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VII.

CHARLES WILKES,

The Discoverer of the Antarctic Continent.

On the colored and beautifully engraved map of the world of Gulielmus Blaeuw (Amsterdam, 1642) are two side maps, one of the Arctic, the other of the Antarctic, Circle. The latter represents not only the entire Antarctic Circle as unbroken land, but also extends this great supposititious continent some distance to the northward of the sixtieth parallel and gives to it the name Magallanica Terra Australis Incognita. This mythical Magellanic continent held its place, a subject of mystery and interest to every geographer, until Captain James Cook, the greatest of navigators, either ancient or modern, attempted its definition or solution. His success here as elsewhere was marvellous, and on January 17, 1773, in the Resolution, first of all men, Cook penetrated the ice-bound wastes of the Antarctic regions, reaching 67° 15´ S., on the fortieth meridian E. In the following summer he completed his circumnavigation of Southern seas in high latitudes, and penetrating the Antarctic Circle at three widely separated points, attained, in January, 1774, in 117° W., the extraordinary high southern latitude of 71° 10´. Cook thus “put an end to the search for a southern continent, which had engrossed the attention of maritime nations for two centuries.”

Charles Wilkes. (From a portrait by T. Sully.)

Cook’s discoveries led to erroneous conclusions as to the physical constituents of the Antarctic regions. Although he had reached the Great Southern Circle at four different places, and nearly attained it at the fifth, yet no land therein, either island or continent, met his eager gaze; instead there everywhere met his view a close pack of ice-floes of enormous height and extent, with a few wind-caused breaks or channels. Hence many geographers concluded that the Antarctic regions were ice-covered seas, either totally or in greater part. To-day, in the light of modern science and discovery, the opinion prevails that there is an extensive ice-clad Antarctic land, possibly rising to the dignity of a continent; and toward this conclusion no explorations have more directly and largely contributed than those of the American sailor and explorer, Charles Wilkes, of the United States Navy.

The first Antarctic land ever discovered was by an American sealer, Captain Palmer, from Connecticut. Bellingshausen, of the Russian Imperial Navy, in his voyage of 1821, that resulted in the discovery of the islands of Peter and Alexander, on the sixty-ninth parallel, fell in with the Yankee skipper immediately after he had discovered the land, to which Bellingshausen justly attached Palmer’s name. Palmer’s Land, extended into the Antarctic Circle by Biscoe’s discoveries of 1832, merges into Graham Land of the latter explorer.

Probably incited by these discoveries, France sent forth an Antarctic expedition, under Dumont d’Irville, in 1837, and England, under Sir James Clark Ross, the discoverer of the northern magnetic pole, in 1839. Simultaneously with these expeditions was organized one by the United States, for which the exceedingly liberal appropriation of $300,000 was made.

This last expedition was authorized by the act of Congress of May 18, 1836, “for the purpose of exploring and surveying in the Great Southern Ocean in the important interests of our commerce embarked in the whale fisheries and other adventures in that ocean, as well as to determine the existence of all doubtful islands and shoals, and to discover and accurately fix the position of those which lie in or near the track pursued by our merchant vessels in that quarter.” This expedition, the first of its character undertaken by the United States, grew out of the vast capital employed in whaling and trade.

The expedition was first organized under Commodore Thomas Ap Catesby Jones, United State Navy, but finally the President of the United States appointed Lieutenant Charles Wilkes to command the squadron, and he was formally assigned to this duty under instructions of Secretary Paulding, dated August 11, 1838.

Charles Wilkes was born in New York City, April 3, 1798, and entering the United States Navy as a midshipman at the age of nineteen was promoted to be lieutenant in 1826. He had long served in the department of charts and instruments and was especially qualified for the proposed astronomical and surveying work connected with the expedition.

An anomalous feature of the expedition was the acceptance of appointment as second in command by Lieutenant William L. Hudson, whose naval rank was above that of Wilkes’s. The squadron, then consisting of the sloops of war Vincennes and Peacock, the store-ship Relief, the brig Porpoise, and tenders Sea Gull and Flying Fish, left Norfolk, Va., August 13, 1838. Associated with Wilkes were a number of lieutenants destined to later distinguish themselves in their country’s service, among whom may be mentioned T. P. Craven, James Alden, S. P. Lee, G. F. Emmons, and A. L. Case, all of whom afterward rose to be rear admirals, and H. J. Harstene, later associated with the relief of Kane. Under its instructions the expedition was to visit Rio de Janeiro, Cape Frio, the Rio Negro, Terra del Fuego, the Antarctic Ocean southward of Powell’s group to Cook’s farthest, Valparaiso, the Navigators’ Group, the Feejee Islands, the Antarctic regions south of Van Dieman’s Land, whence it would return home by way of the Sandwich Islands, San Francisco, Singapore, and the Cape of Good Hope. No ship had steam-power, nor was any vessel of the squadron fitted with appliances for protection in ice navigation; indeed, the squadron was a makeshift, ill-suited for so long and dangerous a voyage. Eventually the Sea Gull was lost in a gale off the coast of Chili, the Flying Fish proved of little use, and the extreme slowness of the Relief delayed the voyage.

Wilkes sailed for the Antarctic regions from Orange Bay, near Cape Horn, on February 24, 1839, but owing to the lateness of the summer accomplished little, and spent thirty-six days in attempting to visit Palmer’s Land, which was only sighted.

A second attempt at Antarctic exploration was made by Wilkes from Sidney, N. S. W., which was left December 21, 1839. A compact barrier of field ice, with frequent large bergs, was fallen in with on January 11, 1840, and from this time on the ships were often in imminent danger owing to continuous ice, impenetrable fog, bad weather, and occasional embayment of the vessels in the ice-pack. It is scarcely needful to enter into the details of Wilkes’s perilous voyage from longitude 95° E. to 155° E. and in latitudes ranging from the Antarctic Circle to the neighborhood of the seventieth parallel. It may be mentioned, however, that the Peacock narrowly escaped entire destruction by collision with a heavy iceberg, which seriously injured the ship. Fortunately she cleared the berg in time to escape crushing by the falling of detached ice masses from the overhanging floe berg. Heavy gales and the bad sanitary condition of the ship caused the medical officers of the Vincennes to specially report to Wilkes that such continued exposure would so weaken the crew by sickness as to hazard the ship and the lives of all on board. Wilkes, however, had sighted the long-looked-for Antarctic land, and, disregarding the warning, followed the coast-line eastward, keeping his squadron as near it as the conditions would permit. The land was a series of lofty mountain ranges, often snow-capped, frequently broken by indentations, and, worst of all, shut out from immediate approach by an almost continuous ice-barrier, which in its extent, height, and appearance struck every beholder with admiration not unmixed with apprehension. This barrier rose perpendicularly from the deep sea to a height varying from one hundred to two hundred feet above the level of the water, which gave no bottom in soundings ranging from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty fathoms. Despite this great depth of water, the perpendicular icy barrier was evidently grounded, thus indicating ice of a thickness of about one thousand feet.

The Ice-Barrier. (From a sketch by Captain Wilkes.)

Regarding the land discovered the first reliable observations were those of January 16th, when land was seen by Lieutenant Ringgold, of the Porpoise, and by Midshipmen Eld and Reynolds, of the Peacock, their statement running as follows: “The mountains could be distinctly seen stretching over the ice to the southwest.” On the 19th land was again visible from the Vincennes, Alden reporting it twice to Wilkes, and on the same day high land was seen by all the crew of the Peacock. The ships were then in longitude 154° E., 66° 20´ S., practically on the Antarctic Circle. On February 2d high bold land bordered by the ice-barrier was visible to the Vincennes and Porpoise in longitude 137° E., latitude 66° 12´ S. Five days later the westerly trend of the land as previously seen was confirmed by a well-defined outline of high land rising above the perpendicular ice-barrier, the Vincennes being in longitude 132° E., latitude 66° 8´ S. On February 9th, in longitude 123° E., latitude 65° 27´ S., the land is spoken of as being indistinct. At 8 A.M. of the 12th land was reported again, in longitude 112° E., latitude 64° 57´ S., the land being in about 65° 20´ S. and trending nearly east and west.

Wilkes says of the land and of his efforts to reach it: “The solid barrier prevented our further progress. Land was now distinctly seen from eighteen to twenty miles distant, bearing from S.S.E. to S.W., a lofty mountain range covered with snow, though showing many ridges and indentations.” Two days later he writes: “The 14th was remarkably clear and the land very distinct. By measurement we made the extent of coast of the Antarctic continent then in sight seventy-five miles and by approximate measurement three thousand feet high.”

In longitude 97° E., Wilkes found the ice trending to the northward, well out of the Antarctic Circle, and after following it near to where Cook was stopped in February, 1773, Wilkes took his course for Sydney, where he learned that an English sealer, Captain Balleny, had discovered land in longitude 165° E., south of and near the point where Wilkes found the ice-barrier, and had attained a latitude of 69° S. in longitude 172° E. Here Wilkes, hearing of the prospective arrival of Sir James Clark Ross, forwarded for his benefit a tracing of the chart prepared as the American squadron had passed along the barrier, supplemented by the discoveries of Balleny. Ross publishes a copy of this chart in his “Voyage to the Southern Seas,” together with Wilkes’s letter, giving information not only as to discoveries, but also as to winds, currents, and the probable position of the magnetic pole.

The Vincennes in a Storm. (From a sketch by Captain Wilkes)

Most unfortunately, on the chart transmitted to Ross by Wilkes, he entered, without distinguishing marks, land between longitudes 160° E. and 165° E., near the sixty-sixth parallel, which should have been marked with the legend of “probable land,” it being most probably the supposed land of Lieutenant Ringgold, of the Vincennes, who on January 13, 1840, in longitude, 163° E., latitude 65° 8´ S., to use Ringgold’s own words, “thought he could discern to the southeast something like distant mountains.” As a matter of fact, Ross found no bottom at six hundred fathoms over this charted land, and naturally enough pointed out that he had sailed over a clear ocean where Wilkes had laid down land. This lack of caution on the part of Wilkes led to an acrimonious controversy which had no good end, but tended to discredit among the ill-informed the discoveries of land actually made by the expedition. Ross, evidently somewhat nettled, had the questionable taste to omit from his general South Polar Chart all of Wilkes’s discoveries. This course, it is hardly necessary to say, has not commended itself to the best geographers, for in the standard atlas of Stieler, issued by the famous publishing house of Justus Purthes, the discoveries claimed by Wilkes are entered, with the legend, “Wilkes Land,” extending from longitude 95° E. to 160° E. It is gratifying, moreover, to note as an evidence of the impartial justice of the Royal Geographical Society, that it acknowledged the accuracy and extent of the discoveries of Wilkes and of the value of his detailed narrative of the expedition, and therefor that society awarded to him its founders’ medal.

Ross, it may be added, reached the highest known latitude in the Antarctic Circle, 78° 11´ S., where he discovered Victoria Land, tracing its coast from 70° to 79° S. latitude, along the meridian of 161° W., which proved to be a bold, mountainous country, practically inaccessible and having within its limits an active volcano about twelve thousand feet high—Mount Erebus.

On the subject of an Antarctic continent Ross says: “There do not appear to me sufficient grounds to justify the assertion that the various patches of land recently discovered by the American, French, and English navigators on the verge of the Antarctic Circle unite to form a great southern continent.”

The investigations and deductions of a great scientist, the late W. B. Carpenter, give the latest word on this subject. Carpenter says: “The Antarctic ice-barrier is to be regarded as the margin of a polar ice-cap whose thickness at its edge is probably about two thousand feet.... These vast masses have originally formed part of a great ice-sheet formed by the cumulative pressure of successive snow-falls over a land area,” etc. Elsewhere he adds: “That the circumpolar area is chiefly land and not water seems to be farther indicated,” etc. The periphery of the ice-cap is estimated to be about ten thousand miles.

Thus the ordinary man may safely believe in the existence of an Antarctic continent whose outer margins were first skirted and recognized as part of a great land by Charles Wilkes, of the United States Navy.

After quitting the Southern seas, Wilkes voyaged through the Pacific Ocean, in accordance with his original orders. In the Feejee group, however, his experiences were most unfortunate. The pillaging of a grounded cutter by the natives resulted in Wilkes destroying one of their villages and capturing several of their chiefs, causing ill-feeling which a few days later culminated in an attack on a boat’s crew, whereby Lieutenant Underwood and Midshipman Henry were killed by the natives and others of the party were severely wounded. An attack of a retaliatory character was made by Wilkes, who destroyed two native towns, laid waste plantations, killed about sixty of the savages and wounded many others.

View of the Antarctic Continent. (From a sketch by Captain Wilkes.)

At every port Wilkes and his staff of officers and scientific assistants were most assiduous in making surveys and in acquiring knowledge of the countries and their inhabitants. Even the most prolonged voyage must end, and with pleasure officers and men saw again the shores of their country, where Wilkes landed, at New York, June 10, 1842, after four years of absence.

As might be expected, there were officers of the squadron who felt that their merits had not been properly recognized by Lieutenant Wilkes during this voyage of four years, and in consequence charges of a voluminous character and under a large number of heads were brought against him. The court which considered them acquitted Wilkes except as regards the punishment of several of his men, which in some cases appeared to have been more summary and severe than the regulations of the navy justified, for which action a reprimand was administered.

The collections made by the expedition, and the scientific volumes published in connection therewith, were very important additions to the scientific knowledge of the world. Professor Henry, in 1871, says: “The basis of the National Museum is a collection of the specimens of the United States Exploring Expedition under Captain, now Admiral, Wilkes.... The collections made by the naval expeditions—1838 to 1842—are supposed greatly to exceed those of any other similar character fitted out by any government; no published series of results compare in magnitude with that issued under the direction of the joint Library Committees of Congress.” Sixteen quarto volumes were issued, five of narrative and eleven of a scientific character, while other parts were unfortunately destroyed by fire.

The beginning of the great civil war again brought Wilkes into striking and international prominence. Sent to the coast of Africa for the United States steamship San Jacinto, Wilkes promptly brought her into West Indies waters. Here he learned that the Confederate Commissioners, John Slidell and J. M. Mason, had run the blockade and landed in Cuba, and he decided, without consultation or orders, to capture them. The San Jacinto was then cruising for the Confederate privateer, the Sumter, but visited frequently the Cuban ports. Wilkes apparently accepted the prevailing opinion that Mason and Slidell were safe from interference, but, keeping his views to himself, he was frequently seen by one of his subordinates to be deeply engaged in perusing international law books, doubtless occupied in seeking for precedents in justification of his contemplated action.

On November 1, 1861, Lieutenant J. A. Greer, navigating officer, brought word that Mason and Slidell were booked for England by the steamer Trent, which was to leave Havana on the 7th. On November 4th Wilkes took station in the narrow channel of Old Bahama, through which the Trent would naturally pass and where she could not escape being seen by the lookout. Early on the morning of the 8th Wilkes ordered the ship cleared for action, and when the Trent was sighted at noon, Wilkes gave his executive officer, Lieutenant D. M. Fairfax, written instructions to board the steamer Trent, with two armed cutters, when he was to make prisoners of Messrs. Mason, Slidell, and their secretaries, and seize any despatches which he might find. A round shot failed to stop the Trent, but a shell exploding in front of her bows brought her to. After protest, Mason and Slidell accepted the arrest, went on board the San Jacinto, whence they were taken to New York and later confined as prisoners at Fort Warren.

In an Ice-Field.

When Wilkes landed in New York he found himself again famous, the central figure toward which, even in that time of war, the attention of all was turned. He was lauded by almost every citizen, praised by nearly every journal, and was the recipient of most flattering attentions. Complimentary banquets were given to him in New York, Boston, and elsewhere.

The Secretary of the Navy, in a letter dated November 30, 1861, wrote: “Especially do I congratulate you on the great public service you have rendered in the capture of the rebel emissaries.... Your conduct in seizing these public enemies was marked by intelligence, ability, decision, and firmness, and has the emphatic approval of this Department.” With reference to the omission of Wilkes to capture the Trent, the Secretary says: “The forbearance exercised in this instance must not be permitted to constitute a precedent hereafter for infractions of neutral obligations.”

Congress was not then in session, but it met a few weeks later, when almost the first act of the House of Representatives was to pass a joint resolution which declared that “the thanks of Congress are due, and are hereby tendered, to Captain Wilkes, of the United States Navy, for his brave, adroit, and patriotic conduct in the arrest and detention of the traitors, James M. Mason and John Slidell.”

The hostile attitude of Great Britain, which country to many Americans appeared quite ready on slight pretence to acknowledge the Southern Confederacy, gave great anxiety to the administration. The astute Lincoln and the diplomatic Seward, supported by the patriotic Sumner in the Senate, and other conservative men in the House of Representatives, after due correspondence acceded to the demands of Great Britain that the prisoners should be released. Seward, however, justified Wilkes’s action in the main as legal, but said that he erred in releasing the Trent; and by constituting himself as a court, and in not bringing the steamer before an admiralty court as guilty of carrying articles contraband of war, had acted irregularly. The United States declined to apologize, as no offence to Great Britain was intended, and forbore from claiming against England the right of search which that nation had so persistently exercised.

The Naval Committee of the Senate reported without amendment the resolution of thanks to Wilkes, but deemed it best to postpone it indefinitely. The ordinary citizen did not share the conservative, and it may be said the very wise, course of the administration, and the sentiment throughout the country was very generally one of national pride that under doubtful circumstances an American sailor had dared rather too much than too little for the dignity and safety of his country. Wilkes, himself, when told that possibly this act would cause him to lose his commission, said that he deemed his seizure of the commissioners simply a patriotic duty, and if needs be was willing to be sacrificed for his country. He continued to perform efficient service during the war, despite his advancing years. In 1862, while in command of the Potomac flotilla, he shelled and destroyed City Point, and in command of a special squadron to maintain the blockade, captured and destroyed many blockade-runners.

With the closing of the war, and his retirement from active service, Wilkes returned to the scientific pursuits which had always engrossed his mind, and full of years and honor, died at Washington, February 8, 1877.

Of his early scientific labors it may be said that they had contributed in no small degree to the establishment of a national institution of international repute, the Naval Observatory.

For his important additions to the knowledge of the world, and especially for his ever-zealous war services, the memory and life of Charles Wilkes will ever abide fresh and honored in the hearts of his countrymen.

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VIII.

JOHN CHARLES FRÉMONT,

The Pathfinder.

The discovery and exploration of the trans-Mississippi region had many phases, the outcome of different conditions and varying individual efforts to determine the extent, possibilities, and resources of the undeveloped half of the American continent. The seamanship of Gray, the enthusiasm of Lewis, the courage of Clarke, the assiduity of Pike, the enterprise of Ashley, Wyeth, Sublette, Bonneville, and other trappers and traders, had done much to make known to the pioneer and settler the advantages and promise of the great West, and had roughly delineated the routes of travel best suited for the emigrant in his westward march.

In time many urged that the government of the United States, so long shamefully negligent of its magnificent acquisitions by purchase, discovery, and settlement, should enter in and possess its own. This, however, necessitated, first, a systematic examination of the physical features of the West to such an extent as to render possible its general and authoritative description; second, the granting of lands or homesteads to such of its daring citizens as might be willing to venture their lives as settlers in these remote regions.

Among public men who urged most strongly such action was one of the most distinguished of our Western statesmen, Thomas H. Benton, first Senator from the new and growing State of Missouri. He persistently advocated the settlement of the lower Columbia by Americans, the enforcement of the title of the United States to the Pacific Coast region from California northward to the forty-ninth parallel, and in 1825 he presented in the Senate a bill authorizing the use of the army and navy to protect American interests in Oregon.

In season and out of season Benton opposed the joint occupation of Oregon by England and America, unfailingly supporting every measure which promised to fill its fertile valleys with American settlers. So dominant was this idea in Benton’s career that artistic skill has fittingly shaped his statue in St. Louis with its bronze hand pointing west, with his prophetic words carved on the pedestal, “There is the east. There is India.”

In his efforts to put his ideas into practical shape, Benton threw the great weight of his influence as a Senator toward the employment in such explorations of a member of his family by marriage, John Charles FrÉmont, whose ability and inclinations specially suited him for the scientific examination and exploration of the trans-Mississippi region.

John Charles FrÉmont.

Born January 21, 1813, at Savannah, Ga., FrÉmont entered Charleston College, where his disregard of discipline prevented his graduating, although the faculty later honored him with the degrees of Bachelor and Master of Arts. Well grounded in the classics and familiar with the ordinary astronomical methods of determining latitude and longitude, FrÉmont visited South America on the United States ship Natchez, as a teacher. Later, appointed a professor of mathematics in the navy, he declined the position to accept more congenial service as assistant engineer of the United States Topographic Corps, where he had experience in preliminary surveys of railroads and also in a military reconnoissance among the Cherokees in Georgia. Commissioned in the United States Army, in 1838, as second lieutenant in the Topographic Corps, his initial service was fortunately as principal assistant to I. N. Nicolet, in the survey of the country between the Mississippi and the Missouri. Nicolet, an able and distinguished engineer, was the first explorer in America who made general use of the barometer for determining elevations of the great interior country, and his map of this region was one of the greatest contributions ever made to American geography.

Jessie Benton FrÉmont.

In 1841 FrÉmont married Jessie Benton, a daughter of Senator Benton, through whose influence FrÉmont was assigned to the command of the expedition ordered to explore the country between the Missouri River and the Rocky Mountains on the line of the Kansas and Platte Rivers.

In May, 1842, while FrÉmont was on the frontier making preparations for the journey, there came, as Mrs. FrÉmont relates, an order recalling him to Washington. Mrs. FrÉmont sent a special messenger to her husband, advising him to move immediately for good and sufficient reasons, to be given later. Meanwhile, holding the letter, she wrote the colonel who had given the order for the recall that she had neither forwarded the order nor informed FrÉmont of it, as she knew that obedience thereto would ruin the expedition. On such a small thread of circumstances hung the fate of his first separate command, which brought FrÉmont into such great prominence in connection with the exploration and development of the Pacific Coast region.

The journey of FrÉmont lay up the North Fork of the Platte, through South Pass, into Wind River Valley, his march being marked by the usual experiences of hardship and suffering inseparable from the time and region. The most notable event of the journey was the ascent of the main and highest peak of the Wind River range, now known as FrÉmont’s Peak. Their first attempts were unsuccessful, the party suffering from great cold, excessive fatigue, and mountain fever resulting from the rarity of the air. FrÉmont, however, persevered and succeeded. He describes the final ascent as follows:

“We reached a point where the buttress was overhanging, and there was no other way of surmounting the difficulty than by passing around one side of it, which was the face of a vertical precipice of several hundred feet. Putting hands and feet in the crevices between the blocks I succeeded in getting over it, and when I reached the top found my companions in a small valley below. Descending to them, we continued climbing and in a short time reached the crest. I sprang upon the summit and another step would have precipitated me into an immense snow-field five hundred feet below. At the edge of this field was a sheer icy precipice, and then, with a gradual fall, the field sloped off for about a mile until it struck the foot of another lower ridge. I stood on a narrow crest about three feet in width. As soon as I had gratified the first feelings of curiosity I descended, and each man ascended in turn, for I would only allow one at a time to mount the unstable and precarious slab, which it seemed a breath would hurl into the abyss below. We mounted the barometer in the snow at the summit, and fixing a ramrod in the crevice, unfurled the national flag to wave in the breeze where never flag waved before.” The elevation of this summit, as determined by FrÉmont, was 13,570 feet.

His success on this expedition caused his most favorable reception by the War Department on his return to the States.

Ascending FrÉmont’s Peak.

FrÉmont’s second expedition contemplated the connection of his first explorations with those made by Captain Wilkes on the Pacific Coast, so as to give a connected survey across the interior of North America. The party, which left Kansas City May 29, 1843, consisted of forty men, equipped with twelve carts for transportation and a light wagon for scientific instruments. The route followed was up the valley of the Kansas River, thence by the South Fork of the Platte to the vicinity of the present city of Denver. After considerable hesitation a northerly route was taken, skirting the westerly limits of the great Laramie plain, which brought FrÉmont to the emigrant trail in the vicinity of the South Pass. The volume of travel toward the Pacific Coast even at that early date may be estimated from his description of the Oregon trail as “a broad smooth highway where the numerous heavy wagons of the emigrants have entirely beaten and crushed the mountain sage.”

Crossing Green River and following up Ham’s Fork, FrÉmont reached the valley of Bear River, the principal tributary of Great Salt Lake, which was filled with emigrants travelling to the lower Columbia River. FrÉmont expressed his surprise at the confidence and daring of the emigrants as he met in one place “a family of two men and women and several children travelling alone through such a country so remote from civilization.” Turning south from this point and quitting the travelled road FrÉmont visited the Great Salt Lake, of which he says: “Hitherto this lake had been seen only by trappers, who were wandering through the country in search of new beaver streams, caring very little for geography; its lands had never been visited, and none were to be found who had entirely made the circuit of its shores, and no instrumental observations or geographical survey of any description had ever been made anywhere in the neighboring region. It was generally supposed that the lake had no visible outlet, but among the trappers, including those in my own camp, were many who believed that somewhere on its surface was a terrible whirlpool, through which its waters found their way to the ocean by some subterranean communication.”

The lake was eventually reached from the lower part of Bear River in an india-rubber canoe, by means of which FrÉmont also landed on a mountainous island near the centre of the lake, where from an elevation of eight hundred feet he was able to determine with considerable accuracy the contours and extent of this remarkable body of water. Instead of a tangled wilderness of shrubbery teeming with an abundance of game, as the party expected, the island proved to be broken, rocky land, some twelve miles in circumference, on which there was neither water nor trees; a few saline shrubs and other hardy plants formed the only vegetation. The lake is described as being enclosed in a basin of rocky mountains, which sometimes leave grassy fields and extensive bottoms between them and the shore, while in other places they come directly down to the water in bold and precipitous bluffs. He speaks of the water of the lake being at a low stage and the probabilities that the marshes and low ground are overflowed in the season of high water. FrÉmont says that “we felt pleasure in knowing that we were the first who in the traditional annals of the country had visited the island and broke with joyful sounds the long solitude.” But in view of the dissipation of his dream of fertility he named it Disappointment Island.

Turning northward FrÉmont reached, on September 18, 1843, Fort Hall, Idaho, then a post under British control, whose original importance as an Indian trading-post had been greatly enhanced by its location on the emigrant route to Oregon, at a distance of over one thousand three hundred miles from the then frontier settlement of Westport, Mo. Following closely the emigrant trail FrÉmont, on October 8th, passed Fort BoisÉ, then occupied by the Hudson Bay Company, and on the 25th of the month arrived at another trading establishment of this company, at the junction of the Walla Walla and Columbia Rivers. This was considered by emigrants as the practical termination of their overland journey since navigation down the river was rapid and convenient.

FrÉmont found many American emigrants at Fort Vancouver on his visit to that post and also learned that others already occupied the adjacent lowlands of the Willamette Valley. Moreover, these pioneers were not confining their efforts to Oregon, for while small parties were pushing southward through that valley to settlements in Northern California, still others, making detours near Fort Hall, reached, by a more direct route through passes in the Sierra Nevada, the banks of the Sacramento.

On November 10, 1843, FrÉmont left Vancouver to return to the United States, having in view an entirely new route whereby he might be able to complete the exploration of the great interior basin between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada. His party then consisted of twenty-five. Leaving the Columbia at a point above The Dalles, FrÉmont followed Des Chutes River to its source, and passing over to Lake Klamath, contemplated a journey to and a winter camp on either Mary’s Lake or the mythical Buenaventura River. His trail brought him to Lake Klamath, and later to Goose Lake, the source of the Sacramento. Winter had now commenced; the weather in the mountains proved to be extremely cold, snow-storms became frequent, and his search for Mary’s Lake and Buenaventura River proved fruitless and dangerous.

These mythical water-courses, which had been eliminated from the domain of geography by Bonneville’s map of 1837, proved indeed to be veritable waters of the desert, mere mirages that nearly led FrÉmont to an untimely fate. FrÉmont’s frequent allusions in his field journal to these imaginary streams show his then belief in their existence, which appears extraordinary in view of existing publications. In Bonneville’s maps are charted with general accuracy the great interior basins of the Great Salt, Mud, and Sevier Lakes, the Humboldt and Sevier Rivers. The general extent and direction of the Willamette, Sacramento, and San Joaquin Rivers are indicated, and the non-existence of the Buenaventura and other hypothetical streams was conclusively determined. The existence of these maps was generally known, and their absence from FrÉmont’s topographic outfit is remarkable; a most unfortunate omission, as Benton in his “Thirty Years’ View” describes FrÉmont’s charts and geographic information as “disastrously erroneous.”

Struggling along in the snow through a forest of unknown extent, FrÉmont halted, on December 16th, on the verge of a rocky precipice, from which the party looked down more than one thousand feet upon a broad lake, the most westerly waters of the great interior basin, which, from its pleasing contrast to the wintry weather of the Sierra Nevada, they called Summer Lake. Attempting to travel in an easterly direction FrÉmont found himself beaten back by an impassable country, there being rocky, sterile mountains on either side which obliged him to keep to the south through a wild, barren, and uninhabited region. FrÉmont, describing the country, says: “On both sides the mountains showed often stupendous and curious-looking rocks, which at several places so narrowed the valley that scarcely a pass was left for the camp. It was a singular place to travel through—shut up in the earth, a sort of chasm, the little strip of grass under our feet, the rough walls of bare rock on either hand, and the narrow strip of sky above.”

The year 1844 opened with the party in a forlorn and dispirited condition, as they were practically lost in the tangle of the valleys and mountains. The grass had become so scanty and unwholesome that the overtaxed animals fell ill; some died and others were stolen by Indians, so that the party lost fifteen head of stock by the time they reached Pyramid Lake, where they camped from the 10th to the 16th of January. Here they found grass abundant, fire-wood plentiful, and from an Indian village they obtained salmon trout, a feast to the famished men. The Indians indicated the general direction of the route out of the desolate country, but no one would consent to accompany the party as guide. The region traversed continued so rough and lamed the animals so badly that on the 18th FrÉmont determined to abandon the easterly course, thinking it advisable to cross the Sierra Nevada to the valley of the Sacramento by the first practicable pass. Now and then a few Indians were met, and finally a guide was obtained, who led them to the southward, over a low range of mountains through a snow-covered pass into what proved to be Carson Valley. The snow deepened and the country became so broken as to make progress difficult, long, tedious detours necessary, and soon travel was only possible along high and exposed ridges, which were comparatively snow free. Finally it became necessary to abandon their mountain howitzer at an impracticable caÑon that led into a valley which FrÉmont at first erroneously supposed to be to the westward of the Sierra Nevada. Continuing on without a guide they met other Indians, who stated it was impossible to cross the mountains on account of the deep snow, but after much persuasion, and by means of large presents, an Indian guide was finally induced to undertake the journey. FrÉmont, fully conscious of the desperate conditions, which entailed the possible death of all, endeavored to encourage his men by reminding them of the contrast between the fast falling snow of the surrounding Sierra Nevada and the flower-clad meadows in the adjacent valley of the Sacramento, and informed them that his astronomical observations showed that they were only sixty miles distant from Sutter’s great establishment.

Their provisions were now practically exhausted; neither tallow, grease, nor salt remained, and even their hunting dogs were killed for food. Making the best of the situation their clothing and outfit were put in the best of order, and on February 2d, crossing the frozen river on the ice, the party commenced the ascent of the mountain, the men, FrÉmont relates, being unusually silent over the hazardous and doubtful enterprise. Ten men, mounted on the strongest horses, broke the road, each man in succession opening the path, either on foot or on horseback, until he and his horse became exhausted, when he dropped to the rear. The very deep snow made it impossible to follow the main valley, and they necessarily worked along steep and difficult mountain-sides. On the third day the snow had become so deep that their best horses gave out entirely, refusing to make further effort; the day ended with the party at a stand-still and the camp equipage strewed along the route. Too exhausted to make huts, they camped that night without shelter and suffered bitterly from the unusual cold, as the temperature fell to twenty-two degrees below freezing. Two Indians who had joined the party expatiated on the impossibility of crossing at this point, and the guide, influenced by them, deserted the party the next morning.

Kit Carson.

Having obtained snow-shoes from the Indians, on February 6th, FrÉmont, accompanied by Carson and Fitzpatrick, made a reconnoissance and reached a high peak, from which Carson saw a little mountain to the westward which he recognized as one seen by him fifteen years before, so that confidence was somewhat restored. On examining the general depth of the snow it was found to be five feet, but in places it proved to be twenty. As this snow was plainly impracticable for the pack-train, sledges were made for transporting the baggage, which was dragged forward by the men with the expectation that the horses without load could break a path for themselves. Unfortunately the weather turned bitterly cold, and the temperature falling thirty-five degrees below the freezing-point, a number of the men were frost-bitten.

FrÉmont, and indeed the whole party, now realized that the crossing of the mountains into the valley of the Sacramento was a struggle for life, but this in no wise disorganized the party. This desperate march lasted during the whole of February. Finally FrÉmont with the advance party reached Sutter’s ranch on March 6th in a state of complete exhaustion; help was immediately sent to the main party, which arrived a few days later. FrÉmont’s route across the mountains was practically through the pass now crossed by the Central Pacific Railway, the descent into the Sacramento being through the valley of the American River. In crossing the Sierras not less than thirty-four out of the sixty-seven horses died of exhaustion or were killed for food, the meat of these animals being the only resource against starvation.

One of the party, De Rossier, became insane on March 1st, and FrÉmont says: “Hunger and fatigue joined to weakness of body and fear of perishing in the mountains had crazed him. The times were severe when stout men lost their minds from extremity of suffering, when horses died, when mules and horses ready to die of starvation were killed for food, yet there was no murmuring or hesitation.”

Sutter’s Fort, on the Sacramento, was then the most important American establishment in California; the fort itself was an adobe structure defended by twelve pieces of artillery. Sutter had a large force in his employ engaged in farming his extensive wheat-fields, in milling operations, in blacksmith- and other work-shops.

One might have thought that FrÉmont would have delayed long in the delightful climate and conditions that obtained at Sutter’s, but such was not the nature of the man. The entire party were reunited at Sutter’s Fort on March 8th, and under FrÉmont’s well-directed efforts, in the short space of fourteen days the starving band was reorganized, remounted, and equipped fully for instant march. The return journey was to be through the pass at the head of the San Joaquin River, discovered by Walker, whose name was affixed to it by FrÉmont. Crossing the Sierra Nevada the party struck the Spanish trail, which was then followed by all wagon-trains or mounted parties travelling to and fro between Los Angeles and Santa FÉ. The region over which they passed was desolate in the extreme, the road rough and rocky, grass scanty and poor, while water was found only in holes and at long distances, In pointing to it, FrÉmont’s Spanish guide well states: “There are the great plains; there is found neither water nor grass—nothing; every animal which goes upon them dies.”

The party had to undergo not only terrible discomforts arising from the physical conditions of the country, but was also harassed by hostile Indians, who stole some of their stock. The expedition fortunately escaped with the loss of only one man, although parties in advance and in their rear were plundered and slaughtered. Speaking of their travelling alone in twenty-seven days a distance of five hundred and fifty miles through this inhospitable region, FrÉmont comments, that although their lonely journey gave them the advantage of more grass, yet they “had the disadvantage of finding also the marauding savages who had gathered down upon the trail, waiting the approach of their prey. This greatly increased our labors, besides costing us the life of an excellent man. We had to move all day in a state of watch and prepare for combat, scouts and flankers out, a front and rear division of our men, and baggage animals in the centre. At night camp duty was severe; those who had toiled all day had to guard by turns the camp and horses all night. Frequently one-third of the whole party were on guard at once, and nothing but this vigilance saved us from attack. We were constantly dogged by bands and even whole tribes of the marauders.”

Reaching, in Southern Utah, the head-waters of the Virgin River, where Santa FÉ trains usually halt to recruit the strength of their animals in its grassy meadows, FrÉmont was joined by the famous trapper, Joseph Walker, who consented to serve as guide in the departure to the northeastward, as they now quitted the Spanish trail. FrÉmont then skirted the eastern edge of the great interior basin and visiting Sevier and Utah Lakes, thus completed practically the circuit of the basin. He then turned eastward through the valleys of the Du Chesne and Green Rivers, tributaries to the Colorado, and pushing through the very heart of the Rocky Mountains, by the way of the pass near Leadville, at an elevation of eleven thousand two hundred feet, he reached the Arkansas Valley June 29, 1844.

His journey eastward across the great Kansas plains was of an easy character, and the 31st of July, 1844, saw his expedition safe at Independence, Mo. He had been absent fourteen months, during which time he had travelled some six thousand five hundred miles, the greater part of his journey being through the most barren and inhospitable regions of North America.

Lake Klamath.

The character and extent of FrÉmont’s astronomical and other physical observations on this long, arduous, and dangerous journey constituted the great value of his exploring work. In few instances did it fall to FrÉmont’s lot to first explore any section of the country, but it was his good fortune, as it was his intent, to first contribute systematic, extended, and reliable data as to climate, elevation, physical conditions, and geographical positions. The hypsometrical work begun by FrÉmont culminated, indeed, in the unparalleled collation of elevations by Gannett; his climatic observations have been perfected by the Signal Corps; his astronomical and geological data have been overwhelmed by the magnificent collections and field work of the United States Coast and Geodetic and Geological Surveys; but it is to be noted that FrÉmont’s observations, which he gave in detail, were so honest and good that they have withstood successfully the test of hostile examination. FrÉmont’s scientific spirit was strikingly exemplified in this terrible mid-winter journey through the mountains of Nevada, when observations for time, latitude, elevation, or temperature were daily and regularly made despite snow, extreme cold, and physical weakness from semi-starvation.

On the recommendation of General Winfield Scott, in a special report, the unprecedented honor of double brevets—of first lieutenant and captain—was conferred on FrÉmont for gallant and highly meritorious services in connection with these two expeditions.

FrÉmont’s third expedition consisted of sixty men. They left Bent’s Fort, on the Arkansas, August 16, 1845. Its object, as far as exploration was concerned, included a survey of the head-waters of the Arkansas, Rio Grande, and Rio Colorado, the basin of the Great Salt Lake and the practicable passes of the Cascade and southern Sierra Nevada.

It was during this journey that FrÉmont quite fully surveyed the southern shores of Salt Lake. The water was then at an unusually low—possibly at its lowest known—level, and having been informed by the Indians that it was fordable to Antelope Island, FrÉmont with Kit Carson rode to the island, the water nowhere reaching above the saddle-girths of their horses.

Dividing his party FrÉmont crossed the Utah desert between the thirty-eighth and thirty-ninth parallels, while his subordinate, Walker, explored the valley and sink of the Humboldt. Rendezvousing at Lake Walker and again separating, FrÉmont reached Sutter’s Fort through the American River route, while Walker and the main party crossed the Sierras into the extreme southern part of the San Joaquin Valley, opposite Tulare Lake. Of the survey and explorations made by the expedition it may be briefly said that they added very greatly to a knowledge of Upper California, and resulted in the publication in 1848 of the most accurate map of that region extant.

There was, however, another and more important phase to the third expedition than that of mere exploration. FrÉmont before leaving Washington was informed that war with Mexico was possible, and received general unwritten instructions looking to such a contingency. The forecast of trouble proved correct, and the preliminary and extensive disturbances in California interfered most materially with the progress of his surveys. FrÉmont’s explorations westward of the Arkansas River had been through and over Mexican territory. In order to place himself in proper position as a non-invader he proceeded to Monterey, Cal., at the earliest practicable moment and applied to the commanding general, Don JosÉ Castro, for permission to extend, in the interests of science and commerce, the geographical survey of the nearest route between the United States and the Pacific Ocean. The request was granted promptly and courteously. Scarcely had FrÉmont commenced his survey in Northern California than he was peremptorily ordered by General Castro, who later appears to have been acting under orders from the Mexican Government, to quit the department; the message being coupled with an intimation that non-compliance would result in expulsion by an armed force. The message was delivered in such manner and language as incensed FrÉmont and caused him to peremptorily refuse. Withdrawing a short distance he erected a stockade and awaited expulsion by arms. The Mexican force made several forward movements, but carefully avoided an attack. FrÉmont finally judged it advisable to quit Mexican territory, as his remaining might be detrimental to the United States. He consequently withdrew slowly toward Oregon, surveying and exploring as he moved northward.

On May 7, 1845, FrÉmont was overtaken in the valley of the upper Sacramento by Lieutenant Archibald H. Gillespie, of the marine corps, who brought from Washington important despatches which were destined to settle the fate of California as a Mexican state. FrÉmont was informed through Gillespie that war with Mexico had been declared, that the government counted upon him to ascertain and conciliate the disposition of the people of California toward the United States, and especially to conserve American interests by ascertaining and counteracting any scheme looking to the cession of California to Great Britain. FrÉmont was then surrounded by hostile Klamaths, who killed several of his party and with whom he had several engagements, which resulted in the destruction of the principal village, fishing appliances, etc., of the offending tribe.

FrÉmont, turning promptly southward, his heart set on the important mission intrusted to him, saved from ravage the American settlements in the valley of the Sacramento, which were in imminent danger of destruction between the proclamation of the Mexican authorities ordering confiscation and expulsion and the threatening attitude of the Indian allies, incited by unscrupulous officials to activity. Aided by volunteers from the American settlers FrÉmont freed California permanently from Mexican domination, his actions receiving mention and approval from the President in his Annual Message to Congress, in December, 1846.

Commodore Stockton, United States Navy, charged with the control of affairs on the Pacific Coast, appointed FrÉmont Governor and military commander of California. When controversies arose between Commodore Stockton, of the navy, and General Kearney, of the army, each having authority from Washington to conquer California and organize its government, FrÉmont adhered to Stockton, his first commander. In consequence serious complications arose, which finally resulted in the trial of FrÉmont, and, although the findings of the court were partly disapproved and the sentence remitted, he resigned from the army.

His courage, persistency, and success in these expeditions gained for FrÉmont world-wide reputation. At home he was named The Pathfinder; abroad he received the Founders’ Medal from the Royal Geographical Society of England and many other well-deserved marks of appreciation from geographers.

Devoted to California and to its exploration FrÉmont immediately fitted out, at his own expense, another expedition, the fourth. In October, 1848, with thirty-three men and a large train he crossed the Rocky Mountains, undeterred by his fearful experiences in 1844, and again attempted the passage of the snow-covered Sierras in mid-winter. The snow was deep, the guide inefficient, and the winter unusually cold. One-third of his men and all his animals perished after suffering cold, hunger, and fatigue of the most appalling character, and the remnant of the expedition returned to Santa FÉ. Unappalled by this overwhelming disaster FrÉmont reorganized at Santa FÉ a new party, and after a long, perilous journey reached Sacramento in the spring of 1849.

FrÉmont’s experiences during his surveys of the great valleys of the San Joaquin and Sacramento caused him to fall under the fascinating spell which California exercises over the greater number of its Eastern settlers. The vast domain of its virgin forests, the luxuriance of its vegetation, the extent and fertility of its valley lands, and its incomparable climate were speedily recognized by FrÉmont as so many physical conditions calculated to insure unparalleled prosperity when once it should be occupied by Americans. He saw this vast region practically a waste; its magnificent harbors unvexed, unbroken by the keels of commerce; its unrivalled valleys awaiting the hand of intelligent labor to transform them from mere pastures for scattered herds of cattle into fruitful granaries, orchards, and vineyards capable of feeding a continent. Imbued with these ideas he cast in his lot with California, and was a potent power in making it a free State, and was honored by election as its first Senator, unfortunately, however, drawing the short term in the United States Senate.

Failing, through the defeat of his party, of re-election, FrÉmont visited Europe for a brief and well-earned rest, which was broken by the authorization of Congress for a survey of a trans-continental railway, which awoke his dormant exploring spirit. Returning promptly to the United States he organized an expedition under private auspices, which started westward in September, 1853. He travelled by the central route through the mountains of Colorado, passing over the Sierra Blanca, through the Sandy Hill Pass and the valley of the Grand River. Turning southward into Utah and crossing the Sawatch Mountains, FrÉmont’s march brought him to the Sierra Nevada near the end of winter, and their passage was attempted near the thirty-seventh parallel. Thereof he writes: “I was prepared to find the Sierra here broad, rugged, and blocked with snow, and was not disappointed in my expectations.” The snow being impassable and food failing he made a detour of some seventy miles to the southward and reached the Kern River Valley through Walker Pass. The march entailed endless suffering and extreme privations on the party, which was pushed to the direst extremities to preserve life. They were often without food of any kind for an entire day and for many weeks had only the flesh of their emaciated and exhausted horses. The disastrous outcome of this expedition impaired FrÉmont’s reputation, it appearing, then as now, surprising that, aware by bitter experience of the impracticability of such a journey, he should have so timed his march as to be again overwhelmed by the dreadful winter snow of the Nevada range.

This sketch has in view the treatment neither of FrÉmont’s career as a soldier nor as a politician, which phases of his life, viewed by ordinary circumstances, may be considered as unsuccessful. It need not be here dwelt on that his name became a watchword of the ever-growing spirit of human freedom, and that as the standard-bearer of an idea he astonished the country and the world by obtaining the suffrages of nearly one and a half millions of his countrymen for the highest office in the gift of the people. His unwavering, if impractical, devotion to freedom was forcibly illustrated by his emancipation proclamation in Missouri, which he declined to recall, even at the request of the President who revoked it.

It is undoubted that FrÉmont’s non-success in business and political ventures has tended to diminish his reputation as an explorer, a reputation which, it is safe to say, must continue to grow steadily in the future with the development of the great trans-Rocky Mountain region to which he gave the enthusiasm of his youth, the maturity of his manhood, and for which he sacrificed his profession and his private fortune. While FrÉmont loved all the great West, it was to California especially that he gave the best he had of mind, heart, and body, never sparing himself in any effort for the upbuilding of her future. So it is that in the scene of his activities on the shores of the golden Pacific, rather than on the coast of the Atlantic, should be more appreciated the labors and ever grow brighter and brighter the name of John C. FrÉmont, the Pathfinder.

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IX.

ELISHA KENT KANE,

Arctic Explorer.

Among the picturesque and striking figures of Arctic explorers none abides more firmly in the minds of Americans than that of Elisha Kent Kane, whose career and fame largely relate to the fate of the lost explorer, Sir John Franklin.

Kane was born in Philadelphia, February 3, 1820. In 1842 he graduated in medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, and the following year, while waiting for a vacancy in the medical corps of the navy, for which he had passed an examination, sailed on the frigate Brandywine, as physician to the embassy, to China, under Caleb Cushing, Minister Plenipotentiary. Later, commissioned as an officer of the medical corps of the United States Navy, he served on the west coast of Africa, in Brazil, in the Mediterranean, and on special duty with the army in Mexico. This brief statement of his duties conveys, however, no idea of the intense energy and restless activity of Kane in his eager efforts to acquire personal knowledge of the very ends of the earth.

Indeed, considering Kane’s very short life (he died at thirty-seven), there is no man of modern times to whom the words of Tennyson, in his strong poem of Ulysses, more fittingly apply:

“I cannot rest from travel, ... For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and known: cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least but honored of them all.”

Suffice it here to say that before Kane was thirty he had visited in America the greater part of the eastern half of the United States, the city of Mexico, Cuba, and Brazil from Rio de Janeiro to the eastern Andes; in Africa, along the Gold and Slave Coasts, to Dahomey, Cape Colony, and up the Nile to the Second Cataract; in Europe, the eastern, southern, and central countries; in Asia, the coast of China, Ceylon, India from Bombay to the Himalayas, Persia, and Syria. Elsewhere he had travelled in the islands of Cape Verde, Singapore, Java, Sumatra, and Luzon of the Philippines. This incessant travel is the more remarkable as he was always sea-sick, was a man of delicate physique, and nowhere passed six months without being prostrated by severe illness. As to personal experiences, he had been wounded in Egypt by a Bedouin who strove to rob him, narrowly escaped death in saving captured Mexican officers from slaughter at the hands of renegade irregulars, and barely survived his unique experiences in the crater of a volcano.

Elisha Kent Kane.

His descent into the volcano of Tael, in the Philippines, illustrates Kane’s utter disregard of dangers whenever he desired to investigate any phenomena. As related by Dr. Elder, Kane not only was lowered two hundred feet below the point usually visited, but descended to the very surface of the burning lake and dipped his specimen bottles into the steaming sulphur water. This feat nearly cost him his life, for although he was able to crawl to and fasten the bamboo ropes around his body, yet his boots were charred in pieces on his feet, sulphurous air-currents stifled him into insensibility, and he would have perished had it not been for the strenuous exertions of Baron LÖe, his companion.

The turning-point in Kane’s life came in 1850, when, induced by the persistent petition of Lady Franklin, President Taylor recommended to Congress an appropriation for an expedition in search of Sir John Franklin and his missing ships. Kane immediately volunteered for Arctic service, pressing and urging his application by every means at his command. Congress acted tardily, so that the whole expedition was fitted out in eighteen days, and Kane at the last moment, when his hopes had failed, received orders as surgeon of the Advance, the flagship, which he joined May 20, 1850.

The expedition owed its existence to the enterprise and generosity of Henry Grinnell, whose philanthropic mind planned, practical energy equipped, and munificence endowed it. Without Grinnell’s action Congress would have failed to fit out the expedition, and the grateful chapter of American co-operation with England in its Franklin search would have been unwritten. Such practical displays of sympathy in matters of general and national interest, now considered the most hopeful signs of international fellowship, may be said to have been inaugurated by the despatch of the first Grinnell expedition on its errand of humanity.

Under a joint resolution of Congress, passed May 2, 1850, the President was authorized “to accept and attach to the navy two vessels offered by Henry Grinnell, Esq., to be sent to the Arctic seas in search of Sir John Franklin and his companions.” These vessels—two very small brigs, the flagship Advance and the Rescue—were placed under command of Lieutenant Edwin J. DeHaven, an officer of Antarctic service under Wilkes. The vessels had detachable rudders, modern fittings, were admirably strengthened and fully equipped; in short, they were thoroughly adapted to the difficult navigation in prospect. Where Grinnell’s forethought and liberality ended there was, says Kane, another tale: the strictly naval equipment could not be praised, and the “crews consisted of man-of-war’s-men of various climes and habitudes, with constitutions most of them impaired by disease or temporarily broken by the excesses of shore life;” but he commends them as ever brave, willing, and reliable.

The squadron touched at various Greenland ports and then entered the dreaded ice-pack of Melville Bay, in which the sailing vessels made slow progress; but in their besetment of three weeks the only dangerous experience was a “nip,” which nearly destroyed the Advance. The movement of the ice-floes is thus graphically told by Kane: “The momentum of the assailing floe was so irresistible that as it impinged against the solid margin of the land ice there was no recoil, no interruption to its progress. The elastic material corrugated before the enormous pressure, then cracked, then crumbled, and at last rose, the lesser over the greater, sliding up in great inclined planes, and these again, breaking by their weight and their continued impulse, toppled over in long lines of fragmentary ice.”

DeHaven entered Lancaster Sound, near the end of August, in company with half a dozen English ships bound on the same humane errand, and on the 24th Master Griffin, of the Rescue, participated in the search with Captain Ommaney, which resulted in the discovery, on Beechy Island, of vestiges of an encampment. Two days later DeHaven and Kane shared in the joint search, wherein Captain Penny discovered the graves of three of Franklin’s crew. These discoveries proved that Franklin’s expedition had wintered there during 1845-46, and later innumerable traces of their stay were noted, indicating the good condition and activity of the expedition. On September 10th DeHaven’s squadron was off Griffith Island in company with eight English search ships. Consulting with Griffin, DeHaven concluded that they had not attained such a position as promised advantageous operations in the season of 1851, and so decided to extricate the vessels from the ice and return home.

The Arctic Highway.

Strong gales and an unusually early advance of winter prevented such action and resulted in the ships being frozen up in the pack, where they drifted helplessly to and fro, a condition they were destined to undergo for many months. Beset in the middle of Wellington Channel, the American squadron, with varying movements to and fro, first drifted under the influence of southerly gales to the north-northwest, attaining latitude 75° 25´ N., longitude 93° 31´ W. In this northerly drift the expedition discovered Murdaugh Island and quite extensive masses of land to the northwest of North Devon, to which the name of Grinnell was given. This land was further extended the following year by the discoveries of Captain Penny, and most unwarrantable efforts were made by ungenerous and unappreciating officials in England to take from the American squadron its ewe lamb of 1850, an attempt that, properly refuted, failed of its purpose.

October 2, 1860, the direction of the drift changed to the south and later to the east. Their involuntary course lay through Wellington Channel, Barrow Strait, and Lancaster Sound into Baffin Bay, where release came, near Cape Walsingham, June 5, 1851. The drift covered ten hundred and fifty miles and lasted eight and a half months. The sun was absent twelve weeks. It is impossible to adequately describe the physical and mental sufferings of the party during this protracted ice imprisonment. It was a constant succession of harassing conditions, each, if possible, seeming worse than the former. Now the ships were so firmly imbedded in the cemented ice-pack that extrication appeared impossible; again the complete disruption of the pack threatened, or the instant destruction of their vessels impended, with prospects of a winter on the naked floe under such conditions of darkness, sickness, lack of shelter, and suitable nutrition as would render a lingering death unavoidable. No single week passed with a feeling of security; for days at a time there was no hour free from terrible suspense as to what fate might immediately befall, and four times in one day the entire party prepared to abandon ship at order. The cold became extreme, the mean of one week in March being thirty-one degrees below zero; seal and other fresh meat could be got only in small quantities, and scurvy, the bane of Arctic explorers, affected all save six of the crew, DeHaven being put off duty by this disease. In all these terrible experiences, which were borne with a fortitude, courage, and patience most creditable, Kane was first and foremost in sustaining the heroic efforts of Griffin, master of the Rescue, on whom the executive duties devolved during DeHaven’s illness. It may be said that not only Kane’s medical skill, but also his cheeriness, activity, and ingenious devices contributed largely to conserve the health, spirits, and morale of the crew in these dark hours when despair seemed justified.

Released from the pack, DeHaven patched up his injured ships and attempted to return and prosecute further the Franklin search; but, stopped in his return journey by ice in the upper part of Melville Bay, he judiciously decided to return to the United States, which was safely reached September 30, 1851.

The following extracts from Kane’s very vivid account of the expedition illustrate some of the most striking phases of their experiences as recorded in his journal.

Of the conditions and experience of the Advance in the moving ice-pack he says:

“We were yet to be familiarized with the strife of the ice-tables, now broken into tumbling masses and piling themselves in angry confusion against our sides; now fixed in chaotic disarray by the fields of new ice that imbedded them in a single night; again, perhaps, opening in treacherous pools, only to close around us with a force that threatened to grind our brig to powder.”

“A level snow-covered surface was rising up in inclined planes or rudely undulating curves. These, breaking at their summits, fell off on each side in masses of twenty tons’ weight. Tables of six feet in thickness by twenty of perpendicular height, and some of them fifteen yards in length, surging up into the misty air, heaving, rolling, tottering, and falling with a majestic deliberation worthy of the forces that impelled them.”

The following descriptions indicate the narrow escapes of the ships from destruction during disruptions of the ice-pack:

“The separated sides would come together with an explosion like a mortar, craunching the newly formed field and driving it headlong in fragments for fifty feet upon the floe till it piled up against our bulwarks. Everything betokened a crisis. Sledges, boats, packages of all sorts were disposed in order; contingencies were met as they approached by new delegations of duty; every man was at work, officers and seamen alike. The Rescue, crippled and thrown away from us to the further side of a chasm, was deserted, and her company consolidated with ours. Our own brig groaned and quivered under the pressure against her sides.”

“The ice came in with the momentum before mentioned as irresistible, progressive, and grand. All expected to betake ourselves sledgeless to the ice, for the open space around the vessel barely admits of a foot-board. The timbers and even cross-beams protected by shores vibrated so as to communicate to you the peculiar tremor of a cotton-factory. Presently the stern of the brig, by a succession of jerking leaps, began to rise, while her bows dipped toward the last night’s ice ahead. Everybody looked to see her fall upon her beam-ends and rushed out upon the ice.”

“On the 13th the hummock ridge astern advanced with a steady march upon the vessel. Twice it rested and advanced again—a dense wall of ice, thirty feet broad at the base and twelve feet high, tumbling huge fragments from its crest, yet increasing in mass at every new effort. We had ceased to hope, when a merciful interposition arrested it, so close against our counter that there was scarcely room for a man to pass between. Half a minute of progress more and it would have buried us all. As we drifted along five months afterward this stupendous memento of controlling power was still hanging over our stern.”

The discomfort of the prescribed out-of-door exercise in extreme cold appears from the following:

A Sleeping-bag for Three Men.

“Close the lips for the first minute or two and admit the air suspiciously through nostril and mustache. Presently you breathe in a dry, pungent but gracious and agreeable atmosphere. The beard, eyebrows, eyelashes, and the downy pubescence of the ears acquire a delicate white and perfectly enveloped cover of venerable hoar-frost. The mustache and under lip form pendulous beads of dangling ice. Put out your tongue and it instantly freezes to this icy crusting, and a rapid effort and some hand aid will be required to liberate it. The less you talk the better. Your chin has a trick of freezing to your upper jaw by the luting aid of your beard; even my eyes have often been so glued as to show that even a wink may be unsafe.”

The unfortunate physical condition of the party made Kane’s duties most onerous and wearing. In mid-winter he says:

“Scurvy advanced steadily. This fearful disease, so often warded off when in a direct attack, now exhibited itself in a cachexy, a depraved condition of system sad to encounter. Pains diffuse and non-locatable were combined with an apathy and lassitude which resisted all attempts at healthy excitement. These, of course, were not confined to the crew alone: out of twenty-four men but five were without ulcerated gums and blotched limbs. All the officers were assailed.”

The expedition safe in port, the recollection of the horrors and privations of his mid-winter drift through the polar pack did not deter Kane from again braving the danger of Arctic exploration, and he was soon busily engaged in stimulating public opinion to the support of another expedition. To this end he especially addressed the American Geographic Society, of which Henry Grinnell was president, presenting a well-intended but fallacious and illogical plan for continuing the search for Franklin.

Kane was personally aware, from the experiences of his previous voyage with DeHaven, that Franklin had wintered at Beechy Island, in 74° 43´ N., 91° 33´ W., and that his positive orders from the admiralty required him to push southward from the vicinity of Cape Walker to Behring Strait. A search for him by the way of Smith Sound, four degrees of latitude to the northward and seventeen degrees of longitude to the eastward of his last known position, rested on the violent assumption that Franklin had not only directly disobeyed his positive orders to go west and southwest, but had done so after one-third of the distance from Greenland to Behring Strait had been accomplished.

Again there had lately been made public in England the last direct report from the Franklin expedition—a letter from Captain Fitzjames—who relates that Franklin showed him part of his instructions, expressed his disbelief in an open sea to the north, and gave “a pleasant account of his expectations of being able to get through the ice on the coast of America.” Dr. Rae had also reported finding drift material on the north coast of America, which, having the broad arrow and red thread of the government, could come from the quarter where Franklin’s orders sent him, thus confirming the belief that he had gone southwest from Cape Walker. Moreover, the squadrons of Belcher and Collinson were actively engaged in the search northward of America.

It was finally decided that a second expedition should be sent, the United States co-operating, as before, with private enterprise; and to the command of this expedition Kane was assigned, by orders from the Secretary of the Navy, in November, 1852. The expedition was fitted out through the liberality of two Americans, Henry Grinnell, who again placed the brig Advance at the disposal of the government, and George Peabody, the American philanthropist, who contributed $10,000, a sum that practically covered all other expenses of the voyage.

Kane’s faith in the existence of an open polar sea and his intention of reaching it were clearly asserted. Combined with the proposed search for Franklin was a declared purpose to extend northward the discoveries of Inglefield, in 1851, on the west coast of Greenland, where, as Kane says, he contemplated reaching “its most northern attainable point, and thence pressing on toward the Pole as far as boats or sledges could carry us, examine the coast lines for vestiges of the lost party.”

The expedition sailed from New York May 30, 1853, consisting of eighteen men, all volunteers, although ten belonged to the United States Navy. Except as regards scientific instruments, the equipment of the expedition was in most respects inadequate and unsuitable for Arctic service, the bulk of the provisions, for instance, being hard bread, salt beef, and pork, with no canned meats or vegetables.

The Greenland ports were visited, where a moderate amount of fur clothing and fifty Esquimau dogs were purchased. On June 27th the Advance entered Melville Bay, and standing boldly to the westward, although hindered by the loose drifting ice, was favored by an offshore gale, and in ten days passed into the open sea west of Cape York, known to Arctic voyagers as the “North Water,” the only misfortune being the loss of a whaleboat. In order to secure retreat Kane, fortunately for himself as it afterward proved, cached his metallic life-boat, filled with boat stores, on Littleton Island. Favored by the conditions of the ice Kane rounded Cape Hatherton, when the main pack setting southward obliged him to seek shelter in Refuge Harbor, a land-locked cove. Later the Advance was able, as the ice opened, to make sail and pass around Cairn Point, but a violent gale broke her from her moorings and nearly wrecked her. The ice conditions were now so adverse that seven of his eight officers addressed to him written opinions in favor of a return to a more southern harbor. Such retrograde movement would have removed them from the contemplated field of operations, and Kane declined. Every favorable opportunity of warping the brig—she could be moved in no other way—was availed of, and despite most difficult conditions of ice and water, the brig being on her beam-ends at low tide and jammed by floes at high water, she was moved a number of miles to the eastward, and on September 9th was put into winter-quarters in Rensselaer Harbor, 78° 37´ N., 71° 14´ W., which, says Kane, “we were fated never to leave together—a long resting-place to her, for the same ice is around her still.”

The Coming Arctic Night.

Scarcely were they moored than signs of coming winter crowded fast one after another; the flowers were blackened by frost; long lines of flying water-fowl trended southward, leaving solitary the hardy snow-bird; the sun grew lower from day to day with startling rapidity, and the young ice cemented the separated old floes into one solid roadway for the sledgemen. Kane set about exploring the country and travelled some fifty miles to Mary Minturn River, whence from adjoining high land he had a view of Washington land, the vicinity of Cape Constitution. During this journey he first observed the peculiar ice formation now known as the ice-foot, but then novel. It is best described in his words: “We were on a table or shelf of ice which clung to the base of rocks overlooking the sea, ... with huge angular blocks, some many tons in weight, scattered over its surface.” Hayes and Wilson travelled some fifty miles into the interior till their further progress was stopped by the edge of the inland ice. McGary and Bonsall, with sledge party of seven, made three caches to the northeast, the farthest being in 79° 12´ N., 65° 25´ W., under the face of an enormous glacier, to which the name of Humboldt was given.

The winter passed quietly, the officers making tidal, astronomical, magnetic, and meteorological observations, while the men, engaged in ordinary pursuits, kept in health. Unfortunately fifty-seven, nearly all, of the dogs died, thus depriving Kane of his main reliance for field operations. The extreme cold—the mean temperature for December to March, inclusive, being thirty-two degrees below zero—had reduced the fuel so that the allowance was three buckets a day. Other supplies commenced to show their need or inadequacy; oil for lamps failed, as did fresh meat from game, and unfortunately there was no canned meat, only salted.

Despite his loss of dogs Kane decided on laying out new depots, and with the advance of March he watched eagerly the temperature. From the 10th to the 19th the cold averaged seventy-six degrees below the freezing-point. He started his man-sledge on the 20th, under charge of Brooks, first officer, with seven others at the drag-ropes. Unfortunately the equipment was either somewhat defective or some of the party were inexperienced in the methods needful for self-preservation in such extreme cold. Kane gives no details of the causes of the calamity save to say that “a heavy gale from the north-northeast broke upon the party, and the temperature fell to fifty-seven below zero.”

The first news of the disaster came from Sontag, Ohlsen, and Petersen, who suddenly appeared in the cabin, at midnight of March 31st, swollen, haggard, and hardly able to speak. Kane continues: “They had left their companions in the ice, risking their own lives to bring us the news; Brooks, Baker, Wilson, and Pierre, were all lying frozen and disabled. Where? They could not tell; somewhere among the hummocks to the northeast; it was drifting heavily around them. Irish Tom had stayed to care for the others. It was vain to question them, for they were sinking with fatigue and hunger, and could hardly be rallied enough to tell us the direction.”

Kane instantly organized a relief party of ten men, which, despite his delicate physique, he headed himself. Taking Ohlsen, the most rational of the sufferers, in a fur bag, and as lightly equipped as was possible, the rescuers moved out in a temperature seventy-eight degrees below freezing. Ohlsen fell asleep, but on awakening was of no use as guide owing to his delirious condition. Reaching a large level floe Kane put up his tent and scattered his party to find traces of the lost men. Eighteen hours had now elapsed and Kane’s own party was in a deplorable state, partly owing to the extreme cold and partly to extreme nervousness arising from anxiety and sympathy. He says: “McGary and Bonsall, who had stood out our severest marches, were seized with trembling fits and short breath, and in spite of all my efforts I fainted twice on the snow.” Fortunately Hans, the Esquimau, found a sledge-track which led to the camp in a few hours, where Kane found the four men on their backs, whose welcome greeting, “We expected you: we were sure you would come,” proved how great was their confidence in their commander. The day was extremely cold and most providentially clear and sunny, but even with these favoring conditions it was almost a miracle that they were able to drag the frozen men to the brig. “The tendency to sleep,” says Kane, “could only be overcome by mechanical violence; and when at last we got back to the brig, still dragging the wounded men instinctively behind us, there was not one whose mind was found to be unimpaired.” Baker and Schubert died; Wilson and Brooks finally recovered, losing, however, part of their feet by amputation.

Esquimau Boys Fishing.

Kane determined to lead the next party himself, and near the end of April, 1854, with seven men he attempted to lay down an india-rubber boat high up on the Greenland coast. He had, however, sadly overrated the strength of his men and of himself. About eighty miles from the brig, near Dallas Bay, one man broke down entirely and four others were partly disabled, and their cache was made at that point with many misgivings, as bears had destroyed the stores laid down the previous autumn. The troubles of the party now commenced, for Kane, fainting while making an observation, had to be hauled back by the disabled men. Despite the moderate temperature Kane’s left foot froze, his limbs became rigid and badly swollen, fainting spells were more frequent, and he fell into alternate spells of delirium and unconsciousness, in which state his broken-down sledge crew conveyed him by forced marches to the brig, where, says Hayes, the surgeon, he arrived nearly insensible and so swollen by scurvy as to be hardly recognizable, and in such a debilitated state that an exposure of a few more hours would have terminated his life. Kane’s wonderful recuperative powers speedily restored him from his nearly helpless condition to a state of comparative good health, but he could not conceal his evident inability to personally attempt further sledge journeys that spring.

In this emergency he decided to send his surgeon, Dr. I. I. Hayes, to explore the western shore of Smith’s Strait, from Cape Sabine northward, and for this purpose detailed Godfrey with the seven best dogs available.

The ice over Smith’s Sound was extremely rough, so that progress was slow and tedious. Finally, with his provisions nearly exhausted, Hayes reached land in the vicinity of Dobbin Bay and made his farthest at Cape Hayes, which, according to his observations, was in about 79° 45´ N. Hayes was stricken with snow-blindness; the journey was extremely exhausting; Godfrey broke down, and the dogs were so nearly worn out that at the last camp they abandoned sleeping-bags, extra clothing, and everything except arms and instruments. Kane says that both men were snow-blind on arrival at the brig, and the doctor, in a state of exhaustion, had to be led to his bedside to make his report.

Impressed with Hayes’s success on the west shore of Smith’s Sound, Kane decided to send Morton northward on the Greenland side so as to determine the extent of the frozen channel seen by Hayes from his farthest. Morton was supported by a sledge party of four men, who reached Humboldt glacier after ten days’ travel, and were here joined by Esquimau Hans with a dog-sledge. On the 18th the supporting party turned homeward, while Morton and Hans, with a dog-sledge, started northward, travelling about five miles distant from and parallel with the face of Humboldt glacier.

On June 24th Morton’s northward progress was stopped by very high, perpendicular cliffs washed by open water and free from the customary ice-foot. All efforts to pass around the projecting cliff, to which the name of Cape Constitution was given, proved unavailing. Morton says: “The knob to which I climbed was over five hundred feet in height, and from it not a speck of ice was to be seen as far as I could observe; the sea was open, the swell came from the northward, ... and the surf broke in on the rocks below in regular breakers.”

Morton, in his report, described two islands opposite Cape Constitution; Kennedy Channel as about thirty-five miles wide, running due north and having an unbroken mountainous land along its western limits. Twenty miles, estimated, due south of Cape Constitution, Morton made the latitude, by meridian altitude of the sun, 80° 41´ N., which by dead reckoning made the cape 81° 1´. Kane gives its latitude, corrected by triangulation, as 81° 22´ N.

These discoveries, strengthening Kane’s belief in an open polar sea, caused him to put forth on his return such statements and generalizations as drew forth sharp criticisms, wherein the correctness and value of all the field work of his expedition were impugned.

It would be most gratifying to Americans if adverse criticisms as to distances travelled and astronomical positions determined could be refuted. It is, however, a matter of fact, not of opinion, that nearly all the given latitudes are much too far to the north, while no considerable distance was travelled which was not overestimated from fifty to one hundred per cent. These blemishes on Kane’s great work doubtless arose from two causes: first, his implicit confidence in the ability and accuracy of his subordinates, and, second, to his poetic temperament, which transformed into beauty the common things of life and enhanced their interest by striking contrasts of high lights and deep shadows.

An Arctic Stream.

Subsequent expeditions have surveyed and charted Kennedy Channel with an accuracy leaving little to be desired, and as a result it is now known that the open “sea” seen by Morton was simply the ice-free water of the southern half of Kennedy Channel, which condition obtains during a great part of each year. The descriptions of the region by Morton in his report, though simple, are yet so accurate and free from exaggeration as to prove conclusively his entire honesty. When, however, his astronomical observations and estimates of distances are considered, Morton’s incompetency is apparent, as they are, in common with most of the other field work, erroneous and misleading. The latitude of Cape Constitution was overstated fifty-two geographic miles by Kane and thirty-one miles by Morton, while Kennedy Channel, instead of being thirty-five miles wide, ranges only from seventeen to twenty-five. The farthest mountain seen was Mount Ross, on the north side of Carl Ritter Bay, about 80° 58´ N., more than ninety miles to the southward of its assumed position. Kane’s personal knowledge of Morton’s honesty was so complete that he placed equal confidence in his ability and accuracy, an error of judgment arising largely from Kane’s great affection for his subordinate.

In the meantime the Etah Esquimaux, most fortunately for Kane, had discovered and visited the Advance, and through their friendly offices the expedition profited largely.

The summer of 1854 disclosed the error of wintering in Rensselaer Harbor, for it passed without freeing the brig from ice. The situation, Kane relates, was most unpromising, and near the middle of July he determined on a desperate attempt to communicate with the English expeditionary vessels supposed to be at Beechy Island, several hundred miles to the southwest. Kane with five others started in a whaleboat, but owing to the bad ice returned unsuccessful after an absence of eighteen days.

On August 18th Kane regards it as an obvious fact that they must look another winter in the face, and says: “It is horrible—yes, that is the word—to look forward to another year of disease and darkness to be met without fresh food or fuel. The physical energies of the party have sensibly declined; resources are diminished; there are but fifty gallons of oil saved from the summer seal hunt; we are scant of fuel; our food consists now of ordinary marine stores and is by no means suited to dispel scurvy; our molasses is reduced to forty gallons and our dried fruits seem to have lost their efficiency.”

Under these discouraging circumstances came the most trying experiences of the expedition. The majority of the party entertained the idea that escape to the south by boats was still practicable despite the lateness of the summer, although Kane’s own experience in the previous month had shown the futility of such an effort. Conscious, however, that he could control only by moral influence the majority who were of this opinion, he decided to appeal to them. On August 24th he assembled the entire crew, set forth eloquently that such an effort must be exceedingly hazardous, escape southward almost improbable, and strongly advised them to forego the project. However, he ended by freely according his permission to such as were desirous of making the attempt, provided that they would organize under an officer before starting and renounce in writing all claims upon the expedition. Nine out of the seventeen, headed by Petersen, the Danish interpreter, and Dr. Hayes, the surgeon, decided to attempt the boat journey and left the vessel August 28th. Kane fitted them out liberally, provided every possible appliance to facilitate and promote their success, and gave them a written assurance of a hearty welcome should they be driven to return. One of the party, Riley, rejoined Kane within a few days, and well into the Arctic winter, on December 7th, Bonsall and Petersen returned through the aid of the Esquimaux. They reported to Kane that their associates were some two hundred miles distant, their energies broken, provisions nearly gone, divided in their counsel, and desirous of returning to share again the fortunes of the Advance. Kane immediately sent supplies to the suffering party by the natives, and took active measures to facilitate their return, and on December 12th had the great joy of seeing the entire expedition reunited. In this connection Kane properly notes the humane actions of the Esquimaux, saying: “Whatever may have been their motives, their conduct to our friends was certainly full of humanity. They drove at flying speed; every hut gave its welcome as they halted; the women were ready without invitation to dry and chafe their worn-out guests.”

Kane, it may be added, did not allude in his official report to the Secretary of the Navy to this temporary division of his command, which, however, is told, both in his own narrative and in that of Dr. Hayes, in his “Arctic Boat Journey.”

As winter went on they hunted unavailingly for game, and the abundant supplies hitherto obtained from the Etah Esquimaux failed, owing to the unfavorable ice conditions, which caused a famine among the natives and reduced them to the lowest stages of misery and emaciation. Scurvy with its varying phases also sapped the energies of the crew, while Hayes was disabled from amputation of a portion of his frozen foot.

When practically the entire crew must be said to have been on the sick-list, Blake and Godfrey decided to desert and take their chances with the Esquimaux. The plan being detected by Kane, Blake remained, but Godfrey deserted, and with Hans, the Esquimau, remained absent nearly a month. Godfrey, however, contributed to the support of the expedition by sending supplies of meat, and later returned under duress.

With the returning spring of 1855 the necessity of abandoning the brig was apparent to all; the ship was practically little more than a shell, as everything that could possibly be used without making her completely unseaworthy had been consumed for fire-wood. There remained in April only a few weeks’ supply of food and fuel, while the solidity of the ice in the vicinity of Rensselaer Harbor indicated the impossibility of an escape by vessel. It was no slight task to move the necessary stock of provisions and stores to their boats and to the open water in the vicinity of Cape Alexander. This was, however, safely accomplished by the middle of June, the vessel having been formally abandoned on May 17th. The final casualty in the party occurred near Littleton Island, when Ohlsen, in a tremendous and successful effort to save a loaded sledge from loss in broken ice, so injured himself internally that he died within three days. During this retreating journey Kane records the invaluable assistance of the Esquimaux, who “brought daily supplies of birds, assisted in carrying boat-stores, and invariably exhibited the kindliest feelings and strictest honesty.” Leaving Cape Alexander on June 15, 1854, Cape York was passed on July 21st, and, crossing Melville Bay along the margin of its land ice in five days, Kane reached the north coast of Greenland on August 3d, forty-seven days from Cape Alexander.

At Disco the party met Lieutenant Hartstene, whose squadron, sent to relieve Kane, had already visited Cape Alexander, and learning from the natives of Kane’s retreat by boat to the south turned promptly back to the Greenland ports. Surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries which the means or thoughtfulness of their rescuing comrades of the navy could furnish, Kane and his men made a happy journey southward to meet the grand ovation that greeted them from their appreciative countrymen in New York, on October 11, 1855.

Neither the anxiety of countless friends nor the skill of his professional brethren could long preserve to his family, to the navy, and to the country the ebbing life of the gallant Kane. The disease which for twenty years had threatened his life now progressed with rapidity, and on February 16, 1857, he died at Havana, Cuba.

No single Arctic expedition of his generation added so greatly to the knowledge of the world as did that of Kane’s. In ethnology it contributed the first full account of the northernmost inhabitants of the world, the Etah Esquimaux; in natural history it supplied extensive and interesting information as to the flora and fauna of extreme western Greenland, especially valuable from its isolation by the surrounding inland ice; in physical sciences the magnetic, meteorological, tidal, and glacier observations were extremely valuable contributions; in geography it extended to a higher northerly point than ever before a knowledge of polar lands, and it opened up a practical and safe route for Arctic exploration which has been more persistently and successfully extended poleward than any other.

Of Kane’s conduct under the exceptionally prolonged and adverse circumstances attendant on his second Arctic voyage, it is to be said that he displayed the characteristics of a high and noble character. Considerate of his subordinates, assiduous in performing his multifarious duties as commander, studying ever to alleviate the mental and physical ailments of his crew, and always unsparing of himself whenever exposure to danger, hardships, or privations promised definite results. It is not astonishing that these qualities won and charmed all his associates, equals or subordinates, and that they followed him unhesitatingly into the perils and dangers that Kane’s enthusiastic and optimistic nature led him to brave, with the belief that to will was to do.

The career of Kane cannot be more beautifully and truthfully summarized than was done in the funeral sermon over his bier: “He has traversed the planet in its most inaccessible places; has gathered here and there a laurel from every walk of physical research in which he strayed; has gone into the thick of perilous adventure, abstracting in the spirit of philosophy, yet seeing in the spirit of poesy; has returned to invest the very story of his escape with the charms of literature and art, and dying at length in the morning of his fame, is now lamented with mingled affection and pride by his country and the world.”

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X.

ISAAC ISRAEL HAYES,

And The Open Polar Sea.

History affords many examples wherein neither the originator nor the early advocate of a striking idea has reaped fame therefrom, and their names give way to some persistent, tireless worker who forces the subject on public attention by his ceaseless efforts. Among Arctic theories none has more fully occupied and interested the mind of the general public than that of an open, navigable sea in the polar regions. In connection with this theory the minds of Americans turn naturally to Dr. I. I. Hayes, who, not the originator, inherited his belief therein from the well-known Professor Maury, through the mediation of Kane, Hayes’s Arctic commander. DeHaven thought he saw signs of Maury’s ice-free sea to the northward of Wellington Strait, Kane through Morton found it at Cape Constitution, Hayes recognized it a few miles farther up Kennedy Channel, but Markham turned it into a frozen sea in 83° 20´ N. latitude, and Lockwood, from Cape Kane, on the most northerly land of all time, rolled the frozen waste yet to the north, beyond the eighty-fourth parallel, to within some three hundred and fifty miles of the geographical Pole.

Isaac Israel Hayes.

Isaac Israel Hayes was born in Chester County, Pa., March 5, 1832. He gained the title of doctor by graduation in the University of Pennsylvania, in 1853, in which year, at twenty-four hours’ notice, he accepted the appointment, procured his outfit, and sailed as surgeon of Kane’s Arctic expedition. An account of this voyage appears in the sketch of Dr. Kane, but some further reference to it is now necessary. Hayes, it will be remembered, was the surgeon, a position which exempted him from field-work. However, when Kane and others broke down, Hayes volunteered, and was sent with Godfrey, a seaman, and a team of seven dogs to explore the west coast of Smith Sound. The journey lasted from May 20 to June 1, 1853, and, all things considered, such as defective equipment, rough ice, and attacks of snow-blindness, the results were unusually creditable.

The rough ice travelled over is thus described by Hayes: “We were brought to a halt by a wall of broken ice ranging from five to thirty feet in height.... We had not a foot of level travelling. Huge masses of ice from twenty to forty feet in height were heaped together; in crossing these ridges our sledge would frequently capsize and roll over and over—dogs, cargo, and all.” Hayes finally reached land on May 27th, at a bluffy headland “to the north and east of a little (Dobbin) bay, which seemed to terminate about ten miles inland.” This point, called later Cape Hayes, was placed by him by observations in 79° 42´ N., 71° 17´ W. From his farthest Hayes mentions the sea-floe as continuing in a less rough condition to the northward, and correctly describes the interior of Grinnell Land as a great mountain-chain following the trend of the coast.

His broken sledge and nearly exhausted provisions obliged Hayes to return, and in so doing he crossed Dobbin Bay to, and passed under the shadow of, the noble headland of Cape Hawks, where they gave their dogs the last scrap of pemican. Hayes resolved to here abandon all his extra clothing, sleeping-bags, etc., some forty pounds, a rash act, as they must have been between sixty and seventy miles from the brig, and in case of a storm would have perished. The first day’s return journey the dogs were fed with seal-skin, from old boots, and a little lamp-lard, and the day following with bread crumbs, lard scrapings, and seal-skin off mittens and trousers. The travellers got scanty rest, dozing in the sun on the sledge, and finally reached Rensselaer Harbor snow-blind and utterly exhausted.

Hayes was thus the first white man to put foot on the new land, to which Kane affixed the name of Grinnell. It is impossible to understand Kane’s failure to properly recognize this successful and arduous journey of Hayes, and one looks in vain for confirmation of Kane’s claim that he “renewed and confirmed,” in April, 1854, the work of Hayes and Godfrey, for his own account shows that Kane’s April journey failed completely to reach Grinnell Land.

Two months after his journey to Grinnell Land, Hayes was called on to decide whether he would remain with Kane at Rensselaer Harbor, where the unbroken ice plainly claimed the brig Advance as its own for another year, sharing the hardships and dangers of a second Arctic winter, or, fleeing south without his commander, seek safety and shelter through a boat journey down Smith Sound, and across Melville Bay, to the northern Danish settlement, Upernivik, in Greenland. Hayes, unfortunately for his reputation, yielded to the majority, and nine of the party, headed by Petersen, Sontag, and Hayes, decided to go, while only six white men and Esquimau Hans remained. It is true that Kane had only two weeks before returned from an unsuccessful attempt to reach Beechy Island, as difficult a task as the voyage to Upernivik, which he had quitted his brig to lead in person; but such action should not have been viewed as a justification for again separating the party.

Upernivik.

Hayes alleges in extenuation that Kane had previously announced to the crew that their labors would thereafter be directed homeward, that the attempted journey to Beechy Island was solely to procure aid, that the “boat journey” simply changed the direction of their efforts, save that it was led by Petersen and not by Kane. Further, that the departure of the majority of the crew would give augmented health-conditions, space, and food to those who remained.

Accepting Kane’s permission, freely accorded, as he says, to make the boat journey, liberally equipped with such supplies as the brig had, and assured of a hearty welcome should they return, the boat party left Rensselaer Harbor, August 28, 1853, confident of its ability to succeed.

Sudden cold, sledging accidents, and bad ice soon caused Riley to return to the brig; but despite sea-soaked bedding, injured limbs, and exhausting labor, the rest of the boat party persevered with sledge to the open water, and, launching their whaleboat, proceeded rapidly till a closed ice-pack stopped them at Littleton Island.

It is unnecessary to detail despairing delays or delusive hopes which changing conditions of ice and weather alternately aroused, during their southward journey, nor to recite the hardships and perils arising from violent gales, drifting snow, the disruption and closing of the pack, the severe cold of a rapidly advancing winter, their lack of shelter and insufficiency of proper food. Suffice it to say that, confronted by impassable ice-floes, they were finally forced, with damaged boat, depleted supplies, and impaired strength, to establish winter quarters south of Cape Parry, midway between Whale and Wostenholme Sounds.

The preservation of stores, construction of shelter, and accumulation of means of subsistence now engrossed their entire energies. The construction of a hut, although facilitated by a rocky cavern, proved to be exhausting in the extreme from the difficulty of obtaining material from the frozen soil. Their most skilful hunters kept the field continually, but game failed, and from day to day food supply diminished with, to them, startling rapidity. Eventually reduced to the verge of starvation, they would have perished but for food obtained from the Esquimaux, which, though scanty and irregular, yet sustained life.

Affairs went from bad to worse, and with the increasing cold and diminishing light of December it was decided that they must either perish or return to the brig; either alternative had its advocates. To decide was to act. Petersen negotiated with the Esquimaux, and by judicious admixture of persuasion, command, and force, succeeded in having the entire boat party transported by sledge to the Advance, where they were received with fraternal kindness. Hayes relates, “Dr. Kane met us at the gangway and grasped me warmly by the hand.... Ohlsen folded me in his arms, and, kissing me, threw me into his warm bed.”

The boat journey to Upernivik, which proved dangerous and impracticable to his small party in advancing winter, proved, with the returning summer of 1855, not difficult to the reunited party of Kane, and so ended the boat journey of Hayes and his first Arctic service.

The loss of a portion of his foot, extreme sufferings from exposure, and his great privations in the Kane expedition failed to abate Hayes’s enthusiasm in Arctic exploration. Immediately on his return to the United States, in October, 1855, he advocated a second expedition, with the object of completing the survey of the north coast of Greenland and Grinnell Land, and to make explorations toward the North Pole. His strenuous efforts to excite public interest failed at first; but Hayes devoted himself to lecturing on Arctic subjects, and finally enlisted in his support most of the scientific societies of the country. The advocacy of Professors Bache and Henry, and the support of Grinnell, gave an impulse which finally resulted in the organization of an expedition, under Hayes’s command, and on July 6, 1860, he left Boston on the sailing schooner United States, with a crew of fourteen.

It is not needful to dwell on his outward voyage farther than to say that, in addition to the complement of dogs and stock of furs usually obtained in Greenland, Hayes there recruited dog-drivers, interpreters, and hunters. At Cape York he also added Hans Hendrik, Kane’s dog-driver, who, smitten with the dusky charms of the daughter of Shang-hu, had chosen to remain with the Etah Esquimaux rather than return to Danish Greenland with the Kane retreating party in 1855. Now, five years later, he showed an equal willingness to quit his adopted tribe for expeditionary purposes.

Hayes’s Winter-Quarters.

Profiting by the experience of his predecessor, Hayes was unwilling to push a sailing vessel northward into Kane’s Basin, beyond the seventy-eighth parallel, and wisely decided to establish his winter-quarters in Foulke Fiord, near Littleton Island, twenty miles to the south, and about forty miles west, of Kane’s quarters. Game proved abundant both at sea and on land, pleasant relations were established with their neighbors, the Etah Esquimaux, an observatory built, and scientific observations inaugurated. Indeed everything looked most promising for the future.

An autumnal journey of special interest was Hayes’s visit to “My Brother John Glacier,” near Port Foulke, which, up to that time, was the most northerly and one of the most successful attempts to penetrate the glacier-covering of Greenland, known commonly as the “Inland Ice.” With seven men he penetrated some forty miles or more on the ice, when the temperature, sinking to thirty-four degrees below zero, with wind, compelled their immediate return. The ice changed gradually, as they went inland, from rough to smooth, and the angle of rise decreased from six to two degrees at their highest, over five thousand feet. A snow-storm broke on them, and, as Hayes describes, “fitful clouds swept over the face of the full-orbed moon, which, descending toward the horizon, glimmered through the drifting snow that hurled out of the illimitable distance, and scudded over the icy plains—to the eye, in undulating lines of downy softness; to the flesh, in showers of piercing darts.”

Suddenly misfortunes came on them. Peter, an Esquimau dog-driver, brought from Upernivik, deserted. Hans Hendrik, in his interesting “Memoirs,” says: “In the beginning of the winter Peter turned a Kivigtok, that is, fled from human society to live alone up the country. We were unable to make out what might have induced him to do so. Searching for him, at last I found his footprints going to the hills.” The poor native was never seen alive, but it eventually transpired that he sought shelter in a remote and rarely visited Esquimau hut, where he died of starvation, his body being found in a very emaciated condition by an Etah native the following spring.

Next the dogs began to die of distemper, which led up to the death of Sontag, the astronomer. By the 21st of December only nine remained of thirty fine dogs, and in this contingency it was decided to open up communication with the Esquimaux of Whale Sound, some one hundred and fifty miles to the south, for the purchase of dogs. For this journey Sontag volunteered, and with him went Hans as dog-driver. Hayes waited week after week, but no news came from either Sontag or Hans. Then feelings of uneasiness gave place to alarm and fear; for a journey of Dodge, first mate, proved that the travellers had gone outside Cape Alexander, where the floe had broken, so that possibly they had been lost on drifting ice. Hayes was projecting a personal search on January 29th, when two Esquimaux visited the ship and reported that Sontag was dead. They proved to be advance-couriers of Hans, who arrived a few days later, with only five of his nine dogs remaining.

In his “Memoirs” Hans relates as follows: “It still blew a gale and the snow drifting dreadfully, for which reason we resolved to return.... The ice began breaking up, so we were forced to go ashore and continue our drive over the ice-foot. At one place the land became impassable, and we were obliged to return to the ice again. On descending here my companion (Sontag) fell through the ice, which was nothing but a thick sheet of snow and water. I stooped, but was unable to seize him, it being very low tide. As a last resort I remembered a strap hanging on the sledge-poles; this I threw to him, and when he had tied it around his body I pulled, but found it very difficult. At length I succeeded in drawing him up, but he was at the point of freezing to death, and now in the storm and drifting snow he took off his clothes and slipped into the sleeping-bag, whereupon I placed him on the sledge and repaired to our last resting-place. Our road being very rough, I cried for despair from want of help; but I reached the snow-hut.” He recites that Sontag remained unconscious to his death, and that the breaking up of the ice around Cape Alexander, confirmed by Dodge’s journey, prevented his return to the ship at that time. There was much talk about Sontag’s death, but Hans’s account is doubtless correct.

Sontag was the only trained scientific observer in the party; and in addition, from his skill, experience, and enthusiasm in Arctic work, was almost indispensable to Hayes. His death was a great blow to the party, socially as well as professionally.

In early spring Hayes succeeded in obtaining the co-operation of the Etah Esquimaux in sledging, and in a preliminary journey visited his old winter-quarters, where he had served with Kane six years before. Where they had abandoned the Advance, surrounded by the solid pack, he found ice nearly as high as were her mastheads; no vestige of the vessel remained except a bit of plank, and its fate was a matter of conjecture, though little doubt exists that she was ultimately crushed by the disruption of the pack during some violent gale. It was during this journey that Hayes experienced an intense degree of cold. Stating that the thermometer which hung inside the hut against the snow-wall indicated thirty-one degrees below zero, Hayes says: “We crawled out in the open air to try the sunshine. ’I will give you the best buffalo skin in the ship, Jansen, if the air outside is not warmer than in that den which you have left so full of holes.’ And it really seemed so. Human eye never lit upon a more pure and glowing morning. The sunlight was sparkling all over the landscape and the great world of whiteness; and the frozen plain, the hummocks, the icebergs, and the tall mountains made a picture inviting to the eye. Not a breath of air was stirring. Jansen gave in without a murmur. I brought out the thermometer and set it up in the shadow of an iceberg near by. I really expected to see it rise; but no, down sank the little red column of alcohol, down, down almost to the bulb, until it touched sixty-eight and a half degrees below zero, Fahrenheit, equal to one hundred and a half degrees below the freezing-point of water. It struck me as a singular circumstance that this great depression of temperature was not perceptible to the senses, which utterly failed to give us even so much as a hint that here in this blazing sunlight we were experiencing about the coldest temperature ever recorded.”

Adrift on a Berg.

After this preliminary journey Hayes laid down supplies at the nearest point on the Greenland shore south of, and facing, Cape Hawks. This place, called Cairn Point, was to be the base of his summer’s campaign to the north. Finally everything was ready for the main journey, and the party started on the night of April 3, 1861. Twelve men, the entire available force, were put into the field: Jansen with an eight-dog sledge, Knorr with a six-dog sledge, and a ten-man sledge on which was mounted a twenty-foot metallic life-boat, with which Hayes hoped to navigate the Polar Sea. The journey lay directly to the north over the frozen surface of Kane Sea, where the difficulties of travel through the broken hummocky ice were so great, and the unfitness of some of the men for Arctic travel so speedily developed, that Hayes was forced to abandon his efforts to get the boat across the frozen sea, which, he says, “could not have been done by one hundred men.” On April 24th Hayes records that he had been twenty-two days from the schooner, and was now distant only thirty miles from Cairn Point. Four days later, still struggling across the rough ice of Kane Sea, the party was practically broken down, being, as Hayes chronicles, “barely capable of attending to their own immediate necessities without harboring the thought of exerting themselves to complete a journey to which they can see no termination, and in the very outset of which they feel that their lives are being sacrificed.”

In this critical condition Hayes changed his plans, and sent back the entire party to the brig, except Knorr, Jansen, and McDonald, whom he selected as best fitted to make the northern journey, which he had decided to make with fourteen dogs and two sledges. Turning northward with renewed confidence and vigor, though yet struggling with various misfortunes through a tangle of broken hummocks, Hayes reached Cape Hawks on May 11th. The condition of the ice may be judged from the fact that he had been thirty-one days in making a distance of eighty miles, a little more than two miles a day. Three days’ farther march took him to Cape Frazier, where the flagstaff erected by him in 1853 yet stood erect. At the end of the next march, where they were driven to the sea ice owing to the impossibility of following the ice-foot, Hayes ascended the hillside, whence, he says, “No land was visible to the eastward. As it would not have been difficult through such an atmosphere to see a distance of fifty or sixty miles, it would appear therefore that Kennedy Channel is somewhat wider than heretofore supposed.”

On May 15th Jansen was disabled for travelling by a sprained back and injured leg, and the next morning was scarcely able to move. Hayes decided to leave the disabled man in charge of McDonald and proceed with Knorr, his purpose being “to make the best push I could and travel as far as my provisions warranted, reach the highest attainable latitude and secure such a point of observation as would enable me to form a definite opinion respecting the sea before me.”

Rough ice and deep snow so impeded his progress the first day that he only made nine miles in as many hours. Ten hours’ march compelled them to again camp, and four hours of the third day brought them to the southern cape of a bay which he determined to cross. After travelling four miles the rotten ice and frequent water-channels proved that the bay was impassable, and therefore they went into camp. The next day Hayes climbed to the top of the cliff, some eight hundred feet high, whence, he says, “the sea beneath me was a mottled sheet of white and dark patches multiplied in size as they receded until the belt of the water-sky blended them together.... All the new evidence showed that I stood upon the shores of the polar basin, and that the broad ocean lay at my feet.... There was seen in dim outline the white sloping summit of a noble head-land, the most northern known land upon our globe. I judged it to be in latitude 82° 30´ N., or four hundred and fifty miles from the North Pole.... There was no land visible except the coast on which I stood.”

Hayes, before returning to his ship, deposited in a cairn a record, dated May 19, 1861, setting forth his trip, stating that his observations placed him in 81° 35´ N. latitude, and 70° 30´ W. longitude; that his further progress was stopped by rotten ice and cracks; that he believed the polar basin was navigable during the months of July, August, and September, and that he would make an attempt to get through Smith’s Sound when the ice broke that summer.

The extent and scope of Hayes’s discoveries, as set forth in his account of the expedition in “The Open Polar Sea,” gave rise to persistent and adverse criticism both as to the soundness of his judgment and also as to the accuracy of his observations. Three expeditions, by their later surveys, have demonstrated that the astronomical position assigned by Hayes to his “farthest” on the east coast of Grinnell Land is impossible. There is unmistakably an error either of latitude or of longitude. Cape Joseph Goode, it is to be remarked, is in the longitude assigned by Hayes, while Cape Lieber is no less than six and a half degrees to the eastward; reversely, Lieber corresponds nearly to Hayes’s latitude, while Cape Joseph Goode is a degree and a half to the south. Grave and undisputable errors in other latitudes, all being too far to the north, indicate that the mistake in this instance is also of latitude. In justice to Hayes it should be said that the latitude of his “farthest” depended solely on a single observation with a small field sextant of the meridian altitude of the sun. While this is the common method on shipboard it is exceedingly objectionable in Arctic land determinations. It depends not only on the honesty of the observer, but on the condition of the sextant and also on the manner in which it is handled; either of these three qualities being faulty the observation is incorrect. The tendency of the sextant to “slip,” as it is turned over for reading, and the almost invariably benumbed condition of the hands of the traveller, indicate the extreme difficulty of making any single reading with accuracy. Again, with haste demanded so often by adverse circumstances, the index of a very small sextant may be misread a whole degree. It is unquestioned that one or the other of these accidents happened to Hayes, for the independent investigations of Bessels, Schott, and others lead to the inevitable conclusion, which any scientist may verify by examination of Hayes’s widely separated data, that his “farthest” is placed too far north. The consensus of opinion in the Lady Franklin expedition pointed to Cape Joseph Goode, 80° 14´ N., as Hayes’s “farthest,” as it agreed better with Hayes’s description than any other point; it may be added that from this cape Hayes could not see the Greenland coast above Cape Constitution, which he leaves blank on his chart, and again, here the unusually heavy spring tides, of nearly twenty-five-foot range, break up the southern half of the floes of Kennedy Channel, thus forming early in the year large water-spaces—the Open Polar Sea of Hayes and Morton.

Even if Hayes’s sight of the Open Polar Sea proved visionary, and certain unskilled observations failed of verification, yet his adventurous voyage was not barren of geographical results. He was the first civilized man to land on the shores of Ellesmere Land, along the coasts of which, between the seventy-seventh and seventy-eighth parallels, he made important discoveries; while farther to the northward, Hayes Sound, Bache Island, and other unknown lands and waters were added to our maps through his strenuous exertions.

Breaking out his schooner on July 10, 1861, an unprecedentedly early date for an Arctic ship, he quickly decided that he could hope for no further northing in a sailing vessel. However, he crossed the strait to the unvisited shores of Ellesmere Land, where he made such an examination of the coast as was practicable, and then turned his face homeward.

Hayes was fully alive to the absolute necessity of steam-power for complete Arctic success, but strictly limited means obliged him to go in a sailing vessel or not at all. He plainly foresaw the magnificent success awaiting the first expedition that should carry steam-power into Smith Sound, and full of dreams of future Arctic work he impatiently returned to the United States. It was not to be. Civil war raged, and the country called its loyal sons to arms. Hayes was not the man to falter at such a juncture. He at once tendered his schooner to the government for such use as was possible, and volunteered for the war, where his activity as the head of a great war hospital taxed to the utmost the mental and physical powers which had so long been occupied in arduous efforts to solve the riddle of the ice-free sea.

Hayes visited Greenland a third time, in 1869, with the Arctic artist, William Bradford, in the steam-sealer Panther. Arctic scenery was their quest, and so they visited the fiord of Sermitsialik, where the inland ice, which covers the greater part of Greenland, pushes down into the sea as an enormous glacier, with a front two and a half miles wide.

Here Hayes witnessed the birth of an iceberg, of which he says: “It would be impossible for mere words alone to convey an adequate idea of the action of this new-born child of the Arctic frosts. Think of a solid block of ice, a third of a mile deep, and more than half a mile in lateral diameter, hurled like a mere toy away into the water, and set to rolling to and fro by the impetus of the act. Picture this and you will have an image of power not to be seen by the action of any other forces upon the earth. The disturbance of the water was inconceivably fine. Waves of enormous magnitude were rolled up with great violence against the glacier, covering it with spray; and billows came tearing down the fiord, their progress marked by the crackling and crumbling ice which was everywhere in a state of the wildest agitation for the space of several miles.”

The famous mine of cryolite, the only valuable mineral deposit in Greenland; the Hope Sanderson of John Davis’s great voyage of 1587, with its lofty crest and innumerable flocks of wildfowl; Tessuissak, the most northerly settlement of Greenland; Duck Islands, the haunts of the eider, and the chosen rendezvous of ice-stayed whalers; Devil’s Thumb, the great, wonderful pillar, to the base of which Hayes struggled up thirteen hundred feet above the ice-covered sea, and Sabine Island, all saw the Panther, in its pleasure-seeking journey. If no geographical results sprang from this voyage, it had a literary outcome in Hayes’s book, “The Land of Desolation,” and in a series of detached sketches, which in beauty and interest are unsurpassed as regards life in Danish Greenland.

Hayes died in New York City, December 17, 1881. To the last he maintained a lively interest in Arctic exploration, and ever and again he favored polar research, always with an alternative scheme of his old harbor, Foulke fiord, as the base of operations. He resented the appellation “Great Frozen Sea” as properly characterizing the Arctic Ocean to the north of Greenland, and to the last held fast to the ideal of his youth, the belief of his manhood, “The Open Polar Sea.”

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XI.

CHARLES FRANCIS HALL,

And the North Pole.

Among the many exploring expeditions that have crossed the Arctic Circle with the sole view of reaching the North Pole, one only has sailed entirely under the auspices of the United States. This expedition was commanded neither by an officer of one of the twin military services nor by a sailor of the merchant marine, but its control was intrusted to a born Arctic explorer, Charles Francis Hall. Born in 1821, in Rochester, N. H., Hall early quitted his native hills for the freer fields of the West, as the Ohio Valley was then called, and later settled in Cincinnati. There was ever a spirit of change in him, and as years rolled on he passed from blacksmith to journalist, from stationer to engraver. Through all these changes of trades he held fast to one fancy, which in time became the dominating element of his eventful career: in early youth, fascinated with books of travel relating to exploration in the icy zones, he eagerly improved every opportunity to increase his Arctic library, which steadily grew despite his very limited resources. His interest in the fate of Franklin was so intense that he followed with impatience the slow and uncertain efforts for the relief of the lost explorer. Not content with mere sympathy he also planned an American search, to be conducted in Her Majesty’s ship Resolute. Learning in 1859 that this Arctic ship was laid up and dismantled he originated a petition asking that it be loaned for such purpose. The return of McClintock with definite news of the death of Franklin, and the retreat and loss of his expeditionary force, put an end to the petition. Hall, however, despite the admirable and convincing report of McClintock, persisted in the belief that some members of Franklin’s crew were yet alive, and he determined to solve the problem by visiting King William Land, the scene of the final disaster. He issued circulars asking public aid, diligently sought out whalers and explorers who could give him their personal experiences, and finally determined that he must go and live with the Esquimaux, and, conforming to their modes of travel and existence, work out his Arctic problem on new lines.

Charles Francis Hall.

The inauguration of the plan presented difficulties, for Hall was without means; but his persistent action created confidence, and the modest outfit for the voyage was procured through friendly contributions, while passage on a whaler for himself and baggage was tendered.

On July 30, 1860, with a whaleboat and scanty supplies, Hall landed alone on the west coast of Davis Strait, in Frobisher Bay. His base of operations was Rescue Harbor, 63° N., 65° W., whence he made a series of sledge journeys during the two years passed in this region. He re-examined the coasts visited by Frobisher in his eventful voyages of 1575 to 1579, and found the famous gold mine on Meta Incognita, whence 1,300 tons of ore were carried to England, where, as the chronicles relate, “in the melting and refining 16 tonnes whereof, proceeded 210 ounces of fine silver mixed with gold.”

An extensive collection of relics of Frobisher’s expedition was made, which later was given to the Royal Geographical Society. The expedition of Hall was mainly fruitful in training him for other Arctic work, for though his knowledge was self-acquired and instruments imperfect, yet his indefatigable industry and practice in scientific observations made him a reliable observer by the time of his return. It may be added that his careful and detailed description of the habits and life of the Esquimaux of the west coast of Davis Strait are of decided value from his rigid truthfulness, which caused him to record what he saw without exaggeration.

Hall’s success in obtaining so many relics of Frobisher’s voyage of three centuries previous, and the fact that the Esquimaux yet had traditionary knowledge of that voyage, encouraged Hall and his friends to a confident belief that a voyage to the shores of King William Land would result in the discovery of records, relics, possibly survivors, and in any event rescue the story of the retreat of Crozier from oblivion by hearing it from Esquimau eye-witnesses.

Future search operations were to be promoted through his Esquimau followers, commonly known as Joe and Hannah, who returned with him to the United States, and further, Hall relied upon his knowledge of the Esquimau language, in which he had acquired considerable facility during his long sojourn with them.

Hall’s return was in 1862, and in 1864 he was ready for his second voyage. On August 20th he was landed, with his two natives, a whaleboat, tent, and a moderate amount of provisions, on Depot Island, in the extreme northern part of Hudson Bay, in 63° 47´ N., 90° W., where Hall began his life and quest that were to last five weary years.

Preliminary autumnal journeys extended his knowledge, but they were marked by no definite progress, and the summer of 1864 was spent by the natives in securing game for the coming winter, thus postponing Hall’s chances of a westward sledge-trip to King William Land yet another year. Despairing of assistance from natives near the whaling rendezvous, Hall decided to make his winter-quarters in Repulse Bay, at Fort Hope, 60° 32´ N., 87° W., occupied, 1846-47, by the famous explorer, Dr. Rae. Here he hoped to secure the friendship of the neighboring Esquimaux and lay up stores of game for the final expedition, and there he wintered in 1865-66, during which he secured about one hundred and fifty reindeer, some salmon, and ptarmigan. With returning spring the Esquimaux promised to make the journey, and with quite a party and several dog-sledges Hall’s heart was full of joy and expectation as they moved northward across Rae Peninsula, on March 30, 1866. His discouragements commenced with the long halts and frequent detours for hunts, and his disappointment was complete when the natives decided to turn back from Cape Weynton, 68° N., 89° W., after having, in twenty-eight days, only travelled as far with dogs as Rae had gone on foot in five days. Hall simply records: “My King William party is ended for the present; disappointed but not discouraged.”

The journey and time were not fruitless, for near Cape Weynton he fell in with four strange Esquimaux, who gave him most valuable information as to the subject nearest his heart. They related that some of their people had visited the search ships and had seen Franklin. What was more to the point, they produced a considerable number of articles that had once belonged to members of Franklin’s party. The most important were silver articles, such as spoons, forks, etc., which bore the crest of Franklin and other officers of the lost expedition. These veritable evidences of the passage of Crozier and others of Franklin’s expedition through this region were fortunately secured by Hall, and were later supplemented by many others.

Unable to obtain Esquimau assistance the following year, Hall made journeys here and there wherever it was possible; one, in February, 1867, to Igloolik, the winter-quarters of Parry in 1822, on Boothia Felix Land, and a second, in 1868, to the Strait of Fury and Hekla, discovered by Parry in 1825; furthermore, he surveyed the northwest coast of Melville Peninsula, and filled in the broken line of the Admiralty chart for the northwest of that peninsula.

Visiting whalers urged on Hall the impossibility of succeeding in reaching King William Land by aid of natives, and more than one captain offered to carry him and his party back to the United States. Never despairing of final success, Hall determined to pass another winter at Fort Hope, Repulse Bay. Here, learning by experience, and acquiring food supplies during the winter, he succeeded, in March, 1869, in again starting westward with ten Esquimaux—men, women, and children—with well-loaded dog-sledges. Progress was slow and delays frequent, but still the journey was continued.

Igloos, or Esquimau Huts.

Their course from Repulse Bay lay overland, by nearly connecting lakes and rivers, across Rae Peninsula to Committee Bay, thence by another similar overland route over the south end of Boothia Felix Land, to James Ross Strait, where King William Land lies some sixty miles to the west.

Hall, singularly enough, was never able to appreciate the attitude of the natives in making such a long, dangerous journey merely to please him, for he quaintly complains that the Esquimaux had no appreciation of his mission and continually lost valuable time by stopping to smoke and talk. They now objected to go west of Pelly Bay, but by persuasion proceeded to Simpson Island, 68° 30´ N., 91° 30´ W., where a successful hunt for musk-oxen so restored their spirits that they went on.

At Point Ackland, on the eastern shore of James Ross Strait, Hall fortunately fell in with natives, with whom he remained nine days, and from whom he obtained important information. In-nook-poo-zhee-jook proved to be the chief man of the party, and from him and others were purchased relics, such as silver spoons, plain and with the crest of Franklin. Hall was told that these articles came from a large island where a great many white men died, and that five white men were buried on an island known to the chief. This Esquimau finally agreed to accompany Hall and guided him direct across James Ross Strait to a group of small islets to the east of King William Land, where, on Todd Island, part of a human thigh-bone was found; snow covering the ground to such a depth as to make thorough search impossible without long delay.

On May 12, 1869, Hall had the supreme pleasure of putting foot on King William Land, the object and end of his five years’ life among the Esquimaux. The only tangible result of the search thereon was the discovery of a human skeleton, and he reluctantly set out on his return. Esquimaux were fallen in with in Pelly Bay, 68° 30´ N., 90° 30´ W., and an old man, Tungnuk, on inquiry regarding Franklin relics in their possession, told Hall that the natives had found a ship beset near Ki-ki-tuk, King William Land, and that in getting wood out of it they made a hole in the ship, which soon after sank. Ko-big, another native, said that all the white men perished, except two at Ki-ki-tuk, whose fate was unknown.

Hall felt satisfied, from the stories of the Esquimaux and other evidences, that he was able to determine the fate of seventy-nine out of the one hundred and five men of Crozier’s party, which retreated in 1848 from the abandoned ships. The Esquimaux told him that Crozier, Franklin’s second in command, had passed near their huts; that he had a gun in his hand and a telescope around his neck, and that his men were dragging two boats. Crozier told the natives that they were going to Repulse Bay. The Esquimaux admitted that they had deserted Crozier owing to the fact that his party was in a starving condition and their food was scarce.

As far as Hall could make out, Crozier, late in July, 1848, passed down the west coast of King William Land with forty men dragging two sledges, and near Cape Herschel fell in with four Esquimaux families, who, after communicating with Crozier, fled from the starving party during the night. From native accounts Hall was also able to enumerate in detail the points at which the retreating party had died and been buried.

In Winter-Quarters.

Among other relics collected by Hall were portions of one of the boats, an oak sledge-runner, a chronometer box with the Queen’s broad arrow engraved thereon, Franklin’s mahogany writing-desk, and many pieces of silver, forks, spoons, knives, and parts of watches. It was claimed by the natives that one of Franklin’s ships made the northwest passage with five men on board, and in the spring of 1849 was found by them near O’Reilly Island (68° 30´ N., 99° W.).

Hall had now passed five years among the Esquimaux, in which time he had made sledge journeys aggregating more than three thousand miles; acquired a thorough knowledge of the language and methods of life of the natives, and proved the possibility of a white man living the same life and making the same sledge journeys as the natives; but at the same time he became conscious that no very extended sledge-work could be done by Esquimau aid alone. His five years of arduous Arctic life ended in 1869 by his returning home on an American whaler, bringing with him his faithful Esquimaux, Joe and Hannah.

Hall’s return to the United States was simply, however, to pursue another and greater voyage, in which he believed he would be able to reach the North Pole.

After strenuous efforts he succeeded in interesting the President, the Cabinet, and a large number of Congressmen in his project, and on July 12, 1870, Congress appropriated $50,000 for the purpose of the expedition; authorized the employment of any suitable vessel in the navy, and provided that the National Academy of Sciences should prescribe the scope of the scientific observations. An old tug of nearly four hundred tons burden, rechristened under the name of Polaris, was selected, overhauled, and strengthened.

Hall sailed from New York June 29th, the party consisting of Captain Buddington, sailing-master; Dr. Emil Bessel, chief of the scientific staff; R. W. D. Bryan, astronomer; Sergeant Frederick Meyer, Signal Corps, meteorologist; seven petty officers, and a crew of fourteen, together with his faithful servants, Joe and Hannah.

The Polaris was provisioned and equipped for an absence of two and a half years, and her voyage was destined to be over the route made famous by the expeditions of Kane and Hayes, through Davis Strait and northward along the west coast of Greenland, although Hall was at first uncertain whether he would not enter Jones’s Sound, instead of Smith’s Strait. The usual visits to the Greenland ports were made, with resulting stores of furs, dogs, sledges, and other paraphernalia for exploration in the far North. To this point the expedition was convoyed by the man-of-war Congress, which bade the Polaris Godspeed as she left Godhaven on her lonely journey.

Hans Hendrick, the Esquimau dog traveller, whose services with Kane and Hayes commended him to Hall, accompanied the expedition with his wife and children. It was a strange meeting between Morton, the second mate, and Hans, the Esquimau, who, twenty years before, as subordinates of Kane, had made together the memorable sledge journey from Rensselaer Harbor, along the Humboldt Glacier, to Cape Constitution.

An Arctic Fiord.

The Polaris was favored by an unusually open sea; Melville Bay was crossed in forty-eight hours and the “North Water” beyond was so free of ice that the Polaris kept her way unchecked until she reached Hakluyt Island; even here the ice-pack was so open that the Polaris easily forced her way. Littleton Island was passed on the evening of August 27, 1870, and later, crossing the parallel of Rensselaer Harbor, the Polaris attained a higher latitude than any former vessel on this route. Kane Sea and Kennedy Channel proved equally free of ice, so that the Polaris, steaming uninterruptedly northward, entered the Arctic Ocean, hitherto inaccessible, where she was finally stopped by an impenetrable pack, in 82° 26´ N. This point was more than two hundred miles directly north of the farthest reached by Kane’s vessel, the Advance. From this vantage-ground it was seen that the eastern coast-line of Grinnell Land extended somewhat farther to the north before turning to the west, and that, on the other hand, the coast of Northern Greenland trended very nearly eastward. Strenuous, though unavailing, efforts were made to push the Polaris further northward; failing this, attempts were then made to find a safe harbor to the eastward, but none was accessible. In the meantime the main ice-pack of the Arctic Ocean, setting southward to its normal position, carried the Polaris steadily to the south, through Robinson Channel, a distance of nearly fifty miles, and nearly caused her destruction by forcing her on the Greenland coast. Fortunately the pack opened somewhat, so that the vessel was enabled to change her position and secure safe anchorage. This place, later named Thank God Harbor, in 81° 37´ N., 61° 44´ W., was sheltered by a bold cape to the north, while the Polaris was protected from the polar pack by an immense ice-floe, called Providence Berg. This enormous floe-berg, grounded in a hundred fathoms of water, was by direct measurement four hundred and fifty feet long, three hundred feet broad, and towered sixty feet above the level of the sea.

Preparations were at once made to put the crew in winter-quarters, and on shore an observatory was built for scientific purposes. To the surprise and delight of the party, seals proved to be quite abundant, and a small herd of musk-oxen was found, the first of these animals ever seen on the west coast of Greenland.

Leaving his chief of the scientific staff and his sailing-master to their respective duties, Hall decided on a preliminary sledge journey in order to determine the best route for his contemplated journey of the next spring toward the pole. A heavy fall of snow insured good sledging and enabled him to leave Thank God Harbor on October 10th, he being accompanied by the first mate, Chester, the Esquimaux, Joe and Hans Hendrick, with two dog-sledges and fourteen dogs. In a journey of six days he attained Cape Brevoort, in 82° N., on the north side of Newman Bay, a considerable distance to the southward, however, of the point reached by the Polaris in the Arctic Ocean. In a despatch written at this point, Hall says, “From Cape Brevoort we can see land extending on the west side of the strait to the north, a distance of about seventy miles, thus making land, as far as we can discover, about 83° 5´ N.” To illustrate the accuracy of Hall’s judgment and his freedom from making extravagant claims, it may be stated that the detailed surveys of the British Arctic expedition of 1876 show the most northerly point on the east coast of Grinnell Land, Cape Joseph Henry, which possibly could be seen by Hall, was in 82° 55´, or within ten miles of the position assigned it from a distance of seventy miles.

A Woman of the Arctic Highlanders. Sketched from life.

Hall returned to the Polaris on October 24th, speaking most encouragingly of his prospects and planning another sledge journey for the autumn. Within an hour, however, he was taken violently ill, and upon examination, Dr. Bessels announced that he had been stricken with apoplexy, that his left side was paralyzed, and that his sickness might prove fatal. After an illness, with delirium, for several days, he improved materially, and was even able, through his clerk, to arrange the records of his late sledge journey, but a recurrence of the attack caused his death, on November 8, 1871.

The death of Hall left the expedition without a head. However, Captain Buddington, the sailing-master, and Dr. Bessels, the chief of the scientific staff, signed an agreement to do all in their power to fulfil the ultimate object of Hall’s ambition. Desultory efforts to go northward by boat were made without success the following year, and the only expedition which had definite result was one on foot by Sergeant Meyer, of the Signal Corps of the United States Army, during which he reached Repulse Harbor, 82° 9´ N., on the shores of the frozen Polar Sea, at that time the most northerly land ever attained.

The future of the Polaris expedition does not strictly pertain to Hall. However, the winter was marked by a series of valuable physical observations, made by Dr. Bessels and Mr. Bryan, the astronomer. In August, 1872, it was decided to return to the United States. Pushed into an impenetrable pack, anchored to a floe, the Polaris drifted with the main ice-pack down Kennedy Channel, through Kane Sea, and into Smith Sound, where, on October 15, 1872, off Northumberland Island, the pack was disrupted by a violent gale, which freed the Polaris. Part of her crew, left upon the ice-pack, experienced the horrors of a mid-winter drift southward of thirteen hundred miles, and were picked up off the coast of Labrador by the sealer Tigress, in the spring of 1872. The Polaris drifted to land in Lifeboat Cove, near Littleton Island, where the party built winter-quarters on shore, known as Polaris House. In the succeeding summer they built boats from the remains of their ship, by means of which they reached Cape York, where their contemplated journey across Melville Bay was rendered unnecessary by falling in with the whaler Ravenscraig, which took them to England.

Esquimau Woman. Sketched from life.

The geographical results of Hall’s last expedition were extensive and valuable. Not only was the Polaris navigated to the highest point then ever attained by a vessel, but the very shores of the Polar Sea were visited and explored. Hall carried northward and completed the exploration of Kennedy Channel; outlined the coast of Hall Basin and Robinson Channel; extended Grinnell Land northward nearly two degrees of latitude to practically its extreme limit; added materially to the northern limits of Greenland, and charted a very extensive portion of its northern coast. Unfortunately for the general credit of the expedition, the accurate observations and conservative estimates of Hall were not adhered to, and in their stead were published, under government auspices, a chart of Hall’s discoveries which proved misleading in many of its details, extravagant and unreliable in its claims of new northern lands.

The fidelity, accuracy, and importance of Hall’s Arctic work is recognized, especially by his American and British successors in Smith Sound. Nares, in his official report to Parliament, states that the east coast-line of Grinnell Land agreed “so well with Hall’s description that it was impossible to mistake their identity. Their bearing also, although differing upward of thirty degrees from those of the published chart, agreed precisely with his published report.” Thus Hall merited the commemorative inscription on the brass tablet which the British polar expedition of 1875, with a generous appreciativeness creditable to its own brave men, erected to Hall’s memory over his lonely northern grave. It recognizes Hall as one “who sacrificed his life in the advancement of science,” and further recites that they, “following in his footsteps, have profited by his experience.”

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XII.

GEORGE WASHINGTON DE LONG,

And the Siberian Arctic Ocean.

Of all the routes followed by explorers attempting to extend northward our knowledge of unknown lands, there is one which, more than all others, seems to have been closed by nature to the daring enterprise of man. While successful voyages to the northward of America, and along the meridian of Spitzbergen, have been of frequent occurrence, yet it has been the fortune of one expedition only to penetrate the vast ice-pack that covers the Arctic Ocean to the north of Siberia, and give an account thereof.

This expedition, organized through the munificence of James Gordon Bennett, Jr., and known to the world as the Jeannette Expedition, was commanded by De Long, then a lieutenant-commander of the United States Navy.

George Washington De Long was born in New York City, March 22, 1844, and entered the United States Navy, by graduation from the Naval Academy, in 1865. He rose to be a lieutenant-commander and rendered ordinary naval service until 1873, when special duty fell to his lot which turned his thoughts to Arctic research.

George Washington De Long.

The rescue of the drift party of the Polaris naturally caused great alarm as to the safety of the remainder of her crew, and with the despatch of the Tigress into the waters of Smith Sound, came orders for the Juniata, to which De Long was attached, to visit the coasts of western Greenland for additional search for the missing explorers. The Juniata proceeded to Upernivik, as far as it was deemed safe for the man-of-war to venture, but its brave and sagacious commander, Captain D. L. Braine, of the Navy, thought it most necessary to search the fast inshore ice of Melville Bay, along which he correctly surmised they would conduct a retreat by boats. For this duty—novel, hazardous, and difficult—De Long promptly volunteered. For this dangerous trip the steam-launch Little Juniata, some 32 feet long and 8 wide, was selected. Her crew consisted of Lieutenant Chipp, Ensign May, ice-pilot Dodge, who had served with Hayes, and four others, while she was equipped and provisioned for sixty days. In this small craft De Long, following the fast ice, reached a point immediately off Cape York, when he was struck by a violent gale. The sea was so heavy that his only chance of safety lay in carrying sail, steam being useless, to keep the boat under control. The violence of the wind disrupted the inshore ice, threatening the launch continually; owing to fog the presence of immense icebergs made navigation more dangerous than ever; high seas constantly broke over her, soaking everything on board and harassing the crew with the imminent danger of swamping. Thirty hours the gale lasted, leaving the party in the last stages of exhaustion, wet to the skin and benumbed with cold, with closed floes to the north and east and the dangerous “middle pack” to the west. Under these conditions De Long reluctantly abandoned the search and returned.

This brief experience created an interest in northern work which never abated, and as a result, De Long, the voyage ended, approached James Gordon Bennett, Jr., who was favorable to his projects. Nothing, however, was done until November, 1876, after the return of the Nares’s expedition, when the exploration was decided on; but no vessel could be procured. Eventually Sir Allen Young, an Arctic explorer of note, was persuaded to sell the Pandora, in which he had twice made polar voyages.

The ship was, by Act of Congress, given an American register under the name of Jeannette, strengthened under naval supervision, and put in commission under the orders and instructions of the Secretary of the Navy, with full discipline in force; but the expense of the expedition—repairs, equipment, and pay—was met by Bennett.

On July 8, 1879, the Jeannette sailed from San Francisco, commanded by De Long, and officered by Lieutenant Chipp, Master Danenhower, Chief Engineer Melville, Doctor Ambler, an ice-pilot, two scientists, twenty-four petty officers and men. The route selected by De Long was via Behring Strait, apparently under the impression that Wrangel Land was continental in extent, an idea supported by the German geographer Petermann, whose advice De Long had sought, and along the shores of which coursed the northern current that swept forever out of the vision of man such whalers as were fully beset by the ice-pack north of Asia.

Before pursuing his own exploration De Long, in compliance with instructions from the Navy Department, made search for the Vega, in which ship Nordenskiold, circumnavigating Europe and Asia, had wintered at Cape Serdze Kamen, in 67° 12´ N. latitude, on the northwestern coast of Asia. On reaching this point he learned that the Vega had comfortably wintered and had passed south, thus confirming the report he had gained from the natives at St. Lawrence Bay.

They at once steamed northward, thankful, as De Long records, “that Nordenskiold was safe, and we might proceed on our way toward Wrangel Land.” Ice was soon fallen in with, and, after preliminary efforts to proceed directly to the north, which impenetrable floes prevented, De Long, on September 5, 1879, “got up a full head of steam and entered the pack through the best-looking lead in the general direction of Herald Island,” which was plainly visible at a distance of forty miles.

It was De Long’s intention on leaving San Francisco to explore this land the first winter, but completely beset by heavy floes, in 71° 35´ N. latitude, 175° W. longitude, his ship never escaped. In hopes that information of value might be had from a visit to Herald Island, an unsuccessful attempt was made to reach it by dog-sledge over the fast-cementing pack, but the party was turned back by impassable leads.

Herald Island.

It soon became evident that the Jeannette was drifting steadily with the entire pack. First, the direction was to the north, taking the ship out of sight of Herald Island, but next it changed to the southwest, bringing that land again in view. While the drift was by a devious and very irregular course, yet it was in the general direction of northwest, from 71° 35´ N., and 175° W., at besetment, to 71° 15´ N., and 155° E., when the ship was finally crushed by the pack. In investigating the cause of the drift, De Long says: “As to the currents in this part of the Arctic Ocean, I think our drift is demonstrating that they are the local creation of the wind for the time being. As our drift in resulting direction has been northwest since our besetment, so the greater amount of wind has been from the southeast; our short and irregular side-drift east and west, and occasionally to south, being due to correspondingly short and irregular winds from northwest or east.”

The party settled down to their regular life, which though very monotonous soon had an element of excitement and danger introduced that never passed away in entirety. This was the threatened disruption of the pack, which, seemingly without cause, would change its form and position with such suddenness and violence as to endanger the safety of the ship. On November 13, 1879, without warning, the pack separated on a line with the ship’s keel, the port snow-wall being carried with the pack one hundred and fifty feet away, leaving open water, that fortunately froze over before other violent changes took place.

De Long writes: “This steady strain is fearful; seemingly we are not secure for a moment.... Living over a powder-mill, waiting for an explosion, would be a similar mode of existence.... I sleep with my clothes on, and start up anxiously at every crack ... of the ship’s frame.”

Almost by intervention of Providence, as it seemed, the Jeannette escaped destruction from these violent disruptions, which, except that of January 19, 1880, left her, during the first winter, comparatively unharmed. On that day, with terrible groaning and grinding, the main pack was fearfully agitated; no large openings were seen and the ice acted as though its entire periphery was subjected to steady and irresistible pressure, which being toward the centre caused the whole surface to buckle up irregularly. Enormous pieces of ice piling up under the stern of the Jeannette brought a tremendous longitudinal pressure on the ship and broke her fore-foot, which caused a serious leak. It was only through the indomitable energy and great professional skill of Melville that the leak was got under control, and later cared for, without taxing greatly their precious stock of fuel.

The winter passed with all in health save Danenhower, whose eyes becoming diseased necessitated several operations and permanently placed him off duty for the voyage. The summer of 1880 came, found them fast embedded in the ice, and went without release. Autumn passed, winter came, and even the opening year of 1881 found them with conditions unchanged, as De Long recites: “A disabled and leaking ship, a seriously sick officer, an uneasy and terrible pack, constantly diminishing coal-pile and provisions, and far from the Siberian coast.” A break came, however, with the discovery of new land in May, along the north coast of which the Jeannette drifted slowly. On May 31st a party was sent to examine the island, for such it proved to be, Melville being in command, as Chipp was then on the sick-list. Melville, despite the open condition of the ice, succeeded in landing on June 3, 1881, his third day out. He was obliged to carry his instruments and provisions, at the risk of his life, through the moving pack. It proved to be a desolate, ice-capped, rocky islet, almost destitute of vegetation and inhabited only by dovekies, who nested in the inaccessible cliffs adjoining the discharging glaciers. Another island appearing, De Long named the two; Jeannette, in 76° 47´ N., 159° E., and Henrietta, in 77° 08´ N., 158° E.

The end of the besetment came at last. On June 12, 1881, in 77° 15´ N., 155° E., the pack showed signs of great pressure, the immense floes seeming to be alive in their motion, and despite all efforts the Jeannette was terribly nipped, her bows being thrown high in air. It was evident that escape was hardly possible. Steps were immediately taken to abandon ship, and everything of value or use was speedily withdrawn, with boats, sledges, etc., to a safe distance. Early the next morning the ice opened a little, and the Jeannette immediately sank, with colors flying, in thirty-eight fathoms of water.

De Long and his party thus found themselves adrift in the Polar Sea, more than three hundred miles from the nearest point of the mainland of Asia, and about one hundred and fifty miles from the New Siberian Islands. While the condition of affairs seemed desperate, De Long never despaired. Lieutenant Danenhower being disabled, and Chipp sick, De Long’s main dependence was in his chief engineer, Melville, who was well, strong, energetic, and fertile in expedients.

In the Pack.

They had five boats (two very small), nine sleds, provisions for sixty days, ammunition, instruments and records; a terrible load for the party, as five men were off duty, and several others too weak to do their share in the drag-ropes. There remained, however, twenty dogs, whose utility was questionable, as they soon consumed more in weight than they ever hauled. The ice was very rough, large openings were frequent, snow often impeded progress, roads had to be made, and on occasion all the stores and men had to be ferried across wide water-lanes. At the beginning there was so much baggage that seven separate loads were hauled, causing the men to travel thirteen times over the same road, but this was soon unnecessary, as weights were gradually reduced.

To add to De Long’s discouragement he discovered that they were under the influence of a northwest drift, and after six days’ travel due south were twenty-eight miles further north than when the ship sunk. He refrained from discouraging the men by this information, but changing his course to the southwest, got out of the drift.

On July 11th land was discovered, and turning toward it the shipwrecked and exhausted men reached it July 28, 1881; it was in 76° 38´ N., 148° E., and was called Bennett Island. Landing was effected by ferrying and crossing heavy, fast-moving floes, and the danger was greatly enhanced by the low water, which made it extremely dangerous work to attain the surface of the overhanging ice-foot. The cliffs were alive with birds, which was a welcome change of diet, to the sick men especially. The island was quite mountainous, with several grass-covered valleys; a seam of coal was found and signs of considerable animal life.

Where the Bodies were Found.

Recuperated by their nine days’ rest, the party started south on August 8th, and landed on Thaddeus Island, of the New Siberian group, August 20, 1881. It is unnecessary to dwell on the dangers and hardships which this unprecedented journey entailed on the members of this party, which were met with fortitude, courage, and energy that made its successful issue one of the most notable efforts in the history of man, overcoming obstacles almost insurmountable.

This remarkable journey had been so far made alternately by sledge and boat, owing to the broken condition of the Polar pack; from Thaddeus Island, however, an open sea enabled them to proceed in boats, which were respectively commanded by De Long, Chipp, and Melville. On September 12th a severe storm separated the boats off the Lena Delta; Chipp with eight men were lost, while Melville, with nine others, reached a small village through one of the eastern mouths of the Lena.

De Long landed, in 77° 15´ N., 155° E., September 17th, with Dr. Ambler and twelve men, having been obliged to abandon his boat, owing to the shallowness of the river. He took with him the ship’s records, arms, ammunition, medicines, necessary camp equipments, and four days’ provisions, which were carried on the men’s shoulders. Fuel proved abundant, and Alexey, their interpreter, killed two deer, thus improving the situation. Retarded by the presence of sick men and by the weight of cumbersome records, they followed slowly southward the barren shores of the Lena, travelling through snow and over ice which broke readily. Their feet were soon in terrible condition, and eventually an ulcer on Ericksen’s foot rendered partial amputation necessary on September 29th. De Long then records the terrible situation: They were confronted by a tributary of the Lena which must freeze before they could cross, and as to Ericksen, if forced along, he could not recover, and “if I remained here and kept everybody with me, Ericksen’s days would be lengthened a little at the risk of our all dying from starvation.” Ice formed in a couple of days, and they proceeded, dragging Ericksen on a sled.

October 3d, food entirely failing, their dog was killed and cooked, giving them strength the following day to reach a deserted hut large enough to hold the party. Here they were storm-stayed two days; Ericksen dying, Alexey hunting unsuccessfully, the drifting snow and piercing cold—all these served to plunge the party into despair. De Long writes: “What, in God’s name, is going to become of us?—fourteen pounds of dog meat left and twenty-five miles to a possible settlement.... Read the burial service and carried our departed shipmate’s body to the river, where he was buried.” Their last food was eaten October 7th, and nothing remained except old tea-leaves and two quarts of alcohol; but Alexey shot a ptarmigan, of which a thin soup was made.

Noros and Nindermann.

On October 9th the exhausted condition of some of the men and an open, unfordable creek debarred further progress of the party as a whole. In this contingency De Long sent Nindermann and Noros ahead for relief, with orders to keep the west bank of the Lena until they reached a settlement. Later De Long advanced a mile and camped in a hole in the bank; Alexey killed four ptarmigans and the party resorted to their deer-skin clothing for subsistence, but without avail. The last entry in De Long’s diary, October 30, 1881, records all dead except Collins, who was dying, Ah Sam and Dr. Ambler, of whom no mention was made.

Noros and Nindermann, after a march of one hundred and twenty miles, reached Bulcour, which they found deserted. Seeking shelter in one of the vacant huts, they were discovered by a native, who took them to an adjacent encampment. The natives either did not understand Nindermann or were unwilling to go northward, for despite his incessant and urgent entreaties they carried the two seamen southward to Bulun, where they arrived on October 29th, and met Melville and his party.

This energetic officer, exhausting all practicable means, pushed his relief parties northward to the extremity of the Lena Delta, but without success. He reached the Arctic Ocean, recovered the log-books, chronometer, and other articles on November 14th, when a severe storm obliged him to abandon the search. Renewing his efforts, in March, 1882, he discovered, on the 23d of that month, the bodies of his companions.

An official inquiry as to the general conduct of the expedition caused the board of officers to express their opinion that the general personnel were entitled to great praise for their solidarity and cheerfulness, their constancy and endurance. The zeal, energy, and professional aptitude of Melville were noticed, and special commendation given to De Long for the high qualities displayed by him in the conduct of the expedition.

The scientific observations of the Jeannette expedition must be of considerable value, involving as they do hydrographic, magnetic, and meteorological observations over an extended portion of the earth’s surface previously unknown, and it appears surprising that after all these years they remain undiscussed.

Finding the Bodies.

In addition may be noted the importance of De Long’s hydrographic contributions, covering some fifty thousand square miles of polar ocean, which indicate with equal clearness the character of fifty thousand other square miles of area to the south, and thus prove the Siberian Arctic Ocean to be a shallow sea, dotted with islands.

The geographic results are represented in part by the attainment of the highest latitude ever reached in Asiatic seas, and in the discovery of Jeannette, Henrietta, and Bennett Islands. Discoveries, however, are both direct and indirect, and to positive results should be added successes of an inferential though negative character. Through De Long’s northwest drift the long-sought-for Wrangel Land shrank from its assumed dimensions as a continent, connecting, under the Petermann hypothesis, Asia with Greenland, to its reality—a small island.

It is to be said that this reduction of Wrangel Land into a little island doomed De Long’s expedition to certain failure and closed Behring Strait as a promising route to high latitudes; for the arctic canon of Parry yet obtains, that without a sheltering coast no vessel can hope to navigate safely the Polar Ocean.

With the march of time it is not to be expected that geographic problems connected with the vast ice-covered ocean to the north of Siberia will be left unsolved. These coming explorers may be more fortunate than was De Long, and while profiting by his experiences they will surpass his efforts, yet their successes cannot make greater demands on the courage and constancy of them and their subordinates than were shown by the gallant De Long and his associates in the fateful voyage of the Jeannette.

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XIII.

PAUL BELLONI DU CHAILLU,

Discoverer of the Dwarfs and Gorillas.

Among the thousands of vigorous and adventurous men whom chance brought to light in foreign climes, but who by choice have cast their lot with America, by becoming citizens of the United States, there are few whose explorations and discoveries have excited more popular interest and discussion than have those of Du Chaillu, the discoverer, in modern times, of the dwarfs and the capturer of the gorilla.

Paul Belloni Du Chaillu.

Born in Paris, July 31, 1835, the early environments of Paul Belloni Du Chaillu fostered and forecast his taste for African exploration, for his father was one of the adventurous Frenchmen whose consular appointment and commercial enterprises led him to settle at the mouth of the Gaboon, on the west coast of Africa, where his distinguished son passed his boyhood. While young Du Chaillu was, doubtless, well grounded in ordinary sciences by his instructors, the learned Jesuit fathers, of Gaboon, yet apart from regular educational institutions he imbibed other wealth of learning by observation of the rich tropical world around him, and also through familiar intercourse with neighboring tribes acquired a knowledge of native tongues and craft, of savage habits and character, which insured his after-success in African exploration.

Commercial pursuits brought Du Chaillu to the United States, in 1852, when he was so strongly impressed by American institutions that he became a naturalized citizen of the United States.

Du Chaillu was brought prominently before the American public by a series of striking and interesting articles on the Gaboon country, which from their favorable reception strengthened his belief in the importance of thoroughly exploring certain portions of the west coast of Africa. The region selected for his investigations was under the burning sun of the equator, somewhat to the north of the Congo country, in the basins drained by the Muni, Ogowe, and Rembo Rivers, which, owing to difficulty of access, extreme heat, prevailing fevers, and deadly climate, were practically unknown. Between 1856 and 1859 Du Chaillu journeyed upward of eight thousand miles through this country, travelling on foot, with no white companion, and, with the aid of natives, cursorily explored nearly one hundred thousand square miles of virgin territory. Working with the ardent zeal of a naturalist, his enormous ornithological collection aggregated thousands of specimens, and in this collection alone he added some sixty new species of birds to the domain of science. Among the quadrupeds, he discovered no less than twenty new species, and among the most important animals brought to light were the very remarkable nest-building ape, with its unknown and its almost equally extraordinary brother the koo-loo-lamba, and his observations of the almost unknown gorilla were most interesting and valuable.

In ethnology he accumulated a number of invaluable native arms and implements, which now adorn the British Museum. Space fails in which to recite his intense sufferings, during these explorations, from semi-starvation, the wild beasts of the dense forests, the venomous reptiles of the river valleys, the attacks of ferocious ants, and other intolerable poisonous insects which infest the interior.

There are many interesting accounts of curious quadrupeds in Du Chaillu’s book, “Adventures in Equatorial Africa,” but none appeals more strongly to most readers than that of the gorilla. Traditions from antiquity, the relation of Hanno, the Carthaginian navigator of 350 B.C., set forth the existence of such an animal, but no white man had ever seen a gorilla, except Andrew Battell, early in the seventeenth century. Nearly ten years before the explorations of Du Chaillu the gorilla had been, however, brought to the notice of naturalists by Dr. Savage, of Boston, who had received a skull from the Rev. J. L. Wilson, an American missionary on the Gaboon.

From boyhood up Du Chaillu had heard from the natives of Gaboon fearful stories of the cunning, strength, and ferocity of this ape, which is the most dreaded animal on the west coast of Africa. For years he had longed for an opportunity to hunt the gorilla, and when he first saw its tracks, which threw his native hunters into alarm, he relates that his sensations were indescribable, his feelings so intense as to be painful, and his heart-throbs so violent that he actually feared the animal would be alarmed by them.

Du Chaillu chronicles the end of his first successful hunt as follows:

“Before us stood an immense male gorilla. He had gone through the jungle on his all-fours; but when he saw our party he erected himself and looked us boldly in the face. He stood about a dozen yards from us, and was a sight, I think, never to forget. Nearly six feet high (he proved two inches shorter), with immense body, huge chest, and great muscular arms; with fiercely glaring, large, deep-gray eyes, and a hellish expression of face, which seemed to me like some nightmare vision, thus stood before us this king of the African forests. He was not afraid of us. He stood there and beat his breast with his huge fists till it resounded like an immense bass-drum—which is their mode of offering defiance—meantime giving vent to roar after roar. The roar of the gorilla is the most singular and awful noise heard in these African woods. It begins with a sharp bark, like an angry dog, then glides into a deep bass roll, which literally and closely resembles the roll of distant thunder along the sky, for which I have sometimes been tempted to take it where I did not see the animal. So deep is it that it seems to proceed less from the mouth and throat than from the deep chest and vast paunch. He again sent forth a thunderous roar, and now truly he reminded me of nothing but some hellish dream-creature—a being of that hideous order, half-man half-beast, which we find pictured by old artists in some representations of the infernal regions.”

The Gorilla. (Troglodytes Gorilla.)

The explorer relates that flying gorillas so resembled men running for their lives, and their discordant cries seemed so human, that he felt almost like a murderer as he shot them.

Having obtained a number of specimens, he now used his utmost endeavors to obtain an ape alive, and speaks of his success as “one of the greatest pleasures of my life;” to his great grief, however, the intractable and savage brute soon died. Regarding it, Du Chaillu writes:

“Some hunters who had been out on my account brought in a young gorilla alive. I cannot describe the emotions with which I saw the struggling little brute dragged into the village. All the hardships I had endured in Africa were rewarded in that moment. It was a little fellow of between two and three years old, two feet six inches in height, and as fierce and stubborn as a grown animal could have been.”

Several were captured from time to time, but all died after short confinement. Every effort to subdue their ferocity, whether by force or by persistent kindness, utterly failed; they were never other than morose, bellicose, and treacherous.

Another very interesting animal is the nest-building ape, a before unknown species, which was discovered by our explorer almost by accident. Du Chaillu says:

“As I was trudging along, rather tired of the sport, I happened to look up at a high tree which we were passing, and saw a most singular-looking shelter built in its branches. I asked Aboko whether the hunters here had this way to sleep in the woods, but was told, to my surprise, that this very ingenious nest was built by the nshiego mbouve, an ape. The material is leafy branches with which to make the roof, and vines to tie these branches to the tree. The tying is done so neatly, and the roof is so well constructed that, until I saw the nshiego actually occupying his habitation I could scarce persuade myself that human hands had not built all. It sheds rain perfectly, being neatly rounded on top for this purpose. The material being collected, the male goes up and builds the nest, while the female brings him the branches and vines.”

Yet another member of the ape family, discovered by our explorer, deserves passing notice in his own words:

“The koo-loo-lamba has for distinctive marks a very round head; whiskers running quite around the face and below the chin; the face is round; the cheek-bones prominent; the cheeks sunken; the jaws are not very prominent—less so than in any of the apes; the hair is black, long on the arm, which was, however, partly bare. This ape, whose singular cry distinguishes it at once from all its congeners in these wilds, is remarkable as bearing a closer general resemblance to man than any other ape yet known. It was very rare, and I was able to obtain but one specimen of it. This is smaller than the adult male gorilla, and stouter than the female gorilla. The head is its most remarkable point. This struck me at once as having an expression curiously like an Esquimau or Chinaman.”

Among the worst pests of Africa are ants, especially the bashikouay, which travel in a line about two inches wide and often miles in length. Du Chaillu says: “They devour and attack all with irresistible fury. The elephant and gorilla fly, the black men run for their lives. In an incredibly short time a leopard or deer is overwhelmed, killed, and eaten. They seem to travel day and night. Often have I been awakened out of sleep and obliged to rush from my hut and into the water to save my life. A bashikouay army makes a clean sweep, even ascending to the tops of the highest trees in pursuit of their prey.”

The results of his four years of research in the interests of ethnography, geography, and natural history, were placed before the public in a valuable work entitled “Explorations and Adventures in Equatorial Africa.” The book gave rise to bitter, harsh, unjust criticisms, and engendered endless discussions. Du Chaillu’s journey to the interior was entirely discredited, and his accounts of the animals and natives were characterized as mere fabrications. Discoveries necessarily develop discrepancies between the realities brought to light and existing beliefs produced through inference or imagination; then, as has many another discover in science or geography, Du Chaillu learned how slow is the willingness of a jealous mind to relinquish its favorite error for a conflicting truth.

Justification came speedily, for the explorations of Serval and Bellay, of the very next year, proved the accuracy of Du Chaillu’s account of the great Ogowe River, and indicated the general correctness of his map of the Ashira country. Burton confirmed his reports regarding the cannibalistic habits of the Fans, and other statements were speedily corroborated.

Stung to the quick by the adverse criticisms, Du Chaillu, although suffering from the effects of fevers contracted in his long residence in Western Africa, determined to repeat the journey with such precautions regarding his observations as would be absolutely convincing as to their truthfulness; especially he determined to capture and bring to Europe a living gorilla. To ensure accuracy he went through a course of instruction in the use of instruments, learning to make, test, and reduce astronomical and hypsometrical observations, and acquired proficiency in the then difficult art of photography. As regards geographical explorations he had a vague hope that he might reach from the west coast of Africa some unknown tributary of the Nile, down which he might be able to reach the main river and the Mediterranean Sea.

Leaving England in August, 1863, Du Chaillu’s first destination was the mouth of Fernand Vaz River, about one hundred and ten miles south of the Gaboon, this point being selected both because he knew the natives and also because that river valley being unknown afforded him virgin ground from the beginning of his journey.

In landing through the terrible surf that makes entrance into the Fernand Vaz so dangerous, Du Chaillu was nearly drowned and all his astronomical instruments and medicines were lost or damaged. This necessitated his delay in that region until other instruments could be had from England; but the time was not lost, for he had ample opportunity of further studying the habits of the gorillas, which abound there; fortunately he captured four, an adult and three young, one of which he shipped alive to London, but it died during the voyage.

A Village of Dwarfs.

Du Chaillu started on his journey with ten Commi negroes, previous servitors, as his body-guard, and fifty porters in place of the hundred needed, thus making double trips necessary for a while. Following up the Fernand Vaz River to its tributary, the Rembo, he left this latter stream at Obindshi and travelled southeasterly to Olenda. Here a council was held by the local chief, who forbade him to enter the Apingi country, but allowed him to proceed to the Ashira region, where he was long delayed and robbed by the natives. In crossing the Ngunie River, on his way eastward to the Ishogo country, he was surprised to obtain ferriage in a large, flat-bottomed canoe, which carried baggage and party across in seven journeys.

Near the end of June, while traversing a tract of wild forest near Yangue, Du Chaillu came suddenly upon a cluster of most extraordinary and diminutive huts, which he was told were occupied by a tribe of dwarf negroes. In his previous journey in the Apingi country he had given no credence to exaggerated descriptions and reports that had often come to his ears concerning dwarf tribes, assuming the stories to be fables. Now, however, with these curious huts before him he pressed on eager to obtain personal information concerning these little folks, whose existence had been vouched for centuries before by Pomponius Mela, Herodotus, and Strabo, and who were described in a fairly accurate way, by Andrew Battell, in 1625. In answer to Du Chaillu’s inquiries the natives said that there were many such villages in the adjacent forests, and that the tiny men were called the Obongos.

He found the huts entirely deserted, but from scattered traces of recent household effects, it was quite evident that the Obongos, alarmed at the approach of strangers, had fled for safety to the dense jungle of the neighboring forest. He thus describes their habitations: “The huts were of a low, oval shape, like a gypsy tent; the highest part, that near the entrance, was about four feet from the ground; the greatest breadth was about four feet also. On each side were three or four sticks for the man and woman to sleep on. The huts were made of flexible branches of trees, arched over and fixed into the ground at each end, the longest branches being in the middle, and the others successively shorter, the whole being covered with heavy leaves.”

On June 26, 1864, Du Chaillu entered Niembouai, a large village in Ashango Land, in the vicinity of which, he learned with great joy, was situated an inhabited encampment of the Obongos, or hairy dwarfs, as he terms them. The Ashango natives offered to accompany him, at the same time intimating that it was likely the village would be found deserted; for, said they, the Obongos (the dwarfs) are shy and timid as the gazelle, and as wild as the antelope. To see them, you must take them by surprise. They are like to the beasts of the field. They feed on the serpents, rats, and mice, and on the berries and nuts of the forest.

A Pigmy Warrior.

Du Chaillu made his first visit to an Obongo encampment with three Ashango guides, and with great precaution they silently entered a village of twelve huts to find it long since deserted. Fortune was more favorable at the second village, where, however, no one was to be seen on entrance. The curling smoke, calabashes of fresh water, and a half-cooked snake on living coals indicated that the alarmed inhabitants had fled on their approach. A search of the huts resulted in disclosing the presence of three old women, a young man, and several children, who were almost paralyzed with fear at the sight of an unknown monster—a white man. By judicious distribution of bananas, and especially of beads, Du Chaillu succeeded in allaying their fears, and later made several visits, but confidence was never firmly established, and it was impossible to see the men except as they fled at his approach, or at a distance when they visited the Ashango village for purposes of barter.

During his several visits he carefully measured six dwarf women, whose average height proved to be four feet six and one-eighth inches; the shortest was four feet four and one-half inches, and the tallest five feet and one-quarter of an inch; the young man, possibly not full grown, measured four feet six inches in height.

Du Chaillu says: “The color of these people was a dirty yellow, and their eyes had an untamable wildness that struck me as very remarkable. In appearance, physique, and color they are totally unlike the Ashangos, who are very anxious to disown kinship with them. They declare that the Obongos intermarry among themselves, sisters with brothers. The smallness and isolation of their communities must necessitate close interbreeding; and I think it very possible this may cause the physical deterioration of their race.”

Their foreheads were very low and narrow, cheek-bones prominent, legs proportionately short, palms of hands quite white, and their hair short, curly tufts, resembling little balls of wool, which, according to the young man seen by Du Chaillu, grew also, in plentiful, short, curly tufts on his legs and breast, a peculiarity which the Ashangos declared was common to the Obongo men.

These dwarfs feed partly on roots, berries, and nuts gathered in the forest, and partly on flesh and fish. They are very expert in capturing wild animals by traps and pitfalls, and in obtaining fish from the streams; and the surplus of flesh is exchanged for plantains and such simple manufactured articles as they stand in need of.

Concerning their settlements and range of migration Du Chaillu adds: “The Obongos never remain long in one place. They are eminently a migratory people, moving whenever game becomes scarce, but they do not wander very far. These Obongos are called the Obongos of the Ashangos; those who live among the Njavi are called Obongo-Njavi, and the same with other tribes. Obongos are said to exist very far to the east, as far as the Ashangos have any knowledge.”

In his “Journey to Ashango Land” Du Chaillu gives quite a number of words of the Obongo language; he considers their dialect to be a mixture of their original language with that of the tribe among whom they reside. It appeared that none of the dwarf women could count more than ten, probably the limit of their numerals. Their weapons of offence and defence were usually small bows and arrows, the latter at times poisoned.

A Dwarf Prisoner.

Leaving Mobano, 1° 53´ S. latitude, and about 12° 27´ E. longitude, by dead reckoning, Du Chaillu passed due east to the village of Mouaou Kombo, where, by accident, while firing a salute, one of his body-guard unfortunately killed a villager. An effort to atone for the accident by presents would doubtless have been successful, but, most unfortunately, and despite Du Chaillu’s strict orders, his body-guards and porters had already irritated the Ashangos by offensive conduct. Overtures for “blood-money” were interrupted by an offended chief denouncing the exploring party. Almost instantly the natives commenced beating their war-drums, and Du Chaillu, realizing the danger and loading his men with his most valuable articles, retreated westward toward the coast. Before they reached the forest he and one of his men were wounded by poisoned arrows. Pursued by the infuriated savages Du Chaillu restrained his men from shooting, when, demoralized by the situation, many of his porters threw away their loads, which consisted of note-books, maps, instruments, photographs, and natural history collections. Curiously enough the instruments and goods thus abandoned by Du Chaillu in 1864, were found in 1891, by an African trader, in the jungle where they had been thrown down by the retreating carriers, having remained all these years untouched by the Ashangos, who believed they were fetich and so regarded them with superstitious dread.

After retreating a few miles and finding that inactivity and self-restraint meant self-destruction, Du Chaillu took the offensive, and drawing up his men in a favorable position, repelled his pursuers with considerable loss. The wounds from poisoned arrows being external, if subjected to immediate treatment, healed in a few weeks.

Further explorations under these circumstances were impossible, for Du Chaillu depended entirely for his success on friendly relations with the natives; in consequence he returned to the sea-coast, and on September 27, 1865, quitted the shores of Western Equatorial Africa.

Although the second voyage of Du Chaillu into the unknown regions of Western Equatorial Africa rehabilitated his reputation as a reliable observer, as far as related to geography and natural history, yet his description of the Obongo dwarfs gave rise to further discussion and aspersions. It is needless to say that the discoveries of Stanley in his last African expedition have definitely settled this question in Du Chaillu’s favor, and that the studies of Lenz, Marche, and Bastian, in and near the region visited by Du Chaillu, confirm the accuracy of his descriptions. Indeed the Obongos of Ashango Land rise in proportion to undersized negroes when compared with the dwarf queen found by Stanley on the eastern edge of the great equatorial forest, who measures only two feet nine inches in height.

Thus in time has come complete vindication of all of Du Chaillu’s statements as to the wonders of the Ashira and Ashango Lands, which portions of Western Equatorial Africa he was the first to explore. If the geographical extent of his explorations give way to that of other African travellers, yet it must be admitted that he stands scarcely second to any in the number, importance, and interest of his contributions and collections in connection with ethnography and natural history of Equatorial Africa.

In later years Du Chaillu has devoted his attention to the northern parts of Sweden, Norway, Lapland, and Finland, and although his travels in these regions had no important geographical outcome, yet they resulted in lately placing the general public in possession of many interesting details of these countries, as given in his book called “The Land of the Midnight Sun.” His important work, “The Viking Age,” is an elaborate presentation of his theory that the ancestors of the English-speaking races were Vikings and not Anglo-Saxons, and has awakened much comment in the scientific world. “Ivar the Viking,” his latest book, is a popular account of Viking life and manners in the third and fourth centuries.

Arrows of the African Pigmies.

---

Henry M. Stanley.

XIV.

STANLEY AFRICANUS AND THE CONGO FREE STATE.

The largest, the richest, and the least known of the great continents is Africa. Despite its vast area, numerous tribes, and complicated interests it may be said that its potential influences as regards the rest of the world have been alternately retarded and advanced through the efforts of four individuals. The jealousy of Rome, excited to its highest pitch by the eloquence of the elder Cato, resulted, 146 B.C., in the annihilation of Carthage, an industrial centre whence for five centuries had radiated toward the interior of Africa peaceful and commercial influences. Eight centuries later the hordes of the Arabian Caliph Omar in turn overwhelmed the Roman colony at Alexandria, destroying forever its literary influence by the burning of its great library.

Conversely the missionary labors of David Livingstone, from 1849 to 1873, inculcated peaceful methods and cultivated moral tendencies destined to introduce Christianity and develop civilization. Not only did Livingstone, in the eloquent words of Stanley, “weave by his journeys the figure of his Redeemer’s cross on the map of Africa, but, scattering ever his Master’s words and patterning his life after the Master stamped the story of the cross on the hearts of every African tribe he visited.”

Initiating routes of travel, suggesting new commercial fields, and organizing stable forms of government, came a man of harder metal, of indomitable will and courage, Henry M. Stanley, who merits the title of Stanley Africanus.

A Welshman by nativity, born near Denbigh, in 1840, he came to the United States at the age of sixteen and thenceforth cast his lot with America, and as a citizen of this country made his explorations under its flag. It is reputed that he exchanged his natal name of Rowlands for that of Henry M. Stanley, for a merchant of New Orleans who adopted him; but in any event his early life was passed without the loving and modifying influences of a home, his youth almost equally destitute of those adventitious surroundings that properly mould the character and insure opportunities for success to young men. Thus he stands forth a self-made man to whom strength has been accorded to develop the manhood that God implanted in his soul.

Stern experiences in the American civil war, brief life in the far West, and special service in Turkey had shaped Stanley into a reliant, self-contained man when his first African journey came to him, in 1868, through assignment as newspaper correspondent to accompany the British army in its invasion of Abyssinia. He participated in this wonderful campaign, which led him four hundred miles through a country of indescribable wildness and grandeur, across rugged mountains, along deep valleys, up to the fortress-crowned crest of Magdala, ten thousand feet above the sea.

Difficult as were the mountains of Abyssinia, they were less dangerous than the African region later to be traversed by him; a journey unsought, but which came to him as the fittest man for the time and service.

A telegram and five hours’ preparation carried Stanley from the blood-red fields of revolutionary Spain into the famous search journey that gave to an anxious world news of the long-lost Livingstone. For twenty years this great Scotch missionary had carried the gospel of Christ and its civilizing influences from one end of Africa to the other; once he had crossed the continent in its greatest breadth, and now, vanished from the sight of the civilized world in his renewed missionary labors, for two years his very existence had been problematical.

The Hut where Livingstone Died.

The search expedition owed its inception and maintenance to James Gordon Bennett, Jr., whose brief orders to Stanley were: “Find Livingstone and bring news of his discoveries or proofs of his death, regardless of expense.” The personnel, methods, and arrangements devolved entirely on Stanley, but his preliminary route was to lie through certain countries. It thus occurred that between Madrid, his starting point, and Ujiji, on Lake Tanganyika, the camp of Livingstone, he saw the gayties of Paris; was present at the eventful opening of the Suez Canal that revolutionized Eastern commerce; ascended the Lower Nile to scrutinize with interested eye Baker’s prospective expedition to the Soudan; divined under the mosques of the Bosphorus the political riddles of Sultan and KhÉdive; examined the uncovered foundations of Solomon’s Temple in the Holy City; meditated over the historic battle-grounds of the Crimea; penetrated the Caucasus to Tiflis for news of the Russian expedition to Khiva; and, traversing Persia through the Euphratan cradle of the human race, entered India, whence his route lay to Zanzibar and the dark beyond. What a contrast those preliminary journeys afforded, across effete countries whose varying and recorded phases of civilization are contemporaneous with the history of the human race, to the threshold of a vast region whose barbaric freshness is such that its entire history lies within the memory of living man.

Stanley landed at Zanzibar, January 10, 1871, and, fortunately, was at once impressed with his ignorance of outfitting, which he thought he had learned from books. Resorting to the Arab traders he proved such an apt pupil and skilful organizer that he enlisted twenty-seven soldiers, gathered one hundred and fifty-seven carriers and five special employees, which, with two white assistants, Farquhar and Shaw, made his aggregate force one hundred and ninety-two. He had his African money—beads as copper coins, cloth as silver, and brass rods as gold; canvas-covered boats for navigation; asses and horses for special work; fine cloth for tribute to local chiefs, which, with tentage, medicine, etc., made some six tons of freight.

March 21, 1871, the rear guard marched out of Bagamoyo, the town on the mainland opposite Zanzibar, and taking a route never before travelled by a white man, Stanley reached Simbamwenni in fourteen marches, the journey of one hundred and nineteen miles having occupied twenty-nine days, during which the commander came to fully realize the difficulty of his undertaking, the inefficiency of unpractised subordinates, and the uncertain loyalty of carriers.

The onward march resembled all in Africa: thorns and jungle to wound the naked carriers, rivers to be forded or crossed on almost impracticable bridges, swamps many miles in length and so miry as to tax the utmost strength and energy of man and ass, insolence and exactions of local potentates, thefts by natives, desertions of carriers, the oft-recurring fever, and occasionally a death.

The 20th of May, Stanley was at Mpwapwa (Mbambwa), delighted physically at its fair aspect and upland picturesqueness, but mentally anxious over Farquhar, whom he left here sick, and the loss of his asses, which he fortunately was able to replace by twelve carriers. He reached, on June 22d, Unyanyembe, after a devious journey of five hundred and twenty miles to cover an air-line distance of one hundred and fifty. Here had just arrived a relief caravan for Livingstone, which had left Zanzibar four months prior to Stanley’s. Near by, at Tabora, the chief Arabian town of central Africa, Stanley was surprised to find the Arabs at war with a savage chief, Mirambo, thus barring the usually travelled road to Ujiji.

Here Stanley lost three months, and participated in an unsuccessful campaign with the Arabs against Mirambo, vainly hoping that thus his road would be opened. Five of his men were killed in the war, others deserted, so that only eleven carriers remained, and altogether his prospects of success steadily diminished.

Map showing Position and Boundaries of the Congo State.

Despairing of the old route, Stanley, having with great difficulty recruited his force of carriers, decided to try a circuitous trail to the south in order to reach Ujiji, which lay to the northwest. Failure and destruction were predicted, but with confidence in himself Stanley, on September 20th, marched on with Shaw and fifty-six others. Illness caused him to soon send back Shaw, his only white companion; frequent desertions weakened his force; an incipient mutiny of his panic-stricken men on the Gombe River threatened complete destruction to the party; insolent chiefs exacted extortionate tribute; desert marches without water and scant food discouraged and weakened the men; but the leader pushed on with unflagging energy despite every obstacle. His route lay through Igonda, Itende, the beautiful country of Uvinsa, across rocky Uhha to the Malagarazi River, where his heart was gladdened by rumors from the natives that a white man had lately arrived at Ujiji from Manyuema.

Pushing on with feverish haste, on November 9, 1871, he had the indescribable joy of looking down on magnificent Lake Tanganyika, and on the following day, with his gigantic guide, Asmani, proudly striding in advance with the Stars and Stripes as his standard, Stanley marched into Ujiji, and there accomplished his mission by meeting Livingstone and ascertaining the results of his late labors. Livingstone’s primary mission—the suppression of the slave trade by means of civilizing influences—had not materially progressed, but he had strong hopes of the future. Geographically, however, he had been most successful, having made important discoveries in the water-sheds of Lakes Tanganyika and the Nyanzas, and found an unknown river, the Lualaba, which in a later exploration Stanley proved to be the Upper Congo.

Stanley found Livingstone with only five carriers and without means of trade. Supplying all deficiencies from his own stores, he assisted Livingstone in his exploration of Lake Tanganyika, and the twain returned together to Unyanyembe. In the meantime both Farquhar and Shaw died, and Stanley, turning over his surplus stores to Livingstone, bade him farewell and Godspeed, and started for Zanzibar. On March 14, 1872, eight weeks later, Stanley was again enjoying civilization at Bagamoyo, while Livingstone was awaiting means of returning to his life-task, soon to be ended by his death among the tribes he loved, for “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

Over four months of intercourse with Livingstone steadily increased Stanley’s admiration for this great man. He describes him as a high-spirited, brave, impetuous, and enthusiastic man, with these qualities so tempered by his deep, abiding spirit of religion as to make him a most extraordinary character. In all his relations with his servants, with the natives, and with Mohammedans, Christianity appeared in its loveliest and most potent forms, constant, sincere, charitable, loving, modest, and always practical. It was this abiding faith in God which made Livingstone a man of unfailing devotion to his sense of present duty, of wondrous patience, unvarying gentleness, constant hopefulness, and unwearied fidelity—qualities which made his missionary work in Africa unprecedentedly successful.

Abuse, misrepresentation, and incredulity from geographic societies, critics, and press greeted Stanley’s account of his discovery of Livingstone, and only gradually did his traducers yield to the convincing evidences of his astonishing success.

Turning to his old work, Stanley, in the winter of 1873-74, again entered Africa, accompanying as newspaper correspondent the British army, which invaded to a distance of one hundred and forty miles the deadly marshes of the Ashantee Kingdom, and destroyed its capital city, Coomassie.

When the death of Livingstone brought Africa into prominence again, Stanley, believing he could complete so much of the missionary’s work as concerned exploration, turned thither at the head of an expedition under the auspices of the London Telegraph and the New York Herald, the object being the survey of the lacustrine system at the head of the White Nile and a journey thence westward across the continent.

Leaving Bagamoyo, November 17, 1874, Stanley reached Lake Victoria Nyanza in March, 1875, his journey of seven hundred and twenty miles being marked by pestilential fevers, struggles through thorny jungles, and scant food and water. Circumnavigating the lake, he found it to be over four thousand feet above the ocean, while its proportions—nearly twenty-two thousand miles in area and in places over five hundred feet deep—assumed those of an inland sea. Here Mtesa, a powerful and able negro king, of Mohammedan faith, proved most friendly and greatly aided him, furnishing an escort, which enabled Stanley to explore a part of the adjacent mountain region. From Ujiji he then explored Lake Tanganyika, finding it to be about half the size of Victoria, with an elevation of about twenty-seven hundred feet.

Tippu-Tib.

Important as were these discoveries they paled before others, made in following the Lualaba River of Livingstone, which changed the map of Central Africa and altered the destiny of that vast and untraversed region. The journey to Nyangwe, Livingstone’s “farthest,” entailed horrible hardships on the carriers. This Arab village was reached via the Luama, which, of hitherto unknown course, was found by Stanley to be an affluent of the Lualaba. At Nyangwe Stanley felt that his accomplished journey of over eight hundred miles from the east coast promised well for his coming voyage to a known point on the other coast, nine hundred miles due west. He made an agreement with an Arab, Tippu-Tib, trader in human flesh or ivory as chance offered, to escort the expedition about six hundred miles west through the unknown regions. The country proved to be primeval forest, almost trackless, its tropical undergrowth a veritable jungle of thorns and vines. Game was scanty and other food equally so. Finally, progress was so slow and the path so devious that Stanley, yielding to his appeals, discharged Tippu-Tib and decided to descend the river by canoes and his frame boat. He embarked at Vinya Njara, with one hundred and fifty in his party, on December 28, 1876, intrusting himself with sublime audacity to a river flowing no one knew whither, save it was away from civilization, and with the knowledge that the country they were entering was peopled by tribes entirely hostile and intractable, as the slave-traders said. Day after day they drifted steadily to the north. Was it or was it not the Nile of Livingstone’s prediction? Then day by day the course trended to the east. Yes, it could only be the Nile. After two hundred and forty miles the trend was to the northwest, whither, week after week, for about three hundred miles it kept its puzzling flow toward a point of the compass where it could join no river known to man. It had, too, assumed proportions and volume truly Amazonic, filled with islands and swollen from one to seven miles in width. All efforts to gain a knowledge of its final course were then fruitless, for the few barbarous natives they could win to speech answered in uncouth jargon, scarcely intelligible to the interpreters: “It is the river—the river!” The terrors of the silent stream in its majestic solitude were almost preferable to the presence of populous villages, which here and there lined its banks, for the inhabitants, ferociously hostile for the greater part, refused trade and boldly assaulted them. Skilful canoemen and good archers, the savages slaughtered unwary stragglers, harassed the rear and attacked the front, while their horrible threats that the bodies of the slain should serve as food at their cannibalistic repasts instilled terror in the minds of many of Stanley’s followers. Skirmishes were frequent, and now and then a severe fight which taxed Stanley’s forces to the utmost. Again the river had here and there series of cataracts which caused no end of trouble, delay, and danger to the party, nine men being drowned in one day.

Fortunately the river had turned to the south, and then to southwest, where, after another thousand miles, it flowed through a narrow gorge, one hundred and fifty miles from the sea, so that no doubt longer obtained as to it being the Congo. The terrible falls near the gorge entailed enormous labor to pass them, and barely failed of destroying the party. In all twenty-eight cataracts were passed, and finally the river became so precipitous, the falls so high, that they had to abandon their boats and march overland to Boma, an English trading-post, five days’ journey distant. Fatigue, famine, and exposure further enfeebled them and now made daily inroads among the ranks of those who had so far survived, and the entire party would have perished on the very threshold of civilization and plenty had not Stanley’s messengers, sent on with urgent appeals, obtained help at Boma, where the expeditionary force arrived August 12, 1877. They had made a river journey of seven thousand miles, proved the Congo to be second only to the Nile, and crossed Africa.

When Stanley, in 1877, intrusting his life and fortunes to a mighty and unknown stream, voyaged toward the very heart of the Dark Continent, even his wildest dreams could not have foreshadowed results equal to the reality of a near future. His voyage in its potentiality was second only to that of Columbus, as the outcome of the succeeding five years plainly indicates. All Europe, alive to the commercial importance of the Congo Basin, hastened to reach its borders or encroach on its limits by means of enlarged dependent colonies; commerce and religion, hand in hand, traversed its rivers by steam and lined its banks with beneficent settlements, while the merciless Arab devastated its villages and dragged its decimated natives into slavery. Then came a political wonder—the peaceful creation of a vast tropical empire more than a million square miles in area, the Congo Free State, erected and admitted into the community of nations by act of an international conference, in which participated fourteen European powers and the United States, our own country being fittingly the first to officially acknowledge the existence of the new state its adventurous citizen had given to the world.

Emin Pasha.

The voyage through the Dark Continent was obviously potent of future results, and Gambetta, in 1878, clearly forecast the effects of Stanley’s journey. The great French statesman said: “Not only have you opened up a new continent to our view, but you have given influence to scientific and philanthropic enterprises which will have its effect on the progress of the world. What you have done has interested governments—proverbially so difficult to move—and the impulse you have imparted, I am convinced, will go on year after year.”

Slowly recovering from the effects of famine and fatigue incident to this arduous journey, Stanley returned to Europe in January, 1878, and was met, as he stepped out of the express train at Marseilles, by two commissioners of King Leopold of Belgium, who informed him that his Majesty contemplated a new enterprise in Africa and desired his assistance. While heartily indorsing the proposed work of Leopold his physical condition was such that active co-operation was impossible, and he was even unable to visit his Majesty. Five months later, with physical energies renewed, after a visit to Leopold, Stanley eventually agreed to the proposition which contemplated the establishment of a grand commercial enterprise for controlling the trade of the valley of the Congo. It involved the erection of commercial and military stations along the overland route and the establishment of steam communication wherever available. In short, a colony of Europeans was to be founded in the Congo Basin, whose great fertility, healthy climate, and enormous population seemed to especially favor the development of African civilization. The action of Leopold evidently grew out of Stanley’s declarations that “the question of this mighty waterway (the Congo) will become a political one in time,” and his conviction that any power possessing the Congo would absorb the whole enormous trade behind, as this river was and must continue to be, the grand commercial highway of West and Central Africa.

Stanley accepted the mission, visited Zanzibar, where he enlisted sixty-eight Zanzibari, mostly his old soldiers, and by sea reached Banana Point, on the west coast, August 14, 1879. Two years previous he had reached this place after descending the newly discovered Congo; now he was re-entering its fertile basin in order to establish civilized settlements, with the intention of subduing Central Africa by peaceful ways and to remould it into harmony with modern ideas, so that justice and order should ever obtain, violence and the slave trade forever cease.

Finding Nelson in Distress at Starvation Camp.

He returned to Europe in 1882, his success far exceeding the expectations of the committee. In this time, with the aid of sixty-eight Zanzibari and a few Europeans, he had constructed three trading-stations, launched a steamer on the Upper Congo, established steam communication between Leopoldville and Stanley Pool, and also constructed wagon-roads between Vivi and Isangila, Manyanga and Stanley Pool. He pointed out to the committee the imperative necessity of a railroad between the Lower and Upper Congo in order to preserve uninterrupted communication, which scheme was approved by the committee provided Stanley would take charge of the work. Although his health was impaired, he agreed to return to the Congo and complete the establishment of stations as far as Stanley Falls, which he duly accomplished, not leaving Africa until there were five promising trading-posts—Vivi, Leopoldville, Kinshassa (Stanley Pool), Equator, and Stanley Falls, the last about two thousand miles inland from the west coast.

On Stanley’s return to Europe the question of organizing the basin of the Congo into an independent state was agitated. As a result fourteen of the European powers and the United States united in a conference at Berlin and formally agreed, on February 26, 1885, that the entire Congo Basin should be erected into a nation to be known as the Congo Free State. Thus less than eight years after Stanley’s famous journey he beheld the country that his genius had rescued from oblivious darkness erected into a new state and admitted into the community of nations.

The last journey of Stanley into Africa was for the rescue of the Egyptian governor of Equatoria, Edward Schnitzer, a German by birth, better known as Emin Pasha. On the death of General Gordon, by whom he was appointed governor, Emin had been left to his fate at Wadelai by the Egyptian authorities, from which point he wrote on December 31, 1885, saying that for nineteen months he had been forgotten and abandoned. On July 6, 1886, he wrote beseeching help. In this contingency the sum of £21,500 was raised—£10,000 from the Egyptian Government, the rest subscribed in England—for the expenses of a relief party, and all eyes turned to Stanley as the natural leader. He was engaged in a very profitable lecturing tour in the United States when the expedition was finally decided on. Three days after the receipt of a cablegram that his plans were accepted, Stanley sailed for Africa via England, using such despatch that he had his expedition of 680 men, 61 being Soudanese soldiers, ready to leave Zanzibar on February 25, 1887.

Stanley decided to make the journey by vessel around the Cape of Good Hope to the Congo, by which river he expected to get within 200 miles of Lake Albert. The co-operation of the infamous Arab trader, Tippu Tib, the most powerful trader in Africa, was obtained by making him governor of Stanley Falls, in the Congo Free State.

Following the Congo to the Aruwimi, Stanley turned up that stream and camped at Yambuya, about sixty miles above the mouth and over one thousand three hundred miles from the sea. To this point he had lost 57 men, and now divided his forces as follows: Advance guard, under himself, 389; Yambuya garrison, 129, under Major Barttelot; other supporting guards in rear, 131; original force, 706.

On January 28, 1887, Stanley started for Lake Albert, 330 miles distant in an air line, through an entirely unknown country. It proved to be a virgin forest, the greatest of the world, through which a path had to be cut almost the entire distance. For one hundred and sixty days they marched through an almost unbroken forest-bush, jungle, marsh, and creek. The scattered villages, filled with barbarous and hostile tribes, were abandoned at their approach; poisoned skewers, covered with green leaves, were planted in the paths, and twice the party was attacked.

On October 6th affairs came to a crisis, as provisions had failed, save scanty wild plants; many, stricken with disease, including Stairs, one of the officers, could go no farther. No less than one hundred and twenty-six men had been lost by death and desertion, about half from each cause, and all must perish unless the party divided. Stanley left Nelson and 52 men in camp on Ituri River, about 1° 5´ N., 28° 30´ E., and started ahead for relief. After terrible privation, and nearly perishing of starvation on the way, they reached Ipoto, October 17th, where food was purchased from the natives. As soon as possible Jephson, Stanley’s able and loyal assistant, returned to Nelson’s relief and brought him and three men to Ipoto, nine carriers having died and forty deserted. December 4th, Stanley with 175 men emerged from the forest and nine days later reached Lake Albert, whence Wadelai, Emin’s station, was distant four days’ journey by water, or twenty-five by land.

Finding no boats on Lake Albert, Stanley was obliged to retreat from its desolate shores westward to a fertile region, where he built Fort Bodo and planted crops, while a detachment brought up his steel boat, in which Jephson reached M’swa and was met, on April 26, 1888, by Emin, who had been notified by Stanley’s native courier. Two days later Emin and Stanley met at Lake Albert, when propositions and plans as to Emin’s movements were made and discussed with no definite results.

A Stockaded Camp. (From a photograph.)

The equation of Emin’s character seems to have been best stated by Vita Hassan, his friendly subordinate for twenty years, who considers Emin’s many virtues as those of a missionary rather than of a governor or commander, and attributes his infirmity of indecision to innate goodness of heart. It was nine months before Emin, his army mutinous, himself and Jephson imprisoned, with death as an alternative, decided to return with Stanley to Zanzibar.

In the meanwhile Stanley, anxious as to his rear guard, returned through the dreaded forest hoping from day to day to meet it, but saw no signs until he reached Banalya, on the Aruwimi, a few miles from where he had left it. Here he found it in a state of inactivity and disorganization, its chief, Major Barttelot, murdered by a native, Jameson and one hundred and two out of the original two hundred and seventy-six dead, and twenty-six deserted. Again the journey through the forest and its hostile tribes to Lake Albert, where Stanley with the hesitating Emin Pasha and his followers started for Zanzibar on April 1, 1889.

The return journey, made as far as Lake Victoria Nyanza over unknown ground, resulted in the discovery of Mount Ruwenzori, a snow-clad peak under the Equator, estimated to be seventeen thousand feet high. Moreover, of vastly more importance, Stanley ascertained that Lake Albert Nyanza through the Semliki River, drained a large lake, named Albert Edward, thus determining the secret of the long-sought and ever retreating source of the White Nile. Small streams feed Lake Albert Edward from the south, whose extreme limit is placed by Stanley in 1° 10´ S. latitude.

December 4, 1889, found the party arrived at Bagamoyo, the coast town opposite Zanzibar. The work which Stanley was sent to do, as all other tasks assumed by this great explorer, was ended, and Emin Pasha once more looked on the faces of his countrymen.

Ruwenzori (The Snowy Mountain) identified by Stanley with “the Mountains of the Moon.” Ascended 10,677 feet above sea-level by Lieutenant Stairs. Total height about 16,600 feet. (From a drawing by Mr. Stanley, made at the time of the discovery.)

Crowned with highest honors from all the powers of Europe, no tribute, as Stanley has said, gave such gratification as that from the United States, which, proud of the achievements of its great citizen, extended to him the unprecedented honors of its official, well-considered, and merited commendation, wherein, under date of February 7, 1878, it was “Resolved, by the Senate and House of Representatives in Congress assembled, That, regarding with just pride the achievements of their countryman, Henry M. Stanley, the distinguished explorer of Central Africa, the thanks of the people of the United States are eminently due and are hereby tendered him as a tribute to his extraordinary patience, prudence, fortitude, enterprise, courage, and capacity in solving by his researches many of the most important geographical problems of our age and globe, problems of a continental scope, involving the progress of our kind in commerce, science, and civilization.”

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THE END.

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