Attached to the box house was a room built of boxes and snow, serving as the galley, and another adjoining room for the Eskimos. Then they pitched a tent that would work as a storehouse for their woolen clothing and as much gear as it would hold. Their wool clothes would be useless on the trail because they were neither warm enough nor light enough, but they worked just fine for now and allowed the men to conserve their precious animal skin clothing for later. McKinlay was the only one allowed in the storehouse besides Bartlett, since the skipper had appointed him in charge of the supplies and gear.
By 3:30 P.M. it was too dark to work, so everyone retired to their respective snow houses and continued sewing. They also had their first real meal since leaving the ship—boiled bacon, pea soup, and rice. They ate their soup that night from their tea cups. Templeman had made the broth in the same water he’d boiled the bacon in, and it “tasted as sweet36 as the finest concoction of the finest of luxury hotels,” according to McKinlay. Their cups were dirty, as were their plates, which were encrusted with old remnants of eggs, shells, bacon, grease, and matches, none of which could be rinsed or scraped off as they were frozen to the surface. McKinlay remarked, “We have reached37 the stage when the dirt on our dishes acts as seasoning; there is no health hazard, since germs cannot exist in our temperatures!” After they devoured the soup, they filled their dirty cups with rice and ate it with their hands. Add hardtack—or biscuits—bacon, and coffee, and they felt like they’d had a feast fit for kings.
Over the next several days, the castaways adjusted to life on the ice. Wrangel Island could now be seen plainly, much to their great relief, approximately thirty to thirty-five miles away to the southwest, although their charts showed they were eighty miles to the north of Wrangel Island and two hundred miles from the coast of Siberia. The sight of land was inexplicably cheering to the members of this lost company. They had been afraid that they had drifted too far east due to the winds, but now there was the island, much clearer than before.
Even with Wrangel Island looming up in the distance, there was no serious plan yet of abandoning Shipwreck Camp and starting for the island. The days were still too dark, and there was too much to be sorted out yet. On January 14, Bartlett spoke with both McKinlay and Mamen about moving the party to the eastern part of Wrangel Island, which should be easier to reach, due to its lower-lying shore. Bartlett was also interested in making the trek to Siberia, although the condition of his men worried him. Many were weak and suffering from frostbite or injury, and he knew this endangered their chances of making such a long journey. Siberia, to his estimation, was approximately 250 miles away over the ice pack, and he doubted whether some of the men would live to finish the journey.
“I sincerely hope38 that we will stay here until the beginning of February,” wrote Mamen. “The days will then be longer and we can drive with our dogs about 12 hours a day. Yes, I hope that with the help of God everything will come out all right but, if not, that we may have a quiet and peaceful death, without too much pain and agony.”
During the twilight hours, the men worked to put their camp in order. It was difficult to locate everything, and some items, such as a missing box of ammunition, were never found. Many things were retrieved from the wreckage of the ship—articles from the deck that were thrown to the ice as the Karluk sank. McKinlay and Sandy walked through this graveyard of cast-off provisions and tried to take stock—the whaleboat, two kayaks, two umiaks, tins of biscuits, the ice tank, an enormous coal oil tank, a box of Horlick’s Malted Milk, a meteorological instrument case.
Mamen and McKinlay labored over the dysfunctional Primus stoves until they were covered with soot and dirt. The small stoves, or lamps, were used for cooking and for warmth, and there were ten altogether, although three were broken beyond repair, which left only seven stoves that could be relied upon.
The days were growing lighter, which brought hope and relief, but they were still, essentially, living in darkness. Bartlett was anxious about many things but his main concern was that everyone get their clothing in order as soon as possible. There was no time now for idling; they must have their clothes ready or they would suffer on the trail. They would be unable to sew once they started for land. Realizing this, everyone worked as fast as he could, even Malloch, who was notorious for spending weeks mending one garment.
As the days passed, the staff, crew, and officers began to think of Kiruk as a mother figure. They had underestimated her worth aboard ship and had never taken the time to get to know her as they should. Now they found a strength and warmth in her that they needed, and from then on she was known as “Auntie.”
Auntie was busy making clothes for her family, as well as doing all the cutting for the rest of the company with a piece of circular flat steel with a sharp edge. “She used it39 with great speed and efficiency, and without any patterns or guides of any kind,” Chafe said. “She would cut out socks and other things that would surprise you. I don’t think you could find a quarter of an inch difference in any part of twenty pairs.. . .” Fur clothing was heavy enough so that it had to be sewn by hand, but there was other stitching that could be done on the two sewing machines they had saved from the ship. These were used by Auntie and Munro, who was a skilled tailor in his own right.
There were only six sleeping bags for the entire company and not enough skins to make more. Besides this, sleeping bags would be much too heavy to take on the trail. Bartlett ordered that each man make a smaller version—a foot bag, which would cover the feet and reach just up to the knees. For these, he cut up his coonskin coat and divided the pieces among the men.
In addition, they would each need to have four pairs of deerskin or sheepskin stockings and three pairs of deerskin boots. The skins were softened first by scraping them with a piece of iron. This was called breaking the vellum, and sometimes Eskimo women did this by chewing it as Auntie had done.
In the midst of it all, they still found time for games of chess and cards and a concert in the evenings now and then. On rare occasions, they also held dances. With a decided lack of female partners, the men were a strange sight as they twirled each other around the ice. The strangest of all was Bartlett, who once spun his partner so fiercely that they tipped over the stove.
The men, in general, were in surprisingly good humor. If they didn’t feel like smiling or looking on the bright side of things, they forced themselves to for the greater good of the company. It was everyone’s wish to maintain this sense of optimism, because they knew that, as McKinlay noted, “thus, & only40 thus, can we win through.”
The only exceptions, naturally, were Dr. Mackay, Murray, and Beuchat. Except for getting out of their beds to watch the ship go down, they had been sleeping ever since, waking up only to eat. At night, they kept everyone else awake with their discussions and complaints. “They grumble if41 the stove goes low,” wrote McKinlay; “they grumble about the cold coffee; they grumble & grumble but never venture a helping hand. If trouble comes, theirs will be the responsibility, & God help them for everybody is strained to breaking point with their conduct.”
Dr. Mackay frequently unleashed a torrent of verbal ammunition on McKinlay and Mamen, accusing them of being in too tight with the captain. As far as the doctor was concerned, the two young scientists showed great disloyalty by allying themselves with Bartlett instead of their own colleagues. He blamed them for spoiling his chances of getting the captain to take him seriously and listen to his arguments, since McKinlay and Mamen were always there to choose the other side, thus dividing the scientific staff.
Beuchat, in particular, was broken down. He was nervous, edgy, his eyes filled with alarm. Beuchat’s already weak heart couldn’t stand the strain, and he complained constantly of fever and exhaustion, babbling about the future as if he wouldn’t live to see many more days. This kind of behavior made Mamen furious and spurred him to vow: “I have decided42 to fight for my life as much as I can, one cannot take his fellow-men into consideration, it surely sounds awful to civilized ears
, but it is the only right thing here in the Arctic.”
THE TEMPERATURE DIPPED to minus thirty-seven degrees Fahrenheit and the castaways drifted southerly on the ice pack. They continued their shipboard routines, as best they could. They ate at the same times, and lights were out at 10:00 P.M. They maintained records of the wind and weather, the soundings, and the temperature. At night, two men took turns at watch, one in each snow house. They were in charge of keeping the fires going, and at 6:00 in the morning, one of them would call Templeman so that he could start breakfast.
The galley provided great and much-needed cheer to everyone, and Templeman, under the circumstances, turned out good meals from the sheet-iron stove. Breakfast brought fried bacon, eggs, hardtack, and coffee, and dinner was bacon, seal stew, and tea.
Bartlett’s evenings were spent with the Eskimos in their igloo, so that his men could have a break from him and relax a bit. It was tough to live with your captain under such conditions in such close quarters, and Bartlett knew they would need some time out from under his presence.
While the men were sleeping one night, a dog fight left one dog dead. It was the bobtail Mosse, who just a month earlier had refused to leave the side of his injured brother until he died. Nobody heard the sounds of fighting, and in the morning they discovered the blood-soaked area and Mosse’s stiff carcass.
It was a great loss to the men, since there were now only twenty-four dogs remaining, including Hadley’s pet Molly, and each one was indispensable if they were to make it to land. “Wouldn’t we give43 a great deal for those twelve dogs taken by Stefansson—the pick of the bunch,” McKinlay lamented.
On the evening of January 16, Bartlett invited McKinlay to join him in the Eskimos’ igloo to talk about their plans and prospects. The men would ultimately be divided into six teams of four men, and these Bartlett would lead to the Siberian mainland, via Wrangel Island. Bartlett chose McKinlay and Mamen to be in his party on the trail, along with Kataktovik, because, as he said, they were men after his own heart. They would build igloos along the way, instead of using tents, and they would pack as many provisions onto the sleds as the dogs could handle—fifty days’ food for the men and thirty-five days’ for the dogs, which were being fed every few days now instead of every day. After the dog food ran out, they would be forced to shoot the weaker animals to feed the others. They were fond of the creatures and it wasn’t a pleasant thought; but they knew it had to be done to preserve life, both for the stronger dogs and for themselves.
Once setting foot on Siberian soil, they would skirt the shore to North Cape, and then follow the shore to Saint Lawrence Bay, with the option of cutting down through Koliuchin Bay instead. Providing they made it past hostile Eskimo settlements (of which there were rumored to be many), the stronger members of the party would then trek on to find communication so that they could notify the proper authorities while the rest of the party would remain in Saint Lawrence Bay. All told, they would have to travel hundreds of miles.
“Now look here44, boy,” Bartlett said to McKinlay, laying his hand on the smaller man’s shoulders, “we are up against it. The Peary trip is going to look like a picnic alongside this, but we are going to see it through.”
“You bet your life,” McKinlay replied, trying to sound as convincing as possible, yet wondering all the time if they would.
While they were busy with the preparations, McKinlay and Mamen took the captain aside and told him of an idea of their own. What if he sent a scouting party to Wrangel Island, ahead of everyone else? What if this party could take a load of food and supplies and then remain on the island until the others got there, so that they could explore and learn the lay of the land and report on what kind of game there was, and on ice conditions, before bringing everyone ashore?
The idea had occurred to Bartlett before, and now he thought it over again. When the three of them reconvened, he told them that he had decided to go through with it. It made good, practical sense—the men had been living for so long on the ship, and as a result were not yet hardened to the cold. Nor were they in the best physical shape, and no one except Hadley and the Eskimos had any experience in traveling over the Arctic ice, a rotten journey made even worse by poor light and freezing temperatures. For so many reasons, it made sense to send a few handpicked men before moving the entire party.
Three sleds could be taken, each one led by six dogs and loaded with 400 pounds of provisions. Bartlett wanted to send his ablest men to lead the party, which meant Mamen and McKinlay. But he didn’t want them both to be gone at once. He needed one of them to remain with him because they were the only two he trusted.
It fell to Mamen, the stronger and heartier of the two, to lead the scouting party, taking with him Kuraluk and Kataktovik. First mate Sandy Anderson, second mate Barker, Seaman Ned Golightly, and geologist Malloch were designated members of the shore party, who would remain on Wrangel Island and set up camp while Mamen and the Eskimos returned with two empty sleds. McKinlay, meanwhile, would remain in camp to assist the captain, issuing material and looking after various matters.
When Mamen returned, he would, if at all possible, go back to the island with another party while the rest of the group awaited the return of the sun at Shipwreck Camp. When they had enough daylight, they would then join the others, relaying supplies to the island in small teams. This way, they could get enough provisions ashore to last until the birds returned to Wrangel in the spring, and they could also establish a shore camp where the men could rest and dry their foot gear before returning to Shipwreck Camp for more supplies. Bartlett envisioned snow igloos erected along the way, to serve as permanent relay stations.
“We may thus45 be able to take most of the food & clothing we have here to the island,” wrote McKinlay excitedly, “so that we will have something to fall back on, should we need it, when making for the mainland. The announcement of this plan created a great deal of excitement & everyone seemed to welcome it.”
Everyone, that is, but Dr. Mackay. The doctor listened with a scowl on his face as Bartlett gave orders in front of the assembled company. It is an easy guess that Mackay would have liked to have been a part of that shore party, so rabid was he to break free from the rest and start for land. This was the worst news he could have. They were finally starting for the island, but not with him. For so long, he had been planning this very journey, and now, at last, the captain was doing what, in Mackay’s mind, he should have done months ago. But Mackay was forced to remain behind.
Upon hearing the captain’s orders, Mackay completely snapped. He had had enough of the Canadian Arctic Expedition and of Bartlett and his indecisiveness and weak-kneed leadership. He’d had enough of his self-righteous colleagues and the crude and insufferable crewmen. As far as he was concerned, this was the point of no return.
JANUARY 18 BROUGHT WILD, blinding snow, and a fierce gale. Shivering against the cold, Hadley, Mamen, and Sandy loaded the three designated scouting party sleds with biscuits, pemmican, sugar, tents, Primus stoves, alcohol, and various other provisions.
Those who weren’t loading the sleds and preparing their equipment set out on the ice with picks and axes to break a trail for the scouting party. The going was fine for the first three miles, until they ran up against an enormous pressure ridge, stretching fifteen to twenty feet in the air. They did their best to clear it, and then returned to camp, feeling satisfied with a day’s work. Unfortunately, the snow, the wind, and the drifts took over, and by nighttime all traces of the trail had been destroyed.
With the ferocity of the snowstorm, Bartlett decided that the scouting party would not be able to leave, as planned, the following day. Even if the weather cleared, he would not let his men depart until he could see Wrangel Island distinctly and discern if there was any change in their position or in the condition of the ice pack. If he was not satisfied on all these accounts, the trip would have to be postponed until the weather cooperated.
The sweeping snow and stinging winds were relentl
ess and brutal. It was one thing to suffer through a blizzard inside the walls of a ship, another altogether to be sitting on the ice, unprotected and vulnerable. They were now experiencing an entirely new level of cold, and getting their first taste of living out in the elements. To make matters worse, the ice pack continued to shift and crack, much to the horror of these men who were relying upon its fickle surface as the only thing separating them from the frigid depths of the Arctic Ocean. “All the time46, we could hear the booming sound of the immense ice floes grinding against each other,” Chafe wrote, “or the sharper crash of an opening lead. Then all would hurry out in the darkness to see whether a lead had opened near our Camp.”
They awoke the next day to find the wind blowing from all directions; but they could see the land rising up out of the snow, and its bearing didn’t seem to be drastically different. Cheered by this vision, everyone—excluding Dr. Mackay, Murray, and Beuchat—hastily worked at completing the preparations so that the team could start out the next day, as soon as the light allowed.
Finally, the sleds and equipment were ready, with thirty days’ provisions for Sandy’s land party, and ten days’ for Mamen and the Eskimos. The trail was broken again by the same team that had gone out the day before, and now all that was left was for the group leaving to pack their personal clothing.
After supper, Bartlett summoned Mamen and McKinlay to the stove tent, where he outlined his instructions to Mamen. He was to command the party until land was reached, at which point Sandy would take charge of the shore party. He was to land supplies on the island and unload. Then, as long as he deemed it safe, he was to leave Sandy’s party to drag the supplies ashore. He should return at once, not stopping to sleep on the island, leaving one sled and bringing back two, along with all the dogs. And last, Mamen was to return to camp if he came to open water and thought there was a risk of losing his supplies.
They spread the charts of the island out before them and estimated that it should take Mamen three days to reach land. By the end of the week, a fire would be lit at Shipwreck Camp to guide Mamen and the Eskimos back in.