Arctic travel is an enigma, and it is an enigma never to be solved twice in the same way.  Whalers, with the experience of a lifetime in the frozen waters, agree that the lessons of one voyage seldom prove infallible guides for the conduct of the next.  Lieutenant Schwatka, a veteran Arctic explorer, said in an official document that the teachings of experience were often worse than useless in polar work.  And so, though the Washington authorities planned for the safety of Greely according to the best guidance that the past could give them, their plans failed completely.  The first relief ship did, indeed, land some stores—­never, as the issue showed, to be reached by Greely—­but the second expedition, composed of two ships, the “Proteus” and the “Yantic,” accomplished nothing.  The station was not reached, practically no supplies were landed, the “Proteus” was nipped by the ice and sunk, and the remnant of the expedition came supinely home, reporting utter failure.  It is impossible to acquit the commanders of the two ships engaged in this abortive relief expedition of a lack of determination, a paucity of courage, complete incompetence.  They simply left Greely to his fate while time still remained for his rescue, or at least for the convenient deposit of the vast store of provisions they brought home, leaving the abandoned explorers to starve.

The history of the Greely expedition and its achievements may well be sketched hastily, before the story of the catastrophe which overwhelmed it is told.  As it was the most tragic of expeditions save one, Sir John Franklin’s, so, too, it was the most fruitful in results, of any American expedition to the time of the writing of this book.  Proceeding by the whaler “Proteus” in August, 1881, to the waters of the Arctic zone, Greely reached his destination with but little trouble, and built a commodious and comfortable station on the shores of Discovery Bay, which he called Fort Conger after a United States Senator from Michigan.  A month remained before the Arctic night would set in, but the labor of building the house left little time for explorations, which were deferred until the following summer.  Life at the station was not disagreeable.  The house, stoutly built, withstood the bitter cold.  Within there were books and games, and through the long winter night the officers beguiled the time with lectures and reading.  Music was there, too, in impressive quantity, if not quality.  “An organette with about fifty yards of music,” writes Lieutenant Greely, “afforded much amusement, being particularly fascinating to our Esquimau, who never wearied grinding out one tune after another.”  The rigid routine of Arctic winter life was followed day by day, and the returning sun, after five months’ absence, found the party in perfect health and buoyant spirits.  The work of exploration on all sides began, the explorers being somewhat handicapped by the death of many of the sledge dogs from disease.  Lieutenant Greely, Dr. Pavy, and Lieutenant Lockwood each led a party, but to the last named belong the honors, for he, with Sergeant Brainard and an Esquimau, made his way northward over ice that looked like a choppy sea suddenly frozen into the rigidity of granite, until he reached latitude 83 deg. 24’ north—­the most northerly point then attained by any man—­and still the record marking Arctic journey for an American explorer.