“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Bessels. At times he thought everybody was at it. But he appeared to spit out his whole venom on him—he appeared to think that the doctor was the proper one.”
“Did anything occur at that time which induced you to believe that anybody was trying to poison him or trying to injure him in any way?” asked the Navy Secretary.
Buddington shifted noisily in his seat. His bulk was enormous, much too big for the chair creaking under his weight.
“Well, sir, only the doctor came to me one night and said, ‘Captain Hall is quite unwell and won’t take any medicine.’ I said, ‘Mix up a dose more than you want him to take, and if he sees me take some of it, he will take it then without any difficulty.’ The doctor said, ‘It will not do for you to take the first drop of quinine.’ That’s all the remark I heard. The doctor spoke once about Captain Hall having a very strong constitution.”
“Have you any reason to believe that Captain Hall died of anything but a natural death?”
“I really have not.”
“Did you ever think that he died of anything but a natural death?”
Members of the inquiry board had obviously seen the frontpage newspaper story in which Tyson quoted Buddington as accusing Bessels of poisoning the commander.
“I thought there was something very strange about it. I could not believe but what he did die a natural death, but once in a while, in thinking it over, I thought there was something that appeared rather singular to me. But I have told before what I thought.”
“Did you ever have any real reason for suspicion? If so, state it.”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever hear him accuse anybody of poisoning him except when he was delirious?”
“No, sir, I think not, and then he accused almost everybody, though he appeared to speak more against the doctor than anyone else. We had a very good crew. The mate, the second mate, the seamen, engineers, firemen, cook, and steward did their duty faithfully. I never want to see any better men. I had no occasion to complain of them in any shape whatever after Captain Hall’s death or before.”
“Did you have occasion to complain of anybody else?”
“Yes, sir. Somewhat.”
Robeson had given Buddington the opportunity to jab back at Tyson.
“Let us hear all about it,” said the Navy Secretary.
“Captain Tyson. He was a man that was rather useless aboard, and complained bitterly about the management, generally. He did not appear to be satisfied with anything that was done.”
The Buddington group greatly resented the public comments made by Tyson and his party—particularly about their suspicions concerning Hall’s death and the circumstances of the October 15 separation. Although the proceedings before the board of inquiry would be kept secret until all the interviews were finished—at year’s end a complete transcript, some three hundred fifty pages, of the testimony would be made public—Tyson had not been alone in speaking to reporters and others about events aboard Polaris.
“And”—Buddington was not finished—“Dr. Bessels and I did not agree very well. However, we got along peacefully, and had no trouble to speak of. We had no outbreaks of any kind.”
Buddington told of passing the first winter aboard Polaris locked in the pack ice. Typical of his often bitter testimony, he attempted to counter charges by Tyson and others that he had not had the heart for the expedition or for getting farther north. “I have seen that report printed in the papers, but it is not correct. I did my very best to get the ship north. I never said anything about never going any farther north.”
One of the more serious charges that came out during Tyson’s testimony was that Buddington had been a “disorganizer” and openly subverted the authority of Captain Hall, his commanding officer. In the shipboard U.S. Navy there were few allegations as serious. However, even though Polaris sailed under the auspices of the Department of Navy during the expedition, Buddington was still a civilian whaling captain on a ship with other civilians. Whereas a Navy officer could be court-martialed for such a breach of conduct, punishing a civilian would have been sticky business. Such a prosecution, too, would have kept the entire sordid matter in front of the public that much longer. The board of inquiry stayed quiet on this issue, asking no relevant questions.
Buddington told of the ice pack opening enough for Polaris to start steaming for home August 12 only to be beset by ice a few days later. When he came to the October 15 separation, Robeson interrupted Buddington for a question: After the party had been stranded on the ice in the middle of the night, had Buddington kept a lookout aloft the next day?
“Yes, sir. I had the best lookouts at the mast-head—Mr. Chester and Henry Hobby—at daylight looking for the men, and they could not see them even with the best glasses on the ship. They were aloft nearly the whole time.”
“You did not see these men or any signs of them?”
“No, sir.”
“How was the weather?” “Quite clear that day.”
“How do you account for not seeing the people on the ice?”
“I cannot say, sir. The lookouts, I am sure, did the best they could to see them, and how it was I do not know unless they were behind some hummock or some berg. If they saw us, however, we ought surely to have seen them.”
The next day, Buddington said, he ran the ship aground two miles north of Littleton Island with the intention of spending the winter ashore. He claimed that the badly damaged Polaris had at the time only five to six tons of coal, barely enough to light the main boiler. They moved provisions ashore and began to set up camp. Within twenty-four hours of landing, Buddington said, they made contact with the friendly Eskimos living in the area. “There we lived very comfortably through the winter, and nothing notable happened.”
Buddington told of leaving on June 3 in the two sailboats they had built and meeting up with the Scottish whaler off Cape York about three weeks later.
Without waiting to be questioned about Hall’s journal and private papers, Buddington said they had come up missing. “Captain Hall’s journal unfortunately has been lost.” He volunteered that Hall had actually kept three different journals, and together with all his private papers he kept them in a locked box set in one of the cupboards in the cabin. “It was there until we were putting the things out on the ice. I never knew it was gone until we were adrift and it could not be found. I never troubled them in any shape or form.”
“Were any of his papers burned?” Robeson asked pointedly.
“At one time during his sickness we were having a talk together about one thing and another. He said he had written a letter to me, and he thought I had better not see it, but if I insisted, he would show it to me. I told him it didn’t matter. He then said he thought it ought to be burned, as he did not approve of it, and he held it to the candle and burned it. I never knew what was in it.”
Although Tyson had testified to seeing Buddington reading Hall’s journals after Hall’s death, and Frederick Meyer had testified that he had seen the box containing Hall’s paper sitting on a table in Buddington’s cabin, the board did not press Buddington any further on the issue of Hall’s missing journals.
Buddington did, however, present a journal to the board: his own. “This journal was commenced after Captain Hall’s death. Some of the first part of it was copied from another one that was kept during his sickness. It was written day by day as the events happened.” He had dictated it, he explained, to seaman Joseph Mauch, whom Hall had appointed ship’s clerk after Frederick Meyer refused to help with the captain’s journal.
The board of inquiry would receive, in all, nine journals kept by Polaris crewmen. These included journals by George Tyson, which he had pointed out to the board he began after separation from the ship, and meteorologist Frederick Meyer and steward John Herron from among the ice-floe party. Among those crewmen who had remained with Polaris, the board was presented journals kept by Dr. Emil
Bessels, second mate William Morton, American seaman Noah Hayes, seaman Herman Sieman (translated from German), and seaman/clerk Mauch. In addition, first mate Hubbard Chester kept the official log of Polaris, which survived the trip as well.
Given Hall’s penchant for laborious note taking, his own journals certainly would have assisted in reconstructing events leading up to his illness, if not beyond, such as entries he had been observed making in his journal when he had felt better for a couple days—entries that might have contained specifics about his worst suspicions. (Hall’s papers, which he had left in Greenland for safekeeping, were subsequendy recovered. However, they covered previous Arctic adventures of his, and made no mention of the Polaris expedition.)
Buddington turned to another sensitive topic, again without waiting for a question, and again with the tone of a man wrongly accused. “I never expressed myself as being relieved when Captain Hall died. I never made use of such an expression. I thought quite the reverse, and I think so still, that I got into more trouble through his death and had a great deal more to contend with twice over than if he had lived. I did make one remark after his death. I was aggravated about something, and I said, while speaking about Captain Hall’s death, that he got me into a fine scrape and has left me in it. That is all the remark I have any recollection of making after his death regarding his decease. It was very careless of me to make such a remark, but I was a little irritated about something that was going on at the time.”
The board did not query Buddington as to what was going on that had irritated him. Instead, they asked him several questions based on testimony they had heard from the Tyson party.
“Did you ever say concerning Captain Hall’s death, ‘That’s a stone off my heart?’”
“I do not recollect ever saying such a thing. I do not think I did.”
“Did you ever say, regarding Captain Hall’s missing journals, or any part of them, that you were glad they were burned or destroyed, as part of it would have been unfavorable to you?”
“Never,” Buddington said, puffing up with great offense. “I never said anything of that kind. All that I ever spoke about was that letter that he burned, and what Captain Hall said when he burned it.”
Robeson wanted to know if Buddington ever had any difficulty with Dr. Bessels.
“Only once. I had a few words with him upon one occasion. I had been taking something to drink, and he said something to me regarding it. I just took him by the collar and told him to mind his own business. That is the only difficulty I had with him. I do not remember what he said, exactly. It was alcohol reduced that I was drinking; alcohol and water, I suppose.”
Buddington had himself opened the door to his drinking habits.
“Was not that alcohol put on board for scientific purposes?” “Yes, sir.”
“Why did you drink that?”
“I was sick and downhearted and had a bad cold, and I wanted some stimulant—that is, I thought I did. I do not suppose I really did.”
“Are you in the habit of drinking?”
“I make it a practice to drink but very little. I did take too much twice during this voyage, that I remember: once the latter part of April, and on the occasion I have just referred to. When I so indulged in the latter part of April, it was when we were in winter quarters. The ship was not moving then. The other time was the night that I had the difficulty with the doctor; we were tied fast to the floe. I did not consider, however, that I was not in a condition to do my duty. I merely felt the liquor. I do not think a stranger would have seen it on me at all. I had drank occasionally before, but not to any excess.”
First mate Chester Hubbard testified next, telling the board of his extensive sailing experience and being hired by Hall for the expedition.
Chester told of traveling with Hall on his last sledge journey, and finding his health and stamina “first-rate” during the two-week trip. Chester said he had been busy cleaning up their gear upon their return, and did not hear about Hall’s sudden illness until more than an hour later. “I went to see him somewhere about half past six o’clock that evening. He was lying in his berth. I asked him how he was, and he said he felt pretty sick. I stayed only a few moments with him. I do not know whether it was that evening or the next morning that the doctor told me that his left arm and side were paralyzed.”
The first mate told of staying up nights with Hall; taking turns with second mate William Morton caring for their sick commander.
“The doctor attended to him pretty closely. He seemed to do everything he could. I do not know what medicine he gave; nothing more than injections of quinine, I think, into his arm. I saw him do it several times. He did not give him any other medicine that I saw; nothing more than a foot bath and mustard plasters. The doctor wanted to give him medicine, but he would not take it. I don’t know what he wanted to give. The captain appeared suspicious and absolutely refused to take it. Then all the doctor could do was to inject quinine in the skin of his arm or leg.”
“Have you any reason to believe that Captain Hall died anything but a natural death?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you believe anything else?”
“No, sir.”
“Did anybody else express to you any other opinion?”
“No, sir. I did not even talk with anybody about it. All this suspicion of his, and all this talk about his being afraid of being poisoned, were matters of delirium, when he was out of his head. And that was understood so at the time.”
Robeson wanted to know if Chester had seen Hall’s journals after his death.
“ I think I saw them in Captain Buddington’s room once or twice.”
“Did you hear anybody after Captain Hall’s death say that he felt relieved or anything of that kind?”
“No, sir.”
Chester told of the ill-fated boat journeys in the spring, and then of the October 15 separation. He had his own perspective about being left on the damaged ship. Those who had gathered their things and gone onto the ice that night, he said, “were very glad to get there. They considered themselves in the safest place; everybody thought that was the safest place. I know at the time it was very difficult to keep men enough on the main deck to get the provisions and stores off the ship.”
When the ship broke adrift of the floe, Chester saw “the piece of ice upon which some of the provisions were, broke adrift at the same time, and I saw one or two men on that piece of ice. But we could not render them any assistance.”
Contradicting Buddington, the first mate said that the only way he could account for the men on the floe not being seen the next morning was that no one was at the masthead looking for them. “I was on deck. We supposed there was no possibility of seeing our party anywhere, and the only hope we gave them was that they were near land somewhere, and they could reach it by boat.”
Chester went on. “I will state that, as regards personal safety, I think I should have preferred being on the floe to being on the ship because we did not know the condition the ship was in at the time of the separation. The snap and crackle of the timbers of the vessel when she was nipped and thrown onto the ice of course led everyone to feel uneasy. There was no one on board but who thought that she was more or less injured, and when she settled back into the water, that she would likely fall to pieces and sink. That was the general impression of all hands at the time. The other party had the boats and the kayaks, the natives, and many provisions had been landed on the ice.”
As for the condition of Polaris after she suddenly broke free, Chester said, “I did not know how the vessel could float when I looked at her broken stem. She was in such a condition that she could not possibly have been repaired and brought out.”
Hence the decision, he said, to run her aground near shore.
Without being asked, Chester gave his opinion of Buddington.
“As a whaling commander, Captain Buddington, I think, does very well, but not so good for a North Pole expedition. He has not that ent
husiasm for the North Pole that Captain Hall had. I could not say that Captain Buddington was opposed to going farther north, but I think it likely if there had been someone else there as sailing master, the ship would have gone farther north. He drank a litde, and I have seen him once or twice in a condition that we would call ‘boozy.’ Captain Hall appeared to have a kindly feeling for Captain Buddington—more than Captain Buddington seemed to have for Captain Hall. I got that impression from what I saw on the vessel of the actions of the two men. [Buddington] at times rather depreciated Captain Hall, in using language around the main deck that should not have been used by a man in his capacity. When I say ‘main deck,’ I mean among the seamen. He did this when he was sober, too. He did not speak very respectfully of the commander or of the expedition.”
When Chester stepped down, the board adjourned for the day.
The first witness the next morning was second mate William Morton, who introduced himself by saying, “I am a seaman—I follow the sea for my living.” He told of the Polaris expedition being his third to the Arctic, and of having spent most of his adult years in the United States Navy serving as a petty officer.
The first thing of interest that happened on the Polaris expedition, he said, were the “words of misunderstanding” between Captain Hall and “the scientific officers—Mr. Meyer and Dr. Bessels. It was, however, all arranged amicably before we left.”
Morton’s testimony about Hall’s illness and death was noteworthy, as the second mate had been present shortly before and after Hall took ill, and subsequently spent much time at his sickbed. The second mate explained that he had been ashore when Hall returned from his sledge journey.
“I met him on the ice between the ship and the shore. I shook hands with him; asked him how he was. He said he was right well. I went on board with him to the upper cabin, and stayed with him at that time, except when he ordered the steward to get him a cup of coffee. The steward went to the galley to get the coffee. While he was gone, I went to get Captain Hall a shift of fresh clothing.”
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