THE LOST PATROL

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7978, 8 December 1911, Page 6

THE LOST PATROL

FOUE LIVES SACEIFICED TO Dim-. CANADIANS’ SPLENDID HEROISM. All Canada still rings with the tragic story of the Lost Patrol. Fiction has never produced a more thrilling romance of peril and hardship among the brooding silences and merciless snows of the Frozen North, nor has poetry given to the world a finer epic of heroism than this pathetic history of four faithful members of the Canadian Mounted Police, who sacrificed their lives to duty and faced unflinchingly the unspeakable tortures of cold, starvation, and disease because it is the iron law of their force never to turn back while a hope of success remains. Succeed they must, or perish! Ever since its inauguration in 1875 that has been the grim, irrevocable code of the lioval North-West Mounted Police, who have held in leash the wildness and savagery of that mighty Western wilderness. The code is not official, nor is it incorporated among the formal regulations of the force. It is the unwritten law of these lion-hearted men of the West, but it permeates their very life, and makes it x>ossihle for one of their number to walk singly and empty-hand-ed straight up to the muzzles of a hundred loaded rifles ani make an arrest. And it was this relentless law that made the lost patrol fight on to the bitter end rather than retrace their steps and seek safety at the pries of failure. Members Composing the Patrol. There were four men in this patrol. Inspector Fitzgerald and Constables Taylor Kinney, and Carter. It was on December 21st of last year that they were assigned to carry a collection of mails across the dreary enow-swept wastes from, Dawson City to Hersohel Island, on the Arctic coast, where they were to take command on their arrival. Carter had formally resigned from the force, but on the understanding that he was familiar with the trails of this section he had been sworn in as a guide to the party. ' . In a direct lino as the crow flies the distance ivae estimated at 156 miles. To the man of civilisation, with steam and electricity at his command, this might not seem either very far or a very difficult journey to accomplish. But to these men on snowshoes, with a dog sledge to carry their provisions of bacon and flour, it meant endless leagues of monotonous • circling and swerving through trackless oceans of uncharted snow. Fitzgerald had not been over the trail since the winter of 1906, while Carter had last travelled it a year later, and in such a frozen wilderness a mistake might prove fatal. It is not the habit of the Mounted Polio® to hesitate, however, so tho little band promptly packed their "duff,” look charge of the mails, and started away up tho Peel Elver. Lost Trail.

All went well, apxjarently until they readied the mouth of the Wind Itiver, where the surrounding country, ia sterile and cruel, and shunned even by Nature. This was on January 10th. Here Carter became bewildered, and, search a* they would the members of the patrol could not looare the trail across the Heart Wind Divide. Unless they found the trail, it meant almost certain death to jjo any further. Men lees staunch, tiiaii the Mounted Police would have turned back at once, and deemed it no eigm of waning courage. . Not eo with Fitzgerald and his men, however. They were carrying the mail—the British mail. For seven days they hunted for the trail that was lost, while their food dwindled slowly and each day the frost bit deeper into their tortured bonce. There is no record in Fitzgerald's diary of what the men suffered during that bitter period, nor is there any mention of Fort McPherson, lo , which they might have returned, and found safety. Tho tradition of the force pointed ahead, and on they must go until the last scrap of food was gone, , Not until then dared, they even think of turning, back. , But the hour came when the last hope was gone. , On January 17th, with only ten pounds of bacon and eight pounds of flour to carry four men. through a throe weeks’ battle against death by starvation, in that wintry wilderness, the party finally turned back toward Port McPherson. . ' Although Fitzgerald’s diary makes but scant reference to what followed, between the lines can bo read a tragedy of tortures, madness, and death that staggers the imagination. Food had become so short that on the first day of the return journey one of the dogs was killed and eaten. The remaining dogs, however, refused to eat their kind, and Fitzgerald felt justified in feeding them from tho impoverished larder rather than weaken, them by starvation until they could no longer drag the sledge. Unhappily, by this time the dogs were all so emaciated that tho men Wei's compelled to eat tho liver of the slaughtered animal in order to satisfy their hunger and keep up their strength. As a consequence that night they all became desperately ill. In a temperature of 23 to 35 deg. below zero, and weakened by ■hunger, illness, and fatigue, the dauntless men dragged painfully on their way, spurred to almost superhuman effort by tho growing horror of the cruel, lifeless, silent wilderness that hemmed them in. By this time Carter was so confused that Fitzgerald referred to him in his diary as only partly conscious, while Tayloriwas frightfully ill and suffering intense pain from his diet of dog-fle«h. On January 20th the last of tho flour and bacon was consumed. There was only dog-meat now to depend on, and the race against death had begun in iearnest, with nearly three week® more to go. Their faces swelled and sores broke out on their bodies, while the skin dried and peeled off. Taylor seemed to suffer tho most, and he could scarcely drag his feet through the enow, while all were barely able to survive the intense cold. Death of Two of the'Men.

.Oa January 27 th they found that they ■wore within a few miles of Waughs tent—a small camp, riore ample food would in all probauiiity liare been stored by the last party stopping there. The tent was sighted at z o’clock, and the last mile covered in a very frenzy of anticixjation. But only 'black despair awaited them, for' the tent was empty, and not a morsel of food could bo found. Staggered by this fresh blow, and sickening at the very thought of another such meal as their last, for a time they trembled on the verge of madness. Next morning another start was made, with tho temperature at 34deg. below zero. By 3 o’clock they had covered twelve miles, and then camped for the night. Everything that could be spared was thrown away before resuming the trail next day. Only the mail pouch was retained. That was more precious to them than their lives, for it held tho honour of the force.

On February sth Fitzgerald made the last entry in his diary. Four days later Taylor and Kinney died. How will never be known, for no one remains alive to tell, but Kinney is believed to have died first by starvation and poisoning from dog liver. Taylor could then stand it no longer. Tho agonies he endured that night must have been unspeakable, for strong men like him do not surrender easily. At last, however, he placed the muzzle of his rifle to his forehead as he lay on the ground and pulled the trigger. If Fitzgerald and Carter were there at tho time they dared not stop to bury their friends. Every minute meant life or death to them now, so on they went. The hast Camp.

The bodies of Taylor and Kinney were found thirty-five miles from Port Mo

Phersou, where they would- have obtained food and safety. Tei'i miles further on Fitzgerald and Carter made their last camp. When they were found their feet were frozen, their bodies to skeletons, and they seemed to have suffered frightfully from illness.N Carter had evidently died first, for Fitzgerald had apparently attempted to bui'y his friend, but probably died himself before ho could accomplish tho task, for his body lay near by, one lifeless hand still clutching the packet of mail for which they had all given their lives. The four brave men who had died under circumstances of s-uch splendid heroism were buried in a small churchyard in the heart of that frozen region which had made them big of soul and brave of heart. The story of tho lost patrol has only lately filtered across the changeless snows to civilisation, hut. it will live long as a classic of heroism and serve as a beacon of honour to the Mounted Police.