Chapter I

CONTINUATION OF THE VOYAGE OF THE GERMANIA, AFTER HER SEPARATION
FROM THE HANSA. LANDING OF THE GERMANIA ON EAST GREENLAND. FROM
21ST JULY TO 5TH AUGUST, 1869.

Meeting with the whaler Bienenkorb.--Visit on board.--Small
prospect of reaching the coast.--Advantage of steam in
ice-voyages.--Animal life.--Wonderful effect of the Arctic
climate on health.--Ice scenery.--Among the ice-packs.--First
sight of land.--The Bienenkorb and Hudson in sight.--Visit from
the former.--A mirage.--Nearing the coast.--Pendulum Island in
sight.--Open water westwards.

Thus on the 20th July, an event took place, as unlooked for as it was fatal in its consequences for the success of our undertaking, without raising gloomy forebodings in any of us. To be separated for a short time from our sister ship under existing circumstances caused no uneasiness; at noon, therefore, on the day that the Hansa disappeared in the fog we set all sail, but at two o’clock we struck upon the ice and were obliged to turn. We afterwards found that this was a tongue of ice which the Hansa had passed to windward of, to enable her to advance further westward. On account of the thick fog we laid our topsail aback. At five o’clock the atmosphere cleared a little, but though we watched eagerly, the Hansa was no longer to be seen; to the south-west we saw a whaler in the drift-ice. We had already seen this ship in the morning, and, as it was our last chance of sending news home, had hastened to finish our letters. It was a curious sight; everywhere and in every possible position we were busy writing; the ship might have been taken for an academy of science in which all were working out a difficult problem. As we approached we saw that it was a steamer, and from its red and white flag, must be the Bienenkorb, Captain Hagen, belonging to Mr. Rosenthal of Bremerhaven. Dr. Dorst of Jülich was on this vessel taking meteorological, astronomical and magnetic observations. We crossed to her, taking with us a whole packet of letters. It was indeed a pleasure to us to be once more amongst other men, and doubtless those of the Bienenkorb thought the same. This ship was five times as big as the Germania, a somewhat old-fashioned craft, full rigged, and had only had machinery within the last few years. On deck in a large cage was a bear and her two cubs; fortunately for them, on board a whaler they were not likely to want for food.

One would think that a creature so powerful and active could never be taken alive, but on its hunting expeditions among the drift-ice it frequently trusts itself to the water, and here in spite of its endurance, man is more active and clever, and with a well managed boat, a lucky cast of the noose generally falls on the neck of the swimming bear, when half dragged and half swimming he is hoisted on deck like any other animal, the noose round its neck, being a guarantee for its peaceful behaviour. On their return they are generally sold to some menagerie or Zoological Garden, the price of a full-grown animal being 100 or 150 thalers; sometimes they are killed and skinned, the skin being salted, and afterwards sold for 15 or 20 thalers. Looking beyond the ship we saw the tail fins of some narwhals (_Monodon monoceros_, L.). These creatures are common here, but are seldom harpooned as they are uncommonly quick in their movements. We then went down into the cabin to enjoy the usual bottle of sherry. Captain Hagen’s report of the condition of the ice was most unfavourable. Since the beginning of June easterly winds had prevailed, on account of which the ice was now dense and closely packed for some miles. These observations were afterwards confirmed by the Hansa, which about this time was blockaded by the ice. We also learnt that there were several ships further south, amongst which we hoped to meet with Captain Gray, commander of the Eclipse from Peterhead (Scotland). Dr. Dorst showed us some interesting drawings of the narwhal and several views of Jan Mayen, which island the Bienenkorb was fortunate enough to see in a clear atmosphere. We returned to the Germania about midnight. Meanwhile the wind had freshened, but there was a thick fog; so we had to remain under sail amongst the block. The following day at noon (21st) the weather brightened, and we saw that we were more or less surrounded with drift-ice; and with a light south-west breeze it was useless to attempt any advance westward. We therefore lay-to, and as there was a large floe close to us, with several pools of water upon it, we landed in order to renew our store of fresh water, which was nearly exhausted. This was the first time during the voyage that we had set foot on the ice, and the opportunity of closely observing it was not lost. Besides this, the deep blue light proceeding from the cavity of an ice block was subjected to an analysis by the spectroscope.

When our scientific observations were over we joined the row of water-bearers, forming two lines along which the full and empty buckets were merrily passed, but it was midnight before our task was done and we retired to rest.

At two a.m. we made an attempt to advance, but the fog was still too thick.

In the night a seal was killed: it was a small young thing and was brought on deck alive, when it looked boldly around and seemed ready to fall upon its enemies. Soon afterwards we obtained a good specimen of the large petrel (_Uria brunnichii_). Until the 23rd the weather remained foggy: we kept tacking in the loose drift-ice and along the edge of the heavy ice which seemed everywhere closed. To the north of 74° we found it so solid and huge that the captain determined, if he could find an opening, to go south of 74°, instead of beyond it.

The 24th July was very cold, and we had a fire in the cabin. Towards evening we again saw the Bienenkorb to the north of us, and in 73° 40′ lat. we thought that our efforts might be successful; accordingly on Sunday the 25th July at nine a.m. steam was got up and we forced our way westward through the ice; at first it was pretty thick, so that, occasionally, we could only make a way through the floes by boring with high steam pressure and full sail. At noon, after making sixteen miles in a westerly direction, we reached open water; but after a few miles the ice closed again. We then went more southward and, later on, somewhat eastward, still steaming along the dense pack-ice; the weather was gloomy and rainy, and at eight p.m. it was so foggy that we had to lay by a large floe, that we might not run into a “cul-de-sac,” and be blocked up by the ice.

The great advantage we possessed in our steam can scarcely be overrated, for during the foggy weather we could with our heated machinery remain quiet on one spot. If the ice closed upon us, we could steam to another suitable spot, and in clear weather could in a few hours inspect several miles of the icy edge for an opening. Besides the determination of the ship’s position, and the usual meteorological observations, soundings were made when possible, magnetic observations taken, photographing, fishing, and so on.

Of the lower class of animals there was little that was new, and we tried in vain for the _Clio borealis_, the chief food of the whale: seals we saw frequently.

The bird world remained the same, but was poorly represented. Solitary mallemuckes were seldom wanting, besides which were snow buntings (_Larus eburneus_) and robber gulls (_Lestris_), and between the floes swam small groups of divers and black guillemots (_Uria grylle_).

In the neighbourhood of much ice we found that the temperature sank considerably, from 31.52° Fahr. to 30.20° Fahr., but the most striking fact was the small difference between the heat of the day and night. This was at the most only one degree, and frequently less than that. Such an unusual state of things must have some effect on the human frame. Such an equal climate is not possible in the temperate and torrid zones, and only in the Arctic latitudes among the ice; of course this must be as beneficial to the skin as to the respiratory organs. Indeed we were all in the best of health, and this was astonishing, considering the low temperature, fog, and other damp we had to encounter: not one of us suffering from catarrh. But we must not lose sight of the fact that our acclimatization was gradual, we were not suddenly set down in the ice, but approached it gradually.

On the 27th of July, at noon, according to astronomical calculations, we were in 73° 7′ N. Lat., and 16° 4′ W. Long. from Greenwich. The weather was fine, with a light south wind; we steamed some nautical miles westward, and again came upon densely packed ice, without a sign of water anywhere; and the channel by which we had just come began to close, so that we were obliged to steam back to prevent ourselves from being blocked. At eleven p.m. the atmosphere cleared entirely, and we had the first sight of the midnight sun. Of open water we could see but little, though to the north it seemed pretty free.

_Page 270._

IN THE PACK.]

The floe by which we lay was, like many more around us, very large and wild and jagged in appearance, resembling a miniature mountain range. In some places the surface was slightly arched, falling gently to the water; yonder were steep ridges, broken by a ravine, through which ran a small brook. On one spot lay blocks of different sizes thrown one upon another; and at another spot the ice rose like steep rocky masses, or solitary columns, points, and peaks, to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. Forcing our way through this labyrinth, we were astonished at the sight of a fine broad sea of clear, light green water. The snow, changed into ice, covered these floes so thickly that we often sank as if in soft snow-drifts to the depth of from two to four feet.

We were particularly interested in watching the small creatures in the sea, which we did by lying flat upon the ice and looking over the edge of the floe: the stickleback (_Calanus hyperboreus_, K.) were turning summersaults up to the surface, their red feelers coming into strong relief against the blue background; then came a yellow spot, gradually increasing until we recognized a small crawfish (_Lysianassa_) hurriedly wending its way to the surface, and then laying itself in a niche, or on a tongue of ice to rest, nothing but the constant motion of its webbed feet showing that the creature lived. Now and again in the depths, a fine Beroë might be seen moving slowly on its way.

It was a fine, still midnight, too wonderfully solemn and grand to be easily forgotten. The fog had almost entirely disappeared, and lay to the east, like a bank over the water. The sea was perfectly calm, so that the ice was clearly reflected, and where the water was visible it had taken different colours; under the clouds it lay dark, and from blackish brown to yellowish; and where the atmosphere was clear it glistened a transparent green. Even to the brush of an experienced artist, it would be no light task to render the different colours and lights truly; this soft red of the sun upon the ice; on the shady side of the blocks, the softest blue and violet; and between, the deepest, coldest shadow. Effects such as these can only be produced in all their beauty by the midnight sun in a region of ice; indeed, to fully appreciate the peculiar beauty of such a scene, one must see it with one’s own eyes.

All had long since been hushed on board, but we felt no fatigue. This wonderful repose of nature, without either motion or life, overcomes one with a feeling of boundless desolation and solitude. Now and again the stillness is broken by a thundering and cracking, softened by the distance, and suddenly a rushing of water is heard, accompanied by a groaning and blowing; it is a herd of narwhals coming to the surface for breath. But the hours of night are fast running out, and with one more look we descend to our cabin.

About four a.m., as we were about to start again, a dense fog rolled up; some hours later, however, it dispersed, and we steamed in a northerly direction, as from that quarter we should most probably sooner see open water. At half-past eight the fog cleared completely, and we forced our way through a chain of connected floes, when in a north-westerly direction we found comparatively open water; and after making about sixteen nautical miles, at one a.m. on the 29th saw land distinctly. From our position, this must have been Cape Broer Ruys. By four a.m., we had advanced so far, that only to the east did there seem to be any loose ice; we therefore stopped at a brash to fill our boiler with fresh water, and wait for a change. The only living thing we were likely to see here was a bear; but although our hunters looked eagerly around, his shining yellow coat was nowhere to be seen.

As the atmosphere was so clear in the morning, we made some observations on the degrees of the sun’s heat. A blackened-bulb thermometer rose to nearly 99.50° Fahr. A common instrument, just above the snow, showed 50° Fahr.

On the 29th of July, our observations at noon gave our position as 73° 2′ N. Lat., and 16° 19′ W. Long., which compared with the log reckoning, showed us to have made twenty-seven nautical miles more southwards in two days’ work. This we partly attributed to the north wind, which had caused a rapid drift of ice.

The attempts of the last few days showed that in this latitude it was impossible to get through; so, after being driven back to 73°, the captain determined to keep clear of the ice and to try again in 74°, as he thought that the north wind might have made an opening. Accordingly we steamed eastward, partly through thick drifting ice. Here we saw two ships, which turned out to be the Bienenkorb and the Hudson; we advanced to meet the former, and Captain Hagen and Dr. Dorst came on board. The captain was disheartened at not having caught a single whale; he considered it impossible to reach the coast this year, and determined to begin his homeward journey in a few days. Of the Hansa, during the last nine days, he had seen nothing. At ten p.m. on the 29th of July, we took leave of the Bienenkorb, and steered in a northerly direction to try and reach the coast in 74° N. Lat.

The weather was clear and still, and we had a good opportunity of observing the refraction of light and the mirage. The whole atmosphere was quivering with a kind of wavy motion, so that the exact outline of the object was often so distorted as to be unrecognizable. It may be imagined that pictures of things far beyond our range of sight could thus be seen. Scoresby relates, and it was afterwards proved true, that he once saw and recognized his father’s ship, perfectly, in the mirage when it was thirty miles distant.

The effects of this phenomenon on the distant ice was wonderful; sometimes it appeared like a mighty wall, and sometimes like a town rich in towers and castles.

On the 30th of July the weather was fine, and the wind, to our joy, westerly; the ice was, however, so impassable that we had to steam still further north, as the captain found that within the last eight days the ice barrier had shifted some degrees to the east, and he had hopes of finding a large opening in the pack-ice.

On the 31st of July, at four p.m., we were in 73° 59′ N. Lat., and 13° 3′ W. Long., when we saw a great deal of loose ice, and forcing our way through, steered in a westerly direction. Towards evening the wind died away, and we got up steam, the floes lying loosely scattered around us. Here, as on other occasions, steam stood us in good stead, and we threaded our way easily amongst them.

By ten a.m., on the 1st of August, we had steamed without interruption thirty-six miles, and were of course so much nearer the coast; here a dense barrier prevented our farther advance. Land was in sight (Pendulum Island), which by a strong refraction seemed much raised and transfigured. The same refraction also showed us what appeared to be open water westwards. Mr. Sengstacke was of opinion that it was only a few nautical miles distant, but he soon saw his mistake. That there was open water under the land, there was scarcely a doubt; but it was separated from us by an icy barrier, several German miles broad. Under these circumstances, the captain thought it better to keep our post and wait for a change in the position of the ice.[41]

Ross himself lays great stress upon the fact that, in the ice, a little judgment and a little patience go farther than advancing headlong, and often save much danger. Here we increased our zoological collection by a fine reddish Clio; the dredging net was also let down at 224 fathoms, but brought up nothing but stones.

Universal interest was raised by the mallemuckes (_Mergulus alle_), which for some days had followed us in flocks. Voraciousness is the chief characteristic of these birds; and if a large solid piece of bacon is thrown into the water, which they cannot swallow at a gulp, a dreadful battle ensues; sometimes two or three begin upon it at different ends, working both with beak and claw. We often fastened a piece of bacon to a string or hook, and easily caught one and brought it on deck. The bird is not ugly; its colour is variable; the young ones are greyish, whilst the old ones are, with the exception of the wings, almost always white; its head is the most peculiar looking part of it, being highly arched; its strong bluish beak is high and bent like a hook.

On the night of the 2nd of August a thick fog came on, lasting the whole day, and to prevent our impatience from gaining the mastery we all had recourse to the ropes.

On the 3rd it was clear; the ice had indeed changed its position: we were more surrounded than ever by floes, and to the east still less water could be seen. We, however, broke through the ice, and steamed in a north-westerly direction. The floes became larger and larger; and at last the endless brashes and boundless ice-fields came in sight. At ten p.m. we anchored by a large field, on account of the fog; we sounded 155 fathoms, nothing but mud. We were in 74° 18′ N. Lat. and 16° 6′ W. Long.

On the 4th, at a quarter-past eight a.m., we started westward once more; the air was thick with snow; to the west we saw a dark water sky, and steered between the brashes and fields in that direction. At nine we came into a large piece of open water, with a few floes drifting. At noon we anchored, principally on account of the boiler, which had to be cleared from the salt. We were in 74° 19′ N. Lat. and 16° 59′ W. Long., not more than thirty-one nautical miles from Sabine Island.

On these fields we first saw the bears; there were two watching our ship with great curiosity. Our first shot missed, and they hurriedly took to flight.

At ten p.m. fog gradually came on, and we were not more than five German miles from the coast; but at half-past ten it cleared again, and the whole group of islands lay clear and distinct before us. The water was open, and we made straight for Griper Roads.

We were all greatly excited, and, in spite of the severe cold, remained nearly the whole night on deck. In the early morning we had a fall of snow, giving the ship a thick white covering. A few miles from land a large brash lay direct in our course; this we sailed round, and at last anchored in a small bay, which was afterwards our winter harbour.

On the 5th of August we dropped anchor on Greenland soil, and a loud “hurrah!” arose as we planted our flag, which also waved proudly from the mainmast.

In the day-book we find that at the beginning of our voyage strong north-westerly winds prevailed, which of course delayed us. We all noticed the increase of temperature, both in the atmosphere and the water, from the coast of Norway until the latitude of the Shetland Islands, and then a decrease in both after crossing the Arctic circle. The influence of the warm gulf-stream was unmistakable, and was observed by both ships.

During the first part of the month of July easterly winds prevailed, driving the ice up to the borders, and making it impossible to break through. In the second part of July northerly and southerly winds alternated without bringing any great change in the ice; but at the beginning of August strong westerly winds set in, so loosening it that we easily made our way through. A glance at the ship’s course on the chart will show distinctly how the ice shifted in the beginning of August. Before this time it had been impossible to reach the coast.