And these well deserve the gratitude of all who think the fame and honour of a nation are precious possessions. They have shown clearly that the “race” has not degenerated; that Englishmen can do and suffer now as they did and suffered in the old time. They displayed a courage and a fortitude of truly heroic proportions. And the experiences of Arctic voyaging are always of a nature to require the highest courage and the sternest fortitude. The long Arctic night is in itself as severe a test of true manhood as can well be devised. The miner works under conditions for less laborious than those to which the Arctic explorer submits, for he enjoys an alternation of light and darkness; his underground toil lasts but for a few hours at a time. Yet we know that it tries a man’s manly qualities sorely! What, then, must it be to keep brave and cheerful and true throughout a prolonged night of one hundred and forty-two days—that apparently endless darkness, almost the darkness of a sunless world?
We know, too, that continuous work, without relaxation, for month after month, will break down the nerves and shatter the intellect of the strongest. Yet we read that the men of the Alert toiled like slaves, on one occasion, for seventy-two days, in cold so extreme that the reader can form no conception of its severity, and with the dread constantly hanging over them of that terrible and most depressing disease, scurvy. Owing to their inability to procure any fresh game, as most former expeditions had done, each of the extended sledge-parties, when at their farthest distance from any help, was attacked by it. The return-journeys were, therefore, a prolonged homeward struggle of men who grew weaker at every step, the available force to draw the sledge continually decreasing, and the weight to be dragged as steadily increasing, as, one after another, the men stricken down had to be carried by their enfeebled comrades.
It has been well said that in such exploits as these there is a sustained heroism which we cannot fully appreciate, because we cannot fully realize the terrible character of the sacrifices involved. But it is comparatively easy for us to understand, and therefore to admire, the courage of Lieutenant Parr, when he started alone on a journey of thirty-five miles, with no other guide for his adventurous steps than the fresh track of a wandering wolf over the ice and snow, in order to carry help and comfort to his failing comrades. It is easy to understand, and therefore to admire, the devotion of Mr. Egerton and Lieutenant Rawson, when, at the imminent risk of their own lives, they nursed Petersen, the interpreter, while travelling from the Alert to the Discovery, with the temperature 40° below zero. Petersen, who had accompanied them with the dog-sledge, fell ill; and with a noble unselfishness they succeeded in retaining heat in the poor fellow’s body by alternately lying one at a time alongside of him, while the other by exercise was recovering his own vital warmth. We can also acknowledge and admire the constancy of Captain Nares, who, in that horrible climate, lived thirty-six days in the “crow’s-nest,” while his ship laboured among the grinding, shivering, crushing ice, until exhaustion overcame him. And we can acknowledge and admire the bravery and faithfulness of the men of the sledge-parties who, for days and weeks, drew the sledges and their comrades, with gloom above and around them, ice and snow everywhere bounding the prospect, and in a temperature which seemed to freeze the blood and benumb the heart.
What a tale, says a writer in the Times, what a tale of unrequited suffering it is! Surely not “unrequited;” for those who suffered, suffered at the call of duty, and have been rewarded by the approval of their countrymen, and by the consciousness of having done something great, of not having lived in vain. “How lightly do all talk of glory; how little do they know what it means! The little army had to cut its way through the ice-barriers, dragging heavily-laden sledges, and going to and fro, the whole force being often required for each sledge, content to make a mile and a quarter a day, in pursuit of an object still four hundred miles off, through increasing difficulties, and with barely five months, or one hundred and fifty days, wherein to go and return. The labour is a dreadful reality; the scheme itself a nightmare, the phantasy of a disordered brain. Even the smaller and subsidiary expedition for planting a depôt last autumn cost three amputations. The cold was beyond all former experience for intensity and length, and the physical effect of a long winter spent in the ships under such conditions is particularized as one reason why the men were less able to endure cold, labour, and the want of proper food. Every one of the expeditions, whatever the direction, came back in the saddest plight,—some dragging the rest, and in one case only reaching the ship through the heroism of an officer pushing on many miles alone to announce his returning comrades, and to procure the aid by which alone they were saved from destruction. These are episodes, but they are the matter which redeems the story and makes its truest value. They tell us what Englishmen will do on occasions beyond our feeble home apprehensions, when once they have accepted a call, and are in duty bound.”
At the time we write no elaborate record of the expedition has been published, and the materials of the following sketch are collected therefore from various narratives which have appeared in the daily journals. We shall begin by endeavouring to place before the reader, with the assistance of Mr. Clements R. Markham, a rapid summary of what the expedition accomplished. And then we shall describe its more interesting incidents.
The object of Captain Nares and his followers was to discover and explore as considerable a portion of the unknown area in the Polar Regions as was possible with reference to the means at their disposal, and to the positions the vessels succeeded in reaching as starting-points. The theories about open Polar basins and navigable waters which once obtained have long been discarded by practical Arctic geographers. A coast-line, however, is needful as a means of progress to “the threshold of work;” and it is needful, too, in order to secure the desired results of Arctic discovery in the various departments of scientific inquiry.
The expedition, then, in the first place, had to force its way through the ice-encumbered channel which connects Baffin Bay with the Polar Ocean; a channel which successively bears the names of Smith Sound, Kane Basin, Kennedy Channel, Hall Basin, and Robeson Strait. Smith Sound opens out of Baffin Bay between Capes Alexander and Isabella. The Alert and the Discovery passed these famous headlands and entered the Sound on July 29, 1875; and from that date until September 1, when the Alert crossed the Threshold of the Unknown Region, they fought one continuous battle with the ice. The Polaris, it is true, had made a rapid passage on the occasion of its memorable voyage; but the circumstances were exceptional. Generally the Sound is blocked up by heavy floes, with winding waters caused by the action of wind and tide. With great difficulty our two ships forced the barrier; but their success was due in no small measure to the skill and vigilance of Captain Nares, who allowed himself no rest until they were out of danger. At length, after many hairbreadth escapes, and many laborious nights and days, and much energy and devotion on the part of the officers, and equal courage and industry on the part of the men, the expedition reached the north shore of Lady Franklin Inlet, and found a safe, commodious harbour in lat. 81° 44’ N. Here the Discovery took up her winter quarters, as had previously been arranged; and the Alert, after a brief interval of repose, continued her northward progress.
This she was enabled to do through the opportune opening up of a water-lane between the shore and the ice. Bravely she dashed ahead, rounded Cape Union, so named by the men of the Polaris expedition, and entered the open Polar Ocean. Then, in lat. 82° 20’ N., the white ensign was hoisted on board a British man-of-war in a latitude further north than the ship of any nation had reached before. Soon afterwards the solid masses of the Polar pack-ice began to close around the adventurous vessel; and on the 3rd of September 1875, the Alert was fast fixed in her winter quarters, on the ice-bound shore of the inhospitable Polar Sea in lat. 82° 27’ N.