THE ROMANCE OF
POLAR EXPLORATION
INTERESTING DESCRIPTIONS OF ARCTIC AND
ANTARCTIC ADVENTURE FROM THE EARLIEST
TIME TO THE VOYAGE OF THE "DISCOVERY"
BY G. FIRTH SCOTT

AUTHOR OF "FROM FRANKLIN TO NANSEN," "THE ROMANCE
OF AUSTRALIAN EXPLORING," "COLONIAL BORN," &c.

WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

LONDON
SEELEY AND CO. LIMITED
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1909

THE STELLA POLARE NIPPED IN THE ICE.
"The stores were unloaded with the greatest rapidity."

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By Prof. G. F. SCOTT ELLIOT, M.A., B.Sc.

THE ROMANCE OF SAVAGE LIFE
THE ROMANCE OF PLANT LIFE
THE ROMANCE OF EARLY BRITISH LIFE

By EDWARD GILLIAT, M.A.

THE ROMANCE OF MODERN SIEGES

By JOHN LEA, M.A.

THE ROMANCE OF BIRD LIFE

By JOHN LEA, M.A., & H. COUPIN, D.Sc.

THE ROMANCE OF ANIMAL ARTS AND CRAFTS

By SIDNEY WRIGHT

THE ROMANCE OF THE WORLD'S FISHERIES

By the Rev. J. C. LAMBERT, M.A., D.D.

THE ROMANCE OF MISSIONARY HEROISM

By G. FIRTH SCOTT

THE ROMANCE OF POLAR EXPLORATION

By ARCHIBALD WILLIAMS, B.A. (Oxon.), F.R.G.S.

THE ROMANCE OF EARLY EXPLORATION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN EXPLORATION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN MECHANISM
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN INVENTION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN ENGINEERING
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN LOCOMOTION
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN MINING

By CHARLES R. GIBSON, A.I.E.E.

THE ROMANCE OF MODERN PHOTOGRAPHY
THE ROMANCE OF MODERN ELECTRICITY

By EDMUND SELOUS

THE ROMANCE OF THE ANIMAL WORLD
THE ROMANCE OF INSECT LIFE

By AGNES GIBERNE

THE ROMANCE OF THE MIGHTY DEEP

By E. S. GREW, M.A.

THE ROMANCE OF MODERN GEOLOGY

SEELEY & CO., LIMITED

Preface

While stories of the Polar explorers and their efforts to reach the Poles have been told again and again, the constant renewal of expeditions adds, every year, fresh incidents to the record, until it may almost be said that the fascination of the frozen regions is as inexhaustible as the list of Polar heroes is illimitable. Nor is the interest confined solely to the achievement of modern explorers. However great the results of their exertions may be, the fact that, in spite of all the advantages conferred by recent scientific discovery and modern appliances, the explorers of to-day have failed to penetrate the uttermost secrets of the worlds of ice, renders more impressively heroic the struggles of the earlier travellers, whose equipment, viewed in comparison with that of modern man, was apparently so inadequate and often inappropriate.

No series of Polar adventure stories would be complete without a prominent place being given to the earlier explorers, and especially to that British hero, Franklin, whose name is so inseparably associated with the history of Arctic exploration. The account of his daring voyages and of his tragic end, at the moment of victory, has already been given in many a form; but the tale is one which will stand re-telling for generations yet to come. In the present instance it has been of necessity briefly written, but in such a manner as will, it is hoped, without loss of interest, render clear a comparison of the conditions under which he and his brave companions worked and fought to their death, with those that existed for later expeditions and especially the expeditions of Nansen, Peary, and Abruzzi.

The Antarctic, equally with the Arctic, now commands the attention of man. In the South, as in the North, the British race has again produced explorers who have fought their way into the icy fastnesses. From the time that Captain Cook sailed round the unknown southern ocean, more than a century ago, the British flag has waved in the forefront of the advance. The work which Sir James Ross began, over half a century since, has now been carried farther than ever it was anticipated it could be. By the voyage of the Discovery, the Antarctic continent has been revealed to within five hundred miles of the Pole, and in the gallant exploits of the commander, Captain Robert Scott, there are many who see a repetition of all that made the name of Franklin so immortal.

The source of the information on which these stories are based (as is frequently mentioned in the text) is the personal narrative of the explorer concerned, where available; and if the interest aroused in any of them requires more to satisfy it than the exigencies of space renders possible in this volume, the attention which will thereby be drawn to the more comprehensive records will stand as a slight acknowledgment of the indebtedness of the writer of these re-told stories to the authors of the original narratives.

G. FIRTH SCOTT.

London, 1906.

Publishers' Note

Our thanks are due to Lieut. Shackleton, R.N.R., of the Discovery, for the use of the original drawing facing page 344, and also for permission to use the Illustrations facing pages 310, 340, 348. To Messrs. Alston Rivers, Limited, for permission to use the Illustration facing page 320 from Dr. H. R. Mill's "Siege of the South Pole." To Messrs. Hutchinson and Co., for the use of Illustrations facing pages 28 and 272, and Frontispiece, from "The Voyage of the Polar Star," by the Duke of the Abruzzi. To Messrs. Geo. Newnes, Limited, for the Illustration facing page 305 from "First on the Antarctic Continent," by C. E. Borchgrevinck. To Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co., for permission to reproduce the Illustration facing page 256 from "New Land," by Otto Sverdrup.

Contents

List of Illustrations

The Romance of Polar
Exploration

CHAPTER I THE ARCTIC REGION

The Mystery of the North Pole—The First Explorer—"The Great Dark Wall at the End of the World"—"Frost-Smoke"—The Lights and Sounds of the North—The Aurora Borealis—Mock Moons—The Early Adventurers: Willoughby, Frobisher, Davis, Hudson, Baffin, Ross, and Parry—The North-West Passage.

In all the range of romantic adventure to be found in the history of man, there is, perhaps, none which appeals so strongly to the imagination as the search for the Poles. In all the tales of daring courage and patient, persistent bravery, two qualities which stand foremost in the admiration of every English-speaking boy, the tales of the fearless explorers who have faced the terrors and the mystery of the frozen regions are without a rival.

Just as it was the record of his struggles to penetrate into the unknown region of the ice-bound North-West Passage which made the name of Sir John Franklin famous fifty years ago, so is it to-day that the names of Nansen, Peary, and Andrée are household words by reason of the hardihood and indomitable courage shown in their efforts to reach the great unknown Pole. Who is there who has not lingered over the adventures of the Fram, that sturdy Norseman's vessel, which combined in herself all the best qualities of previous Arctic ships, and comported herself, whether in the ice or out of it, with a dignity that told of her proud descent and prouder destiny? Who has not marvelled at the sublime audacity of the gallant little band of three who challenged undying fame by seeking the Pole in a balloon, abandoning all the old-fashioned notions about ice-ships and dog-sledges, and trusting themselves and their enterprise to the four winds of heaven and the latest scientific scheme? Who has not been thrilled with the daring shown by Nansen and his trusty lieutenant when, leaving ship and comrades, with their lives literally in their hands, they made their historic dash and emerged with what was then the record of "Farthest North," and which has since been beaten by only twenty miles?

Full of pluck and daring are all the records of Polar exploration, and, in addition to that attraction, there is something else about the subject which fascinates and holds the imagination. There is a mystery about the cold, white, silent region; the mystery of, as yet, an unsolved problem; the mystery of being one of the few spots on the world's surface where the foot of adventurous man has never trodden. Everywhere else man has gone; everywhere else men of our own race have subdued Nature and wrested her close-kept secrets from her; everywhere else save the Poles, and there not even the grandeur of modern inventive genius has enabled man to become the master. We may be nearer now than ever before; we may have made many places familiar which, less than fifty years ago, were unknown; and we may, in recent years, have disproved the theories of many an ancient explorer; but the Poles still elude us as they eluded those who were searchers a thousand years ago.

It is no modern idea, this search for the North Pole. King Alfred the Great is credited with having sent expeditions towards it, and long before his day men had sailed as far as they could to the North, far enough for them to return with marvellous tales of wonder and mystery. The earliest of whom there is any record is an ancient Greek mariner, Pytheas, who sailed North until he came to an island which he named the Land of Thule. This may have been the Shetlands; it may have been Iceland; but whatever it was, this ancient mariner was by no means pleased with it, in spite of the fact that the sun never set all the time he was there. This prolonged daylight caused him considerable uneasiness, and he hastened away from it farther to the North, and the farther he went the more curious he found the region to be. The sun, which at first refused to set, now refused to rise, and he found himself in perpetual darkness instead of perpetual day. More than that, he tells how he came to a great dark wall rising up out of the sea, beyond which he could discern nothing, while at the same time something seized and held his ship motionless on the water, so that the winds could not move it and the anchor would not sink. He was quite convinced in his own mind where he had come; the wall in front of him was the parapet which ran round the edge of the world to prevent people from falling over, and, like a wise man, he hastened home and told his friends that he had penetrated to the limits of the earth.

What the Arctic regions were then, they are to-day; but we, with a greater knowledge, are able to understand what was incomprehensible to the ancient Greek navigator. At the North Pole itself it is known the sun rises and sets only once in twelve months. From March 21 to September 23 daylight continues; from September 23 to March 21 the sun is never visible. The heat at midsummer is probably never above freezing point; at midwinter the cold is so intense that one's eyes would freeze in their sockets if exposed to it.

At the limit of the ice two phenomena are met with which explain the fanciful legend of Pytheas. As summer gives place to the cold of autumn, and as winter gives way to the mild temperature of spring, there comes down upon the water a dense mass of fog, to which the name "frost-smoke" is given. It would appear, as it rolled along the surface of the ocean, a veritable wall to one accustomed to the clear atmosphere of the Mediterranean, and a thin sheet of ice might give the meaning to the "something" which held the ship stationary. Modern explorers have known the sea to freeze an inch thick in a single night, and ice an inch thick would probably be enough to check the progress of such a vessel as Pytheas would command.

Later navigators, curious to learn whether his story were true or not, followed his course. Some of them went on until they were caught in the rigours of the Arctic winter and perished in the crashing ice-floes. Occasionally some came home again, after having reached far enough to see the great icebergs, floating with all their stately majesty in the blue waters and towering as high as mountains, their summits a mass of glittering pinnacles and their sides scored and grooved with cavities and caverns. Some of them saw the animals which live in that cold, barren region; the great white bear, with its coat of thick shaggy fur, its long ungainly figure and heavy swaying neck; the walrus, with its gleaming tusks hanging down from its upper jaws; the seals, with their great round eyes staring at the unknown intruders; above all, the huge whales, spouting and floundering in the sea, coming to the surface with a snort which sent the spray flying high in the air, and disappearing again with a splash that was like a crashing billow. Little wonder that those who returned from seeing such sights and hearing such strange sounds should tell wonderful stories about the weird creatures inhabiting the place.

The sounds must have been as terrifying and mystifying as the sights, for in the clear, intense atmosphere of the winter months, noise travels over almost incredible distances. When Parry was on Melville's Island, he records having heard the voices of men who were talking not less than a mile away. In the depth of winter, when the great cold has its icy grip on everything, the silence is unbroken along the shores of the Polar Sea; but when the frost sets in, and again when the winter gives way to spring, there is abundance of noise. As the frost comes down along the coast, rocks are split asunder with a noise of big guns, and the sound goes booming away across the frozen tracts, startling the slouching bear in his lonely haunts, and causing him to give vent to his hoarse, barking roar in answer. The ice, just forming into sheets, creaks and cracks as the rising or falling tide strains it along the shore; fragments, falling loose upon it, skid across the surface with the ringing sound which travels so far. In the spring the melting ice-floes groan as they break asunder; with a mighty crash the unbalanced bergs fall over, churning the water into foam with their plunge, and bears and foxes and all the other Arctic animals call and bark to one another as they awaken from their winter sleep. Just as these incidents occur to-day, so did they occur a thousand years ago; and if to modern ears they sound weird and awe-inspiring, what must they have been to the men who succeeded Pytheas?

Nor does this exhaust the marvel of this bleak and fascinating region. In the long winter nights the aurora borealis glares and blazes in the sky, "roaring and flashing about a ship enough to frighten a fellow," as an old quartermaster, who was with Sir F. L. McClintock in his search for Sir John Franklin, used to tell the midshipmen. In the prolonged sunset and sunrise the sky is ablaze with colour, and, when the sun has gone, the rarefied atmosphere produces many curious astronomical figures. As explorers penetrated farther into the great ice-bound region they encountered fresh peculiarities. The moon, which shone continuously during the three weeks of its course, frequently appeared surrounded by belts and bands of light, in which mock moons were visible. Long after the sun had disappeared a mock sun would shine in the sky, and in the twilight, when shadows were no longer cast, men and dogs were liable to walk over cliffs and fall down crevices in the ice through being unable to distinguish them. Penetrating farther into the ice world, they learned that throughout the winter the ice heaved and crashed upon itself, making an incessant uproar as it groaned and creaked. The experience of Nansen and the Fram emphasised this, but in the earlier days of Polar research silence was presumed to reign in the vicinity of the Arctic basin.

In those early days the expeditions usually kept close to the northern coasts of either Europe, Asia, or America. Sir Hugh Willoughby, who sailed from England in 1553, confined himself to seeking the north-east passage from Behring Sea to Greenland along the north coast of Canada. In 1576 Frobisher explored part of the region, the work being continued by Davis, who in 1585-8 discovered and explored the strait which still bears his name, to the west of Greenland. In 1610 Hudson, an intrepid trader and explorer, sailed into Hudson's Bay, and five years later Baffin sailed into and through Baffin's Bay. The result of these two discoveries was to open up a very valuable fur trade, and for the next two hundred years, fur traders and whalers were practically the only men who went into the frozen North. In 1818 the British Navy again entered the field for the purpose of mapping out the northern coasts of America. Captains Ross and Parry were sent out in two vessels, with the result that knowledge of the locality was extended by the discovery of Lancaster Sound, Prince Regent Inlet, Barrow Strait, and Melville Island. The location of these islands and straits aroused still keener curiosity as to whether there was or was not a passage for ships leading from the Pacific to the Atlantic Oceans along the north coast of America. The search for the North-West Passage was the dream of every Arctic explorer at this period. It fell to the lot of one man to prove the existence of the passage, at a price, however, of his own life, and the lives of all his companions, as well as the loss of his two ships. This was Sir John Franklin, whose Polar exploits form the subject of the succeeding chapter.

CHAPTER II SIR JOHN FRANKLIN

Young Franklin—His Dreams of Adventure—He becomes a Sailor—His First Arctic Expedition—Fails to get through Behring Straits—Explores Baffin's Bay—The 1845 Expedition—The Erebus and Terror—The "Good-Bye" at Greenland—Wellington Channel—They select Winter Quarters—Discovery of the North-West Passage—Death of Franklin—Prisoned in the Ice—The Crew Abandon the Ships—Defeat and Death.

Sir John Franklin was born at Spilsby, in Lincolnshire, on April 16, 1786, and was one of a family of ten. It is said that his father originally intended him for the clergy, but the boy had too restless and roving a nature to look with contentment upon a quiet, uneventful life. Nelson was the idol of his heart, and although a hundred years ago boys were not quite so well provided with books and stories of their heroes as they are to-day, young Franklin managed to acquire enough knowledge of the doings of Nelson, and the other great British Admirals, to make his heart thrill with enthusiasm for them, and for the element upon which their greatness had been achieved.

His home was not so many miles away from the coast but that he had a personal acquaintance, from early boyhood, with the scent of salt water and the sight of the open sea. That, combined with what he learned of Nelson, and the romantic yarns spun to him by any old sailor he chanced upon, exerted over him the spell which, in all ages, has so powerfully influenced British boys. The long stretch of moving water, which rolled between him and the skyline, was the home of all that was wonderful and glorious; the ships which sailed over it were, to his enthusiastic mind, palaces of delight, journeying into realms of mystery, adventure, and beauty. Over that sea lay the lands where the coco-palms grew, where Indians hunted and fought, and where mighty beasts of strange and fantastic shapes roamed through the palm groves. Over that sea, also, lay the realms of ice and snow, of which more marvellous tales were told than of the golden islands of the Southern Seas. And to sail over that sea a great yearning came upon him. The life on shore, in peaceful, steady-going Lincolnshire, was too dreary and hopeless for him; nowhere could he be happy save on that boundless ocean, with room to breathe, and surrounded by all the glamour of romance.

Fortunately for the glory of British naval history, the elder Franklin did not shut his eyes to the attractions the sea had for his son, but, as a wise parent, he regarded the wish to follow the sea as merely a boyish whim. It would be better to let the boy have a taste of the realities of the life at once, and so cure the fancy which threatened to interfere with the paternal desires as regards the clergy. Every one knew how attractive a sailor's life looked from the shore, and most people knew how much more attractive life on shore looked from the sea. If John wanted to see what a sailor's life was like, he should have his opportunity, and the father, in arranging for his son to sail in a trading vessel to Lisbon and back, probably felt satisfied that the rough fare and hard work he would experience would effectually cure him of any desire for more. But the future Arctic hero was made of sterner stuff than to be turned away from his ambition by such trivial circumstances. He returned from the Lisbon trip more enthusiastic than ever for a sailor's life. His father gave way before so much determination, and young Franklin shortly afterwards entered the Navy. His first ship was H.M.S. Polyphemus, and he was present on board at the battle of Copenhagen, under the supreme command of his idol Nelson.

His first Arctic experience did not come until 1818, when he had reached the rank of lieutenant and was second in command of an expedition sent out to find a way through Behring's Straits. Two vessels formed the expedition—the Dorothea, 370 tons, under Captain Buchan, and the Trent, 250 tons, under Lieutenant Franklin, the latter carrying a crew of ten officers and twenty-eight men. Their instructions were to sail due North, from a point between Greenland and Spitzbergen, making their way, if possible, through Behring's Straits. The ships, which would to-day only rank as small coasting craft, were soon imprisoned in the ice and so severely crushed that as soon as the winter passed and escape was possible, they were turned towards home. The practical results of the expedition were valueless, and only one circumstance in connection with it saved it from being a failure. This was the introduction of Franklin to that sphere of work which, during the remainder of his life, he was fated so brilliantly to adorn.

The following year, 1819, saw him again facing the North, this time in company with Captain Parry, and with a well-arranged plan of operations. Parry was to remain in the ships and explore at sea, while Franklin was to push along the shores of Baffin's Bay, making as complete a survey as possible. For three years the work was continued, until, by 1822, the party had travelled over 5550 miles of previously unexplored country along the North American coast. Returning to England, Franklin enjoyed a well-earned rest, until, in 1825, he was placed in charge of an expedition to complete the surveys of the coast along which the North-West Passage was supposed to run. With the experience of his former expedition, he was able to work more rapidly on this occasion, and by 1827 he was back again in England with his task completed. Not alone had all the surveys been carried out, but he had demonstrated his qualities as a leader of Polar expeditions by returning with the loss of only two men.

W. E. PARRY'S ATTEMPT TO REACH THE POLE, 1827.

In spite of this, however, nearly twenty years were to elapse before he was again entrusted with a command in the Arctic regions. He was sent, meanwhile, to be governor of the colony of Tasmania, or, as it was then called, Van Diemen's Land, a large island to the south of Australia. Here in the metropolis, Hobart, a statue of Franklin stands in Franklin Square, and it is curious to think that the man whose work in the Northern Hemisphere is an immortal monument of his name in the region of the North Pole should have his memory perpetuated by a statue nearer the South Pole than any in the Southern Hemisphere. Verily, a world-wide reputation.

In 1845 the expedition started which, more than anything else, tended to make Franklin the popular hero he has become. The Erebus and Terror, which formed the fleet, had already proved their capacity for withstanding the strain and pressure of the ice-floes. They each carried a crew numbering sixty-seven officers and men, and while Franklin took charge of the Erebus with Captain Fitz-James, the Terror was commanded by Captain Crozier. The ships were provisioned for three years, and the task set them was to discover and sail through the passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. The intention of the Government was to ascertain whether or not this passage existed, and Franklin was instructed to go by Lancaster Sound to Cape Walker (lat. 74° N.; long. 98° W.) and thence south and west to push through Behring's Straits to the other ocean.

Franklin was full of enthusiasm as to the outcome of the expedition. That it would prove the existence of the passage he had no doubt, and subsequent events justified him. But he had bigger notions than merely proving the passage. "I believe it is possible to reach the Pole over the ice by wintering at Spitzbergen and going in the spring before the ice breaks up," he said before starting, and no one would have been surprised had he returned in the three years with a record of the journey. Public interest was thoroughly aroused in the enterprise, and when the two vessels set sail from Greenhithe on May 19, 1845, they had a brilliant send-off. On June 1 they arrived at Stromness in the Orkney Islands, and on July 4 at Whale Fish Island, off the coast of Greenland, where the despatch-boat Barreto Junior parted company with them to bring home Franklin's despatches to the Admiralty, reporting "All Well." Later on came the news that Captain Dannett, of the whaler Prince of Wales, had spoken to them in Melville Bay.

Then the months passed and grew into years, and still no sign or token was received from them. Public opinion, stimulated by the interest taken in the departure of the expedition, began to grow anxious at the prolonged silence; but the last despatches had been received and the last tidings direct from the ships had come to hand. Over their subsequent actions and adventures the heavy veil of the Frozen North hung until intrepid searchers raised it and learned the sad but gallant story of how the North-West Passage was discovered and the route to the Pole marked clearer.

When the Erebus and Terror parted company with the despatch-boat on July 4, they shaped their course through Baffin's Bay towards Lancaster Sound. Continuing their way, they passed Cape Warrender and ultimately reached Beechy Island at the entrance of the then unexplored waters of Wellington Channel. They passed through the channel, taking such observations as were necessary as they went, until they had sailed 150 miles. Further progress being stopped by the ice, they passed into another unexplored channel between Cornwallis Island and Bathurst Island which led them into Barrow's Straits, nearly 100 miles west of the entrance to Wellington Channel.

The ice was now forming thickly around them, and attention was directed to discovering a comfortable haven where they could come to rest and remain while the ice closed in around them during the long winter months. A suitable harbour was found on the northeasterly side of Beechy Island and the ships were made snug. All the spars that could be sent down were lowered on to the decks, and the rigging and sails stowed away below before the ice surrounded them, so that when the floes began to pack and lifted the hulls of the vessels, there should be no "top-hamper" to list them over. On the frozen shore huts were built for the accommodation of shore parties, and, as the ice spread around and the snow fell, the men found exercise and amusement in heaping it up against the sides of the vessels as an extra protection against the cold, the thick mass of frozen snow preventing the escape of the warmth from the inside of the ships. But where there were fires always going to maintain the temperature of the cabins, the danger of an outbreak of fire had to be zealously guarded against. With all the ship's pumps rendered useless by the frost, and the water frozen solid all around, a conflagration on board a vessel in the Arctic seas is one of the grimmest of terrors. The safeguard is the maintenance, in the ice near the vessel's side, of a "fire hole," that is, a small space kept open by constant attention down to the level of unfrozen water.

During the long winter months there was plenty of time to estimate the progress they had made, and there must have been considerable satisfaction on all sides at what they had accomplished. They had circumnavigated Cornwallis Island and had reached to within 250 miles of the western end of the passage.

The first Christmas festival of the voyage was kept up with high revel. If fresh beef was not available, venison was, and there was plenty of material for the manufacture of the time-honoured "duff." The officers and men, clad in their thick, heavy fur garments, clustered together as the simple religious service was read, and over the silent white covering of sea and land the sound of their voices rolled as they sang the hymns and carols which were being sung in their native land. Then came the merrymaking and the feasting in cabins decked with bunting, for no green stuff was available for decorating.

The first New Year's Day was saddened by the death of one of their comrades, and the silent ice-fields witnessed another impressive sight when the crews of both vessels slowly marched ashore to the grave dug in the frozen soil of Beechy Island. The body, wrapped in a Union Jack, was borne by the deceased man's messmates, the members of his watch headed by their officers following, and after them the remainder of the officers and crew. The bells of each ship tolled as the cortège passed over the ice, the crunching of the crisp snow under foot being the only other sound till the grave was reached. There the solemn and impressive service of a sailor's funeral was said, the mingled voices as they repeated the responses passing as a great hum through the still, cold air. A momentary silence followed as the flag-swathed figure was lowered into the grave, and then a quick rattle of firearms as the last salute was paid echoed far and wide among the icebergs.

Twice more was that scene repeated before the ships cleared from the ice, and one of the first signs discovered by the searchers after Franklin were the three headstones raised on that lonely isle to the memory of W. Braine, John Hartwell, and John Torrington, who died while the ships were wintering in the cold season of 1845-6.

By July the ice had broken up and the voyage was resumed and passed without any exceptional incident, up to the middle of September 1846, when they were again caught by the ice, but 150 miles nearer their destination than the year before. Only 100 miles more to be sailed over and they would be the conquerors—but that 100 miles was too firmly blocked with ice-floes for them ever to sail over.

The winter of 1846-7 was passed just off the most extreme northerly point of King William's Land. The ice was particularly heavy, and hemmed the vessels in completely, the surface being too rugged and uneven to permit of travelling in the immediate vicinity even of hunting parties. This was the more unfortunate because the provisions were growing scant, and supplies brought in by hunters would have been of great assistance. At the time of starting, the vessels had only been provisioned for three years. Two had now passed, so that only a twelvemonth's stock of food remained in the holds. It might occupy them all the next summer in working through the remaining 100 miles of the passage, and that would leave them with another winter to face, unless they were sufficiently fortunate in finding open water when they reached the end. But, on the other hand, they might not be able to get through in the time, or the passage might not be navigable. Either possibility was full of very grave anxiety for those in command, for it was a terrible prospect of being left, with 130 men to feed, in the midst of the frozen sea, "a hundred miles from everywhere."

The anxiety felt was shown by the despatch, as early as May, or two months before the first flush of summer was due, of a specially selected party of quick travellers to push forward over the ice and spy out the prospects ahead. Lieutenant Graham Gore, of the Erebus, commanded the party, which consisted of Charles des Voeux, ship's mate, and six seamen. They carried only enough stores to last them on their journey, and each one had to contribute his share to the labour of hauling the hand-sledges over the jagged ridges of broken ice. Skirting along the coast of King William's Land, they arrived at a point from the top of which they were able to discern the mainland coast trending away to the horizon, with a sea of ice in front. It was the long-dreamed-of end of the North-West Passage.

To commemorate the fact the little party built a cairn upon the summit of the point, which they named Point Victory, and enclosed in a tin canister they deposited, under the cairn, a record of their trip and its result. Twelve years later this record was found, and by it the honour due to Franklin for the discovery of the passage was confirmed. But the manner of its finding must be told later on.

Elated with the success of their efforts, Lieutenant Gore and his companions retraced their way back to the ships, for with the end of their journey so near at hand, all fears of the provisions running short were at an end. As soon as the ice broke up they would be away into the sea they had seen from Point Victory, and sailing home with their mission accomplished, their task completed, and nothing but honour and glory waiting them at home. As soon as they came within sight of the two ships, perched up among the ice ridges, they shouted out to their comrades to let them know of the success achieved. Round about the ships they saw men standing in groups, but instead of answering cheers, the men only looked in their direction. Unable to understand why so much indifference was displayed, Lieutenant Gore and his companions hurried forward, and, as they came nearer, some of the men separated themselves from the groups and came to meet them with slow steps.

Soon the cause of their depression was made known to the returned explorers. The leader of the expedition lay dying in his cabin on board the Erebus.

Lieutenant Gore, his enthusiasm at his success sadly damped, went on board the flagship at once, hoping that the news of victory might still be given to Sir John before he died. He was led into the cabin and briefly told the story of his journey, and how, from Point Victory, he had looked out over to the coast of the mainland. The news, the last which Sir John Franklin was to hear on earth, was perhaps the sweetest he had ever known, for it meant that he had triumphed and had won a lasting name and memory for his services to Sovereign and State. On June 11, 1847, his life ended at the moment of his brightest achievement.

Captain Crozier, of the Terror, assumed command of the expedition, and as summer was at hand, everything was made ready against the time when the ice would break up. Ice-saws were fixed ready to cut passages through the floes when they began to separate, and ice-anchors were run out so that the vessels could be warped along whenever an opening occurred. Daily the crews mustered on board and looked over the ice for some sign of the breaking of their imprisonment, for some loosening of the iron grip of the ice round their vessel's sides, but all in vain. The two ships were wedged in a vast mass of ice, through which it was impossible to cut their way. Instead of breaking up in lesser fields and floes of ice, the mass remained packed, creaking, crashing, and straining by night and day as it slowly made its way nearer the coast of the mainland, carrying the ships with it until they were within 15 miles of Point Victory, and 60 miles of the mainland coast.

Soon the short summer months had passed and the dark period of winter was upon them again, with the provisions daily growing scarcer, and the hope of getting their ships out of the ice fainter. Another evil came upon them when among the members of the crew scurvy, the dreaded enemy of the early Polar explorers, broke out. By the following April twenty of their number had succumbed to it, nine being officers, one of whom was Lieutenant Gore.

On April 22, 1848, the remaining 105 officers and men gathered on the ice around the two ships. They had with them sledges laden with what provisions were left, and two whale-boats. Slowly and sorrowfully they bade farewell to the vessels which had been their homes for nearly three years, and set out to march over the ice to the mainland. Their plan was to push on until they reached the Great Fish River, where they might obtain succour either from travelling bands of Indians or at some outlying station of the Hudson Bay Company. Travelling at the rate of five miles a day, so rough and difficult was the route, they arrived on April 25 at the cairn where Lieutenant Gore had left the record of his journey over a year before. The canister in which it was enclosed was opened, and round the margin was written this brief, pathetic story:—

"April 25, 1848. H.M.S. Terror and Erebus were deserted on April 22, five leagues N.N.W. of this point, having been beset since September 12, 1846. The officers and men, consisting of 105 souls, under the command of Captain F. R. M. Crozier, landed here in lat. 69° 37' 42" N., long. 98° 41' W. The paper was found by Lieutenant Irving in a cairn supposed to have been built by Sir James Ross in 1831, four miles to the north, where it had been deposited by the late Commander Gore in June 1847. Sir James Ross's pillar has not, however, been found, and the paper has been transferred to this position, which, it is thought, is where Sir James Ross's pillar was erected. Sir John Franklin died on June 11, 1847, and the total loss of life by death in the expedition has been to this date nine officers and fifteen men. Start to-morrow, April 26, for Back's Fish River."

The record, left as a sign, should it ever be found, of the direction they had taken, the party resumed their dreary march over the frozen shores of King William's Land. The men formed themselves into teams for the purpose of dragging the sledges and whale-boats, and the officers marched beside them, helping them and encouraging them. Even the snail's pace of five miles a day became too severe a strain for many of the men, weakened as they were by attacks of scurvy and reduced rations. Soon it became evident that if a place were to be reached where help and food could be obtained before the provisions were absolutely exhausted, it would be necessary for the stronger to push forward at a more rapid rate.

A council was held, and it was decided that the strongest should take enough supplies to last them for a time and push forward as rapidly as possible, while the remainder should follow at a slower rate and by shorter stages. The majority were in the latter division, and only a few days elapsed after the smaller band, numbering about thirty, had left, before the ravages of scurvy and semi-starvation made it impossible for even less than five miles a day to be covered. So debilitated were all the members that further advance was abandoned until they had, by another long rest, tried to recuperate their energies. But the terrible bleakness of the place where they were wrought havoc among them, and every day men fell down never to rise again, until the only hope for the survivors lay in returning to the ships, where, at least, they would have shelter. Wearily they staggered over the rugged ice ridges, each man expending his remaining energies in striving to carry the provisions, without which only death awaited them. Men fell as they walked, unnoticed by their companions, whose only aim was to get back to the ships, and whose faculties were too dimmed to understand anything else. Blindly, but doggedly, they stumbled onward, silent in their agony, brave to the last when worn-out nature gave way and they sank down, one after the other, till none was left alive, and only the still figures, lying face downwards on the frozen snow, bore mute witness of how they had neither faltered nor wavered in their duty, but had died, as Britons always should die, true to the end.

Their comrades who had left them to push forward for help were equally stolid in their struggle against overwhelming odds. As they were crossing the ice between King William's Land and the mainland, a great cracking of the floes startled them with the fear that the ice was breaking up. Hastily placing their stores in the whale-boat, which they had been dragging in addition to the hand-sledges, they abandoned everything else, fearful lest the sudden opening of the floes might cut them off from a further advance. Harnessing themselves to ropes, they toiled and struggled onward with the boat. They reached the mainland, but at a terrible sacrifice, for in their haste they had left much of their scanty supplies behind. Their food ran out and hope was almost dead, when they espied a small camp of Eskimo.

Fresh life came to them as they learned that they were nearly up to the Great Fish River, and they bartered away some spoons and forks, Sir John Franklin's star, part of a watch and some other metal articles to the Eskimo for a recently killed seal. Had they waited longer with the natives, they might have obtained more food and have recovered somewhat from their fatigue, but in the mind of each was the memory of their stricken comrades toiling on behind, and hoping from day to day for the arrival of relief. Personal feelings were forgotten before that memory, and the gallant little party resumed its way, fighting with all the dauntless bravery of heroes to win help for their weaker friends—fighting till their limbs refused to move, till their starving bodies were numbed and frozen. Then, falling in their own footsteps, they passed away, one by one, silent and uncomplaining, to the list of Britain's honoured dead.

CHAPTER III THE SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN

Captain Parker's Report—Government offers a Reward—Dr. Rae's Expedition—Captain McClure's Voyage in the Investigator—Hardships and Perils—The Meeting with the Herald—Lady Franklin still Hopeful—Sir F. L. McClintock's Expedition in the Fox with Lieutenant Hobson—Their Sad and Fatal Discoveries—Lieutenant Schwatka recovers the Body of Lieutenant Irving.

The enthusiasm which was aroused over the departure of Sir John Franklin's expedition gave place to a deep national anxiety as the years passed without any word being received of its whereabouts. On October 4, 1849, the Truelove arrived at Hull from Davis Straits, and her commander, Captain Parker, reported that he had heard from some Eskimo that the Erebus and the Terror had been seen in the previous March fixed in the ice, and apparently abandoned in Prince Regent's Inlet. No confirmation was ever obtained for this report, but it served to excite public anxiety still more, and expeditions began to be organised for the relief of the missing explorers. In all, twenty-one expeditions were sent, of which eighteen were British and three American, to search the neighbourhood where it was anticipated Sir John and his gallant band would be. Coals, provisions, clothing, and other necessaries were deposited at different spots in the hopes that they would be found by, and be of use to, the castaways. But, as has already been stated, none were able to give succour to the men for whose use they were intended.

A great deal of valuable and highly interesting work, however, was done, and in addition to at length discovering enough relics of the party to show that all the members had perished while carrying out their duty, an amount of knowledge was acquired which made the North-West Passage familiar, located the Magnetic Pole, and opened the way for more recent and equally brilliant journeys towards the Pole itself. The general public, as well as the Government, were responsible for search expeditions; but to stimulate the enterprise, the British Government offered a sum of £20,000 to any party of any country that should render efficient service to the crews of the missing Erebus and Terror. Half that reward was paid to Dr. Rae, who discovered the relics of the party, now at the Greenwich Museum, consisting of Sir John Franklin's star, some spoons and forks, the remains of a watch, and some other metallic odds and ends.

The story of this discovery was briefly told by Dr. Rae in a letter to the Admiralty. He was, in 1854, surveying the coast of the mainland immediately south of King William's Land, when he encountered a small party of Eskimo hunters. He asked them whether they had ever met other white men, and they told him that four summers before (1850) a number of white men had been encountered by some Eskimo who were catching seals off the south coast of King William's Land. The white men came from over the ice, and were dragging a boat behind them. By signs they made the hunters understand that they were hungry, and a seal was exchanged for the articles Dr. Rae was shown. Then the white men went on walking over the ice, dragging the boat behind them, one walking in front alone, and all the rest pulling the ropes attached to the boat. A few weeks later they were seen again, this time on the mainland, but all were dead. The place where they were found was about one day's journey from the Great Fish River, and all had evidently died of cold and starvation. They had erected tents and had turned the boat over for a shelter, and some of the men lay under the boat, while others were in and around the tents. One man was some distance away with a telescope slung over his shoulders, and underneath his body was a double-barrelled gun. This man, they said, was the chief of the party.

About the encampment there were plenty of guns and ammunition, but no food. More than likely the unfortunate castaways were too weak from want to be able to hunt, for Dr. Rae, in his reports, stated: "I may add that with our guns and nets we obtained an ample supply of provisions last autumn, and my small party passed the winter in snow houses in comparative comfort, the skins of the deer shot affording abundant warm clothing and bedding."

Next to the story of Dr. Rae's discovery comes the account of the finding by Lieutenant Hobson, on May 6, 1859, of the record left on Point Victory, and after that again, the recovery, in 1879, by Lieutenant Schwatka, of the United States Navy, of the bodies of several of the Erebus and Terror crews. But meanwhile a glance may be taken at some of the thrilling adventures which befell the different relief expeditions. The account of Captain McClure's voyage in the Investigator, graphically told by himself in his reports to the Admiralty, is full of typical Arctic adventure.

The Investigator was one of several ships forming one of the expeditions. After sailing in company for some time they separated to work over set areas. The Investigator entered the Polar Sea and sailed along the North-East Passage. She was soon amongst the ice, and sailed on in a depth of 150 feet of water until the pack showed a solid unbroken line in front from east to west. Then she sailed along it, in the hopes of finding an opening; but all that could be seen, beyond the ice, was a vast number of walrus, lying upon it huddled together like sheep. Between the ice and the land, however, there was open water, and here the Investigator shaped her course, keeping well in towards the shore on the look-out for natives. There was an interpreter on board, Miertsching by name, so that whenever any natives were encountered inquiries could be made for tidings of the missing explorers. At Cape Bathurst, near the Mackenzie River, a part Franklin had explored many years before, a large tribe was observed, and at once a boat party put off from the ship.

As they approached the shore, thirty tents and nine winter-houses were seen. Immediately the boats were run ashore a tremendous stir was caused in the village, the men running to and fro and then charging down a steep slope to where the boats were aground on the beach. As they drew near it was seen that each man carried a drawn knife in his hand, as well as bows and arrows, and their warlike intentions were still more clearly shown when they fitted arrows to the bows and began to aim at the white men. The interpreter Miertsching, clad in native costume, advanced from the explorers towards the angry Eskimo, holding his hands above his head in the position which expresses peace amongst these primitive people.

They paused as they saw him, and waited until he came up; but although they put back their bows and arrows when he told them no one wished to harm them, they would not relinquish their knives. As they crowded down to the boats, the captain told him to explain to them that they must put their knives away; but the chief of the tribe immediately retorted, "So we will, when you put down your rifles." To prove their peaceful intentions, one of the rifles was given to the chief to carry while the explorers remained with them, and this action so effectually satisfied them that no harm would be done to them that they offered to let their visitors take charge of their knives.

The village contained over three hundred men, women, and children, and was formed for hunting purposes. The mass of ice showing across the open passage, they said, was the land of the white bear, an animal which, they explained, was very plentiful and of which they were greatly in fear. Several tales were told of the savagery of these creatures, a woman pitifully bewailing the loss of her little child, who was carried off by one of them when playing at the water's edge within her sight. A less mournful story was that of a seal hunter who, having speared one seal, was sitting by the side of his victim waiting for the mate to appear above the water, when he felt a tap on the back. Suspecting a trick by a fellow-huntsman, he did not turn round, whereupon he received a heavy blow on the side of the head which sent him sprawling. As he scrambled to his feet, angry at his comrade's roughness, he saw a big bear walking off with his seal.

Upon the interpreter explaining how the white men's rifles could kill the bears, the chief at once invited him to come and live with them, offering as inducements his own daughter, a pleasant-looking girl of about fifteen, a fully furnished tent, and all the other necessary possessions of a well-to-do Eskimo. Failing in that, they invited the explorers to a feast of roast whale and venison, salmon, blubber, and other delicacies; but instead of taking from them, the explorers presented them with a number of gifts, and left them on the best of terms.

A few days later and farther along the coast another small band was encountered, one of whom was wearing a brass button in his ear. The button was off a sailor's jacket, and upon being asked how he obtained it, the man replied it had been taken from a white man who had been killed by the tribe. He was asked for further particulars, in case the unfortunate might turn out to be one of Franklin's men. The Eskimo replied that it might have been done a year ago or when he was a child, but the huts the white men had built were still standing. The explorers at once persuaded him to take them to the spot, but on arrival they found the huts so weather-worn and overgrown with moss that more than a generation must have passed since they were built.

AN IMMENSE ICEBERG.

This berg was photographed off the coast of Newfoundland. It had probably made its way there from the glaciers of Greenland.

Photo by Parsons.

This was not the only occasion when hopes were raised that some of the missing expedition were about to be discovered. As the Investigator continued her voyage along the coast, heavy volumes of smoke were seen rising from a bluff, and the man on the look-out in the crow's-nest at the top of the foremast cried out that he could see white tents and men with white shirts on near them. At once everybody was on the alert. Boats were lowered and rowed quickly to the shore, but on close inspection the white tents were found to be conical mounds of volcanic formation, and the smoke, which was also volcanic, was rising from fissures in the ground.

Winter was now setting in, and as there was no suitable harbour at hand, Captain McClure determined to pass the season amongst the ice-floes. His decision was largely due to the fact that as the ice was forming around them, a great mass of old ice, over six miles in length and drifting at the rate of two miles an hour, came upon them. Its enormous weight crushed everything out of its way, and the ship could only manœuvre sufficiently to graze it with her starboard bow. Fortunately on the other side of her there was only freshly formed and comparatively thin ice, otherwise she would have been hopelessly crushed at once. As it was, the gradual drifting past of the mass was disconcerting, and it was decided to make fast to it. A great mass which they ascertained extended downwards for forty-eight feet below the surface of the sea was selected, and with heavy cables the Investigator was made secure to it. Throughout the winter she remained moored to it, though not without more than one experience of danger.

Soon after making fast to the ice, the first bear of the season was shot. He was a magnificent specimen, measuring over seven feet, but upon being cut up considerable speculation was roused as to the contents of his stomach. In it was found raisins, tobacco, pork, and some adhesive plasters. For some time the combined intellect of the ship's company was exercised to explain where the bear could have obtained such a varied diet and many suggestions were advanced in explanation. Franklin's ships might be near, some said, or the crews might be encamped on the neighbouring land, and Bruin might have looted their stores. No one struck the correct solution of the mystery until some days later a hunting party came upon a preserved meat tin partly filled with the same sort of articles as were found in the bear's stomach. He had evidently found the tin and sampled its contents, not entirely to his enjoyment, as he had left the larger portion behind. But whence the tin had come they never learned.

The winter having passed without mishap they began to watch for the breaking of the ice. When it began, they had a very narrow escape from destruction. A light breeze springing up the day after open water appeared among the floes, the pack to which the Investigator was attached began to drift. It was carried towards a shoal upon which a huge mass of ice was stranded. A corner of the pack came in contact with the great stationary mass with a grinding shock that sent pieces of twelve and fourteen feet square flying completely out of the water, and, as the immense weight of the moving pack pressed forward, there was a sound as of distant thunder as it crushed onwards. The weight at the back caused an enormous mass to upheave in the middle of the pack, as though under the influence of a volcanic eruption. The great field was rent asunder, the block to which the Investigator was attached taking the ground and remaining fixed, while the lighter portion swung round and, with accelerated speed, came directly towards the vessel's stern.

To let go every cable and hawser which held her to the block was the work of a moment, for every one was on deck keenly on the look-out. The moving mass caught her stem and forced her ahead and from between the moving floe and the stationary mass. The two came into grinding collision and the men on the deck of the vessel saw the great bulk to which the ship had been attached slowly rise. It went up and up until it had risen thirty feet above the surface and hung perpendicularly above the ship. It towered higher than the foreyard, presenting a spectacle that was at once grandly impressive but terribly dangerous, for if it fell over upon the Investigator she would be crushed to atoms. For a few moments the suspense was awful, till the weight of the floe broke away a mass from the great bulk, which rolled back with a tremendous roar and rending, and, with some fearful heaves, resumed its former position. But no longer could it withstand the pressure, and it was hurried forward with the rest of the floe, grinding along the surface of the shoal.

The pack having set in towards the shore, the only hopes of safety lay in keeping with the ice, for, if the Investigator were pushed ashore by it, there would be little chance of her ever floating again. She was consequently made fast again and carried along, though with a tremendous strain on her stern and rudder. It was discovered that the latter was damaged, but there was no possibility of unshipping it for repairs while the ice was moving. Towards the afternoon the wind dropped, the drift became less, and for five hours the rudder received attention.

Scarcely had it been replaced when once more the ice began to move, and the crew saw that they were being forced directly upon a large piece of the broken floe which had grounded. Feeling certain that if the ship were caught between the grounded mass and the moving floe nothing could save her from being crushed to pieces, a desperate effort was made to remove the great mass. The chief gunner, provided with a big canister of powder, went on to the ice and struggled over the rugged surface until he reached the stationary mass. He intended to lower the canister under the mass before exploding it, but the ice was too closely packed around it to permit of this being done. There was no time to consider any other plan, so he fixed the blast in a cavity and, firing the fuse, scrambled back to the ship.

The charge exploded just as the pressure of the floe was beginning to tell, but the result was apparently valueless. The Investigator by this time was within a few yards of the great mass, and there seemed to be no hope of escaping from the crush. Every one on deck was in a state of anxious suspense, waiting for what was evidently the crisis of their fate.

Most fortunately the ship went stem-on, as sailors term it, and the pressure was directed along her whole length instead of along her sides. Every plank seemed to feel the shock, and the beams groaned as the pressure increased. The masts trembled, and crackling sounds came from the bulwarks as she strained under the tension. Momentarily the men expected that she would collapse under them, when the result of the gunner's blast was made manifest. It had cracked the mass in three places, and the pressure of the ship's stern forced the cracks open. The liberation from the obstacle was at once evident as the mass slowly divided and, falling over, floated off the shoal. The cable holding the vessel to the floe parted as she surged forward and the ice-anchors drew out, while the blocks of ice, as they turned over, lifted her bows out of the water and heeled her over; but the cheer which broke from the assembled crew drowned all other noise, for it was as though they had been snatched from the very jaws of death.

Subsequent examination of the vessel showed that she had escaped practically without serious injury. Several sheets of her copper were stripped off and rolled up like scraps of paper; but as no leaks were discovered, the loss of the copper was not greatly deplored.

After escaping from these dangers it was hoped that open water would be found, so that the voyage might be continued to other areas which had to be searched, and, as the Investigator drifted along amongst the partly broken up floes, she encountered some rolling swells, which increased the hopes that open water was not far ahead. But in this the crew were disappointed, for although the water near the land was sufficiently free from ice to enable sail to be made, out toward the Polar Sea the pack was heavy and close.

They rounded Cape Lambton on Banks' Land, a promontory which they found rose a thousand feet precipitously. The land beyond gradually lost the bold character of the rugged cape, the island presenting a view of hills in the interior which gradually sloped to the shore, having fine valleys and extensive plains, over and through which several small and one considerable sized stream flowed. A great deal of drift-wood lay along the beach, and the land was covered with verdure upon which large flocks of geese were feeding, while ducks were flying in great numbers. Two small islands were passed off the coast, one of which afforded an example of the force exerted by a drifting Polar Sea ice-floe. The island rose about forty feet above the surface of the sea, and broken masses of ice, which had formed a floe, had been driven entirely over it.

The pack still presented an impassable barrier to their course away from the land, and as the season was getting late they decided that they would make winter quarters. A suitable bay was found on the north of the island, and there they spent, not one, but two winters, for the ice remained so thick during the ensuing short summer that it was impossible to move. In the summer, however, if they could not get to sea, they could travel on to the land, and as game was plentiful they were able to keep themselves well supplied with fresh meat. But when winter again came upon them with its cold darkness, the game was scarcer, and, what was worse, the ship's stores were decreasing.

As perhaps another twelve months would have to be faced, every one went on reduced rations, so that the stores should be made to last as long as possible. The approach of the milder weather Captain McClure determined should be made the occasion of a daring expedition. A few of the men were beginning to show signs of sickness, and the captain decided that they should set out in April for the mainland with enough provisions to carry them through. The ship was so slightly affected by the buffeting she had received that the leader could not bring himself to think of abandoning her while he had any stores left and men who were ready to remain with him. Only the least robust of the crew were to go as the overlanding party, and they were to travel to the nearest station of the Hudson Bay Company, and from thence press on to England with despatches for the Admiralty requesting help and provisions for those who remained by the ship. Everything was arranged, even to the date of departure, which was settled as April 15. But before that day arrived another incident was to transpire.

On April 10, Captain McClure and his first lieutenant were walking over the ice near the ship, discussing the serious turn events had taken, for one of the men had just died from scurvy, and some of the others were in a bad state of health. This was the first death which had occurred, and it naturally cast a gloom over every one. As the two walked, they espied a man coming rapidly towards them from over the ice. He was hastening so much that they thought he must be flying from a bear, and they went forward to meet him. But as they approached him, they saw that he was not one of their own ship's company, for he was of a different build to any of their men, in addition to which his face showed black from between his furs, and he was waving his arms wildly. They stopped, doubtful what to make of him, and he rushed up, still gesticulating and articulating wildly.

"Who are you, and where do you come from?" McClure exclaimed sternly.

"Lieutenant Pim, of the Herald, Captain Kellett," the strange figure managed to reply, as he seized McClure's hands and shook them frantically.

Rapidly he told the astounded couple his story, for Captain Kellett, of the Herald, had bid McClure God-speed as he was entering the Polar Sea three years before, and the commander of the Investigator could not understand how he could have reached Banks' Land.

The Herald was one ship of another expedition which had come in search of the gallant Franklin. She had wintered at Melville's Island, and Lieutenant Pim had set out across the straits with a sledge party on March 10. For a month they had been wandering, and he had happened to be on ahead of his men when he caught sight of the Investigator in the distance. He had pushed on to ascertain who she was, when he saw and recognised Captain McClure. His astonishment and excitement overmastered him and he could only halloo and shout and jump about in his glee.

The noise of his shouts reached the vessel where the crew, hearing a strange voice, came tumbling up from below to see who it was that had arrived. The sight of the Herald sledge party soon afterwards completed their surprise and gratification, for it meant that close at hand was all the help they needed to successfully insure their liberation.

The whole ship's company journeyed across to where the Herald lay, and, in the interchange of yarns and the assurance of abundance of food and rest till the ice broke up, they found just the requisite stimulus to overcome all the evil effects of their past trials and privations. With a few men from the Herald to relieve the members of his crew who were on the sick-list, Captain McClure returned to the Investigator after a few days, and when the summer arrived he worked his vessel out into open water. Then he joined company with the Herald and sailed for England, whither his despatches and reports had already preceded him and earned him fame.

The return of Captain McClure and the result of his discoveries, together with those of other expeditions, and Dr. Rae's find of Franklin relics, satisfied the British Government that further search was unavailing. As the account of Sir John Franklin's voyage had not yet been found, the honour of proving the existence of the North-West Passage was, for the time being, accorded to McClure, and the Admiralty, satisfied that all the members of the Franklin expedition had perished, and the ships either been abandoned or destroyed, ceased despatching further search parties.

There were, however, a large number of people who were by no means satisfied that everything possible had been learned as to the fate of the Erebus and Terror. Lady Franklin, Sir John's second wife, was one who refused to give up hopes, and, largely through her efforts, yet another vessel was sent out. This was the Fox, under the command of Sir L. F. McClintock, and the voyage was more profuse in the obtaining of evidence as to the fate of the Franklin party than all the rest put together.

McClintock made his way directly to King William's Land, with a definite programme in view. He and his first lieutenant, Hobson, were each to journey with sledge parties along the coast of that island and examine everything which suggested a chance of learning the fate of the vanished explorers. Especially were they to seek for any natives and glean from them, by means of presents and barter, any knowledge they might have, or any relics which might remain amongst them, of the two ill-fated ships.

The Fox was a screw steamer, a fact which very largely contributed to the success of the expedition, as she was able to make steady progress, whereas a sailing vessel would have had to wait for favourable winds and so probably lose a great deal of very valuable time. She sailed from Aberdeen on July 1, 1857, and returned on September 22, 1859, accomplishing, in her two years' absence, an amount of discovery which placed all question of the fate of the Erebus and Terror and their crews beyond a doubt.

As soon as the Fox was made snug in winter quarters, McClintock and Hobson set out over the ice in search of some Eskimo. They were fortunate in discovering a couple of seal hunters, who told them that some distance away there was a larger party, amongst whom was a man with knowledge of the missing explorers. They set out with their two friends, but as night was coming on while yet they had not reached the camp, they decided to stay where they were till the morning. The two Eskimo, for one needle apiece, built a snow hut for them in an hour. All of them went inside the shelter, which they found very acceptable, and prepared their supper. The food they carried consisted of salt pork and biscuits, but the two Eskimo would not look at it. Their supper consisted of a piece of bear's blubber. When they had consumed it they squatted on their haunches and, with their heads drooped forward on their knees, went off to sleep for the night.

The following day the main camp was reached, and the white men at once realised, by the number of articles of European manufacture in the possession of the Eskimo, that they must have found and looted the abandoned ships. One of the men told them, through the interpreter, that several years before there was a ship in the ice off the coast, but that when the ice melted it had sunk in deep water. He pointed out the direction where the ship had been, and where there had been a lot of drift-wood thrown up on the beach—wood out of which, he explained, they had made their spear handles and tent poles. Other relics were gradually forthcoming, upon the production by the white men of the barter they had with them, and a brisk trade was carried on, knives and needles being exchanged for spoons, forks, and other objects unmistakably from the wrecked ships. In addition to the relics, some dogs were also secured.

The latter purchase afforded them considerable amusement and often excitement before they were entirely masters in the art of dog-team driving. Like everything else worth doing, it has to be learned, and in his account of his journeyings McClintock quotes one or two instances where experience was his only teacher. He found, for instance, that when a dog team is harnessed up to a sledge, every dog does not pull his hardest, and a suggestion from the whip is advisable. The dog, however, is inclined to resent it, and at once bites his neighbour by way of protest. The neighbour in turn bites his neighbour, who does the same, until the whole team has received the sting arising from the first lash, and every dog is howling and snapping and jumping over each other. The application of the whip handle instead of the whip lash is then necessary, and when at length quiet is restored, the driver has to set to work to unplait the harness, which has been twisted and tied into a terrible tangle by the antics of the team. When, at the expense of a great deal of patience and time, everything is ready for a fresh start, the inexperienced driver is able to estimate the value of cracking the whip over, instead of on, the back of a lazy dog.

Even then, however, it is not all plain sailing. The dogs possess a wisdom of their own, and they never act so well together as when they reach a piece of particularly rough ice over which the sledge does not move easily. Directly they find that they have to lean heavily against the collar to pull the load forward, they, with one accord, turn round, sit down, and look at the driver. If he is inexperienced, he lays about him with his whip and the dogs fight and tangle the harness; if he knows his animals, he puts his shoulder to the sledge, pushes it forward on to the toes of the team, whereupon each one gets up, hurries out of the way of the threatening sledge-runners, and, together, pull it easily over the rough place.

Another peculiarity of the dogs is their extraordinary appetite for leather. Shark skin the Eskimo consider to be bad for them because of its excessive roughness, but birds' skins, with the feathers on, are greatly relished by the insatiable feeders, and, as has been said, leather is an especial luxury. The dogs are incorrigible thieves and frequently sneak into the tents, or, if on board ship, into the cabins, in search of plunder. They are generally greeted with a kick, but should it be sufficiently energetic to dislodge the kicker's shoe, the dog at once seizes the delicacy and makes for a quiet spot on the ice where he can devour it at his leisure.

The dogs, however, which McClintock was able to obtain from the Eskimo were genuinely useful to him when he and Lieutenant Hobson began their prolonged search, and his only regret was that he could not get more. Later explorers have profited by his experience, for now an expedition is never considered complete that does not carry at least one team.

After leaving the Eskimo encampment, search was continued along the southern coast of King William's Land, but without very much success. Returning, they again met the same tribe of Eskimo, and discovered that when one of the race speaks he does not necessarily tell all that he knows. During a conversation between the interpreter and one of the young men, the latter made a reference to the ship that came ashore. As the man who had previously mentioned the ship said that it sank in deep water, the young man was asked how it could have come ashore under those circumstances. The other one sank, he said; the one he meant came ashore, where he had seen it.

Further inquiries showed that both the ships had been seen and visited by the Eskimo while they were yet in the ice. One of them they could not find how to enter, so they made a hole in her side, with the result that when the ice melted she filled and sank. In one of the bunks they found a man lying dead, but no other bodies were right near the ship.

Now that they had been discovered in their attempt to evade the truth, the Eskimo spoke readily enough, giving the exact locality where the ship had come ashore. Thither McClintock and his companions at once proceeded. They found enough evidence in the drift-wood on the beach to show them where the vessel had gone to pieces; but whether it was the Erebus or the Terror, there was nothing to show. They had now, however, a definite point from whence to commence their search, and they laid out the probable routes by which the escaping crews would have travelled. Separating into two parties, so as to cover as much ground as possible, they started, Lieutenant Hobson leading.

On May 25, 1859, McClintock, while walking along a sandy ridge from whence the snow had disappeared, noticed something white shining through the sand. He stooped to examine it, thinking it to be a round white stone, but closer inspection showed it to be the back of a skull. Upon the sand being removed, the entire skeleton was found, lying face downwards, with fragments of blue cloth still adhering to its bleached bones. The man had evidently been young, lightly built, and of the average height. Near by were found a small pocket brush and comb, and a pocket-book containing two coins and some scraps of writing. He had evidently fallen forward as he was walking, and never risen. As an old Eskimo woman told Dr. Rae, "they fell down and died as they walked along," overcome with cold, hunger, and sickness.

The explorers were now in the region where all their finds were to be made. Five days later McClintock came upon a boat which he found, from a note attached to it, that Hobson had already examined. It had evidently escaped the notice of the Eskimo, and, until the white men found it, had probably not been touched by human hands from the moment its occupants had died. It was mounted on a sledge, as though it had been hauled over the ice; but from the fact that its bows pointed towards the spot where the ships had been, it was surmised that the men were dragging it back to the vessels when they were overcome. Inside were two bodies, one lying on its side, under a pile of clothing, towards the stern, and the other in the bows, in such a position as to suggest that the man had crawled forward, had laboriously pulled himself up to look over the gunwale, and had then slipped down and died where he fell. Beside him were two guns, loaded and ready cocked, as though the man had been apprehensive of attack. There were also as many as five watches, several books (mostly with the name of Graham Gore or initials G. G. in them), abundance of clothes and other articles such as knives, pieces of sheet-lead, files, sounding leads and lines, spoons and forks, oars, a sail, and two chronometers, but of food only some tea and chocolate.

The story mutely told by these relics was only too plain. Weary with hauling it, the majority of the men had left the boat in order to get back to the ships and obtain a fresh supply of provisions, leaving two, who were too weak to struggle on, in the boat, as comfortable as they could be made until some of the others could get back to help them. Then the days had passed until the store of provisions had been consumed and the two sufferers had grown weary with waiting, so weary that one had slept and died under his wraps, and the other, with his remaining vestige of strength, had crawled forward to peep out once more for the help that was so long in coming. But only ice had met his gaze, and, sinking down, he had also passed into that overwhelming sleep, and had lain undisturbed for twelve years under the covering of the Arctic snows.

Close search was made in the vicinity of the boat for the remains of any other of the lost explorers, but nothing was discovered except drift-wood. The spot where the boat was found was about fifty miles from Point Victory, sixty-five from the place where the ship had gone ashore, and seventy from the skeleton that McClintock had discovered on the ridge.

A few days' march farther on, a cairn was noticed upon the brow of a point near Cape Victoria. On ascending to it, McClintock found another note from Hobson, stating that he had already examined it and recovered from it the record which the crews had deposited there upon the desertion of the ships, and which is given in the account of the Franklin voyages. This was the final triumph of the search, for it conclusively proved that Sir John had been dead before the ships were abandoned, that he, and not McClure, was the real discoverer of the North-West Passage, and that the expedition had ended in a disaster as pitiful as the commencement had been brilliant. Round the cairn were strewn innumerable relics, showing that the three days which had elapsed from the time of their leaving the ships had been sufficient to further decrease the strength and vitality of the scurvy-stricken unfortunates.

No other discovery of moment was made after the unearthing of the vital record, but Lieutenant Hobson had some experience of what the Franklin explorers must have suffered. He had abundance of food with him, and that the best and most nutritious, but he developed scurvy on his journey, and when he reached the Fox he could not walk without assistance. No wonder, then, that Franklin's men, starving as well as sick, should have died by the way.

The return of the Fox in September 1859 effectually set at rest all doubts as to the fate of the Erebus and Terror, and no more search expeditions were sent out. But in 1879 Lieutenant Schwatka, of the United States Navy, made an overland journey to that part of King William's Land where the crews had perished. He found many more skeletons, doubtless of members of the ill-fated expedition, and wherever he found one lying above ground he buried it with proper ceremony, except in a single instance.

This was in the case of an open grave of stones in which the remains of a skeleton, with some blue cloth adhering to it and some coarse canvas around it, was lying. Near the remains he found a silver medal bearing the words, "Awarded to John Irving, Midsummer, 1830, Second Mathematical Prize."

The presence of the medal identified the remains as being those of Lieutenant Irving of the Terror. As this was the only instance where identification was possible, Lieutenant Schwatka carefully and reverently gathered them together and carried them to New York, from whence they were forwarded to Edinburgh, Irving's native town. There they were accorded a public funeral on January 7, 1881.

CHAPTER IV THE VOYAGE OF THE POLARIS

Death of Captain Hall—Crew determine to Return—Are Frozen in—A Party take to the Ice and are Cast Away—They build themselves Snow Huts—They find some Seals—An Adventure with Bears—The Perils of the Spring—They sight the Tigress and are Saved—The Ship-Party's Story and Rescue.

The Government of the United States, in June 1871, despatched the Polaris to explore and survey the passage between Grinnel Land and Greenland, and also, if possible, to push on to the Pole.

The Polaris, under the command of Captain Hall, sailed from New York on June 29, 1871, with a crew of thirty-three, and provisioned for some years. She succeeded in passing through Smith's Sound and Robeson Channel, and on August 31 she had reached as high a latitude as 82° 11' N. Returning to the southward, she went into winter quarters; but on November 8 her captain was struck down with apoplexy. Upon his death all idea of going further to the North was abandoned, and, as soon as the spring of 1872 commenced, preparations were made to return to New York.

The ice was particularly heavy, however, and very slow progress was made when, by August, the Polaris became entangled with some big floes which checked her in every direction. On August 14, when off the entrance of Kennedy Channel, in latitude 80°, the ice closed round her and fixed her so firmly that every effort made by the crew to release her was without avail. A series of floes had closed one upon the other, and had so compressed themselves together, that all hope of extricating the Polaris until the ice itself broke up was reluctantly abandoned. The pack in which she was involved continued to slowly drift to the South until, two months after her capture, the ship had drifted in the ice to 78° 28' N. At this point a violent gale occurred, which resulted in the series of adventures for her crew that has made the voyage of the Polaris so notable.

As the gale increased in intensity, the huge field of heavy ice in which the vessel was imprisoned began to heave and grind in an alarming manner. The masses joined together by the force of earlier collisions broke asunder under the strain of the wind, but only to close in again with terrific force and crashing. Every time that separated portions of the pack came together with a crash, the ice around the vessel creaked and moved, and the Polaris herself strained in every timber under the trial.

A sudden parting asunder of the pack where she was encased liberated her for the moment. Freed from the grip of the ice, the force of the wind was more evident, and she heeled over to the gale as it caught her in the temporarily open water. Before she could right herself, the ice closed in again upon her sides. The rending and crashing which followed the "nip" convinced all on board that the vessel was too crushed ever to float again, and, while the floe held together and she was kept from foundering, the crew set about putting stores, tents, clothing, arms, and anything else they could lay hands on, over the side on to the ice. They feared that with the next split the vessel would be in the water again, and there was no doubt in any one's mind but that she would then sink like a stone. No one knew how long it might be before that split came, and in the meantime every one worked at the only means of saving their lives. Nineteen of the ship's company scrambled out on to the pack, and, as their comrades passed out the various stores and articles they were able to seize, those on the ice stacked them, as well as they could, on a massive hummock.

Through the wind and the cold they worked, neither pausing for rest nor refreshment. All around them the ice was heaving and grinding, and over them the cold northerly gale was blowing and driving great clouds of snow; but they worked on, knowing only too well that in every barrel of food they rolled into security was contained a week of life for them. The driving snow made it more and more difficult to see, until the air was almost dark. With fearful force the wind howled across the icy expanse, and those on the pack crouched for some shelter behind the stores they had piled up by the hummock, waiting till the gale should have exhausted its fury.

The faint sound of a cry came to them from the direction of the ship and they peered out through the gloom. Then a cry of despair broke from their lips—they forgot the force of the wind and the cold of the driving snow as they sprang from behind their shelter. The ice had parted again, and, down the long lane of open water which had been formed, the hull of the ship loomed as it swung away into the darkness.

Anxiously the castaways watched for the coming together again of the divided packs, in the hope that the Polaris would again be caught and held. Those who remained on board were equally anxious, for they knew the vessel must be leaking terribly, and to be left much longer in the open water meant that she would founder and they be drowned. A man ran to the rudder and tried to bring her round to the ice which glimmered through the snow-storm, but the rudder was damaged too much for steering and the ship drifted on. Soon it was obscured from those on the pack, and the truth of their position dawned on them. Whether the ship had foundered or not they did not know, but this was clear: they were adrift on an ice-pack which might at any moment split asunder and precipitate them into the freezing water, or, if it held together, carry them till they died of cold and starvation.

Either alternative was sufficiently gloomy to depress the spirits of the bravest; as the nineteen cowered behind their stack of provisions for shelter from the keen snow-filled wind, into the mind of each there came a grim determination to fight while there was an ounce of food in the casks or a vestige of ice to float them. In the morning, when the storm had abated and the air was clear, they emerged from their shelter and looked about for a sign of the vessel. Some of them clambered up on to the top of the highest hummocks so as to command a wider field of vision, but they saw no more than those who remained below. All around them was ice, piled in heaps, or stretching out in flat expanses; but always ice, as far as the eye could reach, and nowhere a vestige or a sign of the Polaris.

They gathered together round the heap of stores and looked at one another in silence, each one reading the other's thoughts and always finding them the same as his own. The ship had probably gone to the bottom, with all on board, as soon as she broke away from the ice. The packs had closed again over the spot where she had disappeared, so that there was no chance of any spars or timber floating to the surface and confirming their suspicions. Everything was under the ice, everything except the scanty supply of provisions that had been put overboard.

At length one man spoke. It was no use mincing matters, he told his comrades. They would do well to realise the position they were in, and, looking at it from the worst side, make the best of it and fight to the end. The vessel had gone, and all they had to keep them from starvation and death was the heap of stores and their own energy. There was no timber to build a raft, so that they could float if the ice broke up; there was no wood to waste on a fire. But as they had to keep afloat and warm if they were going to escape, he considered that first of all they should remove their stores to the thickest, heaviest ice they could find, and then set to work to build snow huts for shelter. Winter was coming on with its long spell of darkness, and there was no time to waste. It was every one's business to help one another and to do the best they could, working together and sharing whatever came, whether it was short rations or plenty.

The sentiments appealed to all the men, and they formed themselves into parties to carry out the scheme. Fortunately they had just passed one winter in the Arctic regions and knew, therefore, what was in front of them, and also how to carry out the building of snow huts and the other necessary makeshifts. A massive hummock, which apparently was too strong to be crushed, and solid enough to last through several summers without melting, was selected as the site of the encampment. The snow which had fallen during the gale was not quite hard enough for building huts at the moment, so while some of the party were overhauling the stores and arranging to move them to the hummock, the others were clearing away the snow from the site of the camp and banking it up all round as a break-wind.

By the time the stores were placed in the enclosure, canvas shelters were erected for a temporary covering, pending the time when the snow became hard enough to cut for building blocks. It is only when the snow has become compressed by its own weight and frozen nearly solid by the cold that it can be cut into slabs or blocks for a hut. When it has become hard enough, the blocks are cut and the building commences. First a circle is laid, with a small space vacant where the doorway is to be. On either side of this opening the blocks are laid so as to form the plan of a porch, one side of which, in the present instance, was continued at right angles so as turn the entrance passage towards the stack of provisions and thus shelter the doorway from the wind. As soon as the ground plan of the hut was laid, the surface of the blocks was moistened and other blocks laid upon them, and so on until the walls rose some five feet, the moisture making the blocks freeze hard to one another. The layers were now gradually lapped over the interior until a dome roof was formed. Both inside and outside were then moistened and smoothed, and the cold air, freezing the moisture, glazed the entire structure with a covering of ice.

All the clothing, bedding, and weapons were taken inside. A lamp was constructed out of an empty preserved meat tin; it was filled with fat, and, with a piece of twisted tow for a wick, it lit up the interior of the hut and afforded some warmth as well. Heavy canvas curtains were suspended across the opening out of the hut at the inner wall, at the bend in the passage, and at the outer opening. Such of the packages of stores as were suitable were also brought into the hut, and upon them the blankets and furs were laid so as to make the sleeping places as comfortable as possible. The quarters were thus as good as the men could make them, but one anxiety still remained. The lamp would have to be kept going all the twenty-four hours, and especially during the long Arctic night; but the supply of fat was limited.

A hunting party was organised to search the pack for seals or walrus or any animal from which blubber could be obtained. Here again the experience of the previous winter and its hunting exploits served them. A small opening in the pack was discovered a mile or so from the camp, and on the ice around the water three seals were resting, having evidently been caught in the ice when it closed. With great care the hunters crept over the ice towards the animals, whose sacrifice meant so much to the castaways. Only two had rifles, the others carrying harpoons they had made from the tent-poles, and which were anything but reliable weapons. Steady aim was taken by the two men who had the rifles at the two larger of the seals. Firing together, one seal fell dead; the one which was not aimed at plunged into the water, and the other, badly wounded, hobbled to the edge of the ice. In another moment he would have been over and probably have sunk to the bottom, had not one of the men flung away his harpoon, and, springing forward, managed to seize the hind flippers of the wounded creature. His comrades rushed to his assistance and dragged both him and the seal back from the opening on to the ice, where the latter was quickly despatched.

They were harnessing themselves to their victims in order to drag them over to the camp, when a loud snort from the opening caused them to start round just in time to see the third seal disappearing under the water. At once they understood the situation. The opening was the only one for miles, and the seal was compelled to come to the surface there to breathe, as he could not reach the top anywhere else for the ice. It was at once decided to wait for him, but as, if he were shot while in the water, he would inevitably sink to the bottom and be lost to them, they determined to lay a trap for him. The seals already killed were placed in natural attitudes near the water, and the men hastily retired to sheltering hummocks, to wait the return. The men with the rifles were both to fire upon the seal as soon as he emerged on to the ice, for he was too valuable to be lost. They had not waited very long before he reappeared and, raising his head high out of the water, looked around. Seeing nothing but the two seals on the ice, he swam leisurely round and round the opening before scrambling up on to the ice. As he reached it and moved towards his two companions, the men, who had been carefully aiming at him, fired and killed him.

With the three seals, the party returned to the camp in high spirits, their arrival being the signal for general rejoicing, for not only would the blubber of the seals keep the lamp supplied with oil, but their skins were very welcome additions to the stock of warm coverings, and the meat was an invaluable addition to the larder.

Really it was more, but of that they were not aware until two days later, when one of the men was awakened by the short barking roar of a bear. He quickly roused his companions and they made their way out of the hut with what weapons they possessed.

The flesh of the seals had been suspended on a line between two poles near the other provisions so as to protect it from any chance visit by wolves or bears. As the first man peered out from the hut opening, he saw, in the dim twilight, two bears standing underneath the line of meat, sniffing up at it and growling. They had, it was afterwards learned, picked up the trail where the dead seals had been dragged from the opening in the ice, and had followed it to the camp.

AN ADDITION TO THE EXPLORERS' SUPPLY OF PROVISIONS.

The man whispered back to his companions what he saw, and another man, armed with a rifle, crept to his side. Aiming together behind the shoulder of the larger of the bears, they fired simultaneously and brought their quarry down. Immediately the other bear turned towards the opening and, with snarling teeth, advanced. A third rifle was fired point-blank at its head, but the bullet failed to penetrate the massive skull, though it made the beast change its direction. As it turned away the men realised what its escape would mean to them. There was a rush after it, the men loading and firing as quickly as they could load, so as to secure it before it disappeared in the dim grey twilight. It fell wounded, and was despatched by means of the impromptu spears.

This adventure not only made a notable break in the monotony of the life on the pack, but gave the men a subject for conversation during the long weary period of darkness, as well as increasing their store of fat, fresh meat, and warm covering. No further animals were seen or heard, although every one was constantly on the alert, and the opening where the seals were killed was visited daily until it froze over. Then the last vestige of twilight vanished and darkness settled down upon the ice.

For eighty-three days the sun was absent, and during that time the cold was intense. The lamp was the only means of artificial heat they possessed, and even of that they had to be careful, for the supply of fat was not inexhaustible, and no one knew when it could be replenished. In the coldest weather the men huddled together under their blankets and furs, anxious and weary. They had no means of finding out in what direction they were moving, for the constant creaking of the floe led them to believe that they were drifting somewhere. Whether it was to the North or to the South they could not tell, and yet upon the direction in which they were moving their salvation depended.

Never, perhaps, was the return of the sun more welcomed than by the desolate castaways on the floe. But its appearance and the commencement of spring was not entirely an unmixed blessing. The rising temperature naturally caused the ice to break up, and as the floe upon which they were marooned gradually decreased in size, fresh anxiety was caused to them by the possible danger of their haven being broken up. As the days passed, they saw their food supply growing smaller and smaller, until starvation stared them in the face, and hope was almost dead. April came, and with it all the privation and suffering consequent upon insufficient food and wearying, helpless, and almost hopeless, inactivity. The last day of the month arrived and found them with the last morsel of food consumed. A man clambered to the summit of the hummock in the hopes of seeing a seal somewhere on the ice. His comrades thought that he had lost his senses when he shouted wildly and, clambering down, ran towards them, dancing and shouting.

Over the top of the hummock he had caught sight of a ship, and the excitement caused by his news was soon eclipsed as the castaways saw the signals they made answered from the vessel. Boats put off for them and took them on board the ship, which was the Tigress, a sealer from Labrador.

They found that in the 196 days they had spent on the floe they had drifted over 1500 miles from the latitude in which the Polaris was beset on October 12. For the time they believed they were the only survivors of the expedition, but in this they were wrong. The remainder of the party also escaped, though without undergoing quite the same hardships as themselves.

When the Polaris broke away from the ice, she did not sink, but drifted rapidly before the gale through the open channel. Captain Budington, who had assumed command when Captain Hall died, and the twelve men who remained on board, managed to keep the disabled vessel afloat, but they could do no more until she again became involved in the ice. By that time all hopes of returning to the place where the other men were on the ice was abandoned, and, as the water was fairly open, the efforts of the crew were mainly directed to warping the ship towards the coast. By good fortune she managed to escape from the crushing packs, and, with tireless effort and great care, she was at length brought within sight of land. Then she was caught in the ice along the shore and so severely nipped that her ruin was complete. She, however, did not sink, and her crew were able to reach the land.

Selecting a site for an encampment, they removed thither enough timber from the broken-up vessel to construct a house, to which they also removed enough stores to last them. When these necessaries were secured, they brought more timber ashore, and, during the long winter night, they employed themselves in constructing a couple of boats. It was a laborious task, and but slow progress was made until daylight returned. Then they were able to carry on the work faster; but it was the middle of May before they had them finished and seaworthy.

As soon as the ice began to break up, they launched the boats, which were fully provisioned from the wreck, and on June 3 they sailed away to the South. Three weeks later they sighted a whaler, the Ravenscraig, who took them aboard, and within a few months of their comrades, whom they thought had all perished, landing in America from the Tigress, the boat party also landed, having saved, in addition to themselves, all the records of the surveys and observations made by the expedition. These were of great geographical value, making known much of the neighbourhood of the straits between Greenland and Grant's Land. The expedition, although attaining to a high latitude, did not succeed in reaching the Pole, but their adventures made a fascinating chapter in the history of Polar research.

CHAPTER V THE ALERT AND DISCOVERY

Sir George Nares appointed to the Alert and Discovery—Overtaking a Season—Red Snow—The Greenland Mosquito—Peculiarities of Eskimo Dogs—And Dog Whips—Dangers of Kayaks—Advantages of Steam for Polar Regions—An Unpleasant Experience—A Huge Walrus—Arctic Scenery—A Big "Bag"—The Ships part Company—The Alert reaches the Polar Sea—Winter Quarters—The North Pole attempted—Adventures and Sufferings of the Party—Lieutenant Parr's Heroism—Deliverance—The Greenland Attempt—Scurvy and Snow—Repulse Bay—In Pitiable Plight—Lieutenant Rawson to the Rescue.

"Her Majesty's Government, having determined that an expedition of Arctic exploration and discovery should be undertaken, My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty have been pleased to select you for the command of the said expedition, the scope and primary object of which should be to attain the highest northern latitude and, if possible, to reach the North Pole."

Such was the opening sentence of the official instructions sent to Sir George Nares to take command of the Alert and Discovery, two steam vessels, which constituted the first expedition the British Government had sent to the Arctic regions since the search parties for Sir John Franklin. It was confidently expected that the introduction of the screw steamer into Arctic navigation would result in startling achievements, and those expectations were fully justified.

The two ships, with H.M.S. Valorous in consort with provisions, &c., on board, left Portsmouth on May 29, 1875. They were home again by November 2, 1876, and during the intervening eighteen months they had reached the most northerly point attained by man up to that period, and only since exceeded, on the sea, by the Fram.

No greater contrast can be given of the enormous strides which had been made in navigation during the thirty years which had elapsed since Franklin sailed away on his last and fatal voyage, than the fact that whereas after six weeks' journeying Franklin had barely reached the region of drift ice, in six weeks from the date of leaving Portsmouth the Alert and Discovery were almost in the region of perpetual ice. And all owing to the application of steam to ocean travelling.

The route laid down for the expedition was along the western coast of Greenland and as far through Robeson Channel, which divides Grinnel Land from Greenland, as it was possible to get. Disko Bay, half-way up the Greenland coast, was the spot where the Alert and Discovery were to part company with the Valorous. They entered the Bay on July 4, having had, on the voyage to the North, the peculiar experience of chasing and overtaking a season. When they left Portsmouth at the end of May, summer was well in; but when they arrived at Disko Bay they found that the mild weather which forms the spring had not yet set in sufficiently to melt all the winter's snows. So that they had travelled quicker than the summer, having started after it had begun in England, and arrived in Greenland before it was due.

The early spring flowers were just commencing to bloom on the slopes around Disko, wherever the snow had melted, while higher up on the hills, where the winter's snow still lay, the explorers had an opportunity of looking upon that curious phenomenon, red snow. A minute animalcule (Protococcus nivalis) generates in the frozen covering of the earth, and increases so rapidly and in such vast numbers that it gives to its cold white habitat the hue of its own microscopic body. Another minute creature also breeds in enormous numbers in these bleak regions, the mosquito, which one usually associates with dense tropical jungles and fever-breeding swamps. All along the Greenland coast, wherever there is a pool of fresh water which thaws from the ice-grip, the larvæ of the mosquito appear in swarms in the spring, and, very shortly after, the full-fledged insect emerges in the utmost vigour of irritating stinging life. As the time is short between the period when the ice melts and when the water freezes again, the Greenland mosquito has to be active to work out his life mission before he is frozen off, and the skin of all visitors to his locality gives ample evidence how well he utilises his opportunities.

In addition to taking on board the surplus stores from the Valorous, the two Arctic ships also took on board teams of dogs for sledging purposes. Fifty-five in all were shipped, their quarters being situated on the main deck, where they were necessarily cramped for room, and, what was worse from their point of view, were unable to get at one another's throats owing to their being chained to bolts. Consequently they kept up a constant chorus of snarls and yaps, varied now and again with a howl as one or another received a remonstrating kick from a sailor.

This interminable uproar was explained by the Eskimo dog driver, who was also taken on board, as being due to the fact that most of the dogs were strangers to one another, and no one was as yet the properly constituted king.

When Captain McClintock purchased a team of dogs from the Eskimo of King William's Land, he had a good deal to learn about their peculiarities; but the people on the Alert and the Discovery, having a great many more dogs than he was able to obtain, had also a great deal more to learn about them. Sir George Nares, in his account of the expedition, gives some particulars which were furnished by his Eskimo dog driver, and these show that the sledge dog is quite as wise as one might expect from Captain McClintock's experiences.

In every team of dogs, one is the king. He holds that position by prowess only, and has to fight and thrash every other dog in the team before he can assume the leadership. When he has once assumed it, he has to keep it by the same means; for revolutions may at any moment occur, through some younger dog aspiring to the ruling position. But while a dog has the position of authority, he exercises his rights with decision, and the remainder of the team cluster round him and support him in emergencies, or lie at his feet in times of leisure. The only one who is allowed to snarl at him without at once being bitten is the queen. She is among her sex what the king is among his; for though she depends more upon him for her prominent position than to her own fighting qualities, she maintains it, when once obtained, by a free use of her jaws upon encroachers.

Consequently, when a number of teams were brought together on the decks of the vessels, all strangers to one another, there was a tremendous amount of fighting in prospect before peace could be granted. Firstly, the kings of the various teams were anxious to tussle for the supremacy; and with the prospect of some of them getting badly mauled, there were several inferiors in each team ready to do battle with their injured monarch, and, when he was disposed of, with one another, for the leadership. But their new masters, instead of letting them all loose to settle their various degrees of authority in their own hereditary fashion, tied them up where they could see and hear one another without exchanging a bite. The kings, naturally warlike and ferocious, could only snap at their inferiors as they bayed in their rage, and the inferiors could only bay in their pain, and so between them the ship's company were kept awake by night and annoyed by day.

When at length opportunity occurred for liberating the dogs and giving them some exercise over the ice, great care had to be taken so as to prevent a wholesale mêlée. Each team, as they were freed from their deck chains, were led on to the ice and made fast to a sledge, two men being in charge of each sledge for the purpose of learning how to drive. And a highly exciting time they had of it, for not only did every dog want to start in its own direction as soon as they were harnessed, but every team wanted to attack every other team directly they appeared.

Nor were the troubles of the drivers limited to the dogs. The whip which is used for sledge teams consists of a very short handle and a very long lash. In the hands of an expert it is a most effective weapon, being capable of producing a resounding crack or a stinging blow wherever the wielder desires. But in the hands of a novice it is, like the Australian stock-whip, prone to do everything that the wielder does not wish. The amateur driver of a team, growing impatient as his dogs set off at full speed in various directions, and, besides tangling the harness, upset the sledge and themselves and very nearly himself as well, lashed out viciously at the worst offender; but the lash, instead of bringing the creature to his senses, curled back and hit the striker across the face, or twined round the legs of his companion, with disastrous results. Meanwhile the Eskimo driver was going from one group to another, trying to explain the mysteries of the art, much to the amusement of the onlookers and the indignation of the inexperienced amateurs.

During the wait at Disko, another form of Arctic travelling was practised by the officers of the expedition. This was the use of the Eskimo kayak.

The kayak is a long narrow canoe, entirely covered in with a waterproof covering. The voyager sits in the middle in a small round hole, the covering lapping over the edges and being fastened round the waist. The kayak is thus made as buoyant as a life-belt, whether floating on an even keel or upside down. By reason of their build, they are peculiarly "cranky" craft, turning over at the least provocation, and so require extremely careful handling, unless one is an adept at swimming and diving. The experience of one of the officers made this clear. He had securely strapped himself in, when, by a false stroke of the paddle, he overturned the kayak. He could not get it back again and was unable to loosen the cover; there was only one way of escape, and that possible alone to a man familiar with being under water. Loosening his clothes, he wriggled out of them and came to the surface just in time to avoid drowning.

Having taken on board all the stores that the Valorous carried, as well as a full supply of coal, the Alert and the Discovery started in company for the North. The advantages of steam navigation were made even more apparent as they proceeded, for the ships were able to steam through ice-encumbered water which would have been quite impassable for sailing vessels. Depending so much upon the wind, a sailing vessel is only able to make headway amongst heavy drifting floes by means of long hawsers, run out and made fast to a mass of ice and then slowly hauled in at the capstan. Steamers, on the other hand, experience no difficulty in forcing their way past and between the lesser floes, and Sir George Nares, who had had a great deal of experience of sailing vessels in the ice regions, was frequently astounded at the ease with which the two steamers rammed their way, clearing from out of their course lumps of ice which would have been difficult obstacles to a sailing ship.

Those on board, however, were not to escape without some experience of the peculiarities of ice movements. The vessels were going to make fast for the night, and a boat's crew was sent from the Alert to carry an anchor to a large, heavy mass not far distant. On near approach it was seen that the lump was very rotten, and, as no hold for the anchor could be found near the water-line, one of the men volunteered to clamber up to the top and, with an ice chisel, make a hold for it. He clambered on to the slippery, treacherous mass, and, after a great deal of very careful exertion, succeeded in reaching a point high enough for his purpose. He began lustily to drive in the chisel, but so rotten was the ice, that instead of merely chipping out a crevice, he cracked the top of the lump. Another blow, and, to his intense amazement, a huge mass in front of him slid away. Gliding down the side, fortunately away from the boat, it splashed into the sea. But the removal of so much from the top of the berg upset its balance, with the result that it swayed from one side to the other as it recovered its equilibrium. The unfortunate sailor, with nothing to cling to, had to scramble up and over the summit as the berg dipped down; but no sooner was he over the top than the berg swung the other way, and he had to scramble back again. There was no means of escape until the berg settled down once more, and in the meantime his companions in the boat and on the steamer were shouting with laughter at the antics of what they called their squirrel on the iceberg.

While he was in his lofty if unsteady position, however, he noticed on a floe not far distant three walrus, and as soon as he returned to the ship and reported his discovery, a boat with a harpoon and two rifles was despatched. The three animals lay contentedly enough on the ice, paying scarcely any heed to the advancing boat, with the result that all were hit. The two that were shot slid off into the water and sank, but the one that was harpooned could not escape. He was an immense creature, measuring over twelve feet in length and eleven feet round the thickest part; his tusks were over eighteen inches long, and, when cut up, he yielded five casks of meat, weighing 1250 lbs.

As the two vessels advanced farther to the North they found that the character of the ice was very different from that met with in the neighbourhood of Baffin's Bay and Lancaster Sound. It was more massive and heavy, a berg they passed towering nearly 300 feet above the water-line, and floes frequently occurring some miles in length and standing 50 feet out of the water. The possibility of being caught between such masses and "nipped" was a constant danger, for no vessel could possibly withstand the tremendous pressure exerted by two floes of that size colliding. A constant look-out had to be maintained from the crow's-nest for any sign ahead of the floes closing in, and by careful navigation anything like a severe "nip" was avoided.

By August 24 they had made such excellent progress as to be nearly at the end of the hitherto explored channel. A southerly wind was helping them along, but about four in the afternoon it began to die away. They were then in Bessel Bay, and in order to see how the ice was ahead, Sir George Nares decided to land and climb to the top of Cape Morton, which is some 2000 feet in height. From the summit a magnificent view was obtained, of which the following description is given by Sir George Nares in his account of the expedition:—

"It was a beautiful morning, with scarcely a cloud in the sky. The cold, sharp wind which had benumbed us at the sea-level was local, for, on the summit of the cape, it was perfectly calm. Sixty miles distant in the south-west were the Victoria and Albert mountains of Grinnel Land, fronted by Hans Island showing clear of Cape Bryan, which had Hannah Island nestling at its base. Farther north was an elevated spur from the main range which, rising between Archer Fjord and Kennedy Channel, formed Daly Promontory. Fronting these mountains, and directly separated from them by an extensive valley extending to the northward from Carl Ritter Bay, was the black buttress-shaped cliff forming Cape Back, the southern extremity of the nearly straight running line of flat-topped coast hills extending twenty miles to Cape Defosse. From that point the coast line became more hilly, and, joining the Daly mountains, extended to Cape Lieber, a bluff headland, with Cape Baird, a low, flat point, jutting out beyond it. Still farther north were the lofty mountains of Grant's Land with steep cliffs about Cape Union, though seventy miles distant distinctly visible, forming the western extremity of Robeson Channel. Nearly due north a slight break in the continuity of the land showed where Robeson Channel opened into the Polar Sea. On the eastern side of the strait, at a distance of forty miles, was Cape Lupton, the notable landmark denominated Polaris Promontory; then came Polaris Bay with the low plains leading to Newman Bay. At my feet lay Cape Tyson and Cape Mary Cleverly on the north shore of Petermann Fjord, rising to an elevation of 1500 feet."

In this district, picturesque and beautiful as portrayed by the explorer's description, the Discovery wintered, while the Alert went on farther North. The spot where the Discovery was left, and which was named Discovery Bay, was a large, well-protected inlet inside an island, the outer point of which formed Cape Bellot. In the summer it was sparsely covered with loose ice, but in the winter, sea, hills, cape, and plains were all covered in the one white garb. As the two vessels entered the bay early on the morning of August 25, what at first were taken to be nine boulders were observed on the shore; but as the vessels swung to their anchors, the boulders were observed to move away. At once the cry of "musk oxen" was raised, and boats were hastily lowered, filled with sportsmen keen for the chase. The oxen, disturbed by the noise, made for the higher ground, where they were followed by the enthusiastic shooting party until every one of the nine was brought to the ground.

The following day, August 26, the ships parted company, the Alert taking with her an officer and a sledge team of men from the Discovery, with the idea of sending them back overland when winter quarters were selected, an idea which had to be abandoned by reason of the impassable nature of the country. On the last day of the month the Alert met a particularly heavy floe, the ice forming it being of the massive character which denoted that its origin was the Polar Sea. Once the grinding mass of hummocks, rising higher than the vessel's decks, threatened to catch her. There would have been no hope of escape if they had, and only by persistently ramming her way through some of the looser ice did she escape in towards the shore. Next day a strong gale sprang up from the south-west, and the Alert went along at ten miles an hour in an open channel between the land and the heavy pack which was drifting about three miles out. By midday they reached latitude 82° 24' N., and the flags were run up to the mastheads amid general rejoicing, for it was the farthest point North to which a ship had yet sailed.

With the channel showing clear ahead of them and the spanking breeze astern, expectation was high on board that they would be able to sail right up to latitude 84°, but within an hour their hopes were suddenly and thoroughly checked. On hauling to the westward they rounded a promontory and found that the land trended away to the west. The wind veered round to the north-west and drove the ice in upon the channel, which gradually became narrower until, when off Cape Sheridan, the main pack was observed to be touching the grounded ice and effectually barring all further progress. The Alert was run close up to the end of the channel, and then, when it was certain that there was no chance of getting through the barrier, she was anchored to a floe which rested aground off the cape. The next day, as the heavy ice of the pack was grinding against the stranded floe, and an opening just large enough for the vessel to get in was observed in the floe, she was warped into the basin.

She was barely inside when a solid hummock crushed against the opening, forming a great barrier between the vessel and the outer moving pack. Had it struck there a few minutes earlier the vessel would have been severely injured by the "nip," but as it was the hummock formed an admirable shelter from the pressure of the pack. This was often so severe that masses over 30,000 tons in weight were broken off and forced up the inclined shore, rising twelve and fourteen feet higher out of the water as they crunched along the ground.

On September 4 new ice formed on the water in which the ship was floating, and from observations taken from high land inshore all doubt was removed as to where they were. They had navigated to the end of Robeson Channel and were now in the Polar Sea. No land could be seen to the north; nothing but a vast wilderness of huge masses of Polar ice, most of which had evidently been frozen for years. At midnight on the same day they saw the last of the sun as it sank below the northern horizon.

Winter was now upon them, and they set to work to make their quarters as comfortable as possible. Snow came down heavily for some days, but not for a week or so was it hard enough to cut into the blocks suitable for building snow houses. When these were built, stores were removed to them and observatories fitted up for recording the various conditions of the atmosphere. On September 14 a severe gale sprang up, which caused the ice to move so much that the thin new ice in the basin was broken up and a boat's crew were drifted away on to a floe-berg 200 yards from the ship, from whence they were only rescued after great difficulty and in a half-frozen condition.

Some days subsequently, while a sledge party was on shore, one man was badly frost-bitten. He did not know it until some time after, but he had tried to thaw his frozen foot-wraps in his sleeping-bag instead of first removing them. The loss of feeling and then of use in his legs crippled him, and when he was brought on board it was seen what was wrong. This is one of the several evils men have to carefully guard against in the excessive cold. So long as they experience the stinging sensation of cold, they are free from a frost-bite; but a man may have his face bitten and not realise it until he is told that he has turned dead white. Circulation has then been arrested, and immediate steps have to be taken to bring it back, or the flesh becomes dead.

The dogs also began to suffer from a disease which sent them into fits, and which puzzled the Eskimo driver and the doctors. Some of them wandered away over the ice and others died, until only fifteen remained out of thirty, and many of those were thin and weakly. Then, as the cold increased, ice formed in the chimneys, and damp settled on the beams and walls between decks every time the cold air was admitted, so that it had to be constantly sponged up, while the officers had to spread waterproof coverings over their beds to protect themselves from it when they slept.

On November 8 it was so dark at midday that a newspaper could not be read, nor could a man be distinguished a dozen yards away. For eighty-seven days more the sun would be absent, but the moon visited the dark, cold skies, appearing for ten days without setting, and then going out of sight for thirteen. On November 13 the cold was so intense that the mercury froze in the thermometer.

But if it was dark and cold outside, the ship's company made themselves comfortable. A school was started, a theatre was opened—the Royal Arctic—and every Thursday they had popular concerts. Exercise was daily taken and the general health was excellent, only one man being on the sick-list, and he from a constitutional cause. The men were warmly clad when "between decks," as the temperature there was never what one might term hot; but before going outside they had to wrap themselves up in a variety of thick heavy fur garments, for there was often a difference of nearly one hundred degrees to be experienced.

The long stretch of winter's darkness was varied by the appearance, from time to time, of the aurora. This was the phenomenon which so greatly puzzled, and not infrequently terrified, the early explorers. Assuming a variety of forms, sometimes like the fringe of a vast curtain hanging in the sky, at others appearing as bands and streaks of light, waving and flickering over the heavens, but always with this peculiarity, that however bright they appeared, no light was given to the surrounding atmosphere, they were a source of constant interest to the men.

And so the winter passed, not entirely without its pleasures, in spite of the prolonged darkness. With the beginning of spring active preparations were made for the sledging trips, which were to carry out the work of surveying the surrounding land and penetrating farther to the North than it was possible for the vessels to go. The great majority of the officers and men on the Alert were told off for these expeditions, six officers and six men remaining on board, while fifty-three were split up into two parties, one to survey the coast of Grant's Land, and the other, under Commander Markham and Lieutenant Parr, to go North—to the Pole if possible.

The day the start was made the two parties were drawn up in line alongside the ship, and the chaplain read prayers, after which, with cheers for one another and the men left behind, they started.

Both did good service, the survey party carrying the survey round the coast well on to the western side. The North Pole party pressed on in the face of terrible difficulties until they reached the farthest point North that had yet been recorded.

In addition to the sledges laden with stores, they dragged with them two whale-boats in case they should meet with open water. But there was no sign of it as far as they went. On the contrary, their route lay over such excessively rough ice that although they travelled as a rule about ten miles a day, so much of it was spent in getting round inaccessible hummocks, that the actual progress towards the North rarely exceeded one mile a day.

When on April 11 they bade their comrades farewell, they had provisions for seventy days, and all were in good health and spirits. The work of dragging the boats and sledges up and down the great masses of rugged ice which covered the Polar Sea was terribly trying, however, and by the time the ten miles were covered every one was ready to creep into the sleeping-bags and rest. As the sun began to rise above the horizon it made the snow and ice sparkle and glitter so much that their eyes, accustomed for so long to darkness, could not stand it. Goggles had to be worn to protect the sight, but before they were adopted by all the members several were affected, and Lieutenant Parr for some days suffered from snow-blindness, an affliction which fortunately passed away in time.

As the days went by, the toil of dragging the sledges over the interminable and monotonous ice became more and more wearying. There was no variety in the work, no change in the surroundings; and although the men stuck at their task with true British obstinacy, it began to tell upon them. One man fell sick, growing weaker and weaker until he was no longer able to pull, and then was unable to walk. One of the boats was abandoned, and the sick man laid on a sledge. His condition was more than disquieting to the leaders, for it was evident he was suffering from scurvy, and no one could say who would be the next to develop it.

On April 23 they only added a mile and a quarter to their distance, for they had come upon clumps of ice hummocks which made their progress so difficult that they had to combine forces to haul first one sledge and then another over the obstacles. On April 28, when they were seventeen miles from the shore, they found the track of a hare in the snow, going towards the land, but with the footprints so close together that the animal was evidently very weak. Where it had come from, or how it had got so far from the shore, were riddles they could not solve.

As May came in signs of scurvy made themselves only too evident among the members of the crew, and on May 11 the leaders decided that the next day they would have to turn to the south once more. They started with a light sledge in the morning and pushed on till noon, when they took their bearings. They had reached latitude 83° 20' 26" N., and were then only 399½ miles from the Pole itself, having beaten all other records of Arctic explorations.

The little band, weary and sickening, forgot their woes in the presence of their achievement. A jorum of whisky had been presented to the expedition by the Dean of Dundee on condition that it was opened in the highest latitude reached. It was now produced, and the success of their efforts was toasted, the while each man smoked a cigar, also sent for consumption in the "farthest North."

A hole was cut in the ice and soundings were taken, the sea being seventy-two fathoms (432 feet) deep below them, with a clay bottom, the surface temperature being 28.5° and the temperature at the bottom 28.8°. Then they turned their backs upon the cold, bleak, ice-bound North, and began the journey home again, a journey which was to prove more trying than that which they had already accomplished.

The man who had first sickened, and whose name was Porter, had become so weak that he could not move from the sledge on which he lay wrapped in a sleeping-bag. Gradually one man after another began to lose his strength, until three or four were only able to support themselves, and could give no assistance in hauling the sledges, with the result that the labour pressed all the more heavily on the remainder of the party, all of whom were more or less affected by scurvy. The first fortnight of the return journey was a terribly wearying time to the leaders, for they saw their men becoming weaker every day, so that the progress was slower and more difficult, while at the same time the only hope of escape was to reach land. On the coast it would be possible for relief to meet them, but out amongst the rugged hummocks of the Polar Sea the whole ship's company would not be able to find them. The extra work thrown upon those who were not entirely incapacitated told severely upon their already enfeebled systems. The toil no longer encouraged their appetites; instead, the sight of food became nauseous to them, until towards the end of the month half a pannikin of pemmican was more than each man could manage to eat. But the toil was still as weary, and the cold as intense, and without sufficient food to keep up their strength, the outlook was almost hopeless.

Still, however, the little band of seventeen struggled on, setting an example of courage, determination, and absolute devotion to discipline and duty which has won for them as deep an admiration as their achievement of the "farthest North" record. On June 2 only six men and the two officers were able to do anything in the way of labour. Five men lay sick and helpless on the already laden sledges, and four more were just able to stagger along from point to point after the dreary procession of sledges. The progress was very slow now, as it required all the strength which was left in the eight, who alone were able to do anything, to move one sledge at a time. The second boat had been abandoned, as it could not be dragged farther, and the strain of moving the three sledges that remained was so great that when, on June 5, land was reached after an absence of two months, the entire party was in a state of collapse.

The next day they rested and debated what was the best course to adopt to obtain help, for it was outside of their power to drag the sledges any farther. Porter was almost at death's door, and unless help came very soon several more would be in a similar condition. Lieutenant Parr was the strongest, but even he was in a very low condition. That, however, did not rob him of his courage, nor of his readiness to give the rest of his life, if necessary, for the rescue of his comrades.

He volunteered to set out alone for the ship, to carry word of the terrible plight of the party and the need for instant relief. It was almost a hopeless task, and the heavy hearts of the stricken men, beating more hopefully at the token of such manly bravery, drooped again as they remembered the dreary miles of snow and ice which would have to be covered, and saw the weakened state of their would-be rescuer's strength. But he was not to be gainsaid; weak as he was, he was yet the strongest of the party, and he would make the attempt.

On June 7 he started, the little band watching him as he trudged bravely away, giving him as hearty a cheer as they could. Slowly he made his way over the frozen shore, and, when he had passed out of sight, the men looked at one another and wondered. How far would he get before death overtook him? How long before they all yielded to the same conqueror?

By the next morning one had already gone, Porter passing away after nearly two months' fighting against the scourge. Commander Markham, and the four who were alone able to help him, paid the last honours to their deceased comrade. The British ensign was lowered to half-mast on the pole of the big sledge and a Union Jack was carefully wrapped round the body. With great exertion, in their emaciated condition, a place was hollowed out in the frozen soil, and there they placed him, the funeral service being read by Commander Markham, who, in his diary, thus wrote of the ceremony: "Of all the melancholy and mournful duties I have ever been called upon to perform, this has been the saddest. A death in a small party like ours, and under the present circumstances, is a most depressing event, and is keenly felt by all. During the service all were more or less affected, and many to tears."

A rude cross was fashioned out of a boat's oar and a spare sledge batten, and it was placed at the head of the grave with the following inscription: "Beneath this cross lie buried the remains of George Porter, R.M.A., who died June 8, 1876. 'Thy will be done!'"

Anxiously they waited during the rest of the day, wondering as to the fate of Lieutenant Parr, and half expecting to see him stagger back to the camp, his splendid courage overcome by the difficulties of his journey. But he did not return, and the men crept into their sleeping-bags under the tents scarcely daring to think what the morrow would bring forth. One or two of the sick men were visibly worse since the death of Porter, and the next day might mean the end of their lives. If their gallant rescuer managed to make his way at all, he could not reach the ship in time for relief to come for another day or two, and no man dared to speak of what might occur in that interval.

The shouts of men's voices while they were yet within their sleeping-bags on the morning of June 9 were so unexpected, that, at first, those who heard them blamed their ears for playing them false. But it was no deception. Lieutenant Parr, with a magnificent heroism that deserves honour even among the many brave deeds which British sailors have performed, struggled on after leaving the camp without a stop until he came in sight of the Alert. Directly he was discovered he told of his comrades waiting helpless and sick. Relief parties were formed on the moment, and two officers, Lieutenants May and Moss, with a dog-team sledge laden with lime-juice and restoratives, started away while the other sledges were loading.

They pressed on without a halt until they saw the tents of the camp, when they shouted, as no one was to be seen about the place. They were up to the tents before any one came out, and when they did it was as though new life had been given to each man. The lime-juice, of which they were in such dire want—for by an oversight it had been omitted from the stores—was at once served round, giving fresh energy to those who were still able to move about, and greatly relieving those who were incapacitated.

On the arrival of the remainder of the relief party, the invalids were all removed to the ship and attended to, every man recovering, under medical treatment, before the Alert weighed anchor for the South. This was done in August, when she rejoined the Discovery, the officers of which had also done splendid service in surveying the interior of Grinnel Land, behind Discovery Bay, and also along the northern coast of Greenland.

While the Discovery was lying in her winter quarters a successful attempt was made by Lieutenant Beaumont, accompanied by Dr. Coppinger and sixteen men, dragging two sledges, to communicate with the Alert. They started away on April 6, while the cold was still nearly 70° below zero, a temperature which made sleeping almost impossible, as they had constantly to exercise to maintain their bodily heat. In spite of these drawbacks, however, the Alert was reached.

The intention was to continue the journey across Robeson Channel over to Greenland, and to explore as much of the northern coast as was possible. Reinforced by Lieutenant Rawson and five men, the party started on April 20, from the Alert, with four sledges and provisions for fifty-six days. As they approached the Greenland coast the ice was very rough and tumbled about in irregular blocks, with heavy snow lying ankle deep. Arriving at Polaris Bay, a depôt of stores was made and a detachment left in charge, the journey then being resumed; but the ice became more and more difficult, and the snow deeper. The strength of the whole party was taxed to the utmost to make any progress, and at the end of each day's work every one was wearied out with fatigue. Falls were frequent, owing to the unevenness of the ice, and one man, Hand, was particularly unfortunate in this respect. By the time that Cape Stanton was reached he was suffering considerably from stiffness, which was at first attributed to his tumbles; but when pain began to be manifest in his legs and gums, the truth of the matter became evident. He was affected with scurvy.

This discovery was made on May 10, and the leader at once decided to send him back to Polaris Bay with Lieutenant Rawson and six men. The remainder of the men were asked to say whether they fancied they were affected; but all maintained the contrary, and asked to be allowed to continue the journey.

With six men Lieutenant Beaumont continued the route to the North, while Lieutenant Rawson returned to the depôt at Polaris Bay. On his way other members of his party developed scurvy, and their plight was so distressful that for some days before they reached the depôt, which they did on June 3, Lieutenant Rawson and one man alone were able to drag the sledge, the former being so severely afflicted with snow-blindness that he had to walk for days with his eyes covered by a bandage. Hand, the first man affected, died as the sledge came within sight of the camp.

In the meantime Lieutenant Beaumont's party pushed on, difficulties increasing with every mile. The snow became deeper as they advanced, until they sank at every step over their knees. Describing it, the leader said: "The hard crust on the top would only just not bear you, while the depth prevented you from pushing forward through it, each leg sinking to about three inches above the knee, and the effort of lifting them so high as to extricate them from the deep footholes soon began to tell upon the men." The sun shining on the snow seemed to be unusually warm, while the exertion made them intensely thirsty, besides so exhausting them that they had to stop every fifty yards to rest and recover their breath. They were crossing a wide bay at the time, striving to reach the other shore, which did not seem to be more than a mile away. But the clearness of the atmosphere was very deceiving as to distance, for they struggled on for two days and still the coast only seemed to be a mile distant.

In order to make the way easier the men were marched four abreast, the sledge being left until a road was forced through the snow. For five miles the march was continued, and at the end of that distance the coast did not appear a yard nearer.

Sending the men back to the sledge with orders to rest till he rejoined them, Lieutenant Beaumont and one man went forward. But after some hours of trying effort they did not reach the coast, and were compelled to turn back, having been able to observe that the shore was composed of great towering cliffs with the snow piled up at the base. When they returned to the spot where the sledge had been left, they were thoroughly worn out by their exertions. As comfortable an encampment as could be arranged was made, and for two days the party remained resting.

Symptoms of scurvy were making themselves apparent among the men under the fatigue brought on by their excessive toil; but no word of complaint was spoken, every man being ready and willing to do his duty. In the retreat of Commander Markham and his men from the "farthest North," a splendid example of British heroism and discipline was given. The story of Lieutenant Beaumont's party furnishes another.

The growing sickness of some of the men and the decreasing store of provisions brought home to the leader the necessity of a return being made. At the end of the two days' rest the sledge was turned in the direction of Polaris Bay and the men retraced their steps, finding the travelling somewhat easier now that they could use the road they had made by their previous passage through the snow. But the leader wanted to be able to form some idea of the coast line beyond where they had been turned back, and, time after time, he made ineffectual efforts to reach the shore and scale some high hill. At last he was successful, after tremendous exertion, in reaching the summit of Dragon Point, an altitude of 3700 feet. From here he was able to command an extensive view, the land extending away as far as he could see into a cape which he named Britannia Cape.

On June 13 they arrived at Repulse Bay depôt, and the state of the health of the men is best shown by the record Lieutenant Beaumont left, and which was recovered by members of the Greely expedition six years later. The record, dated June 13, 1876, reads:—

"Three of us have returned from the camp half a mile south to fetch the remainder of the provisions. Dobing has failed altogether this morning; Jones is much worse, and cannot last more than two or three days; Craig is nearly helpless; therefore we cannot hope to reach Polaris Bay without assistance. Two men cannot do it, so we will go as far as we can, and live as long as we can. God help us. L. A. Beaumont."

The discovery of this record, and the simple, manly faith and courage it betokened, was destined to be of great service to another band of English-speaking explorers in later years, and their opinion of it, and the admiration they felt for the man who wrote it, will be told in the account of the Greely expedition.

Meanwhile that Lieutenant Beaumont was making his heroic efforts to save the men of his party, Lieutenant Rawson was growing anxious as to their position. As they did not appear, he, on June 22, in company with one of the Eskimo and a dog-team sledge, started along the coast in search of them. Three days later they were met—on the last march they could have made, for they were at the end of their strength. Lieutenant Beaumont, in his account, says: "On the evening of the 24th we started for our last journey with the sledge; for, finding that Jones and Gray were scarcely able to pull, I had determined on reaching the shore to pitch the tent for the sick men and walk over to Polaris Bay by myself, and see if there was any one there to help us. If not, to come back and send Jones and Gray, who could still walk, to the depôt, while I remained with the sick and got them on as best I could."

When Lieutenant Rawson met them, he found the intrepid Beaumont straining at the sledge, with the two sick men helping him as much as they could, while on the sledge lay the four helpless invalids, made as comfortable as circumstances would permit. No time was lost in removing them to Polaris Bay, where, under medical treatment, all recovered save one. After a brief rest at Polaris Bay the journey back to the Discovery was successfully carried out, and Lieutenant Beaumont had the pleasure of learning that his expedition had added considerably to the geographical knowledge of Northern Greenland.

Shortly after the return of the sledge parties the Alert rejoined the Discovery, and, towards the end of August, both vessels weighed anchor and started for England, where they arrived on November 2, 1876, having been absent for seventeen months, during which time they had carried the British flag to the "farthest North," and had brought within the knowledge of man localities previously unknown. They had not reached the Pole, and had come to the conclusion, after their experiences, that to do so was beyond the range of human possibility.

CHAPTER VI THE GREELY EXPEDITION

The Scheme of the Expedition—Fort Conger—Arctic Wolves—Atmospheric Marvels—A Terrific Storm—Influence of the Sun—Lieutenant Lockwood's Expedition—The Second Winter—Preparations for Departure—They leave Fort Conger—A Remarkable Ice Passage—They fail to make Cape Sabine—A New Camp—Rations running Short—Fruitless Efforts to reach Food Depôts—Starvation and Death—A Bitter Blow—The Arrival of the Thetis.

In 1881 the Government of the United States determined to send out another expedition towards the North Pole, and a vote of $25,000 having been passed by Congress for the purpose, Lieutenant Adolphus Washington Greely was appointed to the command. Lieutenant Greely, who was an officer in the 5th Cavalry regiment, had, as his companions, three officers and twenty-one men selected from the United States army.

The scheme of the expedition was to proceed by steamer as far north as Lady Franklin Bay, where they were to form a depôt on Grinnel Land, and, using it as a base, push forward, by means of dog-sledges over the ice, and by steam launch over the open water, as far north as it was possible to get.

The steamer Proteus, a vessel 467 tons and 110 horse-power, was chartered by the explorers to convey them from New York to Lady Franklin Bay. They sailed in June and proceeded to Upernavik, in Greenland, where they took on board their sledge dogs and two Eskimo, Jens and Frederick, to look after them. On July 1 they resumed their journey in fairly open water. The season was especially mild, and they were able to make excellent travelling through the unimpeded water. On the way they stopped at Cary Islands and examined the records left there by Sir George Nares in 1875, and which had been examined once before by Sir Allen Young, in 1876. The sea was full of white whales, narwhals, and grampus. The latter has the reputation of being a voracious feeder, one authority stating that a dead grampus was found, choked by a seal he had attempted to swallow, although, when he was opened, his stomach was found to contain no fewer than thirteen porpoises and fourteen seals.

On August 4 the Proteus, for the first time during the voyage, was stopped by the ice. Being built specially for navigating the ice-covered seas, she was very powerful in the bows, which were further embellished by a strong iron prow. Thus she was able to force her way through ice which would have been impassable to a lighter craft. Her method, when she was faced by moderately thin ice which was yet thick enough to stop her ordinary progress, was to steam astern for a couple of hundred yards and then rush full speed at the ice. The strength of the iron prow and the force of her powerful engines drove her into the floe, but the operation was one that required great care. As she approached the floe, the crew, running from one side of the deck to the other, caused her to roll as she struck, the engines being reversed directly her prow penetrated the ice, so as to prevent her wedging herself in. This exciting operation was repeated several times when she met the floe in Lady Franklin Bay, and only by its means was she able to ram her way through and reach the destination of the expedition.

A site for landing was selected on the north of Discovery Bay (where the Discovery wintered in 1876), and on August 11, 1881, Greely landed, and proceeded to the cairn which had been erected by the Nares expedition. Here he found two copper cases labelled "Reports and General Information." The date upon them, which showed when they were deposited, was August 11, 1876, exactly five years before to a day.