July 14, Steady Progress

July 14—A fine day and we make steady progress. The air hereabouts has the clarity of desert air, but with a cold sharpness I have not experienced before. It is most refreshing to both nose and eye, imparting a hard-clarity to the views which I have never perceived through the soft, moisture-laden air of England.

The coast of Greenland is in sight—a rugged place of black rock cut by white furrows and ravines of snow and some of the most magnificent glaciers the equal of any in Switzerland. The whole is canopied with a mass of clouds and mist. In bold relief, at the foot of this black mass, the most fantastically formed and perfectly white bergs shine out. Grand scenery, but desolate beyond expression.

Our time at Disco was longer than we had hoped, the off-loading of the transport being a more arduous undertaking than expected—but we used the time to advantage. We commenced by beating up to the Whalefish Islands, which are in the bay formed at the south end of Disco and the mainland. There we planned to clear the transport. By some mistake, Reid, our Ice-Master, fancied we were off-course, and led us away up to the end of the bay, thirty miles to the mouth of Waigat Channel. It is a not an auspicious beginning for our expert on the ice conditions of this land, but no harm was done. In fact, the wind favoured us right around the bay which was full of the most glorious icebergs packed close along the shore. But for the loss of a morning, it would have been the most delightful sail. I went on board the Terror that evening, and found Crozier aware of the mistake. He fancied we had given up the idea of going to the Whalefish Islands. It was around midnight that we finally ran into a bay. Of course, the sun was up all this time, it being almost as bright at midnight as at noon. 

We were met by five of the local Esquimaux, in the smallest possible canoes, all in a row. The two going ahead kept near the ship and piloted her into a safe place among the rocks, where we moored in a channel just four times the ship’s breadth, and perfectly landlocked. Feeling brave the following day, I resolved to try one of the Esquimaux craft. They are very small and necessitate the removal of trousers to enter them. I paddled about happily for some time but at last over I went and remained there, upside down in a most undignified position until rescued. 

One of the party gave a quite remarkable display of skill in repeatedly severing a weighted string hung over the stern from a distance of several boat lengths with nothing more than a type of small throwing dart which they use to bring down birds in flight.

The Esquimaux have the most unusual aspect, being short and stocky, like folk used to a life of hard labour. They have very flat and wide faces. Some resemble a type of face I came across in China to such a degree that it made me wonder on the origins of these odd people. Many came aboard and traded for whatever they could. They were particularly taken with any metal which they could fashion into spear points. In exchange they offered many items made of sealskin. Our crew almost universally smoke clay pipes and many obtained tobacco pouches from the natives who, although they do not much use tobacco themselves, make the pouches for trade with passing vessels. It seems the European influence on these lands extends to establishing new trade customs.

Crozier went quite overboard and kitted himself out with a complete set of native clothing. It consists of a shapeless jacket and pair of leggings, cunningly sewn from the complete skins of several local deer and still bearing the distinct aroma of the wilds. He also procured a pair of skin boots, or mukluks as they are called. I cannot imagine what he will do with this outfit or how strange he will look in the Strand dressed—and smelling—like an Esquimaux. When I joked him about it, he replied with a serious explanation on the principles by which air is trapped in layers beneath the clothing and, warmed by the body beneath, serves to protect the wearer from the extremes of the local climate. He even went so far as to explain to me that the Esquimaux have been living in these lands, in all probability, since before Caesar conquered Britain and, for all their savage appearance, must have learned something of adapting to its vagaries. He really can be quite humourless at times. None-the-less, I could not deny the natives a superior skill to mine in the handling of their small craft.

I used this time to take magnetic readings with an early version of the ‘Fox,’ which we find quite cumbersome and awkward to use. Still, we must make what we can of it as there is no scientific supplier in these parts. I was frequently very wet and cold at this work; but plunging into cold water, when I got on board, made me quite warm. I could not help thinking of the Frenchman who, after a long account of the misery of the rain and fogs of England, rued—‘Pour quitter ce triste sol je m’embarque à Liverpool.’

The land of Disco was bold, black, and topped with snow. The seas were covered with bits of ice, which rushed through the channel as they broke away from the icebergs with a noise like thunder. Every man was allowed on shore and they ran about for a sort of holiday, getting eider duck’s eggs, &c; we collected some very curious mosses and plants, also shells. Le Vesconte and I spent a day on a small island surveying. It was very satisfactory to me that he took to surveying, as I said he would. Sir John was much pleased with him. 

I also spent a day on land with Fairholme measuring angles of the magnetic lines of force of our dear old Earth. It is important work, but tedious in the extreme as it involves sitting for long hours in a little square wooden house recording minute variations in the movements of a tiny, suspended needle. To add to our woes, we were continually bitten by very large mosquitoes and I fancy we each lost some pounds of flesh. I have saved you one of the beasts. 

Both the Erebus and the Terror are very heavily laden, the Terror less so since she left some supplies in Disco. We have taken on the extra tons of coal. The Erebus is, without doubt, the sturdiest ship I have ever been on. She is not overly large, being 370 tons to the Terror’s 340. Both ships are ‘Bomb’ vessels, built solidly at first to carry the mortar cannons that were used to bombard Napoleon’s coastal fortifications. 

Oddly the Terror is the very same vessel I rescued south of Lisbon when I was a lowly fifteen-year-old first class on the old Pyramus in 1828. We found her 70 miles south of the detestable hole we were blockading. She lay on a bed of sand surrounded by rocks with the surf beating over her tremendously—her crew living in tents and six other merchantmen wrecked nearby. She was refloated and towed back to England, very leaky and with the pumps working continuously. I thought then she would see no more service in His Majesty’s Navy yet here she is on this new adventure. 

Both ships were much strengthened for the ice they encountered while with James Ross in the Antarctic, and they have been further strengthened with oak beams and iron hull sheathing for this endeavour. 

We draw some seventeen feet fully laden which a few feel might handicap the work we have ahead of us. Thomas Blanky, the Ice-Master on Terror, was with John Ross from 1829 to 33 and saw as much as any man of the kind of waters we must navigate. He has expressed the opinion privately—but what can remain private in the confines of a ship at sea—that the waters are shoaly and treacherous and that we would have done well to bring a small yacht with us to take out if the going got tight. I think he worries overly for our aim is to sail through the open spaces near Banks Land and, when possible keep well clear of narrow passages which may well be ice-clogged traps. 

Both ships are very full with three years’ provisions and coals for the engine. The engine on Erebus takes up space most inconveniently. It is an entire locomotive (which but a few months ago was running on the Greenwich line) with only the wheels removed and set by crane in our aft hold. It weighs 15 tons and its bulk makes passage below deck quite a trial at times. Many of the crew are not to be convinced of its import, especially as it can only push us along at a poor three or four knots. Still, I am certain we shall have reason to be thankful for such foresight when we have need of a push through the ice and the wind is uncertain or contrary. 

Some men of vision, Sir John Ross among them, even talk of a day when flotillas of ships powered by steam boiler alone will conclude all recourse to sail. It is a stirring idea especially given Ross’s unfortunate experiences when he had to dismantle and dump the unworkable engines from his Victory at Felix Harbour in 1829. Yet perhaps he is right for certainly the steamer Rattler was of great assistance to us on our way to the Orkneys. Perhaps the day will come when we see the great navies and merchant fleets of the world steaming around the globe without a care for the movements of wind and tide! For all that they may change our world, the engines are, as Irving on the Terror says of their trials, prone to make the most dreadful puffings and screamings and will undoubtedly astound the Esquimaux not a little.

Meanwhile, our deck is covered with coal piled chest high and casks of food and liquor, and there is but a narrow pathway fore and aft which must look to the untrained eye as if it winds around like fallen knitting wool, yet which in fact defines the most convenient routes that the crew must take as they go about their sometimes complex tasks.

We sit very low and the two ships handle rather like logs in the water. You will please picture to yourself our having a smooth passage between the icebergs for we had enough rolling and pitching on our way across the Atlantic to last us all the voyage. The old Terror pitched so much she appeared as if tossed around by some playful undersea serpent—but no doubt we appear to do likewise from her decks. We can only hope that we do not meet with an unseasonable gale before we make Lancaster Sound and the opening of the passage. 

I have no fear but that we shall complete the passage before we have time enough for scientific work and adventure, and if we do not, what wrong can befall us? Since Parry revived our English claim to these northern lands in 1818, all the expeditions, even those that met with misfortune, have lost but a handful of men, and most of those through accident or some pre-existing medical condition. Surgeon Stanley had to invalid one man back to the Whalefish Islands and Peddie did the same for two in addition to both the Terror’s Armourer and Sailmaker who Crozier classified as “perfectly useless either at their trade or anything else.” So we are now 129 hardy souls in two of the sturdiest ships ever to set sail. We have the best of supplies and the keenest hearts that could ever be wanted. How can we not succeed?

But here I am rambling on about hearts of oak when all you want to hear is gossip of my shipmates and stirring tales of adventure. All I can pass on in this regard is that our Purser, Osmer, beat me soundly at chess this evening. I pray the voyage is long enough so that I may improve to such sufficient degree that I might take a game or two from him before we reach home.