In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic (9 page)

What had happened? Finally two kayaks approached the shore, and we learned the cause of the delay. Alone in his boat, our steward Regald had not been able to resist the temptation of clambering up onto an iceberg. When he was ready to get back into his kayak, the edge of the block of ice split and Regald took an involuntary plunge into the cold water. He managed to heave himself back onto the ice, but as the wind had driven his boat away, the other kayak had to save him and recapture his drifting boat. Soaked to the skin, Regald was in great danger of freezing to death, so we pitched the tent and lit a fire as quickly as possible, which also allowed us to cook a dish of peas on a makeshift stove.

This unplanned halt was a great irritation to me. My companions are no better than children: As if it were not enough to endure our numerous involuntary setbacks—they seem to cause still others just for the sake of it. I certainly will not rest until I’ve managed to save them in spite of themselves.

Toward evening, a wind from the southeast picked up, bringing a light snowfall.

 

 

Today we reached some excellent terrain and were able to continue without interruption across a fine layer of fresh ice as smooth as a mirror, which supported us nicely, as it was unfractured and about six inches thick. This reminded me of the fact that Nansen, in Hvidtenland,* had also encountered similar ice conditions. It was surely not the same kind of ice here as that which had trapped the
Saint Anna.
Hauling three of our sledges over this solid layer, we were able to travel on a straight course for four hours, and covered roughly four and a quarter miles before reaching a new open lead, where we called a halt. I decided to stay there with Lunayev to shoot some game while the other eight went back for the two remaining sledges. How often had I pondered in vain on a way to resolve this useless waste of time and energy! We just could not go on like this. Besides, Lunayev was so weak that he could hardly stand. Without further hesitation, I sacrificed a sledge and a kayak for fuel so that there would be only four sledges and four kayaks for the ten of us, and that would have to suffice, come what may.

 

 

We have not made a move all day. We lashed all our belongings onto the four sledges and inspected the lead to see if we should go around or across it. I fell through the ice twice during our investigations. Soundings were taken, but our line measured only 110 fathoms and could not reach the bottom. There were pools of open water in every direction, and the gloomy weather greatly reduced visibility. For nineteen days I have been unable to take a proper sun sight, or calculate our position, or—most important of all—ascertain our progress toward the south.

We calculated today that we have 460 pounds of biscuits left, which should be sufficient for one month. If we manage to shoot some more seals or polar bears, we will be able to reduce our daily ration of biscuit. It is strange that, despite encountering so much open water, we have found no seals; as for bears, we have seen only their tracks, which means they must be hiding in their lairs. White gulls and fulmars often fly overhead in pairs or even three at a time; diving birds such as auks, however, have suddenly disappeared. All these impressions do nothing to improve my faith in the outcome of our ordeal. In these inhospitable latitudes, one must be prepared for daily surprises that can destroy the best-laid plans. Moreover, winds from the north and northeast can drive us appreciably and unpredictably toward the south and southwest. We have just come upon a channel, which if it continues toward the south, will allow us to make better progress and offers the possibility of shooting a bear.

Each of our sledges now has a load of about 240 pounds, a weight that two men can haul under any circumstances. We are all tormented by terrible pain in our eyes, and Lunayev still has severe leg pains. Are we going to have to carry him on a sledge? Our scouts have just returned with the news that it is possible to go around the open lead that blocks our path. Southeasterly wind blowing, force 4,* working against us.

 

 

No change in the wind. Dull weather, sky somewhat overcast. We set off with all the sledges at once, but the route quickly became so bad that we again had to resort to taking them in stages. Toward evening, our difficulties increased still further, and we struggled to make the slightest headway. There was a huge polynya ahead of us, from which we were separated by many small leads and crevasses. We had come to realize that the various ice floes were all subject to constant movement, and that new floes were continually forming.

We pitched our tent to have a rest. Shpakovsky and I went out to search for a safe route for the next day, and we managed to find one.

Lunayev’s condition is more and more worrying: He complains of pains in his legs, and is suffering from snow blindness. I am afraid we may soon have to strap him to a sledge. Our greatest hope lies in finding the landmass we have been seeking for so long, where we shall be saved from our fears of drifting ever northward.

 

 

We managed to bypass the dangerous waters, but at the expenditure of a great deal of sweat! Six or seven of us at a time had to strain hard to get each sledge over myriad ice ridges, crevasses, and holes. The entire way we had to carve a passable route from the pack ice, chipping away with our axes and harpoons. It was a far cry from the smooth, snow-free terrain where we needed only two men to pull each sledge. We were blocked at every stride by unforeseen channels and fissures, and today we covered only four miles. The horizon reveals a water sky. Ahead of us lie numerous open leads too wide to be bridged by a sledge, yet too narrow and choked with ice blocks to be navigable by kayak. The appearance of our surroundings has changed dramatically. No sign of thick pack ice. Everywhere there is fresh, bluish sheet ice between one and nine inches thick. Today it is even mixed with sand and clay.*

When I was with Lunayev today I noticed he was spitting blood. I examined him at once and found that his gums bore the characteristic symptoms of scurvy.

At least I now have a clear idea of what is wrong with him, and there is only one remedy: a lot of physical movement! But I also managed to make him take some quinine. His recovery depends on the strength of his physical resistance and his will to live.

My instruments are in a sorry state. The big compass was broken and quite useless so I threw it out. The small one is hardly any better: The glass is broken and the liquid has seeped out. The magnet stone at the tip of the needle has been damaged by the repeated battering it has received, so now the needle scarcely moves at all. To navigate I have been forced to rely on little more than the sun, my watch, and the miniature compass fitted onto my binoculars. But these minor setbacks would be bearable if we had confidence that we were getting nearer to our destination and could see land. Open, Sesame!

Toward evening, the wind backed to the northeast. Thank God!

 

 

The wind has shifted again, and is now blowing from the east-northeast, which is quite bad news since it can force us to drift westward. It has gotten much colder. The terrain, on the whole, is good. Only rarely do we have to cross thin, brittle ice; the underlayer sometimes has a brownish color, which we mistakenly thought was sand or clay. On closer examination we realized it was a pinkish brown algae, which led us to the conclusion that the ice had been near a coastline. Later, this coloring would become more frequent.

The fog finally lifted and the sun came out, but I was unable to calculate the meridian altitude; I could do no more than reckon that we were at latitude 82°38´ north. At midnight I obtained the sun’s altitude and got a latitude of 82°29´, a coordinate which seemed more exact. Without an artificial horizon, and with an overcast sky, I had to be content with these approximate observations. That is not all that is missing. Above all, we lack good sledges . . . and good sledge dogs.

The wind backed again to the northeast and filled our sails. What an interesting picture our little fleet made as it raised its sails! But I can hardly say, as Nansen did, “In the gusts we often went along like feathers.” It was really more like crawling, but the sails did help us a little to haul our loads, and on the whole they did make things easier. We followed our route all day long, and did not see any sign of seals. We observed only an unknown species of seagull.

Gubanov has now also contracted scurvy, his gums bleeding and swollen, so I have decided to use the two invalids as scouts, to keep them on the move. I realized that there had already been cases of scurvy back on board the
Saint Anna,
and it was the lieutenant no doubt who had been the most seriously afflicted. Brusilov had been ill for six or seven months. For three months straight, he had lain flat on his back, unable to muster the strength to turn over. To accomplish this, one man had to stand on the bed straddling his legs and lift him by the hips, while another turned him by the shoulders. We had to put soft pillows under all his limbs, since he had begun to develop bedsores.

Any sudden movement caused Brusilov pain: He would curse and shout terribly. To bathe him, we had to lower him into the bathtub on a sheet. To picture him in February 1913, imagine a skeleton covered not with skin but with rubber, from which every joint and bone protruded. When the sun rose we tried to open the portholes in his cabin, but he took a strange aversion to daylight and demanded that the portholes be shut tight and the lamp lit. Nothing could arouse him from sleep during the day; he showed no interest in anything. He refused all food: One had to persuade him, like a small child, to try an egg or some bouillon, and threaten him with no dessert.

He would spend the day sleeping and the night in a delirious trance. In this delirium, he would at first talk quite rationally and seem to be in a good mood. Then suddenly he would begin to ask how many whales and walruses we had killed during the third winter at the mouth of the Yenesei, how many sturgeon we had caught there and sold. Or he would ask me whether the horses had been given hay or oats. “But what horses are you talking about, Georgiy L’vovich? We don’t possess a single horse. We’re in the Kara Sea aboard
Saint Anna.”
“Oh, don’t give me that story,” he would respond.

It was mainly our nurse, Miss Zhdanko, who tirelessly nursed the invalid, and who had to suffer his outbursts of anger. She had a hard time of it. When healthy, Brusilov was refined, courteous, and tactful, but when ill, he became extremely coarse. He would hurl cups and plates at the nurse, if she cajoled him to drink some soup. But she bore it all with patience.

But I will return to my diary.

Those who suffer from scurvy not only need to keep moving, but also need good food, and this was a great worry to me, as our meat powder was running out, and our supplies of condensed milk and chocolate were also dwindling. And it was precisely this dried food source that would have been the best adapted for our meals, which the travails and hectic pace of our journey did not always allow us much time to prepare.

 

 

In the morning, the weather was fine and clear. Our scouts promised us smooth travel, and they were right, for we covered five whole miles between ten in the morning and six-thirty in the evening. The northeast wind continued to blow steadily, which was a great blessing, since it forced the ice floes tight together, thereby reducing the width of crevasses and open leads, allowing our sledges to run smoothly. Toward noon I took a sun sight and found a latitude of 82°31´ north. To the south, the horizon was crystal clear with no water sky. I had the impression that the ice had stopped drifting southward with the wind, probably because it had encountered some resistance—which in my opinion could only come from a landmass. But this opinion remained mere speculation, since all the goodwill in the world had not permitted me to find land up to now! There were no signs of life whatsoever. We had spotted a few bear tracks, but not a single seal.

Our supplies were diminishing at an alarming rate. All that remained were six pounds of meat powder, three tins of condensed milk, and roughly two pounds of dried apples. The last of the chocolate was handed out today. All we have left for our main source of nourishment are ship’s biscuits.

I hear constant conversations about the tastiest foods the men can imagine. Involuntarily, I start to think of such treats myself. Life on land, with all its comforts and charms, seems so magnificent and enticing that I begin to doubt whether we shall ever reach that happy place.

Why are all these delights of life on land so clear before my eyes right now, like hallucinations? Is this the end already? Is this a premonition of our deaths? No, it cannot be! I am convinced that we will reach land sooner or later. On the march I have become religious as never before, almost superstitious. My icon of Nicholas the Miracle-worker is always in my pocket. But my men grow abject and despondent, no matter how I try to cheer them up.

A northerly wind began to blow toward evening. The ice seems to be on the move again: We have blundered off route into very unpleasant terrain. Soft snow and a great many pools of water did not make our task any easier. Nilsen and I have been trying to level the track out for those following us. It was hard work, and we are exhausted. I need to change our methods: Henceforth three men will pull the first sledge and the others will follow immediately behind. They will move faster in the tracks of those ahead, and will not have to pull so hard.