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

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

The furnishings of the after house were hardly less simple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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