Fatal North (28 page)

April 15. Some of the men have dangerous looks; this hunger is disturbing their brains. I can not but fear that they contemplate crime. After what we have gone through, I hope this company may be preserved from any fatal wrong. We can and we must bear what God sends without crime. This party must not disgrace humanity by cannibalism.

April 16. One more day got over without a catastrophe. The ice is still the same. Some of the men's heads and faces are much swollen, but from what cause I can not discover. I know scurvy when I see it, and it is not that. We keep an hour-watch now through the night. The men are too weak to keep up long. Someone has been at the pemmican. This is not the first time. I know the men; there are three of them. They have been the three principal pilferers of the party. We have but a few days' provisions left. The
idea that cannibalism can be contemplated by any human being troubles me very much.

At the break of day on April 18, the sight of land greeted them, on a bearing to the southwest. They saw it plainly in the early morning, then lost sight of it when a fog bank rolled in. It was as if God had raised the curtain of mist, Tyson thought, showing them the promised land to keep them from despair.

Later that morning Joe spied a small hole of water about half a mile off. He took his gun and ventured across the loose ice. Small, light, and nimble, he stepped cautiously but surely on surfaces that other men would have fallen through. He had no sooner reached the spot when everyone heard the welcome report of his rifle. He had bagged a nice-sized seal.
It will save us from starving,
Tyson wrote.
Perhaps worse.

The cleaned carcass was carefully divided into eighteen parts in which nothing but the gall was rejected. Everyone was called in succession to step forward and receive his or her portion of meat, blubber, and skin. A general contribution was made of blubber and rags for a fire—they no longer had the oil lamps—over which soup was prepared, and then eaten with great relish.

Meyer, tall and very thin, wore on his hands a monstrous pair of deerskin gloves, much too large for him. He looked quite pitiable, though almost grotesquely amusing, trying to gather up some bones, already abandoned, to pick at again for a scrap of meat. The gloves were so large, and his hands so cold, he could not feel when he had got hold of anything, and as he would raise himself up, almost toppling over with weakness, he found time and again that he had grasped nothing.

Observing this from nearby, Tyson realized that had the French artist Gustave Dore, known for conveying dramatic action in mysterious, gloomy settings, wanted a model subject to stand for
Famine
in a suitable setting, he might have drawn the cadaverous Meyer hovering over the small pile of frozen bones.

At 9:00
P.M.
on April 20, while some of the men were resting in the tent and the women and children in the boat, there
was an alarming outcry from the watch. At the same instant a huge wave swept across the ice, carrying away everything that was loose.

Immediately, they began shipping one wave after another. Finally, a tremendous crashing wave swept away the tent, skins, and most of the bed clothing; only a few things were saved. Had the women and children not already been in the boat, the little ones would certainly have been swept off to watery graves.

All they could do now, with everything else lost, was to try to save the boat.

Tyson called all hands to man the boat in a new fashion—namely, to hold on to it to prevent it being washed away. Fortunately, they had preserved the boat warp, still attached to the bow, and had also another strong line made out of thick strips of
ugyuk
skin. With these they secured the boat as well as they could to projecting vertical points of ice. Having no grapnels or ice anchors, these fastenings were frequendy unloosed and broken, and could not be trusted. All the men were needed to hold down the boat, and they had to brace themselves and hold on with all the strength they had.

As soon as it was possible, Tyson directed the men to drag the boat over to that edge of the ice where the seas were striking first, for he knew that if she remained toward the farther edge, the gathered momentum of the waves as they rushed over the ice would more than master them, and the boat would go. The precaution proved to be wise; as it was, they were nearly carried off—boat and all—many times during the dreadful night. The heaviest seas came at intervals of fifteen or twenty minutes, and between these, others struck that would have been thought very powerful if worse had not soon followed.

Every once in a while one of the tremendous waves would lift the boat up bodily and the entire party with it, and carry everything forward on the ice almost to the extreme opposite edge. Several times the boat got partly over, and was hauled back only by the superhuman strength of desperate men fighting for their lives. The sea was also full of loose ice, rolling about in
blocks of all shapes and sizes. With almost every wave would come an avalanche of ice, striking legs and arms and knocking the men off their feet as if they were so many pins in a bowling alley. Some of these blocks were only a foot or two square; others were as large as a chest of drawers.

Oftentimes, after a wave had spent its strength, they would find themselves near the farthest edge, and sometimes precariously on the edge. They then had to push, pull, and drag the boat back to its former position, and stand ready, bracing themselves for the next assault and the battery of loose ice they knew would accompany it. And so the men fought, hour after hour, the sea as strong as ever, themselves weakening from fatigue. In the middle of the night, the two Eskimo women had to leave the children and get out of the boat to help hold it down.

From the first Meyer did not appear to have any strength to assist in holding back the boat, but by clinging desperately to it he at least kept himself from being washed away. This was a time, Tyson saw, when all did their best, for they knew their lives depended on the preservation of the boat.

This was their greatest fight for life they had yet faced.

For twelve hours there was scarcely a sound uttered, save for the crying of the children and Tyson's orders to “hold on,” “bear down,” “put on all your weight,” and the responsive “aye, aye, sir,” which for once came readily from the men, frightened to the depths of their souls and in need of strong leadership.

At last came daylight, which found the party exhausted and half-drowned.

Tyson spotted a piece of ice riding quite easy, near to them, and he made up his mind that they must reach it. The sea was fearfully rough, and a few of the men hesitated, voicing concern that the boat could not possibly make it in such a heavy sea.

“The ice we are on is even more unsafe!” Tyson yelled. “Launch away!”

And away they went, after the women and children were snugly stowed. The rest succeeded in getting into the boat safely
except for the cook, who went overboard but managed to cling to the gunwale until Tyson pulled him back in.

They succeeded in reaching the piece of ice, where they hauled up the boat and distributed the last remaining morsels of food. Having no dry clothes, when the sun came out briefly they took off all they could spare and laid them out on the ice. Everyone was black and blue with bruises received during the night from all the blows and falls. While the sun showed itself, Tyson took an observation: latitude 53 degrees, 57 minutes.

The Germans, who settled some distance from the others, continued their angry complaints that Tyson was to blame for their hopeless situation.

Tyson divided the party into two watches, and one group slept in the boat as best they could, stowing themselves here and there in all sorts of positions. The ice pack around them was very thick. They could not force the boat through it, and so they once again had to wait for a change.

April 22. The weather was very bad again last night; snow-squalls, sleet, and rain. The ice is closing around us. What we want most now is food. We begin to feel more than at first the exhausting effect of our overstrained efforts. As I recall the details, it seems as if we were through the whole of that night the sport and jest of the elements. They played with us and our boat as if we were shuttlecocks. Man can never believe, nor pen describe, the scene we passed through, nor can I myself believe that any other party has weathered such a night and lived … The more I think of it, the more I wonder that we were not all washed into the sea together, and ground up in the raging and crushing ice. Tet here we are, children and all, even the baby, sound and well—except for the bruises. Half-drowned we are, and cold enough in our wet clothes, without shelter, and not sun enough to dry us even on the outside. We have nothing to eat; everything is finished and gone. The prospect looks bad enough; but we can not have been saved
through such a night to be starved now. God will send us some food.

Afternoon. If something does not come along soon, I do not know what will become of us. Fearful thoughts careen through my brain as I look at these eighteen souls with not a mouthful to eat. Meyer is actually starving. He can not last long in this state. Joe has been off on the soft ice a little way, but can not see anything. We ate some dried skin this morning that was tanned and saved for clothing, and which we had thrown into the boat when the storm first came on—tough, and difficult to sever with the teeth.

Joe ventured onto the ice again to see if he could spot water where seals might be found, and after looking a while from the top of a hummock, he was surprised to see a big bear, its nose in the air on a scent, lumbering toward them. He hadn't expected to see a bear in this latitude, as it was farther south than Arctic bears usually wandered.

The hunter returned as fast as possible, anxious lest the creature be frightened off and turn another way. All the party was ordered to lie down, in imitation of seals on the ice, and keep perfectly still. Joe climbed to the top of the hummock and Hans secreted himself behind it, both with rifles ready. Food seemed within their reach, but it might yet escape.

The bear came on slowly, having seen their forms on the ice, no doubt thinking that they were seals and he would soon be making a good dinner of them.

After a few more steps, he was within range of the rifles.

Both fired, killing him instantly.

Everyone arose from the ice with a shout, the dreaded uncertainty over. They all rushed to the spot of the kill—the polar bear who had come for supper but who would instead provide supper. Lines were tied above the bear's paws, and with a dozen men pulling, the body was dragged over the ice to camp, where it was cleaned and skinned.

Everyone agreed that the blood of the bear was exceedingly
refreshing, as they were very thirsty from a lack of fresh water. As he was far south of his hunting grounds, the bear's stomach was empty, and he was quite thin. His flesh, eaten raw, was the better for that, for when permeated with fat, bear meat can be very strong to the taste.

After spotting land off and on the day before, they launched the boat at 5:00
A.M.
on April 25, determined to get to shore even though there were no favorable winds. Once in the water, the light, overladen, scratched, and patched-up little boat looked as if she would founder in the next big wave, but she made it through a fearful running sea, filled with small shards of ice as sharp as knives. After eight hours of fruitless labor at the oars—for they made it no closer to land—they hauled up on a floe, completely spent.

All night and the next morning it snowed, which brought them ample fresh drinking water. They saw plenty of open water some distance off, but knew they could not get to it through the ice pack. With the sun hidden behind the overcast, they could not take an observation. How far had they drifted? The coast, shrouded in heavy weather, was not recognizable to anyone.

That night, a gale sprang up from the westward, and with a heavy sea running, water again washed over the small floe they called home. They had to stand at the ready by the boat again all night, although the waves were not as bad as the other night.

The next morning, with the ice left in an unsafe condition from the storm, they again launched the boat, but could get nowhere for the jagged ice, a heavy sea, and a head wind blowing a gale right in their teeth. They had to haul up after an hour's exhausting but useless effort.

By early afternoon, their position grew worse. Heavy icebergs threatened to smash their floe to pieces. The bergs were having a loud battle amongst themselves, all the time bearing right for them. The gale had set everything that could float in motion—a grand and at the same time awful sight. Accompanying the frightening collisions was the ceaseless roar of powerful waves.

Tyson called the watch in and ordered another move. They launched at one o'clock, this time for the purpose of getting out of the way of the approaching icebergs. Shortly after they left, the ice seemed very slack, and they saw more open water than they had seen in a long time.

“As far south as we must be,” Tyson said, “we could see whalers soon. Everyone keep a sharp lookout.”

Joe shot three young seals as they were under way, and they were brought aboard.

At 4:30
P.M.
, they spied a distant column of smoke. A steamer right ahead and bearing north of them! She was a commercial sealer, going southwest, and apparently working through the ice.

Tyson hoisted their colors atop the mast, and the men with oars pulled toward her.

For a few moments joy filled their breasts—the sight of relief so near.

But the ship did not see them, and they could not get to her.

When evening descended around them, she was lost to sight.

18

Hope of Rescue

T
he night was calm and clear. A new moon showed, and stars—the first they had seen for a week—shone brilliantly overhead like a monarch's bejeweled cape. The sea, as if acting in concert with the rest of the elements to provide a brief respite, was quiet and still.