The ice was observed to be still tightly packed against Cape Union, and consequently hindered us from pushing on.
We had much reason to be grateful for our safe deliverance from the pack, for, shortly after our extrication, a heavy gale sprang up from the S.W., the effect of which on the ship, beset in such ponderous ice, must have been disastrous in the extreme, and would in all probability have been fatal. Ice navigators, however, are not, as a rule, prone to indulge in ideas as to “what might have occurred had this or that happened:” their thoughts and minds must be directed entirely to the present and the future, only too happy and thankful, as the days go by, to find they still have their own good vessel to sustain them, and carry them through another day. To our engines we owed a deep debt of gratitude, for without the powerful aid of steam we should have been unable, before the gale burst upon us, to have effected our deliverance.
Towards midnight the gale freshened considerably, snow fell, and the weather altogether had a very ugly and threatening appearance. We, however, consoled ourselves with the hope that it would clear the ice out of the channel, and thus enable us to proceed. The noise of the pack grinding and squeezing as it was tossed about by a short turbulent sea was anything but pleasing to listen to, resembling in a measure the sound created by the dashing of the surf over a rock-bound coast. One can easily imagine the feelings of those old navigators, in their frail little barks, which gave rise to the expression that “the irksome noyse of the yce bred strange conceits among us.” Very “irksome” indeed was that noise to us, and many were the “strange conceits” that we indulged in as we listened to the soughing of the wind and the crashing of the ice!
Wednesday, September 1st, must always be regarded, at least by all those connected with, or interested in, Arctic research, as a red-letter day in the annals of naval enterprise, and indeed in English history, for on this day a British man-of-war reached a higher northern latitude than had ever yet been reached by any ship, and we had the extreme gratification of hoisting the colours at noon to celebrate the event.
Never was an ensign hoisted by such a number of eager and willing hands. All were desirous of participating in this act, and of sharing the honours of this important proceeding.
Our success in thus attaining a high position was due entirely to the S.W. gale, which blew with such fury, that by nine o’clock in the forenoon the pack was driven so far off the land that a narrow channel of water was left extending to the northward along the coast line. We were not long in availing ourselves of this grand opportunity. The ice anchors were quickly hauled on board, sail was made, and, with the steam ready in case it should be required, we were soon bowling along at the rate of ten knots an hour, “and northwards aye we fled.” So far had the pack been blown off the shore, that the channel of water was fully three miles in breadth.
It would be impossible to describe the feelings of those on board the “Alert” at this unexpected piece of good fortune; for the lateness of the season, combined with the unprecedented solidity of the ice, had in a measure damped our ardour and forced us to realize the apparent hopelessness of attaining, this year, a high northern latitude. Eagerly and anxiously were the different reports from the crow’s-nest listened to, and still to the delight of all came down the cheery words, “Water, plenty of water ahead, and no ice in sight.”
Every one was joyous and elated as, at noon, they assembled round the ward-room table to inaugurate, in a glass of Madeira, generously supplied by our wine caterer, the auspicious event, and to wish success to their flag.
Unfortunately snow was falling heavily, and the weather was so thick that little could be seen. We could just make out that the land along which we were steering, and which trended to the N.E., was composed of high cliffs with numerous ravines and valleys running down to the water’s edge; but, to our disappointment, we failed to observe either harbour or bay, or any place that would afford a refuge or protection of any description for the ship. Arctic navigation, like everything else, has its dark as well as its bright side!
After rounding Cape Union the coast trended away to the westward of north, and the wind, which had hitherto been blowing so fresh, suddenly subsided. So did our joyful anticipations, for one short hour after our ensign had fluttered out so gaily before the breeze, we were stopped by a barrier of ice of great thickness, through which there was no prospect of penetrating. The land also appeared to lose the bold rugged character that had been such a prominent feature between Lincoln Bay and Cape Union, and now assumed an undulating form as it trended away to the N.W., the coast being low and entirely covered with snow.