Transcriber’s Note:

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

NEAREST THE POLE

THE GEOGRAPHICAL LIBRARY

The Opening of Tibet, By Perceval Landon

Flashlights in the Jungle, By C. G. Schillings

The Passing of Korea, By Homer B. Hulbert

Fighting the Polar Ice, By Anthony Fiala

Nearest the Pole, By R. E. Peary, U. S. N.

“NEAREST THE POLE”
COMMANDER ROBERT E. PEARY PLANTING THE AMERICAN FLAG LATITUDE 87° 6′, APRIL 21, 1906
Painted by Albert Operti, from photographs

Nearest the Pole
A Narrative of the Polar Expedition of the Peary Arctic Club in the S. S. Roosevelt, 1905–1906

By

R. E. PEARY, U. S. N.

With ninety-five photographs by the author, two maps and a frontispiece in colour by Albert Operti

New York

Doubleday, Page & Company

1907

Copyright, 1907, by

Doubleday, Page & Company

Published, April, 1907

All Rights Reserved

Including that of Translation into Foreign Languages

Including the Scandinavian

TO HER WHO HAS BEEN

MY CONSTANT AID AND INSPIRATION

AND HAS BORNE THE BRUNT

OF IT ALL

INTRODUCTION

The Address of President Roosevelt on his presentation of the Hubbard Medal of the National Geographic Society to Commander Robert E. Peary, at the annual banquet of the Society, December 15, 1906.

I count myself fortunate in having been asked to be present this evening at such a gathering and on behalf of such a society to pay a tribute of honour to an American who emphatically deserves well of the commonwealth. Civilised people usually live under conditions of life so easy that there is a certain tendency to atrophy of the hardier virtues. And it is a relief to pay signal honour to a man who by his achievements makes it evident that in some of the race, at least, there has been no loss of hardy virtue.

I said some loss of the hardier virtues. We will do well to recollect that the very word virtue, in itself, originally signifies courage and hardihood. When the Roman spoke of virtue he meant that sum of qualities that we characterise as manliness.

I emphatically believe in peace and all the kindred virtues. But I think that they are only worth having if they come as a consequence of possessing the combined virtue of courage and hardihood. So I feel that in an age which naturally and properly excels, as it should excel, in the milder and softer qualities, there is need that we should not forget that in the last analysis the safe basis of a successful national character must rest upon the great fighting virtues, and those great fighting virtues can be shown quite as well in peace as in war.

They can be shown in the work of the philanthropist; in the work of the scientist; and, most emphatically of all, in the work of the explorer, who faces and overcomes perils and hardships which the average soldier never in his life knows. In war, after all, it is only the man at the very head who is ever lonely. All the others, from the subordinate generals down through the privates, are cheered and sustained by the sense of companionship and by the sense of divided responsibility.

You, the man whom we join to honour to-night, you, who for month in and month out, year in and year out, had to face perils and overcome the greatest risks and difficulties with resting on your shoulders the undivided responsibility which meant life or death to you and your followers—you had to show in addition what the modern commander with his great responsibility does not have to show. You had to show all the moral qualities in war, together with other qualities. You did a great deed, a deed that counted for all mankind, a deed which reflected credit upon you and upon your country; and on behalf of those present, and speaking also for the millions of your countrymen, I take pleasure in handing you this Hubbard medal, and in welcoming you home from the great feat which you have performed, Commander Peary.

COMMANDER ROBERT E. PEARY

MORRIS K. JESUP

Peary’s reply to President Roosevelt on the presentation of the Hubbard Medal of the National Geographic Society, December 15, 1906.

President Roosevelt: In behalf of the Peary Arctic Club and its president, Morris K. Jesup, I beg to express our deep appreciation of the great honour conferred by the National Geographic Society in this award of its gold medal, and the double honour of receiving this medal from your hand.

Your continued interest, Mr. President, your permission to name the club’s ship after you, and your name itself have proved a powerful talisman. Could I have foreseen this occasion, it would have lightened many dark hours, but I will frankly say that it would not, for it could not, have increased my efforts.

The true explorer does his work not for any hopes of reward or honour, but because the thing he has set himself to do is a part of his being, and must be accomplished for the sake of the accomplishment. And he counts lightly hardships, risks, obstacles, if only they do not bar him from his goal.

To me the final and complete solution of the Polar mystery which has engaged the best thought and interest of some of the best men of the most vigorous and enlightened nations of the world for more than three centuries, and to-day quickens the pulse of every man or woman whose veins hold red blood, is the thing which should be done for the honour and credit of this country, the thing which it is intended that I should do, and the thing that I must do.

The result of the last expedition of the Peary Arctic Club has been to simplify the attainment of the Pole fifty per cent., to accentuate the fact that man and the Eskimo dog are the only two mechanisms capable of meeting all the varying contingencies of Arctic work, and that the American route to the Pole and the methods and equipment which have been brought to a high state of perfection, during the past fifteen years, still remain the most practicable means of attaining that object.

Had the past winter been a normal season in the Arctic region and not, as it was, a particularly open one throughout the Northern hemisphere, I should have won the prize. And even if I had known before leaving the land what actual conditions were to the northward, as I know now, I could have so modified my route and my disposition of sledges that I could have reached the Pole in spite of the open season.

Another expedition following in my steps and profiting by my experience cannot only attain the Pole; but can secure the remaining principal desiderata in the Arctic regions, namely, a line of deep-sea soundings through the central Polar Ocean, and the delineation of the unknown gap in the northeast coast line of Greenland from Cape Morris Jesup to Cape Bismarck. And this work can be done in a single season.

As regards the belief expressed by some that the attainment of the North Pole possesses no value or interest, let me say that should an American first of all men place the Stars and Stripes at that coveted spot, there is not an American citizen at home or abroad, and there are millions of us, but what would feel a little better and a little prouder of being an American; and just that added increment of pride and patriotism to millions, would of itself alone be worth ten times the cost of attaining the Pole.

President Roosevelt, for nearly four centuries the world dreamed of the union of the Atlantic and Pacific. You have planted the Stars and Stripes at Panama and insured the realisation of that dream.

For over three centuries the world has dreamed of solving the mystery of the North. To-night the Stars and Stripes stand nearest to that mystery, pointing and beckoning. And, God willing, I hope that your administration may yet see those Stars and Stripes planted at the Pole itself. For, between those two great cosmic boundaries, the Panama Canal and the North Pole, lie the heritage and the stupendous future of that giant whose destinies you guide to-day, the United States of America.

ANNOUNCEMENT

New York, March 30, 1907

The Peary Arctic Club at a recent meeting resolved unanimously to place the Roosevelt on dry dock for a refitting, and to subsequently tender the same to Commander Peary for a final attempt to be made by him to reach the North Pole. Believing Commander Peary will be successful, the Club has taken this action, and they have every confidence in the gallant and intrepid American, and share in the pride that must animate the American people to see planted at the North Pole the American flag.

The Peary Arctic Club asks the aid of those who have heretofore contributed, as well as the co-operation and aid of all or any who are interested in this patriotic enterprise. The expense of this final expedition it is estimated will be one hundred thousand dollars.

Morris K. Jesup, President.

New York, March 30, 1907

The fact, as indicated in Mr. Jesup’s letter, that the Peary Arctic Club hopes to send out another Polar Expedition the coming summer, will, I trust, be accepted as an excuse for any shortcomings in this volume.

The writer has, from the day of his return, been under the stress of insistent and incessant demands, and in working and planning for the next campaign, has found it difficult and at times impossible to put this narrative of the campaign just finished, in the shape that would do full justice to himself and his publishers.

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

NEAREST THE POLE

CHAPTER I
FROM NEW YORK TO ETAH

When an expedition starts for distant and mysterious regions for an uncertain length of time, and particularly when its objective point is the frozen heart of the Arctic Circle, it is natural that those who know and are interested in its objects and plans should turn with interest to its personnel and its surroundings and environment while en route to the scene of action.

The opening scenes of an Arctic voyage are comparatively familiar to those conversant with Arctic literature. The main features of the play are much the same: A crowded and littered ship, regrets at leaving, confusion, and, if the weather be decent, an effort to get into shape, or, if the weather be bad, a surrender by most of the party to abject misery in cramped quarters. In the present instance, some of these features were entirely absent, and others appeared only in a mild form.

Experience and a roomy ship almost completely obviated the lumbering of the decks, beyond the inevitable and inseparable feature of the coal, a portion of which must at first always be carried on deck.

Such few things as were dumped on deck at the last moment, were quickly and readily disposed of; and quarters specially arranged for the party and on deck, insured fair room for each member of the expedition.

As to regrets, no pronounced symptoms were noticeable in the others, and I had made the voyage too often to consider it more than a trip to Europe.

Under these favourable circumstances let us look at the personnel of the party whose home for an uncertain length of time, in the ice of the Polar Sea, was to be the good ship Roosevelt. First the captain, Robert A. Bartlett, sailing master and ice navigator, who was 30 years of age, 5 feet 10½ inches tall, and weighed 174 pounds. Bartlett is one of the new generation of Bartletts, a hardy family of Newfoundland sailors and navigators, almost all of whom have been associated with Arctic work. A great uncle was master of the Tigress when that ship picked up the drifting floe party of the Polaris expedition; two uncles, Samuel and John, were respectively master and mate of the Panther in which Hayes and Bradford visited Melville Bay; recently Captain Sam was master of the Canadian Government steamer Neptune, which wintered in Hudson Bay; and both of these, as well as Harry, a younger uncle, had been masters of my ships during one or the other of my several voyages north. Robert was mate in the Windward in the expedition of ’98 to ’99.

Blonde, smooth-shaven and close-cropped, stockily built and clear-eyed, he had already been farther north in these regions than any of the other Newfoundland ice masters, and his youth, ambition, and the Bartlett blood all counted in his favour.

Moses Bartlett, mate, a second cousin of the captain, was 47 years old, 6 feet high, and weighed 184 pounds. He had already been as far north as Cape Sabine three times; twice as mate of my ships and once as mate of the Neptune, and had also spent a year on this ship in Hudson Bay in the employ of the Canadian Government. Weather-beaten, grizzled, and keen of eye, he was regarded as one of the best of the Newfoundland ice pilots.

George A. Wardwell, chief engineer, was a native of Bucksport, Maine, 44 years of age, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and weighed 240 pounds. Acting as engineer in the shipyard in which the Roosevelt was built and intimately employed in her construction, he was deeply interested in her proposed work and anxious to join the expedition. His phlegmatic temperament, and evident capacity for work, combined with non-use of liquor and tobacco, were all strong points in his favour.

John Murphy, boatswain, was a native Newfoundlander, 31 years of age, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and weighed 165 pounds. Sailor and fisherman from the age of eighteen, he had also been as far north as Cape Sabine on the Neptune and had wintered with her in Hudson Bay.

Murtaugh J. Malone, assistant engineer, was a native of Portland, Maine, 49 years of age, 5 feet 7½ inches tall, and weighed 150 pounds.

Dr. Louie J. Wolf, surgeon of the Expedition, was a native of Oregon, 30 years of age, 5 feet 9 inches tall, weighed 150 pounds, was a graduate of the Cooper Medical College, San Francisco, California, becoming later House Surgeon at St. Vincent’s Hospital, Portland, Oregon, and still later Assistant Attending Physician at the Cornell University Medical College, and of the outdoor medical dispensary of Bellevue Hospital.

Ross G. Marvin, secretary and assistant, was a native of Elmira, N. Y., a graduate of Cornell University, 25 years of age, 6 feet tall, and weighed 160 pounds. Subsequently he had three years of naval training on board the school ship St. Mary’s.

Charles Percy, my steward, was a native of Newfoundland, 54 years of age, 5 feet 10 inches high, and weighed 180 pounds. He had previously made a summer voyage as far north as Cape Sabine in my ship the Diana in 1899, and later had spent two years with Mrs. Peary and myself at Cape Sabine, from 1900 to 1902. Subsequently he had been in my employ as resident in charge of Eagle Island.

Matthew Henson, my personal attendant, was a coloured native of the District of Columbia, 39 years of age, 5 feet 6¾ inches high, and weighed 145 pounds. In my employ in one capacity or another most of the time since I took him to Nicaragua with me in 1888, and a member of all of my Arctic expeditions, his quality and capabilities were fully known.

The crew and firemen, with the exception of one of the latter, Charles Clark, a native of Massachusetts, were natives of Newfoundland, of the usual type of sailors and sealers common to that island. One of the firemen had been with me on the Eagle in 1886, and previously to that had been on one of the whalers in search of the Greely party in 1883. Another fireman had been north with me in the Hope in 1898, and one of the sailors had made a voyage to Hudson Bay.

DR. WOLF

CAPT. BARTLETT

COMMANDER PEARY

STEWARD PERCY

MR. MARVIN

MATE BARTLETT

CHIEF ENGINEER WARDWELL

MATTHEW HENSON

“BO’SUN” MURPHY

THE SAILORS

THE FIREMEN

Next after the personnel of the Expedition comes their environment. In the present case no member of the party was quartered below deck. The after cabin for officers, close down against the propeller post, and the forecastle for the crew, down in the eyes of the ship forward, to be found in all the old-fashioned ships, and even in those recently built for Arctic work, were lacking on the Roosevelt, and in their stead were light, roomy accommodations on deck.

As to the furnishings of the rooms there was little to be said. Beginning forward, it is well known that Jack, particularly if a Newfoundland sealer, does not take much bric-a-brac to sea with him, his outfit comprising only his clothes and his bedding. There were therefore no oil paintings or etchings on the walls of the forward house. Two tiers of folding bunks, a stove, a table, and the seamen’s chests for chairs, completed the list.

The furnishings of the after house were hardly less simple.

In the port saloon, which was lighted by two twelve-inch ports on the side, and a window looking forward, a leather-cushioned locker extended around three sides of the room; and this, with an extension table screwed to the floor, a clock, a little library presented to the ship by the Seaman’s Friend Society, and a brief notice to the members of the Expedition, stating the object of the Expedition, what was expected of the members and what success would mean to them, completed the furniture. Here the ship’s officers, except the captain, messed.

In the captain’s room, at the after end of the port side of the deck house, was a folding berth, a washbasin, a table and a camp chair, and these, with the chronometer, a trunk, and several pictures and photos on the walls, completed its furnishing.

At the after end of the starboard side of the deck house was my own room. This room, owing to the thoughtful care of Mrs. Peary and friends, was more luxuriously furnished than any room occupied by me on previous expeditions or than it would have been had I furnished it myself.

The room (10 × 16) was also larger than I had ever had on a previous expedition. The room occupied by Mrs. Peary and myself at Redcliffe was 7 × 12 feet, and the one at Anniversary Lodge 8 × 18 feet. But one of the most annoying circumstances of the long Arctic winter is always the crowding of cramped quarters, the inability to move without knocking against something, the feeling of oppression. This, on top of the contracted horizon and feeling of compression from the protracted darkness, is at times almost intolerable, and in planning the Roosevelt quarters I felt that I was justified in giving myself a little more room. Two ports and a window looking aft lighted the room and, as in the captain’s room, a door opened aft on to the quarter-deck, while another gave me direct access to the engine room.

A berth, a table, and a chair, are of course essentials and were present. Then came the pièce de résistance, the beautiful pianola given me by my friend H. H. Benedict. This, with a rack of nearly 150 music rolls, popular operas, marches, waltzes and rag-time, was screwed to the deck at the forward end of the room. Over it was a large framed portrait of the founder of the Expedition, Morris K. Jesup, flanked on either side by an etching of President Roosevelt and a photo of Judge Darling, Assistant Secretary of the Navy. In the forward corner was a stationary washstand, and on the inboard wall a series of shelves containing a small Arctic library, a few books of reference, and a few standard works of fiction. A chest of drawers, a cellarette, a table, a wicker easy chair from Mr. Jesup, a warm brown rug from Mrs. Peary, pictures of the home folks and home places, and Arctic maps upon the walls completed the fittings, not including a trunk and two chests of stores in the doctor’s department, for which there was at present no room below decks.

Wednesday, July 26th, ’05.—All things come to an end at last, even the starting of this Expedition.

The Roosevelt got away from the Terminal Pier at North Sydney at 2 P. M.[^[1]] With the exception of the quarter-deck, which is loaded with bags of coal, to keep the ship from trimming too deep by the head, the deck is not nearly so badly littered and cumbered as on previous voyages.

[1]. Note.—The Roosevelt sailed from New York on July 16th, touched in at Bar Harbour to receive Mr. Jesup’s “God-speed,” then loaded with coal at Sydney, C. B.

The cases of oil and a few miscellaneous casks are practically all that is not below hatches. We have on board something over 500 tons of coal, besides our supplies and equipment. In capacity, the Roosevelt comes fully up to my expectations. There is a quarter of beef in the rigging, two or three sheep among the coal bags aft, and a tank and several casks of water on deck, besides the full tanks below.

Once under way, I hope to make no stops this side of Cape York. It is already late in the season and every day now is precious.

Percy, the steward, has purchased two small porkers, “Dennis” and “Mike,” which are running contentedly about the deck, and if they escape the dogs, which is very doubtful, they may furnish us roast pork for our Christmas dinner.

Outside the harbour a little swell caused by the easterly breeze taking the ship broadside on, sets her rolling a bit until she straightens out on her course to pass St. Paul’s light.

The next thing in order was the stowing of the miscellaneous packages which during the past days have been put in the various rooms, particularly my room, to prevent their getting mixed up with the provisions in the hold. This was readily accomplished by supper time, at least to the extent of permitting a passage through the room and allowing access to the bunk, the table, and a camp chair.

Immediately after supper we ran into dense fog and are now ploughing our way through it across Cabot Strait, the southern gateway of the Gulf, blowing our whistle as if we were in Long Island Sound, for we are crossing the track of the inward- and outward-bound traffic.

Thursday, July 27th.—Heavy thunderstorms last night with electrical accompaniments as vivid as those of Gulf storms on the southern voyages.

PIANOLA PRESENTED BY H. H. BENEDICT

BOOKCASE AND WRITING TABLE
INTERIOR OF PEARY’S CABIN ABOARD THE “ROOSEVELT”

A MELVILLE BAY ICEBERG

TYPICAL WHALE SOUND GLACIER

Passed Cape Anguille on the Newfoundland coast at breakfast time, and Red Island and the bold cliffs of Cape St. George after noon.

Soon after dinner an alarm of fire was caused by the catching of one of the main deck beams over the uptake from the boilers. A stream from one of the fire hose which was coupled on in readiness and needed but the opening of a valve to turn the water on, quickly extinguished the fire, which was apparently caused by the more gaseous nature of the Sydney coal, and the combustion and heat in the stack instead of in the boiler. It was then discovered that several sections of the water-tube boilers were leaking, and the fires were immediately drawn to let the boilers cool for examination; the Roosevelt steaming along under the Scotch boiler only.

The process of stowage both about the decks and in the rooms has continued to-day, and most of the oil has been put down in the forepeak. A fine day, though with occasional showers, and the Roosevelt as steady as if steaming up the North River.

Friday, July 28th.—Continuance of the fine weather, running under Scotch boiler only all night and day. The engineers working on the Almys. The Chief to-night fears the damage is more serious than at first anticipated. At intervals during the day I have been comparing the readings of the log with the revolutions of the engines at varying speeds; with results fully up to my expectation. Another incipient fire in the same place was immediately extinguished, and I have had portions of the beams cut away and other means taken to prevent a recurrence. At supper time we passed four or five small bergs which had come through the straits. Fine weather, with smooth sea till evening, when the fog shut down on us. Just before this, two large steamers passed us heading for the straits, and one hung out the signal, “Wish you a pleasant voyage,” to which we replied, “Good-bye.” It is light now till 9 P. M., and it seems good to be again approaching the Arctic day.

Saturday, July 29th.—A dirty night. In the dense fog, which filled the Belle Isle graveyard of ships, Point Amour Light was invisible, until apparently hanging over our mast head, and then it was a matter of feeling our way from fog horn to fog horn through the Straits. We could hear two or three large steamers that were laying to, blowing their double blasts; and numbers of bergs added to the uncertainty and anxiety of the passage.

Captain Bartlett and myself up all night. At breakfast time just north of Chateau Bay we ran out of the wall of fog into bright sunshine, and a field of beautiful icebergs. Cape York is 1500 miles from here.

Running northward all day, just off the Labrador coast, in alternate fog and sunshine. Have written two or three brief personal letters which we shall leave at Domino Run to-night, before heading across Davis Strait for Greenland. This is necessitated by the fog having shut us out of Chateau Bay and Battle Harbour, from which place our passing may have been reported to the home folks.

Sunday, July 30th.—Ran into Domino Run late last night without dropping anchor, and Captain Bartlett pulled ashore with the letters, coming off again at once. He learned that the ice was against the coast as far down as Cape Harrigan.

Going into the Run it was clear as a bell, and while lying to, waiting for the Captain’s return, the stars twinkled as in winter, a biting wind whistled through the rigging, and a brilliant curtain aurora waved across the northern sky, while ashore the dogs were howling merrily.

Pacing the bridge, these familiar sights and sounds stirred me with the call of the polar mystery. Might it not be possible that this breath, this presence, as it were, of the land of the “Great Night” was reaching down far beyond its usual haunts to greet and welcome my coming?

When we steamed out, less than an hour after our arrival, the fog had settled down again, and the temporary jamming of the rudder chains while negotiating the narrow channel, caused a slight flurry, but resulted in nothing serious.

Clear of the harbour, our course was set N. E. by E. to bring us to the Greenland coast, well up Davis’ Strait. Dense fog all night and to-day, with very smooth sea. Several narrow shaves from icebergs during the night, but this morning we were in deep water, and clear of them.

A light breeze from the southeast, just enough to fill our headsails, foresail, spanker and balloon staysails, but with no push to it. There will be no more sailing lights for us, side or masthead or stern. We are beyond the world’s highways now, and shall see no sail or smoke except our own, until we return.

Monday, July 31st.—To-day the fog has cleared away a bit. The sea still very smooth, not even a swell. A very perceptible twilight throughout the night. To-night there will be no night. We are in the border land of the region of the “Great Day.”

Tuesday, August 1st.—Continuance of fine weather and listless sea. At noon we are in the latitude of Cape Farewell and Cape Chidley, and about midway between them. A Brunnich’s guillemot passed us flying south, and at 6 P. M. a small berg was visible a little west of our course.

At supper time Chief Wardwell, who has been working over the Almy boilers for the past four days, hands me a report that makes matters look gloomy. I am seriously disturbed and perplexed. Have ordered a complete overhauling and pressure test of the boilers.

Wednesday, Aug. 2d.—Another day of listless sea, and opening and clearing fog, with slowly rising barometer. Two bergs passed during the forenoon.

Am feeling physically something like myself again. I did not realise until we were actually off, and the relaxation came, how nearly fagged out I was with the incessant work, and the last two weeks of intolerable heat in New York. Were it not for our boilers I should feel very content.

In the afternoon a “bo’sun” bird, and numbers of kittiwakes were flying about the ship, and several guillemots in the water dove to let us pass.

Thursday, Aug. 3d.—A foggy night and cold. This morning the sun shining through a low-lying fog, and a light, but particularly penetrating easterly breeze, the breath of the East Greenland ice inshore of us.

The noon sights showed us a little south of Sukkertoppen, and at 2 P. M. an opening in the fog showed us the Sukkertoppen Islands on the starboard bow. We are past the East Coast ice without seeing a cake of it. Since supper dense fog.

Friday, Aug. 4th.—Thick fog all night until about 6:30 A. M., when it began to lift, showing us the bold Greenland Mountains, near Holsteinburg. Not a piece of ice inshore or a berg in sight.

We crossed the Arctic Circle at two o’clock this morning, and Percy, the steward, asserts that the bump when the ship went over it, woke him up!!

In regard to smoothness of sea, peacefulness of weather, entire absence of ice, and scarcity of bergs, the voyage from Sydney to the Arctic Circle has been most unusual even for this season of the year. With the exception of the few rolls just outside of Sydney Harbour, there has not been enough motion of the ship to spill a glass of water.

The noon sights give us 67° 37′ north latitude. The water, like glass, and the cliffs of Disco visible 95 miles away. In 68° we passed through a fleet of twenty-seven bergs, the output of the Disco Bay glaciers. During the afternoon a few walrus and two whales were seen. The day has been one of typical Disco Bay summer weather.

Saturday, Aug. 5th.—A perfect Arctic summer night, clear and brilliant. At two this morning we passed Godhavn, the little place lying under the southward-facing cliffs of Disco, which is the capital of the northern inspectorate of Greenland. Here, nineteen years ago, I got my first taste of Arctic life, and made plans and indulged in dreams some of which have since materialised and others may. Several times since then I have anchored in the harbour, till I know the little settlement as I do the streets of Washington.

Though we are now over three degrees beyond the Arctic Circle, I am sitting in my cabin, with window and ports open, in my shirt sleeves, wearing clothing I wore in New York before I left, writing in entire comfort.

Later, a light breeze from the westward, keen after its passage over the middle pack, makes the blue waters look like frosted steel, and sharpens the western cliffs of Disco, along which we are steaming, into almost startling clearness.

At noon we are off Hare Island and passing through a fleet of large bergs, the output of the Tossuketek glacier, which I visited in 1886, through the Waigatt. We are ten days from Sydney to the Waigatt.

Sunday, Aug. 6th.—An hour or two of fog at midnight, then overcast, with a light following breeze, barely enough to fill the sails at first, then freshens from southwest and brings up a sea which would give the Roosevelt considerable motion were it not for the sails which hold her almost as steady as a rock.

Occasionally the top of a wave slaps over the port rail, but not enough to do any harm.

The base of Sanderson’s Hope seen and named by John Davis 300 years ago, was visible under the fog in the early morning. Our noon sights gave us 73° 17′ north latitude, and at 6 P. M. we passed the Duck Islands on our starboard beam, near enough to see with the glasses, the old whaler’s lookout on the summit.

The sea and fresh breeze continued all the evening, and there is evidently very dirty weather to the south of us. No sign of ice yet.

Monday, Aug. 7th.—We ran away from the wind during the night. Cape York was visible at 2 P. M. and at 7 P. M. we ran past the point of it for the Eskimo settlement beyond. The run across Melville Bay had been made in twenty-five hours. No ice or ice sky was seen, and there is evidently no ice in the bay this year.

Going ashore, I found four tents at the village, and learned that some fifteen families are located to the eastward, at Meteorite Island, and other places. Among them are some of my best men.

Told the natives to get their things ready to come on board on my return, and going off to the ship steamed eastward.

Stopped off the first settlement and, without dropping anchor, shouted to the men to get ready to move.

Then on to Meteorite Island, where I found four tents and learned that four other families were still farther east in the bay. These I shall not see, as I cannot take the time to go so far out of my way. At Meteorite Island are three of my old men, and, in an hour or two, they are all on board with their belongings, and we steam away, leaving the place deserted. Back to the next settlement and the operation is repeated. Six families move all their belongings on board and desert their village in about three hours.

Tuesday, Aug. 8th.—It was after breakfast when we finished at the last settlement, and I lay down for a short nap while crossing Cape York Bay, having been up all night.

Again at Cape York the tents were quickly struck and, with all their belongings, the new men came on board.

At 2 P. M. we steamed around the Cape, and headed north to join the Erik at North Star Bay.[^[2]] While passing Petowik Glacier a steamer was seen to the westward steaming south. The glasses showed her to be small and schooner-rigged.

[2]. Note.—The Erik was the auxiliary, steam whaler chartered by the Peary Arctic Club to go north as a collier, replenish the Roosevelt’s coal supply at Etah and deposit there a depot of coal for the Roosevelt on her return voyage.

Wednesday, Aug. 9th.—On arriving at North Star Bay this morning at 2 A. M., learned from the Erik that the steamer we saw was the Danish steamship Fox, here for the purpose of selecting a site for a settlement. The Erik came alongside and I transferred to her with Marvin and “Matt,” to make a round of the settlements to the north, and to hunt walrus, while the Roosevelt goes direct to Etah to overhaul machinery and prepare for the ice.

OOMUNUI
The peculiar peak at the entrance of the North Star Bay, Wolstenholm Sound

COALING AT ETAH

TRANSFERRING WALRUS MEAT AT ETAH

The Erik got underway soon after, and made the circuit of Wolstenholm Sound, looking for walrus, but without success. There is no ice for them to bask upon.

At the Saunders Island bird cliffs we then put in two or three hours shooting, securing 130 birds, and returned to North Star Bay. Here, the natives that I wanted were taken on board, and some thirty additional dogs purchased. Before midnight we steamed north for Whale Sound.

The next morning we were rounding magnificent Cape Parry, into Whale Sound, and steamed eastward along the southern shore to Ittibloo, where I expected to find more of my people. None were there, however, and the Erik turned northward across the Sound to Karnah, where I felt certain to find someone. Six tents were located here beside the brawling summer river, and the men were all away at Cape Cleveland, hunting walrus with one of the whaleboats which I had given them three years before. From the women, I learned that about ten families were up the gulf at Kangerdlooksoah and that vicinity. Telling the natives here, as at the other places, to get their things in readiness to come on board when the ship returned, we steamed eastward into Inglefield Gulf. No ice was to be seen here, but there was a most unusual profusion of bergs from the great Heilprin and Melville Glaciers at the head of the Gulf. At times it looked as if there were no thoroughfare among the bergs, but a closer approach in every case showed winding passages among them, and off Kangerdlooksoah there were comparatively few.

Here, where I had left my faithful people three years before, I found now six tents, the occupants of all but one of them young and active men. The number of dogs, and the goodly supply of skins which these people have, made the process of moving a little slower than at some of the other places, but everybody and everything was finally on board, leaving the place, which a few hours before had been enlivened by the voices of children and the barking of dogs, deserted. From Kangerdlooksoah we steamed north across the head of the Gulf to Harvard Islands, on the northernmost of which were four tents. These, like the others, were embarked as soon as possible, and at half-past two the morning of the 11th, the Erik was ready to steam down the Gulf again.

The scene and the surroundings during this typical Arctic summer night were such as to be long remembered. The surface of the Gulf like a placid mirror, thickly dotted in every direction with fragments of ice and icebergs, of all sizes and shapes, and flanked on the east and north by the gigantic amphitheatre of the Heilprin, Tracy, and Melville Glaciers rising to the steel-blue slopes of the “great ice,” while northwest and west rose the warm red-brown bluffs of Mounts Daly and Adams, and Josephine Peary Island, and to the south the rolling slopes of the Kangerdlooksoah deer pastures. During the remainder of the night we steamed down the Gulf, and in the forenoon we were on the walrus grounds between Herbert Island and the north shore of the Sound.

THE AUXILIARY S. S. “ERIK” IN THE HARBOUR OF ETAH

THE BARRIER AT CAPE COLLINSON

Up to this time, the weather, since arriving at Cape York, has been an uninterrupted sequence of calm and continuous sunlight—typical Arctic summer weather. Now, however, wind and fog have their turn, and render it impossible to secure walrus, wasting the day for us.

In the evening we steamed back to Karnah, to take on board the natives there, and be in readiness to attempt the walrus again the following day. By midnight this work was completed, and as everyone was now dead-tired and sleepy, the Erik steamed out into the middle of the Sound to drift until after breakfast of the following day, when we again steamed out to the walrus grounds and by nine o’clock that night had secured eighteen of the animals. Fog and rain were now coming in upon us, and we steamed into the last settlement on our list, Igludiahni, where six tupiks were found. Our stay here was short as I wanted but one family here, and it did not take me long to purchase a number of additional dogs. When the last dog was on board the Erik, she headed for Cape Chalon on her way to rejoin the Roosevelt at Etah, where she arrived at breakfast time Sunday, the 13th. The Roosevelt had landed her coal in bags and broken out the supplies for the purpose of restowing to give her the proper trim to enter the ice.

It being Sunday, everyone enjoyed a much needed rest, except the Eskimos, to whom the work of skinning and cutting up the walrus was a labour of love and pleasure.

Early Monday morning the Erik veered alongside the Roosevelt and, at five o’clock, the work of transferring the meat, of restowing the Roosevelt’s supplies, and of filling her bunkers and ’tween-deck space with coal from the Erik, was commenced. This continued during Monday, Tuesday, and till Wednesday at 2 A. M. when the Roosevelt was ready to steam out and begin the struggle for which she was built, the fight with the Arctic ice from Cape Sabine to the northern shore of Grant Land. Thus far the voyage had been child’s play: what was now before her was likely to be the reverse.

The Roosevelt now had on board of her a crew of twenty, some forty Eskimos, and about 200 dogs. She also carried, in addition to the supplies and equipment for the party, about four hundred and fifty tons of coal and several tons of walrus meat.

I had been agreeably surprised to find the natives in unusually prosperous condition, with a superfluity of dogs, abundance of meat, and a good supply of skins for clothing. Several of my old friends and acquaintances had died during the last three years, but there were also a number of new babies and, although I did not have time for anything in the nature of a census, I had no doubt that the births equalled and probably exceeded the number of deaths.

CHAPTER II
ETAH TO CAPE SHERIDAN

Leaving Etah soon after midnight of August 16th, the Roosevelt swung out from the harbour of Etah and severed all communication with the civilised world. Below decks the ship was filled with coal until her plank sheer was nearly to the water; on deck were more than two hundred Eskimo dogs; and on the topgallant forecastle, and the tops of both forward and after deck-houses were over half a hundred Eskimos, men, women and children, and their belongings.

The heavy pack ice surging down Smith Sound, past Littleton Island, gave me an opportunity to see what good work the ship could do and as we bored through it toward Cape Sabine, she realised my expectations in regard to her, even though very deeply loaded and her boiler power reduced to one-half. The sharply raking stem was a revelation even to me, though it was my idea. Deep and heavy as the ship was, she rose on the opposing ice without pronounced shock, no matter how viciously she was driven at it, and either split it with the impact, or wedged it aside by sheer weight.

Bartlett obeyed my first orders, to give her full speed and I would be responsible, with some misgivings. The sealing captains are always very cautious with their ships when first going out heavy with coal.

At the end of an hour or two he was enthusiastic, both at the ease with which the most crushing blows could be delivered, and the whaleboat-like facility with which the ship wheeled and twisted through the tortuous passages.

But there were some areas of ancient ice which a thousand Roosevelts merged in one could not have negotiated, and we were soon deflected to the southwest, and only when within some ten miles of Cape Isabella did we find it practicable to work northward again.

Cape Sabine and Payer Harbour, which had been my headquarters for sixteen months in 1901–1902, were densely packed, permitting no near approach, and we bored away to the northeast, till the ice became impracticable for further advance, then retraced our route, and worked towards Bache Peninsula, getting about half-way across Buchanan Bay when we were stopped by large floes barring our passage to open water under Cape Albert. The ice later appearing more favourable to the eastward, we retraced a portion of our route and I very carefully reconnoitred Sabine and Payer Harbour again as I was loath to give up my sub-base there, this being part of my programme as outlined to the Club. But the conditions were entirely impossible, and making a detour to the east, the Roosevelt gained the open water at Bache Peninsula, and steaming to the bight south of Victoria Head, the northwestern headland of the peninsula, landed a depot of boats, coal, and provisions.

The value of this locality for the southern sub-base of an expedition going north by the Smith Sound or “American” route was immediately apparent to me in 1898, and in any future work it should be given preference over Payer Harbour. Its advantages are contiguity to a valuable game region, accessibility during any month in the year, and its less changeable and boisterous climate.

The work of landing the depot occupied about ten hours of the 18th, and while the work was in progress I went away with three Eskimos to a neighbouring valley which I knew, and secured three musk-oxen, a large bull, a cow, and a yearling, the latter being brought aboard alive. This animal was of the greatest interest to the crew and the “tenderfoot” members of the expedition, and the arrival of nearly eight hundred pounds of fine fresh beef created a very agreeable impression on everyone.

Up to this time the rush of getting on board my Eskimos and dogs, restowing the ship and fighting the ice, had left me no time for a thought beyond the demands of each hour. Now as I trod the moss patches beside the murmuring stream whose quieter reaches were crusted with ice, saw the fresh tracks of big game and a little later the shaggy black bulks of the musk-oxen with heads lowered and hoofs stamping, in the way I knew so well, my pulses bounded rapidly and I felt that I had come into my own again.

From Bache Peninsula we steamed for Hayes Point through scattered ice, with the heavy pack close on the starboard hand. Conditions were different from those of 1898, when the Windward was five days crossing the mouth of Princess Marie Bay. The night was fine and I could make out every well-known rock along the Cape D’Urville shore where the Windward wintered in ’98–’99. Looking into the distant depths of Princess Marie Bay, numerous episodes with bear and seals and musk-oxen crowded upon me. We experienced some trouble with ice near Hayes Point and Cape Frasier, and finally dodged into Maury Bay and anchored at noon of the 19th, to escape the large fields of very heavy ice which were moving rapidly southward before a fresh northerly wind, crashing with savage fury against the iron bastion of Cape John Sparrow under which we lay.

Vigilantly watching the ice and taking advantage of every opportunity, we squeezed and hammered our way into Scoresby Bay, hugging the shore closely, and thence to Richardson Bay. Twice we nearly reached Cape Joseph Goode only to be forced back by the oncoming floes to a shelter under Cape Wilkes, close to my “Christmas” igloos of 1898, where on that unfortunate midwinter journey to Fort Conger, during which I froze both my feet, I had spent Christmas and opened a small box from loved ones at home.

Rawlings Bay was packed and the ice along the Grinnell Land shore apparently unbroken. On the Greenland side it appeared less dense. During this time the weather was fine.

The aspect of the ice was so extremely unfavourable, northward on the Grinnell Land side, that I determined to test my belief gained in my last four years of work in this region, that the Greenland side of Kennedy and Robeson Channels offered as a rule more favourable opportunities for navigation than the Grinnell Land side.

ENTERING THE SMITH SOUND ICE

OPEN WATER OFF CAPE LUPTON

THE SQUEEZE NEAR “THE GAP”

Firm in my confidence in the capabilities of the Roosevelt and against all the so-called canons of Arctic navigation in this region, she was headed eastward in the afternoon of the 21st and driven into the thick of the channel pack. The ice encountered was very large and heavy, and its southward drift inevitably swept us down; still we made fair progress eastward and after a severe and protracted struggle, during which Bartlett and the mate remained continuously in the fore rigging and I in the main rigging, we broke out into loose ice off Cape Calhoun and began boring northward towards Crozier and Franklin Islands. The channel between Franklin Island and Cape Constitution was attempted and found impracticable. The main channel pack was then negotiated close under the vertical western cliffs of Franklin Island. We then had fairly good going, interrupted by barriers of heavy but rather loose ice to Joe Island.

Stopped here by an impervious jam, the Roosevelt was made fast to the ice-foot which along the southern end of the island is of most stupendous character, and accompanied by Captain Bartlett I climbed to the summit of the island, from whence we saw the eastern portion of Hall Basin clear of ice to Cape Lupton and apparently to Cape Sumner. The western portion of the basin and as far as we could see north and south along the Grinnell Land coast was densely packed with heavy ice.

With the turn of the tide the tension in the channel pack along the western shore of the island relaxed somewhat, and hurrying back to the Roosevelt, a few hours of severe work forced the barrier, and in the teeth of a strong and bitterly cold north wind which kicked up a very respectable sea and sent the spray flying over our bows, we steamed to Cape Lupton, reaching it at midnight of the 22d. While steaming through this open water we passed Thank God Harbour, the winter quarters of Hall’s Polaris on our right and Discovery Harbour, the winter quarters of the Discovery, and site of Fort Conger, on our left.

A few miles north of Cape Lupton, while smashing through a narrow tongue of ice, a sudden swirl of the current which at times runs like a mill-race in this deep channel, swept the ice together in a way that I can only liken to the sudden scurry of fallen leaves before an autumn breeze, pinched the Roosevelt between the big cakes, and smashing her against the ice-foot, ground her along its vertical face with a motion and noise like that of a railway car which has left the rails and is bumping along over the ties. Very fortunately for us she scraped into a shallow niche in the ice-wall, and was hastily secured with every available line.

The entire flurry lasted less than five minutes, but in that time the steering gear was almost disabled. The back of the rudder was twisted on the stock, the heavy iron head-bands and fittings broken, and the steel tiller rods snapped. Temporary repairs were effected, and as soon as the pressure relaxed we steamed on around Cape Sumner and tied up to the fast ice in Newman Bay under Cape Brevoort, to repair our damaged steering gear and await the opening of a lead across Robeson Channel to Cape Union or vicinity.

BRINGING OFF THE “POLARIS” BOAT FROM BOAT CAMP, NEWMAN BAY

CAPE SUMNER, GREENLAND

BIRTHDAY CAPE, WRANGEL BAY, GRINNELL LAND

The winter’s ice was still intact in the bay, its surface level and granular, and the pools of water upon it covered with ice strong enough to support a man’s weight.

As soon as the lines were secured I walked ashore and climbed to the summit of Cape Brevoort. The crest of the northward-facing cliffs commanded the entire northern approaches to Robeson Channel, from Repulse Harbour across to Cape Rawson and southward along the Grinnell Land coast to Lady Franklin Bay. The Greenland coast south of Sumner was hidden by the cliffs of that cape. The ice all along the Grinnell Land coast, and in the centre of the channel, and to the northward as far as I could see, was densely packed. The water in which we had come north still remained open and the Roosevelt could have worked her way close to the shore along the Greenland coast to Repulse Harbour and possibly to Cape Bryant, had my objective point been in that direction. No indication of lead or crack across the channel was to be seen. While on the summit a school of narwhal came sporting down the shore close to the ice-foot below us.

In Newman Bay we remained five days mending the rudder, replacing the tiller chains with wire cables, and crossing to the south side of the bay, where I took on board the Polaris boat left here by Chester and Tyson of Hall’s party in 1871, at Boat Camp. Then as the northern ice filled into the bay, we were gradually crowded out of our shelter behind Boat Camp delta, and tide by tide forced out to Cape Sumner, sometimes grazing the shore as we dodged a floe. During this time the Bay filled completely with ice and the entire northern part of the channel was packed solid. Captain Bartlett and Marvin made several trips to the top of Cape Sumner to reconnoitre the channel but without satisfactory results.

The turn of the tide the morning of the 28th set us out again, and, impatient of the delay, and encouraged by the behaviour of the Roosevelt in crossing the channel at Cape Calhoun, fires were cleaned, machinery thoroughly inspected, and at 4:30 A. M. the Roosevelt was driven out for another contest with the channel pack in which at the time no pool or lane of water was visible.

Just off the point of Sumner a brief nip between two big blue floes which the swift current was swinging past the Cape, set the Roosevelt vibrating like a violin string for a minute or so before she rose to the pressure.

From this we pushed out and began the attempt to cross to the west side, through ice almost continuously up to our plank sheer and frequently of such height that the boats swinging from the deck house davits had to be swung inboard to clear the pinnacles. The delay and inaction of the past five days had become unendurable.

The Roosevelt fought like a gladiator, turning, twisting, straining with all her force, smashing her full weight against the heavy floes whenever we could get room for a rush, and rearing upon them like a steeplechaser taking a fence. Ah, the thrill and tension of it, the lust of battle, which crowded days of ordinary life into one.

The forward rush, the gathering speed and momentum, the crash, the upward heave, the grating snarl of the ice as the steel-shod stem split it as a mason’s hammer splits granite, or trod it under, or sent it right and left in whirling fragments, followed by the violent roll, the backward rebound, and then the gathering for another rush, were glorious.

At other times, the blue face of a big floe as high as the plank sheer grinding against either side, and the ship inching her way through, her frames creaking with the pressure, the big engines down aft running like sewing-machines, and the twelve-inch steel shaft whirling the wide-bladed propeller, till its impulse was no more to be denied than the force of gravity.

At such times everyone on deck hung with breathless interest on our movement, and as Bartlett and I clung in the rigging I heard him whisper through teeth clinched from the purely physical tension of the throbbing ship under us: “Give it to ’em, Teddy, give it to ’em!”

More than once did a fireman come panting on deck for a breath of air, look over the side, mutter to himself, “By G— she’s got to go through!” then drop into the stoke-hole, with the result a moment later of an extra belch of black smoke from the stack, and an added turn or two to the propeller.

At midnight all that could be said was that we were nearer the west side than the east, and steadily drifting southward with the pack. I quote from my journal: “Slow and heart-breaking work. The Roosevelt is a splendid ice-fighter and if she had her full boiler power she would be irresistible. The ice is very heavy, in large floes, some of them several miles in diameter and their edges sheer walls of blue adamant. I shall be glad when we are through.” In one of her charges the Roosevelt left a considerable piece of the stem just under the figurehead as a souvenir upon the top of a berg-piece which she was obliged to butt out of her path. In another, a blue floe twelve to fifteen feet in thickness was split fairly in two.

Until 4 A. M. of the 29th we continued slowly to near the Grinnell Land side. Then but little progress was made for several hours, then another start which was kept up with occasional interruptions until 4 P. M., when after thirty-five and one-half hours of incessant strain and struggle, we drove out into a small pool of water under the northern point of Wrangel Bay. The battle had been won by sheer brute insistence and I do not believe there is another ship afloat that would have survived the ordeal.

Bartlett and I went to our rooms, worn with the long tension, and I fell asleep instantly.

It was the second birthday of a man-child in the distant home, and in my dreams I saw the round face with its blue eyes and crown of yellow hair, smiling at me from the savage mass of black clouds which shrouded the summit of the cape under which we lay. God bless you, little man.

Soon after getting into Wrangel Bay, and while I was asleep, a piece of heavy ice whirling under the stern twisted the back nearly off the rudder, and the entire night was occupied in temporarily repairing the damage. A hunting party of Eskimos sent out during the night returned the forenoon of the 30th with eleven hares and six musk-oxen. Late in the afternoon an unsuccessful attempt was made to reach Lincoln Bay, from which we were driven back by heavy floes moving southward, and at midnight we were again in Wrangel Bay dodging about to keep clear of the shifting ice, while past the capes the big floes were going south with almost race-horse velocity, the channel and summits of all the land dark with fog. The 31st was spent in the bay keeping clear of the floes which swung into and around it, the night thick with falling snow. Made an early start at 3:30 A. M. September 1st, in fog and a blinding snowstorm, and steamed to the north side of Lincoln Bay, where the unbroken pack again barred our passage and we moored to the exposed face of the ice-foot.

Again I quote from my journal: “A wild morning with snow driving in horizontal sheets across the deck, the water like ink, the ice ghastly white, and the land invisible except close to us as we almost scrape against it on the port side. Summer is at an end and winter has commenced.” Scarcely had we made fast to the ice-foot when the ice filled the bay completely.

With the ebb-tide at night much of the ice inside of us passed out, grazing against our side, but no lead formed at the Cape and no opportunity occurred to get north.

With the turn of the flood, the ice came in again with a rush, and the corner of a large floe caught the stern, bent the back of the rudder over to the other side and forced the ship bodily ashore. Here she hung until high-water, with a heavy berg-piece pressing against her stern and threatening momentarily to press her up the shore beyond possibility of floating again.

Almost unmanageable with her twisted rudder, it was a slow and difficult job to work her through the running ice farther up the bay to a supposedly less-exposed berth, snowing and blowing all this time. Here the back of the rudder was straightened somewhat.

Early in the morning of the 3d, a moving floe forced the Roosevelt ashore again, where she hung until the next high-water, and she was hardly pulled off when another floe jammed her hard and fast aground again. I was very anxious to get out of this dangerous and trying position, where the rapid and vicious movements of the ice were a constant menace, but a reconnoissance from an elevation near the Roosevelt indicated that the channel north of us was simply solid with ice.

Shortly after midnight of the 3d, the Roosevelt floated again and, a southerly breeze forming a little water at the mouth of the bay, we steamed out at 3:30 A. M. and succeeded in getting under the delta of Shelter River just south of Cape Union, and in butting into a natural dock among some stranded berg-pieces. Here the ship had one foot of water under her keel and as we moored her, the slack ice through which we had come jammed tight with floes packing against the barrier at Cape Union. Here we enjoyed a fine day with the temperature in the low twenties and experienced a few hours of peace. The river delta to the north and stranded berg-pieces to the south protected us from the attacks of the heavy floes passing rapidly a few yards outside of us.

Eskimos sent out for hare here obtained thirty-six. We were now only some fifteen miles from the Alert’s winter quarters, and a clear run of two or three hours would enable us to beat the record for ships in this region, and save the game for us.

The 5th of September was a memorable day, one that practically ended my fears and anxieties. At 3:30 A. M. we got under way after about an hour’s backing and butting to get out of our niche. A narrow strip of water close inshore showed as far as Cape Union where a narrow but apparently dense barrier pressed against the Cape. Would it let us through? As we neared the barrier it was evidently only about a mile wide, with water beyond it extending to Cape Rawson. I kept both watches of firemen on, and routed out the chief engineer ahead of his watch, because it was evident that we must get through now. In a few minutes the Roosevelt was in the thick of it, throbbing like a motor, the black smoke pouring from her stack, and successfully forced her way through. Cape Union was passed at 4:30 A. M. South of Rawson the ice ran close in against the shore but was looser outside, and we made a wide detour to the northeast, the captain, the mate, and myself in the rigging. The ice was in large, heavy floes and in rapid motion swinging into the mouth of the channel on the flood-tide. The anxious moments were numerous both as to whether we should get through, and also as to whether we should escape a serious nip.

Soon we opened up the Alert’s cairn at Floeberg Beach and could see a narrow canal of water extending close to the ice-foot, and at 7 A. M. the Roosevelt, racing with the incoming pack, was driven through a narrow stream of ice and fairly hurled into a niche in the face of the ice-foot under the extremity of Cape Sheridan and made fast. The ice was packed heavily against the point of the cape and grinding past it. Before our lines were made fast the ice had closed in upon us and the open water behind us was rapidly disappearing.

We were now about two miles beyond the Alert’s position, moored to the exposed face of the ice-foot, with the nose of the Roosevelt pointing almost true north. I felt now that the risks, the chances of the voyage were past. The ship might be lost by being forced ashore, for our position was an extremely exposed one, but we were not likely to lose provisions and equipment, and with these the remainder of the programme could be carried out, and even should she get no farther she would have done her duty and achieved the purpose of her being.

With my feelings of relief, was a glow of satisfaction that by a hard-fought struggle we had successfully negotiated the narrow, ice-encumbered waters which form the American gateway and route to the Pole; had distanced our predecessors; and had substantiated my prophecy to the club, that with a suitable ship, the attainment of a base on the north shore of Grant Land was feasible almost every year.

Previous to the Roosevelt, only two other ships, the Polaris and the Albert, had completely navigated these channels; and two others, the Discovery and the Proteus, had penetrated them as far as Discovery Harbour.

Our freedom of movement and ability to leave the shelter of the land and cross and recross the channel at will through the heaviest ice, was also gratifying to me.

In the voyage from New York to Etah we had passed the latitudes of the most northern extremities of North America, Europe and Asia.

Since leaving Etah, we had passed the latitudes of the most northern extremities of Spitzbergen and Franz Joseph Land, and now only the northern points of the two most northern lands in the world, Cape Morris Jesup and Cape Columbia, lay a little beyond us. The northern-reaching fingers of all the rest of the great world lay far behind us below the ice-bound southern horizon. We were deep in that gaunt frozen border land which lies between God’s countries and inter-stellar space.

CHAPTER III
AUTUMN AT CAPE SHERIDAN

It was hoped that the next ebb-tide would give us an opportunity to advance farther, and immediately after breakfast I hurried ashore to examine the ice beyond Cape Sheridan and visit the cairn built by the Alert thirty years before. The weather was too thick to permit any satisfactory reconnoissance. I took the Alert’s record from the cairn, a copy of which Marvin later replaced together with an additional brief memorandum. All the slopes of the land were white with snow above which the cairn, and the lonely grave of Petersen, Danish interpreter of the English expedition, stood out in sombre silhouette. The Roosevelt was moored close by a ledge of rocks where, in 1902, I had deposited a small cache for my return.

With the last of the flood-tide the ice pressed in upon us still harder, jamming the Roosevelt solidly but not seriously against the ice-foot; and anticipating still further pressures, I had the edge of the ice-foot throughout the Roosevelt’s length chopped away on an incline to the water level, so that the ship might rise more easily to pressure. A fine snow fell throughout the day. At midnight of the 5th, the sun’s disk was apparently about two-thirds below the horizon. The fine snow continued during the sixth and the ice remained unchanged. After supper water pools off-shore were visible from the summit of the hill. There was evidently sufficient slack in the ice for a fresh southerly wind to form a good shore lead. On the sixth, I sent two parties of three hunters each, with supplies for ten days, out for musk-oxen, one party going southeast, the other southwest. Other Eskimos were sent out for hare. On the seventh it cleared sufficiently to give us our first view of Cape Hecla and the United States Range. September 8th was a brilliant day; three Eskimos came in from Black Cliffs Bay with twenty-three hare aggregating two hundred and eleven pounds. This made the number of hare killed along here nearly one hundred. The Eskimos were started at overhauling sledges and making harnesses. The 9th was a wonderfully mild day of brilliant sunshine for this time and place. Sent a party to Porter Bay, just south of Cape Hecla, the objective point I have in view for the Roosevelt—a beautiful little bay which I examined in 1902, with southern exposure and protected from the running ice. A position here would place us right at the beginning of our work, would be convenient to the musk-ox haunts of Clements Markham Inlet, and would be little or no farther than Sheridan from the musk-ox preserves of the Lake Hazen region. The dogs were all put ashore and found the beds of dry gravel along the shore a much more comfortable sleeping-place than the damp deck.

On the 10th, the temperature rose to 20° and damp snow fell during the night and day. Early in the morning of the 11th, a fresh southerly wind commenced, accompanied by a heavy drift and a lane of water formed a few hundred feet outside of the Roosevelt extending close past the point of Sheridan and on to Belknap. But the ice which held us against the ice-foot remained firmly fixed and we were unable to get into the water. In the evening it had closed again.

Started a party of three Eskimos off for Markham Inlet after musk-oxen. After dinner three Eskimos came in with the meat of four musk-oxen killed in Rowan Bay, and in the evening the Porter Bay party returned with the meat and skins of seven reindeer killed in a valley on Fielden Peninsula. These, the first specimens of this magnificent snow-white animal, were from a herd of eleven surprised in a valley close to Cape Joseph Henry, and among the seven was the wide-antlered buck leader. These beautiful animals, in their winter dress almost as white as the snow which they traverse, were later found scattered over the entire region from Cape Hecla to Lake Hazen, and westward along the north Grant Land coast, over fifty specimens in all being secured. The party reported Porter Bay still filled with the unbroken ice of the previous winter, and therefore impracticable for our winter quarters. The night of the 11th was a perfect Arctic autumn night. To the south over the land the sky pearl-white; west and northwest, about the couchant mass of Cape Joseph Henry, orange-yellow; north, over the Polar Sea, gray-white; east and southeast the snow-clad Greenland coast lay under the purple shadows of the coming “Great Night.” On the 12th a fresh southerly wind set the snow drifting savagely on all the uplands, flung out a long snow-banner from the summit of Rawson, and formed a broad lane of water reaching from behind Rawson past us and on toward Cape Henry. During the 12th and the 13th every effort was made with pickaxes and dynamite to effect a passage to this water, but without success. On the 14th, I sent a party of four Eskimo hunters off to Lake Hazen. Since our arrival, the Eskimos, when not otherwise engaged, were getting the supplies from the main and after holds up on deck, in readiness for landing as soon as it was settled where our winter quarters would be.

About 10 P. M. of the 16th, as I was on the bridge taking a look about before turning in, a large floe moving on the flood-tide pivoted around the point of Sheridan and crashed into the smaller ice about the ship, driving it bodily before it. At the first shock the Roosevelt reeled and shook a bit, then heeled slightly toward the crowding ice and turned it under her starboard bilge. Standing on the starboard end of the bridge and looking down upon the ice the sensation was much like that of being on a large sledge moving over the ice, so rapidly did the rounding side of the Roosevelt turn the ice under her. Once or twice she hung for an instant and quivered with the strain, then heeled and turned the ice under again. This continued until a corner of the floe itself, some portions of which were higher than the rail, came full against the Roosevelt’s starboard side amidships, with no intervening cushion of smaller ice and held the ship mercilessly between its own blue side and the unyielding face of the ice-foot. Its slow resistless motion was frightful yet fascinating; thousands of tons of smaller ice which the big floe drove before it, the Roosevelt had easily and gracefully turned under her sloping bilges, but the edge of the big floe rose to the plank sheer and a few yards back from its edge, was an old pressure ridge which rose higher than the bridge deck. This was the crucial moment. For a minute or so, which seemed an age, the pressure was terrific. The Roosevelt’s ribs and interior bracing cracked like the discharge of musketry; the deck amidships bulged up several inches, while the main rigging hung slack and the masts and rigging shook as in a violent gale. Then with a mighty tremor and a sound which reminded me of an athlete intaking his breath for a supreme effort, the ship shook herself free and jumped upward till her propeller showed above water. The big floe snapped against the edge of the ice-foot forward and aft and under us, crumpling up its edge and driving it inshore some yards, then came to rest, and the commotion was transferred to the outer edge of the floe which crumbled away with a dull roar, as other floes smashed against it, and tore off great pieces in their onward rush, leaving the Roosevelt stranded but safe.

When the tide turned on the ebb the ship settled down again considerably but never floated freely again until the following summer. Anticipating further pressure with following tides, and to provide against the contingency of the ship being rendered untenable, the work of putting some coal and all supplies and equipment ashore was commenced at once and prosecuted without interruption by the officers, crew, and Eskimo men, women, and children, for some thirty-six hours. Planks were put from the rail to the ice-foot on the port bow, quarter and amidships, and the boxes of provisions slid down these, when men took them and put them back from the edge of the ice-foot, where the women loaded them upon sledges and pushed them beyond any danger of loss by disruption of the ice-foot itself. This work was greatly expedited from the fact that practically all the supplies had been taken out of the holds during the previous days and were lying on deck. While the work was in progress one of the Eskimos of my southwest scouting party came in on foot reporting twenty-one musk-oxen killed in Porter Bay. The next night there was a brief and not serious pressure, then the ice about the ship quieted down again, though it ran strongly with the tides some fifty yards outside of us.

Of course this occurrence put all ideas of any farther advance out of question, and the usual routine fall work of an Arctic expedition and preparation for wintering were inaugurated. Hunting parties of the Eskimos were kept constantly in the field, covering the country north to Clements Markham Inlet and south to Wrangel Bay and Lake Hazen. The results of these parties were satisfactory, considerable numbers of musk-oxen and reindeer being secured. Almost every day one or two hunters went out from the ship and in this way some hundred or more hare were secured in the immediate vicinity. But musk-oxen were to be our mainstay, and while my confidence that we should find numbers of these animals within a comparatively short distance of the ship was justified by events I still recognised that our main source of supply must be the drainage basin of Lake Hazen, the northern portion of which, covering the southern slopes of the United States Range, had not been drawn upon by me while at Fort Conger between 1899 and 1902.

This region was now tapped with great success by parties travelling directly overland from the ship to Lake Hazen.

The boxes of provisions which had been landed were fashioned by the crew into three box-houses, a large one some thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide which, roofed with the spanker and fitted with a stove and fuel, was to serve as an immediate refuge in case of mishap to the ship, and two smaller ones. The larger tents were also set up ashore, the boats turned bottom up and the barrels arranged in such a way as to serve as wind shelters for the dogs. Later on houses and tents were heavily banked with snow. All the heavy ice next to the ship on the starboard side was cut down on a gentle slope ending at the water level against the ship’s side, and a bank of small fragments of ice filled against the ship her entire length to serve as a cushion. On top of this a wall of snow blocks was built as high as the rail and from the mainmast to the mizzenmast as high as the top of the deck house. The deck was covered deep with snow and the forward and after deck-houses covered and banked in with the same. No attempt was made to house in the deck with sails, but snow vestibules or entrances were constructed at all of the outer doors.

The Eskimo men when not in the field were occupied in making sledges and harnesses, each man his own sledge, and with the waning of the light, I had a fleet of some twenty-five sledges in commission. Attempts were made to hoist the rudder on deck so that it could be repaired, but without success.

Marvin erected a tide gauge on the ice-foot protected by a snow igloo, and took tidal observations during a period in excess of a lunar month.

A disagreeable feature of this time was the frequent occurrence of violent southerly winds varying from vicious squalls of a few hours’ duration to furious gales lasting two or three days. These winds invariably denuded the land in our vicinity of snow and were always accompanied by more or less extended open water. As late as October 16th, a ship located south of Rawson could have come around that cape and made our present location with even greater ease than did the Roosevelt on the 5th of September. On one occasion such a ship could have gone on without obstruction to Cape Joseph Henry, passing about one hundred yards outside of our position. Naturally under these conditions the mean temperature was unexpectedly high.

October 1st, our large game score reached seventy-three musk-oxen and twenty-seven reindeer, just an even hundred. On this date small stoves were set up for the first time in the after house. October 2d, the boilers were blown off for the winter. October 3d, I started to make a reconnoissance of our spring route to Hecla, as my observations in 1902 had satisfied me that there was a better route than that followed by the English across Fielden Peninsula. I also wished to examine Clements Markham Inlet for musk-oxen. Two marches from the ship took me to the mouth of Clements Markham Inlet, one day of thick weather was devoted to a trip part way into the inlet and back; and the next two brought me back to the ship, my anxiety for her having prevented my remaining out as long as I wished. It was a new and not particularly agreeable feeling to me to be hampered by the cares of a ship, and thus kept from active fieldwork, but I accepted the conditions and shifted the burden of the remainder of the fall and winter work to the younger shoulders in the party. On the 9th, our large winter lamps were put in commission for the first time. On the 13th, I snowshoed to the summit of Black Cape and saw the sun for the last time, peering for a moment through the misty ice-filled opening of Robeson Channel to the south. From Cape Sheridan, past Rawson, and on down past Cape Union there was plenty of open water and across the mouth of the channel to Repulse Harbour there was nothing but light trash ice. For a few moments the sun’s rays lit the entire southern summit line of the United States Range, crested Mount Cheops with rose, and just touched the peaks of Cape Joseph Henry. It was so low, however, that the shadow both of Greenland and of Grant Land reached northward across the pack ice to the blue-black northern horizon except where it streamed through between the precipitous walls of the Channel itself forming a broad band of yellow light between the shadows on either side, “the Gateway to the Polar Sea.”

October 16th was marked by the most violent gale we had had since leaving home. This gale left the land almost as bare as in summer, and the water formed by it was more extensive than at any time for a month. After all these gales, Cape Joseph Henry stands out in black and savage profile. Of all capes fronting the Polar Sea along the coasts of Greenland and Grant Land, this is the most ideal.

Soon after this, with almost the suddenness of lightning from a clear sky, I faced the possibility of the complete crippling of the expedition by the extermination of my large pack of dogs. About eighty of these indispensable animals died before the cause was traced to poisoning from the whale meat which I had taken for dog-food. This meat to the amount of several tons was thrown away, and I found myself confronted at the beginning of the long Arctic night with the proposition of subsisting my dogs and most of my Eskimos upon the country.

Without my previous familiarity with the region, this would have been an absolute impossibility; even as it was, it possessed elements of uncertainty, but with the satisfactory start already made in obtaining musk-oxen, and knowing that these animals could be killed by those who knew how, even in the depths of the great Arctic night, I believed there was somewhat more than a fighting chance for success.

THE “ROOSEVELT” IMMEDIATELY AFTER ARRIVAL AT CAPE SHERIDAN

THE “ALERT’S” CAIRN AT FLOEBERG BEACH

PETERSEN’S GRAVE, OVERLOOKING FLOEBERG BEACH

On the 25th, portions of four hunting parties from the Lake Hazen region came in, bringing reports of a bag of one hundred and forty-four head of musk-oxen and deer. Following the return of these parties the dogs died rapidly, the number one night reaching ten. It was evident that prompt action must be taken, and in three days one hundred and two dogs, twenty adult Eskimo men and women and six children were sent into the field in addition to those already out. From this time until the 7th of February, the dogs and the greater portion of the Eskimos remained in the Lake Hazen region, a portion of the men coming to the ship during the full moon of each month with sledge loads of meat, and returning with tea, sugar, oil and biscuit. With their departure the ship was almost deserted, daylight was nearly gone and the winter may be said to have commenced, though for convenience it was assumed to begin on the 1st of November when the winter routine of two meals a day went into effect, partly as a measure of economy, and partly to leave the short and very rapidly decreasing hours of twilight in the middle of the day uninterrupted for work.

The ice outside of us was constantly in motion, more or less active with the currents of the tides, and about the middle of October the young ice incessantly forming between the large floes became of such thickness, that its crushing up rendered the movement of the ice very audible. First as a loud murmur, later with increasing cold as a hoarse roar, sometimes continuous, sometimes intermittent, like heavy surf upon the shore, which kept the air vibrating, and coming as it did through the darkness and frequently snow-filled air, contained a peculiarly savage and foreboding note. On the 31st, after dinner, I climbed to the summit of our lookout hill and sat for some time upon a projecting rock. A fine snow was falling amidst a semi-luminous fog, through which just the outlines of the Roosevelt loomed. I quote from my journal as follows:

The Roosevelt lies below me, on one side the frozen shore of the Arctic “Ultima Thule,” on the other the great white disk of the central Polar Sea with its mysteries and its terrors, its story of heroic effort, and its still unconquered secret. No other ship has been so far north in this region and but one other ship has reached so high a latitude anywhere in the entire circuit of the Polar Sea, and that one did not attain her vantage ground by stress of continued battle, as has the Roosevelt, but drifted to her position—helpless and inert in the grasp of the ice.

Yet the Roosevelt lies there, sturdy but graceful, her slender masts piercing the fog and falling snow; a nimbus-circled glow of light at every port, and a broad bar of yellow luminance from the galley lamp shining forward over her and out through the mist, just as if she were a steamer anchored in the North River in a foggy night.

As I look at her a whole series of pictures rises before me. The bright days at Bucksport, Maine, when I and one other watched her grow into sturdy shape under the fostering care of her builder, Captain Dix; the launching, when Mrs. Peary, smashing an ice-encased bottle of wine against the steel-clad stern, christened her “Roosevelt”; New York Harbour, with the tribute to her mission, from all the surrounding craft; that black night in the straits of Belle Isle; the fog-shrouded swell of the North Atlantic and Davis Strait; the familiar black cliffs of Cape York rising directly over her bow; the perfect summer day at Bache Peninsula; the battleroyal with the huge floes as we crossed and recrossed Kennedy and Robeson Channels; the towering cliffs of Cape Constitution, Franklin Island and Polaris Promontory as she breasted the fierce north wind blowing down the Channel, with her engines stubbornly throbbing “Northward, Northward, Northward”; and finally the view that gray September morning when we rounded Rawson and opened up the ice-bound northern shore of Grant Land, with the wide-stretching ice-fields of the central Polar Sea fading away under the northern horizon.

CHAPTER IV
THROUGH THE “GREAT NIGHT” ON THE SHORES OF THE CENTRAL POLAR SEA

The winter, which for convenience I assume to comprise the time from November 1st to February 7th, the date of the return of the last of the field parties, was marked by practically the same ice and atmospheric conditions as the fall, accompanied of course by a greater degree of cold and almost entire absence of light.

Through all its vicissitudes and against continued stress of wind and ice, the Roosevelt clung to her moorings against the ice-foot, presenting a marked contrast to the usual pictures of Arctic ships in winter quarters. Having no topmasts to house, the ship’s slender masts and light but effective rigging rose aloft just as they did in the summer time. With decks uncovered and only the houses banked in with snow, at a little distance in the dim light the ship’s general appearance was much as when afloat. One very distinctive, very salient feature, was the galley lamp, the “eye of the Roosevelt” as it was called, which night and day from early October, when the sun left us, until early March when it returned, shone through the galley window, lighting the main deck and piercing the darkness, the falling snow, the fog, for a considerable distance on either bow. This beam of yellow light showed clearly from the top of the lookout hill which some of us climbed every practicable day, and was visible to every returning party from Hecla or the hunting fields of the interior as soon as it rounded Cape Sheridan.

To anyone given to a belief in such things there were several encouraging omens about the ship’s position. The Roosevelt’s nose pointed persistently almost true north, the bright yellow eye looked incessantly to the northward and the beaten sledge road from the ship to all points of communication led north along the ice-foot.

The southerly gales continued to occur with frequency, and increased in violence as we neared the depth of winter. The movement of the ice was nearly continuous, becoming very pronounced on each spring tide, and the roaring of the pack at these times grew louder and more vicious as the newly forming ice grew in thickness and hardness.

This movement of the ice culminated on Christmas night in the breaking away of the ice from the ice-foot and the starboard side of the Roosevelt and, so far as could be determined in the darkness, the complete disruption of the pack adjacent to the shore and in the mouth of Robeson Channel. This disruption probably covered the entire segment of Lincoln Sea from Cape Joseph Henry to Cape Bryant and probably beyond.

Open water in the shape sometimes of leads, sometimes of lakes, was also of almost continuous occurrence.

CAPE SHERIDAN AND THE POLAR OCEAN

THE “ROOSEVELT” AT CAPE SHERIDAN AFTER A SOUTHERLY GALE

Repeated pressures were experienced by the Roosevelt, none of them very serious, but sufficient to keep us on the qui vive all the time. The snow upon the land and along the ice-foot, which at first necessitated the use of snowshoes, eventually became packed by the recurring winds, until it would support the weight of a man. Nearly all conditions were almost entirely the reverse of those experienced by the British expedition in the same region thirty years previous. The winter moons in this high latitude were of long duration and of great brilliancy unless obscured by bad weather.

The usual monotony of an Arctic winter was entirely destroyed for us (outside of the continuous excitement which the movement of the ice afforded us) by the extensive widening of our horizon as a result of my settlements in the interior. The largest of these was located upon the southern slopes of the United States Range north of Lake Hazen; another near the head of Lake Hazen; and a third at the Ruggles River, with intermediate snow houses along the trail between the settlements and the ship.

From these settlements at the beginning of each moon sledges came in bringing loads of musk-ox meat and news of the hunt during the preceding weeks. These sledges remained a few days at the ship, then outfitted again and went back with new instalments of Eskimo families to spend the interval until the next moon in the interior. As a result of this there was constantly something to talk of and something to look forward to.