Chapter III: On the Open Sea

1. There lay the open Ocean before us; never were its sparkling waves beheld with more sincere joy, than by the small band of men, who, escaping from the prison house of the ice after fearful struggles, now raised their arms on high to greet its glad waters. The 15th of August was the day of our liberation—the festival of the Assumption of the Virgin—and our boats were dressed with flags in its commemoration. But it was no time for the rest and recreation of a Holy Day: graver duties pressed upon us. The boats had to be ballasted, and were with difficulty made to take on board the baggage, the water-casks, and the crews. Our four sledges, to which we owed so much of our success so far, were of course left behind. The dogs too were put on board, not, however, without much hesitation, when the contingencies of the voyage were considered.

2. With three hurrahs, we pushed off from the ice, and our voyage commenced. Its happy issue depended on the weather and on incessant rowing. If a storm should arise, the boats, laden as they were, must sink. We were soon convinced that the dogs, which suffered greatly from sea-sickness, would dangerously incommode us in the boats by destroying their trim. There was, in fact, no room for them in our over-crowded boats, nor water, nor provisions. We could not bring ourselves to abandon them, and our only form of gratitude for their services was, alas! the painful one of putting them to death. A floe, by which we passed, became the grave of these our true friends, our companions in all situations, and our helpers in all dangers! It was indeed a painful moment, when Jubinal was taken out of the boat to meet his death. It was the loss of a true comrade, who had never departed from my side, and who had patiently borne all the labours and toils imposed on him. Poor Torossy too, born in the Arctic regions, amid the ice-pressures, was not a little lamented.

3. With boundless satisfaction, we saw the white edge of the ice gradually become a line, and at last disappear. Every one felt, that finding the ice-barrier in so high a latitude, was the crowning blessing to which we must ascribe our liberation. At the distance of a mile from the edge of the ice, the temperature of the water had risen to 30° F., and that of the air to 39° F. The sunbeams were reflected with such intensity from the smooth surface of the sea, that we felt the long unknown sensation of heat, and were obliged to cast off some of our garments.

4. We shaped our course south-by-west, towards the Barentz Islands, intending to take in supplies of provisions from the depôt formed by Count Wilczek, and then to coast along Novaya Zemlya in search of a ship engaged in the fisheries, which we hoped to find either at Admiralty Peninsula, or Matoschkin Straits, or in Dunen Bay. Norwegian vessels, engaged in the capture of the walrus, might be looked for as far south as Matoschkin Straits, and the Russian salmon-fishers still further to the south. The nearest land was fifty miles off, and everything depended on our reaching its friendly shores before the weather changed for the worse. In the event of stormy weather there would be no other alternative than to throw our provisions overboard in order to lighten the boats.

5. Putting forth all our strength, we rowed steadily for some days. Weyprecht took the lead in his boat, and the others followed him as quickly as possible. The crew of each boat was divided into two watches, who were relieved every four hours. It frequently happened that one boat fell behind the others, and was lost sight of in a fog or mist. Trumpets and horns were then sounded, till the laggard boat, by renewed efforts of her crew, came up with the others. On the 16th, a breeze from the north sprang up, and we used our sails with good effect for some hours. At last Novaya Zemlya was sighted—some silvery points above the level of the sea, which our people took at first for the reappearance of the ice in the south; they proved to be the snowy summits near Cape Nassau. At this headland the mountains running along the coast suddenly cease, and the land trending to the north-east, assumes the monotonous character of glaciation almost without mountains, as far as the lonely shores where three centuries ago Barentz slept his last sleep.

6. Our progress had no longer the paralysing insignificance of former days. This day at noon our latitude was 76° 46′, and on the 17th, the picturesque range of mountains south of Cape Nassau, rose through the morning mists close before us steeped in violet and crimson hues. A fog arising, we rowed along by compass in the midst of it, the boats seemed to float in the air amid the fog. During its continuance a current caused us to deviate so much to the south-west, that when at noon the land was again visible, we discovered that we had gone beyond the place where the depôt had been formed, and found by the chart, that we were in 75° 40′ lat. and 58° long. But as the loss of time, in going back a distance of a hundred miles, was out of all proportion to the amount of provisions we could have taken in our overladen boats, we determined at all risks to hold on our course.

7. Before us, in the far distance, now rose above the horizon the higher parts of Admiralty Peninsula; to these we now steered. As we passed along we made a vain attempt to land on the north of Gwosdarew Bay. We found the shores full of cliffs, between which a heavy surf was breaking, and could thus form some notion of the perils we should have encountered, had we attempted to land on the Barentz Islands. Two years ago the edge of this coast had been covered with firm ice, and the depôt had been formed by the aid of sledges. But now not a fragment of ice was to be seen on the west coast of Novaya Zemlya, and the rocky shore could only be approached by boats.

8. The differences between the climate in the years 1872 and 1874, were also in other respects very remarkable. In 1872 the mountains of the country were mostly covered with snow, but in 1874, it lay only on the higher parts of its glaciers, and in latitude 76° N., where we had found thick ice, the temperature of the sea was 39° F., and of the air 43° F. The phenomena of the climate of 1871, as we observed them in the voyage of the _Isbjörn_, were similar to those of 1874; and this peculiar mildness was experienced on the eastern coasts of Novaya Zemlya by Captain Wiggins, who when navigating the sea of Cara as far as the mouth of the Ob, was shut in there by the ice for a few weeks only.

9. The inaccessibility of most of the places on the coast had hitherto obliged us to continue our course without going on shore to rest, although our arms were stiff and swollen with our exertions in rowing. No vessels as yet had been seen, and what we thought to be a ship turned out, when we rowed closer to it, to be only a small iceberg. There was therefore no other alternative than to coast along in a southerly direction, cutting across the bays, and keeping as near the shore as possible. On the night of the 17th we pulled over the broad Gwosdarew Bay, which was filled with countless fragments of glaciers. Some of the smallest of these we took on board our boats to replenish our fast decreasing supplies of water. Ever since our coming under the coast of Novaya Zemlya, we had entered a region where auks abounded which whizzed over our heads with small crayfish in their bills in their flight to the land, or sat so indolently on the water, that they seemed determined not to get out of the way of the boats. Many were bagged, but we made no halt to shoot them. Twice only in the day we rested for about ten minutes to take our food. Onwards we pressed, each boat striving to get before the others. On August 17 the sun set for the first time about midnight, and in the afternoon of the 18th we landed at a spot to the south of black Cape, remarkable for the luxuriance of its vegetation. To our eyes, accustomed to the monotonous white of snow and ice, it appeared like a garden. There was nothing to remind us of a polar region either in the land, or in the temperature, or in the weather. Its broad bay, if it had been without its circle of glaciers, would have appeared like an Italian gulf. It was now ebb-tide, and wading in the water we shoved our boats, using the oars as rollers, over the muddy shore. It was the birthday of our gracious monarch, which we celebrated in the best manner we could—we dressed the boats with flags, washed ourselves in a little fresh-water lake, and flavoured our weak tea with a small quantity of alcohol.

10. This was the first land on which we had set foot for months. Completely exhausted we lay down on its damp turf and listened to the pleasant sound of the surf. Flames soon rose from the pile of drift wood we collected, while some of us ascended the neighbouring ravines, and even gathered flowers.[57] There were quantities of forget-me-nots, and of coltsfoot (_Tusselago farfara_), which was dried and smoked, and pronounced to be excellent tobacco. But our paradisiacal happiness could not be of long duration. The necessity of finding a ship as quickly as possible was urgent, and soon roused us from our deep sleep, while the thunders of the glaciers of Novaya Zemlya proclaimed to us that bad weather was not far off.

11. On the 19th, we coasted along Admiralty Peninsula; the thermometer giving 50° F. in the air, and 43° F. in the sea. Its shores rising in a succession of terraces were indisputable evidence of its gradual elevation above the sea-level,[58] and the flatness of the shores and the shallowness of the sea, interspersed with rocks, easily explain why they have so often been dangerous to ships approaching them in a fog. As we came further south the charts proved more trustworthy. At noon of the 20th at Cape Tischernitzky we reached latitude 74° 21′. We passed a number of picturesque bights on the coast, with mountains, whose tops were covered with clouds, and whose green banks extended along the shores. These are the favourite wintering spots of Russian expeditions, and in some places we saw ruined huts. On the 21st a fresh wind sprung up from the east. The sea rose, and as we sailed fast before the wind the boats took in a good deal of water, and we were thoroughly wet; the boats too got separated. We accordingly ran into the bay under “Suchoi Nos” (73° 47′ L.) to wait till the wind fell and the other boats should join us. The boat commanded by Lieutenant Brosch, was exposed to much danger from the lowness of its gunwale, when the sea was at all high; an addition made to it by a strip of canvas stretched round the boat proved ineffectual. We quickly dried our clothes at a fire made of drift-wood and erratics of brown coal which we found, but were much disappointed that no reindeer were to be seen, though we were surrounded by excellent feeding-grounds for these animals. The stew, which we made from the spoonwort we gathered, and some pemmican, was but a poor substitute for the venison we had hoped to enjoy. Neither were there any auks to be seen, and the divers shot under the water like stones whenever we came within distance. The other boats having joined us we again put to sea, though the weather was threatening and a high sea running. In latitude 73° 20′ we ran into Matoschkin Bay, hoping and expecting to find a vessel engaged in the fisheries. But no vessel was to be seen, nothing but the outlines of an Arctic mountain-land. Carlsen also, whom Weyprecht had despatched to explore the straits so full of turnings and windings, returned without the intelligence we hoped for. Before Carlsen rejoined us we ran into a cove—Altgläubigen Bucht—and erected, on a conspicuous headland, a cairn, on which we placed a signal post made of drift-wood. In this cairn we deposited a document, briefly describing the course of our expedition up to that date, in order to leave some trace of it in a region which is visited annually by ships. The discovery of this statement in the course of the next summer would prevent our countrymen at home from sending out vessels to rescue us in higher latitudes, if we meanwhile should perish.

12. The prospects of our being saved had, in fact, considerably diminished, for all our hopes had been centred in finding a vessel in Matoschkin Straits, and these, as I have just said, were doomed to be disappointed. Carlsen now returned with the information, that, in the narrow seas he had visited, he had met with nothing but a whale-boat, lying keel upwards, round which were footmarks of not very recent date. There was no doubt, therefore, that the fishing vessels had withdrawn from our high latitudes. At night a storm from the north-east roared over the cliffs surrounding the cove, and the surf breaking on the rocks reached our boats.

13. It was noon on the 23rd before we could continue our voyage. Our provisions would last for only ten days more, so that our fate must shortly be decided. Further delay was out of the question; there was but one hope for us—to press on and find a ship in Dunen-Bai (the Bay of Dunes). Should this too prove deceptive, we must then make the desperate venture of crossing the White Sea, direct to Lapland—a distance of 520 miles. To follow the vast circuit of the coast-line would have been impossible to us with our stock of provisions, and at that season of the year. The next days too plainly taught us what would have become of our small boats had we been forced to attempt that passage.

14. We now rowed and sailed alternately down the flat coasts towards “Gänseland,” amid stormy weather, during which the boats were often separated, and we almost exhausted our strength in baling out the water. We lost sight completely of Weyprecht’s boat on the open sea, and of the others under the coast. That in which Orel and I were, appeared to have out-sailed them, and we, therefore, on the morning of the 24th drew to shore in a dark rocky cove to await the approach of our missing friends. Wet through and through we sprang into the shallow water, and by a great effort drew the boat to land. We then kindled a fire with the drift-wood we gathered, and after making and eating a kind of dumpling we sank down to sleep on the wet stones, amid the smoke from our fire, thoroughly exhausted. So passed away four hours. When we awoke we ascended a height, and as there was not a single vestige of a boat to be seen, we determined to put to sea again. Near Cape Britwin (Lat. 72° 40′), the wind and sea fell, and the boats again joined company. It was now deemed necessary to make an equitable division among the crews of the provisions that remained, and this being done, we took to our oars once more, and pulled into the boundless waste of waters—into the mystery that hung over our destiny.

15. But the hour of our deliverance was nearer than we thought. It was evening as we glided past the black weather-worn rocks of Cape Britwin, the ledges of which were covered with flocks of birds, revelling in the spray of the surf. Then about seven o’clock a cry of joy as from one voice arose from the boats. A fifth small boat with two men in it lay before us, apparently engaged in bird catching. They pulled towards us, not less amazed than we ourselves were, and before either party could explain itself, we turned a corner of the rock—there lay two ships.

16. It is with a certain kind of awe and reverence that a shipwrecked man approaches a ship, whose slender build is to deliver him from the capricious power of the elements. To him it is no lifeless machine, but a friend in need, yea, a higher creation than himself. Such were our feelings as we neared the two schooners which lay a few hundred yards off in a rock-encircled bay. To us at that moment these vessels were the sum total of the whole world! Dressing our boats with flags, we followed the strangers in their boat, and made fast to the schooner _Nikolai_, whose deck was in a moment crowded with bearded Russians, who stared at us with mingled feelings of wonder and sympathy, and whose captain, Feodor Voronin, stood like a patriarch among them to welcome us. Ten days sooner and our poor dogs might have gambolled on the deck with us!

17. No grandees could have been received with more dignity than we were. At the sight of the two Ukases, which we had received from St. Petersburg, and which required all inhabitants of the Russian Empire to furnish us with all the help we needed, these humble seamen bared their heads and bowed themselves to the earth. We had an example before us to show how orders are obeyed by the subjects of that Empire a thousand miles from the place where they were issued. But we were received not only in this reverential manner, but were welcomed with the greatest heartiness, and the best of everything on board was spread before us—salmon, reindeer flesh, Eider-geese eggs, tea, bread, butter, brandy. The second skipper then came on board, and invited us to visit him: the first of a series of invitations. Dr. Kepes was very pressingly invited, for he had a sick man on board his vessel, and our doctor returned with an _honorarium_ of tobacco in his hand. These simple Russian seamen of the Arctic seas freely produced their little stock of good things to give us pleasure, and one of them after observing me for a long time, and thinking that I did not express myself sufficiently strongly for a happy man, persuaded himself that something was the matter with me, and that I wanted something. Forthwith he went to his chest, and brought me all the white bread he had and the whole remaining stock of his tobacco. Though I did not understand a word he said, his address was full of unmistakable heartiness, and so far needed no interpreter.

18. Since we abandoned the _Tegetthoff_ we had passed ninety-six days in the open air, and, including the sledge journeys which preceded the abandonment of the ship, about five months. The impressions of a return to life were felt by us with silent yet deep thankfulness of heart, for as the poet says:—

“Das Schweigen ist ihr bester Herold.”

It gave us infinite satisfaction to gaze on things the most insignificant, and as we thought of our adventures, our discoveries, and our deliverance, many of us asked his heart in a whisper: What will be said of this in Austria? Lusina, as the only one among us who spoke Russian, was constituted our interpreter, and through him we learnt that great events had happened during our absence: that there was general peace in Europe; that Napoleon was dead; and we learnt too that the greatest interest in our destiny had been excited in Austria; that the Russian government had issued orders to all their vessels employed in the Arctic fisheries to do their utmost to find us, and contribute to our rescue; that Count Wilczek had returned in safety—the skipper of our schooner having met him at the mouth of the Petschora, just as he was setting out for Obdorsk, and lastly, that a Norwegian fishing vessel had been beset in the ice in the autumn of 1872 at the Barentz islands—very near to where we were, and had been crushed; that four of the crew had escaped in a boat, and after the most dreadful sufferings, had travelled over land to the country of the Samoyedes in the extreme north of the Ural Mountains.

19. The ships we found in “Dunen Bai,”—the Bay of Dunes—came from Archangel, and were engaged in the salmon fishery, at the mouth of the Puhova River. They had taken very little, and their purpose was to remain where we found them for fourteen days’ longer, and to spend about the same number in fishing and hunting at the southern extremity of Novaya Zemlya. This programme was not exactly to our taste. To spend a month in a fishing-vessel, just as we awoke to the remembrance of all the comforts and pleasures there are in the world, to sleep in the hold where cholera lurked among bear and reindeer hides, amid heaps of salmon and reindeer flesh, among nets and oil casks—such a prospect was not to be thought of. Accordingly, we agreed with Captain Voronin, that he should leave off his fishing and take us without delay to Vardö, in Norway, that we should give him in return for his services three of our boats, two Lefaucheur rifles, and guarantee him the further compensation of 1,200 silver roubles.

20. At last we could go to sleep, the much-needed, much-desired sleep, undisturbed by the fear lest we should be starved to death at last. On that evening, when I opened my journal, I found these words: “Shall we be saved this day? shall we be alive? Fifteenth May on board the _Tegetthoff_.” I had written these words by the merest chance on the blank leaf reserved for the 24th of August, and it was singular that we should be rescued on that very day. For a long time I could not sleep amid the murmur of Russian words, which I mechanically endeavoured to imitate and to interpret as I lay amid the dead salmon, till at last I fell asleep, my last connected thought being, that I had not to row any more. Next day Voronin and his trusty harpooner, Maximin Iwanoff, insisted on Weyprecht and myself occupying their own cabin, and as we could utter no other Russian word than ‘khorosho’ (good), we were obliged to do as they wished. The ship was now watered, and the nets which had been stretched out were hauled on board, the crew, as they worked, singing their wild “Volkslieder” excellently well.

21. On the 26th we left the small quiet bay, the scene of our happy rescue, and with a favourable wind from the north, the vessel ploughed her way through the waves of the White Sea. Now began the time of letter writing; many of us, indeed, had commenced this employment even before we left the boats. On the 27th and 28th, we had stormy weather from the north-west, and the high seas we saw told us what our fate would have been had we tried to cross this sea in our small boats. On the 29th, we sighted Black Cape on the “Murmann coast,” and for two hundred miles we ran under the low, rocky coast of Lapland. We often fell in with ships sailing from or to Archangel, and in our own eyes we seemed the only barbarians amid the commerce and civilization of the world. We sent deputations to every ship that came within hailing distance to beg tobacco or sheets of writing paper, without, however, betraying our incognito. We desired to be the first to give news of ourselves by the telegraph. Contrary winds compelled our captain to tack often, and the delay seemed to our impatience purgatory itself.

22. At length on the 3rd of September—the 812th day from the day we sailed from Bremerhaven—we sighted the little seaport of Vardö. Forthwith the Austrian flag was displayed at the foretop of the _Nikolai_, while each of us, clad in his fur-coat, stood with beating hearts on deck ready to land. Soon she ran into the little harbour, and about three o’clock in the afternoon of that same day we put our feet on Norwegian soil with the glad thought that our dangers and our toils were over at last. While Weyprecht attended to our money affairs, I hastened, amid the wondering looks of the inhabitants, to the telegraph station to despatch the news of our happy rescue and safe arrival, and as each message sped on its way, our hearts glowed with joy as we thought that in a few minutes friends and countrymen would learn the good tidings and share in our joy.

23. On the 5th the mail steamer from Vardö to Hamburg took us on board, and stopping at Tromsö, we put ashore, with many adieus, our friend and companion Captain Carlsen. He had been one of those who believed that we should return home by Behring Straits; but here he landed, a touching instance of the vanity of human hopes. Apart from his linguistic acquirements—for he had learnt to speak several languages on board the _Tegetthoff_—the hardy old Arctic voyager went ashore with three things only; his carefully preserved reindeer coat, his wig, and trusty walrus spear. But all our hearts burned to reach home—home for its own sake; for no presentiment had any of us of the honours that awaited our arrival there. The favours shown to us by our monarch, the enthusiasm which greeted the news of the discoveries we had so marvellously made, the sympathy so abundantly expressed for our sufferings, made us feel that we were rewarded far beyond our deserts, and that we had gained the highest men can gain—the recognition of their services by their fellow-countrymen.