"And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold;
And ice mast-high came floating by,
As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen,
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken,
The ice was all between."
But, in spite of the murmurs and repinings of his faint-hearted followers, the dauntless commander pressed on through the strait which bears his name, until at last his little bark emerged into a boundless deep blue sea. Hudson's Bay lay before him, but the delighted discoverer was happy in the belief that the grand object of his voyage was attained, and the shortest road to India laid open to the mariners of England. It was about the beginning of August, and the spiritless crew considering the passage accomplished, urged an immediate return; but Hudson was determined on completing the adventure, and wintering if possible on the sunny shores of India.
Three months long he continued tracking the coasts of that vast northern Mediterranean, now for the first time explored by civilised man, vainly hoping to see a new channel opening to the west, until at length November came and imprisoned his small vessel in adamantine fetters. A long and dreary winter awaited the ice-bound seamen, with almost exhausted provisions, and unfortunately without that heroic patience and serene concord which had sustained the sufferings of Barentz and his companions. It must indeed have been a melancholy winter for poor Hudson, solitary and friendless among scowling ruffians, hating him as the cause of their bitter misery; but spring came at last with its consolatory sunshine, and hope once more dawned in his tortured breast. The ship is again afloat, and on the 21st of June, 1611, the captain comes forth from his cabin, refreshed by the sleep of a quiet conscience, and strong in body and mind to meet the duties of the day. But as he steps on deck his arms are suddenly pinioned, and he finds himself in the power of a mutinous crew. He looks around for some trace of sympathy, but hatred meets him in every eye. Inquiry, remonstrance, entreaty, command, all alike fail to move their stubborn resolution, and now Hudson resigns himself bravely to his fate, with all the quiet dignity of a noble nature, and looks calmly at the ominous preparations going forward. A small open boat is in waiting, and into this he is lowered, some powder and shot and the carpenter's box come next, followed by the carpenter himself, a strong brave fellow, the captain's one devoted adherent among the rebellious crew; the sick and infirm complete the unfortunate cargo. A signal is given, the boat is cast adrift, and soon the last faint cry for mercy expires in the breeze which carries the vessel onwards on its homeward course.
Thus perished the high-minded Hudson, without further tiding or trace, on the scene of his glory; but the vengeance of heaven soon overtook the ringleaders of that dark conspiracy. Some fell in a fight with the Eskimos, and others died on the homeward voyage, which was performed under the extremity of famine. Whatever horrors may have attended the last moments of Hudson, his sufferings were less, for his conscience was undefiled by guilt.
In the year 1616 Baffin sailed round the enormous bay to which his name has been given, but without attempting to penetrate through any one of those wide sounds that have led the Arctic navigators of our days to so many glorious discoveries.
From the times of Tasman, whose bold voyage through the wastes of the Southern Pacific has already been mentioned, to those of our own immortal Cook, but very little was done for the progress of geography, as if, after so many heroic endeavours, the spirit of maritime discovery had required a long repose to recruit its energies, ere the greatest navigator of modern times was destined to unveil the mysterious darkness which still concealed one half of the vast Pacific from the knowledge of mankind. The voyages most worthy of remark during this period were those of the Cossack Semen Deshnew (1654), who sailed from the mouth of the Kolyma River round the eastern promontory of Asia, and must be considered as the discoverer of Behring's Straits; of the adventurous Dampier (1689-1691), that strange combination of the buccaneer, the author, and the naturalist, who first discovered the strait which separates New Guinea from New Ireland; of the Dutchman Roggewein (1721-23), who made known some islands in the Pacific; of the brothers Laptew and of Prontschitschew (1734-1743), who unveiled the greatest part of the Siberian coast; of Commodore Anson (1740-1744), whose heroic sufferings and successes in the Pacific still live in the memory of his countrymen; and of the unfortunate Behring (1730-1741), who terminated his second unsuccessful exploring expedition by a miserable death on a desert island.
After the peace of Aix la Chapelle England felt that the dominion of the seas imposed upon her the obligation of extending the bounds of geographical knowledge, and thus in rapid succession Byron (1764) and Wallis and Carteret (1766-1768) were sent forth to discover unknown shores, while France made a simultaneous effort to refresh the somewhat meagre laurels she had reaped by the voyages of Verazzani and Cartier. The consequences of this emulation were not unimportant. Bougainville (1766-1768) completed the discovery of the Solomon Islands, which Mendana had only partly seen; Wallis made the world acquainted with the beauties of Tahiti, and Byron explored the unvisited coasts of Patagonia. But the fame of these worthy mariners was soon eclipsed by a greater renown, for, in the same year that Wallis returned from his expedition, Cook sailed from the port of Plymouth on his first voyage round the world.