, Strand
and Royal Ulster Works, Belfast
1878
Printed by
Marcus Ward & Co.,
Royal Ulster Works,
Belfast.
PREFACE.
I place these Sketches in the hands of my Publishers, believing that
careful chromo-lithographic fac-similes of them will convey a fuller
and perhaps more novel idea of Arctic scenery than any rendering in
black and white. As Sketches from Nature, they, for obvious reasons,
illustrate rather the scenery of our Expedition than its leading
events; the latter are the prerogative of the Historian, and do not
come within the scope of a Sketch-book, in which the letterpress is
subordinate, and intended merely to connect and describe the pictures.
Whatever may be the artistic value of the Sketches—and they lay claim
to none—they are at least perfectly faithful efforts to represent the
face of Nature in a part of the world that very few can ever see for
themselves.
EDWARD L. MOSS.
_2nd February, 1877._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Entering the Arctic Circle—Continuous Daylight—Dispersion
of the Squadron—Rendezvous at Godhavn—The Lost Norse
Settlements—Embarkation of Eskimo Dogs and their
Driver—Ascent of Hills at Disco—The “LYNGEMARKEN”—A
Paradise for Botanists—Education at Disco—Parting from the
Valorous—Proven—Sanderson’s Hope—The “North Water”—Northern
Limit of Human Habitation—Melville Bay—Northumberland and
Hakluyt Islands, 9
CHAPTER II.
Classic Ground—A Ramble over the “Doige Mountains”—Foulke
Fiord—The Mer de Glace—Pack Ice—The First Check—Hayes’
Sound—Twin Glacier Valley—Charged by a Berg—Varying
Fortunes—Walrus, 15
CHAPTER III.
A Haul of the Dredge—Norman Lockyer Island—Traces of an Eskimo
Exodus—Midnight on the 12th August—Mysterious Cairns—Forcing the
Tidal Barrier—“Kane’s Open Polar Sea”—Hannah Island—Grant Land
Reached—Musk Oxen—“Discovery’s” Winter Quarters, 21
CHAPTER IV.
The Ships Part Company—Robeson Channel—Strange
Ice—Lincoln Bay—A Gale—A Rush North—The “Alert” reaches
a Latitude never before attained by Ship, and enters a
Polar Sea—Precarious Position—Disappointment—No Land
to the North—Perennial Ice—Altered Prospects—Autumn
Sledging—Pioneering—Dog-sledging—Romance and Reality, 27
CHAPTER V.
Exploration to the Westward—Dumb-bell Bay—A Seal—Search
for Game—Lonely Lake—Fish in the Lake—A Gale—Return of the
Boat Party—An Opportunity fortunately lost—The Expedition
becomes _the most Northern_—Depôts sent forward—Frost-bite
Range—Attempts to communicate with H.M.S. “Discovery”—Unexpected
Difficulties—Soft Snow—Sunset—Preparations for Winter—The Snow
Town—Building Snow Houses—Twilight Walk Shoreward, 32
CHAPTER VI.
End of Twilight—Moonlight—Daily Life in Winter
Quarters—Condensation—Breakfast—Morning Prayers—Outdoor
Work—Exercise—The Ladies’ Mile—A Walk to Flagstaff
Point—Sounds from the Pack—Optical Phenomenon—Dinner—Our Cat
“Pops”—Occupation during Winter—Mock Moons—“Sally”—The Darkness, 40
CHAPTER VII.
Winter Climate—Preservative Effect of Cold—Falling
Temperature—Unprecedented Cold—Extreme Low Temperature
not Unendurable—A Visitor from the Shore—Cold _v._
Vitality—Sudden Changes—A Breeze from the South—Warm Wind
Aloft—Danger from East Wind—Dawn—Brilliant Effect of Low
Sunlight—Lemming—Sunrise—Preparations for Spring—Snow-shoes—Our
Prospects—Motion of the Floes—A Tide Wave, 46
CHAPTER VIII.
The Sledging Campaign Opens—A Push for the “Discovery”—Petersen
Breaks Down—Shelter in a Snowdrift—Difficulties in Retreat—A
First of April Chase—Programme of Spring Sledging—Limited
Hopes—Departure of Main Detachments—Double Banking—The Camp—A
Night in a Tent—A Typical Floeberg—The Hare’s Sanctuary—Coat
of Arms—Castle Floe—Parhelia—Road-finding in the Fog—Mirage—A
Crevasse, 53
CHAPTER IX.
News from the “Discovery”—Sickness—Petersen’s Death and
Burial—The Relief of the Northern Detachment—The most Northern
Grave—The March to 83° N. Lat.—Its Results—The Advance of
the Season—Anxiety for the Safety of the Western Party—Its
Return—Two Hundred Miles to the West—Further Efforts Poleward
Hopeless, 62
CHAPTER X.
Arctic Summer—Flowers and Butterflies—Feathered Visitors—A
Strange Shot—Deceptive Game Tracks—The Land Ransacked—No Vestige
of Man—Nature’s Records—The Raised Beaches—The Break-up—Farewell
to Floeberg Beach—Running the Gauntlet—Robeson Channel
Ice-drift—A “Nip”—Walled in by Floebergs—Escape—Re-union with
the “Discovery,” 69
CHAPTER XI.
Serious News—The North Greenland Detachments—The Missing
Sledge-crews—Drifting with the Polar Pack—A Forced March of
Thirty-two Hours—“Chatel’s Grotto” and the “Coal Mine”—Climate
Past and Present—The Return Southward—A Pool in Kennedy
Channel—Race against Winter—New Ice—Out Fires—The North Water at
Last—The “Pandora’s” Depôt—News from Home—Conclusion, 75
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
CHROMOGRAPHS.
PAGE
I.—GODHAVN HARBOUR, DISCO ISLAND, JULY 10, 1875, 13
II.—FOULKE FIORD AND THE INLAND ICE OF GREENLAND, JULY 28, 1875, 17
III.—MUSK OX HUNT, DISCOVERY HARBOUR, MIDNIGHT, AUGUST 25, 1875, 25
IV.—FLOEBERG BEACH AND THE POLAR SEA, LOOKING NORTH FROM THE
CREST OF CAPE RAWSON, JULY, 1876, 28
V.—WINTER QUARTERS _OUTSIDE_, FROM THE FLOES ASTERN OF H.M.S.
“ALERT,” DECEMBER, 1876, 37
VI.—THE DECK: MORNING INSPECTION AND PRAYERS, 40
VII.—WINTER QUARTERS _INSIDE_ H.M.S. “ALERT”—THE WARDROOM, 43
VIII.—LUNAR HALOES, 44
IX.—THE DAWN OF 1876. H.M.S. “ALERT” IN WINTER QUARTERS, 50
X.—THE “ALERT” IN WINTER QUARTERS, FROM AMONGST THE BARRIER
BERGS, MARCH, 1876, 50
XI.—WINTER QUARTERS, FROM AMONGST THE FLOEBERGS, LOOKING SOUTH,
MARCH, 1876, 56
XII.—A FLOEBERG, SIMMON’S ISLAND, APRIL, 1876, 59
XIII.—ON THE NORTHERN MARCH, APRIL 8, 1876, 60
XIV.—THE MOST NORTHERN GRAVE, JUNE, 1876, 65
XV.—BACK FROM THE FARTHEST NORTH, 68
XVI.—THE LAST OF THE PALEOCRYSTIC FLOE, KANE’S OPEN POLAR SEA,
CAPE CONSTITUTION, FRANKLIN AND CROZIER ISLANDS IN THE
DISTANCE, AUGUST 20, 1876, 80
SKETCHES.
PAGE
Sanderson’s Hope, 12
Eskimo Boy with Fish, 14
Twin Glacier Valley, 18
Our White Cat “Pops,” 19
Walrus, 20
Eskimo Tent-Circles, 22
Cape Hawkes, 23
Cairns on Washington Irving Island, 24
View from the Top of Hannah Island, 25
Head of Musk Ox, 26
Dragged at the Heels of a Dog-team, 31
A Ravine in the Stratified Ice, 31
Inside the Unifiler House, 36
Building Snow Houses, 38
Effect of Extreme Cold on a Candle, 39
Return from a Winter Walk, 42
Examining Thermometer: Minus 73°.4, 47
Camp of Sledge Party, 56
The Day’s March Done, 58
Crevasse near Cape Joseph Henry, 60
Mirage, 7th April, 1875, 61
Petersen’s Grave, 64
The North Coast of Greenland, 68
Running the Gauntlet, 73
Eskimo Bird-Shelter, 74
Chatel’s Grotto, 80
Allman Bay, 82
Device on Delf-ware of the Expedition, 83
[Illustration:
MARCUS WARD & CO., LONDON & BELFAST.
SKETCH MAP
OF TRACK OF EXPEDITION.
_________ OUTWARD TRACK OF SHIPS
......... SLEDGE TRACKS
_________ HOMEWARD TRACK OF SHIPS ]
SHORES OF THE POLAR SEA.
CHAPTER I.
Entering the Arctic Circle—Continuous Daylight—Dispersion
of the Squadron—Rendezvous at Godhavn—The Lost Norse
Settlements—Embarkation of Eskimo Dogs and their
Driver—Ascent of Hills at Disco—The “LYNGEMARKEN”—A
Paradise for Botanists—Education at Disco—Parting from the
Valorous—Proven—Sanderson’s Hope—The “North Water”—Northern Limit
of Human Habitation—Melville Bay—Northumberland and Hakluyt
Islands.
The arctic expedition of 1875 left England on 29th May, crossed the
Atlantic to Davis Straits in a succession of storms, and entered the
Arctic regions on 4th July. It sailed with orders to “attain the
highest northern latitude, and, if possible, reach the Pole.”
In old times, when voyages were longer than in these days of steam, a
nautical frolic on crossing “the Line” helped to break the monotony of
many a tedious passage. This time-honoured custom is slowly becoming a
thing of the past. When it is gone, there will be little in sea or sky
to make crossing the Equator in any way remarkable. The Tropic Zones
are no better defined, and one can sail into or out of them without
experiencing a single impressive sensation. But the Arctic Circle has
obvious boundaries. A conspicuous change in the ordinary habits of
nature warns the traveller that he is leaving the hospitable realms of
earth behind him, and entering a region full of new experiences. Here
familiar light and darkness cease to alternate, morning and evening no
longer make the day, and in proportion as the latitude increases, day
and night become mere figures of speech.
While our two ships steamed northward along the west shores of
Greenland, the novel charm of constant daylight was felt by every
one. We all had our own ideas of what Arctic summer would be like,
but ideas drawn from books rarely remain unchanged when brought face
to face with reality. Although the passage into perpetual day was of
course gradual, yet it was quite rapid enough to upset all regular
habits. Most of us observed sadly irregular hours, but one energetic
fellow-voyager, bent on making the most of his opportunities, stopped
up for three days at a stretch.
Our squadron consisted of H.M.SS. “Alert,” “Discovery,” and
“Valorous,” the latter vessel accompanying the Expedition as far
as Disco, for the purpose of helping it so far northwards with its
heavy stock of three years’ provisions and fuel. On entering Davis
Straits no one of the ships had the least idea where the others were.
They had been separated in a cyclone on 13th June, and had crossed
the Atlantic independently. Fortunately, however, all three turned
up almost simultaneously off the west coast of Greenland. Four days
before crossing the Arctic Circle, the “Alert” and “Discovery” met
under the rugged coast near Godhaab. As the ships approached, each
anxiously scanned the other to see what damage had been done by the
Atlantic storms. Boats soon passed from ship to ship, and it was
amusing to note how both men and officers of either ship (the writer
included) already placed the firmest faith in their own vessel, and
underrated the seaworthiness of her consort. It was positively quite
disappointing to find that the “Discovery’s” spars were all right,
and that she, like ourselves, had lost but one boat. Of course we
congratulated each other on our good fortune; and good fortune it was,
for our light, beautifully built boats could not be replaced, and few
ships, heavily laden both below and on deck as ours were, would have
passed through such weather without more serious loss.
The deep fiords and treeless valleys of this west coast own a little
known and mysterious history. Nine centuries ago, numerous bands of
Norsemen, led by Eric and his restless sons Leif and Thorwald, found
congenial homes on these lonely shores. For three hundred years or
more their thriving settlements studded the coast; and while their
southern brethren were building Gothic shrines in England, Normandy,
and Flanders, the thirteen bishops of the East and West Bygds reared
humbler fanes at Foss and Gardar, Steinnaes and Solfjall, and many
another spot uncertain now. The sites of the settlements are still
marked by scattered ruins, many of them covered by the encroaching
tide. These, together with a few inscriptions, and a bronze church
bell, are all that remain of the Norsemen. For in the middle of the
fourteenth century the colonies vanished suddenly and for ever. Then
came the dark ages of Greenland; and when the Moravian missionaries
landed in 1721, close to the spot where we met the “Discovery,” a
pagan race from the north-west peopled the coast, and knew nothing
of the Norsemen. But as they sat crouched round their seal-oil lamps
and turf fires in the long winter evenings, they told many a vague
traditionary story of tall fierce men, with fair hair and strangely
long noses, that had gone away no one knew where, northward, or
perhaps to the mountains far inland.
Before the Expedition left England, an arrangement through the Danish
Government had been made for the supply of a suitable number of
Eskimo dogs for our dog-sledges, and information about them was to
be received at the settlement of Disco. That port had been selected
as a rendezvous for the ships in case they should be separated, and
there H.M.S. “Valorous” would transfer the stores she had carried out
for the Expedition. Accordingly, the ships steamed in under the high
buttressed cliffs of Disco Island to the little land-locked harbour
of Godhavn, and anchored off the village of Leively on the afternoon
of 6th July. The “Valorous” had arrived there the day before, and
the three ships of our squadron, surrounded by a crowd of native
kayaks, and with boats constantly passing to and fro, gave the quiet
harbour an unwontedly business-like appearance. Not that Leively is
always in the state of repose in which we found it. Whaling ships not
uncommonly call in on their way to the western fishing-grounds, and
five had visited Godhavn early in that season. At first sight it seems
reasonable to ask, Why had not the Arctic Expedition gone northward as
early as the whaling ships, so as to make the most of the short open
season? But it will be remembered that, in such a channel as Smith’s
Sound, the separation of the ice-pack from its shores only commences
when the formation of the North Water in Baffin’s Bay gives the ice
room to drift, and that in the far northern regions of Kennedy and
Robeson Channels, through which the Expedition hoped to penetrate,
no ice motion could occur, until room had been made for it by drift,
crushing together, or disintegration of the southern floes. Even after
the break-up had travelled far northwards, undue precipitancy would
be disastrous. Much of our precious fuel might be expended in pushing
through, and being checked by ice which, a little later on, would move
down, and leave an uninterrupted passage to the North. Accordingly,
we had plenty of time for all that had to be done at Disco. Every
available space was filled with coal. Casks and cases of provisions
covered the upper deck. Twenty splendid dogs were embarked in charge
of our intelligent and trustworthy Eskimo dog-driver “Fred,” who
was here entered on the books of the Expedition. Chronometers were
rated, and magnetic deflections noted. And the first camping-out was
done by a party to the site of the supposed meteorolites at Ovifak.
After working hours the high basaltic cliffs beyond the harbour were
irresistibly attractive. From the deck of the ship it was easy to plan
routes to the top, but not everyone who tried the climb succeeded. A
bold detour to the left was eventually found the easiest way up, and
a cairn on a noble bluff over the “Lyngemarken” records our visit.
Nothing could be more picturesque than these fine cliffs, bathed in
evening sunlight that caught every pinnacle and ridge, but left the
ravines in shadow. Patches of last winter’s snow, here and there
brilliantly pink with the red snow-plant, lay in the hollows and
water-courses. The green “Lyngemarken,” or heath-field, below is
perhaps the most luxurious spot inside the Arctic Circle, and is well
known as a paradise for botanists. A small stream running through
its centre is said to flow for the greater part of the year. During
our visit its banks were lined with soft green vegetation, bordering
miniature groves of dwarf willow three feet high, and the rocky flats
beyond were rich with purple rhododendron. The Eskimo shooting season
was over, but a few ptarmigan still croaked amongst the neighbouring
rocks; their numbers were too few to reward our sportsmen for the
trouble of climbing after them.
The little settlement is built upon a bare rocky promontory—an island
at high tide—forming the south side of the harbour. It consists of two
or three substantial wooden houses inhabited by the Danish officials,
a few storehouses, and a dozen “igloos,” or mud huts, occupied by
the natives of the place, Eskimo in dress and mode of life, but
often with the slender forms, fair hair, and freckled complexion
that mark European admixture. On some rocks over the centre of the
village stands a little black church, unpretending, but efficient—not
unfairly representing the moral culture of its congregation. Here,
and at all other Danish settlements touched at by the Expedition,
the Eskimo appear to have retained all the virtues that Hans Egede
found amongst their pagan ancestors, when he and his courageous
little band undertook the re-Christianisation of Greenland one
hundred and fifty-five years ago. “Hatred and envy, strife and jars,
are never heard of amongst them,” and “they have a great abhorrence
of stealing.” Leaving them to live by hunting and fishing, as their
fathers did before them, their governors and pastors have succeeded
in giving them a civilised education, without making it a roadway for
European vices. The contrast between their semi-savage appearance and
scholastic accomplishments was sometimes striking. One day a little
fellow some six or seven years of age, clad in sealskin, and with his
straight black hair lying on his shoulders, clambered on board out
of his kayak, with some fresh-caught rock cod for sale, or rather
barter, for we had no money. He happened to come into our wardroom,
and was shown an illustrated book of birds, in the hope that he would
pronounce some of their Eskimo names, but the book chanced to be
Danish, and he surprised us by reading it fluently. We were informed
that every child in both northern and southern Greenland is taught
to read and write, but it is difficult to imagine that there are not
exceptions, for the people are scattered in almost isolated families
and groups amongst the countless rocky islands of the coast. Godhavn
district has two hundred and forty-five inhabitants, distributed
in three settlements fifteen miles apart. Their numbers are fast
decreasing, and in a few years the last pure-bred Eskimo will have
disappeared. Whether the mixed race will be able to hold its own
against the unkindness of Nature appears doubtful. Perhaps Greenland
is fated to again become a land without inhabitant.
The Expedition left Disco on 15th July, and steamed northward between
the island and the mainland. Then, making a short halt at Rittenbenk,
it stood down the Waigat. At a distance it seemed as if the whole
strait was blocked with icebergs; we, however, found broad leads
of water between them, smooth as a mirror, but for an occasional
swell, as some great fragment slipped into the sea with a roar like
a distant park of artillery. There, with the most earnest wishes for
our success, our friends of the “Valorous” bade us adieu. An hour
afterwards we found ourselves cruising about amongst the bergs in a
thick fog. Every now and then a white mass would be seen gleaming
ahead; down would go the helm just in time to avoid collision, and the
sound of the sea in the azure hollows along its sides would scarcely
be gone when the helm was again hard over to clear another.
It was evidently advisable to wait till the fog lifted, and
accordingly the ships were brought up to a berg, and some men
despatched to clamber up and secure an ice anchor; but at the first
blow of the ice gouge, down slid a great shoulder of the berg,
carrying with it one of our men, and nearly overwhelming the boat
in its surge. As the water calmed, blue lumps of ice shot up to the
surface here and there, and presently “Francombe” bobbed up amongst
them swimming vigorously for the boat, chilly, but nothing the worse
for his dive.
Next morning the fog disappeared, and leaving Hare Island on our
left, we stood out to sea. Four days afterwards our stock of dogs was
completed at Proven, a little settlement where neither dogs nor men
seemed over well off for food. Here, too, we embarked the veteran Hans
as dog-driver for H.M.S. “Discovery.” The records of Kane, Hayes, and
Hall have made his name, but not his worth, familiar to every reader.
Undeterred by the fate of two out of the three ships in which he had
served, he again ventured into Smith’s Sound ice. The same evening,
steaming towards the low midnight sun, we passed close under the
magnificent cliffs of Sanderson’s Hope, a perpendicular wall of rock
1000 feet high, cleft by a narrow fiord like the portal of a colossal
ruin. We could not but regret that time forbade us to explore its blue
recesses.
[Illustration: SANDERSON’S HOPE.]
A mile or two further on, our ships stopped for an hour and secured a
sufficient number of “looms” to supply two dinners of fresh food to
all hands. The slaughter of the poor birds was most unmerciful, but
they made excellent soup and pies, and tasted like hare. Next day,
towing the “Discovery” in order to save fuel, we groped our way in a
dense fog through a labyrinth of rocks into the harbour of Upernivik,
the most northern civilised settlement on the globe. Henceforward
we would be beyond the reach of any regular communication with home;
accordingly, our last letters were landed to await the departure of
the next Danish brig.
[Illustration: PLATE I.—GODHAVN HARBOUR, DISCO ISLAND, JULY 10,
1875.—p. 11.
The Danish settlements on the coast of Greenland are divided into two
Inspectorates—a northern and a southern. Godhavn is the head-quarters
of the northern. The view is from the rocks above the little village
of Leively, looking down on the harbour that gives the district its
name. The Lyngemarken cliffs beyond are a fine sample of the southern
shores of Disco. A few houses of Danish officials, some storehouses, a
church, a school-house, and the huts of the Eskimo make the village.
A pair of Eskimo women—unmarried, as may be seen by their red
top-knots—are busy with their laundry work at a pool amongst the
glaciated rocks of the foreground.]
Melville Bay lay before us; its dreaded ice once passed, the
Expedition might safely count on at least entering Smith’s Sound. Our
leader determined to take a direct course, and force a way through
the “middle pack.” For hours not a speck of ice was to be seen. Our
ice quarter-masters, whose experience was drawn from many a whaling
voyage made much earlier in the season, warned us not to be too
hopeful; to every enquiry they shook their heads and answered, “Wait
a bit and ye’ll see ice enou’.” And so we did, but it was worn and
soft, crumbling at every touch, and with broad lanes of water leading
through it in every direction. What it would be if blown together by
wind is another question, but, as we found it, the dreaded middle
pack was simply despicable. Every one was in the highest spirits.
The failure of a bear-hunt did not much disappoint us. Were there
not plenty of bears in the Far North? Side by side, or one or other
leading, the ships passed full speed between the flat floes, from one
placid pool to another, every rope and spar reflected on the water
in a complete inverted ship. We would not have believed that mere
sea could supply such a thoroughly mirror-like surface. Here too we
have our first experience of what sunlight on ice could be. Pink and
metallic, green, pale yellow, and violet, the ice lay, far as the eye
could reach, like fields of mother-of-pearl. Many of us sat up till
the last ice was out of sight, and in the morning we were well in the
“North Water.”
Anyone who looks back through the logs of the old explorers and
whalers in Baffin’s Sea, will be struck with the fact that Melville
Bay used to be looked upon as a sort of very formidable “Pons
Asinorum” at the outset of every voyage. The navigator who had sailed
northward safely enough between the Baffin sea-pack and the long
stream of ice that flows round the coast of Greenland, often found
himself checked by ice, or baffled by wind, when he passed Upernivik
and sighted the “Devil’s Thumb;” or, if he passed into the grasp
of the Bay, he would be paralysed by calms, and the toil of slowly
hauling his ship along the land-ice not unfrequently ended in a hasty
dock-cutting to avoid a nip, a lost season, or perhaps a fatal crush.
In old times the loss of whaling ships in Melville Bay was almost of
annual occurrence; but the introduction of steam as a motive power has
robbed the Bay of its terrors. Whaling disasters are perhaps as common
as ever, but that is only because the fleets of steam-ships which now
annually enter the northern ice are compelled to follow the whale into
seas even more dangerous than Melville Bay.
Here and at many subsequent points of our voyage, where we had
forcible evidence of the value of steam in ice-navigation, we learned
to appreciate the work done by the old sailing expeditions. Much that
was easy to us would have been impossible to them; and often as we
advanced in a perfect calm, or steamed head-to-wind through narrow
leads between wheeling fields of ice, we wondered at the distances
safely navigated by such ships as the “Hecla” and “Griper,” or
“Enterprise” and “Investigator,” along shores exposed to as heavy
Polar ice as any our vessels encountered.
A few Eskimo still inhabit the Greenland shores north of Melville Bay,
cut off from all intercourse with their kind by one hundred miles
of glacier; these, the Arctic Highlanders of Sir John Ross, amongst
whom Kane and Hayes wintered, are undergoing steady diminution. They
appear to have fallen back on the southern parts of their territory,
and are making their last stand in the neighbourhood of Cape York.
Our dog-driver Hans there communicated with his wife’s kindred, and
through him we learnt that the tribe was now reduced to eighty souls.
The object of our visit was to pick up Hans’s brother-in-law, but
he was absent on a hunting excursion. Leaving them to wonder what
brought white men northwards, we continued our course, trying to keep
warm a hope that yet another human community, Norse, or at least
Eskimo, might possibly be found beyond the threshold of the unknown
regions we were so fast approaching. With calm weather and warm sun,
giving us a temperature of 40° on deck, we steamed northwards with the
utmost possible economy of fuel. A fleet of large icebergs lay along
the coast north of Cape York. One time two hundred and thirty were
in sight, many of them islands of glacier a thousand feet thick, and
looking too large to have come from the adjacent coast.
From this time forwards land was never out of sight. Panoramas of
coast-line continually unrolled on one side or the other. A certain
sameness of rock and snow necessarily ran through all, but there was a
sort of speculative pleasure in watching the changing profile of the
next headland, or the gradual opening of some unknown bay. Northwards
from Cape York lay the “crimson cliffs of Beverly,” owing their colour
not to the “red snow” of their glaciers, as in Sir J. Ross’s time, but
to rich lichens covering their brick-red rocks. The brilliant orange
lichens of Cape Dudley-Digges will not be readily forgotten. Passing
between the terraced precipices of Northumberland and Hakluyt Islands,
we reached the most eastern of the Carey Islands on 27th July. Here
a depôt of provisions and a boat were landed, forming the first of a
series of reserves to be deposited along the route northwards, so as
to give some help to our retreating crews, if unhappily the fate of
our predecessors should be in store for us. Going and returning from
the island in our boats we miserably slaughtered ten eider ducks,
swimming about with their young broods. There was no help for it; in
the Arctic region “the pot” is peremptory. Even here, however, we
were not alone in our cruelty. Looking over the side of the boat into
the blue water, numbers of little pink-tipped “clio,” like miniature
daggers, could be seen eagerly chasing and devouring fluttering
black-winged sea-snails almost as large as themselves. Captivity
in a tea-cup did not abate their voracity. A victim was no sooner
introduced than he was pounced upon, caught by strong sucker-armed
tentacles, turned round till the defenceless opening of his shell
was opposite his captor’s mouth, and pulled out by two sets of sharp
hooks, after the manner of a periwinkle with a pin.
[Illustration: ESKIMO BOY WITH FISH.++]