Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/352

 Ootomr 22,  18M.]  THE  LAST  VOYAGE  OF  SIB  JOHN  FRANKLIN. 341

remarkable that  a hundred  mil***  of  ice  have  just been passed  through  behind  them. The great entrance of  Lancaster  his  Sound  breaks  out  of the  clouds  to  the  westward. Capes Warrender and Hay  frown  grimly  over  the  angry  sea,  backed by lofty  mountain  ranges,  whose  dark  precipices, streaked with  snow,  look  as  if  they  were  formed of steel  and  inlaid  with  silver.

“On, on! to the  westward  I” is  the  cry. Why need  to  stop  and  erect  cairns,  and  deposit records of  their  progress. Do they  not  intend  to pass  into  the  Pacific  next  year? Have not  they ordered their  letters  to  be  directed  to  Petro- paulskoi and  the  Sandwich  Isles? Why lose  one precious hour  at  the  threshold  of  their  labour?

The ice  is  again  seen: it  extends  along  the southern side  of  Barrow’s  Straits,  and  is  streaming out into  Baffin’s  Bay; the  ships  haul  in  for  the coast of  North  Devon. The scene  changes  con- siderably from what  ur  explorers  have  seen  in Greenland. No glaciers  stretch  from  the  interior, and launch  their  long,  projecting  tongues  into  the sea: no icy  cliffs  reflect  there  the  colours  of  the emerald and  turquoise: Arctic  vegetation,  wretched as it  is,  does  not  gladden  the  eyesight  in  even the most  favoured  spots. They have  passed  from  a region  of  primary  rock  into  one  of  magnesian  lime- stone. Greenland is  paradise,  in  an  Arctic  point of view,  to  the  land  they  have  now  reached: it  is desolation’s  abiding  place; yet  not  deficient  in  the picturesque. The tall  and  escarped  cliffs  are cut by  action  of  frost  and  thaws  into  buttresses and abutments,  which,  combined  with  broken castellated summits,  give  a Gothic-like  aspect  to the  shores  of  North  Devon. Valleys and  plains are passed,  all  of  one  uniform  dull  colour; they oonsist simply  of  barren  limestone. The barren- ness of the  land  is,  however,  somewhat  compen- sated for by  the  plentiful  abundance  of  animal life upon  the  water. The seal,  the  whale,  and the walrus  abound; whilst  wild  fowl  in  large flocks feed  in  the  calm  spots  under  beetling  cliffs or in  shallow  lakes,  which  can  be  looked  down upon from  the  mast-head.

It is  not  far  to  the  entrance  of  Wellington Channel: they reach  Beechey  Island,  and  mark the value  of  the  bay  within  it  as  a wintering-place, and its  central  position  with  respect  to  the  chan- nels leading towards  Cape  Walker,  Melville  Island or Regent’s  Inlet. Ice again  impedes  their  pro- gress. Their first  instructions  from  the  Admiralty were to  try  to  the  south-west  from  Cape  Walker. They cannot  now  advance  in  that  direction,  for  it is  a hopeless  block  of  heavy  floes; but  Wellington Channel is  open,  and  smiles  and  sparkles  in blue  and  sunlit  waves,  as  if  luring  them to the  north-west. Why not  try  a north- about passage  round  the  Parry  Islands? urges Fitjames. Franklin agrees  with  him  that  any- thing is better  than  delay,  and  at  any  rate  they determine to  explore  it,  and  ascertain  whither  it led. Away they  press  northward,  until  what  we know  as  Grinnel  Land  rises  a-head,  and  they  have  to turn  more  to  the  west. From Wellington  Channel they pass  between  Baillie  Hamilton  Island  and the striking  cliffs  of  Cape  Majendie.

Eager eyes  are  straining  from  the  mast-head; is it  a mere  bay,  or  is  it  a strait  they  are  sailing

through? “Water, water! — large water!” replies the ice-master  from  his  eyry  to  the  anxious queries of  the  veteran  leader. Away, away  they press — every studding  sail  alow  and  aloft — the  old ships never  went  so  fast  before— no,  not  on  that gieat day  in  their  history  when  they  were  the first to  sail  along  the  Victoria  continent  of  the Southern Pole. From 744°  to  77°  north  latitude they pushed  up  this  noble  strait,  but  not,  as  they hoped, to  reach  an  open  or  navigable  sea,  but  to find  as  we  found  in  1852— a wide  expanse  of water  perfectly  choked  up  with  ice,  extending from the  head  of  Wellington  Channel  far  to  the westward for  hundreds  of  miles. Baffled but  not beaten, the  prows  of  the  stout  ships  are  again turned southward,  and  aided  by  a greater  share  of success  than  has  fallen  to  the  lot  of  those  who have come  after  Sir  John  Franklin  in  those  same quarters, the  gallant  Erebus  and  Terror  sailed  down a channel which  is  thus  proved  to  exist  between Cornwallis and  Bathurst  Islands  and  entered  Bar- row’s Straits at  a point  nearly  due  north  of  Cape Walker, in  which  direction  Franklin  was  now constrained to  alone  look  for  a route  whereby  to reach  the  sea  off  the  coast  of  North  America.

It was  well  known  that  this  southern  course was that  of  his  predilection; founded  on  his  judg- ment and experience. There are  many  in  England who can  recollect  him  pointing  on  his  chart  to  the western entrance  of  Simpson’s  Strait  and  the adjoining coast  of  North  America,  and  saying  i —

“If I can  but  get  down  there  my  work  is  done; thence it’s  all  plain  sailing  to  the  westward.”

Franklin might  well  say  this,  since  he  and Richardson had  explored  nearly  all  that  coast  of Arctic  America  towards  Behring’s  Straits.

The fortnight,  however,  which  had  been  spent in Wellington  Channel,  was  the  short  period  of navigation  common  to  the  ice-choked  seas  within Lancaster Sound. September and  an  Arctic autumn broke  upon  them. Who that  has  ever navigated those  seas  can  ever  forget  the  excite- ment and danger  of  the  autumn  struggle  with ice, snow-storm,  and  lee-shores. We see  those lonely barks  in  the  heart  of  a region  which appears only  to  have  been  intended  to  test  man’s hardihood, and  to  show  him  that,  after  all,  he  is but  a poor  weak  creature. Channels surround  them in all  directions,  down  and  up  which,  let  the wind blow  from  any  quarter,  an  avalanche  of broken  floes  and  ugly  packed  ice  rolls  down, and threatens  to  engulph  all  that  impedes  its way, checked  alone  by  the  isles  which  strew Barrow’s Straits  and  serve,  like  the  teeth  of a harrow,  to  rip  up  and  destroy  the  vast  floes which are  launched  against  them. Around each island, as  well  as  along  the  adjacent  coasts, and especially  at  projecting  capes  and  headlands, mountains of  floe-pieces  are  piled  mass  on  top of mass,  as  if  the  frozen  sea  would  invade  the frozen land. The Erebus  and  Terror,  under  the skilful hands  of  their  noble  ships’  companies, flit to  and  fro; seek  shelter  first  under  one point, and  then  another. Franklin, Fitzjames, and Crozier,  are  battling  to  get  into  Peel  Channel, between Capes  Walker  and  Bunny. The nights  are getting rapidly  longer,  the  temperature  often falls fifteen  degrees  below  freezing  point,  the