ARCTIC EXPLORATIONS—RUSSIAN RESEARCHES UNDER KRUSENSTERN AND KOTZEBUE—FREYCINET—ROSS—THE CRIMSON CLIFFS—LANCASTER SOUND—BUCHAN AND FRANKLIN—PARRY—THE POLAR SEA—WINTER QUARTERS—RETURN HOME—DUPERREY—EPISODES IN THE WHALE-FISHERY—PARRY'S POLAR VOYAGE—BOAT-SLEDGES—METHOD OF TRAVEL—DISHEARTENING DISCOVERY—82° 43' NORTH.

We have now entered the nineteenth century. From this time forward we shall find little or no romantic interest attaching to the history of the sea, with the single exception of that of the Arctic waters. The epoch of adventure stimulated by the thirst for gold has long since passed: there are no more continents to be pursued, and few islands to be unbosomed from the deep. There was once a harvest to be reaped; but there remain henceforward but scanty leavings to be gleaned. The navigator of the present century cannot hope to acquire a rapid fame by brilliant discoveries: he must be content if he obtain a tardy distinction by patient observation and minute surveys,—a task far more useful than showy, and, while less attractive, much more arduous. Our narrative, therefore, of the remaining maritime enterprises will be correspondingly succinct. The reader's interest, as we have said, will attach almost exclusively to the Polar adventures of the heroes of the Northwest Passage: of Ross, who saw the Crimson Cliffs; of Parry, who discovered the Polar Sea; of James Clarke Ross, who stood upon the North Magnetic Pole; of McClure, who threaded the Northwest Passage; of Franklin and of Kane, the martyrs to Arctic science. Though we shall dwell more particularly upon these voyages, we shall nevertheless mention in due order those undertaken for other purposes in all quarters of the globe.

In 1803, Alexander of Russia determined to enter the career of maritime discovery and geographical research. He sent Captain Krusenstern upon a voyage round the world, in the London-built ship Nadeshda. Nothing resulted from this voyage except the augmented probability that Saghalien was not an island, but a peninsula joined to the mainland of China by an isthmus of sand.

In 1815, the Russian Count Romanzoff fitted out an expedition at his own expense for the advancement of geographical science. The specific object of the voyage was to explore the American coast both to the north and south of Behring's Straits, and to seek a connection thence with Baffin's Bay. The command was given to Otto Von Kotzebue, a son of the distinguished German dramatist Kotzebue. In Oceanica he discovered an uninhabited archipelago, which he named Rurick's Chain, from one of his vessels. In Kotzebue Gulf, northeast of Behring's Straits, he discovered an island which was supposed to contain immense quantities of iron, from the violent oscillations of the needle. Upon a second visit to Otdia, one of the Rurick Islands, in 1824, the inhabitants remembered him upon his shouting the syllables Totobu,—their manner of pronouncing his name. They received him with great joy, rushing into the water up to their hips: they then lifted him out of his boat and carried him dry-shod to the shore.

In 1817, Louis XVIII. sent Captain Freycinet upon the first voyage which, though undertaken for the advancement of science, had neither hydrography nor geography for its object. Its purpose was to determine the form of the globe at the South Pole, the observation of magnetic and atmospheric phenomena, the study of the three kingdoms of nature, and the investigation of the resources and languages of such indigenous people as the vessel should visit. The expedition was conducted with skill; but its results, being purely scientific, do not require mention here.

In the winter of 1816, the whalers returning from the Greenland seas to England reported the ice to be clearer than they had ever known it before. The period seemed favorable for a renewal of Arctic exploration; and in 1818 the Admiralty fitted out two vessels—the Isabella and Alexander—for the purpose. Captain John Ross was sent in the first to discover a northwest passage, and Lieutenant Edward Parry in the second, to penetrate if possible to the Pole. Their instructions required them to examine with especial care the openings at the head of Baffin's Bay. Sailing on the 18th of April, they reached the coast of Greenland on the 17th of June. They saw tribes of Esquimaux who had never seen men of any race but their own, and who felt and testified an indescribable alarm at the sight of the adventurers. It was subsequently proved that what they feared was contagion. Quite at the northern extremity of the bay, Ross observed the phenomenon which has given so romantic, almost legendary, a character to his voyage,—that of red snow. He saw a range of peaks clothed in a garb which appeared as if borrowed from the looms and dyes of Tyre. The spot is marked upon the maps as "The Crimson Cliffs." The color was at the time supposed to be a quality inherent in the snow itself; but subsequent investigations have established its vegetable origin.

The ships were now at the northern point of Baffin's Bay, among the numerous inlets which Baffin had failed to explore. They all appeared to be blocked up with ice, and none of them held out any flattering promise of concealing within itself the long-sought Northwest Passage. Smith's Strait, where the bay ends, was carefully examined; but it proved to be enclosed by ice. Returning towards the south by the western coast of the bay, they arrived at the entrance of Lancaster Sound on the 30th of August, just as the sun, after shining unceasingly for nearly three mouths, was beginning to dip under the horizon. The vessels sailed up the sound some fifty miles, through a sea clear from ice, the channel being surrounded on either hand by mountains of imposing elevation. It was here that Ross committed the fatal mistake which was to cloud his own reputation and to put Parry, his second, forward as the first of Arctic navigators. He asserted, and certainly believed, that he saw a high ridge of mountains stretching directly across the passage. This, he thought, rendered farther progress impracticable, and the order was given to put the ships about. Ross returned to England, convinced that Baffin was correct in regarding Lancaster Bay as a bay only, without any strait beyond. It was destined that Parry should thread this strait and find the Polar Sea beyond.

In the same year the British Government sent an expedition under Captain Buchan and Lieutenant—afterwards Sir John—Franklin, to endeavor to reach the Pole. The objects were to make experiments on the elliptical figure of the earth, on magnetic and meteorological phenomena, and on the refraction of the atmosphere in high latitudes. The two vessels—the Dorothea and Trent—sailed in April, 1818, and made their way towards Magdalena Bay, in Spitzbergen. In latitude 74° north, near an island frequented by herds of walruses, a boat's crew was attacked by a number of these animals, and only escaped destruction by the presence of mind of the purser. He seized a loaded musket, and, plunging the muzzle into the throat of the leader of the school, discharged its contents into his bowels. As the walrus sinks as soon as he is dead, the mortally-wounded animal at once began to disappear beneath the water. His companions abandoned the combat to support their chief with their tusks, whom they hastily bore away from the scene of action.

The climate here was mild, the atmosphere pure and brilliant, and the blue of the sky as intense as that of Naples. Alpine plants, grasses, moss, and lichens, flourished in abundance, and afforded browsing pasturage to reindeer at the height of fifteen hundred feet above the sea. The shores were alive with awks, divers, cormorants, gulls, walruses, and seals. Eider-ducks, foxes, and bears preyed and prowled upon the ice; and the sea furnished a home to jaggers, kittiwakes, and whales. Having ascended as high as 80° 34' N., and finding it impossible to penetrate farther to the north, Buchan resolved to quit the waters of Spitzbergen and stand away for those of Greenland. A pack of floating icebergs, upon which the waves were beating furiously, beset the ships. The Trent came violently in collision with a mass many hundred times her size. Every man on board lost his footing; the masts bent at the shock, while the timbers cracked beneath the pressure. This accident rendered a prosecution of the voyage impracticable, and the two ships returned to England, where they arrived in October. The expedition thus failed of the main object it was intended to accomplish.

As we have already remarked, Ross neglected the opportunity afforded him of penetrating to the interior of Lancaster Sound,—thus leaving for another the glory of attaching his name to the discoveries to be made there. The Government, being dissatisfied with his management, and being encouraged by Lieutenant Parry to believe that the supposed chain of mountains barring the passage had no existence but in Ross's imagination, gave him the command of two ships, strongly manned and amply stored, for the prosecution of discovery in that direction. He left England on the 11th of May, 1819, with the ship Hecla and the gun-brig Griper. On the 15th of June he unexpectedly saw land,—which proved to be Cape Farewell, the southern point of Greenland, though at a distance of more than a hundred miles. The ships were immovably "beset" by ice on the 25th: their situation was utterly helpless, all the power that could be applied not availing to turn their heads a single degree of the compass.

The officers and men occupied themselves in various manners during this period of inaction. Observations were made on the dip and variation of the magnetic needle, and lunar distances were calculated. White bears were enticed within rifle-distance by the odor of fried red-herrings, and then easily shot. On the 30th the ice slackened, and, after eight hours' incessant labor, both ships were moved into the open sea. On the 12th, Parry obtained a supply of pure water which was flowing from an iceberg, and the sailors shook from the ropes and rigging several tons' weight of congealed fog. The passage to Lancaster Sound was laborious, and was only effected by the most persevering efforts on the part of all.

An entrance into the sound was effected on the 1st of August; and Parry felt, as did the officers and men, that this was the point of the voyage which was to determine the success or failure of the expedition. Reports, all more or less favorable, were constantly passed down from the crow's nest to the quarterdeck. The weather was clear, and the ships sailed in perfect safety through the night. Towards morning all anxiety respecting the alleged chain of mountains across the inlet was at an end; for the two shores were still forty miles apart, at a distance of one hundred and fifty miles from the mouth of the channel. The water was now as free from ice as the Atlantic; and they began to flatter themselves that they had fairly entered the Polar Sea. A heavy swell and the familiar ocean-like color which was now thought to characterize the water were also encouraging circumstances. The compasses became so sluggish and irregular that the usual observations upon the variation of the needle were abandoned. The singular phenomenon was soon for the first time witnessed of the needle becoming so weak as to be completely controlled by local attraction, so that it really pointed to the north pole of the ship,—that is, to the point where there was the largest quantity of iron.

Ice for a time prevented the farther western progress of the vessels, and they sailed one hundred and twenty miles to the South, in a sound which they called Prince Regent's Inlet. Parry suspected, though incorrectly, that this inlet communicated with Hudson's Bay. Returning to the mouth of the inlet, he found the sea to the westward still encumbered with ice; but a heavy blow, accompanied with rain, soon broke it up and dispersed it. They proceeded slowly on, naming every cape and bay which they passed: an inlet of large size they called Wellington, "after his Grace the Master of the Ordnance." Being now convinced that the passage through which they had thus far ascended was a strait connecting two seas, Parry gave it the name of Barrow's Strait, after Mr. Barrow, Secretary of the Admiralty. The prospects of success during the coming six weeks were now felt by the commander of the expedition to be "truly exhilarating."

An island—by far the largest Parry had seen in these waters—appeared early in September, and the men worked their arduous way along its southern coast, till, on the 4th, they reached the longitude of 110° west. The two ships then became entitled to the sum of £5000,—the reward offered by Parliament to the first of his Majesty's subjects that should penetrate thus far to the westward within the Arctic Circle. The island was called Melville Island, from the First Lord of the Admiralty. In a bay named The Bay of the Hecla and Griper, the anchor was dropped for the first time since leaving England; the ensigns and pennants were hoisted, and the British flag waved in a region believed to be without the pale of the habitable world.

The summer was now at its close, and it became necessary to make a selection of winter quarters. A harbor was found, a passage-way cut through two miles of ice, and the ships settled in five fathoms' water: they were soon firmly frozen in at a cable's-length from the shore. Hunting, botanizing, excursions upon the island, experiments in an observatory erected on shore, and amateur theatricals, afforded some relief from the unavoidable inactivity to which officers and crew were now condemned. Parry had named the group of islands of which Melville is the largest, the North Georgian Islands, in honor of King George; and during the days of constant darkness a weekly newspaper, entitled "The North Georgia Gazette and Winter Chronicle," was edited by Captain Sabine, the astronomer.

The sun reappeared on the 3d of February, 1820, after an absence of ninety-one days. The theatre was soon closed and the newspaper discontinued. The ice around the ships was seven feet thick, though by the middle of May the crews had cut it away so as to allow the ships to float, and had sawed a channel for their boats. On the 1st of August, there was not the slightest symptom of a thaw; on the 2d, the ice broke up and disappeared with a suddenness altogether inexplicable. Parry determined to return home at once, and arrived at Leith, in Scotland, towards the close of October. He was received with great favor, and was rewarded for his signal services by promotion to the rank of captain.

Parry made a second voyage in 1821, with instructions to seek a passage by Hudson's Strait instead of by Lancaster Sound. It was totally unsuccessful. He made a third attempt, in 1824, with the Fury and the Hecla. The Fury was lost in Lancaster Sound, and Parry returned baffled and for a time disheartened.

In 1822, a French captain, named Duperrey, made a voyage, under the orders of the Government, which is in many respects the most remarkable on record. He sailed seventy-five thousand miles in thirty-one months, without losing a man or having a single name upon the sick-list; nor did the ship once need repairs. The discoveries made were not important, but the surveys effected and the observations upon terrestrial magnetism recorded were interesting and valuable.

At about this period, the perils incident to the whale-fishery were strangely augmented by a circumstance which we cannot forbear mentioning. The whale, whose intellectual faculties had been sharpened by the warfare waged against him for two hundred years, was suddenly found to be animated by a new and vehement passion,—that of revenge. "Mocha Dick," who earned a terrible reputation for ferocity, only succumbed after many years of successful resistance. His body proved to be covered with scars, his flesh bristled with harpoons, and his head was declared to be wonderfully expressive of "old age, cunning, and rapacity." Not long after this, a sperm-whale was wounded by a boat's crew from the Essex. A brother leviathan, eighty-five feet long, approached the ship within twenty rods, eyed it steadfastly for a moment, and then withdrew, as if satisfied with his observations. He soon returned at full speed: he struck the ship with his head, throwing the men flat upon their faces. Gnashing his jaws together as if wild with rage, he made another onset, and, with every appearance of an avenger of his race, stove in the vessel's bows! This was the first example on record of the whale's displaying positive design in seeking an encounter. He certainly acted from the promptings of revenge, and, moreover, directed his attacks upon the weakest part of the ship.

The whale of Captain Deblois, of the ship Ann Alexander, was a still more remarkable animal. When harpooned, instead of seeking to escape, he turned upon the boat, and, in the language of an eye-witness, "chawed it to flinders." The second boat met the same fate. The whale then dashed upon the ship, and broke through her timbers, letting the water in in torrents. In an hour the vessel lay a wreck upon the ocean. Four months afterwards, the crew of the Rebecca Sims captured a whale of large size but of enfeebled energies. He was found to have a damaged head, with large fragments of a ship's fore-timbers buried in his flesh; while two harpoons, sunk almost to his vitals, and labelled "Ann Alexander," designated him as the fierce but now exhausted antagonist of Captain Deblois, of New Bedford.

In 1827—to return to the Arctic explorations—a new idea was broached with reference to the Pole and the most likely method of reaching it. Captain Parry, despairing of getting there in ships, conceived the plan of constructing boats with runners, which might be dragged upon the ice, or, in case of need, be rowed through the water. The Government approved of the idea, and two boats were specially constructed for the service: each one, with its furniture and stores, weighed three thousand seven hundred and fifty-three pounds. They were placed on board the sloop-of-war Hecla; and the expedition left the Nore on the 4th of April, 1827, for Spitzbergen. At Hammersfeld, in Norway, they took on board eight reindeer and a quantity of moss for their fodder.

After experiencing a series of tremendous gales, being beset in the ice till the 8th of June, the Hecla was safely anchored on the northern coast of Spitzbergen, in Hecla Cove. Parry gave his instructions to his lieutenants, Foster and Crozier, and on the 22d left the ship in the two boats, having named them the Enterprise and Endeavor, with provisions for seventy-one days. The ice appeared so rugged that the reindeer promised to be of little assistance, and were consequently left behind. The following is an abridged account of the extraordinary method of travelling adopted upon this singular voyage:

"It was my intention," says Parry, "to travel by night and rest by day, thus avoiding the glare resulting from the sun shining from his highest altitudes upon the snow; and proceeding during the milder light shed during his vicinity to the horizon,—for of course, during the summer, he never set at all. This practice so completely inverted the natural order of things that the officers, though possessing chronometers, did not know night from day. When we rose in the evening, we commenced our day by prayers; after which we took off our raccoon-skin sleeping-dresses, and put on our box-cloth travelling-suits. We breakfasted upon warm cocoa heated with spirits of wine—our only fuel—and biscuit: we then travelled five hours, and stopped to dine, and again travelled four, five, or six hours, according to circumstances. It then being early in the morning, we halted for the night, selecting the largest surface of ice we happened to be near for hauling the boat on. Every man then put on dry stockings and fur boots, leaving the wet ones—which were rarely found dry in the morning—to be resumed after their slumbers. After supper the officers and men smoked their pipes, which served to dry the boat and awnings, and often raised the temperature ten degrees. A watch was set to look out for bears, each man alternately doing this duty for one hour. It now being bright day, the evening was ushered in with prayers. After seven hours' sleep, the man appointed to boil the cocoa blew a reveillÉ upon the bugle, and thus at nightfall the day was recommenced."

The difficulty of travelling was much greater than had been anticipated. The ice, instead of being solid, was composed of small, loose, and rugged masses, with pools of water between them. In their first eight days they made but eight miles' northing. At one time the men dragged the boats only one hundred and fifty yards in two hours. On the 17th of July they reached the latitude of 82° 14' 28,—the highest yet attained. On the 18th, after eleven hours' exhausting labor, they advanced but two miles; and on the 20th, having apparently accomplished twelve miles in three days, an observation revealed the alarming fact that they had really advanced but five. The terrible truth burst upon Parry and his officers: the ice over which they were with such effort forcing their weary way was actually drifting to the south! This intelligence was concealed from the men, who had no suspicion of it, though they often laughingly remarked that they were a long time getting to this eighty-third degree. They were at this time in 82° 43' 5". The next observation extinguished the last ray of hope: after two days' labor, they found themselves in 82° 40'. The drift was carrying them to the south faster than their own exertions took them to the north! In fact, the drift ran four miles a day. It was evidently hopeless to pursue the journey any farther. The floe upon which they slept at night rolled them back to the point they had quitted in the morning. Parry acquainted the men with the disheartening news, and granted them one day's rest.

The ensigns and pennants were now displayed, the party feeling a legitimate pride in having advanced to a point never before reached by human beings, though they had failed in an enterprise now proved beyond the pale of possibility. They returned without incident of moment to England. Parry did not totally abandon the idea of eventually reaching the Pole over the ice, and as late as 1847 was of the opinion that at a different season of the year, before drifting comes on, the project may yet be realized. Still, no mortal man has ever yet set foot upon the pivot of the axis of the globe; and it is not venturing too much to predict that no man ever will.