During the cutting in and trying out of the three whales the wind and current steadily carried the Bowhead northward, until on July fourth they again sighted the pack extending from the headland of Cape Lisburne westward indefinitely. Along between the ice and the land was a space of open water, and into this the Bowhead passed, working her way northeast as the summer season opened and the ice gradually receded from the shore. Now and then a whale was sighted in the opening leads of the retreating pack, and they occasionally captured one, though these whales in the ice were far smaller than the ones they had found in the open and consequently much less valuable. Moreover, in the ice-fields they were difficult to get at, and almost invariably escaped by plunging beneath the floes and coming up in some distant lead whither the boat could not follow them. In this way the ship reached the shallow and dangerous coast off Blossom Shoals and beyond to Wainright Inlet with the waning of the brief Arctic summer without any special adventures.
Every day had hardened Harry in rugged strength and vigor, and he and Joe were as fine specimens of young whalemen as the sea could boast. They had met and traded with the Eskimo tribes alongshore and exchanged the reindeer skins for fox and ermine pelts, ivory, and whalebone, thus adding to the value of their cruise. Harry and Joe had been rivals in acquiring the Eskimo dialect of this coast, and had been helped greatly in this by the presence aboard of a young Eskimo of the Point Hope tribe, who worked as a sailor, with the understanding that when the ship should go out he would be paid in “trade” and left with his tribe. Thus both were quite fluent and could understand much that the Eskimos said among themselves. This was of great assistance to them.
As far north as Wainwright Inlet you begin to see the end of the summer often by the last of August. Already the sun, which in June simply circled the sky without setting, has begun to set again, and there is a considerable period of darkness each night. The marvelous growth of beautiful flowers, which stud the moss and grass of the Arctic tundra during midsummer, has already passed to quick maturity, and the slopes are brown and autumnal by the middle of the month. Gales set in and bring snow on their icy wings, and the threat of winter is everywhere. The whalers take this warning and begin, about the middle of the month, to work south again, unless they intend to winter in the region. Oftentimes the Arctic pack hangs just offshore here and with westerly winds menaces the ship with destruction, but more often—indeed, it is counted upon by the whalers—a northeast gale comes with the first of September and drives the pack seaward, while giving them a fair wind for the strait. It was about this time that the cruise, thus far prosperous, began to meet with a series of mishaps that ended in disaster.
WHALEMEN’S CAMP ON ARCTIC SHORE
It was the last day of August that the west wind began to blow, and Captain Nickerson was uneasy directly. The Bowhead was just north of Icy Cape, in comparatively shoal water and with much floating ice in the sea. The pack ice was not in sight, but it might loom up at any moment, so steam was got up on the vessel and she poked her way among the floating cakes to windward, working out as fast as possible. The sky was still clear and it did not promise to be much of a blow, but things work together for evil quickly in the Arctic, and it behooves a navigator to be very wary there. The wisdom of the immediate move was shown in this case, for the ship was scarcely well off the shoals and round the cape into the deep water to westward, before a long, slender point of solid ice was noted to the windward. It might be the main pack or not. There was open water to seaward and clear sea between the ice and the land, and Captain Nickerson was puzzled which course to take. If it was but a detached floe, as it well might be, the open course lay to windward of it, away from the land. If, on the other hand, it was part of the main pack, the proper course lay between it and the coast. Captain Nickerson finally decided that the seaward course was the wise one, and soon a widening point of ice separated them from the shoreward stretch of open water. An hour later they were among drifting floes, but still had good water ahead of them toward the southwest. The breeze was gentle, but the sky was hazing up a little, and the sun shone coldly.
The next afternoon at eight bells (four o’clock), as the watch was changed, the man on lookout called down to the deck.
“Something adrift on the ice off the starboard bow, sir.”
“What is it?” asked Mr. Jones, whose watch on deck it was.