The National Geographic Magazine, Vol. III. (Complete), 1891

In Short

This volume is a bound collection of the National Geographic Magazine from 1891, functioning as both a professional journal and a public record of the Society’s early missions. It captures the transition of geography from a pursuit of exploration to a rigorous discipline of observation and data collection. Through annual presidential addresses, detailed reports on glacial expeditions in Alaska, and historical analysis of Bering’s maritime voyages, the publication documents the intellectual curiosity of the late nineteenth century. Its enduring value lies in its role as a primary witness to the era’s scientific methodology and worldview.

The Story

The volume opens with the broad, sweeping perspective of Gardiner G. Hubbard, the Society’s president, who delivers an annual address on South America. He characterizes the continent as a land of "Rivers and Pampas," moving from a general geographic survey to an analysis of political stability, particularly in Brazil. Hubbard examines the recent abolition of slavery and the subsequent collapse of the Brazilian empire, offering a sober assessment of the challenges facing these young republics, such as the difficulty of traversing dense, impenetrable forests and the slow pace of intercontinental communication.

The narrative focus then pivots sharply from the geopolitical to the high-stakes physical exploration of the North. The centerpiece is Israel C. Russell’s extensive report on his 1890 expedition to Mount St. Elias in Alaska. Russell begins by synthesizing the history of earlier attempts to reach the mountain, acknowledging the work of Lieutenant Schwatka and others who preceded him. He then launches into his own harrowing account of trekking across the treacherous, crevassed expanse of the Seward Glacier. The expedition is marked by constant struggle against the elements: torrential rains, the constant, thunderous roar of avalanches, and the psychological strain of navigating a landscape where the earth itself feels hostile.

Russell describes the technical challenges of glacier travel, including the discovery of mysterious ice tunnels where streams disappear, only to emerge miles away. He provides a meticulous, almost clinical description of these glacial features, capturing the "Babel of tongues" created by falling ice and the strange, organ-like vibrations emanating from the dark recesses of the glaciers. The party reaches a point of physical exhaustion, forced to camp on bare shale to avoid falling rocks, yet they persist in recording the geology and topography of the region.

The focus shifts once more to a historical investigation of cartography. A. W. Greely provides an analysis of Vitus Bering’s eighteenth-century voyages, examining the discrepancies in early maps and the tragic loss of life that defined those initial efforts to chart the northern Pacific. The text details how Bering’s men, including the unfortunate explorer Tschirikow, were beset by scurvy, isolation, and an inability to communicate with the indigenous people they encountered.

The volume concludes with a report on the "Heart of Africa" by E. C. Hore, which details the logistical triumph of moving boats and supplies across the continent for the London Missionary Society, and a final report on the advisability of continued Alaskan exploration. The arc of the volume is one of expanding reach: from the broad continental overview of the president to the granular, step-by-step recording of specific mountain ridges, finally settling into the critical reassessment of history’s own past maps.

How It Unfolds

The overview of continents Gardiner G. Hubbard surveys South America, weighing its economic reliance on coffee against the logistical nightmare of its dense geography. He contrasts the stability of Brazil with the fractured history of its neighbors.

The preparation for the ice Israel C. Russell establishes the context for the St. Elias expedition, reviewing the failures and limited successes of previous parties. He outlines the inhospitable nature of the Alaskan coast, where few harbors exist for ships.

The push into the glacier The expedition moves inland, confronting the physical terror of the Seward Glacier. The text chronicles the daily rhythm of life in a tent, the danger of falling ice, and the necessity of constant, careful surveying.

The analysis of the records A. W. Greely steps back from the physical trail to critique the reliability of historical maps. He uses the records of Bering’s voyage to demonstrate how easily error and tragedy can become part of the official geographic record.

The final assessment The Society reports on the future of Alaskan exploration, weighing the costs and scientific necessity of returning to the field. These closing pages frame the entire volume as an ongoing, restless project of human knowledge.

The People

Gardiner G. Hubbard acts as the voice of the institution, attempting to reconcile the vast, untamed nature of South America with the modern ambitions of commerce and political order. He is an observer who values stability and infrastructure.

Israel C. Russell is the prototypical explorer-scientist, a man who balances the awe of the Alaskan wilderness with an obsession for measurement. He is resilient, pushing his men—such as Crumback, who remains energetic despite extreme exposure—to reach higher elevations. Russell is both a survivor and a scribe, finding beauty in the "dazzling splendor" of snow-covered peaks while remaining relentlessly focused on geological data.

Vitus Bering and his lieutenant, Tschirikow, serve as the tragic figures of the historical section. Bering represents the era of exploration defined by high risk and poor communication; Tschirikow is depicted as a man of "tender heart" who suffers deeply from the loss of his men to the sea and the unknown, highlighting the human cost of the maps the Society now studies.

In Its Own Voice

"The lash was commonly used on the plantation, and work continued from early in the morning until late at night until 1888, when a law was passed finally emancipating 1,300,000 slaves."

Hubbard describes the brutal economic reality that shaped the political landscape of Brazil.

"It takes but little imagination to transform these strange sounds into the voices and songs of the mythical inhabitants of the nether regions."

Russell describes the eerie, rhythmic noises emanating from the glacial tunnels.

"His tender heart, which his profession of mariner had not rendered indifferent to the sufferings of others, was indeed sorely tried."

Greely reflects on the compassion of the explorer Tschirikow during the harrowing Bering expedition.

What It's Really About

This volume explores the tension between human desire to master the map and the indifferent, overwhelming power of the physical world. It asks: how can a civilization accurately record the earth when the terrain is so vast, so dangerous, or so obscured by history? The text argues that geography is not merely the naming of places but the slow, grueling accumulation of data against the forces of decay—be it the melting of glaciers, the destruction of maps, or the silencing of past explorers. It is an inquiry into the limits of human endurance and the necessity of institutional memory in the face of an ever-changing, often hostile, natural environment.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of science will find this volume deeply rewarding. It provides a raw, unfiltered look at how nineteenth-century researchers approached the world, oscillating between high-minded intellectualism and the brutal reality of frozen, rain-soaked exploration. The prose is precise and dignified, capturing a sense of urgency that feels both ancient and remarkably modern.

One must approach the book with an understanding of its period; the accounts of the Brazilian economy and the maritime history of the Pacific are colored by the colonial attitudes and Eurocentric perspectives of 1891. Some readers may find the technical reports on mineralogy or the long lists of Society members dry, but these details are exactly what make the book an authentic time capsule. It feels like stepping into a library that hasn't been disturbed for a century. The vivid descriptions of the Alaskan wilderness, in particular, remain hauntingly beautiful, reminding the reader that while technology changes, the human response to the sublime, terrifying scale of nature remains a constant. It is a slow, thoughtful read, best suited for those who appreciate the quiet, steady work of discovery.