Voyages in Search of the North-West Passage | Page 4

first endeavour of our bold Elizabethan mariners to find North-West
Passage to the East, let me repeat here that old voyage of mine from No.
55 of "Household Words," dated the 12th of April, 1851: The Phantom
is fitted out for Arctic exploration, with instructions to find her way, by
the north-west, to Behring Straits, and take the South Pole on her
passage home. Just now we steer due north, and yonder is the coast of
Norway. From that coast parted Hugh Willoughby, three hundred years
ago; the first of our countrymen who wrought an ice-bound highway to
Cathay. Two years afterwards his ships were found, in the haven of
Arzina, in Lapland, by some Russian fishermen; near and about them
Willoughby and his companions--seventy dead men. The ships were
freighted with their frozen crews, and sailed for England; but, "being
unstaunch, as it is supposed, by their two years' wintering in Lapland,
sunk, by the way, with their dead, and them also that brought them."
Ice floats about us now, and here is a whale blowing; a whale, too, very
near Spitzbergen. When first Spitzbergen was discovered, in the good
old times, there were whales here in abundance; then a hundred Dutch
ships, in a crowd, might go to work, and boats might jostle with each
other, and the only thing deficient would be stowage room for all the
produce of the fishery. Now one ship may have the whole field to itself,
and travel home with an imperfect cargo. It was fine fun in the good old
times; there was no need to cruise. Coppers and boilers were fitted on
the island, and little colonies about them, in the fishing season, had
nothing to do but tow the whales in, with a boat, as fast as they were
wanted by the copper. No wonder that so enviable a Tom Tidler's
ground was claimed by all who had a love for gold and silver. The
English called it theirs, for they first fished; the Dutch said, nay, but the

island was of their discovery; Danes, Hamburghers, Bisayans,
Spaniards, and French put in their claims; and at length it was agreed to
make partitions. The numerous bays and harbours which indent the
coast were divided among the rival nations; and, to this day, many of
them bear, accordingly, such names as English Bay, Danes Bay, and so
forth. One bay there is, with graves in it, named Sorrow. For it seemed
to the fishers most desirable, if possible, to plant upon this island
permanent establishments, and condemned convicts were offered, by
the Russians, life and pardon, if they would winter in Spitzbergen.
They agreed; but, when they saw the icy mountains and the stormy sea,
repented, and went back, to meet a death exempt from torture. The
Dutch tempted free men, by high rewards, to try the dangerous
experiment. One of their victims left a journal, which describes his
suffering and that of his companions. Their mouths, he says, became so
sore that, if they had food, they could not eat; their limbs were swollen
and disabled with excruciating pain; they died of scurvy. Those who
died first were coffined by their dying friends; a row of coffins was
found, in the spring, each with a man in it; two men uncoffined, side by
side, were dead upon the floor. The journal told how once the traces of
a bear excited their hope of fresh meat and amended health; how, with
a lantern, two or three had limped upon the track, until the light became
extinguished, and they came back in despair to die. We might speak,
also, of eight English sailors, left, by accident, upon Spitzbergen, who
lived to return and tell their winter's tale; but a long journey is before us
and we must not linger on the way. As for our whalers, it need scarcely
be related that the multitude of whales diminished as the slaughtering
went on, until it was no longer possible to keep the coppers full. The
whales had to be searched for by the vessels, and thereafter it was not
worth while to take the blubber to Spitzbergen to be boiled; and the
different nations, having carried home their coppers, left the apparatus
of those fishing stations to decay.
Take heed. There is a noise like thunder, and a mountain snaps in two.
The upper half comes, crashing, grinding, down into the sea, and
loosened streams of water follow it. The sea is displaced before the
mighty heap; it boils and scatters up a cloud of spray; it rushes back,
and violently beats upon the shore. The mountain rises from its bath,
sways to and fro, while water pours along its mighty sides; now it is

tolerably quiet, letting crackers off as air escapes out