In thirty seconds every man who could scramble to a place in the rigging was there, and each was eager to spy out the distant peaks which soon came into view. Immediately we put on full speed in order to reach them before the ice should again become impassable. As if some wayward spirit had sensed our wish, the floes came crunching and sliding into a compact mass, rendering futile all attempts to proceed. We were therefore regretfully forced to lose more precious hours. These hours were doubly precious as it was already July 31st, and every hour counted if we were to reach our destination on our scheduled date, August 1st.
As I looked out over the slowly drifting ice, with its unending white broken only by the thin dark lines of the ever-opening and closing leads, towards the rugged cliffs on the far horizon, standing like grim sentries at the portals of the North, I wondered why we had come. Why had this company left all that was dearest to them; their loved ones; their congenial firesides; the labors in which until so recently they had been engrossed? Why had we endured the perils of wind, and sea and ice, borne discomforts and hardships, sacrificed personal ease and safety? For what had we sailed three thousand miles across tractless seas? For a moment it seemed utter folly to have come all this distance for things that at best appeared vague and indistinct! We had all been in comfort and safety at home. For what conceivable reason would intelligent men turn their backs on these pretentious inducements? For a moment I pondered. Suddenly in my mind’s eye I saw another ice waste not dissimilar to this one, and I visioned other hills, this time in the west, hills on which no human eye had rested—our quest. Then three small specks clove the deep blue of the eastern sky. Soon the hum of engines echoed from berg and hummock, and they resolved into aeroplanes—our planes. Nearer they soared, over the first range of hills. Then they wheeled about and soon receded into the endless vault of heaven whence they had come. My heart leaped within me. I knew why we had come. In our blood surged the age-old spirit of adventure which drove the first Viking to the Arctic seas; which sent Columbus across the terror-strewn western ocean; which lured Sir John Franklin to his lonesome grave. I felt my blood flow fast. The same old urge had gripped me, and obedient to its demands I, too, had joined the adventurous throng and seen home and ease fade astern as the vessel’s prow pointed for the unknown lands over the horizon’s edge.
CHAPTER X
WE TAKE THE AIR
EARLY on the morning of August 1st, we broke through the last of the pack of Cape York and laid our course around the shore ice as yet unbroken from the Cape. In a short time we had rounded it and were finally out of Melville Bay, a departure which caused no sorrow on the part of any of us. The body of water which we had now entered was known as Smith Sound, a name given it by William Baffin in honor of one of his supporters. It stretches from Cape York to beyond Etah where it opens out into Kane Basin. Usually the Sound is free from pack ice except on the western side where a heavy stream of it flows to the southward.
For several hours we sailed without seeing a sign of any living thing save a few birds. Suddenly two kayaks darted out from the shore. With a few deft strokes of the paddle their occupants brought them alongside, and we heard the musical hail “Ochshinai!” followed by a demand for “bacca.” In response to their hail Robbie tossed them two plugs which they aptly caught, waved their arms with delight and yelled, “Quoin-amik!” (Thank you!). As we sailed away, we could see them lovingly caressing their prizes.
The wind freshened as we bent our course to the north and we were soon bowling along with a bone in our teeth. The coast flashed by. Soon Cape Alexander, “the Cape Horn of the North,” which lies half-way between the Pole and the Arctic Circle, hove in sight. As we rounded this wicked old promontory, the customary vicious squall snapped at us. We were soon past the cape, however, and once again entered smooth waters. Here we could see the walrus breaking water all about us, and every now and then a savage, white-tusked face would leer at us as we scudded along. Now and then almost beneath our bows an entire herd would blow and disappear in a mass of white water. At nine o’clock that night, we worked our way into Foulke Fiord, and there dead ahead lay the haven of our hopes, the goal of our endeavors—Etah!
Commander MacMillan: with an eskimo child; in flying costume;
in the ice barrel.
