Arctic exploration

Of all the men who have added to the world’s scientific knowledge of the Polar regions there is none who has made his name more famous than Adolph Erik Nordenskiöld. The data that he collected, and the discoveries that he made on his many voyages to the Arctic world have proved invaluable, and his explorations have not merely been rich in scientific and geographical results, but they have also benefited the mercantile world by opening up new fields for enterprise, and proving the practicability of routes which had always been regarded as absolutely hopeless.

Nordenskiöld was born at Helsingfors, the capital of Finland, on Nov. 18, 1832. His father was a well-known naturalist, and the head of the mining department of Finland, and it was to his early training that the son owed his first instruction in that particular branch of science of which he was destined to become one of the leading lights. Honours crowded thickly upon him, and he was already becoming one of the most noted mineralogists in Sweden when, at the age of twenty-six, he joined Professor Torrell’s expedition to Spitzbergen. Neither with this expedition nor with that of 1861, in which he served under the same leader, need we concern ourselves. In 1864, however, that is to say, in the year after Spitzbergen had been circumnavigated for the first time by the Norwegian Carlsen, the illness of Professor Chydenius, who was to have acted as leader of the Swedish expedition of that year, left the command of the expedition open. It was offered to Nordenskiöld, who, of course, accepted it. This party was sent out with a view not only to pursuing scientific researches in Spitzbergen, but also to exploring the unknown regions to the north of that island. The first part of his task Nordenskiöld fulfilled admirably, among other things rediscovering Wiche Land, which had not been sighted since Thomas Edge chanced upon it in 1617; he was only prevented from fulfilling the second by the fact that he fell in with seven boatloads of shipwrecked walrus hunters to whom, of course, he had to give succour. This placed so severe a strain upon his commissariat department that he was obliged to desist from his original intention.

To Nordenskiöld’s deep regret, the Swedish Government now came to the conclusion that it had done enough in the way of Arctic research for the present. The explorer, however, had acquired a taste for Arctic travel, and he was by no means inclined to give in without a murmur. Accordingly, he approached Count Ehrensvärd, the Governor of Gothenburg, upon the subject, and through his kind offices a fund was raised by such mercantile princes as Dickson, Ekman and Carnegie, with the result that, in 1868, he was able to depart upon an expedition during the course of which he succeeded in attaining to a higher point than ever explorer in the old world had reached in a ship.

On his return Oscar Dickson, who proved a veritable Maecenas to Nordenskiöld, asked him if he would not like to continue his researches in that direction, and it need hardly be said that his protégé jumped at the offer. The new expedition was to be on a far larger scale than any of its predecessors, for Nordenskiöld was to winter on the north coast of Spitzbergen and was to push on thence over the ice as far as the conditions permitted. One of the first questions to be considered was that of draught animals, and, with a view to deciding the rival merits of dogs and reindeer, Nordenskiöld repaired to Greenland to get up the case for the dogs, while Dickson conducted inquiries into the ways of the deer. It was during this visit to Greenland that Nordenskiöld made his first raid upon the inland ice, of which details are given elsewhere. The result of these inquiries was a verdict in favour of the deer, the reasons being that they were the more easily fed and that they could be killed and eaten if the expedition chanced to run short of provisions.

No pains were spared to make the equipment as complete as possible, and, accompanied by two provision ships, the Gladen and the Onkle Adam, the party sallied forth on their adventures with high hopes of accomplishing great things. The fates, however, were against them, and a heavy misfortune befell them soon after their arrival at their winter quarters in Mussel Bay. The original plan had been that the convoy ships should unload and should then return home, but, on September 16, a terrific storm arose, as a result of which the ships found themselves so firmly beset in the ice that there was no prospect of escape that year. Furthermore, the reindeer took advantage of the storm to effect their escape, and only one of them was ever found again. This was especially unfortunate, as Nordenskiöld had been depending upon them not merely for the prosecution of his plans, but also for that supply of fresh meat which would be so necessary if scurvy were to break out.

As there were now 67 mouths to feed instead of 24, the only course for the commander to pursue was to cut down the daily rations by one-third, and this he accordingly proceeded to do. The men took the misfortune in a spirit of praiseworthy resignation, but their fortitude was strongly tried a few days later when the news was sprung upon them that six walrus-vessels had been frozen in at Point Grey and Cape Welcome, that their crews numbered 58, and that, with care and economy, their provisions might be made to last till December 1, after which they would have to ask Nordenskiöld to help them. It need hardly be said that the explorer was not overjoyed at the prospect, more especially as with so many to feed and so little to eat it was morally certain that they would all starve to death before the end of the winter. Fortunately, however, he knew that a Swedish settlement at Cape Thörsden, some 200 miles away, had been abandoned that year, and that a good store of provisions had been left behind. He accordingly bargained with the hunters that some of their party should repair thither, and that he would support the rest to the best of his ability when their own stock of provisions had run out. With a view to economising his own so far as possible he tried the experiment of converting his now useless reindeer moss into bread. The recipe is not one to be commended to the notice of epicures in search of a novelty, but it was found to be just eatable. This precaution, however, fortunately proved unnecessary, for two of the walrus-ships were released in a gale, and the hunters made their escape. Those of them who went to Cape Thörsden showed such a complete disregard for the laws of hygiene that they all died during the winter.

As was only inevitable in the circumstances, outbreaks of scurvy were frequent, but they proved amenable to treatment. The huntsmen of the party were lucky enough to shoot seven reindeer, which formed a welcome addition to the poorly filled larder. “These,” says Leslie, “were reins in winter dress. The whole body was covered with a very close winter coat of hair several inches thick. The head, nearly indistinguishable from the neck, was short and thick, with broad nose and eyes visible on careful scrutiny. The trunk appeared shapeless, and the legs short and clumsy. This peculiarly shapeless appearance is owing not merely to the coat of long hair, but also to the thick layer of fat with which at this season the whole mass of muscle therein is surrounded. It is, indeed, surprising how this animal can collect such a mass of fat in Spitzbergen, where the vegetation is so scanty and the summer so short. In spring, even in the end of June, they are only, as people say, skin and bone; but in autumn, by the end of August, and throughout September, they resemble fat cattle, and have their flesh so surrounded and impregnated with fat that it is for many nearly uneatable.”

As soon as spring came round Nordenskiöld set out upon his northern journey. Any hopes that he might have entertained of being able to push far north were soon dashed to the ground, for at Seven Islands he found the ice so bad that it was useless for him to attempt to cross it. He decided, therefore, to proceed with what was really the more valuable work of examining North-East Land, with a view to determining its geological structure and to settling its eastern limit, which had always been a vexed question. Round the shore the ice was rough and hummocky, and going was slow in consequence. On June 1 the explorers were obliged to take to the inland ice, the sea front of which, it may be said, presents the largest known glacier. Here their way became perilous as well as merely difficult. “Scarcely had we advanced 2000 feet,” says Nordenskiöld, “before one of our men disappeared at a place where the ice was quite level, and so instantaneously that he could not even give a cry for help. When we, affrighted, looked into the hole made where he disappeared, we found him hanging on the drag-line, to which he was fastened with reindeer harness, over a deep abyss. He was hoisted out unhurt.” Accidents like these were of frequent occurrence, while the monotony of the journey was also varied by a long series of canals 30 to 100 feet wide, with vertical walls sometimes 40 feet high. These canals were often crossed by snow bridges which had a way of collapsing under the travellers’ feet, but none of the men came to any serious harm.

Nordenskiöld’s original plan of making for Cape Mohn was put out of the question by an impassable terrain, and he accordingly descended into Hinlopen Strait at Wahlenberg Bay and thence returned to his headquarters. There the party had the good fortune to be found by the English yachtsman, Leigh Smith, who relieved them of all fears for the future.

Valuable though Nordenskiöld’s earlier voyages were, it is, perhaps, as the discoverer of the North-East passage that his name will be best remembered. For centuries the idea of finding a way to China along the coast of Asia had been allowed to lapse, largely, of course, because other and easier routes were open to all those who cared to use them. In 1875, however, the subject was revived, and Oscar Dickson expressed himself willing to fit out an expedition which should be commanded by Nordenskiöld. It was thought advisable to send out a small preliminary expedition to spy out the way, and accordingly in the same year Nordenskiöld started off in the Proven, a small ship of 70 tons, and succeeded in reaching the mouth of the Yenesei, a feat never before accomplished. The value of his journey was, however, rather discounted in some quarters, and many authorities held that his success was largely due to the fact that the ice was unusually favourable in that year, and that he would be unable to repeat the performance in any ordinary season. With a view to silencing these critics, Nordenskiöld sailed from Tromsö in the Ymer on July 25, 1876, and anchored off the mouth of the Yenesei on August 15, thus proving the Arctic route to be perfectly practicable, and opening up a way which has since proved of some value.

These two successes made Nordenskiöld all the more determined to make the complete voyage from Tromsö to the Behring Strait; and so convincingly did he argue his case, that he succeeded in obtaining a grant from the Swedish Diet, which, with contributions from Oscar Dickson, King Oscar, and M. Sibiriakoff, enabled him to fit out the Vega, and to set sail in her from Tromsö on July 21, 1878, accompanied by the collier Express, the Frazier, with a cargo for the Yenesei, and the Lena, which was to make for Yakutsk.

The Kara Strait was perfectly free of ice, and here the Vega took the coal from the Express into her own bunkers. The dreaded Kara Sea was also safely negotiated, and on August 10 the two ships of which the expedition now consisted were lying off the mouth of the Yenesei. From this point onward Nordenskiöld was in a state of nervous tension, for he might at any moment be pulled up by the ice. Cape Chelyuskin, however, the most northerly point of Asia, was rounded successfully, the New Siberian Islands were passed, and on September 12 the Vega was nearing the promontory of Irkaipi, on the other side of which lay the Behring Strait, the Lena having left her at the river after which she was named.

Nordenskiöld was now within 120 miles of his destination, and his ambition to complete the passage in a single voyage seemed on the verge of fulfilment, when his ship was caught in the ice, and so firmly frozen in that all hopes of getting her free again that winter had to be abandoned. The Vega was lying off a Chukche village, and Nordenskiöld and his assistants at once set about gaining some knowledge of the manners and customs of the natives. One of them, he tells us, “carried a Greek cross on his neck. He appeared to have been baptised, but his Christianity did not amount to much. He crossed himself with much zeal to the sun in our presence. This was the only trace of religion or religious observance that we could discover.” During his intercourse with the natives, Norquist succeeded in learning about a thousand words of their languages, while other members of the party made many valuable ethnographical observations.

On July 18, 1879, the Vega was set free, and on the 20th she rounded the East Cape, thus being the first ship to accomplish the difficult passage in a single journey.