The heavy showers continued through the night, and we waited until noon of the 11th for them to cease. Verhoeff was out after specimens until after midnight, and then, returning, slept in the boat. He left us at this point to join Gibson in Tooktoo Valley. Crossing over to the eastern side of the bay, we found a beautiful rock-protected cove, with a stream flowing into it from a valley above. While Mr. Peary climbed to the top of a rock to obtain some bearings, I took my rifle and started up the valley in search of deer. In a short time I had shot two. One of them I brought down at long range while he was running at full speed. As this day was the anniversary of our wedding, we celebrated it mildly with a milk-punch and fried liver from the deer which I had shot. Here, midway between the Arctic Circle and the Pole, we were in a veritable garden spot. Vines and plants and flowers run and grow in luxuriant abundance over and in the crevices of the rocks. The stream which empties into the cove comes from a beautiful mirror-like lake set in a grassy meadow only a short distance up the valley, and over the protecting ledge to the west come the continuous thunder and groanings of the great glacier.
Continuing our exploration, we arrived, through wind, snow, and rain, at the precipitous island which lies near the eastern extremity of the gulf. Here, in the angle of the island and a huge glacier, in which it was partially buried, we pitched the tent, though not without protest from the natives, who said that the waves from an iceberg breaking off the glacier might smash the boat and swamp the camp. While we were at dinner Koomenahpik raised the alarm of “kahlillowah,” and looking out we saw two narwhal among the bergs, a large one and a small one. We immediately pulled out for the animals. As we approached, the larger of the two disappeared, but we were able to get near enough to the other one for me to put a bullet through its head; then Koomenahpik drove a harpoon into its back, and after a short struggle we had it in tow for the camp. The next morning we found my prize high and dry on the rocks, a great mottled, misshapen mass of flesh, with a gleaming ivory horn, straight as an arrow, and almost as sharp as a stiletto, projecting straight out from its nose. It was a wonderful sight to me, who never before had seen the narwhal, the fabled ancestor of the unicorn. I could not gaze at it sufficiently.
THE MELVILLE GLACIER—INGLEFIELD GULF.
When we started off again, in the afternoon of August 14th, our boat was loaded down almost to the gunwales with our trophies of narwhal and reindeer, the tents, and other equipment. The morning’s promise of pleasant weather had not been fulfilled. Heavy black clouds were gathering thick and fast, and by the time we had reached the southern end of the island it was raining steadily. As we ran out from the lee of the island the full force of the now furious northeast gale struck us, and we were pelted mercilessly with sheets of water. It was a wild scene, with the sullen, spectral glare of the great glaciers north and east of us beneath the pall of black clouds, the wind howling over us as if it would pick us bodily out of the water, and the black cliffs at the mouth of Academy Bay, our destination, mere shadows, felt rather than seen through the rain full twenty miles to the south. The gulf was full of great bergs and masses of hard blue ice, the outflow from the glaciers, through the mazes of which we were obliged to pick our way; yet they were our friends, for they kept the water smooth in spite of the raging wind, and gave us now and then a shelter, behind which we could stop for a few moments and catch our breath before striking out again into the furious blast. Fortunately, the wind was partly in our favor; in spite of our tortuous course we made rapid progress, and in four hours were abreast of the group of islands down in the southeast corner of the gulf, which we had visited in April during our sledge trip. From here to Tawanah’s igloo at the month of the bay was the critical part of our voyage. This distance was entirely free of ice, and though only five or six miles in width, the force of the wind was such that the whitecaps were rushing madly across it as we came out from under the shelter of the islands. With just a bit of the foresail up to enable the boat to run away from the waves, and two oars ready to be dropped instantly into the rowlocks, in case of necessity, we dashed madly along, with every now and then the top of a wave coming in over the stern of the boat, and striking Mr. Peary and myself in the back with a resounding whack. More than once my teeth involuntarily closed more firmly as I saw a mad white crest rushing down upon us, but our little craft rode the waves like a duck, and we finally shot under the lee of the point at Tawanah’s igloo. As the boat sped along through the placid water and the sail flapped against the mast in the eddy of wind under the point, every one breathed a sigh of relief.
In spite of the fury of the storm out in the gulf, here in the bay under the steep shore everything was calm and quiet. The mast and sail were taken down and the oars run out, and our native crew settled down to work again, glad to warm themselves by exercise. Suddenly, however, the wind, with the perverseness common to winds in these Arctic regions, came rushing out of the bay, meeting us full in the face, and making it almost impossible for the men to make head against it. But Mr. Peary spurred them on, and by hugging the shore we succeeded, with the aid of the tide, in reaching a little island about half-way up the bay, opposite which, despite the high waves, we effected a landing. We had the utmost difficulty in setting up our tent, but we at last got the better of the hurricane by securing the bottom of the tent all around with huge stones.
Never before had I understood the power of the wind. To add to its terrifying effect, it did not blow steadily now, as when it first commenced, but came in frightful gusts with intervals of calm between. For perhaps a minute or two it would be absolutely still, the black cliffs across the bay would loom up in perfect distinctness, and every intonation of the waves, dashing upon the rocks, could be heard; then a rushing white wall would spring into view around the bend of the bay a mile or so above us, an ominous murmur would be heard, rapidly increasing in volume and intensity, until, with a roar, the Arctic blast was upon us, literally cutting the tops off the waves and hurling them in solid masses of water far up the cliffs. The icebergs went tearing out of the bay like ships in a ten-knot breeze. A number of these bergs sailed in toward our little island, and, grounding at the upper end of the channel, formed a complete breakwater. When the wild gusts struck these great bergs they rocked and groaned, flung themselves at each other with thunderous crash, reeling backward shattered and split from the shock, while all the time the waves dashed against their outer faces, climbed in white jets clear to their tops, and fell in intermittent cataracts into the waters of our little harbor. It seemed as if we were at the very gates of the Hyperborean Inferno. All night long this struggle continued, the flying spray from the iceberg breakwater dashing against the tent, drenching it and all its contents. Mr. Peary and Matt spent the greater part of the night in holding up the tent-poles.
By morning the storm had exhausted its fury, and we were on our journey once more. But heavy weather soon set in again, and a disagreeable drizzle continued throughout the night and the greater part of the following day. We made a bee-line diagonally across the gulf to Karnah, the castellated cliffs of which could just be discerned through the gray mist which hung low over the water. Head winds and a contrary flood-tide made our progress slow, and it was only after a long and weary day of hard work for the men at the oars, and of wet and cold and cramp for those in the stern of the boat, that we touched the northern shore a few miles above Karnah, where we gladly availed ourselves of the opportunity to jump out and stretch our stiffened limbs. It was our intention to camp here for the night, but after the refreshing effects of a hot dinner, with ample draughts of tea, every one felt so much better, although thoroughly tired out, that we determined to push on to Redcliffe. As we neared Cape Cleveland the wind blew a gale, but now, for the first time, it was in our favor, and Mr. Peary ordered up both sails. Under Matt’s skilful guidance we went flying past the cliffs for the mouth of McCormick Bay, dodging the hard blue lumps of ice, some of which could not be seen until we were almost upon them, frightening a herd of walrus into which we dashed unexpectedly, and then at last whirled round the point at Cape Cleveland into an eddy of quiet wind and water. Scarcely had we rounded the Cape, however, when Mr. Peary’s eye saw another one of those white squalls rushing down upon us from Tooktoo Valley, and there was just time to get the masts and sails down, and the men to the oars with feet braced against the seats and backs straining to the bending ash-blades, when the squall was upon us. The wind tore off the tops of the waves and dashed them in our faces until it was impossible to see. When the gusts were at their height the men could only hold their own and prevent the boat from being blown backward out into the sound, while in the intervals between they managed to gain a little, and in this way we crept along inch by inch toward the sheltered beach on which we had landed from the “Kite” a week before. Suddenly, just as we came abreast of the place where a still remaining portion of the ice-foot formed an ugly overhanging shelf, under which the waves broke furiously, Kulutingwah’s oar snapped short off, and Kulutingwah himself, with a wild cry, pitched backward into the bottom of the boat. In the momentary confusion which followed, the boat began drifting rapidly under the shelf, when Mr. Peary seized the oar of the man nearest him and urged every one to his utmost, at the same time shouting to Kulutingwah to jump for the bow of the boat and throw the grapnel out. With understanding quickened by fear, the Eskimo carried out the order almost as soon as it was uttered, and with all still tugging at the oars to ease the strain upon the anchor-rope, the boat settled slowly back inch by inch, until finally she stopped so near the wicked blue shelf of ice that I could touch it with my hand. This respite gave us a chance to recover our breath, and enabled Mr. Peary to make a change in the disposition of the men. In the intervals between the gusts the oars slowly and painfully worked the boat ahead, and before the next squall struck us the grapnel was thrown over, and every one crouched low in the boat, to present as little surface as possible to the wind. In this way, with the woman Armah crying and screaming in the bottom of the boat, and the faces of the men a dingy white, we at last reached the coveted beach. So deafening was the roar of the wind that we could hardly hear each other’s voices. Leaving Kulutingwah to watch the boat, we made our way to Redcliffe.
CHAPTER XIX
FAREWELL TO GREENLAND
Alarm about Mr. Verhoeff—A Search Instituted—Alone with Matt and the Native Women—No News—Return of the Search-parties—Poor Verhoeff—Packing up—I play Lady Bountiful—Pennsylvania’s Gifts to the Natives—Farewell to Redcliffe—Fossil-hunting at Atanekerdluk—Godhavn revisited—Godthaab—Eskimo Kayakers—Fire-swept St. John’s—Arrival at Philadelphia—Home again.