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Steamer Corwin, Arctic Ocean,
Between Herald Shoals and Point Hope,
September 8, 1881.
ON the morning of August 27,
having taken on board a full supply of coal and water, and put the ship in
as good condition as possible, we left Plover Bay and turned once more
toward Wrangell Land.
In passing Marcus Bay, a
short distance up the coast from Plover Bay, the Captain wished to make a
landing to give some instructions to our Chukchi interpreter and dog-driver,
who lives here, concerning the dogs and sleds that were taken at Tapkan. The
weather was too thick, however, to allow this, and the ship was put on her
course for the western Diomede Island, where we arrived, against a stiff
head wind and through thick fog, shortly after noon on the twenty-eighth. We
lay at anchor for a few hours, while the wind from the Arctic came dashing
and swirling over the island in squally gusts.
In the meantime, while
waiting to see whether the wind would moderate before we proceeded through
the strait, we went ashore and greatly enjoyed a stroll through the streets
and houses of the curious village here. It is built on the bald, rugged side
of the island, where the slope is almost cliff-like in steepness and
rockiness. The winter houses are wood- lined burrows underground, entered by
a tunnel, and warm and snug like the nest of a fieldmouse beneath a sod,
though terribly thick and rancid as to the air contained in them. The summer
houses are square skin boxes above ground, and set on long stilt poles.
Neither the one nor the other look in the least like houses or huts of any
sort. But those made of skin are the queerest human nests conceivable. They
are simply light, square frames made of drift poles gathered on the beach,
and covered with walrus hide that has been carefully dressed and stretched
tightly on the frame like the head of a drum. The skin is of a yellow color,
and quite translucent, so that when in one feels as if one were inside a
huge blown bladder, the light sifting in through the skin at the top and all
around, yellow as a sunset. The entire establishment is window, one pane for
the roof, which is also the ceiling, and one for each of the four sides,
without cross sash-bars to mar the brave simplicity of it all.
Most of the inhabitants, of
whom there are perhaps a hundred, had just returned from a long voyage in
their canoes to Cape Prince of Wales, Kotzebue Sound, and other points on
the American coast, for purposes of trade, bringing back ivory and furs to
sell to the Chukchis of Siberia, who in turn will carry these articles by a
roundabout way nearly a thousand miles to the Russian trading post, and
return with goods to trade back to the Diomede merchants, through whose
hands they will pass to the Cape Prince of Wales natives, and from these to
several others up the Inland River, down the Colville, to Point Barrow and
eastward as far as the mouth of the Mackenzie River.
The Diomede merchants are
true middlemen, and their village a half-way house of commerce between
northeastern Asia and America. The extent of the dealings of these people,
usually regarded as savages, is truly surprising. And that they can keep
warm and make a living on this bleak, fog-smothered, storm-beaten rock, and
have time to beget, feed, and train children, and give them a good Eskimo
education; that they teach them to shoot the bow, to make and throw the bird
speais, to make and use those marvelous kayaks, to kill seals, bears, and
walrus, to hunt the whale, capture the different kind of fishes, manufacture
different sorts of leather, dress skins and make them into clothing, besides
teaching them to carry on trade, to make fire by rubbing two pieces of wood
together, and to build the strange houses - that they can do all this, and
still have time to be sociable, to dance, sing, gossip, and discuss ghosts,
spirits, and all the nerve-racking marvels of the shaman world, shows how
truly wild, and brave, and capable a people these island Eskimos are.
The wind having moderated, we
got away from the box-and-burrow village and through the Strait before dark;
then we steered for the south end of Wrangell Land, and after a speedy and
uneventful voyage came in sight of the highest of the coast mountains, on
the thirtieth at noon. Thus far we had not seen the ice, and, inasmuch as
nineteen summer days had passed over it since our last visit, we hoped that
it might have been melted considerably and broken up by the winds, so as to
admit of a way being forced through it at some point up to the land, or so
near it that we might get ashore by crossing over the coast ice, dragging
our light skin boat after us in case we should come to lanes of open water.
In this, however, we were
disappointed; for when three and a half hours later we came up to the edge
of the pack it was found to all appearances unchanged. It still extended
about twenty miles offshore; it trended as far as we could see in the same
direction as was observed before, and it seemed as heavy and unbroken as
ever, offering no encouragement for efforts in this direction. We therefore
sailed along the edge of the pack to the eastward to see what might be
accomplished towards our first landing place. We gazed at the long stretch
of wilderness which spread invitingly before us, and which we were so eager
to explore - the rounded, glaciated bosses and foothills, the mountains,
with ice-sculptured features of ho!- lows and ridges and long withdrawing
valleys, which in former visits we had sketched, and scanned so attentively
through field-glasses, and which now began to wear a familiar look. The sky
was overcast, the land seemed almost black in the gloomy light, and a heavy
swell began to be felt coming in from the northeast. Towards night, when we
were not far from our old landing near the easternmost extremity of the
land, the Corwin was hove to, waiting for the morning before attempting to
seek a way in. But the next day, August 31, was stormy. The wind from the
northeast blew hard inshore, therefore it was not considered safe to
approach too near.
At eight o'clock we were in
sight of the ice opposite the northeast cape, and it seemed to be farther
off the land than at our first visit, and no opening appeared, though the
weather was so dim and rough that nothing could be definitely determined.
Generally, however, the ice was now drifting against the east side of
Wrangell Land, and coming southward to so great an extent that our chances
of effecting another landing began to be less promising.
When we were within twenty
miles of Herald Island, we hove to, waiting better weather before entering
narrow lanes and bays in the pack when so heavy a sea was running. The sky
was dismal all the afternoon - toward night, dull, lurid purple - and the
wind was blowing a gale. The ice-breaker, made of heavy boiler iron, was
broken by the pounding of the waves, and had to be cut away, which is
unfortunate at this particular time.
September 1 was a howling
storm-day, through which we lay to, swashing and rolling wildly among white
waves, and drifting southeastward twenty or thirty miles a day. The next day
there was no abatement in the force of the gale up to two o'clock in the
afternoon. A heavy sea, streaked with foam, was running parallel to the
direction of the wind, while the air was filled with snow, adding to the
wintry aspect of the day. While we were still holding on, hoping the storm
would subside from hour to hour, one of the rudder chains parted.
This made Captain Hooper
decide that in view of the condition of the ship, and the ice, and the
weather, the risk attending further efforts this year to search the shores
of Wrangell Land should not be incurred, more especially since the position
and drift of the ice held out but little promise of allowing another landing
to be made, or of a sufficiently near approach to enable us to add
appreciably to the knowledge already acquired. Accordingly, after the rudder
was mended as securely as possible, the good Corwin, excused from further
ice duty, was turned away from the war and headed for the American coast at
Point Hope.
Had the ship been in good
condition, the battle would probably have been waged a few more weeks along
the edge of the ice barrier, watching the appearance of any vulnerable point
of attack, whatever the result might have been. Now it seems we are homeward
bound. We intend to stop at Kotzebue Sound, St. Michael, St. Paul, and
Unalaska to make necessary repairs, take on coal, etc., and we may reach San
Francisco by the middle of October.
We have not met the Rodgers.
We learned from the natives at Plover Bay that she had called there and left
seven days before our arrival. That was August 17. We suppose she went to
St. Michael from there to coal and take on provisions, which would probably
require a week. If so, we may have passed the Strait ahead of her. But in
case she had already been at St. Michael, then, in following out her
instructions, she could trace the Siberian coast for some distance, making
inquiries among the Chukchis, where she may possibly be at present. Or, if
this part of the work of the expedition had been completed before the coming
on of the gale, she may be sheltering about Herald Island or some point on
the coast of Wrangell Land. [Mr. Muir's supposition proved to be correct.
The U.S.S. Rodgers, Lieutenant R. M. Berry commanding, reached Wrangell
Land, August 25, and found shelter the next day in a snug little harbor on
the southeastern coast of the island. There the Rodgers remained until
September 13, while two search parties explored the shores of the island for
traces of the Jeannette expedition.] |
