CHAPTER III.ICE-NAVIGATION.
Whilethe chain is clicking in the hawse-hole, let us take a quiet view of the situation. There is no need, however, to describe with much minuteness the “Melville Bay pack” which lay before us. The ice freshly broken up in any large river is a sufficient illustration, provided the imagination will stretch the river to three hundred miles in width, and magnify the drifting fields of ice in proportion. In the early part of the season this ice is very hard, and many feet in thickness; but by August (which was the time of our being there) it has become porous, its thickness has been greatly reduced, much of it is on the eve of disappearing altogether, and still more of it has quite melted away. Almost all the fields, or the “floes,” as they are called by the whalers, have been eaten through in places; and over all there are pools of water formed of melted snow, which give them a mottled appearance.
In the month of August this “pack” is mostly confined to the Melville Bay region; hence the name of “Melville Bay pack,” which I have used before. At that season the navigation is not particularly difficult or dangerous. By keeping well away from the land the passage can then always be made with safety. It was by following the opposite course that Captain Sir Francis M’Clintock found himself delayed in 1857, with his ship firmly frozen fast, and with no alternative but to pass the winter drifting with the “pack” in a most uncomfortable and hazardoussituation. Had he followed the example and advice of Dr. Kane, he might have won his knightly spurs a year sooner, and with less discomfort.
Earlier in the summer the pack extends far down Baffin’s Bay; and south of the Arctic Circle it stretches away to the coasts of Labrador and Newfoundland. And it is here that commerce profits by it, for the seals flock to it the moment it has ceased to be the solid ice of the winter, and become the “pack” ice of the spring. Of these seals there are many varieties. Some are permanent denizens of the North; others are migratory. These last only are found so low as Newfoundland and Labrador. Seeking the ice in the month of March, they crawl upon it, and there bring forth their young. These seals come up from the South—from the St. Lawrence region and along the shores of New Brunswick and Maine, where they have wintered—and with the ice they drift back south again until it melts away. Other varieties (the true Arctic seals) adhere to the solid ice, as far as possible, and, if drifted off southward with the pack, return north again to winter, and then, in order to breathe (for the seals are not fish, and can not breathe under water), they are compelled to keep holes open in the ice with their sharp claws. These true Arctic seals are not so numerous as the southern varieties, of which latter millions may sometimes be seen at one time upon the drifting ice. It is the young of these (when from two to three weeks old) that are slaughtered in such great numbers by the seal-fishers. The vessels, usually small schooners, but sometimes steamers like ourPanther(which was built for that service), enter the pack, and the crew, scattering to right and left over the ice, gather up the seals as they go along, the vessel merely keeping pace with them. Upon the first attack the old ones abandon their young to their fate, and the innocent, whining “baby seals,” too young to appreciate danger, are captured without difficulty—a tap on the nose with the toe of a boot or with a boat’s “gaff” robbing them quickly of what little life they have.
THE POLAR BEAR.
THE POLAR BEAR.
From the seals let us pass to their enemies, the bears—I mean, of course, the true Arctic bears, known in different localities by different names—“ice-bears” they are usually called in the far north, because they are not found elsewhere than on the ice. But farther south this is not always true of them, since both from choice and necessity they often take the water, and are generally known on “the Labrador” as “water-bears.” They are often carried off from the pack upon a single ice-field, which, going to pieces under them, forces them to swim, perhaps, many miles before reaching another. I have seen one swimming in a heavy sea, where there was not a piece of ice in sight. They seldom take to the land, and never voluntarily. Their food has either failed them on the ice, or they are pursued by enemies, or the ice has all melted away and left them no alternative. The naturalist’s name,Ursus maritimus—“the bear of the sea”—expresses their character perfectly. In color they are yellowish-white—quite dark, indeed, when contrasted with the snow. “White bear” is therefore a misnomer, as is also “Polar bear;” but this latter is the name most commonly in use, and is the one, therefore, which I shall employ whenever referring to them.
The food of the seal consists of those low forms of marine life known to us as shrimps, and to naturalists asinvertebrata, and sometimes certain varieties ofmollusca. The former exist in vast numbers in the icy waters of the North; and it is this abundant supply of food which attracts to that quarter of the world not seals alone, but those enormous flights of birds of which we read, andsome idea of which was given in former chapters of this book. On the other hand, the food of the bear is the seal. Therefore, wherever ice is seen seals may be expected; and where seals are seen, you may look out for bears.
SEALS.
SEALS.
We had seen seals and we had seen the “pack,” and thus bears were suggested; and the suggestion was peculiarly welcome to the people of thePanther. The anchor was aweigh in almost no time at all, and, steam being up, thePantherwas pointed northward, in the calm evening. The sun was in the west, a good way above the horizon, and a pleasant glow was over sea, and land, and glacier.
We steer for Wilcox Point, fifteen miles in a north-easterly direction from the Duck Islands, and it is a very lofty, noble headland. We spread out the map on deck to see what comes next, and where we are to go. Eastward from Wilcox Point we observe that the coast trends some miles, and then comes a mountain called “The Devil’s Thumb;” and as we subsequently see it, it has very much the appearance of a thumb projecting vertically above thehand when it is placed edgewise on the table, with the little finger down. We afterwards discover the hand to be an island, and the thumb the centre of it, but we did not know it then. Why the Devil’s Thumb, rather than the thumb of some more respectable character, might seem puzzling; but I fancy that that dark spirit of evil was complimented with this monument on account of his supposed influence over the neighboring sea. The sea is there, indeed, very perilous, and no part of Baffin’s Bay is so much dreaded as that vicinity. The icebergs are so numerous that the locality is often called “Bergy Hole;” and the currents are so swift that a sailing vessel, once becalmed off “The Thumb,” is very likely to be sucked in and whirled about, as if there were some secret and supernatural influence at work upon the waters; and if the ship escapes without getting battered against an iceberg or so, and being much damaged in consequence, she is very lucky. Dr. Kane’s brig, theAdvance, got whirled into this dangerous situation, and I shall not soon forget the struggle of hours at the oars, by which means the brig was saved, though not until every body was thoroughly worn out, and ready to drop down with fatigue.
In a north-westerly direction from the Devil’s Thumb, and distant from it about two hundred miles, lies Cape York, and between these two points the coast makes a deep curve, and the space thus embraced is Melville Bay—though the name has really a wider significance—the term Melville Bay being usually meant to signify that part of Baffin’s Bay west of it, where the “middle ice” is always lying. The entire sweep of Melville Bay is one vast line of glaciers, wholly unapproachable, and from which are cast off an incredible number of icebergs, that are scattered over Baffin’s Bay in all directions, and by accumulating in greater numbers year by year, gather theice-field about them more and more, and thus render navigation each year more difficult and perilous. Since ships first penetrated Melville Bay a very perceptible change has taken place.
Most of which information we gather from the map; and while gathering it thePantheris coming, bows on, to the very first field-ice we have seen. There it is before us—a great, long, level plain of white and blue, stretching beyond the line of vision. It does not look so very formidable, after all, and is rather disappointing, until the ship takes a projecting tongue, and, by the shock that it gives us, shows there is more body to the ice than first appeared. In fact, from seven-eighths to nine-tenths of it lies below the surface of the water; and not until thePantherhad split a fragment off and turned it up on its edge, as the bow slid over it, did we appreciate its really solid quality.
But this was a brush not worth mentioning; and on went thePantherbeyond and across clear water until we approached another great field, which had at first appeared to be a part of the one which we had passed; but the event proved that there was a wide streak of open water stretching to the northward, which a whaleman would call a “lead;” and, seeing that our farther progress in the direction we had chosen was cut off, we bore away from Wilcox Point, and steamed north at great speed between the “floes.”
Very soon there was no water to be seen except the lead we were in—everywhere limitless ice—unless we went aloft, when other leads were visible, meandering among the floes in all directions. The lead we had entered was at first at least a mile wide; but as we proceeded it gradually narrowed, then became crooked; loose floes of small size were lying here and there upon it. The mate,who was aloft, kept the man at the wheel busy enough with his “starboards” and “ports” and “steadys,” until it was reported that our lead was a blind one, and we were coming to the end of it. An immense floe lay between the two great floes to right and left of us, jammed tight, and squeezed and broken up upon its sides. This was the report from aloft, and the mate cried, “Starboard!—hard a-starboard!”
“What’s that for?” shouted the captain, with stentorian voice. “What do you want to starboard for?”
“Jammed tight everywhere, and we must go back,” said the mate.
“Is there no opening anywhere?”
“None; but the ice looks weak on the port hand.”
“Keep her for it, and put her in,” roared the captain.
“Ay, ay, sir! Starboard a little; steady—steady as she goes.”
And down we bore upon the ice, the rakish bow and stem of thePantherwell up out of the water, and looking defiant, as if it were a matter of no kind of consequence to her what amount of ice lay before her. It seemed as if she could crush it down, and trample on it, and ride over it rough-shod, and never wink until the affair was finished. Perhaps the captain’s threat—seemingly made in earnest—to “put her through, or knock her bloody eyes out,” may have had some effect upon her, and have inspired her with additional resolution.
We were soon so near the ice that the opening could be seen from the bridge, and the mate was called below. “Mind your helm, Mick,” said the captain to the man at the wheel; “mind your helm there!”
And still on we went, still rushing towards the ice at full speed, the screw grinding fiercely, and making the ship tremble in every timber. It was soon too late tocheck her headway, even if the captain should have desired it; to wheel round now was quite impossible. We braced ourselves for the shock that was coming—every man catching hold of something to steady himself with. The captain watched the point he wished to make ahead. “Port—port a little—steady, steady, as she goes.”
Cr-r-r-r-ash—the solid iron cut-water of thePantherhas taken the ice. She cuts into it, slides upon it, and crushes it down; the ship rides up again, and sinks, and buries herself one full length in the body of the floe; but still she slides up once more and crushes the ice farther on, but going slower now; and then she stops and settles down to her proper level, and the groaning of the ice seems to be a cry of relief and satisfaction from the noble ship, which only wants a little breathing-time before she begins again.
She isn’t hurt—not in the least. Her masts are all standing right, her bows are sound as ever, her solid, iron-bound sides have not a scratch. Pretty well for a first beginning; and no one now doubts thePanther’sability for any thing.
“Back astern,” shouts the captain; and we haul out into clear water a hundred fathoms or so, and butt away into the opening we have made before. We ride over the broken ice; the cut-water strikes again; again we feel the ship going up forward; again she sinks and rises, and then she settles down again at rest. Then we go below, in great glee, to supper, and the captain tells the watch-officer to “keep her at it;” and the screw, thumping against the ice that has come about the stern, is kept revolving, and the wedge-shapedPantheris pushing in between the floes, forcing them asunder.
When we come on deck again the crack is opening. The jar and steady pressure have had their effect; thefloes have been set in motion, the crack widens, and we grind through into clear, open water.
THE DEVIL’S THUMB.
THE DEVIL’S THUMB.
This bold dash into the very teeth of the enemy saved us a wide detour, and brought us by a short cut into an extensive area of open water, which gave us a free passage northward as far as the eye could see. But still we had heavy floes on the starboard hand, which prevented us from hauling in, as we desired, close under Wilcox Point. We had, however, a fine view of the noble headland at a distance of five miles.
Running now along the edge of an old floe that lay toour right, all eyes were strained, and all glasses were doing service in search of bears. Men were in the rigging and up aloft. We soon opened Melville Bay, the tall spire of the Devil’s Thumb coming in view through a blaze of sunshine exactly at midnight.
It was a midnight long to be remembered. The bright sun stood in the heavens before us but a little way above the horizon, glittering upon the icebergs and flinging gems broadcast upon the floes. The great glaciers that climbed up from the sea at the bend of the bay, until they were lost in a line of purple against a belt of golden light, reflected the light from their glassy terraces; the cavernous old cape which towered above our heads was warmed and reddened by the glow; upon the summit of the Devil’s Thumb there lingered a brilliant ray; and, as the lofty column rose from out a vast cluster of icebergs, it seemed as if it were a church spire mounting to heaven above some nameless city.