Читать книгу Henry Hudson - Edward Butts - Страница 11
ОглавлениеOne January day in 1607, the gentlemen of the Muscovy Company held a meeting in their office on a street called Budge Row. It was a short, unimpressive looking street, but it was the centre of London’s wholesale marketplace. The merchants of Budge Row did business with the world. For the Muscovy Company, as indeed for all of the company’s merchant rivals, the world presented some complex geographical problems.
Ever since the English defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, England had grown from a second-rate, backwater country to a major military power and trading nation. Skeptics said that it was the weather more than anything else that had destroyed the Armada, but every good Englishman knew it had been the skill of English captains and the accuracy of the English gunners that had saved the country from the mightiest invasion fleet ever assembled. The humbling of Spain, the most powerful nation in Europe, had brought the English respect, prestige, and confidence. English commerce grew as merchants aggressively sought new markets. Every year saw more and more ships in the Pool, London’s main anchorage in the River Thames. Across the sea the Dutch, whose country had long lain under Spanish domination, had been encouraged to rebel. With English help, they had thrown off the Spanish yoke. Now Dutch merchants were rivals of the English and had even managed to establish their own trade route around Africa, sending Dutch ships into waters that had once been the private highways of the Portuguese.
The men of the Muscovy Company knew that in the ever-shifting world of commerce two things were essential to the survival of an enterprise: growth and adaptability. Their company was so-named because it traded with Russia, and had factors (agents) in Moscow. From Russia the company imported furs, tallow (used to make soap and candles), wax, hemp, flax, and timber. The Muscovy Company’s main export to Russia was cloth. English cloth was considered the best in the world, and the Russians used it to make coats and other clothing that could stand up to the brutal Russian winter.
Muscovy Company ships sailed north from England, around the top of Norway, then down to the White Sea and the Russian port of Arkhangel’sk. For years the English had had this trade route to themselves, but now the Dutch were also sending merchant vessels to Arkhangel’sk. That worried the men of the Muscovy Company. What’s more, their spies in Amsterdam had told them that the Dutch were planning to search for a Northeast Passage.
The idea of a Northeast Passage, as opposed to a Northwest Passage, was nothing new. About eighty years earlier an Englishman named Robert Thorne had tried to convince King Henry VII to finance a voyage to the Far East by way of the North Pole. People of that day thought that all of the ice floating in the northern ocean came from rivers that flowed into the sea at high latitudes. They held this belief because the water from a piece of melted sea ice was always fresh. They did not realize that when seawater freezes, the salt leeches out of the ice and back into the sea. They knew that some ice could form along coastlines in the winter, but they did not believe it was possible for ice to form in large bodies of salt water.
Thorne reasoned that in the summer, when there were weeks of constant daylight in the high Arctic, the sun’s rays would melt the ice and leave the sea open for navigation. He proposed a northern voyage to prove it. King Henry would not sponsor such a voyage, so Thorne had his theory published in a pamphlet called “Thorne’s Plan”. In it he said, “There is no land uninhabitable or sea innavigable.” Then he went on to explain his Plan. “Now then, if from Newfoundland the sea be navigable, there is no doubt, but sailing Northward and passing the Pole, descending to the Equinoctical line, we shall arrive at the islands of Cathay, and it should be a much shorter way than any other.”
Over the years Thorne’s theory had been discussed and enhanced by some of the religious thought peculiar to the time. Christians believed that the North Pole was located on an island. Because of its geographic importance, they reasoned, God would make the North Pole’s location a place of great beauty and dignity. To many people it just seemed to make sense that God, in his wisdom, would protect the North Pole from Arctic ice.
The men of the Muscovy Company did not place much belief in such far-fetched tales as God planting a little paradise in the midst of the Arctic waste. However, nobody had ever put Robert Thorne’s seemingly rational theory to the test. Now they wanted to do just that.
If there was indeed an ocean at the top of the world that was ice free during the summer, all that was needed was for someone to find a way through the pack ice that apparently surrounded it. The explorer could then sail past the North Pole on temperate waters, breach the icefields again at a more easterly location, and then continue south to China and Japan. But who was the man to lead such an expedition? That was what the men of the Muscovy Company had gathered to discuss.
Money was of principal importance to these men. They did not want to spend any more than was absolutely necessary. They had already approached King James I for financial support. The king had given their endeavour his royal blessing, but he would not contribute a penny. The Muscovy merchants therefore wanted a competent leader, but one who would not charge too much for his services.
Captain John Smith’s name came up during the meeting. But it was pointed out that the famous adventurer had already been engaged to take colonists to Virginia. Then someone suggested Henry Hudson. According to the minutes of that meeting, one of the Muscovy merchants said of Hudson, “He is an experienced sea pilot, and he has in his possession secret information that will enable him to find the north-east passage.”
That sounded like a good recommendation, but these hard-nosed businessmen wanted solid references. The Muscovy Company sent a deputation to the port city of Bristol to talk to the man who knew more about sea captains and exploration than anyone else in England, Richard Hakluyt.
The scholar who greeted the Muscovy Company delegation in his private study was one of the great Englishmen of his time. He had been Secretary of State for the late Queen Elizabeth I and for her successor King James. He was one of the driving forces behind the colonization of Virginia. He was an ordained priest who had held important positions at Bristol Cathedral and Westminster Abbey. But most importantly for these visitors, Hakluyt was well acquainted with scores of ship’s masters. That this great man had a passion for the sea and for exploration was evident. His study was piled high with books and pamphlets on the subject. Nautical charts covered the tables, hung on the walls, or stood in rolls in a tall vase, like so many walking sticks. Hakluyt’s opinion of Henry Hudson would carry a lot of weight.
The Muscovy men got right to the point. They told Hakluyt about their planned polar expedition and asked if he would recommend Henry Hudson to lead it. Hakluyt replied without hesitation, “Henry Hudson is the most qualified man in England for your venture.”
There was no putting it anymore clearly than that. Then one of the Muscovy Company delegates asked, in an almost conspiratorial tone, “Is it true that Captain Hudson knows of a secret route to Cathay?”
Hakluyt’s only response was a knowing smile. Did Hudson know of a secret route to Cathay, as many people then called China? It was foolish of the man to even ask the question. Nobody gave away important secrets concerning exploration or commerce. Spies were everywhere. Everybody was looking for the advantages to be gained by privileged information. Merchants wanted first crack at profitable sources, markets, and trade routes. Monarchs needed new revenues that would increase their power and prestige. Mariners like Hudson competed for expeditions for which they would be paid, and perhaps even gain glory.
Not long after their interview with Richard Hakluyt, the directors of the Muscovy Company invited Henry Hudson to an interview. His house was not far from their office, so the captain would have walked through the busy, grimy streets of London. Because it was January, the stench of rotting garbage, animal droppings, and human waste would not have been as pungent as it was in the warmer months. Hudson would have worn a hooded woolen cloak to keep out the cold. Beneath that, for this occasion, he would have been dressed like the respectable Elizabethan gentleman he was. Good Queen Bess had been dead not quite four years, but the fashions of her reign were still very much in vogue. Hudson would have worn a pullover shirt with billowy sleeves, under a close-fitting, sleeveless vest called a jerkin, puffy breeches, and silk stockings. Since this was not a strictly formal occasion, he probably did not bother with the wide, frilly Elizabethan collar that required a hundred or so pins to keep in place. Because of the time of year he would have worn long boots, rather than fashionable buckle shoes. Hudson would have carried a stout walking stick; not that he needed one to help him along, but to discourage criminals. The streets of London were crawling with pickpockets, cutpurses, and footpads — the seventeenth century term for a mugger.
Quite likely Hudson already knew why he had been summoned to the Muscovy Company’s office. His friend Richard Hakluyt would undoubtedly have written to him about his meeting with the deputation. Hudson would have been thrilled to be given a chance to look for the Northeast Passage, though he had doubts such a route existed. But this could be an opportunity for him to look for the Northwest Passage. The “secret route to Cathay” that the Muscovy merchant had asked Hakluyt about was, in fact, the Northwest Passage. Hudson did not know exactly where it was, though rumour claimed he did, but he was sure he had a good idea of where to look. Shortly after his interview with the Muscovy merchants, Hudson revealed his thoughts when he wrote to tell Hakluyt he had agreed to command the expedition.
An engraving of Henry Hudson receiving his commission from the Muscovy Company.
I take leave of England in a few months to test the theory that a route to Cathay can be found across the half-frozen seas that cover the roof of the world. I shall come to you at Bristol, and with your permission shall study your charts of that region.
The hopes of my employers are higher than mine that this venture will succeed. I fear the ice may prove too thick. But we shall persevere.
If the route be not found to the north, I know another. Would there were at [my] disposal all that others have gleaned about my Furious Overfall in the western sea. There, I know, lies the sure sea path to the Indies, and he who finds it will be remembered for all time, even as Drake will not be forgot. I pray with all my heart. Be it by northern path or western, I would that my name be carved on the tablets of the sea.
Hudson spent some time in Bristol with Hakluyt, discussing the expedition and studying all the charts and documentation available on the northern seas. Much of what had been written was pure speculation and even outright fantasy. Charts showed islands that did not exist, or failed to show islands that did. Hakluyt showed Hudson a letter in which another would-be geographer, the Reverend Samuel Purchas, commented on how simple it would be to sail over the top of the world to China. “If either by North-east or North-west or North a passage be open, the sight of the globe easily sheweth with how much ease, in how little time and expense the same might be affected….”
When Hudson returned to London he found Katherine in an unhappy mood. She was accustomed to her husband being away from home for long periods of time. That was part of being a mariner’s wife. She had not objected when Hudson said he would be taking their son John along as ship’s boy. The lad wanted to go to sea, and who better to teach him the mariner’s trade than his own father? What annoyed Katherine was the rather small sum of one hundred pounds that Hudson had agreed to accept for his services. She thought he should have asked for more money. Though Hudson had a verbal agreement with the Muscovy Company, he had not yet signed a contract. Katherine put her foot down and told Hudson that for the sake of his family, he had better demand better payment.
Hudson was embarrassed to haggle over money, but he knew Katherine was right. He was so happy to have this expedition, he’d probably have gone for nothing. But he was also aware that the company was underpaying him for a voyage that would be hazardous, but could ultimately prove very profitable for them. When Hudson demanded more money, the Muscovy men wrung their hands and wailed about piratical sea captains. They finally, reluctantly, agreed to pay Hudson an additional thirty pounds and five shillings.
Hudson would be making his voyage in a Muscovy Company ship called the Hopewell. Like most of the merchant vessels of the time, the Hopewell was a bark; a small, square-rigged ship of about eighty tons with two principal masts and a short foremast. She was made of seasoned oak. The Hopewell had already made two trips to the cold Baltic Sea, and four down the Atlantic coast to Portugal, so she was known to be seaworthy. The steering wheel so often associated with sailing ships had not yet been developed in Hudson’s time. All ships were steered by means of a whipstaff, a bar attached to the tiller.
Though the Hopewell was only three years old, and Hudson had her seams sealed with gum, like all wooden sailing ships she leaked. Hand operated pumps were used to get water out of the hold, but there would always be some bilge water sloshing around in the bottom. Also, like every other ship afloat, the Hopewell had rats. Most ships had a cat aboard not as a pet or a mascot, but to keep the rat population down. To completely clear a ship of rats would have been next to impossible, because every port a ship visited was infested with them. Rats got aboard simply by scurrying along the ropes that secured a ship to a wharf.
Hudson would have personally seen to the provisioning of the ship. Into the hold went the main food supplies: pickled beef and pork, dried beef, dried peas, cheese, hardtack biscuits, and barley meal. Fresh fruit and vegetables like apples, carrots, and onions would be consumed early during the voyage, before they had a chance to spoil. As captain, Hudson would take aboard his own food supplies, which might include such luxuries as butter. They were stored in his private larder and cooked separately from the crew’s meals. The captain also had his own galley, with the stove set in a box of sand to prevent fire. The ship’s casks would be filled with fresh water. There would also be a supply of beer, and the captain would have a stock of wine for his personal use.
Among the many items loaded into the Hopewell’s hold were several barrels of salt for preserving fish. When crewmen were not busy with shipboard duties, they would spend some of their off-time fishing. The fish they caught would be cleaned and salted down for when the Hopewell returned to England. The Muscovy Company would then sell the fish to help defray the cost of the expedition.
Hiring a crew for the voyage would not have been difficult. London was a commercial maritime centre, and there were always sailors looking for work. Some of those who made up the Hopewell’s crew might very well have sailed with Hudson previously. Little is known about them except their names, but no doubt they were experienced seamen. First mate was William Collin, who had his master’s license and so was qualified to be a captain. James Young was the bos’un (boatswain), a ship’s junior officer. The other crewmen were John Colman, John Cooke, James Beuberry, James Skrutton, John Playse, Thomas Baxter, Richard Day, and James Knight. Young John Hudson was aboard as the ship’s boy. As the captain’s son, John Hudson would be entitled to the respect of the common sailors, but he had no authority. He did not share his father’s cabin or table, but slept and ate with the men. Besides Hudson, only the first mate had his own cabin. The rest of the men slept in the crew’s cramped quarters below decks.
On April 19, 1607, a special service was held for the ship’s company in tiny St. Ethelburga’s Church on Bishopsgate Street in London. Crowded into the smallest church in the city were Hudson, Katherine, his crewmen and the wives of any who were married, the directors of the Muscovy Company, and all of their servants. The clergyman delivered a sermon titled “God’s Known Realm,” and offered up prayers for the safe return of the ship and men. Hudson and the crew took Communion. They expected to weigh anchor in four days.
In spite of the prayers for fair weather, the elements did not cooperate. For two weeks unusually thick fog, followed by a storm with gale-force winds, kept the Hopewell in harbour at Gravesend, twenty-six miles downriver from London. This was not a good beginning, because in the short navigation season of the Far North every day counted. Finally, on May 1, the Hopewell sailed from Gravesend.
Contrary winds made the going slow. Twenty-six days after setting sail, Hudson was eighteen miles east of the Shetland Islands off northern Scotland. Over the next four days he covered only ninety miles. Another week passed before he crossed the Arctic Circle.
Life aboard ship was one of routine and monotony when seas were calm, and great danger when they weren’t. Every man had a duty to perform, from menial tasks like swabbing the decks, to the more hazardous job of climbing up to the yardarms to furl or unfurl sails. Orders came from the captain or the mate to the bo’sun or the bo’sun’s mate, who passed them on to the crew. The safety of the ship depended upon every man doing his job promptly and efficiently.
Almost all common seamen came from the lower class. In general, sailors were illiterate and superstitious. No matter how tough a sailor was, like all working class people he learned at a very young age to be submissive to authority and humble in the presence of people considered to be his social superiors.
Sailors on privately owned vessels were not necessarily subjected to the brutal discipline that existed on naval ships. Nonetheless, aboard any ship the captain was the law and his authority was not to be questioned. A captain had the right to promote men or demote them, and with demotion came a reduction in pay. If a sailor failed to do his job properly or was insubordinate, the captain could mildly reprimand him, or subject him to harsh punishment.
With men living together in close quarters for extended periods of time, it was inevitable that disputes and quarrels would break out. Some captains kept such situations in check by running a “tight ship.” That meant the captain would tolerate no slacking, no squabbling, and no trouble. Troublemakers were punished. However, the captain had to be consistent in his dispensation of punishments and rewards. To be inconsistent could be taken as a sign of weakness. A captain also had to avoid showing favouritism, as that could breed jealousy and trouble.
At some point early on this voyage something must have happened to cause Hudson to be unhappy with the performance of his ship’s officers. He did not record any details in his log, but there was a sudden flurry of promotion and demotion. William Collin was demoted from mate to bo’sun. This would have been humiliating to a man who had his master’s license. The former bos’un, James Young, was demoted to common seaman. Mariner John Colman was given the rank of mate. This was a major shift in the hierarchy of such a small company of men, and in a severely restricted environment in which there were so many potential threats to harmony.
A wooden sailing ship was not a comfortable place for the common sailor. The work was hard and often dangerous. There were scores of different ways a man could be killed or seriously injured. Merchant ships did not usually carry doctors. If a man was injured, the ship’s carpenter might do duty as a surgeon. He had the tools for splinting a broken bone, hacking off a shattered or infected arm or leg, or pulling out an aching tooth. The part of the ship below decks where sailors worked, slept, and ate was cramped, damp, and gloomy. It smelled of tar, bilgewater, rotting food, and unwashed men, clothing, and bedding. There was no toilet on the ship. The men urinated over the side, or they went to a location at the bow of the ship called the “seat of easement” through which bodily wastes dropped into the sea.
Meals were often a daily fare of porridge, salt meat, hardtack biscuits, and cheese. On long voyages, the fresh water in the barrels would go scummy, and the biscuits would get wormy. The sailors received a daily ration of beer, but drunkenness was not allowed. After weeks at sea, the beer might turn sour.
By the end of May, Hudson found that his compass behaved erratically. “This day I found the needle to incline seventy-nine degrees under the horizon,” he recorded in his log. Hudson was no doubt mystified by this. Navigators in his time did not realize that the farther above the Arctic Circle they sailed, the less reliable the compass became. They had little understanding of the relationship between the Magnetic North Pole and the Geographic North Pole. Some navigators were not even aware of the difference between the two poles, let alone the fact that the Magnetic Pole drifts from place to place.
This made it very difficult for a northern explorer like Hudson to plot a course or determine his exact location. In more southerly positions, Hudson could easily determine latitude by the sun or stars. But in the Arctic, atmospheric distortions resulted in errors. What’s more, nobody had yet come up with a reliable method for determining longitude. For that, navigators had to use “dead reckoning,” a system based on the ship’s speed, the course steered, and the last observation of latitude. A ship’s speed could only be roughly estimated by tossing a marker over the side and measuring the time it took for the ship to sail past it. All this taxed Hudson’s skills as a navigator to the limit.
Meanwhile, the crewmen had their own hardships. As they sailed farther north they encountered thick fog, followed by rough, stormy seas. Ice crusted the rigging and the sails froze. Whenever adjustments were necessary, the men had to climb aloft with numb hands and on slippery footing. Men were soaked to the skin by driving rain and the spray of the sea, and once that happened there wasn’t much chance to dry clothes out and really feel warm again.
On June 13, Hudson sighted the east coast of Greenland. The world’s largest island, most of it sheathed in ice, was still a mystery to Europeans. No one was sure if it was one island or several, nor how far north it stretched.
For eight days Hudson followed the coast northward, always keeping land in sight. He saw some previously unrecorded geographic features and added them to his chart. He wrote in his journal of the relentlessly harsh weather and the desolate land he could see from his ship.
We saw some land on head of us, and some ice. It being a thick fog, we steered away northerly. In the morning our sails and shrouds froze. All the afternoon evening it rained, and the rain froze. This was a very high land, the most part covered with snow. The nether part was uncovered. At the top it looked reddish, and underneath a blackish clay, with much ice lying about it.
A current carried the Hopewell eastward and out of sight of the coast. This frustrated Hudson because of the difficulty in maintaining his bearings. In spite of the weather, he managed to hold his ship to a northerly course. The crew endured a miserable week of rain squalls and heavy seas. Then they sighted land again. Hudson noted it in his log as a newly discovered land, which he called Hold-with-Hope. He didn’t know it was a more northerly part of the Greenland coast.
Hudson was excited about this discovery, but he chose his words carefully as he made the entry in his log. He had gone quite a long way off the course the Muscovy Company directors had instructed him to take, and now he had to justify that to his employers. He expressed his satisfaction at finding that Robert Thorne’s theory seemed to be correct. The weather seemed to be getting warmer as he neared the North Pole.
“This land is very temperate to our feeling. It is a high mainland, nothing at all covered with snow; and the north part of that main highland was very high mountains, but we could see no snow upon them.”
Hudson apparently did not realize that the weather was warming simply because it was late June. He was surprised to find land here at all, because according to the charts he had studied in Richard Hakluyt’s house, it should have been open sea. In his log, Hudson gave this as justification for disobeying his orders and sailing so far to the west.
This might be held against us, being our fault for keeping such a westerly course. The chief reason for this course was our desire to see that part of Groneland [Greenland], which for all we knew, was unknown to any Christian; we thought it could as well have been open sea as land, in which case our passage to the Pole would have been mostly completed. We also hoped to have a westerly wind, which if we were closer to the shore would have been an onshore [easterly] wind. Considering we found land our charts made no mention of, we considered our labor so much more worthwhile. For what we could see, it appeared to be a good land, and worth exploring.
By now the Hopewell was sailing beneath the midnight sun. Hudson found it fascinating to have sunlight twenty-four hours a day. Some of the men in the crew complained that they could not sleep and became irritable. However, John Hudson and the younger crew members claimed that with the constant sunlight, they found they needed less sleep.
One afternoon John Colman, the first mate, excitedly called Hudson to the rail. A grampus, a fierce sea mammal related to dolphins and toothed whales, was swimming in circles around the ship. Soon the animal was joined by two others. Sailors of that time were notoriously superstitious, and several of the crew members immediately took the appearance of the three creatures as an evil omen. They wanted to return to England immediately. Hudson refused. He watched the animals for hours and made notes about them. Possibly they stayed close to the ship because the cook had thrown some galley garbage overboard.
Hudson sailed northeast from Greenland, setting a course for the North Pole. He constantly found his path blocked by ice. On June 27, Hudson spotted one of the islands of the Spitzbergen Archipelago. These islands had already been discovered by the Dutch explorer William Barents in 1596, but he had thought they were part of Greenland. Hudson decided to give the group the English name of Newland. Then he sailed in amongst the islands, hoping the archipelago might be a gateway through to that temperate sea that supposedly surrounded the Pole.
For two days the Hopewell tacked her way north through the barren, jagged, snow-covered islands. Shore ice and rocks forced Hudson to keep a safe distance, though he would have liked to have made a landing. Then on the evening of June 29, the worst storm the Hopewell had yet encountered came shrieking down from the north.
Hudson was in a trap! If a ship were caught in a storm out on the open ocean, she could ride out the turbulence. But in the midst of a group of islands, there was a great danger of the ship being smashed to pieces.
Hudson bellowed the order for all hands on deck. He took the Hopewell into an island cove that offered partial protection. Then he shouted to Colman to take in all sail, and Colman relayed the order to Collin. Men clambered up into the rigging and along the yards, clinging for dear life as they hauled in the sheets. If a man fell into that icy, swirling sea, he’d be lost forever.
Young was at the helm, and Hudson told him to lash the whipstaff down. Then the captain ordered the sea anchor to be cast out. This was not the big iron anchor that secured a ship in harbour. It was a huge canvas bag that acted something like a modern-day parachute. It trailed in the water behind the ship, filling up with water, and so acted as a drag, preventing the ship from being blown very far or very fast. Only when all of that was done did Hudson allow the men to go below in relays for some warmth and rest. He remained on his quarterdeck the whole time, watching to be sure his vessel did not drift out into the full onslaught of the storm, or be thrown against the island’s rocky shore.
The storm did not let up until the following morning, and then it was followed by fog and snow. Hudson spent the next two weeks picking his way through the islands, charting them, constantly fighting what he called “our troublesome neighbours, ice with fog.” The men saw whales, seals, and evidence of polar bears. As they sailed in and out of inlets, they had to be careful not to become “embayed”; trapped by ice that prevented them from sailing out to open water.
As the July days passed, the weather improved, though the Hopewell had to constantly steer clear of ice. Then on July 14, Hudson took the ship into a large bay. What he and the men saw was absolutely astounding. The bay was teeming with whales! Hundreds of them! The whales lay in pods or frolicked in the bay. They seemed to have no fear of the ship. As Hudson noted in his journal:
In this bay we saw many whales, and one of our company having a hook and line overboard to try for fish, a whale came under the keel of our ship and made her held. Yet by God’s mercy we had no harm, but the loss of the hook and three parts of the line.
Now Hudson had information that would delight his employers. Whaling was an extremely profitable business. Almost every part of a whale was marketable. Whale meat was considered a delicacy. Whale blubber produced oil that had hundreds of uses.
Whale bone was a versatile building material. Whale teeth were as valuable as ivory. Most valuable of all were two products that came from sperm whales: One was spermaceti, which was used in the manufacture of candles, soap, cosmetics, and machine oil. The other was ambergris, a waxy substance that came from the sperm whale’s digestive system. Ambergris was used in the manufacture of perfume, and was every bit as valuable as spices from the Far East.
Hudson could practically see the smiles on the faces of the Muscovy Company directors. Even if he did not find a Northeast Passage, this voyage would prove to be very profitable indeed. No one else knew about Whale Bay, the name he had already chosen. The Muscovy Company could send its own whaling ships up here. There were many seals, too, and seal pelts were valuable.
Hudson took the ship to within one hundred feet of the shore and dropped anchor. The Muscovy Company would need practical information about this island if they were to establish a whaling station here. He sent Collin, Colman, and two others ashore in the ship’s gig, a small rowboat. The other sailors watched enviously as the four men rowed to the island. They hadn’t set foot on dry land in two-and-a-half months, and longed for a chance to get off the ship, even for just a couple of hours.
But no sooner did the shore party scramble up onto the rocks and haul the gig up after them than there was a dramatic turn in the weather. One minute it had been pleasant, almost balmy. Then a raging gale blew in, almost out of nowhere. A howling wind tore across the sea outside the bay and piled up mountains of green water. Watching the massive swells in awe, Hudson was thankful that the Hopewell was not still out there.
Within the bay the waters rolled from the effect of the seething ocean beyond the entrance, but the island’s high cliffs shielded this pocket of calm from the fury of the tempest. Nonetheless, Hudson decided to call the shore party back as a precaution. Before he could do that, a fog descended upon the bay as swiftly as darkness falling after sundown. The fog was so dense that Hudson could not see the tops of the masts, nor the prow of the ship.
Hudson was worried about the men who had gone ashore. The island was a strange, new place, and who knew what dangers might be lurking in this fog. Sailors lined the rail and called out. A few times Hudson thought he heard calls in response. But fog can play tricks with sound, and Hudson was not sure if he heard the voices of his men on shore, or the voices of the men on the ship echoing off the cliffs. For hours he waited and fretted.
Then, as suddenly as it had rolled in, the fog lifted, and beyond the bay the storm died down. Soon after, Hudson looked on with relief as the shore party launched the gig and rowed back to the Hopewell. The sailors cheered them as they climbed aboard. Hudson was delighted by the report Colman made to him, and the specimens the men had collected.
Colman said that it had been comfortably warm on the island, and there were two streams of fresh, clear water. They had seen flocks of geese, and tracks made by bears, foxes, and other animals. The men had picked up many deer antlers, whalebones, and the skull of a “morse” (walrus) that still had the tusks. They also had a rock, which Hudson was certain was pure coal.
Hudson could hardly believe his good fortune. Walrus tusks, like whales’ teeth, were as valuable as ivory. Everything the Muscovy Company would need to support a whaling station was right here! Fresh water, wild game, and if he was right about the coal, a source of fuel!
Having marked Whale Bay’s position on his chart, Hudson weighed anchor and set sail that evening. July was half over, and he still had not reached the North Pole. He sailed north of the Spitzbergens to 80 degrees 23’, the farthest north any European was known to have ventured up to that time. He could not find a break in the pack ice that blocked his way. Hudson wrote in his log, “Everywhere there is an abundance of ice compassing us about by the north and joining to the land.” There was no way through to the Pole. Some of the men wanted to turn back for England.
But Hudson was not about to give up. He told the crew they were going to sail south, go around the Spitzbergens, and then up the east side of the islands and try again. There were grumblings from the crew, but Hudson ignored them.
For ten days the Hopewell followed an erratic course down the west side of the islands. Hudson had to constantly shift direction as the crew battled heavy winds, driving rain, and thick fog. On July 27, the crew of the Hopewell faced near disaster.
Throughout the voyage, whenever the ship was within sight of ice, Hudson wisely kept his distance. The Hopewell was a stout little ship, but a collision with the granite-like ice could have cracked her hull open like an eggshell. For several days, as they tacked back and forth, the crew saw no ice. Then the day came that none of them would ever forget.
The Hopewell was shrouded in fog, rain was falling, and the wind was light. The sea was calm, but the ship rose and fell on a heavy swell. Visibility was nil, so Hudson ordered reduced sails. As the ship was carried along on the swells, a low rumbling noise came out of the grey murk. It sounded like waves striking a shore. But Hudson knew they were not near enough to any land to hear the crash of surf.
Map of the Spitzbergen Islands.
The noise grew louder, and Hudson realized that the swells were carrying the Hopewell toward the source. Could there be yet another uncharted island out in the fog? Hudson shouted to the helmsman to alter course. He sent men aloft to put out more sail. But without a good breeze the sails were useless. All attempts to change the ship’s direction with the whipstaff were to no avail.
The sound of crashing surf became thunderous. One sailor shouted for God’s mercy. Another voice cursed Hudson for leading them to their doom.
Then, through a fleeting window in the fog, Hudson saw the ice pack! It looked as solid and menacing as a wall of rock. Huge rollers were smashing against it in explosions of white foam and spray. The growls and groans of the ice slabs grinding against each other were like a din from hell. The Hopewell was heading straight for that ice, carried along like a piece of driftwood.
Hudson sensed panic spreading through the crew. “Launch the gig!” he ordered.
Colman cried, “Captain, there isn’t enough room in the gig for all of us, and what chance …”
Hudson cut him off. “Don’t question my orders, Mr. Colman,” he barked angrily. “Launch the gig! We’re not abandoning ship! I want a line fastened to the bow, with the other end to the gig. Put your six strongest rowers in the gig. Do it, man! Now!”
Colman thought the plan was hopeless, but with the ice looming ever closer, he obeyed the captain. When the gig was in the water with six strong oarsmen in it, Colman started to climb over the rail to take his place in the little boat’s stern. Hudson pushed him aside.
“Get to the quarterdeck, Mr. Colman,” Hudson ordered. “We’ll tow her out of danger. You keep her steady.”
Hudson climbed into the gig and told the rowers, “Now lads, if you want to see England again, put your backs to it.”
Soon the gig was in front of the Hopewell, and the rope between them was stretched taut. The prow of the ship came around as the rowers warped her to starboard. But they seemed to be making no headway against the ceaseless movement of the swells.
Hudson told the men to row harder, and they did. But what was their strength against the power of the sea? The Hopewell was getting closer to the grinding jaws of ice, dragging the gig and its struggling rowers.
From his place on the quarterdeck Colman saw that the ship had been drawn into the outer fringes of the ice pack. White slabs bumped against the hull. They were like teeth that threatened to chew the timbers into splinters. Colman sent men to the rails to push the ice away with pikes and oars. The mate also said a silent prayer, because he was certain that the Hopewell and all her company would soon be at the bottom of the sea.
In the gig, Hudson urged the men on. But chunks of ice surrounded the boat and got in the way of the oars. The rowers lost their rhythm as each man struggled to get his oar in the water without striking ice. The thunder of the surf was almost deafening. Then the line that attached the gig to the ship went slack. “Captain!” one man cried in alarm. “They’ve cut us loose!”
Standing on the Hopewell’s quarterdeck, Colman looked up in thankful astonishment as the sails billowed. “God has answered my prayer!” he said to himself. A strong wind had suddenly blown in from the northwest. The sails that Hudson had ordered unfurled now bloomed full, and the Hopewell surged forward, away from the ice. The line to the gig had fallen slack because the ship was overtaking the boat. Soon the men who had tried so heroically to tow the ship clambered aboard and hauled in the gig. Later, when the ice and its horrific noise were far behind, Hudson made an entry in his log.
If not for the delivery by God of a northwest by west wind — a wind not commonly found on this voyage — it would have been the end of our voyage. May God give us thankful hearts for so great a deliverance.
Hudson had to admit defeat. It was not possible to sail past the North Pole to reach China. When he announced to the crew that they were returning to England, the men raised such a loud cry of joy that seabirds near the ship were frightened away.
But Hudson’s course did not take the Hopewell directly home. He made a four hundred-mile detour to the west, and discovered a previously uncharted island, which he called Hudson’s Tutches. Today it is called Jan Mayen Island.
Hudson’s journal offers no explanation as to why he went so far off course. It’s not likely that bad weather was the cause. It could be that Hudson intended to spend a winter on the coast of Greenland, and then sail west to seek the Northwest Passage through the Furious Overfall. If that was his plan, one thing could have prevented him from following it. His men refused to go!
It will never be known if Hudson’s crew threatened mutiny on his first important voyage, and demanded that he take them home. They had been to what was then considered the ends of the earth, and had fulfilled the obligations they had agreed to when they signed aboard. If Hudson did indeed try to push his men into a voyage of discovery to the west, he would have been demanding too much of them. On September 15, the Hopewell docked at Tilbury on the River Thames.
