The Romance of Polar Exploration. G. Firth Scott
Straits to the other ocean.
Franklin was full of enthusiasm as to the outcome of the expedition. That it would prove the existence of the passage he had no doubt, and subsequent events justified him. But he had bigger notions than merely proving the passage. "I believe it is possible to reach the Pole over the ice by wintering at Spitzbergen and going in the spring before the ice breaks up," he said before starting, and no one would have been surprised had he returned in the three years with a record of the journey. Public interest was thoroughly aroused in the enterprise, and when the two vessels set sail from Greenhithe on May 19, 1845, they had a brilliant send-off. On June 1 they arrived at Stromness in the Orkney Islands, and on July 4 at Whale Fish Island, off the coast of Greenland, where the despatch-boat Barreto Junior parted company with them to bring home Franklin's despatches to the Admiralty, reporting "All Well." Later on came the news that Captain Dannett, of the whaler Prince of Wales, had spoken to them in Melville Bay.
Then the months passed and grew into years, and still no sign or token was received from them. Public opinion, stimulated by the interest taken in the departure of the expedition, began to grow anxious at the prolonged silence; but the last despatches had been received and the last tidings direct from the ships had come to hand. Over their subsequent actions and adventures the heavy veil of the Frozen North hung until intrepid searchers raised it and learned the sad but gallant story of how the North-West Passage was discovered and the route to the Pole marked clearer.
When the Erebus and Terror parted company with the despatch-boat on July 4, they shaped their course through Baffin's Bay towards Lancaster Sound. Continuing their way, they passed Cape Warrender and ultimately reached Beechy Island at the entrance of the then unexplored waters of Wellington Channel. They passed through the channel, taking such observations as were necessary as they went, until they had sailed 150 miles. Further progress being stopped by the ice, they passed into another unexplored channel between Cornwallis Island and Bathurst Island which led them into Barrow's Straits, nearly 100 miles west of the entrance to Wellington Channel.
The ice was now forming thickly around them, and attention was directed to discovering a comfortable haven where they could come to rest and remain while the ice closed in around them during the long winter months. A suitable harbour was found on the northeasterly side of Beechy Island and the ships were made snug. All the spars that could be sent down were lowered on to the decks, and the rigging and sails stowed away below before the ice surrounded them, so that when the floes began to pack and lifted the hulls of the vessels, there should be no "top-hamper" to list them over. On the frozen shore huts were built for the accommodation of shore parties, and, as the ice spread around and the snow fell, the men found exercise and amusement in heaping it up against the sides of the vessels as an extra protection against the cold, the thick mass of frozen snow preventing the escape of the warmth from the inside of the ships. But where there were fires always going to maintain the temperature of the cabins, the danger of an outbreak of fire had to be zealously guarded against. With all the ship's pumps rendered useless by the frost, and the water frozen solid all around, a conflagration on board a vessel in the Arctic seas is one of the grimmest of terrors. The safeguard is the maintenance, in the ice near the vessel's side, of a "fire hole," that is, a small space kept open by constant attention down to the level of unfrozen water.
During the long winter months there was plenty of time to estimate the progress they had made, and there must have been considerable satisfaction on all sides at what they had accomplished. They had circumnavigated Cornwallis Island and had reached to within 250 miles of the western end of the passage.
The first Christmas festival of the voyage was kept up with high revel. If fresh beef was not available, venison was, and there was plenty of material for the manufacture of the time-honoured "duff." The officers and men, clad in their thick, heavy fur garments, clustered together as the simple religious service was read, and over the silent white covering of sea and land the sound of their voices rolled as they sang the hymns and carols which were being sung in their native land. Then came the merrymaking and the feasting in cabins decked with bunting, for no green stuff was available for decorating.
The first New Year's Day was saddened by the death of one of their comrades, and the silent ice-fields witnessed another impressive sight when the crews of both vessels slowly marched ashore to the grave dug in the frozen soil of Beechy Island. The body, wrapped in a Union Jack, was borne by the deceased man's messmates, the members of his watch headed by their officers following, and after them the remainder of the officers and crew. The bells of each ship tolled as the cortège passed over the ice, the crunching of the crisp snow under foot being the only other sound till the grave was reached. There the solemn and impressive service of a sailor's funeral was said, the mingled voices as they repeated the responses passing as a great hum through the still, cold air. A momentary silence followed as the flag-swathed figure was lowered into the grave, and then a quick rattle of firearms as the last salute was paid echoed far and wide among the icebergs.
Twice more was that scene repeated before the ships cleared from the ice, and one of the first signs discovered by the searchers after Franklin were the three headstones raised on that lonely isle to the memory of W. Braine, John Hartwell, and John Torrington, who died while the ships were wintering in the cold season of 1845–6.
By July the ice had broken up and the voyage was resumed and passed without any exceptional incident, up to the middle of September 1846, when they were again caught by the ice, but 150 miles nearer their destination than the year before. Only 100 miles more to be sailed over and they would be the conquerors—but that 100 miles was too firmly blocked with ice-floes for them ever to sail over.
The winter of 1846–7 was passed just off the most extreme northerly point of King William's Land. The ice was particularly heavy, and hemmed the vessels in completely, the surface being too rugged and uneven to permit of travelling in the immediate vicinity even of hunting parties. This was the more unfortunate because the provisions were growing scant, and supplies brought in by hunters would have been of great assistance. At the time of starting, the vessels had only been provisioned for three years. Two had now passed, so that only a twelvemonth's stock of food remained in the holds. It might occupy them all the next summer in working through the remaining 100 miles of the passage, and that would leave them with another winter to face, unless they were sufficiently fortunate in finding open water when they reached the end. But, on the other hand, they might not be able to get through in the time, or the passage might not be navigable. Either possibility was full of very grave anxiety for those in command, for it was a terrible prospect of being left, with 130 men to feed, in the midst of the frozen sea, "a hundred miles from everywhere."
The anxiety felt was shown by the despatch, as early as May, or two months before the first flush of summer was due, of a specially selected party of quick travellers to push forward over the ice and spy out the prospects ahead. Lieutenant Graham Gore, of the Erebus, commanded the party, which consisted of Charles des Voeux, ship's mate, and six seamen. They carried only enough stores to last them on their journey, and each one had to contribute his share to the labour of hauling the hand-sledges over the jagged ridges of broken ice. Skirting along the coast of King William's Land, they arrived at a point from the top of which they were able to discern the mainland coast trending away to the horizon, with a sea of ice in front. It was the long-dreamed-of end of the North-West Passage.
To commemorate the fact the little party built a cairn upon the summit of the point, which they named Point Victory, and enclosed in a tin canister they deposited, under the cairn, a record of their trip and its result. Twelve years later this record was found, and by it the honour due to Franklin for the discovery of the passage was confirmed. But the manner of its finding must be told later on.
Elated with the success of their efforts, Lieutenant Gore and his companions retraced their way back to the ships, for with the end of their journey so near at hand, all fears of the provisions running short were at an end. As soon as the ice broke up they would be away into the sea they had seen from Point Victory, and sailing home with their mission accomplished, their task completed, and nothing but honour and glory waiting them at home. As soon as they came within sight of the two ships, perched up among the ice ridges, they shouted out to their comrades to let them know of the success