The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras

CHAPTER XXVI

RETURN TO THE SOUTH

Three hours after this sad conclusion to the adventures of Captain Hatteras, Clawbonny, Altamont, and the two sailors were assembled in the cavern at the foot of the volcano. Then Clawbonny was asked to give his opinion on what was to be done.

"My friends," he said, "we cannot prolong our stay at Queen's Island; the sea is open before us; our provisions are sufficient; we must set out and reach Fort Providence as soon as possible, and we can go into winter-quarters till next summer."

"That is my opinion," said Altamont; "the wind is fair, and to-morrow we shall set sail."

The day passed in great gloom. The captain's madness was a sad foreboding, and when Johnson, Bell, and Altamont thought of their return, they were afraid of their loneliness and remoteness. They felt the need of Hatteras's bold soul. Still, like energetic men they made ready for a new struggle with the elements, and with themselves, in case they should feel themselves growing faint-hearted.

The next day, Saturday, July 13th, the camping materials were put on the boat, and soon everything was ready for their departure. But before leaving this rock forever, the doctor, following Hatteras's intentions, put up a cairn at the place where the captain reached the island; this cairn was built of large rocks laid on one another, so as to form a perfectly visible landmark, if it were not destroyed by the eruption.

On one of the lateral stones Bell carved with a chisel this simple inscription: —

A copy of the document was placed inside of the cairn in an hermetically sealed tin cylinder, and the proof of this great discovery was left here on these lonely rocks.

Then the four men and the captain, – a poor body without a mind, – and his faithful Duke, sad and melancholy, got into the boat for the return voyage. It was ten o'clock in the morning. A new sail was set up with the canvas of the tent. The launch, sailing before the wind, left Queen's Island, and that evening the doctor, standing on his bench, waved a last farewell to Mount Hatteras, which was lighting up the horizon.

Their voyage was very quick; the sea, which was always open, was easy sailing, and it seemed really easier to go away from the Pole than to approach it. But Hatteras was in no state to understand what was going on about him; he lay at full length in the launch, his mouth closed, his expression dull, and his arms folded. Duke lay at his feet. It was in vain that the doctor questioned him. Hatteras did not hear him.

For forty-eight hours the breeze was fair and the sea smooth. Clawbonny and his companions rejoiced in the north-wind. July 15th, they made Altamont Harbor in the south; but since the Polar Ocean was open all along the coast, instead of crossing New America by sledge, they resolved to sail around it, and reach Victoria Bay by sea. This voyage was quicker and easier. In fact, the space which had taken them a fortnight on sledges took them hardly a week by sail; and after following the rugged outline of the coast, which was fringed with numerous fiords, and determining its shape, they reached Victoria Bay, Monday evening, July 23d.

The launch was firmly anchored to the shore, and each one ran to Fort Providence. The Doctor's House, the stores, the magazine, the fortifications, all had melted in the sun, and the supplies had been devoured by hungry beasts.

It was a sad sight.

They were nearly at the end of their supplies, and they had intended to renew them at Fort Providence. The impossibility of passing the winter there was evident. Like people accustomed to decide rapidly, they determined to reach Baffin's Bay as soon as possible.

"We have nothing else to do," said the doctor; "Baffin's Bay is not six hundred miles from here; we might sail as far as our launch would carry us, reach Jones's Sound, and from there the Danish settlements."

"Yes," answered Altamont; "let us collect all the provisions we can, and leave."

By strict search they found a few chests of pemmican here and there, and two barrels of preserved meat, which had escaped destruction. In short, they had a supply for six weeks, and powder enough. This was promptly collected. The day was devoted to calking the launch, repairing it, and the next day, July 24th, they put out to sea again.

The continent towards latitude 83° inclined towards the east. It was possible that it joined the countries known under the name of Grinnell Land, Ellesmere, and North Lincoln, which form the coast-line of Baffin's Bay. They could then hold it for certain that Jones's Sound opened in the inner seas, like Lancaster Sound. The launch then sailed without much difficulty, easily avoiding the floating ice. The doctor, by way of precaution against possible delay, put them all on half-rations; but this did not trouble them much, and their health was unimpaired.

Besides, they were able to shoot occasionally; they killed ducks, geese, and other game, which gave them fresh and wholesome food. As for their drink, they had a full supply from the floating ice, which they met on the way, for they took care not to go far from the coast, the launch being too small for the open sea.

At this period of the year the thermometer was already, for the greater part of time, beneath the freezing-point; after a certain amount of rainy weather snow began to fall, with other signs of the end of summer; the sun sank nearer the horizon, and more and more of its disk sank beneath it every day. July 30th they saw it disappear for the first time, that is to say, they had a few minutes of night.

Still, the launch sailed well, sometimes making from sixty to seventy-five miles a day; they did not stop a moment; they knew what fatigues to endure, what obstacles to surmount; the way by land was before them, if they had to take it, and these confined seas must soon be closed; indeed, the young ice was already forming here and there. Winter suddenly succeeds summer in these latitudes; there are no intermediate seasons; no spring, no autumn. So they had to hurry. July 31st, the sky being clear at sunset, the first stars were seen in the constellations overhead. From this day on there was perpetual mist, which interfered very much with their sailing. The doctor, when he saw all the signs of winter's approach, became very uneasy; he knew the difficulties Sir John Ross had found in getting to Baffin's Bay, after leaving his ship; and indeed, having once tried to pass the ice, he was obliged to return to his ship, and go into winter-quarters for the fourth year; but he had at least a shelter against the weather, food, and fuel. If such a misfortune were to befall the survivors of the Forward, if they had to stop or put back, they were lost; the doctor did not express his uneasiness to his companions; but he urged them to get as far eastward as possible.

Finally, August 15th, after thirty days of rather good sailing, after struggling for forty-eight hours against the ice, which was accumulating, after having imperilled their little launch a hundred times, they saw themselves absolutely stopped, unable to go farther; the sea was all frozen, and the thermometer marked on an average +15°. Moreover, in all the north and east it was easy to detect the nearness of land, by the presence of pebbles; frozen fresh water was found more frequently. Altamont made an observation with great exactness, and found they were in latitude 77° 15', and longitude 85° 2'.

"So, then," said the doctor, "this is our exact position; we have reached North Lincoln, exactly at Cape Eden; we are entering Jones's Sound; if we had been a little luckier, we should have found the sea open to Baffin's Bay. But we need not complain. If my poor Hatteras had at first found so open a sea, he would have soon reached the Pole, his companions would not have deserted him, and he would not have lost his reason under his terrible sufferings!"

"Then," said Altamont, "we have only one course to follow; to abandon the launch, and get to the east coast of Lincoln by sledge."

"Abandon the launch and take the sledge? Well," answered the doctor; "but instead of crossing Lincoln, I propose going through Jones's Sound on the ice, and reaching North Devon."

"And why?" asked Altamont.

"Because we should get nearer to Lancaster Sound, and have more chance of meeting whalers."

"You are right, Doctor, but I am afraid the ice is not yet hard enough."

"We can try," said Clawbonny.

The launch was unloaded; Bell and Johnson put the sledge together; all its parts were in good condition. The next day the dogs were harnessed in, and they went along the coast to reach the ice-field.

Then they began again the journey which has been so often described; it was tiresome and slow; Altamont was right in doubting the strength of the ice; they could not go through Jones's Sound, and they had to follow the coast of Lincoln.

August 21st they turned to one side and reached the entrance of Glacier Sound; then they ventured upon the ice-field, and the next day they reached Cobourg Island, which they crossed in less than two days amid snow-squalls. They could advance more easily on the ice-fields, and at last, August 24th, they set foot on North Devon.

"Now," said the doctor, "we have only to cross this, and reach Cape Warender, at the entrance of Lancaster Sound."

But the weather became very cold and unpleasant; the snow-squalls became as violent as in winter; they all found themselves nearly exhausted. Their provisions were giving out, and each man had but a third of a ration, in order to allow to the dogs enough food in proportion to their work.

The nature of the ground added much to the fatigue of the journey; North Devon was far from level; they had to cross the Trauter Mountains by almost impassable ravines, struggling against all the fury of the elements. The sledge, men, and dogs had to rest, and more than once despair seized the little band, hardened as it was to the fatigues of a polar journey. But, without their noticing it, these poor men were nearly worn out, physically and morally; they could not support such incessant fatigue for eighteen months with impunity, nor such a succession of hopes and despairs. Besides, it should be borne in mind that they went forward with enthusiasm and conviction, which they lacked when returning. So they with difficulty dragged on; they walked almost from habit, with the animal energy left almost independent of their will.

It was not until August 30th that they at last left the chaos of mountains, of which one can form no idea from the mountains of lower zones, but they left it half dead. The doctor could no longer cheer up his companions, and he felt himself breaking down. The Trauter Mountains ended in a sort of rugged plain, heaped up at the time of the formation of the mountains. There they were compelled to take a few days of rest; the men could not set one foot before another; two of the dogs had died of exhaustion. They sheltered themselves behind a piece of ice, at a temperature of -2°; no one dared put up the tent. Their food had become very scanty, and, in spite of their extreme economy with their rations, they had a supply for but a week more; game became rarer, having left for a milder climate. Starvation threatened these exhausted men.

Altamont, who all along had shown great devotion and unselfishness, took advantage of the strength he had left, and resolved to procure by hunting some food for his companions. He took his gun, called Duke, and strode off for the plains to the north; the doctor, Johnson, and Bell saw him go away without much interest. For an hour they did not once hear his gun, and they saw him returning without firing a single shot; but he was running as if in great alarm.

"What is the matter?" asked the doctor.

"There! under the snow!" answered Altamont in great alarm, indicating a point in the horizon.

"What?"

"A whole band of men – "

"Alive?"

"Dead, – frozen, – and even – "

The American durst not finish his sentence,45 but his face expressed clearly his horror. The doctor, Johnson, Bell, aroused by this incident, were able to rise, and drag themselves along in Altamont's footprints to the part of the plain to which he had pointed. They soon reached a narrow space, at the bottom of a deep ravine, and there a terrible sight met their eyes.

Bodies were lying half buried beneath the snow; here an arm, there a leg, or clinched hands, and faces still preserving an expression of despair.

The doctor drew near; then he stepped back, pale and agitated, while Duke barked mournfully.

"Horror!" he said.

"Well?" asked the boatswain.

"Didn't you recognize them?" said the doctor in a strange voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Look!"

This ravine had been the scene of the last struggle between the men and the climate, despair, and hunger, for from some horrible signs it was easy to see that they had been obliged to eat human flesh. Among them the doctor had recognized Shandon, Pen,46 and the wretched crew of the Forward; their strength and food had failed them; their launch had probably been crushed by an avalanche, or carried into some ravine, and they could not take to the open sea; probably they were lost among these unknown continents. Besides, men who had left in mutiny could not long be united with the closeness which is necessary for the accomplishment of great things. A ringleader of a revolt has never more than a doubtful authority in his hands. And, without doubt, Shandon was promptly deposed.

However that may have been, the crew had evidently undergone a thousand tortures, a thousand despairs, to end with this terrible catastrophe; but the secret of their sufferings is forever buried beneath the arctic snows.

"Let us flee!" cried the doctor.

And he dragged his companions far from the scene of the disaster. Horror lent them momentary strength. They set out again.

CHAPTER XXVII

CONCLUSION

Why linger over the perpetual sufferings of the survivors? They themselves could never recall to their memory a clear vision of what had happened in the week after their horrible discovery of the remains of the crew. However, September 9th, by a miracle of energy, they reached Cape Horsburgh, at the end of North Devon.

They were dying of hunger; they had not eaten for forty-eight hours, and their last meal had been the flesh of their last Esquimaux dog. Bell could go no farther, and old Johnson felt ready to die. They were on the shore of Baffin's Bay, on the way to Europe. Three miles from land the waves were breaking on the edges of the ice-field. They had to await the uncertain passage of a whaler, and how many days yet?

But Heaven took pity on them, for the next day Altamont clearly saw a sail. The anguish which follows such an appearance of a sail, the tortures of disappointment, are well known. The ship seemed to approach and then to recede. Terrible are the alternations of hope and despair, and too often at the moment the castaways consider themselves saved the sail sinks beneath the horizon.

The doctor and his companions went through all these emotions; they had reached the western limit of the ice-field, and yet they saw the ship disappear, taking no note of their presence. They shouted, but in vain.

Then the doctor had a last inspiration of that busy mind which had served him in such good stead.

A floe had drifted against the ice-field.

"That floe!" he said, pointing to it.

They did not catch his meaning.

"Let us get on it!" he cried.

They saw his plan at once.

"Ah, Clawbonny, Dr. Clawbonny!" cried Johnson, kissing the doctor's hands.

Bell, with Altamont's aid, ran to the sledge; he brought one of the uprights, stood it up on the floe for a mast, making it fast with ropes; the tent was torn up for a sail. The wind was fair; the poor castaways put out to sea on this frail raft.

Two hours later, after unheard-of efforts, the last men of the Forward were taken aboard the Danish whaler Hans Christian, which was sailing to Davis Strait. The captain received kindly these spectres who had lost their semblance to human beings; when he saw their sufferings he understood their history; he gave them every attention, and managed to save their lives. Ten days later, Clawbonny, Johnson, Bell, Altamont, and Captain Hatteras landed at Korsoeur, in Zeeland, in Denmark; a steamboat carried them to Kiel; thence, via Altona and Hamburg, they reached London the 13th of the same month, hardly recovered from their long sufferings.

The first thought of the doctor was to ask permission of the Royal Geographical Society of London to lay a communication before it; he was admitted to the meeting of July 15th.47 The astonishment of the learned assembly, and its enthusiastic cheers after reading Hatteras's document, may be imagined.

This journey, the only one of its kind, went over all the discoveries that had been made in the regions about the Pole; it brought together the expeditions of Parry, Ross, Franklin, MacClure; it completed the chart between the one hundredth and one hundred and fifteenth meridians; and, finally, it ended with the point of the globe hitherto inaccessible, with the Pole itself.

Never had news so unexpected burst upon astonished England.

The English take great interest in geographical facts; they are proud of them, lord and cockney, from the merchant prince to the workman in the docks.

The news of this great discovery was telegraphed over the United Kingdom with great rapidity; the papers printed the name of Hatteras at the head of their columns as that of a martyr, and England glowed with pride.

The doctor and his companions were feasted everywhere; they were formally presented to her Majesty by the Lord High Chancellor.

The government confirmed the name of Queen's Island for the rock at the North Pole, of Mount Hatteras for the mountain itself, and of Altamont Harbor for the port in New America.

Altamont did not part from those whose misery and glory he had shared, and who were now his friends. He followed the doctor, Johnson, and Bell to Liverpool, where they were warmly received, after they had been thought to be long dead, and buried in the eternal ice.

But Dr. Clawbonny always gave the glory to the man who most deserved it. In his account of the journey entitled "The English at the North Pole," published the next year by the Royal Geographical Society, he made John Hatteras equal to the greatest explorers, the rival of those bold men who sacrifice everything to science.

But the sad victim of a lofty passion lived peacefully at the asylum of Starr Cottage near Liverpool, where the doctor had placed him. His madness was of a gentle kind, but he never spoke, he understood nothing, his power of speech seemed to have gone with his reason. A single feeling seemed to unite him to the outer world, his love for Duke, who was not separated from him.

This disease, this "polar madness," pursued its course quietly, presenting no particular symptom, when Dr. Clawbonny, who often visited his poor patient, was struck by his singular manner.

For some time Captain Hatteras, followed by his faithful dog, that used to gaze at him sadly, would walk for hours every day; but he always walked in one way, in the direction of a certain path. When he had reached the end, he would return, walking backwards. If any one stopped him, he would point his finger at a portion of the sky. If any one tried to make him turn round, he grew angry, and Duke would show his anger and bark furiously.

The doctor observed carefully this odd mania; he understood the motive of this strange obstinacy; he guessed the reason of this walk always in the same direction, and, so to speak, under the influence of a magnetic force.

Captain John Hatteras was always walking towards the north.

1

The letter says the large Danish dog will arrive on the 15th of February. In chapter 3 the dog arrives on the 15th of March "as the captain's letter had said." Other versions have the same inconsistency.

2

The letter says the large Danish dog will arrive on the 15th of February. In chapter 3 the dog arrives on the 15th of March "as the captain's letter had said." Other versions have the same inconsistency.

3

In the discussion of steamers, the doctor observes of the Fox that MacClintock "succeeded in making his way more easily and more directly than all his successors." Other translations say "predecessors" which makes more sense.

4

Meridian of Greenwich.

5

On April 14 the longitude given is 22 degrees 37 minutes. Other versions give 22 degrees 58 minutes. Other versions agree that the latitude is 51 degrees – which hardly seems possible for a ship leaving Ireland at nearly 56 degrees latitude and sailing northwest. 57 degrees seems more likely. A few days later the latitude is further confused during the discussion of iceberg sightings. The doctor states that they are two degrees further north than a sighting of icebergs occurring at 42 degrees latitude, apparently confusing the Forward's latitude with that of the Ann Poole