LANDING ON THE COAST OF NOVAYA ZEMLYA.
9. The inaccessibility of most of the places on the coast had hitherto obliged us to continue our course without going on shore to rest, although our arms were stiff and swollen with our exertions in rowing. No vessels as yet had been seen, and what we thought to be a ship turned out, when we rowed closer to it, to be only a small iceberg. There was therefore no other alternative than to coast along in a southerly direction, cutting across the bays, and keeping as near the shore as possible. On the night of the 17th we pulled over the broad Gwosdarew Bay, which was filled with countless fragments of glaciers. Some of the smallest of these we took on board our boats to replenish our fast decreasing supplies of water. Ever since our coming under the coast of Novaya Zemlya, we had entered a region where auks abounded which whizzed over our heads with small crayfish in their bills in their flight to the land, or sat so indolently on the water, that they seemed determined not to get out of the way of the boats. Many were bagged, but we made no halt to shoot them. Twice only in the day we rested for about ten minutes to take our food. Onwards we pressed, each boat striving to get before the others. On August 17 the sun set for the first time about midnight, and in the afternoon of the 18th we landed at a spot to the south of black Cape, remarkable for the luxuriance of its vegetation. To our eyes, accustomed to the monotonous white of snow and ice, it appeared like a garden. There was nothing to remind us of a polar region either in the land, or in the temperature, or in the weather. Its broad bay, if it had been without its circle of glaciers, would have appeared like an Italian gulf. It was now ebb-tide, and wading in the water we shoved our boats, using the oars as rollers, over the muddy shore. It was the birthday of our gracious monarch, which we celebrated in the best manner we could—we dressed the boats with flags, washed ourselves in a little fresh-water lake, and flavoured our weak tea with a small quantity of alcohol.
10. This was the first land on which we had set foot for months. Completely exhausted we lay down on its damp turf and listened to the pleasant sound of the surf. Flames soon rose from the pile of drift wood we collected, while some of us ascended the neighbouring ravines, and even gathered flowers.[57] There were quantities of forget-me-nots, and of coltsfoot (Tusselago farfara), which was dried and smoked, and pronounced to be excellent tobacco. But our paradisiacal happiness could not be of long duration. The necessity of finding a ship as quickly as possible was urgent, and soon roused us from our deep sleep, while the thunders of the glaciers of Novaya Zemlya proclaimed to us that bad weather was not far off.
11. On the 19th, we coasted along Admiralty Peninsula; the thermometer giving 50° F. in the air, and 43° F. in the sea. Its shores rising in a succession of terraces were indisputable evidence of its gradual elevation above the sea-level,[58] and the flatness of the shores and the shallowness of the sea, interspersed with rocks, easily explain why they have so often been dangerous to ships approaching them in a fog. As we came further south the charts proved more trustworthy. At noon of the 20th at Cape Tischernitzky we reached latitude 74° 21′. We passed a number of picturesque bights on the coast, with mountains, whose tops were covered with clouds, and whose green banks extended along the shores. These are the favourite wintering spots of Russian expeditions, and in some places we saw ruined huts. On the 21st a fresh wind sprung up from the east. The sea rose, and as we sailed fast before the wind the boats took in a good deal of water, and we were thoroughly wet; the boats too got separated. We accordingly ran into the bay under “Suchoi Nos” (73° 47′ L.) to wait till the wind fell and the other boats should join us. The boat commanded by Lieutenant Brosch, was exposed to much danger from the lowness of its gunwale, when the sea was at all high; an addition made to it by a strip of canvas stretched round the boat proved ineffectual. We quickly dried our clothes at a fire made of drift-wood and erratics of brown coal which we found, but were much disappointed that no reindeer were to be seen, though we were surrounded by excellent feeding-grounds for these animals. The stew, which we made from the spoonwort we gathered, and some pemmican, was but a poor substitute for the venison we had hoped to enjoy. Neither were there any auks to be seen, and the divers shot under the water like stones whenever we came within distance. The other boats having joined us we again put to sea, though the weather was threatening and a high sea running. In latitude 73° 20′ we ran into Matoschkin Bay, hoping and expecting to find a vessel engaged in the fisheries. But no vessel was to be seen, nothing but the outlines of an Arctic mountain-land. Carlsen also, whom Weyprecht had despatched to explore the straits so full of turnings and windings, returned without the intelligence we hoped for. Before Carlsen rejoined us we ran into a cove—Altgläubigen Bucht—and erected, on a conspicuous headland, a cairn, on which we placed a signal post made of drift-wood. In this cairn we deposited a document, briefly describing the course of our expedition up to that date, in order to leave some trace of it in a region which is visited annually by ships. The discovery of this statement in the course of the next summer would prevent our countrymen at home from sending out vessels to rescue us in higher latitudes, if we meanwhile should perish.
12. The prospects of our being saved had, in fact, considerably diminished, for all our hopes had been centred in finding a vessel in Matoschkin Straits, and these, as I have just said, were doomed to be disappointed. Carlsen now returned with the information, that, in the narrow seas he had visited, he had met with nothing but a whale-boat, lying keel upwards, round which were footmarks of not very recent date. There was no doubt, therefore, that the fishing vessels had withdrawn from our high latitudes. At night a storm from the north-east roared over the cliffs surrounding the cove, and the surf breaking on the rocks reached our boats.
13. It was noon on the 23rd before we could continue our voyage. Our provisions would last for only ten days more, so that our fate must shortly be decided. Further delay was out of the question; there was but one hope for us—to press on and find a ship in Dunen-Bai (the Bay of Dunes). Should this too prove deceptive, we must then make the desperate venture of crossing the White Sea, direct to Lapland—a distance of 520 miles. To follow the vast circuit of the coast-line would have been impossible to us with our stock of provisions, and at that season of the year. The next days too plainly taught us what would have become of our small boats had we been forced to attempt that passage.
14. We now rowed and sailed alternately down the flat coasts towards “Gänseland,” amid stormy weather, during which the boats were often separated, and we almost exhausted our strength in baling out the water. We lost sight completely of Weyprecht’s boat on the open sea, and of the others under the coast. That in which Orel and I were, appeared to have out-sailed them, and we, therefore, on the morning of the 24th drew to shore in a dark rocky cove to await the approach of our missing friends. Wet through and through we sprang into the shallow water, and by a great effort drew the boat to land. We then kindled a fire with the drift-wood we gathered, and after making and eating a kind of dumpling we sank down to sleep on the wet stones, amid the smoke from our fire, thoroughly exhausted. So passed away four hours. When we awoke we ascended a height, and as there was not a single vestige of a boat to be seen, we determined to put to sea again. Near Cape Britwin (Lat. 72° 40′), the wind and sea fell, and the boats again joined company. It was now deemed necessary to make an equitable division among the crews of the provisions that remained, and this being done, we took to our oars once more, and pulled into the boundless waste of waters—into the mystery that hung over our destiny.
15. But the hour of our deliverance was nearer than we thought. It was evening as we glided past the black weather-worn rocks of Cape Britwin, the ledges of which were covered with flocks of birds, revelling in the spray of the surf. Then about seven o’clock a cry of joy as from one voice arose from the boats. A fifth small boat with two men in it lay before us, apparently engaged in bird catching. They pulled towards us, not less amazed than we ourselves were, and before either party could explain itself, we turned a corner of the rock—there lay two ships.
16. It is with a certain kind of awe and reverence that a shipwrecked man approaches a ship, whose slender build is to deliver him from the capricious power of the elements. To him it is no lifeless machine, but a friend in need, yea, a higher creation than himself. Such were our feelings as we neared the two schooners which lay a few hundred yards off in a rock-encircled bay. To us at that moment these vessels were the sum total of the whole world! Dressing our boats with flags, we followed the strangers in their boat, and made fast to the schooner Nikolai, whose deck was in a moment crowded with bearded Russians, who stared at us with mingled feelings of wonder and sympathy, and whose captain, Feodor Voronin, stood like a patriarch among them to welcome us. Ten days sooner and our poor dogs might have gambolled on the deck with us!