At the end of the fourteenth year he is awakened one stormy night by a shot. His heart beats fast, for now the hour of deliverance is surely at hand. Another shot thunders through the night. Perhaps it is a signal of distress from a ship! He lights a huge fire to guide the crew. When morning dawns, he finds that a ship has run on to a submerged rock and been wrecked. No sign of the crew is visible. But yes, a sailor lies prostrate on the sand and a dog howls beside him. Crusoe runs up; he would like a companion in his loneliness; but however long he works with artificial respiration and other remedies, the dead will not come to life, and Robinson Crusoe sadly digs a grave for the unknown guest.

Another year passes and all the days are alike. As he sits at his table, breaking his bread and eating fish and oysters, he has his dog, parrot, and goats as companions and gives them a share of his meal.

One day he sees from his look-out hill five boats come to the island and put to shore, and thirty savages jump on land and light a fire. Then they bring two prisoners from a boat. One they kill with a club. The other runs away and makes straight towards Crusoe's dwelling. Only two men pursue him, and Crusoe runs up to help him. At a sign from his master, the dog rushes on one of the savages and holds him fast till he gets his death-blow, and the other meets the same fate. Then Crusoe by signs and kindly gestures makes the prisoner understand that he has found a friend. The poor fellow utters some incomprehensible words, and Crusoe, who has not heard a human voice for fifteen years, is delighted to hear him speak. The other savages make off as fast as they can.

Robinson Crusoe's black friend receives the name of Friday, because he came to the island on a Friday. In time Friday learns to speak, and brightens and relieves the life of the solitary man. One day another wreck is stranded on the rocks, and Robinson and Friday fetch from its stores firearms and powder, tools and provisions, and many other useful things. When eighteen long years have expired, the hero of our childhood is rescued by an English ship.

ACROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

The albatross is a knowing bird, or he would not follow vessels for weeks. He knows that there is food on board, and that edible fragments are often thrown out. But his power of observation and his knowledge are much greater than might be suspected. He knows also of old where small storm birds take their prey, and when he finds them flying along with their catch he shoots down like lightning among them, appropriates all he can find, and does not trouble himself in the least about the smaller birds' disappointment.

But these vultures of the sea are still cleverer in other ways. Their forefathers have lived on the sea for thousands of years, and their senses have been developed to the greatest acuteness and perfection. They know the regular winds, and can perceive from the colour of the water if a cold or warm sea current sweeps along below them. If now our friend the albatross, travelling westwards over the islands of Polynesia, wishes to be carried along by the wind, he knows that he has only to keep between the Tropic of Capricorn and the equator in order to be in the belt of the south-east trade-wind. And no doubt he has also noticed that this wind gives rise to the equatorial current which, broad and strong, sets westwards across the Pacific Ocean. If he wishes to fly north of the equator, he receives the same help from the north-east trade-wind; but if he wanders far to the south or north of the equator, he will meet with head winds and find that the ocean current sets eastwards. In the northern half of the Pacific Ocean this north-easterly current is called the Kuroshiwo, or "Black Salt." It skirts the coast of Japan and runs right across to Canada. This current is one of the favourite haunts of the albatross.

He knows further that the arrangement of winds and currents is just the same in the Atlantic. There, however, the current running north-east is called the Gulf Stream, and it is the warm water of this stream, coming from the equator, which makes the climate of north-western Europe so mild, and prevents even the northernmost fiords of Norway from freezing in winter.



Meanwhile the albatross is on its course westwards, careless of winds and currents. He heeds not the hardest storm, and, indeed, where could he hide himself from its violence? His dwelling is the air. The sea is high, and he skims just above the surface, rising to meet each wave and descending into every trough, and the tips of his wings seem to dip into the foam. The great ocean seems dreadfully dreary and deserted. The sun glistens on the spindrift, and the albatross is reflected in the smooth, bright roof of waves above the fairy crystal grottoes in the depths.

He rises to see whether the island he is thinking about is visible above the horizon. Beneath him he sees the dark, white-tipped, roaring sea. From the west, bluish-black rain-clouds sweep up and open their sluice-gates. Is the albatross hindered in his flight by the rain which pelts violently down on his back and wings? Well, yes, he must certainly be delayed, but he can foretell the weather with certainty enough to keep clear, and he is swift enough on the wing to make his escape when overtaken by rain. And he can always descend, fold his pinions, and rest dancing on the waves.

The rain over, he flies higher up again and now sees Easter Island, which from an immense depth rises above the water, terribly lonely in the great ocean. On a sloping beach he sees several monuments of stone, thirty feet high, in the form of human heads. They mark graves, and are memorials of a long-vanished settlement. Now there are only about 150 natives on Easter Island, and even these are doomed to extinction. Three white men live on the island, but it is long since news was heard of them, for no vessel has touched there for several years. Of other living things only rats, goats, fowls, and sea birds exist on the island.

At some distance to the north-east lies Sala-y-Gomez, a small island of perfectly bare rocks, only inhabited by sea-fowl, and there the albatross pays a passing visit. Now he rises again and continues his flight westwards. Soon he comes to a swarm of insignificant islands called the Low Archipelago. So we name the islands, but the dark-skinned natives who by some mysterious fortune have been banished to them call them Paumotu, or "Island Cloud." A poet could not have conceived a better name. There lie eighty-five groups of islands, each consisting of innumerable holms. They are really a cloud of islets, like a nebula or star mist in the sky, and this swarm is only one among many others studding all the western part of the Pacific Ocean.

Now the albatross soars round the rocks of the "Island Cloud." He can see them easily from up above, but it is a harder matter for a vessel to make its way between the treacherous rocks and reefs. Though they are so many, the aggregate area amounts to less than four square miles. Almost all are formed of coral, and most of them are atolls. Reef—building corals are small animals which extract lime from the water. They multiply by budding, and every group forms a common clan where living and dead members rest side by side. Coral animalculae demand for their existence a firm, hard sea bottom, crystal-clear water, sufficient nutriment brought to them by waves and currents, and lastly a water temperature not falling below 68 deg. Therefore they occur only in tropical seas and near the surface, for the water becomes colder with the depth. At depths greater than 160 feet they are rare. They die and increase again and again, and therefore the coral reefs grow in height and breadth, and only the height of water at ebb tide puts a limit to their upward growth. The continual surf of the sea and stormy waves often break off whole blocks of coral limestone, which roll down and break up into sand. With this all cavities are filled in, and thus the action of the sea helps to consolidate and strengthen the reef. Other lime-extracting animalculae and also seaweeds establish themselves on the reef. In the course of time the waves throw up loose blocks on the top of the reef, so that parts of it are always above the water-level. When the water rises during flood-tide, white foaming surf indicates the position of the reef at a long distance. During the ebb the reef itself is exposed and the sea is quiet. Between ebb and flood the fairway is dangerous, for there is nothing to warn a vessel, and it may run right on to a coral reef and be lost.

Reefs have various forms and lengths. The great Barrier Reef, which lies off the north-east coast of Australia, is 1200 miles long. When reefs form circles they are called atolls. By means of winds, birds, and ocean currents, seeds are carried about the ocean, and strike root on any parts of the reef which lie above the level of the flood-tide. In the fulness of time the atoll is completed, built up by animalculae and plants. The "Island Cloud" is the largest continuous atoll region in all the world. There the circular coral islands lie like a collection of garlands thrown down upon the sea. Within them the water may be as much as 230 feet deep, and in the lagoons of some atolls all the fleets of the world could find room. The minute coral animalculae have provided by their industrious labour shelter for the largest vessels.

On many of the atolls grow cocoa palms, and only then are the ring-shaped islands inhabitable. How curious they look to one approaching on a vessel! Only the crowns of the palms are seen above the horizon; the island, being low, is out of sight. One might be coming to an oasis in the boundless Sahara. At last the solid coral ground of the island comes into sight (Plate XXXVII.). Breakers dash against the outer side of the ring, but the lagoon within is smooth as a mirror in the lea of the corals and palms.



Four thousand natives of Polynesian race live on the holms of the "Island Cloud," a couple of hundred on each atoll. They gather pearls and mother-of-pearl, and barter them for European goods at a ridiculously low price. On some islands, bread-fruit trees, pineapples, and bananas are grown. Animal life is very poor—rats, parrots, pigeons, thrushes, and lizards—but all the richer is the life in the sea outside. The natives are most excellent seamen, and it is hard to believe that they are lifelong prisoners on their islands. They sail with sails of matting made by the women, and have outriggers which give stability to their boats, and they cross boldly from island to island.

What does the albatross care if the French have hoisted their tricoloured flag over the atolls of the "Island Cloud" and their nearest neighbours to the west? He is absolute ruler over them all, and seizes his prey where he will.

Now he makes for the Society Islands, and takes a circuit round the largest of them, Tahiti, the finest and best known of all the islands in the southern sea. There again he sees volcanoes long since extinct, grand wild cliffs thickly covered with wood, impenetrable clumps of ferns, and luxuriant grass, while down the slopes dance lively brooks to the lagoon separated from the sea by the breakwaters of the coral master-builders. On the strand grow the ever-present cocoa palms, as distinctive of the islands of the southern sea as the date palms are of the desert regions of the Old World. Here the weather is beautiful, a warm, equable, tropical sea climate with only three or four degrees difference between winter and summer. The south-east trade-wind blows all the year round, and storms are rare visitors. The rain is moderate, and fever is unknown.

The natives take a bright and happy view of life. They deck their hair with wreaths of flowers, their gait is light and easy, and they knew no sorrow until the white man came and spoiled their life and liberty.

Now the original inhabitants of Tahiti are dying out, and are being replaced by Chinamen, Europeans, and natives from other islands to the north-west. They still, however, till their fields, put out their fishing-canoes in the lagoon, and pull down cocoa-nuts in their season. They still wear wreaths of flowers in their hair, a last relic of a happier existence. Pigeons coo in the trees, and green and blue and white parrots utter their ear-piercing screams. Horses, cattle, sheep, goats, and swine are newcomers; lizards, scorpions, flies, and mosquitoes are indigenous. The luxuriant gardens with their natural charms Europeans have not been able to destroy, and the frigate bird, the eagle of the sea, with the tail feathers of which the chiefs of Tahiti used to decorate their heads, still roosts in the trees on the strand, and seeks its food far out in the sea. The albatross cannot but notice the frigate bird. He sees in him a rival. The latter does not make such long journeys, and does not venture so far out to sea; but he is a master in the art of flying, and he is an unconscionable thief. He follows dolphins and other fishes of prey to appropriate their catch, and forces other birds to relinquish their food when they are in the act of swallowing it. When fishermen are out drawing up their nets, he skims so low over the boat that he may be stunned with an oar, and he is so attracted by bright and gaudy colours that he will shoot down recklessly on to the pennants of ships as they flutter in the wind, swinging to and fro with the roll of the vessel. He soars to an immense height, like the eagle, and no telescope can match the sharpness of his eyesight. Up aloft he can see the smallest fish disporting itself on the surface of the water. Especially he looks out for flying-fish, and catches them in the air just as they are hovering on expanded fins above the waves, or else dives after them and seizes them down below. When he has caught a fish he soars aloft, and if the fish does not lie comfortably in his bill he drops it, and catches it again before it reaches the water; and he will do this repeatedly until the fish is in a convenient position for swallowing.

Our far-travelled storm-bird continues his long journey westwards, and his next resting-place is the Samoa Islands, which he recognises by their lofty volcanic cliffs, their tuff and lava, their beautiful woods and waterfalls, as much as 650 feet high, and surrounded by the most luxuriant vegetation. Over the copses of ferns, and climbing plants, and shrubs, reminding one of India, flutter beautiful butterflies.

Around their oval huts, with roof of sugar-cane leaves and the floor inside covered with cocoa mats, are seen the yellowish-brown Polynesians, of powerful build and proud bearing. The upper parts of their bodies are bare, and they wear necklaces of shells and teeth, deck themselves with flowers and feathers, smear their bodies with cocoa oil, and tattoo themselves. Of a peaceful and happy disposition, they, too, have been disturbed by white men, and have been forced to cede their islands to Germany and the United States.

It rains abundantly on the Samoa Islands. Black clouds sink down towards the sea, violent waterspouts suck up the water in spiral columns which spread out above like the crowns of pine-trees, and deluges of rain come down, lasting sometimes for weeks. Everything becomes wet and sodden, and it is useless to try to light a fire with matches. Almost every year these islands are visited by sudden whirlwinds, which do great damage both on sea and land. Wreckage is thrown up on the shore, fields and plantations are destroyed, leaves fly like feathers from the cocoa palms, and if the storm is one of the worst kind, the trees themselves fall in long rows as if they had been mown down by a gigantic scythe.

The albatross knows of old the course of the great steamboat liners. He sees several steamers at the Samoa Islands, and afterwards on his flight to the Fiji Islands, and if the weather is overcast and stormy he leaves his fishing-grounds in the great ocean deserts and makes for some well-known steamer route. For in stormy weather he can find no soft cephalopods, but from a vessel refuse is thrown out in all weathers. He knows that the Samoa Islands are in regular communication with the Sandwich Islands, and that from these navigation routes radiate out like a star to Asia, America, and Australia.

He sails proudly past the Fiji Islands. He does not trouble himself to make an excursion to the Solomon Islands and the world of islands lying like piers of fallen bridges on the way to the coast of Asia. Though New Caledonia is so near on the west, he is not attracted to it, as the French use it as a penal settlement.

Rather will he trim his wings for the south, and soon he sees the mountains on the northern island of New Zealand rise above the horizon. Among them stands Tongariro's active volcano with its seven craters, and north-east of it lies the crater lake Taupo among cliffs of pumice-stone. North of this lake are many smaller ones, round which steam rises from hot springs, and where many fine geysers shoot up, playing like fountains.

He sees that on the southern island the mountains skirt the western coast just as in Scandinavia, that mighty glaciers descend from the eternal snow-fields, and that their streams lose themselves in most beautiful Alpine lakes. He gives a passing glance at the lofty mountain named after the great navigator Cook, which is 12,360 feet high. On the plains and slopes shepherds tend immense flocks of sheep. The woods are evergreen. In the north grow pines, whose trunks form long avenues, and whose crowns are like vaultings in a venerable cathedral. There grow beeches, and tree-ferns, and climbing plants; but the palms come to an end half-way down the southern island, for the southernmost part of the island is too cold for them.

Formerly both islands were inhabited by Maoris. They tattooed the whole of their bodies in fine and tasteful patterns, but were cannibals and stuck their enemies' heads on poles round their villages. Now there are only forty thousand of them left, and even these are doomed to extinction through white men—as in the struggle between the brown and black rats. Formerly the Maoris stalked about with their war clubs over their shoulders; now they work as day labourers in the service of the whites.

At last our albatross rises high above the coast and speeds swiftly southwards to the small island of Auckland. There he meets his mate, and for several days they are terribly busy in making ready their nest. They collect reeds, rushes, and dry grass, which they knit into a kind of high, round ball. The month of November is come and the summer has begun. In the southern hemisphere midsummer comes at Christmas and midwinter at the end of June. Then the albatrosses assemble in enormous flocks at Auckland and other small, lonely islands to breed.

ACROSS AUSTRALIA

There are still districts in the interior of the fifth continent which have never been visited by Europeans. There stretch vast sandy deserts and the country is very dry, for the rain of the south-east trade-wind falls on the mountain ranges of the east, where also the rivers flow. Fifty years ago very little was known of the interior of Australia, and a large reward was offered to the man who should first cross the continent from sea to sea.

Accordingly a big expedition was set on foot. It was equipped by the colony of Victoria. Large sums of money were contributed, and Robert Burke was chosen as leader. He was a bold and energetic man, but wanting in cool-headedness and the quiet, sure judgment necessary to conduct an expedition through unknown and desolate country.



Two dozen camels with their drivers were procured from north-west India. Provisions were obtained for a year, and all the articles purchased, even to the smallest trifles, were of the best quality money could buy. With such an equipment all Australia might have been explored little by little. When the expedition set out from Melbourne, the capital of Victoria, there was great enthusiasm; many people came out really to to look at the camels, for they had never seen this animal before, but most of them looked forward to a triumph in geographical exploration.

Burke was not alone. He had as many as fifteen Europeans with him. Some of them were men of science, who were to investigate the peculiar vegetation of the country, and the singular marsupials, the character of the rocks, the climate, and so on. One of them was named Wills. Others were servants, and had to look after the horses and transport.

The caravan started on August 20, 1860. That was the first mistake, for the heat and drought were then setting in. The men marched on undismayed, however, crossed Australia's largest river, the Murray, and came to its tributary, the Darling. There a permanent camp was pitched, and the larger part of the caravan was left there. Burke, Wills, and six other Europeans went on with five horses and sixteen camels towards the north-west, and in twenty-one days reached the river Cooper, which runs into Lake Eyre.

Here another camp was set up, several excursions were made in the neighbourhood, and a messenger was sent to the Darling to hurry up the men left behind. The messenger loitered, however, one week passed after another, and when nothing was heard of the men, Burke decided to march northwards with only three companions, Wills and the two servants King and Gray, six camels, two horses, and provisions for three months, and cross the continent to the coast of Queensland on the Gulf of Carpentaria. The other four were to remain with their horses and camels where they were until Burke came back, and were to leave the place only if absolutely obliged to do so.

All went well at first, but the country was troublesome and rough, wild and undulating (Plate XXXVIII.). As long as the explorers followed the sandy bed of the Cooper River they found pools of water in sufficient numbers. At midday the temperature in the shade was 97 deg., but it fell at night to 73 deg., when they felt quite cold.

Then they passed from bed to bed of temporary streams, carrying water only in the rainy season, and there the usual pools of water remained in the shade of dense copses of grass-trees, boxwood and gum-trees or eucalyptus. The last named were evidently not of the same species as the world-renowned blue gum-tree which occurs in Victoria and Tasmania, for this dries up marshes and unhealthy tracts and grows to its height of 65 feet in seven years. But the giant gum-tree is still more remarkable, for it attains a height of over 400 feet, and another species of eucalyptus has reached 500 feet.

The party had also to cross dreary plains of sand and tracts of clay cracked by the drought, and there they had to have their leather sacks filled with water. Sometimes they saw flocks of pigeons flying northwards, and were sure of finding water soon if they followed in the same direction. At some places there had been rain, so that a little grass had sprung up; in others the saltbushes were perishing from drought.

The animal life was very scanty. In the brief notes of the expedition few forms are mentioned except pigeons and ducks, wild geese, pelicans and certain other waders, parrots, snakes, fishes, and rats. They saw no kangaroos—those curious jumping and springing animals which carry their young for seven months in a pouch on the belly, and are as peculiar to Australia as the llama to South America; nor do the travellers speak of dingoes, the wild dogs of Australia, which are a terror to sheep farmers.

They saw Australian blacks clad with shields, long spears, and boomerangs, and nothing else. These naked, low-typed savages sometimes gave them fish in exchange for beads, matches, and other trifles. They were active as monkeys in the trees when they were hunting the beasts of the forest, but when they saw the camels they usually took to their heels. They had never seen such kangaroos before, with long legs both back and front, and also humpbacked.

After the travellers had crossed a hilly tract they had not far to go to the coast. From the last camp Burke and Wills marched through swamps and woods of palms and mangroves, but they never caught sight of the waters of the Gulf of Carpentaria. Forests hid them and swamps intervened when they were quite close to the shore. Burke had attained his aim: he had crossed Australia. But his exploit was of little use or satisfaction, least of all to himself, for his return was a succession of disasters, the most terrible journey ever undertaken in the fifth continent. Thunder, lightning, and deluges of rain marked the start southwards. The lightning flashes followed one another so closely that the palms and gum-trees were lighted up in the middle of the night as in the day. The ground was turned into a continuous swamp. In order to spare the camels, the tents had been left behind. Everything became moist, and the men grew languid; and when the rain ceased drought set in again and oppressive, suffocating heat, so that they longed for night as for a friend.

An emaciated horse was left behind. A snake eight feet long was killed, and following the example of the savages they ate its flesh, but were sick after it. Once when they were encamping in a cave in a valley, a downpour of rain came, filled the valley, and threatened to carry away themselves and their camp. Mosquitoes tormented them, and sometimes they had to lose a day when the ground was turned into slough by the rain.

One man sickened and died, but on April 21 the three men were in sight of the camp where their comrades had been ordered to await their return. Burke thought that he could see them in the distance. How eager they were to get there! Here they would find all necessaries, and, above all, would be saved from starvation, which had already carried off one of the four.

But the spot was deserted. Not a living thing remained. There were only on a tree trunk the words "Dig. April 21." They digged and found a letter telling them that their comrades had left the place the same day, only a few hours before. Fortunately they found also a supply of flour, rice, sugar, and dried meat enough to last them until they reached a station inhabited by whites. But where were the clothes to replace their worn rags, which would scarcely hang together on their bodies? After four months of hard travelling and constant privations they were so overcome by weariness that every step was an effort, and now they had come to the camp only to find that their comrades had gone off the same day, neglecting their duty. Fate could not have treated them more cruelly.

Burke asked Wills and King whether they thought that they could overtake their comrades, but both answered no. Their last two camels were worn out, whereas the animals of the other men were, according to the letter, in excellent condition. A sensible man would have tried to reach them, or at least have followed their trail, and this Wills and King wanted to do. But Burke proposed a more westerly route, which he expected would be better and safer, and which led to the town of Adelaide in South Australia. It ran past Mount Hopeless, an unlucky name.

All went well at first, as long as they had flour and rice and could obtain from the natives fish and nardoo, ground seeds of the clover fern. They even ate rats, roasting them whole on the embers, skin and all, and found them well flavoured. One camel died, and the other soon refused to move. He supplied them with a store of meat. But their provisions came to an end, and, what was worse, water ceased on the way to Mount Hopeless.

Then they decided to return to the abandoned camp. On the way they kept alive on fish which they sometimes procured from natives, having nothing else but nardoo seeds plucked from the clover fern. Half dead with hunger and weariness they came back to the camp.

Midwinter, the end of June, was come, and the nights were cold. It was decided that Burke and King should go out and look for natives. Wills was unable to go with them, and was given a small supply of seeds and water.

After two days slow travelling Burke could go no farther. King shot a crow, which they ate, but Burke's strength was exhausted. One evening he said to his servant, "I hope that you will remain with me until I am really dead. Then leave me without burying me." Next morning he was dead.

Then King hurried back to Wills and found him dead also. The last words he had entered, four days before, in his journal were: "Can live four or five days longer at most, if it keeps warm. Pulse 48, very weak."

When the travellers were not heard of, the worst fears were entertained, and relief expeditions were despatched from Melbourne, Adelaide, and Brisbane, and in Sydney and other towns Burke's fate was discussed with anxiety. At length they found King, who had gained the confidence of the natives and had sojourned with them for two months, living as they did. He was unrecognisable and half out of his mind, but he recovered under the careful treatment he received. The two dead men were buried, Burke wrapped in the Union Jack. Later on his remains were carried to Melbourne, where a fine monument marks his grave. This is almost all that remains of an expedition which started out with such fair prospects, but which came to grief at the foot of Mount Hopeless.



VI

THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN AND THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE

We have now surveyed the earth's mainland, islands, and seas. We have seen how man by his endurance and thirst for knowledge has penetrated everywhere, how he has wandered over the hottest deserts and the coldest mountains. The nearer we come to our own times, the more eager have explorers become, and we no longer suffer blank patches to exist on our maps. The most obstinate resistance to the advance of man has been presented by the Poles and their surroundings, where the margin of the eternal ice seems to call out a peremptory "Thus far shalt thou come, but no farther." But even the boundless ice-packs could not deter the bold and resolute seafarers. One vessel after another was lost, crew and all, but the icy sea was constantly ploughed by fresh keels. The North Pole naturally exercised the greater attraction, for it lies nearer to Europe, amidst the Arctic Ocean, which is enclosed between the coasts of Asia, Europe, and North America.

In the "forties" of last century, English and American explorers were occupied in searching for a north-west passage, or a navigable channel for vessels making by the shortest route from the North Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean. Let us look at the story of a famous expedition which set out to find this passage.

Sir John Franklin was an officer in the Royal Navy. He had led expeditions by land and sea, in both the northern and southern hemispheres, and in particular had mapped considerable areas of the north coast of America east of Behring Strait. Most of the coast of the mainland was thus known, and it remained only to find a channel between the large islands to the north of it. Such a passage must exist, but whether it was available for navigation was another question. A number of learned and experienced men decided to send out a large and well-furnished expedition for the purpose of effecting the north-west passage. The whole English people took up the scheme with enthusiasm. Hundreds of courageous men volunteered for the voyage, and Admiral Sir John Franklin was appointed leader of the expedition, from which neither he nor any of his subordinates was ever to return.



The ships chosen were the Erebus and Terror, which (as we shall see later) had already made a voyage to South Polar regions, and which were now refitted from keel to topmasts. Captain Crozier was the second in command and captain of the Terror, while Franklin hoisted his flag on the Erebus, where Captain James was under him. The members of the expedition were chosen with the greatest care, and when they were all mustered, the vessels had on board twenty-three officers and a hundred and eleven men. Provisions were taken for three years, and the vessels were fitted with small auxiliary engines, which had never before been tried in Polar seas.

The constituted authorities drew up a plan which Franklin was to follow, but he was left free to act as he thought proper when circumstances demanded alterations. The main thing was to sail north of America from the Atlantic side and come out into the Pacific Ocean through Behring Strait.

The Erebus and Terror left England on May 19, 1845. All officers and men were full of the most lively expectations of success, and were resolved to do all in their power to achieve the object of the expedition. They passed the Orkney Islands and on Midsummer Day saw the southern extremity of Greenland, Cape Farewell, disappear to windward. Next day they encountered the first ice, huge floating icebergs of wild, jagged form or washed into rounded lumps by the action of the waves, and ten days later the ships anchored near Disko Island, on the west coast of Greenland. Here they met another vessel which had come up north with an additional store of provisions and equipment. Its captain, the last man who spoke with Franklin and the members of the expedition, said that he had never seen a finer set of men so well prepared and so eager for their work. He thought that they could go anywhere.

On July 26 the Erebus and Terror were seen, for the last time, by an English whaler. After that day the fate of the most unfortunate of all Polar expeditions was involved in an obscurity much denser than that which surrounded Gordon in Khartum after the telegraph line was cut. What is known only came to light many years later through the relief expeditions that were sent out, or was communicated by parties of wandering Eskimos.

Meanwhile the voyage was continued north-westwards between two large islands into Lancaster Sound. Soon progress was delayed by masses of pack ice, and the engines were found to be so weak that they could be used only in smooth, open water. In another sound, to the north, the water was open, and here the ships managed to sail 150 miles before the ice set fast again. Then they passed through another open sound back to the south. Early autumn had now come, and all the hills and mountains were covered with snow and fresh ice was forming in the sound. Here Franklin laid the Erebus and Terror up for the winter, having found fairly sheltered anchorage at a small island.

What kind of life the men led on board during the long winter we do not know. We can only conjecture that the officers read and studied, and that the men were employed in throwing up banks of snow reaching up above the bulwarks to keep in the warmth; that snow huts were built on the ice and on land for scientific observations; and that a hole was kept open day and night that water might always be procurable in case of fire when the pumps were frozen into pillars of ice. When the long night was over and February came with a faint illumination to the south, and when the sky grew brighter day by day till at last the expedition welcomed the return of the sun, probably men and officers made excursions to the neighbouring islands to hunt. Their hopes revived with the increasing light. Only 260 miles of unknown coast remained of the north-west passage, and they believed that the New Year would see them return home. The sun remained longer and longer above the horizon, and at last the long Polar day commenced.

When the Erebus and Terror were released in late summer from their prison of ice, and the small island could at last be left, three sailors remained on the beach. Their gravestones, carved with a few simple words, were found five years later by a relief expedition, and they constitute the only proof that Franklin wintered at this particular spot.

To the south lay an open channel, and this southern passage must in time bend to the west. Mile after mile the vessels sailed southwards, carefully avoiding the drifting ice. East and west were seen the coasts of islands, and in front, in the distance, could be descried King William Land, a large island which is the nearest neighbour to the mainland. The north-west passage was nearly accomplished, for it was now only about 120 miles westward to coasts already known. How hopelessly long this distance seemed, however, when the vessels were caught in the grip of the ice only a day or two later! Firmer and firmer the ice froze and heaped itself up round the Erebus and Terror; the days became shorter, the second winter drew on with rapid strides, and preparations to meet it were made as in the preceding year. The vessels lay frozen in on the seventieth parallel, or a little south of the northernmost promontory of Scandinavia; but here there was no Gulf Stream to keep the sea open with its warm water. Little did the officers and crew suspect that the waves would never again splash round the hulls of the Erebus and Terror.

We can well believe that they were not so cheerful this winter as in the former. The vessels were badly placed in the ice, in an open roadstead without the shelter of a coast. They lay as in a vice, and the hulls creaked and groaned under the constant pressure. Life on board such an imprisoned vessel must be full of unrest. The vessel seems to moan and complain, and pray that it may escape to the waves again. The men must wonder how long it will hold out, and must be always prepared for a deafening crash when the planks will give way and the ship, crushed like a nutshell, will sink at once. But worst of all is the darkness when the sun sets for the last time.

However, the winter passed at last, and the sun came back. It grew gradually light in the passages below deck, and it was no longer necessary to light a candle to read by in the evening. Soon there was no night at all, but the sun shone the whole twenty-four hours, and all the brighter because the vessels were surrounded by nothing but ice and snow. Far to the south and east were seen the hills on King William Land. If only the ice would release its hold and begin to drift! But the pack-ice still remained to the westward, and it was possible of course that the vessels had been damaged by the pressure.

Two officers with six men undertook a journey to the south coast of King William Land, whence the mainland of North America could be descried in clear weather. At their turning-point they deposited in a cairn a narrative of the most important events that had happened on board up to date. This small document was found many years after. The little party returned with good news and bright hopes, but found sorrow on the ships. Admiral Franklin lay on his deathbed. The suspense had lasted too long for him. He just heard that the north-west passage had been practically discovered, and died a few days later, in June, 1847. This was fortunate for him. His life had been a career of manliness and courage, and he might well go to sleep with a smile of victory on his lips. But we can imagine the gloom cast upon the expedition by the death of its leader.

It was now the season when the ice begins to move, and open water may be expected. No doubt they made excursions in all directions to find out where the surge of the salt sea was nearest. Perhaps they resorted to ice saws and powder to get out, but in vain; the ice held them fast. However, they were delighted to find that the whole pack was moving southwards. Could they reach the mainland in this way? A great American company, named after Hudson's Bay, had small trading-posts far in the north. If they could only reach one of them they would be saved.

Autumn came on, and their hope of getting free was disappointed. To try and reach the mainland now when winter was approaching was not to be thought of, for in winter no game is to be found in these endless wastes, and a journey southwards meant therefore death by starvation. In summer, on the other hand, there was a prospect of falling in with reindeer and musk oxen, those singular Polar animals as much like sheep as oxen, which live on lichens and mosses and do not wander farther south than the sixtieth parallel. In the western half of North America the southern limit of the musk ox coincides with the northern limit of trees. A herd of twenty or thirty musk oxen would have saved Franklin's distressed mariners. If they could only have found Polar bears, or, even better, seals or whales, with their thick layer of blubber beneath the hide; and Arctic hares would not have been despised if in sufficient numbers! But the season was too far advanced, and the wild animals had retreated before the cold and the abundant snow which covered their scanty food. No doubt the officers deliberated on the plan they should adopt. They had maps and books on board and knew fairly accurately how far they had to travel to the nearest trading-posts of the Hudson's Bay Company, and on the way they had every prospect of finding game and meeting Eskimos. It was decided to pass the third winter on board.

The cold increased day by day, and the length of the days became shorter. The sun still rose, described a flat arch to the south, and sank after an hour and a half. Soon the days lasted only half an hour, until one day they had only a glimpse of the sun's upper curve glittering for a moment like a flashing ruby above the horizon. Next day there was twilight at noon, but at any rate there was a reflection of the sunset red. During the following weeks the gloominess became more and more intense. At noon, however, there was still a perceptible light, and the blood-red streak appeared to the south, throwing a dull purple tinge over the ice-pack. Then this dim illumination faded away also, and the Polar night, which at this latitude lasts sixty days and at the North Pole itself six months, was come, and the stars sparkled like torches on the bluish-black background even when the bell struck midday in the officers' mess.

Those who for the first time winter in high northern latitudes find a wonderful charm even in the Polar night. They are astonished at the deep silence in the cold darkness, at the rushing, moaning howl of the snowstorms, and even at the overwhelming solitude and the total absence of life. Nothing, however, excites their astonishment and admiration so much as the "northern lights." We know that the magnetic and electric forces of the earth time after time envelop practically the whole globe in a mantle of light, but this mysterious phenomenon is still unexplained. Usually the aurora is inconstant. It flashes out suddenly, quivers for a moment in the sky, and then grows pale and vanishes. Most lasting are the bow-shaped northern lights, which sometimes stretch their milk-white arches high above the horizon. It may be that only one half of the arch is visible, rising like a pillar of light over the field of vision. Another time the aurora takes the form of flames and rays, red below and green above, and darting rapidly over the sky. Farther north the light is more yellowish. If groups of rays seem to converge to the same point, they are described as an auroral crown. Beautiful colours change quickly in these bundles of rays, but exceedingly seldom is the light as strong as that of the full moon. The light is grandest when it seems to fall like unrolled curtains vertically down, and is in undulating motion as though it fluttered in the wind.

To the sailors in the ice-bound ships, however, the northern lights had lost their fascination. Enfeebled and depressed, disgusted with bad provisions, worn out with three years' hardships, they lay on their berths listening to the ticking of their watches. The only break in their monotonous existence was when a death occurred. The carpenter had plenty of work, and Captain Crozier knew the funeral service by heart. Nine officers and eleven of the crew died during the last two winters, and certainly a far greater number in the third. This we know from a small slip of paper well sealed up and deposited in a cairn on the coast, which was found eleven years afterwards.

At length the months of darkness again came to an end. The red streak appeared once more in the south, and it gradually grew lighter. Twilight followed in the footsteps of darkness, and at last the first sun's rays glistened above the horizon. Then the men awakened once more to new hope; Brahmins on the bank of the Ganges never welcomed the rising sun with more delight.

With increasing daylight came greater opportunity and disposition to work. Several sledges were made ready, heavy and clumsy, but strong. Three whale-boats, which for three years had hung fast frozen to the davits, were loosened and hauled on to the ice. The best of the provisions still remaining in the store-room were taken out, and great piles of things were raised round the boats. When everything to be taken was down on the ice, the stores, tents, instruments, guns, ammunition, and all the other articles were packed on the sledges. The three whale-boats were bound with ropes, each on a separate sledge, and a sledge with a comfortable bed was assigned to the invalids. During all this work the days had grown longer, and at last the men could no longer control their eagerness to set out. This early start sealed their fate, for neither game nor Eskimos come up so far north till the summer is well advanced, and even with the sledges fully laden, their provisions would last only forty days.

On April 22, 1848, the signal for departure was given, and the heavy sledges creaked slowly and in jerks over the uneven snow-covered ice. Axes, picks, and spades were constantly in use to break to pieces the sharp ridges and blocks in the way. The distance to King William Land was only 15 miles, yet it took them three days to get there. The masts and hulls of the Erebus and Terror grew smaller all too slowly, but they vanished at last. Captain Crozier perceived that it was impossible to proceed in this manner, so all the baggage was looked through again and every unnecessary article was discarded. At this place one of the relief expeditions found quantities of things, uniform decorations, brass buttons, metal articles, etc., which no doubt had been thought suitable for barter with Eskimos and Indians.

With lightened sledges, they marched on along the west coast. They had not travelled far when John Irving, lieutenant on the Terror, died. Dressed in his uniform, wrapped in sailcloth, and with a silk handkerchief round his head, he was interred between stones set on end and covered with a flat slab. On his head was laid a silver medal with an inscription on the obverse side, "Second prize in Mathematics at the Royal Naval College. Awarded to John Irving, Midsummer, 1830." Owing to the medal the deceased officer was identified long after, and so in time was laid to rest in his native town.

Two bays on the west coast of King William Land have been named after the unfortunate ships. At the shore of the northern, Erebus Bay, the strength of the English seamen was so weakened that they had to abandon two of the boats, together with the sledges on which they had been drawn so far uselessly. At their arrival at Terror Bay the bonds of comradeship were no longer strong enough to keep the party together, or it may be that they agreed to separate. They were now less than a hundred men. At any rate, they divided into two parties, probably of nearly equal strength. The one, which evidently consisted of the more feeble, turned back towards the ships, where at least they would obtain shelter against wind and weather, and where there were provisions left. The other continued along the south coast with the whale-boat, and intended to cross to the mainland and try to reach the Great Fish River. No doubt, when they had been succoured themselves, they meant to return to their distressed comrades.

Terrible must have been the march of the returning party, and terrible also that of those who went on. Of the former we know next to nothing. The latter marched and marched, dragging their heavy sledges after them till they died one after another. There was no longer any thought of burying the dead. Every one had to take care of himself. If a dying man lagged behind, the others could not stop on his account. Some died as they were walking: this was proved afterwards by the skeletons which were found lying on their faces. Not a trace of game was found in May and June on the island, and they dragged their heavy ammunition boxes and guns to no purpose, not firing a shot.

Now the small remnant waited only for open water to cross the sound to the mainland. At the beginning of June the ice broke up, and it may be taken for granted that at this time the survivors actually crossed, for the boat was afterwards found in a bay called Starvation Cove. If only the boat had been found here, it might have been drifted over by wind and waves; but skeletons and articles both in and outside the boat were found, showing that it was manned when it passed over the sound and when it landed.

Many circumstances connected with this sad journey are mysterious. Why did the men drag the heavy whale-boat with them for two months when they must have seen the mainland to the south the year before, on the excursion which they undertook when the Admiral was lying on his deathbed? Where the sound is narrowest it is only three miles broad; and, besides, they could have crossed anywhere on the ice. But as all died and as not a line in a diary came to light, we know nothing about it.

When no news was heard of Franklin after two years, the first relief expeditions were sent out. Time passed, and it became still more certain that he was in need of help. In the autumn of 1850 fifteen ships were on the outlook for him. The most courageous and energetic of all, who for years would not give up hope of seeing him again, was Franklin's wife. She spent all her means in relief work. In the course of six years the English Government disbursed L890,000 in relief expeditions. Most of them were useless, for when they set out the disaster had already taken place. One expedition which sailed in 1848 was caught in the ice, and resorted to a singular means of sending information to the distressed men, wherever they might be. About a hundred foxes were caught and fitted with brass collars, in which a short description of the position of the relief ship was engraved, and then the foxes were let loose again.

In 1854 the names of Franklin, Crozier, and all the other men were removed from the muster roll of the Royal Navy. A statue of Franklin was set up in his native town, and a memorial of marble was erected in Westminster Abbey with the words of Tennyson:

Not here! the white North has thy bones; and thou Heroic sailor-soul, Art passing on thine happier voyage now Toward no earthly pole.

THE VOYAGE OF THE "VEGA"

A brilliant remembrance of the Arctic Ocean is the pride of the Swedes. The north-west passage had been discovered by Englishmen; but the north-east passage, which for 350 years had been attempted by all seafaring nations, was not yet achieved. By a series of voyages to Spitzbergen, Greenland, and the Yenisei, Adolf Nordenskioeld had made himself an experienced Polar voyager. He perfected a scheme to sail along the north coasts of Europe and Asia and through the Behring Strait out into the Pacific Ocean. His plan, then, was nothing less than to circumnavigate Asia and Europe, an exploit which had never been performed and which the learned declared to be impossible. It was thought that the ice-pack always lay pressed up against the Siberian coast, rendering it impossible to get past; parts had been already sailed along and stretches of coasts were known, but to voyage all the way to the Behring Strait was out of the question.

Now Nordenskioeld reasoned that the ice must begin to drift in summer, and leave an open channel close to the land. The great Siberian rivers, the Obi, the Yenisei, and the Lena, bring down volumes of warm water from southern regions into the Arctic Ocean. As this water is fresh, it must spread itself over the heavier sea water, and must form a surface current which keeps the ice at a distance and the passage open. Along the ice-free coast a vessel could sail anywhere and pass out into the Pacific Ocean before the end of summer.

Accordingly he made ready for a voyage in which the Vega was to sail round Asia and Europe and carry his name to the ends of the earth. The Vega was a whaler built to encounter drift ice in the northern seas. A staff of scientific observers was appointed, and a crew of seventeen Swedish men-of-war's men were selected. The Vega was to be the home of thirty men, and provisions were taken for two years. Smaller vessels were to accompany her for part of the voyage, laden with coal.

The Vega left Carlskrona in June, 1878, and steamed along the coast of Norway, past the North Cape, towards the east. The islands of Novaia Zemlia were left behind, the waters of the Obi and Yenisei splashed against the hull, no drift ice opposed the passage of the Swedish vessel, and on August 19 Cape Cheliuskin, the most northern point of the Old World, was reached.

Farther east the coast was followed to Nordenskioeld Sea. Great caution was necessary, for the fairway was shallow, and the Vega often steamed across bays which were represented as land on maps. The delta of the Lena was left behind, and to the east of this only small rivers enter the sea. Nordenskioeld therefore feared that the last bit of the voyage would be the hardest, for open water along the coast could not be depended upon. At the end of August the most westerly of the group called the New Siberia Islands was sighted. The Vega could not go at full speed, for the sea was shallow, and floating fragments of ice were in the way. The prospects became brighter again, however, open water stretching for a long distance eastwards.

On September 6 two large skin boats appeared, full of fur-clad natives who had rowed out from land. All the men on the Vega, except the cook, hastened on deck to look at these unexpected visitors of Chukchi race. They rushed up the companion ladder, talking and laughing, and were well received, being given tobacco, Dutch clay pipes, old clothes, and other presents. None of the Vega men understood a word they said, but the Chukchis chattered gaily all the same, and with their hands full of presents tumbled down to their boats again and rowed home.

Two days later the Vega was in the midst of ice and fog, and had to be moored to a floe near land. Then came more Chukchis, who pulled the Swedes by the collar and pointed to the skin tents on land. The invitation was accepted with pleasure by several of the Vega men, who rowed to land and went from tent to tent. In one of them reindeer meat was boiling in a cast-iron pot over the fire. Outside another two reindeer were being cut up. Each tent contained an inner sleeping-room of deerskin, which was lighted and warmed by lamps of train oil. There played small stark-naked children, plump and chubby as little pigs, and sometimes they ran in the same light attire out over the rime between the tents. The tiniest were carried, well wrapped up in furs, on the backs of their fathers and mothers, and whatever pranks they played these small wild cats never heard a harsh word from their elders.

The next day the Vega tried to continue her voyage, but the fog was too dense, and the shelter of a mass of ground ice had again to be sought. Nordenskioeld was, however, sure of gaining the Pacific Ocean in a short time, and when fresh visitors came on board he distributed tobacco and other presents among them with a lavish hand. He also distributed a number of krona[21] pieces and fifty earrings which, if any misfortune happened to the Vega, would serve to show her course.

During the following days the ice closed up and fog lay dense over the sea. Only now and then could the vessel sail a short distance, and then was stopped and had to moor again. On September 18 the vessel glided gently and cautiously between huge blocks of grounded ice like castle walls and towers of glass. Here patience and great care were necessary, for the coast was unknown and there was frequently barely a span of water beneath the keel. The captain stood on the bridge, and wherever there was a gap between the ice-blocks he made for it. It was only possible to sail in the daytime, and at night the Vega lay fastened by her ice anchors. One calm and fine evening some of our seafarers went ashore and lighted an enormous bonfire of driftwood. Here they sat talking of the warm countries they would sail past for two months. They were only a few miles from the easternmost extremity of Asia at Behring Strait.

The Vega had anchored on the eastern side of Koliuchin Bay. It was September 28. Newly formed ice had stretched a tough sheet between the scattered blocks of ground ice, and to the east lay an ice-belt barely six miles broad. If only a south wind would spring up, the pack would drift northwards, and the last short bit of the north-east passage would be traversed.

But the Fates decreed otherwise. No wind appeared, the temperature fell, and the ice increased in thickness. If the Vega had come a few hours sooner, she would not have been stopped on the very threshold of the Pacific Ocean. And how easily might these few hours have been saved during the voyage! The Vega was entrapped so unexpectedly in the ice that there was not even time to look for safe and sheltered winter quarters. She lay about a mile from the coast exposed to the northern storms. Under strong ice pressure she might easily drift southwards, run aground, capsize, or be crushed.

The ice-pack became heavier in all directions, and by October 10 the Chukchis were able to come out on foot to the vessel. Preparations were made for the winter. High banks of snow were thrown up around, and on the deck a thick layer of snow was left to keep the heat in. From the bridge to the bow was stretched a large awning, under which the Chukchis were received daily. It was like a market-place, and here barter trade was carried on. A collection of household utensils, implements of the chase, clothes, and indeed everything which the northern people made with their own hands, was acquired during the winter.

The Vega soon became quite a rendezvous for the three hundred Chukchis living in the neighbourhood, and one team of dogs after another came daily rushing through the snow. They had small, light sledges drawn by six to ten dogs, shaggy and strong, but thin and hungry. The dogs had to lie waiting in the snow on the ice while their masters sat bargaining under the large awning. At every baking on board special loaves were made for the native visitors, who would sit by the hour watching the smith shaping the white hot iron on his anvil. Women and children were regaled with sugar and cakes, and all the visitors went round and looked about just as they liked on the deck, where a quantity of articles, weapons, and utensils lay about. Not the smallest trifle disappeared. The Chukchis were honest and decent people, and the only roguery they permitted themselves was to try and persuade the men of the Vega that a skinned and decapitated fox was a hare. When it grew dusk the fur-clad Polar savages went down the staircase of ice from the deck, put their teams in order, took their seats in the sledges, and set off again over the ice to their tents of reindeer skins.

The winter was stormy and severe. Clouds of snow swept over the ice, fine and dry as flour. Again and again the cold scene was lighted up by the arcs of the aurora. In the middle of December the planks in the sides of the Vega cracked as the ice pressed against her. If the pressure had been bad, the vessel might have been broken to pieces and have sunk in a few minutes. It would not have been so serious for the crew as in the case of the Erebus and Terror, for here there were people far and near. But to ensure a safe retreat, the men of the Vega carried to the nearest shore provisions, guns, and ammunition to last a hundred men for thirty days. These things were all stacked up into a heap covered with sails and oars. No watch was kept at the depot, and though the Chukchis knew that valuable goods lay under the sails, they never touched a thing.

Near the Vega two holes were kept always open. In one the captain observed the rise and fall of the tide; the other was for water in case of fire. A small seal splashed for a long time in one of the holes and came up on to the ice after fishing below. One day his retreat was cut off and he was caught and brought up on deck. When fish bought from the Chukchis had been offered him in vain, he was let loose in the hole again and he never came back.

A house of ice was erected for the purpose of observing the wind and weather, and a thermometer cage was set up on the coast. Men took turns to go out, and each observer remained six hours at the ice-house and the cage to read off the various instruments. It was bitterly cold going out when the temperature fell to-51 deg., but the compulsory walk was beneficial. One danger was that a man might lose his way when snowstorms raged in the dark winter nights, so a line was stretched the whole way, supported on posts of ice, and with this guide it was impossible to go astray.

Then came Christmas, when they slaughtered two fat pigs which had been brought on purpose. The middle deck was swept out, all the litter was cleared away, and flags were hung round the walls and ceiling. The Chukchis brought willow bushes from the valleys beyond the mountains to the south, and branches were fastened round a trunk of driftwood. This was the Vega's Christmas tree, and it was decked with strips of coloured paper and small wax candles. Officers and men swung round in merry dance beneath flaming lanterns suspended from the roof. Two hundred Christmas boxes were found packed on board, parting gifts of friends and acquaintances. For these lots were drawn, and many amusing surprises excited general hilarity. So the polka was danced on the deck, while cold reigned outside and snow whizzed through the frozen rigging. For supper there was ham and Christmas ale, just as at home in Sweden. Old well-known songs echoed through the saloon, and toasts were given of king and country, officers and men, and the fine little vessel which had carried our Vikings from their home in the west to their captivity in the shore ice of Siberia.

The winter ran its course and the days lengthened in the spring. Cold and continual storms were persistent. Even a Chukchi dog can have too much of them. One day at the end of February a Chukchi who had lost his way came on board, carrying a dog by the hind legs. The man had lost his way on the ice, and had slept out in the cold with his dog. A capital dinner was served for him on the middle deck, and the dog was rolled about and pommelled till he came to life again.

During the spring the Vega explorers made several longer or shorter excursions with dog sledges and visited all the villages in the country. Of course they became the best of friends with the Chukchis. The language was the difficulty at first, but somehow or other they learned enough of it to make themselves understood. Even the sailors struggled with the Chukchi vocabulary, and tried to teach their savage friends Swedish. One of the officers learned to speak Chukchi fluently, and compiled a dictionary of this peculiar language.

Summer came on, but the ground was not free from ice until July. The Vega still lay fast as in a vice. On July 18 Nordenskioeld made ready for another excursion on land. The captain had long had the engines ready and the boilers cleaned. Just as they were sitting at dinner in the ward-room they felt the Vega roll a little. The captain rushed up on deck. The pack had broken up and left a free passage open. "Fire under the boilers!" was the order, and two hours later, at half-past three o'clock, the Vega glided under steam and sail and a festoon of flags away from the home of the Chukchis.

Farther east the sea was like a mirror and free of ice beneath the fog. Walruses raised their shiny wet heads above the water, in which numerous seals disported themselves. With the wildest delight the Vega expedition sailed southwards through Behring Strait. In the year 1553 a daring Englishman had commenced the quest of the north-east passage and had perished with all his men, and during the following centuries numberless other expeditions had tried to solve the problem, but always in vain; now it was solved by Swedes. The vessel glided out into the Pacific Ocean without a leak; not a man had been lost and not one had been seriously ill. It was one of the most fortunate and most brilliant Polar voyages that had ever been achieved.

Yokohama was the first port, where the Vega was welcomed with immense jubilation, and then the homeward journey via the Suez Canal and Gibraltar became a continuous triumphal procession.

NANSEN

From many signs around the northern cap of the world a young Norwegian, Fridtjof Nansen, came to the conclusion that a constant current must flow from the neighbourhood of Behring Strait to the east coast of Greenland.

Nansen resolved to make use of this current. Others had gone up from the Atlantic side and been driven back by the current. He would start from the opposite side and get the help of the current. Others had feared and avoided the pack-ice. He would make for it and allow himself to be caught in it. Others had sailed in unsuitable vessels which had been crushed like nut-shells among the floes. He would build a vessel with sides sloping inwards which would afford no hold to the ice. The more the ice pressed the more surely would this ship be lifted up out of the water and be borne safely on the ice with the current.

The progress would be slow, no doubt, but the expedition would see regions of the world never before visited, and would have opportunities of investigating the depth of the sea, the weather and winds. To reach the small point called the North Pole was in Nansen's opinion of minor importance.



Among the many who wished to go with him he chose the best twelve. The vessel was christened the Fram (Plate XXXIX.), and the captain was named Sverdrup. He had been with Nansen before on an expedition when they crossed the inland ice of Greenland from coast to coast. They took provisions for five years and were excellently equipped.

The first thing was to reach the New Siberia Islands. To those the Vega had shown the way, and the Fram had only to follow in her track. Just to the west of them a course was steered northwards, and soon the vessel was set fast in the ice and was lifted satisfactorily on to its surface without the smallest leak. So far everything had gone as Nansen anticipated, and the experienced Polar voyagers who had declared that the whole scheme was madness had to acknowledge that they were not so clever as they thought.

We have unfortunately no time to accompany the voyagers on their slow journey. They got on well, and were comfortable on board. The ice groaned and cracked as usual, but within the heavy timbers of the Fram there was peace. The night came, long, dark, and silent. Polar bears stalked outside and were often shot. Before it became quite dark Nansen tried the dogs at drawing sledges. They were harnessed, but when he took his seat, off they went in the wildest career. They romped over blocks and holes, and Nansen was thrown backwards, but sat fast in the sledge and could not be thrown out. In time the driving went better, and the poor, faithful animals had always to go on sledge excursions. Two were seized by Polar bears and two were bitten to death by their comrades. One fine day, however, puppies came into the world in the midst of the deepest darkness. When they first saw the sun they barked furiously.

The Fram drifted north-west just as Nansen had foreseen, passing over great depths where the two thousand fathom line did not reach the bottom. Christmas was kept with a Norwegian festival, and when the eightieth parallel was crossed a tremendous feast was held; but the return of the sun on February 20 excited the greatest delight. The spring and summer passed without any remarkable events. Kennels were erected on the ice out of boxes, and more puppies came into the world. Possibly these were as much astonished at the winter darkness as their cousins had been at seeing the sun.

Nansen had long been pondering on a bold scheme—namely, to advance with dog sledges as far as possible to the north and then turn southwards to Franz Josef Land. The ship was meanwhile to go on with the drift and the usual observations were to be taken on board. Only one man was to go with him, and he chose Lieutenant Johansen. He first spoke to him about the scheme in November, 1894. It was, of course, a matter of life or death, so he told Johansen to take a day or two to think it over before he gave his answer. But the latter said "Yes" at once without a moment's hesitation. "Then we will begin our preparations to-morrow," said Nansen.

All the winter was spent in them. They made two "kayaks," each to hold a single man, somewhat larger and stronger than those the Eskimos use when they go fishing or seal-hunting. With a frame of ribs and covered with sailcloth these canoes weighed only thirty pounds. They were covered in all over, and when the boatman had taken his seat in the middle and made all tight around him, seas might sweep right over him and the kayak without doing any harm. A dog sledge, harness, a sleeping-bag for two, skis, staffs, provisions, oil cooking-stove—all was made ready.

The start took place at the turn of the year, when the most terrible ice pressure broke loose on all sides threatening the Fram. Mountains of ice-blocks and snow were thrust against the vessel, which was in danger of being buried under them. The sea water was forced up over the ice and the dogs were nearly drowned in their kennels and had to be rescued quickly. Banks of ice were pushed against the vessel, rolled over the bulwarks, and weighed down the awning on the deck; and it was pitch dark, so that they could not find out where danger threatened. They had, however, stored provisions for two hundred days in a safe place. By degrees the ice came to rest again and the great rampart was digged away.

Twice did Nansen and Johansen set out northwards, only to come back again. Once a sledge broke, and on the other occasion the load was too heavy. On March 14 they left the Fram for the last time and directed their steps northward. They had three sledges and twenty-eight dogs, but they themselves walked on skis and looked after their teams. At first the ice was level and the pace was rapid, but afterwards it became lumpy and uneven, and travelling was slow, as first one sledge and then another stuck fast.

After two marches the temperature fell to-45 deg., and it was very cold in the small silk tent. They were able to march for nine hours, and when the ice was level it seemed as if the endless white plains might extend up to the Pole. So long as they were travelling they did not feel the cold, but the perspiration from their bodies froze in their clothes, so that they were encased in a hauberk of ice which cracked at every step. Nansen's wrists were made sore by rubbing against his hard sleeves, and did not heal till far on in the summer.

They always looked out for some sheltered crevice in the ice to camp in. Johansen looked after the dogs and fed them, while Nansen set up the tent and filled the pot with ice. The evening meal was the pleasantest in the day, for then at any rate they were warmed inside. After it they packed themselves in their sleeping bag, when the ice on their clothes melted and they lay all night as in a cold compress. They dreamed of sledges and dog teams, and Johansen would call out to the dogs in his sleep, urging them on. Then they would wake up again in the bitter morning, rouse up the dogs, lying huddled up together and growling at the cold, disentangle the trace lines, load the sledges, and off they would go through the great solitude.

Only too frequently the ice was unfavourable, the sledges stuck fast, and had to be pushed over ridges and fissures. They struggle on northwards, however, and have travelled a degree of latitude. It is tiring work to march and crawl in this way, and sometimes they are so worn out that they almost go to sleep on their skis while the dogs gently trot beside them. The dogs too are tired of this toil, and two of them have to be killed. They are cut up and distributed among their comrades, some of whom refuse to turn cannibals.

When the ice became still worse and the cold white desert looked like a heap of stones as far northwards as the eye could see, Nansen decided to turn back. It was impossible to find their way back to the Fram, for several snowstorms had swept over the ice obliterating their tracks. The only thing to do was to steer a course for the group of islands called Franz Josef Land. It was 430 miles off, and the provisions were coming to an end; but when the spring really set in they would surely find game, and they had for their two guns a hundred and eighty cartridges with ball and a hundred and fifty with shot. The dogs had the worst of it; for them it was a real "dog's life" up there. The stronger were gradually to eat up the weaker.

So they turned back and made long marches over easy ice. One day they saw a complete tree trunk sticking up out of the ice. What singular fortunes it must have experienced since it parted from its root! At the end of April the spoor of two foxes was seen in the snow. Was land near, or what were these fellows doing out here on the ice-covered sea? Two days later a dog named Gulen was sacrificed. He was born on the Fram, and during his short life had never seen anything but snow and ice; now he was worn out and exhausted, and the travellers were sorry to part from the faithful soul.

Open water, sunlit billows! How delightful to hear them splash against the edge of the ice! The sound seemed to speak of spring and summer, and to give them a greeting from the great ocean and the way back home. More tracks of foxes indicated land, and they looked out for it daily. They did not suspect that they had to travel for three months to the nearest island.

At the beginning of May only sixteen dogs were left. Now the long summer day commenced in the Arctic Ocean, and when the temperature was only twenty degrees below freezing point they suffered from heat. But the ice was bad, and they had to force the sledges over deep channels and high hummocks thrust up by pressure. After great difficulties they staggered along on skis. The work became heavier for the dogs as fewer were left, but the provisions also diminished.

A furious snowstorm compelled them to remain in a camp. There they left one of the sledges, and some broken skis were offered to the flames and made a grand fire. Six dogs could still be harnessed to each of the two remaining sledges.

At the end of May they came to an expanse of ice intersected by a network of channels with open water, which blocked the way. Now animal life began to appear with the coming of summer. In a large opening were seen the grey backs of narwhals rolling over in the dark-blue water. A seal or two were seeking fish, and tracks of Polar bears made them long for fresh meat. Nansen often made long excursions in front to see where the ice was best. Then Johansen remained waiting by the sledges, and if the bold ski-runner were long away he began to fear that an accident had happened. He dared not pursue his thoughts to an end—he would then be quite alone.

June comes. The scream of ivory gulls pierces the air. The two men remain a week in a camp to make their kayaks seaworthy. They have still bread for quite a month. Only six dogs are left; when only three remain they will have to harness themselves to the sledges.

In a large strip of open water they shoved out the kayaks, fastened them together with skis, and paddled them along the margin of the ice. On the other side they shot two seals and three Polar bears, and therefore had meat for a long time. The last two dogs, too, could eat their fill.

At last the land they longed for appeared to the south, and they hastened thither, a man and a dog to each sledge. Once they had again to cross a strip of open water in kayaks, Nansen was at the edge of the ice when he heard Johansen call out, "Get your gun." Nansen turned and saw that a large bear had knocked Johansen down and was sniffing at him. Nansen was about to take up his gun when the kayak slipped out into the water, and while he was hauling and pulling at it he heard Johansen say quite quietly, "You must look sharp if you want to be in time." So at last he got hold of his gun, and the bear received his death-wound.

For five months they had struggled over the ice, when at the beginning of August they stood at the margin of the ice and had open water before them off the land. Now the sea voyage was to begin, and they had to part with their last two dogs. It was a bitter moment. Nansen took Johansen's dog and Johansen Nansen's, and a couple of bullets were the reward of their faithfulness.

Now they travelled more easily and quickly. The kayaks were fastened together, and with masts and sails they skimmed past unknown islands. Heavy seas forced them to land on one of them. Just as they drew up their kayaks a white bear came waddling along, got scent of them, and began to sniff along their track. To our travellers his visit meant provisions for a long time. Nansen and his travelling companion took possession of their new territory, wandered over the island, and returned to their dinner of bear, which did them good. Next day they looked for a suitable dwelling-place. As they could not find a cave, they built a small stone cabin, which they roofed with skis and the silk tent. Light and wind came in on all sides, but it was comfortable enough and the meat pot bubbled over a fire of fat.

Nansen decided to remain on this island for the winter. The islands they had hitherto seen were unlike any of the known parts of Franz Josef Land, and Nansen did not know exactly where he was. It was impossible to venture out on the open sea in the kayaks. It was better to lay in a supply of food for the winter, for when darkness came all the game would disappear. First of all they must build a comfortable hut. There was plenty of stone and moss, a trunk of driftwood found on the beach would form a roof ridge, and if they could only get hold of a couple of walruses, their roofing would be provided.

A large male walrus was lying puffing out in the water. The kayaks were shoved out and lashed together, and from them the colossus was bombarded. He dived, but came up under the boats, and the whole contrivance was nearly capsized. At last he received his death-wound, but just as Nansen was about to strike his harpoon into him he sank. They had better luck, however, with two others which lay bellowing on the ice and gradually went to sleep, unconscious that their minutes were numbered. Nansen says that it seemed like murder to shoot them, and that he never forgot their brown, imploring, melancholy eyes as they lay supporting their heads on their tusks and coughing up blood. Then the great brutes were flayed, and their flesh, blubber, and hides carried into the hut. When they brought out the sledges and knives, Nansen thought it might be as well to take the kayaks with them also. And that was fortunate, for while they stood cutting up as in a slaughter-house, a strong, biting land wind sprang up, their ice-floe parted from the land ice and drifted away from the island. Dark-green water and white foaming surge yawned behind them. There was no time to think. They were drifting out to sea as fast as they could. But to go back empty-handed would have been too vexatious; so they cut off a quarter of a hide and dragged it with some lumps of blubber to the kayaks. They reached the land in safety, dead tired after an adventurous row, and sought the shelter of the hut.

In the night came a bear mamma with two large cubs, and made a thorough inspection of the outside of the hut. The mother was shot and the cubs made off to the shore, plunged in, and swam out to a slab of ice which would just bear them, and scrambled up. There they stood moaning and whining, and wondering why their mother stayed so long on shore. One tumbled over the edge, but climbed up again on to the slippery floe and the clean salt water ran off his fur. They drifted away with the wind and soon looked like two white spots on the almost black water. Nansen and Johansen wanted their meat, the more because the bears had torn and mangled all the walrus meat lying outside the hut. The kayaks were pushed out and were soon on the farther side of the floe with the bear cubs. They were chased into the water and followed all the way to the beach, where they were shot.

Things now began to look better—three bears all at once! Then the first walrus came to the surface again, and while he was being skinned another came to look on and had to join him. It was disgusting work to flay the huge brutes. Both the men had their worn clothes smeared with train-oil and blood, so that they were soaked right through. Ivory and glaucous gulls, noisy and greedy, collected from far and near and picked up all the offal. They would soon fly south, the sea would be covered with ice, and the Polar night would be so dismal and silent.

It took a week to get the new hut ready. The shoulder blade of a walrus fastened to a ski served as spade. A walrus tusk tied to a broken ski staff made an excellent hoe. Then they raised the walls of the hut, and inside they dug into the ground and made a sort of couch for both of them, which they covered with bearskin. After two more walruses had been shot they had plenty of roofing material, which they laid over the trunk of driftwood. A bear came, indeed, and pulled down everything, but it cost him dear, and afterwards the roof was strengthened with a weight of stones. To make a draught through the open fireplace they set up on the roof a chimney of ice. Then they moved into the new hut, which was to be their abode through the long winter.

On October 15 they saw the sun for the last time. The bears vanished, and did not return till the next spring. But foxes were left, and they were extremely inquisitive and thievish. They stole their sail thread and steel wire, their harpoon and line, and it was quite impossible to find the stolen goods again. What they wanted with a thermometer which lay outside it is hard to conceive, for it must have been all the same to the foxes how many degrees of temperature there were in their earths. All winter they were up on the roof pattering, growling, howling, and quarrelling. There was a pleasant rattling up above, and the two men really would not have been without their fox company.