CAPTAIN LYON AND HIS CREW OFFERING PRAYERS FOR THEIR PRESERVATION.
In 1824 Captain George F. Lyon was despatched, in the Griper, to complete surveys of north-east America, but not specially to attempt discovery. The Griper was an old tub of a vessel, utterly unfitted for its work, and it is rather of the voyage itself, as displaying the advantages of perfect naval discipline under great disadvantages, than for any other reason, this unfortunate expedition is recorded. The vessel was a bad sailer, and constantly shipped seas which threatened to sweep everything from the decks. In Sir Thomas Rowe’s Welcome—the passage between Southampton Island and the mainland—fogs and heavy seas were encountered, while no trust could be placed in the compasses, and the water was fast shallowing. Lyon was obliged to bring the vessel “up with three bowers and a stream anchor in succession,” but not before the water had shoaled to five and a half fathoms, the ship all the while pitching bows under. So perilous was their position that the boats were stored with arms, ammunition, and provisions; the officers drew lots for their respective boats, although two of the smaller ones would have inevitably been swamped the moment they were lowered. Heavy seas continued to sweep the decks, and when the fog lifted a little a low beach was discovered astern of the ship, on which the surf was running to an awful height, and where, says Lyon, “no human power could save us if driven upon it.” Immediately afterwards the ship, lifted by a tremendous sea, struck with great violence the whole length of the keel, and her total wreck was momentarily expected. In the midst of all their misery the crew remained twenty-four [pg 177]hours on the flooded decks, and Lyon himself did not leave for his berth till exhausted after three nights’ watching. Few on board expected to survive the gale. Still, every precaution was taken for the comfort of the men, who were ordered to put on their best and warmest clothing to support life as long as possible. The officers each secured some useful instrument for future work, if, indeed, the slightest hope remained. “And now,” says Lyon, “that everything in our power had been done, I called all hands aft, and to a merciful God offered prayers for our preservation. I thanked every one for their excellent conduct, and cautioned them, as we should, in all probability, soon appear before our Maker, to enter His presence as men resigned to their fate. We then all sat down in groups, and, sheltered from the wash of the sea by whatever we could find, many of us endeavoured to obtain a little sleep. Never, perhaps, was witnessed a finer scene than on the deck of my little ship, when all hope of life had left us. Noble as the character of the British sailor is always allowed to be in cases of danger, yet I did not believe it to be possible that among forty-one persons not one repining word should have been uttered. The officers sat about wherever they could find shelter from the sea, and the men lay down, conversing with each other with the most perfect calmness. Each was at peace with his neighbour and all the world; and I am firmly persuaded that the resignation which was then shown to the will of the Almighty was the means of obtaining [pg 178]His mercy. God was merciful to us; and the tide almost miraculously fell no lower.” They were spared, and on the weather clearing discovered that they were about the centre of the Welcome. The spot where they had been in such imminent danger was named appropriately the Bay of God’s Mercy.
In the middle of September, when off the mouth of the Wager River, a gale arose, and the sluggish Griper made no progress, but “remained actually pitching forecastle under, with scarcely steerage way.” The ship was brought up, and the anchors fortunately held. Thick-falling sleet covered the decks to some inches in depth, and withal the spray froze as it fell. The night was pitchy dark; several streams of drift ice came driving down upon the ship. Lyon says that it was not possible to stand below decks, while on deck ropes had to be stretched from side to side for the men to hold by. Great seas washed over them every minute, and the temporary warmth this gave them was most painfully checked by the water immediately freezing on their clothes. At dawn on the 13th their best bower anchor parted, and later all the cables gave way. The ship was lying on her broadside. Nevertheless, each man stood to his station, and in the end seamanship triumphed; the crippled ship was brought safely to England. The cool, unflinching courage of the men and the undisturbed conduct of the officers were matters for highest praise. The royal navy could not be proud of the Griper, but could, most assuredly, of the Griper’s crew.
CHAPTER XIX.
Parry’s Boat and Sledge Expedition.
Parry’s Attempt at the Pole—Hecla Cove—Boat and Sledge Expedition—Mode of Travelling—Their Camps—Laborious Efforts—Broken Ice—Midnight Dinners and Afternoon Breakfasts—Labours of Sisyphus—Drifting Ice—Highest Latitude Reached—Return Trip to the Ship—Parry’s Subsequent Career—Wrangell’s Ice Journeys.
Undaunted by the comparative failure of his last voyage, we find Parry in 1826 proposing an attempt to reach the North Pole with sledge-boats over the ice. The reports of several navigators who had visited Spitzbergen agreed in one point—that the ice to the northward was of a nature favourable to such a project. In the two narratives descriptive of Captain Phipps’s expedition in 1773 the ice was mentioned as “flat and unbroken,” “one continued plain,” and so forth. Scoresby the younger, speaking of the ice in the same region, stated that he once saw a field so free from fissure or hummock that he imagined, “had it been free from snow, a coach might have been driven many leagues over it in a direct line without obstruction or danger.” Franklin had previously mooted a very similar proposition to that now made by Parry, and his plans were followed in many essential particulars when the sanction of the Admiralty had been given to the attempt. Two twenty-feet boats were specially constructed, nearly resembling what were called “troop-boats,” having great flatness of floor, with an even width almost to bows and stern. They were provided with strong “runners,” shod with steel in the manner of a sledge, and their construction generally was such as to combine lightness with strength. A bamboo mast, a large sail—answering also for an awning—fourteen paddles, a steer-oar, and a boat-hook, formed an essential part of the equipment of each.
The Hecla left the Nore April 4th, 1827, on this her fourth Arctic voyage; and the [pg 179]expedition reached Hammerfest April 19th, where eight reindeer[32] were taken on board, with a supply of moss for their provender. A number of snow-shoes and “kamoogas” (leather shoes, intended to be worn with the former) were also obtained. On May 14th the Hecla reached Hakluyt’s Headland, where a severe gale was encountered, which almost laid the ship on her beam-ends, and her canvas had to be reduced to her maintop-sail and storm-sails. Shortly afterwards the vessel was driven into a most perilous position, almost on to the packed ice. It was deemed advisable to try the dangerous and almost last resort of running the ship into the pack, and a tolerably open part of the margin having been found, the ship was forced into it under all sail. The plan succeeded, and the Hecla was soon in a secure situation half a mile inside the ice-field, with which she drifted vaguely about for many days. It was not till June 18th that a secure harbour for the vessel was found on the northern Spitzbergen coast, which was named accordingly Hecla Cove.