THE MIDNIGHT SUN.
Such was the statement of Ahlangyah the Netchillik. When she had
finished it we gave her some needles, spoons, a tin pan, and other
articles that well repaid her for the trouble she had taken to reach
us. Here was a woman who had actually seen the poor, starving
explorers, and her story was replete with interest for us. Every word
she uttered seemed fraught with the dread tragedy, and she appeared to
share our interest, for her face was full of expression. At times it
was saddened with the recital of the piteous condition of the white
men, and tears filled her eyes as she recalled the sad scene at the
tent place where so many had perished, and their bodies become food for
wild beasts. It would seem, from what she related to-day, that the
party which perished in the inlet we visited yesterday, was part of the
same that Ahlangyah met on King William Land. She and her friends could
not get across Simpson Strait, while the white men kept on over the
rotten ice, probably at last compelled to take to their boat, and then,
at the mercy of the wind and ice, after losing others of their number
near Pfeffer River and Todd Islands, had drifted into the inlet where
the dead bodies were found with the boat. How long it took them to
reach this place will probably never be known, but there is little
doubt that they were in a desperate condition. In fact, as we
subsequently learned from other witnesses, there were almost
unmistakable evidences of their being compelled to resort to
cannibalism, until at last they absolutely starved to death at this
point--at least all but one, whose remains were found, during the
summer after our visit here, about five miles further inland.
We secured one valuable relic here, in the sled seen by Sir Leopold
McClintock, in Erebus Bay, which at that time had upon it a boat, with
several skeletons inside. Since the sled came into the hands of the
Inuits it has been cut down several times. It was originally seven feet
longer than at present, the runners about two inches higher and twice
as far apart. But even in its present state it is an exceedingly
interesting memento. We have carefully preserved it in the condition in
which it has been in constant use by the Esquimaux for many years. We
met other portions of this tribe at intervals of from six to ten miles
along this coast, until we reached Seaforth Point, where we crossed to
King William Land, and left them behind until our return in the
following September.
Meanwhile we were pushing steadily onward. We were beginning to get
used to the phenomena of the Arctic, not the least among which is the
"midnight sun." It is difficult for one who has not witnessed it
himself to understand the meaning of this portent. The idea of the long
Arctic night seems to be much more generally comprehended. Nearly all
writers upon the subject, whether those who have themselves experienced
its effects, or those whose knowledge is derived from study, dwell with
great force on the terribly depressing effect upon the physical
organization of natives of the median zones caused by the long Arctic
night whenever brought within its influence. Though much less has been
written or said concerning the interminable day, its effects are almost
as deleterious upon the stranger as the prolonged night. Indeed, to the
sojourner in high latitudes the day is much more appreciable, for at no
point yet visited by man is the darkness the total darkness of night
throughout the entire day, while the "midnight sun" makes the night
like noon-day. Even when the sun passes below the horizon at its upper
culmination, the daylight is as intense as at noon in lower latitudes
when the sun's disk is obscured by thin clouds. The long twilight in
the north, where the sun's apparent path around the earth varies so
little in altitude at its upper and lower culminations, takes some of
the edge off of the prolonged night at the highest latitude ever
attained by the Arctic explorer; but there is nothing to relieve the
"long, long, weary day" of its full power upon the system.
In this latitude the sun goes down at night, and we retire to our
couches and sleep. In the morning the sun returns, and we arise to the
pursuit of our various daily avocations. But there, in the spring, the
sun never sets. There is no morning and no night. It is one continuous
day for months. At first it seems very difficult to understand this
strange thing in nature. One never knows when to sleep. The world seems
to be entirely wrong, and man grows nervous and restless. Sleep is
driven from his weary eyelids, his appetite fails, and all the
disagreeable results of protracted vigils are apparent. But gradually
he becomes used to this state of affairs, devises means to darken his
tent, and once more enjoys his hour of rest. In fact, he learns how to
take advantage of the new arrangement, and when travelling pursues his
journey at night, or when the sun is lowest, because then he finds the
frost that hardens the snow a great assistance in sledging.
The sun's rays then, falling more obliquely, are less powerful, and he
avoids somewhat the evils that beset his pathway at noontime. He is not
so much exposed to sunburn or to snow-blindness. It may sound strangely
to speak of sunburn in the frigid zone, but perhaps nowhere on the
earth is the traveller more annoyed by that great ill. The heat of
ordinary exercise compels him to throw back the hood of his fur coat,
that the cool evenings and mornings preclude his discarding, and not
only his entire face becomes blistered, but especially--if he is
fashionable enough to wear his hair thin upon the top of his head--his
entire scalp is affected about as severely as if a bucket of scalding
water had been poured over his head. This is not an exaggeration. At a
later period than that of which I am writing, Lieutenant Schwatka's
entire party, while upon a sledge journey from Marble Island to Camp
Daly, were so severely burned that not only their faces but their
entire heads were swollen to nearly twice their natural size. And a
fine-looking party they were. Some had their faces so swollen that
their eyes were completely closed upon awakening from sleep. When one
could see the others he could not refrain from laughing, so ludicrous
was the spectacle. All dignity was lost. Even the august commander of
the party was a laughing-stock, and though he knew why they laughed at
each other, he could not understand why he should excite such mirth
until he saw his face in a mirror. Then, when he tried to smile, his
lips were so thoroughly swollen that the effect was entirely lost, and
it was impossible to tell whether his expression denoted amusement,
anger, or pain. The torture resulting from these burns was so severe
that it was almost impossible to sleep. The fur bedding, which also
served the purpose of a pillow, irritated the burns like applying a
mustard-plaster to a blister. Then it was that the night was turned
into day for the rest of the journey, and during the heat of the day
the party were comparatively comfortable in the shelter of their tent.
Straw-hats would have been the proper style of head-dress, but they had
been omitted from the outfit, as was also another very important source
of comfort, mosquito nettings. It is in the summer, however, that the
necessity for the latter luxury is encountered.
While the sun's rays pour down with all their force upon the devoted
head of the traveller the reflection from the snow is almost as intense
and still more disagreeable, for there is no possible escape from it.
Not satisfied with producing its share of sunburn, it acts upon the
eyes in a manner that produces that terrible scourge of the Arctic
spring--snow-blindness. It is a curious fact that persons who are
near-sighted are generally exempt from the evils of snow-blindness,
while it appears to be more malignant with those who are far-sighted
in direct ratio to the superior quality of their vision. Lieutenant
Schwatka and his companion, the present writer, are both near-sighted,
and during the two seasons that they were exposed to the disease
neither were at any time affected by snow-blindness; while the other
members of the party, and especially the natives, who have most
powerful visual organs, were almost constantly martyrs to the disease
whenever exposed to its attacks.
It seems the only method of guarding against it is to wear what we
called snow-goggles all the time one is out of doors. The natives use
those of home manufacture--that is, a piece of wood with a notch to fit
over the bridge of the nose, and a narrow, horizontal slit opposite
each eye. This rude spectacle, called by them igearktoo, is made to fit
close to the eyes, and is held in place by strings passing behind and
over the top of the head. It serves to shelter the eyes from the direct
and reflected rays of the sun, but also interrupts the vision so much
that they habitually push it up on top of their heads, and run a risk
which almost invariably results to their disadvantage, yet their
goggles are so unsatisfactory that no amount of adverse experience is
sufficient to serve as a warning to them. The civilized visitors among
them wear goggles of various patterns and degrees of excellence. Some
are made of differently colored glass, from the various shades of
smoked glass to blue and green of varying degrees of opacity; some are
of glass surrounded with wire gauze; others of wire gauze without the
glass, and some are merely a strip of bunting hanging from the peak of
the cap. Of all the various kinds the general experience seems to be in
favor of the wire gauze without glass. They interfere very little with
the vision, and yet furnish a perfect protection for the eyes. Glass of
any pattern or shade subjects the wearer to constant annoyance by
fogging from the breath, which congeals very rapidly upon the surface
of the glass, and apparently always at the most inconvenient time, as
when the hunter is stalking a deer by crawling a long distance upon
his hands and knees, and just as he raises his rifle for a shot his
goggles are like pieces of ground glass. The native spectacles give
such a limited field of vision that it is impossible to use them in
hunting; but the wire-gauze seems to be free from all these objections.
A well-supplied expedition is provided with every kind of snow-goggles,
as they are absolutely essential to the well being of the party. The
superiority of the wire-gauze pattern seemed to have been appreciated
by the Franklin expedition, for many of them were subsequently found
at the various burial-places and at other points where relics were
obtained. It is also said that painting around the eyes upon the upper
and lower lids with burned cork or some dark pigment is a protection
against snow-blindness; but it is doubtful if this method has been
sufficiently tested to admit of its being relied upon. The symptoms of
snow-blindness are inflammation of the inner coating of the lids,
accompanied by intense pain and impairment of the vision, so as to
disable the sufferer from the performance of his duties. A wash of
diluted tincture of opium is probably the best remedy, and gives almost
immediate relief. The patient should remain within doors for two or
three days, by which time he will usually be sufficiently cured to
resume his out-door labors.
It might be supposed that in the utter barrenness of the Arctic
landscape, flowers never grew there. This would be a great mistake. The
dweller in that desolate region, after passing a long, weary winter,
with nothing for the eye to rest upon but the vast expanse of snow and
ice, is in a condition to appreciate, beyond the ability of an
inhabitant of warmer climes, the little flowerets that peep up almost
through the snow when the spring sunlight begins to exercise its power
upon the white mantle of the earth. In little patches here and there,
where the dark-colored moss absorbs the warm rays of the sun, and the
snow is melted from its surface, the most delicate flowers spring up at
once to gladden the eye of the weary traveller. It needs not the
technical skill of the botanist to admire these lovely tokens of
approaching summer. Thoughts of home, in a warmer and more hospitable
climate, fill his heart with joy and longing, as meadows filled with
daisies and buttercups spread out before him, while he stands upon the
crest of a granite hill that knows no footstep other than the tread of
the stately musk-ox or the antlered reindeer, as they pass in single
file upon their frequent journeys, and whose caverns echo to no sound
save the howling of the wolves or the discordant cawing of the raven.
He is a boy again, and involuntarily plucks the feathery dandelion, and
seeks the time of day by blowing the puffy fringe from its stem, or
tests the faith of the fair one, who is dearer to him than ever in this
hour of separation, by picking the leaves from the yellow-hearted
daisy. Tiny little violets, set in a background of black or dark green
moss, adorn the hill-sides, and many flowers unknown to warmer zones
come bravely forth to flourish for a few weeks only, and wither in the
August winds. Very few of the flowers, so refreshing and charming to
the eye, have any perfume. Nearly all smell of the dank moss that forms
their bed.
As soon as the snow leaves the ground, the hill-sides in many
localities are covered with the vine that bears a small black berry
(called by the natives parwong,) in appearance, though not in flavor,
like the huckleberry. It has a pungent spicy tartness that is very
acceptable after a long diet of meat alone, and the natives, when they
find these vines, stop every other pursuit for the blissful moments of
cramming their stomachs with the fruit. This is kept up, if the crop
only lasts long enough until they have made themselves thoroughly sick
by their hoggishness. But the craving for some sort of vegetable diet
is irresistible, and with true Inuit improvidence they indulge it,
careless of consequences. Fortunate for them is it that their summer,
is a short one, and the parwong not abundant, or cholera might be added
to the other dangers of Arctic residence. But the days of the buttercup
and the daisy, and of the butterfly and the mosquito are few. With the
winter comes the all-pervading snow, and the keen, bracing north-west
wind, the rosy cheek and the frozen nose; but with it also comes rugged
health and a steady diet of walrus meat.