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Title: Secrets of Polar Travel
Author: Peary, Robert E. (Robert Edwin)
Language: English
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[Illustration: (cover)]
SECRETS OF POLAR TRAVEL
[Illustration: THE STARS AND STRIPES FLYING FROM THE NORTH POLE]
SECRETS OF POLAR
TRAVEL
BY
ROBERT E. PEARY
ILLUSTRATED WITH
PHOTOGRAPHS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published, October, 1917_
INTRODUCTION
In my book “The North Pole” appeared a brief résumé, or synopsis, of
my system of arctic exploration, which was the evolution of years of
continuous practical work and experience in extreme high latitudes,
wherein everything that could be thought of in the way of perfecting
arctic methods and equipment was worked out.
Ideas that in the mind or on paper appeared promising were tested
relentlessly under the most hostile conditions. Those that failed under
the test were abandoned, and those that gave evidence of containing
some meat were perfected, until at last the entire subject of perfected
equipment and methods, combined with the thorough knowledge of all
conditions to be encountered gained through years of experience,
compelled success. This was the résumé:
The so-called “Peary System” is too complex to be covered in a
paragraph, and involves too many technical details to be outlined
fully in any popular narrative. But the main points of it are about
as follows:
To drive a ship through the ice to the farthest possible northern
land base from which she can be driven back again the following
year.
To do enough hunting during the fall and winter to keep the party
healthily supplied with fresh meat.
To have dogs enough to allow for the loss of sixty per cent of them
by death or otherwise.
To have the confidence of a large number of Eskimos, earned by
square dealing and generous gifts in the past, so that they will
follow the leader to any point he may specify.
To have an intelligent and willing body of civilized assistants
to lead the various divisions of Eskimos--men whose authority the
Eskimos will accept when delegated by the leader.
To transport beforehand to the point where the expedition leaves
the land for the sledge journey, sufficient food, fuel, clothing,
stoves (oil or alcohol) and other mechanical equipment to get the
main party to the Pole and back and the various divisions to their
farthest north and back.
To have an ample supply of the best kind of sledges.
To have a sufficient number of divisions, or relay parties, each
under the leadership of a competent assistant, to send back at
appropriate and carefully calculated stages along the upward
journey.
To have every item of equipment of the quality best suited to the
purpose, thoroughly tested, and of the lightest possible weight.
To know, by long experience, the best way to cross wide leads of
open water.
To return by the same route followed on the upward march, using
the beaten trail and the already constructed igloos to save the
time and strength that would have been expended in constructing new
igloos and in trail-breaking.
To know exactly to what extent each man and dog may be worked
without injury.
To know the physical and mental capabilities of every assistant and
Eskimo.
Last, but not least, to have the absolute confidence of every
member of the party, white, black, or brown, so that every order of
the leader will be implicitly obeyed.
In “Secrets of Polar Travel” it is the intention to enlarge upon the
above synopsis and to give the reader and the present and future polar
traveler many details of serious polar work that it was impossible to
embody in my former popular narratives without crowding out other and,
as it seemed, more important matters.
Some of the things that will be described are well known to all polar
explorers who have had serious practice, while others will be new to
all except those who have had opportunities to obtain the information
by personal conversation with members of my parties.
In extending the scope of the present book to touch on polar
exploration, it seems well to post the reader at the very beginning on
the striking antitheses of natural conditions, apparently known to only
a few even among the best read and most intelligent people, existing at
those mathematical points, the north and south poles, where the earth’s
axis intersects the surface of the earth.
The north pole is situated in an ocean of some fifteen hundred
miles’ diameter, surrounded by land. The south pole is situated in a
continent of some twenty-five hundred miles’ diameter, surrounded by
water. At the north pole I stood upon the frozen surface of an ocean
_more than two miles in depth_. At the south pole, Amundsen and Scott
stood upon the surface of a great, snow plateau _more than two miles
above sea-level_. The lands that surround the north polar ocean have
comparatively abundant life. Musk-oxen, reindeer, polar bears, wolves,
foxes, arctic hares, ermines, and lemmings, together with insects and
flowers, are found within five hundred miles of the pole. On the great
south polar continent no form of animal life appears to exist.
Permanent human life exists within some seven hundred miles of the
north pole; none is found within twenty-three hundred miles of the
south pole. The history of arctic exploration goes back nearly four
hundred years. The history of antarctic efforts covers a little more
than one hundred and forty years. The record of arctic exploration is
studded with crushed and foundering ships and the deaths of hundreds of
brave men. The records of antarctic exploration show the loss of only
three ships and the death of a score or more men.
For all those who aspire to the north pole the road lies over the
frozen surface of an ocean the ice on which breaks up completely
every summer, drifting about under the influence of wind and tide,
and may crack into numerous fissures and lanes of open water at any
time, even in the depth of the severest winter, under the influence of
storms. For those who aspire to the south pole the road lies over an
eternal, immovable surface, the latter part rising ten thousand and
eleven thousand feet above sea-level. And herein lies the inestimable
advantage to the south polar explorer which enables him to make his
depots at convenient distances, and thus lighten his load and increase
his speed.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I BUILDING A POLAR SHIP 3
II SELECTING MEN 40
III SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT 58
IV ICE NAVIGATION 84
V WINTER QUARTERS 126
VI POLAR CLOTHING 160
VII UTILIZATION OF ESKIMOS AND DOGS 179
VIII UTILIZING THE RESOURCES OF THE COUNTRY 206
IX SLEDGE EQUIPMENT 240
X SLEDGE-TRAVELING 267
CONCLUSION 310
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Stars and Stripes Flying from the North Pole _Frontispiece_
Beginning of the “Roosevelt” 5
Midships Cross Section of the “Roosevelt” 5
Stem, Forefoot, and Bow Frames 11
Massive King-Post Trusses Strengthening the “Roosevelt’s” Sides
Against Ice Pressure 11
Bow of “Roosevelt” in Dry Dock 18
Stern of “Roosevelt” in Dry Dock 24
Putting on the Greenheart Ice-Sheathing 30
Bow of the “Roosevelt” in Ice 35
Launching the “Roosevelt” 35
Captain Robert Bartlett 41
Matthew A. Henson 47
Henson in Full Winter Costume with Snowshoes 47
Oo-tah 53
George Borup 53
Whale Meat for Dog Food 64
Labrador Whaling Steamer 69
Off for Whales--Labrador Coast 69
Dunham Snowshoes 76
Items of Sledge Rations 76
Beginning the North Pole Voyage 85
Drying Sails on the “Roosevelt” at Cape Sheridan 95
Shear-Poles for Handling the “Roosevelt’s” Injured Rudder 95
Comparative Pictures of Various Exploring Ships 101
Ice Navigation before the Advent of Powerful Steamers 108
The “Roosevelt” Beset in Wrangel Bay 108
The “Roosevelt” Steaming through the Ice-Pack 117
Floe in Lady Franklin Bay That Lifted the “Roosevelt” Nearly
Clear of Water 117
The “Roosevelt” Lashed to the Ice Foot 123
In the Crow’s-Nest 123
Complete Polar Winter House 130
A Scene at Hubbardville 130
After a Winter Blizzard 139
Unloading Ship at Winter Quarters 139
An Inopportune Snowstorm 150
Polar Clothing 163
A “Tug of War” 163
Polar Clothing--Spring and Summer Working Costume 169
Polar Clothing--Full Winter Sledging Costume 175
Eskimo Dogs 175
Young Eskimo Mother and Baby 181
Eskimo Family and “Tupik,” or Summer Tent 181
Deck Scene on the “Roosevelt” (Not a Pink Tea!) 187
Some of My Hunters 187
Eskimo Man, Summer Costume 194
Eskimo Woman, Full Summer Costume 194
Eskimo King Dog 203
Giant Polar Bear Killed in Buchanan Bay, July 4 209
Bringing Narwhal Ashore 216
Walrus-Hunters and Their Kill 216
A Magnificent Bull Musk-Ox 225
Reindeer of 83° N. Lat. 225
Securing Birds at the Bird Cliffs 236
Hare Hunting at 83° N. Lat. 236
Eskimo Type Sledge 245
One of the Peary Sledges 245
Polar Sledge Costume 251
Compass Course Indicator 258
Peary Sledge in Action 258
Hugging the Shore to Get Around Huge Ice Fields 271
Party Leaving the “Roosevelt” for Cape Columbia 271
Over a Pressure Ridge 281
A Halt on the March 281
Sledge Party on the March with Good Going 287
Hard Going 287
Crossing Narrow Lead 298
Through a Cañon of the Polar Ocean 298
SECRETS OF POLAR TRAVEL
CHAPTER I
BUILDING A POLAR SHIP
Of all the special tools that a polar explorer requires for the
successful prosecution of his work, his ship stands first and
preëminent. This is the tool which is to place him and his party and
supplies within striking distance of his goal, the tool without which
he can accomplish nothing.
The builder of a polar ship should live with his craft from the time
the keel is laid till she is complete and has made her trial trips.
He should see that every timber that goes into her is sound, tough,
and seasoned. He should see the tests of iron for her bolts, and know
that the iron is tough and homogeneous. He should see the bolts driven
and upset, or the nuts set tight, as the case may be. He should direct
the scarfing and the notching of the timbers in order to secure the
maximum strength and binding grip. He should watch the calking and the
tarring like a hawk, and see that no place is slighted, that, when it
is done, he may have that delight of a seaman, a tight ship. He should
pass sleepless nights going over again and again the calculations
for his engines and boilers; and in checking and rechecking weights,
dimensions, displacement.
In this way, by following every step of the ship’s growth, and sitting
up night after night studying every detail with a view to improving and
strengthening it, when the work is done, he will know every inch of his
ship inside and out. Later, in the grim, protracted fight with the ice,
he will feel in regard to his ship as Sullivan and Willard each felt on
the eve of a great battle regarding his powerful body, that it can be
depended upon absolutely. It is a wonderfully satisfactory feeling, and
it counts far toward success.
A quite general idea regarding the work of a polar ship seems to be
that such a ship breaks up the ice of one season, like river and harbor
ice-breakers. As a matter of fact, smooth, unbroken ice of uniform
thickness is rarely found in Northern voyages except in Melville Bay,
or at the end of the season, when new ice is forming. The chief work
of a polar ship is to push and pry and wedge its way in and out among
cakes and floes ranging from three to twenty or fifty and even up to
one hundred and twenty feet thick. A passage cannot be smashed through
such ice, and nothing remains but to squeeze and twist and dodge
through it. A hundred Yermaks (the powerful Russian ice-breaker) merged
in one could accomplish nothing in such ice.
[Illustration: BEGINNING OF THE “ROOSEVELT”
First frame erected, ship now under construction, Bucksport, Maine,
October, 1904]
[Illustration: MIDSHIPS CROSS SECTION OF THE “ROOSEVELT”
Looking aft. Note section nearly a semi-circle]
Many qualities are necessary in a first-class polar ice-fighter. First,
there must be such a generally rounded model as will rise readily when
squeezed, and thus escape the death-crush of the ice. Then there must
be no projection of keel or other part to give the ice an opportunity
to get a grip, or to hold the ship from rising.
When the _Jeannette_ was destroyed northeast of the New Siberian
Islands, the ice on one side of her caught and held her firmly, while
the floe on the other side, turning down under her side, caught the
keel, and with its resistless pressure opened up the ship her entire
length along the garboard-strake. She then filled, and when the ice
pressure was released she sank.
The polar ship must be most heavily braced and trussed to enable it to
withstand terrific pressure of ice-floes, and hold its shape until the
pressure is released by the rising of the ship; or to make it possible
for her to be supported at each end only or in the middle, or thrown
out on to the ice, so she would rest on her bilge during a convulsion
of the floes, without strain or injury. Power and strength and solidity
to fight a way through ice rather than drift inertly with it, are
absolutely essential. For ramming, she must have a sharply raking
stem, which will rise on the ice at each blow. This not only makes
it possible for a loaded ship to deliver blows at full speed without
danger of smashing in her bows or starting her fastenings or seams, but
also gives her an initial impetus astern when she backs for another
blow.
When it is understood that this ramming may continue for hours (I have
used my ship in this way continuously for twenty-four hours in crossing
Melville Bay), striking a blow, backing, then going ahead full speed
for another, the value of this little assistance with each blow will be
appreciated. The shape of the bow is also important in ramming. If too
bluff, headway is deadened, and the force of the blows is lessened. If
too sharp, the ship may stick at each blow, and require more time and
power to back out each time. The run of the polar ship should be full
rather than fine, to keep the passing ice away from the propeller as
much as possible.
The ship must be as short as practicable and have a lively helm to
enable her to twist and turn rapidly and sharply through the narrow,
tortuous lanes of water among the ice-fields.
It will be seen at once that a ship for arctic or antarctic work must
be as small as the size of the party and the amount of supplies,
equipment, and coal for the proposed work will permit. The smaller a
ship can be built, the greater will be her strength and the ease with
which she can be handled.
Finally the polar ship must be a good sea boat to ride out the furious
autumn gales of the North Atlantic and polar oceans.
This is especially important in South Polar work with its long voyage
and cyclonic blizzards.
Many are under the impression that steel should be used in constructing
polar ships. This idea is erroneous, for though a ship so made would
be strong structurally, she would be particularly vulnerable to the
ragged, sharp corners of heavy ice. Wood, with its elasticity and
toughness, is the prime essential in the construction of a ship of this
kind. It is also virtually impossible to repair injury to a steel ship
during the voyage. But steel and methods of composite ship building,
used in a vessel’s interior, may reduce weight and increase her
strength.
Numbers of failures and catastrophes in polar work are directly
attributable to the unsuitable model of the ship. Particularly striking
examples of this were the _Polaris_ and the _Jeannette_. Neither of
these ships should ever have been allowed to go into the ice, as their
straight sides gave them no possible chance to lift when squeezed
by the ice, and their destruction was only a matter of time, when
they should be squarely caught between two floes. In the case of the
_Jeannette_ Melville’s engineering skill postponed the catastrophe for
a time, but the final result was inevitable.
The _Esquimaux_ of the Ziegler Expedition and the Duke of the Abruzzi’s
_Stella Polare_ were scarcely better, but the skill of the Italians
enabled their ship to pull through and bring the party home.
Virtually all the ships used in the history of ice navigation have been
the sailing-vessels built in Scotland, Norway, and the United States
for the whaling and sealing industries. These whalers were short,
stocky, heavily sparred, and square rigged. The _Victory_, used by
John Ross, in 1829, was fitted with auxiliary steam-power, and was the
first attempt to utilize such motive power for ice work. The innovation
of steam with paddle-wheels, than which nothing could have been more
impracticable for ice navigation, proved a decided failure, and the
engine was finally torn out and thrown overboard, and the voyage
continued under sail.
The Norwegians operating in the waters about Spitzbergen, Jan Mayen,
and Nova Zembla; the Americans, in Bering Sea and Hudson Bay,
encountered ice conditions strikingly different from those met by the
Scotch whose region of operations was chiefly in Davis Strait, Baffin
Bay, Lancaster Sound, together with their tributaries, and the seas
about eastern Greenland. Broadly speaking, the work of Norwegians and
Americans was carried on among floes and broken ice drifting in open
seas, through which they had to thread their way, while the Scotch
in Melville Bay encountered an almost solid stretch of one season’s
ice, and in the narrow, landlocked channels to the westward the
currents of which are notoriously strong, they had to contend with old
and heavier ice. Some one has very aptly said that American whalers
used steam to avoid ice, the Scotch, to go into and through it.
[Illustration: STEM, FOREFOOT, AND BOW FRAMES
January 11, 1905]
[Illustration: MASSIVE KING-POST TRUSSES STRENGTHENING THE
“ROOSEVELT’S” SIDES AGAINST ICE PRESSURE
The horizontal timber in center of picture is 14 in. × 16 in.]
The following average proportions of beam to length among these whalers
is rather interesting: Scotch, 1:5.75; Norwegian, 1:4.7; American,
1:4.5. The average ratio in modern schooners built in Bath is 1:4.78.
The Scotch, thanks to the shrewdness of their seamen and builders and
over one hundred years of experience in whaling work, where the best
ships secured large financial returns, have gradually evolved the
more powerful and efficient type of ship, and this type has been used
exclusively by the British even in their latest expeditions.
It had long been a recognized fact that a form of hull which would
permit a ship to rise readily and easily under pressure was desirable;
yet the _Fram_ was the first ship built to meet this requirement. The
_Fram_ was built with a special view to drifting in and with the ice.
Her beam was about one-third her length, and her hull was so designed
as to allow her to rise easily under pressure. While she was well
adapted for this work, she would have been still better fitted for it
if she had been bowl-shaped. Moreover, appearance, speed, ability to
push through the ice, and virtually everything that goes to make a ship
seaworthy was sacrificed to insure this quality.
The _Gauss_, the German antarctic ship, was much like the _Fram_,
though less pronounced in type, having a broad beam of 36 feet, but
with a greater length to make her more seaworthy for the long voyage
to the antarctic regions. Her ratio is 1:4.25 as compared with the
_Fram’s_ ratio of 1:3.25.
The British _Discovery_, built for antarctic exploration, was also
of the sailing type, with auxiliary steam-power. She was built with
a little broader beam and a draft slightly less than that of the
Scotch whalers, with a ratio of 1:5.27. She differed from the _Fram_
and the _Gauss_ in that she was not specially constructed to rise
under pressure, and the rake of her stem was somewhat greater than in
previous ships.
With the building of the _Roosevelt_ came a complete reversal of former
practice in ships for the arctic and antarctic regions. She was the
first Polar ship built that was first of all a powerful steamer. All
her predecessors had been sailing-vessels, usually full-rigged barks,
with steam as a secondary consideration. This was done to economize on
coal and enable the ship to cover long distances at slow speed and be
gone for years, if necessary.
In the _Roosevelt_ sail power was a mere auxiliary, and everything was
given over to making steam-power first and foremost and her strength
sufficient to withstand the ice. This is undoubtedly the correct
principle on which to build any Polar ship for effective results. For
this method the Smith Sound route is specially advantageous, affording
a coasting voyage, ample facilities for caching coal, as well as
presenting opportunities to obtain coal en route.
As the _Roosevelt_ was to be built for navigating the very seas where
the Scotch gained their valuable experience and for which their ships
were specially designed and improved, the Scotch model seemed the
proper one to use as a base for studies.
In the case of Nansen, and the British and German polar expeditions,
the size of the ship was determined by fixing the size of the party,
the length of the expedition, and the amount of coal which would be
consumed by the engines and the cargo to be carried, all of which
factors, when the dead weight of the ship and machinery was added,
would give the displacement required.
In the case of the _Roosevelt_ I believed it advisable to settle in
advance the size and proportions which would come nearest to balancing
and meeting the various requirements, allowing the difference between
her displacement and her dead weight to go for cargo capacity, chief of
which would be coal. The size determined was 184 feet over all, with
35 feet beam and 16 feet draft, loaded, and a load water-line of 166
feet. These dimensions make her almost as long as, but with a slightly
greater beam than, the _Discovery_, the British antarctic ship. Her
length ratio, while not quite as fine as that of the Scotch model, is
much finer than the Norwegian or American averages.
After determining her length and beam, came the question of draft. For
the ship navigating the waters of Smith Sound a light draft is far
better than a heavier one, permitting her to hug the shore in order to
get round barriers, or, when crowded by heavy ice, to retreat close
to the shore and let it ground outside the ship. Another distinct
advantage of light draft in a ship is the greater ease with which she
will rise under the heavy pressure of ice-floes. The greater her draft,
the harder it is for her to rise and avoid the grip of the ice.
So much depends on the ship in the serious work of ice navigation that
it may be well to describe in detail the ship which I consider the
ablest of ice fighters.
[Illustration: BOW OF “ROOSEVELT” IN DRY DOCK
Note massiveness and rounded, egg-like curves]
The official measurements of the _Roosevelt_ are as follows: length,
184 feet; breadth, 35.5 feet; depth, 16.2 feet; gross registered
tonnage, 614 tons; maximum load displacement, about 1500 tons.
The keel, main keelsons, stem- and stern-posts, frames, plank
sheer, waterways, and garboard-strake, are white oak. Beams,
sister-keelsons, deck clamps, ’tween-deck waterways, bilge-strakes,
ceiling, and inner course of planking, are yellow pine. The outer
planking is white oak and the decks of Oregon pine. Both the ceiling
and the outer course of white-oak planking are edge-bolted from stem
to stern, and from plank sheer to garboard-strake. The fastenings are
galvanized iron bolts, going through both courses of planking and the
frames, and riveting up over washers on the inside of the ceiling.
The great oak timbers of the keel, false keel and keelsons, bolted
and strapped and scarfed together in every way that experience and
ingenuity could suggest formed a rigid backbone over six feet high. The
oak timber sources were searched to secure these timbers, and some of
them perhaps could not be duplicated to-day.
Massive oak timbers formed the stem, stern and rudder posts, bolted and
strapped to each other and to the keel.
The frames or ribs of the _Roosevelt_ were placed almost close
together, each made of three courses of selected timbers bolted
together.
At the stem the ribs were close together and the triangular space at
the bow between the port and starboard ribs was filled in solid for a
distance of some ten feet aft of the stem with oak timbers bolted and
scarfed together to make a solid ram, or fighting head or cæstus.
Main deck beams and ’tween deck beams were unusually large and spaced
unusually close together. The latter were placed on a water line
instead of with a sheer, so that they were just below the load water
line where the severest and most frequent ice pressure would come.
Each main deck beam together with the ’tween deck beam below it, and
four stout diagonal braces to the ship’s sides and a 2½″ vertical steel
tie-rod from the bottom of the keel to the upper side of the deck
binding all together, formed a double king post truss, one superimposed
upon the other.
This truss arrangement was made possible by my method of housing the
personnel of the expedition in light roomy quarters on deck, rather
than below the decks.
The sides of the ship varied from twenty-four to thirty inches in
thickness. These sides, supported at every four feet of the ship’s
length by the truss system above described, and still further
reinforced by three solid timber transverse bulkheads, were immune from
being crushed in.
To avoid unnecessary weight, no planking was used between decks; there
were no interior fittings; and spars and rigging were as lightly made
as possible. The hatch coamings were of stout white oak, built almost
as high as the top of the bulwarks, to add to the safety of the ship in
heavy weather.
To protect her planks from the gnawing of the ice while steaming
through it, as well as to reduce friction, the ship was surrounded at
the water line with an armor belt of dense slippery greenheart.
This wood imported from Guiana expressly for the purpose, is so tough
and dense that spikes or bolts cannot be driven into it but must have
holes bored for them.
The shipyard which puts on the greenheart usually has to get a new
set of saws, planers and drills for the next job, and the echoes of
profanity linger for a long time.
The massive construction of the _Roosevelt_ so impressed the
inhabitants of Bucksport, accustomed to usual ship building, that one
of the village oracles is said to have delivered himself around the
glowing stove of the “hotel” office of the following, “By heck there’s
so much wood in the d---- ship that she’ll sink when they launch her.”
After the hull of the _Roosevelt_ was completed, she was put into
dry-dock and “watered”; that is, water was pumped into her to detect
any bolt-holes that had not been filled with a bolt, or any seam that
had been overlooked in calking, just as one would test a pail by
filling it with water to see if it leaked.
By this test leaks are located that cannot be detected in any other
way, and the explorer during his voyage is saved the maddening
annoyance of listening to the trickling of incoming water as he lies
in his bunk at night, of the daily clank of the pumps, and of a ship
with bilges full of ice at the end of the Polar winter.
In regard to engine power, my ideas have been radically different from
those of other navigators. I have believed in all the power it was
possible to get into the ship. I know of few more comfortable feelings
for the commander of a ship beset in the ice than the knowledge that he
has beneath his feet the power that with the least slackening of the
ice pressure will enable him to force his ship ahead on her course.
The motive power of the _Roosevelt_ consisted of a single, inverted,
compound engine, capable of developing a thousand horse-power, and
driving an eleven-foot four-blade propeller. Two water-tube boilers and
one Scotch boiler supplied steam.
Two specially distinctive features of the machinery of the _Roosevelt_
were a large “by-pass,” by means of which, by turning a valve, steam
from all the boilers at full pressure could be turned directly into
the big fifty-two-inch low-pressure cylinder, more than doubling the
power for a short time; that is, as long as the boilers could meet
this excessive demand. The object of this was to give me a reserve of
power with which to extricate the ship from a particularly dangerous
position. On at least two occasions this device accomplished all that
was expected of it, and, by resistlessly forging the ship ahead a
length or two against all odds, removed her from the line of deadly
pressure, and so saved her.
[Illustration: STERN OF “ROOSEVELT” IN DRY DOCK
Note rounded curves, massiveness of propeller, skeg and rudder, and
lavish use of steel plates. Rudder is of white oak timbers 16 in. × 16
in.]
The other was an enormously heavy and strong propeller and shaft. The
shaft was a twelve-inch diameter solid steel forging, a shaft big
enough for a 2000-ton tramp steamer. The propeller was correspondingly
heavy. The object of this was to prevent the complete crippling of the
ship by breaking of shaft or propeller.
This idea entailed unusual weight and expense, but it served its
purpose and was never regretted.
When in July, 1906, the _Roosevelt_ was smashed against the unyielding
ice-foot at Cape Union, tossed about like an egg-shell, and treated
generally as if she were of no account, a particularly vicious corner
of an old floe struck her astern, broke one propeller-blade square
off, tore off the ponderous white-oak skeg, or after stern-post, and,
catching under propeller and projecting end of shaft, lifted the whole
after part of the ship as a man would lift a wheel-barrow, until her
heel was out of water, and held her in this way for several hours until
the tide changed. Had propeller and shaft been of usual proportions,
neither would ever have made another revolution. As it was, my
twelve-inch shaft was not even thrown out of line, and barring the
broken propeller-blade, the machinery suffered no damage.
Another device which added to the effectiveness of the _Roosevelt_
is the arrangement for raising and lowering the rudder while at sea,
or lifting it when under pressure in the ice. A large open well was
provided, reaching through to the main-deck. This was large enough
to permit the massive rudder to be drawn up and hoisted on the deck
for repairs, or into the overhang of the stern, out of the way of
the ice. Instead of having to send a diver down to unfasten the
gudgeons, these worked in an upright groove arranged in the after end
of the stern-post, something like a window-sash. Heavy bolts attached
the pintles to the rudder-post, and in unshipping the rudder, the
gudgeons came up with the rudder itself, leaving the raking steel-clad
stern-post as smooth and clean as the stem, with nothing for the ice to
get a grip upon.
The problem of protecting the propeller-blades and keeping ice away
from them, was solved partly by the full counter and overhanging stern
of the _Roosevelt_, and partly by the design of the propeller. The
blades of the propeller, though short, were large in sectional area,
and particularly strong and massive. Their extremities were so shaped
as to make it difficult for a cake of ice to get between them, and the
blades were so arranged that either two or four of them could be used.
Powerful deck appliances were the windlass, steam-capstans forward and
aft, and steamwinch, which enabled the ship to float herself should
she get aground, or to warp herself out of a dangerous spot.
The special features of the _Roosevelt’s_ model are a smooth and
rounded form not readily gripped by the ice; midships transverse
section that is a semi-circle; a sharply raking heavily steel clad
stem and stern post giving large deck room, sufficient water line
displacement and a short keel which makes the ship quick and handy
in turning; an overhanging stern to assist in protecting rudder and
propeller from the ice.
Her peculiarities of construction include unusually massive and
close arrangement of beams and bracing to withstand pressure on the
sides; filling the bow in almost solid with iron and timbers, where
it gets the brunt of blows; strong and unusual reinforcement of the
rudder-post; the introduction of a lifting rudder; heavy steel plates
for stem and bow; a course of greenhart ice-sheathing to protect the
outer planking.
Her peculiarities of rig are pole-masts; three-masted schooner rig,
with big balloon staysails; and a very short bowsprit, which, when
navigating through ice of some height, can be run inboard.
Her sail-plan is an American three-masted schooner rig, of light weight
(a decided advantage when every pound saved in weight in rigging or
fittings means an extra pound of coal on board), large enough to assist
the engines considerably in favorable weather, or to get the ship home
in case of her supply of coal becoming depleted.
The whole scheme on which the _Roosevelt_ was built was to place all
her strength, power, weight, carrying capacity below the main-deck; to
make everything above deck, such as bulwarks, spars, sails, rigging,
whale-boats, with their equipment, and deck-houses, as light as
possible, in order to allow more coal to be stowed on board, and to
waste no money on frills or fittings, but to use every dollar in the
interests of strength, power, and effectiveness.
Constructed of southern oak and yellow pine, New England white pine
and Oregon pine, by New England labor, the _Roosevelt_ as a thoroughly
American ship combines the qualities of shape which as in the _Fram_
insure her rising under heavy ice pressure, with the splendid ramming
qualities of the best of the Scotch whalers. These permit the ship to
be fearlessly driven into the ice with all the force of her powerful
engines.
The _Roosevelt_ embodies all that a most careful study of previous
polar ships and my own years of personal experience could suggest.
With the sturdiness of a battleship and the shapely lines of a Maine
built schooner, I regard her the fittest ice-fighter afloat.
[Illustration: PUTTING ON THE GREENHEART ICE-SHEATHING
This view shows the sharpness of the bows and the pronounced rake of
the stem]
As I write these lines, I see her slowly but surely forcing a way
through the crowding ice. I see the black hull hove out bodily onto
the surface of the ice by a cataclysm of the great floes. I see her
squeezed as by a giant’s hand against a rocky shore till every rib and
timber is vocal with the strain.
And I see her out in the North Atlantic lying to for days through
a wild autumn northeaster, rudderless, with damaged propeller, and
shattered stern post, all pumps going, a scrap of double reefed
foresail keeping her up to the wind, riding the huge waves like a
seagull till they are tired out.
After my return from the north pole in 1909, the _Roosevelt_ was
purchased from the Peary Arctic Club, which had built her for me, by
John Arbuckle, the great tea, coffee, and sugar merchant of Brooklyn.
Mr. Arbuckle’s personal hobby was wrecking. He desired the _Roosevelt_
as a powerful ocean-going wrecking-tug. He made some changes in her
rigging, removing the mainmast completely, and replacing the foremast
with a powerful boom derrick. Air-compressors and additional powerful
winches were installed upon her deck. Thus equipped, the _Roosevelt_
assisted in the attempts to save the _Yankee_, and salvaged other
wrecks along the coast as far south as Florida.
Mr. Arbuckle’s death put a stop to this work, and for a year or two the
_Roosevelt_ and other craft of his wrecking fleet lay in a Brooklyn
slip almost under the east end of the Brooklyn Bridge, where thousands
of passers-by could look almost directly down into her big, elliptical
smoke-stack.
Then the _Roosevelt_ was purchased by the Bureau of Fisheries of the
Department of Commerce for an Alaskan patrol-boat. The bureau changed
the _Roosevelt_ to an oil-burner, restored her foremast, and made some
minor changes in her accommodations for officers and men.
For a time she made her headquarters at Norfolk, Virginia, whence she
went out on various fisheries trips. In the spring of 1917 she went
through the Panama Canal, and proceeded to Seattle, Washington, to fit
out for her work of patrolling the Alaskan coast, carrying supplies
to the various stations and settlements, inspecting the canneries and
seal-rookeries, and giving assistance, when necessary, to ships along
that coast. For this work the _Roosevelt_ is specially adapted, and
will be able to perform her duties in all weathers and at all seasons
of the year.
While waiting at Seattle, the _Roosevelt_ took part in an important
local event, carrying the official party and leading the naval pageant
on the occasion of the opening of the Lake Washington ship canal
connecting the lake with Puget Sound, and giving Seattle a double water
front.
I was on board the _Roosevelt_ for an hour late in May, and as I stood
again on the bridge the succession of scenes that passed before me was
as rapid as the changing pictures of a movie.
I was much pleased to have the Government take over the _Roosevelt_.
Naturally my feeling for the ship was strong; yet I personally had
neither the means to purchase her nor to maintain her after purchase.
Nor did I feel like suggesting to the friends who had splendidly
furnished the money for the discovery of the pole that the ship be
purchased and taken care of.
From time to time I receive letters suggesting some action--public
subscription or otherwise--for the maintenance and preservation of
the _Roosevelt_ as a national object of interest. These letters have
referred to the government ownership by Italy of Abruzzi’s _Stella
Polare_, by Norway of Nansen’s _Fram_, and by England of Nelson’s
_Victory_; but none of these suggestions ever materialized.
Some day it is my hope to build a _Roosevelt II_ to carry the Stars and
Stripes around and into the heart of the antarctic regions. Drawings
for such a ship, both in general and in detail, based on my experience
in designing, building, and using the _Roosevelt_, were one of my
amusements and occupations during the two long winter nights which
the ship spent at Cape Sheridan. These plans contain a number of new
ideas and improvements over the _Roosevelt_. The actual sail-plan,
cross-section and longitudinal models to the scale of a quarter of an
inch to the foot, are now stored on Eagle Island.
On the conclusion of the war, with the new impetus that has been given
to wooden ship-building, perhaps it may be possible to realize these
ideas, and send a ship south that will place the name of the United
States high in the record of antarctic work. Such a ship, under command
of Bartlett, and utilizing the experience gained and the methods
developed in twenty-three years of north polar work, could probably do
in a given time twice as much work as any existing ship.
There are three pieces of antarctic work of major importance and of
great attractiveness that lie ready to the hand of the United States
whenever we are ready to undertake them.
One is the complete delimitation of the great Weddell Sea indentation
in the antarctic continent lying southeast of Cape Horn. Another is the
establishment of a station at the south pole for a year of continuous,
systematic scientific observations. A third is the exploration, survey,
and study through several seasons of the entire periphery of the
antarctic continent.
The first of these, the exploration of Weddell Sea, which thus far
has baffled the efforts of every expedition, Scotch, German, French,
Swedish, and British, is, from its location in the Western Hemisphere,
in our sphere of influence, and would also be likely to give the
maximum amount of general results in the shortest time and at the least
expense.
[Illustration: BOW OF THE “ROOSEVELT” IN ICE
Impressive in its massive sturdiness and evident power]
[Illustration: LAUNCHING THE “ROOSEVELT”
Bucksport, Maine, March 23, 1905. Very appropriate that the baptism of
the ship should be in ice-filled water]
The second, an observation station at the pole, might be an adjunct of
the first, an overland party from the head of Weddell Sea establishing
and provisioning the station. The traverse of such a party from the
head of Weddell Sea to the south pole would, with the journeys of
Amundsen, Scott, and Shackleton from McMurdo Sound on the opposite
side, give a complete cross section of the antarctic continent.
The natural conditions in the antarctic region, that is, a continuous
permanent surface from year to year, as compared with the north polar
ocean, which may become intersected with lanes of open water at any
time as the result of a storm--makes it possible for a party equipped
like my north-pole party, to establish and maintain a regular route and
system of transporting supplies right through the antarctic night. Or a
few aëroplanes, working from a base at the head of Weddell Sea, could
in a few weeks of the antarctic summer provision such a station for a
year, as British planes in the Mesopotamia campaign carried supplies to
Kut-el-amara.
Such a station, by making simultaneous observations with other existing
stations, ought to add greatly to our meteorological and magnetic
knowledge. If at the same time a similar station at Cape Columbia, the
most northerly easily accessible point of land in the arctic regions,
should be established, and take synchronous observations, the value of
all would be still further increased.
The Cape Columbia station like the one at the south pole could be
established and provisioned by aëroplanes in a few weeks from Whale
Sound less than 400 miles distant and easily accessible every summer.
With two such stations at the extremities of the globe observing
simultaneously with selected stations in the inhabited portions
of the world, there would certainly result a broader knowledge of
meteorological, magnetic, and other natural conditions. The proposition
has the approval of distinguished scientists, and will undoubtedly be
eventually put in execution.
The third proposition, a complete systematic study of the entire
periphery of the antarctic continent and its adjacent waters by a party
of scientific experts in a special ship during a succession of seasons,
would appeal most strongly to the scientists and museums of the country.
It would be an American _Challenger_ expedition, with all the
improvements and widened horizon of investigation that forty-four years
of scientific progress represent. Such an expedition with good fortune
could complete the circuit of the Antarctic continent in three or four
seasons, coming north to pass each winter at some convenient port as
Punta Arenas in the Straits of Magellan; Wellington, N. Z.; Hobart,
Tasmania and Cape Town.
Each year the observations and collections could be sent home, and any
necessary changes be made in the personnel.
The materialization of this program will give our museums a large
amount of valuable material from a region which at present is most
meagerly represented in their collections, and will furnish our
scientists with material and observations to keep them occupied for
years.
The financing of the work could be met by a group of American museums.
Or it presents an opportunity for some man of means to place himself
permanently in the scientific record of the nation by furnishing the
funds for its realization.
CHAPTER II
SELECTING MEN
In my polar parties the matter of personnel has been different from
that of other expeditions because of my extensive utilization of
the Eskimos. From the beginning of my interest in polar matters my
conception of an ideal polar party was one in which the rank and file
should be composed of Eskimos, with one or more white men in command.
But I was not able to realize this ideal at the start of my polar work,
and in my first expedition the entire work was done by the six members
of my party. In my second expedition the Eskimos assisted for a short
distance on the ice-cap. In the work and journeys of my long expedition
of 1898–1902 (four years, three months, and seventeen days), my plans
crystallized into actual shape, and all parties were made up of Eskimos
and a white man or two, sometimes one member of my party commanding
fifteen or sixteen Eskimos. In my last two expeditions of 1905–06 and
1908–09 the system was still further perfected.
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History
CAPTAIN ROBERT BARTLETT]
In these last two expeditions another phase entered. With the close of
my 1898–1902 expedition I had worked out the ultimate possibilities
of sledging from a base south of the 79th parallel, and recognized that
the pole could not be reached from such a base. The preliminary journey
from the base to the most northern land made too serious a drain upon
the energies of dogs and men to enable them to negotiate the final and
most difficult part of the journey over the surface of the polar ocean.
The only answer to the problem was a ship which would put me within
striking distance of the pole.
The result was the _Roosevelt_, and in my last two expeditions the
presence of a ship added to the personnel of my expedition the new
element of ship’s officers and crew. Thus in the final evolution of
my work my parties were made up of three elements: myself and my
assistants for the exploration sledge-work; the ship’s officers and
crew; and the Eskimos, these last being more numerous than both the
others combined.
The Eskimo element is taken up more fully in another place, and I shall
not go into it here. The selection of the ship’s personnel threw no
burden of time or attention on my shoulders, as, with the exception
of the chief engineer and his assistant, whom I myself selected, and
who were Americans, I turned this matter over to Bartlett, himself a
Newfoundlander, and held him responsible for a picked crew of these
ideal, hardy ice-navigators.
In the general scheme of work it was not expected that any of this
ship personnel should take part in the sledging expeditions. Bartlett’s
eagerness to have a share in the sledge work, however, together with
his personal qualifications, made him an invaluable addition to my
field parties, and two or three of the men before the mast volunteered
for, and did good, preliminary depot and hunting work.
My own particular work of selecting personnel was confined, therefore,
to the limited number of my own assistants, and in the last expedition
three of these, Henson, Percy, Marvin (I mention them in the order
of length of service), were tried and faithful men from previous
expeditions.
The day of large parties in successful polar work has passed. Effective
results in these regions can, and in the future will be, obtained by
very small parties. The records of some of the earlier expeditions show
the fallacy of the popular idea that there is safety in numbers.
Franklin’s party of 138 men, the largest in the history of polar
exploration, equipped with everything that the ample resources of the
British Government could provide in that day, met with disaster, not a
single member surviving to tell the fate which overtook them. Too large
a party was, in my opinion, the direct cause of the utter loss of this
expedition, and many of the tragedies which have preceded and followed
it would not have occurred had the parties been small ones.
The whole situation in polar regions is against large parties.
Starvation is inevitable when, as a result of the loss of ship or
supplies, a large number of men find themselves dependent upon the
resources of the country even for a short time, whereas a small company
would have an abundant food-supply. On more than one occasion, on long
sledge journeys with one or two companions, a single hare has made a
hearty meal for us, which, followed by a good sleep, made it possible
for us to travel some days more without meat. Had there been five or
six of us, the portion of each would only have aggravated our hunger,
and the strength and endurance of none would have been materially
increased.
An illustration of this is an incident in the land beyond the ice-cap
on my second trip across northern Greenland. Five hundred miles
separated me and my companions from any other human beings. Then I
wrote:
I saw a fresh hare-track, and a few hundred yards beyond came upon
the hare itself, squatting among the rocks a few paces distant.
With the sight of the beautiful, spotless little animal, the
feeling of emptiness in the region of my stomach increased. I
called to Matt, who was some little distance back, to stop the dogs
and come up with his rifle. He was so affected by the prospect
of a good supper that, though usually a good shot, his first
and second bullets missed the mark; but at the third the white
object collapsed into a shapeless mass, and on the instant gaunt
hunger leaped upon us like a starving wolf upon its prey. A little
pond, surrounded by high banks a short distance away, offered the
advantage of ice for cooking purposes, and here we camped, lit our
lamp, and cooked and ate the entire hare. It was the first full
meal we had had since the Eskimos left us thirty-five days ago--the
first meal possessing proper substance and staying quality to fit a
man for a heavy day’s work.
While we were enjoying our feast, it began snowing, and at its
conclusion we lay down as we were, upon the snow-covered shore of
the little pond, without tent or sleeping-bag or anything except
the clothes we wore, and, with the snowflakes falling thickly upon
us, slept.
Demoralization is also much more easily caused by a disloyal or
cowardly member in a large party than in a small one. The success of
any expedition depends upon the magnetism and force of its leader. His
example is contagious, his courage, activity, and cheerfulness being
reflected in each person of his party up to a certain mark.
But the infusion of fresh courage into a member whose mental and
physical strength has been impaired by cold, hunger, or discouragement
is a drain upon the leader’s nerve force. The larger the party, the
more difficult it becomes to fill it with courage and hopefulness
when confronted by serious disappointment or disaster, or to put down
insubordination. The impetus of a sledge party in particular centers in
the physical condition of its leader, and my various sledge-journeys
have shown me how vital it is that things that drain his energies
should be reduced to a minimum.
[Illustration: MATTHEW A. HENSON]
[Illustration: HENSON IN FULL WINTER COSTUME WITH SNOWSHOES]
Next after the leader and a suitable ship, is an ice master, and an ice
navigator must be born to the art.
He must possess good judgment, nerve, endurance, quick decision, and an
uncanny prevision as to what the ice is going to do next.
Bartlett is the type I have in mind, accustomed to the ice and to ships
from his early teens, wide experience in different portions of the
globe, great endurance, abundant nerve, good judgment, and with the
intensive training and experience of two voyages with me in what is
probably the worst ice-navigation of the north polar regions.
To this has now been added his unusual experience during his voyage in
the _Karluk_ in Bering Sea.
Much has been accomplished by small parties in polar work. Schwatka
made his great sledge-journey with four white men and an Eskimo.
Captain Holm made his eastern Greenland trip with four men; Payer’s
party of seven in Franz-Josef Land was found impracticable, and was
reduced to three. Striking examples of what _one_ determined man can
accomplish are found in the records of Hall’s early explorations and
Graah’s sledge-trip along the eastern coast of Greenland. Nansen’s
most striking work was done with a party of two. Captain Cagni’s main
party to the then highest north, 86° 34´, numbered four. Amundsen
reached the south pole with a party of five. Scott’s south pole party
numbered five. Stefansson did valuable work through several years with
one companion. My own work has been done with from two to six in the
party, the latter being the number in my north pole party.
I have always limited my parties to the number absolutely necessary for
the work I had laid out, believing that every addition means an element
of danger and failure. My reconnaissance of the Greenland inland ice in
1886, resulting in the penetration of the ice-cap to a greater distance
than ever before by a white man, and the attainment of the greatest
elevation on the ice-cap, was made with only one companion.
My Greenland expedition in 1891–92, the record of which includes the
determination of the insularity of Greenland, a survey of Inglefield
Gulf and Whale and Murchison sounds, the first accurate and complete
record of the arctic Highlanders, was composed of seven members. And
the 1200-mile sledge-trip across the Greenland inland ice-cap was
accomplished by me and one companion.
The work of my expedition of 1893–95, covering a period of twenty-five
months, included a second sledge-journey of 1200 miles across the
ice-cap, the discovery of the Cape York meteorites, the completion of
the survey of the region about Whale Sound, and the completion of the
study of the natives. There were fourteen members in this party, eleven
of them returning in August, 1894, leaving three of us to carry on the
work for the last year. Summer trips were made in 1896 and 1897 to
secure the last and largest of the meteorites. There were five men in
the first party, seven in the last.
Twenty-one white men, including the crew and firemen of the
_Roosevelt_, and forty Eskimos made up the personnel of my 1905–06
expedition, which resulted in the attainment of “farthest north.” The
personnel of my last and successful attempt to reach the pole (1908–09)
included twenty-two white men and forty-nine Eskimos.
As to the quality of the personnel of a polar expedition, my experience
has proved over and over again the accuracy of my theory that it should
be made up wholly of young men, of first-class physique, perfect
health, education, and attainment. Such men, interested in their work
and the success of the expedition, with resources within themselves
and plans for the future, are able to resist in a large measure the
depressing effects of the long polar night, and in field-work their
enthusiasm more than makes up for lack of experience or toughened
endurance.
To nine out of ten the word polar is synonymous with cold. To one who
has spent a year within the arctic or antarctic it is more likely to
be synonymous with darkness. Any healthy man properly fed and clothed
can pass the year in these regions with little discomfort so far as the
cold is concerned. But when it comes to almost four months of polar
night, it is different. A man of the most sanguine temperament cannot
avoid entirely its effects, and there are those of nervous temperament
whom a night in the arctic would drive insane. Not that it is so
extremely dark, for the three or four winter moons give a brilliant
light, and at other times the darkness is not greater than at home on
starlit nights in the winter. It is only during heavy storms that the
darkness becomes intense and tangible. It is the absence of the actinic
or the physiological effects of the sun’s rays and the contraction of
the physical horizon by the darkness which render a polar night so
trying. As far as I was able I have selected blondes for the personnel
of all my expeditions.
Men for the field-parties should be wiry, and their weight should be
within the limits of not less than two pounds, nor more than two and a
half pounds per inch of height. This means for a six-foot man a minimum
of 144 pounds, a maximum of 180 pounds, and a mean of 162 pounds.
When I returned from the north pole sledge-trip, which was a trip of
arduous and protracted exertion, but not a journey on half-rations, as
had been the case on some of my earlier trips, my own weight, stripped
to the buff, was 160 pounds, which, by the way, was the same weight
to which I trained for my junior-class crew in college at the age of
twenty.
[Illustration: OO-TAH
This photo of my best Eskimo, taken immediately after our
return from the North Pole, indicates the type of Eskimo for
Polar work. The portrait shows the protecting roll of bearskin
about the face.
]
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the American Museum of Natural History
GEORGE BORUP]
Small, wiry men have a great advantage over large ones in polar
work. The latter require more material for their clothing, and usually
eat more than the former. Large men take up more space than small ones,
necessitating the building of larger snow igloos when on the march,
or the carrying of larger tents than would be needed for a party made
up of small men. Every pound in weight beyond the maximum requirement
tends to lessen a man’s agility; in fact, renders him clumsy and more
apt to break his equipment. For instance, if a large man on snow-shoes
stumbles, a sudden lunge to save himself more often than not results in
a broken snow-shoe. The decided disadvantage which a large man is under
in crossing a lead or new ice is apparent. This was brought to mind
with striking forcefulness in crossing the “Great Lead” on our return
from “farthest north” in 1906, when my little party came the nearest we
have ever come to death. Two miles of young ice, which would not for
an instant have supported us without snow-shoes, had to be crossed,
the party spreading out in widely extended skirmish-line, with fifty
or sixty feet between each man, each one of us constantly and smoothly
gliding one shoe ahead of the other with the greatest care and evenness
of pressure, the undulations going out in every direction through the
thin ice as we advanced.
I was the heaviest one in the party,--160 pounds net,--and fortunately
I had six-foot snow-shoes. Yet for a considerable part of the distance
I doubted if I should ever reach the firm ice. The chief engineer of
the _Roosevelt_ was a heavy man, weighing 235 pounds or more, and as
we stooped to untie our snow-shoes on firmer ice, one of my Eskimos,
Ahngmalokto, turned to me with the remark that if the chief had been
with us, he never would have reached firm ice. And he was quite right.
Some Arctic travelers advise against having men who have had previous
polar experience, as likely to make them opinionated and insubordinate.
There is much in this, and it is a precept well to be followed
particularly if the leader is new at the work. Few men, having had
experience in a certain direction and associated in a subordinate
position with an inexperienced leader, are big enough to be loyal to
their commander.
The usual result is constant slurring criticism which is sure to have
its effect upon other members of the expedition, and opposition either
direct and active or sullen and passive.
The last man of all is the one who is always wondering whether he will
ever get back home or not, and is constantly congratulating himself as
a hero because he is in the terrible polar regions and still alive.
I know of no better test of character than a season spent in the polar
regions. In these regions men get to know one another better in a few
months than they would in a lifetime at home. There is something about
the life which very quickly shows the true caliber of a man. If he is
a cur, or has a yellow streak it is sure to come out. In making up my
last party I was exceptionally fortunate, for I had the membership of
the preceding expedition to select from. Every one was glad to make the
success of the expedition first and personal feelings and ambitions
secondary. My party was efficient and congenial, and never had I spent
a winter in the arctic so free from friction and petty annoyances.
CHAPTER III
SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT
The detail of equipping a polar expedition is like the detail of
equipping an army for foreign service, with, however, this difference.
After the expedition has cast loose from civilization there is no
chance to rectify mistakes or omissions. No rush wires or cables can be
sent back to ship this or that article by next train or steamer. The
little ship which bears the hopes of a polar expedition must contain in
its restricted space everything to supply all the needs of its people
for two or three years in a region where nothing can be obtained but
meat, and even that only by those who possess the “know how.” Even when
the needs are reduced to almost primeval simplicity, the multiplicity
of essential things is great.
As an illustration of how an article, though so common that, like
breathing, we are unaware of it, may be overlooked, it is said that a
great polar expedition costing hundreds of thousands of dollars, and
fitted out under the supervision of committees of scientists and polar
experts, discovered, when it reached its winter quarters, that there
was no salt on board except that in the salt pork and beef.
Supplies for a polar expedition comprise primarily equipment and
provisions. The latter subdivides again into provisions for ship and
headquarters and provisions for sledge-work.
The former are essentially normal, comprising standard commercial
supplies, the principal thing being to have the best, and the
specialness lies largely in the packing. The latter number only four
items, pemmican, compressed tea, condensed milk, hard tack; but they
are special in every detail of make and packing, with the exception of
the condensed milk.
Here are a few of the items and figures on the list of supplies for one
of my last expeditions, flour, 16,000 pounds; coffee, 1000 pounds; tea,
800 pounds; sugar, 10,000 pounds; kerosene, 3500 gallons; bacon, 7000
pounds; biscuit, 10,000 pounds; condensed milk, 100 cases; pemmican,
30,000 pounds; dried fish, 3000 pounds.
To illustrate how normal was our bill of fare on the _Roosevelt_ in
winter quarters, here is our weekly menu for the winter of 1908–09 (the
north pole voyage):
Monday. Breakfast: cereal, beans and brown bread, butter, coffee.
Dinner: liver and bacon, macaroni and cheese, bread and butter, tea.
Tuesday. Breakfast: oatmeal, ham and eggs, bread and butter, coffee.
Dinner: corned beef and creamed peas, duff, tea.
Wednesday. Breakfast: choice of two kinds of cereal, fish, forward
(that is, for the sailors), sausage, aft (for the members of the
expedition), bread and butter, coffee. Dinner: steak and tomatoes,
bread and butter, tea.
Thursday. Breakfast: cereal, ham and eggs, bread and butter, coffee.
Dinner: corned beef and peas, duff, tea.
Friday. Breakfast: choice of cereal, fish, Hamburger on starboard (our
own) table, bread and butter, coffee. Dinner: pea soup, fish, cranberry
pie, bread and butter, tea.
Saturday. Breakfast: cereal, meat stew, bread and butter, coffee.
Dinner: steak and tomatoes, bread and butter, tea.
Sunday. Breakfast: cereal, “brooze” (Newfoundland hard biscuit softened
and boiled with salt codfish), bread and butter, coffee. Dinner: salmon
trout, fruit, chocolate.
In addition to the large quantities of the bedrock staple provisions,
there is a long list of odd and often amusing supplies that would never
be thought of except by those who had already had polar experience. Yet
for the mere problem of existence in those regions, to the experienced
one the essentials are few, rifle and ammunition, matches, knife,
hatchet, needles.
In my work another special class of supplies came in, that is,
articles for my Eskimos; tools, weapons, implements, etc., for pay and
gifts.
Many details so numerous as to be almost impossible to remember
develop in connection with polar supplies as the result of experience
in various expeditions. The packing of all provisions is of the
utmost importance. The first requisite is that everything must be in
water-tight packages, as an insurance against damage or deterioration
if the expedition is a long one, and particularly as a safeguard
against damage and spoiling in case of injury to the ship or in
emergency transportation in boats or across the ice under conditions
which may mean the repeated immersion of the supplies in sea-water.
Another fundamental essential is that all provisions must be in
packages not to exceed a certain maximum weight, which can be readily
handled by one man in loading or unloading a ship or boats or sledges,
particularly in an emergency, where rapid work is essential.
My standard net weight for every package of all provisions which were
not particularly ship provisions was fifty pounds. The water-tight tins
and the light box or crate outside of the tin made the gross weight of
packages from sixty-two or sixty-three to a maximum of seventy-five
pounds. Packages of this size can be easily picked up and passed up
from the hold of a ship by one man, or can be tossed over the rail to
the ice in case of the crushing of the ship, and they are easily and
rapidly handled by one man in stowing in a boat or in taking out of a
boat.
Another detail of packing provisions which, as far as I know, was
unique and peculiar to my expeditions, was making the depth and width
of all boxes containing provisions the same, and letting the length
vary in accordance with the specific gravity of the particular item of
supplies. To illustrate: All boxes of oatmeal, corn-meal, rice, tea,
coffee, sugar, etc., were about twelve inches wide by ten inches deep,
and of a length that would just contain fifty pounds of the particular
article. Of course a sugar box would be shorter than an oatmeal or
corn-meal box, and a corn-meal box would be shorter than a box of tea.
The reason for this standardizing of two dimensions of the boxes was
to fit them to be utilized for constructing houses, being laid up like
blocks of granite, and breaking joints in the same way. By this method
the supplies landed from the ship at headquarters could easily be
formed into two or three comfortable houses for shelter of the members
of the expedition in case the ship should be crushed or burned.
[Illustration: WHALE MEAT FOR DOG FOOD]
These houses were built by forming four walls of the boxes of supplies,
with the tops of the boxes inside; then putting boards or sails across
the top, and banking the whole structure in with snow. When supplies
of any kind were required, the cover of a box in the wall of the
house would be removed from the inside, the tin containing the supplies
removed, the empty box then becoming a sort of shelf or locker for
other articles, if needed. The main point, however, was that all the
supplies could be used, and the house still remain intact.
This method was also valuable wherever large caches of supplies were
made at particular points, as the supplies formed at once a strong,
comfortable, and rapidly constructed shelter for the use of parties
traveling that route and camping at the cache.
Another special point was the marking of all special supplies, such as
tea, coffee, sugar, milk, ship’s biscuit, which might be called the
emergency supplies, on every side with a dash of paint in such a way
that any one, whether able to read or write or not (or an Eskimo),
if able to see one side of a box, would know at once its contents.
This method of marking was the result of the experiences of some
expeditions previous to mine in which much time was lost hunting for
and endeavoring to identify supplies.
This method also worked for instant efficiency in case of emergency, as
a man could seize a case of sugar or coffee to throw over the ship’s
side or out of a crushed boat without any false motions.
All these points were worked out rather carefully, and in my opinion
are so valuable that they never should be omitted in preparing the
supplies of a polar expedition.
Material for equipment of my expeditions (lumber for sledges, webbing
for dog harnesses, furs for clothing, tin for making utensils, etc.)
was always taken in bulk and in the rough, partly for economy in space,
partly for economy in cost, and largely to give occupation to members
of the party during the long winter night in making the finished
articles.
It can readily be seen that in stowing the ship for the northern
voyage, oak and hickory boards for sledges would stow much more
compactly than the sledge itself, and be less subject to injury. So,
too, with sheets of tin as compared with utensils made from the tin.
With furs the same, for made up into clothing they would require double
the space taken up by bales.
This method as regards sledge material is particularly valuable during
the upward voyage, when, as happened much of the time, the ship was
sometimes delayed by the heavy character of the ice, and would have
to lie motionless, with banked fires, several days in one place. At
such times sledge material was brought on deck, and crew and Eskimos
set to work in the best of light, in comfortable temperatures, to make
and assemble the sledges. In this way every one was kept occupied
and interested instead of loafing and fretting at the delay, and the
sledges, as completed, were in readiness for instant use as soon as
we reached winter quarters for the ship. And they were also valuable
for an emergency, in the event of the loss of the ship, to transport
provisions over the ice to the shore.
The stowing of supplies on board the ship was done in accordance
with a plan worked out almost as carefully as would be the builders’
plans of the blocks in a granite building, so that every item could
be located, and the essential supplies and items of equipment for an
emergency--tea, coffee, sugar, ship’s biscuit, oil, guns, rifles,
ammunition, hatchets, fur clothing--were on top and instantly
accessible. When navigating in ice, tea, coffee, sugar, ship’s biscuit,
and oil were stowed in continuous lines on deck and just inside the
bulwarks of the ship throughout the waist, quarter-deck, and on both
deck-houses in such a way that one active man could throw a ton of
provisions out on the ice in a few minutes. This was in addition to
having the whale-boats, as they hung at the davits, stowed and fitted
with rifles, shot-guns, ammunition, hatchets, oil-stoves, matches
in waterproof packages, together with several days’ rations of tea,
coffee, sugar, milk, ship’s biscuit, and oil.
This was in rather striking contrast to an earlier American expedition,
where, it is stated in the official report, nearly the entire cargo
had to be overhauled in order to get at some particular item--guns
and ammunition, if I remember aright. Such experiences as this are
striking examples and illustrations of what my friend Stefansson has
described very effectively in an article entitled “Incompetence as a
Literary Asset in Arctic Matters.”
In two particular items of supplies my expeditions have been an
antithesis of other expeditions. In the case of one item in its
absence, in the case of the other in its great abundance. These two
items were meat and flour. As a result of my plan from my earliest
expedition to depend upon the country itself for my fresh meat supply,
I have never carried any of this in the ship’s stores. On the other
hand, having been most fortunate in my later expeditions, when I had my
own ship, in having a steward (Charles Percy) who was a blue-ribboner
in making bread and cooking meat, I have carried large quantities of
flour. Some idea of the amount of this can be obtained by the fact that
in my last north polar expedition, during the eleven months that the
_Roosevelt_ was lying at Cape Sheridan, Percy baked some 18,000 pounds
of bread.
The members of an Arctic party that have fresh meat and fresh bread
regularly can never have scurvy, regardless of whether they see a
vegetable or a fruit or lime juice from one year’s end to another. My
work, extending over a period of twenty-three years, during which no
symptoms of scurvy ever developed, has shown conclusively that white
men can remain in the highest latitudes for a period of years with
complete immunity from the dreaded scourge.
[Illustration: LABRADOR WHALING STEAMER]
[Illustration: OFF FOR WHALES--LABRADOR COAST]
When it came to the matter of sledge-supplies, even greater care in
packing was applied. Pemmican for the dogs was put up in tins just as
long as the width of my sledges, so that in a standard sledge-load of
dog pemmican the tins formed a continuous flooring to the sledge. The
pemmican for the men was put up in tins that were creased in such a
way that the block of pemmican, when removed from the tin, was lightly
scored in a way that marked it off into one pound cakes, and whoever
had the distribution of the pemmican ration at a camp had only to
insert a hunting-knife or saw-knife or edge of a hatchet into these
marks, and with a blow or two separate the pemmican at once into
standard rations.
All these refinements and details may seem amusing to those who have
read the accounts of some polar expeditions where such supplies as
ship’s biscuit or flour or the like were carried in bags, with no
protection from moisture or water, and where contact with the sharp
edges of ice or the sledge could easily punch a hole through a bag,
with a consequent loss of some of the provisions before the mishap was
noted.
Some of the same expeditions would get out their scales at each camp
and carefully weigh out the various amounts of each item of the
rations.
On my polar expeditions my ship’s biscuit were all made rectangular
in form and sixteen to the pound, so that the matter of adjusting
the size of a ration of biscuit was simply the matter of counting a
certain number. If it was a full ration,--that is, a pound per man per
day,--then the number of biscuit was sixteen. If it was half-ration,
eight; a quarter ration, four.
These things may seem trivial to some readers, but every movement and
operation which can be eliminated and every minute that can be saved
under the trying accompaniments of cold, wind, hunger, and fatigue,
which are inevitable in polar travel, make for the conservation of the
energy, vitality, and morale of the members of the party.
My last two expeditions carried no food experiments, no wonderful
preparations, no condensed products of astonishing powers. I had been
through all this in earlier expeditions, and had tried preparation
after preparation, only to find them of no value on the serious
northern sledge-journey, which was the object and climax of each
expedition. For that journey only the four tried articles, pemmican,
tea, condensed milk, and hard tack, are necessary, and I could not
change or better them for another expedition. On various expeditions I
made and tried out several food mixtures, but discarded them all after
trial.
In obtaining many of the special items of materials a great deal of
time was spent searching through the stores in various places for the
particular thing needed.
To obtain a particular size and shape of aluminum dish all in one
piece, for a detail of my special alcohol field-stove, I have gone over
the entire aluminum stock of New York’s great department stores, and
then through the catalogues of all the manufacturers, till I found what
I wanted or something that could be made to meet my requirements.
Another thing that I recall was steel sledge-shoes. It would seem a
simple thing to find in any place that dealt in steel, strips of the
metal two inches wide, one-eighth of an inch thick, and fifteen feet
long, yet it took me two expeditions to find just what I wanted. The
steel for my purpose must be soft enough so that I could drill it in
the field, yet hard enough so that the constant use would not too
quickly wear it through. Then the edges of the steel must be sharp,
like the edges of a skate, so that the sledges would not slew heavily
sidewise, with almost certain injury, and so they could be tilted on
the edge of one runner, like a skater doing the outer edge, without
losing grip on the ice. This is a favorite device of expert Eskimo
sledge-drivers in difficult situations. All bar steel in the market
had rounded edges, and not till my last expedition, when I found a
cold-sheared steel with edges as sharp as a skate, did I get just the
sledge-shoe that I needed.
Then there were the screws for attaching the shoes. The constant
pounding to which sledge-shoes are subjected in traversing rough
sea-ice soon jars off the heads of any screw that I could find in the
market. After a long search I found a tough wire nail of the right
diameter, which, by cutting to the necessary length, gave me what I
wanted.
As a matter not of conscientious scruples, but of judgment and taste, I
am neither a drinker nor a smoker, and I have always selected men for
my parties who used neither tobacco nor spirits. Liquor should have
no place in a polar ration either for camp or field. Yet on special
occasions, as on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays, nothing gives
more zest or helps to lift the day out of the even monotony of the days
on each side than a glass of grog or light wine.
The liquor supply of my expeditions has always included brandy and
whisky and a little wine. Neither was ever a part of the regular
ration, and yet no party was ever sent out without brandy or whisky
in its equipment. Brandy or whisky is a medicine as much as salts
or calomel, and should be regarded and utilized as such despite the
shrieks of fanatics.
[Illustration: DUNHAM SNOW SHOES
The center pair of shoes, five feet long, one foot wide, with raised
toe and ski curve in middle, is the best shoe made]
[Illustration: ITEMS OF SLEDGE RATIONS
Left to right: Compressed tea, condensed milk, pemmican, oil, alcohol,
dog pemmican, and ship biscuit]
If it were possible to obtain strong hot tea or coffee instantly on
a sledge-journey in extreme low temperatures, there would be little
use for spirits. But when every drop of water must be melted from ice
at temperatures of minus sixty degrees or lower, and then raised to
the boiling point, it takes time. And when a member of the party has
seriously injured himself or has fallen in the icy water, something is
needed on the instant to brace his system and keep him from too serious
a reaction until a snow igloo can be built to shelter him.
Tobacco is equally or more objectionable in polar work. It affects
the wind endurance of a man, particularly in low temperatures, adds
an extra and entirely unnecessary article to the outfit, vitiates the
atmosphere of tent or igloo, and, when the supply gives out, renders
the user a nuisance to himself and those about him.
Of all the items which go to make up the list of supplies for a polar
expedition, the one which ranks first in importance is pemmican. It
is also the one which starts the most instant interrogation from the
average person. I usually find that the character of this absolutely
indispensable food is most quickly grasped if I describe it as a dry
mince-meat.
Pemmican is understood to be of Indian origin, originally made of the
meat and fat of the buffalo, and its name, from the Cree language,
means ground meat and grease. It is said that in the days when buffalo
herds were numerous the Indians and half-breeds made large quantities
of pemmican in the autumn hunting, cutting the buffalo meat in long,
thin strips, which were dried in the sun and wind, then, mixed with
buffalo fat, were pounded into a mass.
Too much cannot be said of the importance of pemmican to a polar
expedition. It is an absolute sine qua non. Without it a sledge-party
cannot compact its supplies within a limit of weight to make a serious
polar journey successful. Perhaps I should modify that by saying to
make a north polar journey possible, as the conditions in the north are
such as to make a successful journey in that region a severer test of
refinement in methods and supplies and equipment than anywhere else.
With pemmican, the most serious sledge-journey can be undertaken and
carried to a successful issue in the absence of all other foods.
Of all foods that I am acquainted with, pemmican is the only one that,
under appropriate conditions, a man can eat twice a day for three
hundred and sixty-five days in a year and have the last mouthful taste
as good as the first. And it is the most satisfying food I know. I
recall innumerable marches in bitter temperatures when men and dogs had
been worked to the limit and I reached the place for camp feeling as if
I could eat my weight of anything. When the pemmican ration was dealt
out, and I saw my little half-pound lump, about as large as the bottom
third of an ordinary drinking-glass, I have often felt a sullen rage
that life should contain such situations. By the time I had finished
the last morsel I would not have walked round the completed igloo for
anything or everything that the St. Regis, the Blackstone, or the
Palace Hotel could have put before me.
Even the Eskimo dogs were at times obliged to yield to the filling
qualities of pemmican, and anything that will stay the appetite of
a healthy Eskimo dog must possess some body. I recall an instance
where my powerful king dog discovered a tin of pemmican that had had
a hole punched in it in some way. The maddening smell of the luscious
beef fat through the hole spurred him to drive his iron jaws through
the tin until he had ripped it like a can-opener and reached the
contents. Had the tin contained ordinary meat, the twelve pounds would
have been merely an appetizer for him; but when I found him later,
he had voluntarily quit, with only a portion of the pemmican eaten.
And--though this may not be believed by others who have had experience
with Eskimo dogs--he would eat nothing more that day.
Pemmican is the _only_ food for dogs on a serious polar sledge journey;
and there is nothing as good as walrus meat to keep dogs in good
condition during the autumn and winter at headquarters previous to the
sledge journey. I found a special brand of bacon which I obtained in
hundred-pound cases one of the best substitutes for the walrus meat.
On my last expedition as an insurance against lack of time or poor luck
in walrus hunting, I took on board several tons of whale meat in bulk
at one of the Labrador whaling stations.
Future polar explorers may find this whale meat a convenient and
economical source of supply for their winter dog food.
The whale meat should be packed at the station in tins containing fifty
to one hundred pounds each. These tins should be filled with fresh
sweet meat from whales just killed, and each tin should be filled solid
under the constant supervision of a representative of the expedition.
In my various expeditions I have naturally had some experiences with
pemmican. In my first two journeys my pemmican supply was part of
the pemmican made for the Greely relief expedition. A large amount
of pemmican was made for this party; but as the few survivors of the
unfortunate Greely expedition were rescued at Cape Sabine and brought
home in a few weeks, virtually none of it was used. On the return of
the rescue party this pemmican was bought in at auction by a dealer in
such supplies, and my outfit was obtained from him. This pemmican was
more satisfactory than any I have ever had since. Nine-tenths of it
was just as good as when made, and the fact that occasional tins of
it were bad was no drawback and caused me no loss, as such tins were
accepted by the dogs at their face value.
The one objection to this pemmican, in the extreme refinement of space
and weight demanded for the sledge-journey across the central polar
ocean, was that it was put up in round tins.
When this supply was exhausted, I had some pemmican made for me; but it
was not entirely satisfactory, and on a still later expedition I was
persuaded to purchase some so-called pemmican of a foreign make. This,
after I had sailed and it was too late to remedy the error, I found to
be largely composed of pea-flour. While nourishing and more or less
satisfactory to the men of the party, it was of essentially no value
whatever for the dogs, and the work of the expedition was just cut in
half by the impossibility of keeping the dogs in first-class condition
to do hard work.
Later on I was consoled to a certain extent for this mistake on
learning that a foreign expedition, in having its pemmican prepared,
had very carefully extracted all fat from the preparation, with
the consequent loss of heat-producing qualities, which was quickly
discovered in the field under the stress of serious work.
In my last expeditions my pemmican was made specially by American
firms, and specially packed for my particular requirements. Its
composition, as ordered, was as follows: two-thirds lean beef, dried
until friable, then ground fine, and mixed with one-third beef fat, a
little sugar, and a few raisins. Of course no one but the makers knew
how much cat, dog, mule, and horse meat masqueraded in the pemmican
under the guise of beef; but it all went, and in the case of the dog
pemmican, of course, it made no difference. In my 1905–06 expedition
the makers, however, in a business-like and perhaps legitimate effort
to make the meat go as far as possible, made liberal use of bone meal
in the dog pemmican. The effect of this upon the dogs was exactly like
feeding a boiler with coal fifty per cent. of which is slate and dirt,
and the work obtained from them was just about in proportion to the
work that would be obtained from boilers in these circumstances.
In my last expedition a more careful inspection and insistence on
edible substances in the dog pemmican remedied this trouble. A portion
of the pemmican, however, contained an ingredient which was not at
all in the original specifications, and which I should strongly
advise against in the pemmican of future expeditions, that is, broken
glass. Fortunately, none of my party experienced any ill effects from
this, owing to the fact that we still retained the civilized habit of
chewing our food, and detected the presence of the glass before it was
swallowed. A number of sudden and unaccountable deaths of my dogs,
however, we attributed directly to this cause.
Pemmican made of the materials and in the proportions required by my
specifications is, in my opinion, as nearly perfect for the purpose for
which it is intended as it is possible to make it. I do not believe
that it can be improved upon, and I feel that experiments or changes in
it are likely to be dangerous to the success of an expedition.
As an illustration of this a subsequent expedition, feeling that the
pemmican would be improved in taste by the addition of some seasoning,
ordered the addition of salt to the other ingredients, and as a
result when it was used continuously in the field the Eskimo dogs,
unaccustomed to salt in any form whatever, sickened and some of them
died.
Next to insistent, minute, personal attention to the building of
his ship the Polar explorer should give his personal, constant, and
insistent attention to the making of his pemmican, and should know that
every batch of it packed for him is made of the proper material in the
proper proportion and in accordance with his specifications.
CHAPTER IV
ICE NAVIGATION
On July 6,[1] 1908, a black, rakish-looking steamer moved slowly up the
East River, New York, beside a puffing tug. Seen broadside on, this
craft was as trim and rakish as a yacht; seen end on, the impression
given was of the breadth of beam and solidity of a battle-ship.
A sailor, glimpsing any feature of this vessel,--the slender, raking
pole-masts; the big, elliptical smoke-stack; the sharply inclined
stem; the overhanging stern; the sheer of the bows; the barrel at the
mast-head,--would have noted its peculiarity, and looked the vessel
over with great interest; and yet she did not look a “freak” ship.
As she passed along, whistles on each shore vied with one another in
clamorous salutations, and passing craft, from the little power-boat to
the big Sound steamer, dipped flags and shrieked a greeting.
[Illustration: BEGINNING THE NORTH POLE VOYAGE
The “Roosevelt” steaming up East River, N. Y., July 6, 1908]
With glasses one could make out on a pennant flying from the masthead,
_Roosevelt_. The Stars and Stripes at the stern were fluttering up and
down incessantly, and the white jets of steam from her whistle were
continuous in answer to the salutes.
This was the arctic ice-fighter _Roosevelt_, as sturdy and aggressive
as her namesake, built on American plans, by American labor, of
American material, and then on her way to secure the North Pole as an
American trophy.
At Oyster Bay the ship was inspected and given God-speed by President
Roosevelt, then steamed out through Long Island Sound, to Sydney,
Cape Breton, for her cargo of coal, then through the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, up the Labrador coast, through Davis Strait, across Melville
Bay, and between the arctic Pillars of Hercules, Cape Alexander and
Cape Isabella, to the battle-ground and the fight for which she was
built--the conquest of the contracted channels filled with massive,
moving ice which form the American gateway to the polar ocean.
The design of the _Roosevelt_ was based upon twenty years of actual
experience afloat and ashore in the very region where she was to be
used. I had reversed all previous practice in regard to polar ships,
and had made this one a powerful steamer with auxiliary sail power
instead of a sailing-ship with auxiliary steam-power. I had seen her
keel fashioned and laid, I had seen her ribs grow in place, I had
seen them clothed with planks, the steel-clad stem and stern shape
themselves, had seen every timber put into place and every bolt driven.
I felt that I had beneath my feet a magnificent tool and fighting
machine that would put me within striking distance of the pole.
Innumerable conversations during a number of years with all kinds of
intelligent, well-read people have shown me conclusively that outside
of the scientist, the geographer, and those who have made a study of
polar exploration, the average person has no idea whatever of the real
character of polar ice.
Perhaps the most general impression--I shall not call it idea, because
it is not definite enough for that--is that the ice of the polar ocean
is a smooth, even, permanent surface, and that the terrible cold of
that region was the principal reason why it was not traversed long ago.
Others think that this ice is snow-covered, and still others are far
enough advanced to think of it as rough, hummocky, or even ragged, but
yet as fixed as land itself.
Ideas as to the thickness of the ice are equally wrong, varying from
a few feet to a conception of the entire polar ocean as solid. Most
people take it for granted that the ice has been formed by the
freezing of the ocean water.
The character of ice varies in different portions of the polar regions.
North of Spitzbergen and Franz-Josef-Land and the long stretches of the
Siberian coasts there may be even in midwinter miles of ice of a few
inches or a foot or two in thickness. This, however, the navigator of a
ship rarely sees, as it has either been broken up by the wind or melted
by the sun before the season of navigation begins.
In Melville Bay and the channels of the North American archipelago,
like Lancaster Sound and Jones Sound and their western extensions,
ice forms early in the autumn and continues to increase in thickness
through the winter until it reaches a thickness of six or eight feet
or, in the fresher waters near the coast of North America, nine feet in
thickness.
Some of this ice, with the advent of summer, slowly melts in place and
disappears. Most of it, however, gradually decreases in thickness as
spring progresses, becomes perforated with holes where the warmer and
fresher water from the melting snow on its surface bores through, and
then moves off in great fields sometimes miles across.
Ice of this kind, encountered in July or August, presents about the
simplest form of ice-work. Two or three well-directed blows at full
speed by a ship like the _Roosevelt_ will often start a crack across a
field a mile or more wide through which the ship can slowly crowd her
way. Or continuous ramming will result in progress, from half to a full
ship’s length being gained at a blow.
Such ice presents no menace at any time to a ship like the _Roosevelt_,
as it cannot crush her, and is simply irritating because of the slow
progress it causes and the persistent way in which it drags along the
ship’s side. In ice like this the monotony is often relieved by the cry
of “Nannook!” (bear), from the masthead, and the resulting scurry over
the ice in pursuit of the animal.
North of Greenland and Grant Land, from their northern shores to
the pole, the character of the ice of the polar ocean is entirely
different. In my final journey to the pole less than one-tenth of the
ice traversed was ice formed by the freezing of the ocean surface, and
more than nine-tenths was fresh-water ice, great fields, some of them
of astonishing thickness, broken off from the low, undulating glaciers
of northern Grant Land and Greenland, and the “glacial fringe” which
skirts all those northern coasts.
The thickness of ice varied from half an inch to an inch on cracks
and narrow lanes a few yards wide that had just frozen over, to floes
drawing one hundred and twenty feet of water, and with hummocks thirty
feet above water-level.
During the winter this mass of ice is for the most part quiet, except
that at the spring-tides of every month cracks and narrow lanes form,
and then freeze rapidly again. Violent wind-storms will cause some
disturbance in the ice, the pressure against the hummocks and ragged
pinnacles of the large fields causing them to crush any thin ice before
them and throw it up in ridges, thus leaving lanes or pools of open
water behind, and causing a slow grinding, twisting motion of the
pack, which, however, stops, and the open water freezes over, with the
cessation of the wind.
In June, July, August, September, October, and November the mass of
ice becomes separated into its various parts, and while no water may
be visible, the fields and cakes of ice are simply in contact, not
frozen together. Then the spring-tides cause much greater motion, and a
violent storm will set the whole mass driving before it, with the big
floes wheeling and smashing everything in their course until the storm
ceases or the movement is stopped by contact with land. Wide lanes and
large areas of open water form, and do not freeze over, and the whole
ocean is similar to a river in which the ice breaking up in the spring
is moving.
This is the time when the ice pours into all the southward-leading
channels; that is, between Franz-Josef-Land and Spitzbergen, between
Spitzbergen and Iceland, between Iceland and Greenland, and down the
American gateway between Greenland and Grant Land.
In none of these places is ice navigation a more serious proposition
than in the last. With the exception of brief and infrequent periods
when the combination of a fresh southwesterly wind and ebb-tide pushes
a fan of open water or loosely drifting ice-cakes out from the northern
entrance to this channel between Cape Sheridan and Cape Brevoort, the
ice is constantly moving rapidly southward through this outlet. When
strong northerly winds combine with spring-flood tides, it rushes
through with a violence that is startling.
Entering the widely flaring funnel between Cape Joseph Henry and Cape
Stanton, then the narrower one between Cape Sheridan and Repulse
Harbor, the ice is compressed between the iron cliffs of Cape Beechey
and Polaris Promontory (less than eleven miles), while the swift
current of this deep gorge does not permit it to stop, and despite a
slight overflow into Newman Bay, is forced sometimes a hundred feet
up the cliffs by the resistless momentum and pressure from behind.
In mid-channel the pressure forces the ice to rafter, or ride, one
field over the other, or the edges of the floes crumble as they come
together, and pile up the huge ice-blocks in long ridges fifty or
seventy-five feet high. Many of the ice-cakes are forced far under
water. One who has seen a big drive of logs which filled the banks of
a rapid river pile up and plunge under and ride over when some narrow
rock gorge is reached can get a crude idea.
Once through this gorge, Lady Franklin Bay and Peterman Fiord give the
ice a chance to expand, and a ship may find here in Hall Basin some
open water. Then the walls narrow again between Cape Defosse and Cape
Bryant, and farther south the passage is obstructed by Franklin Island
and Cape Constitution, till the main channel is less than ten miles
wide, before opening out into the wide expanse of Kane Basin, only to
be constricted again between Cape Sabine and Cairn Point to a width of
twenty-two miles.
When working north in these channels, the only sure way much of the
time is to hug the shore, taking advantage of every sheltering point
and shallow bit of water, crowding on all steam and forcing ahead a few
miles on the ebb-tide, then making fast with all the lines and holding
on desperately during the flood-tide, with the ice spinning past only
a few feet from the ship’s side. Occasionally courage and judgment
give a fifty or hundred mile run in mid-channel, but at its end a firm
shore-hold is necessary to prevent being set back by the ever southward
rush of the ice, and losing all the hard-earned miles.
A kind of ice navigation that may be encountered by polar ships
returning from a voyage late in the season is the tough, leathery,
newly forming young ice. A fortunate experience and apprenticeship in
the whaler _Eagle_, in a very late and unusual voyage in 1886, gave me
some knowledge of this, which proved invaluable in later years, and on
the expedition of 1905–06 kept me from being held in the arctic a year
longer with the crippled _Roosevelt_. For nearly twenty-four hours on
the _Eagle_ voyage, her crew, rushing back and forth across her deck
timed by Captain Jackman or me, rolled her from side to side, while her
engines, going at full speed, slowly drove her out of the clutch of the
young ice in Cumberland Sound. A day later, and we probably would not
have escaped.
In 1906, when at last, late in September, the battered _Roosevelt_
forced her way out of the heavy ice some miles north of Cairn Point,
young ice several inches thick extended all the way to Littleton
Island. This ice was just a little too thick for the _Roosevelt_ to
steam through, but by rolling her, as we had rolled the _Eagle_ years
before, she moved slowly through it. A little later an easterly breeze
sprang up, and, with all sails set, these heeled the _Roosevelt_ to
just the right angle to have her lee bow turn the ice under her in a
steady stream, and she walked along to open water without a hitch.
At this season of the year a returning ship should never stop in a deep
bay, should, if possible, not got caught over night in loose ice,
and should always have full steam up.
[Illustration: DRYING SAILS ON THE “ROOSEVELT” AT CAPE SHERIDAN]
[Illustration: SHEAR-POLES FOR HANDLING THE “ROOSEVELT’S” INJURED
RUDDER]
The key to all polar work is ice navigation. It has made possible the
attainment of the north and south poles and the solution of many other
mysteries of the surrounding regions which have baffled scientists for
hundreds of years. It is ice navigation which puts an expedition where
it can do its work, puts it within striking distance of its objective,
and without this key the knowledge which the world now has of polar
conditions and geography would be comparatively little.
The history of ice navigation dates back to the latter part of the
fifteenth century, when for the first time the arctic circle was
penetrated by Sebastian Cabot. What ice navigation was in the earliest
days it is almost impossible to imagine, though some of the old
chronicles give here and there a glimpse of it, and the narrative of
Barents’s voyage helps us to form an idea. It is no wonder that in the
little craft of those days the terrors of the ice to first adventurers
loomed as terrible as the horrors of our childhood ghost-stories.
With the growth of the whale fisheries in Baffin and Hudson Bays, the
navigation of the ice by the Scottish and American sailors in the first
whalers, square-rigged sailing-ships, became a science, and the way
in which those ships were worked through tortuous leads under sail
was almost unhuman, if some of the stories are believed. With a strong
breeze, these ships could even at times do a bit of ramming, backing
their sails to give them sternway, and then squaring them forward to
go ahead. But when there was no wind, then they were often laboriously
“tracked” by their crews walking along the ice; that is, towed along
like canal-boats with a tow-rope. At other times a small anchor would
be carried out ahead as far as the longest hawser on board, hooked in a
hole cut in the ice, and the ship slowly warped up to it by working the
windlass.
When the ice was in small pieces, the crew would get out with long
poles and push piece after piece behind the vessel, enabling her to
move slowly ahead. Often, however, hours and even days of laborious
work would be set at naught by a shift of the wind or a movement of the
ice setting the ship back for miles.
This use of poles to push the ice aside was the custom even up to very
recent times. I recall how the _Windward_, in August, 1898, coming out
of Etah Harbor, was obliged to force her way through a stream of ice
two or three miles in width. The engine power of the _Windward_ was
pronouncedly weak, and we were obliged to resort to this method to get
the ice out of the way, so that she might strike feeble blows at the
firmer cakes.
I also remember distinctly the feelings with which I watched the
_Hope_, a more powerful ship, less than a mile north of us, moving
steadily along through ice of the same character, finally emerging into
the open water on the outside of the stream, and disappearing from
sight to the south before the _Windward_ was completely through.
The introduction of steam revolutionized polar navigation as it did all
other kinds, though the first attempt to utilize it in the _Victory_
was a rank failure. To whalers fitted with engines as well as sails,
voyages, which before were a gamble, now became a regular certainty,
and fishing-grounds were sought and utilized that before were
absolutely impossible.
Without steam the conquest of the south polar regions would have been
impossible despite Weddell’s surprising voyage in the early thirties.
Without steam the Northwest Passage and the Northeast Passage might
still be unnegotiated, and without steam the north pole would still be
undiscovered.
As late as the fifties and sixties the ships of Kane and Hayes were
propelled by sails alone. Hall in the seventies was the first American
to have a steam vessel.
With the construction of the powerful _Roosevelt_, built not only for
avoiding ice pressure, but for forcing her way through it and, when
necessary, smashing it with powerful blows, ice navigation became a
gladiatorial contest, a royal sport, with the _Roosevelt’s_ steel-clad
bow as cæstus and her fifteen hundred tons of displacement to drive it
home.
There is probably no place where ice navigation is so hazardous as in
the Smith Sound, or American, route to the pole, where the heaviest
of ice, swift currents, narrow channels, and iron shores make the
pressures sudden, erratic, almost continuous, and of great intensity.
The negotiation of the three hundred and fifty miles of virtually
solid ice of all conceivable shapes and sizes that lie between Etah
and Cape Sheridan presents problems and difficulties, which will test
the experience and nerve of the ablest navigator, and the powers
of the strongest vessel that man can build. The value of detailed
experience in such strenuous work cannot be too strongly accentuated.
In my earlier expeditions I have traveled the shores of these channels
anywhere from three to eight times, and know every foot of the coast
from Payer Harbor in Ellesmere Land to Cape Joseph Henry on the Grant
Land shore, and the ice conditions to be encountered. It was my
minute familiarity with the tides of these regions, the small bays
or indentations which would afford shelter to a ship, as well as the
places which grounding icebergs would make impracticable and dangerous,
together with the ice experience and determination of Captain Bartlett,
that made it possible four times for the _Roosevelt_ successfully
to navigate these channels, a feat which was long regarded as utterly
impossible.
[Illustration:
Scotch “Aurora” Italian “Stella Polare”
Norwegian “Fram” German “Gauss”
American “Roosevelt” British “Discovery”
COMPARATIVE PICTURES OF VARIOUS EXPLORING SHIPS]
The earliest voyages into polar waters were made almost solely in the
interests of commerce--to discover, if possible, a short route to China
and the East Indies. Keen and costly was the rivalry among the various
European nations, and many daring and hardy navigators were sent out by
Great Britain, Holland, Russia, Germany, Norway, Sweden, and France.
In 1588, John Davis, following the coast of Greenland from Cape
Farewell to Sanderson Hope, a distance of eight hundred miles, gained
for Great Britain the record of farthest north, 72° 12´.
Hudson in 1607 broke this record by reaching 80° 23´ N. Lat., and
on his return reported the discovery of large numbers of whales and
walruses. As a result the arctic circle became the Mecca for the next
two centuries for hundreds of whaling-ships and thousands of men from
Northern countries.
In 1773, almost one hundred and seventy-five years later, Hudson’s
record was surpassed by the small margin of twenty-five miles by
Phipps, and this new record was not bettered until 1806, when Scoresby,
an enterprising British whaler, ventured to deviate from the beaten
track of the whalers and reached 81° 30´ N. Lat.
Several attempts were made by Parry to find the Northwest Passage, and
although he was unsuccessful in this, the experience gained in ice-work
was most valuable and marked a new era in polar exploration. He was the
first to suggest the idea of a journey afoot from a land base to the
North Pole.
After Parry came Ross, and later Franklin; but it was not until 1850–55
that the Northwest Passage was accomplished by McClure on foot. McClure
traversed the ice between his ship, the _Investigator_, which had
entered the polar ocean via Bering Strait, and was crushed by the ice
in Barrow Strait, and Collinson’s ship, the _Enterprise_, in Melville
Sound, and returned to England via Lancaster Sound and Davis Strait.
The actual navigation of the Northwest Passage was effected by Roald
Amundsen, who in 1903–06 sailed from the Atlantic to the Pacific in the
_Gjoa_.
Subsequently arctic navigators turned their attention to the attainment
of the North Pole, and in 1853–55 for the first time in America took
a part in ice navigation. Kane discovered and explored the shores of
Kane Basin, and outlined a route to the pole, which is now known as the
American route.
Hayes, who had accompanied Kane, undertook a later expedition, but did
not materially extend Kane’s work.
In 1871, Hall, another American, forced his ship, the _Polaris_, to
a new northing of 82° 11´. Four years later Nares in the _Alert_
attained 83° 20´ N. Lat. These two ships were the only ones up to
this time which had successfully negotiated the channels forming the
American gateway to the pole.
All previous records for ice navigation in the arctic regions of the
Western Hemisphere were broken by the _Roosevelt_, which reached Cape
Sheridan in 1905, and penetrated two miles beyond it in 1908. One ship
only has been nearer the pole, the _Fram_, but this higher latitude was
attained not under stress of her own power, but by drifting in the grip
of the ice.
A glance at the history of north polar exploration will show that it is
studded with crushed and foundering ships.
Barents, in 1594–95, lost his ship and his life, his crew barely
escaping. Following him came Bering, whose vessels were wrecked,
causing the loss of his life, and much suffering on the part of
his men before they reached safety on the coast of Kamchatka. The
_Dorothea_ of Franklin’s expedition in 1818 was badly crushed in the
ice; in the expedition of Parry and Lyon in 1823–24 Lyon’s vessel
was nearly wrecked on two occasions, and Parry’s vessel, the _Fury_,
was actually lost; Captain Ross who started out in the _Victory_ in
1829, was obliged to abandon her. Franklin’s two ships, the _Erebus_
and _Terror_, were lost. The _Assistance_, _Pioneer_, _Intrepid_,
_Resolute_, _Investigator_, were all lost in the course of the
search for the Franklin expedition. The Bremen exploring vessel _Hansa_
was wrecked (1860–70), and the crew forced to take to the drift ice
and later to their boats. Hall’s ship, the _Polaris_, in 1872 was
caught in and drifted with the ice, nearly destroyed in a violent
gale off Northumberland Island, and later grounded. In 1874, Payer
and Weyprecht, leaders of the Austrian expedition which discovered
Franz-Josef-Land, were obliged to abandon their ship, and with their
crew, in four small boats, struggled with the ice-pack for three months
before they reached the open sea on their way to safety. In 1879 the
_Jeannette_, under the command of DeLong, was caught in the ice, and
two years later was crushed and sunk, a number of the party, including
DeLong himself, losing their lives.
Some of these disasters have been the result of inexperience, others
have been due to the disregard of the first principles of ice
navigation, and still others are directly attributable to the utter
unfitness of the ship for ice-work. Striking examples of the latter
were the _Jeannette_ and _Polaris_. These ships, because of their
build, should never have gone into the ice. Wall-sided as they were,
once caught between opposing fields of ice there was no escape for
them, as their shape made it utterly impossible for them to rise and
escape the deadly pressure.
[Illustration: ICE NAVIGATION BEFORE THE ADVENT OF POWERFUL STEAMERS]
[Illustration: THE “ROOSEVELT” BESET IN WRANGEL BAY]
The difficulties of ice navigation increase with higher latitude.
Any vessel navigating in polar waters may at any time be crushed so
suddenly that nothing below can be saved. At Etah I have always made
preparations for such an emergency, and had all the pemmican, tea,
coffee, biscuits, sugar, oil, ammunition,--in fact, all the essentials
necessary to sustain life and health,--placed on deck close to the
rail, where it could easily be thrown off to the ice. In addition to
this, the whale-boats, fully equipped for a week or ten-days’ voyage,
were ready at a moment’s notice to be lowered. Each boat, beside the
required complement of oars, oar-locks, boat-hooks, a liquid compass,
and a bailer, contained pemmican, conveniently packed in six-pound
tins; biscuits, fifty pounds; coffee, ten pounds; compressed tea, five
pounds; sugar, ten pounds; condensed milk, ten cans; salt; oil, five
gallons; a small oil-stove; one rifle and one hundred cartridges;
one shotgun and fifty shells; one box of matches in a tightly-corked
bottle; one hatchet; knives; a can-opener; needles, and thread; and
medical supplies consisting of quinine, astringent, bandages, cotton,
gauze, boracic acid, dusting powder, needles, catgut, and liniment. And
every member of the party, including the Eskimos, had a small bundle of
extra clothing packed, and stood ready to leave the ship immediately
after throwing off the supplies and lowering the boats.
The heavy pack-ice which surges down Smith Sound past Littleton Island
usually makes it almost impossible to follow the coast of Greenland
northward, and on leaving Etah it is necessary to cross to Cape Sabine,
on the Ellesmere Land side.
As a rule, the trip from Etah to Cape Sabine presents no particular
difficulty to a ship like the _Roosevelt_, and it may at times be made
in continuous open water.
From Cape Sabine the most practical course lies along the west shore,
where at ebb-tide a navigable lane of water is often to be found
between the shore ice and the moving pack. In 1905, after leaving
Cape Sabine and working northward along the west shore past Bache
Peninsula and Hayes Point, we were forced to seek shelter in Maury Bay
to avoid the heavy ice advancing swiftly before a stiff northerly wind.
By keeping a close watch on the ice and availing ourselves of every
opportunity to advance, we followed the shore-line up past Scoresby Bay
and Richardson Bay. Two attempts to reach Cape Joseph Goode failed,
each time the _Roosevelt_ being driven back to Cape Wilkes by the
ice-pack. Rawlings Bay was packed with ice, and conditions to the
northward, on the Grinnell Land side, altogether so unfavorable, that
I determined to cross Kennedy Channel and proceed northward on the
Greenland side, previous experience in this region having led me to
believe that in most seasons Kennedy and Robeson channels could be more
easily traversed on the Greenland side than on the Grinnell Land side.
After a long, hard struggle we reached the loose ice off Cape Calhoun,
and headed north from Crozier and Franklin islands. Finding the channel
which lies between Franklin Island and Cape Constitution impracticable,
we followed the main channel close to Franklin Island.
As far as Joe Island it was fairly easy sailing as polar navigation
goes. Making the _Roosevelt_ fast to the ice-foot here, a trip to the
summit of the island showed the Greenland side of Hall Basin as far as
Cape Lupton, and possibly up to Cape Sumner, free from ice, while the
Grinnell Land coast was filled with heavy ice, making navigation out
of the question. Just beyond Cape Lupton, while breaking a way through
a small gap in the ice, a quick change in the current, which runs very
swiftly in this deep and narrow channel, forced the ice-floes together
about the _Roosevelt_, smashing her up against and along the ice-foot.
In less time than it takes to describe, it twisted the back of her
rudder, snapped her tiller-rods, almost put her steering-gear out of
commission permanently, and necessitated a stop of several days at
Newman Bay to make repairs.
We had hoped that a lead across Robeson Channel to the neighborhood
of Cape Union would make the return to the west side of the channel
comparatively easy, but in this we were disappointed.
In 1908 the route of the _Roosevelt_ from Cape Etah to Sabine and up
the west coast of Kane Basin, past Victoria Head, was virtually the
same as in 1905. This year, however, we found Kennedy Channel almost
free from ice, and with no fog to delay, the _Roosevelt_ steamed her
way up the center of it, and broke all previous records by navigating
the channel’s one hundred miles of length in one day.
Before reaching Robeson Channel we encountered ice and fog, and were
once driven over to the east coast at Thank God Harbor in an attempt
to find an opening in the pack. With this exception the Grinnell Land
and Grant Land coasts of the channels were found practicable from Cape
Sabine to Cape Sheridan.
On the return voyage from Cape Sheridan to Etah in 1908 I determined to
try out a new route in these narrow and ice-filled channels. Instead
of hugging the shore, the _Roosevelt_, on reaching Cape Union, was
deliberately driven out into the pack-ice in order to work her way down
the center of Robeson and Kennedy Channels. For a ship not specially
built for ice-work such a course would be almost certain to result in
disaster, but for one of the _Roosevelt_ type, and in the hands of
experienced ice-navigators, I consider this by far the preferable
return route. It is also the quickest route, the trip from Cape
Sheridan to Cape Sabine taking only twenty-three days, or twenty-three
days less time than by the old route in 1906.
The navigation of polar waters demands incessant watchfulness and
instant readiness even under apparently the most favorable conditions.
During the passage of Kennedy and Robeson Channels Bartlett was nearly
always in the crow’s-nest, and while I had almost unbounded faith
in his judgment, I spent much of the time in the rigging below the
crow’s-nest, watching the ice ahead, and in the worst places often
relieving Bartlett of too great a load of responsibility by backing
up his judgment with my own views. The periods of night at such times
might as well not have been, for it is possible to get only snatches
of sleep in the short times when nothing else remains to be done,
and Bartlett and I have spent days and even weeks at a time in these
regions without thinking of taking our clothes off to sleep.
The chief engineer, like his assistants, stood his eight- or
twelve-hour watch, and was almost always to be found in the engine-room
when the _Roosevelt_ was passing through dangerous places; for any slip
in the machinery at a critical time would have resulted in the loss of
the ship.
The _Roosevelt_ has undoubtedly deliberately struck heavier blows while
fighting ice than any other ship would dare to attempt. Many times
she has reared and risen on a steel blue mass of old floe-ice till I
was reminded of a hunter rising to a stone wall. Repeated blows of her
steel stem in the same spot have at times split pieces of floes, or the
projecting tongue of a big floe which barred our passage, of almost
incredible thickness just as a small hand ice-pick, if properly used,
will split a large cake of ice.
In loose ice or in one season’s ice or in any kind of ice in the open
sea a ship like the _Roosevelt_ may be regarded as immune.
Really serious conditions are those met in threading a way through a
succession of big floes of heavy ice in contracted channels where the
tides run rapidly, and where the impingement of one floe against an
unyielding headland may cause a jam extending for miles, the floes
coming together like the cars of a long freight train in a head-on
collision.
Under these conditions the movements of the floes are watched with hawk
eyes, and if it is seen that the ship is going to be caught between two
of the fields, she is made fast in a concavity in the edge of one floe
or the other, with a point of ice ahead and astern to take the brunt of
the pressure. Then, if there is time and the floes are very heavy, the
crew go out onto the ice with pick-axes and bevel down the edge of the
floe against the ship’s side to assist her in rising.
This beveling of the edge of the ice next to the ship’s side was
always done when the _Roosevelt_ was made fast against the face of the
ice-foot in an exposed position. Sometimes charges of dynamite in line
a few yards away from the ship will shatter the edge of the floe and
form a cushion of smaller pieces for the ship to be forced against.
With skill and good judgment it is often possible to drive the ship
into a sheltered pool where three floes coming together form a
deadlock, expending their force against each other while the ship lies
in a little ice-locked pool of water as in a natural harbor. Sometimes
this harbor opens with change of the tide. Often it grows smaller and
smaller till it disappears; but time is thus given to make the ship
secure, and sometimes, by placing dynamite to smash off a corner and
having full steam on to jump the ship through before the floes close
again, escape is effected.
The _Roosevelt’s_ most serious times were at the northern entrance to
Kennedy Channel, where at the neck of the funnel there is a grinding
hell of great ice-fields crowding one another on the rush of the
spring-tides in their eagerness to get south. A memorable instance was
her thirty-five-hour battle across the channel from Cape Sumner to
Wrangel Bay August, 1905, a distance of _fifteen_ miles.
Two crucial situations are when, with the unbroken face of a big floe
on one side, the point or corner of another on the other side catches
the ship. In this situation, if the ship does not rise, she is lost.
The other is when a big field, with the weight and pressure of miles of
ice behind it, comes slowly rotating along the shore with resistless
force. Every effort should be made to get outside of such a floe. If
this is impossible, then the ship should be driven into a niche of the
ice-foot, if possible in the lee of some stream delta, made fast with
every line, and the edge of the ice-foot abreast of the ship beveled
down as low as possible to facilitate the ship’s rising on it.
The _Roosevelt_ had two or three very close calls of this kind on her
upward voyages, the ice pressing up over the ice-foot and piling up
on the cliffs a few hundred yards ahead or astern of her. I recall
one instance where with the glasses I saw from the crow’s-nest huge
ice-blocks climb fifty feet up the cliffs at a point a mile or so ahead
of us at the very place where some hours earlier I had thought of
making the _Roosevelt_ fast to await the turn of the tide. Fortunately
I had decided to take no chances, and had retreated a mile or so to a
safer position.
[Illustration: THE “ROOSEVELT” STEAMING THROUGH THE ICE-PACK]
[Illustration: FLOE IN LADY FRANKLIN BAY THAT LIFTED THE “ROOSEVELT”
NEARLY CLEAR OF WATER]
There is one phenomenon in this region which is certain to cause the
leader of an expedition temporary palpitation of the heart the first
time it occurs. When the ice-floes come together, and the edges crush
and pile up in great ridges of ice-blocks, other pieces of ice are
forced down, and in the deeper portions of Kennedy Channel large
granite-like blocks are held down undoubtedly one hundred or more feet
below the water. When the ice pressure relaxes, these start for the
surface, gathering momentum, as they rise, and leap half their bigness
above water, then settle back.
Two or three times blocks of this kind on their way up struck the
bottom of the _Roosevelt_ a resounding thump just as she was released
from the strain of ice pressure and had settled back into the water.
The shock is different from the tense vibrations of ice pressure or the
crash of butting ice at full speed, or the grinding crunch of running
on a rock. It is an upward shock as from the blow of a great hammer,
that jars every timber in the ship. Its first occurrence usually forces
the involuntary exclamation, “My God! what has happened now?” After the
first time, one is always ready for it, and so is not disturbed.
No attempt should ever be made to anchor in this kind of navigation
unless one wishes to present the ice deities with his anchor and much
or all of his cable.
Just as sure as the anchor is put down a big floe will come along and
squat on it; then there is nothing to do but unshackle your cable and
let it go. It cost me two anchors and two cables one summer’s trip
to learn this lesson thoroughly. On another voyage in a usually safe
position a big floe compelled me to drop an anchor and all of its
cable, though I recovered it the next season.
Whenever the ship is to be made fast, it should be done with lines and
hawsers made fast to ice pinnacles, holes in the ice, or ice anchors.
It is well also to bring the end of line or hawser on board, so that it
can be cast loose without sending a man off the ship. Movements of ship
and ice are sometimes too rapid to risk a man.
To a ship built as sturdily as the _Roosevelt_, with no greater speed
and with a lively helm, icebergs are no bugbear. During the upward
voyage it is continuous daylight, so that even in thick weather there
should be no difficulty, with ordinary care, in detecting the proximity
of bergs along the Labrador coast and in Greenland, waters in time to
avoid them. North of Kane Basin real icebergs are rarely seen, and
these only small ones. In the polar ocean there is nothing that can be
dignified by the name. On the return voyage, in the long, dark nights
and short, dull days of late autumn, in Melville Bay, Davis Straits,
and along the Labrador coast, they compel a careful lookout. With all
lights shut off, a reliable man way forward, and two officers on the
bridge, we never had serious trouble even in the darkest nights in
detecting the “loom” of a berg in time to shift the wheel and avoid it.
“Growlers”--that is, translucent fragments of bergs as hard as granite,
of the same color as the water, and just barely floating--are the kind
of ice that succeeds most completely in rendering itself invisible. My
ships have bumped these more than once in brilliantly clear weather,
with no other ice in sight and the lookout gone below.
I recall coming home across Melville Bay in one of my earlier auxiliary
ships. It was a brilliant moonlit September night, not a piece of ice
in sight anywhere, a fresh following breeze, and the ship making about
ten knots. It was the mate’s watch, and the other officers and members
of the expedition were below in the cabin when suddenly there was a
terrific bump. The ship seemed to stop completely for an instant; then,
after a vicious lurch or two, went on her way. Every one in the cabin
except the captain went in a mess against the bottom of the forward
bulkhead. The captain, sitting on the after locker, was nearly cut in
two against the cabin table, and went about for a day or two like a
man who had been kicked below the belt by an army mule. We had made a
bull’s-eye shot at what appeared to be the only growler in the bay. Of
course these growlers are not a source of danger to a ship like the
_Roosevelt_, though they would be to a weaker ship.
I have thought, if I should go north again, that I would try a
search-light for the autumn return voyage. In thick fog, of course,
such a light would be of little or no use.
A trick that is sometimes of considerable value in squeezing through
the ice is to use the ship as a big pinch bar to separate two cakes of
ice. With the stem forced into the crack between the cakes, the engines
are driven ahead full speed and the wheel thrown hard over alternately
to port and starboard. In this way the bows are gradually forced
farther and farther in until the ice has been pried apart, and the ship
squeezes through.
Streams of ice in the open sea are a pronounced comfort in heavy
weather. If the ship is on the lee side, she can steam along in smooth
water, with the wind blowing a howling gale, the ice acting as a
breakwater. If she is on the weather side, a ship like the _Roosevelt_
can force her way into the pack and lie in comfort. This is often a
distinct help with a deeply loaded ship on the upward voyage.
In the one season’s ice of Melville Bay a ship may often force her way
through mile after mile by continuous repeated blows like a drill or
well-borer, smashing the ice into small pieces for some feet or yards
at every blow. But once past Cape Sabine there is no more of this. Then
it needs skill as well as power, and progress is a matter of dodging,
turning, squeezing, twisting, rushing along a narrow lane of water and
striking sledge-hammer blows at points or masses of blue granite; then,
when further progress is absolutely impossible, banking fires to save
coal and waiting for the next round.
[Illustration: THE “ROOSEVELT” LASHED TO THE ICE FOOT]
[Illustration: IN THE CROW’S NEST]
It needs incessant watching of every move of an enemy with a myriad
tricks and resources, and then instant decision,--“pep,” as my young
friend Borup would have put it,--and a little courage.
In all my experiences I recall nothing more exciting than the thrill,
the crash, the shock of hurling the _Roosevelt_, a fifteen-hundred-ton
battering-ram, at the ice to smash a way through; or the tension of the
moments when, caught in the resistless grip of two great ice-fields, I
have stood on the bridge and seen the deck amidships bulge upward and
the rigging slacken with the compression of the sides; or have listened
to the crackling fusillade of reports, like an infantry engagement,
from the hold, and felt the quivering of the whole ship like a mighty
bowstring, till she leaped upward, free of the death-jaws, and the ice
in snarling turmoil met beneath her keel and expended its fury upon
itself.
Again I can see Bartlett up in the crow’s-nest, at the head of the
swaying mast, jumping up and down like a mad man, swearing, shouting to
the ship, exhorting it like a coach with his man in the ring. Ah, the
vibrating bigness of it! How fine it would seem to be at it again!
CHAPTER V
WINTER QUARTERS
The matter of winter quarters is one of pronounced importance to polar
travelers, ranking second only to the question of an abundant supply of
food. Warmth, dryness, and abundance of light are the great desiderata.
A knowledge of Eskimo methods of house-building, combined with a little
ingenuity, enables these needs to be secured with few and simple
materials.
In an experience extending over twenty-three years I have had occasion
to prepare winter quarters afloat and ashore for parties of from three
up. Many ideas were tried out, and most of them discarded as useless.
Some were found of value, and utilizing these, I have introduced
on different expeditions, and have tried out with most gratifying
results, a new design for winter quarters the general principles of
which I believe will be of value to future explorers in these regions.
After I had had opportunities to study Eskimo principles and methods
of house-building I gained new points, and could easily have adopted
their practice _in toto_. With the addition of some materials of
civilization, it was possible, however, to improve upon their results.
Now, given a tent, a pick-ax, and a shovel, a bale of pressed hay,
a lamp, a few gallons of oil, and the wood of the cases in which my
provisions were packed, I could make a winter habitation for from two
to six men in which they would be just as comfortable as at home.
If the Eskimos, with their crude intelligence and almost utter lack of
materials, can construct comfortable habitations to protect them and
their children through the bitter, months-long winter night, surely
the white man, with his superior intelligence and limitless range of
material, should be able to do as well.
Headquarters for my expedition of 1891–93 were established in McCormick
Bay, where I was sure of securing an abundance of fresh meat for my
party of seven. The site for our winter home was selected only after
most careful consideration. It was essential that it be on land high
enough to insure dryness; that it be sheltered from strong winds, and
yet get as much sunlight as possible. It should also be free from
danger of snow or rock slides and from spring floods, and not too far
from the shore.
A grassy knoll on the southern shore of the bay about a hundred feet
from the water’s-edge was finally decided upon as meeting most fully
our requirements. A brook on each side made a good water-supply
certain. A hundred feet back of the house were brown cliffs, which had
the disadvantage of cutting off the sun in the early spring and late
autumn; but they served as a protection against the winds, and we felt
this was the best we could do.
All material for the house was of course taken north with us, and on
the way up was cut and fitted, ready to nail together and set up at
once upon our arrival.
Red Cliff House, when finally completed, was a sort of house within
a house, there being an inner frame that was separated from an outer
frame by an air space ranging from ten inches on the sides to something
over three feet in the middle of the roof. A sheathing of closely
joined boards and two layers of tarred paper on the outside of the
outer framework made it air-tight, while the inner house was made of
heavy boards, and rendered air-tight by a coating of heavy brown paper.
[Illustration: COMPLETE POLAR WINTER HOUSE
Before banking in with snow]
[Illustration: A SCENE AT HUBBARDVILLE 82° 30´ N. LAT.
One of the box houses in winter]
The interior was twenty-one feet long, twelve feet wide, and eight
feet high, and was divided into two rooms. A wall was constructed all
the way around the house, leaving a passageway of four feet between.
For the lower portion of this wall, empty barrels, stones, and turf
were used, while wooden boxes containing canned supplies, piled in
regular courses on top of this foundation, formed the upper portion
of the wall. I had the supply boxes made the same width and depth, but
of different lengths, specially for this purpose. A roof of canvas
extending from the house to the wall made a closed-in corridor, which
we used as a storeroom. The boxes were stacked so that the covers could
be opened from the inside, making their contents as easily accessible
as if they were on pantry-shelves. This corridor was quite large
enough to serve as a workroom, and here we made our sledges and other
equipment necessary for sledge-journeys. When the snow came, a long
snow entrance to the corridor was constructed; the roof was covered
with a thick blanket of it, and the walls were banked, still further to
protect us from the wintry blasts.
For our stove a pit was dug in the ground, so that the fire-box came
below the level of the floor, thus insuring the warmth of air even down
to the floor level, and lessening the danger of fire. To carry the
stovepipe out so that it would not come into contact with the woodwork,
we ran it through a double window the glass of which had been replaced
with sheets of tin. Air-shafts were suitably arranged for carrying off
moisture and bad air.
This done, heavy Indian blankets of bright red, adding warmth and color
to the interior, were used to cover the walls and ceiling; bunks were
built along the wall; and with a few chairs and a table, a library, and
our cooking-utensils, our home was ready for occupancy.
My expedition of 1893–95 had its headquarters at the head of Bowdoin
Bay a few miles north of Red Cliff. Our home here was to accommodate a
party of fourteen, just twice as many as were housed at Red Cliff, and
consequently had to be made much larger than our first winter home.
Anniversary Lodge, as this later came to be called, was built on the
same general plan as Red Cliff House, with an inner air-tight shell
separated from an outer air-tight shell by an air space from one to
three feet in width. The roof was almost flat, and a closed-in corridor
ranging from four to six feet in width, and with a nearly flat roof,
surrounded the whole building. The outer wall of this was likewise
made of boxes filled with supplies, and a covering of snow was used
to protect it from winter weather. The floor was double, tongued and
grooved, and lined with tarred paper. The inner and outer sheathing
were also tongued and grooved, the former lined with blankets and felt,
the latter covered inside and outside with tarred paper. The outer
joints were covered with battens.
The house was divided into four rooms, the central part of it, fourteen
feet long, nine feet wide, and eight feet high being partitioned off to
serve as kitchen and dining-room while two end rooms opening from it
were used for sleeping-quarters.
A window three feet high extended across the entire front of the main
part of the house, and each sleeping-room had a window, protected by a
storm-window, with an overhead sash to prolong the arctic day as long
as possible. During the arctic night this sash was covered with hay. In
addition to this a sky-light was built in the roof to catch the last
rays of the departing sun, and during the winter it was covered with
hay and a blanket of snow.
During the winter of 1894–95 my party was reduced to three members,
including myself, and the winter quarters was modified to meet our
requirements.
The central room was selected for our use. The partition between the
kitchen and the dining-room was taken down, and a small stove set up in
the middle of the forward part of the room. The stovepipe was carried
out through one of the ventilator-shafts, and carefully wrapped in
asbestos to prevent its burning the woodwork. The table was cut down
to one-half its original size to meet our needs, and a wide bench
extending the whole width of the room was built under the windows.
Covered with a large bearskin, it was used as a seat in the daytime,
and at night I slept on it.
The other two members of my party slept in the rear of the room. A
platform was built three feet from the floor, with a distance of six
feet between it and the back wall. Two cots were placed with their
heads resting on the platform and their feet supported by cleats nailed
to the rear wall. This arrangement is similar to the Eskimo method,
giving the occupants a good circulation of air as well as lifting them
out of the low temperature and drafts near the floor. These beds as
well as my own were fitted with blanket curtains. Shelves were built
under the bed platform and near the stove to hold our current supplies
of coffee, flour, etc., and the space back of them was utilized for
storage purposes.
A closet for dishes and books and another for medicines were built on
the east wall of the room, while along the west side was our gun-rack,
containing shot-guns, repeaters, carbines, and a Daly three-barrel gun.
A clock, chronometers, barometers, barograph, etc., were hung above
the gun-rack. A bird-net was suspended from the ceiling for drying
out grass, which we used in the bottom of our _kamiks_, and three
barrel-hoops were placed about the stovepipe at the top of the room for
drying our stockings, _kamiks_, mittens, and other articles of clothing.
The walls and ceiling of the room were decorated with magazine
pictures, which not only covered the cracks, but made the room brighter
and more cheerful. A large ten-gallon can served as a water-tank, and a
pail for our coal and a molasses-keg chair completed the furniture of
our living- and sleeping-room.
In the west room we kept our furs, clothing, and part of our equipment,
while the east room was used for a general storeroom and workroom. In
one end of it was our coal-bin, a barrel of sugar, and one of biscuit.
The room was heated by a small stove, was furnished with a table and
Eskimo lamp and a wide bench covered with skins, which served as a
seat for our Eskimo seamstresses, who made all our fur clothing in
this room. Our sledges and tent also were constructed here, and walrus
meat was cut up and packed for the sledge-trips, so that the room was
usually full of happy, noisy natives.
Most of the wall surrounding the house had been emptied of supplies
during the previous year, and the empty boxes and barrels used for
fuel. Now we had to find a new way to protect our room from the cold.
Finally we dried thoroughly all our baled hay, and filled the spaces
between the inner and outer framework of the house with it. We also
reinforced the wall between our living-room and the east room by a wall
of hay two and a half feet in thickness from the floor clear to the
ceiling, finishing it with a small vestibule with double doors. The
wall between our room and the west room we packed with furs. Outside
protection was secured by placing four large biscuit-casks along the
side of the house under the windows of our room. Their tops came even
with the window-sills, and hay was packed in the spaces between them
and the house. When the snow came, everything was banked in snow three
or four feet deep, a wall of snow-blocks was built along the east side
of the house, a snow entrance erected, and we were snugly housed for
the long winter night.
In these expeditions I gained a fairly thorough knowledge of Eskimo
methods and principles of house-building, and it may not be amiss to
give here my description from “Northward Over the Great Ice” of their
winter igloos:
These igloos vary in size, from nine to fourteen feet in length
inside, and occasionally two, more rarely three, are built close
together, the party wall doing double duty and thus economizing
material and labor. In plan and method of construction, each igloo
is built like all the others. There is a long, low, narrow stone
tunnel; a small standing room; a shallow platformed alcove on
either side for meat and the stone lamps; and a large platformed
alcove in the rear,--the family bed. A single small window of seal
intestines over the entrance admits a little light.
The construction of one of these primitive habitations, half
excavated beneath, half built above the surface, would seem at
first glance to demand nothing beyond a considerable outlay of
manual labor in transporting and arranging the stones. Yet the
spanning of a space twelve by fourteen feet in such a way as to
support a heavy load of stones, turf, and snow, is not an entirely
simple problem in a country where there is literally not a splinter
of wood or anything that can serve as a substitute for it. Yet
these children of the ice have met and solved this problem with
the cantilever principle, and the roofs of these old stone houses
are every one supported with massive stone cantilevers, firm and
unyielding as a masonry arch. In the plan and arrangement of
his house, too, the Eskimo has met and solved each problem that
confronted him, and though the entrance is never closed, yet no
draught or current of air disturbs the quiet interior, the thick
non-conducting walls of stone and turf are perfect insulators from
the savage cold, and the heat from every drop of the precious oil
burned in the stone lamps is fully conserved. Many of these igloos
have every appearance of being centuries old. Vertebrae of the now
extinct whale are almost invariably built into their walls and
frequently such enormous stones are used in supporting the roofs,
that it seems impossible they could have been handled without
mechanical appliances.
All the roof and bed platform stones, which must be large, flat and
thin, as well as many of those for the walls, had to be brought by
the men on their backs from the mountains, sometimes a distance of
several miles. The construction of the igloos falls very largely
upon the women, and in an emergency they even assist in bringing
stones.
These stone dwellings are occupied from the latter part of
September till April or May, depending upon the season, locality,
and movements of the occupants. By May they usually become very
damp, and then the family betakes itself to its tupik, removing,
at its departure from the igloo, the windows and a portion of the
roof, so that throughout the summer the sun and wind may have free
access to the interior. There is no ownership of these igloos
beyond the period of actual occupancy. Any one of them is free to
each and all, and it is the exception rather than the rule that a
family lives in the same igloo, or in fact in the same place, two
years in succession.... The building of a new igloo is rather a
rarity, also, and is necessary only when, for some special reason,
an unusually large number of natives are attracted to one place.
Usually no more families locate in a place than the existing igloos
will shelter.
A temporary form of habitation used by the Eskimos at the spring walrus
hunt at Cape Chalon, and sometimes when a death in winter drives a
family out of the permanent habitation, is constructed of snow, lined,
in the case of the more-well-to-do Eskimos, with their skin _tupiks_,
or tents.
These igloos are for use only for a few weeks. The Whale Sound Eskimos
do not, like the Baffin Land tribes, use snow houses for their
permanent winter habitations. The following is a description of one of
these:
It was twelve feet long, by twelve feet wide, and seven feet high,
in the highest part beneath the sealskin lining. The bed-platform,
raised a foot and a half above the floor, was six and a half feet
deep; and the standing room in front of it six feet by five feet.
The window of seal intestines was two feet square. The igloo was
lined throughout with the tupik or summer tent, so arranged as to
leave an air space between it and the snow walls of the igloo, thus
preventing the latter from melting, and keeping the interior dry. A
small hole in the highest part of this lining, and another directly
over it in the top of the igloo, afforded ventilation.
A long, low, narrow snow tunnel gave access to the igloo, and protected
the interior from drafts or penetration by the furious spring storms.
[Illustration: AFTER A WINTER BLIZZARD
“Roosevelt” surrounded by chaos of shattered and upheaved ice]
[Illustration: UNLOADING SHIP AT WINTER QUARTERS
The “Roosevelt” at Cape Sheridan]
A still more temporary form is the small, rapidly constructed snow
igloo used by traveling parties in winter and spring, and occupied only
for a single night unless the travelers are held by storms. This is
the kind of igloo invariably used by my parties on their sledging-trips.
The Eskimos can nearly always tell who built an igloo. Though they
are all constructed on one general principle, there are always
peculiarities of individual workmanship which are readily recognized
by these experienced children of the North, whose horizon is so narrow
that they see and remember every minute trifle.
The fundamental principle of all these houses is that warm air is
lighter than cold and rises. The level of the bed and living-platform
in an Eskimo igloo is always higher than the highest part of the
entrance opening. In the best of the permanent winter igloos the
entrance is through the floor. As a result of this construction, every
bit of warm air is retained in the igloo, and the long and--whenever
practicable--downward-sloping entrance tunnel prevents even the most
violent air-waves of furious blizzards from penetrating the quiet
interior. The vertical variations in temperature in the winter igloo
of a successful hunter who has good store of blubber to keep the
stove-lamps going are pronounced. On the bed platform, at the level
of the lamps, the host and hostess and children are usually in their
birthday suits, unless the lady, in deference to the presence of a
guest, assumes a strip of seal skin half an inch wide. If one stands,
bringing the head to the top of the igloo, it is like putting one’s
head into a furnace. Yet a drop of water spilled on the floor of the
igloo, a foot below the level of the bed platform, is instantly frozen
into ice.
On several subsequent expeditions my parties wintered on board ship,
and this introduced new elements. The first thing to be done by any
well-managed polar expedition on reaching winter quarters is to land
everything in the way of supplies and equipment and fuel, and to erect
suitable shelter for the entire party ashore as a precaution against
fire or other mishap to the ship. The ship should, in fact, be emptied
completely.
My first practical working out of this proposition was with the
_Windward_ at Cape D’Urville in the winter of 1898–99. The boxes
of supplies landed here were erected into a compact house, with
a box-tunnel entrance, fitted with a small stove, and banked in
completely with gravel, which in winter of course became covered with
snow, giving the appearance of a snow-drift. This house, in addition
to serving as insurance for the party during 1898 and 1899 in case of
the loss of the _Windward_, lying unprotected in the ice offshore, was
during the three following years a welcome haven and refuge for my
parties sledging from Etah and Payer Harbor to Fort Conger.
This box-house idea was greatly extended and developed in my last two
expeditions of 1905–06 and 1908–09 in the _Roosevelt_.
At Cape Sheridan, the winter quarters for these last two expeditions,
we built box houses ashore, using the boxes containing supplies just
as we did in previous years, and packing them in firmly with hay. The
packing of our supplies for this purpose in boxes of certain sizes was
one of the many details which determined the success of the expedition.
The heavy cases of bacon, pemmican, flour, etc., were used as so many
blocks in the construction of several houses about thirty feet long and
fifteen feet wide. For roofs, sails thrown over boat-spars or beams
were used, and later were covered in solid with snow. A stove set up in
these made good workrooms for the Eskimos through the winter. On the
last trip north, when the _Roosevelt_ was caught in the grip of the
ice, the Eskimos became so thoroughly frightened that they picked up
their belongings and took to the box houses for the night, some of them
spending the rest of the winter in them or in snow igloos.
The adjacent shore for a quarter of a mile was lined with the remaining
boxes of supplies, each item of provisions having a pile to itself.
This packing-box village was called Hubbardville.
Had we lost the _Roosevelt_ at Cape Sheridan, we should have spent
the winter in the box houses which we constructed, and in the spring
should have made the dash for the pole just the same. We should have
then walked the 350 miles to Cape Sabine, crossed the Smith Sound ice
to Etah, and waited for a ship.
The second new element introduced into my later expeditions by the
presence of a ship was the preparation of the ship itself for winter
quarters.
A partial beginning at this was made on the _Windward_, where my own
personal quarters were an Erie Railroad caboose given to me by my
friend Eben Thomas, president of that road. This caboose I put on the
deck of the _Windward_ between the mainmast and foremast, and bolted
it down like any deck-house. In the autumn at Cape D’Urville, when the
temperatures began to go down seriously, I had my Eskimos incase and
cover it in with a wall of snow-blocks, and build a beehive-shaped
vestibule or storm entrance of snow-blocks round the door.
This arrangement, in its comfort, facility of ventilation, freedom from
the moisture and condensation incident to the quarters of the others
below decks and the old system of ships’ quarters, was so superior that
I was convinced the only place for the quarters of a polar ship was on
deck.
In building the _Roosevelt_ I put the quarters for every one, officers,
crew, and Eskimos, on deck, and in the two expeditions of 1905–06 and
1908–09, in wintering at Cape Sheridan, I worked out fully what I
believe to be the most comfortable and satisfactory method of ship’s
winter quarters.
As a result, the officers and crew of my last two expeditions had light
and roomy accommodations on deck, a great improvement over the old
method of housing a party below decks, as in all old-fashioned ships,
and even in ships built comparatively recently for polar work.
My assistants and the ship’s officers were quartered in a deck-house
between the mainmast and mizzenmast. The deck-house extended
clear across the ship, was low-posted,--seven feet from floor to
ceiling,--and contained the cook’s galley and domain as well as our
quarters. It was plainly and strongly constructed, sheathed inside,
and special care was taken, by the use of heavy building paper, double
planking, and close joints, to have no cracks or joints for the
entrance of cold air.
The journey north in the ship, being a summer coasting voyage, with
no danger from high or heavy seas, and the deck-house being above the
main structure of the ship, I was able to put in large plate-glass
ports along the sides to light the interior; and for the same reason I
was able to put real windows--four in all, double and of special heavy
glass--in the forward and after end of the deck-house, with generous
panes of glass in the upper part of each of the four doors, two forward
and two aft, which opened into it.
This arrangement made the quarters immeasurably pleasanter and more
sanitary. On the upward voyage we got full value of all the sunlight
there was, ventilation was perfect, and from my stateroom I could at
all times command the situation; and if I was needed on the bridge,
it was only a step through the door to the deck, and two jumps up the
ladder to the bridge. The great value of this large window area was in
the late autumn and early spring, when it gave us in each case about
two weeks more of daylight in our quarters, and shortened by just so
much the long period of continuous lamplight. The arrangement was also
invaluable for those left on board when the main spring sledge-parties
left for their work, and for the sledge-parties themselves in the weeks
of waiting after their return in May or June till the ship could break
out of her winter quarters in July or August.
My polar experience has made me a fanatic on the subject of light.
My little summer cottage on the bluff point of a rocky islet off the
Maine coast has so many windows that it is known by the surrounding
inhabitants as the “glass house.” Sun-worship seems to me the most
natural of religions, and I wonder why all primitive peoples were not
devotees of it.
My crew and Eskimos were quartered in a long, commodious topgallant
forecastle, which extended from the heel of the bowsprit to well aft
of the foremast. This fo’c’sle, like the after deck-house, extended the
full width of the ship, and was low posted,--six and a half feet from
deck to ceiling,--and also had large ports along the sides, and large
windows in the after end, looking out on the main-deck. A fore-and-aft
bulkhead its entire length divided it into two equal parts. The
starboard side was assigned to the crew and the port side to the
Eskimos.
Around the walls of the Eskimo half of the fo’c’sle was built a wide
platform, three or four feet above the deck, to simulate the internal
arrangement of their usual winter houses. The quarters of each family
were partitioned off by boards, and curtains screened the front. They
were supplied with oilstoves, pots, pans, plates, etc., and cooked
their meat and anything else they wanted, eating when the spirit moved,
as is the custom among these people. Beans, hash, or anything of that
kind provided from the ship’s stores were cooked for them, and they
were also supplied with tea, coffee, and bread by the steward.
The winter of 1908–09 the _Roosevelt_ lay at Cape Sheridan, parallel to
the shore, just over the edge of the ice-foot bank. Her nose pointed
north, her port side was next the shore. On that side, between ship and
shore, a distance of a hundred yards, was the shallow ice-foot lagoon,
covered with one season’s ice. On the starboard side was the heavy
polar ice, and a short distance from the ship a depth of twenty fathoms.
The experience of the previous expedition had shown that a severe
westerly storm or the grounding of a heavy floe at a point where it
would deflect the moving ice against the ship, or a big floe rotating
down the shore on the surge of the spring-tides might at any time send
a cataract of ice against the _Roosevelt_ with a force which, if not
deflected, might push the ship high and dry ashore. To assist the ice
in turning down and passing under the ship when such pressure came I
had the heavy ice cut away round the ship on a bevel toward the ship’s
sides, with the inner edge in contact with the ship down to or below
the water-level.
Small pieces of ice and snow were then banked against the ship’s sides
up to the deck-level. The object of this was twofold, to help by its
weight to turn the ice under the ship when the pressure came, and
also to blanket the ship against the winter storms and bitter cold.
On top of this embankment a wall or armor-plating of snow-blocks
from a foot to eighteen inches thick was built as high as the tops
of the deck-houses both forward and aft. The tops of the deck-houses
were covered with an equal thickness, and the thwartship ends of
the deck-houses protected by similar walls. Entrances to the after
deck-house to the fo’c’sle, and to the Eskimo quarters were guarded
by roomy beehive-shaped snow houses, with a small low door opening out
upon the deck.
[Illustration: AN INOPPORTUNE SNOWSTORM]
Behind this snow-armor protection against the siege of the frost king,
we passed the winter in complete comfort, with a minimum expenditure of
fuel, with perfect ventilation, with very little of the moisture and
condensation which is usually the bugbear of polar ship’s quarters,
and with instant and easy access to the outside for work or in an
emergency. The snow armor costs nothing; it is found on the spot, and
therefore takes no room on the upward voyage, and when it has served
its purpose it is thrown overboard.
During the successive expeditions north I also had several other
experiences in building winter quarters, some of which may be of
interest.
The Erie Railroad caboose mentioned above, which was used as a
deck-house on the _Windward_ during the winter of 1898–99, served also
a second season at Etah. In the summer of 1899, after the _Windward_
broke out of the ice at Cape D’Urville, she returned to Etah, and here
I had the caboose hoisted over the side, floated ashore, and hauled up
to a place which I had selected. From one end of this a long workroom
was built with the boxes of provisions, and roofed over with a sail.
The Eskimos of my immediate party constructed their winter houses with
entrances leading into this common workroom, and the whole group was
then buried deep in snow, forming an entirely comfortable habitation
for the entire party.
Another experience was at Payer Harbor. When the remodeled _Windward_
went north in 1901 she had a commodious and well-built deck-house
forward that had been constructed for quarters for her officers. On my
decision to remain north another year, remembering my experience at
Etah, I decided to save my party the valuable time and labor incident
to constructing winter quarters by utilizing this deck-house. Captain
Sam Bartlett and his men lifted it from the deck, lowered it over
the side, ran it over the heavy harbor ice on timber shoes, and with
tackles and falls hauled it up the rocks to the place that I had
selected for it.
Here, after the ship had left, we banked it in completely as high as
the bottom of the portholes with loose dry gravel, which is abundant
at Payer Harbor, and when the snow came, covered it completely, roof
and all, with an armor of two-foot-thick snow-blocks, carefully laid
and cemented together by throwing water on the joints. A double snow
igloo, Eskimo style, at the entrance kept out completely the furious
winds which howled incessantly past Cape Sabine and Payer Harbor, and
we lived here through the winter of 1901–02 in perfect comfort, with a
minimum expenditure of fuel.
The third and perhaps most interesting experience was at Fort Conger,
the headquarters of the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition. Returning here
in June, 1900, from my long sledge-journey round the northern end of
Greenland, in which I proved the insularity of that island continent,
I waited at Fort Conger through the summer on the possibility that an
auxiliary ship might come north and be able to reach me.
When late in the season it became evident that no ship would arrive,
I took up the matter of the winter quarters for my small party,
consisting, beside myself, of Henson, the doctor, and several Eskimos.
The utilization of the building known as Fort Conger was entirely
out of the question. This great barn of a structure, sixty feet
long by thirty feet wide, was grotesque in its utter unfitness and
unsuitableness for polar winter quarters. With its great size, its
light construction, and its high-posted rooms, nine or ten feet from
floor to ceiling, it embodied about everything that should not be found
in winter quarters.
One possibility would have been to construct in the center of one of
the great rooms of this building a small room with material taken
from other parts of the house, utilizing the big house simply as a
wind-break, and constructing the small apartment in the proper way,
with double walls, low ceiling, and tight joints.
After some consideration, however, I gave up this idea, and decided
upon three small structures outside of the big house and made partly of
material from it. For myself, partly to economize the lumber, partly as
a practical experiment, and partly to furnish occupation and amusement
for myself, as I still was somewhat incapacitated from taking part in
the hunting-trips over the rocks and frozen ground as the result of
the accident to my feet the year before, I decided to make for myself
a winter den, as perhaps it might be called, from an eight by twelve A
tent, which I found among the things at Conger, as a nucleus.
First I made an eight-by-twelve-foot floor of boards resting directly
upon a bed of gravel. The idea of air spaces round a polar dwelling as
an insulation against the cold is, like many other ideas connected with
the polar regions, a pure fallacy. At each corner of this floor I drove
a post, sawing it off four feet above the ground, connected the tops of
these posts with horizontal joists, boarded up to this joist with odds
and ends of old boards, and banked in to the top of this boarding with
the surrounding gravel, working in against the boards, as the gravel
bank gradually rose, a two-or-three-inch thickness of grass, which
grows somewhat abundantly in the neighborhood of Conger.
On top of these joists I erected the tent, putting in a few
intermediate rafters on each side of the ridge-pole to prevent the side
of the tent from sagging; fitted a small door-frame and door into one
end of the tent; and on the sides two window-frames and windows taken
from the big house; then covered the tent completely, roof and gable
ends, with the straw-filled mattresses taken from the men’s quarters
of the big house. A chimney made from a few lengths of vitrified
sewer-pipe found in the material at Conger, a stove constructed from a
ten-gallon sheet-iron oil tin, one of the cots from the big house, a
table, and a chair completed the outfit.
Later, when the snow came, a wall of snow-blocks eighteen inches in
thickness was carefully laid, inclosing the entire tent, each course
as it was laid being sprinkled with water brought up from the bay, the
joints cemented in the same manner, and after all was done, bucketful
after bucketful of water dashed over the structure until it was
essentially a single block of ice. A low, narrow, covered snow-tunnel
entrance, with storm-door at the outer end, gave access to the tent.
In this structure I passed the polar winter at Fort Conger in entire
comfort, using for fuel chips, old papers, bits of tarred paper, and
the like picked up during the summer about Fort Conger. To give an
idea of the complete insulation of this place from the external cold,
I found, on returning from some of the autumn hunting-trips, that I
could warm the interior of my tent to a comfortable temperature by the
judicious burning of a yard of tar roofing paper in my sheet-iron stove.
Winter quarters should be as warm and comfortable as possible, as a
matter of improving the effectiveness of the personnel. In this they
play a very important part. Men who have passed the winter in comfort
and ample warmth have more vitality and endurance and will stand the
strain and exposure of the spring sledge-journey better than men who
have been uncomfortable and chilly through the winter. This is just
as definite a proposition as that Eskimo dogs that have been well fed
during the winter will stand the sledge-journey better than dogs that
have been half fed. The ideas of toughening one’s self against the
cold, of training for the sledge-journey, of inuring one’s self to
scant rations, are fallacies.
The Eskimos, through generation of life in the polar regions, have
worked out from stern experience the true practice in all such life
questions, and we find them keeping their winter habitations heated up
to the nineties, and we find them gorging themselves with food when
food is to be had. As a result, when the necessity arises, they are in
condition, and have a reserve vitality which enables them to endure
bitter cold and to go for a long time on scant food.
Even the animals, the musk-ox, the reindeer, the hare, know the trick,
and during the summer eat incessantly and travel little, and thus
get themselves in condition for the bitter winter when it requires
incessant travel to secure starvation rations.
After the question of suitable quarters for a party comes the problem
of keeping them in good spirits during the four months of darkness,
the secret of which lies in keeping each member busy and in varying
the monotony of the work as much as possible. For this purpose much
of my material was taken north in the rough, and the work of shaping
it--building sledges for our spring work, making harnesses for the
dogs, our fur clothing, and other equipment--as well as regular
hunting-trips, kept time from hanging heavily on our hands. The younger
members of the party invariably went out on hunting-parties during the
eight or ten days of moonlight each month, those who went into the
field one moon staying on the ship the next. The coming and going of
these parties gave plenty to talk about and to look forward to.
As for hedging my men about with rigorous rules, I believe it is not
necessary, and have never done it. Much of the routine of ship life
was laid aside while we were in winter quarters, there being only the
watches of the regular day and night watchmen, the only regular bells
being a signal for all noise to cease at ten in the evening, and
another for lights to be turned out at midnight. Meals were served at
regular hours in the mess-rooms, and lights were supposed to be out at
midnight, but were not forbidden if a man wanted one after that time.
For the Eskimos there was one rigid rule--no noise was to be made by
them after the ten o’clock bell until eight the next morning. And they
knew, if they were up late at night, they would be expected to go on
with their work of building sledges and making fur clothing as usual
the next day. The engineers and sailors, besides attending to their
regular work, sometimes helped with the equipment, but seldom went out
on hunting-trips.
I had a fairly complete arctic library in my cabin, and these books
were borrowed one at a time by the different members of the expedition.
We also had a good collection of the best novels, which did much to
while away the long evenings, and a pianola, the gift of a friend,
gave us all great pleasure. The sailors amused themselves with games
of checkers, dominoes, cards, in story-telling, boxing, and in
contests of strength with the Eskimos. A banjo or an accordion was
in almost every party, and frequent phonograph concerts in charge of
the steward, Percy, varied the monotony. Holidays like Christmas,
New Year’s, Thanksgiving, and birthdays were observed by a special
dinner, with a table-cloth and our best dishes, with perhaps games or
sports afterward. On all my expeditions few, if any, complaints of
homesickness or monotony were made.
CHAPTER VI
POLAR CLOTHING
The question of clothing is one of vital importance to the polar
explorer, and it is a matter concerning which there is a wide
difference of opinion among various authorities. Despite what some
explorers say to the contrary, clothing made from the fur of arctic
animals is the only kind suitable for serious work in these regions.
Many, finding the fur clothing of their own particular expeditions
unsatisfactory for the purposes to which they put it, have drawn
general instead of specific conclusions in regard to the value of fur.
There have been very few who have appreciated the value of fur
clothing. Nansen was one of these, but he was not fortunate enough to
be able to get the real polar furs for use, and therefore found his
wolf-skins not so satisfactory as he had expected.
Schwatka was about the only arctic traveler of the recent past who
appeared to have fully appreciated and to have known how to use fur
clothing properly, and he was perhaps the only one who was an outspoken
and unequivocal advocate of its value.
British explorers seem to have been specially averse to the use of
furs in arctic work, their aversion to this style of clothing being as
pronounced as their antipathy to the Eskimo dog for traction power.
This may perhaps be due to failure to understand the use of these two
essential factors in the successful explorer’s work.
Stefansson is one of the most practical of present-day polar explorers,
and in an interesting article on “Misconceptions about Life in the
Arctic” (“Bulletin American Geographical Society,” January, 1913) he
has the following to say about clothing:
That fur clothing is not suited for Arctic wear is a thesis of some
explorers of high standing. Like many other such beliefs it has its
reasons, but to the mind of the present writer there seems to be
a flaw in the reasoning. The conclusion of these eminent writers
should have been specific rather than general; they should have
concluded that such fur clothing as their particular expedition was
provided with was unsatisfactory for the particular use to which
they put it; they did not have the logical right to condemn fur
clothing in general because such as they had, when used as they
used it, did not give satisfaction.
Most of the fur clothing to which its wearers have objected is made
in temperate lands (such as Norway) by people who are unfamiliar
with the conditions to be met by the garments they are making;
secondly, there is an art of taking care of fur clothing--that
a fur coat rots to pieces on a man’s back in a week is really a
criticism of the man, not the coat, though the coat usually gets
the blame. The whole art is in keeping the garment dry or drying
it when it becomes wet. Explorers of standing have said in print
that this cannot be done, a conclusion with which I do not believe
any man will agree who has been a member of Peary’s expeditions,
Amundsen’s North-West Passage Expedition or Leffingwell and
Mikkelsen’s Arctic Expedition, or in fact of any expedition whose
members have thought it worth their while to see how the Eskimos
take care of their fur clothing.
The writer has had personal experience with “approved fur clothing
for Arctic use” made (in Norway, or Lapland, I believe) for Scott’s
first Antarctic Expedition and the Leffingwell-Mikkelsen Arctic
Expedition. I have been told the deerskin clothing of both these
expeditions was made under the same auspices; at any rate, it was
substantially similar in character. It is easy to understand how an
explorer whose experience was confined to such fur clothing should
conclude it unsuited to Arctic use--or, indeed, to any use whatever
except that of exhibition as curiosities. A description of a
typical garment--a coat given me by Captain Mikkelsen--will suffice.
The coat was made of deerskin whose thickness and length of fur
leads me to think it was taken from an old male deer during, say,
the month of November. The skin was so thick that the coat would
almost stand alone on the floor; it was so stiff that when one
had it on it took considerable muscular effort to bend the arm
to a right angle at the elbow; when one allowed the arms to hang
naturally they stuck out from the body approximately at an angle
of 35 or 40 degrees. The coat was open in front, from the neck
down, some ten or twelve inches and even when buttoned up allowed
the wind to blow in; when the garment had once been put on I could
not get it off without help, although it was several “sizes” too
large for me. On a spring balance (which may indeed not have been
accurate), the coat weighed over ten pounds, or about as much as
a complete double suit of inner and outer garments of well-made
Eskimo fur clothing suitable for any winter weather.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Compare the fitness and evident comfort, freedom and convenience
of the fur costumes in this picture with the nondescript rigs of
artificial fabric used by many north and south polar parties]
[Illustration: A “TUG OF WAR” AT 84° N. LAT. AND -55° F.
Note the freedom of motion and complete protection afforded by
the fur rig]
As a contrast to the above “approved” Arctic fur coat, take a coat
such as is worn by the Eskimos of the north coast of America. To
begin with, Eskimos use the skins of old male caribou only for
boot soles or for floor covering in their dwellings; those for
garments are taken in summer, while the hair is short, from young
deer--fawns and yearlings preferably. They are scraped into the
softness of chamois with stone (or iron) scrapers and sewed into
clothes that fit as loosely as our summer suits. The coat is put
on after the manner of a sweater and hangs loose everywhere except
that its hood fits snugly around the face (over the head, in
front of the ears and under the chin). The coat I am wearing this
winter weighs 3½ pounds, and I have another (a trifle too light
for an outer garment and intended for an undershirt) that weighs
2¾ pounds. My 3½-pound coat is actually a warmer garment than the
heavy European coat described above, is soft as velvet and in good
condition after six months’ wear and nine hundred miles of winter
travel. I have seen complete Eskimo winter suits consisting of one
pair of socks, one pair of boots, one pair of drawers, one pair
of trousers, one undershirt, one coat, two pairs of mittens--all
of deerskin--that weigh only 10 pounds in all and yet are warm
enough to keep a man comfortable all day in such cold occupations
as sitting on a snow block fishing with a hook through a hole in
the ice at 40° below zero. Now that deer are getting scarcer on
this part of the coast, however, the Eskimos are forced to use
skins they would not have considered fit for clothing a few years
ago--and still I do not think I have as yet seen a suit that would
weigh as much as the combined weight of one coat and one shirt of
the “approved Arctic clothing.” It goes without saying that the
Leffingwell-Mikkelsen Expedition discarded their European clothing
as soon as they came in contact with the superior Eskimo garments;
the British Antarctic Expedition naturally had to use theirs or
fall back on woolens in the unpeopled lands to which they had gone.
As to the suitability of woolens for Arctic wear: There have been
few expeditions fitted out with such care in every way as was Roald
Amundsen’s _Gjoa_ Expedition, and the finest woolen coats and
underwear I had ever seen were the (Danish?) garments used by them.
From my own experience with a coat from that expedition which came
into my hands and which I used occasionally during the winter of
1906–07 there is this to say: I suppose the Scandinavian “vadmal”
coat would be as fit for service after three years as a deerskin
coat is after one, but the woolen coat is double the weight of
an average deerskin one and not more than half as warm. It makes
a good coat in calm weather, but the wind penetrates it easily.
While it forms a good emergency garment there is little doubt that
any future ventures of Capt. Amundsen’s will depend chiefly upon
garments of the Eskimo type. I have heard that the _Gjoa_ had some
wolfskin clothing that was quite satisfactory for winter use; this,
when well made, doubtless forms a passable substitute for deerskins
and is probably even warmer, pound for pound of weight.
I am fully in sympathy with Stefansson’s views, and have had the same
experience and some of the same nightmare fur clothing that he speaks
of so feelingly.
Stefansson’s Eskimos, however, make their entire clothing of deerskin,
as do the Baffin Land tribes. My Whale Sound Eskimos, either from the
greater severity of their seasons, or on account of the greater number
of fur-bearing animals, or the scarcity of reindeer, use a greater
variety of furs in their costume, and to my mind have evolved a better
costume. Bearskin, in particular for trousers and midwinter boots, I
consider far superior to deerskin, and I have used both.
After over twenty years of experience, I consider the Whale Sound
Eskimo clothing in material, design, and method of wearing the ideal
clothing for polar work. With very slight modifications, I have adopted
it completely for my parties, and I believe that failure to use it is a
deliberate waste of the energies of a party, a handicap to its work,
and a danger to the members.
My personal outfit on my last journey was as follows:
A skin-tight shirt of the finest quality of thin red flannel, something
like a one-piece knit bathing-suit, with a close-fitting hood. This
garment covered body, arms, wrists, neck, head, and came down about
three inches on the thighs. It protected me from any roughness of
the fur clothing and from the unpleasant clammy sensation when
occasionally, in heavy going and constant lifting on the sledges, the
inside of my fur coat became temporarily moist with perspiration. The
warmth of my body kept the flannel shirt always dry. Across the back,
over the kidneys, a second thickness of flannel was sewed to protect
the kidneys from cold and consequent overaction. There were no buttons,
hooks, strings, or fastenings of any kind on this shirt. The above
description is more voluminous than the garment, which would readily go
into an ordinary trousers pocket.
Bearskin trousers, reaching from the top of the pelvic bone to just
below the knee-cap. These trousers were made from the selected skin of
a yearling or two-year-old bear with thin, soft, yet tough, leather,
and thick, soft, almost wool-like fur. Two pieces, carefully cut to
have the grain of the fur running down and the thinner parts to come
in the crotch between the legs, make the trousers. The only seams
are up the inside of each leg, and from the middle of the waist in
front down through the crotch and up to the middle of the waist in the
back. Triangular bits of tanned sealskin at the ends and intersections
of seams reinforce against ripping. At the top of the trousers a
binding of tanned sealskin incloses a thin, strong rawhide line as a
draw-string, by which the trousers are adjusted closely to the wearer’s
body. The bottom of the legs are made just as small as will allow the
feet to go through, and when the trousers are pulled up into place,
they fit the leg closely just below the knee. A band of bearskin about
two inches wide is sewed round the bottom of each leg, which in very
cold, windy weather, in drifting or deep snow, or when the wearer is
in danger of getting into the water, is turned down, and the tops of
the boots are tied firmly over it to make a tight joint. The trousers
are lined with fine, soft red flannel. There are no buttons, hooks,
clips, or fastenings of any kind in these trousers, or any openings.
The cord at the waist is adjusted to the wearer, and by a contraction
of the muscles the trousers can be slid down over the hips to mid-thigh
without loosening it.
I consider this garment perfect for polar work. It is impervious to
cold,--I do not recall ever being chilly for a moment from waist to
knees,--is almost indestructible, gives the wearer perfect freedom
of movement, and possesses the quality, essential in every garment for
polar work, of permitting the fine snow driven in by the wind to be
beaten out with whip-handle or snow-knife.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Spring and Summer working costume. Sealskin coat, bearskin trousers,
sealskin boots]
A deerskin hooded coat of selected autumn skins of doe or young buck.
The front and back of the coat are each cut from a single skin, the
front being of lighter weight than the back. The head of the back skin
forms the foundation of the hood. The remainder of the skins furnish
material for the sleeves, which are cut in a way to bring the thinner
parts of the belly skin in the armpits and inner part of the arm.
In length the coat is more a jacket than a coat, the bottom of it
coming only a few inches below the top of the bearskin trousers. It is
shorter on the hips than in front or back, where it cuts to two rounded
points, the one in the back a little longer than the other. In this
way the action of the legs in walking, running, snow-shoeing, climbing
pressure ridges, or lifting on the sledges is entirely unimpeded. The
bottom of the coat must fit closely over the fur of the trousers. Round
the bottom of the coat a binding of tanned sealskin, as at the top
of the trousers, contains a thin, strong rawhide draw-string. A loop
of this projects from the point of the coat behind, and the two ends
from the point in front. By passing these ends back between the legs,
then through the loop and forward again, the bottom of the coat can
be drawn closely into the fur of the trousers, making a tight joint to
keep out driving snow when on the march, or the cold when sleeping. To
make this joint still more close, an inch-wide strip of fur was sewed
round inside the bottom of the coat, just within the draw-string.
At the wrists the sleeves, which should come fully to the hand, are
made just as small as possible and allow the hand to be pushed through
them. On the inside a two-inch-wide band of fur, hair inside, is sewed
like the packing round a piston-rod, to keep this joint tight when
wrist and hands are in motion.
The face-opening in the hood is made just large enough to allow the
hood to be pushed back from the head in calm weather. Around this
opening is a roll of soft bearskin, with only one edge sewed down.
This is partly to protect the face from the wind, partly to serve as a
packing, as at the wrists and bottom, to prevent the entrance of cold
air or the escape of warm.
Worn ordinarily turned down like a coat-collar, in bitter winds, this
bearskin roll can be turned up like a collar to form a wind-guard for
the eyes and face.
In one place--and this is the most essential feature of the coat--it
does not fit closely; that is, about the upper arms. Here the sleeves
are ample in size, and the armholes are large and cut low, so that by
dexterously shifting the coat as far to one side as possible on the
shoulders, first one arm, then the other, can be drawn inside the coat.
The practical application of this is invaluable. If in using the whip
continuously, or repairing a sledge, the hands become numb from extreme
cold or because the mittens are damp, it is easy to draw a hand and arm
within the coat, leaving the mitten in the sleeve, place the numbed
fingers in the opposite armpit--the warmest part of the body, as every
Eskimo knows--until it is thoroughly warmed, then treat the other in
the same way.
In camp, after the evening meal of pemmican, hard-tack, and tea has
been finished and the day’s notes written up, both arms and hands
are drawn inside the coat,--leaving the mittens to plug the sleeve
openings,--where they may rest by the side or be folded across the
chest in warmth and easy position. The coat thus becomes the upper half
of a light, well-fitting one-man sleeping-bag, that is warm and dry and
permits entire freedom of movement.
This coat has no buttons, hooks, toggles, lacings, or fastenings of any
kind, and it gives the maximum of warmth with the minimum of material
and weight. As with the bearskin trousers, drifting snow and the
frost condensation from the breath can be beaten out of these coats
completely.
Deerskin has one disadvantage; if the leather becomes wet and remains
so for a day or two, the fur falls off in patches. The hair is also
rather brittle. For this reason and because I was determined on my last
expedition to remain in the field till the pole was secured, I fitted
each member of my party with a sheepskin coat of the same pattern,
details, and trimmings as the deerskin ones, but using tanned sheepskin
of the kind known in the trade as shearlings.
Specially soft, perfect skins, light of leather and thick and fine
of wool, were selected, and such skins furnish the best substitute
for deerskins that I know. They are extremely strong and durable,
only slightly affected by being wet, and are nearly as warm and only
a little heavier than deerskins. For a late-spring or early-summer
journey they are superior to deerskin. They have one disadvantage: snow
and the condensation of the breath cannot be beaten out of them like
the deerskins.
Hareskin stockings of the thick, soft, fluffy winter pelt of the polar
hare, with the fur turned in, with bottoms made of sealskin, as the
hareskin is too tender for the heavy wear and strain on this part.
Boots of two kinds. A pair made from the leg skin of the polar bear
for the bitter temperature of February and March, and a pair of tanned
sealskin for the milder temperatures of April and later. Both were
soled, with the rough skin about one-eighth of an inch thick from the
back of the oogsook, or square-flipper-seal, both reached nearly to
the knee, and both had at the top a rawhide draw-string which permitted
their being tied air- and water-tight over the flap at the bottom of
the bearskin trousers.
[Illustration: POLAR CLOTHING
Full winter sledging costume. Deerskin coat, bearskin trousers, and
deerskin boots. Have worn this rig with comfort at -73½° F.]
[Illustration: ESKIMO DOGS
The two nearly white dogs on the left are the type North Greenland
Eskimo Dog. This species, direct descendants of the Arctic white wolf,
is registered by the American Kennel Club]
In using this footgear,--which for one who knows how I consider the
best there is, and for one who does not know how is nearly useless,--a
thick, even pad, or cushion, of the fine, soft, dry arctic grass is
arranged in the bottom of the boot, then the stocking is put in very
carefully, and a thin layer of the same grass placed in the bottom of
the stocking. The object of the first layer of grass is to keep the
bottom of the feet warm and to protect them from the sharp corners of
the ice. The second inner layer is to take up any moisture from the
feet rather than have it absorbed by the fur of the stocking.
The grass sole in the boot should last several days; the one in
the stocking may, and perhaps must, be replaced after every march,
particularly if the work is hard.
Inner soles of the skin of deer or sheep or bear may be a substitute
for the grass, though none is equal to it. The fur inner soles are more
easily arranged.
Mittens of both bearskin and deerskin, the former for coldest weather.
Both have palm of sealskin, and when the hand is closed in grasping
whip or upstander, rifle or ice lance, it is completely protected by
the heavier fur. Inner mittens of blanketing and a little dry grass
are used to absorb the moisture from the hands, and these can be
changed after every march. A band of deerskin with fur inside sewed
round the wrists over the pulse helps materially in keeping one warm
when traveling in extreme cold.
In the same way that immersing the wrists in cold water when overheated
will cool one off quickly and safely, so a warm covering for the pulses
assists in keeping one warm. The Eskimos are well acquainted with this
fact.
Long as has been this description, the entire suit weighs only a few
ounces over twelve pounds, essentially the same as the weight of my
winter business suit, underwear, etc., for the latitude of Boston or
Portland, not including the overcoat.
In such a suit a man, seated or curled up in the lee of an ice hummock,
with arms drawn in and face bent on his chest, can weather in comfort
a blizzard at -50 F. In a snow house, on scant rations, such a suit
will conserve a man’s heat and strength equivalent to several days’
rations. Such a suit renders a sleeping-bag superfluous, thus allowing
its equivalent weight of more pemmican to be carried. On sea ice it
is imperative as a matter of safety. In it a man is always ready for
instant action, and if the ice-floe splits beneath him while asleep, he
can escape.
CHAPTER VII
UTILIZATION OF ESKIMOS AND DOGS
Next after the special ship, the most important tool in my campaign of
polar work has been the Eskimo, as dog drivers. A fundamental principle
of all my work has been the utilization of the Eskimos and dogs. I have
used the Eskimos to a greater extent than any other explorer. They have
formed the rank and file of my sledging- and hunting-parties, and have
built my sledges, dog harnesses, and other equipment; the women have
skilfully fashioned the fur clothing, essential for comfort in these
regions.
From the very beginning of my polar work I believed that these most
northerly human beings in the world could afford me invaluable
assistance in my plans for exploration. Later I had a fatalistic
feeling that the Almighty had put the little tribe in this particular
place for the express purpose of assisting to win the pole.
Using their country as a base for my work, I have lived among and
worked with them from 1891 to 1909, a period of eighteen years, during
which time I made a thorough study of their language, their mode of
living, the food they ate, the houses they built, and the clothing
they wore. I made these people my friends, training them in my methods,
and directing the modification and concentration of their own methods
in order to make them more useful and valuable in my work. In 1909
there was not a man, woman, or child in the whole tribe between Cape
York and Etah that I did not know, as well as their capacity for
endurance and work. In my last expedition it was in my power to utilize
the entire energy and concentrate the entire resources of the tribe on
my work and objects.
In powers of endurance, in ingenuity and intelligence in adapting
themselves to their surroundings and in using to advantage every one of
the all too few possibilities of their land, they are, in my opinion,
unequaled by any other known aboriginal race. With their wonderful
knowledge of ice technic and their ability to handle sledges and dogs,
the Eskimos were really more necessary as members of individual parties
than white men; for although they were not qualified to lead, they
could follow another’s lead and drive dogs much better than any white
man.
[Illustration: YOUNG ESKIMO MOTHER AND BABY]
[Illustration: ESKIMO FAMILY AND “TUPIK,” OR SUMMER TENT]
Eskimos in the party make it easier for the leader in various ways. A
party of Eskimos, sent out to hunt, to scout, or to establish a depot,
need only to be told what they are going out for. It is not necessary
to go into every detail of how to do it, or to caution them in regard
to all the minutiæ of field-work and its dangers, as in the case of
a party of white men. All these things they know, and when they have
started, the leader may dismiss them from his mind and not worry a
minute about them. They will return in good condition. In this way they
count very pronouncedly for conservation of the leader’s nerve force.
If I turned back a party of three or four Eskimos from Cape Hecla or
Columbia, or two or three marches out on the ice, to make their way
back to Conger or Payer Harbor or Etah, I dismissed them from my mind
as soon as they were out of sight, knowing that they would make the
trip all right. In the same circumstances, I should have a party of
white men on my mind until I saw them again weeks or months later.
The language of the Eskimos is not difficult to acquire, one season
spent among them being sufficient to gain a working knowledge of it. It
is necessary for explorers to learn it, as the Eskimos have little or
no desire to speak English, and consider it far simpler for the white
man to speak their language.
One must make a psychological study of these people properly to manage
them. They are people of peculiar temperament, very much like children,
and should be handled like children, firmly, but gently. They are as
easily discouraged as they are elated. For the most part they are good
natured, but occasionally indulge in a fit of sulks. It is no use at
all to get vexed at a sulky Eskimo, but one can usually be jollied out
of such a mood without difficulty. They greatly appreciate kindness,
but are very quick to impose upon a weak or vacillating person. They
never forget a broken promise or one that has been kept. In all my
dealings with them I have made it a point to mean exactly what I said,
and to insist upon things being done according to my instructions. If
I promised an Eskimo a certain reward for a task well done, he always
got it. If, however, I told him a certain punishment would follow a
forbidden course, he knew it would come.
By way of encouraging them to do the things I wanted done and keeping
them interested in their work, a record was kept of the game brought
in by every Eskimo, and a special prize went to the best hunter. The
man who secured the musk-ox with the best set of horns or the deer with
the finest antlers got a special reward, as did the man who turned
out the best sledge or proved to be the best all-round man on a long
sledge-trip. In firmness, tempered with love and gratitude, I have
found the best method of dealing with them, and their faithfulness has
abundantly attested its efficacy.
Some may get the idea that the Eskimos would serve as faithfully as
they did me, almost any one who offered them gifts, but the record of
arctic exploration shows that such is not the case. They have not only
known me for almost twenty years, but I have saved whole villages from
starvation, and the greatest hope and ambition of the children have
been to become hunters or seamstresses who would some day be rewarded
by “Pearyaksoah.”
As a result of my various sojourns among them, the entire tribe has
been raised from the most abject destitution to a condition of relative
affluence. Twenty-five years ago they were dependent upon hunting
weapons of the most primitive type. There was not a rifle in the
whole tribe when I first visited it, and they had only a scant supply
of knives, which they had obtained from whalers or exploring ships
visiting their shores or caught in the ice near Cape York. In olden
times these people improvised knives from the iron of the great Cape
York meteorites that I brought home in the summers of 1896 and 1897.
Pieces of bone or ivory formed the handles of these knives, and in a
groove of the handle small fragments of the meteorite were ingeniously
set to form the cutting edge. Very small and crude an instrument it
appeared to be, yet it was a great improvement over the bits of flint
which in still earlier times had been the only implements the tribe
possessed for cutting purposes.
These iron knives had been discarded several generations previous to
my first trip north, but in the spring of 1895 I was fortunate enough
to run across one of these relics which a woman of the tribe had
unearthed in the interior of an old igloo which she was rebuilding for
winter use. A few months later a man discovered the handle of another,
and an old Eskimo identified them both, the former as a woman’s knife,
the latter a man’s. They were the only ones of their kind known to any
of the tribe.
Twenty-five years ago there were few _kayaks_, or skin canoes, among
the Eskimos, and the man who owned a spear-shaft or a harpoon-shaft
made of a single piece of wood was well off indeed. There were also
many women who had no needle, and had to do all their sewing with the
aid of a bone awl. They first made a hole in the garment with this, and
then drew the thread through. For thread they used the sinews of the
reindeer and narwhal.
Conditions are now different among these people. Instead of lacking
every accessory and appliance of civilization, every man and boy owns
his canoe; there is an ample supply of cutlery, knives, hatchets,
saws, cooking-utensils, and needles. All the men have their own
repeating-rifles and breech-loading shot-guns and plenty of ammunition,
and every hunter has wood for his sledge, his lance, his harpoon, and
his seal spear. As a result of owning better weapons, the condition of
the whole tribe has improved. The efficiency of the hunters is double
what it used to be, thus insuring a more abundant food-supply and
better clothing. Warmly clad and well fed, they can meet more easily
with hardships which are their daily lot.
[Illustration: DECK SCENE ON THE “ROOSEVELT” (NOT A PINK TEA)]
[Illustration: SOME OF MY HUNTERS]
I have a sincere interest in and affection for these children of
the North, and have tried to help and instruct them to cope more
effectively with their inhospitable surroundings and to avoid weakening
their confidence in themselves and their content with their lot in
life. How to care for themselves, how to treat simple diseases,
wounds, and other accidents, are some of the fundamentals which I
have attempted to instil in their minds. In exchange for dogs, skins,
or other supplies necessary for my work, or as rewards for service
rendered, I have always given them the very best articles and material
which could be bought.
Gustav Olsen, a Danish missionary at North Star Bay, Northern
Greenland, in his report to the State Department of Denmark in 1910
made the following statement in regard to the improved conditions of
the Eskimos:
The Eskimos here, both his companions and others, have a large
number of articles of utility of various kinds, which they have
obtained from Peary, so that they, in regard to arms, tools, etc.,
are better provided than their countrymen in the southern part of
the country.
The Eskimos have always been quick to grasp the objects of my
expeditions and in the later ones eager to concentrate all their energy
upon the task of achieving these ends. As they have come into contact
with my parties they have adapted themselves easily and readily to the
use of various tools. To be able to depend on the natives to do the
work of a white man with the tools of a white man means much to an
explorer anxious to avoid taking north a party which would be so large
as to be unwieldy.
An arctic traveler in winter-time is often obliged to sleep in an
Eskimo igloo, an experience which is not soon forgotten. These igloos
are made of stones and earth, and are all built on the same general
plan, though an Eskimo can easily tell by the workmanship just who made
each one.
Some of the igloos are generations old. Usually existing igloos are
used, occasionally new ones are built. Sometimes this is done because
an Eskimo, usually a good hunter, wishes to get away from his fellows
in order not to help support less energetic ones, and so builds his
igloo in a previously unoccupied locality; sometimes because an
unusual number of families selects the neighborhood of an expedition’s
headquarters for a winter’s residence. When this happens, the work
is usually done leisurely in September, while the family is still
occupying the summer tent. Then when really cold weather sets in the
family moves into the new house and strikes its tent.
A month is ample time to erect a winter home for an Eskimo family. A
hole is first dug in the ground to form the floor of the house. Around
this walls of stones, filled in with bits of moss, are built. The roof
is composed of long flat stones placed across the top of the walls
and covered with earth, the whole structure finally being banked with
snow. The roof is of the cantilever style, the stones being weighted
and counter-weighted at the outer edges. When finished, the house is
ten or twelve feet long, eight or ten feet wide, and usually six feet
high. A small window space is inserted in front, and covered with the
thin intestinal membrane of the seal. A hole in the floor leading into
a tunnel anywhere from ten to twenty-five feet long forms the entrance.
A raised platform at one end of an igloo serves as a bed for the entire
family. Sometimes the earth’s surface forms the platform, and the floor
space in front of it is made by digging out the earth for a depth of
a foot and a half. Sometimes long, flat stones, supported by stones,
are used; but more often than not one finds a platform of lumber in
those built since the advent of lumber in this land. Sledge-loads of
grass are brought in and placed on the platform, and with sealskins and
the skin of the deer or bear they have a good mattress. For covering,
deerskins are used.
A soapstone lamp on a large stone in front of the platform, where it
can be tended by the woman at night, burns day and night, warming the
igloo so that little clothing is needed, and also serving as a stove
for cooking. For fuel, for light, heat, and cooking, small pieces of
blubber are cut, and laid in the shallow lamp close to a long wick of
pulverized moss. The burning moss, trying out the oil of the blubber,
gives a remarkably hot flame. Formerly they used flint and steel from
a vein of pyrite for ignition, and pieces of soapstone, of which there
are a few veins in their country, were used for lamps and pots. They
now are supplied with matches and lamps and cooking-utensils of metal.
While a night spent in one of these ill-smelling homes with a family
of Eskimos is not exactly pleasant, a man engaged in polar work cannot
be too particular, and warmth, supper, and sleep even amid such
surroundings are welcome to a tired, cold and hungry traveler at the
end of a long march.
In the spring these houses become damp and unfit for habitation. The
roofs are removed to dry the interior, and the family takes up its
residence in a _tupik_, or tent of skin, from June to September. Tents
are made of ten or twelve sealskins sewed together. This large piece
is stretched on poles, with the hair inside, and is high in front and
slopes toward the back, the edges being weighted down with stones. The
floor of earth varies according to the size of the family from six
to eight feet in width and from eight to ten feet in length.
[Illustration: ESKIMO WOMAN, FULL SUMMER COSTUME]
[Illustration: ESKIMO MAN, SUMMER COSTUME]
One of the most valuable things we have learned from the Eskimos is
the building of snow houses, a necessity when a party is in the field
during the winter months. A snow igloo can be built by four good men
in about an hour. First blocks of snow are cut out with strong, stiff
saw-knives about a foot and a half long, with saw-teeth on one side and
a smooth cutting-edge on the other. The blocks for the bottom layer
are sometimes two or three feet long by two feet high,--sometimes
smaller,--while those for each succeeding layer are made smaller and
less heavy. If the snow is hard, the blocks need to be only six or
eight inches thick; but when the snow is soft, they must be thicker in
order to hold their shape. Each block is placed on a curve to make an
ovoid when all are put together. For a party of three men the interior
of an igloo should be about eight by five feet; for five men these
measurements should be increased to ten by eight feet to allow for a
wider bed platform.
If possible a sloping snow-bank is selected for the site of the house,
and when enough snow blocks have been cut out, an Eskimo takes his
place here, and as the rest bring up the blocks, setting them on edge
end to end in an ovoid about him, he fits and joints them with a snow
knife.
The second row is placed on the first with a slight inward slope, each
block being held in position by the one on either side. On this another
layer of blocks is set; and so on, each slanting inward a little more
than the tier below it, until at last there is an opening at the top
just large enough to take one block.
The Eskimo in the igloo shapes a block, pushes it through the opening
endwise, reaches out, turns it over, and lowers it into its place,
afterward chipping it off with his knife until it fits perfectly tight.
At one side of the igloo, at the bottom, an aperture, large enough
to permit a man to crawl through, is cut. At the farther end of the
igloo the slope is leveled off for a bed platform, and a space in
front of it is dug out for standing room and cooking-utensils. All the
superfluous snow is then thrown out the door, and the cooking-outfit
and sleeping-gear are brought inside. When the party turns in for the
night, the entrance is closed by a large cake of snow.
It is doubtful if the North Pole would ever have been discovered with
our present means and facilities but for the help of the faithful
Eskimos, and it is an absolute certainty that it would still be
undiscovered but for the Eskimo dog to furnish traction power for
our sledges, thus enabling us to carry supplies where nothing else
could carry them. All kinds of methods and devices such as balloons,
motor-cars, ponies, trained polar bears, reindeer, etc., have been
suggested in connection with the attainment of the pole, but all are
unsuitable.
These Whale Sound Eskimos could be of great value in antarctic
work, but there are probably not more than four men living who have
experience to use them.
The whole animus of the polar regions is against machinery, and those
regions are the last places in the world in which to try out or develop
an untried device. Even devices which work satisfactorily in temperate
regions are more than likely to fall down when called upon to perform
under the handicap of polar conditions.
Sooner or later--and usually sooner--any machine will fall down in
polar work, and when it does so it is simply a mass of old junk which
neither men nor dogs can eat, and which cannot even be burned to cook a
pot of tea.
The use of ponies, for which the British have shown a great
predilection in antarctic work, is not as efficient or simple as the
use of dogs.
Assume that a pony is equivalent in tractive force and weight to a team
of ten Eskimo dogs, which is approximately correct. Then as between
two expeditions having an equal amount of tractive force and equal
weight of motors, one in the form of ponies and the other in the shape
of dogs, the former will have ten motors and the other one hundred,
and the motors of the former will each weigh ten times as much as the
motors of the latter. Every motor that one expedition loses means a
loss of ten per cent of its tractive force, while every motor that the
other loses means only one per cent loss.
In crossing thin sea ice the concentrated weight of a pony will cause
him to break through with almost certainty of loss, while on the
same ice the dispersed weight of ten dogs will enable them to cross
in complete safety. On the Antarctic Barrier and the great interior
snow-cap, in crossing the snow covering of the deadly masked crevasses,
a pony will break through and be lost when a team of ten dogs will
cross and never know the crevasse existed.
Dogs require no assistance during the march and no care or shelter at
the camps, and when it comes to the matter of food, then everything
is in favor of the dogs. With dogs as motors, the food for the men
and fuel for the motors are the same--pemmican. With ponies it is a
different and a bulkier article. When a pony dies, or is no longer
needed as a result of the reduced loads, he can be eaten by the men
of the party, but is not available as fuel for the other ponies. When
a dog is no longer needed, he can be eaten by the party or used for
fuel for the other motors, and in this way not an ounce of material is
wasted.
With two kinds of food, pemmican and dog meat, at his command, both
equally available for dog or man, the leader of an expedition,
watching his party with the same care that an engineer watches a
running motor, can adjust his food-supply to meet varying conditions
and without wastage. He can put his party on reduced rations and keep
up the number of his dogs to increase the speed and take all work
except that of walking from his men, or he can feed the dogs to each
other, and so conserve the amount of pemmican available for the men
alone in the latter part of the journey. In this way every ounce of
food in the party, whether in tins or “on the hoof,” is utilized, and
can be used at the time and in the way that will be most effective. I
could dilate at very considerable length on details of this method,
but it seems as if its simplicity, efficiency, and flexibility must be
self-evident to every reader. A leader who has once tried this method
will never handicap himself with any other. With apologies for my
assurance in the matter, I may say it is absolutely the _only_ method.
The whole difference between Amundsen’s dash to the South Pole--a
picnic as he characterized it, and actually that relatively as
antarctic trips go--and Scott’s heroic struggle and tragic finish may
be expressed in four letters, _dogs_.
This is said not in a spirit of criticism, but of sorrowful fact.
Amundsen and his men, when they made camp at the end of each march,
were tired in every bone, as is every member of every serious polar
sledge-party; for handling a sledge is like handling a breaking-up plow
in new land. But the dogs had done the major part of the work, and the
men still had a reserve of physical and nerve force left. When Scott’s
ponies failed him, he and his men dragged their hearts out pulling the
sledges, and when they made camp at the end of a march they were all
in. When finally, within eleven miles of their depot of supplies, the
blizzard caught them at the physical dead center, there was not an
ounce of reserve force left in the entire party to permit reaching the
depot. And so they died. Ah, the pity of it!
When dogs as tractive force are compared with men, then the results are
startling, as the following instances will show.
The winter quarters of the _Alert_ of the British Arctic Expedition of
1875–76, and of the _Roosevelt_ in the two expeditions of 1905–06 and
1908–09 were essentially the same, Cape Sheridan on the north shore
of Grant Land. Northwest along the coast were Capes Joseph Henry,
Hecla, and Columbia. The British parties, using man power for dragging
sledges, were five and more days going to Cape Henry in various trips.
My parties, using dogs, went regularly to Cape Hecla beyond Cape Henry
in two marches, and returned in one.
Aldrich, in one of the principal spring sledge-journeys of the
expedition, was twenty-seven days to Cape Columbia. My parties, with
loaded sledges, made it regularly in four marches, returning in two.
Bartlett, on one occasion in the autumn work, came back the entire
distance in one march. My North Pole party, after reaching land and
resting and feeding men and dogs for two days at Cape Columbia, made
the journey to Sheridan in two marches.
Even when compared with the journey of Lockwood and Brainerd from
Conger to Lockwood Island, using southern Greenland dogs and driver,
the journey of MacMillan and Borup along the same coast from Cape
Sheridan to Cape Morris Jesup is instructive. Lockwood and Brainerd
were twenty-five marches from Conger to Lockwood Island and sixteen
marches on the return.
MacMillan and Borup went from Cape Sheridan (nearly the same distance
as Conger) to Cape Jesup forty miles beyond Lockwood Island, in much
less time and on the return covered the distance in eight marches
averaging thirty-four miles per march.
In 1911 I was in London with Scott for two weeks before his expedition
started for the South Pole, was on his ship, the _Terra Nova_, the day
she steamed out of the London docks, and I talked dogs and dogs with
him, but without results. Possibly it was too late for him to make any
change. I have repeatedly talked dogs to Shackleton, and before his
last expedition urged upon him the desirability of dogs, dogs, and yet
more dogs.
I was met by the statement that dogs could not be driven in the driving
snow that sweeps along the surface of the antarctic ice-cap. But for
my experience in my earlier expeditions across the Greenland ice-cap,
where identical conditions are encountered, I might have accepted this.
In my Greenland work members of my parties drove their dogs day after
day in a low, blinding drift of snow sweeping along the surface of the
ice-cap with the steadiness of a stream of water.
I was interested very recently to hear Shackleton in San Francisco, in
the first public lecture given after his return from his last antarctic
expedition, express unreservedly his conversion to a belief in dogs.
As a matter of fact, the Eskimo dog is absolutely the only motor for
polar work, and will remain so until superseded by the aëroplane.
These sturdy, magnificent dogs can do a greater amount of work on less
food than any other animal. They eat meat and meat only, and for water
they eat snow. Even a month-old puppy is hardy enough to stand the
coldest weather, and it is not necessary to house them at any season of
the year. In appearance as well as in usefulness they are remarkable
creatures. The males weigh on an average from eighty to one hundred
pounds, the females of course being rather smaller. These dogs, said
by some scientists to be descendants of the arctic wolf, are of one
breed only, but are found in a variety of markings and colors, gray,
black, yellow, brown, and mottled. The pure blooded type dogs are
marked like the arctic white wolf. In my opinion there is no handsomer
dog to be found than one of these Eskimo dogs, with its pointed muzzle,
sharp-pointed ears, and wide-set eyes, shaggy coat, and bushy tail, and
as a rule they are obedient and affectionate as any dog.
[Illustration: ESKIMO KING DOG]
In purchasing dogs at Cape York I have always secured enough to allow
for the loss of sixty per cent. of them by accident or sickness. It is
impossible to count on the length of an Eskimo dog’s life. They will
go through the severest hardships, work hard on almost nothing to eat,
and stand exposure to the worst storms, and then with plenty to eat,
nothing to do, will suddenly die or be taken with _piblokto_, a malady
which has threatened at times to completely cripple my expeditions and
to wipe out one of the most valuable resources of the Eskimos, and
for which there is no known remedy. A victim of this dread disorder
refuses all nourishment and howls and snaps, biting any other dog it
comes in contact with, and often dies of convulsions the same day it is
attacked.
CHAPTER VIII
UTILIZING THE RESOURCES OF THE COUNTRY
One of the basic principles of all my polar expeditions has been to
depend upon the country itself for the fresh-meat supply. To this fact
is due the entire absence of scurvy on all my voyages. Contrary to a
general idea, the polar regions of northern Greenland, Ellesmere Land,
and Grant Land have for the experienced hunter a considerable and
most attractive fauna, and while there are certain parts where it is
virtually impossible to find even so much as a stray polar hare, there
are other regions where a very fair amount of meat can be obtained in
a comparatively short time by those knowing how, and acquainted with
polar topography and the habits of polar animals.
The polar bill of fare includes fish, flesh, and fowl in considerable
variety. The walrus and seal of the Eskimo are, of course, known to
every child. Both furnish a strong and healthy diet, but few white
men become really fond of it. There are, however, other animals in
the region which furnish delicacies that would grace the table of the
finest hotel in any great city, as the musk-ox, reindeer, and polar
hare. Polar bear, if young, makes a very acceptable steak. At any age
the meat is not at all disagreeable when frozen and eaten raw.
Of the sea animals, in addition to the walrus and the ringed or
floe-seal, there are the harp-and the square-flipper-seal, the flesh of
both of which possesses a much less pronounced bouquet than the walrus
and the floe-seal.
Of birds there are various kinds; the most abundant are the little
auks, and next the Brunnich’s guillemot. Then there are the eider-duck,
the long-tailed duck, the brant, and the king-eider. It is possible
also in some localities to get an occasional mess of ptarmigan, the
arctic white grouse. The various species of gulls are considered fine
eating by the Eskimos, but they are a bit rank to the white man.
Of fish there are two kinds, the grayling and a species of char that
we called rather affectionately salmon-trout. In September, 1900,
this latter fish kept alive for about ten days my party of six men
and twenty-three clogs. It is undoubtedly the finest fish food to be
found anywhere, in color a pale pink, like salmon or unripe watermelon.
Living in water never warmer than forty degrees, perhaps never above
thirty-five degrees, it is the sweetest, firmest fish fiber in the
world.
It is no small task to secure a supply of meat sufficient to keep
hundreds of dogs alive and in good condition all winter, and to provide
fresh meat for a crew of over twenty and some fifty Eskimos. Hunting
parties must be kept constantly in the field during the autumn months
to meet the demand.
The mainstay in the way of food for the dogs is walrus, and weighing
anywhere from 1000 to 3000 pounds, they provide the maximum of meat at
a minimum of time and energy. During the months of July, August, and
September these animals are to be found in large herds in Wolstenholme
and Whale Sounds, where they assemble to feed on the shell-fish
abounding in those shallow waters. Here they may be seen basking in the
sun on the ice-floes and cakes of ice, singly, or in groups ranging
from two or three up into the hundreds. I have seen anywhere from one
hundred to one hundred and fifty walrus on one large ice-pan, with an
equally large number in the surrounding water; but only on Littleton
Island, in Smith Sound, and along the shore of the mainland opposite
have I ever seen them on the rocks. It is worthy of note that during
the summer months males only, and chiefly the old ones, are to be found
in Wolstenholme Sound, the females, calves, and young males haunting
the waters about Littleton Island and Oomenak Sound.
[Illustration: GIANT POLAR BEAR KILLED IN BUCHANAN BAY, JULY 4
Note the size of the paws and forearm. A single blow from such a paw
sometimes disembowels an Eskimo, smashes all his ribs, or crushes his
head like an eggshell]
A few walrus are secured by the Eskimos in these waters during the
summer, but the bulk of the annual catch, at least two-thirds and
possibly three quarters, is made at Cape Chalon in the spring.
Virtually all the walrus of this region winter in the open north water
off Cape Chalon, sometimes separated from the cape by ten miles of ice,
sometimes by twenty-five. Strong winds break up the ice along the edge
of the north water early in February, making the distance for an Eskimo
to drag his sledge from Cape Chalon just so much less. This breaking
up of the border ice is usually followed by low temperatures, which
in a few hours make the new ice strong enough to support a sledge and
dogs. The hunters leave the cape early in the morning and, driving out
to the edge of the old ice, tie their dogs, and with a lance, harpoon,
and line begin a search out on the new ice for the walrus. On sighting
an animal, a hunter harpoons it, takes a turn of the line round the
harpoon-shaft, sticks the harpoon into the ice, and braces it with his
foot, while a companion lances the lungs or heart of the huge creature.
As soon as the walrus is dead it is pulled out upon the ice, cut up,
and placed on the sledges, which have meanwhile been brought out,
and is ready to be carried back to the settlement. These hunts are
continued until late in the spring, and large quantities of meat are
secured.
Hunting walrus in a small whale-boat, however, furnishes the most
exciting and dangerous sport north of the arctic circle. With an Eskimo
crew at the oars; a sailor at the steering-oar; two other Eskimos,
experts with the harpoon, in the bow; an experienced man in the bow
with a rifle; and Bartlett or me in the stern, just in front of the
man at the steering-oar, we considered a boat well manned. In the way
of equipment there should be at least three repeating-rifles, with
abundance of ammunition; six or eight harpoons, with lines and floats,
spare boat-hooks, and a heavy, short-handled ax for each man, for
smashing the walrus in the face when they try to come aboard. A good
supply of old coats or blankets should be taken along for plugging up
holes punched in the boat by the tusks of the walrus.
At the faintest suggestion of smoke walrus will quickly disappear
in the water, and a party nearing a herd of these huge creatures by
steamer should keep to leeward of them if possible, and take to the
small boats when still far enough away to prevent its presence being
detected by the animals. The whale-boats should always be white, to
give an appearance of cakes of ice, and the oar-locks carefully muffled
to reduce the noise of approach to a minimum. It is a comparatively
easy thing to harpoon a walrus asleep on an ice-pan, and sometimes by
using small bergs as a screen to hide behind, a party can approach to
within a few yards of a herd and harpoon several before they are fully
awake. In most cases, however, twenty yards is the nearest a boat can
get before the walrus are aroused, and begin to slip into the water.
A few shots quickly decide whether they are going to fight or beat
a retreat, necessitating a long chase possibly, and adding to the
difficulty of harpooning them.
The harpoon equipment of the Eskimo is made up of a tough line of the
hide of the square-flipper-seal, one hundred feet long, attached to
an iron-edged ivory head fitting on the end of a heavy harpoon-shaft
of wood. The other end of the line is attached to an entire sealskin
inflated, and some distance from the end is fastened a rectangular
drag, attached, like a kite, by a bridle-line. The float, remaining on
the surface, marks the position of the animal and prevents its going
deeper than the length of the line. Only the largest and most powerful
bull walrus can drag it under, and that only for a few minutes. The
float also keeps the animal from going to the bottom and being lost
after being killed. The drag retards the movements of the animal and
tires him out.
The Eskimo in charge of the harpoon has his line coiled beside him in
the bow, with the harpoon-shaft laid across the gunwales. A few coils
of the line are separated from the rest and placed a little to one
side, where they can be easily and quickly grasped and held in his left
hand as the harpoon is launched, thus allowing the line to play out
easily. As soon as a walrus is harpooned, line, float, and drag are
thrown overboard. Care should be taken to give the flying line a clear
berth, for to be caught by a turn of it would mean at least a wetting
and possibly more serious results.
In an attack by fifty or more of these infuriated beasts a small
whale-boat is no place for a nervous person, and I have known Eskimos,
accustomed for years to such encounters, when surrounded by these huge,
ivory-tusked creatures, with angry, bloodshot eyes, emitting vicious
roars through thick, stiff-bearded lips, and making savage attempts to
get at the occupants of the boat, to lose their heads so completely
as to drop their harpoons, begin to yell, and even to spit at their
formidable foes. At such a time every one seizes an oar, boat-hook,
or anything solid, and, as the brutes attack, hits them over the head
to keep them at a respectable distance from the boat while the men at
the rifles do their work. In several encounters I have had a harpooned
walrus draw the line taut and, before he could be finished with a
bullet, race off, with us in tow, crashing into any ice which might be
in our course, knocking the startled Eskimos from the thwarts, with
the rest of the herd following, snorting and charging on all sides. A
walrus can with the utmost ease plunge his tusks through several inches
of new ice, and it is no uncommon occurrence for one to dive and come
up under the boat, ripping a hole in it, and necessitating a hasty
retreat to firm ice.
[Illustration: BRINGING NARWHAL ASHORE]
[Illustration: WALRUS HUNTERS AND THEIR KILL]
The modus operandi of my big, systematic walrus hunts to secure the
maximum amount of meat in the least time was as follows:
As many harpoon outfits as possible, fifty sometimes, complete with
floats and drags, were assembled on my ship, with the best harpooners
of the tribe. Then two, three, or four of my whale-boats were kept at
work, each supplied with six or eight outfits. The galley was kept
in commission continuously supplying hot coffee, baked beans, and
pilot-bread, and one of the officers remained in the crow’s-nest (a
barrel at the mast-head) with a telescope, locating the cakes of ice
that had walrus on them. Sometimes when the walrus were numerous all
the boats would get away at the same time in different directions.
Sometimes one would start out, and then the ship would steam on and
drop another and then another. Each boat kept at the walrus until it
had all its harpoons and lines fast to the animals, and perhaps two or
three dead with rifle-bullets on the ice. When all the lines and floats
were out, the boat would pull round to each float where an animal was
still alive, despatch it with a rifle, then, if the ship was near, go
aboard for lunch, or, if far off, stand an oar on end whaler-fashion
and wait its arrival. The ship, with the gangways in the bulwarks
amidships taken out and a narrow staging rigged down the side about a
foot above the water, would then steam alongside each float in turn, a
man on the stage would pass the float up to the deck, and the walrus
hanging dead in the water down the length of the line, would be pulled
to the surface, the man on the stage with a sharp, strong knife would
cut a slit in the tough hide, insert the hook of a heavy tackle and
fall, the man at the steam-winch would turn on steam, and in a minute
or two the huge brute would be dropped in a brown mass on deck. A young
Eskimo would jump forward, cut out the harpoon, and take line, float,
and drag aft, coil them carefully for use again, and the old men and
women would quickly skin and cut up the animal. By the time all of one
boat’s kill had been brought aboard her crew had had their lunch, and,
if other walrus were in sight, went away again after them, or, if none
was in sight, waited till the masthead man sighted more.
In this way forty walrus have been obtained in a night or a day’s hunt,
and two hundred and fifty in two weeks’ work. On one or two memorable
hunts they came in so fast that it was impossible to skin and cut them
up till the hunt was over and every one had had a good sleep. At these
times the deck was hidden under the huge, brown, shapeless forms, and
the ship listed heavily to one side with the top-heavy load.
In hunting walrus only powerful rifles should be used, and even
with them knowledge of how and where to shoot will save an enormous
expenditure of powder and lead. It is utterly useless to shoot walrus
in the body. For a side shot, a spot on the head as far back of the
eye as the eye is back of the nose should be hit. Here the small
brain has less protecting skull about it. The back of the head is
also vulnerable. A frontal shot is almost an impossibility. The only
chance is, when the walrus opens its mouth, to put a bullet between
the tusks down the throat and smash the vertebræ at the base of the
skull. This shot is most likely to occur with a number of bull walrus
in the water close about the boat. On several occasions a bull walrus,
rising with a rush close to the boat and opening his mouth to bellow,
has been surprised by a shot of this character, and gone like a rock
to the bottom. On one occasion a harpooned animal, while fast to a
line and float, invariably rose to the surface facing the boat, and
had the entire front of its head back to the eyes literally smashed
off, tusks and all, by eight or ten shots before he was killed. It
is an utter waste of powder and walrus meat to shoot these animals
in the water unless they have been harpooned and are fast to a line
and float. If instantly killed, they go to the bottom like rocks. If
mortally wounded, they struggle to the same place. On a few occasions,
in shooting a walrus in the back of the head, the blow of the bullet
that killed it instantly forced its head under water, giving the air in
the Lungs no chance to escape, and the animal floated with a bit of
the back exposed till a float could be fastened to it. But these cases
are rare, and in my later expeditions my invariable orders were never
to shoot a walrus in the water unless it already had a line fast to it.
Even when shot on the ice, unless it is a large floe, one is never sure
of an animal until it is aboard or has a float fast to it.
The inert collapse of half a ton or more of flesh and bone under the
impact of a bullet in the brain is sufficient to tilt a small ice-pan
and slide the dead walrus into the water. The slightest touch of the
ship as she forges alongside the cake to hoist the animal on board will
have the same result, and on two or three occasions when I have lowered
a boat to put a man on the ice and make a line fast to the animal,
the man’s weight has been enough to disturb the balance and throw the
precious meat into the water.
Now that the United States has given up all her rights in Greenland to
Denmark, it is quite likely that an embargo on walrus hunting in the
Whale Sound region will be attempted as has been the case for years in
southern Greenland.
In such event polar expeditions by the Smith Sound route may find it
desirable to obtain dog food in bulk for winter use at headquarters
from the whale factories of the Labrador coast. It will not be as
satisfactory as the walrus meat, but it may serve the purpose.
Seen a few feet under one’s boat in the pale-green, icy water of Whale
Sound, a herd of rushing walrus, as swift and sinuous as seals, the
great uncouth, gray shapes rolling from side to side to leer upward
with little, bloodshot eyes and show a flash of white tusks, is like a
nightmare dream of the inferno.
Stuffed and baked, the heart of the walrus is as great a delicacy
as a beef heart. Dr. Senn, a Chicago traveler and writer, a summer
visitor on one of my auxiliary ships, was greatly captivated by it, and
Percy, my Newfoundland steward of numerous expeditions, incited by the
praise of his discovery, became a blue-ribbon chef in cooking it. Some
explorers have highly praised the walrus liver and urged its value as a
preventive and cure for scurvy. Never having been obliged to use it for
that purpose, and spoiled perhaps by the more delicate seal, reindeer,
musk-ox, and hare livers, the members of my expeditions never seemed to
care for it.
The thick, tough hide of the walrus furnishes a dog food of wonderful
staying qualities. A small piece of it when frozen will keep the
strongest-jawed Eskimo dog occupied and interested for hours in his
efforts to soften it to the point where he can swallow it whole.
I have always taken on just as much walrus meat and blubber as the
ship, already filled almost to her capacity with coal, etc., would
allow--some fifty walrus, perhaps. This, together with seventy or more
tons of whale meat bought at Labrador, has carried the dogs through the
winter, and has also helped feed the Eskimos, who virtually live on
narwhal, seal, and walrus. The narwhal and seal also make valuable dog
food, the former being found in the Whale Sound region; but on my last
expedition north there was virtually no narwhal hunting.
Seals are obtained in abundance at Cape Chalon, the spring
hunting-ground of the Eskimos, and at the end of some seasons large
piles of this meat are stacked along the ice-foot at the village.
Equipped with a seal spear, and dressed in the warmest of furs, with
feet padded with bearskin to muffle their tread, and with small
three-legged stools, men, boys, and even women may be seen sitting
for hours beside a hole in the ice waiting for a seal to appear for a
breath of air. Occasional seals were always captured on our way to and
from winter quarters, and they frequently appeared near the ship during
the winter.
For the fresh-meat supply of my men I have always depended on the
musk-ox, and on all my expeditions have been able to find numbers of
these animals within a radius of a hundred miles of the ship or other
winter quarters. They can be found at any time of the year, even
during the long polar night, by those who know how. The grass and
creeping-willows furnish subsistence for them the year round, the
strong winds peculiar to those regions sweeping large tracts of land
bare of snow in winter, thus enabling them to eke out an existence.
I killed my first musk-ox in 1892 on the northeast coast of Greenland
near Independence Bay, and three years later discovered tracks of
fifteen or twenty in the same region, and secured six of them. During
my expedition of 1898–1902 numerous musk-oxen were killed about Fort
Conger, seventy-odd in its immediate neighborhood; forty in the region
from Discovery Harbor westward by way of Black Rock Vale, and the
southern side of Lake Hazen, seventeen about St. Patrick’s Bay, three
beyond Black Cape, near the winter quarters of the _Alert_; sixteen in
Musk Ox Valley; twelve at the Bellows and Black Rock Vale; seventeen on
Bache Peninsula; twenty at the northern arm of Buchanan Bay, and one at
its southern arm; seven on the ice-cap of Ellesmere Land; and in the
autumn of 1900 one hundred and one were killed in various localities
from Discovery Harbor to Very River, ninety-two of them being secured
in less than three weeks. In the region about Cape Morris K. Jesup two
herds numbering fifteen and eighteen animals were discovered, and two
or three stray ones, but only four of these were needed for my party.
My 1905–06 expedition secured its supply of musk-ox meat chiefly from
the drainage basin of Lake Hazen. The northern side of the lake had
not been drawn upon for years, and hunting parties in this region,
covering the southern slopes of the United States Range, met with great
success. Eskimo hunting parties also covered the country from Lake
Hazen and Wrangel Bay northward to Clements Markham Inlet with almost
as satisfactory results. A few animals were killed on the way north
on Bache Peninsula, and if it had not been for the discovery of a few
of these animals on my return from 87° 6´ my party would never have
reached the ship. Luckily seven musk-oxen were found in Nares Land, and
later on my western trip we secured seven more near Cape Columbia.
[Illustration: A MAGNIFICENT BULL MUSK-OX]
[Illustration: REINDEER OF 83° N. LAT.
Buck, doe, and young of new species of white reindeer named by Dr. J.
A. Allen “Rangifer Pearyii”]
The presence of musk-oxen can be detected very quickly by the patches
of luxuriant grass which mark all their rendezvous, although along the
inhabited parts of the Greenland coast an unusual growth of grass may
be a sign of a former igloo. A careful examination of these places will
soon show whether musk-oxen have been about, bits of wool and hair shed
from their shaggy coats being scattered here and there on the ground,
while their tracks show how recent has been their visit. Fresh tracks
of musk-oxen being discovered, it does not often mean a great distance
to travel before the animals themselves are sighted; and musk-oxen once
seen may be considered dead musk-oxen by an experienced hunter with a
good dog or two. On approaching to within a mile or so of them, the
dogs are let loose, and the hunter can follow at a comfortable pace,
knowing that on his arrival the herd will be rounded up. A musk-ox, if
alone, will retreat to the nearest cliff and back up against it at the
appearance of dogs. A herd, however, will round up anywhere, with their
tails together, facing the intruders, while their leader takes his
stand on the outskirts of the group and charges the dogs as they come
up. As soon as the leader is shot, another steps out from the herd to
take his place, and so on. When things begin to look too bad for them,
they will sometimes make a wild break to escape, or the whole herd may
charge the enemy.
With the musk-ox, as with the walrus, knowing how makes all the
difference in the world in the amount of ammunition expended and the
amount of meat secured. With the exception of a few months in summer a
strong rifle is required, as the pelt of the musk-ox is very thick and
heavy. With a suitable rifle and some experience one shot to an animal
should be sufficient.
In my 1900 sledge trip round the northern terminus of Greenland I
obtained ten musk-oxen and a polar bear with twelve cartridges. Two of
these were expended on the bear. In a very successful late September
afternoon hunt on the north side of Lake Hazen I secured twenty-five
musk-oxen with twenty-six cartridges, two being expended on the bull
leader, which my first hurried shot had stopped, but not killed, in a
charge on my dogs. At another time, the others of my party being away,
I took a solitary scout from camp with only an army Colt 45. With the
six shots in this I got five bull musk-oxen.
On the other hand, in the narrative of the _Polaris_ expedition, it
is stated that some of the crew expended three hundred shots on one
animal, and then, while they went after more ammunition, it left.
With the musk-ox, as with the walrus, in my later expeditions I hunted
them on a large scale and in a systematic way, with careful attention
to details to secure the largest amount of meat and not waste an ounce.
All hunting parties had detailed orders.
Musk-oxen were to be shot back of the fore shoulder or in the neck, at
the base of the skull. These are the instantly fatal spots. Frontal or
head shots are a waste of ammunition. Skins were removed with feet and
legs attached, rolled up in bundles to fit the sledges, and taken back
to the ship to be thawed out and carefully prepared by the Eskimo women
at their leisure during the winter. Hearts, livers, and kidneys were
removed, laid out to freeze solid, then stored under rocks away from
dogs, wolves, and foxes until sledged back to the ship. The remainder
of the viscera was fed to the dogs on the spot. The heavy backbone,
pelvis, and leg bones were cut out, the marrow bones cracked, and their
contents eaten at the hunting-camp. The others were thrown to the dogs
to gnaw clean. The great brick-red hams, fore shoulders, and balls of
meat from the neck and ribs, all frozen like granite, were then piled
in a big stack, to be sledged to the ship from time to time during the
winter. In this way nothing was wasted; the bones and viscera were
utilized on the spot, and only the clear solid meat had to be hauled
over the arduous trails.
There is constant excitement in traversing musk-ox country. One can
never tell when the opening up of a valley or a turn around a cliff may
bring one or a herd of the shaggy animals into view.
On two occasions the discovery of musk-oxen saved my sledge-party
from starvation, and the discovery was not due to happy chance or
accident, but was the result of careful, intelligent search in suitable
localities, examining every slope and valley and rock within range of
field-glasses, carried for that special purpose, and as much a part of
the hunting equipment as the rifle.
When I stretch myself or drop my hand on the thick, black felt of the
musk-ox robes in my study, the touch of them conjures up many a vivid
picture, and I have a more than friendly feeling for those strange,
black denizens of the highest North.
The favorite haunts of the reindeer are the rolling, grassy slopes
about the landlocked lakes of the North, where the pasturage is
abundant, and they are sheltered from the cold sea-fogs and the sharp
winds from the ice-cap. These animals, or traces of them, have been
found by various explorers in Rawlings Bay, the region about Fort
Conger in Grinnell Land, and at Alexandra Haven in Ellesmere Land, and
they have been reported in considerable numbers on the western side of
this land. In 1901 one of my men found an antler as far south as Erik
Harbor.
In the region about our winter quarters in McCormick and Bowdoin Bays
in 1891–93 and 1893–95 deer were most plentiful. During the autumn of
1891 one was killed on the plateau just back of Red Cliff House; two
boat-trips to the head of McCormick Bay resulted in fourteen being
obtained, and soon after ten were found on the northeast side of the
bay in Five Glacier Valley. The following spring eleven were added to
our larder, two from Five Glacier Valley, one from Cape Cleveland, the
rest from Bowdoin Bay. In 1893 I visited the southern slopes of the
northern side of Olriks Bay, a favorite resort of the deer. Five hours’
work added seventeen deer to our meat supply, and thirty-three were
killed later in the same place; seven were seen in the neighborhood of
Cape Athol, but only one was bagged. In January, 1894, hunting parties
sent out to the deer pastures of Kangerdlooksoah were very successful,
bringing back fifty-four animals.
In 1905–06 we got eleven deer on the northern coast of Grant Land;
a party sent out to Porter Bay returned with the meat and skins of
seven; and seven more were obtained from a herd of eleven discovered
on Fielden Peninsula. These reindeer were the first of their kind ever
found, magnificent animals, almost pure white in color, designated by
naturalists as a new species. Later these were found to be numerous in
the region between Lake Hazen and Cape Hecla and along the coast of
northern Grant Land to the westward, fifty-odd being killed.
On my last expedition a Porter Bay party brought in fourteen of the
animals; three were picked up not far from the ship, and a stray one in
James Ross Bay.
A deer means a week’s rations added to the meat supply of the party,
and the realization of this when bringing one down is far from being an
unpleasant sensation.
Of course deer hunting is much the same the world over, but the Eskimos
have a magic call to these animals which has been taught to the young
hunters of every rising generation. It is similar to the hissing of a
cat, only more prolonged, and will cause a fleeing buck reindeer to
stop instantly in his tracks, giving the desired shot.
To most polar travelers and explorers, and to all readers, the polar
bear, sometimes called the “Tiger of the North,” has loomed largest as
the “big game” par excellence of the North. I know of nothing that will
excite an Eskimo so much as the sight of one of these huge creatures
in the distance; but a contest with even three or four bears and a
man armed with a Winchester is always one-sided and tame sport in
comparison with a lively walrus hunt.
None of my expeditions has had the exciting bear adventures of others.
Bears never have attacked us, or come poking into our tents while we
were asleep. No member of my party ever had a hair-breadth encounter
with one. We hunted them assiduously, partly for the meat, but more for
skins to supply us with trousers for the long sledge journeys, and we
were able to secure only enough for this purpose.
My visualization of a bear hunt is the constant watching of the
ice-floes about the sledge with eyes and field-glasses, the glimpsing
of a cream-colored spot slipping behind an ice pinnacle, or of great
tracks in the snow. If the bear has heard the dogs, the tracks are a
series of huge leaps headed directly away from us; the loosening of
two or three of the trained dogs, the rapid overhauling of the bear,
a single shot, or at the most two, and then strenuous efforts to keep
the crazy dogs away from the carcass while it is skinned, cut up, and
loaded on the sledge.
Though classed among the pure carnivora, the Eskimos say that the polar
bear of that region when unable to secure seals will take a “hike”
across country, and fill up on grass like a reindeer.
I believe this to be true. An enormous male bear which I killed on the
Fourth of July in Flagler Bay was big bellied as a cow, and the stomach
was distended with grass.
In 1886, at Ravenscraig Harbor, on the south side of Eglinton Fiord, a
fleet of four whalers and the _Eagle_ obtained ten bears, two of these
being harpooned in the water by the crew of the _Eagle_. So enraged was
one of the animals that the crews of three boats were required to keep
the bear from climbing into the _Eagle’s_ boat to wreak vengeance on
the occupants. Just north of Cape Hooper we got three more bears in the
ice-pack. It is not always possible to bring a bear down with the first
shot when he is traveling over rough ice, but there need be no doubt as
to whether a shot has reached its mark or not, for a wounded bear will
always make savage snaps at the spot stung by a bullet.
In July, 1891, we obtained one bear in the Melville Bay ice-pack, and
pursued an old bear with her two cubs for some distance, but they made
good their escape. The next spring one of my Eskimo hunters came upon a
young bear near Cape Parry, and in the spring of 1894 five were brought
in from Kane Basin.
During my 1905–06 expedition one bear was killed near Cape Sabine,
another in crossing Kane Basin, and two on the northern shore of Bache
Peninsula. Only one was obtained during my last trip, and that in James
Ross Bay; but on our way from Cape Columbia to the pole we discovered
fresh polar bear tracks over two hundred miles from land, and on our
return came across tracks of what we believed to be the same bear.
Actual measurements of the broad plantigrade footprints of a bear on
one of my earlier expeditions gave a width of eleven inches, with a
length of twenty-two inches; but the dragging toes and hair of the
animal’s heels in the soft snow made a much larger trail, closely
resembling that of a man on snow-shoes.
Chief among the smaller animals of the North are the polar hares,
which are found occasionally on southern slopes, even as far north as
the northern shores of Grant Land. Like the penguins of the antarctic
regions, they have not yet learned to fear man, and it is possible to
get almost close enough to pick them up. On my last expedition members
of the party discovered hundreds of these little animals around Lake
Hazen, and succeeded in getting near enough to hit them over the head
with their rifles instead of shooting. A stray hare or two picked up on
sledge-trips make a very acceptable change in the monotonous diet of
pemmican.
[Illustration: SECURING BIRDS AT THE BIRD CLIFFS]
[Illustration: HARE HUNTING AT 83° N. LAT.]
While it can scarcely be said that the sea-birds of the North are
hunted, still thousands upon thousands of little auks and guillemots
are caught every year by the Eskimos with their nets, and laid by for
the long winter. At Red Cliff House, in 1891–93, millions of these
birds were to be seen in the summer months, and boat-trips were made
to the loomeries of Hakluyt, Northumberland, and Herbert Islands for
a supply of them. In the clefts of the perpendicular cliffs of these
islands the Brunnich’s guillemots breed by the thousands. Our method of
capturing them was to run the boat up to the cliffs after as many as
could be kept track of had been shot, and while one man collected the
dead birds, another kept the boat off the rocks with his boat-hook. Not
over thirty per cent. of the birds killed would fall into the water,
the majority of them catching on the cliffs, where it was impossible
to get at them. Millions of guillemots, kittiwakes, and little auks,
as well as numerous looms, burgomasters, and falcons, are to be found
along the cliffs between Cape York and Conical Rock. With vast throngs
of these birds perched on every projecting rock or ledge, these cliffs
appear to be fairly alive. Eider-ducks are on Duck Islands of Melville
Bay and McGary Island in considerable quantities. Two stray ones were
killed near Cape Belknap in 1907.
Brant also are found on the northern coast of Grant Land; after my
return from “farthest north” in 1906 we came across groups of ten or
eleven, and near Cape Thomas Hubbard I discovered a flock of as many as
one hundred of these birds.
The only available fish in the north are found in the landlocked lakes
of that region. They will not touch bait, and the Eskimo method of
catching them with a spear had to be adopted by us. The native spears
are made by setting a nail or any sharp bit of steel in the end of a
shaft. Two pieces of deer antler are bound with fine cord to each side
of the shaft so that they point downward, and sharp nails are then set
in these, pointing inward. A hole is cut in the ice, and a small fish
carved from ivory, in which art the Eskimos are surprisingly expert,
is dropped into the water. A fish, rising to examine the decoy, is
immediately thrust with the spear, which, pressing down on its back,
causes the portions of antler to spread, and the nails to sink into its
flesh and makes escape almost impossible.
My confidence in the ability of the country to furnish the fresh-meat
supply of my expeditions has always been justified by results. Even in
1905–06, when, with the long polar night upon us, I had to face the
serious proposition of feeding my dogs and most of my Eskimos entirely
upon the country because the whale meat purchased in Labrador proved
to be bad and had to be thrown away, I found it possible to subsist
them upon the country’s resources. It is quite true, though, that
such a thing would have been absolutely impossible had it not been
for my thorough knowledge of this region. Nor should I have found an
abundance of game along the most northerly lands,--the northern coasts
of Greenland and Grant Land,--where Nares and Greely’s parties found
practically none, and were reduced to most serious straits, had it not
been for my previous years of training and experience in how and where
to look for polar game.
CHAPTER IX
SLEDGE EQUIPMENT
Thorough preparedness for a polar sledge journey is of vital
importance, and no time devoted to the study and perfection of the
equipment for a long journey can be considered wasted. Upon the
perfection of this equipment depends the success of the expedition.
It must be devised to meet every condition and every extreme, and
my sledge-journeys have always been preceded by days and weeks,
even months, of careful attention to the slightest details. To the
inexperienced the amount of work this involves even for a small party
would be surprising.
The major items of my sledging-equipment, as used in the north pole
trip, are as follows:
Eskimos for majority of party.
Eskimo dogs for traction.
Special sledges.
Fur clothing exclusively.
Pemmican for mainstay of rations.
Special device for making tea.
Snow houses for shelter.
The more nearly perfect and simple the outfit and its adaptability to
the various conditions to be encountered in overland or polar-sea
sledging, the more the work which can be accomplished, and the greater
the comfort and safety of the party.
Every reduction that can be made in the number of articles of food or
equipment necessary, and in the number of routine operations or motions
that have to be gone through with daily, as making and breaking camp,
preparing meals, etc., conserves time, temper, and mental as well
as physical energy, leaving more minutes for sleep and more vim for
traveling.
Every precaution should be taken to render every article of equipment
as impervious to the dangers of injury or breakage as possible. This
not only saves the extra burden of a repair outfit, but valuable time
in the field. Provisions must be rendered immune from loss or injury by
wetting.
Next in importance comes weight. Everything should be just as light
as it can possibly be made, for the number of miles a party can
travel depends on the amount of food it can carry, and every pound
deducted from the weight of equipment means an extra pound added to the
food-supply.
The fundamental conditions of the supreme polar sledge-journeys should
be fully comprehended. On leaving land to force a way across the
surface of the north polar ocean, or leaving headquarters to drive
to the center of the antarctic continent, not an ounce of food or
supplies or equipment can be obtained on the way. Everything to use or
eat on the journey must be carried on the sledges. The load that can be
carried upon the sledges is a certain fixed amount, depending upon the
character and amount of the tractive power. In my work it was fixed at
five hundred pounds for a team of eight dogs.
That load is made up of two parts, the “constant” weights of
cooking-outfit, rifle, instruments, etc., and the “variables”
comprising supplies which are constantly decreasing as consumed by men
and dogs. For every pound of “constant” weight that can be saved by
elimination or refinement a pound of pemmican can be substituted, and
this is a day’s, or, in an emergency, two days’, ration for a man or a
dog. A saving of nine pounds in the “constants” represents a full day’s
rations for a driver and his eight dogs, and this transformed into
distance may mean anywhere from ten to forty miles.
For tractive power I have always used the Eskimo dogs, and believe they
are the _only_ thing for such work. Eight dogs are required to haul the
standard load, but, with an extra load or for fast traveling, I have
sometimes used ten or twelve good dogs.
A good team of eight dogs should always have one or two bitches in
it. This makes a livelier and better-working team, and the bitches of
the Whale Sound dogs almost without exception pull harder per pound
of their weight than the dogs. If, when bitches go in heat, they are
put in the leading team, there is no occasion to use the whip with the
other teams.
From every point of view and under every consideration the Eskimo dog
is at the present time the only motor for polar work. He is capable
of wider adjustment to varying and always adverse conditions than
any other; he can go where no other can; he can stand more cold and
hardship than others; he uses the same fuel (pemmican) as the men; he
requires no water, no special care or attention or shelter; and when
he is no longer of use as a motor, he can be utilized as fuel for the
other motors or the men of the party.
The first item of equipment to be considered is the sledge. Upon it all
depends, and no detail of its construction is too small to be of the
utmost importance. It must drag easily and be as light in weight as it
can be without the sacrifice of strength for lightness.
Twenty-three years of experience in polar sledge-traveling and
acquaintance with all types of sledges have given me clear and definite
ideas as to essentials and non-essentials in the construction of
sledges.
Those built for my first expedition were modeled on the same general
principles as the McClintock sledge, but weighing about one-third as
much. Each succeeding expedition has seen some improvement in our
sledge designing and building, and the Peary sledge, used for the first
time on my last expeditions, is in my opinion the best type of sledge
yet built for polar-sea-ice work. Because of its model, this style of
sledge proved much stronger and much more easy to draw than any others
I have ever used.
They are two feet wide, from twelve to thirteen feet long, with a
height of seven inches. The sides are made of solid oak or hickory,
rounded in back as well as in front, and bent ash runners two inches
wide are attached to the sides. The runners are equipped with shoes
two inches wide and an eighth of an inch thick of cold sheared steel.
Sealskin thongs lash the sides together, making a sledge which is
strong enough to support from one thousand to twelve hundred pounds on
level surfaces.
For antarctic or polar ice-cap work these sledges, while still
retaining their dimensions and shape, can be materially reduced in
weight by using framed construction for the sides instead of solid. The
full length should be retained, as this is a great advantage and factor
of safety in crossing the crevasses of the ice-cap.
[Illustration: ESKIMO TYPE SLEDGE]
[Illustration: ONE OF THE PEARY SLEDGES]
The framed, or McClintock, type of sledge, with its various modified
forms as used by Nansen, Abruzzi, and others, is entirely unsuited
for sea-ice work with dogs. For ice-cap work, where the surface is
nearly level and composed of snow and the course is straight away, or
for sea-ice work, if dragged by men who will handle it carefully, the
framed type of sledge has the advantage of lightness. In some of my
Greenland ice-cap work I had fifty-pound sledges that would carry one
thousand pounds, and twelve-pound ones that would carry two hundred
pounds.
But for the grueling rough-and-tumble work with dogs on sea ice, over
the pressure ridges, through rubble zones, and among the sharp-cornered
ice-blocks, flinty with minus 50° or 60°F., only the solid-sided sledge
will stand the racket. With it, a sharp corner of ice, coming against
the side, grates and slides along until it slips off at the stern
without damage, while with the framed sledge the same sharp corner will
rip out three or four side posts, and necessitate a long and trying job
of repairs.
Another most important feature of a sledge for sea-ice or coast work is
a shoe that will bite the ice like a skate iron and not slip sidewise.
The most trying thing for sledges, dogs, and men is the side sluing of
a sledge in rough ice, gathering momentum as it goes, only to bring up
with a side crash against a piece of steel-blue ice. This worries and
discourages the dogs by jerking them off their feet, strains the driver
sometimes seriously in his efforts to soften the crash, and in my
earlier sledges I have often had a side split from end to end and bent
flat under the sledge. This means unloading the sledge, work at it for
two or three hours, then reloading, all in temperatures far below zero.
Not until my last two expeditions did I find the material--cold sheared
steel--which met my requirements for sledge-shoes.
Another absolute essential in every sledge is that there shall be no
rigid joints. Such joints go to everlasting smash very quickly under
the continuous succession of blows, with the entire weight of the
load acting as a hammer at every impact with the flinty ice. Every
joint must be lashed,--preferably with rawhide,--thus giving a certain
elasticity, which eases the blow. Some expeditions have never learned
this, but the Eskimos have worked it out very thoroughly, and I availed
myself fully of their wonderful ingenuity and adaptation of lashings
and knots for the different parts of a sledge.
There are numbers of little details in the construction of an ideal,
easy-running, easy-steering sledge that are as important as the proper
angle for the cutting edge of a tool in various materials, but which it
would be tedious if not impossible to describe here.
This native art of sledge-building, not only the common knowledge of
the tribe, but the individual knowledge of the picked Eskimos of my
expedition, I was able to utilize for my sledge-equipment by the
simple expedient of having every man build his own sledge, material and
tools of course being furnished by me. The desire to excel the other
fellow, which the better men of this tribe possess, and the wish to
reduce to a minimum his own personal labor and discomfort led each man
to put forth every effort to make his sledge the lightest, strongest,
most unbreakable, and the easiest running and most readily steered.
Thus my own practical experience of twenty years, the experience of
generations of the tribe, the individual ambition and pride of my
picked men, the best of material and tools, and the long hours of the
winter night in which to work--all combined to give me what I have no
hesitation in considering the best sledge-equipment that ever went into
the field.
I also used on my last expedition the regular type of sledge which has
been in use among the Eskimos since the early days when they had to
depend on the bones of the walrus and whale and the antlers of the deer
for material for building them. This type of sledge has two oak runners
seven inches in height and one and a quarter inch in thickness. These
are steel shod but are curved only at the front. To render them better
adapted to the special work before us, I increased the length of these
Eskimo sledges from six or seven feet to nine and a half feet.
Sledges intended for inland work differ slightly from those to be used
in sea-ice work. Deep, soft snow is generally prevalent in the interior
regions, and to keep a sledge from sinking into it, it must be equipped
with broad, flat runners. There can also be a decided gain in lightness
in the sledges for this class of work, although the strong winds of the
ice-cap carve portions of it into sharp, almost marble-like sastrugi,
which tests the power of endurance of the strongest of sledges. None of
those used by me in my Greenland inland-ice cap-work weighed over fifty
pounds, while those used on my trip to the pole averaged ninety-five
pounds.
Next after the ship, Eskimos, the Eskimo dogs, and special sledges,
a vital tool for the polar explorer is the clothing for himself and
the members of his party on his serious sledge-journeys. The meaning
of suitable clothing on a serious polar sledge-journey goes beyond
the mere personal comfort of the wearer. Fur clothing of suitable
material, properly made and intelligently worn, means conservation of
the vital heat and energy of the wearer, which can thus all be devoted
to the object of the party, covering distance. Unsuitable clothing, as
represented by the cumbersome, awkward, heavy, and ludicrous outfits
of various expeditions, including some of my earliest ones, means
the wastage of from fifty to seventy-five per cent. of the wearer’s
warmth and energy in the struggle to keep alive, leaving only from
fifty to twenty-five per cent. to be devoted to the work. A parallel
illustration is that of two similar engines generating the same power
but one of them consuming fifty per cent. or more of that power in
overcoming its own frictional resistances, while the other uses only
five per cent. for this purpose.
[Illustration: POLAR SLEDGE COSTUME
The figure on the left has deerskin boots, the one on the right boots
of musk-ox skin. Both have the sheepskin coat with bearskin roll about
the face. The man on the right, boring a hole through the ice for a
sounding, has pushed his hood back]
The former engine will have but fifty per cent. of its power for
performing its work, while the other will have essentially all its
power for its work, and will be able to accomplish twice as much as the
first.
There is no question in my mind that if Scott and his men had had
the clothing outfit of my men and had known how to wear it, the
conservation of heat and energy effected by it, would, in spite of
short rations, have enabled them to pull through.
The members of my later sledge-parties were normally warm and
comfortable nearly all of the time, and so could devote all their
energies to travel.
Nature’s own insulation against cold--animal fur--and the
wind-impervious integument of animal skin are the only materials for
this purpose. This is nature’s own protection to her warm-blooded
animals living in those same regions. Once stated, the proposition is
so simple as to be self-evident. If further proof were needed, there is
the example of the Eskimos, whose sole clothing is fur of animals and
feathers of birds.
Believing their dress perfect for conditions under which they use it, I
have adopted it with slight modifications for my parties.
As so modified, the clothing outfit for every member of my party,
including the Eskimos, was as follows:
One short-hooded coat of selected deerskin.
One short-hooded working-coat of selected sheepskin.
One blanket or flannel shirt.
One pair of short, flannel-lined bearskin trousers.
One pair of bearskin or deerskin or musk-ox skin winter-weather boots.
One pair of sealskin boots.
Two or three pair of polar hareskin stockings.
One pair of bearskin mittens.
One or two pairs of deerskin or sealskin mittens.
Three or four pairs of blanket inner mittens.
Two or three pairs of deerskin inner soles.
All the material for these outfits was carefully selected and prepared,
and the garments were made in accordance with the Eskimo methods,
carefully fitted for each man and tried out by actual practice in
hunting-trips during the winter, so that all defects were remedied
before the long spring journey.
Such a clothing outfit as this reduces to the minimum the chances of
frost-bite among the members of the party. A man who is normally warm
and whose blood circulates vigorously can have his hand exposed to low
temperatures for a short time, as in unlashing a load or untangling the
dogs, or his feet wet for a short time as the result of his getting
into a lead, without having hands or feet frozen; whereas a man dressed
in artificial clothing, chilly all the time, drawing on his vital
heat and energy continuously, would freeze his hands or feet almost
instantly under the same conditions.
Such a costume is also a very practical auxiliary of the rations in
certain circumstances. When it is necessary to go on scant rations,
the conservation of animal heat and life represented by one of these
costumes is a very material equivalent of a considerable amount of food.
With an outfit of this kind it is possible for a party to undertake
the longest of sledge-journeys in very low temperatures, and under all
conditions, from sleeping in the open to the hard work of lifting and
hauling the sledges over difficult places, with comparatively little
discomfort.
For polar sea-ice work I consider this costume absolutely vital,
because of the protection which it affords in case of falling into the
leads or cracks in the ice. With the draw-string at the bottom of the
coat fastened tight, with the tops of the boots tied tightly over the
flap at the bottom of the trousers, a man, falling or slipping into a
narrow lead, may be immersed in the water or slush to his shoulders
for two or three minutes before scrambling out, and not only not
experience any ill effects, but not even have to pay any attention
to the mishap. During a few minutes’ immersion no water will have
penetrated his fur costume; and if he is immediately scraped down with
a whip-handle or back of a knife to remove most of the water or slush
from the outside fur of his clothing and then, as he walks briskly
along, from time to time he beats his clothing with whip-stock or
knife-blade, he will have it virtually dry and clear of frost and ice
at the end of three or four hours.
If he falls into a lead in such a way that he cannot extricate himself,
the bulk and contained air of his fur clothing will buoy him up for a
long time before the water finally penetrates it.
A sleeping-bag has always been considered an absolutely essential
item of equipment for any and every sledge-party, but I have not used
one since my expedition of 1891–92. My clothing outfit has served as
sleeping-bag, and has enabled me to dispense entirely with that heavy,
cumbersome, temper-destroying feature of sledge-work, and has permitted
me to substitute on my sledges, in place of each sleeping-bag, ten or
twelve additional pounds of pemmican.
[Illustration: COMPASS COURSE INDICATOR
Devised by Peary for keeping course on the great interior ice cap in
thick weather and clouds. A liquid boat compass mounted on two ski at
the end of a bamboo pole and pushed ahead of him by the leader of the
party]
[Illustration: PEARY SLEDGE IN ACTION]
For any serious sledge-journey in polar regions there are four and only
four food essentials, whatever the time of year, the temperature, or
the length of the trip. These are pemmican, tea, ship’s biscuit,
and condensed milk. Long experience with these foods as staples has
convinced me that nothing else is necessary either to provide heat for
the body or to build muscle. As a matter of fact, all could be omitted
except the pemmican. The others, while desirable, are all from the
stern polar point of view, merely luxuries.
The pemmican for my last expedition was a preparation of lean beef,
dried until nearly all water was expelled from it, then ground fine
and mixed with beef fat, a little sugar, and a few raisins. No more
concentrated or more satisfying meat food can be prepared, and it forms
the one absolutely indispensable item of any polar sledge-ration.
My hard-tack, pilot-bread, army-bread, whatever one chooses to call it,
was made specially for my expedition as regards size and weight of the
individual biscuit. The ingredients of the bread were essentially the
same as those of regular hard-tack, being little else than flour, water
and salt.
For convenience in issuing rations, these biscuit were made sixteen
to the pound, which meant that, when we were on full rations, sixteen
were issued to each man each day; if on half-rations, eight biscuit;
if on quarter-rations, four biscuit. The biscuit were made square in
the interests of reduced bulk, and they were packed in hermetically
sealed, rectangular tins containing twenty-five pounds, with each tin
just as long as the width of one of my sledges, so that they stowed
compactly.
These biscuit, when perfectly dry, were as sweet and crisp and fresh as
any cake, and in a division of four men one tin lasted a trifle over
six days. This did not give the biscuit time to become moist or soft
from the drifting snow.
Our tea also was compressed to save bulk.
A daily ration of one pound of pemmican, one pound of biscuits, four
ounces of condensed milk, and half an ounce of compressed tea, with
six ounces of alcohol or oil for fuel, will keep a man in good working
condition for an indefinite period even in the coldest of weather, and
this has been the standard ration on all my polar sledge-trips.
It is policy to keep the dogs as well, if not better, fed than oneself,
and one pound of pemmican per day is sufficient to keep a dog healthy
and strong. When necessary, an Eskimo dog can keep hard at work for
some time on very little to eat. On the other hand, an occasional
double ration, if conditions permit, produces good results.
In my expedition of 1891–92 I deliberately planned to use dogs for
food for the first time in the history of polar exploration. As the
dogs wore out, we fed them to those remaining or ate them ourselves,
thus making our load of provisions last much longer. This has been the
principle of all my subsequent trips, and results have fully proved it
to be a sound one.
My parties in the field have had two meals a day, one in the morning,
the other in the evening. On the polar trips the party which went ahead
to break a way for the main party was allowed tea and a lunch at noon,
so strenuous was the work.
Essential working-tools of a sledge-party over sea ice comprise
pick-axes, ice lances, snow knives, hatchets, spades, and coils
of walrus line. Every one of my sledges carried a light, special
double-pointed pick-ax weighing five pounds, with a selected hickory
handle. When we encountered a serious pressure ridge or a zone of
rough rubble-ice, the sledges stopped, the dogs lay down and went to
sleep instantly, and every man in the party pulled a pick-ax from the
upstanders of his sledge and stepped forward to chop a trail for the
sledges through this zone of ice. This trail had already been indicated
by me or some member of the party scouting in advance. As a result,
trails were very quickly made.
Another very valuable instrument, used on the last expedition only,
was an ice lance. There was one of these also for each sledge.
Reconnoitering one day in a big second-hand military establishment in
New York, I saw a lot of vicious-looking boarding-pikes. It occurred
to me at once that by simply shortening and changing the shape of
these lances they would make valuable ice-cutters, and I immediately
ordered several dozens. I had their shape changed somewhat, fitted them
with shorter handles, and found them invaluable as an ice tool, both
for cutting and chopping ice-blocks in the way of the sledges and for
drilling holes in the ice.
Every sledge and every man had a twenty-inch-long saw-knife,--knife on
one edge, saw on the other,--with a strong handle. These were used for
repairing sledges, for chopping up pemmican, and were specially useful
for cutting the snow-blocks from which our shelters were made at each
camp. With every man cutting these blocks, it did not take long to
erect a snow house. Hatchets are useful for ice work, for repairing,
and for chopping up pemmican for the dogs.
A light, narrow-bladed spade for every four-man unit of my party was
found very satisfactory in building igloos.
My firearms outfit comprised two Winchester 40–44 carbines, each
weighing only a trifle over five pounds, with magazines carrying ten
or eleven cartridges. These rifles are heavy enough for seals or
polar bear, the only game there was any chance of our encountering on
the ice. They were carried pistol fashion in a canvas holster at the
upstanders of the sledges, so that if game was sighted, there was no
delay. One had simply to snatch the rifle out of its holster and use it.
Every member of the party had a pair of snowshoes. Snow-shoes may be
a life-preserver for a man in sea-ice work in enabling him to cross
young ice which would be absolutely impossible without them. Members
of my party had snow-shoes six feet long and a foot wide. The Eskimos’
snow-shoes were five feet long and a foot wide. All were made by Dunham
of Norway, Maine, the best snow-shoes I ever saw.
Another important item of equipment on my last sledge-journey was an
entirely new alcohol-stove of my own design, which I spent hours in
perfecting and trying out during the long winter night. This new device
worked splendidly, enabling us to melt ice and make tea in ten minutes,
a process which had on previous trips, with the old style stoves, taken
a full hour. A saving of something over an hour and half every day on a
long journey over the sea ice may mean the difference between success
and failure. The hour and a half thus saved can either be utilized for
sleep to keep the members of the party more fit under the severe strain
to which they are subjected; or it can be utilized for traveling, with
a resulting increase in the distance covered in each march.
The instrumental outfit for a sledge journey of any length should
include a theodolite, a sextant, and artificial horizon, compasses,
chronometers, thermometers, a good field-glass, cameras, and, for
sea-ice work, a light sounding-equipment. The theodolite we carried on
the north-polar trip was a small traveler’s, made by Fauth & Company
of Washington, D. C. It was equipped not only with a tripod, but had
an arrangement by which it could be mounted on its case for use when
the wind was blowing hard enough to make the tripod too vibratory to be
practicable.
The sextant and artificial horizon were of standard pattern and the
artificial horizon was of special form designed by me expressly for
this journey, with a wooden trough and a different method of returning
the mercury to the bottle, the entire equipment representing a
reduction of some pounds in weight from the standard mercurial horizon
as furnished by dealers.
Our chronometers were made by the E. Howard Watch Company of Boston,
the Elgin Co. and the Waltham Co. They were pocket-size, open-face,
stem-winders, kept good time, were light in weight, easy to read, and
were worn suspended by a cord round the neck inside our clothing.
Binoculars were the Academic Optiques, aluminum, and extremely light;
thermometers were supplied by Green of New York, being the regular
maximum and minimum self-registering kind; and cameras were the Eastman
Kodaks No. 4, with rolls of twelve negatives each, daylight reloading.
The sounding equipment was new on this expedition, never having been
taken on previous trips, and consisted at the start of two thousand
fathoms (twelve thousand feet) of specially made steel piano wire in
two reels of a thousand fathoms each, the net weight of each reel being
twelve and a fraction pounds. The sounding-lead was cut down from its
original weight to a final weight of about fourteen pounds, and had at
the lower end an automatic clam-shell device for bringing up samples of
the bottom.
The sounding wire was marked in one hundred fathoms by bits of brass
soldered to it, and was wound round a wooden reel that could be
attached temporarily either to the front or rear end of a sledge for
making soundings, and then, by the attachment of cranks at both ends,
the wire could be reeled up again when the sounding had been completed.
Some five hundred fathoms of this were lost by breaks in the earlier
part of the trip north, but when Bartlett left me there were some
fifteen hundred fathoms left, and fearing to lose more of it, I did
not attempt to make any more soundings until just south of the pole on
the return trip. It was fortunate that I did this, as in making the
sounding the mishap which I had feared occurred, resulting in the loss
of all but a hundred or two feet of the wire and making it impossible
for me to make further soundings on the return trip, as I had planned,
to supplement those made by Marvin and Bartlett.
The one sounding, however, showing that the central polar ocean is
probably not less than two miles in depth, is of pronounced interest to
the geographer and oceanographer.
Our instruments were all kept in a special instrument box. This was
a milk case covered carefully with canvas to keep the fine snow
from being blown into it, and reinforced with tin on the corners to
withstand rough usage on the trip. The sextant was suspended from the
cover of the box to protect it from shocks.
The instrument box was always stowed on the middle of the special
sledge used to carry such equipment, where it would get the least
motion and pounding, and rested on a cushion of spare clothing.
The theodolite, in its box, was carried in a canvas case in front
of the upstanders of the sledge, resting on some item of spare fur
clothing, and kept in place by elastic lashings of rawhide line.
The camera, thermometers, note-books, field-glasses, and Winchester
carbine were carried in canvas pockets by the upstanders of the sledge,
and arranged in such a way that any one of them could be obtained
instantly for use without having to unlash any portion of the load.
CHAPTER X
SLEDGE-TRAVELING
Sledge-traveling is the other twin of ice navigation, the two together
forming polar exploration. The purpose of sledge-traveling is the
transformation of food into miles, and the test of its perfection
is the maximum number of miles for the minimum amount of food.
Sledge-traveling may be of several kinds. It may be over the frozen
surface of polar seas, or along a coast line, or over the elevated snow
surfaces of the great interior ice-caps of Greenland and the antarctic
continent.
In the attempts to reach the north pole the first of these methods was
among the first to be attempted, the effort to sledge north from a
ship. Then the second came into favor. The fourth method was the last
to be exploited, and in this the writer feels he has some claim to
having developed a new departure in polar sledging, through his years
of Greenland ice-cap journeys.
In considering the two great prizes of polar exploration, the north
pole and the south pole, the attainment of the former was dependent
upon proficiency in sledging over the surface of a polar ocean; while
the latter--in fact all antarctic sledge work--is of the fourth kind,
the traverse of the continuous permanent interior ice-cap of the
antarctic continent.
Still considering these prizes, the great distinction and contrast
between north polar and south polar sledge-traveling must be clearly
and constantly borne in mind. In the north polar game the last stage of
the journey--from 500 to 600 miles, according to the route selected,
whether Grant Land or Greenland or Franz-Josef Land--is over the frozen
surface of the Arctic Ocean. This ocean breaks up every summer, the
great fields of ice drifting under the influence of wind and tide to an
eventual exit into the North Atlantic; and at any time of year, even
the depth of the severest winter, a storm will rift the icy surface in
many places with cracks and lanes of open water, and throw up great
ridges of ice-blocks by the pressure of the ice-fields. No place on
the frozen surface of the ocean can be counted upon to be in the same
locality a month later.
From these facts result the following fundamental circumstances in
north polar sledge-travel: first, that the sledge-journey must be
undertaken in the very coldest part of the year, so that the sea ice
may be most firmly cemented together, and that open water, if it does
appear, may be most quickly frozen over again by the extreme cold.
Second, that no caches or depots of provisions can be deposited on the
outward journey, to be picked up on the return, thus lightening loads
and increasing speed, because there would not be one chance in ten of
ever finding them again. Everything used on the journey, therefore,
must be carried the entire distance, and the objects of the journey
must be accomplished within the limits of a single sledging season,
from the time a little light returns in February to the breaking up of
the ice in June, or the whole thing must be done over again.
The average layman will probably consider the first of these
conditions, the extreme cold, as the most serious. As a matter of fact,
the second is the most vital, and is the one which has caused the
discovery of the north pole to drag along through hundreds of years,
while the south pole was attained twice within thirteen years after the
first sledge-journey in that region.
In the south polar game the last stage of the journey--from 700 to 800
miles--is over the eternal surface of the glaciers and the interior
ice-cap. On this surface a depot of provisions put down to-day will be
found in the same place to-morrow or next month or next year or ten
years from now. From this fact result unique and ideal conditions for
the establishment of caches to any extent desired, so that a returning
party may come dashing back the entire distance with nearly empty
sledges. A journey of any length in that region is only a matter of
time.
Second, sledge-travel in the antarctic can be carried on in the summer
season of greatest warmth and continuous light.
On the other hand, sledge-traveling to the south pole encounters the
serious disadvantage of the pronounced altitude, 10,000 to 11,000 feet
in the last stages of the journey, with its decrease in efficiency in
men, dogs, or ponies.
My knowledge of conditions to be encountered in overland sledging was
gained in numerous short trips in Greenland and two long journeys of
1200 miles each across northern Greenland’s ice-cap, the “inland ice.”
To the average reader the expression “inland ice” suggests a surface of
ice. This idea is erroneous. Greenland is a great glacial country, with
an area of 740,000 or 750,000 square miles, fully four fifths of which
are covered by the inland ice, the only portion of it that could be
called land being a ribbon of mountains, valleys, and deep fiords along
the coast. This narrow strip of land is for the most part from five to
twenty-five miles wide, but there are several places where it is sixty
or eighty miles.
[Illustration: HUGGING THE SHORE TO GET AROUND HUGE ICE FIELDS
Note the yacht-like lines]
[Illustration: PARTY LEAVING THE “ROOSEVELT” FOR CAPE COLUMBIA]
The interior of Greenland, or the inland ice, is so cold that it gets
virtually no rain, and the snow does not have a chance to melt in the
long summer day. So the snow has accumulated century after century
until it has filled the valleys, and not only leveled them with the
tops of the mountains, but the highest of these mountain-tops have been
gradually buried hundreds and even thousands of feet deep in ice and
snow. To-day the interior of Greenland, with its 1500 miles in length
and some 700 miles in maximum width, rising from 4000 to 9000 feet or
more above sea-level, is simply an elevated and unbroken plateau of
compacted snow.[2]
On this great frozen Sahara of the North the wind never ceases to blow.
It invariably radiates from the center of the ice-cap outward, blowing
perpendicularly to the nearest portion of the coast land, except when
storms of unusually large proportions sweep across the country. Such a
regular thing are the winds of these regions, and so closely do they
follow the rule of perpendicularity to the coast, that it is always
easy to determine the direction of nearest land. A sudden change in
the wind indicates the presence of large fiords, and the crossing of a
divide can be detected by the area of calm or changeable winds which
prevail, and which are followed by winds blowing from the opposite
direction.
Sweeping along the most direct path to the coast, and with greater
or less velocity, the wind always carries with it a flying mass of
snow, which, on reaching the mountains, settles in the valleys or goes
swirling over the cliffs into the sea. When there is only a light
breeze the snow is very fine and flies only a few feet in the air; but
the stronger the wind, the coarser the whirling snow becomes, and the
greater the depth of its current. In blizzards on this desert of snow
this drift surpasses in fury the sand-storms of the African Sahara, the
snow rising in the air hundreds of feet in hissing, roaring, blinding
torrents, which make it almost impossible for one to breathe, and which
bury anything stationary in a short time. It penetrates like water, and
on stepping into the drift its surface is very nearly as tangible and
sharply defined as that of a pool of water of like depth.
The continuous transportation of vast quantities of the snow by the
wind is a most important factor in retarding the increase in the
depth of the ice-cap, and in my opinion is a factor equaling possibly
the effects of evaporation, melting, and glacial precipitation all
combined. Only investigations carried on for a period of years can
definitely determine whether this snow deposit is increasing or
decreasing as the years pass.
Undoubtedly the coldest spot in the world is to be found in the center
of the great ice during the polar night, where at an altitude of one or
two miles it gets the full benefit of the frigid polar air; is several
hundred miles from the polar seas, and is insulated by a mile or more
of ice and snow from any radiation of heat from the earth beneath.
During the winter months the whole surface of the inland ice is covered
with a layer of fine, dry snow. The noonday sun of the late spring
causes the snow along the edge of the ice to become soft, and the
freezing of this at night makes a thin crust. As this layer of crust
creeps into the interior with the approach of summer, the snow on the
edge of the ice-cap turns to slush and finally melts, forming pools and
streams which eat into the ice, opening up old crevasses and new ones
as well. This condition likewise extends into the interior in the wake
of the crust and the summer heat, and eroding streams, working on the
border of the cap, make it so rough as to be in places quite impassable.
Traveling into the interior for fifteen or twenty miles, one finds that
the mountains along the coast have quite disappeared under the landward
convexity of the ice-cap, and the surface, which near the coast is
composed of many hummocks, gradually merges into long, flat swells,
which in turn merge into a gently rising plain and finally into a level
surface.
In my journey across the ice-cap of northern Greenland in 1891 I was
continually turned from my course on the upward march by numerous
crevasses and steep slopes which occur along the edge of the inland
ice. These crevasses sometimes cover a tract several miles wide, and
are usually marked by peculiar ice-mounds two or three feet in height.
Covered with a light crust, the crevasses are difficult to detect, and
one must be constantly on the alert to avoid getting into them. At
times it is necessary to reconnoiter for hours before safe snow-bridges
across these treacherous places can be found, and on several occasions
I nearly lost all our provisions and dogs when the sledges broke
through.
Determined to avoid such conditions on the return trip, I traveled
well inland. Here, however, deep, soft snow makes sledge-traveling
difficult; so on my second journey across Greenland, in 1895, I chose
an intermediate route, hoping to avoid crevasses and slopes and
slippery ice as well as soft going. This route proved to be by far the
best one, the surface being much better, and the distance a few miles
less than by either of the other two routes.
In addition to the wind there is another peculiarity of the inland
ice which adds to the difficulties to be encountered in this work.
That is the extreme intensity of the sunlight, which can be realized
only by those who have experienced it. During the summer months the
sun shines continuously, and this continuous brilliancy is intensified
a hundredfold by the reflection from endless fields of glistening,
sparkling snow, unrelieved by a single object. The strongest eyes can
stand such a blinding glare only a few hours without protection. We
always wore heavy-smoked glasses, and when in camp found it impossible
to sleep without still further protecting our eyes by tying a narrow
band of fur about them to exclude the light. Only when a storm is
brewing does this intense light become subdued. At such times, however,
the sky and snow take on a peculiar gray, opaque light which is even
more trying than the sunlight.
To direct a course across unbroken fields of snow, with absolutely
nothing to guide or fix the eye, is a task which requires a good deal
of experience. And to force a team of dogs dragging a heavy sledge-load
into blank nothingness is still more difficult. During dull or foggy
weather the work of keeping a direct course becomes particularly
arduous. For days I have traveled into gray nothingness, feeling, but
unable to see, the snow beneath my snow-shoes, and the long days and
nights of marching when it was almost impossible to see the length of
the sledge were among the most trying experiences I had on the inland
ice.
On both my journeys across the ice-cap I was accompanied by only one
man, and with compass in hand one of us would take the lead, go ahead
as far as it was possible without losing sight of the party, (and at
times this would be only a matter of a few yards), put himself on
the course, and then wait for the other to come up with the dogs and
sledges. At other times we devised a wind-vane and used the wind as a
guide, taking a compass direction of it every quarter- or half-hour,
keeping the wind-vane at the proper angle, and in this way making a
fair course. The endeavor to keep a direct course for any length of
time under such conditions imposes such a strain on mind and body that
travel sometimes becomes impossible. In addition to this, the feeling
of fatigue and heaviness which are the result of the fog and altitude
make traveling still more difficult.
A severe and protracted storm is one of the most disagreeable features
of sledge-traveling whether over land or sea ice, and preparations
should be immediately made to camp as soon as one is seen to be
approaching. If the equipment does not include a tent, a snow igloo
should be built as quickly as possible. If there is not time for this,
then a dugout can be made in a snow-bank or a snow-wall erected as a
shelter from the wind and driving snow. Everything possible should
be carried inside the tent or igloo, and the dogs securely fastened
outside. Storms on the ice-cap are so severe that, when possible, the
dogs should be protected from them by a snow-wall. I have been confined
to tent or igloo for days at a time by these storms, but the most
accursed hours I ever spent on the ice-cap were those spent in a small
tent six long days and nights, five thousand feet above sea-level,
during a furious storm which I knew was destroying my last chances for
finding a ton and a half of supplies, including all my pemmican and
alcohol, which I had cached the year before for my spring work in 1895.
Any one seeing our camp at the end of one of these storms would believe
us buried alive, the only signs of our presence being the snow-mounds
covering us and the dogs.
[Illustration: OVER A PRESSURE RIDGE]
[Illustration: A HALT ON THE MARCH]
One storm will play more havoc with the dogs and their harnesses and
traces than the work of two weeks’ continuous traveling. To get the
sledges and the dogs and tent dug out, to say nothing of untangling and
repairing the dogs’ traces, which become terribly twisted and tangled,
is enough to keep two men busy for hours. After almost every snowfall
we had to help the dogs drag the sledges. For this purpose a long line
of walrus hide was tied to the front of the sledge, running out over
the dogs, so that one of us could attach it to our shoulders and pull
in advance of the team. To the side of the sledge a short line was
fastened enabling the other man to pull and drive the dogs at the same
time. Dragging the sledges through soft snow is very disheartening
work for the dogs, and every expedient that ingenuity can devise or
that is known to the Eskimos must be used to urge them forward. Only
one thing can make traveling harder on the inland ice, and that is a
precipitation of frost, which, covering the surface like sand, makes
the sledges drag like so many loads of lead. Dogs that in ordinary
going can haul two sledges at a fair rate of speed require the combined
assistance of two men to move one. For this condition of snow even
icing the runners seems to do but little, if any, good.
This process of covering sledge-runners with a coating of ice, taught
me by the Eskimos, is most interesting, and wonderfully increases the
tractive power of a sledge in low temperatures.
A long strip of thick walrus skin, which, when frozen, is the toughest
and most unbreakable of all substances, the same width as the runner
and from which the hair has not been removed, is first applied to
the bottom of each runner, being fastened by lashings of rawhide run
through slits in the edges of the walrus hide. After this has been
allowed to freeze solid the entire length of each runner is covered
with soft snow which has been dipped in warm urine. This is pressed and
shaped with the hand until it is three-quarters of an inch, perhaps
an inch, thick. When this has been given time to freeze solid it is
chipped and made smooth with the aid of a knife, and rubbed over by
hand with water. As the dogs get tired and the going becomes harder,
the ice coating on these shoes should be renewed nearly every day on
inland ice cap-work. The effect of high elevation is very perceptible
upon men and dogs, and it is difficult to force dogs to go faster
than at the rate of two miles an hour. At such times we iced the
sledge-runners twice a day.
The routine on our long marches was for the most of the time about
as follows: The work of caring for the dogs, harnessing them in the
morning and unharnessing and tying them to stakes at night and feeding
them at the end of the day’s march, was my special work. During the
march my companion took charge of them while I kept the course, except
when to vary the monotony we exchanged duties. My companion always
built the snow shelter at night which served as a kitchen, and we took
turns acting as cook. The man on duty in the kitchen slept there all
night, and stood ready to re-secure any dogs which might break away
during the night.
In my first trip across the ice cap of Greenland I used a considerable
number of Eskimo dogs which had just been purchased from the natives
and were entirely unacquainted with us and we with them.
Naturally our unusual size, strange complexion and stranger language
were at first a source of terror to them and in the earlier stages
of the journey when a dog got loose at night it was sometimes quite
an effort to secure him again. Before the journey was over we had no
trouble with any of our dogs.
Other parties using Siberian dogs for the first time may have the same
experience.
To catch a loose dog sometimes requires more or less time and ingenuity
and may result in a few bites. Our usual method of capturing one of
these polar wolves was to coax him within reach by throwing out morsels
of meat to him, then throw ourselves upon him and quickly bury his head
in the snow. We soon became expert enough in this to avoid more than
a few bites. Sometimes a dog is too wily to be caught in any such way
and has to be lassooed and choked almost senseless before he can be put
back in harness.
Up to 1895 the basic principle of polar sledging was that overland
traveling was not practicable, that the only highway lay along the
sea-ice off the coast. Therefore the journey I mapped out--the crossing
of the inland ice-cap of northern Greenland--was an unprecedented one
in point of distance to be covered without caches or supply depots.
The successful carrying out of this plan has shown the practicability
of the inland ice for a road, and since that time Greenland has been
crossed by Nansen and Spitzbergen by Conway. The capabilities of
overland traveling having been about exhausted in 1895, the invaluable
experience gained in my Greenland work was concentrated upon a
persistent effort to solve the polar question.
In this connection the following grouping of material may be of
interest:
“My comprehensive scheme for work in Greenland, based upon the
utilization of the Inland Ice for overland sledge journeys, and
my subsequent development and execution, in actual practice, of
methods, means, and details, justify me, I think, in claiming
to have originated a new departure in Arctic work. Since my
origination of that departure, Nansen has crossed Greenland; Conway
has crossed Spitzbergen; and if our present idea of conditions in
the Antarctic be correct, _it is entirely within the possibilities,
that the conqueror of the South Pole will achieve success by
adopting my methods and equipment_.”--Peary in “Northward Over the
Great Ice,” 1898, Vol. I, page lvii.
“The North Pole is reached.”
In a flash the news spread over the world. The goal of which so
many had dreamed, for which so many had labored and suffered and
sacrificed their lives, was attained. It was in September, 1909,
that the news reached us.
At the same instant I saw quite clearly that the original plan
of the _Fram’s_ third voyage--the exploration of the North Polar
basin--hung in the balance. If the expedition was to be saved,
it was necessary to act quickly and without hesitation. Just as
rapidly as the message had traveled over the cables I decided on my
change of front--to turn to the right-about, and face to the south.
The North Pole, the last problem but one of popular interest in
polar exploration, was solved. If I was not to succeed in arousing
interest in my undertaking, there was nothing left for me but to
try to solve the last great problem--the South Pole.
The British expedition was designed entirely for scientific
research. The pole was only a side-issue, whereas in my extended
plan it was the main object.
If Peary could make a record trip on the Arctic ice with dogs, one
ought, surely, with equally good tackle, to be able to beat Peary’s
record.--Amundsen in “The South Pole,” 1913.
[Illustration: SLEDGE PARTY ON THE MARCH WITH GOOD GOING]
[Illustration: HARD GOING]
My despatch telling of the discovery of the north pole was dated
September 6, 1909. Amundsen sailed for the south pole in June, 1910.
In the nine months before that time the details of my work were known
everywhere. In Amundsen’s journey to the south pole he used dogs
exclusively for traction; pemmican was his mainstay for food; his
clothing was fur; he had one object, the south pole.
Many are under the impression that the ice of the polar sea is smooth
as glass and that explorers simply ride to their destination on dog
sledges. In reality the only smooth ice to be found is while still
on the glacial fringe, an ice-foot which extends along the northern
coast of Grant Land and Greenland, varying from one-half to five miles
in width. Parts of the outer edge of this fringe rise and fall with
the tide, and sometimes large areas of ice will separate from it and
float off to sea, but as a body it is stationary. Outside the fringe
is a shore lead, or tidal crack, which opens under the stress of
offshore winds or ebb-tides in the spring, and shuts under the effect
of northerly winds and spring-flood tides. The constant battle which
occurs here between this glacial fringe and the heavy, detached floes
smashes the ice into all shapes and sizes, and piles it up in great
pressure ridges which may be a few feet or a few rods high and several
rods or a quarter of a mile wide.
Farther out huge floes are hurled against one another by the wind and
tides, thus forming more pressure ridges. Between these series of
ridges old floes are found which at times are comparatively smooth.
The ice of the polar sea during the summer is constantly moving, large
fields of ice ranging from ten or fifteen to over one hundred feet in
thickness, break away from glaciers, crushing the thin ice and smashing
against other fields, splitting them and forming new ridges until the
surface, when it again hardens in the winter, is simply a chaos of
broken ice. Nine-tenths or more of the distance between northern Grant
Land and the pole is composed of these floes, the rest being ice,
formed by the sea-water freezing during the autumn and winter months.
Continued northerly winds during the autumn, when the masses of ice
are gradually freezing together, will force the heavier ice toward the
shore while farther out the edges of the ice-floes where they meet pile
up in regular series of ridges. If, however, the winds are not strong
during the autumn many large ice-fields separate from other floes,
and between these masses of ice new ice, fairly smooth, and never over
eight or ten feet thick, will form. This remains until summer unless
violent winds occur to crush it up.
The difficulties and hardships of travel over these ragged and
mountainous pressure ridges must be experienced to be appreciated. A
trail oftentimes must be hewed out with pick-axes, and the heavily
loaded sledges pushed, pulled, hoisted, and lowered over the hummocks
and steep acclivities, even unloaded, and the equipment carried over on
one’s back. On our return from farthest north in 1906 we encountered
a seemingly endless and indescribable chaos of broken and shattered
ice at the place where we had been held up by the big lead on our
upward march, and it took hours of grim and exhausting work to carry us
through it.
Bad as the pressure ridges are for sledge-traveling, however, they are
not as dangerous or trying as the lead or lanes of open water caused
by the action of wind and tides on the ice. These are in some cases
mere cracks running across the floes in almost straight lines. In other
cases they take an irregular course across the ice, and are just wide
enough to prevent crossing. Again they will be as large as rivers, a
mile or two wide and many miles long. For a polar-sea explorer these
leads are an omnipresent nightmare. When or where they will occur is
impossible to tell. It may be with a loud report directly ahead of a
party, cutting off their advance northward or cutting off their return
to land on the way back. It may be directly in the midst of camp. With
every northward march on my last two sledge journeys fear of impassable
leads increased, and I would find myself hurrying toward every pressure
ridge, fearing it concealed a lead beyond it. Arriving at the summit
and finding no lead ahead, I would catch myself hurrying on in the same
way at the next one.
The best way to cross wide leads is learned only by long experience.
Sometimes a detour east or west will result in finding a place narrow
enough to permit long sledges to be bridged across. In very cold
weather it may be found practicable to wait until new ice forms thick
enough to allow a sledge to be rushed across, or a lead may show signs
of closing, in which case a party can wait until it is quite close
together.
Occasionally large pieces of floating ice are to be found in a lead,
forming a sort of pontoon-bridge across it. One member of the party
goes ahead to pick the way, jumping from one cake to another, and
making sure the weight of dogs and sledge will not tilt the cake, then
encouraging the dogs to go forward while the driver of the sledge
steers it and at the same time balances the cake of ice to keep it from
overturning.
To make dogs leap across a widening crack is work which requires an
expert dog-driver. Some can do it without any trouble by use of the
whip and voice, others have to go ahead of the dogs and coax them
to make the jump by holding their hand low and making a pretense of
shaking a morsel of food. Leads which are too wide to jump the dogs
and sledges across can be ferried by hacking out a cake of ice large
enough to bear the weight of dogs and sledges. It sometimes happens
that in crossing a narrow lead it will open before the entire party has
crossed. This occurred on my last trip north, an Eskimo with his sledge
and dogs being left on the other side. An impromptu ferry-boat was cut
out of the ice on our side of the lead, two coils of rope were fastened
to each other, and slipped around the cake. Two Eskimos boarded it; a
line was thrown across the lead to the other Eskimo while one on our
side held that end. Then the two men on the ice-cake took hold of the
rope and pulled the raft across the lead. The dogs and sledge and other
Eskimo were taken upon the ice-cake, and we hauled them across to our
side.
Leads which assume the proportions of rivers, such as the one we
encountered on the way north in 1906 and on our way back the same
season, are a different matter, and the only thing one can do is to
wait until young ice forms strong enough to afford a passage.
To know how to travel safely over young newly formed ice is one of the
most important items of knowledge and training for a polar explorer.
Prof. Marvin of my last expedition was drowned by breaking through
young ice while returning in command of one of my supporting parties,
and one of Captain Cagni’s supporting parties was totally lost in the
same way.
Members of my expedition had frequent narrow escapes in spite of
every precaution, and my entire party had a very close call in 1906
while crossing a two-mile wide stretch of extremely thin ice. Only
the utilization of every known trick and method brought us through in
safety.
That there were not more fatal accidents was due largely to my
previously gained experience and the careful and repeated training and
cautioning which my men received.
Snowshoes are a most necessary adjunct of such travel. The distribution
of a man’s weight effected by a good pair of six-foot snowshoes will
enable him to travel safely over ice which would not support him for an
instant without them.
The Eskimos of Whale Sound as a result of their seal hunting on newly
formed ice in the autumn, and their spring walrus hunting on young ice
at Cape Chalon, have the art of traversing thin ice down fine.
They need to. It is often a matter of life or death to them.
When young ice is encountered which sinks and buckles under the feet at
each step, the first precaution is to spread the feet--travel wide--and
slide them along as evenly and rapidly as possible without lifting them
from the ice.
The Eskimos say that the polar bear does this when stalking seals on
thin ice. If this is not enough the next move is to get down on all
fours with both hands and feet spread wide apart and then shuffle along
without lifting hands or feet from the ice.
When an Eskimo does this in the seal hunt, he usually has his
seal-spear in one hand and his lance in the other, both extended on the
ice and sliding with the hands.
The distribution of weight resulting from this is very effective.
With the polar explorer two ice lances form a good substitute for the
Eskimo spear and lance.
The final position is to lie flat with arms and legs extended and
squirm and wiggle slowly along. If two pair of six-foot snowshoes are
available to still further increase the bearing area and distribute the
weight, it is possible to negotiate surprisingly thin ice.
Bartlett on his remarkable retreat from the crushed and foundered
_Karluk_ in Bering Sea, would never have made his astonishing traverse
of the more than a hundred miles of thin moving ice in Long Strait
between Wrangel Island and the Siberian coast, but for his experience
and training with thin ice while with me.
Nor would he have brought his crew to Wrangel Island in safety but
for his extended experience with me in negotiating the apparently
insuperable pressure ridges of the polar ocean.
The authority for these statements is Bartlett.
Low temperatures, ranging anywhere from twenty to sixty degrees below
zero, keeping a party’s brandy solid; having to march all day in the
face of a blinding snow-storm, with the wind piercing every opening in
the clothes, and then having to build an igloo for shelter at the end
of the day, are other hardships. During some sledge journeys the wind
scarcely ceases to blow for an hour. Its infernal rush and assault cuts
and blisters faces and sets eyes stinging with pain, and at the end
of every day’s march in the field faces are rubbed with vaseline, and
sometimes wine of opium applied to the eyes.
Another ever-present danger in sea ice-work is that of breaking through
young ice and getting wet. A mishap of this kind is to be dreaded, for
even if a man is able to get out of the water quickly he would soon
freeze in such low temperatures with no igloo and change of clothes at
hand.
For a sledge-journey of any length across the polar sea the method of
advance and supporting parties has proved the most effective. A pioneer
party was introduced for the first time in my work, and while
supporting parties had been used before in polar work, they had never
been utilized on such a scale as on my last expedition.
[Illustration: CROSSING NARROW LEAD]
[Illustration: THROUGH A CAÑON OF THE POLAR OCEAN]
The pioneer party was made up of four experienced and energetic
men, with lightly loaded sledges and the best dogs in the pack.
This division left Cape Columbia under the leadership of Bartlett
twenty-four hours ahead of the main party. In all kinds of weather and
regardless of every obstacle except impassable leads, a march was to be
made every twenty-four hours (later when the sunlight was continuous
during the twenty-four hours the advance party kept only twelve hours
ahead of the main division), breaking the way and in fact setting the
pace for the main party, which, having to waste no time in choosing and
breaking a trail, could cover the same distance as the reconnoitering
party in less time, even with more heavily loaded sledges. Bartlett
traveled ahead of his division, usually on snow-shoes, picking a trail.
My main party was large enough to permit the withdrawal of the men
from the advance party to the main party as they became exhausted by
the hard work and lack of sleep; and the sending out of fresh men to
continue the work. This enabled me to conserve the strength of those
who were to make the final dash for the pole.
The advantages of supporting parties cannot be too strongly emphasized.
It is impossible for a party, either large or small, to drag food
and fuel enough to sustain life in themselves and their dogs for a
distance of some nine hundred miles across the polar sea. Just as soon
as a party consumes the provisions of one or two sledges the drivers
and dogs, (being just so many superfluous mouths), should be sent back
to headquarters with their empty sledges. When another sledge-load or
two of provisions have been depleted, their drivers and dogs should
likewise return. In all, four supporting parties were sent back one
after another, the last one in command of Captain Bartlett, leaving me
near the 88th parallel. Up to this point I had traveled in the rear of
my party to see that everything was going smoothly. On sending back
Bartlett’s division, however, I took my place at the head of the party
which was to make the final dash. This was of necessity a small group
and most carefully chosen, consisting of Henson and four of my best
Eskimos.
The second important duty of the supporting parties is to keep the
trail open so the main party can return rapidly. That this is no
slight consideration is shown by the fact that in twenty-four hours
or sometimes in twelve hours the fierce winds of the North will start
the jamming of the ice-floes, throwing up pressure ridges and causing
leads. Ordinarily, though, the ice will not change much in eight or
ten days, and a party returning follows the outward trail, patching
up any faults or breaks which have occurred in it since it was broken.
The next party, returning a few days later from a point still farther
north, knits together the broken places in its own trail, and, coming
to that of the first returning party, smooths over any breaks which may
be found. The next party does the same, and so on until the main party
on its return has simply to follow the trail of the supporting parties
instead of having to reconnoiter and make a new one. With no trail to
make and the dogs eager to follow a beaten track leading homeward, the
speed of the main party on my last expedition was greatly increased
on its return march, the upward journey having been accomplished in
twenty-seven marches while the return was made in sixteen. In addition
to the advantage of having a well broken trail to return by, the
returning division uses the snow igloos which were built on the way
north, thus saving time and energy which the building of a new igloo at
the end of each long march would mean.
As far as the polar dash was concerned, the work of each supporting
party was finished as soon as it reached land. Each of these parties,
consisting of four men, was entirely independent, having its own
provisions and a complete traveling outfit. With the exception of the
kitchen box containing the alcohol-stove and cooking-utensils, each
sledge was complete. In the event of a mishap and the loss of the
cooking-outfit, the division losing it would have to double up with
another division.
The number of miles covered in each march was first determined by dead
reckoning; that is, by taking the compass course for direction and the
mean estimate of Marvin, Bartlett, and myself for distance traveled.
At intervals of several days this was verified by observations for
latitude, and proved to be satisfactorily approximate to the results
obtained by our astronomical observations.
For tractive power I have always used the Eskimo dogs, and believe they
are the _only_ motor for polar work. Eight dogs are required to haul
the standard load, but with an extra load or for fast traveling I have
sometimes used ten or twelve good dogs. The dogs are attached to the
sledges fanwise, the king dog of the team taking the lead, and there
is no peace among the dogs of each team until it has been definitely
settled among themselves which animal is the best or strongest of
the lot. The Eskimos make their harnesses of sealskin, but when the
dogs are living on short rations they will eat anything made of this
material, and to prevent this I have used a special webbing or belting
two and a half inches wide. Instead of making the traces of rawhide, as
the Eskimos do, I have substituted braided linen sash-cord for it. My
dog harnesses were made on the same pattern as the Eskimos’, two loops
of belting, through which the dog’s forelegs pass, attached by a cross
strip under the throat and another back of the neck. The ends of the
loops are brought together over the middle of the dog’s back, and the
trace fastened to them, making a flexible harness which will permit
a dog to pull to the full extent of his strength without cramping or
chafing him. The art of guiding a team of lively Eskimo dogs by the
voice and rawhide whip twelve or eighteen feet in length is something
which requires long time and great patience to master.
Other explorers, British and Norwegian, have smacked their lips in the
pages of their narratives and reveled in their “hoosh” and pemmican
stew, even though there were lumps of ice in it. In all my expeditions
after the first one, when some members of the party made themselves
sick by eating too much pemmican stew, no attempt has been made at
cooking or even warming the pemmican ration. It has invariably been
eaten like a piece of cake or pie, just as it came out of the tin. In
this way much economy of time and fuel has resulted.
Pemmican is the most satisfying food I know of. Many times I have
reached camp feeling as if I could eat my own weight, and the one
half-pound ration of pemmican has seemed painfully small. But by the
time I had finished I would not have gone out of the igloo for the
finest spread New York could furnish.
The snow house, or igloo, of the Eskimos has a value and a meaning in
the scheme of a serious polar sledge-journey far beyond its superior
comfort as compared with a tent.
The igloo and suitable fur clothing permit discarding tent and
accessories and sleeping-bags. These items are among the so-called
“constants” of a sledge-load, that is, those items which remain the
same throughout the journey as distinguished from the food, which is
constantly diminishing.
As a matter of fact, tent and sleeping-bags do not remain a “constant”
weight, but _increase_ in weight with steadily accumulating frozen
moisture. On the British North Pole Expedition of 1875–76 the weight of
tent outfit for a sledge-party, and its increase in weight during the
journey, are given as follows. (“Voyage to the Polar Sea,” Nares, Vol.
1, page 172.):
Before Starting On Return
Tent 31 pounds 14 ounces 55 pounds
Sail 9 pounds 1 ounce 17 pounds
Coverlet 21 pounds 1 ounce 48 pounds
Lower robe 18 pounds 4 ounces 40 pounds
Floor cloth 11 pounds 4 ounces 29 pounds
------------------- ----------
Total 91 pounds 8 ounces 189 pounds
Sleeping-bags increased in weight from 8 pounds 2 ounces to 17 pounds.
That, however, is somewhat beside the main point, which is this: The
elimination of tent, accessories, and sleeping-bags means the ability
to carry an additional amount of pemmican equal to the weight of tent
and bags, and pounds of pemmican mean miles of travel. The definite and
vital application is this: Shackleton in 1909 was obliged to stop when
within ninety-seven miles of the south pole and return because his food
was not sufficient to take him there and back to his ship.
Shackleton’s tent and sleeping-bag outfit for his southern party of
four men weighed, _when dry_, one hundred pounds.
Two tents, with poles and floor cloths, each weighing complete 30
lbs. Four sleeping bags, each weighing 10 lbs. when dry.--“The
Heart of the Antarctic,” Shackleton, Vol. I, p. 249.
If in place of his tent and bags he had had one hundred pounds of
pemmican, he could have made the distance and could have won the pole.
One hundred pounds of pemmican represents twenty-five days’ rations for
four men.
During the winter of 1905–06, on board the _Roosevelt_, Marvin and I
worked out very thoroughly, first with pencil and paper, and afterward
graphically with the assistance of a long twelve-inch-wide board
and a twelve-foot graduated measuring-rod, match-boxes for sledges,
and percussion caps, of which I had a large number, for rations,
an arrangement for a continuous post-road transportation service,
with snow igloo stations at convenient distances. This system, with
my men and my equipment, could be kept in commission regardless of
temperatures or the darkness of the winter night, barring only those
occasional blizzards during which both man and beast must seek and
remain in shelter.
By this arrangement an advance party could be pushed ahead, kept
provisioned, and its communication with the rear kept intact during any
season of the year and for any distance with the regularity of a Maine
winter lumber-camp tote-road--granted a permanent surface.
I found that this method, attractive as it was, could not be utilized
on the uncertain surface of the frozen north polar sea, and it was
given up for that region.
It is entirely practicable in the antarctic region, where the surface
is permanent and unchanging from year to year, and by utilizing it some
future explorer of that region can travel at will as far as and in any
direction he may desire.
In the active working out of a polar advance there are numbers of
details of practical technic. If the line of march lies through deep,
soft snow, an active man in the lead, with broad packers’ snowshoes,
can tread a trail that greatly reduces the labor of the following dogs.
If there are two men to put in advance, the road is still further
improved. Such a road, once made by snowshoes and sledges, can be
detected even in the darkness of the winter night by its distinctly
firmer consistency.
Sledges should always travel in single file so as to utilize to the
utmost the trail-breaking of each sledge. Of course the brunt of the
work comes on the leading sledge. The next sledge finds it somewhat
easier, the next easier yet, until the last sledge has a firmly beaten
trail over which to travel. To equalize work, I had the leading sledge
at the end of each hour drop back to the rear. In this way each driver
and team of dogs had an equal share of the work.
Contrary to popular opinion, a trail across sea ice or inland ice made
by the passage of a party of several sledges and teams of dogs can be
recognized and followed by those who have the training and knowledge,
weeks or even months afterward. A snow-storm does not obliterate a
trail for any considerable consecutive distance. In these latitudes a
fall of snow is usually soon followed by wind, and while this wind may
drift and pack snow over one section of the trail a few hundred yards
in length, in other places it will scour the snow away and leave the
straight lines of the sledge-runners, the print of a man’s moccasin,
or the five-leaf clover-like impression of a dog’s foot standing up
in relief from the surrounding surface. Every effort, however, was
made in my work to strengthen the marking of the trail, and thus make
it easier to follow on the return march, because retaining the trail
was such a vital matter in the interests of speed and conservation of
energy. Tins of pemmican emptied at each camp in feeding the dogs and
members of the party--these tins being painted bright red or blue--were
cut in half and left on a pinnacle of ice or sticking up in the trail
every half-mile or so of the next march.
Tired dogs near the end of a march can be brightened up and enticed
over the last mile or two if the leader of the party snow-shoeing in
advance of the sledges, indulges in the Eskimo pantomime of sighting,
following, and creeping up upon an imaginary seal, polar bear, or
musk-oxen. In crossing comparatively narrow lanes of very thin young
ice, where a driver was obliged to cross in another place than the
sledge in order not to concentrate the weight too much, and where
it was vital that the dogs should go across at full speed and not
stop until the load was across, for if they did, the sledge would
go through, I sent one man across in advance to a place fifty or a
hundred feet on the firm ice beyond the other edge of the lead, and
then in plain sight of the dogs he would stoop down and chop up an
imaginary piece of walrus meat, at the same time giving the food-call
to the dogs. As a result of this deception, the dogs could hardly be
restrained, and when at the proper moment they were allowed to start,
nothing short of an earthquake could stop the team till it had reached
the man on the other side. On one or two occasions the sledge partly
breaking through before the other side was reached, was rushed out of
the water and to safety by the dash and impetus of the dogs. This same
method is also practicable in crossing the snow-bridges of the masked
crevasses of the great ice of Greenland and the antarctic regions.
CONCLUSION
At the request of friends I have turned away briefly from other work to
take up the threads of the past and write this book.
That other work which has been demanding my attention has a very
pronounced bearing on polar exploration, and in fact upon all
exploration.
Five years ago at the annual dinner of the Explorers’ Club I
ventured the prophecy that in a few years the polar regions would be
reconnoitered and explored through the air. The last three years of
warfare abroad have forced the development of the aeroplane to such
a degree that the time is now very near when aeroplanes will have
such extended radius of certain flight as will make the preliminary
reconnaissance of the unknown areas in the north and south polar
regions a matter of a few weeks instead of several years.
The sheltered inlets of Bowdoin and McCormick Bays in Whale Sound,
Greenland, are readily accessible every summer to a ship like the
_Roosevelt_ and an ice master like Bartlett. In these inlets during
August there are days and days of brilliant, calm, warm weather, with
temperature above the freezing point, and it is continuous daylight
throughout the entire twenty-four hours all through the month.
Four hundred miles due north--four hours’ aeroplane flight--is Cape
Columbia, the most northerly point of the North American world segment,
and less than 500 miles from the pole.
A squadron of aeroplanes starting from Bowdoin or McCormick Bays would
reach Cape Columbia in a few hours with the whole panorama of Grant
Land and the American gateway to the pole passing beneath, could alight
on the firm level “glacial fringe” at Cape Columbia, unload their
supplies and gasoline, and the supporting machines be back at their
base in less than a day.
From Cape Columbia it is less than 1400 miles in a straight line
directly across and over the pole to Cape Chelyuskin on the Siberian
Coast, the most northern point of Eurasia. To Wrangel Island across
Crocker Land and the entirely unexplored region between the pole and
Bering Strait it is about 1500 miles.
From Cape Columbia to Spitzbergen, it is 900 miles, to Franz Josef Land
less than 1000 miles, and to Point Barrow about 1400 miles.
The present average speed of aeroplanes is about 100 miles per hour. By
the time this meets the reader’s eye continuous flights of 1000 miles
or more will be a matter of record. In the near future, continuous
flights of 2000 miles will be made.
A squadron of aeroplanes with base at Cape Columbia, flying in pairs
and making simultaneous trips could with good fortune make the
reconnaissance indicated above in two weeks, then return to Bowdoin or
McCormick Bays and take their ship home.
From the base in Bowdoin or McCormick Bays a week of successive flights
northeast, east and southeast, would clear up all the interior features
of the great island continent of Greenland.
In the South Polar regions with a base at McMurdo Sound in Ross Sea,
south of New Zealand,--the favorite base of Scott and Shackleton,--a
flight of 1800 miles across and over the South Pole would reach the
known portion of Weddel Sea on the opposite side, and flights of 2000
miles would command the entire Antarctic continent.
In the very near future the biting air above both poles will be stirred
by whirring aeroplane propellers, and when that time comes the inner
polar regions will quickly yield their last secrets.
Looking forward to this certain materialization, it is a source of
satisfaction that the two last great physical adventures, the winning
of the North Pole and the South Pole,--the feats which clinched and
made complete man’s conquest of the globe,--were accomplished without
the aid of such modern devices and inventions.
It seems entirely fitting that these tests of brute physical soundness
and endurance which have engaged the attention of the world for
several centuries, should have been won by brute physical soundness and
endurance, by the oldest and most perfect of all machines--the animal
machine--man and the Eskimo dog.
FOOTNOTES
[1] The sixth of the month is a date of rather special interest to the
writer. To begin with, it is his birthday. Then it is the day on which
the _Roosevelt_ steamed north on the successful quest for the pole; the
day on which the pole was reached, and the day on which the wireless
message of success was flashed over the world from the bleak Labrador
station. Later it was the day on which the writer was made _grand
officier_ of the Legion of Honor by the President of France, the day
on which he began his efforts for air preparedness for this country,
and the day (ninth anniversary of discovery of the pole) on which this
country, by the President’s signature, formally entered the greatest of
all wars.
[2] Greenland is the largest island in the world. Its total length
from Cape Farewell, its southern extremity in 60° N. latitude, to Cape
Morris K. Jesup, its northern extremity in 83½° N. latitude is in round
numbers 1500 miles, almost exactly the same as the length of the United
States on the 97th meridian, from the mouth of the Rio Grande to where
our northern boundary crosses the Red River of the North. The greatest
width of Greenland is about the name as the distance from New York to
St. Louis.
In regard to its area, the figures of various authorities vary widely.
It may be sufficient to say that as regards area it can be grouped in
size with the United States east of the Mississippi; Alaska; Mexico;
Columbia; Persia; Portuguese West Africa; Turkey in Asia. Its interior
is covered with a great sheet of ice rising to elevations of probably
10,000 feet in places and several thousand feet in thickness. The
available ice-free land is a strip of varying width along the coast,
intersected by numerous deep fiords.
Geographically, Greenland belongs to North America and the Western
Hemisphere, over which we have formally claimed a sphere of influence
by our Monroe Doctrine. Its possession by us will be in line with the
Monroe Doctrine, and will eliminate one more possible source of future
complications for us from European possession of territory in the
Western Hemisphere. Will turning Greenland over to Denmark now mean
our repurchase of it later, or will obtaining it now mean closing the
incident and placing Greenland where it must ultimately belong?
Greenland is comparatively near to us. For years American ships have
conveyed cryolite from the Ivigtut Mines to Philadelphia. There is
coal and cryolite, probably graphite and mica, possibly gold, in its
rocks. Danish capital has apparently not been sufficient to exploit the
country’s resources. With our unlimited means, it may, like Alaska,
prove a sound and most valuable business investment.
The abundance of native coal and the numerous glacial streams which
come tumbling into the southern fiords from the great interior ice
sheet represent enormous potential energy, which might be translated
into nitrate and electrical energy, to make Greenland a power-house for
the United States.
Greenland represents ice, coal, and power in inexhaustible quantities.
And stranger things have happened than that Greenland, in our hands,
might furnish an important North Atlantic naval and aeronautical base.
A North Pacific naval base for the United States in the Aleutian
Archipelago is a recognized possibility. Why not a similar base in
the North Atlantic? Cape Farewell in Greenland is but little north
of Sitka. It is in the same latitude as St. Petersburg; Christiania,
Great Britain’s naval base in the Orkneys, and the northern entrance to
the North Sea, which Great Britain has incessantly patrolled with her
war-ships summer and winter for two years.
There are fiords in southern Greenland which would hold our entire
navy, with narrow, deep water, impregnable entrances.
Thirty-hours steaming due south from Cape Farewell by thirty-five-knot
war-craft would put them in the transatlantic routes midway between New
York and the English Channel.
With the rapid shrinking of distance in this age of speed and
invention, Greenland may be of crucial importance to us in the future.
--From Peary letter, September, 1917, suggesting Denmark give the
United States Greenland with the Danish West Indies.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.
Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.
Page 7: Caption reading “October, 1904” corrects a misprint of
“October, 1914”.
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