In the Land of White Death

by Valerian Albanov

Today we shot a seal in the lead, which in everyone’s view was larger than any we had killed before. I tried to lift it, and estimated its weight to be at least 160 to 200 pounds. It produced a wonderful soup. Flocks of murres and little auks are growing steadily more numerous. This evening I saw a flock of fifteen flying in a northerly direction. Where are they heading, the idiots? What can they be looking for in this desert of ice?

  We lowered the sounding line twice, but did not reach bottom. Again the line slanted northward. It seems there is definitely a constant current here.

  LAND HO!

  JUNE 9

  The wind swings back and forth between the northwest and the west-northwest. Despite the overcast skies, I was able to determine that with no effort on our part we had reached 80°52´ north and 40°20´ east of Greenwich. But I cannot guarantee the exactness of the longitude.

  As I have often done, at around nine in the evening I climbed onto a high ice formation to study the horizon. Ordinarily I saw what looked like islands in every direction, but which on closer examination turned out to be either icebergs or clouds. This time, I sighted something quite different on the shimmering horizon. I was so staggered that I sat down on the ice to clean the lenses of my binoculars and rub my eyes. My pulse was racing in great anticipation, and when I fixed my apprehensive gaze once more on the vision that held such promise, I could discern a pale, silver strip with sinuous contours running along the horizon and then disappearing to the left. The right-hand side of this phenomenon was outlined with unusual clarity against the azure of the sky. This whole formation, including its gradations of color, reminded me of a phase of the moon. The left edge seemed to grow slowly paler while the right stood out even more distinctly, like a yellowish line traced along the blue horizon. Four days earlier I had observed a similar phenomenon; but the bad light led me to think that it was a cloud. During the night I returned five times to check on my strange discovery, and each time my original impression was more or less clearly confirmed; the main features of shape and color had certainly not changed. So far, nobody else had noticed this wonderful sight. I had to restrain myself severely from dashing back to the tent and shouting with excitement: “Wake up, everyone, come and see that our prayers have been answered at last and we are about to reach land!” I was then convinced that it was land that I could see, but I wanted to keep my discovery secret, so I contented myself with thinking: “If you others want to see this miracle, you will have to open your eyes.” But my companions were as oblivious as ever, and had not even noticed my ill-concealed excitement. Instead of going out and inspecting the horizon, the only way of evaluating our immediate prospects, they either went back to sleep or started to hunt for “game”—as we have named the lice that are regular guests in our malitsi. That seems to be more important to them!

  JUNE 10

  The morning was beautiful. My hypothetical land stood out even more clearly, its yellowish hue increasingly extraordinary. Its shape was totally different from what I had been expecting as I scanned the horizon over the past two months. Now I could also see, to my left, a few isolated headlands, set quite far back, however, and between them seemed to be glaciers. I wondered idly how far away we were, for my eyes were not at all used to judging such distances. I estimated that there must be fifty or sixty nautical miles to the most distant peaks; how far we might be from the shore could not even be roughly determined: twenty to thirty-five nautical miles, perhaps more, perhaps less. The only certainty was that we were now closer to being rescued than we had been for the last two years. I silently offered up my thanks; but how on earth could we get there?

  At around noon I managed to fix our position from the sun. We were crossing latitude 80°52´. Wind from the south. We ate quickly, packed up our belongings, and decided to head for land. By nine o’clock we had covered between two and three miles and made the decision not to pitch the tent until we reached land. Could we do it? The ice floes were in perpetual motion; it was almost impossible to advance without resorting to the kayaks. We spotted quite a few bear tracks; we also succeeded in shooting a seal.

  ——

  Evening has arrived. We sit together in the tent with mixed feelings, for not only have we failed to reach the island, we are now even farther away from it than this morning. The weather is very gloomy; it is snowing and raining, with wind from the south. The surface of the ice was dreadful; my companions call it “glutinous.” It was impossible to make any sort of progress today, either on foot or by kayak. Exhausted, soaked through, and famished, we decided to stop and pitch the tent. South wind still blowing. Major efforts have brought us no more than two miles at the most. But we managed to kill a seal, which we are cooking; we have brewed up a very nourishing broth with the seal’s blood. Once we really start cooking we do not skimp on the size of the portions. Today we had a good, solid breakfast; at midday a bucketful of soup and just as much tea; in the evening, a pound of meat each, washed down with more tea. Our food supply is ample, for in addition to what I have just mentioned, each man receives a pound of ship’s biscuits per day. Our appetites are wolfish! In gloomy moments we are struck by the thought that such voraciousness normally occurs in cases of severe starvation. God protect us from that!

  Yesterday I noticed that seven pounds of biscuit had disappeared. This unfortunate discovery forced me to call my companions together and inform them that if it happened again, I would hold all of them responsible and reduce their rations; and if I managed to catch the ignominious thief red-handed, I would shoot him on the spot. However bitter it seems, I must admit there are three or four men in the group with whom I have nothing in common.

  Only someone who has experienced such an ordeal can fully understand how impatient I was to reach the island where our two-year odyssey through the Arctic wastes would finally end. Once we reached our landfall, our situation would improve dramatically. We would be able to capture hosts of birds and walruses and we would also be able to take a bath. We have not washed now for two months. Catching a chance glimpse of my face in the sextant’s mirror the other day gave me a terrible fright. I am so disfigured that I am unrecognizable, covered as I am with a thick layer of filth. And we all look like this. We have tried to rub off some of this dirt, but without much success. As a result we look even more frightening, almost as if we were tattooed! Our underclothes and outer garments are unspeakable. And since these rags are swarming with “game,” I am sure that if we put one of our infested jerseys on the ground, it would crawl away all by itself!

  Here is a glimpse of life inside the tent: Everyone is squatting in a circle on the ground; with grim expressions, they are silently absorbed in some serious-looking task. What can these men be doing? Hunting lice! This “pastime” is always reserved for the evening. It is the only possible form of hygiene, since we have neither soap nor water for proper ablutions. And even if we had some water, the fearful cold would prevent us from washing. All too often we have not even had enough water to quench our thirst.

  Some of us had originally taken a vow not to wash until we reached land. Who would have suspected that it would be two months before we sighted land? No wonder we all felt the need to indulge in our nightly “hunt.” This communal activity united us in a remarkable fashion, and all the squabbles usually ceased during those hours.

  In the afternoon I went out with three men on a reconnaissance. Beyond the four leads we will have to cross tomorrow morning, we shall find better going. The ice blocks are unusually dark and dirty, with algae, sand, and even rocks sticking to them. We took a couple of small stones, seaweed, and two small pieces of wood with us, as our first gift from the land—an olive branch, so to speak.

  We found a lot of bear tracks. The weather, as usual, is damp and foggy. There is wet snow falling, almost rain. Wind from the south.

  JUNE 11

  A satisfactory day’s march. We covered four miles. Toward evening, we pitched camp on a little ice floe surrounded by pools and brash ice. The morning’s northeas
terly had by evening become a chilly northerly. The current has pushed us away toward the east, and now our island of salvation appears to be farther south. Good hunting: one seal and a duck. Our eyes are very painful again.

  JUNE 12

  The wind is still blowing from the north, but the weather is warm and clear. Only the kayak crossings were difficult: We covered scarcely more than a mile. Seven of the men, including myself, are suffering from serious eye inflammation. While crossing one of the open leads we had the serious misfortune of dropping one of our two remaining Remingtons into the sea. It was Lunayev who dropped it, with Smirennikov’s assistance. Such negligence made me so angry that I lost my temper and struck out at anybody who crossed my path. This is the second rifle we have lost because of heedless behavior, and anyone who can picture himself in my shoes would surely understand my frustration with such unforgivable carelessness. Now we have just one rifle for which there is abundant ammunition. The smaller repeating rifle is hardly of any use, since there are only eighty cartridges left for it. We still have shells for the shotgun, but it is almost useless against bears, which may be lurking behind every block of ice.

  I would have liked to take a sun shot with the sextant, but my eyes were not up to it. The sun seemed to be misty and indistinct and I could not see the horizon at all. According to my companions who can still see clearly, our island is particularly visible today: One can even make out a few details. We saw many eiders in flight that must have come from the island. As our supply of seal meat has run out, for lunch we cooked the bear meat we dried the other day, and in the evening we prepared a soup from the same meat. There is no more sugar, and the tea will last only a few more days.

  We are still making little headway trekking over the ice. But we have thought up a new strategy: We work out our course from the top of a rise—that is, we identify the places ahead of time where our kayaks or skis are most likely to get through. Often we are forced to skirt along the edge of a channel on our skis, dragging the sledge-laden kayak behind us on the water. But chunks of disintegrating icebergs, called growlers, often obstruct the boats, and it is not a simple affair to get them moving again. From time to time during our backbreaking toil, one of us sinks through the ice, and that is when we see who can move the fastest. It is imperative to leap out of the icy water, remove one’s boots that are rapidly filling up, empty them, and get back to work, all in a matter of seconds!

  JUNE 13

  The wind has shifted, coming now from the south-southwest. We set off at eight o’clock and traveled, with only an hour’s break, until six-thirty in the evening. The end result: about five miles. We had to cross more extensive pack ice that had been eroded by the wave action and covered in deep snow. Crossing a channel we were startled when a bearded seal suddenly bounded out of the water. We also saw a great many ordinary seals but were unable to shoot one.

  When the horizon grew lighter, those of us who were not suffering from snow blindness were able to see the island to the southeast. From now on, the tides will probably swirl growlers and brash ice continually along the shores, and we shall be confronted with this repulsive stuff, this ice porridge, all the way to our landfall. Toward evening, the wind from the south-southwest picked up, bringing with it fine hail.

  JUNE 14

  The same wind persists, with cold, dark weather. We did two and a half miles this morning. On very thin ice, Konrad suddenly broke through a seal’s breathing hole that had been drifted over. Totally submerged, he became tangled in his hauling line while the sledge slid forward and covered the hole. We all rushed to his rescue, cut the hauling line, dragged the sledge aside, and pulled Konrad out. He was soaked to the skin and had swallowed some water. We had to pitch the tent right away and light a fire to warm him up.

  Our supplies are dwindling. We have only 120 pounds of biscuits left, and our reserves of meat are finished; for lunch we had nothing but biscuit soup, to which we added our last can of condensed milk. The dire state of our supplies forced us to take some quick action, and we decided on some long-term plans that included abandoning the tent and continuing in our nearly empty kayaks. We would be sorry to leave behind nearly all our belongings: axes, harpoons, ski poles, spare skis, warm clothing, foot-gear, and empy cans. These represent a considerable load, but at the same time how indispensable all such things will be if we have to winter over on these islands. And in all probability, we will not be spared a wintering.

  No sooner had we set off again than we came upon some seals and shot two of them. Fortune had smiled upon us once again during our hour of need. This lucky event restored our courage to such a degree that we went back for the tent. The route was dreadful and required great caution; we barely covered one mile.

  JUNE 16

  We had just pitched the tent when Lunayev brought us the good news that he had shot five seals in the space of an hour. So many animals came close to our camp that we could easily have shot some more, but we had enough meat for the time being.

  As far as I could tell from the terrain, we were on a small ice floe surrounded by a jumbled mass of brash ice. There was no way out. Our situation was not to be envied. Moreover, a strong southerly wind had come up that could drive our ice floe away from the island of salvation. All we could do was wait patiently for the outcome. At least we had the chance to observe a great many seals. Our only hope was a shift in the wind that would consolidate this mushy ice, or would push our floe toward land. Our predicament was quite desperate. It was impossible to abandon the kayaks, or to put on our rucksacks and set off on our skis, since open water would continually impede our progress. Without the kayaks we would be lost. We tried stowing all our belongings on one sledge that eight of us could haul, but the attempt was a total failure. The heavily laden sledge sank so deeply into the snow that it was only with great difficulty that we managed to pull it out. Moreover, it was quite probable that such old sledges were not up to this kind of treatment and would not have lasted even one day. Besides, without the sledges, how would we haul the kayaks? After much reflection I resolved that we must not abandon a single sledge or kayak. I could not possibly take such a risk. Better to proceed slowly than to find ourselves stranded on an ice floe, surrounded by water and unable to escape, doomed, perhaps, never to reach the island that was now so near. Perseverance and confidence alone could save us. Too often we fall prey to impatience. Only seven days have gone by since we first saw the island. At that time we were prepared to endure incredible hardships to reach our goal! How quickly we have succumbed to despair again.

  If I remember rightly, Nansen took six entire weeks to reach Hvidtenland, the “White Land.” It is true that his situation was a bit less difficult, since he had dogs to help him pull his sledges, and those sledges were much better made; ours were hardly worthy of the name. I refuse to listen to the insidious arguments of the skiers, who are constantly trying to persuade me to abandon the kayaks. I trust my kayaks and I will not give in. I have reminded my companions of my unswerving conviction on more than one occasion.

  We set off at six o’clock and covered roughly three miles in the short space of two and a half hours. The bad conditions of the route brought us to a premature halt on a large hummock of old ice. We found some fresh melt-water there for the first time in over a year. No sooner had we put up the tent than Konrad rushed in, overcome with excitement, to inform us that he had found a walrus just behind a ridge of ice. We seized our firearms and ran to the spot. The gigantic animal seemed to be lying motionless on the ice. But although we stalked it with the greatest caution, we did not manage to shoot it. The moment we took aim, it slipped into the water and disappeared at once. As we drew nearer we saw that several animals must have been lying there.

  All day long there was a thick fog, which made it impossible to calculate our position.

  JUNE 17

  A great deal of agitation today. I feel as if I have been struck by a sledgehammer, for I now know that my companions have betrayed me. How am I to r
ecover from such a blow?

  Yesterday evening, two of my men (I decline to mention their names) asked to go out scouting at four in the morning. I granted permission and gave them a ration of biscuits, as is usual in these cases. I awoke at three-thirty, roused the two men, and fell asleep again immediately. When I got up for breakfast I learned with consternation that they had not returned. By noon they were still missing. Increasingly worried, I resolved to go and search for them. At first we presumed that the ice had drifted in the meantime, preventing them from finding their way back.

  But imagine my indignation when, as we were about to set off, I discovered that they had shamefully robbed us! They had taken a pair of the best boots, belonging to Lunayev; Maximov’s warmest clothes; a twenty-pound sack of biscuits; and even our only double-barreled shotgun, with two hundred cartridges. After this dreadful discovery I rushed to my kayak. The thieves had been there too! Twelve boxes of matches, the binoculars, and the soldered tin can containing our correspondence and all my documents were missing. The damned scoundrels had even taken our only pocket watch. Finally I found their shoddy skis left in place of my good ones. In fact, the traitors had equipped themselves impressively at our expense.

  I cannot find words to express how appalled and disheartened I was by these deplorable events. The others wanted to set off in hot pursuit of the thieves and mete out swift justice. But after careful thought, I calmed them down by reminding them that the thieves already had too great a head start for us to hope to catch them, and that in any case such a chase would be risky, even under different circumstances. The continual and unpredictable movement of the ice would place us in danger of irrevocably losing our camp and everything it contained. We would quickly lose the fugitives’ trail and might be exposed to even greater mishaps. We would be better advised, I told them, to resign ourselves to this painful turn of events, and to reflect on how we should continue our journey. We would have to sacrifice our heavy tent as well as a sledge and a kayak. We might eventually be able to do without the tent, but two kayaks would not carry eight men, only seven at most. Of course, now we had considerably less baggage. So we set off with heavy hearts, four men pulling one sledge and three the other one. I went ahead to look for the best route. When we had covered about two miles, both sledges suddenly broke down at the same time. We repaired one quickly, but the other was far more seriously damaged. We made a stop, while four men headed back to our old campsite and returned two hours later with the jettisoned sledge. We brewed some tea (of which we had found some crumbs among our ammunition) and diligently began to fit the recovered sledge to a kayak and to patch up the damaged one. At ten P.M. we were again under way.