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Title: The North-West Passage, 1940-1942 and 1944.
   The Famous Voyages of the Royal Canadian Mounted
   Police Schooner "St. Roch".
Author: Larsen, Henry [Henry Asbjorn] (1899-1964)
Date of first publication: 1948
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   Ottawa: Queen's Printer, 1969
Date first posted: 3 February 2017
Date last updated: 3 February 2017
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #1398

This ebook was produced by Al Haines


PUBLISHER'S NOTE

Italics in the original printed edition are indicated _thus_.

As part of the conversion of the book to its new digital
format, we have made certain minor adjustments in its layout.






  THE NORTH-WEST
  PASSAGE

  1940-1942 and 1944


  The Famous Voyages of the
  Royal Canadian Mounted
  Police Schooner
  "St. Roch"


  SERGEANT HENRY LARSEN, F.R.G.S.,
  COMMANDER





[Illustration: To my Friend Major J. S. Matthews, V.D.  City Archivist
Vancouver B.C.  From Insp. Henry A. Larsen, R.C.M.P. "St. Roch" H. A.
Larsen, Feb. 23rd 1948]




[Illustration: _Course of voyage_, 1940-42]


"H.M.S. Discovery, Nootka Sound,
    "October 2nd, 1794.

"We arrived here this day month all in high health and spirits, having
_truly determined_ the non-existence of any water communication between
this and the opposite side of America within the bounds of our
investigation beyond all doubt and disputation, hence I expect no
further detention in this hemisphere.

"Yours with great truth and friendship,
    "GEO. VANCOUVER."

_From original letter in City Archives, Vancouver_

NOTE: The underlining of "truly determined" is Vancouver's



[Illustration: _Burrard Shipyard, North Vancouver, where the "St. Roch"
was built, 1928_]




THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE

I will here endeavour to tell the story of the R.C.M.P. "St. Roch"; the
little ship that twice made the North-West Passage--the first from
Vancouver, B.C. to Halifax, N.S., 1940 to 1942, and also the return
journey from Halifax, N.S., to Vancouver, B.C., during the summer of
1944.

The R.C.M.P. "St. Roch" has had an interesting career, having spent all
her summers and eleven winters in the Arctic.  Built in 1928 at the
Burrard Shipyard, North Vancouver, B.C., especially for the R.C.M.
Police, she has extra thick timbers of Douglas Fir, sheeted on the
entire outside with Australian Gumwood, sometimes called Ironbark, to
resist the grinding pressure of icefloes.  This floating detachment of
the R.C.M.P. is one hundred and four feet long, has a beam of
twenty-five feet, and a draft of thirteen feet when fully loaded.
Diesel-powered, she was assigned to patrol the Canadian Arctic and to
convey supplies to our various land detachments along the Arctic Coast
and Islands.  Besides this she was meant to winter in remote places.
The crew are all members of the R.C.M.P. and we generally carry nine
men.

Our first winter in the North, 1928-29, was spent at Langton Bay at the
foot of Franklin Bay, and the following spring we returned to
Vancouver.  In 1930 we again left for the North, remaining there four
years, cruising in and around Coronation Gulf and westward as far as
Herschel Island.  After returning to Vancouver for a short period, we
once more set sail for the Arctic in the spring of 1935, and the
Cambridge Bay area became the "St. Roch's" field of operations for the
next three winters, interrupted by a return voyage to Vancouver in 1937.

In 1939 we docked at the Naval Dockyard, Esquimalt, B.C., and the
following spring we received one of our most important, and to my mind,
most interesting, assignments.  Our Commissioner, S. T. Wood, now
informed us that when our regular duties along the Western Arctic Coast
were completed, we were to proceed to Halifax, N.S., by way of the
North-West Passage.  On this trip we chose the Southern Passage; that
is, eastward through Queen Maud Gulf, south of King William Island,
then northward between Boothia Peninsula and the King Island Coast; or,
in other words, we used the same route as taken by Amundsen in the
"Gjoa" 1903-06, with the exception that we passed through Bellot Strait
instead of Peel Sound.  This gave us the opportunity to visit the
remote Eskimo Tribes on Boothia Peninsula and the surrounding district.
This voyage took us 28 months.

The summer of 1943 was spent in the Eastern Arctic, leaving Halifax,
N.S., on July 17th with a full load for our Eastern Arctic Detachments.
We returned on October 16th the same year after a patrol of about 8000
miles.  We spent the winter of 1943-44 at Halifax undergoing repairs
and having a 300-horsepower engine installed instead of our 150 so as
to have more power for the coming voyage during the summer of 1944.
Our instructions were to return to Vancouver via the Northern or
Lancaster Sound Route.  This had never before been completed by any
vessel, although many had tried in vain.  The last one to try was the
C.G.S. "Arctic" under Captain Bernier in 1910.  Captain Bernier reached
a point, a little beyond Winter Harbour on Melville Island, from where
he was forced to return to Montreal.

After our overhaul in Halifax was completed, we left on July 22nd,
making a 3-day stop at Sydney, N.S., for final checkups.  We finally
got under way, carried out our assigned work in the Arctic, and arrived
in Vancouver, B.C., on October 16th, 1944.  Thus, for the first time in
history, we became the only vessel to complete the Northern Routes both
ways, and the only vessel that had completed the Lancaster Sound Route,
which is the better of the two.  This route will no doubt be used in
the future.

After laying up for a bit of overhaul in the Naval Dockyard, Esquimalt,
B.C., during the winter, we again proceeded to the Arctic in the spring
of 1945.  We had instructions to winter at Cambridge Bay, where we
arrived about the middle of September.  Whilst there we acted as a
wireless station and assisted the planes as a radio beacon supporting
the Exercise Muskox.  The men we met in connection with this force,
both the moving force and the pilots, should be classed as among
Canada's finest.  We left Cambridge Bay August 11th, 1946, and arrived
at Vancouver on September 26th, 1946, thus completing our eleventh
winter.

I shall here take the opportunity to mention some of the duties of the
R.C.M. Police in the Arctic Territories of our great Dominion.
Firstly, to uphold and enforce Canada's sovereignty of her Arctic
Islands; to act as administrators for the North-West Territories
Council; maintaining game laws; making general checkups of Eskimos'
living conditions; compiling Vital Statistics; authorizing the issuing
of rations for the destitute aged and infirm Eskimos; taking of census;
settling of any disputes which might arise; conveying children to and
from the residential schools at Aklavik; and transferring sick Eskimos
for treatment and hospitalization at Aklavik.  Sometimes we assist in
securing suitable Eskimos, with their families, who we transport from
the Coronation Gulf area to the Mackenzie River Delta to learn to herd
and look after the reindeer herd provided by the Canadian Government
for the Eskimos in that area.

The Eskimos in the Mackenzie River Delta and its immediate surroundings
are now quite civilized, many of them owning small power-schooners and
small frame houses.  Most of them do quite well in trapping fur-bearing
animals and therefore do not take as much interest in the reindeer
herding as their less fortunate brethren in the Coppermine and
Coronation Gulf area.  It is these latter people who, I think, will in
the future receive the benefit from these herds; especially when the
reindeer have multiplied to such an extent that they can be split into
several smaller herds.  They can then be transported eastward as far as
the Coronation Gulf and Boothia Peninsula areas, where the Eskimos
still live their primitive and nomadic existence in snowhouses during
the winter, and tents during the summer months.

When I said that part of our duty is maintaining game laws, I did not
mean that we make our Eskimos observe these rules strictly to the
letter as far as obtaining animals for food and clothing, which are
necessary for the well-being of the nomadic life these people live, is
concerned.  What we do, is to advise them not to kill caribou
unnecessarily nor to waste the meat or skins, or use it exclusively for
dogfeed.  For this latter purpose, we advise them to obtain fish.  The
lakes and the small rivers are teeming with fish that are easily caught
with nets.  These nets are now obtainable at all the Hudson's Bay
Company Trading Posts in the Arctic.  I should mention here that only
about twenty-five years ago, in the central part of the Arctic--that
is, the area between Coppermine River and the eastern side of Boothia
Peninsula--all the hunting was done with bows and arrows.  This form of
hunting did not deplete the game to any extent, although it provided
the Eskimos with their requirements.  With the introduction of modern
firearms, it was but natural that a primitive, and in many ways,
childlike people, would use these new weapons indiscriminately on any
game they saw, whether they needed it or not.  Therefore, in many
areas, much big game such as muskoxen and caribou was sadly depleted,
until such time as the R.C.M. Police had been firmly established, so
they could visit these people regularly.  We do stop them from killing
muskoxen at the present time, and point out their mistakes in killing
and possibly exterminating these animals.  We also endeavour to explain
that the policy of the Canadian Government in protecting these animals
is for the welfare of their young sons and the coming generations of
Eskimos.  They are a very intelligent people and readily understand
these points, besides, they are very fond of having things explained to
them.  We have found that these explanations have a much better effect
than just forbidding them to do certain things.  One game regulation we
make them observe strictly is the season of taking fur-bearing animals.
White fox, for instance, are plentiful along the Arctic mainland, also
on the Islands.  The white foxes concern the Eskimos mostly, so the
North-West Territories Administration in Ottawa, after very careful
study of the habits of the white fox, came to the conclusion that these
animals should only be taken during the period of November 1st and
April 1st in any one year.  The pelts during this period were found to
be prime, or in good condition for commercial use.  The game
regulations in this regard were therefore amended and drawn up
accordingly.  Nearly all the Eskimos now trap extensively in order to
obtain the necessities to which civilization has made them accustomed;
that is, such items as flour, sugar, tea, coal oil, rowboats, outboard
motors, fishnets, tents, and most important, rifles and ammunition.
They now receive good prices for their furs at many scattered Hudson's
Bay Company Posts in the Arctic.

[Illustration: _Vancouver from the air_]

What I now would like to tell you concerns our two North-West Passages,
the winters, and some of the people we came in contact with.  After
having loaded our little vessel to full capacity with fuel and
provisions for our own need, and also for our Western Arctic
Detachments, we left Vancouver at 2:50 a.m. June 23rd, 1940, and
proceeded northward through the inside passage as far as the north end
of Vancouver Island.  From this point we headed "St. Roch's" blunt bow
westward across the Pacific direct for Unimak Pass.  Some bad weather
was encountered, and at times our heavily laden vessel was almost
completely submerged, causing large volumes of water to pour down into
our living quarters, adding discomfort to the members who were off
watch trying to get a little sleep.  This is a hard thing to do when
one constantly is on the verge of being tossed out of one's bunk with
each roll of the ship.  Sometimes the galley fire had to be put out
owing to the back-draft, caused by the quick rolling motion of the
ship, blowing down the smokestack.  Some of our boys had never before
been on a vessel or salt water, but to their everlasting credit they
stood up well; and taking everything as a matter of fact, they soon
found their sea legs.

[Illustration: _Sergeant Larsen of the North-West Passage_]

On July 4th we passed through Unimak Pass from the Pacific into the
Bering Sea.  We took shelter for a while in Akun Cove in order to tidy
the ship up a bit before proceeding to Dutch Harbour.  Here we took the
opportunity to catch a few cod and halibut and had a good feed, which
we all needed.  On July 6th we arrived in Dutch Harbour.  Next day
being Sunday, we were royally entertained by the officers and crew of
the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter "Shoshone" of the Bering Sea Patrol.  Some
of them were, I think, a bit amused at seeing our small vessel whose
decks were completely hidden under hundreds of coal sacks, oil drums,
and small rowboats, stacks of cases containing fresh potatoes, eggs and
various vegetables that we couldn't store in our holds, and on top of
all this deckload were, of course, our men in our Mounted Police
uniforms, trying to act and walk in a dignified and military manner as
laid down in our training.  However, friendly relations were soon
established between our men and the American sailors who began to swarm
aboard the "St. Roch", and to entertain us with tales that they had
heard or read about in the States, regarding some of the exploits of
the R.C.M. Police.  Some of the feats they mentioned, I believe, far
surpassed those accomplished by Superman or Flash Gordon; anyway they
were all fine boys, and we soon had enough volunteers to man ten ships
like the "St. Roch".

On July 9th we said goodbye to our friends and headed northward.  On
July 15th we entered the harbour of Teller, sometimes called Port
Clarence, a small settlement about 80 miles north of Nome.  It was here
that Amundsen landed with his airship, Norge, in 1926 after crossing
over the Pole from Spitsbergen.  We called here for the purpose of
picking up dried fish previously ordered for dogfeed, also to give our
engines a checkover before getting into the icepack.  Leaving Teller on
July 16th we ran into some very dirty weather in Bering Straits, which
we passed through without seeing a glimpse of land.  Thick weather and
strong southerly winds prevailed and the next land we picked up and
recognized was Cape Lisburne.  We could expect the ice anytime now.  As
we all were in need of a bit of rest, and the weather was still bad
with thick fogbanks, I decided to anchor at Point Hope for a while.
This is a long sandspit projecting about 15 miles from the mainland
into the sea.  On the point itself there is a settlement of about 300
Eskimos, also a residential school teacher and his family.  When we
anchored, several large umiaks or skinboats loaded with Eskimos, the
teacher, Mr. King, and his family, came out to visit us.  However, the
anchorage is exposed, and although the wind had died down, the long
rolling swell made the "St. Roch" roll so violently that they all got
seasick and had to go ashore after a visit of about half an hour.
Shortly afterwards we were compelled to weigh our anchor and pull out
to sea owing to increase and change in winds.

During the latter years the Smithsonian Institute and the University of
Alaska have done a lot of work in the way of research and excavation on
the sandspit of Point Hope.  Many fine ivory carvings, ornamental and
otherwise, were found, also tools and weapons and hunting implements,
many made of green and black jade.  It is estimated that people have
been living there for well over a thousand years; they were a people
who made their living from the sea, and even in that age hunted the
whale and walrus.  It is possible that they were the ancestors of the
present people there, but in their days they must have been much
further advanced, judging from the carvings and implements I have seen.

On July 22nd we arrived and anchored off Cape Smyth.  This is a large
settlement usually known as Point Barrow, although it is situated 10
miles to the southwest along the coast.  The population consists of
about 500 Eskimos.  There is a large hospital, a church, and a large
school which comes under the U.S. Bureau of Education.  There is also a
wireless station.  We paid a short visit ashore, and were heartily
welcomed by our Arctic neighbours in the traditional manner of American
hospitality.  The most colourful figure in this place was, of course,
"Old Charlie Brower", a resident of these parts for over fifty years.
He was known all over Alaska as "King of the Arctic".  Shortly before
his death about three years ago he wrote a book called "Fifty Years
Below Zero".

As the anchorage here was dangerous so early in the season we did not
linger long, but pushed on in order to round Barrow Point itself.  This
is a long narrow point extending in the Arctic Ocean, with northerly
and westerly winds causing the ice to jam up against it.  It is
dangerous for a vessel to remain in the west side of the point when the
ice is close.  Many vessels have, in previous years, been caught here,
and have either been crushed or carried off with the ice.  We were
fortunate this time, as there was a little water between the grounded
ice and we rounded the point at 3:30 p.m. on July 23rd.  Once around
the point the conditions became a bit better, owing to the fact that
the land takes an East South East direction, and thereby allows a freer
movement for the ice, except when there are north winds, which forces
the ice in along the shallow coastline.

The year 1940 was bad for ice, with prevailing northerly and
northwesterly winds, and we were continually getting beset by heavy old
ice.  It took us from July 23rd to August 12th to make the 400 miles
between Point Barrow and Herschel Island.  Sometimes there was not a
drop of water in sight as the ice packed itself tightly together around
us.  At other times we were free to move around in little pools from
which there was no outlet or leads.  At all times we had to be on the
move to avoid damage, only moving sometimes a shiplength or two.  At
times black gunpowder was used to crack particularly nasty floes
threatening our rudder and propeller.

At Herschel Island, long ago the winter rendezvous for the Arctic
whalers, we were met by Inspector Bullard in the R.C.M.P. boat
"Aklavik".  He had arrived from the settlement named Aklavik, in order
to receive the coal, etc., we had brought for them from Vancouver.
Herschel Island at one time had a large population of Eskimos.  There
were several tradings posts and the wintering of the many whaling
vessels with hundreds of men in the early days didn't do the native
population much good.  It was not until 1904, when the R.C.M. Police
established there, that some of their activities were stopped, but as
is often the case with primitive people, they were then already on the
decline.  Then to finish things off, in 1928 there was a severe
epidemic of influenza, destroying most of the remaining natives.
Herschel Island is for the present abandoned; the few families
surviving the 1928 epidemic have moved to the Mackenzie Delta.  The
Hudson's Bay moved their post to a place called by the Eskimos
"Tuktoyaktok"--"the place where deer cross"--now abbreviated to Tuk
Tuk, or, as the Hudson's Bay Company call it, "Port Brabant".  We
called there on August 24th, picking up a native woman and child from
Aklavik Hospital, for transportation to Cambridge Bay, also two boys
from the Anglican School to be returned to their people in the East.
We arrived at Coppermine on August 31st, where we remained until
September 2nd, discharging supplies for our Detachment.  Then we
proceeded to Cambridge Bay on the eastern end of Victoria Island.  It
was September 10th before we were finished there.

[Illustration: _The "St. Roch" in the ice, Pt. Barrow_]

I had hoped when leaving Vancouver that we would be able to proceed
eastward, but the season was too far advanced for the narrow passages
around King William Island and as we had no particular reason to winter
in this vicinity we proceeded westward in order to winter at Banks
Island or Walker Bay on the west side of Victoria Island.  The season
before freezeup is a bit longer in this area, also we had instructions
to visit the Eskimos trapping the west side of Banks Island.  These are
Mackenzie Delta people and they have small power schooners in which
they travel every year to Aklavik to sell their furs, and purchase
fresh supplies.  We didn't however, find a suitable harbour for our
vessel on Banks Island so proceeded across Prince of Wales Strait to
Walker Bay, arriving on September 25th.  It was now nearly freeze-up
time, so we had to get busy setting nets in the lakes already frozen,
and hunting seals in order to get dogfeed.  Our dogs, also a native
family, we had picked up at Cambridge Bay.

Before the winter sets in, it is necessary to cover or build a canvas
housing over the ship, otherwise the fine sifting snow finds its way
into our living quarters.  The snow is very fine, and during a heavy
blow it penetrates the finest little cracks in the doors.  When the ice
on the lakes is about 12 inches thick, we cut our water supply for the
winter.  We generally locate a lake with deep water and with an
approach fairly free from rocks so that we can use our dogs to haul the
ice back to the ship.  All hands get busy with large ice saws and we
cut perhaps 40 tons of ice to ensure a sufficient water supply for the
winter.  Every drop of water used must be melted.  In our living
quarters we place 45 gallon drums that are filled with crushed ice.  On
the stoves there are constantly kettles of water, and when boiling we
pour the water over the ice.  This performance goes on every day.  We
then got busy preparing for our journeys to Banks Island.  The dogs
were broken in, the steel sled runners on our large 16 to 18-foot
sleighs were given a covering of mud, which was later smoothed and
polished, a piece of bearskin being used for applying a thin coat of
ice outside of the mud.  The sleds then pull with a minimum of
friction; steel pulls too hard over the frosty snow.  This is the
Eskimo method which we adopted.  When we leave on our patrol we have
often 1,500 pounds on our sled pulled by 11 dogs.  Of course there is
not much riding as one constantly has to mind and watch the sleds.
During fairly good going we can cover 30 to 40 miles per day.  We also
adopted the Eskimo way of clothing with caribou skin.  Double outfits
in real cold weather are used.  The inside has the fur next to one's
body, If the going gets tough the outside garment can be removed and
what we call a snowshirt, made of cotton drill or grenfell cloth, can
be put on.  We never carry a tent during the winter as it is only extra
weight; our camps every night are made of snow.  For building our
snowhouses we carry long snow or butcher knives, and these are among
the necessary implements on a sled trip, as, without them, camps could
not be built.

[Illustration: _Taking on fresh water from pools on the ice._]

For cooking we use Swedish Primus stoves.  A finer implement for Arctic
travellers, I think, has never been invented.  It burns coal oil, is
very economical, and very seldom goes out of order, even with the abuse
it gets.  Our food we cook before leaving.  We have so far never had
the opportunity to try any of the special food packages put up for the
Army, Air-force, or other parties going into the Arctic during the last
few years.  The food taken on our patrols was therefore prepared from
the ordinary supplies issued to us, and it is prepared by the men
themselves going on the patrols.  For instance, beans are always in
great demand.  We generally cook up a five gallon pot; in them we put
lots of fine cut bacon, canned meat (fresh if we have it), lots of
canned tomatoes, onions, molasses, sugar, mustard, and salt; they are
boiled until very thick, which requires constant stirring.  When done
they are ladled out in large pans and allowed to freeze, after which
they are broken up with an axe into small chunks and placed in small
canvas bags for easy carrying and handling.  As a variation we also
boiled rice, potatoes, other vegetables and meat; these items are all
put through the meat grinder after being cooked, and worked together in
a large breadpan or boiler.  Instead of water for moisture, lots of
canned soup or tomatoes are used, some spices added, and the whole
thing made into little flat patties that are frozen and put away in
canvas bags.  When making camp one can then have a meal in a few
minutes, by placing a few beans or some of the patties in a pot and
adding a little water.  Instead of the pilot bread or hardtack, which
takes up a lot of room, and does not give great satisfaction to a
hungry traveller, we cook up hundreds of doughnuts.  They are also, of
course, frozen and put in bags.  Whilst making tea or coffee, a few are
placed on top of the lid to thaw a bit so they can be chewed, although
they are never soft.  Rolled oats are light to carry, and a big pot is
generally cooked for breakfast.  Besides this, we take dried onions and
carrots, also some rice, as there is always the opportunity to pick up
game on our way, so a good stew can be made.  We also saw frozen fish
into slices of about an inch thick; a slice of this is generally eaten
as soon as the camp is made, while we are waiting for the snow to melt
for water.  Strange as it seems, this raw frozen fish gives one a warm
feeling of well-being after a few minutes.  The Eskimos say that the
frozen fish forces the warm blood from the inside out to the skin and
makes one feel warm.  This sounds reasonable to me as I have tried it
many times.  We also pack a small bag of flour and baking powder with
us.  When forced to lay over, as we sometimes do during bad weather, we
have lots of time to make a few hot bannocks or pancakes; these we cook
mostly in beef tallow, which we pack with us, and I find it better than
the lard.

[Illustration: _Sergeant Larsen on patrol with sleigh_]

For our dogs we carry dried fish and seal blubber all cut up in squares
ready to be swallowed.  The blubber is stowed in cans so as not to make
a mess of our gear.  If short of blubber we pack beef tallow for them,
as they have to have fat with the dried fish.  Fresh fish, or what we
call greenfish, is too heavy to pack on long patrols.  For sleeping
gear we use the Woods Arctic sleeping robe, sometimes we use caribou
skin bags, if we can get them.  They are light and less bulky than the
robes.  There are numerous other details in connection with a long dog
patrol, taking anywhere from two to three months, during which time one
practically has to pack everything.

[Illustration: _The "St. Roch" in the ice, McClintock Channel_]

To go on with the voyage, we remained frozen in at Walker Bay from
September 25th, 1940, until July 31st, 1941, when the ice allowed us to
move out.  Proceeding southward, we called at Holman Island in order to
pick up a young Eskimo boy accidentally shot through the cheeks by his
brother with a 22-calibre rifle.  This boy we took to Tuktoyaktok,
where he could get transportation to Aklavik for medical attention.
Whilst at Tuk, we picked up the supplies which arrived via the
Mackenzie River, some for ourselves and some for the Coppermine and
Cambridge Bay Detachments.

After our work in this connection was completed we left Cambridge Bay
August 20th, 1941.  We arrived at Gjoa Haven, King William Island,
August 27th.  That summer also proved bad with ice and violent snow
squalls.  When we reached Matty Island the ice was solid across from
shore to shore, and more was driven down MacClintock Channel by
prevailing North-West gales.  There, we nearly lost the ship, as the
waters were full of shoals, and the force of the wind and snow in our
faces made it impossible to see.  We dropped both anchors behind a reef
and prayed that they would hold, which they did, although great floes
kept crashing down on us all night.  By September 3rd we had worked up
to Pasley Bay, vicinity of the Magnetic Pole, and all progress was
stopped by ice.  We got caught there and drifted back and forth with
the ice until September 11th, when we got jammed in close to the beach,
and all ice in the bay became stationary until August 4th, 1942.  We
moved out of the bay about 15 miles, there we again got locked in,
drifting back and forth in the vicinity where Sir John Franklin's
ships, the "Erebus" and "Terror", were beset and abandoned nearly one
hundred years before.  On August 24th a small lead opened and we worked
our way up to Tasmania Islands, where we remained until the 29th, close
to the beach.  There was a little open water between these islands and
the loose ice moved back and forth with the change of the tides at
terrific speed in the narrow channels, keeping us all awake.  We had to
be constantly on the move to avoid damage or getting pushed ashore.  On
the 29th we were able to proceed northward, by heading a bit for Prince
of Wales Island, which we followed up until abeam of Bellot Strait.  We
cut across and entered this Strait the same night.  The western end of
the Strait was clear of ice, but in the middle there was a barrier
right across, held there by some heavy grounded ice.  This Strait is
only half a mile wide and there is a terrific current.  As the ice came
pouring in behind us, there was nothing else to do but crash into it
and attempt to drift through.  This we did; the strong current causing
large whirlpools in which large cakes of ice spun and gyrated.  Many
times we thought the ship would crack like a nut under the pressure.
Sometimes we became stationary off projecting points of land--high,
dark, inaccessible cliffs--the Strait is about 18 miles long.

We had two young Eskimos aboard, a man and his wife.  One has to admire
the quality of these people.  At times when things looked really bad
they would go up on the forecastle head and sing at the top of their
voices.  They told me they were singing so the ship wouldn't get
crushed, so I told them to keep on singing.  They were quite pleased
after we got through, when I told them their singing had no doubt
helped us a great deal.  Meanwhile, the people at the eastern end of
the Strait, at the Hudson's Bay Company post, Fort Ross, had anxiously
watched our struggles, and they all came swarming aboard to welcome us.

We considered our voyage practically over at this time as the Hudson's
Bay Company ship "Nascopie" has called here regularly every year since
1937.  But it so happened that in 1942 it didn't reach Fort Ross owing
to the ice pouring into Prince Regent Inlet after we left.  On
September 2nd we proceeded to Ponds Inlet, northern part of Baffin
Island, where we have a Detachment, picked up one of our men there due
to go out, then proceeded southward on September 10th.  In Davis Strait
we ran into a strong south-east gale with snow squalls and no
visibility.  The sea was studded with small icebergs and growlers, as
the small, almost submerged, icebergs are called, some disappearing in
the swell, then bobbing up again like gigantic sea-monsters.  With our
low power it was hard to dodge them as the suction seemed to drag us
towards them.  One struck us and knocked a piece off our hardwood guard
rail.  Had it struck us lower down it would have gone right through the
bottom.  We finally arrived at Halifax, N.S., on October the 11th, and
our voyage was over.

Whilst frozen in at Pasley Bay we made many patrols in order to get
acquainted with the country and to visit and take census of the Eskimos
scattered in small groups along the coast of Boothia Peninsula and
North Somerset Island.  One of our trips took us to Victoria Harbour in
Thorn Bay on the east side of Boothia Isthmus.  It is the largest
Eskimo settlement on that coast.  The people live almost as they did in
1829, when Sir John Ross arrived there in his ship "Victory" in search
of the North-West Passage.  After three winters, during which time Sir
John was unable to extricate his vessel from the ice, he abandoned it
in the spring of 1831.  We visited the place where he left the ship and
found large pieces of iron plates and bolts from his little steam
boiler and engine, also coils of old hemp rope.  There was an old
bronze cannon there which almost broke my heart to leave behind, as it
was too heavy to pull on our sled.  The Eskimos all had implements and
seal oil lamps made from the iron plates from the boiler.  The older
people still vividly describe the men on the "Victory" from the tales
handed down to them by their forefathers; the ship itself, they said,
had finally drifted out of the harbour, and smashed up and sunk near
one of the many islands in Lord Mayor Bay.

The Eskimos in these regions are very talkative.  Once their natural
shyness is over, they readily answer all questions about the country.
They talk about the people who lived there before them; these they call
the Tunit People and describe them as being very big.  They lived in
houses constructed of stones, whalebones and earth.  The Eskimo legends
are that when they (the Eskimos) arrived they had great fights with
these people and finally killed them all, mostly when they slept.  They
can still point to the spot where they say the last of the Tunits were
killed.  When old implements are found they can tell with certainty
whether they are from their own or from Tunit origin.  Most of these
legends are no doubt true.  At many places along the east coast of
North Somerset Island, and the coast of Boothia, we saw remains of
these Tunit villages.  At one point I must have counted at least 40
large mounds, the remains of old houses.  From these there were
sticking out from the ground the large whale ribs used for
construction, also many whale skulls.  Even at the present time the
Eskimos make trips to these ancient building sites for whalebone, which
they split and use for sleigh-shoeing.  How long ago since the Tunit
people disappeared no one knows.  Some day in the future I hope the
Canadian Government will send competent men in there to excavate some
of these old settlements, which might date back thousands of years.
One thing is certain, the people who lived there must have been further
advanced than the Eskimos, since they lived in houses and hunted such
large mammals as the whale.

[Illustration: _Eskimos live a very hard life.  A photograph taken on
the ice in James Ross Strait._]

From whence the Eskimos came no one perhaps will ever know with
certainty.  Their legends, old beliefs and customs are dying out fast;
the bringers of civilization have been too busy teaching them our
history, beliefs and ways of living to find out anything about these
people first.  They are one of the most remarkable people in the world
today.  Their small number covers perhaps more territory than any other
race on earth.  The ones we have come in contact with, in the
localities from Bering Strait to Hudson's Bay, seem to differ somewhat
in appearance in different localities, although their language is
universally the same, with the exception of local dialects.  The ones
nearest in physical appearance, it seems to me, are the ones farthest
apart geographically.  For example, the Eskimos from the Alaskan Coast
look very much the same as the ones from Baffin Island, and their
dialects are nearly the same.  An Eskimo family we took with us from
Baffin Island to Herschel Island expressed surprise over the fact that
it was much easier for them to converse with the western or Mackenzie
Eskimos than with their immediate neighbours across Prince Regent Inlet
and King William Island.  The Eskimos living in the Coronation Gulf
area, in Bathurst Inlet, and Victoria Island, as far east as Cambridge
Bay, appear to be taller, with better features, some very ruddy, and of
a generally more handsome appearance than either the Alaskans or
Baffinlanders.

[Illustration: _Eskimo snow huts--a camp.  Dog team resting._]

The Eskimos who have the hardest life are probably the few scattered
groups living around Boothia and Adelaide Peninsulas, and in the King
William Island regions; they are also the most primitive.  Owing to the
lack of caribou, on which they depend for clothing, they nearly always
seem to be ragged and dirty.  In the spring and summer they mostly go
inland in search of deer, returning again to the sea-ice in the fall in
order to hunt seals, which are their main source of food and fuel
during the long winter.  Some years when they have failed in the deer
hunt, one can find them huddled together in miserable little snow huts,
just eking out an existence, waiting for spring.  The best of the
clothing, in many cases the sleeping skins, have to be made over for
the men, in order that they may stay out on the ice to spear seals at
the breathing holes, or jig for torn cods, small specie of codfish,
hardly more than a head with a tail attached to it.  The women and
children have to stay around the snowhouses, sometimes clothed only in
dirty old deerskin rags, many times with parts of their bodies exposed.
Under such conditions they cannot travel very far in search of better
hunting.  Whatever game is secured is divided by the wife of the lucky
hunter and given to the other women in camp.  They all share alike; no
one seems to keep anything extra for themselves; everybody is free to
visit each other's snowhouse and to help themselves to any food or meat
laying around.  Sometimes they all congregate in one snowhouse and eat
the food; the precious seal blubber used to cook the meat is conserved
that way.  It sometimes happens under these circumstances that some of
the very old and infirm commit suicide, as is their custom, in order
not to impose on the younger and able hunters.  I have never heard of
anyone being deliberately "put out of the way", although there have
been many rumours that it is done; but these, I think, come mostly from
people who have never come in close contact with the various Eskimos,
or seen the conditions under which some of them exist.  I know one old
Eskimo who committed suicide.  This man, a great hunter in his day,
strangled himself--which seems to be the most popular way--just a few
days before my arrival.  It was during one of the bad winters I have
mentioned, and took place in 1937, at a place on the ice a few miles
eastward from King William Island.  Upon inquiry of his wife and
relatives I found that he had been ailing for nearly a year and had
lost the use of his legs.  The other men used to pull him out to the
seal holes by sled, where he would sit for hours poised over the hole,
waiting to strike a seal.  Sometimes he succeeded, but finally he got
worse and could no longer be taken out, and had to remain laying down
in his snowhouse, which was shared by his son-in-law and his married
sister.  Many times during the winter, his wife and son-in-law said, he
had asked for his rifle so that he could shoot himself, but all Eskimos
now had heard about the police and knew that some other people who had
committed murder for other reasons had been taken away.  They were
scared that they would be blamed and would not help him, as was
sometimes done before when men were too sick to help themselves to die.
However, after many arguments from the old man, all the men left camp
for the seal hunt, as it is not customary that they be present when
someone kills himself.  The old man now only had the women to deal
with, and it was their custom to obey the head of the house.  His wife
said he asked her to fasten the line of his seal spear through the roof
of the snowhouse so he could strangle himself.  This she refused to do
and he got so angry she said she cried and cried, and finally ran
outside where they could hear her husband calling.  They finally went
in again and her husband kept begging them.  His daughter, a girl 15 or
16 years old, then went out and fastened the line, but did not return.
Her husband now made a loop, then got on his knees and called for his
women folks to come.  As his daughter had not returned he told his wife
to get her, and when they had come back and stood around him he put his
head in the loop, looked at them all, then leaned forward and died
right away.  After a while they cut him down, wrapped him in the skin
he had been laying on, and dragged him outside.  When the men came home
that evening they pulled the body to a little rocky island and left it
there, as no Eskimo likes to be left on the ice after they are dead.
Then the whole group had to move camp perhaps ten miles or so.  I went
to the little island to look at the dead man so as to confirm their
story that he had died from strangulation, although I believed the
story.  It so happened that before my return a strong snowstorm came
up, lasting for several days.  No one could go out hunting and they had
to sit in their snowhouses, cold and miserable.  On my return to camp a
few days later they said the blow must have been sent by the dead man
because I had disturbed him.

One cannot help but like and admire the Eskimos; especially so the more
primitive groups among them, whom we have contacted; their helpfulness
to one another, their resourcefulness in hard times, and their fondness
for children.  As far as I have seen there is no such thing as the
unwanted step-child.  If a child's parents die or are unable to care
for it, the child is immediately adopted by some one who can, and he
fares the same as their own children.  In their primitive way of life
they need one another in order to hunt, live and exist.  Some of their
customs perhaps do not agree with our way of thinking, but they are no
worse than many among civilized people.

The only sad happening which took place during the second winter of our
first patrol through the North-West Passage was when one of our
comrades, Constable Chartrand, died suddenly of a heart attack.  As
Chartrand was an ardent Catholic, and the only member of that
denomination on the "St. Roch", we thought it but right that, if
possible, he should be buried with the ritual of his Church.  At Pelly
Bay, about 400 miles from us, we knew there was a priest, Father Henry,
living among the Eskimos, almost as one of them.  Corporal Hunt and
myself set out to locate him and if possible to have him come and
perform the ceremony.  On this journey we came in contact with many of
the Eskimos scattered in small groups southward along the east side of
Boothia.  Wherever we arrived we were most heartily welcomed.  They
gave us the choicest tidbits of seal meat, fish, or any other things
that might happen to be simmering in their pots, always hanging over
the blubber lamps.  The ladies of the house almost continuously tend
these lamps and pots, some of which contained heads of large bearded
seals with long drooping moustaches and large mournful eyes staring at
us from the pot.  Some times an old wrinkled woman would put her hand
in a pot, search around for a while, then pull out a choice piece of
meat and squeeze it between her fingers, then give it a few licks with
her tongue; then, with a gracious smile, she would hand it to us.  Not
to ignore this friendly gesture we would pull out our knives, cut off a
few pieces of meat, then toss the remainder back in the pot.

On arrival at one of these snow villages near Lord Mayor Bay one
evening we heard quite a commotion issuing from the largest house.
After securing our dogs we crawled in through the passage leading into
the house, and much to our surprise found a great big man dressed in an
enormous pair of white bearskin pants and a white parka standing in the
middle of the house playing a concertina.  All around him stood or
squatted about 40 Eskimo men, women and children singing "Shall We
Gather at the River" in their own tongue.  After our mutual surprise
they recognized us as white men.  The big man shook hands with us and
introduced himself as Canon Turner, the Anglican Missionary from Pond
Inlet, Baffin Island.  He had arrived a day earlier on his annual visit
from Baffin Island.  After we had shaken hands with everyone, including
the small babies, still on their mothers' backs, where they are carried
so as to keep them warm, they continued on with the service, mostly
singing, in which we joined.  This kept up for about five hours or
more, until a large section of the snowhouse roof caved in from the
heat of such a large gathering.  As the weather was mild outside, it
was not worth while building a new roof in the dark.  Instead, we all
commenced eating, everybody contributing something to the feast.  Some
of the Eskimos brought in armfulls of frozen fish, while Canon Turner
cooked a large pot of rolled oats.  We contributed some tea and sugar,
also the use of our primus stoves.  By the time everyone was through
eating, and all the news was swapped between Canon Turner and
ourselves, it was after three in the morning.  As many of us as
possible stretched out on the sleeping platform for a bit of rest;
Canon Turner, Corporal Hunt and myself in the center.  On each side of
us slept an Eskimo family, complete with little children.  Between the
small babies, which cried at times, and the snoring of the grown-ups,
we did not get a great deal of sleep before they started getting up.
Corporal Hunt and myself had scarcely dozed off when we were awakened
by the tunes from Canon Turner's concertina.  He was standing in the
middle of the snowhouse holding morning service, with a number of
Eskimos standing around singing.  The chanting voices of the Eskimos
lulled us to sleep again, and we did not waken until a plate of
porridge was put into our hands by Canon Turner, who was about ready to
leave on his homeward journey.  At this spot the North-West Passage was
again completed.  Canon Turner came from England and had arrived from
an east coast port of Canada, coming to Baffin Island on the Hudson's
Bay Company steamer "Nascopie", and crossed over to Boothia by dogs.
We had arrived from Vancouver to the west side of Boothia, then
travelled around it by dogs.  Our meeting with Canon Turner was purely
one of chance, neither of us knew of the other's movements.

From here we hired an Eskimo to guide us to Pelly Bay in order to
locate Father Henry.  We arrived at his place late on the night before
Good Friday.  We found the Father living in a stone house, probably
about 16 feet by 24 feet long, that he had built entirely by himself.
It was really a masterly piece of work, as he had fitted all these
hundreds of stones of various shapes and sizes together with clay taken
from the ground, about two feet down from the surface soil.  We found
him to be a most charming and genial man.  He lived practically on the
country's natural resources, mostly seal meat and fish, at times eating
raw frozen fish.  This is no doubt what kept him in such wonderful
health.  In one part of the house, which he had partitioned off with
skins and pieces of wood, he had a little heater in which he burned
chunks of seal blubber and moss.  Here he also ate and slept.  He
turned this room over to us, insisting on sleeping on the floor
himself.  He offered us a glass of wine, but when the little keg was
brought in, it was frozen solid.  It was a while before it thawed out
enough to give us each a glass.  The wine and the fact that we had
travelled 55 miles that day made us fall asleep while the Father was
saying his midnight Mass.  Next morning when we awoke the Father had
already held his morning service and was busy preparing breakfast for
us.  When we tried to excuse ourselves for sleeping through his
services, the Father just laughed in his kind, humorous way and said
that it was but right that we should sleep like good Protestants while
he prayed for us.  The Eskimos now began to arrive from the surrounding
district, and in a little while about 25 snowhouses had been built.
Everyone was coming to attend Easter Service.  On Easter morning we
joined in the service, attended by about 80 Eskimos of all ages, packed
into the little stone building.  There was no room and nothing for them
to sit on, so they were nearly all standing up, except for a few old
ones who squatted on the floor.  The Father had taught hymns and
prayers to these people, and the service was held in the Eskimo
language.  The Father looked wonderful in his robes.  He is a fine big
man with a long flaming red beard, and the Eskimos just love him.

While the service was going on, a great pile of fish was thawing in one
corner, and a large pot of meat was simmering over a seal oil lamp, so
as to be ready for feasting immediately the service was over.  A young
woman next to me fainted twice, but nobody paid any attention to her as
they were too busy singing.  Each time I dragged her outside into the
fresh air, and when she came to she just smiled and shuffled in again.
I found out afterwards that she had just come about 100 miles and had
given birth to a baby a few hours before the service.

After the service they immediately began to rejoice, which took the
form of eating.  The Father introduced us to them as King George's men
who had come especially to visit them, and told them to give us a
hearty Eskimo welcome.  This they did with great shouts between each
mouthful.  We were the first policemen to visit these people, so to
give a good impression we contributed a case of beef tallow that we
carried along as emergency dogfeed.  The Eskimos are exceedingly fond
of this kind of tallow.  It is just pure edible beef tallow which we
use ourselves on the trail instead of lard.  At once the Eskimos began
to cut the tallow up in pieces and they crunched large chunks of it as
dessert.  After the feast they had games outside for the men; this
consisted mainly of throwing a harpoon at a snowblock, and shooting
with bow and arrow.  They all have rifles now, but the Father
encourages them to keep up practice with bow and arrow, which I think
is a good thing.  I was selected to be the judge, and as such it was my
duty to hand out the prizes to the winners.  The Father had some small
prizes, and Corporal Hunt and I donated some of our tobacco and
cigarette papers, and a pair of snow glasses, which I intended as first
prize.  Every man was to shoot three arrows each.  Some of the older
men were quite good, but there was a handsome young fellow that I
thought should have first prize.  He therefore got the snow glasses.
We soon found out that we didn't have enough prizes to go around as
each man came up for a prize whether he had made a good score or not.
No Eskimo considers himself inferior to another; for had he not tried
just as hard to hit the target?  He had just had bad luck with his
shooting, that was all.  Sometimes it was the same way with the
hunting.  Some days certain Eskimos got game, then some other days
other Eskimos got the game.  They all received the benefits from it, so
why should they not all get a prize, which is perhaps a good way of
reasoning.  We therefore had to resort to a few more pounds of tallow,
which we cut in halves, thus each man received a prize.  Strangely
enough the ones who got the real prizes would rather have had the
tallow.

[Illustration: _Grandmother and grandchild, King William Island.  She
recalls the "Gjoa" expedition, under Amundsen, wintering there._]

We stayed six days with Father Henry; then we asked if he could come
and perform the funeral service.  He said he would be pleased to come
later in the spring when the seals began to come up to sleep on the
ice.  It would then be easier to procure dogfeed from day to day as one
travelled.  This was what we had expected anyway, so we prepared to
continue our journey to King William Island.  The Father obtained a
fine young Eskimo to guide us over the overland journey.  After we
left, Corporal Hunt and I developed terrible colds with headaches and
fever, but we finally arrived at Gjoa Haven, King William Island.  Here
we were warmly greeted by Mr. Learmonth, the manager of the Hudson's
Bay Company Post.  Whilst there we learned of another tragedy--the
death of Mr. William Gibson, the district inspector for the Hudson's
Bay Post in the Western Arctic.  Mr. Gibson, ex-Mounted Policeman, with
many years of Arctic service, both with the Force and with the Hudson's
Bay, had burned to death in an airplane crash whilst on his way to
Coppermine from Edmonton.  With the death of Mr. Gibson and Constable
Chartrand the Arctic lost two great travellers; and Eskimos and whites
in the Arctic, two good friends.




THE RETURN VOYAGE

1944

While at Halifax during the winter 1943-44 we again received
instructions to navigate the North-West Passage.  This time we were to
use the Lancaster Sound Route.  On the way we were to call at Frobisher
Bay and bring supplies to our Detachment at Pond Inlet.  During the
winter we had several alterations carried out to the living quarters so
as to be more comfortable and we had a large diesel engine installed.
We left Halifax Harbour, July 22nd.  The next day we noticed the deck
around the exhaust pipe had become very hot, causing the pitch to boil
and run; it was therefore necessary to head for Sydney, N.S., to have
the exhaust pipe altered.  This took us three days, and it was July
29th before we eventually headed northward.  We called at Curling Cove,
Newfoundland, to fill our oil tanks, as this was the last place on our
trip where oil could be obtained.  On July 29th we passed through the
Strait of Belle Isle.  From there the icebergs became very numerous,
and we were greatly hampered by fog along the Labrador Coast.  No
observation could be obtained, and on August 2nd we got a short glimpse
of Cape Chidley.  Shortly afterwards we obtained a radio bearing from
Resolution Island.  The weather continued thick and foggy and drift ice
now made its appearance.  As we could not afford to lose any more time
we decided to pass up the call at Frobisher Bay and continue northward.
By August 4th we had worked up to Leopold Island, the north side of
Cumberland Sound.  As we proceeded toward Cape Walshingham, the ice
became heavier and we could make no progress.  I therefore proceeded
across to the Greenland coast, which we sighted on August 6th.  On this
side there was fine clear weather and open water except for giant
icebergs.  Off the Great Halibut Bank conditions looked good to
westward, so we again crossed over to Baffin Island, and picked up the
land around Clyde River.  There again was fog and floe ice which slowed
us down considerably.  It was August 12th before we finally anchored in
front of our Pond Inlet Detachment.  Had our instructions not included
this call we would have continued on Northward along the Greenland
coast until a little past Lancaster Sound, where we would have cut
across, and thus saved much time from working ice.  During the early
part of summer there is much less ice on the Greenland side than the
Baffin Island side.  Our time was spent in unloading supplies and
taking on previously cached "St. Roch" equipment.  We took on board a
native, his wife and family and 17 dogs.  They were all quite willing
to venture forth with us.  There were seven of them all told.  They
made themselves comfortable in a tent on top of our deckhouse, where
they lived until we reached Herschel Island.  We got away from Pond
Inlet on August 17th; proceeding up Navy Board Inlet, we made a short
stop at Low Point to pick up some articles belonging to our family.
While crossing Lancaster Sound we ran into a strong south-easterly gale
with snow and sleet.  Due to the absence of floe ice a nasty choppy sea
came up and finally we found shelter in the lee of a huge flat-topped
iceberg near Cape Warrender.  We cruised back and forth in the lee of
this iceberg for six hours while the whole vessel became covered with a
sheet of ice from the spray and sleet.  Our poor dogs on top of the
deckload were suffering most from the freezing spray until we finally
got them all bundled into a little cargo scow that we somehow covered
with bits of canvas.  When the gale abated we proceeded to, and
anchored at, Dundas Harbour, North Devon Island.  We had a Detachment
there, and as it had been closed for some time it was desirable that we
should call and ascertain the condition of the buildings for future
occupation.

[Illustration: _Course of voyage, 1944_]

We left there again on August 19th.  There was still a fresh south-east
wind with sleet and no visibility to speak of, so we skirted the high
cliff-like shore.  At noon we came abreast of a good sized inlet, which
at first appeared as a small opening in the cliffs.  We entered here
and after proceeding up this inlet we found anchorage close to shore in
a little cove with a depth of 18 fathoms of water.  We went ashore and
built a cairn, into which we placed a brass cylinder containing a
record of our visit.  We saw numerous bear tracks but no other game.
On the bank of a stream running from the hills into the cove we
discovered the ruins of three ancient dwellings made of stones and
bones.  Poor weather prevented me from determining our exact position,
but as far as I could judge it was either Stratton or Burnett Creek.  A
heavy snow fell during the night, but we could not afford to linger
long, so proceeded westward along the coast.  The falling snow at times
shut off all visibility.  The weather cleared after we crossed Maxwell
Bay, Devon Island, which seemed suitable for shipping, and before us
lay a remarkable stretch of high, flat-topped table-land.  The steep
walls rose directly from the water's edge leaving no beach.  To the
southward we could see Prince Leopold Island and some icebergs.  We
neared Cape Hurd at noon, August 20th.  Late that afternoon at Beechey
Island we anchored in six fathoms of water in Erebus Bay, named after
one of Sir John Franklin's ships that spent its first winter here.  On
the island we went immediately to the cenotaph erected in memory of
those who perished in the British Naval Expedition in 1852 under Sir
Edward Belcher while in search of the Franklin party.  On the beach we
examined the remains of a cache known as Northumberland House,
established in 1854 by Commander W. S. Pullen of H.M.S. "North Star".
All that was left were thousands of oak barrel staves and pieces of
coal.  Nearby we came across pieces of the keel, stem and planking of
the yacht "Mary", a small vessel of 12 tons left at Cape Spencer, Devon
Island, in 1850 by Sir John Ross, who hoped it would save chance
survivors of the Franklin Expedition.  Two years later Commander Pullen
moved it to Beechy Island, where it has remained throughout the years.
Captain Bernier visited this place in 1906 and we found his records in
a cairn on an elevated plateau, and supplemented them with an account
of our own doings.  Our brief tour revealed nothing more of historic
interest.  The island is desolate and barren and without fresh water.
We did not venture far inland because snow fell continuously during our
stay and the country-side was buried under a deep mantle.

[Illustration: _The "St. Roch" leaving Halifax, N.S., for Vancouver,
B.C., 1944_]

We left Beechey Island on August 22nd, passed Cape Hotham, Cornwallis
Island and Wellington Channel, which was clear of ice to the northward;
but soon the weather changed and ice drifting eastward made its
appearance.  Our course took us north of Griffiths, Somerville and
Brown Islands through floes which, though of one year's formation, kept
getting heavier and more tightly packed.  Here we bagged four walrus
that provided a welcome change in food for us, and especially for our
Eskimos and our dogs.  Owing to heavy packed ice along the Cornwallis
Island shore we were unable to land.  During the morning of August 23rd
we reached a point about 8 miles eastward of Cape Cockburn on Bathurst
Island, but were unable to penetrate farther as the thickly packed ice
moved eastward at great speed, carrying us along with it for about 20
miles, until abeam of Ackland Bay, where we managed to get loose.  We
then worked our way inshore and anchored behind some shoals on which
heavy ice was grounded, breaking the flow of drift ice.  It sheltered
us until the morning of the 24th, when the wind changed and cleared the
ice from the shores.  We followed up the lead and anchored off Cape
Cockburn.  We immediately went ashore to look for the cairn built by
Captain Bernier, but failed to locate it.  Perhaps it had been
destroyed by bears, because we saw many of their tracks in the snow.

[Illustration: _Franklin's Monument on Beechey Island._]

[Illustration: _Sergeant Larsen, and some of the crew of the "St.
Roch".  Relics of the yacht "Mary" left at Beechey Island by Sir John
Ross.  Also some relics picked up at Dealey Island._]

In a conspicuous place close to jutting rock about 300 feet high we
built a cairn for our records, and from this vantage point we saw that
the ice in Viscount Melville Sound was tightly packed to the West and
south.  The whole countryside here was packed in deep new fallen snow.
Ice pressure from Austin Channel made it imperative that we move
without delay, so we at once started working northward.  Though the ice
was not heavy, and the surface broken, the constant westerly winds,
assisted by the heavy snowfall, held it together.  We alternately
steamed and shut down and drifted until late p.m., when we had reached
a point off Schomberg Point.

[Illustration: _Fine Old Eskimo who knew where one of Franklin's ships
sank, and, as a small boy, made visits to get pieces of iron from her._]

From here we found a good lead westward to the north end of Byam Martin
Island, where we anchored, went ashore to build a cairn and deposit a
cylinder with a record.  Only a small cairn could be built, owing to
snow covering the land, and it was hard to find stones and rocks.  We
saw several caribou tracks in the new snow.  In the early morning of
August 26th we got under way again and headed westward for the Melville
Island.  We enjoyed the first clear weather for days and saw very
little ice while crossing over to Melville.  As we approached the beach
of Consett Head we sighted a dozen musk-oxen grazing on the grassy
lowland close to the beach, and as we proceeded southward we saw
several small herds.  At 1:30 p.m., perceiving what in the distance
appeared to be a large cabin, we anchored in a shallow bay north of
Griffith Point.  A party set out to investigate, but the object of our
attention proved to be a lone bull musk-ox, motionless as the land on
which he stood.  A mile and a half inland a small cairn was built and a
record placed in it.  Getting under way again, we reached Palmer Point
at midnight and anchored close to shore in 25 fathoms of water.  The
navigation had been difficult the last few days owing to constant
snowfall and thick weather, which obscured the sun and the land most of
the time.  The magnetic compasses had been bafflingly unresponsive for
several days, many times with its North point fixed on the ship's head,
irrespective of our direction.  During the night and forenoon of August
27th we again had heavy snowfall and no visibility.  We ventured
ashore, however, and deposited a record on a pyramid-like rock.  Rock
piles of this kind made by Eskimo hunters signified that in the remote
past this land had been inhabited.  Green vegetation could be seen
protruding through the snow which was covering the ground fast, and
discouraged us from going very far inland.  During the afternoon of
August 27th the weather cleared and we pulled out for Dealey Island.
The cairn on top of the island, consisting of a huge pile of stones, on
which a large spar, surmounted by three barrels, could be seen for a
long way.  We anchored close inshore and at once set out to examine the
massive cache which, like the cairn, had been built in the spring of
1853 by Captain Henry Kellett, who had spent the winter there, in
H.M.S. "Resolute".  The cache, partially destroyed and its contents
scattered everywhere by marauding bears, had been erected in the shape
of a house.  Although most of its sturdy stone walls still stood, the
roof had long since fallen in.  At one end were iron tanks of hard
tack, the tanks were rusted through and the hard tack was wet and
soggy.  Canned meats and vegetables stacked up and covered with sod
formed part of one wall.  The centre of the building was a
conglomeration of broken barrels of flour, clothing, coal, rope and
broken hardwood pulleys for ships blocks.  Everything was still frozen
in ice, which covered the interior of the cache.  Outside were
scattered leather seaboots, broken barrels of chocolates, peas and
beans, all wet and soggy.  On the beach were two broken Ross rifles and
boxes of ammunition nearly buried in the sand.  The rifles had been
left by Captain Bernier in 1909, whose records we found in the cairn.
We picked out a few good tins, some of which contained ox cheek soup
made in 1850 by a manufacturer situated opposite East India House,
London.  Directions for opening were, take a hammer and chisel and cut
out one end, being careful not to let flakes of the paint which cover
the cans to get into the soup.

[Illustration: _Captain Kellett's cairn, 1853, visible for miles, on
summit of Dealey Island.  Three empty barrels, one above another._]

As the season was getting on we could not afford to remain long, so in
the morning of August 28th we pulled for Winter Harbour about 30 miles
to the westward.  The weather was very thick when we arrived there, so
had to anchor outside for a few hours, waiting for the weather to
clear.  Finally we got inside and anchored in about five fathoms of
water.  In the harbour itself there were many large pieces of heavy ice
aground.  We immediately went ashore to visit Parry Rock, which could
be clearly seen.  On the rock was carved the names of H.M. ships
"Hecla" and "Griper", also the names of several seamen from these
ships.  These two vessels were the two first vessels to arrive and
winter here and were under the command of William Edward Parry, Royal
Navy, who was, I think, the most outstanding of all the Arctic
explorers of those days.  On the rock was also a large copper plate
inscribed with the Union Jack and the Canadian Coat of Arms, and the
following inscription:


    "THIS MEMORIAL IS ERECTED TODAY TO COMMEMORATE THE TAKING
    POSSESSION FOR THE DOMINION OF CANADA, OF THE WHOLE ARCTIC
    ARCHIPELAGO, LAYING TO THE NORTH OF AMERICA.  FROM LONG. 60 W. TO
    141 W., UP TO LAT. 90 NORTH, WINTER HRB., MELVILLE ISLAND, C.G.S.
    ARCTIC.  JULY 1ST, 1909, J. E. BERNIER, COMMANDER, J. V. KOENIG,
    SCULPTOR."


Whilst in Winter Harbour we also found a bottle containing a notice
deposited in 1929 by the late Inspector Joy, R.C.M.P., who had then
visited this spot, making perhaps the longest and most famous patrol in
Arctic history.  While there we were still hampered by heavy snowfall,
which prevented us from venturing very far behind.

[Illustration: _Front of Captain Kellett's cairn, 1853.  Hundreds of
broken barrels scattered around.  Nothing usable remained._]

After placing a record of our visit on Parry Rock, we left Winter
Harbour, 1:20 p.m. August 30th, and enjoyed a clear run south-westward
for 30 miles, although the heavy pack could be seen to the south of us.
We were now in waters never before traversed by any vessel, the eastern
entrance to McClure Strait.  We encountered the heaviest ice of the
voyage here, of large unbroken floes.  We were soon forced to moor to
the ice, and so took the opportunity to fill our fresh water tanks from
the fresh water pools on the ice.  We were hampered a great deal by
thick fog and sleet, but taking advantage of every little opportunity
we gradually worked southward, alternately tying up to the ice and
drifting.  Fortunately the weather now was almost calm, with only a
slight draft of wind from the north.  The floes to which we moored
appeared to revolve in a clockwise motion, as we always found ourselves
on the north side of the floe, after being tied up to it for a few
hours.  Late p.m. September 2nd land suddenly loomed up ahead through
the fog and we were again forced to moor to a grounded floe close to
shore and await better weather, for, because of our merry-go-round
drift, I couldn't decide whether we were near Russell Point on Banks
Island or Peel Point on Victoria Island.  Daylight, September 3rd, we
continued up what proved to be Richard Collinson's Inlet.  We soon
found out our mistake, so turning around we followed the coast back and
soon were in Prince of Wales Strait.  There were only a few small
pieces of ice, and wonderful clear weather and sunshine greeted us.  It
was really the only fine day we had during the entire passage; that
night we were off the southern end of the Strait, and shutting down our
engine drifted until daylight, when we were close to Ramsay Island.
Shortly afterwards we passed the entrance to Walker Bay, our winter
quarters of 1940-41.  Shortly after noon, September 4th, we anchored at
Holman Island.  I thought it strange that no one came to meet us, as
there is a R.C. Mission, a Hudson's Bay Post and several natives there.
A blast from our whistle brought no life whatever.  When we went ashore
we learned that the people had been up all night unloading supplies
from the H.B.C. vessel "Fort Ross", which had left only a few hours
before our arrival, and, tired out, they had been in bed.  When
awakened by our whistle they thought the "Fort Ross" had returned for
some reason.

There more history was made, there two Canadian vessels had completely
circumnavigated the North American Continent, the "Fort Ross" had left
Halifax three months before us and had sailed through the Panama Canal,
up the west coast to Vancouver, where she had loaded for the western
Arctic.  On September 5th we left the island and before midnight were
in a field of heavy ice, 20 miles north of the mainland off Keats
Point.  Next day, buffeted by strong winds, we crawled through tightly
packed ice along the shore to Cape Parry, then cut across Franklin Bay
and followed the shore-line to Cape Bathurst.  We were now in what we
might call home waters, but it did not give us a very warm welcome, as
we ran into a blinding snowstorm, and all day and the next we bucked
heavy ice which gradually forced us closer to shore, and late at night
on September 7th we were forced to tie up to grounded ice near Toker
Point.

[Illustration: _Progress stopped, September 1944.  In McClure Strait._]

Next morning we were able to make very little progress for fog had
settled down and joined with the ice as though to deliberately impede
us.  At noon, however, it lifted, and visibility improved sufficiently
for us to see that the way to the west was closed completely, and as
fresh north winds were driving more ice upon us, I decided to bear
toward Tuktoyaktuk.  The shallow water and the strong current from the
Mackenzie River kept a large stretch of open water there.  When we
reached the harbour's mouth at 6 p.m. the entrance markers were
indistinguishable in the darkness, and we grounded on the mud flat.
Fortunately we had very little headway on, so backed off again.  We
anchored in three fathoms of water, although we hated to do so, as we
knew a gale was on its way, and it came.  Daylight of September 9th
brought a gale and pouring rain.  Before we got under way the entrance
markers had blown down.  The entrance is very tricky, but the only
thing we could do was to attempt to enter.  In no time the sea and
water was nothing but churned-up mud, the vessel rolled so violently
one of our dories rolled right on to the boat deck from the davits.
How we got over the shallows is a miracle.  It was only the swell which
lifted us over.  Once inside we dropped both anchors and let out all
our cable.  The gale reached hurricane proportions and the water rose
ten feet, flooding the Hudson's Bay Company buildings, washing away
goods and equipment, and drowning several native-owned dogs.  Small
islands of peat land embedded with willows and cranberry bushes drifted
by.  It was the worst storm that ever had struck the settlement, but
the "St. Roch" rode it out.  However, we had entered the harbour only
in time to save ourselves and the ship from certain destruction.  P.M.
September 10th we managed to get ashore, and the sandspit was
completely changed.  Huge chunks of soil had been torn from the banks
of the island, revealing old blue ice.  Mackenzie Bay was turned into a
solid mass of packed ice.  Though the gale had subsided, unfavourable
weather continued for several days, with alternate snow squalls and
pouring rain, and when a cruising plane from Aklavik reported that
unbroken ice lay between Pullen and Herschel Islands, it looked as
though we were fated to winter at Tuktoyaktuk.  So we set our nets and
began storing up dog feed.  On September 17th, as fresh winds blew from
the east, the weather improved, and I decided to attempt the crossing
at least to Herschel.  The storm had made the entrance of the harbour
shallower still, and we again grounded for a few minutes.  We passed
Pullen Island that night, and had exceedingly fine weather, of which we
took advantage, steaming in leads, appearing as if just made for us.
At dawn very heavy ice slowed us down, but there was a single lead
towards Herschel Island.  Some floes were easily ten miles long.  One
we steamed past had seven bears on it, but there was no time for
hunting.  As we drew near Herschel, fog again settled down, but finally
we entered the harbour, and immediately moored to the beach, where we
unloaded some fuel drums, gasoline and kerosene.  The bay was choked
with heavy old ice, all aground, and the island was snowed under.  That
night a blow came so severe it confined us to the ship all day of the
19th, but fortunately the great slabs of grounded ice acted as a
natural breakwater.

[Illustration: _HOMEWARD BOUND September, 1944, but making slow
progress; near Herschel Island._]

Next morning our prospects brightened.  There was a possibility that we
could get through and not have to winter.  We immediately got to work,
installed our Eskimo family in one of the empty houses, unloaded eleven
tons of coal and some of our excess stores.  Fortunately we could hitch
our dogs and drive the sled right along the shipside.  We had been in
radio communication with Point Barrow, and they said the ice pack was
solid to the shore, also that the season was the worst in years.  The
harbour at Herschel was freezing over fast, but a slight draft of
easterly wind now made its appearance.  Right away we ceased unloading
and made preparation to leave, and were underway by 2:30 p.m. September
21st.  We made good time to Barter Island.  From there we were forced
to hug the shoreline and next afternoon steamed past Flaxman Island.
Then, still hugging the shore, we groped our way through thick fog off
the North Coast.  We couldn't see the sun and were dependent entirely
on our hand lead line.  We moved along slowly and took frequent
soundings.  Suddenly at 1:45 a.m. September 24th the leadsman shouted,
"We've lost the bottom", and I knew then we had passed the point.
Shortly afterwards we saw the welcome lights of the settlement, but
there was no stopping here.  The ice was setting in on the shore again
very rapidly, it was pitch dark, and we were still bucking ice.  About
noon that day we reached the settlement of Wainwright, and were clear
of the ice.  On September 27th we passed through Bering Strait, and
that evening anchored under the steep rocky shore of King Island.
There is a village there, built almost like birds' nests, on the
sloping south side of the island.  We had our Blue Ensign flying, and I
thought it strange that we saw no sign of life.  We signalled, but no
one appeared.  We then thought of hoisting the Stars and Stripes.
Right away the village came to life, natives appeared from the cliffs,
kayaks were put in the water, and soon we had a dozen or more men
aboard, eager to trade ivory carvings.  We asked why they hadn't come
out before, and they said they were kind of scared of our Blue Ensign,
as they thought we might be enemies, but when they saw the Stars and
Stripes as well, they knew we must be friends, and as they were eager
to trade with us, decided to take the chance.

We made good time down the Bering Sea and arrived within sight of
Akutan Island on October 1st.  Early that morning our old enemy
returned--fog and dirty weather--but we finally entered Akutan Harbour,
and after proper identifications were made to the United States naval
officers, were permitted to moor alongside the fueling wharf.
Commander Lee and his staff came aboard and heartily greeted us.  The
officers and sailors, true to American hospitality, as on our previous
passage, welcomed us ashore, opened wide their messes, and treated us
to a special showing of a movie and a dinner.  What pleased us most,
though, was that we were able to take a bath.  I had not been able to
sleep without my clothes on ever since we left Sydney, N.S.  It was
therefore a treat to be able to relax for a few days.  We remained as
guests of our good neighbours in this friendly haven until October 4th,
when we proceeded to sea for the home run.  After an uneventful passage
across the Pacific the "St. Roch" entered the inside passage and
anchored for the night in Shushartie Bay, October 12th.  6:00 p.m.
October 16th we arrived and moored alongside Evans-Coleman-Evans Wharf,
Vancouver.  Our North-West Passage was over.  In 86 days we had
travelled 7295 miles.  During this time we had only steamed 1031 hours
and 34 minutes.

This account of our latest and most successful voyage would not be
complete if I did not pay tribute to all members of my crew.  Tribute
must also be paid to those early explorers whose sacrifices and
exploits blazed most of the trail we took; whose successes and failures
became a pattern of lessons from which we learned much.  It is true
that many pioneers were defeated by the North; but I think it was
because of the snow and cumbersome ships of those days, rather than the
ice and inhospitableness of the land.  Ships at that time were powered
mostly by sails, or inadequate steam engines, and when winter held them
in a frozen berth, there was often a crew of over a hundred to be fed.
These men lived in cramped quarters for long tiresome months, with
little means of diversion and practically no opportunity to travel.
Yet a few of the more intrepid set out on foot to explore and chart the
country and claim it for the Empire.  This is the spirit we must not
let die in Canada.  In their own way the Mounted Police are
endeavouring to do their part.  They have made long patrols which
frequently surpassed those of many explorers.  I have in mind the long
overland journeys of ex-Assistant Commissioner C. D. LaNauze, then
Inspector; Inspector French, ex-Assistant Commissioner T. B. Caulkin,
then Sergeant Major, who covered by sled in the early days the
territory recently covered by the famous "Musk-Ox" Expedition.  Also I
have in mind outstanding patrols made by the late Inspector Joy,
ex-Sergeant Major H. W. Stallworthy, the presently serving Sergeant R.
W. Hamilton, and many others.  I believe that before long the Arctic
will become better known.  Large powerful steel ice-breakers driven by
diesel motors will ply its waters, and during the summer carry supplies
to the northern inhabitants; while planes will maintain regular flights
over this area, summer and winter.  As for the North-West Passage, the
ice-breakers will be able to navigate it, probably by the route we took.

But the Arctic Sea will always be the Arctic.  On occasions planned
voyages will run behind schedule, delayed by the heavy ice in Melville
Sound and along the Alaska Coast.  Some ships will find it easy, others
difficult, and still others will meet disaster.  But one thing is
certain: modern ships will have the advantage in power and strength,
and if held up, will merely have to wait until a little later in the
season.  To future Arctic vessels, the young ice that forms even in
open calm water and which stopped us many times will present no
obstacle.  They will plough right through it.  The main thing is to
watch the ice movements and be in the right spot at the right time, for
the ice does not wait for anyone.

But getting back to the early explorers, when I reached places which
had known the footsteps of such men as Sir Edward Parry, Sir John Ross,
Captain Henry Kellett, Captain Francis L. McClintock, Captain Robert
McClure, Sir John Franklin and many others, I felt that I was on
hallowed ground.  I pictured them and their crews wintering in
isolation and discomfort in crowded ships, optimistically waiting for
spring and better ice conditions.  Some of them perished, all risked
death, to carry the proud flag of Britain into new territory.  Some
times during our passage I fancied I could see the tall majestic ships
that had preceded us in most of these waters, over a hundred years ago.






[End of The North-West Passage, 1940-1942 and 1944, by Henry Larsen]
