As early as September the ground was frozen so hard that they tried in vain to dig a grave for a dead comrade, and their cramped fingers could hardly build the hut, which was the more necessary, as the vessel, cracking under the pressure of the ice, gave signs of speedily breaking up altogether. By the middle of October the rude dwelling was completed, and though its accommodation was scanty, they were glad to take up their abode in it at once. The best place by the central fire was assigned to a sick comrade, while all the rest arranged their beds as best they could on shelves which had been built round the walls. An examination into the state of their provisions showed the necessity of reducing their daily rations of bread, cheese, and wine, but by setting traps they caught a good many Arctic foxes, which gave them an occasional supply of fresh food. The sun had now entirely taken his departure, and the long winter night of the 75° 43´ of latitude set in, during which snowdrifts and impetuous winds confined them to their miserable hut.
“We looked pitifully one upon the other,” says De Veer, “being in great fear that if the extremity of the cold grew to be more and more, we should all die there of cold, for that what fire soever we made would not warm us.”
The ice was now two inches thick upon the walls, and even on the sides of their sleeping cots and the very clothes they wore were whitened with frost. Yet in the midst of all their sufferings these brave men maintained cheerful hearts; and so great was their elasticity of spirit that, remembering January 5 was Twelfth Eve, they resolved to celebrate it as best they might. “And then,” says the old chronicler, “we prayed our Maister that we might be merry that night, and said that we were content to spend some of the wine that night which we had spared, and which was our share (one glass) every second day, and whereof for certaine days we had not dranke, and so that night we made merry and drew for king. And therewith we had two pounds of meal, whereof we made pancakes with oyle, and every man had a white biscuit which we sopt in the wine. And so supposing that we were in our owne country and amongst our friends, it comforted us well as if we had made a great banquet in our owne house. And we also made trinkets, and our gunner was king of Novaya Zemlya, which is at least 800 miles long and lyeth between two seas.”
On January 24 the edge of the sun appeared above the horizon, and the sight was a joyful one indeed. Now also the furious snow-storm ceased, and though the severity of the cold continued unabated, they were better able to brave the outer air and to recruit their strength by exercise. With the return of daylight the bears came again about the house, and some being shot, afforded a very seasonable supply of grease, so that they were able to burn lamps and pass the time in reading.
When summer returned it was found impossible to disengage the ice-bound vessel, and the only hopes of escaping from this dreary prison now rested on two small boats, in which they finally quitted the scene of so much suffering on June 14, 1596. On the fourth day of their voyage their barks became surrounded by enormous masses of floating ice, which so crushed and injured them that the crews, giving up all hope, took a solemn leave of each other. But in this desperate crisis they owed their preservation to the presence of mind and agility of De Veer, who, with a well-secured rope, leaped from one ice-block to another till he reached a larger floe, on which first the sick, then the stores, the crews, and finally the boats themselves were fairly landed. Here they were obliged to remain while the boats underwent the necessary repairs, and during this detention upon a floating ice raft the gallant Barentz closed the eventful voyage of his life. He died as he had lived, calmly and bravely, thinking less of himself than of the welfare of his fellow-sufferers, for his last words were directions as to the course in which they were to steer. His death was bitterly mourned by the rough men under his command, and even the prospect of a return to their homes could not console them for the loss of their beloved leader. After a most tedious passage (for by July 28 they had only reached the southern extremity of Nova Zembla) they at length, at the end of August, arrived at Kola, in Russian Lapland, where, to their glad surprise, they found their old comrade, John Cornelison Ryp, with whom they returned to Amsterdam.
Meanwhile the spirit of discovery had once more recovered in England from the chill thrown upon it by so many previous disappointments. In 1602, Weymouth, while attempting to sail up the promising inlet, now so well-known as the entrance to Hudson’s Bay, was repulsed by a violent storm, and in 1606 a melancholy issue awaited the next expedition to the north-west, which sailed under the command of John Knight, a brave and experienced sailor. Driven by stormy weather among the drift-ice on the coast of Labrador, Knight was fain to take shelter in the first cove that presented itself, and lost no time in ordering his damaged ship of forty tons to be drawn high up on the dry sand beyond the tide mark, where she might undergo the necessary repairs.
This position, however, not proving satisfactory, he manned his boat next day, and while the rest of the crew were busy at work, sailed across to the other side of the inlet to seek for some more convenient anchorage. Leaving two men in charge of the boat, he landed with his mate and three of his men to explore the strange coast. They climbed the steep acclivity of the shore, lingered for a moment on the summit of the cliffs, and before disappearing on the other side exchanged greetings of farewell with their messmates in the boat, who little imagined that it was a parting forever. Evening came on, and then darkened into night; muskets were fired and trumpets sounded, but no answer was made, and eleven o’clock arriving without any sign or signal of the missing party, the men who had tarried on shore mournfully returned to the ship with the dismal tidings of the loss of their brave commander and his comrades.
During this melancholy night, passed in alternate lamentations and plans for search and rescue, the ice had so accumulated in the channel which the unfortunate Knight crossed the day before, that though the boat was speedily rigged for the expedition, and the party who occupied it were one and all uncontrollably eager to start, the morning light convinced the most sanguine of the utter impossibility of forcing their way across the gulf. Thus passed two wretched days of uncertainty, rendered doubly miserable by the inactivity to which they were condemned, when on the night of the second day the little encampment was attacked by a large party of natives, whose hostility left no doubt about the fate which had befallen their missing friends. A volley of musketry soon dispersed the savages, but fearing future attacks, the crew, now only eight in number, at once resolved to put to sea in their crazy bark, which, though deprived of its rudder, and so leaky that the pumps were obliged to be constantly at work, safely carried them to Newfoundland.
In the year 1607 Henry Hudson made the first attempt to sail across the North Pole, a plan started in 1527 by Robert Thorne, but not yet acted upon by any one during the eighty years that had since passed. He reached the east coast of Greenland in 73° of latitude, and then proceeded to the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, but all his efforts to launch forth into the unknown ocean beyond were baffled by the ice-fields that opposed his progress.
In his next voyage (1608) he vainly tried for the north-east passage, but his third voyage (1609), which he performed in the service of the Dutch, led to the discovery of the magnificent river which still bears his name, and at whose mouth the “Empire City” of the great American republic has arisen.