The Mystery of the North Pole—The First Explorer—"The Great Dark Wall at the End of the World"—"Frost-Smoke"—The Lights and Sounds of the North—The Aurora Borealis—Mock Moons—The Early Adventurers: Willoughby, Frobisher, Davis, Hudson, Baffin, Ross, and Parry—The North-West Passage.

In all the range of romantic adventure to be found in the history of man, there is, perhaps, none which appeals so strongly to the imagination as the search for the Poles. In all the tales of daring courage and patient, persistent bravery, two qualities which stand foremost in the admiration of every English-speaking boy, the tales of the fearless explorers who have faced the terrors and the mystery of the frozen regions are without a rival.

Just as it was the record of his struggles to penetrate into the unknown region of the ice-bound North-West Passage which made the name of Sir John Franklin famous fifty years ago, so is it to-day that the names of Nansen, Peary, and AndrÉe are household words by reason of the hardihood and indomitable courage shown in their efforts to reach the great unknown Pole. Who is there who has not lingered over the adventures of the Fram, that sturdy Norseman's vessel, which combined in herself all the best qualities of previous Arctic ships, and comported herself, whether in the ice or out of it, with a dignity that told of her proud descent and prouder destiny? Who has not marvelled at the sublime audacity of the gallant little band of three who challenged undying fame by seeking the Pole in a balloon, abandoning all the old-fashioned notions about ice-ships and dog-sledges, and trusting themselves and their enterprise to the four winds of heaven and the latest scientific scheme? Who has not been thrilled with the daring shown by Nansen and his trusty lieutenant when, leaving ship and comrades, with their lives literally in their hands, they made their historic dash and emerged with what was then the record of "Farthest North," and which has since been beaten by only twenty miles?

Full of pluck and daring are all the records of Polar exploration, and, in addition to that attraction, there is something else about the subject which fascinates and holds the imagination. There is a mystery about the cold, white, silent region; the mystery of, as yet, an unsolved problem; the mystery of being one of the few spots on the world's surface where the foot of adventurous man has never trodden. Everywhere else man has gone; everywhere else men of our own race have subdued Nature and wrested her close-kept secrets from her; everywhere else save the Poles, and there not even the grandeur of modern inventive genius has enabled man to become the master. We may be nearer now than ever before; we may have made many places familiar which, less than fifty years ago, were unknown; and we may, in recent years, have disproved the theories of many an ancient explorer; but the Poles still elude us as they eluded those who were searchers a thousand years ago.

It is no modern idea, this search for the North Pole. King Alfred the Great is credited with having sent expeditions towards it, and long before his day men had sailed as far as they could to the North, far enough for them to return with marvellous tales of wonder and mystery. The earliest of whom there is any record is an ancient Greek mariner, Pytheas, who sailed North until he came to an island which he named the Land of Thule. This may have been the Shetlands; it may have been Iceland; but whatever it was, this ancient mariner was by no means pleased with it, in spite of the fact that the sun never set all the time he was there. This prolonged daylight caused him considerable uneasiness, and he hastened away from it farther to the North, and the farther he went the more curious he found the region to be. The sun, which at first refused to set, now refused to rise, and he found himself in perpetual darkness instead of perpetual day. More than that, he tells how he came to a great dark wall rising up out of the sea, beyond which he could discern nothing, while at the same time something seized and held his ship motionless on the water, so that the winds could not move it and the anchor would not sink. He was quite convinced in his own mind where he had come; the wall in front of him was the parapet which ran round the edge of the world to prevent people from falling over, and, like a wise man, he hastened home and told his friends that he had penetrated to the limits of the earth.

What the Arctic regions were then, they are to-day; but we, with a greater knowledge, are able to understand what was incomprehensible to the ancient Greek navigator. At the North Pole itself it is known the sun rises and sets only once in twelve months. From March 21 to September 23 daylight continues; from September 23 to March 21 the sun is never visible. The heat at midsummer is probably never above freezing point; at midwinter the cold is so intense that one's eyes would freeze in their sockets if exposed to it.

At the limit of the ice two phenomena are met with which explain the fanciful legend of Pytheas. As summer gives place to the cold of autumn, and as winter gives way to the mild temperature of spring, there comes down upon the water a dense mass of fog, to which the name "frost-smoke" is given. It would appear, as it rolled along the surface of the ocean, a veritable wall to one accustomed to the clear atmosphere of the Mediterranean, and a thin sheet of ice might give the meaning to the "something" which held the ship stationary. Modern explorers have known the sea to freeze an inch thick in a single night, and ice an inch thick would probably be enough to check the progress of such a vessel as Pytheas would command.

Later navigators, curious to learn whether his story were true or not, followed his course. Some of them went on until they were caught in the rigours of the Arctic winter and perished in the crashing ice-floes. Occasionally some came home again, after having reached far enough to see the great icebergs, floating with all their stately majesty in the blue waters and towering as high as mountains, their summits a mass of glittering pinnacles and their sides scored and grooved with cavities and caverns. Some of them saw the animals which live in that cold, barren region; the great white bear, with its coat of thick shaggy fur, its long ungainly figure and heavy swaying neck; the walrus, with its gleaming tusks hanging down from its upper jaws; the seals, with their great round eyes staring at the unknown intruders; above all, the huge whales, spouting and floundering in the sea, coming to the surface with a snort which sent the spray flying high in the air, and disappearing again with a splash that was like a crashing billow. Little wonder that those who returned from seeing such sights and hearing such strange sounds should tell wonderful stories about the weird creatures inhabiting the place.

The sounds must have been as terrifying and mystifying as the sights, for in the clear, intense atmosphere of the winter months, noise travels over almost incredible distances. When Parry was on Melville's Island, he records having heard the voices of men who were talking not less than a mile away. In the depth of winter, when the great cold has its icy grip on everything, the silence is unbroken along the shores of the Polar Sea; but when the frost sets in, and again when the winter gives way to spring, there is abundance of noise. As the frost comes down along the coast, rocks are split asunder with a noise of big guns, and the sound goes booming away across the frozen tracts, startling the slouching bear in his lonely haunts, and causing him to give vent to his hoarse, barking roar in answer. The ice, just forming into sheets, creaks and cracks as the rising or falling tide strains it along the shore; fragments, falling loose upon it, skid across the surface with the ringing sound which travels so far. In the spring the melting ice-floes groan as they break asunder; with a mighty crash the unbalanced bergs fall over, churning the water into foam with their plunge, and bears and foxes and all the other Arctic animals call and bark to one another as they awaken from their winter sleep. Just as these incidents occur to-day, so did they occur a thousand years ago; and if to modern ears they sound weird and awe-inspiring, what must they have been to the men who succeeded Pytheas?

Nor does this exhaust the marvel of this bleak and fascinating region. In the long winter nights the aurora borealis glares and blazes in the sky, "roaring and flashing about a ship enough to frighten a fellow," as an old quartermaster, who was with Sir F. L. McClintock in his search for Sir John Franklin, used to tell the midshipmen. In the prolonged sunset and sunrise the sky is ablaze with colour, and, when the sun has gone, the rarefied atmosphere produces many curious astronomical figures. As explorers penetrated farther into the great ice-bound region they encountered fresh peculiarities. The moon, which shone continuously during the three weeks of its course, frequently appeared surrounded by belts and bands of light, in which mock moons were visible. Long after the sun had disappeared a mock sun would shine in the sky, and in the twilight, when shadows were no longer cast, men and dogs were liable to walk over cliffs and fall down crevices in the ice through being unable to distinguish them. Penetrating farther into the ice world, they learned that throughout the winter the ice heaved and crashed upon itself, making an incessant uproar as it groaned and creaked. The experience of Nansen and the Fram emphasised this, but in the earlier days of Polar research silence was presumed to reign in the vicinity of the Arctic basin.

In those early days the expeditions usually kept close to the northern coasts of either Europe, Asia, or America. Sir Hugh Willoughby, who sailed from England in 1553, confined himself to seeking the north-east passage from Behring Sea to Greenland along the north coast of Canada. In 1576 Frobisher explored part of the region, the work being continued by Davis, who in 1585-8 discovered and explored the strait which still bears his name, to the west of Greenland. In 1610 Hudson, an intrepid trader and explorer, sailed into Hudson's Bay, and five years later Baffin sailed into and through Baffin's Bay. The result of these two discoveries was to open up a very valuable fur trade, and for the next two hundred years, fur traders and whalers were practically the only men who went into the frozen North. In 1818 the British Navy again entered the field for the purpose of mapping out the northern coasts of America. Captains Ross and Parry were sent out in two vessels, with the result that knowledge of the locality was extended by the discovery of Lancaster Sound, Prince Regent Inlet, Barrow Strait, and Melville Island. The location of these islands and straits aroused still keener curiosity as to whether there was or was not a passage for ships leading from the Pacific to the Atlantic Oceans along the north coast of America. The search for the North-West Passage was the dream of every Arctic explorer at this period. It fell to the lot of one man to prove the existence of the passage, at a price, however, of his own life, and the lives of all his companions, as well as the loss of his two ships. This was Sir John Franklin, whose Polar exploits form the subject of the succeeding chapter.