ON AN ICE-RAFT.
A Floating Ice-Raft—The Settlement—Christmas in a New
Position—Terrible Storms—Commotion under the Ice—The Floe breaks
up—House Ruined—Water on the Floe—A Spectre Iceberg—Fresh Dangers
and Deliverances—Drifted 1,100 Miles—Resolution to Leave the
Ice—Open Water—Ice again—Tedious Progress—Reach Illuidlek
Island—Welcome at the Greenland Settlements—Home in Germany—Voyage
of the _Germania_—Discovery of Coal—A New Inlet—Home to Bremen.
Slowly but steadily their ice-field drifted to the south, and by November
3rd they had reached Scoresby’s Sound, sometimes being near the coasts and
sometimes far from them. Since the ship had sunk, fourteen days before,
the ice had closed in upon them, and even the blocks which had broken away
from their field had frozen to it again. Their floating ice-raft was by
degrees investigated in every quarter, roads cleared, and marks set up for
short tours. The mass of ice was at this time about seven nautical miles
in circumference, and seemed to have a diameter in all directions of over
two miles. The ice-raft, on which (as Dr. Laube aptly remarked) they “were
as the Lord’s passengers,” had an average thickness above the water of
five feet, and they considered that there was a submergence of forty feet.
“Our settlement,” says the narrative, “at the beginning of November, when
we were not yet snowed up, might be seen from the most distant points of
our field. Near the chief building lay two snow-houses, which served for
washing and drying ourselves. Boats, heaps of wood, barrels containing
coal 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.”
In November, upon a neighbouring floe, separated from them by a small
interval of freshly-frozen water, they saw the shapeless body of a large
walrus lying motionless as a rock. As soon as the boat could be launched
several of them went in pursuit, and with a needle-gun succeeded in
killing it, although in its dying struggles it tried furiously to smash
the young ice on which the hunters stood, and seize them when once in the
water. It took ten men with a powerful pulley several hours before they
succeeded in getting the walrus out of the water on to the ice. Late that
same evening a white bear, the first of their winter’s campaign, was
attracted to the house by the smell of the 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 head by the bullet, as
if asleep, though quite dead, on 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.” It was a gift from heaven
to them in their position. The four hams weighed 200 pounds.
The shortest day was passed, and still they were safe. They determined
that, whether or no fated to see another Christmas, they would celebrate
the present one. “In the afternoon,” says the narrative, “whilst we went
for a walk, the steersman 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 birch-broom, 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 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!’”
[Illustration: THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS.]
Early next morning they were awakened by a shout from the watch. They were
apparently drifting to land! An island seemed to be straight ahead of
them. Amid great alarm, all turned out. The air was thick, but about three
miles off they could distinguish a dark mass, which looked like an island.
It proved to be an enormous iceberg. Next day they passed the drifting
mass, which moved much slower than their field.
On January 2nd a frightful storm arose, with driving snow. Alarming noises
were heard under the ice. “It was a scraping, blustering, crackling,
sawing, grating, and jarring sound, as if some unhappy ghost was wandering
under our floe.” Perplexed, they all jumped out, but could detect no
change. They lay down, and applying their ears to the floor, could hear a
rustling like the singing of ice when closely jammed, and as if water were
running under the floe. They felt that there was great danger of a
break-up, either from being driven over sunken rocks or against the fixed
ice of the coast, or, may-be, both at once, and they packed their furs and
filled their knapsacks with provisions. Ropes from the house were fastened
to the boats, so that in case of a catastrophe they might be able to reach
them. But the driving snow was so terrible that they hardly dare move, and
they passed a night of misery, expecting each minute to be their last. At
nine next morning the longed-for twilight appeared, and an hour later the
wind abated a little. Some of them went in the direction of the “quay,”
for thus had they christened the spot, 500 steps from the house, where the
sunken _Hansa_ lay. They there found a new wall of ice, and recognised to
their horror that this wall was now the boundary of their floe, whilst on
all sides of it large pieces had broken off, and rose in dark shapeless
masses out of the drifted snow. When, on the morning of the 4th, the storm
had worn itself out, they found that their floating ice-raft had
considerably diminished in size. The diameter, before over two nautical
miles, had now reduced to one; on three sides the house was close to the
edges, and on the fourth it was not over 1,000 steps, where it had
previously been 3,000. The following days were pretty good, and they got
their boats out from the snow, dug out the firewood, and employed
themselves in constructing swimming-jackets and snow-shoes out of cork,
the latter to prevent themselves sinking up to the hips, as they had often
done before.
The days from the 11th to the 15th of January were destined to bring new
horrors. On the first-named day a heavy storm with driving snow prevailed,
in the midst of which the man on watch burst into the house with the
alarm, “All hands turn out!” Hastily gathering their furs and knapsacks,
they rushed to the door, to see it almost completely snowed up. To gain
the outside quickly they broke through the snow-roof, to find that the
tumult of the elements was something beyond anything they had previously
experienced. Scarcely able to move from the spot, they huddled together
for warmth and mutual protection. Suddenly a new cry arose: “Water on the
floe close by!” The heavy waves washed over the ice: the field began to
break on all sides. On the spot between the house and the piled-up wood, a
gap opened. All seemed lost. The firewood was drifting into the raging
sea; the boats were in danger, and without this last resource, what would
they do? The community was divided into two parts. Sadly, though hastily,
these brave Germans bade each other good-bye, for none of them expected to
see the morrow. Cowering in the shelter of their boats, they stood
shivering all day, the fine pricking snow penetrating their very clothes.
Their floe, from its last diameter, about a mile, had dwindled to 150
feet. Towards evening, the heavy sea subsided, and the ice began to again
pack and freeze together. Shortly after midnight a new terror arose, the
sailor on watch rushing in with the information that they were drifting on
an iceberg. All rushed to the entrance, where they could, in the midnight
gloom, distinguish a huge mass of ice, of giant proportions. “It is past,”
said the captain. Was it really an iceberg, the mirage of one, or the high
coast? They could not decide the question, for owing to the rapidity of
the drift, the ghastly object had disappeared the next moment.
Again on the 14th a frightful storm raged, and the ice was once more in
motion. The floe broke in the immediate vicinity of the house, and the
boats had to be dragged near it. “All our labour,” says the narrative,
“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. (41½° below
freezing). 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.” Next night was passed in
the same comfortless position, but on the morning of the 16th the second
officer caught sight of a star, and never was there a more welcome omen.
For five nights they slept in the boats, but by the 19th they had
partially rebuilt their house, although from this time forth they had to
take it in turns to sleep in the boats, their new erection being only
one-half the size of the older one. Throughout all the discomfort, want,
hardships, 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 nothing troubled him.
And so it went on from day to day: fresh dangers were followed by fresh
deliverances, and in spite of all the perils encountered, no lives were
lost, nor were there any serious cases of sickness. By May they had spent
eight months on their ice-raft, and had drifted 1,100 miles. On the
morning of the 7th they were agreeably surprised to see open water in the
direction of land. The captain, considering that the moment had arrived
when they should leave the floe and try to reach the coast, called a
council. This project received almost unanimous approbation, and in
feverish haste and impatience the boats were hauled empty over three
floes, the stores and necessaries being carried after them, partly on
sledges and partly on the back. At four P.M. they set sail, the officers
and crew being divided into three companies. They made seven miles, and
then hauled up on a small floe. After finding a low spot, and first
emptying the boats, they were lifted, by swinging them in the water, till
the third time, when a strong pull and a pull all together brought their
bows on the ice, and they were soon bodily on its surface. Next day by
noon they were not more than four or five miles from the land, but the ice
was densely packed in irregular masses. Bad weather, with much snow,
detained them six days on a floe; and then, having proceeded some little
distance, they were again condemned to five days’ detention. Their
provisions were getting low; they had rations left for not over a month.
As no change took place in the ice, they resolved to drag their boats over
it to the island of Illuidlek, which, after delays and dangers very
similar to those encountered by Parry on his memorable Polar sledge and
boat journey, was reached on June 4th. A little later they successfully
sailed to the Greenland Moravian mission station of Friedrichstal, where
their troubles ended, and where they received a hearty welcome. A Danish
vessel brought them to Copenhagen on September 1st, and it then became
evident that it was time to pay some attention to their outward
appearance. In their forlorn condition they could not leave the ship, or
they might have been compromised with the police. Some were in seal-skin
caps, some in furs, others in sea boots from which the toes protruded,
with ragged trousers, threadbare coats, and a general air of Arctic
seediness. At length Captain Hegemann fetched them away in the twilight,
and took them to a clothing warehouse, where they were soon made to look
more like civilised beings. A few days later, and they entered Bremen;
not, indeed, in their own good ship, but by an express train, by its east
gate, from Hamburgh. The _Hansa_ men may safely await the judgment of
their contemporaries, for throughout the narrative, good discipline, a
hearty _esprit de corps_, unmurmuring submission to the
inevitable—whatever it might be—and a determination to do and dare
whatever might appear for their mutual advantage, appear on every page.
Germany may well be proud of such sons—Arctic heroes every one of them.
The fortunes of the _Germania_ were less eventful.
Lieutenant Payer, while out on a sledging expedition, made an important
discovery. On Kuhn Island he found a seam of coal, in places eighteen
inches in thickness, alternating with sandstone. It would be strange if in
some future age our supply of warmth should be furnished from Arctic fuel.
Many fine zoological and botanical specimens were collected by the
scientific gentlemen connected with this expedition. The leading discovery
was that of a large inlet in lat. 73° 15’ N., which was named after the
Emperor Franz Josef. Surrounding it were mountain peaks ranging as high as
14,000 feet. The _Germania_ reached Bremen on September 11th, 1870—but a
few days after the arrival of their brethren of the _Hansa_, and at a
period when all Germany was _en fête_ on account of their recent
victories.