CHAPTER XXX.

ON AN ICE-RAFT.

A Floating Ice-Raft—The Settlement—Christmas in a New Position—Terrible Storms—Commotion under the Ice—The Floe breaks up—House Ruined—Water on the Floe—A Spectre Iceberg—Fresh Dangers and Deliverances—Drifted 1,100 Miles—Resolution to Leave the Ice—Open Water—Ice again—Tedious Progress—Reach Illuidlek Island—Welcome at the Greenland Settlements—Home in Germany—Voyage of the _Germania_—Discovery of Coal—A New Inlet—Home to Bremen.

Slowly but steadily their ice-field drifted to the south, and by November 3rd they had reached Scoresby’s Sound, sometimes being near the coasts and sometimes far from them. Since the ship had sunk, fourteen days before, the ice had closed in upon them, and even the blocks which had broken away from their field had frozen to it again. Their floating ice-raft was by degrees investigated in every quarter, roads cleared, and marks set up for short tours. The mass of ice was at this time about seven nautical miles in circumference, and seemed to have a diameter in all directions of over two miles. The ice-raft, on which (as Dr. Laube aptly remarked) they “were as the Lord’s passengers,” had an average thickness above the water of five feet, and they considered that there was a submergence of forty feet. “Our settlement,” says the narrative, “at the beginning of November, when we were not yet snowed up, might be seen from the most distant points of our field. Near the chief building lay two snow-houses, which served for washing and drying ourselves. Boats, heaps of wood, barrels containing coal and bacon, surrounded this heart of our colony. To prevent the entrance of the snow and wind into our coal-house, we built an entrance-hall with a winding path, and a roof constructed in the same way as that of the house.”

In November, upon a neighbouring floe, separated from them by a small interval of freshly-frozen water, they saw the shapeless body of a large walrus lying motionless as a rock. As soon as the boat could be launched several of them went in pursuit, and with a needle-gun succeeded in killing it, although in its dying struggles it tried furiously to smash the young ice on which the hunters stood, and seize them when once in the water. It took ten men with a powerful pulley several hours before they succeeded in getting the walrus out of the water on to the ice. Late that same evening a white bear, the first of their winter’s campaign, was attracted to the house by the smell of the walrus fat. Three shots greeted him, the effect of which could not be seen until the following morning. “About 100 yards distant lay the bear, hit in the head by the bullet, as if asleep, though quite dead, on the snow. It was a fine handsome beast; its well-developed head lay upon its front paws; the red drops of blood stood sharply out against the clean white snow.” It was a gift from heaven to them in their position. The four hams weighed 200 pounds.

The shortest day was passed, and still they were safe. They determined that, whether or no fated to see another Christmas, they would celebrate the present one. “In the afternoon,” says the narrative, “whilst we went for a walk, the steersman put up the Christmas-tree, and on our return the lonely coal-hut shone with wonderful brightness. Keeping Christmas on a Greenland floe! Made of pinewood and birch-broom, the tree was artistically put together. For the lights, Dr. Laube had saved some wax candles. Paper chains and home-baked gingerbread were not wanting. The men had made a knapsack and a revolver case for the captain; we opened the leaden box from Professor Hochstetter, and the other from the Geological Reichsanstalt, which caused much merriment. Then we had a glass of port wine, and fell upon the old newspapers in the boxes, and distributed the gifts, which consisted of small musical instruments, such as whistles, jew’s-harps, and trumpets, also little puppets and games of roulette, cracker bonbons, &c. In the evening chocolate and gingerbread nuts. ‘In quiet devotion’ (says Dr. Laube in his day-book) ‘the festival passed by; the thoughts which passed through our minds (they were much alike with all), I will not put down. If this should be the last Christmas we were to see it was at least bright enough. If, however, we are destined for a happy return home the next will be a brighter one. May God grant it!’”

Early next morning they were awakened by a shout from the watch. They were apparently drifting to land! An island seemed to be straight ahead of them. Amid great alarm, all turned out. The air was thick, but about three miles off they could distinguish a dark mass, which looked like an island. It proved to be an enormous iceberg. Next day they passed the drifting mass, which moved much slower than their field.

On January 2nd a frightful storm arose, with driving snow. Alarming noises were heard under the ice. “It was a scraping, blustering, crackling, sawing, grating, and jarring sound, as if some unhappy ghost was wandering under our floe.” Perplexed, they all jumped out, but could detect no change. They lay down, and applying their ears to the floor, could hear a rustling like the singing of ice when closely jammed, and as if water were running under the floe. They felt that there was great danger of a break-up, either from being driven over sunken rocks or against the fixed ice of the coast, or, may-be, both at once, and they packed their furs and filled their knapsacks with provisions. Ropes from the house were fastened to the boats, so that in case of a catastrophe they might be able to reach them. But the driving snow was so terrible that they hardly dare move, and they passed a night of misery, expecting each minute to be their last. At nine next morning the longed-for twilight appeared, and an hour later the wind abated a little. Some of them went in the direction of the “quay,” for thus had they christened the spot, 500 steps from the house, where the sunken _Hansa_ lay. They there found a new wall of ice, and recognised to their horror that this wall was now the boundary of their floe, whilst on all sides of it large pieces had broken off, and rose in dark shapeless masses out of the drifted snow. When, on the morning of the 4th, the storm had worn itself out, they found that their floating ice-raft had considerably diminished in size. The diameter, before over two nautical miles, had now reduced to one; on three sides the house was close to the edges, and on the fourth it was not over 1,000 steps, where it had previously been 3,000. The following days were pretty good, and they got their boats out from the snow, dug out the firewood, and employed themselves in constructing swimming-jackets and snow-shoes out of cork, the latter to prevent themselves sinking up to the hips, as they had often done before.

The days from the 11th to the 15th of January were destined to bring new horrors. On the first-named day a heavy storm with driving snow prevailed, in the midst of which the man on watch burst into the house with the alarm, “All hands turn out!” Hastily gathering their furs and knapsacks, they rushed to the door, to see it almost completely snowed up. To gain the outside quickly they broke through the snow-roof, to find that the tumult of the elements was something beyond anything they had previously experienced. Scarcely able to move from the spot, they huddled together for warmth and mutual protection. Suddenly a new cry arose: “Water on the floe close by!” The heavy waves washed over the ice: the field began to break on all sides. On the spot between the house and the piled-up wood, a gap opened. All seemed lost. The firewood was drifting into the raging sea; the boats were in danger, and without this last resource, what would they do? The community was divided into two parts. Sadly, though hastily, these brave Germans bade each other good-bye, for none of them expected to see the morrow. Cowering in the shelter of their boats, they stood shivering all day, the fine pricking snow penetrating their very clothes. Their floe, from its last diameter, about a mile, had dwindled to 150 feet. Towards evening, the heavy sea subsided, and the ice began to again pack and freeze together. Shortly after midnight a new terror arose, the sailor on watch rushing in with the information that they were drifting on an iceberg. All rushed to the entrance, where they could, in the midnight gloom, distinguish a huge mass of ice, of giant proportions. “It is past,” said the captain. Was it really an iceberg, the mirage of one, or the high coast? They could not decide the question, for owing to the rapidity of the drift, the ghastly object had disappeared the next moment.

Again on the 14th a frightful storm raged, and the ice was once more in motion. The floe broke in the immediate vicinity of the house, and the boats had to be dragged near it. “All our labour,” says the narrative, “was rendered heavier by the storm, which made it almost impossible to breathe. About eleven we experienced a sudden fissure which threatened to tear our house asunder; with a thundering noise an event took place, the consequences of which, in the first moments, deranged all calculations. God only knows how it happened that, in our flight into the open, none came to harm. But there, in the most fearful weather, we all stood roofless on the ice, waiting for daylight, which was still ten hours off. The boat _King William_ lay on the edge of the floe, and might have floated away at any moment. Fortunately, the fissure did not get larger. As it was somewhat quieter at midnight, most of the men crept into the captain’s boat, when the thickest sail we had was drawn over them. Some took refuge in the house; but there, as the door had fallen in, they entered by the skylight, and in the hurry broke the panes of glass, so that it was soon full of snow. This night was the most dreadful one of our adventurous voyage on the floe. The cold was -9½° Fahr. (41½° below freezing). Real sleep, at least in the boat, was not to be thought of; it was but a confused, unquiet, half-slumber, which overpowered us from utter weariness, and our limbs quivered convulsively as we lay packed like herrings in our furs. The cook had, in spite of all, found energy enough in the morning to make the coffee in the house, and never had the delicious drink awakened more exhausted creatures to life. The bad weather raged the whole day. We lay in the boat, half in water, half in snow, shivering with the frost, and wet to the skin.” Next night was passed in the same comfortless position, but on the morning of the 16th the second officer caught sight of a star, and never was there a more welcome omen. For five nights they slept in the boats, but by the 19th they had partially rebuilt their house, although from this time forth they had to take it in turns to sleep in the boats, their new erection being only one-half the size of the older one. Throughout all the discomfort, want, hardships, danger of all kinds, the frame of mind among the men was good, undaunted, and exalted. The cook kept a right seamanlike humour, even in the most critical moments. As long as he had tobacco nothing troubled him.

And so it went on from day to day: fresh dangers were followed by fresh deliverances, and in spite of all the perils encountered, no lives were lost, nor were there any serious cases of sickness. By May they had spent eight months on their ice-raft, and had drifted 1,100 miles. On the morning of the 7th they were agreeably surprised to see open water in the direction of land. The captain, considering that the moment had arrived when they should leave the floe and try to reach the coast, called a council. This project received almost unanimous approbation, and in feverish haste and impatience the boats were hauled empty over three floes, the stores and necessaries being carried after them, partly on sledges and partly on the back. At four P.M. they set sail, the officers and crew being divided into three companies. They made seven miles, and then hauled up on a small floe. After finding a low spot, and first emptying the boats, they were lifted, by swinging them in the water, till the third time, when a strong pull and a pull all together brought their bows on the ice, and they were soon bodily on its surface. Next day by noon they were not more than four or five miles from the land, but the ice was densely packed in irregular masses. Bad weather, with much snow, detained them six days on a floe; and then, having proceeded some little distance, they were again condemned to five days’ detention. Their provisions were getting low; they had rations left for not over a month. As no change took place in the ice, they resolved to drag their boats over it to the island of Illuidlek, which, after delays and dangers very similar to those encountered by Parry on his memorable Polar sledge and boat journey, was reached on June 4th. A little later they successfully sailed to the Greenland Moravian mission station of Friedrichstal, where their troubles ended, and where they received a hearty welcome. A Danish vessel brought them to Copenhagen on September 1st, and it then became evident that it was time to pay some attention to their outward appearance. In their forlorn condition they could not leave the ship, or they might have been compromised with the police. Some were in seal-skin caps, some in furs, others in sea boots from which the toes protruded, with ragged trousers, threadbare coats, and a general air of Arctic seediness. At length Captain Hegemann fetched them away in the twilight, and took them to a clothing warehouse, where they were soon made to look more like civilised beings. A few days later, and they entered Bremen; not, indeed, in their own good ship, but by an express train, by its east gate, from Hamburgh. The _Hansa_ men may safely await the judgment of their contemporaries, for throughout the narrative, good discipline, a hearty _esprit de corps_, unmurmuring submission to the inevitable—whatever it might be—and a determination to do and dare whatever might appear for their mutual advantage, appear on every page. Germany may well be proud of such sons—Arctic heroes every one of them. The fortunes of the _Germania_ were less eventful.

Lieutenant Payer, while out on a sledging expedition, made an important discovery. On Kuhn Island he found a seam of coal, in places eighteen inches in thickness, alternating with sandstone. It would be strange if in some future age our supply of warmth should be furnished from Arctic fuel. Many fine zoological and botanical specimens were collected by the scientific gentlemen connected with this expedition. The leading discovery was that of a large inlet in lat. 73° 15’ N., which was named after the Emperor Franz Josef. Surrounding it were mountain peaks ranging as high as 14,000 feet. The _Germania_ reached Bremen on September 11th, 1870—but a few days after the arrival of their brethren of the _Hansa_, and at a period when all Germany was _en fête_ on account of their recent victories.