Chapter IX: First Month of the Year 1870.58

Lethargy.--The Arctic winter.--Mid-day twilight.--Meteorological
observations.--Plans for spring travelling.--Fur
dresses.--Klentzer pursued by a bear.--The ship on
fire.--Snowdrift.--Promise of the sun’s reappearance.--Sunrise
on 3rd February.--Northern Lights.--Hunting.--The days
lengthen.--Low temperature.--Spring-tide.--The ship
aground.--Börgen wounded by a bear.

The new year had now begun, and we had greeted it with new thoughts, new plans and hopes. Nearly six months had we already spent on the coast--a short time judging from results--but long enough, with the help of the experience gained, to prepare for the promised excursions in the coming summer. Half of the dreaded Arctic night was over, without either body or mind being materially influenced by it; and if the coldest time still lay before us, it had lost its terrors.

The holidays were faithfully kept as a period of rest. The whole of us experienced great weariness, and, upon giving way to it, we could plainly see, what every one knew long since, that in Arctic regions one can take any amount of sleep.

On the other hand, everything went on regularly. A new number of the paper appeared on Sunday, which, by its diminutive size, showed the decrease of material.

Mr. Tramnitz and Dr. Copeland went hunting, and brought home four ptarmigan, objects as welcome to the unaccustomed stomach as to the long-idle hands of the zoologists. The collection was increased by a few skins, and examinations made as to the food of these native birds of the extreme north. The crops of all were full, and were about the size of a boy’s fist. The contents consisted chiefly of young willow shoots, only here and there by chance was a little moss, or a few leaves and dry sprouts of a species of saxifrage and other shrubs. Thus while in summer, as we have seen, the ptarmigan feeds on fresh herbs and seeds, which it finds on the mountains, in winter time it confines itself to the willow, which is easily obtainable.

The 3rd of January was still a dark, foggy day; truly there is something very solemn in this universal silence, this unbroken sleep of organic nature. “The stillness of an Arctic winter,” writes First Lieutenant Payer, “has something awful about it; the gloomy shade under which life passes, without one charm, is burdensome to the spirit. Every sound of creation is silenced; the whispering and gurgling of the springs and brooks have died away; the breaking of the waves is mute; the waterfall stands motionless against the cold wall of rock; the plants, choked under their covering of snow, seem for ever destroyed. Animals that had migrated, either to the outer edge of the pack-ice or to milder latitudes, have withdrawn to the interior or begun their winter sleep. No faint sunshine colours the heights, shedding its beams on the glistening masses of ice on the golden mirror of the sea. Forms and colours are tinged with gloom; a universal winding-sheet enwraps every form of nature, over which broods the icy night; the stars, twinkling brightly, shed their cold light; ghost-like stand out the shadowy snowy walls of the mountains from the black edge of the rock; sullenly rise the crested rocks in the night; snow-flakes glide in noiseless monotony on to the still cold earth, and on to the ice-deck, which has bound our ship for months. The deck is laden with snow; masts and yards stretch their coal-black arms to heaven; frost hangs to the ropes in tender crystal webs; the helm is buried under blocks of ice.” We easily lose ourselves in a feeling of utter desertion in the midst of these lifeless surroundings, and the heavy leaden-grey of the sky is reflected in our painfully-oppressed spirits. One must be more than mortal not to be occasionally overcome by such feelings, though with us they were but of short duration; besides which, the time of perpetual darkness was quickly drawing to a close. That we proved the next day, when in -22° we were surrounded by a bright light sky, with numerous and beautiful pictures of Arctic light. The noonday twilight was so strong that for an hour we fancied it was really daylight, and on the 10th, at seven a.m., the beginning of dawn in the eastern sky proved it to be correct. This fine, clear weather lasted to the 16th, and was highly acceptable to the astronomers: the cold, however, increased, and the thermometer sank to -26.50° Fahr.

It was already settled that, as soon as practicable--we thought about the beginning of March--our great journey should begin, geography being its main object, by following the coast-line northward, thus accomplishing our chief task, in the instructions of the expedition, on the ice, as with the ship it had been proved to be unsuccessful.

For this journey, which it need not be said was under Captain Koldewey’s direction, eight men were necessary. We considered that we might dispense with the necessity of establishing provision-stores, and therefore decided that a second sledge, under Mr. Sengstacke’s direction, should accompany them for some days on their journey, and somewhat later the circuit of the astronomers would begin, having geodetical measurements for their object, and not until after the return from the north should any more sledge journeys be arranged for the exploration of the interior of Greenland. The great difficulty of all these undertakings we could not disguise from ourselves. Not only was the want of dogs greatly felt, but numbers of other matters necessary for winter sledging.

On the ship, as has been already said, reigned cheerfulness and unwearied activity; there was tailoring and shoemaking, carpentering and smiths’ work going on from morning till night. We next went to work upon the clothing. For the degree of cold we had hitherto experienced, nothing was better than the woollen things we had, but only when the air was quiet; for in a high wind the body, in spite of all motion, became stiff and cold in a very short time. On our contemplated journey, however, we must be in a position to brave all weathers, so out came the fur. As the long fur-coats, reaching to the feet, were quite useless, they were taken to pieces, and fresh, short, tight-fitting coats lined with wool were made. The fur hoods remained unaltered; the boots, however, were thrown aside, as they so soon get hard and uncomfortable. These were replaced by an irregular manufacture composed of sail-cloth lined with woollen stuff, with leathern soles, which we had on board. Then the tent must be worked at and enlarged in proportion; the fur sacks also and coverings for our sleeping-place had to be sewn. We need scarcely say that the school of navigation was carried on as industriously as ever.

On the 10th, as in the morning twilight our engineer, who was entrusted with the melting apparatus, was returning alone with the sledge, heavily burdened with snow, from the Germaniaberg to the ship--he looked round him, and suddenly saw, at a little distance, a bear slowly following him. Struck with terror, he hastily left the sledge and hurried forward to the ship, the creature following him for some distance, and then turning back. Scarcely had the fact transpired when, in a moment, all were in motion, and soon a number of well-armed forms were hurrying in all directions to the land--the irresistible charm of bear-hunting urging them on. But Bruin did not seem inclined to face our heroes, and, after a short hour, the hunters returned disappointed.

Thus this bear adventure ended as happily as all former ones had done. But much more serious was the position into which, a short time afterwards, one of our sailors was betrayed. On the morning of the 13th, Theodor Klentzer, during the time the men were busied without, or were obliged to take their daily walk, climbed the Germaniaberg to view the landscape in the increasing mid-day light. Reaching the top, he seated himself on a rock, and sang a song in the still air. As he looked behind him, however, he saw, not many steps off, a huge bear, which with great gravity was watching the stranger. Now to our “Theodor,” who was as quiet and decided a man as he was powerful, this would, under other circumstances, have been nothing; for the bear stood wonderfully well for a shot, and could not easily be missed, but Klentzer was totally unarmed; not having even a knife! Incredible! is it not? But as Lieut. Payer writes, “the bears always come when one has forgotten all about them.”

Thus Klentzer saw himself unarmed and alone, far from his companions, and close to the bear. Flight is the only, though a doubtful, chance of safety, and the audacious thought struck him of plunging down the steep side of the glacier; but he chose the softer side-slope, and began to hurry down the mountain. Upon looking back, after a time, he perceived the great bear trotting behind him at a little distance, like a great dog. Thus they descended the mountain for some time. If Klentzer halted, so did the bear; when he went on, the bear followed slowly; if he began to run, the bear did the same. Thus the two had gone some distance, and Klentzer thought seriously of saving himself, as the bear, finding the chase somewhat wearisome, might press close upon his heels. He therefore uttered a loud shout, but the bear, only disconcerted for a moment, seemed to get more angry and approached quicker, so that he seemed to feel the hot breath of the monster. At this dreadful moment--and it was most likely his preservation--he remembered the stories he had heard, and, while running, pulled off his jacket, throwing it behind him. And see! the trick answers: the bear stops and begins to examine the jacket. Klentzer gains courage, rushes on down the mountain, sending out a shout for help, which resounds through the silent region. But soon the bear is again at his heels, and he must throw away cap and waistcoat, by which he gains a little. Now Klentzer sees help approaching--several friends hurrying over the ice. Collecting his last strength, he shouts and runs on. But help seems in vain, for the pursuer hurries too, and he is obliged to take the last thing he has, his shawl, which he throws exactly over the monster’s snout, who, more excited still by renewed shouting, throws it back again contemptuously with a toss of the head, and presses forward upon the defenceless man, who feels his cold black snout touch his hand. Klentzer now gave himself up for lost; he could do no more; but the wonderful thought struck him of fastening up the bear’s throat with the leathern belt which he wore round his body. Fixedly he stared into the merciless eyes of the beast--one short moment of doubt--the bear was startled, his attention seemed drawn aside, and the next moment he was off at a gallop. The shouts of the many hurrying to the rescue had evidently frightened him. Klentzer was saved by a miracle. We had all hurried out just as we sat below, without coats or caps--indeed, some were in their stockings. The terrified creature fled on to the ice, where he received a cross-fire, then turned hither and thither, and made for Cairn Point. Some of the bullets must have struck him, for he collapsed, and we thought it was all over. But he rallied the next moment, and climbed the steep bank with huge strides, and, leaving traces of blood on the open ice, hurried to the sea. Glad and thankful, our full number were soon seated at the mid-day meal, praising a good Providence who had saved our brave companion from death. From the effects of this day several suffered slightly from pains in the chest, and Mr. Sengstacke and P. Iversen had large frost-blisters on their feet. No wonder, when they had run about in stockinged feet for a whole hour and a half!

But a danger of quite another sort threatened us--fire on board!

On the 11th, when, as usual, all were in the cabin engaged in reading and smoking, some having already sought their berths, about a quarter to nine a slight smell of burning at the lower end of the cabin was perceived. It seemed to spring from the stove, in the fender of which things often fell and smouldered. But as Dr. Copeland went at nine o’clock to the meteorological reading, he noticed a stronger smell and smoke upon the stairs, and, hurrying on deck, was met by a thick vapour. There could no longer be any doubt; there was fire somewhere, and the fireplace in the after-cabin must be the place, as it had been heated for the tailoring. Quickly all hands were to the fore; buckets and vessels of all kinds were brought out; and while some fetched water from the tide-hole, others pulled off the top and saw at once the white flames quivering through the smoke. Some few pails of water soon put it out, and in about a quarter of an hour all was over. Deck-beams and deck-planks were burnt, and charts were smoking; had not help come so speedily, the fire would have burnt through to the coal-bunkers.

After this interruption, everything resumed its usual course, and on the 18th the travelling-tent was raised for trial. The weather remained pretty steady to the end of the month. Clear skies alternated with cloudy atmospheres, and from time to time Boreas sought us, though only for a short spell of fury. On the 17th a great deal of snow fell with stormy weather, so that for the first time the land was quite white, and the astronomers had the great pleasure of once more clearing the observatory. The 27th was the same, when a raging snow-storm lasted several hours. It was a good thing for us that we could tell the approach of such storms beforehand; the quick over-casting of the heavens, the light south wind, the rising of the thermometer, and the falling of the barometer, never left us in doubt as to what to expect, and we always had time for preparations.

An observation which we had made several times in snow-drifting deserves to be mentioned. For instance, when out in such strong snow-drifts, one feels completely suffocated, as if the snow held back the breath by force, and pierced deep into the lungs. This feeling is of course stronger when facing the wind; it is even sensibly felt when the wind is at the back. Wind without snow-drift has not this effect. So striking was this that it was often and on all sides remarked. Through these almost uninterrupted storms our scientific work was still carried on as far as possible. This was mainly astronomical and magnetic; but others, too, were begun; for instance--experiments upon the speed of sound. The thickness of the ice at this time (20th January) measured fifty-three English inches. The zoological collection obtained an increase from some small crabs (_Copepodæ_), which were caught in the tide-hole, and were found to be the source of the shining we had so often observed. This was indeed an interesting appearance. When the ice in the tide-hole was removed, it glistened in many places like phosphorus, and then slowly disappeared. These small crabs were tumbling about in water one degree below the freezing-point, nearly under the much colder ice, and when they were taken out with the surrounding ice, and it was melted in the cabin, they soon died.

Thus the month of January drew to a close. The daylight grew longer and more intense. The great epoch of the reappearing of the sun, the 3rd of February (as the astronomers had calculated), came nearer and nearer, and our expectation rose from day to day.

Since the 30th of January the astronomers had gone daily to the Hasenberg to convince themselves whether their calculations were correct, or whether, perhaps, a particularly strong refraction, owing to the state of the atmosphere, would hasten the appearance of the sun by some days.

At last the 3rd of February had arrived, and long before noon all were on the look-out. Dr. Börgen was in the observatory, and Dr. Copeland and Captain Koldewey had climbed the Germaniaberg. It was with very solemn feelings that we awaited the appearance of the sun. Our thoughts flew over the sunless three months, as we contemplated the shadowless objects around, but our eyes turned again instinctively to the south, where it was ever getting lighter and lighter. To our great joy the horizon here was quite clear; only a few clouds stood in the heavens. These added to the beauty of the scene, for they were of the brightest red and yellow.

The noontide hour approached. Full of expectation and curiosity, the men appeared from time to time on the stairs to look for the sun; some mounted the topmast, to enjoy the pleasure somewhat sooner. Attentively we looked around, for at such a time nothing should escape one. The southern horizon grew ever brighter, and at last, almost blinded, we had to turn away our eyes; but the glance rests in the south-west at first, doubtful and questioning, and then in joyous certainty we shout to one another, “There it is!” The Sattelberg already lies in the sunshine! And indeed in faint reddish, but unmistakable sunshine does this height glitter above the other deeply-shaded mountains. More decided grows the light now, and in a short time the same beautiful spectacle is repeated on the Hasenberg and the other chief heights of the island, and from them it descends to the plains; and as we look around, the resuscitated orb of day shines full upon us.

Moved to the depths of our hearts, we thought to look our full upon the sun, but the long-unseen light was blinding, the eyes could not bear it, and we were compelled to have protecting-glasses before we could tell whether the sun’s disc was as yet really above the horizon. Nevertheless, its influence was strong enough, as we turned our backs to it, to show the whole island and the near mainland in complete daylight. It was a joyous and a glorious sight. Invigorating were the effects of its first rays as they fell upon us, as were also the effects upon the landscape. For as, until now, the whole mountain panorama lay in one uniform coloured dark mass, except now and then, in the bright moonlight, when some glaring lights and shades stood out, and even the brightest twilight could scarcely individualize an object, now every part and outline of the mountain-chain stood prominently forward; the projections were elevated, and the distant points receded; and this now beautiful living landscape was flooded with the softest colours--red, violet, blue, and green in all shades--according to the strength of the light, the kind of ground, and the nature of the surroundings. But our pleasure was destined to be of short duration, for the sun soon disappeared again behind the jagged horizon of ice, and the gloomy uniform greyish-blue shadows descended one after the other on the wintry landscape.

We must not forget to mention that the first reappearance of the sun was accompanied by two very faint and not easily detected parhelia. What would most strike a scientific mind was the wonderful prismatic colours of the clouds, the easternmost of which, lying towards that side of Walrus Island, rose above the very highest of its peaks. It was peculiar that, however distinctly we could see these parhelia, a person looking directly above another’s head could not with all his endeavours perceive them. The air, which at seven a.m. was this day -8.95°, cooled considerably later, and at noon the thermometer fell to -22.67°.

The new sunshine afforded us for the first time an uninterrupted view over the icy sea. From Germaniaberg one could see how during this winter the ice had been loosened almost close to the coast from Klein-Pendulum to Flache Bay. To the extent of from one to three nautical miles along the land lay the young ice, which might be torn up by the first storm. Beyond lay the pack-ice--a broad, unbounded, snow-covered mass, separated, as far as the eye could reach, by neither fissure nor interval.

A few fine, bright days now followed one another with a temperature of from -4° to -22° Fahr. We enjoyed the light of the newly-risen sun. The twilight really lengthened the days, and through the period of darkness the Northern Lights shot athwart the heavens, displaying in the clear atmosphere a spectacle of rare beauty. But this peaceful scene could not last, and on the 5th there were distinct signs of the waking of Boreas. Over the ice lay a slight fog, and the sky clouded quickly from the south. More distinctly than ever did the well-known roaring reach us, and rising along the stretch of the sea were thick columns and clouds of frosty vapour, showing that the icy covering was already broken. This was a particularly interesting sight. Dr. Copeland, who was on a high mountain on the island at this time, saw the ice by Klein-Pendulum break up and drift away. Caught on the heights by the north wind, he was obliged to make the best of his way back on account of the intense cold, whilst below in the harbour a calm reigned for a long time, or a light breeze blew from the south or south-west. About noon a few gusts came through from the north, where it had been raging since early morning--at first in a clear sky, then in a thick atmosphere and snow-drift. This storm, too, which blew violently by the hour together, lasted a long time, quite fifty hours, until suddenly, as if by a higher command, it fell, and there was a perfect calm. The raging of the ice, however, continued, and on the morning of the 9th was another six hours’ storm. Then followed days in which wind and storm alternated, though work in the open air was not disturbed by it. The astronomers had enough to do to bring their geodetical work to a satisfactory conclusion during this year. The ground on which the basis was to be measured was reconnoitred, the direction and extreme point settled upon, and in different places signals were raised, so that, later on, the spots from which to measure the triangle would be fixed at once. Dr. Pansch undertook the meteorological observations for those absent.

Tramnitz frequently went hunting, and shot hares and ptarmigan. On the first bright days the hares gambolled upon the southern slopes of the Hasenberg, as if they had never suffered from the long night and snow-storms. They, like the ptarmigan, had chosen the tender willow-shoots for their food.

The men now prepared eagerly for the intended sledge journey. By the middle of February the tent, coverings, furs, and other necessaries, were so far finished that they could be laid by the side of the sledge, which was already put together. The latter was then laden and tried. It was our intention to begin the journey at the commencement of March. We expected no real hindrance from the cold, and we lived in the hope of happily being able to reach 80° N.L.; we also made a successful attempt to sail the sledge. The astronomers had forwarded their work so energetically that they hoped to begin their geodetical journey about the middle of March. For this all was prepared. The sledges caused us the chief trouble, for, except one large one, the others were so constructed that for long and difficult journeys they were very insufficient. We decided upon building one that should answer every purpose.

The weather in the second half of February remained changeable--now fine and clear, now gloomy skies and some falls of snow. The Northern Lights shone the whole night through in the loveliest of colours, unimpeded by the light of the moon, which often emitted a halo. At the same time, light breezes blew from all directions, and only a few storms of short duration disturbed our work in the open air. Encouraging now was the rapid lengthening of the days. In the middle of the month, about five a.m., the first dusky twilight might be seen in the eastern sky, and an hour later a faint trace of daylight spread over the country.

On the last of February, at three a.m., it began to brighten in the north-east, and at four o’clock the darkness disappeared; the temperature of the atmosphere was -13° Fahr.

This degree of cold had reached a settled point, which we had never as yet observed. Excepting stormy weather, the temperature seldom rose above 13° Fahr., and sank more than once below -27° and -31° Fahr. On the evening of the 21st of February the thermometer reached its lowest point with -40°, which, however, lasted but one hour. This is exactly the stage at which quicksilver begins to freeze; but, unfortunately, we were not allowed to witness this interesting phenomenon.

A cold of more than -26.50° in a calm was, moreover, quite bearable, and we never found any evil effects produced by it. Here again we found that, in a still atmosphere, the woollen clothing was best for keeping in the warmth of the body; whilst in a cold wind, even many times double, it seemed as if we had no clothes on. Under such circumstances, fur was the last resource. Also on the throat and lungs the breathing of the coldest air seemed to have no evil effect, just as when eating frozen things one feels the cold deeper down. We could, coming straight from the caboose, breathe with impunity, although the temperature of the air varied in one minute from 90° above, to 40° below zero; that is a difference of 130 degrees, and yet this is not the extreme by a long way. In passing out from the heated dwellings of the Esquimaux, at 99.50° Fahr., into the cold air of -58° Reaumur, there is a difference of quite 157°, and this not only can the Esquimaux stand, but all Europeans who visit these parts.

Although in such a temperature the ship itself was fearfully cold, we succeeded as easily as before in keeping warmth in the cabin, and only on stormy days did the quantity of coal used exceed 20lbs. or a little more. At the cracks of the cabin door so much ice collected that it had to be removed once every day, and where the cold wind blew directly on the cabin-wall, constant attention was necessary to keep the mattresses free from ice and dry.

Some of the observations of temperature at this time are perhaps worth noting, as giving the different degrees of cold at different heights. On the 22nd Dr. Copeland observed, on a mountain 918 feet high, -25.37° Fahr., whilst below it was about 28½°. Above, a strong north wind was blowing, of which below we had no sign. Still more interesting is the fact that, on the 15th, the astronomers, at a height of more than 1960 feet, found only 27°, so that from the exertion of climbing they were bathed in perspiration. Below, at the same time, it was nearly zero.

On the 16th an event happened which, under the circumstances, might have endangered the safety of the ship. It was spring-tide; and at the lowest ebb the ship grounded. As the ice and the snow wall adhered to the ship, we could see the water sink in the tide-hole; and the weight of the ice forcing down the vessel was enormous; and had the ground been uneven, the stern-post or the rudder must have been damaged. The ice was at this time fifty-seven English inches thick.

On the 21st, the regular meeting was again held for magnetic readings.

The next few days passed rapidly in preparations for our sledge journey to the north, which was settled for the 7th of March. The provisions were stowed in sacks, the tent made ready, and the sledge laden for a trial trip, which resulted satisfactorily, and the sledge-party photographed in different groups, but with indifferent success. During this time the usual scientific work was continued; on the 3rd of March the astronomers measured the base for their geodetical observations, and on the 4th a magnetic meeting was held. On March 6th an incident occurred which threw everything else into the shade.

“We were sitting (writes Lieut. Payer) fortunately silent in the cabin, when Koldewey suddenly heard a faint cry for help. We all hurriedly tumbled up the companion-ladder to the deck, when an exclamation from Börgen, ‘A bear is carrying me off!’ struck painfully on our ears.

“It was quite dark; we could scarcely see anything, but we made directly for the quarter whence the cry proceeded, armed with poles, weapons, &c., over hummocks and drifts, when an alarm-shot, which we fired in the air, seemed to make some little impression, as the bear dropped his prey, and ran forward a few paces. He turned again, however, dragging his victim over the broken shore-ice, close to a field which stretched in a southerly direction. All depended upon our coming up with him before he should reach this field, as he would carry his prey over the open plain with the speed of a horse, and thus escape. We succeeded. The bear turned upon us for a moment, and then, scared by our continuous fire, let fall his prey.

“We lifted our poor comrade up on to the ice, to bear him to his cabin--a task which was rendered somewhat difficult by the slippery and uneven surface of the ice. But after we had gone a little way, Börgen implored us to make as much haste as possible. On procuring a light, the coldest nature would have been shocked at the spectacle which poor Börgen presented. The bear had torn his scalp in several places, and he had received several injuries in other parts of his body. His clothes and hair were saturated with blood. We improvised a couch for him in the rear of our own cabin, as his own was not large enough.

“The first operation was performed upon him on the cabin table. And here we may briefly notice the singular fact that, although he had been carried more than 100 paces with his skull almost laid bare, at a temperature of -13° Fahr., his scalp healed so perfectly that not a single portion was missing.” So far Lieut. Payer.

But let us hear what Börgen has to say for himself upon the subject:--“About a quarter before nine p.m. I had gone out to observe the occultation of a star, which was to take place about that time, and also to take the meteorological readings. As I was in the act of getting on shore, Capt. Koldewey came on to the ice. We spoke for a few moments, when I went on shore, while he returned to the cabin. On my return from the observatory, about fifty steps from the vessel, I heard a rustling noise to the left, and became aware of the proximity of a bear. There was no time to think, or use my gun. The grip was so sudden and rapid, that I am unable to say how it was done; whether the bear rose and struck me down with his fore-paws, or whether he ran me down. But from the character of the injuries I have sustained (contusions and a deep cut on the left ear), I conclude that the former must have been the case. The next thing I felt was the tearing of my scalp, which was only protected by a skull-cap. This is their mode of attacking seals, but, owing to the slipperiness of their skulls, the teeth glide off. The cry for help which I uttered frightened the animal for a moment; but he turned again and bit me several times on the head.[59] The alarm had meanwhile been heard by the captain, who had not yet reached the cabin. He hurried on deck, convinced himself that it was really an alarm, roused up the crew and hastened on to the ice, bringing assistance to his struggling comrade. The noise evidently frightened the bear, and he trotted off with his prey, which he dragged by the head. A shot fired to frighten the creature effected its purpose, inasmuch as he dropped me, and sprang a few steps aside; but he immediately seized me by the arm, and, his hold proving insufficient, he seized me by the right hand, on which was a fur glove,[60] and this gave the pursuers time to come up with the brute, which had by its great speed left them far behind. He was now making for the shore, and would certainly have escaped with his prey, had he succeeded in climbing the bank. However, as he came to the edge of the ice, he turned along the coast side, continuing on the rough and broken ice, which greatly retarded his speed, and thus allowed his pursuers upon the ice to gain rapidly upon him. After being dragged in this way for about 300 paces, almost strangled by my shawl, which the bear had seized at the same time, he dropped me, and immediately afterwards Koldewey was bending over me with the words, ‘Thank God! he is still alive!’ The bear stood a few paces on one side, evidently undecided what course to pursue, until a bullet gave him a hint that it was high time to take himself off.

“No one thought of pursuing him, for their first care was to carry the wounded man on board, whither the doctor and Herr Tramnitz had gone in order to prepare the requisites for binding up the wounds. The main injuries were in the head, where, amongst numerous other wounds from the bites, two especially from four to six inches long ran along the scalp, the edges of which hung loose, leaving the skull bare for one-third to two-fifths of an inch. The other wounds, about twenty in number, were in part caused by striking against the fragments and rough broken edges of the ice. It is worth while mentioning that, neither during the act of receiving the wounds nor during the process of healing, which progressed favourably, did I experience the smallest pain.[61] The next day, upon the ice, at some distance from the scene of the accident, the chronometer[62] and the gun were found, showing the force of the blow, and also the sail-cloth boots, which had dropped off while crossing the ice.

“This accident was an additional proof how dangerous it was ever to go out alone in the dark; for weapons are but of little avail if one is not aware of the approach of the animal. This precaution, which was, as a rule, strictly observed, was in my case neglected simply because the next day the whole crew were to start on a sledge expedition to the north, which had now to be postponed for a day.”[63]