North-eastern Voyages of the Dutch—Barents reaches Nova
Zembla—Adventures with the Polar Bears—Large Trading Expedition
organised—Failure of the Venture—Reward offered for the Discovery
of a North-east Passage—Third Voyage—Dangers of the Ice—Forced to
Winter on Nova Zembla—Erection of a House—Intense
Cold—Philosophical Dutchmen—Attacks from Bears—Returning
Spring—The Vessel abandoned—Preparations for a Start—The Company
enfeebled and down-hearted—Voyage of 1,700 miles in two small
Boats—Death of Barents and Adrianson—Perils of Arctic
Navigation—Enclosed in the Ice—Death of a Sailor—Meeting with
Russians—Arrival in Lapland—Home once more—Discovery of the
Barents Relics by Carlsen—Voyages of Adams, Weymouth, Hall, and
Knight.
“The True and Perfect Description of Three Voyages, so strange and
woonderfull that the like hath neuer been heard of before,” albeit bearing
a somewhat sensational title, is by a long way the most complete of early
Arctic narratives. The work is a translation, by one William Phillip, from
the Dutch of Gerrit de Veer, and describes three voyages undertaken by the
Hollanders towards the close of the sixteenth century, with the view of
reaching China by a north-east passage. The narrative of the last
expedition in particular, during the progress of which they met so many
disasters, were obliged to spend ten months in the inhospitable region of
Nova Zembla, abandon their vessel, and make their homeward voyage of
seventeen hundred miles in two small open boats through all the perils of
the Arctic seas, will be found most interesting. Our account is compiled
from the edition edited by Dr. Beke, and issued by the Hakluyt Society.
In the year 1594 the United Provinces determined to send out an expedition
in the hopes of finding a northern route to China and India. The city of
Amsterdam contributed two vessels: Zeelandt and Enkhuysen one each. Willem
Barents(21), “a notable, skillfull, and wise pilote,” represented
Amsterdam, while the other vessels were respectively commanded by Cornelis
Cornelison and Brand Ysbrants. The vessels left the Texel on June 5th, and
soon after separated. Following first the fortunes of Cornelison and
Ysbrants, we find that they reached Lapland on the 23rd, and, proceeding
eastward, found the weather in the middle of July as hot as in Holland
during the dog days, and the mosquitoes extremely troublesome. Reaching
Waigatz Island they met enormous quantities of drift-wood, which was also
piled up on the shores. Passing the southern end of the island, they
observed three or four hundred wooden idols, men, women, and children,
their faces generally turned eastward. Sailing through Waigatz Strait,
they found and were impeded much by large quantities of floating ice;
later they reached an open sea perfectly clear of it. The land to the
southward was in sight, and trended apparently to the south-east. Without
more ado they concluded that they had discovered an open passage round
Northern Asia to China, and turned their vessels’ bows homewards, in order
to be the first to bring the good news to Holland. Meanwhile, Barents, in
the _Messenger_, crossed the White Sea, and eventually made the west coast
of Nova Zembla, proceeding thence northwards, naming several headlands and
islands. About latitude 77° 25’ they encountered an immense field of ice,
of which they could see no end from the mast-head, and they had to turn
back. After becoming entangled in drift-ice, and experiencing misty, cold,
and tempestuous weather, the crew began to murmur, and then refused
positively to proceed. On the homeward voyage, after they had arrived at
Maltfloe and Delgoy Islands, they met the other ships, the commanders of
which were jubilant with the idea that they had discovered the North-east
Passage. At all events, on their return, the reports given by them were so
favourably considered, that preparations were immediately made for a
second expedition.
Near one of the islands off the coast of Nova Zembla Barents and a
boat-load of his men were almost swamped by an enormous white she-bear,
which they had wounded, and secured by a rope. The animal, in its pain and
fury, more than seconded their efforts to get it on board—for they had
fancied that they might take her alive to Holland—and a panic ensued.
Fortunately the rope caught round a rung or hook of the rudder, and one of
the bolder men then struck her into the water. The rest immediately got to
their oars and rowed so rapidly to the ship, that the bear was pretty well
half drowned by the time they arrived there, and she was easily
despatched. De Veer, the principal historian of these voyages, gives us
some graphic descriptions of the walrus. A female walrus almost succeeded
in swamping one of the boats, as Madam Bruin had before, but fled when a
good round volley of Dutch execrations were levelled at her. Some of the
men, tempted by the ivory tusks apparently within their easy reach, went
ashore with the intention of killing some of these animals, but the
sea-horses “brake all their hatchets, curtle-axes, and pikes in pieces,”
and they could not kill any of them, but succeeded in performing dentistry
on a rough scale by knocking out some of their teeth. The resemblance of
the front part of the head of a young walrus to a human face has been
often remarked, and, as we shall hereafter show, has had much to do with
sailors’ stories concerning mermaids and mermen. More than once has the
cry, “A man overboard!” been caused by the sudden appearance of the head
of a young walrus above the water near a ship’s side.
The second expedition consisted of seven vessels: six laden with wares,
merchandise, and money, and factors to act as traders; the seventh, a
small pinnace, was to accompany the rest for part of the voyage, and bring
back news of the proceedings. These extensive preparations were rendered
nearly useless by the dilatoriness of those who had the matter in hand.
The vessels did not leave the Texel till July 2nd, 1595, nor reach Nova
Zembla before the middle of August. The coasts of that island were found
to be unapproachable on account of the ice. In few words, they returned to
Holland, having accomplished little or nothing.
When off Waigatz some of the men had landed to search for supposed
precious stones, which they fondly believed were diamonds, but which were
doubtless pieces of rock crystal. As two of the men were taking a little
rest, a “great leane white beare” suddenly stole upon them, and caught one
fast by the neck. The other, seeing the cause, ran away. “The beare,” says
the quaint narrative, “at the first faling upon the man, bit his head in
sunder, and suckt out his blood,” whereupon some twenty of the men ran to
the place, and charged the animal with their pikes and muskets. Bruin,
nothing daunted, seized another of the men and tore him in pieces, the
rest, seized with terror, running away. A number of sailors, seeing all
this, immediately came on shore, and a second charge was made. Many shots
were fired, but missed; at length the purser shot the animal between the
eyes, when she began to stagger. Two of the men broke their axes over her,
and yet she would not leave the bodies of their comrades. At length one of
them succeeded in stunning her with a well-directed blow, and then cut her
throat.
[Illustration: NOVA ZEMBLA, SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY BARENTS AND HIS
FOLLOWERS.
(_After an Authentic Map made by Gerrit de Veer._)]
[Illustration: MOCK SUNS, SEEN ON THE 4TH JUNE, 1596, BY BARENTS AND HIS
FOLLOWERS.
(_After a Stamp published in 1609 at Amsterdam._)]
On the return of the second expedition from a voyage so fruitless, the
General States of the United Provinces declined to repeat the experiment,
but offered a large reward to any one who might make it “apparant that the
sayd passage was to be sayled.” The merchants of Amsterdam thereupon
prepared two vessels, and selected mostly single men for their crews,
_i.e._, men unhampered by family ties, offering them great rewards if the
objects they sought were accomplished. One of the vessels was commanded by
Jacob Heemskerke Hendrickson, the master of the second being Cornelison
Rijp; Barents was appointed chief pilot. The expedition sailed from
Amsterdam on May 10th, 1596, and on June 1st was in a latitude high enough
to have no night. On the 4th, in lat. 71°, they observed two parahelia, or
mock suns, which are thus described in the narrative:—“On each side of the
sunne there was another sunne and two raine-bowes, that past cleane thorow
the three sunnes, and then two raine-bowes more, the one compassing round
about the sunnes, and the other crosse thorow the great rundle.” On the
5th they fell in with the first floating ice, which at a distance they
mistook for white swans, and on the 7th they were in lat. 74°, sailing
through the ice “as if betweene two lands.” They found quantities of the
eggs of red geese on an island. The narrator makes these birds, when
flying away, cry out “Rot, rot, rot” (red), as though describing
themselves. They also killed several bears, one of which they pursued in
their boats while “foure glasses were run out (_i.e._, for two hours), for
their weapons seemed powerless to do her hurt. One of the men struck her
with an axe, which stuck fast in her back, and with which she swam away.
They followed, and at length a well-directed blow split her skull.” They
appear to have been much hampered in proceeding further north from the
constantly accumulating ice. By their latitude at this time they were near
Amsterdam Island, on which is that cape or foreland since so well known to
whalers as Hakluyt’s Headland. On July 1st the commanders mutually agreed
to part company: Cornelison Rijp, who now disappears from the scene, being
of opinion that by sailing back to Spitzbergen, which they had just left,
he would find a passage near its east side; while Barents favoured an
eastward course in a lower parallel, and steered for Waigatz Strait and
Nova Zembla, which latter he reached on July 17th. As far as the ice would
permit they stood to the northwards, and at the end of the first week of
August doubled Point Nassau, where, the wind being contrary, they made the
ship fast to an iceberg, thirty-six fathoms (216 feet) under water, and
sixteen fathoms (96 feet) above it. This berg suddenly, without warning,
broke up: “with one great cracke it burst into foure hundred pieces at the
least.” Ships have often been overwhelmed in this manner. Ice in all forms
now surrounded them; the ship’s rudder was smashed to pieces, and their
boat crushed like a nutshell, while a similar fate was expected constantly
for the vessel herself, which had become much strained. They had equally
to give up all hopes of proceeding or returning that season, and with
great difficulty they got to the west side of a harbour on Nova Zembla,
named by them Ice Haven. Here, as we shall see, they had to pass a long
winter, under circumstances of great hardship and danger.
On August 27th the ice drove with great force on the ship’s bows, and
lifted her up several feet. They feared that she must be capsized. Shortly
afterwards the ship burst out of the ice, “with such a noyse and so great
a crack” that all on board feared their last hour was come. On the 30th,
during a heavy snow and boisterous weather, the ice masses commenced
driving and grinding together with greater force than before; the ship was
lifted up bodily, almost upright, and then dashed into the water again. We
cannot wonder to learn that the hairs of their heads also stood “vpright
with feare” amid such scenes.
And so it went on from day to day, the vessel being strained and cracked
in many places, and leaking badly. On September 5th they held a council,
and determined to commence the work of removing the stores ashore. They
carried off their old foresail, and “other furniture” on land to make a
tent; powder, lead, muskets, with bread and wine, and some tools to mend
their boat. “The 11 of September,” says the narrative, “it was calme
wether, and 8 of vs went on land, euery man armed, to see if that were
true, as our other three companions had said that there lay wood about the
riuer; for that seeing we had so long wound and turned about, sometime in
the ice, and then againe got out, and thereby were compelled to alter our
course, and at last saw that we could not get out of the ice, but rather
became faster, and could not loose our ship, as at other times we had
done, as also that it began to be winter, we took counsell together what
we were best to doe according to the time that we might winter there, and
attend such aduenture as God would send vs; and after we had debated vpon
the matter, to keepe and defend our selues both from the cold and the wild
beasts, we determined to build a house vpon the land to keep vs therein as
well as we could, and so to commit ourselues vnto the tuition of God.” As
they had little wood on board, and there were no trees on land, they were
most rejoiced when they found “certaine trees, roots and all,” which had
been driven upon the shore (drift-wood, probably, brought down by one of
the great rivers of Asiatic Siberia, floated out to sea, and deposited on
the shores of Nova Zembla). “We were much comforted,” says the narrator,
“being in good hope that God would show vs some further fauour; for that
wood serued vs not onely to build our house, but also to burne and serue
vs all the winter long; otherwise, without all doubt, we had died there
miserably with extreame cold.”
[Illustration: TRANSPORTING WOOD ON SLEDGES FOR BUILDING THE HOUSE.]
The party as it now stood consisted of seventeen persons, of whom one, the
carpenter, who of all could least be spared at this juncture, died towards
the end of September, and another was prostrated with sickness. They had
to haul the wood in sledges for a considerable distance over ice and snow,
and it was so intensely cold that the skin was often taken off their hands
and faces. “As wee put a naile into our mouthes,” says De Veer “(as
carpenters use to do) there would ice hang thereon when wee took it out
againe, and make the bloud follow.” The present writer saw precisely the
same thing happen more than once at a Russian trading post in Alaska some
years ago, and knows well what it is to have his own mouth and nostrils
nearly frozen up by the breath congealing about the moustache, lips, &c.,
more especially when camped in the “open” at night. These good Dutchmen
seem to have been most resigned and philosophical during “their cold,
comfortlesse, darke, and dreadful winter,” determining to make the best of
their hard lot. The narrative of De Veer is told in a plain, unvarnished,
and manly style, and, as Dr. Beke(22) has well remarked, “we may perceive
that the reliance of himself and his comrades on the Almighty was not less
firm or sincere because His name was not incessantly on their lips.
Cheerfulness, and even frequent hilarity, could not fail to be the
concomitants of so wholesome a tone of mind.”
On September 15th two bears made their appearance, and there was great
excitement, the men being anxious to shoot them. A tub or barrel of salt
beef was standing on the ice near the ship, and one of the bears put his
head into it to get out a joint of the meat. But “she fared therewith,”
says the narrator, “as the dog did with ye pudding;(23) for as she was
snatching at the beefe she was shot into the head, wherewith she fell
downe dead and neuer stir’d (there we saw a curious sight); the other
beare stood still, and lokt vpon her fellow (as if wondering why she
remained so motionless), and when she had stood a good while she smelt her
fellow, and perceiuing that she lay still and was dead, she ran away, and
all pursuit was vain.”
[Illustration: ATTACKED BY BEARS.]
At length their house was completed; it had been built partly from the
drift-wood, and partly from the deck timbers and other portions of the
ship. The original illustration, a very quaint picture, shows the fire in
the middle of the floor, and a large chimney immediately over it. In other
illustrations in De Veer’s works the chimney is surmounted by a barrel,
which served the same purpose for the “look out” as the “crow’s nest” or
observatory in modern Arctic vessels. An oil lamp swung in the centre of
the room, and a large bench, with divisions, served for resting places by
night. The old Dutch clock, the works of which became frozen during the
winter, is shown hanging on the wall, while the large twelve-hour
sand-glass, which replaced it, is also included. A large wine-vat or
barrel, standing on end, requires explanation. It was used as a vapour or
steam bath, a hole in the side being cut both for air and as a door or
opening for ingress or egress. The steam was in all probability made by
placing hot stones in a small quantity of water at the bottom of the
barrel. The writer has in Alaska (formerly Russian America) often used a
steam bath of a construction almost as primitive, where in a small room
the required vapour was raised by throwing water on a little furnace or
fire-place, built of stones, which were kept at a white heat by a fire
inside. Round the walls of the room were shelves or benches, on which one
could recline, and by selecting the upper or lower ones, as the case might
be, enjoy a greater or a lesser degree of heat.
On November 4th the last feeble rays of the sun took leave of them, and
intense cold followed. Their wine and spruce-beer became frozen, and
separated into two parts, the water being ice, and the remainder a thick
glutinous liquid. Melted together again, they were nearly undrinkable.
Wood does not appear to have been scarce till later in the winter,
although they had to fetch some of it a distance of several miles. They
once tried a fire of coal in the middle of their room, but the experiment
was not repeated, as the sulphurous smoke nearly suffocated them. Their
thickest European clothing was utterly insufficient for the climate they
had to endure. During the winter they killed and trapped a few bears and
foxes, and some of their skins were of course utilised. The former,
however, disappeared with the sun, and only reappeared when it again
showed itself.
The record of their monotonous winter life, almost entirely confined to
the house, would be as tedious in the recital as it was in reality. Their
wretched habitation was nearly buried in snow, and they felt as much out
of the world as though they had really left it. Outside, gale succeeded
gale, and howling winds and drifting snow prevented the possibility of
hunting, exercise, or amusement. Inside, as the record tells us, they used
all the means in their power to preserve warmth: put hot stones and heated
cannon-balls at their feet, and smothered themselves in every article of
clothing or bedding they had, but with little avail; their cots and the
walls were covered with frost, and themselves as stiff and white as
corpses. The narrative says quaintly that as they sat before a great fire
their shins burned on the fore side, while their backs were frozen.
Nevertheless they repined not, but took everything in the spirit of calm
philosophy. On December 26th De Veer, when an unusually severe day had set
in, writes that they comforted themselves that the sun had gone as low as
it could, and must now return. The quaintness and simplicity of this
narrative is well illustrated by the following entry for the last day of
1596:—“The 31 of December it was still foule wether, with a storme out of
the north-west, whereby we were so fast shut vp into the house as if we
had beene prisoners, and it was so extreame cold that the fire almost cast
no heate; for as we put our feete to the fire we burnt our hose
(stockings) before we could feele the heate, so that we had constantly
work enough to do to patch our hose. And, which is more, if we had not
sooner smelt than felt them, we should haue burnt them quite away ere we
had knowne it.”
On January 5th they even celebrated Twelfth Night, making merry with a
small quantity of wine, pancakes, and white biscuit. They drew lots for a
master of revels, and it fell to the gunner, who was made King of Nova
Zembla. All this, after all, was more sensible than giving way to the
despondency which they could not help feeling at times. On February 12th
they shot a bear, the first for the year. The first bullet fired, passing
through her body, “went out againe at her tayle, and was as flat as a
counter that had been beaten out with a hammer.” This was a god-send to
them, as now they were enabled to keep their lamps constantly burning,
which previously they had often been unable to do for want of grease. The
bear yielded a hundred pounds of fat. In the latter part of winter the
bears came round the house, and attempted to break in the door, while one
almost succeeded in entering by the chimney.
[Illustration: REPAIRING THE BOAT.]
At the beginning of March they saw open water, and were greatly rejoiced,
looking hopefully forward to the day of release. In April the ice hummocks
on the coast were “risen and piled vp one vpon the other, that it was
wonderfull in such manner as if there had bin whole townes made of ice,
with towres and bulwarkes round about them.” In May their provisions were
getting very low, and they themselves were both weakened by inaction and
insufficiency of food, while the scurvy had made its appearance among some
of the number. Impatient of their long and dreary sojourn, the men, on the
9th and 11th of May, came to Barents, praying him to speak to “the maister
(skipper) to make preparations to goe from thence.” On the 15th they
consulted together and decided to leave at the end of the month, if “the
ship could not be loosed,” which gladdened the hearts of the men. Next
they began to repair their clothes; and on May 29th the boat and yawl were
cleared of the snow which buried them. The narrative shows how enfeebled
they had become. Ten of them went to the boat, to repair it and make it
ready. When they had got it out of the snow, and thought themselves able
to drag it up to the house, their united efforts were not sufficient. De
Veer says, “We could not doe it because we were too weake.” They became,
we cannot wonder, wholly out of heart, for unless the boats could be got
ready they would, as the master told them, have to remain as burghers or
citizens of Nova Zembla, and make their graves there. But, as the
narrative continues, there was no want of goodwill in them, but only
strength. After a rest they did, by slow degrees manage to repair and
heighten the gunwales of the boat. Their work was impeded by the bears,
one of which they killed, and the liver of which having eaten, they were
“exceeding sicke,” so much so that of three of the men it is stated that
“all their skins came off from the foote to the head.” Although bear’s
meat is perfectly wholesome and far from uneatable, the same fact has very
frequently been noticed in regard to the poisonous qualities of the liver,
at least at certain seasons. In this case, the captain took what was left
and threw it away, for as De Veer candidly admits, they “had enough of the
sawce thereof.”
It now became obvious that the ship, which was completely bilged, must be
abandoned, and their time, after repairing and strengthening the boats,
was fully employed in moving and packing their goods, including the more
valuable of the merchandise they had brought for trading purposes from the
house, and in stripping the ship of everything of value. On June 12th they
went with hatchets, pick-axes, shovels, and all kinds of implements, to
make a clear wide shoot or way from the house, passing the ship, to the
water. The ice was full of hummocks, knobs, and hills, and this was not
the lightest of their labours. Then Barents and the skipper wrote letters,
detailing the circumstances of their ten months’ stay, and that they were
forced to abandon the ship and put to sea in two open boats, to which all
of the men subscribed except four, who from sickness or inability could
not write. Barents’ letter was put in a place of safety in their deserted
house, and each of the boats was furnished with a copy of the captain’s
letter, in case they should be separated or one or other lost. The yawl
and boat having been launched and loaded, Barents and a man named
Adrianson, both of whom had been long invalids, were carried on a sledge
to the water’s edge. There were now fifteen men in all, and their
provisions were reduced to limited rations of bread, one barrel of Dutch
cheese, one flitch of bacon, and some small runlets of wine, oil, and
vinegar.
To the narrative which follows the compiler can hardly do justice, whilst
an exact reprint of the quietly and unsensationally told story of Gerrit
de Veer would have to be closely studied before the reader would
understand and feel the adventurous and desperate nature of the exploit
performed. These fifteen poor Dutchmen, gaunt and exhausted as we know
they were, weakened by semi-starvation and disease, badly provisioned at
this most critical time, two of their number dying, bravely encountered a
voyage of some seventeen hundred miles, eleven at least of which were
amongst the worst dangers of the Arctic seas. The larger of their two
craft was a fishing yawl of the smallest size. For eighty days they
struggled through an unknown and frozen ocean, in the ice, over the ice,
and through the sea, exposed to all the ordinary dangers of wave and
tempest, liable to be crushed at any moment by the grinding ice masses, or
swamped by the disintegration of icebergs, constantly having to unload,
haul up, and re-launch their boats, and further, exposed to severe cold,
wet, fatigue, and famine, as well as to the constant attacks of savage
animals. They persevered, for although their hearts often sank within
them, it was for dear life, and at length their heroic efforts were
rewarded. Some few extracts from the work already so often quoted will
give a faint idea of the dangers through which they passed and over which
they finally triumphed.
The boats, sailing in company, left Ice Haven on June 14th, 1597, at first
slowly, making their course from one cape or headland to another. At the
very start they became entangled in the floating ice, which, however, on
the following day was more sparsely scattered. On June 16th they set sail
again (having stopped off Cape Desire for the night), and got to the
Islands of Orange. There they went on land with two small barrels and a
kettle to melt snow, as also to seek for birds and eggs for their sick
men. Of the former they only obtained three. “As we came backe againe,”
says the narrator, “our maister fell into the ice, where he was in great
danger of his life, for in that place there ran a great streame (‘strong
current’ is Dr. Beke’s translation); but, by God’s helpe, he got out
againe and came to vs, and there dryed himselfe by the fire that we had
made, at which fire we drest the birds, and carried them to the scute to
our sicke men.” Putting to sea again, with a south-east wind and a
mizzling rain, they were soon all wet to the skin. Off Ice Point, the most
northerly cape or point of Nova Zembla, the skipper called to Barents to
ask him how he did, to which he answered, “I still hope to run before we
get to Wardhuus.” Then he turned to De Veer, and said, “Gerrit, if we are
near the Ice Point just lift me up again. I must see that point once
more.” These were almost the last words of this brave man, who undoubtedly
felt at the time that not merely he should never see Ice Point again, but
that he was not long for this world. He was dying fast, and his courageous
words were meant for his companions’ comfort. “Next day,” says the
narrator, “when we had broken our fastes, the ice came so frightfully upon
vs that it made our haires stand vpright vpon our heades, it was so
fearefull to behold; by which meanes we could not make fast our scutes, so
that we thought verily that it was a foreshewing of our last end; for we
draue away so hard with the ice, and were so sore prest between a flake of
ice, that we thought verily the scutes would burst in a hundredth peeces,
which made vs look pittifully one upon the other, for no counsell nor
aduise was to be found, but every minute of an houre we saw death before
our eies.” At last, in desperation, De Veer managed to jump on a piece of
ice, and creeping from one to another of the grinding masses, at length
secured a rope to one of the hummocks. “And when we had gotten thither,”
says he, “in all haste we tooke our sicke men out and layd them vpon the
ice, laying clothes and other things vnder them, and then tooke all our
goods out of the scutes, and so drew them vpon the ice, whereby for that
time we were deliuered from that great danger, making account that we had
escaped out of death’s clawes, as it was most true.”
The boats having been repaired, they were delayed some days by the ice,
which shut them in. On June 20th Adrianson “began to be extreme sick,” and
the boatswain came to inform the others that he could not live long;
“whereupon,” says De Veer, “William Barents spake and said, I think I
shall not liue long after him; and yet we did not ivdge William Barents to
be so sicke, for we sat talking one with the other, and spake of many
things, and William Barents looked at my little chart which I had made of
our voyage (and we had some discussion about it). At last he laid away the
chart and spake vnto me, saying, Gerrit, give me some drinke; and he had
so sooner drunke but he was taken with so sodaine a qualme that he turned
his eies in his head and died presently, and we had no time to call the
maister out of the other scute to speak vnto him; and so he died before
Claes Adrianson (who died shortly after him). The death of William Barents
put us in no small discomfort, as being the chiefe guide and only pilot on
whom we reposed our selues next under God; but we could not striue against
God, and therefore we must of force be content.” Other passages indicate
that Barents had inspired great affection in the hearts of his companions,
and that his loss was felt with much poignancy.
[Illustration: UNLOADING, DRAGGING, AND CARRYING BOATS AND GOODS.]
The following passage is only one of many indicating the laborious nature
of their undertaking:—“The 22 of June in the morning it blew a good gale
out of the south-east, and then the sea was reasonably open, but we were
forced to draw our scutes ouer the ice to get vnto it, which was great
paine and labour unto vs; for first we were forced to draw our scutes over
a peece of ice of 50 paces long, and then put them into the water, and
then againe to draw them vp vpon other ice, and after draw them at the
least 300 paces more ouer the ice, before we could bring them to a good
place, where we might easily get out.” On the 25th and 26th of June a
tempest raged, and they were driven to sea, being unable, as they had
sometimes done before, to tie the boats to fast or grounded ice. They were
nearly swamped at this time by the great seas which constantly broke over
their open boats, and for some little time were separated in a fog, but by
firing muskets at length found out each other’s position and joined
company. One of the boats got into a dangerous place between fixed and
driving ice, and the men had to unload it, and take it and the goods
bodily across the masses to more open water. On June 28th, the narrative
continues, “We laid all our goods vpon the ice, and then drew the scutes
vpon the ice also, because we were so hard prest on all sides with the
ice, and the wind came out of the sea vpon the land, and therefore we were
in feare to be wholly inclosed with the ice, and should not be able to get
out thereof againe. And being vpon the ice, we laid sailes ouer our
scutes, and laie down to rest, appointing one of our men to keepe watch;
and when the sun was north there came three beares towards our scutes,
wherewith he that kept the watch cried out lustily, ‘Three beares! Three
beares!’ at which noise we leapt out of our boates with our muskets, that
were laden with small shot to shoote at birds, and had no time to reload
them, and therefore shot at them therewith; and although that kinde of
shot could not hurt them much, yet they ranne away, and in the meane time
they gaue vs leisure to lade our muskets with bullets, and by that meanes
we shot one of the three dead.... The 29th of June, the sun being
south-south-west, the two beares came againe to the place where the dead
beare laie, when one of them tooke the dead beare in his mouth, and went a
great way with it ouer the rugged ice, and then began to eate it; which we
perceauing, shot a musket at her, but she, hearing the noise thereof, ran
away and let the dead beare lie. Then foure of vs went thither, and saw
that in so short a time she had eaten almost the halfe of her.” It was as
much as these four could do to carry away the half of the body left,
although the bear had just before dragged the whole of it over the rough
and hummocky ice with little exertion.
On July 1st they were again in great danger among the driving, grinding
ice, their boats were much crushed, and they lost a quantity of goods,
and, what was of vital importance at the time, a large proportion of their
remaining provisions. A few days afterwards their little company was still
further reduced by the death of one of the sailors. On July 11th, and a
week afterwards, they were enclosed by ice, from which they could not
extricate themselves. During this enforced delay they shot a bear, whose
fat ran out at the holes made by the bullets, and floated on the water
like oil. They obtained some seventy duck eggs on a neighbouring island,
and for a time feasted royally. “The 18 of July,” says the narrator,
“about the east sunne, three of our men went vp vpon the highest part of
the land to see if there was any open water in the sea; at which time they
saw much open water, but it was so farre from the land that they were
almost out of comfort, because it lay so farre from the land and the fast
ice.” They had on this occasion to row to an ice-field, unload, and drag
and carry boats and goods at least three-fourths of a mile across; they
then loaded and set sail, but were speedily entangled again, and had to
repeat their previous experiences.
And so it went on for forty-four days, until, in St. Laurence Bay, behind
a projecting point, they suddenly came on two Russian vessels with which
they had met the previous year, and the crews of which wondered to see
them in their present plight, “so leane and bare” and broken down. They
exchanged courtesies, and provided them with a trifling supply of rye
bread and smoked fowls, then sailing away on their own affairs. For
thirty-five days longer they sailed westward, repeating many of their
previous experiences, till at length, on September 2nd, they arrived at
Kola, in Russian Lapland, and their troubles were really over.
Cornelison’s ship happened to be in the port, and they rejoiced and made
merry with their old companions, who had long given them up for lost.
Thus ended this remarkable voyage of nearly eighty days in two small open
boats. It would seem nowadays utter madness to think of making a long
voyage in such frail and unsuitable craft, and our adventurers had had the
special perils of the Arctic seas superadded to the more ordinary dangers
of the ocean. Eight weeks later they were enjoying the calm pleasures of
their own firesides, after having been entertained at the Hague by the
Prince of Orange.
A further interest attaches to the voyage from the recent discovery made
by Captain Carlsen, while circumnavigating Nova Zembla, of the very house
erected at Ice Haven by these adventurers, with many interesting relics,
which had remained in tolerable preservation, and had been evidently
unvisited for this great length of time. “No man,” says Mr. Markham, “had
entered the lonely dwelling where the famous discoverer of Spitzbergen had
sojourned during the long winter of 1596 for nearly three centuries. There
stood the cooking-pans over the fireplace, the old clock against the wall,
the arms, the tools, the drinking-vessels, the instruments, and the books
that had beguiled the weary hours of that long night, 278 years ago....
Perhaps the most touching is the pair of small shoes. There was a little
cabin-boy among the crew, who died, as Gerrit de Veer tells us, during the
winter. This accounts for the shoes having been left behind. There is a
flute, too, once played by that poor boy, which will still give out a few
notes.”(24) The relics brought home by Carlsen were eventually taken to
the Hague, where they are now preserved with jealous care.
In chronological order, a voyage of which there is little record left
comes next. There is little doubt that William Adams—who, afterwards cast
away on the coast of Japan, is inseparably connected with the history of
that country, and whose adventures will be considered in the proper
place—did, in 1595 or 1596, make an attempt at the north-east passage. The
Prince of Orange had ordered him to try for a northern route to Japan,
China, and the Moluccas, considering that it would be shorter, and safer
from the attacks of the pirates and corsairs who infested the more
southern seas. Adams averred that he had reached 82° N., but that “the
cold was so excessive, with so much sleet and snow driving down those
straits, that he was compelled to return.” And he asserted that if he had
kept close to the coast of Tartary, and had run along it to the eastward,
to the opening of Anian, between the land of Asia and America, he might
have succeeded in his undertaking.
Next comes the attempt of George Weymouth in 1602. He was despatched by
the worshipful merchants of the Muscovy and Turkey Companies to attempt a
north-west passage to China. This voyage was an utter failure, and he
never reached a higher latitude than 63° 53’ N. While proceeding to the
north-west they passed four islands of ice “of a huge bignesse,” and about
this time the fog was so thick that they could not see two ships’ lengths
before them, and the sails, shrouds, and ropes were frozen so stiff that
they could not be handled. On July 19th the crew mutinied, and conspired
to keep the captain confined to his cabin, while they reversed the ship’s
course and bore for England. Weymouth discovered this, and punished the
ringleaders. The boats were on one occasion sent to an iceberg, to load
some of it for fresh water, and as the men were breaking it “the great
island of ice gave a mightie cracke two or three times, as though it had
been a thunderclappe; and presently the island began to overthrow,” which
nearly swamped the boats. The whole account of Weymouth’s voyage is
confused and indefinite, but he evidently did nothing beyond cruising
among the islands north of Hudson’s Strait, and off Labrador.
In 1605, 1606, and 1607, three expeditions, of which James Hall, an
Englishman, was pilot, were despatched to the Greenland coasts by the King
of Denmark. They fancied on the first voyage that they had discovered a
silver mine in Cunningham’s Fiord, Greenland, and the second voyage was
instigated in the hopes of filling the royal coffers with the precious
metal. These voyages were in effect most fruitless. Several natives were
carried off by Hall, who in return left three Danish malefactors on the
Greenland coasts, a severe mode of banishment. While these voyages were in
progress, the Muscovy and East India merchants had despatched a small
barque, under the command of John Knight, for the discovery of the
north-west passage. Near Cape Guinington, on the coast of Labrador, a
northerly gale, which brought down large quantities of drift ice, did much
damage to the vessel, and she lost her rudder. Knight took the vessel into
the most accessible cove in order to repair her, and went ashore with the
mate and four sailors, all well armed, to endeavour to find some more
suitable harbour. On landing, Knight, the mate, and another, went up
towards the highest part of the island, leaving the others to take charge
of the boat. The latter waited some thirteen hours, but the captain and
his companions did not return. Next day, a well-armed party from the ship
went in search of them, but were unable to reach the island on account of
the ice. No tidings were ever gleaned concerning their fate, but it was
concluded that the savage natives had killed them, as later a number of
these people came down and attacked the crew with great ferocity. They had
large canoes, and the narrator describes them as “very little people,
tawnie coloured, thin or no beards, and flat-nosed, and man-eaters.” After
patching up their vessel, they steered for Newfoundland, and later for
England, which they reached in safety.
[Illustration: VIEW ON THE HUDSON.]