Thus in the days of Elizabeth the question of the north-west passage was again revived, and Martin Frobisher, who had solicited merchants and nobles during fifteen years for means to undertake “the only great thing left undone in the world,” sailed in the year 1576 with three small vessels of 35, 30, and 10 tons, on no less an errand than the circumnavigation of Northern America. The reader may smile at the ignorance which encouraged such efforts, but he can not fail to admire the iron-hearted man who ventured in such wretched nutshells to face the Arctic seas. The expedition safely reached the coasts of Greenland and Labrador, and brought home some glittering stones, the lustre of which was erroneously attributed to gold. This belief so inflamed the zeal for new expeditions to “Meta Incognita,” as Frobisher had named the coasts he had discovered, that he found no difficulty in equipping three ships of a much larger size, that they might be able to hold more of the anticipated treasure. At the entrance of the straits which still bear his name, he was prevented by the gales and drift-ice from forcing a passage to the sea beyond, but having secured about 200 tons of the supposed golden ore, the expedition was considered eminently successful. A large squadron of fifteen vessels was consequently fitted out in 1578 for a third voyage, and commissioned not only to bring back an untold amount of treasure, but also to take out materials and men to establish a colony on those desolate shores. But this grand expedition, which sailed with such extravagant hopes, was to end in disappointment. One of the largest vessels was crushed by an iceberg at the entrance of the strait, and the others were so beaten about by storms and obstructed by fogs that they were at length glad to return to England without having done any thing for the advancement of geographical knowledge. The utter worthlessness of the glittering stones having meanwhile been discovered, Frobisher relinquished all further attempts to push his fortunes in the northern regions, and sought new laurels in a sunnier clime. He accompanied Drake to the West Indies, commanded subsequently one of the largest vessels opposed to the Spanish Armada, and ended his heroic life while attacking a small French fort in behalf of Henry IV. during the war with the League.
The discovery of the North-western Passage was, however, still the great enterprise of the day, and thus sundry London merchants again “cast in their adventure,” and sent out John Davis, in 1585, with his two ships, “Sunshine” and “Moonshine,” carrying, besides their more necessary equipments, a band of music “to cheer and recreate the spirits of the natives.” Davis arrived in sight of the south-western coast of Greenland, where he saw a high mountain (Sukkertoppen) towering like a cone of silver over the fog which veiled the dismal shore. The voyagers were glad to turn from the gloomy scene, and to steer through the open water to the north-west, where, on August 6, they discovered land in latitude 66° 40´ altogether free from “the pesters of ice, and ankered in a very fair rode.” A friendly understanding was established with the Esquimaux, and a lively traffic opened, the natives eagerly giving their skins and furs for beads and knives, until a brisk wind separated the strange visitants from their simple-minded friends. The remainder of the season was spent in exploring Cumberland Sound and the entrance to Frobisher’s and Hudson’s Straits.
In the following year Davis undertook a second voyage to the north-west, for which the “Sunshine” and “Moonshine” were again engaged, with two other vessels. On June 29, 1586, he landed on the coast of Greenland, in latitude 64°, and soon after steered to the west. The enormous ice-floes which, as is well known, come drifting from Baffin’s Bay until the season is far advanced, opposed his progress. For some days he coasted these floating islands, when a fog came on, during which ropes, sails, and cordage were alike fast frozen, and the seamen, hopeless of accomplishing the passage, warned their commander that “by his over-boldness he might cause their widows and fatherless children to give him bitter curses.”
Touched by this appeal, Davis ordered two of his ships to return home, and pushing on in the “Moonshine” with the boldest of his followers, he reached the American shore, which he coasted from 67° to 57° of latitude. Off the coast of Labrador two of his sailors were killed by the natives, and September being ushered in by violent gales, he gave up further attempts for the year, and returned to England.
On June 16, 1587, we once more find him on the coast of Greenland, in his old tried bark the “Sunshine,” in company with the “Elizabeth” and a pinnace. The supplies for this third voyage being furnished under the express condition that the expenses should be lightened as much as possible by fishing at all suitable times, the two larger ships were stationed for the purpose near the part of the coast which they had formerly visited, while Davis steered forward in the small and ill-conditioned vessel which alone remained at his disposal. He first sailed along the Greenland coast as far as 72° lat., where, having fairly entered Baffin’s Bay, he named the point at which he touched Sanderson’s Hope, in honor of his chief patron, and then steered to the west, until he once more fell in with the ice-barrier which had prevented his progress the year before. Time and perseverance, however, overcame all obstacles, and by July 19 he had crossed to the opposite side of the strait which bears his name. He then sailed for two days up Cumberland Strait—which, it will be remembered, he discovered on his first expedition—but believing this passage to be an inclosed gulf, he returned, and again passing the entrance to Hudson’s Bay without an effort to investigate it, repaired to the rendezvous appointed for the two whaling-vessels to meet him on their way to England. But who can paint his astonishment and consternation when he found that his companions had sailed away, leaving him to find his way home in his miserable pinnace, which, however, landed him safely on his native shores? This was the last of the Arctic voyages of that great navigator, for the spirit of the nation was chilled by his three successive disappointments; and all the zeal with which he pleaded for a fourth expedition proved fruitless.
He subsequently made five voyages to the East Indies, and was killed on December 27, 1605, on the coast of Malacca, in a fight with the Malays.
Seven years after Davis’s last Arctic voyage the Dutch made their first appearance on the scene of northern discovery. This persevering people had just then succeeded in casting off the Spanish yoke, and was now striving to gain, by the development of his maritime trade, a position among the neighboring states, which the smallness of its territory seemed to deny to it. All the known avenues to the treasures of the south were at that time too well guarded by the fleets of Portugal and Spain to admit of any rivalry; but if fortune favored them in finding the yet unexplored northern passage to India, they might still hope to secure a lion’s share in that most lucrative of trades.
Animated by this laudable spirit of enterprise, the merchants of Amsterdam, Enkhuizen, and Middelburg fitted out in 1594 an expedition in quest of the north-eastern passage, which they intrusted to the command of Cornelius Corneliszoon, Brant Ysbrantzoon, and William Barentz, one of the most experienced seamen of the day. The three vessels sailed from the Texel on June 6, and having reached the coast of Lapland, separated into two divisions; Barentz choosing the bolder course of coasting the west side of Nova Zembla as far as the islands of Orange, the most northerly points of the archipelago; while his less adventurous comrades were contented to sail along the Russian coast until they reached a strait, to which they gave the very appropriate name of Vaigats, or “Wind-hole.” Forcing their way through the ice, which almost constantly blocks up the entrance to the Kara Sea, they saw, on rounding a promontory at the other end of the strait, a clear expanse of blue open sea, stretching onward as far as the eye could reach, while the continent trended away rapidly towards the south-east. They now no longer doubted that they had sailed round the famous Cape Tabin—a fabulous headland, which, according to Pliny (an indisputable authority in those times of geographical ignorance), formed the northern extremity of Asia, from whence the voyage was supposed to be easy to its eastern and southern shores. Little did Brant and Cornelius dream that within the Arctic Circle the Asiatic coast still stretched 120° to the east; and fully trusting their erroneous impressions, they started in full sail for Holland, eager to bring to their countrymen the news of their imaginary success. Off Russian Lapland they fell in with Barentz, who, having arrived at the northern extremity of Nova Zembla—a higher latitude than any navigator is recorded to have reached before—had turned back before strong opposing winds and floating ice, and the three vessels returned together to Texel.
Such were the hopes raised by the discovery of the imaginary Cape Tabin that, losing sight of their habitual caution, the merchants of Middelburg, Enkhuizen, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam immediately fitted out a fleet of six ships, laden with all sorts of merchandise fit for the Indian market. A little yacht was added, which was to accompany the fleet as far as that promontory, and thence to return with the good news that the squadron had been left steering with a favorable wind right off to India. But, as may well be supposed, these sanguine hopes, built on the unsubstantial fabric of a vision, were doomed to a woful disappointment, for the “Wind-hole Strait,” doing full justice to its name, did not allow the vessels to pass; and after fruitless efforts to force their way through the ice-blocks which obstructed that inhospitable channel, they returned crestfallen to the port whence they had sailed a few months before with such brilliant expectations.
Although great disappointment was felt at this failure, the scheme of sailing round Cape Tabin to India was, however, not abandoned by the persevering Amsterdamers; and, on May 16, 1596, Heemskerk, Barentz, and Cornelis Ryp once more started for the north-east. Bear Island and Spitzbergen were discovered, whereupon the ships separated, Cornelis and Heemskerk returning to Holland, while Barentz, slowly making his way through the fog and ice, advanced to the most northern point of Nova Zembla, the crew being encouraged by the tidings that from the high cliffs of Orange Island clear open water had been seen to the south-east. The effort to reach this inviting channel was frustrated by the ice, which gathered about the ship as it lay near shore, and gradually collecting under and around it, raised it far above the level of the sea. All hope of return before the next summer now vanished, but these brave sailors submitted with resignation to their fate, “though much grieved,” says Gerrit de Veer, who was himself an eye-witness of all the incidents he relates, “to live there all that cold winter, which we knew would fall out to be extremely bitter.” Fortunately a quantity of drift-wood was found on the strand, which served the Dutchmen both for the construction of a small hut and for fuel.