DRIFTING IN THE NOVAYA ZEMLYA SEAS.
1. At the end of August the temperature in the Frozen Ocean is generally
at the freezing point of the Centigrade thermometer, but this year (1872)
it was constantly six degrees below it. A cold bleak air enveloped us,
there was abundance of snow, the sun showed himself rarely, and for
some days he had sunk, at midnight, under the horizon. The ship and her
rigging were stiff with ice, and everything indicated that for us winter
had begun. As the masses of ice which inclosed us consisted only of small
floes, we were led to hope that the strong east winds would soon disperse
them. But the very contrary really happened, for the low temperatures,
the calms, and falls of snow, bound the floes of ice only the more
closely together, and within a few days congealed them into one single
field, in the midst of which the ship remained fast and immovable. Our
surroundings were monotonous beyond description,—one vast unattractive
white surface, and even the high-lands of Novaya Zemlya were covered with
freshly fallen snow.
2. To reach the coast of Siberia under these circumstances had become
an impossibility, and even in the event of our being liberated, the
search for a winter harbour in Novaya Zemlya would be a matter of peril
and difficulty. Yet we calculated confidently on this contingency and
employed our enforced inactivity in completing our preparations for
sledge journeys during the autumn, although we could not but feel, that
their importance must be of secondary interest and value in a country
so well known as Novaya Zemlya. Meantime we drifted slowly along the
coast in a northerly direction and apparently under the influence of
a current, which has been often observed on the northern coasts of
Novaya Zemlya. But the gloom of our situation, as we became conscious
of our captivity, was more distinctly and painfully felt. On the 1st of
September the temperature sank nine degrees below zero (12° F.), and
the few and limited spaces of open water round our floe disappeared.
The sun now remained six hours below the horizon, and the formation of
young ice in a single night often reached such a thickness, that we soon
perceived that our last hope for this year lay in the setting-in of heavy
equinoctial storms to break up the ice-fields.
[Illustration: ATTEMPTS TO GET FREE IN SEPTEMBER.]
3. On the 2nd of September a fissure running through our floe reached
the after-part of the _Tegetthoff_ and opened into a “lead,” and even
our floe partially broke up; but this availed us nothing, for the ship
itself remained fast on a huge fragment. During the night of Sept. 3, the
after-part of the _Tegetthoff_ was gently raised for the first time by
the pressure and driving from beneath of the ice; yet of the formidable
nature of such pressure we had as yet no presentiment. Though our
situation seemed desperate, it was not attended by immediate danger, and,
condemned as we were to inactivity, we found the amusement and occupation
we needed in skating on the young ice, which covered many of the
newly-formed ice-holes between the ice-floes. Besides the duty of making
and recording meteorological observations, the training of the dogs, the
bringing ice to the kitchen to be transformed into water, the manufacture
of oil, expeditions on foot to explore the country, were the only forms
in which our energies could be exerted. Absolute loneliness surrounded
us; even the Arctic sea-gull (_Larus glaucus_) and the grey stormy petrel
(_Procellaria glacialis_, L.) of the polar regions, were but rarely seen,
and a bear, which, Sept. 5, came within forty paces of the ship, was
driven away by the awkwardness of our hunters. The cold became more and
more intense and the weather more gloomy. Sept. 2, the cabin lamp had to
be lit for the first time about half-past nine o’clock, and on the 3rd we
began to heat the interior parts of the ship, the temperature of which
had been for some time at zero; and on the 11th, the first fiery belts
of the Aurora flamed in the northern heavens. On the 9th and 10th, there
was a very heavy storm from the north-east, which drove us back for a
short time towards the west, and partially broke up our floe, but all the
efforts of the next week to destroy the connection of what remained by
sawing and blasting proved unsuccessful. Blasting with powder, whether
above or below the surface-ice, proved ineffectual. Even old fissures
in the ice appeared to defy further disruption, segments which had been
laboriously made by sawing, froze again almost immediately, and even
the application of steam was powerless to set our floe in motion and
force the breaking-up of the parts which had been sawn through. It was
of no avail that, up to Oct. 7, we kept open a trench round the ship, by
destroying in the day the ice which had been formed during the night: the
expected disruption of our ice-field never happened. Dark streaks in the
heavens still proclaimed that we were in the neighbourhood of open water,
and though they seemed only to indicate “leads” of no great breadth or
extent, they helped to sustain our hopes. But these were soon doomed
to be disappointed, for even these “leads” closed up, and _at the same
time the temperature fell to an unusually low degree_. On the 15th of
September we had 15 degrees of cold, and on the 19th the temperature fell
18·6 degrees below zero (C.). To add to this, there were frequent falls
of drifting snow. As long as fissures remained we had opportunities of
seal-hunting, but by the end of the month the “ice-holes” were overspread
with spongy ice, which hindered the movements of our boats within them.
The alternate openings and closings of the water-ways around us seemed in
our monotonous life a harmless spectacle, for the lofty walls of piled-up
ice had not as yet for us the language of imminent and threatening
dangers.
[Illustration: SEAL-HUNTING—SEPTEMBER 1872.]
4. Sept. 22, there was a fissure in the ice about thirty paces from the
ship, and we quickly put on board all the materials which were lying on
the floe, believing that the moment of our deliverance had come. But no
such moment came, nor did the equinoctial storms which we expected set
in; _we continued to drift still further to the north_; and on Oct. 2, we
had passed the seventy-seventh degree of north latitude. In the beginning
of this month a storm, which lasted but a short time, opened up a large
“ice-hole” near the after-part of the ship, and forthwith we set to work
to open a passage through our floe in order to reach it, but two days
afterwards this “ice-hole” also closed up. Yet amid all our mishaps we
forgot not on October the 4th—the name-day of his Majesty the Emperor
Francis Joseph I.—the homage which was due to our noble and gracious
Sovereign. The ship was gaily dressed with flags, and a rifle-match,
in which watches and pipes were the prizes, scared away for a short
afternoon the sad impressions of the moment.
[Illustration: SHOOTING AT A TARGET, OCTOBER 1872.]
5. Encounters with polar bears afforded us much excitement. On the 6th
of October our first bear was killed and divided among the dogs, for as
yet we had not learnt to regard the flesh of these animals as the most
precious part of our provisions. A fox also, the first seen during this
expedition, showed himself during the previous night. He had evidently
come from Novaya Zemlya, and his curiosity had led him close to the
ship, from whence he was driven by the dogs. It now became indispensable
for everyone who left the immediate neighbourhood of the ship to carry
arms with him, and the neglect of this precaution had sometimes rather
ludicrous, at other times somewhat serious, consequences. On the 11th
of October I left the ship unarmed, and with no other companion than
our Lapland dog, Pekel, to employ myself in the harmless occupation of
piling up a tower of ice. Working as I was in a stooping position, I was
unconscious of what was immediately around me, when on a sudden the loud
barking of Pekel caused me to raise myself, and I saw a bear quite close
before me. Shaking his head and making a snuffling noise, he came on
towards me. In the expectation that some of the people engaged on deck
would see my critical position, I contented myself with shaking my fist
at him, unwilling to reveal any weakness to my enemy. As this, however,
seemed to produce no effect, I cried out repeatedly, “A bear!” At last
I saw Klotz, who was on deck, go to the stand of arms, but with such
stoical composure, that I ceased to trust to others, and left to the
bear, who had now advanced to a distance of about fifteen paces from me,
the glory of forcing his enemy to take to flight.
6. In the first days of October the temperature rose considerably, the
thermometer standing a little below zero (C.). This was due to south-west
winds, and to the temporary extension of the “ice-holes” in our immediate
neighbourhood. The days now became shorter, the sun surrounded with
red masses of clouds set behind barriers of blackish-blue ice, and
an ever-deepening twilight followed his disappearance. Sept. 29, a
“snowfinch” flew from the coast of Novaya Zemlya to the ship, hopped
about the deck for a little time, and after delighting us all by his
little song, again left us. Some few sea-gulls still wended their flight
to the spaces of water in our neighbourhood. Skimming over the top of
the mast, they seemed to gaze down upon us, and then with a shrill cry
darted away like arrows towards the south. There was something melancholy
in this departure of the birds; it seemed as if all creatures were
retiring from the long reign of night which was before us. In order to
divert our attention from the dreadful monotony of our captivity by some
occupation in the open air, we fell on the plan of building houses of ice
round the ship. The activity of a building-yard reigned on our ice-floe;
heavy ice-tables were broken or sawed through, the dogs in the sledges
carried the fragments to their appointed places, and with these blocks we
raised crystal walls and towers. Snow, mixed with sea-water, furnished an
inexhaustible source of the most excellent mortar; and while we worked
laboriously at these meaningless erections, we earned at least by our
labour the reward of sleep free from care.
[Illustration: PARHELIA ON THE COAST OF NOVAYA ZEMLYA.]
7. As we drifted helplessly northward, the coasts of Novaya Zemlya
receded gradually from our gaze. Hitherto we had lain close to the land,
which with its rounded mountains and valleys filled with glaciers seemed
a miniature of Alpine scenery. Daily almost the gigantic luminous arcs
of parhelia stood above it, the usual precursors of stormy weather or
heavy falls of snow. Towards the north and north-east the country becomes
flatter, and runs into glacier-wastes little raised above the level
of the sea. The topography of the northern parts of Novaya Zemlya is
complete confusion. The only survey which exists—that of Lütke—extends no
further than Cape Nassau. The maps of the Barentz Isles are frequently
in contradiction with fact, and their correction is extremely desirable.
Though this land was of no value for our object, yet it was still land,
and it seemed also to us, drifting as we did, the symbol of the stable
and immovable. But now it was gradually disappearing from our eyes.
During September we had moved slowly, but with October we drifted at a
greater rate, so that by the 12th of this month we saw nothing but a line
of heights some thirty miles off, towards the south. At last every trace
of land disappeared from our gaze; a hopeless waste received us, in which
no man could tell how long we should be, or how far we should penetrate.