In the Land of White Death: An Epic Story of Survival in the Siberian Arctic (20 page)

As I have mentioned, we thought that we were at Sedov’s camp and not at Jackson’s winter quarters. We were astonished, it is true, to find such disorder, with the buildings in such bad condition, but we supposed that after spending the winter there, Sedov had hurriedly departed, leaving everything just as it was. Knowing that he had left Arkhangel’sk in 1912, we imagined that his ship must have come back for the crew who had stayed behind. The tin cans nailed to the wall of the big cabin must have contained mail for the ship, or so I imagined. But all my other discoveries now made me wonder if I was right, since with the exception of those cans and a few supplies, there was little to prove that Sedov had been here.

One day we began to dig in the ice inside the dirty ruins of the big cabin to see what we could find. On the wall, between the bunks, we noticed some shreds of dirty, mildewed cloth. We could not see clearly in the gloomy interior, but when we carried our find out into the day-light, we saw it was a piece of faded green cloth, which reminded me that in Nansen’s description of Jackson’s camp, he wrote of green cloth covering the walls. He had also written that there was an iron stove, above which were suspended some wooden poles for drying clothes. In fact, everything was as Nansen had described it, and I realized that the camp was not as recent as I had supposed. This was indeed Jackson’s camp! But what a camp. Jackson had left it pleasant and comfortable with “a lot of room,” as he described it to Nansen when he met him. They were quite a small party in his time. Now there were three bunks in each cubicle, and it was possible to accommodate thirty-five to forty people. Everywhere there were passageways, corners, and darkness. It was a fine dwelling, and yet a seedy one. The bunks had clearly been hastily improvised, for the planks had been poorly planed; the mattresses were so putrid that we had to dig them out with a spade. There was also an armchair that must have once been very handsome, and a desk whose missing base had been replaced by a rough board. Tin gutters ran the length of the ceiling to catch the water, and above the bunks there were shelves for personal belongings. Here and there lay pharmaceutical jars, visibly used. I became increasingly convinced that Jackson would never have lived in such a filthy and neglected place. Can you imagine it? Apparently he was a gentleman who always dressed for dinner! Others must have lived here since Jackson’s time, and there must have been several waves of occupants. It was once a delightful haven, equipped with every imaginable convenience, its walls covered with thick green drapes to keep out the cold. Nansen’s story proves that he had found the house in perfect condition. Then a larger group must have arrived late in the season and hastily set up their winter quarters. It must have been at this time that the three-tiered bunks and the gutters were installed, for the roof must already have been leaking. These men must have brought horses with them as well, for we had unearthed several skulls and skeletons. A few of the sledges were designed to be horse-drawn; we later found a number of halters and bridles.

I cannot believe that Sedov could have caused such devastation during his short stay. It would have taken more time to do such damage. There must have been an earlier expedition that left again as quickly as it had come, without taking the slightest trouble to leave the living quarters in good order. Doors and windows had not even been closed properly. Could it have been this Ziegler expedition, which I had never heard of?

I then discovered a large sheet of paper with comical drawings for a New Year’s Eve party, which gave me a few clues. The first picture represented two gentlemen drinking whiskey; below this was a caption that we imagined might read: “It’ll soon be time to go and discover the Pole.—Absolutely, what a good idea!” The second picture showed a ship that must have been coming to fetch these people, but was wrecked on a reef on the way. The stern of the sinking ship was visible above the water. The third drawing depicted the rescued crew making their way southward in horse-drawn sleighs and dogsleds, perhaps toward Cape Flora. Finally, a portrait of the entire group shows their repatriation by railroad to civilization, after their “exploits.” These globetrotters have long since been safe and sound at home with their loved ones, regaling them with the most amazing stories of their expedition.

We also found another empty barrel, which had originally contained wine, on which the words “North Pole” were branded. Its contents were undoubtedly reserved for celebrating the team’s arrival at the Pole. In short, we hardly had a good impression of these people, who had left such a rubbish dump behind them, the leftovers of a “bazaar” that contained everything under the sun. Often when something was lacking in our hut, we would jokingly say, “Let’s go to Ziegler’s, we’ll find exactly what we’re looking for.” This was usually true and we rarely came back empty-handed. For example, “Alexander [Konrad], go over to Ziegler’s and find me a sieve for the oats!” Off he would go and find one. That is how we acquired a coffee grinder, a lamp in working order, cutlery, various tools, dishes, and so on.

One day as I was walking to the east, I spotted a tall, narrow stone behind a large boulder. Drawing nearer, I found it was an obelisk bearing an inscription engraved in golden letters: “
Stella Polare:
in memory of those who died during the sledge expedition of 1900.”*

It is possible, therefore, that this expedition, too, had left some of its supplies behind.

Finally, we found an anonymous tomb decorated with a wooden cross, painted in red. This burial place was certainly better than the one we had made for our poor Nilsen.

After having inspected and sorted all the supplies, we carried them into the big cabin to store them properly. This storeroom was really quite impressive in the end, and could have been called, without exaggeration, a first-class delicatessen. Konrad had to do most of the tedious sorting and stock taking on his own, for since our arrival here my health had been deteriorating by the day. Shivers and fever racked my whole body, and at one point I was so low and delirious that I did not know where I was, or so Konrad later told me. I also had persistent nightmares and imagined that there were three of us on the island. During these mild hallucinations I would get up and hurry over to my sole companion, busy with his excavations, and ask about our third comrade without even knowing who it might be. The fresh air did me good, often bringing me back to my senses and reminding me that there were only two of us. But this reality would send me into a deep fit of melancholy that would in turn drive me back inside the hut. In addition to this mental torment, I was now afflicted with another ailment which worried me greatly. My legs were becoming more and more swollen each day and were very painful. Konrad was also suffering from the same symptoms. Moreover, the sad fate of our lost companions caused us perpetual anxiety.

When I was well enough, we sat before the door of our “mansion” gazing out toward the open sea. We desperately searched the waves for some sign of our friends. Anything that moved on the horizon became a kayak, miraculously bringing them safely to us. And we would take the binoculars and painstakingly scrutinize each ice floe, always in vain. Colonies of walruses, couched in silent contemplation, drifted past on the floating ice—sometimes heading west, sometimes heading east—content to be borne along aimlessly by the tides.

 

 

At dawn, Konrad decided to go to Bell Island. If the ice was not broken up in the channel separating it from Prince George Land, he would try to push as far as Cape Grant to look for the missing men. I could not go with him, as I could hardly stand on my own two feet. No doubt he was afraid I might die and leave him completely alone. Perhaps that was the real motive for his expedition. He took some supplies with him, as well as the double-barreled shotgun with ammunition, and set sail on a fine day with a good wind.

Thus I remained alone, and the hours were difficult. The solitude oppressed me more than ever. I had feverish dreams that brought back memories of all the terrible events of our odyssey, making them seem even worse than they had been in reality; one nightmare followed the next. At times I thought I could hear voices outside, and someone trying to open the door. A victim of my deranged imagination, I leapt off my mattress in terror and went outside to have a look. The fresh air restored my wits for a short time, but the moment I thought of my isolation, a feverish despair would overcome me once more. On the table next to my bed, the loyal Konrad had laid out tins of food and quinine tablets, as well as drinking water. But I had no appetite and only rarely managed to swallow some liquid with a bit of quinine. Then I threw a few logs into the stove and hurried to lie down again, aching all over.

After two full days, Konrad had still not returned, and I was tormented by the thought that something might have happened to him. On the evening of the seventeenth, I put on my malitsa and sat in front of the door to wait. The incessant uproar of birds from the cliffs was interrupted occasionally by a wild howling. Such a symphony could hardly have failed to depress even those who were in perfect health; now, it only deepened my melancholy. Cascades roared down from the rocky heights above me. The snowmelt eroded the snow pack and the glacial seracs, unleashing immense avalanches that crashed down with a fearful sound. These sounds were especially sinister at night, and brought to mind a witches’ Sabbath. Their rumblings sounded so near that I got up almost every night to go to the door and make sure the encampment was still standing.

I stayed awake, waiting for Alexander. At around four in the morning I saw, in the direction of Bell Island, a blurry speck moving across the water. Could it be his boat? The ice was drifting slowly southward, which made the black speck look as if it was heading north. Finally I saw something flashing on either side of the speck, in a rhythmical movement, with regular pauses. There could be no doubt! It was a kayak, with the splashing of his double-bladed paddle sparkling in the sun. An hour later he disappeared behind a promontory, then at six o’clock I could see Alexander walking along the shore. I went to meet him.

He was alone. When he greeted me, he could not contain himself and began to sob; he had found nothing. It had been impossible for him to go as far as Cape Grant because of the floating ice, but he could see it with the binoculars, and had given every imaginable sign of life: shouting, firing shots, gesticulating. And he had spent all night within sight of the cape . . . but nothing.

Yet we clung to one last hope, and decided we would undertake a second search together, once our winter quarters were ready.

We could not spend the winter in the little hut, for it was too cold and exposed. We had to resign ourselves to the enormous task of repairing the main cabin. We started the very next day. To begin with, we had to remove the boards covering the door and windows and discard everything that was useless or broken. We dismantled the bunks, since the walls had to remain bare. A good fire would get the better of the damp. We decided to leave the stove where it was, but soon found out that it did not work, so we dismantled it and built a new one out of some bricks. It would thus have the twofold advantage of retaining the heat and being easier to cook on. We had all the necessary material as well as the craftsman, Alexander himself, who had worked as a stove fitter before signing on to the expedition. But we still had to repair the ceiling and the roof, using turf and moss, of which there was an ample supply. There was also much reindeer lichen, dating no doubt from Jackson’s time; it seems he had even planned to raise reindeer. Every day we worked from seven in the morning until evening, stopping only for a brief pause at noon, and for tea.

We also made some more discoveries: For example, underneath one of the cubicles we came across over a thousand cartridges for a Ziegler rifle that we had found earlier, and which we hoped to put into working order.

We had already received three visits from bears, but had not managed to shoot one. They were extremely cautious and stayed out of range. They fled as soon as they saw us, diving into the water and only resurfacing long after. And yet their meat was as vital to us as daily bread, for winter was approaching and even the most perfect canned food could not replace fresh meat forever. In addition, our clothes urgently needed repair, and bearskins would be ideal for the pupose. The walruses would have been just as good, because of their blubber and hides, but we would have needed a good long-range firearm.

We collected all the scraps of clothing and reindeer hides we could lay our hands on, which we then dried out on the roof to use later for repairing our ragged clothes. For we were envisioning setting up a real little tailor’s shop, for which Ziegler would provide needles, thread, and scissors. We planned to make new underwear out of old sails and some damaged cloth from Ziegler’s reserves; this project would occupy our winter days and we would begin as soon as we returned from our expedition to Cape Grant.

Among the debris we pulled out of the big cabin, Konrad found a Russian tobacco pouch, lost no doubt by one of Sedov’s men. This brought us great pleasure, as recently we had been smoking every possible kind of ersatz tobacco, even seaweed stuffing from old mildewed mattresses. The last real tobacco we had smoked was on board the
Saint Anna,
at least a year earlier. Since we lacked a pipe with which to inhale our lucky find, we rolled a cigarette out of paper, and very soon small blue clouds rose in the air. Only those who have known what it means to do without can imagine our delight; indeed, we even felt slightly dizzy.