The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places

by John Keay

  On the 29th, Peltier felt his pains more severe, and could only cut a few pieces of wood. Samandrè, who was still almost as weak, relieved him a little time, and I aided them in carrying in the wood. We endeavoured to pick some tripe de roche, but in vain, as it was entirely frozen. In turning up the snow, in searching for bones, I found several pieces of bark, which proved a valuable acquisition, as we were almost destitute of dry wood proper for kindling the fire. We saw a herd of rein-deer sporting on the river, about half a mile from the house; they remained there a long time, but none of the party felt themselves strong enough to go after them, nor was there one of us who could have fired a gun without resting it.

  Whilst we were seated round the fire this evening, discoursing about the anticipated relief, the conversation was suddenly interrupted by Peltier’s exclaiming with joy, "Ahl le mondel" imagining that he heard the Indians in the other room; immediately afterwards, to his bitter disappointment, Dr. Richardson and Hepburn entered, each carrying his bundle. Peltier, however, soon recovered himself enough to express his delight at their safe arrival, and his regret that their companions were not with them. When I saw them alone my own mind was instantly filled with apprehensions respecting my friend Hood, and our other companions, which were immediately confirmed by the Doctor’s melancholy communication, that

  Mr. Hood and Michel were dead. Perrault and Fontano had neither reached the tent, nor been heard of by them. This intelligence produced a melancholy despondency in the minds of my party, and on that account the particulars were deferred until another opportunity. We were all shocked at beholding the emaciated countenances of the Doctor and Hepburn, as they strongly evidenced their extremely debilitated state. The alteration in our appearance was equally distressing to them, for since the swellings had subsided we were little more than skin and bone. The Doctor particularly remarked the sepulchral tone of our voices, which he requested us to make more cheerful if possible, unconscious that his own partook of the same key.

  Hepburn having shot a partridge, which was brought to the house, the Doctor tore out the feathers, and having held it to the fire a few minutes divided it into six portions. I and my three companions ravenously devoured our shares, as it was the first morsel of flesh any of us had tasted for thirty-one days, unless, indeed, the small grizzly particles which we found occasionally adhering to the pounded bones may be termed flesh. Our spirits were revived by this small supply, and the Doctor endeavoured to raise them still higher by the prospect of Hepburn's being able to kill a deer next day, as they had seen, and even fired at, several near the house. He endeavoured, too, to rouse us into some attention to the comfort of our apartment, and particularly to roll up, in the day, our blankets, which (expressly for the convenience of Adam and Samandrè) we had been in the habit of leaving by the fire where we lay on them. The Doctor having brought his prayer book and testament, some prayers and psalms, and portions of scripture, appropriate to our situation, were read, and we retired to bed.

  Next morning the Doctor and Hepburn went out early in search of deer; but though they saw several herds and fired some shots, they were not so fortunate as to kill any, being too weak to hold their guns steadily. The cold compelled the former to return soon, but Hepburn persisted until late in the evening.

  My occupation was to search for skins under the snow, it being now our object immediately to get all that we could, but I had not strength to drag in more than two of those which were within twenty yards of the house, until the Doctor came and assisted me. We made up our stock to twenty-six, but several of them were putrid, and scarcely eatable, even by men suffering the extremity of famine. Peltier and Samandrè continued very weak and dispirited, and they were unable to cut fire-wood. Hepburn had in consequence that laborious task to perform after he came back. The Doctor having scarified the swelled parts of Adam's body, a large quantity of water flowed out, and he obtained some ease, but still kept his bed.

  After our usual supper of singed skin and bone soup, Dr. Richardson acquainted me with the afflicting circumstances attending the death of Mr. Hood and Michel, and detailed the occurrences subsequent to my departure from them, which I shall give from his own journal, in his own words; but I must here be permitted to express the heart-felt sorrow with which I was overwhelmed at the loss of so many companions; especially of my friend Mr. Hood, to whose zealous and able co-operation I had been indebted for so much invaluable assistance during the Expedition, whilst the excellent qualities of his heart engaged my warmest regard. His scientific observations, together with his maps and drawings (a small part of which only appear in this work), evince a variety of talent, which, had his life been spared, must have rendered him a distinguished ornament to his profession, and which will cause his death to be felt as a loss to the service.

  ADRIFT ON AN

  ARCTIC ICE FLOE

  Fridtjof Nansen

  (1861–1930)

  Norwegian patriot, natural scientist, and Nobel laureate, Nansen caught the world's imagination when he almost reached the North Pole in 1895. The attempt was made on skis from a specially reinforced vessel which, driven into the ice, was carried from Siberia towards Greenland. The idea stemmed from his first expedition, an 1888 crossing of Greenland. Then too he had used skis and then too, unwittingly and nearly disastrously, he had taken to the ice. Arrived off Greenland's inhospitable east coast, he had ordered his five-man party to spare their vessel by crossing the off-shore ice floe in rowing boats. A task which he expected to take a few hours turned into an involuntary voyage down the coast of twelve days.

  The last touches were given to our despatches and home letters; and if any of us had a specially dear friend to whom he wished to send a final farewell, it was sent, I take it, for it was not quite certain when the next meeting would be. But my companions seemed in a particularly cheerful humour, and there was no consciousness to be seen in the little band of preparation for a serious struggle. Nor was this to be wondered at, seeing that after six weeks of waiting and longing the hour of release was now at hand. The sensation which the sight of land that morning gave me was nothing short of delicious. As I then wrote to a friend, our prospects looked brighter than I had ever dared to hope. I had a sense of elasticity, as when one is going to a dance and expecting to meet the choice of one’s heart. A dance indeed we had, but not on the floor of roses which we could have wished, and our heart’s choice certainly kept us a long time waiting.

  Towards seven o’clock in the evening everything is ready for our start. Sermilikfjord lies now straight in front of us. According to the results of cross-bearings taken from points on shore we ought to be about nine miles from its mouth. I go up to the mast-head for the last time to see where the ice looks easiest and what will be our best course. The reflection of open water beyond the ice is now more clearly visible than before. In a line somewhat west of Kong Oscars Havn the ice seems most open, and I determine to take that course.

  More confident than ever I descend to the deck, and now the hour of departure is at hand. The whole of the “Jason’s” crew were assembled. In spite of our joy at the prospect of a successful start, I think it was with somewhat strange feelings that we bid farewell to these brave sea-folk, with whom we had now spent six weeks, and among whom we had each of us found many a faithful friend, who at this moment assumed a doubtful air or turned away his head with an expressive shake. No doubt they thought they would never see us again. We shook hands with Captain Jakobsen last of all, and in his calm, quiet way this typical Norwegian sailor bid us a kind farewell and wished us God-speed.

  Then down the ladder we went, and into the boats. I took charge of our “Jason” boat with Dietrichson and Balto at the oars, while Sverdrup steered the other with Ravna and Kristiansen.

  “Ready? Give way then!” And as the boats rush through the dark water before the first vigorous strokes, the air rings with three lusty cheers from sixty-four voices, and then come two white clouds of smoke as the “Jason’s” guns send us her last
greeting. The report rolls heavily out into the thick, saturated air, proclaiming to the silent, solemn world of ice around us that we have broken the last bridge which could take us back to civilisation. Henceforth we shall follow our own path. Then good-bye! and our boats glide with regular strokes into the ice to meet the first cold embrace of that nature which for a while is to give us shelter. All of us had the most implicit faith in our luck; we knew that exertion and danger awaited us, but we were convinced that we must and should get the better of them.

  When we had got some way into the ice a boat and twelve men in charge of the second mate overtook us. They had been sent by Captain Jakobsen to help us as far as they could the first part of the way by dragging our boats or forcing a passage. They kept with us for a while, but when I saw they could be of very little use to us, as we worked our way through as fast as they did, I thanked them for their kindness and sent them back. We then reach a long stretch of slack ice, wave farewell to the boat, and push on with unabated courage.

  At first we advanced quickly. The ice was open enough to let us row our way to a great extent among the floes, though now and then we had to force a passage by the help of crowbars and axes. There were few places where we had to drag our boats over the ice, and then the floes were small. It had begun to rain a little before we left the “Jason”; it now grew heavier, and the sky darkened and assumed a curiously tempestuous look. It was an odd and striking sight to see these men in their dark-brown waterproofs, with their pointed hoods, like monks’ cowls, drawn over their heads, working their way surely and silently on in the two boats, one following close in the other’s wake, amid the motionless white ice-floes, which contrasted strangely with the dark and stormy sky. Over the jagged peaks by Sermilikfjord black banks of cloud had gathered. Now and again the mass would break, and we could see as if through rents in a curtain far away to a sky still glowing with all the lingering radiance of an Arctic sunset, and reflecting a subdued and softer warmth upon the edges of the intercepting veil. Then in a moment the curtain was drawn close again, and it grew darker than ever, while we, stroke upon stroke, pushed indefatigably on, the rain beating in our faces. Was this an image of our own fate that we had seen, to have all this radiance revealed to us and then hidden and cut off by a veil of thick, impenetrable cloud? It could scarcely be so, but the soul of man is fanciful and superstitious, ready to see tokens on all sides of him, and willing to believe that the elements and the universe revolve on the axis of his own important self.

  The ice now gave us rather more difficulty, and we had often to mount a hummock to look out for the best way. From the top of one of these look-outs I waved a last farewell to the “Jason” with our flag, which she answered by dipping hers. Then we start off again, and quickly, as we have no time to spare.

  From the first we had had a big iceberg far to the west of us, but now for a long time we had been astonished to see how much nearer we were getting to it, though we were not working in its direction, as our course lay considerably to the east. We saw it must be the current which was taking us west. And so it was; we were being carried along with irresistible force, and it soon became plain that we could not pass to the east of this iceberg, but would have to go under its lee. Just here, however, we drift suddenly into a tearing mill-race which is driving the floes pell-mell, jamming them together and piling them one upon another. Both our boats are in danger of destruction. Sverdrup drags his up on to a floe, and is safe enough. We take ours on towards an open pool, though every moment in danger of getting it crushed. The only course is to keep a sharp look-out, and clear all the dangerous points by keeping our boat always over the so-called “foot,” or projecting base of the floe, or in a recess or inlet in its side, when a nip is threatened. This is not easy in these irresistible currents, but by our united efforts we succeed, and reach a large open pool to the lee of the iceberg, and are for the time secure. Now comes Sverdrup’s turn; I signal to him to follow us, and he succeeds, keeping his boat in calmer water than we had.

  We now find many good lanes of open water on our way inwards. The ice jams only once or twice, especially when the current carries us against one of the icebergs which lie stranded round about us, but it soon opens again, and we pass on. Our prospects are good, and our hearts are light. The weather is better too: it has ceased to rain, and the king of day is just rising behind the jagged background of Sermilikfjord, setting the still clouded heaven in a blaze and lighting his beacons on the mountain tops.

  Long stretches of water lie in front of us, and I already fancy I can see from the boat the open water beyond the ice. We are very near the land to the west of Sermilikfjord, and I can clearly and distinctly see the stones and details of the rocks and mountain side. It does not seem possible that anything can stop us, and prevent our landing, and we are so self-confident that we already begin to discuss where and when we shall take our boats ashore. Just at this moment the ice packs, and we are obliged to find a place of safety for our boats, and drag them up. This we do, Sverdrup a little way off us. We have not secured a very desirable harbour for our boat, as the approach is too narrow, and when the floes part again and we are taking her out, a sharp edge of ice cuts through a plank in her side. She would no longer float, and there was nothing to be done but unload her and pull her up on to the floe for repairs. Sverdrup and Kristiansen took her in hand and mended her again with really masterly skill, and with little loss of time, considering the wretched implements they had to use. We had nothing to give them but a bit of deal which had formed the bottom board of one of the boats, some nails, a hatchet, and a wooden mallet. This broken boat, however, settled our fate. While we were at work the ice had packed again, the clouds had gathered, and the rain began to pour down in torrents, enveloping all around in gloom and mist. The only thing to be done was to get up tent and wait.

  It is now ten o’clock on the morning of the 18th of July. The best thing we can do is to crawl into our sleeping-bags and take the rest which is not unwelcome to us after fifteen hours’ hard and continuous work in the ice.

  Before we turned in, it grew a little clearer sea wards, and through a break we caught sight of the “Jason” far away. She was just getting up full steam, and a while later she disappeared in the distance, no doubt comfortably believing that we were now safe on shore. This was our last glimpse of her.

  “When Ravna saw the ship for the last time,” writes Balto, “he said to me: ‘What fools we were to leave her to die in this place. There is no hope of life; the great sea will be our graves.’ I answered that it would not have been right for us two Lapps to turn back. We should not have been paid, and perhaps the Norwegian consul would have had to send us to Karasjok out of the poor rates. This would have been a great disgrace.”

  While we were asleep it was necessary for one of us to keep watch in order to turn the others out, in case the ice should open enough to let us make further progress. Dietrichson at once volunteered for the first watch. But the ice gave little or no sign of opening. Only once had I to consider the possibility of setting to work again, but the floes closed up immediately. Dragging our boats over this ice was not to be thought of; it was too rough, and the floes were too small. So, while the rain continues we have more time for sleep and rest than we care for.

  In fact, we were already in the fatal current. With irresistible force it first carried us westwards into the broader belt of ice beyond Sermilikfjord. Here it took a more southerly direction and bore us straight away from shore, at a pace that rendered all resistance on our part completely futile. Had we not been detained by our broken boat, we should probably have been able to cross the zone where the current ran strongest and get into quieter water nearer shore. As it was, the critical time was wasted and we were powerless to recover it.

  The force of the current into which we had thus fallen was considerably greater than had been previously supposed. That a current existed was well known, and I had taken measures accordingly, but, had I had a suspicion of its r
eal strength, I should certainly have gone to work in a different way. I should in that case have taken to the ice considerably further to the east, and just off Cape Dan, and had we then worked inwards across the line of the stream we should probably have got through the ice before we were driven so far west, i.e. past the mouth of Sermilikfjord, and into the broader belt of ice where the current turns southwards. Then we should, as we had expected, have reached shore all well on July 19, and chosen our landing-place where we had pleased. But now it was our fate to see how well we might have managed. We had seen the open water under the shore, we had seen the rocks on the beach; a couple of hours of easy work, and we should have been there. But Paradise was barred in our faces; it was the will of Destiny that we should land many miles to the south.

  Meanwhile the rain is descending in streams, and we are constantly at work keeping our tent-floor clear of the pools of water which finds its way in through the lace-holes. After we have spent nearly twenty-four hours in the tent, mainly engaged in this occupation, the ice opens enough to tempt us to continue our efforts to reach land with renewed courage and restored vigour. This was at six o’clock on the morning of July 19.

  The rain has abated somewhat, and through an opening in the fog we can see land somewhere near Sermilikfjord. We are much more than double as far distant from it as we had been – some twenty miles, in fact; but we look trustfully forward to the future. For even if we did not reach shore at Inigsalik, as we had hoped, we can still do so further south at Pikiudtlek. All we have to do is to work resolutely across the current, and we must get to shore sooner or later. As far as we could see, this was plain and simple reasoning and gave us no ground for apprehension, but experience was to show us that our premises were not altogether in accordance with fact. The main factor in the calculation, the strength of the current, was unfortunately an extremely uncertain quantity.