“Though we had not been supported by our names and characters, we should not the less have claimed from charity the attentions that we received; for never was seen a more miserable set of wretches. Unshaven since I know not when, dirty, dressed in rags of wild beasts, and starved to the very bones, our gaunt and grim looks, when contrasted with those of the well-dressed and well-fed men around us, made us all feel (I believe for the first time) what we really were, as well as what we seemed to others. But the ludicrous soon took the place of all other feelings; in such a crowd and such confusion, all serious thought was impossible, while the new buoyancy of our spirits made us abundantly willing to be amused by the scene which now opened. Every man was hungry, and was to be fed; all were ragged, and were to be clothed; there was not one to whom washing was not indispensable, nor one whom his beard did not deprive of all human semblance. All, every thing too, was to be done at once: it was washing, dressing, shaving, eating, all intermingled: it was all the materials of each jumbled together, while in the midst of all there were interminable questions to be asked and answered on both sides; the adventures of the ‘Victory,’ our own escapes, the politics of England, and the news, which was now four years old. But all subsided into peace at last. The sick were accommodated, the seamen disposed of, and all was done for us which care and kindness could perform. Night at length brought quiet and serious thoughts, and I trust there was not a man among us who did not then express where it was due his gratitude for that interposition which had raised us all from a despair which none could now forget, and had brought us from the borders of a most distant grave to life, and friends, and civilization. Long accustomed, however, to a cold bed on the hard snow or the bare rocks, few could sleep amidst the comfort of our new accommodations. I was myself compelled to leave the bed which had been kindly assigned me, and take my abode in a chair for the night; nor did it fare much better with the rest. It was for time to reconcile us to this sudden and violent change, to break through what had become habit, and to inure us once more to the usages of our former days.”
The “Isabella” remained some time longer in Baffin’s Bay to prosecute the fishery, and thus our Arctic voyagers did not return to England before October 15, 1833, when they were received as men risen from the grave. Wherever Ross appeared, he was met and escorted by a crowd of sympathizers; orders, medals, and diplomas from foreign states and learned societies rained down upon him. London, Liverpool, Bristol, and Hull presented him with the freedom of their respective cities; he received the honor of knighthood; and, though last, not least, Parliament granted him £5000 as a remuneration for his pecuniary outlay and privations.
It may easily be imagined that his long-protracted absence had not been allowed to pass without awakening a strong desire to bring him aid and assistance. Thus, when Captain (afterwards Rear-admiral Sir George) Back, that noble Paladin of Arctic research, volunteered to lead a land expedition in quest of Ross to the northern shore of America, £4000 were immediately raised by public subscription to defray expenses. While deep in the American wilds, Back was gratified with the intelligence that the object of his search had safely arrived in England; but, instead of returning home, the indefatigable explorer resolved to trace the unknown course of the Thlu-it-scho, or Great Fish River, down to the distant outlet where it pours its waters into the Polar Seas.
It would take a volume to relate his adventures in this expedition, the numberless falls, cascades, and rapids that obstructed his progress; the storms and snow-drifts, the horrors of the deserts through which he forced his way, until he finally (July 28) reached the mouth of the Thlu-it-scho, or, rather, the broad estuary through which it disembogues itself into the Polar Sea. His intention was to proceed to Point Turnagain, but the obstacles were insurmountable, even by him. For ten days the exploring party had a continuation of wet, chilly, foggy weather, and the only vegetation (fern and moss) was so damp that it would not burn; being thus without fuel, they had only during this time one hot meal. Almost without water, without any means of warmth, and sinking knee-deep as they proceeded on land, in the soft slush and snow, no wonder that some of the best men, benumbed in their limbs, and dispirited by the prospect before them, broke out for a moment in murmuring at the hardness of their duty.
On August 15, seeing the impossibility of proceeding even a single mile farther, Back assembled the men around him, and unfurling the British flag, which was saluted with three cheers, he announced to them his determination to return. The difficulties of the river were of course doubled in the ascent, from having to go against the stream. All the obstacles of rocks, rapids, sand-banks, and long portages had to be faced. They found, as they went on, that many of the deposits of provisions, on which they relied, had been destroyed by wolves. After thus toiling on for six weeks, they were ultimately stopped by one most formidable perpendicular fall, which obliged them to abandon their boat; and proceeding on foot—each laden with a pack of about 75 lbs. weight—they ultimately arrived at their old habitation, Fort Reliance, after an absence of nearly four months, exhausted and worn out, but justly proud of having accomplished so difficult and dangerous a voyage.
The Fish River has since been named Back’s River, in honor of its discoverer; and surely no geographical distinction has ever been more justly merited.
This indefatigable explorer had scarcely returned to England (Sept. 8, 1835), when he once more set out on his way to the Arctic regions; but his ship, the “Terror,” was so disabled by the ice that she was scarcely able to accomplish the return voyage across the Atlantic, without allowing her to make any new discoveries.
The land expedition sent out by the Hudson’s Bay Company (1837–39), under the direction of Peter Warren Dease, one of their chief factors, and Mr. Thomas Simpson, proved far more successful. Descending the Mackenzie to the sea, they surveyed, in July, 1837, that part of the northern coast of America which had been left unexamined by Franklin and Elson in 1825, from Return Reef to Cape Barrow.
Although it was the height of summer, the ground was found frozen several inches below the surface, and the spray froze on the oars and rigging of their boats, which the drift-ice along the shore ultimately obliged them to leave behind.
As they went onward on foot, heavily laden, the frequent necessity of wading up to the middle in the ice-cold water of the inlets, together with the constant fogs and the sharp north wind, tried their powers of endurance to the utmost; but Simpson, the hero of the expedition, was not to be deterred by any thing short of absolute impossibility; nor did he stop till he had reached Point Barrow. Indeed, no man could be more fit than he to lead an expedition like this, for he had once before travelled 2000 miles on foot in the middle of winter from York Factory to Athabasca, walking sometimes not less than fifty miles in one day, and without any protection against the cold but an ordinary cloth mantle.