Letter to Dr. Fergusson

Chris Monk: My dear Fergusson, having a few moments to spare before the letter bag is finally closed, I hasten to drop you a line to say that, although within the Arctic Circle, I’m not yet frozen to death and therefore in the land of the living and very jolly. We had a fairish passage out here but had a mighty gale of Cape Farewell, which sent us flying with closed top sails and courses to Cape Desolation, where, in spite of the dismal name, we found comfort. There’s smooth water and a moderate breeze. These islands, and in fact, the whole of this western coast of Greenland, is the most barren and uninviting I ever beheld. 

Some of the land is very high and serrated and has the appearance of being volcanic. On the bare rocks, large quantities of tripe-de-roche may be gathered, but as we were not reduced like our excellent captain on a former occasion to such a means of subsistence, no one I could find tried its qualities as a nutrient. We are completely surrounded with icebergs, some of them upwards of 200 feet high. They are, however, from the extreme heat disappearing fast and by their constant disruption, almost frightened your very life out of you.

I and a boat crew had a very narrow escape the other day out shooting. I had just fired and killed an eider duck when I observed that we had drifted closer to an immense iceberg, which I had previously noticed a day or two before in a decayed condition. I said to an officer who was with me, “What a luck should it come down by the sun!” And then ordered the men to pull quickly from our dangerous neighbor when it fell with a crash. Most stunning and awful to witness. There never was so lucky an escape. The discharge of my two barrels had no doubt hastened its overthrow. And although we were at a distance of upwards of 100 yards, quite near enough, we were knocked and tossed about by its displacement in the sea in a most uncomfortable manner.

The island swarms with mosquitoes, and they are now flying about the gun room in all directions. They are the largest I ever beheld but not the most stinging. We sailed tonight for Lancaster Sound and the transport to dear old England with a report of our proceedings up to this period. At this season of the year, in this latitude, as you are aware, there is no darkness. The sun never dips below the horizon. The nights I have therefore devoted to shooting and the day to skinning and preserving the specimens I have killed. Since our arrival, I have not slept more than two or three hours in the 24. Goodsir is working harder than medusas and desires to be kindly remembered to you.

We are all sanguine and getting through the barrier into Beechey straits this year. Every one of the native Eskimos say that this is the most open season they ever remember. And on the strength of our prospects, I and the other officers have ordered letters to be directed to us at Panama and Kotzebue. The latter place will, of course, be the first port we shall make when we get through.

I have not a single man on the list and I have not had for several days. Sir John Franklin is not like the same person. He is so much improved in appearance and energy. He is almost always the first on deck and the last to leave it in all weathers. I must now conclude, old fellow, with best wishes and kind regards to Mrs. F and the bairns.

And believe me, your very sincere friend, Stephen S. Stanley. I had intended to have written to Fortnum and Masons. Pray tell them like a good soul, that we are delighted with everything they furnished us and the members of the mess unanimously declare them to be trumps, and we should be sorry to return before we have consumed all their good things.