CHAPTER IX
Search for Sir John Franklin continued: Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron.—Inglefield.—Rae’s journey.—Discovery of Northwest Passage by Captain M’Clure.—Death of Bellot.
Interest in the mysterious fate of Sir John Franklin was in no wise lessened by the unexpected return to England of the searching squadron in 1851. Dr. Rae’s land journey of over-eight hundred miles, including a thorough examination of the east and north coast of Victoria Land, had thrown no new light on the tragic situation. The American coast had now been diligently examined from the entrance of Behring Strait to the head of Hudson Bay, and it was generally believed that Franklin had never reached so low a latitude.
On April 28, 1852, a thoroughly equipped squadron of five vessels—the Assistance, the Resolute, and the North Star, and two steamers, the Pioneer and Intrepid—sailed from England under the command of Sir Edward Belcher. The Assistance and Pioneer were to sail up Wellington Channel. The Resolute and Intrepid, under command of Captain Kellett, were to proceed to Melville Island, there to deposit provisions for the use of Captain Collinson and Commander M’Clure, should they succeed in making the passage from Behring Strait, for which, as we have seen, they had set sail in January, 1850. The North Star was to remain at Beechey Island as a depot store ship.
By the 6th of July the squadron was in Baffin Bay, accompanied by a fleet of whalers. The ice conditions proved exasperating; the Assistance, Pioneer, and Resolute were beset and detained for a time, while the rest of the fleet, accompanied by the whalers, stretched in a long train of some three quarters of a mile in length and slowly pushed their way through a narrow lane of water.
The American whaler, McLellan, had the lead; the North Star of the English squadron followed the McLellan. The weather conditions were most favourable; no anxiety was felt for the safety of the vessels, in spite of the fact that the lane of water gradually closed and prevented the ships from advancing or retreating until July 7, when the report was made that the McLellan was nipped in the ice and her crew making ready to abandon her. Carpenters, under orders of Sir Edward Belcher, put a few charges of powder in the ice, to relieve the pressure.
Admiral Sir Edward Belcher.
By permission of The Illustrated London News.
SIR EDWARD BELCHER’S SQUADRON
The next day, however, the McLellan was nipped harder than ever with the water pouring into her in a steady stream. While drifting unmanageable, first into one ship and then into another, she was boarded by English whalemen who proceeded to ransack and plunder her, until, at the Captain’s request, Sir Edward Belcher placed sentries on board to prevent further loot, and working parties proceeded to take inventory of her stores, and remove them to a safe distance. In a day or two the McLellan had sunk to the water’s edge, and for the safety of the rest of the fleet, a charge or two of powder put her out of the way.
The squadron reached its headquarters at Beechey Island, August 10. Wellington Channel and Barrow Strait were found free from ice, and on the 14th, Sir Edward Belcher, with the Pioneer and Assistance, proceeded up the Channel. The next day Captain Kellett, with the Resolute and Intrepid, sailed in open water for Melville Island.
INGLEFIELD
While Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron was making its arduous passage to Beechey Island, Lady Franklin had refitted the screw-steamer Isabel and placed it under Commander Inglefield, R. N., with instructions to investigate the rumour brought home by Sir John Ross to the effect that Franklin and his crew had been murdered by natives at Wolstenholme Sound.
Setting sail from England, July 6, 1852, the little Isabel made for the northern shores of Baffin Bay, reached a higher latitude up Whale Sound than any previous vessel, and later pushed through Smith Sound as far as latitude 78° 28´ 21´´ N., without discovering any opposing land. Captain Inglefield discovered that Smith Sound, generally supposed to be narrow, was at least thirty-six miles across, expanding considerably to the northward. The shore seemed comparatively free from snow, and the rocks appeared of their natural colour.
Ice was met in considerable quantities, and though Captain Inglefield was ambitious to steam through, a fortunate gale arose which blew with such violence that the Isabel was forced back, thus saving her in all probability from a dreary winter in the ice.
By the 7th of September, the Isabel sighted the North Star at Beechey Island.
“When we were near enough to see from our crow’s-nest the mast heads of the North Star, I had ordered one of the twelve pounders to be fired, and the people who were working on shore were greatly puzzled at hearing such a sound, as they believed that nothing human but their own party could be within hundreds of miles of them.”
Captain Inglefield soon “waited upon” Captain Pullen, and the letters for Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron brought out by the Isabel were placed upon the North Star. A few hours later the Isabel put off to sea, carrying letters from officers and crew of the North Star to relatives and friends in England.
By the 12th the Isabel stood off Mount Possession, by the 14th Cape Bowen, and here Captain Inglefield landed to look for traces and erect a cairn; nothing was discovered but the bold footprint of a huge bear and the tiny tracks of an Arctic fox. The 23d found them in Davis Strait. Here a terrific gale was encountered, which lasted four days and “accompanied,” writes Captain Inglefield, “with the heaviest sea I had ever seen, even off Cape Horn....”
As soon as the storm abated, they put for the nearest port to undergo necessary repairs, and by October 2 they made a settlement off Hunde Islands, a little south of Whalefish Islands. The governor came on board to see what was wanted, and, the next day being Sunday, the crew were given shore leave, and a general day of rest was enjoyed.
On the 5th, he writes, “I received a message from the governor, that it was the King of Denmark’s birthday, the Eskimos would assemble at his house, and have a dance, and the pleasure of my company was solicited for the occasion; accordingly at six o’clock I repaired to the wooden palace of his Excellency, and there found, crammed into a smallish chamber, as many Eskimos as could conveniently stand.
“I had prepared myself with certain bottles by which punch could be quickly made; and several officers and crew joining the party, by their assistance, each of the Eskimo ladies was first supplied with a glass full of the beverage, and afterward the gentlemen, when I made them understand that they were to give three cheers for the King of Denmark, which was done with a vigour and goodheartedness, that made the wooden walls echo again.
“I had prepared another treat for them, which I am quite sure was to many the most agreeable of the two. My coxswain came in to tell me when all was ready, and then I begged the governor would tell the party to go outside where I had something to show them.
“When all were assembled, the booming of one of our guns, which by signal was fired from the vessel, not a little alarmed some of the most timid, and their fear was not much allayed, when, from under their very noses, a shower of rockets flew into mid-air, with a whirl that startled some of the more ancient sages amongst them, though when no damage was found to accrue to any of the party, the shouts of joy overpowered the noise of the rockets. The blue lights and white lights, which were burnt to enliven the performance, were objects of great curiosity, and I could see some enquiring faces, eagerly watching our movements, as the port-fires were placed to ignite them.”
“Dancing was afterwards commenced,” continues Captain Inglefield, “and feeling that it was my duty to lead off with the governor’s wife, who was an Eskimo, I begged the honour of her hand, for a dance, in the best Eskimo of which I was master, and to the scraping of a disabled fiddle bound round with twine and splints, I launched into the mysteries of an Eskimo quadrille, which, but for the strenuous exertions of my partner, to keep me right, I should certainly have set into utter confusion.
“It was composed of a chaine des dames and a reel, complex to a wonderful degree, and exhausting to a frightful extent; and yet it appeared to be the determination of the whole party to continue at this one figure till tired nature sunk.
“Unaccustomed to this kind of violent exercise, I was soon knocked up, and tried, though unsuccessfully, to make my escape; but at last I had the gratification of observing an elderly lady opposite beginning to falter, and out of compliment to her I presume this dance was terminated.
“The Eskimos seem to think it is impossible to be too warm, so the doors and windows were tightly closed, and certain lamps and tallow candles (with which I had supplied his Excellency) soon brought the temperature up to blood heat.
“After resting from my labour, I determined to try their waltz, which I found was not very unlike ours, being performed somewhat in the same manner, and the fair ladies with whom I now alternately figured instructing me in the mysteries of the measure. Some of my sailors having obtained permission to attend the ball, they were now solicited to give a specimen of their skill, and accordingly a sailor’s hornpipe and reel, with the usual heel and toe accompaniment, met with great applause. I had had sufficient fun by nine o’clock, but the party did not break up till after twelve; before I went away, however, at my special request, some Eskimo melodies were sung by the party, and afterwards a Danish national hymn by the governor. When the officers and men were returning in their boat to the ship they were serenaded by the ladies of the party, who joining hand-in-hand walked along the rocks towards the ship, singing a plaintive air, which might well have been taken for their evening hymn. And such it may have been, for these poor people, semi-civilized and instructed as they have been by the Danes, are full of fervour and zeal for their religion, the Lutheran, and show more real moral principle than any nation I ever visited.”
By the 7th of October the Isabel was ready for sea, but encountered terrific gales. Upon the advice of the ice-masters, Captain Inglefield determined to return to England in spite of a strong desire to winter and complete the search of the west coast of Baffin Bay by sledge journeys in the spring and the survey of Davis Strait from Cape Walsingham south, as far as Newfoundland. However, a continuance of bad weather made such a course impracticable, and by November 4 the Isabel anchored at Stromness; by the 10th of November she made Peterhead by way of Pentland Firth.
Admiral Sir Edward Inglefield, R. N.
By permission of The Illustrated London News.
“Besides penetrating one hundred and forty miles further than previous navigators, and finding an open sea stretching northwards, from Baffin’s Bay, to at least the latitude of 80°, Captain Inglefield discovered a strait in about 77½°, which he named Murchison Strait, and which he supposed to form the northern boundary to Greenland.” His careful survey of the eastern side of Baffin Bay, from Carey Islands to Cape Alexander, and his approach to Jones Sound, all contributed interesting data to geographical knowledge, but though the natives with whom he met were carefully interrogated, no light was thrown on the fate of Sir John Franklin or his men, and the utter falsity of the story told by Sir John Ross’s interpreter was satisfactorily established.
Early in the year 1853, three expeditions were fitted out, to assist Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron already in the field, and to continue the search for Sir John Franklin.
The Rattlesnake, under Commander Trollope, and the Isabel—again refitted by Lady Franklin, and put in command of Mr. Kennedy—set out with instructions to sail for Behring Strait and carry supplies to Captains Collinson and M’Clure. Dr. Rae set out again for the further examination of the coast of Boothia, and Captain Inglefield was sent to Barrow Strait in command of the Phœnix and Lady Franklin, for the purpose of reënforcing Sir Edward Belcher.
In America the second Grinnell expedition was fitted out about the same time for the purpose of exploring the passages leading out of Baffin Bay into the unknown oceans around the Pole, and was placed under the command of Dr. E. K. Kane, U. S. N., who had sailed under Lieutenant De Haven in the first Grinnell expedition.
CAPTAIN M’CLURE
In the autumn of 1853, the deep interest of the British nation was aroused by the return of Captain Inglefield of the Phœnix with despatches from the Arctic regions, containing the news that the Northwest Passage had at length been successfully accomplished by Captain M’Clure of the Investigator, who had passed through Behring Strait and sailed within a few miles of the most westerly discoveries made from the eastern side of America, at which point he had been frozen up for more than two years.
Parties from the Investigator had walked over the frozen ocean; and Lieutenant Cresswell, the bearer of the despatches from Captain M’Clure, had sailed to England, by the Atlantic Ocean, having thus passed through the far-famed, much-sought-after, and, at length, discovered Northwest Passage.
It will be remembered that Captains Collinson and M’Clure sailed for Behring Strait in 1850, through which, in company with the Plover and Herald, they endeavoured to pass.
The Investigator, Captain M’Clure, was last seen on August 4, 1850, bearing gallantly into the heart of the “Polar Pack.”
Captain Collinson, in the Enterprise, had concluded to winter at Hongkong, and not until May, 1851, did he return to Behring Strait, which he succeeded in entering. In the meantime, the Herald had returned to England, while the Plover remained some time at Port Clarence as a reserve for the vessels to fall back upon.
On parting company with the Herald in Behring Strait in July, 1850, Captain M’Clure stood north-northwest with a fresh breeze. For several days the Investigator struggled with the ice pack, now boring through the masses, or winding among the lanes of open water. By the 7th of August they had rounded Point Barrow, at which point clear water was seen from the “crow’s nest.”
“The wind,” writes M’Clure, “almost immediately failing, the boats were all manned, and towing commenced amid songs and cheers, which continued with unabated good humour for six hours, when this laborious work was brought to a successful termination. Being in perfectly clear water in Smith’s Bay, a light air springing up, we worked to the eastward. At two A.M. of the 8th, being off Point Drew, sent Mr. Court (second mate) on shore to erect a cairn, and bury a notice of our having passed. Upon landing, we were met by three natives, who at first were very timid; but upon exchanging signs of friendship, which consisted of raising the arms three times over the head, they approached the boat, and after the pleasant salutation of rubbing noses, became very communicative, when, by the assistance of our valuable interpreter, Mr. Miertsching, we found the tribe consisted of ten tents (this being the only approach to their numbers he could obtain), that they had arrived only three days previously, and that they hold communication with a party inland, who trade with the Russian Fur Company. The evening before, they had observed us, but could not imagine what large trees were moving about (our masts) and all the tribe had assembled on the beach to look at them, when they agreed that it was something very extraordinary, and left the three men who met the boat, to watch! They also gave the pleasing intelligence that we should find open water along the coast from about three to five miles distant during the summer, that the heavy ice very seldom came in, or never left the land farther than at present, that they did not know if there were any islands as they found it impossible to go in their kayaks, when in pursuit of seals, farther than one day’s journey to the main ice, and then the lanes of water allowed of their proceeding three quarters of a day farther, which brought them to very large and high ice, with not space enough in any part of it to allow their kayaks to enter. The probable distance, Mr. Miertsching therefore estimates, from his knowledge of the Eskimo habits, to be about forty miles off shore, and, from what I have seen of the pack, I am inclined to think this is perfectly correct, for a more unbroken mass I never witnessed.”
These natives, whose entire lives had been spent between the Coppermine River and Point Barrow, knew nothing of Franklin’s party, and it was therefore concluded by Captain M’Clure that the Erebus and Terror had not been lost on these shores.
For the next four or five hundred miles they skirted slowly the coast, part of the time in such shallow water that they ran aground, but fortunately without damage to the ship. The narrow lanes opening in the ice made it often necessary to retrace their course, but by the 21st of August they had passed the mouth of the Mackenzie River, and made the Pelly Islands.
Upon reaching Warren Point, natives were seen on shore, and Captain M’Clure, desiring, if possible, to send despatches by them to the Hudson Bay Company’s posts on the Mackenzie, the boats were ordered out.
It was found that these Eskimos had no communication with the Mackenzie, being at war with the neighbouring tribes, and having had several skirmishes with the Indians of that quarter. A chief of the tribe had a flat brass button suspended from his ear, and in explanation of where he got it, he replied: “It had been taken from a white man, who had been killed by one of his tribe. The white man belonged to a party which had landed at Point Warren, and there built a house; nobody knew how they came, as they had no boat, but they went inland. The man killed had strayed from the party, and he (the chief) and his son had buried him upon a hill at a little distance.” It could not be ascertained just when this event occurred, and though Captain M’Clure tried to investigate the matter, only two very old wooden huts were found, and no grave of the white man was discovered.
Natives were constantly encountered as the Investigator proceeded, and though they seemed at first hostile and disinclined to open communication, they invariably became friendly and gratefully accepted the various presents bestowed upon them.
On September 5, Captain M’Clure writes:—
“The weather, which had been squally, accompanied by a thick fog during the early part of the day, cleared towards noon, when a large volume of smoke was observed about twelve miles south-west.... As divers opinions were in circulation respecting its probable cause, and the ice-mate having positively reported that from the crow’s nest he could distinguish several persons moving about, dressed in white shirts, and observed some white tents in the hollow of the cliff, I certainly had every reason to imagine they were a party of Europeans in distress, convinced that no travellers would remain for so long a period as we had remarked the smoke. For their pleasure, therefore, to satisfy myself, equally as others, I determined to send a boat on shore, as it was now calm. The first whale-boat, under Lieutenant Cresswell, with Dr. Armstrong, and Mr. Miertsching, was despatched to examine into the cause, who, on their return, reported the smoke to emanate from fifteen small mounds of volcanic appearance, occupying a space of about fifty yards, the place strongly impregnated with sulphur, the lower mounds being about thirty feet above the sea-level, the highest about fifty feet. The land in its vicinity was blue clay, much intersected with ravines and deep water-courses, varying in elevation from three hundred to five hundred feet. The mark of a reindeer was traced to a small pond of water immediately above the mounds. Notice of our having landed was left, which would not long remain, as the cliff is evidently crumbling away. Thus the mystery of the white shirts and tents was most satisfactorily explained.”
Early in the morning of the 6th of September they were off the small islands near Cape Parry; on the same day high land was observed on the port bow. Up to this time they had been sailing along a shore which had been surveyed by Franklin, Back, Dease, Simpson, and others, although theirs was the first ship that had sailed in these waters.
The discovery of new territory was therefore joyfully received, and, landing in the whale-boat and cutter, formal possession was taken in the name of “Her Most Gracious Majesty” and the name “Baring’s Island” bestowed upon it in honour of the first lord of the Admiralty. After depositing a record, they returned to the ship and sailed along the eastern coast, as it was more free of ice than that on the west. Later it was found that the island was one whose extreme northeastern shore had been faintly seen by Parry in 1820 and given by him the name of “Banks’ Land.”
“We observed,” writes Captain M’Clure, “numerous traces of reindeer, hare, and wild-fowl; moss and divers species of wild-flowers were also in great abundance; many specimens of them, equally as of the object of interest to the naturalist, were selected with much care by Dr. Armstrong. From an elevation obtained of about five hundred feet, we had a fine view towards the interior, which was well clothed with moss, giving a verdant appearance to the ranges of hills that rose gradually to between two thousand and three thousand feet, intersected with ravines, which must convey a copious supply of water to a large lake situated in the centre of a wide plain, about fifteen miles distant; the sight to seaward was favourable in the extreme: open water, with a very small quantity of ice, for the distance of full forty miles towards the east, insured good progress in that direction. The weather becoming foggy, our lead was the only guide until ten A.M. of the 9th; it then cleared for a short time, when land was observed to the eastward, about fifteen miles distant, extending to the northward as far as the eye could reach.
“The mountains in the interior are lofty and snow-covered, while the low ground is quite free. Several very remarkable peaks were discernible, apparently of volcanic origin. This discovery was named Prince Albert’s Land. The wind becoming fair, and the weather clearing, all the studding sails were set, with the hope of reaching Barrow’s Strait, from which we were now distant about seventy miles. The water was tolerably clear in that direction, although much ice was lying against the western land; ... much loose ice was also in motion, and while endeavoring to run between two floes, at the rate of four knots, they closed so rapidly, one upon either beam, that our way was instantly stopped, and the vessel lifted considerably; in this position we were retained a quarter of an hour, when the pressure eased, and we proceeded. Our advance was of short duration, as at two P.M. the wind suddenly shifted to the northeast, and began to freshen; the water, which a few hours previous had excited sanguine hopes of a good run, became soon so thickly studded with floes, that about four P.M. there was scarcely sufficient to keep the ship freed; this by much exertion was however effected until two A.M. of the 14th, when we were beset.”
From now on, baffling winds and impenetrable floes made progress almost impossible. The total destruction of the Investigator was daily threatened by the rushes of ice that assailed them in the narrow strait along which they were endeavouring to proceed.
On the 17th of September, “There were several heavy floes in the vicinity; one, full six miles in length, passed at the rate of two knots, crushing everything that impeded its progress, and grazed our starboard bow. Fortunately, there was but young ice upon the opposite side, which yielded to the pressure; had it otherwise occurred, the vessel must inevitably have been cut asunder. In the afternoon, we secured to a moderately sized piece, drawing eight fathoms, which appeared to offer a fair refuge, and from which we never afterwards parted.”
The smallest pools now became covered with ice; the last Arctic bird to take flight was the eider-duck, which turned south by the 23d. By the 27th of September the thermometer stood at zero, and every preparation was being made to house the ship for the winter. The ice was in constant and violent motion. “The crushing, creaking, and straining,” writes Captain M’Clure, “is beyond description; the officer of the watch, when speaking to me, is obliged to put his mouth close to my ear, on account of the deafening noise.”
DISCOVERY OF THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE
Clinging with the “tenacity of a bosom-friend” to the ice-floe to which they were secured, “it conveyed us,” continues M’Clure, “to our farthest northeast position, latitude 73° 7´ north, longitude 117° 10´ west, back round the Princess Royal Islands, passed the largest within five hundred yards to latitude 72° 42´ north, longitude 118° 42´ west, returning along the coast of Prince Albert’s Land, and finally freezing in at latitude 72° 50´ north, longitude 117° 55´ west, upon the 30th of September, during which circumnavigation we received many severe nips, and were frequently driven close to the shore, from which our deep friend kept us off. To avoid separation, we had secured with two stream-cables, one chain, two six, and two five hawsers. As our exposed position rendered every precaution necessary, we got upon deck twelve months’ provisions, with tents, warm clothing, etc., and issued to each person a pair of carpet-boots and a blanket-bag, so that in the event of any emergency rendering it imperative to quit the vessel, we might not be destitute. On the 8th of October, our perplexities terminated with a nip that lifted the vessel a foot, and heeled her 4° to port, in consequence of a large tongue getting beneath her, in which position we quietly remained.” Here the Investigator passed the winter of 1850-1851, during which season a journey was made over the ice to the shores of Barrow Strait, which they found connected with the strait in which they wintered, thus establishing the fact of a northwest passage.
The journey undertaken on the morning of October 21, 1850, came near proving fatal to Captain M’Clure. On the return trip a week later about 2 P.M. one afternoon, having seen the Princess Royal Isles and knowing the position of the ship, he decided to leave his sledge and push ahead, that a warm meal might be made ready for the rest of the party upon their arrival at the ship. Night overtook him when still at least six miles from the vessel, and a dense mist, accompanied by heavy snow, obscured every object.
“I now,” writes M’Clure, “climbed on a mass of squeezed-up ice, in the hope of seeing my party, should they pass near, or of attracting the attention of some one on board the vessel by firing my fowling-piece. Unfortunately, I had no other ammunition than what it was loaded with; for I had fancied, when I left the sledge, that two charges in the gun would be all I should be likely to require. After waiting for an hour patiently, I was rejoiced to see through the mist the glaring of a blue light, evidently burnt in the direction in which I had left the sledge. I immediately fired to denote my position; but my fire was unobserved, and, both barrels being discharged, I was unable to repeat the signal. My only hope now rested upon the ship’s answering, but nothing was to be seen; and, although I once more saw, at a greater distance, the glare of another blue light from the sledge, there seemed no probability of my having any other shelter for the night than what the floe afforded. Two hours elapsed; I endeavored to see the face of my pocket compass by the light of a solitary lucifer match, which happened to be in my pocket; but in this hope I was cruelly disappointed, for it fizzed and went out, leaving me in total darkness. It was now half-past eight; there were eleven hours of night before me, a temperature of 15° below zero, bears prowling about, and I with an unloaded gun in my hands. The sledge-party might, however, reach the ship, and, finding I had not arrived, search would be made, and help be sent; so I walked to and fro upon my hummock until, I suppose, it must have been eleven o’clock, when that hope fled likewise. Descending from the top of the slab of ice upon which I had clambered, I found under its lee a famous bed of soft, dry snow; and thoroughly tired out, I threw myself upon it and slept for perhaps three hours, when, upon opening my eyes, I fancied I saw the flash of a rocket. Jumping upon my feet, I found that the mist had cleared off, and that the stars and aurora borealis were shining in all the splendor of an Arctic night. Although unable to see the islands or the ship, I wandered about the ice in different directions until daylight, when, to my great mortification, I found I had passed the ship fully the distance of four miles.”
Sledge journeys along the shores of Baring Island and Prince Albert Land were undertaken, but no trace of Franklin or his party was discovered. Traces of Eskimos were found, but only one party met with; however, deer, musk-oxen, and bears were encountered. A bear was killed, and, when opened, its stomach was found to contain raisins, tobacco, pork, and adhesive plaster! This extraordinary medley led Captain M’Clure to the conclusion that the Enterprise was in the vicinity, and a diligent search was instituted, but the only result was the discovery of a preserved meat canister, which contained similar articles, probably the same from which the bear had obtained his unusual meal. By the 13th of June, 1851, all the sledge parties having returned in safety to the ship, everything was made ready to set sail the moment the huge barriers of ice should permit.
“The first indication of open water,” writes Captain M’Clure, “occurred to-day (July 7th) extending some distance along the shore of Prince Albert’s Land, about a mile in width; the ice in every direction is so rapidly decaying, being much accelerated by sleet and rain, with the thermometer standing at 45°, that, by the 14th, that which for the last few days had been slightly in motion, with large spaces of water intervening, suddenly and noiselessly opened around the vessel, leaving her in a pond of forty yards; but seeing no possibility of getting without its limits, we were compelled to secure to the floe which had for ten months befriended us, and, with the whole of the pack, gradually drifted to the southward, toward the Princess Royal Islands, which we passed on the eastern side within half a mile.
“Upon the 17th, at 10 A.M., being among loose ice, we cast off from the floe and made sail, with the hope of getting upon the western shore where the water appeared to be making, but without shipping the rudder, in consequence of being in the vicinity of several large floes, and at 2 P.M. again secured to a floe between the Princess Royal and Baring islands (we passed over a shoal having nineteen fathoms). On the 20th, at half-past eleven A.M., a light air sprang up from the southwest, which, slacking the ice, gave hopes of making progress to the northeast, in which direction I was anxious to get for the purpose of entering Barrow Strait, that, according to circumstances, I might be enabled to carry out my original intentions of proceeding to the northward of Melville Island, as detailed in my letter to the secretary of the Admiralty, of July 20, 1850; or, should such not be practicable, return to England through the strait. After most persevering efforts to penetrate into Barrow Strait, Captain M’Clure was obliged to abandon the attempt. On the 16th of August he determined to coast round the western shores of the island and make the passage, if possible, to the northward of Banks Land.
“At 4 P.M. on the 18th,” he writes, “being off a very low spit of sand (Point Kellet) which extended to the westward for about twelve miles, in the form of a horseshoe, having a seaside thickly studded with grounded ice, while the interior was exempt from any, I sent Mr. Court (second master) to examine it, who reported an excellent and commodious harbour, well sheltered from north-west to south, carrying five fathoms within ten yards of the beach, which was shingle, and covered with driftwood. A set of sights was obtained, and a cask, containing a notice, was left there. Upon the morning of the 19th, we left this low coast, and passed between two small islands lying at the entrance of what appeared a deep inlet, running east-south-east, and then turning sharp to north-east. It had a barrier of ice extending across, which prevented any communication. Wishing to keep between the northernmost of these islands and the mainland, to avoid the pack, which was very near it, we narrowly escaped getting on shore, as a reef extended from the latter to within half a mile of the island. Fortunately, the wind being light, we rounded to with all the studding-sails set, and let go the anchor in two and a half fathoms, having about four inches to spare under the keel, and warped into four, while Mr. Court was sent to find a channel in which he succeeded, carrying three fathoms, through which we ran for one mile, and then continued our course in eight, having from three to five miles between the ice and land. At 8 P.M., we neared two other islands, the ice resting upon the westernmost, upon which the pressure must have been excessive, as large masses were forced nearly over its summit, which was upwards of forty feet. Between these and the main we ran through a channel in from nine to fifteen fathoms, when an immediate and marked change took place in the general appearance and formation of the land: it became high, precipitous, sterile, and rugged; intersected with deep ravines and water courses, having six-five fathoms at a quarter of a mile, and fifteen fathoms one hundred yards from the cliffs, which proved exceedingly fortunate as the whole pack, which had apparently only just broken from the shore, was within half a mile, and, in many places, so close to it, that to avoid getting beset, we had nearly to touch the land; indeed, upon several occasions, the boats were compelled to be topped-up, and poles used to keep the vessel off the grounded ice; which extends all along this coast; nor could we round to, fearful of carrying the jib-boom away against the cliffs, which here run nearly east and west. The cape forming its western extreme I have called Prince Alfred, in honour of his Royal Highness. On the morning of the 20th, our further progress was impeded by finding the ice resting upon a point, which formed a slight indentation of shore, and was the only place where water could be seen. To prevent being carried away with the pack, which was filling up its space, we secured to the inshore side of a small but heavy piece of ice, grounded in twelve fathoms seventy-four yards from the beach—the only protection against the tremendous Polar ice (setting a knot per hour to the eastward before a fresh westerly wind), which at 9 P.M. placed us in a very critical position, by a large floe striking the piece we were fast to, and causing it to oscillate so considerably, that a tongue which happened to be under our bottom, lifted the vessel six feet; but, by great attention to the anchors and warps, we succeeded in holding on during the conflict, which was continued several minutes, terminating by the floe being rent in pieces, and our being driven nearer the beach. From this until the 29th, we lay perfectly secure, but at 8 A.M. of that day, the ice began suddenly to move, when a large floe, that must have caught the piece to which we were attached under one of its overhanging ledges, raised it perpendicular by thirty feet, presenting to all on board a most frightful aspect. As it ascended above the foreyard, much apprehension was felt, that it might be thrown completely over, when the ship must have been crushed beneath it. This suspense was but for a few minutes, as the floe rent, carrying away with it a large piece from the foundation of our asylum, when it gave several fearful rolls, and resumed its former position; but, no longer capable of resisting the pressure, it was hurried onward with the drifting mass. Our proximity to the shore compelled, as our only hopes of safety, the absolute necessity of holding to it; we consequently secured with a chain, stream and hemp cable, three, six, and two five-inch hawsers, three of which were passed round it. In this state we were forced along, sinking large pieces beneath the bottom, and sustaining a heavy strain against the stern and rudder; the latter was much damaged, but to unship it at present was impossible. At 1 P.M., the pressure eased, from the ice becoming stationary, when it was unhung and laid upon a large floe piece, where, by 8 P.M., owing to the activity of Mr. Ford, the carpenter, who is always ready to meet any emergency, it was repaired, just as the ice began again to be in motion; but as the tackles were hooked, it was run up to the davits without further damage.” Continuing his exciting narrative, Captain M’Clure writes:—
“We were now setting fast upon another large piece of a broken floe, grounded in nine fathoms upon the débris formed at the mouth of a large river. Feeling confident that, should we be caught between this and what we were fast to, the ship must inevitably go to pieces, and yet being aware that to cast off would certainly send us on the beach (from which we were never distant eighty yards), upon which the smaller ice was hurled as it came in contact with these grounded masses, I sent John Kerr (gunner’s mate) under very difficult circumstances, to endeavor to reach it and effect its destruction by blasting; he could not, however, find a sufficient space of water to sink the charge, but remarking a large cavity upon the sea face of the floe, he fixed it there, which so far succeeded, that it slightly fractured it in three places, which, at the moment was scarcely observable, from the heavy pressure it was sustaining. By this time, the vessel was within a few feet of it, and every one was on deck in anxious suspense, awaiting what was apparently the crisis of our fate; most fortunately, the stern post took it so fairly, that the pressure was fore and aft, bringing the whole strength of the ship to bear, a heavy grind, which shook every mast, and caused beams and decks to complain, as she trembled to the violence of the shock, plainly indicated that the struggle would be but of short duration. At this moment, the stream-cable was carried away, and several anchors drew; thinking that we had now sufficiently risked the vessel, orders were given to let go the warps, and with that order I had made up my mind that in a few minutes she would be on the beach; but, as it was sloping, conceived she might still prove an asylum for the winter, and possibly be again got afloat; while, should she be crushed between these large grounded pieces, she must inevitably go down in ten fathoms, which would be certain destruction to all; but before the orders could be obeyed, a merciful Providence interposed, causing the ice, which had previously weakened, to separate into three pieces, and it floated onward with the mass, our stern still tightly jammed against, but now protected by it. The vessel, which had been thrown over fifteen degrees, and risen bodily one foot eight inches, now righted and settled in the water; the only damage sustained was several sheets of copper ripped off and rolled up like a sheet of paper, but not a fastening had given way, nor does any leakage indicate the slightest defect. By midnight, the ice was stationary, and everything quiet, which continued until the 10th of September; indeed, from the temperature having fallen to sixteen degrees, with all appearance of the setting in of the winter, I considered our farther progress stopped until next year.”
Until the end of September, their course was one unvarying scene of battling against difficulties similar to those just described. Having reached the western extremity of Banks Land, “I determined,” writes Captain M’Clure, “to make this our winter quarters, and, having remarked upon the south side of the bank on which we had grounded, a well-protected bay, Mr. Court was despatched to sound it; and, shortly making the signal there was sufficient water, we bore up, and at forty-five minutes past 7 A.M. we anchored in four and a half fathoms, and that night were firmly frozen in, in what has since proved a most safe and excellent harbor, which, in grateful remembrance of the many perils that we had escaped during the passage of that terrible Polar Sea, we have named the ‘Bay of Mercy’; thus finally terminating this short season’s operations, having been actually only five entire days under way.” From now on every preparation was made to spend the winter as comfortably as conditions would admit.
“As there appeared much game in the vicinity,” writes Captain M’Clure, “and the weather continued mild, shooting parties were established in different directions between the 9th and 23d of October; so that, with what was killed from the ship, our supply of fresh provisions at the commencement of the winter consisted of nine deer, fifty-three hares, and forty-four ptarmigan, all in fine condition, the former having from two to three inches of fat.”
“In consequence of our favored position,” he continues, “the crew were enabled to ramble over the hills almost daily in quest of game, and their exertions happily supplied a fresh meal of venison three times a fortnight, with the exception of about three weeks in January, when it was too dark for shooting. The small game, such as ptarmigan and hares, being scarce, were allowed to be retained by the sportsmen as private property. This healthy and exhilarating exercise kept us all well and in excellent spirits during another tedious winter, so that on the 1st of April we had upwards of a thousand pounds of venison hanging at the yard-arms.”
The exciting experience of Sergeant Woon, a marine, while out hunting, is interesting. While pursuing a wounded deer, he suddenly and unexpectedly met a couple of musk-bulls, which he succeeded in wounding. Infuriated with pain, one of the musk-oxen rushed towards him. Having expended his shot, the sergeant fired his “worm” at the animal, but, this having little or no effect, the bull, though weakened from the loss of blood, when within six feet, put his head to the ground as if for a final rush. With quick action the sergeant fired his iron ramrod, which, entering behind the animal’s left shoulder, passed through the heart and out at the right flank, dropping him lifeless.
On another occasion, the presence of mind of Sergeant Woon saved the life of a companion, a coloured man and member of the crew. It was in January and bitterly cold; the coloured man had been out hunting and lost his way. He began to fancy himself frozen to death, and from sheer terror lost his wits. The sergeant met him, but could not induce the poor fellow to follow him. The coloured man stood dazed and shivering, and finally fell in a fit. Waiting until he was somewhat revived, the sergeant either carried or rolled him down hills or hummocks for ten long hours, until he got him within a mile of the ship. The sergeant was by this time thoroughly exhausted and tried to persuade the negro to walk, but the poor demented creature only begged to be “let alone to die.” Being unable to persuade him, the only thing left was to place him in a bed of deep snow, and then, with all his remaining strength, the sergeant hastened to the ship for assistance. Returning as soon as possible to the spot where the poor negro had been left, they found him with his arms stiff and raised above his head, his eyes open, and his mouth so firmly frozen that it required considerable force to open it and pour down restoratives. He still lived, however, and eventually recovered, with no more serious results than frost-bites to his hands, feet, and face.
The second Christmas was passed cheerfully and with a bounteous supply of good things. “As it was to be our last,” writes Captain M’Clure, “the crew determined to make it memorable, and their exertions were completely successful; each mess was gayly illuminated and decorated with original paintings by our lower-deck artists, exhibiting the ship in her perilous positions during the transit of the polar sea, and divers other subjects; but the grand features of the day were the enormous plum puddings (some weighing twenty-six pounds), haunches of venison, hares roasted, and soup made of the same, with ptarmigan and sea pies. Such dainties in such profusion I should imagine never before graced a ship’s lower deck; any stranger, to have witnessed the scene, could but faintly imagine that he saw a crew which had passed upwards of two years, in these dreary regions, and three entirely upon their own resources, enjoying such excellent health—so joyful, so happy; indeed, such a mirthful assemblage, under any circumstances, would be most gratifying to any officer; but in this lonely situation, I could not but feel deeply impressed as I contemplated the gay and plenteous sight, with the many and great mercies, which a kind and beneficent Providence had extended towards us, to whom alone is due the heart-felt praises as thanksgivings of all for the great blessings which we have hitherto experienced in positions the most desolate which can be conceived.”
In the autumn of 1852, Captain M’Clure had made known his intentions of sending to England, the following spring, half of the officers and crew via Baffin Bay (taking the boat from Cape Spencer) and the Mackenzie. The remainder of the crew were to stand by the ship in the hope of releasing her in the summer of 1853, should they fail in this they would proceed with sledges in 1854 by Port Leopold, “our provisions admitting of no other arrangement.” In the despatch prepared by Captain M’Clure which he sent home by the land party in 1853, occurs the following passage:—
“Should any of her Majesty’s ships be sent for our relief, and we have quitted Port Leopold, a notice containing information of our route will be left on the door of the house at Whaler’s Point, or on some conspicuous position. If, however, no intimation should be found of our having been there, it may at once be surmised that some fatal catastrophe has happened, either from our being carried into the Polar Sea, or smashed in Barrow’s Strait, and no survivors left. If such be the case,—which, however, I will not anticipate,—it will then be quite unnecessary to penetrate further to the westward for our relief, as, by the period that any vessel could reach that port, we must, from want of provisions, all have perished. In such a case, I would submit that the officers may be directed to return, and by no means incur the danger of losing other lives in quest of those who will then be no more.”
The thrilling adventures in the American wilderness told by Franklin, Richardson, Back, and others, foretold that this sledge journey proposed by M’Clure would be long and hazardous in the extreme. The weaker ones were to undertake it, thirty of the healthiest men being retained to stand by the ships with the captain.
The curse of scurvy had long since stricken many of the crew; these could not hope to brave another Arctic winter, and their only chance was to penetrate the wilderness to civilization, however difficult and dangerous the undertaking. But while M’Clure and his gallant comrades were making every preparation for this last attempt to communicate with England, relief came unexpectedly to hand.
CAPTAIN KELLET
It will be remembered that Captain Kellett of Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron had sailed the previous August to Melville Island with relief supplies for the Investigator and Enterprise, in case these vessels or members of their crews should have succeeded in making their way from Behring Strait to that place. Upon reaching Winter Harbour, they at once discovered a notice deposited there the beginning of the year by Captain M’Clure, conveying the assurance of the safety of the Investigator and its crew in Mercy Bay. It may be imagined with what enthusiasm such news was received by Captain Kellett and his crew, and immediately preparations were made for an expedition to let them know that aid was at hand.
The unique meeting of Captain M’Clure from the west, and Lieutenant Pim from the east, with a party from the Resolute, is graphically described in a private letter from Captain Kellett.
“This is really a red-letter day in our voyage, and shall be kept as a holiday by our heirs and successors forever. At nine o’clock of this day, our lookout man made the signal for a party coming in from the westward; all went out to meet them, and assist them in. A second party was then seen. Dr. Domville was the first person I met. I cannot describe my feelings when he told me that Captain M’Clure was among the next party. I was not long in reaching him, and giving him many hearty shakes—no purer were ever given by two men in this world. M’Clure looks well, but is very hungry. His description of Pim’s making the Harbour of Mercy would have been a fine subject for the pen of Captain Marryat, were he alive.
“M’Clure and his first lieutenant were walking on the floe. Seeing a person coming very fast towards them, they supposed he was chased by a bear, or had seen a bear. Walking towards him, on getting onwards a hundred yards, they could see from his proportions that he was not one of them. Pim began to screech and throw up his hands (his face as black as my hat); this brought the captain and lieutenant to a stand, as they could not hear sufficiently to make out his language.
“At length Pim reached the party, quite beside himself, and stammered out, on M’Clure asking him,—
“‘Who are you, and where are you come from?’
“‘Lieutenant Pim, Herald, Captain Kellett.’
“This was the more inexplicable to M’Clure, as I was the last person he shook hands with in Behring’s Strait. He at length found that this solitary stranger was a true Englishman—an angel of light. He says: ‘He soon was seen from the ship; they had only one hatchway open, and the crew were fairly jammed there, in their endeavor to get up. The sick jumped out of their hammocks, and the crew forgot their despondency; in fact, all was changed on board the Investigator.’
“M’Clure had thirty men and three officers fully prepared to leave for the depot at Point Spencer. What a disappointment it would have been to go there and find the miserable Mary yacht, with four or five casks of provisions, instead of a fine large depot!
“Another party of seven men were to have gone by the Mackenzie, with a request to the Admiralty to send out a ship to meet them at Point Leopold, in 1854. The thirty men are on their way over to me now. I shall, if possible, send them on to Beechey Island, and about ten men of my own crew, to be taken home the first opportunity.”
Captain Kellett was at first inclined to favour M’Clure’s efforts to save the Investigator, but, on the 2d of May, Lieutenant Cresswell reported to Captain Kellett that two more deaths had occurred. It was then deemed advisable that Dr. Domville should go back with Captain M’Clure and inspect the crew. Those unfitted to pass another winter in the Arctic were to be ordered home, and the healthy should be given their option of going or remaining. Only four of the crew were willing to remain, although all of the officers volunteered to stand by the vessel.
Preparations were therefore made to abandon the ship. A depot of provisions and stores was landed for the use of Collinson, Franklin, or any other person that might find them, and on June 3, 1853, the colours were hoisted to the masthead, and officers and crew bade farewell to the Investigator. Upon arriving at Dealy Island, they were accommodated on board the Resolute and Intrepid.
DEATH OF BELLOT
In connection with the glorious report of the discovery of the Northwest Passage and the safety of M’Clure, Captain Inglefield brought home news of a sad and tragic character; the death of that gallant Frenchman, Lieutenant Bellot. He had returned to the north in the Phœnix drawn by the fatal lure of the Arctic which to his adventurous soul was irresistible. In August, 1853, he had volunteered to lead a party to Sir Edward Belcher’s squadron near Cape Beecher in Wellington Channel. They started on a Friday, the 12th, from Beechey Island,—Harvey, Johnson, Madden, and Hook, with Lieutenant Bellot in the lead,—carrying despatches from Captain Pullen of the North Star.
The rottenness of the ice at this season makes travel particularly dangerous, and Bellot was cautioned to keep close to the eastern shore of Wellington Channel. They were provided with a light India-rubber boat, which was easily dragged upon the sledge. The evening of the 12th, they encamped about three miles from Cape Innes. The following day they made considerable progress, and that night encamped upon the broken ice, over which they had been plodding all day, near Cape Bowden. On Sunday they noticed a crack about four feet wide running across the channel. No special concern was felt at this discovery, and Lieutenant Bellot cheered and encouraged the men to make for a cape in the distance which he called Grinnell Cape. Upon reaching this cape, a broad belt of water was found between the ice and the shore. An unfortunate wind raised a rough sea, but Lieutenant Bellot made an attempt to reach the shore alone in the boat, intending to convey a line by which the remainder of the party and provisions might be brought across. The violence of the gale drove him back, and Harvey and Madden were ordered into the boat, and successfully made the crossing. After this the boat was passed and repassed by means of lines, and three loads from the sledge were landed in safety. The party on shore were hauling off for a fourth when Madden, who had hold of the shore-line and stood up to his middle in water, called out that the ice was on the move, and driving offshore.
Bellot saw that if Madden held on to the line much longer he would be dragged into deep water, so he called to him to let go, which he did. Lieutenant Bellot and his two men then hauled the boat on to the sledge and ran it up to the windward side of the ice, intending to launch it at once and make for the shore. Before this could be accomplished, the ice had rapidly increased its motion and drifted so far from the shore as to make it impossible for them to reach it. Madden and Harvey, with indescribable feelings of alarm, hastened to an eminence, and for two long hours watched their comrades drifting out to sea in the teeth of a bitter breeze—amid the turbulent icebergs. As the mists and driving snow finally closed upon their view, the two men were seen standing by the sledge, Lieutenant Bellot on the top of a hummock.
Madden and Harvey descended to the shore and at once began their return journey to the ship. With very little provisions, they walked round Criffen Bay and hence to Cape Bowden, where they remained to rest. While there, great was their joy to recognize Johnson and Hook hastening toward them. The party now made for the ship, which they reached with considerable difficulty and privation. The fate of poor Lieutenant Bellot is described by William Johnson, who was with him on the ice at the time of his death.
Landing near Grinnell Cape
“We got the provisions on shore on Wednesday, the 17th. After we had done that, there remained on the ice David Hook, Lieutenant Bellot, and myself, having with us the sledge, mackintosh awning, and little boat. Commenced trying to draw the boat and sledge to the southward, but found the ice driving so fast, that we left the sledge and took the boat only; but the wind was so strong at the time that it blew the boat over and over. We then took the boat with us, under shelter of a piece of ice, and Mr. Bellot and ourselves commenced cutting an ice-house with our knives for shelter. Mr. Bellot sat for half an hour in conversation with us, talking on the danger of our position. I told him I was not afraid and that the American Expedition was driven up and down this channel by the ice. He replied, ‘I know they were; and when the Lord protects us, not a hair of our heads shall be touched.’ I then asked Mr. Bellot what time it was. He said, ‘About a quarter past 8 A.M.’ (Thursday, the 18th), and then lashed his hooks, and said he would go and see how the ice was driving. He had only been gone about four minutes, when I went round the same hummock, under which we were sheltered to look for him, but could not see him; and on returning to our shelter, saw his stick on the opposite side of a crack, about five fathoms wide, and the ice all breaking up. I then called out, ‘Mr. Bellot,’ but no answer (at this time blowing very heavy). After this I again searched round, but could see nothing of him. I believe when he got from the shelter, the wind blew him into the crack, and his south-wester being tied down, he could not rise. Finding there was no hope of again seeing Lieutenant Bellot, I said to Hook, ‘I’m not afraid: I know the Lord will always sustain us.’ We commenced travelling, to try to get to Cape de Haven, or Port Phillips; and, when we got within two miles of Cape de Haven, could not get on shore, and returned for this side, endeavoring to get to the southward, as the ice was driving to the northward. We were that night and the following day in coming across, and came into the land on the eastern shore, a long way to the northward of the place where we were driven off. We got into the land at what Lieutenant Bellot told us was Point Hogarth.
“In drifting up the Straits towards the Polar Sea we saw an iceberg lying close to the shore, and found it on the ground. We succeeded in getting on it and remained for six hours. I said to David Hook, ‘Don’t be afraid, we must make a boat of a piece of ice.’ Accordingly, we got on to a piece passing, and I had a paddle belonging to the India-rubber boat. By this piece of drift ice we managed to reach the shore, and then proceeded to where the accident happened. Reached it on Friday. Could not find our shipmates, or any provisions. Went on for Cape Bowden, and reached it on Friday night.”
Poor Bellot—too brave—too young to die—beloved by comrades, mourned by the simple Eskimos he had befriended—cherished in tender memory by the nation that gave him birth and by Great Britain for whom he gave his life,—his honoured name is linked in immortality with those brave heroes of the Arctic, whose sepulchre is the frozen deep, whose monuments are the eternal snows of the Great White North.
Transcriber’s Note: image is clickable for a larger version
