FROZEN UP;OR,My Polar Experiences.ByWilliam Henry Kingston,Author of “Peter the Whaler,” “Washed Ashore,” &c., &c.
ByWilliam Henry Kingston,Author of “Peter the Whaler,” “Washed Ashore,” &c., &c.
“In a few minutes an Esquimaux, with his seal spear in his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us.”—Page 52.
“In a few minutes an Esquimaux, with his seal spear in his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us.”—Page 52.
“In a few minutes an Esquimaux, with his seal spear in his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us.”—Page 52.
You ask for a yarn, my friends. I’ll spin you one with all my heart. You are all agreed that Christmas is a merry time. It ought to be so with you who have many kind friends around you, a warm, blazing fire, plenty of roast beef and plum-pudding, and other satisfactory things; and good houses, and warm clothing, and numberless other blessings, spiritual as well as temporal. But, I say boys, that should not allow us to forget that there are thousands of our fellow-creatures, and of our fellow-countrymen, too, who are perhaps at this moment starving and freezing—dying of cold and hunger. Those who have never suffered themselves are apt not to think of the sufferings to which others are exposed. I, however, can never forget a winter I spent—where do you think? In Scotland. Oh, no. Shetland? Further north. Iceland? Further north still. At the North Pole, or, at least, not far off it. I went to sea in the old “Grampus,” Greenland whaler, from Hull, for a summer trip, hoping to be back with my friends by the end of October. The old “Grampus” was barque-rigged, 350 tons burden, carried six whale-boats, threehung up on each side, and a crew of fifty men, all told—consisting of harpooners, boat-steerers, line-managers, coopers, carpenters, foremast-men, landsmen, and apprentices. Each man was to have a share in the profits on every whale caught, so that all were interested. The ship was very strongly built, with ice-knees to withstand the pressure of the ice. When I examined her, and observed that her bows were one mass of wood, I thought that nothing could harm her. I little knew, at that time, the tremendous power of masses of ice when grinding together, though no storm is raging over head, and the sea beneath may seem calm as a mill-pond. Our courses, that is our lower sails, were differently shaped to those of an ordinary merchantman, being narrow at the foot, and fitted with booms, so that they would swing round of themselves when, as was often the case, a few hands only were left on board to work the ship. But an important feature in our ship, in common with other whalers, by which she might be known at a distance, was the “crow’s nest” at her maintop-gallant-mast head. It was like a big cask, and contained a seat, and a place for a telescope, a speaking-trumpet, a flag, and a few other articles. Here an officer was stationed, when whales were supposed to be near, to watch for their appearance. Our boats were different to those in general use aboard trading vessels, the stem and stern were alike, and were about twenty-six feet long. Each carried six whale-lines, of 120 fathoms in length, and harpoons and lances, an axe for cutting the line should it foul, and many other articles. The boats pulled from four to six oars. The captain, or one of the mates, acted as harpooner, the boat-steerer ranked next to him, and the line-manager took the third place. The crew were formed into divisionsaccording to the number of boats, and thus each division consisted of a harpooner, boat-steerer, line-manager, and four or five rowers. The harpooner had command, and when in pursuit pulled the bow oar. I looked forward, with great delight, to the cruise. To see a real, palpable iceberg—not a mere painted one in a panorama—and huge living whales caught, was, I thought, worth going all round the world for, and would amply repay me for any danger I might have to overcome during the short summer trip I expected to make. Captain Blowhard, the master of the “Grampus,” was a relative of my mother, and had offered to take me as a supernumerary in his own cabin. If I liked a sea life I was to continue in it as a profession, but if not, I was to return on shore and learn to wield a pen or a yard measure, instead of a harpoon or a sword. The full complement of our crew, including some of our best men, was to be made up at Lerwick, in Shetland, where we called to take them on board. We remained three days in the Sound, off the chief of those treeless but highly picturesque islands, and, I must say, that a more hospitable, kind-hearted, pleasant-mannered people I never met. They have, however, one grievous cause of complaint. The map-makers will persist in putting their group of islands up in an out-of-the-way corner of the maps, so that a very large proportion of the human race do not know where they are really to be found. In spite of this, however, they are a tolerably happy and contented community. Away we sailed on our voyage, which was anything but a smooth one, for we were tumbled and tossed about by the big waves in a manner which I thought must shake even our stout ship to pieces. They did not, however; and, towards the end of April, our captain showed me our position on themap, not far from Davis Straits. The next morning, going on deck, the sky very blue, the sea tolerably smooth, and the sun shining brightly, though the air was unusually keen, I saw close to us, towering up high above the masts of the ship, a white, floating mountain—an iceberg—pure as alabaster. Curiously shaped peaks formed the upper part, which seemed to rest on a base of arches, forming the mouths of caverns, of the most delicate blue tint. The peaks glittered brightly in the sunbeams, and every instant seemed to change their shape, either as the berg moved slowly round, or we passed by. I exclaimed that I had never seen anything so magnificent. “Wait a bit, youngster, you’ll see stranger sights than that before long,” observed Sam Grummet, our first mate, who had followed the fortunes of Captain Blowhard for the best part of his life. I had one shipmate of about my own age, “Jack;” he had another name, but he was never called anything but Jack. He and I soon became fast friends, though he was before the mast and I was in the cabin. Then there was Sandy Dow, a boat-steerer, a true-hearted and an honest Shetlander. He took an interest in me from the first; not a mere fancy, but because I was young, thoughtless, and inexperienced, and he earnestly wished to do me good. A few days passed away after we got among icebergs, and we were in hourly expectation of making the ice. Even in calm weather it requires great vigilance to discover an opening into which the ship may sail, but when blowing hard, as it did when we entered Davis Straits, it was a very anxious time. The danger was, however, chiefly from the washing pieces of ice, which are often large masses just even with the water. An experienced hand was stationed at each yard-arm throughout the night to look out for them. Mywonder was, as I saw the men up there, that they did not drop asleep and fall off, as I am sure that I should have done. At length, a collection of sheets of ice appeared one morning ahead of us, with passages between them, into which no sooner did we run than we found the sea smooth as a mill-pond. Gaily we glided along, sometimes through narrow lanes, at other times across broad lakes bordered by ice. Our crow’s nest, and boats, and gear, were got ready, the first being occupied during the day by a look-out, for any moment whales might appear, and the boats would start in chase. We were at this time sailing along the coast of Greenland, and, although we were from twelve to twenty miles off it, so lofty are the mountains, and so pure the atmosphere, that often it appeared as if we were close under them. Indeed, when we at length stood in for the land, it seemed as if it was actually drawing back from us, so long did we sail on and yet seemed to be getting no nearer. I remembered the story of some of the old navigators who, in consequence of this, thought the country was an enchanted one, and rather than venture on it put about and made the best of their way home again.
As the season advanced, the days gradually increased in length, till the sun itself was visible at midnight, and darkness was banished from our part of the globe. Still, there was a difference, for the night always seemed calmer and more quiet than the day. At length, our ears were gladdened by a shout from the crow’s nest of “A fish, a fish; she spouts, she spouts.” The crew had till then been moving leisurely about, but, in an instant, all were in a state of the greatest excitement. Three boats were sent away in pursuit. No one, by rule, goes in the boats except those who row or steer; but just as Sandy Dow’s boat was shoving off I slipped in, and so eager was everybody to be off that they did not stop to put me on board again. Away we dashed, the water foaming up at our bows. Sandy’s practised eye had marked the spot where the whale had gone down, and well he knew where it would come up again. On we went, and there was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s back rose gradually out of it, while a column of steam-like vapour ascended into the air.
“There was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s back rose gradually out of it.”—Page 41.
“There was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s back rose gradually out of it.”—Page 41.
“There was a whirling in the waters, and the monster’s back rose gradually out of it.”—Page 41.
Our harpooner, who pulled the bow oar, rose from his seat. For an instant he stood with his weapon in hand, then darted it with all his strength against the side of the whale, into which it sunk deeply. We were fast. Downwards plunged the whale, the line flying out with lightning rapidity, making the timber over which it passed smoke with the friction. We had but short time for breathing. “She’ll soon be up again,” observed Sandy. So, indeed, she was, when we again hauled up to her with the line, and three lances were plunged into her sides. The agony made her spring almost out of the water. Then down she went, as if she could thus free herself from her tormentors, but the depths of the ocean are no permanent home for the whale, she must come up to breathe. She soon, therefore, appeared, and again we were at her. As we drew near, I saw a huge body in between us and the bright sun, and instantly afterwards there was a loud flop, and a thick shower of a ruddy liquid descended on our heads. We had reason to be thankful that the whale’s tail did not strike us instead of the water, or there would not have been much left either of the boat or crew to pick up. We backed out of the monster’s way, for she was, in her flurry, twisting and turning, and lashing the water, till she was surrounded by a mass of crimson foam,while our crew cheered lustily at the thought of the prize they had won, for such a whale as we had now killed is worth not much less than five hundred pounds. Meantime one of the other boats had got fast to another whale, a huge monster, which was giving a great deal of trouble. As soon, therefore, as our capture turned over on her side, and showed that she was dead, we stuck a flag into her, and, hauling in our lines, went to the assistance of our shipmates. Fearing that the whale would after all escape them, they closed in on her, to plunge a fresh harpoon into her side. Loud cries for help reached our ears. With one sweep of her tail she had knocked the boat to pieces, and we feared had killed some if not all of the crew. We dashed on with redoubled speed. “Make fast to her, make fast,” shouted the harpooner, whom we met swimming towards us. All the other men whom we saw had secured oars with which to support themselves, and seemed in no way distressed. We accordingly approached the whale. Another harpoon, and a fresh shower of darts, were fixed in her, and not till then would the crew consent to be taken on board. Two poor fellows had, however, been struck by the whale, and must have been instantly killed, for they sank immediately.
“With one sweep of her tail she knocked the boat to pieces.”—Page 42.
“With one sweep of her tail she knocked the boat to pieces.”—Page 42.
“With one sweep of her tail she knocked the boat to pieces.”—Page 42.
But I have not time to give you an account of all the whales we killed. We were unusually successful for the season of the year and that side of the bay. We had now to cross over to the west side, in some of the bays on which coast whales were said to abound. To effect this, we were obliged to pass through the middle ice, a work of great labour and often of danger. The route chosen by our captain was round by the north, across Melville Bay. At first we got on merrily enough, a course of northerly winds having blown the ice to the southward. After a time, however, the favourable wind ceased, and the ice drifting slowly back, we were obliged to commence cutting our way through it. While it moved thus gently, with our ice saws we cut a canal towards the nearest piece of clear water we could see ahead, and towed the ship along it. Then, perhaps, we were able to make sail for an hour or so, once more to find a barrier drawn across our course. Sometimes for a whole day together the crew were sawing and towing, and I heard some of them say that they might have to go on that way for a month. Still they kept their tempers, and worked with a will, in the hopes of getting a full ship at the end. I was awaked, however, one morning, by hearing the captain summoned on deck, and when I followed him there I saw nothing but long faces, and not without good reason. The clouds were flying rapidly overhead from the S.S.W., and the ice was moving along and upheaving in a peculiarly ominous manner. No time was lost in getting out the ice saws to cut a dock into which to tow the ship. This is a work of great labour, but all hands worked with a will, for they well knew that the safety of the ship depended on the speed with which it was accomplished. The ship had just been towed into the dock, when the ice to the southward began to lift and heave more violently than before. I saw the captain, Mr. Grummet, Sandy Dow, and other old hands, looking out anxiously, and I guessed not without good cause. There was a loud rumbling crashing sound, something like thunder, and yet more terrible. Not a single spot of clear water could be seen, but far as the eye could reach towards the south there appeared huge masses of ice rising with their edges uppermost, leaping and overlapping each other, tearingand crushing those below them to pieces. Still on they pressed, mass behind mass, the places of those which rose up in front immediately supplied by others in the rear. The ice surrounding us was in violent commotion. Closer and closer it pressed around. Suddenly, as if pushed towards us by some unseen giant’s hand, a huge floe came gliding on. “A nip, a nip,” cried the crew. Calmly the captain had stood watching the upheaving of the icy sea. He now ordered all hands to bring their bedding and clothes on deck. Some casks of provision had already been got up. These were lowered on to the ice alongside, and rolled to a distance. The crew followed, each man laden with as much as he could carry. Captain Blowhard brought up the rear with his chronometer, compass, sextant, and other nautical instruments and books. He had scarcely got thirty yards from the ship when she was caught between two huge masses of ice, which came sweeping by. Her stout timbers could no more resist the prodigious pressure than could a wicker basket. One moment I looked round, and she stood with her yards and rigging complete; the next, a grinding and crashing sound reached my ears, and when I again looked she was a mass of wreck, her tall masts falling, and her sides literally pressed together till they met.
Part of the floe had gone underneath her, and then rising, had cast up her cargo and stores, scattering them around, with portions of the deck and bulwarks, and the boats. “I never knew anything happen but what it might be worse,” observed Sandy Dow, as he stood looking at the wreck. “There, see what Providence has done for us. Our good ship is lost, there’s no doubt about that; but the provisions, and stores, and boats are saved, and with their help we may yet see ourhomes again.” These words roused the drooping spirits of our men, few of whom had before seen so complete a wreck as was our good ship the “Grampus.” All hands were immediately set to work to collect the various articles, and to drag them to that part of the ice which appeared most secure.
Scarcely had the mischief been done than the commotion ceased, in consequence of the wind falling, probably to the southward, and also of the strength of the barriers which had been thrown up outside us. Looking north, there appeared to be one unbroken field of ice, while some thirty miles away we could see a lofty cliff, which showed us our position. That distant sight of land, barren and inhospitable as we knew it to be, somewhat cheered our spirits, as we hoped that, should the ice again break up, we might then at all events find firm footing for our feet. We had no lack of materials for building huts or tents, and these having been erected, and fires lighted, the men were ordered to refresh themselves, and take some rest. In a few hours the men were ready for work, when they commenced constructing sleighs on which to drag our stores to the land. Later in the year we should have been safe where we were, but it would at present have been hazardous to remain, lest the ice should move away to the southward, and break up before we could escape from it. Our boats, too, had received so much damage, that they were incapable of conveying us to any of the Danish settlements before they had received a considerable amount of repair. Though the cape looked so near, we found it a very long journey to get there. Most of the crew made three trips before all the articles we required were conveyed to the spot which had been fixed on for our encampment. We still entertained the hope that otherwhalers might pass by within sight of the cape, and that we should get on board them. A large quantity of stores and provisions were still left on the ice, which it was supposed we should not require. Week after week, however, passed by, the ice remained firm, and no whaler appeared to take us off. Captain Blowhard began to look very grave. I observed to him that I thought we might make ourselves very comfortable where we were till another season. “You do not know what an arctic winter is, my lad,” he answered. “But it is not that. It is bad enough to lose one’s ship, but I am thinking of those at home who will be mourning us as dead. It is the thought of their grief which makes me sad.” Our good old captain always thought of others more than of himself.
I might spin a very long yarn about all the things that happened to us, but I have not time. The cold of an arctic winter soon began with all its rigour. We had built huts with stones and earth, and parts of the wreck which we had dragged over the ice, but we were very much cramped, and when the cold began in earnest it penetrated into the interior, and we could not keep ourselves warm even with our thick clothing in bed. As soon, however, as the snow fell, the captain ordered ice-huts to be built, the snow serving as mortar. Large slabs of ice were cut out and built up as if they had been blocks of stone, and with them eight huts were formed of the shape of bee-hives. Each hut held from three to five people comfortably. A long passage led to it, with three different slabs, which served as doors; a slab of clear ice was placed on the top to serve as a window. The bed-places were built of snow, covered over thickly with the twigs of a low shrub which grew on the hill side. This, the captain told us, was exactly thefashion of the Esquimaux huts. We had brought several casks of whale’s blubber, and this served us for fuel, and gave us light and warmth; without it we could not have existed. We had a number of shallow metal washhand basins, these were filled with oil, and along one half of the edge of each a row of wicks, made of moss, was arranged; on the opposite side a piece of blubber was hung up, which, as it gradually melted, replenished the basin with oil. This was in imitation of the lamps used by the Esquimaux. One amply warmed each hut. By thus taking a lesson from those we were accustomed to call ignorant savages, we were enabled to exist, and retain our health, when otherwise we must have perished. Our only fear was that the blubber would not hold out till we could make our escape. Our first huts had been built close under the cliff; but, for the convenience of obtaining ice, we had placed those we now occupied at some distance, close to the water, or, rather, where the water would have been had it not been frozen. Our boats, and a good many of our stores, had been left under the cape. One night—now that the winter had begun the night occupied the greater part of the twenty-four hours—we were aroused by a tremendous rushing, thundering sound. I slept in a hut with Mr. Grummet, Sandy Dow, and the youngest mate. They hurriedly put on their clothes and ran out. I followed their example, though I felt almost frozen in an instant by the bitter wind which met us, for a storm was raging. By the twilight which prevails in that region during night, we could see huge pieces of the cliff and masses of snow come tumbling down in quick succession, one after the other. It was a perfect avalanche, and in a few minutes the whole spot where our summer huts had stood, andwhere our stores and boats now were, was completely overwhelmed. Some of the men even ran away from our present abode, thinking that that also would be overwhelmed, but the captain shouted to them to stand fast, as he was sure that the falling cliff would not reach us, nor did it.
With foreboding hearts we once more hurried back into our huts. Our boats, on which we might have to depend to escape from this inhospitable region, were destroyed; a large portion of the fuel, without which we could not exist, was buried deeply under rocks and snow. As soon as the men had finished taking their necessary rest, and had breakfasted, all hands set off to the scene of the disaster to try and recover some of the stores. On arriving at the spot the task appeared hopeless, so vast was the mass of ruin which covered them. After exploring the ground and digging in various spots, in the hope of finding only snow, we were obliged to return homewards. When Mr. Grummet and I reached our hut, we found that Sandy Dow was not with us. Mr. Grummet asked when I had last seen him. I could not tell, but thought that he must have gone into one of the other huts. We waited dinner for him for some time, but still he did not appear. At last I offered to run round to the other huts and enquire. A snow-storm was raging, and I found it no easy matter to make my way from hut to hut. I did so, however, but no one had seen our friend. When I went to the captain he said that Dow must have certainly remained at the cape, and that a party must set off immediately and try to find him. I smuggled myself in with the party, though the captain was unwilling to let me go, fearing that I might not be able to endure the cold and fatigue. Mr. Grummet led the party, and off we set,thinking that there would be no difficulty in finding the way in spite of the snow-storm. We went on and on, supposing that we should every instant arrive at the cape, and that the snow hid it from our view. Still we did not reach it. At last Mr. Grummet, in a tone of vexation, declared that he had lost his way. The distance was so short, and we had been so accustomed to be guided by the high cape ever in view, that we had come without a compass. The snow came down thicker and thicker, and the prospect of finding our way appeared more and more hopeless. We shouted, thinking that we might possibly after all not be far from the huts, but there was no answer. Mr. Grummet and another officer, who had guns, fired them off, but no report was heard in return. If we remained quiet we might be frozen, for the cold was intense, so we pushed on in the hope that we might before long sight either the huts or the cape. Some of the men proposed that we should halt, build up a snow-hut, and shelter ourselves in it till the snow was over, but to this our leader would not consent. He expressed his belief that the snow might fall for several days, so that we might be completely covered up and unable to work our way out of our hut. Besides, we had come to look for Sandy Dow, and nothing should induce him to give up the search as long as he could move a foot forward. So on we went; every now and then a gun was fired, and we all shouted at the top of our voices. We continued this practice, though with little hope of an answer. We were, therefore, still more surprised when a shout was heard very like ours, and which came from no great distance. Again we shouted, and again there was a reply. Was it only an echo? It was not quite like enough for that. Directly after we heard a bark, and in a few minutes anEsquimaux, with his seal spear in his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us. He saluted us in a friendly manner. To our great satisfaction we found that he could speak a few words of English. He told us that he knew a ship had been lost, and that we were in the neighbourhood, but he did not know exactly where we were located. On our telling him that it was near the cape, he set off in a perfectly opposite direction to that in which we had been going. We explained that we were in search of a lost shipmate, and begged him to help us in our search. To this he at once consented. The snow fell thicker than ever, still our new friend led on with unwavering steps. I felt very sad, for I heard Mr. Grummet say that he scarcely expected to find my friend Sandy alive. An expressive action of the Esquimaux confirmed this opinion. Still we pushed on; at length the cliff appeared before us, and as the snow slackened a little, we could discern a figure seated on a rock and almost bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy blast. That it was Sandy Dow we had little doubt; we hurried towards him; we called his name, but he did not look up. Mr. Grummet and others went up to him and shook him. A low groan was the only sound he uttered. Still that was sufficient to give us hope that he would recover. Mr. Grummet poured a few mouthfuls of brandy down his throat, and then two of the strongest of our party took him between them and hurried him along as fast as they could go. The great thing was to restore circulation. The desired effect was produced, and we had the satisfaction of seeing our friend, under the care of the doctor, himself again. Sandy had stopped behind to explore, when, the snow coming on, he had been prevented reaching the hut, but fortunately found his way back again to the cliff.
“We could discern a figure seated on a rock and almost bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy blast.”—Page 52.
“We could discern a figure seated on a rock and almost bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy blast.”—Page 52.
“We could discern a figure seated on a rock and almost bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy blast.”—Page 52.
Our new friend Upnick told us that he was one of a small party of natives settled for the winter in a bay about ten miles off, and that he was out on an expedition to catch seals when he fell in with us. He was a merry, happy fellow. We wanted him to stop with us, but he replied that he must go back to his family to supply them with blubber and oil for their lamps, and that then he would come back to us. Some of our men agreed to accompany him. When they came back they did not give a very tempting account of the Esquimaux mode of life. Upnick accompanied them. His appearance somewhat raised the spirits of our party, which were getting very low. Our oil was well-nigh expended, and it seemed doubtful whether our provisions would hold out to the spring. It was also a weary time, for though our captain and officers did their best to amuse us, we had but few books, and the weather often kept us for days and days within our huts. Upnick, however, offered to show us how to catch seals, which would give us both food and fuel. He went off some distance from the land, where there was less snow, and his dog hunted about till he found a small hole. To this hole he said the seals came to breathe; he then told our men to sit quiet. They had to wait a long time, till a sound of blowing was heard. Quick as lightning Upnick darted his harpoon down through the hole. The tightened line showed that it had got hold of something; he then began to work away with his ice-knife till he had considerably enlarged the hole, when he drew forth a full-sized seal. He killed three others in the same way, which he and our men dragged to the huts. We gave him some coloured pocket handkerchiefs and a hatchet in return. This afforded, indeed, a seasonable supply of fuel,and we were also very glad of the flesh for food. It was found, however, that though Upnick had showed us how to catch the seals, our men could but ill follow out his lessons. In the first place they had great difficulty in finding the holes, and when found they were not in time to catch the seals, or did not hear them blow, or did not properly direct their harpoons.
We had hung up the seals on spars just outside the huts, that we might chop off as much as we required. We had been for some time asleep one night, when Dow awoke, saying that he heard a peculiar noise outside. He instantly jumped up, and slipping on his clothes, ran out with a harpoon in his hand. He had not been gone long before we heard him shouting for help. Mr. Grummet had been meantime putting on his clothes, and followed with a loaded musket. I slipped out after him, when what was my horror to see Sandy Dow in the embrace of a huge white polar bear! “Fire, fire, or he will squeeze the breath out of me,” he cried out. Not only was the monster squeezing poor Sandy, but he was threatening to take a piece out of his shoulder with his huge jaws. No time was to be lost; Mr. Grummet advanced cautiously and fired close past Sandy’s head down the animal’s mouth. Another man came up the next instant with a whale spear, which he plunged into its side, when the bear, letting go his hold of Sandy, rolled over, and was very soon dead. The creature had been attracted to the place by the seals, of which he had already eaten a large piece. He was welcome to it, considering that his own carcass afforded us many a welcome meal. We carried Sandy into the hut, for he was very much hurt by the bear. “It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody guid,” heobserved. “If the bear had na grabbed me, we should have gane without his steaks.”
The supply of fresh meat was very valuable, and restored most of the invalids to health. Still there was the want of blubber for our lamps. Upnick, however, on seeing that we could not catch the seals as well as he did, made a bargain with the captain to act as our hunter. Some of the men by degrees became more expert, and with his help obtained a sufficient supply to keep our lamps burning. One day, however, he told us that he must go away, and, in spite of all the captain’s expostulations, he took his departure with the treasures he had accumulated, and we were left to our own resources. Oftentimes we were reduced to a very sad plight, and to make our oil last longer, we had all to congregate in two or three huts; this increased the heat certainly, but, as there was no means of ventilation, it was far from pleasant. Such was the state of things when Christmas day arrived. Our crew were divided into two parties; our fare was seals’ blubber, and twenty-five of us were seated round one oil lamp in a hut about twelve feet in diameter. We had materials for a plum pudding, but as hot water was too valuable to throw away we had mixed it porridge fashion: Still we tried to make ourselves as merry as circumstances would allow. Now and then one of the party would brave the snow-storm raging outside for the sake of carrying some amusing message to our friends in the other hut, knowing that we should get a facetious answer in return. After this, however, matters grew worse; in vain the best hunters went out to catch seals; not a pint of oil remained, and even inside our huts we could not have existed twenty-four hours without the warmth of the lamp. We talkedonce more of trying to dig down to our stores, but the crew soon found that their strength was inadequate to the undertaking. And now that Christmas had gone by, that time which we had all expected to pass with our families in comfort and happiness at home, the true horrors of our situation burst on us. The scurvy, that scourge of mariners, broke out, and several of our poor fellows could scarcely move hand or foot. All those who could get out were engaged in seal killing; their success was small, though they procured just sufficient to keep two and sometimes three lamps burning at a time. Week after week and month after month passed by, and we began to fear that we should not escape from our perilous position till late in the summer, when perhaps some whalers might pass within sight of our encampment. How many of us might be alive then was the question. Death had already begun to thinour numbers. One day, Jack and I, who had kept our health better than any of our shipmates, were amusing ourselves at a little distance from the hut, when we saw, approaching, several sleighs drawn by dogs, with an Esquimaux walking before the first to lead the way. We ran into the hut to announce the coming of the strangers, and then ran out again to meet them. The first man was Upnick; the next we took to be an Esquimaux, but a cheery voice in English hailed us, and we soon found that this was an expedition sent expressly for our relief.
Upnick, on leaving us, had travelled south, and at length had fallen in with a whaler, the “Hope,” beset in the ice, but which had received no damage. She was commanded by a cousin and an old friend of our worthy captain. He had satisfied himself from Upnick’s account that the “Grampus” had been lost, and, as soon as he was able to collect some dog-sleighs, he had sent them off under the command of his son, the person who had first hailed us, to our relief; he had not forgotten to send some lime-juice, and potted vegetables, and other anti-scorbutics, which greatly contributed to the restoration to health of the sick. Some of our men without hesitation volunteered to remain where they were till the summer; the rest set out with the captain to join the “Hope,” which, being nearly full, it was expected would return home early in the summer, or as soon as she was released from her icy prison.
We were warmly welcomed on board the “Hope” by Captain Tom Blowhard and his officers and crew, and soon forgot all the toils and dangers we had gone through. Many people might have pitied us having to live on board a whaler frozen up in the ice, but we did not pity ourselves, for, compared tothe life we had so long led, we considered that we fared luxuriously. Even, however, when the sun shone brightly and the days grew long we were not free of the ice, and I heard some of the crew remarking that we might possibly remain beset the whole summer through. The captain replied, when he heard of this, that if an inch of water was to be seen within a mile of the ship we would work our way to it. He was as good as his word, and before long the ice-saws were set to work; and, by hard toil, often sawing away for a fortnight, we were once more free of the ice and bounding over the heaving waveson a southerly course. We had still, however, reminders of the northern latitude in which we were sailing, in the shape of icebergs, to avoid which, during the night, we had to keep a very bright look out. One afternoon, dinner just being over when I went on deck, a very fine one, on which the sun shone brightly, appeared right ahead. As I stood watching it, the top appeared to be bending forward; so it was, there it came, the whole mountain mass collapsing in the most extraordinary manner, till a few fragments alone appeared above the waters to show where it had been. It was fortunate that we were not close under it, or we might have been overwhelmed by the ruins.
This was the last among the many providential escapes for which I had to be thankful during my trip to the North Pole. Three weeks afterwards, we were gladdening the hearts of our relatives and friends in Hull, and sending some of the more sensitive into hysterics in consequence of our sudden re-appearance after they had so long given us up as lost. Terrible as were our sufferings at times, now that they were over I could look back at my adventures with pleasure, and never grew weary of benefiting my friends with the yarn which I have just spun for your amusement.