By the middle of October the hut was completed; and though the accommodations it afforded were extremely scanty, they were glad to take up their abode in it at once.

And now began the long, dreary, three months' night of the 77th degree of latitude, during which snow-drifts and impetuous winds confined them to their miserable dwelling. "We looked pitifully one upon the other," says Gerret De Veer, the simple narrator of the sufferings of that Arctic winter, "being in great fear that if the extremity of the cold grew to be more and more, we should all die there of cold; for that what fire soever we made would not warm us." The ice was now two inches thick upon the walls and even on the sides of their sleeping-cots, and the very clothes they wore were whitened with frost, so that as they sat together in their hut they "were all as white as the countrymen used to be when they came in at the gates of the towns in Holland with their sleads, and have gone all night."

Yet in the midst of all their sufferings these hardy men maintained brave and cheerful hearts, and so great was their elasticity of spirit that, remembering the 5th of January was "Twelfth Even," they determined to celebrate it as best they might. "And then," says the old chronicler, "we prayed our maister that we might be merry that night, and said that we were content to spend some of the wine that night which we had spared, and which was our share (one glass) every second day; and so that night we made merry and drew for king. And therewith we had two pounds of meale, whereof we made pancakes with oyle, and every man had a white biscuit, which we sopt in the wine. And so, supposing that we were in our own country, and amongst our friends, it comforted as well as if we had made a great banket in our owne house." Blessed Content! arising from a simple heart and a life of honest and healthful toil, never didst thou celebrate a greater triumph, or more forcibly show thy power, than in that dreary hut on Nova Zembla!

Some weeks afterwards the sun appeared once more above the horizon; and the glorious sight, though it soon vanished again into darkness, was a joyful one indeed, full of delightful images of a return to friends and home. Now, also, the furious gales and snow-storms ceased; and, though the severity of the cold continued unabated, they were able to brave the outer air and recruit their strength by exercise.

When summer came, it was found impossible to disengage the ice-bound vessel, and the only hopes of escaping from their dreary prison now rested on two small boats, in which they ventured on the capricious ocean. On the fourth day of their voyage, their fragile barks became surrounded by immense quantities of floating ice, which so crushed and injured them, that the crews, giving up all hope, took a solemn leave of each other. But in this desperate crisis they owed their lives to the presence of mind and agility of De Veer, who with a well-secured rope leaped from one fragment of ice to another till he gained a firm field, on which first the sick, then the stores, the crews, and finally the boats themselves, were safely landed. Here they were obliged to remain while the boats underwent the necessary repairs, and during this detention upon a floating ice-field the gallant Barentz closed the eventful voyage of his life. He died as he had lived, calmly and bravely, thinking less of himself than of the safety of his crew, for his last words were directions as to the course in which they were to steer. Even the joyful prospect of a return to their families and home could not console his surviving comrades for the loss of their leader, whom they loved and revered as a friend and father. After a most tedious and dangerous passage, they at length arrived at Kola in Russian Lapland, where to their glad surprise they found their old comrade, John Cornelis, who received them on board his vessel and conveyed them to Amsterdam.

During the seventeenth century the most remarkable maritime discoveries were made by the English, Dutch, and Spaniards, though by the latter only at its commencement. In the year 1605 Quiros sailed from Callao, discovered the island of Sagittaria, since so renowned under the name of Otaheite, and the archipelago of Espiritu Santo, or the New Hebrides of Cook. On this journey he was accompanied by Torres, the bold seaman who some years after gave his name to the strait which separates New Guinea from Australia.

While the declining sun of Spain was thus gilding with its last rays the northern shore of New Holland, the meridian splendour of the Batavian republic cast forth bright beams of light over the wide Pacific.

Schouten and Le Maire, penetrating through the strait which is still named after the latter, sailed in the year 1616 round Tierra del Fuego; and about the same time Hartog discovered Eendragt's Land, on the west coast of Australia. The successive voyages of Jan Edel (1619), Peter Nuyts (1627), and Peter Carpenter (1628), brought to light the northern and southern shores of the vast island, which thus began to assume a rude shape on the map of the geographer. In the year 1642, Abel Tasman, the greatest of the Dutch navigators, drew a mighty furrow through the South Sea, discovered Van Diemen's Land, which posterity desirous of perpetuating his fame has called Tasmania, saw the northern extremity of New Zealand emerge from the ocean, and finally unveiled to the world the hidden beauties of Tonga.

While the Dutch navigators were thus dissipating the darkness of Australia, Hudson and Baffin were immortalising their names in the Arctic Ocean.

In the year 1627 Henry Hudson made the first attempt to steer right on to the pole, and to cross to India over the axis of the globe. He reached the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, but all his attempts to penetrate deeper into the polar ocean were baffled by the mighty ice-fields that opposed his progress. But though he failed in his undertaking to sail through the region of eternal winter to the spicy groves of India, yet the numerous morses and seals he had seen basking on the coast of Spitzbergen opened such cheering prospects of future profit, that the "Muscovy Company," which had fitted out the expedition, was by no means discontented with the issue of his voyage.

Three years after we find the gallant Hudson once more attempting to discover the north-west passage in a vessel of fifty-five tons, provisioned for six months. The crew which he commanded was unfortunately utterly unworthy of such a leader, and quailed as soon as they had to encounter the fog and ice-fields of the Frozen Ocean.

But, in spite of the murmurs and repinings of his faint-hearted followers, the dauntless commander pressed on through the strait which bears his name, until at last his little bark emerged into a boundless deep blue sea. Hudson's Bay lay before him, but the delighted discoverer was happy in the belief that the grand object of his voyage was attained, and the shortest road to India laid open to the mariners of England. It was about the beginning of August, and the spiritless crew considering the passage accomplished, urged an immediate return; but Hudson was determined on completing the adventure, and wintering if possible on the sunny shores of India.

Three months long he continued tracking the coasts of that vast northern Mediterranean, now for the first time explored by civilised man, vainly hoping to see a new channel opening to the west, until at length November came and imprisoned his small vessel in adamantine fetters. A long and dreary winter awaited the ice-bound seamen, with almost exhausted provisions, and unfortunately without that heroic patience and serene concord which had sustained the sufferings of Barentz and his companions. It must indeed have been a melancholy winter for poor Hudson, solitary and friendless among scowling ruffians, hating him as the cause of their bitter misery; but spring came at last with its consolatory sunshine, and hope once more dawned in his tortured breast. The ship is again afloat, and on the 21st of June, 1611, the captain comes forth from his cabin, refreshed by the sleep of a quiet conscience, and strong in body and mind to meet the duties of the day. But as he steps on deck his arms are suddenly pinioned, and he finds himself in the power of a mutinous crew. He looks around for some trace of sympathy, but hatred meets him in every eye. Inquiry, remonstrance, entreaty, command, all alike fail to move their stubborn resolution, and now Hudson resigns himself bravely to his fate, with all the quiet dignity of a noble nature, and looks calmly at the ominous preparations going forward. A small open boat is in waiting, and into this he is lowered, some powder and shot and the carpenter's box come next, followed by the carpenter himself, a strong brave fellow, the captain's one devoted adherent among the rebellious crew; the sick and infirm complete the unfortunate cargo. A signal is given, the boat is cast adrift, and soon the last faint cry for mercy expires in the breeze which carries the vessel onwards on its homeward course.

Thus perished the high-minded Hudson, without further tiding or trace, on the scene of his glory; but the vengeance of heaven soon overtook the ringleaders of that dark conspiracy. Some fell in a fight with the Eskimos, and others died on the homeward voyage, which was performed under the extremity of famine. Whatever horrors may have attended the last moments of Hudson, his sufferings were less, for his conscience was undefiled by guilt.

In the year 1616 Baffin sailed round the enormous bay to which his name has been given, but without attempting to penetrate through any one of those wide sounds that have led the Arctic navigators of our days to so many glorious discoveries.

From the times of Tasman, whose bold voyage through the wastes of the Southern Pacific has already been mentioned, to those of our own immortal Cook, but very little was done for the progress of geography, as if, after so many heroic endeavours, the spirit of maritime discovery had required a long repose to recruit its energies, ere the greatest navigator of modern times was destined to unveil the mysterious darkness which still concealed one half of the vast Pacific from the knowledge of mankind. The voyages most worthy of remark during this period were those of the Cossack Semen Deshnew (1654), who sailed from the mouth of the Kolyma River round the eastern promontory of Asia, and must be considered as the discoverer of Behring's Straits; of the adventurous Dampier (1689-1691), that strange combination of the buccaneer, the author, and the naturalist, who first discovered the strait which separates New Guinea from New Ireland; of the Dutchman Roggewein (1721-23), who made known some islands in the Pacific; of the brothers Laptew and of Prontschitschew (1734-1743), who unveiled the greatest part of the Siberian coast; of Commodore Anson (1740-1744), whose heroic sufferings and successes in the Pacific still live in the memory of his countrymen; and of the unfortunate Behring (1730-1741), who terminated his second unsuccessful exploring expedition by a miserable death on a desert island.

After the peace of Aix la Chapelle England felt that the dominion of the seas imposed upon her the obligation of extending the bounds of geographical knowledge, and thus in rapid succession Byron (1764) and Wallis and Carteret (1766-1768) were sent forth to discover unknown shores, while France made a simultaneous effort to refresh the somewhat meagre laurels she had reaped by the voyages of Verazzani and Cartier. The consequences of this emulation were not unimportant. Bougainville (1766-1768) completed the discovery of the Solomon Islands, which Mendana had only partly seen; Wallis made the world acquainted with the beauties of Tahiti, and Byron explored the unvisited coasts of Patagonia. But the fame of these worthy mariners was soon eclipsed by a greater renown, for, in the same year that Wallis returned from his expedition, Cook sailed from the port of Plymouth on his first voyage round the world.

CHAP. XXVI.

To form a correct estimate of Cook's discoveries, it is necessary that, before following the track of that great seaman, we should glance over the vast regions of the Pacific previously unknown to man. Many navigators indeed, since Magellan, had traversed that immense ocean, but the greater part of its expanse still lay buried in obscurity.

To the north of the line, the Spaniards, sailing from Manilla to Acapulco, still servilely followed the route which Urdaneta had pointed out, and all beyond was unexplored.

The regions to the south of the line were better known, but here also maritime discoverers, with the sole exception of Tasman, had confined themselves to the tropical waters. No one had yet tried to sail through the boundless space which to the south of the 25th degree of latitude extended between New Zealand and America. Of Australia only the western coast was known; the existence of Torres' Strait had long since been forgotten, and New Guinea and New Holland were supposed to form one connected land. To the south no one knew whether Australia and Van Diemen's Land were joined together, or severed by a channel; and the eastern coast of the fifth part of the world still awaited a discoverer. The boundaries of New Zealand were buried in the same obscurity. Tasman had only visited the west coast of the northern island, which, as far as was then known, might have extended a thousand miles farther on towards Chili. In one word, the great geographical problem of an enormous southern continent, the existence of which was formerly supposed necessary to form the counterpoise of the northern lands, still remained unsolved. The discoveries already made had indeed narrowed the limits which during the sixteenth century were still assigned to that imaginary continent, but in the unexplored bosom of the South Sea there yet was room enough for lands surpassing the whole of Europe in extent. Many of the South Sea islands moreover, though discovered before Cook's voyages, had vanished again from the memory of the world, or, according to Humboldt's expression, "wavered, as if badly rooted on the map, for want of exact astronomical measurements." Thus two hundred and fifty years after Magellan the Pacific still offered an enormous field for discovery, and when Cook set sail on the 30th of July, 1768, on his first voyage of circumnavigation, nearly one half of the globe lay open to his researches.

The first service he rendered on this voyage was the discovery that the route to the Pacific through the Strait of Le Maire and round Cape Horn was preferable to that which until then had been followed, through the Straits of Magellan.

After having observed at Otaheite the transit of Venus across the sun, which was one of the chief objects of the expedition, he soon after landed on the shores of Huaheine, Ulietea, and Borabora, which had never yet been visited by a European mariner, and gave to the whole group the name of the Society Islands, on account of their close vicinity to each other. Thence he sailed to New Zealand, which he was the first to find consisted of two large islands, separated by the strait which bears his name. With unwearied industry he spent no less than six months on the accurate survey of the New Zealand group, and then sailed to New Holland, the eastern coast of which he first discovered, and closely examined in its full length of 2000 miles. He also found that the continent of Australia was separated from New Guinea by a channel which he called "Endeavour Strait," but to which the justice of posterity has restored or awarded the name of Torres, its first explorer. This whole sea is so full of dangerous reefs and shoals that for months the sounding line was scarce ever laid aside, and any less experienced and prudent navigator must inevitably have been wrecked during these constant cruises in such perilous waters. Even Cook owed more than once his preservation to what may well be called a miraculous interposition of Providence, of which I shall cite a remarkable example. It was on the 10th of June, 1770, in the latitude of Trinity Bay. The vessel sailed, under a fresh breeze and by clear moonlight, through a sea the depth of which the plummet constantly indicated at 20 to 21 fathoms, so that not the least danger was apprehended. But suddenly the depth diminished to four fathoms, and before the lead could be heaved again the vessel struck and remained immoveable, except as far as she was heaved up and down and dashed against the rocks by the surge. The general anxiety may be imagined, and indeed the situation was such as to warrant the most serious apprehensions. It was found that the ship had been lifted over the ledge of a rock and lay in a hollow, inside of the reef, where the water in some places was three or four fathoms deep and in others hardly as many feet. The sheathing boards were knocked off and floating round the ship in great numbers, and at last the false keel also was destroyed, while the constant grating of the vessel against the rock seemed to announce its speedy disruption. It was now necessary to lighten the vessel as much as possible, and soon more than 50 tons' weight was thrown overboard.

On the following morning land was seen at the distance of eight miles; but no islet lay between, on which, in case the vessel went to pieces, a speedy refuge might be found. To add to their distress, the vessel drew so much water that three pumps could hardly master it; and, finally, it was found that even the rising of the flood, on which they mainly reckoned, was unavailing to extricate them from their perilous position. All that could possibly be spared was now therefore cast into the sea, still more to lighten the vessel, and thus the next tide was patiently expected, when, after incredible exertion, the ship righted, and they got her over the ledge of the rock into deep water.

But the men were by this time so much exhausted by their uninterrupted labour that they could not stand to the pumps more than five or six minutes at a time, after which they threw themselves flat on the streaming deck, where they lay till others exhausted like themselves took their places, on which they started up again and renewed their exertions. In this desperate situation one of the midshipmen, named Monkhouse, bethought himself of a means by which a ship, having sprung a leak admitting more than four feet of water in an hour, had yet been able to perform the whole journey from Virginia to London. He took a lower studding-sail, and, having mixed a large quantity of oakum and wool together, stitched them down by handfuls as lightly as possible. The sail was then hauled under the ship's bottom by means of ropes which kept it extended. When it came under the leak, the wool and oakum, with part of the sail, were forced inwards by the pressure of the water, which thus prevented its own ingress in such an effectual manner that one pump, instead of three, was now sufficient to keep it under. In this way they got the ship into a convenient port on the coast of New Holland, where they repaired the injury. Here it was found that their preservation was not entirely owing to that ingenious expedient, for one of the holes in the ship's bottom was almost entirely plugged by a piece of rock which had broken off and stuck in it; and this hole was so large, that, had it not been filled up in this truly extraordinary manner, the vessel must undoubtedly have sunk. Some persons, leading a tranquil life unvexed by storm or wave, might perhaps be inclined to ascribe so miraculous an escape to chance, but the seaman, who has had death before his eyes, will always in such a case recognise the hand of an Almighty protector: and who can doubt that a thrill of intense gratitude flashed through the soul of Cook on the discovery of the cause to which he owed the preservation of his life?

With a vessel thus shattered, and a crew thus worn with fatigue, further discoveries were no more to be thought of, and Cook hastened to return by way of Batavia and the Cape to England, where he arrived on the 11th of June, 1771.

The object of his second voyage (1772-1775) was to determine finally the question of the existence of a great southern continent, and to extend the geography of that part of the globe to its utmost limits. Sir Joseph Banks and Dr. Solander had accompanied him on his first voyage, this time John Reinhold Forster and his son George were engaged by government to explore and collect the natural history of the countries through which they should pass.

On the 13th of July, 1772, Cook sailed from Plymouth, and reached the Cape without having a single man sick. Well aware how much cleanliness and pure air contribute to health, he had neglected none of the means necessary to insure it. Every day the beds were aired, the linen of the sailors was frequently washed, and in rainy weather fire often made between decks, to dispel unwholesome damps and effluvia.

He now sailed to the south far into a desert and unknown sea, crossed it in various directions, and after having spent 117 days on the ocean, mostly among floating ice-fields, and without having once seen land, he steered northwards to the well-known coast of New Zealand, where on the 25th of January, 1773, he cast anchor in Dusky Bay. The feelings of the seaman may be imagined, when, after long wanderings over the waste of waters, he sees land, mountains, forests, and green plains rise above the horizon, when singing-birds take the place of the wild sea-mew, and friendly faces greet him on the strand. A beneficent mind is ever anxious to do good, and thus before sailing farther on to Otaheite, Cook caused a little garden to be planted, in which European vegetable seeds were sown and confided with proper instructions to the care of the intelligent savages, who were moreover presented with goats and pigs.

On the return voyage from Tahiti to New Zealand, where he intended to provide himself with fire-wood and provisions, before advancing once more into the high southern latitudes, he was pleased with the discovery of the small but lovely Harvey Islands, whose green girdle of cocoa-nut palms mirrors itself in the dark blue waters.

And now again he cruised in all directions through the icy sea, over an extent of 65° of longitude and as far as the 71st degree of southern latitude, without having seen any land; and having thus satisfied himself of the non-existence of a southern continent, or at least of its circumscription within bounds which must ever render it perfectly useless to man, he left those dreary regions of eternal winter, to continue his discoveries under a less inclement sky.

He first visited Easter Island and the Marquesas, where a new discovery received the name of Hood's Island, and on the way thence to Tahiti added the Palisser Group to the map of the world. We now follow him to the extensive archipelago of Espiritu Santo, first seen by Quiros in 1606, who took it for a part of the imaginary southern continent. Since then it had only been visited by Bougainville (1768), who however had contented himself with landing on the Isle of Lepers, and ascertaining the fact that it did not form part of a continent but of a considerable group of islands. Cook on his part examined the whole archipelago in such an accurate manner, ascertaining the situation of many of the islands and discovering such numbers of new ones, that he justly thought he had acquired the right to rebaptize them under the name of the New Hebrides.

From these islands he sailed for the third time to New Zealand, and discovered on his passage New Caledonia and the romantic Norfolk Island.

Leaving New Zealand on the 10th of November, 1774, once more to search for the southern continent, he traversed a vast extent of sea for 17 days, from 43° to 55° 48′ S. lat., when he gave up all thoughts of finding any more land in that part of the ocean, and determined to steer directly for the west entrance of the Straits of Magellan, with a design of coasting the southern part of Tierra del Fuego, quite round Cape Horn to Le Maire's Straits. Those wild, deeply indented, rocky coasts, the region of eternal storms and fogs, form the most striking contrast to the smiling shores of the South Sea islands. But, if in the latter the splendour of tropical vegetation enchants the eye of the spectator, the exuberance of animal life in the Magellanic Archipelago may well raise his astonishment. In one of the small islands near Staaten Land Cook admired the remarkable harmony reigning among the different species of mammifera and birds. The sea-lions occupied the greatest part of the sea-coast, the bears the inland; the shags were posted on the highest cliffs, the penguins in such places as had the best access to the sea; and the other birds chose more retired places. Occasionally, however, all these animals were seen to mix together like domestic cattle and poultry in a farmyard, without one attempting to hurt the other in the least. Even the eagles and the vultures were frequently observed sitting together on the hills among the shags, while none of the latter, either old or young, appeared to be disturbed at their presence. No doubt the poor fishes had to pay for the touching union of this "happy family."

Having fully explored the southern extremity of America, we once more see the indefatigable navigator steer forth into the deserts of the southern Polar Ocean, where he discovers some snow-clad isles, Bird Island, South Georgia, Sandwich Land, the southern Thule; and finally returns to England (30th July, 1775) after an absence of three years and seventeen days.

His third voyage (1776) was undertaken for the purpose of exploring the Northern Pacific, and casting the same broad light over those unvisited waters as over the southern part of that vast ocean. To the south-east of the Cape of Good Hope he discovered Prince Edward's Islands, and thence proceeded to explore Kerguelen's Land, discovered six years previously by the Frenchman of that name. This wintry island bears neither tree nor shrub, but in the bays the gigantic sea-weeds form submarine forests, and countless penguins make the dreary shores resound with their deep braying voice.

Van Diemen's Land, New Zealand, and the Friendly and Society Isles were now visited for the last time. Steering to the north, Cook discovered in the last days of the year 1777 the Sandwich Islands, most likely previously known to the Spaniards, but kept secret from the world; and reached on the 7th of March, 1778, the mountainous forest-girt coast of New Albion, along which two centuries before Drake had sailed as far as 48° N. lat. Penetrating farther and farther to the north, he at length reached the most westerly point of the American continent, Cape Prince of Wales, which, stretching far out into the Straits of Behring, is only thirty-nine miles distant from the east coast of Siberia. Both pillars of this water-gate, according to Chamisso's description, are high mountains within sight of each other, rising abruptly from the sea on the Asiatic side, while on the American their foot is bordered by a low alluvial plain. On the Asiatic side the sea has its greatest depth, and the current, which sets from the south into the channel with a rapidity of two or three knots an hour, its greatest strength. Whales and numberless herds of walruses are seen only on the Asiatic side.

Through these famous straits, which Deshnew had first passed, and which Behring most likely never saw, Cook penetrated into the Arctic Ocean, examined a part of the Siberian coast, and then sailed to the opposite shores of America, where he discovered and explored the coast of West Georgia as far as 70° 44′ N. lat., until fields of ice opposed an impenetrable barrier to his progress.

After having thus illumined with the torch of science the farthest extremities of the earth, Cook once more steered to the south and discovered Hawaii, the largest of the Sandwich Islands. But better had it been for him if the glory of this discovery had fallen to the share of some other navigator, for it was here that the illustrious seaman, who had thrice circumnavigated the globe, was doomed to fall by the club of a barbarous savage.

No navigator has ever made so many important discoveries at such distances from each other as Cook, or done more for the progress of geographical knowledge. The wide Pacific he so thoroughly explored, that his successors found only single ears to glean where he had reaped the richest harvest. With the firm resolution and the indomitable perseverance of the ancient mariners who preceded him on that vast ocean, he combined a scientific knowledge they never possessed. What they had only flightily observed, or imperfectly described, he in reality discovered, and indelibly marked upon the map of the globe. Indefatigable with the astrolabe and the plummet, he neglected no opportunity of pointing out to his successors both the dangers they would have to avoid, and the harbours in which they might find a refuge against storms, and a supply of fresh water and provisions. His excellent method of preserving the health of seamen from the murderous attacks of the scurvy, secures him a lasting place among the benefactors of mankind. But he not only anxiously watched over the welfare of his companions—his humanity extended a no less salutary influence over the savages with whom he came in contact. He everywhere sought to better their condition, made them presents of useful animals and seeds, and pointed out to them the advantages of peace and agriculture. But his chief praise remains yet to be told, and this is, that he owed the high position he acquired in life exclusively to himself. He whose fame reached as far as the limits of the civilised world, and whose death was mourned as a national calamity, was the son of a poor labourer, and had commenced his career as a common sailor.

The most celebrated navigators during the last quarter of the eighteenth century were Vancouver and La Peyrouse.

Vancouver, who had accompanied Cook on his last and fatal voyage, gained his chief laurels (1790) by thoroughly exploring the north-west coast of America, which his illustrious friend had merely sketched in its most important outlines, having been prevented by his untimely end from investigating it more fully on a second visit. Vancouver began his hydrographical labours at Cape Mendocino, examined the Straits of Juan de Fuca, and, having convinced himself of the non-existence of a passage to the eastward, accurately investigated the labyrinth of bays, isles, sounds, and inlets, extending between 50° and 60° N. lat., thus establishing the important fact of the uninterrupted continuation of the American continent in these parts. Vancouver's Island will transmit his name to the latest posterity, and British Columbia remember him as the first navigator that accurately mapped her shores.

The fame of La Peyrouse is owing more to his misfortunes than to his eminent services. After having distinguished himself as a naval officer, he was sent by the equally unfortunate Louis XVI. on the voyage of discovery from which he was never to return. On the coast of Tartary and in the Japanese seas he examined a part of the world which hitherto no European had visited, and after having rectified many geographical errors sailed to Botany Bay, whence he forwarded his last despatches (7th Feb. 1788) to Europe. With the design of sailing through Torres' Straits to the Gulf of Carpentaria, he left the new-born English colony, but disappeared in the trackless ocean, and years and years passed on without solving the mystery of his fate.

At length, in 1826, Captain Dillon, an Englishman, was informed by Martin Bushart, a Prussian sailor whom he found settled on the Island of Tikopia, that many years since two large ships had been wrecked on the neighbouring Island of Vanikoro. Having brought this intelligence to Calcutta, he was sent out by the East India Company in the "Research" to make further inquiries on the scene of the catastrophe. On the 13th of Sept., 1827, Dillon anchored at Vanikoro, and, having collected the most interesting relics of the shipwreck, left it after a few weeks.

These facts became known at Hobart Town to the French circumnavigator Dumont d'Urville, who immediately resolved to sail to Vanikoro. He arrived there on the 22nd Feb., 1828, but at first found it very difficult to persuade the suspicious natives to point out to him the remains of the wrecked ship, until the offer of a piece of red cloth effectually overcame their scruples. One of the boldest immediately jumped into a boat and offered to guide them on condition of receiving the proffered reward. The bargain was gladly struck, and the Frenchmen, piloted by the negro, eagerly pushed off from shore.

The coral reef which forms an enormous girdle round Vanikoro approaches the land opposite to the village of Paiou, so that the distance between them is hardly a mile. There, in a channel dividing the breakers, the savage caused the boat to stop, and made signs to the Frenchmen to look down to the bottom, where they saw anchors, cannons, and other objects scattered about and overgrown with corals. No doubt now remained, and with deep emotion they gazed on these last memorials of the unfortunate expedition of La Peyrouse. Metal alone had been able to resist the tooth of time, the rolling waters, or the gnawing ship-worm; all wood-work was gone.

I have already stated that on D'Urville's arrival he found the natives extremely distrustful and shy, answering all his questions by negations. It was evident that their conduct towards La Peyrouse had been anything but hospitable, and that they now feared the tardy vengeance of the white men. But, finding themselves treated with invariable kindness, their fears gradually gave way, and thus it became possible to gather some information about the catastrophe from some old men who had witnessed it, and from the most intelligent of the chiefs.

After a dark and stormy night the islanders saw early on the following morning an enormous pirogue stranded on the coral reef on the south side of the island. The surf soon destroyed the ship, and but a small number of the crew reached the shore in a boat. On the following day a second large pirogue stranded opposite Paiou. But this wreck lying on the lee-side of the island, less exposed to the surf, and resting on a more even ground, remained a longer time without going to pieces. The whole of the crew escaped in the boats to Paiou, where they built a small vessel, and after a stay of five months once more embarked, and were never heard of since. Most likely they had steered towards New Ireland, with the intention of ultimately reaching the Moluccas or the Philippine Islands, and perished on some unknown reef. The unhealthy condition of D'Urville's crew prevented him from extending his researches any further along the western coasts of the Solomon Islands. That the stranded vessels were those of La Peyrouse is beyond all doubt; for years before and after no other large vessels had been lost in those seas. The heavy cannons could only have belonged to ships of war such as La Peyrouse commanded, and several of the instruments collected by Captain Dillon evidently belonged to a scientific expedition.

Before D'Urville left Vanikoro he resolved to raise a simple monument to the memory of his unfortunate countrymen, a four-sided pyramid resting on a square base. Neither nails nor iron clasps fastened the coral blocks together, for fear of awakening the cupidity of the savages; and, if they have kept their word to honour the Papalangi monument as they would a temple erected to their own gods, it still reminds the navigator whom chance may lead to that secluded island, of the renown and tragical end of the ill-fated La Peyrouse.

CHAP. XXVII.

Although the undaunted courage and indomitable perseverance of the great navigators whom I have named in the preceding chapters had gradually circumscribed the bounds of discovery, and no vast ocean remained to be explored by some future Cook or Magellan, yet at the beginning of this century many secrets of the sea still remained unrevealed to man.

The north coast of America and the Arctic Ocean beyond were still plunged in mysterious darkness; and although Cook in several places had advanced far into the Antarctic seas, yet here also a wide field still lay open to the adventurous seaman.

Many coasts, many groups of islands scattered over the vast bosom of the ocean, awaited a more accurate survey, and would no doubt have remained unexplored, if gold, as in former times, had still been the sole magnet which attracted the seafarer to distant parts of the world. But fortunately science had now become a power which induced man, without any prospect of immediate profit, to spare no expense and to shrink from no danger, that he might become better and better acquainted with his dwelling-place the earth.

It cannot be denied that our century has laboured at the solution of all these various geographical questions with an energy and perseverance unexampled in the history of civilisation; and the prominent part she has taken in their investigation is undoubtedly one of the great glories of England. At no other time have more voyages of discovery and more scientific expeditions been undertaken; never have more courageous Argonauts gone forth to conquer the golden fleece of knowledge. It will be the pleasing task of this closing chapter to follow these noble mariners in their adventurous course; and, to avoid confusion, I shall begin with a short history of Arctic discovery up to the present day, and afterwards treat of the efforts made to extend our knowledge towards the South Pole. In spite of the unsuccessful efforts of a Frobisher, a Davis, a Hudson, and a Baffin, England had never given up the hope of discovering a northern passage to India, either direct across the Pole, or round the north coast of America. It had been one of the chief objects of Cook's third voyage to find a sea-path from Behring's Straits to Baffin's or Hudson's Bay; and some years before, while the illustrious navigator was busy exploring the Southern Pacific, we see Captain Phipps renewing the old attempt to sail direct to the Pole (1773). But, like his predecessor Hudson, he reached no farther than the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, where his vessel, surrounded by mighty ice-blocks, would have perished but for a timely change of wind. This repulse damped for a time the spirit of discovery; but hope revived again when it became known that Scoresby, on a whaling expedition in the Greenland seas (1806), had attained 81° N. lat. and thus approached the Pole to within 540 miles. No one before him had ever reached so far to the north, and an open sea tempted him mightily to proceed, but as the object of his voyage was strictly commercial, and he himself answerable to the owners of his vessel, Scoresby felt obliged to sacrifice his inclinations to his duty and to steer again to the south.

During the continental war, England indeed had little leisure to prosecute discoveries in the Arctic Ocean; but not long after the conclusion of peace (1818) two expeditions were sent out for that purpose.

Captain Buchan, with the ships "Dorothea" and "Trent," sailed with instructions to proceed in a direction as due north as might be practicable through the Spitzbergen Sea; but, having after much difficulty gained lat. 80° 34′ north in that polar archipelago, he was obliged speedily to withdraw and try his fortune off the western edge of the pack. Here however a tremendous gale, threatening every moment to crush the ships between the large ice-blocks heaving and sinking in the roaring billows, induced the bold experiment of dashing right into the body of the ice; a practice which has been resorted to by whalers in extreme cases, as their only chance of escaping destruction.

"While we were yet a few fathoms from the ice," says Admiral Beechey, the eloquent eye-witness and narrator of the dreadful scene, "we searched with much anxiety for a place that was more open than the general line of the pack, but in vain; all parts appeared to be equally impenetrable, and to present one unbroken line of furious breakers, in which immense pieces of ice were heaving and subsiding with the waves.

"No language, I am convinced, can convey an adequate idea of the terrific grandeur of the effect now produced by the collision of the ice and the tempestuous ocean. The sea violently agitated, and rolling its mountainous waves against an opposing body, is at all times a sublime and awful sight; but when, in addition, it encounters immense masses, which it has set in motion with a violence equal to its own, its effect is prodigiously increased. At one moment it bursts upon these icy fragments, and buries them many feet beneath its wave, and the next, as the buoyancy of the depressed body struggles for reascendency, the water rushes in foaming cataracts over its edges; whilst every individual mass, rocking and labouring in its bed, grinds against and contends with its opponent until one is either split with the shock or upheaved upon the surface of the other. Nor is this collision confined to one particular spot, it is going on as far as the sight can reach; and when, from this convulsive scene below, the eye is turned to the extraordinary appearance of the blink in the sky above, where the unnatural clearness of a calm and silvery atmosphere presents itself bounded by a dark hard line of stormy clouds, such as at this moment lowered over our masts, as if to mark the confines within which the efforts of man would be of no avail, the reader may imagine the sensation of awe which must accompany that of grandeur in the mind of the beholder.

"At this instant, when we were about to put the strength of our little vessel in competition with that of the great icy continent, and when it seemed almost presumption to reckon on the possibility of her surviving the unequal conflict, it was gratifying in the extreme to observe in all our crew the greatest calmness and resolution. If ever the fortitude of seamen was fairly tried, it was on this occasion; and I will not conceal the pride I felt in witnessing the bold and decisive tone in which the orders were issued by the commander of our little vessel (the since so far-famed and lamented Franklin), and the promptitude and steadiness with which they were executed by the crew.

"We were now so near the scene of danger as to render necessary the immediate execution of our plan, and in an instant the labouring vessel flew before the gale. Each person instinctively secured his own hold and with his eyes fixed upon the masts, awaited in breathless anxiety the moment of concussion. It soon arrived; the brig, cutting her way through the light ice, came in violent contact with the main body. In an instant we all lost our footing, the masts bent with the impetus, and the cracking timbers from below bespoke a pressure which was calculated to awaken our serious apprehensions. The vessel staggered under the shock, and for a moment seemed to recoil; but the next wave, curling up under her counter, drove her about her own length within the margin of the ice, where she gave one roll and was immediately thrown broadside to the wind by the succeeding wave. This unfortunate occurrence prevented the vessel from penetrating sufficiently far into the ice to escape the effect of the gale, and placed her in a situation where she was assailed on all sides by battering rams, if I may use the expression, every one of which contested the small space, which she occupied, and dealt such unrelenting blows that there appeared to be scarcely any possibility of saving her from foundering. Literally tossed from piece to piece, we had nothing left but patiently to abide the issue, for we could scarcely keep our feet, much less render any assistance to the vessel. The motion indeed was so great, that the ship's bell, which in the heaviest gale of wind had never struck of itself, now tolled so continually that it was ordered to be muffled, for the purpose of escaping the unpleasant association it was calculated to produce."

By setting more head-sail, though at the risk of the masts, already tottering with the pressure of that which was spread, the vessels, splitting the ice and thus effecting a passage between the pieces, were at length released from their perilous situation, but the "Dorothea" was found to be completely disabled. A short time at Fairhaven in Spitsbergen was spent in necessary repairs, and even then she was unfit for any farther service than the voyage to England. Franklin volunteered to prosecute the enterprise with the "Trent" alone, but the Admiralty Orders opposed such a proceeding, and the vessels returned home in company.

Meanwhile Captain John Ross, with the "Isabella" and "Alexander," had proceeded to Baffin's Bay, but instead of exploring Smith's, Jones's, and Lancaster Sounds, which recent voyages have proved to be each and all grand open channels to the Polar Sea, he contented himself with Baffin's assertion that they were enclosed by land, and, after having thus fruitlessly accomplished the circuit of the bay, returned to England.

With Parry's first expedition, which took place in the following year (1819), the epoch of modern discoveries in the Arctic Ocean, may properly be said to begin. Sailing right through Lancaster Sound, he discovered Prince Regent Inlet, Wellington Channel, and Melville Island. Willingly would he have proceeded farther to the west, but the ice was now rapidly gathering, the vessels were soon beset, and, after getting free with great difficulty, Parry was only too glad to turn back, and settle down in Winter Harbour. It was no easy task to attain this dreary port, as a canal two miles and a third in length had first to be cut through solid ice of seven inches average thickness, yet such was the energy of that splendid expedition, that the Herculean labour was accomplished in three days. The two vessels were immediately put in winter trim, the decks housed over, heating apparatus arranged, and everything done to make the ten months' imprisonment in those Arctic solitudes as comfortable as possible.

It was not before the 1st of August that the ships were able to leave Winter Harbour, when Parry once more stood boldly for the west, but no amount of skill or patience could penetrate the obstinate masses of ice, or insure the safety of the vessels under the repeated shocks they sustained. Finding the barriers absolutely invincible he gave way, and, steering homeward, reached London on Nov. 3, 1820, where, as may well be imagined, his reception was most enthusiastic and cordial.

While this wonderful voyage was performing, Franklin, Richardson, and Back, with two English sailors and a troop of Canadians and Indians, were penetrating by land to the mouth of the Coppermine River, whence they intended to make a boat-voyage of discovery along the coasts of the Icy Ocean. An idea of the difficulties of this undertaking may be formed, when I mention that the travellers started from Fort York, in Hudson's Bay, on the 30th of August, 1819, and after a voyage of 700 miles up the Saskatchewan, reached Fort Cumberland, where they spent the first winter. The next found them 700 miles further on their journey, established during the extreme cold at Fort Enterprise. During the summer of 1821 they accomplished the remaining 334 miles, and on the 21st of July commenced their exploration of the Polar Sea in two birch-bark canoes. In these frail shallops they skirted the desolate coast of the American continent, 555 miles to the east of the Coppermine, as far as Point Turnagain, when the rapid decrease of their provisions and the shattered state of the canoes imperatively compelled their return. And now began a dreadful land-journey of two months, accompanied by all the horrors of famine. A lichen, called by the Canadians tripe de roche (rock-tripe), afforded them for some time a wretched subsistence, and, that failing, they were glad to satisfy their hunger with scraps of roasted leather or burnt bones, from prey which the wolves might have abandoned. On reaching the Coppermine a raft had to be framed, a task accomplished with the utmost difficulty by the exhausted party. One or two of the Canadians had already fallen behind, and never rejoined their comrades, and now three or four sank down, and could proceed no farther. Back, with the most vigorous of the men, had already pushed on to send help from Fort Enterprise; and Richardson, Hood, and Hepburn volunteered to remain with the disabled men, near a supply of the rock-tripe, while Franklin pursued his journey with the others capable of bearing him company. On reaching Fort Enterprise this last party found that wretched tenement completely deserted, and a note from Back stating that he had gone in pursuit of the Indians. Some cast-off deer-skins and a heap of bones, provisions worthy of the place, sustained their flickering life-flame, and after eighteen miserable days, they were joined in their dreary quarters by Richardson and Hepburn, the sole survivors of their party. At length, when on the point of sinking under their sufferings, three Indians sent by Back brought them timely succour. After a while they were able to join this valuable friend, and the following year brought them safely back to England.

I pass over Parry's second and third voyages, undertaken in the years 1821 and 1824, which were consumed in fruitless endeavours to penetrate westward; the first through some unknown channel to the north of Hudson's Bay, the second through Prince Regent's Inlet; but his last attempt to reach the North Pole, by boat and sledge-travelling over the ice, is of too novel and daring a character to remain unnoticed. His hopes of success were founded on Scoresby's descriptions, who had seen ice-fields so free from either fissure or hummock, that, had they not been covered with snow, a coach might have been driven many leagues over them in a direct line, without obstruction or danger; but when Parry reached the ice-fields to the north of Spitzbergen he found them of a very different nature, composed of loose rugged masses, which rendered travelling over them extremely irksome and slow.

The strong flat-bottomed boats—amphibious constructions, half sledge, half canoe,—expressly built for an amphibious journey over a region where solid ice was expected to alternate with pools of water, had thus frequently to be unloaded, in order to be raised over the intervening blocks or mounds, and repeated journeys backward and forward over the same ground were the necessary consequences. In some places the ice took the form of sharp pointed crystals, which cut the boots like penknives; in others, sixteen or eighteen inches of soft snow made the work of boat-dragging both fatiguing and tedious. Sometimes the men were obliged, in dragging the boats, to crawl on all-fours, to make any progress at all, and one day, when heavy rain melted the surface of the ice, four hours of vigorous effort accomplished only half a mile.

Yet in spite of all these obstacles they toiled cheerfully on and on, until at length the discovery was made, that while they were apparently advancing towards the Pole, the ice-field on which they journeyed was moving to the south, and thus rendering all their exertions fruitless. Yet though disappointed in his great hope of planting his country's standard on that unattainable goal, Parry had the glory of reaching the highest latitude (82° 45′) ever attained by man.

Before this adventurous voyage, Franklin, Richardson, and Back, forgetful of their long life and death struggle with famine (1819), had once more (1825) with heroic perseverance bent their steps to the north. This time they chose the mouths of the Mackenzie for the starting-point of their discoveries, and having separated into two parties, proceeded to the east and west, and explored 4000 miles of unknown coast.

In 1829 Captain John Ross, having for a long time vainly solicited government to send him out once more on an Arctic expedition, was enabled by the munificence of a private individual, Mr. Felix Booth, to accomplish his wishes, and to purchase a small steamer, to which the rather presumptuous name of "Victory" was given. The selection of the vessel was no doubt unlucky enough: for can anything be conceived more unpractical than paddle-boxes among ice-blocks; but, to make amends for this error, the veteran commander was fortunate in being accompanied by his illustrious nephew, James Ross, who with every quality of the seaman united the ardour and knowledge of the most zealous naturalist.

He it was who discovered the peninsula which in compliment to the patron of the expedition was named Boothia Felix; to him also we owe the discovery of the Magnetic Pole; but the voyage is far less remarkable for these after all not very important successes, than for its unexampled protraction during a space of five years.

The first season had a fortunate termination. On the 10th of August, 1829, the "Victory" attained Prince Regent's Inlet, and reached on the 13th the spot where Parry on his third voyage had been obliged to abandon the "Fury." Of the ship itself no traces remained; but the provisions which had providently been stored up on land were found untouched. The solid tin boxes had effectually preserved them from the voracity of the white bears; and the flour, bread, wine, rum, and sugar were found as good after four years, as on the day when the expedition started.

It was to this discovery, to this "manna in the wilderness," that Ross owed his subsequent preservation; for how else could he have passed four winters in the Arctic waste? Never was the hand of Providence more distinctly visible than here.

On the 15th of August Cape Garry was attained, the most southern point of the inlet which Parry had reached on his third voyage. Fogs and drift-ice considerably retarded the progress of the expedition; but Ross, though slowly, moved on, so that about the middle of September the map of the northern regions was enriched by some 500 miles of newly discovered coast. But now winter broke in with all its Arctic severity, and the "Victory" was obliged to seek refuge in Felix Harbour, where the useless steam-engine was thrown overboard as a nuisance, and the usual preparations made for spending the cold season as agreeably as possible.

The following spring, from the 17th of May to the 13th of June, was employed by James Ross on a sledge journey, which led to the discovery of King William's Sound and King William's Land; and during which that courageous mariner penetrated so far to the west, that he had only ten days' provisions, scantily measured out, for a return voyage of 200 miles through an empty wilderness.

After an imprisonment of full twelve months the "Victory" was set free on the 17th of September, 1830, and proceeded once more on her discoveries. But the period of her liberty was short indeed, short like that of revolted slaves between two despotisms; for, after advancing three miles in one continual battle against the currents and the drift-ice, she again froze fast on the 27th of the same month.

In the following spring we again see the indefatigable James Ross, ever active in the cause of science, extending the circle of his excursions and planting the British flag upon the site of the Northern Magnetic Pole, which, however, is not invariably fixed to one spot, as was then believed, but moves from place to place within the glacial zone.

On the 28th of August, 1831, the "Victory," after a second imprisonment of eleven months, was warped into open water, and, after having spent a whole month to advance four English miles, was again enclosed by the ice on the 27th of September.

But seven miles in two long years! According to this measure, there was but little hope indeed of ever seeing Old England again: the only chance left was to abandon the vessel, and endeavour by means of the boats left among the "Fury's" stores to reach Baffin's Bay, and get a homeward passage in some whaler. Accordingly the colours were nailed to the mast-head of the "Victory," and then officers and crew took leave of the ill-fated little vessel, on the 23rd of April, 1832. Captain Ross was deeply moved on this occasion; for, after having served forty-two years in thirty-five different ships, this was the first he had ever been obliged to abandon as a wreck.

Provisions and boats had now to be transported over long tracts of rugged ice, and as their great weight rendered it impossible to carry all at once, the same ground had to be traversed several times. Terrific snow storms retarded the progress of the wanderers, and invincible obstacles forced them to make long circuits. Thus it happened that during the first month of their pilgrimage through the wilderness, although they had travelled 329 miles, they only gained thirty in a direct line.

On the 9th of June, James Ross, the leading spirit of the expedition, accompanied by two men and with a fortnight's provisions, left the main body to ascertain the state of the boats and supplies at Fury Beach. Returning, they met their comrades on the 25th of June, and gratified them with the intelligence, that, though they had found three of the boats washed away, enough still remained for their purpose, and that all the provisions were in good condition.

On the 1st of July the whole party arrived at Fury Beach, whence, after having repaired the weather-worn boats, they set out again on the 1st of August, and, after much buffeting among the ice in their frail shallops, reached the mouth of the inlet by the end of the month. But here they were doomed to disappointment; for, after several fruitless attempts to run along Barrow's Strait, the obstructions from the ice obliged them to haul the boats on shore and pitch their tents.

Barrow's Strait was found from repeated surveys to be one impenetrable mass of ice. After lingering here till the third week in September, it was unanimously agreed that their only resource was to fall back again on the stores at Fury Beach, and spend their fourth winter in that dreary solitude. Here they sheltered their canvass tent with a wall of snow, and setting up an extra stove made themselves tolerably comfortable until the increasing severity of the winter, and the rigour of the cold, added to the tempestuous weather, made them perfect prisoners, and sorely tried their patience. Scurvy now began to appear, and several of the men fell victims to the scourge. At the same time cares for the future darkened the gloom of their situation, for, if they were not liberated in the ensuing summer, their diminishing food gave them but little hope of surviving another year.

It may be imagined how anxiously the aspect of the sea was watched during the ensuing summer, and with what beating hearts they at length embarked on the 15th of August. The spot which the year before they had attained after the most strenuous exertions was soon passed, and slowly winding their way through the ice-blocks with which the inlet was encumbered, they now saw the wide expanse of Barrow's Strait open before them. With spirits invigorated by hope they push on, alternately rowing and sailing, and on the night of the 25th rest in a good harbour on the eastern shore of Navy Board Inlet. "A ship in sight!" is the joyful sound that awakens them early on the following morning; and never have men more hurriedly and energetically set out, never have oars been more indefatigably plied. But the elements are against them, calms and currents conspire against their hopes, and to their inexpressible disappointment the ship disappears in the distant haze.

But after a few hours of suspense the sight of another vessel lying to in a calm relieves their despair. This time their exertions are crowned with success; and, wonderful! the vessel which receives them on board is the same "Isabella" in which Ross made his first voyage to these seas.

They told him of his own death, and could hardly be persuaded that it was really he and his party who now stood before them. But when all doubts were cleared away, you should have heard their thrice-repeated thundering hurrahs!

The scene that now followed cannot better be told than in Ross's own words:—

"Every man was hungry, and was to be fed; all were ragged, and were to be clothed; there was not one to whom washing was not indispensable; nor one whom his beard did not deprive of all human semblance. All, everything, too was to be done at once. It was washing, dressing, shaving, eating, all intermingled; it was all the materials of each jumbled together; while in the midst of all there were interminable questions to be asked and answered on both sides; the adventures of the "Victory," our own escapes, the politics of England, and the news, which was now four years old.

"But all subsided into peace at last. The sick were accommodated, the seamen disposed of, and all was done for us which care and kindness could perform.

"Night at length brought quiet and serious thoughts; and I trust there was not a man among us who did not then express, where it was due, his gratitude for that interposition which had raised us all from a despair which none could now forget, and had brought us from the very borders of a most distant grave to life and friends and civilisation. Long accustomed, however, to a cold bed on the hard snow or the bare rock, few could sleep amid the comfort of our accommodations. I was myself compelled to leave the bed which had been kindly assigned me, and take my abode in a chair for the night, nor did it fare much better with the rest. It was for time to reconcile us to this sudden and violent change, to break through what had become habit, and to inure us once more to the usages of our former days."

I have no time to relate how Ross was received in England, and what honours were heaped upon him; honours conferred with all the better grace that the nation had not forgotten him during his long-protracted absence, and had no cause to blush for culpable neglect. For Britain has ever considered it her duty to help and assist the men who venture their lives in the cause of science and for the advancement of her glory; nor will she allow the officer who carries her standard into unknown lands, and there falls a victim to nature or to man, to perish without feeling his last moments gladdened by the conviction, that, however distant his grave, the eye of his country rests upon him.

Thus when Back, that noble Paladin of Arctic research, volunteered to lead a relief expedition in quest of Ross, £4000 were immediately raised by public subscription to defray the expenses of the undertaking. While deep in the American wilds Back was gratified with the intelligence that the object of his search had safely arrived in England, but, instead of returning home, the indefatigable explorer resolved to trace the unknown course of the Thlu-it-scho, or Great Fish River, down to the distant outlet where it pours its waters into the polar seas. It would take a volume to recount his adventures in this wonderful expedition, the numberless falls, cascades, and rapids that obstructed his progress; the storms and snow-drifts that vainly conspired to repel him; the horrors of that iron-ribbed desert, without a single tree on the whole line of his passage; and how heroically he persevered to the very last, and added Back's River, as the Thlu-it-scho has most deservedly been called, to the geographical conquests of which England may well be proud.

The present is not a detailed account of Arctic discovery, a complete historical narrative of how step by step those dreary regions, the refuse of the earth, have grown into distinctness on the map; so passing over Simpson's wonderful boat-voyage along the northern shores of America, which led to the discovery of 1600 miles of coast (1837-1839), and Rae's important researches on Melville Peninsula (1846, 1847), I proceed to the last expedition of Sir John Franklin. We all know how the veteran seaman left England in the sixtieth year of his age, once more to try the north-western passage; how since his last despatches, dated from the Whalefish Islands, Baffin's Bay, July 12th, 1845, months and months, and then years and years, elapsed without bringing any tidings of his fate; how Collinson and M'Clure, Penny and Inglefield, Kane and Bellot, and so many other worthies, went out to search for the "Erebus" and "Terror," and how in spite of all their efforts mystery still overhung the ill-fated expedition, until M'Clintock raised the veil and informed us how miserably most of the gallant seamen perished in those dreary wastes, but how their commander had been spared the pangs of protracted suffering, and gone to his eternal rest even before his country began to feel concerned about his loss.

The search for Franklin is a page in history of which a nation may well be proud, more noble than a hundred battles and grander than the conquest of an empire. These are no blood-stained laurels, but palms of glory gained by matchless energy and perseverance over the horrors of a nature inimical to man, a theme which some future Homer will delight to sing. Had Franklin been ever so successful, he could not possibly have achieved so much for Arctic discovery as his loss gave rise to; for to the disasters of his voyage we owe the knowledge of all the coasts of that intricate conglomeration of islands which faces the Pole, and of the channels, which opening far to the north, lead to its profoundest, and seemingly impenetrable depths. All these discoveries are of little commercial value, it is true, for no trading vessel will ever plough those desert seas; but it is no small advantage to a nation to have to register such pages in her annals, and to leave them as a legacy and an example to future generations.

The series of modern South Polar expeditions was opened in 1819 by Smith's casual discovery of New South Shetland. Soon afterwards a Russian expedition under Lazareff and Bellinghausen discovered (January, 1821), in 69° 3′ south lat., the islands Paul the First and Alexander, the most southern lands that had ever been visited by man.

The year after, Captain Weddell, a sealer, penetrated into the icy sea as far as 74° 15′ south lat. three degrees nearer to the pole than had been attained by the indomitable perseverance of Cook. Swarms of petrels animated the sea, and no ice impeded his progress, but as the season was far advanced, and Weddell apprehended the dangers of the return voyage, he steered again to the north. In 1831 Biscoe discovered Enderby Land, and soon afterwards Graham's Land, to which the gratitude of geographers has since given the discoverer's name.

Then follows Balleny who in 1839 revealed the existence of the group of islands called after him, and of Sabrina Land (69° south lat.).

About the same time three considerable expeditions appear in the southern seas, sent out by France, the United States, and England.

Dumont D'Urville discovered Terre Louis Philippe (63° 30′ south lat.) in February, 1838, and Terre Adélie (66° 67′ south lat.) on the 21st of January, 1840.

Almost on the same day, Wilkes, the commander of the United States exploring expedition reached a coast which he followed for a length of 1500 miles, and which has been called Wilkes' Land, to commemorate the discoverer's name. But of all the explorers of the southern frozen ocean, the palm unquestionably belongs to Sir James Ross, who penetrated farther towards the Pole than any other navigator before or after, and followed up to 79° south lat. a steep coast, whose enormous glaciers stretched far out into the sea. In 77° 5′ south lat. he witnessed a magnificent eruption of Mount Erebus, the Etna of the extreme south. The enormous columns of flame and smoke rising two thousand feet above the mouth of the crater, which is elevated 12,000 feet above the level of the sea, combined, with the snow-white mountain-chain and the deep blue ocean, to form a scene, the magnificence of which seemed to be enhanced by the reflection that no human eye had ever witnessed its beauty, as most likely none will ever witness it again. As all the efforts of the gallant leader to penetrate still farther to the south were baffled by a mighty ice-barrier, forming an uninterrupted mural precipice for the length of several hundred miles, he yielded to the invincible obstacles of nature, and returned to more genial climes. It is worthy of notice, that Sir James Clark Ross had accompanied Parry on his sledge-expedition to the North Pole, and thus acquired the unique distinction of having approached both poles nearer than any other man.

Whether the lands discovered by Wilkes, D'Urville, Biscoe, Balleny, and Ross form a continuous continent, or belong to a large group of islands behind which an open sea extends to the very Pole, is a question which most likely will never be solved, as its determination can never be of the least use to mankind.

The numerous scientific voyages of circumnavigation achieved during the course of the present century are far more important, with regard to the welfare and progress of humanity, than the researches which have been made in the icy wildernesses of the north and south. New lands and isles of great extent have indeed not been discovered by these expeditions, but they have contributed not less largely to the advancement of geography and the natural sciences.

The wonders of oceanic life have first been shown in a more distinct light by the labours of Chamisso, Meyen, Lesson, Darwin, Gray, Hooker, Robinson, Dana, &c., who accompanied Kotzebue, Freycinet, Fitzroy, Ross, &c., on their world-encircling course; and numerous coasts and groups of islands, situated in the remotest seas, and formerly only superficially known, have been accurately measured and traced on the map by the distinguished hydrographers who took part in those far-famed voyages.