In the Land of White Death

by Valerian Albanov

  There was mud and standing water everywhere; the ground was saturated with runoff, and in places it had been eroded and deeply scoured by the rushing water. The rocks were inhabited by scores of birds, whose strident cries were startling after our silent passage across the vast sea. Little gray birds that reminded us of our Russian snipe ran across the ground among the large boulders. The coastline was almost free of ice; only a few blackened, landfast floes were visible here and there.

  We hurried our steps, stumbling over stones, but were often forced to stop and rest our legs, which were still quite stiff. As we traveled on, we saw in the distance the vague outline of something that appeared to be made by the hand of man, which soon disappeared behind a large rock. About 300 yards farther, we thought we could see a tall pole behind the boulder. As we drew nearer, we saw that it was not an illusion: The pole became increasingly clear. There could be no more doubt; a very special surprise was in store for us. It could hardly be a tree as there are no trees at Cape Flora. We moved forward, more and more excited. A few yards farther on, a second pole came into sight to the left of the first one, and now we could see something attached to each one. . . . The mystery would soon be revealed.

  It was a cabin, a real house made of logs, with a roof sloping down on one side, and a chimney, and it was intact. Then we discovered, quite nearby, a second cabin, and even a third. This wilderness certainly had no permanent inhabitants, so this had to be a camp. We were so engrossed in the contemplation of these huts that at first we paid no heed to our immediate surroundings, so we were surprised by yet another wonderful discovery only fifty yards away. Hidden in a ravine, stored upside down with its keel up, lay a large Norwegian-style whaleboat in perfect condition. Stowed tidily next to it were oars and other accessories. It all seemed to have been used quite recently, perhaps this year. As quickly as our feeble legs would carry us, we ran to the largest of the three huts, hoping to find it inhabited. We were certain that a door would suddenly open and out would step a Norwegian or English sailor with a lighted pipe in his hand. This picture was so vivid in our imagination that we were expecting nothing else.

  But as soon as we stood before the hut, we had to accept the fact that it was empty. The windows were broken, but all the openings were sealed with boards. The door was ajar, and the entrance was almost completely blocked by dirty, icy snow. The upper part of the hut was in good condition, but the lower timbers lay drifted deep in snow. Our astonishment prevented us at that moment from taking in all the details. Our gaze happened upon a few large crates half buried in the snow in front of the hut. When we opened one of them, we discovered a second crate in galvanized sheet iron. Our knife quickly got the better of the metal, and to our joy we saw that the whole chest was filled with ship’s biscuits made from white flour! We ate our fill, then stuffed our pockets with more. For so long such delicious food had only existed in our dreams.

  We opened a second crate: more biscuits, but of an even better quality. There were five crates in all, more than likely also filled with the same supplies. We did not open any of the others. Anyone who can picture himself in our situation can imagine our joy. For months we had rationed our supply of biscuits; in the last few weeks we had none left at all, and had been reduced to eating solely the meat of the animals we shot, cooked in salt water without the slightest seasoning. Those who have not had such an experience cannot possibly imagine our delight. There was a time when I attached no importance to bread—when I had an abundant supply. I found it difficult to imagine people suffering from a lack of bread if they had their fill of meat. When I read Nansen’s story for the first time, a long time ago now, I had found the passage where he tells of the prodigious joy he felt in finding bread at the Jackson camp to be quite exaggerated. Today, having lived through the same privations, I can endorse Nansen’s every word. Together with Johansen he had lived on meat alone during their winter on Jackson Island. I would even go so far as to say it is easier to do without meat than bread. Bread and biscuit are indispensable; they are the basis of one’s diet. I know now and forever the true value of bread. And at the risk of repeating myself, I will say that we were as happy as a couple of children to find this huge supply of biscuits. Just imagine it: five whole crates full!

  As we looked around after this satisfying discovery, on the wall, next to the door, we noticed a board with an inscription in the Latin alphabet: “Expedition of Lieutenant Sedov, 1913.”

  So that was it! This was Sedov’s camp. But why 1913, when he had set out at the same time as we did, in 1912?*

  * At the same time that Brusilov had set out in 1912, Russian authorities had sent off the Saint Foka, under the command of a Lieutenant Sedov, on an attempt to reach the North Pole (even though Robert Peary had allegedly attained the Pole in 1909). See SHIP AHOY!

  Above the board hung two cocoa cans, soldered closed and affixed to the wall with a wire. I thought these cans must have contained their mail; perhaps Sedov and his men were expecting a steamer. Almost at the same time I saw another inscription on the wall, this one written in blue pencil: “The first Russian polar expedition led by Lieutenant Sedov arrived at Cape Flora on August 30, 1913, and continued toward the Bay of Teplitz on September 2.”

  I knew that bay, which was off the shore of Prince Rudolf Island. They had undoubtedly been traveling with dogsleds, for otherwise they would not have been able to bring so many crates and provisions this far.

  But how could they have built this cabin in four days, and then let it become so run down like this? It was all the more mysterious if one assumed that they came back that same winter or in the following spring and lived here. I glanced inside: It was completely dark and everywhere were chaos and filth. One third of the space from floor to ceiling was packed with dirty ice that encased furniture, rags, cans, dishes, and a number of other objects. We wasted no time looking any closer, and went on to a large shed roughly fifty yards away. It was built with thick planks and consisted of two rooms, but the door and almost the entire roof were missing. The interior was also full of ice, whence emerged crates, boxes, glasses, clothing, large tin cans, barrels, and so on. A green kayak, which must have been very splendid once upon a time, was also half buried in the ice. Next to the large shed was another, smaller shed, already in ruins, where neatly sawn wood had been piled. All around were mud, horse manure, and puddles. And littered about some distance away were crates containing dishes, barrels, oars, torn harnesses, broken sledges, tin cans of food, and other debris.

  A few of the cans were rusty or broken open, but the food inside most of them still appeared to be edible.

  As we inspected the ruins, it seemed at first almost as though a fire had broken out in the big shed, which had served as a storeroom, and where nearly everything was kept. The “firemen” had apparently rushed in, destroyed the roof and the ceiling, smashed the windows and the door, tossed a large part of the stores away from the flames, broken everything which was in their way, and doused the hangar with water, which immediately turned into ice. Then after this “rescue” they appeared to have departed the encampment, quite satisfied with their efforts.

  But in fact there had been no fire: The walls and the remains of the ceiling had not been blackened by smoke. No, something other than fire had caused this destruction. And it was obvious that these buildings had been fairly recently built. When we opened a few of the tin cans, we found pork and rabbit meat, and smoked and marinated herring. We sampled them without further ado: Their contents were as fresh as if they had just arrived from the finest delicatessen.

  We continued our inspection and took a few cans with us. Soon we were standing in front of an odd, octagonal-shaped building, with walls leaning somewhat toward the interior, and a conical roof like that of a tent, rather similar to the outside of a circus tent. The inner walls were covered with canvas and there were bunks built into the sides. Surely such an edifice was not meant for the polar region; it must have been an attractive building before it was relegat
ed to the far North. Here, too, everything was full of ice, from which protruded the top half of what must have been an iron stove. Scattered across the bunks were torn clothes, pieces of furniture, and other sundry items. However, we did make one precious find, when we uncovered a box full of lead cartridges and twelve-gauge shotgun shells that were a perfect match for our shotgun. This “gift” was very timely and it was perhaps our best discovery yet.

  On one of the bunks stood a medicine chest with first-aid supplies in a finely polished cabinet, the best-preserved object of all. We were delighted with this find, primarily because of the peppermint drops that would go very nicely with our tea!

  Between the shore and the buildings was a veritable rubbish dump, with empty cans flung here and there along with plates, saucepans, frying pans, teapots, spoons, and other things, almost all of them broken and dirty. On closer inspection, we did manage to find a few articles we could use. There was also a huge pile of broken sledges, skis, harnesses for dogs and horses, etc. A secondhand or antique dealer would have found several bargains here, for there was a bit of everything one could ever want. We were agog at the sight of all the treasures that had been piled up here. In fact, this good fortune transported us from a state of extreme penury to unimaginable riches, and instantly supplied us with not only basic necessities, but even some “luxury goods.” But one essential item was missing, namely a shelter. Neither the main building, nor the big storage shed, nor the “circus tent” was inhabitable, at least not until we cleared them of ice and gave them a thorough cleaning.

  But then, opposite the main building and near a rock face, we discovered a fourth building that must have been put together with prefabricated elements; it was surrounded by bamboo poles sunk into the ground and bound with wire, which made a sort of fence whose gaps had been stuffed with pieces of peat or moss. But the stuffing had gradually fallen out and only the lower half was in good condition. The bamboo had no doubt initially served as surveyors’ rods, for their ends still bore typical yond the vestibule, the inner door was closed. A horsepealing, for it was neither damp nor dirty; it was situated on a promontory and was far less dilapidated than the other buildings. So it was with great expectations that we went inside. The vestibule contained a little forge, the bellows of which were of an unfamiliar design to me. Beyond the vestibule, the inner door was closed. A horse-shoe, a favorite good luck charm in many countries, crowned the door frame. As soon as we entered, we realized that we could quite happily live there. To the left of the entrance was a cast-iron stove with a big crate full of split firewood; to the right was a table, and directly opposite, a wide bunk. Nor were any of the necessary furniture, lamps, or dishes missing. Here, too, the floor was covered in ice, but far less than elsewhere. We decided to move in at once, and put our “purchases” of biscuits and cans down on the table. Soon a cheerful wood fire was crackling in the stove, making the room warm enough for us to dry out our clothes, which were still sodden from our recent, unwelcome plunge in the ocean. Then without further delay we began to prepare what would be a banquet. The rich, fatty tinned meat had the place of honor, and to it we added some dried potatoes that we had discovered upon first entering the building; at last, after so many months, we had a dinner worthy of the name. One hardly need mention that we were certainly not lacking in appetite! For dessert we had biscuits. And what a pleasure to get undressed in a warm place! We felt at home; we had everything we could wish for in such an alien landscape. Cape Flora had brought us even more than we could have dared to imagine in our wildest dreams.

  After so many adventures and disasters, we were completely exhausted. But now we could stretch out comfortably, in a way we had almost forgotten. Our torments were now behind us. Had we really suffered such hardships out there in the ice and snow, in our miserable kayak in the middle of the cruel sea, with nothing to drink or keep us warm? Or had it all been a nightmare?

  But the memory of our lost comrades intruded on our happiness. What had become of them? Would they ever return? This thought kept us from sleep despite our extreme exhaustion: Where could they possibly be at this hour?

  PREPARING TO WINTER OVER AT CAPE FLORA

  After a very long sleep, we awoke as if from the dead, had breakfast, and set to work. There was a great deal to do. The most important task was to bring our kayak as close to the camp as possible, and carry our last remaining belongings to our new refuge. There was not a great deal to carry: compass, binoculars, chronometer, sextant, ax, two books, sails, a few boxes of matches, and two or three cans, one of which contained the mail from our comrades aboard the Saint Anna. Then we had to organize the supplies that were strewn about everywhere, both inside and outside the buildings, buried in the mud and under piles of rubbish. We did not worry about the cans that were stuck in the ice, for there could be no better place to store them.

  But soon we had to accept the fact that over half of the supplies could no longer be used. Many tin cans were rusted through or punctured, so their contents were ruined. We finally took those that were still in good condition into our dry living quarters to sort them. If we could find a suitable space, we could stack them on shelves in an orderly fashion, as in a real warehouse.

  Once that was done, we dug out the crates and boxes buried in the ice. It was like digging up the ruins at Pompeii!

  Each crate was brought to the cabin and emptied. We worked with the ax and knives and found a great many more items that were ample compensation for our troubles, and brought us great comfort. What did we not find! We could have held a bona fide exhibition, which would have been a credit to the organizer of the previous expedition. We had pemmican, beef, mutton, pork, rabbit, fish of all kinds, dried vegetables, potatoes, large cakes of unsweetened chocolate, powdered eggs, butter and sausage in sealed cans, etc. But many items had spoiled, even though they had lain in solid ice, which proves that they had gone bad at a much earlier date, that is to say, prior to 1914.

  We also found a good reserve of tea ensconced in the ice, in half-pound cans. But nearly all of it was moldy and undrinkable. We were able to rescue only a few of the less damaged boxes. As for the tea we did manage to salvage, after having dried it out in our warm “parlor,” we were able to make it into quite an acceptable beverage. Much larger cans contained several kilos of coffee, but unfortunately nearly all of it had gone bad. The largest tin receptacles contained oats that, although damp, could nevertheless be used for cooking. It made such delicious porridge that we decided to save the rest of it for winter. Our excavations revealed a few more crates of biscuits that had turned into a soggy mash, an enormous reserve of kerosene, and a box of candles. All of that would be very useful in winter and would help us endure the hardest months. We also found rags of clothing and remains of lightweight silk tents embroidered in red silk with the words “Ziegler Expedition to the North Pole.” These words were written, embroidered, and printed on many other objects as well, such as axes, skis, shovels, a kayak, and the portable stoves designed for sledge expeditions, and so on. Everything was numbered and of the highest quality. But whoever Ziegler was remained a mystery to me.*

  * William Ziegler was a rich American industrialist who equipped two polar expeditions (the most recent occurring from 1902 to 1905) that stopped over at Cape Flora. Neither was successful in reaching the North Pole.

  As I have mentioned, we thought that we were at Sedov’s camp and not at Jackson’s winter quarters. We were astonished, it is true, to find such disorder, with the buildings in such bad condition, but we supposed that after spending the winter there, Sedov had hurriedly departed, leaving everything just as it was. Knowing that he had left Arkhangel’sk in 1912, we imagined that his ship must have come back for the crew who had stayed behind. The tin cans nailed to the wall of the big cabin must have contained mail for the ship, or so I imagined. But all my other discoveries now made me wonder if I was right, since with the exception of those cans and a few supplies, there was little to prove that Sedov had been here.
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br />   One day we began to dig in the ice inside the dirty ruins of the big cabin to see what we could find. On the wall, between the bunks, we noticed some shreds of dirty, mildewed cloth. We could not see clearly in the gloomy interior, but when we carried our find out into the day-light, we saw it was a piece of faded green cloth, which reminded me that in Nansen’s description of Jackson’s camp, he wrote of green cloth covering the walls. He had also written that there was an iron stove, above which were suspended some wooden poles for drying clothes. In fact, everything was as Nansen had described it, and I realized that the camp was not as recent as I had supposed. This was indeed Jackson’s camp! But what a camp. Jackson had left it pleasant and comfortable with “a lot of room,” as he described it to Nansen when he met him. They were quite a small party in his time. Now there were three bunks in each cubicle, and it was possible to accommodate thirty-five to forty people. Everywhere there were passageways, corners, and darkness. It was a fine dwelling, and yet a seedy one. The bunks had clearly been hastily improvised, for the planks had been poorly planed; the mattresses were so putrid that we had to dig them out with a spade. There was also an armchair that must have once been very handsome, and a desk whose missing base had been replaced by a rough board. Tin gutters ran the length of the ceiling to catch the water, and above the bunks there were shelves for personal belongings. Here and there lay pharmaceutical jars, visibly used. I became increasingly convinced that Jackson would never have lived in such a filthy and neglected place. Can you imagine it? Apparently he was a gentleman who always dressed for dinner! Others must have lived here since Jackson’s time, and there must have been several waves of occupants. It was once a delightful haven, equipped with every imaginable convenience, its walls covered with thick green drapes to keep out the cold. Nansen’s story proves that he had found the house in perfect condition. Then a larger group must have arrived late in the season and hastily set up their winter quarters. It must have been at this time that the three-tiered bunks and the gutters were installed, for the roof must already have been leaking. These men must have brought horses with them as well, for we had unearthed several skulls and skeletons. A few of the sledges were designed to be horse-drawn; we later found a number of halters and bridles.