Chapter 7
VII. If you will get out your geography and turn to the map of the Western hemisphere, you will be able to follow me. Take the 70th meridian, west. It is the major meridian of the Western hemisphere, its northern land extremity being Cape Columbia, Grantland. Southward it crosses our
own Cape Cod in the island of Santo Domingo, and runs down through the Andes to Cape Horn, the southern extremity of South America. The 70th meridian was our pathway to the Pole, based on the west longitude of 70 degrees. Both Professor Marvin and Captain Bartlett took their observations at their respective farthests, and at the Pole, where all
meridians meet, Commander Peary took his elevations of the sun, based on the local time of the Columbian meridian. Cape Columbia was discovered over fifty years ago by the intrepid Captain Hall, who gave his life to Arctic exploration and lies buried on the Greenland coast. From the time of the arrival of the Roosevelt at Cape
Sheridan, the previous September, communications with Cape Columbia were opened up, the trail was made and kept open all through the winter by constant travel between the ship and the Cape. Loads of supplies, in anticipation of the start for the Pole, were sledged there. The route to Cape Columbia is through a region of sombre magnificence. Huge
beetling cliffs overlook the pathway. Dark savage headlands, around which we had to travel, project out into the ice-covered waters of the ocean, and vast stretches of wind-swept plains meet the eye in alternate changes. From Cape Sheridan to Cape Columbia is a distance of 93 miles. In ordinary weather, it took about three and a half marches, although on
the return from the Pole it was covered in two marches, men and dogs breezing in. On February 18, 1909, I left the Roosevelt on what might be a returnless journey. The time to strike had come. Captain Bartlett and Dr. Goodsell had already started. The commander gave me strict orders to the effect
that I must get to Porter Bay, pick up the cache of alcohol left there late in the previous week, solder up the leaks, and take it to Cape Columbia, there to await his arrival. The cause of the alcohol leakage was due to the jolting of the sledges over the rough ice, puncturing the thin tin of the alcohol cases. I wish you could have seen me
soldering those tins under the conditions of darkness, intense cold, and insufficient furnace arrangement I had to endure. If there ever was a job for a demon in Hades, that was it. I vividly recall it. At the same instant I was in imminent danger of freezing to death and being burned alive, and the mental picture of those three furred-clad
men huddled around the little oil-stove heating the soldering iron and the hot solder dripping on the tin is amusing now, but we were anything but amused then. The following is transcribed from my diary. February 18, 1909. Weather clear, temperature 28 degrees at 5 a.m. We
were ready to leave the ship at 7.30 a.m., but a blinding gale delayed our start until 9 a.m. Two parties have left for Columbia, Professor Macmillan, three boys, four sledges, and twenty-four dogs, and my party of three boys and the same outfit. Each sledge is loaded with about 250 pounds of provisions consisting of pemmican, biscuits, tea, and
alcohol. The Arctic night still holds sway, but today at noon, far to the south, a thin band of twilight shows, giving promise of the return of the sun, and every day now will increase in light. Heavy going to Porter Bay, where we are to spend the night, and as soon as rested, far to work soldering up the thirty-six leaky alcohol tins left there
by George Borup last week. Professor Macmillan and his party have not shown up yet. They dropped behind at Cape Richardson, and we are keeping a watch for them. Snow still drifting and the wind howling like old times. Have had our evening meal of travel rations, pemmican, biscuits and tea, and condensed milk,
which was eaten with a relish. Two meals a day now, and big work between meals. No sign of Professor Macmillan and his crew, so we are going to turn in. The other igloo is waiting for him and the storm keeps up. February 19, 1909. It was six a.m., when I routed out the boys for breakfast. I am writing while the tea is brewing. Had a good sleep
last night, when I did get to sleep. Snoring! Talk about snoring! Sleeping with eskimos on either side, who have already fallen asleep, is impossible. The only way to get asleep is to wake them up, get them good and wide awake, inquire solicitously as to their comfort, and before they can get to sleep, fall asleep yourself. After that, their rhythmic
snores will only tend to soothe and rest you. Worked all day soldering the tins of alcohol, and a very trying job it was. I converted the oil stove into an alcohol burner, and used it to heat the irons. It took some time for me to gauge properly the height above the blue flame of the alcohol, at which I would get the best results in heating the irons,
but at last we found it. A cradle-shaped support made from biscuit-can wire was hung over the flame about an inch above it, and while the boys heated the irons, I squatted on my knees with a case of alcohol across my lap and got to work. I had watched Mr. Wardwell aboard the ship, solder up the cases, and I found that watching a man work and doing the same
thing yourself were two different matters. I tried to work with mittens on, I tried to work with them off. As soon as my bare fingers would touch the cold metal of the tins they would freeze, and if I attempted to use the mittens they would singe and burn, and it was impossible to hold the solder with my bare-skin gloves on. But keeping everlastingly
at it brings success, and with the help of the boys the work was slowly but surely done. Early this evening Professor Macmillan and his caravan arrived. He complimented me on the success of my work, and informed me that they camped at Cape Richardson last night, and that the trail had been pretty
well blown over by the storm, but that the sledge tracks were still to be seen. Dead tired, but not cold or uncomfortable. The stew is ready, and so am I. Good night. February 20. Wind died down, sky clear, and weather cold as usual. Our next point
is Sail Harbor, and after breakfast we set out. The Professor has asked me the most advisable way, whether to keep to the sea ice or go overland, and we have agreed to follow the northern route, overland, across Fieldon Peninsula, using Peary's Path. By this route we estimate a saving of eight miles of going, and we will hit the beach at James
Ross Bay. 5 p.m. Sail Harbor. Stopped writing to eat breakfast, and then we loaded up and started. Reached here about an hour ago, and from the fresh tracks in the snow
the captains or the doctors' party have just recently left. It was evidently Dr. Goodsell and his crew who were here last, for Captain Bartlett left the Roosevelt on February 15, and the doctor did not leave until the 16th. The going has been heavy, due to loose snow and heavy winds, also intense cold. The thermometers are all out of commission,
due to bubbles, but a frozen bottle of brandy proves that we had at least 45 degrees of cold. The igloo I built last December 5 is the one my party camped in. Professor Macmillan and his party kept up with us all day, and it was pleasant to have his society. Writing is difficult, the kettle is boiled, so here ends today's entry.
February 21. Easy wind, clear sky, but awful cold. Going across Clements Markham inlet was fine, and we were able to steal a ride on the sledges most of the way, but we all had our faces frosted, and my short flat nose, which does not readily succumb to the cold, suffered as much as did
Macmillan's. Even these men of iron, the Eskimos, suffered from the cold. Uta freezing the great toe of his right foot. Perforce he was compelled to thaw it out in the usual way, that is, taking off his kamek and placing his freezing foot under my bare-skinned shirt, the heat of my body thawing out the frozen member.
Cape Cullan was reached about half-past nine this morning. There we reloaded, and I fear overloaded, the sledges from the cash which has been placed there. Our loads average about 550 pounds per sledge, and we have left a lot of provisions behind. We are at Cape Good Point, having been unable to make Cape Columbia,
and have had to build an igloo. With our overloaded sledges this has been a hard day's work. The dogs pulled and we pushed, and frequently lifted the heavily loaded sledges through the deep, soft snow. But we did not dump any of our loads. Although the boys wanted to, I would not stand for it. The bad example of seeing some piles of provision cases
which had been unloaded by the preceding parties was what put the idea in their heads. We will make Cape Columbia tomorrow, and will have to do no backtracking. We are moving forward. I have started for a place, and do not intend to run back to get a better start. February 22, 1909.—Cape Columbia.
We left Cape Good Point at 7 a.m., and reached Cape Columbia at 8 p.m. No wind, but weather thick and hazy, and the same old cold. About two miles from Good Point we passed the Doctor's Igloo. About a mile beyond this we passed the Crystal Palace that had been occupied by the Captain. Six miles farther north we passed a second igloo which had been built
by the Doctor's Party. How did we know who had built and occupied these igloos? It was easy, as an Eskimo knows and recognizes another Eskimo's handiwork, the same as you recognize the handwriting of your friends. I noted the neat, orderly, ship-shaped condition of the Captain's Igloo, and the empty cocoa tins scattered around the Doctor's Igloo. The Doctor
was the only one who had cocoa as an article of supply. Following the trail four miles farther north we passed the Captain's second igloo. He had unloaded his three sledges here and gone on to Parr Bay to hunt muskoxen. We caught up with the Doctor and his Party at the end of the ice foot and pushed on to Cape Columbia. We found but
one igloo here, and I did the after you, my dear Alphonse, and the Doctor got the igloo. My boys and I have built a good big one in less than an hour, and we are now snug and warm.
