THE WINTER CAMP.
[Illustration: CAMP DALY IN SUMMER.]
Meanwhile we had need of patience. Our camp, which was in latitude 63
deg. 51 min. north and 90 deg. 26 min. 15 sec. west of Greenwich, had
been named by Lieutenant Schwatka after the president of the American
Geographical Society. The tents that had been provided for the
expedition proving quite inadequate for our wants, Captain Barry got
Armow (the Wolf), one of the most influential natives, to let us have
his tent, one that had been made by the crew of the brig 'A.
Houghton', memorable to us as the vessel on which Captain Barry
received his spoon. The Iwillie tribe moved up their tupics to the land
nearest Depot Island, so as to be near us; but finding they were a
considerable distance from any fresh water, moved again to the spot
where our stores were landed. We had bidden adieu to the officers and
crew of the 'Eothen', and had been rowed ashore by the Inuits. The
solitude of our first day on land was enlivened by the visit of a
ponderous young Natchilli, named Joe (or Natchilli Joe, to distinguish
him from Esquimau Joe). He promised to accompany us in the spring. He
was a fine-looking young man, with a big head, and a shock of
raven-black hair, as massive-looking as a lion, and with none of the
bloodthirsty look which I had been led to expect in the Natchilli
features. He had been living with the Iwillie tribe for about two
years, and they all liked him very much. We felt that it would tend to
assure our favorable reception by his tribe to have one or two of their
own people with our party.
Ten days after we landed all went to the hunting-grounds but Armow and
his party, who were to go in a boat, but it was so stormy that they did
not get off. When the others broke camp and started over the hills it
was a novel and interesting spectacle. Each one had his load, the
women, in addition to their other burdens, having to carry their
children upon their backs. Behind them came their dogs, staggering
under loads that almost hid them from view and getting into all kinds
of trouble among the rocks. They were accompanied by "Jerry," a native
for whom Esquimau Joe had a great liking. He took all his family except
his son Koumania, who had been given to me as a body-servant. Koumania
was an unusually bright, manly little fellow, and, though so young, had
already killed a reindeer. We were all much interested in him, and his
parents were much pleased that he had found favor with the Kodlunars.
His father was one of Captain Hall's party in his King William Land
journey, and was also to accompany us. He seemed like a good, honest,
faithful fellow, and had the reputation of being a first-class hunter.
Koumania came running to me, before his father's departure, with his
face covered with smiles and soapsuds, and I found that Frank had given
him some soap and told him I would like him better if he would wash.
Poor fellow! he had done the best he could, and had at any rate shown a
willing spirit.
[Illustration: ESQUIMAUX GOING TO THE HUNTING-GROUND.]
It was not until Wednesday that the boat party could get away. Most of
the time it rained and blew a perfect gale. We were then alone in the
camp, with the exception of a tupic, which contained one old man, two
old women, and three children. There were plenty of dogs, though, and
we had concerted music every night. I spent some time in making over
some civilized clothes for my boy. I had to take them in everywhere
except around the waist. There he was as big as I am, though I weigh
nearly two hundred pounds.
I returned from a hunting and exploring excursion Saturday night,
August 31, and had come to the conclusion by that time, after
satisfactory experience, that tuk-too hunting is not a pastime. It is
good, solid work from beginning to end, with no rest for the weary. If
any readers have meditated such a task as a divertisement, I would beg
to dissuade them from the undertaking, for they know not what they do.
Before attempting to follow tuk-too hunters over these hills and
valleys, I would advise a severe course of training. We started on the
morning of the 25th, in the midst of a strong gale, which had been
blowing all night from the north-west, and was bitter cold. It rained,
snowed, and hailed all at the same time, and the pelting hard stones
cut our faces nearly all the morning. The party consisted of "Sam,"
another of Joe's friends, his two younger brothers, Koumania, and
myself. I took a blanket and some little provisions, in case I should
be out over night. We walked along, without stopping, a distance of
about eight miles across the hardest country to travel over I had ever
seen, and when we halted to rest I was indeed tired. The rocks and
hills were hard enough to walk over, but the worst of all were the
moss-covered meadows. Your foot would sink at every step, and it was as
much like walking in loose, wet sand as anything with which I could
compare it. I wore native boots, or kummings, as they are called, for I
knew it would be impossible to get along with anything else; but the
sharp edges and points of the stones could be felt through them almost
as if one were barefooted. Do not think that the mossy meadows were a
relief after the rocks. On the contrary, they were but a delusion and a
snare, for beneath the velvet cushion was concealed the sharp and
jagged rock that cut the foot all the same, and proved a more deadly,
because a hidden foe. Though tired when I sat down to rest, I was more
so when I got up to walk again; but, ashamed of my weakness, I kept on,
gritting my teeth and determined to do or die.
It was getting late, and still we saw no deer--in fact, I was losing my
interest in deer very rapidly, and only hoped I might soon see a tupic.
After we had walked about fifteen miles, "Sam" pointed out a mountain
that did not seem so very far off, and said, "Io wunga tupic sellow"
(My tent is there). This was refreshing, and I plodded along still more
determinedly. I would have given anything to have been back in my own
tent, but that was out of the question. It was farther to go back than
to go ahead, and though every bone in my body ached I plodded along,
frequently stopping to rest. I thought we had passed the mountain that
"Sam" had pointed out, and finally I ventured to ask him where the
tupic was. His answer was invariably, "Con-i-tuk-vo-loo" (A little way),
and I began to weary of the monotony of the answer, as probably he did
of the question, until at last, in a valley farther off than I had
originally thought the mountain, I saw the tupic. The approach was by
a circuitous route, the wind still blowing so strongly against us that
each took his turn in leading, the others crouching behind the slight
shelter thus afforded. And this was a pleasure trip! When we finally
did reach the tent, I received the kindly welcome of old "Molasses"
and his wife, and dropped down on some deer-skins, completely used up.
The hunters were naturally hungry after their long walk, and from a
pile of fresh meat on the side of the tent "Sam" seized a large piece,
half cooked, and taking a vigorous bite, cut off the mouthful with his
disengaged hand and passed the rest to the one standing nearest him,
who helped himself in the same way, and thus it kept circulating until
it was all gone.
I awoke early the next morning, and went outside the tent and feebly
attempted to walk; but it was a most excruciating effort. My
hip-joints, that ached like a toothache the night before, now seemed
to be made of old rusty iron, and grated and shrieked when I tried to
move, as if they rebelled against it. I felt as if there was nothing
left for me to do but to walk the soreness off; therefore I kept
moving, though I was conscious that my step lacked its wonted firmness
and grace. After bathing in the lake that spread out in the valley in
front of the tupic, I returned to find the hunters ready for the day's
sport. I took up my rifle and started off with the hunters. Presently
the pain left my hips, or, more properly speaking, my feet got so sore
from the constant walking over sharp rocks that my mind was diverted
in that direction solely. While resting on the top of a high bluff
overlooking the lakes, I heard a faint "halloo," which seemed to come
on the wind from an immense distance. I called "Sam's" attention to it,
and he immediately dropped behind a rock, out of the wind, until it was
repeated several times, when saying, "Inuit ky-ete" (Somebody says
come), he started off down the steep mountain side in the direction
of the voice, and the boys and I followed him. We walked nearly
three-quarters of an hour before we finally saw the object of our
search, and then he appeared perched on a rock against the clear blue
sky, but still too far off to be recognized even by my hawk-eyed
guides. At last we were near enough to see that it was "Alex Taylor,"
one of the Inuits from our camp, who had left with the others for the
hunting-grounds. He had with him his wife and two children, one a babe
in the hood, and two bags packed with tupic and poles. He had a heavy
back-load of skins, and his wife another big bundle. They seemed both
surprised and pleased to see me. "Alex" told me that he had seen no
deer that day, but had previously shot nine, and that there were
"ama-suet" (plenty) farther on. He regaled us with some raw meat, and
honored me with a nice raw deer tongue, which I ate with great relish
after he had skinned it and eaten the skin.
After luncheon and a pipe, we gathered up the bundles and trudged along
until nearly sundown, when we arrived at a tupic under a cliff and
between two large lakes. Two young married women and an old palsied
crone came out to meet us. "Alex Taylor" told me that I was to stay
there all night. The next morning, after walking about nine or ten
miles without seeing anything in the way of game except some deer
tracks, we ascended a high bluff that had been on our right since
leaving camp, when, to my infinite delight, I saw a large river,
which "Alex," tracing the course with his finger, indicated as emptying
into a large bay near our camp, opposite Depot Island. Its course was
nearly straight for about three miles below and seven miles north of
where we stood; then, as my guide indicated with a wave of his hand,
flowed to the east and again to the south. It extended much farther to
the west and north, and from what I have since learned from the natives,
rises between the head of the Invich and Wager rivers, and is about
ninety-five miles in length. To the south and west of where we stood
it passed over a broad stony portage, and beyond that swelled out, as
do most of the rivers in this country, into a series of broad lakes
filled with islands.
This discovery appeared to me of inestimable value, as indicating an
entirely new and feasible route to King William Land, and, since my
return to camp, Esquimau Joe, who had been away with the hunters for
about three weeks, was here for a few hours, and told me that his
hunting-camp was on the east bank of this same river, and the inquiry
he has already made of the Inuits in his party confirmed my judgment of
the feasibility of this route. I named the river after Mr. Thomas B.
Connery, of New York.
We resumed our walk, turning back along the bank of the river, which on
the east side is high and almost perpendicular. We reached the portage,
about three miles to the south, and crossed over to the west side,
which is a low, rolling country, covered with moss, which at a distance
looked like sun-burned grass. The portage was nearly a quarter of a
mile wide, but by the exercise of some agility, where the current ran
most swiftly through the large rocks, we got over without wetting our
feet, and about a mile from the river bank stopped to rest on a rocky
eminence. "Alex" pointed vaguely in the direction of some hills about
two or three miles away, and said he thought there were some deer over
there; but as I had been walking three days now without seeing a deer,
and was desperately tired, I told him to go on if he wanted to, and
take my rifle, and I would wait till he came back. He trotted along,
and I sat under the lee of a rock, taking advantage of the opportunity
to write up my journal and trace the course of the river. In the
meantime the sun sank lower and lower, but no signs of "Alex Taylor."
About three hours after he left me he reappeared, with his hat in
his hand and a heavy bundle over his shoulder, trotting along so
nimbly that I envied him. He had shot two deer, a "cooney" and an
"isaacer"--that is, a doe and a buck--and he had their warm, bloody
skins on his back. He said that there were plenty of deer over there,
and to-morrow we would move the camp up to that spot. So we put the
skins and some tenderloin in a cairn, and covered it up with heavy
stones, and after eating some of the raw tenderloin we started for
home. It was long after dark when we reached there, and I was glad to
find Sam's tupic already up, with his old father and young mother, and
my blankets and a little package of salt, which I had missed very much
while eating so much raw meat.
The next day we broke camp at an early hour, and moved bag, and
baggage, to the place where "Alex Taylor" had shot the deer the
preceding afternoon. Notwithstanding my sore feet and tired limbs,
I took a load on my shoulders out of sheer shame, for without that
I would have been the only one, old or young, biped or quadruped,
without something, so I made a martyr of myself. Just after leaving the
spot where "Alex" and I had cached the skins yesterday afternoon, "Sam"
dropped his burden from his shoulders, grasped his rifle, and, with the
single word "tuk-too," started over the country on a run. Three others
joined him, and the rest of us kept on until we reached the lake, where
our new camp was to be located. The tents were soon put up, and the
boys started off to carry in the two carcasses that "Alex" had shot and
buried under stones. Presently the hunters who went off with "Sam" came
back, saying they had seen nothing, and later "Sam" came in with the
skin of a big buck which he had shot. He is quite young, but one of the
best and most indefatigable hunters in the tribe.
I went out in the morning with "Sam" and "Roxy" to find some deer.
After some wanderings, in which "Sam" got separated from us, and after
several unsuccessful shots at the game, "Roxy" and I returned, I being
too weary and footsore to find much interest in the sport, especially
as it began to rain and was bitter cold. In fact, the first new ice I
have seen this summer was around the shores of the lake that morning,
and I had to break it when I went down to bathe. On our way home we
passed, on the top of a high, barren hill, a cairn, which "Roxy" at
once said had been built by the Kinnepatoos, a tribe which formerly
occupied these lands, and the boys soon threw aside the stones to find
the dried-up skeleton of a deer killed many years ago. "Sam" did not
get back until dark, but he brought with him the skin of an isaacer
that he had killed since he left us.
That night I proposed to "Sam" to bring me down to our tent at the salt
water, and though I could see that he did not relish leaving the good
hunting-grounds just as he had reached them, he consented, and finally
seemed delighted when I promised him an old pair of pantaloons for his
trouble. "Alex Taylor" also came to the tupic and said he would
accompany us, and this made the prospect more cheerful, as I knew it
would be at least two days' hard travelling. During the night we were
visited by a severe thunder-storm, which frightened my tent-mates
because unused to it, and they lighted an ikomer to take the sharp edge
off the lightning; but I slept on peacefully while "Old Molasses" held
a stick so that the shadow kept the light of the lamp from my eyes. It
stopped raining toward morning, but it was still chilly and damp when
we started, shortly after daylight, on our long journey.
"Sam" and "Alex" again got separated from us in pursuit of deer, and I
became so chilly that we gave up waiting for them to rejoin us, and
moved on. At last we could see Picciulok, as the natives call Depot
Island, but it was at a considerable distance, and it was getting late.
The sun was then below the horizon, and we hastened along to get sight
of some familiar ground; but, alas! at every hill-top Picciulok seemed
as far, if not farther off, and finally we could not see it all, it was
so dark. My guides knew they were lost, and wanted to lie down until
morning, but I kept them up, for I could see the stars and could keep
the right course; but the walking was terrible. My feet were now so
sensitive that I could feel every sharp stone through the soles of my
kummings, and the stony portages between the lakes and over the little
indentations of the coast seemed to increase in number all the time. It
was so dark that I could not see where to step, and my feet would slip
down and wedge in the angle between the sharp stones, or the point of a
rock would come right in the hollow of my foot, until I stumbled and
floundered and almost screamed with pain. And yet no familiar
landmarks. I began to despair, or rather to doubt my physical ability
to proceed, when the sharp-eyed Netchuk called my attention to the
light from a tupic at a considerable distance, and a little to our
right. This was indeed refreshing, so we kept on as well as we could,
though we often fell, and I staggering with a strained cord in one foot
and the skin worn off the sole of the other. But there were the lights
ahead, and we kept right straight for them, though no matter how far we
walked they seemed just the same distance off. It was certainly
discouraging, and I could not help thinking of the will-o'-the-wisp,
and wondering if the phenomenon was ever seen in the Arctic. I could
not remember any instance in my reading, and determined to reach that
light or perish in the effort. At last it did seem nearer. We could
make out the shapes of the tents, and finally we could hear dogs
barking and snarling, and before long we were there. We found the
lights in the tupics that were occupied by the old folks left behind at
Camp Daly by the hunters, and found "Alex Taylor," "Sam," and the boy
had just got in; so, after learning that "Alex" had killed two deer
with my gun, "Sam" and Koumania and I went up to our own tent, which
was dark.
[Illustration: A CAIRN.]
These were our diversions. Our business was to inquire into the truth
of Captain Barry's story. Pursuing our investigation through the next
three months, we learned that there had never been other than three
families of Natchillis living with the Iwillik Esquimaux. One of those,
the native who had died in the preceding winter, was an aged paralytic
called "Monkey," whose tongue was so affected that even his own people
could scarcely understand him. The second was Natchilli Joe, known to
his own people as Ekeeseek, who was a child in his mother's hood at the
time when he lived on King William Land, and only knew the story of the
Franklin expedition from hearsay. The third, Nu-tar-ge-ark, a man of
about forty-five or fifty years of age, gave us valuable information.
His father, many years ago, opened a cairn on the northern shore of
Washington Bay, in King William Land, and took from it a tin box
containing a piece of paper with some writing on it. Not far from this
same spot were the ruins of a cairn which had been built by white men
and torn down by Inuits. The cairn had been built upon a large flat
stone, which had the appearance of having been dragged to its present
location from a stony point near by. The cairn itself was found to be
empty, but it was generally believed by the Inuits that there was
something buried beneath this stone. It was very heavy, and as they had
only been there in parties of two or three at a time, they had never
been able to overturn the stone, though they had repeatedly tried.
Nutargeark also said he had brought a spoon with him from King William
Land, which corresponded in description with the one Barry took to the
United States. He said it was given to him by some of his tribe, and
that it had come from one of the boat places, or where skeletons had
been found on King William Land or Adelaide Peninsula, he could not
remember exactly where. He had not given the spoon to Captain Barry,
but to the wife of Sinuksook, an Iwillik Esquimau, who afterward gave
it to a Captain Potter. We saw Sinuksook's wife a little later, and she
distinctly remembered having given the spoon to Captain Potter. It was
necessary, therefore, to find this officer.
[Illustration: CAIRN MARKING DEPOSIT OF PROVISIONS.]
During the first week in January, 1879, we learned that he was
wintering at Marble Island, being now second in command on the whaler
'Abbie Bradford'. So Henry Klutschak and I made our way to Marble
Island, with the first sled that had crossed from the main-land, being
eight days on the road from Depot Island. We had reason to believe that
Captain Barry and the 'Eothen' would also be at our destination,
and that we could there replenish our stores. The trip was uneventful,
except that when four days out I ran out of food through sharing my
hard bread and pork with the natives, of whom there were twelve on my
sled. They had plenty of tepee walrus meat, which was good food for
them, but which I could not at that time eat. So for four days I had
not a mouthful to eat, though I walked and ran nearly the whole
distance travelled. I did not experience much inconvenience from
weakness until the last day, which was that on which we came across the
ice from Little Rabbit Island. When nearly half-way over, and moving
rapidly over the new ice, the sled on which I was seated broke through,
and all its occupants were precipitated into the water. The front part
of the sled still hung by the ice, which bent beneath its weight. When
I was struggling to get out the ice kept breaking off in huge cakes,
and my clothing getting heavier and heavier all the time, I began to
think that I would not be able to save myself; but at last I succeeded
in rolling out upon the hard ice, and turning around to see if my help
was needed in rescuing the women and children, found them already
safely landed on the floe. The thermometer ranging thirty-eight degrees
below zero, we were not long standing in the wind before our clothes
were frozen stiff, so that it was almost impossible to bend a limb.
We succeeded in getting the sled out again, and started once more for
Marble Island. I went ahead to pick out a route for the sled, and again
the treacherous ice gave way under me, and I sank below the surface. It
was with great difficulty that I regained the firm ice, and by this
time my clothing was so heavy and stiff that I had to take off my
outside tocklings, or trousers, in order to walk at all. It was now
about ten o'clock in the morning, and in half an hour we reached about
two miles distant from the island, but only to find an impassable
channel of open water from a quarter to half a mile wide. We could see
some one walking upon the shore of the island, but could hold no
conversation with him. The natives who were with me said that when the
tide turned perhaps the channel might close, and they proposed to wait;
but in the meantime I was afraid I might freeze to death unless I kept
moving. In the course of a few hours, during which I found out that I
could not get back to Rabbit Island before dark, I became so faint for
the want of food that I had to get some tepee walrus from the natives,
and I ate it with a keen appetite. It did not taste as badly as I
anticipated, so I ate a quantity, including some pieces of hide, about
three quarters of an inch thick, which was cut into small pieces and
looked like cheese. After eating several pieces I thought I would bite
off the outside rind, which, on closer examination, I noticed to be the
short stiff hair of the animal which I had been eating. Presently I
began to feel warm all over my body, despite my frozen clothing--a
condition attributable partly to the peculiar qualities of frozen food,
and partly perhaps to the rasping in my interior, produced by the stiff
walrus hair that I had eaten. It was now nearly dark, but we could see
that the ice-floes were coming together, and crunching up a pudge of
soft ice between them. At last the men started out over this pudge,
stepping quickly from one piece of moving ice to another, until at last
we reached firm footing again, though only by the exercise of
considerable agility and looking sharply to where you went. It was a
great relief to be again upon the shore; but we were still a
considerable distance from the ships, and the Inuits proposed to lie
down on the snow until daylight, as they could not see and did not know
the route. I was afraid to stop moving, and proposed to keep walking in
the direction of the harbor. All who came ashore, therefore, started
with us; but the road at last became so difficult that I felt it
necessary to rest quite often, wearied as I already was by previous
hardships.
The route chosen by our guide was to follow the shore ice around until
the harbor was reached. This was a very circuitous and dangerous road,
as in the darkness one would frequently pitch headlong over a steep
precipice upon the snow beneath. My trousers were so stiff that I could
not bend my knee or lift my foot high enough to clear ordinary
impediments, and I fell very often. It was fortunate for me that I
never fell upon the shore ice beneath the cliff, for in many places it
was very deep, and I could not see where I trod. When I commenced
falling I never knew where I would alight, though I usually brought up
in some friendly snow-drift. At last all the Inuits grew so impatient
to reach the ships that they left Henry and me to find our way as best
we could, and pushed on as rapidly as their better vision and greater
familiarity with the country would permit. In half an hour from the
time they left us they had reached the harbor; but with their
accustomed indifference to the comfort of others they failed to
say that two "kodlunars" (white men) were still out upon the
island--one of them too weak and frozen to keep up with them. As soon
as the officers learned the fact from them, Captain Barry despatched
"Domino," one of the natives with his ship, to find us and bring us
to the vessel. We saw a lantern which he carried, and, coming down from
the cliff upon the smooth ice, were overjoyed to find ourselves in the
harbor and but a few hundred yards from the ships. We shouted at the
top of our voices, and "Domino" ran at once to us. I never was so glad
to see any one in my life, for I felt that the terrible ordeal through
which I had passed was at an end. We were soon in the warm cabin of the
'Eothen', where my frozen garments were removed and warm, dry
"kodlunar" clothing substituted. Were it not for the previous
training we had undergone in igloo life, I could not have survived the
hardships of that day. As it was, I felt very little inconvenience,
except from a severe cold, which always follows a change such as moving
from an igloo into the heated air on shipboard. My appetite was
enormous, and it seemed as if I could not eat enough of the generous
fare of our hosts. I soon regained my usual robust health, and gained
flesh at the rate of a pound a day for three weeks.
In the harbor, besides the 'Eothen', and the 'Abbie Bradford', the
latter commanded by Captain Fisher, we found the 'Abbott Lawrence',
Captain Mozier, and the 'Isabella', Captain Garvin, all except the
'Eothen' being from New Bedford. The ships were all comfortably housed
with boards, and so banked up with snow that ordinary coal fires made
them uncomfortably warm. It was painful to see, however, that scurvy had
broken out in the fleet, and each vessel has had an average of half a
dozen cases during our stay with them. They had more than the usual
amount of fresh meat at this season, and it was difficult to account for
the unusually large percentage of scurvy, unless Captain Fisher's theory
were the correct one. He attributed it to the unusual severity of the
fall and early winter-season, which, he said, was unprecedented in his
experience of over fourteen years in these waters. The ships were driven
into winter quarters nearly a month previous to the usual time by a
succession of gales and heavy weather, which occasioned the loss of one
vessel of the fleet--the brig 'A. J. Ross' of New Bedford, Captain
Sinclair, which went ashore near Cape Kendall, on the eastern coast of
Rowe's Welcome during the latter part of August. Though scurvy had been
so prevalent it had not been so severe as usual, and as yet the graveyard
on "Deadmen's Island," on the outer harbor, had received no accession
from the crews. The successful treatment of the disease seems to be to
compel the patient to eat abundantly of raw walrus or seal meat, and to
take moderate exercise, at first under shelter and then in the open
air.
[Illustration: THE SHIPS IN WINTER QUARTERS.]
The officers of the vessels treated us with the most unbounded
generosity, and readily placed at our disposal whatever they could
spare that we required. The wreck of the 'A. J. Ross' had thrown
the care of another crew upon them, and yet they could find plenty to
add to the comfort of those who have another season in this climate and
a long and severe journey before them. Captain Sinclair, though himself
so great a sufferer by the loss of a vessel in which nearly his whole
means were invested, had been a large contributor toward the search
party. They expected to be frozen in here till about the 1st of June,
when they could saw a channel through the ice to the clear water beyond
Deadmen's Island. Marble Island has been the winter quarters of whaling
vessels for many years, though not altogether a safe harbor. In the
winter of 1872 two vessels were wrecked here, the 'Ansel Gibbs'
and the 'Oray Taft'. The hulk of the latter still lay upon the
shore of the inner harbor, but the 'Ansel Gibbs' broke up outside
and had long since gone to pieces. The graves of a number of their
crews are in the graveyard by the sea. Upon the bald face of a rock
near the outside harbor is a list of names written in red paint nearly
a century ago; but whether a visitor's list or a gigantic tombstone to
record those who perished here long ago by shipwreck is unknown. Upon
the north-east end of the island, partly hidden by moss, is a quantity
of soft coal, which was probably left here by one of the early Arctic
explorers.
The loss of so many vessels in these waters is chiefly attributable to
the imperfections in the admiralty charts. The coast line is altogether
wrong, and Marble Island is laid down several degrees west of its
actual position. Lieutenant Schwatka and Henry Klutschak made careful
surveys from Cape Fullerton to the island, and made a chart which has
already proved useful to the whalers.
But our more immediate business was with Captain Potter. I asked him if
he remembered Captain Barry's getting a Franklin spoon while with him
on the 'Glacier', and he said he had never heard anything about it
until he read in the newspapers that Barry had sent one to Sir John
Franklin's niece, Miss Craycroft, which surprised him very much. He
further said that he (Potter) had received three spoons at that time,
one of which mysteriously disappeared shortly afterward. The published
description of Barry's spoon corresponded exactly with the one he had
lost, even to its being broken off near the bowl and mended with
copper, as was the one he had received from Sinuksook's wife. Captain
Potter further said, that to one who had lived with the Esquimaux, and
acquired the pigeon English they use in communicating with the whalers
in Hudson's Bay, and contrasted it with the language they use in
conversation with each other, the assertion of Captain Barry, that he
overheard them talking about books and understood them, was supremely
ridiculous. There is probably no white man in the Arctic, or who ever
visited it, that would understand them under such circumstances unless
it be one or two in Cumberland, who have lived with them for fifteen or
twenty years.
In this crucible of fact the famous spoon melted. So far as Captain
Barry and his clews were concerned, we had come on a fool's errand.