Before long, Hall sought out Tyson and admitted he had erred in not pushing farther north. They were too far from the Pole to reach it by sledge that winter. “Next summer, we shall make desperate exertions to gain the ground we lost,” he promised.
After a week, while one party was out surveying and another off hunting, Tyson went exploring to see what the country was like where they would be spending their long winter night. The landscape was of a dull neutral tint, a sort of cold gray. It would before long, he knew, be all of another color: white from snow and ice.
The coastal hills were from nine hundred to thirteen hundred feet high. They had great scars and cracks in them caused by wind, weather, frost, and ice. At the base of the hills were deposited large amounts of debris—stones, sand, and great scales from rocks that had been split off.
There had been no snow on the hills when they arrived, and what fell the first few days ran off and dried up fast. The mountain ranges, which could be seen in the interior, also appeared clear of snow. The land that surrounded them was bare of ice and snow except for the white ribbon of a distant glacier off to the south that swept around in a wide circuit and fell into the wide bay north of Polaris.
Tyson found the remains of an Eskimo summer camp, consisting of stones lying on the ground in a circle. While Eskimos lived in igloos in the winter, they used tents in the summer. Their tents were made of sealskin, and the stones were placed upon their outer edges to keep the skin taut over the ridge and to prevent the wind from entering or overturning them. Upon removing their temporary homes, Eskimos were accustomed to taking down the pole that supported a tent and dragging the skin from beneath the stones, while leaving the latter in position. There were several of these circles of stones near each other, proving to Tyson that quite a large party of Eskimos had passed part of a summer here. Nothing indicated the length of time since the camp had been occupied. Perhaps they used to come here for the summer, he speculated, and had since migrated permanently to the south. He found some spearheads made of walrus teeth, some pieces of bone with holes bored in them, and a small piece of copper once used as a needle. Among the ashes in the fire pit he found a piece of meteoric iron, their means of obtaining fire.
Nearby, the scientists had built a small structure out of scrap wood. Equipped with a coal-burning stove, the Observatory was a place where they could conduct weather, geological, and other observations. Its framework had already been reinforced once, as a stiff gale almost shook it down after only a couple of days. Inside the one-room shelter were various measuring instruments, including a standard thermometer, wet and dry bulb psychrometers, maximum and minimum thermometers, and an ozonometer. The first three were read hourly, the latter three once every twenty-four hours. An anemometer was fastened on an upright post, frozen into a barrel to keep it firm. Solar and dry radiation thermometers were also used, as was a barometer.
On his way back to the ship, Tyson spotted large flocks of brent geese sporting in the water, and occasionally a seal would raise its head in the vicinity of the ship to watch the intruders upon its feeding grounds.
Polaris, the North Star, was seen on September 21, for the first time since the establishment of winter quarters, and a large halo was observed encircling the sun.
Bessels and Chester, traveling in the company of Joe and Hans with a team of eight dogs, returned from a weeklong hunting excursion. They brought back on a sleigh the greater part of a musk ox that they had killed. The meat, when cut into steaks and fried, turned out to be very good, without the strong musk scent that male oxen emit when in rut. It tasted like fine beef.
Everyone was pleased by the fresh meat, no one more so than Hall, who understood from his time with the Eskimos its value in warding off scurvy, a disease caused by a prolonged deficiency of fresh fruits and vegetables in the diet, and a serious threat to the well-being of Arctic explorers. Often fatal, the disease is characterized by bodily weakness, inflamed gums, loose teeth, swollen and tender joints, hemorrhaging, and anemia.
Tyson continued to be amazed by his commander. For all his traits, both good and bad, Hall had a most pleasant way of getting along with the men. When it came to his attention that less food was being served in the enlisted men’s mess than the officers’ mess—on orders from Sidney Buddington—Hall immediately increased their rations, and instructed that henceforth everyone would eat the same food and in the same amount at both messes; two hot meals a day were to be served. “The American government is paying for this expedition,” he explained. “We will all live as brothers, and eat and drink alike on this ship.”
Highly pleased, the men prepared a letter of thanks, which they sent to the commander’s cabin. Signed by the entire deck force and other enlisted crew, it read:
The men desire to publicly tender their thanks to Capt. C. F. Hall for his late kindness, not, however, that we were suffering want, but for the fact that it manifests a disposition to treat us as reasonable men, possessing intelligence to appreciate respect and yield it only where merited; and he need never fear but that it will be our greatest pleasure to so live that he can implicitly rely on our service in any duty or emergency.
Hall was much pleased at receiving the letter from the men, and in response he wrote a letter of his own and had it posted below:
Sirs: The reception of your letter of thanks to me I acknowledge with a heart that deeply feels and fully appreciates the kindly feeling that has prompted you to this act. I need not assure you that your commander has, and ever will have, a lively interest in your welfare. You have left your homes, friends, and country; indeed you have bid a long farewell for a time to the whole civilized world, for the purpose of aiding me in discovering the mysterious, hidden parts of the earth. I therefore must and shall care for you as a prudent father cares for his faithful children.
Your commander, C. F. Hall
United States North Polar Expedition
In winter-quarters, Thank God Harbor
Sept. 24, 1871
At the same time, Hall had a streak of piety. Not long after this exchange of letters, he overheard one of the men cursing another. Severely condemning the expressions, he issued an order forbidding all profane or vulgar language, probably a first aboard a naval vessel.
A violent snowstorm commenced on September 27 and continued for thirty-six hours. The ice began to pack around the ship. Due to the pressure on the hull, more provisions were taken ashore. They were quickly covered in snow, as were the provisions that had been offloaded earlier. The men were ordered to haul them across the flat ground and place them in the lee of a hill. When the storm abated, a house would be built to shelter them.
Ice piled up about the vessel in all manner of shapes. The giant iceberg, which had up until then steadfastly maintained its position, moved in toward the shore. The ice between it and the vessel was broken by long cracks and raised into hummocks. The pressure brought upon the ship was great, as was apparent from the strain upon her frame. Had Polaris not been strengthened and specially fitted for Arctic service, she would have been crushed. When the pressure ceased, it was found that the storm had forced the berg in toward the shore one hundred yards, and the ship fifty yards.
When the storm abated, a few seals were seen, and some of the men went out hunting them but got none. A white fox they saw also escaped them. Arctic foxes were the most cunning animals any of the men had ever seen, and proved difficult to shoot or trap.
The ice became so hardened, even where there had once been open water, that Hall began preparing a sledge party to go north. He intended to probe inland, preliminary to a more extended journey in the spring. Hall wanted to get an idea of the best route north, hoping to find better ways than over the icy floes and hummocks of the straits.
Tyson came across Hall ashore, not far from the ship. It was a rare opportunity to speak to him alone. Ever since Tyson had advised Hall to head farther north, Buddington always made a point to be alongside them so as to overhear any discussion.
> “I would like to reach a higher latitude than Parry before I get back,” Hall said.
More than forty years earlier British explorer Sir Edward Parry had set out by sledge for the North Pole. Before turning back, he reached latitude 82 degrees, 45 minutes north—a proximity to the Pole not attained since by white explorers.
“I would like to have you along, but—” Hall abruptly stopped. He pointed at the sailing master strutting on deck like a rooster. “I find he is a man I cannot place any trust in,” he continued, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “I have been close to putting him off duty for his conduct—stealing food and drinking. I have decided to give him one last chance. If he does not conduct himself well in my absence, I will suspend him upon my return.”
Tyson said nothing; he could see how the matter pained the commander. Tyson had suspected Buddington of drinking on several occasions since leaving Greenland. He had seen him wobbling on deck with unsteady steps—Hall certainly had, too—and knew that no good would come of it.
“I don’t know how to leave him with the ship in my absence,” Hall went on. “If something happens and the vessel should break out of the ice, it would be better for you to be aboard to assist with the ship.”
Hall explained that if the ice broke up and the ship was forced from her position, steam should be gotten up as quickly as possible and no time lost in getting the vessel back to her former position, where the sledge party would return to.
“I understand, sir,” Tyson said.
Hall presented another scenario: Polaris might end up stuck in the ice on a southward drift—as had happened to other Arctic expeditions—and be unable to return for the sledge party. In that case, Hall said evenly, he and the other men ashore would fend for themselves, and the Polaris crew should care for themselves and the ship.
Tyson knew that Buddington wasn’t the only Polaris officer Hall didn’t trust. The commander had confided in him that he didn’t think Dr. Emil Bessels was qualified or equipped for the position he had been assigned. Tyson knew, as did everyone else on board, that the commander and the ship’s doctor did not get along, and for the most part only barely tolerated one another in the course of their official duties. The rest of the time they were like two alpha wolves eyeing the other.
“I would like to go on the sledge trip, of course,” said Tyson, intending not to reveal just how much he wanted to go. “I am willing to remain and take what care of the ship I can.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Hall said humbly. “I want you to know again that you were right. Had I listened to you we would right now be much farther north than we are.”
The next day, Buddington surprised Tyson by asking him what he and Hall had discussed.
“I couldn’t tell you,” Tyson answered evasively.
“I’m in a helluva scrape, but something will turn up to get me out of this,” Buddington said. “You’ll see if it don’t.”
“What’s going to turn up?” Tyson asked stiffly.
“Well, you’ll see,” Buddington said, slurring slightly. “I have been in a good many hard scrapes, and always something turned up to get me out.”
Buddington had been drinking again.
“Considering where we are stuck for the indefinite future,” Tyson said, “you might find this one harder to get out of.”
“Oh, I’ll get out of it. That old son of a bitch won’t live long.”
Following a week’s worth of preparations, in which Hall had everything they were going to take weighed so as to not overburden them, they seemed ready at last. They had outfitted with provisions and other supplies a single sledge—fitted with wagon wheels in the event they came to areas without enough snow—to be pulled by twelve dogs.
On the evening of October 10, Tyson and some of the men helped haul the heavy-laden sledge up the steep hill at the top of the promontory. They stood by as the sledge drove off across the plains, north by east, dogs baying woefully and the Eskimo driver cracking a whip overhead.
After the other men had returned to the ship, Tyson watched the sledge party become smaller against the white, frozen backdrop. He watched for as long as he could, then turned and went slowly back to the ship stuck in the ice pack.
6
“How Do You Spell Murder?”
Even after all the preparation and packing, Tyson had no doubt that his commander had forgotten something. Charles Francis Hall was, he knew, rather peculiar that way.
The day after the sledge party departed, Hans returned alone on foot with a missive from Hall. He was to bring a second sledge and more dogs so that they could divide up their heavy load. They had also forgotten not one item but several, and Hall and the rest of the party, consisting of first mate Chester Hubbard and Joe, were waiting five miles off for Hans to return with them.
Among other things, they needed more candles, dog lines, and coffee. Also, Hall wrote, “Do not forget my bear-skin mittens, which I left behind by mistake. While Hans is absent, we are to go on a hunt for musk-oxen. Hasten Hans back without the loss of a moment. May God be with you all.”
The sun set behind the mountains on October 17 and would not be seen again that winter from the ship. For the next few days the only way to observe the slimmest patch of sun was to venture to the crest of a high hill. Then even those rays soon sank from view.
As the sun departed, the perpetual twilight deepened.
The crew began banking up snow around the ship to keep the frigid winds from slicing through the berthing compartments. They started by cutting blocks of snow from an icy bank and sledding them over to the vessel. When they were finished some weeks later, a wall up to eight feet thick and as high as the top of the ship’s bulwarks would be in place, with a flight of snow steps leading up to the port-side deck. Blocks of freshwater ice from rain and snowfall were also cut from the nearby berg and transported to the icehouse aboard ship; from there, it would be melted on a stove, as needed, for drinking water. Other men worked on fixing up a canvas awning to cover the main deck. When it was completed, an opening was made in the awning at the top of the snow steps just over the forward gangway.
Stores of all types had been moved ashore—coal, clothing, guns, ammunition, and a portion of everything that would be most needed. They were packed in a ramshackle shed built mostly by Tyson. It could have been made stronger with more lumber, but Buddington refused Tyson’s request for additional wood from onboard ship.
In Hall’s absence, Buddington’s behavior grew worse. Dr. Emil Bessels had a supply of high-proof alcohol, brought aboard for medicinal and specimen-preserving purposes, that was mysteriously declining. Bessels decided to set a trap and confront the culprit. One morning when everyone else was outside busy at chores, the doctor hid in the pantry near the locker where the alcohol was kept. In short order, he heard footsteps and the locker door swinging open. He sprang out of the pantry.
Before him stood Sidney Buddington, uncorked bottle in hand, ready for a morning eye-opener. Bessels grabbed for the bottle, but Buddington refused to let go.
“You are a drunk and a thief!“ Bessels screamed. “You are unfit!”
Buddington grabbed the smaller man by his shirt. Pinning the doctor against the bulkhead with one arm, Buddington tipped the bottle to his lips with the other. “I will have a drink whenever I want.” He smacked his lips. “And you mind your own business!”
The last message written by Captain Hall, while on his final sledge journey. It was addressed to Secretary of the Navy Robeson on October 20, 1871, four days before Hall took ill. (Smithsonian Institution)
Bessels managed to free himself and darted off.
Hall’s sledge party returned on October 24. They had been gone two weeks.
Tyson, who was helping bank snow around the ship, shook hands with Hall.
“How are you, Captain?” Tyson asked.
“Never better,” an exuberant Hall replied.
The commander seemed invigorated rather than exhausted from his travels. Although
they had hoped to go a hundred miles, Hall said they had made only fifty due to the configuration of the land. Nonetheless, he was encouraged.
“I think I can go to the Pole on this shore,” an excited Hall told Tyson.
Hall went around to every man working on the ice and warmly shook his hand like a long-lost relative. He and his party then went aboard ship, and Tyson and the other men went back to shoveling snow.
Inside the fifteen-by-eight-foot upper cabin that Hall shared with five others since giving up his stateroom to serve as a winter galley, William Morton helped the commander remove his wet boots and outer fur clothing.
Hall said he was not hungry, but he took a cup of coffee brought to him by the steward, John Herron, a small, quiet Englishman.
Morton took away Hall’s wet clothing and went to get a shift of fresh clothing from the commander’s private storeroom. When he returned not more than twenty minutes later, the second mate found Hall looking pale and vomiting. Morton now noticed Dr. Emil Bessels in the cabin.
“What’s the matter?” Morton asked.
“A foul stomach,” replied Hall.
Morton helped Hall into fresh clothes and began washing his feet.
Hall had sent for Hannah, who now entered the cabin. She had earlier gone onto the ice to welcome back her husband and the commander, whom she lovingly referred to as “Father Hall.” She had found both pleased with their journey. Hall told her he would “finish next spring,” which Hannah construed to mean that he felt confident of reaching the Pole.
“I’ve been sick,” Hall told her.
“What is it, Father?” she asked worriedly. “Did you get cold?”
“It’s my stomach. I’ll be better in the morning. Hannah, make things ready for my next journey. I will leave in two days. I will take Tyson and Chester, Joe and Hans.”
Fatal North Page 7