In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic (13 page)

We are still making little headway trekking over the ice. But we have thought up a new strategy: We work out our course from the top of a rise—that is, we identify the places ahead of time where our kayaks or skis are most likely to get through. Often we are forced to skirt along the edge of a channel on our skis, dragging the sledge-laden kayak behind us on the water. But chunks of disintegrating icebergs, called growlers, often obstruct the boats, and it is not a simple affair to get them moving again. From time to time during our backbreaking toil, one of us sinks through the ice, and that is when we see who can move the fastest. It is imperative to leap out of the icy water, remove one’s boots that are rapidly filling up, empty them, and get back to work, all in a matter of seconds!

 

 

The wind has shifted, coming now from the south-southwest. We set off at eight o’clock and traveled, with only an hour’s break, until six-thirty in the evening. The end result: about five miles. We had to cross more extensive pack ice that had been eroded by the wave action and covered in deep snow. Crossing a channel we were startled when a bearded seal suddenly bounded out of the water. We also saw a great many ordinary seals but were unable to shoot one.

When the horizon grew lighter, those of us who were not suffering from snow blindness were able to see the island to the southeast. From now on, the tides will probably swirl growlers and brash ice continually along the shores, and we shall be confronted with this repulsive stuff, this ice porridge, all the way to our landfall. Toward evening, the wind from the south-southwest picked up, bringing with it fine hail.

 

 

The same wind persists, with cold, dark weather. We did two and a half miles this morning. On very thin ice, Konrad suddenly broke through a seal’s breathing hole that had been drifted over. Totally submerged, he became tangled in his hauling line while the sledge slid forward and covered the hole. We all rushed to his rescue, cut the hauling line, dragged the sledge aside, and pulled Konrad out. He was soaked to the skin and had swallowed some water. We had to pitch the tent right away and light a fire to warm him up.

Our supplies are dwindling. We have only 120 pounds of biscuits left, and our reserves of meat are finished; for lunch we had nothing but biscuit soup, to which we added our last can of condensed milk. The dire state of our supplies forced us to take some quick action, and we decided on some long-term plans that included abandoning the tent and continuing in our nearly empty kayaks. We would be sorry to leave behind nearly all our belongings: axes, harpoons, ski poles, spare skis, warm clothing, foot-gear, and empy cans. These represent a considerable load, but at the same time how indispensable all such things will be if we have to winter over on these islands. And in all probability, we will not be spared a wintering.

No sooner had we set off again than we came upon some seals and shot two of them. Fortune had smiled upon us once again during our hour of need. This lucky event restored our courage to such a degree that we went back for the tent. The route was dreadful and required great caution; we barely covered one mile.

 

 

We had just pitched the tent when Lunayev brought us the good news that he had shot five seals in the space of an hour. So many animals came close to our camp that we could easily have shot some more, but we had enough meat for the time being.

As far as I could tell from the terrain, we were on a small ice floe surrounded by a jumbled mass of brash ice. There was no way out. Our situation was not to be envied. Moreover, a strong southerly wind had come up that could drive our ice floe away from the island of salvation. All we could do was wait patiently for the outcome. At least we had the chance to observe a great many seals. Our only hope was a shift in the wind that would consolidate this mushy ice, or would push our floe toward land. Our predicament was quite desperate. It was impossible to abandon the kayaks, or to put on our rucksacks and set off on our skis, since open water would continually impede our progress. Without the kayaks we would be lost. We tried stowing all our belongings on one sledge that eight of us could haul, but the attempt was a total failure. The heavily laden sledge sank so deeply into the snow that it was only with great difficulty that we managed to pull it out. Moreover, it was quite probable that such old sledges were not up to this kind of treatment and would not have lasted even one day. Besides, without the sledges, how would we haul the kayaks? After much reflection I resolved that we must not abandon a single sledge or kayak. I could not possibly take such a risk. Better to proceed slowly than to find ourselves stranded on an ice floe, surrounded by water and unable to escape, doomed, perhaps, never to reach the island that was now so near. Perseverance and confidence alone could save us. Too often we fall prey to impatience. Only seven days have gone by since we first saw the island. At that time we were prepared to endure incredible hardships to reach our goal! How quickly we have succumbed to despair again.

If I remember rightly, Nansen took six entire weeks to reach Hvidtenland, the “White Land.” It is true that his situation was a bit less difficult, since he had dogs to help him pull his sledges, and those sledges were much better made; ours were hardly worthy of the name. I refuse to listen to the insidious arguments of the skiers, who are constantly trying to persuade me to abandon the kayaks. I trust my kayaks and I will not give in. I have reminded my companions of my unswerving conviction on more than one occasion.

We set off at six o’clock and covered roughly three miles in the short space of two and a half hours. The bad conditions of the route brought us to a premature halt on a large hummock of old ice. We found some fresh melt-water there for the first time in over a year. No sooner had we put up the tent than Konrad rushed in, overcome with excitement, to inform us that he had found a walrus just behind a ridge of ice. We seized our firearms and ran to the spot. The gigantic animal seemed to be lying motionless on the ice. But although we stalked it with the greatest caution, we did not manage to shoot it. The moment we took aim, it slipped into the water and disappeared at once. As we drew nearer we saw that several animals must have been lying there.

All day long there was a thick fog, which made it impossible to calculate our position.

 

 

A great deal of agitation today. I feel as if I have been struck by a sledgehammer, for I now know that my companions have betrayed me. How am I to recover from such a blow?

Yesterday evening, two of my men (I decline to mention their names) asked to go out scouting at four in the morning. I granted permission and gave them a ration of biscuits, as is usual in these cases. I awoke at three-thirty, roused the two men, and fell asleep again immediately. When I got up for breakfast I learned with consternation that they had not returned. By noon they were still missing. Increasingly worried, I resolved to go and search for them. At first we presumed that the ice had drifted in the meantime, preventing them from finding their way back.

But imagine my indignation when, as we were about to set off, I discovered that they had shamefully robbed us! They had taken a pair of the best boots, belonging to Lunayev; Maximov’s warmest clothes; a twenty-pound sack of biscuits; and even our only double-barreled shotgun, with two hundred cartridges. After this dreadful discovery I rushed to my kayak. The thieves had been there too! Twelve boxes of matches, the binoculars, and the soldered tin can containing our correspondence and all my documents were missing. The damned scoundrels had even taken our only pocket watch. Finally I found their shoddy skis left in place of my good ones. In fact, the traitors had equipped themselves impressively at our expense.

I cannot find words to express how appalled and disheartened I was by these deplorable events. The others wanted to set off in hot pursuit of the thieves and mete out swift justice. But after careful thought, I calmed them down by reminding them that the thieves already had too great a head start for us to hope to catch them, and that in any case such a chase would be risky, even under different circumstances. The continual and unpredictable movement of the ice would place us in danger of irrevocably losing our camp and everything it contained. We would quickly lose the fugitives’ trail and might be exposed to even greater mishaps. We would be better advised, I told them, to resign ourselves to this painful turn of events, and to reflect on how we should continue our journey. We would have to sacrifice our heavy tent as well as a sledge and a kayak. We might eventually be able to do without the tent, but two kayaks would not carry eight men, only seven at most. Of course, now we had considerably less baggage. So we set off with heavy hearts, four men pulling one sledge and three the other one. I went ahead to look for the best route. When we had covered about two miles, both sledges suddenly broke down at the same time. We repaired one quickly, but the other was far more seriously damaged. We made a stop, while four men headed back to our old campsite and returned two hours later with the jettisoned sledge. We brewed some tea (of which we had found some crumbs among our ammunition) and diligently began to fit the recovered sledge to a kayak and to patch up the damaged one. At ten
P.M.
we were again under way.

 

 

We continued until three o’clock in the morning and made roughly three miles over a fairly easy route. We moved silently and anxiously through the endless white wilderness, bowed under the crippling awareness of our desperate plight. As we crossed a stretch of water we saw a walrus gazing at us, eyes wide with astonishment.

It grew lighter toward morning and soon the sun broke through the clouds. We had the good fortune of shooting a seal before noon, which provided us with a nourishing soup and some chops. We had covered four miles in all, and decided to set up camp. We made a tent with the sails from our kayaks, by placing our skis on the ground and draping them with the sailcloth that was used to protect the kayaks. In this improvised tent it is warm, light, and airy.

Today we headed toward the south-southeast. At first we came upon some tracks left by the thieves, but very soon they disappeared. Later when I shot an angle on the sun, it seemed to me that in the distance, through the eye-glass of my sextant, I could make out the vague shapes of two individuals. If we caught them now, the trial would be brief: death or mercy? I am not sure, but the others would probably lynch them without hesitation. My innermost feelings also balked at the idea of pardon, for the scoundrels had greatly wronged us, and their shameful act had greatly increased the perils that constantly threatened us. It was because of them that we had had to abandon the big tent, a kayak, and a sledge. How many times had I repeated that I was not forcing anyone to follow me? No one needed to steal away at night, in such a shameful way. In any case I would have been quite prepared to share everything we had equitably, but these unworthy individuals had left on the sly, coldly putting their companions in danger—for they had robbed all of us indiscriminately.

Their fate does not concern me anymore; I would only like to know which direction they took. They must have set off with no particular goal in mind, because neither one of them had the slightest idea of our position, nor of Cape Flora, nor of Svalbard.

 

 

We set off at three o’clock, and traveled until seven, covering the respectable distance of three miles in four hours. Despite the haze on the horizon, we could see the island very clearly. I was now able to estimate the distance that separated us with a fair degree of certainty: eight to ten miles at the most. But my attempts to take a sun sight were not successful. The wind was blowing from the southwest, force 5.

We rested until two in the afternoon, and then continued. The route was good: fresh ice with a little snow, occasionally interrupted by blocks of ice. Moreover, the air was pleasant, even warm. I went ahead of the column to inspect the terrain and pick out the best route. My companions are exhausted from our efforts over the last few days, particularly the crossings. But they are also letting themselves go; their willpower is flagging. How many times have I surprised them, when they thought no one was watching, in the act of halting, resting, or basking in the sunshine? They see these vast expanses of smooth ice and think there will be no more obstacles and no need to hurry. My exhortations arouse little response. They answer calmly: “Why hurry? We’ll get there, all in good time.”

We called a halt at six o’clock and prepared some supper from seal meat and biscuits.

 

 

I have severe pain in my eyes and can write only with great effort. On June 20 we left at three in the morning and kept going until six-thirty in the evening. The route was very bad in comparison with yesterday, and frequently so difficult that we managed only two and a half miles in spite of all our efforts. During the night there was thick, freezing fog. Then the sky grew lighter and the west coast of the island was clearly visible to the south. My theories that the back-and-forth movement of the ice was due to the tides, and that the southerly winds were driving it away from the island, were certainly correct. But understanding the movements of the ice pack did not make it any easier to travel across it, particularly when the wind was against us as well. The men began to complain about the weight of the kayaks and suggested leaving them behind, taking just what they could carry on their backs. I could not agree to that but once again insisted that everyone was free to make his own decision. I personally had no intention of giving up my kayak and would, if need be, go on patiently as before, with one or two companions.