Sir Leopold then returned to Godhavn and after remaining a short while in that port he sailed away for England. There his great discoveries satisfied the tired heart of Lady Franklin, and the curiosity of the British public.
Years later the vessel was sold to the Danish Government and employed in the Greenland trade. In 1915 she was damaged in the ice and towed into Godhavn. She was then beached and left to rot out her days in the ignominious fashion in which we found her.
CHAPTER IX
ICE AND MORE ICE
AFTER we had been in port a good part of the morning, the Peary hoisted anchor and started towards the mouth of the harbor, and we needs must follow suit. In the meantime we had loaded up with water and had had a brief rest from our sea voyage. We wanted to reach Etah on August 1st at the latest, and as it was then well along in July it was necessary to make as much haste as was convenient. Therefore, we pushed straight on from Disko Island to South Upernavik as fast as wind and tide would permit us. There the Peary joined us loaded deep with coal—the last she would obtain until her return from the far north.
At this town we saw our first exhibition of the remarkable dexterity of the Greenlanders in their frail skin-boats, known as “kayaks.” These craft are about eighteen feet long and twenty inches wide. In them the natives can go out in any kind of a sea, and if a wave capsizes the boat they can right themselves with a few skilled strokes of their paddles, or if they lose the paddle, a twist of the body will suffice. To keep water from seeping in while they are head downward, a tight sealskin shirt is worn. This laces tightly at both wrists and around the head, thus forming a water-tight seam. Furthermore, it tightly buttons to the cockpit coaming of the kayak, making another water-tight fit. Thus the man constitutes almost a part of the boat, and the marvellous feats they perform with this rig can be appreciated only by witnessing these aquatic demonstrations.
We were all very anxious to land to see how the people lived, but on account of the prevalence of whooping cough, the government would not permit us to do so. At Godhavn also this condition prevailed, and we had been allowed to go ashore only for water. Our desire to land was further whetted by a view of many gaudily dressed maidens emerging from church, as the day was Sunday. They were all decked out in elaborate finery, and through the glass they seemed quite attractive. But discipline is discipline, and we were obliged to forego any closer association with these alluring sirens.
The morning after the Peary arrived from the coal mines, we set sail for Melville Bay. The very prospect of entering this dread stretch of water was a challenge. Here in the Fox, McClintock had been imprisoned in the ice for a year and drifted for over a thousand miles. In 1834, thirty-four whaling vessels were crushed in the pack. Thoughts of such events were far from comforting, and I could not help wondering how our little vessels would fare in the relentless ice. If they were crushed we would be left to retreat as best we could to Upernavik. To become imprisoned for a year would also necessitate the abandonment of the vessels as we had been able to make room for only four months’ provisions, because of the space occupied by the aeroplane equipment. But I had confidence in our craft and in our leaders, and I looked forward with an untroubled mind to the thrilling work of ice navigation (such is the assurance of youth).
The Commander had determined to take what is known as the Middle Passage which is directly through the centre of the pack. Therefore, we pushed out boldly from Upernavik and laid our course straight for Cape York—the northern terminus of the Bay and the goal of all who attempt its navigation.
Without sighting any ice we sailed along for some hours. We soon entered a dense fog, and the visibility became very poor. In a short while we began to pass innumerable icebergs. Weaving in and out among the bergs, always vigilant, always tense, we continued on into the Arctic wastes. During this anxious period I was on lookout, and my every minute was occupied in watching for the bergs and directing the helmsman how to avoid them. Out of the white background of the fog these sinister mountains of ice would emerge, first as a thin black line on the sea’s surface; then taking shape until high above they towered, grey and lustreless. On all sides they appeared, until the sea was like a boulder-strewn plain through which we threaded our mazy way. Now and then one would disintegrate or capsize with a mighty roar suggestive of a bombardment of artillery, and we would rise and fall on the ensuing swell.
After we had been in this field of bergs for some time, I began to notice occasional little cakes of ice. Soon these increased in number until there was a regular fleet of them. Then as suddenly as they had appeared they disappeared, and we were in open water with only a fugitive berg here and there. I thought to myself that the ancient mariners had greatly exaggerated the terrors of the ice field when just as it seemed thickening to a degree where our progress would really be impeded, it suddenly was dissipated. But this superior contempt for the old salts did not long hold sway. Gradually a dark, ragged line broke the even white of the enshrouding mist. My first thought was that it was a low berg or “growler” as they are called, but it continued opening out along the horizon until I saw that it was too large for a single berg. Then in a flash it dawned on me that here was the Arctic pack! I watched attentively. Shortly it merged into well-defined pans with thin leads between.