True North Page 6

  They proceeded over ice-sheeted lands with three heavily laden sledges. Everyone except Peary drove a dog team, standing atop the upstander, a step at the back of the sledge, wielding a bullwhip used mostly for intimidation. The dogs, their native handlers gone and under the hand of new masters now, were difficult to control at the start, and the pace slowed to only a few miles a day. Peary walked point, leading the way and getting ahead whenever the caravan stopped for the men to lift the sledges over deep ruts in the ice.

  When one of the bigger dogs slipped its harness, it lingered in the rear for several days, dodging all efforts at capture. Finally, Astrup on skis and Cook on snowshoes went out and herded the loner toward camp, where the other dogs, after a day in the harness, were being fed. Peary and Gibson fell upon the deserter with a blanket, and in the process Peary was bitten on his hand.

  Since it was not snowing, they laid out the sleeping bags on the snow drifts. Promising to make a hot meal that would put everyone in good humor, Cook used a broken pine ski to light a blazing campfire. He kept his word, “for seldom,” Astrup later commented, “had any of us eaten a meal with more satisfaction or with greater delight than that. . . . Dr. Cook has a lucky gift of being able to make good and useful things out of strange materials.”

  As the storms abated and the men and dog teams worked together more smoothly, they increased their average distance to 20 miles a day. When they reached a spot some 130 miles inland from McCormick Bay, they halted. Here Peary announced he would take only one man with him for the rest of the journey. He spoke of the unknown dangers that lay ahead and asked for a volunteer. Cook promptly stepped forward, with Gibson and Astrup only moments behind him.

  The doctor knew he would not be going farther. Peary had spoken with him privately before their departure, explaining that in his absence he wished to leave Cook in charge at Red Cliff. If Peary failed to return from the perilous inland journey, Cook was instructed to do whatever he thought necessary for the safety and well-being of Josephine and the others.

  To accompany him, Peary selected Astrup, the group’s best and strongest man on the ice. Astrup had made no secret of his idolization of Peary.

  After rest and a meal, the two parties headed off in opposite directions. Peary and Astrup, with two sledges loaded with a thousand pounds of supplies pulled by thirteen dogs, headed across the barren ice; Cook and Gibson, with a light sledge holding two weeks of food pulled by two dogs, back to Red Cliff.

  Josephine had stayed busy hunting and target shooting with Henson and the Eskimos. Using her six-shot revolver and putting up a tin can forty feet away, the best Eskimo scored three hits, Henson none, and Josephine five.

  The days now were long on sun, and large open leads appeared in the bay. The Eskimos took advantage of the return of sea animals to hunt seals, walrus, narwhal, and even small white whales.

  On May 30, a dog limped into camp. He was recognized as Devil Dog, a big, strong creature whom Peary, before departing, had designated as the lead dog to bring back the support party’s sledge. He was in poor condition, barely able to walk, and evidently had not eaten for a week. The lone deserter caused Josephine and the others to consider the worst possible scenario for the four men who had gone inland against the advice of the Eskimos.

  Peary had told those remaining at Red Cliff to expect the support party back by mid-May, but that month had come and gone. Three more days of “increasing suspense” with no news followed, and Josephine found herself filled with “unpleasant forebodings” while being “utterly powerless” in her position.

  Her nightmare ended on June 3 when Cook and Gibson arrived with a nearly empty sledge pulled by a single dog. Cook took both of Josephine’s hands in his and shook them warmly. He told her that when they had left the advance party two weeks earlier, both her husband and Astrup were in good health and fine spirits, and traveling well.

  A longer wait now set in, one that Josephine knew could last two months. In reality, it would seem more like a year’s worth of anxiety and worry. “Never in my life,” she wrote, “have I felt so utterly alone and forsaken.”

  Her will was as strong as her husband’s, however, and she shared his sense of destiny. They complemented each other; her occasional bouts of depression and pessimism were offset by his unrestrained optimism and high spirits. He lifted her from the depths; she brought him back to earth.

  Now, besides wishing for his success and safety, her fervent hope was that he and Astrup would return in time for everyone to go home on the ship due to pick them up at the end of summer. A delay could mean spending a second winter.

  Meanwhile, the Eskimos, with no malice intended, assured anyone who would listen that the fate of the two white men on the ice had been sealed by evil spirits—that Peary and Astrup would never return alive from the domain of death.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DEATH ON A GLACIER

  WITH THE DAYS of summer came rumor of a violent Eskimo uprising. Two native hunters, Kyo and Koolootingwah, were overheard by Henson speaking conspiratorially about killing one of the Americans, though it was not clear just who might fall victim.

  In a hushed conference at Red Cliff, an alarmed Henson reported the threat. Josephine dismissed the possibility of a revolt, believing it likely that Henson had misunderstood the Eskimos speaking in their native tongue.

  Cook agreed that he didn’t think the natives were by nature warlike. However, he had previously had a run-in with Kyo when he had been among those moving supplies inland in support of the exploring party. Kyo had performed so sluggishly and been so uncooperative during the week of work that when it came time to give each native his payment of an empty tomato crate—wood being a prized commodity in the treeless regions of the Arctic—Cook told Kyo, “You get nothing.” The Eskimo picked up a gun and threatened to kill Cook. Kyo was calmed by other natives, most of whom agreed with Cook’s no-work, no-pay doctrine. Kyo, whom Cook had previously found to be “a soul of kindness,” thereafter became “an advocate of hate.”

  With the safety of everyone at Red Cliff his responsibility, Cook decided it would be wise to prepare for any possible threat. He and the other men began wearing revolvers. The armed-camp atmosphere frightened the entire Eskimo community, which now numbered thirty-four men, women, and children.

  Days later, when a window at Red Cliff was opened for ventilation, Kyo was certain that the Americans would start shooting. He ranted that bullets could not hurt him because he was protected by kokoyah, an evil spirit. Kyo vowed that if any natives were killed, he would order kokoyah to destroy the big ship when it returned and the Americans would die.

  Order was restored amid assurances to the natives that no harm would come to them. Cook, in a conciliatory gesture, agreed to trade with Kyo for the wood the native wanted—to make a protective ring around his skin-hulled kayak—in exchange for a sealskin float used to cross open leads.

  The days now settled into an easy routine, as only housekeeping chores had to be done. With temperatures in the eighties and a refreshing crispness in the air caused by the nearness of massive formations of glacial ice, the Americans paired off and went exploring, some on day trips and others for a week or longer. Verhoeff violated an expedition rule forbidding members to travel long distances alone. While on a boat trip with Cook and Gibson, he elected to return overland and could not be dissuaded otherwise, even when it was pointed out he would have to cross a formidable glacier alone. Verhoeff made it safely back to Red Cliff only a couple of days behind Cook and Gibson.

  The natives enjoyed the summer hunting season in the open waters, where they could utilize their kayaking skills. When Ikwah slew an oogzook (a bearded seal), it took him several trips to bring the carcass—four times larger than a normal seal—back to Red Cliff. He then went about slicing into smaller portions the skin, highly prized for boot soles and rawhide rope, and the meat and much value
d blubber, used for fuel. Eskimo custom called for any large kill to be divided among the men in a village, whether or not they helped with the hunt. On this day, a man named Kyoshu, crippled by injury and unable to hunt, received a full share.

  The first week of July found something new in the diet: a vegetable dish, in fact, the only native vegetable dish in the region. It consisted of smallish purple flowers, which after boiling tasted like stewed rhubarb. By custom, it was eaten by women and children but not by men. Conversely, the men ate the eggs of various birds, something the women and children were not allowed.

  On July 13, Josephine set out with Cook for a valley at the head of the bay, near where her husband had gone up onto the glacier and headed inland more than two months earlier. Pulled by some indescribable force, she wanted to be there to greet him when he came off the glacier or, at least—in the event he came back a different route—for him to find at his cache some fresh supplies and her welcoming note.

  Henson and Ikwah had gone ahead, and already a tent was up and camp established. Having seen Josephine safely off the trail, Cook bid her adieu and headed back with Ikwah in a pouring rain to Red Cliff, fifteen miles distant.

  When clear skies returned the next morning, Josephine took her shotgun and went off in the direction of the nearest glacier, where she knew there were numerous ponds with the possibility of ducks. She saw only two but downed one; the breast made a meal that night, and the rest went into a stew.

  She found the setting magical, with the sound of running streams in every direction, clear lakes and ponds, meadows carpeted with moss and wildflowers, the sweet air, all against a backdrop of glaciers and mountains. The seabirds were out in full force, having arrived from southern latitudes. Each morning, snuggled inside her reindeer-skin sleeping bag, she was awakened by a multitude of chirps and whistles.

  The next day was dull and foggy, and the mosquitoes so thick that Josephine remained in camp. With the return of warm, clear weather the next morning—daylight was now twenty-four hours long—she set off for the cache that had been established months ago. Henson knew the location up the glacier. At one point, to cut mileage off their trek, they crossed a knee-deep stream that almost knocked them off their feet in near-freezing rushing water.

  Once across, they found the cache. Josephine left her note and also cans of milk and fruit, fresh biscuits, and a flask of brandy. She looked northward, in the direction her husband had gone. Was he near? she wondered. Sick or well? Alive or dead?

  They returned to the stream, found that the level had risen, and decided not to chance a crossing. They kept walking, hoping to circle a large lake. But they soon found it was connected to another lake by a deep torrent of icy water that was impossible to ford. They went on until reaching the head of the second lake, which stopped at a sheer glacial cliff. They considered rounding the lake by climbing along the outermost edge of the glacier until they realized that large boulders were continually raining down from above.

  Stymied, they decided they had no choice but to backtrack. Unable to locate the exact same spot where they had crossed, they tested the stream in several places, finding it too deep and the current too strong. Each time they retreated to shore, wet and discouraged. They sat on a rock, dried themselves as best they could, and discussed their options.

  They had been walking for more than twelve hours with nothing to eat, having had only a cracker and coffee before departing. They had no food or sleeping gear with them. Unless they could make a river crossing, they would have to go the long way—perhaps another twelve hours of hiking.

  Josephine suggested they return to the cache and fortify themselves with food and drink before attempting to go farther. This they did, then set off again to find their way back to camp. The hours and miles went by until they were ready to drop from fatigue. Occasionally, they stopped and sat for a few minutes. When one or the other began dozing off, they pushed on.

  Climbing up through a rugged ravine, Josephine realized she could go no higher. With trembling legs under her, she was at her limit. They took a breather and started back down, hoping the stream, a few miles away, might have receded. When they reached it about noon, they found that the water level had receded. They were able to get across, and though their feet and legs were numb from the cold water, their camp was only an hour away.

  After a good night’s sleep, Josephine was sufficiently recovered to go hunting for fresh game the next day, but she returned empty-handed.

  Early the next morning, she was awakened by an Eskimo with the exciting news that the ship had returned and was anchored in the bay. Along with a letter from home, the native brought her a note from Professor Angelo Heilprin of the Academy of Natural Sciences—the group of Philadelphia scientists was again aboard Kite—telling her that his party was at Red Cliff.

  For the next hour or so, Josephine was oblivious to all else as she savored a long missive from her mother. Written as a daily journal, it detailed happenings in the family and the world at large during her absence. When she finished, Josephine’s foremost thought was a thankful one—everyone dear to her was alive and well. Now, she thought, if only Bert returns safely.

  Henson was eager for a reunion with the ship’s party, but Josephine opted to remain in the valley. The next day, she saw a lone man making his way up a foothill below her campsite. When he came closer, she saw it was Heilprin. It was an exquisite pleasure for Josephine to talk to an old friend—she and her husband had enjoyed the professor’s gracious company at home on many occasions. After the isolation of the past year, she drank in conversation with her educated visitor from the civilized world. He brought more letters for her, including one from her brother, Emil, an engineer contractor in New York City, who joined their mother in urging her to come home on the ship whether or not her husband had completed his work.

  Heilprin informed Josephine that his orders—from her family and friends—were to bring her home “under any circumstances.” She expressed confidence that her husband would return by the end of August, when the ship would have to depart to avoid being frozen in for the winter. While she secretly feared that, if he was not back by then, he might never return, she knew she could not leave for home while there was the faintest chance of his being alive.

  “Well, we’ll see when the time comes,” the professor said.

  She worried aloud about how her husband would feel should he show up a week or two after she had left for home. Wouldn’t it be “disappointment enough” when he realized he had missed the ship and would have to winter here another year, she asked, “without finding that I, too, have deserted him?”

  The professor wanted her to return with him to Red Cliff, but she declined. Heilprin headed back the following morning.

  Two days later, Cook showed up at Josephine’s campsite with Eskimos carrying supplies. Notwithstanding the resupply mission, Cook beseeched her to return with him to Red Cliff. She relented only when he suggested there was much work to be done in preparation for heading home. She knew her husband would want her to have things ready for their departure.

  When Cook and Josephine returned, they found renewed dissension among the Eskimos. Kyo had stabbed his wife in the leg and threatened to kill her daughter, fathered by another hunter. When Kyo had left for a seal hunt, Klayuh ran away with her daughter. When he returned and found them missing, Kyo undertook a frantic search that stretched from the head of the bay to Cape Cleveland in the opposite direction. The other natives, distrustful of Kyo’s motive for wanting to find them, conspired to keep him off the track.*

  Over the next few days as she clung to hope, Josephine thought of the letter her husband had sent back with the support party two months earlier. He told her that he expected to be back about August 1 but assured her that if he wasn’t, it was only a delay and did not portend danger. He explained he had one hundred days worth of provisions—plenty to see him back.

/>   Nonetheless, there was growing anxiety about the fate of the exploring party, not diminished by the continual chatter of the Eskimo hunters about Peary being sinnypoh (dead). One native even told Josephine about his dream of only one kabloona (white man) returning from the ice cap.

  On August 5, a relief party boarded Kite and shipped to the head of the bay. There they set off on foot, scaling the cliffs to the top of the glacier—their scheme being to plant stakes at intervals to aid Peary and Astrup in finding their way home. Everyone, it seemed, felt more comfortable doing something rather than simply waiting. They stopped eight miles inland and drove the first poles into the ice, topping one with a red handkerchief and another with a sign that read: To Head of McCormick Bay—Kite in port—August 5, 1892.

  As the party moved on, there was a sudden shout from one of its members. Spotted up ahead was a tiny black object set against the white foreground of the glacial top. Then another speck appeared to the naked eye, joined by a dark, elongated shape. Field glasses were aimed—two men in furs and a sledge with dogs in harness were plunging down an icy slope.

  As the two men approached, the vision became clearer: Peary and Astrup!

  EARLY THE next morning, Josephine, who had made the trip on Kite to the head of the bay and remained onboard, was awakened by sounds of the ship being boarded. She knew it was too early for the return of the rescue party, which had planned to be gone considerably longer.

  Half-asleep, she heard a familiar gait approaching her cabin. She was afraid to move even when the doorknob rattled. Then she heard his voice, calling for her to open the door—was she dreaming? was it possible? She remained in the bunk as if paralyzed until the door was forced open.