In spite of all he could say, the doctor was obliged to yield to the captain's will. Shandon was ready enough to blame this obstinacy, for, in case of accident, no ship could have put out to the aid of the Forward.

Hatteras refused to comply. Having completed his preparations on Monday, he tried once more to go to the north through the ice, but, after dangerous efforts, he was obliged to descend again Regent's Channel; he was utterly averse to remaining at Leopold's Harbor, which is open one day and closed the next by the unheralded motion of the ice,—a frequent phenomenon in these seas, and one against which navigators have to be ever on their guard.

If Hatteras kept his anxiety from the others, he was at heart very anxious; he wanted to go northward, and he was obliged to retreat to the south! Where would that bring him? Was he going as far back as Victoria Harbor in the Gulf of Boothia, where Sir John Ross wintered in 1833? Should he find Bellot Sound free at this time, and, by going around North Somerset, could he ascend through Peel Sound? Or should he, like his predecessors, be caught for many winters, and be obliged to consume all his supplies and provisions?

These fears tormented him; but he had to decide; he put about and started for the south.

Prince Regent's Channel is of nearly uniform width from Leopold's Harbor to Adelaide Bay. The Forward went rapidly through the ice, with better fortune than many other ships, most of which required a month to descend the channel, even in a better season; it is true that none of these ships, except the Fox, had steam at their command, and were obliged to do their best against frequent unfavorable winds.

The crew seemed overjoyed at leaving the northern regions; they had but a slight desire to reach the Pole; they were alarmed at Hatteras's plans, for his reputation as a fearless man inspired them with but little confidence. Hatteras tried to make use of every opportunity to go forward, whatever the consequences might be. And yet in these parts, to advance is all very well, but one must also maintain his position and not run the risk of losing it.

The Forward went on under full steam; the black smoke whirled in spirals about the sparkling summits of the icebergs; the weather was changeable, turning from a dry cold to a snowstorm with inconceivable rapidity. Since the brig drew but little water, Hatteras hugged the west shore; he did not want to miss the entrance of Bellot Sound, for the Gulf of Boothia has no other entrance towards the south than the slightly known sound of the Fury and the Hecla; hence the gulf would be impassable, if Bellot Sound were missed or found impracticable.

By evening the Forward was in sight of Elwin Bay, which was recognized by its high, steep cliffs; Tuesday morning Batty Bay was seen, where, on the 10th of September, 1851, the Prince Albert anchored for the winter. The doctor examined the coast with interest through his glass. From this point started the expeditions which determined the shape of North Somerset. The weather was clear enough for them to see the deep ravines surrounding the bay.

The doctor and Johnson were probably the only ones who took any interest in these deserted countries. Hatteras, always studying his charts, talked little; his silence increased as the ship drew southward; he often went upon the quarter-deck, and there he would remain for hours, with folded arms, gazing absently at the horizon. His orders, when he gave any, were short and quick. Shandon maintained a cold silence, and drawing more and more into himself, he had nothing more to do with Hatteras than was officially required; James Wall remained devoted to Shandon, and modelled his conduct after that of his friend. The rest of the crew waited for whatever might turn up, ready to make the best use of it for their own profit. On board there was none of the unanimity which is so necessary for the accomplishment of great things. Hatteras knew this well.

During the day two whalers* were seen making toward the south; a white bear, too, was saluted with a few rifle-shots, but apparently without success. The captain knew the worth of an hour at that time, and refused permission to chase the animal.

A white bear

Wednesday morning the end of Regent Channel was passed; the angle of the west coast was followed by a deep curve in the land. On examining his chart, the doctor recognized Somerset-House Point, or Point Fury.

"There," he said to his usual companion,—"there is where the first English ship was lost that was sent to these seas in 1815, in Parry's third voyage; the Fury was so much injured by the ice in her second winter, that the crew were obliged to abandon her and to return to England in her companion, the Hecla."

"A good reason for having another ship," answered Johnson; "that is a precaution which polar explorers should not neglect; but Captain Hatteras was not the man to burden himself with a companion!"

"Do you consider him rash, Johnson?" asked the doctor.

"I? O, I don't say anything of the sort, Dr. Clawbonny! But see those piles there, with fragments of a tent hanging to them."

"Yes, Johnson, it is there Parry unloaded all his ship's supplies, and, if my memory serves me right, the roof of the hut he built was made out of a mainsail covered by the running-rigging of the Fury."

"That must have changed a good deal since 1825."

"Not so very much. In 1829, John Ross kept his crew safe and sound in this light building. In 1851, when Prince Albert sent out an expedition, this hut was still standing; Captain Kennedy repaired it nine years ago. It would be interesting to visit it, but Hatteras is unwilling to stop."

"And he is probably right, Dr. Clawbonny; if in England time is money, here it is safety, and for the delay of a day, of an hour even, the whole voyage might be rendered useless. We must let him do as he pleases."

On Thursday, June 1st, the Forward sailed diagonally across Creswell Bay; from Point Fury the coast rises in steep rocks three hundred feet high; towards the south, it is lower; a few snowy summits are to be seen, of a regular shape, while others, more fantastic, were hidden in the clouds.

During that day the weather grew milder, but cloudier; they lost sight of land; the thermometer rose to 32°; a few water-quail were to be seen, and flocks of wild geese flew toward the north; the crew laid aside some of their thick clothes; they began to be aware of the approach of summer in the arctic regions.

Toward evening the Forward doubled Cape Garry, a quarter of a mile from the shore. The lead marked ten to twelve fathoms, and they bore along the shore to Brentford Bay. In this latitude they were to find Bellot Sound, a sound which entirely escaped the notice of Sir John Ross in his expedition of 1828; his charts indicated an unbroken coast-line, with the least irregularities indicated with the utmost care; hence it is to be supposed that when he passed by the entrance of the sound, it was completely closed with ice and so could not be distinguished from the land.

This sound was really discovered by Captain Kennedy in an excursion made in April, 1852; he named it after Lieutenant Bellot, as "a just tribute," as he said, "to the important services rendered to our expedition by the French officer."





CHAPTER XVI.

THE MAGNETIC POLE.


As Hatteras drew near this sound he felt his anxiety redoubling; in fact, the success of his expedition was at stake; so far he had done nothing more than his predecessors, the most successful of whom, MacClintock, had consumed fifteen months in reaching this spot; but that was little, indeed nothing, if he could not make Bellot Sound; being unable to return, he would be kept a prisoner until the next year.

Hence he took upon himself the care of examining the coast; he went up to the lookout, and on Saturday passed many hours there.

The crew were all acquainted with the situation of the ship; an unbroken silence reigned on board; the engine was slackened; the Forward ran as near shore as possible; the coast was lined with ice which the warmest summers could not melt; a practised eye was needed to make out an entrance through them.

Hatteras was comparing his charts with the coast-line. The sun having appeared for a moment at noon, Shandon and Wall took an observation, the result of which was at once told him.

There was half a day of anxiety for all. But suddenly, at about two o'clock, these words were shouted from aloft,—

"Head to the west, and put on all steam."

The brig obeyed at once, turning to the point directed; the screw churned the water, and the Forward plunged under a full head of steam between two swiftly running ice-streams.

The path was found; Hatteras came down to the quarter-deck, and the ice-master went aloft.

"Well, Captain," said the doctor, "we have entered this famous sound at last!"

"Yes," answered Hatteras; "but entering is not all, we have got to get out of it too."

And with these words he went to his cabin.

"He is right," thought the doctor; "we are in a sort of trap, without much space to turn about in, and if we had to winter here!—well, we shouldn't be the first to do it, and where others lived through it, there is no reason why we should not!"

The doctor was right. It was at this very place, in a little sheltered harbor called Port Kennedy by MacClintock himself, that the Fox wintered in 1858. At that moment it was easy to recognize the lofty granite chains, and the steep beaches on each side.

Bellot Sound, a mile broad and seventeen long, with a current running six or seven knots, is enclosed by mountains of an estimated height of sixteen hundred feet; it separates North Somerset from Boothia; it is easy to see that there is not too much sailing room there.