THE KARA SEA—_continued_.
Further impressions of the Arctic regions—The awful
silence—Average thickness of the ice—On the move once more—A
fresh danger—A funny practical joke—The estuary of the River
Yenisei—Golchika—A visit from its inhabitants—From Golchika to
Karaoul.
[Illustration: “ONE SPECK OF LIFE IN THE ICE-BOUND WASTE.”]
The novelty of being blocked in on all sides by fields of ice soon
wears off. Even the chance of a shot at a seal now and again fails to
enliven one. The silence of the surroundings is too oppressive; all
seems dead, and it seems like some hideous dream to row about on these
motionless waters, with the ghostly frozen monstrosities floating around.
It reminded one of Doré’s illustrations to Dante’s “Inferno.” One can
realize how awful it must be to be forced to pass a winter in the far
North, where continual night is added to the horrors of the death-like
surroundings. The silence of the great forest Stanley tells us of in his
book must be almost noisy (if one can use the expression) compared with
it; at any rate, he had living nature around him, whereas in the Arctic
regions all is gloom and eternal silence, without even vegetation to
enliven it. Before leaving the floe to which we had been anchored, out of
curiosity I ascertained the thickness of the ice, and to my astonishment
I found it averaged seventeen feet, some pieces being even as much
as _twenty-five feet_ in thickness, and this after several weeks of
continuous thaw.
It would take too long to describe the wearisome attempts we made during
the next few days while trying to break through the immense barrier which
lay between us and the mouth of the Yenisei River, and during all this
time we experienced every variety of Arctic climate, from hot sunshine to
sudden and icy cold fogs. This delay was trying to our patience, for time
was precious, as we had to get up the river, discharge cargo, and get the
ship off again on her return journey to England before the winter ice
set in, otherwise it meant her being fixed in the Kara Sea till the late
spring of next year. At length from the mast-head one evening came the
long-expected and joyful intelligence that there was clear water visible
ahead, and our ice-master reported having discovered what he thought
looked like a passage to it. This was good news indeed, as the monotony
of the last few days was beginning to pall on us, and we were none of us
grieved when, after a few more hours of slow steaming, the intelligence
proved correct, and we at last saw a clear horizon before us. Even then
a new and unexpected danger presented itself. A gale had been blowing,
and, although inside the ice-floes all was calm as in a lagoon, outside
a heavy sea was running, and the enormous masses of loose ice were being
tossed about like corks. It was an awful sight, and one of the utmost
danger to the _Biscaya_, as it was most difficult to steer clear of
the huge heaving masses which threatened at any moment to smash into
us. Fortunately, however, we managed to pass through them without the
slightest injury to the ship, and we gave a hearty cheer for our skipper
when we found ourselves once more out in the open sea, and the order was
given, for the first time for many days, “Full speed ahead!”
Before quite leaving the ice behind, I must tell you of a very funny
practical joke our captain played on us while we were at anchor. One
morning, at about three o’clock, when we were all fast asleep, we were
aroused by the captain rushing into our cabin in a state of great
excitement, and calling out to us that there was a bear on the ice close
by. To jump out of one’s bunk and make for one’s rifle was the work of
a moment, while the captain, who appeared to be in a frantic state of
excitement at the chance of such capital sport, was rushing about looking
for his ammunition. In a few seconds, and without waiting to put on coat
or slippers, I was out on the deck, with nothing on but my pyjamas, in
order to get the first shot if possible. I found all the crew looking
over the bulwarks. It was broad daylight, a cold, raw sort of morning,
with a dense fog enveloping everything a few yards ahead. About a hundred
yards away, on a huge piece of ice which was slowly drifting towards us,
was a large animal looming out through the mist. It was too far away
to be distinctly made out, but there it was undoubtedly—a Polar bear.
It would make for the water before I could get a shot, so without the
slightest hesitation I commenced blazing away. It was so cold standing
out in the frosty air, with scarcely anything on and coming straight
from one’s warm bed, that I could scarcely hold my rifle, still less
distinguish the dim outline in the distance at which I fired four rounds
in rapid succession, as I expected every minute the other fellows would
turn up before I could hit it. All at once, the mass of ice having by
this time drifted nearer, the animal turned slowly round towards us,
and started a plaintive bleating. “Why, it’s only a sheep!” I fairly
yelled, as I now made out its form quite distinctly. Immediately there
rose from all sides such shrieks of laughter as were never heard before
in the Arctic regions, I imagine; the crew simply rolled about the
deck in convulsions. As to the captain and the others, they nearly
went into fits. To my astonishment, I then saw one of the ship’s boats
which had been waiting on the other side put off to fetch back the
pseudo-bear—which was only one of our own sheep, after all, and which the
captain, as a joke, had himself put on the ice, rightly guessing that in
our half-awakened state none of us would hit it. The others, however,
did not turn out quickly enough, so I was the sole beneficiary of what
was one of the funniest practical jokes I ever heard of, and I laughed
as heartily as any of them when I “twigged” it all. It was no use going
back to bed again directly, so, to show I could appreciate a good bit of
fun, and to keep out the cold, we opened a bottle of whiskey, and spent
a pleasant hour, while laughing again and again at the description of
how I looked, rushing out on deck in my pyjamas, half asleep, and firing
wildly over the side of the ship. The sheep (which had been condemned for
mutton), in recognition of its valour while under fire, was reserved as
our very last victim for the flesh-pot.
We were once more fairly on our way towards the Yenisei, and, although
we sighted a great deal more ice, we encountered none which formed any
serious obstacle; we evidently had passed the worst. On August 11 we got
as far north as it was necessary for us to go (our position being at the
time 75 deg. north), and probably very few of us will ever get so near
the North Pole again. It was a real Arctic day, as I take it, wretchedly
cold, with heavy rain and a dense fog, so there was nothing for it but to
remain in the cabin all day. In the afternoon we crossed the estuary to
the river Ob, and—curious phenomenon—passed through fresh water for some
hours. We got some on deck, and found it drinkable though brackish.
It was now only a question of making up for lost time, as it had been
arranged that the river steamer, the _Phœnix_, should come from Yeniseisk
and meet us at the mouth of the river about August 12, which would
give us ample time to get out from England, allowing for delays. We
reached our place of rendezvous on the 13th—wonderful time, all things
considered—and brought up opposite the little station of Golchika,
without seeing anything of the ship which ought to have been waiting for
us. The river here was about ten miles wide, and the coast on either side
was as bare and desolate as that we had seen when passing through the
Waygatch Straits. It was profanely though graphically described by one of
our party, who remarked that it looked as if it were “the last place God
had made, and He had forgotten to finish it!”
[Illustration: THE HANDSOMEST MEMBER OF HIS FAMILY.]
In reply to our gun, which we fired as a signal, a boatful of men put
off from the land, and soon reached the ship, and then we had before us
our first visitors from the kingdom of the White Czar. There were six
of them—two Russians, and the rest Samoyede natives. Good specimens of
the Mongolian race, they were dressed in what looked like undressed
sheepskin of great age, judging from its colour, the fur being worn
inside next their bodies. The two Russians were dressed in the usual
peasant costume of the country. We could none of us make ourselves
understood, although I got out my guide-book and vainly tried to
pronounce some jaw-dislocating words; so we stood grinning at each other
for several minutes, till some one thought of offering them a cigarette.
This time no interpreter was necessary. What we wanted to find out from
them was whether they had seen anything of the _Phœnix_, but could
not make them understand; in fact, our difficulty now was to get rid
of them—to let them know we were pleased to have had the pleasure of
meeting them, but that “enough was as good as a feast.” As they did not
understand a hint, we simply pointed down to their boat, waving our hands
to them as a sign for them to depart; this they acted on, but not before
they had insisted on shaking hands with us all round—rather a trying
ordeal. After their departure, it was decided to anchor in mid-stream and
wait a few hours for the _Phœnix_ before we attempted reaching the next
station without a pilot.
[Illustration: SAMOYEDE BOATMEN.
[_To face p. 34._]
In the mean time, the steam-launch we had on board was got out and put in
readiness. The following day, there still being no signs of the _Phœnix_,
it was decided to attempt to reach the next station, Karaoul, a distance
of about a hundred and sixty miles, without her, as it was thought she
might have met with an accident on her way down with so many lighters
in tow; so, with the launch a few hundred yards ahead taking soundings,
the _Biscaya_ left Golchika, and started up the river in the hope of
seeing the missing ship. We made slow but sure progress, considering we
had no pilot, and how imperfect our only chart was, and it certainly was
a bit of luck that we got on so well as we did, as the river is full of
sandbanks. No incident worthy of note occurred. It was blowing a nasty
head wind all the time, so those in the launch had a rough and wet time
of it, as the river averaged three miles wide the whole way, and there
was no shelter whatever; yet they stuck to their work manfully, although
they were nearly swamped several times by the heavy seas. Towards evening
the next day we came in sight of a solitary log-cabin on the dreary
shore, with a dilapidated sort of storehouse next to it; close to the
water’s edge stood a Samoyede tent with a lot of native dogs lying round
it; all about were empty casks and other miscellaneous rubbish. Not a
human being was in sight. We had safely accomplished the risky voyage
from Golchika without a pilot; for this wretched little station off which
we dropped anchor, with all our colours flying, was Karaoul, the goal of
the _Biscaya’s_ voyage.