The Romance of Polar Exploration

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.

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Young Franklin-His Dreams of Adventure-He becomes a Sailor-His First Arctic Expedition-Fails to get through Behring Straits-Explores Baffin's Bay-The 1845 Expedition-The Erebus and Terror-The "Good-Bye" at Greenland-Wellington Channel-They select Winter Quarters-Discovery of the North-West Passage-Death of Franklin-Prisoned in the Ice-The Crew Abandon the Ships-Defeat and Death.

Sir John Franklin was born at Spilsby, in Lincolnshire, on April 16, 1786, and was one of a family of ten. It is said that his father originally intended him for the clergy, but the boy had too restless and roving a nature to look with contentment upon a quiet, uneventful life. Nelson was the idol of his heart, and although a hundred years ago boys were not quite so well provided with books and stories of their heroes as they are to-day, young Franklin managed to acquire enough knowledge of the doings of Nelson, and the other great British Admirals, to make his heart thrill with enthusiasm for them, and for the element upon which their greatness had been achieved.

His home was not so many miles away from the coast but that he had a personal acquaintance, from early boyhood, with the scent of salt water and the sight of the open sea. That, combined with what he learned of Nelson, and the romantic yarns spun to him by any old sailor he chanced upon, exerted over him the spell which, in all ages, has so powerfully influenced British boys. The long stretch of moving water, which rolled between him and the skyline, was the home of all that was wonderful and glorious; the ships which sailed over it were, to his enthusiastic mind, palaces of delight, journeying into realms of mystery, adventure, and beauty. Over that sea lay the lands where the coco-palms grew, where Indians hunted and fought, and where mighty beasts of strange and fantastic shapes roamed through the palm groves. Over that sea, also, lay the realms of ice and snow, of which more marvellous tales were told than of the golden islands of the Southern Seas. And to sail over that sea a great yearning came upon him. The life on shore, in peaceful, steady-going Lincolnshire, was too dreary and hopeless for him; nowhere could he be happy save on that boundless ocean, with room to breathe, and surrounded by all the glamour of romance.

Fortunately for the glory of British naval history, the elder Franklin did not shut his eyes to the attractions the sea had for his son, but, as a wise parent, he regarded the wish to follow the sea as merely a boyish whim. It would be better to let the boy have a taste of the realities of the life at once, and so cure the fancy which threatened to interfere with the paternal desires as regards the clergy. Every one knew how attractive a sailor's life looked from the shore, and most people knew how much more attractive life on shore looked from the sea. If John wanted to see what a sailor's life was like, he should have his opportunity, and the father, in arranging for his son to sail in a trading vessel to Lisbon and back, probably felt satisfied that the rough fare and hard work he would experience would effectually cure him of any desire for more. But the future Arctic hero was made of sterner stuff than to be turned away from his ambition by such trivial circumstances. He returned from the Lisbon trip more enthusiastic than ever for a sailor's life. His father gave way before so much determination, and young Franklin shortly afterwards entered the Navy. His first ship was H.M.S. Polyphemus, and he was present on board at the battle of Copenhagen, under the supreme command of his idol Nelson.

His first Arctic experience did not come until 1818, when he had reached the rank of lieutenant and was second in command of an expedition sent out to find a way through Behring's Straits. Two vessels formed the expedition-the Dorothea, 370 tons, under Captain Buchan, and the Trent, 250 tons, under Lieutenant Franklin, the latter carrying a crew of ten officers and twenty-eight men. Their instructions were to sail due North, from a point between Greenland and Spitzbergen, making their way, if possible, through Behring's Straits. The ships, which would to-day only rank as small coasting craft, were soon imprisoned in the ice and so severely crushed that as soon as the winter passed and escape was possible, they were turned towards home. The practical results of the expedition were valueless, and only one circumstance in connection with it saved it from being a failure. This was the introduction of Franklin to that sphere of work which, during the remainder of his life, he was fated so brilliantly to adorn.

The following year, 1819, saw him again facing the North, this time in company with Captain Parry, and with a well-arranged plan of operations. Parry was to remain in the ships and explore at sea, while Franklin was to push along the shores of Baffin's Bay, making as complete a survey as possible. For three years the work was continued, until, by 1822, the party had travelled over 5550 miles of previously unexplored country along the North American coast. Returning to England, Franklin enjoyed a well-earned rest, until, in 1825, he was placed in charge of an expedition to complete the surveys of the coast along which the North-West Passage was supposed to run. With the experience of his former expedition, he was able to work more rapidly on this occasion, and by 1827 he was back again in England with his task completed. Not alone had all the surveys been carried out, but he had demonstrated his qualities as a leader of Polar expeditions by returning with the loss of only two men.

W. E. PARRY'S ATTEMPT TO REACH THE POLE, 1827.

In spite of this, however, nearly twenty years were to elapse before he was again entrusted with a command in the Arctic regions. He was sent, meanwhile, to be governor of the colony of Tasmania, or, as it was then called, Van Diemen's Land, a large island to the south of Australia. Here in the metropolis, Hobart, a statue of Franklin stands in Franklin Square, and it is curious to think that the man whose work in the Northern Hemisphere is an immortal monument of his name in the region of the North Pole should have his memory perpetuated by a statue nearer the South Pole than any in the Southern Hemisphere. Verily, a world-wide reputation.

In 1845 the expedition started which, more than anything else, tended to make Franklin the popular hero he has become. The Erebus and Terror, which formed the fleet, had already proved their capacity for withstanding the strain and pressure of the ice-floes. They each carried a crew numbering sixty-seven officers and men, and while Franklin took charge of the Erebus with Captain Fitz-James, the Terror was commanded by Captain Crozier. The ships were provisioned for three years, and the task set them was to discover and sail through the passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans. The intention of the Government was to ascertain whether or not this passage existed, and Franklin was instructed to go by Lancaster Sound to Cape Walker (lat. 74° N.; long. 98° W.) and thence south and west to push through Behring's 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 achieved. Round about the ships they saw men standing in groups, but instead of answering cheers, the men only looked in their direction. Unable to understand why so much indifference was displayed, Lieutenant Gore and his companions hurried forward, and, as they came nearer, some of the men separated themselves from the groups and came to meet them with slow steps.

Soon the cause of their depression was made known to the returned explorers. The leader of the expedition lay dying in his cabin on board the Erebus.

Lieutenant Gore, his enthusiasm at his success sadly damped, went on board the flagship at once, hoping that the news of victory might still be given to Sir John before he died. He was led into the cabin and briefly told the story of his journey, and how, from Point Victory, he had looked out over to the coast of the mainland. The news, the last which Sir John Franklin was to hear on earth, was perhaps the sweetest he had ever known, for it meant that he had triumphed and had won a lasting name and memory for his services to Sovereign and State. On June 11, 1847, his life ended at the moment of his brightest achievement.

Captain Crozier, of the Terror, assumed command of the expedition, and as summer was at hand, everything was made ready against the time when the ice would break up. Ice-saws were fixed ready to cut passages through the floes when they began to separate, and ice-anchors were run out so that the vessels could be warped along whenever an opening occurred. Daily the crews mustered on board and looked over the ice for some sign of the breaking of their imprisonment, for some loosening of the iron grip of the ice round their vessel's sides, but all in vain. The two ships were wedged in a vast mass of ice, through which it was impossible to cut their way. Instead of breaking up in lesser fields and floes of ice, the mass remained packed, creaking, crashing, and straining by night and day as it slowly made its way nearer the coast of the mainland, carrying the ships with it until they were within 15 miles of Point Victory, and 60 miles of the mainland coast.

Soon the short summer months had passed and the dark period of winter was upon them again, with the provisions daily growing scarcer, and the hope of getting their ships out of the ice fainter. Another evil came upon them when among the members of the crew scurvy, the dreaded enemy of the early Polar explorers, broke out. By the following April twenty of their number had succumbed to it, nine being officers, one of whom was Lieutenant Gore.

On April 22, 1848, the remaining 105 officers and men gathered on the ice around the two ships. They had with them sledges laden with what provisions were left, and two whale-boats. Slowly and sorrowfully they bade farewell to the vessels which had been their homes for nearly three years, and set out to march over the ice to the mainland. Their plan was to push on until they reached the Great Fish River, where they might obtain succour either from travelling bands of Indians or at some outlying station of the Hudson Bay Company. Travelling at the rate of five miles a day, so rough and difficult was the route, they arrived on April 25 at the cairn where Lieutenant Gore had left the record of his journey over a year before. The canister in which it was enclosed was opened, and round the margin was written this brief, pathetic story:-

"April 25, 1848. H.M.S. Terror and Erebus were deserted on April 22, five leagues N.N.W. of this point, having been beset since September 12, 1846. The officers and men, consisting of 105 souls, under the command of Captain F. R. M. Crozier, landed here in lat. 69° 37' 42" N., long. 98° 41' W. The paper was found by Lieutenant Irving in a cairn supposed to have been built by Sir James Ross in 1831, four miles to the north, where it had been deposited by the late Commander Gore in June 1847. Sir James Ross's pillar has not, however, been found, and the paper has been transferred to this position, which, it is thought, is where Sir James Ross's pillar was erected. Sir John Franklin died on June 11, 1847, and the total loss of life by death in the expedition has been to this date nine officers and fifteen men. Start to-morrow, April 26, for Back's Fish River."

The record, left as a sign, should it ever be found, of the direction they had taken, the party resumed their dreary march over the frozen shores of King William's Land. The men formed themselves into teams for the purpose of dragging the sledges and whale-boats, and the officers marched beside them, helping them and encouraging them. Even the snail's pace of five miles a day became too severe a strain for many of the men, weakened as they were by attacks of scurvy and reduced rations. Soon it became evident that if a place were to be reached where help and food could be obtained before the provisions were absolutely exhausted, it would be necessary for the stronger to push forward at a more rapid rate.

A council was held, and it was decided that the strongest should take enough supplies to last them for a time and push forward as rapidly as possible, while the remainder should follow at a slower rate and by shorter stages. The majority were in the latter division, and only a few days elapsed after the smaller band, numbering about thirty, had left, before the ravages of scurvy and semi-starvation made it impossible for even less than five miles a day to be covered. So debilitated were all the members that further advance was abandoned until they had, by another long rest, tried to recuperate their energies. But the terrible bleakness of the place where they were wrought havoc among them, and every day men fell down never to rise again, until the only hope for the survivors lay in returning to the ships, where, at least, they would have shelter. Wearily they staggered over the rugged ice ridges, each man expending his remaining energies in striving to carry the provisions, without which only death awaited them. Men fell as they walked, unnoticed by their companions, whose only aim was to get back to the ships, and whose faculties were too dimmed to understand anything else. Blindly, but doggedly, they stumbled onward, silent in their agony, brave to the last when worn-out nature gave way and they sank down, one after the other, till none was left alive, and only the still figures, lying face downwards on the frozen snow, bore mute witness of how they had neither faltered nor wavered in their duty, but had died, as Britons always should die, true to the end.

Their comrades who had left them to push forward for help were equally stolid in their struggle against overwhelming odds. As they were crossing the ice between King William's Land and the mainland, a great cracking of the floes startled them with the fear that the ice was breaking up. Hastily placing their stores in the whale-boat, which they had been dragging in addition to the hand-sledges, they abandoned everything else, fearful lest the sudden opening of the floes might cut them off from a further advance. Harnessing themselves to ropes, they toiled and struggled onward with the boat. They reached the mainland, but at a terrible sacrifice, for in their haste they had left much of their scanty supplies behind. Their food ran out and hope was almost dead, when they espied a small camp of Eskimo.

Fresh life came to them as they learned that they were nearly up to the Great Fish River, and they bartered away some spoons and forks, Sir John Franklin's star, part of a watch and some other metal articles to the Eskimo for a recently killed seal. Had they waited longer with the natives, they might have obtained more food and have recovered somewhat from their fatigue, but in the mind of each was the memory of their stricken comrades toiling on behind, and hoping from day to day for the arrival of relief. Personal feelings were forgotten before that memory, and the gallant little party resumed its way, fighting with all the dauntless bravery of heroes to win help for their weaker friends-fighting till their limbs refused to move, till their starving bodies were numbed and frozen. Then, falling in their own footsteps, they passed away, one by one, silent and uncomplaining, to the list of Britain's honoured dead.

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Captain Parker's Report-Government offers a Reward-Dr. Rae's Expedition-Captain McClure's Voyage in the Investigator-Hardships and Perils-The Meeting with the Herald-Lady Franklin still Hopeful-Sir F. L. McClintock's Expedition in the Fox with Lieutenant Hobson-Their Sad and Fatal Discoveries-Lieutenant Schwatka recovers the Body of Lieutenant Irving.

The enthusiasm which was aroused over the departure of Sir John Franklin's expedition gave place to a deep national anxiety as the years passed without any word being received of its whereabouts. On October 4, 1849, the Truelove arrived at Hull from Davis Straits, and her commander, Captain Parker, reported that he had heard from some Eskimo that the Erebus and the Terror had been seen in the previous March fixed in the ice, and apparently abandoned in Prince Regent's Inlet. No confirmation was ever obtained for this report, but it served to excite public anxiety still more, and expeditions began to be organised for the relief of the missing explorers. In all, twenty-one expeditions were sent, of which eighteen were British and three American, to search the neighbourhood where it was anticipated Sir John and his gallant band would be. Coals, provisions, clothing, and other necessaries were deposited at different spots in the hopes that they would be found by, and be of use to, the castaways. But, as has already been stated, none were able to give succour to the men for whose use they were intended.

A great deal of valuable and highly interesting work, however, was done, and in addition to at length discovering enough relics of the party to show that all the members had perished while carrying out their duty, an amount of knowledge was acquired which made the North-West Passage familiar, located the Magnetic Pole, and opened the way for more recent and equally brilliant journeys towards the Pole itself. The general public, as well as the Government, were responsible for search expeditions; but to stimulate the enterprise, the British Government offered a sum of ￡20,000 to any party of any country that should render efficient service to the crews of the missing Erebus and Terror. Half that reward was paid to Dr. Rae, who discovered the relics of the party, now at the Greenwich Museum, consisting of Sir John Franklin's star, some spoons and forks, the remains of a watch, and some other metallic odds and ends.

The story of this discovery was briefly told by Dr. Rae in a letter to the Admiralty. He was, in 1854, surveying the coast of the mainland immediately south of King William's Land, when he encountered a small party of Eskimo hunters. He asked them whether they had ever met other white men, and they told him that four summers before (1850) a number of white men had been encountered by some Eskimo who were catching seals off the south coast of King William's Land. The white men came from over the ice, and were dragging a boat behind them. By signs they made the hunters understand that they were hungry, and a seal was exchanged for the articles Dr. Rae was shown. Then the white men went on walking over the ice, dragging the boat behind them, one walking in front alone, and all the rest pulling the ropes attached to the boat. A few weeks later they were seen again, this time on the mainland, but all were dead. The place where they were found was about one day's journey from the Great Fish River, and all had evidently died of cold and starvation. They had erected tents and had turned the boat over for a shelter, and some of the men lay under the boat, while others were in and around the tents. One man was some distance away with a telescope slung over his shoulders, and underneath his body was a double-barrelled gun. This man, they said, was the chief of the party.

About the encampment there were plenty of guns and ammunition, but no food. More than likely the unfortunate castaways were too weak from want to be able to hunt, for Dr. Rae, in his reports, stated: "I may add that with our guns and nets we obtained an ample supply of provisions last autumn, and my small party passed the winter in snow houses in comparative comfort, the skins of the deer shot affording abundant warm clothing and bedding."

Next to the story of Dr. Rae's discovery comes the account of the finding by Lieutenant Hobson, on May 6, 1859, of the record left on Point Victory, and after that again, the recovery, in 1879, by Lieutenant Schwatka, of the United States Navy, of the bodies of several of the Erebus and Terror crews. But meanwhile a glance may be taken at some of the thrilling adventures which befell the different relief expeditions. The account of Captain McClure's voyage in the Investigator, graphically told by himself in his reports to the Admiralty, is full of typical Arctic adventure.

The Investigator was one of several ships forming one of the expeditions. After sailing in company for some time they separated to work over set areas. The Investigator entered the Polar Sea and sailed along the North-East Passage. She was soon amongst the ice, and sailed on in a depth of 150 feet of water until the pack showed a solid unbroken line in front from east to west. Then she sailed along it, in the hopes of finding an opening; but all that could be seen, beyond the ice, was a vast number of walrus, lying upon it huddled together like sheep. Between the ice and the land, however, there was open water, and here the Investigator shaped her course, keeping well in towards the shore on the look-out for natives. There was an interpreter on board, Miertsching by name, so that whenever any natives were encountered inquiries could be made for tidings of the missing explorers. At Cape Bathurst, near the Mackenzie River, a part Franklin had explored many years before, a large tribe was observed, and at once a boat party put off from the ship.

As they approached the shore, thirty tents and nine winter-houses were seen. Immediately the boats were run ashore a tremendous stir was caused in the village, the men running to and fro and then charging down a steep slope to where the boats were aground on the beach. As they drew near it was seen that each man carried a drawn knife in his hand, as well as bows and arrows, and their warlike intentions were still more clearly shown when they fitted arrows to the bows and began to aim at the white men. The interpreter Miertsching, clad in native costume, advanced from the explorers towards the angry Eskimo, holding his hands above his head in the position which expresses peace amongst these primitive people.

They paused as they saw him, and waited until he came up; but although they put back their bows and arrows when he told them no one wished to harm them, they would not relinquish their knives. As they crowded down to the boats, the captain told him to explain to them that they must put their knives away; but the chief of the tribe immediately retorted, "So we will, when you put down your rifles." To prove their peaceful intentions, one of the rifles was given to the chief to carry while the explorers remained with them, and this action so effectually satisfied them that no harm would be done to them that they offered to let their visitors take charge of their knives.

The village contained over three hundred men, women, and children, and was formed for hunting purposes. The mass of ice showing across the open passage, they said, was the land of the white bear, an animal which, they explained, was very plentiful and of which they were greatly in fear. Several tales were told of the savagery of these creatures, a woman pitifully bewailing the loss of her little child, who was carried off by one of them when playing at the water's edge within her sight. A less mournful story was that of a seal hunter who, having speared one seal, was sitting by the side of his victim waiting for the mate to appear above the water, when he felt a tap on the back. Suspecting a trick by a fellow-huntsman, he did not turn round, whereupon he received a heavy blow on the side of the head which sent him sprawling. As he scrambled to his feet, angry at his comrade's roughness, he saw a big bear walking off with his seal.

Upon the interpreter explaining how the white men's rifles could kill the bears, the chief at once invited him to come and live with them, offering as inducements his own daughter, a pleasant-looking girl of about fifteen, a fully furnished tent, and all the other necessary possessions of a well-to-do Eskimo. Failing in that, they invited the explorers to a feast of roast whale and venison, salmon, blubber, and other delicacies; but instead of taking from them, the explorers presented them with a number of gifts, and left them on the best of terms.

A few days later and farther along the coast another small band was encountered, one of whom was wearing a brass button in his ear. The button was off a sailor's jacket, and upon being asked how he obtained it, the man replied it had been taken from a white man who had been killed by the tribe. He was asked for further particulars, in case the unfortunate might turn out to be one of Franklin's men. The Eskimo replied that it might have been done a year ago or when he was a child, but the huts the white men had built were still standing. The explorers at once persuaded him to take them to the spot, but on arrival they found the huts so weather-worn and overgrown with moss that more than a generation must have passed since they were built.

AN IMMENSE ICEBERG.

This berg was photographed off the coast of Newfoundland. It had probably made its way there from the glaciers of Greenland.

Photo by Parsons.

This was not the only occasion when hopes were raised that some of the missing expedition were about to be discovered. As the Investigator continued her voyage along the coast, heavy volumes of smoke were seen rising from a bluff, and the man on the look-out in the crow's-nest at the top of the foremast cried out that he could see white tents and men with white shirts on near them. At once everybody was on the alert. Boats were lowered and rowed quickly to the shore, but on close inspection the white tents were found to be conical mounds of volcanic formation, and the smoke, which was also volcanic, was rising from fissures in the ground.

Winter was now setting in, and as there was no suitable harbour at hand, Captain McClure determined to pass the season amongst the ice-floes. His decision was largely due to the fact that as the ice was forming around them, a great mass of old ice, over six miles in length and drifting at the rate of two miles an hour, came upon them. Its enormous weight crushed everything out of its way, and the ship could only man?uvre sufficiently to graze it with her starboard bow. Fortunately on the other side of her there was only freshly formed and comparatively thin ice, otherwise she would have been hopelessly crushed at once. As it was, the gradual drifting past of the mass was disconcerting, and it was decided to make fast to it. A great mass which they ascertained extended downwards for forty-eight feet below the surface of the sea was selected, and with heavy cables the Investigator was made secure to it. Throughout the winter she remained moored to it, though not without more than one experience of danger.

Soon after making fast to the ice, the first bear of the season was shot. He was a magnificent specimen, measuring over seven feet, but upon being cut up considerable speculation was roused as to the contents of his stomach. In it was found raisins, tobacco, pork, and some adhesive plasters. For some time the combined intellect of the ship's company was exercised to explain where the bear could have obtained such a varied diet and many suggestions were advanced in explanation. Franklin's ships might be near, some said, or the crews might be encamped on the neighbouring land, and Bruin might have looted their stores. No one struck the correct solution of the mystery until some days later a hunting party came upon a preserved meat tin partly filled with the same sort of articles as were found in the bear's stomach. He had evidently found the tin and sampled its contents, not entirely to his enjoyment, as he had left the larger portion behind. But whence the tin had come they never learned.

The winter having passed without mishap they began to watch for the breaking of the ice. When it began, they had a very narrow escape from destruction. A light breeze springing up the day after open water appeared among the floes, the pack to which the Investigator was attached began to drift. It was carried towards a shoal upon which a huge mass of ice was stranded. A corner of the pack came in contact with the great stationary mass with a grinding shock that sent pieces of twelve and fourteen feet square flying completely out of the water, and, as the immense weight of the moving pack pressed forward, there was a sound as of distant thunder as it crushed onwards. The weight at the back caused an enormous mass to upheave in the middle of the pack, as though under the influence of a volcanic eruption. The great field was rent asunder, the block to which the Investigator was attached taking the ground and remaining fixed, while the lighter portion swung round and, with accelerated speed, came directly towards the vessel's stern.

To let go every cable and hawser which held her to the block was the work of a moment, for every one was on deck keenly on the look-out. The moving mass caught her stem and forced her ahead and from between the moving floe and the stationary mass. The two came into grinding collision and the men on the deck of the vessel saw the great bulk to which the ship had been attached slowly rise. It went up and up until it had risen thirty feet above the surface and hung perpendicularly above the ship. It towered higher than the foreyard, presenting a spectacle that was at once grandly impressive but terribly dangerous, for if it fell over upon the Investigator she would be crushed to atoms. For a few moments the suspense was awful, till the weight of the floe broke away a mass from the great bulk, which rolled back with a tremendous roar and rending, and, with some fearful heaves, resumed its former position. But no longer could it withstand the pressure, and it was hurried forward with the rest of the floe, grinding along the surface of the shoal.

The pack having set in towards the shore, the only hopes of safety lay in keeping with the ice, for, if the Investigator were pushed ashore by it, there would be little chance of her ever floating again. She was consequently made fast again and carried along, though with a tremendous strain on her stern and rudder. It was discovered that the latter was damaged, but there was no possibility of unshipping it for repairs while the ice was moving. Towards the afternoon the wind dropped, the drift became less, and for five hours the rudder received attention.

Scarcely had it been replaced when once more the ice began to move, and the crew saw that they were being forced directly upon a large piece of the broken floe which had grounded. Feeling certain that if the ship were caught between the grounded mass and the moving floe nothing could save her from being crushed to pieces, a desperate effort was made to remove the great mass. The chief gunner, provided with a big canister of powder, went on to the ice and struggled over the rugged surface until he reached the stationary mass. He intended to lower the canister under the mass before exploding it, but the ice was too closely packed around it to permit of this being done. There was no time to consider any other plan, so he fixed the blast in a cavity and, firing the fuse, scrambled back to the ship.

The charge exploded just as the pressure of the floe was beginning to tell, but the result was apparently valueless. The Investigator by this time was within a few yards of the great mass, and there seemed to be no hope of escaping from the crush. Every one on deck was in a state of anxious suspense, waiting for what was evidently the crisis of their fate.

Most fortunately the ship went stem-on, as sailors term it, and the pressure was directed along her whole length instead of along her sides. Every plank seemed to feel the shock, and the beams groaned as the pressure increased. The masts trembled, and crackling sounds came from the bulwarks as she strained under the tension. Momentarily the men expected that she would collapse under them, when the result of the gunner's blast was made manifest. It had cracked the mass in three places, and the pressure of the ship's stern forced the cracks open. The liberation from the obstacle was at once evident as the mass slowly divided and, falling over, floated off the shoal. The cable holding the vessel to the floe parted as she surged forward and the ice-anchors drew out, while the blocks of ice, as they turned over, lifted her bows out of the water and heeled her over; but the cheer which broke from the assembled crew drowned all other noise, for it was as though they had been snatched from the very jaws of death.

Subsequent examination of the vessel showed that she had escaped practically without serious injury. Several sheets of her copper were stripped off and rolled up like scraps of paper; but as no leaks were discovered, the loss of the copper was not greatly deplored.

After escaping from these dangers it was hoped that open water would be found, so that the voyage might be continued to other areas which had to be searched, and, as the Investigator drifted along amongst the partly broken up floes, she encountered some rolling swells, which increased the hopes that open water was not far ahead. But in this the crew were disappointed, for although the water near the land was sufficiently free from ice to enable sail to be made, out toward the Polar Sea the pack was heavy and close.

They rounded Cape Lambton on Banks' Land, a promontory which they found rose a thousand feet precipitously. The land beyond gradually lost the bold character of the rugged cape, the island presenting a view of hills in the interior which gradually sloped to the shore, having fine valleys and extensive plains, over and through which several small and one considerable sized stream flowed. A great deal of drift-wood lay along the beach, and the land was covered with verdure upon which large flocks of geese were feeding, while ducks were flying in great numbers. Two small islands were passed off the coast, one of which afforded an example of the force exerted by a drifting Polar Sea ice-floe. The island rose about forty feet above the surface of the sea, and broken masses of ice, which had formed a floe, had been driven entirely over it.

The pack still presented an impassable barrier to their course away from the land, and as the season was getting late they decided that they would make winter quarters. A suitable bay was found on the north of the island, and there they spent, not one, but two winters, for the ice remained so thick during the ensuing short summer that it was impossible to move. In the summer, however, if they could not get to sea, they could travel on to the land, and as game was plentiful they were able to keep themselves well supplied with fresh meat. But when winter again came upon them with its cold darkness, the game was scarcer, and, what was worse, the ship's stores were decreasing.

As perhaps another twelve months would have to be faced, every one went on reduced rations, so that the stores should be made to last as long as possible. The approach of the milder weather Captain McClure determined should be made the occasion of a daring expedition. A few of the men were beginning to show signs of sickness, and the captain decided that they should set out in April for the mainland with enough provisions to carry them through. The ship was so slightly affected by the buffeting she had received that the leader could not bring himself to think of abandoning her while he had any stores left and men who were ready to remain with him. Only the least robust of the crew were to go as the overlanding party, and they were to travel to the nearest station of the Hudson Bay Company, and from thence press on to England with despatches for the Admiralty requesting help and provisions for those who remained by the ship. Everything was arranged, even to the date of departure, which was settled as April 15. But before that day arrived another incident was to transpire.

On April 10, Captain McClure and his first lieutenant were walking over the ice near the ship, discussing the serious turn events had taken, for one of the men had just died from scurvy, and some of the others were in a bad state of health. This was the first death which had occurred, and it naturally cast a gloom over every one. As the two walked, they espied a man coming rapidly towards them from over the ice. He was hastening so much that they thought he must be flying from a bear, and they went forward to meet him. But as they approached him, they saw that he was not one of their own ship's company, for he was of a different build to any of their men, in addition to which his face showed black from between his furs, and he was waving his arms wildly. They stopped, doubtful what to make of him, and he rushed up, still gesticulating and articulating wildly.

"Who are you, and where do you come from?" McClure exclaimed sternly.

"Lieutenant Pim, of the Herald, Captain Kellett," the strange figure managed to reply, as he seized McClure's hands and shook them frantically.

Rapidly he told the astounded couple his story, for Captain Kellett, of the Herald, had bid McClure God-speed as he was entering the Polar Sea three years before, and the commander of the Investigator could not understand how he could have reached Banks' Land.

The Herald was one ship of another expedition which had come in search of the gallant Franklin. She had wintered at Melville's Island, and Lieutenant Pim had set out across the straits with a sledge party on March 10. For a month they had been wandering, and he had happened to be on ahead of his men when he caught sight of the Investigator in the distance. He had pushed on to ascertain who she was, when he saw and recognised Captain McClure. His astonishment and excitement overmastered him and he could only halloo and shout and jump about in his glee.

The noise of his shouts reached the vessel where the crew, hearing a strange voice, came tumbling up from below to see who it was that had arrived. The sight of the Herald sledge party soon afterwards completed their surprise and gratification, for it meant that close at hand was all the help they needed to successfully insure their liberation.

The whole ship's company journeyed across to where the Herald lay, and, in the interchange of yarns and the assurance of abundance of food and rest till the ice broke up, they found just the requisite stimulus to overcome all the evil effects of their past trials and privations. With a few men from the Herald to relieve the members of his crew who were on the sick-list, Captain McClure returned to the Investigator after a few days, and when the summer arrived he worked his vessel out into open water. Then he joined company with the Herald and sailed for England, whither his despatches and reports had already preceded him and earned him fame.

The return of Captain McClure and the result of his discoveries, together with those of other expeditions, and Dr. Rae's find of Franklin relics, satisfied the British Government that further search was unavailing. As the account of Sir John Franklin's voyage had not yet been found, the honour of proving the existence of the North-West Passage was, for the time being, accorded to McClure, and the Admiralty, satisfied that all the members of the Franklin expedition had perished, and the ships either been abandoned or destroyed, ceased despatching further search parties.

There were, however, a large number of people who were by no means satisfied that everything possible had been learned as to the fate of the Erebus and Terror. Lady Franklin, Sir John's second wife, was one who refused to give up hopes, and, largely through her efforts, yet another vessel was sent out. This was the Fox, under the command of Sir L. F. McClintock, and the voyage was more profuse in the obtaining of evidence as to the fate of the Franklin party than all the rest put together.

McClintock made his way directly to King William's Land, with a definite programme in view. He and his first lieutenant, Hobson, were each to journey with sledge parties along the coast of that island and examine everything which suggested a chance of learning the fate of the vanished explorers. Especially were they to seek for any natives and glean from them, by means of presents and barter, any knowledge they might have, or any relics which might remain amongst them, of the two ill-fated ships.

The Fox was a screw steamer, a fact which very largely contributed to the success of the expedition, as she was able to make steady progress, whereas a sailing vessel would have had to wait for favourable winds and so probably lose a great deal of very valuable time. She sailed from Aberdeen on July 1, 1857, and returned on September 22, 1859, accomplishing, in her two years' absence, an amount of discovery which placed all question of the fate of the Erebus and Terror and their crews beyond a doubt.

As soon as the Fox was made snug in winter quarters, McClintock and Hobson set out over the ice in search of some Eskimo. They were fortunate in discovering a couple of seal hunters, who told them that some distance away there was a larger party, amongst whom was a man with knowledge of the missing explorers. They set out with their two friends, but as night was coming on while yet they had not reached the camp, they decided to stay where they were till the morning. The two Eskimo, for one needle apiece, built a snow hut for them in an hour. All of them went inside the shelter, which they found very acceptable, and prepared their supper. The food they carried consisted of salt pork and biscuits, but the two Eskimo would not look at it. Their supper consisted of a piece of bear's blubber. When they had consumed it they squatted on their haunches and, with their heads drooped forward on their knees, went off to sleep for the night.

The following day the main camp was reached, and the white men at once realised, by the number of articles of European manufacture in the possession of the Eskimo, that they must have found and looted the abandoned ships. One of the men told them, through the interpreter, that several years before there was a ship in the ice off the coast, but that when the ice melted it had sunk in deep water. He pointed out the direction where the ship had been, and where there had been a lot of drift-wood thrown up on the beach-wood out of which, he explained, they had made their spear handles and tent poles. Other relics were gradually forthcoming, upon the production by the white men of the barter they had with them, and a brisk trade was carried on, knives and needles being exchanged for spoons, forks, and other objects unmistakably from the wrecked ships. In addition to the relics, some dogs were also secured.

The latter purchase afforded them considerable amusement and often excitement before they were entirely masters in the art of dog-team driving. Like everything else worth doing, it has to be learned, and in his account of his journeyings McClintock quotes one or two instances where experience was his only teacher. He found, for instance, that when a dog team is harnessed up to a sledge, every dog does not pull his hardest, and a suggestion from the whip is advisable. The dog, however, is inclined to resent it, and at once bites his neighbour by way of protest. The neighbour in turn bites his neighbour, who does the same, until the whole team has received the sting arising from the first lash, and every dog is howling and snapping and jumping over each other. The application of the whip handle instead of the whip lash is then necessary, and when at length quiet is restored, the driver has to set to work to unplait the harness, which has been twisted and tied into a terrible tangle by the antics of the team. When, at the expense of a great deal of patience and time, everything is ready for a fresh start, the inexperienced driver is able to estimate the value of cracking the whip over, instead of on, the back of a lazy dog.

Even then, however, it is not all plain sailing. The dogs possess a wisdom of their own, and they never act so well together as when they reach a piece of particularly rough ice over which the sledge does not move easily. Directly they find that they have to lean heavily against the collar to pull the load forward, they, with one accord, turn round, sit down, and look at the driver. If he is inexperienced, he lays about him with his whip and the dogs fight and tangle the harness; if he knows his animals, he puts his shoulder to the sledge, pushes it forward on to the toes of the team, whereupon each one gets up, hurries out of the way of the threatening sledge-runners, and, together, pull it easily over the rough place.

Another peculiarity of the dogs is their extraordinary appetite for leather. Shark skin the Eskimo consider to be bad for them because of its excessive roughness, but birds' skins, with the feathers on, are greatly relished by the insatiable feeders, and, as has been said, leather is an especial luxury. The dogs are incorrigible thieves and frequently sneak into the tents, or, if on board ship, into the cabins, in search of plunder. They are generally greeted with a kick, but should it be sufficiently energetic to dislodge the kicker's shoe, the dog at once seizes the delicacy and makes for a quiet spot on the ice where he can devour it at his leisure.

The dogs, however, which McClintock was able to obtain from the Eskimo were genuinely useful to him when he and Lieutenant Hobson began their prolonged search, and his only regret was that he could not get more. Later explorers have profited by his experience, for now an expedition is never considered complete that does not carry at least one team.

After leaving the Eskimo encampment, search was continued along the southern coast of King William's Land, but without very much success. Returning, they again met the same tribe of Eskimo, and discovered that when one of the race speaks he does not necessarily tell all that he knows. During a conversation between the interpreter and one of the young men, the latter made a reference to the ship that came ashore. As the man who had previously mentioned the ship said that it sank in deep water, the young man was asked how it could have come ashore under those circumstances. The other one sank, he said; the one he meant came ashore, where he had seen it.

Further inquiries showed that both the ships had been seen and visited by the Eskimo while they were yet in the ice. One of them they could not find how to enter, so they made a hole in her side, with the result that when the ice melted she filled and sank. In one of the bunks they found a man lying dead, but no other bodies were right near the ship.

Now that they had been discovered in their attempt to evade the truth, the Eskimo spoke readily enough, giving the exact locality where the ship had come ashore. Thither McClintock and his companions at once proceeded. They found enough evidence in the drift-wood on the beach to show them where the vessel had gone to pieces; but whether it was the Erebus or the Terror, there was nothing to show. They had now, however, a definite point from whence to commence their search, and they laid out the probable routes by which the escaping crews would have travelled. Separating into two parties, so as to cover as much ground as possible, they started, Lieutenant Hobson leading.

On May 25, 1859, McClintock, while walking along a sandy ridge from whence the snow had disappeared, noticed something white shining through the sand. He stooped to examine it, thinking it to be a round white stone, but closer inspection showed it to be the back of a skull. Upon the sand being removed, the entire skeleton was found, lying face downwards, with fragments of blue cloth still adhering to its bleached bones. The man had evidently been young, lightly built, and of the average height. Near by were found a small pocket brush and comb, and a pocket-book containing two coins and some scraps of writing. He had evidently fallen forward as he was walking, and never risen. As an old Eskimo woman told Dr. Rae, "they fell down and died as they walked along," overcome with cold, hunger, and sickness.

The explorers were now in the region where all their finds were to be made. Five days later McClintock came upon a boat which he found, from a note attached to it, that Hobson had already examined. It had evidently escaped the notice of the Eskimo, and, until the white men found it, had probably not been touched by human hands from the moment its occupants had died. It was mounted on a sledge, as though it had been hauled over the ice; but from the fact that its bows pointed towards the spot where the ships had been, it was surmised that the men were dragging it back to the vessels when they were overcome. Inside were two bodies, one lying on its side, under a pile of clothing, towards the stern, and the other in the bows, in such a position as to suggest that the man had crawled forward, had laboriously pulled himself up to look over the gunwale, and had then slipped down and died where he fell. Beside him were two guns, loaded and ready cocked, as though the man had been apprehensive of attack. There were also as many as five watches, several books (mostly with the name of Graham Gore or initials G. G. in them), abundance of clothes and other articles such as knives, pieces of sheet-lead, files, sounding leads and lines, spoons and forks, oars, a sail, and two chronometers, but of food only some tea and chocolate.

The story mutely told by these relics was only too plain. Weary with hauling it, the majority of the men had left the boat in order to get back to the ships and obtain a fresh supply of provisions, leaving two, who were too weak to struggle on, in the boat, as comfortable as they could be made until some of the others could get back to help them. Then the days had passed until the store of provisions had been consumed and the two sufferers had grown weary with waiting, so weary that one had slept and died under his wraps, and the other, with his remaining vestige of strength, had crawled forward to peep out once more for the help that was so long in coming. But only ice had met his gaze, and, sinking down, he had also passed into that overwhelming sleep, and had lain undisturbed for twelve years under the covering of the Arctic snows.

Close search was made in the vicinity of the boat for the remains of any other of the lost explorers, but nothing was discovered except drift-wood. The spot where the boat was found was about fifty miles from Point Victory, sixty-five from the place where the ship had gone ashore, and seventy from the skeleton that McClintock had discovered on the ridge.

A few days' march farther on, a cairn was noticed upon the brow of a point near Cape Victoria. On ascending to it, McClintock found another note from Hobson, stating that he had already examined it and recovered from it the record which the crews had deposited there upon the desertion of the ships, and which is given in the account of the Franklin voyages. This was the final triumph of the search, for it conclusively proved that Sir John had been dead before the ships were abandoned, that he, and not McClure, was the real discoverer of the North-West Passage, and that the expedition had ended in a disaster as pitiful as the commencement had been brilliant. Round the cairn were strewn innumerable relics, showing that the three days which had elapsed from the time of their leaving the ships had been sufficient to further decrease the strength and vitality of the scurvy-stricken unfortunates.

No other discovery of moment was made after the unearthing of the vital record, but Lieutenant Hobson had some experience of what the Franklin explorers must have suffered. He had abundance of food with him, and that the best and most nutritious, but he developed scurvy on his journey, and when he reached the Fox he could not walk without assistance. No wonder, then, that Franklin's men, starving as well as sick, should have died by the way.

The return of the Fox in September 1859 effectually set at rest all doubts as to the fate of the Erebus and Terror, and no more search expeditions were sent out. But in 1879 Lieutenant Schwatka, of the United States Navy, made an overland journey to that part of King William's Land where the crews had perished. He found many more skeletons, doubtless of members of the ill-fated expedition, and wherever he found one lying above ground he buried it with proper ceremony, except in a single instance.

This was in the case of an open grave of stones in which the remains of a skeleton, with some blue cloth adhering to it and some coarse canvas around it, was lying. Near the remains he found a silver medal bearing the words, "Awarded to John Irving, Midsummer, 1830, Second Mathematical Prize."

The presence of the medal identified the remains as being those of Lieutenant Irving of the Terror. As this was the only instance where identification was possible, Lieutenant Schwatka carefully and reverently gathered them together and carried them to New York, from whence they were forwarded to Edinburgh, Irving's native town. There they were accorded a public funeral on January 7, 1881.

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