In the Land of White Death

by Valerian Albanov

  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.

  MAY 23

  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.

  DRIFTING SOUTHWARD

  The first of June is my saint’s day. What a wonderful gift of Providence it would be if we could reach the 82nd parallel by that day!

  MAY 24

  During a dead calm, a thick fog rolled in during the night. Earlier I had noticed vast patches of water sky, while a remarkably luminous cloud floated above the horizon to the south and south-southeast. The cloud was concave in the middle and its edges blended into the horizon but it stood out very clearly. I observed it attentively through the binoculars but finally gave up all hopes of discerning land. And yet this unusual cloud might have been the reflection of a glacier lying on solid earth!

  Yesterday evening I decided to increase our speed, but I must concede already that the best intentions do not automatically bring the desired results. The conditions have deteriorated so dramatically that it now requires a superhuman effort to force the sledges through the snow, which has become extremely slushy underneath. If that were not bad enough, wretched polynyas constantly hinder our sluggish progress, forcing us to make huge detours that do nothing to keep us from sinking into the slush. The kayaks are useless for crossing the polynyas, moreover, because of dangerous chunks of floating ice. Despite untold efforts we have advanced little more than two and a half miles to the south. We halted at the edge of a particularly bad stretch of open water and set up camp.

  Fog all day long, with that dull light that makes one’s eyes so terribly painful. At the moment mine hurt so much that I see this diary only as through a veil, and hot tears run down my cheeks. From time to time I have to stop writing and bury my head in my malitsa. Only in complete darkness does the pain gradually abate, allowing me to open my eyes again.

  In the morning the wind was out of the northwest, but veered to the northeast in the afternoon, and the horizon was quite dark. We tried to gauge the depth of the water, but our sounding line was too short. This abortive effort nevertheless allowed us to conclude that we were drifting noticeably southward, for the plumb line was definitely tilted toward the north. We also tried to shoot a few auks and a seal; but Diana must not have been pleased with us, for our prey escaped and we were left empty-handed.

  Tomorrow the civilized world will be celebrating Pentecost. How delightful it must be in the south, while we languish here so miserably, drifting at latitude 82°30´ north.

  SUNDAY, MAY 25

  Whitsunday: Today we were overjoyed. First of all we came upon the sort of lead that is normally difficult to cross, and yet we managed to dispatch it with relative ease and advance nearly two miles toward the south. One of the men came with me in my kayak. As soon as
we had crossed the channel I disembarked, took a noon sight, and found 82°21´. I could not believe my eyes and immediately suspected an error. But a second calculation confirmed the first result. I had not been mistaken. This was a great surprise, a real Whitsuntide treat. And that would not be the only one, for soon the men in the last kayak came to tell me that they had shot a polar bear!

  This announcement was indeed very welcome news to us all. The last time we had eaten roasted bear had been on board the Saint Anna, around September last year, and today we would again be very gratefully sitting down to a wonderfully plentiful meal—what inexpressible joy! Just as we had been picturing the future with grave concern, good fortune had sent us this “royal dish,” as Sverdrup* called it, which, in addition to feeding us, would provide us with fuel. Three kayaks immediately made ready to go back for the precious bounty, whose hide and fat would help us keep warm. We cut up the rest according to the rules of the meat-cutter’s art. The most skilled master butcher could not have done better. We removed the magnificent pelt, along with fat, to use as fuel (the skin, worth 200 rubles, had to be burned to save our own skins). The blood was collected in containers, and that same evening we had a choice of boiled or roasted bear meat. The liver, eaten raw with salt, is a real delicacy! The men were completely transformed. A boisterous good humor replaced their disheartened lassitude; hope and courage blossomed before my eyes. Their spirits soared. I would never have believed that they could have enjoyed themselves so much. Heaven had sent us succor at a time of utter distress, and our gratitude for this miraculous gift was apparent in our overflowing happiness.

  * The Norwegian Otto Sverdrup was one of the greatest Arctic explorers. He had skied across Greenland with Nansen in 1888, and had been captain on board the Fram when Nansen and Johansen made their bold attempt on the North Pole in 1895 (see Introduction). During 1914–15 he led an unsuccessful search for Brusilov and Albanov’s lost party.

  The wind seems to be shifting; sometimes it blows from the south, sometimes the southwest or east-southeast. The sky is clear, the sun even feels hot, and the entire landscape sparkles with a dazzling whiteness, which is unbearably painful to our unprotected eyes.

  MAY 26

  We are still at the same camp, cutting up the bear meat. There is a flurry of activity both outside and inside the tent. Cooking, roasting, melting the fat, etc. I have been trying to dry some strips of meat in the wind. Now that we have at last been able to eat our fill, our energy and confidence in the face of danger have once more gained the upper hand.

  Four of our men went looking for a good route. The weather is still excellent today, very clear with a strong northerly wind. Although my eyes are very sore, I was able, with great difficulty, to take a sun sight that gave me a reading of latitude 82°20´ north. The wind has therefore pushed us southward one whole nautical mile over the last twenty-four hours. As I walked with my sextant to a nearby observation site, I noticed the tracks of two polar bears.

  MAY 27

  Yesterday we struck camp at ten P.M. to continue our route toward the south. But we were forced to stop after three hours because there was so much shattered ice that we could not continue. Wind again from the west.

  I will have to take back my praise for polar bear liver! On board the Saint Anna there had been rumors about the drawbacks or even the dangers of eating it. We had paid little heed to them then, and in any case at that time had no opportunity to taste it. Now I am convinced that the warnings were well founded. Bear liver is obviously very harmful to one’s health. All those who ate it came down with headaches and dizzy spells, as if we had been poisoned by carbon monoxide. The discomfort spread throughout the body and our stomachs suffered dreadfully. We were forced to accept the truth of the proverb that wisdom comes only through hardship, and I swore never again to eat bear liver, no matter how much it might tempt my palate.*

  * Albanov had good reason to be wary of polar bear liver, which we now know can carry a lethal overdose of vitamin A. In 1897, the Swede Salomon Andrée and two companions, attempting to balloon to the North Pole, vanished northwest of Franz Josef Land. Thirty-three years later, their last camp on White Island was discovered by accident, the men’s skeletons intact. So well preserved were the trio’s belongings that film in their camera was successfully developed. The cause of the men’s deaths seemed puzzling, for they were found with ample food and supplies. A photo from the camera, showing two men standing over a dead polar bear, was corroborated by Andrée’s diary entry bragging of the kill, only six days before some fatal catastrophe struck the party. These clues lend credence to the hypothesis that a vitamin A overdose caused their deaths.

  Another violent snowstorm during the night.

  MAY 28

  The blizzard continued into the day and kept us in our tent until noon. The wind shifted first to the south then the east. In the afternoon we risked a departure and were plagued for the rest of the day by innumerable cracks and channels. It was hard work. Often our feet would plunge into a foot of water beneath the slushy snow. In spite of all our efforts we got no farther than two and a half miles; we were exhausted and soaked to the skin. We tried taking a depth sounding, but the plumb line was still not on the bottom at seventy fathoms, though the line’s angle through the water confirmed that we were drifting southward once again.

  Despite this heartening conclusion, our situation was hardly to be envied. Nobody had any doubts about that, and I was not at all surprised when the sailor Konrad, followed by four other crewmen, came to see me that evening to express their wish to abandon the kayaks and sledges and continue on skis. Although I thought it extremely risky to resort to such measures at this stage, I could not refuse their request, given the fact that my way of doing things held equally scant promise of success.

  I put forward a few objections, explaining that—depending on the circumstances—without kayaks we risked finding ourselves in some very critical situations. I argued that we could still continue pulling the sledges and kayaks, as they were not really that heavy. “Imagine how it will be,” I told them, “if we reach land and find ourselves with no warm clothes, no dishes or utensils, no ax, and none of the other important items we now have stowed in the boats.” I did not feel that I had convinced the men, but at least they remained silent. We had already started burning parts of our tent, and it would not be long before we dispensed with it. When traveling by kayak, the tent creates a problem because is it very cumbersome and has to be laid in a certain complicated way across the craft, and it is also quite dangerous due to its considerable weight, especially when wet.

  An inventory of our supplies has shown that we still have sixteen bags of biscuits, our staple diet, which weigh three hundred and twenty pounds. To that we can add a few bags of ground peas and some bear meat. Our ammunition is almost as heavy as the biscuits. But with the best will in the world we simply cannot eliminate any of these vital items.

  MAY 29

  Endless channels, cracks, and polynyas have been hampering our progress. The ice pack is breaking up. Nansen told how he found a lot of fractured ice as he approached Franz Josef Land. All the channels lie east-west, not one of them running in the direction we wish to travel. Confronted by this confusion of fragmented ice floes, we feel as if we had been shipwrecked, and we wonder how we will ever find our way to safety.

  Lunayev shot two seals today, so we shall now have fresh meat and blubber again for some time. Seal blubber when heated gives a much better light than bear fat; it ignites more easily, gives a clearer flame, and its ashes replace the wick.

  The wind is out of the northeast. The ice pack is drifting to the southwest; every day it becomes clearer that we are moving ever southward. My sun sight today gave a position of 82°08.5´. May this good fortune never abandon or deceive us!

  MAY 30

  At dawn, a northwesterly wind, force 5.* Shortly after breakfast a violent blizzard arose. Nevertheless we prepared our kayaks and set off toward the south, over very diffi
cult terrain. The ice floes are becoming smaller and smaller, forcing us to use our kayaks most of the day. As soon as we cross one stretch of open water, another one immediately becomes visible. Sometimes they are no farther apart than one to two hundred yards. It may be sea ice of this sort, which we are now encountering regularly, that Nansen compared to a fisherman’s net. In any case it seems that we are well and truly captured in such a net. May God give us the strength to emerge safe and sound from this unrelenting danger!

  * Force 5 on the Beaufort scale is a “fresh breeze” of 17 to 21 knots (20 to 24 mph).

  Even after pushing ourselves to the limit, today we hauled the sledges no more than two miles, though we are drifting irresistibly southward all the while. Not so long ago I hardly dared entertain the thought that we might reach the 82nd parallel by June 1! What colossal efforts would have been required for us to reach the goal of our dreams solely under our own power! If I compare our daily progress to that of a tortoise, it would be an insult to the poor tortoise. But I was to learn that miracles do exist, for today my noon calculation situated us at 82°01´, and as I write these lines, we have certainly drifted south of 82°!

  If I look at my map, the extreme northern point of Prince Rudolf Land is situated at 82°12´. As we have already passed below 82°, that land must either be to the east or to the west of us; probably to the east, if our calculations of the Saint Anna’s drift were accurate. I am certain that we are drifting westward, as proved by the prevailing winds, the constant inclination of my sounding line, and even my chronometer, which has now become all but useless. My map shows two peaks of over twelve hundred feet on Prince Rudolf Land. If my figures are correct, I should have been able to see those peaks long ago, and yet I have seen nothing of the sort.