Word of Barents’s success spread quickly through Holland. Prince Maurice, son of King William I, was particularly encouraged by the fruits of the initiatives and he became filled with “the most exaggerated hopes.” In his enthusiasm he caused a fresh expedition to be mounted which he, himself, helped to finance. Barents was awarded the title, “Chief Pilot of the States-General and Conductor” and urged to prepare promptly for a return to Siberia, this time with an enlarged fleet … and hopes assured.
Bathed in optimism and good cheer, six ships set sail in June 1595, heavily loaded with an array of goods for trade with the peoples of Cathay. They were accompanied by a seventh vessel, which was to return home to report on the expedition’s progress after it had rounded the Taymyr Peninsula, the massive body of land that serves as the Arctic Ocean’s east–west divide in that part of the globe.
In nearing 75°N the ships came across an unfamiliar island sided by high cliffs rising from the sea. An exploratory party was sent ashore to search out the place and as the men moved inland they were ambushed by a polar bear. The animal had snuck up stealthily behind them and grabbed a hapless sailor by the neck. The victim’s panicked companions ran for their lives, but shortly thereafter turned back “either to save the man or else to drive the beare from the body.”[11] As the group approached the animal with pikes and oars they were horrified to find the animal “devouring the man … the beare bit his head in sunder and sucked out his blood.” The feasting animal spotted the approaching party and charged. Again, the sailors scattered, but as they ran, one of them was caught by the enraged beast and killed by a single blow of a massive paw. From the deck of one of the nearby ships, the unfolding drama had been observed and boats were quickly lowered with reinforcements. The well-armed party engaged the “cruell, fierce and ravenous beast;” and after a frantic struggle managed to kill it without further casualty. Barents gave the name of Bear Island to the place where this fatal encounter occurred.
At this point it might be appropriate briefly to digress by putting Barents aside, and make a few introductory remarks on the polar bear in general. It is after all the iconic animal of the Arctic Ocean and sub-Arctic regions, and, given the rapidity of environmental changes, anxiety exists as to its future. The polar bear is the world’s largest land predator, reaching heights of as much as ten feet and weights of 1,500 pounds. Its preferred world, however, is the ice packs and the open waters where seals flourish, its principal source of food. Land becomes attractive in the absence of seals, and it is on land also that the female bear passes through her final stages of gestation and where, after burrowing into the permafrost, she delivers her newborns.
In addition to an exceptional sense of smell, the polar bear possesses a remarkable ability to hunt out its next meal by stealth; it approaches a target seemingly cloaked by invisibility, so well does its white coat blend with the terrain. It then usually seizes the victim’s head and crushes the skull with powerful jaws, the strength of which is capable of killing a mature walrus or a beluga whale. Although seals are undeniably the dietary preference, the bear’s tastes are remarkably eclectic with reindeer, rodents, birds, and shellfish acceptable substitutes. (In the garbage dumps of Churchill, Manitoba, bears have been observed ingesting Styrofoam, plastics, and a car battery.)
In bygone days, native bear hunters were handsomely rewarded for their successes for every part of the felled animal found use: food for nourishment, fur for trousers and footwear, sinews for thread, fat for lamp oil, bones for tools, and the heart and gallbladders for their medicinal qualities. Only the highly toxic liver was discarded. So valued and revered were the beasts that in certain societies — the Chukchi of eastern Siberia, for example — that they took on religious significance and their skulls and body parts were used in shamanistic rituals.
Today’s polar bears have fallen mightily from their lofty pedestals, and they are viewed in diverse terms — as tourist attractions for the curious, as parents of cuddly cubs, as the dream quarry of recreational hunters, and as scavengers of garbage dumps or unwelcomed, dangerous interlopers. The impact of global warming is proving calamitous for these noble animals and the possibility of extinction hovers ominously, as will be explored more fully in the final chapters.
Returning now to Barents. His expedition continued east from Bear Island and eventually arrived at Novaya Zemlya. He rounded the southern tip at the point where Nai was pleased to make his “very broad claim,” but, alas, he found no sign of the “spacious, open sea.” The Kara Sea was frozen solid, a smooth sheet of thick ice that made further passage impossible. The disappointment must have been palpable, but with the season advancing rapidly and a restless crew clamoring for a return home, there was no option but to do so.
Despite frustration at having failed to confirm a gateway to the East, the undaunted Barents once more lobbied Dutch authorities for funds to launch yet another exploration. The Estates General, however, had had enough and it balked at acquiescing to the explorer’s demands. It did, however, post a reward of 25,000 guilders to any association or individual who would successfully navigate the Northern Sea Passage. Even before that announcement was formally made, the steadfast Town Council of Amsterdam took up the challenge and, raising 12,000 guilders, they outfitted two small vessels. This time the practical precaution was taken to engage only bachelor seamen, so that “they might not be diswaded by means of their wives and children to leave off the voyage.”[12] Overall charge of the enterprise was given over to Barents with Jacob van Heemskirk commanding one ship and Jan Rijp the other.
A map “closely agreeing with Barents’ own original Map, 1598,” which depicts the explorer’s third voyage into the Arctic.
Taken from J.I. Pontani, Rerum et Urbis Amstelodamensium Historia. Amsterdam. 1611.
Setting out on May 18, 1596, the vessels reached the Shetlands within a fortnight and by early June they were well above the Arctic Circle with course set for east. Excitement was had when the ships came across a floating carcass of a massive whale that “stouncke monsterously,” and later even more was generated when an enormous polar bear was spotted swimming across the bows of the lead vessel, which the sailors chased and hunted down. On June 17 they reached 79°49' N, arriving to a snow-covered land, which they initially assumed to be part of Greenland, but quickly realized otherwise. A landing party was sent ashore to explore the place, and it was richly rewarded by the discovery of countless bird nests, from which hundreds of eggs were harvested for the ships’ larders. During that brief foray, a plaque bearing the Dutch coat of arms was ceremoniously erected and the new land claimed in the name of King Willliam I. They named the place “Spitzbergen” (sharp mountain), as it is known today.
At this point a serious disagreement took place between Rijp and Heemskirk as to the direction to be taken next. In those days it was commonly believed that water did not freeze at a distance from land — even in the highest latitudes — a belief that persisted well into the nineteenth century. Rijp therefore insisted on a return due north while Heemskirk argued for a sail northeast toward Novaya Zemlya for another try via the islands’ north. Barents sided with Heemskirk. Since both parties held firm in their stubborn convictions it was decided to split up — one to pursue a course due north, the other to head for Novaya Zemlya.
The record of Rijp’s further sail is incomplete. Suffice to say that his tiny vessel did press on and in following Greenland’s coastline north it eventually became obstructed by dense ice floes that made further progress impossible. Weary and disheartened, he returned home with little to show for his efforts. Of Barents’s voyage, on the other hand, much is known thanks to de Veer, the diarist. His writings provide one of the more compelling tales of Arctic winter survival — the first such by Europeans.
Proceeding northeast as argued, Barents arrived at Novaya Zemlya and followed its coast to the northern tip at Mys Zhelaniya (Russian, meaning Cape Desire). The promontory was rounded and the vessel continued to parallel the coastline,
which, to universal disappointment, was found to be unfolding in a southerly direction, rather than eastward. Contrary to expectations, furthermore, the Kara Sea was cluttered with formidable ice packs. The weather initially was “mistie, melancholy and snowie,” but then strong northeasterly winds developed that grew into gale force. Not only was the ship being systematically driven toward the rocky shore, but the ice was being pushed in the same direction. Heemstrick had his hands full trying to forcefully twist and dodge the menacing floes. Some sixty miles south of Mys Zhelaniya, ice and wind conditions deteriorated further, so much so that it was decided to find refuge in some coastal haven and wait out the fierce weather. The unabating east wind made it impossible for the ship to retrace its route A hurried search for suitable harbourage along the unpromising coastline brought the little vessel to a place they called “Ice Haven.” It was August 26, late in the season, and they were at 70°45' N.
That night the winds grew more forceful and so pressed the ice packs in the shallow cove that Barents’s vessel became tightly pinned. The relentless pressure of the floes increased alarmingly, and, in the somewhat fanciful 1857 words of the Dutchman de Peyster, the vessel, like a child’s toy, was “raised up to the top of the constantly-increasing ice-elevation, as if by the scientific application of machinery …” [T]he “cabined, cribbed and confined” crew was overwhelmed by “the thundering crashes of the icebergs outside their frail bark … with a din as if a whole mountain of marble had been blown up by some internal explosive force.” And the cracking and groaning of the ship, itself, “was so dreadful … that the crew were terrified lest their ship should fall in pieces with every throe, which seemed to rock it from deck to keel.”
The precariousness of their situation became abundantly clear, so much so that Barents ordered most of the ship’s cargo be taken ashore, with just enough left on board should the ship survive. In the days that followed, the wind died down and hopes were raised that the ice might retreat. But that was not to be, and after the brief respite the bluster resumed, causing the ice to squeeze and smash the trapped vessel even more. From the shore, the crew watched the unfolding spectacle with horror, making “all the hairs of our heads to rise upright with fear.”
Days passed with the weather vacillating from fair and sunny to cold and snowy, all the while the badly scarred ship remaining firmly locked in an icy grip. On September 5, a scouting party sent out into the island’s treeless interior returned with welcome news that not only had a vast deposit of driftwood been discovered but also a source of fresh water. By the 11th the stark reality was accepted that the group would be forced “in great cold, poverty, misery and grief to stay all that winter.” In preparation for the grim prospect, it was decided to begin without delay the construction of a suitable shelter ashore, “to keep us therein as well as we could, and so to commit ourselves unto the tuition of God.”
Parties were sent inland to scout out the most suitable place “to raise our house, and yet we had not much stuff to make it with … there grew no trees nor any other thing in that country convenient to build it with.” They did, however, receive “unexpected comfort” in locating another large deposit of driftwood and that “wood served us not only to build our house, but also to burne and serve us all winter; otherwise without doubt we had died there miserably with extreme cold.”
De Veer’s diary is an interesting read for the telling vignettes he offers on the day-by-day existence of the stranded party. His September 13 entry, for example, read: “It was a calm but very misty weather, so that we could do nothing because it was dangerous for us to go inland, because we could not see the bears; and yet they could smell better than they see.” And then the laconic entry for the 23rd in its entirety — and here one might well ask, what manner of men were these? “We fetched more wood to build our house, which we did twice a day, but it grew to be misty and still weather again, the wind blowing east and east-northeast. That day our carpenter (being of Purmecaet)[13] died as we came aboard about evening.” And then, the totality of the following day’s entry: “We buried him under the sieges [shale] in the cleft of a hill, hard by the water, for we could not dig up the earth by reason of the great frost and cold; and that day we went twice with our sleds to fetch wood.” Void of emotion, almost heartless in delivery.
The construction work was wrought with difficulties, despite the abundance of driftwood and quantities of planks scavenged from the ship. The undertaking had now to be done without the professional oversight of the deceased carpenter. Extreme cold hindered rapid progress — “it froze so hard that as we put a nail in our mouths, there would ice hang there on when we took it out again, and made the blood flow.” Work on particularly misty days had to be suspended for fear of marauding bears that seemed constantly about. For the hauling of wood, a sled had been fabricated from some planks taken from the stranded ship. The distance from the driftwood quarry to the site was four miles and bears were periodically encountered on the long haul. Once a particularly threatening beast suddenly appeared and the frightened men panicked. Heenskirk’s level-headedness and power of command saved the situation. He ordered the men to form a tight circle, threatening to kill anyone who ran, and, by uproariously shouting and waving arms, they intimidated the animal sufficiently to scare it away.
In 1596, William Barents’s third expedition in search of the Northeast Passage became ice-locked off Novaya Zemlya. A contemporary sketch shows “the exact manner of house wherein we wintered.”
It took nearly a month to complete construction, and on October 24 the sixteen men moved into their new quarters. The building measured thirty-two feet by twenty, constructed of driftwood and ship’s planking; with the roof covered by slate gathered from nearby. As the men were making the final run with the sled carrying supplies from the stranded ship to their new quarters, they were attacked by three bears. While Heemskirk and de Veer fought the beasts with halberds, the remainder of the party ran for the ship. The distracted animals paused long enough for the men to make a goodly head start, but quickly gave chase. The sailors made it safely to the vessel and a lively battle ensued with the animals, soon joined by Heemskirk and de Veer. The sole means of defence at hand was the two halberds and an abundance of fireplace logs that were hurled at the marauders, “and every time we threw they ran after them, as a dog [might] do at a stone cast at him.” The struggle came to an abrupt close by a well-placed halberd blow on one animal’s delicate snout. The pained bear ran off with the other two closely behind. “We thanked God that we were so well delivered from them.”
With the passing of time, the bears seemed to have migrated out of the region and, in their wake, white fox appeared in large numbers. One such animal was killed with a hatchet, skinned, and roasted on a spit. It was found to taste like a rabbit, and “its skin served us for a good defense [against the cold].” The lamps at the dinner table were fuelled by melted bear fat and outside the shelter lay the frozen carcasses of beasts that had been hunted earlier.
October 28: “Three of our men went to the place where we had set the bear upright and there stood frozen, thinking to pull out her teeth. But it was clean covered over with snow. And while they were there it began to snow so fast, that they were glad to come home as fast as they could. But the snow beat so sore upon them that they could hardly see their way, and had almost lost their way.”
November 4: “It was calm weather, but then we saw the sun no more, for it was no longer about the horizon. Then our surgeon made a bath for us to bathe in, of a wine pipe,[14] wherein we entered one after the other, and it did us much good and was a great means of our health.” By mid-November the clock ceased ticking and all sense of time was lost; was it day or was it night? Dark inside, dark outside. Men crawling out of their bunks “to make water” outdoors could not discern “whether the light they saw was the light of day or of the moon.”
By then, they became conscious of the diminishing supply of bread — “we shared our bread amongst us, each man havi
ng four pounds and ten ounces for his allowance in eight days … whereas before we ate it up in five or six days.” Traps set for fox proved effective and the animals became an important food source, that and plentiful fish. The store of beer was also a concern for not only was the supply lessening, but the stuff “was for the most part wholly without strength, so that it had no flavor at all.” Wine was rationed — “every man had two glasses a day, but commonly our drink was water which we melted out of the snow.”
As for successive weather notations of late November and early December : “foule weather,” “faire weather,” “darke weather,” “still weather,” “indifferent weather,” but for the most part it was “foule,” with a continuous blow of east winds. It was “so cold that when we washed our sheets and wrung them, they froze so stiff that, although we laid them by a great fire, the side that lay next to the fire thawed, but the other side was hard frozen.” Boots turned “as hard as horns upon our feet, and within they were white froze.” Indoor it was not only dark, but the quarters were smoke-filled for lack of sufficient draw by the primitive chimney. And it was bitterly cold — “we could hardly sit by the fire because of the smoke, and therefore stayed in our cabins [bunks]. We heated stones which we put in our cabins to warm our feet, for both the cold and the smoke were insupportable.” Sleep often proved impossible because of the thunderous cracking of ice in the nearby sea.
Arctic Obsession Page 5
