On Sunday all assembled in their clean and best suits. Brief religious service was performed in the presence of all, and the day was spent in reading or conversation, save the performance of the necessary routine work.
During the favoring light of the moon some excursions were attempted. One was made by Professor Sontag, accompanied by Hans and Jensen with two dog sledges. The object was to reach the harbor where Dr. Kane's "Advance" had been left, and ascertain if possible her fate. He started early in November, but returned in a few days, baffled by the hummocks and wide intervening, treacherous ice-cracks. The party had an encounter with and captured a bear and her cub. The mother fought with maternal fury for her child, tossed the dogs one after another until some of the stoutest and bravest retired bleeding and yelping from the field, and at times charged upon and scattered the whole pack, while the cub itself behaved bravely in its own defense. When the men came up they threw in, of course, the fatal odds of rifle balls. Once Hans, his gun having failed to go off, seized an Esquimo lance and ran at the beast. Accepting the challenge of a hand-to-hand fight, she made at him with such spirit that he dropped the lance and ran, and nothing saved the cub from supping on Esquimo meat but two well-directed balls, which whizzed at the right moment from the guns of Sontag and Jensen. The bears made a splendid resistance to the unprovoked attack upon them in the peaceable pursuit of an honest calling, that of getting a living, but were conquered and eaten.
Among the sad events of the winter was a fatal disease among the dogs. They all died but nine by the middle of December. This was alarming, for upon them depended mainly the spring excursions North Poleward. Such being the situation, Sontag took at this time the surviving dogs, and, on a sledge with Hans as a driver, started south in pursuit of Esquimo. If they could be brought with their dogs into the vicinity of the ship and fed, there would be a fair chance of having dog-sledges when they were wanted. The nearest known Esquimo family was at Northumberland Island, a hundred miles off, and others were at the south side of Whale Sound, fifty miles farther—perhaps all had gone to the most distant point. They departed in fine spirits, and well equipped. Hans cracked his whip, and the dogs, well fed and eager for a run, caused the sledge to glide over the ice with the velocity of a locomotive. Their companions sent after them a "hip! hip, hurrah!" and a "tiger." The moon shed her serene light on their path, and all seemed to promise a speedy and successful return.
The second night after their departure the solicitous commander had a strange, disquieting dream. He says in the journal of the following morning: "I stood with Sontag far out upon the frozen sea, when suddenly a crash was heard through the darkness, and in an instant a crack opened in the ice between us. It came so suddenly and widened so rapidly that he could not spring over it to where I stood, and he sailed away on the dark waters of a troubled sea. I last saw him standing firmly upon the crystal raft, his erect form cutting sharply against a streak of light which lay upon the distant horizon."
Christmas came and was duly regarded. Stores of nice things, the gifts of friends far away, were brought out from secret corners where they had been hid. The tables were loaded with that which satisfied the appetite and gratified the eye, while the rooms of officers and men blazed with cheerful lights. Outside a feeble aurora seemed to be trying to exhibit an inspiring illumination, which contrasted strongly with its cloudy background.
January, 1861, came, and half its days passed, yet no tidings came from Sontag. The twilight had returned, and already the coming sun was heralded along the golden horizon. The commander was becoming uneasy concerning the missing ones, and began to devise ways of knowing what had become of them. Mr. Dodge was sent to follow their tracks, which he did as far as Cape Alexander, where he lost them and returned. A party was instantly put in readiness for farther search, and was about to start on the morning of January twenty-seventh, when a violent storm arose, detaining it two days. As it was on the instant of starting again, two Esquimo suddenly appeared at the vessel's side. One of them was Ootiniah, who appears so creditably in the narrative of Dr. Hayes's boat voyage. They were bearers of sad news. Professor Sontag was dead. Hans was on his way to the vessel with his wife, father and mother, and their son, a lad who was left behind with mother when Hans was first taken on board of the schooner. Some of the dogs had died, and the family were necessarily moving slowly.
Two days later Hans came in with the boy only, having left the dogs and the old people near Cape Alexander and come on for help. He was very cold and much exhausted, and both were sent below for food, warmth, and rest, before being questioned concerning the disastrous journey. The large sledge, drawn by fresh men, was sent for those left behind. The old people were found coiled up in an excavation made in a snow bank, and the dogs huddled together near them, neither dogs nor Esquimo being able to stir, and so all were bundled in a heap on the sledge and drawn to the schooner. The hardy savages soon revived under the influence of good quarters and good eating, but the dogs, five in number, the remnant of the strong force of thirty-six, lay on the deck unable to stir, and not disposed to eat.
Hans's story was this:—
They made a good run the first day, passing Cape Alexander, and camped in a snow hut on Sunderland Island. The next day they reached an Esquimo settlement, but found its huts forsaken. Resting and eating here, they started for Northumberland Island, and having traveled about five miles, Sontag, becoming chilled, sprang from the sledge and ran ahead of the dogs for warmth by exercise. Hans having occasion to halt the team to disentangle a trace fell some distance behind. He was urging forward his team to overtake his master when he saw him sinking. He had come upon thin ice covering a recently open crack, and had broken through. Hans hastened up and helped him from the water. A light wind was blowing, which disposed Sontag not to attempt to change his wet clothes—the fatal error. They hastened back to the hut in which they had spent the night. At first the professor ran, but after a while jumped on the sledge, and when he reached the hut he was stiff and speechless. Hans lifted him into the hut, drew off his wet clothes, and placed him into his sleeping bag. Having tightly closed the hut, he set the lamp ablaze, and administered to him a portion of brandy from a flask found on the sledge. But the cold had done its fatal work; he remained speechless and unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours, and died.
Hans closed up the hut to prevent beasts of prey from disturbing the body, continued south, and on the second night came upon a village where he was rejoiced to find several native families, who were living in the midst of abundance. Here Hans rested until two Esquimo boys, whom he hired with the Sontag presents, could go to Cape York after his wife's parents and their son. They over-drove or starved four of the dogs, which were left by the way.