5. Encounters with polar bears afforded us much excitement. On the 6th of October our first bear was killed and divided among the dogs, for as yet we had not learnt to regard the flesh of these animals as the most precious part of our provisions. A fox also, the first seen during this expedition, showed himself during the previous night. He had evidently come from Novaya Zemlya, and his curiosity had led him close to the ship, from whence he was driven by the dogs. It now became indispensable for everyone who left the immediate neighbourhood of the ship to carry arms with him, and the neglect of this precaution had sometimes rather ludicrous, at other times somewhat serious, consequences. On the 11th of October I left the ship unarmed, and with no other companion than our Lapland dog, Pekel, to employ myself in the harmless occupation of piling up a tower of ice. Working as I was in a stooping position, I was unconscious of what was immediately around me, when on a sudden the loud barking of Pekel caused me to raise myself, and I saw a bear quite close before me. Shaking his head and making a snuffling noise, he came on towards me. In the expectation that some of the people engaged on deck would see my critical position, I contented myself with shaking my fist at him, unwilling to reveal any weakness to my enemy. As this, however, seemed to produce no effect, I cried out repeatedly, “A bear!” At last I saw Klotz, who was on deck, go to the stand of arms, but with such stoical composure, that I ceased to trust to others, and left to the bear, who had now advanced to a distance of about fifteen paces from me, the glory of forcing his enemy to take to flight.

6. In the first days of October the temperature rose considerably, the thermometer standing a little below zero (C.). This was due to south-west winds, and to the temporary extension of the “ice-holes” in our immediate neighbourhood. The days now became shorter, the sun surrounded with red masses of clouds set behind barriers of blackish-blue ice, and an ever-deepening twilight followed his disappearance. Sept. 29, a “snowfinch” flew from the coast of Novaya Zemlya to the ship, hopped about the deck for a little time, and after delighting us all by his little song, again left us. Some few sea-gulls still wended their flight to the spaces of water in our neighbourhood. Skimming over the top of the mast, they seemed to gaze down upon us, and then with a shrill cry darted away like arrows towards the south. There was something melancholy in this departure of the birds; it seemed as if all creatures were retiring from the long reign of night which was before us. In order to divert our attention from the dreadful monotony of our captivity by some occupation in the open air, we fell on the plan of building houses of ice round the ship. The activity of a building-yard reigned on our ice-floe; heavy ice-tables were broken or sawed through, the dogs in the sledges carried the fragments to their appointed places, and with these blocks we raised crystal walls and towers. Snow, mixed with sea-water, furnished an inexhaustible source of the most excellent mortar; and while we worked laboriously at these meaningless erections, we earned at least by our labour the reward of sleep free from care.

7. As we drifted helplessly northward, the coasts of Novaya Zemlya receded gradually from our gaze. Hitherto we had lain close to the land, which with its rounded mountains and valleys filled with glaciers seemed a miniature of Alpine scenery. Daily almost the gigantic luminous arcs of parhelia stood above it, the usual precursors of stormy weather or heavy falls of snow. Towards the north and north-east the country becomes flatter, and runs into glacier-wastes little raised above the level of the sea. The topography of the northern parts of Novaya Zemlya is complete confusion. The only survey which exists—that of Lütke—extends no further than Cape Nassau. The maps of the Barentz Isles are frequently in contradiction with fact, and their correction is extremely desirable. Though this land was of no value for our object, yet it was still land, and it seemed also to us, drifting as we did, the symbol of the stable and immovable. But now it was gradually disappearing from our eyes. During September we had moved slowly, but with October we drifted at a greater rate, so that by the 12th of this month we saw nothing but a line of heights some thirty miles off, towards the south. At last every trace of land disappeared from our gaze; a hopeless waste received us, in which no man could tell how long we should be, or how far we should penetrate.

CHAPTER IV.
THE “TEGETTHOFF” FAST BESET IN THE ICE.

1. Autumn was passing away, the days were getting shorter, and in our immediate neighbourhood no movement in the ice was perceptible, save that we had drifted continuously towards the north-east; sometimes, though rarely, a fissure in the ice grew to the proportions of an “ice-hole,” only, however, to be quickly frozen over and present a surface for our skates. There lay the frozen sea, the picture of dull, hopeless monotony; shelter there was none. Our floe, though it seemed to combine the conveniences of a winter harbour, could not stand the test of closer observation, the illusion of such a notion must be short-lived. But many signs now indicated the insecurity of our position. Fields of ice in our neighbourhood cracked and split asunder, and piled-up masses floated round us, silent preachers, as it were, of the destruction which ice-pressure could produce.

2. A change, however, was soon to come over the scene. On the evening of October 12 we imagined that the cabin lamp oscillated, and consequently that our floe was in motion. On the same night we were conscious of a violent movement in the ice. A dreadful day was the 13th of October,—a Sunday; it was decisive of the fate of the expedition. To the superstitious amongst us the number 13 was clothed with a profound significance: the committee of the expedition had been constituted on February 13; on the 13th of January the keel of the Tegetthoff had been laid down; on the 13th of April she was launched; on the 13th of June we left Bremerhaven; on the 13th of July, Tromsoe; after a voyage of 13 days we had arrived at the ice, and on the 13th of October the temperature marked 16 degrees below zero (C.). In the morning of that day, as we sat at breakfast, our floe burst across immediately under the ship. Rushing on deck we discovered that we were surrounded and squeezed by the ice; the after-part of the ship was already nipped and pressed, and the rudder, which was the first to encounter its assault, shook and groaned; but as its great weight did not admit of its being shipped, we were content to lash it firmly. We next sprang on the ice, the tossing tremulous motion of which literally filled the air with noises as of shrieks and howls, and we quickly got on board all the materials which were lying on the floe, and bound the fissures of the ice hastily together by ice-anchors and cables, filling them up with snow, in the hope that frost would complete our work, though we felt that a single heave might shatter our labours. But, just as in the risings of a people the wave of revolt spreads on every side, so now the ice uprose against us. Mountains threateningly reared themselves from out the level fields of ice, and the low groan which issued from its depths grew into a deep rumbling sound, and at last rose into a furious howl as of myriads of voices. Noise and confusion reigned supreme, and step by step destruction drew nigh in the crashing together of the fields of ice. Our floe was now crushed, and its blocks, piled up into mountains, drove hither and thither. Here, they towered fathoms high above the ship, and forced the protecting timbers of massive oak, as if in mockery of their purpose, against the hull of the vessel; there, masses of ice fell down as into an abyss under the ship, to be engulfed in the rushing waters, so that the quantity of ice beneath the ship was continually increased, and at last it began to raise her quite above the level of the sea. About 11.30 in the forenoon, according to our usual custom, a portion of the Bible was read on deck, and this day, quite accidentally, the portion read was the history of Joshua: but if in his day the sun stood still, it was more than the ice now showed any inclination to do.

3. The terrible commotion going on around us prevented us from seeing anything distinctly. The sky too was overcast, the sun’s place could only be conjectured. In all haste we began to make ready to abandon the ship, in case it should be crushed, a fate which seemed inevitable, if she were not sufficiently raised through the pressure of the ice. About 12.30 the pressure reached a frightful height, every part of the vessel strained and groaned; the crew, who had been sent down to dine, rushed on deck. The Tegetthoff had heeled over on her side, and huge piles of ice threatened to precipitate themselves upon her. But the pressure abated, and the ship righted herself; and about one o’clock, when the danger was in some degree over, the crew went below to dine. But again a strain was felt through the vessel, everything which hung freely began to oscillate violently, and all hastened on deck, some with the unfinished dinner in their hands, others stuffing it into their pockets. Calmly and silently, amid the loud sounds emitted by the ice in its violent movement, the officers assumed and carried out the special duty which had been assigned to each in the contemplated abandonment of the ship. Lieutenant Weyprecht got ready the boats, Brosch and Orel cleared out the supply of provision to be taken in them; Kepes, our doctor, had an eye to his drugs; the Tyrolese opened the magazine, and got out the rifles and ammunition—I myself attended to the sledges, the tents, and the sacks for sleeping in, and distributed to the crew their fur coats. We now stood ready to start, each with a bundle—whither, no one pretended to know! For not a fragment of the ice around us had remained whole; nowhere could the eye discover a still perfect and uninjured floe to serve as a place of refuge, as a vast floe had before been to the crew of the Hansa. Nay, not a block, not a table of ice was at rest, all shapes and sizes of it were in active motion, some rearing up, some turning and twisting, none on the level. A sledge would at once have been swallowed up, and in this very circumstance lay the horror of our situation. For, if the ship should sink, whither should we go, even with the smallest stock of provisions?—amid this confusion, how reach the land, thirty miles distant, without the most indispensable necessaries?

4. The dogs, too, demanded our attention. They had sprung on chests, and stared on the waves of ice as they rose and roared. Every trace of his fox-nature had disappeared from “Sumbu.” His look, at other times so full of cunning, had assumed an expression of timidity and humility, and, unbidden, he offered his paw to all passers by. The Lapland dog, little Pekel, sprang upon me, licked my hand, and looked out on the ice as if he meant to ask me what all this meant. The large Newfoundlands stood motionless, like scared chamois, on the piles of chests.

5. About 4 P.M. the pressure moderated; an hour afterwards there was a calm, and with more composure we could now survey our position. The carpenter shovelled away the snow from the deck in order to inspect the seams. They were still uninjured. The knees and cross-beams still held, and no very great quantity of water was found in the hold. This result we owed solely to the strength of our ship and to her fine lines, which enabled her to rise when nipped and pressed, while her interior, so well laden as to become a solid body, increased her powers of resistance. Everything was again restored to its place, so that it was possible to go up and down the cabin stairs without great difficulty, and in the evening the water in the hold, which had risen 13 inches, was pumped out to its normal depth of 6 inches. We went down into the cabin to rest, but though thankful and joyful for the issue, our minds were clouded with care and anxiety. Henceforth we regarded every noise with suspicious apprehensions, like a population which lives within an area of earthquakes. The long winter nights and their fearful cold were before us; we were drifting into unknown regions, utterly uncertain of the end. When night came, we fell asleep with our clothes on, though our sleep was disturbed every now and then by onsets of the ice, recurring less frequently and in diminished force; but daily—and for one hundred and thirty days—we went through the same experiences in greater or lesser measure, almost always in sunless darkness. It was, however, a fortunate circumstance for us that we encountered the first assaults of the ice at a time when we were still able to see; for instead of the calm preparations we were able to make, hurry and confusion would have been inevitable had these assaults surprised us amid the Polar darkness.

6. Early in the morning of Oct. 14 we all met at breakfast, but on every face there lay an expression of grave thoughtfulness, for each of us was contemplating the long perspective of those dreary nights, in which we should drift without a goal in the awful wastes of the Frozen Sea. The speedy restoration of our floe was now our most earnest desire. It was only severe frost and heavy falls of snow—as we vainly imagined—which could cement the chaos of broken fragments around us and form from them a new floe; for as yet we had not learnt by experience, that severe cold in itself, unaccompanied with wind, is sufficient to break up the fields of ice, from the contraction which it causes. We deluded ourselves with another consolation—we imagined that the ice-pressures would cease as soon as we passed the eastern extremity of Novaya Zemlya, and that in the Sea of Kara we should drift without encountering the pressures, due, as we conceived, to our nearness to land. But vain also was this hope, for we were drifting not into the Sea of Kara, but towards the north-east. We should have found, even in that sea, that pressures from the ice may occur within the Frozen Ocean, however, as well as at its coasts. The masses of ice which caused our disasters probably came from that sea.

7. The time subsequent to this crisis was full of painful and anxious moments, but a chronological description of the events of each day, involving a mere repetition of our sad impressions, would be wearisome to the reader. I will, therefore, transfer from my journal such portions of it as most forcibly express the thoughts that passed through the minds of the handful of men on board the Tegetthoff during those terrible days:—

“October 14.—About half-past eight o’clock in the evening a new fissure in the ice appeared astern of the ship; a strain was felt throughout her timbers; in a moment every one in his fur dress and with his bundle in his hand was on deck: so will it be, perhaps, throughout the winter—what a life!

“October 15.—All had slept in their clothes. Fresh pressures from the ice were felt about eight o’clock in the morning, not so powerful as on the 13th, but of such force that all sprang from their berths and within a minute again stood ready on the deck. Much ice had been forced under the after-part of the ship, which was raised up by the pressure. When all was calm every one set to work to make a bag to contain the gear he meant to take if the ship should be crushed. Mine contained the following articles: one pair of fur gloves, one pair of woollen gloves, a pair of snow spectacles, six pencils, a rubber, three note-books, the journal of my Greenland expedition, a book of drawings, ten ball-cartridges, two pairs of stockings, a knife, a case of needles and thread. On the 13th we had neglected to provide ourselves with maps of Novaya Zemlya; two of these I now included among my stock of necessaries. Six Lefaucheux rifles, four Werndl-rifles, two thousand cartridges, two large and two smaller sledges, a tent for ten, one for six men, two great sleeping sacks, each for eight, and a smaller one for six men, were placed in the boats. Although all these preparations would have been quite vain if the ship had sunk with the ice in motion to crush us, we must, for our mutual encouragement, keep up the appearance of believing in them. About six o’clock in the evening the full moon rose, like a copper coin fresh from the mint, above our horizon on the deep blue of the heavens. In the evening the ice was at rest, and for the first time for some days we ventured to undress on going to bed.

“October 16.—Slept without care or disturbance till two o’clock in the morning, when pressure from the ice again set in, and all rushed on deck. Some of the crew threw out on the ice the antlers of a reindeer of Novaya Zemlya,—for according to a superstition of the seamen the horns of a reindeer are the generators of mischief! The ice again calm, and I fell asleep from exhaustion; but about half-past five in the morning there was a new pressure of about twenty minutes’ duration, and almost as fearful as on the 13th of the month. The exceeding haste with which every one rushes up from below as soon as the ship begins to strain, shows the effect which the noise makes on us; it is impossible to become accustomed to it; every one runs on deck. Again the ice rests, but about half-past seven in the morning, another pressure, which almost tore away the beams protecting the hull and the davits to which they were fastened. The ship, however, rights herself. To-day the ice which overhung our bulwarks was dug away to prevent masses of it falling on the deck. In the evening, diminished pressure from the ice; at night, glorious moonlight scenery; nothing more peaceful, but nothing more illusive, than such a scene at such an hour.

“October 17.—All quiet during the night till Lusina came to announce, with a voice as from the grave, that the ship was making more water, sixteen inches in the forepart, eleven inches amidships. East wind, with heavy drifting snow-storms—during the day once only a strain of short duration was felt in the ship, as a new fissure opened in the piled-up ice on our starboard quarter.

“October 18.—Our anxieties somewhat abate and our watchful state of preparation to leave the ship relaxes, and most of us determine once more to undress for the night. After several weeks the sun, which had been obscured by the weather, becomes visible, rising 2° 25′ above the horizon; the temperature stands at -20° F., and our latitude is 77° 48′.

“October 19.—Straining in the ship; the sun rose about a quarter past eight, but was soon veiled in frosty vapours.

“October 20.—The hull of the ship is still without its necessary protection of ice and snow, while we are wrapt in furs and wear reindeer-shoes and felt-boots. In the evening a faint mock moon was visible.

“October 21.—At night we were alarmed by a loud sound, and in few minutes all were on deck with their fur clothes on—a fissure had opened on the starboard side of the ship, connecting itself with that which had been formed astern of the ship. In an hour this fissure had widened about four feet, and we worked for some hours by the light of lamps to fill it up with snow and pieces of ice. The low temperature (-21° F.) led us to expect that this chasm would be bridged over without further effort on our part. The moon stood surrounded by a vast halo in the heavens and illuminated the awful loneliness of our abode. Once more a calm! When any one comes down from the deck into the cabin, the eyes of all are involuntarily turned upon him to read in the expression of his face what is going on above, and each dreads to hear it said, that the ice is in motion. In the afternoon, when the fissure closed, we heard the old dull sound from the ice, and the ship strained violently, and all were on deck ready to leave. About nine o’clock in the evening the motion of the ice was again felt. Uncertain and full of fears as to what the night might bring forth, we go early to rest; no one knows how short that rest may be. Even Klotz lays aside his stoical calmness, and the philosophical dignity of his remarks departs when his comrades spring from their berths and rush on deck with their bundles. The frozen pumps are daily thawed by boiling water; to-day the shaft of one of them broke, through the excessive strain put upon it.

“October 22.—During the night, motion in the ice. At 9.30 A.M. the sun rose, and attains its meridian altitude at 1° 41′. In the evening the fissure in the ice again opens. Rents and small ‘ice-holes’ are all round us, and frosty vapour fills the air. To-day the skull of a bear was thrown out on the ice, the crew asserting that mischief comes from the possession of it!

“October 23.—During the night violent movement in the ice; the sound produced resembles the noise of a fleet of paddle-wheel steam-ships, steaming now with full, now with half power. The height of the sun to-day above the horizon was a little above one degree, its form was distorted by refraction into an egg-like shape, and its edges were in constant vibration.

“October 24.—The daylight is now so feeble that the lamps have to be lighted during the day, with the exception of two or three hours in the forenoon. Many of the crew are suffering from frost-bites on their hands, in consequence of their exposure in removing the unnecessary rigging, and in the preparations to facilitate the removal of our stock of provisions in the event of our being forced to abandon the vessel.

“October 25.—In the afternoon we made an attempt to drive the dog sledges, but the snow, in spite of the low temperature, lay in such masses between the small hummocks and on the few level places, that they sank deep into it. It is storms of wind only that harden the snow, and for some time we have had calms or light breezes. In the evening there was a movement in the ice astern of the ship, accompanied with the highest soprano tones. The noise the ice makes in its pressure very much resembles the piping and howling of a storm among rocky cliffs or through the rigging of a ship. About half-past ten at night, the oscillating movements of the ice, occurring at definite intervals, made it appear as if they arose from a swell of the ocean. The ship groans and creaks constantly; indeed, creaking and groaning are weak expressions for such a noise. Once more all are ready. We begin to fear that the ice will never rest.

“October 26.—Pressure throughout the whole night. Armed and provided with lanterns, we used the sledges to remove two boats, 150 logs of wood, fifty planks, and a supply of coals, to the port side of the vessel, and chose a stronger floe, on which to build a house of refuge. Tired and exhausted, we fell asleep, in spite of the straining and creaking of the vessel.

“October 27.—The sun at noon was scarcely visible above the horizon. At night of the same day a strong wind from the south-east opened a fissure on the starboard side of the vessel and about 150 paces from it, which grew into the dimensions of an ‘ice-hole.’

“October 28.—To-day the sun took leave of us. Only with its upper edge had it appeared above the horizon, and sent towards us its mild beams like the consoling glance of a departing friend. The coal-house is finished. But what reliance can be placed on such an abode in such a position? A storm may carry away the planks which form its roof; sparks from a fire may set fire to its walls and consume it; and at any moment, through a pressure opening up an abyss beneath, it may sink and be engulfed. Two o’clock in the afternoon, the groaning sound comes from the piles of ice around us; our floe appears to twist somewhat, and the pressure of the ice will probably soon begin.

“October 29.—During the night a noise in the ice, which, though it did not further disturb us, was yet witness enough that it is ever ready to disturb us. The sun no longer appears; only a rosy light at noon in the heavens.

“October 30.—At half-past three o’clock in the morning there was a dreadful straining and creaking in the ship: at once we sprang out of our berths, and stood on deck with our fur garments on, and with our bags as before. New fissures had appeared which rapidly enlarge themselves; the two boats and the coal-house are now surrounded by up-forced masses of ice and separated from us. Then a pause! There is however no real repose, and the least sound on deck, the falling of anything heavy—at other times quite unnoticed—alarms us into the expectation of new onsets. At noon, as we sate at dinner, there was renewed and excessive straining in the ship, and even in the cabin we heard such a rushing sound in the ice without, that it seemed as if the whole frozen sea would the next moment boil and rise in vapour. During all the afternoon the noise continues, and all the fissures send forth dense vapours, like hot springs. During the day no quiet for reading or working, and every night almost our sleep is disturbed by a horrible awaking within a great creaking, groaning coffin. Men can accustom themselves to almost anything; but to these daily recurring shocks, and the constantly renewed question as to the end and issue of it all, we cannot grow accustomed.”

8. There is however such an intolerable monotony in my diary, that, to spare my readers, I thus, in a few words, resuming its contents, describe our situation:—“One of us, to-day, remarked very truly, that he saw perfectly well how one might lose his reason with the continuance of these sudden and incessant assaults. It is not dangers that we fear, but worse far; we are kept in a constant state of readiness to meet destruction, and know not whether it will come to-day, or to-morrow, or in a year. Every night we are startled out of sleep, and, like hunted animals, up we spring to await amid an awful darkness the end of an enterprise from which all hope of success has departed. It becomes at last a mere mechanical process to seize our rifles and our bag of necessaries and rush on deck. In the daytime, leaning over the bulwarks of the ship, which trembles, yea, almost quivers the while, we look out on a continual work of destruction going on, and at night, as we listen to the loud and ever-increasing noises of the ice, we gather that the forces of our enemy are increasing.”

CHAPTER V.
OUR FIRST WINTER (1872) IN THE ICE.

1. In the beginning of November we were already environed by a deep twilight; but our dreary waste had become of magical beauty; the rigging, white with frost, stood out, spectre-like, against the grey-blue of the heavens; the ice, broken into a thousand forms and overspread with a covering of snow, had now assumed the cold pure aspect of alabaster shaded with the tender hues of arragonite. Southward at noon we saw veils of frosty vapour rise into the carmine-coloured sky out of the fissures and “ice-holes,” in which the water seemed to boil.

2. All our preparations for wintering had now been completed. Lieutenant Weyprecht struck the top-masts to diminish pressure from the wind; some sails were still kept set, in order that the ship, in the event of her being set free, might at once get under weigh. The fore-part of the ship only could be covered in as a tent, for the preparations to abandon her in case of need compelled us to leave her after-part uncovered. There, in perfect order, lay all the materials we meant to take with us, our provisions, ammunition, tents, sledges, &c. The ship was surrounded with a wall of snow and ice, which we constantly restored, whenever it was injured by pressure from without, and her deck was gradually overspread with a mantle of snow, which contributed, however, to maintain an equable warmth in the ship. Our distance from land rendered it impossible to cover the deck with a layer of sand, which would have prevented the melting of the snow from the warmth of the ship.

3. The temperature of November rose once only—about the middle of the month—considerably; but, except on that occasion, the thermometer stood with tolerable regularity below -13° F., and on the 20th of the month it reached its minimum at -33° F. Winds, from whatever quarter they might blow, constantly raised the temperature, because the colder air was thus modified by the warmer which lay above the open spaces of sea-water; calms were accompanied by a rapid intensification of cold. Wind, increased drifting, pressure, and the formation of fissures—all these are naturally connected. New openings were quickly covered with young ice, which presented a smooth surface when formed by less intense cold, but when the temperature fell lower its saline contents were exuded in a moist, tough layer, which lay on its surface about an inch thick. In this state of the ice, sledge-travelling was rendered more difficult, and even walking was far from easy; for it is only under a temperature ranging from -4° F. to -13° F. that this layer is frozen. The incessant rending of the ice-sheet, by exposing the warmer surface of the sea, tends to mitigate the cold, while, on the other hand, the freezing of these fissures augments the quantity of ice.

4. In the beginning of the month our nights were dark, and it was only occasionally that the light of the aurora and meteors visited us with their fleeting splendours. Although in clear weather day was still distinguishable from night, yet the darkness, even at noon, was so great, that mists could not be seen, but felt only, and it was no longer possible, without the light of a lantern, to make even the slightest sketch, or to take aim with the rifle. Hence, when we met with bears we could not be certain of our aim, if they were at any distance from us, and, on one occasion, Sumbu was mistaken for a fox, chased, and but for my coming up would have been shot.

5. The first days of November passed away without any new disturbance from the movement of the masses of ice, and our feeling of security grew apace, and with it our hopes revived, never again to leave us entirely, not even when the pressures returned, as they did too soon. Once more the fields of ice, firmly pressed together, were rent asunder; fissures opened out, and shone in the moonlight like rivers of silver. The night of Nov. 20 was one of extreme anxiety. A mountain formed of piles of broken ice bore down on us amid a fearful din, threatening to bury the ship. Silent, and conscious of our utter helplessness, we watched this gigantic heap of crashing ice-tables drifting nearer and nearer, crushing as it advanced the heaviest pieces of ice with a noise which echoed through our ship. Escape seemed impossible: and Providence alone arrested its career. This night the crew received each an extra glass of grog to obliterate the impression of this terrible crisis.

6. With the exception of books, we had no other amusement than short expeditions, never extending beyond a mile from the ship, in which we were accompanied by all the dogs. We generally set out with two small sledges, and, when the moon was not shining, with our rifles ready to fire, for the darkness and the utter absence of open spaces on the ice imposed the utmost caution against bears. At a very short distance we could see nothing of the ship, and only by our footsteps on the snow could we make out where we were and find the way back. In these expeditions we were exposed to another danger—the risk of being cut off from the ship by the breaking-up of one of the drifting floes. Even the dogs felt the insecurity of recently-formed ice, and put their feet on it with fear and hesitation, and only by compulsion. There seemed to be a cunning agreement among them to shirk the work altogether; for they often rushed away into the coal-house, and threw the harness of the sledges into inextricable confusion.

7. December came, but it brought no change in our situation. Our life became more and more monotonous; one day differed in no respect from another, it was but a mere succession of dates, and time was reckoned merely by the hours for eating and sleeping. The ice, however, did not share in the universal repose. It was never weary of threatening; no day elapsed without movement on its part. My journal records December 1, 8, 9, 19, 20, 21, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, and 31, as days of special disturbance and agitation. On the 20th, as we were talking in the coal-house of the approaching festival of Christmas, a sudden violent movement of the ice surprised us, and rushing out we found that the floe on which the house stood was breaking up. With all haste we endeavoured to save as much as possible of the coal and materials, and moved them close to the ship. The minimum temperature of December was -26° F.; the mean of the whole month amounted to -22° F.; and the extreme of cold, -33° F., was reached on the 26th. A few days before Christmas the temperature rose to a little below -13° F. It may be observed that the lower temperatures were registered during the prevalence of winds from the south-east, and the higher during winds from the north.

8. When the moon returned in the middle of December, our sledge expeditions were extended to a distance of 1½ miles from the ship, over snow and hummocks, to recently frozen ice-holes, the lonely beauty of which, edged with dark masses of ice, in the distance, and lying under the clear silver light of the moon, filled us with feelings of profound melancholy. On returning from one of these expeditions to our vessel, after we had unharnessed the dogs, we heard loud barks from Sumbu, and looking round saw a bear close beside him, which Orel managed to shoot dead when he was not above five paces from the rope-ladder on the port side of the vessel. He was at once cut up, the dogs meanwhile looking on with profound attention; and in reward for his watchfulness, Sumbu was indulged with an extra good feast—the heart and tongue of the bear, which, as yet, we ourselves had not learnt to eat and enjoy. On the 18th, however, he encountered our heavy displeasure for the offence of frightening off a fox, which had ventured to come very near the vessel.

9. When there was no moon it was perfectly dark, even during the day; but on December 14, in a very clear forenoon, we saw in the south a tender orange segment of light, three or four degrees above the horizon, edged with green, sharply defined against the dark sky, and when the moon, high in the heavens, faced this arch of light, a peculiar faint twilight was observable. But generally there was no difference between the light of midday and the light of midnight. The heavens were usually overcast, and the light of the aurora, during the few minutes of its greatest intensity, seldom exceeded that of the moon in its first quarter. But how deep would be the night of the Polar regions, if the land, instead of being white with snow, were covered with forests! On December 20 we were unable, even at noon, to read anything but the titles of books of the largest type; a man’s eyes were invisible at the distance of a few paces, and at fifty even the stoutest ropes of the ship were scarcely discernible. The effect of the long Polar night—when the range of the light of a lamp is the whole world for man—is most oppressive to the feelings; nor can habit ever reconcile those who have lived under the influences of civilization to its gloom and solitude. It can be a home only to men who spend their existence in eating and drinking and sleeping, without any disturbing recollection of a better existence. The depression was made more intense by the consciousness that we had been driven into an utterly unknown region and with our eyes bound. Work, incessant work, was the only resource in these circumstances.

10. Again from my journal I reproduce some passages which express the feelings which passed through our minds—through mine at least—during this season of the Tegetthoff’s first winter in the ice:—“December 21—The middle of the long night. It is noon, and, though nothing can be lighter than the colour of all that surrounds us—of the snow—yet it is as dark as midnight. Nothing but a pale yellow sheen hovers over the south. The sun has sunk below the horizon 11° 40′, and we should have to ascend a mountain eighteen and a half (German) miles high in order to behold it. Nothing is to be seen, neither bears nor men, and we only hear the steps of those who are near us. We see but the confused outline even of the ship, as she drifts hither and thither with the floe, a prisoner in the fetters of the ice, the sport of winds and currents, carrying her further and further into the still and silent realm of death. A definite object, with hope to inspire them, raises men above toils and troubles of every kind; but exile like ours, when the sacrifice seems useless, is hard to be borne. An inexorable ‘No’ lays its ban on every hope, and daily struggle for self-preservation is our lot. If we attempt to fathom destiny, our utmost hopes are liberation from our icy captivity some time next summer, and the reaching the coast of Siberia. Siberia a hope! And yet how changeable are the feelings when the reign of monotony is interrupted! The moon is up—darkness exists no more. In the North the moon is an event—it is life, everything almost; it is the only link which connects us with the far-distant home. As its beams fall on the meanest forms, diamonds blaze forth in its light from the snow and the frost, and the soul feels the beauty of the transformation. She looks down on us like a returning friend that watches over us, and unfolds bewitching forms and magic images to cheer us. Two weeks ago she rose above the horizon, first as a blood-red disk, then paled as she climbed higher and higher, till she stands out the clear, silver-bright, full moon.”

11. Christmas had come; the season when in the forests of our far-distant home the branches of the pine-trees are heavy laden with snow, and which ever comes back with the memories of the days of our youth, and with the remembrances of our families and absent friends. Only for a short time, about noon, we were made uneasy by a movement and pressure of the ice. But the alarm passed away, and we gathered together for a choice and gorgeous feast, both on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and each of the cabin-mess had a bottle of good wine to himself. Carlsen and Lusina were our guests. Each of the crew received half a bottle of wine, together with a quarter of a bottle of “artificial wine,”[17] and in addition an allowance of grog, so weak, however, that even a baby might have drunk it without harm. Dried fish, roast bear well kept and seasoned, nuts and the like, contributed in their way to heighten the joyous feelings which, this day at least, animate even the most miserable of men. The dogs, at other times so insatiable, had for once enough and to spare, and carried off the fragments to bury them in the snow. The contents of a chest full of presents, which we had brought with us, were distributed by lot, and great was the delight of those who won a bottle of rum or a few cigars.

12. The last day of the year 1872 afforded us no very happy thoughts as we looked back on its events; it had been to us a year of disappointments. The comparison drawn between our actual condition and the expectations we had so ardently cherished seemed full of the bitterest irony. This day also, about noon, a pressure from the ice, which lasted but a short time, alarmed us all, and we rushed on deck to make our usual preparations. The enemy, however, passed away without further disturbance, and cheerfully and socially we awaited the first hour of the new year. With a bottle of champagne, one of the two still left, we meant to greet its coming in with that hopefulness of mind which seems inextinguishable in all the changes and chances of life. But the champagne, alas! proved a delusion. Klotz, the Tyrolese, in one of his brown studies exposed this precious bottle for four hours to a temperature of -19° F., and when he produced it the bottle had burst and the wine was thoroughly frozen. At midnight the crew serenaded us, and we afterwards marched forth in a body with torches, and walked round the ship, whose rigging glowed in the light of the tarred torches. The frosted fur garments of the men seemed edged with shining light, and a red glare fell on the masses of ice.

13. To-day, too, we allowed the dogs to descend into our cabin,—the constant object of their longings. The poor animals were so dazzled by looking at our lamp, that they almost took it for the sun itself; but by and by their attention was directed exclusively to the rich remains of our dinner, the sight of which appeared completely to satisfy their notions of the wonders of the cabin. After behaving themselves with great propriety, they again quietly withdrew, all except Jubinal, who appeared to be indignant at the deceitfulness of our conduct, inasmuch as we had allowed him to starve so long on dried horse-flesh and on crushed bear’s head, while we revelled in luxury. He accordingly made his way into Lieutenant Brosch’s cabin, where, discovering a mountain of macaroni, he immediately attacked it, and warned us off from every attempt to rescue it, by growling fiercely till he had finished it all. Sumbu, however, with much levity, suffered himself to be made drunk by the sailors with rum, and everything which he had scraped together for weeks and buried in the snow and so carefully watched, was stolen from him by the other dogs in one night.

14. Another year had now glided away. Looking anxiously into the future, we shortsighted mortals saw the fulfilment of our highest wishes in being liberated from the floe. In the pious manner of the whalers of the Arctic Ocean, Carlsen wrote this day in the log: “Önsker at Gud maa vere med os i det nye aar, da kan intet vare imod os—May God be with us in the new year and nothing can be against us.” In this new year, with its happier issues, was verified again the eternal truth, that Providence acts in ways not to be fathomed, and that it is folly in man to mark out his own path beforehand according to his own mind. The sun of this new year, whose beams were to light us to new lands and discoveries, was still low beneath the horizon.

CHAPTER VI.
LIFE ON BOARD THE “TEGETTHOFF.”

1. Like a spectre in white, the ship stretches out her arms, as if in silent complaint, towards the heaven, and rests, in cruel mockery of her destiny, on a mountain, not of water, but of ice, and seems like a building ready to fall in. A wall of snow and ice surrounds her hull, snow lies thick on her deck, and her rigging is stiffened in icy lines. Could we see through her sides, we should then behold four-and-twenty men parted off in two spaces under the suns of two lamps. Let us inspect them, and first the cabin of the officers in the after-part of the ship.

2. Neither few nor slight were our struggles to remedy the various inconveniences which we encountered; their enumeration here is meant to aid the experience of future adventurers. Though our arrangements were far from complete or perfect, we had never to complain of the discomforts which previous expeditions, even the second German expedition to Greenland, had to endure from the excessive condensation of moisture. Against this enemy we protected ourselves by the snow wall which we raised round the ship, by covering in the deck windows of the cabin, by lining our quarters with vulcanized india-rubber, by sheds built over the cabin stairs, all acting as condensers. Before, however, I enter on the unavoidable inconveniences to which we were exposed by the formation of ice, or by damp and the sudden change of temperature, I would preface my remarks by observing, that all these discomforts and inconveniences are to be endured far more easily than would seem possible to the reader, and that life on board a ship of a North Pole expedition, under normal circumstances, is free from annoyances worthy of mention.