The Open Polar Sea: A narrative of a voyage of discovery towards the North pole, in the schooner "United States"Hayes, I. I. (Isaac Israel)
History
The Open Polar Sea: A narrative of a voyage of discovery towards the North pole, in the schooner "United States"
Hayes, I. I. (Isaac Israel)
Arctic regions; United States (Schooner)
I was, however, repaid for some discomfort by the scene which I have
brought back in my memory, and which is to go down on a sheet of clean
white paper that is now drying on a drawing-board which I owe to
McCormick's ingenuity. I have not seen the equal of this storm except
once--a memorable occasion--last year, when we were fighting our way
into Smith Sound. The wind seemed, as it did then, fairly to shovel the
water up and pitch it through the air, until it had to stop from sheer
exhaustion, and then I could see away off under a dark cloud a vast
multitude of white specks creeping from the gloom, and moving along
in solid phalanx, magnifying as they came, and charging the icebergs,
hissing over their very summits, or breaking their heads upon the
islands, or wreaking their fury on the ice of the harbor, into which
their Titan touch opened many a gaping wound.
June 28th.
[Sidenote: FRESH EGGS.]
The storm subsiding this morning, a party got a boat over the ice into
the water, and, pulling to the outer island, brought back the first
fresh eggs of the season. Those of the little tern or sea-swallow
are the most delightful eggs that I have ever tasted. Those of the
eider-duck are, like the eggs of all other duck, not very palatable.
Knorr lit upon a patch of cochlearia which had just sprouted up
around the bird-nests of the last year, and no head of the first
spring lettuce was ever more enjoyed. I had a capital salad. The
islands promise to give us all the eggs we want, and we shall have
little more trouble in getting them than a housewife who sends to the
farm-yard. The ducks have plucked the first instalment of down from
their breasts, and Jensen has brought in a good-sized bagful of it.
The poor birds have been, I fear, robbed to little purpose, and will
have to pick themselves again. Jensen tells me that, upon the islands
near Upernavik, where he has often gone for eider-down, the male bird
is sometimes obliged to pluck off his handsome coat, to help out his
unhappy spouse, when she has been so often robbed that she can pluck no
more of the tender covering for her eggs from her naked breast.
June 30th.
Another rain-storm, during which half an inch of water has fallen. The
temperature has gone down to 38°. The ice is loosening, and threatens
to break up bodily.
July 2d.
[Sidenote: UPHEAVAL OF THE GREENLAND COAST.]
I have been occupied during the past two days with running a set of
levels from the harbor across to the fiord and with plotting the
terraces. These terraces are twenty-three in number and rise very
regularly to an altitude of one hundred and ten feet above the mean
tide-level. The lowest rises thirty-two feet higher than the tide, but
above this they climb up with great regularity. They are composed of
small pebbles rounded by water action.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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