We ran alongside her tent, which she soon packed up with all her worldly riches, and came on board thoroughly drenched with the rain, which had poured in torrents all day. Our people managed to rig her out in some dry clothes; the poor boy was made snug in the engine room, and the old lady voluntarily took her station as pilot upon the deck throughout the night, and was very anxious to point out the beauties of her country, and the “pleasant sleeping places.”
We could only get within eight miles of the village, owing to there being fast ice in the inlet; so, securing the ship to it, the Captain and Hobson started over the ice. On board the ship we hoped to have a quiet Sunday, but a number of right-whales playing round the vessel, and pushing their backs under the ice, constantly broke away the rotten edge to which we lay. We were thus kept constantly beating up again to it; and in the evening, about six or seven miles of the ice coming away in one floe, and turning round upon us, we were forced upon the south shore of the inlet, and momentarily expected being driven upon the rocks; but after blasting the ice with gunpowder for nearly two hours, in order to gain every inch, we got clear just as we were touching the ground.
The next morning (August 2) the Captain and party returned. They had a most interesting trip, and described the village as situated in a most romantic spot, close upon the shore, at the foot of a deep valley filled with a glacier, which completely overhung the settlement, and threw jets of water almost to the tents. The natives were delighted to see them, and, in answer to the inquiries through the interpreter (Mr. Petersen), they said that two old wrecks were lying four days’ journey southward of Cape Bowen—probably in Scot’s Inlet. These two ships came on shore together many years ago. They also confirmed an account from our lady pilot of an old wreck lying to the northward in Lancaster Sound, one day’s journey from Cape Hay, or, as they call it, Appak (breeding-place of birds). The wood in their possession was now accounted for, as also their great anxiety to procure saws, which they always asked for in barter. These wrecks were not those we sought, and we had no occasion to delay our voyage by looking at them. The natives drew a rough chart of the interior of this unknown country. They especially pointed out the salmon rivers, and the hunting and sleeping places, and gave a few general ideas of the profile of the land, and the main directions of the different channels which intersect it; describing North Devon as an island, and showing a water communication with Igloolik, where Parry wintered. We had now set at rest all rumours of Franklin’s ships being in the neighbourhood of Pond’s Bay; and having made a few observations for the survey of the place, we departed for Beechey Island, regretting that the whaleships had not been with us to profit by the number of fish we had seen. As we entered Lancaster Sound, five huge bears sat watching a dead whale; they sat upon different pieces of ice, apparently taking turns to feed, and evidently afraid of each other. We shot a couple of them, but one escaped over the ice after a long chase, although desperately wounded.
The next morning (August 7) the wind increased to a perfect storm from the eastward; the fog was, as seamen say, as thick as pease-soup; we could see nothing; and compasses being here useless, we had to trust to our luck rather than good guidance for keeping in the fairway. We saw very little ice, but the sea ran so high upon the 8th, that we thought it prudent to lie-to for some hours. On the 10th, a herd of walrus was seen off Cape Felfoot, upon a piece of sailing ice, and lying so close as to completely cover it. The ship was run close alongside, and several were shot, but we did not succeed in getting one; for, unless instantaneously killed, they always wriggle off the ice and sink. The only practical method of getting a walrus is with a gun-harpoon from a boat; as yet we had shot only one during our voyage. Steering round Cape Hurd in a thick fog, we struck on an unknown shoal, but soon backed off again, and let go the anchor, as we could not see our position. About midnight the fog lifted, and we proceeded. A large bear was seen swimming round a point, and was shot; and shortly after, one of the men fell overboard: he was picked up rather exhausted with his cold bath, and perhaps a little alarmed at bathing in company with polar bears. We anchored next day off Cape Riley, where the Bredalbane was lost, after Captain Inglefield had landed some of her stores and coals. We found that the bears had been amusing themselves with the provisions, and had eaten out the bilges between the hoops of many of the casks. They evidently had a particular relish for chocolate and salt pork (we hoped they liked it), and had taken the greatest trouble to throw everything about. We visited the stores at Beechey; they had been stored and housed with extreme care. A violent gale had passed over the place, for the door of the house was blown in and the entrance full of snow, but nothing was damaged excepting some biscuit. We also visited the graves, so often described, yet ever interesting, of the poor fellows who died in Franklin’s first winter quarters, and whose comrades we were now seeking.
Our coaling from Cape Riley was completed by the 15th, and we were glad to leave that exposed and dangerous place. We had been considerably troubled with drift ice, and on the 13th we drove half across the bay, with both anchors down, and had to moor to a piece of ice grounded close to the ship. We crossed to the house at Beechey, and there landed a handsome tombstone (sent out by Lady Franklin), in memorial of Sir John Franklin and his companions. It was placed close to the monument erected by their shipmates to the memory of poor Bellot and those who had died in the previous searching expeditions. Taking in such stores as were actually necessary, and having repaired the house, we crossed over to Cape Hotham for a boat (left there by Penny), to replace one of ours which had been crushed by the ice. Wellington Channel appeared to be clear of ice, and a jumping sea, from the southward, gave us promise of clear water in that direction. On the 17th, we were sailing down Peel Sound with a fresh wind, and carrying every rag of canvas. Passing Limestone Island and Cape Granite, we began to think that we should go right through, for as yet no ice could be seen ahead; but the southern sky looked bright and icy, while, in contrast, a dark gloom hung over the waters we had left in the northward. Still we sailed on merrily, and were already talking of passing the winter near the Fish River, and returning the following year by Behring’s Straits, when “Ice ahead!” was reported from the crow’s-nest; and there it certainly was, a long low white barrier, of that peculiar concave form always indicating fast-ice. The Straits had not broken up this season, and we could not pass that way. We were bitterly disappointed, but not disheartened, for we had yet another chance of getting to our longed-for destination by way of Bellot Straits. Not an hour was to be lost; the season was passing away; and thither our captain determined to go at once. We reluctantly ran out of this promising channel, and sailed close along the north shores of Somerset, without seeing any ice of consequence. The night of the 18th set in dark and squally, but in the absence of ice we were quite at our ease. We steamed close under the magnificent castellated cliffs of Cape Clarence, and entered Leopold Harbour to land a boat, in the event of our having to abandon our ship and fall back this way.
We found Regent’s Inlet clear, excepting a few streams of loose ice, through which we easily sailed. We passed Elwin and Batty Bays, and everything, as an old quartermaster expressed it, looked “werry prosperious.” Poor fellow! he knew that every mile sailed in the right direction would save him a hard pull at the sledge ropes.
On the 20th, we passed close to Fury Beach, where the Fury was lost in 1825; but the pace was too good to stop to visit even this most interesting spot. We came on with a fair wind and clear water to the latitude of Bellot Straits. Our excitement now became intense. The existence of the strait had been disputed, and upon it depended all our hopes. Running into Brentford Bay, we thought we saw ice streaming out, as if through some channel from the westward, but as yet we could see no opening; and being unable to get farther that night, we anchored in a little nook discovered on the north side of the bay. A look-out was set upon the highest hill, to watch the movements of the ice, and on the next day we made our first attempt to sail through. We started with a strong western tide, and under both steam and canvas, and, after proceeding about three miles, we were delighted to find that a passage really existed; but we had not got half way through when, the tide changing, a furious current came from the westward, bringing down upon us such masses of ice that we were carried helplessly away, and were nearly dashed upon huge pieces of grounded ice and reefs of rocks, over which the floes were running, and would have immediately capsized the little Fox had she touched. This current ran at least seven knots an hour, and was more like a bore in the Hooghly than any ordinary tide. Struggling clear, after some considerable anxiety, and carried out of the straits, we reluctantly went back to the anchorage we had left. Night and day we now earnestly watched Bellot Straits, but they remained choked with the ice, which apparently drove backwards and forwards with the stream. We made another desperate attempt on the 25th August, and hung on, at imminent risk, in a small indentation about two-thirds through, and close under the precipitous cliffs. We were soon driven out of this again by the ice; yet so determined was our Captain to get through, that he then thought of pushing the ship into the pack, and driving with it into the western sea. We found, however, that the western entrance must be blocked, for the ice did not move fast in that direction. We could now do nothing but wait a change; and to employ the time, we sailed down the east coast of Boothia for some forty miles, to land a depôt of provisions, in case we should require, in the following winter, to communicate with the natives about Port Elizabeth. Navigation was now very cold and dreary work: we struggled back to Bellot Straits against strong north winds, sleet, and snow, and without compass, chart, or celestial objects to guide us. The Captain next went away in a boat, determining, when stopped, to travel over land to the western sea to examine the actual state of things there; and Young was sent to the southward for five days with boat and sledge, to ascertain if another passage existed where a promising break in the land had been seen.
The Captain returned to the ship on the 31st, bringing with him a fine fat buck; he had reached Cape Bird by water and land, and brought us a favourable report of Victoria Straits. Our hopes of getting through were again raised. Young returned unsuccessful from the south; no other strait existed, but only an inlet, extending some six miles in, and a chain of lakes thence into the interior to the south-westward. Young saw only one deer, but many bears were roaming about the coast.
On the 6th September we made another dash at the straits, and this time succeeded in reaching a rocky islet, two miles outside the western entrance; but a barrier of fast ice, over which we could see a dark water-sky, here stopped us. Moored to the ice, we employed ourselves in killing seals, hunting for bears, and making preparations for travelling. Young was sent to an island eight miles to the south-west, to look around; and on ascending the land, he was astonished to see water as far as the visible horizon to the southward in Victoria Straits. While sitting down, taking some angles with the sextant, he luckily turned round just in time to see a large bear crawling up the rocks to give him a pat on the head. He seized his rifle and shot him through the body, but the beast struggled down and died out of reach, in the water, and thus a good depôt of beef was lost. Hobson, who, for some days, had been employed carrying provisions on to this island, started on the 25th with a party of seven men and two dog-sledges to carry depôts as far as possible to the southward, and the Captain placed a boat on the islet close to the ship, in case we should have to leave for winter quarters before Hobson’s return.