"The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims the happiest spot his own;
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease."
We were now crossing Davis Straits and felt that the whaling voyage had fairly begun. Reference was seldom made to the places already visited, but those we expected to see were discussed, and stories told of previous experiences there. Nothing was spoken of but Greenland and its settlements.
The weather was very cold and on Thursday, May 15th, snow squalls reminded us of our latitude. The wind was fair, however, and the ship made good time under steam and some canvas.
Friday, May 16th. The morning was fine and the men of the watch were employed coaling the bunkers; coal dust was thick in the 'tween-decks and the tarts we had for tea were black with it as the galley opened oft the Tween-decks. In spite of their color, however, they were better tarts than any I ever tasted on shore.
As we expected to be on the Greenland coast the following day, a few remarks about the country may not be out of place.
The west coast settlements had prospered under the fostering care of the Moravian missionaries and the Danish Government and were divided into two districts, the northern and the southern, Holstenborg, to which we were bound, being the northern settlement of the southern district. The most northern settlements of the northern district had native governors, but the southern had Danish, and inspectors supervised the work of these.
One or two ships from Copenhagen visited the coast every year with supplies, taking back oil and skins.
We have all sung about the icy mountains of Greenland, and most of us have in a vague way connected the country with whales, without having any idea of how great this whaling industry was some years ago. In the appendix it will be seen that Great Britain alone sent one hundred and fifty-nine ships to Greenland waters in 1819, and, of course, the Norwegians and Dutch, the Danes, Germans and others also profited by the fisheries. Many words in the modern whaler's vocabulary are of Dutch origin, as these hardy people were conspicuous among the most daring followers of this dangerous trade.
Greenland has a past, but its history, viewed through the mists of centuries, and always more or less traditional, is anything but distinct.
The country was discovered toward the end of the tenth century; and a banished Norwegian, called Erick, wintered at what is now called Erick Sound, shortly after. The unscrupulous Erick, in order to promote colonization, called the new country Greenland. A fleet of twenty-five sail started for the country with colonists. Many were lost, but about half of them settled there and were joined by others, forming quite a colony.
Christianity was introduced about 1121 and a bishop was appointed. By degrees the colonists in the south formed other colonies, churches were built, and the people prospered for a time.
Grant tells us in his history of Greenland that there were about one hundred hamlets on these coasts. The colonies on the east coast have disappeared. Some ruins have been found, but where are the people? Nothing has been heard definitely from them since 1408, when the east Greenland trade ceased. Some think that black death destroyed them, others say that polar ice, coming down, closed the coast from intercourse with the parent country, so that they starved. According to one Kojake, who has written on the subject, they became eaters of human flesh, owing to a famine, but afterwards they are said to have relished it. That they were nice about it is evident when we read that they only consumed old people, forsaken orphans and unnecessary persons. A rumor reached Norway in 1718 about a vessel having been wrecked oft the coast of Greenland and of the crew having been eaten voraciously by savages. The word voracious suggests relish, and possibly these savages were descendants from the good, old Norwegian stock, who ate unnecessary persons only a few hundred years before and who had a bishop in 1121.
May 17th. Saturday. We expected to sight the land, so were on the lookout. The weather was cloudy and there was a southeast breeze, so everything was set and drawing. The clouds lifted about noon and in the distance the snow-covered mountains of Greenland could be seen. At first it was difficult to tell which was mountain and which cloud. By and by, however, the forbidding coast grew distinct.
Our objective point was Holstenborg and the mate was in the crow's-nest examining the shore for the Danish colors. Some small bergs were scattered over the water and a narrow shore floe was fast to the coast.
To the north of us the Knights Reefs ran far out to sea and on these some larger bergs had grounded. The ship was slowed down and all her canvas stowed. Finally the engines were stopped, and after a little while, the captain ordered the ship put about as he could not pick up the settlement. I heard the order given and was greatly disappointed as I longed to see an Eskimo.
Just then the mate called out that he saw a kayak coming off, so the ship lay to and waited. I repaired to the fore top and presently saw two kayaks coming toward us. There was quite a splash on, but the sun had now come out and the scene interested me intensely.
The little boats were almost submerged and the occupants were wet and glistened in the sunlight.
When they came alongside, I saw that the kayaks were about 15 feet long, with little knobs of ivory decorating bow and stern, and were about 18 inches wide at the widest part and covered with skin.
One Eskimo sat in each. The edge of the hole in which he sat was raised a couple of inches and over this he had pulled his skin coat, wrapped a lash around it and made it water-tight. The paddle was trimmed with ivory and the dusky faces of the almond-eyed navigators were all smiles as they looked at us and showed their white teeth. A whale boat was lowered and each canoe lifted in, Eskimo and all, then they left their boats, shook hands with every one around and went on to the bridge, where they remained until the ship was at anchor off the village.
Holstenborg consisted of a church, which was also a schoolhouse, a shop where the deputy governor lived, and the governor's house. There were a number of native houses—awful places, built of turf. A long low passage led to the door of each. As the weather was comparatively warm, this passage was generally very wet, and when the door of the house opened, the smell was overpowering. Inside sat women at work with their needles, or dressing skins. When the ship came to anchor off the shore floe, a boat-load of ladies came on board. A Greenland belle was a well dressed person. Her hair was folded several times and then wound about with a ribbon, so that it stood up upon the top of the head; the fold of the hair above the ribbon was rather fanshaped, and the color of the ribbon indicated whether the lady was married, single, or a widow. Possibly there were degrees of wrapping, and shades of the color, indicating the number of times she had been married, and the depths of despair into which her various bereavements had reduced her. This simple record of her past was an excellent arrangement in a country where there were no society papers,—a sort of personal totem carried on the head, so that he or she who ran might read. Of course, in lower latitudes, where high civilization and divorce courts exist, shortness of hair would render some records so incomplete that the Greenland method is never likely to supplant the present ready references to be found amongst interested and observing neighbors. A bodice was worn, made of some cheerful colored stuff procured at the shop or from whalers. Tight fitting trousers, made of bay seal skin and extending down to the knees, came next, and very gaudy boots of colored skin. Down the front of each leg of the trousers was a stripe 1 1/2 inches wide, of colored skin, and the boots, especially around the tops, were very ornate. Many of the girls were good-looking, and on their arrival a ball commenced in the 'tween-decks which lasted while they were there; fiddles and concertinas supplying the music. These instruments were played by whalers and Eskimos equally well, and they knew the same airs. Most of our visitors had articles to barter and they wanted bread in return more than anything else, but accepted colored handkerchiefs and other trifles.
Slippers and tobacco pouches were their principal stock in trade, but there were some down quilts, prettily bordered with the green necks of the eider duck. Captain Fairweather and myself spent a pleasant evening with the governor and his deputy, and it was interesting to hear the music of civilization played on a piano by the wife of the latter.
Coming away, they gave us a lot of quaint ivories made by the natives, from walrus tusks, such as brooches, pipes, paper knives, etc., etc.
May 18th. Sunday. I went on shore early, and seeing a lot of snow buntings, spent some time looking for their nests, but without result. On the sunny sides of the rocks the snow had gone; there was some dead grass, but indeed the country was, for the most part, covered with it. There were several pairs of ravens about, but I could not find their nests, so I borrowed a pair of skies, and ascending a hill close by, enjoyed the exhilarating sport of sliding down its snowy slope. During the afternoon I made a house-to-house visitation in the native quarter and saw much of interest. The older portion of the population I found at home, but the youth and beauty of the place had gone on board the Aurora. About dinner time I came on board and acquired a further collection of Eskimo ware, including ladies' clothing, for which even my bed curtains were bartered. It was late when I retired for the night, surfeited with the pleasure of my first long day in Greenland.
May 19th. Monday. I wrote letters home this morning and sent them on shore. During the summer they arrived via Copenhagen, having gone by the Danish mail ship which visited the settlement every year.
By breakfast time we were under way. It was a beautiful day. There was a breeze from the southwest, so the ship soon had all her canvas set and we stood away, clear of the land.
The Knights Reef, running out to sea north of Holstenborg, had to be weathered. On the heavy ice around there, we saw a number of walrus, but did not disturb them. By noon we were sailing up the coast amid floe ice, so the canvas was taken off and we steamed slowly through it. A sharp lookout was kept for whales, as we were then on a very good ground for spring fishing, sixty miles from Disco and sixty miles from Riffkol being the neighborhood where the ships in olden times killed fine cargoes.
"With Riffkol hill and Disco Dipping,
There you will find the whale fish skipping,"
is an old saying amongst whalers.
"The shapeless bear
With dangling ice, all horrid, stalks forlorn,
Slow paced, and sourer as the storms increase,
He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift,
And with stem patience, scorning weak complaint,
Hardens his heart against the assailing want."
May 20th. Tuesday. We were quite close to Disco in the morning. However, the Captain decided not to go into the settlement, Godhaven, where many other ships lay, but to go west, as the straits appeared tolerably free from ice in that direction. Accordingly, about noon, we turned our bows westward, having a solid looking floe to the north of us and open water to the south. This was all good fishing ground and we might have picked up a big whale, but we did not see a single spout while we were in the neighborhood.
Birds were getting numerous, now that we were amongst the ice, and the edge of the floe was lined with little auks in some places. They were important-looking fellows, like diminutive penguins.
Disco looked wild and forbidding as we steamed away from it, with snow lodged in all the sheltered places.
The island rose to a height of about three thousand feet and much of the coast on the west side of it was precipitous and exposed, so that there were always bare rock faces, which gave a patchy appearance to that place.
To the north of us, many big bergs could be seen, which had come originally from Waggate Straits. Two tremendous ones were at one time aground in this place, in very deep water. They were described by Crants, who tells us that they were there for years.
We had steamed for some distance to the west, along the floe edge, when the lookout called down that he saw a bear on an island of ice, a few points on our starboard bow. I heard him, so immediately went for my rifle. A boat was lowered and we rowed to the island. George Matheson, one of our harpooners, and myself immediately landed, and the boat left us, intending to row around the island so as to intercept bruin, should he attempt to swim to the main floe.
As this was the first wild bear I had ever seen, I was unfamiliar with their ways, but learned afterwards that unless the hunter came suddenly upon one, or unless it had cubs, it would almost invariably retreat and probably take to the water. Of course, it might not know the whereabouts of the hunter, and in that case it would be as liable to go in his direction as any other.
This particular animal was an exception to all rules; for before we had gone very far we found that he was coming straight toward us. Owing to the nature of the ice, he could not always be seen, but occasionally he would stand up and take his bearings, when we could see each other. I was an active youth, George was a heavy man in excellent condition, and if it came to running, he would have had no chance with me, and no sensible bear would pass him to pursue me.
Realizing these things, I had no misgivings, so knelt down and put out a box of ten cartridges. The har-pooner, seeing my preparations, said: "For God's sake, don't shoot." He had had experiences with wounded bears before, which he did not wish to repeat. It seemed to me, however, that, between the two of us, we had things our own way as we had had such splendid practice at seals a short time before and our hands were in, so, when bruin stood up to have a look at us, less than a hundred yards away, I fired and hit him in the head.
I was intensely pleased as it was my first bear and also the first seen that year by any of the ships.
We had, as spectators, the entire crew, as the ship was not far away and every one on board was watching. A bear is considered lucky, considerable trouble being taken to pick one up. As they looked very yellow in the white ice, they were easily seen. Curiosity, no doubt, drew this one to us, as we were kneeling down and not moving when he stood up to look. Had we moved, he would probably have gone away. I kept the skull, the entire occipital portion of which was shattered, although the skin wound was small, as the copper-nosed bullets only expanded well on striking something hard.
The boat came back for us and, after skinning the prize, we went on board. As there was much heavy ice to the west, we steamed back towards Disco, and a lead, opening to the north, later in the day, gave us a chance of going a few miles in the right direction.
May 21st. Wednesday. We had come rather close to the land by morning and were off Disco Fiord. There was very heavy ice coming down and numbers of bergs about, so navigation was exceedingly difficult and dangerous, and we made little or no progress until noon, when the ice slackened and let us go ahead, the wind blowing from the north and loosening it. In the evening it was very cold, with snow squalls.
I got an ivory gull this day (P. Eburnea) and also a glaucous gull (Larus Glaucus). The ivory gull positively looked like ivory as it stood on the ice, and the glaucous gull, with its great spread of snow-white wings, was beautiful.
We were sorry that the ship did not stop at Godhaven, or Lieveley, as it was generally called, because of its importance as a point of departure for expeditions. They generally obtained dogs there, and whalers, for a century and more, had made it a port to call, but this was a race for the north and no time was to be wasted. We managed to work on our course all afternoon and during the night, as the wind had slackened the ice.
May 22nd. Thursday. During the night, the ship had made considerable progress, so at noon we were off Hare Island. After tea, we were hooked on in a pool of water for several hours. I took my gun and went out for a stroll, killing a number of little auks (Alca Allé or Roach) and a Richardson's skua. These latter were called, by the sailors, boatswain birds, because of the long feathers in the tail, resembling a marlinspike.
As at this time we had the sun night and day, it made me exceedingly restless. About ten P. M. we were fast again, so, taking my gun, I shot some black guillemot (U. Grylle), these birds being very numerous. I returned to the ship about midnight, when it was blowing rather hard.
May 23rd. Friday. The wind had died down by morning and the day was beautiful. We were off Nugsuak Peninsula. There were many tremendous bergs about and the floe was heavy. In the dim distance we saw a ship and made our way towards her. To the east of us was the entrance to Hmanak Fiord, one of the largest on the west coast of Greenland. From where we were, all fiords looked alike, and it was impossible to tell islands from mainland. It resembled a sea of ice out of which protruded rocks and hills, which, excepting on the steep places, were covered with snow.
Black guillemot and little auks were everywhere in thousands, and it was pretty to see rows of the latter along the ice edge. They stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the water, and were very indifferent to our presence.
By night we had made little progress and the new ship was still far away. We had been about with the whalers enough by this time to recognize any of them a long way off by their rigging, smoke or funnel, so, long before we reached this new vessel, we recognized that she was a stranger, and she turned out to be the Cornwallis. When we left Dundee, she was outfitting for the Greenland fishing, that is, for the voyage we ourselves originally intended taking, after leaving Newfoundland.
The high price of whalebone, however, had induced her owners to send her to Davis Straits instead. By tea time we were hooked on within a quarter of a mile of her, and after that meal the Captain sent me on board to see whether there was any mail for our ship. Climbing on board, I was amazed to find my friend Armitage there, with a yellow beard and sea boots; I would not have recognized him. He was greatly surprised to see me because he believed that I had gone from Newfoundland to the Jan Mayen fishing, not knowing of our altered arrangements. The Cornwallis was an old barque, formerly in the South American trade. She had had engines put in, and been fortified for Arctic ice. After I sailed from Dundee, Armitage, in going around the docks, saw her. He went on board and, finding Captain Nicol, arranged to sail with him later in the year.
Sending back to the Aurora mail and papers, also some fresh mutton, which had been sent out to us, I remained on the Cornwallis and heard the news. I saw her peculiar and useless engines. Captain Nicol said they spoilt her for sailing and she steamed badly.
May 24th. Saturday. It was a beautiful Arctic day when I came on deck before breakfast. Ahead of us, the world was white, not a break to be seen anywhere, astern some open water. The Cornwallis was lying on our port side a few hundred yards away, so that about eleven I went on board, and, with Armitage, started off to look for something to shoot, among the hummocks, three or four miles north of where we lay. We spent hours tramping over the ice, but did not see a track, so we returned to our ships about six P. M. This hummock belt extended east and west and had been caused by the rafting of great floes. It was quite smooth from the ship to the hummocks and also on the other side of them. Half a mile beyond the ridge, however, there was a great berg which appeared to be aground.
When I returned on board the Aurora, the Captain told me to go below and have my tea and then to go with the mate back to where I had been, because he had seen a bear close to us all the time we were there. It certainly was curious that neither of us had seen him or his tracks. When we were about a mile away from the ships, I saw Armitage hurrying after us. I was anxious to wait for him, but the mate insisted on pushing on, as it would be a fearfully unlucky thing for a member of another crew to shoot a bear first seen by us. After a little, we reached a crack in the ice, about two feet wide, so we stepped across and hurried on. Armitage, coming up shortly after, was unable to cross as the crack was then eight or ten feet wide and extended indefinitely in each direction. So the situation righted itself, and my friend returned to the ship while the mate and I kept on to where the bear had been seen and there we found tracks in abundance, but no bear. After an hour's searching, we were returning to the ship when we saw her jib hauled up as a signal for us to go ahead again, the game having been spotted by the lookout in the crow's nest. Returning to the hummocks, we saw the bear strolling from behind the berg beyond. He was coming straight towards us, so we got down behind the rafted ice and awaited his approach. It was decided that I should have the first shot as the mate had killed so many. I allowed the bear to get about a hundred and fifty yards away before firing, and then put a bullet into him. I don't know where it hit, but he came down, to be up again at once and to keep on coming. The mate fired and down he went again, and we kept it up until the bear was hit many times. Sometimes he fell, sometimes he bit at the place, and by the time he reached the ridge he was very lame and badly shot up. He had gone some distance to the west of us, so I stood up on a slab of ice and finished him, as we thought, by putting a bullet in his shoulder and dropping him in his tracks. We hurried up our side of the ridge until we arrived at where he was. Then, climbing over, I was surprised to find him sitting up. This time my bullet finished him. Our shooting was nothing to be proud of, and went to show how careful one should be with bears, because if not hit right, they take a lot of lead. This was about the only one of those killed that took more than one or, at the most, two shots.
As neither of us had a hunting knife, we had a long job skinning him with pocket knives. Then we started for the ship, towing the skin, but when we reached the crack in the ice, it had opened about twenty-five yards, so we were fairly caught. The mate, with his usual ingenuity, loosened a pan of ice, and on this we crossed, using the butts of our rifles as paddles. Arriving at the other side, we were met by two sailors, sent from the ship, as we were being watched from the barrel, and they took the bear skin in charge while we made our way on board. As it was late, we retired as soon as we had had something to eat.
May 25th.. Sunday. In the morning, Armitage came on board and saw the bear skin. He had never seen a polar bear on the ice, so was very much disappointed that he had not been with us.
Both ships unhooked about ten A. M. and stood north through a lead. We moved along fairly well and by evening were hooked on close to each other in a hole of water with a good ice edge.
The Bear and Triune were now in sight, the latter having come from Dundee direct. We were off Svartin Huk, a great peninsula, but I only knew this by consulting the chart glued to the cabin table.
The Cornwallis was the "lame duck" of the fleet. Steaming in open water, she had not more than half our speed, and in heavy ice she could do little, as her power was so weak. Of course, she could wriggle her way around floes and along tortuous leads fairly well, especially if some of the better ships had just been through ahead of her and broken the trail. The Cornwallis was the only one of the ships coming direct from Dundee which carried a surgeon, but there were three on the Newfoundland fleet.
May 26th. Monday. We both moved a few miles north this day, but the ice was very heavy and the conditions for advance unfavorable. Some distance astern, we saw the Bear, but she was not making much headway and we all three were tied up by noon.
A ship, when anchored to a floe, has her bows against it and a cable out to an ice anchor on one bow or on both, according to the weather. From the jib-boom a rope ladder always hangs, so that one can easily get on to or leave the floe. There is generally a man on the ladder when the ship approaches the ice, and as she touches, he drops off! and, with an ice drill, makes a hold for the ice anchor.
Bringing Armitage, we went to a crack up which looms were flying, and had a pleasant afternoon shooting them. They were fast-flying birds, and the knowledge of the fact that they would not be wasted gave zest to our sport. Shooting guillemot rising off the water would not be much fun, but picking off single birds as they passed was good practice.
The looms we saw in such thousands were, I believe, Uria Brunichii.
The ships were tied up when I turned in.
May 27th. Tuesday. The ice was slack, so we kept in a northerly direction, making good headway. We left the Cornwallis and, following a good lead, passed the Narwhal, which had been the leading ship for some days.
During the evening, the Bear came after us, but we were able to keep ahead. Captain Fair-weather decided to give Upernivik a wide berth, as he once had had an unpleasant experience with the rocks of that charming Greenland summer resort, so we kept going north all night.
There was a wonderful amount of life on board a whaler, on account of the crew being so large. In the 'tween-decks, one generally found a number of men at work, picking oakum, spinning rope yarn, or other yarns, and weaving sennet. The carpenter and his assistant were found at work in one place, the cooper busy in another, while the sailmaker sat and sewed. On the deck, in some sheltered corner, one found the blacksmith at work, and there were always jobs being done in the engine room. But it was easy work, none of the dog's life one saw on other ships.
There are said to be runic monuments in the vicinity of Upernivik, and one on Woman's Island is said to bear the date of 1135. The early travellers, who are supposed to be responsible for these records, are also said to have visited Lancaster Sound.
When one considers that Baffin circumnavigated the bay which bears his name, in 1616, in a craft of fifty-five tons, and when one examines a Viking ship of a thousand years ago and finds it a substantial clinker built boat, a hundred feet long with fine beam, one sees no reason why a twelfth century vessel could not make her way to Lancaster Sound.
May 28th. Wednesday. We had a day racing with the Bear. She managed to pass us just before we reached Browns Island, and hooked on to the floe some distance from us. After a little, the Narwhal joined us, and later the Cornwallis. Armitage and I went off in our dingey and had a few pleasant hours shooting looms. We shot a lot of them, which were divided between the two ships. It took me some time to overcome a prejudice and to become accustomed to seeing looms on the table in any shape or form, but they were really much better than any ducks we killed, because they were not at all fishy and our cook understood about skinning them. They tasted rather like roast hare.
During the afternoon, the weather was thick and it was snowing. The coast of Greenland, at this point, was fringed by hundreds of islands of all sizes and shapes. They were everywhere and some had names while others had not. One navigated there by rule of thumb, only moving when landmarks could be seen, and avoiding visible dangers. Occasionally, something one did not see, destroyed the ship, as there were hundreds of uncharted rocks. In approaching a settlement, a native generally came on hoard and pointed out the way, but the coast was a dangerous one and the ships only kept close to it in order that they might avoid the terrible middle pack.
May 29th. Thursday. We were bumping along towards the west when I came on deck, as the ice looked slacker in that direction, but we had to return shortly after breakfast and, after thrashing around for most of the morning, we managed to strike a good lead and gain a few miles. There was no shooting, as the ship did not stop.
The Cornwallis kept near us all day, and the Narwhal was not far away. As we were now on the edge of the notorious Melville Bay, it became interesting. Greely's famous thirty-six hour passage was not going to be repeated by us, that was evident. I recalled Cheynes' account of its dangers, but we were so comfortable on board the Aurora, and meals were served with such regularity, that it was only possible to realize the danger by watching floes crunch into each other as they were pressed together by irresistible forces. We hooked on at night with little in sight but floes and bergs.
It is a wonderful thing to see a berg ploughing its way through a frozen sea, slowly but surely, overcoming all obstacles, provided, always, that the water was deep enough to keep its mighty base from grounding. On this day there were dozens in sight. They were in every direction and one could easily understand the hopelessness of a sailing ship's position, beset in these waters, with a gale driving bergs down upon her.
May 30th. Friday. We were lying, hooked on to the floe, in the forenoon, when I looked over the side and saw a beautiful male King eider duck (S. Spectabilis) sitting on the water within ten feet of the Captain's port. The Captain was in bed, as he had been in the crow's nest for days, nearly all the time. His port was open and I did not want to wake him, so, taking a gun, I went on the ice and, firing from there, killed the bird without the report being heard in the cabin, and the dog, Jock, went out and brought the bird in. It was the first King eider I had shot and it looked beautiful in its spring plumage. The striking thing about the bird was the enormous frontal processes bulging high above the bill and brightly colored. These were soft and shrank rapidly as they dried, losing their color. The plumage was a mixture of black, white, pearl gray and sea green, making a gorgeous whole. The first bird one sees of a beautiful species always excites more admiration than the others, and so I was delighted with this and carefully skinned it.
The evening made no change in the conditions and we remained fast all night.
May 31st. Saturday. All the ships were stuck in the morning. The Cornwallis and Narwhal were some distance astern, the Arctic near the shore, the Nova Zembla and Polynia close together to the west of us. There were an immense number of bergs, some of them, no doubt, aground, as there were many islands and rocks. We were lying off Tassuisak, a not very populous place, and I was in hope that some natives, seeing the ships, would come off.
During the afternoon, we got under way and poked about without moving much further north. When we were crossing any open places, the ship steamed very slowly and a man was kept forward, on the lookout for submerged rocks.
"And hark! The lengthening roar continuous runs
Athwart the rifted deep, at once it bursts
And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds."
June 1st. Sunday. Owing to a change of wind the ice had loosened and during the night we managed to push on to Berry Island. The Bear and Thetis appeared upon the scene during the afternoon, and we saw the Bear strike a sunken rock. We hooked on to the small island with several of the other ships, the Bear being on our starboard side, and the Narwhal, Arctic and Thetis on the port. I saw Commander Schley going on board the Bear and examining her with a water telescope. His boat passed very close to our quarter and the Captain spoke to him as he went.
The ships were all lying close to the shore floe with this low island in front of them, and it looked as if they might be there some time, so I went on shore with the surgeon of the Arctic. There was a camera sitting on the ice near the Thetis, so the ships were evidently being photographed. We wandered about the inhospitable place for a time and came on board. The perpetual daylight made me very irregular in my movements, coming and going at all hours; my day was regulated by my meals. Those who had watches to keep slept and got up with their usual regularity.
June 2nd. Monday. The day fine, and we were still tied up at the island. I took a gun and went on shore after breakfast, but there was not much to shoot. In a little valley I saw a quantity of dead grass sticking out of the ice. On going over and examining, I found a number of human skeletons. Wherever there was a big bunch of grass, there I found an ice-covered skeleton. Probably they were Eskimos. When I returned to the ship there were a number of natives on board. They came from Tassuisak and had some seal skins to trade.
Some of our men had visited the Arctic. She had been in Godhaven, so had much trade and our men procured some of it. Afterwards I bought a kayak model from one of these. It was very beautifully made. The skin tobacco pouches and slippers made by natives in Godhaven looked nicer than any I saw from other settlements.
The southern Greenland towns were better than those further north, but the whalers seldom called at any further south than Holstenborg. I went on board the Bear for awhile during the evening with Dr. Crawford and met Lieutenant Emory. During the day I saw several very beautiful glaucous gulls. They are called burgomasters by the sailors.
June 3rd. Tuesday. Immediately to the north of where we lay there were a great many icebergs. They presented a very fine appearance with the sun shining on them. The Thetis and Bear started off amongst these bergs. We tried to move out to the west, but did not accomplish much; for when evening came we were no further north than when we started. In the distance and to the west of us we saw a berg on the top of which there was a black spot. What could it be? From the crow's nest the telescope revealed nothing but a black spot on the icy slope.
There was a narrow lead going in this direction, so the mate and myself went with a boat's crew to solve the mystery. We were able to take a whale boat a long distance through the lead, and then we walked the rest of the way. I had brought a rifle in case there should be a chance of a shot. On getting up to the berg we found that it was not fast, but that owing to its great depth in the water it had a motion independent of its floe. On one side there had been a great slide, and up this we proposed going.
Just at this place the motion of the berg had ground up a lot of ice at its base, and also some of the floe, so that one had very unstable footing to jump to and from in crossing the surrounding fissure.
However, we all managed without mishap and ascended the slide to within six or eight feet of the top. I was then pushed up this little cliff and found that, with the exception of the place we had come up, the sides were sheer precipices. It was necessary to traverse a snowy undulation before the black object came into view. The mate joined me with some of the others and it was exciting for a few minutes, but disappointing when we found only a big black stone which the berg had picked up probably during its glacial days.
The islands of ice often turn over owing to the frost splitting them when the weather is cold. This frequent alteration of their centre of gravity makes them very undesirable neighbors, especially in the autumn. While it was disappointing finding only a stone when we expected something wonderful, yet the view from the summit was magnificent.
Immediately around little but ice could be seen, with here and there some black threads of water and many great bergs scattered about.
In the distance the coast of Greenland looked bold. It had been rather high all the way up from Upernivik, but Cape Shackleton, rising to a height of thirteen hundred feet, looked very imposing, being precipitous. There was a great loomery on its cliffs, which was probably the home of the thousands of those birds which we saw every day flying along the cracks, or about the pools of open water. There was much less trouble getting down the berg than getting up, but we were all tired when we reached the ship as we were not accustomed to long walks.
June 4th. Wednesday. The morning was fine, and many ships were in sight. During the night we had passed Cape Shackleton. To the south we saw the Thetis, evidently in the rips off Horse Heade, with the Bear astern of her. The Nova Zembla and Triune were several miles to the west, and caught in the pack, while all the other ships were together. During the morning the Thetis, Bear and Polynia came up and joined us in our feeble attempt to push along.
Later in the day the weather turned cold and cloudy, but no storm came, and the ice was very tight at bedtime.
June 5th. Thursday. A beautiful day with sunshine and blue sky. Nearly all the ships were anchored to the ice or stuck in our immediate vicinity. We were hooked on in a large lake and close to us there were a number of great bergs. During the morning I took the dingey and rowed amongst them, as there was no floe ice near.
The silence was very impressive, the only sound being that made by the splashing of water as it trickled down the icy sides of the bergs, or the cry of some seabird. I traced the base of one of these hoary giants a long way into the depths, but the water of the Arctic sea is by no means clear, owing to the vast numbers of animalculae which inhabit it.
I shot a big bag of little auks here, but was careful not to do any shooting whilst close to the bergs, as the concussion might have brought down ice. During the afternoon the floe opened a little, and the expedition ships came close to us, but the Nova Zembla and Triune still appeared to be held in the pack. We all watched like hawks for a chance to reach the Duck Islands, now only a few miles ahead. Greely might have been there.