Chapter XVIII: Return to Bremerhaven.92

Repeated leakage of the boiler-tubes.--Becalmed.--Disappearance
of the Coast.--Dense fog.--Voyage in the ice.--The Germania
forces a passage through the ice.--The boiler finally refuses
to work altogether.--Perceptible sound of breakers in the
open sea.--Collision with an ice-bank.--We reach the open
sea.--Joy over our speedy return homewards.--Passing by Iceland
between the Faröe and Shetland Islands.--Near Heligoland.--No
pilots.--No sail at the mouth of the Weser.--German
men-of-war.--First knowledge of the German victories and of the
fate of the Hansa.--Salute by the crew of the King William on
the safe return of the Germania from the Arctic Sea.--Steamer
and pilots.--Arrival at Bremerhaven on 11th of September, 1870.

All was now ready for our return to Europe, and on the 16th of August our poor patched boiler was heated once more, but as soon as steam was up more pipes began to leak, and it was very doubtful whether it could be used at all. One more trial, however, must be made; in the meantime, as there was no wind, we rode at anchor. Calms seem to prevail here in the summer months. During our year of observation, from the beginning of 1869 to the end of July, 1870, we noted no less than 2435 hours of total calm, 750 hours of which fell in the summer months of June, July, and August, being the third part of the whole time.

From this, one may judge how little can be done with a sailing-ship in so short a time.

The next morning, the 17th of August, dawned with a dense fog, which did not lift until noon, when we weighed anchor homeward-bound. We steamed due east, as the Captain intended if possible to force the barrier in that latitude, instead of going further south. After a few hours the boiler-pipes again began to leak, so as there was a calm and thick fog, we were obliged to anchor by a small field.

The whole coast of Greenland was hidden from our sight, and we had seen the last of that land which for a whole year had been our home. The machinery was repaired in the night, though with but little hope of its durability, and we started once more.

On the 18th the wind blew from the south, and the fog was thicker than ever, falling wet around us, so we preferred remaining by our field instead of advancing blindly into the pack.

We remained pretty stationary, the astronomical observations at noon showing but a slight change in the position of our ice-field, though it had turned upon its axis ten points of the compass, and that with the sun.

We had paid particular attention to the revolving of the ice-fields, and found that by far the greater number turned against the sun. Our observations were, however, not numerous enough to warrant our assuming this to be the rule.

On the morning of the 19th of August, as the fog was lighter, we steamed forward in an easterly direction, only a few floes at first drifting in our way. But, as might be expected, the ice became denser as we advanced into the pack, from time to time passing large fields between which lay broad channels of open water.

At three a.m. we came to a chain of floes with a more watery appearance than the large fields we had passed during the night, which was therefore a pleasing sign that we were nearing the sea. After passing round these floes in a south-westerly direction, we came into open water for a short time longer. There was still a dense fog, and at four o’clock we struck upon a large field, and a row of thick-lying floes. After some attempts to break through these masses, we found ourselves entangled in a labyrinth of ice showing not the smallest opening to westward. Nothing but the manœuvring capabilities of the ship by means of the screw prevented us from being completely blocked in. But how in this thick fog could we retain this freedom of motion? One of those happy circumstances that can never be counted upon came to our assistance. At six o’clock the fog suddenly lifted, and at some miles to westward we could see an opening. We now steered along the edge of the ice-field, at the end of which to rather a broad extent lay closely packed floes, and beyond these to our great joy was again open water. We had no alternative but to force our way through: and with the whole of its steam power the Germania was run into the ice. The ship quivered and groaned, but the ice slowly gave way, and we glided into open water. The violent shock, however, had been too much for our invalid boiler: the pipes again began to leak, and put out the fire. We had just time to anchor, in a complete calm, when thick fog set in once more. Our position was 73° 17′ N. Lat. and 15° 41′ W. Long.

On the morning of the 21st of August, we made one more attempt to work our way out of the ice by steam. But in a very short time, the boiler refused its services; and the Captain found that all further progress by steam was at an end, and that the remainder of the voyage must be made under sail. At this time, however, there was so little wind, that the seemingly unmanageable ship soon drifted against a large floe, where we lay under all sail. It was still very foggy, but the sun shone through, so that we could take our observations, which gave us as usual S.S.W., with ten nautical miles for the day’s run; whilst, when nearer the coast, they placed us more towards the east.

In the afternoon we tried with a light southerly breeze to sail further, but again struck upon thick ice, and on account of the fog were obliged to anchor. In the night the south-east wind rose to a storm; the ice began to move, which greatly incommoded us, for several blocks were driven by the wind against our field, subjecting us to great pressure. Indeed, at about two a.m., some large floes threatened to crush us. We were obliged to run for it, and tried to pull round to the north-west point of our field, on the lee side of which we should find more protection from the advancing ice. After great exertions we succeeded in placing the ship in safety in a bend in the ice-field, where it was made fast with strong ropes, and the men then took a few hours’ rest. In the meanwhile the ice pushed itself closer together, so that we feared being blockaded in; and yet nothing remained for us but to wait patiently, and see what fate would bring us. To set sail in the storm and fog would have been still more dangerous.

On the morning of the following day the atmosphere cleared a little, though it rained violently: the wind moderated. To the south and south-west there appeared to be much open water, to which, exactly to windward, led a small channel blocked by several ice floes; and it seemed almost impossible to tack against a fresh wind through this narrow pass. But it was our only chance of escaping from a blockade in the ice. We therefore set sail in the pouring rain, and made tacks for the channel. But it was not till after much manœuvring that we succeeded in avoiding the floating blocks, and clearing it.

We had now so much sea-room that for a quarter of an hour we were able to keep on one tack; and on either side, to the east as well as to the west, the ice lay completely closed. Towards evening we could go no further either to the south or south-west, and open water was only to be seen in the direction we had come from. The violent south and south-east wind, which outside had no doubt raged like a storm, had driven the ice so together that the Captain felt convinced with such a wind there could be no getting clear. As it was quite dark, we anchored by a field to wait for clear weather and a change of wind. During the night it sometimes rained violently, but it blew more from the east, and the rising barometer gave us expectations of better weather.

The following day we again tried to go a little further by steering along the field to the north-east, but here, too, as we might have expected, the ice was closed; so on account of a fog which had come up with the east wind, we dropped anchor once more.

According to the log-reckoning our position was 73° 4′ N. and 15° 32′ W., but the current had drifted us a little to the south. The icy cold of the water (the temperature was near freezing-point) and the work of the last few days had exhausted the men, and as we had to be ready any moment in case our ship should be threatened by the ice, no scientific work could be undertaken. Soundings, too, had to be given up. In the face of new difficulties the men required some rest.

In the evening the fog drew off; the wind blew north-east, with a rising barometer. This was the first time since our departure from the coast that we had had a clear horizon, and an open field of view around us. Only to the south and south-east was there navigable water; in every other direction the ice was closely packed.

On the 24th of August, at two a.m., we set sail with as favourable a breeze from the north-north-east as we could possibly wish for, and with a confident hope of being able to break through the belt of ice. We worked our way south, leisurely making tacks to the west, according to the position of the ice, which lay so thick that we had to force our way. To the east still no opening; we must go still further south. A glorious breeze came to our assistance, and in five or six knots all icy difficulties were victoriously overcome. At three p.m. the Germania met a string of floes which showed unmistakable signs of coming from the ocean, and we could distinctly hear the sound of breakers. Our joy was indescribable, and we thought nothing of running into the icy labyrinth at a speed of seven knots. The ship groaned and quivered from the force of the pressure, and the stern-post received a shock, that for a moment the captain feared for the timbers; but the Germania bore it bravely. Driven by the powerful pressure of the wind she bounded through, and in a short time we glided into open water, where the long-missed swell of the Atlantic greeted us. What cared we now for the threatening white fog which surrounded us in thick masses, or for the ice-blocks we met, or even for the storms that still awaited us? We were in open water, had plenty of sea-room, and that is all a sailor needs. “Breakers ahead!” sounded from the bow. The ship was running upon an ice-bank lying almost before us, and only by the prompt watchfulness of the man at the wheel, who threw the helm hard a-starboard, did we avoid running aground. We now steered north-west, so as to find a more open spot to windward over the starboard bow by which to clear the ice.

A heavy sea raised by the last storm met us, setting all the ice-blocks through which the ship had to pass in dangerous motion. But all went well.

An hour more, and the last bit of ice had disappeared in the fog. In a south-easterly course we now made straight for the Weser. “My watch is over!” was a saying of old Scoresby’s, when he was free of the Greenland ice, and found himself in open sea. “My watch is over!” exclaimed Captain Koldewey to Mr. Sengstacke, as he retired to his cabin with a feeling of security that he had not enjoyed for many a day.

Now we were going towards our dear home, and nothing stood in the way of our hope of soon reaching it. For the first time a German expedition, under the auspices of the black, white, and red flag, had visited, for a scientific object, the least known region of the globe, and had there sought to solve some scientific problems; we might certainly maintain, not quite without success. The North Pole we had not certainly discovered, and the secret of the real Polar basin had remained sealed. But we had been allowed, by observation and investigation of the principles of natural science and navigation, to contribute no inconsiderable share of knowledge, both of the laws and the principal phenomena of the Arctic world, so that the real North Pole question was at any rate theoretically nearer its solution. Conscious of this, we comforted ourselves for the many hopes left unfulfilled, and the many objects unattained.

There remain but a few words to be said regarding our return voyage. Captain Koldewey chose the course past Iceland, between the Faröe and Shetland Isles, in order to take some soundings at the confluence of the Gulf-stream and the Arctic current, as well as some measurements of temperature. But stormy weather, with but slight interruption, lasted almost to the Weser, and hindered the work so much, that the result was very indifferent.

On the 10th of September we were a few miles from Heligoland. A heavy storm blew from the south-west, but in the evening shifted to the north-west, enabling us to run into shore. At daybreak, though we had seen no pilot, we recognized Langerooge, and steered along the South-wall to the mouth of the Weser. No sign of a ship! The Weser seemed to have died out. Where are the pilots hidden? Are they lying _perdu_ on account of yesterday’s storm? Well, then, we must run into the Weser without them; the wind is favourable, the weather clear, the outer buoy will be easy to find; there is the church-tower of Wangerooge. Suspecting nothing, we steered on; the tower bears S.S.W., south-west by south, south-west, but no buoy in sight. The Captain and steersman look at each other in astonishment. Can we have been so mistaken and out of our reckoning? But no! That is certainly Wangerooge; the depth of water agrees, our compass is correct. No doubt about it, we are in the Weser; something unusual must have happened! Still no sail in sight! But what is that? Yonder are the roads. There are several large vessels under steam; they at least can give us some information. So we make for them. We saluted the German flag, and soon the cry was heard, “War, war with France; Napoleon is prisoner! France has declared a Republic; our armies are before Paris!” And then, “Hansa destroyed in the ice, crew saved.” We thought we were dreaming, and stood stiff with astonishment at such grand and heart-stirring news. Not until a loud hurrah for “King William” sounded from a hundred German throats did we regain our speech, and answer with another “Hurrah!”

Captain-Lieutenant Stenzel came on board, and welcomed us to German soil, and from him we learnt somewhat more connectedly the events of the last few weeks. From the fleet we procured a tug and pilot for the Weser, and on the 11th of September, at six p.m., we ran safely into Bremerhaven, where the next morning we had the pleasure of shaking hands with some gentlemen of the Bremer Committee, at the head of which was Mr. A. G. Mosle, as well as some of our comrades of the Hansa.