CHAPTER XIV
Captain Thomas Long.—Discovery of Wrangell Land.—Captain Carlsen and Captain Palliser sail across the Sea of Kara.—Captain Johannsen circumnavigates Nova Zembla.—First German expedition.—Second German expedition.—Germania, Captain Koldewey commanding.—Hansa, Captain Hegemann.—Departure from Bremen.—Crossing the Arctic Circle.—Island of Jan Mayen.—The ice line.—Separation from the Hansa.—Adrift on the ice-floe.—Winter.—Final rescue.—Germania beset.—Winter.—Sledging parties.—Lieutenant Payer’s remarkable journey.—77° 1´ north latitude.—Return of the Germania.
CAPTAIN THOMAS LONG
Other important discoveries followed the journeys of Dr. Hayes and Captain Hall, including that of Captain Thomas Long, an American whaler, who in 1867 discovered “a mountainous country of considerable extent in the Polar Ocean, beyond Behring Strait,” supposed at that time to be the western prolongation of Plover Island.
The same year Captain Carlsen and Captain Palliser sailed across the generally inaccessible Sea of Kara to the mouths of the Obi,—and Captain Johannsen succeeded in circumnavigating the whole archipelago of Nova Zembla. In 1868 the first German north polar expedition was fitted out through the exertions of the scientist Dr. A. Peterman of Gotha. The yacht Greenland, commanded by Captain Koldewey, sailed to Spitzbergen, reaching 84° 05´ N. off the north coast, and, passing down Henlopen Strait, sighted Wiche Land, returning home the fall of the same year.
SECOND GERMAN EXPEDITION
In 1869 and 1870, the Germans made a more successful attempt to enter the lists of Arctic discovery by exploring a considerable part of the previously unvisited coast of East Greenland. The ship Germania was chosen for this purpose, being expressly adapted for ice navigation; the Hansa of nearly the same size was to accompany her. Captain Karl Koldewey and Captain Fr. Hegemann were first and second in command respectively.
“The departure of the expedition from Bremerhaven,” writes Captain Koldewey, “took place on the 15th of June, 1869, in the presence of his Majesty, the King of Prussia, whose warm interest in this great national undertaking showed itself in this solemn hour in a manner never to be forgotten. Amongst the numerous gentlemen in attendance on his Majesty were his Royal Highness, the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin, Count Bismarck, the Minister of War and Marine, von Roon, General von Moltke, and Vice-Admiral Jackman. The ships lay at the entrance of the new harbour just outside the sluice. The king, having been introduced to the scientific gentlemen and the commander of the expedition, and having greeted them with a hearty shake of the hand, the President of the Bremen Committee, Herr A. G. Mosle, requested his Majesty’s permission to speak a few parting words; and in an earnest and impressive manner the speaker referred to the greatness and importance of the object, the self-denial, difficulties, and dangers which lay before them, but which they all willingly braved for the honour of their native land, for the honour of the German navy, and of German science.”
July 1 found the expedition in 61° north latitude, passing the entrance between Norway and the Shetland Isles. “With that the German Ocean was left behind and the open sea reached, which already made itself felt by the peculiar ‘Atlantic swell.’”
On the 5th of July, at fifty minutes past eleven, the Germania passed the Arctic Circle, nearly under the meridian of Greenwich.
“A violent wind was blowing,” writes Captain Koldewey, “and with a speed of nine knots we entered the Arctic Ocean, which was to be our quarters for a whole year. The Hansa was some miles in advance of us, and was the first to unfurl the North German flag; at the same time firing one gun. We followed. Conformably to the custom, as on crossing the equator, Neptune came on board to welcome us, and wish us success on our voyage; of course not without all those who had not yet crossed the Arctic Circle having to undergo the rather rough shaving and christening customary on such occasions. The ceremony closed (as is usual on such occasions) with a good glass of wine, to wash away the evil effects of the cold water.”
On board the Hansa the proceeding was carried out much more scrupulously. Describing the frolic, Dr. Laube writes thus:—
“We entered into the spirit of the fun willingly, knowing that our sailors were decent fellows, and would not carry things too far, even had we not entered on the ship’s books with them in Breman, and become seamen. Our carpenter went about the whole day with a sly, laughing face, and towards evening had quite lost his usual chattiness. We ourselves kept in the cabin, so as not to witness the preparations. At midnight we were called on deck. A gun was fired, and as its thunder died away, we heard the well-known cry, ‘Ship ahoy!’ Three wonderful figures climbed over the bowsprit; Neptune first, in an Eskimo’s dress, with a great white cotton beard, a seven-pronged dolphin harpoon for a trident in one hand, and a speaking-trumpet in the other. A tarpaulin was spread on the quarter-deck, and a stool placed upon it. It looked like a judge’s bench. Here each of us was seated with eyes bound, while the masked followers of the northern Ruler went through the customary proceedings. I was soaped and shaved; god Neptune was most favorable to me; he knows what good cigars are, and has great respect for those to whom they belong. Then came the christening, which in this case was not applied to the head (as is usual) but to the throat and stomach. Neptune put some questions to me through his speaking-trumpet, desiring me to answer. I saw his object, answered with a short ‘Yes’ and then closed my lips. The mischievous waterfall rattled over me, causing universal merriment. They then took the bandage from my eyes, that I might see my handsome face in the glass; but instead of a looking glass, it was the combing of the wooden hatchway, which with great gravity was held before my face by the barber’s assistant. I was now absolved, and could laugh with the others, whilst seeing my comrades obliged to go through the same course one after the other.”
By the 9th of July, the expedition came in sight of the island of Jan Mayen. The midnight hours had now become perceptibly lighter; even in the cabin a lamp was no longer needed, and at twelve o’clock at night it was possible to read and write without difficulty. Fog and snow had already begun their rule of terror, and Captain Koldewey records three hundred and sixty-eight hours of fog from the 10th of July to the 1st of August.
The island of Jan Mayen lies in the middle of the wide, deep sea between Norway and Greenland, Iceland and Spitzbergen; and is distant about sixty geographical miles from the coast of Greenland. It was discovered and named after a Dutchman who visited it in the year 1611. It is nine miles in length and one mile in breadth, rocky and mountainous, with only two spots of flat beach suitable for landing-places. The northeast part rises to a height of six thousand eight hundred sixty-three feet, in the lofty Beerenberg, which has a large crater. In the year 1732, Burgomaster Anderson, of Hamburg, reported a decided eruption from a small side crater, and in 1818, Scoresby and another captain saw great pillars of smoke rising from the same place. Of this wonderful isolated, snow-covered peak, Lord Dufferin, in “Letters from High Latitudes,” wrote,—
“My delight was of an anchorite catching a glimpse of the seventh heaven.”
Jan Mayen lies so near the edge of the ice-fields, that from 1612 to 1640 it afforded the English and Dutch whale-fishers a comfortable station for their train-oil preparation. One ship is reported to have brought home one hundred and ninety-six thousand gallons of oil in a single year.
The ice line was reached July 15. “After a foggy day, a light southerly breeze got up, the sails filled, the ship answered the helm once more, and we moved in a north-westerly course between small floes and brashes. A practised ear might now notice a peculiar distant roar, which seemed to come nearer by degrees. It was the sea singing against the still hidden ice.
“Nearer and nearer comes the rushing noise. Every man is on deck; when, as with the touch of a magic wand, the mist divides, and a few hundred yards before us lies the ice, in long lines like a deep indented rocky coast, with walls glittering blue in the sun, and the foaming of the waves mounting high, with the top covered with blinding white snow. The eyes of all rested with amazement on this grand panorama; it was a glorious but serious moment, stirred as we were by new thoughts and feelings, by hopes and doubts, by bold and far-reaching expectations.”
ADRIFT ON THE ICE FLOE
Up to this time the Germania and Hansa had stood well together with occasional separation in the fogs, and on the 18th of July the officers of the two ships exchanged hospitalities. The next day, through a fatal misunderstanding of signals, the Hansa separated from the Germania, and they never met again.
Jan Mayen Island
On the 28th of July, the Hansa stood in 72° 56´ north latitude and 16° 54´ west latitude. The dark rock coast of East Greenland was visible for the first time from Cape Broer Ruys to Cape James.
By sailing, towing, and warping, the Hansa made slow progress through the ice. The captain and two officers and two sailors made an attempt to land on August 24, but were obliged to return to the ship without having accomplished their mission. On the 25th of August the Hansa reached within thirty-five nautical miles of Sabine Island. The ship was continually subjected to dangerous ice pressure, and often forced southward by the drifting ice-fields. By the 6th of September, she lay between two promontories of a large ice-field, which eventually proved a raft of deliverance. By the 14th of September, she was completely frozen up in 73° 25.7´ north latitude and 18° 39.5´ west latitude. At the mercy of the drifting currents, the Hansa stood in imminent peril of total destruction. Between October 5 and 14 the drift had carried the ship seventy-two nautical miles to the south-southwest. The nights were cold, sometimes 4° F. below zero. The only sign of animal life to be seen were ravens, which were doubtless wintering on the coast; once a gull and a falcon made the ship a visit. A severe storm from the north-northwest on the 19th brought disastrous pressure upon, the Hansa.
“Shortly before one o’clock, the deck seams sprang, but still she seemed tight. Mighty blocks of ice pushed themselves under the bow, and, although they were crushed by it, they forced the ship up no less than seventeen feet. The rising of the ship was an extraordinary and awful, yet splendid spectacle, of which the whole crew were witnesses from the ice.”
Realizing the gravity of the situation, Captain Hegemann at once ordered clothing, nautical instruments, and stores to be removed from the ship to a safe distance. The pumps were put in action to free her from water, but to the horror of all, it was discovered before many hours that the Hansa was doomed.
“Calmly, though much moved, we faced this hard fact.”
There was not a minute’s time to lose; while one-half of the men stayed by the pumps, the others were busily engaged bringing the most necessary articles from the vessel to the floe. Gradually the ship filled with water, and by eight in the morning the men who were busy in the fore-peak getting out firewood came with anxious faces to say that the wood was already floating below. At three o’clock the water in the cabin had reached the table, and all movable articles were floating.
“Round about the ship lay a chaotic mass of heterogeneous articles, and groups of feeble rats struggling with death, and trembling with cold.”
On the morning of the 21st, a last trip was made to the Hansa for fuel and her masts sacrificed to the stress of need. She was then cut away from the ice that she might not endanger the lives of those on the floe when she sank.
WINTER
The shipwrecked crew, in the miserable shelter of the coal house, settled themselves to meet the exigencies of their frightful position. In the far distance Halloway Bay and Glasgow Island were distinctly visible, but nowhere a way through the icy labyrinth. Slowly, steadily, the ice-field drifted to the south. By November 3 the Liverpool coast had been passed, and the picturesque formation of the coast surrounding Scoresby Sound was distinctly visible.
The health of the party remained good; a monotonous routine of daily duties occupied officers and men. The capture of a walrus and bear gave a welcome supply of fresh meat. Christmas was cheerfully celebrated by these shipwrecked mariners in the coal-hut on their Greenland floe. A tree artistically manufactured of pine wood and birch broom was gayly decorated with paper rings and candles,—nor were gifts wanting, and finally, wrote Dr. Laube in his day-book:—
“In quiet devotion 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 were destined for a happy return home, the next will be a brighter one; may God grant it!”
The months of January and February were fraught with many anxious hours, owing to the numerous and severe storms which threatened destruction to the floe. The horrors of such an experience are vividly described as follows:—
On the 11th of January, “At six in the morning, Hildebrandt, who happened to have the watch, burst in with the alarm, ‘All hands turn out.’ An indescribable tumult was heard without. With furs and knapsacks all rushed out. But the outer entrance was snowed up; so to gain the outside quickly, we broke through the snow-roof of the front hall. The tumult of the elements which met us there was beyond anything we had already experienced. Scarcely able to leave the spot, we stood huddled together for protection from the bad weather. Suddenly we heard, ‘Water on the floe close by.’ The floe surrounding us split up; a heavy sea arose. Our field began to break on all sides. On the spot between our house and the piled-up store of wood which was about twenty-five paces distant, there suddenly opened a huge gap. Washed by the powerful waves, it seemed as if the piece just broken off was about to fall upon us; and at the same time we felt the rising and falling of our now greatly reduced floe. All seemed lost. From our split-up ice-field all the firewood was drifting into the raging sea. And in like manner we had nearly lost our boat Bismarck; even the whale-boat was obliged to be brought for safety into the middle of the floe. The large boat, being too heavy to handle, we were obliged to give up entirely. All this in a temperature of -9½°, and a heavy storm, was an arduous piece of work. The community were divided into two parts. We bade each other good-by with a farewell shake of the hands, for the next moment we might go down. Deep despondency had taken hold of our scientific friends; the crew were still and quiet. Thus we stood or cowered by our boats the whole day, the fine pricking snow penetrating through the clothes to the skin. It was a miracle that just that part of the floe on which we stood should from its soundness keep together. Our floe, now only 150 feet in diameter, was the 35 to 40 feet nucleus of the formerly extensive field to which we had entrusted our preservation. Towards evening the masses of ice became closely packed again. At the same time the heavy sea had subsided and immediate danger seemed past. Relieved, we partook of something in the house and lay down, after setting a good watch. It was past midnight, when we were roused from our sleep by the cry of terror; the voice of the sailor on watch, exclaiming, ‘Turn out, we are drifting on to a high iceberg!’ All rushed to the entrance; dressed as we always were; we had no time to run through the long snow passage, but burst open the roof, climbed on to the door and so out. What a sight! Close upon us, as if hanging over our heads, towered a huge mass of ice, of giant proportions. ‘It is past,’ said the captain. Was it really an iceberg, or the mirage of one, or the high coast? We could not decide the question. Owing to the swiftness of the drift, the ghastly object had disappeared the next moment.”
Again on the evening of the 14th a frightful storm raged, which set the ice once more in motion.
“In the immediate neighbourhood of the house, our floe burst; and the broken ice flew high around us. It was high time to bring the boat Bismarck and the whale-boat more into the middle. This we did; but they were far too heavily laden to bring further. On this account, furs, sacks of bread, and clothing were taken out and packed on two sledges, which were, however, soon completely snowed up. All our labour 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.”
For five nights the men slept in the boats; the days were employed in raising their settlement from its ruins. A wooden kitchen was built and a dwelling house, exactly like the one destroyed, but half as large (14 feet long by 10 broad and 1½ high in the middle).
In spite of such frightful experiences, the men kept cheerful, undaunted, and exalted; in fact, the cook kept a right seaman-like humour, having exclaimed while repairing the coffee kettle, during the frightful pressure of the ice which destroyed the floe, “if the floe would only hold together until he had finished his kettle! he wished so to make the evening tea in it, so that, before our departure, we might have something warm.”
February and March found them helplessly drifting to the southward, and by Easter (17th of April) they lay floating backwards and forwards in the Bay of Unbarbik. Linnets and snow-buntings soon made their appearance, so fearless and confiding that, “Some of them,” so says Bade’s day-book, “will almost perch upon our noses, and in five minutes allowed themselves to be caught three times.”
On the 7th of May the agreeable sight of open water in the direction of land cheered both officers and men. The captain now decided that an attempt would be made to leave the floe and reach the coast. The little community, divided amid three boats, bade farewell to the ice-floe which had been their home for two hundred days.
During several days of bad weather, small progress was made. The men suffered considerably from exhaustion, snow-blindness, and want of proper shelter and food—the latter problem was occasioning considerable concern, and already the men were “almost looking their eyes out after a seal.” There was but six weeks’ short provisions on hand and a long distance to travel over a barren and uninhabited coast before the settlement could be reached.
The ice remaining unnavigable, it was decided to make the island of Illuidlek, dragging the heavy boat-loads over the all but impassable ice hummocks.
By the 24th of May, Mr. Hildebrandt and the sailors Philipp and Paul, set foot on firm ground. Their encouraging report cheered the others to similar exertions, but the progress was slow and exhausting. Not until the 4th of June were the entire party landed at Illuidlek. The island proved of rocky formation, naked, and bare of vegetation.
“Everywhere we find nothing,” writes one of the party, “but bare barren cliffs, the higher the wilder, sparingly clothed with moss and stunted willows. But no trace of human inhabitants.”
Two days later (June 6) they started once more; their object was to make for Friedricksthal, the nearest colony on the southwest coast of Greenland. On June 13, 1870, after passing through the Straits of Torsudatik, and skirting the coast, the longed-for bay was reached. “A few hundred steps from the shore on the green ground, stood a rather spacious red house, topped by a small tower. It was the mission house. Groups of natives from the shore speedily welcomed the wanderers and the cheerful greeting of the Moravian missionaries: ‘That is the German flag! They are our people! Welcome, welcome to Greenland!’ fell like music in their ears. After partaking of the generous hospitality extended by the missionaries, and taking a much-needed rest, they pushed on in the hopes of reaching the settlement of Julianeshaab, distant some eighty miles, where the Danish Constance was expected at any moment, and would be their only means of reaching Europe that year.”
By the 25th of July, the officers and crew of the Hansa weighed anchor for the homeward voyage. By the 31st of July they were on the high sea in Davis Strait. “No more ice! Set southwards, and—O heavenly music of the word—homewards!”
“GERMANIA” BESET
It will be remembered that on July 20, 1869, the two ships had parted company, the Germania proceeding on her course with officers and crew, under the impression that the Hansa would rejoin her within a short time. When this did not take place, much concern was felt for her fate. By the 27th of July, the Germania stood 73° 7´ north latitude, and 16° 4´ west longitude. Two days later an interesting note is made of the peculiar condition of the atmosphere.
“The weather was clear and still, and we had a good opportunity of observing the refraction of light and the mirage. The whole atmosphere was quivering with a kind of wavy motion, so that the exact outline of the object was often so distorted as to be unrecognizable. It may be imagined that pictures of things far beyond our range of sight could thus be seen. Scoresby relates, and it afterwards proved true, that he once saw and recognized his father’s ship perfectly in the mirage when it was thirty miles distant. The effects of this phenomenon on the distant ice was wonderful; sometimes it appeared like a mighty wall, and sometimes like a town rich in towers and castles.”
Carefully pushing a way between the floes, the Germania stood within thirty miles of Sabine Island by August 4. Sailing straight for Griper Roads, she at last anchored in a small bay which was afterward her winter harbour.
On the 5th of August, anchor was dropped, and the German flag hoisted on Greenland soil, amid loud cheers. Sabine Island forms a part of the group known as Pendulum Islands, discovered by Clavering in 1823. Sabine’s observatory was carefully searched for, but no indications of its remains were found. Traces of Eskimo summer huts were discovered, however, giving evidence of long habitation.
On the 15th of August, the Germania sailed as far as 75° 31´ north latitude, some distance beyond Shannon Island, the extreme point discovered by Clavering and Sabine. At Shannon Island, First Lieutenant Payer, accompanied by seven companions, and provisioned for six days, made a try of investigation. Lieutenant Payer’s description of the plateau to the southwest of Shannon is interesting. Tell-platte, as it is called, is six hundred and seventy feet above the sea. “Here on the broad mountain top were masses of rubbish of gneiss formation resembling those on Pendulum Island. We were also astonished by the sight of a large flat promontory (south of Haystack) which is not distinctly marked on Clavering’s charts. The view of the front coast of Greenland was full of majestic beauty.”
Having taken up winter quarters at Sabine Island, September 13, Captain Koldewey and Lieutenant Payer undertook a sledge journey to Flegely Fiord. They returned to the ship September 21, after an absence of seven days, having travelled 133½ miles. The long winter passed in the usual monotonous fashion, and in preparation for the spring sledge journeys. A thrilling incident, however, occurred early in March, which is almost unprecedented in Arctic adventure.
“We were sitting,” writes Lieutenant Payer, “fortunately silent in the cabin, when Koldewey suddenly heard a faint cry for help. We all hurriedly tumbled up the companion-ladder to the deck, when an exclamation from Borgen, ‘A bear is carrying me off!’ struck painfully on our ears. It was dark; we could scarcely see anything, but we made directly for the quarter whence the cry proceeded, armed with poles, weapons, etc., over hummocks and drifts, when an alarm-shot, which we fired in the air, seemed to make some little impression, as the bear dropped his prey, and ran forward a few paces. He turned again, however, dragging his victim over the broken shore-ice, close to a field which stretched in a southerly direction. All depended upon our coming up with him before he should reach this field, as he would carry his prey over the open plain with the speed of a horse, and thus escape. We succeeded. The bear turned upon us for a moment, and then, scared by our continuous fire, let fall his prey. We lifted our poor comrade up on to the ice, to bear him to his cabin,—a task which was rendered somewhat difficult by the slippery and uneven surface of the ice. But after we had gone a little way, Borgen implored us to make as much haste as possible. On procuring a light, the coldest nature would have been shocked at the spectacle which poor Borgen presented. The bear had torn his scalp in several places, and he had received injuries in other parts of his body. His clothes and hair were saturated with blood. We improvised a couch for him in the rear of our cabin, as his own was not large enough. The first operation was performed upon him on the cabin table. And here we may briefly notice the singular fact that, although he had been carried more than 100 paces with his skull almost laid bare, at a temperature of -13° Fahrenheit, his scalp healed so perfectly that not a single portion was missing.”
Borgen describes the sudden attack of the bear as follows: “About a quarter before nine P.M. I had gone out to observe the occultation of a star, which was to take place about that time, and also to take the meteorological readings. As I was in the act of getting on shore, Captain Koldewey came on to the ice. We spoke for a few moments, when I went on shore, while he returned to the cabin. On my return from the observatory, about fifty steps from the vessel, I heard a rustling noise to the left, and became aware of the proximity of a bear. There was no time to think, or use my gun. The grip was so sudden and rapid, that I am unable to say how it was done; whether the bear rose and struck me down with his fore-paws, or whether he ran me down. But from the character of the injuries I have received (contusions and a deep cut on the left ear), I conclude that the former must have been the case. The next thing I felt was the tearing of my scalp, which was only protected by a skull cap. This is their mode of attacking seals, but, owing to the slipperiness of their skulls, the teeth glide off. The cry for help which I uttered frightened the animal for a moment; but he turned again and bit me several times on the head. The alarm had meanwhile been heard by the Captain, who had not yet reached the cabin. He hurried on deck, convinced himself that it was really an alarm, roused up the crew and hastened on to the ice, bringing assistance to his struggling comrade. The noise evidently frightened the bear, and he trotted off with his prey, which he dragged by the head. A shot fired to frighten the creature effected its purpose, inasmuch as he dropped me, and sprang a few steps aside; but he immediately seized me by the arm, and, his hold proving insufficient, he seized me by the right hand, on which was a fur glove, and this gave the pursuers time to come up with the brute, which had by its great speed left them far behind. He was now making for the shore, and would certainly have escaped with his prey, had he succeeded in climbing the bank. However, as he came to the edge of the ice, he turned along the coast side, continuing on the rough and broken ice, which greatly retarded his speed, and thus allowed his pursuers upon the ice to gain rapidly upon him. After being dragged in this way for about 300 paces, almost strangled by my shawl, which the bear had seized at the same time, he dropped me, and immediately afterwards Koldewey was bending over me, with the words ‘Thank God! he is still alive.’ The bear stood a few paces on one side evidently undecided what course to pursue, until a bullet gave him a hint that it was high time to take himself off.”
LIEUT. PAYER’S REMARKABLE JOURNEY
Preparations having been completed for an extended sledge journey to examine the bays and inlets of the mainland, the party started March 8, 1870, and were absent until April 27 after twenty-three days of most arduous labours. Lieutenant Payer had the satisfaction of reaching 77° 1´ north latitude, at that time the most northerly point ever reached on the east coast of Greenland. From an elevated sight the sea appeared covered with an unbroken field of hummocks, and land was seen to stretch out in a northerly direction as far as the eye could reach.
Other journeys which followed at close intervals greatly added to the geographical knowledge of the coast. On the return from one of these, they discovered (9th of August) the entrance to a magnificent fiord to the south of Cape Franklin (73° 10´ north latitude), into which they penetrated to a distance of seventy-two nautical miles. As they advanced into the interior, a decided change in the temperature was noticed, the atmosphere and water became warmer, and herds of reindeer and musk-oxen were seen; butterflies, bees, and other insects fluttered over the green earth. Nothing could exceed the grandeur of the scenery.
“Numerous glaciers and cascades descended from the mountains, which rose higher and higher as they advanced towards the west. Lieutenant Payer and Doctor Copeland having climbed a peak 7000 feet high saw the fiord still branching out in the distance, and towards the west a remote chain of mountains, situated about 32° W. long., rising to an altitude of at least 14,000 feet, terminated the magnificent prospect. The interior of Greenland thus proved itself to be not a mere naked plateau covered with perpetual ice-fields, but in some parts at least a country of Alpine grandeur.”
RETURN OF THE “GERMANIA”
On the 24th of August, the Germania steered her course for home; as the ship cleared the last of the Greenland ice, Captain Koldewey quoted the words of old Scoresby under similar conditions. “My watch is over!” he used to say—and turning to Mr. Sengstache, Captain Koldewey exclaimed, “My watch is over!” and retired to his cabin with a feeling of security that he had not enjoyed for many a day.
Pursuing a course past Iceland between the Faroe and Shetland isles, they stood off Heligoland, September 10. “At daybreak, though we had seen no pilot, we recognized Wangerooge, and steered along the South wall to the mouth of the Weser. No sign of a ship! The Weser seemed to have died out. Where are the pilots hidden? Are they lying perdu on account of yesterday’s storm? Well, then, we must run into the Weser without them, the wind is favorable, the weather clear, the outer buoy will be easy to find; there is the church-tower of Wangerooge. Suspecting nothing, we steered on; the tower bears south-southwest, southwest by south, southwest, but no buoy in sight. The Captain and steersman look at each other in astonishment. Can we have been so mistaken and out of our reckoning? But, no! That is certainly Wangerooge; the depth of water agrees, our compass is correct. No doubt about it, we are in the Weser; something unusual must have happened! Still no sail in sight! But what is that? Yonder are the roads. There are several large vessels under steam; they at least can give us some information. So we make for them. We saluted the German flag, and soon the cry was heard, ‘War, war with France; Napoleon a prisoner! France has declared a Republic; our armies are before Paris!’ And then, ‘Hansa destroyed in the ice, crew saved.’ We thought we were dreaming, and stood stiff with astonishment at such grand and heart-stirring news. Not until a loud hurrah for King William sounded from a hundred German throats did we regain our speech, and answer with another ‘Hurrah!’”