The abandonment of their ship, which had been locked fast in the ice, for years, and their almost inconceivable toil, while crossing, with their boats, on sledges, to the confluence of Regent’s Inlet, and Barrow’s Strait, are fully presented in the narrative. Their hour of deliverance came at last, and the event cannot be better described, than in the words of Sir John Ross himself. As they were standing along the southern shore of Harrow’s Strait, in their boats, on the 26th of August, a sail, to their inexpressible joy, hove in sight. After a period of great anxiety, lest she should not observe their signals of distress, their deep delight may be imagined, even by an unpractised landsman, when they first became assured, that they had attracted the notice of the crew, in one of the ship’s boats. The reader will be better satisfied with an account from the lips of the πολυτροπος ὀς μαλλα πολλα, himself.
“She was soon along side, when the mate in command addressed us, by presuming, that we had met with some misfortune and lost our ship. This being answered in the affirmative, I requested to know the name of his vessel, and expressed our wish to be taken on board. I was answered, that it was the ‘Isabella, of Hull, once commanded by Captain Ross;’ on which I stated, that I was the identical man in question, and my people the crew of the Victory. That the mate, who commanded this boat, was as much astonished, as he appeared to be, I do not doubt; while, with the usual blunderheadedness of men, on such occasions, he assured me, that I had been dead two years. I easily convinced him, however, that what ought to have been true, according to his estimate, was a somewhat premature conclusion; as the bear-like form of the whole set of us, might have shown him, had he taken time to consider, that we were certainly not whaling gentlemen, and that we carried tolerable evidence of our being ‘true men and no imposters,’ on our backs, and in our starved and unshaven countenances.”
However close the resemblance, between Sir John Ross and his comrades to bears, they soon become lions on board the Isabella. Sir John continues thus—
“A hearty congratulation followed, of course, in the true seaman style, and, after a few natural inquiries, he added, that the Isabella was commanded by Captain Humphreys; when he immediately went off in his boat to communicate his information on board; repeating, that we had long been given up as lost, not by them alone, but by all England.”
In this precedent, there is kindling stuff for hope, if not substantial fuel. After reading this account, the hearts of the strong-hearted cannot fail to be strengthened the more. A scientific and elaborate comparison of all the facts and circumstances, in the respective cases of Ross and Franklin, may lead to dissipate our hope. But hope is a vivacious principle, like the polypus, from the minutest particle remaining, growing up to be the integral thing, that it was. Science, philosophy, perched upon theoretical stilts, occasionally walk confidently into the mire. Sir John Franklin may yet be among the living, notwithstanding those negative demonstrations, in which many so very plausibly indulge themselves.
Let us follow Sir John Ross and his companions on board the Isabella.—“As we approached slowly after him (the mate of the Isabella) he jumped up the side, and, in a minute, the rigging was manned; while we were saluted with three cheers, as we came within cable’s length, and were not long in getting on board my old vessel, where we were all received, by Captain Humphreys, with a hearty seaman’s welcome. Though we had not been supported by our names and characters, we should not the less have claimed, from charity, the attentions we received; for never was seen a more miserable looking set of wretches. If to be poor, wretchedly poor, as far as all our present property was concerned, were to have a claim on charity, none could well deserve it more; but, if to look so, be to frighten away the so called charitable, no beggar, that wanders in Ireland, could have outdone us, in exciting the repugnance of those, who know not what poverty can be. Unshaven, since I know not when, dirty, dressed in the rags of wild beasts, instead of the tatters of civilization, and starved to the very bones, our gaunt and grim looks, when contrasted with those of the well dressed and well fed men around us, made us all feel, I believe, for the first time, what we really were, as well as what we seemed to others.”
Very considerable training must, doubtless, be required, to reconcile a Mohawk Indian to a feather bed. A short passage from the Journal of Sir John Ross forcibly illustrates the truth, that we are the creatures of habit. “Long accustomed, however, to a cold bed, on the hard snow or the bare rock, few could sleep, amid the comforts of our new accommodations. I was myself compelled to leave the bed, which had been kindly assigned me, and take my abode in a chair for the night, nor did it fare much better with the rest. It was for time to reconcile us to this sudden and violent change, to break through what had become habit, and to inure us, once more, to the usages of our former days.”
No. CLV.
Good, old Sir William Dugdale was certainly the prince of antiquaries. His labors and their products were greater, than could have been anticipated, even from his long and ever busy life. He was born, Sept. 12, 1605, and died, in his eighty-first year, while sitting quietly, in his antiquarian chair, Feb. 6, 1686.