THE “TEGETTHOFF” FAST BESET IN THE ICE.
1. Autumn was passing away, the days were getting shorter, and in our
immediate neighbourhood no movement in the ice was perceptible, save that
we had drifted continuously towards the north-east; sometimes, though
rarely, a fissure in the ice grew to the proportions of an “ice-hole,”
only, however, to be quickly frozen over and present a surface for
our skates. There lay the frozen sea, the picture of dull, hopeless
monotony; shelter there was none. Our floe, though it seemed to combine
the conveniences of a winter harbour, could not stand the test of closer
observation, the illusion of such a notion must be short-lived. But
many signs now indicated the insecurity of our position. Fields of ice
in our neighbourhood cracked and split asunder, and piled-up masses
floated round us, silent preachers, as it were, of the destruction which
ice-pressure could produce.
2. A change, however, was soon to come over the scene. On the evening of
October 12 we imagined that the cabin lamp oscillated, and consequently
that our floe was in motion. On the same night we were conscious
of a violent movement in the ice. A dreadful day was the 13th of
October,—a Sunday; it was decisive of the fate of the expedition. To
the superstitious amongst us the number 13 was clothed with a profound
significance: the committee of the expedition had been constituted on
February 13; on the 13th of January the keel of the _Tegetthoff_ had
been laid down; on the 13th of April she was launched; on the 13th of
June we left Bremerhaven; on the 13th of July, Tromsoe; after a voyage
of 13 days we had arrived at the ice, and on the 13th of October the
temperature marked 16 degrees below zero (C.). In the morning of that
day, as we sat at breakfast, our floe burst across immediately under the
ship. Rushing on deck we discovered that we were surrounded and squeezed
by the ice; the after-part of the ship was already nipped and pressed,
and the rudder, which was the first to encounter its assault, shook and
groaned; but as its great weight did not admit of its being shipped, we
were content to lash it firmly. We next sprang on the ice, the tossing
tremulous motion of which literally filled the air with noises as of
shrieks and howls, and we quickly got on board all the materials which
were lying on the floe, and bound the fissures of the ice hastily
together by ice-anchors and cables, filling them up with snow, in the
hope that frost would complete our work, though we felt that a single
heave might shatter our labours. But, just as in the risings of a people
the wave of revolt spreads on every side, so now the ice uprose against
us. Mountains threateningly reared themselves from out the level fields
of ice, and the low groan which issued from its depths grew into a deep
rumbling sound, and at last rose into a furious howl as of myriads of
voices. Noise and confusion reigned supreme, and step by step destruction
drew nigh in the crashing together of the fields of ice. Our floe was
now crushed, and its blocks, piled up into mountains, drove hither and
thither. Here, they towered fathoms high above the ship, and forced the
protecting timbers of massive oak, as if in mockery of their purpose,
against the hull of the vessel; there, masses of ice fell down as into an
abyss under the ship, to be engulfed in the rushing waters, so that the
quantity of ice beneath the ship was continually increased, and at last
it began to raise her quite above the level of the sea. About 11.30 in
the forenoon, according to our usual custom, a portion of the Bible was
read on deck, and this day, quite accidentally, the portion read was the
history of Joshua: but if in his day the sun stood still, it was more
than the ice now showed any inclination to do.
3. The terrible commotion going on around us prevented us from seeing
anything distinctly. The sky too was overcast, the sun’s place could
only be conjectured. In all haste we began to make ready to abandon the
ship, in case it should be crushed, a fate which seemed inevitable, if
she were not sufficiently raised through the pressure of the ice. About
12.30 the pressure reached a frightful height, every part of the vessel
strained and groaned; the crew, who had been sent down to dine, rushed
on deck. The _Tegetthoff_ had heeled over on her side, and huge piles
of ice threatened to precipitate themselves upon her. But the pressure
abated, and the ship righted herself; and about one o’clock, when the
danger was in some degree over, the crew went below to dine. But again a
strain was felt through the vessel, everything which hung freely began to
oscillate violently, and all hastened on deck, some with the unfinished
dinner in their hands, others stuffing it into their pockets. Calmly
and silently, amid the loud sounds emitted by the ice in its violent
movement, the officers assumed and carried out the special duty which
had been assigned to each in the contemplated abandonment of the ship.
Lieutenant Weyprecht got ready the boats, Brosch and Orel cleared out the
supply of provision to be taken in them; Kepes, our doctor, had an eye to
his drugs; the Tyrolese opened the magazine, and got out the rifles and
ammunition—I myself attended to the sledges, the tents, and the sacks for
sleeping in, and distributed to the crew their fur coats. We now stood
ready to start, each with a bundle—whither, no one pretended to know! For
not a fragment of the ice around us had remained whole; nowhere could
the eye discover a still perfect and uninjured floe to serve as a place
of refuge, as a vast floe had before been to the crew of the _Hansa_.
Nay, not a block, not a table of ice was at rest, all shapes and sizes
of it were in active motion, some rearing up, some turning and twisting,
none on the level. A sledge would at once have been swallowed up, and
in this very circumstance lay the horror of our situation. For, if the
ship should sink, whither should we go, even with the smallest stock
of provisions?—amid this confusion, how reach the land, thirty miles
distant, without the most indispensable necessaries?
4. The dogs, too, demanded our attention. They had sprung on chests, and
stared on the waves of ice as they rose and roared. Every trace of his
fox-nature had disappeared from “Sumbu.” His look, at other times so
full of cunning, had assumed an expression of timidity and humility, and,
unbidden, he offered his paw to all passers by. The Lapland dog, little
Pekel, sprang upon me, licked my hand, and looked out on the ice as if
he meant to ask me what all this meant. The large Newfoundlands stood
motionless, like scared chamois, on the piles of chests.
5. About 4 P.M. the pressure moderated; an hour afterwards there was
a calm, and with more composure we could now survey our position. The
carpenter shovelled away the snow from the deck in order to inspect
the seams. They were still uninjured. The knees and cross-beams still
held, and no very great quantity of water was found in the hold. This
result we owed solely to the strength of our ship and to her fine lines,
which enabled her to rise when nipped and pressed, while her interior,
so well laden as to become a solid body, increased her powers of
resistance. Everything was again restored to its place, so that it was
possible to go up and down the cabin stairs without great difficulty,
and in the evening the water in the hold, which had risen 13 inches,
was pumped out to its normal depth of 6 inches. We went down into the
cabin to rest, but though thankful and joyful for the issue, our minds
were clouded with care and anxiety. Henceforth we regarded every noise
with suspicious apprehensions, like a population which lives within an
area of earthquakes. The long winter nights and their fearful cold were
before us; we were drifting into unknown regions, utterly uncertain of
the end. When night came, we fell asleep with our clothes on, though our
sleep was disturbed every now and then by onsets of the ice, recurring
less frequently and in diminished force; but daily—and for _one hundred
and thirty days_—we went through the same experiences in greater or
lesser measure, almost always in sunless darkness. It was, however, a
fortunate circumstance for us that we encountered the first assaults of
the ice at a time when we were still able to see; for instead of the calm
preparations we were able to make, hurry and confusion would have been
inevitable had these assaults surprised us amid the Polar darkness.
[Illustration: AN OCTOBER NIGHT IN THE ICE.]
6. Early in the morning of Oct. 14 we all met at breakfast, but on every
face there lay an expression of grave thoughtfulness, for each of us was
contemplating the long perspective of those dreary nights, in which we
should drift without a goal in the awful wastes of the Frozen Sea. The
speedy restoration of our floe was now our most earnest desire. It was
only severe frost and heavy falls of snow—as we vainly imagined—which
could cement the chaos of broken fragments around us and form from them
a new floe; for as yet we had not learnt by experience, that severe cold
in itself, unaccompanied with wind, is sufficient to break up the fields
of ice, from the contraction which it causes. We deluded ourselves with
another consolation—we imagined that the ice-pressures would cease as
soon as we passed the eastern extremity of Novaya Zemlya, and that in the
Sea of Kara we should drift without encountering the pressures, due, as
we conceived, to our nearness to land. But vain also was this hope, for
we were drifting not into the Sea of Kara, but towards the north-east.
We should have found, even in that sea, that pressures from the ice may
occur within the Frozen Ocean, however, as well as at its coasts. The
masses of ice which caused our disasters probably came from that sea.
7. The time subsequent to this crisis was full of painful and anxious
moments, but a chronological description of the events of each day,
involving a mere repetition of our sad impressions, would be wearisome to
the reader. I will, therefore, transfer from my journal such portions of
it as most forcibly express the thoughts that passed through the minds of
the handful of men on board the _Tegetthoff_ during those terrible days:—
“_October 14._—About half-past eight o’clock in the evening a new fissure
in the ice appeared astern of the ship; a strain was felt throughout her
timbers; in a moment every one in his fur dress and with his bundle in
his hand was on deck: so will it be, perhaps, throughout the winter—what
a life!
“_October 15._—All had slept in their clothes. Fresh pressures from the
ice were felt about eight o’clock in the morning, not so powerful as on
the 13th, but of such force that all sprang from their berths and within
a minute again stood ready on the deck. Much ice had been forced under
the after-part of the ship, which was raised up by the pressure. When
all was calm every one set to work to make a bag to contain the gear he
meant to take if the ship should be crushed. Mine contained the following
articles: one pair of fur gloves, one pair of woollen gloves, a pair of
snow spectacles, six pencils, a rubber, three note-books, the journal of
my Greenland expedition, a book of drawings, ten ball-cartridges, two
pairs of stockings, a knife, a case of needles and thread. On the 13th
we had neglected to provide ourselves with maps of Novaya Zemlya; two
of these I now included among my stock of necessaries. Six Lefaucheux
rifles, four Werndl-rifles, two thousand cartridges, two large and two
smaller sledges, a tent for ten, one for six men, two great sleeping
sacks, each for eight, and a smaller one for six men, were placed in the
boats. Although all these preparations would have been quite vain if
the ship had sunk with the ice in motion to crush us, we must, for our
mutual encouragement, keep up the appearance of believing in them. About
six o’clock in the evening the full moon rose, like a copper coin fresh
from the mint, above our horizon on the deep blue of the heavens. In the
evening the ice was at rest, and for the first time for some days we
ventured to undress on going to bed.
“_October 16._—Slept without care or disturbance till two o’clock in
the morning, when pressure from the ice again set in, and all rushed on
deck. Some of the crew threw out on the ice the antlers of a reindeer of
Novaya Zemlya,—for according to a superstition of the seamen the horns
of a reindeer are the generators of mischief! The ice again calm, and
I fell asleep from exhaustion; but about half-past five in the morning
there was a new pressure of about twenty minutes’ duration, and almost as
fearful as on the 13th of the month. The exceeding haste with which every
one rushes up from below as soon as the ship begins to strain, shows the
effect which the noise makes on us; it is impossible to become accustomed
to it; every one runs on deck. Again the ice rests, but about half-past
seven in the morning, another pressure, which almost tore away the beams
protecting the hull and the davits to which they were fastened. The ship,
however, rights herself. To-day the ice which overhung our bulwarks was
dug away to prevent masses of it falling on the deck. In the evening,
diminished pressure from the ice; at night, glorious moonlight scenery;
nothing more peaceful, but nothing more illusive, than such a scene at
such an hour.
“_October 17._—All quiet during the night till Lusina came to announce,
with a voice as from the grave, that the ship was making more water,
sixteen inches in the forepart, eleven inches amidships. East wind, with
heavy drifting snow-storms—during the day once only a strain of short
duration was felt in the ship, as a new fissure opened in the piled-up
ice on our starboard quarter.
“_October 18._—Our anxieties somewhat abate and our watchful state of
preparation to leave the ship relaxes, and most of us determine once
more to undress for the night. After several weeks the sun, which had
been obscured by the weather, becomes visible, rising 2° 25′ above the
horizon; the temperature stands at -20° F., and our latitude is 77° 48′.
“_October 19._—Straining in the ship; the sun rose about a quarter past
eight, but was soon veiled in frosty vapours.
“_October 20._—The hull of the ship is still without its necessary
protection of ice and snow, while we are wrapt in furs and wear
reindeer-shoes and felt-boots. In the evening a faint mock moon was
visible.
“_October 21._—At night we were alarmed by a loud sound, and in few
minutes all were on deck with their fur clothes on—a fissure had opened
on the starboard side of the ship, connecting itself with that which had
been formed astern of the ship. In an hour this fissure had widened about
four feet, and we worked for some hours by the light of lamps to fill it
up with snow and pieces of ice. The low temperature (-21° F.) led us to
expect that this chasm would be bridged over without further effort on
our part. The moon stood surrounded by a vast halo in the heavens and
illuminated the awful loneliness of our abode. Once more a calm! When
any one comes down from the deck into the cabin, the eyes of all are
involuntarily turned upon him to read in the expression of his face what
is going on above, and each dreads to hear it said, that the ice is in
motion. In the afternoon, when the fissure closed, we heard the old dull
sound from the ice, and the ship strained violently, and all were on deck
ready to leave. About nine o’clock in the evening the motion of the ice
was again felt. Uncertain and full of fears as to what the night might
bring forth, we go early to rest; no one knows how short that rest may
be. Even Klotz lays aside his stoical calmness, and the philosophical
dignity of his remarks departs when his comrades spring from their berths
and rush on deck with their bundles. The frozen pumps are daily thawed
by boiling water; to-day the shaft of one of them broke, through the
excessive strain put upon it.
[Illustration: THE MOON WITH ITS HALO.]
“_October 22._—During the night, motion in the ice. At 9.30 A.M. the
sun rose, and attains its meridian altitude at 1° 41′. In the evening
the fissure in the ice again opens. Rents and small ‘ice-holes’ are all
round us, and frosty vapour fills the air. To-day the skull of a bear was
thrown out on the ice, the crew asserting that mischief comes from the
possession of it!
“_October 23._—During the night violent movement in the ice; the sound
produced resembles the noise of a fleet of paddle-wheel steam-ships,
steaming now with full, now with half power. The height of the sun to-day
above the horizon was a little above one degree, its form was distorted
by refraction into an egg-like shape, and its edges were in constant
vibration.
“_October 24._—The daylight is now so feeble that the lamps have to be
lighted during the day, with the exception of two or three hours in the
forenoon. Many of the crew are suffering from frost-bites on their hands,
in consequence of their exposure in removing the unnecessary rigging, and
in the preparations to facilitate the removal of our stock of provisions
in the event of our being forced to abandon the vessel.
“_October 25._—In the afternoon we made an attempt to drive the dog
sledges, but the snow, in spite of the low temperature, lay in such
masses between the small hummocks and on the few level places, that
they sank deep into it. It is storms of wind only that harden the snow,
and for some time we have had calms or light breezes. In the evening
there was a movement in the ice astern of the ship, accompanied with the
highest soprano tones. The noise the ice makes in its pressure very much
resembles the piping and howling of a storm among rocky cliffs or through
the rigging of a ship. About half-past ten at night, the oscillating
movements of the ice, occurring at definite intervals, made it appear
as if they arose from a swell of the ocean. The ship groans and creaks
constantly; indeed, creaking and groaning are weak expressions for such a
noise. Once more all are ready. We begin to fear that the ice will never
rest.
“_October 26._—Pressure throughout the whole night. Armed and provided
with lanterns, we used the sledges to remove two boats, 150 logs of wood,
fifty planks, and a supply of coals, to the port side of the vessel, and
chose a stronger floe, on which to build a house of refuge. Tired and
exhausted, we fell asleep, in spite of the straining and creaking of the
vessel.
[Illustration: OUR COAL-HOUSE ON THE FLOE.]
“_October 27._—The sun at noon was scarcely visible above the horizon. At
night of the same day a strong wind from the south-east opened a fissure
on the starboard side of the vessel and about 150 paces from it, which
grew into the dimensions of an ‘ice-hole.’
“_October 28._—To-day the sun took leave of us. Only with its upper
edge had it appeared above the horizon, and sent towards us its mild
beams like the consoling glance of a departing friend. The coal-house
is finished. But what reliance can be placed on such an abode in such a
position? A storm may carry away the planks which form its roof; sparks
from a fire may set fire to its walls and consume it; and at any moment,
through a pressure opening up an abyss beneath, it may sink and be
engulfed. Two o’clock in the afternoon, the groaning sound comes from
the piles of ice around us; our floe appears to twist somewhat, and the
pressure of the ice will probably soon begin.
“_October 29._—During the night a noise in the ice, which, though it did
not further disturb us, was yet witness enough that it is ever ready to
disturb us. The sun no longer appears; only a rosy light at noon in the
heavens.
“_October 30._—At half-past three o’clock in the morning there was a
dreadful straining and creaking in the ship: at once we sprang out of our
berths, and stood on deck with our fur garments on, and with our bags as
before. New fissures had appeared which rapidly enlarge themselves; the
two boats and the coal-house are now surrounded by up-forced masses of
ice and separated from us. Then a pause! There is however no real repose,
and the least sound on deck, the falling of anything heavy—at other times
quite unnoticed—alarms us into the expectation of new onsets. At noon, as
we sate at dinner, there was renewed and excessive straining in the ship,
and even in the cabin we heard such a rushing sound in the ice without,
that it seemed as if the whole frozen sea would the next moment boil and
rise in vapour. During all the afternoon the noise continues, and all
the fissures send forth dense vapours, like hot springs. During the day
no quiet for reading or working, and every night almost our sleep is
disturbed by a horrible awaking within a great creaking, groaning coffin.
Men can accustom themselves to almost anything; but to these daily
recurring shocks, and the constantly renewed question as to the end and
issue of it all, we cannot grow accustomed.”
8. There is however such an intolerable monotony in my diary, that,
to spare my readers, I thus, in a few words, resuming its contents,
describe our situation:—“One of us, to-day, remarked very truly, that he
saw perfectly well how one might lose his reason with the continuance
of these sudden and incessant assaults. It is not dangers that we fear,
but worse far; we are kept in a constant state of readiness to meet
destruction, and know not whether it will come to-day, or to-morrow, or
in a year. Every night we are startled out of sleep, and, like hunted
animals, up we spring to await amid an awful darkness the end of an
enterprise from which all hope of success has departed. It becomes
at last a mere mechanical process to seize our rifles and our bag of
necessaries and rush on deck. In the daytime, leaning over the bulwarks
of the ship, which trembles, yea, almost quivers the while, we look out
on a continual work of destruction going on, and at night, as we listen
to the loud and ever-increasing noises of the ice, we gather that the
forces of our enemy are increasing.”