Life with the Esquimaux/Volume 2/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX.
Revisit Victoria Bay—Packed Ice setting in the Sound—Detention and Difficult Escape—Return to the Whaling Dépôt—Joyous News from the Ship—All Hands summoned on Board—Great Excitement—Adieu to Bear Sound, Lupton Channel, and French Head—Arrival on Board—The Ship free from Ice—Preparations for Sailing—August 9th, 1862, the "George Henry" lifts Anchor, and gets under way for Home—Friendly Adieux to the Natives—Once more at Sea—First Sign of Civilization for Twenty Months—Newfoundland—Pilot comes on Board—First News of the War—Kindly Reception at St, John's—Arrival at New London—Conclusion.
I will here give a few brief extracts from my journal, written while stopping at Cape True, commencing with—
"Thursday, July 31st, 1862.—One year ago to-day the George Henry broke out of her ice-prison. This morning. Mates Rogers, Gardiner, and Lamb, with their three boats and crews, went out in the Bay—Frobisher Bay—after walrus. A short time after they left a thick fog set in, and the tide carried them up opposite Countess Warwick's Sound before they were aware of it. After the lighting up of the fog a little, they fell in with a shoal of walrus, of which they harpooned three large ones. This walrus party returned at 3 p.m. with three tons of fresh meat. There is no place in the world where a "living" is obtained with less work than here. These three walruses added make the whole number forty that have been taken since the George Henry's company first came here this season, not including some two or three young ones.
"Friday, August 1st.—And still, as we learn, the George Henry is fast in the ice. Anxious are all of us to depart for the States, but King Ice will not yet let us go. A good 'nor'wester' would drive away the pack which presses so closely and so unrelentingly the west side of Davis's Strait, and allow the ice which holds dominion over the George Henry's pathway to the sea to give way. It may be the pack will keep us here another year; but I hope not. I trust in two weeks more we shall be on our way home, there to prepare for the voyage I have so much at heart. God grant an early deliverance from our ice-foe.
"August 2d.—This afternoon, learning that the Innuits here were about to remove up into Field Bay as far as the open water would allow them, I at once set my wits to work to devise some plan to secure some of them to accompany me again to Countess of Warwick's Sound, and to be of such service to me in the boat that I shall be able to keep good dead reckoning. I first conversed with Mate Rogers. He agreed to accompany me, with two of his men not otherwise engaged. The Innuits 'Miner' and 'Charley' signified a willingness to accompany me with their wives and kias. I hope now to complete my survey of the Countess of Warwick's Sound, and to be enabled to keep a correct account of distances and courses made. Arrangements are now complete to start to-morrow, with the expectation of being absent two or three days. By that time I hope that we shall have word to vacate this place (Cape True), and make for the ship, to depart for the States. This will probably be my last research voyage before leaving for home. I wish the time would admit of my proceeding up to Ker-nuk-too-ju-a (Newton's Fiord), near which is that monument (see page 285) which the natives say was erected by kodlunas long, long time ago, which I have been so very anxious to visit since old Ookijoxy Ninoo first told me about it."
At 8 a.m. of August 3d, with an increasing breeze, we left the whaling dépôt, my whole company being in one boat, except Charley and Miner, who were each in his kia. Our progress was good, and we got on without any mishap over half way; but when near Cape Cracroft, at the entrance to the sound we wished to enter, the storm which had been threatening for some time broke upon us all at once, tearing up the sea in its wildest fury, so that several times we were in great danger. The heavy squalls from off the high land at our right caused us to exercise the greatest caution in managing the little sail we were able to carry; the rain was pouring down, and the white-caps tumbled into our boat, making it necessary to keep incessantly baling; but finally, after much skilful management on the part of Mate Rogers as boat-steerer, we effected a safe landing at Cape Ood-loo-ong.
Directly after landing I ascended Harris Highlands,[1] to examine the Countess of Warwick's Sound, when, to my vexation, I found that between us and Hazard's Land,[2] Oopungnewing, Niountelik, and Kodlunarn, all was packed ice, and in such a state that no boat could be forced through it. The presence of this ice is accounted for in this way; the heavy, incessant gale of July 24th and 25th had driven the pack hard on to the west side of Davis's Strait, and when, on August 2d, another gale prevailed, coming from the south-east, it drove the rattling pack up into Frobisher Bay, filling it almost solid, except close inshore between Bear Sound and Victoria Bay, My hopes, therefore, to accomplish what I designed in making this final trip were doomed to be disappointed; but, while an opportunity remained for doing anything, I determined to thoroughly examine the remarkable bay in which we then were—Victoria Bay—and its surroundings. This I did on the following day. The weather, however, was very bad, and it was with difficulty I could accomplish anything at all. Then, too, we had to guard against being shut up in the pack; and our critical situation became so evident that, on the morning of the 5th, we saw that to delay our return a moment longer would be sheer presumption. Accordingly, at an early hour we started, the whole company in the boat (the two kias were left at Cape Ood-loo-ong); but we had not gone far before we met the pack drifting in with the tide, and blocking up our way. And now began the usual work of hauling the boat over ice, tracking her through narrow channels, turning now to the right, then to the left, going forward awhile, then back to another opening, and cutting away obstructions.
Several hours of heavy labour were consumed in lifting, pushing, and pulling our boat over several miles of driving, drifting, whirling, crashing, thundering ice. Occasionally, while my company—both men and women—would be getting the boat upon an ice-floe, and dragging it along, the dogs and children accompanying, I would be busily engaged with my instruments taking my "last sights" of the principal places
THE ESCAPE OVER DRIFTING PACK.— MY "LAST SIGHTS."
in and around the ever memorable "Countess of Warwick's Sound," which had been lost to the world for near three hundred years, but now was found. At last we got clear, arriving at open water, when we at once launched the boat and pushed off. From thence it was not long that we were on our way to Cape True, where we arrived in perfect safety, though, within two hours after our arrival, the pack ribbed the whole coast, and we thus narrowly escaped being closed in the second time.
Two days after our return, on Friday; August 8th, we were agreeably surprised, in the early morning, by the arrival of Captain B in a boat direct from George Henry Harbour, in the upper part of Field Bay. He announced that the ship was nearly free, and that the ice of Field Bay was all broken up, and much of it had drifted out to sea. His orders were for all hands to proceed immediately on board.
This news caused immense joy. All was excitement. Tents were quickly struck, boats were made ready, and stowed with such of the material as we intended carrying on board, and in a very short time we were ready for a start. As for myself, I had to regret the loss of some of my geological specimens, which I was obliged to abandon here on account of their weight in the already overloaded boat.
At 4 a.m. we took our final leave of Cape True, after a friendly adieu to the people in that locality, with whom we had become so familiar. We struck direct for Hubbel's Point,[3] and soon after were passing up Bear Sound. The day was calm and clear, and the boats had to be pulled nearly the whole way; but no fatigue was felt while anticipating a speedy arrival on board the ship. At seven o'clock we were through Bear Sound, where the tide, as usual, was running very swiftly and strong, though it was in our favour. Many well-known spots were quickly passed, receiving our farewell, and we were soon through Lupton Channel, when we turned into Field Bay, which was seen to be nearly full of drift-ice moving out and in with the tide. French Head, the scene of poor John Brown's death, was gazed upon with some saddening memories; but the brightness of the day, and the hope before us of soon being under way for home, forbade much lingering on painful recollections. At 1 p.m. we passed Parker's Bay, and in an hour and a half more arrived at the ship, glad again to tread her decks, but more especially rejoiced to find her once more free.
I went on shore immediately after to take some observations; and then, upon my return on board, and after a supper of hard bread and salt junk, I started with a boat's crew down the north side of the bay to Farrington Cape, to bring off Ebierbing and Tookoolito, with their child. I had previously asked them several times about accompanying me to the United States, and they had expressed a desire to do so. Now, however, the time for preparation was so short, and the event, withal, so sudden to them, that I feared they would not like to come; but on my arrival at their encampment, some seven miles down, I was agreeably surprised, after some conversation, to find them prepared to make the venture. In less than an hour these children of the icy North had packed up their effects, and, together with their child and their fine seal-dog "Ratty," were with us in the boat, ready to proceed on a voyage to a strange and distant land. My faithful dog Barbekark could not be forgotten nor left behind; he was already aboard. The arrangement we had made was, that they should accompany me to the States, and then on my voyage to King William's Land; and that, if the ice would admit of it, on leaving the States and getting near their country, I would stop with them to see their friends. The only objection they made was, that they were fearful they should lose their infant boy while on board the ship.[4]
At the same time, Ugarng, "John Bull," Koodloo, and their wives, came along with us in their boats; and many other Innuit families, from various places near the ship, with whom we had been acquainted, did the same. It was near midnight when we got on board, and I found everything in readiness for the vessel's departure on the following morning.
Saturday, the 9th of August, commenced with calm and clear weather. All were full of excitement. Every man felt equal to and ready for any amount of work. Eagerly was the word of command waited for. The ice had cleared away; the ship was swinging lazily to her anchors, and all now required was to weigh them and spread sail. But there was no wind. This, for a time, made us hold on, until at length the captain, finding it useless to wait longer for a breeze, gave the signal, and away went the windlass round to the mirthful notes of joyous men, as they hove in chain and lifted anchor once more. Soon the ship was clear, and then, with lines out, all the boats were manned to tow her down the bay.
As we left the anchorage all our Innuit friends surrounded us, and with many words of kind regret again and again bade us "ter-bou-e-tie" (farewell). There were not a few among us who felt this parting. We had received much and constant kindness at their hands, and the final adieu was
"Ter-bou-e-tie, In-nu-it"—(Farewell, Innuits).
not without those softer shades of feeling which generally characterize partings at home.
But now it is over. The vessel moves on her way. The kias and oomiens, with their occupants, gradually recede from our view, and with a last wave of the hands, a parting look, we turn our glances seaward, and allow our thoughts to be occupied only with home.
During the morning we were compelled to use the boats in towing, but in the afternoon made sail, though with a light, baffling breeze. In the evening, however, a fog came up, and at 11 p.m. we had to make fast to a floe. The weather continued the same next day until midnight; then, with a fresher breeze, we made all sail, and kept working through the ice for twenty-four hours, when at length we got clear, and were once more fairly at sea.
It was a strange feeling I had when again experiencing the peculiar motion of a ship on the heaving, ever-restless bosom of the ocean. After being so long imprisoned in that ice-locked region, the sensation now was similar to what had come over me when taking my departure from home. But a few days soon put me to rights, and as the vessel made good way, my spirits rose buoyant over the temporary attack of sea-sickness, and I was myself again.
On the 17th we were all delighted by the sight of four vessels, the first signs of civilization we had seen for twenty months. As we neared one of them bearing the English flag, an officer, with a boat's crew, was sent from our ship on board, to try to obtain some provisions, as we were living on very short allowance—three-fifths of a pound of sea-biscuit per man per day, with a little salt junk and salt pork. Unfortunately we could get none, as the supercargo of the ship stated that they had no more than enough for themselves. Another ship was tried. She proved to be a Spanish vessel; but a small quantity was obtained from her, and this was most acceptable.
On the 21st we neared St. John's, Newfoundland, and it was considered advisable that we should visit that port to obtain supplies, as all of us were nearly half-starved. Of course, we made all the preparations we could in regard to our persons and our dress, for we were once more to mix with civilized beings. At 6 a.m. on the 23d, a pilot came on board, and, as soon as he had passed the gangway, I put the question, which is generally the first from an American's lips on such occasions, "Who is President of the United States?" But so little did our affairs trouble this Newfoundlander that he could give us no information. I put the leading names to him, but still without effect. He "did not know." This was mortifying, for I was naturally anxious to learn who had the ruling power in my native land; but, seeing I could get no satisfactory reply, I turned aside, while the pilot conversed with Captain B. Presently the latter came to me and said,—
"So there's war, then, in reality, among us at home. The North and the South are fighting against each other."
"What!" I exclaimed, in utter amazement; "what—war? War in the United States, and among ourselves?"
"True enough," was the response; "at least so says our pilot."
A few words with the pilot assured me of the main fact, though without informing me of any particulars, for he could give none. But the news was so astounding that I did not for awhile recover from the shock. Bitter was the feeling that came over me on receipt of the intelligence, and I tried hard to doubt it, until doubt became impossible, especially when I landed and heard all the facts from our consul. This first news from home created a general gloom among us on board, and much of the joy which we should naturally have felt on reaching a civilized port was lost by reflecting upon the fact that so serious a calamity had fallen upon our beloved land.
As we approached the harbour of St. John's the excitement among us was intense. The head became somewhat confused as it turned from one object to another in the vast and noisy assemblage around us. But when the ship had dropped anchor and I had landed, the overpowering sensations that followed were more than I can describe. I was in a constant whirl. It seemed to me as if I were just coming from death into life, and it was with difficulty I could manage to control myself in the society of the many kind and warm-hearted friends to whom I was soon introduced.
The news of our arrival soon spread through the town, and many persons flocked around the ship to see us, all expressing much surprise at our robust and healthy appearance. My Innuit companions, Ebierbing and Tookoolito, with their infant, also attracted much attention. Everywhere on shore we were most hospitably received, and I shall never forget the names of those in St. John's who so warmly welcomed me.
On first landing I immediately telegraphed my arrival to Mr. Grinnell and to my own home, and received replies in a few hours.
We stayed at St. John's until the 26th, when we made sail for New London, where we arrived on Saturday morning, September 13, 1862; and thus ended my voyage and explorations of two years and three and a half months in and about the arctic seas.
- ↑ The mountainous land between Lincoln Bay and Victoria Bay I named Harris Highlands, after J. N. Harris, of New London, Connecticut.
- ↑ The land on the north of the Countess of Warwick's Sound, and east of Wiswell's Inlet, I named Hazard's Land, after A. G. Hazard, of Enfield, Connecticut.
- ↑ This point, on the west side at the entrance of Bear Sound, I have named after Charles C. Hubbel, of Hudson, New York.
- ↑ Tuk-e-lik-e-ta, the infant child of Ebierbing and Tookoolito, died in New York City of pneumonia, on February 28th, 1863.