The Great White North / The story of polar exploration from the earliest times to the discovery of the pole

by Helen S. Wright

CHAPTER VIII

Search for Sir John Franklin continued.—Sledge journey of Captain Austin’s squadron.—Return of Prince Albert under command of Captain Kennedy.—Bellot.

SEARCH FOR SIR JOHN FRANKLIN

The British searching squadron, including the Resolute, the Assistance, the Pioneer, and the Intrepid, while wintering in the vicinity of Cornwallis Island and Griffith Island, had held frequent communication and planned for exploration journeys on sledges to be undertaken as early as possible the following spring. Before the winter became too severe, depots of provisions were established to be used by the sledging parties, and the men trained in sledge dragging and walking exercises that they might be in good physical condition when the time for a test of endurance should arrive. Under the direction of Captain Austin, detailed plans were formed for careful exploration of islands and lands along Parry Strait. To Captain Penny was entrusted the thorough search of Wellington Channel.

As early as the 12th of April, 1851, the parties intended for the westward explorations, numbering one hundred and four men, proceeded under the command of Captain Ommaney to the northwest end of Griffith Island, and there the entire encampment was closely inspected by Captain Austin.

E. K. Kane

The extraordinary records of the six “extended” parties, those with instructions to go the farthest possible distance, were as follows: First, the sledge Reliance, under Captain Ommaney, travelled on south shore, was absent sixty days, and covered four hundred and eighty miles, two hundred and five of which was previously unknown coast. Second, the sledge True Blue, under Lieutenant Osborn, travelled on the south shore, was absent fifty-eight days, covered five hundred and six miles, and discovered seventy miles of coast. The third sledge, Enterprise, under Lieutenant Brown, travelled on south shore, was absent forty-four days, and covered three hundred and seventy-five miles, including one hundred and fifty of previously unknown coast. The True Blue, making the most western point reached 103° 25´ west longitude, a point about halfway between Leopold Island and Point Turnagain on the American continent.

Of the three parties designed for the search of the north shore, the first sledge, Lady Franklin, under command of Lieutenant Aldrich, was absent sixty-two days, covered five hundred and fifty miles, and discovered seventy miles of coast. The second sledge, Perseverance, under Lieutenant M’Clintock, was absent eighty days, and covered seven hundred and sixty miles, forty miles of which was previously undiscovered coast. The third sledge, Resolute, under Surgeon Bradford, was absent eighty days, and covered six hundred and sixty-nine miles, and discovered one hundred and thirty-five miles of coast.

To Lieutenant M’Clintock was due the honour of reaching the farthest west, 74° 38´ north latitude, and 114° 20´ west longitude. On this journey M’Clintock reached Bushman Cove, Melville Island, where Parry had encamped June 11, 1820. Traces of his stay were found by M’Clintock and later, upon crossing to Winter Harbor, on a large stone boulder he found the following inscription:—

His Britannic Majesty’s
Ships Hecla and Griper,
Commanded by
W. C. Parry and Mr. Liddon,
Wintered in the adjacent
Harbor 1819-20.
A. Tisher. Sculpt.

It was evident that no man had visited the spot since that early date, and a hare was found near the rock so tame that she would almost allow the men to touch her. M’Clintock added the figures 1851 to the inscription and prepared to return to the ships, which he reached July 4.

The parties organized for the purpose of depositing provisions, setting up marks, and making observations, were absent from the ships during periods of from twelve to thirty-four days. Strange as it may seem, they underwent greater hardship and suffered more than the “extended parties,” which returned in excellent condition, whereas no less than twenty-eight men were frost-bitten, and one died from exhaustion, of those sharing the shorter excursions.

The six parties designated for the exploration of Wellington Channel were under the command of Captain Stuart, Messrs. Marshall, J. Stewart, and Reid, and Surgeons Sutherland and Goodsir.

From the outset, April 17, they encountered disagreeable weather, which considerably delayed their progress. However, Captain Penny, who had general supervision, was fortunate enough to discover “a wide westward strait of open water, lying along the further side of the lands which flank Barrow’s Strait and Parry’s Strait.” Entering the ice lanes with a boat, he penetrated up Queen’s Channel as far as Baring Island and Cape Beecher. Being able to proceed no further, he returned to the ships. At this point “a fine open sea stretched invitingly away to the north, but his fragile boat was ill-equipped for a voyage of discovery. Fully persuaded that Franklin must have followed this route, he failed, however, in convincing Captain Austin of the truth of his theory, and as, without that officer’s coöperation, nothing could be effected, he was compelled to follow the course pointed out by the Admiralty squadron, which, after two ineffectual attempts to enter Smith and Jones sounds, returned to England.”

An unlikely tale told to old Sir John Ross by the Eskimos near Cape York, to the effect that in the winter of 1846 two ships were wrecked in the ice off Cape Dudley Digges and afterwards ransacked and burned by the natives, and the crew massacred, determined Sir John to investigate the story as closely as possible and then return in the Felix to England. Even after his return home, he seems to have been firm in the belief that Sir John Franklin and the crew of the Erebus and Terror perished in Baffin Bay.

Having made a close inspection of this bay before his return, he describes the results of his search as follows: “Many important corrections and valuable additions were made to the charts of the much frequented eastern side of Baffin Bay, which has been more closely observed and navigated by this than any former expedition; and, much to my satisfaction, confirming the latitude and longitude of every headland I had the opportunity of laying down in the year 1818.”

We turn now to continue the story of another expedition.

The little Prince Albert, which spoke the Advance and Rescue in Baffin Bay, July 12, 1851, on her return trip to northern waters, had been most carefully overhauled and refitted for her arduous enterprise. Her commander was Captain Kennedy, and second in command was Lieutenant J. Bellot, a young French officer noted for his adventurous spirit and charming personality, who had volunteered his services. Among the crew, all of whom were picked men, was John Hepburn, who had accompanied Sir John Franklin on that first land expedition which came near proving fatal to the entire party. Another of the men had accompanied Dr. Rae on his first journey to Repulse Bay, and a third had accompanied Sir John Richardson in his boat journey through the interior of America.

Discouraging conditions of ice and weather met the gallant crew in Prince Regent Inlet. Ploughing a way through a tortuous course, the Prince Albert succeeding in reaching Elwin Bay only to find it ice-bound and impassable. Batty Bay and Fury Beach were also impossible of access, and now the condition of the ice becoming so alarming, they gave up an attempt at the west side of the inlet and made a hasty retreat to Port Bowen,—where traces of Sir Edward Parry’s party, which wintered there in 1825, were still discernible.

To avoid wintering at so great a distance from the scene of the explorations planned for the following spring, they recrossed the strait and approached the shore for the purpose of making a landing. Captain Kennedy, accompanied by four of the crew, cast off in a gutta-percha boat and made for the beach. Upon landing, Captain Kennedy ascended the cliffs of Cape Seppings, and decried Port Leopold free from ice. Hoping to put the Prince Albert in this safe harbour, he at once made an attempt to rejoin his ship, but, upon reaching the shore, found to his consternation that, owing to the sudden moving of the ice-pack, he could not rejoin her and that she was being merrily carried down-stream in spite of every effort of the men on board to stop her progress. The shadows of night came upon them rapidly, and the tempestuous roaring, grinding, and tossing of the ice was all that could be seen or heard.

A most uncomfortable night followed their unlucky adventure. Their boat was the only available shelter, and this served for a covering under which one man at a time took an hour’s uncomfortable rest, while the others exercised to keep their bodies from freezing. The next morning at dawn, upon mounting the cliffs once more, their alarm was increased by the melancholy fact that the ship had completely disappeared from view.

No more forlorn castaways can be imagined. The only mitigating circumstance in their sorry condition was the knowledge that on the other side of the harbour at Whaler Point, Sir James Ross had left a deposit of provisions about two years before. To this point their steps were now directed, and upon reaching the depot their hopes revived somewhat when they found the condition of the provisions excellent. The house left by Sir James Ross was in fair condition, the flag and record were easily found, and, resigned to their fate, Kennedy and his companions determined to face the possibility of passing the long Arctic winter with the best possible grace.

“It was now,” says Kennedy, “the 10th of September. Winter was evidently fast setting in, and, from the distance the ship had been carried during that disastrous night, whether out to sea or down the inlet we could not conjecture—there was no hope of our being able to rejoin her, at least during the present season. There remained, therefore, no alternative but to make up our minds to pass the winter, if necessary, where we were. The first object to be attended to was the erecting of some sort of shelter against the daily increasing inclemency of the weather; and for this purpose, the launch, left by Sir James Ross, was selected. Her main mast was laid on supports at the bow and stern, about nine feet in height, and by spreading two of her sails over this a very tolerable roof was obtained. A stove was set up in the body of the boat, with the pipes running through the roof; and we were soon sitting by a comfortable fire, which, after our long exposure to the wet and cold, we stood very much in need of.”

RETURN OF THE PRINCE ALBERT

It was the intention of Captain Kennedy to make sledge journeys to distant points in the hope of sighting the Prince Albert or discovering traces of the Erebus and Terror,—but before the necessary preparations were completed, some five weeks after their separation from the ship, a shot echoed through the stillness, and Lieutenant Bellot and seven of the crew of the Prince Albert came to their rescue. After two previous attempts to find their long-lost comrades, they had succeeded in dragging the jolly-boat all the way from Batty Bay, where the Prince Albert was securely moored. Of this happy reunion, Captain Kennedy writes:—

“It can hardly be a matter of surprise that the reaction in the state of our feelings, consequent upon this unexpected meeting with our long-lost friends, should have been striking and immediate, and in direct proportion to our former solicitude and dejection.

“It was but five weeks ‘by the chime’ since our disastrous separation from the Prince Albert; but they were five years of dreary anxiety and despondency fast merging into something like despair. We had a jovial evening, let the reader be well assured, in our little launch that 17th of October, and a jovial housewarming, out of Her Majesty’s stores at Port Leopold, enjoyed none the less from the absence of any grim vision of a long reckoning to discharge with ‘mine host’ on the morrow. And we kept it up, too, let me tell you, with long yarns of our adventures, and rough old sea songs; and in brimming cups of famous chocolate, ‘cheering but not inebriating,’ drank most loyally (at Her Majesty’s expense) a happy meeting with H. M. S. Erebus and Terror, and their gallant crews.

“It was some days after this before our preparations for returning to the ship were completed. At last, on Wednesday, the 22d, exactly six weeks after our first detention at Whaler Point, we set out; after depositing a paper in the cylinder, containing information of our proceedings up to this date, and placing all the loose stores in proper order and security for the use of any party that should come after us.

“Our provisions and ‘traps’ of all kinds were stowed on a strong sleigh. A mast was then set, and a sail hoisted in the jolly-boat, and away we went before a spanking fair wind over the smooth ice of Leopold Harbor at a rate which ‘all the King’s horses’ could hardly have been equal to. We had not gone half across the bay, however, before our sleigh, wholly unused to this style of locomotion, broke down, and it cost us the best part of the day, before we could repair our damage and start afresh.”

“In our endeavor to reach Mr. Bellot’s encampment of the 16th,” continues Mr. Kennedy, “we continued on foot longer than we should have done, and the consequence was, that being overtaken by night before looking for camping ground, we found ourselves, before we were aware or had time to reflect on the predicament we had got into, groping about, in the darkness, and with a heavy shower of snow falling, for some bit of terra firma, (for we had been all day upon the ice), where we could pitch the tent. We stumbled at last, after making our shins more freely acquainted than was altogether agreeable with the sharp edges of the broken ice, into a fine square of clear beach, between some heavy masses of stranded ice. Choosing out the softest part of a shelving rock of limestone of which the beach was composed, we pitched the tent, spread the oilcloth, and with some coals, which we had brought with us from Whaler Point, boiled a good kettle of tea for all hands.

“All these preparations were, however, but introductory to another, which we found a most difficult problem indeed—namely, to contrive how we were all to pass the night in the single little tent we had brought with us. We all got in, certainly, and got the kettle in the middle; but as for lying down to sleep it was utterly out of the question. A London omnibus on a racing day after five o’clock, was the only parallel I could think of to our attempt to stow thirteen men, including our colossal carpenter, into a tent intended for six. At last, after some deliberation, it was arranged that we should sit down six in a row, on each side, which would leave us about three feet clear to stretch our legs. Mr. Bellot, who formed the thirteenth, being the most compact and stowable of the party, agreed to squeeze in underneath them, stipulating only for a clear foot square for his head alongside the tea-kettle. Being unprovided with a candlestick, even if there had been room to place one anywhere, it was arranged that each of us should hold the candle in his hand for a quarter of an hour, and then pass it to his neighbor, and thus by the aid of our flickering taper, through the thick steam of the boiling kettle, we had just enough light to prevent us putting our tea into our neighbor’s mouth, instead of our own.

“‘Well, boys,’ suggests our ever jovial first mate, Henry Anderson, ‘now we are fairly seated, I’m thinking, as we can do nothing else, we had best make a night of it again. What say you to a song, Dick?’ Whereupon, nothing loath, Mr. Richard Webb strikes up, in the first style of forecastle execution, ‘Susannah, don’t you cry for me,’ which is, of course, received by the company with the utmost enthusiasm, ‘Mr. Webb, your health and song,’ and general applause, and emptying of tea-cans, which Mr. John Smith, pleading inability to sing, undertakes to replenish for the night.

“‘Irvine, my lad, pass the candle, and give us the “Tailor.”’ Mr. Irvine, you must understand, gentle reader, has distinguished himself by some extraordinary performances on the blanket-bags, during our late detention at Whaler Point, in virtue of which he has been formally installed ‘Tailor of the Expedition.’

“‘The Tailor’ is accordingly given, con amore, and is a remarkable history of knight of the thimble, who, burying his goose, like Prospero his books, ‘beyond the reach of plummet,’ becomes a ‘Sailor bold,’ and in that capacity enslaves the heart of a lovely lady of incalculable wealth, who, etc., etc. We all know the rest. ‘Kenneth, you monster, take that clumsy foot of yours off my stomach, will you?’ cried out poor Mr. Bellot, smothered beneath the weight of four-and-twenty legs, upon which the carpenter, in his eagerness to comply, probably drives his foot into Mr. Bellot’s eye. And so, passing the song and the joke around, Mr. Bellot, occasionally making a sudden desperate effort to get up, and sitting down again in despair,—with a long ‘blow’ like a grampus, we make what Anderson calls ‘a night of it.’ No management, however, can make our solitary candle last beyond twelve o’clock, or thereabouts. Notwithstanding this extinguisher to the entertainments of the evening, Mr. Anderson, while some are dozing and hob-a-nobbing in their dreams, may still be heard keeping it up with unabated spirit in the dark, wakening every sleeper now and then with some tremendous chorus he has contrived to get up among his friends, for the ‘Bay of Biscay,’ or some favourite Greenland melody, with its inspiriting burthen of ‘Cheeri-lie, ah! cheeri-lie!’”

The “Rescue” in Melville Bay

A warm welcome awaited the lost ones, when a few days later they reached the ship.

“With our return to the vessel,” writes Mr. Kennedy, “may be said to have closed all our operations, as far as the ship was concerned, in the Arctic seas for the year 1851. There remained now only to make our arrangements for the vessel passing the next six or eight months where we were, and for preparing for our own winter journeys.”

Preparations were completed by January 5, 1852, and the morning of that day the men on snow-shoes, with dogs dragging the sledges, started off amid the cheers of their comrades and the yelping and barking of the dogs.

“The first object of the journey,” continues Mr. Kennedy, “was, of course, to ascertain whether Fury Beach had been a retreating point to any of Sir John Franklin’s party since it was visited by Lieutenant Robinson, of the Enterprise, in 1849. A secondary object, should our expectations in this respect not be realized, was to form a first depot of provisions here, with the view of carrying out a more extended search as soon as circumstances would permit. It was desirable at the same time to ascertain the state of the roads, by which, of course, I mean the yet untrodden surface of the snow or ice, in the direction in which we meant to go, before commencing any transport, on a large scale, between the ship and Fury Beach; and it was thought advisable, therefore, to go comparatively light. A small supply of pemmican was all we took with us in addition to our travelling requirements, consisting of a tent and poles, blanketing and provisions for a week, some guns and ammunition, fuel, and a cooking apparatus, in all weighing from two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds.”

From the outset the travelling was difficult and arduous. “... not infrequently after toiling to the top of an incline, a lurch of the sleigh would send us careening in a very lively and unexpected manner to the bottom. Here follows an incident in our first day’s journey, which caused us some amusement at the time, and carried a lesson with it, whenever we had to encounter any of these obstacles afterward.

“We had got about halfway up one of those villainous steeps, when our entire cortège gave unmistakable signs of a tendency to seek a sudden descent. There was just time for us to cast off the traces, all but poor Mr. Bellot, who was not sufficiently alert in disengaging his, when away went the sleigh and dogs, and Mr. Bellot after them into an abyss at the bottom, where the only indication of the catastrophe that could be seen was some six inches of Mr. Bellot’s heels above the surface of the snow. We dug him out ‘a wiser and a better man’ for the rest of the journey, whenever any of these pestilent slopes had to be encountered thereafter.”

CAPTAIN KENNEDY—BELLOT

On the 8th, the distance to Fury Beach being very short, Mr. Kennedy decided to leave the sledge and two of the men, and press on with Mr. Bellot, and one man unencumbered.

“It may be imagined with what feelings,” says Kennedy, “when we really had come upon it, we approached a spot round which so many hopes and anxieties had so long centred. Every object, distinguished by the moonlight in the distance, became animated to our imaginations, into the forms of our long-absent countrymen; for had they been imprisoned anywhere in the Arctic Seas, within a reasonable distance of Fury Beach, here we felt assured some of them at least would have been now. But alas! for these fond hopes! How deeply, though perhaps unconsciously cherished, none of us probably suspected, till standing under the tattered covering of Somerset House, and gazing silently upon the solitude around us, we felt as we turned to look mournfully on each other’s faces, that the last ray of hope as to this cherished imagination had fled from our hearts. It is perhaps necessary for the vigorous prosecution of any difficult object that for the moment, some particular circumstance in the chain of operations by which it is to be effected, should seem to us so vitally important that the eye is blinded to all beyond. The spot on which we now stood had so long been associated in our minds with some clue to the discovery of the solution of the painful mystery which hung over the fate of Franklin, and had so long unconsciously perhaps coloured all our thought, that it was not without a pang, and a feeling as if the main purpose of our expedition had been defeated, that we found all our long-cherished anticipations shattered at a blow by the scene which met our eyes. Thus my friend and I stood paralyzed at the death-like solitude around us. No vestige of the visit of a human being was here since Lieutenant Robinson had examined the depot in 1849. The stores, still in the most perfect preservation, were precisely in the well-arranged condition, described in the clear report of that energetic officer.”

“His own notice of his visit,” continues Mr. Kennedy, “was deeply buried in the snow, and the index staff he had placed over it was thrown down and gnawed by the foxes. Wearied with a long and fruitless examination we took up our quarters for a repose of a few hours in Somerset House, the frame of which was still standing entire, but the covering blown to rags by the wind, and one end of the house nearly filled with snow. We lighted a fire on the stove which had heated the end occupied by Sir John Ross’s crew during the dreary winter of 1832-33.

“After refreshing ourselves with a warm supper, and nodding for a few hours over the fire, we set out about 11 P.M. on our return to our encampment, which we reached by 2 A.M. of the following morning. Our return from this point to the ship, which we reached about 5 P.M. of Saturday the 10th, was not marked by any incident worthy of notice.

“We had deposited at our encampment a 90-pound case of pemmican, a bag of coals, two muskets, and some ammunition, which, while it served as a reserve for future explorations in this direction, materially lightened the labour of the dogs, and allowed us time for a more minute examination of the coast than we had been able to make during the outward journey. The result, however, was not in any respect more successful. No traces of any kind were discovered which could throw light on the objects of our search.

“Thus ended our first journey to Fury Beach, and its results satisfied us that, in the present state of the ice in Prince Regent’s Inlet, the more extended explorations of the coastline, which we had calculated on being able to commence on our return to the ship, could not now be safely undertaken, and must for the present be postponed. We were most reluctantly compelled, therefore, to pass the next month in the ship, occupied in the same general routine duties as those on which we had been during the earlier part of the winter.”

Captain Kennedy gives a vivid description of Arctic gales and the dangers of travel during a tempest. “About eight A.M. in the morning of the 13th February,” he writes, “Mr. Bellot, the carpenter, Andrew Irvine, Henry Anderson (the first mate), and myself left the ship, taking with us two cases of pemmican, and three tin jars, each containing two gallons of spirits of wine, on a sledge, drawn by five Eskimo dogs, for the purpose of depositing them a short distance on the way to Fury Beach, and returning in the evening. After proceeding for a few hours, and making very fair progress along a tolerably good path, a strong wind arose, which by one P.M. had increased to a perfect hurricane, so thickly charged with snow that, in attempting to cross a bay on our return, we lost sight of the land by which our course homeward had been guided. In short, after wandering about for some time, scarcely able to distinguish each other at the distance of a few paces, we found that we had fairly lost our way. In this dilemma, we set two of the five dogs loose from the sledge, in the hope that they would act as guides better than when drawing; but this proved to be a mistake, as they would not leave the others. At last, however, they all set off together, taking the sledge with them and leaving us to our fate. As we afterwards found, they reached the ship without any difficulty, and, as may readily be supposed, put every one on board in a perfect fever of terror and anxiety as to what had become of us. In the meantime, we had gone on floundering over broken ice, until we had once more stumbled on the land, but where or what the land was we had fallen upon, nobody knew. It was something certainly to know we were not marching over the Inlet or out to sea, in which case we would have marched on, and in all probability never returned; but in other respects we had rather lost than gained by getting on terra firma. With an atmosphere as thick as pea-soup, and no sun, moon, or stars to be seen, there was no keeping the shore (and to go on one side or the other was to incur the certainty of losing ourselves again, either on the Inlet or on the land) without hugging close up and into a break-neck line of stranded fragments of ice, which indicated the direction of the beach.

“Along this formidable path we floundered on—now coming bump up against some huge fragment of ice, or pitching over the top of it into a hole, excavated in the snow at the bottom, by the whirling eddies of the wind; now walking, now crawling, occasionally tumbling into the snow, until we were all brought up by a cry of pain from one of the men who had met a ‘bouleversement’ over the edge of a bank of ice. It was a sad accident, but the worst of it was, that after setting him on his legs, nothing could induce him to move a step farther. Here he was, and here he maintained he must remain ‘coute qui coute.’ There was no reasoning with the poor fellow, who certainly had sustained a very severe injury, but not anything like so bad as he had imagined it, and it would never do to leave him lying here. So feigning to take him at his word, we proposed to bundle him up in a buffalo-robe and bury him in the snow for the night—comforting him with the assurance that we would certainly come back for him in the morning. This Arctic prescription had a magical effect upon our patient—the back and the broken bones were speedily forgotten, and in a short time he was on his legs again, and we all trudging on once more in the old rough and tumble style of progression, till about midnight, we found ourselves standing under the lee of something which looked like a bank of snow, but which, to our great gratification, proved to be the powder house we had erected on shore in the beginning of the winter. A consultation was now held whether we should cut our way into it and pass the night here, ‘accoutred as we were,’ or make for the ship, which we now knew could not be far off. Our decision was for the latter, and the only question now was, how to steer for the vessel. This, too, was decided upon at last, by each of the party pointing in turn, in the direction in which he thought the vessel lay, and then taking the mean of the bearings. To prevent our separating in the drift (for some of the party had by this time got so benumbed with cold, as to be unable to use their hands to clear their eyelids, and had thus become literally blind with the accumulation of the snow on their eyes), it was agreed that at certain intervals we should call and answer each other’s names, and that those whose eyes had suffered least should take the others in tow. In this order, we proceeded for the vessel, and fortunately by the guidance of a solitary star, that could be faintly distinguished through the drift, got near enough to the ship to hear the wind whistling through the shrouds and were thus guided, rather by the ear than by the eye, to her position, and soon afterwards found ourselves on board, where we were received once more as those from the dead.

“These short journeys, however arduous, in which caches were established for future use, were only preliminary skirmishes to the ‘grand journey’ planned by Captain Kennedy with much forethought and in preparation for which days had been occupied in making suitable apparel, trappings, and sledges. It was expected that the journey would take at least three months. The particular direction our route ought to assume, was, of course, a matter to be regulated very much by the nature of the circumstances that might arise in the course of it. On one point only we were decided, viz. that it should embrace Cape Walker to which, as the point of departure of Sir John Franklin for the unknown regions to the W. and S.W., had he decided upon this course, and not gone up Wellington Channel, much interest naturally attached.

“There were fourteen of the crew disposable in the ship,” continues Captain Kennedy, “of whom four picked men were to go with Mr. Bellot and myself to Cape Walker, while the rest were to accompany us, as a fatigue party, as far as Fury Beach, which was to form the starting-point of the journey. Parties sent out on different occasions during the last two months, had taken in advance six cases of pemmican, six muskets, and a bag of coals. One case of pemmican, as already mentioned, had been deposited in January a few miles north of Fury Point. Our provisions, clothing, and bedding, drawn upon two Indian sleighs by our five dogs, had, of course, been reduced to whatever was strictly indispensable. Five gallons of spirits of wine were taken as a substitute for fuel. With proper management and economy, we hoped to make this last us till the spring, when, by the plan we proposed adopting, of travelling during the night instead of the day, we trusted, should a necessity arise for so doing, to be able to dispense with the use of fuel altogether.

“On the morning of the 20th of February, a scene of general bustle and excitement showed that all our arrangements had been completed, and that the long-deferred start for the grand journey was about to take place. A detachment of five men, Mr. Bellot, and myself, were all that could leave the ship at this time; the others appointed to join us being still under the doctor’s attendance for slight and temporary inconvenience, frost-bites, etc. The whole crew, however, had mustered to see us as far as the south point of Batty Bay, all but our dear Hepburn, who, unable to control his manly emotion at parting with so many old friends, and above all at being unable to accompany us, took a touching farewell of us at the vessel: ‘God bless you,’ said he, grasping my hand with affectionate warmth, ‘I cannot accompany you, and I cannot let all these men witness my emotion: let me part with you here, and may God grant that we meet in life and health, after the long and hazardous journey you are about to undertake.’ Though this veteran hero saw much hardship and hazard in store before us, he would have seen none whatever had he been allowed to accompany us, but I could not for a moment entertain the idea of employing him on a journey, when there were so many younger men all emulous to be engaged on it, and more particularly when his services on board ship were so indispensable; and, by his kindly consenting to remain, I was relieved of all anxiety as respected the Prince Albert.

“Reaching the south point of Batty Bay, with our friendly escort, our two parties once more separated with many kindly and touching farewells and then, with three hearty cheers, diverging in our different routes, we were soon lost to each other in the mist and snow.”

The fury of the equinoctial gales greatly impeded the advance of the party, frequently detaining them for several days at a time.

Sledges, moccasins, and snow-shoes were greatly damaged under the hard conditions of travel, and it was found necessary when the whole party had assembled at Fury Beach to send back to the ship for additional supplies. They also made use of the excellent stores found at the Fury Beach which had been left there thirty years before. It was decided, after careful calculation, that six men could carry provisions for the proposed journey of three months’ duration; that fourteen men should travel as far as Brentford Bay, at which point eight would return to the ship, the remaining six to proceed, carrying with them all provisions and necessaries for the remainder of the trip.

The total dead weight of this equipment, including sledges and tackling, might be estimated at about two thousand pounds. “The whole was lashed down,” writes Kennedy, “to the smallest possible compass on four flat-bottomed Indian sleighs, of which our five Eskimo dogs, assisted by two men to each sleigh, took two, while the rest of the men took the other two.”

The day of their start proved mild and pleasant, and at first the travelling was good, the ice being sufficiently smooth to make easy and rapid progress. But such good fortune did not remain with them long, and the inevitable gales made travelling most difficult and painful. The usual snow huts were erected at night, under which they took such comfort as their short hours of rest afforded them. Frost-bites caused them much suffering, and to protect their faces they resorted to curious expedients.

“For the eyes,” writes Kennedy, “we had goggles of glass, of wire-gauze, of crape, or of plain wood with a slit in the centre, in the manner of Eskimos. For the face, some had cloth-masks, with neat little crevices for the mouth, nose, and eyes; others were muffled up in the ordinary chin-cloth, and, for that most troublesome of the facial members, the nose, a strong party, with our always original carpenter at their head, had gutta-percha noses, lined with delicate soft flannel.” Though admirable in theory, these contrivances proved failures in practice, and were all discarded except the chin-cloths and goggles.

On the 6th of April they reached Brentford Bay, and the fatigue party began their retrograde journey to the ship. At this point Kennedy discovered a strait running westward, separating North Somerset from Boothia Felix. This he named Bellot Strait, in honour of the brave young officer who had secured the affectionate regard of commander and crew. From here the party crossed Victoria Strait to Prince of Wales Land, naming many of the prominent headlands, bays, and islands.

On April 17 the thermometer stood at plus 22, “a temperature,” writes Kennedy, “which, to our sensations, was absolutely oppressive. One of our dogs, through over-exertion, fainted in his traces, and lay gasping for breath for a quarter of an hour; but after recovering, went on as merrily as ever. These faithful creatures were perfect treasures to us throughout the journey. They were all suffering, like ourselves, from snow-blindness, but did not in the least relax their exertions on this account. The Eskimo’s dog is, in fact, the camel of these northern deserts; the faithful attendant of man, and the sharer of his labors and privations.”

The flat country over which they were travelling, and the close proximity of the Magnetic Pole, which rendered their compass of little use, made it particularly difficult to keep a westerly course. It was hoped that this direction would lead to a sea which would conduct them northward to Cape Walker. From this point they hoped to ascertain if there was any westward channel or strait through which Sir John Franklin might have penetrated. After marching for thirteen days, and reaching the hundredth degree of west longitude, without coming to a sea, Kennedy decided to turn northward to Cape Walker.

“Being now satisfied,” he writes, “that Sir James Ross had, in his land journey along the western shore of North Somerset, in 1849, mistaken the very low level land over which we had been travelling for a western sea, I felt no longer justified in continuing a western course. Whatever passage might exist to the south-west of Cape Walker, I felt assured must now be on our north. I determined therefore, from this time forward, to direct our course northward, until we should fall upon some channel which we knew must exist not far from us, in this direction, by which Franklin might have passed to the southwest.”

The channel for which they were in search could not be found. Boisterous gales still pursued them, and the men began to show the effects of exhaustion and exposure in the form of the dreaded scurvy. They, therefore, turned eastward again and, reaching Cape Burney, they made next for Cape Walker, which first loomed in the distance the 4th of May. Their disappointment was great at finding no trace of Franklin’s expedition.

“Wearied and dispirited beyond description,” writes Captain Kennedy, “at the fruitless result of our long and anxious labours, we returned to our encampment, guided through a heavy snow-storm by the report of guns, which I had directed to be fired every fifteen minutes, to make preparation for our return homeward. This could be effected either by pushing directly for Batty Bay, across North Somerset, a distance in a straight line of not more than six days’ journey, or by following the coast round to Whaler Point, and thence to the ship.” The latter route was chosen, though the distance was nearly double that of the other, and after an absence of ninety-seven days and covering about eleven hundred miles, they at last reached the ship May 30. A remarkable journey “for six men and five dogs, dragging for most of the way two thousand pounds’ weight, and sleeping in snowhouses, encamping on frozen seas, and rarely having a fire when they halted to recruit.”

Preparations for the return to England were now commenced. June and July passed without the vessel becoming free from the ice, but by the 6th of August, after sawing and blasting, the little craft was liberated. At Beechey Island, which Captain Kennedy reached the 19th, he found the depot ship North Star, now attached to Sir E. Belcher’s expedition, engaged in sawing into winter quarters. Proceeding in her course, the Prince Albert reached England, after an uneventful voyage, October 7, 1853.