The Impossible Rescue Read online

  Tilton was convinced that he was the one man among all those stranded off Point Barrow who had even a chance of surviving. “Many of the whalemen who formed the crews of these ships,” he stated, “had never before been north and were not accustomed to Arctic travel. Having spent many winters in the Arctic, I devoted much of my time to travelling and hunting while the ships were in winter quarters. I was used to hardships and knew how to travel under such trying conditions.”

  George Fred Tilton’s account of what had taken place at Point Barrow was deeply disturbing to Jarvis. Had the commander of the rescue operation been able to see a photograph like this of the Newport, one of the ships trapped in the ice, he would have been even more distressed.

  Amazed as he was by the remarkable fact that he and Tilton had crossed paths in the vast wilderness, Jarvis became even more astounded when the whaleman described his journey to this point. Tilton explained that all of his Arctic experiences could not have prepared him for what he had already gone through. He had left Point Barrow with two Siberian natives who were members of the Orca’s crew, and he had exchanged guides at villages along the way. He had battled his way through every possible Arctic winter storm, including blizzards so fierce that he had had to tie himself to his guides to keep from getting lost. On two occasions, he had been forced to kill and eat two of his dogs to keep from starving.

  Still, that was not the most terrifying of the experiences he had had thus far. About two weeks into his journey, he had been traveling across ice that lined the shore of a bay. Suddenly, a violent storm erupted and the wind came at him with near hurricane force. Then the ice he was standing upon broke free. Before he knew what was happening, Tilton and the icy “raft” he was perched upon were blown out into the middle of the bay. And there he remained — for three full days! There was nothing he could do. To try to swim back to land by plunging into the winter Arctic waters meant instant disaster. Just as he became certain that he was about to perish from exposure and starvation, the wind changed direction and he was blown back to shore.

  Now it was Tilton’s turn to be astounded as Jarvis told him why he was there and explained the expedition’s rescue plan. As Tilton listened to Jarvis, he first was amazed and then simply shook his head. Neither he nor any of his shipmates back on the Belvedere had imagined that a rescue effort was under way. And he could not help but be filled with admiration for Jarvis and the others who were risking their lives in such a heroic effort. But he also felt compelled to tell Jarvis that he and his companions were on an impossible, if not disastrous, mission. He was much bigger and stronger than Jarvis, and he had barely escaped with his life thus far. And he had been traveling southward. Jarvis would be trekking north at a time when the amount of daylight was diminishing each day and when the weather was bound to be even worse than what Tilton had experienced already.

  Tilton saved his final remarks for his opinion of the use of the reindeer. Although he was “delighted to know that this attempt to drive the deer through to Point Barrow was being made,” he believed that “it was a hundred to one shot the deer would never reach there.”

  George Fred Tilton’s account confirmed what Jarvis and Call had already anticipated. The journey ahead of them to Point Barrow promised to be even more challenging than the hundreds of miles of dangerous terrain they had already crossed.

  Jarvis understood all of Tilton’s concerns. But halting the rescue mission never entered his mind. What deeply disturbed him, however, was Tilton’s account of what had happened to the whaleships and their crews: the entire fleet trapped in the ice, at least two vessels sunk or abandoned, one other vessel lying on its side, and another ship missing.

  Tilton’s report of a great number of the whalemen having sought refuge ashore particularly troubled Jarvis. Evidently they had found some type of refuge there; however, according to Tilton, not only was food in short supply, but conditions in these quarters were also bad enough to have been a major factor in his being sent out on his desperate journey in search of help. Jarvis could only wonder how serious the situation was at Point Barrow. What he had no way of knowing was that the plight of the whalers was growing more hopeless every day.

  The icebound Newport and Fearless. While the stranded whalers who were being quartered ashore were experiencing severe difficulties, those who had remained aboard their vessels were enduring serious challenges as well.

  Charlie Brower and Ned McIlhenny had done whatever they could to provide living space for the whalemen. But as the days went on and the snows increased, the outer walls of the bunkhouse became banked with so much snow that almost no light came through the building’s one window. The ice on the inside walls had become four inches thick, and the dripping and meltings ran down into the men’s sleeping berths. Inside the berths, the whalers had taken to keeping seal-oil lamps burning. The soot and smoke from these lamps soon covered their clothes and their bodies with a black, greasy coating that made them scarcely recognizable.

  Making matters worse was the fact that a number of whalemen had come down with scurvy, a disease experienced by mariners since the days of the early explorers. It was a terrible affliction with agonizing symptoms. In its early stages, a sufferer’s skin became blotched, all of his joints ached, his gums bled, and he shook with chills. Soon both weariness and shortness of breath set in. In its later stages, victims of the disease developed a high fever, convulsions, and almost total disorientation. At this point, death was almost inevitable.

  A British report issued in 1600 estimated that, in the previous twenty years, some 10,000 seamen had been killed by what became known as the “plague of the sea.” By the early 1800s, a time when Great Britain ruled the waves, scurvy had become so widespread among those who sailed its ships that a full one-third of the British navy was incapacitated by the disease. At that point in history, no one knew that scurvy was caused by a lack of vitamin C, found in fresh meat, fruit, and vegetables.

  By the time David Jarvis was encountering George Fred Tilton, lack of cleanliness had also become a major concern. More than a cosmetic problem, it was a serious health issue. James Allen, who in his observations was often critical of his fellow whalers’ behavior, did offer a reason for the whalemen’s lack of cleanliness: “Most everyone of the men wanted to keep himself and his clothing clean, I’m sure, and would have, if he could. But with just one stove, and that used for [mostly] cooking, it was impossible for that many men to melt either snow or ice enough for water to wash their hands and faces, let alone their clothes.”

  Added to all these conditions was the near-total lack of discipline that increasingly hampered any attempts among the whaling officers and men to improve their conditions and increase their chances for survival. David Jarvis knew none of this. All he could be certain of was that getting to the whalers was more urgent than ever before.

  Less than two days after bidding good-bye to George Fred Tilton, Jarvis and Call, traveling first northwest and then northeast without pausing to rest, arrived at Unalakleet. There they found a mission school, a trading station managed by a Norwegian named Edwin Englestadt, and a native population of about one hundred. As in St. Michael, Jarvis had allotted himself only one day to remain in the village. Aside from the constant need to keep moving, he had a special reason for getting back on the trail. At St. Michael, the commander of the army post had been alarmed at the way in which several of Jarvis’s dogs had been yelping in pain from their badly cut and swollen feet. He was most concerned with how exhausted the creatures obviously were and had warned Jarvis that he would never be able to make it to Cape Rodney and Cape Prince of Wales with such worn-out animals. Even if Bertholf arrived with fresh dogs, the commander explained, it was doubtful that they would be able to tolerate the journey at this time of year. But, he added, he had a solution. Aside from Charlie Artisarlook’s herd at Cape Rodney and Tom Lopp’s deer at Cape Prince of Wales, there was yet another reindeer station at Port Clarence, which was only twenty-five miles north of Unalaklee
t on the shore of Norton Sound. Jarvis could not take the entire Port Clarence herd to the whalers, the commander explained, as they had been promised elsewhere. But as the chief military authority in the area, the commander would order Dr. Albert Kettleson, superintendent of the herd, to supply Jarvis with enough of the strong animals to pull his sleds all the way to Artisarlook’s and Lopp’s stations.

  The ever-faithful dogs haul a huge load of provisions. From the moment the expedition began, Jarvis knew that maintaining adequate supplies throughout the entire mission would be one of his greatest concerns.

  Jarvis could not have been more grateful. He could not wait to get to Port Clarence and hitch his sleds to the reindeer. But even if he was able to convince Artisarlook and Lopp to contribute their herds, he knew that maintaining enough provisions would still be a major problem. He hoped that after leaving Lopp’s station, he would be able, at villages along the way, to acquire enough food to sustain his party until they reached Cape Blossom, the gateway to Point Barrow and the whalers. He also had no doubt that by the time he reached the cape, whatever food he had been fortunate enough to beg or purchase would be all but gone. Replacements for items such as harnesses, lanterns, tent poles, and canvas would also be sorely needed. By this time, he would be facing the final leg of his journey, the trek to Point Barrow over what those who knew the country had told him would be the most difficult terrain under the most severe weather conditions he would ever encounter.

  So, before leaving Unalakleet, Jarvis wrote out a new order for Lieutenant Bertholf. “Sir,” the order read, “I enclose a list of provisions that I have left with Mr. Edwin Englestadt of this place, to be filled, and which are to be taken across the portage between Norton Sound and Escholtz Bay to Cape Blossom, Kotzebue Sound. I have engaged Mr. Englestadt and three teams for the trip, and upon your arrival you will take charge of the outfit and proceed with them to Cape Blossom. . . . You will await there my arrival or such orders as I may send to you.”

  Traveling with guides and three light sleds, Jarvis and Call left Unalakleet on January 5, intending to reach Port Clarence as quickly as possible. Up to this point on their journey, they had been plagued by a lack of snow, which had turned their hoped-for travel over a smooth surface into a struggle over rocks and gravel. Now they encountered the opposite problem. Almost immediately after leaving Unalakleet, a sudden blizzard dumped so much snow upon them that the only way they could proceed was to have four of the guides wear snowshoes to stomp down the deep drifts ahead of them. Even then, it was tough going. “The runners would sink to the body of the sled,” Jarvis wrote, “and the dogs go nearly out of sight in their struggle to drag along.”

  With the coming of the new year, 1898, the Arctic winter set in full force. As Jarvis and Call resumed their journey out of Unalakleet, they were forced to trek through the deepest snow they had yet encountered.

  For the first time since they had left Seattle, Jarvis began to despair. But he would not give up. Neither would the courageous dogs. Exhausted as they were, they struggled on. But suddenly the party was forced to halt as two dogs collapsed and had to be left behind. Precious time was lost reharnessing the teams. Once this was done, all the sleds moved at a much slower pace as the guides continually checked on the remaining dogs. Finally, on January 10, as they fought their way through even deeper drifts, they literally stumbled into a camp that had been hastily set up at the foot of a mountain. There they found none other than Dr. Kettleson and a group of his reindeer herders.

  As stunned as Jarvis was to have stumbled upon Kettleson, the reindeer superintendent was even more shocked at the sudden appearance of two Revenue Cutter Service officers so far from the sea in the middle of January. And Kettleson’s shock turned into astonishment when Jarvis described the plight of the whalers, explained his rescue mission, and then handed over the letter he carried ordering Kettleson to supply reindeer for the expedition’s use.

  To his credit, Kettleson did not hesitate in responding to the order. Yes, he exclaimed, given the urgency of Jarvis’s mission, he must have the reindeer at once. Not only that, but Kettleson would also personally accompany Jarvis to Golovnin Bay, where he had been forced to leave the herd during the same blizzard that had caused Jarvis and Call so much trouble. He needed to do this, he explained, because handling sleds pulled by reindeer was, to say the least, tricky business, and without his instruction, Jarvis and Call would never be able to manage it. He then offered to lend a hand and accompany the officers all the way to Cape Rodney.

  It was only a one-day trip to Golovnin Bay, and as soon as they arrived, Jarvis’s lesson in handling reindeer-driven sleds began. The first thing he noticed was how different these sleds were from the dogsleds, to which he was so accustomed. As Jarvis wrote, “[The deer] are harnessed with a well-fitting collar of two flat pieces of wood from which a short [rope] goes back on each side to the ends of a breast piece . . . that fits under the body. From . . . this a single [rope] runs back to the sled, either between or to one side of the hind legs. . . . [This rope] is protected with some soft fur, or the skin will soon be worn through with the constant chafing. Generally there is a single [strip of hide] made fast to the left side of a halter, and with this the animal is guided and held in check; [this strip] must be kept slack and only pulled on when the deer is to be guided or stopped. . . . Sometimes two guiding [strips of hide] are used in the same manner as driving horses, except that they are both made fast to the halter near the horns. No whip is used, and none should be, for the deer are very timid and easily frightened, and once gotten in that state they are hard to quiet and control.”

  Having observed the physical differences between reindeer-pulled and dog-pulled sleds, Jarvis also quickly learned that driving reindeer was different from driving dogs. As he had discovered early on, dogsled travel meant either walking or running alongside the sled, ready to push it when necessary. Because reindeer pulled the sleds much faster than dogs, one had to sit in the sled or be left behind. “All hands must be ready at the same time when starting a deer train,” he would write, “for, just as soon as the animals see the head team start, they are all off with a jump, and for a short time keep up a very high rate of speed. If one is not quick in jumping and holding on to his sled, he is likely either to lose [it] or be dragged along in the snow.”

  Jarvis and Call had only one day to learn the basics of driving a reindeer-pulled sled, a skill that was ordinarily learned over a period of at least three or four weeks. Concerned about Jarvis’s and Call’s safety and that of the deer, Kettleson asked one of his highly skilled herders to accompany the officers. Mikkel was from Lapland, a province in Sweden known for its reindeer herds, and had been raising and herding reindeer since he was a youngster.

  Although it brought about its own special problems, switching from dog-powered sleds to reindeer-driven sleds was a beneficial decision. Here, Jarvis and Call are about to leave Golovnin Bay with their newly acquired animals.

  On January 12, Jarvis, Call, Kettleson, and Mikkel, accompanied by four guides and with six sleds, set out for Cape Rodney and Charlie Artisarlook’s reindeer station. During the first day of the trip, much to Kettleson’s and Mikkel’s surprise, both Jarvis and Call did much better with the reindeer than they expected. But the next day, near tragedy struck. While Jarvis was maneuvering down one of the many slopes they were encountering, his sled hit a particularly slick spot and ran up on the hind legs of his reindeer. Immediately, as Jarvis would later report, the startled animal “bolted down the hill, throwing me off the sled. I held on to the line and was dragged through the snow against an old fish rack at the bottom of the hill. When I saw that fish rack loom up, I thought my time had come, but my bones seemed stronger than the rack, for throwing my head aside, my shoulder caught the upright [of the rack] and broke it . . . off. When I finally stopped the deer and pulled myself together, I was grateful to find I had no bones broken, for such a thing was too serious a matter even for contemplation.” It had been a
narrow escape, for if Jarvis had been seriously injured, the mission could have ended.

  Jarvis and his rescue party were now enveloped by a fierce blizzard. Determined to find shelter at a village some thirty-five miles away, they kept moving. The blinding snowfall decreased the visibility to the point at which the men could hardly see one another. Jarvis, who had been traveling behind Kettleson, Call, Mikkel, and their sled, lost sight of them.

  Unknown to him, his deer had wandered off the trail. Soon the animal tangled himself in a huge pile of driftwood. Then it ran directly into a huge stump. The force of the collision caused the animal’s harness to snap and the terrified deer to run off into the night, leaving Jarvis sitting alone in his sled. “It was impossible to see 10 yards ahead,” Jarvis would later write, “and I knew it would be reckless to start off alone, for the others were far in advance by this time, and I might wander about all night, become exhausted, and perhaps freeze. So righting my sled, I proceeded to camp where I was for the night, and await developments. I had nothing to eat on the sled, but fortunately had my clothes bag and sleeping bag, and getting them out under the lee of the sled, I proceeded to make myself as comfortable as possible. I knew the others would be searching for me as soon as they noticed my absence, yet it seemed impossible to find anything in that storm. I thought I had been there about an hour, when I heard a faint shout; jumping up, I answered as well as I could against the howling wind, and soon was gratified to see some muffled figures groping their way toward me in the . . . flying snow. They were Kettleson and Mikkel leading my deer. I was glad to see them and know that this . . . episode was ended, for by the next morning, with the cold and hunger, I might have been in no condition to help myself.”