Chapter II

CONTINUED VOYAGE OF THE TWO SHIPS UNTIL REACHING ICE.[4]
MIDDLE OF JULY.

Second meeting with the Hansa.--Neptune and the Arctic
christening.--Entrance into the Arctic Sea.--Zoological
matters.--Jan Mayen.--Nearing the ice.--Seals.--Separation of
the vessels.

The 4th of July, Sunday, brought us a fine, clear morning: the wind died quite away; the sea, even in the far, far distance, was glossy and smooth. The sleeping sails swung to and fro with the gaffs; the gearing rattled; the ship swung without answering the helm; in short, it was that sort of calm so disagreeable to a sailor, and particularly so to us after our three weeks’ voyage. Every eye looked longingly for a rising breeze. In the course of the morning it rippled the surface with beautiful blue lines here and there, and then dropped again.

The Hansa was far astern, and presently a dark spot appeared on the water in the distance. It scarcely moved; but the telescope showed us that it must be a boat. Perhaps a post from the Hansa! Now the mainsail was set, and then we knew for certain that it was Captain Hegemann’s fine whale-boat that was approaching. We lay to, and welcomed heartily on board Messrs. Hegemann, Hildebrandt, Buchholz, and Laube. Engaged in an improvised hunting party, they were fortunate enough to bag some gulls. For the second time we all sat together in the cabin, confiding our hopes and plans to each other. Meanwhile, on the eastern horizon, there rose a well-known dark line; and soon a light, quick breeze filled the sails, and gave our ship steerage way. Slowly she began to move, and took a nor’-nor’-westerly course, direct to the island of Jan Mayen.

The wind now blew stronger; the Hansa had already reached us, and thus a speedy end was put to our meeting. Our friends took leave and were soon on board their own ship.

The next day it blew fresh from the E.N.E., so that we nearly always made two degrees N. as our day’s work, a highly desirable progress, which raised all our hopes afresh. Already, on the evening of the 5th of July, at fifty minutes past eleven, we had passed the Arctic circle (66° 33′), and that nearly under the meridian of Greenwich (0° 15′ W.L.).

A violent wind was blowing; and with a speed of nine knots we entered the Arctic Ocean, which was to be our quarters for a whole year. The Hansa was some miles in advance of us, and was the first to unfurl the North German flag; at the same time firing one gun. We followed. Conformably to the custom, as on crossing the equator, Neptune came on board to welcome us, and wish us success on our voyage; of course not without all those who had not yet crossed the Arctic circle having to undergo the rather rough shaving and christening customary on such occasions. The ceremony closed (as is usual on such occasions) with a good glass of wine, to wash away the evil effects of the cold water.

With us, Peter Iversen and Peter Ellinger undertook the parts of Neptune and the barber, and carried out with great earnestness the soaping and the very mild christening. At the next meal in the cabin we were surprised by a poetical composition by Neptune.

On board the Hansa the proceeding was carried out much more scrupulously. Neptune came on board with two followers, and addressed Captain Hegemann with the question, “Any green hands on board?” At the answer, “Yes,” there began a sharp examination of the “green ones,” Drs. Buchholz and Laube, as well as the sailors Max Schmidt and Konrad Gierke. Afterwards came the christening. Dr. Laube writes thus:--

“We entered into the spirit of the fun willingly, knowing that our sailors were decent fellows, and would not carry things too far, even had we not entered on the ship’s books with them in Bremen, and become seamen. Our carpenter went about the whole day with a sly, laughing face, and towards evening had quite lost his usual chattiness. We ourselves kept in the cabin, so as not to witness the preparations. At midnight, we were called on deck. A gun was fired; and as its thunder died away we heard the well-known cry, ‘Ship ahoy!’ Three wonderful figures climbed over the bowsprit; Neptune first, in an Esquimaux’s dress, with a great white cotton beard, a seven-pronged dolphin harpoon for a trident in one hand, and a speaking-trumpet in the other. A tarpaulin was spread on the quarter-deck, and a stool placed upon it. It looked like a judge’s bench. Here each of us was seated with eyes bound, while the masked followers of the northern Ruler went through the customary proceedings. I was soaped and shaved; god Neptune was most favourable to me; he knows what good cigars are, and has great respect for those to whom they belong. Then came the christening, which in this case was not applied to the head (as is usual), but to the throat and stomach. Neptune put some questions to me through his speaking-trumpet, desiring me to answer. I saw his object, answered with a short ‘Yes,’ and then closed my lips. The mischievous waterfall rattled over me, causing universal merriment. They then took the bandage from my eyes, that I might see my handsome face in the glass; but instead of a looking-glass, it was the combing of the wooden hatchway, which with great gravity was held before my face by the barber’s assistant. I was now absolved, and could laugh with the others, whilst seeing my comrades obliged to go through the same course one after the other.”

Universal grog on board both ships brought the time-honoured and merry ceremony to a close.

But with ever-growing impatience did we now long for a nearer acquaintance with the ice. As we before mentioned, the favourable wind first met us outside the Arctic circle. Later on it blew more faintly, though, on the whole, keeping in the good quarter from the east, so that on the morning of the 9th of July we came in sight of the island of Jan Mayen.

The midnight hours had now grown visibly lighter; even in the cabin we no longer wanted a lamp; at twelve o’clock at night we could read and write without difficulty. The very first night we reached the latitude in which it was possible to be seen, we were allowed to enjoy the wonderful sight of the midnight sun. The thick clouds, which the whole day had covered the heavens, drew somewhat together towards the north just at that time; and over the edge of the endless sea, hovered the sun, like a red ball, visible almost in its entire circumference, surrounded by gold and purple-violet clouds. But unfortunately this majestic spectacle was of short duration; the cloudy curtain closed again, and we had to wait many weeks before we again saw the midnight sun.

The temperature of the air fell steadily. From the 6th to the 7th of July there was a sudden fall, as shown by our table of daily temperatures.

This was accompanied, on the 7th of July, by _snow_, and on the 8th the _fog_ began its rule of terror, from which we suffered, except at short intervals, for four weeks, that is, until we landed.[5]

The swarms of birds were countless, and at a glance we could see that those frequenting the icy sea were quite different from any other sorts. There were the well-known Auk,[6] and other aquatic species of various genera.[7] But there was no possibility of exactly knowing each kind, as we did not succeed in bringing any down; and only seeing them in the distance in their hurried flight and the dim atmosphere, they were very difficult to distinguish. They generally flew from two to four together; sometimes one would strike out with a short flap of the wings, and fly at a uniform height over the smooth water, when, according to its uniform custom, it would circle two or three times at some distance round the ship, and either settle down once more, or totally disappear. Besides these, we frequently saw the grey petrel (_Procellaria glacialis_, L.), which until that time had been rare. They strike the observer at once by their long, grey, straight wings hovering almost motionless over the water. Like all northern travellers, we soon learnt to know among the ice the peculiar bird called the Mallemock.

With the crossing of the Arctic circle we found ourselves in our own broad field of action; for if our chief task was to follow the coast of East Greenland as far as possible to the north, our expedition was also one of general knowledge, and therefore the exploring of the whole of the North Arctic region was incumbent upon us. So that, although still far from the ice, regular, and, when possible, searching investigation was made, not the ordinary observations on board ship, regarding the direction of the wind, barometrical pressure, and so forth, but inquiries into subjects relating to the physical geography of the sea. The temperature of the surface water, as during the whole of the voyage, was taken every two hours, and that of greater depths, ever since the 1st of July (61° N.L.), four times every day. In connexion with this Drs. Börgen and Copeland began a series of experiments relating to the quantity of salt contained in the surface water and in the depths. Notice was also taken of the colour of the sea, as well as of the wood met with. Soundings were taken every six hours, and everything brought up by the apparatus was carefully preserved.

These observations were of no small interest, as we were in that part of the somewhat changing boundary where the warm (so called) Gulf Stream coming up from the south and the cold Arctic current coming down from the north just meet. This Gulf Stream is known not only by its relative warmth, but by the greater saltness and deep blue colour of its waters. The beautiful blueness of the sea struck us as soon as we left the North Sea. But from this time until we reached the ice the colours changed continually, and sometimes very quickly, from dirty blue, light blue, greenish blue, bluish green, clear and transparent green, greyish green, and so on, so that our attempts at representing a series of these colours became a failure.[8] Sharp limits between green and blue water, such as have been often observed, not only in the Atlantic but also in the Arctic Ocean, we never met with.[9] As regards temperature, the blue water certainly was the warmest; but even here sudden and considerable differences were almost imperceptible.

With our advance towards the north-west the warmth of the water gradually decreased. Exactly corresponding to the isotherm for May, which we found in 1868, we registered on the 6th of July at noon 42.12° Fahr., and the next day, at the same time, it was already two degrees lower. On the other hand we first found the temperature at zero, or below zero, in the neighbourhood of the ice, whilst in May, 1868, it was as low as that at 200 (nautical) miles distant from it. As regards the observations made on the true currents,[10] as well as on the aræometrical reading of the quantity of salt held in solution in them, it is not our province to enter upon their discussion here. Regarding the former, however, we soon had lively witnesses in the shape of drift-wood, small pieces of which passed us on the evening of the 6th of July; and two days later we saw a large knotted tree; but on the high sea it was impossible to make ourselves masters of it.

In order to gain more exact information regarding the surface-currents, it has long been the custom to throw out a corked bottle containing a piece of paper, on which is written the exact time and place of immersion. If a seaman sees this bottle in the water, he picks it up, noticing the time and place, and forwards the paper to the place mentioned. With this view we threw out bottles from time to time.

The soundings, from the period of our leaving the remarkable shallowness of the North Sea, showed a tolerably uniform descent in the bottom of the sea as far as the island of Jan Mayen, and farther on to the borders of the ice. From eighty fathoms it went on to 180 and 270 (2nd July), 406 fathoms (3rd July), 569 on the 4th, and 1066 fathoms on the 7th of July.

Whilst the Physicists were thus making a commencement of their labours, and the crew were pretty well occupied with soundings, the Zoologists found many opportunities for collecting and observing. From the bird world they were compelled now to descend to lower creatures; and if unfavourable circumstances did not allow them to use the drag-net to bring subjects from the depths of the sea, still much that was interesting was to be found on the surface. Dr. Pansch constructed a bag-shaped net out of some gauze, and through the circular opening passed two long, narrow boards, so that when put into the water, one half was under and one above; this net was fastened to the hind part of the ship on the leeside, and as we sailed slowly forwards, took in every creature lying on the surface. In this manner the calm nights of the 7th and 8th brought us a rich booty; there were the _Calanus hyperboræus_, small tender creatures with white transparent bodies, articulated red-tipped tails, and long, fine, beautiful red feelers, with which they jerked themselves forward. Next came a number of small yellow red-spotted crabs (_Themisto libellula_, Mandt) with great oval-shaped black eyes, which like the rest of its family, as we had already seen, lay upon their side and swam along the surface in search of food.

The low side and bulwarks of our vessel made it easy, if we saw a large creature of any kind, to catch it with a long pole-net. The brown-violet fibrous medusæ (_Cyanea capillata_, L.), which we had often seen in the North Sea, seemed entirely wanting here. Nevertheless, zoological work in the open air was now decidedly disagreeable. For if it was tolerably warm in the evening, towards morning, particularly when a damp fog and cold wind got up, and the warming influence of the evening meal had long since disappeared, it was painfully cold; but just the night-time was best for catching. And even with spirits and water we could only work when, sailor fashion, we constantly beat our arms across our breast. Still more difficult is it to skin birds, seek for entozoa and such like, work which cannot always be carried on in the cabin, but which makes little progress with cold, stiff fingers.

As already mentioned, we sighted the island of Jan Mayen on the 9th of July. The Hansa passed it at about one and a half German miles to the eastward. Had the weather been clear, we should long since have been able to see the highest point of the island, the Beerenberg. The atmosphere was, however, heavy and gloomy, and was as little inclined to grant the beautiful sight to us as it is to other sailors. Just at dawn we caught a glimpse of streaks of glaciers; the knowledge that land, and that of so interesting a nature, was so near, caused great excitement amongst the scientific part of the community; and it was no wonder that, after such long inaction and crossing of our wishes, the question of attempting a landing on Jan Mayen was more eagerly discussed than ever. But, even if, setting aside the strict letter of our instructions, we had consented to this interesting attempt, the ever-thickening fog and the windward sea-roll on the eastern side of the island would have rendered it impossible; and on the western side it would only have been possible with great loss of time. Meanwhile, we kept near to land, that we might at least have a view of its wonders as long as possible. At last, just before breakfast, our expectations seemed likely to be fulfilled; the fog lifted a little, and at some miles’ distance we saw a tolerable stretch of broken, rocky and rugged coast. It must have been the north-east side of the island, that is, the foot of the Beerenberg, dark rocks interspersed with long stripes of glacier ice reaching to the water. But the whole was indistinct and misty, so that the general appearance had somewhat of a weird look about it. All hurried on deck, trying to put the wondrous picture on paper; but there was scarcely time for that; the impervious veil of fog covered it once more, and that so thick that we had no hope of another glimpse.[11] Unsatisfied and disappointed, we eat our breakfast, picturing to ourselves how delightful a bright, sunny day must be on Jan Mayen. We read the accounts given by previous travellers, and found for our consolation that this island had almost always been seen under disadvantageous circumstances.

According to a Dutchman of that name who discovered it in the year 1611, the island of Jan Mayen lies lonely in the middle of the wide, deep sea between Norway and Greenland, Iceland and Spitzbergen; and is distant about sixty geographical miles from the coast of Greenland. It is nine miles in length and one in breadth, and so thoroughly mountainous, mostly with rugged rocks reaching down to the sea, that it has really only at two spots a flat beach and so-called landing-places. The north-east part rises to a height of 6863 feet, in the lofty Beerenberg, which has a large crater, and indeed the whole island is of volcanic origin. In the year 1732, Burgomaster Anderson, of Hamburg, reported a decided eruption from a small side crater, which had been observed by a seaman; and in the year 1818, Scoresby and another captain saw great pillars of smoke rising from the same place.

Surrounded by floating ice the whole winter through, and often for a longer period, Jan Mayen lies in the spring-time and early summer so near the edge of the ice-fields, that from 1612 to 1640 it afforded to the English and Dutch whale-fishers a comfortable and much sought after station for their booty and train-oil preparation. It is said that a single ship, in one year, then brought home from Jan Mayen 196,000 gallons of oil.

Wishing to make an attempt at colonizing, in 1633–34 seven Dutch sailors passed the winter here.

“The small community outlived the severity of the winter without much danger to their lives, until the scurvy broke out amongst them; and as they could not procure the necessary fresh nourishment, the sickness made rapid strides. The first died on the 16th of April; and all the others shared the same fate one month later. Their diary ended with the 30th. When, on the 4th of June, the Dutch fleet appeared off the island, they were all found dead in their huts.”[12]

Scoresby visited the island in August, 1817, and gave the first reliable account of it. The interest excited by this account led to two other visits. Lord Dufferin landed on the north side of Jan Mayen in 1856, but what with fog and floating ice, could only stay one hour. More good fortune and success attended that in 1861, undertaken by Dr. Berna, of Frankfort, and described by Karl Vogt as one of those interested in the “Arctic Expedition.” He succeeded in landing at two places, and the weather allowed of two days’ interesting investigation; then the fog returned, and they were obliged to set sail.

The same envious fog made our landing impossible in 1869, and the strong rising sea-breeze and the high sea rendered it unadvisable to go too near the land. We tacked, therefore, and sailed in an east-south-easterly direction from it, so as to go round the east side of the island, and at midnight resume our northerly course. The fog was continually getting thicker, so that our two ships could scarcely see each other; and in order to keep together at all were obliged to use the horn. A fine rain fell at the same time, and it was about 2½ degrees warmer, though, on the whole, most disagreeable weather. We could now thoroughly enjoy the Arctic fog “as pictured in books,” and we felt the perfect truth and the full meaning of the excellent descriptions given of it.

We thought of the “sea-lungs” of Pytheas, that impenetrable mixture encountered beyond Thule, which is neither land, nor sea, nor atmosphere; of that bit of Horace,--

“Quod latus mundi nebula malusque
Jupiter urget.”

We thought of the troublous gloominess with which the northern legends enveloped the unknown ice region; and indeed began to believe in the influence which a long sojourn in such a climate would have upon mind and body.

Indeed, there can be nothing more melancholy than this everlasting grey veil; even the sea, as far as one can see, is sad and grey. An auk or a diver, now and again flying before the ship, is the only thing presented to the wandering eye. Occasionally the gloom lightens so much, that one can just make out where the sun is; but it is seldom so far visible as to afford us an observation for latitude, or the sight of a fogbow: but every hope of a change which might rise at such a moment was at once destroyed by fresh mist rolling up thicker than ever. One glance over the different diaries at this particular time will best show the depressing influence of such continual foggy weather. As in the North Sea over the constant north wind, so here over the new enemy, the everlasting complaint was,--“Fog! thick fog!” And if it would stop at that! But now the small vesicles condense and fall first like fine spray, and then like a heavy shower, though without bringing any relief from the fog. The sails flap, the running-gear droops; and, added to this, is a fresh cold breeze, with the ship swinging to and fro. At such a time every one appears on deck in the excellent oilskin clothes, with high boots and serviceable sou’westers. With wide and cautious steps, we walk up and down on the ever wet and slippery deck, our eyes, as if open sea lay before us, constantly sweeping the horizon and turning doubly disappointed away. The sight of the swaying masts and the rustle of the untiring wavelets against the ship’s side, at length bring the comfortless impression of all surroundings to rest. The mind turns inwards upon itself; and amidst all the thoughts of the serious and yet eagerly looked-for future, the remembrance of the past and home stand vividly before us. We think of the last time we were on land, of that wonderfully beautiful and warm summer day at Eutin, with all the brightness of the rose-blossom and the song of the nightingale. We see ourselves once more united with our loved ones at home, and, flying from the heat of the day, wandering in the high arched forest, or in familiar conversation enjoying the peace and quiet of the garden. We see the stars twinkling in the heavens, and the dark red moon rise over the distant woods--when a heavy wave strikes us, sending the ship on to its side. We are pitched heavily against the boat, the cold water splashes in our faces, and rushes in a torrent over the deck and over our feet. The beautiful dream of the pleasant summer is over, and the cold reality of an Arctic, foggy day resumes its sway. With perhaps an unheard sigh, but in every case a smiling face, we shake off the water and continue our walk. We know that very soon we shall have much greater trials to bear.

Beyond the regular aræometrical readings of the water, and the constant zoological work, there was little to gain outside in the way of knowledge. We therefore tried to make it as comfortable as possible below, which was certainly not easy, for even here the wet penetrates and is brought down with boots and clothes; so that the air is often heavy and damp. With the near prospect of the all-absorbing work on the ice and also on land before us, we once more looked up all our things,--instruments, and so on,--and put them in order, filling up the rest of the time with reading, studying, and playing. We studied Scoresby’s works, read the Swedish Expedition, or Lindeman’s “Arctic Fisheries of the German Sea-port Towns,” or turned over the leaves of Kane’s and Parry’s standard works. When comfortably seated at the chess-board, or at a rubber of whist, or engaged in a sharp argument, we now began to feel quite at home. We were accustomed to the cabin, and had learnt to know each other better. We found that it was not so difficult to live in such a confined space in peace and quietness, if we only to some extent considered each other and learned to take quietly such disagreeables as would naturally turn up.

And they soon did turn up. Our store of water had already greatly decreased, and we were obliged to submit to great restrictions. We could only have one glassful daily to wash in, but as compensation we found on deck a fresh-drawn bucket of salt water. As it had become somewhat muddy in the tanks, our filter stood us in good stead. The rye-bread had already disappeared on the 8th of July, but we still had a store of potatoes.

Since the midnight of the 9th to the 10th of July, we had sailed with a fresh easterly breeze direct for the ice, and early in the morning had already lost sight of the Hansa; the fog-horn no longer found an echo. Presently with the wind from the distance there rolled the thunder of a cannon-shot; a second followed, and we joyfully returned the greeting of the sister-ship. At noon we fired again, and received no answer; we were for the time separated from the Hansa. The following five days brought no change in the weather; day after day passed with the interesting variations of--fog, thicker fog, thickest fog. The temperature was about 36° Fahr.; only once rose to 39½°, and fell to 33.80°. The only comfort was that no obstacle stopped our progress, as on the open sea the ship can find her way with the help of the compass in the darkest night as easily as in broad daylight. A collision was not to be feared here, so we had no feeling of insecurity, as one has in a thick fog near land.

The bird world did not change much; the stormy petrel, however, preponderated. On the other hand, we saw far more frequently a creature peculiar to the Arctic regions, the Greenland seal (_Phoca Grönlandica_, Müll.). They stretched their black, flat heads out of the water with great curiosity, but immediately disappeared, setting at defiance every attempt to reach them with the deadly shot.

The appearance of these seals reminded us that we were now in the neighbourhood of the seal-catchers, that is, in that part of the northern icy sea where, from the end of March to the end of April, the seals come in thousands to the smooth floating ice to cast their young ones. These “seal-coasts” change their position somewhat every year, and range between 68° and 74° N. Lat. and from 2° to 16° W. Long. It is a highly interesting sight to see the seals assembled from all quarters at this time. It is said that they not only come from the coasts of Spitzbergen and Greenland, but even swim in flocks from Nova Zembla. The whitish-coloured young stay on the ice the first few days, and are then killed with clubs by the parties of seal-hunters. The skin with its underlying fat is brought on board. The skin and fat of a young seal are worth from 7_s._ 6_d._ to 9_s._; besides which they catch many old seals. The number caught by a single Bremen ship now sometimes amounts to from 8 to 10,000 seals; and one may form some idea of the war of destruction waged against these harmless creatures by man, when we hear that of European ships in 1868, five German, five Danish, fifteen Norwegian, and twenty-two British, which were in company in West Greenland, obtained 237,000. On the “Jan Mayen ice” besides the Greenland seal there is another kind found, called the crested seal (_Cystophora cristata_, Nilss.), seldom the bearded seal (_Phoca barbata_, Müll.) only.

The expected meeting with the ice necessitated a peculiar provision on the ship, the “crow’s-nest,” so as to have a clear and commanding prospect over the labyrinth of flakes and floes, and to enable us to steer through all, and when possible find the best road, as the range of sight over the water from the deck was no longer sufficient. The commander, therefore, has to look for the highest possible steady stand-point, and this is easily found in the “top” of the masts, to which the shrouds give easy access. A long sojourn in this airy region is not very agreeable at any time; one must be careful to protect the body somewhat against the wind, and this object is attained by a suitably formed barrel. A good telescope is hung constantly up here, and a little straw is placed at the bottom. This necessary “crow’s-nest,” already well known from Scoresby’s and the late Swedish expeditions, was on the 12th, with much merriment and many good and bad jokes called forth by its peculiar appellation, hoisted up the mainmast, and fastened by the carpenter to the crosstrees, between the top and the top-shrouds.

The view attained by this means at a height of thirty-eight feet, gave us the survey over a circle the radius of which was seven and a quarter nautical miles.

About eleven at night in the thick fog an unusually white spot was seen, and this we discovered to be the first piece of ice. At the so long looked-for announcement of “Ice!” every one was on deck, and hurrying to the fore. Every eye rested with interest on the small rocking scrap which was at the most quite an isolated, far-washed piece. With intense attention and impatience, during the night and following day (the 13th), the sailors were to be seen on the watch, and from time to time the cap of one of the inmates of the cabin diving into the thick fog; but gaily as we advanced, no ice appeared!

On the 14th, there was a calm the whole day, so we went about in the boat fishing up the drift-wood, hunting the gulls and sketching them. Sometimes it brightened, and we could see a little farther; but still no trace of the Hansa. But we had another intimation of the nearness of the ice. We could see in the west or north-west over the horizon, a white or yellowish glistening, which must spring from the ice, and which is known as the “Ice-sky,” yet essentially differing from the “Ice-blink.” Besides this, we saw the ivory gull (_Larus eburneus_), a bird never found far from the ice.