Their course now assumed a more difficult character, as they had come face to face with the ice of Melville Bay,—that great expanse of Arctic waters which is surrounded by glacier-loaded shores, and has always been a favourite “whaling-ground.” Here they encountered some difficulty with the “pack;” the “leads,” or water-ways, curiously intersecting one another, and striking far into the ice, and so closing up that it was often necessary to haul their boats across a kind of promontory, or tongue, from one lead to another. Their troubles, however, were of brief duration. On the twentieth day after leaving Life-boat Cove, they sighted a steamer, beset in the ice, at a distance of thirty or thirty-five miles from Cape York. She could not come to them, it was true, but they could go to her; and this they prepared to do. They had not traversed half the distance, however, before they met a body of eighteen men from the ship; for they too had been seen, and recognized as white men, and relief immediately despatched. The friendly vessel proved to be the Ravenscraig of Dundee, Captain Allen, lying in lat. 75° 38’ N., and long. 65° 35’ W.
It was now found, according to the narrative of the expedition, that the relief did not come much too soon, for the boats had been considerably injured by contact with the rough hummocky ice. And the fatigue of hauling them over such a surface may be inferred from the fact that it took the Polaris crew, with their eighteen relief-men from the Ravenscraig, six hours to reach the latter vessel. The difficulty was increased by a deep slushy snow, which lay thick upon the ice, and which was not only heavy and disagreeable to the wayfarer, but exceedingly dangerous, as more than one found by sinking into the pitfalls it treacherously concealed.
But they reached the Ravenscraig at midnight, and received a hearty welcome from Captain Allen, who was able also to communicate the grateful intelligence that their comrades, the little company sent adrift on the ice-raft, were all in safety.
It has been well said that the Polaris expedition proved curiously prolific of startling and exciting incidents. From the time when Captain Bartlett of the Tigress rescued the “exhausted waifs” of the ice-floe, until the last scene in this romantic drama was enacted, the public mind had been kept in a condition of continual expectancy by the progress of events connected with the story of these Arctic explorers. The lamentable death of Captain Hall,—the long voyage on the ice-floe through the gloom of the Polar night,—the return of the nineteen castaways after so many hairbreadth escapes and wonderful adventures,—the departure of the Tigress,—the discovery of Buddington’s winter-camp,—and now the rescue of him and his crew by the Dundee whaler, formed a series of surprising and exciting events, which, if not of epical interest, would certainly seem to furnish matter for a poet’s song. Even the early annals of Arctic exploration, with their narratives of the achievements and sufferings of Hudson, Davis, Barentz, present no incidents of a more remarkable character. As men dwelt upon them, they came to acknowledge that the “age of romance” was not ended yet.
On the 18th of September 1873, the Arctic whaling-steamer arrived at Dundee with eleven of the Polaris survivors, who had been transferred to her from the Ravenscraig, as the latter was not homeward bound. Three others reached America in the Intrepid; and thus the expedition of the Polaris terminated without any loss of life, if we except the unfortunate death of her enthusiastic commander, Captain Hall.
It added nothing, it is true, to our geographical knowledge of the Arctic World; and yet it was not without some useful results. The Polaris, at all events, approached nearer to the North Pole than any one of her predecessors; and men of science were thenceforth justified in asserting that the hope of complete success was no longer chimerical. The distance to the pole from the point reached by the Polaris was comparatively so trivial, as to afford good reason for believing that it would not long baffle human resolution and enterprise. Then, again, it was established as a fact beyond doubt that Europeans could securely winter in a latitude of 81° 38’; that a ship well built and well equipped might push northward as far as 82° 16’; and that no insuperable obstacles to its further advance could then be detected. It was also shown that the temperature, even in lat. 82°, was not of a nature to overcome the energy and enthusiasm of men accustomed to life and adventure in the Arctic World. These data, so conclusively established by experience, constituted a source of great encouragement to future navigators, and permit the conclusion that the Polaris expedition, with all its disasters and mismanagement, helped forward the great work of discovering the North Pole.
“We now know,” says Mr. Markham, “that the American vessel commanded by Captain Hall passed up the strait, in one working season, for a direct distance of two hundred and fifty miles, without a check of any kind, reaching lat. 82° 16’ N.; and that at her furthest point the sea was still navigable, with a water-sky to the northward.”
The Polaris, however, was nothing better than a river-steamer of small power, ill adapted for encountering the perils of Arctic navigation,—with a crew, all told, of thirty men, women, and children, including eight Eskimos. If she could accomplish such a voyage without difficulty, and could attain so high a latitude, it was reasonable to anticipate that a properly equipped English expedition, under equally favourable circumstances, would do, not only as much, but much more, and carry the British flag into the waters of the circumpolar sea, if such existed. With this view, the Admiralty fitted out the Alert and the Discovery, under Captains Nares and Stephenson. Every precaution that science could suggest was adopted to ensure the completeness of their equipment; and the two ships, accompanied as far as Disco by H.M.S. Valorous as a tender, left England on the 29th May 1875.
The British Expedition, consisting of the Alert and the Discovery, did not succeed in all it was intended to accomplish; and yet it can hardly be spoken of as a failure. It did not reach that conventional point of geographers, the North Pole, but it penetrated within four hundred miles of it; and it ascertained the exact nature of the obstacles which render access impossible, except under conditions not at present in existence. We agree with a thoughtful writer in the Spectator that this was a most important service rendered both to Science and the State. We now know that by the Smith Sound route a ship may attain to within 450 miles of the Pole; and that, afterwards, a journey about as long as from London to Edinburgh must be undertaken, in a rigorous climate, with the thermometer 50° below zero, over ice packed up into hillocks and hummocks which render sledge-travelling almost impracticable, or practicable only by hewing out a path with the pickaxe at the rate of a mile and a half a day. And further: the work would have to be begun and completed in four months, or, from lack of light and warmth, it could not be done at all. These are serious difficulties, and whether it is worth while for men to encounter them, where the gain would be problematical, we need not here inquire. Before any attempt can be made, some provision must be discovered for protecting those who make it against the excessive cold, and for a surer and swifter mode of conveyance than the sledge affords. The journalist to whom we have referred speculates that science may furnish future expeditions with undreamt-of resources,—with portable light and heat, for instance, from the newly-discovered mines at Disco; preventives against scurvy; electric lights; supplies of dynamite for blowing up the ice; and a traction-engine to traverse the road thus constructed; but, in the meantime, these appliances are not at our command. We must be content with the measure of success achieved by Captain Nares and his gallant followers.