THE WANE OF THE LONG POLAR NIGHT.
1. Although the sun was mounting higher, there was no essential change
in the gloom and darkness which surrounded us. In fact we were drifting
during the whole of January towards the north, and were wintering nearer
the Pole than any who had ever preceded us.[20] On gloomy days, noon was
not distinguishable. We were now four hundred miles within the Frozen
Ocean, and had been for five months the sport and play of winds and
currents, and nothing indicated any change in our situation. Yet, in
spite of our desperate position, the first, ever so faint, indications of
the return of light filled us with joy. With a clear atmosphere, January
10, we observed for the first time at noon a decided brightness, and on
the 19th a brilliant carmine was seen in the sky, an hour before noon
on the southern horizon. After a long obscuration from cloudy weather,
the morning twilight increased gradually, and by the end of the month it
was discernible in the forenoon. As the light increased, the signs of
the convulsions were more distinctly seen. Round us there rose piles of
craggy ice, which, hurled up, as from a crater, by the ice-pressure of
the 22nd, kept us in a state of constant fear, lest the ice-walls would
break up and fall in upon us. At a little distance off, nothing was to
be seen of the ship but the tops of its masts: the rest of it was hidden
behind a lofty wall of ice. The ship itself, raised seven feet above the
level of the sea, rested on a protuberance of ice, and, removed from its
natural element, looked a truly miserable object. This ice protuberance
had been formed from a floe which had been often rent asunder and frozen
again, and had been rounded in a singular manner from the under-driving
of the ice and the lateral pressure in its recent movements. In other
respects, also, our environment had been completely changed. Before the
movement in the ice on the 22nd, a narrow strip of level ice wound like
a river through a maze of hummocks, and throughout the winter this had
been diligently used for exercising the dogs. Of this nothing was now to
be seen: walls of ice rose, where a fortnight before our coal-house had
stood: fissures gaped on every side. In every respect the weather during
this month was capricious and unaccountable. In the first two weeks, the
temperature fell several times below -35° F., and on January 8, 13 and
14, quicksilver, exposed to the cold, froze to a solid mass; gin also
froze, and alcohol only maintained its fluid state. Yet, notwithstanding
this low temperature, the snow was always soft; and it continued to be
so, amid all the variations of temperature and the high winds of this
month. January 22 and 23, the temperature rose for a short time to
26° F.; everything in the ship then began to thaw, and a disagreeable
moisture penetrated both our clothes and our quarters. The mean
temperature of this month, in consequence of these abnormal variations,
did not exceed -8° F., and was therefore about ten degrees higher than
might have been expected.
2. The bears had in these last weeks kept at a regrettable distance from
us. On the 12th, however, a very large fellow ventured to come within
ten paces of the rope-ladder on the starboard side. We fired at him with
explosive balls and he fell; but his strength was so great, that even
after these terrible wounds he was able to get up and run. Explosive
bullets, however, are to be recommended for encounters with bears, though
their flight is rather uncertain. A bear-hunt, on the 29th and 30th, had
a somewhat tragical result. About ten o’clock at night, when it was quite
dark, a bear approached the ship, and with the agility of a tiger fell
on Sumbu, who got away very cleverly, and by his loud barking summoned
Krisch, who was then on watch, to his aid. When he was not more than
ten feet from the deck Krisch fired at him and wounded him. The noise
brought some of us at once, and though it was exceedingly dark and the
snow very deep, a useless chase, in which I joined, forthwith began. The
pursuit through the midst of driving snow became weaker; until at last I
found myself alone with Palmich. We could see nothing; and heard only an
occasional howl of pain. We hastened our steps through the whirling snow,
till we saw, by the dim light of our lantern, Matoschkin lying howling
on the ground, and the bear a few steps from him, vigorously assailed
by Sumbu, who seized him by the foot whenever he began to retreat. As
Matoschkin incautiously approached too near, the bear turned, seized
him, and carried him off. To fire with effect was impossible; we were
too far off to take aim with our rifles. The bear continued to drag
the dog along, and at last a puff of wind put out our lantern, and we
soon discovered our inability to keep up with our enemy. Bitterly as we
lamented the fate of the poor dog, whose howls were brought to our ears
by the wind, we had nothing for it but to return to the ship. About noon
next day when it was sufficiently clear, Brosch, the two Tyrolese, and I
set out to ascertain the fate of the dog. The snow was drifting heavily,
and we constantly sank into it as we advanced. After a toilsome walk we
came on traces of blood, which Sumbu followed up, while Gillis timidly
stuck to us. At last, after we had gone on for the third of a mile,
Sumbu came back in a great state of excitement, and then ran on before
us till he stopped at an ice-hummock, where he renewed his angry barks.
We advanced with quickened steps and with our rifles cocked, and when we
were about twenty paces from it the bear came out from behind, apparently
in great astonishment. After several shots the bear fell, but again
gathering himself up he dragged himself along like a walrus, in spite
of his broken spine, with extraordinary activity towards an “ice-hole”
covered with young ice. Two other shots with explosive bullets terminated
his career, and Matoschkin, whose body we afterwards found behind the
ice-hillock, was avenged.
[Illustration: FRUITLESS ATTEMPT TO RESCUE MATOSCHKIN.]
3. The cold set in with great intensity with the month of February and
maintained itself throughout it: the mean monthly temperature being
-31° F. Repeatedly the quicksilver froze, and in the last eight days
it remained solid. Even the petroleum was frozen on the 17th at -49°
F. in the globe of the lamp, though it was throwing out a considerable
heat. The lowest temperature we experienced was on the last day of the
month, -51° F. Notwithstanding the extreme cold, the light had increased
so much that a thermometer, in which the degrees were strongly marked,
could be read off, even on the 3rd of the month, at ten o’clock in the
forenoon without the aid of lamplight; and on the 20th we were able to
carry on our meteorological observations, without any artificial light
at six o’clock in the evening. The ruddiness we observed at noon in the
south grew more and more decided. On clear days we could discern, about
seven o’clock in the morning, a faint twilight, and at noon of February
14 the near approach of the sun was distinctly to be traced by a bright
cloud that was resting over it, though it was still below the horizon.
About the middle of the month there was light enough to cause the
different forms and groups of ice to cast shadows. In spite of the low
temperature, we remained for hours in the open air, though previously to
this period we had ventured on deck for a few minutes only at a time—the
watch of course excepted. But as the daylight increased, we saw also what
a dark, gloomy grave had been our abode for so long a period. All our
thoughts and conversations were concentrated on the returning light of
the sun. The movements of the ice ceased to be a source of dread, though
for several days during the month they had been exceedingly formidable.
In the course of our drifting we had penetrated into a region where never
ship had been before. The following table exhibits the course of the
_Tegetthoff_, as she drifted from August 21, 1872, to February 27, 1873:—
+--------------------+-------+-------+
| Time. | N. | E. |
| | Lat. | Lon. |
+--------------------+-------+-------+
| | | |
| Aug. 21 1872, day | | |
| when the ship was | ° ′ | ° ′ |
| beset | 76·22 | 62·3 |
| Sept. 1 1872 | 76·25 | 62·50 |
| ” 4 ” | 76·23 | 62·49 |
| ” 11 ” | 76·35 | 60·18 |
| ” 14 ” | 76·37 | 60·50 |
| ” 21 ” | 76·28 | 63·9 |
| ” 26 ” | 76·36 | 64·8 |
| ” 27 ” | 76·38 | 64·4 |
| ” 28 ” | 76·37 | 64·10 |
| Oct. 1 ” | 76·50 | 65·22 |
| ” 2 ” | 76·59 | 65·48 |
| ” 3 ” | 77·4 | 66·1 |
| ” 17 ” | 77·50 | 69·22 |
| ” 18 ” | 77·48 | 69·8 |
| ” 22 ” | 77·46 | 69·26 |
| ” 31 ” | 77·53 | 69·12 |
| Nov. 5 ” | 77·53 | 69·30 |
| ” 9 ” | 78·15 | 69·42 |
| ” 14 ” | 78·8 | 71·16 |
| ” 18 ” | 78·10 | 70·31 |
| ” 28 ” | 78·13 | 69·48 |
| Dec. 4 ” | 78·19 | 69·1 |
| ” 8 ” | 78·21 | 69·2 |
| ” 12 ” | 78·25 | 68·57 |
| ” 16 ” | 78·22 | 67·42 |
| ” 19 ” | 78·13 | 67·11 |
| ” 26 ” | 78·10 | 68·19 |
| Jan. 2 1873 | 78·37 | 66·56 |
| ” 19 ” | 78·43 | 69·32 |
| ” 26 ” | 78·50 | 71·47 |
| Feb. 2 ” | 78·45 | 73·7 |
| ” 14 ” | 78·12 | 72·20 |
| ” 19 ” | 78·15 | 71·38 |
| ” 23 ” | 79·11 | |
| ” 27 ” | 79·12 | |
+--------------------+-------+-------+
4. The inspection of this table shows that the movement of the ship was
retarded as the increasing cold closed the open places of the sea, and
when we fell under the influence of the Siberian ice-drift from east to
west. It may be remarked, too, that we drifted generally straight before
the wind, and that we and our floe during the first four months turned
only one degree in azimuth. By the end of January all the open places of
the sea were closed; and the masses of ice were thus driven one over the
other from their mutual pressure, and pile thus rose upon pile. It seems
probable, also, that wind was the main cause of our drifting, while sea
currents were only of secondary moment. From the beginning of the month
of February we drifted constantly toward the north-west, and from this
deviation in our course we indulged in the hope that we were approaching
the mysterious Gillis’ Land. But at this time the liberation of the ship
in the summer was the sum of our expectations and desires. In fact, there
was not one of us who doubted this eventuality. Fully convinced, as we
were, that our floes, firmly attached to each other, would ultimately
break up and drift southwards, we determined to make them the bearers of
the record of what had befallen us. Hence we threw out, February 14th,
round the ship a number of bottles, inclosing a narrative of the main
events of the expedition from the departure of Count Wilczek up to that
date.