Part 15

Now and then he staggered and there came over him a sense of growing weariness, but the thought of his helpless, dying comrades on the Great Frozen Sea behind him, and of the eager, willing hearts in the ship before him, steeled his nerves, inspired anew his heart, and gave fiery energy to his flagging strength and failing body.

For an hour or two as he marched there arose faint doubts as to the wisdom of his cross-sea route, for it was a period of strong tides which in their onward sweep from the northern Arctic Ocean warped and twisted the mighty ice-covering, whose total disruption was certain at the first violent gale, it being stayed now only by the almost immovable floes of enormous thickness crowded against the bordering lands.

Wearisome and monotonous in the extreme had the main pack become to Parr after steady travel thereon for more than two months, especially during the brief periods of calm weather when the curling wreaths and trailing streamers of the almost constantly drifting snow were absent, leaving the scene unrelieved in its almost hideous desolation. But then at least he was free from the nervous tension that now came with the loud groans, the feeble mutterings, the rasping grindings of floes, and the loud explosions that mark the surface changes of the pack from heavy tidal action. Especially the fear of a fog-covered floe came to his mind, as vaporous forms like water-spirits rose here and there from fissures forming in the cracking floes. Would the dreaded fog envelop the pack? If so, what were his chances of reaching the _Alert_? And what fate would the fog bring to the field party?

The uneasy, trembling ice-pack in thus forcing on him a realization of its presence through motion under his feet recalled inevitably the vision of the Great Frozen Sea, which if it had insured world-wide fame to his faithful sledge-mates had also brought death so near to them.

It was therefore with an overwhelming sense of relief that he clambered up the overtowering ice-foot at Depot Point and once more placed his foot on firm ground.

Ascending the hill he scanned the horizon and was relieved to note that a breath of southern wind was carrying the fog to the north, while the floes toward the ship were entirely clear.[19]

Behind him lay Marco Polo Bay, while before him was the seemingly boundless and illimitable expanse of the great polar pack. Ample food dainties in the cache at his feet invited refreshment, while physical exhaustion, from rough, steady travel, demanded rest and sleep. Either need would have here stayed a man of less heroic stamp than Parr, but he paused not to eat a bit of food, to drink a cup of tea, nor to take the brief rest that his tired muscles so sadly needed.

A short distance beyond he scrambled down over the precipitous ice-foot to the chaotic, pressure-ridged ice-masses of Black Cliffs Bay, and fixed his course in a bee-line to the farthest cape, Harley Spit to the southeast. He could not later recall the awful trials of that cross-bay travel. With failing strength and exhausted body, to his confused mind the furlongs seemed to lengthen out to miles and the hours were of interminable duration. With his great and splendid vitality almost utterly spent, he reached the cape after nine hours of utmost effort.

A short mile along the ice-foot brought in sight a standing tent which stirred his heart with visions of expectant comrades from the ship with God-sent aid. Hastening his lagging steps as best he could, he reached the tent and raised the flap. Alas! it was empty, and for the moment he was overcome with bitter and disheartening disappointment. Would aid ever come or help be obtained?

With the mental reaction he became conscious of his fearfully exhausted condition and knew that he could go no farther without rest and drink. He lighted his tiny spirit lamp, filled the pot with fresh snow, unrolled a sleeping-bag and crept into it for warmth and rest. In time, all too short it was to the worn-out man, the kettle sang its usually welcome song of steam. Then came the tea--strong and almost boiling it stirred his blood, cheered his heart, and gave vigor to his wearied body; he needed none for his unfailing courage. On rising he found that his legs were so stiff that he could barely place one before the other, but with a great effort of will he was soon able to reach the floe and to go on toward Cape Sheridan, beyond which at a short distance lay the _Alert_, and safety.

Pressing onward steadily, though with decreasing speed, from hour to hour he hoped against hope to meet some sailor comrade from the ship--either hunters seeking game or officers taking their daily exercise. Time and again a black speck on the floe took the mocking semblance of a man to his longing eyes, only to fade into an inanimate shape. Time and again, as he stumbled or staggered, it seemed as though he would fail, so feeble had the body become and so forceless his will-power. Could he reach the ship? Would help come in time for the dying men behind? Most fearful of all, was the _Alert_ still there? Exposed to the full force of the Arctic Ocean, had she suffered shipwreck or was she unharmed? If safe, why did no one come?

At last he was at Cape Sheridan, and oh! happiness, there against the southern sky were outlined the bare spars and the covered deck of the long-sought _Alert_. She was but a few miles away, yet in his enfeebled state she seemed to recede rather than to advance as he dragged himself along.

But everything has its end, and in six of his weariest hours Parr reached the ship, strangely enough without being seen. Striding silently across the deck, nodding only to the officer on watch, he nervously knocked on the panels of Captain Nares's cabin. The door swung open at once and for a few seconds the captain stared vaguely at his subordinate. So solemn was Parr's look, so soiled his garb, so weary his expression, and so travel-stained was his person that Sir George at first failed to recognize him.

Meanwhile matters had steadily gone from bad to worse with Markham and his men. On the day following Parr's departure, Gunner George Porter, who had been sick seven weeks with suspected scurvy, was taken with retching, with recurring spasms and stertorous breathing, which ended in his death. Regard for the safety of the living did not permit of carrying him farther, and he was buried on the floe, in a deep snow-drift near the camp. At the head of his grave was placed a cross improvised from the oar of a boat and a sledge batten.

The day following the death of Porter only five of the fourteen men were able to enter the sledge harness, so that Commander Markham had to make the needful sixth sledgeman to move the party forward. The next day two other men failed utterly, immediately before the arrival of the relief party from the _Alert_--promptly despatched as a result of Parr's heroic journey. Before reaching the ship there remained only three of Markham's original fifteen men who were not dragged on the relief sledges, unable to walk.

Heroic as was the dauntless spirit that spurred Parr to the journey which saved the lives of several of his field comrades, it was well matched by his indomitable will and by his powers of physical endurance. By the route traversed Parr marched over forty miles, which under any conditions would have been a remarkable achievement, without extended break or rest, over the rough surface of the Great Frozen Sea, whose broken, disjointed ice-masses present difficulties of travel to an almost incredible degree.

Not only was Parr's march practically unbroken, but it was made in less than twenty-three hours, a somewhat shorter time than was taken by Dr. Moss and Lieutenant May with a fresh dog team "on a forced march" for the relief of the party.

Parr's conduct after his most heroic actions was thoroughly modest and unassuming. In the field and later at home his life appears to have been an exemplification of his sledge motto during the northern journeys, of _Faire sans dire_ (To do and not to talk).

In recalling the past and glorious deeds of British seamen in arctic work during the past century, looking to the future one may ask with Drayton:

"O, when again shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen?"

FOOTNOTE:

[19] The clearing of the fog was providential for the invalids. Markham records at that time: "Our usual weather overtook us, and the land was entirely concealed by the fog. This increases our anxiety about Parr." The solidarity and altruism of the party is shown by the anxiety not for themselves but for others.

RELIEF OF AMERICAN WHALERS AT POINT BARROW

"Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt. Dispraise or blame: nothing but well and fair." --MILTON.

After a long and dangerous besetment in the polar ice to the north of Bering Strait, the American whaling-ship _Navrach_ was abandoned August 14, 1897. Twenty-one of her seamen perished on the moving ice-pack of the Arctic Ocean in their efforts to reach land across the drifting ice. Captain Whitesides with his brave wife and six of the crew intrusted their fortunes to the sea, and almost miraculously escaped by using a canvas boat, which was alternately hauled across the floes and launched where open water was reached. On landing at Copper Island, off the coast of Asia, the party was in danger of death through starvation when rescued by the United States revenue-cutter _Bear_, which chanced to touch at that point. The news of the loss of the _Navrach_ and the reports of very bad ice conditions in the Arctic Ocean created great alarm in the United States, owing to the fact that no less than eight whale-ships with crews of two hundred and sixty-five men were missing that autumn. Appeals for prompt aid were made to the President of the United States by the members of the chamber of commerce of San Francisco and by other interested persons. Refitting in three weeks' time, the United States revenue-cutter _Bear_, manned by volunteers under Captain Francis Tuttle, R.C.S., sailed from Seattle on November 27, 1897, and wintered at Unalaska. The story of the relief of the whalers, happily and heroically accomplished by this expedition, forms the substance of this sketch.

* * * * *

From the character of the duties of the revenue-cutter service its officers and men are not favored with such frequent opportunities for adventurous deeds as are those of the army and of the navy, but whenever occasion has arisen they have ever shown those qualities of courage, self-sacrifice, and devotion which go far to inspire heroic action.

As the period of navigation had already passed for the northern seas, the _Bear_ was to winter at Dutch Harbor, Unalaska, communicating with the distressed seamen by an overland expedition, which should aid and encourage them until the spring navigation should make their rescue possible. If practicable the land party was to be set ashore on the north side of Norton Sound, near Cape Nome, which would require some eight hundred miles of sledge travel at the least.

From the eager volunteers for this arduous and novel service, Captain Tuttle approved of Lieutenant D. H. Jarvis, commanding, Lieutenant E. P. Bertholf, and Dr. S. J. McCall, with a reindeer driver, Koltchoff.

With dauntless courage and skill Captain Tuttle skirted the growing ice-fields of Bering Sea, seeking in vain a lead through which he could reach Norton Sound, but it was finally clear that the ship could not be put north of Nunavak Island without danger of her loss as well as sealing the fate of the whalers. The winter darkness, storm conditions, an uncharted coast, and drifting ice forced him to land the party as far north of Kuskowim Bay as could be safely reached. Fortunately, on December 16, a wild, stormy day, the shore ice drifted far enough seaward to enable a hasty landing to be made near Cape Vancouver. There were forebodings of evil in attempting this winter journey now stretched out to fifteen hundred miles, under conditions which increased its perils. But with the splendid confidence and magnificent vitality of youth, the fearless revenue-officers hailed with satisfaction the beginning of their arduous journey of mercy and relief.

South of the landing was a deserted village, but fortunately a few miles to the north, near Cape Vancouver, was the still occupied Eskimo settlement of Tunanak. Ashore, Jarvis found himself in difficulty, for the snow-free rocky beach was impassable for his sledges, while he was without boats. Here, as elsewhere on this journey, the native aid was obtained on which he had counted from the knowledge of the kindly feelings of these children of the ice that he had gained in his past cruises in the Bering Sea region. As there was now an ice-free channel along the coast, the Eskimo sea-hunters deftly lashed together in pairs their kayaks (skin canoes), catamaran fashion, and piled thereon helter-skelter the various supplies. Jarvis and Bertholf watched this cargo-stowing with great anxiety, not unmingled with doubt as to the outcome of the voyage. Following the progress of the kayaks and shouting advice and encouragement from the sea-shore, they were dismayed to see now and then a breaking wave threaten to overwhelm the boats and to find that the short sea trip had ruined much of the precious flour and indispensable hard bread.

Overhauling his cumbersome, heavy sledges and inspecting his few unsuitable dogs, he knew that they could never do all the work required. Fortunately he found a half-breed trader, Alexis, who agreed to furnish dogs, sledges, and serve as a guide to the party as far as the army post at Saint Michael. As the half-breed knew the short shore route and was familiar with the location and supplies of the succession of native villages, this enabled them to drop much of their heavy baggage and travel light. Their outfit was carefully selected, consisting of sleeping-bags, changes of clothing, camp-stoves, rifles, ammunition, axes, and a small supply of food.

Their three native sledges were open box-frames, ten feet by two in size and eighteen inches high, resting on wooden runners a foot high. Tough, pliant lashings of walrus hide bound together with the utmost tightness the frame and the runners. This method of construction, in which not a bit of iron enters, avoids rigidity and thus gives a flexibility and life to the sledge which enables it to withstand shocks and endure hard usage, which would soon break a solid frame into pieces. A cargo-cover of light canvas not only closely fits the bottom and sides of the box-frame but overlaps the top. When the cargo-cover is neatly hauled taut and is properly lashed to the sides of the sledge the load, if it has been snugly packed, is secure from accidents. Its compact mass is equally safe from thievish dogs, from the penetrating drift of the fierce blizzards, and from dangers of loss through jolts or capsizings.

Of a single piece for each dog, the harness used by the natives is of seal-skin; the half-breeds often make it of light canvas, not only as better suited to the work but especially for its quality of non-eatableness which is a vital factor during days of dog-famine on long journeys. The harness is collar-shaped with three long bands; the collar slips over the dog's head and one band extends to the rear over the animal's back. The other bands pass downward between the dog's legs and, triced up on each side, are fastened permanently to the back-band, where there is also attached a drag-thong or pulling-trace about two feet long. In harnessing, the three loops described are slipped respectively over the head and legs of the dog.

The animals are secured in pairs to the long draught-rope of the sledge by the Alaskan pioneers, who much prefer this method to the old plan of the natives whereby the dogs were strung out in single file. With the dogs in couples the draught-line is shorter, so that the better-controlled animals will haul a larger load.

In the first day's journey they crossed a mountain range two thousand feet high, and in making the descent of the precipitous northern slope Jarvis records a sledging expedient almost unique in sledge travel. The four Eskimo drivers detached the dogs from the sledge, and winding around the runners small chains so as to sink in the deep snow and impede their progress, prepared to coast down the mountain. Two men secured themselves firmly on each sledge, and when once started the descent was so steep that the sledges attained a fearful speed, which brought them almost breathless to the bottom of the range in ten minutes.

Jarvis describes in graphic language the trying task of feeding the always famished, wolf-like dogs: "They are ever hungry, and when one appears with an armful of dried fish, in their eagerness to get a stray mouthful the dogs crowd around in a fighting, jumping mass, which makes it difficult to keep one's balance. After throwing a fish to each dog, it takes all of us with clubs to keep off the larger fellows and to see that the weaker ones keep and eat their share. When being fed they are like wild animals--snarl, bite, and fight continually until everything is eaten."

As the dogs, worn-out by the hard journey, could not be replaced by fresh ones at the Eskimo colony of Ki-yi-lieng, Bertholf and Koltchoff waited there to bring them up later, while Jarvis and McCall pushed on, marching across the Yukon delta in temperatures below zero daily. They found the natives of this alluvial region wretchedly poor and illy protected against the bitter cold. To the eye they were a motley crowd, as they had levied tribute for clothing on the birds of the air, the beasts of the tundra, the fish of the river, and the game of the sea. There were trousers and heavy boots from the seal, inner jackets of the breasts of the wild geese, fur ornamentation of the arctic fox, and the poorer Eskimos even made boots, when seal were lacking, from the tanned skin of the Yukon salmon.

With all their dire poverty they were not unmindful of their duty to strangers and always offered the shelter of the _khazeem_ (a hut built for general use by the unmarried men, from which women are rigidly excluded). His sense of fastidiousness had not yet left Jarvis, who surprised the Eskimos by tenting in the midwinter cold rather than endure the tortures of the stifling _khazeem_, which to the natives was a place of comfort and pleasure. Of this half-underground hut Jarvis says in part: "The sides are of drift-wood, filled in with brush. The roof is ingeniously made by laying logs along the sides and lashing them thereto with walrus thongs. Two logs notched on the ends to fit securely are then laid across the first logs on opposite sides, but a little farther in toward the centre. This method is repeated until a sort of arch is formed, which is filled in with earth-covered brush leaving a small hole in the centre of the roof. Other drift-wood, split in rough slabs, forms the floor, leaving an entrance space about two feet square. From this hole in the floor, which is always several feet below the level of the surrounding ground, an entrance passage has been dug out large enough for a man to crawl through it into the main earth-floored room. Over the entrance opening is hung a skin to keep out the air, while the roof opening is covered with the thin, translucent, dried intestines of the seal or walrus, which gives faint light during the day.

"In the _khazeem_ the animal heat from the bodies of the natives, with that from seal-oil lamps, raises the temperature so high that the men sit around with the upper part of the body entirely naked. The only ventilation is through a small hole in the roof, invariably closed at night in cold weather. The condition of the air can be better imagined than described, with fifteen or twenty natives sleeping inside the small room."

The culmination of danger and suffering on the march in the delta journey was at Pikmiktellik, when they strayed from the trail and nearly perished in a violent storm. Almost as by miracle they staggered by chance into the village long after dark, so exhausted that without strength to put up their tent they gladly occupied the dreaded _khazeem_.

Twelve days brought them to Saint Michael, where they were given cordial and humane aid from Colonel (now General) George M. Randall, United States Army, and the agents of the Alaska Commercial and North American Trading Companies. Without such help Jarvis must have failed. The feet of his dogs were worn bare by rapid, rough travel of three hundred and seventy-five miles, the rubber-covered, goat-skin sleeping-bags were cold and heavy, which in bitterer weather would be actually dangerous. Deerskin clothing and fresh dogs were necessary for rapid travel with light loads on which final success depended.

Leaving orders for Bertholf, yet far behind, to bring up relief supplies from Unalaklik to Cape Blossom, by crossing the divide at the head of Norton Bay, Jarvis and McCall pushed ahead on January 1, 1898. The third day out they met a native woman travelling south on snow-shoes, who told them that she was with her husband and Mate Tilton of the _Belvedere_; the two parties had passed each other, unseen, on trails three hundred feet apart. Tilton brought news even worse than had been expected. Three ships had been crushed by the ice-pack, two losing all their provisions, while five other ships were frozen up in the ocean ice. As the worn-out mate went south, Jarvis pushed on with new energy, realizing the great need ahead.

Severe storms and deep snow made travel very slow, and at times the runners sank so deep that the body of the sledge dragged, while the dogs were almost buried in their efforts to struggle on. They soon realized that actual arctic travel is far from being like the usual pictures of dog-sledging. Instead of frisky dogs with tails curled over their backs, with drivers comfortably seated on the sledge cracking a whip at the flying team, snarling dogs and worn-out men tramped slowly and silently through the unbroken snow.

It very rarely occurs that there is either a beaten or a marked trail, so the lead is taken by a man who keeps in advance, picking out the best road, while his comrades are hard at work lifting the sledge over bad places or keeping it from capsizing. The king dogs, who lead the way and set the pace, never stray from the broken path save in rare instances of sighting tempting game, but follow exactly the trail-breaker. One day Jarvis came to fresh, deep snow, where it took all four men to break a way for the sledge, and when they themselves were worn out they had the misery of seeing their utterly exhausted dogs lie down on the trail, indifferent equally to the urging voice or the cutting whip. That wretched night the party had to make its camp in the open instead of at one of the native huts which were always in view.

The dog teams were sent back from the Swedish mission, Golovin Bay, where reindeer were available. Of this new and unusual method of travel, Jarvis, who drove a single-deer sledge, says: "All hands must be ready at the same time when starting a deer-train. As soon as the other animals see the head team start they are off with a jump, and for a short time they keep up a very high rate of speed. If one is not quick in jumping and in holding on to his sledge, he is likely either to lose his team or be dragged bodily along.