“The place of the observatory,” he writes, “was as near to the Magnetic Pole as the limited means which I possessed enabled me to determine. The amount of the dip, as indicated by my dipping-needle, was 89° 59´, being thus within one minute of the vertical; while the proximity at least of this pole, if not its actual existence where we stood, was further confirmed by the action, or rather by the total inaction, of the several horizontal needles then in my possession.”
“As soon,” continues Commander Ross, “as I had satisfied my own mind on the subject, I made known to the party this gratifying result of all our joint labors; and it was then that, amidst mutual congratulations, we fixed the British flag on the spot, and took possession of the North Magnetic Pole and its adjoining territory in the name of Great Britain and King William IV. We had abundance of materials for building in the fragments of limestone that covered the beach, and we therefore erected a cairn of some magnitude, under which we buried a canister containing a record of the interesting fact, only regretting that we had not the means of constructing a pyramid of more importance, and of strength sufficient to withstand the assaults of time and the Eskimos. Had it been a pyramid as large as that of Cheops, I am not quite sure that it would have done more than satisfy our ambition under the feelings of that exciting day.”
The succeeding summer was hardly more encouraging than the previous one. Not until the last week in August were they successful in reaching open water by the laborious effort of warping and towing, and, after encountering gales and ice-floes, they were again fast in the ice by the 27th of September, after a discouraging navigation of only four miles.
The thought of a third winter in the dreary Arctic had a most disheartening effect upon the crew. Their only hope of ultimately extricating themselves from their forlorn situation was in abandoning the Victory, taking to their boats, and making their laborious way to the wreck of the Fury, where, supplying themselves with a fresh stock of provisions, they could push on to Davis Strait, in the hope of being picked up by a passing whale-ship. The general health of the men was showing a decline; scurvy showed itself as early as November of this trying year.
By April 23, 1832, the first part of the expedition started on the wearisome journey of some three hundred miles to Fury Beach. Owing to the weight of the loads, combined with snow-drifts and ice barriers, it was necessary to go back and forward and cover the same ground several times; thus after a month they had travelled three hundred and twenty-nine miles in this trying and circuitous manner to gain thirty in a direct line.
THE RETREAT
On the 29th of May, final leave was taken of the Victory, her colours nailed to the mast, a parting glass drunk in her honour, and the brave old ship left to her Arctic loneliness. Not until the first of July did the whole crew reach Fury Beach, after incredible obstacles had been encountered and overcome, the slow and laborious advance made more arduous by the heavy loads they carried.
Immediately, however, they set to work and reared a canvas shelter, which they called Somerset House. The following month was spent in fitting out their boats. An open sea now gave them hope of reaching, through Barrow Strait, to Baffin Bay. Icebergs and gales proved most disastrous to their hopes and, after making a heroic attempt, they found it necessary to return to Fury Beach and spend their fourth winter in the Arctic.
The winter proved exceedingly severe, and their canvas shelter quite inadequate to keeping out the cold. However, matters were improved by a thick snow wall. Sickness, in the dreaded form of scurvy, caused much uneasiness, and in February, 1833, one of their number succumbed to the disease. Their situation had now become alarming, for if they were not liberated the following summer, there was little chance of any of their number surviving another year.
As early in the season as it was possible to travel, they set forth on their life-and-death struggle for safety. Reduced in strength, many of the men being sick, the laborious process of advancing their loads was even slower than the preceding year. However, by the 12th of July, they all reached their boat station in Batty Bay. Not until August 14 was a lane of water leading northward discovered, and, embarking at an early hour the following morning, they pursued their course with rising spirits. On the evening of the 16th, they were at the northeastern point of America with the open sea ahead of them. Icebergs were numerous, but their courage was gaining every moment, and they took small note of such obstacles. Passing through Barrow Strait, they made that day seventy-two miles. Delayed by contrary winds, they did not reach Navy Board Inlet until the 25th, where they harboured for the night.