Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/351

 340 ONCE  A WKkk. [Octobkr 22,  iS5t.

tell-tale record  which  informs  me  that  you  are sixty years  of  age.”  “No,  no,  my  lord,”  was Franklin’s rejoinder,  “I  am  only  fifty-nine!'1 Before such  earnestness  all  scruples  yielded — the offer was  officially  made  and  accepted — to  Sir  John Franklin was  confided  the  Arctic  Expedition,  con- sisting of H.M.S.  Erebus,  in  which  he  hoisted  his pendant, and  H.M.S.  Terror,  commanded  by Captain  Crozier,  who  had  recently  accompanied Sir James  Boss  in  his  wonderful  voyage  to  the Antarctic seas.

The 18th  of  May,  1845,  found  the  Erebus  and Terror at  Greenhithe  in  the  Thames. On board of each  ship  there  were  sixty-nine  officers  and men, every  possible  comer  was  carefully  filled with stores  and  provisions— -enough,  they  said,  for three years;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  Arctic annals, these  discovery  vessels  had  auxiliary  screws and engines  of  twenty-horse  power  each. Hope rode high  in  every  breast,  and  the  cry  of  Hurrah! for Behring’s  Straits! succeeded their  last  hearty cheer as  the  gallant  ships  weighed  on  the  morrow for Baffin’s  Bay.

A month they  sailed  across  the  Atlantic  before they reached  their  first  halting-place,  Disco,  or the  Whale  Fish  Islands,  on  the  west  coast  of Greenland,  in  latitude  69°  north. Thither a store- ship had  accompanied  them  from  England,  in order  that  the  expedition  might  be  completed  with every necessary  up  to  the  latest  moment  before entering the  polar  ice. That voyage  of  thirty  days had served  to  make  the  officers  and  men  thoroughly acquainted with  their  chief,  and  with  each  other. Of him  the  warm-hearted  Fitzjames  writes: “That Sir  John  was  delightful; that  all  had  be- come very fond  of  him,  and  that  he  appeared remarkable for  energetic  decision  in  an  emergency. The officers  were  remarkable  for  good  feeling, good humour,  and  great  talents; whilst  the  men were fine  hearty  sailors,  mostly  from  the  northern sea-ports.” Love  already  it  is  apparent,  as  much as duty,  bound  together  the  gallant  souls  on  board the Erebus  and  Terror.

Away from  Disco  they  sped  with  all  haste; the Bay  of  Baffin  is  fairly  entered,  and  their  long and arduous  labours  commence  with  an  Arctic tempest so  severe  that  their  brother  seamen  of  the store-ship, hastening  homeward,  think  with  anxiety of the  deep-laden  Erebus  and  Terror. He who is strong  to  save  guides  the  gallant  barks,  how- ever, past the  dangers  of  an  iron-bound  coast,  and amongst the  huge,  ghost-like  ice-bergs  which glimmer through  the  storm. We see  them,  in  better weather, urging  under  all  sail  their  strong  but clumsy ships,  before  a favourable  gale,  along  that coast of  Greenland,  every  headland  of  which  has its record  of  human  trial  and  noble  endurance. There the  lofty  headland  of  Sanderson-his-Hope (of a North-west  Passage)  rears  its  crest  of  black granite, rich  with  crimson  lichen,  and  crowned with snow. Norseman and  Dane  and  Englishman have alike  sailed  under  its  stupendous  cliffs,  or sought  shelter  in  quaint  Uppemavik  which  nestles at its  feet. The Erebus  and  Terror  may  not  delay. Greenland has  no  charms  for  men  whose  leader already talks  sanguinely  of  the  yet  far  distant Mackenzie and  Copper-mine  rivers.

The floes  and  broad  masses  of  the  Middle-ice

now rise  upon  their  sight; the  northern  horizon gleams with  reflected  light  from  the  frozen  surface of the  sea; the  south  wind  fails; the  ships  sail from the  black  mists  and  fog-laden  atmosphere common to  open  water  in  the  Arctic  regions,  into the bright  skies,  smooth  lanes,  and  mirror-like pools generally  found  amongst  the  pack  during  the summer season. The ice  is  streaming  southward; the eager  novices  in  either  ship  look  forward  with delight to  the  first  onset  with  the  foe  they  have come to  do  battle  with. Wiser heads  know  that mother- wit will  do  more  than  dashing  gallantry  in the  conflict  with  packed  ice; the  sails  are  taken in so  as  to  reduce  the  speed,  and  the  experienced ice-master from  the  crow’s  nest  at  the  masthead selects the  weakest  looking  point  through  which to force  the  ships  into  a lane  of  water,  that  winds snake-like along  the  landward  edge  of  the  pack.

“So -ho! steady — steer her  with  a small  helm, my lad!” baw  ls  out,  in  strong  North-country dialect, the  honest  old  ice-pilot,  who  has  grown grey killing  whales  in  Greenland. “Stand by to  brail  up  the  after-sails,  if  you  please,  sir; and to pack  all  the  canvass  upon  her  directly  we break  through  the  pack-edge,”  he  urges  to  the officer of  the  watch. The churning  and  growling of the  ice  now  strikes  upon  the  ear,  and  at  the same moment  the  Erebus  and  Terror  take  it  man- fully. There is  a shock: for  a second  the  pieces of ice  hold  their  ground,  but  they  yield  to  the weight of  the  ships: one  mass  tilts  up,  and  slips over another,  another  sinks  under  the  bows,  and  is heard  scraping  along  the  bottom  of  the  ship: the road is  opening. “Hard up  with  the  helm,” shouts the  ice-master,  and  at  the  same  time  the sail is  set  forward  to  urge  the  ship  faster  through the pack; the  speed  accelerates,  and  in  a few minutes they  are  fairly  in  the  ice. We need  not follow them  in  their  daily  labour. Ice is  now  on every  hand: open  water  scarce. The crews  often drag the  ships  for  hours  with  ropes  along  the edge of  the  land  floe  that  is  still  fast  to  the  face of the  glacier  which  curves  round  Melville  Bay. Now we  see  them  perfectly  beset,  the  vessel s secured  to  the  lowest  icebergs  that  can  be  found: they studiously  avoid  those  lofty  masses  which, with spires,  and  domes,  and  steeples,  resemble huge cathedrals  of  crystal, — for  they  know  that such icebergs  are  prone  to  turn  over,  or  break  up suddenly,  and  would  infallibly  crush  any  ship that might  be  near  them.

For a while  the  discovery  ships  meet  the whaling-vessels of  Aberdeen  and  Hull,  striving; like themselves,  to  get  through  the  loose  ice  into the waters  of  Pond’s  Bay. On July  26th  they part company  from  the  last  of  them,  and  pursue their solitary  course  alone. Again they  pass  from the northern  edge  of  the  pack  into  open  water, — if such  may  be  called  an  open  sea,  where  ice- bergs are strewn  plentifully. The course  is  now shaped for  Lancaster  Sound. August has  set  in; the sun,  which  has  hitherto  wheeled  round  the heavens without  setting,  again  commences  to  dip below the  horizon; its  absence  and  already  de- clining power is  marked  by  the  nightly  formation of thin,  glass-like  ice,  known  as  bay-ice. The south wind  freshens; the  Erebus  and  Terror press on,  staggering  in  a heavy  sea,  all  the  more