Enterprise and Adventure/Escape of Ross and his Companions
THE ESCAPE OF ROSS AND HIS COMPANIONS.
Captain Ross's account of his abandonment of the "Victory," the steam-vessel employed in his first expedition, and of the final rescue of himself and his crew by the "Isabella" whaler, after five years' wanderings in the Polar regions, during which they had been altogether cut off from communication with the world, is, perhaps, the most interesting portion of his narrative of suffering and privation.
It was on the 29th of May, 1832—just four years after his departure from England—that Capt. Ross and his party finally determined to abandon their vessel, and to endeavour to escape from their dreary imprisonment by long journeys over the ice, and by such aid as they could obtain by boats. Having secured everything ashore which could be of use in case of their return, or which might be useful to others, the colours were hoisted and nailed to the mast. They then drank a parting glass to their unfortunate ship, and having seen every man out in the evening, the gallant Ross bade farewell to the "Victory," which had been his home so long. "It was the first vessel," he says, "that I had ever been obliged to abandon, after having served in thirty-six, during a period of forty-two years. It was like the last parting with an old friend." He did not pass the last part where his vessel ceased to be visible without pausing to take a sketch of the dreary waste, rendered still more dreary by its central object—their now abandoned home of the last four years, immovably fixed in the ice till her timbers should rot away with time and exposure.
After a month's toil the party encamped on Fury Beach, having been obliged to carry one of their number during the last few days of their wanderings. Here they erected a rude house, and began laboriously to repair three boats left by them at that spot many months before. At length the ice showed signs of breaking; the boats were stored with provisions for two months, some beds and blanketing, and other useful articles, and the party started on their voyage. Making their way as well as they could by day and night through that vast silent sea of floating ice, they succeeded in reaching the junction of Barrow's Straits and Prince Regent's Inlet about the middle of September; but here, to their bitter disappointment, they found all further progress stopped by a continuous solid mass of ice, which gave no hope of breaking up that season. With heavy hearts they found themselves compelled once more to return to Fury Beach for another winter, or perhaps never to find their way again even so far.
The winter was passed in the usual way—the men preserving their cheerfulness as well as they could by such amusements as their condition allowed them; but sickness was always at work among them. Want of sufficient employment, short allowance of food, and the inevitable lowness of spirits, produced by the sight of the monotonous expanse of snow and ice, preyed upon the health of all. It was at this time that the carpenter died—a great loss to the party. In April their spirits were again revived by new preparations for escape from their dismal prison. By the end of June they had advanced their tents and stores only thirty miles. On the 8th of the next month everything was ready, and we prepared, Ross says, "to quit this dreary place, as we hoped, for ever. Yet with these hopes there were mingled many fears—enough to render it still but too doubtful, in all our minds, whether we might not yet be compelled to return—to return once more to despair, and perhaps to return but to die." Their situation was indeed pitiable. They were encumbered by three sick men who could not walk at all. Others there were who could scarcely walk, and who could give no assistance in drawing the sledges; but their brave companions did their best, and cheerfully took on themselves the task of carrying the sick, and dragging their stores along the rugged surface of the frozen shores. It was on the 12th of July that they reached the spot where they had left their boats the year before, and two days later a lane of water was, for the first time, seen leading to the northward. The brave commander records that few slept that night, so full were they of the anticipations of what the morrow might bring. As early as four o'clock in the morning all were employed in cutting the ice which obstructed the shore, and the sun having risen soon afterwards with a fine westerly breeze they joyfully launched their boats, embarked the stores and the sick, and at eight o'clock were under way. For two days and nights they rowed on lustily—the lane of water still opening up before them, and gradually increasing in breadth. On the third night they reached a cape, where, landing and ascending a hill, they could see that the ice to the northward and eastward was in such a state as to admit of sailing through it; but as it then blew too hard to venture through it in the night, they pitched their tents. A little before daylight, they were moving again. Leaving a written memorandum of their proceedings in a cairn of stones, as they had done on other occasions, they embarked once more, and were happy in finding that the weather had become calm. Holding on their way till noon, they reached the edge of the packed ice, where they found that its extremity was but a mile to the northward. Happily, a southern breeze springing up at the same moment, enabled them to round it; when finding the water open they renewed their efforts, and reached the eastern shore of the strait that afternoon. All the circumstances of their journey had been singularly propitious. It is probable that during all the years they had been imprisoned in those regions, there had not before been a time when it would have been possible to do what they had now finally accomplished in a few days. "Accustomed as we were to the ice," says Ross's noble and pathetic narrative, "to its caprices, and to its sudden and unexpected alternations, it was a change like that of magic to find that solid mass of ocean which was but too fresh in our memories—which we had looked at for so many years, as if it was fixed for ever in repose which nothing could hereafter disturb, suddenly converted into water; navigable, and navigable to us, who had almost forgotten what it was to float at freedom on the seas. It was at times scarcely to be believed: and he who dozed to awake again, had for a moment to renew the conviction that he was a seaman on his own element, that his boat once more rose on the waves beneath him, and that when the winds blew, it obeyed his will and his hand."
For some days they struggled on, skirting the shore, and at night landing for rest and shelter; when one morning all were filled with joy by hearing the look-out man announce a sail in the offing. Instantly the boats were launched, signals made by burning wet powder, and the crew embarking made for the direction of the welcome sail. It was a dead calm; but they made progress, and the calm was far more welcome than the slight breeze which sprang up as the morning advanced. But for this breeze they would soon have been near the stranger, but to their great grief they saw her sails spread out, as she began to make way to the south-eastward, the opposite direction to that in which they were proceeding. The boat that was foremost was thus soon left astern, while the other two were steering more to the eastward in the hope of cutting her out. Their disappointment appeared complete; when, after a struggle of four hours, they saw to their surprise another sail. She appeared to be a whaler lying-to for her boats. The unfortunate explorers fancied that the stranger had seen them; but a fact soon showed that in this they were mistaken. Like the first ship, she began to make sail, and it was evident that this second hope was also leaving them. This was indeed an agony of suspense; but it was necessary to keep up the courage of the men by assuring them that there was yet a chance of coming up with her. Happily, at length, it fell calm once more, and now they really began to gain fast upon the strange ship; until at about eleven o'clock, after a day terribly wearisome, they saw her heave-to with all sails aback, and lower down a boat which rowed immediately towards them.
As the boat approached, a curious colloquy ensued. The officer in command called out to ask if they had lost their ship.
"We have," replied Ross. "What is your vessel's name?"
The reply was, "The 'Isabella,' whaler, of Hull, once commanded by Captain Ross."
Ross, now rising in his boat, called out the news that he was the very man in question, and his men all that remained of the crew of the "Victory."
"That is impossible," replied the strange officer. "Ross has been dead these two years."
But Ross, naturally disinclined to admit any one to be a better authority on this point than himself, assured his interrogator that the story was true.
A hearty congratulation followed in seamanlike style, when, after a few inquiries, the stranger informed them that the "Isabella"—which was indeed by a singular coincidence the very vessel of which Ross had been captain many years before—was commanded by Captain Humphreys; after which he immediately set off in his boat to communicate his information on board, repeating that the explorers had long been given up as lost, not by them alone but by all England. Captain Ross gives an amusing description of the appearance of himself and his party as they presented themselves to their deliverer. "Though we had not been supported by our names and characters," he says, "we should not the less have claimed from charity, the attentions that we received, for never was seen a more miserable looking set of wretches; while, that we were but a repulsive-looking people, none of us could doubt. If, to be poor, wretchedly poor, as far as all our present property was concerned, was to have a claim on charity, no one could well deserve it more; but if to look so be to frighten away the so-called charitable, no beggar that wanders in Ireland could have outdone us in exciting the repugnance of those who have not known what poverty can be. Unshaven since I know not when, dirty, dressed in the rags of wild beasts instead of the tatters of civilization, and starved to the very bones, our gaunt and grim looks, when contrasted with those of the well-dressed and* well-fed men around us, made us all feel, I believe, for the first time, what we really were, as well as what we seemed to others. Poverty is without half its mark, unless it be contrasted with wealth; and what we might have known to be true in the past days, we had forgotten to think of, till we were thus reminded of what we truly were, as well as seemed to be." Such was the condition of the party as they approached the "Isabella," following the whaler's boat, the officer of which jumped up the side and in a minute the rigging was manned; while Ross and his remnant of the crew of the "Victory," saluted with three cheers as they came within a cable's length. They were not long in getting aboard the old vessel, where they were all received by Captain Humphreys with a hearty welcome; and finally safely conveyed to England.