The Arctic World : $b Its plants, animals, and natural phenomena

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Title: The Arctic World : Its plants, animals, and natural phenomena
Author: Anonymous
Language: English
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[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE “HANSA” DRAGGING THEIR BOATS
ACROSS THE ICE.
_See page 257._]

THE

ARCTIC WORLD:

ITS PLANTS, ANIMALS, AND NATURAL PHENOMENA.

With a Historical Sketch of Arctic Discovery,

DOWN TO THE

BRITISH POLAR EXPEDITION:

1875–76.

[Illustration: “Here let the billows stiffen, and have
rest.”--COLERIDGE.]

LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

PREFACE.

Englishmen have always felt a special interest in the regions of the
icy North, from the days when Dr. Thorne first proposed the search
after a passage to the Pole, down to these present times, when the
Expedition under Captains Nares and Stephenson has shown that such a
passage is virtually impracticable. The interest originally kindled
by commercial considerations has been maintained by purer and loftier
motives,--by the thirst after knowledge, and the sympathy with the
brave deeds of brave men. And it must be admitted that our national
virtues of resolute perseverance and patient courage have never been
more happily displayed than in the prosecution of the great work
of Arctic Discovery. Our explorers have refused to know when they
were beaten; and in defiance of a terrible climate, of icebergs and
ice-floes, of hurricanes and driving snow-storms, of obstacles,
dangers, and difficulties, have pressed onward, until the latest
adventurers have crossed the Threshold of the Unknown Region, and
confronted the immense plain of ice that extends for four hundred miles
from the Pole. Their labours, indeed, have been attended by the shadows
of melancholy disasters, and the long Arctic night closes over the
graves of many whom England was loath to lose; but in their successful
issue they have brought us acquainted with the phenomena of a strange
and wonderful world, and opened up to us a succession of scenes of the
most remarkable character.

There can be no question that in the frozen wastes and snowy
wildernesses lurks a powerful fascination, which proves almost
irresistible to the adventurous spirit. He who has once entered the
Arctic World, however great his sufferings, is restless until he
returns to it. Whether the spell lies in the weird magnificence of
the scenery, in the splendours of the heavens, in the mystery which
still hovers over those far-off seas of ice and remote bays, or in
the excitement of a continual struggle with the forces of Nature, or
whether all these influences are at work, we cannot stop to inquire.
But it seems to us certain that the Arctic World has a romance and an
attraction about it, which are far more powerful over the minds of men
than the rich glowing lands of the Tropics, or the

“Summer-isles of Eden lying in dark-purple spheres of sea,”

which are crowned with the bread-fruit and the palm, the spontaneous
gifts of a liberal soil. We follow with far deeper interest the
footprints of a Parry and a Franklin than those of a Wallis, a
Carteret, or even a Cook.

The general reader, therefore, may not be displeased at the attempt of
the present writer to put before him, with bold touches, and in outline
rather than in detail, a picture of that Polar World which is so
awful and yet so fascinating. In the following pages he will find its
principal features sketched, its chief characters legibly and clearly
traced. They are not intended for the scientific,--though it is hoped
the scientific, if they fall in with them, will find no ground for
censure. They aim at describing the wonders of sky and sea and land;
the glories of the aurora; the beauty of the starry Arctic night; the
majesty of iceberg and glacier; the rugged dreariness of the hummocky
fields of ice; the habits of the Polar bear, the seal, and the walrus;
and the manners and customs of the various tribes which frequent the
shores of the Polar seas and straits, or dwell on the border-land of
the Frigid Zone. In a word, it has been the writer’s object to bring
together just such particulars as might enable the intelligent reader
to realize to himself the true character of the world which extends
around the North Pole. In carrying out this object, he has necessarily
had recourse to the voyages of numerous explorers and the narratives of
sundry scientific authorities; and he believes that not a statement has
been ventured which could not claim their support.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Various routes between the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans
described--Advantages of a North-West Passage, if
practicable--What is to be gained from further Arctic
exploration--What zoology would gain--The problem of the
migration of birds--About the Knots--Boundaries of the North
Polar Regions--Their principal geographical
features--Divisions into two zones, or sections--The stony
tundras--The flora of the North--The Siberian desert--Limits
of perpetual snow--General character of life in the Polar
World 9–21

CHAPTER II.

An imaginary voyage--View of the Greenland coast--A splendid
picture of land and sea--The winter night and its atmospheric
phenomena--The aurora borealis described--Its peculiarities and
possible causes--Winds and whirlwinds--Phenomena of
refraction--The “ice-blink”--Characteristics of the Arctic
night--Described by Dr. Kane--Remarkable atmospheric
conditions--Effect of prolonged darkness on animal
life--Characteristics of the Arctic spring--A spring landscape
described by Dr. Hayes--Summer in the North--The Northern
heavens and the Pole-Star--List of Northern constellations--The
Great Bear--Some conspicuous stars 22–40

CHAPTER III.

The Polar seas--Formation of icebergs--Their dimensions and
appearance--Description of colossal bergs--Their danger to
navigation--Adventures with bergs--Quotations from various
writers--Dissolution of an iceberg--Icebergs in Melville
Bay--How icebergs are formed--Reference to icebergs in the
Alpine lakes--Professor Tyndall quoted--Breaking up of a berg
described by Dr. Hayes--A vision of icebergs--Their range--The
“pack-ice” described--Extent of the ice-fields--“Taking the
pack”--An incident described by Admiral Beechey--Dangerous
position of Captain Parry’s ships--Character of an
ice-field--Crossing an ice-field--Its extraordinary
dimensions--Animal life in the Polar
seas--Walrus-hunting--Quotation from Mr. Lamont--A disagreeable
process--Natural history of the walrus--The walrus and the
Polar bear--Historical sketch of the walrus-fishery--Adventure
with walruses--A walrus-hunt described--Hunting in an Arctic
gale--The Phocidæ family--Natural history of the seal--Different
genera--Seal’s flesh, and its uses--An incident in Dr. Kane’s
expedition--An Eskimo hut--An Eskimo seal-hunter--The whale, and
all about it--The Greenland whale--What is whalebone?--Food of
the whale--The Northern rorqual--Eskimo whale-fishers--About the
narwhal--The black dolphin--The orc, or grampus--The Polar
bear--Bears and seals--Particulars of the habits of the Polar
bear--His voracity--Affection of the bear for her young--An
episode described--Battle with a bear--The bear and the Eskimo
dogs--The Arctic night--Its various phases--Coming of the
sun--Return of the birds--Guillemots and auks--About the
puffins--The mergansers--The smew, or white nun--The eider duck
described--Eider ducks in Iceland--Collecting eider down--The
wild swan--Fables about its death-song--The Arctic waters, and
their teeming life--Migrations of fish 41–107

CHAPTER IV.

The formation of snow described--Snow-crystals--Effects of the
crystallizing force--Ice-flowers--Sir David Brewster’s
experiment with polarised light--Regelation and moulding of
ice--Characteristics of glacier-ice--Cleavage in compact
ice--The aspect of glaciers--On the motion of glaciers--History
of its discovery--Moraines described--Theory of
glacier-motion--Quotation from Professor Tyndall--Glaciers of
the Polar Regions--Glacier in Bell Sound--Formation of
icebergs--Icebergs in Baffin Bay--Glacier described by Dr.
Hayes--The Greenland Mer de Glace--Glacier of
Sermiatsialik--The great Humboldt Glacier--Discovered by Dr.
Kane--Description of its features--Kane’s theory of
icebergs--Notes on the glacier 108–134

CHAPTER V.

Red snow, what is it?--First forms of vegetable life--The
lichens, their variety--Reindeer moss--Rock-hair--Rock tripe,
or _tripe de roche_--Used as food--Iceland moss and its
properties--The mosses of the Arctic Regions--Scurvy-grass--The
fly-agaric--Microscopic vegetation--A memorial of
Franklin--Phænogamous plants of the North--Cryptogamous
plants--Vegetation in Novaia Zemlaia--In Spitzbergen--In
Kamtschatka--The _Fritallaria sarrana_--The wooded and desert
zones--Forms of animal life--Natural history of the
reindeer--His usefulness--His food--Reindeer and
wolves--Cunning of the Arctic wolf--Domesticity of the
wolf--The musk-ox described--Captain M’Clintock quoted--The
Arctic fox--His wariness--A fox-trap--The bear and the
fox--The Arctic hare--The Alpine hare--The Hudson Bay
lemming--The Mustelidæ family--The marten--The sable--The
polecat--About the glutton, or wolverine--anecdotes of his
extraordinary sagacity--A great enemy to the trapper--The biter
bit--Arctic birds--The falcons--The crows--Distribution of
animals 135–161

CHAPTER VI.

Iceland, its extent--Its history--Its volcanoes--Hekla and
its eruptions--Eruption of the Skaptá Jokul--The geysers,
or boiling springs--Their phenomena described--Account of the
Strokr--Coasts and valleys of Iceland--The
Thingvalla--Description of Reikiavik, the capital--Character
of the Icelander--His haymaking operations--His dwelling
described--An Icelandic church--Icelandic clergy--Travelling
in Iceland--Its inconveniences--Fording the streams--Fishing
in Iceland 162–174

CHAPTER VII.

The land of the Eskimos--Range of the so-called Arctic
Highlanders--Danish settlements in Greenland--Upernavik
described--Jacobshav’n--Godhav’n--Their Eskimo
inhabitants--The Moravian Missions--Characteristics of the
nomadic Eskimos--Their physical qualities--Their mode of
dress--An Eskimo hut--The Eskimo kayak, or canoe--Their
weapons and implements--Hostility between the Eskimos and
Red Indians--Eskimo settlement at Anatoak--Eskimo
singing--Food of the Eskimos--Dr. Hayes’ intercourse with
the Eskimos--The story of Hans the Hunter--The Eskimo
dogs--Anecdote of Toodla--The Eskimo sledge--Equipment
of the sledge--Equipment of an Eskimo hunter--General
character of the Eskimos 175–196

CHAPTER VIII.

Lapland, its divisions, extent, and boundaries--Its
climate--Its inhabitants--Their physical
characteristics--Dress of the Lapps--Their
superstitions--The Mountain Lapps--Their migratory
habits--Their _tuguria_, or huts, described--Milking the
reindeer--Sledging and skating--A Lapp’s skates--A Lapp’s
sledge--The Lapp hunters--Encounter with a bear--Intemperance
of the Mountain Lapps--The Forest Lapps--Interior economy of
a Lapland hut--Lapps at Bjorkholm--Racial characteristics of
the Lapps--Habits and manners of the Lapps--The Lapp
dialect--The Lapps and the Quénes--The stationary Lapps, and
their _gârds_ 197–207

CHAPTER IX.

The Samojedes--Their degrading superstitions--Samojede idol
at Waigatz--The _Tadebtsios_, or spirits--Influence of the
_Tadibe_, or sorcerer--His mode of incantation--Customs of
the Samojedes--The Ostiaks--Their _Schaïtans_ and
_Schamans_--Residence of the Ostiaks--Hunting the white
bear--Kamtschatka described--Its inhabitants--Their physical
peculiarities--The dog of Kamtschatka--His qualities--His
usefulness--How he is trained--Siberia and its tribes--The
Jakuts--Their _jarts_, or huts--Their hardy horses--The
character of the Jakuts--Jakut travellers--Jakut merchants
and their caravans--Dreariness of the country they
inhabit--Hunting the reindeer--At Kolymsk--The Tungusi--His
mode of travelling--His food--The Tchuktche, and their
land--Their activity as traders--Tobacco, a staple of
commerce--Visit to a Tchuktche family--The Tenngyk and the
Oukilon 208–221

CHAPTER X.

History of Discovery in the Arctic Regions--Expeditions of
Thorne and Hore--Of Sir Hugh Willoughby--Martin Frobisher
and his adventures--Discoveries of Davis--Hudson, his
discovery of Hudson Bay, Jan Mayen, and Cape Wolstenholm--His
fate--Baffin’s voyages--Highway to the North Pole--Expedition
of Ross and Parry--Parry’s second expedition--Loss of the
_Fury_--Overland journeys--Franklin’s last expedition--The
search after Franklin--Discovery of relics--Captain Penny’s
expedition--Sir Robert M’Clure’s discovery of the North-West
Passage--Voyage of M’Clintock--Lieutenant Hobson’s
discoveries--Dr. Kane’s expedition--Explores Smith
Sound--Discovers the Humboldt Glacier and Kennedy
Channel--Wintering in the Arctic Regions--Dr. Hayes’
expedition--Voyage of the _Germania_ and the _Hansa_--Loss
of the latter--Escape of the crew on an ice-raft--Arrival
at Greenland--Adventures of the _Germania_--Barents and
Carlsen--Austrian expedition under Payer--Voyage of the
_Polaris_--Death of Hall--Tyson’s voyage on an
ice-raft--Rescued by the _Tigress_--Captain Buddington
abandons the _Polaris_--His winter quarters--Boat voyage--Safe
arrival--British expedition of 1875–76--Departure of the
_Alert_ and _Discovery_--Narrative of the expedition--Winter
amusements--The sledging-parties--Important discoveries--No
road to the Pole--Return home--Cruise of the Pandora 222–337

[Illustration: NORTH POLAR REGIONS]

List of Illustrations.

1. THE CREW OF THE “HANSA” DRAGGING THEIR BOATS ACROSS
THE ICE (FRONTISPIECE).

2. A DESERT OF ICE IN THE ARCTIC REGION, 13

3. THE SWAMPS OF THE OBI, 16

4. IN THE FOREST ZONE OF THE NORTH (FULL-PAGE), 17

5. THE MIDNIGHT SUN (FULL-PAGE), 23

6. OFF THE COAST OF GREENLAND, 25

7. MOONLIGHT IN THE POLAR WORLD, 26

8. THE AURORA BOREALIS, 28

9. THE AURORA BOREALIS--THE CORONA, 29

10. ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS:--REFLECTION
OF ICEBERGS, 32

11. ADVENT OF SPRING IN THE POLAR REGIONS, 35

12. URSA MAJOR AND URSA MINOR, 36

13. NEBULA IN ANDROMEDA, 39

14. ARCHED ICEBERG OFF THE GREENLAND COAST, 42

15. AMONG THE BERGS--A NARROW ESCAPE, 43

16. ICEBERG AND ICE-FIELD, MELVILLE BAY, GREENLAND, 45

17. ORIGIN OF ICEBERGS--EXTENSION OF A GLACIER SEAWARDS, 47

18. THE ALETSCH GLACIER, SWITZERLAND, FROM THE ÆGGISCHHORN,
SHOWING ITS MORAINES, 48

19. THE MARJELEN SEA, SWITZERLAND, 48

20. FALL OF AN ICEBERG (FULL-PAGE), 51

21. IN AN ICE-PACK, MELVILLE BAY, 53

22. CHANNEL IN AN ICE-FIELD, 54

23. “NIPPED” IN AN ICE-FIELD, 54

24. AMONG THE ICE-HUMMOCKS (FULL-PAGE), 57

25. HUNTING THE WALRUS, 61

26. THE WALRUS, OR MORSE, 63

27. A WALRUS FAMILY, 64

28. FIGHT BETWEEN A WALRUS AND A POLAR BEAR, 64

29. BOAT ATTACKED BY A WALRUS (FULL-PAGE), 65

30. FIGHT WITH A WALRUS, 68

31. HERD OF SEALS, NEAR THE DEVIL’S THUMB, BAFFIN SEA,
GREENLAND, 71

32. THE COMMON SEAL, 73

33. SHOOTING A SEAL, 74

34. THE OTARY, 75

35. THE HOODED SEAL, 76

36. AN ESKIMO SEAL-HUNTER, 77

37. THE GREENLAND WHALE, 79

38. NARWHALS, MALE AND FEMALE, 82

39. A SHOAL OF DOLPHINS, 83

40. POLAR BEARS, 84

41. BEAR CATCHING A SEAL, 86

42. BEARS DESTROYING A CACHE, 88

43. FIGHT WITH A WHITE BEAR (FULL-PAGE), 89

44. STALKING A BEAR, 94

45. SEA-BIRDS IN THE POLAR REGIONS, 97

46. THE GREAT AUK--RAZOR-BILLS--THE PUFFIN, 98

47. PUFFINS, 99

48. THE GOOSANDER, 100

49. A BIRD “BAZAAR” IN NOVAIA ZEMLAIA (FULL-PAGE), 101

50. THE BLACK-BACKED GULL, 103

51. THE EIDER-DUCK, 103

52. THE HAUNT OF THE WILD SWAN, 105

53. VARIOUS FORMS OF SNOW-CRYSTALS, 109

54. EXHIBITION OF ICE-FLOWERS BY PROJECTION, 110

55. ICE-FLOWERS, 110

56. MOULDING ICE, 112

57. A POLAR GLACIER, 118

58. GLACIER, ENGLISH BAY, SPITZBERGEN, 119

59. GLACIER, BELL SOUND, SPITZBERGEN, 120

60. STEAMER “CHARGING” AN ICEBERG, UPERNAVIK, GREENLAND
(FULL-PAGE), 121

61. FORCING A PASSAGE THROUGH THE ICE (FULL-PAGE), 125

62. THE GLACIER OF SERMIATSIALIK, GREENLAND (FULL-PAGE), 129

63. PROTOCOCCUS NIVALIS, 136

64. WILD REINDEER, 145

65. THE MUSK-OX, 150

66. ARCTIC FOXES, 152

67. A FOX-TRAP, 153

68. THE ERMINE, OR SABLE MARTEN, 156

69. THE GLUTTON, OR WOLVERINE, 157

70. PTARMIGAN, 160

71. AN ICELANDIC LANDSCAPE, 163

72. MOUNT HEKLA, FROM THE VALLEY OF HEVITA, 164

73. THE GREAT GEYSER, 166

74. HARBOUR OF REIKIAVIK, 169

75. ICELANDERS FISHING FOR NARWHAL, 174

76. UPERNAVIK, GREENLAND, 176

77. DISKO ISLAND, GREENLAND, 177

78. GODHAV’N, DISKO ISLAND, GREENLAND, 177

79. DANISH SETTLEMENT OF JACOBSHAV’N, GREENLAND, 178

80. BUILDING AN ESKIMO HUT, 181

81. THE ESKIMO KAYAK, 182

82. THE ESKIMO OOMIAK, 183

83. DR. HAYES FALLS IN WITH HANS THE HUNTER (FULL-PAGE), 187

84. ESKIMO DOGS, 191

85. ESKIMO SLEDGE AND TEAM (FULL-PAGE), 193

86. REINDEER IN LAPLAND, 200

87. TRAVELLING IN LAPLAND, 201

88. FISHER LAPPS, 203

89. SAMOJEDE HUTS ON WAIGATZ ISLAND, 209

90. A SAMOJEDE FAMILY, 210

91. JAKUT HUNTER AND BEAR, 212

92. KAMTSCHATKANS, 213

93. A KAMTSCHATKAN SLEDGE AND TEAM, 215

94. THE LOSS OF THE “SQUIRREL,” 224

95. SHIP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY, 225

96. SCENERY OF JAN MAYEN, 226

97. THE “HECLA” AND “FURY” WINTERING AT WINTER ISLAND, 229

98. THE “FURY” ABANDONED BY PARRY, 230

99. DISCOVERY OF THE CAIRN CONTAINING SIR JOHN FRANKLIN’S
PAPERS, 235

100. RELICS OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION BROUGHT BACK TO
ENGLAND, 235

101. DISCOVERY OF ONE OF THE BOATS OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION, 236

102. THE “THREE BROTHER TURRETS,” 238

103. MORTON ON THE SHORE OF THE SUPPOSED POLAR OCEAN, 240

104. DR. KANE PAYING A VISIT TO AN ESKIMO HUT AT ETAH, 241

105. TRYING TO LASSO A BEAR (FULL-PAGE), 247

106. THE MIDNIGHT SUN, GREENLAND, 249

107. A BEAR AT ANCHOR, 249

108. SKATING--OFF THE COAST OF GREENLAND, 250

109. SNOW LINNETS AND BUNTINGS VISITING THE CREW OF THE
“HANSA,” 254

110. THE CREW OF THE “HANSA” BIVOUACKING ON THE ICE
(FULL-PAGE), 255

111. A RASH INTRUDER, 259

112. BEAR-HUNTING, GREENLAND, 260

113. “INTO A WATER-GAP,” 261

114. THE CREW OF THE “GERMANIA” IN A SNOW-STORM (FULL-PAGE), 263

115. MATERIALS FOR THE HOUSE, 266

116. ATTACK ON A BEAR, 267

117. SETTING FOX-TRAPS, 268

118. RELIEVED, 269

119. FUNERAL OF CAPTAIN HALL (FULL-PAGE), 273

120. AN ARCTIC SNOW-STORM, 276

121. THE CASTAWAYS ON THE ICE (FULL-PAGE), 279

122. ADRIFT ON THE ICE-FLOE, 281

123. RECOVERY OF THE BOAT BY CAPTAIN TYSON, 282

124. IGLOES CONSTRUCTED BY THE CASTAWAYS, 283

125. HANS MISTAKEN FOR A BEAR, 284

126. DIFFICULT TRAVELLING (FULL-PAGE), 285

127. THE GUIDING LIGHT, 287

128. DRAGGING A SEAL, 288

129. RETURN OF THE SUN (FULL-PAGE), 289

130. SHOOTING NARWHAL, 291

131. DRAGGING THE OOGJOOK, 292

132. SUNLIGHT EFFECT IN THE ARCTIC REGION (FULL-PAGE), 293

133. FIRST SIGHT OF A WHALE, 295

134. FACE TO FACE WITH A POLAR BEAR, 296

135. AN ARCTIC ICE-SCAPE (FULL-PAGE), 297

136. ON BOARD THE BOAT, 299

137. BREAKING UP OF THE ICE, 300

138. JOE CAPTURES A SEAL, 300

139. A NIGHT OF FEAR (FULL-PAGE), 301

140. A “HELL OF WATERS,” 303

141. DRAGGING THE BOAT ON TO A FLOE, 304

142. CLINGING TO THE BOAT (FULL-PAGE), 305

143. SAVED! (FULL-PAGE), 309

THE ARCTIC WORLD.

CHAPTER I.

THE NORTH POLE--THRESHOLD OF THE UNKNOWN WORLD--THE CIRCUMPOLAR
REGIONS--THE FLORA OF THE NORTH--LIFE IN THE POLAR WORLD--THE
NORTH-WEST AND NORTH-EAST PASSAGES.

As the reader knows, the Poles are the two extremities of the axis
round which the Earth revolves. It is to the North Pole, and the
regions surrounding it, that the following pages will be devoted.

The inhabitants of Western Europe, and more particularly those of the
British Isles, have a peculiar interest in the North Polar Regions.
Deriving their wealth and importance from their commercial enterprise,
and that commercial enterprise leading their ships and seamen into the
furthest seas, they have necessarily a vital concern in the discovery
of the shortest possible route from that side of the Earth which they
inhabit to the other, or eastern side; and this, more particularly,
because the East is rich in natural productions which are of high value
to the peoples of the West.

Now a glance at the map will show the reader that the traders
of Western Europe--the British, the French, the Dutch, the
Scandinavians--are situated on the northern shores of the Atlantic
Ocean, and that, to reach the Pacific Ocean or the Indian, only
two routes are at present open. For instance, they may cross the
Atlantic to the American coast, and, keeping southward, strike through
Magellan’s stormy Strait or round the bleak promontory of Cape Horn
into the Pacific, and then, over some thousands of miles of water,
proceed to Australia or Hindustan or China; or they may keep along
the African coast to the Cape of Good Hope, its southernmost point,
and so stretch across the warm Tropical seas to India and the Eastern
Archipelago. A third, an _artificial_ route, has indeed of late
years been opened up; and ships, entering the Mediterranean, may pass
through the Suez Canal into the Red Sea. But this last-named route is
unsuitable for sailing-ships, and all three routes are laborious and
slow. How greatly the distance would be shortened were it possible
to navigate the Northern Seas, and, keeping along the north coast of
the American continent, to descend Behring’s Strait into the Pacific!
In other words, were that North-West Passage practicable, which, for
three centuries, our geographers and explorers so assiduously and
courageously toiled to discover! But a still shorter route would be
opened up, if we could follow a line drawn from the British Islands
straight across the North Pole to Behring’s Sea and the Aleutian
Archipelago. This line would not exceed 5000 miles in length, and would
bring Japan, China, and India within a very short voyage from Great
Britain. We should be able to reach Japan in three or four weeks, to
the obvious advantage of our extensive commerce.

Hitherto, however, all efforts to follow out this route, and to throw
open this great ocean-highway between Europe and Asia, have failed. Man
has been baffled by Nature; by ice, and frost, and winds, and climatic
influences. With heroic perseverance he has sought to gain the open
sea which, it is believed, surrounds the Pole, but a barrier of ice
has invariably arrested his progress. His researches have carried him
within about 500 miles of the coveted point; but he is as yet unable
to move a step beyond this furthest limit of geographical discovery.
Immediately around the North Pole, within a radius of eight to ten
degrees or more, according to locality, still lies an Unknown Region,
on the threshold of which Science stands expectant, eagerly looking
forward to the day when human skill and human courage shall penetrate
its solitudes and reveal its secrets.

This Unknown Region comprises an area of 2,500,000 square miles; an
immense portion of the terrestrial surface to be shut out from the
knowledge of Civilized Man. Its further exploration, if practicable,
cannot but be rich in valuable results. Not only would it furnish the
shortest route from the West to the East, from progressive Europe to
conservative Asia, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, but it could not
fail to add in a very important degree to our stores of scientific
information. Sir Edward Sabine is surely right when he says, that it is
the greatest geographical achievement which can be attempted, and that
it will be the crowning enterprise of those Arctic researches in which
England has hitherto had the pre-eminence.

We may briefly indicate to the reader some of the advantages which
might be expected from exploration in the Unknown Region. It would
unquestionably advance the science of hydrography, and lead to a
solution of some of the more difficult problems connected with the
Equatorial and Polar ocean-currents, those great movements of the
waters of which, as yet, we know so little.

A series of pendulum observations, it is said, at and near the North
Pole, would be of essential service to the science of geology. We are
unable, at present, for want of sufficient data, to form a mathematical
theory of the physical condition of the Earth, and to ascertain its
exact configuration. No pendulum observations have been taken nearer
than 600 or 620 miles to the North Pole.

Again: what precious information respecting the strange and wonderful
phenomena of magnetism and atmospheric electricity would certainly be
acquired! How much we have yet to learn in reference to the Aurora,
which can be learned only in high latitudes, and at or near the point
which apparently represents a magnetic focus or centre!

It has also been pointed out by Mr. Markham that the climate of Europe
is largely affected by the atmospheric conditions of the Polar area, in
which the development of extremely low temperatures necessarily leads
to corresponding extreme changes of pressure, and other atmospheric
disturbances, whose influence extends far into the Temperate Zone. For
the satisfactory appreciation of these phenomena, says Mr. Markham, a
precise knowledge is required of the distribution of land and water
within the Polar Region; and any addition to our knowledge of its
unknown area, accompanied by suitable observations of its meteorology,
cannot fail to afford improved means of understanding the meteorology
of our own country, and of the Earth generally.

There can be no doubt, too, that geology would profit, if we could
push our researches nearer to the Pole, and force our way through the
great barrier of the Polar ice. It is highly desirable, too, that we
should know more of that interesting class of animals, the Mollusca,
both terrestrial and aquatic, fresh-water and salt-water. Again: what
a wide field of inquiry is opened up by the Polar glaciers; their
extent, their elevation, their range, and the effects produced by the
slow but continuous motion of those huge ice-rivers over the surface
of the country. And the botanist has a right to calculate upon the
discovery of many precious forms of vegetable life in the Unknown
Region. The Arctic flora is by no means abundant, but it is peculiarly
interesting. In Greenland, besides numerous mosses, lichens, algæ, and
the like, flourish three hundred kinds of flowering plants, all of
which are natives of the Scandinavian peninsula; and Dr. Joseph Hooker
remarks that they exhibit scarcely any admixture of American types,
though these are found on the opposite coast of Labrador. It would seem
probable that in the warm period which preceded the Glacial Age, the
Scandinavian flora spread over the entire area of the Polar Regions;
but that during the Age of Ice it was gradually driven within its
present limits, only the hardier types surviving the blight of the long
lingering winter.

And what would be the gain to the zoologist? Why, it is a well-known
fact that life abounds in the Arctic waters, and especially those
minute organisms which play so important a part in the formation of
sedimentary deposits, and help to build up the terrestrial crust. We
have much to learn, moreover, of the habits and habitats of the fish,
the echinoderms, the molluscs, the corals, the sponges of the extreme
Northern Seas.

There are questions connected with the migrations of birds which can
be elucidated only by an exploration of the Unknown Region. Multitudes
which annually visit our shores in the winter and spring, return in
summer to the far North. This is their regular custom, and obviously
would not have become a custom unless it had been found beneficial.
Therefore we may assume that in the zone they frequent they find some
water which is not always frozen; some land on which they can rest
their weary feet; and an adequate supply of nourishing food.

From Professor Newton we adopt, in connection with this consideration,
a brief account of the movements of one class of migratory birds,--the
Knots.[1]

The knot, or sandpiper, is something half-way between a snipe and a
plover. It is a very active and graceful bird, with rather long legs,
moderately long wings, and a very short tail. It swims admirably, but
is not often seen in the water; preferring to assemble with its fellows
on the sandy sea-shores, where it gropes in the sand for food, or
fishes in the rock-pools and shallow waters for the small crustaceans.
It is known both as the red and the ash-coloured sandpiper, because
it changes the colour of its plumage according to the season of the
year; a bright red in summer, a sober ashen-gray in winter. Now, in the
spring the knot seeks our island in immense flocks, and after remaining
on the coasts for about a fortnight, can be traced proceeding gradually
northwards, until it finally takes leave of us. It has been noticed
in Iceland and Greenland, but not to stay; the summer there would be
too rigorous for its liking, and it goes further and further north.
Whither? Where does it build its nest, and hatch its young? We lose all
trace of it for some weeks: what becomes of it?

Towards the end of summer back it comes to us in larger flocks than
before, and both old birds and young birds remain upon our coasts until
November, or, in mild seasons, even later. Then it wings its flight
to the south, and luxuriates in blue skies and balmy airs until the
following spring, when it resumes the order of its migrations.

Commenting upon these facts, Professor Newton infers that the lands
visited by the knot in the middle of summer are less sterile than
Iceland or Greenland; for certainly it would not pass over these
countries, which are known to be the breeding-places for swarms of
water-birds, to resort to regions not so well provided with supplies of
food. The _food_, however, chiefly depends on the _climate_.
Wherefore we conclude that beyond the northern tracts already explored
lies a region enjoying in summer a climate more genial than they
possess.

Do any races of men with which we are now unacquainted inhabit the
Unknown Region? Mr. Markham observes that although scarcely one-half
of the Arctic world has been explored, yet numerous traces of former
inhabitants have been found in wastes which are at present abandoned
to the silence and solitude. Man would seem to migrate as well as the
inferior animals, and it is possible that tribes may be dwelling in the
mysterious inner zone between the Pole and the known Polar countries.

The extreme points reached by our explorers on the ice-bound Greenland
coast are in about 82° on the west, and 76° on the east side; these
two points lying about six hundred miles apart. As man has dwelt at
both these points, and as they are separated from the settlements
further south by a dreary, desolate, uninhabitable interval, it is
not an extravagant conjecture that the unknown land to the north has
been or is inhabited. In 1818 a small tribe was discovered on the
bleak Greenland coast between 76° and 79° N.; their southward range
being bounded by the glaciers of Melville Bay, and their northward by
the colossal mass of the Humboldt Glacier, while inland their way is
barred by the _Sernik-sook_, a great glacier of the interior.
These so-called Arctic Highlanders number about one hundred and forty
souls, and their existence “depends on open pools and lanes of water
throughout the winter, which attract animal life.” Wherever such
conditions as these are found, man may be found.

We know that there are or have been inhabitants north of the Humboldt
Glacier, on the very threshold of the Unknown Region; for Dr. Kane’s
expedition discovered the runner of a sledge made of bone lying on the
beach immediately to the north of it. The Arctic Highlanders, moreover,
cherish a tradition that herds of musk-oxen frequent an island situated
far away to the north in an iceless sea. Traces of these animals were
found by Captain Hall’s expedition, in 1871–72, as far north as 81°
30′; and similar indications have been noted on the eastern side of
Greenland. In 1823, Captain Clavering found twelve natives at Cape
Borlase Warren, in lat. 79° N.; but when Captain Koldewey, of the
German expedition, wintered in the same neighbourhood, in 1869, they
had disappeared, though there were traces of their occupancy, and ample
means of subsistence. Yet they cannot have gone southward, owing to
insuperable natural obstacles; they must have moved towards the North
Pole.

We have thus indicated some of the results which may be anticipated
from further researches in the Unknown Region. It is not to be
forgotten, however, that “the unexpected always happens,” and it is
impossible to calculate definitely the consequences which may ensue
from a more extensive investigation. “Columbus,” it has been justly
said, “found very few to sympathize with him, or perceive the utility
of the effort on his part to go out into the unknown waste of waters
beyond the Strait of Gibraltar, in search of a new country. Who can,
at this time, estimate the advantages which have followed upon that
adventure? If now it should be possible to reach the Pole, and to make
accurate observations at that point, from the relation which the Earth
bears to the sun and to the whole stellar universe, the most useful
results are very likely to follow, in a more thorough knowledge of our
globe.”

The reader has now before him the particulars which will enable him to
form an idea of the extent and character of the undiscovered region
of the Pole. Roughly speaking, it is bounded by the 80th parallel of
latitude on the European side, except at a few points where our gallant
explorers have succeeded in crossing the threshold; on the Asiatic side
it descends as low as 75°; and to the west of Behring Strait as low
as 72°. Thus, it varies from 500 or 600 to 1400 or 1500 miles across.
Below these parallels, and bounded by the Arctic Circle, or, in some
places, by the 60th parallel, extends a vast belt of land and water
which is generally known as the Arctic or Circumpolar Regions. These
have been more or less thoroughly explored; and it is to a description
of their principal features, their forms of animal and vegetable life,
and their natural phenomena, that we propose to devote the present
volume.

[Illustration: A DESERT OF ICE IN THE ARCTIC REGION.]

It is important to remember that the northern shores of Europe, Asia,
and America are skirted by the parallel of 70°, and that the belt
between the 70th and 80th parallels, having been partially explored
by the seamen and travellers of various nations, intervenes as a kind
of neutral ground between the known and the unknown. We may, indeed,
formulate our statement thus; from the Pole to the 80th degree
stretches the unknown; from the 80th to the 70th, the partially known;
while, south of the 70th, we traverse the lands and seas which human
enterprise has completely conquered.

The Circumpolar Zone includes the northernmost portions of the three
great continents, Europe, Asia, and America; and by sea it has three
approaches or gateways: one, through the Northern Ocean, between Norway
and Greenland; another, through Davis Strait,--both these being from
the Atlantic; and a third, through Behring Strait,--the entrance from
the Pacific.

It will be seen that the Circumpolar Regions, as they are now
understood, and as we shall describe them in the following pages,
extend to the south of that imaginary line drawn by geographers round
the North Pole, at a distance from it equal to the obliquity of the
ecliptic, or 23° 30’. Within this circle, however, there is a period of
the year when the sun does not set; while there is another when he is
never seen, when a settled gloom spreads over the face of nature,--this
period being longer or shorter at any given point according as that
point is nearer to or further from the Pole.

But as animal and vegetable life are largely affected by climate,
it may be justly said that wherever an Arctic climate prevails
_there_ we shall find an Arctic or Polar region; and, hence, many
countries below even the 60th parallel, such as Kamtschatka, Labrador,
and South Greenland, fall within the Circumpolar boundary.

The waters surrounding the North Pole bear the general designation
of the Arctic Ocean. But here again it is almost impossible to
particularize any uniform limit southward. It joins the Pacific at
Behring Strait in about lat. 66° N., and consequently in this quarter
extends fully half a degree _beyond_ the Arctic Circle. At
Scoresby Sound, as at North Cape, where it meets the Atlantic, it is
intersected by the parallel of 71°, and consequently falls short of the
Arctic Circle by about 4° 30’.

In the Old World, the Polar Ocean, if we include its gulfs, extends, in
the White Sea, fully two degrees _beyond_ the Arctic Circle; while
at Cape Severo, the northernmost point of Asia, in lat. 78° 25’ N., it
is 11° 55’ distance from it. Finally, in the New World it is everywhere
confined _within_ the Circle; as much as 5° at Point Barrow, about
7° 30’ at Barrow Strait, and about 3° at the Hecla and Fury Strait.

We may add that, so far as temperature is concerned, the great gulfs
known, in memory of their discoverers, as Davis Strait, Baffin Bay, and
Hudson Bay, are portions of the Arctic Ocean.

Of the more southerly area of this great ocean, the only section which
has been adequately explored to a distance from the continent, and
in the direction of the Pole, is that which washes the north-east
of America. Here we meet, under the collective name of the Polar
Archipelago, with the following islands:--Banks Land, Wollaston Land,
Prince Albert Land, Victoria Land, Prince Patrick Island, Princess
Royal Islands, Melville Island, Cornwallis Island, North Devon, Beechey
Island, Grinnell Land, and North Lincoln. Further to the east lie
Spitzbergen, Jan Mayen Island, Novaia Zemlaia, New Siberia, and the
Liakhov Islands. The chief straits and inlets are Lancaster Sound,
Barrow Strait, Smith Sound, Regent Inlet, Hecla and Fury Strait,
Wellington Channel, and Cumberland Sound; while further westward are
Belcher Channel, Melville Sound, M’Clintock Channel, Banks Strait, and
Prince of Wales Strait.

The Arctic Lands comprehend two well-defined sections, or zones; that
of the forests, and the treeless wastes.

To the latter belong the islands within the Arctic Circle, and also a
considerable tract of the northern continents, forming the “barrens” of
North America, and the “tundras” and “steppes” of European Russia and
Siberia.

The treeless character of this vast area of wilderness is owing to
the bleak sea-winds which drive, without let or hindrance, across the
islands and level shores of the Polar Ocean, compelling even the most
vigorous plant to bend before them and creep along the ground.

Drearier scenes are nowhere presented than these stony tundras, or
their boundless swamps. Almost the only vegetation are a few gray
lichens, a few dull blackish-looking mosses; the stunted flowers or
crawling grasses that here and there occur do not relieve the uniform
desolation,--they serve simply to enhance its gloomy character. In
summer, indeed, the tundras are full of life; for the spawning instinct
of the salmon and the sturgeon impels them to enter their rivers
and seek the quiet recesses of their mysterious lakes. The reindeer
assemble in numerous herds to feed on the herbage warmed into temporary
vitality by the upward-slanting sun; the whirr of countless wings
announces the coming of the migratory birds to breed, and feed their
young, on the river-banks and the level shores; and in their trail
arrive the eagle and the hawk, intent on prey.

But with the first days of September a change passes over the scene.
Animal life hastens to the more genial south; the birds abandon the
frozen wastes; the reindeer retires to the shelter of the forests;
the fish desert the ice-bound streams; and a terrible silence reigns
in the desolate wilderness, broken only by the harsh yelp of a fox or
the melancholy hooting of a snow-owl. For some eight or nine months a
deep shroud or pall of snow lies on the whitened plains. No cheerful
sunbeams irradiate it with a rosy glow; the sky is dull and dark; and
it seems as if Nature had been abandoned to eternal Night.

But blank and dreary as the limitless expanse of snow appears, it is
the security of man in these far northern regions. It affords the
necessary protection to the scanty vegetable life against the rigour
of the long winter season. In Rensselaer Bay, Dr. Kane found, when the
surface temperature had sunk to -30°, a temperature at two feet deep
of -8°, at four feet deep of +2°, and at eight feet deep of +26°, or
no more than 6° below freezing-point. Hence, underneath their thick
frozen pall, the Arctic grasses and lichens maintain a struggling
existence, and are able to maintain it until thoroughly resuscitated
by the summer sun. It is owing to this wise and beneficent provision
that, in the highest latitudes, the explorer discovers some feeble
forms of vegetation. Thus, as Hartwig reminds us, Morton gathered a
crucifer at Cape Constitution, in lat. 80° 45’ N.; and Dr. Kane, on the
banks of the Minturn River, in lat. 78° 52’, met with a flower-growth
which, though fully Arctic in its type, was gaily and richly
coloured--including the purple lychnis, the starry chickweed, and the
hesperis, among the festuca and other tufted grasses.

In the tundras, the most abundant vegetable forms, next to the
lichens and mosses, are the grasses, the crucifers, the saxifrages,
the caryophyles, and the compositæ. These grow fewer and fewer as we
move towards the north, but the number of individual plants does not
decrease. Where the soil is fairly dry, we shall find an extensive
growth of lichens; in moister grounds, these are intermingled with
the well-known Iceland moss. Lichens are everywhere, except in the
sparse tracts of meadow-land lying at the foot of sheltering hills,
or in those alluvial inundated hollows which are thickly planted with
“whispering reeds” and dwarf willows.

It is not easy to trace exactly the boundary between the tundras and
the forest zone. The former descend to the south, and the latter
advances to the north, according to the climatic influences which
prevail; following the isothermic lines of uniform temperature, and
not the mathematical limits of the geographical parallels of latitude.
Where the ground undulates, and hilly ridges break the fury of the
icy blasts, the forests encroach on the stony treeless region; but
the desolate plains strike into the wooded zone in places where the
ocean-winds range with unchecked sway.

[Illustration: THE SWAMPS OF THE OBI.]

The southernmost limit of the “barrens” is found in Labrador, where
they descend to lat. 57°; nor is this to be wondered at, when we
remember the peculiar position of that gloomy peninsula, with icy seas
washing it on three sides, and cold winds sweeping over it from the
north. On the opposite coasts of Hudson Bay they do not strike lower
than 60°; and they continue to rise as we proceed westward, until in
the Mackenzie Valley we find the tall forest growth reaching as far
north as 68° or even 70°. Thence they recede gradually, until, on the
bleak shore of Behring Sea, they do not rise higher than 65°. Crossing
into the eastern continent, we find them beginning, in the land of the
Tuski (or Tchuktche), in 63°, and from thence encroaching gradually
upon the tundras until, at the Lena, they reach as high as 71°. From
the Lena to the Obi the tundras gain upon the forests, and in the
Obi Valley descend below the Arctic Circle; but from the Obi to the
Scandinavian coast the forests gain upon the tundras, terminating,
after many variations, in lat. 70°.

[Illustration: IN THE FOREST ZONE OF THE NORTH.]

The result to which this rapid survey brings us is, that the “tundras”
or “barrens” of Europe, Asia, and America occupy an area larger than
the whole of Europe. The Siberian wilderness is more extensive than the
African Sahara or the South American Pampas. But of still vaster area
are the Arctic forest regions, which stretch in an “almost continuous
belt” through three quarters of the world, with a breadth of from
15° to 20°--that is, of 1000 to 1400 miles. And it is a peculiarity
of these Circumpolar woods, that they are almost wholly composed of
conifers, and that frequently a wide space of ground is covered for
leagues upon leagues with a single kind of fir or pine.

“This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Blended with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.”

The American species, however, differ from the Asiatic or European.
While in the Hudson Bay territories grow the white and black spruce,[2]
the Canadian larch,[3] and the gray pine[4]; in Scandinavia and
Siberia, the Siberian fir and larch,[5] the _Picea olovata_, and
the _Pinus umbra_ flourish. But both in the Old World and the
New the birch advances beyond the fir and pine, and on the banks of
the rivers and the shores of the lakes dwarf willows form immense and
almost impenetrable thickets. The Arctic forests also include various
kinds of ash, elder, and the service tree; and though orchard trees are
wholly wanting, both man and beast find a great boon in the bilberries,
cranberries, bog-berries, and the like, which grow plentifully in many
localities.

The area of the Arctic flora comprises Greenland, in the western
hemisphere, and extends considerably to the south of the Arctic Circle,
especially on the coasts, where it reaches the parallel of 60° N. lat.,
and even overpasses it.

In Greenland the vegetation is more truly of an Arctic character than
even in Iceland. The valleys are covered with marsh-plants and dingy
mosses; the gloomy rocks are encrusted with lichens; while the grasses
on the meadow-lands that border the fiords and inlets are nearly four
times less varied than those of Iceland.

The flora of Iceland is approximative to that of Great Britain; yet
only one in every four of British plants is included in it. The total
number of species may be computed at eight hundred and seventy, of
which more than half blossom; this proportion is greater than prevails
in Scotland, but then only thirty-two are of woody texture. They are
scattered about in groups according as they prefer a marshy, volcanic,
dry, or marine soil. Many bloom in the immediate vicinity of the hot
springs; some not far from the brink of the basin of the Great Geyser,
where every other plant is petrified; and several species of confervæ
flourish in a spring the waters of which are hot enough, it is said, to
boil an egg.

From the nature of the Arctic forests, the reader will be prepared to
learn that they are not inhabited, like those of the Tropics, by swarms
of animals; or made musical by the songs of birds, like our European
woods. Even the echoes are silent, except when the hoarse wind bears
to them the peculiar cry of the reindeer, the howl of the wolf, or the
sharp scream of some bird of prey. Insect life, however, is active and
abundant; and our Arctic travellers have suffered greatly from the
legions of gnats which haunt their swampy recesses.

* * * * *

Passing from the forest region into the treeless wastes, we may glance
once again at their strikingly impressive features. North of the 62nd
parallel no corn can ripen, on account of the fatal power of the winds
which pour down from the Arctic Ocean. As we advance to the northward,
a wide-spread area of desolation stretches before us: salt steppes,
stony plains, boundless swamps, and lakes of salt and fresh water. So
terrible is the cold that the spongy soil is perpetually frozen to the
depth of some hundred feet below the surface; and the surface itself,
though not thawed until the end of June, is again ice-bound by the
middle of September. One of the most graphic sketches with which we are
acquainted of the extreme Siberian desert is furnished by Admiral von
Wrangel, who travelled during the winter from the mouth of the Kolyma
to Behring Strait.

Here, he says, endless snows and ice-crusted rocks bound the horizon;
Nature lies shrouded in all but perpetual winter; life is a constant
conflict with privation and with the terrors of cold and hunger; the
grave of Nature, containing only the bones of another world. The
people, and even the snow, throw off a continual vapour; and this
evaporation is instantly changed into millions of needles of ice, which
make a noise in the air like the sound of torn satin or the rustle of
thick silk. The reindeer take to the forest, or crowd together for
heat; and the raven alone, the dark bird of winter, still smites the
frosty air with heavy laborious wing, leaving behind him a long trail
of thin vapour to mark the course of his solitary flight. The trunks
of the thickest trees are rent with a loud clang, masses of rock
are torn from their sites, the ground in the valleys is split into
a myriad fissures, from which the waters that are underneath bubble
up, throwing off a cloud of smoke, and immediately congealing into
ice. The atmosphere grows dense; the glistening stars are dimmed. The
dogs outside the huts of the Siberians burrow in the snow, and their
howling, at intervals of six or eight hours, interrupts the general
silence of winter.

The abundance of fur-bearing animals in the less rigorous parts of the
tundras has induced the hardy Russians to colonize and build towns on
these confines of the Frozen World. Yakutsk, on the river Lena, in
62° 1′ 30″ N., may be regarded, perhaps, as the coldest town on the
Earth. The ground is perpetually frozen to the depth of more than 400
feet, of which three feet only are thawed in summer, when Fahrenheit’s
thermometer frequently marks 77° in the shade. Yet in winter the rigour
of the climate is so extreme that mercury is constantly frozen for two
and occasionally even for three months.

* * * * *

From the data set forth in the preceding pages, the reader will
conclude that, as indeed results from physical laws, the line of
perpetual snow will be found to descend lower and lower on advancing to
the Pole. By the line of perpetual snow we mean, of course, the limit
above which a continual frost endures. Now, this limit varies according
to climate. The lower the temperature, the lower the snow-line; the
higher the temperature, the higher the snow-line. In the Tropics it
does not sink below the summits of the loftiest mountains. Thus, at
1° from the Equator, where the mean temperature at the sea-level is
84°.2, the snow-line must be sought at the elevation of 15,203 feet;
in 51° 30’ lat., the latitude of London, it is usually found at about
5900 feet; in lat. 80°, where the mean temperature is 33°.6, it sinks
to 457 feet. These figures, however, represent its _normal_
elevations; but temperature, as we all know, is greatly affected by
local circumstances, and therefore the perpetual snow-line varies
greatly in height. Owing to causes already explained, the snow-line
in the Circumpolar Regions sinks to a very low level; and, therefore,
many mountainous regions or elevated table-lands, such as Spitzbergen,
Greenland, and Novaia Zemlaia, which, in a more temperate climate,
would bloom with emerald slopes and waving woods, are covered with
huge glaciers and fields of ice, with apparently interminable reaches
of untrodden snow.

It should be noted, however, that nowhere does the perpetual snow-line
descend to the water’s edge; nowhere has the spell of winter absolutely
crushed the life out of all vegetation. Lichens and grasses, on which
the reindeer gains its hardy subsistence, are found near lat. 80°; even
on the awful plains of Melville Island the snow melts at midsummer;
and the deserts of New Siberia afford food for considerable numbers of
lemmings. As far as man has reached to the north, says a popular and
accurate writer, vegetation, when fostered by a sheltered situation
and the refraction of solar heat from the rocks, has everywhere been
found to rise to a considerable altitude above the level of the sea;
and should there be land at the North Pole, we may reasonably suppose
that it is destitute neither of animal nor vegetable life. It would be
quite wrong to conclude that the cold of winter invariably increases
as we approach the Pole, the temperature of a land being controlled
by many other causes besides its latitude. Even in the most northern
regions visited by man, the influence of the sea, particularly where
favoured by warm currents, considerably mitigates the severity of the
winter, while at the same time it diminishes the heat of summer. On the
other hand, the large continental tracts of Asia or America that slope
towards the Pole, possess a more rigorous winter and a fiercer summer
than many coast lands or islands situated far nearer to the Pole. For
example: the western shores of Novaia Zemlaia, fronting a wide expanse
of sea, have an average winter temperature of only -4°, and a mean
summer temperature which rises very little above the freezing-point of
water (+ 36° 30’); while Yakutsk, situated in the centre of Siberia,
and 20° nearer to the Equator, has a winter temperature of -36° 6’, and
a summer of + 66° 6’.

But though such are the physical conditions of the Polar Regions, it
must not be supposed that Nature wears only a severe and repellent
aspect. There is something beautiful in the vast expanse of snowy plain
when seen by the light of a cloudless moon; something majestic in the
colossal glaciers which fill up the remote Arctic valleys; something
picturesque in the numerous icebergs which grandly sail down the dark
Polar waters; something mysterious and wonderful in the coruscations of
the Aurora, which illuminates the darkness of the winter nights with
the glory of the celestial fires. The law of compensation prevails in
the far North, as in the glowing and exuberant regions of the Tropics.

CHAPTER II.

THE ARCTIC HEAVENS: ATMOSPHERIC AND METEORIC PHENOMENA.

Let the reader fancy himself--should he be reading these pages on a
warm summer’s day, the fancy will not be unpleasant!--let the reader
fancy himself on board a well-found, stoutly-built whaling-vessel,
and rapidly approaching the coast of Greenland. But the heavy mist
hangs over the legend-haunted shores, and we can but catch the sound
of the clanging surf as it rolls upon them. All around us spreads the
mist,--dense, impenetrable. What is that before us? The dead white mass
of an iceberg, slowly drifting with the current, and almost upon us
before the look-out man discovered it. But the helm has been sharply
handled; our good ship has put about; and we sail clear of the mighty
pyramid. Fully one hundred and fifty feet high, we can assure you, and
twice as broad at its base. A sudden break in the mist reveals its
radiant spire, with white cloud-wreaths circling and dancing round it
in the sunlight.

And now, as we steadily move forward, the fog is lifted up like a
curtain, and before us, like a scene in a panorama, looms the Greenland
coast in all its austere magnificence: yonder are its broad ice-filled
valleys, its snow-clad ravines, its noble mountains, its iron-bound
range of cliffs, its general aspect of solemn desolation.

Away over the westward sea fly the scattered vapours, disclosing
iceberg after iceberg, like the magical towers in some of Turner’s
pictures. We seem to have been drawn by some irresistible spell into
a world of enchantment, and all the old Norse romance comes back
upon the memory, with its picturesque associations. Yonder lies the
Valhalla of the ancient ocean-rovers; yonder the dazzling city of the
sun-god Freya, one of the most popular of the Scandinavian divinities,
as well he might be; yonder the elfin caves of Alfheim; and Glitner,
with its walls of gold and roofs of silver; and the radiant Gimele,
the home of the blessed; and there, too, towering above the clouds,
the bridge Bifrost, by which the heroes ascended from earth to heaven.
Heimdall, who can see for fully a hundred leagues, as well by night as
by day, stands sentinel upon it, prepared to sound his horn Gjallar, if
intruders should attempt to cross it!

The sea is smooth as glass; not a ripple breaks the wonderful calmness
of its surface. It is midnight, but in this strange Arctic world the
sun still hangs close upon the northern horizon; the icebergs rear
their dazzling crests around, like floating spires, and turrets, and
many-towered minsters; the dark headlands are boldly outlined against
the sky; and sea, and sky, and mountains, and icebergs are suffused
in a wildly beautiful atmosphere of crimson, gold, and purple. The
picture is like a poet’s vision; and so startlingly unreal, that it is
difficult for the unaccustomed spectator to believe it other than an
illusion.

[Illustration: THE MIDNIGHT SUN.]

We adopt the following description from the vivid language of Dr.
Hayes, who displays a keen feeling for the beauties of the Polar world.

The air was warm, he says, almost as a summer’s night at home, and
yet there were the icebergs and the bleak mountains, with which the
fancy, in our own land of green hills and waving woods, can associate
nothing but what is cold and repellent. Bright was the sky, and soft
and strangely inspiring as the skies of Italy. The bergs had wholly
lost their chilly aspect, and, glittering in the blaze of the brilliant
heavens, seemed, in the distance, like masses of burnished metal or
solid flame. Nearer at hand they were huge blocks of Parian marble,
encrusted with colossal gems of pearl and opal. One in particular
exhibited the perfection of grandeur. Its form was not unlike that of
the Coliseum, and it lay so far away that half its height was buried
beneath the line of blood-red waters. The sun, slow moving along its
path of glory, passed behind it, and the old Roman ruin seemed suddenly
to break into flame.

[Illustration: OFF THE COAST OF GREENLAND.]

Nothing, indeed, but the pencil of the artist could depict the
wonderful richness of this combined landscape and seascape. Church, in
his great picture of “The Icebergs,” has grandly exhibited a scene not
unlike that we have attempted to describe.

In the shadows of the bergs the water was a rich green, and nothing
could be more soft and tender than the gradations of colour made by the
sea shoaling on the sloping tongues of some of these floating masses.
The tint increased in intensity where the ice overhung the waters,
and a deep cavern in one of them exhibited the solid colour of the
malachite mingled with the transparency of the emerald, while, in
strange contrast, a broad belt of cobalt blue shot diagonally through
its body.

The enchantment of the scene was heightened by a thousand little
cascades which flashed into the sea from the icebergs, the water being
discharged from basins of melted snow and ice which tranquilly reposed
far up in the hollows of their topmost surface. From other bergs large
boulders were occasionally detached, and these plunged into the water
with a deafening din, while the roll and rush of the ocean resounded
like the music of a solemn dirge through their broken archways.

* * * * *

The contrasts and combinations of colour in the Polar world are,
indeed, among its particular attractions, and of their kind they cannot
be surpassed or imitated even in the gorgeous realms of the Tropics.
The pale azure gleam of the ice, the dazzling whiteness of the snow,
the vivid verdure of the sunlit plains, the deep emerald tints, crossed
with sapphire and ultramarine, of the waters, would in themselves
afford a multiplicity of rich and beautiful effects; but to these we
must add the magical influences of the coruscations of the Arctic
heavens, with the glories of the midnight sun and the wonders of the
Aurora.

[Illustration: MOONLIGHT IN THE POLAR WORLD.]

Even moonlight in the Polar world is unlike moonlight anywhere else; it
has a character all its own,--strange, weird, supernatural. Night after
night the sky will be free from cloud or shadow, and the radiant stars
shine out with a singular intensity, seeming to cut the air like keen
swords. The moonbeams are thrown back with a pale lustre by ice-floe
and glacier and snow-drift, and the only relief to the brightness is
where the dark cliffs throw a shadow over the landscape. Gloriously
beautiful look the snow-clad mountains, as the moonlight pours upon
them its serene splendour, interrupted only by the occasional passage
of a wreath of mist, which is soon transformed into sparkling silver.
The whole scene produces an impression of awe on the mind of the
thoughtful spectator, and he feels as if brought face to face with the
visible presence of another world.

The prolonged winter night is in itself well calculated to affect the
imagination of the European. He reads of it in travels and books of
astronomy; but to know what it _is_, and what it _means_, he
must submit himself to its influence,--he must “winter” in the Polar
Regions. Not to see sunrise and sunset, and the changes they bring with
them, day after day, enlivening, inspiriting, strengthening, is felt
at first as an intolerable burden. The stars shining at all hours with
equal brilliancy, and the lasting darkness which reigns for twenty
days of each winter month when the moon is below the horizon, become a
weariness and a discomfort. The traveller longs for the reappearance
of the moon; and yet before she has run her ten days’ course, he feels
fatigued by the uniform illumination.

But sometimes a relief is supplied by the phenomenon of the Aurora
Borealis. We inhabitants of the United Kingdom know something of the
rare beauty of the “northern lights,” when the heavens kindle with
a mysterious play of colours which reminds us of the strange weird
radiance that occasionally kindles in our dreams; yet these are poor
and trivial when compared with the auroral display. Let us endeavour
to realize it from the glowing description painted by one of the most
eloquent and observant of Arctic explorers.

He was groping his way among the ice-hummocks, in the deep obscurity
of the mid-winter, when suddenly a bright ray darted up from behind
the black cloud which lay low down on the horizon before him. It
lasted but an instant, and, having filled the air with a strange
illumination, it died away, leaving the darkness even greater darkness
than before. Presently an arc of coloured light sprang across the
sky, and the aurora became gradually more fixed. The space enclosed
by the arc was very dark, and was filled with the cloud. The play of
the rays which rose from its gradually brightening border was for some
time very capricious, modifying the burst of flame from what seemed a
conflagration of the heavens to the soft glow of early morn.

Gradually the light grew more and more intense, and from irregular
bursts it settled into an almost steady sheet of splendour. This sheet,
however, was far from uniform, and may best be described as “a flood of
mingling and variously-tinted streaks.”

The exhibition, at first tame and quiet, developed by degrees into
startling brilliancy. The broad dome of night seemed all ablaze. Lurid
fires, fiercer than those which reddened the heavens from burning
Troy, flashed angrily across the zenith. The stars waned before the
marvellous outburst, and seemed to recede further and further from the
Earth; “as when the chariot of the sun, driven by Phaeton, and carried
from its beaten track by the ungovernable steeds, rushed madly through
the skies, parching the world and withering the constellations. The
gentle Andromeda flies trembling from the flame; Perseus, with his
flashing sword and Gorgon shield, retreats in fear; the Pole-Star is
chased from the night; and the Great Bear, faithful sentinel of the
North, quits his guardian watch, following the feeble trail.”

The colour of the light was chiefly red, but this was not permanent,
and every hue mingled in the wonderful display.

Blue and yellow streamers shot athwart the lurid fire; and, sometimes
starting side by side from the wide expanse of the illumined arc,
they melted into each other, and flung a weird glare of green over the
landscape.

[Illustration: THE AURORA BOREALIS.]

Again this green overcame the red; blue and yellow blended with each
other in their swift flight; violet-tinted arrows flashed through a
broad glow of orange, and countless tongues of white flame, formed of
these uniting streams, rushed aloft and clasped the skies. The effect
of the many-coloured lustre upon the surrounding objects was singularly
wonderful. The weird forms of innumerable icebergs, singly and in
clusters, loomed above the sea, and around their summits hovered the
strange gleam, like the fires of Vesuvius over the villas and temples
of Pompeii. All along the white surface of the frozen sea, upon the
mountain-peaks and the lofty cliffs, the light glowed and dimmed
and glowed again, as if the air were filled with graveyard meteors,
flitting wildly above some vast illimitable city of the dead. The scene
was noiseless, yet the senses were deceived, for sounds not of earth or
sea seemed to follow the swift coruscations, and to fall upon the ear
like

“The tread
Of phantoms dread,
With banner, and spear, and flame.”

Though the details, so to speak, are not always the same, the general
character of the aurora changes very slightly, and, from a comparison
of numerous accounts, the gradation of the phenomenon would seem to be
as follows:--

The sky slowly assumes a tint of brown, on which, as on a background,
is soon developed a nebulous segment, bordered by a spacious arc of
dazzling whiteness, which seems incessantly agitated by a tremulous
motion. From this arc an incredible number of shafts and rays of light
leap upwards to the zenith. These luminous columns pass through all
the hues of the rainbow,--from softest violet and intensest sapphire
to green and purple-red. Sometimes the rays issue from the resplendent
arc mingled with darker flashes; sometimes they rise simultaneously at
different points of the horizon, and unite in one broad sea of flame
pervaded by rapid undulations. On other occasions it would seem as if
invisible hands were unfurling fiery dazzling banners, to stream, like
meteors, in the troubled air. A kind of canopy, of soft and tranquil
light, which is known as the _corona_, indicates the close of the
marvellous exhibition; and shortly after its appearance the luminous
rays begin to decrease in splendour, the richly-coloured arcs dissolve
and die out, and soon of all the gorgeous spectacle nothing remains but
a whitish cloudy haze in those parts of the firmament which, but a few
minutes before, blazed with the mysterious fires of the aurora borealis.

[Illustration: THE AURORA BOREALIS--THE CORONA.]

The arc of the aurora is only part of a broad circle of light, which is
elevated considerably above the surface of our globe, and the centre
of which is situated in the vicinity of the Pole. It is not difficult,
therefore, to account for the different aspects under which it is
presented to observers placed at different angles to the focus of the
display. A person some degrees _south_ of the ring necessarily
sees but a very small arc of it towards the north, owing to the
interposition of the earth between him and it; if he stood nearer the
north, the arc would appear larger and higher; if immediately below
it, he would see it apparently traversing the zenith; or if within
the ring, and still further north, he would see it culminating in the
south. It has been supposed that the centre of the ring corresponds
with the magnetic north pole in the island of Boothia Felix.

Generally the phenomenon lasts for several hours, and at times it
will be varied by peculiar features. Now it will seem to present the
hemispherical segment of a colossal wheel; now it will wave and droop
like a rich tapestry of many-coloured light, in a thousand prismatic
folds; and now it exhibits the array of innumerable dazzling streamers,
waving in the dark and intense sky.

The arc varies in elevation, but is seldom more than ninety miles above
the terrestrial surface. Its diameter, however, must be enormous,
for it has been known to extend southward to Italy, and has been
simultaneously visible in Sardinia, Connecticut, and at New Orleans.

According to some authorities, the phenomenon is accompanied by noises
resembling the discharge of fireworks, or the crackling of silk when
one piece is folded over another; but this statement is discredited by
the most trustworthy observers.

Mrs. Somerville’s description is worth quoting, as taking up more
emphatically some points to which we have already alluded:--

The aurora, she says, is decidedly an electrical (or, more strictly
speaking, a magneto-electrical) phenomenon. It generally appears
soon after sunset in the form of a luminous arc stretching more or
less from east to west, the most elevated point being always in the
magnetic meridian of the place of the observer; across the arc the
coruscations are rapid, vivid, and of various colours, darting like
lightning to the zenith, and at the same time flitting laterally with
incessant velocity. The brightness of the rays varies in an instant;
they sometimes surpass the splendour of stars of the first magnitude,
and often exhibit colours of admirable transparency,--blood-red at
the base, emerald-green in the middle, and clear yellow towards
their extremity. Sometimes one, and sometimes a quick succession of
luminous currents run from one end of the arc or bow to the other, so
that the rays rapidly increase in brightness; but it is impossible
to say whether the coruscations themselves are actually affected by
a horizontal motion of translation, or whether the more vivid light
is conveyed from ray to ray. The rays occasionally dart far past the
zenith, vanish, suddenly reappear, and, being joined by others from the
arc, form a magnificent corona or immense dome of light. The segment of
the sky below the arc is quite black, as if formed by dense clouds; yet
M. Struve is said to have seen stars in it, and so it would appear that
the blackness of which several observers speak must be the effect of
contrast. The lower edge of the arc is evenly defined; its upper margin
is fringed by the coruscations, their convergence towards the north,
and that of the arc itself, being probably an effect of perspective.

The aurora exercises a remarkable influence on the magnetic needle,
even in places where the display is not visible. Its vibrations seem
to be slower or quicker according as the auroral light is quiescent or
in motion, and the variations of the compass during the day show that
the aurora is not peculiar to night. It has been ascertained by careful
observations that the disturbances of the magnetic needle and the
auroral displays were simultaneous at Toronto, in Canada, on thirteen
days out of twenty-four, the remaining days having been clouded; and
contemporaneous observations show that in these thirteen days there
were also magnetic disturbances at Prague and Tasmania; so that the
occurrence of auroral phenomena at Toronto on these occasions may be
viewed as a local manifestation connected with magnetic effects, which,
whatever may have been their origin, probably prevailed _on the same
day over the whole surface of the globe_.

Among the _atmospheric_ phenomena of the outer world we are
justified in reckoning the Winds, which are remarkable for their
variability. Their force is considerably diminished when they pass over
a wide surface of ice; sometimes the ice seems even to beat back the
breeze, and turn it in a contrary direction. The warm airs from the
south grow cool as they sweep across the frozen expanse, and give up
their moisture in the form of snow. In a region so bleak and chill it
is not often that clouds are created, the atmospheric vapours being
condensed into snow or hail without passing through any intermediate
condition.

Whirlwinds of frozen snow are formidable enemies to the seaman forced
to traverse the ice on foot, or in a sledge drawn by Eskimo dogs. Dense
showers lash and sting the unfortunate traveller’s face, penetrate his
mouth and nostrils, freeze together his very eyelids, and almost blind
him. His skin assumes a bluish tint, and burns as if scarred by the
keen thongs of a knout.

An optical illusion of frequent occurrence in the Polar Regions makes
objects appear of dimensions much larger than they really possess. A
fox assumes the proportions of a bear; low banks of ice are elevated
into lofty mountains. The eye is fatigued by dwelling upon the horizon
of lands which are never approached. Just as in the sandy deserts of
the Sahara the distances of real objects are apparently diminished, so
the Arctic explorer, misled by the aërial illusion, advances towards a
goal which seems always near at hand, but is never attained.

Another source of error, common both to the Arctic and the Tropical
deserts, is the mirage, a phenomenon of refraction, which represents
as suspended in air the images of remote objects, and thus gives rise
to the most curious illusions and fantastic scenes. Dr. Scoresby one
day perceived in the air the reversed representation of a ship which he
recognized as the _Fame_, commanded by his father. He afterwards
discovered that it had been lying moored in a creek about ten leagues
from the point where the mirage had played with his imagination.

Again, in approaching a field of ice or snow, the traveller invariably
descries a belt of resplendent white immediately above the horizon.
This is known as the “ice-blink,” and it reveals to the Arctic
navigator beforehand the character of the ice he is approaching. At
times, too, a range of icebergs, or of broken masses of ice, will be
reflected in colossal shadows on the sky, with a strange and even weird
effect.

But, after all, the special distinction between the Arctic lands and
the other regions of the globe is their long day and longer night.
Describing an immense spiral curve upon the horizon, the sun gradually
mounts to 30°, the highest point of its course; then, in the same
manner, it returns towards the horizon, and bids farewell to the
wildernesses of the North, slowly passing away behind the veil of a
gloomy and ghastly twilight.

When the navigator, says Captain Parry, finds himself for the first
time buried in the silent shadows of the Arctic night, he cannot
conquer an involuntary emotion of dread; he feels transported out of
the sphere of ordinary, commonplace existence. The deadly and sombre
deserts of the Pole seem like those uncreated voids which Milton has
placed between the realms of life and death. The very animals are
affected by the profound melancholy which saddens the face of Nature.

[Illustration: ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENON IN THE ARCTIC
REGIONS:--REFLECTION OF ICEBERGS.]

Who can read without emotion the following passages from Dr. Kane’s
Journal?--

“_October 28, Friday._--The moon has reached her greatest northern
declination of about 25° 35’. She is a glorious object; sweeping around
the heavens, at the lowest part of her curve she is still 14° above the
horizon. For eight days she has been making her circuit with nearly
unvarying brightness. It is one of those sparkling nights that bring
back the memory of sleigh-bells and songs and glad communings of hearts
in lands that are far away.

“The weather outside is at 25° below zero.”

A few days later, and the heroic explorer writes:--

“_November 7, Monday._--The darkness is coming on with insidious
steadiness, and its advances can be perceived only by comparing one
day with its fellow of some time back. We still read the thermometer
at noonday without a light, and the black masses of the hills are
plain for about five hours with their glaring patches of snow; but all
the rest is darkness. Lanterns are always on the spar-deck, and the
lard-lamps never extinguished below. The stars of the sixth magnitude
shine out at noonday.

“Our darkness has ninety days to run before we shall get back again
even to the contested twilight of to-day. Altogether, our winter will
have been sunless for one hundred and forty days.”

Here is another significant passage; yet all its significance can
scarcely be appreciated by the dwellers in temperate climes:--

“_November 27, Sunday._--The thermometer was in the neighbourhood
of 40° _below zero_, and the day was too dark to read at noon.”

“_December 15, Thursday._--We have lost the last vestige of our
mid-day twilight. We cannot see print, and hardly paper: the fingers
cannot be counted a foot from the eyes. Noonday and midnight are alike;
and, except a vague glimmer on the sky that seems to define the hill
outlines to the south, we have nothing to tell us that this Arctic
world of ours has a sun.”

On the 11th of January (1854), Dr. Kane’s thermometer stood at 49°
below zero; and on the 20th the range of those at the observatory
was at -64° to -67°. On the 5th of February they began to show an
unexampled temperature. They ranged from 60° to 75° below zero, and one
very admirable instrument on the taffrail of the brig stood at -65°.
The reduced mean of the best spirit-standards gave -67°, or 97° below
the freezing-point of water.

At these temperatures chloric ether became solid, and carefully
prepared chloroform exhibited a granular film or pellicle on its
surface. Spirit of naphtha froze at -54°, and oil of sassafras at -49°.
The oil of winter-green assumes a flocculent appearance at -56°, and
solid at -63° and -65°.

Some further details, borrowed from Dr. Kane’s experiences, will
illustrate still more powerfully the singular atmospheric conditions of
the Arctic winter.

The exhalations from the surface of the body invested any exposed or
partially-clad part with a wreath of vapour. The air had a perceptible
pungency when inspired, but Dr. Kane did not undergo the painful
sensation described by some Siberian travellers. When breathed for any
length of time it imparted a sensation of dryness to the air-passages;
and Dr. Kane observed that all his party, as it were involuntarily,
breathed gradually, and with compressed lips.

It was at noon on the 21st of January that the first glimmer of
returning light became visible, the southern horizon being touched
for a short time with a distinct orange hue. The sun had, perhaps,
afforded them a kind of illumination before, but if so, it was not to
be distinguished from the “cold light of stars.” They had been nearing
the sunshine for thirty-two days, and had just reached that degree of
mitigated darkness which made the extreme midnight of Sir Edward Parry
in lat. 74° 47’.

We have already alluded to the depressing influence exercised by
the prolonged and intense darkness of the Arctic night, and we have
referred to the singular effect it has upon animals. Dr. Kane’s dogs,
though most of them were natives of the Arctic Circle, proved unable
to bear up against it. Most of them died from an anomalous form of
disease, to which the absence of light would seem to have contributed
as much as the extreme cold. This circumstance seems worthy of fuller
notice, and we quote, therefore, Dr. Kane’s observation upon it:--

“_January 20._--This morning at five o’clock--for I am so
afflicted with the _insomnium_ of this eternal night, that I
rise at any time between midnight and noon--I went upon deck. It was
absolutely dark, the cold not permitting a swinging lamp. There was not
a glimmer came to me through the ice-crusted window-panes of the cabin.
While I was feeling my way, half puzzled as to the best method of
steering clear of whatever might be before me, two of my Newfoundland
dogs put their cold noses against my hand, and instantly commenced
the most exuberant antics of satisfaction. It then occurred to me how
very dreary and forlorn must these poor animals be, at atmospheres
+10° in-doors and -50° without,--living in darkness, howling at an
accidental light, as if it reminded them of the moon,--and with
nothing, either of instinct or sensation, to tell them of the passing
hours, or to explain the long-lost daylight.”

The effect of the prolonged darkness upon these animals was most
extraordinary. Every attention was paid to their wants; they were kept
below, tended, fed, cleansed, caressed, and _doctored_; still they
grew worse and worse. Strange to say, their disease was as clearly
_mental_ as in the case of any human being. There was no physical
disorganization; they ate voraciously; they slept soundly, they
retained their strength. But first they were stricken by epilepsy, and
this was followed by true lunacy. They barked frenziedly at nothing;
they walked in straight and curved lines with anxious and unwearying
perseverance. They fawned on the seamen, but without seeming to
appreciate any caresses bestowed upon them; pushing their head against
the friend who noticed them, or oscillating with a strange pantomime of
fear. Their most intelligent actions seemed of an automatic character;
sometimes they clawed at their masters, as if seeking to burrow into
their seal-skins; sometimes they preserved for hours a moody silence,
and then started off howling, as if pursued, and ran to and fro for a
considerable period.

When spring returned Dr. Kane had to mourn the loss of nine splendid
Newfoundland and thirty-five Eskimo dogs; of the whole pack only six
survived, and one of these was unfit for draught.

Having dwelt at some length on the characteristics of the Arctic
winter, we now turn to consider those of the Arctic spring. This
begins in April, but does not exhibit itself in all the freshness of
its beauty until May. The temperature rises daily in the interval; the
winter fall of snow, which has so long shrouded the gaunt hills and
lain upon the valleys, rolls up before the rays of the rising sun;
and the melted snow pours in noisy torrents and flashing cascades
through the rugged ravines and over the dark sides of the lofty cliffs:
everywhere the air resounds with the din of falling waters. Early in
June the traveller sees with delight the signs of returning vegetation.
The willow-stems grow green with the fresh and living sap; mosses,
and poppies, and saxifrages, and the cochlearia, with other hardy
plants, begin to sprout; the welcome whirr of wings is brought upon the
breeze; the cliffs are alive with the little auks; flocks of stately
eider-ducks sail into the creeks and sounds; the graceful terns scream
and dart over the sea; the burgomasters and the gyrfalcons move to and
fro with greater dignity; the long-tailed duck fills the echoes with
its shrill voice; the snipes hover about the fresh-water pools; the
sparrows chirp from rock to rock; long lines of cackling geese sail in
the blue clearness overhead on their way to a remoter north; the walrus
and the seal bask on the ice-floes which have broken up into small
rafts, and drift lazily with the currents; and a fleet of icebergs move
southwards in solemn and stately procession, their spires and towers
flashing and coruscating in the sunlight.

[Illustration: ADVENT OF SPRING IN THE POLAR REGIONS.]

We transcribe a sketch of a spring landscape in the Polar world from
the pages of Dr. Hayes:--

We arrived at the lake, he says, in the midst of a very enlivening
scene. The snow had mainly disappeared from the valley, and, although
no flowers had yet appeared, the early vegetation was covering the
banks with green, and the feeble growths opened their little leaves
almost under the very snow, and stood alive and fresh in the frozen
turf, looking as glad of the spring as their more ambitious cousins of
the warm South. Numerous small herds of reindeer had come down from the
mountains to fatten on this newly budding life. Gushing rivulets and
fantastic waterfalls mingled their pleasant music with the ceaseless
hum of birds, myriads of which sat upon the rocks of the hill-side,
or were perched upon the cliffs, or sailed through the air in swarms
so thick that they seemed like a dark cloud passing before the sun.
These birds were the little auk, a water-fowl not larger than a quail.
The swift flutter of their wings and their constant cry filled the air
with a roar like that of a storm advancing among the forest trees.
The valley was glowing with the sunlight of the early morning, which
streamed in over the glacier, and robed hill, mountain, and plain in
brightness.

Spring passes into summer, and all nature seems endowed with a new
life. The death-like silence, the oppressive darkness, the sense of
fear and despondency, all have passed away; and earth and water echo
with cheerful voices, the landscape is bathed in a glorious radiance,
the human soul is conscious of a sentiment of hope and expectation. The
winter is past and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of
the singing of birds is come. The snow has melted from the hills, and
the streams run with a merry music, and the scanty flora of the far
northern world attains its full development. By day and night the sun
pours forth its invigorating rays, and even the butterfly is encouraged
to sport among the blossoms. The Aurora no longer exhibits its
many-coloured fires, and the sky is as clear and cloudless as in genial
Italy. But this season of life and warmth is of short duration, and
when July has passed the sun begins to sink lower and lower, as if to
visit another world; a shadow gradually steals over the sky; winds blow
fiercely, and bring with them blinding showers of sleet and icicles;
the fountains and the streams cease their pleasant flow; the broad
crust of ice spreads over the imprisoned sea; the snow-mantle rests on
the hill-sides and the valleys; the birds wing their way to the warmer
South; and the Polar world is once more given over to the silence, the
loneliness, and the gloom of the long Arctic night.

Turning our attention now to the “starry heavens,” we observe that
conspicuous among the glorious host is the North Star, which, from
earliest times, has been the friend and guide of the navigator.

The Pole-Star, or Polaris, is the star α in the constellation of
_Ursa Minor_, and is the nearest large star to the north pole
of the celestial equator. We say the “nearest,” because it does not
actually mark the position of the pole, but is about 1° 30’ from it.
Owing, however, to the motion of the pole of the celestial equator
round that of the ecliptic, it will, in about 2000 A.D.,
approach within 28’ of the north pole; but after reaching this point
of approximation it will begin to recede. At the time of Hipparchus it
was 12° distant from it (that is, in 156 B.C.); in 1785, 2°
2’. You may easily find its place in the “stellar firmament,” for a
line drawn between the stars α and β (hence called the “Pointers”) of
the constellation _Ursa Major_, or the Great Bear, and produced in
a northerly direction for about four and a half times its own length,
will almost touch the Pole-Star. Two thousand years this post of
honour, so to speak, was occupied by the star β of _Ursa Major_;
while, in about twelve thousand years, it will be occupied by the star
Vega in _Lyra_, which will be within 5° of the north pole.

The constellation of _Ursa Major_ is always above the horizon of
Europe, and hence it has been an object of curiosity to its inhabitants
from the remotest antiquity. Our readers may easily recognize it by
three stars which form a triangle in its tail, while four more form
a quadrangle in the body of the imaginary bear. In the triangle,
the first star at the tip of the tail is Benetnasch of the second
magnitude; the second, Mizar; and the third, Alioth. In the quadrangle,
the first star at the root of the tail is named Megrez; the second
below it, Phad; the third, in a horizontal direction, Merak; and the
fourth, above the latter, Dubhe, of the first magnitude.

[Illustration: URSA MAJOR AND URSA MINOR.]

In _Ursa Minor_ the only conspicuous star is Polaris, of which we
have recently spoken.

We subjoin a list of the northern constellations, including the names
of those who formed them, the number of their visible stars, and the
names of the most important and conspicuous.

NORTHERN CONSTELLATIONS.

+----------------------------------|-----------+--------+----------------------+
| CONSTELLATIONS. | AUTHOR. | NO. OF | PRINCIPAL STARS. |
| | | STARS. | |
+----------------------------------|-----------+--------+----------------------+
| Ursa Minor, the Lesser Bear | Aratus. | 24 | Polaris, 2. |
| Ursa Major, the Great Bear | Aratus. | 87 | Dubhe, 1; Alioth, 2. |
| Perseus, and Head of Medusa | Aratus. | 59 | Algenib, 2; Algol, 2.|
| Auriga, the Waggoner | Aratus. | 66 | Capella, 1. |
| Bootes, the Herdsman | Aratus. | 54 | Arcturus, 1. |
| Draco, the Dragon | Aratus. | 80 | Rastaben, 3. |
| Cepheus | Aratus. | 35 | Alderamin, 3. |
| Canes Venatici, the Greyhounds | | | |
| Chara and Asteria | Hevelius. | 25 | |
| Cor Caroli, Heart of Charles II | Halley. | 3 | |
| Triangulum, the Triangle | Aratus. | 16 | |
| Triangulum Minus, the Lesser | | | |
| Triangle | Hevelius. | 10 | |
| Musca, the Fly | Bode. | 6 | |
| Lynx | Hevelius. | 44 | |
| Leo Minor, the Lesser Lion | Hevelius. | 53 | |
| Coma Berenices, Berenice’s Hair | Tycho | | |
| | Brahe. | 43 | |
| Cameleopardalis, the Giraffe | Hevelius. | 58 | |
| Mons Menelaus, Mount Menelaus | Hevelius. | 11 | |
| Corona Borealis, the Northern | | | |
| Crown | Aratus. | 21 | |
| Serpens, the Serpent | Aratus. | 64 | |
| Scutum Sobieski, Sobieski’s | | | |
| Shield | Hevelius. | 8 | |
| Hercules, with Cerberus | Aratus. | 113 | Ras Algratha, 3. |
| Serpentarius, or Ophiuchus, | | | |
| the Serpent-Bearer | Aratus. | 74 | Ras Aliagus, 2. |
| Taurus Poniatowski, or the | | | |
| Bull of Poniatowski | Poezobat. | 7 | |
| Lyra, the Harp | Aratus. | 22 | Vega, 1. |
| Vulpeculus et Anser, the Fox | | | |
| and the Goose | Hevelius. | 37 | |
| Sagitta, the Arrow | Aratus. | 18 | |
| Aquila, the Eagle, with Antinous | Aratus. | 71 | Altair, 1. |
| Delphinus, the Dolphin | Aratus. | 18 | |
| Cygnus, the Swan | Aratus. | 81 | Deneb, 1. |
| Cassiopeia, the Lady in her | | | |
| Chair | Aratus. | 55 | |
| Equulus, the Horse’s Head | Ptolemy. | 10 | |
| Lacerta, the Lizard | Hevelius. | 16 | |
| Pegasus, the Flying Horse | Aratus. | 89 | Markab, 2. |
| Andromeda | Aratus. | 66 | Almaac, 2. |
| Turandus, the Reindeer | Lemonnier.| 12 | |
+----------------------------------|-----------+--------+----------------------+

A few remarks in reference to some of these constellations, and the
glorious orbs which they help to indicate to mortal eyes, may fitly
close this chapter.

We have already alluded to _Ursa Major_, which forms one of
the most conspicuous objects of the northern heavens. It has borne
different names, at different times, and among different peoples.
It was the Ἄρκτος μεγάλη of the Greeks; the “Septem triones” of the
Latins. It is known in some parts as David’s Chariot; the Chinese call
it, _Tcheou-pey_.

Night and day this constellation watches above the northern horizon,
revolving, with slow and majestic march, around Polaris, in four
and twenty hours. The quadrangle of stars in the body of the Great
Bear forms the wheels of the chariot; the triangle in its tail, the
chariot-pole. Above the second of the three latter shines the small
star Alcor, also named the Horseman. The Arabs call it Saidak, or “the
Test,” because they use it to try the range and strength of a person’s
vision.

This brilliant northern constellation, composed, with the exception of
δ, of stars of the second magnitude, has frequently been celebrated by
poets. We may paraphrase, for the advantage of our readers, a glowing
apostrophe from the pen of the American Ware:--

With what grand and majestic steps, he says, it moves forward in its
eternal circle, following among the stars its regal way in a slow
and silent splendour! Mighty creation, I salute thee! I love to see
thee wandering in the shining paths like a giant proud of his strong
girdle--severe, indefatigable, resolved--whose feet never lag in the
road which lies before them. Other tribes abandon their nocturnal
course and rest their weary orbs under the waves; but thou, thou
never closest thy burning eyes, and never suspendest thy determined
steps. Forward, ever forward! While systems change, and suns retire,
and worlds fall to sleep and awake again, thou pursuest thy endless
march. The near horizon attempts to check thee, but in vain. A watchful
sentinel, thou never quittest thy age-long duty; but, without allowing
thyself to be surprised by sleep, thou guardest the fixed light of the
universe, and preventest the north from ever forgetting its place.

Seven stars dwell in that shining company; the eye embraces them all
at a single glance; their distances from one another, however, are
not less than the distance of each from Earth. And this again is the
reciprocal distance of the celestial centres or foci. From depths of
heaven, unexplored by thought, the piercing rays dart across the void,
revealing to our senses innumerable worlds and systems. Let us arm
our vision with the telescope, and let us survey the firmament. The
skies open wide; a shower of sparkling fires descends upon our head;
the stars close up their ranks, are condensed in regions so remote
that their swift rays (swifter than aught else in creation) must
travel for centuries before they can reach our Earth. Earth, sun, and
ye constellations, what are ye among this infinite immensity and the
multitude of the Divine works!

If we face towards the Pole-Star, which, as we have seen, preserves
its place in the centre of the northern region of the sky, we have the
south behind us, the east is on our right, the west upon our left. All
the stars revolving round the Pole-Star, from right to left, should be
recognized according to their mutual relations rather than referred
to the cardinal points. On the other side of Polaris, as compared
with the Great Bear, we find another constellation which is easily
recognized. If from the central star δ we carry a line to the Pole, and
then prolong it for an equal distance, we traverse the constellation
of _Cassiopeia_, composed of five stars of the third magnitude,
disposed somewhat like the outer jambs of the letter M. The small star
χ, terminating the square, gives it also the form of a chair. This
group occupies every possible situation in revolving round the Pole,
being at one time above it, at another below, now on the left, and then
on the right; but it is always readily found, because, like _Ursa
Major_, to which it is invariably opposite, it never sets. The
Pole-Star is the axle round which these two constellations revolve.

If we now draw, from the stars α and δ in _Ursa Major_, two
lines meeting at the Pole, and afterwards extend them beyond
_Cassiopeia_, they will abut on the square of _Pegasus_,
which is bounded on one of its sides by a group, or series, of three
stars resembling the triangle in _Ursa Major_. These three belong
to the constellation of _Andromeda_ (α, β, and γ), and themselves
abut on another three-orbed group, that of _Perseus_.

The last star in the square of _Perseus_ is also the first α of
_Andromeda_: the other three are named, Algenib, γ; Markab, α;
and Scheat, β. To the north of _Andromeda_ β, and near a small
star, ν, the Arctic traveller will discern an oblong nebula, which
may be compared to the light of a taper seen through a sheet of horn;
this is the first nebula to which any allusion occurs in the annals
of astronomy. In _Perseus_ α, an orb of great brilliancy, on the
prolonged plane of the three principal stars of _Andromeda_,
shines with steady lustre between two less dazzling spheres, and forms
in conjunction with them a concave arc very easily distinguished.
Of this arc we may avail ourselves as a new point of departure. By
prolonging it in the direction of δ, we come to a very bright star of
the first magnitude, the _Goat_. By forming a right angle to this
prolongation in a southerly direction we come to that glorious mass of
stars, not very frequently above the Polar horizon, the _Pleiads_.
These were held in evil repute among the ancients. Their appearance was
supposed to be ominous of violent storms, and Valerius Flaccus speaks
of them as fatal to ships.

[Illustration: NEBULA IN ANDROMEDA.]

Algol, or Medusa’s Head, known to astronomers as Perseus β, belongs
to the singular class of Variable Stars. Instead of shining with a
constant lustre, like other orbs, it is sometimes very brilliant,
and sometimes very pale; passing, apparently, from the second to the
fourth magnitude. According to Goodricke, its period of variation is 2
days 20 hours 48 minutes. This phenomenal character was first observed
by Maraldi in 1694; but the duration of the change was determined by
Goodricke in 1782. For two days and fourteen hours it continues at
its brightest, and shines a glory in the heavens. Then its lustre
suddenly begins to wane, and in three hours and a half is reduced to
its minimum. Its weakest period, however, does not last more than about
fifteen minutes. It then begins to increase in brightness, and in
three hours and a half more it is restored to its full splendour; thus
passing through its succession of changes in 2 days 20 hours 48 minutes.

This singular periodicity suggested to Goodricke the idea of some
opaque body revolving around the star, and by interposing between it
and the Earth cutting off a portion of its light. Algol is one of the
most interesting of the welcome stars which kindle in the long Arctic
darkness.

The star ζ in _Perseus_, situated above the “stormy Pleiads,” is
double; that is, a binary star. ξ in Ursa Major is also a twin-star;
and so is Polaris, the second and smaller star appearing a mere speck
in comparison with its companion.

* * * * *

These are the principal stars and starry groups in the Circumpolar
Regions of the heavens, on one side; let us now turn our attention to
the other.

For this purpose we must again take the Great Bear as our
starting-point. Prolonging the tail in its curvature, the Arctic
traveller notes, at some distance from it, a star of the first
magnitude, Arcturus, or Boötes α. This star, though without any
authority, was at one time considered the nearest to the Earth of all
the starry host. About 10° to the north-east of it is Mirac, or ε
Boötes; one of the most beautiful objects in the heavens, on account of
the contrasted hues, yellow and azure, of the two stars composing it.
Unfortunately, the twin-orbs cannot be distinctly seen except with a
telescope of two hundred magnifying power.

A small ring of stars to the left of Boötes is appropriately known as
_Corona Borealis_, or the Northern Crown.

The constellation of _Boötes_ forms a pentagon; and the stars
composing it are all of the third magnitude, with the exception of
α, which is of the first. Arcturus, as we have said, was anciently
considered the star nearest to the Earth. It is, at all events,
_one_ of the nearest, and belongs to the small number of those
whose distance our astronomers have succeeded in calculating. It is 61
trillions, 712,000 millions of leagues from our planet; a distance of
which we can form no appreciable conception. Moreover, it is a coloured
star; on examining it through a telescope we see that it is of the same
hue as the “red planet Mars.”

By carrying a line from the Polar Star to Arcturus, and raising
a perpendicular in the middle of this line, opposite to _Ursa
Major_, the observer of the Arctic skies will discover one of the
most luminous orbs of night, _Vega_, or α Lyra, near the Milky
Way. The star β Lyra, or Sheliak, is a variable star, changing from
the third to the fifth magnitude, and accomplishing its variation in 6
days 10 hours and 34 minutes. β and ε Lyra are quadruple systems, each
composed of binary or twin-stars.

The line drawn from Arcturus to Vega cuts the constellation of Hercules.

Between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor may be observed a prolonged series
of small stars, coiling, as it were, in a number of convolutions,
and extending towards Vega: these belong to the constellation of the
_Dragon_.

Such are the principal objects which attract the attention of the
traveller, when contemplating the star-studded firmament of the Arctic
night.

CHAPTER III.

THE POLAR SEAS: ICEBERGS--ICE-FLOES--THE SEAL--THE WALRUS THE
NARWHAL--THE WHALE--SUNDRY FORMS OF MARINE LIFE.

Those masses of ice which, towering to a considerable elevation
above the surface of the water, are carried hither and thither by
the currents of the Polar Sea, are known as _Icebergs_. They
are fresh-water formations, originating in the great glaciers of the
northern highlands. For as the rivers continuously pour their waters
into the ocean, so do the glaciers incessantly glide downward from the
head of the valleys which they occupy, until, arriving on the coast,
they throw off their terminal projections, to be carried afar by the
action of the tidal waves.

These bergs, or floating mountains, are sometimes 250 to 300 feet above
the level of the sea, and their capacity or bulk is invariably equal
to their height. From their specific gravity it has been calculated
that the volume of an iceberg _below_ the water is eight times
that of the portion rising above it. They are frequently of the most
imposing magnitude. Ross, in his first expedition, fell in with one
in Baffin Bay, at a distance of seven leagues from land, which had
gone aground in sixty-one fathoms water. Its dimensions, according to
Lieutenant Parry, were 4,169 yards in length, 3,869 yards in breadth,
and 51 feet in height. Its configuration is described as resembling
that of the back of the Isle of Wight, while its cliffs recalled those
chalky ramparts which stretch their glittering line to the west of
Dover. Its weight was computed at 1,292,397,673 tons. Captain Graab
examined a mass, on the west coast of Greenland, which rose 120 feet
out of the water, measured 4,000 feet in circumference at the base,
and was calculated to be equal in bulk to upwards of 900,000,000 cubic
feet. Dr. Hayes took the measurements of a berg which had stranded off
the little harbour of Tessuissak, to the north of Melville Bay. The
square wall which faced towards his base of triangulation was somewhat
more than three-quarters of a mile in length, and 315 feet in height.
As it was nearly square-sided above the sea, it would be of the same
shape beneath it; and, according to the ratio already given, must have
drifted aground in a depth of fully half a mile. In other words, from
base to summit it must have stood as high as the peak of Snowdon. Its
cubical contents cannot have been less than about 27,000,000,000 feet,
nor its weight than 2,000,000,000 tons!

When seen from a distance, the spectacle of any considerable number
of these slowly-moving mountains is very impressive, and it becomes
particularly magnificent if it should be lit up by the splendour of
the midnight sun. They are not only majestic in size, but sublime in
appearance, at one time assuming the likeness of a grand cathedral
church, at another, of a lofty obelisk; now of a dazzling pyramid, and
now of a cluster of lofty towers. Nature would seem to have lavished
upon them all her architectural fancy; and as they are grandly swept
along, one might be pardoned for supposing them to be the sea-washed
palaces of a race of ocean Titans.

[Illustration: ARCHED ICEBERG OFF THE GREENLAND COAST.]

In Melville Bay, Dr. Kane’s ship anchored to an iceberg, which
protected it from the fury of a violent gale. But he had not long
enjoyed the tranquil shelter it afforded, when a din of loud crackling
sounds was heard above; and small fragments of ice, not larger
than a walnut, began to dot the water, like the first big drops
of a thunder-shower. Dr. Kane and his crew did not neglect these
indications; they had barely time to cast off, however, before the face
of the icy cliff fell in ruins, crashing like near artillery.

Afterwards he made fast to a larger berg, which he describes as a
moving breakwater, and of gigantic proportions; it kept its course
steadily towards the north.

When he got under weigh, and made for the north-east, through a
labyrinth of ice-floes, he was favoured with a gorgeous spectacle,
which hardly any excitement of peril could have induced him to
overlook. The midnight sun came out over the northern crest of the huge
berg, kindling variously-coloured fires on every part of its surface,
and making the ice around one sublime transparency of illuminated
gem-work, blazing carbuncles, and rubies and molten gold.

[Illustration: AMONG THE BERGS--A NARROW ESCAPE.]

Dr. Hayes describes an immense berg which resembled in its general
aspect the Westminster Palace of Sir Charles Barry’s creation. It went
to ruin before his eyes. First one tall tower tumbled headlong into
the water, starting from its surface an innumerable swarm of gulls;
then another followed; and at length, after five hours of terrible
disruption and crashing, not a fragment that rose fifty feet above the
water remained of this architectural colossus of ice.

These floating isles of ice are carried southward fully two thousand
miles from their parent glaciers to melt in the Atlantic, where they
communicate a perceptible coldness to the water for thirty or forty
miles around, while their influence on the atmospheric temperature may
be recognized at a greater distance. Their number is extraordinary. As
many as seven hundred bergs, each loftier than the dome of St. Paul’s,
some than the cross of St. Peter’s, have been seen at once in the
Polar basin; as if the Frost King had despatched an armada to oppose
the rash enterprise of man in penetrating within his dominions. The
waves break against them as against an iron-bound coast, and often the
spray is flung over their very summits, like the spray of the rolling
waters of the Channel over the crest of the Eddystone Lighthouse. The
ice crumbles from their face, and tumbles down into the sea with a roar
like that of artillery; and as they waste away, through the combined
action of air and water, they occasionally lose their equilibrium and
topple over, producing a swell and a violent commotion which break
up the neighbouring ice-fields: the tumult spreads far and wide, and
thunder seems to peal around.

The fractures or rents frequently visible in the glittering cliffs
of the icebergs are of an emerald green, and look like patches of
beautiful fresh sward on cliffs of chalk; while pools of water of the
most exquisite sapphirine blue shine resplendent on their surface, or
leap down their craggy sides in luminous cascades. Even in the night
they are readily distinguished from afar by their effulgence; and in
foggy, hazy weather, by a peculiar blackness in the atmosphere. As the
Greenland Current frequently drifts them to the south of Newfoundland,
and even to the 40th or 39th parallel of latitude, the ships and
steamers crossing between Europe and America sometimes meet them on
their track. To come into collision with them is certain destruction;
and it is probable that some of those ill-fated vessels which have left
their harbours in safety, but have never since been heard of,--as, for
example, the steamer _President_,--have perished through this
cause.

But if they are sometimes dangerous to the mariner, they often prove
his security. As most of their bulk lies below the water-surface, they
are either carried along by under-currents against the wind, or else
from their colossal size they are able to defy the strongest gale, and
to move along with majestic slowness when every other kind of ice is
driven swiftly past them. And hence it happens that, when the wind is
contrary, the whaler is glad to bring his ship into smooth water under
their lee. In describing the difficulties of his passage through the
loose and drifting ice near Cape York, and the broken ice-fields, Dr.
Kane records the assistance he derived from the large icebergs, to
which he moored his vessel, and thus was enabled, he says, to hold his
own, however rapidly the surface-floes were passing by him to the south.

Yet anchoring to a berg brings with it an occasional peril. As we have
already said, large pieces frequently loosen themselves from the summit
or sides, and fall into the sea with a far-resounding crash. When
this operation, “calving,” as it is called, takes place, woe to the
unfortunate ship which lies beneath!

All ice becomes excessively brittle under the influence of the sun or
of a temperate atmosphere, and a single blow from an axe will suffice
to split a huge berg asunder, burying the heedless adventurer beneath
the ruins, or hurling him into the yawning chasm.

Dr. Scoresby records the adventure of two sailors who had been sent to
attach an anchor to a berg. They set to work to hew a hole in the ice,
but scarcely had the first blow been struck, when the colossal mass
rent from top to bottom and fell asunder, the two halves falling in
opposite directions with a tremendous uproar. One of the sailors, with
remarkable presence of mind, instantly clambered up the huge fragment
on which he was sitting, and remained rocking to and fro on the dizzy
summit until its equilibrium was restored; the other, falling between
the masses, would probably have been crushed to death if the current
caused by their commotion had not swept him within reach of the boat
that was waiting for them.

Fastening to a berg, says Sherard Osborn, has its risks and dangers.
Sometimes the first stroke of the man setting the ice-anchor, by its
concussion, causes the iceberg to break up, and the people so employed
run great risk of being injured; at another time, vessels obliged to
make fast under the steep side of a berg have been seriously damaged by
pieces detaching themselves from overhead; and, again, the projecting
masses, called tongues, which form under water the base of the berg,
have been known to break off, and strike a vessel so severely as to
sink her. All these perils are duly detailed by every Arctic navigator,
who is always mindful, in mooring to an iceberg, to look for a side
which is low and sloping, without any tongues under water.

Captain Parry was once witness of that sublime spectacle, which, though
of frequent occurrence, is seldom seen by human eyes, the entire
dissolution of an enormous iceberg.

Its huge size and massiveness had been specially remarked, and men
thought that it might well resist “a century of sun and thaw.” It
looked as large as Westminster Abbey. All on board Captain Parry’s
ship described as a most wonderful spectacle this iceberg, without any
warning, completely breaking up. The sea around it became a seething
caldron, from the violent plunging of the masses, as they broke and
re-broke in a thousand pieces. The floes, torn up for a distance of
two miles around it, by the violent action of the rolling waters,
threatened, from the agitation of the ice, to destroy any vessel that
had been amongst them; and Captain Parry and his crew congratulated
themselves that they were sufficiently far from the scene to witness
its sublimity without being involved in its danger.

[Illustration: ICEBERG AND ICE-FIELD, MELVILLE BAY, GREENLAND]

Icebergs chiefly abound in Baffin Bay, and in the gulfs and inlets
connected with it. They are particularly numerous in the great
indentation known as Melville Bay, the whole interior of the country
bordering upon it being the seat of immense glaciers, and these are
constantly “shedding off” icebergs of the largest dimensions. The
greater bulk of these is, as we have explained, below the water-line;
and the consequent depth to which they sink when floating subjects them
to the action of the deeper ocean-currents, while their broad surface
above the water is, of course, acted on by the wind. It happens,
therefore, as Dr. Kane remarks, that they are found not infrequently
moving in different directions from the floes around them, and
preventing them for a time from freezing into a united mass. Still,
in the late winter, when the cold has thoroughly set in, Melville
Bay becomes a continuous mass of ice, from Cape York to the Devil’s
Thumb. At other times, this region justifies the name the whalers have
bestowed upon it of “Bergy Hole.”

Captain Beechey, in his voyage with Buchan, in 1818, had an opportunity
of witnessing the formation of a “berg,” or rather of two of these
immense masses. In Magdalena Bay he had taken the ship’s launch near
the shore to examine a magnificent glacier, when the discharge of a
gun caused an instantaneous disruption of its bulk. A noise resembling
thunder was heard in the direction of the glacier, and in a few seconds
more an immense piece broke away, and fell headlong into the sea.
The crew of the launch, supposing themselves beyond the reach of its
influence, quietly looked upon the scene, when a sea arose and rolled
towards the shore with such rapidity that the boat was washed upon the
beach and filled. As soon as their astonishment had subsided, they
examined the boat, and found her so badly stove that it was necessary
to repair her before they could return to their ship. They had also
the curiosity to measure the distance the boat had been carried by the
wave, and ascertained that it was ninety-six feet.

A short time afterwards, when Captain Beechey and Lieutenant Franklin
had approached one of these stupendous walls of ice, and were
endeavouring to search into the innermost recess of a deep cavern that
lay near the foot of the glacier, they suddenly heard a report, as of
a cannon, and turning to the quarter whence it proceeded, perceived
an immense section of the front of the glacier sliding down from the
height of two hundred feet at least into the sea, and dispersing the
water in every direction, accompanied by a loud grinding noise, and
followed by an outflow of water, which, being previously lodged in the
fissures, now made its escape in innumerable tiny flashing rills and
cataracts.

The mass thus disengaged at first disappeared wholly under water, and
nothing could be seen but a violent seething of the sea, and the ascent
of clouds of glittering spray, such as that which occurs at the foot of
a great waterfall. But after a short time it reappeared, raising its
head fully a hundred feet above the surface, with water streaming down
on every side; and then labouring, as if doubtful which way it should
fall, it rolled over, rocked to and fro for a few minutes, and finally
became settled.

On approaching and measuring it, Beechey found it to be nearly a
quarter of a mile in circumference, and sixty feet out of the water.
Knowing its specific gravity, and making a fair allowance for its
inequalities, he computed its weight at 421,660 tons.

In Parry’s first voyage he passed in one day fifty icebergs of large
dimensions, just after crossing the Arctic Circle; and on the following
day a still more extended chain of ice-peaks of still larger size,
against which a heavy southerly swell was violently driven, dashing the
loose ice with tremendous force, sometimes flinging a white spray over
them to the height of more than one hundred feet, and accompanied by a
loud noise “exactly resembling the roar of distant thunder.”

Between one of these bergs and a detached floe the _Hecla_,
Parry’s ship, had nearly, as the whalers say, been “nipped,” or
crushed. The berg was about one hundred and forty feet high, and
aground in one hundred and twenty fathoms, so that its whole height
must have exceeded eight hundred feet; that is, it was of a bulk equal
to St. Catherine’s Down in the Isle of Wight.

In his second voyage Parry speaks of fifty-four icebergs visible at one
time, some of which were not less than two hundred feet above the sea;
and again of thirty of these huge masses, many of them whirled about by
the tides like straws on a mill-stream.

Icebergs can originate only in regions where glaciers abound: the
former are the offspring of the latter, and where land unsuitable to
the production of the latter does not exist, the former are never
found. Hence, in Baffin Bay, where steep cliffs of cold granite frown
over almost fathomless waters, the “monarch of glacial formations”
floats slowly from the ravine which has been its birthplace, until
fairly launched into the depths of ocean, and, “after long years,”
drifts into the warmer regions of the Atlantic to assist in the
preservation of Nature’s laws of equilibrium of temperature of the air
and water.

There was a time when men of science, and, amongst others, the French
philosopher St. Pierre, believed that icebergs were the snow and ice
of ages accumulated upon an Arctic sea, which, forming at the Poles,
detached themselves from the parent mass. Such an hypothesis naturally
gave rise to many theories, not less ingenious than startling, as to
the effect an incessant accumulation of ice must produce on the globe
itself; and St. Pierre hinted at the possibility of the huge “domes
of ice”--which, as he supposed, rose to an immense height in the keen
frosty heavens of the Poles--suddenly launching towards the Equator,
dissolving under a tropical sun, and resulting in a second deluge!

In simple language Professor Tyndall furnishes an explanation of
the origin of icebergs, which we may transfer to these pages as
supplementary to the preceding remarks.

[Illustration: ORIGIN of ICEBERGS--EXTENSION OF A GLACIER
SEAWARDS.]

What is their origin? he asks; and he replies, as we have done, the
Arctic glaciers. From the mountains in the interior the indurated snows
slide into the valleys, and fill them with ice. The glaciers thus
created move, like the Swiss ones, incessantly downward. But the Arctic
glaciers descend to the sea, and even enter it, frequently ploughing up
its bottom into submarine moraines. Undermined by the continuous action
of the waves, and unable to resist the pressure of their own weight,
they break across, and discharge enormous masses into the ocean. Some
of these drift on the adjacent shores, and often maintain themselves
for years. Others float away to the southward, and pass into the broad
Atlantic, where they are finally dissolved. But a vast amount of heat
is demanded for the simple liquefaction of ice, and the melting of
icebergs is on this account so slow that, when large, they sometimes
maintain themselves till they have been drifted two thousand miles from
their place of birth.

Icebergs, then, are fresh-water formations, and though they are found
on a colossal scale only in the Polar seas, yet they are by no means
uncommon among the lofty Alpine lakes.

The monarch of European ice-rivers is the great Aletsch glacier, at
the head of the valley of the Rhone. It is about twenty miles in
length, and collects its materials from the snow-drifts of the grandest
mountains of the Bernese Oberland--the Jungfrau, the Mönch, the
Trugberg, the Aletschhorn, the Breithorn, and the Gletscherhorn.

From the peak of the Æggischhorn the Alpine traveller obtains a fine
view of its river-like course, and he sees beneath him, on the right
hand, and surrounded by sheltering mountains, an object of almost
startling beauty. “Yonder,” says Tyndall,[6] “we see the naked side of
the glacier, exposing glistening ice-cliffs sixty or seventy feet high.
It would seem as if the Aletsch here were engaged in the vain attempt
to thrust an arm through a lateral valley. It once did so; but the
arm is now incessantly broken off close to the body of the glacier, a
great space formerly covered by the ice being occupied by its water of
liquefaction. In this way a lake of the loveliest blue is formed, which
reaches quite to the base of the ice-cliffs, saps them, as the Arctic
waves sap the Greenland glaciers, and receives from them the broken
masses which it has undermined. As we look down upon the lake, small
icebergs sail over the tranquil surface, each resembling a snowy swan
accompanied by its shadow.”

This lake is the Märjelen Sea of the Swiss.

[Illustration: THE ALETSCH GLACIER, SWITZERLAND, FROM THE
ÆGGISCHHORN, SHOWING ITS MORAINES.]

[Illustration: THE MÄRJELEN SEA, SWITZERLAND.]

Professor Tyndall goes on to describe a spectacle which he witnessed,
and which, as we have seen, is of frequent occurrence in the Arctic
Seas. A large and lonely iceberg was floating in the middle of the
lake. Suddenly he heard a sound like that of a cataract, and on
looking towards the iceberg could see the water teeming from its
sides. Whence came the water? The berg had become top-heavy through
the melting underneath; it was in the act of performing a somersault,
and in rolling over carried with it a vast quantity of water, which
rushed like a waterfall down its sides. And the iceberg, which, but a
moment before, was snowy white, now exhibited the delicate blue colour
characteristic of compact ice. It would soon, however, be rendered
white again by the action of the sun.

We may contrast this picture of the solitary iceberg in the centre
of the dark-blue lake with one which Dr. Hayes describes in his
picturesque voyage in the open Polar Sea.

After passing Upernavik he saw a heavy line of icebergs lying across
his course, and having no alternative, shot in among them. Some of
them proved to be of immense size--upwards of two hundred feet in
height, and a mile in length; others were not larger than the schooner
which wound her way amongst them. Their forms were as various as their
dimensions, from solid wall-sided masses of dead whiteness, with
waterfalls tumbling from them, to an old weather-worn accumulation
of Gothic spires, whose crystal peaks and sharp angles melted into
the blue sky. They seemed to be endless and innumerable, and so close
together that at a little distance they appeared to form upon the sea
an unbroken canopy of ice.

Dr. Hayes records an adventure which may serve to give the reader an
idea of the nature of the perils encountered by the Arctic explorer.
The ocean-current was carrying his schooner towards a labyrinth of
icebergs at an uncomfortably rapid rate. A boat was therefore lowered,
to moor a cable to a berg which lay grounded at about a hundred yards
distant. While this was being done the schooner absolutely grazed the
side of a berg which rose a hundred feet above her topmasts, and then
slipped past another of smaller dimensions. But a strong eddy at this
moment carried her against a huge floating mass, and though the shock
was slight, it proved sufficient to disengage some fragments of ice
large enough to have crushed the vessel had they struck her. The berg
then began to revolve, slowly and ponderously, and to settle slowly
over the threatened ship, whose destruction seemed a thing of certainty.

Fortunately, she was saved by the action of the berg. An immense mass
broke off from that part which lay beneath the water-surface, and this
colossal fragment, a dozen times larger than the schooner, came rushing
up within a few yards of them, sending a vast volume of foam and water
flying from its sides. This rupture arrested the rotatory motion of the
berg, which then began to settle in another direction, and the schooner
was able to sheer off.

At this moment the crew were startled by a loud report. Another and
another followed in quick succession, until the din grew deafening,
and the whole air seemed a reservoir of chaotic sounds. The opposite
side of the berg had split off, piece after piece, toppling a vast
volume of ice into the sea, and sending the berg revolving back upon
the ship. Then the side nearest to them underwent the same singular
process of disruption, and came plunging wildly down into the sea,
sending over them a shower of spray, and raising a swell which rocked
the ship to and fro as in a gale of wind, and left her grinding in the
_débris_ of the crumbling ruin.

“The ice was here,
The ice was there,
The ice was all around;
It creaked and growled,
And roared and howled,
Like demons in a swound.”

It is impossible, we should say, for any one who has not had actual
experience of the conditions of the Arctic world, to comprehend
or imagine the immense quantity of ice upborne on its cold bleak
waters. The mere enumeration of the floating bergs at times defies the
navigator. Dr. Hayes once counted as far as five hundred, and then
gave up in despair. Near by they stood out, he says, in all the rugged
harshness of their sharp outlines; and from this, softening with the
distance, they melted away into the clear gray sky; and there, far
off upon the sea of liquid silver, the imagination conjured up the
strangest and most wonderful groups and objects. Birds and beasts and
human forms and architectural designs took shape in the distant masses
of blue and white. The dome of St. Peter’s was recognizable here; then
the spire of a village church rose sharp and distinct; and under the
shadow of the Pyramids nestled a Byzantine tower and a Grecian temple.

“To the eastward,” says Dr. Hayes, describing a similar scene, “the
sea was dotted with little islets--dark specks upon a brilliant
surface. Icebergs, great and small, crowded through the channels which
divided them, until in the far distance they appeared massed together,
terminating against a snow-covered plain that sloped upward until it
was lost in a dim line of bluish whiteness. This line could be traced
behind the serrated coast as far to the north and south as the eye
could carry. It was the great _Mer de Glace_[7] which covers the
length and breadth of the Greenland continent. The snow-covered slope
was a glacier descending therefrom--the parent stem from which had been
discharged, at irregular intervals, many of the icebergs which troubled
us so much.”

We have now brought together a sufficient number of data to assist
the reader in forming a vivid conception of those monsters of the
Polar Seas, the icebergs; and to enable him, unless he is very slow
of imagination, to realize to himself what they _are_, and what
their general aspect _is_. But we may add one interesting detail,
noticed by Mr. Lament, the persevering seal-hunter, which is very
generally overlooked.

In the course of the brief Arctic summer the increased solar warmth
has a perceptible effect upon the solid ice, and it becomes undermined
and honeycombed, or, as the sailors call it, “rotten,” like a chalk
cliff. It decays fastest, apparently, “between wind and water,” so that
enormous caverns are excavated in the sides of the bergs.

Poets never dreamed of anything more beautiful than these crystal
vaults, which sometimes appear of a deep ultramarine blue, and at
others of an emerald-green tint. One could fancy them the favourite
haunts of mermaids and mermen, and of every kind of sea monster;
but, in truth, no animal ever enters them; the water dashing in and
out through their icy caves and tunnels makes a sonorous but rather
monotonous and melancholy sound. In moderately calm weather many of
these excavated bergs assume the form of gigantic mushrooms, and all
kinds of fantastic outlines; but as soon as a breeze of wind arises
they break up into little pieces with great rapidity.

Icebergs are met with on every side of the Southern Pole, and on every
meridian of the great Antarctic Ocean. But such is not the case in the
North. In the 360th meridian of longitude which intersects the parallel
of 70° N., icebergs spread over an extent only of about fifty-five
degrees, and this is immediately in and about Greenland and Baffin Bay.
Or, as Admiral Osborn puts it, for 1,375 miles of longitude we have
icebergs, and then for 7,635 geographical miles none are met with. This
fact is, as the same writer calls it, most interesting, and points
strongly to the probability that no extensive area of land exists about
the North Pole; a supposition strengthened by another fact, that the
vast ice-fields off Spitzbergen show no signs of ever having been in
contact with land or gravel.

[Illustration: FALL OF AN ICEBERG.]

Another difficulty which besets the Arctic navigator is the “pack-ice.”

In winter, the ice from the North Pole descends so far south as to
render the coast of Newfoundland inaccessible; it envelops Greenland,
sometimes even Iceland, and always surrounds and blocks up Spitzbergen
and Novaia Zemlaia. But as the sun comes north this vast frozen
expanse, which stretches over several thousands of square miles,
breaks up into enormous masses. When these extend horizontally for a
considerable distance they are called _ice-fields_. A _floe_
is a detached portion of a field; a large area of floes, closely
compact together, is known as _pack-ice_; while _drift-ice_
is loose ice in motion, and not so firmly welded as to prevent a ship
from forcing her way through the yielding fragments.

[Illustration: IN AN ICE-PACK, MELVILLE BAY.]

This “pack-ice,” however, is the great obstacle to Arctic exploration;
and frequently it presents a barrier which no human enterprise or skill
can overpass. At times, it has been found possible to cut a channel
through it, or it breaks up and opens a water-way through which the
bold adventurer steers. In 1806, Captain Scoresby forced his ship
through two hundred and fifty miles of pack-ice, in imminent peril,
until he reached the parallel of 81° 50’,--his nearest approach to the
Pole. In 1827, Sir Edward Parry gained the latitude of 82° 45’, by
dragging a boat over the ice-fields, but was then compelled to abandon
his daring and hazardous attempt, because the current carried the ice
southward more rapidly than he could traverse it to the north.

In warm summers this mass of ice will suddenly clear away and leave an
open streak of silver sea along the west coast of Spitzbergen, varying
in width from sixty to one hundred and fifty miles, and reaching as
high as 80° or 80° 30’ N. latitude. It was through this channel that
Scoresby bore his ship on the expedition to which we have just alluded.
A direct course from the Thames, across the Pole, to Behring Strait is
3,570 geographical miles; by Lancaster Sound it is 4,660 miles. The
Russians would be saved a voyage of 18,000 geographical miles could
they strike across the Pole and through Behring Strait to British
Columbia, instead of going by Cape Horn.

[Illustration: CHANNEL IN AN ICE-FIELD.]

Ice-fields, twenty to thirty miles across, are of frequent occurrence
in the great Northern Ocean; sometimes they extend fully one hundred
miles, so closely and solidly packed that no opening, even for a boat,
intervenes between them; they vary in thickness from ten to forty
or even fifty feet. At times these fields, which are many thousand
millions of tons in weight, acquire a rapid rotatory motion, and dash
against one another with a fury of which no words can give an accurate
idea. The reader knows what awful results are produced by the collision
of two railway trains, and may succeed, perhaps, in forming some feeble
conception of this still more appalling scene when he remembers the
huge dimensions and solidity of the opposing forces. The waters seethe
and foam, as if lashed by a tremendous tempest; the air is smitten
into stillness by the chaos of sounds, the creaking, and rending, and
cracking, and heaving, as the two ice-fields are hurled against each
other.

[Illustration: “NIPPED” IN AN ICE-FIELD.]

Woe to the ship caught between these grinding masses! No vessel ever
built by human hands could resist their pressure; and many a whaler,
navigating amid the floating fields, especially in foggy weather, has
thus been doomed to destruction. Some have been caught up like reeds,
and flung helplessly upon the ice; others have been overrun by the ice,
and buried beneath the accumulated fragments; others have been dashed
to pieces, and have gone down suddenly with all on board.

The records of Arctic exploration are full of stories of “hairbreadth
escapes” from the perils of the ice-field and the ice-floe. Here is
one which we borrow from the voyage of the _Dorothea_ and the
_Trent_, under Captain Buchan and Lieutenant Franklin.

The two vessels were making for Magdalena Bay, when they were caught in
a violent storm, and compelled to heave-to under storm stay-sails. Next
morning (June 30) the ice was seen along the lee, with a furious sea
breaking upon it. Close-reefed sails were out in the hope of weathering
the danger. When Buchan found that this could not be effected by his
ship, a slow and heavy sailer, he resolved on the desperate expedient
of “taking the pack,” in preference to falling, broadside on, among
the roaring breakers and crashing ice. “Heaven help them!” was the
involuntary cry of those on board the _Trent_, and the prayer was
all the more earnest from the conviction that a similar fate would soon
be their own.

The _Dorothea_ wore, and, impelled by wind and sea, rushed towards
what seemed inevitable destruction; those in the _Trent_ held
their breath while they watched the perilous exploit. The suspense
lasted but a moment, for the vessel, like a snow-flake before the
storm, drove into the awful scene of foam, and spray, and broken ice,
which formed a wall impenetrable to mortal eyesight. Whether she was
lost or saved, the gallant hearts on board the _Trent_ would
never know until they too were forced into a manœuvre which appeared
like rushing into the jaws of death. But it was inevitable; and when
Franklin had made all his preparations, he gave, in firm, decisive
tones, the order to “put up the helm.”

No language, says Admiral Beechey, who was then serving as a lieutenant
on board the _Trent_, can convey an adequate idea of the terrific
grandeur of the effects produced by the collision of the ice and the
tempestuous ocean. No language, on the other hand, can convey an idea
of the heroic calmness and resolution of Franklin and his crew. As
they approached the terrible scene, Franklin watched for one opening
less hazardous than another; but there was none. Before them stretched
one long line of frightful breakers, immense blocks of ice heaving,
rearing, and hurtling against one another with a din which rendered the
loud voice of the gallant commander almost inaudible. On the crest of a
huge billow the little _Trent_ rushed into the horrible turmoil; a
shock, which quivered through the ship from stem to stern, and the crew
were flung upon the deck, and the masts bent like willow wands.

“Hold on, for your lives, and stand to the helm, lads!” shouted
Franklin. “Ay, ay, sir,” was the steady response from many a heroic
heart. A billow came thundering against the stern of the brig; would
the brig be engulfed, or would she drive before it? Happily, she
forged ahead, though shaking like a spent race-horse, and with every
timber straining and creaking. Now, thrown broadside on, her side was
remorselessly battered by the floe pieces; then, tossed by the sea over
ice-block after ice-block, she seemed like a plaything in the grasp of
an irresistible power. For some hours this severe trial of strength and
fortitude endured; then the storm subsided as rapidly as it had arisen,
and their gratitude for their own escape was mingled with joy at the
safety of the _Dorothea_, which they could see in the distance,
still afloat, and with her crew in safety.

On Captain Parry’s second expedition, in 1822, his ships, the
_Hecla_ and the _Fury_, were placed in a position of scarcely
less danger.

Thus we read of the _Hecla_, which at the time had been made fast
by means of cables to the land-ice, that a very heavy and extensive
floe caught her on her broadside, and, being backed by another large
body of ice, gradually lifted her stern as if by the action of a wedge.
The weight every moment increasing, her crew were obliged to veer on
the hawsers, whose friction was so great as nearly to cut through
the bitt-heads, and ultimately set them on fire, so that it became
requisite to pour upon them buckets of water. At length the pressure
proved irresistible; the cables snapped; but as the sea was too full of
ice to allow the ship to drive, the only way in which she could yield
to the enormous burden brought to bear upon her was by leaning over the
land-ice, while her stern at the same time was lifted clean out of the
water for fully five feet.

Had another floe backed the one which lifted her, the ship must
inevitably have rolled broadside over, or been rent in twain. But the
pressure which had been so dangerous eventually proved its safety; for,
owing to its increasing weight, the floe on which she was carried burst
upwards, unable to resist its force. The _Hecla_ then righted, and
a small channel opening up amid the driving ice, she was soon got into
comparatively smooth water.

On the following day, shortly before noon, a heavy floe, measuring
some miles in length, came down towards the _Fury_, exciting the
gravest apprehensions for her safety. In a few minutes it came in
contact, at the rate of a mile and a half an hour, with a point of the
land-ice, breaking it up with a tremendous roar, and forcing numberless
immense masses, perhaps many tons in weight, to the height of fifty or
sixty feet; whence they again rolled down on the inner or land side,
and were quickly succeeded by a fresh supply. While they were compelled
to remain passive spectators of this grand but terrific sight, being
within five or six hundred yards of the point, the danger they incurred
was twofold: first, lest the floe should swing in and serve the ship in
the same unceremonious manner; and, secondly, lest its pressure should
detach the land-ice to which they were secured, and cast them adrift
at the mercy of the tides. Fortunately, neither of these terrible
alternatives occurred, the floe remaining stationary for the rest of
the tide, and setting off with the ebb when the tide soon afterwards
turned.

The reader must not imagine that an ice-field is a smooth and uniform
plain, as level as an English meadow; it is, on the contrary, a
rugged succession of hollows, and of protuberances called “hummocks,”
interspersed with pools of water, and occasionally intersected by
deep fissures. In many parts it can be compared only to a promiscuous
accumulation of rocks closely packed together, and piled up over the
extensive dreary space in great heaps and endless ridges, leaving
scarcely a foot of level surface, and compelling the traveller to
thread his way as best he can among the perplexing inequalities;
sometimes mounting unavoidable obstructions to an elevation of ten, and
again more than a hundred feet, above the general level.

The interspaces between these closely accumulated ice-masses are filled
up to some extent with drifted snow.

Now, let the reader endeavour to form a definite idea of the scene
presented by an ice-field. Let him watch the slow progress of the
sledges as they wind through the labyrinth of broken ice-tables,
the men and dogs pulling and pushing up their respective loads, as
Napoleon’s soldiers may have done when drawing their artillery through
the rugged Alpine passes, or Lord Napier’s heroes when they scaled
the steep Abyssinian heights. He will see them clambering over the
very summit of lofty ridges, where no gap occurs, and again descending
on the other side, the sledge frequently toppling over a precipice,
sometimes capsizing, and sometimes breaking.

[Illustration: AMONG THE ICE-HUMMOCKS.]

Again: he will see the adventurous party, when baffled in their attempt
to cross or find a pass, breaking a track with shovel and handspike;
or, again, unable even with these appliances to accomplish their end,
they retreat to seek an easier route. Perhaps they are fortunate enough
to discover a kind of gap or gateway, and upon its winding and uneven
surface accomplish a mile or so with comparative ease. The snow-drifts
sometimes prove an assistance, but more frequently an obstruction;
for though their surface is always hard, it is not always firm to the
foot. Then the crust gives way, and the foot sinks at the very moment
when the other is lifted. But, worse than this, the chasms between the
hummocks may be overarched with snow in such a manner as to leave a
considerable space at the bottom void and empty; then, when everything
looks auspicious, down sinks one of the hapless explorers to his waist,
another to the neck, a third is “lost to sight,” the sledge gives way,
and all is confusion worse confounded! To educe order out of the chaos
is probably the work of hours; especially if the sledge, as is often
the case, must be unloaded. Not unfrequently it is necessary to carry
the cargo in two or three loads; the sledges are coming and going
continually; and the day is one “endless pull and haul.”

Dr. Hayes speaks of an ice-floe, crested with hummocks, and covered
with crusted snow, the solid contents of which lie estimated, in round
numbers, at 6,000,000,000 of tons, its depth being about one hundred
and sixty feet. All around its border was banked up a kind of rampart
of last year’s ice, the loftiest pinnacle of which rose fully one
hundred and twenty feet above the sea-level. This ice-tower consisted
of blocks of ice of every shape and size, piled one upon another in the
greatest disorder. Numerous other towers, or bastions, equally rugged,
though of less elevation, sprang from the same ridge, and from every
part of this desolate area; and “if a thousand Lisbons were crowded
together and tumbled to pieces by the shock of an earthquake, the scene
could hardly be more rugged, nor to cross the ruins a severer task.”

We must date the origin of a floe like this back to a very remote
period. Probably it was cradled, at the outset, in some deep recess of
the land, where it remained until it had accumulated to a thickness
which defied the summer’s sun and the winter’s winds. Then it would
grow, as the glacier grows, from above; for, like the glacier, it is
wholly composed of fresh ice--that is, of frozen snow. Thus it will be
seen, to quote Dr. Hayes once more, that the accumulation of ice upon
the mountain-tops is in nowise different from the accumulation which
takes place upon these floating fields, where every recurring year
marks an addition to their depth. Vast as they are to the sight, and
pigmies as they are compared with the inland Mer de Glace, yet, in all
that concerns their growth, they are truly glaciers, dwarf floating
glaciers. That only in this manner can they grow to so great a depth
will at once be conceded by the reader, if he recollects that ice soon
reaches a maximum thickness by direct freezing, and that its growth
is arrested by a natural law. Necessarily, this maximum thickness
varies according to the temperature of the locality: but the ice is
in itself the sea’s protection. The cold air cannot absorb the warmth
of the water through more than a certain thickness of ice, and that
thickness attains a final limit long before the winter has reached its
close. The depth of ice formed on the first night is greater than that
formed on the second; on the second is greater than on the third; on
the third greater than on the fourth; and so it continues, until the
increase no longer takes place. In other words, the ratio of increase
of the thickness of ice is in inverse proportion to the duration of the
period of freezing. There comes a time when the water beneath the ice
no longer congeals, because the ice-crust above it protects it from the
action of the atmosphere. Dr. Hayes asserts that he never saw an Arctic
ice-table _formed by direct freezing_ that exceeded eighteen
feet; and he justly adds, that were it not for this all-wise provision
of the Deity,--this natural law, as our men of science term it,--the
Arctic waters would, ages ago, have been solid seas of ice to their
profoundest depths.

Having said thus much about the various forms which the ice assumes
in the Polar seas,--about their icebergs and ice-fields, pack-ice and
drift-ice, and the thick belt of ice which surrounds their shores,--we
may now direct the reader’s attention to their Animal Life; to the
creatures which inhabit them, walrus and seal and whale, the fishes,
the molluscs, and even minuter organisms.

And first we shall begin with the Walrus, which finds a congenial home
in the Arctic wildernesses.

Walrus-hunting is the principal, or at all events the most lucrative,
occupation of the Norse fishermen, who annually betake themselves to
the cheerless shores oi Spitzbergen in search of booty. Their life is
a terribly hard and dangerous one; and Mr. Lamont, who has had much
experience of them, observes that they all have a restless, weary
look about the eyes,--a look as if contracted by being perpetually in
the presence of peril. They are wild, rough, and reckless; but they
are also bold, hardy, and enduring of cold, hunger, fatigue; active
and energetic while at sea, though sadly intemperate during their
winter-holiday.

The vessels engaged in the seal-fishery and walrus-hunting are fitted
out by the merchants of Tromsöe and Hammerfest, who have, of late
years, adopted the system of sharing their proceeds with their crews,
thus giving them a direct interest in the prosperity of the expedition.
The ship is fitted out and provisioned by the owners, who also advance
to the men what money they may require to purchase clothing and to make
provision for their families during their absence. Then they allot
one-third of the gross receipts of the adventure to the crew, dividing
it into shares, three for the captain, two for the harpooneer, and one
each for the common men. So that if a fairly successful voyage should
realize in skins, blubber, and ivory a sum of two thousand dollars, and
the number of hands amounts to ten, the usual strength of a seal-ship’s
crew, each will receive forty-seven and a half dollars, or about
£10,--a very considerable sum for a Norwegian.

Each ship carries a couple of boats, and a walrus-boat, capable of
holding five men, which measures twenty-one feet in length by five feet
beam, having her main breadth at about seven feet from the bow. She
is bow-shaped at both ends, and so built as to turn easily on her own
centre, besides being strong, light, and easy to row. Each man plies
a pair of oars hung in “grummets” to stout thole-pins; the steersman
directs the boat by also rowing a pair of oars, but with his face to
the bow; and as there are six thwarts, he can, if necessary, sit and
row like the others. By this arrangement the strength of the men is
economized, and the boat is more swiftly turned when in pursuit of the
walrus.

The steersman also acts as harpooneer, and, of course, sits in the bow.
The strongest man in the boat is usually placed next to him, to hold
and haul in the line when a walrus is struck, and it is his duty to
hand the harpoons and lances to the harpooneer as required.

[Illustration: HUNTING THE WALRUS.]

Each boat--which, by the way, is painted white, so as to resemble
the ice amongst which it moves--is usually provided with three
harpoon-heads inside the bow, on each side: these fit into little racks
of painted canvas, so that their keen points and edges may not be
blunted, and to prevent them from injuring the men. The harpoons serve
equally well for seal and walrus, and, simple as they seem and are,
answer admirably the purpose for which they are designed. The weapon
is thrust into the animal; its struggles tighten the line; the large
outer barb then catches up a loop of its tenacious hide, or the tough
reticulated fibres containing its blubber; while the small inner barb,
like that of a fish-hook, prevents it from being detached or loosened.
When a walrus has been properly struck, and the line hauled taut, it
rarely escapes. To each harpoon a line of twelve or fifteen fathoms
long is attached: a sufficient length, as the walrus is seldom found
in water more than fifteen fathoms deep; and even if the water should
exceed that depth, it cannot drag the boat under, because it is unable
to exert its full strength when subjected to the pressure of twelve or
fifteen fathoms of water.

Besides the harpoons, each boat is provided with four or five enormous
lances; the shaft being made of pine-wood, nine feet long, and one
inch and a half thick at the handle, increasing upwards to a thickness
of two inches and a half where it enters the iron socket. This would
seem a formidable weapon, and formidable it is in the stout hands of
a Norse harpooneer; yet, frequently, the iron shank is bent double,
or the strong shaft snapped like a reed, in the violent resistance of
the sea-horse; and, therefore, to prevent the head being lost, it is
fastened to the shaft by a double thong of raw seal-skin, tied round
the shank and nailed to the handle for about three feet up. The shaft
may seem of disproportionate length, but it is necessary to give the
buoyancy sufficient for floating the heavy iron spear if it should fall
into the water. This spear, or lance, is not used for seals, because it
would spoil the skins.

Notwithstanding the destruction effected by the yearly expeditions
of the walrus-hunters, the sea-horses are still found in large herds
in many parts of the Polar world. Mr. Lamont describes a curious and
exciting spectacle, where four large flat icebergs were seen to be so
closely packed with these animals that they were sunk almost level with
the water, and presented the appearance of “solid islands of walrus!”
The walrus lay with their heads reclining on one another’s backs and
hind-quarters, just as rhinoceroses lie asleep in the dense shade
of the African forests, or, to use a more commonplace but familiar
comparison, as hogs slumber and wallow in a British farmyard.

Such a sight was a temptation not to be withstood by a walrus-hunter,
and Mr. Lamont and his harpooneer speedily disturbed the repose of
the monsters, which chiefly consisted of cows and young bulls. After
slaying their victims, and getting them on board, came the disagreeable
but necessary task of separating the blubber from the skins to stow it
in the barrels; a process which is performed in the following manner:--

Across the ship’s deck, immediately aft the hatchway, is erected a
kind of framework or stage of stout timber, about four feet in height,
but sloping down at an angle of about sixty degrees, with the deck at
the forward side: on the other side it is perpendicular, and there the
two _specksioneers_ (or “blubber-cutters”) post themselves, clad,
not in armour, but in oil-skin from top to toe, and armed with large
keen knives, curved on the edge. Then the skins are hoisted out of the
hold, and, two at a time, are suspended across the frame, with the
blubber side uppermost: the fat, or blubber, is next removed by a kind
of _mowing_ motion of the knife, which is held in both hands, and
swayed from left to right. Only long practice, and great steadiness of
wrist, can give the dexterity requisite for the due performance of this
difficult operation. Even in skinning a walrus, skill is imperative.

As the blubber is mown off, it is divided into slabs, weighing twenty
or thirty pounds each, and flung down the hatchway, where two men are
stationed to receive it, and pack it into the casks, which when full
are securely fastened up.

The skin, which is taken off the animal in two longitudinal halves, is
a valuable commodity, and sells at the rate of from two to four dollars
per half skin. The principal purchasers are the Russian and Swedish
merchants, and its principal uses are for harness and sole leather. It
is also twisted into tiller ropes, and employed to protect the rigging
of ships from friction. The blubber is valued on account of the oil;
but neither has the walrus so much blubber, in proportion to its size,
as the seal, nor does the blubber afford so good an oil. A seal of 600
lbs. will carry 200 to 250 lbs. weight of fat; an ordinary walrus,
weighing 2000 lbs., will not carry any more.

The most profitable portion of the unfortunate sea-horse is its tusks,
which are composed of very hard, dense, and white ivory. This ivory
is not so good, and consequently does not command so high a price,
as elephant ivory, but is in high repute for the manufacture of false
teeth, chessmen, umbrella handles, whistles, and other small articles.

The tusks are not an extra pair of teeth, but a development and
modification of the canines. For about six or seven inches of their
length they are solidly set in the mass of hard bone which forms the
animal’s upper jaw. So far as they are imbedded in the head they
are hollow, but mostly filled up with a cellular osseous substance
containing much oil; the remainder of the tusk is hard and solid
throughout.

The young walrus, or calf, has no tusks in its first year of existence;
but in its second, when it is about the size of a large seal, it has a
pair of much the same size as the canines of a lion. In the third year
the tusks measure about six inches in length.

In size and shape they vary greatly, according to the animal’s age and
sex. A good pair of bull’s tusks, says Mr. Lamont, will be twenty-four
inches each in length, and four pounds each in weight; but larger
and heavier specimens are of frequent occurrence. Cows’ tusks, it is
said, will average fully as long as those of the bulls, because less
liable to be broken, but seldom weigh more than three pounds. They are
generally set much closer together than the bull’s tusks, sometimes
even overlapping one another at the points; while those of the bull
will often diverge as much as fifteen inches.

In scientific language the walrus, morse, or sea-horse (_Trichecus_),
belongs to a genus of amphibious mammals of the family _Phocidæ_,
a family including the well-known seals. It agrees with the other
members of that family in the general configuration of the body
and limbs, but distinctly differs from them in the head, which is
remarkable,--as we have seen,--for the extraordinary development of
the canine teeth of the upper jaw, as also for the protuberant or
swollen appearance of the muzzle,--due to the size of their sockets
and the thickness of the upper lip. This upper lip is thickly set with
strong, transparent, bristly hairs, which measure about six inches in
length, and are as thick as a crow-quill. The terrific moustache, with
the long white curving tusks, the thick projecting muzzle, and the
fierce and bloodshot eyes, give _Rosmarus trichecus_ a weird and almost
demoniacal aspect as it rears its head above the waves, and goes far
to account for some of the legends of sea-monsters which embellish the
Scandinavian mythology.

[Illustration: THE WALRUS, OR MORSE.]

The walrus has no canine teeth in the lower jaw. Its incisors are
small, and ten in number; six in the upper and four in the lower jaw.
The molars, at first five on each side in each jaw, but fewer in the
adult, are simple and not large; their crowns are obliquely worn. The
nostrils would seem to be displaced by the sockets of the tusks; at
least they both open almost directly upwards at some distance from the
muzzle. The eyes are small, but savage; there are no external ears.

The Arctic walrus is the sole known species of the genus. It is a
gregarious animal, always assembling in large herds, which occasionally
leave the water to take their rest upon the shore or on the ice; and it
is at such times the hunters chiefly attack them, since their movements
_out_ of the water are very laborious and awkward.

[Illustration: A WALRUS FAMILY.]

They defend themselves against their enemies, of which the Polar bear
is chief, with their formidable tusks; and these they also use in their
fierce combats with one another. They fight with great determination
and ferocity, using their tusks much in the same manner as game-cocks
use their beaks. From the unwieldy appearance of the animal, and the
position of its tusks, an inexperienced spectator would suppose that
the latter could be employed only in a _downward_ stroke; but, on
the contrary, it turns its neck with so much ease and rapidity that it
can strike in all directions with equal force...

[Illustration: FIGHT BETWEEN WALRUS AND A POLAR BEAR.]

Old bulls very frequently have one or both of their tusks broken;
which may arise either from fighting or from using them to assist in
scaling the rocks and ice-floes. But these broken tusks are soon worn
down again and sharpened to a point by the action of the sand, as the
walrus, like the elephant, employs its tusks in digging its food out
of the ground,--that is, out of the ocean-bed. Its food principally
consists of starfish, shrimps, sandworms, clams, cockles, and algæ; and
Scoresby relates that he has found the remains of young seals in its
stomach.

[Illustration: BOAT ATTACKED BY WALRUS.]

In reference to the gradual decay, or, more correctly speaking,
extermination of the walrus, the following particulars seem to be
authentic.

When the pursuit of the walrus was first systematically organized from
Tromsöe and Hammerfest, much larger vessels were employed than are
now in vogue; and it was usual for them to obtain their first cargo
about Bear Island early in the season, and two additional cargoes at
Spitzbergen before the summer passed away. This regular and wholesale
slaughter drove away the sea-horse herds from their haunts about Bear
Island; but even afterwards it was not a rare occurrence to procure
three cargoes in a season at Spitzbergen, and less than two full
cargoes was regarded as a lamentable mishap. Now, however, more than
one cargo in a season is very seldom obtained, and many vessels return,
after four months’ absence, only half full.

It is estimated that about one thousand walrus and twice that number of
bearded seals (_Phoca barbata_) are annually captured in the seas
about Spitzbergen, exclusive of those which sink or may die of their
wounds. Some idea, therefore, may be formed of the number of sea-horses
which still ride the waves of the Polar seas. But it is quite clear
that they are undergoing a rapid diminution of numbers, and also that
they are gradually withdrawing into the inaccessible solitudes of the
remotest North.

We learn from the voyage of Ohthere, which was undertaken ten centuries
ago, that the walrus then abounded even on the very coast of Finmarken.
They have abandoned that region, however, for some centuries, though
individual stragglers were captured up to within the last forty years.
After their desertion of Finmarken, they retreated to Bear Island;
thence they were driven to the Thousand Islands, Hope Island, and
Ryk-Yse Island; and thence, again, to the banks and skerries to the
north of Spitzbergen. It is fortunate for the persecuted walrus that
the latter districts are accessible only in open seasons, or perhaps
once in every three or four summers; so that they obtain a respite and
time to breed and replenish their numbers. Otherwise the end of the
present century would mark also the total extinction of the walrus on
the island-shores of Northern Europe.

We agree with Dr. Kane that the resemblance of the walrus to man has
been absurdly overstated. Yet the notion is put forward in some of our
systematic treatises, and accompanied by the suggestion that we are
to look for the type of the merman and mermaid in this animal. If we
look we shall not find. The walrus has a square-shaped head, with a
frontal bone presenting a steep descent to the eyes, and any likeness
to humanity must exist in the imagination of the spectator. Some of
the seals exhibit a much greater resemblance: the size of the head,
the regularity of the facial oval, the drooping shoulders, even the
movements of the seal, remind us impressively of man. And certainly,
when seen at a distance, with head raised above the waves, it affords
some justification for the fanciful conception of the nymphs of ocean,
the mermaids who figure so attractively in song and legend.

Dr. Kane remarks that the instinct of attack, which is strong in
the walrus, though so feeble in the seal, and is a well-known
characteristic of the pachyderms, is interesting to the naturalist,
as assisting to establish the affinity of the walrus to the latter.
When wounded, it rears its body high out of the water, plunges heavily
against the ice, and strives to raise itself upon the surface by means
of its fore-flippers. As the ice gives way under its weight, its
countenance assumes a truly ferocious expression, its bark changes to a
roar, and the foam pours out from its jaws till it froths its beard.

Even when not excited, the walrus manages its tusks bravely. So strong
are they that they serve as grappling-irons with which to hold on to
the surface of the steep rocks and ice-banks it loves to climb; and
thus it can ascend rocky islands that are sixty and a hundred feet
above the sea-level. It can deal an opponent a fearful blow, but it
prefers to charge, like a veteran warrior; and man, unless well armed,
often comes off second best in the contest.

Governor Flaischer told Dr. Kane that, in 1830, a brown walrus--and the
Eskimos say that the brown walrus are the fiercest--after being speared
and wounded near Upernavik, put to flight its numerous assailants, and
drove them in fear to seek help from the Danish settlement. So violent
were its movements as to jerk out the harpoons that were launched
into its body. The governor slew it with much difficulty after it had
received several rifle-shots and lance-wounds from his whale-boat.

[Illustration: FIGHT WITH A WALRUS.]

On another occasion, a young and adventurous Innuit plunged his
_nalegeit_ into a brown walrus; but, alarmed by the savage
demeanour of the beast, called for help before using the lance. In
vain the older and more wary hunters advised him to forbear. “It is a
brown walrus!” they cried; “_Aúvok-Kaiok_! Hold back!” Finding the
caution disregarded, his only brother rowed forward, and hurled the
second harpoon. Almost instantaneously the infuriated beast charged,
like the wild boar, on the unfortunate young Innuit, and ripped open
his body.

Here is a description of a walrus-hunt:--

On first setting out, the hunters listen eagerly for some sounds by
which to discover the habitat of the animal. The walrus, like amateur
vocalists, is partial to its own music, and will lie for hours enjoying
the monotonous vocalization in which it is accustomed to indulge.
This is described as something between the mooing of a cow and the
deepest baying of a mastiff; very round and full, with its “barks”
or “detached notes” repeated seven to nine times in rather quick
succession.

The hunters hear the bellow, and press forward in single file; winding
behind ice-hummocks and ridges in a serpentine approach towards a group
of “pond-like discolorations,” recently frozen ice-spots, which are
surrounded by older and firmer ice.

In a few minutes they come in sight of the walrus. There they are, five
in number, rising at intervals through the ice in a body, and breaking
it up with an explosion which sounds like the report of heavy ordnance.
Conspicuous as the leaders of the herd are two large and fierce-looking
males.

Now for a display of dexterity and skill. While the walrus remains
above water, the hunter lies flat and motionless; when it begins
to sink, behold, the hunter is alert and ready to spring. In fact,
scarcely is the tusked head below the water-line before every man is in
a rapid run; while, as if by instinct, before it returns all are prone
behind protecting knolls of ice. They seem to guess intuitively, not
only how long it will be absent, but the very point at which it will
reappear. And, in this way, hiding and advancing by turns, they reach
a plate of thin ice, scarcely strong enough to bear a man’s weight, on
the very brink of the dark pool in which the walrus are gambolling.

The phlegmatic Eskimo harpooneer now wakens into a novel condition
of excitement. His coil of walrus-hide, a well-trimmed line of many
fathoms length, lies at his side. He attaches one end to an iron barb,
and this he fastens loosely, by a socket, to a shaft of unicorn’s horn;
the other end is already loosed. It is the work of a second! He has
grasped the harpoon. The water eddies and whirls; puffing and panting,
up comes the unwieldy sea-horse. The Eskimo rises slowly; his right arm
thrown back, his left hanging close to his side. The walrus looks about
him, and throws the water off his crest; the Eskimo launches the fatal
weapon, and it sinks deep into the animal’s side.

Down goes the wounded _awak_, but the Eskimo is already speeding
with winged feet from the scene of combat, letting his coil run out
freely, but clutching the final loop with a desperate grip. As he runs,
he seizes a small stick of bone, roughly pointed with iron, and by
a swift strong movement thrusts it into the ice; he twists his line
around it, and prepares for a struggle.

The wounded walrus plunges desperately, and churns the ice-pool into
foam; meantime, the line is hauled tight at one moment, and loosened
the next; for the hunter has kept his station. But the ice crashes;
and a couple of walrus rear up through it, not many yards from the
spot where he stands. One of them, a male, is excited, angry, partly
alarmed; the other, a female, looks calm, but bent on revenge. Down,
after a rapid survey of the field, they go again into the ocean-depths;
and immediately the harpooneer has chosen his position, carrying with
him his coil, and fixing it anew.

Scarcely is the manœuvre accomplished before the pair have once more
risen, breaking up an area of ten feet in diameter about the very spot
he left. They sink for a second time, and a second time he changes his
place. And thus continues the battle between the strength of the beast
and the address of the man, till the former, half exhausted, receives a
second wound, and gives up the contest.

The Eskimos regard the walrus with a certain degree of superstitious
reverence, and it is their belief that it is under the guardianship of
a special representative or prototype, who does not, indeed, interfere
to protect it from being hunted, but is careful that it shall be hunted
under tolerably fair conditions. They assert that near a remarkable
conical peak, which rises in the solitudes of Force Bay, a great walrus
lives all alone, and when the moon is absent, creeps out to the brink
of a ravine, where he bellows with a voice of tremendous power.

The walrus-hunter, unless he keeps to the sea-shore, and the ice-floes
within reach of a boat, must be prepared to undergo many hardships, and
to confront with a calm heart the most baffling and terrible dangers.
He may be overtaken by a gale; and a gale in the wild remote North,
far from any shelter,--a gale which drives before it the blinding snow
and pitiless icicles,--a gale which sweeps unresisted and irresistible
over leagues of frozen snow,--a gale which comes down from the
mountain-recesses where the glaciers take their rise,--is something so
dread, so ghastly, that the dweller in temperate regions can form no
idea of it.

We remember that one of the gallant seekers after Franklin describes
an Arctic gale, and its effects. He says that the ice, at a short
distance from the shore, had in many places been swept bare of snow by
the driving blast; and over the glassy sheet he and his companions were
helplessly carried along before the gale. The dogs, seldom stretching
their traces, ran howling in front of the sledges, which pressed upon
their heels.

Wild was the scene, and dark. The moon had sunk far behind the
snow-shrouded mountains, and the travellers had no other light than the
shimmer of stars. The deep shadows of the cliffs, towering a thousand
feet above their heads, lay heavily upon them, and enhanced the
midnight gloom. The patches of snow clinging to the sharp angles of the
colossal wall; the white shroud lying on its lofty summit; the glaciers
which here and there protruded through its clefts, brought out into
striking relief the blackness of its cavernous recesses. The air was
filled with clouds of drift, which sometimes completely hid the land,
and swept relentlessly before the explorers, as they tottered across
the frozen plain.

Suddenly a dark line became visible across their path; its true nature
revealed by circling wreaths of “frost-smoke.” “_Emerk! emerk!_”
(Water! water!) shouted the drivers, checking as suddenly as possible
the headway of the sledges, but not until the party were within a few
feet of a recently opened and rapidly widening crack,--a fissure in the
ice-crust, already twenty feet across.

Some of the travellers now clambered to the summit of a pile of
hummocks, and endeavoured to pierce the obscurity. A headland, laid
down on the map as Cape Alexander, lay only a few miles in advance. The
ice in the shallow bay on its southern side was rent in all directions;
while beyond, from the foot of the cape, a broad sheet of water
extended westward. The wind diversified its dark surface with ridges
of snowy spray; while here and there a frosty surf tumbled in breakers
over a small berg or drifting floe. The pieces of ice lying along its
margin were in motion, and the crash of their hard surfaces could be
heard as they came into constant collision. Their strident clamour, the
ceaseless washing of the surface, the moaning of the wind, the steely
rush of the drift, the piteous wail of the dogs, and all the strange
noises and voices of the storm, added to the gloom and awful melancholy
of that moonless night.

We need not wonder that the Eskimos of the Arctic wilderness are as
fearful of a tempest as are the Bedouins of the African desert. It
overwhelms the one with a cloud of snow, and it buries the other in a
cloud of sand; and each demands and receives its quota of victims.

That seal-hunting should be more extensively pursued than
walrus-hunting is natural; for if less exciting, it is also less
dangerous; and the seal is not only a more valuable prey than the
walrus, but is more easily captured.

The Phocidæ are well represented in the Arctic waters. In Behring
Sea we encounter the sea-lion and the sea-bear; while from the Parry
Islands to Novaia Zemlaia extends the range of the harp seal (_Phoca
Grœnlandica_), the bearded seal (_Phoca barbata_), and the
hispid seal (_Phoca hispida_). The skins of all these species are
more or less valuable; their oil is much esteemed; and their flesh
supplies the wild northern tribes with one of their principal articles
of subsistence.

[Illustration: HERD OF SEALS, NEAR THE DEVIL’S THUMB, BAFFIN SEA,
GREENLAND.]

The structure of the seal is admirably adapted in every detail to an
aquatic life. It lives chiefly in the water, where its motions are
always easy and graceful; but it spends a part of its time in enjoying
the sunshine on ice-fields, open shores, rocks, and sandy beaches; and
the female brings forth her young on land.

The body of the seal is elongated, and tapers considerably from the
chest to the tail. The head has been compared to that of the dog; the
brain is generally voluminous. The feet are short, and little more than
the paw extends beyond the integument of the body; they are webbed, and
pentadactylous, or five-toed: the fore feet are set like those of other
quadrupeds; but the hind feet are directed backwards, with toes which
can be spread out widely to act as paddles. The tail is short.

The motions of the seal on land are constrained and peculiar. The
fore feet are but little used, and the body is thrown forward in a
succession of jerks produced by a contraction of the spine. Awkward as
this mode of progression seems, it is, nevertheless, exceedingly rapid.
The seal, however, never ventures far from the shore, and the moment it
is disturbed or alarmed it plunges into the water.

The physiognomy of the animal is in perfect accord with its character,
and expresses a considerable degree of intelligence combined with much
mildness of disposition. The eyes are large, black, and brilliant; the
nose is broad, with oblong nostrils; and there are large whiskers.
The seal has no external ears, but in the auricular orifices exists a
valve which can be closed at will, and protects the internal organism
from the water; the nostrils possess a similar valve. The body is
thickly garnished with stiff glossy hairs, very closely set against the
skin, and plentifully lubricated with an oily secretion, so that the
surface is always smooth, and unaffected by water. The teeth differ
in different genera, but in all are specially adapted for the seizure
of fish and other slippery prey, though the seals are omnivorous in
their habits, and will partake both of vegetable and animal food. There
are either six or four incisors in the upper, and four or two in the
lower jaw; the canines are invariably large and strong; and the molars,
usually five or six on either side, in each jaw, are sharp-edged or
conical, and bristle with points. The seal is fond of swallowing large
stones; for what purpose is not certain, but, probably, to assist
digestion.

Seals live in herds, more or less numerous, along the frozen shores of
the Arctic seas; and on the lonely deserted coasts they bring forth
their young, over which they watch with singular affection. They swim
with much rapidity, and can remain a considerable time under water.
They are migratory in their habits, and at least four species visit our
British waters. On the northern coasts of Greenland they are observed
to take their departure in July and to return again in September. They
produce two or three young at a time, and suckle them for six or seven
weeks in remote caverns and sequestered recesses; after which they take
to the sea. The young exhibit a remarkable degree of tractability;
will recognize and obey the maternal summons; and assist each other in
distress or danger. Many, if not all, of the species are polygamous,
and the males frequently contend with desperate courage for the
possession of a favourite female.

There is not much difference in the habits of the different genera
or species of the Phocidæ; but while the great Arctic seal dives
like the walrus, making a kind of semi-revolution as it goes down,
the common seal (_Phoca vitulina_), called by the hunters the
_stein-cobbe_, from its custom of basking on the rocks, dives by
suddenly dropping under water, its nose being the last part of its body
which disappears, instead of its tail.

The common seal has a very fine spotted skin, and weighs about sixty
or seventy pounds. It is much fatter, in proportion to its size, than
the bearded seal, and its carcass, consequently, having less specific
gravity, floats much longer on the water after death.

A third kind of seal found in the Spitzbergen seas is, probably, the
Phoca hispida, though the hunters know it only by the names of the
“springer,” and Jan Mayen seal. In the spring months it is killed in
large numbers by the whalers among the vast ice-fields which encircle
the solitary rocks of Jan Mayen Island.

Mr. Lamont observes that these seals, though existing in such enormous
numbers to the west, are not nearly so numerous in Spitzbergen as
the great, or even as the much less abundant common seal. They are
gregarious, which neither of the other varieties are, and generally
consort in bands of fifty to five hundred. They are extremely difficult
to kill, as during the summer months they very seldom go upon the
ice; they seem much less curious than the other seals, and go at
such a rapid pace through the water as to defy pursuit from a boat.
On coming up to breathe, these seals do not, like their congeners,
take a deliberate breath and a leisurely survey, but the whole troop
make a sort of simultaneous flying leap through the air like a shoal
of porpoises, as they go along, and reappear again at an incredible
distance from their preceding breathing-place. Hence the name of
“springers” given to them by the whalers.

[Illustration: THE COMMON SEAL.]

The Jan Mayen seal weighs from 200 to 300 lbs., and is described as the
fattest and most buoyant of the Arctic mammals.

We have spoken of seal’s flesh as an important article of subsistence
to the Eskimo tribes. Our Arctic voyagers and explorers have frequently
been glad to nourish themselves upon it, and speak of it as somewhat
resembling veal in flavour. Not once or twice, but several times, it
has saved the hardy pioneer of civilization from destruction, and the
discovery of a stray seal has been the means of preserving a whole
expedition.

There is a very striking incident of this kind in the narrative of
Dr. Kane. He and his party had reached Cape York on their way to the
Danish settlements, after their long but fruitless search for Sir John
Franklin. They were spent with fatigue, and half-dead from hunger. A
kind of low fever crippled their energies, and they were unable to
sleep. In their frail and unseaworthy boats, which were scarcely kept
afloat by constant bailing, they made but slow progress across the open
bay; when, at this crisis of their fortunes, they descried a large seal
floating, as is the wont of these animals, on a small patch of ice, and
apparently asleep,--a seal so large that at first they mistook it for a
walrus.

Trembling with anxiety, Kane and his companions prepared to creep down
upon the monster.

One of the men, Petersen, with a large English rifle, was stationed
in the bow of the boat, and stockings were drawn over the oars as
mufflers. As they approached the animal, their excitement became so
intense that the men could hardly keep stroke. That no sound might be
heard, Dr. Kane communicated his orders by signal; and when about three
hundred yards off the oars were taken in, and they moved on, stealthily
and silently, with a single scull astern.

The seal was not asleep, for he reared his head when his enemies were
almost within rifle-shot; and long afterwards Dr. Kane could remember
the hard, careworn, almost despairing expression of the men’s haggard
faces as they saw him move; their lives depended on his capture. Dr.
Kane lowered his hand, as a signal for Petersen to fire. M’Gorry,
who was rowing, hung, he says, upon his oar, and the boat slowly but
noiselessly forging ahead, did not seem within range. Looking at
Petersen, he saw that the poor fellow was paralyzed by his anxiety, and
was vainly seeking to find a rest for his gun against the cut-water of
the boat. The seal rose on his flippers, gazed at his antagonists for
a moment with mingled curiosity and alarm, and coiled himself for a
plunge. At that moment, simultaneously with the crack of the rifle, he
relaxed his huge bulk on the ice, and, at the very brink of the water,
his head fell helplessly on one side.

[Illustration: SHOOTING A SEAL.]

Dr. Kane would have ordered another shot, but no discipline could have
controlled his men. With a wild yell, each vociferating according to
his own impulse, they urged both boats upon the floes. A crowd of hands
seized the precious booty, and bore it up to safer ice. The men seemed
half crazy, they had been so reduced by famine. They ran over the floe,
crying and laughing, and brandishing their knives. Before five minutes
had elapsed, each man was sucking his streaming fingers or mouthing
long strips of raw blubber.

Not an ounce of this seal was wasted!

The intestines found their way into the soup-kettles without any
observance of the preliminary home-processes. The cartilaginous parts
of the fore-flippers were cut off in the _mêlée_, and passed
round for the operation of chewing; and even the liver, warm and raw
as it was, bade fair to be eaten before it had seen the pot. That
night, on the large halting-floe to which, in contempt of the dangers
of drifting, the happy adventurers had hauled their boats, two entire
planks of the _Red Eric_ were devoted to the kindling of a large
cooking-fire, and they enjoyed a bountiful and savage feast.

Such is an experience of Arctic life; of the hardships endured by the
heroic men who go forth to do the work of Science and Civilization.

Returning to the seals, we may remark that, according to a scientific
authority, the angle of weedy rock on which a phoca is accustomed to
rest with his family comes to be regarded as his property, and no other
individuals of his species are entitled to lay claim to it. Although
in the water these animals congregate together in numerous herds,
and protect and courageously defend one another, yet, when they have
once emerged from their favourite element, they regard themselves on
their own space of rock as in a sacred domicile, where no comrade has
a right to intrude on their domestic tranquillity. If any stranger
approach this family centre, the chief--or shall we call him the
father?--prepares to repel by force what he considers an unwarrantable
encroachment; and a terrible combat invariably ensues, which terminates
only with the death of the lord of the rock, or the compulsory retreat
of the intruder.

But a family never seizes upon a larger tract than it absolutely
requires, and lives peaceably with neighbouring families, from which it
is seldom separated by a greater interval than forty or fifty paces. If
compelled by necessity, they will even live on amicable terms at much
closer quarters. Three or four families will share a rock, a cavern, or
an ice-floe; but each occupies the place allotted to it at the original
apportionment, and shuts himself within it, so to speak, nor ever
meddles with individuals of another family.

[Illustration: THE OTARY.]

Our modern naturalists divide the Phocidæ into two distinct orders: the
_Phocæ_ properly so called, which have no external ears, but only
an auditory orifice on the surface of the head; and the _Otariæ_,
which are provided with external organs.

The remarks we have been making apply more particularly to the common
seal (_Phoca vitulina_), or small Spitzbergen seal, which
measures from four to five feet in length. The Greenland or harp
seal (_Phoca Grœnlandica_), to which we have already alluded,
is larger and fatter, and is distinguished by the changes of colour
it undergoes before it reaches maturity. We have also spoken of the
bearded seal (_Phoca barbata_), which sometimes attains a length
of ten feet, and is known, not only by its size, but its thick and
strong moustaches. The hooded seal (_Stemmatopus cristatus_) is
distinguished by the globular and expansible sac situated on the summit
of the head of the males. This species grows to the length of seven or
eight feet, and inhabits the waters of Newfoundland and Greenland.

The value of the seal to the Eskimo tribes will best be understood from
a description of the uses to which various parts of the animal are
applied in an Eskimo hut.

[Illustration: THE HOODED SEAL.]

We will suppose this hut to measure about five or five and a half
feet in height, and about ten feet in diameter. The walls are made
of stones, moss, and the bones of seals, narwhals, whales, and other
ocean-creatures. They are not arched, but recede inward gradually from
the foundation, and are capped by long oblong slabs of slate-stone
extending from side to side. We enter: the flooring consists of thin
flat stones. At the back part of the hut the floor rises about a foot,
and this _breck_, as the elevation is called, serves both as couch
and seat, being covered with a thick layer of dried moss and grass,
under seal-skins, dog-skins, and bear-skins. Similar elevations are
placed at the corners in front; under one of which will lie, perhaps,
a litter of pups, with their mother, and under the other a portion of
seal’s meat. In the square front of the hut, above the passage-way, a
window is inserted; the light being admitted through a square sheet
of strips of dried intestines, sewed together. The entrance is in
the floor, close to the front wall, and is covered with a piece of
seal-skin. Seal-skins are hung about the walls to dry. At the edge of
the _breck_, on either side, sits a woman, each busily engaged
in attending to a smoky lamp, fed with seal’s oil. These lamps are
made of soapstone, and in shape resemble a clam-shell, being about
eight inches in diameter. The cavity is filled with oil obtained from
seal’s blubber; and on the straight edge the flame burns quite vividly,
the wick which furnishes it being made of moss. The business of the
women is apparently to prevent the lamps from smoking, and to keep
them supplied with blubber, large pieces of which are placed in the
cavity, the heat drawing out the oil. About three inches above this
flame hangs, suspended from the ceiling, an oblong square pot made of
the same material as the lamp, in which a joint of seal is simmering
slowly. Above this hangs a rack, made of bare rib-bones, bound together
crosswise, on which stockings and mittens, and various garments made of
seal-skin, are laid to dry. No other fire can be seen than that which
the lamps supply, nor is any other needed. So many persons are crowded
into the confined interior that it is insufferably hot, while the whole
place reeks with the smell of seal-flesh, seal-oil, and seal-skin!

* * * * *

It is natural enough that we should here introduce an account of the
Eskimo mode of catching seals. The great season of the seal-hunt is the
spring, when the inoffensive _phocæ_ gambol and sport in the open
water-ways near the coasts, or clamber on the ice-floes to enjoy the
rays of the tardy sun. They are of a wary and timid disposition, and
we may suppose that their traditions have taught them to be on their
guard against man; but as all their habits and ways are well known to
the Eskimo, they do not succeed in eluding his dexterous perseverance.
Sometimes the hunter attires himself in a seal-skin, and so exactly
imitates their appearance and movements that he approaches within
spear-range of them before the disguise is detected; or else he creeps
into their haunts behind a white screen, which is propelled in front
of him by means of a sledge. As the season verges upon midsummer less
precaution becomes necessary; the eyes of the seals being so congested
by the fierce radiance of the sun that they are often nearly blind. In
winter they are assailed while labouring at their breathing-holes, or
when they rise for the purpose of respiration.

If an Eskimo satisfies himself that a seal is working away beneath the
ice, he takes up his station at the suspected point, and seldom quits
it, however severe the weather, until he has captured the animal. To
protect himself from the freezing blast, he throws up a snow-wall
four feet in height, and seating himself in its shade, he rests his
spears, lines, and other appliances on a number of little forked sticks
inserted into the snow, in order that he may move them, when wanted,
without making the slightest noise. He carries his caution to such
an excess, that he even ties his own knees together with a thong to
prevent his garments from rustling! about

[Illustration: AN ESKIMO SEAL-HUNTER.]

To discover whether the seal is still gnawing at the ice, our patient
watcher makes use of his _keep-kuttuk_; a slender rod of bone, no
thicker than ordinary bell-wire, cleverly rounded, with a knob at one
end and a sharp point at the other.

This implement he thrusts into the ice, and the knob, which remains
above the surface, informs him by its motion whether the animal is
still engaged in making his hole; if it does not move, the attempt
is given up in that place, and the hunter betakes himself elsewhere.
When he supposes the hole to be nearly completed, he stealthily raises
his spear, and as soon as he can hear the blowing of the seal, and
knows therefore that the ice-crust is very thin, he drives it into the
unsuspecting animal with all his might; and then hacks away with his
sharp-edged knife, or _panna_, the intervening ice, so as to
repeat his blows, and secure his victim. The _neituk_, or Phoca
hispida, being the smallest seal, is held while struggling, either
by the hand, or by a line one end of which is twisted round a spear
driven into the ice. In the case of the bearded seal, or _oguka_,
the line is coiled round the hunter’s leg or arm; for a walrus, round
his body, the feet being at the same time firmly planted against a
hummock of ice, so as to increase the capability of resistance. A boy
of fifteen can kill a _neituk_, but the larger animals can be
mastered only by a robust and experienced adult.

We come now to speak of the Whale, which, in size, is the sovereign of
the Arctic seas, and the grandest type of marine life.

Whales (_Cetacea_) are, as most persons now-a-days know, an
order of aquatic mammals, distinguished by their fin-like anterior
extremities, and by the peculiarity that the place of the posterior
extremities is supplied by a large horizontal caudal fin, or tail;
while the cervical bones are so compressed that the animal, externally
at least, seems to have no neck.

The general form of the whale, notwithstanding its position among
the Mammalia, is similar to that of the fishes, and the horizontal
elongation of the body, the smooth and rounded surface, the gradual
attenuation of the extremities of the trunk, and the magnitude of
the fins and tail, are specially adapted to easy and swift motion in
the water. The arrangement of the bones composing the anterior limb
is very curious. The whole of the fin consists of exactly the same
parts as those which we find in the human hand and arm; but they are
so concealed beneath the thick cutaneous or integumentary envelope,
that not a trace of bone is visible. In this respect an intermediate
organization is shown by the fore limbs of the seal.

The posterior extremity, in all the Cetacea, is either absolutely
deficient, or else rudimentary. If rudimentary, its sole vestige
consists of certain small bones, the imperfect representation of a
pelvis, suspended, as it were, in the flesh, and unconnected with the
spinal column. Here we may observe a remarkable difference between the
whale and the seal: in the latter, as we have seen, there is a short
tail, and the posterior extremities perform the office of a true caudal
fin; in the former this important organ of progression consists, to use
Mr. Bell’s words, of “an extremely broad and powerful horizontal disc,
varying in figure in the different genera, but in all constituting
the principal instrument of locomotion.” In fishes the tail is set
vertically, but in whales horizontally; and it has been well said that
the admirable adaptation of such a peculiarity in its position to the
requirements of the animal forms a fresh and beautiful illustration of
the infinite resource and foresight of the Creative Wisdom.

Thus: the fishes, respiring only the air contained in the dense liquid
medium in which they live, require no access to the atmosphere; and,
therefore, their progression is chiefly confined to the same region.
But the whales, breathing atmospheric air, must necessarily come to the
surface for each respiration; and hence they need a powerful instrument
or lever, the position of which shall apply its impulse in a vertical
direction, so as to impel their colossal bulk from the lowest depths
of ocean to the surface every time the lungs require to receive a
fresh supply of atmospheric air. The greatest rapidity of motion is
effected by alternate strokes of the tail against the water, upwards
and downwards; but the usual progression is accomplished by an oblique
lateral and downward impulse, first on one side and then on the other,
just as a boat is propelled by a man with a single oar in the art of
“sculling.” The extent of the tail in some of the larger species is
really immense; the superficies being no less than about a hundred
square feet, and its breadth considerably exceeding twenty feet.

The common, right, or Greenland whale (_Balæna mysticetus_) has
been, for centuries, the object of man’s systematic pursuit, on account
of its valuable oil and scarcely less valuable baleen.

[Illustration: THE GREENLAND WHALE.]

This whale seldom exceeds fifty to sixty feet in length, or thirty to
forty in girth, and, therefore, is by no means the head of its family.
As in other species, the body is thick and bulky forwards, largest
about the middle, and tapers suddenly towards the tail. The head is
colossal; broad, flat, and rounded beneath, and narrow above; it forms
about a third of the animal’s entire length, and is about ten or twelve
feet broad. Its lips--such lips!--are five or six feet thick. They do
not cover any teeth, but they protect a pair of very formidable jaws.
The cavernous interior of the mouth is filled up with two series of
whalebone laminæ, about three hundred in each, which require particular
description. The whalebone, or baleen, as it is called, consists of
numerous parallel plates, layers, or laminæ, each of which is formed of
a central coarse fibrous layer lying between two that are compact and
externally polished. But this outer part does not completely cover the
inner; a kind of edge is exposed, and this edge terminates in a loose
fringed or fibrous extremity. Moreover, at the base of each plate of
baleen lies a conical cavity, covering a pulp which corresponds with
it; and this pulp is sunk within the substance of the gum or buccal
membrane stretched over the palate and upper jaw.

The compact _outer_ layers of the baleen plate are continuous
with a white horny layer of the gum, which passes on to the surface of
each plate; and the pulp may be regarded, therefore, as the secreting
organ of the internal coarse structure only. The filaments of the
fringe are exceedingly numerous, and so fill up the mouth-cavity as
to form a very efficient and ingenious sieve or strainer; and as the
esophagus, or “swallow,” of the whale is so confined as to be unable
to admit of the passage even of the smaller fish, and the food of the
whale consequently is limited to minute organisms, such as the medusæ,
this skilfully devised construction is absolutely requisite in order to
retain the whole of those which are taken into the mouth.

The mode in which the whale feeds may be thus described:--

The broad waters of the Arctic seas teem with innumerable shoals of
molluscous, radiate, and crustaceous animals, and these are frequently
so numerous as absolutely to colour the wave-surface.

When a whale, therefore, desires food, it opens its colossal mouth, and
a host of these organisms is, as it were, swept up by the great expanse
of the lower jaw: as the mouth closes, the water is ejected, and the
life it contained is imprisoned by the appliance we have attempted to
describe.

If we consider the number of whales found in the Northern seas, and
the mighty bulk of each individual, our imagination entirely fails to
appreciate the countless myriads of minute organisms which must be
sacrificed to their due nourishment.

One of the principal products of the Greenland whale is its baleen,
or whalebone, with the domestic uses of which our readers will be
familiar; but the large quantities of oil which it yields are still
more valuable. A whale sixty feet in length will supply fully twenty
tons of pure oil.

Besides the common whale, our hunters find in the seas of the North the
razor-backed whale, or northern rorqual (_Balænoptera physalis_),
characterized by the prominent ridge which extends along its mighty
back. This monster of the deep attains a length, it is said, of
one hundred feet, and measures from thirty to thirty-five feet in
circumference. But its yield of oil and baleen is less than that of the
right or Greenland whale, and as its capture is a task of difficulty
and danger, the whalers seldom attack it. In its movements it is more
rapid and restless, and when harpooned it frequently plunges downward
with such force and velocity as to break the line. In several respects
it differs from the Greenland species; and particularly in the nature
of its food, for it feeds upon fishes of considerable size.

Some of our naturalists affirm that several species of rorquals exist
in the Arctic seas; and the pike whale, so called from the resemblance
of its mouth to that of a pike, is frequently described as an
independent species. Others, however, are of opinion that the pike is
simply the young of the monster we have been describing. The rorqual
is very voracious, and preys extensively upon fishes; as many as six
hundred cod, to say nothing of smaller “fry,” having been found in the
stomach of a single individual.

While the Greenland whale is being rapidly driven back into the icy
wildernesses beyond Behring Strait, on the west, and the creeks
and gulfs beyond Baffin Bay, on the east, the rorquals, including
the _Balænoptera rostratus_ (or beaked whale), _Balænoptera
musculus_, and _Balænoptera boöps_, still frequent the open
waters,--their pursuit being, as we have shown, more difficult and
less profitable. They are generally found in attendance on the
herring-shoals, of which they are the assiduous and destructive
enemies. Off Greenland, Spitzbergen, and Novaia Zemlaia they are found
in considerable numbers.

Our whalers go forth every year in well-provided ships, and supplied
with the best and most formidable weapons which scientific ingenuity
can devise. Still they find the enterprise one of peril and hardship,
and it is universally recognized as requiring in those who embark in
it no ordinary powers of endurance, as well as courage, patience,
and perseverance. Yet the Asiatic and American tribes do not fear to
confront the ocean-leviathan with the simplest of arms. The Aleüt
embarks in his little skiff, or _baidar_, and catching sight of
his prey, stealthily approaches it from behind until he nearly reaches
the monster’s head. Then he suddenly and dexterously drives his short
spear into the huge flank, just under the fore fin, and retreats as
swiftly as his well-plied oars can carry him. If the spear has sunk
into the flesh, the whale is doomed; within the next two or three days
it will perish, and the currents and the waves will hurl the vast bulk
on the nearest shore, to be claimed by its gallant conqueror. And as
each spear bears its owner’s peculiar mark, the claim is never disputed.

Occasionally the baidar does not escape in time, and the exasperated
leviathan, furiously lashing the waters with its tail, hurls the frail
boat high up into the air, as if it were a reed, or sinks it with
one crushing blow. No wonder that those of their race who undertake
so hazardous a calling are held in high repute among the Aleüts. To
sally forth alone, and encounter the whale in the icy waters of the
Polar Sea, is a task demanding the utmost intrepidity and the utmost
tranquillity of nerve.

Many of the whales thus daringly harpooned are lost. It is on record
that, in the summer of 1831, one hundred and eighteen whales were
struck near Kadjack, and of these only forty-three were found. The
others either drifted to far-off shores and lonely unknown isles, or
became the prey of sharks and ocean-birds. Wrangell states that of late
years the Russians have introduced the use of the harpoon, and engaged
some English harpooneers to teach the Aleüts the secret of their craft;
and, therefore, the older and more hazardous method, which the Aleüts
had learned from their forefathers, will soon be a thing of the past.

* * * * *

The Eskimos devote the month of August to the whale-fishery, and for
this purpose they assemble in companies, and plant a colony of huts
on some bold headland of the Polar coast, where the water is of depth
sufficient to float their destined victim.

As soon as a whale’s colossal bulk is seen outstretched on the water,
a dozen kayaks or more cautiously paddle up in the rear, until one of
them, shooting ahead, comes near enough on one side for the men to
drive the spear into its flesh with all the force of both arms. To the
spear are attached an inflated seal-skin and a long coil of thong. The
whale dives immediately it is stricken. After awhile it reappears, and
the signal being given by the floating seal-skin buoy, all the canoes
again paddle towards their prey. Again the opportunity is seized for
launching the fatal spears; and this process is repeated until the
exhausted whale rises more and more frequently to the surface, is
finally killed, and towed ashore.

Captain M’Clure fell in with an Eskimo tribe off Cape Bathurst which
hunted the whale in this primitive fashion, but the females, as well as
the men, engaged in the pursuit. An _omaiak_, or woman’s boat, he
says, is “_manned_ by ladies,” having as harpooneer a chosen man
of the tribe; and a shoal of small fry, in the form of _kayaks_,
or single-men canoes, are in attendance. The harpooneer singles out “a
fish,” drives into its flesh his weapon, to which an inflated seal-skin
is attached by means of a walrus-hide thong. The wounded fish is then
incessantly harassed by the men in the kayacks with weapons of a
similar description; and a number of these, driven into the unfortunate
whale, baffle its efforts to escape, and wear out its strength, until,
in the course of a day, it dies from exhaustion and loss of blood.

Sherard Osborn tells us that the harpooneer, when successful, becomes
a very great personage indeed, and is invariably decorated with the
Eskimo order of the Blue Ribbon; that is, a blue line is drawn across
his face over the bridge of his nose. This is the highest honour
known to the heroes of Cape Bathurst; but it carries along with it
the privilege of the decorated individual being allowed to take unto
himself a second wife!

* * * * *

In the waters of Novaia Zemlaia, Greenland, and Spitzbergen is found
the narwhal, or sea unicorn (_Monodon monoceros_), which was at
one time the theme of so many extravagant legends. It belongs to the
Cetacea, but differs from the whale in having no teeth, properly so
called, and in being armed with a formidable horn, projecting straight
forward from the upper jaw, in a direct line with the body. This horn,
or tusk, the use of which has not been satisfactorily ascertained, is
harder and whiter than ivory, spirally striated from base to point,
tapers throughout, and measures from six to ten feet in length. Mr.
Bell remarks that it would be a strange anomaly if the apparent
singleness of this weapon were real. In truth, _both_ teeth are
invariably found in the jaw, not only of the male, but of the female
also; but in ordinary (though not in all) cases one only, and this in
the male, is fully developed, the other remaining in a rudimentary
condition--even as both do in the female.

[Illustration: NARWHALS, MALE AND FEMALE.]

The narwhal, from mouth to tail, is about twenty feet long, though
individuals measuring thirty feet are sometimes met with. Its head
is short, and the upper part convex; its mouth small; its spiracle,
or respiratory vent, duplicate within; its tongue long; the pectoral
fins small. The back, which is convex and rather wide, has no fins,
and sharpens gradually towards the tail, which, as in other Cetacea,
is horizontal. The food of the narwhal, whose habits are remarkably
pacific, consists of medusæ, the smaller kinds of flat fish, and other
marine animals.

* * * * *

A striking spectacle which frequently greets the eye of the voyager in
the Arctic seas is that of a shoal of dolphins gambolling and leaping,
as if in the very heyday of enjoyment. The beluga, sometimes called
the white whale (_Delphinus leucos_), attracts attention by the
dazzling whiteness of its body and the swiftness of its movements. It
frequents the estuaries of the Obi and the Irtish, the Mackenzie and
the Coppermine, which it sometimes ascends to a considerable distance
in pursuit of the salmon. Its length varies from twelve to twenty feet;
it has no dorsal fin; and its head is round, with a broad truncated
snout.

[Illustration: A SHOAL OF DOLPHINS.]

The black dolphin (_Globicephalus globiceps_) is also an
inhabitant of the Polar seas, both beyond Behring Strait, and between
Greenland and Spitzbergen. It is, however, frequently met with in
waters further south. Its length averages about twenty-four feet, and
its circumference ten feet. Its smooth oily skin is bluish-black on the
upper, and an obscure white on the lower, parts of the body. Twenty-two
or twenty-four strong interlocking teeth in each jaw form its
formidable apparatus of offence and defence; its dorsal fin is about
fifteen inches high; its tail five feet broad; the pectoral fins are
long and narrow, and well adapted to assist their owner in its rapid
movements. It consorts with its kind in herds of several hundreds,
under the guidance of some old and wary males, whom the rest follow as
docilely as a flock of sheep their bell-wether; hence the Shetlanders
term it the “ca’ing whale.” Large shoals are frequently stranded on the
shores of Norway, Iceland, and the Orkney, Faroe, and Shetland Isles,
furnishing the inhabitants with a welcome booty.

* * * * *

To the same latitudes belong the ferocious orc or grampus (_Delphinus
orca_), the tiger of the seas, which not only attacks the porpoise
and dolphin, but even the colossal whale. Its broad deep body is black
above and white beneath; the sides are marbled with black and white.
There are thirty teeth in each jaw, those in front being blunt, round,
and slender, while those behind are sharp and thick; and between each
is a space fitted to receive those of the opposite jaw when the mouth
is closed. The back fin of the grampus is of great size; sometimes
measuring as much as six feet in length, from the base to the tip.
The grampus generally voyages in small squadrons of four or five
individuals, following each other in single file, and alternately
rising and sinking in such a manner as to resemble the undulatory
motions of a huge kraken or sea-serpent.

* * * * *

Among the inhabitants of the Polar Ocean must certainly be included the
Polar bear (_Thalassarctos maritimus_), since it swims and dives
with great dexterity, and, moreover, is often found on the drifting
ice-floes at a distance of eighty to one hundred miles from land. It
is a creature of great strength, great fierceness, and great courage,
though we may not accept the exaggerated accounts of it which enliven
the narratives of the earlier voyagers.

[Illustration: POLAR BEARS.]

A noble creature is the Polar bear, says Sherard Osborn, whether we
speak of him by the learned titles of “Ursus maritimus,” “Thalassarctos
maritimus,” or the sailors’ more expressive nomenclature of “Jack
Rough!” With all her many wonders, continues this lively writer,
never did Nature create a creature more admirably adapted to the
life it has to lead. Half flesh, half fish, the seaman wandering in
the inhospitable regions of the North cannot but be struck with the
appearance of latent energy and power its every action attests, as
it rolls in a lithe and swaggering way over the rough surface of the
frozen sea; or, during the brief Arctic summer, haunts the broken and
treacherous “pack” in search of its prey.

When not too loaded with fat--and it seems to fatten readily--the pace
of the bear is leisurely and easy, yet at its slowest it is equal to
that of a good pedestrian; and when alarmed or irritated, its speed
is surprising, though not graceful. On level ice, it flings itself
ahead, as it were, by a violent jerking motion of the powerful fore
paws, in what has been described as an “ungainly gallop;” but it always
makes, when it can, for rough ice, where its strength and agility are
best displayed, and where neither man nor dog can overtake it. In the
Queen’s Channel, during Captain M’Clure’s expedition, more than one
bear was seen making its way over broken-up ice, rugged and precipitous
as the mind can picture, with a truly wonderful facility; their
powerful fore paws and hind legs enabling them to spring from piece to
piece, scaling one fragment and sliding down another with the activity
of a huge quadrumane rather than that of a quadruped. Evidently it is
conscious of its superiority in such rough and perilous ground, and
is generally found at the edge of the belts of hummocks or broken ice
which intersect most ice-fields, or else amongst the frozen pack-ice of
channels such as Barrow’s and the Queen’s.

There is, however, another reason why bears keep among hummocks and
pack-ice--namely, that near such spots water usually first makes its
appearance in the summer. Seals, consequently, are most numerous
there; while the inequalities of the floe afford shelter to the bears
in approaching their prey. During summer the colour of the Polar bear
is of a dull yellowish hue, closely resembling that of decaying snow
or ice. The fur is then thin, and the hair on the soles of their feet
almost wholly rubbed off, as with the other animals of Arctic climes;
but in the autumn, when the body has recovered from the privations
of the previous winter, and a thick coating of blubber overlays his
carcass to meet the exigencies of another season of scanty fare, the
feet, as the season advances, are beautifully incased and feathered
with hair, and the animal’s colour usually turns to a very pale straw,
which, from particular points of view, as the light strikes it, looks
white, or nearly so. The nose and lips are of a jetty black; the eyes
vary in colour. Brown is common, but some have been seen with eyes of
a pale gray. Their sense of smell is peculiarly acute, facilitated no
doubt by the peculiar manner in which the pure keen air of the North
carries scent to very considerable distances.

Sherard Osborn states that bears have been seen to follow up a scent,
exactly as dogs would do; and the floes about Lowther Island, in 1851,
looked as if the bears had quartered there in search of seals, after
the fashion of a pointer in the green fields of England. The snorting
noise which they make as they approach near indicates how much more
confidence they place in their scent than in their vision; though both,
when the hunter is concerned, are apt to deceive them.

The Polar bear attains to very formidable proportions; but when seamen
speak of monsters fifteen feet in length, their auditors may be excused
for withholding their belief. _Ten_ feet would seem to be a
maximum; and the bear need be large, strong, and muscular to master
the large Arctic seal, especially the saddle-back and bladder-nose
species. For though it swims well and dives well, it neither swims nor
dives as well as the seal, and would therefore have but little chance
of obtaining a sufficient livelihood if it could not attack and capture
its victim on the ice-floes.

The seal, on the other hand, fully aware of its danger, and of the only
means of escaping from it, always keeps close to the water, whether it
be the hole it has gnawed and broken through the ice, or the open sea
at the floe edge.

And when it lies basking on the floating ice, and apparently apathetic
and lethargic, nothing can exceed its vigilance. With its magnificent
eyes it is able to sweep a wide range of the horizon, however slightly
it turns its head; its keenness of hearing adds to its security. There
is something peculiarly striking in its continuous watchfulness. Now
it raises its head and looks around; now it is intent on the slightest
sound that travels over the crisp surface of the ice; now it gazes
and listens down its hole, a needful precaution against so subtle a
hunter as old Bruin! It would seem impossible to surprise an animal
so vigilant and so wary; and, indeed, in circumventing its prey the
bear exhibits an astuteness and a skill which overpass the bounds of
instinct, and approach closely to those of reason.

From its scent and by its quick strong vision the bear apprehends the
position of the seal. Then it throws itself prone upon the ice, and
profiting by inequalities which are invisible to human eyes, gradually
steals upon its destined victim by a soft and scarcely perceptible
movement of the hind feet. To hide its black muzzle, it constantly
uses its fore feet; and thus, only the dingy white of its coat being
visible, it is scarcely to be distinguished from the general mass of
the floe. Patiently it draws nearer and nearer; the seal, mistaking it
for one of its own congeners, or else yielding to a fatal curiosity,
delaying until its assailant, with one spring, is upon it.

Yet, as the old adage says, there is many a slip; and even in these
circumstances the bear does not always secure its feast. It is
disappointed sometimes just as the prey seems within its grasp; and how
keen the disappointment is can be appreciated only, we are told, by
hapless Arctic travellers, “who have been hours crawling up, dreaming
of delicious seal’s fry and overflowing fuel bags, and seen the prey
pop down a hole when within a hundred yards of it.” The great muscular
power of the seal frequently enables it to fling itself into the water
in spite of the bear’s efforts to hold it on the floe; Bruin, however,
retains his grip, for his diving powers are not much inferior to those
of the seal, and down they go together! Sometimes the bear proves
victorious, owing to mortal injuries inflicted upon the seal before it
reaches the water; sometimes it may be seen reappearing at another hole
in the floe, or clambering up another loose piece of ice, apparently
much mortified by its want of success.

[Illustration: BEAR CATCHING A SEAL.]

As we have said, the bear dives well, and is nearly as much at home
in the water as upon the ice. If it catches sight of a seal upon a
drifting floe, it will slide quietly into the sea, swim with only the
tip of its nose above the water, and, diving under the floe, reach the
very spot which the hapless seal has regarded as an oasis of safety. It
is this stratagem of its enemy which has taught the seal to watch its
hole so warily. Even on extensive ice-fields fast to the land, where
the bear cannot conceal its approach by taking advantage of hummocks
or other inequalities, the seal is not safe; for then Bruin drops
down a hole, and swims along under the ice-crust until it reaches the
one where the poor seal is all unwittingly enjoying its last rays of
sunshine.

The bear’s season of plenty begins with the coming of the spring. In
February and March the seal is giving birth to her young, who are born
blind and helpless, and for ten days are unable to take to the water.
The poor mothers use every effort to protect them, but, in spite of
their affectionate exertions, a perfect massacre of the innocents takes
place, in which, not improbably, the Arctic wolf is not less guilty
than the Arctic bear.

Voracity, however, frequently proves its own Nemesis, and the bear, in
its eager pursuit of prey, often involves itself in serious disaster.
The seal instinctively breeds as close as possible to the open
water. But the ice-floes, during the early equinoctial gales, will
sometimes break up and drift away in the form of pack-ice; a matter
of indifference, says Osborn, to the seal, but a question of life and
death to the bear. Borne afar on their little islets of ice, rocked by
tempestuous waters, buffeted by icy gales, numbers of these castaways
are lost along the whole area of the Polar Sea. It is said that when
the gales blow down from the north, bears are sometimes stranded in
such numbers on the shores of Iceland as to endanger the safety of the
flocks and herds of the Icelandic peasants; and they have been known to
reach the coasts of Norway.

Bears drifting about at a considerable distance from the land are often
enough seen by the whalers. They have been discovered fully sixty miles
from shore, in Davis Strait, without any ice in sight, and utterly
exhausted by long swimming. It is thus that Nature checks their too
rapid increase; for beyond the possibility of the wolf hunting it in
packs and destroying the cubs, there seems no other limitation of their
numbers. The Eskimos are too few, and too badly provided with weapons,
to slaughter them very extensively. Wherever seals abound, so do bears;
in Barrow Strait and in the Queen’s Channel they have been seen in
very numerous troops. The Danes assert that they are plentiful about
the northern settlement of Upernavik in Greenland, for nine months
in the year; and from the united testimony of the natives inhabiting
the north-eastern portion of Baffin Bay, and that of Dr. Kane, who
wintered in Smith Sound, it is evident that they are plentiful about
the _polynias_, or open pools, formed there by the action of the
tides.

In the summer months, when the bear is loaded with fat, it is easily
hunted down, for then it can neither move swiftly nor run long; but in
deep winter its voracity and its great strength render it a formidable
enemy to uncivilized and unarmed man. Usually it avoids coming into
contact with our British seamen, though instances are on record of
fiercely contested engagements, in which Bruin has with difficulty been
defeated.

It is folly, says Sherard Osborn, to talk of the Polar bear
hibernating: whatever bears may do on the American continent, there
is only one Arctic navigator who ever saw a bear’s nest! Bears were
seen at all points visited by our sailors in the course of M’Clure’s
expedition; at all times and in all temperatures; males or females,
and sometimes females with their cubs. In mid-winter, as well as in
midsummer, they evidently frequented spots where tides or currents
occasioned either water to constantly exist, or only allowed such a
thin coating of ice to form that the seal or walrus could easily break
through.

That the Polar bear does not willingly attack man, except when hotly
pursued or when suffering from extreme want, is asserted by several
good authorities, and confirmed by an experience which Dr. Hayes
relates. He was strolling one day along the shore, and observing with
much interest the effect of the recent spring-tides upon the ice-foot,
when, rounding a point of land, he suddenly found himself confronted in
the full moonlight by an enormous bear. It had just sprung down from
the land-ice, and met Dr. Hayes at full trot, so that they caught sight
of each other, man and brute, at the same moment. Being without a
rifle or other means of defence, Dr. Hayes suddenly wheeled towards his
ship, with much the same reflections, probably, about discretion and
valour as occurred to old Jack Falstaff when the Douglas set upon him;
but discovering, after a few lengthy strides, that he was not “gobbled
up,” he looked back over his shoulder, when, to his gratification as
well as surprise, he saw the bear speeding towards the open water
with a celerity which left no doubt as to the state of its mind. It
would be difficult to determine which, on this occasion, was the more
frightened, the bear or Dr. Hayes!

* * * * *

A curious illustration of the combined voracity and epicureanism of
Bruin is recorded by Dr. Kane. A _cache_, or depôt of provisions,
which had been constructed by one of his exploring parties with great
care, and was intended to supply them with stores on their return
journey, they found completely destroyed. It had been built, with
every possible precaution, of rocks brought together by heavy labour,
and adjusted in the most skilful manner. So far as the means of the
builders permitted, the entire construction was most effective and
resisting. Yet these “tigers of the ice” seemed to have scarcely
encountered an obstacle. Not a morsel of pemmican (preserved meat)
remained, except in the iron cases, which, being round, with conical
ends, defied both claw and teeth. These they had rolled and pawed in
every direction,--tossing them about like footballs, although upwards
of eighty pounds in weight. An alcohol-case, strongly iron-bound, was
dashed into small fragments; and a tin can of liquor twisted almost
into a ball. The bears’ strong claws had perforated the metal, and torn
it up as with a chisel.

[Illustration: BEARS DESTROYING A CACHE.]

But the burglars were too dainty for salt meats. For ground coffee
they had evidently a relish; old canvas was also a favourite,--_de
gustibus non est disputandum_; even the flag which had been reared
“to take possession” of the icy wilderness, was gnawed down to the very
staff. It seemed that the bears had enjoyed a regular frolic; rolling
the bread-barrels over the ice-foot and into the broken outside ice;
and finding themselves unable to masticate the heavy India-rubber
cloth, they had amused themselves by tying it up in unimaginable hard
knots.

* * * * *

The she-bear displays a strong affection for her young, which she will
not desert even in the extremity of peril. The explorer already quoted
furnishes an interesting narrative of a pursuit of mother and cub, in
which the former’s maternal qualities were touchingly exhibited.

On the appearance of the hunting party and their dogs, the bear fled;
but the little one being unable either to keep ahead of the dogs or
to maintain the same rate of speed as its mother, the latter turned
back, and, putting her head under its haunches, threw it some distance
forward. The cub being thus safe for the moment, she would wheel round
and face the dogs, so as to give it a chance to run away; but it always
stopped where it had alighted, until its mother came up, and gave
it another forward impulse; it seemed to expect her aid, and would not
go forward without it. Sometimes the mother would run a few yards in
advance, as if to coax her cub up to her, and when the dogs approached
she would turn fiercely upon them, and drive them back. Then, as they
dodged her blows, she would rejoin the cub, and push it on,--sometimes
putting her head under it, sometimes seizing it in her mouth by the
nape of its neck.

[Illustration: FIGHT WITH A WHITE BEAR.]

For some time she conducted her retreat with equal skill and celerity,
leaving the two hunters far in the rear. They had sighted her on the
land-ice; but she led the dogs in-shore, up a small stony valley which
penetrated into the interior. After going a mile and a half, however,
her pace slackened, and, the little one being spent, she soon came to a
halt, evidently determined not to desert it.

At this moment the men were only half a mile behind; and, running at
full speed, they soon reached the spot where the dogs were holding her
at bay. The fight then grew desperate. The mother never moved more than
two yards ahead, constantly and affectionately looking at her cub.
When the dogs drew near, she sat upon her haunches, and taking the
little one between her hind legs, she fought her assailants with her
paws, roaring so loudly that she could have been heard a mile off. She
would stretch her neck and snap desperately at the nearest dog with her
shining teeth, whirling her paws like the sails of a windmill. If she
missed her aim, not daring to pursue one dog lest the others should
pounce upon her cub, she uttered a deep howl of baffled rage, and on
she went, pawing and snapping, and facing the ring, grinning at them
with wide-opened jaws.

When the hunters came up, the little one apparently had recovered its
strength a little, for it was able to turn round with its dam, however
quickly she moved, so as always to keep in front of her belly. Meantime
the dogs were actively jumping about the she-bear, tormenting her like
so many gadflies; indeed, it was difficult to fire at her without
running the risk of killing the dogs. But Hans, one of the hunters,
resting on his elbow, took a quiet, steady aim, and shot her through
the head. She dropped at once, and rolled over dead, without moving a
muscle.

Immediately the dogs sprang towards her; but the cub jumped upon her
body and reared up, for the first time growling hoarsely. They seemed
quite afraid of the little creature, she fought so actively, and made
so much noise; and, while tearing mouthfuls of hair from the dead
mother, they would spring aside the minute the cub turned towards them.
The men drove the dogs off for a time, but were compelled to shoot the
cub at last, as she would not quit the body.

* * * * *

A still more stirring episode is recorded by Dr. Kane, which will fitly
conclude our account of the Polar bear.

“_Nannook! nannook!_” (A bear! a bear!) With this welcome shout,
Hans and Morton, two of his attendants, roused Dr. Kane one fine
Saturday morning.

To the scandal of his domestic regulations, the guns were all
impracticable. While the men were loading and capping anew, Dr. Kane
seized his pillow-companion six-shooter, and ran on deck, to discover
a medium-sized bear, with a four-months’ cub, in active warfare with
the dogs. They were hanging on her skirts, and she, with remarkable
alertness, was picking out one victim after another, snatching him by
the nape of the neck, and flinging him many feet, or rather yards, by a
scarcely perceptible movement of her head.

Tudea, the best dog, was already _hors de combat_; he had been
tossed twice. Jenny, another of the pack, made an extraordinary
somerset of nearly fifty feet, and alighted senseless. Old Whitey, a
veteran combatant, stanch, but not “bear-wise,” had been foremost in
the battle; soon he lay yelping, helplessly, on the snow.

It seemed as if the battle were at an end; and _nannook_ certainly
thought so, for she turned aside to the beef-barrels, and began with
the utmost composure to turn them over, and nose out their fatness. A
bear more innocent of fear does not figure in the old, old stories of
Barents and the Spitzbergen explorers.

Dr. Kane now lodged a pistol-ball in the side of the cub. At once the
mother placed her little one between her hind legs, and, shoving it
along, made her way to the rear of the store or “beef-house.” As she
went she received a rifle-shot, but scarcely seemed to notice it. By
the unaided efforts of her fore arms she tore down the barrels of
frozen beef which made the triple walls of the store-house, mounted the
rubbish, and snatching up a half barrel of herrings, carried it down in
her teeth, and prepared to slip away. It was obviously time to arrest
her movements. Going up within half pistol-range, Dr. Kane gave her six
buck-shot. She dropped, but instantly rose, and getting her cub into
its former position, away she sped!

And this time she would undoubtedly have effected her escape, but for
the admirable tactics of Dr. Kane’s canine Eskimo allies. The Smith
Sound dogs, he says, are educated more thoroughly than any of their
more southern brethren. Next to the seal and the walrus, the bear
supplies the staple diet of the tribes of the North, and, except the
fox, furnishes the most important element of their wardrobe. Unlike the
dogs Dr. Kane had brought with him from Baffin Bay, the Smith Sound
dogs were trained, not to attack, but to embarrass. They revolved in
circles round the perplexed bear, and when pursued would keep ahead
with regulated gait, their comrades accomplishing a diversion at the
critical moment by a nip at the _nannook’s_ hind-quarters. This
was done in the most systematic manner possible, and with a truly
wonderful composure. “I have seen bear-dogs elsewhere,” says Dr. Kane,
“that had been drilled to relieve each other in the _mêlée_,
and avoid the direct assault; but here, two dogs, without even a
demonstration of attack, would put themselves before the path of the
animal, and retreating right and left, lead him into a profitless
pursuit that checked his advance completely.”

The unfortunate animal was still fighting, and still retreating,
embarrassed by the dogs, yet affectionately carrying along her wounded
cub, and though wounded, bleeding, and fatigued, gaining ground upon
her pursuers, when Hans and Dr. Kane secured the victory, such as it
was, for their own side, by delivering a couple of rifle-balls. She
staggered in front of her young one, confronted her assailants in
death-like defiance, and did not sink until pierced by six more bullets.

When her body was skinned, no fewer than nine balls were discovered.
She proved to be of medium size, very lean, and without a particle of
food in her stomach. Hunger, probably, had stimulated her courage to
desperation. The net weight of the cleansed carcass was 300 pounds;
that of the entire animal, 650 pounds; her length, only 7 feet 8 inches.

It is said that bears in this lean condition are more palatable and
wholesome than when fat; and that the impregnation of fatty oil
through the cellular tissues makes a well-fed bear nearly uneatable.
The flesh of a famished beast, though less nutritious as body-fuel
or as a stimulating diet, is rather sweet and tender than otherwise.
_Moral_: starve your bear before you eat him!

The little cub was larger than the qualifying adjective would imply.
She was taller than a dog, and her weight 114 lbs. She sprang upon
the corpse of her slaughtered mother, and rent the air with woful
lamentations. All efforts to noose her she repelled with singular
ferocity; but at last, being completely muzzled with a line fastened
by a running knot between her jaws and the back of her head, she was
dragged off to the brig amid the uproar of the dogs.

Dr. Kane asserts that during this fight, and the compulsory somersets
which it involved, not a dog suffered seriously. He expected, from
his knowledge of the hugging propensity of the plantigrades, that the
animal would rear, or it she did not rear, would at least use her
fore arms; but she invariably seized the dogs with her teeth, and
after disposing of them for a time, refrained from following up her
advantage,--probably because she had her cub to take care of. The
Eskimos state that this is the habit of the hunted bear. One of the
Smith Sound dogs made no exertion whatever when he was seized, but
allowed himself to be flung, with all his muscles relaxed, a really
fearful distance; the next instant he rose and renewed the attack.
According to the Eskimos, the dogs soon learn this “possum-playing”
habit.

It would seem that the higher the latitude, the more ferocious the
bear, or that he increases in ferocity as he recedes from the usual
hunting-fields.

At Oominak, one winter day, an Eskimo and his son were nearly killed by
a bear that had housed himself in an iceberg. They attacked him with
the lance, but he boldly turned on them, and handled them severely
before they could make their escape.

The continued hostility of man, however, has had, in Dr. Kane’s
opinion, a modifying influence upon the ursine character in South
Greenland; at all events, the bears of that region never attack, and
even in self-defence seldom inflict injury upon, the hunters. Many
instances have occurred where they have defended themselves, and even
charged after having been wounded, but in none of them was life lost.

A stout Eskimo, an assistant to a Danish cooper of Upernavik, fired at
a she-bear, and the animal closed at the instant of receiving the ball.
The man had the presence of mind to fling himself prone on the ground,
extending his arm to protect his head, and afterwards lying perfectly
motionless. The beast was deceived. She gave the arm a bite or two, but
finding her enemy did not stir, she retired a few paces, and sat upon
her haunches to watch. But her watch was not as wary as it should have
been, for the hunter dexterously reloaded his rifle, and slew her with
the second shot.

* * * * *

It has been pointed out that in approaching the bear the hunters should
take advantage of the cover afforded by the inequalities of the frozen
surface, such as its ridges and hillocks. These vary in height, from
ten feet to a hundred, and frequently are packed so closely together
as to leave scarcely a yard of level surface. It is in such a region
that the Polar bear exhibits his utmost speed, and in such a region his
pursuit is attended with no slight difficulty.

* * * * *

And after the day’s labour comes the night’s rest; but what a night! We
know what night is in these temperate climes, or in the genial southern
lands; a night of stars, with a deep blue sky overspreading the happy
earth like a dome of sapphire: a night of brightness and serene glory,
when the moon is high in the heaven, and its soft radiance seems to
touch tree and stream, hill and vale, with a tint of silver; a night of
storm, when the clouds hang low and heavily, and the rain descends, and
a wailing rushing wind loses itself in the recesses of the shuddering
woods; we know what night is, in these temperate regions, under all
its various aspects,--now mild and beautiful, now gloomy and sad, now
grand and tempestuous; the long dark night of winter with its frosty
airs, and its drooping shadows thrown back by the dead surface of the
snow; the brief bright night of summer, which forms so short a pause
between the evening of one day and the morning of another, that it
seems intended only to afford the busy earth a breathing-time;--but we
can form no idea of what an _Arctic Night_ is, in all its mystery,
magnificence, and wonder. Strange stars light up the heavens; the forms
of earth are strange; all is unfamiliar, and almost unintelligible.

[Illustration: STALKING A BEAR.]

It is not that the Arctic night makes a heavy demand on our physical
faculties. Against its rigour man is able to defend himself; but it is
less easy to provide against its strain on the moral and intellectual
faculties. The darkness which clothes Nature for so long a period
reveals to the senses of the European explorer what is virtually a
new world, and the senses do not well adapt themselves to that world.
The cheering influences of the rising sun, which invite to labour;
the soothing influences of the evening twilight, which beguile to
rest; that quick change from day to night, and night to day, which
so lightens the burden of existence in our temperate clime to mind
and soul and body, kindling the hope and renewing the courage,--all
these are wanting in the Polar world, and man suffers and languishes
accordingly. The grandeur of Nature, says Dr. Hayes, ceases to give
delight to the dulled sympathies, and the heart longs continually
for new associations, new hopes, new objects, new sources of interest
and pleasure. The solitude is so dark and drear as to oppress the
understanding; the imagination is haunted by the desolation which
everywhere prevails; and the silence is so absolute as to become a
terror.

The lover of Nature will, of course, find much that is attractive in
the Arctic night; in the mysterious coruscations of the aurora, in
the flow of the moonlight over the hills and icebergs, in the keen
clearness of the starlight, in the sublimity of the mountains and the
glaciers, in the awful wildness of the storms; but it must be owned
that they speak a language which is rough, rugged, and severe.

All things seem built up on a colossal scale in the Arctic world.
Colossal are those dark and tempest-beaten cliffs which oppose their
grim rampart to the ceaseless roll and rush of the ice-clad waters.
Colossal are those mountain-peaks which raise their crests, white with
unnumbered winters, into the very heavens. Colossal are those huge
ice-rivers, those glaciers, which, born long ago in the depths of the
far-off valleys, have gradually moved their ponderous masses down to
the ocean’s brink. Colossal are those floating islands of ice, which,
outrivalling the puny architecture of man, his temples, palaces, and
pyramids, drift away into the wide waste of waters, as if abandoned
by the Hand that called them into existence. Colossal is that vast
sheet of frozen, frosty snow, shimmering with a crystalline lustre,
which covers the icy plains for countless leagues, and stretches away,
perhaps, to the very border of the sea that is supposed to encircle the
unattained Pole.

In Dr. Hayes’ account of his voyage of discovery towards the North
Pole occurs a fine passage descriptive of the various phases of the
Arctic night. “I have gone out often,” he says, “into its darkness,
and viewed Nature under different aspects. I have rejoiced with her
in her strength, and communed with her in her repose. I have seen the
wild burst of her anger, have watched her sportive play, and have
beheld her robed in silence. I have walked abroad in the darkness when
the winds were roaring through the hills and crashing over the plain.
I have strolled along the beach when the only sound that broke the
stillness was the dull creaking of the ice-floes, as they rose and fell
lazily with the tide. I have wandered far out upon the frozen sea, and
listened to the voice of the icebergs bewailing their imprisonment;
along the glacier, where forms and falls the avalanche; upon the
hill-top, where the drifting snow, coursing over the rocks, sung its
plaintive song; and again, I have wandered away to some distant valley
where all these sounds were hushed, and the air was still and solemn as
the tomb.”

Whoever has been overtaken by a winter night, when crossing some snowy
plain, or making his way over the hills and through the valleys, in the
deep drifts, and with the icicles pendent from the leafless boughs,
and the white mantle overspreading every object dimly discernible in
the darkness, will have felt the awe and mystery of the _silence_
that then and there prevails. Both the sky above and the earth beneath
reveal only an endless and unfathomable quiet. This, too, is the
peculiar characteristic of the Arctic night. Evidence there is none of
life or motion. No footfall of living thing breaks on the longing ear.
No cry of bird enlivens the scene; there is no tree, among the branches
of which the wind may sigh and moan. And hence it is that one who had
travelled much, and seen many dangers, and witnessed Nature in many
phases, was led to say that he had seen no expression on the face of
Nature so filled with terror as the silence of the Arctic night.

But by degrees the darkness grows less intense, and the coming of
the day is announced by the prevalence of a kind of twilight, which
increases more and more rapidly as winter passes into spring. There are
signs that Nature is awakening once more to life and motion. The foxes
come out upon the hill side, both blue and white, and gallop hither and
thither in search of food,--following in the track of the bear, to feed
on the refuse which the “tiger of the ice” throws aside. The walrus
and the seal come more frequently to land; and the latter begins to
assemble on the ice-floes, and select its breeding-places. At length,
early in February, broad daylight comes at noon, and then the weary
explorer rejoices to know that the end is near. Flocks of speckled
birds arrive, and shelter themselves under the lee of the shore;
chiefly _dove-kies_, as they are called in Southern Greenland--the
_Uria grylle_ of the naturalist. At last, on the 18th or 19th of
February, the sun once more makes its appearance above the southern
horizon, and is welcomed as one welcomes a friend who has been long
lost, and is found again. Upon the crests of the hills light clouds are
floating lazily, and through these the glorious orb is pouring a stream
of golden fire, and all the southern sky quivers, as it were, with
the shooting, shifting splendours of the coming day. Presently a soft
bright ray breaks through the vaporous haze, kindling it into a purple
sea, and touches the silvery summits of the lofty icebergs until they
seem like domes and pinnacles of flame. Nearer and nearer comes that
auspicious ray, and widens as it comes; and that purple sea enlarges
in every direction; and those domes and pinnacles of flame multiply
in quick succession as they feel the passage of the quickening light;
and the dark red cliffs are warmed with an indescribable glow; and a
mysterious change passes over the face of the ocean; and all Nature
acknowledges the presence of the sun!

“The parent of light and life everywhere,” says Dr. Hayes, “he is the
same within these solitudes. The germ awaits him here as in the Orient;
but there it rests only through the short hours of a summer night,
while here it reposes for months under a sheet of snows. But after a
while the bright sun will tear this sheet asunder, and will tumble it
in gushing fountains to the sea, and will kiss the cold earth, and give
it warmth and life; and the flowers will bud and bloom, and will turn
their tiny faces smilingly and gratefully up to him, as he wanders over
these ancient hills in the long summer. The very glaciers will weep
tears of joy at his coming. The ice will loose its iron grip upon the
waters, and will let the wild waves play in freedom. The reindeer will
skip gleefully over the mountains to welcome his return, and will look
longingly to him for the green pastures. The sea-fowls, knowing that
he will give them a resting-place for their feet on the rocky islands,
will come to seek the moss-beds which he spreads for their nests; and
the sparrows will come on his life-giving rays, and will sing their
love-songs through the endless day.”

With the sun return the Arctic birds, and before we quit the realm of
waters we propose to glance at a few of those which frequent the cliffs
and shores during the brief Polar summer.

Among the first-comers is the dove-kie or black guillemot (_Uria
grylle_), which migrates to the temperate climates on the approach
of winter, visiting Labrador, Norway, Scotland, and even descending as
far south as Yorkshire. In fact, we know of no better place where to
observe its habits than along the immense range of perpendicular cliffs
stretching from Flamborough Head to Filey Bay. Here, on the bare ledges
of this colossal ocean-wall, the guillemot lays its eggs, but without
the protection of a nest; some of them parallel with the edge of the
shelf, others nearly so, and others with their blunt and sharp ends
indiscriminately pointing to the sea. They are not affixed to the rock
by any glutinous matter, or any foreign substance whatever. You may see
as many as nine or ten, or sometimes twelve, old guillemots in a line,
so near to each other that their wings almost touch. The eggs vary
greatly in size and shape and colour. Some are large, others small;
some exceedingly sharp at one end, others rotund and globular. It is
said that, if undisturbed, the guillemot never lays more than one egg;
but if that be taken away, she will lay another, and so on. But Audubon
asserts that he has seen these birds sitting on as many as three eggs
at a time.

[Illustration: SEA-BIRDS IN THE POLAR REGIONS.]

The black guillemot differs from the foolish guillemot (_Uria
troile_) only in the colour of its plumage, which, with the
exception of a large white patch on the coverts of each wing, is
black, silky, and glossy; the feathers appearing to be all unwebbed,
like silky filaments or fine hair. The bill, in all the species, is
slender, strong, and pointed; the upper mandible bending slightly near
the end, and the base covered with soft short feathers. The food of the
guillemot consists of fish and other marine products.

The _Alcidæ_, or auks, are also included amongst the Arctic birds.
The little auk (_Arctica alca_) frequents the countries stretching
northwards from our latitudes to the regions of perpetual ice, and is
found in the Polar Regions both of the Old World and the New. Here,
indeed, they congregate in almost innumerable flocks. At early morn
they sally forth to get their breakfast, which consists of different
varieties of marine invertebrates, chiefly crustaceans, with which the
Arctic waters teem. Then they return to the shore in immense swarms.
It would be impossible, says an Arctic voyager, to convey an adequate
idea of the numbers of these birds which swarmed around him. The slope
on both sides of the valley in which he had pitched his camp rose at
an angle of about forty-five degrees to a distance of from 300 to 500
feet, where it met the cliffs, which stood about 700 feet higher. These
hill-sides are composed of the loose rocks detached from the cliffs by
the action of the frost. The birds crawl among these rocks, winding far
in through narrow places, and there deposit their eggs and hatch their
young, secure from their great enemy, the Arctic fox.

[Illustration: THE AUK.]

On one occasion, they were congregated along a slope, fully a mile in
length, and over this slope rushed a constant stream of birds, only a
few feet above the stones; and, after making in their rapid flight the
whole length of the hill, they returned higher in the air, performing
over and over again the complete circuit. Occasionally a few hundreds
or thousands of them would drop down, as if following some leader; and
in an instant the rocks, for a space of several rods, would swarm all
over with them, their black backs and pure white breasts speckling the
hill very prettily.

Though quantities are destroyed by the crews of vessels as well as
by the Eskimos, their numbers never seem to decrease. Their flesh is
both wholesome and delicate, and affords a welcome change of diet to
the mariner weary of salt meat and pemmican. They are very tame, and
easily captured,--in some places being actually caught in hand-nets,
like moths or butterflies; and they pass a great portion of their
time on the ocean, where they disport themselves with equal grace and
self-possession.

The starakis (_Phaleridinæ_) inhabit the archipelagoes which lie
between China and North America. They assemble in small flocks, and
swim about in quest of the crustaceans, molluscs, and other marine
animals on which they feed. At nightfall they return to land, where
they find shelter under the ledges of the rocks, or in burrows dug with
their bill and feet, The female lays a solitary egg.

The auks abound in the high northern latitudes. They are all
ocean-birds, and are never found, like the divers, in fresh-water
streams and lakes. Those species which possess the power of flight
nestle on the rocky cliffs and icebergs, where they lay a single egg,
of conical form; a shape which prevents it from rolling away, or
moving, except within a very narrow circle, on the bare rocky ledge
where it is deposited.

The puffins (_Fratercola_), which in winter abound on our own
shores, live chiefly on the water. They dive and swim with dexterity,
but, owing to the shortness of their wings, are capable only of
limited flight. Their plumage is thick, smooth, and dense, and so
completely throws off the water that it is quite impervious to wet;
while their deep, compressed, and pointed beak, resembling exactly a
double keel, is admirably adapted as an instrument for cutting the
waves when the bird wishes to dive.

The puffins live principally upon sprats and other small fishes; and
the food intended for their young they retain until partially digested,
when they disgorge it into their mouths. Like all the auks, the
mother-bird lays but one egg.

The appearance of an island or iceberg frequented by these birds is
very vividly sketched by Audubon, than whom no naturalist has ever more
completely attained a thorough acquaintance with the Bird-World.

[Illustration: PUFFINS.]

He tells us that on every crag or stone stood a puffin, at the entrance
of every hole another, and yet the sea was covered and the air filled
with them. The burrows were all inhabited by young birds, of different
ages and sizes; and clouds of puffins flew over us, each individual
holding a small fish by the head. The burrows all communicated with
each other in various ways, so that the whole island seemed to be
perforated by a multitude of subterranean labyrinths, over which it was
impossible to run without the risk of falling at almost every step. The
voices of the young sounded beneath the traveller’s foot like voices
from the grave, and the stench was exceedingly disagreeable.

Something must next be said of the mergansers (_Merginæ_), a
sub-family of the palmipeds, which also belong to the Polar world.
Their principal characters may thus be stated: a straight bill, much
compressed on the sides, and convex towards the tip, which is furnished
with a broad and much-hooked nail; the wings are moderate, and pointed;
the tail is short and rounded; the tarsi are short, and the toes
moderate, the outer being as long as the middle, the three anterior
ones united by a full web, while the hind toe is moderate, elevated,
and provided with a broad web on its margin.

From these characters it is easy to infer that the bird is aquatic in
its habits; that it can swim and dive well; that it is also capable of
strong, swift flight; and that its food will consist chiefly of fishes.

The dun diver or goosander (_Mergus merganser_) is widely
distributed throughout the Polar Regions both of the eastern and
western continents. During its southern migration, it visits the
United States, as well as France, Holland, and Germany; but on the
approach of summer it retires to Siberia and Kamtschatka, Iceland,
Greenland, and the Arctic shores of North America.

[Illustration: THE GOOSANDER].]

In these localities it constructs its nest--always near the edge of
the water; building it up of grass, roots, and similar materials,
with little regard to symmetry, and lining it with down. It is placed
sometimes among the mossy, weedy stones; and sometimes it is concealed
in the long grass, or under the cover of bushes, or in the stumps or
hollows of decayed trees. The female lays from twelve to fourteen eggs,
of a cream-yellow colour; their form is a long oval, both ends being
equally obtuse. The goosander may be said to spend its time in the air
and on the water; and, in truth, on the land it moves but laboriously
and awkwardly, owing to the backward position of its legs. It rises
with difficulty from the ground; but when once on the wing, its course
is swift, strong, and steady. As it lives mainly upon fish, its flesh
is oily and ill-flavoured; a circumstance which goes far to compensate
the sportsman for the frequent failure of his attempts to capture it.
It is a wild and wary bird, and as it swims with rapidity and dives
with ease, it generally effects its escape from all but the most
experienced hunters.

Another species which abounds in northern latitudes is the smew
(_Mergus albellus_), also known as the white nun or white
merganser. This palmiped is about the size of a widgeon; is of elegant
form; and its plumage beautifully coloured with black and white. Its
bill is of a dusky blue, nearly two inches long, thickest at the base,
and tapering into a slenderer and more narrow shape towards the point.
An oval black patch, glossed with green, marks each side of the head;
the under part of the crest is black; but all the rest of the head and
neck, as well as the graceful breast and the belly, are white as snow,
with the exception of a curved black line on each side of the upper
part of the breast, and similar marks on the lower part; the back, the
coverts on the ridge of the wings, and the primary quills are black;
the secondaries and greater coverts are white-tipped; while the sides
of the body, under the wings to the tail, exhibit a curious variegation
of dark wavy lines. The legs and feet are of a leaden blue.

The range of the smew is very extensive, for it migrates as far
southward as the Mediterranean, while it is found everywhere in the
Arctic Regions.

[Illustration: A BIRD “BAZAAR” IN NOVAIA ZEMLAIA.]

On the shores of Novaia Zemlaia, as on those of Spitzbergen, the
sea-birds arrive in countless hosts as soon as the summer sun has
removed the long and dreary spell under which Nature labours through
the winter months. The narrow rock-ledges on which they congregate,
and where auks and guillemots assemble in thousands, the Russians
call “a bazaar.” The large gray sea-mew (_Larus glaucus_),
the “burgomaster” of the Dutch whalers, prefers the lonely summits of
isolated cliffs, where it can reign the monarch of all it surveys.
The ivory gull (_Larus eburneus_) is seldom found in high
northern latitudes; but the common gull (_Larus canus_) and the
black-backed gull (_Larus marinus_) are almost as abundant as
guillemots.

[Illustration: THE BLACK-BACKED GULL.]

In Iceland one of the most useful, and certainly not the
least beautiful, of the birds is the eider-duck (_Somateria
mollissima_), which also frequents the shores of Baffin and Hudson
Bays, Lapland, Greenland, and Spitzbergen. It loves to breed on the
small flat islands which lie off the coast, such as Akeney, Flutry,
and Videy, where it is secure from the attacks of the Arctic fox. Its
breeding-places in Iceland are private property, and some of them
have been for centuries in the possession of the same families, which
owe to the birds all their wealth and prosperity. Hence they are very
vigilantly guarded. Whoever kills one is fined thirty dollars; and to
secrete an egg, or pocket a few downs, is an offence punishable by law.
The chief occupation of some of the proprietors is to examine through
their telescopes all the boats that approach, so as to be sure that
there are no guns on board.

[Illustration: THE EIDER-DUCK.]

As the birds on these islands are quite tame, the eider-down is easily
collected. The female having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs,
in a nest fashioned with marine plants, and thickly lined with down of
the most exquisite delicacy, the collectors carefully remove her, rob
the nest of its precious lining, and then replace the bird. Immediately
she begins to lay afresh, and again has recourse to the down on her
body to protect her eggs; and should her own stock be exhausted, as is
not unfrequently the case, she is furnished with an auxiliary supply
by the male. Even this second lining is often taken away, and the poor
bird a third time repeats the process, both as regards the eggs and
the down; but if the plunderers do not spare her now, she afterwards
abandons the nest, and seeks a home in some more sequestered nook.

As it comes to the European markets, this down, which is highly valued
on account of its lightness, elasticity, and warmth, occurs in balls
about the size of a man’s fist, and weighing from three to four pounds.
Such is its fineness and elastic quality, that when a ball is opened,
and cautiously laid near the fire to expand, it will completely fill a
quilt five feet square. It should be noted, however, that the down from
dead birds is of comparatively little value, having lost its elasticity.

An interesting account of a visit to Vigr in the Isafjardardjufs,
a favourite resort of the eider-duck in the north of Iceland, is
furnished by Mr. Shepherd:--

As he approached the island, he says, he could see flocks upon flocks
of the sacred birds, and could hear their cooings at a great distance.
Landing on a rocky wave-worn shore, against which the waters scarcely
rippled, he set off to survey the island. The shore he describes as
“the most wonderful ornithological sight imaginable.” The ducks and
their nests were everywhere. Great brown ducks started up under his
feet at every step; and it was with difficulty that he avoided treading
on some of the nests. As the island is but three-quarters of a mile
across, the opposite shore is soon reached. On the coast was a wall
built up of large stones, just above the high-water mark, about three
feet high, and of considerable thickness. At the bottom, on both sides
of it, alternate stones had been left out, forming a series of square
compartments in which the ducks might make their nests. Almost every
compartment was occupied; and as the human intruder walked along the
shore, a long line of startled ducks flew out one after the other. The
surface of the water also was white with ducks, who welcomed their
“brown wives” with loud and clamorous cooing.

Mr. Shepherd, on arriving at the farm-house, was received in the most
hospitable manner, hospitality being one of the special virtues of the
Icelander. He was much impressed by the appearance of the house, which
seemed to be converted into one large _duckery_. The earthen wall
surrounding it, and the window-embrasures, were filled with ducks; on
the ground, encircling the house, was a ring of ducks; on the sloping
roof were seated ducks; and a duck was perched on the door-scraper!

A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a
chess-board (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed,
and a hollow excavated), and all these squares were occupied by ducks.
A windmill was infested with them, and so were all the out houses,
mounds, rocks, and crevices. In fact, the ducks were everywhere. Many
of them were so tame as to allow the stranger to stroke them on their
nests; and their mistress said there was scarcely a duck on the island
which would not allow her to take its eggs without flight or fear. When
she first became possessor of the island, the produce of down from the
ducks did not exceed fifteen pounds weight in the year, but under her
careful nurture it had risen, in twenty years, to nearly one hundred
pounds annually. About a pound and a half are required to make a
coverlet for a single bed; and the down is worth from twelve to fifteen
shillings per pound. Most of the eggs are taken and pickled for winter
consumption, one or two only being left to hatch.

Eider-ducks congregate in numerous flocks, generally in deep water;
they dive with wonderful force, and thus are enabled to capture the
shell-fish which form their principal food. If a storm threatens, they
retire to the rocky shores where they love to breed and rest. The
Greenlanders kill them with darts, pursuing them in their little boats,
watching their course by the air-bubbles that come floating upward when
they dive, and dexterously aiming at them as soon as they rise to the
surface wearied. Their flesh is eaten by the Greenlanders, but it is
not well-flavoured; their eggs, however, are held in high esteem.

The king eider (_Somateria spectabilis_) belongs to the same genus
as the former.

We suppose that every reader is acquainted with the beautiful lines in
which Tennyson has embodied the fable of the dying swan singing its own
dirge:--

“With an inner voice the river ran,
Adown it floated a dying swan,
And loudly did lament....
The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow: at first, to the ear
The warble was low, and full, and clear;...
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold,
Flowed forth on a carol free and bold....
And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,
And the willow-branches hoar and dank,
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng
The desolate creeks and pools among,
Were flooded over with eddying song.”

But the wild swan’s voice, even in its death-hour, has no such
musical sweetness as the poet here sets forth. It is always harsh
and dissonant, and when it breaks on the silence of the Arctic skies
carries with it an almost painful impression.

[Illustration: THE HAUNT OF THE WILD SWAN.]

The lakes of Iceland, and its streams, abound with these beautiful
birds. They are very numerous on the Myvatn, or Great Lake, as well
as the wild duck, the scoter, the common goosander, the red-breasted
merganser, the scaup duck, and other anserines. The wild swan is shot
or caught for its feathers, which are highly prized for ornamental
purposes. It is sometimes found in large flocks, sometimes in single
pairs; and besides the lakes and streams, it frequents the salt and
brackish waters along the coast. It is chiefly at the pairing season,
or at the approach of winter, that it assembles in multitudes; and as
the winter advances it mounts high in air, and shapes its course in
search of milder climates.

The female builds her nest of the withered leaves and stalks of reeds
and rushes, in lonely and sequestered places. She usually lays six or
seven thick-shelled eggs, which are hatched in about six weeks, when
both parents assiduously guard and feed the cygnets. When full-grown,
this fine bird measures nearly five feet in length, and above seven in
breadth across its extended wings; it weighs about fifteen pounds. The
entire plumage is of a pure white, and next to the skin lies a coat of
thick fine down.

The wealth of the Arctic and sub-Arctic seas is apparently
inexhaustible. In many parts cod are plentiful, and supply the
Greenlanders with a valuable article of food. The capelin (_Mullotus
vitlosus_), which in May and June frequents the Greenland waters,
is eaten both fresh and dried; in the latter case forming a useful
winter provision. The halibut is found of a large size; and ocean
also contributes the Norway haddock, the salmon-trout, the lump-fish,
and the bull-head. Nor are the crustacea unrepresented: long-tailed
crabs being abundant, while the common mussel may be gathered almost
everywhere at ebb-tide. The seas, however, grow poorer as we advance
towards the Pole, and many important species of fish do not penetrate
further north than the Arctic Circle.

Yet even where these are wanting, the ocean-waters teem with life;
and a recent writer is fully justified in remarking that the vast
multitudes of animated beings which people them form a remarkable
contrast to the nakedness of their bleak and desolate shores. The
colder surface-waters are, as he says, almost perpetually exposed to
a cold atmosphere, and being frequently covered, even in summer, with
floating ice, they are not favourable to the development of organic
life; but this adverse influence is modified by the higher temperature
which constantly prevails at a greater depth. Contrary to the rule
in the Equatorial seas, we find in the Polar-ocean an increase of
temperature from the surface downwards, in consequence of the warmer
under-currents, flowing from the south northwards, and passing beneath
the cold waters of the superficial Arctic current.

Hence the awful rigour of the Arctic winter, which strikes the earth
with a death-blight, is not perceptible in the ocean-depths, where
myriads of organisms find a secure retreat from the frost, and whence
they emerge during the long summer’s day, either to haunt the shores
or ascend the broad rivers of the Polar world. Between the parallels
of 74° and 80°, Dr. Scoresby observed that the colour of the Greenland
sea varies from the purest ultramarine to olive-green, and from
crystalline transparency to striking opacity; and these appearances are
not transitory, but permanent.[8] The aspect of this green semi-opaque
water, which varies in its locality with the currents,--often forming
isolated stripes, and sometimes spreading over two or three degrees of
latitude,--is mainly due to small medusæ and nudibranchiate molluscs.
Many thousands of square miles must literally run riot with life, since
the coloured waters we speak of are calculated to form one-fourth of
the sea between the 74th and 80th parallels.

On the Greenland coast, where the transparency of the waters is so
great that the bottom and every object upon it are clearly discernible,
even at a depth of eighty fathoms, the ocean-bed is covered with
gigantic tangles, so as to remind the spectator of the ocean-gardens
of the Tropical Zone. Alcyonians, sertularians, ascidians, nullipores,
mussels, and a variety of other sessile animals incrust every stone, or
congregate in every fissure and hollow of the rocky ground. A dead seal
or fish flung into the sea is soon converted into a skeleton, it is
said, by the myriads of small crustaceans which infest these northern
waters, and, like the ants in the equatorial forests, perform the part
of scavengers of the deep.

It is evident, from the observations of Professor Forbes, that
_depth_ has a very considerable influence in the distribution of
marine life. From the surface to the depth of 1380 feet eight distinct
zones or regions have been mapped out in the sea, each of which has
its own vegetation and inhabitants; and the number of these regions
must now he increased, after the astonishing results of the deep-sea
soundings of Dr. Carpenter and Professor Wyville Thomson. The changes
in the different zones are not abrupt: some of the creatures of an
under region always appear before those of the region above it vanish;
and though there are a few species the same in some of the eight zones,
only two are common to all. It is to be observed that those near the
surface have forms and colours analogous to the inhabitants of southern
latitudes, while those at a greater depth are analogous to the animals
of northern waters. Hence, in the sea, _depth_ corresponds
with latitude, as _height_ does on land. Mrs. Somerville adds,
in language of much terseness, that the extent of the geographical
distribution of any species is proportioned to the depth at which it
lives. Consequently, those which live near the surface are less widely
dispersed than those inhabiting deep water.

The larger and more active inhabitants of the seas obey the same laws
with the rest of creation, though their provinces, or regions, are in
some instances very extensive. Above the 44th parallel the Atlantic
species frequently correspond with those of the Pacific. The salmon
of America is identical with that of the British Isles, and the
coasts of Sweden and Norway; the same is true of the _Gadidæ_,
or cod. The _Cottas_, or bull-head tribe, are also the same
on both sides of the Atlantic; increasing in numbers and specific
differences on approaching the Arctic seas. The same law holds good in
the North Pacific, but the _generic_ forms differ from those in
the Atlantic. From the propinquity of the coasts of America and Asia
at Behring Strait, the fish on both sides are nearly alike, down to
Admiralty Inlet on the one side, and the Sea of Okhotsk on the other.

CHAPTER IV.

THE GLACIERS.

As introductory to a description of the Arctic Glaciers, a few words on
the formation of snow seem necessary. Briefly, it may be said that snow
is the result of the crystallization of water.

The molecules and atoms of all substances, when not constrained by some
external power, build themselves up into crystals. This is true of the
metals and minerals, if, after having been melted, they are allowed
to cool gradually. Bismuth develops the process in a very impressive
manner, and when properly fused and solidified exhibits large-sized
crystals of singular beauty.

In like manner, sugar dissolved in water produces, after evaporation
has taken place, crystals of sugar-candy. The ready crystallization
of alum is known to every school-boy who has dabbled in “chemical
experiments.” Chalk dissolved and crystallized becomes Iceland spar,
and assumes a variety of fanciful and graceful shapes. The diamond is
crystallized carbon; and the crystallizing power is inherent in all our
precious stones,--sapphire, topaz, emerald, beryl, amethyst, ruby.

In the process of crystallization, it is found that the minutest
particle of matter is possessed of an attractive and a repellent pole,
and that by their natural action the form and structure of the crystal
are determined.

The attracting poles, in the solid condition of any given substance,
are firmly interlocked; but dissolve the cohesion by the application of
sufficient heat, and the poles will recede so far as to be practically
beyond each other’s range. And thus the natural tendency of the
molecules to build themselves together is neutralized.

Water, for example, as a liquid is, to all appearance, without form;
but when sufficiently cooled, its molecules are brought under the
influence of the crystallizing force, and then arrange themselves in
the most varied and beautiful shapes. When snow falls in calm air,
the icy particles present themselves in the form of six-rayed stars.
From this type there is no departure, though the appearance of the
snow-stars in other respects is infinitely varied.

It is worth pausing, as Professor Tyndall remarks, to think what
wonderful work is going on in the atmosphere during the formation and
descent of every snow-shower: what “building power” is brought into
play! and how imperfect seem the productions of human minds and hands
when compared with those produced by the forces of Nature!

We have spoken of attracting and repelling poles; but a few words of
explanation seem desirable. Every magnet possesses two such poles;
and if iron filings be scattered over a magnet, each particle becomes
also endowed with two poles. Now suppose that similar particles, devoid
of weight, and floating in the atmosphere, come together, what will
happen? Obviously, the repellent poles will retreat from each other,
while the attractive will approach, and ultimately interlock. Further:
if the particles, instead of a single pair, possess several pairs of
poles arranged at definite points over their surfaces, you can then
picture them, in obedience to their mutual attractions and repulsions,
building themselves together in masses of definite shape and structure.

[Illustration: VARIOUS FORMS OF SNOW-CRYSTALS.]

You have, then, only to imagine the aqueous particles in cold calm
air to be gifted with poles of this description, compelling the said
particles to assume certain definite aggregates, and you have before
your mind’s eye the invisible architecture which creates the visible
and beautiful crystals of the snow.

The important part played by this crystallizing force in ice as well
as snow, will be understood from the following remarks by Professor
Tyndall, who may justly be described as the most eminent living
authority on the subject:--

At any temperature below 32° F.,--that is, freezing-point,--the
movement of heat is sufficient to loosen the molecules of water from
their rigid bonds of cohesion. But at 32° the movement is so diminished
that the atoms lock themselves together, and unite in a solid. This
act of union, however, is controlled by well-known laws. To the
unintelligent eye a block of ice seems neither more interesting nor
more beautiful than a sheet of glass; but to the instructed mind the
ice is to the glass what an oratorio of Handel is to the scream of a
ballad-singer. Ice is music, glass is noise; ice represents order,
glass confusion. In the latter, the molecular forces have brought about
an inextricable intertangled network; in the former, they have woven
a rich and regular embroidery, the designs of which are infinitely
beautiful.

Let us suppose ourselves examining a block of ice. In what way shall
we get at its structure? A sunbeam, or if that be wanting, a ray of
electric light is the anatomist to which we must confide the work of
dissection. We direct this ray straight from our lamp across the plate
of transparent ice.

It shivers into pieces the icy edifice, exactly reversing the order of
its architecture.

The crystallizing force, for example, had silently and systematically
built up atom after atom; the electric ray dislocates them (so to
speak) just as silently and systematically.

We elevate the ice-block in front of the lamp, so that the light may
now pass through its substance. Compare the ray as it enters with
the ray as it makes its exit; to the eye there is no perceptible
difference, and its intensity seems scarcely diminished. But not so
with its heat. As a thermic agent, the ray was more powerful before
its entrance than it was after its emergence. A portion of its heat is
arrested, is detained in the ice, and of this portion we now proceed to
avail ourselves. What will it effect?

We place a lens in front of the ice upon the screen. Now, observe this
image (see Illustration), the beauty of which is still very far from
the real effect. Here is one star; yonder is another; and in proportion
as the action continues, the ice appears to resolve itself more and
more into stars, all of six rays, like snow-crystals, and resembling
a beautiful flower. By moving the lens in and out, we bring new stars
into sight; and while the action continues, the edge of the petals is
covered with indentations like those of the leaf of a fern. Probably,
few of our readers have any conception of the magical beauties
concealed in a block of ice! Let them remember that prodigal Nature
works in this way throughout the whole world. Every atom of the solid
crust which covers the frozen waters of the North, has been wrought
out in obedience to the law we have enunciated. Nature is always and
everywhere harmonious; and it is the mission of Science to awaken us to
an appreciation of its concords.

[Illustration: EXHIBITION OF ICE-FLOWERS BY PROJECTION.]

[Illustration: ICE-FLOWERS.]

There is another point of our experiment to which the reader’s
attention must be directed. He sees the flowers illuminated by the
ray which traverses them. But if he examines them, while turning upon
them a ray which they will reflect and send back to his own eye, he
will see in the centre of each a spot with the brightness of burnished
silver. He will be tempted to think that this spot is a bubble of
air; but, by immersing the ice in hot water, you can melt the ice all
around the spot,--and when it alone remains, you will see it diminish
and disappear without any trace of air. The spot is a vacuum. Such is
the faithfulness to herself with which Nature operates; thus, in all
her operations, does she submit to her own laws. We know that ice, in
melting, contracts; and here we arrest the contraction, as it were, in
the very act. The water of the flowers cannot fill the space occupied
by the ice which by its fusion has given birth to them; hence the
production of a vacuum, the inseparable companion of each liquid flower.

The fragment of compact ice whose elements assume such beautiful
crystalline forms is itself a crystal. This was shown by Sir David
Brewster, who employed for the purpose of analysis that modified
form of light which we call _polarised light_. It is singularly
well adapted to bring out the peculiarities of the main structure
of substances, owing to the coloured figures which it outlines on a
screen after passing through them. All crystals with an axis--such, for
instance, as Iceland spar--yield a series of brilliantly-tinted rings,
traversed by a regularly-formed cross entirely black. As ice produces
the same figures, we are justified in attributing to it the same kind
of crystallization. We must note, however, that we are referring now
to the thick ice formed on our canals and lakes. If we examined the
first film formed on the surface of the water, we should discover in
it a completely irregular crystallization, the ray of polarised light
producing only a mosaic of varied tints, distributed without any order.
But it is easy to explain the way in which this primary crust or film
is produced. Those portions of the fluid mass in contact with the air
are the first to freeze, but each molecule of ice abandons its heat to
the contiguous water, which thereby is slightly raised in temperature,
and the result is a partial congelation. The surface we are examining
then presents a network of fine needles intercrossed in every
direction, and forming a kind of delicate lace, the meshes or intervals
of which are gradually filled up. When the network is transformed into
a continuous sheet, the loss of heat is diminished more and more as
this external crust grows thicker and thicker; but the development of
the ice invariably takes place by means of long interlaced needles,
as the reader may see for himself by breaking off a portion from the
nearest pond (in winter), and examining the sectional surface.

Having said thus much in reference to the crystallization of ice and
snow, we proceed to explain the _regelation_ and _moulding of
ice_. Some years ago, Faraday astonished the scientific world by
a very curious experiment. Splitting into two parts a piece of ice,
he brought together the parts at the moment that fusion took place on
their surfaces, and they united immediately. How are we to account for
this effect, which can be produced even in hot water?

When the temperature of water rises, the surface molecules first
become liquid, then gaseous; being placed beyond the coercitive action
of the surrounding particles, they are easily set free; transported,
on the contrary, into the centre of the mass, they are brought
absolutely under the influence of this action, which induces a new
solidification,--or, to use the scientific term, a _regelation_.
In this way it becomes easy to understand how very various forms can be
communicated by simple pressure to a fragment of ice. If the observer
successively places a straight bar in moulds of increasing curvature,
he may easily compel it to assume the shape of a ring or even of a
knot. In each mould, it is true, the ice breaks; but if the pressure is
kept up, the surfaces of the fragments are brought into contact, and
adhere so as to re-establish a condition of continuity. A snowball may
thus be converted into a sphere of ice, and the sphere, by constant
pressure, into a cup or a statue.

Professor Tyndall refers to a remarkable instance of regelation which
he observed one day in early spring. A layer of snow, not quite two
inches thick, had fallen on the glass roof of a small conservatory, and
the internal air, warming the panes, had melted the snow so far as it
was in immediate contact with them. The entire layer had slipped down
the pane, and projected beyond the edge of the roof, without falling,
and had bent and curved as required, just like a flexible body.

[Illustration: MOULDING ICE.]

The snow-fields which overspread the upper part of every glacier,
whether in the Arctic Regions or elsewhere, are composed of
crystallized snow, whose fragile, delicate, and fairy-like architecture
endures so long as it remains dry, but undergoes a great transformation
when the sun, melting the upper stratum, allows the water to
interpenetrate its substance. The fluid, congealing anew during the
night, transforms the snow into the condition technically known as
_névé_; a term given by the Swiss physicists to a granular mass
composed of small rounded icicles, disaggregated, but more adhesive
than snow-flakes, and of a density intermediate between that of snow
and that of ice. Under the pressure of new layers, and as a result of
infiltrations of water, the _névé_ unites, and solders into ice of
constantly increasing compactness.

But glacier-ice presents some other curious peculiarities. Every
abundant snow-fall on the summit of the mountains forms a layer easily
distinguishable from preceding layers--which, in most cases, have
already passed into the _névé_ condition. This stratification
becomes more apparent when the whiteness of the surface has been
sullied by dirt or dust wafted on “the wings of the wind.” It is
perceptible also in ice; but here we must not confound it with another
phenomenon of which the cause is different, the _veined structure_.

In places where glaciers have been accidentally cut down in an almost
vertical direction, the section is found to exhibit a series of
parallel veins, formed by a beautiful and very transparent azure ice
in the midst of the general mass, which is of a whitish colour, and
slightly opaque.

In different glaciers, and in different parts of the same glacier,
these blue veins will vary in number and intensity of colouring. They
are specially beautiful in crevasses of recent formation, and on the
sides of channels excavated in the ice by tiny rills resulting from
superficial fusion. Not a few glaciers exhibit this remarkable veined
structure throughout their entire extent. When a vertical cutting
exposes the delicate azure network to atmospheric influences, the
softer ice melts prior to the fusion of the blue ice which then remains
in their detached leaflets. On examining these attentively, we cannot
fail to remark the absence, or, at all events, the extreme rarity, of
air-bubbles, though they are so plentiful in the coarser ice.

Professor Tyndall’s explanation of this phenomenon is as interesting as
it is ingenious. While on a visit of inspection to the slate-quarries
of Wales, he had occasion to study the _cleavage_ of the rocks
which compose them; in other words, their faculty of dividing
naturally, a property inherent in all crystals. The schistous slate
separates easily into sheets, and in traversing different quarries one
sees that all the planes of cleavage are parallel in each. From this
circumstance our men of science were at first induced to look upon
slates as the products of the stratification of different deposits.
Such an explanation, however, could not be accepted by Tyndall, when
he observed that the minute fossils embedded in them were constantly
misshapen and flattened in the direction of the plane of cleavage,
because the great modification they had undergone could not have taken
place in superimposed strata at the bottom of the primeval sea. He
concluded that these schists, therefore, must have been subjected to a
considerable pressure; and further, that this pressure must have been
exercised at right angles with the plane of separation of the different
layers.

A long series of experiments proved that many bodies, when forcibly
compressed, exhibit in their structure a very distinctly marked
lamination, and frequently veins of very great beauty.

He carefully examined iron which had passed under the steam-hammer, or
through the rolling-mill; clay and wax were subjected to the hydraulic
press. In all cases he detected signs of cleavage; and hence we are
justified in the inference that the phenomenon is invariably produced
by pressure in all bodies of irregular internal structure. Such is the
result with glacier-ice, from whose mass the air-bubbles introduced
by the snow are gradually expelled. At first of brilliant whiteness,
it assumes, in the parallel layers corresponding to the planes of
cleavage, those beautiful azure tints which characterize the veined
structure. So little has it to do with stratification, that in places
where this is apparent it has given rise to a series of horizontal
lines, while the parallel veinings, in the same masses of ice, are all
inclined at an angle of about 60°.

The tendency to cleavage in compact ice would seem to explain the
regular form of those fragments or detached pieces with which some
parts of the glaciers are covered. Usually they occur as cubes, or
as rectangular parallelopipeds. The Alpine mountaineers name them
_séracs_,--in allusion to their resemblance to certain cheeses
which bear this name, and which are manufactured in rectangular boxes.
They have been found in many parts of a really colossal size, measuring
fifty feet in length, breadth, and depth, and as regular in shape as if
they had been hewn with a chisel.

There are many interesting points connected with the formation and
constitution of glaciers which we should gladly discuss, but we are
confined by our limits to remarks of a general character, and we must
now pass on to speak of the phenomena attendant upon their motion.
No doubt, the traveller who for the first time comes in sight of one
of these huge ice-rivers, and sees the mighty mass apparently rooted
to its valley-bed, solid, unchangeable, adamantine, finds it hard to
believe that it moves onward with a certain and an unresting, though a
gradual progress. It looks like a noble river, suddenly petrified by
some overwhelming force: congealed, as it flowed, in a moment, by some
irresistible spell! Such, indeed, is the conception of the poet:--

“Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain....
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! silent cataracts!”

And this conception is justified by the _aspect_ of the glacier.
Thus, of the Glacier du Géant, Professor Tyndall says:--“It stretches
smoothly for a long distance, then becomes disturbed, and then changes
to a great frozen cascade, down which the ice appears to tumble in
wild confusion. Above the cascade you see an expanse of shining snow,
occupying an area of some square miles.” But we shall see that here, as
in the world of man, appearances are deceitful, and that the glacier
well deserves to be called an ice-river, in allusion to its regular and
continuous motion.

Between the snow-fall in the higher regions of the globe, and the
quantity of snow which every summer disappears through liquefaction,
the difference is very considerable. The supply, so to speak, exceeds
the demand, and a residuum is annually left. It is only below the
perpetual snow-line that the snow created and accumulated in winter
is wholly melted in the warm season. And, therefore, if for any
considerable period the excess upon any particular mountain continued
to accumulate, immense masses of ice would gradually rise to the
extreme height in the atmosphere affected by aqueous phenomena.

Rendu, the Roman Catholic prelate, who first led the way to the
discovery of the true nature of glaciers, says, very justly,--“The
economy of the world would be soon destroyed, if at certain points
accumulations of matter prevailed. The centre of gravity of the globe
would be insensibly displaced, and the admirable regularity of its
movements would be succeeded by disorder and perturbation. If the Poles
did not send back to the Equatorial seas the waters which, reduced
into vapour, issue daily from these burning regions, to be converted
into ice in the Arctic and Antarctic Zones, ocean would be drained
dry, and life would cease, as well as water, to circulate throughout
our world. The Creator, however, in order to ensure the permanence of
His almighty work, has called into existence the vast and powerful law
of circulation, and this law the careful observer sees reproduced in
all the economy of Nature. The water circulates from the ocean into
the air, from the air it spreads over the earth, and from the earth
it passes into the seas. The rivers return from whence they came, in
order that they may issue forth anew; the air circulates around the
globe, and, as it were, upon itself, passing and repassing successively
at all the altitudes of the atmospheric column. The elements of every
organic substance circulates in changing from the solid to the liquid
or aëriform state, and in returning from the latter to the state of
solidity or organization. It is not improbable that the universal
agent which we designate under the name of fire, light, electricity,
and magnetism, has probably also a circle of _circulation_ as
extensive as the universe. Should its movements ever be known to us
more than they now are, it is probable that they would afford the
solution of a host of problems which still defy the intellect of man.
Circulation is the law of life, the method of action employed by
Providence in the administration of the universe. In the insect, as
in the plant, as in the human body, we find a circulation, or rather
several circulations,--blood, humours, elements, fire, all which enter
into the composition of the individual.”

However fanciful may be some of the amiable prelate’s speculations,
it is certain that the glaciers obey this law of circulation. The
snow-accumulations in the upper regions are to some extent reduced by
the descent of the avalanches,--that is, of masses of snow and ice
which detach themselves from the mountain-sides and dash headlong
into the valleys below, where they are rapidly melted by the warmer
atmosphere. But this would, in itself, be wholly insufficient. Another
movement, at once more efficacious and more regular, is necessary; a
movement which embraces the entire system of the ice-masses, and which
carries the glaciers below the perpetual snow-line, so that every year
they may give up a portion of their terminal extremities. The discovery
of this general progression is one of the most fertile with which, of
late years, the physics of the globe have been enriched.

Professor Tyndall rightly observes that there are numerous obvious
indications of the existence of glacier-motion, though it is too slow
to catch the eye at once. The crevasses change within certain limits
from year to year, and sometimes from month to month; and this could
not be if the ice did not move. Rocks and stones also are observed,
which have been plainly torn from the mountain-sides. Blocks seen to
fall from particular points are afterwards noticed lower down. On the
moraines rocks are found of a totally different mineralogical character
from those composing the mountains right and left; and in all such
cases strata of the same character are found bordering the glacier
higher up. Hence the conclusion that the foreign _boulders_ have
been _floated_ down by the ice. Further, the ends or “snouts”
of many glaciers act like ploughshares on the land in front of them,
overturning with irresistible energy the huts and châlets that lie in
their path. Facts like these have been long known to the inhabitants
of the High Alps, who were thus made acquainted in a vague and general
way with the motion of the glaciers. But Science cannot deal with
generalities: it requires precise and accurate information; and this
information, so far as the progression of the glaciers is concerned,
has been obtained through the patient labours of Rendu, Charpentier,
Agassiz, Desor, Vogt, Professor Forbes, Bravais, Charles Martins,
Hopkins, Professor Tyndall, Colomb, John Ball, and Schlagintweit. Their
experiments and observations have established the truth of certain
immutable principles, and proved the existence of a general law of
movement.

The accumulation of the débris hurled headlong by the mountains forms
on the glacier-surface long lines of stone and earth, which are called
_moraines_; these diverge in certain directions, according to the
circumstances we now come to explain.

The landslips which occur on the banks or edges of the glacier give
rise to the _lateral moraines_, which are enlarged and extended
daily by the twofold effect of the fall of stones and débris, and the
progressive movement which carries them along with the whole mass of
ice. Towards the centre of the great glaciers, in almost every case,
is found a _medial moraine_; the result of the encounter of the
lateral moraines of two glaciers which have united into one. These
superficial moraines participating in the movement of the glacier, each
of their blocks eventually rolls to the foot of the terminal precipice,
and thus a _frontal moraine_ is formed on the very soil of the
valley, like an embankment raised to prohibit the further advance of
the ice. And, lastly, the bed of sand, gravel, pebbles, and detritus
which is found beneath the glacier, and over which it glides, is called
the _profound moraine_.

The furrows wrought by this last-named stratum on the bottom of the
glacier-channels show the wonderful force of friction which the
glacier exercises during its descent. The depths of these furrows
depends entirely on the hardness of the débris carried down by the
glacier, and the nature of the rocks submitted to the friction. The
polish assumed by these rocks when they are sufficiently solid to
resist the thunderous march of the glacier, indicates the enormous
pressure which it exercises on the slopes of the valley through which
it forces its way. This effort, bearing principally on the side of the
rocks turned in the direction of their crests, impresses upon them
a peculiar rounded form, so like the appearance of a flock of sheep
(_moutons_) that De Saussure gave them the name of _roches
moutonnées_.

Connected with the scientific evidence of the progressive movement of
glaciers, a glacier in the Bernese Oberland will for ever be memorable.
Two branch glaciers, the Lauteraar and the Finsteraar, unite at a
promontory called the Abschwung to form the trunk-glacier of the
Unteraar, which carries a great medial moraine along its colossal back.

Here in 1827, an “intrepid and enthusiastic” Swiss professor, Hugi, of
Solothurm (or Soleure), erected a small cabin of stones for the purpose
of observations upon the glacier. The hut moved, and he took steps to
measure its motion. In three years, 1827 to 1830, it moved 330 feet
downwards. In 1836 it had descended 2354 feet; and in 1841, it had
accomplished a journey of 4712 feet. [This was at the rate of about 336
feet a year.]

In 1840, M. Agassiz, with some scientific friends, Messrs. Desor,
Vogt, and Nicolieb, established themselves under a great overhanging
slab of rock on the same moraine, and by means of side walls, and
other appliances, constructed a rough abode which, because some of
these men of science came from Neufchâtel, they named the “Hôtel des
Neuchâtelois.”

In two years after its erection, Agassiz discovered that it had moved
downwards no less a distance than 486 feet.

These and some similar measurements brought to light a very important
fact. The reader will observe that the _middle numbers_,
corresponding to the central portion of the glacier, are the
_largest_: hence it was obvious that the _centre of a glacier,
like that of a river, moves more rapidly than the sides_.

Owing to the greater central motion of a glacier, its crevasses
invariably assume a curved outline, of which the convexity advances
towards the bottom of the valley.

It has also been ascertained that the superficial part of a glacier
moves more rapidly than its base.

Again: Tyndall and Hirst, by employing instruments of great precision,
have demonstrated that the maximum of motion is not to be found exactly
in the centre, but that, according to the windings of the valley
through which the glacier flows, it moves sometimes to the right of
the centre, and sometimes to the left. Now, the progression of a river
exhibits all the characters we have just enumerated, and the truth
foreshadowed by Rendu has been confirmed in every detail. The glacier
_is_ a “river of ice.”

The reader will naturally ask, How can a substance of such apparent
rigidity as ice obey, as it _does_ obey, the same laws which
regulate the movement of fluids? I can understand, he may say, how
water flows in such and such a manner: it is a liquid, and its
molecules are deficient in the property of cohesion; but that so solid,
and firm, and unimpressible a substance as ice should be capable of
motion seems impossible. I can understand very easily that a mass of
ice, when loosened or detached from its resting-place, will glide
downwards until arrested by some adequate obstacle; but this is not
the kind of motion you are describing. According to your explanations,
every constituent portion of the glacier moves, and the central faster
than the lateral, and the surface faster than the base.

These objections were advanced by men of science when the motion of
glaciers was first put forward as a theory; and the answer given by
Scheuchzer was, that a glacier might be compared, in the summer
season, to a sponge saturated with water, which, when afterwards
congealed by the cold temperature of autumn and winter, expanded, and
produced a dilatation of the mass in every direction. Then, as it could
not recede, as it could not _reascend_ its valley-slope, the
augmentation of size would necessarily take place in its lower portion.

It is unnecessary for us to explain why this answer was unsatisfactory.
Subsequent observations, however, proved its impossibility, and
Professor Forbes then put forward his ideas of the _viscous
character_ of ice. But these, too, did not meet the conditions of
the phenomenon; and the view now adopted is that of Professor Tyndall,
who has shown that it is the result of the regelation we have already
described.

Professor Forbes enunciated his theory in words to the following
effect: “A glacier is an imperfect fluid or viscous body, which is
urged down slopes of certain inclination by the natural pressure of
its parts.” But we know the exceeding brittleness of ice, and how is
viscosity compatible with brittleness? We know, too, that crevasses and
fissures will suddenly form on a glacier, like the cracks on a pane of
glass. But if ice were viscous, and could expand, dilate, or stretch
as viscous substances do, these crevasses would be impossible. They
would gradually close up, like an indent in a mass of jelly. And yet it
cannot be denied that a glacier _does_ move like a viscous body;
the centre flowing past the sides, the top flowing over the bottom,
while the motion through a curved valley corresponds to fluid motion.
How are we to reconcile these apparently conflicting circumstances?

By Professor Tyndall’s regelation theory, which is founded on a fact
already mentioned; namely, that when two pieces of thawing ice are
brought in contact, they freeze together.

This _fact_, and its application irrespective of the _cause_
of regelation, may be thus illustrated: “Saw two slabs from a block
of ice, and bring their flat surfaces into contact; they immediately
freeze together. Two plates of ice, laid one upon the other, with
flannel round them overnight, are sometimes so firmly frozen in the
morning that they will rather break elsewhere than along their surface
of junction. If you enter one of the dripping ice-caves of Switzerland,
you have only to press for a moment a slab of ice against the roof of
the cave to cause it to freeze there and stick to the roof.

“Place a number of fragments of ice in a basin of water, and cause them
to touch each other; they freeze together where they touch. You can
form a chain of such fragments; and then, by taking hold of one end of
the chain, you can draw the whole series after it. Chains of icebergs
are sometimes formed in this way in the Arctic seas.”

From these observations we deduce the following result:--Snow consists
of small particles of ice. Now, if by pressure we squeeze out the air
entangled in thawing snow, and bring the little ice-granules into close
contact, they may be expected, as they do, to freeze together; and
should the expulsion of the air be complete, the squeezed snow will
assume the appearance of compact ice.

It is in this way that the consolidation of the snows takes place in
the Arctic as in the higher Alpine regions. The deeper layers of the
_névé_ are converted into more or less perfect ice by the pressure
of the superjacent layers; and further, they are made to assume the
shape of the valley which they fill, by the slow and continuous
pressure of its sides.

In glaciers, as Professor Tyndall points out, we have ample
illustrations of rude fracture and regelation; as, for example, in
the opening and closing of crevasses. The glacier is broken on the
cascades, and mended at their bases. When two branch glaciers lay their
sides together, the regelation is so firm that they begin immediately
to flow in the trunk glacier as in a single stream. The medial moraine
gives no indication by its slowness of motion that it is derived from
the sluggish ice of the sides of the branch glaciers.

We may sum up the regelation theory in few words. The ice of glaciers
changes its form and retains its continuity under _pressure_ which
keeps its particles together. But when subjected to _tension_,
sooner than stretch, it _breaks_, and behaves no longer as a
viscous body.

These are Professor Tyndall’s words, and the fact which they embody it
would be difficult to set forth more clearly or more concisely.

[Illustration: A POLAR GLACIER.]

Having said thus much of the structure, causes, characteristics,
and movement of glaciers, we proceed to consider some of the more
remarkable of those which are situated in the Arctic World.

The glaciers of the Polar Regions do not differ in structure or mode
of formation from those of other countries. Yet they possess some
peculiar features, and to a superficial observer might seem independent
of the physical laws we have attempted to explain. That this is not
the case has been shown by Charles Martins, who carefully studied the
glaciers of Spitzbergen on the occasion of the exploring voyage of
the _Recherche_ to that island, and has demonstrated that their
differences are but a particular case of the general phenomenon.

As special characters he points out, first, the rarity of needles and
prisms of ice, which he attributes to the slight inclination and the
uniformity of the slopes, as well as to the diminution of the solar
heat, which, even in the long summer days, does not melt the surface.
There are no rills or streams capable of hollowing out crevasses and
moulding protuberances or projections. But transversal crevasses
produced by the movement of the glaciers are numerous, and these are
often very wide and very deep.

[Illustration: GLACIER, ENGLISH BAY, SPITZBERGEN.]

In the terminal escarpment, which melts in proportion as it plunges
into the sea, immense caverns are sometimes seen; caverns so immense
that the azure-gleaming grottoes of the Arveiron and Grindelwald, so
much admired by European travellers, are but miniatures. “One day,”
says Charles Martins, “after having ascertained the temperature of the
sea off the great glacier of Bell Sound, I proposed to the sailors
who accompanied me to carry our boat into its cavern. I explained to
them the risk we should incur, being unwilling to attempt anything
without their consent. When our boat had crossed the threshold, we
found ourselves in an immense Gothic cathedral; long conical-pointed
cylinders of ice descended from the roof; the recesses seemed so many
chapels opening out of the principal nave; broad fissures divided
the walls, and the open intervals, like arches, sprang towards the
summits; azure gleams played over the icy surface, and were reflected
in the water. The sailors, like myself, were dumb with admiration.
But a too prolonged contemplation would have been dangerous; we soon
regained the narrow opening through which we had penetrated into this
winter temple, and, returning on board our vessel, preserved a discreet
silence respecting an escapade which might have been justly blamed. In
the evening, we saw from the shore our cathedral of the morning slowly
bend forwards, detach itself from the parent glacier, crash into the
waves, and reappear in a thousand blocks and fragments of ice, which
the retiring tide carried slowly out to sea.”

The Spitzbergen glaciers do not exhibit those numerous moraines which
are observed on the majority of those of Switzerland.

The mountains, not being very lofty, are buried, as it were, under
their burden of glaciers, instead of preponderating over them, and seem
with difficulty to lift their peaks out of the mass of ice and snow
surrounding them. Consequently, there are no considerable landslips
or falls of earth and stone, which, accumulating along the borders
of the glaciers, might form moraines. Martins is of opinion that the
Spitzbergen glaciers correspond to the upper part of the glaciers of
Switzerland; to so much, that is to say, as lies above the perpetual
snow-line.

Now, he says, the higher we ascend on an Alpine glacier, the more do
the lateral and medial moraines diminish in width and form, until
they taper away and finally disappear under the high _névés_ of
the amphitheatres from which the glacier issues, just as the mountain
torrents often take their rise in one or in several lakes terraced one
above the other.

[Illustration: GLACIER, BELL SOUND, SPITZBERGEN.]

For all these reasons, he adds, the medial and lateral moraines are
scarcely conspicuous on the glaciers of Spitzbergen; a number of stones
and boulders may be seen along their sides, and sometimes in their
centre, but the ice is never hidden, as in the Alps, under the mass of
débris accumulated upon it. As for the terminal moraines, they must be
sought at the bottom of the sea, since the terminal escarpment nearly
always overhangs it. Hence, the blocks of stone fall simultaneously
with the blocks of ice, and form a submarine frontal moraine, of which
the two extremities are occasionally visible upon the shore.

In a previous chapter we have alluded to the manner in which icebergs
are formed by the detachment from the seaward extremity of the glacier
of huge masses of ice, which the current carries out into the open
sea. To the description already given, we may here add that which
Charles Martins furnishes in his valuable and interesting record of
persevering scientific enterprise, “Du Spitzberg au Sahara”:--In
Spitzbergen, he says, the glacier, after a traject of more or less
considerable duration, reaches the sea. If the shore be rectilineal,
it advances no further; but, in the recess of a bay, where the shore
is curved, it continues its progression, supporting its bulk on the
sides of the bay, and advancing above the water, which it overhangs.
This is easily understood. In summer the sea-water at the bottom of
the bays is always at a temperature a little above 32°; on coming in
contact with this comparatively warm water the glacier melts, and, at
low tide, an interval is perceptible between the ice and the surface of
the water. The glacier being no longer supported, partially crumbles
and gives way; immense blocks detach themselves, fall into the sea,
disappear beneath the water, reappear revolving on their own axes, and
oscillate for a few moments until they have taken up their position of
equilibrium. The blocks thus detached from the floating masses, of all
sizes and shapes, are called icebergs.

[Illustration: STEAMER “CHARGING” AN ICEBERG, UPERNAVIK,
GREENLAND.]

Our traveller records that twice a day, in Magdalena Bay and Bell
Sound, he was an eye-witness of this partial ruin of the extremity
of the glaciers. Their fall was accompanied by a noise like that
of thunder; the swollen sea rushed upon the shore in a succession of
gigantic waves; the gulf was covered with icebergs, which, caught in
the swirl and eddy, issued out of the bay, like immense fleets, to gain
the sea beyond, or were stranded here and there at points where the
water was shallow. The icebergs seen by M. Martins were not, however,
of any surprising magnitude; he estimates their average height at
thirteen to sixteen feet. We have seen that those of Baffin Bay are
tenfold more considerable and imposing; but then, in that bay the
temperature of the sea is below 32°; the glacier does not melt when it
enters the water; it sinks to the bottom of the sea; and the portions
detached from it are all of greater height than even the submerged
part of the icebergs which drift to and fro in the bays and gulfs of
Spitzbergen.

* * * * *

We may follow up this description with some observations by Lieutenant
Bellot, the chivalrous young Frenchman who perished in one of the
expeditions despatched in search of Sir John Franklin and his
companions. He is speaking of the masses of ice his ship encountered
soon after doubling Cape Farewell, the south point of Greenland,
and he remarks, that as Baffin Bay narrows towards the south, the
icebergs, first set in motion higher up the bay by the northern gales,
necessarily tend to accumulate in the gorge thus formed, and so to
impede and block up Davis Strait, even when the higher waters are quite
free. It is only through a series of alternate movements of advance and
recession that the bergs finally pass beyond the barrier, and float out
into the Atlantic, to undergo a slow process of dissolution.

The mobility of the bergs, though necessary to navigation, forms at
the same time its peculiar danger, since a vessel is often placed
between the shore and the colossal masses driven forward by the wind,
or between these and the solid ice which as yet has not broken up. It
is useless to dwell upon the immense force possessed by masses which
are frequently several square leagues in extent, and which, once in
movement, cannot be stayed by any human resistance. A sailing-vessel
finds herself placed in conditions all the more unfavourable, because
the winds blow from the very direction which she is bound to take in
order to open up a way through the floes. Now, if the gale is violent,
it is perilous indeed to push forward in the midst of a labyrinth of
bergs, which form so many floating rocks; if a calm prevails, a ship
can move forward only by laborious hauling or towed by the boats.
The application of the screw-propeller to steam-ships has given to
them a great superiority, because they are not liable to any accident
to paddle-wheels, exposed as such must be to collision with the
floating ice. It is recorded that, on one occasion, a screw-steamer,
near Upernavik, on the coast of Greenland, actually _charged_
an iceberg, and drove right through it, as a railway-engine might
crash through a fence or hurdle. Of course, the berg was of no great
elevation; but its solid mass yielded to the immense force of the
steamship, and split into large fragments.

In the convulsions caused by furious tempests, which are far from
being so rare within the Arctic Circle as is popularly supposed, the
shape of the bergs becomes very irregular, and the configuration of
the ice-fields is constantly undergoing modification. Hence it often
happens that the voyager sees before him an open basin of water of
greater or less extent, from which he is separated only by a narrow
strip of ice. In such a case he endeavours to effect an opening, either
by driving his ship at full speed against the weakest part of the ice,
or with the help of immense saws, twenty feet in length, which are
worked with a rope and pulley placed at the top of a triangle formed
of long poles; or, finally, by exploding a mine. When the ice is not
very solid, the ship is forced into the opening, against the sides of
which it acts like a wedge. It will sometimes occur, in the course of
the operation, that the ice-fields, set in motion by the wind or the
currents, close in together, after having treacherously separated for
a moment, and the vessel is then subjected to a dangerous pressure.
Unhappy the mariner who does not foresee or sufficiently note the
warning signs of this accident, which is almost always accompanied
by fatal consequences. The ice, which nothing can check, passing
underneath the ship, capsizes it,--or, if it resists, crushes it.

* * * * *

We have alluded to the colossal bergs of Baffin Bay. These are thrown
off from the northern glaciers, and particularly from the enormous
ice-river named after Humboldt, which cumbers the declivities of the
Greenland Alps, beyond the 79th parallel. It has been a frequent
source of surprise to navigators that these mighty masses should
float in a contrary direction to that of the ice-fields which descend
with the Polar current towards the Atlantic. They reascend with such
rapidity that they shatter the so-called “ice-foot,” or belt of ice,
still adhering to the shore. Captain Maury has collected numerous
observations on this important subject, and he quotes the case of a
ship which was being laboriously hauled against the current, when an
enormous floating mountain coming up from the south steered against
it, but fortunately did not come into collision with it, and forging
ahead, very quickly disappeared. How is such an incident to be
explained? By the existence of a submarine counter-current, acting on
the lower extremity of the submerged portion of the berg, which, as
we have stated, is always seven or eight times larger than the bulk
_above_ the surface of the waves.

Our whalers, in their hazardous expeditions, often derive assistance
from these moving islands. They seek shelter under their lee when
sudden storms arise; for the huge bergs are scarcely affected by the
most violent gales. They find their shelter valuable also during
certain operations of the fishery for which rest and quiet are
necessary. Yet it is not absolutely exempt from danger. The seeming
friend may prove to be a concealed foe. The iceberg may collapse,
or be capsized; or formidable fragments, loosened from their sides
or summits, may topple headlong and threaten to overwhelm the ship
beneath: but as on these and other accidents we have already dwelt at
length, we refrain from wearying our readers with a twice-told tale.
The repetition in which, to some extent, we have indulged, was needful,
in order to show the reader in what way the dissolution of the lower
extremity of the glaciers is effected in the Arctic world.

* * * * *

In the neighbourhood of Cape Alexander, one of the headlands of Smith
Strait, Dr. Hayes met with a glacier, of which he gives an interesting
description in his narrative of an “Arctic Boat Journey,” (1854):--

It was the first, protruding into the ocean, which he had had an
opportunity of inspecting closely; and though small, compared with
other similar formations, it had nevertheless all their principal
characteristics. It presented to the sea a convex mural face, seventy
feet in height and about two miles in length, its centre projecting
into the water beyond the general line of the coast to the east and
west of it. The surface rose abruptly to the height of about two
hundred feet, and, sloping thence backward with a gentle inclination,
seemed to be connected with an extensive _mer de glace_ above.
Several fissures or crevasses, apparently of great depth, struck
vertically through its body, and extended far up into its interior;
and others, more shallow, which seemed to have been formed by the
streams of melted snow that poured in cataracts down into the sea. Dr.
Hayes remarks that he was impressed by its viscous appearance; but we
have shown that a certain amount of viscosity naturally appertains to
glacier ice.

[Illustration: FORCING A PASSAGE THROUGH THE ICE.]

Parallel with its convex face ran a succession of indistinctly marked
lines, which gave it the aspect of a semi-fluid mass moving downward
upon an inclined surface; and this idea was confirmed by its appearance
about the rocks on either side. Over these it seemed to have flowed;
and, fitting accurately into all their inequalities, it gave the effect
of a huge moving mass of partially solidified matter suddenly congealed.

* * * * *

Of still greater interest is the same adventurous explorer’s
description of the great Arctic _Mer de Glace_ which lies inland
from Rensselaer Bay, in about lat. 79° N., and long. 68° W.

Dr. Hayes and his party had set out on an expedition into the interior,
and after passing through a really picturesque landscape, enriched with
beds of moss and turf, patches of purple andromeda, and the trailing
branches of the dwarf-willow, they emerged upon a broad plain or
valley, in the heart of which reposed a frozen lake, about two miles in
length by half a mile in width. They traversed its transparent surface.
On either side of them rose rugged bluffs, that stretched off into long
lines of hills, culminating in series in a broad-topped mountain-ridge,
which, running away to right and left, was cut by a gap several miles
wide that opened directly before them. Immediately in front was a low
hill, around the base of which flowed on either side the branches
of a stream whose course they had followed. Leaving the river-bed
just above the lake, they climbed to the summit of this hillock; and
there a sight burst upon them, grand and imposing beyond the power of
words adequately to describe. From the rocky bed, only a few miles
in advance, a sloping wall of pure whiteness rose to a broad level
plain of ice, which, apparently without limits, stretched away toward
the unknown east. It was the great _mer de glace_ of the Arctic
continent.

Here then was, in reality, the counterpart of the river-systems of
other lands. From behind the granite hills the congealed drainings of
the interior water-sheds, the atmospheric precipitations of ages, were
moving in a mass, which, though solid, was plastic, moving down through
every gap in the mountains, swallowing up the rocks, filling the
valleys, submerging the hills: an onward, irresistible, crystal tide,
swelling to the ocean. The surface was intersected by numerous vertical
crevasses, some of considerable depth, which had drained off the melted
snow.

It was midnight when the explorers approached this colossal reservoir.
The sun was several degrees beneath the horizon, and afforded a faint
twilight-gleam. Stars of the second magnitude were dimly perceptible in
the cold, steel-blue Arctic heavens. When they were within about half
a mile of the icy wall, a brilliant meteor fell before them, and, by
its reflection upon the glassy surface beneath, greatly increased the
magical effect of the scene; while loud reports, like distant thunder
or the roll of artillery, broke at intervals from the depths of the
frozen sea.

On closer inspection it was found that the face of the glacier ascended
at an angle of from 30° to 35°. At its base lay a high bank of snow,
and the wanderers clambered up it about sixty feet; but beyond this
their efforts were defied by the exceeding smoothness of the ice.
The mountains, which stood on either hand like giant-warders, were
overlapped, and to some extent submerged, by the glacier. From the
face of the huge ice-river innumerable little rivulets ran down the
channels their action had gradually excavated, or gurgled from beneath
the ice; forming, on the level lands below, a sort of marsh, not twenty
yards from the icy wall. Here, in strange contrast, bloomed beds of
verdurous moss; and in these, tufts of dwarf-willows were wreathing
their tiny arms and rootlets about the feebler flower-growths; and
there, clustered together, crouching among the grass, and sheltered
by the leaves, and feeding on the bed of lichens, flourished a tiny,
white-blossomed draba and a white chickweed. Dotting the few feet of
green around might be seen the yellow flowers of the more hardy poppy,
the purple potentilla, and saxifrages yellow, purple, and white.

* * * * *

The great glacier of Sermiatsialik is one of the arms, or outlets, of
this immense reservoir of ice. It occupies the bed of a valley, varying
from three and a half to five miles in width, and attaining at certain
points a depth of upwards of three hundred and seventy feet. This
valley opens upon the fiord of Sermiatsialik, which is separated from
that of Julianshaab by the range of mountains culminating in the peak
of Redkammen.

We owe to Dr. Hayes a lively description of the Sermiatsialik glacier,
which he thinks must at some places be more than seven hundred and
fifty feet in depth, overflowing the borders of the valley like a
swollen torrent. For upwards of four leagues, the icebergs which throng
the fiord, or gulf, are those of the glacier itself, and terminating
in a wedge-like outline, disappear in the vast sea of ice expanding to
right and left above the loftiest summits, and drawing irresistibly the
eye to its rippled surface,--boundless, apparently, like that of ocean.
As the voyager sails up the gulf, he gradually loses sight of the
frozen slope, and then of the white line of the _mer de glace_:
he finds himself in front of an immense cliff, from one hundred to
two hundred feet in height, diaphanous as the purest crystals, and
reflecting all the hues of heaven.

One almost shudders as one approaches this vast domain of Winter.
Collecting in copious streams, the ice and snow melted on the surface
of the glacier pour over its brink, forming floating clouds of spray,
irradiated by rainbow colours. The din of these cascades fills the
air. At intervals, the loud reports of the internal convulsions of the
glacier are repeated by every echo.

The cliff is entirely vertical; but its face, far from being smooth,
is broken up into an infinite variety of forms: into unfathomable
cavernous hollows, symmetrical spires, ogives, pinnacles, and deep
fissures, where the eye plunges into a transparent blue, which changes
every second its fleeting, opaline tints; tints so soft, and yet so
vivid, that they defy the skill of the artist to reproduce them. The
lustre of the “dark eye of woman” is not more difficult to seize. A
deep dark green, less delicate but not less splendid, colours all the
recesses where the ice overhangs the waters. In the sunlight one sees
the surface of these huge crystals shining with the whiteness of the
purest snow; except, indeed, where recent fractures have taken place.
They suggest to the mind the idea of the gleams and reflections of
a piece of satin; the undulatory lustre and shifting sparkle being
produced by the different angles under which the light is reflected.

* * * * *

But let us suppose that we have landed; with much difficulty have
ascended the cliffs; and have clambered up the glacier to its very
summit. The scene before us, how shall we convey to the mind of the
reader?

[Illustration: THE GLACIER OF SERMIATSIALIK, GREENLAND.]

Imagine, if you can, the rapids of the Upper Niagara congealed even
to their lowest depths; imagine the falls, and the broad river, and
the great Lake Erie all frozen into solid ice; with bergs above the
cataract towering as high as the lower banks: suppose that you, the
spectator, having taken your stand upon the rapids, with the Erie so
near that you can see its crystallized surface, and you will have a
picture, on a reduced scale, of the sea of ice now spreading far before
us. The rapids will represent the glacier; the Great Fall the cliff
which it projects into the sea (only that the celebrated “horse-shoe”
is here turned outwards); the river which broadens into the Ontario
will be the fiord; and the Ontario, that dark grim ocean into which the
gigantic bergs detached from the mighty ice-cascade are slowly making
their way!

* * * * *

We must indicate, however, one remarkable dissimilarity, for which our
previous observations on the nature of glaciers will have prepared the
reader. From one bank to the other, the surface of a river is always
_horizontal_, but that of a glacier is slightly _convex_.

Through the narrow glen, or ravine, formed by this curvature of the
glacier, a kind of lateral trough or gully, bounded by the escarpment
of the soil, we reach the sea. The descent is not without its dangers,
for at every point crevasses open, separated by slippery projections.
These deep gashes, at some points, are only a few yards apart; and they
incessantly cross each other, and run into one another, so as to form a
perfect labyrinth, in the windings of which the adventurous traveller
is apt to feel bewildered.

The border of the glacier once crossed, the way becomes less difficult;
for a mile and a half the level is almost perfect, and the ice but
little broken up. The frozen desert, however, impresses us with
an almost solemn feeling, and there is something terrible in the
desolation of such a Sahara of snow!

Moreover, the traveller is irresistibly affected by the continual roar
or growling of the enormous mass, which seems to stir and shake under
our very feet. He would not be surprised if a vast chasm suddenly
yawned before him! These harsh deep voices of the glacier, however, are
not the only sounds we hear. On every side rises the murmur of brooks
which trace their furrows across the crystalline plain. Some of these
gradually converge, and, uniting, form a considerable torrent, which
leaps with a clang from icy crag to icy ledge, until it is lost in a
crevasse, or precipitated over the frozen cliff into the waters of
the fiord. The _solitude_ of the scene is complete, but not the
_silence_. The air is as full of “noises” as ever was Prospero’s
isle.

Such are the principal features of the glacier of Sermiatsialik.

* * * * *

About ninety miles north-east of Rensselaer Bay lies the great Humboldt
Glacier, which seems to serve as a connecting-link between the Old
World and the New.

It lies between the 79th and 80th parallels north, and between the 64th
and 65th meridians west, skirting the shore of Peabody Bay, which is a
bold indentation of the east coast of Kane Sea.

It was discovered in Dr. Kane’s expedition, and is probably one of the
grandest spectacles in the Arctic world. Dr. Kane acknowledges himself
unable to do justice to its magnificent aspect. He can speak only of
its “long, ever-shining line of cliff diminished to a well-pointed
wedge in the perspective;” of its “face of glistening ice, sweeping
in a long curve from the low interior, the facets in front intensely
illuminated by the sun.”

This line of cliff rises, like a solid wall of glass, three hundred
feet above the water-level, with an unknown, unfathomable depth below
it; and its curved face, _sixty miles in length_, disappears into
unknown space at not more than a single day’s railroad-travel from
the Pole. The interior with which it communicates, and from which
it issues, is an unexplored _mer de glace_, an ice-ocean, of
apparently boundless dimensions.

Such is the “mighty crystal bridge” which connects the two continents
of America and Greenland. We say, continents; for Greenland, as Dr.
Kane remarks, however insulated it may ultimately prove to be, is in
mass strictly continental. Its least possible axis, measured from Cape
Farewell to the line of the Humboldt Glacier, in the neighbourhood
of the 80th parallel, gives a length of upwards of twelve hundred
miles,--not materially less than that of Australia from its northern to
its southern cape.

Imagine the centre of such a continent, says Dr. Kane, occupied through
nearly its whole extent by a deep, unbroken sea of ice, that gathers
perennial increase from the watershed of vast snow-covered mountains
and all the precipitations of the atmosphere upon its own surface.
Imagine this, moving onward like a great glacial river, seeking outlets
at every fiord and valley, rolling icy cataracts into the Atlantic and
Greenland seas; and, having at last reached the northern limit of the
land that has borne it up, pouring out a mighty frozen torrent into
unknown Arctic space.

“It is thus,” remarks Dr. Kane, “and only thus, that we must form a
just conception of a phenomenon like this great glacier. I had looked
in my own mind for such an appearance, should I ever be fortunate
enough to reach the northern coast of Greenland. But now that it was
before me, I could hardly realize it. I had recognized, in my quiet
library at home, the beautiful analogies which Forbes and Studer have
developed between the glacier and the river; but I could not comprehend
at first this complete substitution of ice for water.

“It was slowly the conviction dawned on me that I was looking upon the
counterpart of the great river-system of Arctic Asia and America. Yet
here were no water-feeders from the south. Every particle of moisture
had its origin within the Polar Circle, and had been converted into
ice. There were no vast alluvions, no forest or animal traces borne
down by liquid torrents. Here was a plastic, moving, semi-solid mass,
obliterating life, swallowing rocks and islands, and ploughing its way
with irresistible march through the crust of an investing sea.”

* * * * *

When, at a later period, Dr. Kane made a closer examination of this
great natural wonder, he found that previously he had not realized
the full grandeur of the spectacle. He noted that the trend of the
glacier was a few degrees to the west of north; and he remarks, as the
peculiarity of its aspect, that it did not indicate _repose_, but
activity, energy, movement.

Its surface seemed to follow that of the basis-country over which
it flowed. It was undulating on and about the horizon, but as it
descended towards the sea it represented a broken plain with a general
inclination of some nine degrees, still diminishing toward the
foreground. Crevasses, which in the distance seemed like mere wrinkles,
expanded as they came nearer, and were intersected almost at right
angles by long continuous lines of fracture parallel with the face of
the glacier.

These lines, too, scarcely perceptible in the far distance, widened
as they approached the sea until they formed a gigantic stairway. It
seemed as though the ice had lost its support below, and that the mass
was let down from above in a series of steps; and such an action is
the necessary result of the heat thrown out by the soil, the excessive
surface-drainage, and the constant abrasion of the sea.

The indication of a great propelling agency seemed to be just
commencing at the time that Dr. Kane visited the great glacier. The
split-off lines of ice were evidently in motion, pressed on by those
behind, but still broadening their fissures, as if the impelling action
grew more and more energetic nearer the water, till at last they
floated away in the form of icebergs. Long files of these detached
masses might be seen, like the ranks of a stately armada, slowly
sailing out into the remote sea, their separation marked by dark
parallel shadows; broad and spacious avenues near the eye, but narrowed
in the perspective to mere furrows. A more impressive illustration of
the forces of nature it would be difficult to conceive.

Dr. Kane’s view of the formation of icebergs differs considerably from
that which most physicists entertain.

He does not believe that the berg falls into the sea, broken by its
weight from the parent glacier; he is of opinion that it _rises
from_ the sea. The process is at once gradual and comparatively
quiet. “The idea of icebergs being discharged, so universal among
systematic writers, seems to me at variance with the regulated and
progressive actions of Nature. Developed by such a process, the
thousands of bergs which throng the Polar seas should keep the air
and water in perpetual commotion, one fearful succession of explosive
detonations and propagated waves. But it is only the lesser masses
falling into deep waters which could justify the popular opinion. The
enormous masses of the great glacier are propelled, step by step and
year by year, until, reaching water capable of supporting them, they
are floated off to be lost in the temperatures of other regions.”

The Humboldt Glacier did not differ in structure from the Alpine
and Norwegian ice-growths; and its face presented nearly all the
characteristic features of the latter. The _overflow_, or viscous
overlapping of the surface, was very strongly marked. “When close to
the island rocks,” says Kane, “and looking out upon the upper table of
the glacier, I was struck with the homely analogy of the batter-cake
spreading itself out under the ladle of the housewife, the upper
surface less affected by friction, and rolling forward in consequence.”

* * * * *

The crevasses bore the marks of direct fracture, as well as of the
more gradual action of surface-drainage. The extensive watershed
between their converging planes gave to the icy surface most of the
hydrographic features of a river-system. The ice-born rivers which
divided them were margined occasionally with spires of discoloured
ice, and generally lost themselves in the central areas of the glacier
before reaching its foreground. Occasionally, too, the face of the
glacier was cut by vertical lines, which, as in the Alpine examples,
were evidently outlets for the surface drainage.

The height of this ice-wall at the nearest point was about three
hundred feet, measured from the water’s edge; and the unbroken
right line of its diminishing perspective showed that this might be
regarded as its constant measurement. It seemed, in fact, a great icy
table-land, abutting with a clean precipice against the sea. This,
indeed, is the great characteristic of all those Arctic glaciers which
issue from central reservoirs or _mers de glace_ upon the fiords
or bays, and is strikingly in contrast with the dependent or hanging
glacier of the ravines, where every line and furrow and chasm seem to
indicate the movement of descent and the mechanical disturbances which
have impeded and delayed it.

Dr. Kane named this monster glacier after Alexander Von Humboldt,
to whose labours Physical Science is so largely indebted; and the
cape which flanks it on the Greenland coast after the distinguished
naturalist, whom the world has so recently lost, Professor Agassiz.

The point at which the Humboldt Glacier enters the “Land of Washington”
affords even at a distance very clear indications of its plastic or
semi-solid character. The observer finds it impossible to resist the
impression of fluidity conveyed by its peculiar markings. Dr. Kane
very appropriately named it Cape Forbes, in honour of the illustrious
son of Scotia who contributed so largely to our true knowledge of the
structure and mode of progression of glaciers.

As the surface of the glacier, adds its discoverer, receded to the
south, its face seemed broken with piles of earth and rock-stained
rubbish, until far back in the interior it was concealed from view by
the slope of a hill. But even beyond this point its continued extension
was shown by the white glare or ice-blink in the sky above.

Its outline to the northward could not be so easily traced, on account
of the enormous discharges at its base. The talus of its descent from
the interior, looking far off to the east, ranged from 7° to 15°; so
interrupted by the crevasses, however, as only in the distance to
produce the effect of an inclined plane. A few black protuberances rose
above the glittering surface of the snow, like islands in a foamy sea.

It could be seen, from the general inequalities of its surface,
how well the huge mass adapted itself to the inequalities of the
basis-country beneath. The same modifications of hill and dale were
discernible as upon land. Thus grand and various in its imposing
aspect, it stretches to the north until it touches the new Land of
Washington, cementing together by an apparently indissoluble tie the
Greenland of the Norse Vikings and the America of the Anglo-Saxon
colonists.

CHAPTER V.

THE ARCTIC LANDS--FAUNA--FLORA--GREENLAND--ICELAND--NOVAIA
ZEMLAIA--SIBERIA.

We have already pointed out that in the northernmost regions of the
Arctic lands the year is divided into one prolonged and bitterly cold
night of several months’ duration, and one glorious summer’s day
extending over nine or ten weeks, which brings the scanty vegetation
to a sudden maturity. We have indicated that even within the limits of
perpetual snow the life of Nature is not altogether crushed out; and in
support of this statement we may refer to the “red snow” which figures
so often in the pages of our Arctic voyagers, though its true character
was not at first apprehended.

This so-called “red snow” was found by Sir John Ross, in his first
Arctic expedition in 1808, on a range of cliffs rising about 800 feet
above the sea-level, and extending eight miles in length (lat. 75° N.).
It was also discovered by Sir W. E. Parry in his overland expedition in
1827. The snow was tinged to the depth of several inches. Moreover, if
the surface of the snow-plain, though previously of its usual spotless
purity, was crushed by the pressure of the sledges and of the footsteps
of the party, blood-like stains instantly arose; the impressions being
sometimes of an orange hue, and sometimes more like a pale salmon tint.

It has been ascertained that this singular variation of colour is
due to an immense aggregation of minute plants of the species called
_Protococcus nivalis_; the generic name alluding to the extreme
primitiveness of its organization, and the specific to the peculiar
nature of its habitat. If we place a small quantity of red snow on a
piece of white paper, and allow it to melt and evaporate, there will be
left a residuum of granules sufficient to communicate a faint crimson
tint to the paper. Examine these granules under a microscope, and
they will prove to be spherical purple cells of almost inappreciable
size, not more than the three-thousandth to one-thousandth part of
an inch in diameter. Look more closely, and you will see that each
cell has an opening, surrounded by indented or serrated lines, the
smallest diameter of which measures only the five-thousandth part of
an inch. When perfect, the plant, as Dr. Macmillan observes, bears a
resemblance to a red-currant berry; as it decays, the red colouring
matter fades into a deep orange, which is finally resolved into a
brownish hue. The thickness of the wall of the cell is estimated at the
twenty-thousandth part of an inch, and three hundred to four hundred
of these cells might be grouped together in a smaller space than a
shilling would cover. Yet each cell is a distinct individual plant;
perfectly independent of others with which it may be massed; fully
capable of performing for and by itself all the functions of growth and
reproduction; possessing “a containing membrane which absorbs liquids
and gases from the surrounding matrix or elements, a contained fluid
of peculiar character formed out of these materials, and a number of
excessively minute granules equivalent to spores, or, as some would
say, to cellular buds, which are to become the germs of new plants.”
Dr. Macmillan adds: “That one and the same primitive cell should thus
minister equally to absorption, nutrition, and reproduction, is an
extraordinary illustration of the fact that the smallest and simplest
organized object is in itself, and, for the part it was created to
perform in the operations of nature, as admirably adapted as the
largest and most complicated.”

[Illustration: PROTOCOCCUS NIVALIS.]

* * * * *

The first vegetable forms to make their appearance at the limits of
the snow-line, whether in high latitudes or on mountain-summits, are
lichens; which flourish on rocks, or stones, or trees, or wherever
they can obtain sufficient moisture to support existence. Upwards of
two thousand four hundred species are known. The same kinds prevail
throughout the Arctic Regions, and the species common to both the
Eastern and Western Hemispheres are very numerous. They lend the
beauty of colour to many an Arctic scene which would otherwise be
inexpressibly dreary; the most rugged rock acquiring a certain air
of picturesqueness through their luxuriant display. Their forms are
wonderfully varied; so that they present to the student of Nature
an almost inexhaustible field of inquiry. In their most rudimentary
aspects they seem to consist of nothing more than a collection of
powdery granules, so minute that the figure of each is scarcely
distinguishable, and so dry and so deficient in organization that we
cannot but wonder how they live and maintain life. Now they are seen
like ink-spots on the trunks of fallen trees; now they are freely
sprinkled in white dust over rocks and withered tufts of moss, others
appear in gray filmy patches; others again like knots or rosettes of
various tints; and some are pulpy and gelatinous, like aërial sea-weeds
which the receding tide leaves bare and naked on inland rocks. A
greater complexity of structure, however, is visible in the higher
order of lichens,--and we find them either tufted and shrubby, like
miniature trees; or in clustering cups, which, Hebe-like, present their
“dewy offerings to the sun.”

In the Polar World, and its regions of eternal winter, where snow and
ice, and dark drear waters, huge glacier and colossal berg, combine to
form an awful and impressive picture, the traveller is thankful for the
abundance of these humble and primitive forms, which communicate the
freshness and variety of life to the otherwise painful and death-like
uniformity of the frost-bound Nature. It is true that here,

“Above, around, below,
On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,”

may be found in the lands beyond the line of perpetual snow; it is true
that

“All is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone;
As if were here denied
The summer’s sun, the spring’s sweet dew,
That clothe with many a varied hue
The bleakest mountain-side;”

but vegetation is not absolutely wanting, and the lichens are so
largely developed and so widely distributed as to impart quite a
peculiar and distinctive character to the scenery.

A lichen which is discovered in almost every zone of altitude and
latitude, which ranges from the wild shores of Melville Island in the
Arctic to those of Deception Island in the Antarctic circle,--which
blooms on the crests of the Himalayas, on the lofty peak of Chimborazo,
and was found by Agassiz near the top of Mont Blanc,--is the _Lecidea
geographica_, a beautiful bright-green lichen, whose clusters assume
almost a kaleidoscopic appearance.

A lichen of great importance in the Arctic world is the well-known
_Cladonia rangiferina_, or reindeer moss, which forms the staple
food of that animal during the long Arctic winter. In the vast tundras,
or steppes, of Lapland it flourishes in the greatest profusion,
completely covering the ground with its snowy tufts, which look like
the silvery sprays of some magic plant. According to Linnæus, it
thrives more luxuriantly than any other plant in the pine-forests
of Lapland, the surface of the soil being carpeted with it for many
miles in extent; and if the forests are accidentally burned to the
ground, it quickly reappears, and grows with all its original vigour.
These plains, which seem to the traveller smitten with the curse of
desolation, the Laplander regards as fertile pastures; and here vast
herds of reindeer roam at will, thriving where the horse, the elephant,
and even the camel would perish. This useful animal is dependent almost
entirely on a lichen for support. What a deep interest is thus attached
to it! That vast numbers of families, living in pastoral simplicity
in the cheerless and inhospitable Polar Regions, should depend for
their subsistence upon the uncultured and abundant supply of a plant
so low in the scale of organization as this, is, says Dr. Macmillan, a
striking proof of the great importance of even the smallest and meanest
objects in nature.

When the ground is crusted with a hard and frozen snow, which prevents
it from obtaining its usual food, the reindeer turns to another
lichen, called rock-hair (_Alectoria jubata_), that grows in long
bearded tufts on almost every tree. In winters of extreme rigour, the
Laplanders cut down whole forests of the largest trees, that their
herds may browse freely on the tufts which clothe the higher branches.
Hence it has been justly said that “the vast dreary pine-forests of
Lapland possess a character which is peculiarly their own, and are
perhaps more singular in the eyes of the traveller than any other
feature in the landscapes of that remote and desolate region. This
character they owe to the immense number of lichens with which they
abound. The ground, instead of grass, is carpeted with dense tufts of
the reindeer moss, white as a shower of new fallen snow; while the
trunks and branches of the trees are swollen far beyond their natural
dimensions with huge, dusky, funereal branches of the rock-hair,
hanging down in masses, exhaling a damp earthy smell, like an old
cellar, or stretching from tree to tree in long festoons, waving with
every breath of wind, and creating a perpetual melancholy sound.”

* * * * *

In regions furthest north are found various species of lichens
belonging to the genera _Gyrophora_ and _Umbilicuria_, and
known in the records of Arctic travel as rock tripe, or _tripe de
roche_; a name given to them in consequence of their blistered
thallus, which bears a faint resemblance to the animal substance so
called. They afford a coarse kind of food, and proved of the greatest
service to the expeditions under Sir John Franklin; though their
nutritious properties are not considerable, and, such as they are, are
unfortunately impaired by the presence of a bitter principle which is
apt to induce diarrhœa. In Franklin and Richardson’s terrible overland
journey from the Coppermine River to Fort Enterprise it was almost the
sole support, at one time, of the heroic little company. Dr. Richardson
says they gathered four species of _Gyrophora_,[9] and used them
all as articles of food; “but not having the means of extracting the
bitter principle from them, they proved nauseous to all, and noxious
to several of the party, producing severe bowel complaints.” Franklin
on one occasion remarks: “This was the sixth day since we had enjoyed
a good meal; the _tripe de roche_, even when we got enough, only
serving to allay the pangs of hunger for a short time.” Again, we read:
“The want of _tripe de roche_ caused us to go supperless to bed.”

Dr. Hayes, in the course of his “Arctic Boat Journey,” was compelled
to have recourse to the same unsatisfactory fare. The rock-lichen, or
stone-moss, as he calls it, he describes as about an inch in diameter
at its maximum growth, and of the thickness of a wafer. It is black
externally, but when broken the interior appears white. When boiled it
makes a glutinous fluid, which is slightly nutritious.

“Although in some places it grows very abundantly,” writes Dr. Hayes,
“yet in one locality it, like the game, was scarce. Most of the rocks
had none upon them; and there were very few from which we could collect
as much as a quart. The difficulty of gathering it was much augmented
by its crispness, and the firmness of its attachment.

“For this plant, poor though it was, we were compelled to dig. The
rocks in every case were to be cleared from snow, and often our pains
went unrewarded. The first time this food was tried it seemed to
answer well,--it at least filled the stomach, and thus kept off the
horrid sensation of hunger until we got to sleep; but it was found to
produce afterwards a painful diarrhœa. Besides this unpleasant effect,
fragments of gravel, which were mixed with the moss, tried our teeth.
We picked the plants from the rock with our knives, or a piece of
hoop-iron; and we could not avoid breaking off some particles of the
stone.”

These lichens are black and leather-like, studded with small black
points like “coiled wire buttons,” and attached either by an umbilical
root or by short and tenacious fibres to the rocks. Some of them may
be compared to a piece of shagreen, while others resemble a fragment
of burned skin. They are met with in cold bleak localities, on Alpine
heights of granite or micaceous schist, in almost all parts of the
world,--on the Scottish mountains, on the Andes, on the Himalayas; but
it is in the Polar World that they most abound, spreading over the
surface of every rock a sombre Plutonian vegetation, that seems to have
been scathed by fire and flame, until all its beauty and richness were
shrivelled up.

* * * * *

Some of the lichens in the less remote latitudes--as, for instance, in
Sweden--are far superior in usefulness to any of those we have hitherto
described. The Swedish peasant finds in them his pharmacy, his dyeing
materials, his food. With the various lichens that grow upon the trees
and rocks, says Frederika Bremer, he cures the virulent diseases which
sometimes afflict him, dyes the articles of clothing which he wears,
and poisons the noxious and dangerous animals which annoy him. The
juniper and cranberry give him their berries, which he brews into
drink; he makes a conserve of them, and mixes their juices with his
dry salt-meat, and is healthful and cheerful with these and with his
labour, of which he makes a pleasure.

The only lichen which has retained its place in modern pharmacy is
the well-known “Iceland moss.” It is still employed as a tonic and
febrifuge in ague; but more largely, when added to soups and chocolate,
as an article of diet for the feeble and consumptive. In Iceland the
_Cetraria Islandica_ is highly valued by the inhabitants. What
barley, rye, and oats are to the Indo-Caucasian races of Asia and
Western Europe; the olive, the fig, and the grape to the inhabitants of
the Mediterranean basin; rice to the Hindu; the tea-plant to the native
of the Flowery Land; and the date palm to the Arab,--is Iceland moss to
the Icelander, the Lapp, and the Eskimo.

It is found on some of the loftiest peaks of the Scottish Highlands;
but in Iceland it overspreads the whole country, flourishing more
abundantly and attaining to a larger growth on the volcanic soil of
the western coast than elsewhere. It is collected triennially, for
it requires three years to reach maturity, after the spots where it
thrives have been cleared. We are told that the meal obtained from
it, when mixed with wheat-flour, produces a greater quantity, though
perhaps a less nutritious quality, of bread than can be manufactured
from wheat-flour alone. The great objection to it is its bitterness,
arising from its peculiar astringent principle, cetraria. However, the
Lapps and Icelanders remove this disagreeable pungency by a simple
process. They chop the lichen to pieces, and macerate it for several
days in water mixed with salt of tartar or quicklime, which it absorbs
very readily; next they dry it, and pulverize it; then, mixed with the
flour of the common knot-grass, it is made into a cake, or boiled, and
eaten with reindeer’s milk.

* * * * *

_Mosses_ are abundant in the Arctic Regions, increasing in number
and beauty as we approach the Pole, and covering the desert land with
a thin veil of verdure, which refreshes the eye and gladdens the heard
of the traveller. On the hills of Lapland and Greenland, they are
extensively distributed; and the landscape owes most of its interest
to the charming contrasts they afford. Of all the genera, perhaps the
bog-mosses, _Sphagna_, are the most luxuriant; but at the same
time they are the least attractive, and the plains which they cover are
even drearier than the naked rock. In Melville Island these mosses form
upwards of a fourth part of the whole flora. Much finer to the sight is
the common hair-moss (_Polytrichum commune_), which extends over
the levels of Lapland, and is used by the Lapps, when they are bound on
long journeys, for a temporary couch. We may mention also the fork-moss
(_Dieranum_), which the Eskimos twist into wicks for their rude
lamps.

We have not space to dwell upon the grasses and fungi, though these
are numerous, and some of them interesting. The _cochlearia_, or
scurvy-grass, has often proved of great utility to Arctic explorers;
and Dr. Kane on more than one occasion availed himself of its
medicinal properties. Fungi extend almost to the very limits of Arctic
vegetation. The Greenlanders and Lapps make use of them for tinder,
or as styptics for stopping the flow of blood, and allaying pain. In
Siberia they abound. Frequently, in the high latitudes, they take the
form of “snow mould,” and are found growing on the barren and ungenial
snow. These species are warmed into life only when the sun has grown
sufficient to melt the superficial snow-crust, without producing a
general thaw, and then they spread far and wide in glittering wool-like
patches, dotted with specks of red or green. When the snow melts, they
overspread the grass beneath like a film of cobweb, and in a day or two
disappear.

In Siberia grows the fly-agaric (_Agaricus muscarius_), from which
the inhabitants obtain an intoxicating liquor of peculiarly dangerous
character. It has a tall white stem, surmounted by a dome of rich
orange scarlet, studded with white scaly tubercles, and in some parts
of Kamtschatka and the northern districts of Siberia is so abundant
that the ground sparkles and shines as if covered with a scarlet
carpet. The natives collect it during the hot summer months, and dry
it. Steeped in the juice of the whortleberry, it forms a powerful
intoxicating wine; or rolled up like a bolus, and swallowed without
chewing, it produces much the same effect as opium. On some, however,
it acts as an excitant, and induces active muscular exertion. A
talkative person, under its influence, cannot keep silence or secrets;
one fond of music, sings incessantly; and if a person who has partaken
of it wishes to step over a straw or small stick, he takes a stride or
jump sufficient to clear the trunk of a tree!

The Koriaks and Kamtschatkans personify this fungus, under the name of
_Mocho Moro_, as one of their _penates_, or household gods;
and if they are impelled by its effects to commit any dreadful crime,
they pretend they act only in obedience to commands which may not be
disputed. To qualify themselves for murder or suicide, they drink
additional doses of “this intoxicating product of decay and corruption.”

During Captain Penny’s voyage in search of Sir John Franklin, he picked
up two pieces of floating drift-wood, far beyond the usual limit of
Eskimo occupation, which, from their peculiar appearance, excited a
lively curiosity. The one was found in Robert Bay, off Hamilton Island,
lat. 76° 2’ north, and long. 76° west,--that is, in the route which
Franklin’s ships, it is supposed, had followed,--and was plainly a
fragment of wrought elm plank, which had been part of a ship’s timbers.
It exhibited three kinds of surface,--one that had been planed and
pitched, one roughly sawn, and the third split with an axe. The second
piece of drift-wood was picked up on the north side of Cornwallis
Island, in lat. 75° 36’ north, and long. 96° west. It was a branch of
white spruce, much bleached in some places, and in others charred and
blackened as if it had been used for fuel.

On both fragments traces of microscopic vegetation were discovered;
and as it was thought they might, if carefully examined, afford some
clue to the fate of Franklin’s expedition, they were submitted to Mr.
Berkeley, a well-known naturalist. In the report which he addressed to
the Admiralty, he stated that the vegetation in both cases resembled
the dark olive mottled patches with which wooden structures in this
country, if exposed to atmospheric influences, are speedily covered.
The bleached cells and fibres of the fragment of elm were filled up
with slender fungoid forms, _myceliæ_; while on its different
surfaces appeared several dark-coloured specks, belonging to the genus
_Phoma_. As it was not probable that plants so minute could have
retained, through the terrible severity of an Arctic winter, their
delicate naked spores in the perfect condition in which they were
found, Mr. Berkeley concluded that they must have been developed
through that same summer; while from three to four years, in those high
latitudes and amid the rigour of stormy ice-covered seas, would suffice
to produce the bleached appearance of the wood. Hence he inferred that
the plank had not been long exposed.

On the other fragment of drift-wood he discovered some deeply-embedded
minute black fungoid forms, called _Sporidesmium lepraria_. Unlike
the _phomas_, which are very ephemeral, these plants possess the
longevity of the lichens, and the same patches last for years unchanged
on the same pieces of wood, while their traces are discernible for
a still longer period. From their condition, Mr. Berkeley inferred
that the fungi on the drifted wood had not been recently developed,
but that, on the contrary, they were the remains of the species which
existed on the drift-wood when used for fuel by the unfortunate crews
of Franklin’s ships, the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_.

There can be no doubt whatever, as Dr. Macmillan remarks, considering
the circumstances in which they were discovered, and the remarkable
appearances they presented--there can be no reasonable doubt that
both fragments of drift-wood belonged to, or were connected with, the
lost ships; and the curious information regarding the course they
pursued at a certain time, furnished by witnesses so extraordinary
and unlikely as a few tiny dark specks of cryptogamic vegetation on
floating drift-wood, was confirmed, in a wonderful manner, by the
after-discovery of the first authentic account ever obtained of the sad
and pathetic history of Franklin’s expedition.

* * * * *

The reader will not expect to find the tundras of Northern Asia or
the shores of the Polar Sea rich in bud and bloom, yet even these
dreary wastes are not absolutely without floral decoration. Selinum
and cerathium, as well as the poppy and sorrel, andromeda, and several
species of heath, are mentioned by Dr. Kane as blooming in the
neighbourhood of Smith Strait. On the south coast of the Polar Sea Dr.
Richardson found a considerable variety of vegetation. We noticed, he
says, about one hundred and seventy phænogamous or flowering plants;
being one-fifth of the number of species which exist fifteen degrees
of latitude further to the southward. He adds:--The grasses, bents,
and rushes constitute only one-fifth of the number of species on the
coast, but the two former tribes actually cover more ground than
all the rest of the vegetation. The _cruciferæ_, or cross-like
tribe, afford one-seventh of the species, and the compound flowers are
nearly as numerous. The _shrubby plants_ that reach the sea-coast
are the common juniper, two species of willow, the dwarf-birch,
the common alder, the hippophaë, a gooseberry, the red bear berry
(_arbutus uva ursi_), the Labrador tea-plant, the Lapland rose,
the bog-whortleberry, and the crowberry. The kidney-leaved oxyria
grows in great abundance there, and occasionally furnished us with an
agreeable addition to our meals, as it resembles the garden-sorrel in
flavour, but is more juicy and tender. It is eaten by the natives, and
must, as well as many of the cress-like plants, prove an excellent
corrective of the gross, oily, rancid, and frequently putrid meat on
which they subsist. The small balls of the Alpine bistort, and the
long, succulent, and sweet roots of many of the astragaleæ, which grow
on the sandy shores, are eatable; but it does not seem that the Eskimos
are acquainted with their use. A few clumps of white spruce-fir, with
some straggling black spruces and canoe-birches, grow at the distance
of twenty or thirty miles from the sea, in sheltered situations on the
banks of rivers.

* * * * *

It has been pointed out that the principal characteristic of the
vegetation of the Arctic Regions is the predominance of perennial and
cryptogamous plants; but further southward, where night begins to
alternate with day, or in what may be called the sub-arctic zone, a
difference of species appears which greatly enhances the beauty of the
landscape. A rich and vividly-coloured flora adorns these latitudes in
Europe as well as in Asia during their brief but ardent summer, with
its intense radiance and intense warmth,--consisting of potentillas,
gentians, starry chick-weeds, spreading saxifrages and sedums, spiræas,
drabas, artemisias, and the like. The power of the sun is so great,
and the consequent rapidity of growth so extraordinary, that these
plants spring up, and blossom, and germinate, and perish in six weeks.
In a lower latitude many ligneous plants are found,--as berry-bearing
shrubs, the glaucous kalmia, the trailing azalea, the full-blossomed
rhododendron. The Siberian flora differs from the European in the
same latitudes by the inclusion of the North American genera, phlox,
mitella, and claytonia, and by the luxuriance of its asters, spiræas,
milk-vetches, and the saline plants goosefoot and saltwort.

* * * * *

In Novaia Zemlaia and other northern regions the vegetation is so
stunted that it barely covers the ground, but a much greater variety of
minute plants of considerable beauty are aggregated there in a limited
space than in the Alpine climes of Europe where the same genera occur.
This is due to the feebleness of the vegetation; for in the Swiss
Alps the same plant frequently usurps a large area, and drives out
every other,--as the dark blue gentian, the violet-tinted pansy, and
the yellow and pink stone-crops. But in the far north, where vitality
is weak and the seeds do not ripen, thirty different species, it has
been observed, may be seen “crowded together in a brilliant mass,” no
one being powerful enough to overcome its companions. In these frozen
climates plants may be said to live between the air and the earth, for
they scarcely raise their heads above the soil, and their roots, unable
to penetrate it, creep along the surface. All the woody plants--as the
betula nava, the reticulated willow, andromeda tetragona, with a few
bacciferous shrubs--trail upon the ground, and never rise more than an
inch or two above it. The _Salix lanata_, the giant of the Arctic
forests, is about five inches in height; while its stem, ten or twelve
feet long, lies hidden among the moss, and owes shelter, almost life,
to its humble neighbour.

* * * * *

From Novaia Zemlaia we pass to Spitzbergen, whose flora contains about
ninety-three species of flowering or phænogamous plants, which, like
those already mentioned, generally grow in tufts or patches, as if
for the sake of mutual protection. The delicate mosses which clothe
the moist lowlands, and the hardy lichens which incrust the rocks
up to the remotest limits of vegetation, are very numerous. Some of
the Spitzbergen plants are found on the Alps, at elevations varying
from 9000 to 10,000 feet above the sea-level; such as the _Arenaria
biflora_, the _Cerastium alpinum_, and the _Ranunculus glacialis_. The
only esculent plant is the _Cochlearia fenestrata_, which here loses
its bitter principles, so much complained of by our Arctic explorers,
and may be eaten as a salad. Iceland moss and several grasses afford
sustenance for the reindeer.

* * * * *

A very different description is given of Kamtschatka, to which we are
once more brought in the course of our rapid survey. Its climate is
much more temperate and uniform than that of Siberia, and as the air
is humid, the herbaceous vegetation is extraordinarily luxuriant.
Not only along the banks of the rivers and lakes, but in the avenues
and copses of the woodlands, the grass attains a height of fully
twelve feet, while the size of some of the compositæ and umbelliferæ
is really colossal. For example, the _Heraclium dulce_ and the
_Senecio cannabifolius_ frequently grow so tall as to overtop a
rider upon horseback. The pasturage is so rich that the grass generally
yields three crops every summer. A species of lily, the dark purple
_Fritallaria sarrana_, is very abundant, and the inhabitants use
its tubers instead of bread and meal. If the fruits of the bread-fruit
tree are pre-eminent among all others, as affording man a perfect
substitute for bread, the roots of the sarrana, which are very similar
in taste, rank perhaps immediately after them. The collection of
these tubers in the meadows is an important summer occupation of the
women, and one which is rather troublesome, as the plant never grows
gregariously, so that each root has to be dug out separately with a
knife. Fortunately the work of gathering the tubers is much lightened
by the activity of the Siberian field-vole, which excavates an ample
burrow, and stores it for winter provision with a large supply of
roots, chiefly those of the sarrana.

* * * * *

To sum up:--

What may be called the Arctic climate extends over nearly the whole
of Danish America, the newly-acquired possessions of the United
States, the original Hudson Bay Territory, and Labrador, down to that
unimportant watershed which separates from the tributaries of Hudson
Bay the three great basins of the St. Lawrence, the five great lakes,
and the Mississippi. This line of watershed undulates between the 52nd
and 49th parallels of latitude, from Belle Isle Strait to the sources
of the Saskatchewan, in the Rocky Mountains, where it inflects towards
the Pacific Ocean, skirting on the north the basin of the Columbia.

Thus bounded on the south, the Arctic lands of America, including the
groups of islands lying to the north and north-east, cannot occupy less
than 560,000 square leagues. They exceed, therefore, the superficial
area of the European lands, estimated at about 490,000 square leagues.

We propose to divide these lands into two zones or regions, the wooded
and the desert zones: the former, in America, includes the basins of
the Upper Mackenzie, the Churchill, the Nelson, and the Severn.

In the wooded zone the thermometer does not rise above zero until the
month of May. Then, under the influence of a more genial temperature,
the breath of life passes into the slumbering, inert vegetation. Then
the reddish shoots of the willows, the poplars, and the birches hang
out their long cottony catkins; a pleasant greenness spreads over copse
and thicket; the dandelion, the burdock, and the saxifrages lift their
heads in the shelter of the rocks; the sweet-brier fills the air with
fragrance, and the gooseberry and the strawberry are put forth by a
kindly nature; while the valleys bloom and the hill-sides are glad with
the beauty of the thuja, the larch, and the pine.

The boundary between the wooded zone and the barren would be shown by a
line drawn from the mouth of the Churchill in Hudson Bay to Mount St.
Elias on the Pacific coast, traversing the southern shores of the Bear
and the Slave Lakes. To the north, this barren zone touches on eternal
snow, and includes the ice-bound coasts of the Parry Archipelago; to
the east and the north-east, identity of climate and uniform character
of soil bring within it the greatest part of Labrador and all Greenland.

In Asia the isothermal line of O° descends towards the 55th parallel of
latitude, one lower than in America,--though to the north of it some
important towns are situated, as Tobolsk, lat. 58° 11’; Irkutsk, lat,
58° 16’; and Yakutsk, lat. 62°.

In Continental Europe, the only Arctic lands properly so called,
and distinguished by an Arctic flora, are Russian Lapland and the
deeply-indented coast of Northern Russia. Far away to the north, and
separated from the continent by a narrow arm of the sea, lie the three
almost contiguous islands known as Novaia Zemlaia (lat. 68° 50’ to 76°
N.). And still further north, almost equidistant from the Old World and
the New, lies the gloomy mountainous archipelago of Spitzbergen (lat.
77° to 81°, and long. 10° to 24°).

* * * * *

We have now only to recapitulate the general characters of the Arctic
flora, as they would present themselves to a traveller advancing from
the wooded zone into the desert, and thence to the borders of the Polar
Sea.

On the southern margin of the wooded region, as in Sweden, Russia,
and Siberia, extend immense forests, chiefly of coniferous trees.
As we move towards the north these forests dwindle into scattered
woods and isolated coppices, composed chiefly of stunted poplars
and dwarf birches and willows. The sub-alpine myrtle, and a small
creeping honeysuckle with rounded leaves, are met with in favourable
situations. Continuing our northerly progress, we wholly leave behind
the arborescent species; but the rocks and cliffs are bright with
plants belonging to the families of the ranunculaceæ, saxifragaceæ,
cruciferæ, and gramineæ. To the dwarf firs and pigmy willows succeed
a few scattered shrubs--such as the gooseberry, the strawberry, the
raspberry, pseudo-mulberry (_Rubus chamæmorus_)--indigenous to
this region, and the Lapland oleander (_Rhododendron laponicum_).

Still advancing northward, we find, at the extreme limits of the
mainland, some drabas (_Cruciferæ_), potentillas (_Rosaceæ_), burweeds
and rushes (_Cyperaceæ_), and lastly a great abundance of mosses and
lichens. The commonest mosses are the _Splechnum_, which resembles
small umbels; and, in moist places, the _Sphagnum_, or bog-moss, whose
successive accumulations, from a remote epoch, have formed, with the
detritus of the _Cyperaceæ_, extensive areas of peat, which at a future
day will perhaps be utilized for fuel.

* * * * *

We come now to examine the forms of Animal Life which exist under the
conditions of climate and vegetation we have been describing.

Foremost we must place the animal which, in the Arctic World, occupies
much the same position as the camel in the Tropical,--the reindeer
(_Cervus turandus_).

In size the reindeer resembles the English stag, but his form is less
graceful and more compressed. He stands about four feet six inches
in height. Long, slender, branching horns embellish his head. The
upper part of his body is of a brown colour, the under part is white;
but as the animal advances in years his entire coat changes to a
grayish-white, and, in not a few cases, is pure white. The nether part
of the neck, or dewlap, droops like a pendent beard. The hoofs are
large, long, and black; and so are the secondary hoofs on the hind
feet. The latter, when the animal is running, make by their collision a
curious clattering sound, which may be heard at a considerable distance.

The reindeer anciently invaded Europe and Asia to a comparatively low
latitude; and Julius Cæsar includes it among the animals of the great
Hercynian forest. Even in our own time large herds traverse the wooded
heights of the southern prolongation of the Ouralian range. Between the
Volga and the Don they descend to the 46th parallel; and they extend
their wanderings as far as the very foot of the Caucasus, on the banks
of the Kouma. Still, the proper habitat of the reindeer is that region
of ice and snow bounded by the Arctic Circle,--or, more exactly, by the
isothermal line of 0° C.

Both the wild and the tame species change their feeding-grounds with
the seasons. In winter they come down into the plains and valleys; in
summer they retire to the mountains, where the wild herds gain the
most elevated terraces, in order to escape the pertinacious attacks of
their insect-enemies. It is a fact worthy of note that every species
of animal is infested by a parasitical insect. The œstre so terrifies
the reindeer that the mere appearance of one in the air will infuriate
a troop of a thousand animals. In the moulting season these insects
deposit their eggs in the skin of the unfortunate animal, and there
the larvæ lodge and multiply _ad infinitum_, incessantly renewing
centres of suppuration.

To the natives of North America the reindeer is invaluable. There is
hardly a part of the animal not made available for some useful purpose.
Clothing made of its skin is, according to Sir J. Richardson, so
impervious to cold, that, with the addition of a coverlet made of the
same material, any one so protected may bivouac on the snow with safety
in the most intense cold of the Arctic night. The venison, when in high
condition, has several inches of fat on the haunches, and is said to
equal that of the fallow-deer in our English parks; the tongue, and a
portion of the tripe, are reckoned most delicious morsels. Pemmican
is made by pouring one-third part of fat over two-third parts of the
pounded meat, and mixing fat and meat thoroughly together. The Eskimos
and Greenlanders consider the stomach, or paunch, with its contents,
a special delicacy; and Captain Sir James Ross says that the contents
form the only vegetable food ever tasted by the natives of Boothia. For
the reindeer is a herbivorous animal, and feeds upon the mosses and
grasses.

[Illustration: WILD REINDEER.]

The reindeer is by no means a graceful animal; its joints are large,
and powerful in proportion to its size; the divided hoofs are very
large, and as the animal is compelled to lift its feet high when going
over the snow, its gallop has none of that beautiful elastic spring
which characterizes the deer of our own islands, though its pace is
“telling,” and soon carries it ahead of everything but the long-winded,
long-legged wolf.

The stags cast their antlers, and the does drop their young, in May or
June, about the time of the first thaw. The males and females are then
very seldom found together; the female deer collecting in small herds
with their young; the little creatures, which seem all eyes, ears,
and legs, taking alarm at any unaccustomed sound or the slightest
appearance of danger. The summer vegetation fattens the bucks and does
amazingly, and the fawns thrive and develop; all three, says Osborn,
having a comparative holiday, and getting into condition to face the
trials of the coming winter; while the wolf and the fox, their sworn
enemies, are pursuing the infant seals and bears, or attending to their
own little domestic duties. But when the autumn frost sets in, and
hardens the ground, and the dense snow once more overspreads the dreary
northern landscape, the wolves resume their attacks on the unfortunate
deer.

For warmth or protection, and following the natural instincts of
gregarious animals, they now begin to collect together in large herds
of bucks, does, and fawns, numbering as many as sixty and seventy head.
The stags seem to undertake the discipline of these large companies, as
well as to be responsible for their safety.

Captain Mecham relates that, in October 1852, when crossing that part
of Melville Island which intervenes between Liddon Gulf and Winter
Harbour, he fell in with as many as three hundred head of deer; and he
adds that reindeer were always in sight, in herds varying from ten to
sixty in number. One of these herds, containing twenty males, he tried
to stalk up to on the 7th of October, but failed in getting a shot at
them; for although the does, with the inherent weakness of their sex,
showed an excessive curiosity, and made one or two efforts to desert
the herd and examine the stranger, the stags would in nowise tolerate
such conduct, but chastised them smartly with their antlers, and kept
the herd together and in motion by running rapidly round and round,
uttering at the same time a strange noise which seemed to alarm the
herd, and keep it flying from the suspected danger.

The coat of the reindeer in summer-time is remarkably thin, and adapted
admirably in colour to that of the snow-denuded soil; but as winter
approaches, it thickens, and gradually resumes its snowy whiteness.
Though not, strictly speaking, a _fur_, it forms an admirable
non-conducting substance.

As winter, “ruler of the inverted year,” extends his sway over the
Polar World, and food grows scarce and indifferent, and has to be
sought over larger areas, the herds break up into companies of ten
or twenty animals; the lichens, the reindeer moss already described
(_Cetraria Islandica_), and the sprouts of the creeping willow
forming their principal food.

On this branch of our subject Admiral Sherard Osborn makes two
suggestive remarks.

Arctic vegetation, he observes, has no time in the autumn to wither
or decay--while in full bloom, and before the juices have time to
return into the parent root or be otherwise dissipated, the “magic
hand of the frost king” strikes them; and thus the wisdom of the
Creator has provided for the nourishment of his creatures a fresh and
warmth-creating food, lying hid under a mantle of snow, which the
instinct of those Arctic animals teaches them to remove and reach the
stores so beneficently preserved beneath.

Moreover, most herbivorous animals have a slow system of digestion,
even in a domestic state; as, for instance, our cattle and sheep. This
appears to be more conspicuously the case in the musk-ox, the reindeer,
and the Arctic hare, and is of great utility in lands where vegetation
is scanty and wide-spread, and the weather occasionally so severe as to
compel these creatures, for two or three days at a time, to think only
of their safety by seeking shelter from the snow-storms in deep ravines
or under lofty cliffs. It appears in their case as if Nature extracted
from their food a greater quantity of nourishment than she does from
that of animals in more southern latitudes; or possibly, the food,
by the mere act of remaining in the stomach or intestines, serves to
check the cravings of appetite, though no further nutriment should be
extracted.

Most of the musk-oxen and deer shot in Captain M’Clintock’s expedition,
and especially the musk-oxen, had their entrails distended with food
apparently quite digested, while the surrounding country in many cases
was absolutely barren and lifeless,--inducing the conclusion that these
creatures had been a long time collecting their supplies, as also that
it had been a long time swallowed, and necessitated the full activity
of the vital principle to prevent the food from proving a source of
disease. This, indeed, was clearly proved in the case of the musk-oxen,
which, if shot, and left twelve hours without being disembowelled,
grew tainted throughout with a strong musky odour, rendering the flesh
uneatable.

It may also be stated, as an illustration of the facility with which
the reindeer can winter in high latitudes, that in Lapland, where they
are used as beasts of draught, a daily supply of four pounds of lichen
(_Cenomyce rangiferina_) is considered ample for a working animal;
and on this dietary a reindeer will be in sufficiently good condition
to go without food occasionally for two or three days, and yet, to all
appearance, not to be distressed.

Thus, as regards its stores of food, and its provision against the
severity of the Arctic winter, the reindeer would seem to be suitably
and amply endowed; and its greatest trial is the incessant rapacity of
the wolves that follow its track throughout the winter season. As that
season advances, the unfortunate animal apparently resigns itself to an
evil which it cannot avoid or avert; and the calm composure with which
a small troop of these creatures will graze with an _entourage_
of half a dozen wolves is not less curious to the observer than
philosophical on the part of the reindeer!

“A herd of deer,” says an eye-witness, “thus surrounded by the wolves,
who were too great cowards to rush in upon their prey, would be
startled every now and then by the long-drawn unearthly howl of the
hungry brutes; sometimes a frightened deer, horror-stricken at the
abominable chant, dashes madly away from the herd,--away all, or a
portion, of the wolfish fraternity go after it. In many cases the scene
may be briefly summed up with the old three-volume _denouement_
of--a rush, a shriek, a crunching of bones, and snarling of beasts of
prey, and all is over! for the wonderful powers of swallow and horrid
voracity of an Arctic wolf must be seen to be understood; no writer
would peril his reputation for veracity by repeating what has been seen
on that head. But sometimes the frightened deer gains the open country,
and goes wonderful distances dogged by the persevering wolf, who
assuredly has it, unless another herd is met which admits the hunted
deer into its ranks.

“Occasionally, whilst a herd of deer are grazing, one of them may
happen to hit upon a spot where the food is plentiful; it naturally
lingers there, while the herd is moving slowly on against the wind.
The wolves immediately mark the straggler, and stealthily crawl on,
their object being to cut him off from the herd; that effected, there
is a howl and a rush, which if the deer does not evade by extraordinary
exertions, his fate is instantly sealed.”

These scenes are enacted throughout the long Arctic winter. When sight
is rendered useless, scent comes to the aid of the rapacious destroyer;
and we can well believe that many an explorer, in the December darkness
of the frozen wastes, has often wished his olfactory nerves were as
sensitively organized as those of the wolf. For although he can then
hear the reindeer, it is impossible to see them, except when they hurry
across the dark but snowy landscape; and many a bad shot has been made
by a hungry seaman at a large pair of melancholy eyes which peered out
of the enveloping mist, because he could not tell, for the life of him,
whether the animal was distant two or twenty yards.

In the dreadful winter of 1852–53, the deer approached close to the
exploring-ship _Investigator_, having quitted the land and
traversed the belt of ice. It is difficult to say whether this was
done with a view of seeking the warmth which instinct, if not scent,
told them radiated from the vessels,--the vessels, compared with the
temperature everywhere prevailing (namely, 9·5° below freezing-point),
being complete volcanoes of heat; or whether it was for security
against their wolfish enemies. Probably, it was for the first-named
reason; inasmuch as it is recorded that the foxes of Leopold Harbour,
in 1848, soon became aware of the warmer atmosphere produced by the
presence of Sir James Ross’s squadron, and sagaciously burrowed and
bred in the embankments thrown up around the ships.

But, at length, winter and its sorrows pass away, and early in the new
year a happier life dawns on the much-tried reindeer. In February and
March the seals begin to breed, and as the attention of the wolves and
other beasts of prey is then drawn to the helpless young, which are
truly “delicious morsels,” the holidays of the reindeer may be said to
commence. We may remind the reader also that the Arctic hare and the
lemming winter in the icy north, and yield occasional meals to wolf and
fox.

The spring returns, and as the sun rises above the horizon, the great
herds gradually break up and scatter abroad; and the deer may then
be seen in wandering groups of three or four, until once more the
autumn-twilight deepens, and they reassemble in numerous companies.

As the reindeer is the camel of the Polar World, so the Arctic wolf may
be said to occupy the place of the tiger; so daring is its courage,
and so fierce its lust of blood. Assembling in large packs, they are
not afraid to haunt the immediate neighbourhood of man. In Captain
M’Clintock’s expedition, they gathered round the _Investigator_
at such close quarters, that it was unsafe for the crew to leave the
ship, unless in companies, and well-armed; and with their melancholy
howls they made night hideous. Five of them attempted to pounce on an
Eskimo dog which had long been the pet of the _Investigator_. One
of these brutes is described as a “perfect giant,” standing nearly four
feet high at the shoulder, and having a footmark as big as a reindeer’s.

Our English seamen planned many a clever scheme to entrap these wary
creatures, but all failed, while some of the encounters with them
were unpleasantly close, and the risk very considerable. One day, the
boatswain, while out shooting, broke by a shot two of the legs of a
fine buck reindeer. Evening coming on, and he knowing the animal could
not drag itself far, returned to the ship. Next morning, he started
at an early hour to secure his prize. What was his disgust, when he
arrived at the place, to find his booty in the possession of five large
wolves and several foxes! Determined to have, at all events, a share,
the boatswain advanced, shouting with all his might, and hurling at the
thieves every opprobrious phrase he could invent, yet afraid to fire
his single-barrelled gun at any one of them, for fear the rest should
serve him as they were serving the buck; more particularly as they
appeared inclined to show fight, and made no sign of retreat until he
was within four yards. Even then only four had the grace to move away,
sitting down a pistol-shot off, and howling most lamentably.

The boatswain picked up a leg of the deer, which had been dismembered,
and then grasped one end of the half-devoured carcass, while a large
she wolf tugged against him at the other.

It must be owned that this position was a disagreeable one, and had the
howling of the four wolves brought others of their kind to the rescue,
the consequences of this affray between hungry wolves and a no less
hungry sailor might have proved serious. Fortunately, the interpreter,
who chanced likewise to be out shooting on a neighbouring hill, had his
attention attracted by the noise of the brutes, and made his appearance
on the scene. He afterwards described it as the strangest he had ever
witnessed. So close were the boatswain and the carnivora in their
struggle for the meat, that he fancied the latter had actually attacked
the former. On the arrival of this reinforcement the wolves decamped,
leaving the gallant boatswain with only twenty pounds weight of meat,
instead of the one hundred and twenty his prize must have originally
weighed.

* * * * *

The identities between the Arctic dog and the Arctic wolf are so
important that Dr. Kane agrees with Mr. Broderip in assigning to these
animals a family origin. The oblique position of the wolf’s eye is not
uncommon among the Eskimo dogs. Dr. Kane had a slut, one of the tamest
and most affectionate of his team, who had the long legs, the compact
body, the drooping tail, and the wild scared expression of the eye,
which some naturalists have supposed to distinguish the wolf alone.
When domesticated early--and it is easy to domesticate him--the wolf
follows and loves you like a dog. “That they are fond of wandering
proves nothing; many of our pack will stray for weeks,” says Kane,
“into the wilderness of ice; yet they cannot be persuaded, when they
come back, to inhabit the kennel we have built for them only a few
hundred yards off. They crouch around for the companionship of men.”
Both animals howl in unison alike; and, in most parts, their footprint
is the same.

The musk-ox (_Ovibos moschatus_) is one of the largest of
the Polar ruminants. As its zoological name indicates, it is an
intermediary between the ox and the sheep. Smaller than the former,
larger than the latter, it reminds us of both in its shape and general
appearance. It has an obtuse nose; horns broad at the base, covering
the forehead and crown of the head, and curving downwards between
the eye and ear until about the level of the mouth, where they turn
upwards; the tail is short, and almost hidden by the thickness of the
shaggy hair, which is generally of a dark brown, and of two kinds, as
with all the animals of the Polar Regions; a long hair, which on some
parts of the body is thick and curled, and, underneath, a fine kind of
soft, ash-coloured wool; the legs are short and thick, and furnished
with narrow hoofs, like those of the moose. The female is smaller than
the male, and her horns are smaller. Her general colour is black,
except that the legs are whitish, and along the back runs an elevated
ridge or mane of dusky hair.

The musk-ox, as his name implies, throws out a strong odour of
musk,--with which, indeed, his very flesh is impregnated, so that the
scent is communicated to the knife used in cutting up the animal. Not
the less is he regarded as a valuable booty by the Indians and the
Eskimos, who hunt him eagerly. He wanders in small troops over the
rocky prairies which extend to the north of the great lakes of North
America. He is a fierce-tempered animal, and in defence of his female
will fight desperately.

His general habits resemble strongly those of the reindeer; but his
range appears to be principally limited to Melville Island, Banks Land,
and the large islands to the south-east of the latter.

One of our Arctic explorers describes the musk-oxen as all very wild
in April, and as generally seen in large herds from ten to seventy in
number. In June they were stupidly tame, and seemed to be oppressed
by their heavy coats of wool, which were hanging loosely down their
shoulders and hind-quarters in large quantities; the herds much
smaller, and generally composed of cows and calves.

The heavy coat of wool with which the musk-oxen are provided, is a
perfect protection against any temperature. It consists of a long fine
black hair, and in some cases white (for it is not ascertained that
these oxen change their colour during the winter), with a beautiful
fine wool or fur underneath, softer and richer than the finest alpaca
wool, as well as much longer in the staple. This mantle apparently
touches the ground; and the little creature looks, it is said, like a
bale of black wool, mounted on four short nervous goat-like legs, with
two very bright eyes, and a pair of sharp “wicked-shaped” horns peering
out of one end of it.

[Illustration: THE MUSK-OX.]

They seem to be of very uncertain temper, sometimes standing stupidly
glaring at their assailants, whetting their horns against their fore
legs; at other times, they will rush furiously against their hunters.

Captain Mecham discovered very great numbers of musk-oxen near the
head of Hardy Bay, Melville Island. On one plain he observed as many
as seventy grazing within a circuit of two miles; on his approach,
they divided into herds of about fifteen each, headed by two or three
enormous bulls. Their manœuvres, he says, were so quick and regular
that they might be more fittingly compared to squadrons of cavalry than
anything else he could think of. One herd moved forward at a gallop,
several times within rifle-shot, and formed in perfect line with bulls
in the van, presenting a formidable array of horns. The last time they
advanced at a gallop until within about sixty yards, when they formed
in line, the bulls snorting wildly, and tearing up the snow. But as
soon as Captain Mecham fired they wheeled round promptly, rejoined the
main body, and made off out of sight, only waiting occasionally for the
wounded animal.

The following graphic account of an encounter with a musk-ox is given
by Captain M’Clintock:--

“We saw and shot two very large bulls--a well-timed supply, as the last
of the venison was used up; we found them to be in better condition
than any we had ever seen. I shall never forget the death-struggle
of one of these noble bulls; a Spanish bull-fight gives no idea of
it, and even the slaughter of the bear is tame in comparison. This
animal was shot through the lungs, and blood gushed from his nostrils
upon the snow. As it stood fiercely watching us, prepared yet unable
to charge, its small but fixed glaring eyes were almost concealed by
masses of shaggy hair, and its whole frame was fearfully convulsed with
agony; the tremulous motion was communicated to its enormous covering
of tangled wool and hair; even the coarse thick mane seemed to rise
indignant, and slowly waved from side to side. It seemed as if the very
fury of its passion was pent up within it for one final and revengeful
charge. There was no roaring; the majestic beast was dumb; but the
wild gleam of savage fire which shot from his eyes, and his menacing
attitude, were far more terrible than the most hideous bellow. We
watched in silence, for time was doing our work, nor did we venture to
lower our guns until, his strength becoming exhausted, he reeled and
fell.

“I have never witnessed such an intensity of rage, nor imagined for one
moment that such an apparently stupid brute, under any circumstances
of pain and passion, could have presented such a truly appalling
spectacle. It is almost impossible to conceive a more terrific sight
than that which was presented to us in the dying moments of this
matchless denizen of the northern wilds.”

* * * * *

It seems doubtful whether the wolf, which is naturally a most cowardly
creature, can act on the offensive against the musk-ox; and most Arctic
navigators seem of opinion that it attacks only lame or sickly cattle.

The activity of these oxen, and-their goat-like power of climbing, is
very remarkable, and much at variance with their clumsy appearance.
They have been seen making their way, when frightened, up the face of
a cliff which defied all human efforts, and going down the precipitous
sides of ravines by alternately sliding upon their hams, or pitching
and arresting their downward course, as Sherard Osborn remarks, by
the use of the magnificent shield of horn which spreads across their
foreheads, in a manner to excite the liveliest astonishment of the
spectator.

* * * * *

The Arctic Fox (_Canis lagopus_) cannot compare with either of
the preceding animals in importance or interest, yet it figures very
largely in the journals of our Arctic explorers. It is smaller than the
common European fox; has a sharp nose, and short rounded ears, almost
concealed in its fur; the legs are short, and the toes covered both
above and below with a thick soft fur; the tail is shorter than that
of the common fox, but more bushy. Its range is very extensive, for it
is found in the lands bordering on the Polar Sea in both continents.
As winter approaches, its coat of hair grows thick and ragged; until
at length it becomes as white as snow--the change of colour taking
place last on the ridge of the back and the tip of the tail. Its food
consists of various small quadrupeds,--such as the Arctic hare and the
lemming,--on all kinds of water-fowl and their eggs, on the carcasses
of fish, shell-fish, and the refuse of the young seals killed and
devoured by the Polar bear. In the track of the latter it seems to hunt
systematically. It swims with dexterity, and will cross from island to
island in search of prey. Its fur is light and warm, though not very
durable, and for the sake of this fur it is pursued both in Arctic
Asia, Greenland, and Hudson Bay. It is a wary animal, however, and not
easily caught.

[Illustration: ARCTIC FOXES.]

Dr. Hayes affords us an illustration of this statement.

As he and a follower, named Bonsall, on one occasion were exploring
in Northumberland Island, they discovered a fox scampering away over
the plain. Bonsall gave chase, but could not arrive within shooting
distance. Another was then heard barking overhead at them. Dr. Hayes
seized his gun, and climbing over some huge boulders which filled
the bottom of the gorge, endeavoured, by crawling behind a rock, to
overtake or approach the animal; but it seemed to be aware of his
intentions, and scampering away, led him a wild chase across the plain.
The astute Reynard first made off, so that his assailant “could not
cover him upon the cliff;” and when out of danger, perched upon a
stone, and barked at him in the most tantalizing manner. The doctor
approached within long range. Immediately, as he was about to bring his
gun to his shoulder, it dropped behind the stone and fled to another,
where it set up the same rapid chatter,--a shrill “Huk! huk! huk!”
sounding like a mixture of anger and defiance. Again Dr. Hayes tried
to approach it, but with no better success; round and round it ran,
until at length, weary of following it, Dr. Hayes fired. Some of the
shot probably touched it, for it screamed loudly; but it fled with
remarkable rapidity, and finally baffled its pursuer.

As the flesh of the fox is by no means to be despised, and, indeed,
ranks as a dainty in the bill of fare of an Arctic navigator, a hot
pursuit of it is often maintained, and traps are constructed to ensure
its capture. These are usually built on much the same principle as a
rabbit-trap. Selecting a smooth level rock, the trappers arrange some
flat stones of about six inches thick, so as to enclose on three sides
an area of six inches by two feet and a half. Over this enclosure other
flat stones are laid; and between the two used to close up one of the
ends a peg is inserted, so as to project about an inch within the trap.

To this peg, by means of a loop, is loosely hung a small piece of meat;
and to the same peg, outside, is attached another loop made at the end
of a cord, the cord being carried up through the rear of the trap, and
over the top to the front, where it is fastened round a thin flat flag
of slate, which moves freely up and down, being guided and held by a
couple of large blocks placed one on either side of the entrance.

The way in which this machinery works is very simple:--

The fox enters under the slide or trap-door, advances to the rear,
seizes the bait, and attempts to back out. The bait, of course, is
pulled from the peg, and with it the loop supporting the door comes
off. As soon as its support is removed down comes the door, and Master
Reynard is entrapped. Everything now depends on the manner in which the
cracks have been closed up; for if the animal can thrust its little
nose between a couple of stones, it will assuredly effect its escape.
Nor is it less important that the enclosure should not be sufficiently
large to enable the fox to turn round; for in that case it generally
contrives to loosen the door, and depart in infinite glee.

[Illustration: A FOX TRAP.]

* * * * *

The Arctic fox is described by Dr. Hayes as the prettiest and most
provoking of living creatures. One which he unsuccessfully chased for
fully three hours was about the size of a domestic cat, round and
plump, white as the snow, with a long pointed nose, and a trailing
bushy tail, which seemed to be its particular pride. It was quite
evident that it enjoyed the perplexities of its hunters, as it leaped
from rock to rock, or circled round and about them, and showed the
utmost indifference to the miseries of their famished condition. It
rolled and tossed about among the loose drift, now springing into the
air, now bounding away, now stopping short, and now cocking its head to
one side and elevating one foot, as if listening, seeming all the time
to be intent on exhibiting its “points” to its enemies, for whom it did
not care the value of the minutest part of its very pretty tail. Weary
and exhausted, Dr. Hayes abandoned the pursuit, and returned to his
camp, followed by the fox, though always at a safe distance; and when
they last caught sight of it, as they looked back from the rocks above
the hut, it was mounted on an elevation, uttering its shrill sharp cry,
in apparent mockery of their defeat.

* * * * *

Of the supposed relations between the bear and the fox, Dr. Kane
remarks that he once thought his observations had confirmed them. It
is certain that they are frequently found together; the bear striding
on ahead with his prey, the fox behind gathering in the crumbs as they
fall; and Dr. Kane often saw the parasite licking at the traces of a
wounded seal which his champion had borne off over the snow. The story
is that the two hunt in couples. This may well be doubted, though it
is clear that the inferior animal rejoices in his association with
the superior, at least for the profits, if not the sympathy it brings
to him. “I once wounded a bear,” says Dr. Kane, “when I was out with
Morton, and followed him for twelve miles over the ice. A miserable
little fox travelled close behind his patron, and licked up the blood
wherever he lay down. The bear at last made the water; and as we
returned from our fruitless chase, we saw the fox running at full speed
along the edge of the thin ice as if to rejoin him.”

* * * * *

A welcome addition to the meagre fare of the Arctic navigator is
furnished by the Arctic Hare (_Lepus glacialis_), which, like
the reindeer, collects in herds or troops as winter approaches. As
many as two hundred have been seen at a time; and at one of their
favourite haunts--Cape Dundas, Melville Island--might be seen a
complete highway, three yards broad, which the tread of their numbers
had beaten through the snow. In winter they seek their food and burrow
for protection under the snow-crust. Captain M’Clintock states that
they are ubiquitous in the Polar Regions, but that, of course, they
are most numerous where the pasture is most abundant, as on Banks
Land and Melville Island. The sportsmen of the two discovery ships,
_Resolute_ and _Intrepid_, shot one hundred and sixty-one
hares in a twelvemonth on Melville Island; their average weight, when
fit for the table, was seven pounds, and from ten to twelve pounds
including skin and offal.

In the warm brief summer the hare takes refuge from the pursuit of
beasts of prey under large boulders, or in the steep face of rocky
ravines. It is then found in groups of from twelve to twenty. So
delicate is their skin, that though the winter fur is of exceeding
beauty and brilliant whiteness, it cannot be applied to any purpose of
utility. They do not hibernate; and our explorers generally found them
amongst the heavy hummocks of the floe-ice, as if they fled to that
rugged ground from the wolves or foxes.

* * * * *

In the range of the Altaï, and extending even into Kamtschatka, we
meet with the Alpine Hare (_Lagomys Alpinus_); a small rodent,
scarcely exceeding a guinea-pig in size, and measuring in length nine
inches only: it has a long head, with short, broad, and rounded ears.
Its favourite places of sojourn are among the rocks and cataracts of
wild wooded regions, where it forms burrows beneath the rocks, or
inhabits their fissures. When the sky is bright, and the sunshine
genial, they seldom leave their holes in the daytime; but in dull
weather they may be seen bounding among the rocks, and making the
echoes resound with their low whistle or bird-like chirp. In the autumn
they make ready against winter need by collecting a large assortment
of the most nutritious herbs and grasses, which, after drying in the
sun, they arrange in heaps of various sizes, according to the number
of animals engaged in the task; and as these heaps are often several
feet in height and breadth, they may be easily distinguished even
through the deep snow, and frequently prove of great service to the
Siberian sable-hunters, whose horses would perish but for the supplies
thus strangely afforded. Hence, wherever a Siberian or a Tartar
tribe is found, the Alpine hare possesses a distinctive name,--and,
notwithstanding its diminutiveness, is highly valued.

* * * * *

Another rodent which deserves to be remembered in these pages, is the
Arctic or Hudson Bay Lemming (_Myodus lemmus_), which is found in
Labrador, and on all the American mainland washed by the cold waters of
the Arctic Ocean. It has been described as “a perfect diamond edition
of the guinea-pig.” In habits it resembles the hare very closely,
except that it is more gregarious, and is generally found in large
families. In summer it is of an ashy colour, with a tawny tinge on the
back, a dusky streak along its middle, and a pale stripe on either
side. It has the repute of being exceedingly inoffensive; and is tamed
so easily that, when caught, it becomes reconciled to its captivity
in a day or two, and will soon show itself sensible of its master’s
caresses. In winter it is perfectly white,--white as snow, from which
it can be distinguished only by the keen scent of the fox or the Eskimo
dog.

About the end of May, or early in June, it leaves the land and
seeks the floating ice; for what purpose does not seem as yet to be
accurately ascertained. Is it due to an instinct of migration, such
as the Norwegian lemming so powerfully exhibits? It may be that the
thaws force them from the land, or that, as the seamen say, “Them
blessed little lemmings must be arter salt!” They have often been found
steering off shore from the north coast of Melville Island, leaving
comparative plenty in their rear; and, so far as could be made out,
on a clear day, from land of considerable height, there was nothing
in the shape of _terra firma_ in the direction they were taking.
When thus exposed upon the open floe, owls, gulls, and foxes pick them
up for food. Can it be that Providence occasions, or has ordained this
exodus for the purpose of feeding these creatures, and of thinning down
the numbers of an animal which would otherwise multiply exceedingly,
and devour all the vegetation of a naturally barren region?

From an Arctic journal it would appear that the lemmings are preyed
upon by the Polar bear. We transcribe a graphic passage in further
illustration of the habits of that remarkable carnivore:--

“Seeing some drift-wood lying about,” says a gallant navigator, “which
it was important should be examined, I halted and encamped, dispersing
the men along the beach to bring all in they could find. Walking
landward to obtain a view from a hill, I was startled to see a she-bear
and two cubs some distance inland. Watching them carefully, I was not
a little interested to see the mother applying her gigantic muscular
power to turning over the large blocks of sandstone which strewed
the plain, and under which the unlucky lemmings at this season take
shelter. Directly the she-bear lifted the stones, which she did by
sitting upon her hams and pulling them towards her with her fore paws,
the cubs rushed in and seized their prey, tossing them up in the air
in their wantonness. After repeating this operation until the young
fry must have made a very good meal, I was glad to witness the bear’s
mode of suckling her young--a sight, I should think, rarely seen.
Seated on her haunches, with the backbone arched, so as to bring the
breasts (which were situated between the shoulders) as low as possible,
the youngsters sucked away in a standing attitude. Anxious to secure
this family-party, we proceeded to burn all sorts of strong-smelling
articles; and at last she brought her babes down, though very warily,
and when more than one hundred yards off turned away, evidently
suspicious.”

* * * * *

In the sub-Arctic regions are found some of those animals which furnish
commerce with the costliest furs. They all belong, however, to the
family _Mustelidæ_, represented in temperate climes by the common
weasel (_Musteles_).

The marten of North America is, in fact, the cousin-german of the
weasel, and not less ferocious in its habits. In the forests of fir
and birch which it loves to frequent, it preys upon the small rodents,
the birds, and, if its appetite is very keen, upon the reptiles. It
scales trees as nimbly as the cat; and its flexible body enables it
to insinuate itself into the smallest openings, where a cat could
not pass, and into the burrows and hollows of the trees or rocks in
which its victims seek shelter. It is, however, a pretty animal, with
vivacious ways, an astute physiognomy, and a rich coat of fur.

In the wooded zone which borders on the desert region of the Polar
World are found both the Pine Marten (_Mustela martes_) and
Pennant’s Marten (_Mustela Canadensis_). The fur of the former
is of a very superior quality, and its skin forms a great article of
commerce. It burrows in the ground, and feeds upon mice, rabbits, and
partridges. The Canadian marten is larger than the preceding; longer
and stronger. It lives in the woods, preferring damp places to dry; and
climbs with a remarkable amount of ease and dexterity.

* * * * *

The Sable (_Mustela zibellina_) is much more highly esteemed for
its fur than any other of the weasel tribe. It has long whiskers,
rounded ears, large feet (the soles of which are covered with fur),
white claws, and a long bushy tail. The general colour of the fur is
brown, more or less brilliant, but the lower parts of the throat and
neck are grayish.

A vivacious and nimble animal is the sable, which dwells in the
remotest recesses of the forests, beneath the roots of trees, and in
holes of the earth, and penetrates to the very borders of the realm
of perpetual snow. Prodigious numbers are killed in Siberia, during
the months of November, December, and January. The hunters assemble in
large companies, and make their way down the great rivers in boats,
carrying sufficient supplies of provisions for a three months’ absence.
On reaching the appointed place of rendezvous, the different companies,
each under the direction of a leader, fix upon their respective
quarters, erect huts of trees, and build up the snow around them. In
the neighbourhood of these they lay their snares; and then, advancing
another mile or so, they set a further quantity; and thus they proceed,
until they have covered a considerable area of ground; building huts
in each locality, and returning in due order to each set of snares to
collect their prey. These snares are of the simplest construction;
nothing more than small pits or cavities, loosely covered with rough
planks or branches of trees, and baited with fish or flesh. When the
game grows scarce, the trappers follow the sable to their retreats by
tracking their footprints over the fresh-fallen snow; place nets at
their entrances; and quietly wait, if it be for two or three days,
until the animals make their appearance.

[Illustration: THE ERMINE AND SABLE MARTEN.]

The fur of the sable is distinguished from all other furs by this
singular property: the hair has no particular inclination, but may be
laid down indifferently in any direction whatever.

* * * * *

The genus Polecat (_Mustela putarius_) comprehends the smallest
of all known carnivores,--namely, the weasel, the ferret, and the
ermine. The temperate countries of Europe possess a variety of the
latter species; but the ermines of the remote North yield the fullest
and softest fur. These animals, like many others in high latitudes,
change the colour of their coat according to the season. They have been
adopted by poets, on account of the spotless whiteness of their fur, as
emblematic of purity; but, in truth, they merit that honour only in the
winter: in the summer their colour is a clear maroon. The tail, at all
times, is of a beautiful brilliant black.

* * * * *

[Illustration: THE GLUTTON, OR WOLVERINE.]

Another carnivorous quadruped which haunts the northern forests is
the Glutton (_Gulo Arcticus_), or Wolverine; it owes its former
and more popular name to its extreme voracity. But it is at least as
remarkable for its strength and fierceness, inasmuch as it does not
fear to dispute their prey with the wolf and bear; and for its cunning,
since it baffles again and again the most carefully devised stratagems
of the hunter. It is a slow and somewhat unwieldy animal; but it is
determined and persevering, and will proceed at a steady pace for miles
in search of prey, stealing unawares upon hares, marmots, and birds;
and surprising even the larger quadrupeds, such as the elk and the
reindeer, when asleep.

The stories told of this remarkable animal’s shrewdness, which far
exceeds that commonly attributed to the fox, would seem incredible,
were they not confirmed by good authority. It is in allusion to its
extraordinary cunning that the Indians call it _Kekwaharkess_, or
the “Evil One.” With an energy that never flags it hunts day and night
for the trail of men, which, when found, it follows up unerringly.
On coming to a lake, where the track is generally drifted over, it
continues its steady gallop round the shores, to discover the point at
which the track re-enters the woods, when it again pursues it until it
arrives at one of the wooden traps set for the marten or the mink,
the ermine or the musk-rat. Cautiously avoiding the door, it effects
violent entrance at the back, and seizes the bait with impunity;
or, if the trap contains an animal, drags it out, and, with wanton
malevolence, mauls it, and hides it at some distance in the underwood
or at the top of some lofty pine. If hard pressed by hunger, it
devours the victim. And in this manner it demolishes the whole series
of traps; so that when once a wolverine has established itself on a
trapping-walk, the hunter’s only chance of success is to change his
ground, and build a fresh lot of traps, in the hope of securing a few
furs before the new path is discovered by his industrious enemy.

Some interesting particulars of the habits and ways of the glutton are
recorded by Lord Milton and Dr. Cheadle in their lively narrative of an
expedition from the Atlantic to the Pacific (“The North-West Passage by
Land”). They tell us that it is never caught in the ordinary pit-fall.
Occasionally one is poisoned, or caught in a steel trap; but so great
is the creature’s strength, that many traps strong enough to hold
securely a large wolf will not retain the wolverine. When caught in
this way, it does not, like the fox and the mink, proceed to amputate
the limb, but, assisting to carry the trap with its mouth, hastens to
reach a lake or river, where its progress will be unimpeded by trees or
fallen wood. After travelling to a sufficient distance to be safe from
pursuit for a time, it sets to work to extricate its imprisoned limb,
and very frequently succeeds in the attempt.

Occasionally the glutton is killed by a gun placed so as to bear on a
bait, to which is attached a string communicating with the trigger.
But a trapper assured Lord Milton and his companion, that very often
the animal had proved too cunning for him, first approaching the gun
and gnawing in two the cord communicating with the trigger, and then
securely devouring the bait.

In one instance, when all the trapper’s devices to beguile his enemy
had been seen through, and clearly foiled, he adopted the plan of
placing the gun in a tree, with the muzzle pointing vertically
downwards upon the bait. This was suspended from a branch, at such
a height that the animal could not secure it without jumping;
and, moreover, it was completely screened by the boughs. Now,
the wolverine’s curiosity almost equals its voracity. It shows a
disposition to investigate everything; an old moccasin flung aside
in the bushes, or a knife lost in the snow, must be ferreted out and
examined, and any object suspended almost out of reach generally proves
irresistible as a temptation. In this instance, however, the caution
of the glutton exceeded its curiosity and restrained its hunger; it
climbed the tree, cut the fastenings of the gun, which then tumbled to
the ground, and, descending, it secured the bait with impunity.

Lord Milton’s party were personal sufferers by, and witnesses to, the
animal’s cunning. One day, when setting out to visit their traps, they
observed the footprints of a very large wolverine which had followed
their trail, and La Ronde, their trapper, at once exclaimed, “C’est
fini, monsieur; il a cassé toutes nôtres étrappes, vous allez voir;”
and so it proved. As they came to each in succession, they found it
broken open at the back, and the bait taken; and, where an animal had
been caught, it was carried off. Throughout the whole line every one
had been demolished; and the tails were discovered of no fewer than ten
martens, the bodies of which had apparently been devoured by the hungry
and astute wolverine.

With one more illustration we must be content, and turn to another
branch of our subject, though we do not suppose that our readers
will weary of the relation of facts which throw so vivid a light on
the intelligence, as distinct from, and superior to, the instinct of
animals. And, certainly, the manner in which the glutton foils the
ingenious stratagems of the trappers must be ascribed to intelligence
rather than to instinct. In the following anecdote we think it is
plainly shown that the latter could not have sufficed to guard the
animal against the machinations of its persevering foes.

Dr. Cheadle, accompanied by an Indian boy, named Misquapasnayoo,
started off for the woods, bent upon proving his superior acuteness
to the wolverine. They found that the latter had renewed his visits
along the line of traps, and broken all which had been reconstructed,
devouring the animals found in them. Dr. Cheadle thereupon adopted a
device which could not fail, he thought, to catch his enemy in his own
toils. All the broken traps were repaired and set again, and poisoned
baits substituted for the ordinary ones in the traps; not in every
instance, but here and there along the line.

The forest was here of great extent, and seemed to stretch away to the
frozen North without let or hindrance, the mass of timber being broken
only by numerous lakes and swamps, or clearances which had been caused
by conflagrations. The traveller always seeks the lakes; not only
because they enable him to travel more rapidly, and penetrate further
into the less hunted regions, but also because the edges of the lakes,
and the portages between them, are favourite haunts of the fox, the
fisher, and the mink. On one of these lakes a curious circumstance was
noted. The lake was about half a mile in length, and of nearly equal
breadth, but of no great depth. The water had seemingly frozen to the
bottom, except at one end, where a spring bubbled up, and a hole of
about a yard in diameter existed in the ice-crust, which was there only
a few inches thick. In this hole the water was crowded with myriads
of small fish, most of them not much larger than a man’s finger, and
so closely packed that they could not move freely. On thrusting in an
arm, it seemed like plunging it into “a mass of thick stir-about.” All
around the snow had been trodden down hard and level by the feet of the
numerous animals attracted to this Lenten banquet; and tracks converged
to it from every side. The footprints could be recognized of the cross
or silver fox, delicately impressed in the snow as he trotted daintily
along with light and airy tread; the rough marks of the clumsier
fisher; the clear and sharply-defined track of the nimble mink; and the
great cross trail of the ubiquitous glutton. On the trees around scores
of crows were sleepily digesting their abundant meals.

When Dr. Cheadle and his companion turned homewards, they found that
their enemy had been in active pursuit. Along the ground they had
traversed on the previous day, every trap was already demolished, and
all the baits were abstracted. Dr. Cheadle at first imagined that he
had at last outwitted and destroyed his enemy; but the Indian’s keener
eyes discovered each of the baits which had been poisoned, lying
close at hand, bitten in two and rejected, while all the others had
disappeared. The baits, nevertheless, had been very carefully prepared;
the strychnine being inserted into the centre of the meat by a small
hole, and when frozen it was impossible to distinguish them from the
harmless ones by any peculiarity of appearance. It seemed as if the
animal suspected poison, and bit in two and tasted every morsel before
swallowing it. The baits had purposely been made very small, so that
in the ordinary course they would have been swallowed whole. That the
same wolverine had followed up their path from the first, they knew
perfectly well, because it was one of unusually large size, as shown
by its tracks, which were readily distinguished from those of smaller
animals.

The distribution of Birds in the Polar Regions, is a subject on which
it seems desirable to offer a few remarks, so that our readers may be
able to form an accurate conception of the character and variety of the
animal life peculiar to them.

Of the birds of Greenland and Iceland, it may be affirmed that fully
three-fourths of the species, and a still larger proportion of
individuals, are more or less aquatic, and many of the remainder are
only summer visitors. The largest bird that ventures far north is the
_Aquila albicilla_, or fishing-eagle, which builds its eyrie on
the loftiest crags of the ocean-cliffs, and feeds on salmon and trout.
The _Falco Islandicus_, or gyrfalcon, though a native of Iceland,
is now very rarely met with. The snowy owl inhabits the glaciers which
fill the deep inland valleys of Greenland, and its range extends as
far southwards as the Orkneys. Particular kinds of grouse are confined
to the high latitudes; and more particularly the ptarmigan, or white
grouse, which supplies a welcome addition to the scanty bill of fare
of the Arctic navigators. It is found, even in the depths of winter,
on Melville Island; burrowing under the snow, perhaps, for warmth,
protection, and food. But it appears to be most numerous in April, when
it is found in pairs; in September it collects in coveys, sometimes
of as many as fifteen or twenty birds, preparatory to their southern
migration.

[Illustration: PTARMIGAN.]

Of the _Corvidæ_, the only species which ventures beyond the
Arctic Circle is the Royston crow, and that only in summer.

The raven, however, is found in all the wide Polar realm, and is
larger, stronger, and more voracious in the Arctic Islands than
elsewhere. It drives the eider-ducks from their nests in order to prey
on their young or feast on their eggs, and it unites in flocks to expel
intruding birds from their abode.

The _Grallatores_ are more numerous than land-birds in the Arctic
World. The snipe and the golden plover are only visitors; but the
oyster-catcher is a denizen of Iceland, where, building its nest on
the reedy banks of the streams, it wages war with the crow tribe.
The heron, curlew, plover, and most of the other waders, emigrate;
sand-pipers and the water-ousel remain “all the year round.”

The _Cygnus musicus_, or whistling swan, is specially famous for
its migrations. It measures five feet from the tip of the bill to the
end of the tail, and eight feet across its noble extended wings; its
plumage is white as snow, with a slight tinge of orange or yellow on
the head. Some of these swans winter in Iceland; and in the long Arctic
night their song, as they pass in flocks, falls on the ear of the
listener like the notes of a violin.

* * * * *

The distribution of animals is, of course, regulated by laws analogous
to those which regulate the distribution of plants, insects, birds,
and fishes. Each continent, and even different portions of the same
continent, are the centres of zoological families, which have always
existed there, and nowhere else; each group being almost always
specifically different from all others. As the Arctic World includes
a district common to Europe, Asia, and America, with uniform climatic
conditions, the animals inhabiting the high latitudes of these
continents are frequently very similar and sometimes identical; and,
in fact, no genus of quadrupeds exists in the Arctic regions that is
not found in all three continents, though there are only twenty-seven
species common to all, and these mostly fur-bearing animals. The
carnivores, as we have seen, are very few in number, and of these the
most important is the Polar bear. Of the herbivores the reindeer is
the most valuable; its southern limit in Europe is the Baltic Sea, in
America the latitude of Quebec.

There are fully eight varieties of American dogs, several of which
are natives of the far North. The _lagopus_, or isatis, a native
of Spitzbergen and Greenland, extends over all the Arctic regions of
America and Asia, and is found in some of the Kurile Islands. Dogs are
employed to draw sledges in Newfoundland and Canada; and the Eskimo
dogs, used for this purpose by the Arctic explorers, are famous for
their strength, their docility, and power of endurance. They were mute,
until they learned to bark from European dogs on board the discovery
ships.

CHAPTER VI.

ICELAND AND THE ICELANDERS.

Just within the Arctic region, but nearly on the limits of what
geographers call the Atlantic Ocean, lies an island which, since
its colonization in the ninth century, has not ceased to excite the
interest of the explorer and the man of science.

Iceland--which measures about 300 miles at its greatest length, from
east to west, and about 200 miles at its greatest breadth, from north
to south--is situated in lat. 63° 23’-66° 33’ N., and long. 13° 22’-24°
35’ W.; at a distance of 600 miles from the nearest point of Norway,
250 from the Faröe Isles, 250 from Greenland, and above 500 miles from
the northern extremity of Scotland. As early as the eighth Christian
century it was discovered by some European emigrants; though, indeed,
the Landnana Book, one of the earliest of the island-records, asserts
that they found the memorials of a yet earlier settlement in various
Christian relics, such as wooden crosses, which appeared to be of
Irish origin. At all events, the first really successful attempt at
colonization was made by Ingolf, a Norwegian, who planted himself and
his followers at Reikiavik in 874. In the following century a somewhat
extensive immigration took place of Norwegians who resented the changes
of polity introduced by Harold Haarfager, and all the habitable
points on the coast were occupied by about 950 A.D. Fifty
years afterwards, though not without much opposition, Christianity
was legally established, and the bishoprics of Holar and Skalholt
were founded. The government assumed the character of an aristocratic
republic, with a popular assembly, called the Althing, meeting every
summer in the valley of Thingvalla. Commerce was encouraged, and the
Icelanders early distinguished themselves by the boldness of their
maritime enterprise, and the extent of their ocean fisheries.

About the year 932 they discovered Greenland, and about 986 a portion
of the North American coast, which they called “Vineland.” They did not
confine their voyages to the north, but sent their ships even as far
south as the Mediterranean. From 1150 to 1250 is rightly considered the
most flourishing period of Icelandic literature and commerce. After the
conquest of the island by Haco VI. of Norway, much of the old spirit
seemed to die out. When Norway was united to Denmark in 1380, Iceland
was included in the bond, and it is still regarded as a dependency of
the latter kingdom. In 1540 it embraced the principles of Lutheran
Protestantism. Its population at one time numbered 100,000, but it
gradually diminished until, in 1840, it was reduced to 57,094; but a
slow increase has taken place of late years, and it now amounts to
about 70,000. The language spoken is the old Norse.

Iceland is a fifth part larger than Ireland, and its superficial
area is estimated at 39,207 square miles. Not more than 4000 miles,
however, are habitable, all the rest being ice and lava; for the island
seems to be little more than a mass of trachyte, snow-shrouded and
frost-bound, resting on a sea of fire. It consists of two vast parallel
table-lands, the foundations of ranges of lofty mountains, most of
which are active volcanoes; and these table-lands strike across the
centre of the island, from north-east to south-west, at a distance from
one another of ninety to one hundred miles. Their mountainous summits
are not pyramidal, as is generally the case in Europe, but rounded like
domes, as in the Andes of South America. Their sides, however, are
broken up by precipitous masses of tufa and conglomerate, intersected
by deep ravines of the gloomiest character. They are covered with a
thick shroud of ice and snow, but in their wombs seethe the fiery
elements which ever and anon break forth into terrible activity. The
eastern table-land and its mountain range is the most extensive, and
contains Oërafa, the culminating point of Iceland. It is visible from a
great distance at sea, like a white cloud suspended above the island.
Its height is 6426 feet, and it springs from a vast mountain-mass; no
fewer than 3000 square miles being perpetually burdened with ice and
snow, at an altitude varying from 3000 to 6000 feet.

[Illustration: AN ICELANDIC LANDSCAPE.]

A very considerable portion of the island is occupied by the large
glaciers which descend from the mountains, like frozen torrents,
pushing forward into the lowlands, and even to the margin of the sea.
These act as almost impassable barriers to communication between the
various inhabited districts.

We have spoken of the two ranges of table-lands as about ninety to
one hundred miles apart. The interspace forms a low broad valley,
which opens at either extremity on the sea--an awful waste, a region
of desolation, where man is utterly powerless; where the elements of
fire and frost maintain a perpetual antagonism; where blade of grass
is never seen, nor drop of water; where bird never wings its way, and
no sign of life can be detected. It seems a realization of Dante’s
“circle of ice” in the “Inferno.” The surface consists of lava streams,
fissured by innumerable crevices; of rocks piled on rocks; of dreary
glaciers, relieved by low volcanic cones. It is supposed that some
remote portions of the inaccessible interior are less barren, because
herds of reindeer have been seen feeding on the Iceland moss that
fringes the borders of this dreary region. But there is no reason to
believe that it can ever be inhabited by man.

[Illustration: MOUNT HEKLA, FROM THE VALLEY OF HEVITA.]

The extremities of the valleys, where they approach the ocean, are
the principal theatres of volcanic activity. At the northern end the
best-known volcano is that of Hekla, which has attained a sinister
repute from the terrific character of its eruptions. Of these
six-and-twenty are recorded, the last having occurred in 1845–46. One
lasted for six years, spreading devastation over a country which had
formerly been the seat of a prosperous colony, burying the fields
beneath a flood of lava, scoriæ, and ashes. During the eruption of
September 2, 1845, to April 1846, three new craters were formed,
from which columns of fire sprang to the height of 14,000 feet. The
lava accumulated in formidable hills, and fragments of scoriæ and
pumice-stone, weighing two hundredweight, were thrown to a distance
of a league and a half; while the ice and snow which had lain on the
mountain for centuries were liquefied, and poured down into the plains
in devastating torrents.

But the eruption of another of these terrible volcanoes, the Skaptá
Jokul, which broke out on the 8th of May 1783, and lasted until
August, was of a still more awful character. At that time the volcanic
fire under Europe must have raged most violently, for a tremendous
earthquake shattered a wide extent of Calabria in the same year, and
a submarine volcano had flamed fiercely for many weeks in the ocean,
thirty miles from the south-west cape of Iceland.

Its fires ceased suddenly; a series of earthquakes shook the island;
and then Skaptá broke forth into sudden and destructive activity.

For months the sun was hidden by dense clouds of vapour, and clouds of
volcanic dust were carried many hundreds of miles to sea, extending
even to England and Holland. Sand and ashes, raised to an enormous
height in the atmosphere, spread in all directions, and overwhelmed
thousands of acres of fertile pasturage. The sulphurous exhalations
blighted the grass of the field, and tainted the waters of river, lake,
and sea, so that not only the herds and flocks perished, but the fish
died in their poisoned element.

The quantity of matter ejected by the rent and shivered mountain was
computed at fifty or sixty thousand millions of cubic yards. The molten
lava flowed in a stream which in some places was twenty to thirty
miles in breadth, and of enormous thickness; a seething, hissing
torrent, which filled the beds of rivers, poured into the sea nearly
fifty miles from its points of eruption, and destroyed the fishing
on the coast. Some of the island-rivers were heated, it is said, to
ebullition; others were dried up; the condensed vapour fell in whirls
of snow and storms of rain. But dreadful as was the eruption itself,
with its sublime but awful phenomena, far more dreadful were its
consequences. The country within its range was one wide ghastly desert,
a fire-blighted wilderness; and, partly from want of food, partly owing
to the unwholesome condition of the atmosphere, no fewer than 9336
men,[10] 28,000 horses, 11,461 cattle, and 190,000 sheep, were swept
away in the short space of two years. Even yet Iceland has scarcely
recovered from the blow.

At the northern end of the great central valley the focus of igneous
phenomena is found in a semicircle of volcanic heights which slope
towards the eastern shore of the Lake Myvatr. Two of these are very
formidable,--namely, Leirhnukr and Krabla on the north-east. After
years of inaction, they suddenly broke out with tremendous fury,
pouring such a quantity of lava into the Lake Myvatr, which measures
twenty miles in circuit, that the water was in a state of ebullition
for many days. On the sides of Mount Krabla, and at the base of this
group of mountains, are situated various caldrons of boiling mineral
pitch, the ruined craters of ancient volcanoes; and from their depths
are thrown up jets of the molten matter, enveloped in clouds of steam,
and accompanied by loud explosions at regular intervals.

But the most singular phenomena in this singular country, where
frost and fire are continually disputing the pre-eminence, are the
_Geysers_, or eruptive boiling springs. These all occur in the
trachytic formation, are characterized by their high temperature, by
holding siliceous matter in solution, which they deposit in the form
of siliceous sinter, and by evolving large quantities of sulphuretted
hydrogen gas.

Upwards of fifty geysers have been counted in the space of a few acres
at the southern end of the great valley. Some are constant, some
periodical, some stagnant, some only slightly agitated. The grandest
and most celebrated are the Great Geyser and Strokr, thirty-five miles
north-west from Hekla. These, at regular intervals, hurl into the air
immense columns of boiling water, to the height of one hundred feet,
accompanied by clouds of steam and deafening noises. In the case of
the Great Geyser, the jet issues from a shaft about seventy-five feet
deep, and ten in diameter, which opens into the centre of a shallow
basin, about one hundred and fifty feet in circumference. The basin is
alternately emptied and filled: when filled, loud explosions are heard,
the ground quivers, and the boiling water is forced upwards in gigantic
columns. Thus the basin is emptied, and the explosions cease until it
is refilled.

Messrs. Descloiseaux and Bunsen, who, according to Mrs. Somerville,
visited Iceland in 1846, found the temperature of the Great Geyser, at
the depth of seventy-two feet, to equal 260° 30’ F. prior to a great
eruption, reduced, after the eruption, to 251° 30’ F.; an interval of
twenty-eight hours passing in silence.

[Illustration: THE GREAT GEYSER.]

About one hundred and forty yards distant is the Strokr (from
_stroka_, to agitate), a circular well, forty-four feet deep,
with a tube eight feet wide at its mouth, diminishing to little more
than ten inches at a depth of twenty-seven feet. The surface of the
water is in constant ebullition, while at the bottom the temperature
exceeds that of boiling water by about twenty-four degrees. It appears,
from experiments made by Donny, that water, long boiled, becomes more
and more free from air, and that thus the cohesion of the particles
is so much increased, that when the heat is sufficiently increased to
overcome that cohesion, the production of steam is so considerable and
so instantaneous as to induce an explosion. In this circumstance M.
Donny finds an explanation of the phenomena of the Geysers, which are
in constant ebullition for many hours, until, being almost purified
from air, the intense internal or subterranean heat overcomes the
cohesion of the particles, and thus an explosion takes place.

Lord Dufferin describes an eruption which he witnessed on the occasion
of his visit to the Geysers, but for which he waited three days. Like
pilgrims round some ancient shrine, he says, he and his friends kept
patient watch; but the Great Geyser scarcely deigned to vouchsafe the
slightest manifestation of its latent energies. Two or three times they
heard a sound as of subterranean cannonading, and once an eruption to
the height of about ten feet occurred. On the morning of the fourth
day a cry from the guides made them start to their feet, and with one
common impulse rush towards the basin. The usual underground thunder
had already commenced. A violent agitation was disturbing the centre
of the pool. Suddenly a dome of water lifted itself up to the height
of eight or ten feet, then burst, and fell; immediately after which
a shining liquid column, or rather a sheaf of columns, wreathed in
robes of vapour, sprang into the air, and in a succession of jerking
leaps, each higher than the last, flung their silver crests against
the sky. For a few minutes the fountain held its own, then all at once
appeared to lose its ascending power. The unstable waters faltered,
drooped, fell, “like a broken purpose,” back upon themselves, and were
immediately sucked down into the recesses of their pipe.

The spectacle was one of great magnificence; but no description can
give an accurate idea of its most striking features. The enormous
wealth of water, its vitality, its hidden power, the illimitable
breadth of sunlit vapour, rolling out in exhaustless profusion,--these
combine to impress the spectator with an almost painful sense of the
stupendous energy of nature’s slightest movements.

The same traveller furnishes a very humorous account of the Strokr (or
“churn”).

It is, he says, an unfortunate Geyser, with so little command over its
temper and stomach, that you can get a _rise_ out of it whenever
you like. Nothing more is necessary than to collect a quantity of sods
and throw them down its funnel. As it has no basin to protect it from
these liberties, you can approach to the very edge of the pipe, which
is about five feet in diameter, and look down at the boiling water
perpetually seething at the bottom. In a few minutes the dose of turf
just administered begins to disagree with it; it works itself up into
“an awful passion;” tormented by the qualms of incipient sickness,
it groans and hisses, and boils up, and spits at you with malicious
vehemence, until at last, with a roar of mingled pain and rage, it
throws up into the air a column of water forty feet high, carrying with
it all the sods that have been thrown in, and scattering them, scalded
and half-digested, at your feet. So irritated has the poor thing’s
stomach become by the discipline it has undergone, that even long
after all foreign matter has been thrown off, it continues retching
and sputtering, until at last nature is exhausted, when, sobbing and
sighing to itself, it sinks back into the bottom of its den.

The ground around the Geysers, for about a quarter of a mile, looks
as if it had been “honeycombed by disease into numerous sores and
orifices;” not a blade of grass grew on its hot, inflamed surface,
which consisted of unwholesome-looking red livid clay, or crumpled
shreds and shards of slough-like incrustations.

* * * * *

A region, corresponding in character to the desert mountain-mass we
have been describing, stretches westward from it to the extremity of
the ridge of the Snaefield Syssel, and terminates in the remarkable
cone of Snaefield Jokul.

The island coasts exhibit a singularly broken outline, and the deep
lochs or fiords, like those of Norway, only less romantic, dip into the
interior for many miles, and throw off numerous branches. These fiords
are wild and gloomy; dark, still inlets, with precipices on either
side, a thousand feet in height, and the silence unbroken, save by the
occasional wash of the waters, or the scream of a solitary ocean-bird.
Inland, however, they assume a gentler character: they end in long
narrow valleys, watered by pleasant streams, and bright with pasture.
In these bits of Arcadia the inhabitants have built their towns and
villages.

In the valleys on the north coast, which are adorned by clumps of
willow and juniper, the soil is comparatively fertile; but the most
genial scenery is found on the east, where, in some places, the
birch-trees reach a height of twenty feet, and are of sufficient size
to be used in house-building. The fuel used by the Icelanders is the
drift-wood which the Gulf Stream brings from Mexico, the Carolinas,
Virginia, and the River St. Lawrence.

In the south of the island the mean temperature is about 39°; in the
central districts, 36°; in the north it rarely rises above 32°, or
freezing-point. Thunder-storms, though rare in high latitudes, are not
uncommon in Iceland; a circumstance which is due, no doubt, to the
atmospheric disturbances caused by the volcanic phenomena. Hurricanes
are frequent, and the days are few when the island is free from
sea-mists. At the northern end the sun is always above the horizon
in the middle of summer, and under it in the middle of winter; but
absolute darkness does not prevail.

One of the most interesting places in Iceland is Thingvalla, where of
old the “Althing,” or supreme parliament, was wont to hold its annual
assemblies, under the “Logmathurman,” or president of the republic.

It is nothing more than a broad plain on the bank of the River Oxerá,
near the point where the swift waters, after forming a noble cascade,
sweep into the Lake of Thingvalla. Only a plain; but the scenery around
it is indescribably grand and solemn. On either side lies a barren
plateau, above which rises a range of snowy mountains, and from the
plateaus the plain is cut off by deep chasms,--that of Almanna Gja
on the east, and the Hrafna Gja on the west. It measures eight miles
in breadth, and its surface is covered by a network of innumerable
fissures and crevices of great depth and breadth. At the foot of the
plain lies a lake, about thirty miles in circumference, in the centre
of which two small crater-islands, the result of some ancient eruption,
are situated. The mountains on its south bank have a romantic aspect,
and that their volcanic fires are not extinct is shown by the clouds
of vapour evolved from the hot springs that pour down their rugged
sides. The actual meeting-place of the Althing was an irregular oval
area, about two hundred feet by fifty, almost entirely surrounded by a
crevice so broad and deep as to be impassable, except where a narrow
causeway connected it with the adjacent plain, and permitted access
to its interior. At one other point, indeed, the encircling chasm is
so narrow that it may possibly be cleared at a leap; and the story
runs that one Flosi, when hotly pursued by his enemies, did in this
way escape them; but as falling an inch short would mean sure death in
the green waters below, the chasm may be regarded as a tolerably sure
barrier against intruders.

The ancient capital of the island was Skalholt, where, in the eleventh
century, was founded the first school; an episcopal seat; the
birthplace of a long line of Norse worthies, Islief the chronicler,
Gissur the linguist, and Finnur Johnson the historian. But its glories
have passed away; its noble cathedral has ceased to exist; and three or
four cottages alone perpetuate the name of the once flourishing city.

The present capital is Reikiavik, to which, in 1797, were transferred
the united bishoprics of Stoolum and Skalholt. It consists of a
collection of wooden sheds, one story high, rising here and there into
a gable end of greater pretensions, extending along a tract of dreary
lava, and flanked at either end by a suburb of turf huts. On every side
of it stretches a dreary lava-plain, and the gloom of the scorched and
ghastly landscape is unrelieved by tree or bush. The white mountains
are too distant to serve as a background to the buildings, but before
the door of each merchant’s house, facing the sea, streams a bright
little pennon; and as the traveller paces the silent streets, whose
dust no carriage-wheel has ever desecrated, the rows of flower-pots
peeping out of the windows, between white muslin curtains, at once
convince him that, notwithstanding their unostentatious appearance,
within each dwelling reign “the elegance and comfort of a woman-tended
home.”

The prosperity of Reikiavik is chiefly due to its excellent harbour,
and to the fish-banks in its neighbourhood, which supply it with an
important commercial staple. In the summer and early autumn it is much
visited by tourists, who start from thence to admire the wonders of
Hekla, Skapta, and the Geysers; but its busiest time is in July, when
the annual fair draws thither a crowd of fisher-folk and peasants. From
a distance of forty and fifty leagues they come, with long trains of
pack-horses, their stock-fish slung loose across the animals’ backs,
and their other wares packed closely in boxes or bags of reindeer-skin.

[Illustration: HARBOUR OF REIKIAVIK.]

The Icelander is honest, temperate, hospitable, possessed with a
fervent spirit of patriotism, and strongly wedded to the ancient
usages. He is also industrious; and though his industry is but
scantily remunerated, he earns enough to satisfy his simple tastes.
In the interior his chief dependence is on his cattle; and as grass
is the main produce of his farm, his anxiety during the haymaking
season is extreme. A bad crop would be almost ruin. He is, however,
wofully ignorant of agriculture as a science, does but little for the
improvement of the soil, and employs implements of the most primitive
character. The process of haymaking in Iceland is thus described:--

The best crops are gathered from the “tún,” a kind of home-park or
paddock, comprising the lands contiguous to the farmstead--the only
portion of his demesne to which the owner gives any special attention,
and on the improvement of which he bestows any labour. This “tún” is
enclosed within a wall of stone or turf, and averages an extent of
two or three acres, though sometimes it reaches to ten. Its surface
is usually a series of closely-packed mounds, like an overcrowded
graveyard, with channels or water-runs between, about two feet deep.
Hither every person employed on the farm, or whom the farmer can
engage, resorts, with short-bladed scythe and rake, and proceeds to cut
down the coarse thick grass, and rake it up into little heaps.

Afterwards the mowers hasten to clear the neighbouring hill sides and
undrained marshes.

This primitive haymaking, so unlike the systematic operation which
bears that name in England, is carried on throughout the twenty-four
hours of the long summer day. The hay, when sufficiently dried, is
made up into bundles, and tied with cords and thongs, and packed on
the back of ponies, which carry it to the clay-built stalls or sheds
prepared for it. And a curious sight it is to see a long string of
hay-laden ponies returning home. Each pony’s halter is made fast to the
tail of his predecessor; and the little animals are so overshadowed
and overwhelmed by their burdens, that their hoofs and the connecting
ropes alone are visible, and they seem like so many animated haycocks,
feeling themselves sufficiently made up, and leisurely betaking
themselves to their resting-places.

During the protracted winter the Icelander, of course, can attend to no
out-of-door labour, and passes his time within his hut, which, in many
parts of the island, is not much superior to an Irish “cabin.”

The lower part is built of rough stones up to a height of four feet,
and between each course a layer of turf is placed, which serves instead
of mortar, and helps to keep out the cold. The roof, made of any
available wood, is covered with turf and sods. On the southern side
the building is ornamented with doors and gable-ends, each of which
is crowned by a weathercock. These doors are the entrances to the
dwelling-rooms and various offices, such as the cow-shed, store-house,
and smithy. The dwelling-rooms are connected by a long, dark, narrow
passage, and are separated from each other by strong walls of turf.
As each apartment has its own roof, the building is, in effect, an
aggregate of several low huts, which receive their light through small
windows in the front, or holes in the roof, covered with a piece of
glass or skin. The floors are of stamped earth; the fireplace is made
of a few stones, rudely packed together, while the smoke escapes
through a hole in the roof, or through a cask or barrel, with the ends
knocked out, which acts as chimney.

In some parts of the island lava is used instead of stones, and instead
of wood the rafters are made of the ribs of whales. A horse’s skull is
the best seat provided for a visitor. Too often the same room serves
as the dining, sitting, and sleeping place for the whole family, and
the beds are merely boxes filled with feathers or sea-weed. There
are, however, a few houses of a superior character, in which the
arrangements are not much unlike those of a good old-fashioned English
farm-house; the walls being wainscotted with deal, and the doors and
staircase of the same material. A few prints and photographs, some
book-shelves, one or two little pictures, decorate the sitting-room,
and a neat iron stove, and massive chests of drawers, furnish it
sufficiently.

From the houses we turn to the churches. In Reikiavik the church is
a stone building, the only stone building in the town; but this is
exceptional: most of the churches are not much better than the houses.
We will be content, therefore, with a visit to the Reikiavik sanctuary,
which is a neat and unpretending erection, capable of accommodating
three or four hundred persons. The Icelanders are not opposed to a
“decent ritual,” and the Lutheran minister wears a black gown with
a ruff round his neck. The majority of the congregation, here as
everywhere else, consists of women; some few dressed in bonnets, and
the rest wearing the national black silk skull-cap, set jauntily on one
side of the head, with a long black tassel drooping to the shoulder, or
else a quaint mitre-like structure of white linen, almost as imposing
as the head-dress of a Normandy peasant. The remainder of an Icelandic
lady’s costume, we may add, consists of a black bodice, fastened in
front with silver clasps, over which is drawn a cloth jacket, gay with
innumerable silver buttons; round the neck goes a stiff ruff of velvet,
embroidered with silver lace; and a silver belt, often beautifully
chased, binds the long dark wadmal petticoat round the waist. Sometimes
the ornaments are of gold, instead of silver, and very costly.

Towards the end of the Lutheran service, the preacher descends from the
pulpit, and attiring himself in a splendid crimson velvet cope, turns
his back to the congregation, and chants some Latin sentences.

Though still retaining in their ceremonies, says a recent traveller,
a few vestiges of the old religion, though altars, candles, pictures,
and crucifixes yet remain in many of their churches, the Icelanders are
stanch Protestants, and singularly devout, innocent, and pure-hearted.
Crime, theft, debauchery, cruelty are unknown amongst them; they have
neither prison, gallows, soldiers, nor police; and in the manner of
their lives mingles something of a patriarchal simplicity, that reminds
one of the Old World princes, of whom it has been said, that they were
“upright and perfect, eschewing evil, and in their hearts no guile.”

In the rural districts, if such a phrase can properly be applied
to any part of Iceland, the church is scarcely distinguishable
from any other building, except by the cross planted on its roof.
It measures, generally, from eight to ten feet in width, and from
eighteen to twenty-four feet in length; but of this space about eight
feet are devoted to the altar, which is divided off by a wooden
partition stretching across the church, just behind the pulpit. The
communion-table is nothing more than a small wooden chest or cupboard,
placed at the end of the building, between two small square windows,
each formed by a single common-sized pane of glass. Over the table
is suspended a sorry daub, on wood, intended to represent the Last
Supper. The walls, which are wainscotted, are about six feet high; and
stout beams of wood stretch from side to side. On these are carelessly
scattered a number of old Bibles, psalters, and loose leaves of soiled
and antiquated manuscripts. The interior of the roof, the rafters of
which rest on the walls, is also lined with wood. Accommodation, in the
shape of a few rough benches, is provided for a congregation of thirty
or forty souls.

Poor as are the churches, the pastors are still poorer. The best
benefice in the island is worth not much more than £40 per annum; the
average value is £10. The bishop himself does not receive more than
£200. The principal support of the clergy, therefore, is derived from
their glebe-land, eked out by the small fees charged for baptisms,
marriages, and funerals.

Such being the case, the reader will not be surprised to learn that
the Icelandic clergy live miserably and work hard. They assist in
the haymaking; they hire themselves out as herdsmen; they act as the
leaders of the caravans of pack-horses which carry the produce of the
island to the ports, and return loaded with domestic necessaries; and
they distinguish themselves as blacksmiths, as veterinarians, and
shoers of horses.

Dr. Henderson gives an interesting and graphic account of a visit
he paid to one of these “poor parsons,” John Thorlukson, who, while
supporting himself by drudgery of this painful kind, translated
Milton’s “Paradise Lost” and Pope’s “Essay on Man” into Icelandic.

“Like most of his brethren, at this season of the year,” says Dr.
Henderson, “we found him in the meadow assisting his people at
haymaking. On hearing of our arrival he made all the haste home which
his age and infirmity would allow, and bidding us welcome to his lowly
abode, ushered us into the humble apartment where he translated my
countrymen into Icelandic. The door was not quite four feet in height,
and the room might be about eight feet in length by six in breadth. At
the inner end was the poet’s bed; and close to the door, over against
a small window, not exceeding two feet square, was a table where he
committed to paper the effusions of his muse. On my telling him that
my countrymen would not have forgiven me, nor could I have forgiven
myself, had I passed through this part of the island without paying him
a visit, he replied that the translation of Milton had yielded him many
a pleasant hour, and often given him occasion to think of England.”

It is true that this passage was written some fifty-five years ago, but
the condition of the clergy of Iceland has not much improved in the
interval.

* * * * *

Travelling in Iceland, even under the more favourable conditions
brought about by a constant influx of tourists, is not to be achieved
without difficulty and discomfort. Not only is the country destitute,
necessarily, of inns and the usual arrangements for the convenience
of travellers, but much, very much, depends upon the weather. With a
bright sky overhead, it is possible to regard as trivial and unworthy
of notice the small _désagréments_ which, in bad weather, develop
into very serious annoyances. The only mode of travelling is on
horseback, for as there are no roads, carriages would be useless; while
the distances between the various points of interest are too great,
the rivers too violent, and the swamps too extensive for pedestrian
tours to be undertaken. Even the most moderate-minded tourist requires
a couple of riding-horses for himself, a couple for his guide, and a
couple of pack-horses; and when a larger company travels, it expands
into a cavalcade of from twenty to thirty horses, tied head to tail,
which slowly pick their way over rugged lava-beds or dangerous boggy
ground.

It is one thing, as Lord Dufferin remarks, to ride forty miles a day
through the most singular scenery in the world, when a glorious sun
brings out every feature of the landscape into startling distinctness,
transmuting the dull tormented earth into towers, domes, and pinnacles
of shining metal, and clothes each peak in a robe of many-coloured
light, such as the “Debatable Mountains” must have been in Bunyan’s
dream; and another to plod over the same forty miles, wet to the skin,
seeing nothing but the dim gray bases of the hills, which rise you
know not how, and care not where. “If, in addition to this, you have
to wait, as very often must be the case, for many hours after your own
arrival, wet, tired, hungry, until the baggage-train, with the tents
and food, shall have come up, with no alternative in the meantime but
to lie shivering inside a grass-roofed house, or to share the quarters
of some farmer’s family, whose domestic arrangements resemble in every
particular those which Macaulay describes as prevailing among the
Scottish Highlanders a hundred years ago; and if, finally, after vainly
waiting for some days to see an eruption which never takes place, you
journey back to Reikiavik under the same melancholy conditions, it will
not be unnatural that, on returning to your native land, you should
proclaim Iceland, with her geysers, to be a sham, a delusion, and a
snare!”

There are no bridges in Iceland; no bridges, except, indeed, a few
planks flung across the Bruera, and a swing-bridge, or kláfe, which
spans the Jokülsa; and, as is still the case in some parts of the
Scottish Highlands, the traveller must ford the streams, which are
always rapid, and sometimes inconveniently deep. The passage of a river
is, therefore, a formidable enterprise, as may be inferred from the
experiences of Mr. Holland and other travellers.

The guide leads the way, and the caravan follow obediently in his
wake, stemming, as best they can, the swift impetuous torrent. Often
the boiling water rises high against the horse’s shoulders, and dashes
clouds of spray in the face of the riders. The stream is so furiously
fast that it is impossible to follow the individual waves as they sweep
by, and to look down at it almost makes one dizzy. Now, if ever, is the
time for a firm hand, a sure seat, and a steady eye: not only is the
current strong, but its bed is full of large stones, which the horse
cannot see through the dark waters; and should he fall, the torrent
will carry you down to the sea, whose white breakers are plainly
visible as they crawl along the resounding beach at a mile’s distance.
Happily, though hungry for prey, they will not be satisfied. Swimming
would be of no use, but an “Icelandic water-horse” seldom blunders or
makes a false step. But another danger lies in the masses of ice swept
down by the whirling waves, many of which are sufficiently large to
topple over horse and rider.

How the horses are able to stand against such a stream is every
traveller’s wonder; nor would they do so unless they were inured to
the enterprise from their very youth. The Icelanders who live in the
interior keep horses known for their qualities in fording difficult
rivers, and never venture to cross a dangerous stream unless mounted on
an experienced “water-horse.”

The action of the Icelandic horses in crossing a swift river is very
peculiar. They lean all their weight _against_ the current,
so as to oppose it as much as possible, and move onwards with a
characteristic side-step. This motion is not agreeable. It feels as if
your horse were marking time, like soldiers at drill, without gaining
ground, and as the progress made is really very slow, the shore from
which you started seems to recede from you, while that to which you are
bound does not seem to draw nearer.

In the mid-stream the roar of the waters is frequently so great that
the travellers cannot make their voices audible to one another. There
is the swirl of the torrent, the seething of the spray, the crunching
of the floating ice, the roll of stones and boulders against the
bottom,--and all these sounds combine in one confused chaotic din.
Up to this point, a diagonal line, rather down stream, is cautiously
followed; but when the middle is reached, the horses’ heads are turned
slightly _towards_ the current, and after much effort and many
risks the opposite bank is reached in safety.

Lord Dufferin says, with much truth, that the traveller in Iceland is
constantly reminded of the East. From the earliest ages the Icelanders
have been a people dwelling in tents. In the days of the ancient
Althing, the legislators, during the entire session, lay encamped
in movable booths around the place of council. There is something
patriarchal in their domestic polity, and the very migration of their
ancestors from Norway was a protest against the antagonistic principle
of feudalism. No Arab could be prouder of his high-mettled steed than
the Icelander of his little stalwart, sure-footed pony: no Oriental
could pay greater attention to the duties of hospitality; while the
solemn salutation exchanged between two companies of travellers, as
they pass each other in what is universally called “the desert,” is not
unworthy of the stately courtesy of the gravest of Arabian sheikhs.

It is difficult to imagine anything more multifarious than the cargo
which these caravans import into the inland districts: deal boards,
rope, kegs of brandy, sacks of rye or wheaten flour, salt, soap, sugar,
snuff, tobacco, coffee; everything, in truth, which is necessary for
domestic consumption during the dreary winter season. In exchange for
these commodities the Icelanders give raw wool, knitted stockings,
mittens, cured cod, fish-oil, whale-blubber, fox-skins, eider-down,
feathers, and Iceland moss. The exports of the island in wool amount
to upwards of 1,200,000 lbs. of wool yearly, and 500,000 pairs of
stockings and mittens.

[Illustration: ICELANDERS FISHING FOR NARWHAL.]

Iceland offers abundant sport to the enthusiast in fishing. The streams
are well supplied with salmon; while the neighbouring seas abound in
seals, torsk, and herrings. The narwhal-fishery is also carried on, and
has its strange and exciting features. The implement used is simply a
three-pronged harpoon, like a trident, with which the fisherman strikes
at the fish as they rise to the surface; and his dexterity and coolness
are so great that he seldom misses his aim.

Numerous works, in English, have been written upon Iceland and the
Icelanders; the most trustworthy are those by Dr. Henderson, Professor
Forbes, Holland, Chambers, and Lord Dufferin. The King of Denmark
visited Iceland in 1874.

CHAPTER VII.

THE ESKIMOS.

The land of the Eskimos is of very wide extent. From Greenland and
Labrador they range over all the coasts of Arctic America to the
extreme north-eastern point of Asia. Several of the Eskimo tribes are
independent; others acknowledge the rule of Great Britain, Denmark,
Russia, and more recently of the United States. The whaler meets
with them on the shores of Baffin Bay, and in the icy sea beyond
Behring Straits; the explorer has tracked them as far as Smith Sound,
the highway to the North Pole; and while they descend as low as the
latitude of Vienna, they rove as far north as the 81st and 82nd
parallels. They are the aborigines of the deserts of ice and snow, the
ancient masters of the Arctic wilderness, and all Polar America is
their long-acknowledged domain. To a certain extent they are nomadic
in their habits; compelled to migrate by the conditions of the climate
in which they live, and forced to seek their scanty sustenance in a
new locality when they have exhausted the capabilities of any chosen
habitat. As Mr. Markham tells us, traces of former inhabitants are
found throughout the gloomiest wastes of the Arctic regions, in sterile
and silent tracts where now only solitude prevails. These wilds, it
is known, have been uninhabited for centuries; yet they are covered
with memorials of wanderers or of sojourners of a bygone age. Here and
there, in Greenland, in Boothia, on the American coast, where life is
possible, the descendants of former nomads are still to be found.

Arctic discovery, as yet, has stopped short at about 82° on the west
coast, and 76° on the east, of Greenland. These two points are about
six hundred miles apart. There have been inhabitants at both points,
though they are separated by an uninhabitable interval from the
settlements further south; we may conclude, then, that the _terra
incognita_ further north is also or has been inhabited. In 1818 it
was discovered that a small tribe of Eskimos inhabited the bleak west
coast of Greenland between 76° and 79° N. They could not penetrate
to the south on account of the glaciers of Melville Bay; they could
not penetrate to the north, because all progress in that direction
is forbidden by the great Humboldt glacier; while the huge interior
glacier of the _Sernik-sook_ pent them in upon the narrow belt of
the sea-coast. These so-called “Arctic Highlanders” number about one
hundred and forty souls, and throughout the winter their precarious
livelihood depends on the fish they catch in the open pools and
water-ways. Under similar conditions, it is probable that Eskimo tribes
may be existing still further north; or if, as geographers suppose, an
open sea really surrounds the Pole, and a warmer atmosphere prevails,
the conditions of their existence will necessarily be more favourable.

* * * * *

Before we come to speak of the characteristics of the Eskimos, we must
briefly notice the Danish settlements in Greenland, which are gradually
attracting no inconsiderable number of them within the bounds of
civilization. These are dotted along the coast, like so many centres
of light and life; but the most important, from a commercial point of
view, are Upernavik, Jacobshav’n, and Godhav’n.

Upernavik is the chief town of a district which extends from the 70th
to the 74th degree of north latitude, and enjoys the distinction of
being the most northerly civilized region in the world. Its northern
boundary represents the furthest advance of civilization in its long
warfare against the Arctic climate.

[Illustration: UPERNAVIK, GREENLAND.]

The town of Upernavik is situated on the summit of a mossy hill which
slopes to the head of a small but sheltered harbour. It contains
a government-house, plastered with pitch and tar; a shop or two;
lodging-houses for the Danish officials; some timber huts, inhabited
by Danes; and a number of huts of stone and turf, intermingled with
seal-skin tents, which accommodate the natives. Its principal evidences
of civilization are its neat little church and parsonage.

The inhabitants are chiefly occupied in fishing and hunting, and in
the manufacture of suitable clothing for the protection of the human
frame against the winter cold. Reindeer, seal, and dog skins are deftly
converted into hoods, jackets, trousers, and boots. The last-named
are triumphs of ingenuity. They are made of seal-skin, which has
been tanned by alternate freezing and thawing; are sewed with sinew,
and “crimped” and fitted to the foot with equal taste and skill. Dr.
Hayes informs us that the Greenland women, not exempt from the love of
finery characteristic of their sex, trim their own boots in a perfectly
bewitching manner, and adopt the gayest of colours. Red boots, or
white, trimmed with red, he says, seemed most generally worn, though
there was no more limit to the variety than to the capriciousness of
the fancy which suggested it. And it would be difficult to imagine a
more grotesque spectacle than is presented by the crowd of red, and
yellow, and white, and purple, and blue-legged women who crowd the
beach whenever a strange ship enters the harbour.

The population of Upernavik numbers now about two hundred and fifty
souls; comprising some forty or fifty Danes, a larger number of
half-breeds, the remainder being native Greenlanders,--that is, Eskimos.

[Illustration: DISCO ISLAND, GREENLAND.]

In describing _one_ Danish settlement we describe all, for they
present exactly the same characteristics, the difference between them
being only a question of population.

[Illustration: GODHAV’N, DISKO ISLAND, GREENLAND.]

Jacobshav’n and Godhav’n are situated on the island of Disko, which is
separated from the west coast of Greenland by Weygat Strait, and has
been described as one of the most remarkable localities in the Arctic
World. The tradition runs that it was translated from a southern region
to its present position by a potent sorcerer; and an enormous hole
in the rock is pointed out as the gully through which he passed his
rope. It is a lofty island, and its coast is belted round by high trap
cliffs, of the most imposing aspect. Near its south-west extremity,
in lat. 69° S., a low rugged spur or tongue of granite projects into
the sea for about a mile and a half,--a peninsula at low water, and an
island at high water,--and forms the snug little recess of Godhav’n,
or Good Harbour. To the north of the bay, in face of rocky cliffs,
which rise perpendicularly from the sea to a height of 2000 feet, lies
the town of the same name, which our English whalers know as Lievely,
probably a corruption of the adjective _lively_; for the tiny
colony is the metropolis of Northern Greenland; and since the beginning
of the present century has been the favourite rendezvous of the fishing
fleets and expeditions of discovery.

* * * * *

Further to the north lies Jacobshav’n, which possesses a celebrity of
its own as one of the most ancient of the Moravian mission-stations in
the north of Greenland. Besides a church, it boasts of a college for
the education and training of natives who desire to be of service to
their fellow-countrymen in the capacity of catechists or teachers. So
great has been the industry, and so well deserved is the influence of
the missionaries, that it is difficult now to find an Eskimo woman in
this part of Greenland who cannot read and write. Prior to the Danish
colonisation of Greenland, the language of the natives was exclusively
oral. Only through the medium of speech could they represent their
simplest ideas; and the picture-writing of the North American Indians
was beyond their skill. But the missionaries have raised the Eskimo
tongue into the rank of written languages. At Godthaab a printing-press
is in full operation, and has already produced some very interesting
historical narratives and Eskimo traditions.

[Illustration: DANISH SETTLEMENT OF JACOBSHAV’N, GREENLAND.]

As is the case with all the Greenland colonies, Jacobshav’n owes its
prosperity to the seal-fishing. Moreover, the Greenland, or “right”
whale, in its annual migrations southward, enters the neighbouring
waters during the month of September, and furnishes employment to the
fishing population.

In the neighbourhood of Jacobshav’n an enormous glacier, one of the
offshoots of the great central _mer de glace_ of Greenland, finds
its way to the sea. Yet the temperature is said to be milder than at
Godhav’n.

* * * * *

The following remarks apply, of course, to those Eskimos who still lead
a nomadic life, and have profited little or nothing by the Christian
civilization of the Danish settlements and Moravian missions.

Among themselves the Eskimos are known as _Inuits_, or “men;”
the seamen of the Hudson Bay ships have long been accustomed to call
them _Seymos_ or _Suckemos_--names derived from the cries of
_Seymo_ or _Teymo_ with which they hail the arrival of the
traders; while the old Norsemen designated them, in allusion to their
discordant shouts, or by way of expressing their infinite contempt,
_Skraelingers_, “screamers” or “wretches.”

The European feels impelled to pity the hard fate which condemns them
to inhabit one of the dreariest and most inhospitable regions of the
globe, where only a few mosses and lichens, or plants scarcely higher
in the scale of creation, can maintain a struggling existence; where
land animals and birds are few in number; and where human life would be
impossible but for the provision which the ocean waters so abundantly
supply. As they live in a great degree upon fish and the cetaceans,
they dwell almost always near the coast, and never penetrate inland to
any considerable distance.

In the east the Eskimos, for several centuries, have been subjected
to the civilizing influences of the English and the Dutch; in the
west, they have long been under the iron rule of the Muscovite. In the
north and the centre their intercourse with Europeans has always been
casual and inconsiderable. It will therefore be understood that the
different branches of this wide-spread race must necessarily exhibit
some diversity of character, and that the same description of manners
and mode of life will not in all points apply with equal accuracy to
the savage and heathen Eskimos of the extreme northern shores and
islands, the Greek Catholic Aleüts, the faithful servants of the Hudson
Bay Company, and the disciples of the Moravian Brethren in Labrador
or Greenland. Yet the differences are by no means important, and it
may be doubted whether any other race, living under such peculiar
conditions, and extending over so vast an area, can show so few and
such inconsiderable specific varieties. When one thinks of an Eskimo,
one naturally calls up a certain image to one’s mind: that of a man of
moderate stature or under medium size, with a broad flat face, narrow
tapering forehead, and narrow or more or less oblique eyes; and this
image or type will be found to be realized throughout the length and
breadth of Eskimo America. The Eskimo, generally speaking, would seem
to have sprung from a Mongol stock; at all events, he can claim no
kinship with the Red Indians. Happily for Europeans, if inferior to
the latter in physical qualities, he is superior in generosity and
amiability of disposition.

The Eskimos are sometimes spoken of as if they were dwarfs or
Lilliputians, but such is not the case. They are shorter than the
average Frenchman or Englishman, but individuals measuring from
five feet ten inches to six feet have been found in Camden Bay. Dr.
Kane speaks of Eskimos in Smith Strait who were fully a foot taller
than himself. It is true of the females, however, that they are
comparatively little.

The Eskimos are a stalwart, broad-shouldered race, considerably
stronger than any other of the races of North America. In both sexes
the hands and feet are small and well-shaped. Their muscles are
strongly developed, owing to constant exercise in hunting the seal and
the walrus. They are also powerful wrestlers, and on no unequal terms
could compete with the athletic celebrities of Devon and Cornwall.
Their physiognomy, notwithstanding its lack of beauty, is far from
displeasing; its expression is cheerful and good-tempered, and the
long winter night does not seem to sadden their spirits or oppress
their energies. The females are well made, and though not handsome,
are scarcely to be stigmatized as ugly. Their teeth are very white and
regular; and their complexion is warm, clear, and good. It is true that
it cannot be seen to advantage, owing to the layers of dirt by which it
is obscured; but it is not much darker than a dark brunette, and as for
the dirt--well, perhaps, it is preferable to cosmetics!

Even in the Arctic World, woman seems conscious of the influence of her
charms, and man seems willing to recognize it. They plait their black
and glossy hair--these Eskimo beauties!--with much care and taste; and
they tattoo their forehead, cheeks, and chin with a few curved lines,
which produce a not altogether unpleasant effect.

From Behring Straits eastward, as far as the river Mackenzie, the
males pierce the lower lip near each angle of the mouth, in order to
suspend to it ornaments of blue or green quartz, or of ivory, shaped
like buttons. Some insert a small ivory quill or dentalium shell in
the cartilage of the nose. They decorate themselves, moreover, with
strings of glass beads; or when and where these cannot be obtained,
with strings of the teeth of the musk-ox, wolf, or fox; hanging them to
the tail of the jacket, or twining them round the waist like a girdle.

The influence of climate upon dress is a subject which we commend
to the notice of art-critics and æsthetic philosophers. Within the
Arctic Circle the problem to be solved is, how to obtain the greatest
amount of protection for the person, without rendering the costume
too heavy or cumbrous; and the Eskimos have succeeded in solving it
satisfactorily. They can defy the rigour of the Arctic winter, its
extreme cold, its severest gales, and pursue their avocations in the
open air even in the dreariness of the early winter twilight, so
cleverly adapted is their garb to the conditions under which they live.
Their boots, made of seal-skin, and lined with the downy skins of
birds, are thoroughly waterproof; their gloves are large, but defend
the hands from frost-bite: they wear two pair of breeches, made of
reindeer or seal-skin, of which the under pair has the close, warm,
stimulating hair close to the flesh; and two jackets, of which the
upper one is provided with a large hood, completely enveloping the head
and face, all but the eyes. The women are similarly attired, except
that their outer jacket is a little longer, and the hood, in which they
carry their children, considerably larger; and that, in summer, they
substitute for the skin-jacket a water-tight shirt, or _kamleika_,
made of the entrails of the seal or walrus. They sew their boots
so tightly as to render them impervious to moisture, and so neatly
that they may almost be included in the category of works of art. In
Labrador the women carry their infants in their boots, which have a
long pointed flap in front for the purpose.

In a preceding chapter we have spoken incidentally of the Eskimo
huts. These, like the Eskimo dress, are admirably adapted to the
circumstances of the country and the nature of the climate. The
materials used are either frozen snow, earth, stones, or drift-wood.
The snow-hut is a dome-shaped edifice, constructed in the following
manner:--

First, the builders trace a circle on the smooth level surface of the
snow, and the snow gathered within the area thus defined is cut into
slabs, and used for building the walls, leaving the ice underneath to
serve as the flooring.

The crevices between the slabs, and any accidental fissures, are closed
up by throwing a few shovelfuls of loose snow over the building. Two
men are generally engaged in the work; and when the dome is completed,
the one within cuts a low door, through which he creeps. As the walls
are not more than three or four inches thick, they admit a soft subdued
light into the interior, but a window of transparent ice is generally
added. Not only the hut, but the furniture inside it, is made of snow;
snow seats, snow tables, snow couches--the latter rendered comfortable
by coverings of skins. To exclude the cold outer air, the entrance
is protected by an antechamber and a porch; and for the purposes of
intercommunication, covered passages are carried from one hut to
another.

[Illustration: BUILDING AN ESKIMO HUT.]

The rapidity with which these snow-huts are raised is quite surprising,
and certainly affords a vivid illustration of the old saying that
“practice brings perfection.” Captain M’Clintock for a few nails hired
four Eskimos to erect a hut for his ship’s crew; and though it was
twenty-four feet in circumference, and five and a half feet in height,
it was erected in a single day.

Much ingenuity is frequently displayed in their construction.

Dr. Scoresby, in 1824, found some deserted huts on the east coast of
Greenland, which showed no little constructive skill on the part of
their builders.

A horizontal tunnel, about fifteen feet in length, and so low that
a person entering it was compelled to crawl on his hands and knees,
opened with one end to the south, while the other end terminated in the
interior of the hut. This rose but slightly above the surface of the
earth, and being generally overgrown with moss or grass, could scarcely
be distinguished from the neighbouring soil. It resembled, indeed, a
large ant-hill, or the work of a mammoth mole! In some cases the floor
of the tunnel was on a level with that of the hut; but more frequently
it slanted downwards and upwards, so that the colder, and consequently
heavier, atmospheric air was still more completely prevented from
mixing too quickly with the warmer air within. The other arrangements
exhibited the same ingenuity in providing against the inconveniences of
a rigorous climate.

From the huts of the Eskimos we pass to their boats.

[Illustration: THE ESKIMO KAYAK.]

The _kayak_ or _baidar_ is as good in its way as the light
and swift canoe of the Polynesian islanders. It consists of a narrow,
long, and light wooden framework, covered water-tight with seal-skin,
with a central aperture for the body of the rower. Sometimes the
frame is made of seal or walrus bone. The Eskimo takes his seat in
his buoyant craft, with legs outstretched, and binds a sack--which is
made from the intestines of the whale, or the skins of young seals--so
tightly round his waist, that even in a rolling sea the boat remains
water-tight. Dexterously and rapidly using his paddle, with his spear
or harpoon before him, and preserving his equilibrium with marvellous
steadiness, he darts over the waves like an arrow; and even if upset,
speedily rights himself and his buoyant skiff. The _oomiak_, or
woman’s boat, consists in like manner of a framework covered with
seal-skins; but it is large enough to accommodate ten or twelve people,
with benches for the women who row or paddle. The mast supports a
triangular sail, made of the entrails of seals, and easily distended by
the wind.

It has been observed that a similar degree of inventive and executive
skill is displayed by the Eskimos in their spears and harpoons, their
fishing and hunting implements. Their oars are tastefully inlaid with
walrus teeth; they have several kinds of spears or darts, according to
the character of the animal they intend to hunt; and their bows, with
strings of seal-gut, are so strong and elastic as to drive a six-foot
arrow a really considerable distance. The harpoons and spears used
in killing whales or seals have long shafts of wood or bone, and the
barbed point is so constructed that, when lodged in the body of an
animal, it remains imbedded, while the shaft attached to it by a string
is loosened from the socket, and acts as a buoy. Seal-skins filled with
air, like bladders, are also employed as buoys for the whale-spears,
being stripped from the animal with such address that all the natural
apertures are easily made air-tight.

Fish-hooks, knives, and spear or harpoon heads, the Eskimos make of
the horns and bones of the deer. In constructing their sledges, and
roofing their huts, they have recourse to the ribs of the whale,
when drift-wood is not available. Strips of seal-skin hide are a
capital substitute for cordage, and cords for nets and bow-strings are
manipulated from the sinews of musk-oxen and deer.

[Illustration: THE ESKIMO OOMIAK.]

A strange and deadly antagonism prevails between the Eskimos and the
Red Indians. On the part of the latter it would seem to originate
in jealousy, for the Eskimos are superior in skill, social habits,
general intelligence, personal courage, and strength; on the part of
the former, in the necessity for self-defence and the provocations they
have received from a sanguinary enemy.

Hence, the Indians inhabiting the borders of the Polar World seek every
opportunity of surprising and massacring the inoffensive Eskimos.
Hearne relates that, in the course of his expedition to the Coppermine
River, the Indians who accompanied him obtained information that a
party of Eskimos had raised their summer huts near the river-mouth. In
spite of his generous efforts, they resolved on destroying the peaceful
settlement. Stealthily they made their approach, and when the midnight
sun touched the horizon, they swooped down, with a frightful yell, on
their unfortunate victims, not one of whom escaped. With that love of
torture which seems inherent in the Red Indian, they did their utmost
to intensify and prolong the agonies of the sufferers; and one aged
woman had both her eyes torn out before she received her death-blow.
The scene where this cruel slaughter took place is known to this day as
the “Bloody Falls.”

* * * * *

Dr. Kane supplies some interesting particulars of a party of Eskimos
with whom he became acquainted during his memorable expedition. The
intimacy began under unfavourable circumstances, for three of the party
had been detected in a scandalous theft, had attempted to carry off
their plunder, were pursued, overtaken, and punished. Soon afterwards,
Metek, the head man or chief, arrived on the scene, and a treaty of
peace was concluded.

On the part of the _Inuit_, or Eskimos, it ran as follows:--

“We promise that we will not steal. We promise we will bring you fresh
meat. We promise we will sell or lend you dogs. We will keep you
company whenever you want us, and show you where to find the game.”

On the part of the _Kablunah_, or white men, it ran as follows:--

“We promise that we will not visit you with death or sorcery, nor do
you any hurt or mischief whatsoever. We will shoot for you on our
hunts. You shall be made welcome aboard ship. We will give you presents
of needles, pins, two kinds of knife, a hoop, three bits of hard wood,
some fat, an awl, and some sewing-thread; and we will trade with you
of these and everything else you want for walrus and seal meat of the
first quality.”

The treaty, says Dr. Kane, was not solemnized by an oath; but it was
never broken.

The Eskimo settlement at Anatoak, lat. 73° N, on the shore of Smith
Strait, near Cape Inglefield, seems to merit description.

The hut or igloë was a single rude elliptical apartment, built not
unskilfully of stone, the outside lined with sods. At its further
end, a rude platform, also of stone, was raised about a foot above
the entering floor. The roof was irregularly curved. It was composed
of flat stones, remarkably large and heavy, arranged so as to overlap
each other, but apparently without any intelligent application of
the principle of the arch. The height of this cave-like abode barely
permitted one to sit upright. Its length was eight feet, its breadth
seven feet, and an expansion of the tunnelled entrance made an
appendage of perhaps two feet more.

The true winter-entrance is called the _tossut_. It is a walled
tunnel, ten feet long, and so narrow that a man can hardly crawl along
it. It opens outside below the level of the igloë, into which it leads
by a gradual ascent.

Thus the reader will see that the hut at Anatoak was constructed on the
same principles as the huts discovered by Dr. Scoresby.

Time had done its work, says Dr. Kane, on the igloë of Anatoak, as
among the palatial structures of more southern deserts. The entire
front of the dome had fallen in, closing up the _tossut_, or
tunnel, and forcing visitors and residents to enter at the solitary
window above it. The breach was wide enough to admit a sledge-team; but
the Eskimos showed no anxiety to close it up. Their clothes saturated
with the freezing water of the floes, these men of iron gathered round
a fire of hissing and flaring whale’s blubber, and steamed away in
apparent comfort. The only departure from their usual routine was
suggested probably by the open roof and the bleakness of the night;
and therefore they refrained from stripping themselves naked before
coming into the hut, and hanging up their dripping vestments to dry,
like a votive offering to the god of the sea.

Their kitchen implements were remarkable for simplicity. “A rude
saucer-shaped cup of seal-skin, to gather and hold water in, was the
solitary utensil that could be dignified as table-furniture. A flat
stone, a fixture of the hut, supported by other stones just above the
shoulder-blade of a walrus,--the stone slightly inclined, the cavity of
the bone large enough to hold a moss-wick and some blubber; a square
block of snow was placed on the stone, and, as the hot smoke circled
round it, the seal-skin saucer caught the water that dripped from
the edge. They had no vessel for boiling; what they did not eat raw
they baked upon a hot stone. A solitary coil of walrus-line, fastened
to a movable lance-head (_noon-ghak_), with the well-worn and
well-soaked clothes on their backs, completed the inventory of their
effects.”

The Eskimos entertained Dr. Kane and his companions with a choral
performance, singing their rude, monotonous song of “Amna Ayah” till
the unfortunate white men were almost maddened by the discord. They
improvised, moreover, a special chant in their honour, which they
repeated with great gravity of utterance, invariably concluding with
the sonorous and complimentary refrain of “_Nalegak! nalegak!
nalegak-soak!_”--“Captain! captain! great captain!” The chant ran as
follows:--

[Illustration: Am-na-yah! Am-na-yah! Am-na-yah! Am-na-yah!]

In the early spring the Eskimos resume their hunting expeditions, and
their snow-covered huts are transformed into scenes of the liveliest
activity. Stacks of jointed meat, chiefly walrus, are piled upon the
ice-foot; the women stretch the hide for sole-leather, and the men
collect a store of harpoon-lines for the winter. Tusky walrus heads
stare at the spectacle from the snowbank, where they are stowed for
their ivory; the dogs are tethered to the ice; and the children, each
one armed with the curved rib of some big walrus or seal, play ball and
bat among the snow-drifts.

The quantity of walrus meat which the Eskimos accumulate during a
season of plenty should certainly raise them above all risk of winter
want; but other causes than improvidence render their supplies scanty.
They are never idle; they hunt incessantly without the loss of a day.
When the storms prevent the use of the sledge, they occupy themselves
in stowing away the spoils of previous hunts. For this purpose they
dig a pit either on the mainland, or, which is preferred, on an island
inaccessible to foxes, and the jointed meat is stacked inside, and
covered with heavy stones.

The true explanation of the scarcity from which these people so
frequently suffer is the excessive consumption in which they indulge
during the summer season. By their ancient laws all share in common;
and since they migrate in numbers when their necessities press them,
the tax on each separate settlement is excessive. The quantity which
the members of a family consume seems excessive to a stranger; yet
it is not the result of inconsiderate gluttony, but due to their
peculiarities of life and organization. In active exercise, and under
the influence of exposure to a severe temperature, the waste of carbon
must be enormous.

When in-doors, and at rest, engaged upon their ivory harness-rings,
fowl-nets, or other household gear, they eat, as many eat in more
civilized lands, for mere animal enjoyment, and to pass away the time.
But when engaged in the chase, they take but one meal a day, and that
not until the day’s labour is ended. They go out upon the ice without
breakfast, and seldom eat anything until their return. Dr. Kane
estimates the average ration of an Eskimo in a season of plenty at
eight to ten pounds of meat a day, with soup and water to the extent
of half a gallon. Such an allowance might almost have satisfied the
appetite of Gargantua!

* * * * *

Dr. Hayes, in the course of his adventurous Arctic boat-journey, held
much intercourse with the Eskimos, and his impressions, on the whole,
would seem to have been highly favourable.

His sketch of a couple whom he met in the neighbourhood of the Eskimo
colony of Netlik is very amusing.

He describes them as a most _un_human-looking pair. Everything
on and about them told of the battle they fought so gallantly and
patiently with the elements. From head to foot they were invested in
a coat of ice and snow. Shapeless lumps of whiteness, they resembled
the snow-kings or statues which boys delight in making, except that
they possessed the faculty of motion. Their long, heavy fox-skin coats,
reaching nearly to the knees, and surmounted by a hood, covering, like
a round lump, all of the head but the face, the bear-skin pantaloons
and boots and mittens were saturated with snow. Their long, black hair,
which fell from beneath their hoods over their eyes and cheeks, their
eyelashes, the few hairs growing upon their chins, the rim of fur
around their faces, all glittered with white frost--the frozen moisture
of their breath. Each carried in his right hand a whip, and in his left
a lump of frozen meat and blubber. The meat they flung down on the
floor of Dr. Hayes’ hut; then, without pausing for an invitation, they
thrust their whipstocks under the rafters, and divesting themselves of
their mittens and outer garments, hung them thereon. Underneath their
frosty coats they wore a warm, close shirt of bird-skins.

In the same bold explorer’s narrative of his voyage of discovery in
1860, two other Eskimos figure very conspicuously; and one of these,
named Hans, would seem to have been a very fair type of the Eskimo
character. Hans, we may observe, had originally served in Dr. Kane’s
expedition, and had then gained the confidence of Dr. Hayes; so that
when the latter undertook his own memorable voyage, he became anxious
to secure the Eskimo’s services.

When his ship had crossed Melville Bay, and lay in the grim shadows
of Cape York, Dr. Hayes bethought himself of the Eskimo hunter. He
remembered to have heard that Hans had fallen in love, and taken a
wife, and repaired, with her at his side, to share the fortunes of the
wild Eskimos who inhabit the remote northern shores of Baffin Bay.

But Dr. Hayes felt confident that the hunter, having known something of
the superior comfort and happiness of the social life of civilization,
would soon weary of his voluntary banishment, and of the penury and
hardships of the existence of the Eskimo nomads. He made up his mind
that Hans would return to Cape York, and there take up his residence,
in the hope of being picked up by some passing ship.

So Dr. Hayes stood close in-shore, to find that his conjectures were
completely realized. As he sailed along the coast he discovered a group
of human beings eagerly endeavouring by signs and gestures to attract
attention. Heaving the schooner to, he and his second in command,
Mr. Sountag, went ashore in a boat, and there was Hans! The Eskimo
recognized both of them immediately, and called them by name.

[Illustration: DR. HAYES FALLS IN WITH HANS THE HUNTER.]

* * * * *

We may adopt the remainder of Dr. Hayes’ interesting little
episode, because it illustrates the ingrained selfishness, or
self-concentration, of the Eskimo character.

Hans had deteriorated greatly during his residence with the wild
Eskimos, and he had sunk to their level of filthy ugliness. He was
accompanied by his wife, who carried her first-born in a hood upon her
back; his wife’s brother, a quick-eyed boy of twelve years; and his
wife’s mother, “an ancient dame with voluble and flippant tongue.”
They were all attired in the usual Eskimo dress of skins; objects of
interest and curiosity, but not “things of beauty.”

Hans led his visitors, over rough rocks and through deep drifts
of snow, to his rude hut, which stood on the cold hill-top, about
two hundred feet above the sea-level. An excellent position for a
“look-out,” but as inconvenient for a hunter as can well be imagined.
Here he had watched and waited for many a dreary month; surveying the
sea day after day, in the faint hope of discovering some European
vessel. But none came; summer passed into winter, and winter lengthened
into summer; and still Hans watched and waited, yearning after his
southern home and the friends of his youth.

His tent--for it was rather a tent than a hut--was made of seal-skins,
and its capacity was scarcely sufficient to accommodate his little
family.

Dr. Hayes asked him if he would accompany the expedition.

“Yes.”

Would he take his wife and baby?

“Yes.”

Would he go without them?

“Yes.”

This last answer reveals the curious unimpressionableness of the
Eskimo, who endures with calmness, nay, even with indifference, those
partings which try the heartstrings of the European. It is, perhaps, a
result of the constant warfare he maintains against an uncongenial and
austere Nature that he comes to regard himself as his first and chief,
as almost his only concern. So long as his wife and children surround
him, he shows no evident want of affection; but he has no objection to
part from them, if the separation will prove to his individual interest.

As Dr. Hayes had no leisure to examine critically into the state of his
mind, and as he cherished a conviction that the permanent separation of
husband and wife was to be regarded as a painful event, he determined
on giving the Eskimo mother the benefit of this conventional suspicion.
Both husband and wife, therefore, were carried on board the schooner,
as well as their baby, their tent, and all their household goods. The
bright-eyed boy and the ancient dame cried to accompany them; but
Dr. Hayes had no further room, and was compelled to leave them to
the care of their tribe, who, about twenty in number, had discovered
the schooner, and with a merry shout had come across the hill. After
bestowing upon them some useful gifts, Dr. Hayes returned to his vessel.

He adds that Hans was the only unconcerned person in the party. At a
later period the thought crossed his commander’s mind that he would
by no means have been displeased had wife and child been left to the
charity of their savage kin: while Dr. Hayes had abundant reason,
during the course of the expedition, to wish that he had left the
selfish and indolent Eskimo to linger in his seal-skin tent among the
hills and rocks of Cape York.

* * * * *

The same traveller describes the hunting equipment of a party of
Eskimos setting out in pursuit of bears.

First, the dogs. These were picketed, each team separately, on a
convenient area of level ground; and on the approach of Dr. Hayes and
his companions they sprang up from the knotted heap, in which they
had been lying through the night, with a wild, fierce yell, which
died away into a low whine and impatient snarl. They evidently were
hungry, and their masters seemed desirous of feeding them; for, going
to their sledges, each one brought up a flat piece of something which
looked singularly like plate-iron, but, upon examination, was found to
be walrus-hide, three-quarters of an inch thick, and frozen intensely
hard. Throwing it upon the snow a few feet in advance of their
respective teams, they drew their knives from their capacious boots,
and attempted to cut up the skin; but its hardness defied all their
efforts, and Dr. Hayes had to fetch hatchet and saw before the work of
division could be completed.

During the few minutes thus occupied, the dogs had become almost
frantic. They endeavoured to break loose; pulling on their traces,
running back and springing forward, straining and choking themselves
until their eyes shot fire, and the foam flew from their mouths. The
sight of food had stimulated their wolfish passions, and they seemed
ready to eat each other. Not a moment passed that two or more of them
were not flying at each other’s throats, and, grappling together,
rolled, and tossed, and tumbled over the snow.

The Eskimos looked on apparently unconcerned, except when there
appeared a risk of one of the dogs being injured, and then they secured
a temporary calm by uttering an angry nasal “Ay! Ay!”

When at length the food was thrown, the dogs uttered a greedy scream,
which was followed by a moment’s silence while the pieces were falling,
then by a scuffle, and the hard, frozen chunks had vanished. How they
were swallowed, or how they were digested, was, to the spectator,
inexplicable! Enough to say that “the jaws of darkness did devour them
up,” and calm instantaneously succeeded to the storm.

The Eskimo dog is of medium size, and squarely built; in fact, he is
a reclaimed wolf, and exhibits that variety of colour which, after a
few generations, generally characterizes tame animals. Gray, which is
often seen, was probably at one time the predominating colour. Some of
the dogs are black, with white breasts; some are wholly white; others
are reddish or yellowish; but, indeed, almost every shade may be seen
amongst them. Their skin is covered with a coarse, compact fur, and is
much valued by the natives for the purposes of clothing. In the form
of the animals the variety is considerable; but the general characters
would seem to be a pointed nose, short ears, a cowardly, treacherous
eye, and a hanging tail. But exceptions occasionally occur, and one
figures in Dr. Hayes’ narrative under the name of _Toodlamik_, or,
more briefly, _Toodla_.

He differed from his kind in having a more compact head, a less
pointed nose, an eye denoting affection and reliance, and an erect,
bold, fearless carriage. Dr. Hayes, however, expresses some doubt
as to his purity of blood. From the beginning to the end of the
cruise he was master of all the dogs that were brought to the ship.
In this connection it is worthy of remark, that in every pack one
dog invariably attains the mastership of the whole--a kind of
major-generalship; and in each team, one who is master of his
comrades, a general of brigade. Once master, always master; but the
post of honour is gained at the cost of many a lame leg and ghastly
wound, and is held only by doing daily battle against all comers. These
could easily gain the ascendancy in every case, but for their own petty
jealousies, which often prevent their union for such a purpose. If a
combination, however, does happen to be brought about, and the leader
is hopelessly beaten, he is never worth anything afterward; his spirit
is completely prostrated, the poor fellow pines away, and dies at last
of a broken heart.

[Illustration: ESKIMO DOGS.]

Toodla, says Dr. Hayes, was a character in his way. He was a tyrant
of no mean pretension. Apparently he thought it his special duty to
attack every dog, great or small, that was added to the pack: if the
animal was a large one, in order, probably, that he might at once be
forced to feel that he had a master; if a small one, in order that
the others might hold him in the greater awe. It was sometimes quite
amusing to see him set off in pursuit of a strange dog, his head erect,
his tail curled gracefully over his back; slowly and deliberately he
went straight at his mark, with the confident, defiant air of one
who recognizes the power and importance of his office. Leagues and
conspiracies were not unfrequently formed against him, induced, no
doubt, by a feeling of despair; but he always succeeded in overthrowing
them,--not, it is true, without occasional assistance from “without;”
for the sailors, who petted him greatly, would sometimes take his part
when the struggle was manifestly unequal.

* * * * *

But we must leave the dogs, and turn to the sledge.

This was, in very truth, an ingenious specimen of native mechanical
skill. It was made wholly of bone and leather. The runners, which were
square behind and rounded upward in front, and about five feet long,
seven inches high, and three-fourths of an inch thick, were slabs of
bone; not solid, but made up of a number of pieces of various shapes
and sizes, dexterously fitted and tightly lashed together. Some of
these were not larger than one’s two fingers; some were three or four
inches square; others were as large as one’s hand, and triangular in
shape; others, again, were several inches in length, and two or three
in breadth. They all fitted into their several places as exactly as
the blocks of a Chinese puzzle. Near their margins ran rows of little
holes, and through these strings of seal-skin were inserted, by which
the blocks were fastened together, until the whole was as firm as a
board.

The marvel of the thing is that all these pieces are flattened and cut
into the required shape, not with nicely contrived instruments and
tools, but with stones. The labour must be immense. The grinding needed
to make a single runner must be the work of months. The construction
of an entirely new sledge would probably occupy the lifetime of a
generation; and hence a vehicle of this kind becomes a family heirloom,
and is handed down from father to son, and son to grandson, and is
constantly undergoing repair and restoration; a new piece here, another
there, until as little remains of the original structure as of the
sailor’s old knife, when it had had a new blade and a new handle! The
origin of some of the Eskimo sledges is lost in the mists of a remote
antiquity.

The runners are usually shod with ivory from the tusk of the walrus.
The said ivory had likewise been ground flat, and its corners made
square, with stones; and it was fastened to the runner by a string
looped through two counter-sunk holes. The pieces of which it was
composed were numerous; but the surface was wonderfully uniform, and as
smooth as glass.

The runners stood about fourteen inches apart, and were fastened
together by bones, tightly lashed to them; the bones used being the
femur of the bear, the antlers of the reindeer, and the ribs of the
narwhal. Two walrus-ribs, lashed one to the after-end of each runner,
served as upstanders, and were braced by a piece of reindeer antler,
secured across the top.

* * * * *

Having thus disposed of the team and the sledge, we now come to the
equipment.

First, one of the Eskimo hunters spread a piece of seal-skin over the
sledge, fastening it securely by little strings attached to its margin.
On this he placed a small piece of walrus-skin, as a provision for
the dogs; a piece of blubber for fuel; and of meat for his own lunch.
During his absence he would cook no food, but he would want water; and
therefore he carried his _kotluk_, or lamp--namely, a small stone
dish; a lump of _mannek_ or dried moss, designed for the wick;
and some willow-blossoms (_na-owinals_) for tinder. To ignite the
tinder, he had a piece of iron-stone and a small sharp fragment of
flint.

[Illustration: ESKIMO SLEDGE AND TEAM.]

We may follow him on his route, and ascertain the use he makes of these
appliances. When he grows thirsty, he halts; scrapes away the snow
until he lays bare the solid ice beneath; and painfully scoops in it
a small cavity. Next, he fetches a block of fresh-water ice from a
neighbouring berg, lights his lamp, and, using the blubber for fuel,
proceeds to place the block on the edge of the cavity. As it slowly
thaws, the water trickles down into the hole; and when the Eskimo
thinks the quantity collected is sufficient to quench his thirst, he
removes the rude apparatus, and, stooping down, drinks the soot-stained
fluid. If he feels hungry, he breaks off a few chips from his lump of
frozen walrus-beef, cuts a few slices from the blubber, and enjoys his
unsatisfactory meal. The inhabitant of the Arctic desert knows nothing
of epicurean tastes; and if he did, he has no means of gratifying them.

* * * * *

To return to the equipment. The hunter carried with him an extra pair
of boots, another of dog-skin stockings, and another of mittens, to be
used in case he should be unfortunate enough to get on thin ice, and
the ice should break through.

The entire equipment being placed upon the sledge, he threw over them a
piece of bear-skin, which was doubled, so that, when opened, it would
be large enough to wrap about his body and protect it from the snow,
if he wished to lie down and rest. Then he drew forth a long line,
fastened an end of it through a hole in the fore part of one of the
runners, ran it across diagonally to the opposite runner, passed it
through a hole there, and so continued, to and fro, from side to side,
until he reached the other end of the sledge. There he made fast the
line, and thus the cargo was secured against all risk of loss from an
upset. Next he hung to one upstander a coil of heavy line, and to the
other a lighter coil, tying them fast with a small string. The former
was his harpoon-line for catching walrus; the latter, for catching
seal. His harpoon staff was made from the tusk of the narwhal; measured
five feet in length, and two inches in diameter at one end, tapering to
a point at the other.

All being ready, the team, consisting of seven dogs, was brought up.
The harness was of a very primitive description. It consisted of two
doubled strips of bear-skin, one of which was placed on either side
of the animal’s body, the two being fastened together on the top of
the neck and at the breast, so as to form a collar. Thence they passed
inside of the dog’s fore legs and up along his flanks to the tail,
where the four ends meeting together were attached to a trace eighteen
feet in length.

The trace was connected with the sledge by a line four feet long, of
which one end was attached to each runner. And to the middle of the
line a stout string was fastened, running-through bone rings at the
ends of the traces, and secured by a slip-knot, easily untied--an
arrangement designed with the view of ensuring safety in bear-hunting.
The bear is hotly pursued until the sledge arrives within about fifty
yards; the hunter then leans forward and slips the knot; the dogs, set
loose from the sledge, quickly bring the brute to bay. If the knot gets
fouled, serious accidents are not unlikely to occur. The hunter vainly
endeavours to extricate it, and before he can draw his knife to cut
it--supposing he is fortunate enough to have such an instrument--man,
and dogs, and sledge are all among the bear’s legs, in a huddled and
tangled heap, and at the mercy of the enraged monster.

The dogs were cold, and eager to start. In a moment they were yoked
to the sledge; the hunter with his right hand threw out the coils
of his long whip-lash, with his left he seized an upstander, and
propelling the sledge a few paces, he uttered at the same moment the
shrill starting-cry, “Ka! ka!--ka! ka!” which sent the dogs in a
bound to their places, and away they dashed over the rugged ice. The
hunter skilfully guided his sledge among the hummocks, moderating the
impetuosity of his team with the nasal “Ay! ay!” which they perfectly
understand. On reaching the smooth ice, he dropped upon the sledge,
allowed his whip-lash to trail after him on the snow, shouted “Ka!
ka!--ka! ka!” to his savage team, and disappeared in as wild a gallop
as ever was taken by the demon huntsman of German legend!

* * * * *

It does not appear that the Eskimos have magistrates or laws, yet the
utmost good order prevails in their communities, and quarrels are
rare. When these do occur, one or other of the dissatisfied parties
collects his little store, and migrates to a different settlement. The
constitution of their society is rightly described as patriarchal, but
the ruler does not seem to be elected: he attains his post by proving
his possession of superior strength, address, and courage. As soon
as his physical powers give way, or old age enfeebles his mind, he
deposes himself, takes his seat in the _oomiak_, or woman’s boat,
and is relegated by common consent to female companionship. Like all
savage tribes, the Eskimos have their mystery-men, or _angekoks_,
who resort to the usual deceptions to acquire and retain supremacy,
swallowing knives, resorting to ventriloquial artifices, and conversing
in a mysterious jargon, unintelligible to “the common herd.” They
profess to hold intercourse with certain potent spirits, and to
employ their agency in rewarding or punishing their dupes; and even
the influence of the Christian missionaries has hardly rooted out the
belief in the superstitions originated and fostered by these men.

Notwithstanding the hard conditions of their life, and the dreariness
of the region which they inhabit, the Eskimos are a cheerful people.
They are keenly sensible of the charms of music, though their own
vocalization is inconceivably melancholy; and they are partial to many
rude pastimes, mostly of a gymnastic character.

Their good nature has been praised by many travellers; but they show
the usual inhumanity of the savage towards the aged and infirm.
Weakness is no title to the sympathy of the Eskimo; he respects
strength, but he utterly disregards and cruelly oppresses the feeble.
He is ungrateful towards his benefactors, and in his intercourse with
strangers his fidelity can be relied upon only so long as he knows that
any breach of faith will be severely punished. He does not steal from
his own people, and “Tiglikpok,” “he is a thief,” is a reproach among
the Eskimos as among ourselves; but no shame attaches to him if he robs
the white man, though the latter may have loaded him with favours.

If we add that they display a strong affection for their children, and
that the children are singularly docile and obedient to their parents,
we shall have said enough to assist the reader in forming an accurate
conception of the characteristics of the inhabitants of the Eskimo
Land.

CHAPTER VIII.

LAPLAND AND THE LAPPS.

Lapland, or the Land of the Lapps, which the Lapps themselves call
Sameanda or Somellada, forms the north and north-eastern portions of
the Scandinavian peninsula, and is divided between Sweden and Russia.
Norwegian Lapland includes the provinces of Norrland and Finmark;
Swedish, of North and South Bothnia; and Russian, of Kola and Kemi.
The last-named has an area of 11,300 square miles, with a population
of 9000; Swedish Lapland, an area of 50,600 square miles, with 4000
inhabitants; and Norwegian, an area of 26,500 square miles, with a
population of 5000. We are here referring to the number of true Lapps;
in each division the population would be largely increased if we
included Finns, Russians, Swedes, Norwegians.

Lapland, for nine months in the year, is blighted by the rigour of
a winter climate. The summer months, when the sun does not set for
several weeks, are July and August; and these are preceded by a brief
spring, and followed by even a briefer autumn. Cereals do not thrive
higher than the sixty-sixth parallel, with the exception of barley,
which is cultivated as far north as the seventieth. The greater part
of the country comes within that wooded zone which we described in an
earlier chapter, and the forests, consisting of birch, pine, fir, and
alder, spread over a very extensive area. On the mosses and lichens
which grow abundantly in their shelter, are fed the immense herds of
reindeer which constitute the principal wealth of the inhabitants.

The Lapps may almost be regarded as a nation of Lilliputians. Their men
seldom exceed five feet in height, while the majority are some inches
below that very moderate stature; and the women are even shorter. They
are, however, a robust race, with muscular limbs, and unusual girth
of body, the circumference of their chest being nearly equal to their
height. Their complexion is dark, tawny, or copper-coloured; their
dark, piercing, deep-sunken eyes are set very wide apart, so as to
communicate a peculiar character to the physiognomy. The wild, strange
effect is further increased by the unkempt masses of dark, lank,
straight hair which droop on either side of the whiskerless, beardless
face. The cheek-bones are prominent, like those of a Celtic Highlander;
the nose is flat; the mouth wide, with thin compressed lips. It may
be supposed that the Lapps, from these indications, are not models of
masculine or feminine beauty; and Dr. Clarke asserts that, when aged,
many of them, if exposed in a menagerie, might be mistaken for the
long-lost transitional form intermediate between man and ape. And,
certainly, there is something repulsive in the constant blinking of
eyes rendered sore by the pungent smoke of their huts, or the white
glare of the snow, as well as in the expression of obstinacy and low
cunning which one reads in every feature.

An aristocrat might be proud of their small and finely-shaped hands;
but their arms, like their legs, are disproportionately short, clumsy,
and thick. Clumsy, we mean, in shape; certainly not in movement, for
the extraordinary flexibility of their limbs is one of the traits by
which a Lapp is easily distinguished.

Of the dress of the Lapps it is needless to say much. In winter it
consists of bears’ skins, in which both male and female wrap themselves
up, with the fur outward. In summer the men wear a sort of tunic, the
_poesk_, made of coarse light-coloured woollen cloth, depending
to the knee, but bound about the waist with a belt or girdle. Their
head-gear consists of a kind of fez, made of wool, and adorned with a
red worsted band round the rim, and a bright red tassel. Their boots
or shoes are cut from the raw skin of the reindeer, with the hair
outwards, and they are peaked in shape. They are thin, and they have
no lining; but the Lapp defends his feet and ankles from the cold by
stuffing the vacant space of the boot with the broad leaves of the
_Carex vesicaria_, or Cyperus grass, which he cuts in summer, rubs
in his hands, and dries before using. The female costume resembles that
of the males, but their girdles are gayer with rings and chains.

The Lapps are a superstitious race. Like all the Norse tribes, they
believe in witchcraft; and of old the Lapland witches had a reputation
which extended to England, for being able to ward off rain or disperse
storms. The English seamen trading to Archangel frequently visited
their coast in order to buy a favourable wind.

Many of the Lapps claim the ability to foretell future events, and
fall, or pretend to fall, into a trance or ecstasy, during which they
see visions, utter prophecies, and unlock the secrets of those who
trust to their divination. They also read the fortunes of inquiring
dupes by means of a cup of liquor, or by the vulgarest jargon of
palmistry. Superstition is the daughter of Ignorance. It is also the
sister of Fear, for the superstitious are invariably prone to see
supernatural signs and wonders in the appearances of the heavens, or to
hear unearthly voices borne upon the midnight wind, and in everything
they cannot understand to imagine the presence of some antagonistic
power. As the American natives were panic-stricken at the occurrence of
an eclipse, so the Lapps are filled with dread when the sky glows with
the coruscations of the aurora.

These superstitions prevail in spite of the exertions of priests and
schoolmasters. They are nourished in secret even when they are not
openly proclaimed; and the Lapp, after listening devoutly to the
harangue of his pastor, will return home to offer homage to his saidas,
or wooden idols; to cower at the name of Trolls, the evil spirit of the
forest; and to be deluded by the artifices of any so-called witch or
fortune-teller.

There are Lapps, and Lapps; each, according to the region he inhabits,
bearing his distinctive characteristics, and preserving his individual
habits. Thus, there are the Fjälllappars, or Mountain Lapps; the
Skogslappars, or Wood Lapps; and the Fisherlapps.

From the nature of the country the reader will expect, and will be
right in expecting, that the Fjälllappars form the most numerous
section. They are the nomads of Lapland, and their mode of life is
entirely pastoral. As the Arabs with their flocks move from one oasis
to another, or the Tartars with their cattle, so the Lapps migrate from
place to place, compelled by the necessity of finding sustenance for
their herds of reindeer. The mosses and lichens on which these animals
feed are soon exhausted, and some time elapses before the half-frozen
soil replaces them. The same cause operates to prevent the Lapps from
assembling in large communities. Seldom more than three, four, or five
families encamp in the same neighbourhood.

It will not be supposed that the temporary abode of a nomad exhibits
any architectural completeness. Their _tuguria_, or huts, are of
the rudest construction. They raise a conical framework, composed of
the flexible stems of trees, and this they cover with a coarse kind of
canvas, and in winter with the skins of reindeer and other animals. No
doorway is required, and egress and ingress are provided for by turning
up a portion of the canvas at the bottom, so as to form a triangular
gap; and the portion so turned up is let down again at night. In the
centre of the interior some large stones are piled together for a
fireplace, and a square opening in the roof above carries off the
smoke, and lets in the light and air--not to say rain, snow, and fog,
when these prevail.

The tent or hut we have described generally measures about six feet in
diameter, and eighteen to twenty in circumference. It does not exceed
ten feet in height. There is no floor, but the ground is covered with
reindeer skins, and upon these the inhabitants sit or crouch by day,
and huddle themselves up at night. The household utensils, implements,
and weapons are suspended from the sides of the hut; and the clothing
of the family, no very extensive stock, is preserved in a chest.

On a shelf or platform, raised high above the reach of dogs and wolves,
between two neighbouring trees, the Lapp keeps his store of dried
reindeer flesh, and cheese, and curds; for his diet is as plain as his
general habit of living. His herd of reindeer he puts up at night, or
when they are required for milking, in a large enclosure, about four
hundred to five hundred feet in circuit, formed by a barrier of posts
and stumps of trees, supporting a row of horizontal poles. Against the
latter birch poles and branches of trees are placed diagonally, forming
a kind of abattis, which is found to be a sufficient security against
the attacks of wolves.

It is said that the milking of a herd of reindeer affords a lively and
picturesque spectacle. When they have been driven within the area, and
all the outlets closed, a Lapp, selecting a long cord or thong, twists
both ends round his left hand, and then in his right gathers the thong
itself in loose coils. Fixing on a reindeer, he flings the coils over
its antlers. Sometimes the latter offers no resistance; but generally,
on feeling the touch of the thong, it darts away, and its pursuer, in
order to secure it, is called upon for the most vigorous efforts. And
the scene is animated indeed, when half-a-dozen reindeer, pursued by as
many Lapps, sweep round and round the enclosure, until the former are
finally overcome, or, as now and then happens, wrest the cord from the
hands of the discomfited Lapp, and leave him prostrate on the ground.
When the animal is secured, his master takes a dexterous hitch of the
thong round his muzzle and head, and then fastens him to the trunk of a
prostrate tree. The operation of milking is performed by both men and
women.

As soon as the pasture in the neighbourhood is exhausted, the
encampment is broken up, and the little company migrate to some fresh
station. The rude tuguria are dismantled in less than half an hour, and
packed with all the household furniture on the backs of the reindeer,
who, by long training, are inured to serve as beasts of burden. On
the journey they are bound together, five and five, with leather
thongs, and led by the women over the mountains; while the father of
the family precedes the march to select a suitable site for the new
encampment, and his sons or servants follow with the remainder of the
herd.

As spring verges upon summer, the Lapps abandon their mountain
pastures, and move towards the shore. No sooner do the reindeer
scent the keen sea-air than, breaking loose from all control, they
dash headlong into the briny waves of the fiord, and drink long
draughts of the salt sea-water. The Lapps consider this sea-side
migration essential to the health of their herds. When summer reaches
its meridian, and the snow melts, they return to the pleasant
mountain-solitudes, ascending higher and higher, according to the
increase of temperature. Then, on the approach of winter, they retire
into the woods, where their great difficulty is to defend their herds
and themselves from the attacks of the wolves. In this incessant
warfare they derive much assistance from the courage of their dogs.
These are about the size of a Scotch terrier, with long shaggy hair,
and a head bearing a curiously close resemblance to that of a lynx.

[Illustration: REINDEER IN LAPLAND.]

In the winter the Lapp accomplishes his journeys either by sledging or
skating.

Their skates are not exactly things of beauty, but they answer their
purpose admirably. One is as long as the person who wears it; the other
is about a foot shorter. The feet of the wearer are placed in the
middle, and the skates, or _skidas_, fastened to them by thongs
or withes. They are made of fir-wood, and covered with the skins of
reindeer, which check any backward movement by acting like bristles
against the snow. It is astonishing with what speed the Lapp, thus
equipped, can traverse the frozen ground. The most dexterous skater on
the canals of Holland could not outstrip him. He runs down the swiftest
wild beasts; and the exercise so stimulates and warms his frame that,
even in mid-winter, when pursuing one of these lightning-like courses,
he can dispense with his garment of furs. When he wishes to stop, he
makes use of a long pole, which is provided with a round ball of wood
near the end, to prevent it from sinking too deep into the snow.

He is no less expert as a sledger. His vehicle, or _pulka_, is
fashioned like a boat, with a convex bottom, so as to slip over the
snow with all the greater ease; the prow is sharp and pointed, but
the hind part flat. Perhaps it may better be compared to a punt than
a boat. At all events, in this curious vehicle the Lapp is bound and
swathed, like an infant in its cradle. To preserve its equilibrium, he
trusts to the dexterity with which he moves his body to and fro, and
from side to side, as may be needed; and he guides it by means of a
stout pole. His steed, a reindeer, is fastened to it by traces attached
to its collar, and connected with the fore part of the sledge; the
reins are twisted round its horns; and all about its trappings are hung
a number of little bells, in the tintinnabulation of which the animal
greatly delights. Thus accoutred, it will perform a journey of fifty or
sixty miles a day; sometimes travelling fifty miles without pause, and
with no other refreshment than an occasional mouthful of snow.

[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN LAPLAND.]

With wonderful accuracy the Lapp will guide himself and his steed
through a seemingly labyrinthine wilderness, when the usual signs and
characters of the landscape are buried deep in snow. But his memory is
tenacious, and a blighted tree, or a projecting crag, or a clump of
firs, affords him a sufficient indication of the correctness of his
course. He frequently continues his rapid journey throughout the night,
when the moon invests the gleaming plains with a strange brilliancy,
or the aurora fills both earth and heaven with the reflection of its
wondrous fires.

A French traveller, M. de Saint-Blaize, is of opinion that the Lapps,
like all savage and semi-civilized races, are rapidly diminishing in
numbers. Yet this diminution is hardly owing to the conditions under
which they live. Their life, to the civilized European, seems severe
and almost intolerable; but though it is marked by privation and
fatigue, it is not without its charms. It is free and independent, and
without anxiety. As for the privation and fatigue, the Lapp is hardly
conscious of them, because his capacity of endurance is great, and he
is accustomed to them from his earliest years. Temperate, active, and
inured to exertion, his physical frame is wonderfully vigorous, and he
knows nothing of the majority of maladies which afflict the dweller in
cities. One terrible disease, indeed, he does not escape, and this may
have had much to do with their decline,--the smallpox. Otherwise, they
are a healthy as well as a hardy race. If during a journey a Lapp woman
gives birth to a child, she places the new-born in a frame of hollow
wood, in which a hole has been cut to receive the little one’s head;
then slings this rude cradle on her back, and continues her march.
When she halts, she suspends the infant and its cradle to a tree, the
wirework with which it is covered affording a sufficient protection
against wild beasts.

Professor Forbes, however, describes a more comfortable cradle, which
is cut out of solid wood, and covered with leather, in flaps so
arranged as to lace across the top with leathern thongs; the inside
is lined with reindeer moss, and a pillow, also of reindeer moss, is
provided for the head of the infant, who fits the space so exactly that
it can stir neither hand nor foot.

* * * * *

The Lapp is a bold hunter, and will encounter the bear single-handed.
Like the Siberian, he entertains a superstitious reverence for this
powerful animal, which he regards as the wisest and most acute of all
the beasts of the field, and supposes to know and hear all that is said
about it; but as its fur is valuable and its flesh well-favoured, he
does not refrain from pursuing it to the death, though careful, so to
speak, to kill it with the highest respect.

Early in winter the bear retires to a rocky cave, or a covert of
branches, leaves, and moss, and there remains, without food, and in a
state of torpidity, until the spring recalls him to active life. After
the first snow-fall, the Lapp hunters seek the forest, and search for
traces of their enemy. These being found, the spot is carefully marked,
and after a few weeks they return, arouse the slumbering brute, and
stimulate it to an attack; for to shoot it while asleep, or, indeed, to
use any weapon but a lance, is considered dishonourable.

Hogguer, whose narrative is quoted by Hartwig, accompanied a couple of
Lapps, well armed with axes and stout lances, on one of these dangerous
expeditions. When about a hundred paces from the bear’s den, the party
halted, and one of the Lapps advanced shouting, and his comrades made
all the din they could. He ventured within twenty paces of the cavern,
and then threw stones into it. For awhile all was quiet, and Hogguer
began to think they had come upon an empty den; but suddenly an angry
growl was heard.

The hunters now renewed and redoubled their clamour, until slowly,
like an honest citizen roused from his virtuous sleep by a company of
roisterers, the animal came forth from his lair.

At first he seemed indifferent and lethargic; but, catching sight
of his nearest enemy, he was filled with rage, uttered a short but
terrible roar, and rushed headlong upon him. The Lapp, with his lance
in rest, awaited the onset calmly, while the bear, coming to close
quarters, reared himself on his haunches, and struck at his antagonist
with his fore paws.

To avoid these powerful strokes, the daring huntsman crouched, and
then, with a sudden spring, drove his lance, impelled by a sturdy arm,
and guided by a sure eye, into the creature’s heart.

The victor escaped with only a slight wound on the hand, but the marks
of the bear’s teeth were found deeply impressed on the iron spear-head.

According to an old custom, the wives of the hunters assemble in one
of their huts, and as soon as they hear them returning, raise a loud
discordant chant in honour of the bear. When the men, loaded with
their booty of skin and flesh, draw near, it is considered necessary
to receive them with words of reproach and insult, and they are not
allowed to enter through the door; they are compelled, therefore, to
obtain admission through a hole in the wall. But when the animal’s
_manes_ have been thus propitiated, the women are not less eager
than the men to make the most of its carcass; and after the skin, fat,
and flesh have been removed, they cut up the body, and bury it with
great ceremony, the head first, then the neck, next the fore paws, and
so on, down to the animal’s “last,”--its tail. This is done from a wild
belief that the bear rises from the dead, and if it has been properly
interred, will kindly allow itself to be killed a second time by the
same hunter!

The principal article of food of the Lapps is reindeer venison. This
they boil, and it supplies them both with meat and broth. In summer
they vary their bill of fare with cheese and reindeer milk; and the
rich eat a kind of bread or cake, baked upon hot iron plates or
“girdles.” For luxuries they resort to brandy and tobacco; and these
are not less appreciated by the women than by the men. As for the
latter, they are never seen without a pipe, except at meals; and the
first salutation which a Lapp addresses to a stranger is a demand for
“tabak” or “braendi.” Dr. Clarke tells us that on paying a visit to
one of their tents, he gave the father of the family about a pint of
brandy, and as he saw him place it behind his bed, near the margin of
the tent, he concluded it would be economically used. In a few minutes
the daughter entered, and asked for a dram, on the ground that she had
lost her share while engaged upon domestic duties outside. The old Lapp
made no reply, but slily crept round the exterior of the tent until he
came to the place where the brandy was concealed. Then, thrusting in
his arm, he drew forth the precious bottle, and emptied its contents at
a draught.

* * * * *

We find no great difference of habits existing between the Mountain
Lapp and the Skogs or Forest Lapp, except that the latter takes up
fishing as a summer pursuit, and devotes the winter months to his herds
and the chase. But in course of time his herds demanding more attention
than he can give to them, he is transformed into a Fisher Lapp, who
dwells always upon the sea-coast, and is at once the filthiest and
least civilized of the race. He resembles the Mountain Lapp in his love
of tobacco and brandy. He differs from him in never migrating, and in
wholly abandoning the pastoral life.

[Illustration: FISHER LAPPS.]

A picture of what the artists call a Lapland “interior,” of the
domestic economy of a Lapp hut, is painted for us by the author of a
recent book of travel, entitled “Try Lapland.”

After a long day’s journey, in the neighbourhood of Lake Randejaur,
weary and cold, he and his companions came upon a small hut, and had
visions of obtaining a night’s rest; but a closer acquaintance with the
hut convinced them that such a proceeding would be undesirable.

For, knocking at the door, and pulling up the latch, they entered, to
see before them a family scene!

In an inconceivably dirty room stood a still dirtier beldame, making
coffee. Her husband, an old man of seventy, sat on one side; while a
hideous, deformed little Lapp, whether man or woman they could hardly
tell, squatted on the floor on the other, in full costume, consisting
of high-peaked blue cloth cap, and reindeer-skin dress, ornamented
with beads and spangles. Her face was brown as a berry, long lanky
black hair streamed down her cheeks; and, staring at the intruders, she
begged for “penge” (money). Two young men were snoring in one bed, and
two boys in another placed opposite to it, each being covered with a
few reindeer-skins.

The entrance of the strangers aroused the sleepers to give one hasty
look, and then they snored again.

The lady of the house offered coffee; and though everything looked so
dirty as to create a positive feeling of disgust, the travellers could
not afford to be particular, and accepted her offer, which put her in a
perfect ecstasy of delight.

Quickly she scuttled off to the well for water, and, filling her
kettle, set to work to roast fresh coffee.

The old man got up and endeavoured to rouse the sleepers, when he
understood that the strangers were in immediate want of boats and
rowers.

Leaving him to make the necessary preparations, they went out to take
a look at the surrounding scenery; and returning in a quarter of an
hour, expected to find them preparing the boats, which lay two or three
hundred yards off. But, to their surprise, not the slightest change had
occurred in the position of the sleepers; and, after drinking their
coffee out of the one cup the Lapps possessed, they grew impatient, and
stormed at the young men, trying even to pull them out of bed--but they
would not budge.

“The father,” says our authority, “who protested great love for the
English, but turned out the biggest rascal we had come across, was as
anxious as we were that his sons should get up and row us;--but not
a bit of it! He told us that they had been out three days and three
nights on the Fells, and were thoroughly exhausted. What was to be
done, we could not think. It was getting serious; we certainly could
not sleep in this dreadful hole, and there was no other shelter near.

“Money had no power: though I showed the almighty dollar to the weary
slumberers, (they had surely never been in America!) they turned away
with a grunt.

“Then, O happy thought, I recollected the _brandy_; and bringing
my keg to the bedside, I tapped it, and offered them a glass if they
would get up. This was quite another thing; they yawned, stretched
their limbs, and stood upon the floor. Poor fellows! we then saw how
ill and fagged they looked, though they were splendid specimens of the
human race.

“Pouring a glass of the fiery compound down their throats, they put on
their coats, and followed us like sleepy dogs; but in a few moments
were rowing us like heroes.”

All travellers agree in bearing witness to the passion of the Lapps for
alcoholic liquors. If we could spare our apostles of temperance and
advocates of Good Templarism, which, alas! we cannot afford to do, few
better fields could be found for their admirable labours than Lapland.

* * * * *

Captain Hutchinson, however, has more pleasant experiences to relate,
and more agreeable “interiors” to sketch, than the preceding. Let us
accompany him, for instance, on a visit to the island of Bjorkholm.

The settlement here is very small, consisting of only two or three
houses, and a few barns and sheds. The inhabitants, after the usual
manner of the Lapps, support themselves by fishing in summer, and by
the reindeer in winter. Not a tree or shrub grows upon the island; only
grass.

The hostess, on this occasion, was an active, good-natured little
woman, not more than four feet high, who flew to and fro with a really
wonderful agility. At one moment she was mounted on the dresser,
searching for forks and spoons; at another, almost buried in a deep
box, diving for sheets and table-cloth. Crockery was decidedly scarce;
and a china slop-basin, with a wreath of prettily painted little
flowers round the margin, had really a hard time of it.

It was first presented to Captain Hutchinson and his party for the
purpose of washing their hands; at supper it appeared filled with
chocolate; in the morning it reappeared as their joint washing-basin.

However, the little Lapp entertained them right royally, with hot
kippered salmon, pancakes, dried reindeer, and eggs.

The beds were very comfortable, the mattresses of hay, with the whitest
of sheets. And though the hostess and her family seemed very poor,
relics of former grandeur were visible in the silver spoons, teapot,
goblet, and cream-jug.

* * * * *

A recent writer observes that the inferiority of the Lapp race is
as conspicuous from the intellectual as from the physical point of
view. This is evident from the most cursory glance at their lives
and manners. The Lapp is, on the whole, a simple, timid, regular,
honest creature. To his great defect we have already adverted,--that
excessive partiality for strong liquors, which would be sufficient
to bring about the annihilation of his race within a more or less
limited period, even if his days were not numbered from every other
concurrent cause. He is essentially nomadic. He is perfectly free and
independent throughout the solitary wastes which extend from the North
Cape to the sixty-fourth degree of latitude; he plants his tent where
he pleases, generally close to a wood or lake; and he moves on when
the moss all around it has been eaten up. Such a mode of life is, of
course, incompatible with the progress of Swedish, Norwegian, and even
Finlandish civilization, which, year by year, curtails the territory
given up to the migration of the nomadic Lapps.

There is about the life of the Lapps, in summer, says Count D’Almeida,
a certain charm of independence, which might prove seductive to
certain minds, weary of civilization and unwitting of mosquitoes.
But in winter, no being of any other race could with impunity endure
such privations and sufferings as they undergo. They are compelled to
keep a careful watch upon their herds, which are in constant danger
from the snow-storms and the wolves. In the hard frosts, when the
snow is upwards of three feet in depth, they are compelled to dig it
up with their axes, so as to obtain access for their reindeer to the
moss, which constitutes their only food in winter. Their vigorous
constitutions and their power of enduring privation and climatic
rigour, explain how it was that man, in the Glacial Age, though without
any of the appliances of civilization, could endure its tremendous
severity. What the Lapps can bear in point of toil and want is almost
incredible. They suffer, and are strong, in a sense the poet never
contemplated. It frequently happens that they are surprised by a
snow-hurricane; they sleep on the ground, covered with snow-flakes,
which, on awaking, they simply shake off, and pursue their way. In an
excess of cold which would chill our blood, even if we were running
at the top of our speed, they will fall, in a fit of intoxication, on
the ground, and lie there with impunity for hours. It is said that in
mid-winter, women, suddenly seized with the pains of childbirth while
on the road, are delivered in the snow, without any ill result, either
to them or their offspring.

But, as the same writer remarks, human strength cannot exceed certain
limits. The Lapp ages early in life, and dies young. When he attains an
advanced age, his fate is still more lamentable. It is said that if an
old man falls sick while a tribe is accomplishing one of its customary
migrations, his children frequently abandon him,--leaving him with some
provisions at the foot of a tree, or on the bank of a stream, with the
terrible prospect before him of dying of starvation, or falling a prey
to wild beasts. The Lapp is always poor even when he may be called
rich; for it is calculated that to maintain a family of four persons,
a herd of fully four hundred reindeer is necessary, representing a
capital of about £160.

* * * * *

The Lapp dialect is described as resembling the Finnish. When we
remember that the Lapps and the Quénes, or Finns, wear a similar
costume, are distinguished by very similar customs, and that the
two people call themselves by the same generic name, Suomi, we can
understand why some travellers persist in regarding them as sprung
from the same common stock. But a careful investigation shows the
absolute distinctness of the Lapps from the Finns, notwithstanding
this similarity of name and language--a similarity due, as in many
other countries, to the influences of conquest or colonization. Some
ethnologists, and among them M. D’Omalins, include the Finns among
the white, or Caucasian race, and leave the Lapps among the inferior
branches of the great Mongol family. It seems certain that a greater
difference exists between the Quénes and the Lapps of Northern Norway
than between the Quénes and the Scandinavians of the same region.

The Quénes have adapted themselves completely to sedentary and
agricultural habits, while the Lapps, as yet, have not made a single
advance in the direction of raising themselves above a pastoral and
nomadic life. On the other hand, Finns constantly intermarry with the
Swedes or Norwegians; while unions between Lapps and Scandinavians,
or even between Lapps and Finns, are regarded throughout the entire
country as monstrous anomalies. Lastly: laying aside the arguments
founded upon the physical conformation of the Lapps and the Finns,
an important historical consideration seems to prove their distinct
co-existence from a period far anterior to the settlement of the
Suiones and the Goths in the peninsula; it is that in the Finnish
mythology we constantly meet with legends of battles between dwarfs and
giants. It is impossible that these can refer to the warfare between
the Finns and the Scandinavians, for the latter were of the same
stature as the former; and it is in comparison with the Lapps only that
the Finns could relatively be called _giants_.

* * * * *

We borrow from Count D’Alviella a few particulars relating to
the stationary Lapps, who inhabit the region of West Bothnia, or
Westerbotten, a long, narrow strip of land dividing the Gulf of Bothnia
from Lapland proper. These Lapps seem to be the product of a mixture of
races in which the Scandinavian element predominates. They are of an
ordinary stature, robust, with regular features, light hair, and clear
gray eyes.

The country in which they dwell has a strange, an original, but a
monotonous character. It is its monotony which wearies the traveller,
though at first he will be impressed by its fresh yet severe beauty.
The forests of birch and fir seem endless, and the great lakes
in their depths fatigue the eye with their wastes of cold, drear
water. Occasionally, however, the traveller comes upon a smiling
plain, enamelled with myosotis, and brightened by a silver-shining,
music-murmuring stream. Here and there the wood is thinner, and lean
cows may be seen feeding among the half-stripped stems. Next comes a
clearing, where the forest has been swept away by fire; a clearing with
fields of rye and barley; a palisade enclosure, and a group of châlets,
with a comparatively spacious and undilapidated building in the centre.

These _gârds_, as they are called, closely resemble each other
throughout the North. Neither material nor space is begrudged to the
West Bothnian architects. Even the smallest farm comprises three or
four buildings, which generally form a square on the four sides of
an inner court. These buildings--how unlike the wretched, filthy
hut of the nomadic Lapp!--comprise three living-rooms, kitchen, and
stables; and are divided from each other only by a partition of
horizontally-laid planks, the interstices being filled up by moss.
The furniture is simple, convenient, suitable, and shining with
cleanliness, like a Dutch kitchen. Around the hearth is hung a series
of brightly-coloured prints, representing either a Scriptural scene
or events in the life of an illustrious personage,--King Charles
XV., or the bishop of the diocese, side by side with the universal
legendary figures, Napoleon I. and Garibaldi. Close by stands the old
hereditary locker, in which the husband accumulates his money and the
wife deposits her trinkets; to the wall is suspended a complete trophy
of knives, pipes, belts with silver buckles, sledge-bells, and a whip
with a carved horn handle. The whole scene is one of order and the
proprieties of family life.

All these dwellings, it may be added, do not wear the same aspect
of prosperous neatness; but even where poverty is present, it is
unaccompanied by that sullen gloom and melancholy squalidness which, in
other countries, is the painful indication and result of long-endured
privation. And here, we must also remember, poverty and famine are not
always inseparable companions. The shadow of hunger frequently darkens
the rich man’s door, and a man might perish for want of food on a sack
of gold. One winter, the wealthiest members of the community were
reduced to the necessity of eating bread made of bark mixed with moss.

Still, we see how wide a difference separates the stationary from the
nomadic Lapp, and how impossible it is for a wandering population to
acquire or appreciate the comforts of civilized life. A pastoral race,
in the present age of the world, is, and must be, a decaying, because a
barbarous race. If it touches the borders of civilization, it is only
to become infected with its vices, and thus to hasten its inevitable
decay.

CHAPTER IX.

THE SAMOJEDES AND OTHER TRIBES OF ARCTIC ASIA.

The Samojedes are the immediate neighbours of the Lapps. Like them,
they are nomads; but they are even less civilized, and have profited
less by the arduous and enthusiastic labours of the Christian
missionaries. They range over the forests and stony tundras of Northern
Russia and Western Siberia; driving their reindeer herds from the banks
of the Chatanga to the icy shores of the White Sea, or hunting the wild
beasts in the dense woods which extend between the Obi and the Yenisei.

They are sunk far deeper than the Lapps in a coarse and debasing
superstition. It is true that they believe in a supreme deity--Num,
or Jilibeambaertje, who resides in the air, and, like the Greek Zeus,
sends down thunder and lightning, rain and snow; and they evince that
latent capacity for poetical feeling which is indicated even by the
most barbarous tribes in their description of the rainbow as “the
hem of his garment.” They regard him, however, as so elevated above
the world of man, and so coldly indifferent to humanity, that it is
useless to seek to propitiate him either by prayer or sacrifice; and
they have recourse, accordingly, to the inferior gods,--who, as they
believe, have the direction of human affairs, and are influenced by
incantations, vows, or special homage.

The chief of all the Samojede idols is still supposed to consecrate
with its presence, as in the days of the adventurous Barentz, the bleak
and ice-bound island of Waigatz. It is a block of stone, pointed at
the summit, and bearing some rude resemblance to a human head, having
been fashioned after this likeness by a freak of nature. This has
formed the model for the Samojede sculptors, who have multiplied its
effigy in wood and stone; and the idols thus easily created they call
_sjadæi_, because they wear a human (or semi-human) countenance
(_sja_). They attire them in reindeer-skins, and embellish them
with innumerable coloured rags. In addition to the _sjadæi_,
they adopt as idols any curiously contorted tree or irregularly
shaped stone; and the household idol (Hahe) they carry about with
them, carefully wrapped up, in a sledge reserved for the purpose, the
hahengan. One of the said penates is supposed to be the guardian of
wedded happiness, another of the fishery, a third of the health of his
worshippers, a fourth of their herds of reindeer. When his services are
required, the Hahe is removed from his resting-place, and erected in
the tent or on the pasture-ground, in the wood or on the river’s bank.
Then his mouth is smeared with oil or blood, and before him is set a
dish of flesh or fish, in return for which repast it is expected that
he will use his power on behalf of his entertainers. His aid being no
longer needed, he is returned to the hahengan.

Besides these obliging deities, the Samojede believes in the existence
of an order of invisible spirits which he calls _Tadebtsios_.
These are ever and everywhere around him, and bent rather upon his
injury than his welfare. It becomes important, therefore, to propitiate
them; but this can be done only through the interposition of a
_Tadibe_, or sorcerer; who, on occasion, stimulates himself into
a state of wild excitement, like the frenzy of the Pythian or Delphic
priestess. When his aid is invoked by the credulous Samojede, his first
care is to attire himself in full magician’s costume--a kind of shirt,
made of reindeer leather, and hemmed with red cloth. Its seams are
trimmed in like manner; and the shoulders are also decorated with red
cloth tags, or epaulettes. A piece of red cloth is worn over the face
as a mask, and a plate of polished metal gleams upon his breast.

[Illustration: SAMOJEDE HUTS ON WAIGATZ ISLAND.]

Thus costumed, the Tadibe takes his drum of reindeer-skin, ornamented
with brass rings, and, attended by a neophyte, walks round and round
with great stateliness, while invoking the presence of the spirits
by a discordant rattle. This gradually increases in violence, and is
accompanied by the droning intonation of the words of enchantment. The
spirits in due time appear, and the Tadibe proceeds to consult them;
beating his drum more gently, and occasionally pausing in his doleful
chant,--which, however, the novice is careful not to interrupt,--to
listen, as is supposed, to the answers of the aerial divinities. At
length the conversation ceases; the chant breaks into a fierce howl;
the drum rattles more and more loudly; the Tadibe seems under a
supernatural influence; his body quivers, and foam gathers on his lips.
Then suddenly the frenzy ceases, and the Tadibe utters the will of the
Tadebtsios, and gives advice how a straying reindeer may be recovered,
or the disease of the Samojede worshipper relieved, or the fisherman’s
labour rewarded with an abundant “harvest of the sea.”

The office of the Tadibe is usually transmitted from father to son;
but occasionally some individual, predisposed by nature to fits of
excitement, and endowed with a vivid imagination, is initiated into
its mysteries. His morbid fancy is worked upon by long solitary
self-communings and protracted fasts and vigils, and his frame by the
use of pernicious narcotics and stimulants, until he persuades himself
that he has been visited by the spirits. He is then received as a
Tadibe with many ceremonies, which take place at midnight, and he is
invested with the magic drum. It will be seen, therefore, that the
Tadibe, if he deceives others, partly deceives himself. But he does not
disdain to have recourse to the commonest tricks of the conjuror, with
the view of imposing upon his ignorant countrymen. Among these is the
famous rope-trick, introduced into England by the Davenport Brothers,
and since repeated by so many professional necromancers. With his hands
and feet fastened, he sits down on a carpet of reindeer-skin, and, the
lights being put out, invokes the spirits to come to his assistance.
Soon their presence is made known by strange noises; squirrels seem to
rustle, snakes to hiss, and bears to growl. At length the disturbance
ceases, the lights are rekindled, and the Tadibe steps forward unbound;
the spectators, of course, believing that he has been assisted by the
Tadebtsios.

As barbarous, says Dr. Hartwig--to whose pages we are here indebted--as
barbarous as the poor wretches who submit to his guidance, the Tadibe
is incapable of improving their moral condition, and has no wish
to do so. Under various names,--_Schamans_ among the Tungusi,
_Angekoks_ among the Eskimos, _Medicine-men_ among the Crees
and Chepewyans,--we find similar magicians or impostors assuming a
spiritual dictatorship over all the Arctic nations of the Old and the
New World, wherever their authority has not been broken by Christianity
or Buddhism; and this dreary faith still extends its influence over at
least half a million of souls, from the White Sea to the extremity of
Asia, and from the Pacific to Hudson Bay.

The Samojedes, like the Siberian tribes, offer up sacrifices to the
dead, and perform various ceremonies in honour of their memory. Like
the North American Indians, they believe that the desires and pursuits
of the departed continue to be the same as they were on earth; and
hence, that they may not be in want of weapons or implements, they
deposit in or about their graves a sledge, a spear, a cooking-pot,
a knife, an axe. At the funeral, and for several years afterwards,
the kinsmen sacrifice reindeer over the grave. When a prince dies,
a Starschina, the owner, perhaps, of several herds of reindeer, his
nearest relatives fashion an image, which is kept in the tent of the
deceased, and to which as much respect is paid as was paid to the man
himself in his lifetime. It occupies his usual seat at every meal;
every evening it is undressed, and laid down in his bed. For three
years these honours are kept up, and then the image is buried, from
a belief that the body by that time must have decayed, and lost all
recollection of the past. Only the souls of the Tadibes, and of those
who have died a violent death, are privileged with immortality, and
hover about the air as disembodied spirits.

[Illustration: A SAMOJEDE FAMILY.]

* * * * *

The Samojedes are scattered--to the number of about a thousand
families--over their wild and inhospitable region. Ethnologists
generally consider them to have a common origin with the Finns of
Europe. In stature they are somewhat taller than the Lapps, and their
colour is more of a tawny. The marked features of their countenance
recall the Hindu type. The forehead is high, the hair black, the nose
long, the mouth well-formed; but the sunken eye, veiled by a heavy
lid, expresses a cruel and perfidious nature. The manners of the
Samojedes are brutal; and in character they are fierce and cunning.
They are shepherds, hunters, traders--and when opportunity serves,
robbers. Like the other Arctic peoples, they clothe themselves in
reindeer-skins. They shave off their hair, except a tolerably large
tuft which they allow to flourish on the top of the head, and they
pluck out the beard as fast as it grows. The women decorate their
persons with a belt of gilded copper, and with a profusion of glass
beads and metallic ornaments.

* * * * *

Continuing our progress eastward, we come to the Ostiaks, a people
spreading over the northernmost parts of Siberia, from the Oural
Mountains to Kamtschatka.

Some interesting particulars of their habits and customs are recorded
by Madame Felinska, a Polish lady whom the Russian Government condemned
to a long exile in Siberia.

One day, when she was seeking a pathway through a wood, she fell in
with a couple of Ostiaks on the point of performing their devotions.
These are of the simplest kind: the worshipper places himself before a
tree (the larch, by preference) in the densest recess of the forest,
and indulges in a succession of extravagant gestures and contortions.
As this form of worship is prohibited by the Russian Government, the
Ostiak can resort to it only in secret. He professes, indeed, to have
accepted Christianity, but there is too much reason to fear that the
majority of the race are still attached to their heathen creed.

Nearly every Ostiak carries about his person a rude image of one of the
deities which he adores under the name of _Schaïtan_; but this
does not prevent him from wearing a small crucifix of copper on his
breast. The _Schaïtan_ is a rough imitation of the human figure,
carved out of wood. It is of different sizes, according to the various
uses for which it is intended: if for carrying on the person, it is a
miniature doll; but for decorating the Ostiak’s hut an image can be
had on a larger scale. It is always attired in seven pearl-embroidered
chemises, and suspended to the neck by a string of silver coins. The
wooden deity occupies the place of honour in every hut,--sometimes in
company with an image of the Virgin Mary or some saint,--and before
beginning a repast the Ostiaks are careful to offer it the daintiest
morsels, smearing its lips with fish or raw game; this sacred duty
performed, they finish their meal in contentment.

The priests of the Ostiaks are called _Schamans_; their immense
influence they employ to promote their own personal interests, and
maintain the meanest superstitions.

In summer the Ostiak fixes his residence on the banks of the Obi or
one of its tributaries. It is generally square in form, with low stone
walls, and a high pointed roof made of willow-branches, and covered
with pieces of bark. These having been softened by boiling, are sewn
together so as to form large mats or carpets, which are easily rolled
up and carried from place to place. The hearth is in the centre; it
consists of a few stones set round a cavity in the soil. Here the
Ostiak lives; supporting himself on fish, which he frequently eats
without cooking--and purchasing a few occasional luxuries, such as
tobacco and drink, with the salmon and sturgeon caught by his dexterity.

In winter he withdraws into the woods, to hunt the sable or the
squirrel, or to pasture the herds of reindeer which some of them
possess. He builds his jurt on a small eminence near the bank of a
stream, but out of reach of its spring inundations. It is low, small,
squalid; its walls plastered with clay; its window made of a thin sheet
of ice.

The Ostiaks are generally of small stature, dark-complexioned, and with
black hair, like the Samojedes; but this is not invariably the case.
They seem to belong to the same family as the Samojedes and Finns.
They are honest, good-natured, inert, and extremely careless and dirty
in their habits; though it may be conceded that their huts are not
filthier than the “interiors” of the Icelandic fishermen. Their women
are not much better treated than African slaves, and are given in
marriage to the highest bidder. The price necessarily varies according
to the condition of the parent; the daughter of a rich man sells for
fifty reindeer, of a poor man for half-a-dozen dried sturgeon and a
handful of squirrel-skins.

* * * * *

[Illustration: JAKUT HUNTER AND BEAR.]

The Ostiaks and the Samojedes are great hunters of the white bear.
It is the same with the Jakuts (or Yakouts), a people dwelling near
the Bouriats, and, like them, approximating to the Mongol type. Their
object in the chase, however, is not always to kill the animal, but
to take it alive. Madame Felinska asserts that, one day, she saw a
considerable herd of bears conducted to Bérézov, like a herd of tame
cattle, and apparently quite as inoffensive. She does not inform us,
however, by what means they had been reduced to such a desirable
state of subjection. Frequently the Ostiaks and the Jakuts attack the
white bears body to body, without any other weapon than a hatchet or
long cutlass. They require to strike their formidable antagonist with
immense vigour, and to slay it at the first blow, or their own danger
is extreme. Should the hunter miss his stroke, his sole resource is to
fling himself on the ground and lie motionless, until the bear, while
smelling his body and turning him over, incautiously offers himself
again to his attack.

* * * * *

We now reach the peninsula of Kamtschatka. In area it is equal to Great
Britain, and its natural resources are abundant; yet, owing to the
ravages of smallpox, and excessive brandy-drinking, its population does
not exceed seven or eight thousand souls. Its climate is much milder
than that of the interior of Siberia, being favourably affected by the
warm breezes from the sea; and though cereals do not flourish, its
pasture-grounds are rich and ample, and its herbaceous vegetation is
exceedingly abundant.

The fisheries of Kamtschatka enjoy a well-deserved reputation. In
spring the salmon ascend its rivers in such astonishingly numerous
legions, that it you plunge a dart into the water you will surely
strike a fish; and Steller asserts that the bears and dogs in this
fortunate region catch on the banks with their paws and mouths more
fish than in less favoured countries the most skilful anglers can
ensnare by all the devices of piscatorial science. Hermann also refers
to the teeming myriads of the Kamtschatka waters. In a stream only six
inches deep he saw countless hosts of chackos (_Slagocephalus_),
two or three feet in length, partly stranded on the grassy banks,
partly attempting to force a passage through the shallows.

The coasts of Kamtschatka swarm in like manner with aquatic birds,
which roost and breed on every crag and ledge, in every niche and
hollow, and at the slightest alarm rise from their resting-places with
a whirr of wings and a clamour of voices repeated by a thousand echoes.

The Kamtschatkans display in the pursuit of these birds and their eggs
a skill and a daring not inferior to the intrepidity and dexterity of
the inhabitants of the Faroe Isles or the Hebrides. Barefooted, and
without even the aid of ropes, they venture to descend the most awful
declivities, which the foaming waters render inaccessible from below.
On the left arm hangs a basket, to be filled with eggs as they advance;
in the right hand they carry a short iron hook, with which to drag the
birds from their rocky roosts. When a bird is caught, the fowler wrings
its neck, slings it to his girdle, and lowers himself still further
down the rugged precipice.

* * * * *

The Kamtschatkans are of small stature, but strong-limbed and
broad-shouldered. Their cheek-bones are high, their jaws massive,
broad, and prominent, their eyes small and black, their noses small,
their lips very full. The prevailing colour of the men is a dark brown,
sometimes approaching to tawny; the complexion of the women is fairer;
and to preserve it from the sun, they embellish it with bears’ guts,
adhering to the face by means of fish-lime. They also paint their
cheeks a brilliant red with a sea-weed.

[Illustration: KAMTSCHATKANS.]

Kamtschatka boasts of a very valuable domestic animal in its dog.
Mr. Hill is of opinion that he must be considered indigenous to the
country, where he roves wild upon the hills, and obtains his existence
in exactly the same manner as the wolf. In his nature, both physically
and in respect to his temper and disposition, he seems about equally to
resemble that tameless animal and the mastiff; yet not altogether in
the same manner that might be supposed to arise from the cross breed
of the two species, but rather as possessing some of the qualities
of both, neither confounded nor modified, but distinctly marked, and
perhaps in equal perfection to the same qualities possessed severally
by those animals. He is about the size of the ordinary mastiff, and
his colour is usually buff or silver-gray, with the several darker or
lighter shades of these colours as an invariable basis. In the form
of his body, too, he resembles the mastiff, but his head is more like
that of the wolf. Still more do we recognize the wolfish character
in the eye, which is cruel and furtive, as well as in his habits and
disposition. Like his fellow-rover, he sleeps more by day than by
night, and he sees better through the scanty light afforded by the
stars or moon than in the full radiance of the sun: this has given
rise to the same vulgar error concerning his vision which, in Britain,
prevails respecting that of the cat,--that he can see in the dark.

If there be any exception, says Mr. Hill, to the distinct manner in
which the dog of Kamtschatka possesses the character and qualities of
both the wolf and mastiff, it is in regard to his voice, which is heard
in loud cries and undistinguishable sounds, something between the bark
of the one and the howl of the other.

In all things connected with the labour in which he is engaged, the
Kamtschatka dog displays a more than ordinary intelligence. He is very
eager to work, and obedient, like the canine species generally, to one
master only; but he gives no indications of that attachment which, more
or less, in all other species of the dog, enables man to sympathize
with them, and sometimes even excites a degree of friendship which
not every one of his own species is able to inspire. Thus, every pack
or team of dogs must always be driven by the same hand and guided by
the same voice, which the whip, and not caresses, has taught them to
remember and obey.

With these qualities, the dog becomes in this country a very
serviceable animal. Whatever, indeed, our horses and bullocks perform
for us here in Britain, if we except carrying us on their backs and
ploughing our arable land, the dogs perform for the Kamtschatkans.
There is not much employment for them, however, in the summer; and at
that season they are allowed to range about and secure their food,
which they usually find in the rivers, in the best way they can. Some
pains are at all times necessary to keep them in good temper and at
peace with their neighbours, whether canine or human. And therefore all
Kamtschatkans who keep a team near their houses are careful, when the
snow is on the ground, to drive a number of stakes into the earth, or
poles set up in the same manner as the frame of a hut or wigwam; and
to these the dogs are attached singly or in pairs. But when paired,
whether at the stakes or in harness, it is requisite that those yoked
together should be not only of the same family, but of the same litter,
or at all events they should have been paired when they were puppies.
It is at no time safe to leave the greater part of them loose; and the
younger dogs are described as the most dangerous in this way. They will
not only at all times kill domestic fowls,--which the Kamtschatkans,
therefore, are unable to breed,--and dogs of the smaller species that
may chance to be brought to the place, but they have been known to
destroy children. While they do not work they are tolerably fat, and
have usually an allowance of half a dried salmon, or a portion weighing
about two pounds, a day; but when they labour they are worse treated
and more stinted than the Siberian horses, and receive only half the
quantity of food apportioned to them when at rest; yet they will, under
this treatment, perform journeys of three or four weeks’ duration with
much less repose than the horses require. Nay, they will even, upon a
journey of four or five days’ duration, work for fourteen or sixteen
hours out of the twenty-four without tasting any food whatsoever,
and without appearing to suffer any diminution of strength; and the
universal opinion seems to be, that the less food they receive on this
side of starvation, when travelling, the better.

Five of these dogs will draw a sledge carrying three full-grown persons
and sixty pounds weight of luggage. When lightly loaded, such a sledge
will travel from thirty to forty versts in a day over bad roads and
through the deep snow, while on even roads it will accomplish eighty
to one hundred and twenty. And herein lies the inestimable value of
the Kamtschatkan dogs, for the horse would be useless in sledging: in
the deep snow it would sink; and it would be unable, on account of its
weight, to cross the rivers and streams which are covered only with a
thin sheet of ice.

[Illustration: A KAMTSCHATKAN SLEDGE AND TEAM.]

But travelling with dogs is by no means easy. Instead of the whip, the
driver uses a crooked stick with iron rings, which, by their jingling,
supply the leader of the team with the necessary signals. If the dogs
show symptoms of relaxing in their efforts, the stick is cast among
them to rouse them to greater speed; and the driver dexterously picks
it up again as his sledge shoots by. In a snow-storm they keep their
master comfortably warm, and will lie round about him quietly for
hours. They are experienced weather-prophets too, for if, when resting,
they dig holes in the snow, it is a certain sign of a storm.

The training of these dogs begins at a very early age. Soon after their
birth they are placed with their mother in a deep pit, so as to see
neither man nor beast; and after being weaned, they are still condemned
to a total exclusion from “the madding crowd.” A probation of six
months having expired, they are attached to a sledge with older dogs,
and being extremely shy, they run at their very fastest. On returning
home they undergo another period of pit-life, until they are considered
perfectly trained, and capable of performing a long journey. They are
then allowed to enjoy their summer freedom. Such a mode of training
may render them docile and obedient, but it renders them also gloomy,
mistrustful, and ill-tempered.

* * * * *

Siberia, so far as the valley of the Lena is concerned, and even
eastward to the Kolima and westward to the Yenisei, is inhabited by
the bold and vigorous race of the Jakuts. Their number is computed at
about 200,000, and they inhabit the extensive but dreary province of
Jakutsk, with a chief town of the same name.

The Jakuts are to a great extent a pastoral people, but as they trade
in horses and cattle, and also carry on a brisk fur-trade with the
Russians, they have attained a far higher level of civilization than
is common among pastoral races. In summer they live in light conical
tents (“urossy”), which are fixed upon poles, and covered with birch
rind. These they pitch in the open plains and valleys, and then devote
themselves to gathering supplies of hay against the coming winter. This
is with them a very important labour, for their chief wealth is in
their herds of cattle, and to find a sufficient provision for them in
the bleak climate of the Lena basin, and on the borders of the Arctic
World, is a task of great difficulty. Often, indeed, the supply fails
before the return of spring, and the oxen must then be fed upon the
young shoots and saplings of the birch and willow.

When winter approaches, the Jakut removes from his tent into a warm,
timber-built hut, or _jart_, which assumes the form of a truncated
pyramid, and has an exterior covering of turf and clay. Its windows
are made of thin sheets of ice; which, as soon as a thaw sets in, are
replaced by fish-bladders or paper steeped in oil. The floor is of
earth, very rarely boarded, and generally sunk two or three feet below
the surface of the ground. The seats and sleeping-berths are arranged
along the sides; the hearth, or _tscherwal_, occupies the centre,
and its smoke finds an exit through an aperture in the roof. Clothes
and weapons are suspended from the walls, and the general appearance of
the interior is squalid and disorderly.

Near the jart are stalls for the cows; but when the cold is very
intense, they, like the Irishman’s pigs, find accommodation in-doors.
As for the horses, they remain night and day in the open air, though
the weather may be so severe that even mercury freezes; and they have
no other food than the decayed autumn grass, which they find under the
snow.

The capacity of endurance which the Jakut horses exhibit is almost
incredible. Like other quadrupeds in the Arctic regions, they change
their hair in summer. Traversing, month after month, the dreary
wilderness where the only vegetation is a scanty and half-rotten grass,
they still retain their strength and energy; and notwithstanding the
hard conditions of their lives, they do not age so quickly as our own
more carefully-tended steeds. To aim at improving the Jakut horse
would be, in the opinion of many travellers, to gild refined gold, and
perfume “thrown on the violet.” He will continue a steady trot for
hours, over roads of which no Englishman can form an idea, and stop to
take his rest with no other food but the bark of the larch and willow,
or a little hard grass, no covering protecting his foaming sides from
the cold, and the temperature down at 40°.

As the horse, so the master. The Jakut is the very personification of
hardiness. He seems able to endure anything, and to attempt everything.
On the longest winter-journey he carries neither tents nor extra
coverings with him, not even one of the large fur-dresses, such as
the Siberians generally use. He contents himself, in fact, with his
usual dress; in this he generally sleeps in the open air: his bed, a
horse-rug stretched upon the snow; his pillow, a wooden saddle. With
the same fur jacket which serves him by daytime as a dress, and which
he pulls off when he lies down for the night, he defends his back and
shoulders, while the front part of his body is turned towards the fire,
almost without any covering. He then stops his nose and ears with
small pieces of skin, and covers his face so as to leave only a small
aperture for breathing; these are all the precautions he takes against
the severest cold. Even in Siberia the Jakuts are known as “iron men.”

The horse to the Jakut is as valuable and as important as the camel to
the Arab or the reindeer to the Lapp. It is not only his steed, which
seems incapable of weariness,--his beast of draught, patient under
heavy loads,--but its skin provides him with articles of dress; with
its hair he makes his fishing-nets; boiled horse meat is his favourite
food, and sour mare’s milk, or _koumis_, his principal beverage.
By mixing this milk with rye flour, or the inner rind of the fir or
larch, he makes a thick porridge, which he flavours with berries, or
dried fish, or rancid fat.

Before commerce had been diverted into the valley of the Amur,
thousands of pack-horses, under the guidance of Jakuts, annually
crossed the Stanowoi hills on the way to Ochotsk; a journey of terrible
difficulty, which might appal the stoutest nerves. But the Jakut
endures the extremes of cold and hunger with a wonderful equanimity.
He fears neither the stormy winds, the darkened heavens, the depth of
the treacherous morass, nor the darkness and silence of the forest.
Nothing appals him but the unseen presence of “Ljeschei,” the spirit
of the mountain and the forest. The traveller frequently comes upon a
fir-crowned hillock, and from the branches of one of the oldest firs
sees suspended innumerable tufts of horse-hair. What does it mean? He
needs not to inquire, for, lo! his Jakut driver, dismounting from his
steed, hastens to pluck a few hairs from his horse’s mane, and then,
with much reverence, attaches them to the nearest bough, in order to
propitiate the terrible Ljeschei. Even Jakuts who have been baptized,
and are nominally enrolled among the Christian population, are guilty
of this silly bit of superstition; while it is suspected, on good
grounds, that they still cherish their belief in Schamanism, and their
ancient dread of evil spirits. When we remember, however, the absurd
beliefs and vulgar errors still lingering in many parts of our own
land, we are unable to pass a very severe verdict on the credulity of
the Jakuts.

When on the road they beguile the tedium of the way by singing songs of
the most doleful character, corresponding to the habitual melancholy
which they seem to have inherited from their forefathers; a melancholy
suggested, probably, by the gloom of the landscape, the chilling aspect
of the sky, the inclemency of the climate, and the prolonged battle
in which their lives are passed. Their songs, not the less, are songs
worthy of a bold and intelligent people, and, like the poetry of the
Norsemen, are replete with images borrowed from nature. They constantly
describe in glowing language the lofty magnificence of the snow-crowned
mountains, the starry beauty of the night, the roll and rush of the
river, the wail of the wind as it streams through a forest of pines.
The Jakut minstrels are mostly improvisatores; and, to secure the
favour of the Ljeschei, they will extol the charms of the wilderness
over which it rules, as if that wilderness were a portion of Elysium.

* * * * *

The Jakut merchants are remarkable for their enterprise. Their capital
is Jakutsk, on the Lena, and thence they extend their operations in all
directions. In the rigour of winter they will lead their caravans to
Ochotsk, or Kjachta, or Ostrownoje.

Yet the country they traverse is at all times a desert. The mean
temperature of the year is only +14°. In November the thermometer sinks
to -40°, or 72° below freezing-point. The Yana, at Nishni Kolymsk,
freezes early in September; and lower down, where the current is
sluggish, loaded horses can cross its frozen surface as early as
the middle of August: yet the ice does not melt before June. The sun
remains, it is true, about fifty-two days above the horizon; but its
light, shrouded by almost continual mists, is attended by but little
heat,--and its orb, compressed by refraction into an elliptical form,
may be examined by the naked eye without inconvenience.

As the climate, so the vegetation. Dwarfish willow-shrubs, stunted
grass, moss, and a few berry-bearing plants compose the flora of the
cheerless tundras. There is greater abundance and more variety in the
neighbouring and better sheltered valleys of the Aniuj; the poplar,
birch, thyme, absinth, and low creeping cedar enliven their slopes; but
even in these places Nature is most niggardly of her gifts. Such is not
the case, however, with the fauna of Arctic Siberia. The forests are
tenanted by numbers of reindeer, elks, bears, foxes, sables, and gray
squirrels; while in the low grounds stone foxes make their burrows.
With the return of spring come immense flights of swans, geese, and
ducks, which build their nests in the most sequestered corners. The
sea-coast is frequented by eagles, owls, and gulls; the brushwood by
the white ptarmigan; the brooks by hundreds of little snipes. Even the
songs of the finch are not wanting in spring, nor is the thrush wholly
silent in autumn.

* * * * *

Summing up the details recorded by Admiral Wrangell, a recent writer
draws an impressive picture of the mode of life of the people of this
desolate waste, and observes: “All denotes that here the limits of the
habitable earth are passed; and one asks with astonishment, What could
induce human beings to take up their abode in so comfortless a region?”

The chief resource of the Sullaheris of the River Aniuj is, he says,
the reindeer chase,--the success of which mainly determines whether
famine or some degree of plenty is to be their lot during the coming
winter. The passage of the reindeer takes place twice a year: in
spring, when the mosquito-swarms drive them to the sea-coast, where
they feed on the moss of the tundra; and in autumn, when the increasing
cold forces them to retire inland. The spring migration, which begins
about the middle of May, is not very profitable; partly because the
animals are then in poor condition, and partly because it is more
difficult to kill them as they dash across the frozen rivers. The chief
hunting takes place in August and September, when the herds, each
numbering several thousand deer, return to the forests. They invariably
cross the river at a particular spot, where a flat sandy bank enables
them to land with comparative ease; and here they close up their ranks,
as it were, under the guidance of the stalwart veterans of the herd.

After a brief pause of hesitation the herd plunge into the waters, and
in a few minutes the surface of the river seems alive with swimming
reindeer. Now is the hunter’s time; and out from his concealment in
the reedy creek he darts in his little boat, wounding as many animals
as he can. While he and his comrades are thus engaged, they run some
risk of being capsized in the turmoil, for the bucks gallantly defend
themselves with horns, and teeth, and hind legs, while the roes usually
attempt to spring with their fore feet upon the gunwale of the boat. If
the hunter should be overset, his sole chance of safety is to cling to
a strong animal, which will carry him securely across the stream. Such
an accident, however, is of rare occurrence. A good hunter will kill a
hundred reindeer, or even more, in half an hour. Meantime, the other
boats seize the slaughtered animals, which become the property of their
crews; while those that are merely wounded and swim ashore belong to
the hunters, who, in the midst of the uproar, when all their strength
is tasked to the uttermost, so aim their strokes as only to wound
severely the larger animals. The noise of the horns striking against
each other, the “incarnadined” waters, the shouts of the hunters, the
cries of pain, rage, and alarm of the struggling animals, all form a
scene which, once seen, is not easily forgotten.

While the men of Kolymsk are thus engaged during the brief summer-time
in hunting, fishing, and haymaking, the women wander over the country,
and climb the sides of the mountains, for the purpose of gathering
edible roots, aromatic herbs, and various kinds of berries--though the
last do not ripen every year. The berry-plucking season at Kolymsk,
like the vintage in France or Italy, is a season of mirth, a holiday
interval in a hard and laborious life. The young women and girls form
large parties, and spend whole days and nights in the open air. When
the berries are collected, cold water is poured over them, and they
are preserved in a frozen state as an addition to the scanty winter
fare. We are told that “social parties” are not unknown at Kolymsk,
and probably afford as much or as little entertainment there as in
more favoured and more civilized communities. The staple luxury is a
deluge of weak tea--very weak, for the aromatic leaves which cheer but
not inebriate are very dear at Kolymsk; and as sugar is also a costly
article, every guest takes a lump of candy in his mouth, lets the tea
which he sips flow by, and then replaces it upon the saucer. It would
be considered a breach of courtesy if he consumed the entire lump,
which thus is made to do duty at more than one soiree. Next to tea, but
not less esteemed, the principal requisite for a Kolymsk entertainment
is brandy.

* * * * *

Another important Siberian people are the Tungusi, who spread from
the basins of the Upper, Middle, and Lower Tunguska to the western
shores of the Sea of Ochotsk, and from the Chinese frontiers and
the Baikal to the Polar Ocean. Their number does not exceed thirty
thousand. According to their avocations, and the domestic animals which
constitute their wealth, they are known as the Reindeer, Horse, Dog,
Forest, and River Tungusi. Those who keep or rear horses and cattle
are but a few; the majority depend on the reindeer. The condition of
all is deplorably wretched. The Tungusi has no resource but fishing
or hunting. When the rivers are frozen, he withdraws into the forest.
Here his misery is so great and his need so extreme that he frequently
becomes a cannibal, and attacks the wives and children of his more
fortunate countrymen. In happier circumstances he is remarkable for the
readiness of his wit, the vivacity of his manner, and the blithesome
carelessness of his disposition. It is asserted, however, that he is
both malignant and deceitful. He is vain; and loves to decorate his
person with strings and ornaments of glass beads, from his small Tartar
cap to the tips of his shoes. When hunting the reindeer, or travelling
through the forests, however, he puts on large water-tight boots, or
_sari_, well greased with fat; and he carries, on these occasions,
a small axe, a kettle, a leathern wallet containing some dried fish,
and a short gun, or a bow and a sling. He is always accompanied by his
faithful dog.

“With the assistance of his long and narrow snow-shoes, he flies over
the dazzling plain; and protects his eyes, like the Jakut, with a
net made of black horse-hair. He never hesitates to attack the bear
single-handed, and generally masters him. The nomad Tungusi naturally
requires a movable dwelling. His tent is covered with leather, or large
pieces of pliable bark, which are easily rolled up, and transported
from place to place. The _jart_ of the sedentary Tungusi resembles
that of the Jakut, and is so small that it can be very quickly and
thoroughly warmed by a fire kindled on the stone hearth in the centre.
In his food the Tungusi is by no means dainty. One of his favourite
dishes consists of the contents of a reindeer’s stomach mixed with wild
berries, and spread out in thin cakes on the rind of trees, to be dried
in the air or in the sun. Those who have settled on the Wilnj and in
the neighbourhood of Nertschinsk likewise consume large quantities of
birch tea, which they boil with fat and berries into a thick porridge;
and this unwholesome food adds, no doubt, to the yellowness of their
complexion.”

* * * * *

We shall now, and lastly, take a glance at the Tchuktche (or Tuski),
who inhabit the north-eastern point of Asia, with the ice-covered
waters of the Polar Sea on one side, and those of Behring Sea on
the other. Their land is but seldom visited; all, however, who have
ventured thither agree in describing it as one of the most melancholy
regions of the earth. The soil is barren, and half-frozen, yielding
no other vegetation than mosses and lichens, the vaccinium, and the
dwarf birch and willow,--except in the low grounds, where the reedy
marshes are frequented in the summer by geese, and swans, and ducks,
and wading-birds. The climate is so rigorous that one wonders man can
make up his mind to endure it. There is no summer earlier than the 20th
of July; and on the 20th of August the shadow of winter comes upon the
earth. Animal life, however, if not very varied, is abundant: walruses,
sea-lions, and seals inhabit the coasts; and the reindeer, the wolf,
the argali, and the Arctic fox are found in the interior.

The Tchuktche are an enterprising people, and fond of independence.
Unlike their neighbours, the Koriaks, they have always maintained
their freedom against the encroachments of Russia. They are active and
spirited traders. In skin-covered boats they cross Behring Straits,
and barter furs and walrus-teeth with the natives of America. In
long caravans, their sledges drawn by reindeer, they repair to the
great fair of Ostrownoje, and carry on a vigorous commerce with the
Russian merchants. In their train follow sledges laden with supplies
of lichen and moss for the reindeer, as in their wanderings, however
circuitous these may be, they are compelled to traverse broad spaces
of stony desert, where even these abstemious animals can obtain no
food. As their movements are regulated by the necessities of their
herds, they occupy five or six months in a journey which, in a straight
line, would not exceed a thousand versts in length; they are almost
always migrating from place to place, yet, as they invariably carry
their dwellings with them, they never leave home. A caravan generally
consists of fifty or sixty families; and as soon as one fair is at an
end, they depart to make their preparations for the next.

The great staple of the trade at Ostrownoje is tobacco. To secure a
small supply of the narcotic which forms the sole luxury of their
dreary lives, the Eskimos of North America, extending from the Icy Cape
to Bristol Bay, send their articles of barter from hand to hand as far
as the Gwosdus Islands in Behring Strait, where the Tchuktche purchase
them with tobacco bought at Ostrownoje. Thus, in the icy regions of
the extreme north, tobacco is the source and support of considerable
commerce; and the narcotic weed which Raleigh and his contemporaries
introduced from America into Europe, and which from Europe made its way
into Asia, is exported from Asia for the use of American tribes.

The balance of trade, however, seems entirely against the latter.
We are told that the skins which a Tchuktche purchases of an Eskimo
for half a pood (eighteen pounds) of tobaccoleaves, he sells to the
Russian for two poods (seventy-two pounds); and these skins, costing
the Russian about one hundred and sixty roubles, the latter sells at
Jakutsk for two hundred and sixty, and at St. Petersburg for upwards of
five hundred roubles.

The furs sold at Ostrownoje are chiefly those of stone foxes, black
and silver-gray foxes, gluttons, lynxes, otters, beavers, and martens.
Other products brought thither by the Tchuktche are bear-skins,
walrus-teeth, and thongs, sledge-runners (made of whale ribs), and
dresses of reindeer-skin. The Russians, besides tobacco, dispose of
kettles, axes, knives, guns, tea, and sugar.

* * * * *

A visit to the family of a Tchuktche chief is thus described by one of
Admiral Wrangell’s companions:--

We entered the outer tent, or _namet_, consisting of tanned
reindeer-skins outstretched on a slender framework. An opening at the
top to give egress to the smoke, and a kettle on the hearth in the
centre, showed that antechamber and kitchen were here harmoniously
blended into one. But where might be the inmates? Most probably in that
large sack made of the finest skins of reindeer calves, which occupied,
near the kettle, the centre of the _namet_. To penetrate into this
“sanctum sanctorum” of the Tchuktch household, we raised the loose
flap which served as a door, crept on all fours through the opening,
cautiously refastened the flap by tucking it under the floor-skin,
and found ourselves in the _polog_--that is, the reception or
withdrawing-room. A snug box, no doubt, for a cold climate, but rather
low, as we were unable to stand upright in it; nor was it quite so
well ventilated as a sanitary commissioner would require, as it had
positively no opening for light or air. A suffocating smoke met us
on entering: we rubbed our eyes; and when they had at length got
accustomed to the pungent atmosphere, we perceived, by the gloomy light
of a train-oil lamp, the worthy family sitting on the floor in a state
of almost complete nudity. Without being in the least embarrassed,
Madame Leütt and her daughter received us in their primitive costume;
but to show us that the Tchuktche knew how to receive company, and to
do honour to their guests, they immediately inserted strings of glass
beads in their hair.

Their hospitality equalled their politeness; for, instead of a cold
reception, a hot dish of boiled reindeer flesh, copiously irrigated
with rancid train-oil by the experienced hand of the mistress of the
household, was soon after smoking before them. The culinary taste of
the Russians, however, could not appreciate this work of art, and the
Leütt family were left to do justice to it unaided.

The Tchuktche are polygamous. Their women are regarded as slaves, but
are not badly treated. Most of the Tchuktche have been baptized, but
they cling in secret to their heathen creed, and own the power of the
shamans, or necromancers. They form two great divisions: the reindeer,
or wandering Tchuktche, who call themselves Tennygk; and the stationary
Tchuktche, or Oukilon, who exhibit affinities with the Eskimos, and
subsist by hunting the whale, the walrus, and the seal. The Oukilon are
supposed to number 10,000, and the Tennygk about 20,000.

CHAPTER X.

HISTORICAL SKETCH OF ARCTIC DISCOVERY.

In the reign of Henry VIII., Dr. Robert Thorne declared that “if he had
facultie to his will, the first thing he would understande, even to
attempt, would be if our seas northwarde be navigable to the Pole or
no.” And it is said that the king, at his instigation, “sent two fair
ships, well-manned and victualled, having in them divers cunning men,
to seek strange regions; and so they set forth out of the Thames, the
20th day of May, in the nineteenth year of his reign, which was the
year of our Lord 1527.” Of the details of this expedition, however, we
have no record, except that one of the vessels was wrecked on the coast
of Newfoundland.

In 1536, a second Arctic voyage was undertaken by a London gentleman,
named Hore, accompanied by thirty members of the Inns of Law, and
about the same number of adventurers of a lower estate. They reached
Newfoundland, which, according to some authorities, was discovered by
Sebastian Cabot in 1496, and here they suffered terrible distress;
in the extremity of their need being reduced to cannibalism. After
the deaths of a great portion of the crew, the survivors captured by
surprise a French vessel which had arrived on the coast, and navigated
her in safety to England.

But the true history of Arctic Discovery dates, as Mr. Markham
observes, from the day when the veteran navigator, Sebastian Cabot,
explained to young Edward VI. the phenomena of the variation of the
needle. On the same day the aged sailor received a pension; and
immediately afterwards three discovery-ships were fitted out by
the Muscovy Company under his direction. Sir Hugh Willoughby was
appointed to their command, with Richard Chancellor in the _Edward
Bonadventure_ as his second. The latter, soon after quitting
England, was separated from the squadron, and sailing in a northerly
direction, gained at last a spacious harbour on the Muscovy coast. Sir
Hugh’s ship, and her companion, the _Bona Confidentia_, were cast
away on a desolate part of the Lapland coast, at the mouth of the river
Arzina. They entered the river on September 18, 1563, and remained
there for a week; and “seeing the year far spent, and also very evil
weather, as frost, snow, and hail, as though it had been the deep of
winter, they thought it best to winter there.” But as day followed day,
and week followed week, in those grim solitudes of ice and snow, the
brave adventurers perished one by one; and many months afterwards their
bleached bones were discovered by some Russian fishermen.

In the spring of 1556, Stephen Burrough, afterwards chief pilot of
England, fitted out the “Search-thrift” pinnace, and sailed away for
the remote north. He discovered the strait leading into the sea of
Kara, between Novaia Zemlaia and the island Waigatz; but he made up
his mind to return, because, first, of the north winds, which blew
continually; second, “the great and terrible abundance of ice which
we saw with our eyes;” and third, because the nights waxed dark. He
arrived at Archangel on September 11, wintered there, and returned to
England in the following year.

Twenty years later, on a bright May morning, Queen Elizabeth waved
a farewell to Martin Frobisher and his gallant company, as they
dropped down the Thames in two small barks, the _Gabriel_ and
the _Michael_, each of thirty tons, together with a pinnace of
ten tons. They gained the shores of Friesland on the 11th of July;
and sailing to the south-west, reached Labrador. Then, striking
northward, they discovered “a great gut, bay, or passage,” which they
named Frobisher Strait (lat. 63° 8’ N.), and fell into the error of
supposing that it connected the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific. Here
they came into contact with some Eskimos; and Frobisher describes them
as “strange infidels, whose like was never seen, read, nor heard of
before: with long black hair, broad faces and flat noses, and tawny
in colour, wearing seal-skins, the women marked in the face with blue
streaks down the cheeks, and round about the eyes.”

Frobisher’s discoveries produced so great an impression on the public
mind, that in the following year he was placed at the head of a larger
expedition, in the hope that he would throw open to English enterprise
the wealth of “far Cathay.” About the end of May 1577, he sailed from
Gravesend with the _Ayde_ of one hundred tons, the _Gabriel_
of thirty, and the _Michael_ of thirty, carrying crews of ninety
men in all, besides about thirty merchants, miners, refiners, and
artisans. He returned in September with two hundred tons of what
was supposed to be gold ore, and met with a warm reception. It was
considered almost certain that he had fallen in with some portion of
the Indian coast, and Queen Elizabeth, naming it _Meta Incognita_,
resolved to establish there a colony. For this purpose, Frobisher
was dispatched with fifteen well-equipped ships, three of which were
to remain for a twelvemonth at the new settlement, while the others,
taking on board a cargo of the precious ore, were to return to England.

In the third week of June Frobisher arrived at Friesland, of which he
took possession in the queen’s name. Steering for Frobisher Strait,
he found its entrance blocked up with colossal icebergs; and the bark
_Dennis_, which carried the wooden houses and stores for the
colony, coming in collision with one of these, unfortunately sank.
Then, in a great storm, the fleet was scattered far and wide,--some of
the vessels drifting out to sea, some being driven into the strait;
and when most of them rejoined their admiral, it was found they had
suffered so severely that no help remained but to abandon the project
of a colony. They collected fresh supplies of ore, however, and then
made their way back to England as best they could. Here they were met
with the unwelcome intelligence that the supposed gold ore contained no
gold at all, and was, in truth, mere dross and refuse.

The dream of a northern passage to Cathay was not to be dissipated,
however, by an occasional misadventure. Even a man of the keen
intellect of Sir Humphrey Gilbert felt persuaded that through the
northern seas lay the shortest route to the treasures of the East;
and having obtained from Queen Elizabeth a patent authorizing him to
undertake north-western discoveries, and to acquire possession of
any lands not inhabited or colonized by Christian princes or their
subjects, he equipped, in 1583, with the help of his friends, a
squadron of five small ships, and sailed from England full of bright
visions and sanguine anticipations. On board his fleet were smiths, and
carpenters, and shipwrights, and masons, and refiners, and “mineral
men;” not to speak of one Stephen Parmenio, a learned Hungarian, who
was bound to chronicle in sonorous Latin all “gests and things worthy
of remembrance.”

Sir Humphrey formed a settlement at Newfoundland; and then, embarking
on board the _Squirrel_, a little pinnace of ten tons burden,
and taking with him the _Golden Hind_ and the _Delight_, he
proceeded on a voyage of exploration. Unhappily, the _Delight_
ran ashore on the shoals near Sable Land, and all her crew except
twelve men, and all her stores, were lost. The disaster determined
Sir Humphrey to return to England; and his companions implored him
to embark on board the _Golden Hind_, representing that the
_Squirrel_ was unfit for so long a voyage. “I will not forsake,”
replied the chivalrous adventurer, “the brave and free companions with
whom I have undergone so many storms and perils.” Soon after passing
the Azores, they were overtaken by a terrible tempest, in which the
tiny pinnace was tossed about by the waves like a straw. The _Golden
Hind_ kept as near her as the rolling billows permitted; and her
captain has left on record that he could see Sir Humphrey sitting
calmly in the stern reading a book. He was heard to exclaim--“Courage,
my lads; we are as near heaven by sea as by land!” Then night came on,
with its shadows and its silence, and next morning it was perceived
that the pinnace and her gallant freight had gone to swell the sum of
the irrecoverable treasures of the deep.

[Illustration: THE LOSS OF THE “SQUIRREL.”]

But neither Frobisher’s mishap nor Sir Humphrey Gilbert’s melancholy
fate could check that current of English enterprise which had set
in for the North. There was an irresistible attraction in these
remote northern seas and distant mist-shrouded lands, with all their
possibilities of wealth and glory; and Arctic Discovery had already
begun to exercise on the mind of the English people that singular
fascination which the course of centuries has not weakened, which
endures even to the present day. So, in 1585, Sir Adrian Gilbert
and some other gentlemen of Devonshire raised funds sufficient to
fit out a couple of vessels--the _Sunshine_ of fifty, and the
_Moonshine_ of thirty-five tons--for the great work of discovery;
and they gave the command to a veteran mariner and capable navigator,
Captain John Davis, a countryman, or county-man, of their own. Towards
the end of July he reached the west coast of Greenland, and its
cheerless aspect induced him to christen it the “Land of Desolation.”
His intercourse with the Eskimos, however, was of the friendliest
character. Standing away to the north-west, he discovered and crossed
the strait which still bears his name; and to the headland on its
western coast he gave the name of Cape Walsingham. Having thus opened
up, though unwittingly, the great highway to the Polar Sea, he sailed
for England, where he arrived on the 20th of September.

In his second voyage, in 1586, when, in addition to the _Sunshine_
and the _Moonshine_, he had with him the _Mermaid_ of one
hundred and twenty tons, and the _North Star_ pinnace of ten, he
retraced his route of the previous year. The _Sunshine_ and the
_North Star_, however, he employed in cruising along the east
coast of Greenland; and they ascended, it is said, as high as lat. 80°
N.

Davis in his third voyage pushed further to the north, reaching as far
as the bold promontory which he named Cape Sanderson. He also crossed
the great channel afterwards known as Hudson Bay.

The next Englishman who ventured into the frozen seas was one Captain
Waymouth, in 1602; but he added nothing to the scanty information
already acquired. An Englishman, James Hall, was the chief pilot of an
expedition fitted out in 1605 by the King of Denmark, which explored
some portion of the Greenland coast. He made three successive voyages;
but while exhibiting his own courage and resolution, he contributed
nothing to the stores of geographical knowledge.

* * * * *

We now arrive at a name which deservedly ranks among the foremost of
Arctic explorers--that of Henry Hudson. He contributed more to our
acquaintance with the Polar seas than any one who had preceded him, and
few of his successors have surpassed him in the extent and thoroughness
of his researches.

He first appears, says Mr. Markham, fitting out a little cock-boat for
the Muscovy Company, called the _Hopewell_ (of eighty tons), to
discover a passage by the North Pole. On the 1st of May 1607 he sailed
from Greenwich. “When we consider the means with which he was provided
for the achievement of this great discovery, we are astonished at the
fearless audacity of the attempt. Here was a crew of twelve men and
a boy, in a wretched little craft of eighty tons, coolly talking of
sailing right across the Pole to Japan, and actually making as careful
and judicious a trial of the possibility of doing so as has ever been
effected by the best equipped modern expeditions.... Imagine this
bold seaman sailing from Gravesend, bound for the North Pole, in a
craft about the size of one of the smallest of modern collier brigs.
We can form a good idea of her general appearance, because three such
vessels are delineated on the chart drawn by Hudson himself. The
_Hopewell_ was more like an old Surat buggalow than anything else
that now sails the seas, with high stern, and low pointed bow; she had
no head-sails on her bowsprit, but, to make up for this, the foremast
was stepped chock forward. There was a cabin under the high and narrow
poop, where Hudson and his little son were accommodated; and the crew
were crowded forward.”

[Illustration: SHIP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.]

Hudson first sighted land beyond the Arctic Circle in lat. 70°. It was
the cold, grim coast of East Greenland. Three degrees further north
a chain of lofty peaks, all bare of snow, rose upon the horizon, and
Hudson’s men noted that the temperature daily increased in mildness.
Steering to the north-east, the great navigator arrived off the shores
of Spitzbergen, where some of his men landed and picked up various
fragments of whalebone, horns of deer, walrus-teeth, and relics of
other animals. To the north-west point of Spitzbergen he gave the name
which it still bears--Hakluyt’s Headland. At one time he found himself
as far north as 81°; and it seems probable that he discovered the Seven
Islands: he remarked that the sea was in some places green, in others
blue; and he says, “Our green sea we found to be freest from ice, and
our azure-blue sea to be our icy sea;” an observation not confirmed by
later navigators. The greenness was probably due to the presence of
minute organisms.

[Illustration: SCENERY OF JAN MAYEN.]

Having completed a survey of the west coast of Spitzbergen, he resolved
on sailing round the north end of Greenland, which he supposed to be
an island, and returning to England by Davis Strait. With this view
he again examined the sea between Spitzbergen and Greenland, but from
the strong ice-blink along the northern horizon felt convinced that
there was no passage in that direction. After sighting Spitzbergen,
therefore, he determined to return to England; and on his homeward
voyage discovered an island in lat. 71° N., which he named Hudson
Sutches, and which has since been improperly named Jan Mayen. The
_Hopewell_ arrived in the Thames on the 15th of September.

The results of this voyage, says Mr. Markham, were very important, both
in a geographical and a commercial point of view. Hudson had discovered
a portion of the east coast of Greenland; he had examined the edge of
the ice between Greenland and Spitzbergen twice--in June and in the end
of July; and he had sailed to the northward of Spitzbergen until he was
stopped by the ice, reaching almost as high a latitude as Scoresby in
1806, which was 81° 12′ 42″ N. Hudson’s highest latitude by observation
was 80° 23’, but he sailed for two more days in a north-easterly
direction. The practical consequence of his voyage was that his account
of the quantities of whales and sea-horses in the Spitzbergen seas led
to the establishment of a rich and prosperous fishery, which continued
to flourish for two centuries.

In the following year Hudson made a second voyage, in the hope of
discovering a north-eastern passage to China between Spitzbergen and
Novaia Zemlaia. He exhibited his characteristic resolution, and forced
his way to the very gate of the unknown region, which is still closed
against human enterprise by an impenetrable barrier of ice; but all his
efforts proved in vain, and he returned to Gravesend on the 26th of
August.

In 1610, in a vessel of fifty-five tons, he once more entered the Polar
seas, and gained the extreme point of Labrador, which he named Cape
Wolstenholm. Here burst upon him the view of that magnificent sea which
has since been associated with his name; and there can be no doubt
that his enterprise would have anticipated the discoveries of later
navigators, but for the mutiny which broke out among his crew, and
eventually led to his being sent adrift, with nine faithful companions,
in a small open boat. He was never again heard of.

* * * * *

The spirit of commercial enterprise and the love of maritime adventure
were still strong enough in England to induce the equipment of
further expeditions. In 1612 sailed Captain Button,--who discovered
a stream, and named it Nelson River; where, at a later date, the
Hudson Bay Company planted their first settlement. Here he wintered.
In April 1613, on the breaking up of the ice, he resumed his work of
exploration, and discovered, in lat. 65°, an island group, which he
named Manuel, now known as Mansfield, Islands. Then he bore away for
England, arriving in the Thames early in September.

Robert Bylot and William Baffin undertook a voyage in 1615. The latter
had had some previous experience of Arctic navigation, which he turned
to advantage in 1616, when he accompanied Bylot on a second expedition.
Their ship, the _Discovery_, of fifty-five tons, reached Cape
Hope Sanderson, the furthest point attained by Davis, on the 30th of
May; and after meeting with some obstruction from the ice, proceeded
northwards to 72° 45’, where she dropped anchor for awhile among the
Women’s Islands. Baffin kept to the north until he found ice in 74°
15’ N., and he then ascended Melville Bay, touching the head of the
great basin now known by his name, and sailing down its western coast.
He arrived in Dover Roads on the 30th of August, after a brilliantly
successful voyage, which had opened up the principal north-west
channels into the Arctic Sea.

* * * * *

It is necessary here to interpolate a few remarks in explanation of the
difficulties which beset the Baffin Bay route of Arctic exploration.
Geographers assert, and the assertion seems confirmed by the experience
of navigators, that a surface-current is constantly flowing down this
bay, and carrying great fleets of icebergs and shoals of ice-floes into
the Atlantic from its southern channels--Lancaster, Jones, and Smith
Sounds. Hence, at the head of the bay there exists a considerable open
and navigable expanse, which extends for some distance up Lancaster
and Smith Sounds during the summer and early winter, and is known as
the “North Water.” But between this open expanse and Davis Strait lies
an immense mass of ice, averaging from one hundred and seventy to two
hundred miles in width, and blocking up the centre of Baffin Bay, so
as to interrupt the approach to the north-west end. This is known as
the “middle pack,” and consists of some ancient floe-pieces of great
thickness, which may have been brought down from a distant part of the
Arctic seas; of a wide extent of ice accumulated during each winter,
about six or eight feet in thickness; and of the grand and gigantic
icebergs which are so characteristic a feature of the Melville Bay
scenery. A very large quantity of this pack is destroyed in each
succeeding summer by the thaws, or by the swell and warm temperature of
the Atlantic as the ice drifts southward.

It is remarked of the Baffin Bay ice, that it is much lighter than
that found in the Spitzbergen seas. The latter often occurs in single
sheets, solid, transparent, and from twenty to thirty, and even forty,
feet in thickness. In Baffin Bay the average thickness of the floes
does not exceed five or six feet, and eight or ten feet is of very rare
occurrence.

From Baffin’s voyage, in 1616, until 1817, no attempt was made to force
this “middle pack” and enter the North Water; but now the voyage is
made every year, and three routes have been opened up. The first is
called the “North-about Passage,” and lies along the Greenland coast;
the second, or “Middle Passage,” only possible late in the season, is
by entering the drift-ice in the centre of the bay; and the third, or
“Southern Passage,” also only possible late in the season, along the
west side of Baffin Bay. Once in the North Water, whichever route be
attempted, all obstacles to an exploration of the unknown region may be
considered at an end. From Cape York to Smith Sound the sea is always
navigable in the summer months.

It will thus be seen that the great highways to the Pole were
discovered by William Baffin.

Our limits compel us to pass over the voyages of Stephen Bennet
(1603–1610), Jonas Poole (1610–1613), and Captain Luke Fox (1631). In
1631 the merchants of Bristol despatched Captain Thomas James, but he
made no additions to the discoveries of his predecessors. And then
for nearly two centuries England abandoned her efforts to open up a
communication between the Atlantic and the Pacific.

In 1818, however, the question of the existence of a North-West
Passage once more occupied the public mind; and the British Government
accordingly fitted out an exploring expedition, the _Isabella_ and
the _Alexander_, under the command of Captain Ross and Lieutenant
Parry.

They sailed from England on the 18th of April, reached the southern
edge of the Baffin Bay ice on the 2nd of July, and, after a detention
of thirty-eight days, reached the North Water on August 8th. The capes
on each side of the mouth of Smith Sound, Ross named after his two
ships; and having accomplished this much, he affirmed that he saw land
against the horizon at a distance of eight leagues, and then retraced
his course, and sailed for England.

The British Government, however, refused to be discouraged by the
failure of an expedition which had obviously been conducted with an
entire absence of vigour and enterprise. They therefore equipped the
_Hecla_ and the _Griper_, and gave the command to Lieutenant
Parry; who sailed from the Thames on the 5th of May 1819, and on the
15th of June sighted Cape Farewell. Striking northward, up Davis Strait
and Baffin Bay, he found himself checked by the ice-barrier in lat.
73° N. A man of dauntless resolution, he came to the determination of
forcing a passage at all hazards; and in seven days, by the exercise of
a strong will, great sagacity, and first-rate seamanship, he succeeded
in carrying his ships through the pack of ice, which measured eighty
miles in breadth.

He was then able to enter Sir James Lancaster Sound; and up this
noble inlet he proceeded with a fair wind, hopeful of entering the
great Polar Sea. But after advancing a considerable distance, he was
once more met by the frozen powers of the North, and this time he was
forced to own himself vanquished. He accordingly returned towards the
south, discovering Barrow Strait; and, more to the westward, an inlet
which has since figured conspicuously in Arctic voyages--Wellington
Channel. Bathurst Island he also added to the map; and afterwards he
came in sight of Melville Island. On the 4th of September he attained
the meridian of 110° W. long., and thus became entitled to the
Parliamentary grant of £5000. A convenient harbour in the vicinity was
named the “Bay of the _Hecla_ and the _Griper_,” and here
Lieutenant Parry resolved upon passing the winter.

In the following spring he resumed his adventurous course, and
completed a very careful survey of the shores of Baffin Sea; after
which he repaired to England, and reached the Thames in safety, with
his crews in good health, and his ships in excellent condition, about
the middle of November 1820.

[Illustration: THE “HECLA” AND “FURY” WINTERING AT WINTER ISLAND.]

Having done so much and so well, it was natural that Captain Parry
should again be selected for employment in the Arctic seas in the
following year. He hoisted his flag in his old ship, the _Hecla_,
and was accompanied by the _Fury_; both vessels being equipped
in the most liberal manner. He sailed from the Nore on the 8th of May
1821; he returned to the Shetland Islands on the 10th of October 1823.
In the interval, a period of seven-and-twenty months, he discovered
the Duke of York Bay, the numerous inlets which break up the northern
coast-line of the American continent, Winter Island, the islands of
Anatoak and Ooght, the Strait of the _Fury_ and _Hecla_,
Melville Peninsula, and Cockburn Island. During their winter sojourn
on Winter Island, the English crews were surprised by a visit from a
party of Eskimos, whose settlement Captain Parry visited in his turn.
He found it an establishment of five huts, with canoes, sledges, dogs,
and above sixty men, women, and children, as regularly, and, to all
appearance, as permanently fixed as if they had occupied the same spot
the whole winter. “If the first view,” says Parry, “of the exterior of
this little village was such as to create astonishment, that feeling
was in no small degree heightened on accepting the invitation soon
given us to enter these extraordinary houses, in the construction of
which we observed that not a single material was used but snow and
ice. After creeping through two low passages, having each its arched
doorway, we came to a small circular apartment, of which the roof was
a perfect arched dome. From this three doorways, also arched, and of
larger dimensions than the outward ones, led into as many inhabited
apartments--one on each side, and the other facing us as we entered.
The interior of these presented a scene no less novel than interesting:
the women were seated on the beds at the sides of the huts, each having
her little fireplace or lamp, with all her domestic utensils about her.
The children crept behind their mothers, and the dogs shrank past us in
dismay. The construction of this inhabited part of the hut was similar
to that of the outer apartment,--being a dome, formed by separate
blocks of snow laid with great regularity and no small art, each being
cut into the shape requisite to form a substantial arch, from seven to
eight feet high in the centre, and having no support whatever but what
this principle of building supplies. Sufficient light was admitted into
these curious edifices by a circular window of ice, neatly fitted into
the roof of each apartment.”

In 1824–25 Captain Parry undertook a third voyage, but with less than
his usual success. The _Fury_ was driven ashore by the pressure of
the pack-ice, and so damaged, that Parry found it needful to abandon
her, and remove her crew and stores to the _Hecla_.

[Illustration: THE “FURY” ABANDONED BY PARRY--1824.]

Sir John Parry’s fourth and last expedition, in 1827, was characterized
by his bold attempt to cross the icy sea in light boats and sledges;
resorting to the former when his progress was interrupted by pools of
water, and to the latter in traversing the unbroken surface of the
ice-fields. He was soon compelled, however, to abandon the sledges, on
account of the hummocks and irregularities of the ice.

We agree with Mr. Cooley, that voluntarily to undertake the toil and
brave the danger of such an expedition, required a zeal little short of
enthusiasm. When the travellers reached a water-way, they were obliged
to launch their boats and embark. On reaching the opposite side, their
boats were then to be dragged, frequently up steep and perilous cliffs,
their lading being first removed. By this laborious process, persevered
in with little intermission, they contrived to accomplish eight miles
in five days. They travelled only during the night, by which means they
were less incommoded with snow-blindness; they found the ice more firm
and consistent; and had the great advantage of lying down to sleep
during the warmer portion of the twenty-four hours. Shortly after
sunset they took their breakfast; then they laboured for a few hours
before taking their principal meal. A little after midnight, towards
sunrise, they halted as if for the night, smoked their pipes, looked
over the icy desert in the direction in which the journey was to be
resumed; and then, wrapping themselves in their furs, lay down to rest.
Advancing as far north as 82° 40’, they were then compelled by the
drifting of the snow-fields to retrace their steps. They regained their
ships on the 21st of August, and sailed for England.

* * * * *

We must now go back a few years. In May 1819, an overland expedition
was despatched to ascertain the exact position of the Coppermine River,
to descend it to its mouth, and to explore the coast of the Arctic
Sea on either hand. The command was given to Lieutenant Franklin, who
was accompanied by Dr. Richardson the naturalist, by Messrs. Hood and
Back, two English midshipmen, and two picked seamen. The expedition was
spread over a period of two years and a half, and the narrative of what
was accomplished and endured by its members reads like a romance. They
reached the mouth of the Coppermine, and then launched their little
barks on the chill waters of the Polar Sea. With much perseverance, and
after encountering some serious obstacles, they made their way along
its shores in a westerly direction as far as Point Turnagain, in lat.
68° 30’ N. Between this headland on the east, and Cape Barrow on the
west, opens a deep gulf, stretching inland as far as the Arctic Circle,
Franklin named it George the Fourth’s Coronation Gulf; and describes it
as studded with numerous islands, and indented with sounds affording
excellent harbours, all of them supplied with small rivers of fresh
water, abounding with salmon, trout, and other fish.

* * * * *

Passing over Franklin’s after-labours in the great cause of Arctic
Discovery, labours which secured him the well-merited reward of
knighthood, we come to that last voyage, which helped, as we shall see,
to solve the problem of a North-West Passage, but was the cause of one
of the saddest chapters in the history of Maritime Enterprise.

It was in the spring of 1845 that Sir John Franklin, in command of
the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_, with Captain Crozier, an experienced
Arctic navigator, as his lieutenant, and at the head of one hundred
and thirty-seven picked seamen, brave, resolute, and hardy, once more
sailed for the Polar waters.

On the 8th of June he left the Orkneys, and a month later arrived in
Baffin Bay. About the end of July some whaling-ships in Melville Bay
saw the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ contending gallantly with the
ice which impeded their progress to Lancaster Sound. On the evening of
the 26th the ice opened up, and the two discovery-ships sailed away
into the north-western seas.

* * * * *

Two years passed, and no news reached England of Franklin and his
companions. As day succeeded day, and week followed week, and still no
tidings came, men grew anxious, and then alarmed; “expectation darkened
into anxiety, anxiety into dread.” At last, it was determined to
institute a search for the missing heroes. An expedition was sent out
under Sir James Ross; another under Sir John Richardson; but neither
obtained any information. By many all hope was then abandoned; and
the fate of Franklin was regarded as one of those mysteries which the
historian in vain attempts to unravel. He and his men had perished; of
_that_ there could be no reasonable doubt. Yet a few were sanguine
enough to believe that they had taken refuge among the Eskimos, or
were dragging out a weary existence in some remote wilderness, in
expectation of help from home. Franklin’s brave and noble wife was
one of those who, whatever they feared or hoped, were, at all events,
determined not to rest until some accurate information had been gained.
And round her gathered the most eminent scientific men of the day,
whose influence combined with the general sympathy of the people to
encourage the Government in a further effort.

It was in 1850 that the first clue to the position of the _Erebus_
and _Terror_ was secured in Beechey Island, through the accidental
detention there of the searching expeditions of Captains Austin and
Penny.

They were bound for Melville Island, but on reaching the entrance of
Wellington Channel (August 1850), were met by such immense fields of
ice sweeping down it and out of Barrow Strait, that they were glad to
seek shelter in a great bay at the eastern end of the channel,--a bay
almost bisected, as it were, by Beechey Island. On the 23rd, a boat
from Captain Ommaney’s ship, the _Assistance_, happened to land
on one of the extreme points of the bay; and the crew, in the course
of their wanderings, were not a little surprised to discover traces
of a former visit from Europeans. Under the lofty cliff of Cape Riley
they came upon the groundwork of a tent, scraps of canvas and rope, a
quantity of birds’ bones and feathers, and a long-handled rake which,
apparently, had been used for collecting the rich rare weeds that cover
the bottom of the Arctic waters.

That Europeans had been encamped there, was certain, but not a name
or record associated the remains with Franklin’s expedition. News of
the discovery, however, reached Captain Penny, an Aberdeen seaman, who
had been employed by the British Admiralty as leader of a separate
expedition; and in conjunction with Lieutenant de Haven, of the United
States Navy, who was in command of the expedition liberally equipped
by Mr. Grinnell, of New York, he resolved to examine the east coast of
Wellington Channel with minute care, in the belief that some memorials
of Franklin would thus be discovered.

From a point called Cape Spenser, the Americans, on foot, pursued the
trail of a sledge up the east side of Wellington Channel, until, at
one day’s journey beyond Cape Innis, it suddenly ceased, as if the
party had there turned back again. A bottle and a piece of _The
Times_ newspaper were the only relics which fell into the hands of
the searchers. Meantime, Captain Penny had anchored his ships under
the western point of Beechey Island, and despatched a boat to take up
the clue at Cape Riley, and follow it to the eastward, in the event of
the traces being those of a party retreating from the ships, supposing
them to have been ice-bound in the north-west, to Baffin Bay. This
boat-party eventually returned unsuccessful; but, one afternoon, some
men belonging to the _Lady Franklin_ asked leave, and obtained
it, for the purpose of a ramble over Beechey Island. They sauntered
along towards the low projecting portion of the island which extends
northward, choosing a convenient spot to cross the huge ridges of
ice which lay piled up along the beach; they were seen to mount the
acclivity or backbone of the point. In a minute afterwards their
friends on board the ships (says Admiral Sherard Osborn) saw the party
rush simultaneously towards a dark object, round which they collected,
with signs of great excitement. Presently one ran hither, one thither.
Feverish with anxiety, those on board knew immediately that some fresh
traces had been found, and a general sortie took place to Beechey
Island. “Eh, sir,” said a gallant Scotch mariner, when relating the
discovery--“eh, sir, my heart was in my mouth, and I didna ken I could
rin so fast afore.”

And what had been found?

A cairn, of a pyramidal form, which had evidently been constructed
with much care. The base consisted of a series of preserved-meat
tins, filled with gravel and sand; and more tins were so arranged as
to taper gradually upwards to the summit of the cairn, in which was
planted the fragment of a broken boarding-pike. To all appearance it
had been purposely raised for the reception of some documental record,
yet nothing could be found in or about the spot, in spite of the most
persevering efforts. But presently looking along the northern slope
of the island, other strange objects caught the eye. Another rush of
anxious excited beings, and they stood before three graves; and many
of them brushed away the unwonted tear as they read upon their humble
tablets the words _Erebus_ and _Terror_.

* * * * *

Captain Austin followed up Captain Penny in his explorations of the
Arctic wastes, but no further information was obtained of Franklin’s
movements. It was impossible to determine whether on his way home he
had perished in Baffin Bay; whether he had struck to the north-west
by Wellington Channel; or whether he was haply imprisoned in Melville
Island.

* * * * *

We have no space, nor is it necessary, to dwell on the records of the
various searching expeditions fitted out by the Government, or by
Lady Franklin and her friends. It must be noted, however, that one of
these, led by Captain (afterwards Sir) Robert M’Clure, succeeded in
accomplishing the enterprise in which Franklin perished, and, entering
the Northern Ocean by Behring Strait, actually forced its way, through
snow and ice, into the Atlantic. The North-West Passage, so long
sought, was thus discovered; but the discovery, though interesting
and valuable from a geographical point of view, was followed by no
commercial results. In truth, it proved that the route along the
north-west of the American Continent could never be practicable for
ordinary vessels.

It may be asserted that nearly all men had abandoned hope and
expectation of ascertaining any exact particulars of the fate of
Franklin and his followers, when, towards the close of the autumn of
1854, Dr. Rae, a well-known traveller and Arctic explorer, suddenly
appeared in England, bringing with him the most curious evidence of
the disasters which had overwhelmed a party that had evidently been
travelling from the ice-bound _Erebus_ and _Terror_ towards the Great
Fish River. Dr. Rae had ascertained from some Eskimos with whom he
had been travelling that this party numbered forty persons, and that
all had died of starvation four years prior to Dr. Rae’s visit. The
unfortunate “white men” had been first seen on King William’s Land;
later in the same year their dead bodies had been observed near or
about the mouth of the Great Fish River (1850). Dr. Rae brought home
numerous pieces of silver plate obtained from the Eskimos, which were
marked with the names of officers of the two ships. Lady Franklin
was encouraged by this intelligence to urge upon the Government the
propriety of despatching an expedition to the points indicated by
the Eskimos; but the Government contented themselves with applying
to the Hudson Bay Company. The result was an overland expedition in
1855 to the mouth of the Great Fish River, by Mr. Anderson, one of the
Company’s chief officers. He had no boat with him capable of reaching
King William’s Land, though it was only sixty miles distant from the
point he attained, nor was he accompanied by an Eskimo interpreter. He
ascertained, however, that only a portion of the officers and men of
the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had reached the Great Fish River--some forty
of them, very possibly, as Dr. Rae had been informed; these forty, with
the three graves upon Beechey Island, still leaving ninety-five persons
unaccounted for.

* * * * *

Lady Franklin and her friends continued to press upon Government
the need for further inquiry; but finding the responsible ministers
unwilling to interfere in what they had come to consider a hopeless
enterprise, they contrived, with some help from the public, to
purchase and fit out a strongly-built screw-schooner, of which Captain
M’Clintock volunteered to take the command.

He sailed from England in the summer of 1857; reached Melville Bay
in safety, but was then held fast by the floating ice. The winter,
however, came and went without any injury to him and his gallant band;
and on the 27th of July 1858, the _Fox_ stretched across to
Lancaster Sound. On the 11th of August she arrived at Beechey Island,
and replenished her diminished stores from the depôts left there by
previous expeditions. Then she pushed to the westward, past Cape Hotham
and Griffith Island, southward through Sir Robert Peel Channel, and so
into Prince Regent Inlet. Having arrived off the eastern entrance of
Bellot Strait, she found it blocked up by a wall of ice, and from the
20th of August to the 6th of September she watched for an opportunity
of breaking through it. On the 6th she made the passage, but only to
find the other end obstructed by an impassable ice-barrier; and, after
five fruitless attempts, her captain brought her to anchor for the
winter in Port Kennedy, on the northern side of the strait.

When the new year opened, M’Clintock resolved on undertaking sledge
excursions in various directions, with the view of obtaining some
information of Franklin and his expedition. In one of them, at Cape
Victoria, on the west coast of Boothia (lat. 69° 50’ N., long. 96°
W.), he ascertained from the natives that, several years previously, a
ship had been wrecked off the northern shores of King William’s Land;
that all her crew landed safely, and set off on a journey to the Great
Fish River, where they died. Again: in April, falling in with the same
party of Eskimos, they learned further, that besides the ship which had
sunk in deep water, another had been driven ashore by the ice. Captain
M’Clintock thereupon crossed to Montreal Island, travelled round the
estuary of the Great Fish River, and visited Point Ogle and Barrow
Island. On May 7, he fell in with an old Eskimo woman, who told him
that many of the white men dropped by the way as they made towards the
Great Fish River; that some were buried, and some were not. Proceeding
in what he conceived to have been the route of the retreating crews, he
discovered, near Point Herschel, a bleached skeleton; evidently that of
one who had fallen behind the main body, from weakness and fatigue, and
had died where he had fallen.

[Illustration: DISCOVERY OF THE CAIRN CONTAINING SIR JOHN
FRANKLIN’S PAPERS.]

[Illustration: RELICS OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION BROUGHT BACK TO
ENGLAND.]

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hobson, who had started with another sledging
party, had made the important discovery of a record, giving a brief
account of the Franklin expedition up to the time when the ships were
lost. It was found within a cairn constructed on Point Victory, and it
set forth the following particulars:--

The _Erebus_ and _Terror_ spent their first winter at Beechey
Island, in the spot discovered by Penny and Austin’s expedition; but
they had previously explored Wellington Channel as far as 73° N.,
and passed down again into Barrow Strait, between Cornwallis and
Bathurst Land. In 1846 the two ships seem to have sailed through Peel
Channel, until caught in the ice off King William’s Land, on the
12th of September. In May 1847, Lieutenant Graham Gore and Mr. des
Vœux landed, and erected a cairn a few miles south of Point Victory,
and deposited in it a document which stated that, on that day, all
were well, with Sir J. Franklin in command. Within a month, however,
that illustrious navigator died (June 11), and thus was spared the
terrible trials which afflicted his followers. The ice did not move,
and the winter of 1847–48 closed in upon them. It proved fatal to nine
officers and fifteen men. On April 22, 1848, the two ships, which had
been imprisoned for upwards of nineteen months, were deserted, and the
officers and crews, one hundred and five in number, under the command
of Captains Crozier and Fitzjames, started for the Great Fish River.

At the cairn and all about it lay a great quantity of clothing and
other articles, which the sufferers had found from experience of three
days to be a heavier weight than their enfeebled strength was able to
drag.

[Illustration: DISCOVERY OF ONE OF THE BOATS OF THE FRANKLIN
EXPEDITION.]

From this point to a spot about midway between Point Victory and Point
Herschel nothing of much importance was discovered, and the skeletons
as well as relics were deeply embedded in snow. At this midway station,
however, the top of a piece of wood projecting out of the snow was seen
by Lieutenant Hobson, and on digging round it a boat was discovered. It
stood on a very heavy sledge, and within it were a couple of skeletons.
The one in the bottom of the stern-sheets was covered with a great
quantity of thrown-off clothing; the other, in the bows, seemed to have
been that of some poor fellow who had crept there to look out, and in
that position fallen into his last sleep. A couple of guns, loaded and
ready cocked, stood upright to hand, as it they had been prepared for
use against wild animals. Around this boat was another accumulation of
cast-off articles; and it was the belief of M’Clintock that the party
in charge of her were returning to the ships, as it they discovered
their strength unequal to the terrible journey before them. It may
be assumed, however, that the stronger portion of the crews still
pushed on with another boat, and that some reached Montreal Island and
ascended the Great Fish River.

The point, says Sherard Osborn, at which the fatal imprisonment of the
_Erebus_ and _Terror_ in 1846 took place, was only ninety
miles from the spot reached by Dease and Simpson in their boats in
1838–39, coming from the east. Ninety miles more of open water, and
Franklin and his gallant crew would have not only won the prize they
sought, but reached their homes to wear their well-earned honours. “It
was not to be so. Let us bow in humility and awe to the inscrutable
decrees of that Providence who ruled it otherwise. They were to
discover the great highway between the Pacific and the Atlantic. It
was given them to win for their country a discovery for which she had
risked her sons and lavishly spent her wealth through many centuries;
but they were to die in accomplishing their last great earthly task:
and, still more strange, but for the energy and devotion of the wife
of their chief and leader, it would in all probability never have been
known that they were indeed the _First Discoverers of the North-West
Passage_.”

* * * * *

We have thought it for the convenience of our readers to set before
them an uninterrupted narrative of the exertions made to ascertain the
fate of Franklin and his companions by English seamen under English
influence; but we must now return to 1853, to chronicle the American
expedition under Dr. Kane--which did not, indeed, succeed in its
primary object, but made some remarkable additions to our knowledge of
the Polar Regions.

Dr. Elisha Kane sailed from Boston in 1853, in command of the
_Advance_, with a crew of seventeen officers and men, to whom two
Greenlanders were subsequently added.

On the 7th of August he passed the two great headlands which guard
the entrance of Smith Sound,--Cape Isabella and Cape Alexander,
discovered and named in the preceding year by Captain Inglefield,--and
after a voyage of equal difficulty and danger reached Rensselaer Bay
on the east coast of the sound, where he passed the winter. A few
extracts from his diary will show under what conditions, and in what
circumstances, Kane and his followers passed the long and dreary winter
months:--

“_October 28th._--The moon has reached her greatest northern
declination of about 25° 35’. She is a glorious object; sweeping around
the heavens, at the lowest part of her curve, she is still 14° above
the horizon. For eight days she has been making her circuit with nearly
unvarying brightness. It is one of those sparkling nights that bring
back the memory of sleigh-bells and songs, and glad communings of
hearts in lands that are far away.

“_November 7th._--The darkness is coming on with insidious
steadiness, and its advances can only be perceived by comparing one
day with its fellow of some time back. We still read the thermometer
at noonday without a light, and the black masses of the hills are
plain for about five hours, with their glaring patches of snow; but
all the rest is darkness. The stars of the sixth magnitude shine out
at noonday. Except upon the island of Spitzbergen, which has the
advantages of an insular climate, and tempered by ocean-currents,
no Christians have wintered in so high a latitude as this. They are
Russian sailors who made the encounter there--men inured to hardships
and cold. Our darkness has ninety days to run before we shall get back
again even to the contested twilight of to-day. Altogether our winter
will have been sunless for one hundred and forty days.

“_December 15th._--We have lost the last vestige of our mid-day
twilight. We cannot see print, and hardly paper; the finger’s cannot
be counted a foot from the eyes. Noonday and midnight are alike;
and, except a vague glimmer in the sky that seems to define the hill
outlines to the south, we have nothing to tell us that this Arctic
world of ours has a sun. In the darkness, and consequent inaction, it
is almost in vain that we seek to create topics of thought, and, by a
forced excitement, to ward off the encroachments of disease.”

But in due time the long Arctic night passed away, and the season came
round for undertaking the sledge journeys which were the main object
of the expedition. But Dr. Kane was then met by a new difficulty. Out
of the nine splendid Newfoundland and thirty-five Eskimo dogs which he
had originally possessed, only six had survived a peculiar malady that
had seized them during the winter; and though some fresh purchases were
made from the Eskimos who visited Rensselaer Harbour early in April,
his means of transport remained wholly inadequate.

Kane, moreover, who though strong of heart was weak of body, had
suffered much from the rigour of the climate, and was in a sadly
feeble condition when, on the 25th of April 1854, he started on his
northward journey. He found the Greenland coast, as he ascended Kane
Sea, full of romantic surprises; the cliffs rising to a height of ten
hundred and eleven hundred feet, and presenting the boldest and most
fantastic outlines. This character is continued as far as the Great
Humboldt Glacier. The coast is indented by four great bays, all of them
communicating with deep gorges, which are watered by streams from the
interior ice-fields. The mean height of the table-land, till it reaches
the bed of the Great Glacier, Dr. Kane estimated, in round numbers, at
900 feet; its tallest summit near the water at 1300, and the rise of
the background above the general level at 600 more. The face of this
stupendous ice-mass, as it defined the coast, was everywhere an abrupt
and threatening precipice, only broken by clefts and deep ravines,
giving breadth and interest to its wild expression.

[Illustration: THE “THREE BROTHER TURRETS.”]

Dr. Kane informs us that the most picturesque portion of the coast
occurs in the neighbourhood of Dallas Bay. Here the red sandstones
contrast very favourably with the blank whiteness, and associate the
warm colours of more southern lands with the cold tints of the Arctic
scenery. The seasons have acted on the different layers of the cliff so
as to give them all the appearance of jointed masonry, and the narrow
stratum of greenstone at the top surmounts them with boldly-designed
battlements. To one of these “interesting freaks of Nature” Kane gave
the name of the “Three Brother Turrets.” The crumbled ruin at the foot
of the coast-wall led up, like an artificial causeway, to a ravine that
blazed at noonday with the glow of the southern sun, when everywhere
else the rock lay in blackest shadow. Just at the edge of this lane
of light rose the semblance of a castle, flanked with triple towers,
completely isolated and defined. These were the Three Turrets.

Still further to the north, a solitary cliff of greenstone, marked by
the slaty limestone that once encased it, sprang from a mass of broken
sandstone, like the rough-hewn rampart of an ancient city. At its
northern extremity, on the brink of a deep ravine, wrought out among
the ruin, stood a solitary column, or minaret-tower, the pedestal of
which was not less than 280 feet in height, while the shaft was fully
480 feet. Dr. Kane associated this remarkable beacon with the name of
the poet Tennyson.

Dr. Kane continued his advance, and on the 4th of May approached the
Great Glacier. This progress, however, was dearly earned. Owing to the
excessive cold and labour, most of his party suffered from painful
prostration; three were attacked with snow-blindness; and all were
troubled with dropsical swellings. Off Cape Kent, while taking an
observation for latitude, Kane himself was seized with a sudden pain,
and fainted. His limbs became rigid. He was strapped upon the sledge,
and insisted that the march should be continued. But, on the 5th, he
grew delirious, and fainting every time that he was taken from the tent
to the sledge, he succumbed entirely.

“My comrades,” writes this heroic man, than whom no braver or more
resolute spirit ever ventured into the dreary Northern wilds, “would
kindly persuade me that, even had I continued sound, we could not have
proceeded on our journey. The snows were very heavy, and increasing as
we went; some of the drifts perfectly impassable, and the level floes
often four feet deep in yielding snow. The scurvy had already broken
out among the men, with symptoms like my own; and Morton, our strongest
man, was beginning to give way. It is the reverse of comfort to me that
they shared my weakness. All that I should remember with pleasurable
feeling is, that to five brave men, themselves scarcely able to travel,
I owe my preservation.”

They carried him back to the brig at Rensselaer Harbour, and for
several days he lay fluctuating between life and death. As the summer
came on, however, his health slowly improved; and though unable to
undertake any sledge excursions in person, he organized a series of
expeditions in which his stronger companions took part. Dr. Hayes
crossed the strait in a north-easterly direction, reached the opposite
coast of Grinnell Land, where the cliffs varied from 1200 to 2000 feet
in height, and surveyed it as far as Cape Fraser, in lat. 79° 45’.

He returned on June 1st, and, a few days later, Morton departed to
survey the Greenland shore beyond the Humboldt Glacier. His journey was
a difficult one, for the obstacles offered by the ice hummocks were
sometimes almost insurmountable, and the ice-field was intersected by
chasms and water-lanes frequently four feet in width. After skirting
the coast of what is now known as Morris Bay, Morton’s party came
upon easier ground; and presently a long low country opened on the
land-ice, a wide plain between large headlands, with rolling hills
through it. A flock of brent geese came down this valley, with a whirr
of wings, and ducks were seen in crowds upon the open water. Eiders
and dove-kies also made their appearance; and tern were very numerous,
and exceedingly tame. Flying high overhead, their notes echoing
from the rocks, were large white birds, which Morton supposed to be
burgomasters. There were also ivory gulls and mollemokes; the former
flying very high, and the latter winging their way far out to sea.

The channel (Kennedy Channel) was here unobstructed by ice, and its
waves rolled freely and noisily on the shore. Along its verdant margin
Morton proceeded warily, and on the 26th of June, 1854, reached the
striking headland of Cape Constitution, about 2000 feet in height. Its
base was washed by a tremendous surf, through which it was impossible
to pass--the _ne plus ultra_, as it seemed, of human enterprise.
Climbing from rock to rock, he contrived to reach an elevation of 300
feet; from which he was able to trace the outline of the coast for
fifty miles to the north. In the distance rose a range of mountains,
very lofty, and rounded at their summits. To the north-west might be
seen a bare peak, striated vertically with protruding ridges, and
soaring to an altitude of between 2500 and 3000 feet. This peak, the
most remote northern land then known upon the globe, was named after
the great pioneer of Arctic travel, Sir Edward Parry.

[Illustration: MORTON ON THE SHORE OF THE SUPPOSED POLAR OCEAN.]

The range (Victoria and Albert Mountains) with which it was connected
was much higher, Morton thought, than any they had seen on the southern
or Greenland side of the bay. The summits were generally rounded,
resembling a succession of sugar-loaves and stacked cannonballs
declining slowly in the perspective.

* * * * *

All the sledge-parties were now once more aboard the brig, and the
season of Arctic travel had ended. The short summer was rapidly wearing
away, and yet the ice remained a rigid and impenetrable barrier. It was
evident that the ship could not be liberated, and Kane found himself
compelled to decide between two equally dismal alternatives,--the
abandonment of the ship, or another winter among the Polar snows.
For himself, he resolved to remain; but to those who were willing to
venture on the attempt to reach the Danish settlement at Upernavik,
he left the choice open. Out of the seventeen survivors of the party,
eight, like Dr. Kane, decided to stand by the brig; the others, to push
southward to Upernavik. These were provided with all the provisions and
appliances that could be spared, and took their departure on Monday,
August 28th; carrying with them a written assurance of a brother’s
welcome should they be driven back--an assurance amply redeemed when
severe trials had prepared them to share again the fortunes of their
commander.

Dr. Kane confronted the winter with equal sagacity and resolution. He
had carefully studied the Eskimos, and concluded that their form of
habitation and peculiarities of diet, without their unthrift and filth,
were the safest that could be adopted. He turned the brig, therefore,
into a kind of _igloë_, or hut. The quarter-deck was well padded
with moss and turf, and the cabin below, a space some eighteen feet
square, was enclosed and packed from floor to ceiling with inner walls
of the same material. The floor itself was carefully calked with
plaster of Paris and common paste, and covered two inches deep with
Manilla oakum and a canvas carpet. The entrance was from the hold by a
low, moss-lined tunnel, the _tossut_ of the native huts, with as
many doors and curtains to close it up as ingenuity could devise. This
was their sitting-room, dining-room, sleeping-room; but there were only
ten of them, and the closer the warmer.

[Illustration: DR. KANE PAYING A VISIT TO AN ESKIMO HUT AT ETAH.]

While they were engaged in these defences against the enemy, they
contrived to open up a friendly intercourse with the Eskimos, visiting
them in their snow-huts at the settlements of Etah and Anatoak, distant
about thirty and seventy miles from the brig; and, in return for
presents of needles, pins, and knives, they undertook to show the white
strangers where game was to be procured, as well as to furnish walrus
and fresh seal meat. The assistance rendered by the Eskimos was of the
greatest value, and we may infer that, without it, Dr. Kane and his
followers must have succumbed to the hardships of that dreadful winter.

* * * * *

On the 12th of December, the party which had abandoned the ship
suddenly reappeared, finding it impossible to penetrate to the
south. They had suffered severely; were covered with rime and snow,
and fainting with hunger. It was necessary to use much caution in
conveying them below; for after an exposure of such fearful intensity
and duration as they had undergone, the warmth of the cabin would have
prostrated them completely. They had journeyed three hundred and fifty
miles; and their last run from the bay near Etah, some seventy miles
in a right line, was through the hummocks with the thermometer at
-50°. “One by one,” says Kane, “they all came in and were housed. Poor
fellows! as they threw open their Eskimo garments by the stove, how
they relished the scanty luxuries which we had to offer. The coffee,
and the meat-biscuit soup, and the molasses, and the wheat-bread, even
the salt pork, which our scurvy forbade the rest of us to touch--how
they relished it all! For more than two months they had lived on frozen
seal and walrus meat.”

We cannot dwell on the various little incidents which marked that sad
and terrible winter, but an extract or two from Dr. Kane’s journal will
show the reader how much the imprisoned explorers endured, and in what
spirit they bore their trials:--

“_December 1, Friday._--I am writing at midnight. I have the watch
from eight to two. It is day in the moonlight on deck, the thermometer
getting up again to 36° below zero. As I come down to the cabin--for
so we still call this little moss-lined igloë of ours--every one is
asleep, snoring, gritting his teeth, or talking in his dreams. This is
pathognomonic; it tells of Arctic winter, and its companion, scurvy.
Tom Hickey, our good-humoured, blundering cabin-boy, decorated with the
dignities of cook, is in that little dirty cot on the starboard side;
the rest are bedded in rows. Mr. Brooks and myself chock aft. Our bunks
are close against the frozen moss-wall, where we can take in the entire
family at a glance. The apartment measures twenty feet by eighteen; its
height six feet four inches at one place, but diversified elsewhere by
beams crossing at different distances from the floor. The avenue by
which it is approached is barely to be seen in the moss-wall forward;
twenty feet of air-tight space make misty distance, for the puff of
outside temperature that came in with me has filled our atmosphere with
vesicles of vapour. The avenue--Ben-Djerback is our poetic name for
it--closes on the inside with a door well-patched with flannel, from
which, stooping upon all fours, you back down a descent of four feet
in twelve through a tunnel three feet high, and two feet six inches
broad. Arrived at the bottom, you straighten yourself, and a second
door admits you into the dark and sorrowing hold, empty of stores, and
stripped to its naked ceiling for firewood. From this we grope our way
to the main hatch, and mount by a rude stairway of boxes into the open
air.”

* * * * *

“_February 21, Wednesday._--To-day the crests of the north-east
headland were gilded by true sunshine, and all who were able ascended
on deck to greet it. The sun rose above the horizon, though still
screened from our eyes by intervening hills. Although the powerful
refraction of Polar latitudes heralds his direct appearance by
brilliant light, this is as far removed from the glorious tints of
day as it is from the mere twilight. Nevertheless, for the past ten
days we have been watching the growing warmth of our landscape, as it
emerged from buried shadow, through all the stages of distinctness of
an India-ink washing, step by step, into the sharp, bold definition
of our desolate harbour scene. We have marked every dash of colour
which the great Painter in his benevolence vouchsafed to us; and now
the empurpled blue, clear, unmistakable, the spreading lake, the
flickering yellow; peering at all these, poor wretches! everything
seemed superlative lustre and unsurpassable glory. We had so grovelled
in darkness, that we oversaw the light.

“Mr. Wilson has caught cold, and relapsed. Mr. Ohlsen, after a
suspicious day, startles me by an attack of partial epilepsy; one of
those strange, indescribable spells, fits, seizures, whatever name the
jargon gives them, which indicate deep disturbance. I conceal his case
as far as I can; but it adds to my heavy pack of troubles to anticipate
the gloomy scenes of epileptic transport introduced into our one
apartment.”

* * * * *

“_February 28, Wednesday._--February closes: thank God for the
lapse of its twenty-eight days! Should the thirty-one of the coming
March not drag us further downward, we may hope for a successful close
to this dreary drama. By the 10th of April we should have seal; and
when they come, if we remain to welcome them, we can call ourselves
saved.

“But a fair review of our prospects tells me that I must look the lion
in the face. The scurvy is steadily gaining on us. I do my best to
sustain the more desperate cases; but as fast as I partially build up
one, another is stricken down. The disease is perhaps less malignant
than it was, but it is more diffused throughout our party. Except
William Morton, who is disabled by a frozen heel, not one of our
eighteen is exempt. Of the six workers of our party, as I counted them
a month ago, two are unable to do out-door work, and the remaining four
divide the duties of the ship among them. Hans musters his remaining
energies to conduct the hunt. Petersen is his disheartened, moping
assistant. The other two, Bonsall and myself, have all the daily
offices of household and hospital. We chop five large sacks of ice, cut
six fathoms of eight-inch hawser into junks of a foot each (for fuel),
serve out the meat when we have it, hack at the molasses, and hew out
with crowbar and axe the pork and dried apples, pass up the foul slops
and cleansings of our dormitory; and, in a word, cook, _scullionize_,
and attend the sick. Added to this, for five nights running I have kept
watch from 8 P.M. to 4 A.M., catching cat-naps as I could in the day
without changing my clothes, but carefully waking every hour to note
thermometers.

“Such is the condition in which February leaves us, with forty-one days
more ahead of just the same character in prospect as the twenty-eight
which, thank God! are numbered now with the past. It is saddening to
think how much those twenty-eight days have impaired our capacities of
endurance. If Hans and myself can only hold on, we may work our way
through. All rests upon destiny, or the Power which controls it.”

* * * * *

It is useless, however, to dwell longer on this melancholy record. Kane
saw that to abandon the brig was now the only resource: the ice held
it fast, there was no probability of its being released, and a third
winter in Rensselaer Bay would have been death to the whole party. As
soon, therefore, as the return of spring in some measure recruited
the health of his followers, he made the necessary preparations for
departure; and on the 20th of May the entire ship’s company bade
farewell to the _Advance_, and set out on their homeward route.
With considerable difficulty and arduous labour they hauled their
boats across the rough, hummocky ice, and reached the open sea. On the
17th of June they embarked, and steered for Upernavik, which port they
calculated upon reaching in fifty-six days. When they got fairly clear
of the land, and in the course of the great ice-drift southward, they
found their boats so frail and leaky that they could be kept afloat
only by constant bailing; a labour which told heavily on men already
weakened with disease and want. Starvation stared them in the face,
when happily they fell in with and captured a large seal, which they
devoured voraciously; and this opportune help recruited their failing
energies. Thenceforth they were in no lack of food, as seals were
plentiful; and early in August, after living for eighty-four days in
the open air, they found themselves under the comfortable roofs of
Upernavik, enjoying the hospitable welcome of the generous Danes.

Dr. Kane returned to New York on the 11th of October 1855, after an
absence of thirty months. His discoveries had been important, his
heroism worthy of the race from which he sprung, and none can deny that
he had well merited the honours he received. Unfortunately, a frame
never very robust had been broken down by the trials of two Arctic
winters; and this gallant explorer passed away on the 16th of February
1857, in the thirty-seventh year of his age.

* * * * *

In 1860, Dr. Hayes, the companion of Dr. Kane, took the command of an
expedition intended to complete the survey of Kennedy Channel, and to
reach, if it were possible, the North Pole. His schooner, the _United
States_, was brought up for the winter at Port Foulke, about twenty
miles south of Rensselaer Harbour; and early in the following April,
Dr. Hayes set out on a sledge and boat journey across the sound, and
along the shores of Grinnell Land.

From the eloquent record of his adventures, which does so much credit
to his literary skill, “An Arctic Boat Journey,” we have already quoted
some stirring passages; but the following extract we may be allowed to
repeat, on account of the clear light it throws upon the nature of the
difficulties Hayes encountered on his northward advance:--

“The track,” he says, “was rough, past description. I can compare it
to nothing but a promiscuous accumulation of rocks closely packed
together, and piled up over a vast plain in great heaps and endless
ridges, leaving scarcely a foot of level surface. The interstices
between these closely accumulated ice-masses are filled up, to some
extent, with drifted snow. The reader will easily imagine the rest. He
will see the sledges winding through the tangled wilderness of broken
ice-tables, the men and dogs pulling and pushing up their respective
loads. He will see them clambering over the very summit of lofty
ridges, through which there is no opening, and again descending on
the other side--the sledge often plunging over a precipice, sometimes
capsizing, and frequently breaking. Again he will see the party,
baffled in their attempt to cross or find a pass, breaking a track with
shovel and handspike; or, again, unable even with these appliances to
accomplish their end, they retreat to seek a better track: and they may
be lucky enough to find a sort of gap or gateway, upon the winding and
uneven surface of which they will make a mile or so with comparative
ease. The snow-drifts are sometimes a help and sometimes a hindrance.
Their surface is uniformly hard, but not always firm to the foot.
The crust frequently gives way, and in a most tiresome and provoking
manner. It will not quite bear the weight, and the foot sinks at the
very moment when the other is lifted. But, worse than this, the chasms
between the hummocks are frequently bridged over with snow in such a
manner as to leave a considerable space at the bottom quite unfilled;
and at the very moment when all looks promising, down sinks one man
to his middle, another to the neck, another is buried out of sight;
the sledge gives way,--and to extricate the whole from this unhappy
predicament is probably the labour of hours. It would be difficult to
imagine any kind of labour more disheartening, or which would sooner
sap the energies of both men and animals.”

* * * * *

After encountering difficulties like these, which wore out the strength
of most of his party, so that they were compelled to return to the
schooner, Dr. Hayes succeeded in crossing the sound, and began his
journey along the coast. But the difficulties did not abate, and made
such demands on the powers of endurance of the travellers, that the
strongest among them broke down, and had to be left behind in charge of
another of the party. The resolute Hayes then pushed on, accompanied
by Knorr, and on the 18th of May reached the margin of a deep gulf,
where further progress was rendered impossible by the rotten ice and
broad water-ways. From this point, however, he could see, on the other
side of the channel, and immediately opposite to him, the lofty peak
of Mount Parry, discovered in 1854 by the gallant Morton; and more to
the north, a bold conspicuous headland, which he named Cape Union, the
most northern known land upon the globe. Beyond it, he thought he saw
the open sea of the Pole, which, from Cape Union, is not distant five
hundred miles; but the voyage of the _Polaris_, at a later date,
has shown that what he saw was only a land-locked bay.

On the 12th of July, the schooner was set free from the ice, but she
proved to be too much damaged to continue her dangerous voyage; and
satisfied with having proved that a direct and not impracticable route
to the Pole lies up Smith Sound and Kennedy Channel, Dr. Hayes returned
to Boston.

* * * * *

It is the opinion, however, of some geographers, though scarcely
warranted by ascertained facts, that the Pole may more easily be
reached by what is known as the Spitzbergen route. They argue that
to the east of this snow-crowned archipelago the influence of the
Gulf Stream makes itself felt; and they conclude that this great warm
current possibly strikes as far as the Pole itself. It is known that
Parry, to the north of Spitzbergen, attained the latitude of 82° 45’;
and it is recorded that a Hull whaler, the _True-Love_, in 1837,
navigated an open sea in lat. 82° 30’ N., and long. 15° E.; so that she
might probably have solved the problem and have gained the Pole, had
she continued on her northerly course.

Holding this belief, the illustrious German geographer, Dr. Petermann,
succeeded in raising funds for a German expedition in 1868; and the
_Germania_, a brig of eighty tons, under the command of Captain
Koldewey, sailed from Bergen on the 24th of May, for Shannon Island,
in lat. 75° 14’ N., the furthest point on the Greenland coast reached
by Sabine in 1823. She was accompanied by the _Hansa_, Captain
Hegemann; and both ships were equipped in the most careful manner, and
liberally supplied with appliances and stores.

On the 9th of July the expedition was off the island of Jan Mayen, and
at midnight on that day was sailing direct to the northward. A heavy
fog came on, and the two ships, even when sailing side by side, could
not see one another, and communication could be maintained only by the
use of the speaking-trumpet. Their crews might then conceive an idea
of that impenetrable chaos which, according to Pythias, terminated the
world beyond Thule, and which is neither air, nor earth, nor sea. It is
impossible to imagine anything more melancholy than this gray, uniform,
infinite veil or canopy; ocean itself, far as the eye can reach, is
gray and gloomy.

For five successive days the weather remained in this condition, the
fog alone varying in intensity, and growing thicker and thicker. On
the 14th a calm prevailed, and the _Germania_ lowered a boat to
pick up drift-wood and hunt the sea-gulls. The ice-blink on the horizon
showed that the ships were drawing near the great ice-fields of the
Polar Ocean; and another sign of their proximity was the appearance of
the ivory gull (_Larus eburneus_), which never wanders far from
the ice. Occasionally the ships fell in with a rorqual, or nord-caper,
as the seamen call it,--a species of whale distinguished by the
presence of a dorsal fin.

On the morning of the 15th of July a light breeze blew up from the
south, and the two ships sailed steadily on their north-western course
through a sea covered with floating ice. An accustomed ear could
already distinguish a distant murmur, which seemed to draw nearer
and yet nearer; it was the swell of the sea breaking on the far-off
ice-field. Nearer and yet nearer! Everybody gathered upon deck; and,
suddenly, as if in virtue of some spell, the mists cleared away, and
the adventurers saw before them, within a few hundred yards, the ice!
It formed a long line, like a cliff-wall of broken and rugged rocks,
whose azure-tinted precipices glittered in the sun, and repelled,
unmoved, the rush of the foamy waves. The summit was covered with a
deep layer of blinding snow.

They gazed on the splendid panorama in silence. It was a solemn moment,
and in every mind new thoughts and new impressions were awakened, in
which both hope and doubt were blended.

The point where the _Germania_ had struck the ice was lat. 74° 47’
N. and long. 11° 50’ E., and the icy barrier stretched almost directly
from north to south. The _Hansa_ touched the ice on the same day,
but in lat. 74° 57’ N., and long. 9° 41’ E.

The two ships, which had separated in the fog, effected a union on the
18th, and the _Germania_ taking the _Hansa_ in tow, they made
towards Sabine Island. After awhile, the towing-rope was thrown off,
the _Germania_ finding it necessary to extinguish her fires and
proceed under canvas. They then followed up, in a southerly direction,
the great icy barrier, seeking for an opening which might afford them a
chance of steering westward.

On the 20th, the _Germania_ found the ice so thick in the
south-west that she adopted a westerly Course, and hoisted a signal
for the captain of the _Hansa_ to come on board to a conference.
The latter, however, misinterpreted it, and instead of reading the
signal as “Come within hail,” read it as “Long stay a peak;” crowded on
all sail, and speedily disappeared in the fog, which grew wonderfully
intense before the _Germania_ could follow her. Through this
curious error the two ships were separated, and for fourteen months the
crew of the _Germania_ remained in ignorance of the fate of their
comrades’.

* * * * *

Before following the _Germania_ on her voyage of discovery, we
propose to see what befell the _Hansa_ among the Arctic ice.

Captain Hegemann had understood the signal of his senior officer to
mean that the ships were to push on as far as possible to the westward,
and, as we have seen, he crowded on all sail. But when the fog closed
in, and he found himself out of sight of the _Germania_, he
lay-to, in the hope that the latter might rejoin him. Disappointed in
this, he kept on his way, and on the 28th of July sighted the rocky and
gloomy coast of East Greenland, from Cape Bröer-Ruys to Cape James.

The weather continued fine. By the light of the midnight sun, which
illuminated the fantastic outlines of the bergs, the adventurers
engaged in a narwhal-hunt. Nothing is more extraordinary than the
effect of the rays of the midnight sun penetrating into an ocean
covered with floating ice. The warm and cold tones strike against
each other in all directions; the sea is orange, leaden-gray, or dark
green; the reefs of ice are tinged with a delicate rose-bloom; broad
shadows spread over the snow, and the most varied effects of mirage are
produced everywhere in the tranquil waters.

[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE “HANSA” TRYING TO LASSO A BEAR.]

[Illustration: THE MIDNIGHT SUN, GREENLAND.]

[Illustration: A BEAR AT ANCHOR.]

On the 9th of September, the _Hansa_ found the channel of free
water in which she had been navigating closed by a huge mass of ice,
and to protect her against the drift of the floating bergs she was
moored to it with stout hawsers. A few days later, the ice was broken
up by a gale of wind from the north-east, and the hawsers snapped. The
ice accumulating behind the ship raised it a foot and a half. On a
contiguous sheet of ice, the explorers discovered a she-bear with her
cub, and a boat was despatched in pursuit. The couple soon caught sight
of it, and began to trot along the edge of the ice beside the boat, the
mother grinding her teeth and licking her beard. Her enemies landed,
and fired, and the bear fell in the snow, mortally wounded. While
the cub was engaged in tenderly licking and caressing her, several
attempts were made to capture it with a lasso; but it always contrived
to extricate itself, and at last took to flight, crying and moaning
bitterly. Though struck with a bullet, it succeeded in effecting its
escape.

* * * * *

On the 12th they again saw a couple of bears coming from the east,
and returning from the sea towards the land. The mother fell a victim
to their guns, but the cub was captured, and chained to an anchor
which they had driven into the ice. It appeared exceedingly restless
and disturbed, but not the less did it greedily devour a slice of its
mother’s flesh which the sailors threw to it. A snow wigwam was hastily
constructed for its accommodation, and the floor covered with a layer
of shavings; but the cub despised these luxuries of civilization, and
preferred to encamp on the snow, like a true inhabitant of the Polar
Regions. A few days afterwards it disappeared with its chain, which it
had contrived to detach from the anchor; and the weight of the iron, in
all probability, had dragged the poor beast to the bottom of the water.

[Illustration: SKATING--OFF THE COAST OF GREENLAND.]

The _Hansa_ was now set fast in the ice, and no hope was
entertained of her release until the coming of the spring. Her crew
amused themselves with skating, and, when the weather permitted, with
all kinds of gymnastic exercises. It became necessary, however, to
consider what preparations should be made for encountering the Arctic
winter, one of the bitterest enemies with which man is called upon to
contend. The _Hansa_ was strongly built, but her commander feared
she might not be able to endure the more and more frequent pressure of
the ice. At first, it was proposed to cover the boats with sail-cloth
and convert them into winter-quarters; but it was felt that they would
not afford a sufficient protection against the rigour of the Polar
climate, its furious winds, its excess of cold, its wild whirlwinds of
snow. And therefore it was resolved to erect on the ice-floe a suitable
winter-hut, constructed of blocks of coal. Bricks made of this material
have the double advantage of absorbing humidity, and reflecting the
heat which they receive. Water and snow would serve for mortar; and a
roof could be made with the covering which protected the deck of the
_Hansa_ from the snow.

The ground-plan of the house was designed by Captain Hegemann; it
measured twenty feet in length, and fourteen feet in width; the ridge
of the roof was eight feet and a half, and the side walls four feet
eight inches in elevation. These walls were composed of a double row
of bricks nine inches wide up to a height of two feet, after which a
single row was used. They were cemented in a peculiarly novel fashion.
The joints and fissures were filled up with dry snow, on which water
was poured, and in ten minutes it hardened into a compact mass, from
which it would have been exceedingly difficult to extract a solitary
brick. The roof consisted of sails and mats, covered with a layer of
snow. The door was two and a half feet wide, and the floor was paved
with slabs of coal. Into this house, which was completed in seven days,
provisions for two months were carried, including four hundred pounds
of bread, two dozen boxes of preserved meat, a flitch of bacon, some
coffee and brandy, besides a supply of firing-wood, and some tons of
coal.

* * * * *

On the 8th of October, after the completion of the house, a violent
snow-storm broke out, which would assuredly have rendered its
construction impossible, and which, in five days, completely buried
both the ship and the hut. Such immense piles of snow accumulated on
the deck of the _Hansa_, that it was with the greatest difficulty
the seamen could reach their berths.

From the 5th to the 14th of October the drift of the current was so
strong, that the ice-bound ship was carried no fewer than seventy-two
miles towards the south-south-east.

Meantime, the pressure of the ice continued to increase, and the
_Hansa_ seemed held in the tightening grasp of an invincible
giant. Huge masses rose in front, and behind, and on both sides,
and underneath, until she was raised seventeen feet higher than
her original position. Affairs seemed so critical, that Captain
Hegemann hastened to disembark the stores of clothing, the scientific
instruments, charts, log-book, and diaries. It was found that through
the constant strain on her timbers the ship had begun to leak badly,
and on sounding, two feet of water were found in the pumps. All hands
to work! But after half an hour’s vigorous exertions, the water
continued to rise, slowly but surely; and the most careful search
failed to indicate the locality of the leak. It was painfully evident
that the good ship could not be saved.

“Though much affected,” says the chronicler of the expedition, “by
this sad catastrophe, we endured it with firmness. Resignation was
indispensable. The coal hut, constructed on the shifting ice-floe, was
thenceforward our sole refuge in the long nights of an Arctic winter,
and was destined, perhaps, to become our tomb.

“But we had not a minute to lose, and we set to work. At nine o’clock
P.M. the snow-fall ceased; the sky glittered with stars, the
moon illuminated with her radiance the immense wilderness of ice, and
the rays of the Aurora Borealis here and there lighted up the firmament
with their coloured coruscations. The frost was severe; during the
night the thermometer sank to -20° R. One half the crew continued to
work at the pumps; the other was actively engaged in disembarking on
the ice the most necessary articles. There could be no thought of
sleep, for in our frightful situation the mind was beset by the most
conflicting apprehensions. What would become of us at the very outset
of a season which threatened to be one of excessive rigour? In vain
we endeavoured to imagine some means of saving ourselves. It was not
possible to think seriously of an attempt to gain the land. Perhaps we
might have succeeded, in the midst of the greatest dangers, in reaching
the coast by opening up a way across the ice-floes, but we had no
means of transporting thither our provisions; and it appeared, from
the reports of Scoresby, that we could not count on finding any Eskimo
establishments,--so that our only prospect then would have been to die
of hunger.”

The sole resource remaining to the explorers was to drift to the
south on their moving ice-floe, and confine themselves, meantime, to
their coal hut. If their ice-raft proved of sufficient strength, they
might hope to reach in the spring the Eskimo settlement in the south
of Greenland, or come to gain the coast of Iceland by traversing its
cincture of ice.

* * * * *

It was on the 22nd of October, in lat. 70° 50’ N., and long. 21° W.,
that the _Hansa_ sank beneath the ice. Dr. Laube writes: “We
made ourselves as snug as possible, and, once our little house was
completely embanked with snow, we had not to complain of the cold.
We enjoyed perfect health, and occupied the time with long walks and
with our books, of which we had many. We made a Christmas-tree of
birch-twigs, and embellished it with fragments of wax taper.”

To prevent attacks of disease, and to maintain the cheerfulness of the
men, the officers of the expedition stimulated them to every kind of
active employment, and laid down strict rules for the due division of
the day.

At seven in the morning, they were aroused by the watch. They rose,
attired themselves in their warm thick woollen clothing, washed in
water procured by melting snow, and then took their morning cup of
coffee, with a piece of hard bread. Various occupations succeeded:
the construction of such useful utensils as proved to be necessary;
stitching sail-cloth, mending clothes, writing up the day’s journal,
and reading. When the weather permitted, astronomical observations and
calculations were not forgotten. At noon, all hands were summoned to
dinner, at which a good rich soup formed the principal dish; and as
they had an abundance of preserved vegetables, the bill of fare was
frequently changed. In the use of alcoholic liquors the most rigid
economy was observed, and it was on Sunday only that each person
received a glass of port.

The ice-floe on which their cabin stood was assiduously and carefully
explored in all directions. It was about seven miles in circuit, and
its average diameter measured nearly two miles.

The out-of-door amusements consisted chiefly of skating, and building
up huge images of snow--Egyptian sphynxes and the like.

The borders of the ice-floe, especially to the west and south-west,
presented a curious aspect; the attrition and pressure of the floating
ice had built up about it high glittering walls, upwards of ten feet
in elevation. The snow-crystals flashed and radiated in the sun like
myriads of diamonds. The red gleam of morning and evening cast a
strange emerald tint on the white surface of the landscape. The nights
were magnificent. The glowing firmament, and the snow which reflected
its lustre, produced so intense a brightness, that it was possible
to read without fatigue the finest handwriting, and to distinguish
remote objects. The phenomenon of the Aurora Borealis was of constant
occurrence, and on one occasion was so wonderfully luminous that it
paled the radiance of the stars, and everything upon the ice-floe cast
a shadow, as if it had been the sun shining.

Near the coal-cabin stood two small huts, one of which served for
ablutions, the other as a shed. Round this nucleus of the little
shipwrecked colony were situated at convenient points the piles of
wood for fuel, the boats, and the barrels of patent fuel and pork. To
prevent the wind and snow from entering the dwelling-hut, a vestibule
was constructed, with a winding entrance.

The greatest cold experienced was -29° 30’ F., and this was in
December. After Christmas the little settlement was visited by several
severe storms, and their ice-raft drifted close along the shore,
sometimes within eight or nine miles, amidst much ice-crushing,--which
so reduced it on all sides, that by the 4th of January 1870 it did not
measure more than one-eighth of its original dimensions.

On the 6th of January, when they had descended as far south as 66° 45’
N. lat., the sun reappeared, and was joyfully welcomed.

On the night of the 15th of January, the colony was stricken by a
sudden and terrible alarm. The ice yawned asunder, immediately beneath
the hut, and its occupants had but just time to take refuge in their
boats. Here they lay in a miserable condition, unable to clear out
the snow, and sheltered very imperfectly from the driving, furious
tempest. But on the 17th the gale moderated, and as soon as the weather
permitted they set to work to reconstruct out of the ruins of the old
hut a new but much smaller one. It was not large enough to accommodate
more than half the colony; and the other half took up their residence
in the boats.

February was calm and fine, and the floe still continued to drift
southward along the land. The nights were gorgeous with auroral
displays. Luminous sheaves expanded themselves on the deep blue
firmament like the folds of a fan, or the petals of a flower.

March was very snowy, and mostly dull. On the 4th, the ice-raft passed
within twenty-five miles of the glacier Kolberger-Heide. A day or two
later, it nearly came into collision with a large grounded iceberg. The
portion nearest to the drifting colony formed an immense overhanging
mass; its principal body had been wrought by the action of the sun
and the waves into the most capricious forms, and seemed an aggregate
of rocks and pinnacles, towers and gateways. The castaways could have
seized its projecting angles as they floated past. They thought their
destruction certain, but the fragments of ice which surrounded the raft
served as “buffers,” and saved it from a fatal collision.

On the 29th of March, they found themselves in the latitude of
Nukarbik, the island where Graab, the explorer, wintered, from
September 3rd, 1827, to April 5th, 1830. They had cherished the hope
that from this spot they might be able to take to their boats, and
start for Friedrichstal, a Moravian missionary station on the south
coast of Greenland. However, the ice was as yet too compact for any
such venture to be attempted.

For four weeks they were detained in the bay of Nukarbik, only two
or three miles from the shore, and yet unable to reach it. Their
raft was caught in a kind of eddy, and sometimes tacked to the south,
sometimes to the north. The rising tide carried it towards the shore,
the ebbing tide floated it out again to sea. During this detention they
were visited by small troops of birds, snow linnets and snow buntings.
The seamen threw them a small quantity of oats, which they greedily
devoured. They were so tame that they allowed themselves to be caught
by the hand.

[Illustration: SNOW LINNETS AND BUNTINGS VISITING THE CREW OF THE
“HANSA.”]

From the end of March to the 17th of April, the voyagers continued
their dreary vacillation between Skieldunge Island and Cape Moltke; a
storm then drove them rapidly to the south. The coast, with its bold
littoral mountain-chain, its deep bays, its inlets, its islands, and
its romantic headlands, offered a succession of novel and impressive
scenes; and specially imposing was the great glacier of Puisortok, a
mighty ice-river which skirts the shore for upwards of thirty miles.

Early in May they had reached lat. 61° 12’.

On the 7th, some water-lanes opened for them a way to the shore; and
abandoning the ice-raft, they took to their boats, with the intention
of progressing southward along the coast. At first they met with
considerable difficulty, being frequently compelled to haul up the
boats on an ice-floe, and so pass the night, or wait until the wind was
favourable. As this necessitated a continual unloading and reloading of
the boats, the work was very severe. At one time they were detained
for six days on the ice, owing to bad weather, violent gales, and heavy
snow-showers. The temperature varied from +2° during the day to -5° R.
during the night.

[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE “HANSA” BIVOUACKING ON THE ICE.]

Their rations at this period were thus distributed:--In the morning, a
cup of coffee, with a piece of dry bread. At noon, for dinner, soup and
broth; in the evening, a few mouthfuls of cocoa, of course without milk
and sugar.

They were compelled to observe the most rigid economy in the use of
their provisions, lest, before reaching any settlement, they should be
reduced to the extremities of famine. Yet their appetite was very keen;
a circumstance easily explained, for they were necessarily very sparing
in their allowance of meat and fat, which in the rigorous Arctic
climate are indispensable as nourishment.

* * * * *

As no change took place in the position of the masses of ice which
surrounded them, they resolved to drag their boats towards the
island of Illiudlek, about three marine miles distant. They began
this enterprise on the evening of the 20th, making use of some stout
cables which they had manufactured during the winter, and harnessing
themselves by means of a brace passed across the shoulders. That
evening they accomplished three hundred paces. Snow fell heavily, and
melted as fast as it fell, so that during their night-bivouac they
suffered much from damp.

The next day they found before them such a labyrinth of blocks and
fragments of ice, floating ice-fields, and water-channels, that they
were constrained to give up the idea of hauling their boats across
it, and resolved to wait for the spring tide--which, they knew, would
occur in a few days. The delay was very wearisome. To beguile the time,
some of the seamen set to work at wood-carving, while the officers
and scientific gentlemen manufactured the pieces for a game of chess.
Others prepared some fishing-lines, eighty fathoms long, in the hope of
catching a desirable addition to their scanty bill of fare.

On the 24th, the weather was splendid. The sun shone in a cloudless
sky, and wherever its genial radiance fell the thermometer marked +
28° 5’ R. This was an excellent opportunity for drying their clothes,
which, as well as their linen, had been thoroughly soaked innumerable
times. The coverings were removed from the boats, which, in the warm
sunshine, exhaled great clouds of vapour. The cook endeavoured to
add to his stores of provisions; but the seals churlishly refused to
make their appearance, the fish disdained to nibble at the fat-baited
hooks, and the stupid guillemots were cunning enough to escape the best
directed shots.

M. Hildebrandt, with two seamen, made an attempt--in which they
succeeded--to reach the island of Illiudlek, which lay about three
miles off, and is from 450 to 500 feet in height. They found it a
desert; not a trace of vegetation; its shores very steep, and at some
points precipitous; its surface torn with crevasses and ravines. The
only accessible part seemed on the north; but as the evening was
drawing in, they had no time for exploration, and made haste to return
to the boats.

The castaways now came to a resolution to seek a temporary refuge on
this desolate isle. As the heat of the sun was sufficient to render
their labour very painful, and they suffered much from the effects of
the snow upon their eyes, they went to work at night, dragging their
boats forward with many a weary effort, and rested during the daytime.
In this way they reached the island on the 4th of June.

Here they moored their boats in a small bay sheltered by a wall of
rocks from the north wind, which they named _Hansa-Hafen_. Next
day they shot two-and-twenty divers, which provided them with a
couple of good dinners. The supply was very valuable, as the stock of
provisions on hand would not last above a fortnight.

After a brief rest, the adventurers resumed their voyage, keeping
close in-shore, and struggling perseveringly amidst ice and
stones--and further checked by an inaccurate chart, which led them
into a deep fiord, instead of King Christian IV. Sound. On the 13th
of June, however, they arrived at the Moravian missionary station of
Friedrichstal, where their countrymen received them with a hearty
welcome. For two hundred days they had sojourned upon a drifting
ice-field, experiencing all the hardships of an Arctic winter,
aggravated by an insufficiency of food.

They reached Julianshaab on the 21st of June; embarked on board the
Danish brig _Constance_; and were landed at Copenhagen on the 1st
of September.

* * * * *

We must now return to the _Germania_.

Captain Koldewey made several bold attempts to penetrate the pack-ice,
but proved unsuccessful in all until, on the 1st of August, he reached
lat. 74°, where he contrived to effect a passage; and though much
delayed by a succession of fogs and calms, he made his way to Sabine
Island,--and dropped anchor on its southern side, in lat. 74° 30’ N.,
and long. 29° W., on the 5th of August.

On the 10th he again passed towards the north, keeping along the
Greenland shore until, in lat. 75° 31’ N., his advance was checked by
a mass of closely-packed ice, which stretched from the coast of the
mainland out to Shannon Island, a long unbroken line of fourteen miles.
It presented a very formidable appearance, being edged in some places
with a fringe of broken ice, boulders, and blocks, rising in heaps and
hummocks forty feet high.

The _Germania_ remained in this position for several days. As
nothing but ice was visible to the northward, and no prospect opened
up of further progress in that direction, Captain Koldewey moved his
ship to the south side of the island on the 16th of August, and dropped
anchor close to Cape Philip Broke.

Eleven days were spent in a careful exploration of Shannon Island,
during which time a musk-ox was shot, and close watch was kept from an
elevated point on the ice lying to the northward. But as it continued
solid and immovable, and the end of the season was at hand, Captain
Koldewey returned northward, and brought his vessel to anchor on the
south side of Pendulum Island on the 27th of August.

When it became necessary to make preparations for facing the coming
winter, Captain Koldewey moved his ship on the 13th of September
into the little harbour he had occupied on the 5th of August. Their
subsequent experience showed it to be the only secure one between the
parallels of 74° and 77°. A few days later the ship was frozen in.

The first sledging-party was despatched on the 14th of September,
and remained out for eight days. After reaching the mainland,
they travelled for four days up a newly-discovered fiord, finding
many petrifactions and much lignite. They also saw large herds of
musk-oxen. Vegetation was abundant, but chiefly composed of species of
_Andromeda_. In the course of this excursion, our explorers had
one or two adventures with bears. First, a female, with her two cubs,
paid them a visit, but being received with some volleys of musketry,
quickly beat a retreat. On another occasion, a daring intruder found
his way into their tent. His temerity, however, cost him his life;
and the Germans banqueted gaily on the fat and flesh with which he
incontinently supplied them.

[Illustration: A RASH INTRUDER.]

When the winter preparations were completed, Captain Koldewey organized
several shooting parties, who made good booty of reindeer and musk-oxen
and added most satisfactorily to the provision-supplies; no fewer than
fifteen hundred pounds of good beef and venison attesting the skill
and good fortune of the hunters. But after the beginning of November,
neither musk-oxen, reindeer, nor bears were visible.

A second sledge journey was undertaken towards the end of October in a
southerly direction. The party discovered another fiord, and returned
on the 4th of November. On the following day the sun disappeared
altogether, and the dreary Arctic night of three months’ duration
overtook them.

The close of the year was marked by a succession of violent storms, and
the temperature rose to 25° F. It soon fell again to zero, however; but
it was not until 1870 that it indicated the maximum of cold experienced
throughout the winter,--namely, -40° F. Of the December gales, the
most furious broke out on the 16th, and lasted until the 20th. It set
free the ice in the harbour, and even to within three hundred yards of
the ship; but fortunately she had been anchored in the most sheltered
part of the bay, and close to the shore, in only ten feet of water;
otherwise the crushed-up ice, moving with the currents, would probably
have carried her away to almost certain destruction.

[Illustration: BEAR-HUNTING--GREENLAND.]

The heroic little company, however, were nowise disheartened by the
gloom and hardship of their situation. From Captain Koldewey’s account,
they would seem to have spent a right merry Christmas, after the hearty
German fashion. They danced by starlight upon the ice; they celebrated
Christmas Eve with open doors, the temperature being 25° F.; with the
evergreen _Andromeda_ they made a famous Christmas-tree; they
decorated the cabin with flags, and spread out upon their tables the
gifts prepared for the occasion by kindly hands: each received his
share, and each joined in and contributed to the general merriment.

The Yule-tide festivities over, they made ready the equipments for
their sledging expeditions in the ensuing spring,--the object of the
most important of these being to attain the highest possible degree of
north latitude.

In February the sun returned, and with it the bears; and the daily
excursions upon the island, undertaken by the scientific members of
the expedition, were rendered dangerous by their audacity. Every one
was required to go armed, yet some accidents occurred. One of the
“scientists” was severely wounded in the head, and dragged upwards of
four hundred paces before his comrades rescued him from the bear. After
the lapse of a few weeks, however, he recovered from his wounds.

On the 24th of March, the first sledge-party left the ship, and
travelled northward until, on the 15th of April, they reached 77° 1’
N. lat. Then the wild northerly gales compelled them to retrace their
steps. On their return they were fortunate enough to shoot some bears,
whose blubber supplied them with fuel to warm their food; and the
wind filling the sails which they had hoisted on their sledges, they
progressed with such rapidity as to reach the ship on the 27th of April.

At the northernmost point attained by this party,--lat. 77° 1’,--the
belt of land-ice which skirted the shore seemed to the travellers to
be four miles in width and several years old. They speak of it as a
“bulwark built for eternity.” Out to seaward, the ice, which was very
hummocky, stretched in an unbroken expanse.

[Illustration: “INTO A WATER-GAP.”]

Two other sledge-parties were sent out early in May: one of these
was employed in making geographical and scientific explorations of
the neighbouring coast of Greenland; the other in attempting the
measurement of an arc of the meridian. Their journeys were difficult
enough and troublesome enough, and made large demands on the energies
of those who undertook them. Crossing hummocks and rugged ice was
weary work, and sometimes the whole party plunged into deep drifts of
snow. On one occasion, the sledge was precipitated into a water-gap,
or crevasse; and before it could be recovered and hauled up on the
ice-floe, they were compelled to unload it, and remove each article,
one by one. Then again they would have to make their way through a
storm of pitiless violence; the north wind driving the frozen snow into
their faces with a fury that almost blinded them. Up to their knees in
the new snow, they pressed forward with a dogged intrepidity; enduring
hardships and triumphing over obstacles of which the “mob of gentlemen
who stay at home at ease” can form no adequate conception.

The bears now increased in numbers and in boldness, as if they had
determined to besiege the small company now left on board the ship. The
greatest caution was necessary to prevent accidents; and though several
were shot, their death did not appear to terrify the survivors.

The thaw began about the middle of May, and towards the close of the
month the sledge-parties were forced to wade through the water which
flooded the surface of the sea-ice.

In June, large portions of land-ice were continually breaking off, and
much open water could be descried in the south-east. But it was not
until the 10th of July that the ice around the ship broke up. Four days
later, boating became practicable, and a voyage was made to the Eskimo
village on Clavering Island. It ended in disappointment,--the village
having been deserted, and the huts having fallen into ruin.

On the 22nd of July, the _Germania_ once more steamed to
the northward, to renew the attempt of the preceding year. Her
boiler-tubes, however, leaked so seriously, that it was evident
the boiler would speedily fail altogether. After some delay it was
temporarily patched up; and by following a narrow channel between
the loose pack-ice and the firm ice-belt of the coast, she contrived
to push forward to the north-east cape of Shannon Island, in lat.
75° 29’ N. Here the ice barrier showed itself compact, solid, and
insuperable. The _Germania_, therefore, on the 30th of July, made
for the southward, and continued her explorations in that direction.
The “Mackenzie Inlet,” which Captain Clavering discovered in 1823, was
found to have disappeared; its place being occupied by a low, flat
plain, on which herds of reindeer were pasturing. So unaccustomed were
they to the sight of man, and so fearless of danger, that five of them
were speedily shot.

On the 6th of August, the _Germania_ discovered and entered a
broad, deep fiord in lat. 73° 13’. It was perfectly free from ice; but
a fleet of huge icebergs was sailing out of it with the current. It was
soon noticed that the farther they ascended this picturesque sea-arm,
the warmer became the temperature of the air and of the surface water.
It threw off several branches, and these wound in and out among lofty
mountains. Their declivities were washed by cascades, and their ravines
filled with glaciers; so that the prospect thus unexpectedly opened up
of the interior of Greenland was singularly romantic and impressive.

Some of the adventurers ascended a mountain 7000 feet in height;
but even from this lofty watch-tower no limit could be discerned to
the western or principal arm of the fiord. In about 32° W. long.
the mountain-range rose, it was ascertained, to an elevation of
14,000 feet. The _Germania_ penetrated for seventy-two miles
into this remarkable inlet, and reached 26° W. long.; but her boiler
acting irregularly, and Captain Koldewey being apprehensive of the
consequences if it wholly failed, commenced his homeward voyage on
the 17th of August. He re-entered the pack-ice at the mouth of the
fiord, and was occupied until the 24th in forcing his way through
it,--reaching the open, iceless sea in lat. 72° N. and long. 14° W.

[Illustration: THE CREW OF THE “GERMANIA” IN A SNOW-STORM.]

The _Germania_, owing to the uselessness of her boiler, made the
rest of her voyage under sail, and arrived at Bremen in safety on
the 11th of September, with all well on board. It is worth notice
that, with the exception of two accidental wounds, this interesting
expedition was accomplished without any kind of sickness,--a
circumstance which speaks highly for the forethought and carefulness of
those engaged in equipping and conducting it.

We have been indebted for our brief notice of the voyage of the
_Germania_ to a paper by Captain Sir Leopold M’Clintock, who
sums up its results in a condensed and intelligible form; and to the
narratives by Captain Koldewey and his officers, translated by Mr.
Mercier, and published under the direction of Mr. H. W. Bates.

The Greenland shore, under the seventy-fifth parallel of latitude, is
not the frozen desert which it has hitherto been supposed to be. It is
frequented by large herds of reindeer, as many as fifty having been
sighted at a time. Musk-oxen were by no means rare, but made their
appearance in troops of fifteen or sixteen; while smaller animals, such
as ermines and lemmings, were also met with. Birds were not numerous;
shoals of walruses were noticed, but no whales.

Geographically speaking, the voyage was valuable from the observations
obtained in reference to a region which previously was almost unknown.

The absence of natives, and of all recent traces of them, is a
remarkable fact. In 1829, Captain Graab found the northern Greenlanders
ranging as high as 64° 15’ N. lat.; but they knew nothing of any human
beings living further north; nor could they themselves travel in that
direction, the way being blocked up by huge impassable glaciers.

In 1822, when Scoresby partially explored the Greenland coast between
the parallels of 70° and 72° 30’, he discovered many ruined habitations
and graves, but no recent indications of human beings.

In the following year, Captain Clavering met with a party of Eskimos
in 74°; but neither he nor Scoresby found reindeer or musk-oxen; and
the fact ascertained by the _Germania_ that, in 1869, these
animals were numerous, and devoid of any fear of man, gives reason to
suppose that few, if any, of this isolated tribe of Eskimos are now in
existence. Now, as the musk-oxen, and also the reindeer, seem to have
wandered hither from the _northward_, we may conjecture that the
natives followed the same route.

“If it be true,” says M’Clintock, “that this migration of men and
animals was effected from west to east along the northern shore of
Greenland, we naturally assume that it does not extend far towards the
Pole; that, probably, its most northern point is at the eastern outlet
of Kennedy Channel, and that it turns from thence sharply towards the
east and north-east,--the distance, in a straight line, to the most
northern point reached by Koldewey, is not more than six hundred miles.
It is not less strange than sad to find that a peaceable and once
numerous tribe, inhabiting a coast-line of at least 7° of latitude in
extent, has died out, or has almost died out, whilst at the same time
we find, by the diminution of the glaciers and increase of animal life,
that the terrible severity of the climate has undergone considerable
modification. We feel this saddening interest with greater force when
we reflect that the distance of Clavering’s village from the coast of
Scotland is under one thousand miles! They were our nearest neighbours
of the New World.”

* * * * *

Returning suddenly to the sixteenth century, we find the names of
some Dutch seamen of eminence inscribed in the record of early Arctic
Discovery, and amongst these the most illustrious is that of William
Barents. We refer to him here, because he is connected with Carlsen’s
voyage in 1869, which went over much the same ground as that which the
Dutch explorer had surveyed nearly three hundred years before.

The merchants of Amsterdam having fitted out a ship--the
_Mercurius_, of one hundred tons--to attempt a passage round
the northern end of Novaia Zemlaia, the command was given to William
Barents; who accordingly sailed from the Texel on the 4th of June 1594.

He sighted Novaia Zemlaia, in lat. 73° 25’ N., on the 4th of July,
sailed along its grim, gaunt coast, doubled Cape Nassau on the 10th,
and struck the edge of the northern ice on the 13th. For several days
he skirted this formidable barrier, vainly seeking for an opening; and
in quest of a channel into the further sea, he sailed perseveringly
from Cape Nassau to the Orange Islands. He went over no fewer than
seventeen hundred miles of ground in his assiduous search, and put
his ship about one-and-eighty times. He discovered also the long line
of coast between the two points we have named, laying it down with
an exactness which has been acknowledged by later explorers. His men
wearying of labour which seemed to yield no positive results, Barents
was under the necessity of returning home.

[Illustration: MATERIALS FOR THE HOUSE.]

In 1596 the Amsterdammers fitted out another expedition, consisting
of two strongly-built ships, under Jacob van Heemskerch and Jan
Cornelizoon Rijp, with Barents as pilot, though really in command.

In this voyage the adventurers kept away from the land, in order to
avoid the pack-ice, and sailing to the westward, discovered Bear Island
on the 9th of June. Then they steered to the northward, and hove in
sight of Spitzbergen exactly ten days later. They supposed, however,
that it was only a part of Greenland, and were led to bear away to the
north-west--a course which was speedily arrested by the eternal icy
barrier. Barents then coasted along the western side of Spitzbergen;
and the north-western headland being frequented by an immense number of
birds, he called it Vogelsang.

On the 1st of July he again made Bear Island, and here he and Rijp
agreed to separate. Of the latter we know only that he was unsuccessful
in an attempt to find an opening in the ice on the east of Greenland,
and that he returned to Holland in the same year. Of the former the
narrative is painfully full and interesting.

Quitting Bear Island, he reached Novaia Zemlaia on the 17th of
July, sighting the coast in lat. 74° 40’ N. Keeping along it with
characteristic perseverance until the 7th of August, he passed Cape
Comfort; but only to find himself once more face to face with the
dreary spectacle of the far-reaching Polar ice. It so hemmed and fenced
him in on every side, that he was unable to extricate his vessel from
it; and being driven into a bay, which he named Ice Haven, “there they
were forced, in great cold, poverty, misery, and griefe, to stay all
the winter.” For the heavy pack-ice drifting into the bay closed it up,
and closed around the ship until she was held fast as in iron bonds.

[Illustration: ATTACK ON A BEAR.]

Barents and his sixteen followers now prepared to encounter with a good
heart the trials of the long Arctic winter-night. They displayed, in
truth, a courage, a patience, and a good fellowship which were heroic.
Finding a large supply of drift-wood, they constructed, with the help
of planks from the poop and forecastle of the vessel, a sufficiently
commodious house, into which they removed all their stores and
provisions. They fixed a chimney in the centre of the roof; a Dutch
clock was set up and duly struck the weary hours; the sleeping-berths
were ranged along the walls; a wine-cask was converted into a bath.
All these ingenious devices, however, availed but little against the
terrible feeling of depression which is induced by the continuance for
so many weeks of a blank and cheerless darkness.

The sun disappeared on the 4th of November, and the cold thereafter
increased until it was almost intolerable. Their wine and beer were
frozen, and lost all their strength. By means of great fires, by
applying heated stones to their feet, and by wrapping themselves up in
double fox-skin coats, they barely contrived to keep off the deadly
cold. In searching for drift-wood they endured the sharpest pain,
and often braved imminent danger. To add to their troubles, they had
much ado to defend themselves against the bears, which made frequent
assaults on their hut. However, they contrived to slaughter some of
the audacious animals, and their fat provided them with oil for their
lamps. When the sun disappeared the bears departed, and then the white
foxes came in great numbers. They were much more welcome visitors, and
being caught in traps, set in the vicinity of the house, supplied the
ice-bound voyagers with food and clothing.

[Illustration: SETTING FOX-TRAPS.]

When the 19th of December arrived, they found some comfort in the
reflection that half the dreary season of darkness had passed away,
and that they could now count every day as bringing them nearer to
the joyful spring. They suffered much, but endured their sufferings
bravely; and celebrated Twelfth Night with a little sack, two pounds of
meat, and some merry games. The gunner drew the prize, and became King
of Novaia Zemlaia, “which is at least two hundred miles long, and lyeth
between two seas.”

On the 27th of January every heart rejoiced, for the glowing disc of
the sun reappeared above the horizon. But it brought with it their old
enemies the bears, against whom they found it necessary to exercise the
greatest vigilance.

On the 22nd of February they again saw “much open water in the sea,
which in long time they had not seene.” During the whole month violent
storms broke out, and the snow fell in enormous quantities.

On the 12th of March a gale from the north-east brought back the ice,
and the open water disappeared; the ice driving in with much fury and
a mighty noise, the pieces crashing against each other, “fearful to
hear.” Up to the 8th of May the ice was everywhere, and their sad eyes
could look forth on no pleasant or hopeful scene. Then it began to
break up, and the gaunt, weary explorers prepared to tempt the sea once
more. They set to work to repair their two boats, for their ship was
so crippled and strained by the ice that she was injured beyond their
ability to repair.

[Illustration: RELIEVED.]

On the 14th of June they quitted the place of their long captivity;
Barents, before they set out, drawing up in writing a list of their
names, with a brief record of their experiences, and depositing it in
the wooden hut. He himself was so reduced with sickness, want, and
anxiety that he was unable to stand, and had to be carried into the
boat. On the 16th, the captain, hailing from the other boat, inquired
how the pilot fared. “Quite well, mate,” Barents replied; “I still hope
to mend before we get to Wardhouse,”--Wardhouse being an island on the
coast of Lapland. But he died on the 19th (or, as some authorities say,
on the 20th), to the great grief of his comrades, who appreciated his
manly character, and placed great reliance on his experience and skill.

The adventurers met with many difficulties from the ice,--sometimes
being carried out far from the ice-belt, and at others being compelled
to haul the boats for long distances over the rough surface of the
floes to reach open water. It has been well observed that there are
many instances on record of long ocean-voyages performed in open boats,
but that, perhaps, not one is of so extraordinary a character as that
which we are describing,--when two small and crazy craft ventured to
cross the frozen seas for eleven hundred miles, continually endangered
by huge floating ice-masses, threatened by bears, and exposed for forty
days to the combined trials of sickness, famine, cold, and fatigue.

At length they arrived at Kola, in Lapland, towards the end of August;
and, strangely enough, were taken on board a Dutch vessel commanded by
the very Cornelizoon Rijp who had commanded the sister discovery-ship
in the previous year. They reached the Maas in safety in October 1597.

* * * * *

No voyager appears to have sailed in the track of Barents, or, at all
events, to have visited the place where he wintered, until 1871. No
one but he had rounded the north-east point of bleak Novaia Zemlaia.
In 1869, however, and on the 16th of May, Captain Carlsen, a Norwegian
of much experience in the North Sea trade, sailed from Hammerfest in a
sloop of sixty tons, called the _Solid_. On the 7th of September
he reached Ice Haven, and on the 9th discovered a rude wooden house
standing at the head of the bay. Its dimensions were 32 feet by 20,
and it was constructed of planks measuring from 14 to 16 inches in
breadth, and 1½ inches thick. These, it was evident, had belonged to
a ship, and amongst them were several oak beams. Heaps of bones of
seal, bear, reindeer, and walrus, as well as several large puncheons,
were collected round the hut. It was the winter-prison of Barents and
his companions, and had never been entered by human foot since they
had abandoned it. The cooking-pans stood over the fireplace, the old
clock hung against the wall; there were the books, and implements, and
tools, and weapons which had been of so much service two hundred and
seventy-eight years before. It was an Arctic reproduction of the legend
of the hundred years’ sleep of the fairy princess.

Captain Carlsen gives the following list of articles found in the lone
hut on the shore of Novaia Zemlaia:--

Iron frame over the fireplace, with shifting bar; two ship
cooking-pans of copper, found standing on the iron frame, with
the remains of a copper scoop; copper bands, probably at one
time fastened round pails; bar of iron; iron crowbar; one long
and two small gun-barrels; two bores or augers, each three
feet in length; chisel, padlock, caulking-iron, three gouges,
and six files; plate of zinc; earthenware jar; tankard, with
zinc lid; lower half of another tankard; six fragments of
pepper-pots; tin meat-strainer; pair of boots; sword; fragments
of old engravings, with Latin couplets underneath them; three
Dutch books; a small piece of metal; nineteen cartridge cases,
some still full of powder; iron chest, with lid, and intricate
lock-work; fragments of metal handle of same; grindstone; an
eight-pound iron weight; small cannon-ball; gun-lock, with
hammer and flint; clock, bell of clock, and striker; rasp; small
auger; small narrow strips of copper band; two salt and pepper
pots, about eight inches high; two pairs of compasses; fragment
of iron-handled knife; three spoons; borer; hone; one wooden,
and one bronze tap; two wooden stoppers for gun muzzles; two
spear or ice-pole heads; four navigation instruments; a flute;
lock and key; another lock; sledge-hammer head; clock weight;
twenty-six pewter candlesticks and fragments, six in a complete
state of preservation; pitcher of Etruscan shape, beautifully
engraved; upper half of another pitcher; wooden trencher,
coloured red; clock alarum; three scales; four medallions,
circular, about eight inches in diameter, three of them mounted
in oak frames; a string of buttons; hilt of sword, and a foot of
its blade; halberd head; and two carved pieces of wood, one with
the haft of a knife in it.

On the 14th of September Captain Carlsen sailed from the Ice Haven,
and kept along the east coast of Novaia Zemlaia, encountering bad
weather and contrary winds, but succeeding in his chief object, the
circumnavigation of the island, which he accomplished on the 6th of
October. He returned to Hammerfest early in November.

* * * * *

Our chronological summary now brings us to the Austrian Polar
expedition of 1872. The command was intrusted to Lieutenant Payer, an
accomplished seaman who had served under Captain Koldewey; Carlsen was
engaged as pilot; and the steamer _Tegethoff_ was carefully and
abundantly equipped for the voyage. The plan laid down by Lieutenant
Payer was well-conceived; namely, to round the north-eastern point of
Novaia Zemlaia, and sail eastward until he made the extreme north of
Siberia, where he proposed to winter. In the spring, travelling-parties
would be sent out on exploring journeys; and the voyage, in summer,
would be continued as far as Behring Strait.

The _Tegethoff_ steamed out of Tromsö Harbour on the 13th of
July; first fell in with the ice on the 25th, in lat. 74° 15’ N.; and
on the 29th sighted the coast of Novaia Zemlaia. Here she was caught
in the pack; but steam being got up, repeated charges were made at
the enemy, and she was carried bravely into an open water-way, about
twenty miles wide, to the north of the Matochkia Strait. On the 12th
of August she was joined by the _Isbyörn_ yacht, with Count
Wilczck and some friends on board. The two vessels anchored close to
the shore, in lat. 76° 30’ N., and on the 18th celebrated the Emperor
of Austria’s birthday. Daily excursions were made by sledge-parties
to the adjoining islands, resulting in an accumulation of botanical
and geological specimens, besides slaughtered bears and foxes, and
quantities of drift-wood. On the 23rd the vessels parted company,--the
_Tegethoff_ steaming to the northward, and the _Isbyörn_
endeavouring to push southward along the coast. On reaching the mouth
of the Petchora, Count Wilczck and his friends left her to proceed on
the return voyage to Tromsö, while they ascended the Petchora in small
boats to Perm, and returned to Vienna by way of Moscow.

The _Tegethoff_ spent the winters of 1872 and 1873 in the Icy Sea,
and made some discoveries of interest. It returned in safety in the
summer of 1874.

* * * * *

In 1871 an American expedition was fitted out under the command of
Captain Charles Francis Hall, who had already gained distinction by
his explorations in the Polar regions and his long residence among the
Eskimos. Through the liberality of Mr. Grinnell, assisted by the United
States Government, he was provided with a stout and well-found steamer,
the _Polaris_, which sailed from Brooklyn on the 29th of June. She
carried a crew of seventeen officers and men,--Mr. Buddington being
sailing and ice master, and Mr. Tyson assistant navigator,--besides six
adult Eskimos and two children; and a scientific staff consisting of
Dr. Emil Bessel, Mr. Bryan, and Mr. Frederick Meyers.

A few days previous to the sailing of the expedition, Mr. Grinnell
presented Hall with the historic flag which Lieutenant Wilkes, in 1838,
had borne nearer to the South Pole than any American flag had been
before,--which Lieutenant De Haven, and afterwards Dr. Kane, and lastly
Dr. Hayes, had carried further north than any other ensign. Captain
Hall, in receiving it, expressed his conviction that, in the spring of
1872, “it would float over a new world, in which the North Pole Star is
the crowning jewel.”

On the 3rd of July the _Polaris_ entered the land-locked
harbour of St. John’s, Newfoundland, where she remained a week while
her machinery underwent some repairs. Then she proceeded north to
Holsteinberg, in Greenland; but failed in procuring a supply of coal
or a stock of reindeer furs, both of which were much desiderated. On
the 4th of August she arrived at the Danish settlement of Godhaven, and
happily found the United States steamer _Congress_, which had been
despatched with extra stores and supplies. Thence she steamed northward
to Upernavik, which was reached on the 18th. So far her progress seemed
to have been peculiarly fortunate; but already dissensions had broken
out among the officers, which augured ill for the eventual success of
the expedition. In his despatches home, however, Captain Hall made
no allusion to this discouraging circumstance; and his biographer
explains this silence by “his idiosyncrasy, which enabled him to sink
everything else in the one idea of pushing on to the far north.”

Upernavik, with its little colony of Danish officials and Eskimo
natives, was left behind on the 21st of August, and the _Polaris_
continued her adventurous course. Six days later, she arrived at Kane’s
winter-quarters in 1853–55, and at the point where he abandoned his
little vessel, the _Advance_. Next day her crew found a huge
wall of ice in front of them, and doubled round it by steering to
the west-north-west. Then again putting their vessel’s head to the
northward, they made their way up Kennedy Channel, and gained the
threshold of what Dr. Kane had supposed to be the Open Polar Sea. They
discovered, however, that it was bounded by land on either side, with
a vast expanse of ice stretching far beyond it. Careful observation
showed that it was, in reality, a _bay_, which Kane had mistaken
for the open sea when its land-boundaries were hidden by fog. It is
about forty-five miles wide.

Thence they entered a channel similar to that of Kennedy, which
measured about seventeen miles in breadth, and was obstructed by heavy
ice. Their progress now was slow and difficult, and many of the crew
wore rueful countenances, as if they were going “to sail off the edge
of the world.” A more serious obstacle was the timidity of Captain
Buddington, who showed himself opposed to pushing further northward.
Hall, therefore, resolved to carry the steamer in-shore, land some of
his stores, and prepare for wintering at this advanced point of “Ultima
Thule.”

At midnight, on the 4th of September, Captain Hall raised an American
flag on this land, the northernmost site on which any civilized flag
had been planted. When it was waving in the breeze, he proclaimed that
he took possession of the surrounding region of snow and ice “in the
name of the Lord, and for the President of the United States.” He then
returned on board the _Polaris_, and her anchor was let go. The
place was only a bend in the coast, and afforded no protection as a
harbour; they therefore steamed through the open water, and searched
further to the southward; but finding no more sheltered quarters, they
returned to their former anchorage, and began to land provisions,--the
wind moaning sadly, and the snow falling in heavy showers.

On the 7th, they weighed anchor and steamed in nearer to the shore;
bringing the ship round behind an iceberg, which lay aground in
thirteen fathoms of water. This huge mass of ice proved to be about 450
feet in length, 300 feet in breadth, and 60 feet in height; lat 81°
38’ N., long. 61° 45’ W. The berg was named “Providence Berg,” and the
cove in which they had established themselves, “Thank God Harbour.”
On surveying the surrounding country they found nothing calculated to
brighten the prospects of the coming winter. The coast-hills rose from
nine to thirteen hundred feet in height, and were furrowed and scarred
with great cracks and fissures, which bore witness to the rough usage
of frost and ice, wind and weather. To the south lay a large glacier,
which swept round in a wide circuit, and fell into the bay immediately
north of their anchorage. Traces of Eskimos were discernible here and
there; circles of stones, indicating where they had pitched their
tents. The landscape was all of a dull neutral tint, a kind of cold
gray; for, as yet, the winter snow had not clothed it with its mantle
of dazzling whiteness. For this, however, the adventurers had not long
to wait. A snow-storm began on the 27th of September, and lasted for
six-and-thirty hours.

[Illustration: FUNERAL OF CAPTAIN HALL.]

On the 10th of October Captain Hall organized a sledging expedition,
as a preliminary to an extended journey in the spring. There were two
sledges, each drawn by seven dogs; Captain Hall and Eskimo Joe in
one sledge, and Mr. Chester and Eskimo Hans in the other. They were
absent until the 24th, but owing to the roughness of the ice had
accomplished only fifty miles, and had made no discovery.

Meantime, the crew had been engaged in banking up the ice around the
ship, in order to protect it from collision with drifting floes;
the deck was partly roofed over, and covered with canvas; and other
preparations were made to resist the terrible inclemency of an Arctic
winter. These, however, were temporarily suspended by the sudden
illness of Captain Hall. On the 1st of November he was a little better,
but on the 3rd his malady, which appears to have been a form of
paralysis, took a turn for the worse; and the end came so rapidly that
the eager-hearted, enthusiastic explorer, who had braved so many harsh
experiences in the Polar World, “fell asleep” early on the morning of
the 8th. A grave was immediately prepared for the reception of his
remains about half a mile inland; a shallow grave, for the ground was
frozen so hard that it was scarcely possible to break it up, even with
picks; and on the 11th, the funeral took place. The time chosen was
half-past eleven in the morning; yet it was so dark that Mr. Bryan
read prayers by the light “of a lantern dimly burning.” All the ship’s
company were present. The coffin was hauled on a sledge, over which, by
way of pall, was spread the American flag with its stars and stripes.
The captain and officers, Dr. Bessel, and Mr. Meyers, followed as
mourners; and strange and picturesque must the melancholy procession
have appeared, as it wound its way through ice and snow, while a weird
boreal light or gleam in the air revealed the outlines of the distant
hills, rising like a rampart on the edge of the snow-covered plain, and
flickered every now and then over the frozen expanse of the ice-bound
bay.

Thus, says Captain Tyson, thus ended poor Hall’s ambitious projects;
thus was stilled the effervescing enthusiasm of his ardent nature.
“Wise he might not always have been, but his soul was in his work; and
had he lived till spring, I think he would have gone as far as mortal
man could go to accomplish his mission. But with his death, I fear that
all hopes of further progress will have to be abandoned.” That Tyson
was right in his conjecture, our narrative will show.

* * * * *

Captain Buddington succeeded to the command, and one of his first
measures was to discontinue the Sunday service, for reasons which he
does not seem to have explained, and we are unable to imagine. So far
as we can gather from the published records of the expedition, he was
a man unfitted to bear responsibility,--a man without enthusiasm in
himself, and incapable, therefore, of stimulating it in others. Nor
could he secure the obedience of his inferiors. Seamen are always
prompt to detect the weakness of their officers; and the crew of the
_Polaris_ soon assured themselves that their new captain was
deficient both in courage and resolution.

However, the winter gradually closed in upon the little ice-bound
company of the _Polaris_, and they were called upon to endure,
with such patience as was at their command, the severities of the
long Arctic night. It was very dark, yet not totally dark. For an
hour or two at noon it was possible to wander a short distance from
the snow-roofed vessel; but, once away from it, the gloom and silence
of everything around settled down on the wanderer like a pall. There
were none of the usual sounds of Nature to relieve the deep oppression
of the scene. “The other evening,” says Tyson, “I had wandered away
from the ship, disgusted with the confusion and noise, and longing for
a moment’s quiet. Once beyond range of the men’s voices, there was
absolutely no other sound whatever. It was quite calm--no wind, no
movement of any living creature; nothing but a leaden sky above, ice
beneath my feet, and _silence everywhere_. It hung like a pall
over everything. So painfully oppressive did it become at last, that I
was frequently tempted to shout aloud, to break the spell. At last I
did; but no response came, not even an echo.

‘The space was void; there I stood,
And the sole spectre was the solitude.’”

[Illustration: AN ARCTIC SNOW-STORM.]

On the 1st of January 1872, it is recorded that eighty days had elapsed
since the adventurers had seen the sun. The internal economy of the
_Polaris_, meantime, was pitiably disorganized. There was no
discipline, no order, no method. The men did what they pleased, and
consequently made night hideous by their prolonged carousals. The
officers disagreed among themselves, and the object of the expedition
appeared to have been lost sight of, or no longer to excite any deep
or permanent interest. It was even discussed as a proper and probable
course to abandon the proposed northward exploration, and, as soon as
the ice broke up, to make all haste back to New York.

Early in February, the daylight began to gain upon the night a little,
and the Eskimos hunted for seals, as they could be heard under the
ice making their breathing holes. Storms were very frequent--storms
which drove the snow afar in dense, blinding clouds; and false moons
and other atmospheric phenomena attracted the attention of the curious
observer. On the 28th, after an absence of one hundred and thirty-five
days, the sun reappeared; and never was royal guest more eagerly
welcomed by a loyal people. Its rays seemed to bring with them a
promise of new life. Men’s hearts grew lighter in spite of themselves,
and all felt as if they had been relieved from a heavy and intolerable
burden. Not that the temperature showed any perceptible difference. The
thermometer indicated 37° below zero on the 1st of March!

Passing over a couple of months which present no incidents of
importance, we find that on the 9th of May the monotonous dulness of
the expedition was broken by a sledge-journey to the north, undertaken
by Captain Tyson, with Meyers, Joe, and Hans as companions. They were
absent from the ship six days; striking inland, in an east-north-east
direction, to Newman Bay, and thence keeping more to the north, until
they reached lat. 82° 9’. Mr. Meyers surveyed the shores of Newman Bay,
and Captain Tyson endeavoured to secure some game. One day they came
on a large herd of musk-oxen. These animals act very curiously when an
attack is made upon them. They form a circle, stern to stern, and await
the assault of their enemies. The dogs surround them, and keep them at
bay. Not unfrequently a dog gets tossed. Though Joe and the captain
fired and reloaded as fast as they could, the poor brutes offered no
resistance; but when eight had fallen, the remainder took to flight.
The slaughtered oxen were then flayed, and the best pieces cut up for
conveyance to the ship.

These cattle develop their great size and weight on what might be
supposed to form a very slender diet. Their food is the mosses and
lichens which grow on the rocks; and to obtain it, they must first
scrape away the snow with their hoofs. At the first sign of danger, the
calves shelter themselves under their parents’ body; and their hair is
so long as to afford the young a very complete and satisfactory screen.
The musk-ox is an animal of considerable bulk. Several of those shot by
Tyson and the Eskimos weighed from 500 to 600 lbs. each. In proportion
to their size and weight, their legs are very short.

Early in June, Captain Buddington resolved to despatch a couple of
boats, for the purpose of exploring the neighbouring coast, and
discovering, if possible, an open water channel to the north. One
of these was placed under the command of Mr. Chester; the other, of
Captain Tyson. Mr. Chester’s boat was nipped in an ice-floe, and
crushed to pieces. The crew escaped with difficulty, but the historical
flag was lost. Captain Tyson pushed forward to Newman Bay, where some
eider-ducks, gulls, and dove-kies were shot. Joined by Mr. Chester--who
had returned to the ship, and secured the safety-boat--he found his
further progress arrested by that compact, insuperable field of ice
which is the despair of Arctic navigators. All attempts to get further
to the north proved in vain; and orders to return having arrived from
Captain Buddington, there was nothing to be done but to rejoin the
_Polaris_.

The summer passed away, and still the _Polaris_ lay beset among
the ice; or, rather, drifted slowly to the southward, along with the
floe to which it was attached. No sledge-expeditions were organized;
and Captain Buddington’s sole concern was to watch for an opportunity
of getting out into the open channel, and returning to New York. Some
slight progress southward was occasionally made; but towards the end
of October it became evident that the explorers would have to spend a
second winter in their frozen captivity. They had been carried beyond
Rensselaer Harbour, where Dr. Kane wintered during 1853–55, and began
the construction of a store-house for provisions, in case the ship
should be endangered by the drifting ice.

This dreaded catastrophe did indeed occur, on the night of the 15th.
The pressure of the floe was tremendous, but the _Polaris_ bore
it bravely, though groaning and creaking in every timber. After awhile,
however, it was found that she had started a leak aft, and that the
water was gaining on the pumps. The discovery seems to have startled
Buddington out of all coolness or reflection. He threw up his arms,
and cried out to “throw everything on the ice.” Immediately all was
chaos. The men seized whatever lay near to their hands, and threw it
overboard. A quantity of stores had been previously placed on the deck,
in anticipation of such an event; but these were now hurled on the floe
in indiscriminate confusion, and with considerable loss. Captain Tyson
and some of the men got overboard, with the view of arranging things
in, at least, a semblance of order; but while he was thus engaged, the
ice commenced cracking. Shortly afterwards it exploded under his feet,
and broke in many places; the ship drove away in the darkness, and
Tyson and his companions immediately lost sight of her.

* * * * *

It was a terrible night. The wind blew a hurricane, and the snow fell
heavily in drifting, whirling masses. “We did not know,” says Tyson,
“who was on the ice, or who was on the ship;” but seeing some musk-ox
skins lying across a wide crack in the ice, he pulled them towards him
to save them--and behold, rolled up in one of them were two or three of
the children of Hans the Eskimo! Some of the men were afloat on small
pieces of ice, but by means of the whale-boat these were rescued; and
when the gray light of morning dawned on the scene, Tyson ascertained
that eighteen persons, besides himself, were castaways. These were--Mr.
Meyers, meteorologist; Heron, steward; Jackson, cook; six seamen; Joe
and Hans, the Eskimos, and their wives and children.

The piece of the floe on which they were cast was nearly circular,
and about four miles in circumference. It was not level, but full of
hillocks, and of ponds or small lakes, which had been formed by the
melting of the ice during the short summer. The ice varied greatly in
thickness. Some of the mounds, or hills, were probably thirty feet
thick; the flat parts not more than ten or fifteen. The surface was
exceedingly rugged, and the hummocks were white with snow.

Tyson’s first task was to inspect the stock of provisions that had
been collected on the floe. It consisted of fourteen cans of pemmican,
eleven and a half bags of bread, one can of dried apples, and fourteen
hams; and if the ship did not return for them, they might have to
support themselves upon this supply all through the dreary winter,
or die of starvation. Fortunately, they had a couple of boats; and
Tyson’s second care was to load these, embark his little company, and
endeavour to reach the shore. In this attempt they were balked by the
drifting ice; and before they could repeat it they caught sight of
the _Polaris_. Immediately they ran up a rough and ready signal;
but no one seemed to be keeping a look-out, and the castaways had the
mortification of seeing her drop away behind Littleton Island, without
undertaking any search for her missing crew.

Tyson therefore resolved to cross to the other side of the floe, and
make for the land, perhaps lower down than the _Polaris_ was, so
as to intercept her. Everything was thrown away, except two or three
days’ provisions, and the boats were got ready. But the men were slow
and reluctant; oars were wanting; a violent gale arose; and as night
was coming on, Tyson found himself compelled to abandon his intention.
On the following day, the ice again broke; and now the adventurers were
drifting with one boat on one piece of ice, while the other boat, a
part of their provisions, and an extemporized hut of poles, remained on
the main part of the original floe. The ice-raft which carried Tyson
and his companions measured about 150 yards each way.

[Illustration: THE CASTAWAYS ON THE ICE.]

[Illustration: ADRIFT ON THE ICE-FLOE.]

On the 21st, however, the boat and provisions were recovered. Joe,
with the keen eye of an Eskimo, caught sight of the bow of the boat,
projecting from a fragment of the broken ice. Followed by his faithful
ally, Tyson went in search of it, leaping like a chamois-hunter
from crag to crag. Six of the dogs had accompanied him. These were
harnessed to the boat, and with the help of sturdy arms dragged it
over the disrupted floe. The whole party then removed to the large
floe, where some snow-houses were speedily erected. They formed quite
an encampment: one hut, or rather a sort of half-hut, for Mr. Meyers
and Captain Tyson; Joe’s hut for himself, his wife, and their adopted
daughter; a hut for the men; a store-house for provisions, and a
cook-house,--all united by arched galleries, built of consolidated
snow, with one main entrance, and smaller ones branching off to the
several apartments or huts. Hans built his _igloë_ separately,
but close by. All were constructed after the Eskimo fashion--that is,
the ground being levelled off, one half of the floor toward the end
furthest from the entrance was slightly raised above the other or front
half. The raised part, as we have previously explained, serves as
parlour and bedroom; the lower area, as workshop and kitchen. The walls
and arched roof were built up of square blocks of hard snow, packed
hard and close by the force of the wind. A square of about eighteen
inches of this compressed snow or ice served for window.

This good work done, Tyson took stock. Successive expeditions
had gathered together nearly all that was on the ice when the
_Polaris_ drifted from them, and he found that their stores
included two boats--one of which, however, was being broken up for
fuel--and one kayack, a good supply of powder and shot, eleven and a
half bags of bread, fourteen cans of pemmican, fourteen hams, ten dozen
cans of meats and soups, one can of dried apples, and about twenty
pounds of chocolate and sugar mixed. The pemmican cases were large,
each weighing forty-five pounds; the meats and soups were only one and
two pound cans; the hams were small; the dried-apple can counted for
twenty-two pounds. Evidently, when divided among nineteen people, this
supply could not last many weeks; and unless they reached the land, or
could catch seals, starvation seemed their probable ultimate fate. The
allowance was reduced to eleven ounces for each adult, and half that
amount for the children,--rations painfully inadequate to the proper
support of the human frame in a Polar region and during an Arctic
winter.

[Illustration: RECOVERY OF THE BOAT BY CAPTAIN TYSON.]

On the 23rd of October they lost sight of the sun. At this time they
were about eight or ten miles off-shore, and forty to fifty miles west
of Northumberland Island, in lat. 77° 30’ nearly. The Eskimos were on
the watch for seals day after day, but without success. In truth, it
is not easy to find the seal in winter, as they live principally under
the ice, and can be seen only when it cracks. A warm-blooded animal, it
cannot always remain beneath the frozen surface without breathing, and
for this purpose they make air-holes through the ice and snow. These,
however, are so small at the surface, not exceeding two and a half
inches across, that they are not easily distinguished, especially in
the twilight-gloom of an Arctic winter day.

The floe, or ice-raft, on which the crew of the _Polaris_ had
found shelter, continued to drift slowly to the southward, impelled
by wind and current. The weather was so severe that it was worse than
useless to attempt to reach the shore. The castaways therefore huddled
themselves together in their _igloes_, or huts of snow, or took
such diversion as hunting for fox or seal afforded. Or when a gleam of
fair weather afforded an opportunity, Tyson took a short drive in his
sledge, and explored as much as he dared of the ice lying towards the
shore. On the 1st of November an attempt was made to reach the land,
the dogs being harnessed to the sledge, and the boat loaded with the
most essential articles; but the state of the ice rendered all efforts
of this kind fruitless.

[Illustration: IGLOES CONSTRUCTED BY THE CASTAWAYS.]

One day, Joe and Hans, the Eskimos, went out in quest of game. In
wandering through the hummocks they lost one another, and Joe, after
trying his luck alone, made his way back towards the hut before night
came on; he fully anticipated to find that Hans had preceded him, and
was much alarmed when he heard that he had not returned. Accompanied
by Robert, he started in search of him. As they sped along through the
rapidly-gathering darkness, they saw what appeared to be a Polar bear
approaching them; loaded their pistols, and prepared to give him a
warm reception, when, fortunately, the creature throwing up his arms,
and standing erect, they perceived that it was their missing comrade.
He had used both hands and feet in climbing the rough hummocks, and
his fur clothing being covered with snow, the deception was tolerably
complete.

On the 21st of November, Captain Tyson writes in his diary: “We
are living now on as little as the human frame can endure without
succumbing; some tremble with weakness when they try to walk. Mr.
Meyers suffers much from this cause; he was not well when he came on
the ice, and the regimen here has not improved him. He lives with the
men now; they are mostly Germans, and so is he, and the affinity of
blood draws them together, I suppose. Since he has housed with the
men, I have lived in the hut with Joe, Hannah, and Puney. Puney, poor
child, is often hungry; indeed, all the children often cry with hunger.
We give them all that it is safe to use. I can do no more, however
sorry I may feel for them.”

* * * * *

But it is unnecessary to trace the misfortunes and sufferings
of Captain Tyson’s little company day by day. Their wretched
condition--adrift on a raft of ice, insufficiently clothed,
insufficiently fed, poorly housed, without any of the comforts that
generally make an Arctic expedition endurable, buffeted by snow-storm
and tempest, in constant apprehension lest their insecure raft
should break up--requires no exaggeration of colouring to produce
its full impression on the reader. In January 1873, it was found
that the provisions were diminishing with terrible rapidity; and
this was due not so much to the regular daily consumption as to the
secret pilferings of the crew, who were not controlled by any bonds
of discipline, and yielded Captain Tyson an imperfect and reluctant
obedience. They were all Germans, except Heron, an Englishman, and
the cook, a man of colour, and their conduct was a disgrace to their
nationality. They seem to have thought that their raft was carrying
them swiftly towards Disco in Greenland, where abundant supplies could
easily be obtained; but, in truth, they were drifting in the direction
of Labrador, and the safety of all demanded the sternest economy of
their small stock of provisions.

[Illustration: HANS MISTAKEN FOR A BEAR.]

[Illustration: DIFFICULT TRAVELLING.]

The cold was now excessive,--35° below zero at noon, and 37° at
midnight. On the 13th, it sank below 40°. On the following day,
however, a strong westerly gale blew up; the cold became more
moderate--the temperature rose to -14°. Under the influence of the
gale, the ice began to crack and grind and break up; the natives
launched a kayack; a seal was hunted down, and the castaways feasted
gloriously. This, however, was but a transient gleam of good fortune.
On the 17th the glass again sank to 38°, and no more seals were
visible. The men were now reduced to less than twelve ounces of food
daily, which was not sufficient to furnish internal warmth, or to
strengthen the system against the terrible effects of the Arctic
climate.

The 19th was, to some extent, a day of hope; for, after an absence of
eighty-three days, the sun once more rose above the misty horizon.
Eskimo Joe took advantage of the burst of daylight to undertake a
hunting expedition. About five miles from the hut he found open water,
and shot two seals, but could land only one; the young ice carried the
other away. Encouraged by the cheerful glow of the sun, he stayed out
later than usual, and it was very dark before he returned. A light of
burning blubber was kindled to guide him to the hut. It shone out upon
the gloom of the night like a pharos.

[Illustration: THE GUIDING LIGHT.]

The 25th of January marked the one hundred and third day of the
castaways’ voyage on the ice-raft, and they severely felt the
monotonous wretchedness of their existence. It was a beautiful day,
and perfectly calm; but the thermometer indicated 40° below zero.
At midnight the heavens were illuminated with all the glories of a
brilliant aurora. They seemed to be ablaze: from the south-west to
the north-east, from the horizon to the zenith, the magnetic fires
shot here and there, and wavered and undulated, like flame driven by a
strong wind. At one time the splendour was almost overpowering, and the
straining eye was fain to seek relief in darkness.

On the 1st of February a violent gale arose, blowing from the
north-west, and the ice, rolling and rocking beneath its influence,
split up into great cracks and fissures which threatened the safety of
the castaways. Huge blocks fell off from the floe; and the vast bergs
which had hitherto accompanied, and partly sheltered it, moved rapidly
before the wind. Everything acknowledged the might of the storm; but
as yet the adventurers had not been disturbed, though surrounded by
mountains of ice heavy enough, if driven against their encampment,
to have crushed them to atoms. Thus far they had floated safely, but
the position was one to cause reflection: at some time or other the
ice must break up, they knew; but whether they would survive the
catastrophe was beyond conjecture. They could only wait and hope.

[Illustration: DRAGGING A SEAL.]

* * * * *

Here is a picture of the interior of one of the _igloes_, or
snow-huts:--

“Joe and Hannah are sitting in front of the lamp, playing checkers
on an old piece of canvas, the squares being marked out with Tyson’s
pencil. They use buttons for men, as they have nothing better. The
natives easily learn any sort of game; some of them can even play a
respectable game of chess; and cards they understand as well as the
‘heathen Chinee.’ Cards go wherever sailors go, and the first lessons
that the natives of any uncivilized country get are usually from
sailors.

“Little Puney, Joe and Hannah’s adopted child, a little girl, is
sitting wrapped in a musk-ox skin; every few minutes she says to her
mother, ‘I am _so_ hungry!’ The children often cry with hunger. It
makes one’s heart ache, but they are obliged to bear it with the rest.”

* * * * *

The gale continued on the 2nd, with blinding showers of snow--fine,
penetrating, pungent. Next day the weather moderated, and the glass
rose to 15° below zero. Dark clouds lowered in the horizon, preventing
the land from being seen, if any shore were near. But the rapid rise
in the temperature, after so strong a north-west gale, allowed Tyson
to hope that the wind had mastered the current, and was forcing them
towards the Greenland shore.

[Illustration: RETURN OF THE SUN.]

Though all around nothing was visible but ice and icebergs, the scene
had a certain beauty of its own--a strange weird beauty, like that
of a dream-picture. When the sun shone on the bergs, and lighted up
their massive or fantastic forms, all the prismatic colours of the
rainbow flashed through the “crystal pendants” or “projecting peaks.”
The interest of the scene was enhanced by the variety of its forms.
Every berg appeared to have had its individual history, and its broken
outline and furrowed surface bore witness to the experiences it had
undergone--storm and rain, wind and water. Some rose up around the
castaways like solid ramparts; others represented the spire of a Gothic
cathedral, the pinnacle of a Turkish minaret, the glittering walls of a
palace: all were beautiful, yet terrible in their beauty, conveying a
profound feeling of might and destructive power.

[Illustration: SHOOTING NARWHAL.]

On the 5th, and again on the 7th, a seal was caught, and the little
company enjoyed a plentiful meal. On the latter day a couple of
narwhals were shot, but both sank before they could be reached. These
narwhals are sometimes called sea-unicorns, or monodons, in allusion
to the long horn, six to eight feet in measurement--or, rather, the
elongated tooth--which projects from the upper jaw; a formidable
weapon, tapering from base to point, with a spiral twist from left to
right. Strange stories were told of these sea-unicorns by the early
navigators; but science has made short work of legend and fable.

* * * * *

Day after day, the history of _our_ navigators was the same; no
stirring romance, but harsh reality:--wind and snow, snow and wind--a
wind which almost froze the life-blood of those exposed to it, and
snow which fell so fast and thick as to wrap the scene in the gloom of
desolation. Still, the ice-raft drifted southward; slowly but surely
drifted through the darkness of the night and the twilight obscurity
of the day; while the little company it carried suffered much from
increasing weakness, though better provided with food than formerly,
owing to the frequent capture of narwhal and seal. Occasionally the
mists cleared off, and the sun streamed out in meridian splendour,
lighting up every feature of the “ice-scape”--may we coin the
word?--around them. But, too frequently, “snow and blow, blow and
snow,” was, as Tyson remarks, “the order of the day.”

Hope lives eternal in the human breast; and though it had sunk very low
in the hearts of our adventurers, it suddenly rekindled on the 19th
of February, when they caught sight of the west coast, at no greater
distance than thirty-eight or forty miles. Its flame was kept alive on
the 21st by the discovery that the thermometer had risen to 3° above
zero. Next day it had risen to 20°, or within 12° of freezing-point;
and men inured to the rigour of an Arctic winter spoke of such weather
with cheeriness as “very comfortable.” The cloud upon the prospect now
was the want of food, for the game had begun to fail. The hunters went
forth every morning, but returned empty-handed. The feebleness of the
party increased in an alarming degree. It took several men to carry a
light Eskimo kayack, which for an ordinary man is not even a burden.
What was to be done? The only chance of life seemed to lie in reaching
the shore; but how were these gaunt, frail skeletons to convey their
boat across the rugged ice until they reached the open water?

[Illustration: DRAGGING THE OOGJOOK (SEE PAGE 295).]

[Illustration: SUNLIGHT EFFECT IN THE ARCTIC REGION (SEE PAGE
291).]

They decided, however, on making the attempt, in the hope of reaching
a place called Shaumen, a little to the north of Cape Mercy, in lat.
65° N., where game, and sometimes Eskimos, were to be found. In spite
of all their efforts, they were foiled by a succession of blinding,
lashing, beating snow-storms. The mercury sank again to 24° below zero,
and their position grew desperate. They were reduced to one meal--and
such a meal!--_per diem_. Great was their joy on the 28th when
the hunters brought in thirty-seven dove-kies, or two apiece. They
were cooked without delay, and eaten up to the last morsel, except
the feathers. Greater still was their joy on the 2nd (of March), when
Eskimo Joe shot a monster oogjook (a large kind of seal), the largest
they had ever seen--such a monster that it took all hands to drag
its carcass to the huts. Peter danced and sung in the exuberance of
his delight, and everybody felt that for a time they were saved from
starvation. On measurement, this glorious oogjook proved to be seven
feet nine inches in length, or fully nine feet including the tail.

The ice-raft was now approaching Cumberland Gulf, and Tyson calculated
that they had reached lat. 65° N. They drifted more and more rapidly;
and if they did not die of famine,--if the ice did not break up too
suddenly,--there was a probability of their reaching the whaling
ground, and falling in with some friendly ship. The gales, however,
were frequent and severe; the thermometer continued very low--32° to
34° below zero; and the sufferings of the whole company were intense.
Even the Eskimos were sorely afflicted; though without these bold and
patient hunters, the white men must certainly have perished.

[Illustration: FIRST SIGHT OF A WHALE.]

On the 7th of March there were indications of the breaking up of the
floe. It cracked and snapped beneath them, with a sound like that of
distant thunder. So far as the surface was concerned, however, no signs
of fracture were visible; the eye, straining in every direction, saw
nothing but an unbroken expanse of ice. And thus it continued until the
12th, when, during a terrible storm, the threatened catastrophe took
place, the ice-raft being shattered suddenly into hundreds of pieces,
on one of which, not more that one hundred yards by seventy-five, the
adventurers found themselves adrift! Oh, what a night of dread anxiety
they passed, expecting every moment that this piece too would give
way, and plunge them into ruin! But it held together; and when the
wind abated, and the snow ceased to fall, and the wild hurtling of the
broken ice was hushed, they could look around them, and realize their
position. The condition of the ice had undergone an absolute change;
the “floes” were driven up into a “pack,” and huge blocks, of all
shapes and sizes, were heaped up and jammed together in inextricable
confusion.

[Illustration: FACE TO FACE WITH A POLAR BEAR.]

[Illustration: AN ARCTIC ICE-SCAPE (SEE PAGE 292).]

Noting that on the 21st of March seven seals replenished the empty
larder of our adventurers, and that on the 26th whales were visible for
the first time,--a welcome sign, as indicating their approach to the
fishing-grounds,--we pass on to the 29th, which was marked by a curious
incident. Shortly after dark, Tyson heard a noise outside his hut; he
had just taken off his boots, preparing for rest; Joe, too, was on the
point of retiring, but thinking the ice was breaking up, he went out
to view the “situation.” In a few seconds he hastily returned, pallid
and frightened, and exclaiming, “There is a bear close to my kayack!”
The kayack lay within ten feet of the entrance to the hut. Both Joe
and Tyson’s rifles were outside; Joe’s within the kayack, and Tyson’s
lying close to it; but Joe had his pistol in the hut. The captain
put on his boots, and then both crept cautiously out. Seal-skins and
lumps of blubber were lying about in all directions; and Bruin, having
dragged some of these about thirty feet from the kayack, was banqueting
at his ease. Joe crept into the sailors’ hut to alarm them. Meantime
Tyson crawled stealthily to his rifle, but in taking it knocked down
a shot-gun standing by. The bear heard it, but Tyson’s rifle already
covered him; he growled; Tyson pulled the trigger, but the gun would
not go off; a second, and a third time--it did not go; but Tyson did,
for the bear now rushed full upon him. Retiring to the hut, he put
another cartridge in, and then again crept out into the open, taking up
a position where he could see the animal, although the night was dark.
The bear, too, saw his assailant, and faced towards him; but this time
the rifle-ball went straight to its mark; the bear ran about two rods,
and fell dead.

The victim was a “sea-bear,” _Ursus maritimus_, and supplied the
company on the ice-raft with a welcome change of diet.

[Illustration: ON BOARD THE BOAT.]

[Illustration: BREAKING UP OF THE ICE.]

[Illustration: JOE CAPTURES A SEAL.]

As the piece of ice was gradually wearing away, the adventurers of
the _Polaris_ resolved on an effort to regain the main pack,
which would necessarily be safer. With their sleeping-gear, tent, and
a supply of shot and powder, they embarked on board the boat, and
stood to the westward; and on the 4th of April, after a succession of
rough experiences, reached the “pack.” Here they were not much better
off, for a violent gale blowing from the north-east, the ice began to
break off in huge fragments; and soon the area at the command of the
navigators was so small, that they were compelled to reload the boat,
and prepare for a hurried departure. The wind, however, subsided, the
pack closed up, and things returned to their normal condition.

[Illustration: A NIGHT OF FEAR (SEE PAGE 296).]

On the 18th of April the castaways were somewhat reinvigorated by the
capture of a seal, which Joe brought ashore in his kayack, and by the
appearance of land to the south-west. But in this wild Arctic region
the weather in spring is subject to surprising changes, and on the
20th another gale began to blow. Such was its fury that it drove a
heavy swell of sea across the ice-raft, which washed away every article
that was loose. Billow after billow followed with ever-increasing
violence; and tent, and skins, and nearly all the bed-gear, were swept
into the boiling waters. Only a few articles were saved, which, along
with the women and children, had been stowed in the boat. To save the
boat tasked the energies of all the party, who had to hold on to it,
with might and main, to prevent it from being carried out to sea. All
through the dreadful night the men were on the watch against this
crowning disaster; all through the dreary night, from 9 P.M.
until 7 A.M., straining every nerve, calling into play every
resource of energy. Ever and anon, one of the tremendous billows would
plunge downward, and lift the boat bodily, and the men with it, and
carry it and them forward on the ice, almost to the opposite edge of
the floating raft; several times the boat heeled partly over, and was
hauled back only by the more than human strength which the crew derived
from a knowledge of their position. The boat gone, all was lost!
Terrible was the work; had the waters been smooth, the task would not
have been easy; but they were filled with loose ice, which rolled about
in blocks of all shapes and sizes, and with almost every wave these
came toppling and rolling and driving forward like an avalanche, and
fell about the heads and limbs of the men as they clung desperately
to the boat. But God mercifully supplied them with the strength they
needed; and so, labouring to the uttermost, they waited and watched
for the day. For twelve hours scarcely a sound was uttered except the
crying of the children, and Tyson’s stern command to “Hold on,” or
“Bear down,” with the responsive “Ay, ay, sir” of the men.

[Illustration: A “HELL OF WATERS.”]

Day dawned at last, with a dull gray light over the restless sea, and
Tyson saw with indescribable thankfulness a large raft of ice floating
within reach. He determined to make for it, though the men hesitated
to launch the boat into such a “hell of waters.” But it was done;
the women and children were first got on board, and then all the men
embarked in safety. By dint of hard pulling, they gained the ice,
landed, refreshed themselves with a morsel of food, and then, on this
new ice-raft, laid down to rest. The following morning found them “safe
and sound,” after all their trials, with the exception of a few bruises
and contusions.

On the 22nd of April another bear was killed; and just in time, for
the whole party were without a morsel of food. This lasted them for
three or four days; and then, on the 25th, as starvation once more
stared them in the face, they resolved on a desperate effort to make
the land. What else were they to do? The rain fell in torrents; the
wind blew a hurricane; the ice-raft was constantly wasting away; they
had no provisions. True, the boat was frail and leaky, and the sea ran
high; but as the ice would not much longer afford them even a footing,
a decision was forced upon them.

[Illustration: DRAGGING THE BOAT ON TO A FLOE.]

So in their crippled, overloaded boat they set out, the wind blowing
a gale, and a tremendous sea running, full of small knife-like blades
of ice. After eight hours’ labour at the oars, they came to a piece of
floe, and encamped upon it for the night. At daylight on the 28th they
again launched their boat; and after much weary work in threading their
way through a fleet of icebergs, they got into comparatively open water.

At half-past four, a joyful sight!--a steamer right ahead, and bearing
north of them. The castaways hoisted their colours, and pulled towards
her. She was a sealer, going south-west, and making her way through the
floating ice. The hearts of the castaways beat with joy at the prospect
of speedy relief; but, alas, they were doomed to disappointment! She
did not see the miserable little company in the overloaded boat; and it
was impossible for them to overtake her. Night gathered over the sea,
and she disappeared.

[Illustration: CLINGING TO THE BOAT (SEE PAGE 308).]

Reaching a suitable piece of floe, they boarded it, and again encamped
for the night, under a sky which was clear and calm, and shone with the
glory of stars. The sea, too, was tranquil, and, notwithstanding their
disappointment, they felt more hopeful than before; it was evident they
had reached the borders of civilization, and might rely upon obtaining
help. With seals’ blubber they kindled beacon-fires on the ice; and
divided their men into two watches.

The next day they sighted another steamer, launched their boat, and
pulled lustily towards her. In vain: she did not see them, and after a
couple of hours’ hard work they were hemmed in by the ice, and could
make no progress. They landed on a floe, and hoisted their colours;
collected and loaded all their rifles and pistols, and filled the
echoes with the ringing report of three simultaneous volleys. They
heard three shots in reply, and--glorious sight!--saw the steamer
directing her course towards them. They shouted with all their might;
but in the keen air their voices seemed to pass away soundlessly.
Presently the steamer changed her course, tacking south, then north,
then west, as if she were vainly endeavouring to force a passage
through the accumulated ice. Yet there seemed no insuperable obstacle
in her path. The fugitives fired again, and again; but she came no
nearer, and late in the afternoon steamed away to the south west.

At sunset they descried land in the same direction, about thirty-five
miles distant.

On the following day, the 30th of April, Tyson was lying in the boat,
his watch having just ended, when the look-out raised a sudden shout:
“There’s a steamer! there’s a steamer!” As if fresh life had been
poured into his veins, Tyson sprang to his feet, ordered all the guns
to be fired, joined his companions in a loud simultaneous cry, and
raised their colours to the head of the boat’s mast. Hans leaped into
his kayack, and was despatched to intercept the ship, if possible,
as there was some danger of losing sight of her in the fog which
prevailed; but, happily, she bore down towards them. Hans paddled on,
and in his broken English shouted, “American steamer.” He was not
understood by those on board, but they kept their course, and in a
few minutes lay alongside of the ice-isle which sheltered Tyson and
his company. Oh, what three loud, hearty, joyful cheers acknowledged
their deliverance! These were immediately returned by the crew of the
steamer, which proved to be the sealer _Tigress_, of Conception
Bay, Newfoundland.

We quote from Captain Tyson’s simply-worded narrative:--

“Two or three of their small seal-boats were instantly lowered. We,
however, now that relief was certain, threw everything from our own
boat, and in a minute’s time she was in the water; while the boats of
the _Tigress_ came on, and the crews got on our bit of ice, and
peeped curiously into the dirty pans we had used over the oil-fires. We
had been making soup out of the blood and entrails of the last little
seal which Hans had shot. They soon saw enough to convince them that we
were in sore need. No words were required to make _that_ plain.

“Taking the women and children in their boats, we tumbled into our
own, and were soon alongside of the _Tigress_. We left all we had
behind, and our all was simply a few battered smoky tin pans and the
_débris_ of our last seal. It had already become offal in our
eyes, though we had often been glad enough to get such fare.

“On stepping on board, I was at once surrounded by a curious lot of
people--I mean men filled with curiosity to know our story, and all
asking questions of me and the men. I told them who I was, and where
we were from. But when they asked me, ‘How long have you been on the
ice?’ and I answered, ‘Since the 15th of last October,’ they were so
astonished that they fairly looked blank with wonder.

“One of the party, looking at me with open-eyed surprise, exclaimed,--

“‘_And was you on it night and day?_’

“The peculiar expression of the tone, with the absurdity of the
question, was too much for my politeness. I laughed in spite of
myself, and my long unexercised risibles thrilled with an unwonted
sensation.”

Tyson and his party were picked up in lat. 53° 35’ N.; a fact which
will give the reader some idea of the wonderful voyage they had
accomplished on their various ice-rafts.

They were treated with thoughtful kindness on board the _Tigress_,
which on the 7th of May turned her head towards Newfoundland. On the
following day she put into Conception Bay, where the Americans landed,
and remained until the 12th. They then started for St. John’s; and
the news of their remarkable experiences having preceded them, found
themselves on their arrival the objects of a very general and lively
curiosity. After a short stay, they were conveyed to Washington on
board the United States steamship _Frolic_. And here ends their
strange, eventful history.

We must now return to the _Polaris_.

When she drifted away in the darkness of that stormy night, she had
on board fourteen persons: Captain Buddington, Dr. Emil Bessel,
Messrs. Bryan and Chester, and ten officers and seamen. What had
become of them and their vessel? Such was the natural question which
arose on the safe arrival at Washington of Tyson and his companions;
and the American Government quickly came to the determination of
organizing a relieving party to seek for and bring back the survivors
and remains, if any, of the _Polaris_ expedition. The steamship
_Juniata_ was immediately despatched to form a depôt of supplies
on the coast of Greenland in advance. She reached Upernavik on the
31st of July, and there brought into use her steam-launch, the
_Little Juniata_; which, manned by a gallant crew, pushed forward
into the icy waters of Melville Bay, but without coming upon any
traces of the missing explorers. Meantime, the American Government
purchased the _Tigress_, and fitted her up for a thorough cruise
in the Arctic seas. With Captain Greer in command, and Mr. Tyson as
acting-lieutenant, and a crew of eleven officers and forty-two men,
“all told,” the _Tigress_ set sail on the evening of July 14th,
and dropped anchor at St. John’s on the morning of the 23rd.

On the 11th of August we find her at Upernavik, where she took on board
a supply of coal from the _Juniata_. She then proceeded northward,
falling in with the heavy pack-ice near Cape York. The 14th saw her off
the Eskimo settlement of Netlik. She was now approaching Northumberland
Island, in the neighbourhood of which, or of Littleton Island, it was
supposed the _Polaris_ had parted from the ice-floe. Captain
Greer carefully examined Northumberland Island, but without success.
He then made for Littleton Island; and a boat was lowered to go on
shore, carrying Lieutenant White, Captain Tyson, and other officers.
What was their surprise, as they approached, to discover some human
figures and a couple of tents on the mainland, near Littleton Island.
The figures proved to be Eskimos; and through the agency of Eskimo
Joe, who was on board the _Tigress_, it was soon ascertained that
Captain Buddington had deserted the _Polaris_ on the day after
her separation from the floe; that he and his companions had erected
a house on the mainland, and wintered therein; had fitted it up with
sleeping-berths for fourteen men, the full number, and furnished
it with stove, table, chairs, and other articles removed from the
abandoned ship; that during the winter the party had built and equipped
a couple of sailing-boats; and that “about the time when the ducks
begin to hatch” they had departed for the south.

[Illustration: SAVED!]

The Eskimo chief, or leader, added that Captain Buddington had made him
a present of the _Polaris_; but that the gift proved of no effect,
for in a violent gale she broke loose from the ice, drifted out into
the channel, and foundered.

Further search brought the crew of the _Tigress_ to the winter-camp
of the _Polaris_ crew. It was situated in lat. 78° 23’ N., and long.
73° 46’ W. Some manuscripts were found there, with the log-book, the
medical stores, and remains of instruments; and these, with whatever
else that seemed of intrinsic value, having been removed on board the
_Tigress_, the expedition bore away to the southward, and on the 16th
of October reached St. John’s, Newfoundland, where they received the
welcome intelligence of the rescue of the _Polaris_ party under the
circumstances we shall now relate.

We return to the eventful night of the 15th of October 1872. During the
tremendous gale that then raged along the Arctic coast, the bow-hawser
of the _Polaris_ snapped like a “pack-thread,” the anchors
slipped, and the ship drifted away into the darkness. The wind forced
her in a north-easterly direction; and next morning those on board
found her “a little north of Littleton Island, in Smith Sound, having
been exactly abreast of Sutherland Island during a portion of the
night.”

As she was leaking rapidly the pumps were set to work; and the fires
with much difficulty being lighted, the ship was got to obey her helm.
It was then found that the following officers and men remained on
board:--Captain Buddington; Mr. Chester, chief mate; William Merton,
second mate; Emil Schuman, chief engineer; Odell, assistant-engineer;
Campbell and Booth, firemen; Coffin, carpenter; Sieman, Hobby, Hays,
and Manch, seamen; Dr. Emil Bessel, meteorologist; and Mr. Bryan,
astronomer and chaplain.

A look-out was kept, it is said, for the nineteen who were missing,
but no signs of them being discovered, Captain Buddington came to
the comfortable conclusion that they had saved themselves in the
boats. Doubting the feasibility of carrying the _Polaris_ to the
southward, he determined to abandon her, and winter on shore. With this
view she was run in as near land as possible, and finally grounded
in Kane’s Life-boat Cove, lat. 78° 23’ 30″ N., and long. 73° 21’ W.
Here, on the 17th of October, Captain Buddington prepared to establish
a winter-camp; and the next few days were occupied in removing from
the stranded vessel all the food and fuel, and such articles as could
conduce to the comfort and sustenance of the party through the ensuing
winter.

With spars, bulk-heads, and canvas brought from the _Polaris_ a
commodious house was erected, measuring twenty-two feet in length,
and fourteen feet in width. It was thoroughly water-tight; warmed
inside by a stove; and banked outside with masses of compact snow. In
the interior the sides were lined with fourteen sleeping-berths. A
table and chairs and lamps added to the general comfort; so that our
explorers were prepared to brave a Polar winter under more favourable
conditions than those experienced by most Arctic navigators.

In the course of a few days a party of native Eskimos, with five
sledges, made their appearance, and their friendly labours were
found of no little value. They considered themselves amply repaid by
a few presents of knives, needles, and the like, and after a short
stay returned to their settlement at Etah. However, others soon
took their place; and eventually two or three families built their
_igloes_ in the neighbourhood of the American camp. The Eskimo
women made themselves very useful by making and repairing clothing, and
rendering other feminine courtesies; while the men, when game became
plentiful, supplied the little settlement with a welcome abundance of
fresh meat. Nor was this the only advantage derived from the presence
of the Eskimos; on the contrary, it had an excellent effect on the
_morale_ of the men, who did not feel that utter isolation, that
sense of being cut off from human companionship, and separated from the
rest of the world, which is one of the severest trials of wintering in
the Arctic regions. The heavy pressure of the long, dark Polar night
was wonderfully lightened by the kindly attentions and mirthful society
of the Eskimos.

It is probable that some of the _Polaris_ crew never spent a
happier winter. There was no want of food, no suffering from cold;
their quarters were warm, cheerful, and well-lighted. Time did not hang
heavily on their hands; for when the house-work was done, when the
fires were replenished, the lamps trimmed, and the day’s provisions
cooked, they amused themselves with reading or writing, or played at
chess, draughts, and cards. It is true they had no communication with
the world without, and no intelligence could reach them from friends
or kinsmen; but, _surgit amari aliquid_--in the cup of human
happiness a bitter drop is always found!

When the worst of the winter was past, they began, under the direction
of the carpenter, to construct a couple of boats, with the view of
returning homeward as soon as the ice broke up. Each was twenty-five
feet long, square fore and aft, and five feet beam; capable, that
is, of carrying seven men, with provisions for about two months, in
which time they might reasonably calculate on reaching the civilized
settlements. It was the end of May before the condition of the ice
enabled them to set out. Then they broke up their camp, rewarded their
Eskimo friends, carried on board stores and provisions; and, finally,
early on the morning of the 1st of June they bade farewell to their
winter-home, and sailed out into the waters of Smith Sound.

Their voyage was unmarked by any disastrous incident, and presents
a strange contrast to the dangerous experiences of Tyson and his
companions. Wherever they landed, they obtained an abundant supply of
aquatic birds, seal, and other game. They were all in good health,
well-fed, well-clothed. Their boats were sound and strong. The winter
had long passed away, and the glorious summer sun poured its full
radiance on the calm surface of the Arctic sea. Sailing pleasantly
along, they touched at Hakluyt Island, and subsequently landed on the
west shore of Northumberland Island. The pack-ice detained them there
until the 10th. They then entered a water-way toward Cape Parry, but
were subsequently forced back by the ice to the place whence they had
started. On the 12th the channel was clearer. They set sail again;
crossed the southern part of Murchison Sound; doubled Cape Parry; and
halted for rest and refreshment on Blackwood Point, near Fitz Clarence
Rock. Thence they made, in due succession, for Wolstenholme Island, and
Cape York,--names which recall the adventures of the earlier explorers.

Their course now assumed a more difficult character, as they had come
face to face with the ice of Melville Bay,--that great expanse of
Arctic waters which is surrounded by glacier-loaded shores, and has
always been a favourite “whaling-ground.” Here they encountered some
difficulty with the “pack;” the “leads,” or water-ways, curiously
intersecting one another, and striking far into the ice, and so closing
up that it was often necessary to haul their boats across a kind of
promontory, or tongue, from one lead to another. Their troubles,
however, were of brief duration. On the twentieth day after leaving
Life-boat Cove, they sighted a steamer, beset in the ice, at a distance
of thirty or thirty-five miles from Cape York. She could not come to
_them_, it was true, but they could go to her; and this they
prepared to do. They had not traversed half the distance, however,
before they met a body of eighteen men from the ship; for they too
had been seen, and recognized as white men, and relief immediately
despatched. The friendly vessel proved to be the _Ravenscraig_ of
Dundee, Captain Allen, lying in lat. 75° 38’ N., and long. 65° 35’ W.

It was now found, according to the narrative of the expedition,
that the relief did not come much too soon, for the boats had been
considerably injured by contact with the rough hummocky ice. And the
fatigue of hauling them over such a surface may be inferred from
the fact that it took the _Polaris_ crew, with their eighteen
relief-men from the _Ravenscraig_, six hours to reach the latter
vessel. The difficulty was increased by a deep slushy snow, which lay
thick upon the ice, and which was not only heavy and disagreeable to
the wayfarer, but exceedingly dangerous, as more than one found by
sinking into the pitfalls it treacherously concealed.

But they reached the _Ravenscraig_ at midnight, and received a
hearty welcome from Captain Allen, who was able also to communicate
the grateful intelligence that their comrades, the little company sent
adrift on the ice-raft, were all in safety.

It has been well said that the _Polaris_ expedition proved
curiously prolific of startling and exciting incidents. From the time
when Captain Bartlett of the _Tigress_ rescued the “exhausted
waifs” of the ice-floe, until the last scene in this romantic drama
was enacted, the public mind had been kept in a condition of continual
expectancy by the progress of events connected with the story of these
Arctic explorers. The lamentable death of Captain Hall,--the long
voyage on the ice-floe through the gloom of the Polar night,--the
return of the nineteen castaways after so many hairbreadth escapes
and wonderful adventures,--the departure of the _Tigress_,--the
discovery of Buddington’s winter-camp,--and now the rescue of him
and his crew by the Dundee whaler, formed a series of surprising and
exciting events, which, if not of epical interest, would certainly seem
to furnish matter for a poet’s song. Even the early annals of Arctic
exploration, with their narratives of the achievements and sufferings
of Hudson, Davis, Barentz, present no incidents of a more remarkable
character. As men dwelt upon them, they came to acknowledge that the
“age of romance” was not ended yet.

On the 18th of September 1873, the _Arctic_ whaling-steamer arrived at
Dundee with eleven of the _Polaris_ survivors, who had been transferred
to her from the _Ravenscraig_, as the latter was not homeward bound.
Three others reached America in the _Intrepid_; and thus the expedition
of the _Polaris_ terminated without any loss of life, if we except the
unfortunate death of her enthusiastic commander, Captain Hall.

It added nothing, it is true, to our geographical knowledge of the
Arctic World; and yet it was not without some useful results. The
_Polaris_, at all events, approached nearer to the North Pole
than any one of her predecessors; and men of science were thenceforth
justified in asserting that the hope of complete success was no longer
chimerical. The distance to the pole from the point reached by the
_Polaris_ was comparatively so trivial, as to afford good reason
for believing that it would not long baffle human resolution and
enterprise. Then, again, it was established as a fact beyond doubt that
Europeans could securely winter in a latitude of 81° 38’; that a ship
well built and well equipped might push northward as far as 82° 16’;
and that no insuperable obstacles to its further advance could then be
detected. It was also shown that the temperature, even in lat. 82°, was
not of a nature to overcome the energy and enthusiasm of men accustomed
to life and adventure in the Arctic World. These data, so conclusively
established by experience, constituted a source of great encouragement
to future navigators, and permit the conclusion that the _Polaris_
expedition, with all its disasters and mismanagement, helped forward
the great work of discovering the North Pole.

“We now know,” says Mr. Markham, “that the American vessel commanded by
Captain Hall passed up the strait, in one working season, for a direct
distance of two hundred and fifty miles, without a check of any kind,
reaching lat. 82° 16’ N.; and that at her furthest point the sea was
still navigable, with a water-sky to the northward.”

The _Polaris_, however, was nothing better than a river-steamer
of small power, ill adapted for encountering the perils of Arctic
navigation,--with a crew, all told, of thirty men, women, and children,
including eight Eskimos. If she could accomplish such a voyage without
difficulty, and could attain so high a latitude, it was reasonable to
anticipate that a properly equipped English expedition, under equally
favourable circumstances, would do, not only as much, but much more,
and carry the British flag into the waters of the circumpolar sea, if
such existed. With this view, the Admiralty fitted out the _Alert_
and the _Discovery_, under Captains Nares and Stephenson. Every
precaution that science could suggest was adopted to ensure the
completeness of their equipment; and the two ships, accompanied as far
as Disco by H.M.S. _Valorous_ as a tender, left England on the
29th May 1875.

* * * * *

The British Expedition, consisting of the _Alert_ and the
_Discovery_, did not succeed in all it was intended to accomplish;
and yet it can hardly be spoken of as a failure. It did not reach that
conventional point of geographers, the North Pole, but it penetrated
within four hundred miles of it; and it ascertained the exact nature of
the obstacles which render access impossible, except under conditions
not at present in existence. We agree with a thoughtful writer in the
_Spectator_ that this was a most important service rendered both
to Science and the State. We now know that by the Smith Sound route a
ship may attain to within 450 miles of the Pole; and that, afterwards,
a journey about as long as from London to Edinburgh must be undertaken,
in a rigorous climate, with the thermometer 50° below zero, over ice
packed up into hillocks and hummocks which render sledge-travelling
almost impracticable, or practicable only by hewing out a path with
the pickaxe at the rate of a mile and a half a day. And further: the
work would have to be begun and completed in four months, or, from lack
of light and warmth, it could not be done at all. These are serious
difficulties, and whether it is worth while for men to encounter them,
where the gain would be problematical, we need not here inquire.
Before any attempt can be made, some provision must be discovered
for protecting those who make it against the excessive cold, and for
a surer and swifter mode of conveyance than the sledge affords. The
journalist to whom we have referred speculates that science may furnish
future expeditions with undreamt-of resources,--with portable light
and heat, for instance, from the newly-discovered mines at Disco;
preventives against scurvy; electric lights; supplies of dynamite for
blowing up the ice; and a traction-engine to traverse the road thus
constructed; but, in the meantime, these appliances are not at our
command. We must be content with the measure of success achieved by
Captain Nares and his gallant followers.

And these well deserve the gratitude of all who think the fame and
honour of a nation are precious possessions. They have shown clearly
that the “race” has not degenerated; that Englishmen can do and suffer
now as they did and suffered in the old time. They displayed a courage
and a fortitude of truly heroic proportions. And the experiences of
Arctic voyaging are always of a nature to require the highest courage
and the sternest fortitude. The long Arctic night is in itself as
severe a test of true manhood as can well be devised. The miner works
under conditions for less laborious than those to which the Arctic
explorer submits, for he enjoys an alternation of light and darkness;
his underground toil lasts but for a few hours at a time. Yet we know
that it tries a man’s manly qualities sorely! What, then, must it be to
keep brave and cheerful and true throughout a prolonged night of one
hundred and forty-two days--that apparently endless darkness, almost
the darkness of a sunless world?

We know, too, that continuous work, without relaxation, for month
after month, will break down the nerves and shatter the intellect of
the strongest. Yet we read that the men of the _Alert_ toiled
like slaves, on one occasion, for seventy-two days, in cold so extreme
that the reader can form no conception of its severity, and with the
dread constantly hanging over them of that terrible and most depressing
disease, scurvy. Owing to their inability to procure any fresh game, as
most former expeditions had done, each of the extended sledge-parties,
when at their farthest distance from any help, was attacked by it.
The return-journeys were, therefore, a prolonged homeward struggle of
men who grew weaker at every step, the available force to draw the
sledge continually decreasing, and the weight to be dragged as steadily
increasing, as, one after another, the men stricken down had to be
carried by their enfeebled comrades.

It has been well said that in such exploits as these there is a
sustained heroism which we cannot fully appreciate, because we cannot
fully realize the terrible character of the sacrifices involved. But it
is comparatively easy for us to understand, and therefore to admire,
the courage of Lieutenant Parr, when he started alone on a journey
of thirty-five miles, with no other guide for his adventurous steps
than the fresh track of a wandering wolf over the ice and snow, in
order to carry help and comfort to his failing comrades. It is easy
to understand, and therefore to admire, the devotion of Mr. Egerton
and Lieutenant Rawson, when, at the imminent risk of their own lives,
they nursed Petersen, the interpreter, while travelling from the
_Alert_ to the _Discovery_, with the temperature 40° below
zero. Petersen, who had accompanied them with the dog-sledge, fell ill;
and with a noble unselfishness they succeeded in retaining heat in the
poor fellow’s body by alternately lying one at a time alongside of him,
while the other by exercise was recovering his own vital warmth. We
can also acknowledge and admire the constancy of Captain Nares, who,
in that horrible climate, lived thirty-six days in the “crow’s-nest,”
while his ship laboured among the grinding, shivering, crushing ice,
until exhaustion overcame him. And we can acknowledge and admire the
bravery and faithfulness of the men of the sledge-parties who, for days
and weeks, drew the sledges and their comrades, with gloom above and
around them, ice and snow everywhere bounding the prospect, and in a
temperature which seemed to freeze the blood and benumb the heart.

What a tale, says a writer in the _Times_, what a tale of
unrequited suffering it is! Surely not “unrequited;” for those who
suffered, suffered at the call of duty, and have been rewarded by the
approval of their countrymen, and by the consciousness of having done
something great, of not having lived in vain. “How lightly do all talk
of glory; how little do they know what it means! The little army had to
cut its way through the ice-barriers, dragging heavily-laden sledges,
and going to and fro, the whole force being often required for each
sledge, content to make a mile and a quarter a day, in pursuit of an
object still four hundred miles off, through increasing difficulties,
and with barely five months, or one hundred and fifty days, wherein
to go and return. The labour is a dreadful reality; the scheme itself
a nightmare, the phantasy of a disordered brain. Even the smaller and
subsidiary expedition for planting a depôt last autumn cost three
amputations. The cold was beyond all former experience for intensity
and length, and the physical effect of a long winter spent in the ships
under such conditions is particularized as one reason why the men
were less able to endure cold, labour, and the want of proper food.
Every one of the expeditions, whatever the direction, came back in the
saddest plight,--some dragging the rest, and in one case only reaching
the ship through the heroism of an officer pushing on many miles alone
to announce his returning comrades, and to procure the aid by which
alone they were saved from destruction. These are episodes, but they
are the matter which redeems the story and makes its truest value. They
tell us what Englishmen will do on occasions beyond our feeble home
apprehensions, when once they have accepted a call, and are in duty
bound.”

* * * * *

At the time we write no elaborate record of the expedition has been
published, and the materials of the following sketch are collected
therefore from various narratives which have appeared in the daily
journals. We shall begin by endeavouring to place before the reader,
with the assistance of Mr. Clements R. Markham, a rapid summary of
what the expedition accomplished. And then we shall describe its more
interesting incidents.

* * * * *

The object of Captain Nares and his followers was to discover
and explore as considerable a portion of the unknown area in the
Polar Regions as was possible with reference to the means at their
disposal, and to the positions the vessels succeeded in reaching as
starting-points. The theories about open Polar basins and navigable
waters which once obtained have long been discarded by practical Arctic
geographers. A coast-line, however, is needful as a means of progress
to “the threshold of work;” and it is needful, too, in order to secure
the desired results of Arctic discovery in the various departments of
scientific inquiry.

The expedition, then, in the first place, had to force its way through
the ice-encumbered channel which connects Baffin Bay with the Polar
Ocean; a channel which successively bears the names of Smith Sound,
Kane Basin, Kennedy Channel, Hall Basin, and Robeson Strait. Smith
Sound opens out of Baffin Bay between Capes Alexander and Isabella. The
_Alert_ and the _Discovery_ passed these famous headlands and
entered the Sound on July 29, 1875; and from that date until September
1, when the _Alert_ crossed the Threshold of the Unknown Region,
they fought one continuous battle with the ice. The _Polaris_,
it is true, had made a rapid passage on the occasion of its memorable
voyage; but the circumstances were exceptional. Generally the Sound is
blocked up by heavy floes, with winding waters caused by the action
of wind and tide. With great difficulty our two ships forced the
barrier; but their success was due in no small measure to the skill
and vigilance of Captain Nares, who allowed himself no rest until
they were out of danger. At length, after many hairbreadth escapes,
and many laborious nights and days, and much energy and devotion on
the part of the officers, and equal courage and industry on the part
of the men, the expedition reached the north shore of Lady Franklin
Inlet, and found a safe, commodious harbour in lat. 81° 44’ N. Here
the _Discovery_ took up her winter quarters, as had previously
been arranged; and the _Alert_, after a brief interval of repose,
continued her northward progress.

This she was enabled to do through the opportune opening up of a
water-lane between the shore and the ice. Bravely she dashed ahead,
rounded Cape Union, so named by the men of the _Polaris_
expedition, and entered the open Polar Ocean. Then, in lat. 82° 20’
N., the white ensign was hoisted on board a British man-of-war in a
latitude further north than the ship of any nation had reached before.
Soon afterwards the solid masses of the Polar pack-ice began to close
around the adventurous vessel; and on the 3rd of September 1875, the
_Alert_ was fast fixed in her winter quarters, on the ice-bound
shore of the inhospitable Polar Sea in lat. 82° 27’ N.

This, says Mr. Markham,[11] was the first grand success; and it
assured the eventual completion of the work. For, owing to the
admirable seamanship of Captain Nares, and to the zeal and devotion
of the officers and crew, the _Alert_ had been carried across
the Threshold, and was _within_ the Unknown Region. A point of
departure was thus obtained, which rendered certain the achievement of
complete success; inasmuch as in whatever direction the sledge-parties
travelled, valuable discoveries could not fail to be the result.

The autumnal excursions, during which depôts of provisions were
established for use in the work of the coming spring, were not
performed without a very considerable amount of suffering. Lieutenant
May and two seamen were so severely frost-bitten, that, to save their
lives, amputation was found necessary.

As will be seen from the latitude given, the ships wintered further
north than any ships had ever previously wintered. The cold exceeded
anything previously registered, and darkness extended over a dreary
period. The winter, however, was not spent idly: observatories
were erected, and a mass of valuable scientific data industriously
accumulated.

“But the crowning glories of this ever-memorable campaign were,”
as Mr. Markham exclaims, “achieved during the spring.” Three main
sledge-expeditions were organized: one, under Commander Markham and
Lieutenant Parr, instructed to keep due north, as far as possible,
into the newly-discovered Polar Ocean; another, under Lieutenant
Aldrich, to explore the American coast, westward; and the third, under
Lieutenant Beaumont of the _Discovery_, to survey the north coast
of Greenland, facing eastward. Each party consisted of two sledges; and
the six, with their gallant crews, set out on the 3rd of April 1876,
determined to vindicate and maintain the reputation of British seamen.
They separated at Cape Joseph Henry; and before they again met, this
was what they achieved:--

Commander Markham and Lieutenant Parr pushed northward as far as lat.
83° 20’ 26″ N.; being the most northerly point which any explorers have
attained. They may therefore be fairly and justly regarded as “the
Champions” of Arctic Discovery, until some successors, more fortunate
than they, shall surpass their glorious feat.

Lieutenant Aldrich struck westward; rounded Cape Colombia in lat. 83°
7’ N.; and explored 220 miles of the American coast-line, previously
not laid down on any map.

Lieutenant Beaumont crossed Robeson Strait, and surveyed the northern
coast of Greenland for about seventy miles.

“In order,” it is said, “that these three main parties might do their
work successfully, every soul in the two ships was actively employed.
The depôt and relieving parties did most arduous work, and the officers
vied with each other in promoting the objects of the expedition, while
the most perfect harmony and unanimity prevailed. Captain Feilden and
Mr. Hart were especially active in making natural history collections;
and Lieutenants Giffard, Archer, Rawson, Egerton, and Conybeare did
admirable work in exploring and keeping open communications.” When
the sledge-parties returned to the ships, Captain Nares found that
they had suffered terribly; but he also found that their success had
been complete. They had solved a geographical problem; no open sea
surrounded the Pole, as so many sanguine spirits had anticipated. The
way northward was over a waste of ice--of ice broken up into hummocks
and ponderous masses. And with the appliances they possessed further
progress was impossible; the expedition had reached its _ne plus
ultra_.

The work was done, and Captain Nares perceived that nothing more could
be gained, while valuable lives might be lost by remaining longer
in the Polar Ocean. He decided upon returning to England, with the
following rich results to show as the reward of an heroic enterprise:--

First, the expedition had discovered a great Polar Ocean, a knowledge
of which cannot fail to prove of exceeding value to the hydrographer.
Next, the shores of this ocean had been explored along fifty degrees of
longitude, and important collections formed of specimens of the Arctic
fauna, flora, and geology. The channel connecting the Polar Ocean
with Smith Sound had also been carefully surveyed, and an accurate
delineation effected of either shore. Geological discoveries of high
value had also been made; as, for example, that of the former existence
of an evergreen forest in lat. 82° 44’ N.,--a fact significant of vast
climatic changes. And, lastly, interesting observations in meteorology,
magnetism, tidal and electric phenomena, and spectrum analysis had
been carefully recorded. The expedition of 1875–76 must, therefore, in
view of these results, be classed among the most successful which ever
adventured into Arctic waters; though it failed, like its predecessors,
to gain the North Pole.

* * * * *

The _Alert_ and the _Discovery_ left the shores of England
in May 1875. After a voyage of five weeks’ duration they arrived at
Lievely, the port of Disco Island, on the west coast of Greenland.
This small settlement numbers about ninety-six inhabitants, Danes and
Eskimos,--generally speaking, a mixed race. The Danish Inspector of
North Greenland resides here, and he received the expedition with a
salute from three brass cannon planted in front of his house. There
is a well-conducted school, attended by about sixteen children; and
a small church, where the schoolmaster reads the Lutheran service
on Sundays,--the priest coming over from Upernavik occasionally, to
perform marriages, christenings, and other religious services.

The _Alert_ having taken on board thirty Eskimo dogs and a driver,
the expedition left Disco at one o’clock on July 16th, and next morning
reached Kiltenbunto, about thirty miles further north.

Kiltenbunto is a little island in the Strait of Weigattet, between
Disco and the mainland. Here the _Discovery_ took on board thirty
dogs; and shooting-parties from both ships made a descent on a
“loomery,” or “bird-bazaar,” frequented by guillemots, kittiwakes, and
other ocean-birds. Two or three days later the expedition arrived at a
settlement named Proven, where it was joined by the Eskimo dog-driver,
Hans Christian, the attendant of Kane, Hayes, and Hall, in their
several expeditions. At Proven the adventurers received and answered
their last letters from “home.”

Striking northward through Baffin Bay, they reached Cape York on
the 25th of July, and met with a company of the misnamed Arctic
Highlanders, who traversed the ice-floes in their dog-sledges, and
soon fraternized with the seamen. A narwhal having been harpooned,
a quantity of the skin and blubber was given to these Eskimos. Mr.
Hodson, the chaplain of the _Discovery_, describes them as
exceedingly greedy and barbarous, eating whatever fell in their way,
but living chiefly upon seals. They were not so far advanced in
civilization as to be able to construct kayacks, and apparently they
had never before seen Europeans. They wore trousers of bear-skin, and
an upper garment of seal-skin.

Proceeding northward by Dr. Kane’s Crimson Cliffs, they soon reached
that brave explorer’s celebrated winter quarters, Port Foulke, and took
advantage of a day’s delay to visit the Brother John Glacier. They
found Dr. Kane’s journal, but no relics; shot a reindeer, and a large
number of birds.

Between Melville Bay and the entrance to Smith Sound no ice was met
with; but on the 30th of July the “pack” was sighted, off Cape Sabine,
in lat. 78° 41´ N. Here, at Port Payer, the ships were fast held by
the ice for several days. An attempt to proceed further northward was
made to the west of the islands in Hayes Sound; but the water-way
not leading in the right direction, the ships returned. On the 6th
of August they made a fresh start, and thenceforward maintained an
uninterrupted struggle with the ice. The _Alert_ led the way,
with Captain Nares in her “crow’s-nest,” anxiously looking out for
practicable channels. At Cape Frazer the huge solid mass again delayed
them. Then they succeeded in crossing Kennedy Channel to the east
side, and taking shelter in Petermann Fiord--so named after the great
German geographer. After a few days they again pushed northward; and
on the 25th of August, after many narrow escapes from being crushed
in the ice, a well-sheltered harbour received them, on the west side
of Hall Basin, north of Lady Franklin Sound, in lat. 81° 44´ N. This
was at once selected as the winter quarters of the _Discovery_.
Her sister-ship, continuing her course, rounded the north-east point
of Grant Land; but instead of falling in with a continuous coast-line,
stretching one hundred miles further towards the north, as all had
anticipated, found herself on the border of what was evidently a very
extensive sea, with impenetrable ice on every side. As no harbour could
be found, the ship was secured as far north as possible, inside a kind
of embankment of grounded ice close to the land. There she passed the
winter; and during the eleven months of her detention no navigable
water-way, through which she could move further to the north, presented
itself.

Far from meeting with the “great Polar Sea” dreamed of by Kane and
Hayes, our adventurers discovered that the ice-barrier before them
was unusually thick and solid. It looked as if composed of floating
icebergs which had gradually been jammed and welded together.
Henceforth it will be known on our maps as the Palæocrystic Sea, or Sea
of Ancient Ice; and a stranded mass of ice disrupted from an ice-floe
is to be termed a floeberg.

Ordinary ice does not exceed ten feet in thickness; but in the Polar
Sea, generation after generation, layer has been superimposed on
layer, until the whole mass measures from eighty feet to one hundred
and twenty feet; it floats with its surface nowhere less than fifteen
feet above the water-line. It was this wonderful thickness which
prevented the _Alert_ from driving ashore. Owing to its great
depth of flotation, sixty feet to one hundred feet, the mass grounded
on coming into shallow water, and formed a breakwater within which the
ship was comparatively secure. “When two pieces of ordinary ice are
driven one against the other, and the edges broken up, the crushed
pieces are raised by the pressure into a high, long, wall-like hedge
of ice. When two of the ancient floes of the Polar Sea meet, the
intermediate lighter broken-up ice which may happen to be floating
about between them alone suffers; it is pressed up between the two
closing masses to a great height, producing a chaotic wilderness of
angular blocks of all shapes and sizes, varying in height up to fifty
feet above water, and frequently covering an area upwards of a mile in
diameter.”

* * * * *

We must now return to the _Discovery_. As soon as she had taken
up her winter quarters, her crew began to unload her, landing the
boats, stores, and spare spars, and otherwise preparing for the
winter. The first day ashore they shot a herd of eleven musk-oxen. A
few days afterwards the sea was frozen all round the ship, so that
they could freely move to and fro about the ice. A week later they saw
a large number of musk-oxen, and shot about forty--thus laying in a
considerable supply of provisions.

Their winter port, which was surrounded by snow-clad hills, about two
thousand feet high, they christened Discovery Harbour.

As soon as the sea was completely frozen over, the sledging-parties
were organized and duly despatched; but as the autumn was rapidly
passing, very little could be done in this direction. The usual
preparations on the part of Arctic explorers were then made for
“hybernating.” Houses were built; also a magnetic observatory and
a theatre of ice--recalling the glittering edifice constructed by
Catherine II. of Russia on the Neva, and celebrated by Cowper in the
well-known lines,--

“No forest fell
When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores
To enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods,
And make thy marble of the glassy wave.”

A smithy was erected on the 11th of November, being the first the
Arctic ice had ever borne. Its roof was made of coal-bags, cemented
with ice. The ship’s stoker reigned supreme in it as blacksmith; and
when we consider the accessories,--the ice, the snow, the darkness,--we
must admit that his blazing forge must have made a curious picture. The
chaplain tells us, humorously, that the smith adorned the interior wall
with a good many holes, as each time that his iron wanted cooling he
simply thrust it into the ice!

As for the theatre, which, as we know, has always been a favourite
source of amusement with Arctic explorers when winter-bound, it
was sixty feet long and twenty-seven feet broad; and, in honour of
the Princess of Wales, was named “The Alexandra.” Her birthday was
selected as the day of opening--December 1st; and the opening piece
was a popular farce--“My Turn Next.” As sailors are generally adepts
at dramatic personations, we may conceive that the piece “went well,”
and that the different actors received the applause they merited. It
is recorded that foremost among them was the engineer, Mr. Miller, who
appears to have been, emphatically, the _Polar Star_. Several of
the men sung songs; and recitations, old and new, were occasionally
introduced; the result of the whole being to divert the minds and keep
up the spirits of the ship’s company during the long, long Arctic night.

The Fifth of November and its time-honoured associations were not
forgotten. A huge bonfire blazed on the ice; a “Guy Fawkes” was
manufactured and dressed in the most approved fashion; and the silence
of the frozen solitudes was broken by the sounds of a grand display of
fireworks and the cheering of the spectators.

A fine level promenade had been constructed on the ice, about a mile in
length, by sweeping away the snow; and this served as a daily exercise
ground. A skating-rink was also constructed. A free hole in the ice,
for the sake of better ventilation, was carefully kept up. Whenever it
closed, through a process of gradual congelation, the ice-saws were set
in motion to open it up again, or it was blasted with gunpowder. The
dogs lived on the ice-floe all the winter. It must not be thought that
the cold was uniform day after day. Probably it is not the _low_
temperature so much as the _variable_ temperature that makes an
Arctic winter so very trying to the European. In a few hours the change
would be no less than 60°. The cold reached its height--or depth--in
winter, when the thermometer marked 70½° below zero; the greatest cold
ever experienced by any Polar expedition. It is difficult for the human
frame to bear up against this excess of rigour, even with the help of
good fires, good food, and good clothing. Not only the physical but the
mental faculties are debilitated and depressed.

Our ice-bound seamen, however, managed to keep Christmas merrily.
Early on the day so dear to Christian memories “the waits” went their
usual rounds,--a sergeant of marines, the chief boatswain’s mates,
and three other volunteers,--singing Christmas carols, and making “a
special stay outside the captain’s cabin.” In the forenoon prayers
were said on the lower deck; after which the captain and officers
visited the men’s mess, tasting the Christmas pudding, and examining
the tasteful decorations which had been improvised. Then the gifts
which, in anticipation of the day, had been sent out by kindly English
hearts, were distributed by the captain,--to each gift the name of the
recipient having been previously attached. This was an affecting scene;
and hearty, though not without a touch of pathos in them, were the
cheers given as the distribution took place; a distribution recalling
so many “old familiar faces,” and all the sweet associations and gentle
thoughts of home! Cheers were also raised for the captain and men of
the far-away _Alert_. Next, a choir was formed, and echo resounded
with the strains of “O the Roast Beef of Old England!” of which, no
doubt, many of the singers entertained a very affectionate remembrance.
The men dined at twelve and the officers at five, and the day seems in
every respect to have been most successful as a festival.

A few particulars of the “situation” may here be given in the
chaplain’s own words:--“We had brought fish, beef, and mutton from
England,” he says, “all of which we hung up on one of the masts, and
it was soon as hard as a brick, and perfectly preserved. We had also
brought some sheep from England with us, and they were killed from time
to time. When we arrived in Discovery Bay, as we called it, six of them
were alive; but on being landed they were worried by the dogs, and had
to be slaughtered. During the winter the men had to fetch ice from a
berg about half a mile distant from the ship, in order to melt it for
fresh water.”

At last the long Arctic night came to an end. It was with emotions of
hope and gratitude and joy that the explorers welcomed the first rays
of the returning sun on the last day of February. For four months they
had lived in obscurity and gloom, with the exception of such relief as
the stars and the moon had occasionally afforded. On the day of the
sun’s return to the Polar World, it was known that it would rise at
about twelve o’clock, and everybody ascended the hills for the purpose
of hailing the glorious spectacle. The mists and fogs, however, baffled
their expectations; and though they _felt_ its influence, they did
not see it for some days after it had mounted above the horizon.

News was brought from the _Alert_ by two officers and two men
towards the end of March. They had accomplished the journey with the
thermometer at 40° below zero, and had occupied six days in making
it. The officers were Lieutenant Rawson and Mr. Egerton, who had
started at first in company with Petersen, the interpreter, but had
been compelled to return with him, as already narrated, because he was
severely frost-bitten. Directly they returned to the _Discovery_,
preparations were made for sending out the sledge-parties. Two officers
and three men, with a dog-sledge, started across Robeson Channel to
Hall’s Rest, the winter quarters of the _Polaris_, to report
on the stores left by the American vessel, which the United States
Government had placed at the disposal of the British expedition. They
reappeared on the fifth day, with the information that they had found
biscuit, pemmican, preserved meat, molasses, and other articles. They
had lived in a wooden observatory that they found erected there.
Captain Hall’s grave was in excellent preservation; and they set up a
head-board, with an inscription on it, to mark its situation.

Lieutenant Beaumont and Mr. Coppinger, the surgeon, each
with an eight-man sledge--or, rather, with seven men besides
themselves--started for the _Alert_, in quest of the other
sledge which had wintered with that vessel; their design being to
cross Robeson Channel, and explore the North Greenland coast. In this
journey, owing to the “hummocky” character of the ice, they spent
twelve days.

Two days later, a third party, consisting of a twelve-man sledge and
an eight-man sledge, with two officers, proceeded to survey the shores
of Lady Franklin Sound. The captain accompanied them in the eight-man
sledge, and was absent about a week; but the twelve-man sledge, which
had gone merely to carry stores and provisions for the other, did not
return for a fortnight, the sledge having been damaged, and one of the
marines severely frost-bitten in the heel. The other sledge, after an
absence of about four weeks, returned in safety,--having discovered
that Lady Franklin Strait, as the Americans call it, was a sound or
fiord about sixty miles long. They had fallen in with some musk-oxen,
which were too wild to be got at; and had seen three or four glaciers,
and hills three thousand feet in height.

About June the warm summer began to assert itself, and in the rays
of the sun their icehouses melted away, like the baseless fabric of
a vision. So the sledging-party last spoken of adventured across the
ice to Polaris Bay, taking with them a life-boat as a precaution (for
the ice might at any time have broken up), and a supply of provisions
for the use of the North Greenland expedition. This work done, they
returned to the ship, leaving behind them two officers and three men,
who pushed up Petermann Fiord for about eight miles, until arrested by
the impenetrable barrier of a huge glacier.

On returning from their explorations they found that Lieutenant
Newsome, with four men, of whom one had died of scurvy on the way,
had accidentally separated from the North Greenland party, and reached
Petermann Fiord on the 3rd of June. All were seriously ill of scurvy,
except Mr. Rawson and a marine. Under Dr. Coppinger’s skill and
care, however, they recovered. As soon as possible, the doctor, with
Mr. Newsome and the Eskimos, started in a dog-sledge to gather some
information about the other members of the North Greenland party. In
a day or two they fell in with them; and not too soon, for all were
thoroughly exhausted. They had abandoned everything, and when the
doctor arrived were without food. Four of them, who were accommodated
on the sledge, were broken down with scurvy, and two others had been
attacked slightly. What was to be done in this critical position of
affairs? At first it was thought advisable to remain on the spot
for a while, and see if the Eskimos could shoot a seal. But a day’s
experience showed that this plan would not answer; and they then
resolved to carry the two worst invalids on the dog-sledge to Hall’s
Rest. This was accomplished, and the poor fellows seemed to grow better
when nourished by seal-soup and proper food; but on the following
morning one of them sank and died. The life of the other hung for some
time in the balance. The whole company were now invalided; and Hall’s
Rest might fitly have been termed Hall’s Hospital.

A few days--weary, melancholy days--having elapsed, an officer, with
a couple of men, was sent across to the ship to report the serious
condition of affairs. As it was the end of June, the ice had broken
up in many places, and the traject of the strait was not accomplished
without difficulty, and frequent immersions in the water. No sooner did
Captain Stephenson learn how the party were situated, than he set out,
with seven men, to carry a supply of medicines, provisions, and various
comforts. They had with them a boat and a sledge on a four-wheeled car,
and in this they crossed the land to the margin of the sea, a distance
of about six miles. Sometimes the boat was called into requisition to
carry themselves and the sledge from floe to floe. With half of the men
they returned in a few days, leaving the rest in charge of Lieutenant
Beaumont and Dr. Coppinger, until they had made more progress towards
recovery.

Early in August an officer arrived from the _Alert_, to report
that she had moved southward, and was only about ten miles distant;
and that Captain Nares, considering the main objects of the expedition
secured, had decided on returning to England. About the same time
returned the North Greenland party, their provisions having failed
them. A few days later, and, having made her way through the broken
ice, the _Alert_ joined the _Discovery_ in Discovery Bay.
Mr. Beaumont’s party next arrived; and both vessels prepared for the
homeward voyage. They left Discovery Bay, as we shall see, on the 28th
of August.

* * * * *

Let us now return to the _Alert_, which we left embedded in the
ice of the North Polar Ocean.

Her crew made shift to spend a tolerably merry winter, availing
themselves of the usual resources of Arctic explorers under similar
conditions. The day’s order was much as follows:--At 6.45 A.M.
the commander was called, and all hands were piped up on deck; and the
hammocks having been previously stowed away and the decks cleansed,
everybody sat down, with vigorous appetite, to breakfast. The
steerage and lower deck were afterwards cleared up, and soon after 9
A.M. the men were told off for their respective daily duties.
At 10 A.M. another general parade of the crew was summoned,
and, as a preventive against scurvy, the day’s dose of lime juice
was administered. Then the crew went to quarters; the usual careful
inspection took place; and the chaplain read prayers. At one o’clock
the deck was cleared, and “dinner smoked upon the board.” On days when
the darkness was not too intense the crew turned out to work upon the
ice, or took their turn at walking exercise and amusements. They were
thus occupied until supper, which was served at about five o’clock;
and followed by evening school, the duties of which proved equally
agreeable to the officers who taught and the men who learned. Soon
after nine the officers in charge inspected the ship to see that all
was quiet for the night. At ten out went the lights of the chief petty
officers, and at eleven those of the wardroom.

This daily routine was freely interrupted on festival occasions.
Guy Fawkes’ Day was celebrated as hilariously as by the men of the
_Discovery_; and it is a curious illustration of the strength of
old English traditions, that the merry-making customs of the Fifth of
November should be thus closely observed by both the ice-bound vessels.
Due honours were also paid to Father Christmas; nor was New-Year’s Day
forgotten. Dramatic talent existed among the men of the _Alert_
in sufficient force to provide a regular dramatic company. The “Royal
Arctic Theatre” was erected in Funnel Row, and entertainments given
weekly. The programmes of the “Thursday Pops,” as they were commonly
called, were thrown off at a printing-press established in Trap Lane
by Messrs. Giffard and Simmons; and from one of these we gather that
the Royal Arctic Theatre opened for the season “under the distinguished
patronage of Captain Nares, the members of the Arctic Expedition, and
all the nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood,” on the 18th of
November 1875. The orchestra consisted of one eminent pianist, Signor
Aldrichi (Lieutenant Aldrich); and the scenic artist was Dr. Moss.
The performances commenced at 7.30; and “sledges” might be ordered at
nine o’clock. They were by no means wholly dramatic. The bill of fare
included scientific and historical lectures, readings and recitations,
songs and instrumental music, ranging from grave to gay, from lively to
severe; and now and then, to draw a bumper house, some such attraction
as feats of legerdemain by “the real Wizard of the North, on his way
to the Hyperborean Regions;” acrobatic feats by “the Bounding Brothers
of the Frigid Zone;” or the vocal performances of the “Pale-o’-Christy
Minstrels,” who “never sing in London.” The plays produced were an
original burlesque operetta, “The Vulgar Little Boy; or, Weeping Bill”
(founded on Barham’s popular “Misadventures at Margate”), written
expressly by the ship’s chaplain, the Rev. W. H. Pullen, author of the
well-known political squib, “Dame Europa’s School;” “Aladdin; or, The
Wonderful Scamp;” “Boots at the Swan;” and “The Area Belle.” The last
and grand night was March 2nd, 1876,--when Captain Nares lectured on
“The Palæocrystic Sea, and Sledging Experiences;” and after a variety
of songs and readings, the company and audience sang a grand choral
strain, “The Palæocrystic Chorus,” which we borrow from the pages of
the _Graphic_:--

“Not very long ago,
On the six-foot floe
Of the Palæocrystic Sea,
Two ships did ride
’Mid the crushing of the tide,
The _Alert_ and the _Discovery_.

“The sun never shone
Their gallant crews upon
For a hundred and forty-two days;
But no darkness and no hummocks
Their merry hearts could flummox,
So they set to work and acted plays.

“There was music and song
To help the hours along,
Brought forth from the good ship’s store;
And each man did his best
To amuse and cheer the rest,
And ‘nobody can’t do more.’

“Here’s a health to _Marco Polo_;
May he reach his northern goal oh!
And advance the flag of England into realms unknown;
May the _Challenger_ be there
All courses bold to dare,
And _Victoria_ be victorious in the Frozen Zone.

“May our _Poppie_ be in sight
With her colours streaming bright;
And the _Bulldog_ tug on merrily from strand to strand;
And the _Alexandra_ brave
See our banner proudly wave,
O’er the highest cliffs and summits of the northernmost land.

“Here’s a health to Hercules,
Whom the autumn blast did freeze,
And all our gallant fellows by the frost laid low.
Just wait a little longer,
Till they get a trifle stronger,
And they’ll never pull the worse for having lost a toe.

“Here’s a health with three times three
To the brave _Discovery_,
And our merry, merry guests so truly welcome here;
And a brimming bumper yet
To our gallant little pet,
The lively _Clements Markham_ with its bold charioteer.

“Here’s a health to all true blue,
To the officers and crew,
Who man this expedition neat and handy oh!
And may they ever prove,
Both in Sledging and in Love,
That the tars of old Britannia are the dandy oh!”

In explanation of some passages in the foregoing spirited effusion,
we may state that the six sledges belonging to the _Alert_ were named
respectively, _Marco Polo_, _Victoria_, _Challenger_, _Poppie_,
_Bulldog_, and _Alexandra_. “Hercules” appears to have been the
nickname of one of the strong men of the ship.

* * * * *

The _Alert_ wintered so far north, that its officers and
men failed to meet with some of the usual accessories of a Polar
expedition. There were no Polar bears; no Eskimos; even auroral
displays were infrequent. On the other hand, the darkness is described
as not having been particularly dense. The reflection of the snow, and
the keen “light of stars,” considerably mitigated the “deep obscure;”
and once in every fourteen days the splendour of the moon illuminated
the weird outlines of the monotonous Arctic scenery.

Some sledging was done in the autumn, though spring is the season when
it can best be undertaken. The _Alert_ was no sooner made all snug
in her winter quarters, than sledging-parties carried provisions and
boats along the shore both northward and westward, ready for use by
expeditions in the following spring; the depôt being planted within a
mile of the farthest northern position hitherto attained by civilized
man. After a terrible journey of twenty days’ duration, the travellers
returned on the 14th of October, just two days after the disappearance
of the sun. The snow fell heavily, and, by protecting the sloppy ice
from the intense frost, rendered travelling difficult. The men’s shoes
got thoroughly wet; hence several were frost-bitten, and one officer
and two men, on their return, were compelled to undergo amputation.
Beneath the cliffs lay great dense, deep snow-wreaths, and in many
places a road had to be excavated to the depth of six feet. The men
sunk to their waists. The sledge was often completely buried. It needed
all Lieutenant Rawson’s resolution and patience to bring back his
little company in safety.

The main sledging-party, under Commander Markham, with Lieutenants
Parr and May, and twenty-five men, left the _Alert_ on the 25th
of September, for the purpose of establishing a depôt at Cape Joseph
Henry. They advanced three miles beyond Sir Edward Parry’s northernmost
point, and, from a mountain 2000 feet high, sighted land towards
the west-north-west, as far as lat. 83° 7’ N., but saw none to the
northward.

With the return of the sun on the 29th of February, Captain Nares began
his preparations for the spring sledging-expeditions, organizing two
main detachments: one, bound northward, under Commander Markham and
Lieutenant Parr, with fifteen men, supported by Dr. Moss and Mr. White,
with two seven-man sledges; and another, bound westward, consisting of
two seven-man sledges, led by Lieutenants Aldrich and Giffard.

On the 12th of March, Lieutenant Rawson and Mr. Egerton, as
already narrated, started off to open up communication with the
_Discovery_, but were compelled to return by the illness of
Petersen, whom they nursed on the way with womanlike tenderness and
devotion. In the following week, accompanied by Simmons, of the
_Alert_, and Regan, of the _Discovery_, they resumed their
adventurous track across the hummocky ice, with the temperature 40°
below zero, enduring much, but pushing forward undauntedly. When their
comrades of the _Discovery_ condoled with them on account of
frost-bitten cheeks, and noses, and fingers, it was with the frank,
blithe heroism of the true British seaman that Lieutenant Rawson
replied,--“Well, at least we feel that the cheers from Southsea beach
have been fairly earned.”

The sledging-expeditions began in earnest in the first week of April,
only a few men being left on board each ship. Captain Stephenson,
of the _Discovery_, paid a visit to the _Alert_, and also
crossed Hall’s Basin twice to Greenland. Captain Nares, with Captain
Feilden, was not less energetic; and for a considerable area round the
two ships all was activity and motion. When at Polaris Bay, Captain
Stephenson, in memory of the gallant and unfortunate Hall, hoisted the
American ensign, and erected a brass tablet above the explorer’s lonely
grave. It bears the following inscription:--

“Sacred to the memory of Captain C. F. Hall, of the U.S. ship
_Polaris_, who sacrificed his life in the advancement of science
on November 8, 1871. This tablet has been erected by the British Polar
Expedition of 1875, who, following in his footsteps, have profited by
his experience.”

It may be noted here, in illustration of the labour attendant on the
equipment of an Arctic sledge-party, and the despatch of provisions
for their sustenance, that, in order to support the expeditions on the
north coast of Greenland and in Petermann Fiord, “Robeson Channel was
crossed eleven times from the position of the _Alert_ to a depôt
established north of Cape Brevoort, and Hall’s Basin eleven times
between Discovery Bay and Polaris Bay; making a total of twenty-two
sledge-parties crossing the straits, including the transporting of
two boats. The main depôt at Cape Joseph Henry, for the support of
the northern and western divisions, thirty-seven miles from the
_Alert_, was visited by sixteen different sledges.”

Our travellers did not fail to examine the various cairns erected by
the seamen of the _Polaris_. At one place a box chronometer was
found to be in excellent order, though it had undergone the test of
four Arctic winters. And some wheat, which the _Polaris_ had
brought out in order to ascertain the effect upon it of exposure to
extreme cold, was successfully cultivated under a glass shade by Dr.
Ninnis--almost as interesting an experiment in its way as the sowing
and successful harvesting of Mummy wheat, the grains found in ancient
Egyptian sepulchres.

The British expedition had advanced so far north that it was beyond the
life-limit of bears, birds, and even seals; and the sledging-parties,
unable therefore to obtain any fresh game, were severely attacked by
scurvy. This fell disease invariably broke out when its victims were
farthest from any assistance. The journeys back to the ships were
consequently undertaken, as we have already pointed out, by men whose
strength decreased daily; and the burden became all the greater as man
after man was smitten down, and, to save his life, placed upon the
sledge. Great was the alarm on board the _Alert_, when, towards
the close of the 8th of June, Lieutenant Parr suddenly presented
himself. He was alone. Where were his comrades? What calamity had
befallen them? He soon explained that he had undertaken a journey
of thirty-five miles, toiling for twenty-two hours through mist and
drift and snow, and guided only by the fresh track of a stray wolf,
to convey the news of the prostrated condition of the members of the
northern expedition. Preparations were immediately made for hastening
to their assistance. With the help of the officers, who all volunteered
to drag the sledges, Captain Nares was able by midnight to start with
two strong relief-parties--Messrs. Egerton, Conybeare, Wootton, and
White, the officers who could best be spared from the ship, taking
their places at the drag-ropes; and Lieutenant May and Dr. Moss pushing
forward with a supply of medicines in the dog-sledge.

Such was the alacrity and energy of the two latter, that they contrived
to reach Commander Markham’s encampment within fifty hours of the
departure of Lieutenant Parr; though, unfortunately, not in time to
save the life of one of the marines, who but a few hours before had
expired and been buried in the floe. On the remainder of the stricken
company, their arrival, however, had a most beneficial influence; and
when, early the next day, Captain Nares came up to their relief, their
courage and resolution, which had never deserted them, were quickened
to the utmost, and even the invalids threw off that dread depression an
attack of scurvy invariably produces. On the morning of the 14th all
were once more safe on board the ship, and offering up their heartfelt
thanksgiving to God.

Captain Nares furnishes some particulars which illustrate very vividly
the terrible experiences of the adventurous sledge-party, and also
the ravages which scurvy never fails to commit. He says that of the
seventeen officers and men who originally left the _Alert_, only
five--namely, three officers and two men--were able to drag the sledges
alongside. Three others--heroes as true as any of those whom Homer has
made famous!--manfully kept on their feet to the last, enduring the
extreme of pain and fatigue rather than, by riding on the sledges,
increase the burden their weakened companions had to drag. They were
just able to crawl on board ship without assistance. The remaining
eight had struggled gallantly, but the disease had proved too much for
them, and they were carried on the sledges. Out of the whole number,
only two officers escaped the ravages of scurvy. After due rest and
medical attention, the chief carpenter’s mate returned to his duty,
and three others recovered so as to be able to wait on their sick
comrades; but Jolliffe, a petty officer, who had nobly borne up against
the disease while actively employed, when his legs became cramped from
resting on board proved to be one of the most lingering cases.

Surely the nation will never begrudge the cost of expeditions which
give such occasion for the display of the most generous unselfishness
and the noblest devotion!

These sledge-journeys were performed in the face of tremendous
difficulties. Beyond the mere coast-belt, there was little smooth ice;
the tolerably level floes or fields, usually about six feet above the
neighbouring ice, seldom measured a mile across. Their surfaces were
thickly covered with rounded blue-topped ice-humps, averaging twenty
feet high; which lay sometimes in ranges, and sometimes a hundred to
two hundred yards apart, the intervening spaces being filled with
wind-driven snow, and the whole resembling a gusty ocean suddenly
stiffened into rest.[12] Between these floes, like an embankment
of rude formation, extended a vast pile of the wreck and refuse of
previous summers’ broken-up pack-ice, regelated during the winter into
one rugged and confused mass of angular blocks of various heights up to
forty and fifty feet, and of every imaginable variety of configuration,
like the disrupted lava at the mouth of a crater. These were
interspersed with a continuous series of “steep-sided snow-drifts,”
which stretched downwards from the highest summit of the ice-chaos
until lost in the general level at a distance of about one hundred
yards. It may be conceived that it was not easy to find a passage for
the sledges through these labyrinths of ice and snow. The snow-slopes
were by no means an assistance, for the winter-winds coming chiefly
from the west, and the course of the sledges being due north, they had
to be encountered almost at right angles. Consequently, the journey was
an incessant struggle with ever-recurring obstacles; as fast as one had
been conquered, another presented itself. The pickaxes were in constant
requisition, either to cut a way through the packed-up ice, or out of
the perpendicular side of the high floes. Instead of a steady advance,
the whole party were frequently detained half a day by the necessity of
facing the sledge and hauling it forward a few feet at a time. These
considerations will enable the reader to judge how great must have been
the “pluck,” persistence, and energy which could accomplish a journey
of seventy miles in such exceptional circumstances.

Captain Nares observes--and his eulogium will be endorsed by the
reader--that no two officers could have accomplished this laborious
enterprise with greater ability or courage than Commander Markham and
Lieutenant Parr. And it is but just that the services of Rawlings and
Lawrence, the captains of the two sledges, should be put on record.
In addition to their general cheerfulness and good-humour,--qualities
which always help to lighten difficult work,--to their care and skill
were due the safe return of the sledges, on which the lives of all
depended--safe, uninjured, and in as serviceable a state as when
they left the ship, notwithstanding the terrible character of the
road they had travelled. To such men as these, and to the brave,
patient, resolute sledge-crews generally, we owe the tribute of our
praise. However severe their privations, they never complained. During
this memorable journey to penetrate to the north over the rugged
Polar Oceanic ice, a journey in which the “pluck” and determination
of the British seaman were most conspicuously displayed, day after
day, against obstacles which might well have been regarded as
insurmountable, the two officers and their brave followers succeeded in
advancing the Union Jack to latitude 83° 20’ 26″ N.,--or within four
hundred miles of the North Pole.

In order to attain this advanced post, the present boundary-mark of
geographical research in that direction, the total distance travelled
was two hundred and seventy-six miles on the outward, and two hundred
and forty-five miles on the homeward journey, though the farthest
direct distance from the ship did not exceed seventy-three miles. The
result of labour so colossal and sufferings so severe would seem to
be, that we must consider a long journey over the Polar pack-ice, with
sledge and boat, to be impracticable at any season of the year. As the
sledges were necessarily advanced each stage singly, we are able to
calculate the exact rate of progression which may be expected, if it
should be thought desirable to push forward with light sledges, without
any additional means of returning later in the season in the event of
a disruption of ice in the rear. The maximum attained by Commander
Markham was two and three-quarter miles a day; the mean rate being one
mile and a quarter.

The outbreak of scurvy rendered Captain Nares very anxious as to the
welfare of Lieutenant Aldrich’s company on their return from the
westward; and the more so, when it was found that the cairn erected
over his depôt of provisions, thirty miles to the north-west, remained
untouched on the day appointed for his arrival there. Lieutenant
May, with the dog-sledge, and three robust men, were therefore sent
to meet him. On the 20th of June the two parties met at the depôt,
and signalled the welcome fact to Captain Nares. It was fortunate
that Lieutenant Aldrich returned when he did, for on the following
day a rapid thaw set in, with the wind from the southward, and the
snow-valleys were rendered impassable for sledges for the rest of the
season. His party, like Commander Markham’s, were stricken with scurvy,
four of them lying helpless on the dog-sledge; and Lieutenant May’s
arrival proved most opportune.

Having now assembled all his company on board the _Alert_, Captain
Nares was called upon to decide whether it was possible to carry the
work of exploration further, or whether the expedition should return to
England. Owing to the absence of any land with a northward trend, and
the innavigable character of the Polar pack-ice, he concluded that on
neither side of Smith Sound could any ship advance further northward
than the _Alert_ had done; and also, that from no secure position
in Smith Sound was it possible for sledges to advance nearer to the
Pole. If the expedition remained in the vicinity for another season,
the exploration of the shores of Grant Land might be pursued to the
south-west, and of Greenland to the north-east, but not more than fifty
miles beyond the points already attained. In the weakened condition of
the crew, and for so small an additional gain, Captain Nares decided
that it would be unwise to risk another winter. As soon as the ice
broke up, “Ho for merry England!”

A regular thaw did not set in until the last week of June. Water
flowed in the ravines on the 1st of July. After that date the thaw
gradually extended, and increased in rapidity; and on the 23rd a
strong south-west wind drove the pack a mile away from the shore. On
the 26th a cairn was erected on the shore, and a record of the work of
the expedition deposited in it; and on the 31st, a passage having been
cleared through the winter-barrier of icebergs, the _Alert_, with
a strong south-west wind filling her canvas, pushed out into Robeson
Channel on her homeward voyage. After a run of two miles along-shore,
through a fairly open way between the pack-ice and what Dr. Kane calls
“the ice-foot,” she was checked in her course by a heavy floe one and
a half mile in diameter, which almost touched the land; and no other
shelter being available, she lay up in a small cove or creek, among a
group of icebergs that had gone ashore in the shallows.

The obstructive floe showed signs of movement early on the morning of
August 1st; and soon afterwards went away to the northward at the rate
of a mile and a half an hour, grinding along the ice-foot somewhat
alarmingly as it advanced towards the ship. Steam being up, however,
the _Alert_ cast off her moorings, and succeeded in edging between
the land and the floe; while the latter swung round in-shore with a
violent jerk, close to the position which the ship had previously
occupied.

We may note here the difference which Captain Nares insists upon
between an ordinary floe, such as is commonly met with in Arctic
waters, and the ancient Polar Sea ice. The former seldom exceeds six
feet in thickness, and breaks into fragments against an obstruction,
or may be charged by a steamship; but the latter, being some eighty or
one hundred feet thick, lifts all impediments out of its course,--or,
so to speak, throws them disdainfully away. “Such was the case on this
occasion: the Polar floe, which,” says Captain Nares, “we only escaped
by a few yards, on nipping against the heavy breastwork of isolated
floebergs lining the coast, some of them forty feet high and many
thousand tons in weight, which had lately formed our protection from
the smaller ice-pieces, tilted them over one after another, and forced
them higher up the land-slope, like a giant at play, without receiving
the slightest harm itself--not a piece breaking away. It was most
providential that, by its twisting round, the _Alert_ was enabled
to escape out of the trap in which she was enclosed.”

The shore here presented a formidable line of ice-cliff, from twenty
to forty feet in height, striking down into clear blue water ten to
twenty fathoms deep. The _Alert_ kept onward, so close to the
cliff that the boats hung at her quarter frequently touched it, until
again brought to a stop near Cape Union by the accumulation of the
pack. Her captain, however, was able here to secure her abreast of a
large stream, the current of which had undermined the ice-cliff for
some fifty yards, and floated it off to sea, leaving a kind of cove
or harbour where the ship could be laid alongside the beach in such a
manner that, if the pack struck her, it could only force her on shore.
The reader of Arctic voyages will remember that a somewhat similar
position was once occupied by Sir Edward Parry’s ship, under somewhat
similar circumstances.

When the tide had turned, and began to flow southward, it broke up
the ice all around Cape Union, and formed a narrow water-way, which
offered Captain Nares a chance of escape. Steam was got up immediately,
but, owing to unavoidable delay in shipping the rudder, the ice closed
in before the ship could be carried round. Her last stage was worse
than her first; for she was now cut off from her safe little port,
and no better shelter was available than a slight hollow or break in
the ice-cliff. Here, however, she was brought-to, with the ice-blocks
swirling past her at a distance of twenty yards. At low water Captain
Nares cast off, and bored some way into the pack, so that the
_Alert_ might drift round the cape with the southern tide. At
about a quarter of a mile from the land, she drove along with the ice;
and when the tide slackened, steamed out of the pack before it began
to set to the northward. Then, keeping close in to the ice-foot, she
kept slowly on her course to the southward, the water-way broadening
as she approached Lincoln Bay, which was crossed without difficulty.
When within five miles of Cape Beechey, the tide turned; but after a
short delay a channel opened, allowing the ship to round the cape.
At this point the ice-cliff ends, and the land slopes gently to the
shore--which is protected by a barrier of floebergs, similar to, but
smaller than, those which line the shore of the Polar Sea. Here the
ship was made fast in three fathoms water, within twenty yards of the
shore, about a mile to the south of the cape.

We dwell on these particulars in order that our readers may form some
idea of the difficulties of Arctic voyaging. The words, “She forced her
way through the ice,” afford no conception whatever of the obstacles
that have to be overcome, and the dangers that have to be avoided, by a
ship navigating in the midst of pack-ice and ice-floes; or of the skill
and vigilance and patience on the part of officers and men, by which
only can the enterprise be brought to a successful issue.

We are told that on August the 4th snow-squalls blew from the
south-west. As the ice had closed in around the ship, holding it in a
vice, the sportsmen of the party landed, and visited some neighbouring
lakes in search of game. They found a number of wild geese, and killed
fifty-seven, which supplied a welcome addition to the ordinary bill of
fare. Mr. Egerton and a seaman were sent off to the _Discovery_,
then about twenty miles distant, with orders for her to prepare for the
homeward voyage. We have already related how they reached the ship in
safety.

While the _Alert_ was thus imprisoned, the huge pack-ice in the
offing was carried up and down the strait by the tidal movement, the
wind having the effect of increasing the velocity of the current
and the duration of its flow both northward and southward. The ice
generally was of a lighter character than that in the Polar Sea; but
many heavy Polar floes were driven southward by the gale, and set into
Lady Franklin Sound and Archer Fiord rather than down Kennedy Channel.
Lady Franklin Sound, indeed, seems to be the receptacle of all the
heavy ice that comes south through Robeson Channel; retaining it until
the prevailing westerly winds carry it once more to the northward,
and empty the Sound, previous to its being refilled on the return of
the northerly gales. It is only, says Captain Nares, in seasons when
northerly winds occur more frequently than westerly ones, that any
considerable quantities of the huge Polar ice are drifted into Smith
Sound and Baffin Bay.

The gale of the 6th of August was very violent. The tide rushing
southward, drove a succession of heavy floe-pieces against the small
bergs that protected the ship, and capsized one of them completely. It
was firmly aground when struck by the point of a large floe; but such
was the force of the collision that it was reared erect in the air
to its full height of at least sixty feet above water, when, turning
a complete somersault, like a practised gymnast, it came down on its
back with a shock that shattered it into pieces, and raised a wave
sufficient to roll the ship considerably. Into the gap thus caused
moved the ice, until at last it nipped the _Alert_, though not
dangerously.

That same evening Lieutenant Rawson and two seamen arrived from the
_Discovery_, with news of the ill-fortune that had overtaken the
Greenland sledge-party.

It soon became apparent that there was no chance of releasing the
ice-bound ship except by cutting down the heavy floe that held her
prisoner; and accordingly all hands were set to work. After three
days’ toil, so much of the floe was hewn away that at high water it
floated and set the ship free; at the same time the main pack moved
off, and the _Alert_ steamed onward, rejoining her consort, the
_Discovery_, on the 11th of August.

All the invalids on board the _Alert_ were now removed to the
_Discovery_, and Captain Nares remained at the entrance to
the harbour, prepared to cross to Polaris Bay, as soon as the ice
permitted, to relieve Lieutenant Beaumont. As before stated, however,
he arrived on the 14th, and relieved the commander of the expedition
of a serious anxiety. Both vessels were now ready to start, but the
state of the ice detained them until the 20th, when, a “lead” offering
through the pack, away they steamed, and arrived close to Cape Lawrence
without encountering any serious obstacle. Here their old enemy, the
ice, again opposed them; and Captain Nares found only the famous “three
courses” of a well-known statesman open to him: either to return
north, to drive ahead into the pack, or make fast the ships to some
of the grounded floebergs. This last expedient was adopted, and in a
land-locked inner basin the _Alert_ and the _Discovery_ were
accordingly secured. But, unfortunately, at the fall of high water a
piece of ice pressed against the _Alert_, and at the same time its
protecting floeberg drove ashore. Result: the _Alert_ was aground
forward, but with deep water under the stern. And before she could be
released, the tide had fallen fourteen feet, so that the ship lay over
at an angle of 22°, with fore-foot and keel exposed as far aft as the
fore-channels. Nothing could be done until the tide rose. Then the ship
was lightened, and afterwards hauled off without having undergone any
damage.

A passage again opened on the 22nd of August, and the two ships
steamed as far southward as Cape Collinson, with no other troubles
than dense snow-storms, mists, and strong head-winds. But off the
cape, the _Alert_ having to back to escape a nip, she fouled the
_Discovery_ for a moment; the latter escaping, however, with
nothing worse than the loss of a boat’s davit.

The ice gradually breaking up before a strong south-west wind, the two
ships crossed Scoresby Bay, which was perfectly clear, but rolled with
a heavy sea. As they approached Cape Frazer, they were buffeted by a
terrible gale, and put in to Maury Bay, anchoring among a quantity of
grounded ice. Three days were spent in arduous efforts to double Cape
Frazer,--one of the _bêtes noires_ of Arctic navigators, because
it is the meeting-point of the flood-tides, north and south, one from
the Polar Ocean and the other from the Atlantic,--and Cape Hayes, the
boundary-mark of the channel. Then the voyagers, with glad hearts,
passed into Smith Sound; and hugging the shore as closely as was safe,
arrived on the 29th at Prince Imperial Island, in Dobbin Bay, “every
one heartily thankful to be out of the pack, clear of the straggling
icebergs, and for the ships to be secured to fixed ice once more.”

The temperature now sunk again below freezing-point. The brief
Arctic summer was over, and day and night the young sea-ice formed
continuously. The mists that had hitherto accompanied the ships cleared
away before a brisk northerly wind, and revealed a magnificent panorama
of lofty mountains, white with shrouds of snow, and deep valleys filled
with colossal glaciers. One of these stretched downwards to the shore,
and threw off great icebergs which floated or stranded in Dobbin Bay.
It was named after the Empress Eugénie, who had taken a lively personal
interest in the expedition.

Crossing Dobbin Bay on the 1st of September, the voyagers came within a
quarter of a mile of a depôt of provisions established near Cape Hawks
in the previous autumn, and succeeded in removing a portion. A day or
two later Captain Nares landed on Washington Island, and visited a
cairn which he had raised there on the 12th of August 1865. He visited,
also, two old cairns erected by former explorers; the lichens with
which they were gray proved that they were of earlier date than Dr.
Hayes’ expedition.

On the 3rd of September, by dint of steaming assiduously, the ships
rammed their way through a lane of water to the westward of Cape Hawks,
which was inconveniently obstructed by loose pieces of old ice. After
rounding the cape, says the captain, the pack by drifting away from
the land had left unfrozen water and numerous detached small floes,
which forced them to make a very serpentine course, and occasionally to
pass within thirty yards of the low ice-foot on the shore, fortunately
always finding deep water. In this way they reached Allman Bay,
half-way between Cape Hawks and Franklin Pierce Bay. Meeting here with
a belt of new ice, the _Discovery_ was sent ahead; and under full
steam she forced a canal through the ice, which was from one to three
inches thick. From the lofty hills in the interior a huge glacier leads
down to Allman Bay; and it is a noticeable fact that always in the
neighbourhood of a glacier-stream the water was found nearly fresh, and
of the temperature of 32°.

On the 7th our homeward-bound ships reached Norman Lockyer Island, on
the margin of Princess Marie Bay. The season was now far advanced, and
as the slightest mistake might have led to the vessels being ice-bound
for the winter, the two captains ascended to the highest point of the
island to obtain some idea of the prospect before them. They were
much relieved by seeing a large area of open water some twenty miles
distant, which they conjectured would extend to the mouth of Smith
Sound. No time was lost in getting under way; and the ships crossed
two-thirds of the distance before they fell in with ice. By charging
it under full steam, they cleared the obstacle, and then, through an
open-water channel, ran on to Cape Sabine.

On the 9th of September they arrived off Cape Isabella, where they
found a small packet of letters and newspapers which had been left at
the depôt by the _Pandora_. The weather was now calm, and the wind
favourable. Sail was hoisted, therefore, as the supply of coal began
to run short, and on the evening of the 12th the expedition reached
Bardin Bay. During the 13th and the 14th they worked southward into
Wolstenholm Sound; and thence, with a south-easterly wind, crossed to
Cape Byam Martin, which they reached on the 16th. Two days later they
entered the well-known waters of Melville Bay; on the 25th they arrived
at Disco, where, and afterwards at Egedesminde, they obtained some
small supplies of coal.

Egedesminde was left behind on the 2nd of October, and on the 4th the
two ships recrossed the Arctic Circle--exactly fifteen months from
the time of crossing it on the outward voyage. Experiencing adverse
winds, they made but slow progress to the southward; and as the weather
became warmer and damper, a few of the men suffered from rheumatism and
catarrhs. During a heavy gale on the 19th, the two ships separated;
but both, as we have seen, reached the shores of England in safety,
where their gallant officers and crews met with the hearty welcome so
thoroughly merited by their courage, perseverance, and heroic industry.

Some notes on the general results obtained by the expedition in
zoology, botany, and geology, have appeared in the _Academy_.
The two naturalists under whose care these departments were
placed,--Captain Feilden, in the _Alert_, and Mr. Hart, in the
_Discovery_,--worked with unflagging energy and no small success.

Of mammals, the species found farthest north were the Arctic fox, the
wolf, the ermine, the Polar hare, the lemming, and the musk-ox,--all of
which were seen on the shores of the great Polar Basin or Palæocrystic
Sea. No cetaceans were sighted north of Payer Harbour, near Cape
Sabine; a fact which renders all the more serious the gradual process
of extermination of the Greenland (or right) whale in more southern
latitudes. The only seal found beyond Cape Union, in lat. 82° 15’ N.,
was the little ringed seal or “floe-rat” (_Phoca hispida_).

So far as the land extended, bird life prevailed; the species being the
snowy owl, the snow-bunting, and the ptarmigan. Full collections were
made of all the birds frequenting Smith Sound; and our naturalists had
the satisfaction of discovering the long-sought-for breeding-haunts of
the knott and sanderling.[13]

Few species of marine fish were obtained, but “an interesting small
salmonoid” was met with in fresh-water lakes as far north as lat. 82°
35’. A fine collection of marine invertebrates was secured by dredging
and trawling; and the character of the sea-bottom from Baffin Bay up
to lat. 83° 19’ N. was accurately ascertained by a series of careful
soundings.

In the department of botany our naturalists were rewarded by the
discovery of between twenty and thirty species of phanerogamic plants
between the parallels of 82° and 83°. Much richer and more varied
results were obtained in the cryptogamic flora.

Geologically, the facts arrived at were of the utmost value. “The
whole west coast of Smith Sound, from Cape Isabella to Cape Union,
has been fully surveyed and mapped, and large collections have been
made both of fossils and rock-specimens; while the sledge-parties
which explored the shore of the Polar Basin, both to east and west,
brought back sufficient material to determine the geological character
of the country. Silurian limestones, richly fossiliferous, were the
prevailing rocks along Smith Sound. Miocene deposits, _including a
twenty-foot seam of coal_, were found as far north as lat. 81° 44’.
From the shales and sandstones of this formation a beautiful series
of leaf-impressions were collected, illustrating the characteristic
flora of the epoch, and presenting a remarkable demonstration of the
existence of a temperate climate within five hundred miles of the
present Pole at a comparatively recent geological time. Not less
important are the indications of great recent changes in the elevation
of the land afforded by the discovery of thick post-pliocene deposits,
lying at a considerable elevation above the sea-level, and containing
fossils similar to the existing marine fauna. Lastly, very interesting
and suggestive observations have been made on glaciation and ice-action
in general.”

This, of course, is but a summary, and a very brief and condensed one,
of researches which have evidently been of the highest importance.
And it might almost be said of the late expedition, that even had its
geographical discoveries been less valuable, its scientific results
would have entitled it to a foremost place in the annals of Arctic
Enterprise.

* * * * *

Our record of Arctic expeditions will fitly close with a sketch of the
cruise of the _Pandora_, a screw-yacht commanded by Captain Allen
Young, which left England in the summer of 1876, in order to open up
communications with the Admiralty expedition.

[Illustration:

CHART
SHOWING THE DISCOVERIES
OF THE
BRITISH POLAR EXPEDITION
1875–76.

[_From Map accompanying Official Report published in
“Nature.”_]]

Captain Young left Upernavik on the evening of the 19th of July, and
stood away to the northward--in bad weather, and with the wind blowing
a gale. Through vast fields of ice he threaded his way, sometimes under
sail, sometimes under steam, until, on the morning of the 24th, he
found his ship completely surrounded, in lat. 75° 10’ N.

No time was lost in endeavouring to effect an escape by charging
the ice at full speed,--again and again returning to the onset; and
a slow but steady progress was being made, when the field in which
they were held fast, drifting before the gale, “collided” with a
group of grounded bergs, and exposed the little vessel to such severe
pressure, that preparations were made for abandoning her. Provisions,
ammunition, camping and travelling gear, all were made ready, and the
boats were lowered as far as possible at the davits. Meantime, heavy
charges of gunpowder were used to blast the ice where it pressed the
ship most severely; and the bergs taking a different direction, the
_Pandora_ began to recover herself, and before night settled down
nearly to her usual level. In the darkness of the night, with the wind
howling, and the snow and sleet driving in heavy showers, she moved
ahead with the pack; and in this way continued her progress until the
27th, when the weather cleared, and Captain Young discovered that he
had advanced right into the heart of Melville Bay, with no water in
sight. Full in view were Capes Walker and Melville, the Peaked Hill,
and huge glacier-streams embedded in the intervening valleys. All
around was one vast monotonous sheet of rugged ice. It was not until
the 29th that the _Pandora_, after many hairbreadth escapes, got
into open water, in lat. 75° 50’ N., and long. 64° 55’ W. While thus
imprisoned in the grasp of the floe, the explorers killed only one
Polar bear, four seals, and a few little auks.

In a clear sea they now stood away to the westward, passing Capes
Dudley, Digges, and Athol, and other headlands familiar in the records
of Arctic adventure. At noon on the 31st, when off Wolstenholm Island,
another gale overtook them, increasing rapidly to almost hurricane
fury. This was an unpleasant experience; for the deck was washed by
heavy seas, and it was with the greatest difficulty they avoided coming
into collision with the icebergs which drifted rapidly through the snow
and spray.

Reaching Cary Island, they landed to examine Captain Nares’ depôt of
provisions, and found it in good preservation. The cairn had not been
visited since Young’s call at the island on the 10th of September in
the previous year. Afterwards they made for Sutherland Island, where
they found a record of the American explorer, Captain Hartstene, dated
August 16, 1855. It is with a curious feeling that, in these regions of
almost perpetual winter, the voyager comes upon such faint memorials of
men who, like him, have dared all the perils of ice-floes and icebergs,
and adventured into seas far beyond the track of ordinary commercial
enterprise.

On Littleton Island, a record of the expedition was found. The document
was dated July 28, 1875, and signed by Captain Nares; and it indicated
the course about to be taken by the ships under his orders. Owing to
the ice-encumbered condition of the straits, however, Captain Young
could not follow it up; and instead of crossing to Cape Isabella, he
resolved to examine the coast in Hartstene Bay, in order to seek a
harbour for the relief-ship which the Admiralty had intended to send
out in 1877, in case of the non-return of the Polar Expedition. This
was found on the 4th of August, not far from the Eskimo settlement
of Etah, and named after the _Pandora_. It would seem to offer
every advantage as winter quarters for Arctic discovery-ships; the
surrounding hills are “dotted with Arctic hares, appearing like
snow-balls on the luxurious vegetation.” The little auk breeds in
thousands on the cliffs, eider fowl and guillemots haunt the waters,
and the adjacent valleys and pastures are frequented by reindeer.

Captain Young next made for Cape Isabella, which he reached on the
6th of August. Watchful eyes soon discovered a large cairn on the
summit of this headland. A boat was lowered, and the contents of the
cairn soon obtained, while despatches and letters for Captain Nares’
expedition were left in their stead. Then the _Pandora_ steamed
to the northward; but, owing to the adverse winds and the accumulated
ice, could make no way, and was forced back to Cape Isabella. Another
attempt was made to the eastward, and for several days the gallant
little ship crossed and recrossed the straits, through the pack, always
beset with ice, and frequently enshrouded in impenetrable fogs. No
fewer than three times was she compelled to take shelter in Pandora
Harbour. On the 19th she was driven back to the northward of Littleton
Island, and Captain Young and some of his officers took the opportunity
of visiting the _Polaris_ camp. Nothing remained of the house
erected by Captain Buddington except a few broken boards. The rocks
were strewn with pieces of metal, fragments of clothing, and other
waifs and strays. The _cache_ in which the retreating party had
deposited their books and instruments was also examined; but the only
relics were a brass bowl of a seven-inch compass, a tin tube, and parts
of a telescope. Some cases and casks, containing records for the use
of Captain Nares, were securely placed among the rocks on the western
point of the island; and Captain Young then returned to Cape Isabella.

Finding nothing here of any interest, and convinced that no travelling
or boat party had reached that position from the Polar ships, the
_Pandora_ bore away to the northward under canvas. “It was very
dark and thick,” says Captain Young, “but sufficiently clear to enable
us to avoid the heavy ice. By nine A.M. we were up to Lecomte
Island, when we were stopped by a fog until eleven o’clock, when I
could see from aloft that the main pack extended across the straits
into Rosse Bay. We were in a lake of land water, with close-packed and
heavy ice all round, from south to north, and again closing on the
land from the eastward. Our only chance of moving seemed to be through
a narrow lead or slack place, running first to the east-north-east,
and then again apparently towards the east coast. We entered the pack,
and succeeded by five P.M. in again escaping into the land
water in Hartstene Bay.” Such are the experiences of twelve hours
in the ice-clogged waters of the North! But we need not delay the
reader with these minute particulars, notwithstanding their interest
as illustrative of the nature of the struggle waged with so much
persistency of purpose by the Arctic explorer. The sea was now covered
everywhere with ice and bergs. Storms were of frequent occurrence; and
the wind and wave beaten _Pandora_ was forced back into Baffin Bay.

Here, on the 28th of August, her captain could see that the solid ice
had filled the straits and the head of the bay right across to Cape
Alexander. The way north being thus obstructed, Captain Young resolved
on proceeding towards Upernavik, in North Greenland, hoping to find
that the last ship had not already sailed for Denmark, and in that
case to send an officer home with despatches, while the _Pandora_
returned to Smith Strait.

On the 29th she was off Hakluyt Island, and steered for Bardin Bay in
Whale Sound. On entering the bay, a summer tent could be seen, and some
Eskimos, with their dogs, running to and fro, evidently with the view
of attracting the attention of the visitors. Captain Young accordingly
landed, with some of his officers, and accompanied by Christian, his
Eskimo interpreter. The natives met them with the utmost confidence
and fearlessness, assisting to haul their boat up on the shore. They
were ten in number, and all members of one family. Food appeared to be
plentiful with them, but they were profuse in their thanks for some
walrus-flesh given by Captain Young. Their manners were frank and
communicative, and they showed considerable vivacity, rejoicing over
the results of a very good hunting season. Neither European ships nor
white men had they seen for years; but they said that an old man, who,
with his family, inhabited Northumberland Island, told of two ships
which had passed to the northward “last summer.” How lonely must be the
life led by these poor savages! Never gladdened by the sight of a sail;
but, year after year, shut up in their frozen solitudes, and without
any other object or purpose before them than to obtain just enough food
to avoid a premature and miserable death!

Among their treasures Captain Young observed a ship’s bucket, half
the top of a mahogany table, the paddle of a Greenlander’s kayack,
much ice-worn, and a piece of packing-case marked “Lime juice--Leith;”
all of which, they said, had drifted into the bay at different times
from the southward. These people seemed to Captain Young of a kind
and simple disposition, while they were evidently robust and healthy.
All that they had--and it was little enough--they freely pressed upon
their visitor; and when asked what present they would like, their chief
selected only some gimlets and a fifteen-foot ash oar. The latter, he
said, would split up into spear-shafts; the former he wanted for boring
bone and ivory. Captain Young, however, gave them several other useful
articles; accepting in return some narwhal horns, specimens of their
pot-stone cooking-kettles, and of the iron pyrites which they used for
striking fire. An exchange of dogs also took place; five of the dogs
belonging to the _Pandora_ being given for three of the finest
bear-hunting and tame dogs of the Eskimos.

At Upernavik, the _Pandora_, after a stormy and dangerous passage,
arrived on the evening of September the 7th, but found that the last
ship had sailed for Europe. As there were no means, therefore, of
communicating with England, and as, without such communication, Captain
Young did not feel authorized to winter in the North, a supply of fresh
water wars taken on board, and the ship steered for home. From the 15th
to the 21st she tarried at Goodhav’n, in Disco Island. In Davis Strait
she encountered large quantities of heavy Spitzbergen drift-ice, and
weathered a severe south-easterly gale. On the 16th of October, in
lat. 54° 38’ N., and long. 44° 30’ W., she sighted the Arctic ships,
_Alert_ and _Discovery_, and hastened to communicate with
them. They kept together until the 19th. On the following day, the
_Pandora_ was buffeted by another hurricane; but the rest of her
voyage was accomplished in safety, and was marked by no incidents of
importance.

Here, for the present, terminates the record of British enterprise and
adventure in the Arctic World. It is difficult to believe, however,
that the nation will rest until the “heart of the mystery has been
plucked out,” the Secret finally mastered, and the British flag hoisted
on that remote point which is conventionally known as the NORTH
POLE.

INDEX.

Agaricus muscarius, 139.

Agassiz, experiments of, 116.

Alectoria jubata, 137.

Aletsch glacier, the, described, 47.

Algol, or Medusa’s Head, 39.

Arctic Highlanders, 12.

Arctic night, the, characteristics of, 32–34, 93–95.

Arctic region, extent of, 13, 14.

Atmospheric phenomena, 31.

Auk, the, described, 97, 98.

Aurora Borealis, the, phenomena of, 27;
theory of, 29.

Baffin, discoveries of, 227.

Barents, adventures of, 266–269.

Barrens, the, region of, described, 16.

Bear, Polar, natural history of the, 85–93;
hunting seals, 86;
voracity of, 88;
affection for its young, 88, 89.

Beechey, Captain, quoted, 45, 46, 55.

Bell, quoted, 78.

Bellot, Lieutenant, quoted, 123.

Bennet, Stephen, voyage of, 228.

Berkeley, quoted, 140.

Birds, migrations of, 11.

Boötes, constellation of, 40.

Bremer, Frederika, quoted, 138.

Brewster’s, Sir David, experiment with polarised light, 111.

Buddington, Captain, adventures of, 308–311.

Burrough, Stephen, voyage of, 222, 223.

Button, Captain, voyage of, 227.

Bylot, Robert, voyage of, 227.

Carlsen, Captain, voyage of, 270.

Cladonia rangiferina, 137.

Clarke, Dr., quoted, 203.

Clavering, Captain, referred to, 12.

Cochlearia, or scurvy-grass, uses of, 139.

Coleridge, quoted, 69.

Constellations, northern, list of, 37.

Cooley, Mr., quoted, 230.

Corvidæ, the, natural history of, 160.

Cryptogamous plants of the north, 141, 142.

Crystallization, process of, 108.

Cygnus musicus, 161.

D’Almeida, Count, quoted, 205, 206.

Davis, Captain John, voyages of, 224, 225.

Dolphins, the, natural history of, 82, 83.

_Dorothea_, the, narrow escape of, 55.

Dufferin, Lord, quoted, 166, 167, 172.

Eider ducks, the, natural history of, 103;
in Iceland, 104.

Eskimo dog, the, description of, 190.

Eskimo, the, hunting the walrus, 68, 69;
hut of, 76.

Eskimo kayak described, 182.

Eskimo seal-hunt, an, described, 77, 78.

Eskimo sledge, the, described, 192–196.

Eskimos, the, boundaries of, 175;
character, manners, customs, and clothing, 179–196.

Falcon, the, natural history of, 160.

Faraday, ingenious experiment of, 111.

Felinska, Madame, quoted, 211.

Fish in the Arctic seas, 106.

Flora of the Arctic lands, 19.

Fox, Luke, voyage of, 228.

Fox, the Arctic, natural history of, 151–153.

Fox-trap, a, described, 152.

Franklin, Sir J., overland journey of, 231;
last expedition of, 231;
relics of, discovered, 233, 235, 236.

Fritillaria sarrana, the, properties of, 142, 143.

Frobisher, Sir Martin, voyage of, 223.

Frobisher Strait discovered, 223.

Gale, an Arctic, described, 70.

Gârds of Lapland, described, 207.

_Germania_, the, expedition of, 245–265.

Geysers, the, phenomena of, 165–167.

Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, death of, 224.

Glacier-ice, peculiarities of, 112.

Glacier in Smith Strait, 124, 127;
of Sermiatsialik, 128, 129.

Glaciers, characteristics of, 47;
motion of, 113–115;
phenomena connected with, 115–118;
of the Arctic regions, 118–133;
of Spitzbergen, 120, 123.

Godhav’n, 167.

Grampus, the, natural history of, 83, 84.

Greenland, scenery on the coast of, 22.

Guillemot, the, described, 96, 97.

Gull, the, described, 103.

Hall, Captain, expedition and death of, 271, 272.

_Hansa_, the, voyage and loss of, 245–251.

Hans the Hunter, 186–189, 284.

Hare, the Arctic, 154.

Hartwig, Dr., quoted, 15.

Hayes, Dr., quoted, 25, 35, 43, 49, 50, 59, 87, 95, 96, 124, 125,
127, 128, 138, 152, 153, 186, 191, 192, 244;
Arctic expedition of, 244, 245.

Hearne, quoted, 183.

_Hecla_, the, and the _Fury_, danger of, 56.

Hegemann, Captain, 245.

Hekla, eruption of, 164.

Henderson, Dr., quoted, 172.

Hill, Mr., quoted, 213, 214.

Hobson, Lieutenant, discovers Franklin relics, 234–236.

Holland, Mr., quoted, 173.

Hore, Mr., voyage of, 222.

Hudson, Henry, discoveries of, 225–228.

Humboldt Glacier, description of, 131–134, 238.

Hutchinson, Captain, quoted, 205.

Icebergs, their dimensions, 41;
their magnificent appearance, 42, 43;
danger to navigation from, 44, 123;
breaking up of, 49;
range of, 50, 51;
in Baffin Bay, 124.

Ice-fields, extent and character of, 54, 56, 57.

Ice-flowers, characteristics of, 108.

Iceland, dimensions of, 162;
history of, 162;
volcanoes of, 163;
dreary landscapes of, 164;
geysers of, 166, 167;
houses and churches of, 170;
travelling in, 172;
horses of, 173.

Iceland moss, uses of, 138, 139.

Jacobshav’n, 168.

Jakut merchants, the, enterprise of, 217.

Jakuts, the, as bear-hunters, 212;
manners and customs of, 216, 217.

James, Captain Thomas, voyage of, 228.

Joe the Eskimo, with Captain Tyson, 278, _et sqq._

Kamtschatka, fisheries of, 212;
the dog of, 214, 215.

Kamtschatkans, the, characteristics of, 213, 214.

Kane, Dr., quoted, 15, 32, 33, 34, 42, 68, 73, 74, 88, 91, 92,
131–134, 149, 153, 184, 185, 237, 239, 242, 243;
Arctic explorations of, 237–244.

Knots, the, habits of, 11, 12.

Koldewey, Captain, referred to, 12;
voyage of, 245.

Lagopus, the, 161.

Lamont, Mr., quoted, 60, 62.

Lapland, divisions and extent of, 197;
climate of, 197;
inhabitants of, 197;
the reindeer in, 200;
sledging in, 201;
an interior in, 204, 205.

Lapp dialect, the, 206.

Lapp hunters, the, boldness of, 202.

Lapps, the, dress, manners, and customs of, 198.

Lapps, the Mountain, character of, 199, 200.

Lapps of West Bothnia, 206, 207.

Laube, Dr., quoted, 252.

Lemming, the Arctic, 154.

Macmillan, Dr., quoted, 135, 136, 137, 141.

Markham, C., quoted, 10, 175, 225, 226, 273.

Marten, the, 155.

Martins, M. Charles, quoted, 119, 120, 121.

M’Clintock, Captain Sir Roderick, quoted, 148, 151, 181, 265;
voyage of, 234.

M’Clure, Sir Robert, quoted, 81;
discovers North-West Passage, 233.

Mecham, Captain, quoted, 146, 150.

Mer de Glace of Greenland, 127, 128.

Merganser, the natural history of, 99.

Milton, Lord, and Dr. Cheadle, quoted, 158–160.

Moonlight in the Polar World, 26.

Moraines, described, 115.

Moravian mission-stations in Greenland, 179.

Mosses in the Arctic regions, 139.

Musk-ox, the, natural history of, 149, 150.

Mustelidæ family, the, in the Arctic regions, 155.

Nares, Captain, expedition of, 314, _et sqq._

Narwhal, the, natural history of, 82.

Newfoundland colonized, 224.

North-West Passage, utility of, 9.

Novaia Zemlaia, temperature of, 21.

Osborn, Admiral Sherard, quoted, 44, 81, 84, 85, 87, 146, 151,
232, 236, 237.

Ostiaks, the, manners and customs of, 211, 212.

Ostrownoje, trade at, 220.

Oxyria, the, uses of, 141.

Pack-ice, description of, 53.

Parry, Captain, quoted, 44, 46, 56, 230;
voyages of, 228, 229, 230.

Payer, Lieutenant, voyage of, 270, 271.

Penny, Captain, voyage of, 232–234.

Phænogamous plants of the north, 141.

Phocidæ, the.--See SEAL.

Plant-life of Spitzbergen, 142;
of Kamtschatka, 142, 143.

Pleiads, the, 39.

_Polaris_, the, voyage of, 271–313.

Polecat, the, in the Arctic regions, 156, 157.

Pole-Star, the, position of, 36.

Poole, Jonas, voyage of, 228.

Puffin, the, natural history of, 99.

Quenes, or Finns, the, 206.

Rae, Dr., finds relics of Franklin, 233.

Red snow, phenomenon of, explained, 135.

Refraction, phenomena of, 31.

Regelation, what it is, 111.

Reikiavik, description of, 168, 169.

Reindeer, the, natural history of, 144;
usefulness of, 145;
food of, 146;
and wolves, 147;
in Siberia, 218, 219.

Reindeer moss, 137.

Rendu, Bishop, quoted, 114.

Richardson, Sir J., quoted, 145.

Rock-hair, 137.

Rorqual, the, 80.

Ross, Sir James, quoted, 145.

Ross, Sir John, voyages of, 228, 231.

Sabine, Sir Edward, quoted, 10.

Sable, the, natural history of, 156.

Samojedes, the, superstitions of, 208, 209;
manners and customs of, 210, 211.

Schaïtan, an Ostiak idol, 211.

Scoresby, Dr., quoted, 44, 106, 186.

Seal, the, natural history of, 71–73;
flesh of, 73, 74;
different genera of, 75.

Sermiatsialik, glacier of, 127, 128.

Shepherd, Mr., quoted, 104.

Skaptá Jokul, eruption of, 165.

Smew, the, natural history of, 100.

Smith Sound, route by, 228.

Snow, formation of, 108.

Snow-crystals, described, 109.

Snow-line, limit of, 20.

Somerville, Mrs., quoted, 30, 107.

Southey, quoted, 136.

Sporidesmium lepraria, 140.

Spring in the Arctic regions, 34.

Starakis, the, described, 98.

Stephenson, Captain, of the _Discovery_, 314.

Summer in the Arctic regions, 36.

Swan, the wild, natural history of, 105;
the whistling, 161.

Tadebtsios, or Samojede demons, 209.

Tadibe, the Samojede priest, 209.

Tchuktche, the, manners and customs of, 220.

Temperature of Arctic winter, 33.

Tennyson, quoted, 105.

Thingvalla, the, in Iceland, 168.

Thorne, Dr. Robert, Arctic exploration proposed by, 222.

Tripe de roche, 137, 138.

Tundras, the stony, described, 15, 16.

Tungusi, the, characteristics of, 219, 220.

Tyndall, Professor, quoted, 47, 48, 108, 109–111, 112, 113, 115,
117, 118.

Tyson, Captain, narrative of, 278–308.

Unknown Region, extent of, 10.

Upernavik, described, 176.

Ursa Major, constellation of, 36;
description of, 37, 38.

Waigatz, island of, 208.

Walrus, the, natural history of, 63;
courage of, 64;
gradual decay of, 67.

Walrus-hunt, a, described, 68, 69.

Walrus-hunting, how carried on, 60;
proceeds of, 62.

Ware, quoted, 37, 38.

Whale, the, natural history of, 78;
characteristics of the Greenland, 79, 80;
the Razor-backed, 80.

Whalebone, what it is, described, 79.

Whale-fishery of the Eskimos, 81.

Whirlwinds of the north, 31.

Willoughby, Sir Hugh, loss of, 222.

Wolf, the Arctic, natural history of, 148.

Wolverine, the, cunning of, 157;
anecdotes of, 158–160.

Wooded zone of the Arctic regions, 143.

Wrangel, Admiral von, quoted, 20, 81, 218, 221.

Yakutsk, temperature of, 26.

Young, Captain, cruise of, in the _Pandora_, 334.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The _Tringa canutus_ of ornithologists.

[2] _Abies alba et nigra._

[3] _Larix Canadensis._

[4] _Pinus Banksiana._

[5] _Abies Sibirica_, _Larix Sibirica_.

[6] Tyndall, “Forms of Water,” p. 137.

[7] The name given to a plain of ice near Mont Blanc.

[8] Scoresby calculated that it would require 80,000 persons, labouring
continuously from the creation of man to the present day, to count the
number of organisms contained in two miles of the green water.

[9] So called from its circular form, and because the surface of the
leaf is marked with curved lines.

[10] A more moderate estimate says 1300 persons.

[11] _The Academy_, November 4, 1876, p. 453.

[12] “Here let the billows stiffen and have rest.”--COLERIDGE.

[13] The scarcity of animal life in the remote North is shown by the
small quantity of game shot by the sportsmen of the expedition after
reaching winter quarters:--six musk-oxen, twenty hares, seventy geese,
twenty-six ducks, ten ptarmigan, and three foxes.

Transcriber’s Notes:

1. Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been
corrected silently.

2. Where hyphenation is in doubt, it has been retained as in the
original.

3. Some hyphenated and non-hyphenated versions of the same words have
been retained as in the original.

4. Where appropriate, the original spelling has been retained.

5. Italics are shown as _xxx_.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Arctic World : Its plants, animals, and natural phenomena" ***

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