When the sun first made its appearance above the horizon, as it carried his mind away to his far-distant home, he gave expression to this emotion: “O God! how many years of my life would I give to be there!”
Every day, observations were made from neighboring elevations to ascertain the condition of the straits separating them from the Greenland coast which was distinctly visible in clear weather, hoping without hope to see it frozen over from shore to shore; but the lateness of the season precluded all reasonable expectation of such a result, and the daily reports of open water were depressing in the extreme. On the 13th of March, the announcement was made that the supplies of coffee, chocolate, and canned vegetables were all exhausted, and that henceforth they would have to depend almost entirely on pemmican, bacon, bread, and tea, all of which, though given in one-third rations only, would not last for more than a month, thus leaving them without supplies to cross the straits in the event of a satisfactory freeze. In view of all these circumstances, it is impossible to imagine how they could quietly continue their preparations for a journey to the supposed goal at Littleton Island. Surely the hope which inspired the sufferers was eternal and supreme in its strength and pathos. “The straits,” said Lockwood, “are open, and I see no prospect of their freezing so that we can get across. Of course, I hope to the contrary; for this means death, if we can find no game here.” On a subsequent day he writes as follows: “We look to the end with equanimity, and the spirits of the party, in spite of the prospect of a miserable death, are certainly wonderful. I am glad as each day comes to an end. It brings us nearer the end of this life, whatever that end is to be.”
On the 23d of March, the last of the regular fuel was exhausted, and the food was so nearly gone that the men actually began to collect their seal-skin clothing and foot-gear for any emergency that might happen. Game was not only scarce, but the men were getting almost too weak to endure a hunt. To avoid long tramps, which were sure to be unsuccessful, they turned their attention to shrimp-fishing, but, as one man could only get three pounds in one day, the prospect in this direction was not hopeful.
During the month of March and the early part of April, there was nothing done by the able-bodied members of the party but to try to secure some game, the only incidents occurring to interrupt the monotony being the deaths of the Esquimaux Frederick Christiansen, and Sergeant Lynn. The former had been complaining for a week or more, but nobody thought him in danger, and he died unexpectedly. Lockwood’s tribute to him was to this effect: “He was a good man, and I felt a great affection for him. He constantly worked hard in my service, and never spared himself on our sledge-trips. His death makes me feel very sorrowful.” He was buried by the side of Cross, near the lake. The death of Lynn was also unexpected. He fully appreciated his condition, and gave some directions regarding his last wishes. He was much liked, and highly spoken of by all. After the burial service had been read at the house by Lieutenant Greely, his remains were also placed by the lake-side with those of Cross and the Esquimaux.
The drama was about to close, the curtain already falling upon the band of heroes:
“And their hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums were beating
Funeral marches to the grave.”
The phantom of Starvation, which had long been following them over the ice and snow, and dallying with their hopes and fears as they lay in their comfortless camps, had now become a terrible reality, determined to assert all his powers. Three of his victims were already under the snow, and were soon followed by several others, including the one who had directed them in many of their duties and befriended them in trouble, and whose honored name, attached to a noted island and a famed headland in the Arctic world, will be forever remembered with pride and affection by his countrymen.
The concluding paragraph in Lieutenant Lockwood’s journal was written on the 7th of April, 1884, and alludes to the sickness and death of his two comrades. In the last allusion that he makes to himself, he speaks of his excessive weakness, and of the fact that he could not rise from his sleeping-bag without great difficulty. His death occurred two days afterward.