The voyage of the Discovery took it along the bay’s east coast and into the southern reaches of James Bay. It was left to an extraordinary sailor, Norwegian by birth, but sailing for the Danish, Jens Eriksen Munk, to reach the west side. His personal story is one of the more compelling ones of early Arctic exploration and his escapades and exploits in that part of the globe and elsewhere are epic. By the time he reached twenty-five years of age it might seem that he had already lived the full lives of two men. Insofar as the Arctic is concerned the crux of Munk’s adventures took place in the dreadful winter of 1619–20, which he spent at what is now Churchill, Manitoba, nine years after Hudson’s foray. He arrived there on two fine ships and with sixty-five men, but returned home on one crippled vessel with four men.
* * *
Munk’s childhood was a fatherless one, for his father languished in a Danish jail having fallen out of the king’s favour. Jens left home at age twelve and somehow made his way to Oporto, Portugal, where he secured a position in a prosperous shipping firm. By the end of that year he took to the ocean waves from which he never parted, continuing to sail until his death at age forty-eight. He put out to sea as a cabin boy on board a Dutch vessel in a small convoy bound for South America. French pirates ruthlessly assailed the ships off the coast of Brazil, and as the vessels were being ransacked Jens and the survivors clung to wreckage in shark-infested waters. A French warship happened by and hauled on board what few men remained alive. But it did them no further favours; they were deposited on an untamed coastline where most perished from starvation, disease, or Indian attack. Jens somehow managed to reach civilization and safety — one of the seven survivors of that convoy. The boy remained in Brazil for six years and then under dramatic circumstances made his way home to Copenhagen where he embarked on a career of a seafaring tradesman. (One incident of that chapter of his life saw him brazenly swimming across a Brazilian harbour to warn his Dutch compatriots of an impending attack by Spaniards).
By age twenty-four, Munk was in command of his own ship and busying himself in a number of diverse endeavours — establishing the first Danish whaling station at Spitzbergen; trading with the natives of the Barents Sea; successfully attacking a Swedish fortress near Göteborg; and capturing the notorious Spanish pirate Jose Mendoza off the mouth of the White Sea.
Denmark at the time was ruled by the mercantilist King Christian IV, who early in his reign initiated a policy of overseas expansion. The Northwest Passage was of particular interest to him. In 1619 he commissioned Munk to continue the search and two ships, the frigate Enhiörningen (Unicorn) and the sloop Lamprenen (Lamprey), were placed under his command. They sailed out on May 9 under inauspicious circumstances for within a couple of days one of the crew committed suicide by throwing himself overboard and drowning — an ill omen indeed. By late June they had passed the Shetlands and Greenland and were encountering “such fog and great cold that icicles a quarter’s length [eighteen inches] hung in the rigging so that none of the men could protect themselves from the cold.”[1] Their progress was retarded by a series of storms and by a costly miscalculation of the chief navigator who at one point brought the vessels deep into Frobisher Bay in the mistaken belief that it was Hudson Bay. The navigator finally got it right and the correct entrance was eventually reached. Over three months had passed since the ships quit Copenhagen with time being lost in battling adverse weather and dealing with the navigational error.
Hudson Bay was reached at the end of August, “so great and hallow a sea, as neither I nor any other being on board had ever seen.” Munk renamed it Novum Marum and then proceeded to sail directly across to the west side according to the king’s precise instructions to seek out the illusive entrance to the passage. On his eventual return home, Munk published a memoir of his astonishing experience entitled Navigo Septenfrrionalis: that is Relation or Description of a Voyage in Search of the North-West Passage (the full title runs 166 words), in which he offers striking snapshots of the manner in which the year was spent in North America.
A contemporary drawing from Munk’s narrative, published in 1624, showing the Dane’s two ships at the mouth of the Churchill River, Hudson Bay. After spending a disastrous winter at the spot, Munk and two others eventually returned home, the sole survivors of the sixty-five-person expedition.
The first days on the western side were spent in comparative comfort despite the cold, but the remainder of the stay is a horrific tale of endurance. On the night of September 10, Munk wrote, “there was such a terrible snowstorm and gale that nothing could be done.” It was clear that winter was fast approaching and that further sailing would be overwhelmingly difficult if not impossible. The decision was taken to suspend further exploration and to seek refuge along the least exposed bit of shoreline. On the 13th the ship’s boat was sent out “to examine what accommodation the land afforded and whether there were any better harbors there than the one we were in,” but since none was found, Munk decided to sail no farther. They would remain where they were to wait out the winter. Orders were given to beach the Lamprenen, and the sloop was brought ashore, “By means of high tide, I caused the ship’s keel to be dug down into the ground, and [to anchor it firmly] branches of trees to be spread under the bilge, packed together with clay and sand.” The docking was subsequently reinforced and protective breakwaters erected against intruding ice. The heavy Enhiörningen, however, remained afloat just off shore and soon became firmly ice-locked. Thus they settled in.
Munk ordered “a part of [the Lamprenen’s] goods to be brought ashore in order that the deck might be clear and the men have more space to move about.” In the interest of fuel economy, the crew of one ship was ordered to take meals on board the other. “Clothes, shirts, shoes, and boots and whatever else could be of use as a protection against the cold” were distributed among the crew, and “two large fireplaces, round each of which 20 men might easily sit” were arranged on the deck. Rations of wine were distributed daily, “but beer they were allowed to drink according to their want, as much as every man himself liked.” A routine was put into place “for keeping a watch, the fetching of wood, and burning of charcoal, as well as with regard to whose duty it was to be during the day to melt snow into water; so that everybody knew what he was to do, and how to conduct himself.”
In addition to trapping wild game, parties went out in early days to “the open country for shooting, because there was plenty of ptarmigan and hares, as well as all kinds of birds, as long as the snow was not too deep … and [in fine weather] they never went ashore but they carried home something good.” On one exploration of the neighbouring countryside evidence was found of “where people had been and had their summer abodes … in many places, great heaps of chips, where they have cut wood or timber, and the chips looked like they had been cut off with curved iron tools.” A peculiar construction of four flat stones was discovered with pieces of charcoal scattered about, which lead to the conclusion that it must have been a small altar of sorts which “had been used for idolatrous worship; and, if that is so, it is to be wished that these poor blinded pagans might come to the profession of the true Christian Faith.”
Weeks passed and living conditions began to deteriorate. On November 27 “there was a very sharp frost by which all the glass bottles we had (which contained all kinds of precious materials) were broken to pieces.” On the previous evening, Munk records in passing, “a sailor who had been long been ill was buried” — the expedition’s first death. November 30 was St. Martin’s Eve and “the men shot some ptarmigan, with which we had to content ourselves instead of St. Martin’s goose; and I ordered a pint of Spanish wine for each bowl to be given to the men, besides their daily allowance; wherewith the whole crew were well satisfied, even merry and joyful. Of the ship’s beer there was given them as much as they liked.” Munk offers a telling explanation of why he permitted such a liberal distribution of alcohol. “Because the common people, after all, are so disposed that whatever is most strongly forbidd
en them, they, notwithstanding, are most apt to do on the sly, without considering whether it be beneficial or harmful to them.”
By this time the waters surrounding the Enhiörningen were frozen solid, many feet thick. Farther out, drift-ice from the many surrounding streams and rivers floated about, buffeted about by strong winds, creating “large masses rising quite twenty fathoms above water [sixty feet]; and some such masses of ice which I myself have had examined, stood firm on the sea-bottom in more than 40 fathoms [120 feet], which perhaps may seem incredible, but nevertheless is so in truth.” On December 12 the ship’s surgeon from the Lamprenen died and “his corpse had to remain on deck for two days because the frost was so very severe that nobody could get out to bury it.”
Christmas was “celebrated and observed solemnly, as a Christian’s duty is. We had a sermon and Mass; and after the sermon, we gave the priest an offertory, according to ancient custom, each in proportion to his means. There was not much money among us, but they gave what they had. Some of them gave white fox-skins so that the priest got enough wherewith to line a coat. However, sufficiently long life to wear it was not granted to him.”
New Year’s Day 1620 was had in good form. “The weather was mild … the men practiced all sorts of games … the crew, most of whom were at that time in good health, consequently had all sorts of larks and pastimes, and thus we spent the Holy Days with merriment …” Within a fortnight, however, the lives of the stranded men took a sharp turn. First, the priest and Enhiörningen’s surgeon “took to their beds … and after that, violent sickness commenced amongst the men.” Soon those two died along with the cook, as a result of dysentery. Before the surgeon’s death, Munk asked for whatever remedies he may have, to which the dying man replied that he had tried everything “to the best of his ability and as seemed to him advisable, and that if God would not help, he could not employ any further remedy at all that would be useful for recovery.”
Winter firmly enveloped the party, bringing blinding snowstorms and severe cold. Game had become scarce — the pathetic notation for February 12 read: “We caught two ptarmigan, which was very useful for the use of the sick.” In the days that followed, “there was nothing but sickness and weakness, and every day the number of sick was continually increased, so that on this day there were only seven persons in health that could fetch wood and water.” A seaman died “who had been ill the whole voyage, and one may truly say he was so dirty in his habits as an untrained beast” — the poor fellow’s inability to control bloody bowel discharge. On the 17th, two more died “and, of the crew, there had then already died twenty persons. On that day, we got a hare, which was very welcome.”
As weeks passed, days grew longer and with the increased sunshine, the weather seemed slowly to change for the better, although “the frost continued very hard.” The numbers of sick continued to grow, as did the death rate. In one hunting foray, “we caught five ptarmigan in the open country, which were very welcome to us. I ordered broth to be made of them, and had that distributed among the men; but, of the meat, they could eat nothing, because their mouths being badly affected by scurvy.” This dread disease was the grim bane of sailors at sea, a sickness that developed through a dietary deficiency of Vitamin C. The remedy for its prevention was uncovered a century after Munk’s voyages — a daily consumption of citrus fruit.[2] Samuel de Champlain offered a horrific description of scurvy in a 1613 writing:
There developed in the mouths of those who had it, large pieces of excess fungus which caused great rot. This increased to such a degree that they could hardly eat anything except in very liquid form. Their teeth barely held in place, and could be removed with the fingers without causing pain. This excess flesh was often cut away, which caused them to bleed extensively from the mouth. Afterwards, severe pain developed in the arms and legs. They could not walk due to the tightness of the nerves. Consequently, they had no strength and suffered unbearable pain. They also had severe cramps of the loins, stomach and bowels, together with a very bad cough and shortness of breath. Unfortunately, we could find no remedy with which to cure these symptoms.[3]
Munk’s entries for the ensuing weeks dwelled almost entirely on the spread of sickness and incidences of death — “now and afterwards, the sickness raged more violently every day, so that we who were still left suffered great trouble before we could get the dead buried.” On March 24, the first open water was spotted in what before had been a solidly frozen inlet. Berries began to appear on the bushes — “they were very welcome, and did not disagree with [the men].” In desperation, Munk searched the deceased surgeon’s medicine chest for “I had now to do the best I could myself.” He found a disordered array of bottles with no indication which was for what use. “I am certain and would venture my life,” he wrote, “that there were many kinds of medicaments in the surgeon’s chest which … he did not know for what purpose, and in what way they were to be employed; because their names were in Latin … and whenever he was going to examine an bottle or box, the priest had to read the description out for him.”
Following up on Henry Hudson’s expedition, Danish naval officer Jens Munk continued the search for the gateway to the Northwest Passage. Taking much the same route as the earlier explorer, he wintered on the bay’s west side at the mouth of the Churchill River.
Map by Cameron McLeod Jones.
April 3: “It was a fearfully sharp frost, so that none of us could uncover himself for cold. Nor had I not anybody to command, for they were lying under the hand of God, so that there was great misery and sorrow.” Those who remained on their feet were now insufficiently “strong enough to go into the forest to fetch wood and fuel. We were obliged during those days to collect everything that was in the ship and would serve for fuel; when that was consumed, we were obliged to take our shallop for fuel.” On Easter Day, Munk made his first indication of personal despair: “I was then quite miserable and abandoned by all the world, as everybody may imagine.” And, some days later: “not a man left his berth save myself and the under-cook who could still do a little.” By May 10, only eleven of the Lamprenen’s crew remained alive, and within the fortnight there were only “seven miserable persons who were still lying there alive, looked mournfully at each other, hoping every day that the snow would thaw and the ice drift away.”
June 4 found Munk giving up all hope:
There remained alive only three beside myself, all lying down unable to help one another. The stomach was ready enough and had appetite for food, but the teeth would not allow it. Not one of us had the requisite strength for going into the hold to fetch us a drink of wine. The cook’s boy lay dead by my berth, and three men on the steerage. Two men were on shore and would gladly have been back on the ship, but it was impossible for them to get there as they had not sufficient strength in their limbs to help themselves on board, so that both they and I were lying quite exhausted, as we had now for four entire days eaten nothing for the sustenance of body. Accordingly, I did now hope for anything but that God would put an end to this misery and take me for Himself and His Kingdom.
He prepared for death by writing the following poignant letter:
Inasmuch as I have no more hope of life in this world, I request for the sake of God, if any Christian men should happen to come by here, that they will bury in the earth my poor body together with the others are found here, expecting their rewards from God in Heaven; and, furthermore that this my journal may be forwarded to my most gracious Lord and King (for every word that is found therein is altogether truthful) in order that my poor wife and children may obtain some benefit from my great distress and miserable death. Herewith, good-night to all the world; and my soul into the hands of God, etc
Jens Munk
Four days later the overpowering “smell and stench of the dead bodies” permeated Munk’s cabin so badly that he “managed to get out of the berth as best I could” and force himself out of the cabin — “I spent that night on the deck, using the clothes of the dead.”
On the next morning “when the two men who were ashore saw me and perceived that I was still alive — I, on my part, had thought that they were dead long ago — they came out on the ice to the ship and assisted me in getting down from the ship to the land, together with the clothes I threw to them.” The Lamprenen had been beached some seventy feet from shore, which distance they crawled and found cover under a nearby bush. Fire was made and nearby they discovered some “greens growing out of the ground,” which roots they sucked — “as with the warmth now commenced to increase nicely, we began to recover.”
More days passed and as the offshore ice began to break up, schools of fish were spotted. A makeshift weir was set and on the first try, “God gave us six large trout which I cooked myself, while the two others went on board the Lamprenen, to fetch wine, which we had not tasted for a long time, none of us having an appetite for it.” Since scurvy had loosened their teeth, they were unable to chew the flesh, so instead they made a thick broth of the catch. Shortly afterwards they “got a gun on shore and shot birds, from which we obtained much refreshment; so that, day by day, we got stronger and fairly well in health.” Three weeks had passed since Munk wrote his last testament and in that brief period he and his few companions made remarkable progress in the recovery of health. So much so that it was decided to prepare for an attempt to return home.
Arctic Obsession Page 11
