Suddenly, without any warning, the wind shifted, and drove the whole body of the pack towards the land. Our danger now was imminent. To be caught between the fast closing ice and the grounded floe-bergs would be certain destruction, to escape to the southward before the pack impinged on Cape Union was quite out of the question, and to steam into the pack would be madness. Our only hope of safety was to endeavour to haul the ship inside the grounded floe-bergs, and again avail ourselves of their friendly protection. No time was to be lost; it was a case of almost life and death to us. The men, always to be depended upon in a crisis like the present, responded to the call with alacrity, and by dint of hard work we succeeded in hauling the ship into a safe position. We were not a moment too soon: it was a race between the ice and the ship, in which the latter was, fortunately for us, the victor. Scarcely had we reached our place of refuge when the pack came into contact with the bergs, scrunching and squeezing in a most unpleasant manner as it swept by, and serving to illustrate, in a very practical way, the dreadful fate to which we should have been subjected had we not been fortunate enough to escape in time.
It is difficult to imagine a more desolate position to pass a winter than the one in which we were placed. Our ship was on an exposed and, apparently, unsafe coast, without even the protection of a bay, within one hundred yards of a low undulating beach, on which, should any extraordinary pressure of the pack destroy our protecting bergs, we must inevitably be forced and wrecked, exposed to all the rigours of an Arctic winter; and yet, notwithstanding these unenviable drawbacks, the official announcement that this place had been decided upon as our winter quarters was received with a deep feeling of relief and thankfulness. This determination was not, however, arrived at for some days, when, from careful watching of the pack, it was decided that a farther advance was absolutely impossible.
Winter was advancing upon us with rapid strides, eager to seize us in its icy grasp; so quickly, indeed, that in two days we were able to walk on shore on the new and rapidly forming ice. The now steadily falling temperature was another and a sure indication that the navigable season was at an end.
Without a harbour or projecting headland of any description to protect our good ship from the furious gusts that we must naturally expect, the “Alert” lay, apparently, in a vast frozen ocean, having land on one side, but bounded on the other by the chaotic and illimitable polar pack.
The land had already assumed a wintry aspect, and the ship, to be in unison with her surroundings, had also put on a garb of snow and ice, each spar and each rope being double its ordinary thickness from the accumulation of frost rime. Everything was white, solemn, and motionless around us; no voice of bird or beast was heard to disturb the silence. All was as still and silent as the tomb—a silence that until then had never been broken by the presence of man.
| “No other noyse, nor people’s troublous cries, As still are wont to annoy the walled towne, Might there be heard, but carelesse quiet lyes, Wrapt in eternal silence far from enemyes.” |
Night, to which we had long been strangers, gradually came upon us, the darkness increasing perceptibly as each day passed away. From the 3rd of September, on which day the sun set at midnight, the days decreased in length, and the stars were again seen to twinkle in the heavens.
From a neighbouring hill we obtained a clear and unobstructed view of our surroundings. The coast continued to the N.W. in a succession of large bays, terminating in an abrupt cape some forty miles distant. In order to assimilate the names of the various bays and headlands with those of the American chart, this extreme point was called Cape Joseph Henry. Beyond Cape Joseph Henry all was conjecture. It might be the southern extreme of a large bay or inlet, or it might be the northern termination of land. No land of any description could be seen to the northward—nothing but the rugged pack. So formidable and compact appeared this icy barrier that it seemed to stand out bold and resolute in its strength, effectually setting at defiance the puny efforts of man to penetrate its solidity, saying, as it were, “Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther.” And, indeed, we had much cause to be thankful to Him who had hitherto watched over and protected us in many dangers, and who had allowed us to penetrate thus far into this remote and unknown portion of the globe.
A long range of high hills could be seen to the westward, whilst on the opposite side of the channel the distant land of Greenland was indistinctly observed, its most northern point bearing about N.E. (true).[1]