CHAPTER XIV.
North-eastern Voyages of the Dutch—Barents reaches Nova Zembla—Adventures with the Polar Bears—Large Trading Expedition organised—Failure of the Venture—Reward offered for the Discovery of a North-east Passage—Third Voyage—Dangers of the Ice—Forced to Winter on Nova Zembla—Erection of a House—Intense Cold—Philosophical Dutchmen—Attacks from Bears—Returning Spring—The Vessel abandoned—Preparations for a Start—The Company enfeebled and down-hearted—Voyage of 1,700 miles in two small Boats—Death of Barents and Adrianson—Perils of Arctic Navigation—Enclosed in the Ice—Death of a Sailor—Meeting with Russians—Arrival in Lapland—Home once more—Discovery of the Barents Relics by Carlsen—Voyages of Adams, Weymouth, Hall, and Knight.
“The True and Perfect Description of Three Voyages, so strange and woonderfull that the like hath neuer been heard of before,” albeit bearing a somewhat sensational title, is by a long way the most complete of early Arctic narratives. The work is a translation, by one William Phillip, from the Dutch of Gerrit de Veer, and describes three voyages undertaken by the Hollanders towards the close of the sixteenth century, with the view of reaching China by a north-east passage. The narrative of the last expedition in particular, during the progress of which they met so many disasters, were obliged to spend ten months in the inhospitable region of Nova Zembla, abandon their vessel, and make their homeward voyage of seventeen hundred miles in two small open boats through all the perils of the Arctic seas, will be found most interesting. Our account is compiled from the edition edited by Dr. Beke, and issued by the Hakluyt Society.
In the year 1594 the United Provinces determined to send out an expedition in the hopes of finding a northern route to China and India. The city of Amsterdam contributed two vessels: Zeelandt and Enkhuysen one each. Willem Barents[21], “a notable, skillfull, and wise pilote,” represented Amsterdam, while the other vessels were respectively commanded by Cornelis Cornelison and Brand Ysbrants. The vessels left the Texel on June 5th, and soon after separated. Following first the fortunes of Cornelison and Ysbrants, we find that they reached Lapland on the 23rd, and, proceeding eastward, found the weather in the middle of July as hot as in Holland during the dog days, and the mosquitoes extremely troublesome. Reaching Waigatz Island they met enormous quantities of drift-wood, which was also piled up on the shores. Passing the southern end of the island, they observed three or four hundred wooden idols, men, women, and children, their faces generally turned eastward. Sailing [pg 130]through Waigatz Strait, they found and were impeded much by large quantities of floating ice; later they reached an open sea perfectly clear of it. The land to the southward was in sight, and trended apparently to the south-east. Without more ado they concluded that they had discovered an open passage round Northern Asia to China, and turned their vessels’ bows homewards, in order to be the first to bring the good news to Holland. Meanwhile, Barents, in the Messenger, crossed the White Sea, and eventually made the west coast of Nova Zembla, proceeding thence northwards, naming several headlands and islands. About latitude 77° 25′ they encountered an immense field of ice, of which they could see no end from the mast-head, and they had to turn back. After becoming entangled in drift-ice, and experiencing misty, cold, and tempestuous weather, the crew began to murmur, and then refused positively to proceed. On the homeward voyage, after they had arrived at Maltfloe and Delgoy Islands, they met the other ships, the commanders of which were jubilant with the idea that they had discovered the North-east Passage. At all events, on their return, the reports given by them were so favourably considered, that preparations were immediately made for a second expedition.
Near one of the islands off the coast of Nova Zembla Barents and a boat-load of his men were almost swamped by an enormous white she-bear, which they had wounded, and secured by a rope. The animal, in its pain and fury, more than seconded their efforts to get it on board—for they had fancied that they might take her alive to Holland—and a panic ensued. Fortunately the rope caught round a rung or hook of the rudder, and one of the bolder men then struck her into the water. The rest immediately got to their oars and rowed so rapidly to the ship, that the bear was pretty well half drowned by the time they arrived there, and she was easily despatched. De Veer, the principal historian of these voyages, gives us some graphic descriptions of the walrus. A female walrus almost succeeded in swamping one of the boats, as Madam Bruin had before, but fled when a good round volley of Dutch execrations were levelled at her. Some of the men, tempted by the ivory tusks apparently within their easy reach, went ashore with the intention of killing some of these animals, but the sea-horses “brake all their hatchets, curtle-axes, and pikes in pieces,” and they could not kill any of them, but succeeded in performing dentistry on a rough scale by knocking out some of their teeth. The resemblance of the front part of the head of a young walrus to a human face has been often remarked, and, as we shall hereafter show, has had much to do with sailors’ stories concerning mermaids and mermen. More than once has the cry, “A man overboard!” been caused by the sudden appearance of the head of a young walrus above the water near a ship’s side.
The second expedition consisted of seven vessels: six laden with wares, merchandise, and money, and factors to act as traders; the seventh, a small pinnace, was to accompany the rest for part of the voyage, and bring back news of the proceedings. These extensive preparations were rendered nearly useless by the dilatoriness of those who had the matter in hand. The vessels did not leave the Texel till July 2nd, 1595, nor reach Nova Zembla before the middle of August. The coasts of that island were found to be unapproachable on account of the ice. In few words, they returned to Holland, having accomplished little or nothing.
When off Waigatz some of the men had landed to search for supposed precious stones, [pg 131]which they fondly believed were diamonds, but which were doubtless pieces of rock crystal. As two of the men were taking a little rest, a “great leane white beare” suddenly stole upon them, and caught one fast by the neck. The other, seeing the cause, ran away. “The beare,” says the quaint narrative, “at the first faling upon the man, bit his head in sunder, and suckt out his blood,” whereupon some twenty of the men ran to the place, and charged the animal with their pikes and muskets. Bruin, nothing daunted, seized another of the men and tore him in pieces, the rest, seized with terror, running away. A number of sailors, seeing all this, immediately came on shore, and a second charge was made. Many shots were fired, but missed; at length the purser shot the animal between the eyes, when she began to stagger. Two of the men broke their axes over her, and yet she would not leave the bodies of their comrades. At length one of them succeeded in stunning her with a well-directed blow, and then cut her throat.
NOVA ZEMBLA, SHOWING THE ROUTE TAKEN BY BARENTS AND HIS FOLLOWERS.
(After an Authentic Map made by Gerrit de Veer.)
MOCK SUNS, SEEN ON THE 4TH JUNE, 1596, BY BARENTS AND HIS FOLLOWERS.
(After a Stamp published in 1609 at Amsterdam.)
On the return of the second expedition from a voyage so fruitless, the General States of the United Provinces declined to repeat the experiment, but offered a large reward to any one who might make it “apparant that the sayd passage was to be sayled.” The merchants of Amsterdam thereupon prepared two vessels, and selected mostly single men for their crews, i.e., men unhampered by family ties, offering them great rewards if the [pg 132]objects they sought were accomplished. One of the vessels was commanded by Jacob Heemskerke Hendrickson, the master of the second being Cornelison Rijp; Barents was appointed chief pilot. The expedition sailed from Amsterdam on May 10th, 1596, and on June 1st was in a latitude high enough to have no night. On the 4th, in lat. 71°, they observed two parahelia, or mock suns, which are thus described in the narrative:—“On each side of the sunne there was another sunne and two raine-bowes, that past cleane thorow the three sunnes, and then two raine-bowes more, the one compassing round about the sunnes, and the other crosse thorow the great rundle.” On the 5th they fell in with the first floating ice, which at a distance they mistook for white swans, and on the 7th they were in lat. 74°, sailing through the ice “as if betweene two lands.” They found quantities of the eggs of red geese on an island. The narrator makes these birds, when flying away, cry out “Rot, rot, rot” (red), as though describing themselves. They also killed several bears, one of which they pursued in their boats while “foure glasses were run out (i.e., for two hours), for their weapons seemed powerless to do her hurt. One of the men struck her with an axe, which stuck fast in her back, and with which she swam away. They followed, and at length a well-directed blow split her skull.” They appear to have been much hampered in proceeding further north from the constantly accumulating ice. By their latitude at this time they were near Amsterdam Island, on which is that cape or foreland since so well known to whalers as Hakluyt’s Headland. On July 1st the [pg 133]commanders mutually agreed to part company: Cornelison Rijp, who now disappears from the scene, being of opinion that by sailing back to Spitzbergen, which they had just left, he would find a passage near its east side; while Barents favoured an eastward course in a lower parallel, and steered for Waigatz Strait and Nova Zembla, which latter he reached on July 17th. As far as the ice would permit they stood to the northwards, and at the end of the first week of August doubled Point Nassau, where, the wind being contrary, they made the ship fast to an iceberg, thirty-six fathoms (216 feet) under water, and sixteen fathoms (96 feet) above it. This berg suddenly, without warning, broke up: “with one great cracke it burst into foure hundred pieces at the least.” Ships have often been overwhelmed in this manner. Ice in all forms now surrounded them; the ship’s rudder was smashed to pieces, and their boat crushed like a nutshell, while a similar fate was expected constantly for the vessel herself, which had become much strained. They had equally to give up all hopes of proceeding or returning that season, and with great difficulty they got to the west side of a harbour on Nova Zembla, named by them Ice Haven. Here, as we shall see, they had to pass a long winter, under circumstances of great hardship and danger.
On August 27th the ice drove with great force on the ship’s bows, and lifted her up several feet. They feared that she must be capsized. Shortly afterwards the ship burst out of the ice, “with such a noyse and so great a crack” that all on board feared their last hour was come. On the 30th, during a heavy snow and boisterous weather, [pg 134]the ice masses commenced driving and grinding together with greater force than before; the ship was lifted up bodily, almost upright, and then dashed into the water again. We cannot wonder to learn that the hairs of their heads also stood “vpright with feare” amid such scenes.
And so it went on from day to day, the vessel being strained and cracked in many places, and leaking badly. On September 5th they held a council, and determined to commence the work of removing the stores ashore. They carried off their old foresail, and “other furniture” on land to make a tent; powder, lead, muskets, with bread and wine, and some tools to mend their boat. “The 11 of September,” says the narrative, “it was calme wether, and 8 of vs went on land, euery man armed, to see if that were true, as our other three companions had said that there lay wood about the riuer; for that seeing we had so long wound and turned about, sometime in the ice, and then againe got out, and thereby were compelled to alter our course, and at last saw that we could not get out of the ice, but rather became faster, and could not loose our ship, as at other times we had done, as also that it began to be winter, we took counsell together what we were best to doe according to the time that we might winter there, and attend such aduenture as God would send vs; and after we had debated vpon the matter, to keepe and defend our selues both from the cold and the wild beasts, we determined to build a house vpon the land to keep vs therein as well as we could, and so to commit ourselues vnto the tuition of God.” As they had little wood on board, and there were no trees on land, they were most rejoiced when they found “certaine trees, roots and all,” which had been driven upon the shore (drift-wood, probably, brought down by one of the great rivers of Asiatic Siberia, floated out to sea, and deposited on the shores of Nova Zembla). “We were much comforted,” says the narrator, “being in good hope that God would show vs some further fauour; for that wood serued vs not onely to build our house, but also to burne and serue vs all the winter long; otherwise, without all doubt, we had died there miserably with extreame cold.”
TRANSPORTING WOOD ON SLEDGES FOR BUILDING THE HOUSE.
The party as it now stood consisted of seventeen persons, of whom one, the carpenter, who of all could least be spared at this juncture, died towards the end of September, and another was prostrated with sickness. They had to haul the wood in sledges for a considerable distance over ice and snow, and it was so intensely cold that the skin was often taken off their hands and faces. “As wee put a naile into our mouthes,” says De Veer “(as carpenters use to do) there would ice hang thereon when wee took it out againe, and make the bloud follow.” The present writer saw precisely the same thing happen more than once at a Russian trading post in Alaska some years ago, and knows well what it is to have his own mouth and nostrils nearly frozen up by the breath congealing about the moustache, lips, &c., more especially when camped in the “open” at night. These good Dutchmen seem to have been most resigned and philosophical during “their cold, comfortlesse, darke, and dreadful winter,” determining to make the best of their hard lot. The narrative of De Veer is told in a plain, unvarnished, and manly style, and, as Dr. Beke[22] has well remarked, “we may perceive that the reliance of himself and his [pg 135]comrades on the Almighty was not less firm or sincere because His name was not incessantly on their lips. Cheerfulness, and even frequent hilarity, could not fail to be the concomitants of so wholesome a tone of mind.”
On September 15th two bears made their appearance, and there was great excitement, the men being anxious to shoot them. A tub or barrel of salt beef was standing on the ice near the ship, and one of the bears put his head into it to get out a joint of the meat. But “she fared therewith,” says the narrator, “as the dog did with ye pudding;[23] for as she was snatching at the beefe she was shot into the head, wherewith she fell downe dead and neuer stir’d (there we saw a curious sight); the other beare stood still, and lokt vpon her fellow (as if wondering why she remained so motionless), and when she had stood a good while she smelt her fellow, and perceiuing that she lay still and was dead, she ran away, and all pursuit was vain.”
ATTACKED BY BEARS.
At length their house was completed; it had been built partly from the drift-wood, and partly from the deck timbers and other portions of the ship. The original illustration, a very quaint picture, shows the fire in the middle of the floor, and a large chimney immediately over it. In other illustrations in De Veer’s works the chimney is surmounted by a barrel, which served the same purpose for the “look out” as the “crow’s nest” or observatory in modern Arctic vessels. An oil lamp swung in the centre of the room, and a large bench, with divisions, served for resting places by night. The old Dutch clock, the works of which became frozen during the winter, is shown hanging on the wall, while the large twelve-hour sand-glass, which replaced it, is also included. A large wine-vat or barrel, standing on end, requires explanation. It was used as a vapour or steam bath, a hole in the side being cut both for air and as a door or opening for ingress or egress. The steam was in all probability made by placing hot stones in a small quantity of water at the bottom of the barrel. The writer has in Alaska (formerly Russian America) often used a steam bath of a construction almost as primitive, where in a small room the required vapour was raised by throwing water on a little furnace or fire-place, built of stones, which were kept at a white heat by a fire inside. Round the walls of the room were shelves or benches, on which one could recline, and by selecting the upper or lower ones, as the case might be, enjoy a greater or a lesser degree of heat.
On November 4th the last feeble rays of the sun took leave of them, and intense cold followed. Their wine and spruce-beer became frozen, and separated into two parts, the water being ice, and the remainder a thick glutinous liquid. Melted together again, they were nearly undrinkable. Wood does not appear to have been scarce till later in the winter, although they had to fetch some of it a distance of several miles. They once tried a fire of coal in the middle of their room, but the experiment was not repeated, as the sulphurous smoke nearly suffocated them. Their thickest European clothing was utterly insufficient for the climate they had to endure. During the winter they killed and trapped a few bears and foxes, and some of their skins were of course utilised. The former, however, disappeared with the sun, and only reappeared when it again showed itself.
The record of their monotonous winter life, almost entirely confined to the house, would be as tedious in the recital as it was in reality. Their wretched habitation was nearly buried in snow, and they felt as much out of the world as though they had really left it. Outside, gale succeeded gale, and howling winds and drifting snow prevented the possibility of hunting, exercise, or amusement. Inside, as the record tells us, they used all the means in their power to preserve warmth: put hot stones and heated cannon-balls at their feet, and smothered themselves in every article of clothing or bedding they had, but with little avail; their cots and the walls were covered with frost, and themselves as stiff and white as corpses. The narrative says quaintly that as they sat before a great fire their shins burned on the fore side, while their backs were frozen. Nevertheless they repined not, but took everything in the spirit of calm philosophy. On December 26th De Veer, when an unusually severe day had set in, writes that they comforted themselves that the sun had gone as low as it could, and must now return. The quaintness and simplicity of this narrative is well illustrated by the following entry for the last day of 1596:—“The 31 of December it was still foule wether, with a storme out of the north-west, whereby we were so fast shut vp into the house as if we had beene prisoners, and it was so extreame cold that the fire almost cast no heate; for as we put our feete to the fire we burnt our hose (stockings) before we could feele the heate, so that we had constantly work enough to do to patch our hose. And, which is more, if we had not sooner smelt than felt them, we should haue burnt them quite away ere we had knowne it.”
On January 5th they even celebrated Twelfth Night, making merry with a small quantity of wine, pancakes, and white biscuit. They drew lots for a master of revels, and it fell to the gunner, who was made King of Nova Zembla. All this, after all, was more sensible than giving way to the despondency which they could not help feeling at times. On February 12th they shot a bear, the first for the year. The first bullet fired, passing through her body, “went out againe at her tayle, and was as flat as a counter that had been beaten out with a hammer.” This was a god-send to them, as now they were enabled to keep their lamps constantly burning, which previously they had often been unable to do for want of grease. The bear yielded a hundred pounds of fat. In the latter part of winter the bears came round the house, and attempted to break in the door, while one almost succeeded in entering by the chimney.
REPAIRING THE BOAT.
At the beginning of March they saw open water, and were greatly rejoiced, looking hopefully forward to the day of release. In April the ice hummocks on the coast were “risen and piled vp one vpon the other, that it was wonderfull in such manner as if there had bin whole townes made of ice, with towres and bulwarkes round about them.” In May their provisions were getting very low, and they themselves were both weakened by inaction and insufficiency of food, while the scurvy had made its appearance among some of the number. Impatient of their long and dreary sojourn, the men, on the 9th and 11th of May, came to Barents, praying him to speak to “the maister (skipper) to make preparations to goe from thence.” On the 15th they consulted together and decided to leave at the end of the month, if “the ship [pg 138]could not be loosed,” which gladdened the hearts of the men. Next they began to repair their clothes; and on May 29th the boat and yawl were cleared of the snow which buried them. The narrative shows how enfeebled they had become. Ten of them went to the boat, to repair it and make it ready. When they had got it out of the snow, and thought themselves able to drag it up to the house, their united efforts were not sufficient. De Veer says, “We could not doe it because we were too weake.” They became, we cannot wonder, wholly out of heart, for unless the boats could be got ready they would, as the master told them, have to remain as burghers or citizens of Nova Zembla, and make their graves there. But, as the narrative continues, there was no want of goodwill in them, but only strength. After a rest they did, by slow degrees manage to repair and heighten the gunwales of the boat. Their work was impeded by the bears, one of which they killed, and the liver of which having eaten, they were “exceeding sicke,” so much so that of three of the men it is stated that “all their skins came off from the foote to the head.” Although bear’s meat is perfectly wholesome and far from uneatable, the same fact has very frequently been noticed in regard to the poisonous qualities of the liver, at least at certain seasons. In this case, the captain took what was left and threw it away, for as De Veer candidly admits, they “had enough of the sawce thereof.”
It now became obvious that the ship, which was completely bilged, must be abandoned, and their time, after repairing and strengthening the boats, was fully employed in moving and packing their goods, including the more valuable of the merchandise they had brought for trading purposes from the house, and in stripping the ship of everything of value. On June 12th they went with hatchets, pick-axes, shovels, and all kinds of implements, to make a clear wide shoot or way from the house, passing the ship, to the water. The ice was full of hummocks, knobs, and hills, and this was not the lightest of their labours. Then Barents and the skipper wrote letters, detailing the circumstances of their ten months’ stay, and that they were forced to abandon the ship and put to sea in two open boats, to which all of the men subscribed except four, who from sickness or inability could not write. Barents’ letter was put in a place of safety in their deserted house, and each of the boats was furnished with a copy of the captain’s letter, in case they should be separated or one or other lost. The yawl and boat having been launched and loaded, Barents and a man named Adrianson, both of whom had been long invalids, were carried on a sledge to the water’s edge. There were now fifteen men in all, and their provisions were reduced to limited rations of bread, one barrel of Dutch cheese, one flitch of bacon, and some small runlets of wine, oil, and vinegar.
To the narrative which follows the compiler can hardly do justice, whilst an exact reprint of the quietly and unsensationally told story of Gerrit de Veer would have to be closely studied before the reader would understand and feel the adventurous and desperate nature of the exploit performed. These fifteen poor Dutchmen, gaunt and exhausted as we know they were, weakened by semi-starvation and disease, badly provisioned at this most critical time, two of their number dying, bravely encountered a voyage of some seventeen hundred miles, eleven at least of which were amongst the worst dangers of the Arctic seas. The larger of their two craft was a fishing yawl of the smallest size. For eighty days they struggled through an unknown and frozen ocean, in the ice, over the [pg 139]ice, and through the sea, exposed to all the ordinary dangers of wave and tempest, liable to be crushed at any moment by the grinding ice masses, or swamped by the disintegration of icebergs, constantly having to unload, haul up, and re-launch their boats, and further, exposed to severe cold, wet, fatigue, and famine, as well as to the constant attacks of savage animals. They persevered, for although their hearts often sank within them, it was for dear life, and at length their heroic efforts were rewarded. Some few extracts from the work already so often quoted will give a faint idea of the dangers through which they passed and over which they finally triumphed.
The boats, sailing in company, left Ice Haven on June 14th, 1597, at first slowly, making their course from one cape or headland to another. At the very start they became entangled in the floating ice, which, however, on the following day was more sparsely scattered. On June 16th they set sail again (having stopped off Cape Desire for the night), and got to the Islands of Orange. There they went on land with two small barrels and a kettle to melt snow, as also to seek for birds and eggs for their sick men. Of the former they only obtained three. “As we came backe againe,” says the narrator, “our maister fell into the ice, where he was in great danger of his life, for in that place there ran a great streame (‘strong current’ is Dr. Beke’s translation); but, by God’s helpe, he got out againe and came to vs, and there dryed himselfe by the fire that we had made, at which fire we drest the birds, and carried them to the scute to our sicke men.” Putting to sea again, with a south-east wind and a mizzling rain, they were soon all wet to the skin. Off Ice Point, the most northerly cape or point of Nova Zembla, the skipper called to Barents to ask him how he did, to which he answered, “I still hope to run before we get to Wardhuus.” Then he turned to De Veer, and said, “Gerrit, if we are near the Ice Point just lift me up again. I must see that point once more.” These were almost the last words of this brave man, who undoubtedly felt at the time that not merely he should never see Ice Point again, but that he was not long for this world. He was dying fast, and his courageous words were meant for his companions’ comfort. “Next day,” says the narrator, “when we had broken our fastes, the ice came so frightfully upon vs that it made our haires stand vpright vpon our heades, it was so fearefull to behold; by which meanes we could not make fast our scutes, so that we thought verily that it was a foreshewing of our last end; for we draue away so hard with the ice, and were so sore prest between a flake of ice, that we thought verily the scutes would burst in a hundredth peeces, which made vs look pittifully one upon the other, for no counsell nor aduise was to be found, but every minute of an houre we saw death before our eies.” At last, in desperation, De Veer managed to jump on a piece of ice, and creeping from one to another of the grinding masses, at length secured a rope to one of the hummocks. “And when we had gotten thither,” says he, “in all haste we tooke our sicke men out and layd them vpon the ice, laying clothes and other things vnder them, and then tooke all our goods out of the scutes, and so drew them vpon the ice, whereby for that time we were deliuered from that great danger, making account that we had escaped out of death’s clawes, as it was most true.”
The boats having been repaired, they were delayed some days by the ice, which shut them in. On June 20th Adrianson “began to be extreme sick,” and the boatswain came [pg 140]to inform the others that he could not live long; “whereupon,” says De Veer, “William Barents spake and said, I think I shall not liue long after him; and yet we did not ivdge William Barents to be so sicke, for we sat talking one with the other, and spake of many things, and William Barents looked at my little chart which I had made of our voyage (and we had some discussion about it). At last he laid away the chart and spake vnto me, saying, Gerrit, give me some drinke; and he had so sooner drunke but he was taken with so sodaine a qualme that he turned his eies in his head and died presently, and we had no time to call the maister out of the other scute to speak vnto him; and so he died before Claes Adrianson (who died shortly after him). The death of William Barents put us in no small discomfort, as being the chiefe guide and only pilot on whom we reposed our selues next under God; but we could not striue against God, and therefore we must of force be content.” Other passages indicate that Barents had inspired great affection in the hearts of his companions, and that his loss was felt with much poignancy.
UNLOADING, DRAGGING, AND CARRYING BOATS AND GOODS.
The following passage is only one of many indicating the laborious nature of their undertaking:—“The 22 of June in the morning it blew a good gale out of the south-east, and then the sea was reasonably open, but we were forced to draw our scutes ouer the ice to get vnto it, which was great paine and labour unto vs; for first we were forced to draw our scutes over a peece of ice of 50 paces long, and then put them into the water, and then againe to draw them vp vpon other ice, and after draw them at the least [pg 141]300 paces more ouer the ice, before we could bring them to a good place, where we might easily get out.” On the 25th and 26th of June a tempest raged, and they were driven to sea, being unable, as they had sometimes done before, to tie the boats to fast or grounded ice. They were nearly swamped at this time by the great seas which constantly broke over their open boats, and for some little time were separated in a fog, but by firing muskets at length found out each other’s position and joined company. One of the boats got into a dangerous place between fixed and driving ice, and the men had to unload it, and take it and the goods bodily across the masses to more open water. On June 28th, the narrative continues, “We laid all our goods vpon the ice, and then drew the scutes vpon the ice also, because we were so hard prest on all sides with the ice, and the wind came out of the sea vpon the land, and therefore we were in feare to be wholly inclosed with the ice, and should not be able to get out thereof againe. And being vpon the ice, we laid sailes ouer our scutes, and laie down to rest, appointing one of our men to keepe watch; and when the sun was north there came three beares towards our scutes, wherewith he that kept the watch cried out lustily, ‘Three beares! Three beares!’ at which noise we leapt out of our boates with our muskets, that were laden with small shot to shoote at birds, and had no time to reload them, and therefore shot at them therewith; and although that kinde of shot could not hurt them much, yet they ranne away, and in the meane time they gaue vs leisure to lade our muskets with bullets, and by that meanes we shot one of the three dead.... The 29th of June, the sun being south-south-west, the two beares came againe to the place where the dead beare laie, when one of them tooke the dead beare in his mouth, and went a great way with it ouer the rugged ice, and then began to eate it; which we perceauing, shot a musket at her, but she, hearing the noise thereof, ran away and let the dead beare lie. Then foure of vs went thither, and saw that in so short a time she had eaten almost the halfe of her.” It was as much as these four could do to carry away the half of the body left, although the bear had just before dragged the whole of it over the rough and hummocky ice with little exertion.
On July 1st they were again in great danger among the driving, grinding ice, their boats were much crushed, and they lost a quantity of goods, and, what was of vital importance at the time, a large proportion of their remaining provisions. A few days afterwards their little company was still further reduced by the death of one of the sailors. On July 11th, and a week afterwards, they were enclosed by ice, from which they could not extricate themselves. During this enforced delay they shot a bear, whose fat ran out at the holes made by the bullets, and floated on the water like oil. They obtained some seventy duck eggs on a neighbouring island, and for a time feasted royally. “The 18 of July,” says the narrator, “about the east sunne, three of our men went vp vpon the highest part of the land to see if there was any open water in the sea; at which time they saw much open water, but it was so farre from the land that they were almost out of comfort, because it lay so farre from the land and the fast ice.” They had on this occasion to row to an ice-field, unload, and drag and carry boats and goods at least three-fourths of a mile across; they then loaded and set sail, but were speedily entangled again, and had to repeat their previous experiences.
And so it went on for forty-four days, until, in St. Laurence Bay, behind a projecting point, they suddenly came on two Russian vessels with which they had met the previous year, and the crews of which wondered to see them in their present plight, “so leane and bare” and broken down. They exchanged courtesies, and provided them with a trifling supply of rye bread and smoked fowls, then sailing away on their own affairs. For thirty-five days longer they sailed westward, repeating many of their previous experiences, till at length, on September 2nd, they arrived at Kola, in Russian Lapland, and their troubles were really over. Cornelison’s ship happened to be in the port, and they rejoiced and made merry with their old companions, who had long given them up for lost.
Thus ended this remarkable voyage of nearly eighty days in two small open boats. It would seem nowadays utter madness to think of making a long voyage in such frail and unsuitable craft, and our adventurers had had the special perils of the Arctic seas superadded to the more ordinary dangers of the ocean. Eight weeks later they were enjoying the calm pleasures of their own firesides, after having been entertained at the Hague by the Prince of Orange.
A further interest attaches to the voyage from the recent discovery made by Captain Carlsen, while circumnavigating Nova Zembla, of the very house erected at Ice Haven by these adventurers, with many interesting relics, which had remained in tolerable preservation, and had been evidently unvisited for this great length of time. “No man,” says Mr. Markham, “had entered the lonely dwelling where the famous discoverer of Spitzbergen had sojourned during the long winter of 1596 for nearly three centuries. There stood the cooking-pans over the fireplace, the old clock against the wall, the arms, the tools, the drinking-vessels, the instruments, and the books that had beguiled the weary hours of that long night, 278 years ago.... Perhaps the most touching is the pair of small shoes. There was a little cabin-boy among the crew, who died, as Gerrit de Veer tells us, during the winter. This accounts for the shoes having been left behind. There is a flute, too, once played by that poor boy, which will still give out a few notes.”[24] The relics brought home by Carlsen were eventually taken to the Hague, where they are now preserved with jealous care.
In chronological order, a voyage of which there is little record left comes next. There is little doubt that William Adams—who, afterwards cast away on the coast of Japan, is inseparably connected with the history of that country, and whose adventures will be considered in the proper place—did, in 1595 or 1596, make an attempt at the north-east passage. The Prince of Orange had ordered him to try for a northern route to Japan, China, and the Moluccas, considering that it would be shorter, and safer from the attacks of the pirates and corsairs who infested the more southern seas. Adams averred that he had reached 82° N., but that “the cold was so excessive, with so much sleet and snow driving down those straits, that he was compelled to return.” And he asserted that if he had kept close to the coast of Tartary, and had run along it to the eastward, to the opening of Anian, between the land of Asia and America, he might have succeeded in his undertaking.
Next comes the attempt of George Weymouth in 1602. He was despatched by the worshipful merchants of the Muscovy and Turkey Companies to attempt a north-west passage to China. This voyage was an utter failure, and he never reached a higher latitude than 63° 53′ N. While proceeding to the north-west they passed four islands of ice “of a huge bignesse,” and about this time the fog was so thick that they could not see two ships’ lengths before them, and the sails, shrouds, and ropes were frozen so stiff that they could not be handled. On July 19th the crew mutinied, and conspired to keep the captain confined to his cabin, while they reversed the ship’s course and bore for England. Weymouth discovered this, and punished the ringleaders. The boats were on one occasion sent to an iceberg, to load some of it for fresh water, and as the men were breaking it “the great island of ice gave a mightie cracke two or three times, as though it had been a thunderclappe; and presently the island began to overthrow,” which nearly swamped the boats. The whole account of Weymouth’s voyage is confused and indefinite, but he evidently did nothing beyond cruising among the islands north of Hudson’s Strait, and off Labrador.
In 1605, 1606, and 1607, three expeditions, of which James Hall, an Englishman, was pilot, were despatched to the Greenland coasts by the King of Denmark. They fancied on the first voyage that they had discovered a silver mine in Cunningham’s Fiord, Greenland, and the second voyage was instigated in the hopes of filling the royal coffers with the precious metal. These voyages were in effect most fruitless. Several natives were carried off by Hall, who in return left three Danish malefactors on the Greenland coasts, a severe mode of banishment. While these voyages were in progress, the Muscovy and East India merchants had despatched a small barque, under the command of John Knight, for the discovery of the north-west passage. Near Cape Guinington, on the coast of Labrador, a northerly gale, which brought down large quantities of drift ice, did much damage to the vessel, and she lost her rudder. Knight took the vessel into the most accessible cove in order to repair her, and went ashore with the mate and four sailors, all well armed, to endeavour to find some more suitable harbour. On landing, Knight, the mate, and another, went up towards the highest part of the island, leaving the others to take charge of the boat. The latter waited some thirteen hours, but the captain and his companions did not return. Next day, a well-armed party from the ship went in search of them, but were unable to reach the island on account of the ice. No tidings were ever gleaned concerning their fate, but it was concluded that the savage natives had killed them, as later a number of these people came down and attacked the crew with great ferocity. They had large canoes, and the narrator describes them as “very little people, tawnie coloured, thin or no beards, and flat-nosed, and man-eaters.” After patching up their vessel, they steered for Newfoundland, and later for England, which they reached in safety.
VIEW ON THE HUDSON.