The Great Frozen Sea: A Personal Narrative of the Voyage of the "Alert"

THE GREAT FROZEN SEA

THE

GREAT FROZEN SEA

A PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF THE VOYAGE
OF THE “ALERT”

DURING THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION OF 1875-6

BY

REAR-ADMIRAL ALBERT HASTINGS MARKHAM, R.N.

(LATE COMMANDER OF H.M.S. “ALERT”)

AUTHOR OF “A WHALING CRUISE TO BAFFIN’S BAY AND THE GULF OF BOOTHIA,”
AND “THE CRUISE OF THE ‘ROSARIO’”

SEVENTH EDITION

LONDON
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., Ltd
1894

(The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.)

TO

The Memory of

REAR-ADMIRAL SHERARD OSBORN, C.B.,

WHO, WHILE HE LIVED,

WAS THE MOVING SPIRIT IN SECURING THE DESPATCH OF

THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION, AND WHOSE PAST DEEDS

IN THE SAME FIELD REFLECTED A BRIGHT RAY OF HOPEFUL LIGHT

ON THOSE WHO STROVE TO EMULATE HIS EXAMPLE

WHILST FOLLOWING IN HIS FOOTSTEPS,

This little Work

IS REVERENTLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY

THE AUTHOR.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

The History of the Arctic Expedition of 1875-76, and the record of its results, will be found in the work of Sir George Nares. My object in publishing the present volume is to furnish a popular narrative of memorable events as they presented themselves to an individual member of the Expedition, and especially of the work of sledge travelling over the frozen polar ocean. It was written a few months after our return to England, but its appearance has been purposely deferred until the publication of the work by Sir George Nares.

The same reasons still exist for continuing the work of Arctic exploration as were adduced for commencing it in 1875.

It is impossible to complete so great a work in one campaign, and the results of the late Expedition ought only to whet our appetites, and stimulate us to undertake further discoveries.

The narrative of Sir George Nares will show the completeness of the work accomplished, so far as the route by Smith Sound is concerned, and with the appendices containing the numerous and valuable scientific results, will prove the importance of Arctic discovery. But there are other routes remaining to be explored, which will yield equally useful results.

Behring Strait is a portal leading to a vast region, the history of which has hitherto been as a sealed book.

An expedition to the east coast of Greenland for the purpose of connecting our discoveries at Cape Britannia with those of the Germans at Cape Bismarck, and thus solving the interesting geographical problem regarding the insularity of Greenland, would be of the greatest importance.

The exploration of Jones and Hayes Sounds offer a rich field; but that which, in my opinion, would yield the most profitable harvest, is the continuation of the discoveries of the Austro-Hungarian expedition in Franz-Josef Land. Once reach in a ship the position attained by Lieut. Payer and his sledge party, and such a measure of success would follow as would prove satisfactory even to the most sanguine. Although the flags of Holland, Sweden, and America will this year float in the Arctic Regions, that of England will be unrepresented.

It is hardly to be expected, in the present critical state of affairs, that our Government can afford to give either time or attention to the subject of Arctic exploration, but when the existing differences are all happily settled, there will really be more reasons for following up the work than were brought forward for undertaking it in 1875. We were never in a better position for doing so than at the present time. We possess a couple of ships whose capabilities for Arctic navigation have been already thoroughly tested, and found perfect; we have officers and men experienced in the navigation of those icy seas and in sledging, and we have stores and provisions ready to equip another expedition.

The expense, seeing that the ships and stores are lying idle, would be insignificant, and would hardly be more than equal to that of keeping a couple of small gun-boats in commission. Surely this great nation could easily afford, in the interests of science and for her own honour, to incur such an expenditure. I trust so; and I, for one, look forward with confident hope to the despatch, in a few years, of another Arctic expedition as well equipped as the one of which I was lately a member.

A. H. M.

21, Eccleston Square,
March, 1878.

OFFICERS AND SHIP’S COMPANY OF
H.M.S. “ALERT.”

Officers.

Ship’s Company.

Marines

The following sledge crew from H.M.S. “Discovery” wintered on board the “Alert”:—

The following “means” of ages, weights, and chest capacities of those belonging to the “Alert” may be of interest:—

[1] Promoted to carpenter.

[2] First class petty officer.

[3] Lost in H.M.S. “Eurydice.”

[4] Promoted to boatswain.

[5] Died on May 14th from the effects of frost-bite whilst sledging.

[6] Died on the 8th of June of scurvy whilst sledging.

[7] Promoted to boatswain.

[8] Died in June of scurvy whilst sledging with Lieut. Beanmont.

CONTENTS.

Chapter I. Fitting Out.

Description of ships, [2]; special fittings, [3]; selection of officers and men, [5]; kindness of friends, [6]; games and musical instruments, [7]; visitors to the ships, [8]; departure, [9]; arrival at Bantry Bay, [12]; the voyage commenced, [13].

Chapter II. The Voyage to Disco.

Tests of physical capacity, [15]; regular issue of lime-juice, [16]; gales of wind in the Atlantic, [17]; slow progress, [19]; whales, [20]; the first ice, [22]; the Land of Desolation, [22]; seals, [23]; the Greenland coast, [25]; fishing for cod, [25]; arrival at Godhavn, [26].

Chapter III. The Greenland Settlements.

An Eskimo dance, [28]; Eskimo dogs, [29]; amusements at Godhavn, [30]; ascent of the Lyngenmarkfjeld, [31]; aid from the “Valorous,” [33]; tradition of Disco, [34]; Ritenbenk, [35]; part company with “Valorous,” [36]; the Waigat Strait, [36]; dangers in the Waigat, [37]; Proven, [38]; Hans Hendrik engaged, [39]; “Sanderson, his hope,” [39]; Upernivik, [41].

Chapter IV. Melville Bay and the North Water.

Preparations for a nip, [43]; the middle ice, [44]; a bear hunt, [46]; the North Water, [47]; Cary Island depôt, [49]; approaching Smith Sound, [50]; enter Smith Sound, [51].

Chapter V. Smith Sound.

Life-boat Cove, [53]; visit winter quarters of “Polaris,” [54]; Littleton Island, [55]; Cape Isabella, [56]; stopped by the ice, [57]; Payer Harbour, [58]; first experiences in sledging, [59]; Twin Glacier Bay, [60]; an Arctic paradise, [61]; tidal observations, [62].

Chapter VI. Struggles with the Ice.

Open water, [64]; in danger of a nip, [65]; vigilance of Captain Nares, [66]; wanderings of the Eskimo, [68].

Chapter VII. A Walrus Hunt. Dog Driving.

Grinnell Land, [72]; glaciers, [73]; a walrus hunt, [74]; amusements on the ice, [77]; the Eskimo dogs, [78]; dog sledging, [80].

Chapter VIII. Slow Progress through the Ice.

Cape Hawks and Dobbin Bay, [83]; discovery of an ancient cairn, [85]; cutting a dock, [87]; struggles through the ice, [90]; dangerous position, [91]; Cape Fraser, [92]; junction of two tides, [92]; Cape John Barrow, [93]; Cape Collinson, [94]; heavy squalls, [95]; increasing thickness of floes, [96]; icebergs decreasing in number, [96].

Chapter IX. Kennedy Channel.

Cape Constitution, [98]; difference in appearance of coast-lines, [99]; Hall Basin blocked with ice, [100]; Bessels Bay, [100]; Hannah Island, [101]; cross Kennedy Channel, [103]; musk-oxen, [104]; winter quarters of “Discovery,” [107]; the two ships part company, [107].

Chapter X. The Crossing of the Threshold.

Robeson Channel, [110]; stopped off Cape Beechey, [113]; Shift-Rudder Bay, [114]; floe-bergs, [114]; the first lemming, [115]; marine shells above sea-level, [116]; depôt established at Lincoln Bay, [117]; a fortunate escape, [119]; crossing the threshold, [119]; finally stopped by ice, [121]; the Frozen Ocean, [122].

Chapter XI. Floe-berg Beach.

Saved by floe-bergs, [125]; precarious winter quarters, [126]; a reconnaissance in dog-sledges, [128]; habits of Eskimo dogs, [130]; Dumb-bell Bay, [131]; eider-ducks, [132]; two boats advanced northwards, [133]; a severe march, [134]; danger of the ship, [134]; unable to move, [135]; autumn sledging commenced, [136].

Chapter XII. Autumn Travelling.

Autumn travelling, [138]; discomforts, [139]; liability to frost-bites, [142]; difficulties, [145]; cheerfulness of the men, [146]; highest position reached in the autumn, [147]; frost-bites, [147]; return of travellers, [149]; results, [150].

Chapter XIII. Winter Quarters.

Preparations for winter, [152]; observatories, [153]; snow houses, [154]; the ship “housed” in, [154]; interior arrangements, [156]; winter clothing, [159]; precautions against fire, [161]; observations for temperature, [162].

Chapter XIV. The Royal Arctic Theatre.

Printing-office, [164]; school, [166]; amusements, [167]; Thursday pops, [168]; lectures, [169]; the Royal Arctic Theatre, [170]; the prologue, [172]; conjuring entertainment, [175]; magic-lantern exhibition, [176].

Chapter XV. Winter Occupations and Amusements.

Departure of the sun, [178]; Guy Fawkes’ Day, [179]; scientific observations, [180]; the moon, [181]; open-air exercise, [181]; inconvenience from drip, [182]; fluctuations of temperature, [183]; movement of the ice, [184]; celebration of birthdays, [185]; bill of fare, [185]; fresh meat, [186]; Divine service, [187]; medical inspections, [187]; tabogganing, [187]; Nellie, [189]; a lost dog, [190].

Chapter XVI. An Arctic Christmas.

Preparations for Christmas Day, [193]; Christmas presents, [194]; Christmas Day, [195]; retrospect, [197]; frost-bite patients, [198]; precautions against frost-bite, [199]; the Palæocrystic Sea, [200]; a brilliant meteor, [200].

Chapter XVII. A Happy New Year.

New Year’s Day, [202]; mustard and cress, [205]; heavy snow-drifts, [206]; returning light, [207]; severe cold, [208]; an alarm in the observatory, [209]; condition of the Eskimo dogs, [210]; Nellie and the lemmings, [212]; Rawson’s snow hut, [212]; the last school meeting, [213]; the last dramatic performance, [214]; the last “pop,” [215]; grand palæocrystic sledging chorus, [216].

Chapter XVIII. Return of the Sun.

Cairn Hill, [220]; the sun’s return, [221]; intense cold, [223]; experiments on various substances during extreme cold, [223]; daylight, [225]; alarm of fire, [226]; dismantling the observatories, [227]; the sledge-crews exercised, [228]; a wolf, [229].

Chapter XIX. Details of Sledge Travelling.

Preparations for sledging, [231]; weights, [232]; auxiliary sledges and depôts, [234]; tents, [235]; cooking apparatus, [236]; scale of provisions, [237]; lime-juice, [238]; medical instructions, [238]; sledging costume, [239]; precautions against snow-blindness, [240]; programme of sledging work, [241]; boats to be carried by northern division, [244]; names of sledges, [245].

Chapter XX. The Journey of Egerton and Rawson.

Decide to communicate with “Discovery,” [247]; departure of Egerton and Rawson, [248]; their return, [249]; Petersen frost-bitten, [249]; heroic conduct, [251]; efforts to save Petersen, [251]; difficulties of the return journey, [253]; Egerton’s second start, [255]; death of Petersen, [255].

Chapter XXI. The Routine of Sledge Travelling.

Departure of the sledges, [258]; first camp, [260]; intense cold, [262]; arrival at the autumn depôt, [263]; the parties separate, [264]; duties of cook, [265]; sledging breakfast, [266]; luncheon, [266]; halting for the night, [268]; evenings in the tent, [270].

Chapter XXII. The Northern Division—Travelling in April.

Heavy ice encountered, [273]; road-making over the ice, [275]; struggling over hummocks, [278]; daily routine, [279]; continued cold, [280]; excellence of the sledges, [281]; first symptoms of disease, [282]; a gale of wind, [283]; heavy snow-drifts, [285]; disease increasing, [286]; excellent conduct of the men, [286]; resolve to abandon one boat, [288]; increased weight to drag, [289]; intense cold, [290]; state of the floes, [291]; cross the [83]rd parallel, [292]; enormous hummocks, [293]; hummocks and snow-drifts, [294]; tracks of a hare seen, [296]; young ice, [296]; enforced rest, [297].

Chapter XXIII. The most Northern Point ever reached by Man.

Scurvy, [299]; difficulties increasing, [300]; struggling northwards, [301]; hummocks discoloured by mud, [301]; condition of party, [303]; issue of lime-juice, [304]; scorbutic symptoms, [305]; the last advance, [306]; most northern encampment, [307]; soundings obtained, [308]; the most northern position ever reached by man, [309].

Chapter XXIV. Return of the Northern Division.

Homeward bound, [312]; increased sufferings, [314]; courage of the men, [316]; extreme weakness of the men, [316]; abandonment of the second boat, [318]; a snow-bunting seen, [319]; the land reached, [321]; Parr despatched for succour, [322]; a stray dog, [322]; death of Porter, [323]; his burial, [323]; saved, [325]; return on board, [326].

Chapter XXV. Return of all the Sledge Travellers.

Causes of scurvy, [329]; anxiety for Aldrich, [331]; May sent to his rescue, [331]; return of Aldrich, [332]; care of the sick, [333]; the welcome back, [335]; decide to return to England, [337]; musk-oxen, [338]; shooting parties, [338]; liberation of the ship, [341]; under weigh, [342].

Chapter XXVI. The Return Voyage in the Ice.

Preparations for abandoning ship, [344]; communicate with “Discovery,” [345]; discovery of Eskimo relics, [347]; a severe nip, [348]; critical situation of ship, [349]; Discovery Harbour, [349]; return of Beaumont, [350]; a frozen cave, [350]; “Alert” forced on shore, [351]; struggles with the ice, [352]; pass Cape Fraser and Dobbin Bay, [353]; a seal and fox shot, [354]; reach the open sea, [354].

Chapter XXVII. Homeward Bound.

Cape Isabella, [357]; letters from home, [358]; bad weather, [359]; Whale Sound, [359]; off Lancaster Sound, [360]; reappearance of fulmar petrels, [361]; reach Godhavn, [362]; receive letters from England, [363]; leave Godhavn, [363]; Egedesminde, [364]; sight the “Pandora,” [366]; arrive at Valentia, [367]; at Queenstown, [367]; welcome home, [368].

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

THE GREAT FROZEN SEA.

CHAPTER I.

FITTING OUT.

The above quaint lines, written five hundred years ago, well describe the scenes that were being enacted during the months of April and May, 1875, in Portsmouth Dockyard.

Busy as this great naval depôt of England almost always is, it is seldom, in peace time, that so much interest is shown in the equipment of two small steam-vessels as was the case with regard to those that were then lying “all a taunto” in the steam basin of that extensive yard.

The names of those comparatively small ships were the “Alert” and the “Discovery,” their destination the unknown North.

Although of insignificant size, in comparison with the huge ironclad monsters by which they were surrounded, yet a close observer would readily detect signs of great strength in these two business-like looking vessels. And very necessary was it that they should possess strength and powers of resistance of no ordinary kind, for they were destined to grapple and fight with the heavy and unyielding ice floes of the Polar Ocean.

The two ships had been very carefully selected and fitted for the important work in which they were about to engage. The “Alert” was a 17-gun sloop, and had already served two or three commissions on foreign stations before she was converted for Arctic service. The “Discovery” was built in Dundee for the whaling and sealing trade, in which she had been engaged for a short time off the coast of Newfoundland, before she was purchased for the Arctic expedition.

The “Alert” was thoroughly strengthened, and, under the supervision of the Admiral Superintendent of the Dockyard (Sir Leopold McClintock), adapted in every way for the hazardous service on which she was about to be employed.

After a complete overhaul of her hull, all defective timbers and beams were removed, and replaced by sound ones; extra beam power was introduced; an external sheathing of seven inches of teak, tapering from amidships to four inches forward and three inches aft, extending from the keel to the waterways, was put on; whilst a longitudinal beam, placed between the shelf-piece and the lower-deck waterway internally, bound and strapped the whole ship together. Extra iron knees were introduced in order more effectually to resist the enormous pressure of the ice; and the stem was fortified outside with half-inch iron plates extending to about ten or twelve feet aft, whilst inside the bow was strengthened by numerous diagonal beams and dead-wood.

Between the inside planking and the lining were placed sheets of felt for the promotion of warmth. New waterways, of a most substantial form, were added; and the ship was divided into watertight compartments.

Two large davits projected over each quarter of the vessel, by the aid of which the rudder, some three tons weight, was easily shipped and unshipped when in danger of being damaged by the ice. On these occasions it would be suspended horizontally over the stern from the davits.

Around the galley-funnel was an ingenious contrivance for making water, consisting of a large reservoir to receive either snow or ice; this, being dissolved by the heat from the fire underneath, is drawn off through a tap at the bottom, thus providing our water supply. Like all vessels employed in the whaling trade, both ships were fitted with Pinkey and Collins’ patent reefing and furling topsails; and each possessed a steam-winch on the upper deck, capable of being utilized for many purposes.

At the maintop-gallant-mast-head of each vessel was a large barrel-like object. This was the crow’s nest, a very necessary item on board all ships destined to navigate the icy seas. Both ships were barque-rigged, and were supplied with the ordinary contrivances used on board short-handed merchant vessels to facilitate the work.

They formed, indeed, a curious contrast to the heavily rigged but trim men-of-war, which, with their tapering spars and faultlessly squared yards, lay in the harbour near them.

Each vessel was supplied with nine boats of various shapes and sizes, specially designed and constructed for the service peculiar to Arctic waters. Two of these were completely equipped for whaling, so as to be able to follow and capture walruses and narwhals. They were both fitted with harpoon-guns fixed on swivels in the bows. The ice-boats were three in number for each ship, and were built as light as it was possible to make them. Paddles were supplied, by which they could be propelled, as well as oars. They were all carvel-built boats, and the bows of each were armed with a broad sheet of copper as a protection from the ice.

The figure-heads of each ship, like their fittings, were exactly similar. They were what are commonly called “fiddle-heads,” having the Union Jack painted on them, and underneath the word Ubique; and to no flag can that word be more truly and more appropriately applied. Everywhere is it to be found, even beyond the limits of the abode of man!

The clothing and provisions supplied to the ships were in a great measure regulated according to the establishments by which preceding expeditions had been fitted out, and were almost identical in texture and quality.

Great care was taken in the selection of both officers and men, and none were appointed until they had undergone a searching medical examination as to their fitness for Arctic service, several being rejected who had the appearance of being fine and eligible young fellows. The slightest defect, such as bad teeth or old wounds, was a sufficient pretext for refusing the services of otherwise apparently strong and healthy men. Numerous were the volunteers that came forward, rendering the task of selecting a few from the number of eager willing men that presented themselves one of no little difficulty.

Their social and moral qualifications were as strictly inquired into as was their physical condition; and men of a happy and genial disposition were selected in preference to others who appeared morose and taciturn.

“Can you sing or dance? or what can you do for the amusement of others?” were questions invariably addressed to candidates for Arctic service by the board of officers appointed to select from the numerous applicants who presented themselves.

The ray of pleasure that lighted up the faces of those individuals who were informed that they were to be of that small chosen band, indicated most clearly the popularity of the enterprize amongst the men of the Royal Navy; whilst the disappointed ones, and they were many, showed only too plainly the mortification they experienced at being rejected. As an instance of the eagerness evinced by the men to be employed in the expedition, a gallant captain commanding a ship at Portsmouth called at the office where the men were being entered, and requested advice. He said, “An order has come on board my ship, directing me to send volunteers for Arctic service to this office. What am I to do? The whole ship’s company, nearly eight hundred men, have given in their names!”

This is merely mentioned in order to show the amount of interest taken by the whole navy in the cause for which the ships were being equipped.

The ships’ companies being completed, officers and men were unremittingly engaged in the various duties incidental to fitting out. Provisions and stores, sufficient to last for three years, had to be received on board and stowed away. There was no waste space on board either vessel. Every little nook and corner was destined to be the receptacle of some important article. The ships gradually settled down in the water as the weights on board accumulated, until they appeared to be alarmingly deep, whilst much yet remained unstowed. The Admiralty had, however, provided for this emergency. The “Valorous,” an old paddle-wheel sloop of good carrying capabilities, was ordered to convey all surplus stores, that could not be stowed on board the two exploring vessels, as far as the island of Disco, on the west coast of Greenland.

This was a very wise and necessary precaution, as it would be obviously unsafe to cross the Atlantic in boisterous weather, laden as the two ships undoubtedly would have been if they had received no assistance from a third vessel in the conveyance of their stores.

Through the kindness and generosity of our friends, and of those who more especially interested themselves in the progress of Arctic discovery, we received many useful and valuable gifts. Her Majesty and the members of the Royal Family testified, in a substantial manner, the deep interest they took in the enterprize. The name of her Imperial Majesty the Empress Eugénie must always be associated with the expedition as one of its warmest friends. Her kind and considerate present, consisting of a fine woollen cap for each individual, contributed materially to our comfort whilst engaged in the onerous duties of sledging.

To mention the names of all our generous benefactors would require a chapter to itself. Books, magic lanterns, a piano, pictures, and money came pouring in from all sides; but smaller and less valuable, though not the less appreciated, gifts were also received. A small case, with the superscription, “A Christmas box for my friends on board the ‘Alert,’” and containing four bottles of excellent punch, and a little parcel of well-thumbed books and periodicals, showing undoubted signs of having been well perused, but which came with the “best wishes of a warrant officer, himself an old Arctic explorer,” were accepted with as much pleasure and gratitude as were the more costly presents.

Games of all descriptions, to while away the long evenings of a dark and monotonous winter, were purchased; whilst a complete set of instruments for a drum-and-fife band was also added to the long list of our necessaries.

In devoting a certain sum of money to the purchase of musical instruments and games, wherewithal to amuse ourselves, we were only following an example set us many years ago; for when Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed in 1583, for the purpose of discovering new lands, and planting Christian colonies upon those large and ample countries extending northward from Florida, we read that, “for the solace of our people, and allurement of the savages, we were provided of musicke in good varietie; not omitting the least toyes, as morris dancers, hobby horses, and many like conceits, to delight the savage people, whom we intended to winne by all faire meanes possible.”

We also hear, when that brave old navigator John Davis undertook his first voyage in 1585, with his two frail little barks, the “Sunneshine” and the “Mooneshine,” that in the first-named vessel were twenty-three persons, of whom four were musicians—a large band in proportion to the complement of officers and men.

In spite of the bustle and confusion that are inseparable from the preparation of such an expedition, in spite of fresh paint and tarry ropes, several thousands of visitors came on board before sailing, to the no small hindrance of the work; but it is feared that many others, owing to the stringent regulations that it was necessary to issue in order to have the vessels ready by the appointed time, were compelled to return to their homes without having the satisfaction of saying that they had been on board the Polar ships. Amongst those who honoured the vessels with a visit were his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales, his Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh, and her Imperial Majesty the Empress Eugénie.

The entertainments given in our honour were very numerous; many were almost regarded as farewell banquets.

We were looked upon as public property; our hospitable countrymen, in the generosity of their hearts, never thinking that we should like to spend our last few days in England in peace and quietness amongst our own friends, wished to feed us on the fat of the land, and send us to sea suffering from that worst of all complaints, dyspepsia, accompanied perhaps by mal de mer.

At length all preparations were completed. The day originally assigned for the sailing of the expedition, the 29th of May, dawned grey and misty, with dashes of rain falling and lying in little pools on our freshly painted deck. During the forenoon we were honoured by a visit from the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, who came to bid us farewell and success on our mission. This was the last official visit paid to the vessels. At its termination officers and men were left pretty much to themselves, so that their last few hours in England might be spent with their own relatives. Four o’clock in the afternoon was the hour named for the departure of the ships, and punctual to the very minute they cast off from the dockyard jetty. The last embrace had been taken, the last fervent farewell had been wished, and, a good omen for the coming voyage, as the vessels steamed out of Portsmouth Harbour, all clouds cleared away, and the sun shone out bright and joyous. During the day crowds had been flocking from all parts of England in order to add their voices to those of other well-wishers to the enterprize. Seldom before in that famous seaport town, although the centre of many stirring events, had such a scene been witnessed. Thousands of spectators were congregated along the sea-face extending from the dockyard to Southsea Castle, and on the opposite shore of Gosport, to witness our departure; and cheer after cheer pealed forth from the assembled multitude as we slowly threaded our way amongst the numerous yachts and pleasure boats that had collected to bid us Godspeed. A small thin line of red, hardly to be distinguished amidst the more sombre hue of the holiday seekers’ dresses, denoted the troops of the garrison drawn up to do honour to their comrades of the sister service, whilst their bands, breaking forth with the soul-stirring strains of “Auld lang syne,” found an echo in the hearts of all connected with the expedition.

It was, indeed, a proud moment for us as we witnessed this unmistakeable demonstration, and felt that we, a small but chosen band, had been selected to carry out a national enterprize of such importance.

If anything was required to assure us of the popularity of our undertaking, the spectacle that afternoon on Southsea Common was surely a convincing proof.

There was but one responsive feeling in the hearts of every member of the expedition, namely, a determination to deserve this confidence, and to achieve, with God’s help, such a measure of success as would prove satisfactory to the country and creditable to the navy.

It will be long before that scene is effaced from our memories. Our last view of Portsmouth was across a bright blue sea to a shore thronged with an enthusiastic and cheering crowd waving a last farewell; whilst the last glimpse our friends had of us was across the same blue sparkling sea, the snow-white sails of our ships being lit up by the rays of the setting sun.

Our feelings appeared to be reflected in the changes of the weather on that, to us, memorable day. The rain and mist in the morning were emblematical of the sorrow of parting; while when the sun burst forth bright and joyous in the afternoon, we all felt assured that the work on which we were about to be employed would be achieved, and that the enterprize commenced under such bright auspices would terminate as well and happily.

Nothing occurred to mar the departure; one incident only happened that might have terminated disastrously and thrown a gloom over the little squadron. Immediately after the pilot had been discharged, one of the men of the “Alert,” in the excitement and ardour of responding to the cheers with which we were on all sides greeted, lost his balance in the rigging and fell overboard. He was, however, quickly picked up and brought on board none the worse for his immersion, although the consternation excited by this mishap to a boatload of men and women, who happened to witness the accident, nearly resulted in fatal consequences. The half-drowned and thoroughly drenched man being restored to his shipmates, the squadron having been joined at Spithead by the “Valorous,” rounded the Nab-light vessel, and before a fine fresh north-easterly breeze spread their sails and steered down channel.

For many hours, however, they were escorted by a little yacht containing the relatives of some few of the officers of the expedition, which following in their wake reluctantly parted only when all further communication was impracticable.

This, and a visit we received on the following morning from the brave old admiral, the Commander-in-chief at Plymouth, when passing the port, was the last sight of friends we were destined to enjoy for many a long month.

We all felt that we had bidden them a long farewell, and from thenceforth, as far as they were concerned, we could only live in the happy memories of the past, buoyed up by hopes and aspirations as to the future.

Experiencing fine weather, the anchors were dropped on the third day in the snug little harbour of Berehaven, in Bantry Bay. The object of this visit was to obtain our last supply of fresh meat, and our last budget of letters from home. A farewell ramble on shore amongst green fields and picturesque little farmhouses, where we were regaled with delicious fresh milk, was also enjoyed, and a visit paid to some Druidical remains near the long straggling village of Castletown.

And here, amongst the long green grass and by the side of clear rippling rivulets, we gathered the last flowers of spring that would gladden our eyes until after our return to our native shore. Carefully were these floral treasures hoarded until an opportunity offered of transmitting them to dear friends at home. It is related of one officer, who was so fortunate as to gather several sprigs of “forget-me-not,” and whose home ties were, perhaps, not so attractive as those of others, that he offered to barter small tufts of this precious little plant for a bottle of beer, or a pot of cocoa and milk, the two latter articles being excessively scarce on board the Arctic ships, and proportionately valuable.

On the 2nd of June, the day following their arrival, the little squadron once more put to sea. From that date the receipt of all letters ceased. No more telegrams; no loving missives; all intelligence from home must come to an end. We could live only for the future, and pray for a happy and speedy return. Before nightfall the high and rugged coast of Ireland had sunk below the eastern horizon, leaving nothing visible on the apparently boundless ocean but our three ships as they were lazily rocked by the long rolling swell of the broad Atlantic.

CHAPTER II.

THE VOYAGE TO DISCO.

The next morning we found that on leaving England we had also left behind bright sunshine and blue skies, and in their place gloomy grey clouds were spread over us, while rain fell sullenly through the murky air. This, with head winds, was our normal condition for many days. Steam was occasionally raised during any lengthened periods of calm; but the report from the engineer that steam was ready was, as a rule, followed by a report from deck that a breeze was springing up, but invariably from an adverse quarter.

On the 5th of June, in order to expedite our movements, the “Valorous” received permission to ignore the presence of a senior officer and make the best of her way to Disco; the “Alert” and “Discovery” continuing their course together.

We were not many days together at sea before we discovered the good qualities of our ship’s company. There was a willingness about them that could not fail to be appreciated, whilst the thorough good feeling that seemed to exist was highly satisfactory. As a proof of the desire of each one to assist his neighbour, it may not be out of place to mention that the petty officers of the “Alert,” a day or two after leaving harbour, requested permission to take turns with the able seamen in steering the ship, a duty from which, by their position, they are usually exempt. It need hardly be said their wish was immediately gratified.

During the passage our medical staff was busily engaged in ascertaining the physical capacities of every individual member of the expedition. These experiments were by some jokingly resented as an unauthorized system of mental and bodily torture. Every one’s age was carefully noted; height and weight accurately ascertained; dimensions round the chest measured; and by means of an instrument called a spirometer the capacity of the chest was also obtained; a clinical thermometer was inserted into the mouth and kept there for an apparently interminable time for the purpose of ascertaining the temperature of the blood. The treatment we were subjected to in the cause of science was thus described by one whose acquaintance with the Royal Navy was only of a few days’ standing: “I was unceremoniously laid hold of and measured, forced into a chair and weighed, was compelled to answer the most impertinent questions regarding my age and connections; a horrid instrument was kept in my mouth for an hour or more, and I was forced to blow into a machine until not a breath of wind was left in my body!” The results of all these experiments were duly registered, the intention being to compare them with a similar examination on the return of the expedition, in order to ascertain the effects of an Arctic life upon the physical development of our bodies.

The appetites of the officers, rendered doubly keen by the fresh sea air, were so inordinate as to cause serious anxiety in the mind of our worthy caterer, who was fearful that the allowance of provisions would never last the specified time, at the rate they were then being consumed.

From the fifth day after leaving port lime juice was regularly issued to every officer and man in the expedition. Being considered an indispensable antiscorbutic, it was essential that precautions should be adopted to ensure the certainty of each man drinking it daily. It was therefore the practice to serve it out on the quarter-deck every forenoon in the presence of an officer. This was never omitted during the whole period that our expedition was absent from England. With one or two exceptions the lime juice was drunk with pleasure by the men, and the exceptions were gradually educated, by taking it in small quantities, until their dislike was cured.

In consequence of the limited stowage capacity on board, the officers were unable to provide themselves with a large stock of beer. A considerable quantity of wine and spirits, however, was laid in; but as an anticipated absence of three years had to be provided for, we were restricted to an allowance of two glasses of sherry per diem, a glass of port or madeira once a week, and a bottle of brandy or whiskey about every fourteen or fifteen days. On birthdays or fête days we were also indulged in a glass of port wine after dinner.

Ten hogsheads of Allsopp’s ale, brewed especially for the Arctic Expedition, were provided by Government and formed part of the ship’s stores. It was grand stuff—“strong enough,” as one of the men observed, “to make our hair curl!”

We were not destined to enjoy fine weather long, and our passage across the Atlantic was by no means a pleasant or a comfortable one. Gale followed after gale. If they had only blown from the right quarter we should have been happy, but we had no such luck, they were sure to come ahead!

What a lively ship was the “Alert”! making it utterly impossible to keep anything in its place. It was decidedly annoying, one day, when I entered my cabin to find my nice smart crimson table-cloth drenched with ink; but it was no use repining, and I could only exclaim, with Lord Dorset—

Liveliness was not her only peculiarity, she was likewise excessively wet, and although battened down carefully it was impossible to keep the water from going below. To those who are uninitiated in nautical terms it must be explained that “battening down” means the careful closing and covering with a tarpaulin of every skylight and hatchway, in order to prevent the water from finding its way below. In spite, however, of these precautions, it is excessively difficult to keep the lower deck of a small ship dry during heavy weather.

On the 13th it was blowing furiously with a terrific sea, and we were compelled to “lay-to” under very reduced canvas. During the night a large steamer, supposed to be bound for Quebec, passed close to us, so close indeed that we were compelled to burn blue lights in order to denote our position, so as to avoid collision.

On the same night a heavy sea struck us, and washed away our starboard whale boat. Our consort also suffered the same loss. Nearly all our fowls, which were in hen-coops on the upper deck, were drowned; only two escaping! Fresh meat being scarce the manner of their death did not prevent their appearance on our table for some days. This gale had the effect of dispersing our little squadron, nor did we again assemble together until our arrival at Disco.

No sooner had we recovered from the effects of one gale, than we were assailed by another. Our only consolation was, the very poor one of trying to believe that these storms would eventually be the means of assisting us in our passage through Melville Bay, by breaking up the ice and blowing it out of Davis Straits!

The discomforts entailed by the perpetual bad weather did not in any way check the ardour of some of the officers in their praiseworthy endeavours to add to the scientific collections of the expedition. It is related, but I will not vouch for the authenticity of the story, that on one occasion, when the ship was labouring heavily, a huge sea washed on board, finding its way down through the skylight into the ward-room, where it splashed about from side to side with every roll of the ship. An officer, a most zealous and enthusiastic collector in all branches of natural history, being in bed at the time, thought that he detected by the dim light of a lantern some interesting, and perhaps unknown, specimens of zoology in the water. His landing net was immediately called into requisition, and, from his bed, he succeeded in fishing up some of these supposed wonderful organisms. The microscope was instantly produced for the purpose of ascertaining the nature of his find, when, to his great disappointment, he discovered they were simply grains of buckwheat—part of the stock that had been laid in for our unfortunate fowls!

Our progress was tardy. On more than one occasion we were actually farther off Cape Farewell, the point of land we were striving to make, than on the day previous!

As we approached Davis Straits, speculations were rife as to when and where we should meet our first ice. The greatest eagerness was shown by all on board to become acquainted with the enemy whose fastnesses we were preparing to attack and from which we hoped to return victorious.

On the 25th of June, being still at some distance to the southward of Cape Farewell, a vessel was sighted steering in the opposite direction to ourselves. We passed at too great a distance to avail ourselves of such a favourable opportunity of sending letters to England, though there were many on board who showed an intense anxiety to communicate. We suspected, and our reasoning proved correct, that this would be the last vessel we should see for many a long day, and she was consequently watched with a great deal of interest. She was, in all probability, a homeward bound Peterhead vessel laden with cryolite. The cryolite is a rare mineral and the sole one which has become an article of trade in Greenland. It is found only in one single spot called Ivigtut in 61° 10′ N., imbedded like a massive body in the granitic rock, and not in veins or strata. In 1857 a licence was granted to a private company for working the cryolite, and in the first nine years 14,000 tons were exported in 80 ship-loads. During the next nine years the total export amounted to 70,000 tons. Cryolite is converted by a chemical process into soda and an alumina unequalled as regards purity and fitness for the art of dyeing.[1]

As we neared the waters of Davis Straits, whales were observed in great numbers. They were principally what are called by the whalers “bottle-noses.” This species of cetacean is the Hyperoodon rostratus, and is from twenty to twenty-six feet long, with teeth in the lower jaw. The “bottle-noses” are seldom sought and captured by the whalers owing to the small amount of oil that they yield, not more than a few hundred-weight of blubber being derived from each one of this species. A dead whale of the “right” or “Greenland” sort was also passed. What a prize for a whaler this would have been; worth about £1,000! but of no value whatever to us, so it was allowed to float by untouched. How the mouths of our ice quarter-masters, all hailing from those essentially whaling ports Dundee and Peterhead, watered as they beheld what by them would have undoubtedly been considered a god-send! The evident look of wonder, not unmixed with contempt, that showed itself upon their countenances was truly ludicrous when they found that we were about to pass so valuable a prize unheeded. This fish—for all “right” whales (Balæna mysticetus) are denominated “fish” by those engaged in their capture—had probably been struck by some whaler and, having succeeded in evading its persecutors, had since died of its wounds; or else it had been killed by the inveterate enemy of the whale the Orca gladiator, or “grampus,” sometimes called “sword-fish,” which pursues and harasses these harmless unoffending leviathans of the deep whenever opportunities offer. The rorqual, or “finner” (Physalus antiquorum), was also seen; it is easily distinguished from the right whale by the dorsal fin peculiar to this cetacean, and from which it derives its name. The rorquals are seldom captured, great difficulty being experienced in killing these huge monsters, which are frequently known to measure as much as ninety feet in length. Scoresby mentions one measuring one hundred and twenty feet. Great as is their size, however, the amount of blubber to be obtained from them is very insignificant. They feed upon cod-fish (as many as eight or nine hundred have been found in the stomach of one of these whales) and are constantly seen off the south and west coast of Greenland.

A falling temperature on the 27th of June, and a peculiar light blink along the horizon, gave us due notice of the immediate proximity of ice. As the weather was thick and foggy extra precautions were adopted in order to guard against coming into serious collision with any icebergs, for, however beautiful these floating islands of ice may be during bright clear weather, they are dangerous and formidable foes when near and unseen.

True to the warning received, an iceberg was shortly afterwards sighted, and by 4 P.M. the ship was steaming through loose detached fragments of heavy floe ice.

It is impossible to describe the excitement that prevailed on board on this first introduction of many among us to that icy world in which we afterwards lived for fifteen months. To me it gave rise to reminiscences of old times, but to the uninitiated it was an exciting scene, and was gazed upon with intense interest.

The officer of the watch, desirous of having the honour of making the ship first touch ice, and being also under the impression that a reward of a bottle of champagne would be given to him who should first succeed in doing so, steered straight for a heavy piece nearly submerged. His efforts were crowned with success, but they were also accompanied by a gentle admonition that for the future he should be a little more careful of her Majesty’s property, and avoid all such fragments as were likely to knock a hole in the bows of the ship.

On the following morning we sighted the high, bold, and snow-capped hills in the neighbourhood of Cape Desolation. This headland was so called by that sturdy navigator, brave old John Davis, during his first voyage of discovery in the year 1585. In his quaint manner he describes “the land being very high and full of mightie mountaines all covered with snowe, no viewe of wood, grasse, or earth to be seene, and the shore for two leages into the sea so full of yce as that no shipping cold by any meanes come neere the same. The lothsome viewe of the shore, and irksome noyse of the yce was such as that it bred strange conceipts among us, so that we supposed the place to be wast and voyd of any sencible or vegitable creatures, whereupon I called the same Desolation.”

Icebergs were now constantly seen, some being of very considerable dimensions, and looming in the distance like real islands. As one of our men wittily remarked on seeing his first iceberg, it reminded him strongly of the Isle of Wight (white)!!

The streams of ice through which the vessel was navigated were composed of fragments of heavy pack ice, that had in all probability drifted down the east coast of Greenland, and had been swept round Cape Farewell. They were of very deep flotation, and great care had to be taken in steering the ship through, so as to avoid striking these pieces more than was absolutely necessary; so heavily laden was the ship, that the force of the blows in some instances was very seriously felt.

Seals were seen basking lazily and dreamily on the ice, or following in our wake, staring inquisitively at us with their large round eyes, looking for all the world like human beings. The fabulous merman and mermaiden seemed to us easily accounted for. The seals observed were of two descriptions—namely, the Pagomys fœtidus, or “floe-rat;” and the Pagophilus Grœnlandicus, the “saddle-back,” or common Greenland seal.

Birds, common to these regions, hovered around, following us for days together and breaking the solitude that surrounded us with their joyous and gladsome presence.

The 1st of July was a beautiful, bright, clear, sunny day, and to us was doubly welcome after the continuous bad weather which until now had been our lot. Not a ripple disturbed the calm surface of the sea as it lay blue and gleaming in the sunshine. Here and there a few small patches of ice reminded us of our proximity to the Arctic circle, while a certain sharp-bracing crispness in the air, together with a rather low temperature, served to assure us that the high snow-covered land in the distance was in reality “Greenland’s icy mountains”—no hymnal myth as supposed by many, but grand ranges, devoid of all verdure, wrapped in their snowy mantle, and rising to an altitude of from two to three thousand feet above the level of the sea, a majestic and sublime reality.

By noon we were off the little Danish settlement of Fiskernaes, and shortly afterwards passed that of Godthaab, but at too great a distance to make out the buildings or any signs of inhabitants. It was at Godthaab that Hans Egede landed on July 3rd, 1721, with his wife and children, and commenced his noble and disinterested labour of love among the Eskimos. The missionary institutions founded by Hans Egede and the Moravians have gradually incorporated the whole population of Greenland into Christian communities.

The appearance of this part of the coast of Greenland was very striking, especially to those who were strangers to Arctic scenery. The mountains, with their peaks so pointed as scarcely to admit of the snow resting on their steep and almost precipitous sides, intersected by grand fiords and gorges penetrating for miles into the interior, formed a magnificent landscape.

To the great relief and joy of all, we were on this day rejoined by our consort the “Discovery,” who, like ourselves, had been roughly handled by the tempestuous weather since we lost sight of her in the Atlantic.

Expecting to pass over the “Torske” banks, the dredge was prepared, and fishing lines served out; every one busy stretching and fitting their lines, and smacking their lips over an anticipated dinner of fresh cod and halibut. Soundings in thirty fathoms having been obtained on one of these banks, the ship was stopped and permission given to fish. Immediately fifty or sixty fishing lines were over the side; but, although our eager fishermen persevered for a couple of hours, no capture rewarded their patience. The “wily cod” remained sullen at the bottom, and could not even be induced to “nibble.”

The dredge was also put over, and hauled in with unimportant results, only a few echinoderms being obtained.

During the night an iceberg of curious shape was passed. When first seen it was reported as a sail; on approaching it a little nearer it assumed the appearance of a huge column-shaped basaltic rock, and then that of a lighthouse; for some time it was really believed to be the former.

On the 4th of July the Arctic circle was crossed. From this date, for some weeks, we were to have continuous day. The nights had for some time past been getting gradually shorter: now they had ceased altogether—candles and lamps were no longer necessary, bright sunlight reigned paramount.

Two days afterwards the expedition was safely anchored in the bay of Lievely, off the little Danish settlement of Godhavn. Although small, it is the most important establishment in the Inspectorate of North Greenland, for here resides the Royal Inspector, who controls, with absolute authority, the large mixed population of Danes and Eskimos who inhabit this the most northern civilized land in the world.

A salute of nine guns, from a small battery of three diminutive specimens of ordnance, welcomed our arrival, the smoke from which had scarcely blown away before Mr. Krarup Smith, the Inspector, came on board, anxious to offer assistance, and desirous of extending the hospitalities of his house to the members of the expedition.

Nothing could be more kind than the reception accorded us by the inhabitants of this little settlement. Their sole desire was to please and aid us in every way, and we were soon firm and fast friends with the innocent and simple-minded residents.

[1] See Dr. Rink’s “Greenland,” p. 79.

CHAPTER III.

THE GREENLAND SETTLEMENTS.

It was with a very pleasing sensation of relief that we found the ship once more at rest, after thirty-four days of such knocking about as is seldom experienced at sea for so long a time without a break. The rolling and pitching to which a small ship is subjected in a heavy sea are never altogether agreeable, and the quiet and repose of a snug well-protected harbour are welcomed even by the “veriest old sea-dog.” But, although free from the turmoil of the “angry waste of waters,” our short stay at Godhavn can scarcely be called a period of rest. Much had to be done, coals had to be taken on board, and a nondescript quantity of stores and provisions received from the “Valorous” and stowed away.

The days were long, however. We had arrived in the region where the midnight sun shone almost as brightly and gave as much light as at noonday; and if, in consequence, the men were kept longer at work than they otherwise would have been, they felt themselves amply compensated for their extra labour by the indulgence of a run on shore in the evening, and an open-air dance with the dusky and light-hearted beauties of the land.

Never did the deck of a man-of-war present such an untidy and confused appearance as ours did after receiving the last cask from the “Valorous.” Casks and cases lay higgledy-piggledy amongst coals and ropes. Such a scene as our upper deck presented would have been sufficient to drive a smart first lieutenant distracted. We were, however, all much too practical to think of appearances, our sole thought was to be provided with enough of everything to guard against all accidents. Between decks was a repetition of the scene above, and it was with the greatest difficulty we could move from one part of the ship to the other. To add to the pleasing state of the vessel twenty-four Eskimo dogs—the number was afterwards augmented to thirty—were received on board, to be used in our sledging operations. Such a howling lot! No sooner did they arrive than a regular battle ensued, and we were compelled for some days to tie up a few of the most pugnacious, in order to secure anything like peace.

This state of affairs, namely, the incessant fighting and squabbling amongst the dogs, continued until one had gained the acknowledged supremacy by thrashing the whole pack. This happens in all well-regulated dog communities. The conqueror is henceforth styled the “king” dog; he rules his subjects with despotic sway, frequently settling a quarrel between a couple of pugilistic disputants, reserving for himself the best of everything in the shape of food, the other dogs yielding their tit-bits with cringing servility, exerting a complete mastery over his canine subjects, and exacting from them the most abject homage. The dogs were kept as much as possible in the fore part of the ship, and soon became great favourites with the men.

To take charge of this unruly pack, we obtained the services, through the kindness and assistance of Mr. Krarup Smith, the Inspector, of a native Eskimo, who with his gun and kayak was duly installed on board in the capacity of dog-driver and interpreter. He rejoiced in the name of Frederic, and had the reputation of being a keen and successful hunter. Although he could not boast of good looks, his bright cheerful face and unvarying good temper soon made him a friend to all on board.

The novelty of a never-ending day, for the first time experienced by so many in the expedition, sadly interfered with the natural time for rest and sleep. Long past midnight would the sounds of music and mirth be heard from the shore, as the dances were kept up with unabated vigour; while shrieks of laughter and merriment would be heard afloat, as the officers, indulging in aquatic tastes, would be seen rowing races in small collapsible boats, or trying their skill for the first time in the frail kayak. For the management of these latter fairy-like canoes great caution is required—indeed, it is hardly possible to manage them without much practice.

Our first lieutenant was, however, an exception to this rule, for owing to experience acquired in canoes in various parts of the world, he succeeded in the management of the kayak so admirably as to excite the surprise and admiration of the natives. W——, another of our officers, not to be outdone by his mess-mate, also tried his skill in one of these little barks, but he had not paddled many yards before it capsized, leaving him head down in the water, with his legs firmly jammed in the boat. He would undoubtedly have been drowned before assistance could arrive had he not shown a wonderful degree of presence of mind. So securely was he fixed in his kayak, that it was only by unbuttoning his braces and getting out of his trousers that he succeeded in extricating himself from his dangerous predicament, leaving that article of dress inside the kayak!

In spite of the multifarious duties connected with the ship, which kept every one fully occupied, the pursuit of science was not neglected. Several complete series of observations were obtained for the determination of the magnetic force. Photographs were taken, and geological and botanical collections were extensively made, whilst a boat with the first lieutenant and our energetic naturalist proceeded some little distance up the coast to a place called Ovifak for the purpose of obtaining information regarding some “meteorites” reported to have fallen there.

The desire of “stretching one’s legs” after being cooped up on board ship for so long was universally felt, and officers and men alike enjoyed a scramble over the lofty volcanic cliffs which overlie the gneiss in this part of the island of Disco.

The difficulty of the ascent of the Lyngenmarkfjeld, a range of hills about two thousand feet in height, situated on the northern side of the harbour, was amply compensated for by the view from its summit. Landing in a pretty little bay, in which lay the remains of an old steam whaler, the “Wildfire,” that had fallen a victim to the ice some years ago, and emerging from the rather dense, though stunted, vegetation that grows luxuriantly at the base of these hills, the way led over precipitous basaltic cliffs, until by dint of hard climbing the snow-clad heights were reached.

The accomplishment of this task, however, was both arduous and perilous, in consequence of the action of the frost on the rocks of which the cliffs were composed; for on the slightest touch they often crumbled away, rolling with a mass of débris many hundreds of feet to the bottom.

From the summit a glorious scene was revealed to us. The mainland of Greenland, that land so “wonderfull mountaynous, whose mountaynes all the yeare long are full of yce and snowe,” was distinctly brought to our view, whilst immediately at our feet was the picturesque settlement of Godhavn, and the three vessels, resembling miniature toy-ships, lying at anchor in its snug little harbour. The Whale-fish Islands, a group in Disco Bay, lay spread out as it were on a map. Hundreds of icebergs dotted the perfectly placid sea, and beyond them we could plainly discern the great ice fiord of Jacobshavn with its gigantic discharging glacier behind, and the mouth of its fiord almost choked with huge fragments of ice, children of that same glacier. At brief intervals a noise as of thunder or distant artillery announced the disruption, or creation, of one of these wonderful islands of ice.

We were not, however, allowed to enjoy this glorious scene in quietness. Our pleasure was marred by the attacks of swarms of musquitoes. These irritating insects assailed us on first landing, and persecuted us incessantly until we were again afloat.

It was indeed hard to meet so far in the icy north our implacable enemies of the tropics!

The descent was as dangerous, though perhaps not so laborious as the ascent. Occasionally we were able to avail ourselves of patches of snow, down which we slid, much to the astonishment and discomfiture of my dog Nellie, who was at a loss to understand the means of our rapid progress, and who rushed down after us barking frantically.

We were excessively fortunate in our weather during our brief stay at Godhavn. We rejoiced in ceaseless sunshine, which lit up the surrounding hills with a golden light, throwing deep dark shadows into the valleys and ravines by which they were intersected, whilst the bright rays of the sun glittering on the ice-strewn surface of the sea formed a scene at once novel and sublime.

Our short stay at Godhavn will, I think, always be regarded with pleasure by the members of the expedition. Nothing could exceed the kindness we received and the hospitality that was extended to us by the good people on shore, who appeared to vie with each other in their endeavours to render our visit an agreeable one. Nor was it only from the inhabitants that we received so much kindness. The captain, officers, and indeed I may say the ship’s company of the “Valorous” were unremitting in their exertions to provide us with every necessary that it was in their power to supply, for the furtherance of the arduous service in which we were so soon to be engaged, depriving themselves of many things that they thought would add to our comfort.

Although the Eskimos, according to Dr. Rink, and we can have no better authority respecting the natives of Greenland, have a pretty fair talent for writing and drawing, scarcely any traces of sculpture belonging to earlier times remain, with the exception of a few small images cut out in wood or bone, which had probably served children as playthings. Notwithstanding the want of means for handing down to posterity and retaining historical events amongst this interesting people, many traditions and legends have been preserved. Among the number is one relating to this island of Disco. It was supposed to have been situated off the southern coast of Greenland, and in consequence of its cutting off the inhabitants of the mainland from the open sea, a great dislike was entertained for it; for, to live comfortably, an Eskimo must be in the vicinity of the sea, so as to follow his usual avocation of seal hunting.

The story relates that two old men, having set their wise heads together, determined to attempt the removal of the island with the aid of magic. A third old gentleman, however, desired to retain it in its position. The first two, launching their kayaks, fastened the hair of a little child to the island wherewith to tow it by; whilst the other, from the shore, attempted to keep it back by means of a sealskin thong. Desperately did the two kayakers labour at their paddles in their endeavours to move the island, chanting their spells as they tugged at the hair. But as resolutely did the third man hold on to his thong, straining every nerve to render their exertions abortive; suddenly, to his chagrin, the thong parted, and the island floated off, and was towed away triumphantly to the northward, where it was deposited in its present position.

Another tradition says it was removed from Baal’s River to its present site by a famous angekok, or magician, and that the harbour of Godhavn is the actual hole in the island to which the tow rope was fastened.

On the afternoon of July the 15th, amidst much firing of guns and dipping of flags, the little squadron steamed out of the harbour, threading its way through innumerable icebergs, and passing along the high snow-clad hills that adorn the southern end of the island of Disco, proceeded towards the settlement of Ritenbenk, at which we arrived the following morning. The scenery as we approached the anchorage was truly magnificent. Lofty hills encompassed us on either hand, down whose steep sides the water was pouring in rapid cascades, produced by the thawing of the snow on their summits. How full of life and joy appeared these bright sparkling streams as they seemed to chase each other in wanton sport, skipping from rock to crag in their headlong career, until lost in one large sheet of glistening spray that poured over the edge of a precipitous cliff into the clear still water at its base!

Thousands of birds congregate along the inaccessible ledges of these cliffs, perched in such precise order, and having such a uniformity of colour, that they resemble regiments of soldiers drawn up in readiness to defend their fortresses from the attacks of ruthless invaders. But fresh food was at a premium, and the wretched looms were doomed to suffer a long assault at the hands of our energetic sportsmen.

Other and more weighty matters also required our attention. We were to bid farewell to the “Valorous” on the following morning. And with her we should lose the last connecting link with home.

Letters had to be hurriedly finished, and then we had to bid adieu to one to whose untiring energy the departure of the expedition was due, who had been mainly instrumental in obtaining the sanction of Government for its dispatch, and who, leaving the comforts of a home life, had accompanied us thus far on our journey, sharing our discomforts, but adding to our knowledge from his rich fund of information, and enlivening our mess-table with his conversation and presence.

We felt, whilst he was on board, that we were not quite separated from the civilized world. His departure made a chasm that it was difficult for some time to bridge over, but the memory of him lived long amongst us, and served to recall many a pleasant and happy hour.

At four o’clock on the morning of the 17th the “Valorous” steamed away from us on her way to the coal quarries on the north side of the island of Disco, and, two hours after, the “Discovery” and ourselves put to sea, having increased the number of our dogs by purchasing several from the natives at Ritenbenk.

The scenery in the Waigat, a strait separating the island of Disco from the mainland of Greenland, is very grand. The channel was rendered almost impassable from the number of icebergs of every fantastic form and shape that lay scattered about, and which, although adding materially to the beauty of the scene, made the passage one of no little intricacy: indeed we very narrowly escaped losing all our boats on one side of the ship by shaving a large iceberg a little too closely!

On one side were the high snow-clad hills of Disco, intersected by deep and narrow ravines, whilst on the opposite side was a bold and lofty coast with precipitous headlands ending in needle-shaped peaks and separated by glaciers and fiords. Passing the beautiful large discharging glacier of Itivdliarsuk, many minor ones opened to our view as we sailed slowly past, presenting a panorama such as it would be impossible to depict faithfully on canvas.

Several remarkable red patches, apparently of basalt, were observed on the bare gneiss hills in the vicinity of Point Kardluk, which is noted for the large quantity of vegetable fossils that have been found there, and close to the petrified forest of Atanekerdluk.

Catching sight of the “Valorous” at anchor, busily engaged in procuring coal, we endeavoured to reach her, for the purpose of sending a few stray letters that had been inadvertently left behind; but a thick fog overtaking us, we were very reluctantly compelled to relinquish all idea of communicating, and had to be satisfied with reading the signal of “farewell” and “good wishes” that she threw out. It was fortunately distinguished before the vessels were effectually concealed from each other by an impervious fog which crept over the surface of the sea, hiding everything around us, though high above our heads the mountain tops were clearly to be seen.

So dense did it become that we were, after a time, obliged to make the ships fast to icebergs to await a more favourable opportunity of advancing.

Whilst attempting to secure the ships an alarming catastrophe occurred. The boat had been dispatched containing three men with the necessary implements, such as an ice drill and anchor, for making the vessel fast.

As soon as the first blow of the drill was delivered the berg, to our horror, split in two with a loud report, one half with one of our men on it toppling completely over, whilst the other half swayed rapidly backwards and forwards. On this latter piece was another of our men, who was observed with his heels in the air, the violent agitation of the berg having precipitated him head foremost into a rent or crevasse. The water alongside was a mass of seething foam and spray; but curious to relate, the boat with the third man in it was in no way injured. They were all speedily rescued from their perilous position and brought on board, sustaining no further harm than that inflicted by a cold bath. Their escape appeared miraculous.

By the next morning we were through the Waigat Strait. Much to our disappointment the weather remained thick, and we were in consequence unable to gratify ourselves with a sight of the truly grand scenery to be found at the mouth of the Omenak fiord, which possesses some of the largest discharging glaciers in Greenland.

On the night of the 19th both vessels came to an anchor off the Danish settlement of Proven.

The harbour, which is small, is formed by two islands. On the western side of the easternmost of the two is situated the quaintest of quaint little settlements. It consists of a neat little church, the Governor’s residence, the storehouse, boiling down establishment, smithy, about two other wooden habitations, and some igdlus, or Eskimo huts. Of course it boasts its flagstaff and battery of three guns. The Governor, who, in his endeavour to be civil, had boarded us before anchoring, apologized for not saluting, saying “that though he had the guns he had no artillerists.” Although it was midnight before we arrived, the inhabitants were lining the side of the hill as we entered, the white boots and fur jackets and short trousers of the women affording a very novel though picturesque scene.

The dogs on shore, evidently annoyed at being disturbed in their slumbers, set up a fearful howling, which, being answered by the dogs in both ships, produced a most unpleasant and discordant concert. The natives have a saying, when the dogs make this noise, “that they are holding their parliament.” This is hardly flattering to the Greenland senate!

During our short stay at this place a rough survey of the harbour was taken, and a number of scientific observations were made.

Nothing could be kinder or more friendly than the reception met with from all on shore. In the Governor’s good wife I recognized an old acquaintance whom I had had the pleasure of meeting on a former occasion during a cruise in a whaler to these regions.

Here also we succeeded in engaging the services of Hans Hendrik, an Eskimo, as dog-driver and hunter. This man had been employed in the same capacity in all the American expeditions to Smith’s Sound, and was an invaluable acquisition.

Our men enjoyed themselves every evening during our stay, dancing to their hearts’ content.

My black retriever, Nellie, was a great object of admiration amongst the inhabitants, one man especially being very pertinacious in his request that she might be presented to him. On inquiring to what use he would put her, I was informed that my faithful companion would be converted into food for the man’s oily-faced family, whilst her beautiful black curly coat would serve to adorn his wife’s person. Nellie, I think, had some notion of the designs on her life and skin, as in future she always regarded with disfavour not only the Eskimos themselves, but also their dogs and everything belonging to them.

Leaving Proven on the evening of the 21st of July, we arrived on the same night off a remarkable headland called “Sanderson, his hope.” It was so named by old John Davis, after his friend and patron, Mr. W. Sanderson, in 1587, and was the extreme northern point reached by him during his third voyage.[1]

This prominent and precipitous cliff is a famous place for looms, as those white-breasted guillemots are termed, which are considered such rare delicacies on an Arctic table. They are the Uria Brunnichii of naturalists, and are numerous in sub-Arctic regions. Their favourite breeding-places are along these terraced cliffs, where they assemble in large quantities.

Of course so favourable an opportunity of procuring fresh food was not to be disregarded. The ships were hove to, and the boats, crammed with eager sportsmen, dispatched for the purpose of shooting for the “pot.”

Myriads of these birds were congregated along the face of the steep precipitous cliffs, in some places almost overhanging, which rose abruptly to an altitude of about a thousand feet. Owing, however, to the unsteadiness of the boats, caused by the roughness of the sea, our “bag” did not realize our anticipations. Many of the birds that were shot remained on the inaccessible ledges of the rocks, and were therefore lost to us; and many fell into the sea beyond, and were no more seen.

The midnight sun was shining brightly during this battue, and we returned to the ship, after a couple of hours’ sport, the richer by one hundred and seventy birds, each equal in weight to a fair-sized duck. For the succeeding three or four days we revelled in “loom soup,” “loom pie,” or “roast loom,” and looms cooked in every imaginable form. No matter how they were served up, they were always pronounced to be delicious. Indeed, one of my messmates went so far as to say that he had never tasted anything better in his life. In fact, for the purpose of thoroughly enjoying a good dinner, a trip to the Arctic regions is indispensable!

On the following morning we anchored off Upernivik,[2] the most northern settlement but one in Greenland. It is situated on one of the Woman Islands, so named by Baffin in 1616. The usual kindness and hospitality were extended to us here, as at all the other Danish settlements visited. We also received important information concerning the state of the ice to the northward, with a tabulated statement of all the meteorological observations obtained during the previous winter, a study of which would be of the greatest importance to us.

In the evening, taking the “Discovery” in tow, we again put to sea, this time finally bidding farewell to civilization. From henceforth our energies and our thoughts must turn Polewards.

As the last glimpse of the little church was shut out from our view, many a prayer was silently offered to Him in his infinite mercy to protect and guide us in our endeavours, and to vouchsafe us a safe return again to home and civilization.

[1] On his return to England he wrote to his friend, saying, “I have been in 73°, finding the sea all open and forty leagues between land and land. The passage (the N.W.) is most probable, the execution easie, as at my coming you shall fully knowe.”

[2] It is sometimes spelt Uppernavik. But Upernivik is the correct form. See Rink, p. 354. It means spring in the Eskimo language. Upernivik is in 72° 48′ N. The most northern Danish station is Tasiusak, in 73° 24′ N.

CHAPTER IV.

MELVILLE BAY AND THE NORTH WATER.

Threading our way through narrow passages between numerous islands that lay to the eastward of Upernivik, and trusting to the knowledge and guidance of an Eskimo pilot, we felt at length that we had in reality, seen the last for some time, of our fellow men, and that our struggle with the almost insuperable difficulties of the frozen north was about to commence.

Preparations for an unsuccessful combat with the ice were made, and every precaution was adopted necessary to ensure the safety of the men, in cases of extreme emergency. The boats were prepared for immediate service, each man having his allotted station, so that little or no confusion would ensue if the abandonment of the ships should be decided upon—an event that was by no means improbable. Ice-saw crews were organized in readiness for cutting a dock, in case such a proceeding should become necessary for the protection of the vessels. Provisions and clothes were so arranged along the upper deck that they could easily and readily be thrown out on the ice at a moment’s notice. Knapsacks, each containing two pairs of blanket wrappers, one pair of hose, one pair of stockings, one pair of mitts, one pair of drawers, a Welsh wig, a jersey, a comforter, a pair of moccasins, a towel and small piece of soap, were packed and placed in some handy position where they could be reached without delay. The necessary tackles for lifting the screw and unshipping the rudder were provided: in fact every preparation was made that could possibly be thought of to guard against accidents and to promote success in the forthcoming conflict.

On the morning after leaving Upernivik, on account of a dense fog, it was determined to anchor off one of the small islands composing a group through which we were passing, in order to wait for finer weather.

Our pilot, getting into his kayak, offered to pioneer us into a little bay with which he was intimately acquainted. Being totally unable to realize the difference of size between the large unwieldy “Alert” and his own frail little bark, and probably imagining that where he was able to go in his tiny boat, we also could do the same, he led us close in to the land, which, on account of the thick fog, was hidden from our view, and we soon had the annoyance of finding our ship hard and fast on shore. Fortunately we were going very slow at the time, so that no injury was sustained; but we remained immoveable for many hours until the flood-tide floated us and enabled us once more to proceed.

The dangers connected with a passage through Melville Bay are now so well known to all who have taken any interest in Arctic affairs, or who have devoted any time to the perusal of Arctic literature, that it is needless for me either to explain or dwell upon them at any length. Many a well-equipped ship has been caught in the fatal embrace of this bay. What tales of woe and disaster could its icy waters unfold, coupled, however, with deeds of heroic daring, endurance, and suffering!

Captain Nares, determining to avoid the ordinary passage through this once dreaded bay, the dangers of which in these days of steam have been so materially lessened, pushed his ships boldly through what is generally termed the “middle ice.” This, at such a late season of the year, is undoubtedly a wise course; but woe to the unfortunate ship that at an earlier period should be caught in this moving pack, and be there detained for thirteen or fourteen months, as the little “Fox” was, under the command of Sir Leopold McClintock!

If the pack is composed of loose light ice, such as we found it to be, rendering a passage through it one of no difficulty, it may also be presumed that the ice in Melville Bay at the same time would be of the same consistency, thereby also affording an easy and safe passage through.

The reason that the passage by Melville Bay is always taken by the whalers is the existence of fixed land ice, which is found adhering to the shores, and in which it is easy to cut a dock for the preservation of the ship if the heavy pack is forced by wind, or otherwise, towards it, thereby endangering any vessel that may happen to be between the two. Directly the pack moves off the vessel is liberated and proceeds on her voyage.

It would be very different if the ship was caught in the pack. Then she would, in all probability, be severely handled, and being beset would drift to the southward with the ice and thereby lose all the hard-fought ground gained with so much labour and fatigue.

One of the most important maxims in ice navigation, which is strictly followed out by the whalers, is “stick to the land-ice.”

We were certainly extremely fortunate in finding the pack so “loose” as to give us little trouble or difficulty in making progress. The ice was of a soft “brashy” nature, apparently only of one year’s formation, and only from one to three feet in thickness. The weather being fine and calm, advantage was taken of it to steam full speed, for there was no saying how quickly the ice might pack with even a light breeze. The tow rope was accordingly cast off, and we proceeded at our highest rate of speed with the “Discovery” following close at our heels.