AFTER enduring a week of insufficient tides and diabolical attacks on the part of the mosquitoes, we at last managed to put in place the new propeller. What a sigh of relief we all gave when the last nut was screwed on and the little Bowdoin was once more in trim to continue her voyage. We were at last through with Labrador and Hopedale, and ready to square away for that land of many myths—Greenland.
Once more we wended our way through Windy Tickle and Jack Lane’s Bay, where we bade farewell to the Bromfield family. Then with old Sam’s fervent blessing still ringing in our ears, we swung our bow seaward while the last rays of the setting sun streamed on ahead as if to guide our wandering footsteps safe across the treacherous North Atlantic to Godhavn—the harbor of God’s rest.
For three days we sailed on “through many a fair sea circle” till at last we drew nigh to Greenland. Each day the sun held longer in the sky—in fact, after leaving Labrador, we had no real darkness, though the sun set for a few hours each night. The sea was calm with the exception of a few turbulent hours off Hudson’s Straits, when the tidal influence of the bay produced a boisterous chop. The temperature was not very low, and during the long sunny days it was nearly as warm as in many a more favored clime.
On and on we sailed, with nothing to break the vast desolation of the sea, no friendly steamer’s smoke, no glistening sail, not even an iceberg—only the great smooth mounds of water which rolled majestically across the surface of the sea to be followed one upon another in unending sequence, until it seemed that we were “alone on a wide, wide sea.”
The third day out we began to notice icebergs again. These shining mountains of ice had traveled in the bosom of the Cape Farewell current from their glacial birthplace on the east coast of Greenland around the southernmost point of Greenland and thus far up the west coast, whence they would swing across Davis Strait and drift down into the North Atlantic in the Labrador current. In this Greenland current also we saw several large trees floating along. These, we learned from the Commander, had drifted across the Polar Sea from Siberia, utilizing the same current by which Nansen strove to drift over the Pole in the Fram. In a short while we also observed a considerable lightening of the blue of the sky in the eastern quadrant of the horizon. This was the “iceblink,” a reliable indication of the proximity of ice, which produces a whitish reflection in the sky. Since the whole interior of Greenland is solid ice, there could be no doubt from the direction in which it appeared that it was the iceblink over the great Greenland ice-cap. A consultation with the chart further verified our adjacence to Greenland. In fact, we were not more than sixty miles from the coast, which would put us about a hundred and fifty miles from the ice-cap—a distance easily within the range of visibility of the “blink.” All eyes were straining for the first sight of land, when slowly the horizon began to dissolve, and a white wall of vapor came rolling down upon us. Everything became clammy in the dismal drabness that enveloped us. We should have to maintain unrelaxing vigilance against the menace of icebergs. Moreover, it would prevent our seeing the land until the next day at least, unless it speedily cleared away.
All night we kept a careful watch and came through without a mishap, in spite of the fog’s remaining as thick as burgoo. When the starboard watch, my watch, came on deck at six o’clock the next morning, the fog was beginning to burn off and slowly the visibility increased mile by mile. Suddenly a bit of a breeze ruffled the surface of the sea; the fog curtain suddenly lifted, as in a theatre, and the whole glorious panorama of glaciers, mountains, and fiords burst upon our startled gaze. This coastal scenery on “The Greenland” is as magnificent as any Alpine scenery. Peaks tower five or six thousand feet sheer from the depths, with deep blue fiords cleaving their base, and glittering glaciers suspended from their peaks like diamond pendants.
The Commander soon determined our position as being off the town of Holsteinborg—a deduction aided by our sighting a peculiarly shaped mountain peak known as the Kin of Sal. Hence we were not much more than a hundred miles from Godhavn, which we should therefore reach early the next day if the Weather Man remained affable.
At five o’clock the next morning I was awakened by the clank of the anchor chain running through the hawse pipe. In an instant I was on my feet and in two more I was in my clothes and out on deck, this feat being made easier as the result of long practice attending school roll-call. I took a look around. The harbor was spacious with high cliffs towering on either side, with here and there an iceberg hard aground. Safe and snug in the lee of one of these bergs lay the Peary, a welcome sight, indeed, to our eyes. In a few minutes Commander McDonald hove in sight paddling an Eskimo kayak and loudly assailing us with a running fire of unacademic Eskimo. Shortly he came aboard and disappeared into the after cabin. Not long afterwards Commander Byrd and Floyd Bennet appeared in an inflated rubber boat, the oddest looking craft I ever saw afloat. They were soon alongside and came aboard to consult with the Commander.
Across from the Peary lay a large Danish collier. She had come out from Copenhagen to distribute along the coast at the various settlements the local coal which is mined in Greenland. This coal is obtained at a town called Umanak, where the Peary was going in a few hours to bunker up before cutting loose from the last outposts of civilization.
Across the bay an interesting sight met our eyes. It was an old hulk, battered and twisted until it little resembled a ship. This we learned was the historic old Fox, the famous exploring vessel of Sir Leopold McClintock. On board of her he set out in 1857 to discover the fate of Sir John Franklin and his men, who had disappeared into the Northwest Passage in 1845. No word of them was ever received until Sir Leopold solved the mystery.
Meanwhile the British admiralty attempted to discover the fate of the lost navigators. When three years had elapsed and no news of the expedition’s whereabouts was received, they despatched Admiral Sir Edward Belcher with a relief squadron to go to his assistance. During the following year he searched diligently, but could discover no traces of the location of the expedition. When the full import of this disaster which had befallen Sir John and his one hundred and twenty-eight men in those bleak, ice-ridden waters of the Northwest Passage was at last realized, the entire civilized world stood aghast. From all sides poured in proffers of aid, and messages of condolence and hope deluged Lady Jane Franklin, the brave wife of Sir John. It was in response to an appeal from Lady Franklin to the President of the United States that the first American Arctic Expedition was organized. Henry Grinnell, a rich ship merchant, played an important part in the organization and financing of this noble philanthropy, and in tribute to his high ideals, the expedition was named in his honor. Lieutenant Edward J. DeHaven went as commander, and Elisha Kent Kane as surgeon, of whom we shall hear much, further on, in connection with the second Grinnell Expedition.
But all of these expeditions returned unsuccessful. The admiralty lost interest in the undertaking, and the names of Sir John and his men were crossed from the navy register, thereby concluding all admiralty participation and further attempts at rescue. Lady Franklin, however, was not content to consider her husband as irretrievably lost until every effort had been made to discover the circumstances of his disappearance. To this end she self-sacrificingly pledged her personal fortune to the cause, and in spite of disheartening reverses, she gamely continued sending forth expedition after expedition. At last her funds became nearly depleted, and still no success had crowned her efforts. But she determined to make one final attempt with the last of her fortune. She therefore enlisted the aid of Sir Leopold McClintock, “the greatest of Arctic sledge men,” as he was called by his contemporaries. They determined to purchase the little steam yacht Fox to transport the expedition. She was the best that could be obtained for the money, but far from being as large as they desired.
In 1857 the expedition sailed from England for Godhavn. There they made their final adjustments before squaring away for the treacherous ice of Melville Bay. They made their way to this bay, and there on the 13th of August the pack came in solid around them, and they were locked fast for the year. For six months they remained in the pack and were carried nearly a thousand miles to the southward before they broke out in the spring. The vessel was so badly damaged after her experience in the ice that it seemed imperative to return to England immediately, but Sir Leopold, remembering Lady Jane’s faith in the expedition, courageously ordered his battered ship headed northward once again. Once more he managed to make Godhavn in spite of his crippled condition, and there with the primitive instruments obtainable he instituted such crude repairs as were possible.
Once again he headed north, and this time without mishap he made his way through Melville Bay and to the head of Lancaster Sound, thence southward to Bellot Strait where they wintered. In rambling about the shore they came upon a number of bleached skeletons and miscellaneous camp articles. These upon examination proved to bear the stamp of His Majesty’s Ships Erebus and Terror, Sir John’s ill-fated vessels. Following up these traces Sir Leopold soon determined that Sir John and all his men had perished in retreating from their ships, which had remained fast in the ice until the dwindling store of supplies forced the expedition to the desperate expedient of attempting a retreat to the Hudson’s Bay Company posts down Bach’s Great Fish River.
Sir Leopold then returned to Godhavn and after remaining a short while in that port he sailed away for England. There his great discoveries satisfied the tired heart of Lady Franklin, and the curiosity of the British public.
Years later the vessel was sold to the Danish Government and employed in the Greenland trade. In 1915 she was damaged in the ice and towed into Godhavn. She was then beached and left to rot out her days in the ignominious fashion in which we found her.