We were only about sixty yards away when he reached the point, and

we now felt sure of him. We had not succeeded in cutting off his

line of retreat, but we had come within easy range; and since the

vessel was forging ahead, we should be almost atop of the animal by

the time he got out of the water. The _Panther_ was going fairly for

the ice, and we were all ready to fire the moment he showed himself.

But the animal was too cunning for us. The rough hummocks of the

point hid from our view a bight on the opposite side, into which

the bear swam for safety; and now, thoroughly sheltered behind the

ice for which we were making, he was getting the better of us. With

that quickness of perception characteristic of the skillful sailor,

the captain grasped the situation, and, seeing that to round the

point was to lose the bear for certain, he shouted to the man at the

wheel to put his helm hard a-port, which caused us to bring up with

a terrific thump a short distance from the point, where the ice was

comparatively thin. The moment the ship struck and buried herself a

little, the captain let himself down by a rope from the cat-head,

and, followed by two other rifles, ran over the floe towards the

bend of the bight for which the bear was making, but not in time to

intercept him. He reached the ice, and drew his enormous body out of

the water a hundred yards from the riflemen, and bounded away with

the speed of the wind, not stopping even long enough to shake himself

of the great quantity of water in his long hair. Every body fired at

him, of course, but none of our balls took effect; at least none of

them produced any impression upon his speed. The captain thought he

saw blood, and kept up the race for half a mile, hoping to see him

drop or halt, as the one he had chased before, mortally wounded; but

the animal was soon out of sight among the icebergs, and our eagerly

coveted game was gone.

We were all much chagrined by this mishap. Every man had regarded him

as his own particular prize, and felt quite sure of him. We had even

taken the measurement and weight of his body. One was going to have

his skin spread out for a mat, with his head stuffed and his paws on.

Another was going to drive four-in-hand in the Park, and have him

for a sleigh-robe; another was going to sell him for two hundred and

fifty dollars currency, and he knew where to place the article; but

all these bright anticipations came to a most lamentable end when the

bear carried off his own skin in his own four-in-hand fashion.

We were soon consoled for this disappointment by another alarm. It

came from the look-out up aloft, and was answered with a universal

“Where away?” which was answered in turn by the most satisfactory

assurance that they were down on the extreme point of a long, narrow

floe, and were apparently easily accessible. They were three in

number. We bore down upon them without delay, the man aloft conning

the ship, until they were seen from the deck, when the captain, as

usual, gave his own orders.

The ice upon which the bears were proved this time to be very thin

and rotten, as was evidenced by the fact that the animals frequently

broke through. They could not, therefore, travel very fast, even if

they should become frightened; and then, besides, as we came nearer

to them we perceived that, no matter how fast they might travel,

there was but little chance of their escaping us, for in whatever

direction they might attempt to go we could follow them; and when in

the water they would be easily overtaken, as they would have at least

a quarter of a mile to swim before reaching another floe.

The _Panther_ tore through the ice this time without difficulty; and

she actually broke the ice up with such facility, and approached the

bears with such rapidity, that they were almost dropped into the

water—at least a crack was forced open ahead of us, almost underneath

the bears’ feet. They took to it immediately, and we almost ran over

them. As we approached we might have shot them very easily; but the

photographers were crazy for a chance at them, and, seeing that there

was no possibility of their escape, we sacrificed our impatience in

the interest of art.

The bears having swum a little while, crawled upon the ice. By this

time we had wheeled round, and the photographers had a fine chance at

them. The hunters were impatient, but they had not long to wait, for

the delighted “colonel” soon thrust his head out of his photographic

box and shouted, “I’m done with them, gentlemen.” At this moment the

bears took the water again.

We made short work of cutting through a tongue of ice which

intervened and, coming upon the animals as they swam, we ceased

playing with them as a cat plays with a mouse before swallowing it,

and at thirty yards gave them a volley, and three more bears were

added to our trophies. The carcasses were soon hoisted on deck, and

we then steered for Wilcox Point, without, however, seeing any bears

by the way. Then we headed in for the Devil’s Thumb, and, discovering

a moderately firm floe, which seemed to be held in its position

by some grounded icebergs, we steered for it, run the _Panther_ a

hundred yards into it, and proceeded to let our six prizes down on

the ice, where we soon had the skins off; some for specimens, and

some for robes and mats—each one who was the fortunate possessor of a

skin following the bent of his fancy in the matter.

Pushing off from the floe, we steamed to within two miles of the

Thumb, and anchored. Probably no vessel had ever been so near it as

we were, and although our situation was one of some peril, we did not

feel justified in losing the opportunity so auspiciously presented

to us. We climbed the hills all round, and everywhere we went we

discovered numerous traces of reindeer, but we did not succeed in

finding any of the animals themselves. There can be no doubt that

they exist there in considerable numbers, and had we followed them

inland it is equally certain that we would have found any number of

them. But for an enterprise of that description we had not sufficient

time to stay—or, rather, the threatening nature of the ice, and the

uncertainty of our situation, made it important that all hands should

be at least within signalling distance, that we might steam out from

underneath the Devil’s Thumb upon the first threat of danger.

To climb the Thumb we found to be impossible, but we reached its

base, and from there—an elevation of thirteen hundred feet, according

to my barometer—we overlooked one of the most remarkable scenes that

ever met the eye of man. Such a wilderness of ice, such a forest of

icebergs, such boundless desolation, would be difficult to describe,

or to be appreciated except by the actual observer. Let me, in a

mechanical sort of way, make the attempt to convey to the reader’s

mind some idea of this remarkable scene.

The Devil’s Thumb is an island—at least, without actually sailing

round it in my boat (being prevented by the ice), there were such

indications as to make it certain that, if not an island, it is

connected with the main-land only by a very low and narrow isthmus.

It lies at the head of a deep bay, and it is from five to eight

miles long, by from three to five wide. The Thumb itself is on the

farther side from the sea, and is about six hundred feet high above

its base, rising like a church spire, and as abruptly. Down into the

bay, to the north and east from the island, come two great glaciers,

one about twelve miles wide, the other about three. These glaciers

climbed up steadily, or descended, I should rather say, between the

coast mountains in steady streams, which, joining together, and

with others to the north and south of them, form a long level line

against the sky; and this is the summit of the great icy sea—the _mer

de glace_—which covers the whole length of the Greenland continent,

and which, from its exhaustless bed, sends down through every valley

opening to Baffin’s Bay such streams as these. And these streams

send off into the sea the icebergs, which are but trifling fragments

of the glacier itself.

The icebergs coming from these two glaciers about the Devil’s Thumb

were altogether countless. They filled up the whole north side of the

bay, and extended out to the sea for miles. The time of my visit was

near midnight, and with a clear, bright sun illuminating the scene,

scattering everywhere its splendors, I could but wish for something

better than a simple note-book and the use of words to embody an idea

of the view before me. An artist alone, with his pallette and his

pencil, could convey any proper effect of it. My powers of sketching

were quite inadequate. “Blob” might have done better, but no amount

of persuasion could induce him to climb a hill marked in the devil’s

name. Of all the situations of the cruise, this view was the finest

beyond comparison, and to see it was enough to repay one for all the

trouble and vexation and hazard of a dozen such voyages. We missed

a photograph of it for the same reason we missed “Blob’s” sketch—a

fearful superstition. Had it been called “The Pillar of the Church”

instead of “The Devil’s Thumb,” the whole cabin mess would have

climbed it willingly.

CHAPTER V.

AMONG THE ICE-FIELDS OF MELVILLE BAY.

I was much disappointed that we could not prolong our stay in the

vicinity of the Devil’s Thumb. But our situation there was indeed

a hazardous one. The ice was crowding about us all the time, and,

driven by a three-knot current that whirled it round in the wildest

manner, it was not surprising that the captain should declare the

Thumb to be no proper place for the _Panther_. Accordingly, after

doing the best we could hydrographically, topographically, and

artistically, we crawled out while the chance was good and steamed

northward into the pack.

To describe our adventures of the next few days would be to repeat

much of what I have said before about the pursuit of bears and

encounters with ice-fields. Neither ice-navigation nor bear-hunting

can present much of variety. Even to ourselves both became monotonous

in the end; and we even received the cry of “bears” without

excitement, and were knocked off our legs by the thumping of the

_Panther_ against the ice without emotion.

Besides the bears and an occasional seal (none of which were we

lucky enough, however, to shoot), we saw no living thing except an

occasional flock of little auks, or rotche, as they are called by the

whalers. These are the cunningest little divers imaginable. They are

family relations of the lumme already described; and, although only

about one-third the size, are like them in color. The water is alive

with shrimps about a quarter of an inch in length; and these little

birds, whose flight is very rapid, come from the distant land to

feed. Myriads of them whizzed over us, affording a fine opportunity

for the sportsman. Sometimes large flocks of them would alight upon

the water and, after satisfying their appetites, would crawl out upon

the ice, and, sitting along the margin of it, dry themselves in the

warm sun.

Our hunts after seals were most tantalizing. Great numbers of them

came up out of the water, and stretching themselves on the ice in

the blazing sunshine, went to sleep there. But they were all too shy

for us. We approached them with steamer and with boat, but it was of

no avail. If they did not sleep with one eye open, they certainly

never slept with both ears shut; and long before they had come within

effective range of our rifles, they were off the ice and into the

water, and although they might bob up and down in the sea, looking at

us within a distance of fifty yards or so, they were always careful

not to expose themselves long enough to allow of our drawing a sight

on them.

The weather was superb; for the most part the air was entirely calm,

and in the perpetual sunshine our enjoyment was uninterrupted.

Sometimes we were beset among the ice-fields, once or twice drifted

upon an iceberg while we were helplessly involved among heavy floes,

and there was therefore enough of danger to deprive the days of

absolute stupidity. This ice-navigation, is never wholly free from

hazard, and nothing can be more treacherous than the movements of the

pack. Great skill and caution are always necessary on the part of the

officers of the ship, and, since we were out of sight of land much

of the time for several days, the mate had no temptation to indulge

his favorite pastime of sounding with the _Panther’s_ keel. He would,

indeed, be at all times a capital sailor but for his weakness for

running the ship ashore.

I have, unhappily, none of those harrowing adventures to record which

usually make up the accounts of Melville Bay voyagers. Once only

did we encounter a real “nip.” The _Panther_ was then pretty badly

squeezed, and we had a lively exhibition of the power of the closing

ice-field. Strong though the _Panther_ was, we could readily see that

she would be as an egg-shell in the hand if caught where the ice was

in rapid movement. Fortunately it was only a revolving floe which

beset us, and not the moving pack that was passing down bodily.

At length, after winding and twisting about to our hearts’ content,

and having seen the Melville Bay pack and the Melville Bay icebergs

in every aspect possessing interest for us, the _Panther_ was

brought up alongside a heavy floe many miles in extent, and there

she was, for the last time, made fast. A consultation revealed the

fact that no one cared particularly to go any farther. A meridian

altitude fixed our position at latitude 75°, near the Sabine

Islands—farther in the direction of the North Pole, certainly, than

any pleasure-seekers had ever gone before in that quarter. We were at

least a hundred miles within the “pack,” and every one was abundantly

satisfied with his performances, whether they had been sporting,

artistic, scientific, or what not.

Our last day, tied up to the old floe, was a memorable one in our

calendar. The temperature was quite warm, at one time reaching 60°

in the shade, and, exposed as we had been so long, this seemed to

us a sultry heat. And this was the more strange that we were in the

midst of a perfect forest of icebergs. The floe to which we lay

moored was, so far as the eye could perceive, limitless in extent—the

thickness was about two and a half feet, and for the most part it was

as level as the sea in a calm. The snows of winter had melted from

its surface, and here and there the water had gathered in shallow

pools, giving something the appearance of a marsh. Through the field

numerous icebergs protruded, like huge rocks rising above a plain;

the universal whiteness, broken only by the deep blue of the water,

produced a glare that was sometimes painful to the eye, and, when the

sun was shining at its brightest, quite overpowering.

[Illustration: MOORED TO A FLOE IN MELVILLE BAY.]

Our people amused themselves in various ways. Some carried out boards

from the ship, and, dropping them upon the ice, went soundly to

sleep upon them in the hot sun. Others played foot-ball; while some

exercised their skill with pistol and rifle upon a target painted

with ink upon the side of a berg. Others, again, ran foot-races, and

all hands made the most of the strange and unusual situation. There

were neither bears nor seals to attract to more serious pastime,

and no living thing besides ourselves was seen in this brilliantly

illuminated wilderness except a flock of rotche, which came from the

northward, and dropped down in the sea only a little way from us.

Afterward they climbed out of the water and stood in a row, bolt

upright, on the edge of the ice, staring at us in a most cunning and

saucy manner. No doubt they had come from the extensive rookeries

on the north side of Melville Bay, where the shore is for miles and

miles literally alive with them.

While the idlers were thus amusing themselves, the artists were busy

enough and, for myself, I found sufficient occupation in measuring

and closely examining an iceberg which lay partly imbedded in the

floe about two hundred yards from us. It was a very remarkable berg,

both in form and dimensions, though, in the latter particular, many

that I have seen exceeded it. Its greatest height, determined from a

carefully measured base-line, was 230 feet, and its extreme length

1040 feet. We called it “the ruined castle,” and, indeed, there

was only required a very slight assistance from the imagination to

complete the outlines of an ancient work of defense turned adrift

upon the sea in some unaccountable manner, as if to make room for

more modern inventions. I estimated its cubical contents at fifty

millions of tons.

Our castled iceberg can hardly be appreciated even by a detailed

description, for it is difficult to describe so grand an object even

by contrasting it with familiar things. In the first place, there

was an open portal and a lowered draw-bridge; but the latter did not

look very secure, being but a portion of the ice-field on which we

stood, that had been crowded into the opening. So we did not venture

upon the passage, but rather gazed through the archway at the blue

sky beyond, until the curiosity was satisfied, when we walked as far

around the ruin as the nature of the ice would allow. The rear proved

to be much lower than the front; and, in fact, the front and one side

presented from both points of view a no bad imitation of a lofty

wall (now partly crumbled down), which had once been the half of the

wall inclosing the central space, or court-yard, to which the portal

led. This space was about one-eighth of a mile in diameter, and was

very rough and rugged, and it lay some fifty to eighty feet above

the sea-level. When the sun came around to that side, and shone down

upon that part of the wonderful ruin, and we stood upon the ice-field

in front and in deep shadow, looking through the open portal, the

effect was most enchanting; and it is, indeed, impossible to conceive

of any thing more delightful in the way of light and shade and color

than it presented. When the sun was shining on the ice, as seen

through the portal, the surface had the appearance of delicate white

satin. The shadows were the most tender and delicious azure, while in

those places where the ice-field was removed from the berg, and an

overhanging portion of it received the reflected light from the water

below, the color was the most perfectly transparent green that can be

imagined.

[Illustration: THE ICEBERG CASTLE.]

I have so many times described these icebergs in all their varying

characters, that any thing more might seem like too much; but I can

not pass from the description of this castle-like natural formation

without alluding to the wonderful variety of shapes assumed by

these floating ice-mountains. There is scarcely a conceivable form

that I have not seen: birds and savage beasts and effigies of domes

and towers, and other objects, animate and inanimate, are seen

continually. Human faces stare at you on every side; huge busts of

men and forms of women I have often observed; and once a giant statue

stood against the sky, outrivalling the famous Colossus of Rhodes,

which it imitated in form and size.

CHAPTER VI.

THE LAST WHITE MAN.

As this was to be our last tie-up in Melville Bay, and as every body

was well satisfied that Melville Bay had been thoroughly “done,”

there was now some impatience to hear the order given to “cast off.”

But the order did not come even with the close of the day, and there

we were clearly to remain until the morrow. Meanwhile a light wind

set in from the south-east, and, coming directly from the Greenland

glaciers, it brought the temperature down below the freezing-point;

and when at length “seven bells” aroused the ship’s company from

their slumbers, the _Panther_ was a prisoner. In every direction,

as far as the eye could reach, the sea, where it had been open the

evening before, was now covered with ice. In many places this young

ice would bear a man’s weight. It was a very needless predicament to

have been placed in, but these Newfoundland sailors must not for the

world be robbed of their night’s rest.

Luckily the _Panther_ was strong, or we should have lain there beside

the ruined castle all winter. It was at least a quarter of an hour

after we had actually at length cast off from the floe before we

budged an inch, and then it was a long while before we made much

headway. By-and-by, however, we went ahead at the rate of one knot

an hour, and then, after that, crunched through the transparent film

that was on the sea. The crystals flew to left and right; and when

the sun came out, shining upon the flying fragments, it seemed as

if we were cutting through a waste of jewelry. A few hours of this

sort of running brought us into the clear water of an opening lead,

and thence our flight from Melville Bay was made much after the same

fashion as that of our going in—the same cutting through and breaking

down of floes, and the same wild excitement as before.

[Illustration: WE STEAM AWAY FROM THE MIDNIGHT SUN.]

Our good ship seemed to have a realizing sense of her situation, and

to enjoy as much as we the prospect which had so suddenly overtaken

us together of wintering in the dreaded “pack.” Welch, the fireman,

declared that the _Panther_ was a ship “as knowed a thing or two.”

When the day closed we had Wilcox Point and the Devil’s Thumb abeam.

The great ice-fields which on our way north had so much embarrassed

us on entering Melville Bay had by this time either drifted or melted

away; and now through an unobstructed sea we held our course for the

Duck Islands, and steamed away from the midnight sun.

From the Duck Islands we groped our way down the coast through one of

those provoking fogs which so often come to pester the life of the

Arctic voyager, and which set upon us early in the night.

I do not remember to have ever seen any thing more gloomy than the

scene before us when the fog lifted in the early morning. We had been

lying to for some time, not really knowing where we were; but, as

good-luck would have it, we found that we were pointed fairly between

two remarkable islands, known from their conformation as Cone and

Wedge. Beyond was a straight passage of twenty miles, between lofty,

cavernous, brownish-red, rocky islets; and beyond these, again, was

to be seen, in the far distance, the cold line of the _mer de glace_,

from which come pouring down cold glaciers to the sea. Cold icebergs

lay upon the leaden waters; a cold wind was moaning from the hills;

and although the sun shone out after the fog had vanished, it failed

to throw any glow of warmth over the general desolation, or to

dissolve the oppressive chill.

Steering south-east, we passed presently around a large iceberg

which had before obstructed the view, and then we opened a low point

of land, rugged as any other land in sight, and as utterly without

sign or trace of vegetation; and yet a little white house stood upon

the naked rock, and the white and red emblem of Danish sovereignty

fluttered from a little flag-staff on the roof. This was the house we

had seen and photographed on our way north—the most northern house

of all the world; and in this little house, in this fearful desert,

dwells a Christian family, with no other human beings within fifty

miles of them save a few ignorant savages.

The head of the family met us among the ice in a boat a mile or so

away. He had a swarthy crew of skin-clad men, and as he hauled in

alongside of us, and stood up in the stern of his boat, I recognized

at once the sturdy figure, sandy hair, and striking features of Peter

Jensen. I was heartily glad to see him, and had him on board and by

the hand without a minute’s loss of time. Then we steamed into a

good anchorage and went ashore, and called upon his wife, and petted

his children, and dined with him off venison and eider-ducks. The

wife made us some capital cakes, and we had cigars and Danish pipes

and excellent coffee; and we smoked and drank and chatted away the

evening, and were very much surprised, when we came to think about

it, that we had had a very pleasant time here in this remote and

solitary place, within a thousand miles, measured as the crow flies,

of the North Pole.

[Illustration: THE MOST NORTHERN HOUSE ON THE GLOBE.]

But there was something indescribably sad to me in the dreadful

isolation of this family who had entertained us. It is worse

than loneliness, for the savages around, with their filth and

wretchedness, and their packs of howling, vicious dogs, can not give

companionship to a woman bred in Copenhagen, nor to the three little

children whom she nurtured with the carefulness of a Christian mother.

These children were two pretty flaxen-haired girls—Johana Maria and

Jennie Caroline—of five and seven years. But the hope of the house

was Julius Christian, aged three years and some odd months.

They had all been troubled with the scurvy, and I did not wonder at

it. What could these poor children do to preserve their health by

outdoor exercise and outdoor pastime in a climate where the snow is

on the ground nine months out of the twelve, and where the sun is not

seen in winter for more than a hundred days; where the house must be

banked with snow, the windows double glazed, the stoves and lamps

kept burning constantly, to ward off the piercing cold, which often

sinks to 50° below zero, and even lower, and where howling gales,

filling the air with snow-drift, are of almost daily occurrence?

The four rooms of the house were fitted up with a reasonable degree

of comfort, and with great neatness. There were some ornaments

upon the walls—photographs of relatives and friends, and cheap

colored prints of Danish battle-scenes, in some of which Jensen

had patriotically borne a musket in the ranks before he came to

Greenland, and was deservedly proud of the share he had in the war of

1848 against the hated Prussian.

For warmth they had stoves and Danish coal; and then there were

huge bags of eider-down, among which the children buried themselves

through the dark cold nights, piled upon the beds, and one might

think the cold could never reach them when they had crawled to rest.

But even children can not sleep all the time, though it may be

always dark; and the loneliness of that prison-house to those three

little creatures, when the winter comes, was a painful thing to

contemplate. But then the wife! The children were born there, and

had no other associations; but through the desolate winter do the

wife’s thoughts not wander sometimes mournfully and regretfully back

to the society and the changing delights and changing fashions of the

world wherein she lived before she became a bride, and left it for

this desert, simply that she might be with the man she loved? For

surely there could be nothing else than love to tempt her there. She

made no complaint; she appeared cheerful, and may have been happy.

It was hard for me to think so. Hopeless, indeed, to her this life

of toil, anxiety, and suffering, unless the blind god gives her some

vast measure of bliss utterly beyond man’s power of appreciation.

Alas, how little men really know of the sacrifices women make for

them continually! Was the man ever born who was capable of such an

exhibition of unselfishness as this Betty Jensen? I doubt it.

And the life of her husband is a very hard and, as it seems to me,

a very thankless one. Strange as it may seem, Jensen came here to

seek his fortune. The little money that he had saved up from my

expedition of 1860-’61, enabled him to return to Denmark, and there

to marry, and come back to Greenland and set up for himself. He had

been promised the charge of this remote settlement of Tessuisak,

which is fifty miles above Upernavik, and on the very confines of the

great ice-barrier. He was always a fine shot, an active man, and an

expert hunter; and he thought by coming here he would in a few years

accumulate a competency, which he would carry back to Denmark. But I

fancy it must have been something of his restless nature besides that

impelled him to this life.

[Illustration: JENSEN AND HIS FAMILY.]

He had lived several years in Greenland before I knew him, and,

like all other men who have returned to the primitive life of the

hunter, he never again took kindly to other ways, but clung lovingly

to independence. It is not, however, so with women, and hence to

them the greater hardship and privation. Without the same motives to

action, they can not find society in the animals of the chase.

Unhappily, Jensen had overestimated his skill and the resources

of Tessuisak, and in spite of all he was disappointed. The whole

productions of the place per annum do not exceed five thousand

dollars, chiefly made up from seal-oil, eider-down, and bear and fox

skins. On this Jensen receives but five per cent., a salary besides

of five-and-twenty dollars, and one Government ration. There is no

provision for his wife and children. Clearly the Royal Greenland

Fishing Company never contemplated such a thing as a wife going to so

distant and woe-begone a place.

But if the fact of Christian people selecting this remote, forlorn,

and frigid corner of the world, voluntarily, for a residence is

incomprehensible to the ordinary understanding, the pluck of the

thing will be appreciated by all. I know of nothing that would

require a greater degree of moral courage than to face life in such

a situation. Yet Jensen gloried in the work he did, and grew very

animated when he recited his bear and reindeer hunts, the skill and

success he had in the seal and white whale fisheries, and boasted of

his good-luck in making the natives be to him, what no other Dane had

succeeded in doing, “hewers of wood and drawers of water;” or rather,

to speak practically, as we must of a region where there is no wood

to hew, and where all the water used is made from snow, the butchers

of his game, and the drawers of his blubber. In a small way he is a

sort of feudal lord, with natural rights and privileges which I doubt

if he would exchange for the benefits of an inferior station in some

inferior latitude.

The population which he thus rules comprises sixty-two savage souls,

scattered about in huts and tents upon the rocky hill-side. The dogs,

which in the winter-time are used to drag the sledges, are beyond

counting; and the stench that arose from the carcasses of decomposing

fish and seals, and other offensive sources, exceeds belief. I pitied

the wife, and mentioned it to Jensen. “Oh, she’s got used to it, and

don’t mind!” One of the native families had, with peculiar impudence,

pitched a tent close beside Jensen’s door, and he told me that it

could not be removed without giving offense to the whole village.

Barren though the land, the Esquimaux, with laughable gravity,

proclaim themselves the true proprietors of the soil, and they do not

hesitate to tell the Danes—though not in hostile fashion, calling

them foreigners—that they are intruders.

What made the presence of this tent the more obnoxious was that the

wife was supposed to be a witch, and often made night hideous with

her devilish incantations. Although nominally a Christian now, she

can not yet refrain from her old practices. And surely if ill looks

had ever any thing to do, as they always seem to have had, with the

general make-up of a witch, she was entitled to be looked upon as the

mother of them all, for a more frightful-looking being surely never

walked in darkness and conspired with the evil one. Yet this monster

had a child, and its innocent baby face did not exhibit any evidence

that it was conscious of its dangerous parentage, but it sucked its

fist as contentedly as any other baby that had been born all right

and in the mortal fashion. Her original name was Annorasuak, which

is something equivalent to “Mother of the Winds.” Her history, as I

had it afterwards from Jensen, is not without romantic interest, and

will be again referred to.

[Illustration: AN ARCTIC WITCH.]

I could not part from this little family of Jensen without emotion.

For seven long years the wife had seen no living soul from the great

world from which her love had called her, and the children looked

upon us with amazement. They had never seen a ship in all their

little lives before, and the smoking, snorting _Panther_ was a

wonder in their eyes. We made them up a store of such good things as

we had on board, including every thing of an antiscorbutic character

that we could lay our hands upon, added a couple of tons or so

of coals, and then, with Jensen on board to pilot us through the

intricate passages between the islands, we bore away from this most

northern house of all the world, and shaped our course for Upernavik.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FIORD OF AUKPADLARTOK.

On our way to Upernavik we wheeled into the fiord of Aukpadlartok,

to which I have hitherto made allusion, and I verily believe there

never was such another wilderness of desolation—such an interminable

array of islands of ice and islands of rock; and when at last we saw

another house like Jensen’s, pitched like his upon just such another

point of land, and reflected that these houses are dotted here and

there in this dreary waste at intervals of forty and fifty miles, and

that their inmates hold communication one with the other perhaps once

in the winter with dog-sledge, and once in summer, and not more, with

boat, it seemed as if proof was positive that life without social

intercourse was really possible—a fact which I should never have

believed for a moment otherwise.

The ice was so thick along the shore that we could not get within a

mile of the little house and the miserable huts which surrounded it.

So we had nothing to do but tie up to an iceberg, and take to a boat

and pull in as best we could. The shore was reached at last, but only

after we had passed through many very dangerous places, including a

hole in an enormous iceberg, and then we were landed on the rocks,

where we were met by the most renowned of all the Greenland hunter—a

blue-eyed and fair-complexioned and most “mild-mannered man,” named

Philip, who was backed up by a staff of five sons—Christian, Wilhelm,

Simon, Hans, and Lars; while still farther in the rear was the wife,

Caroline, with her two daughters, Christina and Maria, and the

various wives and sweet-hearts and children of all her five boys, the

lover of Christina, and some forty other savages and half-savages,

who constituted the promiscuous population of the village of

Kresarsoak—“the village beside the mountain;” and the mountain reared

its great white crest five thousand feet above our heads, pushing

itself away up among the clouds.

[Illustration: WE GO THROUGH AN ICEBERG TO CALL ON PHILIP.]

[Illustration: PHILIP, THE HUNTER, AND HIS SONS.]

The family of Philip was a very different one from that of Jensen.

His wife was a full-blown Esquimaux. His half-breed children were

happy and well-contented, and rejoiced in the possession of every

thing needful for the hunt or domestic comfort. Christian was

married, and had a small hut and seven children all to himself. Simon

ditto, but he lived with his wife and baby in a seal-skin tent.

Wilhelm had recently been in trouble about his lady-love, who was a

thorough-bred native, she at first preferring another fellow, who

was a fine hunter, and evidently the superior of Wilhelm. But then

Wilhelm was the son of the “governor,” which made all the difference

in the world; and so the marriage was settled upon, and was to take

place as soon as the priest could come up from Upernavik to bless the

nuptials. For the rest, they all lived in the paternal mansion, which

had but one room, and was divided with seal-skins into a number of

stalls like an oyster-cellar, and in these the different members of

the family retired to rest among their bags of eider-down.

Having enjoyed the benefit of Philip’s hospitality, which was

displayed chiefly in the form of seal-steaks, smoked salmon, and

coffee, I strolled out with Jensen, who had told me that near by

once dwelt the witch Annorasuak, who now lived at Tessuisak, and had

become a Christian—that is to say, after the Greenland fashion. I

accepted with alacrity his offer to guide me thither.

Crossing the neck of a promontory, in half an hour we came down into

a valley, or rather wide gorge, bounded on either side by lofty

cliffs, that were broken by immense clefts, which had a most glaring

and forbidding aspect as they frowned down upon us from underneath

the great white caps that untold winters had woven round their

heads. Fitful gusts of wind came moaning down the gorge, chilling us

to the very bone.

Our situation at the entrance to the gorge was very striking and

remarkable. Looking up the fiord, we could faintly see the glacier

of Aukpadlartok over the tops of innumerable icebergs, which crowded

the fiord, and upon which the sun, breaking through the clouds that

had obscured the sky for some hours previous, shone with great

brilliancy, without, however, reaching us or giving any warmth.

Looking up the valley, we saw the front of a small glacier, perhaps

fifty feet high and two hundred yards over, which crossed the valley

from cliff to cliff about a mile up from the sea, and from which

was gathered a stream of limpid water that came rushing down over

the rocks, breaking in falls and whirling in pools, and everywhere

hurrying along as if it were glad to get its freedom again, and was

making the first use of it by bounding away to the sea and the warm

sunshine.

The ascent of the valley was difficult and laborious; but by dint

of hard scrambling we succeeded finally in making about half a

mile, when we had reached a point where the cliffs rose almost

perpendicularly from the border of the stream, and were scarcely more

than thirty yards apart. Between them the water rushed in a series of

picturesque falls, the sound of which, added to the roar of the wind,

that seemed as if it had accumulated beyond, and was being forced

through the narrow passage, greatly heightened the gloomy aspect of

the scene.

Continuing on our course, we finally reached the summit of the falls,

and came then upon a level plain of considerable extent—a sort of

natural amphitheatre. Here in this wild and desolate place, close

to the fall and beneath the glacier, Annorasuak had, many years

ago, chosen her residence. From here went forth her decrees, which

stilled the winds or made them blow, and sent good-fortune to her

friends, and disaster to those who disregarded her. The heathen

natives held her in the greatest awe, and were glad to propitiate her

with the offer of food, clothing, and every thing needful for her

comfort; and even those who had professed to embrace the Christian

religion held her in superstitious dread, and thought it no harm to

add a contribution to the witch’s wardrobe and larder. The ruins of

her hut, which was entered through a long and intricate cleft in

the rock, were still visible. I examined this ruin, and heard the

story of this last trace of the heathen practices in Greenland, with

intense interest, not alone on account of this circumstance, but

because of the peculiar mystery which shrouded her history, and the

romantic side of which culminated in a daughter—a girl with light

complexion and black hair. The father of this girl was believed

to be a criminal who had escaped from an English whale-ship, fled

hither with this woman, and managed while he lived to avoid detection

through her arts; for it was at the period of her flight there that

she first assumed to be the “Mother of the Winds.” From that time

forth no native was ever known to enter the valley, except to a

certain spot, where he left his offering; and even the Danes seemed

to have a superstitious dread of it, associating it with the evil

one. They called the glacier hanging above the witch’s home “The

Devil’s Castle,” and the valley itself borrowed its name from its

wicked mistress. It was “The Valley of the Winds.” The daughter’s

name was Annore—“Daughter of the Winds;” and she had been really

taught to believe that she was born of the air.

Love, which is and always has been the disturber of so many human

devices, finally broke up this nest of witchcraft and sorcery. A

youthful Dane, named Elsen, saw the child, and had pity for her.

His tenderness soon suggested means by which to approach without

frightening her, and without her mother’s knowledge. Then he fell in

love with his wild favorite, and addressed the mission of Upernavik

for help to save her. “Poor Annore,” the lover wrote, in his despair

at her condition; “she is a wild flower in the wilderness. Can the

wild flower be transplanted? Will the lustre of the leaves come out

in other soil, and will gentler airs bring brightness to the blossom?

Poor misguided child!—her birth a mystery to her; her very name a

falsehood to her mind perpetually. And yet she is taught to honor it,

and taught to think with pride that she was born of the winds, and

to the winds will go away again, to wander to and fro, doing good or

ill, forever. Annore, poor Annore! Will the falsehood pass away? Will

the daughter of the winds become a child of God?”

And the lover’s question was answered favorably. The missionary

became interested, and the two together managed, in the end, to

entice the mother and daughter away; and through their efforts Annore

became Nina, and the wife of Elsen; and Annorasuak, her mother,

became Barbara, and the wife of a Christian native, and she is now

the ugly hag that has pitched her tent at Tessuisak, right beneath

the nose of Jensen, who hates her cordially.

We did not remain longer in the valley than was necessary for an

inspection of the place. The wind shortly increased in violence,

accompanied with occasional gusts of snow, and sometimes it fairly

shrieked along the cliffs; and it seemed clear enough that if there

ever was a place on earth fitted for the abode of evil spirits, this

was it. As if to increase that impression, and leave no doubt at

all about it, an ancient raven, with a ragged coat, flopped down

near by, and set up a dismal croak. Then he walked off deliberately,

muttering to himself the while in a sepulchral tone, and, mounting to

the ruined wall of the witch’s hut, he croaked again. Then he cocked

his head to one side, and looked at us in a very sinister way out of

one eye; after which he went to the edge of the fall and looked over

into the foaming abyss. Then he croaked once more, flopped himself

over to the other side of the stream, and, lighting on a rock, began

sharpening his bill, as if preparing for a sacrifice, croaking all

the while. He seemed to know the spot, and to be at home there, for

the moment he struck the rock I perceived there was a double echo, so

that his voice resounded from cliff to cliff, until it seemed as if

the air were peopled with spirits that were in league with him, and

were answering to his call.

[Illustration: THE RAVEN.]

By the time we had reached Philip’s but it was snowing heavily,

and it being clear from the first that we had come up the fiord

for nothing, the icebergs being so thick above as to defy even the

passage of a boat to the glacier, we got aboard with all haste, and

steamed away.

CHAPTER VIII.

UPERNAVIK.

I had set my heart upon making a thorough survey of the fiord of

Aukpadlartok. As recorded in a previous chapter, I had previously

been there and penetrated to within five miles of the glacier. It

was, therefore, with much regret that I found the water wholly

impassable to a boat. Even the air was so thick that I could not

see the front of the glacier, so that I failed to note any changes

which might have taken place in the interval of eight years since

I had visited it before. Philip told me, however, that during the

past two or three years the discharge of icebergs had been much

greater than formerly, and that if they continued to increase in the

same proportion he would be obliged to quit the place, as he could

hardly at any time get in and out from his hut. Indeed, his residence

appeared to me even more dreary than Jensen’s, for about the latter

the icebergs were comparatively few, while Philip was thoroughly

encircled by them. What measureless powers of endurance and hardihood

such men as these must possess! I confess that I never look upon them

except with astonishment.

Our voyage to Upernavik was without incident worthy of note, except

that our mate was blessed with his usual fortune in discovering

soundings. In a place where a rock was never before known to exist,

he found one which by a miracle we grazed without damage to the

_Panther’s_ keel or bottom.

To our arrival in Upernavik I had looked forward with some real

pleasure; and not the least among those which I actually found was a

civilized bed, and other homelike luxuries which Dr. Rudolph was good

enough to place at my disposal. And oh the luxury of that bed after

eight weeks in the narrow quarters of a ship’s bunk, always damp, and

black with coal-dust, and daily rendered worse by the unsuccessful

attempts of an idiotic cabin-boy to put it to rights and keep it

clean!

The window of my room opened upon the sea, and was full of sweet

flowers that had been nurtured tenderly by my good hostess, as if

they were children. It was strange to look out through a little

wilderness of roses, mignonnette, and heliotrope, upon a great

wilderness of icebergs. The sea was, indeed, as cold as cold could

be, and the waves broke fiercely right beneath me on the rocky

shore; but about me all was peace and quiet—the pictures on the

wall, the fire in the stove, the home comforts of the modest house

which sheltered me—all spoke defiance of place or climate, and told

a tale of tranquillity and contentment that was worth going thrice

three thousand miles to see, even though the storms were never so

threatening, and ice-barriers without number intervened.

We remained a week at Upernavik, and during that time I never saw

the _Panther_. I never was so glad _not_ to see any thing in all my

life before. I was quite willing to believe that the artists were

painting and photographing icebergs without limit, and were getting

into their camera every thing from a native to a mountain, but I did

not want to see it. My enjoyment of the little home into which I had

fallen was too fresh to court disturbance. To forget for a time that

there was ever such an enemy to man as a ship’s cook, and to partake

of some simple fare with which a woman’s hand had had to do, was too

great a luxury to be profaned, and I lived along through my week

at Dr. Rudolph’s in a state of bliss. I wrote, and read, and played

with the children, Anne and Christian. I talked with Jensen about his

life, and the Greenland legends which he had gathered in his long

experience. I helped my host, the governor, to make up his annual

accounts for the next ship home and I bungled through my Danish with

his amiable wife, making her laugh continually at my mistakes; and

altogether, quite free from care, gave myself up wholly to enjoyment

for the seven days.

Now the coming of the ship was a matter of serious concern to

Governor Rudolph. The store-rooms were very empty, and there was much

danger of famine if the ship did not come at all. To the governor’s

family there would be a lack of every luxury. She was overdue almost

a month, and great alarm was in the settlement already. But she did

come at last, and I never saw people more rejoiced. The ship was the

_Constancia_, and Captain Bang, her master, was as intelligent a man

as he was good fellow. He spoke capital English, and helped us with

our pipes and punch in the evening, and enjoyed the flowers as much

as I did, and the delightful breakfast of smoked salmon, venison

sausage, and pickled halibut, and the substantial lunch, and the late

dinners, that were none the worse for the cigars and wine and Santa

Cruz that he brought off one day to help out with; for the doctor

was the most hospitable of all old-fashioned gentlemen and having

three times dined our whole huge cabin mess, and opened his house

to every body every day, his supply of cigars and liquors, after a

whole year’s pulling at them on his own part, had run rather low. Our

mess would gladly have replenished the doctor’s fast-failing stock;

but with true American energy we had gone to work at the start as if

to get through with what supplies we had in the shortest possible

space of time; and there was not now among us so much as a single

“Havana,” or even a bottle of ale, to bless ourselves with.

The doctor surprised me one day by coming into my room, and in his

genial way calling out, “You know dis man; you know dis feller, eh?”

producing from behind his coat a rascally face, which I never could

forget in any length of time. It was the face of Hans Heindrich.

Now Hans is a man of some celebrity. In 1853 Dr. Kane took him from

Fiskernaes, South Greenland, upon his famous voyage into Smith’s

Sound. His age then was about twenty years; and he lived well on

board the brig _Advance_, and waxed fat, and tricked his master,

from whom he finally ran away, and joined the Smith Sound savages,

marrying one of their women, by name Merkut. Among these people I

found him in 1860, and took him aboard with his wife, Merkut, and

his baby, Pingasuk. I ought to have known better. He tricked me

worse than he had tricked Dr. Kane. I am fully convinced that he was

instrumental in causing the death of two of my command, though it

was never possible to prove any thing against him positive enough to

insure conviction. It is hard to collect evidence where there are no

eyes to see nor ears to hear. Being unable to verify my suspicions,

I brought him back in 1861, and delivered him over to the Danish

authorities, from whom Dr. Kane had taken him eight years before.

Even now he could not cease from mischief, breeding quarrels wherever

he went; and his wife was in a state of chronic dissatisfaction

because she could not live in her old-fashioned savage way, and her

children (she had two now) were a burden on the poor-fund. I gave

Merkut some money to buy clothes for the children, and within an

hour it was all spent at the Government store-house for figs and

sugar-candy.

[Illustration: HANS AND HIS FAMILY.]

The untutored savage is not a peculiarly delicious creature under

the best of circumstances. He is apt to have very crude notions about

_meum_ and _tuum_, and the truth is not in him. Truth, indeed, seems

to be, like gallantry, a fine art, and men have to be cultivated to

the understanding of it. But Hans was not altogether an untutored

savage, for the missionaries had control of him before Dr. Kane took

him in charge, and had taught him to read the Testament and Thomas à

Kempis, and to sign his name. The story of his proficiency in these

respects having got abroad, in connection with supposed services

rendered to Dr. Kane’s party in Christian charity, Hans has been made

much of in a Sunday-school book that I have seen somewhere within a

year or so, as a striking example of the power of Christian labor

among the heathen—just as if he did not use what he had acquired

for a cloak to hide his true character, something after the manner

of Uriah Heep when playing a part before the pious Creakle and the

zealous board of visitors.

I do not mean to be understood to give this as by any means a

fair sample of the influence of Christian civilization upon the

Greenlanders, for I have had frequent occasion to testify to the

excellence of the native character in many conspicuous instances.

Hans is nothing more than one of that very numerous class common to

all peoples. Even the pastor of the little church at Upernavik can

do nothing to help the mischief-making sinner; for the reader must

know that Upernavik has a church. It was here that Mr. Anthon, now

at Julianashaab, performed his first missionary labors. The pastor

of this Upernavik flock surely fills Cowper’s description of the

Moravian brethren, going forth,

“Fired with a zeal peculiar to defy

The rage and rigor of a Polar sky;

And plant successfully sweet Saviour’s rose

On icy plains, and in eternal snows.”

A new pastor, accompanied by his wife, came out in the _Constancia_

to take charge of the mission. They were a young couple. Certainly no

one would charge them with undue regard to things earthly when they

subject themselves to such banishment.

Yet one might, after all, be worse off than here in Greenland

and, for a certain length of time, I think the banishment might

be bearable enough. One of the happiest, best contented, and most

cultivated men that I have ever met, did not live much south of this,

and he has declared to me that he would not exchange his Greenland

lodge for the most comfortable quarters in his own fine city of

Copenhagen. And it does seem strange that such a large number of

superior men—superior in education and refinement—find their way to

this inhospitable region, as governors, missionaries, and physicians.

It is either because the home Government is particularly careful of

its agents, or that the region possesses some peculiar attraction

for thoughtful and reflective minds. “It is,” said my friend before

alluded to, “the best place in the world to read books in,” and great

readers most of these Danes in Greenland are.

Dr. Rudolph is a fine specimen of the best class of Danish gentlemen

who accept appointments here, and who seem to take root and never

desire to be transplanted elsewhere.

In early life he was an assistant surgeon in the Danish army. Later,

he was largely engaged in private practice in the vicinity of

Copenhagen. His health failing him, he went to Greenland as physician

to the colony of Jacobshavn, and thereby saved his life; but his

life once saved, he had no mind to renew the humdrum existence of

powders and pills, and his old age now finds him both governor and

physician of one of the most productive of the Greenland Districts,

even although it is the most northern of all points of Christian

occupation. His children are at school in Copenhagen, all except the

two youngest, who are now with him; and there seems to be no end to

his plans of doing for them out of his percentage of the Upernavik

production, which furnishes him a moderate income.

Judging from the seeming shortness of the week I spent at Dr.

Rudolph’s house, I should say a winter would not be tedious; but then

it must be borne in mind that my week was a continual sunshine. I was

used to it then, as I had been before, and did not observe or think

of it; but now to look back over the time, and remember a week, and

weeks, and months even, passing away without once lighting a lamp; to

take a walk at midnight as an appetizer for sleep, just before going

to bed, and do it in the daylight; to watch through day and night the

shadows going round and round, is to recall a now strange experience.

I have, indeed, never seen a person with the least sentiment who

has ever been beyond the Arctic Circle, whose fancy did not cling

lovingly to that long, lingering day and the never-setting sun.

But all things must have an end, and so at length I found myself once

more back in my damp and smoke-begrimed quarters in the _Panther’s_

cabin. On the same day the _Constancia_ was ready to sail, and our

captain offered Captain Bang a tow. He was going down the coast forty

miles, to Proven, where he was to take in more cargo before returning

home to Copenhagen. But, as ill luck would have it, a small iceberg

had drifted into the middle of the harbor and grounded right in front

of the two vessels, which lay almost side by side. It seemed at first

as if we were both fast there, but the _Constancia’s_ cable slipped

out and freed the ship, while ours stubbornly refused to budge; so

that we had the mortification of seeing the vessel we were going

to tow move off without us under oars. It was a most aggravating

situation. Doctor Rudolph was on board the _Constancia_, on his way

to Proven. He cried to us that he would be back in three days, and

we were quite welcome to the harbor. The captain of the brig offered

us a tow if we would only pass along a line. The order of things was

quite reversed. The steamer was helpless, while the sailer was off.

Our captain, vexed by the detention (and these taunts did not in the

least soothe him), was evidently coming to a desperate determination.

“Pay out chain,” he shouted from the bridge. Then he rang his bell

to “back astern.” The vessel moved away from the berg as far as

the chain would let her go, and then he rang again, “Ahead full

speed.” Down the _Panther_ came with a steady helm, and with her

iron forefoot she took the iceberg fairly in the middle. The shock

was terrific, and there was a great scattering of men on the deck

and of plates in the pantry; but fortunately the iceberg at that

point was sloping, and the _Panther_ slid up about five feet out of

the water, which partly broke the force of the blow. Then she slid

back again, luckily with her masts all standing. The _Constancia’s_

people cheered us, and we backed off again and went at the iceberg

once more, with the same result—we did not budge or damage it in any

way further than to splinter off innumerable fragments, which covered

the sea all around us. But the berg was thin at the centre where we

had struck; and the captain, growing more and more determined, backed

off and butted away at the berg again and again, until, finally, the

sixth effort proved successful. The berg split with a fearful sound.

The two masses, each pivoted on the bottom, rolled over with a great

swash; the _Panther_ sheered ahead between the fragments, and then,

picking up our anchor, to the universal astonishment we steamed out

of the harbor in triumph, and kept our promise to the _Constancia_.

Dropping the _Constancia_ off Proven, we continued south through the

night, and on the following morning sighted the lofty mountains of

Disco Island. Passing the Waigat, and the great stream of icebergs

which emerges from it, we kept close to the bold and picturesque

shores of Disco, and on the following day dropped anchor in Godhavn,

close beside the town which takes its name from the little landlocked

bay.

CHAPTER IX.

DISCO ISLAND.

“A rocky islet in the sea,

A lonely harbor on its lee,

The roaring surf around!

Chill are the winds and cold the sky,

Dead in the dells the flowers lie,

The snow is on the ground!

“A desert drear as e’er was seen;

It seems as if there has not been

A trace of human life!

I write again. Upon the rock

I’ve found a home, a loving flock—

A husband, child, and wife.

“And thus it is—here Greenland frowns,

The name to others harshly sounds;

’Tis everywhere the same!

If we but taste the sweets of love,

It matters little—rock or grove—

There’s nothing in a name.

“God bless that home upon the rock!

God bless that happy, loving flock,

And keep them from all harm!

My bark again bounds o’er the sea;

Away, away once more I flee

To nothing half so warm!”

_Our Sagaman._

Disco Island is one of the most notable localities in Greenland.

There is a legend that a mighty sorcerer, or angeikut, dragged the

island there from the south; and even to the present time they point

out a remarkable hole in the rock, on its north side, through which

the evil genius of the island rove his rope. The island is upwards

of a hundred miles long, is everywhere very lofty, and presents the

most superb lines of cliffs of trap rock that I have ever seen. On

the south side of the island, in latitude 69°, there is a low and

ragged spur of granite rock, near a mile in length, which incloses as

perfect a little harbor as can anywhere be found, and this the Danes

have expressed in the name Godhavn (Good-harbor), which they have

given it. This rocky spur is a peninsula at low water; at high water

an island. On the north side of it, facing the great tall trap cliffs

which tower up two thousand feet above the harbor, stands the little

town which takes its name from the harbor, though better known by

the English whalers’ name of Lievely, which is probably a corruption

of lively, for the town is the metropolis of North Greenland; and,

having been a general rendezvous for whale and discovery ships almost

from the beginning of the present century, its metropolitan gayety

has become widely celebrated.

It was on a cold, gray, misty morning that we arrived at Godhavn.

There had been heavy frosts and a light spurt of snow; and the little

town being hidden from view in the gloomy atmosphere, it is not

surprising that it should have impressed our sagaman, as it did all

of us, rather unfavorably. But this feeling speedily wore off after

we had landed and called at the inspector’s house—a house to me not

new, for there I had in former years spent many pleasant days with

the prior incumbent, Justitsraad Olrik, now director of the Greenland

Company in Copenhagen.

The present inspector is Herr Krarup Smith, a young man of perhaps

two-and-thirty, who possesses the same enthusiastic fondness for

scientific discovery for which Mr. Olrik was distinguished, and the

same cultivated appreciation of its importance; and being obliged

every year to visit each of the districts and subordinate stations

within his inspectorate, he has made many valuable observations,

and collected many rare and curious specimens; among which are some

fossil remains of the limestone, coal, and slate deposits of Disco

Island, and other localities of Disco Bay. This bay appears to have

been a great carboniferous basin, coal being found to crop out on

almost every side of it.

The inspector’s wife seemed to be quite as well content with her

Greenland home as the inspector was himself, and there never was a

happier baby than the Greenland-born Elizabet, whose first birthday

we were hospitably called upon to assist in celebrating immediately

after our arrival.

The inspector’s house is not, by any means, an imposing edifice,

being of the usual pitchy hue; but it is comfortable, and

sufficiently capacious. The suite of rooms—comprising billiard-room,

dining-room, and parlor—into which we were ushered by the same Sophy

who had presided there as housekeeper these many years past, and who

wore the inevitable silver seal-skin pantaloons and dainty snow-white

boots as of old, had nothing to indicate that we were three degrees

north of the Arctic Circle. Some prints of fruits and flowers were

hanging on the dining-room walls, and the parlor was literally strewn

with books and family souvenirs, and also music. A piano stood in one

corner, and bore evidence of being well used. Bright flowers were

blooming in the windows, and the faces of two bright young ladies,

one the sister of the inspector, the other of his wife, were there,

as if on purpose to make the picture quite complete and leave nothing

to be wished for.

These young ladies were on a visit, having come out from Denmark the

previous summer; and now, at the end of the year, they were about to

return in the _Hvalfisken_, a brig which came into the harbor soon

after our arrival. I asked how they liked this Greenland life? They

had no fault to find with it at all, except the ending of it. They

would stay another year, only for the homes across the sea, where

they were sadly missed, as I could well imagine they must be.

Godhavn is not so lacking in life as most of the other towns. Here

all the Danish ships are obliged to come to receive their orders

from the inspector, both upon their arrival and departure from the

Greenland waters; and of late years, during the search for Sir John

Franklin, here is where all the searchers came to taste the first

sweets of home, after a long imprisonment in the inhospitable regions

around Beechy Island and elsewhere. And none left without carrying

away the most lively recollections of the place and of the genial

Justitsraad Olrik; nor did any body ever forget the Justitsraad’s

housekeeper, the inimitable Sophy.

Godhavn is too far north for the production of such garden-luxuries

as we found at Julianashaab on our first arrival in the country; yet

little round red radishes were not wanting any more now than they had

been when Mr. Olrik formerly invited me to his table. But they were

grown beneath glass, and not in the open air, the earth being brought

in barrels from Copenhagen. There was also a head of lettuce, reared

in the same manner, for the perfection of the very excellent luncheon

to which Mrs. Smith invited us upon our first appearance.

As Godhavn is the most pleasant and lively of all the Greenland

towns, so Disco Island presents the most picturesque and attractive

scenery. Looking from the town across the harbor, which is not over

half a mile wide, you face the lofty cliffs of trap rock, which

extend to right and left for miles. Above they are capped with snow;

below, the waves break upon them fiercely, and the icebergs are

ground to pieces on their sharp angles.

I walked out with the ladies of the inspector’s family, and had a

fine view of the cliffs from behind the town; thence we proceeded

across the narrow neck of rocks around the head of the harbor, and,

after strolling along a beautiful sandy beach which stretches in a

grand curve for a mile, we entered a valley beside a broad and rapid

stream, called Rothe River, which breaks through deep caverns of the

most picturesque description, and over the tortured rocks dashes in

falls of rare beauty. I can not imagine any thing more wild than

the scene before us at the summit of the principal fall. Looking up

the valley, I could trace the winding stream to an immense glacier

that descended from the lofty hills. Directly abreast of these, to

the left, was another glacier, which, having poured down over a very

steep and rugged declivity, was twisted into the most fantastic

shapes. Above towered the grand crest of Lyngmarkens Fjeld, over

which snow-clouds were sweeping before a wind that did not reach us

in our sheltered situation. The air in the valley was calm, and the

day was unusually warm for the time of year. The light snow that had

fallen three days before, and which gave such a gloomy aspect to the

land upon our first arrival in Godhavn, had now disappeared, and

there was still something of the summer green which had clothed the

valley. Even bright flowers, though wilted by the frost, and drooping

languidly, were there, yet they seemed to be pleading mournfully for

life.

One must come to these Arctic wilds to perfect his love and reverence

for these sweet gifts of nature. They seem to be clothed here with

a new significance—an intelligence of their own, which warns them

that their life must needs be short, and that they must quickly

prepare for their end, and provide speedily for their posterity.

From the time when “lingering winter chills the lap of spring” to

that when the very slight warmth which the summer has given to the

earth has been dissipated by the returning frosts—between the deep

snows of those two periods—there occurs a remarkable series of

transformations. The snow has scarcely disappeared before the seed

swells into life; and in a few days green supplants the universal

whiteness. Blossoms gay and smiling burst forth with corresponding

rapidity; the new seeds are formed, and fall to be covered with their

winter cloak; and from the beginning to the end there is scarcely

an interval of six weeks. One can not look upon this astonishing

growth—flowering, seeding, and decay—and witness this adaptation

of life to the conditions of climate, without wonder. Alfieri has

beautifully expressed the feeling in these lines:

“Oh, ’tis the touch of fairy hand

That wakes the spring of Northern land.

It warms not there by slow degrees,

With changeful pulse, the uncertain breeze;

But sudden on the wondering sight

Bursts forth the beam of living light,

And instant verdure springs around,

And magic flowers bedeck the ground.”

The Governor of Godhavn, Mr. Frederick Hansen, whom I had before met

at Proven and Upernavik in a similar capacity, was of our party; and,

being himself a famous walker, it was proposed that we should attempt

to scale the glacier to our left, and climb to the summit of the

Lyngmarkens Fjeld—a feat which had never been performed. The great

white rolling plain that stretched away so high above us was indeed

tempting; and none of us were more eager to make the trial than the

ladies themselves. Mr. Hansen, who had climbed every thing that it

seemed possible to climb, was of opinion that the thing could not

be done; and the first suggestion of the effort appeared, in fact,

more like a jest than sober earnest. It came from one of the ladies,

however, and gallantry alone was of itself sufficient to prompt a

ready response. We would climb the glacier, certainly, if the ladies,

who were “both young and fair,” were so minded—of course we would;

but it must be confessed that there were doubting eyes cast upon the

Lyngmarkens Fjeld.

It being agreed that the effort was to be made, we returned to the

village and had a game of billiards at the inspector’s house. On the

following day, in company with the “Professor,” the “Prince,” the

“Colonel,” the “Major,” and our chief “Nimrod,” I made a preliminary

exploration. After ascending the valley to the falls, we pursued our

course along the bank of a stream which tears down through a cleft

in the solid rock about two hundred feet deep, and came finally to

the glacier, by the side of which, sometimes on the ice and sometimes

on the rocks, through the gorge formed by the ice-stream meeting the

base of the cliffs, we climbed to an altitude of eighteen hundred

feet above the sea. The ascent was very difficult. The ice was here

broken up in the most wonderful manner. The lines of stratification

showed a great variety of curves, especially in one place where it

had poured over a cliff, as if it had been a tenacious, plastic,

semi-fluid mass flowing down by force of gravity, and moulding itself

in conformity with the changing bed over which it had descended.

The ridge of sand and rock that had been ploughed up in front

measured one hundred and twenty feet in altitude. By watching it

carefully we could see and hear it moving. A great boulder, losing

its balance, rolled from the crest above, and, loosening a great

quantity of stones, mud, and sand, came rolling down near where we

stood, making a fearful uproar. At the same moment the tall cliff

above us let loose some immense fragments, which, bursting in pieces

like bomb-shells, bounded down the steep slope at its base; and the

two avalanches, meeting in the gorge, changed their direction, and

went crashing down to the valley at a fearful rate, directly over

the track which we had pursued in coming up. Had this occurred a few

minutes sooner we should have been overwhelmed; for not only were

enormous rocks zigzaging their way along with increasing violence and

velocity, but the air was filled with lesser fragments, which flew

almost with the speed of lightning.

This catastrophe impelled us the more earnestly to continue

the ascent, and to find, either along the base of, or over the

Lyngmarkens Fjeld, a new way to Godhavn, But our efforts proved

unavailing. The ice-cliffs could not be scaled, and there was nothing

left for us but to take the back track, which we did with fear and

trembling. Fortunately, there were no more avalanches to disturb us,

and we arrived on board the _Panther_ with nothing worse than great

fatigue and a thorough drenching; for while we were upon the ice, to

add still further to the discomfort of our situation, a heavy shower

of rain, sleet, and snow set upon us.

The report of our failure to find a passage to the summit of the

mountain did not at all discourage the courageous ladies; but, on

the contrary, only inspired them with greater eagerness. Even the

story of the fearful avalanche did not cool their adventurous ardor,

nor the doleful account of the cold storm dampen their zeal. It was

resolved to make the attempt by the great cliffs across the harbor.

The cliffs are there cut through by the most sublime gorges that

eye ever looked upon. These gorges appeared, however, to be as

inaccessible as the valleys of the moon.

Mr. Hansen laughed at the idea. “Impossible!” said he. “These brave

ladies will climb with any body, as I know well enough, after a

year’s practice with them, but neither they nor you can go up that

way.”

But the matter of the trial could not be settled at once, as the next

day promised a storm like that of the day before; so I gladly availed

myself of Mr. Hansen’s obliging offer to lead me to other fields of

investigation, and for three days thereafter I was well employed.

Mr. Hansen communicated to me many interesting facts, and through his

instrumentality and that of the inspector I was enabled to visit the

coal-fields, which are here very extensive.

I found Mr. Hansen to be an enthusiastic naturalist. Among other

valuable specimens which I owed to his kindness was a large

collection of birds’ eggs and skins, and some fossils. To the study

of the birds of the region and their habits he has devoted much

attention. The great auk, long since supposed to be entirely extinct,

he told me had been recently seen on one of the Whale-fish islands.

Two years before one had been actually captured by a native, who,

being very hungry, and wholly ignorant of the great value of the

prize he had secured, proceeded at once to eat it, much to the

disgust of Mr. Hansen, who did not learn of it until too late to

come to the rescue. How little the poor savage thought of the great

fortune he had just missed by hastily indulging his appetite!

[Illustration: THE GREAT AUK.]

The great auk is not the only mysterious creature in Greenland that

seems likely soon to become entirely extinct, for there is, besides,

the fierce and powerful amarok, which has been in latter times rarely

seen, and is much dreaded. It is the national terror of the nursery

and children are frightened to sleep or kept at home with threats of

calling the awful monster, whose rapacity is so great that he can

take off any number of Esquimaux babies that you choose to name. This

animal, which is an enormous wolf, is not, however, quite as fabulous

as the old wives’ stories would incline you to believe, one having

actually appeared in the country within a few years, and, after

committing the most fearful ravages among the dogs, and terrifying

the people, was finally shot. His skin now adorns the Copenhagen

Museum. The story has spread everywhere, and is related by every body

with the same zest that a frontiersman would tell of an Indian raid.

Disco Bay, which separates the island from the main-land, is sixty

miles wide, and is a splendid sheet of water. Several glaciers pour

their frozen floods into it, and grand processions of icebergs

stretch over it towards the outlets above and below the island.

One of these glaciers is exceptionally fine. It is known as the

Jacobshavn Glacier, or, as the Danes call it, Jacobshavn’s Eis-strom;

and this, since we could not at present climb the hills of Disco

Island, we resolved to visit. Its name is derived from a little

town near by, and for this little town we steamed away in the early

morning, while the sun was silvering the mountain crests and melting

away the chilly mists of the night.

CHAPTER X.

JACOBSHAVN.

The view of the southern shore of Disco Island as we crossed the

bay was truly magnificent. The gnarled shore, full of clefts and

caverns, was white with the foam of the sea; the great tall cliffs

were red with the glowing sun; the distant hills were bathed in

purple, and long streaks of bright yellow sandstone, marking the

coal-measures, broke in here and there to complete a picture which

will be remembered long. The icebergs, too, were more than ordinarily

beautiful. There are few places along the Greenland coast from

which such large icebergs are discharged as Disco Bay. We stopped

frequently to photograph them, and thus dawdled away the hours, so

that we did not arrive at our destination until nightfall, for it

must be borne in mind that there was a night now—the midnight sun

having left us many days before, darkness coming on as soon as ten

o’clock.

One of the icebergs that particularly attracted our attention

had almost the perfect shape of a truncated cone. But its chief

peculiarity was an immense arch running directly through the centre

of it, which was apparently large enough for our ship to pass

through, since it could not have been less than a hundred feet high

and seventy feet wide. It would have been a very hazardous experiment

to have undertaken to steam through the berg; but it would have been

so novel a thing to have done, that I believe the consideration

only of the berg’s liability to fall to pieces about us restrained

every body from asking the captain to do the thing. This remarkable

hole had been once a portion of a great natural culvert through the

glacier into which the waters from the surface found their way and

drained off to the sea.

We carried along with us from Godhavn a native pilot; but owing to

the lateness of the hour, and the great numbers of icebergs that

lay about the mouth of the harbor, it was found to be impracticable

for him to get us to the town before daylight, so he tied to some

grounded ice. We managed, however, to penetrate to the harbor with a

boat, and surprised the governor with an evening call.

Never had steamship been there before, and of course every body

was given a new life by our arrival. Some of the governor’s family

had retired to bed; but our coming had quickly roused them, and

every possible thing was done to give us welcome. The governor,

or colonibestyrere, Herr Knud Fleicher, was personally known to

me before, he having been at Upernavik in that capacity in 1853

and 1855. I was much surprised to find him there, and the surprise

was not the less agreeable when he brought into the room a pretty,

modest, and intelligent young lady of nineteen, whom he introduced

as his daughter, saying to me, “Know you dis one? She comes to

tank you.” For what I could not at first understand; but when she

brought in a mechanical contrivance which bore unmistakable evidence

of having been devised impromptu, I recognized my own handiwork of

sixteen years before, and in the young lady a deformed child, whom I

had the great satisfaction of seeing now able to walk as well as any

body upon legs apparently perfectly straight and sound—a circumstance

which gave me not less surprise than pleasure; for when I had

constructed the instrument for the helpless little girl of three

years, there appeared to be but a small chance for her ever being any

thing but a cripple for life. She was followed into the room by her

mother, who was a fine matronly-looking lady, and very neatly dressed

in some dark stuff sprinkled with snow-white spots, and looking as

fresh as ever. Three lusty sons came in also; so did the parson and

the doctor, with their respective wives; and altogether the reception

was a lively and agreeable one. The governor produced cigars, long

Dutch pipes, and tobacco; a seal-skin betrowsered half-breed girl

brought in a huge waiter with an urn of steaming coffee; and likewise

hot water, sugar, rum, and sherry for the inevitable Danish punch.

The Prince was of course around, and was not long in getting the

girls together; when he improvised a dance upon the green in front of

the governor’s house, which proved to be quite a picturesque affair,

the more especially as the scene was lit up with lanterns stuck about

on the rocks around; while above an aurora flashed across the heavens

in the wildest manner, emitting tongues of flickering light of every

hue, and throwing a weird brightness upon the sterile rocks, and ice,

and snow, as well as on the gay and festive merry-makers. Nor were we

inside the house without some lively entertainment. The governor’s

daughter treated us to some music on a piano, which, although not

in the best of tune, was yet played with considerable skill; and,

considering that music teachers do not abound in Greenland, the

success of this young lady, who had never been south of the Arctic

Circle, was quite remarkable. Then we had some songs of the _viva la

vo_ order, and the great Danish national air of 1848, _Den tapper

Landsoldat_ (The Bold Soldier-boy), with immense effect; after which

we went on board to sleep, with the “_derfor vil jeg slaaes_” and

the “hurrah!” and the rest of it ringing in our ears in a delightful

manner.

On the following day we tried very hard to get to the Jacobshavn

glacier, first by the fiord, then overland, without, however,

accomplishing our purpose. The fiord was so crowded with icebergs

that no headway could be made even with the smallest boat, and it

was, in fact, as much as one’s life was worth even to make the

attempt; and the overland journey was found to involve too much time

and labor to be undertaken at so advanced a stage of the summer—at

least thus thought the party generally, and that settled the matter.

So it was resolved to go at once back to Godhavn. But, before doing

this, we dined the entire white population of Jacobshavn on board the

_Panther_, and I made two visits in the morning that gave me great

satisfaction.

The first was to the missionary, whom I found to be one of those

kind and gentle men with whom one would naturally associate the idea

of the peculiar unselfishness needed in a missionary. Certainly, at

least, if he had not a very unselfish nature he would not have been

there. As it was, he seemed to be exactly the right man in the right

place; and since he appeared to have plenty to do, and to do it

with a will, I was glad that “his lines had fallen in such pleasant

places.” But not so his wife. What on earth was there for her to do

in this land of desolation? Nothing, as I could see, but grow sick as

she had done, and shudder, as she must have done, when she looked out

upon the dreary church-yard beneath her chamber window. Jacobshavn is

one of the oldest of the missions in North Greenland, and contains,

in connection with the church, a seminary for the education of the

native youth who seek such instruction as may qualify them for

teachers of their own people; for the missionaries have given to the

natives a written language, which they never had before; and it is

rare to find a man or woman who can not read and write. Until the

Christian missions were established, the language of the people was

only oral; and they did not possess, even in the crudest form, any

means of conveying the most simple idea except by word of mouth.

The “picture-writing” of our North American Indians was unknown

to them. They have now at Godthaab a printing-press, established

there by Dr. Rink; and not only have they printed many interesting

historical accounts and native traditions, but have illustrated them

with wood-cuts of native manufacture that are quite as creditable as

specimens of art as those which illustrate the travels of Mandeville,

and similar works of our own language published a few centuries ago.

In fact, these Esquimaux possess remarkable ingenuity. Even in their

savage state their inventions are very creditable; a fact that was

well proven during my second call in Jacobshavn, which was upon

the surgeon of the district, Dr. C. G. F. Pfaff, in whom I had the

good-luck to discover an enthusiastic antiquarian. His opportunities

have been great, and he has employed them well in gathering a very

valuable collection of implements of ancient native manufacture, of

which he had several hundred specimens—embracing knives, pots, lamps,

axes, spear-heads, needles, drills, ice-hooks, etc.—all made of stone,

and all of superior workmanship. The knives were very sharp; so also

were the needles and drills; and, being made of chalcedony and other

like minerals, it seemed very wonderful how they had managed to grind

them down to sharp points and edges, and to polish them as if they

had possessed all the appliances of the most skilled mechanics, with

all the modern inventions. I have not seen anywhere so fine a private

collection illustrative of the “Stone Age” of man’s existence. This

Stone Age of the Esquimaux, however, instead of having ended in a

period of remote antiquity, comes down to the time when Fulton was

inventing steamboats. The spear-heads were mostly of red cornelian, and

these, as well as the other implements, were generally polished, and

in every respect showed a skill superior to that of the North American

Indians. The doctor was good enough to present me with a few samples of

this native art; but the main collection he reserves for the Museum in

Copenhagen, of which every Dane is so justly proud.

Jacobshavn, like all the other Greenland colonies, owes what

prosperity it has mainly to the seal-fishery. Besides the seal there

is the white whale, which arrives in its annual migration from

the North about the middle of September. A great many halibut are

likewise caught and preserved. This latter is of a variety peculiar

to Jacobshavn, being caught there upon a bank of limestone, deposited

from the water which comes from under the glacier.

It was a matter of much regret to me that that glacier could not be

reached—the more so that it had, two years before, been visited by

Mr. Whymper, who had conceived the idea of travelling over it to the

interior of Greenland, a feat which I believe to be impracticable

on at least any of the known glaciers of the South. My own journey

of eighty miles inland at the remote North was the only successful

effort of the kind that has ever been made; but this was in a

region where the ice, owing to the conformation of the land, is

exceptionally smooth. Greenland might perhaps be crossed in that

quarter, though the undertaking would be an exceedingly hazardous

one. No food could, in my opinion, be obtained by the way, as I

entertain no doubt that the whole interior of the country is but one

vast sea of ice. It is only on the outer land that the snow melts and

flows to the sea. While upon this subject, it is not inappropriate to

mention that to Dr. Rink we owe most that we have known hitherto of

the Greenland glaciers, and I believe he was the first explorer who

pointed out the origin of icebergs.

Jacobshavn needs no description further than to say that it is but

a repetition of the other towns we had visited. It is, however,

somewhat larger, and has a better climate than Godhavn, as was

shown by the fact, if by nothing else, that we found upon our cabin

table, when we were ready to sail, a small basketful of round red

radishes, which the Fraulein Fleicher had raised in the open air,

and obligingly sent off to us as a parting gift. In return we sent

her some American table luxuries, considering ourselves greatly the

gainers by the exchange; for not only were these Arctic radishes

delicious in themselves, but they were a great surprise to us, grown

as they had been in latitude 69°, and in the very shadow almost of a

frowning and formidable glacier.

Of this glacier I had a fine view, just before leaving, in the

afternoon. Climbing a lofty hill in company with the captain, I

overlooked the fiord, and traced its winding course through thirty

miles. The icebergs that had been detached and floated in the fiord

must have numbered thousands; and as they moved along with the

current, or touched the bottom, they were grinding against each

other continually, and the air was filled with the ceaseless sounds

of the avalanche tumbling from their sides. A grand scene of this

description occurred near the mouth of the fiord. As we were about

coming away, an iceberg of large dimensions went almost literally

to pieces, first rolling nearly over, and then breaking up as it

rocked from side to side. Others in the neighborhood became likewise

disturbed; and as crash after crash followed each other in quick

succession, the peals that rang along the cliffs from crag to crag

were loud and piercing. Upon reaching the town, we found the people

in a state of consternation. The disturbance of the ice which we

had witnessed from the hill-top had been the cause of great waves

setting out of the fiord; and, although the harbor of Jacobshavn

was two or three miles distant, and is perfectly landlocked, yet

the swell reached there, and the surf washed far up on the shore,

greatly endangering the lives of some hunters who were in the act

of landing from their kayaks. I was told that fearful catastrophes

sometimes happen from this cause. Even when we reached there the

water was still in motion; the ship was swaying to and fro, and the

ice all over the harbor was snapping and crackling in a very spiteful

and fiendish sort of way. When the disturbance had subsided so that

a boat could come to land, we went aboard, and, after cautiously

steaming among the icebergs at the mouth of the harbor, we headed for

Disco Island, carrying with us pleasant recollections of Jacobshavn;

and all feeling abundantly rewarded, save and except, perhaps, the

trader, who found nothing to buy but a pin-cushion.

[Illustration: ICEBERG IN JACOBSHAVN FIORD.]

CHAPTER XI.

A WEEK IN GODHAVN.

We returned to Godhavn on the 10th of September, and for a week

thereafter travelled about the Island of Disco as we found

opportunity and inclination. To the geologist, as previously

intimated, Disco presents a most interesting field of study, and the

professor was accordingly busy all the while, pursuing his researches

with characteristic enthusiasm. The artists were constantly at work

with camera and pencil. In this, the metropolis of Greenland, it was

not difficult for the pleasure-seekers to find opportunity to amuse

themselves and the captain whiled away the time by tearing to pieces

the wreck of a whale-ship which had been run aground at the mouth

of the harbor, as rumor had it, in order to secure insurance money.

If such was the case, her people certainly took good care to insure

their own lives, for the vessel was within sight of the town on a

sandy beach, where the sea never breaks, and full a quarter of a mile

out of the channel. The people were sent home in the Danish ships,

and if they obtained their insurance they surely did not get their

deserts.

To Governor Hansen I was again indebted for aid in such investigations

as I desired to make—especially in relation to the coal-fields,

which are chiefly interesting because of their being so far north.

Vast quantities of vegetable matter were deposited here in a remote

geological epoch, which goes to show that Greenland would once have

deserved its name had human beings existed there to give it the one

which is now as absurdly inappropriate as Achilles to an organ-grinder.

I was enabled to obtain a good collection of specimens, many of which

I owed to the politeness of Inspector Smith, and among others of

particular interest, a fragment of a cone of an evergreen, that had

ripened here in the era of the lower miocene of Europe. In relation to

these coal deposits of Greenland, Professor Oswald Kerr has made many

important discoveries, and from his able report I make the following

extract:

“Among the most interesting specimens” [collected by himself] “were

the flowers and fruit of a chestnut—the latter, however, in a very

imperfect condition. The discovery of these proves that the deposits

in which they are found were formed at different seasons—in spring

as well as in summer. The known miocene plants of Greenland have now

reached the number of 137 species; and those of the Arctic miocene

flora altogether number 194 species. Of the Greenland species 46,

or exactly one-third, agree with those of the miocene deposits of

Europe. The determination of the age of the beds as lower miocene has

been accordingly ascertained.”

These coal-measures of Greenland are not confined to Disco Island.

Extensive veins crop out as well on the main-land. On the north side

of the Waigat coal is found in abundance, and also around the margin

of the Great Omenak Fiord. This latter is, with the exception of

Melville Bay, the most thickly studded with icebergs and glaciers

of any part of the Greenland coast, and while viewing them it seems

strange to behold in immediate proximity great black streaks of

carboniferous deposits, suggestive of a former condition of life and

heat instead of cold.

I had the more occasion to feel indebted to Mr. Hansen for his

assistance, that he was busily engaged with preparations for

returning to Copenhagen, with his wife and their little son Fred, a

bright Greenland-born boy of four years. I found him well posted in

the doings of naturalists. He even knew that there was a “Central

Park Museum;” and at his request I took charge of a present he

desired to make them—a commission which was duly executed, and

politely acknowledged. I likewise did the same with the Smithsonian

Institute, with a like result. Among those that went to the latter

was a pair of gyrfalcon skins, which Mr. Hansen sent more than fifty

miles to get for me. He was equally generous with his collection

of native curiosities, and to a member of the party, who valued

such things more than objects of natural history, he freely offered

almost every thing he had; and I much fear there were a good many

friends disappointed in Copenhagen that winter when the governor’s

empty boxes were exposed. This generosity was the greater that such

articles have a commercial value at home.

_The_ event of our week’s stay in Godhavn, however, was the ascent of

the cliffs facing the town, to the summit of Lyngmarkens Fjeld. Mr.

Hansen could not accompany us on account of pressing business; and,

in fact, he had no faith whatever in the success of the undertaking.

Our party, when made up, consisted of the two young ladies mentioned

in a previous chapter; the inspector and his secretary; and half

a dozen adventurers from the _Panther_, including of course, the

captain and the Prince. Armed each with a pocketful of lunch, we

sallied forth at nine o’clock in the morning, and crossing the bay

under as bright a sun as ever shone, in a most delicious autumnal

atmosphere, we landed on a broad green slope, which we ascended to

the base of the first crest or ridge of trap rock, where we paused to

rest.

Up to this point we had followed the bank of a stream, which was now

seen to break through a cleft of immense depth, and tumbling then in

a beautiful fall, came out from beneath a great cloud of spray in a

rushing torrent of white foam. This ridge descends gradually towards

the sea in a south-easterly direction, and then spreading out,

presents a wide plain, which the action of the weather has left in a

most singular condition. The softer rock has been worn away, while

the more solid parts remain; and for a mile the aspect of the surface

resembles a clearing dotted over with stumps. Some of the forms are

quite remarkable: one about twenty feet high, bears the name of

“Lot’s wife.”

After crossing this ridge the real labors of the day began, for we

came then to the great slope of naked rocks which had fallen from the

cliffs, that now towered above our heads until they seemed to touch

the sky.

Of all the climbing ever done by “ladies fair,” I think nothing ever

could have excelled the performances of our very agreeable companions

on that rocky slope. The stones were sharp, the footing was insecure,

and the whole foundation on which we stood seemed liable to give way

and send us all rolling down to the black gorges beneath, in the

midst of a fearful avalanche. To look down made one fairly giddy; to

look up made one tremble; and yet the ladies held firmly to their

purpose, and were always the last to pause for breath, and the first

to say, “Shall we go on again?” Their courage never flagged, as

on and on, over the rugged stones and through the ugly gorges, we

made our way, steadily nearing the Lyngmarkens Fjeld, which human

foot had thus far never trod. It was not the height of it that made

the climb such a serious matter—it was the great roughness of the

track. Several times stones gave way, and feet and legs were jammed,

skinned, and bruised; twice a general slide was threatened; but

only once was there very serious alarm. Then two of the party had

imprudently clambered on ahead, and loosened some rocks which went

bounding past us, whirling away down into a cloud of vapor which rose

out of a deep cleft from the foot of a water-fall. One rock seemed

to be making directly for our fair comrades, who were then resting,

quite unconscious of harm; but this the gallant captain, who was

following up the two who were in advance, was quick and bold enough

to intercept by throwing himself upon it bodily.

Over this rocky debris we climbed, how far I can not tell, though

probably for about two miles; and then we stood at the base of the

cliffs, and, by barometric measurement, 1500 feet above the sea. Here

a cleft opened before us, which we entered, and between lofty walls

of dark reddish-brown rocks, and beside the stream we had before

followed to the falls, we ascended by a less difficult and dangerous

route, until we reached the permanent snow, where the stream itself

originated. This was 1700 feet above the sea. Here we rested,

lunched, quenched our thirst, and then, upon the soft snow we mounted

up to the glacier, 250 feet higher. The glacier only here and there

showed its icy character, and, presenting but few crevasses, we found

little difficulty in getting above the cliffs, and at length to the

summit of the fjeld—a word which quite expresses its character, for

nothing could be more desolate and barren than the great plain of

whiteness on which we stood. We were then 3016 feet above the sea,

and the view which burst upon us at that lofty height was extremely

fine. The air being perfectly clear, except at one point away below

us, where some light mist was trailing along the cliffs, we could

see certainly at least eighty or ninety miles. Overlooking the

village to the south, we saw the Crown Prince Islands, twenty miles

away, sharply defined like dark specks upon a silvered surface.

Beyond them, still with the silver setting all round, were the Hunde

Islands; and the lofty coasts and hills of Bunkee Land, in the

neighborhood of Egedesminde, rose farther in the distance, but still

far within the bounds of vision. Looking east, over the top of the

Great Skarve Fjeld, the mountains of Jacobshavn pierced the sky with

their snowy crests, and all around in that quarter through an arc of

seventy degrees the vast plain of the _mer de glace_ appeared beyond

the mightiest peaks, and melted against the sky in a pearly line of

light. Behind us were the icy peaks and snowy plains of Disco. But

the most novel exhibition was on the sea. Thousands of icebergs were

scattered over the bay in all directions, presenting the most diverse

shapes. Near by they were few in number, and widely distributed; but

they multiplied rapidly, and their track became more concentrated

towards Jacobshavn, until beneath the dark land they melted into each

other and were lost to view between the walls of the great fiord. And

yet in the scene before us this immense glacier of Jacobshavn was but

a white streak, and the mammoth icebergs but pigmy specks.

We spent about an hour in this novel situation, wandering about over

the white snow, which (the temperature being three degrees above

freezing) was quite soft, though in places a firm crust had formed.

We saw no true ice there, and, not being provided with any implements

for digging, we could not ascertain at what depth the ice forms;

nor were there any crevasses to embarrass us until we attempted to

explore a way back by the Rothe River valley, where we were speedily

interrupted. There was nothing left for us, therefore, but to return

by the way we had come, after the fashion of that famous French

army which marched up the hill and then marched down again. And the

results of our labors were of quite as little importance to the

world; but we had gratified a not unreasonable curiosity, and enjoyed

an adventurous experience of a very unusual character.

Our opportunities for a demonstration were rather meagre. We did not

have an American flag to float and salute; but, out of compliment

to the ladies and to their country, which owns the mountain, we

improvised a Danish one, using a red handkerchief for a groundwork

and two white ones for the cross. This being unfurled to the breeze

and lustily cheered, we set out on our return journey, which, not

having now the stimulus of ambition and curiosity to spur us on,

was even more tedious, and seemed more wearisome than the ascent.

At the gorge by the water-fall we were met by a messenger from the

inspector’s wife, with a hamper containing some refreshments, which

were most eagerly devoured. They were, indeed, a timely gift. The

thoughtful lady had watched the mountain-side with a telescope,

and when we came in sight she graciously contrived this agreeable

surprise for us.

It was eight o’clock when we reached the inspector’s house, having

been just eleven hours on the march. The sun had passed around behind

the island, and the dark shadow of the cliffs was on the town; but

above arose the great spotless crown of Lyngmarken, all radiant in

the gold and purple light that burst up from the north.

The following day was a lively one in Godhavn. The _Constancia_,

with Captain Bang, our friend of some days back, was there now and

both he and Captain Saxtorph of the _Hvalfisken_ were eager, as

were we also, to be on the way out of the region of icebergs before

the nights grew any darker; but the _Constancia_ had to remain for

the last dispatches home from the inspector. We were, however,

ready, and offered to tow the _Hvalfisken_ out to sea, which offer

being accepted, every preparation was made for leaving early the

next morning. The passengers took up their quarters on board the

brig but, returning ashore in the evening, we had another pleasant

entertainment at the inspector’s hospitable house, the enjoyment of

which was only broken by the knowledge that it was to be the last. I

could but think, too, how lonely must be the inspector’s wife on the

morrow, with her two sisters gone away, and with not another white

woman there to keep her company; for the new governor was a bachelor,

and there was neither priest nor doctor in the place to bring wives

there, even if they would.

There was even no one of her own sex with whom she could converse in

the Danish language, except the half-breed Sophy, or Sophia Tabita,

as she was universally known in all North Greenland—and even she

was going away; for at last the little love-god had found his way

through the hitherto impenetrable barriers of her heart, and in a

month or so she was to marry the Colonibestyrere of Christianshavn,

and, resigning the proud place of belle of Disco, would henceforth be

buried in obscurity among the icebergs of Jacobshavn Fiord, where no

ship ever comes by any chance, except the one ship of the year, and

where none of the merry times of good old Lievely will ever return to

enliven her new home.

The bright rays of the morning sun had just fallen upon the little

town when we dipped our flag to the royal ensign which waved over

the governor’s house, cheered the inspector, and steamed away with

the _Hvalfisken_. As we rounded the outer horn of the harbor I saw

the inspector and his wife mount to the look-out station, where they

stood watching the brig that followed us, and waving adieus to their

sisters, from whom dangerous seas were sure to separate them for

many a long year, and perhaps forever.

At length the island disappeared against the cliff, and we saw them

no more; then the cliffs sank down—the Great Lyngmarken became a

speck of brightness on the waste of waters; then it too was lost; and

this “Land of Desolation,” around which will always cling pleasant

memories of hospitable people, unusual adventures, and a profitably

spent summer, fades away, and an experience the like of which might

be had by many at small cost and little risk, takes its place among

the “departed joys.”

We have still, however, one Greenland token left with us, and that

we propose to leave behind us too, for dark clouds are rising in the

sky, and a dirty night is coming on; besides, an ugly sea is getting

up, and the _Hvalfisken’s_ hawser is in danger.

“Brig ahoy!” roars out the captain.

A head appears above the bulwarks, and an answering “Ay, ay,” comes

across the water.

“Stand by—we are going to cast you off.”

“Stop, stop a bit,” cries the sagaman.

“What for?” the captain asks.

“You shall see;” and sure enough we do, for he whips a scrap of paper

from his pocket, on which something is written; he hands it round; we

sign it, one and all; the captain puts it in a bottle, which he corks

tightly, and, along with another bottle of more portly size, labelled

“Reserve L. G. L.,” he puts it in a tin box, which Mick ties to the

hawser and lets fall into the sea. We hear a lively cry on board

the brig as they haul in the line; we see a sailor find the box and

take it aft; and we know, presently, that the paper is deciphered,

and our pledges responded to, by the appearance of heads above the

quarter-rail, the fluttering of handkerchiefs, and the unmistakable

appearance of glasses raised at arm’s length, all of which evidences

of hilarity will be best understood by repeating the round robin our

sagaman had written, and we had sent through the sea as our final

adieu to “The Land of Desolation.” Thus it ran:

“We drop you a line, and we bid you adieu!

Now fill up your glasses and pledges renew,

In this wine of the South—this foaming Champagne!

The Lady of Disco—that right queenly Dane,

With whom we have left (let the wine freely flow),

Our hearts and bright wishes and prayers also.

“May the bleak Norland winter—that night of despair—

Leave the bloom in her cheek and the gold in her hair,

And the light in her eye, as bright as the blue

Of the sky in the summer, the clouds breaking through.

Those round her she loves, may the storms, sweeping wild,

Pass over them gently—the father and child.

“A bumper! The ladies in _Hvalfiskens_ brig;

Another! Her captain, that sailor so trig:

To the governor too, his frau and his Fred;

To _all_ a good-night on their wave-rockéd bed;

To the brig a good voyage. Hip! hip! and hurra!

The last cup is drained, and—there’s no more to say.”

THE END.

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Transcriber’s Notes:

- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

- Blank pages have been removed.

- Silently corrected typographical errors.

- Spelling and hyphenation variations made consistent.

- Page 139 “parient” assumed to be a typo, changed to “parent”.