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addition to their usual back-loads, the tentpoles are fastened to the dogs, sometimes one on each side, and the inextricable confusion they get into at times is perfectly irresistible. They go prowling around, smelling of different stones and places just as if they had nothing on their backs, until, at last, one pole still dragging behind, the other sticks out in front, and the dog is as firmly planted as if in the stocks. He can neither go ahead nor back out. Your attention is called by his yelling, for they do not like to be left far behind the marching column-they have too wholesome a fear of wolves. Sometimes they indulge in fighting even when loaded, for they are the most savage dogs in the world, though they seldom bite people. In their tussles a dog will get knocked completely over, and then he is anchored, for when the load is beneath, the dog cannot rise; it keeps him there. Occasionally they get involved in each other's sticks so that they have to be unloaded before they can be extricated. At each halt while on the march, some of the dogs require attention. There are some in almost every pack that never are at ease until they get their loads down under their bodies and dangling between their hind legs. Then they are perfectly happy, and they trail along the stony places and wade through the marshes until whatever has been assigned them to carry is totally ruined-unless, perchance, it be meat, which is never unfit for use. They are most affectionate creatures, too, and when you sit down to rest your weary limbs they gather around, pant their warm breath into your ear and slobber down your neck, and when you drive one away he immediately pitches into the dog nearest him out of revenge, and, others joining in, there is a general row. Lines are broken, loads dropped, meat-bags burst open, and then for a moment attention is diverted from fighting to eating all the provisions you had counted on for supper for the night. They take the deepest interest in everything you do, and watch every movement you make, evidently imagining that you might be eating, and will throw them a morsel if they only watch long enough. They never rest. Should a reindeer or a rabbit come in sight, they are off at once, handicapped though they may be, and it requires the united exertions of the men, women, and children to bring them back again. They generally obey the women better than the men—that is, they will come to the women when they call,
more quickly than they will to their masters. I have read that the dogs are allowed to sleep in the igloo and tupics to help keep the occupants warm, but such has not been my experience. In fact, I have seen every energy exerted to keep them out. It seems to be the one great aim of the Esquimaux dog to get inside of his master's house, and the master seems to live for nothing except to keep the dogs out. Sometimes a favorite leader is allowed to occupy the door-way of an igloo, which is so small that he acts as a plug to keep the others out. But you will see his shaggy body framed with noses sniffing the warm air with evident delight, and scenting the luscious blubber that fills the large stone lamp. The leader understands his privilege and will seldom molest anything; he patiently waits until something is dropped upon the snow floor, then if his nose recommends it he eats it, and resumes his position near the door. If you halloo at him to clear out, he immediately turns upon the dogs in his rear with a growl, as much as to say, "Don't you hear what master says? Keep back there!"
There is always one bully in every team, who gets all the choice bits that are stolen by the others, and generally manages to keep fat, no matter how short they are of provisions. He waits for the others to make the raid, and then stands on the outside to take it away from them. These bullies are in several grades. There is the chief, of whom all are afraid, and then there is the next in rank, of whom all are afraid but the chief; a third, of whom all are afraid but two, and so on down. Sometimes the food is cut into small pieces and thrown out upon the ice for all to help themselves, and then there is a rough-and-tumble fight, and snarling and growling, as if a whole cage of hyenas had broken loose. But here the bullies have no advantage; indeed, the advantage is with the small, lively fellows that slip in and get the meat while the big ones are fighting. When a dog manages to steal a piece of meat he has a lively time of it, for soon every other dog in camp is after him, and he has to eat it on the run, if at all, headed off at every turn by one of the bullies, and whining and choking at the same time. It certainly is one of the most comical exhibitions ever witnessed.
Nothing can exceed the energy of the Esquimaux dog, and no animal will do the same amount of work with as little food. Upon our return trip, during the winter of 1879-80, it was no unusual thing
for our dogs to go eight days without food, working in harness every day. During the summer, when not working, they are fed only about once in twenty days, if at all. The consequence is that they always have good appetites. They are always looking around for something to eat, and they have the most irresistible curiosity.
I remember one day, during our journey from Terror Bay to Tulloch Point, on King William's Land, during the fall of 1879, we had halted for a rest during the afternoon, and some one imagined he saw a tent on the crest of a distant hill. Tooloo-ah immediately got out the long spyglass, and, lying flat upon his stomach, rested the instrument upon the bundle he had just dropped from his shoulders. But as his eye was placed at the eyepiece, he jumped back, evidently startled, for he said he could see nothing, which was very likely, since at the same moment one of the dogs, with an investigating turn of mind, had approached the other end of the glass and was looking at him with his mild eye through the object-glass of the telescope.
After three months of weary marching with dogs and sledges, most of the way over unexplored territory, the Franklin Search Party found itself, on the 3d of July, 1879, at Cape Felix, the most northerly point of King William's Land, and there commenced the summer search for the history of Sir John Franklin's fated expedition. Already, while upon their journey up the coast, they had found the opened grave of Lieutenant John Irving, third officer of H. M. S. Terror, with the few remaining bones, together with some rotting clothing lying within the rude tomb and scattered among the rocks near by. A prize medal, awarded to that officer while a pupil at the Royal Naval College, established the identity of the remains, which was further confirmed by fragments of astronomical instruments found in the grave, evidently indicating it to be that of one of the scientific officers of the expedition. This grave was discovered near Cape Jane Franklin, and near by lay scattered, in utter confusion, many interesting relics of the lost crews. Here, also, we found a copy, in the handwriting of Sir Leopold McClintock, of the record found by him twenty years previously, and showing the spot to be the place where the retreating crews first encamped after abandoning their ships, in the spring of 1848. Here commenced that terrible march where
the brave adventurers, already wasted by disease, at last were compelled to succumb in the unequal contest with hunger, cold, and fatigue. As we followed their line of march down the coast, we found evidences that they had been unable to make better marches than from two to four miles a day, and nearly every camping-place was marked by the tombs of the dead, or the bleached bones of those who perished beyond the reach of their comrades. Finally, at a point on the main-land about five or six miles west of Richardson Point, were found the remains of those who, through superior physical resources, had succeeded in reaching the farthest point on their route to Back's Great Fish River, where they soon would have met with relief from the natives, who live the year round at the Dangerous Rapids, on that river, and subsist chiefly upon fish, which they catch in immense quantities from the never-failing stock existing in this famous tributary of the Polar Sea. Where these men perished, the natives had found, many years ago, a boat, with skeletons, and a sealed tin box, two feet long and a foot square upon the ends, which, upon being broken open, was found to contain books and a piece of magnetized iron. There seems little doubt that the books, so carefully preserved by the famished explorers, were their more important records, and that the piece of magnetized iron was the dip-needle employed by them in establishing the position of the north magnetic pole, near which they had been beset for nearly two years, affording a most valuable opportunity for ascertaining, with great accuracy, the position of that interesting point on the globe. The bravery of these poor fellows was indicated in an unusually marked degree by the affectionate care bestowed upon the remains of their comrades who fell during the march, all of whom received decent burial until the point was reached where the last few finally starved to death. The waning strength of the party was indicated, as we traced their line of retreat, in the diminished size of the stones that composed the graves, until, at the last one, on King William's Land, they were scarcely larger than pebbles. The tenacity with which they clung to their precious records, and only perished with them when the last man died, was most noble, and to doubt that the books that they guarded with such heroic devotion were any other than the history of their labors and discoveries in the interest of science and geography,
would be a most unworthy imputation upon their good sense.
All the bones of these poor fellows which were found by our party were carefully collected and entombed, with the exception of those of Lieutenant Irving, which, having been identified, were brought home to be delivered to his friends, and have already been transmitted to the British Admiralty, together with the relics collected and brought away to illustrate the history of our search.
The sledge journey and search made by Lieutenant Schwatka's expedition constitute one of the most remarkable trips ever achieved. To start upon a year's journey, through an entirely unknown territory, with only one month's rations, required no little
resolution; and that they would necessarily be compelled to live as do the natives, dependent entirely upon the game of the country through which they passed, seemed, in comparison with other contingencies, scarcely worthy of consideration. Upon their return they safely encountered the rigors of an unusually cold winter, even for that latitude, and during one month (January, 1880), whose mean temperature was -53.2° Fahrenheit, once observed the thermometer at -71° Fahrenheit. And yet, so thoroughly were the white men of the party acclimated that they experienced no more suffering from the extraordinarily low temperatures than did their native allies, thereby affording another illustration of the superior endurance of the Caucasian race.
IMPRESSIONS OF THOMAS CARLYLE IN 1848.*
BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
THOMAS CARLYLE is an immense talker, as extraordinary in his conversation as in his writing, I think even more so.
He is not mainly a scholar, like the most of my acquaintances, but a practical Scotchman, such as you would find in any saddler's or iron-dealer's shop, and then only accidentally, and by a surprising addition, the admirable scholar and writer he is. If you would know precisely how he talks, just suppose Hugh Whelan (the gardener) had found leisure enough in addition to all his daily work to read Plato and Shakspere, Augustine and Calvin, and, remaining Hugh Whelan all the time, should talk scornfully of all this nonsense of books that he had been bothered with, and you shall have just the tone and talk and laughter of Carlyle.
I called him a trip-hammer with "an Æolian attachment." He has, too, the strong religious tinge you sometimes find in burly people. That, and all his qualities, have a certain virulence, coupled though it be in his case with the utmost impatience of Christendom and Jewdom and all existing presentments of the good old story. He talks like a very unhappy man,-profoundly solitary, displeased and hindered by all men and things about him, and, biding his time, meditating how to undermine and explode the whole world of nonsense which torments him. He is obviously greatly respected by all sorts of people,-understands his own value quite as well as Webster, of whom his behavior sometimes reminds me, -and can see society on his own terms.
And, though no mortal in America could pretend to talk with Carlyle, who is also as remarkable in England as the Tower of London, yet neither would he in any manner satisfy us (Americans) or begin to answer the questions which we ask. He is a very national figure, and would by no means bear transplantation. They keep Carlyle as a sort of portable cathedral-bell, which they like to produce in companies where he is unknown, and set a-swinging, to the surprise and consternation of all persons, bish
ops, courtiers, scholars, writers, and, as in companies here (in England) no man is named or introduced, great is the effect and great the inquiry. Forster of Rawdon described to me a dinner at the table d'hôte of some provincial hotel where he carried Carlyle, and where an Irish canon had uttered something; Carlyle began to talk, first to the waiters and then to the walls, and then, lastly, unmistakably to the priest, in a manner that frighted the whole company.
Young men, especially those holding liberal opinions, press to see him, but it strikes me like being hot to see the mathematical or Greek professor before they have got their lesson. It needs something more than a clean shirt and reading German to visit him. He treats them with contempt; they profess freedom, and he stands for slavery; they praise republics, and he likes the Russian Czar; they admire Cobden and free trade, and he is a protectionist in political economy; they will eat vegetables, and drink water, and he is a Scotchman who thinks English national character has a pure enthusiasm for beef and mutton, describes with gusto the crowds of people who gaze at the sirloins in the dealer's shop-window, and even likes the Scotch night-cap; they praise moral suasion; he goes for murder, money, capital punishment, and other pretty abominations of English law. They wish freedom of the press, and he thinks the first thing he would do, if he got into Parliament, would be to turn out the reporters, and stop all manner of mischievous speaking to Buncombe and wind-bags. "In the Long Parliament," he says, "the only great Parliament,-they sat secret and silent, grave as an ecumenical council, and I know not what they would have done to anybody that had got in there, and attempted to tell outof-doors what they did." They go for free institutions, for letting things alone, and only giving opportunity and motive to every man; he for a stringent government that shows people what they must do, and makes them do it." Here," he says, "the Parliament gathers up six millions of pounds every
By arrangement with the Massachusetts Historical Society and Mr. Emerson, we have the honor of here printing this record of the writer's impressions of Carlyle, collected from letters home in 1848, for the occasion referred to in Mr. Ellis's note on page 91.-ED. S. M.
but his own business, he respects: and the nobler this object, of course, the better. He hates a literary trifler, and if, after Guizot had been a tool of Louis Philippe for years, he is now to come and write essays on the character of Washington, on "The Beautiful," and on "Philosophy of History," he thinks that nothing.
year, to give to the poor, and yet the people starve. I think if they would give it to me, to provide the poor with labor, and with authority to make them work, or shoot them, and I to be hanged if I did not do it,—I could find them in plenty of Indian meal."
He throws himself readily on the other side. If you urge free trade, he remembers that every laborer is a monopolist. The navigation laws of England made its commerce. "St. John was insulted by the Dutch; he came home, got the law passed that foreign vessels should pay high fees, and it cut the throat of the Dutch, and made the English trade." If you boast of the growth of the country, and show him the wonderful results of the census, he finds nothing so depressing as the sight of a great mob. He saw once, as he told me, three or four miles of human beings, and fancied that "the airth was some great cheese, and these were mites." If a Tory takes heart at his hatred of stump-oratory and model republics, he replies: "Yes, the idea of a pig-headed soldier who will obey orders, and fire on his own father at the command of his officer, is a great comfort to the aristocratic mind." It is not so much that Carlyle cares for this or that dogma, as that he likes genuineness (the source of all strength) in his companions.
If a scholar goes into a camp of lumbermen or a gang of riggers, those men will quickly detect any fault of character. Nothing will pass with them but what is real and sound. So this man is a hammer that crushes mediocrity and pretension. He detects weakness on the instant, and touches it. He has a vivacious, aggressive temperament, and unimpressionable. The literary, the fashionable, the political man, each fresh from triumphs in his own sphere, comes eagerly to see this man, whose fun they have heartily enjoyed, sure of a welcome, and are struck with despair at the first onset. His firm, victorious, scoffing vituperation strikes them with chill and hesitation. His talk often reminds you of what was said of Johnson: "If his pistol missed fire he would knock you down with the butt-end."
Mere intellectual partisanship wearies him; he detects in an instant if a man stands for any cause to which he is not born and organically committed. A natural defender of anything, a lover who will live and die for that which he speaks for, and who does not care for him, or for anything
Great is his reverence for realities,-for all such traits as spring from the intrinsic nature of the actor. He humors this into the idolatry of strength. A strong nature has a charm for him, previous, it would seem, to all inquiry whether the force be divine or diabolic. be divine or diabolic. He preaches, as by cannonade, the doctrine that every noble nature was made by God, and contains, if savage passions, also fit checks and grand impulses, and, however extravagant, will keep its orbit and return from far.
Nor can that decorum which is the idol of the Englishman, and in attaining which the Englishman exceeds all nations, win from him any obeisance. He is eaten up with indignation against such as desire to make a fair show in the flesh.
Combined with this warfare on respectabilities, and, indeed, pointing all his satire, is the severity of his moral sentiment. In proportion to the peals of laughter amid which he strips the plumes of a pretender and shows the lean hypocrisy to every van. tage of ridicule, does he worship whatever enthusiasm, fortitude, love, or other sign of a good nature is in a man.
There is nothing deeper in his constitution than his humor, than the considerate, condescending good-nature with which he looks at every object in existence, as a man might look at a mouse. He feels that the perfection of health is sportiveness, and will not look grave even at dullness or tragedy.
His guiding genius is his moral sense, his perception of the sole importance of truth and justice; but that is a truth of character, not of catechisms.
He says, "There is properly no religion in England. These idle nobles at Tattersall's, there is no work or word of serious purpose in them; they have this great lying church; and life is a humbug." He prefers Cambridge to Oxford, but he thinks Oxford and Cambridge education indurates the young men, as the Styx hardened Achilles, so that when they come forth of them, they say, "Now we are proof: we have gone through all the degrees, and are case-hardened against the veracities of the Universe; nor man nor God can penetrate us.'