AFTER we had been in port a good part of the morning, the Peary hoisted anchor and started towards the mouth of the harbor, and we needs must follow suit. In the meantime we had loaded up with water and had had a brief rest from our sea voyage. We wanted to reach Etah on August 1st at the latest, and as it was then well along in July it was necessary to make as much haste as was convenient. Therefore, we pushed straight on from Disko Island to South Upernavik as fast as wind and tide would permit us. There the Peary joined us loaded deep with coal—the last she would obtain until her return from the far north.
At this town we saw our first exhibition of the remarkable dexterity of the Greenlanders in their frail skin-boats, known as “kayaks.” These craft are about eighteen feet long and twenty inches wide. In them the natives can go out in any kind of a sea, and if a wave capsizes the boat they can right themselves with a few skilled strokes of their paddles, or if they lose the paddle, a twist of the body will suffice. To keep water from seeping in while they are head downward, a tight sealskin shirt is worn. This laces tightly at both wrists and around the head, thus forming a water-tight seam. Furthermore, it tightly buttons to the cockpit coaming of the kayak, making another water-tight fit. Thus the man constitutes almost a part of the boat, and the marvellous feats they perform with this rig can be appreciated only by witnessing these aquatic demonstrations.
We were all very anxious to land to see how the people lived, but on account of the prevalence of whooping cough, the government would not permit us to do so. At Godhavn also this condition prevailed, and we had been allowed to go ashore only for water. Our desire to land was further whetted by a view of many gaudily dressed maidens emerging from church, as the day was Sunday. They were all decked out in elaborate finery, and through the glass they seemed quite attractive. But discipline is discipline, and we were obliged to forego any closer association with these alluring sirens.
The morning after the Peary arrived from the coal mines, we set sail for Melville Bay. The very prospect of entering this dread stretch of water was a challenge. Here in the Fox, McClintock had been imprisoned in the ice for a year and drifted for over a thousand miles. In 1834, thirty-four whaling vessels were crushed in the pack. Thoughts of such events were far from comforting, and I could not help wondering how our little vessels would fare in the relentless ice. If they were crushed we would be left to retreat as best we could to Upernavik. To become imprisoned for a year would also necessitate the abandonment of the vessels as we had been able to make room for only four months’ provisions, because of the space occupied by the aeroplane equipment. But I had confidence in our craft and in our leaders, and I looked forward with an untroubled mind to the thrilling work of ice navigation (such is the assurance of youth).
The Commander had determined to take what is known as the Middle Passage which is directly through the centre of the pack. Therefore, we pushed out boldly from Upernavik and laid our course straight for Cape York—the northern terminus of the Bay and the goal of all who attempt its navigation.
Without sighting any ice we sailed along for some hours. We soon entered a dense fog, and the visibility became very poor. In a short while we began to pass innumerable icebergs. Weaving in and out among the bergs, always vigilant, always tense, we continued on into the Arctic wastes. During this anxious period I was on lookout, and my every minute was occupied in watching for the bergs and directing the helmsman how to avoid them. Out of the white background of the fog these sinister mountains of ice would emerge, first as a thin black line on the sea’s surface; then taking shape until high above they towered, grey and lustreless. On all sides they appeared, until the sea was like a boulder-strewn plain through which we threaded our mazy way. Now and then one would disintegrate or capsize with a mighty roar suggestive of a bombardment of artillery, and we would rise and fall on the ensuing swell.
After we had been in this field of bergs for some time, I began to notice occasional little cakes of ice. Soon these increased in number until there was a regular fleet of them. Then as suddenly as they had appeared they disappeared, and we were in open water with only a fugitive berg here and there. I thought to myself that the ancient mariners had greatly exaggerated the terrors of the ice field when just as it seemed thickening to a degree where our progress would really be impeded, it suddenly was dissipated. But this superior contempt for the old salts did not long hold sway. Gradually a dark, ragged line broke the even white of the enshrouding mist. My first thought was that it was a low berg or “growler” as they are called, but it continued opening out along the horizon until I saw that it was too large for a single berg. Then in a flash it dawned on me that here was the Arctic pack! I watched attentively. Shortly it merged into well-defined pans with thin leads between.
Immediately the Commander clambered aloft to survey the situation. Seeing a favorable opening he directed the helmsman to head her for it. In another second we had passed the outer portals of the pack and had at least entered upon the great ordeal of the expedition. Here even the delay of several weeks would defeat the aims of the expedition, as the short northern summer would be over and the season for flying terminated. If the winds blew from the southward our situation would be precarious in the extreme, and only a kind providence could keep us from an untimely end. Even a few hours of ice pressure against the Peary’s sides might easily open her seams, and leave her a leaking hulk.
Our watch continued working the vessel through the leads until midnight, when the port watch came on deck. As I lay in my forecastle bunk in the eerie half-light of the northern midnight I could hear the crash of the vessel smashing her way forward through the fog over the encroaching pans. My berth was well up in the bow, and as each blow smote the planking it seemed as if the next surely would stave the bow. But the sturdy oak withstood all onslaughts, and soon the dread sounds became sweet music, and I fell asleep.
When I came on deck the next morning, the vessel was lying moored to a pan as the fog had become so thick that it was impossible to discern the weak spots in the ice. As the fog showed no signs of lifting, the Commander proffered a suggestion. We were to go on a seal hunt! Therefore, we took down our guns and set forth at once. I went along with Abie, as I figured that he would know where to find the quarry from his long association with them in Labrador. For some time we tramped across the ice. Then Abie suddenly turned with a signal for silence. I followed the direction of his eyes and saw a small dark object floating in the open water of the lead. Silently he unlimbered his rifle, took deliberate aim, and dispatched a ball through the animal’s head. His was a perfect shot and made in the one essential spot, since it is necessary to shoot a seal through the head or its dying reflex action will expel the air from its lungs thus causing it to sink. After we saw that the shot had been properly placed and the animal was going to float, I dashed back to the ship to obtain a small boat and a harpoon. The harpoon was soon procured and I sprang into the boat. Just then Byrd and McDonald sauntered over from the Peary. Seeing what was up they climbed in with me to recover the prize. I rowed as hard as I could down the lead, since I was fearful that our trophy would sink. A short pull brought us to the spot, and one of the men seized the harpoon and lunged with all his might. But he struck the seal across the hair and the harpoon glanced off, while under the impetus of the blow the seal sank about ten feet. My heart sank with him. Slowly, however, he emerged, and this time with Abie bellowing advice, the harpoon was firmly affixed and we drew our victim out on the ice. It was a young seal, not much larger than a roasting pig. Abie decided that it would make tender eating; so he set about skinning it. After the skinning and cleaning was completed, we stowed the seal in the boat and departed for the ship.
Meanwhile several of the other boys had scattered over the floes, Dick Salmon being hull down some distance away. As the fog had begun to rot out, it was decided to get under weigh immediately. Therefore the recall signal was sounded from the Peary’s siren, and the boys came scurrying back. Poor Dick, however, had an intervening lead open between him and the vessel; so he was forced to hang up until he could find a place to cross. Seeing his plight, the Commander ran the Bowdoin down towards him, and just as the lead again closed he came down on him and picked him up.
We were now nearly in the centre of the pack, and with clearer skies our hopes of getting clear of the pack began to rise. Steadily we forged to the northward through the thick pans. So far there had been little wind, and the ice had not packed together very heavily. Towards evening, however, under the influence of the tide, the ice began to pack, and the Bowdoin was caught in a nip. We were jammed as if in a vise, between two great floes of ice. Robbie was in charge as the Commander had gone aboard the Peary to con her through the ice. Immediately Robbie ordered us out on the ice to try to break away the jagged edges which threatened to impale us. We pounded away with heavy timbers and managed to break off several sharp points, thus making an easier berth for the vessel. But try as we would, we could neither go forward nor backward. The Peary observing our situation swung around and came ramming back to our aid. With the tremendous blows of her massive bow, she planed off great pieces of the floes until finally she broke through to our relief. In a short time, however, she herself was inextricably caught. The pressure was considerable, and the Peary assumed a list of five or six degrees.
Dr. Koelz soon came over to the Bowdoin in royal bad humor, complaining that the grinding of the ice against the side of the Peary had prevented him from sleeping. Furthermore, on trying to leave his cabin, the pressure had so contracted the vessel that he found his door so jammed it would not open, and the combined efforts of three men were necessary to liberate the Doctor who came aboard the Bowdoin for refuge. Long afterwards we discovered that the vessel had contracted several inches from the tremendous pressure.
In a few hours the tide again shifted, and to our great relief the vessel was freed of the pressure. Then we again got under weigh, and were soon ploughing along at a good rate of speed, considering the handicaps under which we labored. At this time we began to wonder where we were, as for some days we had been unable to determine our position by observation, because of the thick weather.
For five days we had been at sea. We had encountered heavy fogs, icebergs and the savage pack, and we had come through safe and undaunted. Now as the weather was clearing, our wonder as to where we were increased. Had some fell current swept us far from our course? Had our many zigzags in the ice carried us in circles? Where were we indeed? The weather continued to clear until we could discern the blue sky overhead and the pale iceblink all around. Then the Commander, with his glass clapped on the northern horizon, suddenly became aware of a dark streak in the even white of the iceblink.
“Land clouds,” said the Commander, as he swept them with his binoculars.
Land clouds they indeed seemed to be, and all eyes were thenceforth strained to catch a view of the land itself. Meanwhile the man aloft had been saying little and looking much. Suddenly rang out the long-hoped-for cry, “Land ho!”
In thirty seconds every man who could scramble to a place in the rigging was there, and each was eager to spy out the distant peaks which soon came into view. Immediately we put on full speed in order to reach them before the ice should again become impassable. As if some wayward spirit had sensed our wish, the floes came crunching and sliding into a compact mass, rendering futile all attempts to proceed. We were therefore regretfully forced to lose more precious hours. These hours were doubly precious as it was already July 31st, and every hour counted if we were to reach our destination on our scheduled date, August 1st.
As I looked out over the slowly drifting ice, with its unending white broken only by the thin dark lines of the ever-opening and closing leads, towards the rugged cliffs on the far horizon, standing like grim sentries at the portals of the North, I wondered why we had come. Why had this company left all that was dearest to them; their loved ones; their congenial firesides; the labors in which until so recently they had been engrossed? Why had we endured the perils of wind, and sea and ice, borne discomforts and hardships, sacrificed personal ease and safety? For what had we sailed three thousand miles across tractless seas? For a moment it seemed utter folly to have come all this distance for things that at best appeared vague and indistinct! We had all been in comfort and safety at home. For what conceivable reason would intelligent men turn their backs on these pretentious inducements? For a moment I pondered. Suddenly in my mind’s eye I saw another ice waste not dissimilar to this one, and I visioned other hills, this time in the west, hills on which no human eye had rested—our quest. Then three small specks clove the deep blue of the eastern sky. Soon the hum of engines echoed from berg and hummock, and they resolved into aeroplanes—our planes. Nearer they soared, over the first range of hills. Then they wheeled about and soon receded into the endless vault of heaven whence they had come. My heart leaped within me. I knew why we had come. In our blood surged the age-old spirit of adventure which drove the first Viking to the Arctic seas; which sent Columbus across the terror-strewn western ocean; which lured Sir John Franklin to his lonesome grave. I felt my blood flow fast. The same old urge had gripped me, and obedient to its demands I, too, had joined the adventurous throng and seen home and ease fade astern as the vessel’s prow pointed for the unknown lands over the horizon’s edge.