Life with the Esquimaux/Volume 1/Chapter I
CHAPTER I.
Departure—"Rescue" Schooner—Names of Crew—Outfit—Sea-sickness—First Sight of Whales—William Sterry—Banks of Newfoundland—Storm at Sea—"Sulphur Bottoms"—The first Iceberg—The Danish Brig "Mariane"—Death and Burial of Kudlago—Halibut and Codfish—First Meeting with Esquimaux—Native Pilots—Ephraim's Pants—Midnight Sun—Arrival at Holsteinborg.
It was on Tuesday, May 29th, 1860, that I departed from New London, Conn., on my voyage in the barque George Henry. We were accompanied by a tender, the Amaret schooner, formerly the far-famed "Rescue" of arctic celebrity—a name that I intend to retain in speaking of her throughout my narrative.
The officers and crews of these two vessels numbered in all twenty-nine persons; my expedition consisted of Kudlago and myself, thus making a total of thirty-one souls leaving New London.
As I shall have frequent occasion to mention some of the ship's company by name, I here give a list of them and their rating on board.
List of Officers and Crew.
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My outfit for this voyage,[1] and for the whole of my expedition, consisted of—
The boat, already described; 1 sledge; 12 ton of pemmican; 200lbs. Borden's meat biscuit; 20 lbs. "Cincinnati cracklings"—pork scraps; 1 lb. preserved quince; 1lb. preserved peaches; 250 lbs. powder; a quantity of ball, shot, and percussion caps; 1 rifle; 6 double-barrelled guns, covers, and extra fittings, one Colt's revolver complete; glass beads, a quantity of needles, etc. for presents to the natives; 2 dozen pocket-knives and choppers; some tin-ware, 1 axe, 2 picks, files, etc.; a good supply of tobacco and pipes; wearing apparel for self, and red shirts for presents; a supply of stationery and journal books, etc.; 1 common watch; 1 opera-glass; 1 spy-glass; 1 common sextant and 1 pocket sextant; 1 artificial horizon, with extra glass and mercury; 1 azimuth compass; 1 common compass; 2 pocket compasses; 3 ordinary thermometers and two self-registering ones. Some navigation books and several arctic works, with my Bible and a few other volumes, formed my library.
This list, with a few sundries, constituted all the means and material I had to carry out the great undertaking my mind had led me to embark in. How far I accomplished aught commensurate with the ideas I had formed, let the sequel show; but, even had I wholly failed, assuredly it would have been excusable under such circumstances.
With regard to myself personally, now that the excitement of preparation was over, and I had time to think more and more of my task, a reaction took place, which produced that depression of mind always to be found in similar cases. This was soon increased by the horrible sensation of sea-sickness which I experienced for several days after our departure. What my feelings were may be judged by the following extracts from an irregular diary, the only work I could at that time perform. Writing on the fifth day out, I find myself saying,
"More miserable days than these past few have been to me it would be difficult to imagine. And why? Because of sickness—sea sickness. And what is sea-sickness? Can any one tell unless they have experienced it? I imagine not; nor, perhaps, can many describe it who have come under its infliction. I know that I can not well do so. I have felt myself swung, tumbled, jammed, knocked, struck, rocked, turned, skewed, slewed, warped, pitched forward and backward, tossed up and down, down and up, this way and that way, round and round, crossways and kit-a-cornered, in every possible manner. On the ocean, fresh from civilized life, this may be called sea-sickness, but elsewhere I should term it next to a torturous death! No more terrible experience can a man have of life upon the broad waters than his first few days at sea when thus attacked."
Again, at a later date I find, "A miserable time I have had of it—ill nearly since we left; and now, as I write, my head is like a mountain of solid rock. Sea-sickness is really too bad, especially after eating, or trying to eat, a good dinner."
An ancient philosopher, on reviewing his work at the end of each day, and finding no special good acquired or accomplished, used to write down in his diary, "Perdidi diem"—I have lost a day. Alas for me, I had to repeat that in my journal for twelve days! It is true that several times I recorded the temperature of the air and sea, the state of the barometer, and made various other observations whenever the weather would permit, but, nevertheless, so powerless did I feel for mental or bodily work, that at the end of each day I felt compelled to enter down as a sad but truthful fact, "Perdidi diem." At length I quite recovered, and on the 9th of June, for the first time since leaving port, I felt as a man should feel, once more strong and capable of any exertion. I soon began to classify my labours, devoting so many hours to reading, to study, to writing, exercise, reflection, and sleep. As my buoyancy of spirits arose, and I watched the good ship bounding on her way over the sparkling waters, everything seemed full of life and animation. The Giver of all good was supreme upon the blue ocean as He was upon the shore. Even the "Mother Carey's chickens"—the little stormy petrels—sportively played about, no doubt happy in their way, as they danced up and down, slightly dipping the tips of their wings in the uneven waves, and then hieing away to absent mates, that they might be brought to greet the passing ship.
About a week after our departure, the cry was raised, "There she blows! there she blows!" and, hurrying on deck, I for the first time saw at a distance the blowing of whales. What this "blowing" was like may be described by asking if the reader has ever seen the smoke produced by the firing of an old-fashioned flint lock? If so, then he may understand the appearance of the blow of a whale—a flash in the pan, and all is over. I watched with eager interest this school of "fin-backs," numbering some twenty-five or thirty whales—a rare sight to see so many together. But they are not generally attacked, as they are difficult to capture, and yield but little oil.
A day or two after this, a cry of "Porpoises!" brought all hands on deck; and here a circumstance occurred, which, though trivial in itself, well serves to illustrate the unartificial character of one of the ship's company, the William Sterry previously mentioned. It is related in my journal as follows:—
"Directly the porpoises were seen, Sterry, who has a genial heart and strong arm, took his position by the martingale, or, as a Dane would call it, 'Dolphin Striker,' which is under the bowsprit. Harpoon in hand, there stood Sterry, prepared for a whale or aught else, ready for his blow. Now Sterry was Sterry—Sterry the cooper—Sterry the ship's carpenter—Sterry the ship's blacksmith—Sterry the millwright—Sterry the genius—the immortal Sterry, who could eat more pork and beans, and drink more whiskey out of a two-quart pantry pitcher, without distinguishing its smell and taste from that of pure cold water, than any other gentleman hailing from his native place of Groton. There indeed was Sterry, seemingly hanging between the heavens and the sea, his feet dangling on a tow line, and his hands grasping the martingale back-rope. While I stood watching him, his eyes appeared to roll in fire as they pierced the blue deep, especially so when he struck his head against the 'bobstay-chains' in turning to look for the contrast between the porpoises beneath him and the jibboom above. And here I may add that Sterry was a great philosopher on 'contrasts,' pros and cons; positives and negatives were with him the only 'hanimals that have souls worth saving.' Well, there stood Sterry preparing to 'pucker,' and pucker he did. A strange sound, which arrested my attention, stole out of his mouth. Startled, I listened attentively, and found him actually whistling for the porpoises! But no porpoise seemed to listen to his charm. Often did he poise his harpoon as his intended victim glided swiftly through the waters beneath him, but as often did he have to drop it again. At length the porpoises retired, and Sterry had to give up his game.
"When the attempt was over, I asked Captain B if Sterry's whistling really did any good, and the reply was, as I expected, 'No, none whatever.' Sterry at the time was within hearing, and immediately said, 'I guess-it-didn't-do-much-of-any-harm-any-how-captain;' and then, turning to me, added, 'Captain Hall' (so he always called me), 'I tell you what it is. Before you have been up North a great while, you'll find you've got to whistle as many whistles as there are species of hanimals, birds, and fishes, or you can never get along up there; you can never capture such things unless you do whistle.'
"'But,' said I, 'please to tell me, Mr. Sterry, what do you do when you see a whale?' 'Oh, then we always holler,' was his quaint reply."
I have mentioned this anecdote as characteristic of the man. He was frequently the life and soul of our party, and often I shall have occasion to allude to him.
On the 12th of June we passed through a fleet of codfishing schooners on the Banks of Newfoundland. Hundreds of boats were out, with a man in each, rapidly appearing and disappearing to our view as the fog, which was very thick, lifted, or as we neared them.
The next day preparation was made, and a close look-out kept for icebergs, the thermometer having fallen rapidly; but none were seen. Two whales, however, caused some interest in our vessel, and especially to myself. They were moving leisurely along in the same direction as the ship, and nearly under the bows. Every thirty seconds or so they came up to blow, and then sank beneath the water, leaving only a few feet above their backs. I saw them distinctly for several minutes, without cessation, thus propelling their vast bulk through the great deep. It was a most novel sight to me to see these two whales simultaneously gliding side by side, and even with the ship. Had they been a pair of naiads harnessed to the car of Neptune, they could not have been more uniform in their movements. They came up together, "blowed" together, and descended together.
Meantime two boats were lowered, with a chosen crew, to give chase. Swiftly they shot toward their prey; but the whales immediately altered their course, the boats following after them. For an hour was the chase continued; but, in spite of all efforts, the whales escaped, and our disappointed comrades returned.
For several days after this, nothing of note occurred worth narrating. A delicate snowbird lighted on the rigging, and, according to nautical ideas, was the augury of good luck. Other marine birds and porpoises were seen, but there was little to relieve the monotony of our life except when the winds increased to a gale. Then, indeed, I found a change that in one respect I could admire. To myself, who had never before been upon the vast ocean, it was truly magnificent to behold the mighty workings of the great deep! On one occasion, which I well remember, the sea appeared in "white caps," the bounding billows playing with us all day in fantastic gambols, while the ship plunged fearfully down into a deep abyss; then, like a thing of life, would she leap skyward, as a mad wave struck the bow in all its fury, burying it beneath the sheet of spray, which flew far and wide in its impotent wrath. But the George Henry heeded it not. Like a lion shaking the dews of heaven from his mane, so did our good ship appear, bathed in crystal drops, but still driving on and on majestically. Rarely did I enjoy myself more than when those storms encountered us. It seemed to me as if no one could, to the fullest extent, appreciate the beauty, the grandeur, the greatness of God's creation but in experiencing a storm at sea. Watching it as I did, firmly wedged against the mast, with my arm encircling a cluster of ropes, I could keep my place, notwithstanding the vessel now and then would be on her beam-ends, or some fearful wave, overleaping the bulwarks, seek to take me away. And as I stood there, I could study Nature and Nature's God. As far as the eye could carry me, say for seven miles in every direction, making an area of over one hundred and fifty square miles, the ocean was dancing as if wild with joy. One moment it would seem as if a universal effort was being made by the waters to kiss the clouds; in the next, diving low, low down, as if to hide their laugh over the daring deed; then, as if to signify their unwillingness of my being so cool a spectator, the ship would be borne high up in their snowy arms, and all at once plunged quickly down into the bosom of the sea, covering myself and the decks with tons of briny water.
On the 19th of June we were in lat. 51° 18′ N. long. 49° 12′ W. and here I give a few extracts from my diary to show my ideas and feelings at the time.
"This day saw several of the largest-sized whales, Balœna Physalis, called 'sulphur bottoms' by the whalers. It is indeed the king of fishes, though this term applies to the whale family in general; but, being a very difficult kind to capture, whalers seldom venture in their chase. Less quiet and tranquil in its movements than the Mysticetus, or Greenland whale, it becomes furious when wounded, and renders an approach to it dangerous. Its flight, when struck by the harpoon, is exceedingly rapid, and is so long sustained that it is very difficult—generally impossible—to tire it out. The game is not worth the cost and risk, for the blubber and bone of the Physalis are indifferent in quality and quantity. I had a fine view of these monsters of the deep, as they came within pistol-shot of the vessel. It was a grand sight to me to see a fish (is a whale a fish?) 100 feet long propelling itself quietly forward through the water as though it were but an humble mountain trout.
"June 20th, lat. 53° 9′, long. 51° 16′.—A good run, with a fair breeze since yesterday. Approaching the north axis of the earth! Ay, nearing the goal of my fondest wishes. Every thing relating to the arctic zone is deeply interesting to me. I love the snows, the ices, icebergs, the fauna, and the flora of the North! I love the circling sun, the long day, the arctic night, when the soul can commune with God in silent and reverential awe! I am on a mission of love. I feel to be in the performance of a duty I owe to mankind—myself—God! Thus feeling, I am strong at heart, full of faith, ready to do or die in the cause I have espoused.
"This evening the sun set about ten minutes to nine o'clock, but it was quite light at ten o'clock.
"Thursday, June 21st.—This morning, a few minutes after eight o'clock, I went upon deck to take my usual exercise. I noticed or felt a perceptible change in the temperature of the air. I looked at the thermometer and saw that it was falling. I tried the sea-water, and found that much colder also, being only two degrees above freezing point. I immediately concluded that we were near icebergs, and mentioned it to Captain B, also to Sterry; but, though the latter had been on several voyages to the arctic regions, and had spent four winters there, he doubted my ideas about it, especially when I ventured to predict we should see them within three hours. He said 'we should not,' and even laid a wager upon it; but at twelve o'clock the icebergs were really seen, and many of the old salts on board at once set me down as well up in arctic knowledge.
"Directly the announcement was made I went on deck, and there, far away to the west, had my first view of an iceberg. By the aid of a good glass, presented by McAllister and Brothers, of Philadelphia, the grandeur of this icy mountain of the deep was brought before me. Brief, however, was the glance I had. The motion of the vessel was such that I could not at first keep the iceberg within the field of the glass. But perhaps it was well I did not see all its splendor and magnificence at once. For years I had longed to see an iceberg, and, even in the distant view I then had, all my conceptions of its grandeur were more than realized. When first seen it was perhaps ten miles off, and appeared about 130 feet high, judging from a calculation made. As, toward evening, we approached, it appeared a mountain of alabaster resting calmly upon the bosom of the dark blue sea. Behind it was the setting sun just dipping its nether limb in the waters, while its upper reached some thick, heavy clouds extending half around the horizon, bathing them in a flood of crimson! Close by, and peering out from a break in the sky, were Venus and the new moon, making a scene of sublimity and beauty fit for a poet's pen or the pencil of an artist. Not before ten o'clock P.M. were we alongside this magnificent pile of ice, and then, as it were, I had an opportunity of shaking hands with the first iceberg I had ever seen. It is said that lovers like darkness better than light, and the hour named would seem to indicate that darkness was upon the face of the deep when I and my 'idol' met. But not so; light abounded: not that of noonday, but that of early eve, when the sun had withdrawn his glowing face. Then it was we met. Iceberg was silent; I too was silent. I stood in the presence of God's work ! Its fashioning was that of the Great Architect! He who hath builded such monuments, and cast them forth upon the waters of the sea, is God, and there can be none other!"
After this, numerous icebergs were seen, one of which we passed within a stone's throw. At a distance it had appeared of a pyramidal form, but on coming close its outline wholly changed. This I find to be a characteristic of almost all views—of none more strikingly so than that of an iceberg. "Distance lends enchantment to the view," so goes the old saw, and, to a certain extent, this is true.
But, on another occasion, I had a more minute inspection of one of these icy monsters of the deep. A large solitary berg at one time was not far from us, and, as the weather permitted, a boat was sent in charge of the mate that I might have the opportunity of examining it.
On arriving near, it was found of irregular form at the base, with several "tongues" or spreading pieces below the water. With some difficulty I got on to it at a sloping part, and began to mount toward the summit. Several pinnacles, ravines, gorges, and deep cavities were displayed as I ascended; but decay was already making rapid progress, and evidently not long would elapse before the whole mass must fall to pieces. I succeeded, however, in reaching the top without danger, using a boat-hook as a sort of alpenstock to aid me.
ASCENT OF AN ICEBERG.
Here resting awhile, and drinking in the ocean scene around, with our ship on the blue waters awaiting us, I then descended.
On the way down I unfortunately trod on the rusty part of the boat-hook, and having my boots off for surer footing, received a rather bad wound, which confined me to a couch for some days.
Our progress towards Greenland was so tantalizingly slow, owing to calms and head winds, that a fourth Sunday passed over us while still at a considerable distance from Holsteinborg, Greenland, the port of rendezvous of the George Henry and Rescue.
Of these Sundays at sea it gives me pleasure to speak in favourable terms as to their observance on board. The crew exhibited most excellent demeanour; and as the George Henry had a small but carefully-selected library in the cabin, furnished by the house of Williams and Haven (owners of the vessel), good books were occasionally distributed by the captain among officers and men, much to their satisfaction, and, no doubt, advantage.
Again referring to my Journal:
"June 26th, at midnight, I witnessed a scene never to be forgotten. I found the whole north illuminated—not by the aurora borealis—but by reflection of the sun's rays. The northern sky presented the appearance of a sunset perhaps twenty minutes over. I could hardly believe my eyes and my position as to the points of the compass for some time. It did not seem that the morning sun could thus early be approaching in the east, nor did it seem that the brightening before me was either east or west. But I soon found the cause that so attracted my attention was the northern sun! I was indeed delighted; for, though familiar with the theory of our planetary system, yet I had little thought of the beauty and variety of sun scenes presented to the view of man between the latitudes of Cincinnati and that of 5812°, where we then were.
"Early in the morning, the captain came to my berth, and called me, saying that a sail was in sight, and that he was holding up for her. I was on deck in an instant with spyglass in hand. All the men were on the alert, and every eye strained to discover what vessel it was. Our own colours were soon run up, and they were answered by the unknown showing the Danish flag. This immediately enlightened us, and we at once knew that the stranger was one of the government vessels of Denmark annually visiting Greenland. We laid-to for her, and, when she came near, ascertained her name to be the Mariane, from Copenhagen, bound to Disco. Our captain then sang out, 'What's your longitude?' Whereupon the lusty old Dane hung over the brig's side a ponderous ebony board, upon which was chalked in white '49° 20″.' Thus holding it a moment, we saw him turn his head broadside to us, and encircle his massive ear by his trumpet-shaped hand, as if to say, 'Now let us have yours.' In stentorian voice, the answer was '53° 30′.' If a forty-pounder had been shot from the George Henry, the old Scandinadan commander could not have jumped higher than on this announcement. Then giving our ship to the glorious breeze that was dancing to do us service, away she bounded on her course. As long as we could see the Mariane of Copenhagen—a vessel bearing the royal F. R., wreathed by laurel branches, and crested by the imperial crown—she was still following in our wake."
It may be as well here to mention that this Mariane was the identical vessel in which Dr. Kane and his party, after their memorable escape on the second Grinnell Expedition, took passage from Upernavik, intending to proceed home in her viâ England. But, on touching at Goodhavn, Captain Hartstene, in the Relief Squadron, arrived in time to receive them, and thus prevented a longer voyage in the Danish brig.
"Friday, June 29th. During the night a smart breeze sprung up from the N.N.W. which now continues, doing us much service in putting us to the north. There is rain, and it is chilly; but what of this to a determined soul ? Oh, to be strong from the circumstances; to be excited by the powers of the mind; to be inspired, as it were, by the Divine Spirit, that I may continue to the end of life in my studies of Nature and her laws! May I be strong in the day of battle; may I not forget that I am a child of Deity—a humble instrument created for work!
"Saturday, June 30th.—In a conversation with Captain B and his first officer, Mr. Rogers, this morning, I learned their views of the scurvy. They both understand the cause, the nature of it, and its cure. The former said he had gained his knowledge from dearly acquired experience. This is truly a fact, for in 1855, while in command of the Georgiana, on a whaling voyage, he lost thirteen of his men by scurvy. But, said he, 'I am not afraid of losing any more men by scurvy while I have command over them. Whenever there are appearances of it aboard, I will have every pork and beef barrel—salt provision of every kind—headed up at once, and every man shall live upon bread and fresh provision, such as whale, walrus, seal, deer, bear, ptarmigan, duck, &c. &c.'"
Mr. Rogers stated that in 1856 he went on a whaling voyage to the South Sea, and that during the year scurvy broke out among the crew. Nine were seriously affected, and one died of it, all from eating salt provisions. Said he, "Those who had it seemed determined to die, for, against all reasoning and advice, they would have salt pork in preference to fresh game, such as ducks, eggs, &c. which they had in abundance."
It may be here stated as a fact that the person who has the scurvy desires just that kind of food which he should not have, and, as a general rule, the same person affected will go almost any length to obtain it, notwithstanding he is well aware that death must follow in this contumacious course.
I now approach a subject that, even at this present time, in dwelling upon it, affects me greatly. I allude to the death of Kudlago, which occurred on Sunday morning, the 1st of July. Hitherto I have said but little concerning him, owing to an intention of confining my remarks to what I should have to narrate here.
I have mentioned in the Introduction that he had been brought to the United States in the previous fall, and when I first saw him he appeared to be, what I always found him, a remarkably modest and unassuming man. From what I was then informed, he was quick to learn, and always endeavoured to do as other people did. He never expressed surprise at anything. He looked upon the works of civilization with interest, but never with wonder. The first time he saw a locomotive no words escaped his lips, nor did he exhibit any signs but what were consistent with the idea of his having seen the same a thousand times before. One day, while riding in the cars toward New York, a boy passed through distributing circulars, giving one to Kudlago. He took it, looking attentively to see what others might do, and then, as they did, so, to all appearance, did he! Others held the circulars up before them and read. Kudlago held his up before his eyes and appeared to read. Though he could not read a word, yet he looked learned. Solomon may have been wiser, but surely not sharper than Kudlago.
KUDLAGO.
On securing his services as my interpreter, I was in hopes that he would long remain with me; but, though apparently in good health on leaving New London, the fogs we encountered when crossing the Banks of Newfoundland gave him a severe cold, and, though every attention was paid to him, he was evidently failing very fast. One day we shot an eider-duck, and lowered a boat to get it, purposely that Kudlago might have a generous meal in his accustomed way. The bird was skinned and carried to the poor sick Esquimaux, who dissected it at once, eating only the heart and liver, both raw. He seemed to relish it greatly, but could eat no more. As he expressed a desire to be on deck, a tent was erected there, that he might enjoy the sunshine and the air. But nothing availed to save him. The following day he was again taken below, and never again left his berth alive. He died about half-past four on Sunday morning. His last words were, "Teik-ko se-ko? teik-ko se-ko?"—Do you see ice? do you see ice? His prayer was that he might arrive home, and once more look upon his native land—it mountains, its snows, its ice—and upon his wife and his little ones; he would then ask no more of earth. We had sighted the Labrador coast on our way, and after that we sailed several days without seeing ice. Kudlago kept incessantly asking if we saw the ice, thinking, if so, we must be near to his home; but, poor fellow, he was still far away when his final moments came. He died in lat. 63° N. when near the coast of Greenland, and about 300 miles from his native place.
Suitable preparations were soon made for his burial in the sea, and as I had always thought a "burial at sea" must be a scene of great interest, the one I now witnessed for the first time most strongly impressed itself upon me. Never did I participate more devoutly in what then seemed to me the most solemn scene of my life. There before us was the "sheeted dead," lying amidships on the gangway board, all in readiness for burial. The whole ship's company, save a solitary man at the wheel, had assembled in sorrowful silence around our departed friend, to pay the last respect we could to him. By the request of Captain B, who was bound by strong ties of friendship to Kudlago, I had consented to take an active part in the services. I therefore proceeded to make such remarks as were deemed proper for the occasion. These were succeeded by my reading portions of appropriate exhortations from the "Masonic Manual," after which I read a prayer from the same excellent work. In this all seemed deeply, solemnly interested.
During these services the breezes of heaven were wafting us on—silently, yet speedily to the north. At a given signal from the captain, who was standing on my right, the man at the helm luffed the ship into the wind and deadened her headway. William Sterry and Robert Smith now stepped to the gangway, and holding firmly the plank on which was the shrouded dead—a short pause, and down sank the mortal part of Kudlago, the noble Esquimaux, into the deep grave—the abyss of the ocean! Oh what a scene! How solemn in its grandeur and its surroundings! The Sabbath morning; a cloudless sky; the sun shining in all its glory; the cold, dark blue
BURIAL OF KUDLAGO.
ocean, its heaving bosom whitened over, here and there, with high pinnacled bergs; the lofty peaks of "Greenland's icy mountains" peering down from a distance in the east—these were some of the impressive features in the scene attending the burial of Kudlago at sea.
An hour after the George Henry had been given to the leading wind, I turned my eyes back to the ocean grave of
KUDLAGO'S MONUMENT
Kudlago—a snow-white monument of mountain size, and of God's own fashioning, was over it!
The next event of any importance to record was the celebration of our glorious Fourth of July. At that time we were in Davis's Straits, near a place called Sukkertoppen, in Greenland, under all sail for Holsteinborg, and we had been in great hopes to have arrived during the day, but contrary winds and calms prevented us. As it was, we did the best we could, and tried to prove ourselves, as we knew all of us to be, true sons of our country.
The day, commencing at the turn of the midnight hour, was ushered in by cheers and firing of guns. Pistols, guns, blunderbusses, were in readiness for the word that should make the mountains of old Greenland echo back our thunderings for freedom and our native land!
As the hour approached, several of us were stationed at various places, ready to discharge the weapons in our hands at command. Twelve o'clock came, and the Fourth of July, 1860, was upon us. "One! two!! three!!! Fire!!!!" was the signal; and never did the George Henry quiver more under the peal of deep-throated guns, in a noble cause, than on that occasion. After this the jubilee was continued by firing, and cheers on cheers. The national colours were run up (for it was now broad daylight) and saluted. At noon another salute was given, and again twelve hours afterward, when the next midnight proclaimed that another anniversary of our glorious American freedom had again departed.
But we had other causes of rejoicing on this especial day. At five in the evening we had arrived at a point on the coast of Greenland which was very much like the neighbourhood of Holsteinborg. The bold mountain peaks were so thickly enveloped in clouds that it was impossible to determine the exact locality. The sea also was covered with fog; hence it was wisely determined to run off the land for the night and lie-to. This was done, and as we were upon good codfish banks, lines were put over to catch some. We were very successful. Before twelve o'clock three lines had drawn in full 800 lbs. of halibut and codfish, the latter largely predominating. I myself caught four cod weighing in all 100 lbs. One halibut weighed no less than 125 lbs. and two others fifty pounds each! I was astonished at the sight of every cod drawn in. Such gormandizers had they been—preying upon the smaller ones of their kind—that their stomachs were distended to the utmost limit of expansion.
The next day, July 5th, we once more stood in toward the land, but it still continued foggy, and we were unable to get near till about 4 p.m. having just before again sighted the Mariane. At that time two Esquimaux were seen coming at full speed toward us. In a few moments more they were alongside, and hoisted—kyacks and all—into the ship. Their names were "Sampson" and "Ephraim," each 5 feet 612 inches in height, with small hands, small feet, and pleasing features, except that both had some of their front teeth gone. These men had brought an abundance of salmon, caplins, sea-birds, &c. and eagerly began to trade with us. Speedily we were on the most friendly terms, and, as they were retained to pilot us in, merry-making was the order of the day. On entering the cabin to supper their conduct was most orderly, and when it was over they said, in good American, "Thank you."
That night I had not long retired to rest before the captain came and told me it was calm, and a good opportunity for halibut and codfish. I was quickly dressed and on deck with line in hand. Two or three minutes more, and a halibut weighing about 225 lbs. was fast to my line, fifty fathoms deep, and in another two minutes I had the fish up in the sun's rays with harpoon stuck through him. In one hour a ton weight of codfish and halibut was taken by the use of only three lines. Sometimes, as I was informed, halibut have been caught weighing 500 lbs. each, and measuring eight feet in length. The Esquimaux in Greenland use the transparent membrane of the stomach of this fish instead of plates of glass.
During the night our two faithful Esquimaux kept on deck, watching the almost obscured mountains, that they might guide us aright. Their clothing was quite wet from exposure to the high seas that prevailed when they came to us, but they sat themselves down on deck, and there watched, coughed, and quivered. I thought, at the time, it were better if they could be prevailed upon to adopt the custom of our seamen—always on the move when out in the open air; but I understood they look upon our walking to and fro as foolishness—a great amount of hard work, with much expenditure of tanned skins (shoe-leather) and muscle all for naught!
For about an hour, one of the Esquimaux made his way up into a whale-boat and went to sleep. On waking, he seemed quite thankful for the luxury of sleeping, though in the open air, his bed, for several days past, having been on the soft side of a boat, on the rocks of an island forty miles distant from Holsteinborg. He and his companion had been there engaged in hunting ducks, &c. when they discovered the George Henry. They were very ragged, and Captain B presented each with some new garments, which made them truly thankful. Some of the articles were new pants, and each man immediately put on a pair. Sampson's was a fair fit—that is to say, they were tight as a drum upon him; but Ephraim's! the waist would not meet within six inches. This, however, was all the same to him. He drew a long—very long breath; so long, indeed, that I could not but think him like a whale, breathing once in ten minutes, or, if occasion required it, once in an hour! Then, following this, Ephraim ceased for a moment to breathe at all, while he nimbly plied his fingers, and rapidly filled each button-hole with its respective button. Pants were now on and completely adjusted—buttoned! but as every living thing must have air or die, and as whales, when coming up to breathe, make the regions round about ring with the force with which they respire and inspire, so even an Esquimaux has to take in fresh draughts of oxygen, or he ceases to exist. Now Ephraim had, in buttoning his pants, suspended respiration for some longer time than nature was capable of sustaining. Accordingly, Nature resumed her functions, and, in the act of giving a full respiration, Ephraim's pants burst, the buttons flying all over the deck! Civilization buttons and New London-made pants could not stand against the sudden distention of an Esquimaux's bowels after being once so unnaturally contracted. Here the saying of old Horace would be useful: Naturam expelles furca tamen usque recurret—You may turn Nature out of doors with violence, but she will return; and he might have continued—though the violence be an Esquimaux's bowels much contracted by a pair of New London-made pants of the nineteenth century!
I will now again quote from my Journal:
"Saturday, July 7th.—After dancing around the harbour of Holsteinborg for many hours, we have at length made anchor within it.
"During the last two or three days a fog of remarkable character has troubled us in making harbour. All at once the whole heavens would be clear and bright; in five minutes a thick fog would encircle us all around, closing from our view sunlight, the long ridge of Greenland mountains, the well-defined sea horizon, islands, and icebergs.
"Before coming to the North, I thought I was prepared to give a fair statement of the true theory of fogs. I now am satisfied that no one can give a satisfactory reason for the appearance and sudden disappearance—their reappearance and final dispersion, as I have witnessed them during the last four days.
"At five o'clock this morning a Danish pilot came on board, who understood fully his business, which is more than I can say of the two Esquimaux, Sampson and Ephraim. Though they have shown great faithfulness, far beyond that of white men (as a general statement), yet I cannot award them great praise in navigating large ships in their own and neighbouring waters.
"Last night was a happy night for me. No sunset. The slow descending sun, just dipping its edge in the Northern Sea, then hesitating in its course, then slowly mounting again into high heaven, gladdening my whole soul near to uncontrollable joy!
"The incidents connected are worthy to be recorded. The evening (at least after ten o'clock) was fine; sky as clear as a bell; the air cool and invigorating.
"I found, by a hasty calculation, that we had made the northing, which would allow us to see the sun continually when clear weather; that the sun would gladden our sight day. after day without setting. I announced to all hands that the sun would not go down that night; that on such a moment it would commence to return—to rise again. This was a novelty to many of the ship's crew. I then made my calculations carefully as to time—the hour, minute, and second when the sun would arrive at its lowest meridian. This was necessary, that I might determine, as well as the circumstances would admit, the variation of the needle.
"Twelve o'clock, low meridian, midnight—I use this in distinction of high meridian, midday—was approaching. Every man, captain, and the ship's officers and crew, save the portion of watch off duty below and asleep, stood around me awaiting the anxious moment when the sun would cease its downward and commence its upward course.
"The George Henry was sweeping gently along, beating up northerly and easterly against the wind. From the larboard side we peered out upon the glorious scene. With my azimuth compass resting upon the bulwarks, my eye every other moment on it and the watch (the latter had just been placed in correspondence with the ship's chronometer below), I at length announced the wished-for moment—12 o'clock. Cheer—cheer upon cheer followed from the ship's company. Time passed on; the sun was slowly on its upward track. At first its motion was imperceptible; nevertheless, it was rising.
"I continued to watch the upward and onward progress of the sun. Its northern declination is now growing less and less, therefore the sun's presence here is less and less prolonged. Soon the arctic night will take the place of the arctic day, which is now fast clothing the mountains in green and flowers.
"Before we finally entered Holsteinborg Harbour, the George Henry beat up against the wind by tacking ship four or five times. At last the hour came when the position of the ship was pronounced by the Danish Esquimaux pilot—Lars Kleijt by name—to be good—very good. The morning was all that a high-bounding spirit could wish. I had turned in about two o'clock a.m. and was now greatly refreshed from a short sleep. When I arose the vessel was bending her beak toward the long-wished-for haven. Every one was on tiptoe with the joyousness of the present. An inquiry had passed back and forth why the natives did not come to meet us, as they were wont to meet American and English vessels. While yet far off, some one exclaimed, 'There they come!' Every eye was quickly turned that way. I saw them at a distance coming swiftly in their kyacks. Their number seemed legion. On they came. They meet us, and greet with smiles. The George Henry kept her course; the kyacks followed in our wake. We looked forward; others and others were coming, as if to welcome us to their bay and homes.
"As we neared the land, how eagerly I sought to catch every view that was within sight. My eyes wandered far back to the most distant mountain; then I brought them quickly to those which seemed about to shake hands with me, piercing into their nooks and their time-worn rocks—now up their pinnacles, now down to their broad massive bases. I was happy.
"We saw the little Danish flag on the hill that stands as sentinel to the rock-ribbed bay. We passed on; the western ridge, that runs far out into the sea, stole away the winds which were so gracefully carrying us to our chosen port, yet enough favoured us to go slowly. Soon Holsteinborg, in all its imperial greatness, met our eye. Tis true, Holsteinborg was not gaudily attired, as some kings' palaces are; but there she was and is, sparkling in diamonds of pure water, radiating rainbows in continual sunlight. There she was and is, surrounded by walls more ancient than Jerusalem, or Thebes, or Babel's Tower—of God's creation—mountains that seem to prop up this arctic sky—mountains whose southern sides are now clothed in green and laughing flowers, and whose northern slopes rest beneath a bed of white.
"As we entered the harbour, our national colours, streamer, and ship's flag were raised, and the Governor of Holsteinborg responded by hoisting the Danish ensign. Then, at 10 a.m. of this day, the 7th of July, 1860, and the fortieth day from the port of New London, United States, we came to an anchor. Had it not been for head winds and calms, we might have made the passage in twenty-five to thirty days. Captain B has made it in thirty-four; he says it generally takes about thirty. As it is, we have reason to thank God for His care and protection over us in this voyage. Oh, may He continue His blessing; may He be near unto me while in the prosecution of the great work before me! With Thee, O God, I can accomplish much; without Thee, what am I?—nothing! nothing!!"
The Rescue schooner—our consort and tender—had not arrived. Her orders were to keep with us if possible; but on the night of Thursday, 31st, the third day out, during the prevailing fogs and wind, we lost her. The rendezvous, however, was at this place, and we daily expected to see her.
- ↑ For particulars, see Appendix, No. 2.