CHAPTER XVIII.

PARRY’S EXPEDITIONS (_continued_).

Five Thousand Pounds earned by Parry’s Expedition—Winter Quarters—Theatre—An Arctic Newspaper—Effects of Intense Cold—The Observatory Burned down—Return to England—Parry’s Second Expedition—“Young” Ice—Winter at Lyon’s Inlet—A Snow Village in Winter and Spring—Break-up of the Ice—The Vessels in a Terrible Position—Third Winter Quarters—Parry’s Fourth Winter—The _Fury_ Abandoned—The Old _Griper_ and her Noble Crew.

A very important event—at least, so far as concerned the members of Parry’s expedition—was that which occurred on September 4th, 1819. On that day the commander had the satisfaction of announcing to officers and crew that they had crossed the meridian of 110 W. from Greenwich, by which they had become entitled to the reward of £5,000 offered by the Government to “such of His Majesty’s subjects as might succeed in penetrating thus far to the westward within the Arctic circle.” To a bluff headland near this point the appropriate name of Cape Bounty was given. After many perils in the ice, a secure harbour was selected for their winter quarters at Melville Island, but before they could enter it a canal, two and one-third miles, had to be cut through the ice. This feat was performed in three days by the united efforts of “all hands” from both vessels; and as they would probably have to remain eight or nine months in that spot, Parry began the arrangements for promoting the comfort and health of his crews, the wisdom of which has often since been admitted and imitated by others, but which were not very commonly understood then. Parry, however, has hardly had a superior in these matters since. The vessels were well housed in, and all that was possible done for warming and ventilating the decks and cabins. An anti-scorbutic beer was brewed, and issued in lieu of spirits. Some difficulty was experienced in the very cold weather in making it ferment sufficiently to become palatable. A theatre was organised on board the _Hecla_, in the arrangements for which Parry took a part himself, “considering,” says he, “that an example of cheerfulness, by giving a direct countenance to everything that could contribute to it, was not the least essential part of my duty, under the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed.” A little weekly newspaper, _The North Georgia Gazette and Winter Chronicle_, edited by the since illustrious Sabine, was organised, and helped to employ many contributors, and divert their minds “from the gloomy prospect which would sometimes obtrude itself on the stoutest heart.” For this desolate spot was destined, as it proved, to be their home for nearly ten months. The animals had nearly all left; seals were not found in the neighbourhood; even gulls and ducks avoided Melville Island, where the only vegetation consisted of stunted grasses and lichens. The cold was intense, and such experiences as the following did not offer much inducement for prolonged trips from the vessels.

One John Pearson, a marine, had imprudently gone out without his mittens, to attempt hunting, and with a musket in his hands. A party from the ships found him, although the night was very dark, just as he had fallen down a bank of snow, and was beginning to feel that degree of torpor and drowsiness which, if indulged, inevitably proves fatal. “When he was brought on board,” says Parry, “his fingers were quite stiff, and bent into the shape of that part of the musket which he had been carrying; and the frost had so far destroyed the animation in his fingers on one hand that it was necessary to amputate three of them a short time after, notwithstanding all the care and attention paid to him by the medical gentlemen. The effect which exposure to severe frost has in benumbing the mental as well as the corporeal faculties was very striking in this man, as well as in two of the young gentlemen who returned after dark, and of whom we were anxious to make inquiries respecting Pearson. When I sent for them into my cabin, they looked wild, spoke thick and indistinctly, and it was impossible to draw from them a rational answer to any of our questions. After being on board for a short time the mental faculties appeared gradually to return with the returning circulation; and it was not till then that a looker-on could easily persuade himself that they had not been drinking too freely.” At other times excursions were made when the thermometer was 40° or 50° below zero without special inconvenience. The fact is that one’s safety or danger much depends on the absence or prevalence of wind. Even the natives of extreme latitudes have been frozen to death during its prevalence. On February 24th, 1820, a fire broke out in their house ashore, and in their anxiety to save the valuable instruments it contained, sixteen men incurred frost-bite, the thermometer on that day being from -43° to -44° (76° below freezing). One man, by incautiously leaving his gloves off, had afterwards to suffer the amputation of most of his fingers. When he arrived on board his hands were plunged in cold water, the surface of which was immediately covered with a skin of ice by the cold suddenly communicated! “The appearance,” says Parry, “which our faces presented at the fire was a curious one, almost every nose and cheek having become quite white with frost-bites in five minutes after being exposed to the weather; so that it was deemed necessary for the medical gentlemen, together with some others appointed to assist them, to go constantly round while the men were working at the fire, and to rub with snow the parts affected, in order to restore animation.”

On the 16th day of February the greatest degree of cold was experienced, the thermometer having descended to -55°, and remained for fifteen hours at -54°; the less to have been expected as the old year had closed with mild weather. On the following day, Parry says, “notwithstanding the low temperature of the external atmosphere, the officers contrived to act, as usual, the play announced for this evening; but it must be confessed that it was almost too cold for either the actors or the audience to enjoy it, especially those of the former who undertook to appear in female dresses.” As early as March the snow commenced to melt, according to Parry’s statement. This, however, could only possibly mean under the rays of the midday sun, as, at the same time, we are told that the thermometer stood at -22° to -25° in the shade (the latter 57° below the freezing point of water). In May the ships were again afloat, the men having cut the ice around them. But the sea, as far as the eye could reach, was still “one unbroken and continuous surface of solid and impenetrable ice,” not less than six or seven feet in thickness. It was not till the very last day of July that the ice broke up, and on August 1st the ships stood out to sea. Many a “nip” and “heavy rub,” as Parry describes it, did the ships sustain after this; but in spite of perils from the ice, which would become monotonous in the telling, the expedition reached England safely in the latter part of October; and, in spite of all casualties, but one man out of ninety-four had died during their eighteen months’ absence—a fact which certainly speaks volumes for Parry’s unremitting care and attention to the health of his crews.

In 1821-3 we again find the indefatigable Parry in the field, this, the second voyage under his direct command, being undertaken for the discovery of a north-west passage. The vessels employed were the _Fury_ and the _Hecla_, and the expedition left the Nore on May 8th, 1821. Most of the experiences recorded in his work were similar to those already mentioned; and only a few general facts and extracts from his journal are therefore presented. Two winters were passed by him among the frozen realms on this voyage, and several geographical examinations of importance made. The Frozen Strait, Repulse Bay, and many islands of the same neighbourhood, were carefully explored. Parry, in his journal of October 8th, gives the following interesting description of the formation of “young” ice upon the surface of the sea, and the obstacle which it forms to navigation.

“The formation of young ice upon the surface of the water is the circumstance which most decidedly begins to put a stop to the navigation of these seas, and warns the seaman that his season of active operations is nearly at an end. It is indeed scarcely possible to conceive the degree of hindrance occasioned by this impediment, trifling as it always appears before it is encountered. When the sheet has acquired the thickness of about half an inch, and is of considerable extent, a ship is liable to be stopped by it, unless favoured by a strong and free wind; and even when retaining her way through the water at the rate of a mile an hour her course is not always under the control of the helmsman, though assisted by the nicest attention to the action of the sails; but it depends upon some accidental increase or decrease in the thickness of the sheet of ice with which one bow or the other comes in contact. Nor is it possible in this situation for the boats to render their usual assistance by running out lines or otherwise; for having once entered the young ice, they can only be propelled slowly through it by digging the oars and boat-hooks into it, at the same time breaking it across the bows, and by rolling the boat from side to side. After continuing this laborious work for some time with little good effect, and considerable damage to the planks and oars, a boat is often obliged to return the same way that she came, backing out in the canal thus formed to no purpose. A ship in this helpless state, her sails in vain expanded to a favourable breeze, her ordinary resources failing, and suddenly arrested in her course upon the element through which she has been accustomed to move without restraint, has often reminded me of Gulliver tied down by the feeble hands of Lilliputians; nor are the struggles she makes to effect a release, and the apparent insignificance of the means by which her efforts are opposed the least just or the least vexatious part of the resemblance.”

It was now again time to fix upon winter quarters, and in an extensive opening of the American mainland, which they named Lyon’s Inlet, a suitable harbour was selected. The arrangements for the comfort and employment of the crews were much as before. The Sabbath was carefully observed, schools and harmless amusements provided, while the interests of science were not neglected. An observatory and house were erected for magnetic and astronomical observations. On February 1st a number of Esquimaux arrived, who had erected a temporary village some two miles from the ships. They, unlike some before seen in the vicinity of Hudson’s Strait, who had become debased and demoralised by their constant intercourse with whaling vessels, were of the unsophisticated order, and were quiet, peaceable, and, strange to say, reasonably clean. Some of the women, having handsome garments, which attracted the attention of those on board, began, to their astonishment and consternation, to divest themselves of some of their outer clothes, although the thermometer stood at the time at 20° below zero; but every individual among them having on a complete double suit of deer-skin, they did not apparently suffer much in consequence. Parry’s description of their little snow village is graphic and interesting. Not a single material was used in the construction of the huts but snow and ice. The inner apartments of each were circular, with arched domes about seven or eight feet high, and arched passage-ways leading into them. The interior of these presented a very uniform appearance. The women were seated on the beds at the side of the huts, each having her little fireplace, a blubber lamp, with all her domestic arrangements and domestic chattels, including all the children and some of the dogs, about her. When first erected these huts had a neat and even comfortable appearance. How differently did they look when the village was broken up at the end of winter. Parry thus describes them:—“On going out to the village we found one-half of the people had quitted their late habitations, taking with them every article of their property, and had gone over the ice, we knew not where, in quest of more abundant food. The wretched appearance which the interior of the huts now presented baffles all description. In each of the larger ones some of the apartments were either wholly or in part deserted, the very snow which composed the beds and fireplaces having been turned up, that no article might be left behind. Even the bare walls, whose original colour was scarcely perceptible for lamp-black, blood, and other filth, were not left perfect, large holes having been made in sides and roofs for the convenience of handing out the goods and chattels. The sight of a deserted habitation is at all times calculated to excite in the mind a sensation of dreariness and desolation, especially when we have lately seen it filled with cheerful inhabitants; but the feeling is even heightened rather than diminished when a small portion of these inhabitants remain behind to endure the wretchedness which such a scene exhibits. This was now the case at the village, where, though the remaining tenants of each hut had combined to occupy one of the apartments, a great part of the bed-places were still bare, and the wind and drift blowing in through the holes which they had not yet taken the trouble to stop up. The old man Hikkeiera and his wife occupied a hut to themselves, without any lamp or a single ounce of meat belonging to them, while three small skins, on which the former was lying, were all that they possessed in the way of blankets. Upon the whole, I never beheld a more miserable spectacle, and it seemed a charity to hope that a violent and constant cough with which the old man was afflicted would speedily combine with his age and infirmities to release him from his present sufferings. Yet in the midst of all this he was even cheerful, nor was there a gloomy countenance to be seen in the village.”

It was not till July 2nd that the ships were enabled to move from their icy dock, and they at first starting encountered severe dangers. Captain Lyon, Parry’s associate in command, thus speaks of the situation of the _Hecla_:—

“The flood-tide, coming down loaded with a more than ordinary quantity of ice, pressed the ship very much between six and seven A.M., and rendered it necessary to run out the stream cable, in addition to the hawsers which were fast to the land ice. This was scarcely accomplished when a very heavy and extensive floe took the ship on her broadside, and, being backed by another large body of ice, gradually lifted her stern as if by the action of a wedge. The weight every moment increasing obliged us to veer on the hawsers, whose friction was so great as nearly to cut through the bilt-heads, and ultimately set them on fire, so that it became requisite for people to attend with buckets of water. The pressure was at length too powerful for resistance, and the stream cable, with two six and one five inch hawsers, went at the same moment. Three others soon followed. The sea was too full of ice to allow the ship to drive, and the only way by which she could yield to the enormous weight which oppressed her was by leaning over the land ice, while her stern at the same time was entirely lifted more than five feet out of the water. The lower deck beams now complained very much, and the whole frame of the ship underwent a trial which would have proved fatal to any less strengthened vessel. At this moment the rudder was unhung with a sudden jerk, which broke up the rudder-case and struck the driver-boom with great force. In this state I made known our situation by telegraph, as I clearly saw that, in the event of another floe backing the one which lifted us, the ship must inevitably turn over or part in midships. The pressure which had been so dangerous at length proved our friend, for by its increasing weight the floe on which we were borne burst upwards, unable to resist its force. The ship righted, and, a small slack opening in the water, drove several miles to the southward before she could be again secured to get the rudder hung; circumstances much to be regretted at the moment, as our people had been employed, with but little intermission, for three days and nights attending to the safety of the ship in this dangerous tideway.”

The _Fury_ experienced nearly the same dangers, and for days the situation of both vessels was most precarious. Later, the ice having cleared to some extent, they were enabled to make good headway, and on July 16th they discovered a great deal of high land to the northward and eastward. This, from the inspection of a rude chart which had been constructed by an intelligent Esquimaux, was decided to be that island between which and the mainland lay a strait leading into the Polar Sea, of which they had heard much from the natives. Several land journeys were made, and one attempt at taking the ships through, but though it was abundantly determined to be a passage, they were obliged again to go into winter quarters before they had succeeded. They were not extricated till nearly _one year_ afterwards, and then not until a broad canal, 1,100 yards in length, had been cut through the ice to the sea. The scurvy had made its appearance among the crew, and Parry, after consultation with his officers, reluctantly turned the vessels’ bows in a homeward direction.

Parry made a third voyage in 1824-5, passing his _fourth_ winter in the Arctic regions. The same vessels were employed; and at the end of winter the _Fury_ was so terribly damaged by the ice that she had to be abandoned. But Parry, however disappointed with the results of this voyage, once more, as we shall see hereafter, braved the perils of the Arctic; but we must first record the circumstances connected with a northern expedition which in chronological order comes properly before it.

In 1824 Captain George F. Lyon was despatched, in the _Griper_, to complete surveys of north-east America, but not specially to attempt discovery. The _Griper_ was an old tub of a vessel, utterly unfitted for its work, and it is rather of the voyage itself, as displaying the advantages of perfect naval discipline under great disadvantages, than for any other reason, this unfortunate expedition is recorded. The vessel was a bad sailer, and constantly shipped seas which threatened to sweep everything from the decks. In Sir Thomas Rowe’s Welcome—the passage between Southampton Island and the mainland—fogs and heavy seas were encountered, while no trust could be placed in the compasses, and the water was fast shallowing. Lyon was obliged to bring the vessel “up with three bowers and a stream anchor in succession,” but not before the water had shoaled to five and a half fathoms, the ship all the while pitching bows under. So perilous was their position that the boats were stored with arms, ammunition, and provisions; the officers drew lots for their respective boats, although two of the smaller ones would have inevitably been swamped the moment they were lowered. Heavy seas continued to sweep the decks, and when the fog lifted a little a low beach was discovered astern of the ship, on which the surf was running to an awful height, and where, says Lyon, “no human power could save us if driven upon it.” Immediately afterwards the ship, lifted by a tremendous sea, struck with great violence the whole length of the keel, and her total wreck was momentarily expected. In the midst of all their misery the crew remained twenty-four hours on the flooded decks, and Lyon himself did not leave for his berth till exhausted after three nights’ watching. Few on board expected to survive the gale. Still, every precaution was taken for the comfort of the men, who were ordered to put on their best and warmest clothing to support life as long as possible. The officers each secured some useful instrument for future work, if, indeed, the slightest hope remained. “And now,” says Lyon, “that everything in our power had been done, I called all hands aft, and to a merciful God offered prayers for our preservation. I thanked every one for their excellent conduct, and cautioned them, as we should, in all probability, soon appear before our Maker, to enter His presence as men resigned to their fate. We then all sat down in groups, and, sheltered from the wash of the sea by whatever we could find, many of us endeavoured to obtain a little sleep. Never, perhaps, was witnessed a finer scene than on the deck of my little ship, when all hope of life had left us. Noble as the character of the British sailor is always allowed to be in cases of danger, yet I did not believe it to be possible that among forty-one persons not one repining word should have been uttered. The officers sat about wherever they could find shelter from the sea, and the men lay down, conversing with each other with the most perfect calmness. Each was at peace with his neighbour and all the world; and I am firmly persuaded that the resignation which was then shown to the will of the Almighty was the means of obtaining His mercy. God was merciful to us; and the tide almost miraculously fell no lower.” They were spared, and on the weather clearing discovered that they were about the centre of the Welcome. The spot where they had been in such imminent danger was named appropriately the Bay of God’s Mercy.

In the middle of September, when off the mouth of the Wager River, a gale arose, and the sluggish _Griper_ made no progress, but “remained actually pitching forecastle under, with scarcely steerage way.” The ship was brought up, and the anchors fortunately held. Thick-falling sleet covered the decks to some inches in depth, and withal the spray froze as it fell. The night was pitchy dark; several streams of drift ice came driving down upon the ship. Lyon says that it was not possible to stand below decks, while on deck ropes had to be stretched from side to side for the men to hold by. Great seas washed over them every minute, and the temporary warmth this gave them was most painfully checked by the water immediately freezing on their clothes. At dawn on the 13th their best bower anchor parted, and later all the cables gave way. The ship was lying on her broadside. Nevertheless, each man stood to his station, and in the end seamanship triumphed; the crippled ship was brought safely to England. The cool, unflinching courage of the men and the undisturbed conduct of the officers were matters for highest praise. The royal navy could not be proud of the _Griper_, but could, most assuredly, of the _Griper’s_ crew.