AN ARCTIC SNOW-STORM.
On the 1st of January 1872, it is recorded that eighty days had elapsed since the adventurers had seen the sun. The internal economy of the Polaris, meantime, was pitiably disorganized. There was no discipline, no order, no method. The men did what they pleased, and consequently made night hideous by their prolonged carousals. The officers disagreed among themselves, and the object of the expedition appeared to have been lost sight of, or no longer to excite any deep or permanent interest. It was even discussed as a proper and probable course to abandon the proposed northward exploration, and, as soon as the ice broke up, to make all haste back to New York.
Early in February, the daylight began to gain upon the night a little, and the Eskimos hunted for seals, as they could be heard under the ice making their breathing holes. Storms were very frequent—storms which drove the snow afar in dense, blinding clouds; and false moons and other atmospheric phenomena attracted the attention of the curious observer. On the 28th, after an absence of one hundred and thirty-five days, the sun reappeared; and never was royal guest more eagerly welcomed by a loyal people. Its rays seemed to bring with them a promise of new life. Men’s hearts grew lighter in spite of themselves, and all felt as if they had been relieved from a heavy and intolerable burden. Not that the temperature showed any perceptible difference. The thermometer indicated 37° below zero on the 1st of March!
Passing over a couple of months which present no incidents of importance, we find that on the 9th of May the monotonous dulness of the expedition was broken by a sledge-journey to the north, undertaken by Captain Tyson, with Meyers, Joe, and Hans as companions. They were absent from the ship six days; striking inland, in an east-north-east direction, to Newman Bay, and thence keeping more to the north, until they reached lat. 82° 9’. Mr. Meyers surveyed the shores of Newman Bay, and Captain Tyson endeavoured to secure some game. One day they came on a large herd of musk-oxen. These animals act very curiously when an attack is made upon them. They form a circle, stern to stern, and await the assault of their enemies. The dogs surround them, and keep them at bay. Not unfrequently a dog gets tossed. Though Joe and the captain fired and reloaded as fast as they could, the poor brutes offered no resistance; but when eight had fallen, the remainder took to flight. The slaughtered oxen were then flayed, and the best pieces cut up for conveyance to the ship.
These cattle develop their great size and weight on what might be supposed to form a very slender diet. Their food is the mosses and lichens which grow on the rocks; and to obtain it, they must first scrape away the snow with their hoofs. At the first sign of danger, the calves shelter themselves under their parents’ body; and their hair is so long as to afford the young a very complete and satisfactory screen. The musk-ox is an animal of considerable bulk. Several of those shot by Tyson and the Eskimos weighed from 500 to 600 lbs. each. In proportion to their size and weight, their legs are very short.
Early in June, Captain Buddington resolved to despatch a couple of boats, for the purpose of exploring the neighbouring coast, and discovering, if possible, an open water channel to the north. One of these was placed under the command of Mr. Chester; the other, of Captain Tyson. Mr. Chester’s boat was nipped in an ice-floe, and crushed to pieces. The crew escaped with difficulty, but the historical flag was lost. Captain Tyson pushed forward to Newman Bay, where some eider-ducks, gulls, and dove-kies were shot. Joined by Mr. Chester—who had returned to the ship, and secured the safety-boat—he found his further progress arrested by that compact, insuperable field of ice which is the despair of Arctic navigators. All attempts to get further to the north proved in vain; and orders to return having arrived from Captain Buddington, there was nothing to be done but to rejoin the Polaris.
The summer passed away, and still the Polaris lay beset among the ice; or, rather, drifted slowly to the southward, along with the floe to which it was attached. No sledge-expeditions were organized; and Captain Buddington’s sole concern was to watch for an opportunity of getting out into the open channel, and returning to New York. Some slight progress southward was occasionally made; but towards the end of October it became evident that the explorers would have to spend a second winter in their frozen captivity. They had been carried beyond Rensselaer Harbour, where Dr. Kane wintered during 1853–55, and began the construction of a store-house for provisions, in case the ship should be endangered by the drifting ice.
This dreaded catastrophe did indeed occur, on the night of the 15th. The pressure of the floe was tremendous, but the Polaris bore it bravely, though groaning and creaking in every timber. After awhile, however, it was found that she had started a leak aft, and that the water was gaining on the pumps. The discovery seems to have startled Buddington out of all coolness or reflection. He threw up his arms, and cried out to “throw everything on the ice.” Immediately all was chaos. The men seized whatever lay near to their hands, and threw it overboard. A quantity of stores had been previously placed on the deck, in anticipation of such an event; but these were now hurled on the floe in indiscriminate confusion, and with considerable loss. Captain Tyson and some of the men got overboard, with the view of arranging things in, at least, a semblance of order; but while he was thus engaged, the ice commenced cracking. Shortly afterwards it exploded under his feet, and broke in many places; the ship drove away in the darkness, and Tyson and his companions immediately lost sight of her.