The name iceberg signifies ice-mountain, and mountainous it truly is

in size. Lift it out of the water, and it becomes a mountain five

hundred, a thousand, two thousand, or three thousand feet high. In

dimensions it is as if the city of New York were turned adrift in

the Atlantic, or the Central Park were cut out and launched in the

same place. And an iceberg of the dimensions of Central Park is far

from unusual. In general outline of surface the resemblance is

often equally good. It is undulating like the Park, and craggy, and

is crossed by ravines and dotted with lakes—the waters of which are

formed from the melted snows of the late winter, which have fallen

upon it, and also of the ice itself, after the snows have disappeared

before the rays of the summer’s sun. In such a lake I have even once

bathed, although, I am glad to say, but once, and that was in “the

days of other years,” when the youthful impulse was strong to _say_

“I have done it!”—a disease which I believe to be amenable only to

that treatment popularly known as “sad experience.” Skating on an

iceberg lake is more satisfactory and sensible, though it is just

as well to give an iceberg as wide a berth as possible, and have as

little to do with it as you can at all times, for it is liable to go

to pieces (though this rarely happens in winter) when you are least

expecting it. I have often climbed them, however, and with different

motives; sometimes to aid in watering the ship (for the lakes upon

them are of the best and purest water); sometimes to obtain a

distant view; at other times for the mere purpose of curiosity and

adventure. Ordinarily, a slope may be found by which the ascent can

be made without difficulty, but sometimes spikes in the heels and

a boat-hook in the hand become necessary. Frequently, however, the

sides are quite vertical all around, and it can not be scaled at

all. On one occasion, I measured an iceberg that presented on one of

its sides a vertical wall that rose three hundred and fifteen feet

above the level of the sea. Another one that I saw in the upper part

of Baffin’s Bay, and measured carefully, I will describe minutely.

The sea was quite smooth, and the day calm, so that I enjoyed a

most excellent opportunity, such an one as I never had before, and

probably shall never have again.

This iceberg was not only remarkable for its size, but for its great

variety of feature. I rowed all the way around it, and measured it

as carefully as possible. One of its sides was nearly straight and

regular, having the appearance of being recently broken from the

glacier. When facing the sun, it glistened marvellously. This side

was six thousand five hundred feet long—over a mile and a quarter. At

one end it was two hundred and forty feet high, rising squarely from

the sea. At the centre the height was less, being only one hundred

and sixty feet; at the other end it was one hundred and ninety.

These measurements were made with as much accuracy as was attainable

under the circumstances, and are quite reliable within small limits.

The log-line and chronometer—the one to measure distance, the other

to note time—were of necessity the means of obtaining the length.

For the height I dropped the “chip” at the base of the berg, and

then, rowing out a hundred fathoms, I had a tolerably good base-line

for obtaining the altitude—a pocket-sextant giving me the necessary

angles. Say that I made a mistake of twenty-five feet, it is yet

near enough for all practical purposes. It was big enough in all

conscience, any way.

In measuring my lengths I was not so liable to error, and in the same

manner as before I found one end of the berg to be eighteen hundred

feet across. Here it terminated in a rounded bluff that was one

hundred and twenty feet high.

Turning at the base of this rounded bluff, I came upon a side wholly

different from the one I had before measured. It had evidently been

for a long time the front of the glacier—perhaps for a period of

fifteen or twenty years, or even more. It was everywhere irregular.

In places it was cliff-like, as was the other, but for the most part

it was worn into all sorts of irregular shapes. This had been done

partly by the washings of the sea, partly by the sun, and partly by

the streams of water which poured from the glacier while this iceberg

was a part of it. There were bays in the side of it large enough to

float a frigate. The _Panther_ might have gone in and turned around

upon her heel without fear of striking.

In another place there was a considerable bay, with two ice islands

in it that were very peculiar. To this bay they were as Governor’s

Island and Ellis’s Island to the bay of New York, and they had as

firm a foundation, but the bottom upon which they rested was ice.

They were mere hummocks, and the water on the berg was quite shoal.

Yet we went in at least a hundred yards before we reached the shore

of it, all the while being really on the iceberg, for the ice

projected away out beneath us; and as I looked over the side of the

boat down through the clear bright water, which we were shoaling

constantly, I thought I had never seen any thing more exquisitely

soft, tender, and transparent in color than the green of the sea, nor

had I ever seen a more perfectly graduated tint than that from the

deep water when we first came over the ice to the margin of the bay.

It was as if we sailed through liquid emerald.

I “landed” upon the shore of this bay and climbed the iceberg. It was

not an easy climb, even with the aid of steel spikes in my heels and

a boat-hook in my hand. In places the ascent was very steep, and had

I lost my footing I should have slid down at a fearful pace into the

sea.

Upon reaching the surface I found it to be rolling, and much broken.

There were two conspicuous hills upon it, one of which was two

hundred and ninety, the other two hundred and seventy feet above the

sea-level. At least this was the record of my barometer. Between

these hills and among others less conspicuous, I discovered a lake

a quarter of a mile long. Its course was winding like the lake of

Central Park, which it resembled in size. I followed along its

shore until I found the outlet, and there, through a narrow gorge,

the overflow of the lake was rushing over a crystal bed in a rapid

torrent, until coming at length to the side of the berg the pure cold

stream leaped wildly down into the ocean, roaring like a youthful

Niagara, and breaking into spray. On every side there were indeed

streams, most of them quite small, so that the whole iceberg was

shedding water on every side, and the constant sound of innumerable

cascades charmed the ear with their ceaseless roar.

From the lake I wandered about among the icy hills until I grew

bewildered, and I found my way back to the place of ascent not

without embarrassment. The cause of this was partially explained—the

iceberg was revolving; and, as I steered my course back by the sun,

I naturally mistook the direction until I had discovered what was

wrong, when I began to look for the two hills first mentioned, by

which I recovered my bearings, and was soon on the right track again.

Upon climbing these ice-hills, I obtained a grand view. The whole sea

was studded with icebergs—hundreds of them there must have been—of

every conceivable shape, from the great wall-sided mass that looked

like a huge castle to the colossal effigy of some winged monster

floating upon the sea.

Although on an iceberg, I was not without life to keep me company.

A flock of kittiwake gulls flew about my head, and, perching upon a

hill, set up their noisy chatter; and one old burgomaster gull, who

had caught a fish, came there to swallow it in peace. But, to his

evident surprise and sad disgust, he was suddenly pounced upon by

a predatory jager, who had seemingly been hovering round for just

such a chance; and, with an angry scream, the burgomaster, who had

started off when he saw his enemy, gave up his prize, which the jager

quickly caught in mid-air.

It was altogether a strange sensation, afloat at so great an

elevation on an ice-mountain in the sea. Yet my foot-stool was firm

and solid as the eternal hills.

Had time and circumstances admitted, I should gladly have carried

up my camp-fixtures and remained there for a day or so watching the

grand panorama of the hills and sea, while the sun, like a golden

wheel in the blue sky, rolled around me, changing from hour to hour

the aspect of every object within the range of vision—now silvering

an iceberg, now coloring it, while it floated sometimes in a sea of

blue, and again of green; now blazing with red the rugged cliffs of

the fiord; now throwing them in shadow, as if they were the gloomy

walls encompassing the abyss of Dante’s Giants; now gilding the

distant mountains, now robing them in purple; now silvering the

far-off _mer de glace_, then melting it into a sea of rubies, or

blending it with the blue sky; for such scenes I have often witnessed

in the Arctic seas, though not from the summit of an iceberg.

But this camp on the iceberg was not possible; so, when I had found

my way, I descended from my lofty elevation to the boat, and then,

pulling on around the berg, completed my survey of it.

The scenery was much varied as we passed along. At one time we

were beneath a dismantled tower; at another time, a ruined spire;

then a deep cleft of blue or a dark cavern of green, in which the

slow-moving billows were caught and confined, until, as if tired of

their imprisonment, their hollow voices came gurgling out like the

loud breathing of some mighty monster of the deep exhausted with his

efforts to move the mountain from his path.

The side along which we were now passing proved to be six thousand

feet in length. The end beyond was thirty-five hundred. Thus, in

making the complete circuit of the iceberg, we had pulled almost

three and a half miles.

The altitude of the berg I averaged at one hundred and eighty feet

above the sea-level, which would give a total average depth of

fourteen hundred and forty feet, or more than a quarter of a mile.

Multiply these figures, and we obtain a total cubical contents of

23,850,000,000 feet. Convert this into tons, and all the carrying

capacity of all the ships in the world are as nothing to it. Freight

them all with ice cut from it, and an impression would hardly be

made upon it. It is only by such figuring that we can form any thing

like an adequate idea of the enormous magnitude of this huge vagrant

of the Arctic seas. Its beauties are not defined so readily. Solid

and mighty, it is yet a subtle object. The light plays through it

as through the opal. Flashes of every color come from it. Here we

see the emerald, there chalcedony; and again transparent quartz or

sapphire, the topaz or the ruby, as the sun’s rays dart through its

sharp angles, or the tintings of the clouds are reflected from its

sides.

More than this I can not say of the floating ice-mountain. Words fail

utterly in the description of such a mighty work of nature—fail us

as completely as do the pigments of the painter. Who could paint or

who describe the leap of Niagara, or the roar that rises from the

great abyss? At best, the effort of the artist gives but a vague

idea of the truth. The iceberg—in its birth, growth, and immensity;

in the varying phases which it presents at different times; the

subtle quality of the light and color which play around it—is utterly

beyond the reach of art. And who could paint, or who describe its

age? Nothing but actual observation will even so much as suggest

the long period occupied in its formation. Close inspection will

reveal an infinite number of lines of stratification, which, like

the multiplied rings of the old forest oak, mark the years of its

increase, and tell of the untold ages during which it was growing in

the parent glacier; but there is nothing in it or about it to fix

the period when the hardened snow-flakes which compose it were first

dropped upon the Greenland hills; nothing to show its steady growth

through the recurring cycles of time.

CHAPTER XI.

MAN _VERSUS_ MOSQUITOES.

On the morning after we had anchored in Panther Bay I went ashore to

stake off a base-line, preliminary to a survey of the glacier and

surrounding region, in which operation I was kindly assisted by two

of my shipmates and Peter Motzfeldt. We had a clear level space of

half a mile for our work; but the operation was attended with some

difficulty on account of the willow and birch bushes, which were

about four feet high—too high to clamber through readily, and too

thick to allow of crawling. But this was not the worst. When the sun

was fairly up we were sweltering in heat, and the mosquitoes, coming

out in swarms, excelled any thing I have ever seen. We persevered,

however, and reached the glacier, close beside which we put up our

last stake and fixed our last station. To observe with the instrument

was, however, not possible. The eye was blinded by mosquitoes, the

lenses were covered with them; the air was positively thick with

them. They were in the mouth, they were in the nostrils, they were

down the neck, they were everywhere, inside and outside the body. We

breathed mosquitoes into the lungs and took them into the stomach.

It was not that a swarm rose here and there from the marshy places

or from among the bushes, but they hovered over the plain in a misty

cloud.

I tried to return upon my track and take some sights, but the thing

was impossible. Human nature could bear it no longer. I turned back,

and, joining my comrades, together we made a break for the glacier,

and, clambering up its sloping side, we found a convenient perch,

and from our cool retreat looked down upon the scene of our recent

battle, and, in peace, soothed our wounds. Our enemies did not dare

venture on the ice, and we had got the best of them at last.

And we had besides a very convenient situation for observing the

movements of our friends, the artists, who were ashore photographing

and sketching the glacier from every available point. They had their

heads covered with mosquito nettings at first; but that did not

appear to make any difference. The mosquitoes got through and under

them, in one way or another, and the nettings were torn off. Then

they flirted them about their heads, and for an instant cleared a

breathing space, but as soon as the work was resumed, back they came.

The oil sketches of the artists became like geological formations

which represent innumerable trilobites imbedded in the strata. Blob

was so confused with his incessant efforts to keep his eyes cleared

out, that he actually could not tell sky from water, nor ice from

rock, when he came to expose his sketches in the cabin.

But the photographers had the worst of it; the “colonel” (who was

first operator) especially, for he had to focus his instrument, which

proceeding required time and care; and the agony of that interval of

enforced quiet was most intense, if we might judge from the fierce

pawing, and stamping, and running to and fro that followed, all of

which would have been very amusing, had we not known by experience

that it was very distressing and very painful. Then the insects got

into the instrument and ruined the plates, which was a still further

aggravation. The “major,” who was second operator, could do nothing

satisfactorily in “developing,” for they filled his tent in place

of air. Like ourselves, they were all finally forced to own defeat,

and, darting for our perch upon the ice, escaped the torture. From

this safe retreat we managed to raise signals of distress, and a boat

coming to the shore, we made a bold dash for the beach, and, getting

on board, were at last in safety, for they did not venture so far out

to sea. Our faces were swollen, like a prize-fighter’s fresh from

battle.

Here, so close to such a great body of ice, we thought it strange,

at first, to find the temperature so high; but, in that locality, to

be attacked by mosquitoes surprised as much as it disgusted us. They

were even much worse than at the ruins in Ericsfiord, where there was

no ice at all.

Late in the day, when the sun was getting low, and the heat was less,

the work was resumed under better auspices, and in the morning the

labor was finished. I had in my port-folio as complete a map as was

needful for my purposes, excepting some sights that I wished from the

summit of the glacier, and these we proposed to obtain immediately.

While we were fighting the mosquitoes several icebergs broke away

from the glacier with a very grand effect; but we were too much

distressed to enjoy the scene fully, as we had been before too much

alarmed. So, after all, although we had very lively impressions of

the commotion caused by the birth of an iceberg, there was always

some disturbing element to make the scene something less than

perfect. However, after our ignominious retreat from fighting the

mosquitoes, when, from our new anchorage, we could watch the glacier

with perfect security, we had the good-fortune to see a berg somewhat

larger than the first, broken off in the midst of much the same

grand disturbance of the sea. Having no occasion now to look to our

safety, we watched the crash, and listened to the loud reports with

the eagerness of fascination. We saw the waves rolling away to the

shore and sweeping over the ice that lay scattered upon the fiord;

we observed the newly-liberated iceberg wallowing in the sea, and

admired it as it floated off, slowly gathering to itself a white

cloak, as if its tints were too delicate to bear the light of day.

CHAPTER XII.

A PICNIC ON THE GLACIER.

Two oomiaks loaded with women, and half a dozen men in kayaks, had

followed us up from Kraksimeut; and they pitched their camp upon

the shore as near our vessel as they could. An old seal-skin tent

gave them shelter; the andromeda-leaves furnished fuel, and, in

consideration for some trifling service, the stores of the _Panther_

supplied them with food. They were not in any respect an attractive

party, and, even with the best intentions in the world to play the

amiable, I doubt if the Prince ever made the slightest effort to

prove himself agreeable to these Kraksimeut ladies of the oars. They

were not to be compared to Maria and Concordia, and the rest of them

at Julianashaab.

One difficulty, however, was, that their camp was unapproachable on

account of the mosquitoes, which, however, did not appear to disturb

them. They were sometimes seen to brush off the insects when they

settled too heavily on one spot; but otherwise they might bite their

fiercest and remain unnoticed. They had grown so accustomed to them

that even the blood did not seem to be poisoned.

These people were, however, useful to us in one way. On the last day

of our stay in the fiord, it was determined to scale the glacier

in a body, seeing that it might be possible, after the experience

of the captain and myself. Accordingly, a party was made up, and

these native men and women, whose boots were better adapted for

climbing upon the ice than ours, were engaged to carry our luggage,

consisting of surveying instruments, artists’ materials, provisions,

and cooking fixtures.

After crossing the mosquito-infested plain, we entered the gorge

between the glacier and the rocks, where we were free from our

pestiferous enemies. Thence we clambered along for a little over two

miles before we ventured to climb the ice. This was almost a mile

beyond where the captain and I had before ascended.

The ascent was made with no further difficulty than would be

experienced in climbing any steep hill. Here we were not much

embarrassed by crevasses, for we were approaching the level plain

mentioned in the former description, where there had been very little

disturbance of the ice. The amount of foreign material was immense.

Rocks weighing many tons were imbedded in the glacier, or were lying

loose upon the surface, owing to the ice having melted away and left

them free. These we amused ourselves with rolling down the declivity;

for some of them were much rounded by ice-action, and were not so

large but that they could be raised with a lever and two or three

pairs of hands.

When upon the surface, we experienced something of the same

difficulty that had been encountered before by the captain and

myself. In one place only, however, was the track so rough as ours.

Here there were clefts of such fearful character that it fairly made

one shudder to look into them as they yawned before us at every few

steps. In order to get on at all, however, it was necessary that some

one should take the risk of the first leap. This usually fell to the

lot of the captain by his own election; for, being both vigorous

and fearless, he was usually at the head of the party; and when any

place more than ordinarily dangerous was encountered, he was heard

to cry out (from the opposite side of the danger), “Come on!” But

not every body could come on, especially those who carried burdens;

so a rope was thrown across and secured, and a safe passage was

obtained for the entire party. Once only was an accident seriously

threatened. This occurred to a man who had put something in him to

make his legs unsteady; and but for the captain’s rope he certainly

would have disappeared into the bowels of the glacier. He was hauled

up in a lively state of wonder as to “how we all got down there?” Our

“fair” companions in the seal-skin pantaloons required very little

assistance, and in their soft-leather boots were more sure-footed

than we. They seemed quite surprised at our gallant offers of

assistance; for they had been in the habit not only of helping

themselves, but their lords as well, in every thing where help was

possible—a practice universal among savages and half-civilized

people. Gallantry is a fine art, the sentiment not being natural to

man.

When at length we had reached the level part of the glacier, for

which we had directed our course, and every body that had any

particular business to attend to had gone about it, the romance of

a picnic was illustrated in form, if not in fact, by an improvised

dance. The Prince of course led off, saying, “What’s a picnic without

a dance?” and never did couples “trip the light fantastic toe” upon a

spot apparently less adapted for it. Yet, if many of the conditions

of a first-class summer entertainment in the open air were wanting,

we did not lack a warm sun, nor merriment, nor singing. The dancing

did not amount to much, it must be owned. As for the accompaniments

to the singing, there was the music of a babbling brook which flowed

near by, across the icy plain; and right in front of us it dashed

down into a cleft, to seek the glacier bed, and there mingle with the

sub-glacial river which carries to the sea the summer meltings of the

_mer de glace_.

The view from our camp was one that I shall long remember. From the

midst of the motley group of men and women that surround me, I look

to right and left, and there rise the dark, rugged, rocky shores of

the glacier, and then, continuing away to the south-west, become the

shores of the fiord, which, dotted with icebergs, winds away like a

noble river, and, in the distance, melts into the ocean. Turning in

the opposite direction, I scan these same coasts for a few miles,

and, like two wedges, there they sink into the white slope which

rises above them and vanishes in the limitless distance.

We were not at any time cold. Our dinner was capital, abundant, and

much enjoyed, and it was not the less appreciated that the labors of

the day were over, and that it was prepared without the aid of the

ship’s cook and steward. The artists had accomplished all they came

for; and with the same assistants, who, as before, had aided me, I

had staked off a base-line, taken my angles, and obtained every sight

that was necessary to connect my measurements with the same hill-tops

that had been my guides in the survey on the mosquito-plain. And thus

I had all needful materials to complete the map which appears on page

162, and the section on page 170. Then, amidst much enthusiasm, we

flung our flag to the Arctic breeze.

The reader may, perhaps, regret, as I did, that there was so little

of thrilling interest to mark the day’s adventure. It was simply a

novel experience; an unusual place for a picnic—an unusual place to

stand on a warm midsummer’s day.

Such as the day was, I have, however, recorded it, leaving the

reader’s imagination to supply whatever may be lacking in the

sentiment of the solitude and desolation of our surroundings. He

may, perhaps, fancy that women, dancing, and festivity were strange

accompaniments to such a scene, as they surely were.

We did not, however, care to make the venture quite complete by

sleeping on the ice. Gathering up our traps, therefore, we made our

way back as we had come, and, arriving all safe on board, we picked

up our anchor, and, as we steamed down the fiord, the wonderful

ice-stream, which had afforded us so many adventures, melted away in

the gathering twilight of the evening.

CHAPTER XIII.

BOUND FOR THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.

Having our pilot, Peter Motzfeldt, on board, we were obliged to put

into Kraksimeut. After passing a few hours there, we made a direct

course for the open sea. Motzfeldt, in the generosity of his heart,

insisted upon it that we should rob him; but even the professional

habits of our trader would not suffer a gift without a quid pro quo;

and I trust that this worthy inhabitant of the solitary house on the

dreary island may not have been damaged by our visit.

Passing along near the coast, we had a fine view of the mountains

which rise there directly out of the sea; and, after rounding the

southwestern cape of Greenland, which bears the name of Cape

Desolation, we shaped our course for Arsut fiord, where the famous

kryolite mine is situated, at a place called Iviktut. The entrance

to this fiord is often seriously obstructed with ice-fields. We were

fortunate enough to find it free, and, aided by our excellent Danish

charts, we got in without trouble.

A man with a very sailor-like rig boarded us, and, addressing us in

English, said he was Captain Abel Reynolds, of Boston, agent of the

American Company.

[Illustration: THE KRYOLITE MINE AT IVIKTUT, ARSUT FIORD.]

This great kryolite mine is managed after a most inconvenient

fashion. In the first place, it is a monopoly of the Danish crown,

which has leased it to a Danish company for a period of years, to

work upon a royalty of twenty per cent. This Danish company have

sold to the Pennsylvania Salt Company the exclusive right in America

to the disposal of the ore, if such it may be, for convenience,

called, to the extent of one-half the production of the mine. This

Pennsylvania Salt Company, having no means of transportation of its

own, lets out that part of its business to a company in Boston, the

Messrs. Ryder & Crowley, and Captain Reynolds is their Greenland

agent. Then the Danish Government has its _Regjeringens Controlleur_,

Captain Harold Saxtorph; the company has its superintendent, Herr

S. Fritz; its assistant-superintendent, Herr H. Stockfelth; and its

surgeon, Herr E. C. Nobel; and a right good set of fellows they

proved to be, if rather numerous for the business. The American agent

made us snug as possible in the worst anchorage that ever was; the

controller entertained us hospitably; while his wife treated us to

the music of a Yankee sewing-machine. To the superintendent we were

indebted for the offer of any amount of coals, which he had there

in abundance for the use of the engines which he employs to pump

the water from his mine; and personally I had to thank him for much

useful information, and for the gift of the only fine specimens of

kryolite crystals that I have ever seen; and to his assistant I owed

more than thanks for a superb photographic plate of the mine and

Arsut fiord, taken by himself, and other similar favors. Nor was the

doctor lacking in the offer of his services; but luckily none of us

required his professional attention, a circumstance which imposed a

double share of thankful acknowledgment.

This kryolite mine is really a wonderful affair. Why Nature should

have ever taken it into her head to drop this valuable mineral in

Greenland, and nowhere else, is a puzzling matter. The mineral is

a fluorate of sodium and aluminum (mostly the former), the best

specimens containing ninety-nine, the worst ninety per cent. Besides

these, I found iron, tin, lead, silver, copper, arsenic, and

molybdenum; but none of these latter exist in sufficient quantities

to make the working of them profitable.

The soda is the product which makes the mine (or rather quarry)

valuable. And a mine of riches it would be, truly, were it anywhere

else almost in the whole wide world. Its great distance from

manufacturing marts; the extraordinary dangers attending the shipment

of it, owing to the ice; the high royalty which the Government

imposes; and the shortness of the season during which the miners can

work, make it comparatively of little importance in a commercial

point of view. Yet one-half the product of the mine (six thousand

tons) is annually shipped to Philadelphia, in from fifteen to twenty

vessels, whence it is carried by rail to Pittsburgh, to be converted

into commercial soda by the Pennsylvania Salt Company, who would,

but for this mine at Iviktut, be compelled to make their soda from

artificial sources.

The discovery of the mineral was made by the natives many years ago.

It is said they used it in a powdered state, as civilized men do

snuff. At first it showed itself as a little round, yellowish hummock

above the general gray of the metamorphic rock which inclosed it.

Upon coming to the knowledge of the world, only a few fragments were

brought away; and I can remember the time, when my mineralogical

studies first commenced, that to obtain the smallest fragment, even,

of the Greenland kryolite was to add to a collection one of its most

rare and costly minerals. Now it has no other value than to boil down

into soda for ordinary commercial uses.

The mine has been in operation under the present company about twelve

years. An effort to work it had been previously made, but failed for

want of capital, and under the present management it has only lately

been profitable. The mineral appears to exist as a sort of conical

injection through the overlying rock. It is now worked down until

the mine, or quarry, is about sixty yards in diameter and fifty feet

deep, forty of which are below the sea-level; and since the solid

rock is interrupted for a short distance on the sea-side, the water

has constantly endangered the mine by flooding—a catastrophe only

prevented by the admirable engineering skill of Mr. Fritz.

The number of miners employed is about one hundred, and since there

are no settlements in the neighborhood, and therefore no natives to

bring them supplies, their provisioning is entirely done from home.

The miners were a well-contented-looking people, and, so far as I

could see, did not suffer in their isolated situation any thing worse

than the torment of mosquitoes, which there, as in all other parts of

South Greenland, where the ice does not overrun the land, are thick

as the sands on the sea-shore.

The kryolite is the only mineral product of Greenland that has

proved of any commercial value. Yet, judging from the appearance of

the country, one might think Greenland abounded in mineral wealth,

and, if properly explored, a profitable return would certainly be

obtained. An unsuccessful effort was made to work a plumbago vein

near Upernavik, but to this and the kryolite the mining operations of

Greenland have, I believe, been confined.

Unfortunately, the day of our visit to Iviktut was as dirty and

disagreeable an one as ever was seen even in that country—rain, hail,

snow, wind, cold, every thing possible almost in the way of badness.

We did not, therefore, remain long, but, picking up our anchor again,

we steamed away once more, and, passing through a narrow gate-way at

the foot of the Great Kunak, or Arsut mountain, as it is sometimes

called, we were soon out at sea, heading northward for the Arctic

Circle, to find the midnight sun.

The midnight sun! A word of strange import! A new existence was to

open for us now, in a summer of perpetual brightness. For days and

weeks together lamps would be held in great contempt; we would be

careless of the hours; there would be “no morn, no noon, no night—no

any time of day;” no time for “turning in” or “turning out,” except

as the ticking clock might show us what to do,

“In that strange, mysterious clime, where springs

Are but the twilights of the summer day;

Where summer an eternal sunshine brings;

The winter, darkness and sublimity—

Where reigns dread solitude, and rolls the Polar Sea.”

“The lands are there sun-gilded at the hour

When other lands are silvered by the moon—

The midnight hour, when down the sun doth pour

A blaze of light, as elsewhere at the noon.”

_PART THE THIRD._

UNDER THE MIDNIGHT SUN.

CHAPTER I.

ACROSS THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.

When we came to cross the Arctic Circle, instead of having the

midnight sun, we had no sun at all; for one of those villainous fogs,

so prevalent during the summer in the Arctic regions, set upon us and

hung about us, hiding every thing for several days.

It rolled over us like a great wave, submerging us in damp and

darkness. The wind was southerly, and the air was charged with

moisture, which was precipitated by the cold water and icebergs

over which it passed. I verily believe there never was such another

fog. A thin layer of mist rested on the sea, above which one could

climb and sit upon the royal yard and be in sunshine, and from that

delightful elevation overlook the great waste of rolling vapor, and

watch the glittering icebergs now and then protruding through it into

the light; and in the distance trace the great white mountain peaks,

and illimitable glaciers of Greenland. This was the sublime aspect

of it; but down on deck there was nothing to be seen at all. Three

ship’s lengths away the atmosphere was as impenetrable to vision as a

stone wall. From the quarter-deck we could scarcely see the look-out

on the forecastle. The fog trailed about the rigging, sometimes in

great streaks like festoons of white “illusion,” and down upon the

deck came dripping a perfect shower of the condensed vapor. In five

minutes every thing was as wet as if the clouds had been dropping

rain. The _Panther_ was bewildered. Her compasses, never reliable at

the best of times, were here, in the far North, utterly worthless.

Every compass seemed to have an idea of its own as to where North

was, and only changed its mind on being vigorously joggled; and no

two of them agreeing after they were joggled. The situation was

rather embarrassing; but for all the captain would not heave to. He

would keep going somewhere, at any rate. The danger was that he might

hit an iceberg. The sea was dotted all over with them. “All right,”

said the captain; “I don’t think we’ll hurt it much!”

That we should have a chance of proving it seemed the most likely

thing in the world; for we sometimes heard from them as the billows

broke against their sides or rolled within their wave-worn caverns,

and their smothered voices were often painfully near; yet we did

not see any of the bergs themselves, until suddenly there came a

thrilling cry from the look-out, “Ice close aboard—dead ahead!” This

warning went through the ship as if it had been “breakers”—the worst

of all sounds to hear. The captain said never a word, but rang his

bell, “Stop her”—“Back astern”—“Full speed!”

The cabin was cleared in a twinkling, and the people rushed on

deck in a violent state of alarm, to see before them a huge mass

of whiteness looming through the fog. It seemed impossible that we

should escape it. Notwithstanding the reversal of the screw, we were

yet forging ahead. The moments were like that terrible interval on

a railway train, between the first thump of the car off the track

and on the ties, and the crash which follows, scattering death and

destruction. It was one of those short periods of one’s life when

the memory is apt to be remarkably fresh respecting misspent time.

Happily, this was the worst of it. The ship slewed to starboard,

which saved her jib-boom, and by that time the headway was stopped,

and we began to go astern. But we were then in the very vortex of the

breaking waves—in the hissing foam of the angry sea.

A few moments more, and the iceberg that had caused us such a fright

was swallowed up in the gloom; and, giving it a wide berth this time,

we steamed on more cautiously at “dead slow,” groping through the

worse than darkness of the night.

We had no further adventures of that description; but the uncertain

currents of the sea, and the unreliable state of our compasses,

caused us to become bewildered in our course. We did not once get

even a glimpse of the sun for three days, and of course were running

wholly by dead reckoning. The fog had become so deep that we could no

longer climb above it and sit in the sun on the royal yard. “I’d give

my old gun,” said the captain, weary with watching, and disgusted

with uncertainty—“I’d give my old gun (a rare instrument) to know

where we are.”

Now the captain had just come into the little cabin, which for the

cruise we had “shoved up” on the main-deck amidships. The window

overlooked the bulwarks, and the noises of the deck and of the

machinery were kept away—a lucky circumstance, for at the very

instant of the captain’s speech my ear caught an ominous sound. I

listened again to make quite sure, and then told the captain that

if he kept on three minutes longer at the present rate of speed I

would claim the gun. “Where would we be, then?” inquired the captain,

somewhat incredulously. “On the rocks?”

The sound was unmistakable. The low murmur that comes from the

shore is very different from the loud roar from the waves breaking

on the iceberg in the deep sea, and the practised ear can quickly

distinguish the one from the other. The headway of the ship was

arrested as soon as possible, and the fog lifting a little, we could

faintly see the fatal line of surf. But we had still twenty fathoms

water under us, and had plenty of room to wheel round, and crawl back

upon our old track until we were beyond soundings, when we returned

to our old trade of groping for another day, at the end of which,

to our great joy and relief, and with the sudden bound of a mouse

popping from its dark hole, we slid from under the oppressive canopy

of vapor into the bright sunshine. Indeed, the limit of the fog was

almost like a wall—sharp and well-defined; and while the quarter-deck

was still in shadow, the forecastle was brightly illuminated. Fearful

now that the fog might roll over us again, the _Panther_ was made

to do her best, and we steamed on into a scene of a very different

description—still, however, among the icebergs—but now in a bright,

instead of a cloudy atmosphere.

It was fortunate that the fog terminated when it did, for otherwise

we would have been in great jeopardy. The icebergs were, in fact,

so numerous, that the horizon was for a time quite obliterated. We

turned and twisted among them to right and left, as one would follow

the zig-zags of the Boston streets, from Brattle Square to—well, any

other place you choose to mention.

We might have been in a state of constant terror had we not been in

a state of constant admiration. The atmosphere from a wonderful fog

changed to a wonderful brightness. I have rarely seen any thing to

compare with it. The hour was approaching midnight, and the sun,

nearing the north, gradually dipped until it had touched and finally

passed close to the horizon, with its upper limb just above the

line of waters. For some time previous the sky had been peculiarly

brilliant; but when the sun went fairly down, the little clouds,

which had before been tipped with crimson, melted away, and the

whole sky became uniformly golden; while the sea, quite motionless,

unruffled by even the slightest breath of air, reflected the gorgeous

color like a mirror; and the icebergs, of every size, from the

puny fragment a few fathoms only in diameter to the enormous block

hundreds of feet in height, and of every shape, from the wall-sided

semblance of a giant citadel to the spired effigy of a huge

cathedral, presented an aspect of indescribable brilliancy as they

floated there in the golden sea.

In color they were wonderfully varied—against the brilliant sky dark

purple, shading away to left and right into amethyst, and then into

green and blue and pearly white; and away behind us, against the dark

fog-bank which lay upon the waters, chased silver; while everywhere

around were flecks of lustrous splendor stolen from the sky.

Emerging from this dazzling brightness, we glided on through the

night in view of some of the finest coast scenery of a region

where the scenery is never tame. First we passed under the gloomy,

cavernous Black Hook; and then near the stupendous cliffs of the

main-land, which, cut by deep gorges, seemed like grim old time-worn

columns holding up against the sky a vast white entablature—the

great ice-sea of Greenland. Then we came beneath one of the noblest

landmarks of the coast—a cone-shaped mountain rising from the sea,

which we had seen some sixty miles or more away. At first it was

but a dark hummock against the sunset; now, through the breaks in a

fleecy cloud which girdled it, we caught occasional glimpses of its

crest brightened by the morning sun.

With helm a-port, we wheeled in on the south side of the mountain,

and entered, close beside its base, a narrow, winding fiord as the

sun was dropping his earliest rays down upon a silvery thread of

ice-incumbered waters that wound between cliffs of unparalleled

magnificence. The base of the mountain formed the cliffs on our left,

and, as I afterwards determined, they were at one point 2870 feet

high, rising so squarely from the water that it seemed almost as if

one might drop a plumb-line from the summit into it.

The mountain is an island some ten miles in diameter east and west,

by six north and south. This line of cliffs is almost uniform around

its base, above which the conical top ascends quite regularly to an

altitude of 4500 feet. This is the Kresarsoak—the “big mountain” of

the natives—the “Sanderson’s Hope” of old John Davis, who sighted it

in 1585, soon after he had first discovered this Land of Desolation

and been so nearly wrecked among the ice that beset it.

[Illustration: THE PEAK OF KRESARSOAK.]

The cliffs upon our right were not less lofty nor less gloomy than

those of the mountain’s base. The fiord widened a little by-and-by,

and we opened a more cheerful spot, where, for a short distance, the

cliffs at the base of the mountain are broken away, and the slope

of the mountain itself extends down in an almost unbroken descent

from the crest to the sea. Here there are some signs of life. Up to

about five hundred feet elevation the slope is in places green—little

patches of mountain heather, and moss and stunted grass, which some

flowers speckle with white and yellow. It seems like a green curtain

hung across the entrance to the interior of the mountain, where,

according to native tradition, dwell mountain giants. By this same

legend the mountain is but a shell, the whole interior being one

great cave, which, if true, gives the giants plenty of room. Had

we been wholly unused to Greenland scenery, we might have imagined

ourselves steaming into some mysterious region where creatures of a

supernatural sort actually held possession of land and sea in their

own right; for, as we came near the base of the cliff, and directly

under the peak of Kresarsoak, we detected something moving upon

the water, and loud noises came floating on the air. Slacking our

speed, until there was barely headway enough to keep us free from the

icebergs, we were soon surrounded by a perfect swarm of amphibious

creatures, in all essential particulars like that marine centaur

of a pilot we had fished up out of Ericsfiord. Despite the colder

climate (for we were now seven hundred miles nearer the North Pole

than then), they bore no further appearance than he had done of being

cold, wet though they were. They gathered about us on every side, and

accompanied us with every manifestation of delight. Afterwards a boat

came off with four of the same fishy-looking creatures at the oars,

and a white man at the tiller, who was not slow to announce himself

as the “governor” of a settlement called Karsuk, lying at the base

of the mountain, on the very green slope which had attracted our

attention. Esac was his name. A sorry-looking governor, to be sure,

was Governor Esac; but then it would never do to allow a governor of

any sort to pull alongside; so we hove to and hauled him aboard, and

then let his boat drop astern in tow.

Governor Esac was in a very bad way. He had the rheumatism, for

which what seemed to be a suitable prescription (as he thought at

least) was administered, and when he finally left us he carried off a

bottle of the same, a gift from the doctor. The medicine worked like

a charm, for the patient soon ceased his complaints, and declared

himself in possession of the very thing he stood most in need of,

which seemed very likely, seeing how happy he looked, and great as

the prospect appeared of his being more so.

[Illustration: ENTERING THE FIORD.]

Esac’s rheumatism being provided for, we pushed on towards our place

of destination, which was a great truncated cone standing in the

middle of the fiord, and right before us. This truncated cone we came

to know right well afterwards. Its height is 2300 feet. Its sides

slope a little only from the perpendicular, and at our position, when

Esac left us, there was no perceptible break in the line of the cliff

to an altitude of 1460 feet. Above, the top is more or less ragged,

yet the crest is nearly level, and the whole aspect of the rock is

one of such great symmetry that it seems almost as if it were carved

by man for a gigantic monumental pile.

Only by a close inspection of it can one realize its immense height.

Even after having visited and examined it, I was quite amazed

when I came to measure its dimensions. We were, indeed, all much

deceived, and none more so than the captain, who, when a full mile

away from it, thought he was quite as near as it was safe to go; and

accordingly he hauled the _Panther_ up alongside of an iceberg, and

tied her fast.

How rejoiced were we all now to get once more out of the ship! A

“landing” on the iceberg was easily effected, and we ran about over

it as if it had been dry land. It was comparatively small, being not

over a hundred yards in diameter by fifty feet in height, and it was

undulating on the top. In the little valleys the water which the warm

sun had formed of the pure fresh ice had gathered, and from one of

these little pools we filled our water-tanks.

Satisfied that this was a place for birds, I persuaded the captain

to take a boat with me and row towards the cliff, which, owing to a

strange optical illusion, appeared to be only a few rods distant. To

the captain’s great amazement we had a pull of twenty minutes before

reaching it. The sight then, up or down, was grand. Upward the cliff

rose nearly half a mile above our heads: downward its image was

repeated in the clear, bright waters.

[Illustration: THE LUMME OF THE ARCTIC SEAS.]

A strange feature of this cliff, and others of like geological

formation, is that the rock is fractured here and there horizontally,

and that scales have splintered off from time to time, leaving a

series of narrow ledges, or steps, which extend from the very bottom

to the top; and these ledges are in the summer-time the home of

myriads of birds. These birds are the well-known “bacaloo bird” of

Newfoundland and Labrador, and the St. Lawrence region generally,

where they winter. They are the lumme of the Arctic seas, and the

_Uria Brunichii_ of the naturalist—a species of what are popularly

known as “divers.”

When about half a mile away from the cliff we began for the first

time to perceive something of its character. Then birds came flying

over us in considerable numbers. Many of them were on the water, and,

like all the divers, who rise with difficulty, they made a great

noise about us as they prepared to take the wing, flapping along

close over the surface of the sea. As we kept nearing the cliff they

became still more numerous.

Presently we heard a murmuring sound like that of distant falling

waters. When we had arrived under the cliff, this sound increased

in volume, and became so loud that we were obliged to elevate our

voices to make ourselves heard by each other. This result was caused

by the constant fluttering of innumerable birds, and their incessant

screaming. Some of the ledges, or shelves, on which they sat were

very narrow, others were two or three feet wide; some were but a few

yards in length, others were many rods; some were in pretty regular

order, one above another, others were sloping and irregular; but upon

all of them, from near the water’s edge to the summit of the cliff,

birds were sitting, packed close together, and facing outward—sitting

bolt upright, row above row, crowded into the smallest possible

compass, and looking for all the world like soldiers with white coats

and black caps standing shoulder to shoulder on parade. Low down

the birds were easily counted; but higher up they melted away into

scarcely distinguishable lines of whiteness, and higher still they

disappeared from sight altogether.

At first it puzzled me to account for their strange attitude; but

when I discovered that each female bird lays but one egg, it was

readily explained.

[Illustration: SHOOTING LUMME.]

They make no nest whatever, but lay their single egg upon the naked

rock. The bird can only cover it, therefore, by placing it upon its

end, which is accomplished with the bill, and then she sits down

upon it as if it were a stool.

After listening a while to their strange cries, and watching their

movements, we remembered that we had come out to try our luck at

shooting. Our guns were fired simultaneously, and down came plump

into the water birds enough to make a meal for the whole ship’s

company. But what a change now there was in the aspect of the cliff!

Following the discharge of the guns there was an instant of calm. It

seemed as if every scolding voice was hushed. Every bird had leaped

into the air; and now the wild flutter of their wings, as they darted

away from the rock, was like the rush of a tornado; while they were

so numerous as they passed over that they threw a shadow on us like

a cloud. Having sprung from their eggs so quickly, many of them were

left insecure, and a perfect shower came spattering down the cliffs.

But the birds did not long keep the air. They soon lit upon the

water, with a great splash, about a quarter of a mile from the cliff,

perfectly blackening its surface. Some of them did not even go so

far; but, wheeling about in mid-air, they put back in haste to get

once more upon their eggs before they had time to cool; and those

who took the water quickly came back, despite the danger, to shelter

their precious treasure of a single egg.

Many of the birds were now observed to be in a state of violent anger

with their nearest neighbors, and, as they sat there upon their

stools, they reminded me of angry fish-wives. With ruffled feathers

they were continually scolding each other at the very top of their

shrill voices; and, not satisfied with this, they plucked out each

other’s feathers, and tried to gouge out each other’s eyes. When it

is borne in mind that the birds must have numbered millions, the

volume of sound may be well imagined. It was at first difficult to

account for all this disturbance, except upon the ground of pure

love of fight. Presently, however, I observed that there was a

deeper cause at the bottom of much of the difficulty. Many of the

birds were in fact arrant thieves, and were guilty of all manner of

dishonest devices to cover up their crimes. In short, they stole

each other’s eggs, seemingly without compunction of conscience. The

bird must sometimes leave her egg, for she can not remain there and

starve to death while the chick is hatching. She may be a careless

bird, and as she leaves the ledge, her precious egg may roll off the

cliff after her and thus be destroyed; or her neighbors may roll it

off while quarrelling. Upon her return she looks for her egg, but

does not find it; she at once suspects that it is lost, and knowing

that to remain virtuous is to be chickless, she instantly decides in

favor of theft, and steals the first egg she can lay her bill upon;

and then down she sits upon it with as much coolness and unconcern

as if it had belonged to her from the beginning. When the true owner

of this stolen egg comes back, she may steal in like manner, or she

may accuse some other bird with the theft. Perhaps she may accuse

the right one; but right or wrong, if there is an accusation, there

is sure to be a fight; and perhaps, before the fight is ended, the

egg which is the cause of the quarrel may roll down the cliff; and

then both birds get even by turning thieves again. But the egg is not

always left without a protector, for the male bird sometimes sits

upon it while his mate goes off to feed. The poor fellow, however,

likes this business little enough, and I observed that the female

did not trust to his faithfulness to the family interest holding out

very long, for she invariably caught her breakfast (small shrimps) as

speedily as possible, gave herself a hasty dip in the sea by way of a

morning bath, and hurried back; whereupon the uncomfortable benedict

of a lumme betook himself to freedom with a scream and a rush that is

very enlivening.

It did not require a great many shots to satisfy us with

lumme-shooting. It was a barbarous sort of sport, and verily, in

the sportsman’s sense of the word, there was no sport in it at all.

Having knocked over about twelve dozen, we returned on board, leaving

the poor frightened birds at such peace as they might find in the

confused state of the private property which must have resulted from

our so often driving them from their family stools.

[Illustration: ESAC.]

Upon our return to the _Panther_ every boat was at once manned,

and the hunters all set out for the cliffs. The day was calm and

pleasantly warm, and at its close we were the richer by almost half

a ton of birds, after which successful raid upon the feathered

inhabitants of the cliffs we cast off from the iceberg, and steamed

over to the little bay of Karsuk, where we found good anchorage with

sandy bottom, and paid a visit to “Governor” Esac, who proved to be

the only white person there.

The Government-house at Karsuk is of the uniform style of

architecture that prevails throughout the village (and, indeed,

throughout Greenland generally), and differs only from the others in

its superior size, increased comfort, and greater ornamentation—that

is to say, the vestibule is not so long as that of the others, and

does not, therefore, accommodate so many snarling dogs and litters

of puppies, the owner being rich enough to afford a separate

shelter for those ordinary members of a Greenland family. Then this

same vestibule is four instead of three feet high, and you run a

correspondingly less risk of knocking your brains out as you go

in. The interior—roof, floor and wall—is lined and covered with

planed boards, which Esac has obtained from the Government stores at

Upernavik.

The house has but one room, it is true, but then it is sixteen by

twenty feet, while the native houses are only ten by twelve, and

their walls are lined with seal-skins instead of boards, and the

floor is covered with flat stones. As for the walls, they are all

built alike, six feet high and four feet thick, of stones and turf.

There is a roof of rough timbers and boards; then the whole, roof and

walls, are covered with heavy sods, which grow green, and convert the

hut into a sort of mound. At fifty yards you could hardly distinguish

Esac’s house from the general green of the hill-side but for the

Government stove-pipe which projects through the roof, and the smoke

of Danish coal that comes from it, for it must be understood that

this country produces no fuel save dried moss and blubber, of which

the natives make, in an open dish of soap-stone, their only fire.

[Illustration: ESAC’S HUT]

Esac had made good use of the doctor’s prescription, for he seemed

to be now entirely free from pain—at least he did not once mention

it; but he pointed to an empty bottle with one hand, while

extending the other to welcome us. Then he introduced us to his wife,

and invited us to be seated, with immense decorum, and with a high

appreciation of the rights of hospitality. Half the floor was raised

a foot above the other half, and down we sat on this, along with the

different members of his family, including a son recently married

and his blushing bride—at least it is fair to suppose that she was

doing what brides always do, as a matter of course, only she was too

dark to allow the blushes to be visible. Along the back part of this

raised place, or dais, there were piled up great bags of eider-down,

which are spread out at night, and there the numerous family of Esac

would bestow themselves to sleep, after such fashion and in such

place as they found most suited to the taste and convenience. There

being no partitions, the choice was limited only by the walls and

certain claims of modesty, which drove the females all to one corner,

and the males to the other.

Esac’s wife was a thorough-bred Esquimaux, and when we entered she

was seated beside a lamp, over which hung a steaming kettle that gave

forth the pleasing aroma of coffee.

This housewife was a woman worth knowing. She wore yellow boots of

extraordinary length, seal-skin pantaloons, a Scotch plaid jacket

lined with fawn-skin, and hair twisted into a top-knot after the

native fashion. Altogether she looked neat and matronly; of course

also after the native fashion. Esac’s approbation left no doubt

on that score. “Mine frau!” said he, pointing to the lady of the

yellow boots. “Mine frau—all same you speakum vife.” He had been on

board many a whale-ship, and had, with the singular facility of the

Danes everywhere, picked up a little English. Then he continued:

“Very good vife she. Plenty vurks;” and with his right forefinger he

counted this item number one off upon his left forefinger; “plenty

good cooks” (finger number two); “plenty good coffee makum” (finger

number three); “plenty sew” (finger number four); and then, after a

pause, and dropping his fingers, evidently regarding them as of no

further account, he threw back his head, sniffed the air, and said,

triumphantly, and as if there was no use talking further, “No smell.”

But if Esac’s frau did not smell, the Government-house did, so that

we remained only long enough to pat the babies, bestow some presents,

and receive some in return, when we took to the open air for relief;

not, however, until we had partaken of a really excellent cup of

coffee of this estimable lady’s preparing—coffee being the universal

and, besides the pipe, almost the only luxury of these Arctic wilds.

It is offered to you everywhere, in every hut and tent even of

the lowest savage. It has, of course, only been in use since the

Christians came there; but now it is a national beverage, and one

of the principal articles used in trade. In the Upernavik district

alone the annual consumption is about six thousand pounds among a

total population of less than seven hundred souls—nearly ten pounds

to each man, woman, and child. And every man, woman, and child has

free access to the Government store-rooms, when they go provided

with blubber, walrus or narwhal ivory, eider-down, or some other

merchantable commodity; and in return he receives every needful

article of civilized comfort and convenience, save and except only,

as I have before observed in my relation of Julianashaab, the

villainous “fire-water.” The exclusion of spirits from the Greenland

natives is but one of many evidences of the paternal care which

the Danish Government exercises over these children of nature. The

whole system being devised with the view of making the natives

useful subjects, instead of reducing them to dependents, and, while

causing them to be taught Christian doctrines, inculcating at the

same time the practice of Christian virtues in conformity therewith,

a circumstance not so usual as to be unworthy of mention. It is

thus that, finding no conflict between precept and example, the

Greenlanders have embraced Christianity, with its churches and its

schools, and present an exceptional example of the current of a

savage nature being turned into the stream of modern civilization.

We were bound to the colony of Upernavik, capital of the Upernavik

District; and having accomplished our business in the fiord, we

steamed around the base of the “big mountain,” and in a couple of

hours were at anchor again in a most uncomfortable situation, among

a great quantity of drift-ice, directly off the little town, which,

perched upon the naked, treeless rocks, presented a most woe-begone

appearance. Yet hearty hospitality and a warm welcome were in store

for us, as I knew they would be; and we soon forgot the desolate

surroundings, as one would forget the desert in the wild flower that

he finds growing by the way. My good old friend of former years,

C. N. Rudolph, M.D., Bataillonschir, and governor of the Upernavik

District, was there to greet us; and his great ancestor, the father

of all the Hapsburgs, could not have welcomed guest with more lordly

courtesy than did this true-hearted gentleman offer us the freedom of

his house.

And his house was snug and comfortable. Two children and a kindly,

gentle wife comprised the family; and, after seeing them, we needed

not to see the fragrant flowers growing in the windows, nor to eat an

excellent dinner, to convince us that we were in a home as happy as

it was refined. The wild winds might whistle as they would over the

boundless wilderness beyond the window-panes—they could not disturb

the peace and comfort that reigned within.

[Illustration: THE GOVERNOR AND FAMILY.]

I never shall grow weary with recalling the tender love of flowers

that I witnessed everywhere in Greenland. I never saw there a Danish

house without them. They would not bear, throughout the entire

length of any single day, exposure to the open air; but then, dear

souvenirs of love and love’s sweet offices, they keep them safe

behind the glass, and nurse them as they nurse within their hearts

the kindly ties that bind their lives and memories to sunny skies and

summer gardens far away.

CHAPTER II.

BEYOND CIVILIZATION.

Upernavik District extends from about latitude 70° to latitude 74°,

and enjoys the pre-eminent distinction of being the most northern

spot of all the earth where civilized industry is carried on. The

settlements comprised within this most northern of the Greenland

Districts are, Upernavik (which is the capital), Proven, South

Proven, Karsuk (the home of Esac), Aukpadlartok, Kresarsoak, Kryatok,

and Tessuisak. Of these, the latter is the most northern, and is,

moreover, the most northern spot of earth where any Christian people

dwell. It lies some fifty miles to the northward of Upernavik, in

latitude 73° 35´. There, after leaving Upernavik, and twisting for

many hours about among a perfect maze of islands, we made our next

halt. The place differs in its general features from Karsuk, already

described, only in having for its trader, governor, or bestyrere,

whichever you like to call him, a man of more intelligence than Esac,

and altogether of very different character. This governor’s wife is

Danish, and he brought her with him from Copenhagen to this last

boundary of the Christian world, and he lives in a comfortable little

house of civilized construction. His wife, when she first came here,

was a fresh young bride; and here four children have been born to

them. One of these sleeps in its cold grave among the stones.

[Illustration: VIEW OF UPERNAVIK AND KRESARSOAK.]

The town itself is otherwise not unlike Karsuk, and has about the

same number of native inhabitants, an equal number of yelping dogs (I

should say about a hundred), and the average proportion of the filth

and stench inseparable from a town of such description. Among it all

the trader’s little whitewashed house loomed up cheerily, and, like a

light-house in a dirty fog, it was a pleasant thing to look upon. It

was late at night when we dropped our anchor, but the photographers

had time to get out their camera and bath; and as the clock struck

twelve they made a picture of it—the most northern house upon the

globe, _photographed by the light of the midnight sun_! a feat well

suited to the place and the romantic circumstances of our situation.

We carried the picture off as a pleasant souvenir.

But, unhappily, the proprietor of this house was not there, nor his

family. They had all gone off reindeer-shooting—the entire family

camping out in the open air—a circumstance which I regretted the more

that the man had served me before as interpreter and dog-manager

in 1860-’61, and I was naturally desirous to see him. We sent off

a native courier, but the courier missed him, and after remaining

twelve hours, and the case appearing hopeless, the _Panther_ was

headed once more northward, and over the classic ground of the

whalers we were soon passing Wedge Island and Cone Island, and

Horse’s Head, and Cape Shackleton; and finally we fetched up at the

Duck Islands, sixty miles beyond Tessuisak.

The Duck Islands were in former years a sort of whalemen’s

rendezvous. To this point they fought their way among the great

ice-fields along the Greenland coast; and here they are beyond the

Danish colonies, and beyond the reach of human succor if misfortune

happens them. Ahead of them lies Melville Bay, and the “middle ice”

or “pack,” which they are bold to enter, and if lucky enough, in the

end, to pass, they are pretty sure to find an ample reward in the

cargo of whale blubber and whalebone which they will gather in the

northern and western waters of Baffin’s Bay. In former times this

fleet numbered something like a hundred sail; but now about a dozen

steamers do the work of the noble old sailing ships, of which the

recently destroyed _True Love_ was the last. As the fleet “take the

ice” here early in June or late in May, we were of course too late

for them.

When a little more than half-way between the first and second of

the Duck Islands we ran, at nearly full speed, upon a sunken rock

not laid down on the charts—perhaps for the reason that nobody

ever hit it before, but more probably, as it seemed, because of

the disposition of our mate to allow no opportunity to be lost for

sounding Baffin’s Bay with the keel of the _Panther_. We struck it

first with the stem, and fortunately glanced off to port, thus easing

the shock, and, by somewhat deadening the headway of the steamer, the

better enabled us to take the rock again and get fast aground.

The shock was, I need hardly say, rather startling. The worst results

were, not without reason, anticipated. The timber-heads were of

course, as everybody supposed, started and glaring wide open; of

course the ship had sprung a leak; of course we would have to take

to our boats, and make our way as best we could to Tessuisak and

Upernavik, and there meet the Danish ship, and reach home by way

of Copenhagen, leaving the _Panther_ to go to pieces on the rocks.

It was not a pleasant prospect, but there was no help for it. The

artists were in a great stew about the “negatives.” Our special

artist (the very lively young gentleman, much given to caricature,

already mentioned, who, for short, bore the cheering name of “Blob”)

was much alarmed for the safety of his numerous sketches. “The

Professor” bemoaned the fate of his collection of specimens. But to

every body’s great surprise, and to the utter destruction of every

body’s well-laid plans of misfortune, a careful examination proved

that no harm had been done whatever, except to the cabin furniture.

The shock set our cups and plates shying about the deck in a very

fragmentary state, and sent our cabin-boy, who was, as usual, asleep

in the pantry, head foremost through the door, where he tripped up

the steward, who was bringing in a pot of boiled mush, all of which

the unhappy boy received on the abdominal region, and for the first,

last, and only time during the cruise got thoroughly waked up.

It was none of our (that is to say, the passengers’) business whether

the _Panther_ got off the rocks or not. That was the captain’s

affair; and therefore, when we learned that no hole had been made

in her bottom, we were eager to get ashore, and after the birds.

“The Professor” was easy in his mind about the specimens; “Blob”

was relieved about his caricatures, and the “negatives” were safe.

What was to prevent us? Nothing but the settlement of the question

of responsibility as to whose fault it was that we hit the rock.

The mate said it wasn’t his. Oh no! who ever was at fault when any

mischief was done? But the captain declared it was; and the mate,

with equal zeal, repeated that it was not. But the second mate was

against him, and every body else appeared to be; so he protested very

loudly that it was no part of his duty to keep the run of all the

rocks in Baffin’s Bay; which was rather hard upon the captain, who

kept the charts, and, if there were any rocks lying around loose,

should know about it.

This home-thrust incensed the captain greatly; and, without making

any secret of it, he advised the mate to go home to his mother

(which he would, no doubt, have been glad enough to do), and, with

a consistency peculiar to maritime people, told him, with the same

breath, that he had better go and scrape the rust off the anchor, as

that was all he was fit for. This settled the matter; and the matter

being settled, a calm followed on the heels of the storm; and, upon

the first lull, we got a boat off the davits, and got ourselves and

our guns and heavy shot, for the promiscuous slaughter of ducks,

landed on the beach. Then we all filed off to left and right, and

marched inland, the ducks very obligingly getting up before us as we

went along, and hurrying away with a terrible flapping of wings and

quacking with fright—at least, such as we did not bring down—and,

since they rose superbly, any body with half a hand could have

knocked over his bird. The sport was good, and by all odds the best

we had yet enjoyed.

[Illustration: EIDER-DUCKS.]

The islands proved, indeed, to have been well named. The birds were

the famous eider-duck, close kindred of our much prized canvas-back,

though much larger, and, feeding on shrimps, their flesh is not so

well flavored.

The whole aspect of the place was forbidding in the extreme—too bleak

and desolate to make one think of looking there for game did he not

know better beforehand. But there were, towards the centre of the

island, some small pools or lakes of snow-water, which furnished

moisture for the growth of great quantities of moss; and in this

moss, after the waters had subsided and left it dry, the birds had

built their nests, lining them with the delicate down which grows

upon the breast. This the bird plucks off with her bill to the extent

of a good handful, leaving the feathers intact; and when she quits

her nest to feed, she covers her eggs with this warm material to keep

them warm. In regions farther south the Greenlanders make descents

upon the islands, and carry off this fine lining of the nests, which,

when cleaned, becomes the well-known and very valuable “eider-down”

of commerce. “Live down” is the commercial name for it; and it is

a singular fact that the same material plucked from the bird even

an instant after death is worthless. The wonderful elasticity which

gives such great value to the “live down” is wholly wanting in the

dead.

During the early part of the season the ducks go in pairs, and the

contrast between the two is very great—the female bird being brown

and homely, while the male is black, with cream-colored breast and

neck, and has the most beautiful tints of green upon his head. If the

nest is robbed of down, and the female’s own supply is exhausted,

the male will sometimes obligingly pluck himself to accommodate her;

but after she begins to “sit” he is seldom seen about her nest or in

her company, and, indeed, is not allowed there except when she has

been robbed, and wants his help to refresh the family nest. The males

then flock together—like hen-pecked husbands at the clubs—and are

very wild. To get within range of them at all one must lie low behind

the rocks, and wait for them to fly overhead. In this manner we shot

quite a number, and found their flesh a little fishy, but very fair.

We enjoyed the afternoon’s sport immensely, and perhaps not the less

that the captain had come ashore very soon after we landed to convey

the pleasing intelligence that, the tide having risen, the _Panther_

was afloat and all right. And apart from this, we liked to have the

captain on all hunting expeditions. He was generally the best shot,

which detracted something, of course, since he was pretty sure to be

the winner. But then he was always gay and lively; and he carried a

gun which nobody but a tall, powerful man like himself could possibly

have used—one of those Newfoundland sealing-guns—long enough,

ordinarily, to knock a bird over without firing. But the captain

was too fond of sport for work of that sort, and he invariably

allowed the bird to get beyond the muzzle before he pulled trigger.

Fifteen dozen birds rewarded us well for some fatigue, undergone in

a temperature warm enough to enable us to dispense with coats, even

although we were in latitude 74°, and surrounded on every side by ice.

The islands were so full of interest, and possessed so many

romantic associations, that I wandered about them, from one to the

other, rather in pursuit of my own fancy than of game. Everywhere

that I went there appeared traces of the whalemen—at one place a

flag-staff, at another place the fragment of a wreck; here they had

built a fire, and there they had made a camp; and upon the very

summit of the outer island, five hundred feet above the sea, we

discovered the walls of an old look-out station, behind which many

a hardy mariner whose ship was “beset” among the ice had come and

watched, perhaps for days, waiting and hoping for some favorable

change of wind and weather to bring a change of ice and change of

fortune.

On another part of this same island we came upon seven graves.

They were about fifty yards from the beach, on a rapidly sloping

hill-side facing the west, beneath a great tall cliff, which forms a

conspicuous landmark for vessels approaching from that direction.

Never was place of human sepulture more desolate. Here there were no

birds; there was not even a blade of grass, nor a bit of moss—not a

living thing—nothing but a waste of naked rocks and loose stones,

that had been tumbled by the frosts of winter from the cliffs above.

The dead had been laid in some convenient place among the rocks, and

the stones had been heaped upon the coffins; and at the head of each

rude sepulchre there had been placed a board on which the shipmates

of the dead sailor had carved his name and age, and the place of his

nativity, his ship, and rank, and day of death.

There was something very touching in the evident care with which the

last sad offices of the living to the dead had been performed. But

even there, in the drear solitude, other men had followed after the

mourners, and graves which the wild beasts had respected, and which

showed such signs of tender solicitude, had been most barbarously

desecrated. The graves themselves remained as they had been

originally prepared, but the head-boards, on which careful hands had

carved the brief record of a career that the grave closed over, were

broken into splinters, and strewn upon the rocks around. A party from

some whale-ship (it could be no other) had landed there, and, using

the head-boards of the graves for targets, had blown them all to

pieces with ball and shot. Not a single one remained intact, and the

resting-place which each was meant to tell of could not possibly be

identified. Nor could much be made of the splinters that I found. The

records on two of these ran thus:

“Of the ship Jane, of Hull, died April 28, 1832:”

“Who died on board of the ship Alexander, of Dundee, June 21, 1842,

aged 42 years.”

But to neither of these was any name attached; and even this much

was deciphered with difficulty, so effectual had been the aim of the

vandals. Another splinter told that

“Wm. Hardy, aged 59,”

had died, but I could not make out the name of his ship or the date

of his death. Even about the “Wm.” there was uncertainty. The only

perfect one ran thus:

“To the memory of Thos. Roberts, seaman, Leith, who died on board

the Alphen, of Peterhead, July 6th, 1825, aged 37 years.”

It was late in the afternoon when we brought up at the summit of the

island in the whalers’ old look-out station, where we commanded a

superb view of the surrounding region. How grandly the mountains and

glaciers of Greenland loomed up on our right! How splendid was the

sea around, speckled with ice, while here and there appeared a dark

rocky island among the general whiteness. How tempting Melville Bay

ahead, with its interminable “pack.”

CHAPTER III.

ICE-NAVIGATION.

While the chain is clicking in the hawse-hole, let us take a quiet

view of the situation. There is no need, however, to describe with

much minuteness the “Melville Bay pack” which lay before us. The ice

freshly broken up in any large river is a sufficient illustration,

provided the imagination will stretch the river to three hundred

miles in width, and magnify the drifting fields of ice in proportion.

In the early part of the season this ice is very hard, and many feet

in thickness; but by August (which was the time of our being there)

it has become porous, its thickness has been greatly reduced, much of

it is on the eve of disappearing altogether, and still more of it has

quite melted away. Almost all the fields, or the “floes,” as they are

called by the whalers, have been eaten through in places; and over

all there are pools of water formed of melted snow, which give them a

mottled appearance.

In the month of August this “pack” is mostly confined to the Melville

Bay region; hence the name of “Melville Bay pack,” which I have used

before. At that season the navigation is not particularly difficult

or dangerous. By keeping well away from the land the passage can then

always be made with safety. It was by following the opposite course

that Captain Sir Francis M’Clintock found himself delayed in 1857,

with his ship firmly frozen fast, and with no alternative but to

pass the winter drifting with the “pack” in a most uncomfortable and

hazardous situation. Had he followed the example and advice of Dr.

Kane, he might have won his knightly spurs a year sooner, and with

less discomfort.

Earlier in the summer the pack extends far down Baffin’s Bay; and

south of the Arctic Circle it stretches away to the coasts of

Labrador and Newfoundland. And it is here that commerce profits by

it, for the seals flock to it the moment it has ceased to be the

solid ice of the winter, and become the “pack” ice of the spring. Of

these seals there are many varieties. Some are permanent denizens

of the North; others are migratory. These last only are found so

low as Newfoundland and Labrador. Seeking the ice in the month of

March, they crawl upon it, and there bring forth their young. These

seals come up from the South—from the St. Lawrence region and along

the shores of New Brunswick and Maine, where they have wintered—and

with the ice they drift back south again until it melts away. Other

varieties (the true Arctic seals) adhere to the solid ice, as far as

possible, and, if drifted off southward with the pack, return north

again to winter, and then, in order to breathe (for the seals are

not fish, and can not breathe under water), they are compelled to

keep holes open in the ice with their sharp claws. These true Arctic

seals are not so numerous as the southern varieties, of which latter

millions may sometimes be seen at one time upon the drifting ice. It

is the young of these (when from two to three weeks old) that are

slaughtered in such great numbers by the seal-fishers. The vessels,

usually small schooners, but sometimes steamers like our _Panther_

(which was built for that service), enter the pack, and the crew,

scattering to right and left over the ice, gather up the seals as

they go along, the vessel merely keeping pace with them. Upon the

first attack the old ones abandon their young to their fate, and the

innocent, whining “baby seals,” too young to appreciate danger, are

captured without difficulty—a tap on the nose with the toe of a boot

or with a boat’s “gaff” robbing them quickly of what little life they

have.

[Illustration: THE POLAR BEAR.]

From the seals let us pass to their enemies, the bears—I mean, of

course, the true Arctic bears, known in different localities by

different names—“ice-bears” they are usually called in the far

north, because they are not found elsewhere than on the ice. But

farther south this is not always true of them, since both from

choice and necessity they often take the water, and are generally

known on “the Labrador” as “water-bears.” They are often carried

off from the pack upon a single ice-field, which, going to pieces

under them, forces them to swim, perhaps, many miles before reaching

another. I have seen one swimming in a heavy sea, where there was

not a piece of ice in sight. They seldom take to the land, and never

voluntarily. Their food has either failed them on the ice, or they

are pursued by enemies, or the ice has all melted away and left

them no alternative. The naturalist’s name, _Ursus maritimus_—“the

bear of the sea”—expresses their character perfectly. In color they

are yellowish-white—quite dark, indeed, when contrasted with the

snow. “White bear” is therefore a misnomer, as is also “Polar bear;”

but this latter is the name most commonly in use, and is the one,

therefore, which I shall employ whenever referring to them.

The food of the seal consists of those low forms of marine life known

to us as shrimps, and to naturalists as _invertebrata_, and sometimes

certain varieties of _mollusca_. The former exist in vast numbers in

the icy waters of the North; and it is this abundant supply of food

which attracts to that quarter of the world not seals alone, but

those enormous flights of birds of which we read, and some idea of

which was given in former chapters of this book. On the other hand,

the food of the bear is the seal. Therefore, wherever ice is seen

seals may be expected; and where seals are seen, you may look out for

bears.

[Illustration: SEALS.]

We had seen seals and we had seen the “pack,” and thus bears were

suggested; and the suggestion was peculiarly welcome to the people

of the _Panther_. The anchor was aweigh in almost no time at all,

and, steam being up, the _Panther_ was pointed northward, in the calm

evening. The sun was in the west, a good way above the horizon, and a

pleasant glow was over sea, and land, and glacier.

We steer for Wilcox Point, fifteen miles in a north-easterly

direction from the Duck Islands, and it is a very lofty, noble

headland. We spread out the map on deck to see what comes next,

and where we are to go. Eastward from Wilcox Point we observe that

the coast trends some miles, and then comes a mountain called “The

Devil’s Thumb;” and as we subsequently see it, it has very much the

appearance of a thumb projecting vertically above the hand when

it is placed edgewise on the table, with the little finger down.

We afterwards discover the hand to be an island, and the thumb the

centre of it, but we did not know it then. Why the Devil’s Thumb,

rather than the thumb of some more respectable character, might seem

puzzling; but I fancy that that dark spirit of evil was complimented

with this monument on account of his supposed influence over the

neighboring sea. The sea is there, indeed, very perilous, and no part

of Baffin’s Bay is so much dreaded as that vicinity. The icebergs are

so numerous that the locality is often called “Bergy Hole;” and the

currents are so swift that a sailing vessel, once becalmed off “The

Thumb,” is very likely to be sucked in and whirled about, as if there

were some secret and supernatural influence at work upon the waters;

and if the ship escapes without getting battered against an iceberg

or so, and being much damaged in consequence, she is very lucky.

Dr. Kane’s brig, the _Advance_, got whirled into this dangerous

situation, and I shall not soon forget the struggle of hours at the

oars, by which means the brig was saved, though not until every body

was thoroughly worn out, and ready to drop down with fatigue.

In a north-westerly direction from the Devil’s Thumb, and distant

from it about two hundred miles, lies Cape York, and between these

two points the coast makes a deep curve, and the space thus embraced

is Melville Bay—though the name has really a wider significance—the

term Melville Bay being usually meant to signify that part of

Baffin’s Bay west of it, where the “middle ice” is always lying. The

entire sweep of Melville Bay is one vast line of glaciers, wholly

unapproachable, and from which are cast off an incredible number of

icebergs, that are scattered over Baffin’s Bay in all directions,

and by accumulating in greater numbers year by year, gather the

ice-field about them more and more, and thus render navigation each

year more difficult and perilous. Since ships first penetrated

Melville Bay a very perceptible change has taken place.

Most of which information we gather from the map; and while gathering

it the _Panther_ is coming, bows on, to the very first field-ice we

have seen. There it is before us—a great, long, level plain of white

and blue, stretching beyond the line of vision. It does not look so

very formidable, after all, and is rather disappointing, until the

ship takes a projecting tongue, and, by the shock that it gives us,

shows there is more body to the ice than first appeared. In fact,

from seven-eighths to nine-tenths of it lies below the surface of

the water; and not until the _Panther_ had split a fragment off and

turned it up on its edge, as the bow slid over it, did we appreciate

its really solid quality.

But this was a brush not worth mentioning; and on went the _Panther_

beyond and across clear water until we approached another great

field, which had at first appeared to be a part of the one which we

had passed; but the event proved that there was a wide streak of open

water stretching to the northward, which a whaleman would call a

“lead;” and, seeing that our farther progress in the direction we had

chosen was cut off, we bore away from Wilcox Point, and steamed north

at great speed between the “floes.”

Very soon there was no water to be seen except the lead we were

in—everywhere limitless ice—unless we went aloft, when other leads

were visible, meandering among the floes in all directions. The lead

we had entered was at first at least a mile wide; but as we proceeded

it gradually narrowed, then became crooked; loose floes of small size

were lying here and there upon it. The mate, who was aloft, kept the

man at the wheel busy enough with his “starboards” and “ports” and

“steadys,” until it was reported that our lead was a blind one, and

we were coming to the end of it. An immense floe lay between the two

great floes to right and left of us, jammed tight, and squeezed and

broken up upon its sides. This was the report from aloft, and the

mate cried, “Starboard!—hard a-starboard!”

“What’s that for?” shouted the captain, with stentorian voice. “What

do you want to starboard for?”

“Jammed tight everywhere, and we must go back,” said the mate.

“Is there no opening anywhere?”

“None; but the ice looks weak on the port hand.”

“Keep her for it, and put her in,” roared the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir! Starboard a little; steady—steady as she goes.”

And down we bore upon the ice, the rakish bow and stem of the

_Panther_ well up out of the water, and looking defiant, as if it

were a matter of no kind of consequence to her what amount of ice lay

before her. It seemed as if she could crush it down, and trample on

it, and ride over it rough-shod, and never wink until the affair was

finished. Perhaps the captain’s threat—seemingly made in earnest—to

“put her through, or knock her bloody eyes out,” may have had some

effect upon her, and have inspired her with additional resolution.

We were soon so near the ice that the opening could be seen from the

bridge, and the mate was called below. “Mind your helm, Mick,” said

the captain to the man at the wheel; “mind your helm there!”

And still on we went, still rushing towards the ice at full

speed, the screw grinding fiercely, and making the ship tremble

in every timber. It was soon too late to check her headway,

even if the captain should have desired it; to wheel round now

was quite impossible. We braced ourselves for the shock that was

coming—every man catching hold of something to steady himself with.

The captain watched the point he wished to make ahead. “Port—port a

little—steady, steady, as she goes.”

Cr-r-r-r-ash—the solid iron cut-water of the _Panther_ has taken the

ice. She cuts into it, slides upon it, and crushes it down; the ship

rides up again, and sinks, and buries herself one full length in the

body of the floe; but still she slides up once more and crushes the

ice farther on, but going slower now; and then she stops and settles

down to her proper level, and the groaning of the ice seems to be a

cry of relief and satisfaction from the noble ship, which only wants

a little breathing-time before she begins again.

She isn’t hurt—not in the least. Her masts are all standing right,

her bows are sound as ever, her solid, iron-bound sides have not a

scratch. Pretty well for a first beginning; and no one now doubts the

_Panther’s_ ability for any thing.

“Back astern,” shouts the captain; and we haul out into clear water

a hundred fathoms or so, and butt away into the opening we have made

before. We ride over the broken ice; the cut-water strikes again;

again we feel the ship going up forward; again she sinks and rises,

and then she settles down again at rest. Then we go below, in great

glee, to supper, and the captain tells the watch-officer to “keep

her at it;” and the screw, thumping against the ice that has come

about the stern, is kept revolving, and the wedge-shaped _Panther_ is

pushing in between the floes, forcing them asunder.

When we come on deck again the crack is opening. The jar and steady

pressure have had their effect; the floes have been set in motion,

the crack widens, and we grind through into clear, open water.

[Illustration: THE DEVIL’S THUMB.]

This bold dash into the very teeth of the enemy saved us a wide

detour, and brought us by a short cut into an extensive area of

open water, which gave us a free passage northward as far as the

eye could see. But still we had heavy floes on the starboard hand,

which prevented us from hauling in, as we desired, close under Wilcox

Point. We had, however, a fine view of the noble headland at a

distance of five miles.

Running now along the edge of an old floe that lay to our right, all

eyes were strained, and all glasses were doing service in search of

bears. Men were in the rigging and up aloft. We soon opened Melville

Bay, the tall spire of the Devil’s Thumb coming in view through a

blaze of sunshine exactly at midnight.

It was a midnight long to be remembered. The bright sun stood in the

heavens before us but a little way above the horizon, glittering upon

the icebergs and flinging gems broadcast upon the floes. The great

glaciers that climbed up from the sea at the bend of the bay, until

they were lost in a line of purple against a belt of golden light,

reflected the light from their glassy terraces; the cavernous old

cape which towered above our heads was warmed and reddened by the

glow; upon the summit of the Devil’s Thumb there lingered a brilliant

ray; and, as the lofty column rose from out a vast cluster of

icebergs, it seemed as if it were a church spire mounting to heaven

above some nameless city.

CHAPTER IV.

HUNTING BY STEAM.

At length there came the cry of “Bears! bears!” which had been so

long eagerly desired. With the first alarm the people swarmed up from

below, and the deck was alive in an instant, every body shouting

“Where?” And “Where? where?” rang through the ship loud enough, as

one would think, to have frightened all the bears of Melville Bay

into fits.

But there were the bears, sure enough; and they appeared to be the

very ones we were looking for. Clearly they had seen the _Panther_

long before we had discovered them; but they did not appear to be

at all frightened, but stood their ground boldly, looking at us

evidently with more curiosity than alarm. There were three of them,

an old mother and two cubs, standing about three or four hundred

yards distant from us, and quite still. The mother was in the middle,

with a cub on either side, in a very cool and composed manner. They

appeared to be an affectionate sort of family, and were a very odd

sight as they stood upon the old ice-field, the only living things

on that desolate waste. It seemed, indeed, a pity to disturb these

denizens of the Polar wilderness.

The steamer was stopped as quickly as possible, and we lay there

watching them, and they us, both parties endeavoring to make up their

minds what the other was going to do. The bears probably did not see

us—only the steamer—since we kept our heads as much as possible below

the bulwarks; and whatever wind there was being from the north,

they had not discovered an enemy with their noses. The steamer was

but a black curiosity, and we were well pleased when they manifested

a disposition for a nearer inspection and a closer acquaintance.

The old mother led off, and the two young ones came shuffling along

beside her, very slowly and cautiously, edging away, however, towards

the vessel’s stern, manifestly for the purpose of coming as far as

possible around to the leeward of us. And here the ice favored the

old bear’s design, for a long tongue projected far out from the

general line of the floe. If they should reach the end of it they

would be able to discover us, but then they would be at the same time

in a trap of their own making. In this design we encouraged them by

lying low behind the bulwarks. It did not seem to be in accordance

with the rules of the hunt to allow your game to crawl around where

he could wind you, and this it was, of course, within our power to

prevent but since the captain had the management of his own vessel,

and knew what he could do with her, he became the master hunter by

virtue of his office. “We’ll get the whole lot of them now,” said he,

“if they only crawl along out on that point a little farther.” And he

told the engineer to go ahead at half speed, and told Mick to shove

his helm hard a-port. The action wheeled the _Panther_ around upon

her heel, and she now stood upon the dead waters facing the bears,

who still, slowly and cautiously, were going out on the tongue of the

old floe.

“Why, captain, what are you going to do now? The moment the bears

scent us they will take off!” exclaimed an anxious hunter.

“But before they do,” replied the captain, “I can cut in behind and

head them.”

“But the ice, the ice, man. You will surely not drive her into a floe

like that?”

“That I will,” said the captain, promptly; “drive her into an

iceberg, if necessary.”

So now it was the skill and strength of the _Panther_ against the

skill and fleetness of the bears.

Bears are not graceful animals in their movements. Their enormous

legs are carried along as if they had no joints in them, and their

immense feet are lifted in a manner to suggest their being mounted on

snow-shoes. The long, tapering neck is the only graceful thing about

them.

I was particularly struck with the old mother’s excessive caution.

She would not come near, and yet she would not go away. Had she taken

to her heels when she first discovered us she could, of course, have

defied pursuit, for the ice-field was so extensive that we could

never have overtaken her. But she seemed to be fascinated with the

steamer, and her curiosity got the better of her discretion. It is

not the first time that this same quality, inherent in all living

creatures, has involved its possessor in trouble.

She moved along with great deliberation. She appeared to be a

well-fed bear, and probably had breakfasted recently and felt lazy;

for she did not once attempt to run, nor did she wade through the

pools of water which were on the ice, but deliberately walked around

them, as if indisposed even to wet her feet. Sometimes she would

turn her back towards us, sometimes her front; often she would stop,

stretch out her long neck and sniff the air all round, turning her

head to right and left, throwing her nose as high up as she could

get it, and then dropping it on the ice as if she might discover

something there. Meanwhile, the little ones were cutting all sorts of

antics about her. Seeing that she was not alarmed, they were in great

glee, evidently regarding the _Panther_ as a very wonderful show,

got up by their mother for their special benefit. They chased each

other like a pair of kittens; raced round and round the old bear,

rolled each other over on the ice, using their paws and teeth upon

each other after the usual innocent and playful fashion natural to

dumb animals in their youthful state. They splashed the water right

and left as they ran through the pools; and altogether they appeared

to be a pair of very lively, and highly delighted young bears, who

regarded the present occasion as rather a jolly sort of entertainment.

It took this family party somewhere near half an hour to get around

to where the old one wanted to be, to satisfy herself as to whether

the _Panther_ was a friend or a foe. Once she seemed irresolute, and

turned about as if she would retrace her steps and make off; but

then she turned back again, and for some minutes after seemed to be

dragged by two antagonistic impulses, first one way and then the

other, with a general gain of force, however, on the string which

drew her out to the point of ice.

By-and-by she got where she seemed to be satisfied, for she suddenly

stopped short, threw up her head, gave a tremendous snort, wheeling

around at the same time in a state of alarm, and looking about as

if for some means of escape. After a moment’s reflection she took

the back track. The alarm spread to the little ones, and the lively

creatures ran around their mother as if they would inquire what the

matter was, and if the show was over, and they were to have no more

of it, while she seemed to be encouraging them by assurances that it

was no great affair, but that it was necessary for them to use their

legs as nimbly as possible, for they must get out of that. So their

gambols were ended, and the little things whined piteously, and did

their best. They appeared to be as unhappy as children caught in

a thunder-shower on their way from a country fair. It was now not

less amusing to watch them than before. In the confused state of

their minds they grew utterly careless of what they were about, and

they often sprang upon rotten places in the ice, and broke through,

and by the time they had crawled out again the mother was some

distance ahead, and was obliged to wait, and often to run back, if

not actually to render assistance to her cubs, at least to encourage

them. As for herself; she could readily have escaped; and she

appeared to be quite conscious of the fact; but she would not leave

her young: her devotion to them was indeed touching, and worthy of

all admiration.

[Illustration: THE PANTHER AFTER THE BEARS.]

Meanwhile the _Panther_ had not been idle. The moment the old bear

got the wind of us, and began to show symptoms of alarm, the captain

rang his bell, “Ahead, full speed.” The screw began to revolve, and

at the top of her speed the vessel bore down upon the ice, across the

line of the bears’ retreat.

This was the captain’s plan from the beginning, and it now became a

mere question of time; though on the _Panther’s_ part there was in

the minds of most of us a question of strength and power.

We came upon the ice as before with a grand crash, striking what

appeared to be the weakest spot. The shock was worse than any thing

we had yet felt, the ice being firmer than before; but the solid

iron cut-water opened her way into it as formerly, and she rode up

on it and crushed it down, and rode up again and settled once more;

and in the conflict every body was very uneasy on his legs. The jar

made lively work in the pantry, where the cabin-boy had retired

when he had shouted “bergs” instead of bears, and, quite exhausted

by the effort, had fallen fast asleep there, and was aroused by the

soup-tureen coming down and landing, bottom up, on the crown of his

head, which nearly cracked his skull, but saved the crockery, and in

a measure woke up the young man. “Blob,” who was standing beside

the coamings of the main hatch, making a sketch of the bears, turned

a somerset into the coal-hole, where his picture was turned into a

black bear instead of a white one. Otherwise no damage was done; but

the ruse was altogether successful, as the captain had anticipated;

for the force of the shock started the ice, and a crack opened right

through in front of us to the water on the other side. The point to

which the bears had gone was thus broken from the main body of the

floe, and the game was now on a raft, and at our mercy.

The crack, opening very rapidly before the steady pressure of the

vessel, gave us a free passage through, and seeing themselves

thus headed off, and the steamer bearing down across their line

of retreat, they took the back track, and now, all thoroughly

frightened, ran across to the opposite side, behind us, thus

compelling us to wheel about and return through the crack. At this

moment the photographers came rushing on deck demanding the right of

a “first shot.” Quick as a flash the camera was down and focused,

a slide with a little hole in it was dropped before the lens, and

the family group of polar bears was taken at a distance of about

two hundred yards. To accomplish this feat required the very first

degree of enterprise and skill. The camera was stationed upon the

top-gallant forecastle, and the impression was obtained while

both ship and bears were in motion. The brightness of the light,

of course, greatly favored the success of this altogether novel

experiment in the photographic art. The artists (Mr. John Dunmore, of

Boston, and Mr. George Critchersen, of Worcester) deserve the highest

commendation for their successful accomplishment of so difficult a

feat. The bears now took the water with the manifest intention of

swimming to the solid floe; but here we again anticipated them, and

they wheeled about again, and swam back towards the ice which they

had left but a few moments before. Putting the helm a-starboard, we

now came directly in upon their wake, and when within fifty yards of

them slackened speed.

At this moment they presented a magnificent sight, their beautiful

long hair waving gracefully in the clear blue water, and their round,

buoyant bodies floating along swiftly towards the ice and hoped for

safety. The tender regard of the mother for her offspring was here as

strikingly apparent as when on the ice. She would not abandon them;

but, on the contrary, the nearer we approached the more she stuck

by and encouraged them, still, as before, with one on either side.

Once she invited them to dive, and, imitating her example, the three

went down together and paddled themselves along for some distance

about twenty feet below the surface, where we could easily see them

striking out for dear life. When they came up we gave them a volley

from our rifles, and the old mother and one of the cubs lay lifeless

upon the blood-stained water.

The other cub, by some mischance, escaped with only a slight scratch,

and reached the floe, where, as he rose, another ball entered his

side, and sent him off with a mortal wound, whining piteously. The

captain now jammed his steamer into the ice, and, clambering down

over the bob-stays, gave chase. The bear soon stopped and hid himself

behind a hummock, and when the captain came up with him he was

disposed to make fight. His whine was converted into a defiant growl,

and he charged his pursuer; but a well-aimed shot brought the game

down and completed the hunt.

It only remained now to get the animals aboard, to weigh and measure

them, to award the skins to the rifles which had given them

death-wounds. This last was no easy matter; but finally, after much

discussion and some rather animated assertions, such as usually take

place on like occasions, the award was finally made, and we tied

up to an iceberg that promised us a chance for watering ship, and,

after the excitement and exposure of the night, we were well prepared

to enjoy a good breakfast of the game we had brought from the Duck

Islands.

Casting off from the iceberg next day, we set out to look for further

game, steaming up in a north-easterly direction through a wide lead.

Presently we saw something dark on the edge of the ice, and soon made

it out to be a seal, a very large one, of the barbed species. We

knew from former experience how very wild they were, and, slacking

speed, we approached cautiously. At first he appeared to be asleep,

dozing lazily in the warm sun; but if so, the noise of the steamer

awoke him, and he grew restive and alarmed. Evidently he was not to

be caught as the bears had been, and if we would shoot him we must

exercise great care; so the headway of the steamer was slackened

still further, and we all lay low behind the bulwarks as we glided

slowly along, thus stalking the animal in a somewhat unusual fashion.

But he was too old to be cheated, and when still two rifle-shots away

he threw up head and tail, and floundered into the water. Then he

swam off, and brought his almost human-looking face above the surface

not twenty yards away, then took a deliberate look at us, and before

a rifle could be aimed he had apparently satisfied himself, for he

turned heels over head, and with a terrific splash disappeared to be

seen no more.

This little incident would not be worth naming, since it was an

entirely unsuccessful feat of hunting, had it not been that at the

very moment the seal disappeared from the ice an immense bear sprang

out from behind a ridge of hummocks, along which he had evidently

been crawling, stalking the very same seal that we were after. We

had clearly robbed the beast of his breakfast, and he appeared to be

more disgusted with the circumstance than alarmed by us. Yet he was

not quite so unsuspicious as the bears we had before encountered. He

was the largest bear I had ever seen, and we wanted him badly. He

looked splendid as he stood there upon the floe. The moment he saw

the _Panther_ he came to a dead stand, and made no further movement

than to turn his head first to one side and then to the other, in a

sort of measured oscillation. There was evidently upon his mind a

feeling of irresolution that was constantly increasing; yet it did

not seem as if he was willing to own to himself that he was afraid,

until the steamer coming in contact quite unavoidably with a piece

of ice made a considerable crash, which settled the bear into a

suspicion that the object he was looking at was hardly to be trusted.

He wheeled suddenly round on his hind legs, like a horse wheeling at

play in a pasture, made a most magnificent bound across a pool of

water, and then took himself off quite leisurely, turning his head

back over his shoulder with every step, to have a further look at

us. Occasionally he would give a snort, attended with an extra leap,

and then go waddling on again at the same stiff-legged and snow-shoe

pace as before described in the case of the other bears which we

had hitherto pursued and captured. But for all he had still clearly

some lingering doubts of the _Panther’s_ hostile disposition, and,

allowing this feeling to get the better of him, he came to a dead

stand, and squared himself round to have a better look at us; then he

advanced a few paces, stopped and fixed his gaze upon us steadily.

Meanwhile the _Panther_ lay still upon the waters, and appeared to

have her eye upon him, and the two stood, as if trying to stare each

other out of countenance, for some minutes. The bear seemed at length

to be getting charmed, for he advanced a hundred yards or so with

the greatest coolness and deliberation; and then, as if suddenly

recollecting his previous prudential notions, he wheeled short around

as before, took a huge leap, and went upon the back track again.

To look at the animal now and watch all his antics, one would think

him as mad as a March hare. He turned first to the right and then

to the left, after he had gone a little way, and then he began to

move up and down in front of us, like a sentry on post, acting very

deliberately all the while, poking out his head and drawing it in

again like a turtle, elevating his nose as high as he could, and then

depressing it again close down upon the ice, occasionally stopping

short and looking at the _Panther_ sideways.

All of these manœuvres, it must be understood, were for the special

benefit of the _Panther_, for we on board of her were closely hidden

behind the bulwarks, with nothing but our eyes exposed. Up to this

time it was clear enough that the bear had not been seriously

frightened. Like the others, he was in some doubt and uncertainty

about the meaning of the dark object, and was filled with curiosity.

We had, therefore, great hopes that he would become reconciled to

the _Panther_, and be inclined to closer acquaintance. It is not an

uncommon thing for a bear in Melville Bay to leave the ice and swim

off to a vessel. I have known them to come deliberately alongside,

attracted thither, no doubt, by the smell of bones which were burning

in the galley—a whaleman’s device for attracting the bears. But the

sight or smell of a human being, or of a dog, alarms them at once,

and they instantly make off. In the burning bones they find, no

doubt, something savory and suggestive of food.

We felt greatly encouraged when we saw the bear begin to march up

and down in front of us, as if standing guard; but unfortunately the

_Panther_ could not forever hold her breath, and with the first gush

of steam through the escape-pipe old Bruin bounded up in the air

as if possessed, gave a fierce snort, and ran away as fast as his

legs would carry him; and in order that he might make the best time

possible, and show off his points to the best advantage, we fired a

volley from our rifles after him, without the least hope or chance

of doing him any damage, owing to the great distance. He did not now

pause until he was a good quarter of a mile away from us, when he

faced round once more, seemed to bestow upon us an approving nod,

and then, with much deliberation, made for the opposite side of the

floe, where we now busied our minds with devising ways and means

of reaching him. But no way could we see but once more to put the

_Panther_ into the ice—no very difficult matter; but here the ice

was unusually thick, and there did not appear to be much chance of

breaking through it. To go around the floe was to make a circuit of

several miles, and long before we could reach the point towards which

the bear was going he would be far enough away.

Running down a little way near the edge of the floe, we discovered a

narrow isthmus, against which the captain put the vessel, as before,

under full headway, but with less happy results. Only a few fathoms

of the ice were broken away. Owing to this circumstance the shock was

greater than on either of the former occasions; but, nothing daunted,

the captain backed her out and put her in four successive times,

and was rewarded in the end by starting a crack, through which the

steamer was forced.

We were now in the same lead for which the bear was making, and we

could with our glasses still see him upon the ice, though very near

the water, which by this time he could readily have reached had

he done his best. We bore down upon him with all possible haste.

Presently he disappeared. He had taken the water, and was making for

the opposite ice, which was very solid, and was held firm and fast

by a great number of icebergs, which were imbedded in it. If he once

reached this the game was up.

The second mate was sent aloft, and detected him in the water heading

for a point which, instead of being low and flat, as is usual, was

rough and hummocky. The _Panther_ was pointed there also, with the

view of cutting off his retreat. This once accomplished, the bear

was of course ours. Seeing our purpose, the animal, now evidently in

a great state of terror, swam away for dear life, making a splendid

spectacle of himself as he floated along with his nose only above the

surface, and was clearly in much the condition of the soldiers who

swam the river from the battle of Ball’s Bluff—he was not hurt, but

fearfully demoralized.

[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN AFTER THE BEAR.]