Captain Thomas Long.—Discovery of Wrangell Land.—Captain
Carlsen and Captain Palliser sail across the Sea of
Kara.—Captain Johannsen circumnavigates Nova Zembla.—First
German expedition.—Second German expedition.—_Germania_,
Captain Koldewey commanding.—_Hansa_, Captain
Hegemann.—Departure from Bremen.—Crossing the Arctic
Circle.—Island of Jan Mayen.—The ice line.—Separation
from the _Hansa_.—Adrift on the ice-floe.—Winter.—Final
rescue.—_Germania_ beset.—Winter.—Sledging parties.—Lieutenant
Payer’s remarkable journey.—77° 1´ north latitude.—Return of
the _Germania_.
[Sidenote: _CAPTAIN THOMAS LONG_]
Other important discoveries followed the journeys of Dr. Hayes and
Captain Hall, including that of Captain Thomas Long, an American whaler,
who in 1867 discovered “a mountainous country of considerable extent in
the Polar Ocean, beyond Behring Strait,” supposed at that time to be the
western prolongation of Plover Island.
The same year Captain Carlsen and Captain Palliser sailed across the
generally inaccessible Sea of Kara to the mouths of the Obi,—and Captain
Johannsen succeeded in circumnavigating the whole archipelago of Nova
Zembla. In 1868 the first German north polar expedition was fitted out
through the exertions of the scientist Dr. A. Peterman of Gotha. The
yacht _Greenland_, commanded by Captain Koldewey, sailed to Spitzbergen,
reaching 84° 05´ N. off the north coast, and, passing down Henlopen
Strait, sighted Wiche Land, returning home the fall of the same year.
[Sidenote: _SECOND GERMAN EXPEDITION_]
In 1869 and 1870, the Germans made a more successful attempt to enter
the lists of Arctic discovery by exploring a considerable part of the
previously unvisited coast of East Greenland. The ship _Germania_ was
chosen for this purpose, being expressly adapted for ice navigation;
the _Hansa_ of nearly the same size was to accompany her. Captain Karl
Koldewey and Captain Fr. Hegemann were first and second in command
respectively.
“The departure of the expedition from Bremerhaven,” writes Captain
Koldewey, “took place on the 15th of June, 1869, in the presence of his
Majesty, the King of Prussia, whose warm interest in this great national
undertaking showed itself in this solemn hour in a manner never to be
forgotten. Amongst the numerous gentlemen in attendance on his Majesty
were his Royal Highness, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin, Count
Bismarck, the Minister of War and Marine, von Roon, General von Moltke,
and Vice-Admiral Jackman. The ships lay at the entrance of the new
harbour just outside the sluice. The king, having been introduced to the
scientific gentlemen and the commander of the expedition, and having
greeted them with a hearty shake of the hand, the President of the Bremen
Committee, Herr A. G. Mosle, requested his Majesty’s permission to speak
a few parting words; and in an earnest and impressive manner the speaker
referred to the greatness and importance of the object, the self-denial,
difficulties, and dangers which lay before them, but which they all
willingly braved for the honour of their native land, for the honour of
the German navy, and of German science.”
July 1 found the expedition in 61° north latitude, passing the entrance
between Norway and the Shetland Isles. “With that the German Ocean was
left behind and the open sea reached, which already made itself felt by
the peculiar ‘Atlantic swell.’”
On the 5th of July, at fifty minutes past eleven, the _Germania_ passed
the Arctic Circle, nearly under the meridian of Greenwich.
“A violent wind was blowing,” writes Captain Koldewey, “and with a speed
of nine knots we entered the Arctic Ocean, which was to be our quarters
for a whole year. The _Hansa_ was some miles in advance of us, and was
the first to unfurl the North German flag; at the same time firing one
gun. We followed. Conformably to the custom, as on crossing the equator,
Neptune came on board to welcome us, and wish us success on our voyage;
of course not without all those who had not yet crossed the Arctic Circle
having to undergo the rather rough shaving and christening customary on
such occasions. The ceremony closed (as is usual on such occasions) with
a good glass of wine, to wash away the evil effects of the cold water.”
On board the _Hansa_ the proceeding was carried out much more
scrupulously. Describing the frolic, Dr. Laube writes thus:—
“We entered into the spirit of the fun willingly, knowing that our
sailors were decent fellows, and would not carry things too far, even
had we not entered on the ship’s books with them in Breman, and become
seamen. Our carpenter went about the whole day with a sly, laughing face,
and towards evening had quite lost his usual chattiness. We ourselves
kept in the cabin, so as not to witness the preparations. At midnight we
were called on deck. A gun was fired, and as its thunder died away, we
heard the well-known cry, ‘Ship ahoy!’ Three wonderful figures climbed
over the bowsprit; Neptune first, in an Eskimo’s dress, with a great
white cotton beard, a seven-pronged dolphin harpoon for a trident in one
hand, and a speaking-trumpet in the other. A tarpaulin was spread on
the quarter-deck, and a stool placed upon it. It looked like a judge’s
bench. Here each of us was seated with eyes bound, while the masked
followers of the northern Ruler went through the customary proceedings.
I was soaped and shaved; god Neptune was most favorable to me; he knows
what good cigars are, and has great respect for those to whom they
belong. Then came the christening, which in this case was not applied to
the head (as is usual) but to the throat and stomach. Neptune put some
questions to me through his speaking-trumpet, desiring me to answer. I
saw his object, answered with a short ‘Yes’ and then closed my lips. The
mischievous waterfall rattled over me, causing universal merriment. They
then took the bandage from my eyes, that I might see my handsome face
in the glass; but instead of a looking glass, it was the combing of the
wooden hatchway, which with great gravity was held before my face by the
barber’s assistant. I was now absolved, and could laugh with the others,
whilst seeing my comrades obliged to go through the same course one after
the other.”
By the 9th of July, the expedition came in sight of the island of Jan
Mayen. The midnight hours had now become perceptibly lighter; even in the
cabin a lamp was no longer needed, and at twelve o’clock at night it was
possible to read and write without difficulty. Fog and snow had already
begun their rule of terror, and Captain Koldewey records three hundred
and sixty-eight hours of fog from the 10th of July to the 1st of August.
The island of Jan Mayen lies in the middle of the wide, deep sea between
Norway and Greenland, Iceland and Spitzbergen; and is distant about
sixty geographical miles from the coast of Greenland. It was discovered
and named after a Dutchman who visited it in the year 1611. It is nine
miles in length and one mile in breadth, rocky and mountainous, with
only two spots of flat beach suitable for landing-places. The northeast
part rises to a height of six thousand eight hundred sixty-three feet,
in the lofty Beerenberg, which has a large crater. In the year 1732,
Burgomaster Anderson, of Hamburg, reported a decided eruption from a
small side crater, and in 1818, Scoresby and another captain saw great
pillars of smoke rising from the same place. Of this wonderful isolated,
snow-covered peak, Lord Dufferin, in “Letters from High Latitudes,”
wrote,—
“My delight was of an anchorite catching a glimpse of the seventh heaven.”
Jan Mayen lies so near the edge of the ice-fields, that from 1612 to 1640
it afforded the English and Dutch whale-fishers a comfortable station for
their train-oil preparation. One ship is reported to have brought home
one hundred and ninety-six thousand gallons of oil in a single year.
The ice line was reached July 15. “After a foggy day, a light southerly
breeze got up, the sails filled, the ship answered the helm once more,
and we moved in a north-westerly course between small floes and brashes.
A practised ear might now notice a peculiar distant roar, which seemed to
come nearer by degrees. It was the sea singing against the still hidden
ice.
“Nearer and nearer comes the rushing noise. Every man is on deck; when,
as with the touch of a magic wand, the mist divides, and a few hundred
yards before us lies the ice, in long lines like a deep indented rocky
coast, with walls glittering blue in the sun, and the foaming of the
waves mounting high, with the top covered with blinding white snow.
The eyes of all rested with amazement on this grand panorama; it was
a glorious but serious moment, stirred as we were by new thoughts and
feelings, by hopes and doubts, by bold and far-reaching expectations.”
[Sidenote: _ADRIFT ON THE ICE FLOE_]
Up to this time the _Germania_ and _Hansa_ had stood well together with
occasional separation in the fogs, and on the 18th of July the officers
of the two ships exchanged hospitalities. The next day, through a fatal
misunderstanding of signals, the _Hansa_ separated from the _Germania_,
and they never met again.
[Illustration: JAN MAYEN ISLAND]
On the 28th of July, the _Hansa_ stood in 72° 56´ north latitude and 16°
54´ west latitude. The dark rock coast of East Greenland was visible for
the first time from Cape Broer Ruys to Cape James.
By sailing, towing, and warping, the _Hansa_ made slow progress through
the ice. The captain and two officers and two sailors made an attempt
to land on August 24, but were obliged to return to the ship without
having accomplished their mission. On the 25th of August the _Hansa_
reached within thirty-five nautical miles of Sabine Island. The ship
was continually subjected to dangerous ice pressure, and often forced
southward by the drifting ice-fields. By the 6th of September, she lay
between two promontories of a large ice-field, which eventually proved a
raft of deliverance. By the 14th of September, she was completely frozen
up in 73° 25.7´ north latitude and 18° 39.5´ west latitude. At the mercy
of the drifting currents, the _Hansa_ stood in imminent peril of total
destruction. Between October 5 and 14 the drift had carried the ship
seventy-two nautical miles to the south-southwest. The nights were cold,
sometimes 4° F. below zero. The only sign of animal life to be seen were
ravens, which were doubtless wintering on the coast; once a gull and a
falcon made the ship a visit. A severe storm from the north-northwest on
the 19th brought disastrous pressure upon, the _Hansa_.
“Shortly before one o’clock, the deck seams sprang, but still she seemed
tight. Mighty blocks of ice pushed themselves under the bow, and,
although they were crushed by it, they forced the ship up no less than
seventeen feet. The rising of the ship was an extraordinary and awful,
yet splendid spectacle, of which the whole crew were witnesses from the
ice.”
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Captain Hegemann at once ordered
clothing, nautical instruments, and stores to be removed from the ship to
a safe distance. The pumps were put in action to free her from water,
but to the horror of all, it was discovered before many hours that the
_Hansa_ was doomed.
“Calmly, though much moved, we faced this hard fact.”
There was not a minute’s time to lose; while one-half of the men stayed
by the pumps, the others were busily engaged bringing the most necessary
articles from the vessel to the floe. Gradually the ship filled with
water, and by eight in the morning the men who were busy in the fore-peak
getting out firewood came with anxious faces to say that the wood was
already floating below. At three o’clock the water in the cabin had
reached the table, and all movable articles were floating.
“Round about the ship lay a chaotic mass of heterogeneous articles, and
groups of feeble rats struggling with death, and trembling with cold.”
On the morning of the 21st, a last trip was made to the _Hansa_ for fuel
and her masts sacrificed to the stress of need. She was then cut away
from the ice that she might not endanger the lives of those on the floe
when she sank.
[Sidenote: _WINTER_]
The shipwrecked crew, in the miserable shelter of the coal house, settled
themselves to meet the exigencies of their frightful position. In the far
distance Halloway Bay and Glasgow Island were distinctly visible, but
nowhere a way through the icy labyrinth. Slowly, steadily, the ice-field
drifted to the south. By November 3 the Liverpool coast had been passed,
and the picturesque formation of the coast surrounding Scoresby Sound was
distinctly visible.
The health of the party remained good; a monotonous routine of daily
duties occupied officers and men. The capture of a walrus and bear gave
a welcome supply of fresh meat. Christmas was cheerfully celebrated by
these shipwrecked mariners in the coal-hut on their Greenland floe. A
tree artistically manufactured of pine wood and birch broom was gayly
decorated with paper rings and candles,—nor were gifts wanting, and
finally, wrote Dr. Laube in his day-book:—
“In quiet devotion the festival passed by; the thoughts which passed
through our minds (they were much alike with all) I will not put down. If
this should be the last Christmas we were to see, it was at least bright
enough. If, however, we were destined for a happy return home, the next
will be a brighter one; may God grant it!”
The months of January and February were fraught with many anxious hours,
owing to the numerous and severe storms which threatened destruction to
the floe. The horrors of such an experience are vividly described as
follows:—
On the 11th of January, “At six in the morning, Hildebrandt, who happened
to have the watch, burst in with the alarm, ‘All hands turn out.’ An
indescribable tumult was heard without. With furs and knapsacks all
rushed out. But the outer entrance was snowed up; so to gain the outside
quickly, we broke through the snow-roof of the front hall. The tumult
of the elements which met us there was beyond anything we had already
experienced. Scarcely able to leave the spot, we stood huddled together
for protection from the bad weather. Suddenly we heard, ‘Water on the
floe close by.’ The floe surrounding us split up; a heavy sea arose. Our
field began to break on all sides. On the spot between our house and the
piled-up store of wood which was about twenty-five paces distant, there
suddenly opened a huge gap. Washed by the powerful waves, it seemed as
if the piece just broken off was about to fall upon us; and at the same
time we felt the rising and falling of our now greatly reduced floe. All
seemed lost. From our split-up ice-field all the firewood was drifting
into the raging sea. And in like manner we had nearly lost our boat
_Bismarck_; even the whale-boat was obliged to be brought for safety into
the middle of the floe. The large boat, being too heavy to handle, we
were obliged to give up entirely. All this in a temperature of -9½°, and
a heavy storm, was an arduous piece of work. The community were divided
into two parts. We bade each other good-by with a farewell shake of the
hands, for the next moment we might go down. Deep despondency had taken
hold of our scientific friends; the crew were still and quiet. Thus we
stood or cowered by our boats the whole day, the fine pricking snow
penetrating through the clothes to the skin. It was a miracle that just
that part of the floe on which we stood should from its soundness keep
together. Our floe, now only 150 feet in diameter, was the 35 to 40 feet
nucleus of the formerly extensive field to which we had entrusted our
preservation. Towards evening the masses of ice became closely packed
again. At the same time the heavy sea had subsided and immediate danger
seemed past. Relieved, we partook of something in the house and lay down,
after setting a good watch. It was past midnight, when we were roused
from our sleep by the cry of terror; the voice of the sailor on watch,
exclaiming, ‘Turn out, we are drifting on to a high iceberg!’ All rushed
to the entrance; dressed as we always were; we had no time to run through
the long snow passage, but burst open the roof, climbed on to the door
and so out. What a sight! Close upon us, as if hanging over our heads,
towered a huge mass of ice, of giant proportions. ‘It is past,’ said the
captain. Was it really an iceberg, or the mirage of one, or the high
coast? We could not decide the question. Owing to the swiftness of the
drift, the ghastly object had disappeared the next moment.”
Again on the evening of the 14th a frightful storm raged, which set the
ice once more in motion.
“In the immediate neighbourhood of the house, our floe burst; and the
broken ice flew high around us. It was high time to bring the boat
_Bismarck_ and the whale-boat more into the middle. This we did; but
they were far too heavily laden to bring further. On this account,
furs, sacks of bread, and clothing were taken out and packed on two
sledges, which were, however, soon completely snowed up. All our labour
was rendered heavier by the storm, which made it almost impossible to
breathe. About eleven, we experienced a sudden fissure which threatened
to tear our house asunder; with a thundering noise an event took
place, the consequences of which, in the first moments, deranged all
calculations. God only knows how it happened that, in our flight into
the open, none came to harm. But there in the most fearful weather we
all stood roofless on the ice, waiting for daylight, which was still
ten hours off. The boat _King William_ lay on the edge of the floe, and
might have floated away at any moment. Fortunately the fissure did not
get larger. As it was somewhat quieter at midnight, most of the men crept
into the Captain’s boat, when the thickest sail we had was drawn over
them; some took refuge in the house. But there, as the door had fallen
in, they entered by the skylight, and in the hurry broke the panes of
glass, so that it was soon full of snow. This night was the most dreadful
one of our adventurous voyage on the floe.”
For five nights the men slept in the boats; the days were employed in
raising their settlement from its ruins. A wooden kitchen was built and
a dwelling house, exactly like the one destroyed, but half as large (14
feet long by 10 broad and 1½ high in the middle).
In spite of such frightful experiences, the men kept cheerful, undaunted,
and exalted; in fact, the cook kept a right seaman-like humour, having
exclaimed while repairing the coffee kettle, during the frightful
pressure of the ice which destroyed the floe, “if the floe would only
hold together until he had finished his kettle! he wished so to make the
evening tea in it, so that, before our departure, we might have something
warm.”
February and March found them helplessly drifting to the southward, and
by Easter (17th of April) they lay floating backwards and forwards in the
Bay of Unbarbik. Linnets and snow-buntings soon made their appearance,
so fearless and confiding that, “Some of them,” so says Bade’s day-book,
“will almost perch upon our noses, and in five minutes allowed themselves
to be caught three times.”
On the 7th of May the agreeable sight of open water in the direction
of land cheered both officers and men. The captain now decided that an
attempt would be made to leave the floe and reach the coast. The little
community, divided amid three boats, bade farewell to the ice-floe which
had been their home for two hundred days.
During several days of bad weather, small progress was made. The men
suffered considerably from exhaustion, snow-blindness, and want of proper
shelter and food—the latter problem was occasioning considerable concern,
and already the men were “almost looking their eyes out after a seal.”
There was but six weeks’ short provisions on hand and a long distance to
travel over a barren and uninhabited coast before the settlement could be
reached.
The ice remaining unnavigable, it was decided to make the island of
Illuidlek, dragging the heavy boat-loads over the all but impassable ice
hummocks.
By the 24th of May, Mr. Hildebrandt and the sailors Philipp and Paul,
set foot on firm ground. Their encouraging report cheered the others to
similar exertions, but the progress was slow and exhausting. Not until
the 4th of June were the entire party landed at Illuidlek. The island
proved of rocky formation, naked, and bare of vegetation.
“Everywhere we find nothing,” writes one of the party, “but bare barren
cliffs, the higher the wilder, sparingly clothed with moss and stunted
willows. But no trace of human inhabitants.”
Two days later (June 6) they started once more; their object was to
make for Friedricksthal, the nearest colony on the southwest coast
of Greenland. On June 13, 1870, after passing through the Straits of
Torsudatik, and skirting the coast, the longed-for bay was reached. “A
few hundred steps from the shore on the green ground, stood a rather
spacious red house, topped by a small tower. It was the mission house.
Groups of natives from the shore speedily welcomed the wanderers and the
cheerful greeting of the Moravian missionaries: ‘That is the German flag!
They are our people! Welcome, welcome to Greenland!’ fell like music in
their ears. After partaking of the generous hospitality extended by the
missionaries, and taking a much-needed rest, they pushed on in the hopes
of reaching the settlement of Julianeshaab, distant some eighty miles,
where the Danish _Constance_ was expected at any moment, and would be
their only means of reaching Europe that year.”
By the 25th of July, the officers and crew of the _Hansa_ weighed anchor
for the homeward voyage. By the 31st of July they were on the high sea in
Davis Strait. “No more ice! Set southwards, and—O heavenly music of the
word—homewards!”
[Sidenote: _“GERMANIA” BESET_]
It will be remembered that on July 20, 1869, the two ships had parted
company, the _Germania_ proceeding on her course with officers and crew,
under the impression that the _Hansa_ would rejoin her within a short
time. When this did not take place, much concern was felt for her fate.
By the 27th of July, the _Germania_ stood 73° 7´ north latitude, and 16°
4´ west longitude. Two days later an interesting note is made of the
peculiar condition of the atmosphere.
“The weather was clear and still, and we had a good opportunity of
observing the refraction of light and the mirage. The whole atmosphere
was quivering with a kind of wavy motion, so that the exact outline of
the object was often so distorted as to be unrecognizable. It may be
imagined that pictures of things far beyond our range of sight could thus
be seen. Scoresby relates, and it afterwards proved true, that he once
saw and recognized his father’s ship perfectly in the mirage when it was
thirty miles distant. The effects of this phenomenon on the distant ice
was wonderful; sometimes it appeared like a mighty wall, and sometimes
like a town rich in towers and castles.”
Carefully pushing a way between the floes, the _Germania_ stood within
thirty miles of Sabine Island by August 4. Sailing straight for Griper
Roads, she at last anchored in a small bay which was afterward her winter
harbour.
On the 5th of August, anchor was dropped, and the German flag hoisted on
Greenland soil, amid loud cheers. Sabine Island forms a part of the group
known as Pendulum Islands, discovered by Clavering in 1823. Sabine’s
observatory was carefully searched for, but no indications of its remains
were found. Traces of Eskimo summer huts were discovered, however, giving
evidence of long habitation.
On the 15th of August, the _Germania_ sailed as far as 75° 31´ north
latitude, some distance beyond Shannon Island, the extreme point
discovered by Clavering and Sabine. At Shannon Island, First Lieutenant
Payer, accompanied by seven companions, and provisioned for six days,
made a try of investigation. Lieutenant Payer’s description of the
plateau to the southwest of Shannon is interesting. Tell-platte, as it
is called, is six hundred and seventy feet above the sea. “Here on the
broad mountain top were masses of rubbish of gneiss formation resembling
those on Pendulum Island. We were also astonished by the sight of a large
flat promontory (south of Haystack) which is not distinctly marked on
Clavering’s charts. The view of the front coast of Greenland was full of
majestic beauty.”
Having taken up winter quarters at Sabine Island, September 13, Captain
Koldewey and Lieutenant Payer undertook a sledge journey to Flegely
Fiord. They returned to the ship September 21, after an absence of seven
days, having travelled 133½ miles. The long winter passed in the usual
monotonous fashion, and in preparation for the spring sledge journeys.
A thrilling incident, however, occurred early in March, which is almost
unprecedented in Arctic adventure.
“We were sitting,” writes Lieutenant Payer, “fortunately silent in
the cabin, when Koldewey suddenly heard a faint cry for help. We
all hurriedly tumbled up the companion-ladder to the deck, when an
exclamation from Borgen, ‘A bear is carrying me off!’ struck painfully
on our ears. It was dark; we could scarcely see anything, but we made
directly for the quarter whence the cry proceeded, armed with poles,
weapons, etc., over hummocks and drifts, when an alarm-shot, which we
fired in the air, seemed to make some little impression, as the bear
dropped his prey, and ran forward a few paces. He turned again, however,
dragging his victim over the broken shore-ice, close to a field which
stretched in a southerly direction. All depended upon our coming up with
him before he should reach this field, as he would carry his prey over
the open plain with the speed of a horse, and thus escape. We succeeded.
The bear turned upon us for a moment, and then, scared by our continuous
fire, let fall his prey. We lifted our poor comrade up on to the ice,
to bear him to his cabin,—a task which was rendered somewhat difficult
by the slippery and uneven surface of the ice. But after we had gone a
little way, Borgen implored us to make as much haste as possible. On
procuring a light, the coldest nature would have been shocked at the
spectacle which poor Borgen presented. The bear had torn his scalp in
several places, and he had received injuries in other parts of his body.
His clothes and hair were saturated with blood. We improvised a couch for
him in the rear of our cabin, as his own was not large enough. The first
operation was performed upon him on the cabin table. And here we may
briefly notice the singular fact that, although he had been carried more
than 100 paces with his skull almost laid bare, at a temperature of -13°
Fahrenheit, his scalp healed so perfectly that not a single portion was
missing.”
Borgen describes the sudden attack of the bear as follows: “About a
quarter before nine P.M. I had gone out to observe the occultation of
a star, which was to take place about that time, and also to take the
meteorological readings. As I was in the act of getting on shore, Captain
Koldewey came on to the ice. We spoke for a few moments, when I went on
shore, while he returned to the cabin. On my return from the observatory,
about fifty steps from the vessel, I heard a rustling noise to the left,
and became aware of the proximity of a bear. There was no time to think,
or use my gun. The grip was so sudden and rapid, that I am unable to
say how it was done; whether the bear rose and struck me down with his
fore-paws, or whether he ran me down. But from the character of the
injuries I have received (contusions and a deep cut on the left ear), I
conclude that the former must have been the case. The next thing I felt
was the tearing of my scalp, which was only protected by a skull cap.
This is their mode of attacking seals, but, owing to the slipperiness
of their skulls, the teeth glide off. The cry for help which I uttered
frightened the animal for a moment; but he turned again and bit me
several times on the head. The alarm had meanwhile been heard by the
Captain, who had not yet reached the cabin. He hurried on deck, convinced
himself that it was really an alarm, roused up the crew and hastened on
to the ice, bringing assistance to his struggling comrade. The noise
evidently frightened the bear, and he trotted off with his prey, which he
dragged by the head. A shot fired to frighten the creature effected its
purpose, inasmuch as he dropped me, and sprang a few steps aside; but he
immediately seized me by the arm, and, his hold proving insufficient,
he seized me by the right hand, on which was a fur glove, and this gave
the pursuers time to come up with the brute, which had by its great
speed left them far behind. He was now making for the shore, and would
certainly have escaped with his prey, had he succeeded in climbing
the bank. However, as he came to the edge of the ice, he turned along
the coast side, continuing on the rough and broken ice, which greatly
retarded his speed, and thus allowed his pursuers upon the ice to gain
rapidly upon him. After being dragged in this way for about 300 paces,
almost strangled by my shawl, which the bear had seized at the same time,
he dropped me, and immediately afterwards Koldewey was bending over me,
with the words ‘Thank God! he is still alive.’ The bear stood a few paces
on one side evidently undecided what course to pursue, until a bullet
gave him a hint that it was high time to take himself off.”
[Sidenote: _LIEUT. PAYER’S REMARKABLE JOURNEY_]
Preparations having been completed for an extended sledge journey to
examine the bays and inlets of the mainland, the party started March 8,
1870, and were absent until April 27 after twenty-three days of most
arduous labours. Lieutenant Payer had the satisfaction of reaching 77° 1´
north latitude, at that time the most northerly point ever reached on the
east coast of Greenland. From an elevated sight the sea appeared covered
with an unbroken field of hummocks, and land was seen to stretch out in a
northerly direction as far as the eye could reach.
Other journeys which followed at close intervals greatly added to the
geographical knowledge of the coast. On the return from one of these,
they discovered (9th of August) the entrance to a magnificent fiord to
the south of Cape Franklin (73° 10´ north latitude), into which they
penetrated to a distance of seventy-two nautical miles. As they advanced
into the interior, a decided change in the temperature was noticed, the
atmosphere and water became warmer, and herds of reindeer and musk-oxen
were seen; butterflies, bees, and other insects fluttered over the green
earth. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of the scenery.
“Numerous glaciers and cascades descended from the mountains, which rose
higher and higher as they advanced towards the west. Lieutenant Payer
and Doctor Copeland having climbed a peak 7000 feet high saw the fiord
still branching out in the distance, and towards the west a remote chain
of mountains, situated about 32° W. long., rising to an altitude of at
least 14,000 feet, terminated the magnificent prospect. The interior of
Greenland thus proved itself to be not a mere naked plateau covered with
perpetual ice-fields, but in some parts at least a country of Alpine
grandeur.”
[Sidenote: _RETURN OF THE “GERMANIA”_]
On the 24th of August, the _Germania_ steered her course for home; as the
ship cleared the last of the Greenland ice, Captain Koldewey quoted the
words of old Scoresby under similar conditions. “My watch is over!” he
used to say—and turning to Mr. Sengstache, Captain Koldewey exclaimed,
“My watch is over!” and retired to his cabin with a feeling of security
that he had not enjoyed for many a day.
Pursuing a course past Iceland between the Faroe and Shetland isles,
they stood off Heligoland, September 10. “At daybreak, though we had
seen no pilot, we recognized Wangerooge, and steered along the South
wall to the mouth of the Weser. No sign of a ship! The Weser seemed to
have died out. Where are the pilots hidden? Are they lying _perdu_ on
account of yesterday’s storm? Well, then, we must run into the Weser
without them, the wind is favorable, the weather clear, the outer buoy
will be easy to find; there is the church-tower of Wangerooge. Suspecting
nothing, we steered on; the tower bears south-southwest, southwest by
south, southwest, but no buoy in sight. The Captain and steersman look
at each other in astonishment. Can we have been so mistaken and out of
our reckoning? But, no! That is certainly Wangerooge; the depth of water
agrees, our compass is correct. No doubt about it, we are in the Weser;
something unusual must have happened! Still no sail in sight! But what
is that? Yonder are the roads. There are several large vessels under
steam; they at least can give us some information. So we make for them.
We saluted the German flag, and soon the cry was heard, ‘War, war with
France; Napoleon a prisoner! France has declared a Republic; our armies
are before Paris!’ And then, ‘_Hansa_ destroyed in the ice, crew saved.’
We thought we were dreaming, and stood stiff with astonishment at such
grand and heart-stirring news. Not until a loud hurrah for King William
sounded from a hundred German throats did we regain our speech, and
answer with another ‘Hurrah!’”