Budd ngton must have choked when he read those lines. First, the landlubber Hall had deigned to instruct him on handling his vessel, and now the “little German dancing master” was weighing in as well.
“If it is possible for the vessel to advance along the coast of Grinnell Land it would be profitable to do so,” Bessel wrote condescendingly. One can almost see Buddington taking another drink as he read these directions. Take a running survey along the coastline, Bessel ordered, “as there certainly will be some one on board who can conduct a work of this kind.”
Besse] continued to rub salt in the wounds his words undoubtedly reop med. He proceeded to remind Buddington the sailor that the magnetic pole would affect his compass. “The determination of the local attraction of the compass before the vessel starts should not be ne glected as heretofore, because without this an able survey cannot be made.” In all the fanfare and hurry to leave Washington and the Brooklyn Navy Yard, the ship's compass aboard the Polaris had nevei been swung to determine its deflection and deviationa grievous oversight, and one that Captain George Tyson used to belittle Capi ain Buddington.
“It should be considered as a matter of the highest importance to take cieep-sea soundings, or soundings in general, whenever practicable,” the doctor concluded, as if Buddington might forget to test the depth of the unknown waters into which he would be sailing. A ly prudent master always used soundings to measure the depth of the water. It was the surest way to keep from running aground.
Lost n his own self-importance, the physician neglected to close his ‘sketch” with “Respectfully yours,” the usual courteous ending, signing the letter merely “Emil Bessel.”
The obvious insults aside, Buddington readily consented to Bessel's plan. It gave him just what he wanted. He could stay aboard the Polaris with the hateful chief scientist out of his hair, dragging his two-hundred-pound sled over the knife-edged sastrugi.
If the ice the captain feared carried him south, so be it. All he had to do was leave supplies and a message of his general intent. He probably wished to leave Bessel to freeze, but he could not write that down. If the ice receded, that was all the better. He could steam up to Newman Bay, pick up the exhausted survivors of Bessel's death march, and claim his share of the glory for saving their lives. Then a speedy retreat back to Washington.
“Your suggestions as to an early trip to Cape Constitution and the inland meet with my entire approval,” Buddington wrote back. Using the opportunity afforded by Bessel's “sketch,” the captain jumped at the part that spared him from driving his ship against the ice floes. “The expedition to the north, will, in all probability, proceed by the aid of boats,” he agreed. Ever aware that his actions would be carefully scrutinized on their return, he added stoutly, “It is my decided intention, in such a case, to take command of the boat party.” Then he slyly scribbled an ending that kept him off the hook: “To come to any conclusion as yet to the details of this boat journey and the proceedings of the ship appears to be useless, inasmuch as circumstances will generally govern our actions.”
Once again Buddington had fashioned a passive role for himself. Whatever the conditions permitted, he would acquiesce to those events instead of pressing onward without regard to his safety, as Charles Francis Hall might have donea far, far different mind-set from that of the late commander.
Still, the sled forays could leave within a matter of weeks, far earlier than any whaleboat expedition, and that would get Bessel out of his hair. It would be at least June before water travel was likely. The sooner Bessel left, the happier Buddington would be. A three-month gap would separate land and water exploration, giving the ship captain a much-needed respite from the chief scientist.
Relations between Bessel and Buddington remained strained. Not only did each man openly despise the other, but Bessel used every opportunity to humiliate the captain. One such opportunity presented itself over the scientific corps's specimen alcohol.
Having consumed all the rum and wine he had secreted in nooks and corners of the storerooms, Captain Buddington increasingly turned to raiding the alcohol used by Dr. Bessel for his scientific specimens. In fact, he remained drunk almost daily.
Otheis stole a drink or two, using their unauthorized duplicate keys, but the captain proved the most frequent and serious offender, and he had an official key with unlimited access to the stores. Lickily for all concerned, the scientific corps preserved its finds in pure grain alcohol, following the accepted methods of preservation. Had it used wood alcohol or methanol, Buddington and his fellow drinkers would quickly have gone blind.
The rapidly diminishing supply of his preservative alarmed Bessel. Besides, he relished the chance to exercise his authority over his troublesome captain. The physician soon discovered that Buddington was stealing bottles of alcohol and hiding them in the pantry. From there it was only a leisurely stroll from the captain's cabin to t le pantry for a quick drink.
The doctor set his trap. Quietly he crept below and hid himself behind the crates and barrels. He had not long to wait. Buddington slipped down the ladder and went straight to his hidden supply. The instant the captain retrieved the specimen bottle and brought it to his lips Emil Bessel sprang out and seized him by the collar.
Caught red-handed, Buddington could only stare open-mouthed as the litt e Prussian berated him like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. For a man “built on rather too small a scale,” Bessel with his sidden attack succeeded in cowing the larger man. Seeing this terrie- shaking the heavyset mariner must have been amusing to those o f the galley crew who witnessed it. However, the event did nothing to bolster what little confidence the sailors still retained in their officers.
So it was decided: sled expeditions would be mounted at the first opportunity. Coffin poured his energy into making small sleds for the men to pull and larger ones to haul the boats. March, however, came in like a lion. Gales lashed the ship on the first and second and threatened to drive the Polaris off her precarious perch. Temperatures plummeted to minus 50° while the wind tore through the canvas and riggings at fifty knots. The recently installed window in the observatory blew out, and stones the size of hens' eggs blew across the ice.
More ice lifted the vessel, so that the six-foot marking on the hull remained clearly out of the water. However, Buddington issued no orders co repair the visible hole in the side. The timbers groaned constantly, protesting the weight they had never been designed to hold. The tilt of the deck grew more extreme. In the officers' mess in the lower cabin, sitting down to eat proved impossible. Men took their meals standing, propped against the bulkheads for support. Cleats fastened along the deck and atop the cabin's roof aided the men in moving from bow to stern.
Sleeping became a constant nightmare, as the cracking and groaning of the timbers kept the men awake by the sheer intensity of their sounds. Besides, the incessant noise reminded those below that their ship was breaking apart. Finally the ship started its stem, springing the planks from the bowsprit and opening leaks to the icy seawater. Cracks in the beam ends and rib joints followed, adding an increasing stream of water to the bilge. Ever more worrisome was the tilting's effect on the ship's engine. Designed to rest squarely on its engine mounts, the machine strained against its fittings until they loosened. An alarmed Schuman discovered that the engine had shifted three inches to starboard.
Buddington ordered the coal-driven steam pumps started to deal with the leaks. While only a few minutes of pumping per hour would clear the holds, starting the engines and keeping them running and free of ice consumed much-needed coal. When the pumps stopped, the cast-iron parts quickly cooled, and ice formed over the engine and seized the valves. Chipping ice from the mechanism with hammers and chisels caused the sound to reverberate throughout the ship at hourly intervals like a time clock.
Despite the severity of the weather, signs of a returning spring grew increasingly apparent. The twilight brightened until reading without a candle became possible at midnight. Flo
cks of ptarmigans and Arctic hares invaded the basin. Since these animals were still wearing their white coats, with only their black eyes to give their position away, they provided challenges to the men who hunted them. Seals also returned to the bay, and Ebierbing and Hans eagerly hunted them.
Return of the daylight produced one unpleasant and unwanted effect. The prolonged darkness and dim oil lamps had damaged the vision of many of the men. The arrival of constant light caused their eyes to water and produced such spasms of the eyelids that the lids could not be kept open under the bright illumination. Emil Bessel especially suffered from this light sensitivity and often could not read lis instruments.
By the end of March, Bessel led an expedition south toward Cape Constitution. Here Dr. Bessel demonstrated that his abrasive nature would work no better with the Natives than it did with the officers a id crew. The party proceeded in fits and starts, first forgetting the ndia rubber blankets needed to spread under their new sleeping bags and then breaking a sled runner. From the onset Ebierbing, pointed out that the one sled was too heavily laden and asked foi Hans to drive a second one. Bessel sharply rejected that advice.
At day's end the men working around the ship looked up to see the Inuit and Mr. Bryan returning for another sled. Bessel later accused Eb erbing of deliberately dropping the sled on the end of the runner to prove his point. Whatever the cause, Ebierbing convinced Buddington that Hans and another sled were really needed, and the two Inuit returned to the advance camp.
Bessel's group headed back to the ship after one week, with little to show for their efforts. During their return the men crossed the fresh trac ks of a polar bear. This was their first sign of polar bear, and the Natives realized that the animal had left its den and was looking for food. Besides, the Polaris crew had exhausted all fresh meat and was living now on canned foods. Here was clearly a case of eat or 3e eaten. The Inuit, understanding that a best defense is always an offense, immediately loosed their dogs.
The fight that followed saw the snow spackled with gouts of blood and matted fur. Without fear the dogs rushed in and tore at the bear's flanks. The bear counterattacked the snarling, snapping hoard that annoyed him, flinging one dog high into the air with a single swipe of his paw. One large malamute named Bear attacked fearlessly, repeatedly launching himself at his adversary despite suffering se/eral blows. The yelping, growling battle came to an abrupt er d when the polar bear rose on his hind feet and Ebierbing shot him with his Sharps rifle.
The triumphant party returned to the ship with the wounded dog Bear and the dead polar bear loaded into the sled baskets. Behind they left one dog for dead where the bear's blow had flung him against an outcropping.
The fresh meat was welcome and sorely needed. Already signs of scurvy affected the crew. Teeth had loosened and old injuries returned to plague their owners. John Herron's foot swelled so badly at this time that he could not walk. First thought to be rheumatism, the problem resolved itself with fresh meat added to his diet.
For all his troubles, Emil Bessel contracted a severe case of snow blindness. The condition results from the bright Arctic sun and its reflected rays striking the unprotected eye. Hour after hour of this bombardment produces something akin to sunburn of the skin. The ultraviolet rays burn the thin layer of cells covering the cornea known as the conjunctiva. As with any burn, the cells swell, producing blistering and cloudiness of the conjunctiva. Each blink of the eyelid swipes off the damaged layer, aggravating the condition. The eyelids clamp shut involuntarily in spasm when the condition becomes severe. Anyone who has had a grain of sand beneath his or her eyelid need only multiply that feeling a thousandfold to appreciate the sensation of snow blindness. Those eyes feel as though they have been sandblasted. Involuntary tearing, cloudy vision, swollen lids, and intense pain accompany the condition.
Five days passed with the scientist confined to his darkened room with cold compresses protecting his inflamed eyelids. Exposure to any light burned like fire and flooded his eyes with tears. Another ten days were needed before the physician could perform any experiments in the observatory. When he did recover sufficiently, Bessel moved his camera outside to photograph the ship and, strangely enough, Captain Hall's grave. The exposures went well enough, as did developing the photographic plates. But when the fixative was washed off the plates, the emulsion separated from the glass and peeled off. No photographs would capture the lonely grave of Charles Francis Hall for another hundred years.
As soon as he was well, Emil Bessel resumed his demands to head another expedition, one using the whaleboats this time. A heated argument ensued. Control of the ship and its longboats still belonged to Buddington, and he had no intention of forfeiting this remaining shard of his authority. Already, premonitions that he would bear the brunt of any failure loomed large in his mind. Abrogating his command, especially to a landlubber, was the worst thing a ship's captain could do, and he'd be damned if he'd turn over his longboats to Bessel.
Still, fear clamped its iron hand on the sea captain's heart. Sailing amorg the icebergs and floating islands frightened him beyond all reason. What nightmares tormented him enough to souse his brain in alcohol we can only imagine. Striking an iceberg and sinking seems to have bothered him less than being trapped within the floating islands to slowly starve to death. In those frigid waters, death comes quickly from hypothermia, within minutes. But drifting, disabled, and locked in an icy embrace meant weeks of hunger and despiir and the haunting specter of cannibalism. The grisly image of men cracking the long bones of their shipmates to scavenge the last srap of marrow lurked in the minds of every whaler who sailed no th.
With a cunning born of desperation, Buddington countered hotly that he would lead the boats himself. Cleverly he appointed George Tyson and H. C. Chester to command the two whaleboats. That exempted him from leaving the Polaris. Washington would applaud his selection of two experienced sailors to direct the boats, and Washington would understand that Buddington could not be expected to place himself under one of his selected boat captains. He would be applauded for sacrificing his share of the glory to his duty to watch over the Polaris. As a final touch, Buddington named the two boats. The first would be called the U. S. Grant, after the president and the second would be the George M. Robeson, after the secretary of the navy.
Neither Tyson nor Chester really believed Buddington would leave the relative security of Thank God Harbor. To them his protesting rang hollow. Tyson even wrote in his diary, “But no one thinks he will go.” Whether by design or by chance, Buddington filled the 3oats with his detractors.
Chester's boat got Frederick Meyer, Sieman, Anthing, Kruger, and Jamlaall troublesome Germans. The Prussian Meyer especially detested Buddington. Having a drunken captain replace the egalitaria l Hall had not accomplished the military man's prediction of a retur 1 to class rule, and Sieman's tiresome piety constantly irritated the captain. What did the man expect? His shipmates were seamen, not nuns, and strong language went hand in hand with their tattoos. As for the others, they were always gathering in the forecastle and plotting in their foreign language.
To George Tyson, captain of the Robeson, went the prize: he got Emil BesseL Buddington must have smirked when he penned the second boat's list. Putting his two main detractors into the same boat had to please him. Their animosity toward each other almost equaled their dislike for him. He could picture them sniping at each other as they rowed. Finally Buddington decreed that everything must be ready to launch the waterborne expedition by the first of May.
The captain's ploy succeeded in keeping his detractors distracted. April passed with everyone occupied in outfitting the boats or trying to free the ship from the four-foot-thick ice gripping her sides. With the warming weather came a new concern. As the ice thinned and the snow melted, the ship would settle back into the water. The damaged hull would have more opportunity to leak. Partially freeing the rudder and propeller brought some relief, however. Neither appeared damaged.
At this tim
e, Buddington, always the pessimist, penned his doubts about the ship's seaworthiness in the official log:
I think that it will be some trouble to keep the Polaris afloat when she comes down into the water again. Her sides are much open. Her main rail is broken in one place by the heavy pressure of the whole top work of the vessel listing over so much and for so long a time.
Tyson found that two planks along the six-foot mark on the starboard side of the bow were split lengthwise. Efforts to repair the damage yielded little improvement, as the bow still rocked up and down with the tide and wave action, springing the repairs open.
Yet another diversion appeared. On April 25 the two Inuit returned with their sleds loaded with fresh musk ox meat. Spring brought the annual migration of the hairy animals along the coast. The excited Natives told of seeing thick herds crossing the valley and had shot seven animals, having cached all but the three their sleds could hold.
Hunting fever swept the crew. Work on the hull stopped as hunting parties snatched their rifles and sped inland.
Hunting these creatures brought out the worst in the crew of the Polaris. Months of living in fear, boredom, and depression boiled over into a wild slaughter of these hapless creatures. Under the guise of obtaining fresh meat, the crew blasted away at every animal they encountered. Their killing spree exceeded whatever game they needed for fresh meat, leading to waste. Neither Bud-dington nor Bessel made any effort to rein in the crew's excesses.
App^ rently the slaughter finally disgusted Tyson, although from the lack of sport rather than the waste. “It is not very exciting sport,” he wrote, “for there is no [more] chance of missing them than the side of a house. When they have been checked by the dogs, and got :hemselves in a circle, there is nothing to do but walk up and shoot them.” He decried an incident where Kruger and Sieman stumblec across a family of musk oxen resting near the foothills. Their first shot wounded the female, preventing her from fleeing. To their surprise, the faithful male charged Sieman. A comedic scene ensued with Kruger and Sieman running and firing while the bull chased them. At length the three animals took up their defensive stance, allowing the two men to blast away at them.
Trial by Ice Page 17
