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Authors: Jennifer Niven
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and some slippers. His government-issued clothing was aboard the Alaska, as was the trunk containing his own clothing and personal items, which he had brought from home. âThat was all 56 right,â he said, âin the ordinary course of affairs; but no thought has so far been taken of the change in prospects. I do not intend to ask for anything until I need it & then I shall demand it.â
A UGUST 24 was the most promising morning they had seen for a long time. The ice showed signs of breaking, there was a sprawling open lead to the east, and the ship was abuzz with nervous excitement. The men were hopeful of getting free, but by the end of the day, the wind shifted to the west and killed all possibility of escape.
By the next morning, the ice had completely closed up again, and there was no sign of open water anywhere. Dr. Mackay had crafted an instrument that determined the speed and direction of the drift, and now they knew that the Karluk was drifting west at one mile per hour.
If they had been closer to shore, their prospects might have been better for breaking free. As it was, the snow was falling again, land was sighted far in the distance, and adverse winds blew in from the north. The Karluk âs drift shifted daily, and by August 28, she was drifting southeast at a rate of twelve miles a day.
Meanwhile, unrest was brewing in the engine room over more than just the boiler tanks. Before being recommended for his post on the Karluk, Chief Engineer John Munro had been a junior officer on the British warship Rainbow . A Scot, he had emigrated to Canada and become a Canadian citizen. He was a towering man with a wide puttyish face, a rather soft chin, deep-set eyes, and a high forehead often in a crease when his brows were particularly furrowed, as they usually were.
Second Engineer Robert Williamson begrudged Munro his position as chief engineer. Munro was fond of shirking his work and putting much of it on Williamson, and Williamson soured at being ordered about by this man, whom he regarded as his inferior. Williamson was thirty-six years old, already weathered from over a decade of a seamanâs life. Tall, brawny, and as sharply angled as a hawk, he had served in the North Atlantic, the Mediterranean, and the Baltic. On June 16, the day before the Karluk had sailed from Esquimalt, he introduced himself to Bartlett aboard a local streetcar and by the time the streetcar reached Esquimalt, he had a job as second engineer. Even with the last-minute hiring, he had hoped to join Karluk as chief engineer himself and had been bitterly disappointed over being given the second post.
S TEFANSSON GAVE J ENNESS and Beuchat final instructions for their journey, along with a check for two hundred dollars and a letter that gave them full authority to act independently of the expedition should the need arise. They were to attach themselves to the Southern Party as soon as possible, and Jenness was to telegraph any pertinent news to the New York Times on Stefanssonâs behalf.
Kataktovik broke the trail ahead of the two sleds, which were loaded with a large umiak, skins, and provisions for thirty days. Each sled was pulled by a team of seven dogs. The ice was still covered with snow, which made it difficult to pick out a good trail, and they hadnât gone far when the sleds became immersed in water and the umiak was damaged.
After dinner aboard the ship, Stefansson and Hadley set out to reach the party, to take a batch of letters to them to mail. When they overtook Jenness and the others, Stefansson was dismayed at their miserable and wet condition. They were soaked to the skin, the provisions were damaged from the rough journey, and the ice was in a treacherous state. Immediately, he ordered their return to the Karluk . They cached the stores on the ice to lighten the sleds and brought back only the most valuable of the equipment. It took twenty minutes to retrace what had taken them two hours to travel on
A UGUST 24 was the most promising morning they had seen for a long time. The ice showed signs of breaking, there was a sprawling open lead to the east, and the ship was abuzz with nervous excitement. The men were hopeful of getting free, but by the end of the day, the wind shifted to the west and killed all possibility of escape.
By the next morning, the ice had completely closed up again, and there was no sign of open water anywhere. Dr. Mackay had crafted an instrument that determined the speed and direction of the drift, and now they knew that the Karluk was drifting west at one mile per hour.
If they had been closer to shore, their prospects might have been better for breaking free. As it was, the snow was falling again, land was sighted far in the distance, and adverse winds blew in from the north. The Karluk âs drift shifted daily, and by August 28, she was drifting southeast at a rate of twelve miles a day.
Meanwhile, unrest was brewing in the engine room over more than just the boiler tanks. Before being recommended for his post on the Karluk, Chief Engineer John Munro had been a junior officer on the British warship Rainbow . A Scot, he had emigrated to Canada and become a Canadian citizen. He was a towering man with a wide puttyish face, a rather soft chin, deep-set eyes, and a high forehead often in a crease when his brows were particularly furrowed, as they usually were.
Second Engineer Robert Williamson begrudged Munro his position as chief engineer. Munro was fond of shirking his work and putting much of it on Williamson, and Williamson soured at being ordered about by this man, whom he regarded as his inferior. Williamson was thirty-six years old, already weathered from over a decade of a seamanâs life. Tall, brawny, and as sharply angled as a hawk, he had served in the North Atlantic, the Mediterranean, and the Baltic. On June 16, the day before the Karluk had sailed from Esquimalt, he introduced himself to Bartlett aboard a local streetcar and by the time the streetcar reached Esquimalt, he had a job as second engineer. Even with the last-minute hiring, he had hoped to join Karluk as chief engineer himself and had been bitterly disappointed over being given the second post.
S TEFANSSON GAVE J ENNESS and Beuchat final instructions for their journey, along with a check for two hundred dollars and a letter that gave them full authority to act independently of the expedition should the need arise. They were to attach themselves to the Southern Party as soon as possible, and Jenness was to telegraph any pertinent news to the New York Times on Stefanssonâs behalf.
Kataktovik broke the trail ahead of the two sleds, which were loaded with a large umiak, skins, and provisions for thirty days. Each sled was pulled by a team of seven dogs. The ice was still covered with snow, which made it difficult to pick out a good trail, and they hadnât gone far when the sleds became immersed in water and the umiak was damaged.
After dinner aboard the ship, Stefansson and Hadley set out to reach the party, to take a batch of letters to them to mail. When they overtook Jenness and the others, Stefansson was dismayed at their miserable and wet condition. They were soaked to the skin, the provisions were damaged from the rough journey, and the ice was in a treacherous state. Immediately, he ordered their return to the Karluk . They cached the stores on the ice to lighten the sleds and brought back only the most valuable of the equipment. It took twenty minutes to retrace what had taken them two hours to travel on
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