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.