The ‘Fox’ steaming out of the Rolling Pack.

IN THE
ARCTIC SEAS.

A NARRATIVE

OF THE

DISCOVERY OF THE FATE OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN
AND HIS COMPANIONS.

BY

CAPTAIN M’CLINTOCK, R.N., LL.D.

WITH MAPS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.

PHILADELPHIA:
PORTER & COATES,
822 Chestnut Street.

AUTHOR’S EDITION

CAXTON PRESS OF SHERMAN & CO.,
PHILADELPHIA.

DEDICATION.

My dear Lady Franklin,

There is no one to whom I could with so much propriety
or willingness dedicate my Journal as to you. For you
it was originally written, and to please you it now appears in
print.

To our mutual friend, Sherard Osborn, I am greatly
obliged for his kindness in seeing it through the press—a
labor I could not have settled down to so soon after my return;
and also for pointing out some omissions and technicalities
which would have rendered parts of it unintelligible to an
ordinary reader. These kind hints have been but partially
attended to, and, as time presses, it appears with the mass of
its original imperfections, as when you read it in manuscript.
Such as it is, however, it affords me this valued opportunity of
assuring you of the real gratification I feel in having been
instrumental in accomplishing an object so dear to you. To
your devotion and self-sacrifice the world is indebted for the
deeply interesting revelation unfolded by the voyage of the
‘Fox.’

Believe me to be,

With sincere respect, most faithfully yours,

F. L. M’CLINTOCK.

London, 24th Nov., 1859.

LIST OF OFFICERS AND SHIP’S COMPANY
OF THE ‘FOX.’

OFFICIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF THE
SERVICES OF THE YACHT ‘FOX.’

Admiralty, London,
24th Oct. 1859.

Sir,

I am commanded by my Lords Commissioners of the
Admiralty to acquaint you, that, in consideration of the important
services performed by you in bringing home the only
authentic intelligence of the death of the late Sir John Franklin,
and of the fate of the crews of the ‘Erebus’ and ‘Terror,’
Her Majesty has been pleased, by her order in Council of the
22nd instant, to sanction the time during which you were absent
on these discoveries in the Arctic Regions, viz., from the
30th June, 1857, to the 21st September, 1859, to reckon as
time served by a captain in command of one of Her Majesty’s
ships, and my Lords have given the necessary directions accordingly.

I am, Sir,
Your very humble servant,

W. G. ROMAINE,
Secretary to the Admiralty.

Captain Francis L. M’Clintock, R.N.

[vii]

PREFACE.

The following narrative of the bold adventure
which has successfully revealed the last discoveries and
the fate of Franklin, is published at the request of
the friends of that illustrious navigator. The gallant
M’Clintock, when he penned his journal amid the
Arctic ices, had no idea whatever of publishing it;
and yet there can be no doubt that the reader will
peruse with the deepest interest the simple tale of how,
in a little vessel of 170 tons burthen, he and his well-chosen
companions have cleared up this great mystery.

To the honor of the British nation, and also let it
be said to that of the United States of America, many
have been the efforts made to discover the route followed
by our missing explorers. The highly deserving
men who have so zealously searched the Arctic
seas and lands in this cause must now rejoice, that
after all their anxious toils, the merit of rescuing from
the frozen North the record of the last days of Franklin,
has fallen to the share of his noble-minded widow.

Lady Franklin has, indeed, well shown what a devoted
and true-hearted English woman can accomplish.
The moment that relics of the expedition commanded[viii]
by her husband were brought home (in 1854)
by Rae, and that she heard of the account given to
him by the Esquimaux of a large party of Englishmen
having been seen struggling with difficulties on the ice
near the mouth of the Back or Great Fish River, she
resolved to expend all her available means (already
much exhausted in four other independent expeditions)
in an exploration of the limited area to which the
search must thenceforward be necessarily restricted.

Whilst the supporters of Lady Franklin’s efforts
were of opinion, that the Government ought to have
undertaken a search, the extent of which was, for the
first time, definitely limited, it is but rendering justice
to the then Prime Minister[1] to state, that he had every
desire to carry out the wishes of the men of science[2]
who appealed to him, and that he was precluded from
acceding to their petition, by nothing but the strongly
expressed opinion of official authorities, that after so
many failures the Government were no longer justified
in sending out more brave men to encounter fresh
dangers in a cause which was viewed as hopeless.
Hence it devolved on Lady Franklin and her friends[ix]
to be the sole means of endeavoring to bring to light
the true history of her husband’s voyage and fate.

Looking to the list of Naval worthies, who, during
the preceding years, had been exploring the Arctic Regions,
Lady Franklin was highly gratified when she
obtained the willing services of Captain M’Clintock
to command the yacht ‘Fox,’ which she had purchased;
for that officer had signally distinguished himself
in the voyages of Sir John Ross and Captain
(now Admiral) Austin, and especially in his extensive
journeys on the ice when associated with Captain
Kellett. With such a leader she could not but entertain
sanguine hopes of success when the fast and
well-adapted little vessel sailed from Aberdeen on the
1st of July, 1857, upon this eventful enterprise.

Deep, indeed, was the mortification experienced by
every one who shared the feelings and anticipations
of Lady Franklin when the untoward news came, in
the summer of 1858, that, the preceding winter having
set in earlier than usual, the ‘Fox’ had been beset in
the ice off Melville Bay, on the coast of Greenland,
and after a dreary winter, various narrow escapes, and
eight months of imprisonment, had been carried back
by the floating ice nearly twelve hundred geographical
miles—even to 63½° N. lat. in the Atlantic! See the
woodcut map, No. 1.

But although the good little yacht had been most
roughly handled among the ice-floes (see Frontispiece),
we were cheered up by the information from Disco,[x]
that, with the exception of the death of the engine-driver
in consequence of a fall into the hold, the
crew were in stout health and full of energy, and that
provided with sufficient fuel and provisions, a good
supply of sledging dogs, two tried Esquimaux, and
the excellent interpreter Petersen the Dane,[3] ample
grounds yet remained to lead us to hope for a successful
issue. Above all, we were encouraged by
the proofs of the self-possession and calm resolve of
M’Clintock, who held steadily to the accomplishment
of his original project; the more so as he had then
tested and recognized the value of the services of
Lieutenant (now Commander) Hobson, his able second
in command; of Captain Allen Young, his generous
volunteer associate;[4] and of Dr. Walker, his
accomplished Surgeon.

Despite, however, of these re-assuring data, many
an advocate of this search was anxiously alive to the
chance of the failure of the venture of one unassisted
yacht, which after sundry mishaps was again starting
to cross Baffin’s Bay, with the foreknowledge, that
when she reached the opposite coast, the real difficulties
of the enterprise were to commence.

Any such misgivings were happily illusory; and[xi]
the reader who follows M’Clintock across the “middle
ice” of Baffin’s Bay to Pond Inlet, thence to Beechey
Island, down a portion of Peel Strait, and then
through the hitherto unnavigated waters of Bellot
Strait in one summer season, may reasonably expect
the success which followed.

Whilst the revelation obtained from the long-sought
records, which were discovered by Lieutenant Hobson,
is most satisfactory to those who speculated on the
probability of Franklin having, in the first instance,
tried to force his way northwards through Wellington
Channel (as we now learn he did), those who held a
different hypothesis, namely, that he followed his
instructions, which directed him to the S.W., may
be amply satisfied that in the following season the
ships did pursue this southerly course till they were
finally beset in N. lat. 70° 05′.[5]

At the same time, the public should fully understand
the motive which prompted the supporters of[xii]
Lady Franklin in advocating the last search. Putting
aside the hope which some of us entertained, that
a few of the younger men of the missing expedition
might still be found to be living among the Esquimaux,
we had every reason to expect, that if the ships
were discovered, the scientific documents of the voyage,
including valuable magnetic observations, would
be recovered.

In the absence of such good fortune we may, however,
well be gladdened by the discovery of that one
precious document which gives us a true outline of
the voyage of the ‘Erebus’ and ‘Terror.’

That the reader may comprehend the vast extent
of sea traversed by Franklin in the two summers
before his ships were beset, a small map (No. 2)
is here introduced representing all the lands and
seas of the Arctic regions to the west of Lancaster
Sound which were known and laid down when he
sailed. The dotted lines and arrows, which extend
from the then known seas and lands into the unknown
waters or blank spaces on this old map, indicate Franklin’s
route, the novelty, range, rapidity, and boldness
of which, as thus delineated, may well surprise the
geographer, and even the most enterprising Arctic
sailor.[6] For, those who have not closely attended[xiii]
to the results of other Arctic voyages may be informed,
that rarely has an expedition in the first
year accomplished more by its ships, than the establishing
of good winter quarters, from whence the real
researches began by sledge-work in the ensuing spring.
Franklin, however, not only reached Beechey Island,
but ascended Wellington Channel, then an unknown
sea, to 77° N. lat., a more northern latitude in this
meridian than that attained long afterwards in ships
by Sir Edward Belcher, and much to the north of
the points reached by Penny and De Haven. Next,
though most scantily provided with steam-power,
Franklin navigated round Cornwallis’ Land, which
he thus proved to be an island. The last discovery
of a navigable channel throughout, between Cornwallis
and Bathurst Islands, though made in the
very summer he left England, has remained even
to this day unknown to other navigators!

Franklin then, in obedience to his orders, steered
to the south-west. Passing, as M’Clintock believes,
down Peel’s Strait in 1846, and reaching as far as
lat. 70° 05′ N., and long. 98° 23′ W., where the ships
were beset, it is clear that he, who, with others, had
previously ascertained the existence of a channel
along the north coast of America, with which the
sea wherein he was interred had a direct communication,
was the first real discoverer of the North-West
Passage. This great fact must therefore be
inscribed upon the monument of Franklin.[xiv]

The adventurous M’Clure, who has been worthily
honored for working out another North-Western passage,
which we now know to have been of subsequent
date,[7] as well as Collinson, who, taking the ‘Enterprise’
along the north coast of America, and afterwards
bringing her home, reached with sledges the western
edge of the area recently laid open by M’Clintock, will
I have no doubt unite with their Arctic associates,
Richardson, Sherard Osborn, and M’Clintock, in affirming,
that “Franklin and his followers secured the honor
for which they died—that of being the first discoverers
of the North-West Passage.”[8]

Again, when we turn from the discoveries of Franklin
to those of M’Clintock, as mapped in red colors on
the general map, on which is represented the amount
of outline laid down by all other Arctic explorers from[xv]
the days when these modern researches originated with
Sir John Barrow, we perceive that, in addition to the
discovery of the course followed by the ‘Erebus’ and
‘Terror,’ some most important geographical data have
been accumulated by the last expedition of Lady
Franklin.

Thus, M’Clintock has proved, that the strait named
by Kennedy in an earlier private expedition of Lady
Franklin after his companion the brave Lieutenant
Bellot, and which has hitherto been regarded only as
an impassable frozen channel, or ignored as a channel
at all, is a navigable strait, the south shore of which is
thus seen to be the northernmost land of the continent
of America.

M’Clintock has also laid down the hitherto unknown
coast-line of Boothia, southwards from Bellot Strait to
the Magnetic Pole, has delineated the whole of King
William’s Island, and opened a new and capacious,
though ice-choked channel, suspected before, but not
proved, to exist, extending from Victoria Strait in a
north-west direction to Melville or Parry Sound. The
latter discovery rewarded the individual exertions of
Captain Allen Young, but will very properly, at Lady
Franklin’s request, bear the name of the leader of the
‘Fox’ expedition, who had himself assigned to it the
name of the widow of Franklin.[9]

[xvi]

Neither has the expedition been unproductive of
scientific results. For, whilst many persons will be
interested in the popular descriptions of the native
Esquimaux, as well as of the lower animals, the
man of science will hereafter be further gratified by
having presented to him, in the form of an additional
Appendix,[10] most valuable details relating to
the zoology, botany, meteorology, and especially to
the terrestrial magnetism, of the region examined.

Lastly, M’Clintock has convinced himself, that the
best way of securing the passage of a ship from
the Atlantic to the Pacific, is by following, as near
as possible, the coast-line of North America: indeed,
it is his opinion, founded upon a large experience,
that no passage by a ship can ever be accomplished
in a more northern direction. This it is well known
was the favorite theory of Franklin, who had himself,
along with Richardson, Back, Beechey, Dease,
Simpson, and Rae, surveyed the whole of that same
North American coast from the Back or Great Fish
River to Behring Strait. Thus, when Franklin sailed
in 1845, the discovery of a North-West Passage was
reduced to the finding a link between the latter survey
and the discoveries of Parry, who had already,[xvii]
to his great renown, opened the first half of a more
northern course from east to west, when he was
arrested by the impenetrable ice-barrier at Melville
Island.

And here it is to be remembered, that the tract
in which the record and the relics have been found,
is just that to which Lady Franklin herself specially
directed Kennedy, the commander of the ‘Prince Albert,’
in her second private expedition in 1852; and
had that intrepid explorer not been induced to search
northwards of Bellot Strait, but had felt himself able
to follow the course indicated by his sagacious employer,
there can be no doubt, that much more satisfactory
results would have been obtained than those
which, after a lapse of seven years, have now been
realized by the undaunted perseverance of Lady Franklin,
and the skill and courage of M’Clintock.

The natural modesty of this commander has, I am
bound to say, prevented his doing common justice,
in the following journal, to his own conduct—conduct
which can be estimated by those only who have
listened to the testimony of the officers serving with
and under the man, whose great qualities in moments
of extreme peril elicited their heartiest admiration and
ensured their perfect confidence.

In writing this Preface (which I do at the request
of the promoters of the last search), I may state that,
having occupied the Chair of the Royal Geographical
Society in 1845, when my cherished friend, Sir[xviii]
John Franklin, went forth for the third time to seek
a North-West passage, it became my bounden duty
in subsequent years, when his absence created much
anxiety, and when I re-occupied the same position,
ardently to promote the employment of searching expeditions,
and warmly to sustain Lady Franklin’s
endeavors in this holy cause.

Imbued with such feelings, I must be permitted
to say, that no event in my life gave me purer delight,
than when Captain Collinson, whose labors to
support and carry out this last search have been signally
serviceable, forwarded to me a telegram to be
communicated to the British Association at Aberdeen
announcing the success of M’Clintock. That document
reached Balmoral on the 22nd of September
last, when the men of science were invited thither
by their Sovereign. Great was the satisfaction caused
by the diffusion of these good tidings among my associates
(the distinguished Arctic explorers Admiral Sir
James Ross and General Sabine being present); and
it was most cheering to us to know, that the Queen
and our Royal President[11] took the deepest interest[xix]
in this intelligence—such as, indeed, they have always
evinced whenever the search for the missing navigators
has been brought under their consideration. The immediate
bestowal of the Arctic medal upon all the
officers and men of the ‘Fox’ is a pleasing proof that
this interest is well sustained.

But these few introductory sentences must not be
extended; and I invite the reader at once to peruse
the Journal of M’Clintock, which will gratify every
lover of truthful and ardent research, though it will
leave him impressed with the sad belief, that the end
of the companions of Franklin has been truly recorded
by the native Esquimaux, who saw these noble
fellows “fall down and die as they walked along
the ice.”

Looking to the fact, that little or no fresh food could
have been obtained by the crews of the ‘Erebus’ and
‘Terror’ during their long imprisonment of twenty
months, in so frightfully sterile a region as that in
which the ships were abandoned,—so sterile that it
is even deserted by the Esquimaux,—and also to the
want of sustenance in spring at the mouth of the Back
River, all the Arctic naval authorities with whom I
have conversed, coincide with M’Clintock and his associates
in the belief, that none of the missing navigators
can be now living.

Painful as is the realisation of this tragic event, let
us now dwell only on the reflection that, while the
North-West passage has been solved by the heroic[xx]
self-sacrifice of Franklin, Crozier, Fitzjames, and their
associates, the searches after them which are now terminated,
have, at a very small loss of life, not only
added prodigiously to geographical knowledge, but
have, in times of peace, been the best school for testing,
by the severest trials, the skill and endurance of
many a brave seaman. In her hour of need—should
need arise—England knows that such men will nobly
do their duty.

Roderick I. Murchison.

[xxi]

CONTENTS.

[1]

JOURNAL OF THE SEARCH
FOR
SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

CHAPTER I.

It is now a matter of history how Government
and private expeditions prosecuted, with unprecedented
zeal and perseverance, the search for
Sir John Franklin’s ships, between the years
1847-55; and that the only ray of information
gleaned was that afforded by the inscriptions
upon three tombstones at Beechey Island, briefly
recording the names and dates of the deaths of
those individuals of the lost expedition, who thus
early fell in the cause of science and of their
country.

In this manner were we made aware of the
locality where the Franklin expedition passed its
first Arctic winter. The traces assuring us of
that fact, were discovered in August, 1850, by[2]
Captain Ommanney, R.N., of H.M.S. ‘Assistance,’
and by Captain Penny, of the ‘Lady Franklin.’

In October, 1854, Dr. Rae brought home the
only additional information respecting them which
has ever reached us. From the Esquimaux of
Boothia Felix he learned that a party of about
forty white men were met on the west coast of
King William’s Island, and from thence travelled
on to the mouth of the Great Fish River, where
they all perished of starvation, and that this
tragic event occurred apparently in the spring
of 1850.

Some relics obtained from these natives, and
brought home by Dr. Rae, were proved to have
belonged to Sir John Franklin and several of his
associates.

The Government caused an exploring party to
descend the Fish River in 1855; but, although
sufficient traces were found to prove that some portion
of the crews of the ‘Erebus’ and ‘Terror’ had
actually landed on the banks of that river, and
traces existed of them up to Franklin Rapids, no
additional information was obtained either from
the discovery of records, or through the Esquimaux.
Mr. Anderson, the Hudson Bay Company’s
officer in charge, and his small party, deserve
credit for their perseverance and skill; but they
were not furnished with the necessary means of
accomplishing their mission. Mr. Anderson could
not obtain an interpreter, and the two frail bark[3]
canoes in which his whole party embarked were
almost worn out before they reached the locality
to be searched. It is not surprising that such
an expedition caused very considerable excitement
at home.

Lady Franklin, and the advocates for further
search, now pressed upon government the necessity
of following up, in a more effectual manner,
the traces accidentally found by Dr. Rae, and,
in fact, of rendering the search complete by one
more effort, involving but little of hazard or
expense. It was not until April, 1857, that any
decisive answer was given to Lady Franklin’s
appeal. (See Appendix No. 1.)

Sir Charles Wood then stated “that the members
of Her Majesty’s Government, having come,
with great regret, to the conclusion that there
was no prospect of saving life, would not be justified,
for any objects which in their opinion could
be obtained by an expedition to the Arctic seas,
in exposing the lives of officers and men to the
risk inseparable from such an enterprise.”

Lady Franklin, upon this final disappointment
of her hopes, had no hesitation in immediately
preparing to send out a searching expedition,
equipped and stored at her own cost. But she
was not left alone. Many friends of the cause—including
some of the most distinguished scientific
men in England,[12] and especially Sir Roderick[4]
Murchison, whose zeal was as practical as it was
enlightened—hastened to tender their aid, and
soon a very considerable sum was raised in furtherance
of so truly noble an effort.

On the 18th of April, 1857, Lady Franklin
did me the honor to offer me the command of
the proposed expedition; it was of course most
cheerfully accepted. As a post of honor and
some difficulty, it possessed quite sufficient charms
for a naval officer who had already served in
three consecutive expeditions from 1848 to 1854.
I was thoroughly conversant with all the details
of this peculiar service; and I confess, moreover,
that my whole heart was in the cause. How
could I do otherwise than devote myself to save
at least the record of faithful service, even unto
death, of my brother officers and seamen? and,
being one of those by whose united efforts not
only the Franklin search, but the geography of
Arctic America, has been brought so nearly to
completion, I could not willingly resign to posterity,
the honor of filling up even the small
remaining blank upon our maps.

To leave these discoveries incomplete, more
especially in a quarter through which the tidal
stream actually demonstrates the existence of a
channel—the only remaining hope of a practicable
north-west passage—would indeed be
leaving strong inducement for future explorers to
reap the rich reward of our long-continued exertions.[5]

I immediately applied to the Admiralty for
leave of absence to complete the Franklin search;
and on the 23d received at Dublin the telegraphic
message from Lady Franklin: “Your leave is
granted; the ‘Fox’ is mine; the refit will commence
immediately.” She had already purchased
the screw-yacht ‘Fox,’ of 177 tons burthen, and
now placed her, together with the necessary
funds, at my disposal.

Let me explain what is here implied by the
simple word refit. The velvet hangings and
splendid furniture of the yacht, and also every
thing not constituting a part of the vessel’s
strengthening, were to be removed; the large
sky-lights and capacious ladderways had to be
reduced to limits more adapted to a polar clime;
the whole vessel to be externally sheathed with
stout planking, and internally fortified by strong
cross-beams, longitudinal beams, iron stanchions,
and diagonal fastenings; the false keel taken off,
the slender brass propeller replaced by a massive
iron one, the boiler taken out, altered, and
enlarged; the sharp stem to be cased in iron
until it resembled a ponderous chisel set up edgeways;
even the yacht’s rig had to be altered.

She was placed in the hands of her builders,
Messrs. Hall & Co., of Aberdeen, who displayed
even more than their usual activity in effecting
these necessary alterations, for it was determined
that the ‘Fox’ should sail by the 1st July.[6]

Internally she was fitted up with the strictest
economy in every sense, and the officers were
crammed into pigeon-holes, styled cabins, in order
to make room for provisions and stores; our
mess-room, for five persons, measured 8 feet
square. The ordinary heating apparatus for winter
use was dispensed with, and its place supplied
by a few very small stoves. The ‘Fox’ had
been the property of the late Sir Richard Sutton,
Bart., who made but one trip to Norway in her,
and she was purchased by Lady Franklin from
his executors for 2000l.

Having thus far commenced the refit of the
vessel, I turned my attention to the selection of
a crew and to the requisite clothing and provisions
for our voyage.

Many worthy old shipmates, my companions in
the previous Arctic voyages, most readily volunteered
their services, and they were as cheerfully
accepted, for it was my anxious wish to gather
round me well-tried men, who were aware of the
duties expected of them, and accustomed to naval
discipline. Hence, out of the twenty-five souls
composing our small company, seventeen had
previously served in the Arctic search.

Expeditions of this kind are always popular
with seamen, and innumerable were the applications
sent to me; but still more abundant were
the offers to “serve in any capacity” which
poured in from all parts of the country, from[7]
people of all classes, many of whom had never
seen the sea. It was, of course, impossible to
accede to any of these latter proposals, yet, for
my own part, I could not but feel gratified at
such convincing proofs that the spirit of the
country was favorable to us, and that the ardent
love of hardy enterprise still lives amongst Englishmen,
as of old, to be cherished, I trust, as
the most valuable of our national characteristics—as
that which has so largely contributed to
make England what she is.

My second in command was Lieutenant W. R.
Hobson, R.N., an officer already distinguished in
Arctic service. Captain Allen Young joined me
as sailing-master, contributing not only his valuable
services but largely of his private funds
to the expedition. This gentleman had previously
commanded some of our very finest merchant
ships, the latest being the steam-transport
‘Adelaide’ of 2500 tons: he had but recently
returned, in ill health, from the Black Sea,
where he was most actively employed during
the greater part of the Crimean campaign.
Nothing that I could say would add to the
merit of such singularly generous and disinterested
conduct. David Walker, M.D., volunteered
for the post of surgeon and naturalist;
he also undertook the photographic department;
and just before sailing, Carl Petersen, now so
well known to Arctic readers as the Esquimaux[8]
interpreter in the expeditions of Captain Penny
and Dr. Kane, came to join me from Copenhagen,
although landed there from Greenland
only six days previously, after an absence of a
year from his family: we were indebted to Sir
Roderick Murchison and the electric telegraph
for securing his valuable services.

Like the Paris omnibuses we were at length
tout complet, and quite as anxious to make a start.

Ample provisions for twenty-eight months were
embarked, including preserved vegetables, lemon-juice,
and pickles, for daily consumption, and preserved
meats for every third day: also as much
of Messrs. Allsopp’s stoutest ale as we could find
room for. The Government, although declining
to send out an expedition, yet now contributed
liberally to our supplies. All our arms, powder,
shot, powder for ice-blasting, rockets, maroons,
and signal mortar, were furnished by the Board
of Ordnance. The Admiralty caused 6682 lbs. of
pemmican to be prepared for our use. Not less
than 85,000 lbs. of this invaluable food have been
prepared since 1845 at the Royal Clarence Victualing
Yard, Gosport, for the use of the Arctic
Expeditions. It is composed of prime beef cut
into thin slices and dried over a wood fire; then
pounded up and mixed with about an equal weight
of melted beef fat. The pemmican is then pressed
into cases capable of containing 42 lbs. each.
The Admiralty supplied us with all the requisite[9]
ice-gear, such as saws from ten to eighteen feet
in length, ice-anchors, and ice-claws: also with
our winter housing, medicines, pure lemon-juice,
seamen’s library, hydrographical instruments,
charts, chronometers, and an ample supply of arctic
clothing which had remained in store from
former expeditions. The Board of Trade contributed
a variety of meteorological and nautical
instruments and journals; and I found that I had
but to ask of these departments for what was
required, and if in store it was at once granted.
I asked, however, only for such things as were
indispensably necessary.

The President and Council of the Royal Society
voted the sum of 50l. from their donation
fund for the purchase of magnetic and other
scientific instruments, in order that our anticipated
approach to so interesting a locality as the
Magnetic Pole might not be altogether barren of
results.

Being desirous to retain for my vessel the
privileges she formerly enjoyed as a yacht, my
wishes were very promptly gratified; in the first
instance by the Royal Harwich Yacht Club, of
which my officers and myself were enrolled as
members—the Commodore, A. Arcedeckne, Esq.,
presenting my vessel with the handsome ensign
and burgee of the Club; and shortly afterwards
by my being elected a member of the Royal
Victoria Yacht Club for the period of my voyage.[10]
Lastly, upon the very day of sailing, I was proposed
for the Royal Yacht Squadron, to which
the yacht had previously belonged when the
property of Sir Richard Stratton.

Throughout the whole period required for our
equipment, I constantly experienced the heartiest
co-operation and earnest good will from all with
whom my varied duties brought me in contact.
Deep sympathy with Lady Franklin in her distress,
her self-devotion and sacrifice of fortune,
and an earnest desire to extend succor to any
chance survivors of the ill-fated expedition who
might still exist, or at least, to ascertain their
fate, and rescue from oblivion their heroic deeds,
seemed the natural promptings of every honest
English heart. It is needless to add that this
experience of public opinion confirmed my own
impression that the glorious mission intrusted to
me was in reality a great national duty. I could
not but feel that, if the gigantic and admirably
equipped national expeditions sent out on precisely
the same duty, and reflecting so much
credit upon the Board of Admiralty, were ranked
amongst the noblest efforts in the cause of humanity
any nation ever engaged in, and that, if high
honor was awarded to all composing those splendid
expeditions, surely the effort became still
more remarkable and worthy of approbation when
its means were limited to one little vessel, containing
but twenty-five souls, equipped and provisioned[11]
(although efficiently, yet) in a manner
more according with the limited resources of a
private individual than with those of the public
purse. The less the means, the more arduous I
felt was the achievement. The greater the risk—for
the ‘Fox’ was to be launched alone into
those turbulent seas from which every other vessel
had long since been withdrawn—the more
glorious would be the success, the more honorable
even the defeat, if again defeat awaits us.

Upon the last day of June, Lady Franklin,
accompanied by her niece Miss Sophia Cracroft,
and Capt. Maguire, R.N., came on board to bid us
farewell, for we purposed sailing in the evening.
Seeing how deeply agitated she was on leaving
the ship, I endeavored to repress the enthusiasm
of my crew, but without avail; it found vent in
three prolonged, hearty cheers. The strong feeling
which prompted them was truly sincere; and
this unbidden exhibition of it can hardly have
gratified her for whom it was intended more than
it did myself.

I must here insert the only written instructions
I could prevail upon Lady Franklin to give me;
they were not read until the ‘Fox’ was fairly in
the Atlantic.

We were not destined to get to sea that evening.
The ‘Fox,’ hitherto during her brief career,
accustomed only to the restraint imposed upon a
gilded pet in summer seas, seemed to have got an
inkling that her duty henceforth was to combat
with difficulties, and, entering fully into the spirit
of the cruise, answered her helm so much more
readily than the pilot expected that she ran
aground upon the bar. She was promptly shored
up, and remained in that position until next
morning, when she floated off unhurt at high
water, and commenced her long and lonely
voyage.

Scarcely had we left the busy world behind
us when we were actively engaged in making
arrangements for present comfort and future
exertion. How busy, how happy, and how full
of hope we all were then!

On the night of the 2d of July we passed
through the Pentland Firth, where the tide rushing
impetuously against a strong wind raised up
a tremendous sea, amid which the little vessel
struggled bravely under steam and canvas. The
bleak wild shores of Orkney, the still wilder
pilot’s crew, and their hoarse screams and unintelligible
dialect, the shrill cry of innumerable[14]
sea-birds, the howling breeze and angry sea, made
us feel as if we had suddenly awoke in Greenland
itself. The southern extremity of that ice-locked
continent became visible on the 12th. It
is quaintly named Cape Farewell; but whether
by some sanguine outward-bound adventurer who
fancied that in leaving Greenland behind him he
had already secured his passage to Cathay; or
whether by the wearied homesick mariner, feebly
escaping from the grasp of winter in his shattered
bark, and firmly purposing to bid a long farewell
to this cheerless land, history altogether fails to
enlighten us.

From January until July this coast is usually
rendered unapproachable by a broad margin of
heavy ice, which drifts there from the vicinity of
Spitzbergen, and, lapping round the Cape, extends
alongshore to the northward about as far as Baal’s
River, a distance of 250 miles. Although it effectually
blockades the ports of South Greenland for
the greater part of the summer, and is justly
dreaded by the captains of the Greenland traders,
it confers important benefits upon the Greenlander
by bearing to his shores immense numbers
of seals and many bears. The same current
which conveys hither all this ice is also freighted
with a scarcely less valuable supply of driftwood
from the Siberian rivers.

About this time, one of my crew showing
symptoms of diseased lungs, I determined to[15]
embrace the earliest opportunity of sending him
home out of a climate so fatal to those who are
thus affected; and having learnt from Mr. Petersen,
who had quitted Greenland only in April
last, that a vessel would very soon leave Frederickshaab
for Copenhagen, I resolved to go to
that place in order to catch this homeward-bound
ship.

It was necessary to push through the Spitzbergen
ice, and we fortunately succeeded in doing so
after eighteen hours of buffeting with this formidable
enemy; at first we found it tolerably loose,
and the wind being strong and favorable, we
thumped along pleasantly enough; but as we advanced,
the ice became much more closely packed,
a thick fog came on, and many hard knocks were
exchanged; at length our steam carried us
through into the broad belt of clear water between
the ice and land, which Petersen assures
me always exists here at this season.

The dense fog now prevented further progress,
and as evening closed in I gave up all hope of
improvement for the night, when suddenly the
fog rolled back upon the land, disclosing some
islets close to us, then the rugged points of mainland,
and at length, lifting altogether, the distant
snowy mountain-peaks against a deep blue sky.

The evening became bright and delightful;
the whole extent of coast was fringed with innumerable
islets, backed by lofty mountains, and,[16]
being richly tinted by a glorious western sun,
formed an unusually splendid sight. Greenland
unveiled to our anxious gaze that memorable
evening, all the magnificence of her natural
beauty. Was it to welcome us that she thus cast
off her dingy outer mantle, and shone forth
radiant with smiles?—such winning smiles!

A faint streak of mist, which we could not
account for, appeared to float across a low, wide
interval in the mountain range; the telescope
revealed its true character,—it was a portion of
the distant glacier. We found ourselves upon the
Tallard Bank, 30 miles north of our port, having
been rapidly carried northwards by the Spitzbergen
current.

July 20th.—This morning the chief trader of
the settlement, or, as he is more usually styled by
the English, the Governor, came off to us, and his
pilot soon conducted us into the safe little harbor
of Frederickshaab. I was much gratified to learn
that we were just in time to secure a passage
home for our ailing shipmate.

For trading purposes Greenland is monopolized
by the Danish government; its Esquimaux and
mixed population amount to about 7000 souls.
About 1000 Danes reside constantly there for the
purpose of conducting the trade, which consists
almost exclusively in the exchange of European
goods for oil and the skins of seals, reindeer, and
a few other animals.[17]

The Esquimaux are not subject to Danish laws,
but although proud of their nominal independence
they are sincerely attached to the Danes, and
with abundant reason; a Lutheran clergyman, a
doctor, and a schoolmaster, whose duty it is to
give gratuitous instruction and relief, are paid by
the Government, and attached to each district;
and when these improvident people are in distress,
which not unfrequently happens during the
long winters, provisions are issued to them free
of cost; spirits are strictly prohibited. All of
them have become Christians, and many can read
and write.

Have we English done more, or as much, for
the aborigines in any of our numerous colonies,
and especially for the Esquimaux within our own
territories of Labrador and Hudson’s Bay?

Greenland is divided into two inspectorates,
the northern and southern; the inspector of the
latter division, Dr. Rink, had arrived at Frederickshaab
upon his summer round of visits only
the day previous to ourselves. He came on board
to call upon me, and after Divine service I landed,
and enjoyed a ramble with him over the moss-clad
hills. Our first meeting was in North Greenland,
in 1848; we had not seen one another since,
so we had much to talk about. Dr. Rink is a gentleman
of acknowledged talent, a distinguished
traveller, and is thoroughly conversant with the
sciences of geology and botany.[18]

Unfortunately for me his excellent work on
Greenland has not been translated into English.

We were kindly permitted to purchase eight
tons of coals, and such small things as were required;
the only fresh supplies to be obtained
besides codfish, which was abundant, consisted of
a very few ptarmigan and hares, and a couple of
kids; these last are scarce. Some goats exist,
but for eight months out of the year they are
shut up in a house, and even now—in midsummer,—are
only let out in the daytime. We also
purchased of the Esquimaux some specimens of
Esquimaux workmanship, such as models of the
native dresses, kayaks, etc., also birds’ skins and
eggs. I saw fine specimens of a white swan, and
of a bird said to be extremely rare in Greenland,—it
was a species of grebe, Podiceps cristatus, I
imagine. Frederickshaab is just now well supplied
with wood: besides an unseaworthy brig,
the wreck of a large timber-ship lay on the
beach, and an abandoned timber-vessel, which was
met with between Iceland and Greenland in July
by Prince Napoleon, drifted upon the coast 30
miles to the northward in the following September.

[19]

CHAPTER II.

23rd July.—Sailed the day before yesterday for
Godhaab. The fog was thick, and wind strong
and contrary, but the current being favorable we
found ourselves off the small out-station of Fiskernaes,
when early this morning our fore topmast
was carried away; this accident induced me to
run in and anchor for the purpose of repairing
the damage.

After passing within the outer islets, the Moravian
settlement of Lichtenfels came in view upon
the right hand; it consists of a large, sombre-looking
wooden house, over which is a belfry, a
smaller wooden house, and about a dozen native
huts, roofed with sods, and scarcely distinguishable
from the ground they stand on, even at
a very short distance. The land immediately
behind is a barren rocky steep, now just sufficiently
denuded of snow to look desolate in the
extreme. A strong tide was setting out of the
fiord, as we approached, and anchored in the[20]
rocky little cove of Fiskernaes; here we were
not only sheltered from the wind, but the steep
dark rocks within a ship’s length on each side of
us, reflected a strong heat, whilst large mosquitoes
lost no time in paying us their annoying visits.
This remote spot has been visited by the Arctic
voyagers, Captain Inglefield, R.N., and Dr. Kane,
U.S.N., and still more recently by Prince Napoleon.
Dr. Kane’s account of his visit is full and
very interesting. Cod-fishing was now in full
activity, and the few men not so employed had
gone up the fiord to hunt reindeer.

The solitary dwelling-house belongs, of course,
to the chief trader, and is a model of cleanliness
and order; built of wood, it exhibits all the
resources of the painter’s art; the exterior is a
dull red, the window-frames are white, floors yellow,
wooden partitions and low ceilings pale blue.
The lady of the house had resided here for about
eight years, and appeared to us to be, and acknowledged
she was, heartily tired of the solitude.
She gave me coffee, and some seeds for cultivation
at our winter quarters; these were lettuce,
spinach, turnips, caraway and peas, the latter
being the common kind used on board ship;
usually they have only produced leaves on this
spot, but once the young peas grew large enough
for the table. I expressed a wish to see the interior
of an Esquimaux tent. Petersen pulled aside
the thin membrane of some animal, which hung[21]
across the doorway, and served to exclude the
wind, but admitted light, for, although past midnight,
the sun was up. Some seven or eight
individuals lay within, closely packed upon the
ground; the heads of old and young, males and
females, being just visible above the common
covering. Going to bed here, only means lying
down with your clothes on, upon a reindeer skin,
wherever you can find room, and pulling another
fur-robe over you.

Fiskernaes appeared to be a sunny little nook,
yet all the people we saw there were suffering
from colds and coughs, and many deaths had
occurred during the spring. The boys brought
us handfuls of rough garnets, some of them as
large as walnuts, receiving with evident satisfaction
biscuits in exchange.

By next morning we were able to put to sea,
and early on the day following arrived off the
large settlement of Godhaab; it is in the “Gilbert
Sound” of Davis, and appears in many old
charts as Baal’s River. Almost adjoining Godhaab
is the Moravian settlement of New Herrnhut.
Here it was that Hans Egede, the missionary
father of Greenland, established himself in 1721,
and thus re-opened the communication between
Europe and Greenland, which had ceased upon
the extinction of its early Scandinavian settlers,
in the 14th century.

A few years after Egede’s successful beginning[22]
the Moravian mission still existing under the
name of New Herrnhut was established. At
present the Moravians support four missions in
Greenland; they are not subject to the Danish
authorities, but are not permitted in any way to
trade.

As we were about to enter the harbor, the
Danish vessel—the sole object of our visit—came
out, so not a moment was lost in sending
on board our invalid and our letter-bag, and in
landing our coasting pilot. This man had brought
us up from Frederickshaab for the very moderate
sum of three pounds; he was an Esquimaux, and,
as the brother of poor Hans, Dr. Kane’s unhappy
dog-driver, was received with favor amongst us,
and soon won our esteem by his quiet, obliging
disposition, as also by his ability in the discharge
of his duty; he was so keen-sighted, and so vigilant,
it was quite a comfort to have him on board
during the foggy weather, for he could recognize,
on the instant, every rock or point, even when
dimly looming through the mist. We were not
long in discovering that his absence was a loss to
us.

When passing out to the north of the Kookornen
Islands, the wind suddenly failed, and at the
same time a swell from to seaward reached us;
we therefore had considerable difficulty in towing
the ship clear of the rocks; for nearly half an
hour our position was most critical.[23]

July 31st.—Anchored at Godhaven (or Lievely),
in Disco, for a few hours. I presented a letter
from the Directors of the Royal Greenland Commerce
to the Inspector of North Greenland, Mr.
Olrik, authorising him to furnish us with any
needful supplies. Our only wants were sledge-dogs
and a native to manage them. We soon
obtained ten of the former, but were advised to
go into Disco Fiord, where many of the Esquimaux
were busy in taking and drying salmon-trout,
and where some would most probably be
obtained.

I was much pleased with Mr. Olrik’s kind reception
of me, and soon found him to be not only
agreeable but well informed; born in Greenland,
of Danish parents, he is thoroughly conversant
with the language and habits of the Esquimaux,
and has devoted much of his leisure time in collecting
rare specimens of the animal, vegetable,
and mineral productions of the country. I came
away enriched by some fossils from the fossil
forest of Atanekerdluk, also with specimens of
native coal.

It was here I met with the late commanders
of the whalers ‘Gipsy’ and ‘Undaunted,’ of
Peterhead, which had been crushed by the ice
in Melville Bay, five or six weeks previously;
all the other whalers had returned from the
north, along the pack edge, and passed south of
Disco. They said that the ice in Melville Bay[24]
was all broken up, and that they thought we
should find but little difficulty at this late period
in passing through it into the North Water.

Leaving Godhaven in the afternoon with a
native pilot, we found ourselves some 10 or 12
miles up Disco Fiord at an early hour next morning.
After despatching the pilot to announce
our arrival to his countrymen at their fishing
station, 7 or 8 miles further up, the Doctor and I
landed upon the north side to explore.

The scenery is charming, lofty hills of trap
rock, with unusually rich slopes (for the 70th
parallel) descending to the fiord, and strewed
with boulders of gneiss and granite. We found
the blue campanula holding a conspicuous place
amongst the wild flowers. I do not know a more
enticing spot in Greenland for a week’s shooting,
fishing, and yachting than Disco Fiord; hares
and ptarmigan may be found along the bases of
the hills; ducks are most abundant upon the
fiord, and delicious salmon-trout very plentiful
in the rivers. Formerly Disco was famed for
the large size and abundance of its reindeer; but
for some unexplained reason they now confine
themselves to the mainland.

At this season the natives of Godhaab resort
here and enjoy the trout fishery,—it is truly
their season of harvest: the weather is pleasant,
food delicious and abundant, and the labor an
agreeable pastime.[25]

Some kayaks soon came off to the ship, bringing
salmon-trout, both fresh and smoked.

A young Esquimaux, named Christian, volunteered
his services as our dog-driver, and was
accepted; he is about 23 years of age, unmarried,
and an orphan. The men soon thoroughly
washed and cropped him: soap and scissors being
novelties to an Esquimaux: they then rigged
him in sailor’s clothes; he was evidently not at
home in them, but was not the less proud of his
improved appearance, as reflected in the admiring
glances of his countrymen.

We now hastened away to the Waigat Strait to
complete our coals. When passing Godhaven,
the pilot was launched off our deck in his little
kayak without stopping the ship! As a kayak is
usually about 18 feet long, 8 inches deep, and
only 16 or 17 inches wide, it requires great
expertness to perform such a feat without the
addition of a capsize.

4th August.—Entered the Waigat yesterday
morning, slowly steaming through a sea of glass.
Its surface was only rippled by the myriads of
eider-ducks which extended over it for several
miles: most of them were immature in plumage,
and were probably the birds of last year.

After running about 24 miles, towards evening
we approached a low range of sandstone cliffs on
the Disco shore, in which horizontal seams of coal
were seen. Here we anchored, and immediately[26]
commenced coaling. It was fortunate we did so,
for soon it began to blow hard; and ere noon
to-day we were obliged, for the safety of the ship,
to leave our exposed anchorage, having however
secured eight or nine tons of tolerable coal. Formerly
these coal-seams were worked for the supply
of the neighboring settlements, but for several
years past it has been found more profitable and
convenient to send out coals from Denmark, and
thus permit the natives to devote their whole
time to the seal-fishery.

The Waigat scenery is unusually grand; the
strait varies from 3 to 5 leagues in width; on
each side are mountains of 3000 feet in height.
The Disco side, upon which we landed, is composed
of trap, sandstone appearing only at the
beach, and occasionally rising in cliffs to about
100 feet. Upon the moss-clad slopes many fragments
of quartz and zeolite were met with. The
north end of Disco is almost a precipice to its
snow-capped summit, which is 4000 feet high.

5th.—A pleasant fair wind carries us rapidly
northward, passing many icebergs. Our rigging
is richly garnished with split codfish, which we
hoped would dry and keep; but a warm day in
Disco Fiord, and much rain with a southerly gale
in the Waigat, have destroyed it for our own
use. It is however still valuable as food for our
dogs. I am very anxious to complete my stock of
these our native auxiliaries, as without them we[27]
cannot hope to explore all the lands which it is
the object of our voyage to search. We could
only obtain ten at Godhaven, and require twenty
more.

6th.—By Petersen’s intimate knowledge of the
coast we were enabled to run close in to the little
settlement of Proven during the night, and obtain
a few dogs and dogs’ food. This morning we
reached the extreme station of Upernivik, the
last trace of civilization we shall meet with for
some time. It is in lat. 72¾° N. Here Petersen resided
for twelve of the eighteen years he has spent
in Greenland, and his unlooked-for re-appearance
astonished and delighted the small community,
more especially Governor Fliescher and his household,
who received us with a most hearty welcome.

7th.—Yesterday, when we hove to off Upernivik,
the weather was very bad and rapidly
growing worse, therefore our stay was limited to a
couple of hours. The last letters for home were
landed, fourteen dogs and a quantity of seal’s
flesh for them embarked, and the ship’s head was
turned seaward.

It was then blowing a southerly gale, with
overcast murky sky, and a heavy sea running.
When four miles outside the outer island, breakers
were suddenly discovered ahead, only just in
time to avoid the ledge of sunken rocks upon
which the sea was beating most violently. Many[28]
such rocks lie at considerable distances beyond
the islands which border this coast, and greatly
add to the dangers of its navigation. Being now
fairly at sea, and the ship under easy sail for
the night, I went early to bed in the hope of
sleeping. I had been up all the previous night,
naturally anxious about the ship threading her
way through so many dangers, uncertain about
being able to complete the number of our sledge-dogs,
and much occupied in closing my correspondence,
to which there would be an end for
at least a year. All this over, the uncertain
future loomed ominously before me. The great
responsibilities I had undertaken seemed now
and at once to fall with all their weight upon
me. A mental whirlpool was the consequence,
which, backed by the material storm, and the
howling of the wretched dogs in concert on
deck, together with the tumbling about of every
thing below, long kept sleep in abeyance.

One thought and feeling predominated: it
was gratitude, deep and humble, for the success
which had hitherto attended us, and for some
narrow escapes which I must ever regard as
Providential.

Yesterday’s gale has given place to calm foggy
weather. An occasional iceberg is seen. The
officers amuse themselves in trying new guns,
and shooting sea-birds for our dogs.

Governor Fliescher told me yesterday that for[29]
the last four weeks southerly winds prevailed,
and that only a fortnight ago his boat was unable
to reach the Loom Cliffs at Cape Shackleton, 50
miles north of Upernivik, in consequence of the
ice being pressed in against the land. I fear
these same winds have closed together the ice
which occupies the middle of Davis’ Strait (hence
called the middle ice), so that we shall not be
able to penetrate it. However, we are standing
out to make the attempt.

To the uninitiated it may be as well to observe
that each winter the sea called Baffin’s Bay
freezes over; in spring this vast body of ice
breaks up, and drifting southward in a mass—called
the main-pack, or the middle ice—obstructs
the passage across from east to west.

The “North Passage” is made by sailing round
the north end of this pack; the “Middle Passage,”
by pushing through it; and the “Southern Passage,”
by passing round its southern extreme;
but seasons do occur when none of these routes
are practicable.

It is very remarkable that southward of Disco
northerly winds have prevailed. They greatly
impeded our progress up Davis’ Strait, but we
cheered ourselves with the hope that they would
effectually clear a path for us across the northern
part of Baffin’s Bay.

8th.—Last night we reached the edge of the
middle ice, about 70 miles to the west of Upernivik,[30]
and ran southward along its edge all night.
This morning, in thick fog, the ship was caught
in its margin of loose ice. The fog soon after
cleared off, and we saw the clear sea about two
miles to the eastward, whilst all to the west was
impenetrable closely-packed floe-pieces. After
steaming out of our predicament (a matter which
we could not accomplish under sail) we ran on to
the southward until evening, but found the pack
edge still composed of light ice very closely
pressed together.

Having now closely examined it for an extent
of 40 miles, I was satisfied that we could not force
a passage through it across Baffin’s Bay, as is
frequently done in ordinary seasons; therefore,
taking advantage of a fair wind, we steered to
the northward, in order to seek an opening in
that direction.

12th.—We are in Melville Bay; made fast this
afternoon to an iceberg, which lies aground in
58 fathoms water, about 2 miles from Browne’s
Islands, and between them and the great glacier
which here takes the place of the coast-line.

We have got thus far without any difficulty,
sailing along the edge of the middle ice; but
here we find it pressing in against Browne’s Islands,
and covering the whole bay to the northward,
quite in the steep face of the glacier. This
is evidently the result of long-continued southerly
winds; but as the ice is very much broken[31]
up, we may expect it to move off rapidly before
the autumnal northerly winds now due, and
these winds invariably remove the previous season’s
ice. All that we know of Melville Bay
navigation in August, is derived from the experience
of Government and private searching expeditions
during eight or nine seasons. My own
three previous transits across it were made in
this month. The whalers either get through in
June or July, or give up the attempt as being
too late for their fishing. It frequently happens
that they get round the south end of the middle
ice, between latitudes 66° and 69° N., and up
the west coast of Baffin’s Bay late in the season;
but we have no accounts of these voyages, nor
should I be justified, at this late period of the
season, in abandoning the prospect before me, in
order to attempt a route which, even if successful,
would lengthen our voyage to Barrow Strait
by 700 or 800 miles. We have already passed
what is usually the most difficult and dangerous
part of the Melville Bay transit.

There is much to excite intense admiration
and wonder around us; one cannot at once appreciate
the grandeur of this mighty glacier, extending
unbroken for 40 or 50 miles. Its sea-cliffs,
about 5 or 6 miles from us, appear comparatively
low, yet the icebergs detached from it are of
the loftiest description. Here, on the spot, it
does not seem incorrect to compare the icebergs[32]
to mere chippings off its edge, and the floe-ice to
the thinnest shavings.

The far-off outline of glacier, seen against the
eastern sky, has a faint tinge of yellow; it is
almost horizontal, and of unknown distance and
elevation.

There is an unusual dearth of birds and seals;
everything around us is painfully still, excepting
when an occasional iceberg splits off from the
parent glacier; then we hear a rumbling crash
like distant thunder, and the wave occasioned
by the launch reaches us in six or seven minutes,
and makes the ship roll lazily for a similar period.
I cannot imagine that within the whole compass
of nature’s varied aspects, there is presented to
the human eye a scene so well adapted for promoting
deep and serious reflection, for lifting the
thoughts from trivial things of every day life to
others of the highest import.

The glacier serves to remind one at once of
Time and of Eternity—of time, since we see
portions of it break off to drift and melt away;
and of eternity, since its downward march is so
extremely slow, and its augmentations behind so
regular, that no change in its appearance is perceptible
from age to age. If even the untaught
savages of luxuriant tropical regions regard the
earth merely as a temporary abode, surely all
who gaze upon this ice-overwhelmed region, this
wide expanse of “terrestrial wreck,” must be[33]
similarly assured that here “we have no abiding
place.”

During daytime the strong glare is very distressing,
hence the subdued light of midnight,
when the sun just skims along the northern
horizon, is much the most agreeable part of the
twenty-four hours; the temperature varies between
30° and 40° of Fahrenheit.

The drift-ice of various descriptions about us
is constantly in motion under the influence of
mysterious surface and under currents (according
to their relative depths of floatation), which whirl
them about in every possible direction.

To the S.E. are two small islands, almost enveloped
in the glacier, and far within it an occasional
mountain-peak protrudes from beneath.

From observing closely the variations in the
glacier surface, I think we may safely infer that
where it lies unbroken and smooth, the supporting
land is level; and where much crevassed, the
land beneath is uneven. The crevassed parts are
of course impassable, but, by following the windings
of the smooth surface, I think the interior
could be reached. Some attempts to cross the
glacier in South Greenland have failed, yet, by
studying its character and attending to this
remark, I think places might be found where
an attempt would succeed. Mr. Petersen tells
me that the Esquimaux of Upernivik are unable
to account for occasional disappearances and reappearances[34]
of immense herds of reindeer, except
by assuming that they migrate at intervals to
feeding-grounds beyond the glacier, the surface
of which he also says is smooth enough in many
places even for dog-sledges to travel upon. As
there is much uninhabited land, both to the
northward and southward of Upernivik, I do not
see the necessity for this supposition. The habits
of the Esquimaux confine them almost exclusively
to the islands and sea-coasts.

[35]

CHAPTER III.

15th August.—Three days of the most perfect
calm have sadly taxed our patience. Lovely
bright weather, but scarcely a living creature
seen. This afternoon the anxiously-looked-for
north wind sprang up, and immediately the light
ice began to drift away before it, but it is not
strong enough to influence the icebergs, and they
greatly retard the clearing-out of the bay. We
have noticed a constant wind off the glacier,
probably the result of its cooling effect upon the
atmosphere; this wind does not extend more than
3 or 4 miles out from it.

16th.—One of the loveliest mornings imaginable:
the icebergs sparkled in the sun, and the
breeze was just sufficiently strong to ripple the
patches of dark blue sea; beyond this, there was
nothing to cheer one in the prospect from the
crow’s-nest at four o’clock; but little change had
taken place in the ice; I therefore determined
to run back along the pack-edge to the south-westward,
in the hope that some favorable change[36]
might have taken place further off shore. The
barometer was unusually low, yet no indication
of any change of weather. A seaman’s chest was
picked up; it contained only a spoon, a fork, and
some tin canisters, and probably drifted here from
the southward, where the two whale-ships were
crushed in June, affording another proof of the
prevalence of southerly winds. As we steamed
on, the ice was found to have opened considerably;
it fell calm, and mist was observed rolling
along the glacier from the southward. By noon
a S.E. wind reached us; all sail was set, the leads
or lanes of water became wider, and our hopes of
speedily crossing Melville Bay rose in proportion
as our speed increased. We are pursuing our
course without let or hindrance.

17th.—The fog overtook us yesterday evening,
and at length, unable to see our way, we made
fast at eleven o’clock to the ice. The wind had
freshened, it was evidently blowing a gale outside
the ice. During the night we drifted rapidly
together with the ice, and this morning, on the
clearing off of the fog, we steamed and sailed on
again, threading our way between the floes, which
are larger and much covered with dry snow.
This evening we again made fast, the floes having
closed together, cutting off advance and retreat.
A wintry night, much wind and snow.

19th.—Continued strong S.E. winds, pressing
the ice closely together, dark sky and snow;[37]
everything wears a wintry and threatening aspect;
we are closely hemmed in, and have our
rudder and screw unshipped. This recommencement
of S.E. winds and rapid ebbing of the
small remaining portion of summer makes me
more anxious about the future than the present.
Yesterday the weather improved, and by working
for thirteen hours we got the ship out of her
small ice-creek into a larger space of water, and
in so doing advanced a mile and a half. It is
now calm, but the ice still drifts, as we would
wish it, to the N.W. Yesterday we were within
12 miles of the position of the ‘Enterprise’ upon
the same day in 1848, and under very similar
conditions of weather and ice also.

20th.—No favorable ice-drift: this detention
has become most painful. The ‘Enterprise’
reached the open water upon this day in 1848,
within 50 miles of our present position; unfortunately,
our prospects are not so cheering.
There is no relative motion in the floes of ice,
except a gradual closing together, the small
spaces and streaks of water being still further
diminished. The temperature has fallen, and is
usually below the freezing-point. I feel most
keenly the difficulty of my position; we cannot
afford to lose many more days. Of all the
voyages to Barrow Strait, there are but two
which were delayed beyond this date, viz., Parry’s
in 1824, and the ‘Prince Albert’s’ in 1851.[38]
Should we not be released, and therefore be compelled
to winter in this pack, notwithstanding all
our efforts, I shall repeat the trial next year, and
in the end, with God’s aid, perform my sacred
duty.

The men enjoy a game of rounders on the ice
each evening; Petersen and Christian are constantly
on the look-out for seals, as well as Hobson
and Young occasionally; if in good condition
and killed instantaneously, the seals float; several
have already been shot; the liver fried with bacon
is excellent.

Birds have become scarce,—the few we see
are returning southward. How anxiously I watch
the ice, weather, barometer, and thermometer!
Wind from any other quarter than S.E. would
oblige the floe-pieces to rearrange themselves, in
doing which they would become loose, and then
would be our opportunity to proceed.

24th.—Fine weather with very light northerly
winds. We have drifted 7 miles to the west in
the last two days. The ice is now a close pack,
so close that one may walk for many miles over
it in any direction, by merely turning a little to
the right or left to avoid the small water spaces.
My frequent visits to the crow’s-nest are not
inspiriting: how absolutely distressing this imprisonment
is to me, no one without similar experience
can form any idea. As yet the crew
have but little suspicion how blighted our prospects
are.[39]

27th.—We daily make attempts to push on,
and sometimes get a ship’s length, but yesterday
evening we made a mile and a half! the ice then
closed against the ship’s sides and lifted her about
a foot. We have had a fresh east wind for two
days, but no corresponding ice-drift to the west;
this is most discouraging, and can only be accounted
for by supposing the existence of much
ice or grounded icebergs in that direction.

The dreaded reality of wintering in the pack
is gradually forcing itself upon my mind,—but I
must not write on this subject, it is bad enough
to brood over it unceasingly. We can see the
land all round Melville Bay, from Cape Walker
nearly to Cape York. Petersen is indefatigable
at seal-shooting, he is so anxious to secure them
for our dogs; he says they must be hit in the
head; “if you hit him in the beef that is not
good,” meaning that a flesh-wound does not prevent
their escaping under the ice. Petersen and
Christian practise an Esquimaux mode of attracting
the seals; they scrape the ice, thus making a
noise like that produced by a seal in making a
hole with its flippers, and then place one end of
a pole in the water and put their mouths close to
the other end, making noises in imitation of the
snorts and grunts of their intended victims;
whether the device is successful or not I do not
know, but it looks laughable enough.

Christian came back a few days ago, like a[40]
true seal-hunter, carrying his kayak on his head,
and dragging a seal behind him. Only two
years ago Petersen returned across this bay with
Dr. Kane’s retreating party; he shot a seal which
they devoured raw, and which under Providence,
saved their lives. Petersen is a good ice-pilot,
knows all these coasts as well as or better than
any man living, and, from long experience and
habits of observation, is almost unerring in his
prognostications of the weather. Besides his great
value to us as interpreter, few men are better
adapted for Arctic work,—an ardent sportsman,
an agreeable companion, never at a loss for
occupation or amusement, and always contented
and sanguine. But we have happily many such
dispositions in the ‘Fox.’

30th.—The whole distance across Melville Bay
is 170 miles: of this we have performed about
120, 40 of which we have drifted in the last fourteen
days. The ‘Isabel’ sailed freely over this
spot on 20th August, 1852; and the ‘North Star’
was beset on 30th July, 1849, to the southward
of Melville Bay, and carried in the ice across it
and some 70 or 80 miles beyond, when she was
set free on 26th September, and went into winter
quarters in Wolstenholme Sound. What a
precedent for us!

FIG. 1.

SKETCH MAP OF THE DRIFT OF THE ‘FOX’ DOWN BAFFIN’S BAY IN
THE FLOATING ICE.

Yesterday we set to work as usual to warp the
ship along, and moved her ten feet: an insignificant
hummock then blocked up the narrow[41]
passage; as we could not push it before us, a
two-pound blasting charge was exploded, and the
surface ice was shattered, but such an immense
quantity of broken ice came up from beneath,
that the difficulty was greatly increased instead
of being removed. This is one of the many
instances in which our small vessel labors under
very great disadvantages in ice-navigation—we
have neither sufficient manual power, steam
power, nor impetus to force the floes asunder. I
am convinced that a steamer of moderate size
and power, with a crew of forty or fifty men,
would have got through a hundred miles of such
ice in less time than we have been beset.

The temperature fell to 25° last night, and the
pools are strongly frozen over. I now look matters
steadily and calmly in the face; whilst reasonable
ground for hope remained I was anxious
in the extreme. The dismal prospect of a
“winter in the pack” has scarcely begun to dawn
upon the crew; however, I do not think they
will be much upset by it. They had some exciting
foot-races on the ice yesterday evening.

1st Sept.—The indication of an approaching
S.E. gale are at all times sufficiently apparent
here, and fortunately so, as it is the dangerous wind
in the Melville Bay. It was on the morning of the
30th, before church-time, that they attracted our
attention: the wind was very light, but barometer
low and falling; very threatening appearances in[42]
the S.E. quarter, dark-blue sky, and grey detached
clouds slowly rising; when the wind commenced
the barometer began to rise. This gale lasted
forty-eight hours, and closed up every little space
of water; at first all the ice drifted before the
wind, but latterly remained stationary. Twenty
seals have been shot up to this time.

On comparing Petersen’s experience with my
own and that of the ‘North Star’ in 1849, it
seems probable that the ice along the shores of
Melville Bay, at this season, will drift northward
close along the land as far as Cape Parry, where,
meeting with a S.W. current out of Whale or
Smith’s Sound, it will be carried away into the
middle of Baffin’s Bay, and thence during the
winter down Davis’ Strait into the Atlantic.
From Cape Dudley Digges to Cape Parry, including
Wolstenholme Sound, open water remains
until October. It is strange that we have ceased
to drift lately to the westward.

6th.—During the last week we have only
drifted 9 miles to the west. Obtained soundings
in 88 fathoms; this is a discovery, and not an
agreeable one. Of the six or seven icebergs in
sight, the nearest are to the west of us; they
are very large, and appear to be aground; we
approach them slowly. Pleasant weather, but the
winds are much too gentle to be of service to
us; although the nights are cold, yet during the
day our men occasionally do their sewing on[43]
deck. Our companions the seals are larger and
fatter than formerly, therefore they float when
shot; we are disposed to attribute their improved
condition to the better feeding upon this bank.
The dredge brought up some few shell-fish, star-fish,
stones and much soft mud.

9th.—On this day, in 1824, Sir Edward Parry
got out of the middle ice, and succeeded in reaching
Port Bowen. To continue hoping for release
in time to reach Bellot Strait would be absurd;
yet to employ the men we continue our preparation
of tents, sledges, and gear for travelling.
Two days ago the ice became more slack than
usual, and a long lane opened; its western termination
could not be seen from aloft. Every
effort was made to get into this water, and by the
aid of steam and blasting-powder we advanced
100 yards out of the intervening 170 yards of
ice, when the floes began to close together, a S.E.
wind having sprung up. Had we succeeded in
reaching the water, I think we should have extricated
ourselves completely, and perhaps ere this
have reached Barrow Strait, but S.E. and S.W.
gales succeeded, and it now blows a S.S.E. gale,
with sleet.

10th.—Young went to the large icebergs to-day;
the nearest of them is 250 feet high, and
in 83 fathoms water; it is therefore probably
aground, except at spring tide; the floe-ice was[44]
drifting past it to the westward, and was crushing
up against its side to a height of 50 feet.

13th.—Thermometer has fallen to 17° at noon.
We have drifted 18 miles to the W. in the last
week; therefore our neighbors, the icebergs, are
not always aground, but even when afloat drift
more slowly than the light ice. There is a water-sky
to the W. and N.W.; it is nearest to us in
the direction of Cape York; could we only advance
12 or 15 miles in that direction, I am convinced we
should be free to steer for Barrow Strait. Forty-three
seals have been secured for the dogs; one
dog is missing, the remaining twenty-nine devoured
their two days’ allowance of seal’s flesh
(60 or 65 lbs.) in forty-two seconds! it contained
no bone, and had been cut up into small pieces,
and spread out upon the snow, before they were
permitted to rush to dinner; in this way the weak
enjoy a fair chance, and there is no time for fighting.
We do not allow them on board.

16th.—At length we have drifted past the
large icebergs, obtaining soundings in 69 fathoms
within a mile of them; they must now
be aground, and have frequently been so during
the last three weeks; and being directly upon
our line of drift, are probably the immediate
cause of our still remaining in Melville Bay.
The ice is slack everywhere, but the temperature
having fallen to 3°, new ice rapidly forms, so[45]
that the change comes too late. The western
limit of the day—Cape York—is very distinct,
and not more than 25 miles from us.

18th.—Lanes of water in all directions; but
the nearest is half a mile from us. They come
too late, as do also the N.W. winds which have
now succeeded the fatal south-easters. The temperature
fell to 2° below zero last night. We
are now at length in the “North Water;” the
old ice has spread out in all directions, so that it
is only the young ice—formed within the last
fortnight—which detains us prisoners here.

The icebergs, the chief cause of our unfortunate
detention, and which for more than three
weeks were in advance of us to the westward, are
now, in the short space of two days, nearly out
of sight to the eastward.

The preparations for wintering and sledge-travelling
go on with unabated alacrity; the
latter will be useful should it become necessary
to abandon the ship.

Notwithstanding such a withering blight to my
dearest hopes, yet I cannot overlook the many
sources of gratification which do exist; we have
not only the necessaries, but also a fair portion
of the luxuries, of ordinary sea-life; our provisions
and clothing are abundant and well suited
to the climate. Our whole equipment, though
upon so small a scale, is perfect in its way. We[46]
all enjoy perfect health, and the men are most
cheerful, willing, and quiet.

Our “native auxiliaries,” consisting of Christian
and his twenty-nine dogs, are capable of performing
immense service; whilst Mr. Petersen, from
his great Arctic experience, is of much use to me,
besides being all that I could wish as an interpreter.
Humanly speaking, we are not unreasonable
in confidently looking forward to a successful
issue of this season’s operations, and I greatly fear
that poor Lady Franklin’s disappointment will
consequently be the more severely felt.

We are doomed to pass a long winter of absolute
inutility, if not of idleness, in comparative
peril and privation; nevertheless the men seem
very happy—thoughtless, of course, as true sailors
always are.

We have drifted off the bank into much deeper
water, and suppose this is the reason that seals
have become more scarce.

22nd.—Constant N.W. winds continue to drift
us slowly southward. Strong indications of water
in the N.W., W., and S.E.; its vicinity may account
for a rise in the temperature, without
apparent cause, to 27° at noon to-day.

The newly formed ice affords us delightful
walking; the old ice on the contrary is covered
with a foot of soft snow. We have no shooting;
scarcely a living creature has been seen for a
week.[47]

24th.—Yesterday I thought I saw two of our
men walking at a distance, and beyond some
unsafe ice, but on enquiry found that all were on
board: Petersen and I set off to reconnoitre the
strangers; they proved to be bears, but much too
wary to let us come within shot. It was dark
when we returned on board after a brisk walk
over the new ice. The calm air felt agreeably
mild. We were without mittens; and but that
the breath froze upon moustachios and beard, one
could have readily imagined the night was comfortably
warm. The thermometer stood at +5°.

To-day when walking in a fresh breeze the
wind felt very cold, and kept one on the look-out
for frost-bites, although the thermometer was up
to 10°. Games upon the ice and skating are our
afternoon amusements, but we also have some
few lovers of music, who embrace the opportunity
for vigorous execution, without fear of being reminded
that others may have ears more sensitive
and discriminating than their own.

26th.—The mountain to the North of Melville
Bay, known as the ‘Snowy Peak,’ was visible yesterday,
although 90 miles distant; I have calculated
its height to be 6000 feet. A raven was
shot to-day.

27th.—Our salt meat is usually soaked for some
days before being used; for this purpose it is put
into a net, and lowered through a hole in the ice;
this morning the net had been torn, and only a[48]
fragment of it remained. We suppose our twenty
two pounds of salt meat had been devoured by
a shark; it would be curious to know how such
fare agrees with him, as a full meal of salted provision
will kill an Esquimaux dog, which thrives
on almost anything. I used to remonstrate upon
the skins of sea-birds being given to our dogs, but
was told the feathers were good for them! Here
all sea-birds are skinned before being cooked,
otherwise our ducks, divers, and looms would be
uneatably fishy. A well-baited shark-hook has
been substituted for the net of salt meat; I much
wish to capture one of the monsters, as wonderful
stories are told us of their doings in Greenland:
whether they are the white shark or the
basking shark of natural history I cannot find
out. It is only of late years that the shark
fishery has been carried on to any extent in
Greenland; they are captured for the sake of
their livers, which yield a considerable quantity of
oil. It has very recently been ascertained that a
valuable substance resembling spermaceti may be
expressed from the carcase, and for this purpose
powerful screw presses are now employed. In
early winter the sharks are caught with hook and
line through holes in the ice.

The Esquimaux assert that they are insensible
to pain; and Petersen assures me he has plunged
a long knife several times into the head of one
whilst it continued to feed upon a white whale[49]
entangled in his net!! It is not sufficient to
drive them away with sundry thrusts of spears
or knives, but they must be towed away to some
distance from the nets, otherwise they will return
to feed. It must be remembered that the brain
of a shark is extremely small in proportion to the
size of its huge head. I have seen bullets fired
through them with very little apparent effect;
but if these creatures can feel, the devices practised
upon them by the Esquimaux must be cruel
indeed.

It is only in certain localities that sharks are
found, and in these places they are often attracted
to the nets by the animals entangled in
them. The dogs are not suffered to eat either
the skin or the head, the former in consequence
of its extreme roughness, and the latter because
it causes giddiness and makes them sick.

The nets alluded to are set for the white whale
or the seal; if for the former, they are attached
to the shore and extended off at right angles so as
to intercept them in their autumnal southern migration,
when they swim close along the rocks to
avoid their direst foe, the grampus, or killer, of
sailors, the Delphinus orca of naturalists. When
the white whale is stopped by the net it often
appears at first to be unconscious of the fact, and
continues to swim against it, affording time for
the approach of the boat and deadly harpoon
from behind. If entangled in the net a very[50]
short time suffices to drown them, as, like all the
whale tribe, they are obliged to come to the surface
to breathe.

The killer is also a cetacean of considerable
size, 15 to 20 feet in length, but of very different
habits; it is very swift, is armed with powerful
teeth, and is gregarious. When in sufficient
numbers they even attack the whale, impeding
his progress by fastening on his fins and tail. In
summer they appear in the Greenland seas, and
the seals instantly seek refuge from them in the
various creeks and inner harbors; and the Esquimaux
hunter in his frail kayak, when he sees the
huge pointed dorsal fin swiftly cleaving the surface
of the sea, is scarcely less anxious to shun
such dangerous company. With such stories as
these Petersen beguiles the time; I never tire of
listening to them, and now amuse myself in jotting
scraps of them down.

[51]

CHAPTER IV.

3d Oct.—September has passed away and left us
as a legacy to the pack; what a month have we
had of anxious hopes and fears!

Up to the 17th S.E. winds prevailed, forcing the
ice into a compact body, and urging it north-westward;
subsequently N.W. winds set in, drifting
it southward, and separating the floe-pieces;
but the change of wind being accompanied by a
considerable fall of temperature, they were either
quickly cemented together again, or young ice
formed over the newly opened lanes of water,
almost as rapidly as the surface of the sea became
exposed. During the month the thermometer
ranged between +36° and -2°. Two more bears
and a raven have been seen. A wearied ptarmigan
alighted near the ship, but before it could
take wing again the dogs caught it, and scarcely
a feather remained by the time I could rush on
deck.

Our beautiful little organ was taken out of its
case to-day, and put up on the lower deck; the[52]
men enjoy its pleasing tones, whilst Christian unceasingly
turns the handle in a state of intense
delight; he regards it with such awe and admiration,
and is so entranced, that one cannot help
envying him; of course he never saw one before.
The instrument was presented by the Prince Consort
to the searching vessel bearing his name
which was sent out by Lady Franklin in 1851;
it is now about to pass its third winter in the
frozen regions.

Two dogs ran off yesterday, in the vain hope,
I suppose, of bettering their condition,—we only
feed them three times a week at present; they
returned this morning.

Seals are daily seen upon the new ice, but in
this doubtful sort of light they are extremely
timid, therefore our sportsmen cannot get within
shot. The bears scent or hear our dogs, and so
keep aloof; even the shark has deserted us, the
bait remains intact. The snow crystals of last
night are extremely beautiful; the largest kind is
an inch in length; its form exactly resembles the
end of a pointed feather. Stellar crystals two-tenths
of an inch in diameter have also fallen;
these have six points, and are the most exquisite
things when seen under a microscope. I remember
noticing them at Melville Island in March,
1853, when the temperature rose to +8°; as these
were formed last night between the temperatures
of +6° and +12°, it would appear that the form[53]
is due to a certain fixed temperature. In the sun,
or even in moonlight, all these crystals glisten
most brilliantly; and as our masts and rigging are
abundantly covered with them, the ‘Fox’ never
was so gorgeously arrayed as she now appears.

13th.—One day is very like another; we have
to battle stoutly with monotony; and but that
each twenty-four hours brings with it necessary
though trivial duties, it would be difficult to remember
the date. We take our guns and walk
long distances, but see nothing. Two of the dogs
go hunting on their own account, sometimes remaining
absent all night. What they find or do
is a mystery. The weather is generally calm and
cold,—very favorable for freezing purposes at all
events,—for the ice of only three weeks’ growth
is two feet thick.

I hardly expect any considerable disruption of
the ice before the general break-up in the spring,
yet we do not trust any of our provisions upon
it, nor is it sufficiently still to set up a magnetic
observatory, for which purpose the instruments
have been supplied to us.

Petersen still hopes we may escape and get
into Upernivik, as the sea is not permanently
frozen over there before December. I am surprised
to hear that eagles have been seen so
far north as Upernivik, although it is but twice
in twenty-four years that specimens have been
noticed there. In Richardson’s ‘Fauna Boreali[54]
Americana’ the extreme northern limit of these
birds is given as 66°; but Upernivik is in 72¾°.

A few bear and fox tracks have been seen, but
no living creatures for several days, except a flock
of ducks hastening southward, and a solitary raven.

It is said that Esquimaux dogs will eat everything
except fox and raven. There are exceptions,
however; one of ours, old “Harness Jack,”
devoured a raven with much gusto some days
ago. All the other dogs allowed their harness to
be taken off when they were brought on board;
but old Jack will not permit himself to be unrobed;
when attempted he very plainly threatens
to use his teeth. This canine oddity suddenly
became immensely popular, by constituting himself
protecting head of the establishment when
one of his tribe littered; he took up a most uncomfortable
position on top of the family cask
(our impromptu kennel), and prevented the approach
of all the other dogs; but for his timely
interference on behalf of the poor little puppies,
I verily believe they would all have been stolen
and devoured! Dogs may do even worse than
eat raven.

I have attempted some experiments for the
purpose of determining the mean hourly change
of oscillation of a pendulum due to the earth’s
diurnal motion; but as mine was only 11½ feet
in length, I failed of any approach to accuracy.[55]
The mean of several observations gave 17° 47′,
whereas the change due to our latitude is about
14° 30′. A single experiment gave 14° 10′, and
this was the longest in point of time of any of
them, the pendulum having swung for thirty-six
minutes.

24th.—Furious N.W. and S.E. gales have alternated
of late; the ship is housed over, to keep
out the driving snow; so high is the snow carried
in the air that a little box perforated with small
holes and triced up 50 feet high is soon filled up;
this box is supplied morning and evening with a
piece of prepared paper to detect the presence
and amount of ozone in the atmosphere; it is a
peculiar pet of the Doctor’s.

At eight o’clock this evening I noticed the
falling of a very brilliant meteor; it passed
through the constellation of Cassiopeia in a
N.N.E. direction before terminating its visible
existence, which it did very much like a huge
rocket; the flash was so brilliant that a man
whose back was turned to it mistook the illumination
for lightning.

26th.—Our school opened this evening, under
the auspices of Dr. Walker. He reports eight or
nine pupils, and is much gratified by their zeal.
At present their studies are limited to the three
R’s—reading, ‘riting, and ‘rithmetic. They have
asked him to read and explain something instructive,
so he intends to make them acquainted with[56]
the trade-winds and atmosphere. This subject
affords an opportunity of explaining the uses
of our thermometer, barometer, ozonometer, and
electrometer, which they see us take much interest
in. It is delightful to find a spirit of
inquiry amongst them. Apart from scholastic
occupation, I give them healthful exercise in
spreading a thick layer of snow over the deck,
and encasing the ship all round with a bank of
the same material.

28th.—Midnight. This evening, to our great
astonishment, there occurred a disruption and
movement of the ice within 200 yards of the
ship. The night was calm; the reflection of a
bright moon, aided by the more than ordinary
brilliancy of the stars upon the snowy expanse,
made it appear to us almost daylight. As I sit
now in my cabin I can distinctly hear the ice
crushing; it resembles the continued roar of distant
surf, and there are many other occasional
sounds; some of them remind one of the low
moaning of the wind, others are loud and harsh,
as if trains of heavy wagons with ungreased
axles were slowly laboring along. Upon a less-favored
night these sounds might be appalling;
even as it is, they are sufficiently ominous to
invite reflection. Cape York has been in sight
for some days past.

29th.—Another heavenly night, and still greater
ice disturbance; some of the crushed-up pieces are[57]
nearly four feet thick. The currents, icebergs,
and changes of temperature, may contribute to
this ice action; but I think the tides are the chief
cause, and for these reasons: that it wants but
two days to the full moon, and that the ice-movements
are almost confined to the night, and
change their direction morning and evening.
Now we know that the night-tides in Greenland
greatly exceed the day-tides. One thing is evident—the
weather continues calm, therefore the
winds are not concerned in the matter.

2nd Nov.—Having observed some days ago
that a few of the dogs were falling away—from
some cause or other not having put on their
winter clothing before the recent cold weather
set in—they were all allowed on board, and
given a good extra meal. Since then we can
scarcely keep them out. One calm night they
made a charge, and boarded the ship so suddenly
that several of the men rushed up very scantily
clothed, to see what was the matter. Vigorous
measures were adopted to expel the intruders,
and there was desperate chasing round the deck
with broomsticks, &c. Many of them retreated
into holes and corners, and two hours elapsed
before they were all driven out; but though the
chase was hot, it was cold enough work for the
half-clad men.

Sailors use quaint expressions. The nightly
foraging expeditions are called “sorties;” they[58]
point out to me the various corners between
decks where the “ice corrodes,” i.e., the moisture
condenses and forms frost; a ramble over the
ice is called “a bit of a peruse.” I presume this
indignity is offered to the word perambulation.

There was a very sudden call “to arms” to-night.
Whether sleeping, prosing, or schooling,
every one flew out upon the ice on the instant,
as if the magazine or the boiler was on the point
of explosion. The alarm of “A bear close-to,
fighting with the dogs,” was the cause. The
luckless beast had approached within 25 yards
of the ship ere the quartermaster’s eye detected
his indistinct outline against the snow; so silently
had he crept up that he was within 10 yards of
some of the dogs. A shout started them up, and
they at once flew round the bear and embarrassed
his retreat. In crossing some very thin ice he
broke through, and there I found him surrounded
by yelping dogs. Poor fellow! Hobson, Young,
and Petersen had each lodged a bullet in him;
but these only seemed to increase his rage. He
succeeded in getting out of the water, when, fearing
harm to the numerous by-standers and dogs,
or that he might escape, I fired, and luckily the
bullet passed through his brain. He proved to
be a full-grown male, 7 feet 3 inches in length.
As we all aided in the capture, it was decided
that the skin should be offered to Lady Franklin.

The carcase will feed our dogs for nearly a[59]
month; they were rewarded on the spot with
the offal. All of them, however, had not shown
equal pluck; some ran off in evident fright, but
others showed no symptom of fear, plunging
or falling into the water with Bruin. Poor old
Sophy was amongst the latter, and received a
deep cut in the shoulder from one of his claws.
The authorities have prescribed double allowance
of food for her, and say she will soon recover.

For the few moments of its duration the chase
and death was exciting. And how strange and
novel the scene! A misty moon affording but
scanty light—dark figures gliding singly about,
not daring to approach each other, for the ice
trembled under their feet—the enraged bear,
the wolfish howling dogs, and the bright flashes
of the deadly rifles.

3rd.—I remained up the greater part of last
night taking observations, for the evening mists
had passed away, and a lovely moon reigned over
a calm enchanting night; through a powerful
telescope she resembled a huge frosted-silver
melon, the large crater-like depression answering
to that part from which the footstalk had been
detached. Not a sound to break the stillness
around, excepting when some hungry dog would
return to the battlefield to gnaw into the blood-stained
ice.

On the 1st the sun paid us his last visit for the
year, and now we take all our meals by lamplight.[60]

5th.—In order to vary our monotonous routine,
we determined to celebrate the day; extra grog
was issued to the crew, and also for the first time
a proportion of preserved plum-pudding. Lady
Franklin most thoughtfully and kindly sent it on
board for occasional use. It is excellent.

This evening a well-got-up procession sallied
forth, marched round the ship with drum, gong,
and discord, and then proceeded to burn the
effigy of Guy Fawkes. Their blackened faces,
extravagant costumes, flaring torches, and savage
yells frightened away all the dogs; nor was it
until after the fireworks were set off and the
traitor consumed that they crept back again. It
was school-night, but the men were up for fun, so
gave the Doctor a holiday.

12th.—Yesterday I had the good fortune to
shoot two seals; they were very fat and their
stomachs were filled with shrimps. To-day Young
and Petersen shot three more, and many others
have been seen. This is cheering, and entices
people out for hours daily. There is just enough
movement in the ice to keep a few narrow lanes
and small pools of water open; the floes or fields
of ice are more inclined to spread out from each
other than to close. We have latterly been drifting
before northerly winds.

16th.—A renewal of ice-crushing within a few
hundred yards of us. I can hear it in my bed.
The ordinary sound resembles the roar of distant[61]
surf breaking heavily and continuously; but
when heavy masses come in collision with much
impetus, it fully realizes the justness of Dr. Kane’s
descriptive epithet, “ice artillery.” Fortunately
for us, our poor little ‘Fox’ is well within the
margin of a stout old floe: we are therefore undisturbed
spectators of ice-conflicts, which would
be irresistible to anything of human construction.
Immediately about the ship all is still, and,
as far as appearances go she is precisely as she
would be in a secure harbor—housed all over,
banked up with snow to her gunwales. In fact,
her winter plumage is so complete that the masts
alone are visible. The deck and the now useless
sky-lights are covered with hard snow. Below
hatches we are warm and dry; all are in excellent
health and spirits, looking forward to an
active campaign next winter. God grant it may
be realized!

Yesterday Young shot the fiftieth seal, an
event duly celebrated by our drinking the bottle
of champagne which had been set apart in more
hopeful times to be drunk on reaching the North
Water—that unhappy failure, the more keenly
felt from being so very unexpected.

Petersen saw and fired a shot into a narwhal,
which brought the blubber out. When most
Arctic creatures are wounded in the water, blubber
more frequently than blood appears, particularly
if the wound is superficial—it spreads over[62]
the surface of the water like oil. Bills of fare
vary much, even in Greenland. I have inquired
of Petersen, and he tells me that the Greenland
Esquimaux (there are many Greenlanders of
Danish origin) are not agreed as to which of
their animals affords the most delicious food;
some of them prefer reindeer venison, others
think more favorably of young dog, the flesh of
which, he asserts, is “just like the beef of sheep.”
He says a Danish captain, who had acquired the
taste, provided some for his guests, and they
praised his mutton! after dinner he sent for the
skin of the animal, which was no other than a
large red dog! This occurred in Greenland,
where his Danish guests had resided for many
years, far removed from European mutton. Baked
puppy is a real delicacy all over Polynesia: at
the Sandwich Islands I was once invited to a
feast, and had to feign disappointment as well as
I could when told that puppy was so extremely
scarce it could not be procured in time, and
therefore sucking-pig was substituted!

19th.—A heavy southerly gale has increased
the ice movements; happily we are undisturbed.
As Young was seated under the lee of a hummock,
watching for seals to pop up to breathe,
the strong ice under him suddenly cracked and
separated! He escaped with a ducking, and was
just able to reach his gun from the bank ere it
sank through the mixture of snow and water.[63]

Yesterday we were all out; I saw only one
seal, but was refreshed by the sight of a dozen
narwhals. It is a positive treat to see a living
creature of any kind. The only birds which
remain are dovekies, but they are scarce, and,
being white, are very rarely visible.

The dogs are fed every second day, when 2
lbs. of seal’s flesh—previously thawed when possible—is
given to each; the weaker ones get
additional food, and they all pick up whatever
scraps are thrown out; this is enough to sustain,
but not to satisfy them, so they are continually
on the look-out for anything eatable. Hobson
made one very happy without intending it; he
meant only to give him a kick, but his slipper,
being down at heel, flew off, and away went the
lucky dog in triumph with the prize, which of
course was no more seen.

Two large icebergs drift in company with us;
our relative positions have remained pretty nearly
the same for the last month.

23rd.—A heavy gale commenced at N.E. on
the 21st, and continued for thirty-six hours unabated
in force, but changed in direction to S.S.W.
It appears to have been a revolving storm, moving
to the N.W. Yesterday, as the wind approached
S.E., the temperature rose to +32°; the upper
deck sloppy; the lower deck temperature during
Divine Service was 75°!! As the wind veered
round to S.S.W., the wind moderated, and temperature[64]
fell: this evening it is -7°. How is it that
the S.E. wind has brought us such a very high
temperature? Even if it traversed an unfrozen
sea it could not have derived from thence a
higher temperature than 29°. Has it swept
across Greenland—that vast superficies partly
enveloped in glacier, partly in snow? No, it
must have been borne in the higher regions of
the atmosphere from the far south, in order to
mitigate the severity of this northern climate.

Petersen tells me the same warm S.E. wind
suddenly sweeps over Upernivik in midwinter,
bringing with it abundance of rain; and that it
always shifts to the S.W., and then the temperature
rapidly falls: this is precisely the change we
have experienced in lat. 75°. I believe a somewhat
similar, but less remarkable, change of
temperature was noticed in Smith’s Sound, lat.
78¾° N.

25th.—Mild “Madeira weather,” as Hobson
calls it, temperature up to +7°. By my desire
Dr. Walker is occupied in making every possible
experiment upon the freezing of salt water; the
first crop of ice is salt, the second less so, the
third produces drinkable water, and the fourth
is fresh. Frosty efflorescence appears upon ice
formed at low temperatures in calm weather—it
is brine expressed by the act of freezing.
We need not wonder that dogs, when driven
hard over this ice, which soon cuts their feet,[65]
suffer intense pain, and often fall down in fits;
nor that snow, falling upon young (sea) ice,
wholly or partially thaws, even when the temperature
is but little above zero; when near the
freezing-point the young ice thus coated over
becomes sludgy and unsafe.

29th.—Keen, biting, N.W. winds. No cracks
in the ice, therefore no seals. Grey dawn at ten
o’clock, and dark at two. The moon is everywhere
the sailor’s friend, she is a source of comfort
to us here. Nothing to excite conversation,
except an occasional inroad of the dogs in search
of food; this generally occurs at night. Whenever
the deck-light, which burns under the
housing happens to go out, they scale the steep
snow banking and rush round the deck like
wolves. “Why, bless you, Sir, the wery moment
that there light goes out, and the quartermaster
turns his back, they makes a regular sortee, and
in they all comes.” “But where do they come in,
Harvey?” “Where, Sir? why everywheres; they
makes no more to do, but in they comes, clean
over all.” Not long ago old Harvey was chief
quartermaster in a line-of-battle ship, and a regular
magnet to all the younger midshipmen. He
would spin them yarns by the hour during the
night-watches about the wonders of the sea, and
of the Arctic regions in particular—its bears, its
icebergs, and still more terrific “auroras, roaring[66]
and flashing about the ship enough to frighten a
fellow”!

30th.—Severe cold has arrived with the full
moon; eight days ago the thermometer stood at
the freezing-point, it is now 64° below it! So
dark is it now that I was able to observe an
eclipse of Jupiter’s first satellite before three
o’clock to-day. For the last two months we have
drifted freely backwards and forwards before
N.W. and S.E. winds; each time we have gained
a more off-shore position, being gradually separated
further and further from the land by fresh
growths of ice, which invariably follow up every
ice-movement. In this manner we have been
thrust out to the S.W. 80 miles from the nearest
land, and into that free space which in autumn
was open water, and which we then vainly struggled
to reach.

That the ice has been most free to move in
this direction is additional evidence of the recent
proximity of an open sea, and shows that in all
probability—I had almost said certainty—we
should have sailed, or at least drifted into it, had
it not been for those enemies to all progress,
the grounded bergs.

[67]

CHAPTER V.

4th Dec.—I have just returned on board from
the performance of the most solemn duty a commander
can be called upon to fulfil. A funeral
at sea is always peculiarly impressive; but this
evening at seven o’clock, as we gathered around
the sad remains of poor Scott, reposing under an
Union Jack, and read the Burial Service by the
light of lanterns, the effect could not fail to
awaken very serious emotions.

The greater part of the Church Service was
read on board, under shelter of the housing; the
body was then placed upon a sledge, and drawn
by the messmates of the deceased to a short distance
from the ship, where a hole through the
ice had been cut: it was then “committed to the
deep,” and the Service completed. What a scene
it was! I shall never forget it. The lonely ‘Fox,’
almost buried in snow, completely isolated from
the habitable world, her colors half-mast high,[68]
and bell mournfully tolling; our little procession
slowly marching over the rough surface of the
frozen sea, guided by lanterns and direction-posts,
amid the dark and dreary depth of Arctic winter;
the deathlike stillness, the intense cold, and
threatening aspect of a murky, overcast sky; and
all this heightened by one of those strange lunar
phenomena which are but seldom seen even here,
a complete halo encircling the moon, through
which passed a horizontal band of pale light that
encompassed the heavens; above the moon appeared
the segments of two other halos, and there
were also mock moons or paraselenæ to the number
of six. The misty atmosphere lent a very
ghastly hue to this singular display, which lasted
for rather more than an hour.

Poor Scott fell down a hatchway two days only
before his death, which was occasioned by the internal
injuries then received; he was a steady,
serious man; a widow and family will mourn his
loss. He was our engine-driver; we cannot replace
him, therefore the whole duty of working
the engines will devolve upon the engineer,
Mr. Brand.

11th.—Calm, clear weather, pleasant for exercise,
but steadily cold; thermometer varies between
-20° and -30°. At noon the blush of
dawn tints the southern horizon, to the north the
sky remains inky blue, whilst overhead it is bright
and clear, the stars shining, and the pole-star near[69]
the zenith very distinct. Although there is a
light north wind, thin mackerel-clouds are passing
from south to north, and the temperature
has risen 10°.

A Funeral on the Ice. The effect of Paraselenæ—Mock Moons.

I have been questioning Petersen about the
bones of the musk oxen found in Smith’s Sound;
he says the decayed skulls of about twenty were
found, all of them to the north of the 79th parallel.
As they were all without lower jaws, he says
they were killed by Esquimaux, who leave upon
the spot the skulls of large animals, but the
weight of the lower jaw being so trifling it is allowed
to remain attached to the flesh and tongue.
The skull of a musk ox with its massive horns
cannot weigh less than 30 lbs.

Although it has been abundantly proved by
the existence of raised beaches and fossils, that
the shores of Smith’s Sound have been elevated
within a comparatively recent geological period,
yet Petersen tells me that there exist numerous
ruins of Esquimaux buildings, probably one or
two centuries old, all of which are situated upon
very low points, only just sufficiently raised above
the reach of the sea; such sites, in fact, as would
at present be selected by the natives. These
ruins show that no perceptible change has taken
place in the relative level of sea and land since
they were originally constructed. At Petersen’s
Greenland home, Upernivik, the land has sunk,[70]
as is plainly shown by similar ruins over which
the tides now flow.

Anything which illustrates the habits of animals
in such extremely high latitudes I think is
most interesting; their instincts must be quickened
in proportion as the difficulty of subsisting
increases. Foxes, white and blue, are very numerous;
all the birds are merely summer visitors,
therefore the hare is the only creature remaining
upon which foxes can prey; but the hares are
comparatively scarce: how then do the foxes live
for eight months of each year? Petersen thinks
they store up provisions during the summer in
various holes and crevices, and thus manage to
eke out an existence during the dark winter season;
he once saw a fox carry off eggs in his
mouth from an eider-duck’s nest, one at a time,
until the whole were removed; and in winter he
has observed a fox scratch a hole down through
very deep snow, to a câche of eggs beneath.

The men are exercised at building snow-huts;
for winter or early spring travelling, this knowledge
is almost indispensable. Upon a calm day
the temperature of the external air being -33°,
within a snow-hut the thermometer stood 17°
higher, this important difference being due to the
transmission of heat through the ice from the sea
beneath.

Evaporation goes on through ice from the
water underneath it. The interior of each snow[71]-hut
is coated with crystals, and the ice upon which
the huts are built is four feet thick, but when no
longer in contact with water I cannot discover
any evaporation from ice. For instance, a canvas
screen on deck which became wet by the sudden
thaw last month still remains frozen stiff.

14th.—Of late there has been much damp
upon the lower deck. This has now been remedied
by enclosing the hatchway within a commodious
snow-porch, which serves as a condenser
for the steam and vapor from the inhabited deck
below.

19th.—Light N.W. winds, with occasional mists;
the temperature is comparatively mild: -12° to -25°.

It is now the time of spring-tides; they cause
numerous cracks in the ice; but why so, at such a
great distance from the land, I cannot explain.
The three nearest points of land are respectively
110, 140, and 180 miles distant from us.

Much aurora during the last two days. Yesterday
morning it was visible until eclipsed by the
day-dawn at 10 o’clock. Although we could no
longer see it, I do not think it ceased: very thin
clouds occupied its place, through which, as
through the aurora, stars appeared scarcely
dimmed in lustre. I do not imagine that aurora
is ever visible in a perfectly clear atmosphere. I
often observe it just silvering or rendering luminous[72]
the upper edge of low fog or cloud banks,
and with a few vertical rays feebly vibrating.

Last evening Dr. Walker called me to witness
his success with the electrometer. The electric
current was so very weak that the gold-leaves
diverged at regular intervals of four or five seconds.
Some hours afterwards it was strong
enough to keep them diverged.

21st.—Midwinter day. Out of the Arctic regions
it is better known as the shortest day. At
noon we could just read type similar to the leading
article of the ‘Times.’ Few people could
read more than two or three lines without their
eyes aching.

27th.—Our Christmas was a very cheerful,
merry one. The men were supplied with several
additional articles, such as hams, plum-puddings,
preserved gooseberries and apples, nuts, sweetmeats,
and Burton ale. After Divine Service
they decorated the lower deck with flags, and
made an immense display of food. The officers
came down with me to see their preparations.
We were really astonished! The mess-tables
were laid out like the counters in a confectioner’s
shop, with apple and gooseberry tarts, plum and
sponge-cakes in pyramids, besides various other
unknown puffs, cakes, and loaves of all sizes and
shapes. We bake all our own bread, and excellent
it is. In the background were nicely-browned[73]
hams, meat-pies, cheeses, and other
substantial articles. Rum and water in wine-glasses,
and plum-cake, were handed to us: we
wished them a happy Christmas, and complimented
them on their taste and spirit in getting
up such a display. Our silken sledge-banners had
been borrowed for the occasion, and were regarded
with deference and peculiar pride.

In the evening the officers were enticed down
amongst the men again, and at a late hour I was
requested, as a great favor, to come down and
see how much they were enjoying themselves.
I found them in the highest good humor with
themselves and all the world. They were perfectly
sober, and singing songs, each in his turn.
I expressed great satisfaction at having seen them
enjoying themselves so much and so rationally. I
could therefore the better describe it to Lady
Franklin, who was so deeply interested in everything
relating to them. I drank their healths,
and hoped our position next year would be more
suitable for our purpose. We all joined in drinking
the healths of Lady Franklin and Miss Cracroft,
and amid the acclamations which followed
I returned to my cabin, immensely gratified by
such an exhibition of genuine good feeling, such
veneration for Lady Franklin, and such loyalty
to the cause of the expedition. It was very
pleasant also that they had taken the most cheering
view of our future prospects. I verily believe[74]
I was the happiest individual on board, that
happy evening.

Our Christmas-box has come in the shape of
northerly winds, which bid fair to drift us southward
towards those latitudes wherein we hope
for liberation next spring from this icy bondage.

28th.—We have been in expectation of a gale
all day. This evening there is still a doubtful
sort of truce amongst the elements. Barometer
down to 28·83; thermometer up to +5°, although
the wind has been strong and steady from the
N. for twenty-four hours, low scud flying from
the E., snow constantly falling. An hour ago the
wind suddenly changed to S.S.E.; the snowing
has ceased; thermometer falls and barometer
rises.

2nd Jan., 1858.—New Year’s day was a second
edition of Christmas, and quite as pleasantly spent.
We dwelt much upon the anticipations of the future,
being a more agreeable theme than the failure
of the past. I confess to a hearty welcome
for the new year—anxious, of course, that we
may escape uninjured, and sufficiently early to
pursue the object of our voyage.

Exactly at midnight on the 31st December the
arrival of the new year was announced to me by
our band—two flutes and an accordion—striking
up at my door. There was also a procession,
or perhaps I should say a continuation of the
band; these performers were grotesquely attired,[75]
and armed with frying-pans, gridirons, kettles,
pots, and pans, with which to join in and add to
the effect of the other music!

We have a very level hard walk alongside the
ship; it is narrowed to two or three yards in
width by a snow-bank four feet high. In the
face of this bank some twenty-five holes have
been excavated for the dogs, and in them they
spend most of their time. It looks very formidable
in the moonlight, being a good imitation of a
casemated battery.

After our rubber of whist on New Year’s night
Petersen related to us some of his dreadful sufferings
when with the party which had left Dr.
Kane. They spent the months of October and
November in Booth Sound, lat. 77°; all that time
upon the verge of starvation, unable to advance
or retreat. For these two months they had no
other fuel than their small cedar boat, the smoke
of which was not endurable in their wretched
hut, and without light, for the sun left them in
October, unless we except one inch and a half of
taper daily, which they made out of a lump of
bees’-wax that accidently found its way into their
boat before leaving the ship. In December they
regained their vessel. I am surprised that no account
of the extreme hardships of this party—so
far exceeding that of their shipmates on board—has
ever appeared; and I regret it, as I believe
they owed their lives to the experience and[76]
fidelity of their interpreter Petersen. At first
the Esquimaux assisted them; latterly they were
quite unable to do so, and became anxious to get
rid of their visitors. Observing how weakened
they had become, the Esquimaux endeavored to
separate them from their guns and from each
other, and even used threatening language.

During December we drifted 67 miles, directly
down Baffin’s Bay towards the Atlantic, and are
now in lat. 74°. Although it is quite impossible
to discriminate between the several influences
which probably govern our movements, or to ascertain
how much is due to each of them—such
as the relative positions of ice, land, and open
water, winds, currents, and earth’s rotation—yet
it appears in the present instance that the wind is
almost the sole agent in hastening this vast continent
of ice towards the latitudes of its dissolution.
We move before the wind in proportion to its
strength: we remain stationary in calm weather.
Neither surface nor submarine current has been
detected; the large icebergs obey the same influences
as the surface ice. We have noticed a
slight set to the westward—it is not likely to be
produced by current, and may be the result of
the earth’s motion from west to east.

6th.—Many lanes of water. A seal has been
seen, the only one for six weeks. Of the old ice
which so closely hemmed us in up to the middle
of September, there is hardly any within several[77]
miles of us except the large floe-piece we are
frozen to. Every crack or lane which opens is
quickly covered with young ice, so that it cannot
close again; and in this manner the old ice has
been spread out. I rejoice in its dispersion!

To-day I put a tumblerful of our strong ale
(Allsopp’s) on deck to freeze: this was soon effected,
the temperature being -35°. After bringing
it below, and when its temperature had risen
to 17°, it was almost all thawed—at 22° it was
completely so: it looked muddy, but settled after
standing for a couple of hours, when I drank it
off, in every way satisfied with my experiment
and my beer: it seemed none the worse for its
freezing, but rather flat from its long exposure in
a tumbler.

17th.—Northerly winds blow almost constantly.
We have drifted 60 miles since the 1st, and are
only 115 miles from Upernivik,—once more
upon confines of the habitable world! good light
for three hours daily; all this is cheering. We
continue our snow-hut practice, and can build one
in three-quarters of an hour.

28th.—The upper edge of the sun appeared
above the horizon to-day, after an absence of
eighty-nine days; it was a gladdening sight. I
sent for the ship’s steward and asked what was
the custom on such occasions? “To hoist the
colors and serve out an extra half-gill, sir,” was
the ready reply: accordingly, the Harwich lion[78]
soon fluttered in a breeze cool enough to stiffen
the limbs of ordinary lions, and in the evening
the grog was issued.

30th.—Our messmate Pussy is unwell, and
won’t eat; in vain has Hobson tempted her
with raw seal’s flesh, preserved salmon, preserved
milk, etc.; at length castor-oil was forcibly administered.
Puss is a great favorite. Our finest
dog, Sultan, is also sick, and his coat is in bad
order; blubber has been prescribed for him;—and
poor old Mary has fits, not uncommon after
the long winter. Petersen immediately ordered
her to be bled by slitting her ear; but Christian,
in his fright and haste, cropped the tip of it off
These comprise our only medical cases. A dovekie,
in its white winter plumage, and two seals
have been seen lately.

15th Feb.—The returning daylight cheers us
up wonderfully—not that we were suffering,
either mentally or bodily, but the change is most
agreeable; we can take much longer walks than
were possible during the dark period. The men
have been supplied with muskets, and go out
sporting as ardently as schoolboys. I took a long
walk towards one of our iceberg companions, but
could not quite reach it, as weak ice intervened,
each step producing an undulation. Finding the
point of my knife went through it with but
very slight resistance, I gave up the attempt and
turned back. The ship’s masts were scarcely visible[79]
in the distance; almost the whole of the intervening
ice was of this winter’s growth, and in
many places much crushed up.

Daylight reveals to us evidences of vast ice
movements having taken place during the dark
months when we fancied all was still and quiet;
and we now see how greatly we have been favored,
what innumerable chances of destruction
we have unconsciously escaped! A few days ago
the ice suddenly cracked within ten yards of the
ship, and gave her such a smart shock that every
one rushed on deck with astonishing alacrity.
One of these sudden disruptions occurred between
me and the ship when I was returning from the
iceberg; the sun was just setting as I found myself
cut off. Had I been on the other side I
would have loitered to enjoy a refreshing gaze
upon this dark streak of water; but after a smart
run of about a mile along its edge, and finding no
place to cross, visions of a patrol on the floe for
the long night of fifteen hours began to obtrude
themselves! At length I reached a place where
the jagged edges of the floes met, so crossed and
got safely on board. Nothing was seen during
this walk of nearly 25 miles except one seal.
Recent gales have drifted us rapidly southward;
cracks and lanes are very numerous.

On the 1st a blue (or sooty) fox was shot. Although
130 geographical miles from the nearest
land he was very fat, hence we argue dovekies[80]
were much more numerous during winter than
we supposed. We have often noticed the tracks
of foxes following up those of the bears, probably
for discarded scraps of the seals upon which they
prey. Hobson’s favorite dog “Chummie” has returned,
after an absence of six days, decidedly
hungry, but he can hardly have been without
food all that time; some fox may have lured him
off. He evinced great delight in getting back,
devoted his first attentions to a hearty meal, then
rubbed himself up against his own particular associates,
after which he sought out and attacked
the weakest of his enemies, and, soothed by their
howlings, coiled himself up for a long sleep.

1st March.—February has been a remarkably
mild, cloudy, windy month: the winter temperature
may be said to have passed away by the
10th, the average temperature for the first ten
days being -25°, whilst for the remainder of the
month it was -11°. Had one fallen asleep for a
month at least, he could not reasonably have expected
to find a greater change on awaking. Our
drift has been also great,—166 miles. We are
south of the 70th parallel, and may soon be expelled
from our icy home.

On the 24th there was a fearful gale of wind.
Had not our housing been very well secured, it
must have been blown away. We are preparing
for sea, removing the snow from off the deck and
round the ship; our sky-lights have been dug out[81]
(in winter they are always covered with a thick
layer of snow), and the flood of light which beams
down through them is quite charming. How intolerably
sooty and smoke-dried everything looks!

On the 27th the first seal of this year was
shot; it came in good time, for the fifty-one
seals shot in autumn were finished only two
days before: our English supply of dogs’ food
therefore remains almost untouched. Snow was
observed to melt against the ship’s side exposed
to the sun, the thermometer in the shade standing
at -22°! A very fine dog has died from
eating a quantity of salt fish, which he managed
to get at although it was supposed to be quite
out of his reach.

One of the two large icebergs which commenced
this voyage with us last October, in
75½° N., has drifted out of sight to the S.E., the
other one is far off in the N.W. I attribute
these increased distances solely to the spreading
abroad of the intervening ice.

When we were far north, and probably drifting
more slowly than the ice in the stream of Lancaster
Sound to the westward of us, the ship’s
head turned very gradually from right to left,
from N.N.W. to W.; when about the parallel
of 72° N., we supposed ourselves to be drifting
faster than the western ice; in this, as in the
previous case, comparing our drift with that of
Lieutenant De Haven, the ship’s head slowly[82]
shifted back to the right as far as W.N.W.;
latterly it has not changed at all: we are in a
narrower part of Davis’ Strait, where the winds
probably blow with equal force from shore to
shore and drift the whole pack at a uniform rate.

5th.—On the 2nd four fat seals and some dovekies
were shot; the largest seal weighed 170
lbs., the smallest 150 lbs.; they were males
of the species Phoca hespida, or Phoca fœtida,
the latter epithet being by far the most appropriate
at this season; the disagreeable odor resembles
garlic, and taints the whole animal so
strongly that even Esquimaux are nearly overpowered
by it: this is almost the only description
of seal we have obtained, but the females
are at all seasons free from fetor. Several long
lanes of water extend at right angles to the
straits.

The Doctor has taken a photograph of the
ship by the albumen process on glass; the temperature
at the time was below zero. Upon the
3rd and 4th a well-remarked revolving storm
passed nearly over us to the W.N.W.; its extreme
diameter was 30 hours, that of the strength
of the gale 18 hours; its centre probably passed
about one-tenth of its diameter to the S.W. The
barometer was rather high, having risen just before
the wind commenced at N.E.; but it now
fell half an inch in ten hours, and continued to
fall until the wind shifted—almost suddenly—through[83]
S.E. to S.S.W.; immediately the barometer
got up rapidly. As the barometer fell, the
temperature rose from zero to +18°, and fell
again after the change of wind. This violent
storm brought with it a smart hail-shower.

The depression of the ice about the bows, in
consequence of a vast accumulation of snow-drift
upon it, brought the ship down by the head considerably;
to-day this ice suddenly detached itself,
and the fore part of the vessel sprang up;
she still remains frozen and held down abaft.
The snow-banking looks very woe-begone after
this ice-quake; it inclines out from the ship, and
in many places has been prostrated by the shock.

Early on the morning of the 7th the high land
of Disco was seen; its distance was upwards of
90 miles.

[84]

CHAPTER VI.

9th March.—A bear was seen this morning; but
as he was going away from us, the dogs were
brought out in the hope that they might keep
him at bay until the sportsmen came up. It was
very pretty to see them take up the scent, the
moment they caught sight of him they set off at
full speed. Bruin had seen them first, and increased
his pace to a clumsy gallop, yet the dogs
were soon around him; he seemed to care but
little about them, steadily making off and following
the trending of a recently frozen crack in
search of clear water, evidently aware that his
persecutors would not follow him there.

After five hours all returned on board again;
out of the ten dogs four were wounded by his
claws,—skin deep only,—but one of the wounds
was seven inches in length, as if made with a
sharp knife! this was sewed up, the others were
merely trimmed, and nature, I am informed, will
do all the rest. It is really wonderful what cures[85]
nature and instinct effect: notwithstanding the
extreme cold, no external dressings are applied,
because the animal must not be prevented from
licking its wound. Petersen says this bear must
be very thin, else he could not run so fast. I
think it very probable that he has been hunted
before, and that fear lent him wings. A black
whale has been seen.

11th.—Two small seals free from taint were
shot yesterday, so we had fried liver and steaks
for breakfast this morning; both were good, but
the steaks were preferred; they were very dark
and very tender, had been cut thin, deprived of
all fat, and washed in two or three waters to get
rid of the blubber.

16th.—Several long lanes of water have again
opened, but now all of them extend parallel to
the direction of the straits; one lane passed within
120 yards of the ship; its extremes are not
visible even from aloft; the ice upon its east side
has a more rapid southerly motion than that
upon its west side.

18th.—Last night the ice closed, shutting up
our lane, but its opposite sides continued for
several hours to move past each other, rubbing
off all projections, crushing, and forcing out of
water masses four feet thick: although 120 yards
distant, this pressure shook the ship and cracked
the intervening ice.

I went out with a lantern to see the nip,—it[86]
certainly was awe-inspiring; no one in his
senses could avoid reflecting upon the inevitable
fate of a ship if exposed to such fearful pressure.
It is now spring tides.

19th.—All yesterday the lane remained open;
in the evening it closed with but slight pressure;
yet as the opposing fields of ice continued to
move in opposite directions, all jagged points
were brushed off, and the débris thus formed
between their edges presented a heaving surface
of ice-masses,—an ice river. On the separation
of the floes, mass after mass forced itself up to
the surface, until at length all the submerged
ice had risen, except such as had been forced
quite under their edges. One seldom meets
with a cleanly fractured floe-edge, they are
usually fringed with crushed-up ice or newly
formed sludge.

23rd.—Seals and dovekies are now common;
the latter have already made considerable advances
towards their summer plumage.

Yesterday there was a very heavy S.E. gale;
it blew so furiously, and the snow-drift was so
dense, that we could neither hear nor see what
was going on twenty yards off; at night the ship,
becoming suddenly detached from the ice, heeled
over to the storm; until the cause was ascertained
we thought the ice had broken up and
pressed against the ship. It was not so; but
when the weather moderated we found that there[87]
had been heavy pressure upon the edge of the
floes,—so much, indeed, that the lane of water
was now within 70 yards of the ‘Fox;’ and that
ice 4½ feet thick had been crushed during the
storm for a distance of about 50 yards.

25th.—Strong N.W. winds lately, the ship
rocking to the breeze, and rubbing her poor
sides against the ice, producing a creaking sound
which is far from pleasant. More ice squeezing,
and a further inroad upon our barrier; it has
yielded slightly, nipping the ship, inclining her
to port, and lifting her stern about a foot. Occasional
groanings within, and surgings of the ice
without.

Our boats, provisions, sledges, knapsacks, and
equipment are ready for a hasty departure,—beyond
this we can do nothing; as long as our
friendly barrier lasts we need not fear, but who
can tell the moment it may be demolished, and
the ship exposed to destruction? I am scribbling
within a foot of the sternpost—in fact,
there is a notch in my table to receive it; and
I sympathize with its constant groanings; the ice
allows it no rest.

27th.—Strong N.W. gale with a return of
cold weather. We have drifted 39 miles in the
last forty-eight hours! The lane is open; the
whole pack appears to have plenty of room to
drift, and, I am happy to add, is taking advantage
of it,—so much so that the smaller pieces[88]
floating freely in the lane can hardly go at the
same pace. Our remaining winter companion,
the iceberg, was in sight a few days ago, far away
to the N.W.; it may be still visible from aloft,
but these March gales cut so keenly, that the
crow’s-nest is but seldom visited.

31st.—Another N.W. gale; it is also spring
tides, and this conjunction makes one fearful of
ice movement and pressure; but it seems as if
the pack had more room to move in, as it does
not close much. Seals are often shot, bear tracks
are common, and narwhals are frequently seen
migrating northward. The bears must prefer
the night-time for wandering about, else we
could not help seeing them; we often find their
tracks within a few hundred yards of the ship.

Although the last, yet this is the coldest day
of the month—the thermometer down to -27°.
The mean temperature for March has been unusually
high, -3°; whilst Lieutenant De Haven’s
was -17°. Notwithstanding that heavy S.E.
gales have three times driven us backward, yet
we have advanced 100 miles further down Davis’
Straits.

6th April.—To-day we enjoy fine weather, the
more so since it comes after a tremendous northerly
gale of forty-eight hours’ duration. Two
days ago the friendly old floe, so long our bulwark
of defence, was cracked; the lane of water
thus formed soon widened to 60 yards, passed[89]
within 30 yards of the ‘Fox,’ and cut off three
of our boats. Yesterday morning another crack
detached the remaining 30 yards from us, and as
it widened the ship swung across the opening; as
quickly as we could effect it the ship was again
placed alongside the ice and within a projecting
point; had it closed only a few feet whilst she
lay across the lane, the consequences must have
been very serious. Even to effect this slight
change of position we were fully occupied for
four hours; for the gale blew furiously, and thermometer
stood at 12° below zero, and the cold
was very much felt; our hawsers were frozen so
stiff as to be quite unmanageable, and we were
obliged to use the chain cables to warp the ship
into safety.

Throughout yesterday the wind continued extremely
strong and keen,—fortunately the ice
remained perfectly still: our funnels refused to
draw up the smoke; so that between the suffocation,
the cold, and anxiety lest the ice should
move, our Easter Monday was sufficiently miserable.
The half of our poor dogs were cut off
from the ship by the lane, and continued to howl
dismally until late, when the new ice over the
lane was strong enough to bear them, and they
came across to us.

To-day we have recovered the boats, shot four
seals, seen two whales, and much water to the[90]
eastward; we are in latitude 67° 18′ N., and
highly delighted with the rapidity of our southern
drift.

10th.—Yesterday evening the setting sun rendered
visible the western land, probably Cape
Dyer. We have drifted 70 miles in the last week,
and are only 18 miles from De Haven’s position
of escape; but as we are two months earlier, we
must expect to be carried farther south.

12th.—This morning we drifted ingloriously
out of the Arctic regions, and with what very different
feelings from those with which we crossed
the Arctic circle eight months ago! However,
we have not done with it yet; directly the ice lets
us go, we will (D. V.) re-enter the frigid zone, and
“try again,” with, I trust, better success.

A gull and a few terns appeared to-day; these
are the first of our summer visitors. The temperature
improves; yesterday at one o’clock it
was +19° in the shade, +15° in the crow’s-nest
70 feet high, and +51° against a black surface
exposed to the sun.

16th.—Last night a bear came to the ship, was
wounded, but escaped; to-day the tracks were
followed up for three miles, the bear found, and
again wounded—finally the unlucky beast was
shot in the water seven miles from the ship; it
was lost in consequence of the rapid drifting of
the ice, which ran over the floating carcase.[91]

To-night a dense fog-bank rests upon the water
to the southward; its upper edge is illuminated
by aurora, showing a faint tremulous light.

17th.—Another northerly gale; holding fast to
the ice with three hawsers; snow-drift limits the
view to a couple of miles, so all to the eastward
appears water, and to the westward ice.

Last night the ice opened considerably; to secure
the ship occupied us for six hours; several
of the dogs were again cut off; as the ice they
were on was rapidly drifting away, I sent a boat
to recover them; it was a difficult and hazardous
business, but at length the boat and dogs returned
in safety, to my great relief, for it was
both dark and late.

18th.—Yesterday morning when I wrote up
my journal, I was hoping to hold on quietly to
the floe-edge until the wind moderated, when
with clear weather we could take advantage of
the openings and make some progress towards the
clear sea. We were unable to hold on, for the
floe-edge broke away, setting us adrift; some time
was occupied in fetching off the boats and dogs,—five
of the latter unfortunately would not allow
themselves to be caught. As speedily as possible
the rudder was shipped and sail set, and before
three o’clock the ship was running fast to the
eastward! During the night the ice closed, and
at daylight scarcely any water was visible; with
the exception of a couple of icebergs, all the ice[92]
in sight was not more than two days old; it
mainly owes its origin and rapid growth to the
immense quantities of snow blown off the pack.

It still blows hard, and the thermometer stands
at 11°. A sudden opening of the ice this forenoon
allowed us to run a few miles southward,
and then it closed again; we are now surrounded
by young ice.

20th.—We have been carried rapidly past the
position where the Arctic discovery ship ‘Resolute’
was picked up.

Yesterday three bears, a fulmar petrel, and a
snow bunting were seen; to-day a fine bear came
within 150 yards, and was shot by our sportsmen;
as they were standing round it afterwards upon
the ice, a small seal, the only one seen for several
days, popped up its head as if to exult over its
fallen enemy—it was of course instantly shot:
we have learnt to esteem seal’s liver for breakfast
very highly.

It seems hardly right to call polar bears land
animals; they abound here,—110 geographical
miles from the nearest land,—upon very loose
broken-up ice, which is steadily drifting into the
Atlantic at the rate of 12 or 14 miles daily; to remain
upon it would insure their destruction were
they not nearly amphibious; they hunt by scent,
and are constantly running across and against the
wind, which prevails from the northward, so that
the same instinct which directs their search for[93]
prey, also serves the important purpose of guiding
them in the direction of the land and more
solid ice.

I remarked that the upper part of both Bruin’s
fore-paws were rubbed quite bare; Petersen explains
that to surprise the seal a bear crouches
down with his fore-paws doubled underneath, and
pushes himself noiselessly forward with his hinder
legs until within a few yards, when he springs
upon the unsuspecting victim, whether in the
water or upon the ice. The Greenlanders are
fond of bear’s flesh, but never eat either the heart
or liver, and say that these parts cause sickness.
No instance is known of Greenland bears attacking
men, except when wounded or provoked;
they never disturb the Esquimaux graves, although
they seldom fail to rob a câche of seal’s flesh,
which is a similar construction of loose stones
above ground.

A native of Upernivik, one dark winter’s day,
was out visiting his seal-nets. He found a seal
entangled, and, whilst kneeling down over it upon
the ice to get it clear, he received a slap on the
back—from his companion as he supposed; but
a second and heavier blow made him look smartly
round. He was horror-stricken to see a peculiarly
grim old bear instead of his comrade! without
deigning further notice of the man, Bruin tore
the seal out of the net and commenced his supper.[94]
He was not interrupted; nor did the man
wait to see the meal finished.

I had long ago resolved, if we escaped before
the 15th, or the 20th April at the latest, to go to
Newfoundland to refresh the crew and to refit,
even if no damage from the ice should be sustained.
In order to do so it would have been
necessary for us to visit a Greenland port for a
supply of water. We could not have calculated
upon much assistance from our engines upon such
a voyage, Mr. Brand alone being capable of working
the engines, so that ten or twelve hours daily
is all the steaming that could have been expected.

But we are still ice-locked, so I purpose going
to Holsteinborg in preference to a more southern
port, as there we may expect to get reindeer and
a small supply of stores suitable to our wants.
The whalers sometimes reach Disco in March,
Upernivik in May, and the North Water early in
June. Unless we should be at once set free, we
would not have time to spare for a Newfoundland
voyage.

24th.—Another anxious week has passed. Latterly
we have experienced south-westerly currents
similar to those which Parry describes when
beset here in June, 1819. To-day we have had
a strong S.E. breeze, with snow and dark weather.
The wind had greatly moderated when the swell[95]
reached us about eight o’clock this evening. It
is now ten o’clock; the long ocean swell already
lifts its crest five feet above the hollow of the sea,
causing its thick covering, of icy fragments to
dash against each other and against us with unpleasant
violence. It is however very beautiful
to look upon, the dear old familiar ocean-swell!
it has long been a stranger to us, and is welcome
in our solitude. If the ‘Fox’ was as solid as her
neighbors, I am quite sure she would enter into
this ice-tournament with all their apparent heartiness,
instead of audibly making known her sufferings
to us. Every considerable surface of ice has
been broken into many smaller ones; with feelings
of exultation I watched the process from
aloft. A floe-piece near us, of 100 yards in diameter,
was speedily cracked so as to resemble a sort
of labyrinth, or, still more, a field-spider’s web.
In the course of half an hour the family resemblance
was totally lost; they had so battered
each other, and struggled out of their original
regularity. The rolling sea can no longer be
checked; “the pack has taken upon itself the
functions of an ocean,” as Dr. Kane graphically
expresses it.

26th.—At sea! How am I to describe the
events of the last two days? It has pleased God
to accord to us a deliverance in which His merciful
protection contrasts—how strongly!—with
our own utter helplessness; as if the successive[96]
mercies vouchsafed to us during our long, long
winter and mysterious ice-drift had been concentrated
and repeated in a single act. Thus
forcibly does His great goodness come home to
the mind!

I am in no humor for writing, being still tired,
seedy, and perhaps a little seasick; at least I have
a headache, caused by the rolling of the ship and
rattling noise of everything.

On Saturday night, the 24th, I went on deck
to spend the greater part of it in watching, and
to determine what to do. The swell greatly increased;
it had evidently been approaching for
hours before it reached us, since it rose in proportion
as the ice was broken up into smaller pieces.
In a short time but few of them were equal in
size to the ship’s deck; most of them not half so
large. I knew that near the pack-edge the sea
would be very heavy and dangerous; but the
wind was now fair, and having auxiliary steam-power,
I resolved to push out of the ice if possible.

Shortly after midnight the ship was under sail,
slowly boring her way to the eastward; at two
o’clock on Sunday morning commenced steaming,
the wind having failed. By eight o’clock we had
advanced considerably to the eastward, and the
swell had become dangerously high, the waves
rising ten feet above the trough of the sea. The
shocks of the ice against the ship were alarmingly[97]
heavy; it became necessary to steer exactly head-on
to swell. We slowly passed a small iceberg
60 or 70 feet high; the swell forced it crashing
through the pack, leaving a small water-space in
its wake, but sufficient to allow the seas to break
against its cliffs, and throw the spray in heavy
showers quite over its summit.

The day wore on without change, except that
the snow and mists cleared off. Gradually the
swell increased, and rolled along more swiftly,
becoming in fact a very heavy regular sea, rather
than a swell. The ice often lay so closely packed
that we could hardly force ahead, although the
fair wind had again freshened up. Much heavy
hummocky ice and large berg-pieces lay dispersed
through the pack; a single thump from any of
them would have been instant destruction. By
five o’clock the ice became more loose, and clear
spaces of water could be seen ahead. We went
faster, received fewer though still more severe
shocks, until at length we had room to steer
clear of the heaviest pieces; and at eight o’clock
we emerged from the villanous “pack,” and were
running fast through straggling pieces into a clear
sea. The engines were stopped, and Mr. Brand
permitted to rest after eighteen hours’ duty, for
we now have no one else capable of driving the
engines.

Throughout the day I trembled for the safety
of the rudder, and screw; deprived of the one or[98]
the other, even for half an hour, I think our fate
would have been sealed; to have steered in any
other direction than against the swell would have
exposed, and probably sacrificed both.

Our bow is very strongly fortified, well plated
externally with iron, and so very sharp that the
ice-masses, repeatedly hurled against the ship by
the swell as she rose to meet it, were thus robbed
of their destructive force; they struck us obliquely,
yet caused the vessel to shake violently,
the bells to ring, and almost knocked us off
our legs. On many occasions the engines were
stopped dead by ice choking the screw; once it
was some minutes before it could be got to revolve
again. Anxious moments those!

After yesterday’s experience I can understand
how men’s hair has turned grey in a few hours.
Had self-reliance been my only support and hope,
it is not impossible that I might have illustrated
the fact. Under the circumstances I did my best
to insure our safety, looked as stoical as possible,
and inwardly trusted that God would favor our
exertions. What a release ours has been, not
only from eight months’ imprisonment, but from
the perils of that one day! Had our little vessel
been destroyed after the ice broke up, there remained
no hope for us. But we have been
brought safely through, and are all truly grateful,
I hope, and believe.

I grieve to think of poor Lady Franklin and[99]
our friends at home. Severely as we have felt
the failure of our first season’s operations, yet the
ordeal is now over with us: not so with her and
them,—they have still to experience that bitter
disappointment.

Our distance within the pack-edge, where we
first made sail yesterday, was 22 miles. Before
we got clear of the ice the height of the waves
was 13½ feet; after passing through the last of it
there was no increase, but the sea was more confused;
in fact, within the ice all minor disturbances
were quelled or merged into one regular
fast-following swell. The ship and her machinery
behaved most admirably in the struggle; should
I ever have to pass through such an ice-covered,
heaving ocean again, let me secure a passage in
the ‘Fox.’

During our 242 days in the packed-ice of Baffin’s
Bay and Davis’ Straits we were drifted 1194
geographical or 1385 statute miles; it is the longest
drift I know of, and our winter, as a whole,
may be considered as having been mild, but very
windy.

We are steering now for Holsteinborg, where
I intend to refit and refresh the crew; it is reputed
to be the best place for reindeer upon
the coast.

[100]

CHAPTER VII.

Wednesday night, April 28th.—Safely anchored at
Holsteinborg, and moored to the rocks; a charming
change, after our position only a few days
back. We have been visited by the Danish residents—the
chief trader or governor, the priest,
and two others: their latest European intelligence
is not more recent than our own, but the Danish
ship is hourly expected; she usually leaves Copenhagen
about the middle of March.

The winter here has been just the reverse of
our own experience; it has been severe in point
of temperature, but with very little wind; the
land lies buried in snow, and as yet there is no
thaw; it is too early for the cod-fishery, and not
a single reindeer has been killed throughout the
winter! Eider-ducks, looms, and dovekies are
abundant, as well as hares and ptarmigan.

29th.—A bright and lovely day. Our poor,
half-famished dogs have been landed near the
carcases of four whales, so they must be supremely[101]
happy. I visited the Governor to-day,
and found his little wooden house as scrupulously
clean and neat as the houses of the Danish residents
in Greenland invariably are. The only
ornaments about the room were portraits of his
unfortunate wife and two children: they embarked
at Copenhagen last year to rejoin him,
and the ill-fated vessel has never since been heard
of. Poor Governor Elberg is in ill health, and
talks of returning home—by home he means
Denmark, the land of his birth, and where once
he had a home.

30th.—This is a grand Danish holiday; the inhabitants
are all dressed in their Sunday clothes—at
least, all who have got a change of garments—and
there is both morning and evening
service in the small wooden church. As the
Governor could not be persuaded to unlock the
door of the dance-house, our men returned on
board early; yesterday evening they were all on
shore, and, with the Esquimaux, were squeezed
into this one large room: to be squeezed in a
crowd of human beings is positive enjoyment
after a winter’s isolation such as ours has been.
Old Harvey constituted himself master of the
ceremonies, and with his flute led the orchestra;
it consisted of one other flute and a fiddle; he
managed to perch himself above all the rest,
at one end of the room, and played with such
vigor that our bluejackets and the Esquimaux[102]
ladies danced away most furiously for hours.
These ladies can dance in the least possible
space, their costume being particularly well
adapted for the purpose, partaking as it does
much more of the “Bloomer” than the “crinoline.”

Christian looks immensely happy: his countrymen
regard him as a man whose fortune is made,
and the women gaze with admiration upon his
neat sailor’s dress, and his good-natured, full, round
face, and huge, fat, shining cheeks; Mr. Petersen
is in great request to interpret between the English,
Danes, and Esquimaux.

7th May.—I intended sailing for Disco this
morning, but wind and weather were adverse.
We have obtained but little here except water,
a tolerable supply of rock cod, some ptarmigan
hares, wildfowl, and a few items of stores. The
Governor now thinks the Danish ship must have
been directed to visit Godhaab before coming here.
We have left letters to go home in her, and they
ought to be in England by the end of June.

I visited to-day a small lake at the foot of
Mount Cunningham; it is said to occupy the
centre of an extinct volcano: but I saw nothing
to bear out the assertion. This is the only part
of Greenland where earthquakes are felt. The
Governor told me of an unusually severe shock
which occurred a winter or two ago. He was sitting
in his room reading at the time, when he[103]
heard a loud noise like the discharge of a cannon;
immediately afterwards a tremulous motion was
felt, some glasses upon the table began to dance
about, and papers lying upon the window-sill fell
down: after a few seconds it ceased. He thinks
the motion originated at the lake, as it was not
felt by some people living beyond it, and that it
passed from N.E. to S.W.

This mountain scenery is really charming; but
a little more animal life—reindeer, for instance—would
make it far more pleasing in our eyes.
The last twelvemonth’s produce of this district
amounts only to 500 reindeer skins instead of 3000,
as in ordinary years. The clergyman of Holsteinborg
was born in this colony, and has succeeded
his father in the priestly office; his wife is the
only European female in the colony. Being told
that fuel was extremely scarce in the Danish
houses, and that “the priest’s wife was blue with
the cold,” I sent on shore a present of some coals.

On Sunday afternoon, hearing the church bell
ringing I went on shore. It proved to be only
a christening. The little dusky infant received a
long string of European names. There was a
small description of barrel-organ, to the sound of
which the congregation joined in, keeping up a
loud monotonous chant. Most of the young
people had hymn-books in their hands, printed
in the Esquimaux language.

Ravens seem very abundant, also large grey[104]
falcons: perhaps the dead whales may have attracted
an unusual number.

Poor Christian has not only fallen desperately
in love, but has engaged himself to the object
of his affections, a pretty Esquimaux girl. He
asked me to-day to give her a passage up to Godhavn,
as he wished to leave her in charge of his
mother until his return there with us next year,
when his engagement for the voyage would be
fulfilled. Having heard a rumor of a young
woman awaiting his return at Godhavn, I taxed
him with it, but he replied with great simplicity
that “he had never promised her, and would not
marry her, as his friends objected to the match!”
What are the good Greenlanders coming to? I
recommended that he should have his betrothed
in her own home, with her mother and family.
His asking a passage for her, in order to leave her
with his mother, is strong proof of the sincerity of
his engagement, not only to his lady love, but to
the ‘Fox’ also.

I have written to the admiralty to account for
my prolonged absence from England; and to Dr.
Rink to acquaint him with the cause of my second
visit to his inspectorate.

Governor Elberg has promised to get me some
fossil fish, to be found only in North Strom Fiord:
they are interesting, as being of unknown geological
date.

10th.—On the morning of the 8th we left Holsteinborg[105]
with a pleasant land wind and bright
weather. When 15 miles off shore we were
stopped by ice formed during the last two nights,
the thermometer having fallen to 12°; out in the
offing the weather was gloomy and cold, and
strong northerly winds were blowing. On closing
the land again, we regained the off-shore wind,
and bright weather.

Keeping close alongshore, and threading our
way through a vast deal of “pack” and numerous
icebergs, we gained sight of Disco about noon to-day,
and by the evening were within an hour’s
sail of Godhavn, when we were again stopped
by a broad belt of ice stretching along the coast;
this was a bitter disappointment, more particularly
as a gale of wind with heavy sea was fast
rising, and snow beginning to fall thickly; there
was nothing for it, however, but to stand off under
easy sail for the night.

12th.—At anchor at the Whalefish Islands. On
the evening of the 10th we stood off from the
inhospitable barrier of ice, prepared to meet the
storm; snow fell so thickly that we could hardly
see the icebergs in time to avoid them. We
supposed ourselves to be well to leeward of
the Whalefish Islands, but were deceived by the
tides; suddenly a small, low islet was seen on the
lee bow; not being able to pass to windward, we
were obliged to wear ship, and, in doing so, passed
within the ship’s length of destruction—for we[106]
were certainly within that distance of the rocks!
The islet was covered with snow, and but for
some very few dark points showing through, it
could not be distinguished from ice. On the 11th
the weather improved, and in the evening we
came to our present anchorage. From a hill we
can watch an opportunity to enter Godhavn.
Notwithstanding the blowing weather, some natives
came about five miles off to us; the water
washed over their little kayaks, and kept the occupants’
seal-skin dresses streaming with wet up to
their shoulders; this part of their dress seems
rather part of the kayak, as it is attached to it
round the hole in which the kayaker sits, so that
no water can enter. It is wonderful to see how
closely a man can assimilate his habits to those of
a fish.

The Danish cooper in charge of this out-station
tells us there are thirteen English whalers already
out, and some of them have been up to the north
end of Disco; two vessels are in sight. The
world, it appears, is at peace. Petersen was at
one time in charge of this station; he is now
seeking out his old acquaintances.

14th.—Summer has suddenly burst upon us—thermometer
up to 40°; moreover, we are enjoying
English newspapers, and have dined off roast
beef and vegetables!

Two days ago I sent a note off to a whaler by
a kayak, requesting her captain to lend me some[107]
newspapers; the note reached Captain J. Walker,
of the ‘Jane,’ and yesterday his ship, accompanied
by the ‘Heroine,’ Captain J. Simpson, approached
us, and they both came in to call upon
me, each of them bringing the very acceptable
present of some newspapers, besides a quarter of
beef, with vegetables. Nothing could exceed their
sincere good feeling and kindness; they offered
to supply me with anything their ships could
afford. The account they give of last season is
as follows: the whalers reached Devil’s Point,
near Melville Bay, as early as the 21st of May;
southerly winds then set in, and blew incessantly
for six weeks, during all which time they were
closely beset, and the ships ‘Gipsy’ and ‘Undaunted’
were crushed. When able to move, the
fleet returned southward along the “pack-edge,”
which was everywhere found to be impenetrable;
they sailed southward of Disco, and about the
middle of July the earliest ships rounded the
southern extremity of middle ice in lat. 68½°, and
found no difficulty in their further passage to
Pond’s Bay. Captain Walker says ships could
not have reached Lancaster Sound, as there was
much ice north of Pond’s Bay which he thought
extended quite across to Melville Bay.

The position of the ice last season was considered
to be most unusual; the long prevalence
of southerly winds appeared to have separated the
tail of the pack from the main body, the former[108]
lying against the west land about Cape Searle,
whilst the latter was forced northward and pressed
closely into Melville Bay; the ships sailed freely
between these two great divisions, and found the
west water unusually extensive.

Had I been able to collect a sufficient number
of sledge-dogs at Godhavn last year, it was my intention
to have sailed across to the west side if possible,
instead of pursuing the usual route through
Melville Bay; but the opinions of the captains of
the lost whalers were in favor of a “Melville Bay”
passage, and the necessity for obtaining dogs left
me no choice as to whether I should proceed west,
or north to Proven and Upernivik; I have already
recorded what were my opinions at the time, so
need only observe now, that, although I failed, I believe
my decision was justified by all former experience,
even independently of the circumstances
which obliged me to adopt it. Nevertheless it is
mortifying to find that ships had reached as far as
Pond’s Bay, and with but little difficulty. Sir
Edward Parry, upon his third voyage, did not
reach the west water until very late in the season,
although some of the whalers met with better
success by following up another route.

There is nothing more uncertain than ice-navigation,
dependent as it is upon winds, temperatures,
and currents: one can only calculate upon
“the chances,” and how nearly we succeeded we
have already seen. In the preceding year (1856)[109]
some of the whalers got through Melville Bay as
early as the 15th June, only a few days after the
commencement of the summer’s thaw. Captain
Walker tells me there are many years in which
the whalers can pass up the western shore late in
the season, but not always so far as Pond’s Bay;
of Melville Bay after the 10th or 15th July they
know nothing, but the voyages of discovery afford
us ample details; whilst of the southern route
almost nothing has been made publicly known.

There are many intelligent whaling captains
who possess much valuable knowledge of these
lands and seas, and even in the terra incognita
of Frobisher’s Straits, whalers have wintered,
whilst our charts scarcely afford even a vague
idea of the configuration of these extensive
islands. The so-called “Home Bay” has been
penetrated for fifty miles, and is supposed to be
a strait leading to Fox’s Furthest. Scott’s Inlet
is also said to be a strait leading into a western
arm of the same sea. A surveying vessel would
be usefully employed for a couple of summers
in tracing the general outline of these possessions
of Her Majesty, more particularly as
they are rather thickly inhabited by Esquimaux
most eager to barter their produce for rifles,
saws, files, knives, needles, and such like articles.
Good coal has been found upon Durbin Island
(near Cape Searle), in a convenient little cove[110]
upon its southern side; and as the old sailing
whalers are fast being replaced by steamers,
this place may become of great importance to
them.

We are refitting, shooting, and devouring
quantities of excellent mussels; eider ducks are
very abundant, but extremely shy. Poor puss
has been killed; tempted on deck by the unusually
warm weather, she was pounced upon by
the dogs.

17th.—Yesterday our attempt to enter the
port of Godhavn failed, it is still filled with ice.
This evening Young and I examined a narrow
rocky cove—Upernivik Bay of the natives;
finding it suitable for our purpose, the ship was
brought in and moored to the rocks. We were
received with much kindness by our friends,
Mr. and Mrs. Olrik, and were presented with
a file of late English papers. A considerable
supply of beer was ordered to be brewed for
us.

I found Mrs. Olrik without a fire in her sitting
room; it was unnecessary; the windows looked to
the south, and the sun shone brightly in upon a
profusion of geraniums and European flowers, at
once reminding one of home, and refreshing the
senses by their perfume and beauty; the merry
voices of the children were also a most pleasing
novelty. Mr. Olrik says the past winter has not[111]
been in any way remarkable, except for the prevalence
of strong winds; April and the early
part of May have been unusually cold.

24th.—We did honor to Her Majesty’s birthday
by dressing the ‘Fox’ in all her flags, and
regaling her crew with plum-pudding and grog.
The ice having moved off, we have come into the
harbor of Godhavn, as being more convenient and
safe. The day has been a busy one: we have
completed our small purchases and closed our
letters; I have added another Esquimaux lad to
our crew, taking with him his rifle, kayak, and
sledge. This evening there has been a brisk interchange
of presents between us and our Danish
friends. I have been given an eider-down coverlet
by the Governor, Mr. Andersen; and, by Mrs.
Olrik, some delicious preserve of Greenland cranberries,
a tin of preserved ptarmigan, and a jar
of pickled whale-skin; my table is decked with
European flowers, including roses, mignonette,
and violets.

With good reason shall we remember Godhavn;
we have certainly been treated as especial
favorites.

26th.—Left Godhavn early yesterday morning,
and anchored this afternoon in our old position
off the Coal Cliffs in the Waigat; a party of
seal-hunters from Atanekerdluk came off to us,
and their hunting having terminated successfully,[112]
they will assist us in coaling. From these men I
obtained much information about this part of the
coast; within a range of 20 miles upon the Disco
shore there are four distinct coaling places; but
at this early season two of them are deeply covered
with snow. There is also very good coal at
the S.E. end of Hare Island, where it can be
easily obtained. The ice in this strait broke up
as long ago as the 3rd April; it has all drifted
out to the northward, only a few icebergs now
remain.

28th.—Again hastening northward; the business
of coaling was very speedily and satisfactorily
completed, but the quality of the coals is
very inferior. Upon the green slopes our sportsmen
found nothing but a few ptarmigan and a
hare.

Shortly after running close past the deserted
settlement of Noursoak, we arrived off a small
bay, and were startled by finding the water had
suddenly changed from transparent blue to a
thick muddy color, but there was no change in
its depth; we were crossing the stream of “Makkaks
Elvin,” or Clay River, which empties itself
into the bay after running through a broad and
extensive valley, said to abound with reindeer;
this river has its origin in lakes and glaciers in
the interior, and the discoloration of the water
is probably the chief cause of success in white-whale[113]
fishing, which is carried on here in the
autumn, as those timid animals will not permit
boats to approach them in clear water.

This evening we are crossing Omenak’s Fiord,
and the land-wind, which here and all along the
coast northwards blows from the N.E., has come
off to us.

31st.—Lying fast to an iceberg off Upernivik.

The whalers are all within a dozen miles of us,
unable to penetrate further north. The season
appears forward, and the ice much decayed; but
southerly winds prevail, retarding its disruption
and removal. Captain Parker, of the ‘Emma,’
tells me he does not expect to make a north passage
this year, and as his experience extends over
a period of at least thirty years, I give his reason;
it is simply this,—that as during the months of
February, March, and April northerly winds prevailed
to an unusual degree, therefore southerly
winds may now be expected to continue; if he
prove a prophet, it will be to our serious hinderance
at this critical season. Governor Fliescher
says the winter has been mild; there has been
but little wind, and that chiefly from the southward.

4th June.—We have received much kindness
from our friends Captains Parker and J. Simpson,
as well as from others of the whaling fleet; the
former has generously supplied us with many
things we were rather short of, not only in ship’s[114]
stores, but provisions and coals, and in return I
have of course furnished him with a receipt for
his owners. Captain Simpson has most handsomely
presented the ‘Fox’ with a sail and yards,
which, after some slight alterations, will enable us
to add a main topsail to our spread of canvas.
For the two days we lay at the iceberg, alongside
of the ‘Emma,’ I made furious attacks upon Captain
Parker’s beefsteaks and porter; we amply
availed ourselves of his hearty welcome. By the
arrival of the fine steam whaler ‘Tay,’ from Scotland,
we have received papers up to 17th April.

This morning we slowly steamed away from
Upernivik, threading our way betwixt islands, and
ice, for about 30 miles, and now await further ice
movement before it will be possible to proceed.

These are called the Woman Islands, so named
by the celebrated Arctic explorer John Davis,
who visited them in Queen Elizabeth’s reign; he
found here only a few old women, their frightened
lords and more active juniors having effected their
escape.

Upon one of these islands a stone was picked
up some 30 years ago, bearing a Runic inscription;
it was sent home to Copenhagen as a most
interesting relic of the early Scandinavian voyagers;
but nothing was on it except the names of
those men “who cleared this place” (or formed
a settlement), and the date, 1135. In all probability
their sojourn was extremely short, perhaps[115]
only for a single summer. The Esquimaux did
not make their appearance for nearly two centuries
later.

After Egede’s settlement at Godhaab in 1721,
the Danish trading establishments gradually extended
along the coast, and Upernivik was one of
them; but it appears to have been soon abandoned.
During Napoleon’s wars all the Danish
posts were withdrawn, as the British fleet effectually
cut off communication with Europe; but
after peace was restored in 1815, the trading
posts were again resorted to, and a new settlement
formed near the ruins of the old one at
Upernivik; it enjoys pre-eminence as the most
northern abode of civilized man.

[116]

CHAPTER VIII.

June 8th.—Yesterday morning we passed close
outside Buchan Island; it is small but lofty, its
north side is almost precipitous, yet notwithstanding
this strong indication of deep water, a reef of
rocks lies about a mile off it. I happened to be
aloft with the look-out-man at half-past eight
o’clock as we were steaming through a narrow lead
in the ice, when I saw a rock close ahead; it was
capped with ice, therefore was hardly distinguishable
from the floating masses around; the engines
were stopped and reversed, but there was neither
time nor room to avoid the reef, which now extended
on each side of us, and upon which the
ship’s bow stuck fast whilst her stern remained in
36 feet water; the tide had just commenced to
fall, and all our efforts to haul off from the rocks
were ineffectual. The floes lay within 30 yards
of us upon each side. I feared their drifting
down upon the ship and turning her over; but[117]
fortunately it was perfectly calm, and as the tide
fell, points of the reef held them fast. The ship
continued to fall over to starboard; at dead low
water her inclination was 35°; the water covered
the starboard gunwale from the mainmast aft, and
reached almost up to the after hatchway; at this
time the slightest shake must have caused her to
fall over upon her side, when she would have instantly
filled and sunk. The dogs, after repeated
ineffectual attempts to lie upon the deck, quietly
coiled themselves up upon such parts of the lee
gunwale as remained above water and went to
sleep.

The ‘Fox’ on a Rock near Buchan Island.

To me the moments seemed lengthened out
beyond anything I could have imagined; but at
length the water began to rise, and the ship
to resume her upright position. Boats, anchors,
hawsers, etc., were got on board again with the
utmost alacrity, and the ship floated off unhurt
after having been eleven hours upon the reef.
We had grounded during the day tide and were
floated off by the night tide, which upon this
coast occasions a much greater rise and fall,—so
far we were favored, but the poor little ‘Fox’
had a very narrow escape; as for ourselves, there
was not the slightest cause for apprehension,
three steam whalers being within signal distance.

To-day we are steaming along after the three
vessels which passed us last evening and disappeared
round Cape Shackleton during the night.[118]
The contrast between our prospects yesterday
and to-day fills one with delight,—to be afloat
and advancing unobstructedly once more is indeed
charming.

11th.—On the afternoon of the 8th we joined
the steamers ‘Tay,’ Captain Deuchars; ‘Chase,’
Captain Gravill, sen.; and ‘Diana,’ Gravill, jun.
After repeated ice-detentions, we have reached
Duck Island. Captain Deuchars says there is
every prospect of an early north passage; we
have had several conversations about the Pond’s
Bay natives, and their reports of ships, wrecks,
and Europeans. There appears to be not only
great difficulty, but also uncertainty, in arriving
at their meaning; to form an idea of the time
elapsed since an event, or the distance to the
spot where it occurred, is a still harder task. I
look forward to our visit at Pond’s Bay with
greatly increased interest.

In August, 1855, when Captain Deuchars was
crossing through the middle ice, in latitude 70°,
he found part of a steamer’s topmast embedded
in heavy ice; he also saw the moulded form of a
ship’s side, and thinks the latter must have sunk;
the portion of the topmast visible was sawed off
and taken to England. It is most probable that
the vessel was either H.M.S. ‘Intrepid’ or ‘Pioneer,’
as two months later, and 250 miles further
south, the ‘Resolute’ was picked up. About two
or three years ago, Captain Deuchars lost his[119]
ship ‘Princess Charlotte,’ in Melville Bay. It
was a beautiful morning; they had almost reached
the North Water, and were anticipating a very
successful voyage; the steward had just reported
breakfast ready, when Captain Deuchars, seeing
the floes closing together ahead of the ship, remained
on deck to see her pass safely between
them, but they closed too quickly; the vessel
was almost through, when the points of ice caught
her sides abreast of the mizenmast, and, passing
through, held the wreck up for a few minutes,
barely long enough for the crew to escape and
save their boats! Poor Deuchars thus suddenly
lost his breakfast and his ship; within ten minutes
her royal yards disappeared beneath the surface.
How closely danger besets the Arctic cruiser, yet
how insidiously; everything looks so bright, so
calm, so still, that it requires positive experience
to convince one that ice only a very few inches,
perhaps only three or four inches, above water, perfectly
level, and moving extremely slow, could
possibly endanger a strong vessel! The ‘Princess
Charlotte’ was a very fine, strong ship, and
her captain one of the most experienced Arctic
seamen. He now commands the finest whaler in
the fleet.

14th.—We have only advanced a few miles to
the northward. The steamer ‘Innuit’ has joined
our small steam squadron. Captain Sutter left
Scotland only a month ago: he has very kindly[120]
and promptly sent us a present of newspapers
and potatoes. Captain Deuchars has also been
good enough to supply us with some potatoes
and porter, perhaps the most serviceable present
he could have made us after our long subsistence
upon salt and preserved meats.

10th.—Once more alone in Melville Bay.
The ‘Innuit’ and ‘Chase’ steamed much too
fast for us, and the last of the four vessels, the
‘Tay,’ parted from us in a thick fog yesterday.
We have come close along the edge of the fixed
ice, passing about six miles outside of the Sabine
Islands, and are advancing as opportunities offer.
This morning the man who was stationed to
watch a nip about a quarter of a mile ahead of
the ship, came running back, pursued by three
bears—a mother with her half-grown cubs. I
suppose they followed him chiefly because he ran
from them; and at all events they were very
close up before he reached the ship. Another
bear was seen about the same time, but none of
them came within shot. Rotchies (or little auks)
are very abundant. Seals are occasionally shot.
I ate some boiled seal to-day, and found it good:
this is the first time I have eaten positive blubber;
all scruples respecting it henceforth vanish.

25th.—The land-ice broke away inshore of the
‘Fox’ on the 19th or 20th, and we found ourselves
drifting southward amongst extensive fields
of ice. Sad experience has already shown us how[121]
absolutely powerless our small craft is under such
circumstances. But after many attempts we regained
the edge of the fast ice this morning, and
steamed merrily along it towards Bushnan Island.
When within a few miles a nip brought us to a
standstill: here five or six icebergs lie encompassed
by land-ice, and apparently aground; one
of them juts out and has caught the point of an
immense field of ice. There is some slight movement
in the latter, but not enough to let us pass
through.

Twelve or eighteen miles to the south there
is a cluster of bergs, in all probability aground
upon our “70 fathom bank” of last September.
The ice-field appears to rest against them, as both
to the east and west there is much clear water.
Exactly at this spot Captain Penny was similarly
detained by a nip in August, 1850. Although
progress is denied to us at present, yet it is an unspeakable
relief to have got out of the drifting
ice.

I have passed very many anxious days in Melville
Bay, but hardly any of them weighed so
heavily upon me as yesterday. There was the
broad, clear land-water within a third of a mile of
me, clear weather, and a fair breeze blowing.
The intervening nip worked sufficiently with
wind and tide to keep one in suspense; it nearly
opened at high water, but closed again with the
ebb tide. I thought of the week already spent[122]
in struggling amongst drifting floes, and was
haunted by visions of everything horrible—gales,
ice-crushing, etc. Nor was it consoling to reflect
that all the sailing ships as well as the steamers
might have actually slipped past us. In fact, I
must acknowledge that anxiety and weariness
had worked me up into a state of burning impatience
and of bitter chagrin at being so repeatedly
baffled in all my efforts by the varying yet
continual perplexities of our position. The only
difference in favor of our prospects over those of
the past year consisted in our having arrived here
two months earlier; but the importance of this
difference is incalculable.

The opportunities afforded by the delays to
which we have been subjected were turned, however,
to some account. Nearly one thousand
rotchies were shot; they are excellent eating;
their average weight is four ounces and a half,
but when prepared for the table they probably
do not yield more than three ounces each. A
young bear imprudently swam up to the ship, and
was shot,—his skin fell to the sportsman, and carcase
to the dogs. Several others have been seen:
we watched one fellow surprise a seal upon the
ice, and carry it about in his mouth as a cat does
a mouse.

27th.—Lying fast to the ice off the Crimson
Cliffs of Sir John Ross. Yesterday we succeeded
in passing through the nip, and by evening[123]
reached Cape York. Seeing natives running out
upon the land-ice, the ship was made fast for an
hour in order to communicate with them. A
party of eight men came on board: they immediately
recognized Petersen, for they lived at Etah
in Smith’s Sound when he was there in the American
expedition. They asked for Dr. Kane, and
told us Hans was married and living in Whale
Sound. They all said he was most anxious to return
to Greenland, but had neither sledge-dogs
nor kayak; hunger had compelled him to eat the
seal-skin which covered the framework of the latter.
Petersen gave them messages for Hans from
his Greenland friends, and advice that he should
fix his residence here, where he might see the
whalers and perhaps be taken back to Greenland.
The natives did not seem to be badly off for anything
except dogs, some distemper having carried
off most of these indispensable animals. I was
therefore unable to procure any from them.
These people spent the winter here; they seemed
healthy, well-clad, and happy little fellows. One
of them is brother-in-law to Erasmus York, who
voluntarily came to England in the ‘Assistance’
in 1851. This man is an angekok, or magician;
he has a still flatter face than the rest of his
countrymen, but appears more thoughtful and
intelligent.

Petersen pointed out to me a stout old fellow,
with a tolerable sprinkling of beard and moustache.[124]
This worthy perpetrated the only murder
which has taken place for several years in the
tribe: he disliked his victim and stood in need of
his dogs, therefore he killed the owner and appropriated
his property! Such motives and passions
usually govern the “unsophisticated children of
nature;” yet, as savages, the Esquimaux may be
considered exceedingly harmless.

Of late years these Arctic Highlanders have become
alarmed by the rapid diminution of their
numbers through famine and disease, and have
been less violent towards each other in their feuds
and quarrels.

The appearance of these men, as they danced
and rolled about in frantic delight at our approach,
was wild and strange, and their costume
uniform and picturesque. Their long, coarse,
black hair hung loosely over the seal-skin frock
which in its turn overlapped their loose shaggy
bear-skin breeches, and these again came down
over the tops of their seal-skin boots. Most of
them carried a spear formed out of the horn of a
narwhal.

Having distributed presents of knives and
needles, and explained to them that we did so because
they had behaved well to the white people,
(as we learned from Dr. Kane’s narrative of
their treatment of him and his crew), we pursued
our voyage, not doubting but that we should soon
reach the North Water, an extensive sea through[125]
which we could sail uninterruptedly to Pond’s
Bay.

During the night we advanced through loose
ice; but fog and a rising S.E. gale delayed us, and
to-day the pack has pressed in against the land, so
that our wings are most unexpectedly clipped. A
walrus was shot through the head by a Minié bullet;
none other will penetrate such a massive
skull: unfortunately for my collection of specimens,
and for the dogs, the animal sank.

2d July.—For five days we have been almost
beset amongst loose ice and grounded bergs; the
winds were generally from the S.E. and accompanied
by fog. To avoid being squeezed we had
constantly to shift our position; once we were
caught and rather severely nipped; the ship was
heeled over about ten degrees and lifted a couple
of feet: the ice was three feet thick, but broke
readily under her weight. Unfortunately there
was not time to unship the rudder, so it suffered
very severely. Upon a previous occasion the
screw-shaft was bent and a portion of the screw
broken off.

Landed to obtain a good view of the sea in
the offing; from the hills we could see nothing
but pack to seaward. There was no land ice;
we stepped out of the boat upon a narrow icefoot
which fringed the coast; immediately above it
we trod over a velvet sward of soft bright green
moss; the turf beneath was of considerable depth.[126]
Here and there under this noble range of cliffs,
which are composed of primary rock, there exists
much vegetation for so high a latitude. From the
fact of thick layers of turf descending quite down
to the sea, it is evident that the land has been
gradually sinking. Steep slopes of rocky débris,
which screen the bases of the most precipitous
cliffs, form secure nurseries for the little auk;
these localities were literally alive with them;
they popped in and out of every crevice, or sat
in groups of dozens upon every large rock. I
have nowhere seen such countless myriads of
birds. The rotchie, or little auk, lays its single egg
upon the bare rock, far within a crevice beyond
the reach of fox, owl, or burgomaster gull. We
shot a couple of hundred during our short stay on
shore, and, by removing the stones, gathered several
dozen of their eggs.

The huge predatory gulls, long ago named
“Burgomasters” by Dutch seamen (because they
lord it over their neighbors, and appropriate every
thing good to themselves), have established themselves
in the cliffs, where their nests are generally
inaccessible: we were a month too late for
their eggs; the young birds were as large as
spring chickens. Of course we obtained specimens
of the red snow, but had to seek rather diligently
for it; its color was a dirty red, very like
the stain of port wine: very few patches of it
were found.[127]

Last night a westerly wind blew freshly and
dispersed the ice outside of us, so much so that
this evening we have got out into almost clear
water. Farewell Greenland!—hurrah for the
west!

5th.—After getting free from the ice off the
Crimson Cliffs, we soon lost sight of the last fragment,
and steered for Pond’s Bay. And now we
all set to work in zealous haste to write our last
letters for England, by the whalers, which we
hoped soon to meet there.

After running 60 miles the ice re-appeared, and
we sailed through a vast deal of it, but it became
more closely packed, and a thick fog detained us
for a day.

When the weather became clear, the main
pack was seen to the W., S., and S.E.; in the hope
of rounding its northern extreme we ran along it
to the N.W. To-day it has led us to the N. and
N.E., so that this evening Wolstenholme Sound is
in sight. To the N. the pack appears impenetrable,
and there is a strong ice-blink over it. All
the ice we have lately sailed through is loose, and
much decayed; it seems but recently to have
broken away from the land, is not water-washed,
neither has it been exposed to a swell, the fractured
edges remaining sharp.

6th.—Midnight. Last evening I persevered to
the N. until every hope of progress in that direction
vanished. To the W. the pack appeared tolerably[128]
loose; the wind was fresh at E.S.E., so I
determined once more to push into it, and endeavor
to battle our way through; I hoped it
would prove to be merely a belt of 30 or 40 miles
in width. We found the ice to lie for the most
part in streams at right angles to the wind, and
therefore much more open than it had appeared:
there was seldom any difficulty in winding through
it from one water space to another. The wind
greatly increased, bringing much rain, but fortunately
no fog;—the dread of this hung over
me like a nightmare,—our progress depended
upon the vigilance of the look-out kept in the
crow’s-nest. By noon we had made good 60
miles. Throughout the day the wind has gradually
moderated: the rain gave place to snow,
which in its turn was succeeded by mist. The
evening was fine eventually and clear; but still
we find the ice is all around. Just before midnight
the termination of our lead was discovered,
whilst the ice through which we had passed was
closing together, and a dense fog came rolling
down. Under these circumstances the ship was
made fast as near to the nip as safety permitted,
to await some favorable change.

10th.—All the 7th we remained in our small
basin, there being no outlet from it, and but little
water anywhere visible. To pass away the dull
hours and get rid of unwelcome reflections upon
the similarity of our present position and that in[129]
August last, I commenced an attack upon all the
feathered denizens of the pack—they seemed so
provokingly contented with it—but they soon
became wary, and deserted our vicinity, so I shot
only a dozen fulmar petrels, three ivory gulls, two
looms,[13] and a Lestris parasiticus; some of them
were useful as specimens, and such as were not
destined for our table were given to the dogs.
Although Cobourg Island was 45 miles distant
from us, its lofty rounded outlines were very
distinct, and much covered with snow. On the
8th we squeezed through nips for 4 or 5 miles,
and on the 9th, reaching a large space of water,
steamed towards Cobourg Island until again
stopped by the pack at an early hour this morning,
when within 5 or 6 leagues of it.

This evening we are endeavoring to steam in
towards the West-land, and fancy we can trace
with the crow’s-nest telescope a practicable route
through the intervening ice-mazes to a faint streak
of water along the shore. This sort of navigation
is not only anxious, but wearying. To me it
seems as if several months instead of only eight
days had elapsed since we left Cape York. We
are constantly wondering what our whaling friends
are about, and where they are?

14th.—The faint streak of water seen on the
night of the 10th proved to be an extensive sheet[130]
to leeward of Cobourg Island. We reached it
next morning. Jones’ Sound appeared open, and
a slight swell reached us from it, but all along the
shore there was close pack. Although but little
water was visible to the southward, we persevered
in that direction, and, as the ice was rapidly moving
off-shore under the combined influence of wind
and tide, we were only occasionally detained.

Two hundred and forty-two years ago—to a
day, I believe—William Baffin sailed without
hindrance along this coast and discovered Lancaster
Sound. What a very different season he must
have experienced!

Passing near Cape Horsburgh we approached
De Ros Islet at midnight. The air being very
calm, and still, the shouting of some natives was
heard, although we could scarcely distinguish them
upon the land-ice. The ship was made fast, and
the shouting party, consisting of three men, three
women, and two children, eagerly came on board.
Only four individuals remained on shore.

The old chief Kal-lek is remarkable amongst
Esquimaux for having a bald head. He inquired
by name for his friend Captain Inglefield. These
three families have spent the last two years upon
this coast, between Cape Horsburgh and Croker
Bay. Their knowledge does not extend further
in either direction. They are natives of more
southern lands, and crossed the ice in Lancaster
Sound with dog-sledges. Since the visit of the[131]
‘Phœnix’ in ’54 they have seen no ships, nor
have any wrecks drifted upon their shores. They
seemed very fat and healthy, but complained that
all the reindeer had gone away, and asked if we
could tell where they went to? Our presents of
wood, knives, and needles were eagerly received.
They assured us that Lancaster Sound was still
frozen over, and that all the sea was covered with
pack. After half an hour’s delay we steamed onward,
and on reaching a larger space of water our
hopes (somewhat depressed by the native intelligence)
began to revive. But we soon found that
our clear water terminated near Cape Warrender.
Lancaster Sound, although not frozen over, was
crammed full of floes and icebergs. The wind increased
to a strong gale from the east, and pressed
in more ice. At length the ship was with difficulty
made fast to a strip of land-ice a few miles westward
of Point Osborn. Gradually the gale subsided,
but not until the pack was close in against
the land. The tides kept sweeping it to and fro,
to our great discomfort. The land is composed of
gneiss, and the gravelly shore is low. A few ducks
only have been shot, and traces of reindeer and
hares seen. Our Melville Bay friends, the rotchies,
are very rare visitors upon this side of Baffin’s
Bay.

Part of a ship’s timber has been found upon the
beach; it measures 7 inches by 8 inches, is of
American oak, and, although sound, has long been
exposed to the weather.

[132]

CHAPTER IX.

16th July.—To borrow a whaling phrase, we are
“dodging about in a hole of water” off Cape Warrender.
I recognize the little bay just to the
west of the cape where Parry landed in September,
1824. The “immense mass of snow and ice
containing strata of muddy-looking soil” is there
still, and, I should think, had considerably increased.
Here his party shot three reindeer out
of a small herd. We have narrowly scanned the
steep hill-sides with our glasses, but without discovering
any such inducement to land.

No cairns are visible upon Cape Warrender;
the natives have probably removed them. Dense
pack prevents us from approaching Port Dundas
or crossing to the southern shore. We all find
these vexatious delays are by no means conducive
to sleep. The mind is busy with a sort of
magic-lantern representation of the past, the present,[133]
and the future, and resists for weary hours
the necessary repose.

17th.—Last night’s calm has allowed the pack
to expand so much, that to-day we have steamed
through it until within three miles of the noble
cliffs of Cape Hay; and now we are drifting eastward
with the ice precisely as did the ‘Enterprise’
and ‘Investigator,’ in September, ’49.
Upon that occasion we were set free off Pond’s
Bay. There is a very extensive loomery at Cape
Hay; we regret the circumstances which prevent
our levying a tax upon it. Here, if anywhere, I
expected to find a clear sea, but east winds have
prevailed for twenty days out of the last twenty-five,
and this accounts for the present state of the
sea; the next succession of west winds will probably
effect a prodigious clearance of ice.

21st.—The ‘Tay’ was seen to-day in loose ice,
and much further off the land. She gradually
steamed through it to the southward, and by
night was almost out of sight. Her appearance
surprised us, as we supposed she must have
reached Pond’s Bay long ago. Ten hours’ struggling
with steam and sails at the most favorable
intervals has only advanced us five miles. The
weather is remarkably warm, bright, and pleasant.
A very large bear came within 150 yards,
and was shot by Petersen, the Minié bullet passing
through his body. This beast measured
8 ft. 3 in. in length; his fat carcase was hoisted[134]
on board with great satisfaction, as our dogs’ food
was nearly expended.

24th.—Last night the ice became slack enough
to afford some prospect of release, so we charged
the nips vigorously, and steamed away through
devious openings towards Cape Fanshawe. For
several hours but little progress was made, but
this morning the ice became more open; clear
water was seen ahead, and reached by noon. Although
it is calm I prefer waiting for a breeze to
expending more coals. We are only ten miles
from Possession Bay. The air is so very clear
that the land appears quite close to us. All
that is not mountainous is well cleared of snow.
There is immense refraction. Only a single iceberg
in sight. The sea-water is light green, as
remarked by Parry in 1819.

26th.—A vessel was seen yesterday morning;
the day continuing calm, we steamed through
some loose ice, and joined her off Cape Walter
Bathurst in the evening. It proved to be the
‘Diana;’ she parted from us on the 16th of June
in Melville Bay, has everywhere been obstructed
by the pack, as we have been, and only reached
Cape Warrender three days before us. From
thence to Possession Bay she met with no obstruction.
The subsequent east winds brought in all
the ice which has so much retarded us.

The ‘Diana’ has already captured twelve
whales. Taking the hint from Capt. Gravill,[135]
we have made fast to a loose floe, and are drifting
very nearly a mile an hour to the southward
along the edge of a very formidable land-ice,
which is seven or eight miles broad. All
to seaward of us is packed ice. The old whaling
seamen of the ‘Diana’ are astonished at the unusual
and unaccountable abundance of ice which
everywhere fills up Baffin’s Bay. All the ‘Diana’s’
steaming coals, her spare spars, wood and
even a boat, have been burnt in the protracted
struggle through the middle ice.

27th.—After putting our letter-bag on board
the ‘Diana’ this morning we steamed on for
Pond’s Bay, and at noon made fast near Button
Point to the land-ice, which still extends
across it.

For four hours Petersen and I have been bargaining
with an old woman and a boy, not for the
sake of their seal-skins, but in order to keep them
in good humor whilst we extracted information
from them. They said they knew nothing of
ships or white people ever having been within
this inlet, nor of any wrecked ships. They knew
of the depôt of provisions left at Navy Board
Inlet by the ‘North Star,’ but had none of them.
The woman has traced on paper the shores of
the inlet as far as her knowledge extends, and has
given me the name of every point. She says the
ice will break up with the first fresh wind. These
two individuals are alone here. They remained[136]
on purpose to barter with the whalers, and cannot
now rejoin their friends, who are only 25
miles up the inlet, because the ice is unsafe to
travel over and the land precipitous and impracticable.

This afternoon the ‘Tay’ stood in towards us,
and Captain Deuchars kindly sent his boat on
board with an offer to take charge of our letters.
The ‘Tay’ reached this coast only a few days ago,
having met with the same difficulties which we
experienced. The ‘Innuit’ was last seen nearly
a month ago beset off Jones’ Sound. The remaining
steamer, the ‘Chase,’ has not been seen
or heard of.

29th.—The old woman’s denial of all knowledge
of the wrecks or cast-away men was very
unsatisfactory. I determined to visit her countrymen
at their summer village of Kaparōktolik,
which she described as being only a short day’s
journey up the inlet.

Petersen and one man accompanied me. We
started yesterday morning with a sledge and a Halkett
boat. Although the ice over which we purposed
travelling broke away from the land soon
after setting out, yet we managed to get half way
to the village before encamping. This morning
we learnt the truth of the old woman’s account.
A range of precipitous cliffs rising from the sea
cut us off by land from Kaparōktolik, so we were
obliged to return to the ship. Our walk afforded[137]
the opportunity of examining some native encampments
and câches. We found innumerable
scraps of seal-skins, bird-skins, walrus and other
bones, whalebone, blubber, and a small sledge.
The latter was very old, and composed of pieces
of wood and of large bones ingeniously secured together
with strips of whalebone. Five preserved-meat
tins were found; some of them retaining
their original coating of red paint. Doubtless
these were part of the spoils from Navy Board
Inlet depôt. The total absence of fresh wood or
iron was strongly in favor of the old woman’s veracity.
Since yesterday, ice, about 16 miles in
extent, has broken up in the inlet, and is drifting
out into Baffin’s Bay.

During my absence our shooting parties have
twice visited a loomery upon Cape Graham Moore,
and each time have brought on board 300 looms.
Very few birds and no other animals were seen
during our walk over the rich mossy slopes to-day.
I saw a pair of Canadian brown cranes, the first
of the species I have ever seen so far north,
though Sir Robert M’Clure found them, I know,
on Banks Land.

The lands enjoying a southern aspect, even to
the summits of hills 700 or 800 feet in height,
were tinged with green; but these hills were protected
by a still loftier range to the north. Upon
many well-sheltered slopes we found much rich
grass. All the little plants were in full flower;[138]
some of them familiar to us at home, such as the
buttercup, sorrel, and dandelion. I have never
found the latter to the north of 69° before.

The old woman is much less excited to-day;
she says there was a wreck upon the coast when
she was a little girl; it lies a day and a half’s
journey, about 45 miles, to the north; and came
there without masts and very much crushed; the
little which now remains is almost buried in the
sand. A piece of this wreck was found near her
abode,—she has neither hut nor tent, but a sort of
lair constructed of a few stones and a seal-skin
spread over them, so that she can crawl underneath.
This fragment is part of a floor timber,
English oak, 7½ inches thick; it has been brought
on board.

30th.—A gale of wind and deluge of rain has
detained the ship until this evening; we are now
steaming up the inlet, having the old lady and
the boy on board as our pilots; they are delighted
at the prospect of rejoining their friends, from
whom they were effectually cut off until the return
of winter should freeze a safe pathway for
them; they had, however, abundance of looms
stored up en câche for their subsistence. She has
drawn me another chart, much more neatly than
the former, but so like it as to prove that her
geographical knowledge, and not her powers of
invention, have been taxed. She is a widow; her
daughter is married, and lives at a place called[139]
Igloolik, which is six or seven days’ journey from
here,—three days up the inlet, then about three
days overland to the southward, and then a day
over the ice.

Thinking it not quite impossible that this Igloolik
might be the place where Parry wintered
in 1822-3, I told Petersen to ask whether ships
had ever been there? She answered, “Yes, a ship
stopped there all one winter; but it is a long time
ago.” All she could distinctly recollect having
been told about it was, that one of the crew died,
and was buried there, and his name was Al-lah
or El-leh. On referring to Parry’s ‘Narrative,’ I
found that the ice-mate, Mr. Elder, died at Igloolik!
This is a very remarkable confirmation of
the locality,—for there are several places called
Igloolik. She also told us it was an island, and
near a strait between two seas. The Esquimaux
take considerable pains to learn, and remember
names; this woman knows the names of several
of the whaling captains, and the old chief at De
Ros Islet remembered Captain Inglefield’s name,
and tried hard to pronounce mine.

She now told us of another wreck upon the
coast, but many days’ journey to the south of
Pond’s Bay; it came there before her first child
was born. Her age is not less than forty-five.

August 4th.—Our Esquimaux friends have departed
from us with every demonstration of friendship,
to return to their village. We have had[140]
free communication with them for four days—not
only through Mr. Petersen, but also through
our two Greenlanders; the result is, that they
have no knowledge whatever of either of the
missing or the abandoned searching ships. Neither
wrecked people nor wrecked ships have
reached their shores. They seemed to be much
in want of wood; most of what they have consists
of staves of casks, probably from the Navy
Board Inlet depôt.

In their bartering with us, saws were most
eagerly sought for in exchange for narwhal’s
horns; they are used by them in cutting up the
long strips of the bones of whales with which
they shoe the runners of their sledges, also the
ivory and bone used to protect the more exposed
parts of their kayaks and the edges of their paddles
from the ice.

Files were also in great demand, and I found
were required to convert pieces of iron-hoop into
arrow and spear heads. If any suspicion existed
of their having a secret supply of wood such as a
wreck or even a boat would afford, it was removed
by their refusing to barter the most trifling things
for axes or hatchets.

But I must relate the events of the last few
days as they occurred. When 17 miles within
the inlet we reached the unbroken ice and made
the ship fast. Here the strait—originally named
Pond’s Bay, and more recently Eclipse Sound—appears[141]
to be most contracted, its width not exceeding
7 or 8 miles. Both its shores are very
bold and lofty, often forming noble precipices.
The prevailing rock is grey gneiss, generally dipping
at an angle of 35° to the west.

Early on the 1st of August I set out for the native
village with Hobson, Petersen, two men, and
the two natives from Button Point. Eight miles
of wet and weary ice-travelling, which occupied
as many hours, terminated our journey; the surface
of the ice was everywhere deeply channelled
and abundantly flooded by the summer’s thaw;
we were almost constantly launching our small
boat over the slippery ridges which separated
pools or channellings through which it was generally
necessary to wade.

After toiling round the base of a precipice, we
came rather suddenly in view of a small semicircular
bay; the cliffs on either side were 800 or 900
feet high, remarkably forbidding and desolate; the
mouth of a valley or wide mountain gorge opens
out into its head. Here, in the depth of the bay,
upon a low flat strip of land, stood seven tents,—the
summer village of Kaparōktolik. I never
saw a locality more characteristic of the Esquimaux
than that which they have here selected for
their abode; it is widely picturesque in the true
Arctic application of the term.

Although August had arrived, and the summer
had been a warm one, the bay was still frozen[142]
over; and if there was an ice-covered sea in front,
there was also abundance of ice-covered land in the
rear—a glacier occupied the whole valley behind
and to within 300 yards of the chosen spot!

The glacier’s height appeared to be from 150
to 200 feet; its sea-face extending across the
valley,—a probable width of 300 or 400 yards,—was
quite perpendicular, and fully 100 feet high.
All last winter’s snow had thawed away from off
it and exposed a surface of mud and stones, fissured
by innumerable small rivulets, which threw
themselves over the glacier cliffs in pretty cascades,
or shot far out in strong jets from their
deeply serried channels in its face; whilst other
streamlets near the base burst out through sub-glacial
tunnels of their own forming.

What a strange people to confine themselves to
such a mere strip of beach! Upon each side they
have towering rocky hills rising so abruptly from
the sea, that to pass along their bases or ascend
over their summits, is equally impossible; whilst
a threatening glacier immediately behind, bears
onward a sufficient amount of rock and earth from
the mountains whence it issues, to convince even
the unreflecting savage of its progressive motion.

The Village and Glacier of Kaparōktolik, Greenland.

The land is devoid of game, although lemmings
and ermines are tolerably numerous; it only supplies
the moss which the natives burn with blubber
in their lamps, and the dry grass which they
put in their boots; even the soft stone, lapis ollaris,[143]
out of which their lamps and cooking vessels
are made and the iron pyrites with which they
strike fire, are obtained by barter from the people
inhabiting the land to the west of Navy Board
Inlet. But the sea compensates for every deficiency.
The assembled population amounted to
only 25 souls: 9 men, the rest women and children.

All of them evinced extreme delight at seeing
us; as we approached the huts the women and
children held up their arms in the air and shouted
“Pilletay” (give me), incessantly; the men
were more quiet and dignified, yet lost no opportunity,
either when we declined to barter, or when
they had performed any little service, to repeat
“Pilletay” in a beseeching tone of voice.

We walked everywhere about the tents and
entered some of them, carefully examining every
chip or piece of metal; our visit was quite unexpected.
They had only two sledges; both were
made of 2½ inch oak-planks, devoid of bolt-holes
or treenails, and having but very few nail-holes.
These sledges had evidently been constructed for
several years, the parts not exposed to friction
were covered with green fungus: one of them
measured 14 feet long, the other about 9 feet;
we were told the wood came from a wreck to the
southward of Pond’s Bay. Most of the sledge
cross-bars were ordinary staves of casks. Amongst
the poles and large bones which supported the[144]
tents we noticed a painted fir oar. Some pieces of
iron-hoop and a few preserved-meat tins—one
of which was stamped “Goldner,”—completed
their stock of European articles.

Petersen questioned all the men separately as to
their knowledge of ships or wrecks; but their accounts
only served to confirm the old woman’s
story. None of them had ever heard of ships or
wrecks anywhere to the westward. Both individually
and collectively we got them to draw charts
of the various coasts known to them, and to mark
upon them the positions of the wrecks. The two
chiefs, Nōo-luk and A-wăh-lah, soon made themselves
known to me, and, when we desired to go
to sleep, sent away the people who were eagerly
pressing round our tent. All these natives were
better-looking, cleaner, and more robust than I
expected to find them.

A-wăh-lah has been to Igloolik; one of his
wives, for each chief has two, has a brother living
there. I spread a large roll of paper upon a rock,
and got him to draw the route overland, and also
round by the coast to it; this novel proceeding
attracted the whole population about us; A-wăh-lah
constantly referred to others when his memory
failed him; at length it was completed to the satisfaction
of all parties. When I gave him the
knife I had promised as his reward, and added
another for his wives, he sprang up on the rock,
flourished the knives in his hands, shouted, and[145]
danced with extravagant demonstrations of joy.
He is a very fine specimen of his race, powerful,
impulsive, full of energy and animal spirits, and
moreover an admirable mimic. The men were all
about the same height, 5 feet 5 in.; they eagerly
answered our questions, and imparted to us all
the geographical knowledge, although at first they
hesitated when we asked them about Navy Board
Inlet, in consequence of the depôt placed there
having been plundered; but we soon found that
they were easily tired under cross-examination,
and often said they knew no more; it was necessary
to humor them.

According to their account the depôt was discovered
and robbed by people living further west.
This is probably true, as so few relics were to be
seen here, which would not be the case if such
active fellows as A-wăh-lah and Nōo-luk had received
the first information of its proximity. These
people of Kaparōktolik are the only inhabitants
of the land lying eastward of Navy Board Inlet,
and live entirely upon its southern shore. In a
similar manner, it is only the southern coast of
the land to the west of Navy Board Inlet that is
inhabited. After distributing presents to all the
women and children, and making a few trifling
purchases from the men, we returned next day to
the ship.

During my absence more ice had broken away,
involving the ship and almost forcing her on shore.[146]
It required every exertion to save her. For two
hours she continued in imminent danger, and was
only saved by the warping and ice-blasting, by
which at last she got clear of the drifting masses,
four minutes only before these were crushed up
against the rocks!

Four Esquimaux came off to the ship in their
kayaks, bringing whalebone, narwhals’ horns, etc.,
to barter. Next to handsaws and files, they attached
the greatest value to knives and large
needles. These men remained on board for nearly
two days, and drew several charts for us. Nōo-luk
explained that seven or eight days’ journey to
the southward there are two wrecks a short day’s
journey apart. The southern is in an inlet or strait
which contains several islands, but here his knowledge
of the coast terminates. The man A-ra-neet
said he visited these wrecks five winters ago. All
of them agreed that it is a very long time since
the wrecks arrived upon the coast; and Nōo-luk,
who appears to be about forty-five years of age,
showed us how tall he was at the time.

In the ‘Narrative of Parry’s Second Voyage,’ at
p. 437, mention is made of the arrival at Igloolik
of a sledge constructed of ship-timber and staves
of casks; also of two ships that had been driven
on shore, and the crews of which went away in
boats. In August, 1821, nearly two years previous
to the arrival of this report through the Esquimaux
to Igloolik, the whalers ‘Dexterity’ and[147]
‘Aurora’ were wrecked upon the west coast of
Davis’ Strait, in lat. 72°, 70 or 80 miles southward
of Pond’s Bay. The old man, Ow-wang-noot, drew
the coast-line northwards from Cape Graham
Moore to Navy Board Inlet, and pointed out the
position of the northern wreck a few miles east of
Cape Hay. Had it been conspicuous, we must
have seen it when we slowly drifted along that
coast.

These people usually winter in snow-huts at
Green Point, a mile or two within the northern
entrance of Pond’s Bay. They hunt the seal
and narwhal, but when the sea becomes too
open they retire to Kaparōktolik; and when
the remaining ice breaks up—usually about the
middle of August—a further migration takes
place across the inlet to the S.W., where reindeer
abound, and large salmon are numerous in the
rivers. Every winter they communicate with the
Igloolik people. Two winters ago (1856-7) some
people who lived far beyond Igloolik, in a country
called A-ka-nee (probably the Ak-koo-lee of Parry),
brought from there the information of white
people having come in two boats, and passed a
winter in snow-huts at a place called by the
following names:—A-mee-lee-oke, A-wee-lik, Net-tee-lik.

Our friends pointed to our whale-boat, and
said the boats of the white people were like it,
but larger. These whites had tents inside[148]
their snow-huts; they killed and ate reindeer
and narwhal, and smoked pipes; they bought
dresses from the natives; none died; in summer
they all went away, taking with them two
natives, a father and his son. We could not
ascertain the name of the white chief, nor the
interval of time since they wintered amongst
the Esquimaux, as our friends could not recollect
these particulars.[14]

The name of the locality, A-wee-lik (spelt as
written down at the moment), may be considered
identical with “Ay-wee-lik,” the name of
the land about Repulse Bay in the chart of the
Esquimaux woman, Iligliuk (Parry’s ‘Second Voyage,’
p. 197).

We were of course greatly surprised to find
that Dr. Rae’s visit to Repulse Bay was known to
this distant tribe; and also disappointed to find
they had heard nothing of Franklin’s Back-River
parties through the same channel of communication.
They were anxiously and repeatedly questioned,
but evidently had not heard of any other
white people to the westward, nor of their having
perished there.

Ow-wang-noot lived at Igloolik in his early
days, and made a chart of the lands adjacent,
but said he was so young at the time that “it
seemed like a dream to him.” He was acquainted[149]
with Ee-noo-lōō-apik, the Esquimaux who once
accompanied Captain Penny to Aberdeen, and
told us he had died, lately I think, at a place
to the southward called Kri-merk-sū-malek, but
that his sister still lives at Igloolik.

Although they told us the Igloolik people
were worse off for wood than they were themselves,
yet it was evident that here also it is
very scarce. We could not spare them light
poles or oars such as they were most desirous to
obtain for harpoon and lance staves and tent-poles;
and they would willingly have bartered
their kayaks to us for rifles (having already obtained
some from the whaling-ships), but that
they had no other means of getting back to their
homes, nor wood to make the light framework of
others.

They collect whalebone and narwhal’s horns in
sufficient quantity to carry on a small barter with
the whalers. A-wăh-lah showed us about thirty
horns in his tent, and said he had many more at
other stations. A few years ago, when first this
bartering sprang up, an Esquimaux took such a
fancy to a fiddle that he offered a large quantity
of whalebone in exchange for it. The bargain
was soon made, and subsequently this whalebone
was sold for upwards of a hundred pounds!
Each successive year, when the same ship returns
to Pond’s Bay, this native comes on board
to visit his friends, and goes on shore with many[150]
presents in remembrance of the memorable transaction.
It is much better for him thus to receive
annual gifts than to have received a large quantity
at first, as the improvidence of these men
surpasses belief.

Of the “rod of iron about four feet long, supposed
to have been at one time galvanized,”
which was brought home in 1856 by Captain
Patterson, and forwarded to the Admiralty, I
could obtain no information. The natives were
shown galvanized iron, and said they had never
seen any before; if their countrymen had any,
it must have come from the whalers; none like
it was found in the wrecks. Rod-iron is very valuable
to Esquimaux for spears and lances, and
narwhals’ horns very tempting to the seamen,
not only as valuable curiosities, but the ivory is
worth half a crown a pound; and I have but
little doubt that many of the things said to have
been stolen by the natives were fraudulently bartered
away by the sailors. That there was no
galvanized iron on board any of the Government
searching-ships, nor in the missing expedition
which sailed from England as far back as
1845, I am almost certain. But is it certain that
this rod was galvanized? The natives gave Captain
Patterson to understand that they got it from
the wreck to the north.

In July, 1854, Captain Deuchars was at Pond’s
Bay, and many natives visited his ship, coming[151]
over the ice on twelve or fourteen sledges made
of ship’s planking. Now at this time Sir Edward
Belcher’s ships were still frozen up in Barrow
Strait. My own impression is that the natives
whom Captain Deuchars communicated with in
1854 were visitors at Pond’s Bay—certainly from
the southward—and probably attracted by the
barter recently grown up at that whaling rendezvous.
Having discovered the use of the saws
obtained by barter from our whalers, they had
successfully applied them to the stout planking
of the old wrecks, which they could not have
stripped off with any tools previously in their
possession.

That the various tribes, or rather groups of
families, occasionally visit each other, sometimes
for change of hunting-grounds, but more frequently
for barter, is well known. Captain Parker
told me that a native whom he had met one
summer at Durbin Island, came on board his ship
at Pond’s Bay the following year. The distance
between the two places, as travelled by this man
in a single winter, is scarcely short of 500 miles;
and the information given us of Rae’s wintering
at Repulse Bay, information which must have
travelled here in two winters, shows that these
natives communicate at still greater distances.

Did other wrecks exist nearer at hand, our
Pond’s Bay friends would be much better supplied
with wood. If the Esquimaux knew of any within[152]
300, 400, or even 500 miles, the Pond’s Bay
natives would at least have heard of them, and
could have had no reason for concealing it from
us. I only regret that we had not the good fortune
to see more than a few natives, and but two
sledges of ship’s planking; otherwise our own information
might have been more copious, and the
origin of the fresh supply of planking decisively
ascertained.

[153]

CHAPTER X.

6th Aug.—Continued calms have delayed us. This
evening we steamed from Pond’s Bay northward,
although our coals have been sadly reduced by
the almost constant necessity for steam-power
since leaving the Waigat. The three steam-whalers
have gone southward; none others have
arrived. They appear to us to be leaving the
whales behind them; we saw many whilst up the
strait, and at the edge of the remaining ice. The
natives said they would remain as long as the ice
remained, but when it all broke up they would
return into Baffin’s Bay and go southward; and
that these animals arrive in early spring, and do
not pass through the strait into any other sea
beyond.

Monday evening, 9th.—On the night of the 6th
a pleasant, fair breeze sprang up, and enabled us
to dispense with the engine. An immense bear
was shot; he measured 8 feet 7 inches in length,[154]
and is destined for the museum of the Royal
Dublin Society. On the 7th the wind gradually
freshened and frustrated my intention of examining
the wreck spoken of near Cape Hay; at night
it increased to a very heavy gale. Although past
Navy Board Inlet, very little ice had yet been
met with. The weather, and fear of ice to leeward,
obliged us to heave the vessel to, under
main trysail and fore staysail. The squalls were
extremely violent and seas unusually high.

All Sunday, the 8th, the gale continued, although
not with such extreme force; the deep
rolling of the ship, and moaning of the half-drowned
dogs amidst the pelting sleet and rain,
was anything but agreeable. Notwithstanding
that I had been up all the previous night, I felt
too anxious to sleep; the wind blew directly up
Barrow Strait, drifting us about two miles an
hour. Occasionally she drifted to leeward of
masses of ice, reminding us that if any of the
dense pack which covered this sea only three
weeks ago remained to leeward of us, we must be
rapidly setting down upon its weather edge. The
only expedient in such a case is to endeavor to
run into it—once well within its outer margin a
ship is comparatively safe—the danger lies in the
attempt to penetrate; to escape out of the pack
afterwards is also a doubtful matter.

In the evening we were glad to see the land,
and find ourselves off the north shore near Cape[155]
Bullen, for the violent motion of the ship and
very weak horizontal magnetic force had rendered
our compasses useless. This morning, the
9th, the gale broke, and the sea began to subside
rapidly; by noon it was almost calm, but a thick
gloom prevailed, ominous, it might be, of more
mischief. All along the land there is ice, but,
broken up into harmless atoms. We have carried
away a main gaff and a jibstay, but have come remarkably
well through such a gale with such trifling
damage.

11th.—Before noon to-day we anchored inside
Cape Riley, and immediately commenced preparations
for embarking coals. I visited Beechey
Island house, and found the door open; it must
have been blown in by an easterly gale long ago,
for much ice had accumulated immediately inside
it. Most of the biscuit in bags was damaged, but
every thing else was in perfect order. Upon the
north and west sides of the house, where a wall
had been constructed, there was a vast accumulation
of ice, in which the lower tier of casks between
the two were embedded, and its surface
thawed into pools. Neither casks nor walls should
have been allowed to stand near the house. The
southern and eastern sides were clear and perfectly
dry. The ‘Mary’ decked boat, and two 30-feet
lifeboats, were in excellent order, and their paint
appeared fresh, but oars and bare wood were
bleached white.[156]

The gutta-percha boat was useless when left
here, and remains in the same state. Two small
sledge travelling boats were damaged; one of them
had been blown over and over along the beach
until finally arrested by the other. The bears
and foxes do not appear to have touched any
thing. I have taken on board all letters left here
for Franklin’s or Collinson’s expeditions and also
a 20-feet sledge-boat for our own travelling purposes.

Last night we steamed very close round Cape
Hurd in a dense fog, and crept along the land as
our only guide: we were thus led into Rigby Bay,
and discovered a shoal off its entrance by grounding
upon it. After a quarter of an hour we
floated off unhurt.

In lowering a boat to pursue a bear, Robert
Hampton fell overboard; fortunately he could
swim, and was very soon picked up, but the intense
cold of the water had almost paralyzed his
limbs. The bear was shot and taken on board.

Sunday, 15th, 9 P.M.—Our coaling was completed
yesterday, and the ship brought over and anchored
off the house in Erebus and Terror Bay.
A small proportion of provisions and winter clothing
has been embarked to complete our deficiencies;
the ice has been scraped out of the house
and its roof thoroughly repaired, a record deposited,
and door securely closed.

I found lying at Godhavn a marble tablet[157]
which had been sent out by Lady Franklin, in
the American expedition of 1855 under Captain
Hartstein, for the purpose of being erected at
Beechey Island. Circumstances prevented the
Americans executing this kindly service, and it
fell to my lot to convey it to the site originally
intended. The tablet was constructed in New
York, under the direction of Mr. Grinnell, at the
request of Lady Franklin, in order that the only
opportunity which then offered of sending it to
the Arctic regions might not be lost. I placed
the monument upon the raised flagged square in
the centre of which stands the cenotaph recording
the names of those who perished in the Government
expedition under Sir Edward Belcher.
Here also is placed a small tablet to the memory
of Lieutenant Bellot. I could not have selected
for Lady Franklin’s memorial a more appropriate
or conspicuous site. The inscription runs as follows:—

[158]

TO THE MEMORY OF
FRANKLIN,
CROZIER, FITZJAMES,
AND ALL THEIR
GALLANT BROTHER OFFICERS AND FAITHFUL
COMPANIONS WHO HAVE SUFFERED AND PERISHED
IN THE CAUSE OF SCIENCE AND
THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY.

THIS TABLET
IS ERECTED NEAR THE SPOT WHERE
THEY PASSED THEIR FIRST ARCTIC
WINTER, AND WHENCE THEY ISSUED
FORTH TO CONQUER DIFFICULTIES OR
TO DIE.

IT COMMEMORATES THE GRIEF OF THEIR
ADMIRING COUNTRYMEN AND FRIENDS,
AND THE ANGUISH, SUBDUED BY FAITH,
OF HER WHO HAS LOST, IN THE HEROIC
LEADER OF THE EXPEDITION, THE MOST
DEVOTED AND AFFECTIONATE OF
HUSBANDS.

“AND SO HE BRINGETH THEM UNTO THE
HAVEN WHERE THEY WOULD BE.”
1855.

We are now ready to proceed upon our voyage[159]
from Beechey Island, and there is no ice in sight;
but having worked almost unceasingly since our
arrival up to the present hour, the men require a
night’s rest. Nearly forty tons of fuel have been
embarked.

The total absence of ice in Barrow Strait is
astonishing. No less so are the changes and
chances of this singular navigation. Twelve days
later than this in 1850, when I belonged to Her
Majesty’s ship ‘Assistance,’ with considerable difficulty
we came within sight of Beechey Island;
a cairn on its summit attracted notice; Captain
Ommanney managed to land, and discovered the
first traces of the missing expedition. Next day
the United States schooner ‘Rescue’ arrived; the
day after, Captain Penny joined us, and subsequently
Captain Austin, Sir John Ross, and Captain
Forsyth,—in all, ten vessels were assembled
here. This day six years, when in command of
the ‘Intrepid,’ we sailed from here for Melville
Island in company with the ‘Resolute.’ Again I
was here at this time in 1854,—still frozen up,—in
the ‘North Star,’ and doubts were entertained
of the possibility of escape.

To come down to a later period, it was this day
fortnight only that I set out for the native village
in Pond’s Inlet, under the guidance of an old
woman; the trip was interesting, but we failed to
obtain the slightest clue to the “whereabouts” of[160]
the missing ships; moreover, our own little vessel
had a most providential escape from being crushed
against the cliffs; and this day week was spent in
contending with a furious gale, during which the
ship had nearly been driven to leeward and dashed
to pieces by the sea-beaten pack. Yet these are
only preliminaries,—we are only now about to
commence the interesting part of our voyage. It
is to be hoped the poor ‘Fox’ has many more
lives to spare.

Monday night, 16th Aug.—Sailed from Beechey
Island this morning, and in the evening landed at
Cape Hotham. A small depôt of provisions and
three boats were left there by former expeditions.
Of the depôt all has been destroyed with the exception
of two casks landed in 1850. The boats
were sound, but several of their oars, which had
been secured upright, were found broken down
by bears—those inquisitive animals having a
decided antipathy to anything stuck up—stuck
up things in general being, in this country, unnatural.
Fragments of the depôt and the broken
oars were tossed about in every direction. Numerous
records were found; to the most recent a
few lines were added, stating that we had removed
the two whale-boats—one to be left at Port
Leopold, the other to replace our own crushed by
the ice.

17th.—Last night battling against a strong foul
wind with sea, in rain and fog. To-day much loose[161]
ice is seen southward of Griffith’s Island. The
weather improved this afternoon, and we shot
gallantly past Limestone Island, and are now
steering down Peel Strait; all of us in a wild state
of excitement—a mingling of anxious hopes and
fears!

18th.—For 25 miles last evening we ran unobstructedly
down Peel Strait, but then came in
sight of unbroken ice extending across it from
shore to shore! It was much decayed, and of one
year’s growth only; yet as the strait continues to
contract for 60 miles further, and it appeared to
me to afford so little hope of becoming navigable
in the short remainder of the season, I immediately
turned about for Bellot Strait, as affording
a better prospect of a passage into the western
sea discovered by Sir James Ross from Four River
Point in 1849. Our disappointment at the interruption
of our progress was as sudden as it was
severe. We did not linger in hope of a change,
but steered out again into the broad waters of
Barrow Strait. However, should Bellot Strait
prove hopeless, I intend to return hither to make
one more effort before the close of the season.

We are now approaching Port Leopold, where
it is necessary to stop for a few hours to examine
the state of the steam launch, provisions and stores,
left there in 1849, as adverse circumstances may
oblige me to fall back upon it as a point of support.[162]

19th.—At anchor in Port Leopold; it is perfectly
clear of ice; we arrived here in the night.
How astonishingly bare the land looks; it is more
barren than Beechey Island, whilst the rock contains
far fewer fossils! On this day nine years
ago the harbor and sea continued covered with
ice, and the ships (‘Enterprise’ and ‘Investigator’)
were unable to escape. At some period since then
the ice has been pressed in upon the low shingle
point; it has forced the launch up before it, and
left her broadside on to the beach, with both bows
stove in, and in want of considerable repairs, but
the means are all at hand for executing them.
We tried to haul her further up, but she was
firmly imbedded and frozen into the ground.
Many things appear to have been covered with
the loose shingle, bags of coal and coke just appearing
through it scarcely above high-water mark.
Amongst the missing articles is the steam-engine.

Although the flag-staff upon the summit of
North East Cape is still standing, the one erected
upon this point and almost the whole of the
framing of the house lies prostrate. The provisions
appeared to be sound, but were not generally
examined. The whale-boat we removed
from Cape Hotham was landed here, and a record
of our proceedings added to the many which have
accumulated here during the last ten years. Some
coke and a few things useful to us and merely
decaying here were taken on board, and by[163]
evening we were again speeding onward with
augmented resources, and the confidence inspired
by a secure depôt in our rear; buoyed up moreover
by the joyful anticipation of soon reaching
the goal of our long-deferred hopes.

20th.—Noon. Exactly off Fury Point. There
is one large iceberg far off in the S.E.; no other
ice in sight! I would have landed at Fury Beach
to examine the remaining supplies there, but a
snow shower prevented our distinguishing anything,
and a strong tide carried us past before we
were aware of it.

We feel that the crisis of our voyage is near at
hand. Does Bellot Strait really exist? if so, is it
free from ice?

A depôt of provisions is being got ready to be
landed, should it be practicable for us to push
through and proceed to the southward.

21st.—On approaching Brentford Bay last
evening packed ice was seen streaming out of
it, also much ice in the S.E. The northern point
of entrance was landed upon by Sir John Ross
in 1829, and named Possession Point; we rounded
it closely, and could distinguish a few stones piled
up upon a large rock near its highest part—this
is his cairn. As we passed westward between the
point and Browne’s Island, through a channel a
mile in width, a close pack was discovered a few
miles ahead; and it being past ten o’clock, and
almost dark, the ship was anchored in a convenient[164]
bay three or four miles within Possession
Point. Here our depôt is to be landed, therefore
we shall name this for the present Depôt Bay; a
very narrow isthmus between its head and Hazard
Inlet unites the low limestone peninsula, of
which Possession Point is the extreme, to the
mainland.

To-day an unsparing use of steam and canvas
forced the ship eight miles further west; we were
then about half-way through Bellot Strait! Its
western capes are lofty bluffs, such as may be distinguished
fifty miles distant in clear weather; between
them there was a clear broad channel, but
five or six miles of close heavy pack intervened—the
sole obstacle to our progress. Of course
this pack will speedily disperse;—it is no wonder
that we should feel elated at such a glorious
prospect, and content to bide our time in the
security of Depôt Bay. A feeling of tranquillity—of
earnest, hearty satisfaction—has come over
us. There is no appearance amongst us of anything
boastful; we have all experienced too keenly
the vicissitudes of Arctic voyaging to admit of
such a feeling.

At the turn of tide we perceived that we were
being carried, together with the pack, back to the
eastward; every moment our velocity was increased,
and presently we were dismayed at seeing
grounded ice near us, but were very quickly
swept past it at the rate of nearly six miles an[165]
hour, though within 200 yards of the rocks, and
of instant destruction! As soon as we possibly
could we got clear of the packed ice, and left it
to be wildly hurled about by various whirlpools
and rushes of the tide, until finally carried out
into Brentford Bay. The ice-masses were large,
and dashed violently against each other, and the
rocks lay at some distance off the southern shore;
we had a fortunate escape from such dangerous
company. After anchoring again in Depôt Bay,
a large stock of provisions and a record of our
proceedings were landed, as there seems every
probability of advancing into the western sea in
a very few days.

The appearance of Bellot Strait is precisely
that of a Greenland fiord; it is about 20 miles
long and scarcely a mile wide in the narrowest
part, and there, within a quarter of a mile of the
north shore the depth was ascertained to be 400
feet. Its granitic shores are bold and lofty, with
a very respectable sprinkling of vegetation for
lat. 72°. Some of the hill-ranges rise to about
1500 or 1600 feet above the sea.

The low land eastward of Depôt Bay is composed
of limestone, destitute alike of fossils and
vegetation. The granite commences upon the
west shore of Depôt Bay, and is at once bold and
rugged. Many seals have been seen; a young
bear was shot, and Walker took a photograph of
him as he lay upon our deck, the dogs creeping
near to lick up the blood.[166]

The great rapidity of the tides in Bellot Strait
fully accounts for the spaces of open water seen
by Mr. Kennedy[15] when he travelled through,
early in April. The strait runs very nearly east
and west, but its eastern entrance is well masked
by Long Island; when half-way through both
seas are visible. As in Greenland, the night tides
are much higher than the day tides; last night it
was high water at about half-past eleven; as
nearly as we can estimate, the tide runs through
to the west, from two hours before high water
until four hours after it; that is, the flood-tide
comes from the west! Such is also the case in
Hecla and Fury Strait; in both places the tide
from the west is much the strongest. I am not
sufficiently informed to discuss this subject, but
infer the existence of a channel between Victoria
and Prince of Wales’ Land. The rise and fall is
much less upon the western side of the Isthmus
of Boothia than upon the east, and it likewise
decreases, we know, in Barrow Strait, as we advance
westward.

23rd.—Yesterday Bellot Strait was again examined,
but the five miles of close pack occupied
precisely the same position as if heaped together
by contending tides; considerable augmentations
were moreover seen drifting in from the western
sea. Finding nothing could be effected in Bellot[167]
Strait, we sought in vain for the more southern
channel which should exist to form Levesque
Island: we did, however, find a beautiful harbor,
and are now securely anchored in its north-west
arm; I have named it after the gentleman whose
former island I have thus reluctantly converted
into the northern extreme of the Boothian Peninsula,
and consequently of the American continent.
The south-western angle of Brentford Bay is still
covered with unbroken ice.

This evening we all landed to explore our new
ground. Young and Petersen shot some brent
geese; Walker saw two deer, but he was botanizing,
and had no gun; others were seen by some
of the men, and followed, but without success.

I enjoyed a delightfully refreshing ramble, a
mile or two inland, through a gently ascending
valley, then two miles along the narrow margin
of a pretty little lake between mountains, beyond
which lay a much larger one, four or five miles
in diameter; this farther lake was only partially
divested of its winter ice. Here the scenery was
not only grand, but beautiful; there was enough
of vegetation to tint the craggy hill-sides and
to make the sheltered hollows absolutely green;
deer-tracks and the foot-prints of wildfowl were
everywhere numerous along the water-side. I
saw two decayed skulls of musk oxen, and circles
of stones by the little lake, doubtless at some remote
period the summer residence of wandering[168]
Esquimaux; hence I infer that fish abound in the
lake, and that this valley is a favorite deer-pass.

But the contemplation of these objects, although
agreeable, was not the object of my solitary ramble;
I came on shore to cogitate undisturbed in
a leisurely and philosophic manner. We hoped
very soon to enter an unknown sea; discoveries
were to be made, contingencies provided for, and
plans prepared to meet them.

Yesterday Petersen shot an immense bearded
seal; it sank, but floated up an hour afterwards.
This animal measured 8 feet long, and weighed
about 500 lbs. We prefer its flesh to that of the
small seals, and its blubber will afford a valuable
addition to our stock of lamp oil for the coming
winter.

25th.—In Depôt Bay. We remained but
twenty-four hours in Levesque Harbor; a change
of wind led us to hope for a removal of the ice
in Bellot Strait, therefore I determined to make
another attempt.

When off the table-land, where the depth is not
more than from 6 to 10 fathoms, and the tides
run strongest, the ship hardly moved over the
ground, although going 6½ knots through the
water! Thus delayed, darkness overtook us, and
we anchored at midnight in a small indentation of
the north shore, christened by the men Fox’s Hole,
rather more than half-way through.

For several hours we had been coquetting with[169]
huge rampant ice-masses that wildly surged about
in the tideway, or we dashed through boiling eddies,
and sometimes almost grazed the tall cliffs;
we were therefore naturally glad of a couple or
three hours’ rest, even in such a very unsafe position.
At early dawn we again proceeded west,
but for three miles only; the pack again stopped
us, and we could perceive that the western sea
was covered with ice: the east wind, which could
alone remove it, now gave place to a hard-hearted
westerly one.

All the strait to the eastward of us, and the
eastern sea, as far as could be seen from the hill-tops,
is perfectly free from ice, whereas in the
direction we wish to proceed there is nothing but
packed-ice, or water which cannot be reached.
Bitterly disappointed we are, of course; yet there
is reasonable ground for hope; grim winter will
not ratify the obstinate proceedings of the western
ice for nearly four weeks.

Last evening’s amusement was most exciting, nor
was it without its peculiar perils. With cunning
and activity worthy of her name, our little craft
warily avoided a tilting-match with the stout blue
masses which whirled about, as if with wilful impetuosity,
through the narrow channel; some of
them were so large as to ground even in 6 or 7
fathoms water. Many were drawn into the eddies,
and, acquiring considerable velocity in a contrary
direction, suddenly broke bounds, charging out[170]
into the stream and entering into mighty conflict
with their fellows. After such a frolic the masses
would revolve peaceably or unite with the pack,
and await quietly their certain dissolution; may
the day of that wished-for dissolution be near at
hand! Nothing but strong hope of success induced
me to encounter such dangerous opposition.
I not only hoped, but almost felt, that we deserved
to succeed.

Two plans were now occupying my thoughts,
both of them resulting from the conviction that
we should probably be compelled to winter to the
eastward of Bellot Strait: the most important of
these plans is that of finding some series of valleys,
chain of lakes, or continuous low land, practicable
as an overland sledge-route to the western coast,
along which we may transport depôts of provisions
this autumn; for it is certain that the strong
tides will prevent Bellot Strait being frozen over
till winter is far advanced, and its surface will
afford us no means of passing westward with our
sledges.

The other plan, and that which we are now
about to execute, is to land a small depôt of provisions
60 or 70 miles to the southward, and down
Prince Regent’s Inlet, in order to facilitate communication
with the Esquimaux either this autumn
or in early spring.

This precautionary step became so necessary in
the event of the west coast presenting unusual[171]
difficulties, that I determined to carry it at once
into execution. Quitting the “Fox’s Hole,” and
resting for one night in Depôt Bay, we sailed
thence on the 26th; a fine breeze carried us rapidly
southward along the coast of Regent Inlet; there
was but little obstruction; occasionally it was
necessary to pass through a stream of loose ice;
but we saw little of any kind, compared to the experiences
of Sir John Ross in 1829.

About dusk (nine o’clock) much loose ice to the
southward prevented our making any attempt at
further progress; we therefore anchored off the
coast—in Stillwell Bay, I think—about 45 miles
from the Depôt Bay. Here the depôt, consisting
of 120 rations, was landed. I observe that it has
only been on penetrating into Brentford Bay that
we have found the primary rocks washed by the
sea; the coast-line both north and south, as far as,
and beyond our present position, is a low shore of
pale limestone, destitute of fossils; we can, however,
see granitic hill-ranges far in the interior.

On the 27th we commenced beating back to
the northward, tacking between the land and the
ice which lay about 15 miles off shore. Towards
night the wind greatly increased, and the ship,
under reefed sail plunged violently into the short,
swift, high seas; we also felt quite as uneasy and
restless as the ship, in our great anxiety to get
back and ascertain what changes were likely to
be effected by the gale.[172]

28th.—To-night the weather is more pleasant;
the keen and contrary wind has given place to a
gentle, fair breeze, the swell has almost subsided,
no ice has been seen to-day, and the night is dark
and unusually mild. I can hardly fancy that the
sea which gently rocks us is not the ocean, and
the soft air the breath of our own temperate region!
The delusion is charming.

30th.—Yesterday after anchoring in Depôt Bay
I walked over to Possession Point, to visit Ross’
cairn. I found a few stones piled up on two large
boulders, and under each a halfpenny, one of which
I pocketed. Upon the ground lay the fragments
of a bottle which once contained the record, and
near it a staff about 4 feet long. Having calculated
upon finding the bottle sound, I was obliged
to make an impromptu record-case of its long
neck, into which I thrust my brief document, and
consigned it to the safe custody of a small heap of
stones, the staff being erected over it.

It was dark before I got on board again. The
strait had been reconnoitred from the hills, and
was reported to be perfectly clear of ice! This
morning we made a fourth attempt to pass
through; but Bellot Strait was by no means
clear; the same obstruction existed which defeated
our last attempt, and in precisely the same
place. Returning eastward, we entered a narrow
arm of the sea, nearly a couple of miles to the[173]
west of Depôt Bay, and anchored in a small creek
perfectly sheltered and land-locked, at the foot of
a sugarloaf hill.[16] The temperature is falling; last
night it stood at 24°.

[174]

CHAPTER XI.

Most anxious to know the real state of the ice in
the western sea—upon which our hopes so entirely
depend—I intend starting this evening by
boat, as far through Bellot Strait as the ice will
permit, then land and ascend the western coast-hills.

1st Sept.—My boat party consisted of four men
and the doctor, who came with me for the novelty
of the cruise, bringing his camera to fasten
upon any thing picturesque. We landed near
Half-way Island, and pitched our tent for the
night. Early next morning I commenced the
rather formidable undertaking of ascending the
hills, for it is not possible to pass under the cliffs,
and at last I gained the summit of the loftiest,
overlooking Cape Bird at a distance of 3 or 4
miles, and affording a splendid view to the westward,
as well as glimpses between the hills of the[175]
blue eastern sea. Long and anxiously did I survey
the western sea, ice, and lands, and could not
but feel that in all probability we should not be
permitted to pass beyond our present position.

M’Clintock in his Boat sailing through Bellot Strait.

To the northward Four River Point—Sir
James Ross’ farthest in 1849—was at once recognized;
rather more than nine years ago I stood
upon it with him, and gazed almost as anxiously
in this direction! My present view confirmed
the impression then received, of a wide channel
leading southward. The outline of the western
land is very distant; it is of considerable but uniform
elevation, and slopes gradually down to the
strait, which is between 30 and 40 miles wide.
This western land appears to be limestone, and
without off-lying islands. Our side of the strait or
sea, on the contrary, is primary rock, and fringed
with islets and rocks; its southern extreme bears
S.S.W., and is probably 30 miles distant.

Now for the ice. Although broken up, it lies
against this shore in immense fields: there is but
little water or room for ice-movement. Along
the west shore I can distinguish long faint streaks
of water. There is no appearance of disruption
about Four River Point or in the contracted part
of Peel Strait—we have nothing to hope for in
that quarter; neither is there any evidence of
current or pressure; the ice appears much decayed,
but, as I am surveying it from a height of
about 1600 feet, I may be deceived.[176]

The strong contrast between the eastern and
western seas and lands is very unfavorable to the
latter.

Apart from the ice, I was fortunate, however, in
discovering a long narrow lake, occupying a valley
which lies between a small inlet near Cape
Bird and Hazard Inlet—in fact, a sort of echo of
Bellot Strait—and I look upon it as our sledge
route for the autumn, since it appears probable
we shall winter in our present position.

This is a wonderous rough country to scramble
over; one never ceases to wonder how such huge
blocks of rock can have got into such strange positions.
I noticed two masses in particular, each
of them perched upon three small stones. The
rock is gneiss; there is also much granite. Even
upon the hill-tops pieces of limestone are occasionally
met with.

My walk occupied eleven hours, and, although
I everywhere saw traces of animals, the only living
thing seen was a grey falcon. During my
absence from the tent the men rambled all over
the hills, but saw no game, our encampment was
therefore shifted to a better position near the
eastern termination of the table-land. This morning
we explored the neighboring valleys; saw
three deer, and shot one, returning on board the
‘Fox’ in time for dinner.

Many deer had been seen not far from the
ship, and Hobson had shot a bearded seal. I have[177]
organized another boat party; Young will start
with it to-morrow morning to seek a sledge route
from the southern angle of Brentford Bay to the
western sea.

5th.—Young returned this morning; he reports
the south-west angle of the bay not to run in so
far as we expected, and to be environed by very
high land, impracticable for sledges.

Our Esquimaux, Samuel, shot a fawn to-day.

Strong northerly winds have latterly prevailed;
Bellot Strait is quite clear of ice; to-morrow morning,
therefore, we shall make our fifth attempt to
get the ‘Fox’ through.

6th.—Steamed through the clear waters of Bellot
Strait this morning, and made fast to the ice
across its western outlet at a distance of two miles
from the shore, and close to a small islet which
we have already dubbed Pemmican Rock, having
landed upon it a large supply of that substantial
traveller’s fare, with other provisions for our future
sledging-parties. This ice is in large stout
fields, of more than one winter’s growth, apparently
immovable in consequence of the numerous
islets and rocks which rise through and hold it
fast. If the weather permits, we shall remain
here for a few days and watch the effect of winds
and tides upon it; that the ship will get any further
seems improbable.

10th.—I have explored a small inlet near Cape
Bird, which we have named False Strait, from its[178]
striking resemblance to the true one, and find it
is only separated from the long lake by half a
mile of low land; the lake we have ascertained
to be about 12 miles long, and from it valleys extend
eastward and southward, so that we are sure
of a good sledge-route,—an important matter, as
the hills rise to 1600 feet above the sea.

Cape Bird is 500 feet high; from its summit
we carefully observe the ice. This granite coast
presents a jagged appearance; it is deeply indented
and studded with islets. The ice in the
western sea (or Peel’s Strait) is much more broken
up than it was upon the 31st ultimo; there is no
longer any fixed ice except within the grasp of
the islets. Birds and animals have become very
scarce; three seals have been shot, and a bear
seen. To-morrow we shall return to our harbor,
and endeavor to procure a few more reindeer before
they migrate southward.

12th.—Yesterday we anchored within the entrance
of our creek, being a more convenient
position than up at its head. We are already in
our wintering position, and, being without occupation,
one day seems most remarkably like
another! Although the fondly cherished hope
of pushing farther in our ship can no longer be
entertained, yet as long as the season continues
navigable it is our duty to be in readiness to avail
ourselves of any opportunity, however improbable,
of being able to do so.[179]

Once firmly frozen in, our autumn travelling
will commence, and afford welcome occupation.
Almost all on board have guns; ammunition is
supplied, and a sailor with a musket is a very contented
and zealous sportsman, if not always a
successful one; it is a powerful incentive to exercise.
To-day the ramblers saw only two hares,
an ermine, and an owl. Some peregrine falcons
have lately been shot; Petersen declares they
are “the best beef in the country, and the young birds
tender and white as chicken!“

A few days ago a large cask of biscuit was
opened, and a living mouse discovered therein!
it was small, but mature in years. The cask, a
strong watertight one, was packed on shore at
Aberdeen, in June, 1857, and remained ever afterwards
unopened; there was no hole by which the
mouse could have got in or out, besides it is the
only one ever seen on board. Ship’s biscuit is
certainly dry feeding, but who dares assert, after
the experience of our mouse, that it is not wonderfully
nutritious?

15th.—Two nights ago a comet was observed
just beneath the constellation of the Great Bear;
a series of measurements were commenced for determining
its path. Yesterday I walked through
the most promising valleys for eight hours, but
did not see a living creature; yet there is a very
fair show of vegetation, much more than at Melville
Island, where the game is abundant. To the[180]
east there is not a speck of ice, excepting only a
huge iceberg, probably the same we saw off Fury
Point, a very unusual visitor from Baffin’s Bay,
whence it must have been driven by those long-continued
east winds (of painful memory) in June
and July.

Hobson and two men encamped out for three
days in order to scour the country; they have
only seen one hare and one lemming! Walker
geologizes; amongst other things he finds much
iron pyrites. The dredge has been used, but with
very little success. The thermometer ranges between
20° and 30°. Fresh water pools are frozen
over, sea-ice forms in every sheltered angle of the
creeks. There is no snow upon the land, and this
is one cause of the difficulty of finding game.

I have determined upon naming this beautiful
little anchorage Port Kennedy, after my predecessor,
the discoverer of Bellot Strait, of which
it is decidedly the port. This is not a compliment
to him, but an agreeable duty to me, and
nowhere could Mr. Kennedy’s name be more
appropriately affixed than in close proximity
with his interesting discovery. And now having
made this acknowledgment, I may venture
to confer our little vessel’s name upon the islets
which protect its entrance.

The island upon which Mr. Kennedy and
Lieutenant Bellot encamped was Long Island,
about three miles further to the south-east.[181]

17th.—Of late we have been preparing provisions
and equipments for our travelling parties.
My scheme of sledge search comprehends three
separate routes and parties of four men; to each
party a dog-sledge and driver will be attached;
Hobson, Young, and I will lead them.

My journey will be to the Great Fish River,
examining the shores of King William’s Land
in going and returning; Petersen will be with
me.

Hobson will explore the western coast of
Boothia as far as the magnetic pole, this autumn,
I hope, and from Gateshead Island westward
next spring.

Young will trace the shore of Prince of Wales’
Land from Lieutenant Browne’s farthest, to the
south-westward to Osborn’s farthest, if possible,
and also examine between Four River Point and
Cape Bird.

Our probable absence will be sixty or seventy
days, commencing from about the 20th March.

In this way I trust we shall complete the
Franklin search and the geographical discovery
of Arctic America, both left unfinished by the
former expeditions; and in so doing we can
hardly fail to obtain some trace, some relic, or,
it may be, important records of those whose
mysterious fate it is the great object of our
labors to discover. But previous to setting forth
upon these important journeys, I must communicate[182]
with the Boothians, if possible, either upon
the west or east coast, in November or February.
Sir John Ross’ ‘Narrative’ informs us that they
sometimes winter as far north upon the east coast
as the Agnew River; and we know that upon the
west, at the magnetic pole, their abandoned snow-huts
were occupied in June by Sir James Ross.

19th.—Yesterday we steamed once more
through Bellot Strait, and took up our former
position at the ice-edge, off its western entrance;
the ice, hemmed in by islets has not moved.

From the summit of Cape Bird I had a very
extensive view this morning: there is now much
water in the offing, only separated from us by
the belt of islet-girt ice scarcely four miles in width!
My conviction is that a strong east wind would
remove this remaining barrier; it is not yet too
late. The water runs parallel to this coast, and
is four or five miles broad; beyond it there is ice,
but it appears to be all broken up.

Yesterday Young went upon a dog-sledge to
the nearest south-western island, distant 7 or 8
miles. He reports the intervening ice cracked
and weak in some places, but practicable for
loaded sledges; the far side of the island is
washed by a clear sea, and a bear which he shot
plunged into it, and, drifting away, was lost.
Young is in favor of carrying out the depôt provisions
to or beyond this island by boat; but as
the temperature fell to 18° last night, and new[183]
ice forms wherever it is calm, I prefer the safer,
although more laborious mode of sledging; accordingly
to-day our dogs carried out two sledge-loads
of the provisions intended for the use of
our parties hereafter.

22nd.—All the provisions have now been carried
out to the nearest island, which I shall temporarily
name Separation,[17] as there our spring
parties will divide; and a portion intended for
Hobson’s party and my own has been carried on
to the next island 7 or 8 miles further. Our
travelling boat and a small reserve depôt have
been placed upon Pemmican Rock, so already
something has been done. Animal life is very
scarce; a few seals, an occasional gull, and three
brown falcons, are the only creatures we have
seen for several days past. Last evening at eight
o’clock a very vivid flash of lightning was observed;
its appearance in these latitudes is very
rare; once only have I seen it before—in September,
1850.

25th.—Saturday night. Furious gales from
N. and S.W., but our barrier of coast-ice remains
undiminished. This morning Hobson set off upon
a journey of fourteen or fifteen days’ duration,
with seven men and fourteen dogs; he is to advance
the depôts along shore to the south, and if
successful will reach latitude 71°.[184]

The temperature is mild (+17), but it is snowy
and disagreeable weather; there is already enough
snow upon the old ice to make walking laborious,
and the land has also assumed its wintry complexion.

28th.—The ship was kept available for prosecuting
her voyage up to the latest hour; it was
only yesterday that we left the western ice, and
in consequence of the vast accumulation of young
ice in Bellot Strait we had considerable difficulty
in reaching the entrance of Port Kennedy: all
within was so firmly frozen over that after three
hours’ steaming and working we only penetrated
100 yards; however, we are in an excellent position,
although our wintering place will be farther
out by a quarter of a mile than I intended.

To-day we are unbending sails and laying up
the engines—uncertainty no longer exists—here
we are compelled to remain; and if we have not
been as successful in our voyaging as a month
ago we had good reason to expect, we may still
hope that Fortune will smile upon our more humble,
yet more arduous, pedestrian explorations—”Hope
on, hope ever.” In the mean time the
sudden transition, from mental and physical wear
and tear, to the security and quiet of winter quarters,
is an immense relief.

2nd Oct.—M. Petersen has shot two very fine
bucks; one is a magnificent fellow, weighing 354
lbs. (minus the paunch). Several deer have been[185]
seen; they come from the N. along the slopes of
the eastern hills. An ermine came on board a few
nights ago and kept the dogs in a violent state of
excitement, being much too wary to come out
from under the boat to be caught by them; at
length one of the men secured it. This beautiful
little animal does not appear to be full grown; its
extreme length is 13 inches. Two others came
off to the ship, and to our great amusement eluded
the men who gave chase, by darting into the soft
snow—which is now a foot deep—and re-appearing
several yards off.

The weather is too mild to satisfy us; we wish
for severe frost to seal us up securely, and make
the ice strong enough to bear the sledge-loads of
provisions, etc., which are to be landed for the
purpose of making more room in the ship.

6th.—A herd of a dozen reindeer crossed the
harbor to-day. Last night Hobson and his companions
returned, all well. They were stopped
by the sea washing against the cliffs in latitude
71½°, and to that point they have advanced
the depôts. Although the weather has been
stormy here, they have been able to travel every
day. They found the coast still fringed with
islets, and deeply indented; upon every point,
moss-grown circles of stones indicated the abodes
of Esquimaux in times long since gone by.

One night they muzzled a dog, as she was in
the habit of gnawing her harness: in this defenceless[186]
state, unable even to bark and arouse the
men, her amiable sisterhood attacked her so fiercely
that she died next day!

In honor of so important and successful a commencement
of our travelling, as that accomplished
by Hobson, we had a feast of good venison, plum
pudding, and grog. It is quite evident that no
more travelling can be accomplished until the ice
forms a pathway alongshore; in this, as in some
other respects, we anxiously await the advance of
the season. The weather is mild; Bellot Strait is
almost covered with ice, which drifts freely with
every tide. Reindeer are seen almost daily; they
too are awaiting the freezing over of the sea to
continue their southern travels. Our harbor-ice
is weak and covered a foot deep with a sludgy
compound of snow and water.

8th.—Yesterday an ermine was caught in a
trap; hitherto these most active little skirmishers
have successfully robbed our fox-traps of their
baits as fast as they could be renewed. To-day
Petersen shot another reindeer; it weighs 130 lbs.;
many others were seen, also a wolf. Sometimes
a few ptarmigan are met with, but hares very
rarely.

12th.—Fine weather generally prevails. We
have landed about 100 casks, all our boats, and
much lumber, so we shall have abundance of room
on board. I enjoyed a long and exhilarating ramble
upon snow-shoes to-day; without them I could[187]
not have gone over half the distance—the snow
lies so deep and soft—but I only saw one reindeer.

14th.—One of our magnetic observatories has
been built; it stands upon the ice, 210 yards S.
(magnetic) from the ship, and is built of ice sawed
into blocks—there not being any suitable snow;
it is just large enough to hold the declinometer
for hourly observations, to be noted throughout
the winter. The housings have been put over the
ship already, as Hobson will leave us again in a
few days to advance his depôt and my own to the
vicinity of the magnetic pole if possible. I would
also send Young upon a similar duty, but the
western sea cannot have frozen over yet.

19th.—All the 17th a N.W. gale blew with
fearful violence; yesterday it abated, but not sufficiently
to allow our party to start. This morning
Hobson got away with his nine men and ten
dogs; his absence may be from eighteen to twenty
days. Autumn travelling is most disagreeable;
there is so much wind and snow, the latter being
soft, deep, and often wet; the sun is almost always
obscured by mist, and is powerless for
warmth or drying purposes, and the temperature
is vary variable. Moreover there are now only
eight hours of misty daylight. To-day the morning
was fine, and temperature +8°. Having
completed the preliminary observations of the
times of horizontal and vertical vibrations, also[188]
of the magnetic intensity, I set up to-day the
declinometer, and commenced the hourly series
of observations on the diurnal variation. I trust
it may continue unbroken until we all set out
upon our spring travels in March. A hare has
been shot, but no other animals seen.

29th.—It generally blows a gale of wind here;
the only advantage in return for so much discomfort
is that the snow is the more quickly packed
hard. As we have only three working men and
an Esquimaux left on board for ship’s duties, I was
assisted a few days ago by the doctor, the engineer,
and the interpreter, in building another observatory,
intended for certain monthly magnetic
observations. This edifice is constructed of snow.
Whenever we have a calm night we can hear the
crushing sound of the drift-ice in Bellot Strait,
which continues open to within 500 yards of the
Fox Islands, and emits dark chilling clouds of
hateful, pestilent, abominable mist.

Interior of the Observatory.

The last two days have been very fine and
calm: the men visited their fox and ermine traps,
which are secreted amongst the rocks in a most
mysterious manner—one ermine only has been
taken. Seven or eight reindeer and some ptarmigan
were seen; two of the latter and a hare were
shot. We have commenced brewing sugar beer.

2nd Nov.—Very dull times. No amount of ingenuity
could make a diary worth the paper it
is written on. An occasional raven flies past, a[189]
couple more ptarmigan have been shot: another
N.W. gale is blowing, with temperature down
to -12°.

6th.—Saturday Night. The N.W. gale blew
without intermission for seventy hours, the temperature
being about -15°: we hoped that our
absent shipmates might be housed safely in snow-huts.
This afternoon all doubts respecting them
were dispelled by their arrival in good health, but
they evidently have suffered from cold and exposure
during their absence of nineteen days.
For the first six days they journeyed outward successfully;
on that night they encamped upon the
ice; it was at spring-tide, a N.E. gale sprang up,
and blowing off shore detached the ice and drifted
them off! The sea froze over on the cessation
of the gale, and two days afterwards they fortunately
regained the land near the position from
which they were blown off; they have indeed
experienced much unusual danger and suffering
from cold.

As soon as they discovered that the ice was
drifting off shore with them, they packed their
sledges, harnessed their dogs, and passed the night
in anxious watching for some chance to escape.
When the ice got a little distance off shore, it
broke up under the influence of the wind and sea,
until the piece they were upon was scarce 20
yards in diameter; this drifted across the mouth[190]
of a wide inlet[18] until brought up against the opposite
shore. The gale was quickly followed by
an intense frost, which in a single night formed
ice sufficiently strong to bear them in safety to
the land, although it bent fearfully beneath their
weight.

The depôts were eventually established in latitude
71°; beyond this Lieutenant Hobson did not
attempt to advance, not only because their remaining
provisions would not have warranted a
longer absence, but because the open sea was seen
to beat against the next headland. They have
lived in tents only, and have not experienced
the heavy gales so frequent here, and which are
probably due mainly to our position in Bellot
Strait, which performs the part of a funnel for
both winds and tides between the two seas.

That the western sea should still remain open
argues a vast space southward for the escape of
the ice, and prevents our western party from carrying
across their depôt: the attempt to do so
would be extremely hazardous. We must only
be stirring earlier in the spring. I am truly
thankful for the safe return of our travellers,—all
this toil and exposure of ten persons and ten
dogs has only advanced the depôts 30 miles further—i.e., from[191]
60 to 90 miles distant from the
ship.

Hardly a particle of snow remains upon the
harbor-ice, the recent gales having swept it away;
and the porch of my snow-hut has been fretted
away to a mere cobweb by the attrition of the
snow-drift: the doctor and I rebuilt it to-day.
Three reindeer and a wolf have been seen.

[192]

CHAPTER XII.

Nov. 7th.—Sunday evening.—Brief as is the interval
since my last entry, yet how awful, and, to
one of our small company, how fatal it has been!
Yesterday Mr. Brand was out shooting as usual,
and in robust health; in the evening Hobson sat
with him for a little time. Mr. Brand turned the
conversation upon our position and employments
last year; he called to remembrance poor Robert
Scott, then in sound health, and the fact of his
having carried our “Guy Fawkes” round the ship
on the preceding day twelvemonth, and added
mournfully, “Poor fellow! no one knows whose
turn it may be to go next.” He finished his
evening pipe, and shut his cabin door shortly
after nine o’clock. This morning, at seven o’clock,
his servant found him lying upon the deck, a
corpse, having been several hours dead. Apoplexy
appears to have been the cause. He was a
steady, serious man, under forty years of age, and[193]
leaves a widow and three or four children; what
their circumstances are I am not aware.

10th.—This morning the remains of Mr. Brand,
inclosed in a neat coffin, were buried in a grave
on shore. A suitable headboard and inscription
will be placed over it. From all that I have
gathered, it appears that his mind had been somewhat
gloomy for the last few days, dwelling much
upon poor Scott’s sudden death. Whether he
really saw three reindeer on Saturday, watched
their movements, and fired his Minié rifle at them
when 700 yards distant, or whether it was the
creation of a disordered brain, none can tell. On
his first return on board he said he had seen deer
tracks only.

We are now without either engineer or engine-driver:
we have only two stokers, and they know
nothing about the machinery. Our numbers are
reduced to twenty-four, including our interpreter
and two Greenland Esquimaux.

15th.—We have enjoyed ten days of moderate
winds and calms, but the temperature has fallen
as low as -31°. This causes frost-cracks in the ice
across the harbor; they will freeze over, and others
will form, and gape, and freeze at intervals, so that
by next spring we shall probably be moved several
inches, perhaps feet, off shore.

Mists have obscured the sun of late, and now
it does not rise at all. We are indifferent; its departure[194]
has become to us a matter of course.
The usual winter covering of snow has been
spread upon deck rather more than a foot thick.
Its utility in preventing the escape of heat became
at once strikingly apparent. Nothing has
been seen but a few ptarmigan and one reindeer,
which trotted off towards the ship. Our bullets
missed him, and the dogs unfortunately caught
sight and chased him away. I do not think any
dogs could overtake a reindeer in this rough
country; the rocks would speedily lame them,
and the snow, in many places, is quite deep
enough to fatigue them greatly, whereas it offers
but slight impediment to the deer, furnished as he
is with long legs and spreading hoofs.

29th.—Animals have become very scarce. A
few ptarmigan and willow-grouse have been seen,
and three shot. Two days ago I saw two reindeer.
The eastern sea is frozen over, and our old
acquaintance the iceberg in Prince Regent’s Inlet
is still visible on a clear day. We brew sugar-beer,
and we set nets for seals, but catch none.
The nets have been made and set in favorable
positions under the ice by the Greenlanders, so we
suppose the seals also have migrated elsewhere;
if so, the Esquimaux could not winter here. We
have no regular school this winter, but five of the
men study navigation every evening under the
guidance of Young. Hobson and I are doing all[195]
we can to make the ship dry, warm, and comfortable:
our large snow porches over the hatchways
are a great improvement.

5th Dec.—Cold, windy weather, with chilling
mists from the open water in Bellot Strait. We
can seldom leave the shelter of the ship for a
walk on shore, and, when we do, rarely see even
a ptarmigan.

12th.—Very cold weather: thermometer down
to -41°, and the breeze comes to us loaded with
mist from the open water, causing the air to feel
colder than it otherwise would. Bellot Strait has
become a nuisance, not only from this cause, but
from the strong winds—purely local—which
seldom cease to blow through it.

The seal nets have produced nothing; and as
there are no seals, we no longer wonder at not
seeing bears. Three foxes have been trapped and
a hare seen. Our canine force numbers twenty-four
serviceable dogs and six puppies; but these,
I fear, will not be strong enough for sledging by
March. The monotony of our lives is vastly increased
by want of occupation, and confinement,
by severe gales, to the ship for five days out
of every seven. The general health is good,
but there is a natural craving for fresh meat and
fresh vegetables—in great measure, perhaps,
because they cannot be obtained; but a well-filled
letter-bag would be more welcome than
anything I know of.[196]

26th.—Upon four days only during the last
fourteen has the weather permitted us to walk.
I allude to the wind as the obstacle to our exercise;
for temperature, when the air is still, is no
bar to any reasonable amount of it. Three or
four coveys of ptarmigan have been seen, and of
these I shot one brace. The cold increases:
thermometer has fallen to -47½°, although blowing
a moderate gale at the time, and the atmosphere
dense with mist.

Our Christmas has been spent with a degree of
loyalty to the good old English custom at once
spirited and refreshing. All the good things
which could possibly be collected together appeared
upon the snow-white deal tables of the
men, as the officers and myself walked (by invitation)
round the lower deck. Venison, beer,
and a fresh stock of clay pipes, appeared to be
the most prized luxuries; but the variety and
abundance of the eatables, tastefully laid out, was
such as might well support the delusion which all
seemed desirous of imposing upon themselves—that
they were in a land of plenty—in fact, all
but at home! We contributed a large cheese and
some preserves, and candles superseded the ordinary
smoky lamps. With so many comforts, and
the existence of so much genuine good feeling,
their evening was a joyous one, enlivened also by
songs and music.

Whilst all was order and merriment within the[197]
ship, the scene without was widely different. A
fierce north-wester howled loudly through the
rigging, the snow-drift rustled swiftly past, no
star appeared through the oppressive gloom, and
the thermometer varied between 76° and 80° below
the freezing point. At one time it was impossible
to visit the magnetic observatory, although only
210 yards distant, and with a rope stretched along,
breast high, upon poles the whole way. The officers
discharged this duty for the quarter-masters
of the watches during the day and night.

1st Jan., 1859.—This being Saturday night as
well as New Year’s Day, “Sweethearts and Wives”
were remembered with even more than the ordinary
feeling. New year’s eve was celebrated with
all the joyfulness which ardent hope can inspire:
and we have reasonable ground for strong hope. At
midnight the expiration of the old year and commencement
of the new one was announced to me
by the band—flutes, accordion, and gong—striking
up at my door. Some songs were sung, and
the performance concluded with “God save the
Queen;” the few who could find space in our
mess-room sang the chorus; but this by no means
satisfied all the others who were without and unable
to show themselves to the officers, so they
echoed the chorus, and the effect was very pleasing.
Our new year’s day has been commemorated
with all the substantials of Christmas fare,
but without so much display,—less tailoring in[198]
pastry, not quite so much clipping of dough into
roses, and anchors, and nondescript animals, &c.,
&c. The past week has been cold and stormy;
it now blows strong, and the temperature is -44°.

On the 29th a few fresh tracks of animals and
a ptarmigan were seen: yesterday I saw three
ptarmigan. December proved to be an unusually
cold month, its mean temperature being -33°;
and it was rendered more than ordinarily dark
and gloomy by continual mists from Bellot Strait.
This open water adds seriously to the drawbacks
of a spot already sufficiently cheerless, gameless,
and “wind-loved.”

9th.—Another week of uniform temperature
of -40°, and confinement to the ship by strong
winds; the atmosphere is loaded with enveloping
mists which impart a raw and surprisingly keen
edge to the chilling blasts, blasts that no human
nose can endure without blanching, be its proportions
what they may. It is wonderful how the
dogs stand it, and without apparent inconvenience,
unless their fur happen to be thin. They lie upon
the snow under the lee of the ship, with no other
protection from the weather.

To-day, the winds being light and temperature
up to-30°, we enjoyed walks on shore, although
the mist continued so dense as to limit our view
to a couple of hundred yards.

I learn from Petersen that the natives of Smith’s
Sound are well acquainted with the continuation[199]
of its shores considerably beyond the farthest
point reached by Kane’s exploring parties, but
unfortunately no one thought of getting them
to delineate their local knowledge upon paper.
They spoke much of a large island near the west
coast called “Umingmak” (musk ox) Island,
where there was much open water, abounding
with walrus, and where some of their people
formerly lived.[19]

Esquimaux exist upon the east coast of Greenland
as far north as lat. 76°; how much farther
north is not known. They are separated from the
South Greenlanders by hundreds of miles of ice-bound
coasts and impassable glaciers.

Many centuries ago a milder climate may and
probably did exist, and a corresponding modification
of glacier and a sea less ice-encumbered might
have rendered the migration of these poor people
from the south to their present isolated abodes
practicable; but to me it appears much more easy
to suppose that they migrated eastward from the
northern outlet of Smith’s Sound.

21st.—More pleasant weather since my last
entry; and although last night the temperature
fell to -47°, yet it has generally been mild; once
it rose to -14°, but amply made amends by falling
to -38° within twelve hours. We have enjoyed[200]
much of the moon’s presence for the last ten days,
but now she is waning and hastening away to the
south. Daylight increases in strength and duration,
consequently we walk more, and see more,
and the winter’s gloom gives place to activity and
cheerfulness. Several ptarmigan, three or four
hares, a snowy owl, and a bear-track, have at
various times been seen. Young has shot four
ptarmigan, and I have shot a couple more and a
hare, and the men have trapped two foxes.

On board the ship the preparations for travelling
take precedence of all other occupations.

26th.—Part of the sun’s disc loomed above the
horizon to-day, somewhat swollen and disfigured
by the misty atmosphere, but looking benevolent
withal. I happened to be diligently traversing
the rocky hill-sides in the hope of finding some
solitary hare dozing in fancied security, when the
sun thus appeared in view, and halted to feast my
eyes upon the glorious sight, and scan the features
of our returning friend. Hope and promise mingled
in his bright beams. Again I moved upward,
and with more elastic step; for now the sun of
1859 was shining upon all nature around me.

2nd February.—A lovely, calm, bright day, and
beautifully clear, except over the water-space in
Bellot Strait, where rests a densely black mist,
very strongly resembling the West Indian rain-squall
as it looms upon the distant horizon. The[201]
increasing sunlight is cheering, but void of heat,
and the mercury is often frozen. A few more
ptarmigan have been shot.

Our remaining serviceable dogs, twenty-two in
number, have been divided with great care into
three teams of seven each; the odd dog is added
to my team, as my journey is expected to be the
longest. The different sledge-parties will now
feed up their dogs without limit, so that the
utmost degree of work may be got out of them
hereafter.

January has been slightly colder than December,
mean temperature being -33½°, but there has
been rather less wind.

8th.—All will be ready for the departure of
Young and myself upon our respective journeys
upon the morning of the 14th.

Mr. Petersen and Alexander Thompson accompany
me, with two dog-sledges, and fifteen dogs,
dragging twenty-four days’ provisions. My object
is to communicate with the Boothians in the
vicinity of the magnetic pole. Young takes his
party of four men and his dog-sledge; he will
carry forward provisions for his spring exploration
of the shores of Prince of Wales’ Land, between
the extreme points reached by Lieutenants Osborn
and Brown in 1851.

On the 3d I walked for seven and a half hours,
and saw two reindeer, but could not approach
within shot. Young examined the water-space in[202]
the strait, and finds it washes both shores, but extends
east and west only about one mile. The
Doctor has seen a seal and a dovekie sporting
in it.

For the last four days strong winds and intense
cold have prevented us from rambling over the
hills, besides which the minor preparations for
travelling have given us more occupation on
board.

James Pitcher has got a slight touch of scurvy;
his gums are inflamed; and now it comes
out that he dislikes preserved meats, and has not
eaten any since he has been in the ship! He has
lived upon salt meat and preserved vegetables,
except for the very short periods in summer when
birds could be obtained. He is rather a “used-up”
old fellow, too much so for our severe sledge-work,
therefore is one of the few who will remain to
take care of the ship. That he should have retained
his health for seventeen months, under the
circumstances, speaks well for the wholesomeness
and quality of our provisions, and the ventilation
and cleanliness of the ship.

10th.—Extremely cold, with dense mists from
the open water. Yesterday eight ptarmigan and
a sooty fox were seen. We have consumed the
last of our venison; it supplied us for three days.
We are drinking out a cask of sugar-beer, which
is a very mild but agreeable beverage; we make
it on board.[203]

Sunday night, 13th.—To-morrow morning, if fine,
Young and I set off upon our travels. He has
advanced a portion of his sledge-load to the west
side of the water in Bellot Strait, having been
obliged to carry it overland for about a mile in
order to get there. I have explored the route to
the long lake, and find we can reach it without
crossing elevated or uncovered land. I saw two
reindeer, and Young saw about twenty ptarmigan.

The mean temperature of February up to this
date is -33·2°, being an exact continuation of
January. I confess to some anxiety upon this
point, as hitherto the winter has been unusually
severe, and the journeys to be performed will
occupy more than twenty days. Besides, we
shall be earlier in motion than any of the previous
travellers, unless we are to make an exception
in favor of Mr. Kennedy’s trip of 30 miles
from Batty Bay to Fury Beach, between the 5th
and 10th January, during which time the lowest
temperature registered was only -25°. Should
either Young or myself remain absent beyond
the period for which we carry provisions, Hobson
is to send a party in search of us. A sooty fox
has been captured lately.

15th.—A strong N.W. wind, with a temperature
of -40°, confines us on board. One cannot
face these winds, therefore it is fortunate that we[204]
did not start, the ship being much more comfortable
than a snow-hut.

20th March.—Already I have been a week on
board, and so difficult is it to settle down to anything
like sedentary occupation, after a period of
continued vigorous action, that even now I can
scarcely sit still to scribble a brief outline of my
trip to Cape Victoria.

On the morning of the 17th February the
weather moderated sufficiently for us to set out;
the temperature throughout the day varied between
-31° and -42½°. Leaving Young’s party
to pass on through the strait, I proceeded by way
of the Long Lake, which I found to be 10½ geographical
miles in length, with an average width
of half a mile.

We built our snow-hut upon the west coast,
near Pemmican Rock, after a march of 19 or 20
geographical miles. We always speak of geographical
miles with reference to our marches; six
geographical are equal to seven English miles.

On the following day the old N.W. wind sprang
up with renewed vigor, and the thermometer fell
to -48°; the cold was therefore intense.

On the third day our dogs went lame in consequence
of sore feet; the intense cold seems to
be the principal, if not the only cause, having
hardened the surface-snow beyond what their feet
can endure. I was obliged to throw off a part of[205]
the provisions; still we could not make more than
12 or 18 miles daily. We of course walked, so
that the dogs had only the remaining provisions
and clothing to drag, yet several of them repeatedly
fell down in fits.

For several days this severe weather continued,
the mercury of my artificial horizon remaining
frozen (its freezing-point is -39°); and our rum,
at first thick like treacle, required thawing latterly,
when the more fluid and stronger part had
been used. We travelled each day until dusk,
and then were occupied for a couple of hours in
building our snow-hut. The four walls were run
up until 5½ feet high, inclining inwards as much
as possible; over these our tent was laid to form
a roof; we could not afford the time necessary to
construct a dome of snow.

Our equipment consisted of a very small
brown-holland tent, macintosh floor-cloth, and felt
robes; besides this, each man had a bag of double
blanketing, and a pair of fur boots, to sleep in.
We wore mocassins over the pieces of blanket in
which our feet were wrapped up, and, with the
exception of a change of this foot-gear, carried no
spare clothes. The daily routine was as follows:—I
led the way; Petersen and Thompson followed,
conducting their sledges; and in this manner
we trudged on for eight or ten hours without
halting, except when necessary to disentangle the
dog-harness. When we halted for the night,[206]
Thompson and I usually sawed out the blocks of
compact snow and carried them to Petersen, who
acted as the master-mason in building the snow-hut:
the hour and a half or two hours usually
employed in erecting the edifice was the most
disagreeable of the day’s labor, for, in addition to
being already well tired and desiring repose, we
became thoroughly chilled whilst standing about.
When the hut was finished, the dogs were fed,
and here the great difficulty was to insure the
weaker ones their full share in the scramble for
supper; then commenced the operation of unpacking
the sledge, and carrying into our hut
everything necessary for ourselves, such as provision
and sleeping gear, as well as all boots, fur
mittens, and even the sledge dog-harness, to prevent
the dogs from eating them during our sleeping
hours. The door was now blocked up with
snow, the cooking-lamp lighted, foot-gear changed,
diary written up, watches wound, sleeping bags
wriggled into, pipes lighted, and the merits of the
various dogs discussed, until supper was ready; the
supper swallowed, the upper robe or coverlet was
pulled over, and then to sleep.

Next morning came breakfast, a struggle to get
into frozen mocassins, after which the sledges were
packed, and another day’s march commenced.

In these little huts we usually slept warm
enough, although latterly, when our blankets and
clothes became loaded with ice, we felt the cold[207]
severely. When our low doorway was carefully
blocked up with snow, and the cooking-lamp alight
the temperature quickly rose so that the walls
became glazed, and our bedding thawed; but the
cooking over, or the doorway partially opened, it
as quickly fell again, so that it was impossible to
sleep, or even to hold one’s pannikin of tea, without
putting our mitts on, so intense was the cold!

On the 21st I visited our main depôt laid out
last October; it was safe, but unfortunately had
been carried far into Wrottesley Inlet, and only
40 miles south of Bellot Strait.

On the 22d an easterly gale prevented our
marching, but we had the good fortune to shoot a
bear, so consoled ourselves with fresh steaks, and
the dogs with an ample feed of unfrozen flesh—a
treat they had not enjoyed for many months.

We coasted along a granitic land, deeply indented
and fringed with islands, and found it to
be the general characteristic of the Boothian
shore from Bellot Strait, until we had accomplished
half the distance to the magnetic pole;
limestone then appeared, and the remainder of
our journey was performed along a low, straight
shore, which afforded us much greater facility for
sledging.

Throughout the whole distance we found a
mixture of heavy old ice and light ice of last
autumn, in many places squeezed up into pack;[208]
but as we advanced southward aged floes were
less frequently seen.

On the first of March we halted to encamp at
about the position of the magnetic pole—for no
cairn remains to mark the spot. I had almost
concluded that my journey would prove to be
a work of labor in vain, because hitherto no
traces of Esquimaux had been met with, and, in
consequence of the reduced state of our provisions
and the wretched condition of the poor dogs—six
out of the fifteen being quite useless—I
could only advance one more march.

But we had done nothing more than look
ahead; when we halted, and turned round, great
indeed was my surprise and joy to see four men
walking after us. Petersen and I immediately
buckled on our revolvers and advanced to meet
them. The natives halted, made fast their dogs,
laid down their spears, and received us without
any evidence of surprise. They told us they had
been out upon a seal hunt on the ice, and were
returning home: we proposed to join them, and
all were soon in motion again; but another hour
brought sunset, and we learned that their snow
village of eight huts was still a long way off, so
we hired them, at the rate of a needle for each
Esquimaux, to build us a hut, which they completed
in an hour; it was 8 feet in diameter, 5½
feet high, and in it we all passed the night. Perhaps[209]
the records of architecture do not furnish
another instance of a dwelling-house so cheaply
constructed!

We gave them to understand that we were
anxious to barter with them, and very cautiously
approached the real object of our visit. A naval
button upon one of their dresses afforded the opportunity;
it came, they said, from some white
people who were starved upon an island where
there are salmon (that is, in a river); and that the
iron of which their knives were made came from
the same place. One of these men said he had
been to the island to obtain wood and iron, but
none of them had seen the white men. Another
man had been to “Ei-wil-lik” (Repulse Bay), and
counted on his fingers seven individuals of Rae’s
party whom he remembered having seen.