Hatteras, after seeing to the anchoring of his ship, re-entered his cabin and examined his map attentively. He found himself in latitude 76 degrees 57 minutes and longitude 99 degrees 20 minutes — that is to say, at only three minutes from the 77th parallel. It was at this very spot that Sir Edward Belcher passed his first winter with the Pioneer and the Assistance. It was thence that he organised his sledge and boat excursions. He discovered Table Isle, North Cornwall, Victoria Archipelago, and Belcher Channel. He reached the 78th parallel, and saw that the coast was depressed on the south-east. It seemed to go down to Jones’s Strait, the entrance to which lies in Baffin’s Bay. But to the north-west, on the contrary, says his report, an open sea lay as far as the eye could reach.
Hatteras considered attentively the white part of the map, which represented the Polar basin free from ice.
“After such testimony as that of Stewart, Penny, and Belcher, I can’t have a doubt about it,” he said to himself. “They saw it with their own eyes. But if the winter has already frozen it! But no; they made their discoveries at intervals of several years. It exists, and I shall find it! I shall see it.”
Hatteras went on to the poop. An intense fog enveloped the Forward; the masthead could scarcely be distinguished from the deck. However, Hatteras called down the ice-master from his crow’s nest, and took his place. He wished to profit by the shortest clear interval to examine the north-western horizon. Shandon did not let the occasion slip for saying to the lieutenant:
“Well, Wall, where is the open sea?”
“You were right, Shandon, and we have only six weeks’ coal in the hold.”
“Perhaps the doctor will find us some scientific fuel to warm us in the place of coal,” answered Shandon. “I have heard say you can turn fire to ice; perhaps he’ll turn ice to fire.” And he entered his cabin, shrugging his shoulders. The next day was the 20th of August, and the fog cleared away for several minutes. They saw Hatteras look eagerly at the horizon, and then come down without speaking; but it was easy to see that his hopes had again been crushed. The Forward weighed anchor, and took up her uncertain march northward. As the Forward began to be weather-worn, the masts were unreeved, for they could no longer rely on the variable wind, and the sails were nearly useless in the winding channels. Large white marks appeared here and there on the sea like oil spots; they presaged an approaching frost; as soon as the breeze dropped the sea began to freeze immediately; but as soon as the wind got up again, the young ice was broken up and dispersed. Towards evening the thermometer went down to 17 degrees.
When the brig came to a closed-up pass she acted as a battering ram, and ran at full steam against the obstacle, which she sunk. Sometimes they thought she was stopped for good; but an unexpected movement of the streams opened her a new passage, and she took advantage of it boldly. When the brig stopped, the steam which escaped from the safety-pipes was condensed by the cold air and fell in snow on to the deck. Another impediment came in the way; the ice-blocks sometimes got entangled in the paddles, and they were so hard that all the strength of the machine was not sufficient to break them; it was then necessary to back the engine and send men to clear the screws with their handspikes. All this delayed the brig; it lasted thirteen days. The Forward dragged herself painfully along Penny Strait; the crew grumbled, but obeyed: the men saw now that it was impossible to go back. Keeping north was less dangerous than retreating south. They were obliged to think about wintering. The sailors talked together about their present position, and one day they mentioned it to Richard Shandon, who, they knew, was on their side. The second officer forgot his duty as an officer, and allowed them to discuss the authority of the captain before him.
“You say, then, Mr. Shandon, that we can’t go back now?” said Gripper.
“No, it’s too late now,” answered Shandon.
“Then we must think about wintering,” said another sailor.
“It’s the only thing we can do. They wouldn’t believe me.”
“Another time,” said Pen, who had been released, “we shall believe you.”
“But as I am not the master ——” replied Shandon.
“Who says you mayn’t be?” answered Pen. “John Hatteras may go as far as he likes, but we aren’t obliged to follow him.”
“You all know what became of the crew that did follow him in his first cruise to Baffin’s Sea?” said Gripper.
“And the cruise of the Farewell under him that got lost in the Spitzbergen seas!” said Clifton.
“He was the only man that came back,” continued Gripper.
“He and his dog,” answered Clifton.
“We won’t die for his pleasure,” added Pen.
“Nor lose the bounty we’ve been at so much trouble to earn,” cried Clifton. “When we’ve passed the 78th degree — and we aren’t far off it, I know — that will make just the 375 pounds each.”
“But,” answered Gripper, “shan’t we lose it if we go back without the captain?”
“Not if we prove that we were obliged to,” answered Clifton.
“But it’s the captain ——”
“You never mind, Gripper,” answered Pen; “we’ll have a captain and a good one — that Mr. Shandon knows. When one commander goes mad, folks have done with him, and they take another; don’t they, Mr. Shandon?”
Shandon answered evasively that they could reckon upon him, but that they must wait to see what turned up. Difficulties were getting thick round Hatteras, but he was as firm, calm, energetic, and confident as ever. After all, he had done in five months what other navigators had taken two or three years to do! He should be obliged to winter now, but there was nothing to frighten brave sailors in that. Sir John Ross and McClure had passed three successive winters in the Arctic regions. What they had done he could do too!
“If I had only been able to get up Smith Strait at the north of Baffin’s Sea, I should be at the Pole by now!” he said to the doctor regretfully.
“Never mind, captain!” answered the doctor, “we shall get at it by the 99th meridian instead of by the 75th; if all roads lead to Rome, it’s more certain still that all meridians lead to the Pole.”
On the 31st of August the thermometer marked 13 degrees. The end of the navigable season was approaching; the Forward left Exmouth Island to the starboard, and three days after passed Table Island in the middle of Belcher Channel. At an earlier period it would perhaps have been possible to regain Baffin’s Sea by this channel, but it was not to be dreamt of then; this arm of the sea was entirely barricaded by ice; ice-fields extended as far as the eye could reach............