On the _Jeannette_, we settled down to spending the winter in the
ice pack. The first step was to turn loose on the ice all our dogs—a
proceeding greeted with yelps of joy from the dogs at no longer being
prisoners, and cheers from the men who foresaw not only the prospect
once again of living in some peace and safety, but also of keeping our
decks clean and shipshape. There was only one drawback. Some distance
from the ship we had planted bear-traps in the hope of varying our
menu with fresh meat. To our disgust, instead of bear, our first catch
was one of our best dogs, Smike, nipped by the foreleg between the
jaws of a trap. With some difficulty, Aneguin extricated the yelping
brute and the starboard wing of the bridge having been converted to a
dog hospital, Smike was turned in for repairs. Hardly had this been
done before a second dog, Kasmatka this time, sprang another trap and
Aneguin had two patients for his canine sickbay. This disturbed the
captain, who fearful of losing all our dogs with the sledging season
coming on, ordered the traps set out only at night when all the dogs
had been herded aboard.
Meanwhile De Long kept a watchful eye on Herald Island looming up in
the distance as we drifted with the ice to the northwest. Our skipper,
anxious to discover if the island contained any driftwood which might
serve us for fuel, or a possible harbor if by any chance the hoped-for
September gales broke up the pack and allowed us by steaming up again
to reach it, determined on exploring it while still it bore abeam,
apparently only five miles off. So on the captain’s orders, Chipp,
Alexey, and I made up an exploring party, taking a sledge, eight dogs,
and provisions for a week. We set off on the morning of September 13,
cheered by all the crew, and immediately I discovered something about
dog teams. Instead of my boyhood pictures of a dog team racing in full
cry over the snow with the Eskimo driver having nothing to do except to
snap a whip as he gracefully reclined on the sledge, there was chaos.
The dogs yelped and fought; the leaders battling in the rear, the rear
dogs in the center, the harness all atangle, and progress the last
thing apparently any dog was interested in. It took all our efforts to
untangle the mess and get underway, with Alexey whipping the dogs to
hold them in line, and Chipp and I behind pushing the sledge to get
it started and encourage the dogs. Fortunately for us, the going at
first was fair, with much young ice, still smooth and unbroken to ease
our path, but we soon ran into rough and broken floes, over which we
toiled for hours. In this wise we covered fifteen miles without Herald
Island appearing any closer when, to our dismay, a wide open water
lead blocked our path. From the edge of that gap we scanned the island
beyond, still five miles away but clearly visible through the frosty
air, to find that its shores were precipitous cliffs of rock, offering
no signs of a safe harbor even if we could have worked the _Jeannette_
inshore, while there was not the slightest evidence of vegetation or of
any driftwood which might ease our fuel problem.
Chipp and I considered the situation. Without a boat, it was folly to
attempt proceeding farther—we might, even if we managed to skirt this
lead and make a landing on the island, find our return cut off by other
leads and with our ship being carried to the northward by the drifting
ice, be left to starve on that barren rock. Reluctantly then we turned
back, but so slow was our progress over the rough ice pack we were
forced at last to camp on the ice for the night. It was not till nine
the next morning, which happened to be Sunday, that we sighted the
ship, a little glum at returning with nothing to show for our journey
except one small seal which Alexey had shot at the edge of the lead and
which we carried strapped down on the sledge.
Instead of the peaceful calm of a Sunday morning, however, I found
the ship in a turmoil. As we approached the stern with our sledge,
trudging wearily along in Alexey’s wake and watching eagerly the thin
column of smoke from the galley that to us meant just one thing—a hot
breakfast—someone on deck shouted,
“Bear!”
The next I knew, down the gangway onto the ice came the quartermaster,
Nindemann, a rifle in his hand, running in his stockinged feet as hard
as he could toward our stem. Sure enough, there galloping off past
the bow, was a big polar bear who quickly faded from view, but that
meant nothing as white bears naturally enough do not stand out long
against an ice background. A bear! Fresh meat instead of salt beef, if
we got him! But polar bears had a reputation for ferocity and there
was Nindemann, single-handed, going after one. What might not the
bear do to him among those hummocks? Chipp and I looked at each other
questioningly. Being somewhat ungainly and rather stout, I can hardly
say that Nature ever designed me for chasing bears, besides which,
having just tramped thirty miles across the broken pack, I hardly felt
equal to joining any bear hunts, and I was about to suggest we let the
Indian, Alexey, go in support, leaving us to struggle with the dogs,
when the problem was solved for us. Down the gangway, going four bells
in Nindemann’s wake came Danenhower, also flourishing a rifle, and in
no time at all after that, Collins and Newcomb, both armed, shot down
the gangplank also and were off on the run. By the time our sledge made
the gangway and we hauled our tired legs up the incline, not only the
bear but all four hunters were out of sight among the hummocks.
As we came over the side, I looked questioningly round for the
watch officer to report my return aboard, but except for Dunbar who
was already half up the foreshrouds on his way to the crosstrees,
undoubtedly to get a better view of the chase, there wasn’t a man in
sight on deck, so without further ceremony, both Chipp and I laid below
to the wardroom, where, furs and all, we planked ourselves wearily down
at the mess table, calling loudly for Tong Sing and hot coffee. At
the table, in no wise disturbed by the shouting on deck, was Captain
De Long, still lingering over his breakfast. Eagerly he questioned us
about Herald Island while we ate; his disappointment at our report,
utterly dashing his hope that the island might ever serve him as a
base, was plainly evident, though he tried to conceal it from us by
changing the subject.
“Well, Chipp, there’s still Wrangel Land to look forward to.” He gazed
listlessly up at the wardroom clock. “But that’ll have to wait. Right
now I believe it’s time for Sunday inspection. Have Nindemann muster
the crew immediately on deck.”
“Nindemann, sir?” asked Chipp puzzled, having just seen our
quartermaster vanishing on a bear hunt.
“Yes, Nindemann of course. He has the watch now.”
“Sorry, captain,” answered Chipp, “but Nindemann went over the side
just before we returned chasing a bear. He must be over a mile from
here by now. However, now I’m back, sir, I’ll muster the crew myself.”
“Nindemann gone, you say? When he had the watch? Who gave him
permission to leave; Danenhower, I wonder?” De Long frowned, then
motioned to Tong Sing. “Tell Mr. Danenhower I want to see him right
away.”
“Dan’s gone too, sir,” put in Chipp quickly before the steward could
leave. “He followed Nindemann after that bear, to back him up, I
suppose. I’ll arrange for the inspection, sir.”
De Long’s frown deepened perceptibly at this.
“So the navigator and the watch officer are both gone, eh? Who’d they
leave in charge on deck?”
“Don’t know, captain,” answered the executive officer, “unless it might
have been the ice-pilot. But Mr. Dunbar was halfway up the foremast
when we came aboard, so I can’t just say.”
The skipper stroked his mustaches thoughtfully, finally ordered,
“Never mind the inspection, Chipp. I’ll delay it till they’re back.
But this won’t do. Even if we are in the ice, I can’t have my crew
disappearing from the ship whenever they see fit. Pass the word to all
hands at the next muster that hereafter no officer or man leaves this
vessel without first getting my permission. Do you understand that,
Chipp?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Chipp. “Having just been across thirty miles
of this infernal ice, I quite agree with you, captain. We can’t have
our men chasing God knows where among these hummocks and never knowing
who’s gone nor why. But it’s not the men’s fault this time, sir, it’s
mine. I should have covered that by an order a week ago when we entered
the ice.”
“Never mind that, Chipp,” broke in De Long, “I’ll issue the order,
you just tell Danenhower and Nindemann I want to see them when they
return.” He rose abruptly, pulled on his fur parka, and went on deck.
Meanwhile on the distant pack, the bear hunt was in full cry, first
the bear under a full head of steam, then Nindemann tenaciously
following in his wake, then Danenhower a few hundred yards astern
getting somewhat winded, and finally bringing up the rear of the
column, Newcomb and Collins. Over the broken ice and in and out
among the hummocks ran the bear, giving his pursuers no chance for
a decent shot, and all the time (by instinct, no doubt) heading away
from the _Jeannette_ till it was lost to sight. After fifteen minutes
of hot pursuit, Danenhower, torn between the need of supporting
Nindemann ahead of him and the neglected Sunday inspection behind, and
disheartened also by observing that the bear was steadily gaining,
stopped at last, till the rear guard caught up with him and paused
briefly at his signal.
“We haven’t a ghost of a chance now of catching that bear,” panted the
winded navigator to his companions, “so I’m going back to prepare the
ship for inspection. But you two keep on to help Nindemann in case that
bear makes a stand. Savvy?”
Collins and Newcomb, saving their breath, nodded and set off again.
Danenhower, puffing heavily, returned to the ship, hurriedly mustered
the crew on deck, officers to starboard, seamen to port, and finally,
an hour late, went below to report to the captain that the ship was
ready for inspection.
In the chill winter morning, with the thermometer not much above
zero, we stood in our furs, officers indistinguishable in those baggy
garments from seamen, waiting for the captain to emerge. A bleak enough
scene. Along our whole port side was broken ice, piled up by the
pressure (which was heeling us to starboard) in irregular heaps till
it came practically fair with the rail and threatened if the pressure
increased to rise still higher and flow like a glacier down our sloping
deck. Aloft as usual, our rigging was outlined in ice, our masts and
spars cased in it, and our furled sails against the yards so thoroughly
frozen into a solid mass that had we wished to spread our canvas, it
would have been beyond the power of human hands even with axes to loose
one fold from another. That made me smile a bit. Our sails were even
more useless than our engines, for given time, I could at least fire up
again; but I could see no way in which Chipp could possibly make sail
till summer came once more.
In the midst of my meditations, De Long emerged from the poop. Swiftly
Danenhower called the roll, saluted the captain, reported three men
absent. The captain, to whom by now this was no news, acknowledged
curtly. The crew was dismissed, fell out, went below, and stood by
their various stations there while the skipper inspected the berth
deck, the galley, the storerooms, and in short, every space and hold,
commenting briefly now and then. As a whole the ship was dry; in spite
of the cold outside, no condensation and no frost as yet showed in our
living quarters or storerooms.
Inspection over, the bosun passed the word for Divine Service in
the cabin aft, but except for the officers aboard, the captain’s
congregation was small. Attendance being voluntary, the majority of
the crew stayed away, which may perhaps have been taken as a good omen
for I well believe the old saying to be so, that the reliance of a
sailor in God is in inverse proportion to his faith in the strength
of his ship. Evidently then our seamen, seeing no special danger in
our predicament, felt no great need for prayer, leaving that to the
captain, who, they well knew, was in the absence of a chaplain required
by the Navy Regulations to hold services. I may say here, however, for
Captain De Long that he was a deeply religious man and it required no
compulsion from the Regulations in his case to insure Divine Service
and to ask the blessing of the Almighty upon his undertaking and his
crew. Personally however, his position in the matter was a little odd,
because De Long himself was of the Catholic faith. Nevertheless since
most of the crew were if anything Protestants, he always conducted the
services in the Episcopal ritual.
Services over, we laid up on deck, to find practically the whole crew
lining the rail watching the absent hunters straggling back across
the ice pack to the ship, with the winded Nindemann leading and the
other two well in his rear. There were no signs of the bear, who had
evidently successfully outrun his pursuers, but what I think mostly
engaged the seamen’s attention as their eyes moved covertly from the
captain at the starboard gangway to the returning hunters on the ice
was their expectation of seeing the skipper light into the absentees
for missing inspection. Nindemann, first over the side, a little
surprised at seeing the captain at the gangway instead of Dunbar
to whom he had turned over the the deck, saluted De Long, reported
casually,
“Returning aboard, sir,” and unslinging his rifle, turned to go below.
“Wait a minute, Nindemann.” The quartermaster paused, De Long eyed him
silently a moment, while the crew, a little forward, looked eagerly for
fireworks, but to their disappointment De Long said very quietly,
“Nindemann, you were watch officer. For a quartermaster with all your
years at sea, I thought you knew better than to leave the ship without
permission. Never let it happen again.”
Nindemann, his stolid German countenance flushing under even that mild
reproof, hesitated a moment between the relative desirabilities of
silence and justification, then muttered,
“But, cap’n, before yet I go, I turn over the deck to Mr. Dunbar. And
that bear, he was already yet running away. There was not time for
anything.”
De Long shook his head.
“In an emergency, Nindemann, a watch officer may turn over the deck and
leave. But a polar bear is not an emergency. Don’t do it again. That’s
all now. Go below.”
For an instant, hoping to explain further, the quartermaster hesitated
but one glance into De Long’s quiet blue eyes changed his mind.
“Aye, aye, sir.” He gripped his rifle, shuffled forward past his
shipmates.
By this time, Collins and Newcomb were coming up the gangway. The knot
of sailors, disappointed in the expected scene over Nindemann, lost
interest and scattered. If the captain would not blow up a seaman for
a serious breach of discipline, he would hardly lay out an officer for
less. And in this they were correct. De Long went below before the two
hunters reached the side; they reported their return to Dunbar, and had
not Danenhower stopped them might have laid below unhindered. But the
navigator, curious as to events, laid a brawny arm on little Newcomb’s
shoulder, asked the naturalist banteringly,
“Well, ‘Bugs,’ how did you make out with that specimen of _Ursus
Polaris_?”
“_Ursus Polaris?_ There is no such specimen. _Thalassarctus maritimus_,
you mean,” blandly replied Newcomb. “I regret to say the specimen
outfooted us, and neither the quartermaster, the meteorologist, nor I
unfortunately got in a shot.”
“Too bad,” agreed Danenhower, “but what by the way is a thalassa—What
did you say?”
“_Thalassarctus maritimus_,” repeated Newcomb. “What the untutored call
a polar bear or in Latin, _Ursus Polaris_. That’s all wrong. It’s an
ice bear or, technically, a _thalassarctus maritimus_.”
“Well, well!” grinned Danenhower, “marvellous how a bear weighted down
with a name like that can run, isn’t it? By the way, ‘Bugs,’ when
you’ve stowed your rifle, you’ll have a chance to show off your Latin
to the skipper. He wants to see you in his cabin.” He turned from
Newcomb to the panting meteorologist. “And a little later he’d like to
see you too, Collins.”
“Me? About what?” demanded Collins sharply.
“Just a little private warning about leaving the ship without
permission, I guess. He’s already reprimanded me for it.” Danenhower
laughed. “My fault, of course. I should have known better.”
“Well, I _shouldn’t_,” snapped out Collins, and disappeared through the
door in the poop bulkhead, leaving Danenhower looking after him, amazed
at the heat of his reply.
Sunday dinner was a quiet meal in spite of the fact that in the cabin
for our main dish we had an unusual treat—roast seal—the one that
Alexey had shot on our trip to Herald Island, and which we had dragged
back on our sledge. The seal meat was excellent, something like rabbit,
I thought, and a very welcome change from salted beef and pork, but
nevertheless, except for Danenhower chaffing Newcomb, there was little
conversation. I was tired from the journey to Herald Island, so also I
knew was Chipp, but the wet blanket on the conversation was evidently
Collins, who mum as a clam sat through the meal without a word to
anyone, and as soon as he had cleaned his plate, departed suddenly
without a “By your leave” to anyone.
De Long, a little perplexed at Collins’ quick departure, hastily drew a
paper from his pocket, and broke the silence.
“Gentlemen, before anyone else leaves, here is an order I’ve issued to
prevent a repetition of what happened this morning. Each of you please
read and initial it.”
The order passed rapidly round the table. It was brief enough,
requiring each officer and man to get the captain’s permission before
leaving the ship, and requiring him to report both his going and
returning to the officer of the deck. When all had noted and initialed
it, the captain called to Tong Sing,
“Charley, show this immediately to Mr. Collins, and tell him to initial
it.”
Tong Sing took the order, padded placidly out of the cabin in search of
our departed messmate.
A little later, I went on deck myself. There outboard of the foremast,
leaning on the port rail, morosely watching the pack of dogs on the ice
snarling and fighting over the scraps of seal which Ah Sam had flung
them, was Collins. From his flushed face and his agitated manner it
was evident our meteorologist was much upset. While Collins’ puns had
always much annoyed me, and my casual jokes had no doubt irritated him,
still we were friends and on my appearance from the poop, he beckoned
me to join him, which I did.
“I’m trapped, chief!” he burst out heavily. “Back in the States, my
brother warned me I shouldn’t have shipped on this cruise as a seaman,
but like a fool, I didn’t believe him then! Now it’s happened, and I’m
trapped!”
“You trapped? What’s ailing you, Collins?” I asked, astonished at this
hysterical outburst. “We’re all trapped with the _Jeannette_ in the
ice, but you’re no worse off than I am.”
“It’s not the ice, chief!” Collins gripped my arm, drew me close to
the rail. “It’s the captain! I’ve been fearing this for weeks. You’re
all right, you’re an officer. But I was fooled into shipping as a
seaman! Now the captain’s got me where he wants me. Look at that!”
He reached inside his parka. I looked. “That” was a somewhat faded
newspaper clipping of an interview De Long had given a reporter from
the _Washington Post_, an interview which months before I had once seen
reprinted in a San Francisco newspaper.
“That’s where it started; look what De Long called me there!” With a
shaking finger Collins pointed to the middle of the clipping, in a
voice quivering with emotion, read an extract,
“‘It may be that some specialists or scientists will be invited or
permitted to accompany us, but they will be simply accessories.’
“See that? _Accessories!_” Collins’ voice choked. “He’s labeled me
as simply an _accessory_, Melville! I should have quit as my brother
advised me when I first saw that interview, not gone and shoved my head
into a trap by signing as a seaman!”
I looked at him curiously. Undoubtedly the man was overwrought,
seething with suppressed passion which something had finally touched
off. I tried to calm him.
“Now see here, Collins, what are you taking offense at? What’s so bad
about your being an accessory to the Navy in this scientific stuff? You
don’t think, do you, that in this expedition De Long and the whole Navy
should be accessories to you?”
But Collins, boiling inwardly, did not even hear me. He seized my arm
again, continued vehemently,
“And now he’s sprung his trap. That order he just sent me to sign! And
to show what he thinks of me, he picks his Chinaman to order me to sign
it! I’m in his power, on the books as just a seaman! Fool! If I’d had a
grain of sense, I shouldn’t have come except as an officer or at least
as a passenger!”
Collins was certainly beside himself. I looked swiftly round, fearing
he would make himself ridiculous before the crew, but fortunately they
were all still below, lingering over their Sunday dinner. I turned back
to Collins.
“But what’s bothering you anyway, brother? What’s this trap you’re so
excited about?”
“Don’t you see it, chief? It’s plain enough. I’m only a common seaman
here. In the captain’s power! And now to humiliate me, he’s forbidden
me to leave the ship without begging his permission!”
I stared at Collins incredulously. Was that all? If it had not been for
his overwrought features, I could have laughed in his face.
“Don’t be so damned morbid, Collins,” I replied as gently as I could.
“About that seaman business, you’re as much an officer aboard this ship
as I am, regardless of how the law required them to put you down on the
ship’s articles. Don’t you live in the cabin, mess with the officers,
muster with the officers? What more do you want? Some gold lace on your
sleeves? But even if you rated it, what good would it do you? Not one
of us wears it here. As for the captain’s order, it hits me and every
other officer and man aboard as much as it does you. It’s just part of
the ship’s discipline.”
“Ship’s discipline! Oh, no! That order’s aimed at me, personally! To
make me beg for every little right. To take away my liberty. Because he
fooled me into signing on as a seaman, the captain thinks now he can
take away my rights. But I’ll show him! He can’t persecute me!”
Here was a damned mess. Hardly ten days in the ice and our
meteorologist already talking insanely about persecution. He had the
civilian’s foolish idea that aboard ship by some hocus-pocus an officer
was a god, a passenger a free agent, and a seaman but a slave. Didn’t
he realize by now that in the Navy every man aboard ship was equally
subject to the captain’s authority; that in the hands of a tyrannical
captain, an officer’s stripes afforded no protection from abuse?
That if the captain really wished to humiliate and persecute him, a
commission as an officer could not possibly save him? I tried to calm
Collins’ fears.
“That order’s innocent enough, Collins, and it’s meant for all hands.
The skipper’d probably forgotten all about you when he wrote it out.”
“Oh, no, he didn’t! It’s aimed at me, all right. But I’ll fool him!”
Collins’ eyes positively glittered with rage. “Try to make me beg his
permission, huh? I’ll start a silent protest by staying aboard. Before
I ask De Long’s permission to leave, I’ll not go off this ship again
even if I die for it!”
I gazed at Collins in perplexity. An impulsive Irishman if there ever
was one, going off half cocked over a perfectly innocent order. What
ailed the man? Did he think the captain was jealous of his professional
attainments; was he afraid the captain meant to prevent him or anyone
else aboard from reaping what glory he might from the success of
our expedition? That outburst about being called an accessory—what
suppressed emotions did that reveal? Was Collins such an idiot as
to think that De Long after years of fighting and sweating to make
this expedition a reality, was now going to act merely as sailing
master on his own ship, putting aside his own dreams and ambitions of
discovery in favor of a minor assistant of whose very existence he
had been ignorant till a few short months before? I would never have
believed such egotism possible, but as I looked into Collins’ distorted
face, I began to wonder. However, so far as I was concerned, that was
neither here nor there. We were going to have a long time in the ice
yet together, and if life was to continue reasonably pleasant in the
imprisoned _Jeannette’s_ cabin, Collins must not make a fool of himself.
“Come now, Collins,” I begged persuasively, “think it over, and you’ll
see what I tell you is so—the order’s reasonable enough. But even if it
weren’t, you’d only make a bad matter worse by your ‘silent protest.’
I wouldn’t do that. It bears on me the same as it does on you. Now I’m
an officer of twenty-three years seniority, which is more than De Long
has, and were we both on board a frigate I’d be very much Mr. De Long’s
senior. But here on the _Jeannette_ he’s captain and my superior, so I
don’t feel it bears on me at all that I have to ask his permission to
come or go—it’s only a custom of the Service. And there’s the skipper
now,” I added as De Long appeared on deck from the poop and stood
blinking a moment in the glare from the ice. “Think it over!”
But unfortunately for my clumsy efforts to pour oil on the troubled
waters, Collins’ eyes, gazing out over the ice, happened to fall at
that moment on the two little wood and canvas outhouses a ship’s
length off the starboard beam, which served officers and men as
toilets, since frozen in as we were, the regular ship’s “heads” on the
_Jeannette_ itself had been placed out of commission. To these “heads”
on the ice all hands of course went freely as nature called. Collins’
eyes lighted up as he contemplated them. He faced me with a queer grin.
“Well, chief, I’ll modify a bit what I just said about asking
permission to leave the ship. In such simple language that he can’t
possibly misunderstand, I’ll beg the captain’s royal permission every
time I have to visit the ‘head’ and I’m going to start right now!” He
turned aft toward the poop.
Amazed at Collins’ intended action, I grabbed his arm and stopped him
short.
“Look here, old man, none of that! Do you want to insult the captain
openly?”
Collins twisted out of my grip.
“What do you think he’s trying to do to me, chief? I’ll merely be
carefully obeying his order. By God, I’m going to ask him to let me
go on the ice right now!” He strode aft, stopped before the skipper,
saluted him elaborately.
What he said to De Long, I can only imagine, since I was too far
away to hear, but I judge he phrased his request in about as plain
old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon as it could be put, for De Long, obviously
startled, flushed a fiery red, retorted angrily, and then turned on his
heel.
And from that time forth, Mr. Collins and Captain De Long remained
separate in all things as much as they could, simply carrying on the
duties of the ship. And from that time also, Collins, fancying offense
to himself in almost every remark made in the wardroom mess, withdrew
more and more from association with the rest of us, sticking only the
more closely to Newcomb, who as the sole other non-seagoing civilian
aboard, he may have considered as a sort of fellow victim.