The navigation of these icy seas is most uncertain! Within twenty-four hours of the time that, from the summit of Littleton Island, we had been cheered by the view of an apparently open sea free of ice, and extending in our imagination for miles to the northward, we were battling with the pack, consisting of large floes and loose broken-up fields, that extended on both sides of us and as far north as we could see. From this period our troubles commenced; from this date our progress was one endless and unceasing struggle with the ice: ever on the watch, and never allowing a favourable opportunity to pass unheeded.
Shortly after leaving Cape Isabella the ice was observed stretching across Baird Inlet—the fixed land ice with loose detached streams. As we proceeded more ice was seen, which by degrees completely surrounded us, and we only succeeded, after much boring and charging, in forcing a way through, and into a well-protected little harbour to the southward of Cape Sabine. This bay was formed by a deep indentation in the land having a long jutting-out spit to the S.E. which acted as a famous breakwater, and was protected seawards by Brevoort Island. Here we were detained for five days, although several attempts were made to proceed, which resulted in one instance in a hopeless besetment in the ice for some hours. The pack was impenetrable; our only hope was to wait patiently for a strong wind to open out a passage. The place was in consequence called “Bide-a-wee” Harbour, subsequently changed to Payer Harbour, after the distinguished Austrian Arctic explorer of that name.
During our detention the time of the officers was not unprofitably spent. A rough survey of the place was made, its position was correctly ascertained, a series of magnetic observations were obtained, and long walks were taken in the neighbourhood, during which a large and rich collection was made in the interests of geology and botany. No game of any description was seen. Traces of Eskimo were discovered, but evidently of an ancient date. They consisted of the remains of igdlus or huts, also some bone spear-heads, and the runners and cross-bars of a sledge.[1] Tidal observations were also taken in the harbour.
Here also, it may be said, we received our first lessons in the art of sledging; for, wishing to be initiated into its mysteries, a party, consisting of four officers and five men dragging one of our large twenty-feet ice boats on a sledge, started to travel over the pack. Our main object was of course to derive some practical experience in this all-important mode of Arctic exploration, and in this, I think, we succeeded.
We found the ice exceedingly hummocky, with narrow water spaces between, just too broad to admit of our jumping over, yet not sufficiently wide to launch the boat into. So rough was the road that at one time the bows of the boat would be seen rising almost perpendicularly in the air, whilst all hands were engaged in long-standing pulls on the drag-ropes to the tune of “one, two, three, haul;” at another time the sledge would come down the side of a hummock with such rapidity as to give us hardly time to spring out of the way to avoid the sledge and boat coming over us, and many were the falls in consequence. It was, however, rare fun. Once while launching the boat into a pool of water she nearly capsized; as it was she half filled, and everything inside—provisions, clothes, instruments, guns, and ammunition—was thoroughly saturated. A gold watch that happened to be in a coat pocket was not improved by its immersion.
Another source of amusement during our stay in this harbour was chasing “unies,” as narwhals are invariably called by the whalers; but, although a good deal of patience and perseverance was displayed in attempts to harpoon them, these qualities were never rewarded, and the boats always returned unsuccessful from their pursuit.
Our little check in this harbour produced a slight despondency in those who, for the previous few days, had been most sanguine of pushing on. This was always alluded to in the ward-room as the depression of the social barometer, and was for the future daily registered!
On the morning of the 4th of August, a southerly gale having blown all the previous night, a channel of open water was visible as far as Cape Sabine. This was an opportunity not to be lost. Accordingly, at 4 A.M., the anchors were weighed, and, before a fresh but bitter cold wind, both ships made sail, and succeeded, after having made so many futile attempts, in rounding the Cape. Bearing away to the westward we steered up Hayes Sound, keeping close in to the land, the grounded icebergs giving us timely notice of shoal water. At noon, opening a perfectly land-locked bay, and the ice being so closely packed ahead as to defy farther progress, the vessels were steered for the entrance, and we soon found ourselves in a beautiful inlet enclosed by high land, but bounded on one side by one of the grandest sights it is possible to behold: two enormous glaciers coming from different directions, but converging at their termination. They reminded us of two huge giants silently attempting to push and force each other away.
It was indeed a noble sight, and filled us with impatient curiosity for the moment when we could land and indulge in a closer inspection.
Accordingly, the anchors were no sooner let go than several started for the purpose of paying it a visit. Landing abreast of the ship, we had rather a rough and tumble sort of a scramble over loose masses of gneiss, until we emerged on the banks of the bed of the glacier—that is, the bed formed by the water running from the glacier during the summer thaws. The walking was most laborious, at one moment through a wet swampy bog, and at another over rough sharp-pointed stones.