THE WONDERFUL ESCAPE.
OUR voyagers needed all the strength and courage which the timely
capture of the great seal had given them. They had drifted into a warmer
sea, and windy March was well upon them. Their floe began to herald its
fast approaching dissolution. The weary and anxious drifters were
startled by day, and awakened suddenly by night, by a rumbling, mingled
with fearful grindings and crashes underneath them. Heavy ice-cakes,
over-rode by the heavier floe, ground along its under surface, and when
finding an opening of thin ice, rushed with a thundering sound to the
upper surface. The din was at times so great that it seemed to combine
all alarming sounds:--
"Through all its scale the horrid discord ran;
Now mocked the beast--now took the groan of man."
On the eleventh a storm commenced. Whole fleets of icebergs, having
broken away from the icy bands in which the floe had held them, hovered
round to charge upon the helpless campers. The vast area of ice on which
they had been riding for so many months was lifted in places by mighty
seas beneath, causing it to crack with a succession of loud reports and
dismal sounds, some of which seemed to be directly under them. The wind
drove before it a dense cloud of snow, so that one could scarcely see a
yard. Night came with a darkness that could be felt. The icy foundation
of their camp might separate at any moment, and tumble their huts about
their ears, or plunge them in the sea. They gathered their few treasures
together, and stood ready to fly--but where? Death seemed to guard every
avenue of escape. Suddenly, soon after the night set in, the disruption
came. Their floe was shattered, with a fearful uproar, into hundreds of
pieces, and they went surging off among the fragments on a piece less
than a hundred yards square. They were within twenty yards of its edge,
but God had kindly forbid the separation to run through their camp and
sever them from their boat or from each other.
After raging sixty hours the storm abated, and their little ice-ship
drifted rapidly in the pack. A goodly number of seals were shot, and
they began to breathe more freely. After a short time another _oogjook_
was captured, so food was plenty.
March wore away, seals were plenty, and readily taken; and though the
bergs ground together and made fierce onsets into the pack, our ice-ship
held gallantly on her way. One night the inmates of Joe's hut were about
retiring, when a noise was heard outside. "What is it, Joe? is the ice
breaking up?" Joe does not stop to answer, but rushes out. But in ten
seconds he comes back in a greater hurry, pale and breathless. "There's
a bear close to my kayak," he exclaims in an excited tone. Now the
situation was this: The kayak was within ten paces of the entrance to
the hut, and the loaded guns, which can never be kept in an Esquimo hut
on account of the moisture, were in and leaning against the kayak. If
the bear should take a notion to put his nose at the hut door, and,
liking the odor, knock down the snow wall with his strong paw, and
commence a supper on one of its inmates, what was to hinder him? But
bears, like many young people, often fail to improve their golden
opportunities. He found some seal fat and skins in the kayak, and these
he pulled out, and walked off with them a rod or two to enjoy the feast.
Joe crept out of the hut, and ran to alarm the men. Captain Tyson
followed, slipped softly up to the kayak and seized his gun, but in
taking it he knocked down another one and alarmed the bear, who looked
up and growled his objections to having his supper disturbed. Tyson
leveled his rifle, snapped it, but it missed fire. He tried a second and
third time, and it did not go--but _he_ did, for his bearship was taking
the offensive. Content to see his enemy flee, the bear returned to his
supper. How many foolish bears have we seen on our explorations lose
their lives by an untimely _eating_; but some men, more foolish, lose
_more than life_ BY DRINKING. The captain returned to the field with a
new charge in his gun. This time it sent a ball _through_ the bear; the
ball entering the left shoulder and passing through the heart, came out
at the other side. He staggered, but before he fell Joe had sent
another ball into his vitals. He dropped dead instantly. This affair
occurred when it was too dark to see many yards, and was much pleasanter
in its results than in its duration.
The seal hunting was successful, and with bear meat and blubber, a full
store, there was no hunger unappeased; but the wind blew a gale, and the
sailless, rudderless, oarless little ice-ship, now banging against a
berg, and now in danger of being run down by one, all the while growing
alarmingly smaller, finally shot out into the open sea away from the
floe. This would not do. So, feeling that they might soon be dropped
into the sea, they loaded the boat with such things as was strictly
necessary, and all hands getting aboard, sailed away. A part of their
ammunition, their fresh meat, a full month's supply, and many other
desirable things, were abandoned. The boat, only intended to carry eight
persons, was so overloaded with its twenty, including children, that it
was in danger of being swamped at any moment. The frightened children
cried, and the men looked sober. They sailed about twenty miles west,
and landed on the first tolerably safe piece of ice which they met. Hans
and family nestled down in the boat, and the rest, spreading on the floe
what skins they had, set up a tent, and all, after eating a dry supper
of bread and pemmican, lay down to rest. Thus, boating by day, and
camping on the ice at night for several days, they drew up on the fourth
of April upon a solid looking floe. Snow-huts were built, seals were
taken, and hope revived. But what is hope, resting on Arctic promises?
The gale was abroad again, the sea boisterous, and their floe was thrown
into a panic. Fearful noises were heard beneath and around them, and
their icy foundations quaked with fear. Joe's snow-hut was shaken down.
He built it again, and then lot and house fell off into the sea and
disappeared. Thus warned, the camp was pushed farther back from the
water. But they did not know where the crack and separation would next
come. Thus they lived in anxious watchings through weary days, the gale
unabated. Finally, one night, the feared separation came. All hands
except Mr. Meyers were in the tent; near them, so near a man could
scarcely walk between, was the boat, containing Meyers and the kayak;
but with mischievous intent, the crack run so as to send the boat
drifting among the breaking and over-lapping ice. Mr. Meyers could not
manage it, of course, under such circumstances, and the kayak was of no
use to any but an Esquimo, so he set it afloat, hoping it would drift to
the floe-party. Here was a fearful situation! The floe-party, as well as
Mr. Meyers, was sure to perish miserably if the boat was not returned.
There was only a dim light, and objects at a short distance looked hazy.
It was a time for instant and desperate action. Joe and Hans took their
paddles and ice-spears and started for the boat, jumping from one piece
of floating, slippery ice to another. They were watched in breathless
suspense until they _seemed_, in the shadowy distance, to have reached
the boat, and then all was shut out in the darkness.
The morning came, and the floe party were glad to see that the boat had
three men in it. It was a half mile off, and the kayak was as far away
in another direction. It was soon clear that the boat could not be
brought back without a stronger force. Tyson led the way, and finally
all but two of the men made the desperate passage of the floating ice to
the imperiled craft. It was with difficulty that, with their combined
force, the boat was returned to the floe. The kayak was also recovered.
For a brief time there was quiet all around. The aurora gleamed, and
displayed its wonderful beauty of form and motion; while the majestic
icebergs, in every varied shape, reflected its sparkling light. The
grandeur of sea and sky seemed a mockery to the danger-beset voyagers.
The elements might be grand, but they had combined to destroy them, for
a new form of peril now appeared. The sea came aboard of their icy
craft. They were sitting one evening under their frail tent, the boat
near, when a wave swept over their floe, carrying away tent, clothing,
provisions--every thing except what was on their persons or in the boat.
The women and children had been put on board in fear of such an
occurrence, and the men had just time to save themselves by clinging to
the gunwale. The boat itself was borne into the middle of the floe. When
the wave subsided the boat was dragged back, lest another push by a
succeeding one might launch it into the sea from the other side. It was
well they did this, for another wave bore it to the opposite edge and
partly slipped it into the water. This game of surging the boat from one
side to the other of the floe, was kept up from nine o'clock in the
evening to seven in the morning. All this time the men were in the
water, fighting the desperate battle for its safety, and the
preservation of their own lives; the conflict being made more terrible
by the fact that every wave bore with it ice-blocks from a foot square
to those measuring many yards, having sharp edges and jagged corners,
with which it battered their legs until they were black and blue. It was
the severest test of their courage and endurance yet experienced. But
God was their helper. Not one perished, and when the defeated sea was by
his voice commanded to retire, and the day appeared, they were not
seriously harmed. But they were cold and wet, without a change of
clothes and utterly provisionless.
It is not surprising that after their rough handling on the floe they
should seek a larger and safer one. This they did, launching their
crowded boat into the turbulent sea, and, working carefully along,
succeeded in landing safely on one stronger looking; nothing worse
happening than the tumbling overboard of the cook, who was quickly
rescued. Here, cold, half-drowned, hungry, and weary to faintness, they
tried to dry and warm themselves in the feeble rays of the sun, and wait
for their food at the hand of the great Provider in the use of such
means as were yet left to them. They had preserved their guns and a
small supply of powder and shot. Snow and rain came on, and continued
until noon of the next day, April twenty-second. Their hunger was
fearful. Mr. Meyers had been slightly frost-bitten when drifting away
alone in the boat, his health seemed broken, and he was actually
starving.
In the afternoon of this day Joe went as usual with his gun. He had
caught nothing on this floe, and now there were no signs of seals,
though it was his fourth time out that day. What should they do? God had
their relief all arranged. Joe saw what he did not expect to see, and
what was seldom seen so far south--a bear! He ran back to the boat,
called Hans with his trusty rifle, and the two lay down behind the
hummocks. All were ordered to lie down, keep perfectly quiet, and feign
themselves seals, the Esquimo helping out the deception by imitating the
seal bark. Bruin came on cautiously. He, too, was hungry. What are those
black objects, and what is that noise, he seemed to say? They don't look
_quite_ like seals! The noise is not _just_ like the seal cry! But
hunger is a weighty reason with men and bears, on the side of what they
desire to believe, so the bear came on. When fairly within an easy range
both rifles cracked, and he fell dead. The whole party arose with a
shout. Polar was dragged to the boat and skinned. His warm blood slaked
their raging thirst. His meat, tender and good, satisfied their gnawing
hunger. They were saved from a terrible death! Seals were secured soon
after, and hope again revived.
It was not long before their ice-craft crumbled away, so they were
obliged to repeat the experiment, always full of danger, of launching
into the sea and making for a larger and safer one. April twenty-eighth
they were beset by a fleet of bergs, which were crashing against each
other with a thundering noise, and occasionally turning a threatening
look toward the frail craft of our drifters. So angrily at last did one
come down upon them that they abandoned their floe and rowed away.
Surely there is no peace for them by night or day, on the floe or afloat
in their boat. They dare not lie down a moment without keeping one half
of their number on the watch. But what is that in the distance? A
steamer! A thrill of joy goes through the boat's company. Every possible
signal is given, but she does not see them, and another night is spent
on the floe. The next morning every eye was straining to see a whaler.
Soon one appears. They shout, raise their signals, and fire every gun at
once. But she passes out of sight. April thirtieth, as the night was
setting in foggy and dark, the shout from the watch of "steamer" brought
all to their feet. She was right upon them in the fog before she was
seen. Hans was soon alongside of her in his kayak, telling their story
as best he could. In a few moments the whaler was alongside of their
piece of ice. Captain Tyson removed his old well-worn cap, called upon
his men, and three cheers were given, ending with a "tiger" such as the
poor fellows had not had a heart to give for many long months. The
cheers were returned by a hundred men from the rigging and deck of the
vessel. It was the sealer "Tigress," Captain Bartlett, of Conception
Bay, Newfoundland. They soon had the planks of a good ship beneath them
instead of a treacherous floe; curious but kind friends beset them,
instead of threatening bergs; and every comfort succeeded to utter
destitution. They had been on the floe six months, and floated more than
sixteen hundred miles.
They were speedily conveyed, by the way of Conception Bay and St. Johns,
to their own homes, the telegraph having flashed throughout the length
and breadth of the land their coming, and the nation rejoiced. But there
were tears mingled with the joy, that one, the noble, the true, the
Christian commander of the expedition, Charles Francis Hall, lay in his
icy grave in the far north.
As speedily as possible the "Tigress" was purchased and fitted out by
the United States Government in search of the "Polaris" party. Captain
Tyson and Joe were among her men. She reached Life-boat Cove about two
months after Captain Buddington and his men had left. They learned that,
much to the grief of the natives, the "Polaris" had floated off and
sunk. The Buddington party arrived home in the fall, by the way of
England.
As we may not meet our Esquimo friends again, with whom we have made so
many voyages, the reader will want to know the last news from them.
Hans and his family returned to Greenland in the "Tigress." Joe has
bought a piece of land and a house near New London, Connecticut, and
intends, with his family, to remain there, getting a living by fishing.
Thus ended the last American North Pole Expedition. The last from other
Governments have not been more successful. Yet, while we write, England
and Austria are reported as getting ready further North Polar
expeditions to start in the spring of 1875. It must be allowed that the
icy sceptered guardian of the North has made a good fight against the
invaders into his dominions. But the nations of the earth are determined
to send men to sit on his throne, though they find it a barren and
worthless, as well as a cold domain.
THE END.
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Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Text uses "Sunghu", "Shung-hu" and
"Shunghu" once, also "kablunah" and "kabluna." Text also uses both
"Fiskernaes" and "Fiskernes." Both are correct.
Page 24, "iceburg" changed to "iceberg" (them an iceberg)
Page 147, "waste" changed to "waist" (naked to the waist)
Page 156, word "the" removed from text. Original read (utter darkness
the most)
Page 276, "coaked" changed to "croaked" (raven croaked a welcome)
Page 277, "clifts" changed to "cliffs" (ice-covered cliffs of)
Page 292, "been" added to text (Hall had been giving special)
Page 321, "Tookolito" changed to "Tookoolito" (with the kind Tookoolito)
Page 365, "Hugh" changed to "Huge" (Huge bergs were in)
Page 394, "Live" changed to "Life" (Love in Daily Life)
End of Project Gutenberg's North-Pole Voyages, by Zachariah Atwell Mudge