The arrival of the dog-sledge was a signal for the immediate departure of the “Discovery’s” sledging parties. A dog-sledge was despatched south-eastward to “Hall’s Rest” to ascertain how far the stores left by U.S.S. “Polaris” could be utilised. Then two eight-men sledges, the “Sir Edward Parry” and the “Stephenson,” under Lieutenant Beaumont and Dr. Coppinger, started for the north coast of Greenland, calling at Floeberg Beach on their way, and being there joined by Lieutenant Rawson’s sledge, the “Discovery.” They left the “Alert” on 20th April, and two smaller sledges helped them across Robeson Channel, and then left them to follow the rugged coast that we could see stretching far eastward to Cape Britannia. Another division of sledges, with Lieutenant Archer and Sub-Lieutenant Conybeare, pushed northward through Lady Franklin Sound, hoping to find it opening northward like Robeson Channel, and perhaps affording a smooth and direct route to the shores of the Polar Sea for next year’s parties.
The “Discovery” had passed a winter little, if at all, less severe than ours, but in one respect she had been more fortunate. No less than thirty-three musk oxen were secured in the autumn, and thus a supply of good fresh meat was issued twice a-week during the winter. Her routine and amusements were almost identical with our own, but we heard with surprise of her skating rink, and of dramas performed in a snow-built theatre on shore, where a temperature many degrees below zero obliged the actors to appear muffled to several times the size of ordinary stage heroes.
After a short rest, our dog-sledge returned to the “Alert,” and reached her just a day too late to give the western and northern parties news from the “Discovery.” She was then at once despatched to pioneer a “high-road” to Greenland across the narrowest part of the channel in advance of the “Discovery’s” detachment. From this time the arrival and departure of sledge-crews was a matter of daily occurrence.
Numerous supporting sledges, now travelling invariably in the hours called night, arrived from Greenland or Cape Joseph Henry, filled up with stores, and left again, each fully occupied with its own work, and only catching an occasional glimpse of what the others were doing.
It was while all were thus actively employed that sickness—the one sickness of the Arctic regions—appeared amongst us. No one with medical experience of the disease can read the sledge journals of former expeditions without recognising numerous indications of scurvy. Our parties, more than five hundred miles north of where Franklin was lost, and in an unexpectedly colder and more lifeless climate, had no greater safeguards than their predecessors. Accordingly, each sledge-crew that returned to the ship showed fresh examples of the exhaustion, swollen and sprained ankles, stiff knees, and bruised and painful legs, only too familiar to Arctic travellers. Petersen, already maimed by frost-bite, was its first victim. He died on 14th May, and on the 19th the few remaining on board carried him to his grave. A spot on the top of a small hill, half-way between the beach and the beacon on Cairn Hill, was chosen, because a long heavy slab, suitable for a tombstone, lay there. The ground was frozen as hard as rock, and it took three days’ hard work with pick and gunpowder to dig a grave three feet deep. The slab, afterwards rough-hewn by his messmates, and an oaken tablet covered with brass, marks where he lies.
PETERSEN’S GRAVE.
As the season advanced, signs of approaching summer began to appear. On 19th May, the temperature, for the first time in nine months, rose above freezing. Icicles formed from the projecting angles of the floebergs—and it may here be remarked that icicles, though very common in Arctic pictures, are rare in reality, for they only form in the brief interval between winter and summer, and last but a week or ten days. Signs of returning life began to multiply. A sledge party, returning from Cape Joseph Henry on 21st May, brought in two ptarmigan, snow white, but for one solitary brown feather on the hen. On 4th June, one of us found a little brown caterpillar creeping on some uncovered stones, and saw a flock of birds that looked like knots. In some places the snow was softening into discoloured patches, in others it was gradually leaving the ground. Light snow often fell, but the tiny star-shaped crystals evaporated without wetting the brown slate of the hill-tops. There was as yet no water in the ravines, but it was plain that the thaw was at hand. A sledge party that got back to the ship on 7th June experienced very unsettled weather, and had to wade through a good deal of soft slushy snow sometimes knee deep. The travelling season was fast drawing to a close, and our extended parties had evidently little time left for their return. Just before tea-time on 8th June, those of us who happened to be on board were startled by hearing Lieutenant Parr’s voice in the captain’s cabin. He had come alone, and we soon heard his tidings. The whole northern detachment was broken down with scurvy, and could not reach the ship without assistance, and that must be immediate. Five men were already helpless on the sledges. He had left them near Cape Joseph Henry, twenty-two hours before, and had marched in the whole way.
There was neither time nor occasion to hear more. Every soul capable of pulling at once got orders to man relief sledges. A dog-sledge, laden with immediate necessities, started in advance to cheer them with the news that help was near.