I remember being awoke at six o'clock on the morning of the 14th of August, and being told a hobgoblin story, which made me rub my eyes, and doubt my own hearing. What I thought of it is neither here nor there. Suffice it that Adam Beck—may he be branded for a liar!—succeeded, this day, in misleading a large number of Her Majesty's officers (as his attested document proves), and in detaining, for two days, the squadrons in search of Franklin. No one with common perception, who witnessed the interview on our deck between Mr. Petersen, Adam Beck, and our new shipmate, the Esquimaux from Cape York, could fail to perceive that Mr. P. and the Cape York native understood one another much better than the latter could the vile Adam Beck; and had I had any doubts upon the subject, they would have been removed when I learnt that Petersen had seen and communicated with these very natives before our squadron came up, and that no such bloody tale had been told him; in fact, it was the pure coinage of Adam Beck's brain, cunningly devised to keep, at any rate, his own ship on a coast whither he could escape to the neighbourhood of his home in South Greenland.
The fact of the "North Star" having wintered last year in Wolstenholme Sound, or "Petowack," was elicited, and that the natives had been on board of her. The "Assistance" and "Intrepid," therefore, remained to visit that neighbourhood, whilst we proceeded to the south shore of Lancaster Sound, touching, as had been pre-arranged, at Pond's Bay and Cape Possession.
Steaming along the Crimson Cliffs for a second time, we left the "Lady Franklin" and "Sophia," in a stark calm, to do their best. Fewer ships, the faster progress; and heartily did all cheer when, at midnight, we turned to the N.W., leaving the second division to do their work in Wolstenholme Sound. So ended the memorable 14th of August: it will be, doubtless, remembered by many with far from pleasant feelings; and some who have been "gulled" in England may thank Mr. Petersen that a carrier-pigeon freighted with a cock-and-bull story of blood, fire, wreck, and murder, was not despatched on that memorable day.
THE WEST WATER.
The 15th we struck westward, that is, the "Pioneer," with "Resolute" and "Prince Albert" in tow. After four hours of very intricate navigation, called "reeving through the pack," we reached the West Water,—a wide ocean of water without one piece of floe-ice, and very few icebergs. The change was wonderful—incredible. Here was nothing but water; and we were almost within sight, as we steered to the S.W., of the spot where, for forty-seven days, we had had nothing but ice! ice! ice! Let us hurry on. The West Water (as usual with the water at this season of the year) was covered with fog: in it we steered. The "Resolute," as a capital joke, in return for the long weary miles we had towed her, set, on one occasion, all studsails, and gave us a tow for four hours. When off the mouth of Lancaster Sound, the "Prince Albert" was cast off; and she departed to carry out, as I then thought, a part of the grand scheme of land travelling next year, into which it became almost daily apparent the search for Franklin would resolve itself. Already had night commenced; next came winter.
Touching at Pond's Bay was made a longer proceeding than was ever calculated upon, for a succession of thick fogs and strong gales prevented the "Pioneer" running into the bay, or ascertaining whether cairns or other marks had been erected on the coast.
The 21st of August came before we had a change of weather: happily it then took place; and the "Pioneer" (having some days before left the "Resolute," to cruise off Possession Bay) entered Pond's Bay, running up the northern shore towards a place called Button Point.
The "West Land," as this side of Baffin's Bay is called, strikes all seamen, after struggling through the icy region of Melville Bay, as being verdant and comparatively genial. We all thought so, and feasted our eyes on valleys, which, in our now humbled taste, were voted beautiful,—at any rate there were signs and symptoms of verdure; and as we steered close along the coast, green and russet colours were detected and pointed out with delight. The bay was calm and glassy, and the sun to the west, sweeping along a water horizon, showed pretty plainly that Pond's Bay, like a good many more miscalled bays of this region, was nothing more than the bell-shaped mouth to some long fiord or strait.
One of my ice-quartermasters, a highly intelligent seaman, assured me he had been in a whale-boat up this very inlet, until they conjectured themselves to be fast approaching Admiralty Inlet; the country there improved much in appearance, and in one place they found abundance of natives, deer, and grass as high as his knees. I landed with a boat's crew on Button Point. The natives had retired into the interior to kill deer and salmon: this they are in the habit of doing every season when the land ice breaks up. Numerous unroofed winter habitations and carefully secured cachés of seal-blubber proved that they had been here in some numbers, and would return to winter after the ice had again formed in the bay, and the seals began to appear, upon which the existence of the Esquimaux depends.
On first landing we had been startled by observing numerous cairns, standing generally in pairs: these we pulled down one after the other, and examined without finding any thing in them; and it was only the accidental discovery by one of the men of a seal-blubber caché, which showed that the cairns were merely marks by which the Esquimaux, on their return in the winter, could detect their stores.