[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE “HANSA’S” BOATS AT THE
FRIEDRICHSTHAL MISSION STATION.]
THE
GERMAN ARCTIC EXPEDITION
OF 1869–70,
AND
NARRATIVE OF THE WRECK OF THE “HANSA”
IN THE ICE.
BY CAPTAIN KOLDEWEY,
COMMANDER OF THE EXPEDITION, ASSISTED BY MEMBERS OF THE
SCIENTIFIC STAFF.
WITH
_NUMEROUS WOODCUTS, TWO COLOURED MAPS, TWO PORTRAITS ON STEEL,
AND FOUR CHROMO LITHOGRAPHIC ILLUSTRATIONS_.
TRANSLATED AND ABRIDGED BY THE REV. L. MERCIER, M.A., OXON;
AND EDITED BY H. W. BATES, F.L.S., ASSISTANT SECRETARY,
ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON LOW; & SEARLE,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1874.
[_All rights reserved._]
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction.--Preliminary Observations.--Object and Plan of
the Expedition.--Victualling of the Ships.--Compact between
the Captains.--Instructions for the Second German Arctic
Expedition of 1869, 1870. By Dr. A. Petermann 1
PART I.
JOINT PASSAGE OF THE TWO SHIPS, AND VOYAGE
OF THE HANSA.
CHAPTER I.--Joint Voyage of the Germania and the Hansa, from
the 15th June to 4th July. By Captain Koldewey and Dr.
Pansch 24
CHAPTER II.--Further passage of the two Ships to the
Ice.--Middle of July. By Captain Koldewey and Dr. Pansch 45
CHAPTER III.--To the Separation of the Ships on the 20th July.
By Captain Koldewey and Dr. Pansch 64
CHAPTER IV.--Further Voyage of the Hansa up to her Blockade
in the Coast-ice of East Greenland. 20th July to 7th September.
By Captain Hegemann 80
CHAPTER V.--From the blocking up of the Hansa to the Settlement
upon the Floe. 7th September to end of October. By Captain
Hegemann, Professor Laube, and others 94
CHAPTER VI.--Drifting to the South.--Christmas time.--A severe
January. November, 1869, to end of January, 1870. By
Captain Hegemann 116
CHAPTER VII.--Post nubila Phœbus. Abandonment of the Floe,
and Boat-Journey to the Island of Illuidlek. February to
4th June, 1870. By Captain Hegemann 137
CHAPTER VIII.--Journey along the Coast of Greenland, from
Illuidlek to Friedrichsthal. June, 1870. By Captain Hegemann,
with the assistance of Professor Laube and W. Bade 163
CHAPTER IX.--Further Stay in Friedrichsthal.--Journey _viâ_
Igikait to Nennortalik. By Professor Laube 187
CHAPTER X.--Lichtenau.--Excursion to the Island of
Unartok.--Journey to Julianeshaab. By Professor Laube 205
CHAPTER XI.--In Julianeshaab.--Excursion to Igalliko. By
Professor Laube 220
CHAPTER XII.--Kaksimiut.--Frederickshaab.--Return to
Europe. By Professor Laube 244
PART II.
VOYAGE OF THE GERMANIA.
CHAPTER I.--Continuation of the Voyage of the Germania after
Separation from the Hansa.--Landing of the Germania in
East Greenland. From 21st July to 5th August, 1869. By
Captain Koldewey and Dr. Pansch 265
CHAPTER II.--Pendulum Island.--State of the Ice
Northwards.--Landing on Shannon Island. By the same 278
CHAPTER III.--Shannon Island: with the Tell-Platte and
Klein-Pendulum. By Dr. Copeland, First-Lieutenant Payer, and
Dr. Börgen 288
CHAPTER IV.--Further Coasting Voyage of the Germania. 17th
August to 13th September, 1869. By Captain Koldewey 297
CHAPTER V.--Sledge-Journey to the Fligely Fjord.--Discovery
of Coal strata on Kuhn Island. 14th to 21st September,
1869. By Captain Koldewey and Lieutenant Payer 312
CHAPTER VI.--Preparations for Wintering. 13th September to
7th November, 1869. By Dr. Pansch 324
CHAPTER VII.--Sledge-Journey to Clavering Island, and Discovery
of the Tirol Fjord. 27th October to 4th November,
1869. By First-Lieutenant Payer, with additions by Captain
Koldewey 353
CHAPTER VIII.--Winter Night from November, 1869, to New
Year’s Day, 1870. By Dr. Pansch 371
CHAPTER IX.--First Month of the year 1870. By Dr. Pansch 391
CHAPTER X.--Long Sledge-Journey on the Coast
Northwards.--Discovery of King William’s Island. 8th March
to 27th April, 1870. By Lieutenant Payer and Captain Koldewey 412
CHAPTER XI.--Sledge-Journey to Ardencaple Inlet, from 8th
May to 29th May. By Lieutenant Payer 449
CHAPTER XII.--Hunting and Animal Life in East Greenland.
By Lieutenant Payer and Dr. Copeland, with additions by
Dr. Hartlaub 465
CHAPTER XIII.--Sledge-Journeys in Spring. April to July,
1870. By Dr. Börgen and Dr. Copeland 486
CHAPTER XIV.--Excursions to Sabine and Clavering Islands, to
examine remains of Esquimaux Settlements. By Dr. Pansch 507
CHAPTER XV.--The Germania steams Northwards. 22nd to 31st
July. By Captain Koldewey 529
CHAPTER XVI.--Coast Voyage of the Germania towards South.
Jackson Island.--Cape Broer Ruys.--Boat-Journey.--Discovery
of Francis-Joseph’s Fjord. By Captain Koldewey 539
CHAPTER XVII.--Sailing into the Fjord.--Ascent of Payer’s
Peak.--Discovery of Petermann’s Peak.--Homeward Voyage
decided on. By Captain Koldewey, Lieutenant Payer, and
Dr. Pansch 551
CHAPTER XVIII.--Return to Bremerhaven. By Captain Koldewey 565
Conclusion. By Captain Koldewey 574
Appendix 581
DESCRIPTION OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
HALF-PAGE WOODCUTS
PAGE
Killer Dolphins 43
Blocks of Ice with Seals 80
Cape Broer Ruys 82
Cape James 83
The Flower-Basket 86
The Devil’s Thumb 95
The Brandenburg Gate 96
Hunting the Polar Bear 97
Polar Bear as a Watch-dog 98
Ice-formations 99
Skating on “Sinai” 100
Snow-Sphinx 119
Iceberg with Refraction, by Capo Löwenörn 139
Iceberg 146
Hunting the Polar Bear 147
The boat Bismarck 149
Iceberg 151
The Look-out 154
Sketch of Hansa Haven 165
Group of Esquimaux 177
Ruins of Erick Rauda’s House 235
Ice-drift Formations 268
First Sight of Land 272
Tent for Sledge-journeying 313
Arctic Fox at a trap 352
Tent-quarters 360
Young Walrus 369
Surprised by a Bear 430
Depôt on Kuhn Island 460
Hühnerberg Glacier 489
The Kronenberg 490
Block of Basalt 497
Fossil from Kuhn Island 504
Ruined Esquimaux Huts, &c. 508
Longitudinal section of Esquimaux Hut 509
Portions of Esquimaux Implements 517
Ruined Huts on Sabine Island 526
Esquimaux Box 542
Regenerated Glacier 553
End of a Glacier 555
Lower end of the Glaciers 557
WHOLE PAGE WOODCUTS.
TO FACE PAGE
The Germania 14
The Hansa 16
Warping through the Ice 86
Ice formations 102
The Liverpool coast 105
The Hansa in distress 108
Wreck of the Hansa 112
Ground-plan of the “Hansa” house 114
The Hansa House on the Floe 115
Iceberg 132
Bivouac in boats 133
Dragging the boats to Illuidlek Island 155
Coast to the South of Illuidlek 157
The Boats under sail 164
Boat-Journeys with Canoes 198
Lichtenau 207
In the Pack 270
The Germania in the Ice 331
The Germania on Sabine Island 336
Iceberg near Cape Borlase Warren 356
On Deck 372
Deep-snow Travelling 452
Death of the Musk Ox 456
Esquimaux Implements 516
Do. do. _ib._
The Germania on the South Coast of Shannon 538
Mountain Peak behind the Glaciers, &c. 554
Glacier of Payer’s Peak 560
STEEL ENGRAVINGS.
Karl Koldewey, Commander of the Expedition, Captain of the
Germania 11
Paul Friedrich August Hegemann, Captain of the Hansa 35
COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS.
Arrival of Boats at Friedrichsthal _Frontispiece_
Queen Augusta Valley 306
Tirol Fjord 363
The Devil’s Castle 552
MAPS.
(TO BE PLACED AT THE END.)
Chart of the Northern Portion of East Greenland surveyed on the
Sledge-Journey, from 24th March to 27th April, 1870.
Chart of the Voyage and Discoveries of the Second German Arctic
Expedition, with the aid of previous Charts.
INTRODUCTION.
First suggestion of the undertaking at a festival given
at Bremen in honour of Dr. Petermann and the First German
Arctic Expedition.--Dr. Petermann’s plan of the 30th of
October, 1868.--Dr. Petermann consents to the building of
the Germania from the remaining funds of the Expedition of
1868.--His programme of the 8th of March, 1869.--Exploration
of the Central Arctic region with the east coast of
Greenland as a basis.--Captain Koldewey’s circuit through
the provinces.--Statement of the project.--Forming of
committees in different German towns for the support of the
undertaking.--Assistance of the Newspaper Press.--Formation
of the Bremen Committee.--Opposition to the choice of
the yacht Greenland as the second ship.--The Hamburg
Committee.--Further action.--Definitive resolutions.--Appeal
of the 10th of May.--The commander and the scientific
staff of the expedition.--The steamer Germania.--Fitting
the Hansa for the Arctic voyage.--Outfit.--Scientific
instruments.--Captain Koldewey’s audience in Bremen previous
to departure.--Instructions for the Second German Arctic
Expedition.--Activity of the Bremen Committee in raising funds
to cover the cost of the expedition.
On the 24th of October, 1868, a number of gentlemen were assembled
at Bremen, to celebrate the happy return of the members of the First
German Arctic Expedition, including their commander Captain Karl
Koldewey, and its scientific originator, Dr. A. Petermann. It was on
this occasion that expression was first given to the idea of another
expedition to this inhospitable region. Preliminary conferences took
place between Dr. Petermann, Captain Koldewey, Dr. Breusing, and
Messrs. Meier and Rosenthal, the result of which was that the despatch
of a new expedition became only a question of ways and means. The
“Rough sketch of a plan for the German Arctic Expedition of 1869,”
with maps, from Dr. Petermann, was not long wanting. According to
his suggestion, the expedition was to consist of two parts, so as to
endeavour to solve two problems at the same time. A steamer was to land
on East Greenland, and taking it as the basis of the winter operations,
should try to penetrate into the heart of the Polar region; a second
steamer should, at any point between Greenland and Nova Zembla, strive
to reach the highest latitude possible. For the carrying out of this
plan two steamers were considered necessary. But the preparations
soon reached a critical point. It was with but small results for his
trouble that Koldewey, whose enthusiasm and self-sacrifice in the cause
became daily more apparent, strove to keep up the interest in it by
repeated consultations in influential quarters. Dr. Petermann then
decided that, in order to render the carrying out of the exploration
practicable that year, he would, with the money still in hand from the
first expedition, commission the building of a steamer, the dimensions
of which should both meet the requirements of an Arctic voyage, and
keep within the compass of their straitened means. It became necessary
for the promoters to drop one part of Dr. Petermann’s original plan,
and confine themselves either to exploring the Central Arctic region,
with the coast of Greenland for a basis, or to advancing towards the
North Pole by the open sea between Nova Zembla and Spitzbergen. Captain
Koldewey declared for the former course, and also for retaining the
programme of the Expedition of 1868; taking this view of the case,
viz., that it must be a condition _sine qua non_ to make the
coast, in which case they would have a far greater prospect, even under
the most difficult and adverse circumstances, of making discoveries and
scientific investigations, than by advancing on the high sea towards
the Pole.
Dr. Petermann acknowledged the force of this argument, and agreed that
East Greenland must be the point to keep in sight.
A communication dated from Gotha, 8th March, 1869, brought these
proceedings to the knowledge of the friends of the undertaking. The
plan was now nearly as follows: “That the expedition should consist
of a newly-built screw steamer and of the sailing-yacht ‘Greenland,’
a ship of the pioneer journey of 1868; that the end and aim of the
same should be discovery and exploration in the Central Arctic region,
from 74° N.L. upwards, the East Greenland coast being the basis. The
‘Greenland,’ acting as consort and transport-ship, should return in
the autumn of the same year; but the return of the chief ship should
not take place until late in the autumn of 1870, after their intended
wintering. That the aim of the expedition should be scientific, as
well as nautical; the latter department being under the command of
Captain Karl Koldewey, who the year before had proved himself so able
in every respect, and whose character for courage, perseverance, and
self-sacrifice in the cause, called for unhesitating confidence.” The
scientific staff had already been partly chosen. To awaken interest in
this new undertaking, no trouble was thought too great either by Dr.
Petermann or Captain Koldewey, the latter undertaking circuits through
Germany and delivering lectures in several places, which were sometimes
followed by profitable results, and sometimes gave expectation of the
same. At the same time he circulated a confident, independent, and
well drawn up pamphlet, giving the nautical view of the question, in
one respect differing slightly from Dr. Petermann’s original plan,
namely, that if the coast of East Greenland was not reached until the
middle of August, then the eastern coast of Spitzbergen and Gillisland
should be the object of investigation. These explanations found their
way into the daily press, exciting great interest. Dr. Petermann,
though not quite agreeing with Koldewey’s proceedings, acted with great
zeal in trying to bring the undertaking to a successful issue. At his
suggestion Dr. Bastian in Berlin, and Professor Arendts in Munich,
formed committees for receiving subscriptions. The Berlin Committee was
chosen from members of the Berlin Geographical Society, amongst whom
were renowned representatives of science, who published on the 3rd of
April an energetic appeal for subscriptions. In this appeal attention
was particularly drawn to the scientific and great national importance
of the undertaking. Berlin, as the metropolis of the North German
Confederation, the centre of her national efforts, was called upon, now
that an important object for knowledge and action offered itself, to
issue the first appeal. The sum still wanting was certain to be soon
made up; and if Berlin with cheerful self-sacrifice once led the way,
other towns would not be left behind. The appeal to the inhabitants
of Munich (dated May) was issued by the Geographical Society, and
signed by Professor Dr. Jolly as director, and Professor Dr. Arendts
as secretary. Accordingly, collections were set on foot throughout the
whole of Bavaria. In Bremen, where the preparations for the undertaking
were to be carried out, and where it would probably find its best
support, people were very favourable to the project. In a succession
of communications in the daily press, and the _Weser-Zeitung_
particularly, in an explanatory light article of the 4th of April,
the national, nautical, and scientific importance of the undertaking
were dwelt upon. Essays of the same kind soon appeared in the other
different German papers. We must not forget to mention here, that
the first favourable notice of the expedition came from the Marine
Society _Concordia_, at Elsfleth. The chief towns throughout
the whole of the North-Sea and Baltic coasts, beginning at Bremen,
were actively interested in the cause. Before the formation of the
committee at Bremen, Mr. G. Albrecht was induced by the Consul, H. H.
Meier, with Dr. Petermann’s concurrence, to undertake the management
of the accounts. When Consul Meier afterwards withdrew, Mr. A. G.
Mosle undertook the presidency, offered to him by Mr. G. Albrecht and
M. Lindeman, in order that a committee might be organized. With this
view the first meeting took place on the 9th of April in the house
of Messrs. Schütting. It was composed of Captain Koldewey, Mosle,
Albrecht, C. H. Noltenius, director of the pilot-school in Bremen, Dr.
A. Breusing, D. H. Wätjen, jun., Ship-builder F. Tecklenborg, sen., the
Recorder of the Commercial Board H. A. Schumacher, Captain Gutkese
from Bremerhaven, and M. Lindeman, reporter. Captain Karl Koldewey laid
the plan of the undertaking before them, and the choice of the steamer
as expedition-ship and the “Greenland” as transport-ship. Director
Breusing declared that to enable them to accomplish any great result,
two steamers with outfits for three or four years would be necessary.
Some gentlemen were of opinion that, if possible, a larger ship should
be chosen in the place of the small confined sailing-yacht “Greenland,”
which might be richly stored with coals and provisions, so as to put
them in a position to pass more than one winter, if necessary, and
thus, if possible, carry their investigation further northward. In
the next sitting they agreed that Dr. Petermann and Captain Koldewey
being really the originators of the undertaking, it devolved upon the
committee to support the efforts of these gentlemen to the utmost
of their power. The meeting styled themselves “The Bremen Committee
for the Second North Arctic Expedition,” and chose A. G. Mosle as
president, G. Albrecht as treasurer, and M. Lindeman as secretary. The
committee, to which Messrs. R. Fritze, W. Nielsen, and Captain Ludwig
Geerken were added, published on the 17th of April an appeal to their
fellow-townsmen for subscriptions, which, among other things, contained
the following:--“The scientific and maritime importance of the
undertaking is everywhere admitted, and everywhere the highest interest
evinced in it. Bremen will not be behind in promoting this national
work. It rests for German inquiry to open up new domains, in order to
show that German sailors are as qualified, as bold, and as persevering
as those of other nations.”
The discussion with Dr. Petermann as to whether a larger transport-ship
should be chosen or not, led to no satisfactory conclusion. For
practical as well as financial reasons he decided in the negative.
But on the other side were voices of weight and influence in nautical
circles of the North Sea and Baltic coasts, and which must be heard.
People thought it right to raise serious objections to the insufficient
size of the ship. These, with very great exaggeration, found expression
in the daily press, so much so that Captain Koldewey was obliged to
interfere by letter to the newspapers. In Hamburg one of the prime
movers in the undertaking, the director of the North German Marine
Observatory, W. v. Freeden, had resolved to form a committee. A number
of representatives of respectable firms, the directors of the Marine
and Astronomical Observatories, formed themselves into the “Hamburg
Committee for the Northern Expedition of 1869.” On the 23rd of April
an appeal followed, in which it was represented that Hamburg had
always shown a lively interest in all national questions, and with
regard to this undertaking felt it incumbent upon it, remembering
its antecedents, to guard its position as the leading seaport of
Germany. The Hamburg Committee also declared, in a sitting at which
Dr. Petermann and Captain Koldewey were present, for Dr. Petermann’s
published plan of the 8th of March. By degrees the interest of the
nation and the whole of the country began to warm more and more. New
committees were formed in Oldenburg, Emden, and Leer, in Rheinhessen
(Worms and Oppenheim), at Karlsruhe, Lübeck, Königsberg, and Rostock.
The committee of Bremen, in a letter of the 2nd of May addressed to
the Berlin Committee, thus defined its position with regard to the
carrying out of the expedition:--“After a lengthy conference between
the seafaring men belonging to our committee, and the whale fishermen
of the Weser-fleet, and others of the profession, we have decided that
our direct influence must be directed and confined to the way and
manner of carrying out the following points:--To keep in view that the
ships shall be as good as possible, and to carefully see to the supply
of provisions and coal. Every other nautical question coming under
our consideration we have laid, and will continue to lay before the
commander of the expedition, and thoroughly enter into it with him,
still, however, not considering it our business to interfere.” A larger
ship than the “Greenland” having been proposed, and this proposal
approved of by Captain Koldewey, as well as by Captain Hegemann, who,
being familiar with the Arctic waters, was to take the command of the
second ship, it was agreed to. Amongst other reasons advanced for
this was, that besides the thirty tons of coal required for heating
in winter, the Germania could at the utmost only carry forty tons for
feeding the engines. On this head alone the choice of a larger ship
was desirable--namely, that the expedition was to be supplied with
provisions for a longer time than was originally intended. The pending
question as to procuring a larger ship instead of the “Greenland” was
solved at a sitting of the Bremen Committee on the 8th of May, at which
Dr. Petermann, Director W. v. Freeden from Hamburg, and three other
scientific men interested in the expedition, were present--viz., that a
number of Bremen merchants should be security for the purchase-money
for a larger companion vessel to the amount of £1500. Dr. Petermann
now declared decidedly for choosing a larger ship instead of the
“Greenland,” and that a sailing ship, on the ground that a suitable
steamer was not easily procurable, and that two scientific men should
be attached to the ship. The following resolution was drawn up by Dr.
Petermann and signed by all present at the meeting:--
“On the 7th of next month, the Second German Arctic Expedition,
under Captain Karl Koldewey, shall put to sea. This is the
unanimous resolution of the friends of the undertaking,
assembled from far and near, for the final settlement of the
plan, at Bremen, on the 8th of May.
“It is our unanimous endeavour to render every part of the
equipment as perfect as possible. After strict trial and
inspection, the steamer Germania, the newly-built chief ship
of the expedition, fulfils every expectation, as well as the
sailors who conduct it and the men of science who accompany it.
The steamer, like the convoy which accompanies her, will be
equipped for two years.
“The Germania’s size is expressly adapted for ice-navigation;
the accompanying ship, the Hansa, of nearly the same size,
will also be expressly adapted for the same purpose, and will
be under the command of Captain Fr. Hegemann, of Oldenburg. If
possible, the two ships will remain with each other, both on the
outward journey, through the winter, and also on the return.
Regard to the greatest possible security of the expedition has
led to this extension of the plan.
“The plan of the originator of the undertaking, Dr. Petermann,
of Gotha, which makes the eastern coast of Greenland the basis
for advancing into the centre of the Arctic region, is to remain
the first aim of this expedition.
“The Bremen Committee have become security for the necessary
means (£1500) for providing the second ship. We hope that in
other parts of Germany the friends of the undertaking will show
the same determination, as the enlarged plan requires greater
means.
“The naval and scientific importance of the expedition is
everywhere acknowledged; the means for speedily and fully
carrying it out, the interests of the German navy and of German
science demand.
“Bremen, 10th of May, 1869.
“Dr. A. Petermann, A. G. Mosle,
Capt. K. Koldewey, G. Albrecht,
Capt. Fr. Hegemann, C. H. Noltenius,
W. v. Freeden, Richard Fritze,
Dr. Börgen, D. H. Wätjen,
Dr. Copeland, W. Nielsen,
Dr. Med. Pansch, Capt. L. Geerken,
M. Lindeman, Capt. W. Gutkese,
H. H. Meier, Synd. Dr. Schumacher.”
Thus a firm foundation was laid for the whole undertaking, and the
Bremen Committee could undisturbed make the numberless preparations and
give all their attention and trouble to raising the money--a care which
fell exclusively upon it, and was by no means small. Dr. Petermann had
acted in the same way for the Expedition of 1868. The committee issued
some thousands of circulars to raise money to meet the expense,
which was now estimated at £10,500.
[Illustration: KARL KOLDEWEY.
_Captain of the Germania_.]
The scientific staff for the Germania were, partly on Captain
Koldewey’s proposal, chosen and appointed by Dr. Petermann.
The commander of the whole expedition was Captain Koldewey, of Bucken,
near Hoya, in the province of Hanover. He was in the thirty-second
year of his age. Brought up in the Pilot School at Bremen, he had been
a sailor sixteen years, that is from 1853. Giving up his practical
business for a time, Koldewey, in order to improve himself, attended
the Polytechnic School in Hanover, and in the winter of 1867 and 1868
the University of Göttingen, where he studied physics and astronomy,
which after his return from the first Arctic expedition, as far as the
completion of his Report of it would allow, he took up again.
The scientific members of the expedition, to ship in the Germania were
the following:--
1st. Dr. Karl N. J. Börgen, born in Schleswig on the 1st of October,
1843. He attended the cathedral school in that place; was drafted in
1863 to the University of Copenhagen, in 1864 to the University of
Kiel, and in 1865 to that of Göttingen. In 1866, he was assistant in
the observatory of that place; served as a volunteer in the army of
the North German Alliance from January 15th, 1867, to 1868. Obtaining
leave of absence for two years, he received on that occasion from the
Prussian Ministry of Public Instruction a subsidy of £75.
2nd. Dr. R. Copeland, born the 3rd of September, 1837, at Woodplumpton
in Lancashire, England. Acquired a scientific education in his own
country, travelled in foreign countries, and in 1865–67 studied
astronomy in Göttingen. Since 1867 he had worked as voluntary assistant
in the observatory of that place. In the spring of 1869 Dr. Börgen and
himself published jointly a large astronomical work, together with
“The History of Arctic Winterings.” In the present expedition they had
undertaken both astronomical and physical science as well as geodesy.
3rd. Julius Payer, first lieutenant of infantry in the Imperial
Austrian army, twenty-seven years, old, was born at Teplitz, in
Bohemia, where his father was captain of a regiment of lancers. His
education and training he received in the Neustadt Military Academy,
from which he received his commission as an officer in the army
in 1859, followed by a garrison life in Mainz, Frankfort, Verona,
Venice, and Jägerndorf. In Verona, excited by the neighbourhood of
the Alps, Payer began his studies. There appeared in Justus Perthes’
_Geographische Mittheilungen_ several scientific papers from his
pen on the Gross-Glockner, the Adamell group, and the Ortler Alps. Of
his other works, a treatise on the Bocca di Brenta is deserving of
mention. In 1866 Payer took part in the Italian war, and received the
cross of merit at Custozza; in 1868 he was recalled by the Minister of
War and was commissioned to the survey of the inhospitable region of
the mountainous district of Austria. The request for leave to accompany
the Arctic expedition was granted most graciously by the Minister
of War, together with a supply of fire-arms, a considerable store
of gunpowder, and various scientific instruments. Payer joined the
expedition with the prestige of his previous reputation for activity in
the cause of science.
4th. Adolphus Pansch, M.D., surgeon to the Germania, to whom
were assigned the departments of zoology, botany, ethnology, and
anthropology, was twenty-eight years old, and studied medicine and
physical science in Berlin, 1860; in 1861, at Heidelberg, physiology
and geology; travelled through Switzerland, attended the clinical
lectures in Berlin and Halle; and later on passed the prescribed
examination in Oldenburg as a practical physician, and was made
demonstrator of anatomy in July, 1865. In 1866 he acted as private
tutor at the University of Kiel. Pansch had written several scientific
treatises, from amongst which we should specify, from its practical
bearings and its extensive research, a pamphlet upon the “Flora of the
Seas.” Dr. Pansch received permission from the government to join the
expedition.
The scientific men on board the Hansa were the two following:--
1st. Dr. Buchholz, M.D., and surgeon to the Hansa, represented the
departments of zoology, ethnology, and anthropology. Whilst serving
as tutor at the University of Greifswald, he received leave to join
the expedition, with a grant from the Minister of Public Instruction
and the University of £75 for his outfit. Dr. Buchholz was born at
Frankfort-on-the-Oder in 1837, studied in Königsberg and Berlin, and in
the Bohemian campaign of 1866 was assistant-surgeon in a hospital of
the Prussian army.
2nd. Dr. Gustavus Laube, Vienna, professor of zoology and lecturer to
the University and Polytechnic School in Vienna, thirty years old,
was born in Teplitz, and studied in Prague, Munich, and Tübingen. He
was afterwards assistant to Professor Hochstetter, in Vienna, who
recommended him warmly for the expedition.
The Germania, the chief ship of the expedition, was laid on the slips
for building on the 10th of March, 1869, by Joh. C. Tecklenborg, of
Bremerhaven, and was launched on the 16th of April. On the 9th of
May, Captain Koldewey and Dr. Petermann went on board, accompanied by
various members of the Bremen Committee, the director of the North
German Marine Observatory, W. v. Freeden, and other friends (amongst
whom were several experienced seamen). The ship was thoroughly
inspected in all parts. W. v. Freeden’s report of this inspection, will
form the best description of the ship. He says, that upon measuring
the Germania she was ninety feet long, twenty-two and a half broad,
eleven feet deep, and 143 tons burden: this size, a few years ago,
was considered the highest standard for the best West Indian fruit or
Brazilian coffee schooners. Of course the steamer was built stronger
than required for such purposes as the above; and the ordinary planking
was coated with a hand-thick sheathing, thus protecting the stem, and
in a ship of 600 tons undiscernible below the water-line. Over this
iron sheathing, which is bolted and riveted, not simply nailed on,
is fastened a layer of sheet-iron. Thus double provision was made in
order that the ice fretting at the ship’s sides should not force the
oakum out of the seams, so causing a leakage. Over the iron sheathing,
by the bow, heavy iron rods were laid crossways, close together.
Notwithstanding this armour, the ship’s lines were pleasing to the eye,
and, on account of her sharp build, she proved an excellent sailer.
[Illustration:
_Page 14._
THE GERMANIA.]
In the interior also, the strength of her build was striking, even
to landsmen. Such strong beams ’tween decks are seldom seen in vessels
of 400 tons. They are only to be found in large barques and full-rigged
ships. The knees were alternately of wood and iron; vertical supports
above and below the middle deck protected it, together with bands
of the strongest iron clamps, from any side pressure of masses of
ice against the ship’s sides, so that neither keel or deck could be
displaced. The sharp build of the ship would rather have the effect of
raising her on to the ice, than of allowing her to be nipped by it.
The compact machinery was mounted, and the axis tested in position;
the double-flanged screw could be lifted in and out without trouble. A
reserve screw was also taken. As the ship was to be completely fitted
with sails, the machinery was only to be used amongst the ice, or when
she was obliged to beat against the wind.
The masts furnished were of that sort that no pressure on the sails
nor heavy shock could dismast her. A topsail on the foremast rendered
veering and backing easy, and her depth in the water was from nine
to ten feet. As the ship’s course would lie along the eastern coast
of Greenland, between the land and the not far distant ice-pack, a
deeper draught would have been dangerous; neither could she have been
much larger, for a larger vessel must have been flat-bottomed, to
prevent her drawing too much water. This was satisfactorily proved
on the voyage. Flat-bottomed vessels are very dangerous amongst the
ice. Certainly the ship would have turned more easily, if she had been
two feet broader; but her capability of threading the narrow channels
between the ice would have been weakened in corresponding degree.
Including the machinery and ship’s fittings, the Germania cost the
round sum of £3150.
The second ship, the purchase-money of which, as we have already
remarked, had been previously guaranteed by some merchants belonging
to the Bremen Committee, was the Prussian schooner Fulton, built on
the Weser in 1864, of 76¾ tons burden. She received the name of the
“Hansa,” and was laid on the slips by F. W. Wenke and Co. (Rosenthal).
A difficult and important part of the preparations was the victualling
the ships. The only precedents of use were supplied by the experience
of those who had been engaged in the Greenland trade from the Weser.
Certainly the eastward journey of the “Greenland,” in 1868, constituted
somewhat of a guide. But never yet had a German ship sailed from
the German coast with the intention of passing a winter in Arctic
latitudes. On that account the experience of Englishmen, Americans,
and Russians was carefully considered in the outfitting. Above all,
attention was particularly paid to completeness and plentiful supply,
as well as to the good quality of every article. The honourable
character of the contractors, the eagerness shown on their side to
further a national undertaking, and their wish on this occasion to
keep up their reputation, stood the undertaking in good stead. On
their departure, the members of the expedition particularly thanked
them for the consideration they had shown to all their wishes with
regard to the stores, and expressed their satisfaction with everything.
Parsimony could not for a moment be considered at such a time; it would
have been misplaced, inhuman, and destructive of the very aim of the
expedition, had any niggardliness been shown. A complete outfit for
both ships for two whole years was above all things a necessity, and
indeed a point of honour.
[Illustration:
_Page 16._
THE “HANSA.”]
The contract for the victualling of the Germania was given to D.
Cordes and Co., of Bremen, and that for the Hansa to H. Richers of
Hamburg. Neither ship carried much dried or salted meat, but a great
quantity of preserved meats in tins; also a good supply of drinks,
which are so necessary on an Arctic voyage, besides many presents of
wine; and lastly, a corresponding quantity of clothing for all who
were taking part in the expedition. Both ships had a similar allowance
of everything needful; and the Berlin Committee were of very great
assistance in providing scientific apparatus and instruments, some of
the most important of which were kindly lent by various persons and
institutions.
On the 28th of May, Captain Koldewey had an audience of his Majesty
King William at Babelsberg. His Majesty allowed Captain Koldewey to
explain his plan by aid of a map. He expressed his satisfaction that a
man had been found willing to carry out the undertaking, and fixed his
visit to the vessels for his future intended journey to Bremen.
The time of starting was settled for the middle of June; and from March
to that time every exertion was brought to bear upon the work that all
might be complete. The equipment in every respect was accomplished in
good time; and when all was ready for departure, a joint committee
was called together to consider, at the last moment, what had been
accomplished, and what remained to be decided on, in the case of
certain eventualities. The scientific men were first greeted with the
warmest thanks for their courageous resolution, and the hope expressed
that it would be followed by rich results. It was then decided by the
committee that the expedition should sail from Bremerhaven on the 15th
of June at noon. A telegram addressed to Captain Koldewey confirmed
the interest which King William had already shown in the undertaking,
stating that on the 15th he would be in Bremerhaven and Geestemünde.
All was then to be prepared for the king’s visit and for immediate
departure. An elaborate form was drawn up by Dr. Petermann on the
7th of June under the title of “Instructions for the Second German
Arctic Expedition of 1869–70.” On all the chief points both captains
and scientific men were agreed, though some seemed to require earnest
consideration; but there was now no time for further discussions.
However, they agreed to make some unimportant alterations regarding
the official reports of the expedition, and the ownership of the notes
made by the scientific members during the voyage, as well as regarding
the form and address of any communications to be sent home. They were
all to be sent to Dr. Petermann. On the return of the expedition a
preliminary report was to be drawn up, and the whole given up to a
commission composed of the captains and scientific men belonging to the
expedition, and the supporters and leaders of the undertaking, as well
as scientific authorities. Dr. Petermann informed them of his agreement
to these alterations by telegraph.
The most important part of the proceedings of the joint committee lay
in the last consultation, namely, how and when tidings of the men
belonging to the expedition were to be gained in case their return
should be too long delayed, and they should require assistance, or if
their death should take place on the ice-fields of Greenland. It was
resolved:--
“That the expedition should, on the coast or islands, as nearly as
possible under each degree of latitude or longitude, build up a heap
of stones, or some other erection; that the burying of documents
detailing the events and condition of the undertaking should not be
within this sign, but at a distance of twenty metres due north of it
(_not magnetic_). And if from the nature of the ground no such
distance could be taken, the documents were still to be deposited to
the northward. The monuments were, if possible, to be erected on a
declivity; and as the Esquimaux greatly venerate all graves, so, in
case of death, tidings of the expedition were to be placed under the
body.” At the same spot also all notices of the German Arctic voyage
were to be sought if they themselves were unable to give information.
This decision was telegraphed to Dr. Petermann, who returned his assent.
Then followed a solemn oath taken by all those belonging to the
expedition; the two captains, as well as the scientific men, promising
that both by word and deed, and under all circumstances, they would
strive with all their might to reach the goal set before them.
The instructions contained thirty-one paragraphs; in Sects. 1 and 2 the
aim and object of the expedition was declared to be the discovery and
scientific investigation of the Central Arctic region from 75° N.L. and
upwards, taking the eastern coast of Greenland as a basis. This object
included two tasks: 1st, the solving of the so-called Arctic question;
2nd, the discovery, surveying, and investigation of East Greenland;
thence northwards towards Behring’s Straits, including all intermediate
countries, islands, and stretch of sea; the measuring of degrees in
East Greenland, and ascents of the glaciers in the interior, &c., &c.
In the third, the “Arctic question,” with special regard to the late
Swedish, Russian, and English voyages of discovery, was discussed. For
the better investigation of the Polar Sea, and for reaching the North
Pole itself, the following of the coast-line was strictly enjoined, as
experience had shown that land is the soonest free from ice, and that
along the coast is formed the so-called land water; the navigation too
has a chance of commencing earlier, is comparatively safe, and promises
the largest results, as really important scientific discoveries can
scarcely be expected without the solid basis of land.
The Second German Arctic Expedition would therefore make East Greenland
their basis of operations. Even under the greatest difficulties, the
results from an investigation of East Greenland, and an extended
knowledge of that still unknown coast, might be expected to mark an
epoch in the history of science.
Sect. 6 ordered that both ships under the command of Captain Karl
Koldewey should make direct for the floating ice of East Greenland
in about 74½° N.L., and as soon as possible reach Sabine Island,
lying on the east coast in that latitude, and then deliberate on the
accessibility of the coast from 70° to 79°.
Sects. 7 and 8 decided as follows: if in 74½° N.L. immediate access to
the coast was not possible on account of the ice and the state of the
weather, and there was no prospect of being able to reach it in a short
time, the attempt must be made farther northward as far as 80°; if
still unsuccessful, to go as low down as 70°, and take advantage of any
opening lying between 70° and 80° N.L. If the coast of East Greenland
in 74½° is reached, or any other point between 70° and 80° N.L., and it
is found (as in the course of things might be expected) that there is
open water, so, without more delay than is necessary for observing and
surveying the newly-discovered land about 75° 14 N.L., to press forward
to the north, and to go as far along the coast as circumstances will
allow.
Sect. 9 pointed out as the chief task of the expedition, the
geographical one of penetrating into the still unknown heart of the
Arctic regions, and stated that every other consideration was to give
place to the solution of this question.
Sects. 10 and 11 enlarged upon the scientific work, and the different
course to be taken by the expedition in case they should find open sea
in the region of the Polar circle.
By Sect. 12, they were enjoined to winter at the most northerly
point they could reach--if possible at the North Pole itself, but in
any case it was hoped in not less than 80° of lat. Of the remaining
instructions, we must draw attention to the Sects. 15, 16, 22, 24, 27,
and 28. The two first-mentioned decided as follows:--The return of
the expedition was to be managed so that both vessels should, at the
latest, arrive at Bremerhaven together about the 1st of November, 1870.
If the Hansa should be unable to keep up with the steamer Germania,
either on account of the ice or want of fair wind, the steamer should
without any delay proceed on her course, leaving the Hansa to follow
as soon as possible. In case of separation, the point each ship was
to make for was 74½° N.L. outside the floating ice, though along the
coast. By this Sabine Island was meant.
Sect. 22 consisted of the special instructions drawn up by various
German _savans_, and communicated through Dr. Petermann.
In Sect. 24 particular reference was made to the importance of the
ascent of glaciers, to be undertaken by Lieut. Payer.
Sects. 27 and 28 contained further orders concerning the naming of
the newly-discovered lands, which for the most part was to be left
until the completion of the general map at home; also regarding the
value and the use to be made of the collections brought home, and the
apportionment of the work resulting therefrom. All these provisions
could only be seriously considered on the return of the expedition, and
would then serve as rules for the guidance of the Bremen Committee.
With this the complicated preparations were ended, and the day of
departure drew near.
The Bremen Committee might now look upon that part of their task which
related to the support of these preparations as finished. Another
part which, as has been already remarked, devolved entirely upon
them, was that of raising the considerable amount still required to
defray the cost of the undertaking. At the time of starting, not half
the cost of the expedition had been raised, and the Bremen Committee
were, in this task, busily occupied for more than a year. Invitations
for subscriptions were published and sent to private individuals as
well as to corporations, to the representatives of Germany in foreign
countries, and also to the magistrates of many German towns.[1] An
account of the position of the undertaking was spread over the whole
of Germany by thousands of circulars, and even among the Germans
in foreign towns and in Transatlantic lands; the summons being a
printed communication entitled,--“The Despatch of the Second German
Arctic Expedition.” And, lastly, by the generous coming forward of an
eminent German publisher, Mr. George Westermann, in Brunswick, the
entire public was provided with a pamphlet containing some excellent
wood engravings drawn to scale, entitled, “The Second German Arctic
Expedition: Official Communication of the Bremen Committee,” in
which more distinct information was given as to the aim, means, and
importance of the undertaking. This agitation, which kept alive the
interest in it, was followed by the best results. Donations[2] poured
in from all sides from Germans in foreign lands, even from Honolulu and
Tahiti, South America, the East Indies, and China.
The debts incurred by the expedition were paid off, and even after its
return new and pressing expenses were met. The Bremen Committee were
also freed from the insurance money of the Hansa, and some of Captain
Koldewey’s men had extra wages given to them.
Whether and to what extent the Second German Arctic Expedition
fulfilled the promised expectations, what and how much it was allowed
to perform and to attain, with a full and true report of the same, is
the task and aim of the work now before us.
CHAPTER I.
VOYAGE OF THE GERMANIA AND HANSA FROM THE 15TH
JUNE TO THE 4TH JULY, 1869.
First evening at sea.--Life on board.--The first
storm.--Cabin life.--In 57° N.L.--Dutch fishing-boat.--Visits
exchanged.--Fresh storm and fog.--Entrance to the North Sea.--A
clear night.--Animal life.
The departure of the expedition from Bremerhaven 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
Jachman. 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. That the Second German Arctic
Expedition should put to sea under the eyes of his Majesty, would, he
was sure, be looked upon by all present as a happy omen; and all might
with good reason join in cheering the august Monarch of their country,
whose mighty representative and protector he was, as well as those on
board the two vessels, who were about to sail under the national flag
lent by his Majesty, to unknown lands in search of knowledge. Cheers
from a thousand voices then rent the air, after which the king once
more shook hands with those belonging to the expedition, at the same
time expressing hearty good wishes for their safe return. The king then
passed on to the Germania at the head of his suite, and inspected the
now finished preparations with great attention. But the decisive moment
had arrived; cannon roared; three more cheers rose from either side,
and the Germania towed by the steam-tug Simson, and the Hansa by the
Vulcan, made for the mouth of the Weser, the king watching the ships to
the very mouth of the harbour. It was an exciting time, as we glided
over the quiet liquid mirror alongside of the quay--the banks decked
with the fresh green of spring-time and enlivened by a gaily-dressed
crowd, and the flags flying from the ships, large and small,--and took
our last view of the houses and towers of the town.
With heads uncovered and handkerchiefs waving, our friends sent their
last farewell. But with these feelings of pleasure were mixed thoughts
regarding the future. Would it be permitted to us some day to return
home? How many of us might be missing, sick, or infirm? How should we
find our country? Would it still be, as now, enjoying the blessings of
peace, and its grey-headed king still be living?
But we were not yet quite parted from it. Besides the pilot, two
staunch friends, who would not be deprived of the pleasure of
accompanying us to sea, were still on board. One was the director of
the North German Marine Observatory, Mr. von Freeden, and the other the
director of the Observatory of Göttingen, Professor Klinkerfues, who
wished to take his last farewell of his pupils on the sea.
The town was now fast disappearing from our eyes; the flat green banks
on either side, with their solitary houses and church towers, were
receding; and the lighthouse, visible for a long distance, was looming
nearer and nearer.
In the meantime the crew had not been idle on deck. Everything that had
come on board in the hurry of the last hour had either been put in its
proper place or made fast, and everywhere the last touch put. But in
the cabin, where a magnificent bouquet had been placed by some loving
hand, accompanied by a few appropriate poetical words of farewell,
a most pleasing surprise to us, we sat with our friends over a good
glass of wine, once more renewing every kind wish and hope for the
future. One was hurriedly scribbling a last good-bye to relations and
friends, another entrusting his money to those who were about to return
(for in such an expedition it would have been comparatively useless),
a third had only a greeting and a commission to send. Once more the
glasses clinked over wishes for success and a happy return; and then
we went on deck, for the increased motion of the ship reminded us that
we were nearing the sea. Indeed, we had already left the lighthouse
and fire-ship far behind us, and passed the last sea-mark, the
“Schlüsseltonne.” The tug stopped, the hawser was cast off, a boat came
off from the pilot-cutter close by, and the pilot left us. Immediately
afterwards a boat came alongside, and we were obliged to take leave of
our friends. A hearty shake of the hand said more than words could. A
last nod, and they too set off, not to reach the harbour until a late
hour. By this time the Hansa had reached us and dismissed her tug. At
first starting, she had had the misfortune to break her towing cable,
from which circumstance, had we been superstitious, we should have
drawn a bad augury. But this weakness, so much indulged in by seamen of
all nations, was wanting in our community.
We were now fairly left to ourselves, and with a cheerful song
the sailors set one sail after another; and thus, with a light
south-westerly breeze, which had just sprung up, under full sail
for the north we left our native land, to meet an uncertain future.
The prevailing frame of mind was serious; every man of us knew what
depended individually upon himself, and what was expected of us; that
the whole world of letters was watching the undertaking; but still we
had full confidence in the cause, and were fully determined to return
to our native shore only with honour.
The ships sailed pretty well together, though the light breeze gave the
Hansa a little advantage, the mainsail of the Germania not being large
enough for such a wind. Under these circumstances, we had no difficulty
in keeping company.
Below, there was still enough to do to get things in order. Our chests
were already unpacked, and the cabin, whither most of our effects had
been brought, somewhat cleared, that we might at least have room for
ourselves. At eight o’clock the two captains met once more to have
a necessary consultation as to the course they should now take. We
then, for the first time, took our tea and supper all together at a
modestly-laid table, took one more walk on the deck of the ship, now
gaily sailing northward, sent one more long earnest look, many a wish,
back to our now no longer visible country, and then, tired and worn out
with the noise and excitement of the day, sought an early rest in our
berths.
The wind remained in the same quarter during the night, so that about
midnight we passed the beacon off Heligoland.
The daily ship’s life, that is, the occupation of the community on the
Germania while at sea, was, of course, like that on any other ship:
and the gentlemen in the cabin did their best to divide their time as
follows:--“We are” (writes one of them) “awakened at half-past six,
dress, and take our turns in the small washing-room, finish our toilet,
and go on deck to enjoy the fresh morning air, and look after the
weather, which at sea is a much more important object than on land.
In the cabin, meanwhile, where cleaning has been begun quite early,
the table is laid, and punctually at seven o’clock we sit down to
breakfast, to which, besides bread and butter, is added cold meat of
some kind or other, to which we were unaccustomed. The captain takes
his meals with us, so that, as one officer is obliged to be on deck,
we are seven. After breakfast, we generally stay a short time on deck,
either sitting on the bulwarks or walking up and down, whistling a
tune or smoking a morning cigar. Before dinner, we generally have
some work to do in the cabin, though at first, in the dry weather,
nothing much comes of it. At twelve, the work-table is changed into the
dining-table, and with hungry stomachs we sit down to steaming soup.
After dinner, we take a nap in the cabin, or (which is more agreeable)
in fine weather on deck, where a sail or one of our airing counterpanes
serves as a couch. Then another cigar; and about four o’clock we have
coffee, which we frequently take in the open air. In the afternoon
each goes to his own work or amusement; and, punctually at seven,
the evening meal is on the table, tea with bread and butter and cold
meat. The evening finds us at different occupations, either above or
below; some playing chess or cards, smoking, and trying, in mutual
reminiscences of home and talk of future plans, to divert our thoughts,
which, under the scouted name of home-sickness, will creep in now and
then, particularly when we are out on a moonlight night. Between ten
and twelve o’clock, we climb into our berths, and enjoy (except on
stormy nights) a sound and healthy sleep. Over the smoking in the cabin
there soon arose a lively debate. We found that amongst us, a thing
very common in Germany, three were inveterate smokers; that three were
decidedly the contrary, and that the seventh was neutral. On account
of the smallness of the cabin, this was a decided difficulty. At last
we came to an agreement, that there should be perfect liberty to smoke
in the cabin from twelve until an hour before the evening meal; for
the rest of the day it was forbidden. Should this interdict prove too
burdensome for any one, he must have recourse to the deck; and he who
at any time would not miss this enjoyment, could at least fall back
upon a ‘deck cigar.’”
In the first part of the time the want of longer walks was much felt,
particularly in a rough sea, when it was impossible even to walk up
and down. For this reason we often helped to furl the sails, or take
the helm for an hour. Dr. Pansch even took part in the watches for a
certain time, partly for amusement and the interest he took in sea
life, which he had learnt in his native seaport town, and partly to
become acquainted with the ship and the character of the men, which,
in case of accidents, might be of great advantage. On the second day
of our voyage the sea began to make itself seriously felt. The wind
had veered to the north-west, and rose to a miniature storm, so it was
no wonder that the greater part of us had to sacrifice to Neptune. The
beginning of seasickness (writes one) was decidedly partly brought on
by the fact that everything on board was _new_; the smell of paint
and varnish was mixed with the vapour of woollen coverings; and this
atmosphere found no vent, the door as well as the skylight being kept
closely shut on account of the sea. And, as is often the case on board
a new vessel, the seams were not perfectly caulked, so that water was
constantly dropping into the cabin, and even into the berths on the
sleepers. Besides that which ran down the stairs and was brought in
with the clothes, a great deal collected under the matting, so that we
lived in a very moist and vapoury atmosphere. If such inconveniences
were not quite agreeable to experienced seamen, upon us, some of whom
had come from the interior, and had never even smelt sea-water, they
made a very disagreeable impression. Then the narrow space in which we
were cramped, the very greasy food, and the impossibility of finding
any work to occupy us, all acted greatly on both mind and stomach. But
we got accustomed to it in time; and the day comes when a man is able
to look at such disagreeables in a brighter light. Droll accidents,
however, sometimes came to enliven the dulness of our situation. We
scientific men found ourselves badly enough off in our berths. Like
bedsteads, they were provided with a board that the occupants should
not be thrown out. But as we had packed the greater part of our books,
clothes, and small instruments under the mattresses, that means of
protection answered no longer; and those lying on the leeward side were
obliged every evening to prop it up with heaps of books. Even then,
it often happened, if the ship rolled heavily, that one of us would
be pitched from the upper berth into the middle of the cabin near the
stove, and there lie in a state of astonishment.
The stay on deck, too, was not always very agreeable, for boxes and
packages of all kinds lessened the already narrow space to a painful
degree. In a high rolling sea the ship was nearly always on her
leeside, and more often took water on both sides, so that it was really
only aft that we could keep our feet dry, or indeed move at all.
The stormy weather of the 17th and 18th of June brought on a heavy
sea, so that, in order not to get too far from each other the Hansa
was obliged to keep more to leeward, but towards evening neared us
again. The first look and the first words upon coming on deck naturally
related to the Hansa, and so the oft-repeated question came to be a
by-word, “Where is the Hansa?” “To leeward!”
On the 19th, it was calm with fine weather, and a slight sea-roll
to windward from the north. We took this opportunity of trying our
machinery, and endeavoured to tow the Hansa. We succeeded beyond our
expectations. With a steam pressure of only forty pounds we were able
to bring the Hansa along at the rate of two and a half knots against
the breeze, which seemed quite enough for our purpose. In the afternoon
a light breeze from the north-east got up; the boiler was therefore
dispensed with, the cable hauled in, and sail set, which gave us about
eighty-eight nautical miles for the day’s run.[3] Then followed more
than a week of almost uninterrupted violent north-west wind, which for
many days kept us in 57° N.L.
This long stand-still was very unsatisfactory, and tried our patience
sorely. With every fresh morning did we hope for a change in the wind.
The scientific men were particularly impatient, as the constant rolling
of the ship prevented them from doing anything but read and read again.
The zoologists were the only persons fortunate enough to find work in
their department, although on board the Germania it seemed to result in
nothing more than angling either on the surface or in deep water. Dr.
Buchholz on the Hansa was busy with his task, helped by Dr. Laube, the
geologist, with all his might, as well as by the whole of the sailors.
As often as the weather permitted nets were thrown out, then drawn in
from time to time, and emptied of their contents. The only good gained
by this involuntary delay (so writes Dr. Pansch on board the Germania)
was that we thoroughly learnt all the qualities of our vessel. The
captain was delighted to find that she not only tacked well and easily,
but that she worked well off the wind.
The Hansa in this respect was far behind us, and we were often obliged
to stand before the wind, that she might come up with us.
The sailors on both ships soon showed their good qualities, and between
them and the learned part of the ship’s company there was very soon a
good understanding.
The 26th of June formed a salutary pause in this stormy week; the wind,
which had been fitful since the afternoon before, died quite away in
the night, and the ship on the following morning was gently rolling
with the now diminished breeze. This morning, in 57° N.L. and 2° 43′
E.L., we came up with a small vessel, which our sailors had already
recognized as a fishing-smack. On approaching nearer this was confirmed
by the fish hung up to dry in the rigging; and immediately a lively
longing awoke within us to have some cheap and fresh-caught members
of the “scaly tribe” for our table. With this aim in view, one of our
company hailed the northmen with a loud cry of, “Ship ahoy! have you
any fish on board?” “Yes.” “Fresh fish?” “Yes.” “Come on board!” The
small vessel was at once full of life; a boat was lowered, and in a
short time was alongside of us, and two young sailors, looking like
Dutchmen, came up with a basket of the finest kinds of large turbot
and soles. In the jargon which all seafaring frequenters of the North
Sea soon learn, be their native language Low Dutch, Flemish, Danish,
Norwegian, Swedish, or English, we managed to negotiate with them, and
with bright faces the fishermen took back as the price a piece of salt
meat and bacon, together with a flask of brandy. They then asked if
we had a doctor on board, and begged of him to go with them, as their
“captain was sick.” For such an adventure, and unexpected extension of
his practice, Dr. Pansch did not want a second invitation. He paid a
visit to the worthy old Dutchman, and with the help of a limited stock
of Dutch once gained in Holland, he succeeded in holding a conversation
in the national gibberish with the honest fisher-people, giving his
best advice to the “captain,” who had been struck with a bar on the
breast, and also to an old sailor ill with scurvy, promising to send
something to do them good. As a fee he brought back with him a second
basketful of fish, and thus we had the pleasure of knowing that the
whole of the ship, or as the sailors expressed it “all hands,” both
at noon and in the evening could participate in the dainty food. When
the sailors mentioned the direction of our voyage, the Dutchmen took
us for whale-fishers; but on really understanding the unusual task
that had been allotted to our ship, instead of opening their mouths
wide with, perhaps, unintelligible pity, their eyes brightened. “Oh,
new discoveries in Greenland!” they exclaimed, and became at once
quite at home with us. It seemed as if the proud remembrance of a
time long past, when Dutch ships made millions every year by the
northern fisheries, and Dutch seamen enriched geography by the grandest
discoveries, was still alive in the minds of these people. They now
looked upon the ship with heightened interest, put many intelligent
questions with regard to our wintering, and took leave of us with
such repeated and hearty good wishes that many of our seamen at
home, who thought fit to look upon our voyage with indifference or
derision, would have been thoroughly put to shame by these simple Dutch
fishermen. And the captain did not forget, immediately upon running
his craft into the harbour, to enter his meeting with the Germania
in the _Shipping News_; this notice being the first news of the
expedition seen in the papers.
[Illustration: PAUL FRIEDRICH AUGUST HEGEMANN,
_Captain of the Hansa_.]
These fishermen, with their old-fashioned craft, hang about the banks
of the North Sea for weeks together. They fish with the line and the
net, and catch turbot, soles, and cod more particularly. These are at
once cleaned, cut into suitable pieces, salted in barrels, and then
packed. When they have a good cargo they run into harbour, unload,
and run out again. This practice they carry on as long as the weather
will allow. For many years their captains and their steersmen have
been familiar with the neighbourhood of the North Sea, and often, from
hard-earned experience, know better than the most learned seaman how to
take their bearings. Nautical instruments they do not use; they do not
even understand them. According to the depth of the line and the nature
of the matter brought up from the bottom by the lead, they know their
whereabouts.
With a light breeze rising, we continued our course, and about noon our
sister-ship joined us. Captain Hegemann and Dr. Laube came on board,
while Mr. Sengstacke and Dr. Pansch went over to the Hansa to shake
hands with their friends once more.
“It was interesting” (writes Dr. Pansch) “to see, from another ship,
the Germania under sail, with her peculiar build, strong masts, and
black body without any streaks. The peculiar pleasure one naturally
feels at being stationed on the chief ship, and that a steamer, was to
a certain degree corrected. What we Germania people had to bear from
deprivations and want of room we fully realized, now that we saw the
complete, and well-ordered space on the Hansa. In the handsome bright
cabin (he continues) there were only five people. Dr. Buchholz showed
me his nice cabin, which he enjoyed all to himself. In front of his
bunk was room enough for chests and boxes, not piled one on another,
but placed so that they could be got at; and besides that, a place
for a writing-table, where he could work quietly and undisturbed. The
deck-space was not encroached upon by all sorts of stores, and even now
seemed to offer accommodation for working upon large animals, without
being in the way of the sailors. There was room enough for a zoologist
in cold and windy weather to put up his table there. We pictured to
ourselves our united activity in the brightest colours; we agreed upon
the plan of attack, and carrying out of our future work amongst the
ice Fauna; we supplemented our literature by changing some books; in
short, we lived entirely in the delightful contemplation of our great
task. Fate had, however, ordered our future far otherwise. Besides
this, every one on board both ships was overjoyed at last by a sunny
day, and all tried their best to dry all their wet things. On board the
Hansa this seemed particularly necessary, for lying in the sun on the
quarter-deck were some thousands of cigars which in the storm had made
too intimate an acquaintance with the sea-water. At noon each party
returned to their own ship.”
Then followed a two-days’ gale, which blew stubbornly from the
north-west. It flooded the deck and cabin once more with water; but
these days were the last to bring us any sad remembrance of the German
Ocean. Upon nearing 59° N.L., exactly a fortnight after our departure,
the influence of the north wind came to an end, and it came on to blow
from the south.
This last storm ended on the 28th of June, and the next day we went
slowly forward. It was a clear, warm day, so that we opened and aired
every place, and all dampness was once more got rid of. The deck, too,
was perfectly dry; so it was cleared, and in some places caulked by the
carpenter.
In the last days of June the freshening north wind brought us another
hindrance, which was to follow us for many days. As long as the
temperature stood at 50° F. a fog rose about noon, which in the evening
grew so dense, that for fear of being separated from the Hansa each
ship was obliged to blow the fog-horn alternately for sixteen hours,
the broken tones of which sounded most melancholy through the troubled
atmosphere.
Slowly but surely we cruised onwards, so that on the evening of the
1st of July we had the pleasure of finding ourselves in 61° N.L., and
of 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.” We now
found ourselves in that part of the Atlantic known to Germans as the
“Nordmeer.”
For this first part of our voyage, which a ship with a fair wind would
have made in about two days and a half, we had taken sixteen days. From
the clear space before us we might now hope for greater progress, the
more so, as the Norwegian coast here runs somewhat to the north-east,
and we of course, even in a continuous north-west wind, could still
make, on the starboard tack, some northward progress.
On account of this continuous northerly wind, and the easterly-setting
Gulf Stream, we came so near the Norwegian coast, that one evening we
thought we could see it from the top. It was not until we reached the
latitude of Drontheim that we were able to return to our north-westerly
course.
The darkness of the nights had in the meantime visibly diminished;
and at midnight between the 1st and 2nd of July, when the sun left us
at about a quarter past ten, lamplight on deck, even by the binnacle,
was unnecessary. We could read the finest print comfortably. As a
glance at the map will show, we were now in a neighbourhood frequented
comparatively by few ships, except those going to the northern
Norwegian harbours or visiting the Arctic region proper. Whilst in the
North Sea, one or more sail might generally be seen on the horizon,
or in the distance the smoke of a steamer. Now we found ourselves
alone upon the broad surface, which to some offers only a picture of
boundless void and lasting sameness, but in others excites a deep
feeling of the might and sublimity of boundless Nature.
Animal life, too, now prevailed to a remarkable degree, which is in
a great measure, at least as far as birds are concerned, connected
with the neighbourhood of land. The ship was surrounded nearly the
whole day by the three-toed sea-gull (_Larus tridactylus_, L.) in
flocks of from twenty to fifty, with the swiftness and lightness of
wing peculiar to this small gull, following the ship with manifold
unwearying windings and turnings, spying for prey in the dead-water,
and then darting like lightning upon some little crab tossed in the
current; or sitting sociably some short distance from the ship’s side
upon the smooth or even strongly-heaving water, sunning themselves,
trimming their plumage, or fishing. They also liked to whirl round
the mast, accompanying the truck in all its waving to and fro, and
sometimes settling upon it. If we mounted into the top, the birds were
not at all shy, but hovered about with fluttering wings, apparently
standing still, and from time to time shooting nearer to the observer,
who might almost fancy that he could clasp them easily in his hand,
thus having a good opportunity of observing this really handsome bird
at his leisure. The round head, with the knowing dark eyes, turns
backwards and forwards upon the short neck, the wings move in graceful
lines, the small black feet are drawn tight under the tail. The whole
under part of the bird is a pure white, whilst the upper part is bluish
grey. But what strikes the eye the most is that the tips of the slender
wings and the fan-shaped tail are jet black. In rather lighter black,
differing according to the age and time of year, are marks on the head
and neck, one in particular looking like a collar. In spite of all
this outward beauty (in which property they are far surpassed by the
ivory gull) there remains an ugly peculiarity common to this species,
namely, their ever harsh and grating cry. In fair or foul weather, in
slow and in swift flight, the sharp “ih, ih, ha, ha,” is ever heard
without intermission and in every possible cadence. These are the same
gulls that in northern neighbourhoods flock together in thousands, make
their nests in the rocks, and thus form the so-called “gull mountains”
of which Fr. Boie, Faber, Brehm, and other travellers cannot relate
enough. These creatures are, upon the whole, known to be very sociable
and gentle, so their cry only expresses contentment and liveliness. Now
and then, however, our attention would be aroused when those tones were
quicker, more decided, and fell heavily on the ear. We naturally looked
round for the cause, and saw three of them flying terror-stricken,
followed by another bird with darker plumage, longer wings, and a
quicker, stronger flight. It is the robber gull (_Lestris_); and
now an odd spectacle is presented to our sight. One of our small gulls
has just caught a little fish which, prompted by curiosity, had come
to the surface, and flies hurriedly forward anxious to devour it. His
plundering dark cousin, not far off, roving apparently purposeless
above the waves, scarce has time to espy this, when he darts swiftly
down, catches the flying gull, and sets upon it unmercifully, until
bursting into this scream of terror, it opens its beak and lets the
booty fall. The robber having now gained his end, quits the chase,
and rushes after the falling fish which, with incredible agility, he
catches half-way. In the next moment we see the bird again quietly
circling above the waves as if nothing had happened, or sailing slowly
in the distance, bent upon robbing other gulls of their hard-earned
meal.
Besides the gulls, we saw in stormy weather a small bird known to all
sailors as the stormy petrel (_Thalassidroma pelagica_, L.). It
is almost entirely dark brown, and is chiefly seen in violent stormy
weather, when it seems to run unwearily on the water, seldom rising
higher. To old sailors it is an unlucky bird; they believe that its
appearance denotes storm, putting, as is usually the case, the cause
for the effect. The old idea, from which they are called “Mother
Carey’s Chickens,” is at least poetical.
We chased the gulls but little; only once a calm sea rendered it
possible to secure our booty, and this chance was very nearly the cause
of a misfortune on board the Germania.
It was the 4th of July about noon. Several gulls had been circling over
the after part of the ship, followed with longing eyes by the doctor,
who was far too ready to make a nearer inspection of one of them with
his knife. Dr. Copeland caught up a gun, and soon one bird lost its
life, and fell into the water close to the ship’s side. The men hurried
forward to hook it out. This, however, failed, and the ship glided
quietly onwards. To let down the boat would have taken too much time,
as during the storm it had been lashed with several ropes. A sailor
passing by, without thinking and certainly most rashly, wishing to
pick up the floating bird, before any one thought or could prevent it,
jumped dressed as he was into the water, and swam with well practised
and strong arms towards it. In the meantime, the vessel glided onwards,
and (as we now noticed) with great speed. This must soon have been
apparent to our sailor, whose chest would be cramped by the low
temperature of the water (47½° F.), so that he must soon have realized
his critical position. He reached the goal, and then in a weak voice
called for the boat. Meanwhile, Mr. Tramnitz had called together the
rest of the watch, turned the ship’s head to the wind, and thrown out
the life-buoy. Quickly two men climbed into the boat. Loosening the
ropes was not to be thought of; they fell under the heavy gashes of an
ever-ready knife; it rattled down; another cut or two and it was free,
and flying under the strong and long drawn strokes. Those were long and
fearful moments as we stood silently and with bated breath following
with our eyes the little craft, and for the first time realizing how
great the distance was.
Would the attempt to save him prove successful? or would this act of
youthful thoughtlessness be punished? No! we saw the boat reach its
mark, we saw them rest on their oars, and one lean over; and now the
drowning man is drawn in alive. Then the gull and the life-buoy had
to be got in, and they pulled hurriedly back to the vessel. Like a
drowned poodle the sinner soon stood once more amongst us, receiving as
a reward a sound lecture from the captain, followed by a good draught
of brandy. But the doctor took the _corpus delicti_ (the gull) in
hand. On this occasion we unfortunately lost a basket containing some
fine flower bulbs, which had been given us by some friendly hand with
the hope that, if successful, they might cheer our long Arctic winter
with their blossom, and had been placed in the boat as being a dry airy
position.
[Illustration: “KILLER” DOLPHINS.]
In the North Sea we had already seen some spouting dolphins; now they
often came up close to us. In the beginning of July, they came so
near, that our zoologist had the great satisfaction of taking an exact
drawing of the back. It was the species well known to all sailors, the
“Nordkaper” or “Killer” (_Delphinus orca_, Fabr.), one of the
largest kind in the whale family, being sometimes twenty-five feet
long. It is distinguished, and for the same reason easily recognized
at a great distance, by the small, long, and sharp upright back-fin,
which has also earned for it the name of “sword fish.” These enormous
creatures come to the surface to take breath, and mostly move in
zig-zag windings along the top of the water, so they may be seen from
three to half-a-dozen times, though only the upper part of their
shining black bodies. First the snout is to be seen, and from the
“blow-hole” is forced the breath and spray; then the fins and the
hinder parts of the back make their appearance. The tail is only to be
seen when the creature dives under, when it is sometimes straight out
of the water. The name “Nordkaper” by which our sailors call it, was
received long ago, when it frequented the North Cape in droves. The
Americans call it “Killer,” and the Norwegians “Whale-catcher,” from a
circumstance which for a long time was considered a fable, but is now
confirmed by the least prejudiced whalers of the present day, namely,
that they are the whale’s greatest enemies, following and attacking it
in large droves.
Besides the “Nordkapers,” one day (the 10th of July), we observed
another kind of dolphin, three or four of which played under our bows.
They were quite brown, without any upright back-fin, having a thick
head and steep forehead. It was a strange and fascinating sight to
watch these boorish, uncouth cetacea of nearly fifteen feet long,
playing in the water so peaceably and securely and yet so nimbly.
Unfortunately the disturbing hand of man, in the attempt to make use
of the breech-loader, startled these peaceful creatures. Before we
were prepared for it shots were heard, and the dolphins hurriedly
withdrew from the further observation of the “lords of the creation.”
For the sake of the zoologist and his science, it was to be wished that
such a creature should be killed and examined. But the Germania was
wanting both in the apparatus and means for taking it, as well as in
accommodation for working.
We also saw, though only in the distance, the blowing of some rorquals.
Meanwhile a number of soundings had been taken on the Hansa, which
gave the following result: 1st of July, in 60° 45′ North lat. and 2°
4′ 3″ East long., a depth of 65 fathoms, with stony ground, Norwegian
granite; 7th of July, in 68° 18′ North lat. and 7° 14′ East long., 700
fathoms, hard sand.
A series of other soundings gave no decided result. The temperature of
the sea was taken daily.
CHAPTER II.
CONTINUED VOYAGE OF THE TWO SHIPS UNTIL REACHING ICE.[4]
MIDDLE OF JULY.
Second meeting with the Hansa.--Neptune and the Arctic
christening.--Entrance into the Arctic Sea.--Zoological
matters.--Jan Mayen.--Nearing the ice.--Seals.--Separation of
the vessels.
The 4th of July, Sunday, brought us a fine, clear morning: the wind
died quite away; the sea, even in the far, far distance, was glossy and
smooth. The sleeping sails swung to and fro with the gaffs; the gearing
rattled; the ship swung without answering the helm; in short, it was
that sort of calm so disagreeable to a sailor, and particularly so to
us after our three weeks’ voyage. Every eye looked longingly for a
rising breeze. In the course of the morning it rippled the surface with
beautiful blue lines here and there, and then dropped again.
The Hansa was far astern, and presently a dark spot appeared on the
water in the distance. It scarcely moved; but the telescope showed us
that it must be a boat. Perhaps a post from the Hansa! Now the mainsail
was set, and then we knew for certain that it was Captain Hegemann’s
fine whale-boat that was approaching. We lay to, and welcomed heartily
on board Messrs. Hegemann, Hildebrandt, Buchholz, and Laube. Engaged
in an improvised hunting party, they were fortunate enough to bag some
gulls. For the second time we all sat together in the cabin, confiding
our hopes and plans to each other. Meanwhile, on the eastern horizon,
there rose a well-known dark line; and soon a light, quick breeze
filled the sails, and gave our ship steerage way. Slowly she began to
move, and took a nor’-nor’-westerly course, direct to the island of Jan
Mayen.
The wind now blew stronger; the Hansa had already reached us, and thus
a speedy end was put to our meeting. Our friends took leave and were
soon on board their own ship.
The next day it blew fresh from the E.N.E., so that we nearly always
made two degrees N. as our day’s work, a highly desirable progress,
which raised all our hopes afresh. Already, on the evening of the 5th
of July, at fifty minutes past eleven, we had passed the Arctic circle
(66° 33′), and that nearly under the meridian of Greenwich (0° 15′
W.L.).
A violent wind was blowing; 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.
With us, Peter Iversen and Peter Ellinger undertook the parts of
Neptune and the barber, and carried out with great earnestness the
soaping and the very mild christening. At the next meal in the cabin we
were surprised by a poetical composition by Neptune.
On board the Hansa the proceeding was carried out much more
scrupulously. Neptune came on board with two followers, and addressed
Captain Hegemann with the question, “Any green hands on board?” At the
answer, “Yes,” there began a sharp examination of the “green ones,”
Drs. Buchholz and Laube, as well as the sailors Max Schmidt and Konrad
Gierke. Afterwards came the christening. 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 Bremen, 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
Esquimaux’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 favourable 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.”
Universal grog on board both ships brought the time-honoured and merry
ceremony to a close.
But with ever-growing impatience did we now long for a nearer
acquaintance with the ice. As we before mentioned, the favourable wind
first met us outside the Arctic circle. Later on it blew more faintly,
though, on the whole, keeping in the good quarter from the east, so
that on the morning of the 9th of July we came in sight of the island
of Jan Mayen.
The midnight hours had now grown visibly lighter; even in the cabin
we no longer wanted a lamp; at twelve o’clock at night we could read
and write without difficulty. The very first night we reached the
latitude in which it was possible to be seen, we were allowed to enjoy
the wonderful sight of the midnight sun. The thick clouds, which the
whole day had covered the heavens, drew somewhat together towards the
north just at that time; and over the edge of the endless sea, hovered
the sun, like a red ball, visible almost in its entire circumference,
surrounded by gold and purple-violet clouds. But unfortunately this
majestic spectacle was of short duration; the cloudy curtain closed
again, and we had to wait many weeks before we again saw the midnight
sun.
The temperature of the air fell steadily. From the 6th to the 7th
of July there was a sudden fall, as shown by our table of daily
temperatures.
This was accompanied, on the 7th of July, by _snow_, and on the
8th the _fog_ began its rule of terror, from which we suffered,
except at short intervals, for four weeks, that is, until we landed.[5]
The swarms of birds were countless, and at a glance we could see that
those frequenting the icy sea were quite different from any other
sorts. There were the well-known Auk,[6] and other aquatic species of
various genera.[7] But there was no possibility of exactly knowing
each kind, as we did not succeed in bringing any down; and only seeing
them in the distance in their hurried flight and the dim atmosphere,
they were very difficult to distinguish. They generally flew from two
to four together; sometimes one would strike out with a short flap of
the wings, and fly at a uniform height over the smooth water, when,
according to its uniform custom, it would circle two or three times
at some distance round the ship, and either settle down once more, or
totally disappear. Besides these, we frequently saw the grey petrel
(_Procellaria glacialis_, L.), which until that time had been
rare. They strike the observer at once by their long, grey, straight
wings hovering almost motionless over the water. Like all northern
travellers, we soon learnt to know among the ice the peculiar bird
called the Mallemock.
With the crossing of the Arctic circle we found ourselves in our own
broad field of action; for if our chief task was to follow the coast of
East Greenland as far as possible to the north, our expedition was also
one of general knowledge, and therefore the exploring of the whole of
the North Arctic region was incumbent upon us. So that, although still
far from the ice, regular, and, when possible, searching investigation
was made, not the ordinary observations on board ship, regarding
the direction of the wind, barometrical pressure, and so forth, but
inquiries into subjects relating to the physical geography of the
sea. The temperature of the surface water, as during the whole of the
voyage, was taken every two hours, and that of greater depths, ever
since the 1st of July (61° N.L.), four times every day. In connexion
with this Drs. Börgen and Copeland began a series of experiments
relating to the quantity of salt contained in the surface water and in
the depths. Notice was also taken of the colour of the sea, as well
as of the wood met with. Soundings were taken every six hours, and
everything brought up by the apparatus was carefully preserved.
These observations were of no small interest, as we were in that part
of the somewhat changing boundary where the warm (so called) Gulf
Stream coming up from the south and the cold Arctic current coming
down from the north just meet. This Gulf Stream is known not only by
its relative warmth, but by the greater saltness and deep blue colour
of its waters. The beautiful blueness of the sea struck us as soon as
we left the North Sea. But from this time until we reached the ice the
colours changed continually, and sometimes very quickly, from dirty
blue, light blue, greenish blue, bluish green, clear and transparent
green, greyish green, and so on, so that our attempts at representing
a series of these colours became a failure.[8] Sharp limits between
green and blue water, such as have been often observed, not only in the
Atlantic but also in the Arctic Ocean, we never met with.[9] As regards
temperature, the blue water certainly was the warmest; but even here
sudden and considerable differences were almost imperceptible.
With our advance towards the north-west the warmth of the water
gradually decreased. Exactly corresponding to the isotherm for May,
which we found in 1868, we registered on the 6th of July at noon 42.12°
Fahr., and the next day, at the same time, it was already two degrees
lower. On the other hand we first found the temperature at zero, or
below zero, in the neighbourhood of the ice, whilst in May, 1868, it
was as low as that at 200 (nautical) miles distant from it. As regards
the observations made on the true currents,[10] as well as on the
aræometrical reading of the quantity of salt held in solution in them,
it is not our province to enter upon their discussion here. Regarding
the former, however, we soon had lively witnesses in the shape of
drift-wood, small pieces of which passed us on the evening of the 6th
of July; and two days later we saw a large knotted tree; but on the
high sea it was impossible to make ourselves masters of it.
In order to gain more exact information regarding the surface-currents,
it has long been the custom to throw out a corked bottle containing
a piece of paper, on which is written the exact time and place of
immersion. If a seaman sees this bottle in the water, he picks it
up, noticing the time and place, and forwards the paper to the place
mentioned. With this view we threw out bottles from time to time.
The soundings, from the period of our leaving the remarkable
shallowness of the North Sea, showed a tolerably uniform descent in the
bottom of the sea as far as the island of Jan Mayen, and farther on to
the borders of the ice. From eighty fathoms it went on to 180 and 270
(2nd July), 406 fathoms (3rd July), 569 on the 4th, and 1066 fathoms on
the 7th of July.
Whilst the Physicists were thus making a commencement of their labours,
and the crew were pretty well occupied with soundings, the Zoologists
found many opportunities for collecting and observing. From the bird
world they were compelled now to descend to lower creatures; and if
unfavourable circumstances did not allow them to use the drag-net
to bring subjects from the depths of the sea, still much that was
interesting was to be found on the surface. Dr. Pansch constructed a
bag-shaped net out of some gauze, and through the circular opening
passed two long, narrow boards, so that when put into the water, one
half was under and one above; this net was fastened to the hind part
of the ship on the leeside, and as we sailed slowly forwards, took in
every creature lying on the surface. In this manner the calm nights
of the 7th and 8th brought us a rich booty; there were the _Calanus
hyperboræus_, small tender creatures with white transparent bodies,
articulated red-tipped tails, and long, fine, beautiful red feelers,
with which they jerked themselves forward. Next came a number of small
yellow red-spotted crabs (_Themisto libellula_, Mandt) with great
oval-shaped black eyes, which like the rest of its family, as we had
already seen, lay upon their side and swam along the surface in search
of food.
The low side and bulwarks of our vessel made it easy, if we saw a
large creature of any kind, to catch it with a long pole-net. The
brown-violet fibrous medusæ (_Cyanea capillata_, L.), which
we had often seen in the North Sea, seemed entirely wanting here.
Nevertheless, zoological work in the open air was now decidedly
disagreeable. For if it was tolerably warm in the evening, towards
morning, particularly when a damp fog and cold wind got up, and the
warming influence of the evening meal had long since disappeared, it
was painfully cold; but just the night-time was best for catching. And
even with spirits and water we could only work when, sailor fashion,
we constantly beat our arms across our breast. Still more difficult is
it to skin birds, seek for entozoa and such like, work which cannot
always be carried on in the cabin, but which makes little progress with
cold, stiff fingers.
As already mentioned, we sighted the island of Jan Mayen on the 9th
of July. The Hansa passed it at about one and a half German miles to
the eastward. Had the weather been clear, we should long since have
been able to see the highest point of the island, the Beerenberg. The
atmosphere was, however, heavy and gloomy, and was as little inclined
to grant the beautiful sight to us as it is to other sailors. Just at
dawn we caught a glimpse of streaks of glaciers; the knowledge that
land, and that of so interesting a nature, was so near, caused great
excitement amongst the scientific part of the community; and it was
no wonder that, after such long inaction and crossing of our wishes,
the question of attempting a landing on Jan Mayen was more eagerly
discussed than ever. But, even if, setting aside the strict letter of
our instructions, we had consented to this interesting attempt, the
ever-thickening fog and the windward sea-roll on the eastern side of
the island would have rendered it impossible; and on the western side
it would only have been possible with great loss of time. Meanwhile, we
kept near to land, that we might at least have a view of its wonders
as long as possible. At last, just before breakfast, our expectations
seemed likely to be fulfilled; the fog lifted a little, and at some
miles’ distance we saw a tolerable stretch of broken, rocky and rugged
coast. It must have been the north-east side of the island, that is,
the foot of the Beerenberg, dark rocks interspersed with long stripes
of glacier ice reaching to the water. But the whole was indistinct and
misty, so that the general appearance had somewhat of a weird look
about it. All hurried on deck, trying to put the wondrous picture on
paper; but there was scarcely time for that; the impervious veil of fog
covered it once more, and that so thick that we had no hope of another
glimpse.[11] Unsatisfied and disappointed, we eat our breakfast,
picturing to ourselves how delightful a bright, sunny day must be on
Jan Mayen. We read the accounts given by previous travellers, and found
for our consolation that this island had almost always been seen under
disadvantageous circumstances.
According to a Dutchman of that name who discovered it in the year
1611, the island of Jan Mayen lies lonely 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 is nine miles in length and one in breadth, and so thoroughly
mountainous, mostly with rugged rocks reaching down to the sea, that it
has really only at two spots a flat beach and so-called landing-places.
The north-east part rises to a height of 6863 feet, in the lofty
Beerenberg, which has a large crater, and indeed the whole island is of
volcanic origin. In the year 1732, Burgomaster Anderson, of Hamburg,
reported a decided eruption from a small side crater, which had been
observed by a seaman; and in the year 1818, Scoresby and another
captain saw great pillars of smoke rising from the same place.
Surrounded by floating ice the whole winter through, and often for a
longer period, Jan Mayen lies in the spring-time and early summer so
near the edge of the ice-fields, that from 1612 to 1640 it afforded to
the English and Dutch whale-fishers a comfortable and much sought after
station for their booty and train-oil preparation. It is said that a
single ship, in one year, then brought home from Jan Mayen 196,000
gallons of oil.
Wishing to make an attempt at colonizing, in 1633–34 seven Dutch
sailors passed the winter here.
“The small community outlived the severity of the winter without much
danger to their lives, until the scurvy broke out amongst them; and as
they could not procure the necessary fresh nourishment, the sickness
made rapid strides. The first died on the 16th of April; and all the
others shared the same fate one month later. Their diary ended with
the 30th. When, on the 4th of June, the Dutch fleet appeared off the
island, they were all found dead in their huts.”[12]
Scoresby visited the island in August, 1817, and gave the first
reliable account of it. The interest excited by this account led to
two other visits. Lord Dufferin landed on the north side of Jan Mayen
in 1856, but what with fog and floating ice, could only stay one hour.
More good fortune and success attended that in 1861, undertaken by
Dr. Berna, of Frankfort, and described by Karl Vogt as one of those
interested in the “Arctic Expedition.” He succeeded in landing at two
places, and the weather allowed of two days’ interesting investigation;
then the fog returned, and they were obliged to set sail.
The same envious fog made our landing impossible in 1869, and the
strong rising sea-breeze and the high sea rendered it unadvisable
to go too near the land. We tacked, therefore, and sailed in an
east-south-easterly direction from it, so as to go round the east side
of the island, and at midnight resume our northerly course. The fog
was continually getting thicker, so that our two ships could scarcely
see each other; and in order to keep together at all were obliged to
use the horn. A fine rain fell at the same time, and it was about 2½
degrees warmer, though, on the whole, most disagreeable weather. We
could now thoroughly enjoy the Arctic fog “as pictured in books,”
and we felt the perfect truth and the full meaning of the excellent
descriptions given of it.
We thought of the “sea-lungs” of Pytheas, that impenetrable mixture
encountered beyond Thule, which is neither land, nor sea, nor
atmosphere; of that bit of Horace,--
“Quod latus mundi nebula malusque
Jupiter urget.”
We thought of the troublous gloominess with which the northern legends
enveloped the unknown ice region; and indeed began to believe in the
influence which a long sojourn in such a climate would have upon mind
and body.
Indeed, there can be nothing more melancholy than this everlasting grey
veil; even the sea, as far as one can see, is sad and grey. An auk
or a diver, now and again flying before the ship, is the only thing
presented to the wandering eye. Occasionally the gloom lightens so
much, that one can just make out where the sun is; but it is seldom
so far visible as to afford us an observation for latitude, or the
sight of a fogbow: but every hope of a change which might rise at
such a moment was at once destroyed by fresh mist rolling up thicker
than ever. One glance over the different diaries at this particular
time will best show the depressing influence of such continual foggy
weather. As in the North Sea over the constant north wind, so here over
the new enemy, the everlasting complaint was,--“Fog! thick fog!” And
if it would stop at that! But now the small vesicles condense and fall
first like fine spray, and then like a heavy shower, though without
bringing any relief from the fog. The sails flap, the running-gear
droops; and, added to this, is a fresh cold breeze, with the ship
swinging to and fro. At such a time every one appears on deck in the
excellent oilskin clothes, with high boots and serviceable sou’westers.
With wide and cautious steps, we walk up and down on the ever wet and
slippery deck, our eyes, as if open sea lay before us, constantly
sweeping the horizon and turning doubly disappointed away. The sight
of the swaying masts and the rustle of the untiring wavelets against
the ship’s side, at length bring the comfortless impression of all
surroundings to rest. The mind turns inwards upon itself; and amidst
all the thoughts of the serious and yet eagerly looked-for future, the
remembrance of the past and home stand vividly before us. We think of
the last time we were on land, of that wonderfully beautiful and warm
summer day at Eutin, with all the brightness of the rose-blossom and
the song of the nightingale. We see ourselves once more united with our
loved ones at home, and, flying from the heat of the day, wandering in
the high arched forest, or in familiar conversation enjoying the peace
and quiet of the garden. We see the stars twinkling in the heavens,
and the dark red moon rise over the distant woods--when a heavy wave
strikes us, sending the ship on to its side. We are pitched heavily
against the boat, the cold water splashes in our faces, and rushes in
a torrent over the deck and over our feet. The beautiful dream of the
pleasant summer is over, and the cold reality of an Arctic, foggy day
resumes its sway. With perhaps an unheard sigh, but in every case a
smiling face, we shake off the water and continue our walk. We know
that very soon we shall have much greater trials to bear.
Beyond the regular aræometrical readings of the water, and the constant
zoological work, there was little to gain outside in the way of
knowledge. We therefore tried to make it as comfortable as possible
below, which was certainly not easy, for even here the wet penetrates
and is brought down with boots and clothes; so that the air is often
heavy and damp. With the near prospect of the all-absorbing work on
the ice and also on land before us, we once more looked up all our
things,--instruments, and so on,--and put them in order, filling up
the rest of the time with reading, studying, and playing. We studied
Scoresby’s works, read the Swedish Expedition, or Lindeman’s “Arctic
Fisheries of the German Sea-port Towns,” or turned over the leaves
of Kane’s and Parry’s standard works. When comfortably seated at the
chess-board, or at a rubber of whist, or engaged in a sharp argument,
we now began to feel quite at home. We were accustomed to the cabin,
and had learnt to know each other better. We found that it was not so
difficult to live in such a confined space in peace and quietness,
if we only to some extent considered each other and learned to take
quietly such disagreeables as would naturally turn up.
And they soon did turn up. Our store of water had already greatly
decreased, and we were obliged to submit to great restrictions. We
could only have one glassful daily to wash in, but as compensation we
found on deck a fresh-drawn bucket of salt water. As it had become
somewhat muddy in the tanks, our filter stood us in good stead. The
rye-bread had already disappeared on the 8th of July, but we still had
a store of potatoes.
Since the midnight of the 9th to the 10th of July, we had sailed with
a fresh easterly breeze direct for the ice, and early in the morning
had already lost sight of the Hansa; the fog-horn no longer found
an echo. Presently with the wind from the distance there rolled the
thunder of a cannon-shot; a second followed, and we joyfully returned
the greeting of the sister-ship. At noon we fired again, and received
no answer; we were for the time separated from the Hansa. The following
five days brought no change in the weather; day after day passed with
the interesting variations of--fog, thicker fog, thickest fog. The
temperature was about 36° Fahr.; only once rose to 39½°, and fell to
33.80°. The only comfort was that no obstacle stopped our progress, as
on the open sea the ship can find her way with the help of the compass
in the darkest night as easily as in broad daylight. A collision was
not to be feared here, so we had no feeling of insecurity, as one has
in a thick fog near land.
The bird world did not change much; the stormy petrel, however,
preponderated. On the other hand, we saw far more frequently a
creature peculiar to the Arctic regions, the Greenland seal (_Phoca
Grönlandica_, Müll.). They stretched their black, flat heads out of
the water with great curiosity, but immediately disappeared, setting at
defiance every attempt to reach them with the deadly shot.
The appearance of these seals reminded us that we were now in the
neighbourhood of the seal-catchers, that is, in that part of the
northern icy sea where, from the end of March to the end of April, the
seals come in thousands to the smooth floating ice to cast their young
ones. These “seal-coasts” change their position somewhat every year,
and range between 68° and 74° N. Lat. and from 2° to 16° W. Long. It is
a highly interesting sight to see the seals assembled from all quarters
at this time. It is said that they not only come from the coasts of
Spitzbergen and Greenland, but even swim in flocks from Nova Zembla.
The whitish-coloured young stay on the ice the first few days, and are
then killed with clubs by the parties of seal-hunters. The skin with
its underlying fat is brought on board. The skin and fat of a young
seal are worth from 7_s._ 6_d._ to 9_s._; besides which they catch many
old seals. The number caught by a single Bremen ship now sometimes
amounts to from 8 to 10,000 seals; and one may form some idea of the
war of destruction waged against these harmless creatures by man, when
we hear that of European ships in 1868, five German, five Danish,
fifteen Norwegian, and twenty-two British, which were in company
in West Greenland, obtained 237,000. On the “Jan Mayen ice” besides
the Greenland seal there is another kind found, called the crested
seal (_Cystophora cristata_, Nilss.), seldom the bearded seal (_Phoca
barbata_, Müll.) only.
The expected meeting with the ice necessitated a peculiar provision
on the ship, the “crow’s-nest,” so as to have a clear and commanding
prospect over the labyrinth of flakes and floes, and to enable us to
steer through all, and when possible find the best road, as the range
of sight over the water from the deck was no longer sufficient. The
commander, therefore, has to look for the highest possible steady
stand-point, and this is easily found in the “top” of the masts, to
which the shrouds give easy access. A long sojourn in this airy region
is not very agreeable at any time; one must be careful to protect
the body somewhat against the wind, and this object is attained by
a suitably formed barrel. A good telescope is hung constantly up
here, and a little straw is placed at the bottom. This necessary
“crow’s-nest,” already well known from Scoresby’s and the late Swedish
expeditions, was on the 12th, with much merriment and many good and
bad jokes called forth by its peculiar appellation, hoisted up the
mainmast, and fastened by the carpenter to the crosstrees, between the
top and the top-shrouds.
The view attained by this means at a height of thirty-eight feet, gave
us the survey over a circle the radius of which was seven and a quarter
nautical miles.
About eleven at night in the thick fog an unusually white spot was
seen, and this we discovered to be the first piece of ice. At the so
long looked-for announcement of “Ice!” every one was on deck, and
hurrying to the fore. Every eye rested with interest on the small
rocking scrap which was at the most quite an isolated, far-washed
piece. With intense attention and impatience, during the night and
following day (the 13th), the sailors were to be seen on the watch, and
from time to time the cap of one of the inmates of the cabin diving
into the thick fog; but gaily as we advanced, no ice appeared!
On the 14th, there was a calm the whole day, so we went about in
the boat fishing up the drift-wood, hunting the gulls and sketching
them. Sometimes it brightened, and we could see a little farther; but
still no trace of the Hansa. But we had another intimation of the
nearness of the ice. We could see in the west or north-west over the
horizon, a white or yellowish glistening, which must spring from the
ice, and which is known as the “Ice-sky,” yet essentially differing
from the “Ice-blink.” Besides this, we saw the ivory gull (_Larus
eburneus_), a bird never found far from the ice.
CHAPTER III.
TO THE SEPARATION OF THE SHIPS ON THE 20TH JULY.
The ice in the Arctic Ocean, particularly off East
Greenland.--The border of the ice reached on the 15th of
July.--Further voyage of the Germania.--Position and nature of
the ice.--Arctic birds.--Meeting of the vessels once more.
The Polar circle is termed the boundary of the Arctic or Northern Icy
Sea. For that term there is a physical reason, as at every spot within
this circle the sun does not rise in winter for a certain number of
days together, and its influence being thus so circumscribed, the
“everlasting” ice is enabled to form. But the Polar circle is the
boundary also in a geographical point of view, as it cuts directly
through Behring’s Straits, and the narrowest part of Davis’s Straits,
besides stretching over both the old and the new worlds, so that the
whole of the enclosed (so-called) Polar basin is contained within it.
This has but one broad approach, and that lies between Scandinavia and
Greenland. Here the Polar circle is least satisfactory as a boundary;
for here, as in every case in which the shackles of art are imposed
upon nature, the arbitrary line is overstepped by the irregularities
of nature, and nowhere more so than in the present case. From the west
coast of Norway to far beyond the North Cape rush the waves of the
Atlantic, which are never covered with ice; while on the east coast of
Greenland, down to its most southerly point, presses from one year’s
end to another a powerful mass of heavy ice. The boundary of the icy
sea (as a sea covered with ice) may now upon the whole be settled by a
line drawn from Cape Farewell to Iceland, from thence to Spitzbergen,
and lastly to Nova Zembla. The cause of this appearance lies really
in the existence of two important sea-currents. From the coast of
Norway up to Spitzbergen and Nova Zembla stretches the north-easterly
branch of the Gulf Stream, driving back all floating ice, and from the
comparative warmth of its waters conducing to the melting of the same
all along the ice boundary.
On the other hand, on the east coast of Greenland runs the Polar
current in a south-westerly direction to a great distance, carrying
with it the heavy ice formed in the extreme north, and picking up on
its way all the younger ice frozen during the winter; while, from
the coldness of its waters, it prevents the melting of the same in
a remarkable degree. Thus it is explained how from Davis’ Straits
also must flow towards the south just such another cold, ice-burdened
stream, and how on the voyage from Germany to New York are often seen
one or more drifting pieces of ice, or even icebergs. This Greenland
ice-current forms the main outlet for the removal of the Polar ice, and
we may very reasonably liken it to a floating glacier whose farthest
domain is the Polar basin.
Upon the nature of the ice in this Polar current, the following
preliminary remarks may throw some light. At the beginning of the
current, in the same latitude as Spitzbergen, and much nearer to the
coast, as far down as Iceland, the largest fields of ice are to be
found; tracts of enormous extent and sometimes more than fifty feet
in thickness. Between these, and originating from them in the course
of time, by their breaking up, are smaller fields called ice-floes;
and these, increased by thawing, by the surrounding driving and
pressing, as well as by the waves, break up in small pieces, the real
hummocks which prevail at the eastern boundary of the current, at the
“ice-line,” as well as at the most southerly end. As a last remains of
the disturbing process, huge hummocks float about, or cover the broken
ice or the wide expanse of sea with small brashes. Real icebergs seem
almost peculiar to the southern part of the coasts; such an iceberg is
not formed in the sea, but is a broken piece of glacier moving with its
lower part in the sea, and from which at different times large pieces
have been broken off by the pressure of the water, and carried onward
by the current.
The breadth of this ice-current, and also the position of the ice-line
is, as may be imagined, very different at different times of the year.
Whilst in spring-time it runs about the middle of Iceland past Jan
Mayen to the southern point of Spitzbergen, in summer it retreats
nearer to the coast, and stretches somewhat in the direction of the
west-end of Iceland to the north of Spitzbergen. Some pieces of ice,
under peculiar circumstances, naturally float very far from this
boundary towards the south-east; sometimes even reaching the Faroes.
But even at corresponding times of the year, the ice-line may occupy
very different positions; much depending upon the compactness of the
labyrinth of fields, floes, and drifts, and also of the prevailing
winds.
As all ice rises out of the water, and from its irregular form offers
to the wind an easy object of attack, so it is often drawn from the
course of the water-current by a strong air-current, and either hurried
onward or retarded in its progress. An easterly and south-easterly
wind must drive the ice westward, and press the masses closer than
ever; whilst a westerly and north-westerly wind drives the icy dominion
farther eastward, dividing the masses, and thereby rendering the
ice-stream more navigable.
This ice-current, or ice-zone, in the outer part of which the
whale-fishers mostly catch their prey, was what we were now about to
sail across. That this task was certainly not so easy and simple as
many think who have not seen for themselves, we knew from experience
in the yacht “Greenland” in 1868. This time our steam power gave us
greater hope. If we could only reach the vicinity of land we thought
that in the much-talked-of “Land-water” we should at least be able to
move with ease, and thereby obtain good results.
On the 15th of July we reached the ice-line. 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 surging against
the still hidden ice. However unwelcome and equivocal this surging
might sound to the ears of sailors far from any harbour (and it has
a wonderfully paralyzing effect as one approaches), to-day it was
listened to with unmistakable pleasure. The object of our longing is
then at last reached, and if the ice should prove a blockade to us, we
could at least remain comfortably in the Germania in its neighbourhood
to inspect it.
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 foam 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 a serious moment, stirred as we were by new thoughts and feelings,
by hopes and doubts, by bold and far-reaching expectations.
The mist closed again almost immediately; but this short moment and a
glimpse from the crow’s-nest sufficed to show us the absolute thickness
of the masses of ice. Here, even had it been our intention, we could
never have broken through, and if any of us had formed a mistaken idea
of ice-navigation, this must prove to the most inexperienced that such
an obstacle could neither be overcome by the most powerful ironclad
ship, nor by gunpowder. Our duty bade us first seek the Hansa in 75°
N.L.; but, besides the fact that an easterly wind had been blowing for
some days, making it anything but a favourable moment for forcing the
icy range, it became necessary to wait another opportunity for making
an energetic attempt.
The spot where the Germania struck the ice was in 74° 47′ N. Lat., and
11° 50′ W. Long., and the edge stretched almost due north and south.
The Hansa reached the ice-line the same day in 74° 57′ N. Lat., and
9° 41′ W. Long. The log-book of the Germania says, “Heard the rushing
of the water against the ice, but unfortunately could see nothing on
account of the fog. Temperature of the sea’s surface 32° Fahr., a
sure sign that we were near the ice; tacked therefore, and ran with
a south-westerly wind some miles to the north-west, until the floes
became so dense that we were obliged to turn. Steered in the fog along
the ice northward. At four in the afternoon a point was passed, from
which the line seemed to stretch more westward. Accordingly we sailed
in that direction, and about seven came again to compact ice, which
obliged us to turn and lie to. The fog was now so dense that we could
only make out the pieces nearest to us. To judge by the breakers, the
ice here stretched again to the north. On the morning of the 16th of
July, the atmosphere lightened a little; when we set all sail and
made for the ice, which was soon in sight. Towards the north and
north-north-east lay a long chain of closely packed pieces; to the west
and north-west opened a large bay, into which we sailed, that we might
inspect nearer the position of the ice. By eleven we reached what was
to all appearance the end of this bay, namely, a chain of drift ice,
behind which, to westward, some open water showed itself, surrounded
with ice. As it was not our intention to make any serious attempt to
advance until we fell in with the Hansa, once more we lay to, in order
to wait for clearer weather.” The first excitement and restlessness had
by this time subsided, and we could observe surrounding nature more
at our leisure. When the mist shifted a little, the view from the
crow’s-nest was very beautiful; first the icy boundary, and then behind
the endless labyrinth of floes. One was also able exactly to trace how
the light and dark parts of the clouds lying over the horizon, as well
as the light and dark stripes in them, reflected a true picture of the
ice on the sea, and to study attentively this important appearance
known as the “Ice and water sky.”
The chase brought us a new bird to-day, a handsome black guillemot
(_Uria grylle_, L.), with its greenish shining plumage; the white
band on its wings, and the red beak and wings looked wonderfully
pretty. Our interest was, however, more aroused by a young crested
seal which was killed in the night (_Cystophora cristata_),
with shining black back, and whitish yellow belly. Of the peculiar
blistery formation on the nose, from which they take their name, and
which characterizes the grown-up male, there was yet no sign: but the
creature was unmistakable from the form of its head; the well-defined
snout of the common seals had entirely disappeared; but the strongest
zoological mark lay in the teeth. We filled a wine-barrel half full of
its fat, and the rest fell into the hands of the zoologist.
On the 17th we cruised about in the thick fog with a south-westerly
breeze. We had no sooner tacked than we came upon ice, and were obliged
to tack once more. It seemed as if we lay in a bay, surrounded by
floating ice. At the same time many small loose floes were drifting
around us, and were covered on the surface with the decomposing ice
like white snow. We took up some shovelsful to melt, with a view to
renewing our store of water. The mischievous fog played us many a trick
in our tacking backwards and forwards. It is almost incredible how
much larger the ice-floes appear in the fog. We seem, for instance,
to be driving at a hill, forty-five to fifty feet high; and when we
arrive there, it is a small floe with a hummock of about ten feet! This
delusion we had subsequently often to experience, though at first it
afforded us great ground for amusement. The ice had in the thick fog
something altogether spectral and gloomy in appearance; but as to real
danger to the ship in this floating ice, where there are no icebergs,
there is none, except in a heavy sea, with storms or calm. Towards
evening the ice pressed closer and closer around, so that to prevent
ourselves being enclosed, we had to keep more eastward. At two in the
morning we broke through the current, that is the outer chain of floes,
and saw at once by the windward roll that we were once more in the open
sea, where we had to lie by in expectation of better weather.
The floes lay so thick at the border, that with the faint breeze the
ship could not get through, and for the first time we had to employ the
long ice-hooks to push aside those lying directly under our bow, or
when very large, to work the ship round them. It was a most agreeable
night; and as it was the first time that the ship, in the true sense
of the word, had really come in contact with the ice, all on deck
willingly took a hand in the work and made it a pleasure to get rid of
the obstinate companions that impeded the progress of our Germania.
Here we had the best opportunity of studying the configuration of
the floes somewhat more nearly. They were mostly flat, and of the
most varied form. We could see at once, that warmth, air, sun, and
wave-friction had been at work upon them for some time past. From the
rushing of the water the edges were rounded and hollowed; they ranged
from four to twelve inches out of the water, whilst the mass under the
water was about four times as great. On the surface, as we have already
mentioned, they were covered with the melting ice like snow some inches
high; and on the larger ones small pools of water were found, which
generally make their appearance about the beginning of July, and about
the beginning of August are again covered with a crust of ice. Remove
the snow and we come once more to the glistening blue ice. Between the
floes are hummocks, miniature mountains so to speak, which rise in
various forms, now elegant, now bold, and from the crevices and shaded
plains shed the most beautiful blue light. This blue changes sometimes
to a green; indeed, one is often surprised to see a most lovely emerald
green. Taking also into consideration that this almost always quiet
water reflects the clearest pictures, one can imagine how great a
charm this ice scenery must have for a novice. But it is not only the
beautiful and majestic which has such an effect, but all sorts of
fantastic shapes which delight the beholder by their wonderful variety.
For instance, the small or large ice-blocks, from melting and the
washing of the water, frequently assume the most peculiar forms. Here
rides a stately swan, there an eagle spreads its mighty wings; here a
staring seal stretches its head out of the water, and there stands an
elegant marble table.
At home, when wishing to picture such things out of the clouds, or
the ice-trees on the windows, one must exercise a certain amount
of imagination; here they are forced upon the least enthusiastic
observer, and we could not help giving our unqualified assent to
Scoresby’s description, which until then we had thought a little
exaggerated. “Arctic birds” (so it runs in the Hansa’s Journal at
this time) “such as the stormy petrel, gulls, robber-gulls, auks,
and puffins surrounded the ship. For want of something else to do,
we caught a number of them by angling, and then gave them their
liberty after fastening a small piece of metal to them by a silken
band with the name Hansa and the latitude (73° N.) engraved upon it.
_Procellaria glacialis_ were swimming like ducks in our wake, and
biting one another with loud chattering for the pieces of bacon thrown
to them almost under the stern.”
On the morning of the 18th, the atmosphere brightened with a light
southerly wind; and for the first time since we left Jan Mayen, on
the 9th of July, it was bright and clear. We now saw that we were in
a large ice bay, opening towards the south-east. It was a wonderfully
beautiful (one might almost say a festive) Sunday morning. The eye
refreshed itself with the deep blue of the softly rippling and
lightly moving sea, and rested quietly upon the wide semicircle of
the glittering ice-bank. The sun once more sent a friendly beam from
the clear sky, and seemed to show us that even here he could provide
what we had so long needed--warmth and dryness. With what pleasure we
enjoyed those morning hours, and drew in the clear fresh air! How we
once more learned to realize what sun and sunshine are to mankind!
But, wonderful to relate, with all this, the recollections of our
own country receded more and more. We stood and felt that we were
at the entrance of a new world, whose whole enchantment had thus
burst upon us. At first, there was an imperceptible struggle with
the mighty powers of nature; but now we were thoroughly prepared for
anything that might turn up, and looked forward with impatience to
our advancing westward. One after the other mounted to the topmast or
the “crow’s-nest,” and gazed out upon the masses of ice: we could not
satiate ourselves with the panorama. A way for the Germania must and
should be found.
But there was another and more important object which the sharpest eyes
could not succeed in finding, our lost sister-ship, the Hansa, which we
had not seen since leaving Jan Mayen. It was impossible that she could
be far away, for we were quite near the appointed place of rendezvous,
75° N.L., and we must in any case find her now before the fog should
surround us once more. The prize of a bottle of wine was therefore
set upon the discovery of the Hansa, though we scarcely required this
incitement, so keen and so deep was our interest in the fate of our
beloved comrades.
Soon after breakfast, to the great joy of all, a sail was discovered
from the topmast far away in the ice in E.N.E. It was a schooner, and
as the whale-fishers do not use such craft, it must be the Hansa, which
by a seaman’s eye was soon verified by her peculiar rig. The Hansa
was under full sail; certainly she must have already seen us, and was
trying her best to reach us through the apparently thick ice which
surrounded her. We ourselves hoped that we should be able at once to
advance farther westward together; so the boiler was heated without
delay, and everything prepared for getting up steam, so as to unite the
two vessels before the fog returned. Meanwhile, it was four o’clock in
the afternoon ere we could move, as, in fitting the screw, something
had been overlooked, which took us some hours to rectify. The Hansa had
in the meantime worked herself some miles nearer to us, and now lay in
the floating ice. The weather was beautiful and clear, and there was
a dead calm; so that with the speed of 5¼ knots, which we made with
a 50lb. pressure, we reached our friends at about eight o’clock. The
ice-spikes which encircled our bay to the north-east, stretching far to
the east, and towards which we were driving, resolved themselves as we
approached into small, and very small, brashes, between which the ship
easily made her way or forced it, though not without some gratings and
slight working of the steam. Our farther advance was unimpeded. The
ice-strewn sea now presented a peculiarly interesting spectacle. It had
assumed by the reflection of the sky, which had been heavily-clouded
for some hours, an almost black hue, in strong contrast with the colour
of the ice, whilst the north-westerly horizon shone with the brightest
yellow tints. At eight we were near the Hansa; both ships hoisted their
flags. The Hansa gave expression to her joy by firing her guns; but we,
not being prepared, had to return the salute with our fowling-pieces.
Greetings re-echoed from one side to the other, as we went round the
Hansa, and universal joy reigned on board both ships.
We then took her in tow, and steered back the same way by which we had
come, until some slight disorder in the machinery obliged us to stop,
when both ships were again put under sail.
Meanwhile Captain Hegemann, Dr. Buchholz, and Dr. Laube had come on
board, and the captains consulted together regarding the next steps to
be taken. The Hansa had, like ourselves, been several days in the ice.
Indeed, a glance at the logs showed that since their separation the
two vessels had never been far from one another, that they had sailed
in the same course to the ice, and had also sighted it the same day,
and that nothing but continued fog had prevented us from sighting each
other sooner. Captain Hegemann reported that farther north a larger
bay penetrated to the westward. We, however, preferred trying the
southerly one. We further agreed, conformably with our instructions,
that in case of a separation among the ice, the next place of meeting
should be Sabine Island, as it was plainly loss of time to return to
74½° N.L., to the line of heavy ice, if we had each found an opening;
besides which, the attempt ought not to be given up before the middle
of September, and we hoped to get through much sooner, as the position
of the ice, in comparison with that of 1868, seemed more favourable.
Meanwhile, the gentlemen sat in the cabin over their wine, exchanging
the experiences and results of the last few days. The zoologists, it
is true, were the only men who were particularly satisfied, as both in
the higher and lower classes of animals they had already an interesting
collection. Of birds there were several “Mallemucke” shot and properly
prepared; also one of the robber-gulls with the two peculiar elongated
middle tail feathers (_Lestris crepidata_, Brehm). Several
seals (_Phoca Greenlandica_, L.) had also fallen a sacrifice
to science. But the lower animals had yielded the richest harvest,
and besides different species of _Calanus_, _Lysianassa_,
_Gammarus_, and so forth, several specimens of the beautiful
_Beroë_ had been obtained. Pity that these wonderful creatures,
with transparent cucumber-shaped bodies, long rosy-red tentacles, and
their eight rows of glittering, many-coloured leaf-like processes, with
which they move slowly forward, cannot be preserved in their original
beauty.
But in other respects also we had not been altogether inactive. The
soundings--this difficult and time-consuming work--had here on the
ice boundary shown an important deepening of the bottom of the sea;
whilst on the 14th we had touched ground at 930 fathoms, on the 15th we
could no longer do so with 1230 fathoms. Here the unsettled state of
the weather prevented us from finishing this work with satisfaction to
ourselves.
The mean temperature of these four days was 35° Fahr. It did not rise
above 40°, and once, early on the 16th, sank to below 32°. The water on
the surface was of much the same temperature; it oscillated between 34°
and 33½°. The colour of the water was mostly clear blue.
In the exchange of such observations and merry and free conversation,
it was now midnight. At this time we were obliged to stop, as the
axle-bed was heated and required cooling. A rising fog and a coming
breeze decided us; so we gave up steam entirely, and let the two ships
separate once more and proceed under sail.
Full of joy and confident hope for the future, we shook hands at
parting, and the gentlemen from the Hansa returned to their ship.
In sisterly harmony the two vessels sailed along, and many a joyous
greeting and joke resounded from the one to the other.
Who on this evening would have thought that this was the last time we
should be together? that we should never again see our sister-ship,
and our comrades only after fourteen months’ time, and then so
wonderfully preserved from drowning? Our happy feelings did not allow
such unwholesome thoughts to arise.
Our present object was now to follow the ice boundary farther
southward, at the same time looking for an opening by which we might
push on to the west. In tacking in contrary winds, we came against
several sharp prominences of the thick ice-line, which here stretched
in a west-south-westerly direction.
On the afternoon of the 19th of July the breeze freshened; we made good
way, and as much open water was before us, we soon noticed the now
unusual swell. The weather was tolerable, the fog came and went, so
that we kept the Hansa mostly in sight.
This day brought us something new. The first white bear was seen, and
that swimming, and for the first time an Arctic dish appeared on our
table. At breakfast the cook astonished us with a very delicate and
tender seal liver, and in the evening a very savoury stew of the flesh;
we were glad to get a little fresh meat, and soon lost the excusable
repugnance to the “oily” seal.
We sailed farther along the ice-line towards the south-west.
On the night of the 19th and 20th we fell in with ice, seemingly a
part of the closely-packed floes driven from the great mass. The swell
had entirely disappeared, and we moved amongst loose floating ice to
the south-west. It was mostly thick fog at night, though it cleared
somewhat about eight in the morning. The wind was S.S.W. In the
south-west we still found compact floating ice, and at eleven turned
again to westward. The Hansa was a few miles to windward of us; and
as both captains wished to consult together once more, and, if the
weather allowed, to take coals on board the Germania, the approach
signal was hoisted. The Hansa misunderstood this,[13] set more sail,
and disappeared in the now thickly-rising fog before we could succeed
in following her. Thus a fatal misunderstanding separated the two
ships, and that for ever. We will now leave the Germania, under Captain
Koldewey’s command, to her further course, and hear Captain Hegemann
and his companions’ report as to how the Hansa fared.
CHAPTER IV.
FURTHER VOYAGE OF THE HANSA UNTIL HER BLOCKADE IN THE
COAST ICE OF EAST GREENLAND. 20TH JULY TO 7TH SEPT.
Final separation of both ships.--The Germania’s signal
misunderstood by the Hansa.--The Hansa photographed in the
ice.--Snow blindness.--Difficulties of making way through
the ice.--Animal life.--The rocky coast of Greenland visible
for the first time.--The Hansa steers once more out of the
ice.--Two ships in sight to seaward.--The Hansa’s struggle
with the ice.--Fall of snow on the 3rd of August.--Southerly
currents.--Second attempt of the Hansa to reach Sabine
Island.--The Hansa sails to the north.--Countless seals.--Steer
to the north-west.--Circumstances particularly unfavourable
to further progress.--By towing the ship open water at last
reached.--Hemmed in once more.--Reverses, trouble, and dangers,
until the blocking up of the Hansa.--Changeable frame of mind
on board.--Soundings.--Trial with the dredge.--Journey in the
boat in the direction of land.--Sabine and Pendulum Islands in
sight.--Meal on the ice.--The Captain’s birthday.--Poverty of
animal life on the sea near the coast.--Hunting.
Morning of the 20th, strong W.S.W. wind blowing. At eight o’clock spoke
the Germania. Captain Koldewey signalled to keep farther from the ice
on account of bad weather. We therefore steered eastward for some
time, but found that, instead of getting looser, the ice had become
more dense; we therefore lay close hauled on the port tack, and at ten
o’clock were obliged to steer to N.W. Meanwhile, the water improved,
and after sailing through a stream of floating ice, we saw open
water in a westerly direction. So for westward! Captain Koldewey
gave us a signal, which, through the hazy weather, we unfortunately
misunderstood. We thought we read, “Long stay a-peak,” which Captain
Hegemann interpreted that the ship should sail as far westward as
possible. The signal, however, really meant, “Come within hail.” The
misunderstanding was fatal; the Hansa pushed on to westward, lost sight
of the Germania on the 20th of July, and never saw her again.
[Illustration:
_Page 81._
BLOCKS OF ICE WITH SEALS.]
It is, however, tolerably certain, and it is also confirmed by both
captains’ statements, that, on account of the Arctic weather, it would
have been very, very difficult for the two ships to have remained
together, and it would have made landing doubly difficult. And in the
course of this account, it will be seen that the Hansa on her side of
the coast could have reached another point, had she not been prevented
by the letter of her instructions.
Before noon on the 21st of July, as we lay quietly in the pack, Mr.
Hildebrandt, who had brought his photographic apparatus on the ice,
succeeded in taking a good photograph of the Hansa. The dazzling
snow in the sunshine produced snow-blindness for the first time in
one of the sailors, Philip Heine, and snow spectacles were at once
distributed. Seals and narwhals were seen near the ship, some of which
we killed at first. An attempt to draw out the ice-bears by a fire lit
on a block of ice, and fed with seal-blubber, failed. Nevertheless, our
mid-day table was enriched with seal-meat, regarding the palatableness
of which opinions differed. The continually falling fog enveloped
everything, shrouds, masts, rigging, with a thick crust of ice, so that
some one had to be sent up to beat it down; and pieces were constantly
falling, covering the deck with broken ice. With great trouble the
ship moved slowly forwards, sometimes towed and pushed by the men,
sometimes sailing through a little water. Nevertheless, we were
quite aware that the wind and currents were driving us far from our
destination towards the south, and indeed, the leeway amounted in seven
days (from the 21st to the 28th July) to about seventy-two nautical
miles. For awhile we had comparatively low temperature, on the 24th
July, for example, 31° Fahr.
[Illustration: CAPE BROER RUYS.]
Of birds, the _Lestris_ and _Procellaria_ were mostly seen,
and the ivory gull daily. Of Radiata, Dr. Buchholz mentions a beautiful
ribbed Medusa, with vermilion ribs and fringes.
On the 28th of July, we found ourselves in 72° 56′ N.L. and 16° 54′
W.L. On that day we caught sight of the dark, rocky coast of East
Greenland for the first time, from Cape Broer Ruys to Cape James.
[Illustration: CAPE JAMES.]
Dr. Laube remarks:--“I know now what is meant by making an expedition
to the North Pole, and what weighty difficulties lie between East
Greenland and Spitzbergen. Scoresby found it easier; he broke through
to the coast just where he found a good place: and we shall evidently
have to proceed in the same manner, for it does not seem difficult to
reach the Liverpool coast; Clavering and Sabine, also, easily found an
opportunity of getting to Pendulum Island; but it is difficult, indeed
almost impracticable, for us to land at that place. The decision is
easier on the map than in the Arctic Sea, as circumstances there arise
which cannot be anticipated.” As we could no longer continue the same
course, there remained nothing for us but to act up to the letter of
our instructions, and steer once more in an easterly direction out of
the ice; and having once reached the edge, begin afresh. On the 29th
and 30th of July, we sighted two vessels, tacking with a north-east
wind, about twelve sea miles distant. As we afterwards learned, one
was the steamer Bienenkorb, Captain Hagens, from the Weser, which,
on the 29th of July, farther northwards, spoke with the (to us)
still invisible Germania; and on her return to Bremen on the 2nd of
September, reported thus:--“Spoke the Germania on the 29th of July,
in about 73° 2′ N.L. and 15° 50′ W.L.; she was steering northwards
along the border of the ice to rejoin the Hansa. The Bienenkorb took
a south-westerly course along the ice, and about noon, in 72° 38′ N.L.
saw the Hansa beset about eight miles within the pack.”
Blocked in we were not really yet, though nearing the coast at once was
not to be thought of, on account of the compactness of the floes. On
the 31st of July, the vessels had disappeared. The following day, the
1st of August, they appeared once more, though possibly only in the way
caused by refraction. The Hansa struggled heavily through the ice. At
one o’clock in the afternoon (says the captain’s log-book) we sailed
under bare poles, merely by the pressure of the wind on the masts and
rigging E.N.E. with a strong west-sou’-west wind. At two o’clock we
broke through two gigantic floes. At the first shock against them, the
forepart of the ship rose two feet on to the ice, and quivered as if
the keel had struck the bottom. Masts and shrouds trembled and swayed
under the powerful shock, but, as we might have expected, the Hansa
bore it well.
3rd of August: a fine fall of snow.
On the 5th (the same day on which the Germania anchored off Sabine
Island) the Hansa was once more in open water. Eight days previously,
before we had resolved to sail eastward, we were in 72° 55·6′ N.L. and
16° 54′ W.L. Now, on the 5th of August, we were in 72° 29′ N.L. and 13°
48′ W.L. The current had carried us in this time twenty-six nautical
miles to the southwards. The direction and strength of the southerly
drift current could not be accurately determined, as in going backwards
and forwards through the ice, no control could be kept over our course.
In spite of the many shocks, and the pressure of the ice, the ship had
not suffered.
We now made a second attempt at following the instructions to penetrate
to the coast in latitude 75°.
From the 5th to the 11th of August we had, with the exception of slight
fogs, good weather, the reading of the thermometer ranging from 27° to
36° F.
We sailed northwards along the ice boundary with a good southerly wind,
until the 10th of August. Seals were numerous, swimming in troops of
from ten to twenty. They were very lively, often springing with the
whole of their body out of the water, a sign that it was pairing time.
At eight o’clock we fancied we saw a vessel, and the hope of finding
the Germania once more arose within us, but a thick fog set in, and our
signal-gun remained unanswered.
9th August: in 74° 14·6′ N.L. and 11° 2′ W.L. Froze in the night,
between the 10th and 11th, the ice being an inch and a half thick. We
steered in a north-westerly direction, and at seven in the morning were
twenty-five nautical miles nearer the coast, in 74° 58½′ N.L. and 11°
16·5’ W.L., the thickness of the ice preventing us from making further
use of the favourable south-west wind.
For the next few days our task was an unusually heavy one. The wind
was unfavourable, so the attempt to sail through the opposing ice was
impracticable. But twelve hours’ work of dragging the ship along by
means of a small anchor fastened to a rope, through the icy barrier,
resulted in our reaching navigable water on the 13th.
But we were again disappointed! After sailing westward one night,
we saw ourselves, on the morning of the 14th, hemmed in once more
on all sides; fresh ice formed between the floes, besides filling
up every passage, so that the Hansa was fast again. From this time
forward until the complete blocking up of the Hansa, the captain’s
log-book unfolds a succession of reverses, troubles, and dangers.
August 14th, fast; shot a Polar bear; stream south-west ½° W.; made
thirteen nautical miles in forty-eight hours: 15th, we are nearer the
coast than we have yet been. Shannon I. distant forty-eight nautical
miles, Pendulum, fifty-nine; thick ice. 16th, thermometer, 25° Fahr.;
fine weather. Stuck fast to the floe, drifting steadily southward.
Warping quite useless. 18th and 19th warped again. Made some few ship’s
lengths. Open water to the north-west, which we reached on the 23rd,
hoping to sail farther westward.
[Illustration: THE “FLOWER-BASKET.”]
[Illustration:
_Page 86._
WARPING THROUGH THE ICE.]
Evening, fast again in 74° 36·4′ N.L. and 15° 49·1′ W.L. For zoological
observation there was much to interest. The body of a _Phoca
Greenlandica_ had drawn numerous ivory gulls together. Two birds
(_Strepsilas interpres_) were observable on the new ice; and the
dredge produced us many beautiful star-fishes and molluscs.
August 24th: a boat excursion to the land; captain, two officers, Dr.
Laube, and two sailors. We left the ship at two o’clock, and pressed
forward to within sixteen nautical miles of the land. Passed a peculiar
icy formation, which we named the “Flower-basket.” Saw the coast very
distinctly from a tall hummock, which we climbed, and hoisted the
German flag upon it. Further we could not go, as the ice was too close,
and a late return to the ship, which was ever drifting southwards,
would be very difficult in a possibly rising fog. Return journey began
quarter past seven in the evening. On board once more by half-past
twelve at night. The position of the ice was much altered, and a dense
fog came up, so that we could scarcely find our way, and were often
obliged to haul the boat over the floes. W. Bade’s diary describes with
genuine sailor’s humour the frugal evening meal under the open sky
upon the ice during their excursion. In the hurry, only hard bread and
some cocoa had been brought with us, and a few bottles of sherry and
brandy. Cigars never failed. “At first, owing to the lowness of the
temperature, we could not succeed in boiling the water; and in order to
concentrate the heat had to lay our sou’-westers over the machine--a
very questionable proceeding, inasmuch as these oilskin coverings were
with great difficulty saved from the flames, which readily caught
them.” On the 25th we towed the ship in a calm towards the coast.
To-day the Hansa reached its nearest to Sabine Island. The vessel lay
due west ¼° N., thirty-five nautical miles off, in 74° 30′ N.L. and 16°
40′ 5″ W.L. On the 25th and 27th the ship underwent pressure by the
ice, but remained undamaged. According to the report of the Germania’s
voyage, she anchored after a journey to Shannon Island on the 27th of
August in the evening, and was at Little Pendulum at eleven o’clock.
At this time we were in about 74° 20′ N.L. and 16° 50′ W.L.; so that
at the utmost the ships were not more than thirty-four nautical miles
distant from each other! Much colder these last few days: 23° to 16° F.
August 28th: the first and only time we had a brisk north-west wind;
drifted with a large ice-field considerably southward.
Taking into consideration the strong ice pressure to which the ship
was continually subject, we made ready the boats and divided the fur
clothing. We saw before us the imminent prospect of being obliged to
pass the winter off the coast. We began seriously to talk of using
our coal-bricks to build a house on the ice to which we might fly for
refuge in case the ship were lost. September 2nd: rain and storm from
the south-east. Morning of the 5th, fine weather, light south-east
wind; sailed twenty nautical miles in a north-westerly direction,
partly by the side of an ice-field fifteen nautical miles long, until
eight in the evening, when calm, fog, and ice brought us once more to a
stand. This was our last sail. Had we had steam we should most likely
have reached the open water, which we saw along the coast.
The next day we laid the Hansa between two promontories of a large
ice-field, which eventually proved a raft of deliverance. Now began
the complete blockade of our ship in the ice.
These occurrences and the changing state of mind on board up to this
time is plainly perceivable in the diaries. Dr. Laube writes thus on
the 13th of August:--“As towards morning the wind was more favourable,
we heaved up the anchor and tried to get free. Vain effort! Although
we towed from one floe to the other, with all our strength, we were
none the nearer. Scarcely were we free from one floe than another
immediately drifted into its place. It seems bewitched. At noon,
our faces were very long, and we came to look upon our mission as
a failure. Open water seemed nearer again, but we were faster than
ever in the ice. In spite of all our trouble the ship had not moved
an inch from the floe, which is in reality an immense ice-field on
our lee, whilst on our weather-side lay some large blocks. At last,
after fourteen hours’ heavy labour, the ship got free. The floes broke
asunder, a passage opened, and we sailed into it with a fair wind. The
canal gets broader and broader. Beyond, the sea seems almost free from
ice. Right and left it receded to the horizon. It was as if we were
on a great lake; some floes swimming about like islands. As a heavy
fog shut out the sun, we could not see where the open water ended.
We hovered between hope and fear. Ten minutes before six o’clock we
got under weigh; seven, eight, nine o’clock, no end to be seen! Ten
o’clock, open water still before us. Unfortunately the breeze dropped
entirely. I asked Mr. Bade how long we could still sail. He thought the
whole night through. We could not go to rest yet. Our hearts beat from
excitement, and however deep hope had sunk at noon, it rose now higher
every minute. Eleven o’clock, still sailing! but very slowly, till the
wind died away entirely.”
The 14th of August, in 74° 45.4′ N.L., and 13° 56·5′ “W.L. At nine in
the evening soundings were taken, and a depth of 120 fathoms found. The
ground was mud; the dredging-nets were full of sponges, polythalamias,
and so forth. Another on the 16th in 74° 38′ N.L. and 14° 34′ W.L.,
at noon gave 100 fathoms; the ground was brown slime. In the evening
several attempts were made with the dredge. The first brought up a
beautiful sponge, in the cavities of which were many fine and beautiful
amphipoda; besides a great deal of sand and fine slime, in which by
sifting we found countless bivalves and snails, (_Terebratulæ_,
_Serpulariæ_); and some beautiful polythalamias, &c. A second and
third attempt was followed by no result.”
It freezes visibly, and the fresh ice uniting the floes is already so
thick that it can bear a man. “We remained,” says Dr. Laube, “with
every sail set between the great, thick ice-packs, having advanced upon
the whole three ship’s-lengths westward. In the evening we distinctly
saw land towering above the ice; the refraction showing us a solid
barrier to the north. To the east the ice lies just as thickly packed.
Two-thirds of the way happily lay behind us, but the last third seemed
to be beset by insurmountable difficulties. To what purpose was all
our labour? I thought of those at home, who only admit imaginary
difficulties in the ice, and who, perhaps, doubt our good will, our
self-sacrifice, and our sincere endeavours. I did not go to rest that
night with the best and quietest of thoughts. We were in the ice, but
whether or how we should ever come out again, God only knew.”
Several photographs of the ship were taken from the neighbouring floes
by the first officer, Mr. Hildebrandt. The frost and the reflection
of the ice were very troublesome, but some succeeded very well.
Unfortunately, this trouble was also in vain. Neither the apparatus nor
the plates could be saved at the going down of the Hansa. On the 20th,
fifty nautical miles from the coast, two small land-birds were seen
picking up food on the ice.
The boat journey to the longed-for land was undertaken by the captain,
the second officer, and two sailors, as well as Dr. Laube. “We sailed,”
says the latter in his diary, “at two o’clock, and made a rapid course
through a long, wide canal. The vessel was soon lost to sight, as the
floes were very high. The ice-field along which the Hansa lay, was
nearly four miles long. Passing through a cross channel, we came into
some more open water, so that at five o’clock we were about seven to
eight nautical miles distant from the ship, and consequently so many
miles nearer land. We lay to by a large floe, and from its top looked
around us. The ice before us was ‘Pack-ice.’ We saw the islands of
Pendulum and Sabine surrounded by a streak of light which we took for
open coast water.[14]
“We spread our oilskin coats on the floe, encamped there, and made our
cocoa, enjoyed the fine sunny day, and rejoiced over the glimpse of
land. We then crossed another and a larger tract of ice, and climbed
a wall which rose straight out of the water. On this, our farthest
point, we planted the flag. As we noticed that the ice was once more
in motion, from the fact that the small harbour in which our boat
lay was entirely filled up, we resolved to return. The home journey
was considerably more difficult than the outward one; the canal was
closed up, and it was not easy to find the right opening. We were
often obliged to get out and survey from some high spot; and often
to push the boat over the ice. As the wind had quite dropped we were
compelled to row. In some places the fresh ice prevented us from making
any way; and after sunset a dense fog rose, which might in so far
be disagreeable, as to compel us to pass the night on the floe. We,
however, eventually succeeded in reaching the Hansa, which we had left
in open water, and now found jammed between two hummocks, so that we
could scarcely get near her. But we at least brought the hope with us
that it was not impossible to reach the coast.”
The 25th of August was the captain’s birthday, and was kept by firing a
gun, the hoisting of the ship’s flag, and a huge cake, made with great
art by our cook. At breakfast, the hero of the _fête_ found upon
his plate a pretty poem by Dr. Laube, in which the good wishes of all
were heartily expressed. A part of our community amused themselves by
skating. On the afternoon of the 29th we saw a magnificent phenomenon.
Two coloured coronas formed round the sun, in which were conspicuous,
by their greater brightness, three spots. One stood vertically over
the sun, and was the spring of an arch, which touched one corona, and
the convex side of which was turned to the sun. This was not really
a _mock sun_, like those on each side, but a concentration of
brightness at the point of contact of the two bows, thus giving the
impression that it stood across the vertical spot. The two side mock
suns, to the right and left of the sun, were united by an elliptical
arch, passing through it, and were elongated, presenting the colours of
the rainbow, and emitting a bright steel-grey pyramid or cone. The red
colour spread over the sun.
Marine animal life was strikingly poor near the coast. _Cydippe_ and
_Beroë_ were not rare, but on the other hand gammarus and amphipoda,
which we noticed on the outer ice boundary, were quite wanting. On the
15th of August the dredge brought up some very fine _Comatulæ_ and
_Antedon Sarsii_. _Larus eburneus_, the ivory gull, was often fed from
the ship, and caught by angling. Some birds we let fly again, with a
brass coin with “Hansa” upon it fastened round their throats. At the
beginning of September _Mergulus alle_ was common. We often saw ravens.
The hunting-expeditions from the 10th of August to the blockading of
the ship yielded nine seals, amongst which were two crested seals, and
one young polar bear.
Sunday, August 29th: steadily drifting forward in a southerly
direction. Of land we shall soon see nothing more, and the ice is so
dense on all sides that it is in vain to look for an opening even from
the crow’s-nest. Our position is growing every moment more serious; but
in case of the worst, the boats are completely fitted and victualled,
on the deck, so that at a moment’s notice they can be lowered.
CHAPTER V.
FROM THE BLOCKING UP OF THE HANSA TO OUR SETTLEMENT
ON THE FLOE. 7TH SEPT. TO END OF OCT.
Fresh attempt to reach the coast.--Open water to westwards.--The
Hansa completely frozen in by Sept. 14th.--Pressure of the
floes against the ship.--A she-bear and her cub.--The bear
killed.--Wintering on the ice off the coast unavoidable.--Our
prospects for the future.--We build a house in which to
pass the winter.--The boats clear.--The Hansa in a struggle
with the ice.--Breaking up of the keel.--The ship has to be
abandoned.--Extrication of the chief necessaries from the
ship.--First night in the Hansa-house on the floe.--Wreck
of the Hansa.--Favourable weather during the period of the
catastrophe.--Sinking of the wreck.--Completion of the
arrangements in our hut.--Hoisting of the North German flag.--We
steadily drift to the southwards.
On the 7th of September the hope of reaching the coast fluttered
once more in our breasts. In the afternoon, with clear weather and a
temperature of 20° Fahr., the coast-line was clearly to be seen about
thirty-five nautical miles distant. To the west of the ice-field,
on the east side of which the Hansa lay blocked up, could be seen a
large, open, navigable, white-crested water which seemed to reach to
the coast. We took an excursion over the ice-field along the southern
border towards the west, in order to ascertain whether the channel
there was navigable all the way through, so that by means of it we
might reach the open water. Wading through deep and superficially
frozen snow, we reached a high block of ice, which we named the
“Devil’s Thumb,” from the top of which a wider view could be obtained.
Sitting astride or lying on this, we refreshed the inner man with a
little “caraways,” which Bade had brought with him as a strengthener.
Two other colossal masses of ice, between which lay a picturesque
narrow pass, we called the “Brandenburg Gate.” One of them we succeeded
in climbing, by mounting on one another’s shoulders and then cutting
steps with a knife in the ice wall. Hildebrandt sketched the little
scene. Unfortunately the channel proved too narrow to admit the vessel
and soon the ice in it and on the other side of the field set firmer
together. The next day we had frosty weather, 23° to 5° Fahr., and
on the 14th of September, the Hansa was completely frozen up in 73°
25·7′ N.L., and 18° 39·5′ W.L. The south-westerly drift combined with
the continual wind blowing from the north drove the ship in the ice
steadily southwards, so that from the 12th to the 14th (for example) we
had drifted thirteen nautical miles to the south.
[Illustration: THE DEVIL’S THUMB.]
[Illustration: THE “BRANDENBURG GATE.”]
On the 9th, a large floe drifted into the mouth of the bay in which the
Hansa lay. This we made fast with hawsers, in order to protect us from
the floating ice. Some days later, a storm from the N.N.E. broke the
hawsers and set the floe drifting once more. The ice thrust our ship
into the field, at the same time raising the Hansa a foot and a half.
On a neighbouring field we saw a she-bear with her cub. A boat at once
put off to hunt them.
[Illustration: HUNTING THE POLAR BEAR.]
The pair soon espied us, and tramped to the edge of the ice near the
boat, the old one gnashing her teeth and licking her chaps. We fired as
soon as we could take a steady aim, and the bear fell dead in the snow.
Over the young one, which remained by her side licking and caressing
her in the most affecting way, we repeatedly cast a noose, which,
however, it always eluded, and at last ran away howling and lamenting;
so we lost it in spite of a shot which wounded it.
[Illustration: POLAR BEAR AS A WATCHDOG.]
[Illustration: ICE-FORMATIONS.]
[Illustration: SKATING ON “SINAI.”]
At ten p.m. we saw in a westerly direction towards the south some
gleams of the northern lights. They were short, bright, glittering
sheaves and phosphorescent spots, which lengthened out towards the
zenith, but soon disappeared. At the same time, we heard the young bear
howling dismally on the spot where its mother had been killed. The
fresh bear’s-meat came most opportunely, and tasted excellent either
as a roast joint or in chops. On the 12th, from the east as before,
leaving the land behind them, came another couple of bears. The old one
met the same fate as her forerunner; the young one was caught, escaped
again, was brought back swimming, and lastly chained to the ice-anchor.
It was very frightened, but eagerly devoured its mother’s flesh which
we threw to it. We built it a snow-house, and offered it a couch of
shavings, which, however, the young bear, as a genuine inhabitant of
the Arctic seas, despised, and preferred camping in the snow. Some days
later, it had disappeared, together with the chain, which must have
become loosened from the anchor. From the weight of the iron alone the
poor creature must soon have sunk. Other Arctic guests visited the
Hansa. With a brisk wind came two white foxes from the coast close to
the ship, a certain proof that the ice, either in fields or young
ice, must extend to the coast. With tails high in the air they shot
over the ice-fields like small craft sailing before the wind. For the
first moment it seemed as if the wind had caught up a couple of large
semicircles of whitish yellow paper, and was wafting them along. One
of the creatures was shot from on board by Mr. Hildebrandt, and the
next day gave us a very well-flavoured joint of fox. The idle time we
did our best to fill up with all sorts of occupations. In the course
of frequent walks, we observed the forms which the ice assumed, and
some particularly strange and striking ones we gave names to. A short
half-hour’s walk from the ship lay “Sinai,” an ice mass thirty-nine
feet high, composed of fragments and mighty blocks, and the highest
jagged point of which looked in the distance like the finger of an
outspread hand; then somewhat farther on stood the already mentioned
“Brandenburg Gate,” two pieces of ice standing near each other like a
gateway fifteen feet thick and twenty high; and lastly, between some
neighbouring floes, the “Devil’s Thumb.” We managed to skate on the
rough ice, and in fine weather we strengthened our constitution by
gymnastic games. The men, for example, amused themselves thoroughly
with ball-play; which in twenty-seven degrees of cold and bright
sunshine covered their foreheads with beads of perspiration. You should
have seen our carpenter, how light-footed he ran with his fur cap over
his ears, his great thick jacket, and coarse heavy boots!
Towards the end of September, the necessity of wintering on the
floating ice off the coast, with or without the ship, was decided upon;
and the serious question forced itself upon us, as to what chances
we had to count upon in our favour, or how to prepare against the
possibility which lay before us that with the ship, though possibly
under many dangers, we might drift southwards, and in February emerge
from the ice not far from Iceland. Certainly, the experience of many
former Greenland captains, who had got on to the ice on the Greenland
coast, told us that their vessels had gone to the bottom, and the
men had been sometimes lost, and sometimes saved in the boats, after
frightful difficulties and dangers, by reaching an Esquimaux settlement
on the south-west coast. In Lindeman’s “Arctic Fishery” (p. 37), for
example, it is related that this happened in the year 1777 to several
ships; amongst others, the Wilhelmine; from Texel. On the other side,
there floated before our eyes the equally dangerous circumstances
of the journey carried out by the Fox, blocked up in the ice under
MacClintock, as well as Kane’s first voyage. Our ship was provided with
every improvement which could make an Arctic expedition in the present
day less dangerous than formerly. It would have been unwise on our
part to rest content with these facts; indeed, in the second part of
September, the more frequent pressure of the ice warned us that we must
prepare for the worst, namely the loss of the ship.
[Illustration:
_Page 102._
ICE-FORMATIONS.]
A winter passed in the boats on the ice with only sail-roofs was
conceivable; but apparently, both in regard of health and life, it
would be in the highest degree dangerous. How protect oneself from the
storms, the cold, and the increasing down-whirling masses of snow,
which sometimes last for weeks together? How provide the indispensable
warm nourishment? The erection of a winter-house on the ice must be
taken into consideration. Immediately the building of the aforesaid
coal-house was clamoured for. Bricks were already there in the shape
of coal-tiles, an excellent building material, which would absorb
the damp and keep the warmth in the room. Water and snow formed the
mortar. For the roof, in case of a real settlement on the ice-field on
account of the loss of the ship, we purposed taking the snow roofing
of the deck of the Hansa. Before anything else was done the boats were
cleared out, and two of them, the Hope and the Bismarck, covered with
the snow roof. For each of these, provisions were kept ready on deck.
Captain Hegemann sketched the plan for the building. The length was 20
feet, the breadth 14 feet, and the height 6½ feet in the gable, the
side walls being only 4 feet 8 inches high. A firm spot, free from any
fracture, was chosen about 450 paces from the ship; and we had no cause
to fear that the floe might soon break from friction with any other
drifting ice-field. Had the house been a greater distance from the
ship, the difficulty of bringing up the heavy materials would have been
greater, and thus have retarded the progress of the building. The work
began on the 27th of September with the foundations, which here were
more ready to hand than on land. With snow-axes and ballast-shovels we
then cleared away from the firm mass of ice about a foot and a half of
snow. We had intended to raise the walls with a double row of stones;
but unfortunately had overrated our stock, and were therefore obliged
to economize, and only use the 9-inch broad stones up to about two
feet, and after that lay them singly. A brook which we had dug in the
ice hard by, and which gave us the sweetest of water, also afforded
the most excellent cement. Whilst wall-building on land has to be
given up in frosty weather, our building on the contrary progressed
the more rapidly. We only needed to strew finely-powdered snow between
the grooves and cracks, pour water upon it, and in ten minutes all was
frozen to a strong compact mass, from which one single stone would with
difficulty have been extracted! The roof, for the present, was composed
of sail-cloth and some matting, which had by chance been left on the
Hansa after her last West Indian voyage. (This was made of reeds, and
was laid down in the cabin when company was expected.) The rafters
were made out of the spars and staves of tubs; the first-named were
laid crossways upon the latter. On this framework the sail-cloth and
matting were nailed; and in order to give this somewhat airy building
more solidity and firmness, snow was thrown upon the top. A double
door two feet and a half wide we made on board; the floor we filled
in with coal blocks; and thus in seven days, namely on the 3rd of
October, we began to provide the finished house with provisions for two
months--about 400 lbs. of bread, two dozen tins of preserved meat, a
side of bacon, some coffee and brandy; afterwards fuel, and some boxes
of coal. At the same time the plank roofing, in case of wintering on
board, was erected. This wooden roof, covered with felt, rested on the
one side on the mast and on the other on the bulwarks. It reached from
the mainmast to the after part of the ship. Amidships and to the fore,
sails were stretched. The whole work was favoured by fine weather and a
medium temperature of 20° to 9° Fahr.
On the 7th the young ice broke in front of us once more. The men were
just busy sweeping the excellent skating-ground which they had found
there, when a peculiar rustling and a violent movement of the thick
ice betokened a storm from the north. Immediately it bulged and burst,
forcing up each floe on its edge. This breaking up, heaving, and
pressing, lasted about an hour, during which we watched it from the
safe observatory of our field.
[Illustration:
_Page 105._
THE LIVERPOOL COAST.]
On the 8th of October, shortly after the completion of the coal-house,
such bad weather set in, with drifting snow, that would have made
the continuation of it perfectly impossible, and in five days have
completely destroyed both house and ship. On the middle and after part
of the deck such drifts of snow had collected that it was difficult
to get from the cabin to the lodging. The young ice surrounding the
Hansa was so heavily laden with the snowfall, that it gave way,
loosening itself from the ship, and causing the sea-water to penetrate
between the ice and the snow. At the same time it blew violently from
the north; the thermometer stood at 9½° Fahr., and suddenly the wind
with a rushing noise hurled the ship over to starboard, so that, owing
to the impossibility of seeing farther than a few paces, we feared
lest she might be driven from the field. The ropes were therefore with
much trouble made fast to the ice-anchor, a work which took all the
men more than an hour to accomplish. By the 13th, the storm had spent
itself; it was once more clear, quiet weather, and we found ourselves
sixteen nautical miles north-east from the Liverpool coast. It looked
like a steep, jagged mountain chain, sparingly covered with snow.
Greater quantities only appeared in the valleys and ravines. We could
distinctly see the northern point, Cape Gladstone, and the outlying
islands of Murray and Reynolds, as also a great part of the far distant
southerly-stretching coast, which, according to the astronomical
observations of the 14th to the 15th, lies in reality ten nautical
miles more to the south than is given on Scoresby’s chart. The drift
current on those days, from the 5th to the 14th of October, was very
powerful. In this time we left seventy-two nautical miles behind us
to south-south-west. The nights were remarkably cold, sometimes 4° F.
below zero. The only sign of animal life was the frequent appearance of
ravens (_Corvus corax_) in the neighbourhood of the ship, which
doubtless were wintering on the coast. Once we saw a gull and a falcon;
and now and then we were made aware of the proximity of narwahls in
the frozen channel by their blowing.
On the 17th, in clear weather, three men, the carpenter Böwe, and the
sailors Büttner and Heyne, undertook to reach the land, which was about
ten nautical miles distant. They started at seven in the morning in a
calm and 0° Fahr. After crossing many dangerous places in the young
ice, some fields lay before them, over which they pressed forward to
within four nautical miles from land. After three hours’ wandering,
however, they had to halt, as a strip of water two nautical miles
broad, and about the same breadth of land-ice running along the coast,
blocked their way. At one o’clock, with a north wind and drifting snow,
they started back to the ship, where we were already uneasy about them.
On the 18th of October early, again clear and still frosty weather; but
already at half-past eight a.m. the ice began to thrust and press round
the ship. This unpleasant noise lasted until the afternoon. At regular
intervals underneath, the ice, like a succession of waves, groaned and
cracked, squashed and puffed; now sounding like the banging of doors,
now like many human voices raised one against the other, and lastly,
like a drag on the wheel of a railway engine. The evident immediate
cause of this crushing was that our field had turned in drifting, and
was now pressed closer to the coast-ice. The two floes of ice lying
before the vessel received the hardest pressure, so that for a time
the Hansa was spared, though trembling violently. The masts often
swayed so much that it seemed as though some one was climbing them.
At the same time our field sustained long and deep fissures, by which
the whale-boat seemed so endangered, that we thought it necessary for
its safety to bring it alongside the ship. Towards evening the weather
cleared again; but our fear that this day was only a forerunner of
worse proved itself on the following day too well grounded. We were,
however, busy with preparations for either case, viz., the wintering
in the coal-house, supposing the ship should be lost, or remaining
on board the ship itself. The store in the house was augmented by a
barrel of bread and fuel (particularly wood); our fur clothing was
rolled together and taken on deck from the winter lodging, where it
had previously lain with other articles. This was soon to be used
after fitting up our still missing berths. On moving the provisions,
numbers of rats were found which had not yet deserted the ship. We
little thought how much our preservation depended upon the fact that
the following day the provisions had not yet been moved to their
destination, the summer lodging, which had again to be emptied. By the
evening the pressure had ceased; the air was quiet, but not clear;
around the full moon, which cast a troubled uncertain light upon the
fields and icebergs, a halo had formed; and in the cabin, as well as in
the lodging, we sought to divert ourselves by playing at cards.
The morning of the 19th dawned, foretelling mischief with a N.N.W.
storm of snow[15] and ice pressure. The air was gloomy and thick, and
the coast, which was a little more than four miles distant, not to be
seen. The first heavy pressure followed at ten a.m., though not before
noon did our position become serious. At this time, the constantly
nearing, piled-up masses of young ice (about four feet thick) had
broken up on the starboard side of the vessel, and pressed heavily on
the outer side. The fore part of the ship rose somewhat, and would have
risen more, had not the high ice-blocks prevented it; it had therefore
to bear the whole weight of the pressure. A trial of the pumps in the
meantime showed that she was still water-tight. Shortly before one
o’clock, the deck-seams amidship sprang, but still she seemed tight.
After this strong pressure followed a short pause, which we employed
in taking our mid-day meal on deck. Below it was very uncomfortable.
But soon some mighty blocks of ice pushed themselves under the bow of
the vessel, and although they were crushed by it, they forced it up,
slowly at first, then quicker, until it was raised 17 feet out of its
former position upon the ice. This movement we tried to ease as much
as possible by shovelling away the ice and snow from the larboard
side. The rising of the ship was an extraordinary and awful, yet
splendid spectacle, of which the whole crew were witnesses from the
ice. In all haste the clothing, nautical instruments, journals, and
cards were taken over the landing-bridge. The after part of the ship,
unfortunately, would not rise; and therefore the stern-post had to bear
the most frightful pressure, and the conviction that the ship must soon
break up forced itself upon our minds.
[Illustration:
_Page 108._
THE HANSA IN DISTRESS.]
About five o’clock there was again a pause in the pressure of the
ice-floes, and the raised ice retreated, so that in the course of an
hour the ship, lying on her starboard side, glided into more open
water. The hawsers, which had been cast loose, so as not to stop her
from rising, were again made fast; after which we went to the pumps,
and found that there were seventeen inches of water in the hold. We
set them working at once, and about seven o’clock had the pleasure of
finding them run more slowly. We now allowed ourselves time for our
evening meal, for we might entertain the hope that, in spite of the
frightful pressure she had sustained, our ship was not very leaky. But
in a quarter of an hour’s time, we found to our terror, that there
was again two feet of water in the pumps. Even admitting that part of
this water had penetrated slowly from the after part, the ship must be
dreadfully leaky. Again we set to work at the pumps, determined to do
all in our power to rid our vessel of the water. A half-hour’s work,
however, showed that all exertions were vain; the depth of the water
in the cabin was increasing steadily, though slowly. The most careful
investigation of the ship, however, did not reveal the position of the
leak. In vain did both captain and steersman listen for the sound of
water dripping. Evidently this was taking place at some part of the
ship’s bottom, under the coal. Besides the leak in the stern-post, the
keel must have sustained a fracture; perhaps even the ship’s sides near
the floor-heads had been forced in. Enough! the fate of the Hansa was
sealed; our good ship must go to the bottom! Calmly, though much moved,
we faced this hard fact. The house of coal on the southward drifting
ice-fields was destined now to be, through the long Arctic winter, our
only place of refuge--perhaps too, our grave! There was not a minute’s
time to be lost. The work went steadily forward. By nine p.m. the fall
of snow had ceased; a clear, starry heaven shone down upon us, and
the moon shed her light over the dreary ice-field. Now and again the
northern lights shot upwards in ever-changing colours. At the same time
it was freezing sharply, the thermometer marking in the night -13° F.
One half of the men stayed by the pumps; the others were busily engaged
until midnight, in bringing the most necessary articles from the vessel
on to the floe. “As to sleep,” writes Dr. Buchholz in his day-book,
“that was not to be thought of, as the idea of our dreadful position
was whirling through my head in the wildest manner. What would become
of us when winter really set in, if it already announced its approach
with such bitter cold? In vain did I try to think of any means of
preservation. An attempt to reach the land could not be entertained
for a moment. It might be possible to make our way through great
dangers over the floes and fields to the coast; but at the uttermost
we could only provide ourselves with nourishment for a few days.
Esquimaux settlements, according to Scoresby’s experience, were not to
be expected; so that the idea of dying of hunger seemed very near us.
There remained, then, nothing for it, but to try and hold out in the
coal-hut on the southward-drifting field. If it held together, we might
hope to reach a South Greenland Esquimaux settlement in the spring, or
(which was very unlikely) get across the icy belt to Iceland.”
One great evil with the pumps was, that the water streaming on the deck
could not, owing to the uneven position of the vessel, run off through
the scuppers, which were filled up with ice; and thus it froze between
the provision-chests. Soon the whole of the after-deck was full of
ice; the water which was pumped up stood round the pumps, and the men
who worked them had to stand in tubs in order to keep dry. To make
a way for it to escape, we had to make holes in the bulwarks; though
without any particular result, as from the intense cold the water came
out quite in a half-frozen state. At the same time the ice settled so
over the cabin skylight, that the water penetrated through the chinks.
The night allowed our exhausted men some hours of refreshing sleep;
then all gladly drained a cup of hot coffee, and set to work again.
But the catastrophe was near! At eight a.m. the men who were busy in
the fore-peak getting out firewood came with anxious faces, with the
news that the wood was already floating below. When the captain had
ascertained the truth of this intelligence, he ordered the pumping to
cease. It was evident that the ship was sinking, and that it must be
abandoned.
The first thing to be done was to bring all necessary and useful
things from the ’tween decks on to the ice; bedding, clothing, more
provisions, and coal. Silently were all the heavy chests and barrels
pushed over the hatchway. First comes the weighty iron galley, then
the two stoves are happily hoisted over; their possession ensures us
the enjoyment of warm food, the heating of our coal-house, and other
matters indispensable for a wintering on the floe. At three o’clock,
the water in the cabin had reached the table, and all movable articles
were floating. The fear that we should not have enough fuel made us
grasp at every loose piece of wood and throw it on to the ice. The
sinking of the vessel was now almost imperceptible, it must have found
support on a tongue of ice or some promontory of our field. There was
still a small medicine chest, and a few other things, which, in our
future position, would be great treasures,--such as the cabin-lamp,
books, cigars, boxes of games, &c. The snow-roof, too, and the sails
were brought on to the ice; but still all necessary work was not yet
accomplished. Round about the ship lay a chaotic mass of heterogeneous
articles, and groups of feeble rats struggling with death, and
trembling with the cold! All articles, for greater safety, must be
conveyed over a fissure to about thirty paces farther inland. The
galley we at once took on a sledge to the house, as we should want it
to give us warm coffee in the evening. We then looked after the sailor
Max Schmidt, who was suffering from frost bite, and brought him on
planks under the fur covering to the coal-house. By nine a.m. all were
in the new asylum, which was lit by the cabin-lamp, and looked like
a dreary tomb. Pleased with the completion of our heavy day’s work,
though full of trouble for the future, we prepared our couch. A number
of planks were laid upon the ground, and sail-cloth spread over them.
Upon these we lay down, rolled in our furs. A man remained to watch
the stove, as the temperature in the room had risen from 2° Fahr, to
27½° F. It was a hard, cold bed; but sleep soon fell upon our weary
over-worked limbs. On the morning of the 21st we went again to the ship
to get more fuel. The coal-hole was, however, under water. We therefore
chopped down the masts, and hauled them, with the whole of the tackle,
on to the ice, a work which took us nearly the whole day. At eleven,
the foremast fell; at three, the mainmast followed, and now the Hansa
really looked a complete, comfortless wreck. For the last time, the
captain and steersman went on deck, and about six o’clock loosed the
ropes, which, by means of the ice-anchor, held the ship to the field,
as we feared that our floe, which bore all our treasures, being so
near the sinking vessel, might break. All, even the two scientific men,
were instinctively bent on the means for our preservation, so that the
collections, contained in bottles, boxes, and chests, as well as the
photographic apparatus, together with all the finished photographs
belonging to the first officer, Mr. Hildebrandt, were sacrificed! This
loss often troubled us; but from the great difficulty of transport on
the boat journey in the spring, we must have left the greater part
behind. Our work of self-preservation was wonderfully favoured by the
weather; for from the evening of the 19th to the 20th it was calm and
clear. On the night of the 21st to the 22nd, the wreck sank in 70° 52´
N. Lat. and 21° W. Long. about six miles from the Liverpool coast. We
distinctly saw its cliffs and mountains, which, according to Dr. Laube,
resembled the Chalky Alps near Munich. We recognized Halloway Bay
and Glasgow Island, but nowhere a way through the icy labyrinth! The
jolly-boat, King William, stood loose upon the deck; so that, by the
sinking of the Hansa, it remained above water, and as the weather was
still fine, we drew this third means of preservation on to the ice near
the coal-house.
[Illustration:
_Page 112._
WRECK OF THE HANSA.]
The next few days we set zealously to work to make our black house
somewhat more habitable. The increased heat of the house caused the
sail-cloth roof to leak, from the quantity of snow lying upon it, and
we therefore passed a bad night. We rectified that, however, by a
plank roofing covered with more sail-cloth. In order to satisfy our
urgent need for light and air, we made a dormer-window in the roof, and
later on a second. In spite of all this, we could not do without the
light of the lamp for the greater part of the day. Along the whole
length on both sides of the room, we raised a bed of boards to sleep
upon, and laid the sacks of straw upon it. It was six inches above the
floor, and we then put boards down the middle. To prevent the pillows
from freezing to the wall, we had to make a wooden lining along that
part. The cooking-stove had its place behind, a smaller one stood
more forward. Along the walls, which were covered with sail-cloth,
shelves were placed, on which we laid our books, instruments, and
cooking vessels. The ship’s chests at the foot of the sleeping places
along the passage, served both as tables and stools. The gilt-framed
looking-glass from the cabin adorned the back wall, underneath which
hung a costly barometer, and the accustomed ticking of the clock was to
be heard. By all these orderly arrangements, the comfort of our stay
in the coal-house would be greatly enhanced. A healthy sleep refreshed
us more than anything else; and, thanks to our excellent preserves, we
could strengthen ourselves with the meat soup which the cook prepared.
The dread of immediate danger to life had departed; we breathed more
freely, we felt once more at liberty, and even remembered many comical
scenes from our experiences on the 19th, with laughter and joking. In
the evening we had the usual whist, and as we had no table, played on a
volume of the ship’s journal.
[Illustration: GROUND-PLAN OF THE “HANSA” HOUSE.]
[Illustration:
_Page 115._
THE HANSA HOUSE ON THE FLOE.]
The greater part of the provisions and fuel, together with the boats,
lay not far from the shipwreck. These were conveyed up for the most
part on sledges, and took several days to accomplish. All was then
stacked near the house. As the depth of snow reached up to the walls,
we dug a four-feet-broad walk round the house, covering it with
sail-cloth, and strewing the snow upon it to make it more solid. This
walk was our larder, and held nearly all our provisions; whilst the
remainder (enough for about two months) was carefully placed in the
boats. The small firewood which we chopped up from the masts and spars
was set up in piles; the boats, first in one place and then in another,
as after digging them out of the snow we had to put them in a more
sheltered spot.
The hatchway we put up to catch the wind before the door of the
coal-house. A man-rope served for descending into the house, so that
it was more like a fox’s hole with its roof scarcely rising above the
level of the snow than anything else.
The large flag was saved too. At the rear of the house, on a snow-hill,
we put up the topgallant mast as a flagstaff; and in fine weather
hoisted it for our pleasure as well as for the possible chance of
attracting the notice of any Esquimaux settlement on the coast.
At last, by degrees, order gained the upper hand. The confused heap
of individual belongings had each found their owner. The warming
arrangement was good, for in an atmospheric temperature of -13° Fahr.
we could in our hut, with the protection of the snow surrounding us,
get a warmth of 72½°. Often the firing necessary for preparing the
meals was sufficient also for heating; and therefore, to spare the
wood, we hardly ever used the second stove. The damp was remarkably
diminished, for it easily escaped through the dormer-window, which also
let in fresh air.
CHAPTER VI.
DRIFTING TO THE SOUTH. CHRISTMAS. A HARD JANUARY.
NOVEMBER, 1869, TO THE END OF JANUARY, 1870.
View of the coast.--Settling the daily order of our life on the
floe.--Good health of all.--Revolving of our ice-field.--We
come within four miles of the coast (Egede’s Land).--Christmas
festival.--An iceberg passes us.--Danger of the breaking up of
the floe.--Preparations for decamping.--Portions of the floe
destroyed.--The dangerous bay.--Coast scenery.--Impossibility
of reaching the coast.--The Arctic night.--Catastrophes of
the days 11th to 15th of January.--Destruction of the Hansa
house.--Escape in the boats, and passing the night in the
same.--Comfortless quarters.--Erection of new habitations.--In
the channel between Iceland and Greenland.--Snow-wall on the
floe.--Hope of reaching the settlements of West Greenland.
Slowly but steadily our ice-field drifted to the south. By the 3rd of
November we had passed the Liverpool coast, and had reached Scoresby’s
Sound, sometimes being near the firm land ice, and sometimes far from
it, a movement which would no doubt originate in the ebb and flow
off this large, deep sound. We could distinctly see the picturesque
formation of the rocky coast; and in two plains lying between two
rugged mountain-tops we thought we could distinguish glaciers covered
with snow. Since the ship had sunk fourteen days before, the ice had
closed in upon us, and even the blocks which had broken away from our
field had frozen to it again. Our eyes often rested with sorrow on
the spot where the Hansa went down. Now there was room enough for her
between the field and the land-ice!
At the end of October the sun rose at half-past nine a.m., and set
behind the rocky coast at three p.m. In the coal-house we could only
see to read and write under the dormer-windows for a few hours each
day. We grew more and more accustomed to the daily round of things,
which so much resembled that on board. The last night-watch woke us
at seven. We rose, threw on our woollen clothing, washed in melted
snow, and enjoyed our morning coffee with hard bread. Then we all
betook ourselves to the ever-plentiful stock of work; the finishing
of all sorts of useful and still wanting furniture, sail-sewing,
wood-chopping, replacing clothes from the clothes-store, keeping the
diaries, and study. In clear weather astronomical observations were
taken, and all necessary calculations recorded. At one we dined. Strong
meat-soup formed the substantial part of this meal; and as we were in
no want of preserved vegetables, we had plenty of changes prepared for
us. Of salt meat and bacon we eat little. Of all spirits we had to
be very sparing, only allowing ourselves one glass of strengthening
port-wine on Sundays. Our state of health all through the winter
was good. Except the sailor Schmidt’s attack of fever when the ship
went down, which was soon over, and a frost-bitten toe of the sailor
Büttner, we had no sickness or other bodily discomfort. We were always
actively employed, and daily order and regularity were rigidly kept up.
Our floe was by degrees thoroughly investigated in every quarter. We
cleared roads, and set up marks for short tours. The mass of ice
was about seven nautical miles in circumference, and seemed in all
directions to have a diameter of about a little more than two miles.
An excellent picture of the monotony of the landscape which surrounded
us at the end of the year (end of December and January), can be formed
by imagining a uniform plain, or field, covered with snow. The term
“_field_” indicates the size of a connected floating mass of ice.
Smaller pieces are called “floes,” and still smaller ones “drifts.” The
ice-raft, on which (as Dr. Laube aptly remarked) “we were as the Lord’s
passengers,” drifting for months together between the sea and the
coast, was a solid field composed of these drifts and floes compacted
together. The average thickness of this was about five feet above the
water; a fact which, according to experience, would allow a submergence
of at least forty feet. Soundings from the edge of the ice were not
possible, as the line was lost in the shipwreck. The piled-up snow,
which was often eight feet high, had at this time, the beginning of
January, filled up every hole and crack on the field; so that, without
one single resting-point, the eye wandered over the wearying uniform
white desert. If we were at any distance from the hut, so deeply buried
in the snow, every visible sign had disappeared except the dark spot
or line of the chimney, the boats, and the staff with the fluttering
flag, which after every whirlwind of snow was again unfurled. Later
in the spring, when the greater part of our field had disappeared,
the plain looked, owing to the pushed-up pieces of ice and snow-wall,
almost like animated blocks of ice. Upon closer inspection these
“ramparts” seemed to be the fragments of the pushed-up walls of small
ice-masses, to which our field had been knitted by the frost. Here and
there were snow-mounds, which the change from thawing weather to frost
had almost turned into glaciers, forming a firm massive whole. The side
of our field lying to the west and north-west presented a wild and
discouraging view. The grating and pressing of the driving ice-floes
had there heaped up walls ten feet high, the snow-crystals glittering
in the sun like millions of diamonds. The morning and evening Aurora
turned the white flakes to pale green. The nights were beautifully
light, the light streaming downwards from the heavens; and the snow,
with its receptive and reflective powers glittered so radiantly, that
one could read the finest writing without trouble, and see far out
into the distance. Amongst other things, on such nights, we always
saw the Aurora borealis. As an instance, on the 5th of December, it
shone so intensely that the starlight waned, and objects on our field
cast shadows. The coast, according as it was near or far away, was
recognizable now as a dark streak of fog, and now as a rocky form in
all its details.
[Illustration: A SNOW SPHINX.]
Our settlement at the beginning of November, when we were not yet
snowed up, might be seen from the most distant point of our field. Near
the chief building lay two snow-houses, which served for washing and
drying ourselves. Boats, heaps of wood, barrels containing coals and
bacon, surrounded this heart of our colony.
To prevent the entrance of the snow and wind into our coal-house, we
built an entrance-hall with a winding path, and a roof constructed in
the same way as that of the house.
At the beginning of November we observed two strange natural phenomena.
We were about eight nautical miles from the Liverpool coast, when, as
we were walking along, a number of small willow-like leaves whirled
around us, which had evidently been carried from the land by the wind;
at another place the snow was, for a considerable distance, covered
with a red-stone dust. Dr. Laube thought it must be of volcanic origin,
and that it had been carried through the air from Iceland, which was
about 180 nautical miles distant.
In November, upon a neighbouring floe, separated from us by a small
piece of frozen water, we saw the shapeless body of a large walrus
lying motionless as a rock. The steersmen, Hildebrandt and Bade, with
some others, started for the chase as soon as the boat could be got
into the water, which was done with much trouble, they being obliged
to carry it for some distance over the young ice. Here, too, the
needle-gun proved its value, the ball passing through the monster’s
inch-thick hide. A few shots killed him, after being badly wounded, and
in a fury trying to smash the young ice on which the hunters stood, and
seize them when once in the water. The further moving of the colossal
carcass for our own purposes was, besides, no small matter. With the
united strength of ten men and the help of a powerful pulley, it was
several hours before we got the walrus out of the water on to the ice.
Skinning the specimen, too, was dreadfully difficult, for it soon froze
in a cold of -20° Fahr. to a hard, stony mass, over which we had no
power. Under the skin lay a coating three inches thick of fat, which
afforded us very acceptable fuel. The tongue was excellent; indeed,
amongst the whale-fishers of the Behring’s Straits, salted walrus
tongues are a favourite dish. Late that same evening a white bear, the
first of our winter campaign, was attracted to the house by the smell
of our walrus’ fat. Three shots greeted him, the effect of which could
not be seen until the following morning. About 100 yards distant lay
the bear, hit in the side by the bullet, as if asleep, though quite
dead, upon the snow. It was a fine, handsome beast; its well-developed
head lay upon its front paws; the red drops of blood stood sharply
out against the clean white snow: a gift from heaven in our present
position, as an addition of fresh meat was greatly to be desired.
The four hams, weighing 200 lbs., would form a delicate roast for a
succession of Sundays; at the same time that the skin was a further
protection for the still sometimes leaking roof. Some days later we had
another visit from master “Bruin.” As we left the house on the 23rd of
November, we noticed several traces of his presence; he had been at the
boat Bismarck, and standing on his hind feet had sniffed the provisions
lying there, when he had met with the misfortune of falling through
the tightly-spread, stiffly-frozen sail-cloth. Terrified by this from
the investigation of the contents of the boat, he had turned to the
house, at the entrance of which we found his marks. The brightness
of the lamp, always burning in the snow path, had then (we supposed)
frightened him.
In the beginning of November our drifting was considerable; from the
5th to the 13th of November it amounted daily to eight nautical miles;
from 70° N.L. and 21° W.L. to 69° 4·5′ N.L. and 22° 44′ W.L. At this
time the bright northern lights afforded us daily an agreeable matter
for conversation. The dazzling-coloured rays stretched perpendicularly
over the whole horizon, sometimes undulating like the folds of a giant
curtain set in motion by the wind. The down-shooting colours seemed to
touch our field, emitting such a blinding light that our shadows were
sharply defined, and the light of the stars greatly weakened. When,
as was oftentimes the case, the beautiful appearance was suddenly
manifested, it went slowly through different forms to the height of its
glory.
The rotatory motion of our field was, up to the 22nd of November,
rather slow, as from the 10th it had only turned once round. The
quicker drift-current had been more effectual in its working, and had
brought about this revolution in the short space of four days.
Moreover, until the beginning of January our ice-mass had experienced
no damage. On the 14th of November we passed in our southward journey
the most southerly point, according to Scoresby, of this stretch of
coast, Cape Barclay, lying in 69° 14′ N.L. and 24° 30′ W.L. From
this time to the most northerly point of Graah’s coast-journey, Cape
Dan, lying in 65° 37′ N.L. and 37° 20′ W.L., we saw an unknown land,
the so-called “Egede’s Land.” We succeeded at least in determining
some points of this coast, which we approached within four miles.
Unfortunately the very time we found ourselves nearest to it our lives
were in great danger, our ill fate following us here, and we were
obliged to allow the favourable moment for serving science to pass by
unheeded.
From the 2nd to the 4th of November we floated past Scoresby’s Sound.
The discoverer of this rather considerable Fjord relates that by the
strength of a submarine current icebergs are frequently driven from it.
And, indeed, whilst up to this time we had been unable to catch sight
of one, we saw on the 5th (after having evidently passed through the
current and out of the Sound, being about ten to fifteen nautical miles
from the coast some days later) for the first time a great iceberg in
the north-west towards Scoresby’s Sound, about four nautical miles from
us.
Icebergs are known to be broken portions of glaciers. That seen by us
was rather long but not high, allowing us to conclude that the original
had considerable breadth but no great height.
The temperature in November and December showed great variations:
6th November, -20° Fahr., fine weather with a west wind; 20th, 32°
Fahr. with driving snow to the south-west, and, later, fine rain;
evening of the 1st December, 32.2° Fahr.; 3rd December, 35° Fahr., our
snow-buildings began to thaw; 18th December, -20° Fahr. with a light
sou’-wester, and the lowest temperature we ever had, being then in 67½°
N.L.
On the 16th of December, we greeted a white Arctic fox as a messenger
from land. Its appearance was indisputable evidence that the ice
reached to the coast. The fox, white with a black-tipped tail, was
particularly confiding, even bold. He scratched up the bear’s flesh
buried in the snow, and had carried it off to eat as we approached him.
He then quite unconstrainedly took a walk on the roof of our house,
and through the small window convinced himself as to what was going on
within. Should we shoot it? No! It was a long time since we had seen
such a fearless creature. At times we placed nets with a meat-bait
to teaze him; but he always managed to get clear of them at the
right time. November and December passed without anything particular
happening. On the 13th of December strong northern lights. On the
18th the full moon and spring tide occurred, and with them, the usual
ice pressure which, in the night of the 20th to the 21st, destroyed
“Sinai,” the locality of one of our walks. On the afternoon of the 6th,
a small white bear showed himself near our house. We fired, and it fled
over the young ice, leaving traces of blood behind it.
Thus we had passed the shortest day without any serious danger.
Christmas, that beautiful domestic festival, drew near, and we felt
inclined, as we were all in good health, to keep it right festively in
the proper spirit. During the last few days we had had violent storms.
On Christmas Eve there was a heavy fall of snow which buried our house
so completely, that in the morning we could walk over the roof as over
a flat surface. In the night from the first to the second day of the
holiday, showers of rain fell, followed by a south-westerly breeze.
Then another whirlwind of snow. The mass of falling snow whirled over
the field by the rushing wind was so great, that in the open air we
could scarcely keep our eyes open, and in spite of our exertions, it
was impossible to keep the front of our house clear.
In the afternoon, whilst we went for a walk, the steersmen put up
the Christmas-tree; and on our return the lonely coal-hut shone with
wonderful brightness. Keeping Christmas on a Greenland floe! Made of
pinewood and birchbroom, the tree was artistically put together. For
the lights, Dr. Laube had saved some wax candles. Paper-chains and
home-baked gingerbread were not wanting. The men had made a knapsack
and a revolver case for the captain; we opened the leaden box of
Christmas gifts from Professor Hochstetter, and the other from the
Geological Reichsanstalt, which caused much merriment. Then we had a
glass of port-wine, and fell upon the old newspapers in the boxes, and
distributed the gifts, which consisted of small musical instruments,
such as whistles, Jew’s-harps, and trumpets, also little puppets and
games of roulette, cracker bonbons, &c. In the evening, chocolate and
gingerbread-nuts. “In quiet devotion” (says Dr. Laube in his day-book),
“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 are destined for a happy return home, the next will be a
brighter one; may God grant it!”
Early on the 26th, we were awoke by a shout from the sailor on the
watch. We were drifting to land! an island straight ahead of us! Amid
universal consternation, all rushed out. The air was not clear, but
about three nautical miles distant we could distinguish a dark mass,
which looked like an island. The steersmen went somewhat in advance to
reconnoitre the distance, and the nature of the appearance. The mass
gave no indication whatever, and we soon made out that what we saw was
an enormous iceberg. The next day we passed the drifting mass, moving
much slower than our field, and soon lost sight of it. Saint Sylvester
we kept up exactly as they do at home, with salvos of fire-arms and
punch; and at midnight we did not forget mutual good wishes for the
“New Year,” with the loud clink of the glasses.
These good wishes, so often nothing but a polite formula, came here
from the heart. Wonderful as our preservation in great dangers had been
up to this time, we each felt how greatly we needed God’s support for
the future, in strength, endurance, and health.
The new year, at 16° Fahr., brought us the first clear, fine weather we
had had for a long while. The land between north-east and south-west,
was beautifully in sight; high sharp mountains and small glaciers. In
the west-sou’-west we saw the dark outline of an island, the position
of which was about 66° 14′ N.L. and 33° 45, W.L. as near as could be
determined. The 2nd of January brought frightfully bad weather; storm
from the northnor’-east and continual driving snow at 16° to 14° Fahr.
In the morning, we thought we heard a peculiar rustling noise as if
some one was shuffling his feet on the floor; but as it was soon over
we took no further notice. In the afternoon, as we were resting after
dinner, we suddenly heard the same rustle, but much louder. It was a
scraping, blustering, crackling, sawing, grating, and jarring sound, as
if some unhappy ghost was wandering under our floe. Perplexed we all
jumped up, and went out; we thought that our store-house had fallen in.
Some of the sailors going in front with the lamp carefully searched
the path to it. But in whatever direction the light fell on the
sparkling and glittering ice-walls, we saw nothing. Immovable hung the
rigid icicles often a foot long; evidently nothing was amiss here. We
rummaged in the snow-path before the house. Although completely snowed
up (indeed, the whole house was buried more than a foot deep in ice),
we all rushed out, but of course we could not see more than ten steps,
nor hear anything but the howling of the storm. Still, between whiles,
we could detect the same rubbing and grinding. For a change, we laid
ourselves flat down with our ears to the floor, and could then hear a
rustling like the singing of ice when closely jammed, and as if water
was running under our great floe. There could be no doubt but that it
stood in great danger of being smashed to pieces, either from drifting
over sunken rocks and bursting up, or breaking against the ice border;
perhaps both at once.
We packed our furs, and filled our knapsacks with provisions. Our
position, if the floe should be destroyed, seemed hopeless. Certainly
ropes were fastened from the house to the boats lying about fifteen
steps from us, so that, in case of a catastrophe, we might be able
to reach them. But the driving snow was so terrible, that we could
not have moved them from the spot, and we should no doubt, soon have
sunk in the depths. At eight, we set a sharp watch of two men in the
pathway. The remainder stretched themselves on the sacks to sleep, as
the unearthly rustling was no longer heard. It was a long, stormy,
fearful night, allowing no one to sleep. At nine the longed-for
twilight appeared and an hour later the wind abated a little. Some of
us went out in the direction of the quay; for thus we had christened
the spot, 500 steps from the house, where the sunken Hansa lay. They
there found a new wall of ice, and recognized to their horror that this
wall was now the boundary of our floe, whilst on all sides of it large
pieces had been broken off, and rose in dark shapeless masses out of
the drifted snow. The bad weather lasted with undiminished violence
till two in the afternoon. On the morning of the 4th of January it had
completely worn itself out; the air was clear, and allowed an open view
over the ice-field to the coast. Our floe had lost considerably in
circumference, and changed its round form into a long one. The diameter
which before was two nautical miles, was now at the utmost but one. On
three sides, our house was only 200 steps from the edge of the floe.
On the fourth it was about 1000 where before it had been 3000. The
distance to the coast amounted to scarcely two nautical miles. Besides
the island seen on the 1st of January, we caught a glimpse of several
others with different pyramidically rising cliffs in the north-west. We
named them the “New Year’s Islands,” as we had seen the first on the
1st of January. They lay near the east cape of a deep bay which, from
the never-to-be-forgotten danger we had passed through, we christened
“Bay of Horrors.” In the background rose snow-covered mountains,
which by the rising sun were lit up with a beautiful Alpine glow, and
here and there in the bay were small glaciers visible. The extreme
land to the south-west stood out as a steep cape, which we called
Cape Buchholz; another to the west (Hildebrandt) was close to us,
only two nautical miles off; that is the nearest land. We thus found
ourselves in the mouth of the bay. After the dangers gone through, and
as our ice-raft seemed to afford us less security than formerly, it
was proposed that we should make an attempt to get to the coast with
the boats, and sufficient provisions, so as to have some prospect of
reaching the inhabited part of Greenland, the south-westerly side, in
the mild time of year. But unfortunately, we found that we could get no
further than the edge of our field. Short broken fragments succeeded,
so covered over with snow, that one could see neither the gaps or
crevasses. To get to the coast from here seemed impracticable, and, as
before, our ice-field was our only means of deliverance.
The following days were pretty good. We got the boats out of the snow,
dug out the firewood, and made swimming jackets and snow-shoes out of
cork, to prevent ourselves sinking up to the hips as we used to do.
As we had already observed, and it now was confirmed, the pressing
and the quick drifting of the ice depended on the spring-tides, which
happen here from ten to fifteen hours after the new and full moon.
On the 8th of January, we once more obtained an observation for
position, and found we were in 66° 47·2′ N.L., and 34° 1·5′ W.L.,
so that from the 27th of December, that is in twelve days, we had
travelled 52½ nautical miles south-west to west three-quarter west. As
we lay almost still in the bay, great and small icebergs floated out to
sea coming from the north, on the highway from East Greenland to the
south.
On the 9th of January one of the sailors writes thus in his day-book:--
“Thursday, 9th of January, 1870. Northern Hotel.
“The weather in the past night was calm and clear. The moon
shone brilliantly; the northern lights and the stars glittered
upon the dead beauty of a landscape of ice and snow. Listening
at night, a strange, clear-sounding tone strikes the ear, then
again a sound as of some one drawing near with slow and measured
steps. We listen--who is it? All still! not a breath stirring!
Once more it sounds like a lamentation or a groan. It is the
ice; and now it is still, still as the grave, and from the pale
glance of the moon the ghastly-outlined coast is seen, from
which the giant rocks are looking over to us. Ice, rocks, and
thousands of glittering stars. O thou wonderfully ghost-like
night of the north!”
The days from the 11th to the 15th of January were destined to bring
us new horrors. On the 11th, heavy storm from the north-east with
driving snow. 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 again 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 temp. of -9½°, and a heavy storm, was an arduous piece of
work. The community were divided into two parts. We bade each other
good-bye 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 a 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 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.
On the 12th and 13th, the weather was good. The boats, now that the
masts and sails were thrown out, so that we could move them more
easily, were put in order, and the snow shovelled up. On the 12th,
we were able to ascertain our latitude by a lunar altitude. We found
ourselves in 65° 50·7′ N.L., so that in four days we had drifted
fifty-six miles southward.
[Illustration:
_Page 132._
ICEBERGS.]
[Illustration:
_Page 133._
BIVOUAC IN BOATS.]
It was on the evening of the 14th of January, at ten o’clock; outside
blew a frightful storm; the watch came in with news that the ice was
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. The cold was -9½° Fahr. Real sleep, at
least in the boat, was not to be thought of; it was but a confused,
unquiet, half-slumber, which overpowered us from utter weariness, and
our limbs quivered convulsively as we lay packed like herrings in our
furs. The cook had, in spite of all, found energy enough in the morning
to make the coffee in the house, and never had the delicious drink
awakened more exhausted creatures to life. The bad weather raged the
whole day. We lay in the boat, half in water, half in snow, shivering
with the frost, and wet to the skin. We also passed the night of the
15th to the 16th, in the same comfortless position, and only on the
morning of the 16th did the weather begin to mend, allowing us to
leave the shelter of our asylum.
At four in the morning, the second officer, to whom a longer stay in
the boat was painful, caught sight of a star, and with a thankful
heart brought us news of the good sign. The driving snow had not quite
left off, but one could at least take breath. Our first steps were
directed to the boat King William, which lay on the other side of the
half-foot-broad fissure running through the house. It was brought to
the flagstaff near the two other boats, which were fast frozen in,
in spite of all the storm. We provided this conveyance with a roof
of boards, covered with sail-cloth, and six of the men made it their
sleeping apartment, whilst the house was cleared from the snow.
For five nights we slept in the boats. The days to the 19th were
employed, it being tolerable weather, in raising our settlement from
its ruins, and laying the foundations of a necessary and satisfactory
abode. Soon a wooden kitchen was built. A new dwelling-house, exactly
like the one destroyed, but only half as big (14 feet long, 10 broad,
6½ high in the middle), was built, with all requisite arrangements,
store room, wooden beds, stove and window, and so on. Unfortunately the
first night we moved in being stormy weather, the roof flew off; the
inside was at once filled with snow, and we had to migrate to the boats
once more. The mischief was repaired on the following day. As there
was only sleeping room in our new house for six men, the rest from
this time had to sleep in the boats. Throughout all the discomfort,
want, hardship, danger of all kinds, the frame of mind among the men
was good, undaunted, and exalted. The cook kept a right seamanlike
humour, even in the most critical moments. As long as he had tobacco
he made no trouble of anything. On the 3rd of January, during the
frightful pressure of the ice which destroyed our floe, and threatened
every minute to sink our house, the cook happened to be repairing the
coffee-kettle. “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.”
Toilet and cleanliness have long since become uncertain ideas with
us. Washing is a luxury, which at the uttermost we can only allow
ourselves twice a week, and which the scientific men have quite given
up. The coal-walls of our house, smoke from the lamp, and dust from
the stove have so blackened us, that we might be taken for some of the
choicest Esquimaux. Hair and beard were intact from the time we left
Bremen. Weeks have passed since the clothes have left our bodies. The
temperature in the first three weeks of the new year, so pregnant with
interest for us, may on the whole be thus characterized:--that, with
northerly and north-easterly winds, which were generally accompanied
by violently drifting snow, it was tolerably mild, between 23° F. and
9° F., whilst the few clear days with a south and west wind brought
us zero and 6° below. One of the weightiest causes of the powerful
ice-pressure we had undergone, seemed to be, together with the
temporary influence of the spring-tides, the fact that at this time we
were in the narrow sea-passage between Iceland and Greenland, where
the ice, carried on by the current (chiefly on account of the numerous
prominent capes on the east coast of Greenland), must necessarily be
pressed close. This movement, in its greatest strength, reached as far
as Cape Dan, where the coast falls considerably backwards to the west;
and on the east the boundary of Iceland recedes, thus causing the ice
stoppage to cease. Later we met, farther southward from Cape Dan, a
whole chain of icebergs drifting in a southerly direction. These had
evidently been affected by the advance of successive masses of ice.
On the 23rd, we could distinguish a hawk and a raven which flew over
us, greeting them as messengers of our return to life. A remarkable
phenomenon appeared about the end of January, in the snow-walls which
rose around our floe. During the calm, the floating ice had become
loosened, and the fissures and openings had been filled up with snow
as fine as sand, in gigantic masses “like sheaves;” and when, on the
25th, another close pressure of the ice began, the masses of snow rose
in walls of from twenty to twenty-five feet high, changing the whole
face of our settlement into that of a ravine. Of course, these snow
enclosures were but of short duration; they broke up on the 1st of
February, as soon as the spring-tide set the ice once more in motion,
and soon melted quite away. On this occasion, a piece of our floe,
which had been divided by a great fissure, broke off and drifted
slowly away. We could then pretty well estimate the strength of it, as
the water was very transparent, and the shining ice was perceptible
at thirty to thirty-five feet deep. So we might hope, unless another
crisis overtook us, that our floe’s firmness might last until it
brought us into a latitude from which, by the boat, we might be able to
reach the nearest West Greenland settlement.
CHAPTER VII.
POST NUBILA PHŒBUS. ABANDONMENT OF THE FLOE AND BOAT
JOURNEY TO THE ISLAND OF ILLUIDLEK. FEB. TO JUNE 4,
1870.[16]
A Fox near the Hansa-house.--Rapid drift of our floe.--Open
water westwards.--Changed aspect of the coast.--A family of
seals.--Numerous glaciers on the coast.--Threatened danger from
an iceberg.--In the latitude of Nukarbik.--Linnets.--Carpenter
attacked by scurvy.--Keeping Easter Festival.--Considerable
advance of our floe in its southward drift.--Attractive
aspect of the coast.--The Puisortok glacier.--Walruses.--Bird
life.--Open water in the direction of land.--Determination
to quit the floe and take to the boats.--Preparations
therefor.--Departure.--Storm from the north.--Huge appetites
and scanty rations.--Excessive heat.--A fly.--Dragging
the boats towards the coast.--Excursion to the island
of Illuidlek.--Difficulty in dragging the boats over
the ice.--Anniversary of our departure from Bremen
harbour.--Prospects for the future.--Great exertions to
escape.--Landing on the island of Illuidlek on 4th June.
On the 1st of February we caught a glimpse of some seals, the first
we had seen for a long time; also a raven, and some various kinds of
sea-gulls. The former came from the land, the latter from the sea. One
morning, too, a fox appeared before our house. He stayed many days, and
became so bold at last, that he would fetch the meat which had been
thrown from the galley, and allow himself to be stroked. The creature
caused us much fun. It never entered our heads to capture him.
At four p.m. we passed Cape Dan, but the coast was too far distant for
us to discern its outline distinctly.
For the next few days we drifted at the speed of one nautical mile an
hour, passing numerous huge icebergs, some more than 100 feet high,
without receiving any injury to our floe. Before such a mountain the
currents of course divided, the water rushing on either side. With
this current our floe regularly went from twenty to twenty-five paces
either to the right or left of the monster, and thus happily passed it.
Bade and Hildebrandt made an attempt to climb one of these icebergs,
but under ever increasing difficulties only succeeded in getting half
way up. “Then the smooth, white walls rose so steep, that we might
just as well have tried to climb the bare outer wall of a church
tower.” Fragments of the mighty glaciers of Greenland forced out to sea
“calves” of the same, these icebergs resemble huge basaltic rocks in
all shades of white and blue.
On the 6th of February, according to our reckoning, we ought to be near
Dan Island. As, however, we could not see it, we naturally concluded
that it had no existence, and that the marking of it on Graah’s chart
must rest upon the fact that, icebergs being so numerous here, they
must have mistaken one for an island.
[Illustration: ICEBERG WITH REFRACTION NEAR CAPE LÖWENÖRN.]
February passed quietly; the weather throughout was fine. Floating
ice and icebergs, which were more numerous than ever, left our floe
undiminished; we supplemented many of our arrangements, and above all
gained more confidence in our future. With regard to our possessions
and effects, we have become very indifferent. The most costly books are
torn up for the most trifling purposes. The gilded frame of our cabin
looking-glass has long since been used as firewood, and the glass
thrown on one side. Streams of petroleum and brandy flow in the course
of heating the stove; packets of tobacco furnish a welcome means of
warmth. Why is gunpowder of no use to us? We like letting it off in
fireworks for our pleasure, and to pass away the time! Only one event,
which happened about the beginning of March, grieved us sadly; our
Dr. Buchholz, who until now had shown himself courageous and resolute
in all moments of danger, became melancholy, and a nervous disorder
developed itself, which he never lost until he returned home. Of course
we did all we could for him; but our position on the floe, and later
in the boats, without medical advice, was of that kind that we were
unable to follow up any means of cure whatever.
Middle of February, in 64° 40′ N.L., and about twenty nautical miles
from land, we saw, in a westerly direction, and running parallel with
the coast for about eight nautical miles, a strip of open water. It
was evidently of considerable breadth, and seemed to reach nearly to
the land, for with a westerly wind came up a strong swell. With an
east wind, on the contrary, it remained calm; and we might therefore
conclude that towards the east the ice lay densely packed. The coast
landscape has become less wild; it looks as though people might be
living there. The sun, which now stands seventeen degrees high on the
meridian, begins to have some power. It begins to feel quite like
summer. Off with the furs, and the cramped up sleeves! the men now go
about with bare throats and chests.
Beautiful northern lights brighten the night. Like the leaves of a fan
or a flower, the sheaves of light unroll themselves over the heavens.
Its pole seems to lie exactly over our house.
March brought abundant snow, and gave us but few cheerful days. Once
we drifted within a short distance of a small iceberg about sixty feet
high, on the top plateau of which we could see a seal family. The
wife had evidently in this retirement made her lying-in bed; At four
p.m. on the distant horizon, owing to the glistening ice-blink, the
“Kolberger-Heide” glacier became visible twenty-five nautical miles
from us. On approaching it we could see from there, as far down as Cape
Moesting, one uninterrupted row of glaciers, which seemed to reach down
to the sea. The intervening towering rocks were about 3000 feet high.
In the neighbourhood were countless icebergs, some of which were fast
to the ground. We passed through the middle of them; and on the 19th,
drifting swiftly along within six nautical miles from land, we nearly
ran on to one. When, however, we were within twenty-five paces from the
monster, the ice-current stopped, and for three hours we lay completely
still. Then the ice loosened once more, and the journey began quicker
than before. A collision, perhaps the total destruction of our floe,
seemed imminent; for twenty minutes we were in the greatest danger,
and looked on at the grand spectacle with breathless attention. The
nearest part of the berg was a firm, connected mass. Farther on its
build, under the combined influence of sun and water, had been worn
into magnificent cliffs and gateways. On the south side was an aperture
which seemed broad and high enough to hold a ship as large as the
Hansa. As we came nearer the mass, we suddenly saw directly above
us numerous points and jagged spikes; one projecting angle indeed
we could grasp. “We are lost!” such was the thought of each of us.
But--wonderful! our floe was unshaken; it did not even graze it. Small
pieces of floating ice which surrounded it served both as “fender” and
protector to our raft from this fatal collision. The berg once behind
us, we drifted for some time in open water, which had collected itself
here as in the wake of a ship.
On the 18th of March, in latitude 64° 2′, we took our longitude. By the
chronometer it was 40° 44′ W. According to the Coast Survey, however,
it was 40° O′ W. So that the land on Graah’s chart is carried 44′ too
far to the east.
On the 29th of March, to our great joy, we found ourselves in the
latitude of Nukarbik. Was it on this island that Graah wintered from
the 3rd of September, 1829, to the 5th of April, 1830; and where his
troublesome and dangerous boat journey to the north was broken off? We
had long nourished the hope of starting from here on a boat voyage to
Friedrichsthal, the most southerly settlement on the western coast,
though the ice lay so thick that two sailors asked permission to go
on land. Fortunately the captain refused his consent; for a few hours
later a change set in, which would have rendered it fearfully difficult
for the men to have reached us again. On the evening of the 29th of
March we thought we saw a fire on shore, and conjectured that it came
from an Esquimaux settlement. We therefore sent up some rockets, and
the next day hoisted our flag; but eventually we saw nothing but some
snow-buntings and ravens. The latter came regularly every morning from
the land to the sea, and returned at sunset. In the Bight of Nukarbik
we had an unwilling stay of four weeks. We found ourselves two to
three nautical miles from land. Whilst farther out the ice drifted
southward without interruption, our floe tacked now to the south, now
to the north. This was caused by the course of the current which ran
close under the coast. The wind did not affect it, for we sometimes
drove right against it. The coast is here deeply indented by three
important Fjords. At the flood these land openings exert great strength
of attraction, and our floe neared them. The ebb drew us back again;
the next tide renewed the forward motion, and thus for weeks together
we were the sport of the currents. At this time the spring flood of
the 3rd of April passed over without any remarkable effect. The 12th
being a bright day, the opportunity presented itself of observing the
ebb and tide. We lay near an iceberg, which measured 120 feet high, was
estimated at 180 in breadth and 200 in length. From ten a.m. until four
p.m. the current set us slowly towards an iceberg surrounded by a strip
of water, sometimes so near that we tried to push ourselves from it by
poles. During this time we observed that the flood had risen two feet
to the easily discernible high-water mark on the berg. At four p.m.
the water again began to sink, and we floated back. We could hear the
hissing and thundering of the ice floes falling after the ebb headlong
from the banks. Small flights of linnets and snow-buntings visited us.
We threw them some oat-groats, which they greedily devoured; at the
same time being so tame, that we could catch them with the hand. In the
middle of April a slight attack of scurvy attacked one of our men, the
carpenter, whose leg was much swollen. We applied some simple remedies,
made him take plenty of exercise, and he was soon restored.
The Easter Festival fell at the time we lay floating backwards and
forwards in the Bay of Nukarbik. We spent it cheerfully, in health,
and full of hope of eventual preservation out of all danger and want;
to us it was indeed a real Resurrection Festival. Had we not often
had death before our eyes in its most threatening form? Nature, too,
began to show signs of approaching spring; the air was considerably
milder, the lowest temperature in the night 23° Fahr.; in the sunshine,
which we often enjoyed while stretched upon the sails of the boats,
the thermometer rose to 54½° Fahr. On the first festival day (17th
of April) we had a good meal, preserved meat made into soup, ham,
kidney beans, peas, and a bottle of sherry, which we had carefully
kept until this day. On the second, we were to be released from our
unwelcome position between the steep reddish-brown retreating cliffs
of Cape Moltke and the low island of Nukarbik. A storm from the north
gave to the motion of our floe a seaward direction, and we once more
floated southward. The next three weeks brought us a long way forward,
for this part of our voyage began on the 18th in 63° 30′ N.L., and on
the 6th of May we found ourselves in 61° 4′, almost in the latitude
of Bergen. During this stage, as speedy as it was free from danger,
the evolutions of the ice-floes afforded us much interest, and our
spirits rose immensely. The coast, with its many branching mountain
chains, which on the southern side were mostly free from snow, its
Fjords, creeks, islands, and capes formed a highly pleasing prospect.
Grand was the appearance of the “Puisortok” glacier, a mighty ice-field
extending thirty nautical miles along the coast, from which protruded
the yellowish rocky masses of Cape Steen Bille. On the 25th, we saw a
seal, lying on a floe, whilst from the land a bear with stealthy steps
was nearing it; but the seal soon detected the threatened danger, and
quickly disappeared. Linnets and snow-buntings are no longer rare.
Fearless and confiding, these small birds seem to like the approach of
men. “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.”
Still no open water! During the first days of May it rained heavily;
the snow melting, the path to our house became a ruin; its roof leaked
like a sieve, and the house itself, which formerly stood in a valley,
was now upon a hill! We were obliged to prop it up. From the continued
thaw a heap of things came to light which we thought were lost. Among
them was the carpenter’s chest.
Even on the 6th of May we had no idea that we should be able to leave
our floe on the following day, much less meet with all sorts of
provisions, which would be useful to our frail settlement destined to
destruction. After the continued rain of the last few days, we broke
up the remainder of the snow-path round the house entirely, and tried
to give additional firmness to our falling dwelling with the laths and
supports which were thereby set at liberty. These we drove into the
floe on the outer side of the house, and bound together high above it
with ropes, so that it was thoroughly laced in. Between these supports
and the house wall we stuffed sail-cloth to keep out the draught and
rain. The galley, which was fastened to the flagstaff, had lost its
bottom through the thaw, and slanted sideways in the air. We loosened
it from this aimless connexion and stood it once more on the snow.
[Illustration: AN ICEBERG.]
[Illustration: HUNTING THE POLAR BEAR.]
On the morning of the 7th we were agreeably surprised to see open
water in the direction of land. A stiff south-easter had cleared the
sky during the night, and in the grey morning the watch heard through
the fog a rushing and roaring sound, which could be nothing but the
sea. The thought had now to be seriously entertained as to whether the
time had not come for our release from the floe. And it had come. Wind
and weather remained favourable. The strip of water in the south-west
came nearer and nearer, the wind separating masses of small floes
and driving them northwards. At half-past twelve the captain, after
having uninterruptedly observed the ice and the weather for some time,
decided, with the agreement of all the officers, that according to his
opinion, the moment had come when they should leave the floe and try to
save themselves by reaching the coast in the boats. But he did not wish
to bear the entire responsibility of such an important step, believing
that if the abandonment of the floe and the taking to the boats were
decided upon with unanimous consent, or at least with that of the
majority of his comrades, their prospect of ultimate preservation
would be greatly enhanced by increased individual exertions. How well
founded this opinion was, time would prove. It was also found that
this day’s observations gave a latitude of 61° 12′; more northerly
than that of yesterday, as on the 6th we were in 61° 4′. This view of
the captain’s therefore received unlimited approbation, Dr. Laube only
showing some hesitation, which was overruled. Our decision stood firm.
After a hasty mid-day meal we at once began to clear the boats. This
was troublesome work. First we took out all the provisions, clothing,
sails, masts, oars, instruments, and so forth, so that the boats
might be hauled empty over three floes; and the whole of the contents
were carried after them, partly on sledges and partly on the back,
and they were again reladen. In feverish haste and impatience this
work was accomplished, and in three hours all was ready. We took one
last thankful look at our faithful floe; through numerous dangers and
calamities, from the region of terror and death, it had borne us here
in 200 days, into a more hospitable latitude; and now filled with fresh
courage we might hope for a speedy release.
[Illustration: THE BOAT BISMARCK.]
It was about four p.m. as with three hearty cheers we set sail.
The community were divided amongst the boats in the following
manner:--The whale-boat, which was commanded by Captain Hegemann,
took the two scientific men, the cook, and the sailors Philipp Heine
and Bernhard Gätjen. The boat Bismarck was commanded by the first
officer, Hildebrandt; under him were the two sailors Paul Tilly and
Heinrich Büttner. The large boat King William was commanded by the
second officer, Bade; and the carpenter, Wilhelm Böwe, Fritz Kewell,
Max Schmidt, and Conrad Gierke constituted the crew. We sailed until
nine p.m., at first slowly, but after we had stowed away better, more
rapidly; so that upon hauling the boat up on a floe, we had left seven
nautical miles behind us. This hauling up was a hard bit of work. After
finding a low spot and first emptying the boat, we lifted it on to the
floe by swinging it backwards and forwards, and then when it came up
the third time, with a strong pull at the painter a part was raised on
to the ice, and afterwards the whole was hauled up. The provisions and
other equipments of each boat were stacked up close by, and covered
over with the oilskin. The missing sail-roof of the boat King William
had to be replaced by the insufficient protection afforded by the
boat-sail. Some hours sped by at this work. The evening meal consisted
of hard bread and coffee, which the men prepared in the boats by means
of the spirit-lamp. At length, at half-past twelve, we laid down on
our furs to sleep; and at half-past five the next morning, we got
up again. Sailing in a westerly direction brought us to within four
nautical miles from the land. At twelve at noon, however, the ice was
so dense that we were obliged to pull up at a floe. On this piece of
ice, drifting slowly southward, we rested in our boats until five p.m.
The sun’s warm rays did us good, but they also produced that painful
evil, snow-blindness. Besides which, from the constant looking-out
against the wind for the chance of seeing the entrance to a channel,
the eyes were so affected that they could not bear the blinding white
of the light upon the glistening ice-fields. First a great weariness is
felt, and then a burning in the eye, which soon mounts to unbearable
pain. The eye waters violently, and the head is affected. There is
then little else to do but to wait patiently, and fasten a cloth over
the eyes to keep out every ray of light. After one and a half to two
days the suffering is over, but one must be careful of a relapse.
This sickness shows itself in many different forms. Some people
suffer often and most violently from it, others only find their eyes
slightly affected. Later, we tried to guard ourselves by making the
green shading-glasses of the telescope into snow-spectacles. By this
sensible improvised help, and others which we found, we were able to
provide each with this, for an Arctic voyage, most necessary article.
Our sailing journey, which at first was through dense ice, had brought
us by the evening one and a half nautical miles nearer, when suddenly
there fell a calm, and the floes before us had packed themselves into
an impenetrable mass. The above-described work of hauling up the boats
exhausted our strength again considerably; and after enjoying some
coffee and bread, we fell into a deep sleep, dead tired. Bad weather,
fall of snow and storm, kept us fixed six days more to the floe. The
temperature changed from 36½° Fahr. by day, to 21° Fahr. by night.
[Illustration: AN ICEBERG.]
Yesterday, the 10th of May, in the afternoon, we played our usual game
at whist in the whale-boat. Our boat-sail (that belonging to the King
William), which serves as a roof during the night, from its lightness
and transparency keeps but little of the wet off; the rain has dropped
gently upon us for now nearly twenty-four hours, as from the rose of
a watering-pot. The other boats are better off in this respect, as
they have oil-cloth sail coverings. The day ended, Mr. Hildebrandt
and his people came to us in the large boat, for company and also for
any alcohol and provisions that we could spare, with which we were
better provided. There were therefore eight men to feed in the large
boat. In the morning we boiled a kettle of coffee, and ate a piece of
dry bread with it. The mid-day meal consisted of a portion of soup,
and the meat boiled in it. In the evening a drink of cocoa refreshed
us, of course without either milk or sugar. We had to be economical
with our provisions; for if we had to lie quiet much longer, hunger
would knock sharper at the door. Our appetite is extraordinary, but
easily accounted for, as the diet of fresh meat and fat, which is
indispensable to this climate, had to be sparingly weighed out in
scales which we manufactured for the occasion. The store of bacon is
reckoned at 6 lbs. per head; besides which, there are two hams.
At last, on the 14th, the bad weather broke up, the ice opened towards
the evening for a short distance southwards, and we rowed to an
iceberg; when, however, close under its walls, the cold was so intense
that we tried to row round it. As we could not succeed, we retreated
as fast as possible from this uncomfortable neighbour; and that just
at the right time, for the open water closed behind us once more, and
again we saw ourselves condemned to another five days’ existence on the
floe. Our latitude was 61° 1′.
[Illustration: THE LOOK-OUT.]
[Illustration:
_Page 155._
DRAGGING THE BOATS TO THE ILLUIDLEK ISLAND.]
“Up to yesterday morning, 29th of May” (so it runs in the pilot Bade’s
day-book), “uninterrupted storm from the north with snow; ice dense,
land not often discernible, temperature not under 32° Fahr., mostly
32.5° to 41° Fahr.; not moved from the spot; very wearisome; banished
to the boat, as we must not get wet. Each one passes the time as well
as he can. Mr. Hildebrandt makes sketches of our boats on and between
the ice; Fritz, as cook of the large boat, makes experiments on his
fire apparatus in order to insure the greatest economy; Konrad composes
poems; the carpenter relates Vegesack stories, and how as captain
of a gunboat he sailed by the help of a chart of the Mediterranean
from Bremen to Hull, and how by means of soundings he found himself
at Ramsgate; I studied Heine’s poems, or carved boats, and so on;
Max tried his hand at drawing. Yesterday it gave over snowing; we
reviewed our provisions and divided them equally. We have about 27
lbs. of bread per man, 5 lbs. of bacon, some coffee and cocoa, which
we hope will last us quite a month. Our appetite is boundless, and
the scanty rations to which we are restricted, prevent us from ever
feeling satisfied. I have made a small pair of scales, in which I
weigh the bread to my crew; the bacon I cut by my eye in pretty equal
pieces, which is then given out by call to the men. This is always an
exciting moment; all eyes brighten at the sight of the bacon, and a
piece of bread is looked upon as tenderly as the finest confection.
Fritz pretends to have discovered that one feels much more satisfied by
bolting the little one eats, and not biting it much: it seems to last
longer! We almost look our eyes out after a seal. Oil and fresh meat
would be a delicious addition to our provisions. It is a peculiar and
very mixed feeling, to think that in six weeks we shall have nothing to
eat; if then we have not reached the land, we must drop off one after
the other; but serious as is the thought, there are times when it seems
irresistibly comical. Of tobacco we have plenty, and a good portion
is consumed every day. Fritz is making himself a new pipe. To-day,
the 19th of May, is again lovely weather. Whilst I am writing this at
half-past nine a.m., the warmth is 72½° Fahr. The heat is oppressive,
the wind calm, the ice quite dense. In such weather it ought soon go
to pieces. With the telescope we can see the torrents falling from the
steep overhanging rocks on land; fresh water we find everywhere on the
floe. Melting the snow is, thank God, over now. Our health is good,
only Dr. Buchholz is still suffering. Our eyes have improved these
last few days by sparing their use. The temperature of the sea-water
is 31° Fahr., that of the fresh water on the floe 32° Fahr. At this
moment, I am hearing much astonishment expressed over a fly which has
settled on the sails; in reality, a welcome sign. The month of May is,
however, no month of delight to us here. Setting aside the mild
temperature and the brightness, it differs but little from January,
resembling it in the continued northern storms. Real nights we have now
no longer; the sun rises at three o’clock and sets shortly before nine;
the intermediate period is half twilight. The time must be near for
the birds to choose their quarters and lay their eggs. This east coast
of Greenland is, indeed, a dead, deserted neighbourhood; and one may
judge how difficult it is to get at, as, had our lives depended upon
it, we could not once have reached it with the boats.” As no change
took place in the position of the ice, we resolved to drag our boats to
the Island of Illuidlek, about three miles distant,[17] which we were
obliged to admit was hard work. We began on the evening of the 20th.
The tow-line which we had made for the purpose during the winter, was
made fast through the thole-holes; and we harnessed ourselves to it by
a band round the shoulders. Only 300 steps did we advance. Snow fell
plentifully, but soon turned to water, so that in our night-quarters
in the boat we suffered much from the damp. On the afternoon of the
21st, the weather cleared. The captain and Mr. Hildebrandt undertook a
ramble in the direction of land. They found the ice but little adapted
for our purpose, nothing but burst fragments, high towering floes, and
huge blocks; there were but few fields, and those not more than 100
paces in extent. It seemed almost impossible to pull the boats through
these labyrinths of ice to the land; and we were obliged to agree to
wait for the working of the spring-floods, which would take place in
a few days. The time seemed dreadfully long. Some sailors practised
wood-carving. We amused ourselves with the chess-board and carving the
pieces; Bade worked at a king in robes and crown; others turned to some
useful employment, such as twisting fishing-lines eighty fathoms long,
in the hope of hauling up a cod fish wherewith to enrich our pitiful
meals.
The 24th of May was glorious weather. The sun shone on us from a
cloudless sky, and where its rays fell the thermometer was 96° Fahr. It
was a welcome opportunity of drying our washing and clothes thoroughly,
which had been in a chronic state of wet, and we eagerly embraced it.
The boats, too, were laid open, and steamed under the heat of the sun.
All the men turned out. Mr. Bade, the purser, mindful of his duty, was
with some of the men hunting for something for dinner. But, alas! seals
would not show themselves, fishes would not take the bacon-bait, and
the stupid northern-divers were at all events clever enough to keep
beyond the reach of shot. A successful attempt to reach the Island of
Illuidlek, which was about three miles distant, and lay from 140 to
150 yards high, was made by Mr. Hildebrandt and the sailors Philipp
and Paul. After three hours’ exertion, at about one o’clock, they set
foot on firm ground. They were with us again by four o’clock. Their
return was quicker. In the sailor Heine’s day-book it says:--“The fine
weather has lasted. Mr. Hildebrandt, Paul, and I tried to get to land;
we succeeded with great difficulty. We ran more than we walked, and
sometimes sank deep in the snow. We perspired all over, and the water
ran into our boots, so that we had to empty them continually and wring
our stockings. The island showed no signs of vegetation, fell steep
and often perpendicularly down, and had many fissures and gaps. The
southern part seemed more accessible, but we had to hurry our return,
and were therefore obliged to give up further investigation.” Heine
further reports, as we were led to expect from Graah’s observations,
that a small strip of water ran along the land, formed by the torrents
falling from the coast. On this swam a few divers. They succeeded
in passing this water by standing on a floe, and by means of the
boat-hooks pushed themselves from one piece of ice to the other.
[Illustration:
_Page 157._
COAST TO THE SOUTH OF ILLUIDLEK.]
The desert, rocky Island of Illuidlek is about ten nautical miles
in circumference. They landed on the north-east side at a spot from
which, by the help of the boats, they could easily reach the south
coast, where we might hope to find protection from the wind and ice
drift. There also seemed a prospect of increasing our provisions by
hunting sea-birds. This, on the whole favourable report, was given in
the captain’s boat, in the presence of the officers and Dr. Laube, and
it served to strengthen our resolution to try with all our might for
a temporary refuge on this lonely island. No sooner said than done.
As the warmth of the sun was already very fatiguing when we were at
work, and as in addition to that most of us had not yet recovered from
snow-blindness, we agreed, weather permitting, to drag the boats by
night and rest by day. In this way we hoped to be on land in eight
days. Observations of the 24th of May gave 60° 59.8′ N.L.
Double altitude of the sun’s limb, 86° 25′ 40″. Chronometer, 12h.
21m. 15s. p.m.; reading of the chronometer, 13m. 30.6s., giving the
longitude 43° 10.1′ W. According to Graah’s chart, however, it should
be 42° 20′ W., resulting in an error in the latter of about 50m.[18] A
later comparison of our chronometer with that of the royal Danish brig
Constance, gave an error to us of--35.4s., whereby our longitudinal
observation would require nine minutes more. The first night with
great exertion we advanced 530 paces; seven a.m. fall of snow; rested
until eight p.m. Mr. Hildebrandt and Max had a severe attack of
snow-blindness, and were obliged to remain quiet in the boat while we
pulled it. We were doubtful whether it would not be better to leave the
heavy boat King William behind, but we still dragged it on with us, as
we hoped to find it of great use on our journey by water.
The 28th was a clear day. We were able to dry our things once more,
and find a path for our dragging the next night. By seven a.m. we had
gained 700 paces, when it again began to snow. Dragging is fearfully
tiring work, and makes but slow progress, particularly when the boats
have to be hauled now over high lumps of ice, now over places where the
water is only covered with loose snow, on which occasions it does not
give merely wet feet, but an entire bath. Dr. Laube is very fortunate
that way. I have but one pair of boots, which are so torn with the ice,
that the water runs unhindered in and out. Having once reached our
goal, stockings and shoes are off at once, and the naked feet put into
the fur sleeping-sack, where they soon get warm. Fortunately, each of
us has about three pairs of stockings to change; though in this damp
weather they dry badly, and often enough we can only wring them and put
them on again stone cold as they are. We have borne it well up to this
time, but I fear for the consequences. The temperature is seldom below
32° Fahr.
The 27th was Konrad’s birthday. To raise their spirits somewhat, I
gave my men a glass of sherry--a festive luxury in our poverty, as our
whole store consisted of one bottle of sherry and one of rum. That we
might sit dry, we borrowed the oilskin coats from the “Hope,” and hung
them up under our sail, which is very thin and lets the rain through,
so that we are much better off. The carpenter, thank God, is recovered
from his scurvy. Our neighbour, the iceberg, has also changed its form.
In the night one side of it fell with a thundering crash. When all is
quiet, we can hear from the land the splitting of the perpendicular
walls. The nights are light; real darkness we have none, and the
twilight, which breaks about twelve, resembles that of our own summer
evenings at half-past nine. Water for cooking and drinking we find
plentifully on the floe after the rain, and this is acceptable, as our
brandy would soon come to an end if we had to melt the snow. “To-day we
have been on our way with the boats twenty-one days, and to-day it is
exactly a year since I left home; what may have happened there since
then? Will the next news be sad or joyful? What have we accomplished in
this time? what endured? When shall we again see our beloved country?
We all naturally hope for a return.” (Bade’s day-book.)
The work is getting more difficult. First the boats have to be
emptied, and pulled to the spot where our next day’s rest is to be
taken, while we frequently have to go over walls of ice, the slipping
downwards being often more difficult than the pulling up. Then the
boats tip over in the snow, or get caught behind a piece of ice, when
it costs us untold trouble to get them free again. Then, again, we have
to go over rifts in the ice, and weary ourselves over places where it
has fallen in. When this difficult manœuvre is happily accomplished,
all the things must be put in again. At this work each has to carry
from 100 to 105 lbs. weight; and one can imagine that, as with this
burden we now sink deep into snow or snow-water, and now have to
climb over closely-packed fragments of floes, all that is not really
necessary is left behind. On the night of the 30th to the 31st of May,
we left the longest distance behind us yet accomplished, viz. 1200
paces. As we had drawn two boats to their destination, the captain,
who had been leading and energetic the whole night, and also active in
dragging the boats, fainted.
In all this galling work hunger tormented us; and if night gave us
sweet dreams of tables richly provided with food, on awaking, our
murmuring, grumbling stomachs soon brought us back to reality.
Beginning of June, uninterrupted storms from the north, and fall of
rain as from a bowl since the last three days and nights. Our bad,
thin sail can scarcely stand the drops which fall like lead upon
it. Truly we in the King William are not to be envied. Our rations,
too, are getting scantier than ever! As there is not even a distant
prospect of increasing our provisions, our meals are reduced to two in
twenty-four hours; and every morning at nine I give each a quarter of
a pound of bread and a small bit of bacon, and at six in the evening
the same weight of bread, and to all a half-ration of cold soup with
meat in it. In the morning we could still have a drink of coffee; but
in the evening cocoa only. Our brandy disappeared rapidly; if we did
not soon kill a seal, to supply oil for fuel, we should be obliged
to give up warm food. Thus one can imagine that we are plagued with
a continual and never-satisfied wolf’s craving. The bread-bag and
remainder of the bacon I have always by my side for safety’s sake. The
conversation turns upon nothing but eating. Max only wishes he was in
the Exchange Restaurant at Bremen; Konrad would be contented with a
juicy beefsteak with some eggs, and maintains that he could at once
demolish twenty-five eggs with one pound of butter and sixpennyworth of
bread; at the same time, the eye falls upon the clock and counts the
hours which must still pass before the scanty meal will recur.
And how quietly and devotedly is the meal then taken! how busy is each
trying to stifle the gnawing hunger, if only for a short time! If one
could only get rid of the burdensome feeling by sleep! But scarcely
does sleep come than the water leaks on to our faces, or one of the
coats on the roof glides from the edge of the boat, scattering the
whole of its watery contents upon us.
Konrad was quite sad this morning; in his sleep he had consumed a
portion of ham and some poached eggs one after the other, but on waking
felt so dreadfully hollow within. The wet cold air of 39° Fahr. in
the boat is very disagreeable; we shiver unceasingly. It is really
wonderful that we are so well, though we feel that our strength is
diminishing. When will open water, either to sail or row in, appear
before us? Shall we even now, after so many dangers and difficulties
overcome, be destined to a miserable end? Before yesterday the ice
pushed and got into motion, probably on account of the spring-tide and
the storm, but it packed itself closer than ever, and did not open
again. It is to be hoped we shall soon have better weather. We have
moved somewhat nearer the island, whether to our advantage or not we do
not know.
At length, on the 4th of June, we succeeded in landing on Illuidlek.
This day we dragged the boats 2000 paces in thirteen hours, and at
eight p.m. we were able to launch them.
CHAPTER VIII.
JOURNEY ALONG THE COAST OF GREENLAND FROM ILLUIDLEK
TO FRIEDRICHSTHAL. JUNE, 1870.[19]
Description of the Island.--Arrival in the Bay of “Hansa
Haven.”--Departure for Friedrichsthal.--Desert appearance of
the coast.--The cliffs near Cape Hvidtfeldt.--Vegetation and
landscape scenery.--Excursion to the Island of Sedlevik.--A
Swiss landscape in Greenland.--The Bay of Friedrichsthal.--Men
upon the shore.--The Moravian Mission-colony of
Friedrichsthal.--Dwelling-houses in Friedrichsthal.--Hospitable
reception.--The natives.--Preparations for returning
home.--Commercial dealings with Denmark.--Travelling in
Greenland.--The Esquimaux village.--East-Greenlander
frightened.--West-Greenlander.--Beer in Greenland.
The small Island of Illuidlek extends in its longer axis from
south-east to north-west. A dome-shaped, steep declivity to the
north-west, to the south-east a sloping mountain, form centres round
which cluster a crowd of wild rugged cliffs. A small strait separates
the island from the smaller Ivimiut lying before it, and Cape
Discord.[20] Inland extends a long chain of rocks, a very quickset
hedge, the innermost end of which forms a small low island, which we
took for that called Omenarsuk on Graah’s map. Naked and bare of all
vegetation, these grotesque rocks rise into the air. The inhabitants
of the island, a pair of lonely gulls, watched with evident curiosity
from a rift in the rocks the arrival of the strange visitors, and some
guillemots fluttered piping around the open water of the strait. It was
between the south-east point of the island, Cape Discord, and the small
Island of Ivimiut. About ten o’clock we lay in a bay protected from
the north wind, and surrounded by high rocks, which we called “Hansa
Haven.” Here we wished to pass the night, and had already brought our
things to shore with that intention, when the tide fell and our boat
grounded; we therefore left the bay at about twelve at night, pulling
up at a piece of ice lying not far from the land. It was now exactly
four weeks since our departure from the floe, which we had left with
such confident hope of reaching the neighbouring shore in a few days.
Whitsunday, glorious weather! Messrs. Hildebrandt and Bade went hunting
in the boat Bismarck. They brought home a small bag of twenty-two
divers, the flesh of which, prepared as a stew, provided us with two
excellent mid-day meals. This, however, only helped for the moment;
and we had, at the utmost, only provisions for fourteen days! The
hunters had been in the upper part of the island. They saw along the
southern coast a small strip of water. “Everywhere we find nothing but
bare barren cliffs, the higher the wilder, sparingly clothed with moss
and stunted willows. But no trace of human inhabitants!” Illuidlek,
where Graah fell in with some natives,[21] seems to have been long
uninhabited.
[Illustration:
_Page 164._
THE BOATS UNDER SAIL.]
On the second day, the 6th of June, we started again. Our aim
was Friedrichsthal, the nearest colony on the south-west coast of
Greenland. But we reckoned upon soon meeting one or the other of the
Esquimaux seal-boats searching the Fjord. We worked, pushing and
rowing laboriously, up the Kangerdleck Fjord, then struck straight
across, and rowed and cruised about from six o’clock, at which time the
ice loosened a little, until eleven in the evening, against a hard,
south-west wind. The Island of Omenarsuk scarcely rises 125 feet above
the sea, and yet on its north side shows a spot only a few square feet
in size, which is covered with fresh-water ice, and looks exactly
like a diminutive glacier. From its position it could not possibly be
an ice-block hurled there; besides, it was fresh water, ice from the
snow which had been frozen in the ravines of the island. This inland
ice-formation in such small masses against the neighbouring powerful
ice-current, is an interesting phenomenon. Some nautical miles from
the south point of the above-mentioned Fjord, which we christened
“Pfingstkap,” we hauled up the boats on to the firm, even coast ice.
The following sketch will explain the situation:--
[Illustration]
The next day, 7th June, was delightful weather. We sailed pleasantly
past “Pfingstkap,” the highest rocky point of which rises boldly in
the air, stretching along the steep coast southwards. Its aspect was
barren and dreary. The darkness of the rocks was broken here and there
by small strips of snow, reaching about half way up; some of which
looked grass-green from the scanty moss growing on the stones. On
a low island, which on Graah’s map bears the name of Kutek Island,
we took our mid-day meal. In the depths of the rocks we found some
beautifully-tasting water, and for once we drank as much as we wanted.
The rocks of Kutek Island must often have come in hard contact with the
ice drifting from the north; many places distinctly showed that they
had been polished by the ice and worn quite flat. On many rocks, which
were partly covered by the tide, lay the glistening blue fragments of
pieces washed up, and of crushed ice-floes. In the evening we hauled
up our boats five miles north of Cape Vallöe, for the first time on
the rocks of the continent of Greenland. For the first time, now that
we had no longer the crowding ice to fear, did we give ourselves
completely and quietly up to rest. The light of another bright sunshiny
dawn showed us some signs of vegetation inland. There were sorrel,
dandelion, and cinquefoil, which we sought for eagerly in the fissures
and rents of the rocky ground, and with which, with the help of some
pickle, we improvised a salad with the remainder of the divers; got
once more under sail, and in the evening had left twenty miles behind
us. Our quarters this night were close to the south end of Greenland
(60° 34′ N.L.), in front of the Fjord of Lindenow (marked by Graah
under the unpronounceable name of Kangerdlurksoeitsiak).
On the following day we passed the grandly-formed pyramidical Cape of
Hvidtfeldt (Kaningesekasik), more than a thousand feet high. Before
it lay a group of cliffs, at one of which we pulled up, in order to
find the best channel. On this occasion granite was found amongst
the rocks. Dr Laube reports:--“We pulled up to one of the rocks for a
short rest, and for our meal. It was a huge block of granite, and that
of the beautiful large grained kind, the pegmatite, which is known to
come from Siberia and other northern lands. Besides this, it contained
a great number of garnets and carnelians mixed up together; and from
its bosom the waves had washed a lovely block of rose quartz. I had
made no secret of the presence of sapphires and garnets, and so came
to grief through it, as we all wanted to capture a large sapphire.
Hammer and chisel, which I had always to borrow, as my case went
down with the Hansa, were scarcely to be obtained, and only with the
sacrifice of my daily meal did I at length succeed in quieting my
geologico-mineralogical mind by the acquisition of some fragments, when
we at once said good-bye to the rock and its treasures, and went on
our way. My mineralogico-geological mind! How often on the way did it
rise in an excitement of longing to get hold of this or that spot, to
climb up, and laden with stones return to the boat! but I must suppress
such longings. If, as is well known, one cannot study well upon a
full stomach, I can certify that a craving, gnawing stomach, does
not incline one to work. But, even had I overcome this, a half-hour
spent on such an excursion might have brought the lives of my waiting
companions into danger. For this I would not be responsible. So that I
only allowed my wishes to prevail when the occasion was warranted by
circumstances.”
The colour of the mountains, beginning from Cape Hvidtfeldt, was quite
different from those seen hitherto; they looked like melted copper.
That explains at once the brown colour so often borne by naked rocks;
it may also arise from the weather-beaten stratum of the peculiar
granite of which they are built.[22] The blue atmosphere, in which the
rocks rise, enhances the picturesque appearance of this richly-coloured
coast scenery.
The rocks lying almost under Kaningesekasik, are washed perfectly
round; they lie like giant ice-breakers, smooth and polished on all
sides. Waves and ice have done their work. These cupola and dome-shaped
rocks we now met constantly on our coasting journey; thousands of
them lay scattered along the mainland, a stony outwork against the
onward-pressing ice.
Our further voyage showed us a more pleasant landscape. To the north
of the promontory of Igalalik appeared, extending for some distance,
green tracts clothed with short grass. Unfortunately it was very foggy
weather, and the clusters of islands, amid which we were now steering
to find the entrance to Prince Christian Sound, caused us to miss this
mark. The weather had become bad, and the south-east wind setting
straight in on to shore drove us to seek protection in the first
suitable of the many opening bights. After sailing in it for some time,
the water became smoother; we were evidently in a strait, and that
the one we wanted, viz. Prince Christian Sound. Lazily we rowed until
two a.m. A flat piece of granite, sloping gently down to the water,
afforded us a capital resting-place. Soon the boats were placed in the
usual way, prepared as a tent couch.
More quietly than usual could we give ourselves up to sleep. The
southern point of Greenland was, we thought, happily reached; in a
few days we must be in Friedrichsthal. That horrible spectre which
had martyred us for a long four weeks, the prospect of starvation,
vanished; and we set valiantly to work upon the side of bacon and
the ham. One must not, however, think, says Dr. Laube, that, on
that account, we were careless of our provisions. Captain Hegemann
providently kept the bread basket somewhat high. It might still happen
that by the ice or some other hindrance we might be delayed, and with
our store of provisions have to prolong our lives for a longer time.
The long-missing feeling of satiety, and the joyful knowledge that soon
this lingering, troublesome work of deliverance would be successful,
helped to put us in the happiest frame of mind. It was already late
in the morning, when the voice of the careful cook awoke us out of a
refreshing sleep with the cry of ‘Schaffen! schaffen!’[23]
“The next thing was to try, if possible, to ascertain our exact
position; the further journey was, therefore, put off until after
the mid-day rest. When the accustomed morning toilette had been gone
through (a brook leaping from the mountains gave an opportunity for a
thorough cleansing), I employed the time in climbing the overhanging
rocks to look about a little and see what was here offered to the eye.
How different the ground already looked here! No longer those bare
masses of rock alternating with everlasting ice! green moss spread
itself around; dwarf birches, creeping willows showed young shoots,
though even here the snow seemed not long to have disappeared. Indeed,
we had no need to climb very high above the valley to find the winter
carpet still spread. The straits here had more the character of a lake.
From our resting-place straight to the south opened another in the
distance, bordered by an island. In the east, from whence we had come,
rose long-backed ridges; whilst westward, where the straits disappeared
behind a rocky promontory, rose high mountains. Still and deserted it
was on all sides; scarcely a white gull fluttered over the water, or
a snow-bunting piped its simple song. About mid-day I returned to the
camp. On the broad granite flat the captain and the pilot had erected a
temporary observatory. Observations gave us 60° 4′ N.L., according to
which we were not in Prince Christian Sound, but some nautical miles
more to the south. Graah’s chart, which had generally given the run
of the coast pretty exactly, had disappointed us more than once with
regard to our geographical position. With a fresh breeze we sailed
about twelve miles over the supposed Sound, then found it surrounded
by rocks, and after climbing some heights were convinced that we were
in a Fjord and not in a sea-strait, so we were obliged to row back
again. The scenery on both sides was wildly picturesque, and grand dark
rocky walls, covered on the top with snow, rose more than a thousand
feet high; torrents of the melted snow rushed from the clefts and
fell foaming in the Fjord. In some places, a sickly mossy covering
was perceptible. Birds were often visible. At six in the evening, we
were once more at the entrance; allowed ourselves no rest, however,
but sailed until midnight in a south-westerly direction, four miles
further, where in a small safe harbour we landed. On the shore were
many signs that here had passed or lived some human beings, and (to
judge from the bones of the seals) not very long ago some Esquimaux.
Small stones were laid on the top of each other in the shape of a
quadrangle: fragments of earthenware and seals’ bones lay strewn
around. In this bight, too, the scenery was indescribably grand. To
the left it was bounded by a hilly chain clothed in green moss. To the
right rose a mighty wall 1200 feet high. A rocky pyramid towered in the
air, and broad cataracts shot over the slopes, the waters collecting
at the bottom, and the overflow being borne to the sea. The background
was picturesquely surrounded by mountains, the waters of whose glaciers
fell over a mountain terrace in a mighty torrent thundering to the
sea. I thought of the ‘Traunfall’ in Upper Austria. No words are
equal to the description of this majestic scenery; it wants a vivid
water-colour drawing to convey that impression to the reader which
this picture landscape made upon me. Pity that the journey to this
region is so uninviting! If such were not the case, an artist might
not be indisposed to undertake it, in order to bring home to the world
full and glorious sketches and views of an unknown land abounding in
nature’s beauty.
At eleven in the morning, with a fresh north wind, we sailed on. At
noon we passed the point of Christian IV. Island, and from thence rowed
between the high island lying north of Cape Farewell, to the important
Island of Sedlevik with its many far-stretching arms, where we passed
the night and the following day. Now, indeed, we had the certainty of
knowing that we were near Friedrichsthal, and might give ourselves
up to the joyful hope of soon being once more among men. Strangely
enough, up to this time, we had not had a glimpse of an Esquimaux,
though we might reasonably conclude that they were now busy in these
waters catching the seals. Later we learnt that this (which is for the
Greenlander a weighty business) was carried on to the south of Cape
Farewell. The bank rises from the spot where we were, in an oblique
direction, about 320 feet, forming a wide hilly plateau inland, on the
soft, elastic, mossy carpet of which we stretched ourselves in the
noonday sun and enjoyed some hours of long-wanted rest. Here and there,
half hidden in the moss, were small blue flowers. Some of our party
went hunting, but shot nothing but a few birds.
In the afternoon came the tide, which rose eight feet, and with a
pretty strong north-east wind made such breakers that would have been
dangerous to us, if some of the men had not been on the spot at the
time, and held the boat, which was driving on to the shore, with the
oars. Towards evening, the water retreated, the boats lay still, and
we laid ourselves down with the conviction that the next night we
should pass under a roof in Friedrichsthal. The glaciers which hung
every where on the rocks of the island, now like birds’-nests between
the needles and the rocky pinnacles, now of considerable strength,
stretching down the declivities, no longer reached (so Dr. Laube
affirmed) down to the sea, though in some places they protruded their
moraines low down, and some of the broken ice getting loose fell over
this dam into the sea. The temperature of the air seemed considerably
warmer, and the land bore a far fresher green; whilst the islands
around Cape Farewell formed a connected, high towering, tattered rocky
block. The northerly Island of Sedlevik, which we had now reached,
showed a level shore; only in the middle did a high, steep massive
mountain rise. Everywhere the bank rose so high above the sea, that we
had to search for some time before we could find a place suitable for
pulling up the boats; and this on account of the steepness of the rough
rocks was hard work, though it at last succeeded.
One week had passed since we reached Illuidlek; more happily than we
had ventured to hope had our journey sped since then; and now we might
once more allow ourselves a day of rest. Sunday, the 12th of June, we
passed on Sedlevik. Although it blew hard from the north-west, the day
was beautifully clear, and we could scan the land around us at our
leisure. A party went hunting. “Less bloodhirsty” (writes Dr. Laube)
“was my excursion; armed with the carpenter’s hammer, and accompanied
by Philipp and Konrad, I undertook an excursion through the island.
How different it was over the soft, swelling, mossy carpet, in which
the feet often sank up to the ankles, to the hard stony rocks which
we had trodden up to this time! Under the high mountains of the
island, Spring’s first children had been born to her; amongst blooming
willows and birch bushes, which rose in their succulent green sprays
from the mossy ground like embroidery, the kidney-leaved sorrel and
sweet-smelling angelica, finely indented fan-like ferns, waved in the
air, and on the hanging rocks the low-lying _Sibbaldia_ spread
its violet flower-bed. Below, at our feet, lay the light blue straits;
branching off here and there, and forming deep Fjords stretching into
the mountains, which with the glittering glaciers and bluish ravines
bounded the distant view. I thought of the glorious Lake of the four
Cantons! The small icebergs drifting on the water, gave life to the
picture, looking like a fleet of blinding white sails; but instead of
the smiling banks which delight the eye on that Swiss lake, it fell
upon a desert shore. And yet what a different impression the landscape
made upon me now to what it did a short time ago, when we were so
uncertain as to our fate, and scarcely ventured to look up, much less
give our souls to the great beauty of a northern landscape!”
June 13, started at four in the morning. We crossed between floes,
until we had gone round the north point of the island, ran before the
wind through the Straits of Torsukatek, and then took our course as a
calm fell, rowing westward, remaining as near as possible to the coast,
looking sharply in the direction of Friedrichsthal. There suddenly,
after rounding a low promontory, the longed-for bay lay before us! It
was a never-to-be-forgotten moment. The wind was now favourable, so we
at once set sail, and hoisted our flag. 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. More to the side, and
somewhat nearer to the bank, stood a similar smaller building, near
which lay a dark mass of stony heaps; these we conjectured were the
Esquimaux houses. Further on to the left opened a broad Fjord running
from the north. High mountains framed this pleasant landscape picture,
which was closed in the background by dim bluish mountain chains.
Friedrichsthal (so says Dr. Laube) is one of the younger mission
stations of the Moravian confraternity. It was established in the year
1827, and lies in 60° N.L., and is, excepting Pamiädluk (which lies
some miles to the south of Cape Farewell, and is the residence of a
Danish petty trader) the most southerly place in Greenland inhabited by
Europeans. The community of Friedrichsthal, which also includes some of
the scattered squatters of Esquimaux in the neighbourhood, contains 437
inhabitants. The natives call the mission “Narsak,” that is, _level
land_; definite enough for the conditions of land in Greenland.
Plains are so rare there, that they answer well for defining places.
But one’s expectations with regard to this European colony must not
be too high. On a green meadow-land, which rises gently from the sea,
stands the mission-house. On either side high mountains stretch inland
to the north; the chain to the left is separated from Friedrichsthal by
a parallel-running Fjord, the Narksamiut. From the high ridge to the
right springs a merry brook, called by the Missionaries “Königsbach.”
The generally flat shores of the bay juts out on the left into a
natural mole, a prominent granite rock, the “Look-out” hill. To the
left again of this rock is the entrance to the Narksamiut, a Fjord
running deep into the land, from the waters of which Cape Igikait rises
proud and steep. For some distance, about an English mile, one may
follow the flat land lying along Narksamiut; then the cliffs and rocks
crowd closer together; and only to those who are practised in climbing
is it possible to penetrate a step further, when they may reach a rock
which suggests nothing but a retreat or a giddy fall.
This green flat spot of land the Moravian Brotherhood have chosen for
their most southerly mission station. The Northmen had already lived
here. As the brothers’ house was being built, traces were found of
their old settlement in the ground. Friedrichsthal is, indeed, one of
the most lovely spots in Greenland. Open and pleasantly situated on
the grassy sward, and enclosed in a wide semicircle of high mountains,
it makes a good impression on all comers; how much more so on us,
comparatively raised from the dead!
“Hurrah! hurrah! European houses, Friedrichsthal!” Indeed, there lay
before us two low, red-painted houses. At this moment sprang up a
most welcome breeze, and from our flagstaff the German flag fluttered
lustily. I sat behind, with the glass to my eye, viewing the land. At
the door of the mission-house a blue dress was visible for a moment,
and then disappeared; now came a whole company from the house down to
the strand; they had seen us. The rocks of the look-out hill, too,
were alive. A European strode up and down, like an official guardian
of order. Was it possible that in Greenland were already to be found
harbour-masters and other government officers? What I had at first
conjectured to be a heap of stones now stood upright. It was a group of
oddly dressed human beings, natives, who crouching close together, with
their skin clothes and fawn-coloured faces, could not be distinguished
from the cliffs. Now the boats neared the shore. Even the water was
alive. A man approached us in a canoe, but when he saw us would have
turned quickly back again. The call of the Europeans to him from the
cliff made him bolder; he came towards us, greeted us, and nodding
pleasantly accompanied us into the harbour.
[Illustration: GROUP OF ESQUIMAUX.]
Still it was uncertain whether the missionaries were Danish, but we
heard,--“That is the German flag! They are our people! Welcome, welcome
to Greenland!” Germans, Germans in Greenland! The first word after so
long a time heard from strange lips was German; the first sound, our
dear German mother-tongue; and their people the first to offer us help
and refreshment--who can describe our wonder and delight?
The land reached, each wanted to be first on the bank. I sprang into
shallow water. We almost forgot the boats; the men could not finish
the work quickly enough. What hand-shaking and grasping on all sides.
Words died away in the throat, and the voice trembled. The man from
the cliffs, too, and the natives had come up to greet us. The supposed
guardian of public security was Mr. Starick, the missionary, who with
Mr. Gericke superintended the Mission. The good people opened their
eyes when they heard some short details of our voyage! But this was
Germany. As a token, we have Mr. Gericke’s command:--“Wives, go and
get ready at once some good coffee; in the meantime, we men will drink
a bottle of wine as a welcome.” No sooner said than done. Whilst the
men on the strand were busy making fast and unloading the boats,
we followed the missionaries to the house, relating and listening
alternately.
The mission-house is a small one-storied building. Like most of the
European houses in Greenland, it was made in Denmark, brought piecemeal
from the ship to this place, and at last set up there. It is not
larger than the houses in the Erzgebirge, or the Harz; and from the
red paint resembles the Swedish peasant-houses. The foundation is a
rocky site covered with moss. The building of that, as well as of the
unadorned wooden church, cost more trouble than the building of many a
palace in Germany. Tediously must every piece have been brought from
Julianeshaab, nearly eighty miles distant, in the small _umiaks_
or women’s boats.
The dwelling-houses are small, and not adapted for a numerous
family. Some rooms, such as the dining-room and the kitchen, are used
jointly by the missionaries. The room in which we first were, was the
sitting-room of Mr. Gericke, the superintendent of the community. It
was plainly furnished; a sofa with cushions, a table, and some stuffed
chairs, formed the whole of the furniture. The walls were decorated
with photographs of missionaries. Homely and comfortable the room
looked to us, however! It was painted with oil paint, and all looked
clean and orderly. The long dispensed-with European cleanliness, and
the feeling that we were once more in a circle where a German matron
could exercise her beneficient activity, acted like a charm upon us.
Even in Greenland, amongst everlasting ice, the German wife, we now
found, had managed to provide a souvenir of her own country. Some
flowers in the windows supplied a necessity which the coldness of the
climate refused outside; for the garden before the house, the surface
of which, as well as that before the Esquimaux dwellings and other
favourable spots, had been ploughed, looked sad and dreary enough.
Turnips, which alone thrive here, scarcely showed their first green.
Entering the house, after crossing a stone hall, we reached the
sitting-room of Mr. Gericke, which lay to the left. To the right lay
Mr. Starick’s room. Another door led to the kitchen.
Soon we sat in Mr. Gericke’s room at table, giving an account of our
experiences, to the great astonishment of our hearers. Mr. Starick is
a big, thin man, in his thirtieth year, a Lusatian, dressed partly in
Greenland fashion (seal stockings and shoes). He is very talkative,
though throughout the friendly conversation, his long pipe seldom went
out. His young wife came from one of the West Indian islands; she was
sent to him by the mission. Mr. Gericke, a man of about fifty, had a
European wife who was born in Greenland, and had been brought up at
Gnadau, near Magdeburg. Their marriage is blessed with three children,
from two to six years old. Not long did we have to wait for the women
of the house. A white cloth flew over the table; a heaped-up dish of
rusks had the place of honour, and near it appeared some beautiful
shining butter. Then the amiable housewives brought in a mighty can of
coffee. And for us--we set to work upon the good things of this life
with an appetite which defies all description. We sat, talked, drank
and eat. To our no little dismay, the contents of the dish of rusks had
disappeared in an indecorously short space of time. We looked at one
another with signs of astonishment, when lo! another stood before us.
Captain Hegemann could not help saying something regarding modesty,
and so on. But our hosts would not hear of it; on the contrary, begged
us to set to work again, which friendly invitation a still unfortunate
grumbling in the stomach made us willingly follow. With some apology,
the contents of the second dish disappeared. How the good people
rejoiced over our blessed appetites! I thought it would frighten them
to think how much fourteen famished stomachs could contain! But not
we alone, the men, too, sat in the church-room at a cheerful meal,
and the _Schonroggen_ (ship’s biscuits made of sifted rye-flour)
disappeared there no less quickly. The good, good missionaries! What
they possessed they brought out to help us. They offered us linen and
clothes, but we had enough of them; what we greatly needed was a
washing-day. As regards covering for the feet, we were badly off. But
that want was speedily remedied. The store of shoes was brought out,
and soon our pairs of feet were decked with rough Kamiken (Esquimaux
boots made of seal leather).
In a small room, near the church, in the school, we made our
resting-place on the school forms, all packed close together. The
church is really nothing but a bedroom; a black covered table marks the
spot from whence the preacher speaks. Near the table is an harmonium.
The men remained in the boats under the sail-roofing.
In the Greenland village of Friedrichsthal no one was at home; men,
women, and children were out on the island on the seal-hunt, or
at the Fjord for the herring-fishing; only the female portion of
the missionaries’ household was there. They had received us on the
cliff with the others. The first impression made upon us by the
natives was not unfavourable. Certainly these expressionless and
plain physiognomies, with their broad flat faces, small, black, and
somewhat crooked eyes, little stunted noses, and great swelling
mouths, all set in black strips of hair, were not inviting; but the
striking harmlessness and good nature of these half-wild people soon
earned our fullest favour. As soon as they saw that we were friendly
people, indeed the countrymen of their beloved missionaries, they were
confiding towards us. The man who met us had brought the post; he
was the overseer of a Greenland village, Igalorsoeitsiak, near Cape
Farewell, and was named Jonathan. The missionaries praised him as a
capital seal-hunter and an excellent man; he was very open-hearted and
a great drinker. What was meant by _open-heartedness_, which,
oddly enough, is also (it seems) to be met with in Greenland, I will
not enter into, but the inclination for drink can certainly only refer
to coffee; Jonathan was therefore, at least in our sense of the word,
no “soaker.” Before anything else, we now wanted a pilot to guide us
from Friedrichsthal further on our way. No one seemed more suited to
this than Jonathan himself, and for this post he declared himself
ready, only begging to be allowed first to settle his affairs at home.
The permission was willingly granted. Jonathan hurried home. Had he
not also to take the weighty news of our arrival to his people? and no
true Greenlander could have foregone such an opportunity of showing his
importance.
Our friendly hosts would not hear of our immediate departure; but
when we learnt that a royal Danish colonial ship, the brig Constance,
Captain Bang, was expected in Julianeshaab every moment, and that we
could not reckon upon any other opportunity this year of returning
to Europe, unless the later coming Peru should take us, or that we
should travel northwards thirty German miles to Ivikät, the place
where cryolite is shipped, we determined to hasten to Julianeshaab,
and if possible make our home voyage in the Constance. We had thought
the ships running from Denmark to Greenland stopped at every European
settlement along the coast to Cape Farewell, and had so understood the
notice in Maury’s sailing directions. Here in Friedrichsthal, however,
we learned better. A large vessel had never, on account of the ice,
come any further than Julianeshaab. The southern trading-places and
missions, Sudpröven, Lichtenau, Igdlopait, Nennortalik, Ostpröven,
Friedrichsthal, and Pamiädluk had to fetch all their necessaries
in small sailing-boats from Julianeshaab or in the Greenland
women’s boats. Remembering that Julianeshaab is eighty miles from
Friedrichsthal, and that the light, fragile hide-boats can only be used
in fine weather, one can easily see that it is no easy matter for the
poor Friedrichsthalers to provide their yearly stock of provisions.
We further learned that, for the moment, the missionaries, on account
of the non-arrival of the provision transports the year before, had
but little to spare. The German mission in Greenland is provided with
all and everything they want for the support of life from Copenhagen,
by the Moravian Mission Society. Every year one of the ships takes the
goods, and in the summer visits once both South and North Greenland,
from whence the parties concerned provide means of further transport.
The often unfavourable situation of the ice, and sometimes the loss of
the ship, prevents the cargo from always falling into the hands of the
rightful owner. To meet such an emergency, the stations have mostly a
year’s store in advance.
Our friends the Friedrichsthalers, might well find that, on account of
the ice, they could not reach Julianeshaab; we ought, therefore, not to
make too great a hole in their provisions. So we resolved that, as soon
as Jonathan returned, we would travel on. For to-morrow and the next
day we would stay where we were.
About three o’clock, an excellent meal was served up, upon which we
set to work valiantly. This is the _menu_: wine-soup, roast kid,
with a mess of potatoes (dried potatoes); then pancakes and pickled
gherkins, with light white wine.
In the afternoon, curiosity moved me to pay another visit to the
Esquimaux village. All the houses stood empty; the windows were taken
out, the inside was stiff with dirt. The huge dung-heap, which here
never fails at any Greenland dwelling, spreads a pestilential odour,
and it is not to be wondered at that millions of flies crawl in and
around, setting the heaps perfectly in motion. In the absence of men,
some goats received us; and as I seated myself at the other end of the
village, to take a sketch of the mission, the horned fourfooted beasts
took me for some exotic dainty, and nibbled at me so all over, that I
was at last obliged to go away, followed by a herd of them.
And now it was time for the evening meal--a large dish of milk-soup,
and a mountain of excellent egg-cakes. The missionaries have chickens,
which in the summer, when the village is deserted, find plenty of
nourishment. Over this, of course, much was asked and related.
Strangely enough, we now learned that, quite unintentionally, we had
found the best way from East Greenland. Prince Christian Sound was,
according to the missionaries, quite blocked with ice and difficult to
cross, being filled up with earth as we thought it was not; and our
Fjord was a discovery. We were also enlightened as to why we had not
seen any inhabitants. All Greenlanders have a great dread of the men
who live high up in the north on the east side, and who, according
to their ideas, are cannibals. (See, too, Graah’s communications on
this head.) This idea may be an echo of the old Norse traditions.
Imagine us, therefore, in our three boats, things never before seen
coming from the north along the coast! Must we not have filled the
faint-hearted, superstitious Greenlanders with indescribable terror,
and wherever they saw us, put them to a hurried flight? We may have
sailed close under their villages; it is even possible that, at
Sedlevik, we passed the night close to one of them. But the low,
oven-shaped, grass-overgrown huts can only be seen and recognized when
close against them, or when the eye is familiar with their appearance;
besides which, the Eastlanders go between the islands to catch the
seals. The greater part of them were, therefore, absent.[24] Of
their condition the missionaries knew little. In former times, some
intercourse had been kept up with them, and on Alluk Island there was
every year a sort of exchange market between East and West Greenland.
This had long since been given up. Visits from the east side were very
rare.[25] The people are, it is said, finer and stronger than those of
West Greenland, and have light and brown hair. Does not this remind
us of the old Northmen? If it happens that East Greenlanders settle
in the west, they must first be acclimatized; they must go through a
skin disease, which the missionaries call “Eskimokrätze.” It is not
contagious, and the natives of the west coast never suffer from it.
Amongst the inhabitants of Friedrichsthal, was a woman from the east;
she and her children formed the only family unbaptized; all the others
were Christians. Thus we had much to talk about; and it was getting
late when we retired to our couch in the schoolroom. The latter, with
the bedroom (the church), forms an additional building to the mission
house. How wonderful it seemed to us that, for the first time since
the 2nd of January, we could take off our clothes ere we lay down to
rest! How free from care we could give ourselves up to sleep! How many
anxious terrible nights lay behind us!--now, all was happily passed! We
had already finished our night toilet when the door opened, and there
in his never-ending goodness came Mr. Starick, laden with beer, in case
we should be thirsty in the night. Beer! What German could withstand
that! The bottles were uncorked, and soon the foaming drink filled the
tankard, doing all honour to its Greenland brewer.
It was late when sleep overtook us, tired out! Once more did the
picture of the past vividly recur to our minds, from the tragedy of our
shipwreck, to the happy moment which brought us to Friedrichsthal; and
in our inmost hearts we all ejaculated, “God be thanked!”
CHAPTER IX.
FURTHER STAY IN FRIEDRICHSTHAL. JOURNEY VIÂ IGIKAIT
TO NENNORTALIK.[26]
Occurrences and impressions in Friedrichsthal.--Intercourse
with the natives.--Matrons and maidens.--Provision
cellars in Greenland.--Good qualities and quickness of
the Greenlander.--Delay of our departure.--Fishery in
Narksamiut.--Presents at parting.--Burying-places near
Friedrichsthal.--Farewell and departure from Friedrichsthal.--A
European recluse at Igikait.--The Danish settlers.
Early the next morning friend Starick appeared with a bountiful
breakfast. The yesterday’s demolition of biscuits was repeated, only
quicker, as we were alone. Then we set to work upon our morning
toilet; one after the other turned out as much cleansed and “got-up”
as possible. Our men had done the same, particularly Philipp, who
looked quite grand. No wonder that he at once made himself master of
a Greenland maiden’s heart. Outside, meanwhile, the women had been
washing the linen we had taken off.
We had not to wait long for new scenes and impressions of the strangest
kind. Already some canoes had come in, and their conductors had
approached our boats quite confidingly. These small, black little
fellows, I took for boys of fourteen, but was told that they were
married people and fathers of families. Of course, everything that
was given to them was useful, and they were soon good friends with
our men. Not a little proudly did each one bring out his rifle and
powder-horn from his canoe; but when our men took the “needle-guns” and
fired rapidly, they were dumb with astonishment, and stood with their
mouths wide open. The musical-box which we had with us caused little
less wonderment. It was too ridiculous to see the amazement of the
little men, as well as the women, at the tinkling box. I think if Mr.
Starick himself had not been there, their thoughts would have turned
to the long-forgotten “Tornik,”[27] their evil genius, and we should
have been taken for enchanters; but their friendship was heartier than
ever. The missionary and our pilots were shooting at the target on the
strand, and the natives kept watch, while others visited the servants
in their houses, who were busy making shoes for those of us who needed
them. I presented each one with a sewing-needle, and earned a friendly
“Kojunok” (I thank you much for it), which was the first Greenland word
I learnt. I cannot affirm that the Greenland ladies are bashful, for
during our stay in the women’s house the cook Luise came in, and quite
coolly in our presence made the most critical alterations in her dress.
The girls and women looked goodnatured and dull; there were eight of
them, as I tried to draw them in my pocket-book; and Eva, whom I fully
portrayed, was not a little vain. We also allowed them to write their
names in our note-books, whereat the fair Greenlanders displayed the
same naive coyness and affectation as our lovely ones at home. What a
tittering and whispering, what turning and twisting! At last they all
stood on the page; even the honoured fifty-year old Miss Sybilla had,
with much bashfulness, entered her name. When we went away they thanked
us for our visit.
But a curiosity was still to be seen this morning in the shape of a
Greenland cellar or store-house. The respected reader must not think
of a similar locality in our country. The Greenlanders are contented
in this respect with an excavation in the overhanging rock, which they
build up with a stone wall like a swallow’s nest. In this, without
any choice, is heaped all that is good for winter use--dried fish,
seal-bacon, and meat--until the place is full, when the last hole is
blocked up with a stone. Such cellars the Greenlanders like to have
away from their houses. Accustomed to live from hand to mouth, they are
no friends to saving. They eat as long as there is anything there, or
they see anything. When, however, the cellar with its store is not near
them, and cannot provoke their appetite, then, in the long winter-time,
when there would often be poor fare, they have something to fall back
upon. It never enters their heads to injure the possessions of another;
so they need never fear that their neighbour will empty their cellar.
The missionaries praised their converts particularly for their honesty,
and assured us that nothing but the bitterest hunger would occasionally
tempt any of them to take anything eatable from their neighbour.
Even in this respect we had nothing to complain of but something more I
can say to the honour of the good Greenlanders. There was scarcely one
who could not write his own name; and it is really astonishing what
fine regular handwriting is to be met with. Even a poor little boy, too
weak to paddle a canoe, who worked in the mission as a day-labourer for
his meals, could write his name well and distinctly. I can also call
the Greenlanders a musical community, in spite of compassionate smiles.
The horn-music in their church they provide themselves; the organ,
too, is superintended by a sleek Greenlander; and more than that, he
writes hymns and composes music himself. Observe also the artistic way
in which the Greenland women ornament leather. With what trouble and
patience they make the finest mosaic of different coloured leathers no
bigger than the head of a pin, sewing them together to adorn shoes and
such like things; and how, under good guidance, they acquire a taste
for clean and well-ordered households.
Good guidance is, however, very necessary. The Greenland men and women
whom we saw later, were as different from those of the mission of
Friedrichsthal as night is from day, and the real specific Greenland
household, we could only learn to know by degrees.
At table to-day our host told us that he had been informed by the
natives that, a few days before, they had heard from the neighbours
that some people were coming from the east, and that they had been much
frightened about it, but were composed now, as we were the expected
arrival. From the first it may be that the news of our coming had
spread among the natives, owing to our having been seen in the distance
among the islands. But the Greenlanders have the evil propensity of
speaking contrary to the truth to please one.
Thus, later on, we heard that our floe had been met with, and that,
if we liked, we might satisfy ourselves that such was the case. They
also related how that they had seen the Germania at full steam near
Cape Farewell; they had begged them to pilot them to Friedrichsthal, or
anywhere to land; but they had not listened to them, and the steamer
had at once sailed from the coast northwards. Strange it always seemed
to us; but the missionaries assured us that they certainly expected to
see some one from the German expedition. Shortly before our arrival
they had said, “Now they must soon come.” They had mentioned it to the
natives, and when they saw us and prepared to fly, Starick composed
them by the words, “They are our countrymen, who we told you would
come.” They had also rightly concluded that, from the condition of the
ice around Friedrichsthal, we should have much difficulty in reaching
the coast. As during the summer months but little ice had shown itself
at Cape Farewell, all the more must have remained above. At the same
time, it was so thick at the end of September, that the missionaries
were obliged to give up their official journey. This setting of the ice
southward we not long afterwards traced to the accelerated speed of the
drift.
In the afternoon Jonathan’s brother, Esra, came to visit his friends.
We had just retreated to the schoolroom, when he peeped curiously in
at the window, and we signed to him to come in. He did not wait to be
asked twice. How just seemed his claim to a gift! A handful of tobacco
went straight to the mouth, but his sharp eye had lit upon another
dainty morsel, the worth of which we certainly underrated. In the
fireplace lay the end of a cigar; Esra picked it up, and asked if he
might have it. We then found several pieces for him about the room.
But a number of these stumps disappeared at once. I could not conceive
where, and told him so; when he grinningly opened his wide mouth,
pointing to either side, where, between teeth and cheeks, lay a store.
Hence the reason that the Greenland men have such great swellings in
the lower jaw.
We gave up our intention of starting the next day, at the special
request of our hosts. They affirmed that by Cape Egede, which we must
pass, there was a great deal of ice, and gave it as their opinion
that the north wind now blowing would in a day or two open up a path.
In the evening, Missionary Starick and Mr. Hildebrandt rowed up the
Narksamiut. They went to a place in the centre of the Fjord, where
about eighty women and children were busy with the herring fishery. The
Greenland herrings, the “Angmaksätten” as the natives call them, are
for them as important as the seal; they form their chief nourishment.
If the draught is bad, famine is at hand. Like our herrings, these
small smelt-like fishes (_Mallotus arcticus_, Fabr.) rush into the
Fjords in great numbers in the evening, and are taken out of the water
in sack-nets by women and children. Without either cleaning or opening
they are then simply laid on the grass until the sun has dried them
sufficiently; they are then collected into an old skin sack, or stowed
in any other way for the winter, and eventually consumed after being
dipped in oil. As they became aware of the presence of the boats, the
women broke into a howl of terror; some even fled to the tent. At last
they saw their friend Starick, and became somewhat calmer, soon quite
confiding; and the boys paddled their canoes in emulation round the
boats. They promised the home-returning ones some fresh “Angmaksätten”
early the next day, and they kept their word. Two great tubs of fish
arrived the next morning, and prepared by the careful hand of our
hostess came on table for breakfast. We did them justice, for they were
excellent.
To-day, too, some canoes came to visit us; and amongst our sailors were
soon some to be found, who wished to try a voyage in these light craft,
which certainly for an unpractised man are very difficult to manage.
The reader, unversed in the customs and usages of the Greenlanders,
must know that they have two different sorts of boats, the “Kajak,” and
the “Umiak.” The Kajak, or canoe, is about eighteen feet long, very
narrow and low, the thin ribs of which are covered with seal’s leather.
In the middle of this skin-covered boat is a circular opening, large
enough for the body of a man. Here sits the paddler. He must sit with
his legs stretched out straight before him, to keep his balance, and
work his way forward by means of the double stroke of the paddle. On
the deck before him the Greenlander has his hunting tackle, bird and
seal harpoons, lances and slings, and on a particular table some rolled
up harpoon-thongs made of sealskin. Behind him the canoe bears, besides
provisions and booty, an inflated sealskin, which, attached to the
harpoon, prevents the seal just shot from sinking.
The canoe is the men’s exclusive vehicle; boys of twelve years old have
their canoes, and make good practice with them. It is in any case their
chief possession, and is as important to them as the flint is to our
hunter. In the community of the Moravian missionaries, where the native
poor are recognized as a class, the men and children receive a canoe
fitted up as a means of subsistence. At the same time, any man who is
not too old and too feeble, thinks it beneath his dignity to sit in a
Umiak. These boats are used by the women, and are called women’s boats.
A Umiak is about thirty feet long and very narrow. Like the Kajak it
is built of light ribs of deal, covered over with seal’s leather. The
Umiak is flat-bottomed, constructed the same both fore and aft; the
rim on both sides, with the inward-turned fork, extends somewhat over
the body of the boat. The cavity thus formed by the fork serves for
the attachment of tow-ropes, as well as to make fast the boats when
they are pulled out of the water. For this purpose they use besides
heavy stones, as, in spite of their size, these skin-boats are so
light that a storm will carry them through the air. From six to eight
women, who sit on small seats in the after-part, set them in motion
with a shovel-shaped oar, by springing from their seats, and after
three strokes stopping for a time. The large well-to-do families have
each their Umiak, but smaller and poor ones have one in common. In
every Mission, too, some are to be met with; for however fragile these
vessels seem to be, and at first, from the water oozing through the
sealskin, very uncomfortable, they are generally, even by Europeans,
admitted to be the most desirable means of conveyance. The missionaries
use them on their coast voyages, which extend more than 120 miles.
Certainly they can stand neither rough sea nor ice, and in unfavourable
weather have to lie on shore for days together; on the other hand,
they are light to carry, and in spite of their fragile appearance are
wonderfully firm and capacious. Such a skin-boat can carry a weight of
thirty Danish tons. A Umiak, however, never travels alone--a man in
a Kajak (the Kajalik) always accompanies it. Either it is the owner
himself, or some other native (as for example is customary with the
travelling missionaries), hired for the purpose. At certain times,
namely in summer, when the Greenlanders move from place to place, whole
fleets of these vessels may be met with, which on such occasions are
generally lively enough.
The bacon-face of old Sybilla, who had taken such a fancy to Philipp,
or “Bilik” as she called him, beamed with delight as she saw her
darling travelling round the harbour in a canoe. But it was not so easy
to keep above water, and no easy task for an inexperienced person to
keep the legs stretched out so straight. The natives, however, greeted
this first attempt with joyful grins. They were already on the best of
footing with our men, and a small exchange of civilities took place in
the most peaceful and satisfactory way. Even the female servants at the
mission were soon sociable and trustful. Konrad had installed himself
precentor, and made the girls sing some choruses; and we were surprised
to hear how true and correctly these people sang. Certainly they
drawled every melody frightfully; and the execution of the hymn, “We
had built a stately house,” to which they had adapted Greenland words,
sounded in most wonderful fashion from the lips of the native ladies.
We had already gone to rest, when two Umiaks with women and children
arrived from the Fjord, and at once encamped by our boats, carrying on
such a loud conversation through the night, that no one could sleep.
As we came down to the strand the next morning, it was alive with men,
women, and children, who from their dirty appearance showed to great
disadvantage compared with the people of the mission. For the last time
we sat in the hospitable circle of the Friedrichsthalers at breakfast:
we then took our departure. The few days we had spent here had served
to attach us so sincerely to the inhabitants of the Mission, that
parting was painful; with much emotion we spoke our thanks to our dear
kind hosts. We took leave of the women on the shore who had remained
behind, and also of the natives who had come to see us. The good
Friedrichsthalers had provided us plentifully with food--fresh baked
bread, butter, sugar and coffee. With three cheers we set to at the
oars, and soon the “Look-out” mountain hid the friendly Friedrichsthal
from our eyes.
We were accompanied in state. Mr. Gericke and his little daughter
conducted us in the Umiak, which was also filled with the whole
household, as far as the next station; and twelve natives in canoes
formed our escort. On the other side of the Narksamiut, under the
before-mentioned high towering cape, lies Igikait, the Herjulfsnäs of
the old Norsemen. There is but little of the walls left as evidence
of former European dwellings; but some years ago it is said that
the waters of the Narksamiut washed up a coffin with the body of
an ordained priest. At this day there lives in the long-abandoned
settlement an old European, who has learnt to renounce the world,
and as a free man with little means leads a life of liberty. This
inhabitant of Igikait is named Hagen, a tough, hospitable Dane, in his
fiftieth year, who came into the country as a subordinate official,
and married a half-caste woman, a “Blanding,”[28] and now with the
permission of the Government lives a sort of improvised idyl at
Igikait. His whole wealth consists of a large herd of goats, which in
summer find plenty of nourishment on the green coast. He and his family
live in a house constructed exactly like the Greenlanders’, but more
roomy, and it differed in the interior by being clean and airy. His
wife and daughter, like all the people here, except Europeans, wear the
Greenland women’s dress; the difference, however, is favourably seen in
those of European descent, and struck us in these women, for up to this
time we had only seen full-blooded Greenlanders. Indeed, Hagen’s slim
daughter, with her delicate complexion and dreamy northern features,
did not look amiss. A son of Mr. Hagen’s had a situation in Jvigtuk
as trader in the service of the Danish Company. The youngest son was
to accompany us in his canoe to Nennortalik, where he was going to be
confirmed.
After our greeting, we did not stay long at Igikait. Hagen had spread
his treasures on the shore; that is, he had prepared a row of tubs
full of fresh milk, and invited us in an idiom, composed of Danish,
Greenlandish, and broken German to partake of them. Those who wanted
any took moderately, and in order to put the poor man to no further
trouble, we took a hasty leave. Mr. Gericke remained behind with the
people of the mission. It was really a hard moment when we shook hands
with him and his for the last time. The good girls could not help
weeping, and gave us their hands over and over again. As we sat in the
boats and pushed from the shore, they called and nodded after us. We
journeyed on; the neighbourhood of Friedrichsthal soon disappeared
from our sight; our convoy had also diminished; some canoes had
remained in Igikait, and some had gone back. We were now alone with
Jonathan, Hagen’s son (whom we were to take to Nennortalik), and a
volunteer, who having just had a son born to him begged Mr. Hildebrandt
to be godfather to it. We had thrown a rope to Jonathan, who as pilot
tugged with all his might at the flotilla, while our volunteer made all
kinds of artistic strokes with his weapons.
[Illustration:
_Page 198._
BOAT-JOURNEY IN COMPANY WITH A CANOE.]
Although the ice on our way reached pretty close to the land, we came
across no hindrance; only that, as the wind was against us, we had to
lay upon our oars. Wild mountain chains formed with their sharply cut
contours a most lovely distant view. About noon we caught sight of a
high Greenland mountain; like an obelisk, the thin rocky peak rises
boldly into the clouds.[29] Cape Egede, too, of evil repute on account
of the piled-up ice, came in sight. At a small island (which bore the
high-sounding though not easily pronounced name “Kikertarsoeitsiak”)
we landed for a short rest. Some ptarmigan provoked the bloodthirsty
appetites of our hunters at once; and even our Greenland godfather
could not allow this opportunity of showing his dexterity in
fire-arms to pass, without availing himself of it. Once more we were
all together, and the cold cakes from Friedrichsthal were very
acceptable. Even for the natives who, lying on the rocks, were watching
our movements with longing eyes, we laid out two good portions; for
Mr. Starick told us that we were to give our pilot Jonathan something,
if we did not wish to wound his feelings; indeed he would have felt
it so deeply, that very little would have made him turn back and go
home. There was, therefore, nothing left for us to do, but leave the
godfather’s empty stomach unsupplied. But Jonathan was a good fellow;
as he received his share, he divided it good-naturedly with his
countryman, and both chewed with full cheeks as for a wager.
About four o’clock, we reached the vicinity of Nennortalik--in German,
“Bear Island.” Here is a small Danish store, or provision depôt; this
was the end of this day’s journey, and was about half way to Lichtenau.
Over against this island lie others, which rise into rather high steep
mountains. Not until the harbour is reached, do the few houses of the
place come in sight. We had been already seen from the land; soon we
were surrounded by a whole fleet of canoes; and Jonathan, who had
fastened his up, and now sat with us in the boat, thought not a little
of this new honour. As we neared the island, some of our companions
left us and hurried forwards; and not long afterwards loud salvos were
heard, as if the destruction of a fortress were determined on, the
surrounding mountains re-echoing the sound two and threefold. For a
festive reception from the Danes we were not in the least prepared;
there was no end to the firing. As we turned the last rocky promontory,
which had hidden Nennortalik from our view, we saw that the banks of
the harbour were crowded with people, from the midst of whom shots
rose in the air every now and then. Again and again the crowd broke
into howls of delight. More than three hundred natives--men, women,
and children--waited our arrival. We had hoisted our flag. As a return
greeting, the Danish colours fluttered from the station-house. We had
some difficulty in preventing the people, in their willingness to
serve us, from pulling us to land in the boats. The men really tore
each other, in order to lay their hands on the painter. At length the
figure of a European pushed through the crowd; it was the merchant, Mr.
Rosing, who now welcomed us, and invited us to accept his hospitality.
The ceremonious politeness of the man left us in doubt as to whether he
had provided this festive reception for us; but he soon enlightened us
himself. He admitted openly, that for his part he would not have wasted
so much powder upon us; besides which, it was Esra who had gone from
one island to the other, relating our story, and had thus caused all
the natives to assemble from all parts to receive us in this alarming
manner. I had already seen Esra’s friendly face in the crowd and
nodded to him; that his countrymen should be assembled in such numbers
seemed to make him very happy. Shortly after our landing, the natives
dispersed in their “Umiaks” and “Kajaks.” It had not escaped me that
the type of population at Nennortalik differed essentially from that
of Friedrichsthal. What we afterwards remarked in all Danish colonies
and outlying towns we here noticed for the first time, namely, the
preponderance of European features, even amongst the Greenland natives.
Indeed, those who wish to know the genuine unmixed Greenlanders, will
only find them at the Moravian mission-villages in South Greenland;
the people of the Danish settlements and their neighbourhood, are for
the most part “Blandings,” amongst whom the European stamp prevails.
Even in Nennortalik we saw girls with flaxen hair, blue eyes, and
delicate white complexions; the men’s physiognomies, too, were far
more intelligent than in the full-blooded Greenlander; here and there
we saw beards, though very scanty ones. Owing to the thinly-scattered
population of Greenland, one must not be astonished at the striking
mixture of the European race which everywhere prevails; and still less
so, when one takes into consideration that, owing to circumstances,
an intermingling of the natives with the Europeans must occur; the
missionaries and the higher civil officers of the Danish colonies have
European wives, and their children are brought up in Europe. Again,
the lower servants--coopers, carpenters, oil-melters, and so on--from
their scanty earnings, are not in a position to keep their families in
European style: circumstances compel them, accordingly, to marry in
Greenland. The issue of these marriages never have the opportunity of
being educated in Europe. In some cases they are engaged by the Danish
Government, or some relations in their own country take them; but, as
I said before, few are so fortunate; the greater number remain in the
country, adopting its customs, language, dress, and manners of living,
and retaining but little signs of their descent beyond the features. I
had the opportunity of making acquaintance with the fourth generation
of a Danish family which had become entirely Greenlandish. Considering
this change in so short a time, we can no longer wonder that, on
his arrival in Greenland, Hans Egede found no trace of his Norse
countrymen who had settled there hundreds of years before. The remains
of them had been absorbed amongst the natives.
Mr. Rosing, who welcomed us kindly to his house, informed us that he
had authentic news that the brig Constance had reached Julianeshaab.
He regretted at the same time that he had not heard of us before, as
shortly before our arrival he had sent a boat to Julianeshaab, which
could have announced our arrival there. Now, he maintained, there was
little prospect that the Constance would take us with her; for having
a second Greenland journey to make this summer, she would only unload
and put to sea again; that she had been much hindered by the ice, and
therefore her stay in Julianeshaab would consist of only a few days.
Further, Mr. Rosing affirmed that we could not reach the colony in time
to accompany her. He consoled us with the prospect of Ivikät, a station
lying sixteen miles north from Julianeshaab in the Arsut Fjord, where
generally in summer several ships come to load with Kryolite.[30] The
prospect of a long boat voyage, however, did not please us. What should
we do now? After a short consultation, we formed our resolutions. As
the boat had already left Nennortalik, we had to look out for another,
naturally our eyes fell upon Jonathan. At the same time we begged
Mr. Rosing to write to the superintendent of the colony, and ask him
to assure us a passage in the Constance. Mr. Rosing was willing, and
Jonathan was soon won over. We should stay in Lichtenau for the answer.
After dinner, while Mr. Rosing was writing the letter, we took a walk
round the neighbourhood.
Nennortalik belongs to the superior class of settlements in Greenland.
The dwelling-houses of the merchants, painted black, with white
window-frames and peaceful-looking gardens, make a pleasing impression;
but the houses of the natives are built of stone and turf, some having
a roof made of planks nailed together. The fittings of the interior
were thoroughly Greenlandish. A narrow low passage leads to a room
of very modest dimensions, with a wainscoting all round. The greater
part of this room is taken up with the wooden benches, which form the
sleeping-place of all the inhabitants. The walls are decorated with
gaudy lithographs, sometimes even gilt-framed looking-glasses. Next to
the window, as a luxury, stands a small table; and instead of chairs,
one or two chests.
To a European, a stay in such a house is a difficult matter. The
evaporation from its occupants, the train-oil lamps, the half-putrid
food, the state of corruption of the skin-clothing, poison the
atmosphere to such a degree that it is almost impossible to breathe.
There are means of airing the dwellings, in the large window which
takes up the whole south side of the wall, but it is so besmeared, that
the daylight only comes in thick and gloomy; still it never enters the
heads of the people to open it. The island itself is wild and rather
flat, strewn with erratic boulders; and on the west side it rises to a
high mountain ridge, the outer promontory of which forms the well-known
Cape Egede. Mosses, lichens, cranberries, and bilberries, form of
their kind a luxuriant vegetation, if the term “luxuriant” is not
inappropriately applied to these waste rocks.
Jonathan was soon ready for the journey, but begged, as he received
the letter, that he might have a few hours’ rest; as he feared that,
if not, he should be overtaken by sleep and so not arrive at the right
time; promising to hurry afterwards and bring the answer to Lichtenau
without delay. This was willingly granted to the good fellow. The
evening we spent with our kind host; at night a small house sheltered
us, which is set apart by the colony for strange travellers; for
whoever travels in Greenland must be beholden to hospitality, as there
are no inns. Our room was, of course, not fitted up with too much
comfort; but our sleep was, nevertheless, a blessed one.
CHAPTER X.
LICHTENAU. EXCURSION TO THE ISLAND OF UNARTOK. JOURNEY TO
JULIANESHAAB.[31]
Departure from Nennortalik.--Igdlopait.--Mission in
Igdlopait.--Arrival in Lichtenau.--Greenland women.--Mode of
Life in Lichtenau.--Message from Julianeshaab.--Determination
to remain still in Lichtenau.--Evening service.--Excursion to
the Island of Unartok.--Warm springs there.--Another message
from Julianeshaab.--Prospect of returning home.--Parting
presents.--Departure from Lichtenau.--Arrival in Julianeshaab.
Cheerfully we started the next morning, with a favourable breeze. The
straits between the island Sermesok were rapidly passed through, past
Tessermiut and Unartok Fjords as they are all called. By noon we had
reached Igdlopait. This island is a branch of the Lichtenau mission. A
missionary with wife and children lives here amongst eighty natives. As
our boat neared the island, the shore became alive with people; here
no one had an idea of our visit. Mr. Starick related our story to the
crowd assembled on the banks in a few words, and went before us up to
the mission. Mr. Starick’s speech raised the people’s interest in us.
An old grey-headed Greenlander held out his hand to me, saying, “I
thank God with you that He saved you so wonderfully, and brought you to
us.” Igdlopait, the youngest of the mission stations under the care of
Mr. Warmow, is in a lonely situation on an island. The inhabitants are
dirty and filthy to a degree. The men’s skin-clothes were torn, and the
women were going about with wild unkempt hair.
The mission-house, neat and attractive, with a grey slate roof,
seemed to invite us hospitably. A smooth road led from the village to
the dwelling of the missionary, Mr. Hilbig. He was not at home, but
had gone with his colleague from Lichtenau to the Fjord, to collect
wood for the winter. His wife, a friendly countrywoman, welcomed us
heartily. Not less amiable was Mrs. Warmow from Lichtenau, who happened
to be on a visit to her. In order to provide for our unexpected
quartering, Mrs. Warmow decided to return at once with us. We were
really sorry to leave Mrs. Hilbig alone in Igdlopait. What a task,
what deprivations does the wife of a Greenland missionary take upon
herself one may imagine, by picturing the loneliness which surrounds
a missionary’s family on a barren island in the Arctic Sea, bare of
trees and shrubs, among a rough people but little susceptible of
civilization, natives whose culture and salvation they unceasingly
sacrifice themselves to promote. A few goats and hens form her only
companionship. Even the blossom and fruit of family life the poor
settlers dare only half enjoy, for custom and order demand that, when
the missionaries’ children are about seven years old, they shall be
sent to Europe to be brought up in a school of the fraternity. They
do not see their parents again for many years, when they have become
comparative strangers to them.
[Illustration:
_Page 207._
LICHTENAU, MISSION-STATION IN SOUTH-WEST GREENLAND.]
We would not stay longer than was necessary; and as Mrs. Warmow could
not be dissuaded from accompanying us, we started in the boats at four
in the afternoon. Without a guide it would have been impossible to
have gone any distance, as a thick fog had fallen, which in Greenland
happens invariably with the north wind.
In about three hours we had reached Lichtenau. This is the oldest South
Greenland German Mission (it was founded in 1772), and lies four miles
inwards in the Lichtenau Fjord, which stretches thirty-two miles beyond
it. On a small half-island, crowned with a rocky plateau, stands the
mission and the native village, the huts of which are grouped around
the rocks in the form of an amphitheatre.
The mission-house of Lichtenau is the largest we have seen. Three
missionaries work here: Mr. Warmow (as superintendent), and Messrs.
Spindler and Kögel. Like that of Friedrichsthal, it is made of wood,
and is only one story high. On the ground-floor is a large schoolroom,
kitchen, store-room, and guest-room; up one flight of stairs the
friendly and comfortable dwelling of the missionary. A small vegetable
garden lies in front of the house. On one side of the road stands the
old decaying church, and on the other storehouses and stables. The
harbour is very comfortable, and allows the boats to lie steady on the
soft sand. As we neared Lichtenau we were at once seen, as the fog had
rolled on to the land, and every one ran down to the strand to see the
strangers from far distant Europe. Although the greater part of the
inhabitants of Lichtenau were out at the seal fishery, there were more
at home than there were at Friedrichsthal; and we were soon convinced
that the Greenlander, left to himself, would never appreciate the
comfort and advantage of German cleanliness. We were filled with horror
at the sight of some old crones, whom curiosity had allured from
their huts. The features of the young girls and women are, according
to our æsthetic opinions, far below the level of the agreeable, and
the bodily mien is more repulsive than attractive. The dress of the
Greenland women differs little from that of the men. They wear boots
covered with gaudy leather embroidery, which reach to the knee; short
drawers of sealskin, which without straps are hung around the hips,
fitting closely to the body; and the coat-of-mail shaped “Natzek,”
pointed before and behind, which proceeds from the fur round the body.
The narrow drawers compel them to walk with bent knees and body bent
forward, shuffling one foot before the other, giving them somewhat the
appearance of apes. If this in itself is not nice, imagine a pair of
old crones, with all the burden and deformity of old age; and added to
that, broad, wrinkled faces, with noses smeared thickly with snuff,
and bleared eyes, surrounded with disordered fluttering grey hair! I
made as large a détour as possible, to avoid the crowd, in advancing to
meet the approaching missionary, Mr. Spindler, and his kind wife, who
welcomed us heartily, and expressed their pleasure in receiving such
an unexpected visit from countrymen. Mr. Spindler, a very intelligent
and learned man, who gave us much information on Greenland affairs,
is in the prime of life, and seems not yet to be quite acclimatized.
Mrs. Spindler, a lively talkative woman, provided for us as well as
she could. The mission-house shelters three missionaries and their
families. Only Mr. Spindler was at home, his two colleagues having
gone to fetch wood from the Lichtenau Fjord: whilst the northern lying
coast, namely the neighbourhood of Lichtenfels, receives every year
a considerable quantity of drift-wood from the Arctic current, the
missionaries in the south are obliged to bring all necessary firing,
partly from Europe, partly from the inside of the Fjord, and often
from a great distance. The birch[32] and willow[33] are seldom seen
on the outlying islands, and on the shore of the mainland are very
scant of growth; but the farther one gets into the Fjord they become
stranger and stouter, and the banks of inlets are often covered with a
considerable quantity of brushwood as high as a man. This in the summer
months is gathered, and often conveyed many days’ journey; for the
source of supply is yearly more and more distant, owing to the slowness
of the growth. European coals have long since had to help, as the moss
here and there met with cannot be used.
Like the firewood, the winter fodder for the live stock (Lichtenau
possesses three oxen and some goats) has to be fetched with difficulty
from a distance. The few small grass plats, which give a scanty crop of
hay, lie miles apart, and often just as far from the mission. All this
business is attended to by the missionaries and their wives; and during
the short summer they are absent weeks together. Mr. Spindler wished
at once to send for his colleague from the Fjord; but as we intended
leaving the next day, in order to reach Julianeshaab in time to find
the ship, we of course did not consent.
Jonathan reappeared at last. He had, as the missionaries had premised,
made all speed; but he had been delayed by the fog. His answer by
word of mouth from the captain of the Danish ship was, that we were
to come, and he would take us all with him. He also brought a letter
from the Governor of the colony, which was very laconic: “The German
Arctic Explorers could not sail in the Constance, as she must start at
once, having to make another voyage to Greenland.” It further said,
that we had better go on to Ivikät; that there we might meet with a
vessel which would take us up. Of the possibility of the next expected
ship, the Peru, granting us a passage, there was not one word. There
we sat, but little edified by the amiability of the Danish official,
consulting as to what we should do. In about three weeks the Peru
might arrive; but the missionaries were of opinion that, from national
considerations, we had less chance of a passage by this ship. But in
any case, to travel to Ivikät by the boats would be very difficult;
added to which, according to our calculations, it would take us at
least ten days, supposing that the favourable weather we had previously
had should still accompany us. And now the further question arose,
should we, above all, find a ship there, which would take us? and, if
so, what sort of one? Long we consulted. At last we decided, that as in
any case we must now claim help from the mission-station, the head of
the house should be called in from the Fjord, and as he should advise,
so we would act.
Again Mr. Starick and Mr. Hildebrandt undertook the boat journey.
Dr. Laube would this time have liked to have been of the party, but
for a long time past he had felt too unwell, and preferred remaining
at home. That same evening some young fellows arrived in a boat from
Julianeshaab on their way to Nennortalik. They thought they could not
allow the opportunity to pass without obtaining at least a handful
of tobacco, and, if possible, something to eat. As they had heard
from Jonathan on the way of us and his mission, they improvised the
message--we were to come to Julianeshaab at once, and take ship in the
Constance.
Their object, however, they did not attain, for the missionaries knew
the men too well not to know what such a message was worth.
The next morning the boat brought back Mr. Warmow and the messengers.
The “Isersarnak,” or wind of the Fjord, which always blows inward,
had helped him much on the outward journey, but had made the homeward
much more difficult. Directly after breakfast we held a consultation.
Mr. Warmow thought it better to waste no more words on the Dane, but
try and take passage in a Kryolite ship from Ivikät.[34] The journey
to that place he admitted to be very difficult, and he thought it
unadvisable to begin it at once. He suggested that we should have a
good rest at Lichtenau, and in about eight days start for Ivikät. Mr.
Warmow’s kind proposition pleased us. We consented all the more readily
as he promised to accompany us, Mr. Starick being compelled by time and
circumstances to begin his return journey to Friedrichsthal as soon as
possible. The proposal was therefore agreed to.
And now I hoped to have an opportunity of scouring the neighbourhood.
An excursion for the next day to the Island of Unartok and the Unartok
Fjord, with a lodging at Igdlopait, was agreed upon. To-day (it was
Sunday) we remained at home. As the greater part of the population were
away, there was no early morning prayer; but evening united us all in
the schoolroom for a short service.
It was a very strange spectacle that we here witnessed. In the old,
decaying, plain-looking room, which might have been taken for a barn,
if the small organ, some wind instruments, the benches, and a green
covered table had not stamped it as something else, we sat with the
missionaries’ wives on either side of the preacher; before us, on the
benches, the native men and women, and our people. Near the preacher
and ourselves stood the children. The service began with a Greenland
hymn, which was sung by those present in the usual drawling manner, but
otherwise very nicely. Then a sermon in their native tongue. The adult
natives followed the discourse very devoutly; the children seemed but
little impressed, and passed the time in amusing themselves. After the
Greenland sermon followed a German hymn, which we sang badly enough
without accompaniment, and then the preacher addressed a few earnest
words to us which did not fail of their effect. In simple words, he
thanked the Most High for our preservation; then a hymn, and it was
over.
The excursion was carried out the next day. The Island of Unartok,
which is about twelve miles from Lichtenau, particularly interested
us, because of the warm spring there. It had been mentioned by Ivar
Bardsen, the ancient Northman chronicler, who wrote in the beginning
of the fifteenth century upon the Norse settlements in Greenland.
According to his account, a Benedictine nunnery stood in the
neighbourhood; and the spring, which in winter was much hotter than in
summer (it may have steamed more in the chilly atmosphere) was then
much used by the colonists as a bath. By noon we had reached the
island. Some natives, who met us on the way, had, doubtless to the
neglect of their daily labour, preferred following us.
The island, like the rest of Greenland, is entirely barren and
desolate, rather flat towards the north-east, but rising in a hilly
chain to the south-west. Nowhere could we discover any trace of a
building. One would scarcely fancy that a monastery, according to our
notions, could in the course of time so utterly and entirely disappear
from the face of the earth. Only the supposition that the ancient
Northmen erected their buildings similarly to the missionaries of the
present day, of wood, and that when deserted by the inhabitants the
natives broke them up when necessary and carried them elsewhere, could,
give the statement of the Northman chronicler any semblance of truth.
The warm spring is, however, there. On the western strand, scarce a
gunshot from the shore, is a shallow basin twenty feet in diameter and
three feet deep, covered with fine granitic sand. The water issues
from the ground in three places, emitting, at the same time, an
odourless gas. The temperature of the spring, according to my spirit
bulb thermometer, was 93° 87′ Fahr. About twenty paces westward, and
somewhat higher, lies a second smaller spring, which is deeper and full
of stones. The whole surface is covered thickly with a slimy, yellowish
brown deposit, evidently of vegetable origin. The temperature of this
spring I found to be 102° 87′ Fahr. The water had a slightly alkaline
taste, and left a white precipitate. The higher temperature of the
soil, caused by the springs, is shown by the fresh vegetation which
in a small circle surrounds both basins, forming a pleasant contrast
to the dead aspect of the other part. The green land is a spot
which reminds us of our native meadows. Watercresses, orchids, wild
buttercups, and other meadow flowers showed their gay heads, and on the
edges of the spring basin grew a species of reed which reminded us of
our pond-reed at home.
At the present day the spring is but little used as a bath. The
natives, of course, never think of giving their persons the benefit
of a bath, and the missionaries seldom visit this outlying island.
Besides, the draught of cold air towards the basin deprives one of
all pleasure in bathing. After supplying myself with a sample of the
water and some pieces of rock, which to the natives seemed a strange
proceeding, we left the island, to make another visit to Unartok to
see the so-called “soft-stone” rock mineral. This stone (veegsteen)
is a species of talc, of great importance in a Greenland household,
and formerly still more so. Before pottery was known, “soft-stone” was
the only material out of which they carved their household vessels;
and even now, although Danish ore provides iron and copper utensils,
they make pans and saucepans from it. Above all, it is necessary
for the construction of their lamps. This lamp is a crescent-shaped
stone, hollowed out and fastened to a low three-legged wooden stand.
The shallow depth is filled with train oil, which is furnished in the
following manner:--the person who prepares the lamp takes a piece of
seal blubber in his mouth, and with wonderful dexterity sucks out all
the oil, and squirts it into the lamp. Then some dry moss is strewn
over as a wick, and pressed tight to the concave edge and lighted.
This lamp, which gives both light and heat (for they even prepare
their meals by it) is, of course, to be found in every house, and is
(so to speak) the symbol of Greenland family-life, for all gather
round it. Weights for angling are also cut out of “soft-stone,” and
it is interesting to know that the Northmen made similar use of this
material. The stone, however, is not common; somewhat plentiful in
North Greenland, it is seldom met with in the southern districts, and
is often brought from the north. East Greenland is not quite wanting
in it, as the name of an island under the Kolbergerheide Glacier
proves; it is called Okusiksak, which in the Greenland tongue means
“soft-stone.”
This Fjord, not so deep as its neighbours, is surrounded by a beautiful
panorama. At its end opens a ravine which allows a wide prospect. By
keeping a straight course along this narrow valley one could reach
Friedrichsthal, but from the necessity of climbing over numerous fallen
rocks and other difficulties, the way by water is preferred.
Scarcely had our boat entered the Fjord than the apparently desert
shore became alive. Inhabitants of Lichtenau and Igdlopait were here,
stationed on the herring fishery; and as just at that time there were
none to catch, the whole community were idling in their accustomed
manner. Our arrival brought them to their feet, and soon they were at
the shore calling and screaming against one another, and first one
and then another wanting to show us a good landing-place. It was with
much trouble that we could keep them from the boat, as they wished to
drag it, with us in it, along the stony rugged strand. Of course all
of them followed us on our way to the “soft-stone” rock, except a few
old crones, who, being no longer able to walk over the rough ground,
set themselves to prepare a dainty meal of herrings for us. At the
“soft-stone” rock itself there was little to be seen, for the natives
had long since so cut away the block that it scarcely rose above the
ground; and so we thought it better to travel onwards without waiting
for the dainty meal prepared for us by the old women, who, however,
were not at all offended, but eat it themselves. Not so easy was
it to leave the Fjord as to enter it. The Isersarnak blew strongly
against us, and it took many strokes of the oars and much time ere we
saw Igdlopait. We decided to spend the whole of the next day on the
island, and enjoy once more the hospitality of Mrs. Hilbig. Amongst
other things, Mrs. Hilbig set before us at the evening meal a dish
peculiar to Greenland: young shoots of the Angelica steeped in vinegar
and sugar. This piquant aromatic food, which would do honour to any
great table, had our full appreciation, and the good beer no less,
which awaited us once more on this desert rocky island. Our amiable
hostess rejoiced in our blessed hunger and thirst; but the times
of Friedrichsthal were happily over, so without being brought into
difficulties by too great a hunger, we sought our nightly couch, which
we prepared by placing side by side the forms in the church.
Of Igdlopait and its hospitable mission-house, however, we were to see
no more. As we were at breakfast the following morning, a Kajak post
arrived from Lichtenau. We were to go thither immediately. A message
had arrived from Julianeshaab that the Constance was waiting for us,
and would take us all! What could now tempt us to remain a moment?
We departed at once. Filled with thankfulness, we bade good-bye to
our kind hostess, who participated in our joy. With tearful eyes
she sent her greetings to those at home, whither her heart so often
turned from this desert strand. Returned to Lichtenau, our people
were in an excited state of mind. The news forwarded to Igdlopait had
been overtaken by a fresh message from Julianeshaab, by which Captain
Bang informed us that, being detained by the ice, he had only reached
Pardleet, an island near Julianeshaab, where he at first thought
of waiting for us, but had now gone on to Julianeshaab to take in
provisions, and by unloading some oil make room for us. What kissing
and rejoicing there was amongst us, as the glad tidings spread that now
we should soon have started on our homeward journey. Whilst our good
hostess was busy preparing a plentiful meal in the kitchen, Mr. Warmow
was looking after provisions for the boat; and that we might never
forget our stay in Lichtenau, there was placed before us quite a number
of beautiful little souvenirs, to remind us of our kind entertainers.
We returned these kindnesses as well as we could; and as, when once
having reached Julianeshaab and the Constance we no longer needed our
boats, we gave one to the missionaries of Lichtenau. Several of the
musical-boxes, too, which, in spite of many hard knocks, were still
sound, we divided among the missionaries; and those of our weapons,
too, which we did not want, we left to our kind, hospitable friends.
It was high noon when we took leave of our hosts. Again the whole
population were on the strand: the men did not cease firing their guns,
and others sat in their canoes ready to give us their escort. Amidst
hurrahs and farewell greetings, the travellers began their journey.
Once more we were to be terrified by the malice of an iceberg. Before
the harbour of Lichtenau lay some small, malicious, jagged bergs.
Some were so weak that the natives’ shooting put them in danger of
demolition, but one in its last moments would fain commit a crime,
which, fortunately for us, did not succeed. Ourselves in the whale-boat
had just passed it; the small boat, with the native crew and Mr.
Hildebrandt, was following us; the large one was farther behind, when
the berg burst, falling with a rustling and cracking over the craft
beneath. It did not, however, touch it, but the masses of ice fell
close to it in the water, which rose in huge waves, hurling the boat
far away. For one moment we looked with horror at the spectacle; but
our horror changed at once to joy, as we saw the little craft dancing
on the water, and the natives, wet as poodle dogs from the spurting of
the water, spitting, and spluttering, and drying their faces, which for
a long time had never been free from dirt.
In a short time Lichtenau had for ever disappeared from our sight. At
the entrance of the Fjord is a small outlying town, Südpröven. Here we
rested a moment to greet the merchant and his wife once more. Here our
convoy took leave of us, and the three boats made the last portion of
the road to the colony alone. In the evening we reached the Island of
Karsok. The natives, who at first hid themselves, came forward when
they saw Mr. Warmow, and received bread and meat with delight. They
lived high above the strand on a cliff, the house rather large and in
good order. Our people, who followed them into it, were immediately
regaled with coffee, which they praised.
Through channels and straits, between a labyrinth of islands, we
continued our journey. This night (it was the 21st to the 22nd) it was
scarcely dark at midnight; but the fog, which in the evening had lain
around the tops of the mountains, grew thicker and thicker, and towards
morning fell in a soft rain. After midnight we passed the Island of
Omarsuk and a great heart-shaped mountain, which the Greenlanders on
that account call the Mountain of the World, and neared the district
of Julianeshaab. Towards five in the morning we reached the entrance
of the Fjord. Here on a cliff we took a little rest. The heavy work
on this long boat journey, on which we could not once use the sail,
had told greatly upon our men, and added to that was the damp, cold
weather, from which we were quite unprotected. But the hot strong
coffee, which soon ran into the mugs from the faithful old kettle, and
a good portion of bread and meat, helped us considerably. Actively
we went on. Soon we were between the islands which stretch before
the colony, the largest of which, right in front of Julianeshaab,
is called Storö. Two hours more, and the end of our last journey in
Greenland--Julianeshaab--was reached.
CHAPTER XI.
IN JULIANESHAAB. EXCURSION TO IGALLIKO.[35]
Julianeshaab.--Unfriendly behaviour of the Governor of
the Colony.--Missionary Dräxler.--Shelter on board the
Constance.--Visit to Dr. Gundlack.--Greenland leather-work.--A
ball.--Excursion up the Igalliko-Fjord.--Northman ruins.--The
Egede family in Igalliko.--Peculiar customs.--Inspection
of the plan of the Northman buildings.--Geological
observations.--Return.--Pastor Anton.--Lake near
Julianeshaab.--On the Storefjeld.
Julianeshaab is situated in 60° 43′ N.L. and 46° 1′ W.L. (Greenwich);
a group of islands, some of larger, some of smaller circumference,
lies in front of the real continent. The colony lies in a small
Fjord, and you are only aware of its existence when you are near to
it. Julianeshaab is the most southerly Danish colony, as well as the
most southerly point which can be reached by large vessels. The small
outlying towns--Nennortalik, South and East Pröven, and so on--are only
visited by small coasting vessels. Founded about the end of the last
century, Julianeshaab first rose in the present one to be a colony.
From the term _colony_, in regard to Julianeshaab, one must not
form too great expectations. On either bank of a stream, the outlet of
a lake which lies half an English mile inland, the settlement is built
along the harbour on the slope of a mountain. The centre is occupied
by the residence of the superintendent of the colony, which is close
to the harbour; next to that lives the doctor; on the other side of
the stream stands what, for Greenland, is a stately church, and the
dwelling of the preacher. The house of the clerks of the colony, some
stores, and a small house for strangers, are the only buildings built
in the European style; they are all painted black, but look quite
neat with their white window-frames. The remaining houses, inhabited
by the natives, are partly the old turf huts, and partly a mixture
of Greenland and European, as indeed the inhabitants are, too, being
mostly half-breeds. These huts have a slanting plank roof; their
interior fittings and their whole appearance are Greenlandish: even
the dung-heaps are not wanting, though there are exceptions. A high,
round-topped mountain, the Starefjeld, overtops the whole, whilst the
lower highland (the Harefjeld) juts out as a cape into the sea. The
harbour is large and roomy. It is, as a rule, only visited by one ship
in a year.
Long before we had rounded the Harefjeld cliffs we had looked eagerly
for the longed-for journey’s end. At last, as we rounded the last
of them, the colony lay close before us, with the trim brig, the
Constance. Our boat’s flag was of course hoisted, and it was not long
before the Danish colours fluttered from the Constance. Our first
visit was to the vessel on whose hospitable deck we were to begin
our homeward journey. A happy feeling came over us as, after so long
a time, we once more felt the planks of a good ship under our feet.
We were received most heartily on board, and the seamen showed much
interest in our sad story.
After having stowed our luggage on and between decks, the question
rose where should we stow ourselves? The captain, officers, and Dr.
Buchholz found shelter in the cabin, but the men had still to be cared
for, as the room for their reception was not yet prepared. We hoped to
find a sheltering roof for them in the colony in the meantime; that was
really necessary, as it still rained fast. And now we would at once pay
a visit to the governor.
He received us with cold ceremony, seemed to think it unnecessary to
offer us a seat, and allowed himself very unwillingly to be drawn into
conversation. This conversation gave us more the idea of an examination
than a conference. To our narrative the governor replied, now and
then, by a short but very decided, “That I do not think.” The question
then followed as to whether we had enough provisions for the homeward
journey. Upon the captain’s answer, that in that respect we must trust
to the goodness of our hospitable friends, and that we hoped to supply
ourselves with much that was necessary in the colony, his worship
merely answered, “If you have good Danish thalers in your pocket, you
can buy all you want of me.” For manners’ sake, and as there were other
guests present, we were offered a glass of wine. At length we asked
about a lodging for our comrades who were out in the rain. Upon this
point, too, the answer was rough and short, “For them I have no room;
they must stay in the boats, or raise a tent and stay there.” Upon our
remarking that in rainy weather a stay in the boats was not exactly the
thing, his worship said, half-sneeringly, “If you really have borne so
much, a little rain will not kill you.” With this answer we left.[36]
In Julianeshaab we had unexpectedly met a countryman and his family,
Mr. Dräxler, who had been acting as missionary at Lichtenau, and was
now going to Friedrichsthal to free our friend Starick, who was to go
to Lichtenfels. According to the custom of Greenland, he travelled
with two “Women’s” boats. His people he had housed under a tent, but
a traveller has to obtain a lodging on shore. To him we complained of
the wants of our men, and he at once offered to take them into his own
tent. Brave Captain Bang then came to the rescue. He learnt our trouble
and gave his advice. The schoolmaster was fetched, the schoolroom
opened, the forms removed, and our men were placed at once under dry
shelter.
Somewhat less imposing did the governor of the colony look, when later
we saw him in his shop taking small coin from the natives for sugar and
coffee. After seeking the doctor of the colony, who received us very
kindly, on behalf of our sick comrade, we returned on board to arrange
our things more comfortably.
The room was scanty enough; and as only two berths were provided in the
cabin, and one we wanted for the sick man, the pilots preferred, as
they would not go with the men, to make their lodging in the hold.
We now, for the first time, experienced the disagreeableness of a
Greenland summer; for when it did not rain, the dreadful swarm of gnats
destroyed all peace in the open air. We visited our countrymen in the
colony, and our men made acquaintance with the natives. The shyness
of the people, who yesterday were gaping in crowds at the strangers,
had vanished; and they seemed, on the contrary, to take much pleasure
in the intercourse with our people. We, too, were introduced to the
society of Julianeshaab. Dr. Gundlack invited us to coffee. Our kind
host, who during the day had trudged about in heavy wooden shoes and
long fur-lined coat, with a long pipe and a broad flop-hat, through
the colony to his patients, or visiting friends, seemed not at all
put out at our primitive dress. There we sat in a motley row, with
three European ladies (a very silent elderly one and two young ones),
and kept up a conversation. That same day Captain Hegemann signed the
passage-contract with the Danish official, and now there seemed no
obstacle in the way of our homeward journey.
But the weather would not change. An ashy grey fog enveloped the
mountains, and the rain poured down without intermission. We had,
therefore, nothing to do but to get rid of the time. The German
missionaries were still there, and with them we passed some pleasant
hours. But the next day separated us. The weather improved, and our
friend hastened to his destination. The small fleet, with men, women,
and children, and all the baggage, pulled up by the Constance once
more, and our dear countrymen parted from us, sending many greetings to
those at home. We much wanted to take some Greenland products home with
us. The people in Julianeshaab were much more accessible to trading
than the southern settlers, and also we had more time and opportunity
to get acquainted with them; so we soon found a woman, who, for a
certain sum, was ready to sew us some shoes. The dwelling of this woman
and her daughter differed advantageously from the surrounding Greenland
houses. The sitting-room, which was japanned with white varnish, was
kept very clean, and ornamented with pictures, and the never-failing
looking-glass; the window-panes were transparent, which is a great
matter in Greenland. The inhabitants, now busied eagerly for us, were
in their own persons laudable exceptions to the rule. Very elaborate
is the finishing and ornamenting of shoes with the customary leather
mosaic in Greenland. With untiring patience the women sew on little
beads of leather in stripes, with thread made of seals’ sinews. The
preparation of this thread caused us some merriment. The tail-sinews
are dried, then cut into filaments. As these filaments are not smooth
and fit to sew with, they must first be prepared; this is done by the
sewer rolling the thread quickly under her hand over her cheek shining
with grease. The price of the work was, of course, not high, and we
were soon possessors of it. Our people, however, had become much more
intimate with the natives. In the evening we went again on land. From
the store resounded dance-music and merriment.
Let the respected reader imagine a low square room, not very large,
feebly lit by the rays of an oil lamp hanging from the centre. In one
corner stands an empty oil tub, on which two Greenlanders have taken
their stand, and are working with great delight at their fiddles.
The melody and the manner of dancing which it elicits sounds very
strange. According to the time of this music, the couple whirl round
each other under the oil lamp. Man and woman crack and stamp with
their feet, and clap with the hands, at which the lady dancer in an
opportune moment tickles her partner under the nose with a tuft of
hair. The couple now form chains and circles. After a short rest the
dance begins again. Over the scene hangs a thick cloud of dust and
smoke from the oil lamp, which only allows one to see the outlines
of the native youths leaning against the walls. For the amusement of
the guests, they gave themselves up to the pleasures of the dance.
Our men disported themselves bravely, and the Greenlanders showed
themselves agile dancers. Pleasure shone in their eyes, and one
could plainly see that, on the other side of the Arctic circle, the
young folk dance as passionately as on this. Many of the ladies had
dressed for the occasion; but others, relying on their native charms,
ventured contentedly into the ball-room in their everyday dress. The
winding up of the festival consisted in a general coffee-drinking
in a neighbouring house. Such dancing entertainments were of course
repeated, and one was so noisy as to disturb the governor of the
colony, who lived close by, from his slumbers. Driven from the store,
the company withdrew to the Harefjeld, where, upon a somewhat swampy
meadow, they kept it up till early morning.
This fondness for dancing is moreover peculiar to the full-blooded
Greenlander, but the strict customs of the Moravian fraternity do not
permit this amusement, and the missionaries have, therefore, declaimed
against it. In the southern mission stations, where the intercourse of
the community of the Moravian mission is less brisk, this is easily
prevented. In the north, however, it is more difficult; in Gotthaab,
for instance, where the inhabitants rejoice in unbridled dissoluteness.
The neighbouring relatives come, too, to join in the revels. Two
kinds of dances are customary in Greenland. The one is a social dance,
resembling French quadrilles. Here, too, circles are made and groups
formed. The step is peculiar. The foot is dragged and stamped according
to the rhythm, and then again quickly brought up in time. The other is
danced by two persons, and reminds me of the Hungarian “csardas.” It
is an ever seizing and escaping, a quick twisting, now together, now
separately. Both dances are pretty, and show the goodnatured, as well
as the wild expression of the national character perfectly. Moreover,
the Greenlander dances the customary European dances quite as well
as we do. The national dance-music does not enrich its treasures by
teaching; a sailor learned in the accordion brings this instrument with
its new tunes over the sea, and the musically gifted Greenlander soon
fiddles it after him. The Greenlanders’ treasures of melody have now
been enriched with some German tunes by our men.
By degrees, our stay in the colony grew very wearisome. In vain we
waited for a fair wind to run us out of the harbour. At last, after
long rain, fine weather set in. But in the meantime, as the Constance
could not run out, the fine days must be turned to account, and I found
an opportunity for an excursion to the Fjord of Igalliko.
On the boat voyage from Friedrichsthal to Julianeshaab, I had
everywhere sought for traces of the ancient Norse buildings, which,
according to the chart of the Archæological Society of Copenhagen,
were to be found in many places; but, except the small remains of
Härjulfsnäs, the Igikait of the Greenlander of the present day, had not
yet seen any. The district of Julianeshaab, however, was rich in them.
In all probability, the deep Fjord in the neighbourhood of this colony,
had been, in the time of the Northman settlers, thickly peopled. In
Julianeshaab itself, the Danish officials could tell us a good deal;
for they pride themselves much on these monuments of their ancestors,
and repeatedly offered to show us the ruins of the Church of Kakorlok
near Kakorlok Fjord, though in the meantime they did not at all help
us to profit by their invitation. We had, therefore, to ask for a boat
and provisions. From the moment we went on board the Constance, we had
given up all claim to our own, the possession of which had in reality
gone over to the Danes. It was very hard for us to ask our hosts
for anything they did not offer, and thus the Norse ruins remained
unvisited. From the Harefjeld, however, I examined them with the
telescope, and eventually I had an opportunity of making acquaintance
with this ancient monument.
A store of fresh meat is not easily obtained in Greenland; and some we
wanted for the voyage. In the Igalliko Fjord, on the very spot where
Erick Rauda’s (the first Northman settler’s) house is said to have
stood, there now lived a Greenland family, which--the only one in the
country--bred cattle. There, according to Captain Bang’s opinion, we
might hope to get some meat.
A boat journey must, therefore, be made to it. The Danish sailors had
very little desire to pull a good forty miles to Igalliko; our people
on the contrary were ready enough to take to their oars for another day
or two; so the crew was soon fixed upon, and I accompanied the party.
The weather was lovely; merrily the boat flew over the smooth surface
of the water; soon we were out of the Julianeshaab Fjord, and sailing
between the island and the continent. A deep sea bay, overlooked by
gloomy mountains, opened to our left. This was the Kakorlok Fjord,
on the inner coast of which lay the ruins of a Northman house, known
by the name of the Cathedral of Kakorlok. Straight across the Fjord,
and round Storö, did the road to Igalliko take us. The Fjord itself
from its entrance to its end is thirty-two miles long. The overhanging
rocks to the left as you sail inwards are very steep. Along the whole
length, from beginning to end, there is scarcely a place to be found
fit to haul the boat in; and in many places it is utterly impossible,
owing to the steepness of the rocks. The rocky masses which encircle
the Fjord on this side belong to the mountain chain of Redekam, which
runs between the two great Fjords north and south from Julianeshaab up
into the land. The opposite bank is in many places flatter, the ground
rises more gradually, and between the distant lying rocks shines here
and there the inland ice. The landscape here is decidedly much more
pleasing. About the middle the Fjord sends out a short southerly arm.
There once settled the Northmen, and the place was called Gammelgard;
at this day the Greenlander calls the ruined town Kaksiarsuk.
On the road hither, one naturally asks oneself how is it possible to
breed cattle here? At the time when the ancient settlers were here,
it might have worn a somewhat more habitable aspect; but to-day the
eye sees nothing but the Greenland stereotyped plots of moss, with
a few willow bushes and bare masses of rocks, in whose rifts the
dear sun has enticed a flower out here and there. As to the view, the
neighbourhood is beautiful; but a fruitful appearance it certainly has
not. Indeed, provender must be some days’ journey from this spot, and
fetched with much trouble; for the places overgrown with sweet grass
are sparse and very far apart; and only when quite within the Fjord
can one understand how cattle, at all events Greenland cattle, that is
animals not pampered with fodder, can be reared.
Here another kind of landscape spreads before us. The high overhanging
downs open out by degrees into a smooth table-land, shut in by a
rampart of red rocky wall, opening in one spot by a pass to the
neighbouring Fjord. This is covered with vegetation; though not the
usual velvety green mat of moss, but the real juicy fresh-coloured
domestic meadow. Here it is, indeed, more habitable; but here, too,
the traveller misses, as he does everywhere in Greenland, tree and
shrub. Further inland there is a continuation of willow bushes about
the height of a man. On the meadow-land one sees from far stones of
large extent laid in long rows; this is the first trace of man’s energy
having once ruled here.
Before this, the journey had become laborious; not to me indeed, for
I sat near the steersman, and had nothing to do but to smoke my pipe,
survey the neighbourhood, now and then let loose a rope, and help
bravely with the meals. But from the entrance into the Fjord, the wind
had dropped; our poor fellows had, therefore, to work hard. It was late
in the night, when we at length found ourselves under the low cliffs of
Igalliko. Twilight was scarcely worth mentioning. The air was agreeably
mild. With united efforts we hauled the boat up on to the strand; and
while the men were busy unloading the craft, I went with the steersman
to wake the inhabitants of Igalliko, who in spite of our shouts had as
yet taken no notice of our arrival.
The honest Greenland cattle-breeder had spread his store of
Angmaksätten and Owak (_Gadus ovac_, Rhd.) on the grass and
cliffs, and the drying fish emitted a pestilential odour, which
fortunately later on dispersed a little. From a low rocky pinnacle we
could overlook the whole settlement. The houses were larger than those
usually erected by the natives, and strikingly better built. From the
distance the building materials looked like brick, or artificially-hewn
stone.
We passed over a hillock, and came to the flat top of a rock, which
seemed to be surrounded by a number of regular blocks. Close by,
however, they seemed to possess more and more order; and the first
Norse remains lay before us. The ancient builders had, in the erection
of this house, made use of the steep rock as a wall. The building
materials were huge blocks of stone. To all appearances it was rather
a low building. The rocky wall was about six feet and a half high,
one foot broad, and deeply hollowed out, which plainly had the effect
of limiting the upper part of the room; and it seemed to me from this
simple grooving, that the closing up was performed by large stone
slabs, which, later on, I saw applied to other buildings, of which the
neighbourhood of Igalliko has many.
At last we reached the house. There, in spite of all shouting, the
inhabitants gave no sign of life, so there remained nothing for it
but to knock them up. From the mildness of the air, it did not seem
strange that the cattle were out all night.
The present inhabitants of Igalliko were not originally Greenlanders;
they are rather European, and wandered into Greenland scarcely a
hundred years ago. The family ancestor was called Olsen; he was the
first merchant in Julianeshaab. His descendants have dropped the name
of Olsen, and taken that of the beloved Greenland apostle, Egede. This
family is a striking example how by degrees a tribe settling here may
become naturalized into natives. Except the features, I could discover
nothing in the inhabitants of Igalliko which now remained to them from
their European ancestors. Language, customs, and manner of living, all
have they taken from the Greenlanders. We now entered the house of
young Sörn Egede. After going happily round the dung-heaps, and several
muddy puddles, we reached the utricular building, in which the door
of the dwelling-room was found. No movement was to be heard in the
half-darkened room. Only when the steersman called, did Sörn spring
from the wooden bed common to all, in a highly primitive toilette. He
forthwith recognized the visitors. But now the skin coverlet of the
bedstead became alive underneath. Children’s voices in every different
tone were heard; and from the dark mass soon peeped out here and there
a head. Near Sörn, his wife Annie had rested, who now, anything but put
out by nature’s costume in which she was, viewed us attentively, and in
spite of the prevailing darkness, read the letter which the steersman
had brought. She then turned gracefully round and suckled her youngest
child. At the sight of the dirty figures, maids, and shepherdboys, who
now appeared from under the fur covering, it dawned upon me that we had
better sleep somewhere else. So after waking Sörn’s family, we went
into the next building, where Sörn’s father, Paul Egede, lived with
his wife and his youngest son, who was also married. Paul Egede was a
feeble, grey-headed old man, in whom the flame of life barely seemed to
flicker. His brown wife, nevertheless, seemed to have a good quantity
of Greenland blood in her veins; she was younger than he, and quite
active. Paul Egede was luxuriously clad in a shirt. Madame found this
superfluous while sleeping. Awakened from slumber, she at first seemed
to think of putting on such an article of clothing; soon, however, she
relinquished the idea, and stared at us vacantly.
Old Paul spoke Danish. We greeted him, and went back to the boats with
his sons, which we finally hauled on land. We met, too, with some
preparations for our stay.
Sörn’s dwelling was, according to Greenlandish ideas, very roomy, and
betrayed the certain well-to-do position of the owner. Gold-framed
looking-glasses and large lithographs of English origin decorated
the walls, even a “Dutch” clock was not wanting. The greater part of
the room was taken up by the one common bedstead. Sörn himself was a
robust young man with the typical Danish face, tolerably clean; his
wife Annie, a blonde, had once been a pretty girl, but now that she
had been married a little while, she seemed to us somewhat faded, and
not free from the vice of uncleanness peculiar to all Greenland women.
I say purposely _women_, for though I do not mean to assert that
the Greenland girls are so thoroughly clean that they wash themselves
at least once a day, and that even amongst the grown up daughters of
the land one does not see many unclean faces, still the young girls
are not wanting in a certain innate desire to please, which can even
rise to vanity and love of finery. After marriage, however, this all
vanishes; then the Greenland women take but little care of their
outward appearance, particularly when a family comes on. Exceptions
are not often met with. Annie brought us some tea which we had given
her to make, and china cups to drink out of, which were decorated with
gold rims and gaudy flowers. Our friendly hosts looked at us quite
delighted, and Sörn and Annie felt much honoured and very happy, when
we handed back a rye loaf with butter. The others, too, had some bread,
but dry. The remainder of the tea, and some candied sugar, we also
presented to the Greenland company, who immediately made the most of
the strange drink, and gulped it down speedily.
For our sleeping apartment we chose the fodder-house. The Egedes at
once conducted us there. The small building served as a store-room
for all sorts of things, and greatly needed air. They offered us
some milk in a washing-basin, but we preferred drinking it out of an
unsuspicious-looking stone dish. Meanwhile, a window had been made in
the room; that is, Sörn had simply pushed out a stone in the wall, and
through the opening now flew all superfluous objects; a calf’s head,
old shoes, dried fish, calves’ entrails, and divers other things in no
way belonging to each other. At last the atmosphere became endurable;
fresh hay was spread, and we lay down on our sacks to sleep.
The next morning we had undisputed proof of the twofold use of the
dish, which had at first been offered us as a washing-basin; it now
appeared full of coffee and milk. Sörn’s kindly invitation to help
ourselves, we were still less able to accept from the fact that the
children took an innocent pleasure in dipping their cups in the dish,
by which proceeding their unwashed arms dived up to the elbow in the
milk.
[Illustration: RUINS OF ERICK RAUDA’S HOUSE.]
Sörn, the steersman, the cook, and some of our men then went to kill
the oxen, and I turned towards the ruins.
On the spot where Igalliko now stands, the oldest Norse settlement once
stood--Brattelid, Erick Rauda’s, the first emigrant’s, house, when
Igalliko Fjord was known as Eimar Fjord, and the arm of the sea to the
northern end of Julianeshaab, which is not far distant overland from
Brattelid, was called Erik Fjord. What degree of value this statement
deserves, Archæologists must determine. Norse ruins exist, and to a
rather large extent. Next appears a large room, forming a square on
one side enclosed by a re-entering angle, with huge stones. The blocks
lie close together and are not joined with mortar. In former times,
doubtless, there were more rows lying one on the other; now there is
but one; though the stones lying around may have fallen down. In the
re-entering angle of this court lie the ruins of a house, which, if
a dwelling-house, indicates but small dimensions. I will here give a
hasty sketch. The extent of space enclosed by walls was from about
twenty-six to thirty feet long, and ten paces broad. Here, too, the
walls were made of low blocks of stone, and, exactly like the Cyclopean
walls of the south of Europe, not set in mortar. None of the blocks
were hewn; the hewn portion of the stone formed the smooth side. The
holes were filled up with small stones. In that part of the building
facing the south were two entrances. This, too, reminded one of
those ancient buildings; for the sides of the door, built of stones,
inclined inwards towards the top, and were closed by giant stone-slabs
laid over them, and therefore exactly resembled the entrances in the
Cyclopean walls of Greece. Both doors were in full preservation. One
room was transformed by the Egedes into a store-house, the door of
the other was open. They were at the utmost six feet high; a big man,
so it seemed, could not have gone through the doorway upright. On the
stone slab which covered the door lay some earth; grass grew upon it,
and as this layer of earth was pretty thick, and as, according to all
circumstances in Greenland, this can arise neither from the course of
time, vegetation, or decay, we may assume that this is the remainder of
the old roof, and that the builder, like his descendants in Iceland,
covered his house with sods. The space in the enclosure of the stone
circle is covered with pieces of rock. If time has not set its teeth
quite in vain upon the old walls, the population of Greenland have at
all events done their best to destroy them; for all the stones, with
which the inhabitants of Igalliko build their houses in the present
day, have been hewn by Northman hands so beautifully even, that they
make splendid building materials. A Greenlander would not give himself
such trouble, but takes it from the Norse buildings, only allowing
those to remain which require great strength to move.
Some hundred steps off lie the ruins of another seemingly smaller
building, unenclosed. Still further on, a plain stone wall is to be
seen. On the grass, too, towards the end of the Fjord, lay heaped-up
masses of stone, which apparently can only have been the work of human
hands. On a small low island, too, in the Fjord, facing the harbour,
the foundations of some Norse buildings exist. Perhaps these were used
partly as dwellings for the servants, partly for magazines; that on the
island was possibly a place of refuge in time of threatened danger.
The ancient settlers had their building materials very near at hand.
Immediately behind Igalliko, which itself stands upon a steep slope
rising from the sea, is a terrace-shaped row of red rocks. This stone,
which has many perpendicular clefts, and forms as steep declivities,
is a red sedimentary kind of sandstone which in its under strata is
harder, has more quartz in it, and is lighter; but towards the surface
is unequal, and in its red masses contains white flint stones. This
stone splits easily in its strata into slabs, and was therefore very
serviceable in building, such as I have never met with in any other
part of Greenland. Very interesting to me was one other appearance
which I noticed on that sandstone rock. Even from below, at a height
of about 300 feet above the sea, a heap of débris had struck me from
its peculiar appearance. At first I fancied it was artificially built,
and strewn with stones. Upon closer investigation, however, it seemed
that this débris must have floated there. The loose blocks of stone
had been broken off by the tide, and lay in such masses that it would
have been impossible for the hand of man to have brought them there.
From above, I noticed on the shore a very low spot, where things were
rolled up on a lower terrace in the same way. It is not easy to imagine
that storm-floods, however high, could roll such masses over the ground
and carry them up here. Rather would the assumption of an ancient
coast-line be justified, and that the inner part of the Igalliko Fjord
had later on been raised, certainly at a time when Norse settlements
were unknown. I was sorry that I had not the leisure to investigate
this phenomenon, as well as the surrounding neighbourhood. Scarcely
had I finished some hasty sketches, when our people were ready for
departure. With my sleeping-sack across my shoulder, I said good-bye to
Sörn, his Annie, and the whole household.
On our return journey we enjoyed the most lovely weather: at noon we
rested on a cliff, where we found willow-bushes enough to boil the
kettle. Unwashed and unmolested, however, we were not to return home.
As we were half-way in the Fjord the sky clouded over, and it began
to rain, and also the boat very decidedly to rock; and the idea of
stopping at some place on the bank, roofless and unprotected, having
to wait for better weather, was seriously entertained. But it cleared
again; and, after a fourteen hours’ journey, we pulled up alongside the
Constance. We found her in the harbour quite blocked up with ice, which
had come in with the current, being a bad omen for our speedy release.
The day after my return from Igalliko Fjord, I had an opportunity of
making the acquaintance of a very amiable man. He was, too, the only
Dane who of his own accord offered us help and support, Pastor Anton.
He had just returned to Julianashaab from an official circuit. As this
included every Danish settlement in South Greenland to Cape Farewell,
and northwards to Cape Kaksimiut, it could not be effected under some
weeks. In the smaller settlements of Greenland there is now a certain
degree of order and management in the matter of religious worship. A
catechist, a native, who has received his education at the seminary
at Gotthaab, looks after the native school and devotional services:
Europeans generally attend to their own families. At the best part of
the year the pastor arrives; and during his stay children are baptized,
weddings blessed, the Holy Communion administered, the grown up youth
are prepared for confirmation, and admitted in the religious community;
graves, too, are not forgotten by this shepherd of souls. All outlying
places are visited, and then he returns to his own station. The return
journey in the hide-boat, often in unfavourable weather, is difficult
enough. Pastor Anton had greeted all belonging to us on board heartily,
as already said, and most kindly offered his help in any way that
could be useful. We were to ask him for anything we wanted; he would
give it willingly. These offers we received with the warmest thanks,
but we were nevertheless able to decline them, as we were already
provided with all that was most necessary. He invited us to his house
for the afternoon, where we passed some hours chatting pleasantly with
the chief people of Julianeshaab. It was quite a political chat, and
interested us greatly. The Danish gentlemen could not help showing how
deeply they still felt the loss of Schleswig and Holstein, and made no
secret of their hope that France would take upon herself the office
of avenger. Greatly astonished were they when I informed them that we
Germans in Austria had long since calmed ourselves with regard to the
events of 1866, and that no sensible man amongst us would ever dream of
entering into an alliance with France against Germany. Who thought then
that the dénouement was so near? that at home things were happening,
which in a short time would lead to war,--to a war from which Germany
would, in an unlooked-for manner, come forth united, conqueror, and
mighty, and France punished, crushed, and humbled!
We sat long with the pastor. It was home-like and comfortable there;
and in his little study there came over me once more a great longing
for home. Without raged a violent storm from the south-east; we could
scarcely stand; though it was clear, and the air, for Greenland,
particularly warm. The thermometer showed 27° Fahr. This temperature
lasted the whole night. Towards morning it fell somewhat lower. I
accompanied Captain Bang in a walk to the Harefjeld, where he wished
to survey the condition of the ice. The sea seemed quiet, but broad
stripes of ice lay before us, and above and below the Islands Akkia and
Storö, the straits were full. That did not look like soon getting away!
In the evening I was invited alone to the house of the governor of the
colony. There I met the pastor and the doctor. If my host thought that
I should reveal myself as a thorough Austrian, he had an opportunity of
undeceiving himself.
The walk to the lake near Julianeshaab is as pleasant as it is
instructive. Huge cliffs, from which a foaming torrent after a short
course falls into the sea, hem it in, towards the colony. In the
background rise picturesque rocks, reflecting their bald high tops in
the clear quiet waters. On the banks lie soft moss cushions, in which
the feet sink up to the ankles. The majestic peace of the far north
lies over the landscape, and particularly over the sea. How utterly
different is the character of our own Alpine scenery. “We are strongly
reminded of that hidden sea basin, which no one seeks, and which
touches the feet of the glaciers.
The Storefjeld, too, a high mountain of 1200 feet, the highest anywhere
near the colony, was climbed. To the dome-shaped top we made our way
over cliffs and through ravines; it was climbing the Alps in miniature;
one could once more use ones limbs properly, if only the abominable
Greenland summer plague, the gnats, had not been there. These small
tormentors followed us at every step; no beating about helped one,
and no tobacco smoke; they swarmed in the valley as on the heights,
and the body was covered over and over with them. Even if their sting
on our hardened bodies did not have quite the same effect as those
bloodthirsty gnats have upon the tender skin of our ladies at home,
still this continual worrying was in the highest degree irritating.
The view from the summit of the mountain is extensive and beautiful.
Over the bald mountain chain, strewn with giant rocks, and its
neighbours beyond (which remind one of the Brockenfeld of the Hartz),
the eye strays, until the far distant mountains of the inland with
their glaciers set the last boundaries. At our feet the lake shimmered
blue, and on the other side of the island and strait the eye met the
glistening sea with its icebergs and floes. It was an excursion well
rewarded; deep in the contemplation of this grand scenery, one could
even forget the gnats’ stings. The steersmen were not particularly
edified by the sight of the ice in the sea. Did it mean longer waiting?
The bay of Julianeshaab seemed very rich in fish. A boat sent out
by the Constance dorse-fishing, returned to the ship after a short
absence with a rich booty. The fish were split up and salted, and, in
angling, a dog-fish nine feet long was pulled up. Immediately a whole
body of natives received the sea-hyæna, brought it to the shore, there
dissected it, and quite close to the dung-pits before their houses
buried it, in order, according to their ideas, to improve the taste of
the meat. For the next day, which was Sunday, another pleasant dance
was in prospect. The men, too, now wished to be of the party. Sixty
ladies, after the last ball, had escorted those who were returning on
board, and the shouting and noise was heard in the lower deck of the
ship. Still greater enjoyment did this Sunday promise; a “Women’s” boat
had already arrived from some distance; but it was destined to turn out
otherwise.
CHAPTER XII.
KAKSIMIUT. FREDERICKSHAAB. RETURN VOYAGE TO EUROPE.[37]
Farewell and departure.--Visit to the Island of
Pardleet.--In Peru harbour.--Hollanderöe.--Festive
days in Kaksimiut.--Continuation of the
voyage.--Frederickshaab.--Copenhagen.
The 3rd of July was a fine day; and to my astonishment I heard that
Captain Bang had decided upon running out. I had still something to
look after on shore, but it had to be quickly done. Indeed, the captain
and other gentlemen soon followed to say good-bye to the inhabitants
of Julianeshaab. Presently the capstan choked with the raising of the
anchor. Now we were off in earnest. We took leave of the European
ladies of the colony who came down to the harbour, and nodded farewell
to the natives. At eleven o’clock the Constance unfurled her sails,
and glided slowly out of the harbour. The governor of the colony, the
doctor, and the pastor escorted us. Above, on the cliffs of the shore,
sat the maidens of Julianeshaab, in company dress, but sad; they nodded
farewell to us in their Greenland fashion. They had been shamefully
disappointed of their pleasure. Our sudden departure had struck the
poor things like a thunderbolt. And as for our men--well, it struck me,
too, that they would willingly have waited another day; but we had
entered upon our homeward path, and on the whole, we were all heartily
glad to be on the road home. Outside in the street, running along the
harbour, the gentlemen of the colony wished us a prosperous voyage.
We cruised nearly the whole afternoon, in a complete calm, between
Akkia and the continent, having the ship in tow. At last, at ten p.m.,
the outer harbour of Julianeshaab, on the island of Pardleet, about
one German mile distant, was reached, where, in expectation of more
favourable weather, we dropped anchor once more.
We had really made a great mistake in becoming so soon tired of
Julianeshaab; for, in the main, there was life about us there, and
that was at least a change. What weariness really is we had now to
learn. Pardleet is a completely desert island. The low rocky masses
are clothed with scanty vegetation. Whortleberries, the marsh lystus,
stunted willows, and birch brushwood are not wanting here either: but a
never-ending loneliness rests upon the island, which is poor in animal
life, and but seldom visited by birds. In former times, a Greenland
family lived here; the ruins of their dwelling are still visible. The
small celandine and grasses thrive upon this spot luxuriantly, and this
green spot seemed like an oasis in the desert. I and our men roamed
over the whole island. For want of other amusement, they collected
mussels,[38] which exist here in clusters in the shallows in shore.
They had all learned from the natives to eat them raw. We took a number
of these mussels on board, and when pickled I myself found them very
palatable. We lay in Pardleet harbour until the following day at noon,
when we weighed anchor, in order to continue our voyage at least as far
as Hollanderöe. The Constance, however, could not quit the spot, as the
wind was contrary, and we were unable to tack owing to the narrowness
of the straits between the islands. Nothing, therefore, remained but to
bring out the hawser once more; and that evening, about ten p.m., we
landed in Peru harbour, on the island of Kingitok.
On the map of West Greenland, a great many harbours are marked along
the coast, the Aurora harbour, Gray’s, and others. The uninitiated
imagine, although incorrectly, that these are inhabited by natives.
Greenland captains are often compelled to stay against their will close
in shore, owing to calms, or contrary winds, or ice. Then nothing
remains for them but to have recourse to one of these harbours, where
they can at least ride in safety and wait for favourable weather.
Peru harbour lies in a narrow strait over against Hollanderöe. As we
saw no prospect of leaving on the following day, and the weather was
fine, we undertook an excursion to this island. On the west it slopes
gently down, but towards the east rises into two lofty cliffs, which
form a deep ravine, separating them from one another, as well as from
the remaining part of the island. As we descended into this defile,
in order to reach the steep top on the other side, the stair-shaped
bottom of the valley covered with rubbish struck me at once, as well
as the steep walls, which showed pretty distinct furrows along them.
This roused the conjecture in my mind, that here had once been a
glacier, and that we were now completely in its bed. The top of the
rock afforded a splendid view on every side over the sea, which fora
long way was covered with ice, which the south-east storm had closely
crushed together, both towards the north and also towards the rocks
of the mainland. But the gnats here, too, plagued us frightfully, and
soon drove us altogether away. From above I could now see that the
rift in the valley opened into a broad gateway to the sea, confirming
my former conjecture as to its geological nature. No doubt remained
in our minds when we reached the upper part of the ravine. There the
bare rocky masses showed the finest unequivocal naked alpine formation,
which in no other way could be accounted for but by glacier-ice. These
observations, which I made also later in a ravine resembling this
at Kaksimiut and in the neighbourhood of Frederickshaab, raised the
opinion that there must have been a time when Greenland was much more
covered with ice than it now is. That this was previous to historical
times, indeed was most probably coeval with the glacial period of the
northern hemisphere of the earth, notwithstanding that all visible
traces have not yet disappeared, can be easily accounted for by the
slight decay of the rocks, and from the low state of vegetation in the
country. Moreover, to this very day, it seems to assert its favourable
position for a glacier; as in one spot, and that in no way high above
the surface of the sea, lays a huge mass of unmelted snow, which, under
similar circumstances during our stay in West Greenland, we had not
noticed.
Peru harbour would not let us depart so soon; we lay there from the
6th to the 11th of July. Excursions to land were rendered tormentingly
difficult by the importunate swarms of gnats. A small hunting party,
at the utmost, might venture out in the evening to kill a ptarmigan.
Besides, the dreary cliffs in their horrible sameness offered little
or no inducement for excursions. The only change was caused by the
natives, who knew how to find us even here; exchanging some birds or
fish for a piece of bread, and then lying half the day near the ship,
or on it, and sometimes being persuaded to show their tricks in the
Kajaks, by sitting in them and turning over, so that the bottom of the
boat became uppermost, they having their head in the water, and then
cleverly turning up again without any assistance. Once, a whole fleet
came, six Kajaks and three Umiaks. We hoped to find amongst them our
friend Starick, who ought to have begun his journey to Lichtenfels by
this time; but they were only natives, returning from seal-catching or
merely wandering about. Of course they could not miss the opportunity
of satisfying their curiosity. They came alongside, and some men
stepped on board, the women meanwhile remaining in their Umiaks. The
latter were but lightly clad. The work had made them warm, and they had
thrown everything off that was a burden; but they thought nothing of
arranging and completing their toilette before our ship’s crew.
At last, on the 11th of July, at noon, we left Peru harbour with a
favourable wind, hoping now to reach Kaksimiut. But, unfortunately,
when about eight miles from the goal, a calm brought us to a
stand-still, forcing us to find a suitable anchorage under the shore.
The harbour where we lay for some days had no name; Captain Bang said
he visited it now for the first time. Unfavourable wind, fog, and rain
rendered our abode remarkably disagreeable. On the 14th, a boat came
from Kaksimiut with a letter. The contents were not comforting. Beyond
there lay much ice (so it ran), and an English Kryolite ship, which had
run out of Ivikät the week before, had suffered greatly, was obliged to
return, and now lay a wreck in the harbour. Upon this we rejoiced that
we were in the Constance; for had we gone to Ivikät instead, we should
no doubt have taken shelter on board this ship, as at the time none
other lay ready for departure. Thus it might still have happened that
we might be once more banished by the ice to Greenland.
On the 15th of July, another attempt to run out was made. At first
it seemed as if we should soon reach the island of Kaksimiut, but
unfortunately a calm fell when half-way; indeed, we saw ourselves
driven a good way back by the storm. Towards evening the wind changed,
and we at last reached the latitude of the island. Company was soon
found. The youth of the place paddled about, and made a noise in their
Kajaks around the ship. The chasing and raillery of the merry crowd
knew no end; at the same time vying with each other in paddling and
throwing the harpoon, in which they exhibited great proficiency. As
it got dark the swarm returned to land. It was midnight before we got
into the harbour; and the darkness rendered it more difficult to find
a good place for dropping anchor. The following afternoon we resolved
to go on shore. Our only comfort in weariness (tobacco!), was it not
vanishing? and now our last penny must be expended in its purchase.
Kaksimiut is a provision depôt. The Danish government have here erected
a small dwelling-house, a still smaller warehouse, and an oil-store.
Around these buildings are grouped some dozen Greenland huts and other
appurtenances. The island, like all those on this coast, is rocky,
though rather low. Large stony plains slope gently towards the sea,
so that at high water it is partly flooded. On these plateaux the
inhabitants lay their hunting stores. The sea is the street-cleaner,
the tide carrying away all refuse.
After taking in at a glance the advantages of our position, and
becoming a little more familiar with them, we made the acquaintance of
the merchant, Mr. Motzfeld, a man of sixty-seven years of age, with a
friendly red face and bright eyes, whose age it was not easy to guess.
He was singularly vigorous, active, and chatty. His store of tobacco
was at once placed at our service; and he had no hesitation, upon the
faith of our honest faces, to supply us with a sufficient quantity
until we should reach Denmark. Thus, at least for a time, this need
was overcome; and full of joy the men withdrew with the beloved weed
on board. Motzfeld took us to his house. The government building he
did not live in; he kept it, however, for particular occasions to
receive company; for instance, he opened it and showed us all sorts of
rarities and curiosities which he had collected. Then he led the way
to his dwelling. Motzfeld was married, and the father of (actually!)
nineteen legitimate children. His wife (after the death of his first he
had ventured on a second) was a full-blooded Greenlander. A European
house did not suit her, she preferred living in a building of the kind
peculiar to the country. Her husband at once provided her with one
which, after his death, she could claim as a widow’s portion. There
he lived with the younger part of his family; the youngest member of
which was about a year old, whilst many of the elder ones had already
children; so that in this old man might be seen the head of a family
which would spread all over South Greenland. We had met with some
belonging to him in Nennortalik, Julianeshaab, and Igalliko, and some
lived here in Kaksimiut. The wife looked like every other Greenlander,
neither prettier nor cleaner: one must really, like her husband, who
sprang from a good Danish family, become altogether Greenlandized
before one can feel at home amid such surroundings.
Friend Motzfeld was in high spirits. He rattled on with all sorts of
fun, of course in Danish, which we could only now and then understand.
“Yes, German he could not speak,” he said, “but sing it he could;”
and then he sang, “Zachäus was a brave man,” and “I take my glass in
my hand,” and so on. Meanwhile his eyes twinkled, and he accompanied
his song with corresponding actions. The accordion, too, must make its
notes heard; and when the concert was over, we took our leave well
contented, and returned on board. In honour of our arrival, Motzfeld
had killed a goat, and sent by his son the half of it on board, wrapped
in a really clean cloth. The youth had cleaned and adorned himself,
wore a washed _Anorak_[39] and handsomely stitched shoes. We had
noticed him some days before amongst the crowd of receivers for his
superior agility. Judging by his friendly, intelligent face, he seemed
a good youth. Later in the day his father came on board, joining our
evening meal. He had all the talk to himself, the others being scarcely
able to get a word in. But who would blame the settler for gladdening
his heart with gossip, and giving scope to his tongue one day in the
year.
The following day was Sunday. With the Greenlanders, to whom every
day is Sunday, that does not mean much; but the men of the Constance
thought of one particular pleasure. Here, too, through the Danes, our
sailors soon became intimate with the inhabitants; and the festival
of Julianeshaab had to be repeated. For this there was the more
opportunity, as the merry Motzfeld would certainly put no hindrance in
the way. In the afternoon he came on board. He had donned his holiday
suit, a velvet frock and a high silk round hat, which in Greenland
means something. The two captains and myself he invited to dinner. At
first, remembering his Greenland domestic economy, I gave no direct
consent; besides which, we were sorry to be a burden to a man not over
richly stocked with European provisions. But Captain Bang persuaded us
to accompany him, assuring us that only roasted meat, and no boiled,
would appear at table; moreover, that Motzfeld was so well off, that he
could afford to give us a glass of wine: so we accepted the invitation.
This time we were received in the European house, our host’s wife and
widowed daughter, Agatha, doing the honours; they had adorned their
persons in order to receive us, had combed their hair, and washed
their faces. Motzfeld experienced “the noble pride of hospitality,”
and offered all that his desert island had to offer; the other half
of the goat sent to us roasted, stewed fruits, bread and butter, wine
and grog. In drinking he took the lead, and scolded us because we
did not properly respond. Meanwhile matters had become lively in the
other room. The fiddles squeaked, the accordion drawled, and the feet
shuffled and stamped in tune. The ball was opened. As we came out, the
same sight met us as at Julianeshaab in the stores. In a cloud of dust,
redolent of the fumes of the oil-lamps, heads were spinning round each
other; and here, too, the tuft of hair belonging to some fair one came
in very close contact with the face of the partner or spectator. The
conversation was highly interesting, and it was not long before our
old host had grasped a jolly maiden, and was swinging round with the
others. He could not understand that neither myself, nor the steersmen,
who now came in, would know anything of the dance.
Much too early, according to his idea, did we leave his hospitable
roof, and much too little honour had we done to his rum. He could
not reproach himself in that respect, for, even after our departure,
he continued to probe the contents of the bottle in quiet solitude,
eventually giving unmistakable proofs to the still active company in
the ball-room of the effect produced by a somewhat excessive enjoyment
of spirituous liquors.
The morning of the 18th of July brought more life than usual into our
neighbourhood. A small coasting vessel, bound to Julianeshaab, had,
on her return journey, put into Kaksimiut harbour in order to land
some goods and take in oil. She brought the news that the Peru, on
her way to Julianeshaab, would that day pass Kaksimiut. For Motzfeld,
besides various other things, they had brought a barrel of liquor. The
receiver had at once proved both quality and quantity, and found them
excellent, which accounted for his spirits being of the best order when
he came on board that morning. Not long after that, we saw him pull
out of the bay in holiday costume, in an Umiak (from which waved the
Danish flag) to pay a visit to the Peru. Only the cylinder hat had he
taken the precaution to leave at home. From the Constance, too, a boat
went to the Peru. Myself and several other officers, with some of the
men, went on shore. Agatha (it was ten a.m.) had not yet had time to
wash herself since yesterday, and on the faces of several other young
ladies were evident traces of yesterday’s exertions in the ball-room.
Mrs. Motzfeld sat in her house in her new Natzek. On the bench, by the
window, which was provided with a crane, stood the liquor-cask, and
close by a full-drawn bottle and a large glass. This day the merchant’s
house seemed to have a great attraction for the people of Kaksimiut;
for they spoke oftener than usual, and did not go away without
something to strengthen them. The old Greenland captain came from the
schooner, the catechist came; indeed, every one came who had time, and
as often as he had time. The cause of this unusual frequency it is easy
to guess. When we returned on board we learned the news as to what
the Peru had brought with her, and also that Mr. Motzfeld, faithful
as ever, without further consideration, had started in the Peru for
Julianeshaab. Kaksimiut was, therefore, bereft of its head. Indeed, as
I came on shore in the afternoon for a ramble through the island it lay
deserted and still. Through many cross-roads and by-ways, I returned to
the settlement. Not a creature was to be seen. At last some of our men
turned up, who at this unusual hour were returning on board. “Well,”
said I, “is Kaksimiut dead to-day?” “No, not that,” they answered, “but
they are all drunk.” And so they were. They lay in the huts, young and
old, men and women, under the influence of liquor, no longer masters
of themselves. Motzfeld’s wife was no exception to the rule, and even
her offspring were in high spirits. They had got possession of the
emblem of their father’s pride and dignity, the cylinder hat, and were
quarrelling over it to their hearts’ content, as, sitting on the roof
of the house, they played with it as prettily as an ape or a cat might.
Only two of the whole number of the inhabitants were really sober,
Hans, Motzfeld’s son, and a young girl named Concordia, who was a
praiseworthy exception to the rest of her countrywomen. In the evening
they brought the crane back to the ship. How much, or rather how
little, of his liquor Mr. Motzfeld found left on his return, what heavy
punishment he awarded to the culprits who had drunk it, and with what
joy he saw his cylinder hat once more--of all this I was unfortunately
not an eyewitness; but the respected reader can, without much trouble,
picture it for himself. The next morning brought a thick fog, which,
however, cleared at noon, and the wind was fair; we, therefore, weighed
anchor, and bade adieu to Kaksimiut. Above, on the rocks, sat the
maidens of the place; they had soon formed a fervent friendship for our
people on board, and, as they saw the whole establishment departing,
waved a sad farewell to us; indeed, some of them were wiping their
eyes. So rare and entertaining a visit, and of such short duration!
In and out among the islands, we now floated northwards. Soon the
steep fall of the giant Serminalik, the most southerly moraine in West
Greenland lay before us. A powerful broad belt here forced the inner
ice over the berg into the sea. Since we had left East Greenland we had
not seen a glacier so near to us. On the east side, too, under the
same latitude, there are some huge ones; but there the belt of moraines
reaches down to 60° of lat., whilst this most southerly one lies quite
alone in 61°. After a long open space to the north of Frederickshaab is
another large one, the Iisblink, with its feet dipping in the sea.
Soon we had the island of Tunarsoit, and the wild, jagged rocks of the
high Malenefjelds, in sight. We hoped to be in Arsut the following
morning, but in the straits between Nunarsoit and the continent
the wind changed, and we had to ride at anchor. This was the more
necessary, as it presently became more violent, and at noon a regular
storm burst; so we lay once more bound to a deserted strand. The
weather would not even allow of any further excursion, as the wind
brought up heavy masses of fog, rendering any ramble unsafe. It did
not last long, however. On the morning of the 22nd of July I noticed
with joy, from the rolling of the ship, that we must be at sea, and I
was right. With a favourable wind we had weighed anchor at half-past
four a.m., and going through the straits of Torsukatek, were at sea.
Already far to the south, when I came on deck, lay the rocky pinnacles
of Malenefjeld, and on that side of the shore they showed me the
entrance to a Fjord; that was the Arsut Fjord, close to which the
Kryolite layers are found, which would, of course, be very interesting
to me. If one leaves Rome without having seen the Pope, it is a sad
misfortune; still perhaps one may see him the next time one comes.
But when a geologist has so much and for so long traversed Greenland,
and now, when near one of the most interesting spots, is recklessly
carried past it, his misfortune is very much greater. It could not be
helped, however. We left it further and further behind. In the warm,
bright sunshine a troop of fin-back whales were playing round us,
which, in their security, swam with astonishing boldness so close to
the ship that they dashed the water all over the deck. The gambols of
these colossal creatures were wonderfully interesting. It was like an
explosion under the sea, when two or more of these whales leaped at
the same time out of the water, and rested on the surface, beating it
with their flappers, until the sound was like that of great guns. The
natives had left us, and now these giants of the Arctic seas had become
our escort.
In the evening, unfortunately, the wind died away, and the next morning
we had not advanced much farther, namely, still in the latitude
of Frederickshaab. It was not long before the people noticed us.
Natives approached, and later a boat came alongside with the colonial
officials. At first Captain Bang did not seem to wish to cast anchor
again; but at length several different circumstances induced him to do
so, and thus we were once more to go on shore.
Frederickshaab lies in 62° Lat. and 50° 1′ Long. The colony has not
the extent of Julianeshaab. The district lies at the extremity of a
Fjord-arm, into which a small stream flows. It is not protected by
islands, and offers a safe harbour for any ship running in; but the
Greenland captains avoid lying-to in Frederickshaab, as they are often
prevented for weeks together, by fog and contrary winds, from running
out again. The houses lie on a plateau between three mountains; to the
right and left rise two round-headed granite peaks and a wild jagged
rock, the Kotenfjeld, which shuts in the prospect. From any of these
summits one has a most pleasant view of the colony. By the harbour
lie the magazines. The governor’s house scarcely differs from the
others, and, owing to its surroundings, appears very low. Some other
buildings, the clergyman’s and the assistant’s dwellings, stand in
the same row. A cleanly-kept broad foot-way, and an open space before
the chief building paved with gravel, look well against the green
plots within the colony. The church stands at the upper end of the
settlement, and is surrounded by a grave-yard hedged in with stakes.
Between this and the houses of the officials stand the huts of the
natives, which throughout are supplied with plank roofs. Seen from a
distance, Frederickshaab seems an exception to the general rule in
Greenland; but when you go into the district itself, there is the same
disorder and the same intolerable stench as there is everywhere else.
The church-yard, which at a distance looks quite decent, really reminds
one more of a place where the flayer does his work; for on the graves
and on the sward lie bones brought by the dogs; whale bones, birds,
and fish in a state of putridity, lie all around, and nothing but the
stakes separated this place from that lying in the same state between
the houses, which is still more disfigured by the inevitable dung-heaps.
Besides the governor, his assistant, and a pastor, no Europeans live
here. Nevertheless, the natives, who are without exception half-breeds,
have a strikingly European cast of countenance, the men as well as the
women. Besides this, Ivikät being in the neighbourhood, from whence
the Kryolite ships frequently have to put into Frederickshaab, they
are accustomed to intercourse with Europeans. I even saw some native
girls going about in European dress, though evidently without the
necessary under-clothes; and comical enough they looked, as they
slid down hill-slopes with the rest of their tribe. The population
is, moreover, not at all numerous, and exceeds but little that of
Kaksimiut. The object of our stay in Frederickshaab was entirely that
of baking bread and brewing beer. Brewing beer is in Greenland, in
the mission-stations as well as in the colonies, a business, and the
beverage produced is very agreeable. The German missionaries brew white
beer, the Danes their much-loved brown beer. Of course, the malt is
brought from Europe. A very primitively-erected brewing place is found
in every large district, as well as a kneading trough, and both were
found here. Brewing and baking were done with most industrious haste;
and so it happened that the bread failed, and the beer turned sour,
though through the whole sea voyage both would have to be used. We
did not try to make any acquaintances in Frederickshaab, though our
own men were soon friendly with the natives, and the customary dance
easily arranged; but they did not seem to be so comfortable as in
Julianeshaab. We were invited, through Captain Bang, to the governor’s,
but did not go, as subsequently there was a death in the house.
Mr. Hildebrandt had an opportunity of greatly astonishing the natives
by his cleverness in canoe paddling. As everywhere else, so in the
harbour of Frederickshaab, the Constance was continually surrounded by
visitors, who, by their odd ways, whiled away the time.
Matters, however, did not always go so smoothly with the Kajak; and
they often had an opportunity of making acquaintance with the watery
element. Thus it happened to the aforesaid gentleman, who got upset
with the Kajak, and came on board wet as a poodle. But, when close
to the man-rope he turned round, sprang into the water, and swam
in the bitterly cold stream around the Constance. Such a thing the
Greenlanders had never before seen; and although they are, as it were,
part of their Kajaks, they can none of them swim: the bitter cold of
the element of itself forbids it. Their astonishment found vent in all
sorts of exclamations, when Mr. Hildebrandt returned on board. Whenever
they saw him afterwards, they begged him to repeat the trick once more.
Patiently they waited the whole day by the ship, but the artistic
swimmer did not satisfy their curiosity.
The neighbourhood of Frederickshaab offered but little that was
interesting. We passed the time in aimless rambles, and viewing the
prospects from the heights which, at last, rewarded us with a lovely
distant view. We could not, however, count upon our stay here; for
already, on the evening of the 24th, our business on shore was nearly
ended, so that we might hope to put to sea the following day. But not
until early on the 25th of July could the anchor be weighed for our
homeward voyage, when, for the last time, we trod on Greenland soil.
The dense ice out at sea forced the Constance still to keep a northward
course. Wind and weather favoured us. By the evening we had the great
Ice-blink near Fiskernäss, the second great glacier of South Greenland,
close to us. The huge masses of ice showed the gateways and arches in
a greenish light; and now louder, now fainter, we heard the washing of
the water. A lovely evening closed the day. Once more did we see that
magic light, which we had already learnt to recognize on the other
side of the ice, and of which in our homely latitudes, we can form no
idea. But the burning red clouds boded no good; and, indeed, we tacked
the next day in a pretty strong wind and thick fog.
As it cleared on the 29th of July, we could see far away the bergs of
the Greenland coast. On the 30th, the Constance took a westerly course.
Towards evening, the well-known rushing of breakers on the ice struck
our ears. Soon the barrier was before us, but the floes lay far apart;
and how different they looked! Jagged and crumbling, small, and to our
eyes insignificant, they drifted about, the sport of the waves. Once
more we heard the well-known command on the ice, “floe upon floe, keep
back!” Herds of seals which lay upon them lifted their heads curiously.
They should not want a farewell greeting; and soon the needle-gun
resounded, sending death to the harmless creatures, for the last time
on our voyage.
Behind us lay the ice, which closed up, forming a blinding white strip;
and the Greenland icebergs, gilded with the setting sun, sent us their
parting greeting. They sank deeper and deeper; the veil of night spread
over all; and when we came on deck the following day, we were in
latitude 65° 11′, on the high sea in Davis Straits. “31st July. No more
ice! Set southwards, and--O heavenly music of the word--homewards!”
This is the last note in my day-book. I write it with feelings too deep
for expression. A few weeks more, and all we have gone through will lie
behind us, and all that we have suffered (if God will) be at an end!
But how long will this trial of our patience last?
After nearly a month’s voyage across the lonely North Atlantic Ocean,
the Shetland Isles at last hove in sight. Soon they were reached,
and a fresh wind drove us into the German Ocean. In all directions
did we scour the broad plain with our glasses to discover the first
German vessel, which, perhaps, taking the direct way to our country,
might hurry on with the news of our return. But none were to be seen.
On the great Doggerbank were none but Dutch and Moravian fishermen.
The entrance of the Kattegat was now reached; the sea around us was
animated. In the latitude of Skagen there lay with us 300 ships, whose
destination was the Baltic Sea. But still no German sail showed itself!
What did it mean? Had the German nation given up seafaring since our
departure? Then the pilot came on board, and brought the news of the
great events which had taken place in Europe in the interval. Now
for the first time did we learn how that the long-impending war with
our old enemy had broken out; and how that the Danes themselves must
in truth confess that hitherto the German arms had been crowned with
victory. Now all was cleared up. Now we understood why we had met with
no German vessels, why hundreds of German ships lay at anchor in the
roads of Helsingör. How it flew from mouth to mouth! We were not yet on
our home soil, and all the younger ones were eager to be off to France;
they only feared “it might be over before they reached it in time to
have a brush with the French.”
On the 1st of September we at length reached Copenhagen. The handsome
pleasant town, with its beautiful beech-groves, made a doubly
satisfactory impression on us strangers. How different the landscape
appeared here in comparison with the waste shores of Greenland! With
pleasure, even in the Sound, did our eyes roam over the banks; and with
joy did we greet the neat suburbs and the green trees, which we had not
seen for so long. Here, in Copenhagen, were we restored to civilized
society; the two captains had gone on shore together; we remained on
board. The Constance was laid up in the Train-oil dock.
It now entered our heads that it was necessary to pay some attention
to our outward appearance; and our ragged community had a hearty laugh
at one another. In our present condition we could not leave the ship,
at least not by day, or we should certainly have been compromised
with the police. Some in sealskin caps, some in “kamiken,”[40] others
in sea-boots, from which the toes protruded, with ragged trousers,
and threadbare coats, or Iceland shirts; thus we returned home. At
last Captain Hegemann fetched us away in a fly in the twilight. Our
first visit was to a clothing warehouse; and one cannot blame the
owner for trying to protect his goods from us until he had received a
certificate from the Consul, which gave him a little more confidence.
Then essentially improved in appearance, we drove to the hotel; even
the host seemed surprised at the sight of such unusual guests; but we
were changed for the better, and could walk through the streets of
Copenhagen without fear of making acquaintance with the police through
outward appearance.
Thanks to the telegraph, the news of our happy return spread from one
end to the other of our country, and soon more and more distinct
tidings followed. On the 3rd of September, the same day that through
the home provinces, indeed through the whole of Europe, the news of
the night battle of Sedan flew, we trod on German soil, coming through
Friedericia in Schleswig. Flags were everywhere displayed. In the
evening, every suburb we reached was illuminated, until we entered
Hamburg in time to witness the great illumination in celebration of the
victories, and thus greeted our country, as it were, in triumph.
Thus we all stood again on native soil; and after so much distress and
danger, we had the happiness, scarcely hoped for in many weary hours,
of shaking hands with relations and friends. We should certainly have
preferred it, had we, like the Germania later on, been able to run into
Bremen harbour with our good ship, instead of coming into Bremen in an
express car by the east gate from Hamburg; but it was so destined. And
now that all is done, and our fate accomplished by a higher power, may
all murmuring as to the right or wrong be far from us.
As the consciousness of honourably fulfilling one’s duty is comforting,
so we Hansa men will quietly await the judgment of our contemporaries.
We cannot flatter ourselves that we have greatly increased the
knowledge of Greenland; but we have shown what man’s nature can bear,
and what man’s strength and perseverance can accomplish.
The narrator closes this account with the hope that he has succeeded in
rendering these extraordinary adventures, which must always be unique
in their kind, interesting to the reader.
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
CONTINUATION OF THE VOYAGE OF THE GERMANIA, AFTER HER SEPARATION
FROM THE HANSA. LANDING OF THE GERMANIA ON EAST GREENLAND. FROM
21ST JULY TO 5TH AUGUST, 1869.
Meeting with the whaler Bienenkorb.--Visit on board.--Small
prospect of reaching the coast.--Advantage of steam in
ice-voyages.--Animal life.--Wonderful effect of the Arctic
climate on health.--Ice scenery.--Among the ice-packs.--First
sight of land.--The Bienenkorb and Hudson in sight.--Visit from
the former.--A mirage.--Nearing the coast.--Pendulum Island in
sight.--Open water westwards.
Thus on the 20th July, an event took place, as unlooked for as it was
fatal in its consequences for the success of our undertaking, without
raising gloomy forebodings in any of us. To be separated for a short
time from our sister ship under existing circumstances caused no
uneasiness; at noon, therefore, on the day that the Hansa disappeared
in the fog we set all sail, but at two o’clock we struck upon the ice
and were obliged to turn. We afterwards found that this was a tongue of
ice which the Hansa had passed to windward of, to enable her to advance
further westward. On account of the thick fog we laid our topsail
aback. At five o’clock the atmosphere cleared a little, but though we
watched eagerly, the Hansa was no longer to be seen; to the south-west
we saw a whaler in the drift-ice. We had already seen this ship in
the morning, and, as it was our last chance of sending news home, had
hastened to finish our letters. It was a curious sight; everywhere and
in every possible position we were busy writing; the ship might have
been taken for an academy of science in which all were working out
a difficult problem. As we approached we saw that it was a steamer,
and from its red and white flag, must be the Bienenkorb, Captain
Hagen, belonging to Mr. Rosenthal of Bremerhaven. Dr. Dorst of Jülich
was on this vessel taking meteorological, astronomical and magnetic
observations. We crossed to her, taking with us a whole packet of
letters. It was indeed a pleasure to us to be once more amongst other
men, and doubtless those of the Bienenkorb thought the same. This ship
was five times as big as the Germania, a somewhat old-fashioned craft,
full rigged, and had only had machinery within the last few years. On
deck in a large cage was a bear and her two cubs; fortunately for them,
on board a whaler they were not likely to want for food.
One would think that a creature so powerful and active could never
be taken alive, but on its hunting expeditions among the drift-ice
it frequently trusts itself to the water, and here in spite of its
endurance, man is more active and clever, and with a well managed boat,
a lucky cast of the noose generally falls on the neck of the swimming
bear, when half dragged and half swimming he is hoisted on deck like
any other animal, the noose round its neck, being a guarantee for
its peaceful behaviour. On their return they are generally sold to
some menagerie or Zoological Garden, the price of a full-grown animal
being 100 or 150 thalers; sometimes they are killed and skinned, the
skin being salted, and afterwards sold for 15 or 20 thalers. Looking
beyond the ship we saw the tail fins of some narwhals (_Monodon
monoceros_, L.). These creatures are common here, but are seldom
harpooned as they are uncommonly quick in their movements. We then
went down into the cabin to enjoy the usual bottle of sherry. Captain
Hagen’s report of the condition of the ice was most unfavourable. Since
the beginning of June easterly winds had prevailed, on account of
which the ice was now dense and closely packed for some miles. These
observations were afterwards confirmed by the Hansa, which about this
time was blockaded by the ice. We also learnt that there were several
ships further south, amongst which we hoped to meet with Captain Gray,
commander of the Eclipse from Peterhead (Scotland). Dr. Dorst showed
us some interesting drawings of the narwhal and several views of Jan
Mayen, which island the Bienenkorb was fortunate enough to see in a
clear atmosphere. We returned to the Germania about midnight. Meanwhile
the wind had freshened, but there was a thick fog; so we had to remain
under sail amongst the block. The following day at noon (21st) the
weather brightened, and we saw that we were more or less surrounded
with drift-ice; and with a light south-west breeze it was useless to
attempt any advance westward. We therefore lay-to, and as there was a
large floe close to us, with several pools of water upon it, we landed
in order to renew our store of fresh water, which was nearly exhausted.
This was the first time during the voyage that we had set foot on the
ice, and the opportunity of closely observing it was not lost. Besides
this, the deep blue light proceeding from the cavity of an ice block
was subjected to an analysis by the spectroscope.
When our scientific observations were over we joined the row of
water-bearers, forming two lines along which the full and empty buckets
were merrily passed, but it was midnight before our task was done and
we retired to rest.
At two a.m. we made an attempt to advance, but the fog was still too
thick.
[Illustration: ICE-DRIFT FORMATIONS.]
In the night a seal was killed: it was a small young thing and was
brought on deck alive, when it looked boldly around and seemed ready to
fall upon its enemies. Soon afterwards we obtained a good specimen of
the large petrel (_Uria brunnichii_). Until the 23rd the weather
remained foggy: we kept tacking in the loose drift-ice and along the
edge of the heavy ice which seemed everywhere closed. To the north of
74° we found it so solid and huge that the captain determined, if he
could find an opening, to go south of 74°, instead of beyond it.
The 24th July was very cold, and we had a fire in the cabin. Towards
evening we again saw the Bienenkorb to the north of us, and in 73° 40′
lat. we thought that our efforts might be successful; accordingly on
Sunday the 25th July at nine a.m. steam was got up and we forced our
way westward through the ice; at first it was pretty thick, so that,
occasionally, we could only make a way through the floes by boring
with high steam pressure and full sail. At noon, after making sixteen
miles in a westerly direction, we reached open water; but after a few
miles the ice closed again. We then went more southward and, later on,
somewhat eastward, still steaming along the dense pack-ice; the weather
was gloomy and rainy, and at eight p.m. it was so foggy that we had to
lay by a large floe, that we might not run into a “cul-de-sac,” and be
blocked up by the ice.
The great advantage we possessed in our steam can scarcely be
overrated, for during the foggy weather we could with our heated
machinery remain quiet on one spot. If the ice closed upon us, we could
steam to another suitable spot, and in clear weather could in a few
hours inspect several miles of the icy edge for an opening. Besides
the determination of the ship’s position, and the usual meteorological
observations, soundings were made when possible, magnetic observations
taken, photographing, fishing, and so on.
Of the lower class of animals there was little that was new, and we
tried in vain for the _Clio borealis_, the chief food of the
whale: seals we saw frequently.
The bird world remained the same, but was poorly represented. Solitary
mallemuckes were seldom wanting, besides which were snow buntings
(_Larus eburneus_) and robber gulls (_Lestris_), and between
the floes swam small groups of divers and black guillemots (_Uria
grylle_).
In the neighbourhood of much ice we found that the temperature sank
considerably, from 31.52° Fahr. to 30.20° Fahr., but the most striking
fact was the small difference between the heat of the day and night.
This was at the most only one degree, and frequently less than that.
Such an unusual state of things must have some effect on the human
frame. Such an equal climate is not possible in the temperate and
torrid zones, and only in the Arctic latitudes among the ice; of course
this must be as beneficial to the skin as to the respiratory organs.
Indeed we were all in the best of health, and this was astonishing,
considering the low temperature, fog, and other damp we had to
encounter: not one of us suffering from catarrh. But we must not lose
sight of the fact that our acclimatization was gradual, we were not
suddenly set down in the ice, but approached it gradually.
On the 27th of July, at noon, according to astronomical calculations,
we were in 73° 7′ N. Lat., and 16° 4′ W. Long. from Greenwich. The
weather was fine, with a light south wind; we steamed some nautical
miles westward, and again came upon densely packed ice, without a sign
of water anywhere; and the channel by which we had just come began to
close, so that we were obliged to steam back to prevent ourselves from
being blocked. At eleven p.m. the atmosphere cleared entirely, and we
had the first sight of the midnight sun. Of open water we could see but
little, though to the north it seemed pretty free.
[Illustration:
_Page 270._
IN THE PACK.]
The floe by which we lay was, like many more around us, very large and
wild and jagged in appearance, resembling a miniature mountain range.
In some places the surface was slightly arched, falling gently to the
water; yonder were steep ridges, broken by a ravine, through which ran
a small brook. On one spot lay blocks of different sizes thrown one
upon another; and at another spot the ice rose like steep rocky
masses, or solitary columns, points, and peaks, to a height of from
twenty to thirty feet. Forcing our way through this labyrinth, we were
astonished at the sight of a fine broad sea of clear, light green
water. The snow, changed into ice, covered these floes so thickly that
we often sank as if in soft snow-drifts to the depth of from two to
four feet.
We were particularly interested in watching the small creatures in
the sea, which we did by lying flat upon the ice and looking over
the edge of the floe: the stickleback (_Calanus hyperboreus_,
K.) were turning summersaults up to the surface, their red feelers
coming into strong relief against the blue background; then came a
yellow spot, gradually increasing until we recognized a small crawfish
(_Lysianassa_) hurriedly wending its way to the surface, and then
laying itself in a niche, or on a tongue of ice to rest, nothing but
the constant motion of its webbed feet showing that the creature lived.
Now and again in the depths, a fine Beroë might be seen moving slowly
on its way.
It was a fine, still midnight, too wonderfully solemn and grand to be
easily forgotten. The fog had almost entirely disappeared, and lay to
the east, like a bank over the water. The sea was perfectly calm, so
that the ice was clearly reflected, and where the water was visible
it had taken different colours; under the clouds it lay dark, and
from blackish brown to yellowish; and where the atmosphere was clear
it glistened a transparent green. Even to the brush of an experienced
artist, it would be no light task to render the different colours and
lights truly; this soft red of the sun upon the ice; on the shady side
of the blocks, the softest blue and violet; and between, the deepest,
coldest shadow. Effects such as these can only be produced in all
their beauty by the midnight sun in a region of ice; indeed, to fully
appreciate the peculiar beauty of such a scene, one must see it with
one’s own eyes.
All had long since been hushed on board, but we felt no fatigue. This
wonderful repose of nature, without either motion or life, overcomes
one with a feeling of boundless desolation and solitude. Now and again
the stillness is broken by a thundering and cracking, softened by the
distance, and suddenly a rushing of water is heard, accompanied by a
groaning and blowing; it is a herd of narwhals coming to the surface
for breath. But the hours of night are fast running out, and with one
more look we descend to our cabin.
[Illustration: FIRST APPEARANCE OF LAND.]
About four a.m., as we were about to start again, a dense fog rolled
up; some hours later, however, it dispersed, and we steamed in a
northerly direction, as from that quarter we should most probably
sooner see open water. At half-past eight the fog cleared completely,
and we forced our way through a chain of connected floes, when in a
north-westerly direction we found comparatively open water; and after
making about sixteen nautical miles, at one a.m. on the 29th saw land
distinctly. From our position, this must have been Cape Broer Ruys. By
four a.m., we had advanced so far, that only to the east did there seem
to be any loose ice; we therefore stopped at a brash to fill our boiler
with fresh water, and wait for a change. The only living thing we were
likely to see here was a bear; but although our hunters looked eagerly
around, his shining yellow coat was nowhere to be seen.
As the atmosphere was so clear in the morning, we made some
observations on the degrees of the sun’s heat. A blackened-bulb
thermometer rose to nearly 99.50° Fahr. A common instrument, just above
the snow, showed 50° Fahr.
On the 29th of July, our observations at noon gave our position as
73° 2′ N. Lat., and 16° 19′ W. Long., which compared with the log
reckoning, showed us to have made twenty-seven nautical miles more
southwards in two days’ work. This we partly attributed to the north
wind, which had caused a rapid drift of ice.
The attempts of the last few days showed that in this latitude it was
impossible to get through; so, after being driven back to 73°, the
captain determined to keep clear of the ice and to try again in 74°, as
he thought that the north wind might have made an opening. Accordingly
we steamed eastward, partly through thick drifting ice. Here we saw
two ships, which turned out to be the Bienenkorb and the Hudson; we
advanced to meet the former, and Captain Hagen and Dr. Dorst came on
board. The captain was disheartened at not having caught a single
whale; he considered it impossible to reach the coast this year, and
determined to begin his homeward journey in a few days. Of the Hansa,
during the last nine days, he had seen nothing. At ten p.m. on the 29th
of July, we took leave of the Bienenkorb, and steered in a northerly
direction to try and reach the coast in 74° N. Lat.
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 was 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.
On the 30th of July the weather was fine, and the wind, to our joy,
westerly; the ice was, however, so impassable that we had to steam
still further north, as the captain found that within the last eight
days the ice barrier had shifted some degrees to the east, and he had
hopes of finding a large opening in the pack-ice.
On the 31st of July, at four p.m., we were in 73° 59′ N. Lat., and 13°
3′ W. Long., when we saw a great deal of loose ice, and forcing our way
through, steered in a westerly direction. Towards evening the wind died
away, and we got up steam, the floes lying loosely scattered around
us. Here, as on other occasions, steam stood us in good stead, and we
threaded our way easily amongst them.
By ten a.m., on the 1st of August, we had steamed without interruption
thirty-six miles, and were of course so much nearer the coast; here
a dense barrier prevented our farther advance. Land was in sight
(Pendulum Island), which by a strong refraction seemed much raised and
transfigured. The same refraction also showed us what appeared to be
open water westwards. Mr. Sengstacke was of opinion that it was only
a few nautical miles distant, but he soon saw his mistake. That there
was open water under the land, there was scarcely a doubt; but it was
separated from us by an icy barrier, several German miles broad. Under
these circumstances, the captain thought it better to keep our post and
wait for a change in the position of the ice.[41]
Ross himself lays great stress upon the fact that, in the ice, a little
judgment and a little patience go farther than advancing headlong, and
often save much danger. Here we increased our zoological collection by
a fine reddish Clio; the dredging net was also let down at 224 fathoms,
but brought up nothing but stones.
Universal interest was raised by the mallemuckes (_Mergulus
alle_), which for some days had followed us in flocks. Voraciousness
is the chief characteristic of these birds; and if a large solid piece
of bacon is thrown into the water, which they cannot swallow at a gulp,
a dreadful battle ensues; sometimes two or three begin upon it at
different ends, working both with beak and claw. We often fastened a
piece of bacon to a string or hook, and easily caught one and brought
it on deck. The bird is not ugly; its colour is variable; the young
ones are greyish, whilst the old ones are, with the exception of the
wings, almost always white; its head is the most peculiar looking part
of it, being highly arched; its strong bluish beak is high and bent
like a hook.
On the night of the 2nd of August a thick fog came on, lasting the
whole day, and to prevent our impatience from gaining the mastery we
all had recourse to the ropes.
On the 3rd it was clear; the ice had indeed changed its position: we
were more surrounded than ever by floes, and to the east still less
water could be seen. We, however, broke through the ice, and steamed in
a north-westerly direction. The floes became larger and larger; and at
last the endless brashes and boundless ice-fields came in sight. At ten
p.m. we anchored by a large field, on account of the fog; we sounded
155 fathoms, nothing but mud. We were in 74° 18′ N. Lat. and 16° 6′ W.
Long.
On the 4th, at a quarter-past eight a.m., we started westward once
more; the air was thick with snow; to the west we saw a dark water sky,
and steered between the brashes and fields in that direction. At nine
we came into a large piece of open water, with a few floes drifting. At
noon we anchored, principally on account of the boiler, which had to be
cleared from the salt. We were in 74° 19′ N. Lat. and 16° 59′ W. Long.,
not more than thirty-one nautical miles from Sabine Island.
On these fields we first saw the bears; there were two watching our
ship with great curiosity. Our first shot missed, and they hurriedly
took to flight.
At ten p.m. fog gradually came on, and we were not more than five
German miles from the coast; but at half-past ten it cleared again, and
the whole group of islands lay clear and distinct before us. The water
was open, and we made straight for Griper Roads.
We were all greatly excited, and, in spite of the severe cold, remained
nearly the whole night on deck. In the early morning we had a fall of
snow, giving the ship a thick white covering. A few miles from land a
large brash lay direct in our course; this we sailed round, and at last
anchored in a small bay, which was afterwards our winter harbour.
On the 5th of August we dropped anchor on Greenland soil, and a loud
“hurrah!” arose as we planted our flag, which also waved proudly from
the mainmast.
In the day-book we find that at the beginning of our voyage strong
north-westerly winds prevailed, which of course delayed us. We all
noticed the increase of temperature, both in the atmosphere and the
water, from the coast of Norway until the latitude of the Shetland
Islands, and then a decrease in both after crossing the Arctic circle.
The influence of the warm gulf-stream was unmistakable, and was
observed by both ships.
During the first part of the month of July easterly winds prevailed,
driving the ice up to the borders, and making it impossible to break
through. In the second part of July northerly and southerly winds
alternated without bringing any great change in the ice; but at the
beginning of August strong westerly winds set in, so loosening it that
we easily made our way through. A glance at the ship’s course on the
chart will show distinctly how the ice shifted in the beginning of
August. Before this time it had been impossible to reach the coast.