on, on account of the storm and darkness. Fortunately we had the two whale-boats with us. The men had also saved their firearms and ammunition—a fact at which I was initially pleased—as well as their clothes bags. I had only the light clothing I had been wearing aboard the ship: my old sealskin breeches, an undershirt, wool shirt, cotton jumper, and “Russian cap.” And now all the rest, the men, women, and children, sought what shelter they could from the storm by wrapping themselves in musk-ox skins, and so lay down to rest, huddled together. The dogs slept curled in the snow nearby. I walked the floe all night, keeping watch.
Around three in the morning the gale and snow abated, and by the light of the full moon’s setting I could see all. This was a nearly circular piece of ice, about four miles in circumference. It was not level, but was full of hillocks, and also ponds, or small lakes, which had been formed by ice-melt during the short summer. The ice was of various thicknesses. Some of the mounds, or hills, were probably thirty feet thick, and the flat parts not more than ten. It was very rough; the hillocks were covered with snow; indeed, the surface was all snow from the last night’s storm. Those who lay down on the ice were all snowed under—but that helped to keep them warm. Perhaps I should have lain down too, if I had had any thing to lie on; but the others had taken all the skins, and I would not disturb them to ask for one.
I should think the ship would soon be coming to look for us. Why does not the Polaris come to our rescue? This is the thought that now fills every heart, and has mine ever since the first dawn of light this morning. At that time, I scanned the horizon but could see nothing of the vessel; but from a large hummock, the floe’s highest point, I saw a lead of water which led to the land. The sea had become almost calm. I looked around at the company with me upon the ice, and then at the provisions which we had with us. Besides myself there were eighteen persons, namely:
Frederick Meyer, meteorologist (German); John Herron, steward (English); William Jackson, cook (Negro)— Seamen: R.W. Kruger (German); Fred. Jamka (German); William Lindermann (German); Matthias Anthing (German-Russian); Gus. Lundquist (Swedish); Soren Madsen (Danish).— Esquimaux: Joe; Hannah; Punnie (child); Hans Christian; Merkut or Christiana (Hans’s wife); Augustina, Tobias, Succi (children); Charlie Polaris, new baby of Hans’s; and there were as well six Esquimau dogs.
Now, to feed all these, I saw that we had but fourteen large cans of pemmican, eleven and a half bags of ship’s biscuit, one can of dried apples, and fourteen hams; and if the ship did not come for us, we might have to support ourselves all winter, or die of starvation. Fortunately, we had the boats. As soon as I could see to do so, I walked across the floe to find where was the best lead, so that we could get to shore; and in the mean time I ordered the men to get the boats ready, for I was determined to make a start and try and get to the land, from which I thought we might find the ship, or at least, if we did not find her, we might meet with Esquimaux to assist us.
I wondered if perhaps the Polaris had foundered in the night, as I could see nothing of her.
On my return, I told the crew—who were up but had not yet seen to the boats—that we must reach the shore. They thought so too, but seemed very inert, and in no hurry; they were “tired” and “hungry” and “wet” (though I think they could not have been more tired than I, who had been walking the floe all night while they slept); they had had, it is true, nothing to eat since three o’clock the day before, and so they concluded they must get a meal first. Nothing could induce them to hurry; while I, all impatience to try and get the boats off, had to wait their leisure. I might have got off myself, but I knew in that case, if the Polaris did not come and pick them up,
Around three in the morning the gale and snow abated, and by the light of the full moon’s setting I could see all. This was a nearly circular piece of ice, about four miles in circumference. It was not level, but was full of hillocks, and also ponds, or small lakes, which had been formed by ice-melt during the short summer. The ice was of various thicknesses. Some of the mounds, or hills, were probably thirty feet thick, and the flat parts not more than ten. It was very rough; the hillocks were covered with snow; indeed, the surface was all snow from the last night’s storm. Those who lay down on the ice were all snowed under—but that helped to keep them warm. Perhaps I should have lain down too, if I had had any thing to lie on; but the others had taken all the skins, and I would not disturb them to ask for one.
I should think the ship would soon be coming to look for us. Why does not the Polaris come to our rescue? This is the thought that now fills every heart, and has mine ever since the first dawn of light this morning. At that time, I scanned the horizon but could see nothing of the vessel; but from a large hummock, the floe’s highest point, I saw a lead of water which led to the land. The sea had become almost calm. I looked around at the company with me upon the ice, and then at the provisions which we had with us. Besides myself there were eighteen persons, namely:
Frederick Meyer, meteorologist (German); John Herron, steward (English); William Jackson, cook (Negro)— Seamen: R.W. Kruger (German); Fred. Jamka (German); William Lindermann (German); Matthias Anthing (German-Russian); Gus. Lundquist (Swedish); Soren Madsen (Danish).— Esquimaux: Joe; Hannah; Punnie (child); Hans Christian; Merkut or Christiana (Hans’s wife); Augustina, Tobias, Succi (children); Charlie Polaris, new baby of Hans’s; and there were as well six Esquimau dogs.
Now, to feed all these, I saw that we had but fourteen large cans of pemmican, eleven and a half bags of ship’s biscuit, one can of dried apples, and fourteen hams; and if the ship did not come for us, we might have to support ourselves all winter, or die of starvation. Fortunately, we had the boats. As soon as I could see to do so, I walked across the floe to find where was the best lead, so that we could get to shore; and in the mean time I ordered the men to get the boats ready, for I was determined to make a start and try and get to the land, from which I thought we might find the ship, or at least, if we did not find her, we might meet with Esquimaux to assist us.
I wondered if perhaps the Polaris had foundered in the night, as I could see nothing of her.
On my return, I told the crew—who were up but had not yet seen to the boats—that we must reach the shore. They thought so too, but seemed very inert, and in no hurry; they were “tired” and “hungry” and “wet” (though I think they could not have been more tired than I, who had been walking the floe all night while they slept); they had had, it is true, nothing to eat since three o’clock the day before, and so they concluded they must get a meal first. Nothing could induce them to hurry; while I, all impatience to try and get the boats off, had to wait their leisure. I might have got off myself, but I knew in that case, if the Polaris did not come and pick them up,
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