THE QUEST OF THE POLE
This was in the year 1610. For long generations thereafter successors of Hudson were to keep up the futile quest; and when finally it had been clearly established that no northwest passage to the Pacific could be made available, owing to the climate, the zest for arctic exploration did not abate, but its goal was changed from the hypothetical northwest passage to the geographical pole.
Henry Hudson had in his day established a farthest North record of about the eighty-second parallel of latitude—leaving only about five hundred miles to be traversed. But three centuries were required in which to compass this relatively small gap. Expedition after expedition penetrated as far as human endurance under given conditions could carry it. Some of the explorers returned with vivid tales of the rigors of the arctic climate; others fell victim to conditions that they could not overcome. But the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries passed and left the "Boreal Center" undiscovered.
Toward the close of the nineteenth century the efforts of explorers seemed to be redoubled and one famous expedition after another established new records of "farthest North." The names of Nansen, the Duke of the Abruzzi, and Peary, became familiar to a generation whose imagination seemed curiously in sympathy with that lure of the North which determined the life activities of so many would-be discoverers. So when in the early Autumn of 1909 it was suddenly announced that two explorers in succession had at last, in the picturesque phrasing of one of them, "penetrated the Boreal Center and plucked the polar prize," the popular mind was stirred as it has seldom been by any other event not having either a directly personal or an international political significance.
The two men whose claims to have discovered the pole were thus announced in such spectacular fashion, were Dr. Frederick A. Cook, of Brooklyn, and Lieutenant Commander Robert E. Peary, of the United States Navy. Dr. Cook claimed to have reached the pole, accompanied only by two Eskimo companions, on the twenty-first day of April, 1908. Commander Peary reported that he had reached the pole, accompanied by Mr. Matthew H. Henson and four Eskimos, on the seventh day of April, 1909.
The controversy that ensued regarding the authenticity of these alleged discoveries is not likely to be forgotten by any reader of our generation. Its merits and demerits have no particular concern for the purely scientific inquirer. At best, as Professor Pickering of Harvard is reported to have said, "the quest of the pole is a good sporting event" rather than an enterprise of great scientific significance. It suffices for our present purpose, therefore, to know that Dr. Cook's records, as adjudged by the tribunal of the University of Copenhagen, to which they were sent, were pronounced inadequate to demonstrate the validity of his claim; whereas Peary and Henson were adjudged by the American Geographical Society, after inspection of the records, to have accomplished what was claimed for them. What has greater interest from the present standpoint is the question, which the controversy brought actively to the minds of the unscientific public, as to how tests are made which determine, in the mind of the explorer himself, the fact of his arrival at the pole.
The question has, indeed, been largely answered in the earlier pages of this chapter, in our discussion of the sextant and the Nautical Almanac; for these constitute the essential equipment of the arctic explorer no less than of the navigators of the seas of more accessible latitudes. There is one important matter of detail, however, that remains to be noted. This relates to the manner of using the sextant. On the ocean, as we have seen, the navigator levels the instrument at the visible horizon; but it is obvious that on land or on the irregular ice fields of the arctic seas no visible horizon can be depended upon as a basis for measuring the altitude of sun or stars. So an artificial horizon must be supplied.
The problem is solved by the use of a reflecting surface, which may consist of an ordinary mirror or a dish of mercury. The glass reflector must be adjusted in the horizontal plane with the aid of spirit levels; mercury, on the other hand, being liquid, presents a horizontal surface under the action of gravitation. Unfortunately mercury freezes at about 39 degrees below zero; it is therefore often necessary for the arctic explorer to melt it with a spirit lamp before he can make use of it. These, however, are details aside from which the principles of use of glass and mercury horizon are identical. The method consists simply in viewing the reflected image of the celestial body—which in practice in the arctic regions is usually the sun—and so adjusting the sextant that the direct image coincides with the reflected one. The angle thus measured will represent twice the angular elevation of the body in question above the horizon,—this being, as we have seen, the information which the user of the sextant desires.
Of course the explorer makes his "dash for the pole" in a season when the sun is perpetually above the horizon. As he approaches the pole the course of the sun becomes apparently more and more nearly circular, departing less and less from the same altitude. Hence it becomes increasingly difficult to determine by observation the exact time when the sun is at its highest point. But it becomes less and less important to do so as the actual proximity of the pole is approached; and as viewed from the pole itself the sun, circling a practically uniform course, varies its height in the course of twenty-four hours only by the trifling amount which represents its climb toward the summer solstice. Such being the case, an altitude observation of the sun may be made by an observer at the pole at any hour of the day with equal facility, and it is only necessary for him to know from his chronometer the day of the month in order that he may determine from the Nautical Almanac whether the observation really places him at ninety degrees of latitude. Nor indeed is it necessary that he should know the exact day provided he can make a series of observations at intervals of an hour or two. For if these successive observations reveal the sun at the same altitude, it requires no Almanac and absolutely no calculation of any kind to tell him that his location is that of the pole.
The observation might indeed be made with a fair degree of accuracy without the use of the sextant or of any astronomical equivalent more elaborate than, let us say, an ordinary lead pencil. It is only necessary to push the point of the pencil into a level surface of ice or snow and leave it standing there in a vertical position. If, then, the shadow cast by the pencil is noted from time to time, it will be observed that its length is always the same; that, in other words, the end of the shadow as it moves slowly about with the sun describes a circle in the course of twenty-four hours. If the atmospheric conditions had remained uniform, so that there was no variation in the amount of refraction to which the sun's rays were subjected, the circle thus described would be almost perfect, and would in itself afford a demonstration that would appeal to the least scientific of observers.
An even more simple demonstration might be made by having an Eskimo stand in a particular spot and marking the length of his shadow as cast on a level stretch of ice or snow. Just twelve hours later let the Eskimo stand at the point where a mark had been made to indicate the end of the shadow, and it would be found that his present shadow—cast now, of course, in the opposite direction—would reach exactly to the point where he had previously stood. The only difficulty about this simple experiment would result from the fact that the sun is never very high as viewed from the pole and therefore the shadow would necessarily be long. It might therefore be difficult to find a level area of sufficient extent on the rough polar sea. In that case another measurement similar in principle could be made by placing a pole upright in the snow or ice and marking on the pole the point indicated by the shadow of an Eskimo standing at any convenient distance away. At any interval thereafter, say six or twelve hours, repeat the experiment, letting the man stand at the same distance from the pole as before, and his shadow will be seen to reach to the same mark.
Various other simple experiments of similar character may be devised, any of which would appeal to the most untutored intelligence as exhibiting phenomena of an unusual character. Absolutely simple as these experiments are, they are also, within the limits of their accuracy, absolutely demonstrative. There are only two places on the globe where the shadow of the upright pencil would describe a circle, or where the man's shadow would be of the same length at intervals of twelve hours, or would reach to the same height on a pole in successive hours. These two regions are of course the poles of the earth. It may reasonably be expected that explorers who reach the poles will make some such experiments as these for the satisfaction of their untrained associates, to whom the records of the sextant would be enigmatical. But for that matter even an Eskimo could make for himself a measurement by using only a bit of a stick held at arm's length—as an artist measures the length of an object with his pencil—that would enable him to make reasonably sure that the sun was at the same elevation throughout the day—subject, however, to the qualification that the polar ice was sufficiently level to provide a reasonably uniform horizon.
While, therefore, it appears that the one place of all others at which it would be exceedingly easy to determine one's position from the observation of the sun is the region of the pole, it must be borne in mind that the low elevation of the sun, and the extreme cold may make accurate instrumental observations difficult; and it is conceivable that the explorer who had the misfortune to encounter cloudy weather, and who therefore gained only a brief view of the sun, might be left in doubt as to whether he had really reached the goal of his ambition. Fortunately, however, the explorers who thus far claim to have reached the pole record uninterruptedly fair weather, enabling observations to be taken hour after hour. Under these circumstances, there could be no possibility of mistake as to the general location, although perhaps no observation, under the existing conditions, could make sure of locating the precise position of the pole within a few miles.
A curious anomaly incident to the unique geographical location of the pole is that to the observer stationed there all directions are directly south. Yet of course all directions are not one, and the query may arise as to how an explorer who has reached the pole may know in what direction to start on his return voyage. The answer is supplied by the compass, which—perforce pointing straight south—indicates the position of the magnetic pole and so makes clear in which direction lies the coast of Labrador. Moreover if the explorer is provided with reliable chronometers, which of course record the time at a given meridian—say that of Greenwich—these will enable him to determine by the simplest calculation what particular region lies directly beneath the sun at any given time. If, for example, his chronometer shows five o'clock Greenwich time, he knows that the sun's position, as observed at the moment, marks the meridian five hours (i.e., 75° of longitude) west of Greenwich.
While the arctic region appears thus to have given up its last secret, this is not as yet true of the antarctic. The expedition of Lieutenant (now Sir Ernest) Shackleton, in 1908, approached within about one hundred and eleven miles of the South Pole. The intervening space—less than two degrees in extent—represents, therefore, the only stretch of latitude on the earth's surface that has not been trodden by man's foot or crossed by his ships. More than one expedition is being planned to explore this last remaining stronghold, and in all probability not many years—perhaps not many months—will elapse before the little stretch of ice that separated Lieutenant Shackleton from the South Pole will be crossed, and man's conquest of the zones will be complete.
II
THE HIGHWAY OF THE WATERS
THERE is no doubt that the use of sails for propelling boats is as old as civilization itself. We know that the Egyptians used sails at least 4,000 years before the Christian era. They did not depend entirely upon the sails, however, but used oars in combination with them. Steering was done with single or double oars lashed to the stern and controlled by ropes or levers. This method of steering remained in use until late in the Middle Ages, the invention of the rudder being one of the few nautical inventions made during the centuries immediately following that unproductive period of history known as the Dark Age.
Following the Egyptians, the Phœnicians were the greatest maritime nation of ancient times, but unfortunately they have left no very satisfactory and authentic records describing their boats. In all probability, however, their ships were galleys having one or two banks of oars, fitted with sails similar to those of the Egyptians.
If our knowledge of Phœnician boats is meager, our knowledge of Greek boats, particularly the fighting craft, is correspondingly full. From the nature of its geographical location Greece was necessarily a maritime nation, and it was here that boat-building reached a very high state of development during the period of Greek predominance. Large ships fitted with sails and having several banks of rowers were used habitually in commerce and war, and it was here also that the management of sails became so well understood that oars were often dispensed with except as auxiliaries.
It was in Greece that the custom of having several banks of oars superimposed reached its highest development, but the fabulous number of such banks credited by some authors seems to be entirely without foundation. It is possible that as many as seven banks were used, although the evidence in favor of more than five is very slight.
The writings of Callixenos describe a ship said to have been used by Ptolemy Philopater, which was a forty-banker. This ship is described as 450 feet long, 57 feet broad, carrying a crew of about 7,000 men, of whom 4,000 were rowers. This description need not be taken seriously, as there is no proof that boats of such proportions were ever attempted in ancient times. But it is certain that the Greeks did build large vessels, some of them at least one hundred and fifty feet long—perhaps even larger than this. The tendency of shipbuilders during the later Greek period was to build large, unwieldy boats, which used sails under favorable circumstances, but depended entirely upon oars for manœuvering in battle.
The Romans used similar vessels of large size until the time of the battle of Actium, where the clumsy, many-banked ships of Antony and Cleopatra were destroyed by the lighter single- or double-banked vessels of Augustus. Augustus had adopted the low, swift, handy vessels of a piratical people, the Liburni, who had learned in their sea fights against all kinds of vessels that the lighter type of boat could be used most effectively. Structurally the hulls of these boats were not unlike modern wooden vessels.
While the various types of vessels were being developed in the Mediterranean region, a race of mariners far to the north were perfecting boats in which they were destined to overrun the Western seas from the tropics to the arctic circle. These people, the Norsemen, left few written descriptions that give a good idea of the construction of their boats, which were sufficiently seaworthy to enable the Danes to cross the Atlantic and colonize America. But thanks to one of their peculiar burial customs some of their smaller boats have been preserved and brought to light in recent years. It was their custom when a great chief died, to bury him in a ship, heaping earth over it to form a great mound. In most instances the wood of such boats, buried for a thousand years, has entirely disappeared; but in some mounds the boats have been preserved almost intact.
From the specimens so preserved it is known that the Norsemen knew how to shape the hulls of their boats almost as well as the modern boat-builder. This fact is interesting because the immediate successors of the Norsemen, either through ignorance or choice, reverted to most primitive types in building their boats. Thus it required centuries for them to develop a knowledge of hull-construction that was familiar in ancient times to the northern rovers. Scandinavia itself never entirely forgot the art, and there are boats built in Norway to-day closely similar in all essentials to some of the boats constructed by the Norsemen.