The Eskemo was left with the dogs, while the two white men, wrapped in their furs, laboriously climbed an adjoining mountain, half a mile in height. From the crest they scanned the snowy landscape, the very picture of desolation. Twenty miles to the northeast, the direction they were traveling, they made out a dark promontory, terminating in a rocky headland and penetrating the Polar Ocean, while between it and them a number of islands reared their heads and were separated by fiords. Half of the remaining horizon was filled with the dismal ice of the Frozen Sea.
They had no expectation of meeting with animal life in this world of desolation, but they fired several times (and missed) at ptarmigan, and, having wounded a rabbit, succeeded in running it down. It was a mystery to them how this little animal found the means of sustaining life so near the Pole.
It may be wondered how far these three men would have gone had it been possible to travel. They became accustomed to the exhaustive work, but the end of the journey was reached on the 13th of May, when they paused on the edge of an immense fissure in the ice, extending indefinitely to the right and left, and too broad to be crossed. They searched for a long time, only to learn that it was utterly out of their power to go a foot further. Nothing remained but to learn their exact location.
While Lockwood was preparing to take an observation, the sun was obscured by fog. All the next day so furious a storm raged that they could do nothing but huddle in their tent and wait for it to pass. Finally, the conditions became favorable and Lockwood made his observations with the utmost care. When they were completed the astounding truth was revealed that their latitude was 84° 24½' north and 40° 461½ west from Greenwich. This surpassed the achievement of the Nares expedition sent out by England, in 1875-76, for the sole purpose of reaching the furthest northern point possible. Lockwood and Brainard, therefore, had attained the highest point, which up to that time had never been reached by man. On the 7th of April, 1895, however, Dr. Fridtjof Nansen, the Norwegian explorer, penetrated to 86° 15', which surpassed that of Lockwood and Brainard by 200 miles and was within 225 miles of the Pole itself.
The return journey was as exhausting and trying as the outward one, but the little party never lost courage. Fort Conger was reached early in June, and, as may be supposed, the explorers received a royal welcome from their comrades. The three men were suffering from snow blindness, rheumatism, and various ills brought on by their exposure and terrific labors, but all were in high spirits, as they might well be, when they recalled the wonderful achievement they had made.
WEARY WAITING.
The brief summer was at hand. The snow melted during the middle of the day and the first rain they had seen fell. On the 4th of July they had shooting matches and engaged in a game of baseball. It can hardly be said, however, that the American game has gained much of a foothold north of the Arctic Circle.
All suffered from intense depression of spirits which could not be shaken off. Again hours would pass without a man speaking a word. They seemed mutually repellent and miserable. This sad condition resulted from purely physical causes and no one could be blamed for it.
The company were now waiting for the Proteus which was due. Several reports that she was in sight threw all into pleasurable excitement, but it need not be said they were doomed to disappointment, since the relief ship was at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean. The little steam launch had been repaired and enabled the party to explore the neighboring coasts for a distance of several hundred miles. A number of musk oxen were shot, but, except at certain seasons, their flesh is so strongly impregnated with musk that it is unpalatable for food.
As the weary days passed without bringing the wished-for steamer, hope sank. Many were sure some accident had befallen the ship and she would never be seen again. If so (and of course such was the fact), more months must pass before the news could be carried to the United States and a new relief expedition be sent. It was hard thus to be forgotten by their friends at home. As a last resort the party could retreat in their boats, but all dreaded the almost hopeless recourse. Gradually the summer drew to a close and once more they saw the low-sweeping sun dip below the horizon not to appear again for months. The long, horrible Arctic night again enveloped them in misery and gloom.