My field party consisted of every available officer and man in the schooner, twelve in number. We were all ready to start at seven o'clock; and when I joined them on the ice beside the schooner their appearance was as picturesque as it was animated. In advance stood Jensen, impatiently rolling out his long whip-lash; and his eight dogs, harnessed to his sledge, "The Hope," were as impatient as he. Next came Knorr with six dogs and the "Perseverance," to the upstander of which he had tied a little blue flag bearing this, his motto, "Toujours prêt." Then came a lively group of eight men, each with a canvas belt across his shoulder, to which was attached a line that fastened him to the sledge. Alongside the sledge stood McCormick and Dodge, ready to steer it among the hummocks, and on the sledge was mounted a twenty-foot metallic life-boat with which I hoped to navigate the Polar Sea. The mast was up and the sails were spread, and from the peak floated our boat's ensign, which had seen service in two former Arctic and in one Antarctic voyage, and at the mast-head were run up the Masonic emblems. Our little signal-flag was stuck in the stern-sheets. The sun was shining brightly into the harbor, and everybody was filled with enthusiasm, and ready for the hard pull that was to come. Cheer after cheer met me as I came down the stairway from the deck. At a given signal Radcliffe, who was left in charge of the vessel, touched off the "swivel," "March," cried McCormick, crack went the whips, the dogs sprang into their collars, the men stretched their "track ropes," and the cavalcade moved off.
The events which follow I will give from my "field-book," trusting that the reader will have sufficient interest in my party to accompany them through the icy wilderness into which they plunged; but for this we will need a new chapter.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE FIRST DAY'S JOURNEY.—A FALL OF TEMPERATURE.—ITS EFFECT UPON THE MEN.—CAMPED IN A SNOW-HUT.—THE SECOND DAY'S JOURNEY.—AT CAIRN POINT.—CHARACTER OF THE ICE.—THE PROSPECT.—STORM-STAYED.—THE COOKS IN DIFFICULTY.—SNOW-DRIFT.—VIOLENCE OF THE GALE.—OUR SNOW-HUT.
April 4th.
THE FIRST DAY'S JOURNEY.
Buried in a snow-bank, and not over well pleased with my first day's work. The temperature of the air has tumbled down to -32°, and inside the hut it is now, two hours after entering it, a degree above zero, and steadily rising. Three of the party succumbed to the cold on the march, and I had much difficulty in keeping them from being seriously frozen. We got on finely until we reached Sunrise Point, where the ice was very rough, and we were bothered for more than two hours in getting over it with our long and cumbersome boat and sledge. It was probably only a little foretaste of what is to come when we strike across the Sound. Once over this ugly place, we halted to melt some water, for the men had become very warm and thirsty. Unluckily, just at this time a smart breeze sprung up, chilling us through and through, for we had been perspiring freely with the violent exercise. The first cold blast put an extinguisher upon the enthusiasm which the party had carried along with them from the ship, and it was singular to observe the change which came over their spirits. It was the contrast of champagne and sour cider. Some of them looked as if they were going to their own funerals, and wore that "My God! what shall I do?" look that would have been amusing enough had it not been alarming. One of these, without sufficient energy to keep himself in motion, crouched behind a snow-drift, and when discovered he had squarely settled himself for a freeze. In half an hour his inclination would have been accomplished. When I came up to him he said very coolly, and with a tone of resignation worthy a martyr, "I'm freezing." His fingers and toes were already as white as a tallow-candle. There was no time to be lost. I rubbed a little circulation back into them, and, placing him in charge of two men with orders to keep him moving, I saved him from the serious consequences which would otherwise have resulted from his faint-heartedness. Without waiting for more of the coveted drops of water, I pushed on for the first snow-bank, and got my party out of the wind and under cover. But this was not done without difficulty. It seemed as if two or three of them were possessed with a heroic desire to die on the spot, and I really believe that they would have done it cheerfully rather than, of their own accord, seize a shovel and aid in constructing, if not a place of comfort, at least a place of rest and safety. This sort of thing at the start is not encouraging, but I cannot say that I am much surprised at it; for my former experience has shown the hazard of exposing men in the wind in such low temperatures. This, however, is one of those things against which no foresight can provide. No serious consequences appear to have resulted from the event, and the sufferers are growing more comfortable as the temperature of the hut rises. We have had our rude camp supper, and I have started an alcohol lamp; the door is closed tightly; the party are all drawn under the sleeping-furs; the plucky ones smoke their pipes, and the balance of them shiver as if they would grow warm with the exercise. The chattering of teeth is not pleasant music.
April 5th.
Under the snow again near Cape Hatherton. Our halt at the last camp was continued for eighteen hours, until the men had got fairly thawed out, and the wind had entirely subsided. The short march hence was made slowly and steadily, as I do not wish at first to urge upon the men too much work, nor to keep them long exposed to the cold. There are no frost-bites of consequence resulting from the exposure of yesterday. The spirits of the party have somewhat revived. The temperature has risen, and the hut is warmer than that of last night,—that is, my thermometer, hanging from the runner of the sledge over my head shows 10° above zero.