CHAPTER XXXIV.
SOMETHING NEW.
WHILE the civilized world were awaiting with deep interest the results of the search for Sir John Franklin, and while learned geographers and practical navigators to the regions of cold were devising new methods of search for him, a young engraver was working out a problem in reference to this great enterprise peculiarly his own. Without special educational advantages, without the resources of wealth or influential friends, but with the inspiration of one feeling, "a divine call" to the undertaking, he matured his plans and began to publish them abroad. He seems to have at once imparted his own enthusiasm to others. The mayor of his own city, Cincinnati, the governor and senator of his own State, Ohio, the latter the eminent Salmon P. Chase, late Chief-Justice of the United States, became his patrons. Coming east, many of the great and wise men of our large cities gave him an attentive hearing, and not a few encouraged his project. The princely merchant, Henry Grinnell, who had already done so much in the Franklin search, took him at once into kindly sympathy.
From New York he went to New London. From the old whalemen, at least from individuals of them of marked character and large experience in Arctic navigation, he obtained encouraging words.
His plan of search which thus so readily commended itself was this: He would go into the region where it was now known that Franklin and some of his men had died; he would live with the Esquimo, learn their language, adopt their habits of life, and thus learn all that they knew of the history of the ill-fated expedition. He assumed that many of its men might yet be alive, and if they were, the natives would know it, know where they were, and could guide him to them.
To prepare himself for this work he became conversant with Arctic literature, learning all that the books on the subject taught; he applied himself closely to the study of the practical science bearing on his enterprise, learning the use of its instruments. He sought interviews and correspondence with returned explorers and whalemen. In fact, his heart was in the work with a downright enthusiasm.
The marked features of his plan seemed to be two—it was inexpensive and new. As to the manning of his expedition, he proposed to go alone; as to vessels, he asked none. He only asked to be conveyed to the proposed Esquimo country, and to be left with its natives. We might name a third attractive feature of this plan, one which always inspires interest—it was bold, bordering on the audacious!
We need hardly say to our readers that the name of this new candidate for Arctic perils and honors was Charles Francis Hall—a name now greatly honored and lamented.[A]
Mr. Hall was born in Rochester, New Hampshire, in 1821, where he worked a while at the blacksmith's trade, but left both the trade and his native place in early life for the Queen City of the West. The result of Mr. Hall's enthusiastic appeals was an offer by the firm of Williams & Haven, whale-ship owners of New London, to convey him and his outfit in their bark "George Henry" to his point of operations, and if ever desired, to give him the same free passage home in any of their ships. The "George Henry" was going, of course, after whales, and proposed thus to convey him as an obliging incident of the trip.
This proposal was made in the early spring of 1860. On the twenty-ninth of May he sailed. His outfit was simple, and had the appearance of a private, romantic excursion. It consisted of a good sized, staunch whale-boat built for his special use, a sledge, a few scientific instruments, a rifle, six double-barreled shot-guns, a Colt's revolver, and the ammunition supposed to be necessary for a long separation from the source of supply. A start was given him in a small store of provisions; beyond that he was to supply himself. A tolerable supply of trinkets were added as a basis of trade with the natives. What funds this miniature exploring expedition required was given largely by Mr. Grinnell.
The "George Henry" was accompanied by a tender, a small schooner named the "Rescue," having already an Arctic fame. The officers and crew of both vessels numbered twenty-nine, under command of Captain S. O. Buddington.
We have spoken of Mr. Hall as the only man of his exhibition; he had after all one companion. The previous year Captain Buddington had brought home an Esquimo by the name of Kudlago, who was now returning to his fatherland and to his wife and children. Upon him Mr. Hall largely depended as an interpreter, a friend, and guide, in his work.
The run of the "George Henry" to the Greenland coast was made with but one marked incident. That was to Mr. Hall a very sad one, giving him the first emphatic lesson in the uncertainty of his most carefully devised schemes. It was the death and burial at sea of Kudlago. He had left New London in good health, taken cold in the fogs of Newfoundland, and declined rapidly. He prayed fervently to be permitted to see his wife and children—only that, and he would die content. He inquired daily while confined to his berth if any ice was in sight. His last words were, "Teiko seko? teiko seko?"—Do you see ice? do you see ice? The Greenland shore was just in sight when he departed, and his home and family were three hundred miles away.
The "George Henry" and her tender, the "Rescue," sailed north, along the Greenland coast, as far as Holsteinberg, where Mr. Hall purchased six Esquimo dogs. The vessel then stood southwest across Davis Strait and made, August eighth, a snug harbor, which Mr. Hall called Grinnell Bay, a little north of what is known as Frobisher Strait. Here Mr. Hall was to land and commence his Esquimo life, alone and far away from a Christian home, while the vessel went about its business capturing whales. His feelings on the voyage are indicated by the following extract from his diary:
"A good run with a fair breeze yesterday. Approaching the north axis of the earth! Aye, nearing the goal of my fondest wishes. Every thing relating to the arctic zone is deeply interesting to me. I love the snows, the ices, the icebergs, the fauna and the flora of the North. I love the circling sun, the long day, the arctic night, when the soul can commune with God in silent and reverential awe! I am on a mission of love. I feel to be in the performance of a duty I owe to mankind, myself, and God! Thus feeling I am strong at heart, full of faith, ready to do or die in the cause I have espoused." How he felt when actually engaged in his "mission of love," we shall see.
We must not, however, think of Mr. Hall in a region comparable to that which included the winter-quarters of Kane and Hayes in the expeditions we have just described. They were at least twelve degrees farther north, Mr. Hall being south of the arctic circle, so that his winter nights were shorter and milder. His present field of operation was on a coast visited by the whale-ships, and where they at times wintered. Besides, natives had been for many years in contact with white men, and were in some respect more agreeable companions. He will therefore, as we follow him, lead us into new scenes of peculiar interest, and show us novel features in the character of the Esquimo.
The whale-ship "Black Eagle," Captain Allen, lay in Grinnell Bay on the arrival of our voyagers, and the captain soon appeared on the deck of the "George Henry," with several Esquimo. One of these natives, named Ugarng, especially attracted Mr. Hall's attention. He was intelligent, possessing strong lines of character, and a marked physical development. He had spent a year on a visit to the United States. Speaking of New York, he said with a sailor's emphasis: "No good! too much horse! too much house! too much white people! Women? Ah! women great many—good!" Ugarng will become a familiar acquaintance.
Mr. Hall had been giving special attention on the voyage across Davis Strait to his dogs, and they were now to become a chief dependence. He fed them on capelin, or dried fish. One day he called them all around him, each in his assigned place, to receive in turn his fish. Now there was one young, shrewd dog, Barbekark, who had not heard, or had never cared to heed the proverb that "honesty is the best policy." He said to himself, "If I can get two of the fish while the other dogs get but one, it will be a nice thing to do;" so, taking his place near the head of the row, he was served with his capelin. Then, slipping out, he crowded between the dogs farther down, and with a very innocent look awaited his turn. His master thought this so sharp in young Barbekark that he pretended not to see the trick, and dealed him a fish as if he had received none. On going the round again his master found him near the head of the row and then at the foot, so the rogue obtained Benjamin's portion. Seeing his success, he winked his knowing eye as much as to say, "Ain't I the smartest dog in the pack!" But Barbekark had entered on a rough road with many turns, as all rogues do. After going round several times, during which the trick was a success, Mr. Hall skipped the trickster altogether. It mattered not what place he crowded into, there was no more fish for him. The upshot was that he received many less than did his companions. Never did a dog look more ashamed. From that time he kept his place when fish were distributed.
Mr. Hall, making the vessel his home, made frequent visits ashore, and received many Esquimo visitors on board, and was thus becoming acquainted with the people. An early visitor was Kokerjabin, wife of Kudlago, accompanied by her son. She had learned in her tent that her anxiously awaited husband had been left in the deep sea. She entered the cabin and looked at her husband's white friends, and at the chest which contained his personal goods, with deep emotion; but when Captain Buddington opened the chest, the tears flowed freely; and when she, in taking out things, came to those Kudlago had obtained in the States for herself and her little girl, she sat down, buried her face in her hands, and wept with deep grief. She soon after went ashore with her son to weep alone.
Another very marked character was Paulooyer, or, as the white men called him, Blind George. He was now about forty years of age and had been blind nearly ten years, from the effects of a severe sickness. To this blindness was added domestic sorrow. His wife Nikujar was very kind to him for five years after his loss of sight, sharing their consequent poverty. But Ugarng, who had already several wives, offered her a place in his tent as his "household wife"—the place of honor in Esquimo esteem. The offer was tempting, for Ugarng was "a mighty hunter," and rich at all times in blubber, in furs and skin tents and snow huts. So she left poor George, taking with her their little daughter, called Kookooyer. This child became a pet with Ugarng, as she was with her blind father.