WINTER NIGHT. NOVEMBER, 1869, TO NEW YEAR’S DAY,
1870.[54]
Storm and snow-drift.--Boisterous night.--Damage to the
observatory.--Snow-wall on the ship.--The cold.--Tidings
from East Greenland.--Stormy weather again.--Increase of
darkness.--Establishment of a school of navigation.--Fresh
storm.--The shortest day.--Damage during the storm.--Force
and velocity of the wind.--Magnetic periods.--Celebration of
Christmas.--Singing and dancing on Christmas-eve.
The sun, that source of all light and life, had left us. The three
months’ Arctic night had begun. There was enough daylight, however,
to allow of our working in the open air; the cold too was not very
great, so that we did not feel the transition much. On the 7th and 8th
a storm raged surpassing any that we had hitherto felt; but after our
experience it did not terrify us.
As the men seemed inclined to treat this change in our position too
lightly, we, estimating the seriousness of the case more justly,
thought it our duty to notice it in some way, and thus our entrance
into this winter night was made somewhat solemnly. An arrangement was
then made by Captain Koldewey settling the daily order of things, and
on some points giving more stringent directions. Moreover, it was
fortunate that Mr. Sengstacke had, on the 5th of November, returned
on board with the sledge left behind by Payer; for the whole of the
following days there were storms from the north, with thick drifting
snow, thus putting a stop to all business in the open air. During
the night the force of the squall seemed to increase, so that by
the morning it was no longer possible to go on shore; but we hung a
thermometer against the mainmast, in a place where no local influence
could be brought to bear upon it, and during the storm it showed
exactly the same temperature on land as on the ice.
Thus began Sunday, the 7th of November; but the prevailing quiet on
board from the cessation of all work made the raging of the storm
without more noticeable. Boreas did not acknowledge the day of rest,
but gained strength hour by hour, and howled round us without the
slightest intermission. From time to time there were perfect hurricane
gusts, causing the ice-bound ship to quiver throughout: such weather we
had never before experienced. If we ventured beyond the closely-shut
hatchways on to the deck, we were nearly deafened by the blustering,
roaring, and crashing with which the wind broke upon the ship and
howled round it. Conversation was not to be thought of, for the loudest
word of command could not be heard over the whole ship.
[Illustration:
_Page 372._
ON DECK.]
Looking through the rifts of the tightly-closed opening, one could see
nothing but the everlasting softly-falling thick masses of fine snowy
particles. No trace of land; indeed, one could scarcely distinguish
the next block of ice. It was no wonder, from the increasing violence
of the storm, that our thoughts, too, should become stormy. What if
the ship should break away from the ice? Could we then remain on the
same spot? Land had apparently disappeared. A dreadful squall drove
the sharp snow in our faces, and, shuddering, we quickly retreated
under the tent-roof, which bent inwards more and more, the fastenings
seeming to slacken. The chimney shook; even the mast above, which we
could see through a slit in the roof, swayed. We feared the tent would
split up if the storm lasted much longer. And then? then the whole of
the deck would be swept clean, and we must resign ourselves to remain
below until the storm had spent itself, and allowed us to make good all
damage done. And on land? how could we tell whether this furious storm
had not demolished our provision depôt, torn off the roof, or destroyed
the chests, &c., and rolled them into the sea?
As we paced the deck on that Sunday morning we were grave, but still
of good heart; we had done all that lay in our power. On deck it
looked interesting enough. Through all existing or freshly-made holes,
through the smallest breaks or rents, and even through the sail-cloth
itself, the snow had forced its way; the atmosphere was filled with the
smallest grains and needle-points, which fell on everything on deck,
soon, in spite of all our trouble, forming a thick covering of snow.
The after-part of the ship presented the worst appearance: here was a
perfect snow landscape. And in order to get at the provisions we were
obliged every time to use the shovel, and at the wheel-house the drift
was from six to seven feet high.
Later, the storm seemed to abate a little, allowing Mr. Sengstacke and
Dr. Copeland to work their way with much difficulty through the still
drifting snow to land. The observatory and its roof were still there,
but they were both, as well as the thermometer-case, full of snow. It
would have been most interesting could we have ascertained the actual
force of the storm, as Robinson’s anemometer would give it. But what a
disaster! the wings had been blown off. Breathless, without any result,
and most picturesquely snowed over, did the gentlemen return,--and only
just in time, for the storm rose again with undiminished strength;
indeed, from nine a.m. until eleven p.m. it seemed trying to outdo
itself.
We turned up our collars, and waded in our fur boots through the snow,
looking carefully round on all sides. Everything was fast as yet. But
the storm seemed to know no end, and at short intervals squall upon
squall thundered down on to the ship: one could feel the deck quiver
under one’s feet.
Attentively we listen to the raging concerts, to see if we can
catch any signs of abatement. Every fresh squall seems to be the
last, as it rumbles and dies away in the distance. We listen
anxiously--one--two--three minutes! but again we can distinguish in the
regular blustering and grumbling another tone, and before we have time
to consider a fresh, and stronger tempest howls and roars, around us.
With anxious glances at the threatened tent-roof we leave the deck and
go below, seat ourselves at the table, and take a book. But reading is
impossible. It is already late in the evening, and we can take refuge
in our berths. But sleep will not come. Everything, about us is in a
constant tremble; the stone and glasses clatter, and now and then a
stronger shock rouses us from our half-slumber; until at length, as
the storm lulls by degrees, fatigue conquers, and helps the weary one
to rest. We commend ourselves to heaven, and sleep.
The following morning (8th November) we convince ourselves, to our
great joy, that the tent is not split. The heavy squalls had ceased at
midnight, but a violent storm was still raging; and, though lasting
more than two whole days, seemed not yet likely to drop, although
the barometer was rising energetically. Directly after coffee, every
man goes to work with broom and shovel to get rid of the masses of
snow that had gathered on deck. The cold is zero (F.), but after the
inactivity of yesterday we find the air most agreeable.
Not until four p.m. did the snow cease and the storm give over; and by
six o’clock a most unearthly stillness reigned, and the foul weather
was over. We felt exactly as one does after standing for a long time
by a waterfall or a glacier torrent, and then suddenly turning a rocky
projection, when the roaring is no longer heard--so wonderfully still
and quiet lay all around us.
The barometer had now reached the unusual height of 30.8 inches. During
the night the equilibrium of the atmosphere was quite restored, and
nature lay still and quiet as before; the veil of clouds parted, and
with the same feelings as at home we greet the rainbow after a heavy
storm, we watched the red rays of the Northern Lights shoot up in the
southern sky.
The next day there was plenty of work; our greatest trouble was the
observatory. Here melancholy discoveries awaited the astronomers.
The whole interior of the building was filled with dense masses
of snow. Carefully we press through it to the stone on which the
theodolite stood, covered over: the stone is empty! That was a severe
blow. But we soon discovered the costly instrument lying on the floor
quite unharmed. The telescope stand, too, was overturned. We were
fortunate enough to find Robinson’s wings again; they had not suffered
much, and Wagner’s clever hands soon succeeded in restoring the useful
instrument.
The next days were calm, with a clear or slightly clouded atmosphere.
The outline of the fog to the south was interesting, betokening open
water, whilst before noon a thin veil hid the southern mainland. Later
on, stretched at the same height a fog bank, from Walrus Island into
Clavering Straits, which after a time disappeared. In this expanse
Captain Koldewey saw open water, when at ten o’clock he went to the
Germaniaberg to survey the condition of the ice. The line in which the
ice had been torn asunder went from the south end of Walrus Island,
through Clavering Straits to the west, past the small island to Cape
Wynn; from the north end of Walrus Island to Cairn Point, then up the
shore of our island to the south-east end of Klein Pendulum. South of
Shannon, however, the old ice lay unaltered. Here we again recognized
the great importance of Walrus Island, as affording a secure harbour.
In the neighbourhood of land there was but little snow on the ice; and
on the mountains but little more than formerly. The condition of the
vegetation had previously led us to the conclusion, which seemed to be
correct, that the snowfall in winter was but small.
We were now able to make use of the large quantity of fallen snow, as
it had hardened in the storm and the cold. Where the snow-drifts were
deep enough, square pieces were cut out and brought to the ship. With
these a high wall was built adjoining the ice-blocks, the space between
being filled in with fragments.
From similar snow-stones a screen was built in front of the ventilator
to keep out the cold. At the exit of the back path, which was twelve
feet long, and higher than a man’s height, we put the door of the
wheel-house, thus causing the warmth to be sometimes so intense that
the snow began to melt and the walls to shrink.
By the second week of November the cold had increased to a mean daily
temperature of from -2° Fahr. to -13°, reaching a minimum of -16°, a
temperature which agreed with us in every respect.
This may be attributed to the force of habit; besides which, the cold
was much more easily borne in a still atmosphere. Our bodies required
no greater protection than the usual winter clothing; even this was a
great deal too warm if we were busied in any active work.
In the cabin we mostly took off our coats, and yet we did not require
fifteen pounds of coal a day to heat our Meidinger stove. Indeed, at
first, the heat of this stove was our greatest trouble, and it required
some experience and great care not to allow the temperature to rise
beyond 68° Fahr.
On the 13th the first large wash was held, and the men were examined
by the doctor from head to foot, when none of them showed the least
sign of disease. After this proceeding the expedition clothing (coats,
trowsers, waistcoats, and woollen underclothing) was given out.
The next day, the first really quiet Sunday, brought a slight
interruption to the monotony of our daily life. The first number of
the “East Greenland Gazette” appeared.
We thought that on this point too we ought to follow the example
of our predecessors, although our prevailing state of mind had as
yet in no way required such cheering and refreshing. Materials for
the publication of such a number every fourteen days could never
be wanting. Unfortunately, a small printing press, given by the
printing-house at Bremerhaven, had not followed us on board. In order,
therefore, to have two copies, one for the cabin and one for the
forecastle, we had to take the trouble to write it. Already on the 10th
had appeared “Invitation to assist in the publication.” Dr. Pansch was
appointed editor, and a locked box was hung up, in which every one
dropped his contribution anonymously.
At last, on Sunday at noon, the first number appeared “with a
supplement,” sixteen pages in the whole. It contained all sorts of fun,
some poems, “official proclamations,” and an address to the men by the
doctor.
That afternoon merriment reigned in both rooms, and in the fore-cabin
the well known “Volkslieder” were heard in the evening. Well might we
enjoy this fine still day.
On the 15th, just eight days after the last catastrophe, it again began
to blow a storm from the north, and that _crescendo_. The storm
howled and sobbed, the squall crashed and thundered, the tent bent,
and the poles cracked; dense, wildly-drifting snow without, and fine
powdery drifts on deck. It is the same mighty spectacle of northern
nature that we so vividly remembered the week before. And it raged thus
unabated for quite eighty-one hours; as far as we could ascertain, the
fall of snow lasted forty-five hours.
Of course the effects were misfortune upon misfortune. The snow walls
of the observatory were for the most part blown away, and the interior
snowed up. The snow walls of the ship had suffered too. Worse than
all was the loss of the “Robinson,” which had again disappeared; and
this time, in spite of all our search, was not to be found. From the
direction of the snow-drifts we found that the storm came from the same
quarter as before.
One thing was very plain to us, namely, that had our ship been larger,
we could not have hauled it into the creek, and would most likely have
had to stop on the same spot where Captain Clavering had anchored with
the Griper, on the south side of the island, near the Esquimaux huts.
In that case we must inevitably have been torn away with the ice by the
storm and been destroyed.
We must mention that the temperature rose on the 18th to 16° Fahr.;
the consequence of which was, that the screen on deck began to thaw
considerably, sending much wet into the cabin. The following day,
too, the temperature remained moderate, and even rose to 11.75°. To
our feelings this “warmth” was anything but agreeable; it forced us,
hardened as we were, when working in the snow, to relieve ourselves of
nearly all clothing but our shirts.
On the 21st (Sunday) the second number of our paper appeared, as
rich in contents, and with much that was interesting and funny. The
following is an example of the official part:--
REWARD!!!
Whoever finds the body of Robinson (Crusoe), who has
disappeared from his island, shall receive a reward of one
bottle of wine and one dozen of cigars. Many may compete for
this prize at the same time.
Given from our winter quarters, Clavering Straits, Nov. 10.
C. KOLDEWEY.
The fine weather of the next days facilitated repairs of the damage
done by the storm. The observatories received a new and thicker coating
of snow, which sloped up to the roof, by which the whole obtained a
uniform appearance; over this we poured water, which formed a crust of
ice, apparently strong enough to defy any storm.
Noteworthy now was the increase of darkness. On the 22nd of November,
at noon, all thermometers had to be read by the lamp; and on the 23rd,
at noon, stars of the second magnitude (for example, the polar-star)
could be distinctly seen. The whole morning the southern horizon
from Walrus Island to Cape Borlase Warren was yellowish-red; and
this twilight showed strong against the black line of open water. At
the same time there was a strong refraction of the rays, and in the
atmosphere appeared a glimmering undulating motion from west to east.
The evenings and nights too were beautiful; the moon shone without
setting from the 19th to the 25th. At noon we still saw its pale light,
and at night it was frequently surrounded with a halo, accompanied by a
_paraselene_ or mock moon.
The Northern Lights again appeared in all their beauty, and when the
magnetic observatory was in order, observations upon the fluctuation
of the declination of the pole were made in connexion with notices upon
the rapidly changing appearance of the Aurora. This work, upon which,
and more especially upon the scientific work during the winter, a
glance will be taken in the next chapters, was often difficult enough,
as it had to be written down in the open air by the light of a lamp for
hours together. The captain made use of the clear evenings to take a
number of lunar calculations. The temperature and the thickness of the
ice were also measured. The latter, at some distance from the ship, was
thirty-six and a half English inches.
Thus our daily life passed pretty regularly, one day being much as
another. Scientific work we had in plenty. Our leisure hours were spent
agreeably in reading, playing at chess, and conversation.
One great evil we still had to contend with was the small room, and
especially the small table, which we had to share. In any great
zoological work, this was so considerable that Dr. Pansch had to make
use of the night hours, when all but the watch had gone to rest.
A decided change had now taken place in the life of the men by the
introduction of a navigation school. The captain’s suggestion for this
object was received with great approbation; indeed, every one wanted
to take a part in it. But on the 25th the school was opened with four
scholars: P. Iversen, P. Ellinger, Th. Klentzer, and G. Herzberg.
The captain taught navigation, Dr. Börgen undertook geography and
astronomy, Dr. Copeland natural science.
An hour was given every day, and the men had enough to do to get
through the work and impress it upon their minds; but they did it with
great eagerness, and seldom in a forecastle was so much heard of plus
and minus, of squares and square roots as with us on the Germania.
Christmas month was approaching, and the first week passed without any
particular occurrence. The mean daily temperature remained moderate,
14° to -4° Fahr. The wind frequently blew violently from the north, and
on the 4th brought heavy drifting snow. To the south and south-east we
heard from time to time crashing and roaring, as of water and ice, but
we were spared a real storm.
On the 3rd of December, in the afternoon, we were suddenly alarmed by
a loud and violent breaking and cracking the whole length of the ship,
followed by a slight shock. Hurrying out to see the cause, we soon
found that the snow-wall on the port side had loosened itself from the
ship and had sunk some inches against it, in consequence of which it
was forced to the starboard side, and this crooked position increased
later, and was at once perceptible in the cabin. The ice behind it
showed some cracks and fissures, one of which reached to the land. The
stern-post, however, of the Germania seemed not to have suffered; the
rudder and the rudder-pin were uninjured. It seemed that the colossal
burden of the snow masses heaped on the starboard side had caused the
ice to sink, and, giving way, had loosened the wall from the ship.
Weeks passed without any unusual interruption. Everything went its
usual way, the increasing darkness of the days turning our thoughts to
Christmas and the new year.
But not very considerately did the old one intend to take leave of us.
After some days of unsettled weather, on the 10th of December came an
unsteady north wind, alternating with drifting snow, now rising to a
storm, and now quite dying away. At the same time one could hear the
mighty roaring and howling of the water and ice. From the 8th to the
15th it raged thus continually, when the mean force of the wind was
thirty miles an hour. Without, little could be done; and at noon, even
on deck, nothing could be distinctly seen without a lamp.
On the 16th it began suddenly to rage from the north so violently that
in from three to four hours the “Robinson” had marked no less than
sixty-three English miles. And this was the beginning of the worst and
most lasting storm experienced. On the evening of the 16th it abated a
little, so that the next morning we could with some trouble return to
observations on land; but in the evening the wind roared with redoubled
fury. In the later hours its speed was from sixty-five to sixty-seven
English miles, and that of the real storm of course much greater.
It was Dr. Börgen who took these two readings at the observatory; and
indeed that was no trifle. On land he was once taken bodily up and
thrown at least ten paces forward, and not without great exertion did
he reach the guiding rope, and then on his way to the ship he was
lifted up several times and thrown aside. Our greatest help, indeed
our actual preservation in such cases, was the row of ice-blocks with
the rope stretched along it; for while the heavy drifting snow hid
everything within a few paces, the rushing wind stopped the play of
the lungs, and seemed to paralyze the brain, and all the attention and
muscular power had to be directed to the keeping of one’s feet. Then it
is almost impossible for the lonely wanderer to keep in one decided
direction. Beaten and overpowered by the storm, the strongest man will
soon in such a case be lost. Two of our men, having strayed far to the
north, we should probably never have seen again had they not struck
upon the ship’s anchor and thus retraced their steps.
Besides, such attempts were never carried to rashness. On the following
stormy days, three different times we felt our way to land by the rope,
but from the thickness of the falling snow dared not venture to let
it go and mount. The danger of going the wrong way was so imminent in
such cases that we always stood on the steps, in order to help, if
necessary, as far as was possible. With the lantern in hand we tapped
around on deck in the deep snow. The hurricane raged round the tent, so
that the props cracked and the cordage creaked; mighty fiends seemed
let loose upon us, and at one time we were seriously afraid for the
preservation of our tent-roof.
The 18th dawned and ended: the storm raged on, and squall upon squall
rushed over the ship without intermission or abatement; the falling
snow being so dense that we could not see six steps before us.
The 19th was the same--the storm howled and raged unchanged, but
we still lay firm in the ice. But for how long--who could tell?
Destruction might be near, and perhaps the open water already splashing
beneath us.
The long inactivity began to tell upon us. The food no longer tasted as
usual, we had no heart to work, and here and there were signs of bad
temper. In the forecastle something had happened. The snow-wall must
have become relaxed, for on one side the cold wind whistled through
the cracks of the planks, covering the cabin walls with ice. It cost us
a whole day’s work to shut out the unwelcome guest.
To get some little motion we paced the deck by the melancholy light of
a lantern; but that did not last long. The everlasting rushing noise
deafened one, and the tent seemed to crush us, though spanned to its
uttermost. In a few minutes we were thickly covered with snow, and had
to be scraped down so as not to carry too much wet below.
On the 20th matters somewhat improved. The astronomers were in despair;
for the 21st was a magnetic period, and the whole twenty-four hours
must be passed in the observatory. But everything has an end, even an
East Greenland winter’s storm. Towards evening we could get to land
comfortably without danger, and the astronomers were able to arrange
the instruments and the observatory to their satisfaction.
The icy case had lasted well this time; only through a few small holes
had the snow penetrated. In the observatory, however, there was more.
The “Robinson” was again wingless; the bar on which the wings worked
was much worn and bent to the south. The provision depôt was unharmed.
We, however, found the flood-pole broken and frozen firm in the thick
ice, and the snow-walls of the ship were partly blown away, and partly
eaten away, and riddled with holes.
But how had the storm dealt with the ice? this we must ascertain next.
And soon, through the pale twilight, to the south we saw a dark strip
shining--the open water. It must have come nearer to us than the last
time; that was evident. We were, however, astonished to find that it
was no longer 300 paces distant from the ship. It reached nearly to
the observatory, and, upon trying to get to Cairn Point, we could not
reach it; the ice was here torn into loose fragments. How about the
ice-dam by Walrus Island, so important for our safety? We could not
distinctly see whether it had been broken through, or whether it was
still standing.
It was with peculiar feelings that on the 21st--both the shortest and
the darkest day--we walked about on the ice and on the neighbouring
land. At home, after such a convulsion of nature, everything bears the
stamp of destruction; here nothing showed traces of the fury of the
elements but the large and small snow-drifts. White and still all lay
around, the polished walls of rock rising dark above them; gloomy and
almost foggy was the atmosphere. After the nearly ten days’ roar of the
storm this quiet had in it something refreshing; but, in spite of that,
we this day felt the deep melancholy impress of the Arctic night. In
troubled, unsteady twilight lay the landscape, so that we could only
see a few steps before us, and could scarcely see to read fine print. A
faint light under the dark clouds in the south was the only sign of day.
In looking back upon the storm, and reckoning the dates, we first
realized what a mighty effort of nature it had been. Without reckoning
the forerunners, the real storm had raged 103 hours, blowing with
a mean strength on Beaufort’s scale[55] of more than 9. If we take
the rate during these 103 hours to be sixty miles (= fifteen German
miles[56]) per hour, and if it had continued straight in a southerly
direction, this storm would not only have reached the equator, but have
gone far beyond it even to the latitude of the south point of Africa;
thus traversing more than a quarter of the earth’s circumference.
Another peculiarity of this storm was, that, contrary to the sudden
rising of the former, it seemed to increase by long preparatory stages.
The barometer fell slowly, though not unusually low. The sky, too, at
the beginning was perfectly clear; but most striking was the fact that
the temperature remained low, -4° to -11° Fahr., until the end of the
storm, when it rose by degrees.
The 21st of December, as has been said, was a magnetic period. The
astronomers had prepared the room and the instruments at the right
time, and the twenty-four hours of minute observation began. Two hours’
relief was allowed. The going backwards and forwards, the eating and
drinking through the night, and the hot can of coffee on the stove all
night was a welcome change from the uniformity of our life.
Thus Christmas-time drew near. That the beautiful festival should
be kept was understood, small gifts being prepared on all sides for
the purpose. We were the first Germans who had wintered here, and so
it was clear to all that the Christmas-tree must not be wanting on
the Germania. This was an unavailing wish, for fir-trees do not grow
in Greenland. But Nature seemed to take pity on us in our distress;
sparing as her growth is, she offered us a helping hand and some fresh
green for our Christmas-tree. The stalks of the Andromeda retain their
leaves in winter, which, although of a dark greenish-brown, are still
fresh. The carpenter made a pedestal, on which stood a three-feet stem,
with the chief branches representing a fir-tree. These were covered
with the shoots of the Andromeda, and smaller sticks were fastened on
to resemble the natural branches. In this way we obtained a “fir-tree”
far surpassing our expectations. The overhanging slope of Germaniaberg
was one of the few spots where the plant grew plentifully; our botanist
knew how to find the spot under the snow, and in the dark noontide hour
the plants were raked up and brought home triumphantly.
The after-cabin was warmed, and here the fir-tree was put together.
The men persevered with the work, and there was not one among them but
put some finishing touches to it; small wax-lights and golden-nuts
were not wanting. We sat in the small room by a dimly-burning lamp;
cheerful conversation went round, and pleasanter Christmas enjoyment
than we had could not well be found. At four o’clock every one was to
leave the cabin. The walls were decorated with flags, near the sofa
the finest foxes’ skins were hung up, and the table by the help of
some chests lengthened as far as the mast. By six all was ready. The
ship’s bell gave the summons; under the ventilator was a small coloured
transparency, and from the forecastle a Christmas hymn rose. Then all
entered the cabin and ranged themselves round the table.
German Christmas in East Greenland ice! There stood the powerful forms
of big “children,” serious but cheerful, and the finest Christmas-tree
rose on deck, glittering with lights and gold and silver; and on the
fresh white table-cloth lay the plates with the gifts upon them; they
were but trifling things, but they gave much pleasure: small books,
letter-cases, and so on. Near the tree lay a large harmonica “for the
men;” this, with some balls of cord, in which were enclosed different
small things, was a present from the ladies of Kiel. On the other side
stood the complete model of a full-rigged ship, just finished by P.
Iversen.
Somewhat later followed a hot supper, in which the cook astonished us
with some delightful cakes. Healths were drunk in foaming wine of the
Neckar, and at dessert a large chest, which had taken its place in the
cabin since yesterday, was opened. It contained a valuable present
from Mainz: a number of bottles of excellent Rhine wine. You should
have seen the men of the Germania! Heart and mind were in a glow, they
joked and chattered, speeches were made and healths drunk, and the ship
resounded with many a hearty cheer. We thought of our loved ones at
home, our brothers on the Hansa, and our ever dear country!
But we still wanted a song. Each one had his songbook, a gift from the
publisher, G. Westermann, and--were we not Germans, “Vereint zur frohen
Stunde”? So it was not long before we had a song. Was it a warning that
the “Wacht am Rhein” should resound in the Arctic night?
As it was a wonderfully warm, soft air, the suggestion of a dance on
the ice received universal approbation. Soon we were dancing merrily
on the white snow, whilst the boatman, wrapped in a reindeer’s skin,
played the new harmonica with an artist’s hand.
More bottles were opened, more healths drunk, and midnight had passed
before we retired to rest.
The last week in the year passed without any particular event. Twice
Boreas visited us again, but he seemed to have lost his energy, for
he dropped after about ten hours, causing no further disturbance. The
temperature remained high the whole time, and on the 27th even reached
28° Fahr.
Thus the year came to an end, and with brighter expectations could we
look forward to the future.
St. Silvester’s Eve[57] passed in the usual manner; we sat cheerfully
together over our wine, amusing ourselves with the innocent game of
pouring the lead, and so on, while awaiting the twelfth hour, when
with the clinking of the glasses we expressed reciprocal wishes for
the fulfilment of our hopes and for the success of our expedition.
The astronomers had calculated when the midnight hour would reach the
different places in Germany; so each individual had a particular touch
of the glasses, and “To what we love best” at home. The kind givers
were not forgotten, nor our comrades of the Hansa, whom we believed had
long since run into the Weser.
Quickly the hours passed, and one after the other sought his hard
couch.