THE DEATH OF BELLOT.
The temperature remained at 57 degrees during July 3d and 4th; this
was the highest temperature observed. But on Thursday, the 5th, the
wind shifted to the southeast, with violent snow-squalls. The
thermometer fell twenty-three degrees in the preceding night.
Hatteras, indifferent to the hostility of the crew, gave the order to
set sail. For thirteen days, ever since passing Cape Dundas, the
_Forward_ had not gone a single degree farther north; hence the party
represented by Clifton was dissatisfied; their wishes, it is true,
coincided with those of the captain, namely, that they should make
their way through Wellington Channel, and they were all glad to be off
once more.
It was with difficulty that sail was set; but having in the course of
the night run up the mainsail and topsails, Hatteras plunged boldly
into the ice, which the current was driving towards the south. The
crew became very tired of this tortuous navigation, which kept them
very busy with the sails.
Wellington Channel is not very broad; it lies between North Devon on
the east and Cornwallis Island on the west; for a long time this
island was considered a peninsula. It was Sir John Franklin who
circumnavigated it, in 1846, from the western side, going about its
northern coast.
[Illustration: "The _Forward_ in Wellington Channel."]
The exploration of Wellington Channel was made in 1851, by Captain
Penny, in the whale-ships _Lady Franklin_ and _Sophia_; one of his
lieutenants, Stewart, who reached Cape Beechey, latitude 76 degrees 20
minutes, discovered the open sea. The open sea! It was for that
Hatteras longed.
"What Stewart found, I shall find," he said to the doctor; "and I
shall be able to get to the Pole under sail."
"But," answered the doctor, "don't you fear lest the crew--"
"The crew!" said Hatteras, coldly.
Then in a lower tone he murmured,--
"Poor men!" much to the doctor's surprise.
It was the first sentiment of this sort which he had ever noticed in
the captain.
"No," he went on warmly, "they must follow me, and they shall."
Still, if the _Forward_ need not fear collision with the ice-streams,
she made but little way northward, being much delayed by contrary
winds. With some difficulty they got by Capes Spencer and Innis, and
Tuesday, the 10th, latitude 75 degrees was at last reached, much to
Clifton's joy.
The _Forward_ was now at the very spot where the American ships, the
_Rescue_ and the _Advance_, commanded by Captain Haven, ran such
terrible dangers. Dr. Kane accompanied this expedition; towards the
end of September, 1850, these ships were caught in the ice, and
carried with irresistible force into Lancaster Sound.
Shandon told James Wall about it in the presence of some of the men.
"The _Advance_ and the _Rescue_," he said, "were so tossed about by
ice, that they could keep no fires on board; and yet the thermometer
stood at 18 degrees below zero. During the whole winter the crews were
kept imprisoned, ready to abandon their ships, and for three weeks
they did not take off their clothes! It was a terrible situation;
after drifting a thousand miles, they were driven to the middle of
Baffin's Bay!"
One may easily judge of the effect of such a narration on a crew
already discontented.
While this conversation was going on, Johnson was talking with the
doctor about an event which had taken place here; the doctor, at his
request, told him the exact moment when the brig reached latitude 75
degrees 30 minutes.
"There it is! there it is!" said Johnson, "there is that unlucky
land!"
And so speaking, tears came into the boatswain's eyes.
"You mean Lieutenant Bellot's death," said the doctor.
"Yes, sir, of that brave, good man!"
"And it was here, you say, that it took place?"
"Just here, on this part of the coast of North Devon. It was very
great ill-luck, and this would not have happened if Captain Pullen had
come on board sooner."
"What do you mean, Johnson?"
"Listen, Doctor, and you will see by how slight a thread life is held.
You know that Lieutenant Bellot had already made an expedition in
search of Franklin, in 1850?"
"Yes; in the _Prince Albert_."
"Well, in 1853, having returned to France, he got permission to sail
in the _Phoenix_, in which I was a sailor, under Captain Inglefield.
We came with the _Breadalbane_ to carry supplies to Beechey Island."
"Those which we did not find!"
"Exactly, Doctor. We arrived at Beechey Island at the beginning of
August; the 10th of that month, Captain Inglefield left the _Phoenix_
to rejoin Captain Pullen, who had been away for a month from his ship,
the _North Star_. He intended on his return to send the Admiralty
despatches to Sir Edward Belcher, who was wintering in Wellington
Channel. Now, shortly after our captain's departure, Captain Pullen
reached his ship. If he had only come back before Captain Inglefield
had left! Lieutenant Bellot, fearing that our captain's absence might
be a long one, and knowing that the Admiralty despatches were
important, offered to carry them himself. He left the two ships under
Captain Pullen's charge, and left August 12, with a sledge and an
india-rubber canoe. He took with him Harvey, quartermaster of the
_North Star_, and three sailors, Madden, David Hook, and me. We
thought that Sir Edward Belcher would be somewhere near Cape Beecher,
at the northern part of the channel; hence we made for that part in
our sledge, keeping on the east bank. The first day we encamped three
miles from Cape Innis; the next day we stopped on the ice nearly three
miles from Cape Bowden. During the night, which was as bright as day,
land being only three miles distant, Lieutenant Bellot determined to
go and camp there; he tried to reach it in the canoe; a violent
southeast breeze drove him back twice; Harvey and Madden tried in
their turn, and with success; they carried a rope, and with it they
established communication with the shore; three objects were carried
across by it; but at the fourth attempt, we felt the ice moving away
from us; Mr. Bellot shouted to his companions to loosen the rope, and
we (the lieutenant, David Hook, and I) were carried to a great
distance from the shore. Then a strong southeaster was blowing, and
snow was falling. But we were not in any great danger, and he might
have been saved, since the rest of us were saved."
Johnson stopped for a moment, and gazed at the ill-fated shore, then
he went on:--
"After losing sight of our companions, we tried at first to shelter
ourselves under the cover of our sledge, but in vain; then with our
knives we began to cut a house in the ice. Mr. Bellot sat down for
half an hour, and talked with us about the danger of our situation; I
told him I was not afraid. 'With God's protection,' he said, 'not a
hair of our heads shall be hurt.' I then asked him what time it was.
He answered, 'About quarter past six.' It was quarter past six in the
morning of Thursday, August 18th. Then Mr. Bellot bound on his books,
and said he wanted to go and see how the ice was moving; he was gone
only four minutes, when I went to seek him behind the floe which
sheltered us; but I did not find him, and, returning to our retreat, I
saw his stick on the opposite side of a crevasse about three fathoms
wide, where the ice was all broken. I shouted, but there was no
answer. At that time the wind was blowing very hard. I searched all
around, but I could find no trace of the poor lieutenant."
"And what do you suppose became of him?" asked the doctor, who was
much moved by this account.
[Illustration]
"I suppose that when he left the shelter, the wind drove him into the
crevasse, and that, being thickly clad, he could not swim to the
surface. O Dr. Clawbonny, I never felt worse in my life! I could not
believe it! That brave officer fell a victim to his sense of duty! For
you know that it was in order to obey Captain Pullen's instructions
that he was trying to reach the land before the ice began to break! He
was a brave man, liked by every one, faithful, courageous! All England
mourned him, and even the Esquimaux, when they heard of his death from
Captain Inglefield, when he returned from Pound Bay, did nothing but
weep and repeat, 'Poor Bellot! Poor Bellot!'"
[Illustration]
"But you and your companions, Johnson," asked the doctor, much moved
by this touching account,--"how did you manage to get to shore?"
"O, it was very simple! We remained twenty-four hours on the ice
without food or fire, but finally we reached a firmly fastened
ice-field; we sprang upon it, and with an oar we got near a floe
capable of supporting us, and being controlled like a boat. In that
way we reached the shore, but alone, without our brave officer."
At the end of this account the _Forward_ had passed by this fatal
shore, and Johnson soon lost sight of the scene of this terrible
catastrophe. The next day they left Griffin's Bay on the starboard,
and two days later, Capes Grinnell and Helpman; finally, July 14th,
they doubled Osborne Point, and the 15th the brig anchored in Baring
Bay at the end of the channel. The navigation had not been very
difficult; Hatteras found a sea nearly as free as that by which
Belcher profited to go and winter with the _Pioneer_ and _Assistance_
in latitude 77 degrees. That was his first winter, 1852-53, for the
next he spent in Baring Bay, where the _Forward_ now lay at anchor.
It was in consequence of the most terrible dangers and trials that he
was obliged to abandon the _Assistance_ in the midst of the eternal
ice.
Shandon gave a full account of this catastrophe to the demoralized
sailors. Was Hatteras aware of the treachery of his first officer? It
is impossible to say, but, at any rate, he said nothing about it.
At the end of Baring Bay is a narrow canal uniting Wellington Channel
with Queen's Strait. There the ice had accumulated very closely.
Hatteras made vain efforts to get through the passages to the north of
Hamilton Island; the wind was unfavorable; hence it was necessary to
go between Hamilton and Cornwallis Islands; five precious days were
lost in vain attempts. The air grew colder, and, July 19th, fell as
low as 26 degrees; the next day was warmer, but this harbinger of the
arctic winter warned Hatteras not to linger longer. The wind seemed to
blow steadily from the west and delayed his progress. And yet he was
in haste to reach the point whence Stewart saw an open sea. The 19th
he resolved to enter the channel at any price; the wind blew dead
against the brig, which, with her screw, could have made headway
against the violent snow-squalls, but Hatteras had before all to be
economical with the fuel; on the other hand, the channel was too broad
to permit of the brig being towed. Hatteras, without taking into
account the fatigue of his crew, made use of a device which whalers
often employ under similar circumstances. He lowered the small boats
to the surface of the water, not letting them free from their tackle;
then they were made fast, fore and aft; oars were put out, to
starboard on one side and to port on the other; the men sat on the
thwarts and rowed vigorously, so as to propel the brig against the
wind.
[Illustration: Hatteras made use of a device which whalers employ.]
The _Forward_ made slight headway; this method of working was very
fatiguing; the men began to murmur. For four days they advanced in
that way, until July 23d, when they reached Baring Island, in Queen's
Channel.
The wind was still unfavorable. The crew could go no farther. The
doctor found the strength of the crew much pulled down, and he thought
he detected the first symptoms of scurvy; he used every precaution
against this terrible disease, having abundant supplies of lime-juice
and chalk-pastilles.
Hatteras soon saw there was nothing more to be got from his crew;
kindness and persuasion were fruitless; he resolved to employ
severity, and, if need be, to be pitiless; he distrusted especially
Richard Shandon, and even James Wall, who, however, never dared to
speak too loud. Hatteras had on his side the doctor, Johnson, Bell,
and Simpson; these were all devoted to him body and soul. Among the
uncertain were Foker, Bolton, Wolston, the gunner, Brunton, the first
engineer, who might at any moment declare against him. As to the
others, Pen, Gripper, Clifton, and Warren, they openly meditated
mutiny; they wanted to bring their companions over and compel the
_Forward_ to return to England.
Hatteras soon saw that he could get no more work from his dispirited
crew, who now were worn out with fatigue from their hard work. For
twenty-four hours they remained in sight of Baring Island without
getting a foot forward. Still the weather grew colder, and in these
high latitudes even July felt the influence of the approaching winter.
The 24th, the thermometer fell to 22 degrees. The young ice formed
during the night to a depth of about half an inch; if snow should fall
on it, it would soon be strong enough to bear the weight of a man. The
sea soon acquired the turbid tint which indicates the formation of the
first crystals.
Hatteras read aright these alarming signs; if the passes should close,
he would be obliged to winter here, far from the aim of his voyage,
and without even having seen that open sea which he must have got very
near, according to the accounts of his predecessors. Hence he resolved
to get on at any price a few degrees farther north; seeing that he
could neither try rowing with his crew exhausted, nor going under sail
with the wind always unfavorable, he ordered the fires to be lighted.