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

by Helen S. Wright

CHAPTER XVII

British expedition of 1875.—The Alert and Discovery.—Captain George S. Nares, F. R. S., Albert H. Markham, F. R. G. S.—Two voyages of the Pandora, 1875-1876.—Schwatka’s search for the Franklin records, 1878-1879.

Captain G. S. Nares, F. R. S.

By permission of The Illustrated London News.

CAPTAIN GEORGE S. NARES, F. R. S.

The British north polar expedition of 1875 comprised the Alert, a seventeen-gun sloop, and the Discovery, originally a Dundee whaler. Under the supervision of the Admiral Superintendent of the Dockyard at Portsmouth (Sir Leopold M’Clintock) these ships were completely overhauled, reënforced, and admirably outfitted for the service expected of them. Each vessel was supplied with nine boats of various sizes, especially constructed for service in Arctic waters. Great care was exercised in selection of officers and men; and their social, moral, and physical qualifications were strictly inquired into. To Captain George S. Nares, F. R. S., was intrusted the command of the expedition, and Commander Albert H. Markham was placed second in command.

Commander A. H. Markham

By permission of The Illustrated London News.

On the afternoon of May 29, 1875, the vessels steamed out of Portsmouth harbour. At Spithead the squadron was joined by the Valorous, which accompanied the ships as far as Disco. After a stormy but uneventful voyage the expedition stood off some distance from Cape Farewell June 25. On the 27th, a falling temperature and a peculiar light blink along the horizon gave due notice of the immediate proximity of the ice.

The weather being thick and foggy, extra precautions were taken to avoid collision with any icebergs. The following morning, the high, bold, snow-capped hills near Cape Desolation were sighted. Seals were now seen basking lazily on the ice, and birds common to these regions hovered round the ships, awakening the echoes with their gladsome cries. On July 1, the little Danish settlement of Fiskernaes was passed, and later that of Godthaab. On July 4, the Arctic circle was crossed, and two days afterwards the expedition was safely landed in the bay of Lievely, off Godhaven; the Inspector and inhabitants giving a warm and hearty welcome. Stores were now taken aboard from the Valorous, and every preparation made to plunge into the frozen north, and meet the experiences of a long period of enforced isolation.

A dense fog soon necessitated making the ships fast to icebergs to await a more favourable opportunity of advancing.

ALBERT H. MARKHAM, F. R. G. S.

“Whilst attempting to secure the ships,” continues Markham, “an alarming catastrophe occurred. The boat had been despatched containing three men with the necessary implements, such as an ice drill and anchor for making the vessel fast. As soon as the first blow of the drill was delivered, the berg, to our horror, split in two with a loud report, one half with one of our men on it toppling over, whilst the other half swayed rapidly backwards and forwards. On this latter piece was another of our men, who was observed with his heels in the air, the violent agitation of the berg having precipitated him head foremost into a rent or crevasse. The water alongside was a mass of seething foam and spray, but curious to relate, the boat with the third man in it was in no way injured. They were all speedily rescued from their perilous position and brought on board, sustaining no further harm than that inflicted by a cold bath. Their escape appeared miraculous.”

On the 19th of July, the ships came to anchor off the Danish settlement of Proven, and here Hans Hendrik, the Eskimo, dog-driver and hunter, who had accompanied so many expeditions to Smith Sound, was engaged. Putting to sea once more, they passed the headland of “Sanderson, his hope,” the 21st of July, anchoring off Upernavik the following morning.

Pushing boldly through the middle ice, the passage through Melville Bay was safely accomplished and the North Water reached without incident. Arriving off the Gary Islands on the morning of the 27th, a cache of provisions was landed sufficient to sustain sixty men for two months. Other depots were cached at Cape Hawkes and Cape Lincoln. By the 28th of July both ships came to anchor at Port Foulke, the winter quarters of Dr. Hayes in 1860. An excursion from this point was taken by Captain Nares and Commander Markham to Life-boat Cove, the winter quarters of the remnant of the Polaris crew in 1872-1873. Traces of that expedition were immediately found upon landing; various relics such as a trunk, an old basket lined with tin, boxes, stores, pieces of wood, gun-barrels, and odds and ends lay strewn about. A collection was made of such articles as were of any value for the purpose of returning them to the United States. Nares and Markham now proceeded to Littleton Island in the hopes of finding an iron boat left there by Dr. Hayes in 1860. Though a careful search was made, no traces of it were discovered.

After erecting a cairn at the southwest end of the island on a hill some five or six hundred feet above sea level, from which point Cape Sabine and Cape Fraser could be seen, the intervening distance navigable open water, Captain Nares and Commander Markham congratulated themselves on the prospect of rapid progress.

A few hours after the return to the ship the favourable conditions suddenly changed, and from that time on the two ships battled with the ice-pack. Hugging the west shore, and keeping free from the main pack after leaving Cape Sabine, Captain Nares hardly left the crow’s-nest in his heroic efforts to take advantage of every lead and opening.

“Little rest was enjoyed by any on these days during which we were subjected to the wayward will of the pack,” writes Commander Markham. On the 19th of August, he says, “During the last three weeks we had advanced exactly ninety miles, or at the rate of about four and a quarter a day. This cannot be considered a rapid rate of travelling, yet to accomplish even this necessitated a constant and vigilant lookout.”

Pushing their way steadily onward, they passed Cape Lieber and crossed Lady Franklin Bay. On the 25th of August, while threading among the ice-floes that bordered the coast, a herd of musk-oxen were seen browsing on an adjacent hill. A shooting party was sent ashore, which separated into three parties upon landing and advanced cautiously toward the spot where the animals were seen grazing. So successful was the hunt that twenty-one hundred and twenty-four pounds of fresh meat was the result of the “morning’s bag.”

The harbour in which the ships were anchored possessed all the necessary qualifications for comfortable winter quarters, so that Captain Nares decided to leave the Discovery and proceed with the Alert. Everything having been satisfactorily arranged, the Alert steamed away from Discovery Harbor on the morning of the 26th, pushing her cautious way along the west shore of Kennedy Channel. “September 1st (1875),” writes Commander Markham, “must always be regarded at least by all those connected with, or interested in, Arctic research, as a red letter day in the annals of naval enterprise, and indeed in English history, for on this day a British man-of-war reached a higher northern latitude than had ever yet been reached by any ship (82° 25´ N., 62° W.), and we had the extreme gratification of hoisting the colours at noon to celebrate the event.”

After rounding Cape Union, the coast trended away to the westward of north, further advance became impossible, and the Alert found herself on the bleak shores of the Polar Ocean. A more desolate position in which to pass the winter could hardly be imagined.

“Without a harbour,” writes Markham, “or projecting headland of any description to protect our good ship from the furious gusts that we must naturally expect, the Alert lay, apparently, in a vast frozen ocean, having land on one side, but bounded on the other by the chaotic and illimitable polar pack.”

After a preliminary sledge journey to ascertain if a more sheltered harbour might be sought, it was decided to winter in their present position. Preparations were immediately made to secure the ship to “Floe-berg Beach,” and plans were laid out for autumn sledge journeys to deposit caches of provisions for the following spring. On the 11th of September, Markham, Parr, and Egerton, accompanied by eighteen men, made a journey northward along the proposed route of exploration, for the purpose of advancing two boats to be used during future sledging operations. On September 25, Commander Markham, with Lieutenants Parr and May, assisted by members of the crew, set out upon another journey; they reached, October 4, 82° 50´ N., off Cape Joseph Henry, and a depot was established. The return journey became most irksome and laborious. The snow had accumulated to such a depth as to render some of the ravines and promontories almost impassable. A sudden fall in temperature produced severe frost-bites. On the 14th of October, in a temperature of 25° below zero, the exhausted party reached the ship.

Preparations for the winter having been finished and the sledging parties all having returned, there was little left to do but await the coming of the sun, which was absent one hundred and forty-five days, during which officers and crew united in keeping up cheerful spirits and good health by the usual exercise, amusements, and routine of daily duties.

Early in March, 1876, an attempt was made to communicate with the Discovery. Lieutenants Egerton and Rawson were selected for this journey and were accompanied by Petersen, the Danish interpreter and sledge-driver. On the 12th of March, in a temperature of 30° below zero, the party left the Alert, carrying messages, letters, and instructions to those aboard the sister ship. The temperature fell very low soon after their departure, and on the third day they unexpectedly returned with the poor Dane utterly prostrate and helpless on the sledge.

“I cannot do better than relate the sad story in Lieutenant Egerton’s own words,” writes Markham. “We read in his official report, that not five hours after they had left the ship ‘frost-bites became so numerous, that I thought it advisable to encamp.’ This was only the beginning of the story, for they appear to have passed a comparatively comfortable night. At any rate they were up early the next morning and again under weigh; at about one o’clock, when they halted for lunch, Petersen complained of cramp in his stomach, and was given some hot tea. He had no appetite, which perhaps was as well, for we read of the bacon, which is always used for lunch: ‘We were unable to eat it, being frozen so hard that we could not get our teeth through the lean.’ They still continued their journey, encountering some very rough travelling, which necessitated severe physical labour on the part of the two officers. ‘The dogs were of little or no use in getting across these slopes, as it was impossible to get them to go up the cliff, and Petersen being unable to work, Lieutenant Rawson and I had to get the sledge along as best we could.’ Towards the end of the day we read: ‘Petersen began to get rather worse, and was shivering all over, his nose being constantly frost-bitten, and at times taking five or ten minutes before the circulation could be thoroughly restored. Lieutenant Rawson had several small frost-bites, and I escaped with only one.’

The Crew of the “Vega”

From “The Voyage of the Vega,” Macmillan & Co., Ltd., London

“On halting for the night,” continues Markham, “directly the tent was pitched, they sent Petersen inside with strict injunctions to shift his foot gear and get into his sleeping bag, whilst they busied themselves in preparing supper and attending, to the dogs; but when they entered the tent they found ‘that he had turned in without shifting his foot gear, was groaning a good deal, and complaining of cramp in the stomach and legs.’

“Having made him change, they gave him some tea, and then administered a few drops of sal volatile, which appeared to give the poor fellow a little ease. The next morning, the wind was so high and their patient in such a weak state that they did not think it prudent to attempt a start. He had passed a very restless night, and still complained very much of cramp. Later in the day he appeared to get worse, ‘shaking and shivering all over and breathing in short gasps. His face, hands, and feet were all frost-bitten, the latter severely, and he had pains in his side as well.’

“After restoring the circulation they rubbed him with warm flannels and placed one of their comforters round his stomach. In such a wretched state was the poor fellow that they agreed it would endanger his life if they proceeded on their journey, and that when the weather moderated, the only course they could pursue was to return with all haste to their ship.

“As it was impossible to keep their patient warm in the tent, these two young officers burrowed a hole in a snow-drift, and into this cavity they transported the sick man, themselves, and all their tent robes, closing the aperture by placing over it the tent and sledge. They deprived themselves of their own clothing for the benefit of the invalid, whose frozen feet they actually placed inside their clothes in direct contact with their bodies, until their own heat was extracted and they were themselves severely frost-bitten in various parts. The poor fellow was now in a very low state; he could retain neither food nor liquid. About 6 P.M. he was very bad; this time worse than before. There appeared to be no heat in him of any kind whatever, and he had acute pains in the stomach and back. ‘We chafed him on the stomach, hands, face, and feet, and when he got better wrapped him up in everything warm we could lay our hands upon,’ namely their own clothing, which they could ill afford to lose; but they entirely forgot their own condition in their endeavours to ameliorate that of their comrade. Lighting their spirit lamp and carefully closing every crevice by which the cold air could enter, they succeeded in raising the temperature of the interior to 7°; but ‘the atmosphere in the hut became somewhat thick.’ This was, however, preferable to the intense cold. Let us follow the story out, and learn how nobly these two officers tended their sick and suffering companion. ‘We were constantly asking if he was warm in his feet and hands to which he replied in the affirmative; but before making him comfortable’ (fancy being comfortable under such circumstances) ‘for the night, we examined his feet, and found them both perfectly gelid and hard from the toes to the ankle, his hands nearly as bad. So each taking a foot we set to work to warm them with our hands and flannels, as each hand and flannel got cold warming them about our persons, and also lit up the spirit lamp. In about two hours we got his feet to, and put them in warm foot gear, cut his bag down to allow him more room to move in, and then wrapped him up in the spare coverlet. His hands we also brought round and bound them up in flannel wrappers, with mitts over all. Gave him some warm tea and a little rum and water, which he threw up. Shortly after I found him eating snow, which we had strictly forbidden once or twice before. In endeavouring to do this again during the night, he dragged his feet out of the covering; but only a few minutes could have elapsed before this was detected by Lieutenant Rawson, who, upon examining his feet found them in much the same state as before. We rubbed and chafed them again for over an hour, and when circulation was restored wrapped him up again, and so passed the third night.’

RETURN TO THE SHIP

“On the following morning Petersen appeared to be slightly better, so thinking it was preferable to run the risk of taking him back as he was, rather than to pass another such night as the last, they put him on the sledge; and, having hurriedly eaten their breakfast, they started for the ship with all despatch. They had a rough journey before them of eighteen miles; but they knew it was a case of life and death, and they encouraged the dogs to their utmost speed. The dogs, being homeward bound, were willing enough and needed little persuasion, so that, for a time, they rattled along at a good pace. But actual progress could not have been very rapid, for we read in Egerton’s report that the patient’s ‘circulation was so feeble that his face and hands were constantly frost-bitten, entailing frequent stoppages whilst we endeavoured to restore the affected parts.’ The difficulties of the homeward journey may be gathered from the following extracts: ‘On arriving at the Black Cape we had to take the patient off the sledge, and while one assisted him round, the other kept the dogs back, for by this time they knew they were homeward bound, and required no small amount of trouble to hold in. After getting the sledge round and restoring Petersen’s hands and nose (which were almost as bad again a few minutes after), and securing him on the sledge, we again set off. At the cape the same difficulties were experienced, in fact, rather more, for the sledge took a charge down a “ditch,” about twenty-five feet deep, turning right over three times in its descent, and out of which we had to drag it, and while clearing harness (which employed us both, one to stand in front of the dogs with the whip, while the other cleared the lines), the dogs made a sudden bolt past Lieutenant Rawson, who was in front with the whip, and dragged me more than a hundred yards before we could stop them. At length, after the usual process with Petersen (that of thawing his hands and nose, which we did every time we cleared harness, or it was actually necessary to stop), we got away, thankful that our troubles were over. The dogs got their harness into a dreadful entanglement in their excitement to get home, but we were afraid to clear them lest they should break away from us, or cause us any delay, as we were both naturally anxious to return with the utmost speed to the ship, and so relieve ourselves of the serious responsibility occasioned by the very precarious state in which our patient was lying. Upon arriving alongside at 6:30 P.M., we were very thankful that Petersen was able to answer us when we informed him he was at home.’

“In conclusion Lieutenant Egerton says:—

“‘I regret exceedingly that I have been compelled to return to the ship without having accomplished my journey to H. M. S. Discovery; but I trust that what I have done will meet with your approval, and that the course I adopted may be the means of having lessened the very serious and distressing condition of Petersen.’”

Poor Petersen never recovered from the effects of his terrible experience. He gradually sank and died peacefully, on the 14th of May.

The work of these two brave young officers on this occasion stands out conspicuously amongst the many deeds of daring and devotion with which the annals of Arctic adventure abound. Five days after their return to the ship (20th of March) the same two officers, accompanied by a couple of sailors and a sledge drawn by seven dogs, started once more for the Discovery. After five days of a toilsome journey rendered all the more severe by intense cold, they reached the ship and were warmly welcomed by her officers and crew.

Disco Island

The serious sledging work of the expedition was undertaken as early in the season as April 3, in a temperature of 33° below zero. Seven sledges under the command of Markham and Aldrich and manned by a force of fifty-three officers and men started on that day for the long-cherished object of reaching the Pole and of exploring the northern shores of Grinnell Land. “On the second day out,” writes Markham, “the temperature fell to 45° below zero, or 77° below freezing point. The cold then was so intense as to deprive us of sleep, the temperature inside the tent being as low as -25°, the whole period of resting being occupied in attempting to keep the blood in circulation. Several frost-bites were sustained, but they were all attended to in time, and resulted in nothing worse than severe and very uncomfortable blisters.”

By the 10th of April the depot of provisions established near Cape Joseph Henry during the autumn was found undisturbed. At this point the supporting sledges returned to the ship and the two divisions separated and advanced on their solitary missions. The northern division under Markham, with two heavily laden sledges and seventeen men, leaving land pushed straight out into the rugged polar pack. Handicapped by the two boats which they carried, and in dread of an open polar sea, they advanced, after abandoning one of the boats, seventy-three miles, but the advance being made with divided loads, more than two hundred seventy-six miles was actually covered. Reaching the farthest north up to that time, 83° 20´ N., 64° W., May 12, 1876, the depleted condition of the party and the rugged conditions of the ice-floes, forced the gallant Markham to retreat.

“It is unnecessary to describe,” writes Markham, “the incidents that occurred on each successive day during the return journey. Snow fell heavily, during the greater part of the return journey, and fogs were very prevalent. Gales of wind had to be endured, for to halt was out of the question—rest there was none—onward was the order of the day. As the disease gradually assumed the mastery over the party, so did the appetites decrease, and in a very alarming manner, until it was with the greatest difficulty that anybody could be induced to eat at all. Instead of each man disposing of one pound of pemmican a day, the same quantity sufficed for the entire party in one tent; and even this, occasionally, was not consumed. Nor was the subject of eating and drinking so often discussed. During the outward journey, beefsteaks and onions, mutton chops and new potatoes, and Bass’s beer, formed the chief topics of conversation. On the return journey they were scarcely alluded to. Hunger was never felt; but we were all assailed by an intolerable thirst, which could only be appeased at meal times, or after the temperature was sufficiently high to admit of quenching our thirst by putting icicles into our mouths.”

On the 27th of May the condition of the party was so critical that it became evident that to insure their reaching the ship alive the sledges must be considerably lightened. Five men were utterly unable to move, and were consequently carried on the sledges, five more were almost as helpless, but insisted on hobbling after the sledges. Three others were showing decided scorbutic symptoms, leaving only two officers and two men, who could be considered effective.

Terra firma was reached on May 5, but the party were in such a deplorable condition that though only forty miles remained between them and the ship their progress was so slow that it would take them fully three weeks to cover the distance, and by that time who would be left alive? Assistance had, therefore, to be obtained.

“To procure it,” writes Commander Markham, “one amongst us was ready and willing to set out on this lonely and solitary mission with the firm reliance of being able to accomplish what he had undertaken, and with the knowledge that he possessed the full confidence of those for whose relief he was about to start on a long and hazardous walk. On the 7th of June, Lieutenant Parr started on his arduous march to the ship. Deep and heartfelt were the God-speeds uttered as he took his departure, and anxiously was his retreating form watched until it was gradually lost to sight amidst the interminable hummocks.”

The following day one of their number died, and was buried near by. The saddened and suffering party now left this desolate spot and made an attempt to push on toward the ship.

“On the morning of the 9th,” writes Markham, “a rainbow was seen, which, being an unusual sight, afforded much interest. On the same day, shortly after the march had been commenced, a moving object was suddenly seen amidst the hummocks to the southward. At first it was regarded as an optical illusion, for we could scarcely realize the fact that it could be anybody from the Alert. With what intense anxiety this object was regarded is beyond description. Gradually emerging from the hummocks, a hearty cheer put an end to the suspense that was almost agonizing, as a dog-sledge with three men was seen to be approaching. A cheer in return was attempted, but so full were our hearts that it resembled more a wail than a cheer. It is impossible to describe our feelings as May and Moss came up, and we received from them a warm and hearty welcome. We felt that we were saved, and a feeling of thankfulness and gratitude was uppermost in our minds, as we shook the hands of those who had hurried out to our relief the moment that Parr had conveyed to them intelligence of our distress. Those who a few short moments before were in the lowest depths of despondency appeared now in the most exuberant spirits. Pain was disregarded and hardships were forgotten as numerous and varied questions were asked and answered.

“We heard with delight that they were only the vanguard of a larger party, headed by Captain Nares himself, that was coming out to our relief, and which we should probably meet on the following day. A halt was immediately ordered, cooking utensils lighted up, ice made into water, and we were soon all enjoying a good pannikin full of lime-juice, with the prospect of mutton for supper!”

On the 14th of June, after seventy-two days of travel and hardship, Commander Markham’s party reached the Alert. Out of fifteen men, one had gone to his long home, eleven others were carried alongside the ship on sledges, the remaining three barely able to hobble aboard.

“A more thorough break-up of a healthy and strong body of men it would be difficult to conceive,” comments Markham. “Not only had the men engaged in the extended party under my command been attacked with scurvy, but also those who had been absent from the ship only for short periods, and some who may be said never to have left the ship at all, or if they did, only for two or three days! The seeds must have been sown during the time, nearly five months, that the sun was absent, and we were in darkness.”

The serious condition of the crew of the Alert determined Captain Nares to publicly announce on the 16th of June that immediately upon the return of the other sledge parties he would rejoin the Discovery, transfer all the invalids, and send the ship home. The Alert would remain a second winter at Port Foulke, and in the spring sledge parties would endeavour to explore Hayes Sound and the adjacent lands, after which the Alert would return to England. This cheerful news did much to restore the invalids to convalescence, and immediately a change for the better was noticed among all hands.

Considerable anxiety was felt, however, for Lieutenant Aldrich’s party. Although his route was along the coast-line, and it was hoped that a supply of hares, geese, and perhaps musk-oxen might occasionally be secured, every one knew that his supply of provisions was all but exhausted, and for the purpose of his relief a party of three men under Lieutenant May left the ship June 18.

The intervening time until Sunday, June 25, was one of great concern to all on board; on that day the wanderers were seen struggling through the hummocks some six or seven miles off. A relief party immediately left the ship and brought the men on board. All but two were suffering from scurvy. Only Lieutenant Aldrich and two men were able to walk alongside the ship, and one of these was in a critical condition for many weeks after. They had been absent from the ship eighty-four days, having explored two hundred twenty miles of new coast. Passing Cape Columbia, 83° 07´ N., Lieutenant Aldrich reached his farthest point on the 18th of May, 1876, in 82° 16´ N., 86° W., at Cape Alfred Ernst.

It now became the arduous work of the few members of the ship’s company who were in good health to minister to the numerous invalids, prepare the ship for leaving winter quarters as soon as the ice would permit, and make hunting trips in search of fresh meat, so essential to the cure of scurvy patients.

On the 31st of July, a fresh southwesterly wind had blown the pack off the shore, a clear channel of open water to the southward was hailed with delight, the throbbing of the engines told the men that liberation was at hand, and the Alert bade farewell to her northern home. Progress was slow, and threatened “nips” in the short journey to the Discovery tried the patience of the crew, but on August 5, while yet twenty miles distant from the sister ship, Rawson and two of the men of the Discovery came on board.

“We were, of course, delighted to see them and to hear news of our consort,” writes Commander Markham. “From them we learnt that poor Egerton had lost his way, and did not arrive on board their ship until after he had been wandering about for eighteen hours! The news from the Discovery was what we feared. Notwithstanding the large amount of musk-ox flesh procured by them during the autumn and following summer, scurvy had attacked her crew in almost the same virulent manner as it had ours. The return journeys of some of their sledge parties were simply a repetition of our own. Beaumont’s division—the one exploring the northwestern coast of Greenland—had suffered very severely, and we heard with extreme regret that two of his small party had succumbed to this terrible disease. The rest of his men, with himself and Dr. Coppinger, had not yet returned to the Discovery, having remained in Polaris Bay to recruit their healths. This was, indeed, a bitter ending to our spring campaign, on which we had all set out so full of enthusiasm and hope. It had the effect, however, of confirming Captain Nares in his resolution to proceed to England.”

The excellent work done by the sledging parties from the Discovery may be summed up as follows: Lieutenant Archer had made a thorough survey of Archer Fiord; Dr. Coppinger had visited Petermann Fiord, and Lieutenant L. A. Beaumont made extensive explorations of the Greenland coast. He had travelled to Repulse Harbour, following the coast to Cape Bryant, pushing his way across Sherard Osborn Fiord, he had left all but one man to recuperate and travelled with his single companion as far on the eastern shore as 82° 20´ N., 51° W., which he reached May 20, 1876. The return journey was a fight for life against the encroachments of scurvy; a relief party under Lieutenant Rawson and Dr. Coppinger saved the party, but two men died at Hall’s old quarters at Thank God Harbor.

The two ships now fought the good fight against the ice on their homeward journey, boring, charging, and towing as occasion required. “It was with no small amount of thankfulness,” writes Markham, “that on the 9th of September we emerged from the cold grim clutches that seemed only too ready to detain us for another winter in the realms of the Ice King, and that we felt our ship rise and fall once more on the bosom of an undoubted ocean swell.”

TWO VOYAGES OF THE “PANDORA”

On the 29th of October, 1876, the two ships reached Queenstown, having passed the Pandora in mid-ocean. The two voyages of this gallant little ship will now be taken up.

“The objects of the first voyage of the Pandora in 1875,” writes Sir Allen Young, “were to visit the western coast of Greenland, thence to proceed through Baffin Sea, Lancaster Sound, and Barrow Strait, towards the Magnetic Pole, and if practicable to navigate through the Northwest Passage to the Pacific Ocean in one season. As, in following this route, the Pandora would pass King William Island, it was proposed, if successful in reaching that locality, in the summer season when the snow was off the land, to make a search for further records and for the journals of the ships Erebus and Terror.”

The Pandora was rigged as a barkentine, and carried eight boats, including a steam cutter and three whale-boats. Her officers and crew numbered thirty-one men, with Captain Young in command. The expenses of the expedition, and the purchase and equipment of the Pandora, were undertaken by Sir Allen Young, assisted by contributions from Lady Franklin and Mr. James Gordon Bennett, who was second in command.

On the 27th of June, 1875, the Pandora sailed from Plymouth, and by July 19, stood in latitude 58° 58´ N., longitude 31° 33´ W.; by the 28th of July the first icebergs were encountered. The following day they saw the first Spitzbergen ice. At noon the same day the land about Cape Desolation could be plainly seen whenever the fog lifted.

Soon after they stood off the entrance of Arsuk Fiord; this coast is the West Bygd of the ancient Norse colonizers of Greenland, and near Arsuk was the old Norse church of Steinnals. “The whole coast,” writes Captain Young, “from S. E. to N. N. E. stood before us like a panorama, and the sea so calm, and everything so still and peaceful, excepting now and then the rumbling of an overturning berg, or the distant echo of the floes as they pressed together to seaward of us, that it almost seemed like a transition to some other world.”

At Irigtut, where the Pandora put in to coal, Captain Young had the pleasure of visiting his old ship, the Fox. At Irigtut also are located the famous cryolite mines, discovered by the Danish missionaries who first sent specimens to Copenhagen as ethnographical curiosities. The cryolite is found near the shore, resting immediately upon gneiss. The purest is of snow-white colour, the grayish white variety being second in quality. It much resembles ice which has been curved and grooved by the action of the sun’s rays; its component parts are double hydrofluate of soda and alumina. It melts like ice in the flame of a candle, and it is used principally for making soda, also for preparing aluminum.

The Pandora was highly favoured by the singularly open condition of Melville Bay; bergs proved plentiful, but no dreaded ice-floe impeded her progress. A change in the ice conditions was first noticeable while off the Gary Islands. And upon leaving the islands and proceeding toward Lancaster Sound, the Pandora fell in with the ice the 20th of August while lying about thirty miles east of Cape Horsburgh.

“Three bears being seen on the ice,” writes Captain Young, “I went away in the second cutter with Pirie and Beynen, and after shooting the old she-bear and one cub we succeeded in getting a rope around the larger cub and towing him to the ship. Now began a most lively scene. The bear was almost full grown, and it was with some difficulty we got him on board and tied down the ring-bolts with his hind legs secured; and notwithstanding this rough treatment he showed most wonderful energy in trying to attack any one who came within reach, and especially our dogs, who seemed to delight in trying his temper. He was at last secured on the quarter deck with a chain round his neck and under his fore arms, and soon began to feed ravenously on—I am sorry to have to write it—his own mother, who was speedily cut up and pieces of her flesh thrown to my new shipmate. I hope that he was only an adopted child, and the great difference between him and the other cub warranted this supposition, as, being three times the size of the other, he could not have been of the same litter.” A few days later we read, “Our new shipmate, the bear, made desperate struggles to get over the rail into the sea, but the chain was tightened, and at last he went to sleep.”

On the 23d of August, a barrier of ice across Lancaster Sound obliged Captain Young to retrace his steps. Snow, sleet, and wind prevailed as they scudded onward, an ice blink frequently ahead; then the inevitable floe in streams and loose pieces, with the sea dashing over them as they flew between.

“While we were in this situation,” Captain Young observes, “our bear gradually worked himself into a state of frantic excitement—getting up to the rail,—watching the floe-ice rapidly dashing past our side—and in his attempts to get over the bulwarks, he released his chain until it was evident that in a few moments he would be free, whether to dive overboard or to run amuck among the watch appeared a question of doubt. The alarm being given by Pirie, who was writing up the deck log, the watch was called to secure the bear, and I fear that during the half hour which elapsed the ship was left, more or less, to take care of herself. The whole watch, besides Pirie with a revolver and myself with a crowbar, assaulted the unfortunate Bruin, whose frantic struggles and endeavours to attack every one within reach were quite as much as we could control. He was loose, but by a fortunate event a running noose was passed round his neck, and the poor brute was hauled down to a ring-bolt until we could secure the chain round his neck and body. I had hitherto no conception of the strength of these animals, and especially of the power of their jaws. Fearing that the iron crowbar might injure his teeth, I jammed a mop handle into his mouth while the others were securing his chain, and he bit it completely through. At last Bruin gave in, and beyond an occasional struggle to get loose, and a constant low growling, he gave us no further trouble. I ought to mention that in the midst of the scrimmage the Doctor was called up to give him a dose of opium, in the hope of subduing him by this means; but having succeeded in getting him to swallow a piece of blubber saturated with chloroform and opium sufficient to kill a dozen men, our Bruin did not appear to have experienced the slightest effect, and the Doctor, who volunteered to remain up, and expressed some anxiety as to the bear’s fate, retired below somewhat disappointed.”

Making Barrow Strait for the purpose of reaching Beechey Island, the Pandora pursued her course, in fog and snow; Beechey Island was reached on the 25th. Going on shore, Captain Young and two officers inspected the state of provisions and boats at Northumberland House. It will be remembered that Northumberland House was built by Commander Pullen of the North Star, which wintered there in 1852-1853 and 1853-1854, as a depot for Sir Edward Belcher’s expedition. The house was built in the fall of 1852, of the lower masts and spars from the American whaler McLellan, which had been crushed in the ice in Melville Bay in 1852.

Captain Young found that the house had been stove in at the door and sides, by the wind and by bears, and almost everything light and movable had been blown out or dragged out by the bears, which had also torn up all the tops of the bales, and scattered the contents in all directions. The house was nearly full of ice and snow frozen so hard as to necessitate the use of pick-axe and crowbar before anything could be moved. Tea-chests and beef casks had been broken open and the contents scattered or devoured. The place presented a scene of ruin and confusion, although there were no traces of the place having been visited by human beings since the departure of Sir Leopold M’Clintock in the Fox, the 14th of August, 1853.

A cask of rum had remained intact, “a conclusive proof to my mind,” writes Captain Young, “that neither Eskimo nor British sailor had entered that way.” The boats, however, were found in good condition, and had escaped the ravages of time and wild animals.

Weighing anchor the Pandora stood to the southward for Peel Strait. Captain Young visited a cairn in which a record had been placed by Captain James C. Ross, 7th of June, 1849.

An attempt was made to push through to Bellot Strait, but the fast closing in of the ice determined Captain Young to retreat and abandon his cherished hope of making the Northwest Passage this year. A race with the ice to Cape Rennell and a second visit to the Cary Islands resulted in finding a record left there by the Alert and Discovery, which brought glad tidings to friends at home. By the 11th of September, the Pandora sighted Cape Dudley Digges, about ten miles distant, “the wind freshening to a gale, with a high flowing sea, which froze as it lapped our sides.”

Cape York was passed the next day. A stormy passage continued to harass them until the 19th, when the Pandora reached the harbour of Godhaven. After a four days’ stay at Godhaven, she continued in her course; on the 1st of October she stood southward of the cape, steering direct for the English Channel, and anchored at Spithead, the 16th of October, 1875.

The Pandora put to sea on her second voyage from the Southampton Docks, May 17, 1876, for the double purpose of making another attempt to sail through Peel and Franklin straits, and navigate the coast of North America to Behring Strait, and to carry out the instructions of the British Admiralty in an attempt to communicate with the Alert and Discovery, at Littleton Island or Cape Isabella. Proceeding under sail, she reached Godhaven by the 7th of July.

Here desolation and gloom seemed to overwhelm the little settlement, owing to the storehouse having burned and consumed the entire winter’s production of oil and blubber, some two hundred barrels, as well as all the store belonging to the United States Polaris expedition. Such a disaster to the poor Greenlanders was quite as great a catastrophe as the burning of half of London would be to a Britisher. However, a cordial welcome awaited Captain Young from the hospitable natives, and, “In fact,” he writes, “we thoroughly enjoyed our stay in port, and all made great friends with the Greenlanders. The only drawback was caused by the quantities of the most venomous mosquitoes I ever saw, and they did their very best thoroughly to torment us. I never in any climate knew such a pest as we found these Greenland mosquitoes, for wherever we went, either on shore or in a boat, and even on board ship, they followed us persistently, and at whatever hour, night or day, it was always the same. I was this time more bitten than I ever was before. My head and hands were completely swollen, and one of my eyes shut up.”

On the 11th of July, the Pandora steamed out of Godhaven, in the direction of Waigat, making a brief stop at Njaragsugssuk, and putting in for coal at Kudliest. By the 16th, she stood off Hare Island, and two days later was running under canvas towards Upernavik. Leaving on the 19th, the ship proceeded slowly through a dense fog toward Brown Island. The Duck Islands were passed on the 21st, the fog again made progress extremely difficult, and the complications of thousands of icebergs, of every conceivable form and shape, intermingled with the drifting floes of ice, almost blocked the way to the north.

The following days were passed in the greatest anxiety by Captain Young. The Pandora was beset in the ice-pack of Melville Bay, and in spite of blasting with gunpowder all around her, where the pressure was greatest, the enormous icebergs driving through towards her position threatened her destruction at any moment.

On the 29th of July, a frightful storm disrupted the pack, and, after twenty-four hours of uncertainty and danger, the Pandora steamed her way, inch by inch, yard by yard, into the open sea. “Cheers burst spontaneously from the crew as we launched out into the ocean and made all sail to a fair wind from the S. W.”

The “North Water” at last, with the whole season ahead and a straight course for Cape York and the Cary Islands; a brief stop to examine the Pandora’s depot of the previous year, and by August 2 the ship was passing west of Hakluyt Island. A stop was made at Sutherland Island for the purpose of finding any despatches from Captain Nares that may have been left there, but only Captain Hartstein’s record was found, left there August 16, 1855, when he touched at this point in his search for Dr. Kane.

At Littleton Island, which was reached August 3, Captain Young was more successful, and a record written July 28, 1875, and left there by Captain Nares, gave full information of the British expedition up to that date. As it was evident that no sledging party had touched at that point in the spring, Captain Young’s mission was over, and he turned his attention to the main object of his voyage, that of attempting the Northwest Passage via Peel Strait, previous to which, however, he made an examination of the bays and inlets between Littleton Island and Cape Alexander.

Touching at Cape Isabella, Lieutenants Arbuthnot and Becker landed and found a second communication from Captain Nares, left there July 29, 1875. Letters for the Alert and Discovery and a record of the Pandora’s visit were deposited at this point. A second attempt to reach Cape Isabella for the purpose of a more thorough examination of a cask, described by the first landing party, and supposed by Captain Young to contain letters or despatches, resulted in the Pandora’s spending three weeks in a struggle with the ice for an approach. When Cape Isabella was finally reached, after days of delay and disappointment, the cask which had caused so much anxiety and interest was found to be empty.

So much time had been lost in the disappointing effort to reach Cape Isabella, that the season was far advanced, and the Pandora found herself in a most critical position in the ice-pack. To proceed northward had become out of the question by the 27th of August, and furious storms literally drove the ship out of Smith Strait to the southward. Captain Young’s personal disappointment at the turn of affairs was only surpassed by the disappointment of the crew, who, after the buffeting and danger of their recent experience, showed an eagerness to risk passing a winter in some snug harbour. The pack gradually receded as the Pandora made her way toward Hakluyt Island, and the way was clear for an immediate return to England. The only important incident of the return voyage was the meeting with the Alert and Discovery in latitude 54° 38´ N., longitude 44° 30´ W. The gallant little Pandora, continuing in her course, made Portsmouth harbour on the 3d of November, 1876.

SCHWATKA’S SEARCH FOR FRANKLIN RECORDS

Following in chronological order the interesting voyages of the Pandora, but of a totally different character was the remarkable land journey of over two thousand eight hundred nineteen geographical miles by Lieutenant Schwatka, U. S. A., with W. H. Gilder, in the years of 1878-1879, undertaken for the purpose of discovering the Franklin records, should they still exist on King William Land, or in the vicinity of the route taken by the survivors of the Erebus and Terror.

Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka was of Polish descent, American by birth, and had served with distinction in the Third Cavalry. His daring and courage led him to a desire for Arctic adventure, and, having secured leave of absence from the government and the support of the National Geographic Society, he left New York on the 19th of June, 1878, in the Esther, with four companions, under the following instructions:—

“Upon your arrival at Repulse Bay, you will prepare for your inland journey by building your sledges and taking such provisions as are necessary. As soon as sufficient snow is on the ground, you will start for King William Land and the Gulf of Boothia. Take daily observations, and whenever you discover any error in any of the charts, you will correct the same. Whenever you shall make any new discoveries, you will mark the same on the charts; and important discoveries I desire to be named after the Hon. Charles P. Daly and his estimable wife, Mrs. Maria Daly. Any records you may think necessary for you to leave on the trip, at such places as you think best, you will mark ‘Esther Franklin Arctic Search Party, Frederick Schwatka in command; date, longitude, and latitude; to be directed to the President of the National Geographic Society, New York, United States of America. Should you be fortunate in finding the records, remains, or relics of Sir John Franklin or his unfortunate party, as I have hopes you will, you will keep them in your or Joe’s control, and the contents thereof shall be kept secret, and no part thereof destroyed, tampered with, or lost. Should you find the remains of Sir John Franklin or any of his party, you will take the same, have them properly taken care of, and bring them with you. The carpenter of the Esther will, before you start on your sledge journey, prepare boxes necessary for the care of relics, remains, or records, should you discover the same. Whatever you may discover or obtain, you will deliver to Captain Thomas F. Barry, or whoever shall be in command of the schooner Esther or such vessel as may be despatched for you. You are now provisioned for eighteen months for twelve men. I shall next spring send more provisions to you, so that in the event of your trip being prolonged, you shall not want for any of the necessaries of life. You will be careful and economical with your provisions, and will not let anything be wasted or destroyed. Should the expedition for which it is intended prove a failure, make it a geographical success, as you will be compelled to travel over a great deal of unexplored country.”

Winter quarters were established at Camp Daly on the shore ice of Hudson Bay, and intercourse kept up among the natives of Chesterfield Inlet, for the purpose of enlisting their support on the sledge journeys planned for the spring and to secure all available information regarding Sir John Franklin or his unfortunate crew.

Lieutenant Frederick Schwatka

From a portrait in the possession of A. Operti, Esq.

By the 1st of April, the sledge party started on the long march towards King William Land. Lieutenant Schwatka was accompanied by the original party of four white men and fourteen Eskimos. The sleds were drawn by forty-two dogs; the loads aggregated about five thousand pounds on the day of starting, consisting largely of walrus meat for the dogs, a liberal equipment of guns, ammunition, and articles of trade, besides the following list of provisions:—

	lbs.
Hard bread	500
Pork	200
Compressed corned beef	200
Corn starch	80
Oleomargarine	40
Cheese	40
Coffee	40
Tea	5
Molasses	20

This, it will be seen, was only about one month’s rations for seventeen people, and was, in fact, nearly exhausted by the time the party reached King William Land. Dependence was placed on the hunting and abundance of game; five hundred and twenty-two reindeer, besides musk-oxen, polar bears, and seals were secured in the course of the entire journey.

Travelling overland to the Back River, the party experienced all the fatigues incident to sledge progress, especially the Americans, who, unaccustomed to long marches, suffered greatly from blistered feet and muscular soreness. The country seemed alive with game, and on the 11th of May seven reindeer were killed and on the 13th as many as nine.

The northern shore of the Back River is bounded by high hills, almost a mountain range, and inland could be seen rocky hills piled together, barren and forbidding. About noon on the 14th, the party came upon some freshly cut blocks of snow turned up on end,—a sure sign of natives in the vicinity,—and farther on footprints in the snow as well as a cache of musk-ox meat. Following the tracks after breaking camp the next day, the party soon reached several igloos, and communication was immediately established with the inhabitants. The chief spokesman was an Okjoolik, who with his family comprised all that was left of the tribe which formerly occupied the western coast of Adelaide Peninsula and King William Land. From this interesting and important witness much information about the Franklin party was gained. When quite a little boy he had seen some white men alive, and from the description it might have been Lieutenant Back and his party. Years later, he saw a white man dead in the bunk of a big ship, which was frozen in near an island about five miles west of Grant Point on Adelaide Peninsula. He and his son had seen the tracks of white men on the mainland. The natives had boarded the ship at intervals, and, not knowing how to use the doors, had cut a hole in the side on a level with the ice and entered for the purpose of stealing wood and iron. In the following spring, the ship had filled with water and sunk. There were evidences that people had lived aboard the ship, as some cans of fresh meat mixed with tallow were found. There were knives, forks, spoons, pans, cups, and plates aboard, and afterwards a few articles were found on shore after the vessel had gone down.

Another native described seeing two boats on the Back River containing white men, and he also saw a stone monument on Montreal Island containing a pocket knife, a pair of scissors, and some fish hooks, but no papers of any description.

After an encampment of two days and a half, Lieutenant Schwatka continued his journey accompanied by some of these natives as guides.

In native encampments beyond Ogle Point and Richardson Point, an old woman was found who proved an interesting witness; she had been one of a party who had met some of the survivors of the Erebus and Terror on Washington Bay. She described seeing ten white men dragging a sledge with a boat on it. The Innuits encamped near the white men and stayed in their company about five days. The natives had killed some seals which they shared with the white men. In return, the old woman’s husband had been given a knife and other articles now lost. The white men looked very thin, and their mouths were dry and hard and black. The natives moved on, but the white men could not keep up with them, and remained behind. The following spring, the old woman had seen a tent standing on the shore at the head of Terror Bay. In it were dead bodies, and outside were others covered with sand. There was no flesh on them,—nothing but bones and clothes. About the tent were knives, forks, spoons, watches, and many books, besides clothing and other personal articles.

Lieutenant Schwatka visited the cairn erected by Captain Hall over the bones of two of Franklin’s men, near the Pfeffer River; a few relics were gathered up in the vicinity of Adelaide Peninsula, one a bunk fixture with the initials “L. F.” in brass tacks upon it.

Cape Herschel, on King William Island, was reached in June. Lieutenant Schwatka made a thorough examination of the western shore of the island as far as Cape Felix. At Cape Jane Franklin, Captain Crozier’s camp was found, where the entire company of the two abandoned ships had remained some time; strewn about were many relics of the party and the grave of Lieutenant Irving. Gilt buttons were found among the rotting cloth and mould at the bottom of the grave, and upon one of the stones at the foot of the grave was found a silver medal, two and a half inches in diameter, with a bas-relief portrait of George IV surrounded by the words—

Georgius IIII, D. G. Brittanniarum
Rex, 1820

and on the reverse a laurel wreath surrounded by

Second Mathematical Prize, Royal
Naval College

and inclosing

Awarded to John Irving,
Midsummer, 1830.

The remains of Lieutenant Irving were brought home for burial in Edinburgh.

The record deposited by M’Clintock on the 3d of June, 1859, was also found; much of it was illegible, and the cairn in which it had been deposited had been destroyed by natives.

The return from King William Land was started September 19. It will be remembered that for months the party had subsisted entirely on game found in the locality, that their original supply of provisions had lasted a little more than thirty days, and that the return was in the face of the fast approaching winter. Fortunately, reindeer were seen daily in immense herds.

“We cut quantities of reindeer tallow with our meat,” remarks Gilder, “probably about half our daily food. Breakfast is eaten raw and frozen, but we generally have a warm meal in the evening. Fuel is hard to obtain, and consists entirely of a vine-like moss called ik-shoot-ik. Reindeer tallow is also used for a light. A small flat stone serves for candle-stick, on which a lump of tallow is placed, close to a piece of fibrous moss called mun-ne, which is used for a wick. The tallow melting runs down upon the stone and is immediately absorbed by the moss. This makes a very cheerful and pleasant light, but is most exasperating to a hungry man, as it smells exactly like frying meat. Eating such quantities of tallow is a great benefit in this climate, and we can easily see the effect of it in the comfort with which we meet the cold.”

Directing his course toward the Great Fish-Back River, Lieutenant Schwatka began its ascent in November. The cold was intense, from 20° to 70° below zero.

“We found the travelling on Back’s River much more tedious than we had anticipated,” writes Gilder, “owing to the bare ice in the vicinity of the open-water rapids and the intense cold which kept the air filled with minute particles of ice from the freezing of the steam of the open water.”

On December 28, 1878, Lieutenant Schwatka decided to abandon travel on the Great Fish-Back River, owing to the scarcity of game in the vicinity. The Innuit hunters having reported the land sledging in good condition toward the southeast,—indeed, much better than upon the river,—and indications pointing to an abundance of game in that direction, the party immediately struck out for Depot Island.

The extreme cold experienced at this period of the journey was trying beyond expression, and had a serious effect upon man and beast. Even iron and wood were affected, strong oak and hickory breaking to the touch like icicles. It was a matter of great difficulty to keep the guns in working order, and the wary game would hear the sound of the crunching of the hunters’ tread on the snow at long distances.

“I have frequently heard,” remarks Gilder, “the crunching of the sled runners on the brittle snow—a ringing sound like striking bars of steel—a distance of over two miles.”

The mean temperature for December was -50.4° Fahrenheit, the lowest -69°; on January 3 the thermometer fell to the lowest point experienced by Lieutenant Schwatka’s party, and stood at -70° in the morning and -91° at five o’clock in the afternoon. The party had long been without the fatty food so essential to retain bodily warmth in these fearful temperatures, and the dogs, although fed upon frozen reindeer meat, which, however, has but little nourishment in it in that state for cold weather, began to sicken and die. The small amount of blubber now remaining only served for lighting the igloos at night, and a cooked meal could only be indulged in on days when the party remained in camp and could gather moss for fuel. To add to the general misery under which the return journey was continued, wolves were frequently met with, so ravenous and bold that they attacked the dogs for the purpose of eating the meat thrown out to them. On another occasion:—

“Toolooah was out hunting on the 23d of February,” writes Gilder, “when a pack of about twenty wolves attacked him. He jumped upon a big rock, which was soon surrounded, and there he fought the savage beasts off with the butt of his gun until he got a sure shot, when he killed one, and while the others fought over and devoured the carcass, he made the best of the opportunity to get back into camp. It was a most fortunate escape, as he fully realized.”

Two days later, the same hunter, while following a reindeer not far from camp, was surprised to meet another Innuit, whom he found to be an acquaintance; from this man he learned that Depot Island was about three days’ journey off. Returning to camp with this happy intelligence, it was decided to push on and lighten the sledges at the igloo of this native the following day, and then by forced marches reach Depot Island as soon as possible.

The prospect of finding ships in the harbour, with news from home and friends, did much to revive the hope and spirits of the jaded party, and when, as they approached their destination, friendly natives were encountered, their joy and emotion knew no bounds. But though their reception among the Innuits had been warm and hearty, their joy was tempered with disappointment to find that the only ship in the bay was at Marble Island, and that Captain Barry of the Esther had failed to deposit at Depot Island a thousand pounds of bread and other provisions belonging to Lieutenant Schwatka upon which he had depended. This failure to keep a promise resulted in the party of twenty-two hungry travellers and nineteen starving dogs being forced upon the hospitality of the natives, and in less than a week famine existed in camp, and the situation became desperate. Storms had prevented the hunting of walrus and seal, until the eighth day after their arrival. In the meantime, Lieutenant Schwatka with two companions had pushed on to Marble Island for assistance. All they had to eat was a little walrus blubber, and in a forced march of twenty-four hours they covered seventy-five miles. The desperate situation in the settlement at Depot Island is described by Gilder as follows:—

“People spoke to each other in whispers, and everything was quiet, save the never-ceasing and piteous cries of the hungry children begging for food which their parents could not give them. Most of the time I stayed in bed, trying to keep warm and to avoid exercise that would only make me all the more hungry.”

Four days later, the hunters were successful in killing a walrus, and this timely relief enabled the members of Schwatka’s party to continue their journey to Marble Island. On the first day out, they met a native with relief for the camp. On Saturday, March 21, 1880, the ship George and Mary was reached, where a warm welcome awaited them from Captain Baker. When freed from the ice in the spring, this ship carried the explorers back to civilization.

It will be remembered that, during the entire journey, the reliance for food for man and beast was solely upon the resources of the country, that the white men lived exclusively upon the same fare as the Eskimos, and that the return sledge journey was accomplished during an Arctic winter acknowledged to be of exceptional severity by the natives. To Lieutenant Schwatka’s excellent management, and thorough fitness for his position as commander, was due the success of the expedition.

“All our movements were conducted in the dull, methodical, business-like manner of an army on the march,” writes Gilder. “Every contingency was calculated upon and provided for beforehand, so that personal adventures were almost unknown or too trivial to mention.”

The results of this remarkable journey are summed up in a leading English newspaper published September 25, 1880.

“Lieutenant Schwatka has now dissolved the last doubts that could have been felt about the fate of the Franklin expedition. He has traced the one untraced ship to its grave beyond the ocean, and cleared the reputation of a harmless people from an undeserved reproach. He has given to the unburied bones of the crews probably the only safeguard against desecration by wandering wild beasts and heedless Eskimos, which that frozen land allowed. He has brought home for reverent sepulture, in a kindlier soil, the one body which bore transport. Over the rest he has set up monuments to emphasize the undying memory of their sufferings and their exploits. He has gathered tokens by which friends and relatives may identify their dead, and revisit in imagination the spots in which the ashes lie. Lastly, he has carried home with him material evidence to complete the annals of Arctic exploration.”

W. H. Gilder

From a portrait in the possession of A. Operti, Esq.