knowledge of the world as did that of Kane's. In ethnology it
contributed the first full account of the northernmost inhabitants of
the world, the Etah Esquimaux; in natural history it supplied extensive
and interesting information as to the flora and fauna of extreme western
Greenland, especially valuable from its isolation by the surrounding
inland ice; in physical sciences the magnetic, meteorological, tidal,
and glacier observations were extremely valuable contributions; in
geography it extended to a higher northerly point than ever before a
knowledge of polar lands, and it opened up a practical and safe route
for Arctic exploration which has been more persistently and successfully
extended poleward than any other.
Of Kane's conduct under the exceptionally prolonged and adverse
circumstances attendant on his second Arctic voyage, it is to be said
that he displayed the characteristics of a high and noble character.
Considerate of his subordinates, assiduous in performing his
multifarious duties as commander, studying ever to alleviate the mental
and physical ailments of his crew, and always unsparing of himself
whenever exposure to danger, hardships, or privations promised definite
results. It is not astonishing that these qualities won and charmed all
his associates, equals or subordinates, and that they followed him
unhesitatingly into the perils and dangers that Kane's enthusiastic and
optimistic nature led him to brave, with the belief that to will was to
do.
The career of Kane cannot be more beautifully and truthfully summarized
than was done in the funeral sermon over his bier: "He has traversed the
planet in its most inaccessible places; has gathered here and there a
laurel from every walk of physical research in which he strayed; has
gone into the thick of perilous adventure, abstracting in the spirit of
philosophy, yet seeing in the spirit of poesy; has returned to invest
the very story of his escape with the charms of literature and art, and
dying at length in the morning of his fame, is now lamented with mingled
affection and pride by his country and the world."
X.
ISAAC ISRAEL HAYES,
AND THE OPEN POLAR SEA.
History affords many examples wherein neither the originator nor the
early advocate of a striking idea has reaped fame therefrom, and their
names give way to some persistent, tireless worker who forces the
subject on public attention by his ceaseless efforts. Among Arctic
theories none has more fully occupied and interested the mind of the
general public than that of an open, navigable sea in the polar regions.
In connection with this theory the minds of Americans turn naturally to
Dr. I. I. Hayes, who, not the originator, inherited his belief therein
from the well-known Professor Maury, through the mediation of Kane,
Hayes's Arctic commander. DeHaven thought he saw signs of Maury's
ice-free sea to the northward of Wellington Strait, Kane through Morton
found it at Cape Constitution, Hayes recognized it a few miles farther
up Kennedy Channel, but Markham turned it into a frozen sea in 83° 20´
N. latitude, and Lockwood, from Cape Kane, on the most northerly land of
all time, rolled the frozen waste yet to the north, beyond the
eighty-fourth parallel, to within some three hundred and fifty miles of
the geographical Pole.
[Illustration: Isaac Israel Hayes.]
Isaac Israel Hayes was born in Chester County, Pa., March 5, 1832. He
gained the title of doctor by graduation in the University of
Pennsylvania, in 1853, in which year, at twenty-four hours' notice, he
accepted the appointment, procured his outfit, and sailed as surgeon of
Kane's Arctic expedition. An account of this voyage appears in the
sketch of Dr. Kane, but some further reference to it is now necessary.
Hayes, it will be remembered, was the surgeon, a position which exempted
him from field-work. However, when Kane and others broke down, Hayes
volunteered, and was sent with Godfrey, a seaman, and a team of seven
dogs to explore the west coast of Smith Sound. The journey lasted from
May 20 to June 1, 1853, and, all things considered, such as defective
equipment, rough ice, and attacks of snow-blindness, the results were
unusually creditable.
The rough ice travelled over is thus described by Hayes: "We were
brought to a halt by a wall of broken ice ranging from five to thirty
feet in height.... We had not a foot of level travelling. Huge masses of
ice from twenty to forty feet in height were heaped together; in
crossing these ridges our sledge would frequently capsize and roll over
and over--dogs, cargo, and all." Hayes finally reached land on May 27th,
at a bluffy headland "to the north and east of a little (Dobbin) bay,
which seemed to terminate about ten miles inland." This point, called
later Cape Hayes, was placed by him by observations in 79° 42´ N., 71°
17´ W. From his farthest Hayes mentions the sea-floe as continuing in a
less rough condition to the northward, and correctly describes the
interior of Grinnell Land as a great mountain-chain following the trend
of the coast.
His broken sledge and nearly exhausted provisions obliged Hayes to
return, and in so doing he crossed Dobbin Bay to, and passed under the
shadow of, the noble headland of Cape Hawks, where they gave their dogs
the last scrap of pemican. Hayes resolved to here abandon all his extra
clothing, sleeping-bags, etc., some forty pounds, a rash act, as they
must have been between sixty and seventy miles from the brig, and in
case of a storm would have perished. The first day's return journey the
dogs were fed with seal-skin, from old boots, and a little lamp-lard,
and the day following with bread crumbs, lard scrapings, and seal-skin
off mittens and trousers. The travellers got scanty rest, dozing in the
sun on the sledge, and finally reached Rensselaer Harbor snow-blind and
utterly exhausted.
Hayes was thus the first white man to put foot on the new land, to which
Kane affixed the name of Grinnell. It is impossible to understand Kane's
failure to properly recognize this successful and arduous journey of
Hayes, and one looks in vain for confirmation of Kane's claim that he
"renewed and confirmed," in April, 1854, the work of Hayes and Godfrey,
for his own account shows that Kane's April journey failed completely to
reach Grinnell Land.
Two months after his journey to Grinnell Land, Hayes was called on to
decide whether he would remain with Kane at Rensselaer Harbor, where the
unbroken ice plainly claimed the brig Advance as its own for another
year, sharing the hardships and dangers of a second Arctic winter, or,
fleeing south without his commander, seek safety and shelter through a
boat journey down Smith Sound, and across Melville Bay, to the northern
Danish settlement, Upernivik, in Greenland. Hayes, unfortunately for his
reputation, yielded to the majority, and nine of the party, headed by
Petersen, Sontag, and Hayes, decided to go, while only six white men and
Esquimau Hans remained. It is true that Kane had only two weeks before
returned from an unsuccessful attempt to reach Beechy Island, as
difficult a task as the voyage to Upernivik, which he had quitted his
brig to lead in person; but such action should not have been viewed as a
justification for again separating the party.
[Illustration: Upernivik.]
Hayes alleges in extenuation that Kane had previously announced to the
crew that their labors would thereafter be directed homeward, that the
attempted journey to Beechy Island was solely to procure aid, that the
"boat journey" simply changed the direction of their efforts, save that
it was led by Petersen and not by Kane. Further, that the departure of
the majority of the crew would give augmented health-conditions, space,
and food to those who remained.
Accepting Kane's permission, freely accorded, as he says, to make the
boat journey, liberally equipped with such supplies as the brig had, and
assured of a hearty welcome should they return, the boat party left
Rensselaer Harbor, August 28, 1853, confident of its ability to succeed.
Sudden cold, sledging accidents, and bad ice soon caused Riley to return
to the brig; but despite sea-soaked bedding, injured limbs, and
exhausting labor, the rest of the boat party persevered with sledge to
the open water, and, launching their whaleboat, proceeded rapidly till a
closed ice-pack stopped them at Littleton Island.
It is unnecessary to detail despairing delays or delusive hopes which
changing conditions of ice and weather alternately aroused, during their
southward journey, nor to recite the hardships and perils arising from
violent gales, drifting snow, the disruption and closing of the pack,
the severe cold of a rapidly advancing winter, their lack of shelter and
insufficiency of proper food. Suffice it to say that, confronted by
impassable ice-floes, they were finally forced, with damaged boat,
depleted supplies, and impaired strength, to establish winter quarters
south of Cape Parry, midway between Whale and Wostenholme Sounds.
The preservation of stores, construction of shelter, and accumulation of
means of subsistence now engrossed their entire energies. The
construction of a hut, although facilitated by a rocky cavern, proved to
be exhausting in the extreme from the difficulty of obtaining material
from the frozen soil. Their most skilful hunters kept the field
continually, but game failed, and from day to day food supply diminished
with, to them, startling rapidity. Eventually reduced to the verge of
starvation, they would have perished but for food obtained from the
Esquimaux, which, though scanty and irregular, yet sustained life.
Affairs went from bad to worse, and with the increasing cold and
diminishing light of December it was decided that they must either
perish or return to the brig; either alternative had its advocates. To
decide was to act. Petersen negotiated with the Esquimaux, and by
judicious admixture of persuasion, command, and force, succeeded in
having the entire boat party transported by sledge to the Advance, where
they were received with fraternal kindness. Hayes relates, "Dr. Kane met
us at the gangway and grasped me warmly by the hand.... Ohlsen folded me
in his arms, and, kissing me, threw me into his warm bed."
The boat journey to Upernivik, which proved dangerous and impracticable
to his small party in advancing winter, proved, with the returning
summer of 1855, not difficult to the reunited party of Kane, and so
ended the boat journey of Hayes and his first Arctic service.
The loss of a portion of his foot, extreme sufferings from exposure, and
his great privations in the Kane expedition failed to abate Hayes's
enthusiasm in Arctic exploration. Immediately on his return to the
United States, in October, 1855, he advocated a second expedition, with
the object of completing the survey of the north coast of Greenland and
Grinnell Land, and to make explorations toward the North Pole. His
strenuous efforts to excite public interest failed at first; but Hayes
devoted himself to lecturing on Arctic subjects, and finally enlisted in
his support most of the scientific societies of the country. The
advocacy of Professors Bache and Henry, and the support of Grinnell,
gave an impulse which finally resulted in the organization of an
expedition, under Hayes's command, and on July 6, 1860, he left Boston
on the sailing schooner United States, with a crew of fourteen.
It is not needful to dwell on his outward voyage farther than to say
that, in addition to the complement of dogs and stock of furs usually
obtained in Greenland, Hayes there recruited dog-drivers, interpreters,
and hunters. At Cape York he also added Hans Hendrik, Kane's dog-driver,
who, smitten with the dusky charms of the daughter of Shang-hu, had
chosen to remain with the Etah Esquimaux rather than return to Danish
Greenland with the Kane retreating party in 1855. Now, five years later,
he showed an equal willingness to quit his adopted tribe for
expeditionary purposes.
[Illustration: Hayes's Winter-Quarters.]
Profiting by the experience of his predecessor, Hayes was unwilling to
push a sailing vessel northward into Kane's Basin, beyond the
seventy-eighth parallel, and wisely decided to establish his
winter-quarters in Foulke Fiord, near Littleton Island, twenty miles to
the south, and about forty miles west, of Kane's quarters. Game proved
abundant both at sea and on land, pleasant relations were established
with their neighbors, the Etah Esquimaux, an observatory built, and
scientific observations inaugurated. Indeed everything looked most
promising for the future.
An autumnal journey of special interest was Hayes's visit to "My Brother
John Glacier," near Port Foulke, which, up to that time, was the most
northerly and one of the most successful attempts to penetrate the
glacier-covering of Greenland, known commonly as the "Inland Ice." With
seven men he penetrated some forty miles or more on the ice, when the
temperature, sinking to thirty-four degrees below zero, with wind,
compelled their immediate return. The ice changed gradually, as they
went inland, from rough to smooth, and the angle of rise decreased from
six to two degrees at their highest, over five thousand feet. A
snow-storm broke on them, and, as Hayes describes, "fitful clouds swept
over the face of the full-orbed moon, which, descending toward the
horizon, glimmered through the drifting snow that hurled out of the
illimitable distance, and scudded over the icy plains--to the eye, in
undulating lines of downy softness; to the flesh, in showers of piercing
darts."
Suddenly misfortunes came on them. Peter, an Esquimau dog-driver,
brought from Upernivik, deserted. Hans Hendrik, in his interesting
"Memoirs," says: "In the beginning of the winter Peter turned a
Kivigtok, that is, fled from human society to live alone up the country.
We were unable to make out what might have induced him to do so.
Searching for him, at last I found his footprints going to the hills."
The poor native was never seen alive, but it eventually transpired that
he sought shelter in a remote and rarely visited Esquimau hut, where he
died of starvation, his body being found in a very emaciated condition
by an Etah native the following spring.
Next the dogs began to die of distemper, which led up to the death of
Sontag, the astronomer. By the 21st of December only nine remained of
thirty fine dogs, and in this contingency it was decided to open up
communication with the Esquimaux of Whale Sound, some one hundred and
fifty miles to the south, for the purchase of dogs. For this journey
Sontag volunteered, and with him went Hans as dog-driver. Hayes waited
week after week, but no news came from either Sontag or Hans. Then
feelings of uneasiness gave place to alarm and fear; for a journey of
Dodge, first mate, proved that the travellers had gone outside Cape
Alexander, where the floe had broken, so that possibly they had been
lost on drifting ice. Hayes was projecting a personal search on January
29th, when two Esquimaux visited the ship and reported that Sontag was
dead. They proved to be advance-couriers of Hans, who arrived a few days
later, with only five of his nine dogs remaining.
In his "Memoirs" Hans relates as follows: "It still blew a gale and the
snow drifting dreadfully, for which reason we resolved to return.... The
ice began breaking up, so we were forced to go ashore and continue our
drive over the ice-foot. At one place the land became impassable, and we
were obliged to return to the ice again. On descending here my companion
(Sontag) fell through the ice, which was nothing but a thick sheet of
snow and water. I stooped, but was unable to seize him, it being very
low tide. As a last resort I remembered a strap hanging on the
sledge-poles; this I threw to him, and when he had tied it around his
body I pulled, but found it very difficult. At length I succeeded in
drawing him up, but he was at the point of freezing to death, and now in
the storm and drifting snow he took off his clothes and slipped into the
sleeping-bag, whereupon I placed him on the sledge and repaired to our
last resting-place. Our road being very rough, I cried for despair from
want of help; but I reached the snow-hut." He recites that Sontag
remained unconscious to his death, and that the breaking up of the ice
around Cape Alexander, confirmed by Dodge's journey, prevented his
return to the ship at that time. There was much talk about Sontag's
death, but Hans's account is doubtless correct.
Sontag was the only trained scientific observer in the party; and in
addition, from his skill, experience, and enthusiasm in Arctic work, was
almost indispensable to Hayes. His death was a great blow to the party,
socially as well as professionally.
In early spring Hayes succeeded in obtaining the co-operation of the
Etah Esquimaux in sledging, and in a preliminary journey visited his old
winter-quarters, where he had served with Kane six years before. Where
they had abandoned the Advance, surrounded by the solid pack, he found
ice nearly as high as were her mastheads; no vestige of the vessel
remained except a bit of plank, and its fate was a matter of conjecture,
though little doubt exists that she was ultimately crushed by the
disruption of the pack during some violent gale. It was during this
journey that Hayes experienced an intense degree of cold. Stating that
the thermometer which hung inside the hut against the snow-wall
indicated thirty-one degrees below zero, Hayes says: "We crawled out in
the open air to try the sunshine. 'I will give you the best buffalo skin
in the ship, Jansen, if the air outside is not warmer than in that den
which you have left so full of holes.' And it really seemed so. Human
eye never lit upon a more pure and glowing morning. The sunlight was
sparkling all over the landscape and the great world of whiteness; and
the frozen plain, the hummocks, the icebergs, and the tall mountains
made a picture inviting to the eye. Not a breath of air was stirring.
Jansen gave in without a murmur. I brought out the thermometer and set
it up in the shadow of an iceberg near by. I really expected to see it
rise; but no, down sank the little red column of alcohol, down, down
almost to the bulb, until it touched sixty-eight and a half degrees
below zero, Fahrenheit, equal to one hundred and a half degrees below
the freezing-point of water. It struck me as a singular circumstance
that this great depression of temperature was not perceptible to the
senses, which utterly failed to give us even so much as a hint that here
in this blazing sunlight we were experiencing about the coldest
temperature ever recorded."
[Illustration: Adrift on a Berg.]
After this preliminary journey Hayes laid down supplies at the nearest
point on the Greenland shore south of, and facing, Cape Hawks. This
place, called Cairn Point, was to be the base of his summer's campaign
to the north. Finally everything was ready for the main journey, and the
party started on the night of April 3, 1861. Twelve men, the entire
available force, were put into the field: Jansen with an eight-dog
sledge, Knorr with a six-dog sledge, and a ten-man sledge on which was
mounted a twenty-foot metallic life-boat, with which Hayes hoped to
navigate the Polar Sea. The journey lay directly to the north over the
frozen surface of Kane Sea, where the difficulties of travel through the
broken hummocky ice were so great, and the unfitness of some of the men
for Arctic travel so speedily developed, that Hayes was forced to
abandon his efforts to get the boat across the frozen sea, which, he
says, "could not have been done by one hundred men." On April 24th Hayes
records that he had been twenty-two days from the schooner, and was now
distant only thirty miles from Cairn Point. Four days later, still
struggling across the rough ice of Kane Sea, the party was practically
broken down, being, as Hayes chronicles, "barely capable of attending to
their own immediate necessities without harboring the thought of
exerting themselves to complete a journey to which they can see no
termination, and in the very outset of which they feel that their lives
are being sacrificed."
In this critical condition Hayes changed his plans, and sent back the
entire party to the brig, except Knorr, Jansen, and McDonald, whom he
selected as best fitted to make the northern journey, which he had
decided to make with fourteen dogs and two sledges. Turning northward
with renewed confidence and vigor, though yet struggling with various
misfortunes through a tangle of broken hummocks, Hayes reached Cape
Hawks on May 11th. The condition of the ice may be judged from the fact
that he had been thirty-one days in making a distance of eighty miles, a
little more than two miles a day. Three days' farther march took him to
Cape Frazier, where the flagstaff erected by him in 1853 yet stood
erect. At the end of the next march, where they were driven to the sea
ice owing to the impossibility of following the ice-foot, Hayes
ascended the hillside, whence, he says, "No land was visible to the
eastward. As it would not have been difficult through such an atmosphere
to see a distance of fifty or sixty miles, it would appear therefore
that Kennedy Channel is somewhat wider than heretofore supposed."
On May 15th Jansen was disabled for travelling by a sprained back and
injured leg, and the next morning was scarcely able to move. Hayes
decided to leave the disabled man in charge of McDonald and proceed with
Knorr, his purpose being "to make the best push I could and travel as
far as my provisions warranted, reach the highest attainable latitude
and secure such a point of observation as would enable me to form a
definite opinion respecting the sea before me."
Rough ice and deep snow so impeded his progress the first day that he
only made nine miles in as many hours. Ten hours' march compelled them
to again camp, and four hours of the third day brought them to the
southern cape of a bay which he determined to cross. After travelling
four miles the rotten ice and frequent water-channels proved that the
bay was impassable, and therefore they went into camp. The next day
Hayes climbed to the top of the cliff, some eight hundred feet high,
whence, he says, "the sea beneath me was a mottled sheet of white and
dark patches multiplied in size as they receded until the belt of the
water-sky blended them together.... All the new evidence showed that I
stood upon the shores of the polar basin, and that the broad ocean lay
at my feet.... There was seen in dim outline the white sloping summit of
a noble head-land, the most northern known land upon our globe. I judged
it to be in latitude 82° 30´ N., or four hundred and fifty miles from
the North Pole.... There was no land visible except the coast on which I
stood."
Hayes, before returning to his ship, deposited in a cairn a record,
dated May 19, 1861, setting forth his trip, stating that his
observations placed him in 81° 35´ N. latitude, and 70° 30´ W.
longitude; that his further progress was stopped by rotten ice and
cracks; that he believed the polar basin was navigable during the months
of July, August, and September, and that he would make an attempt to get
through Smith's Sound when the ice broke that summer.