Against the Ice, page 8
When we also found a well trodden hare’s path, we uttered joyous cries that rang across that deadly silent land, and at the sight of fresh musk ox tracks and the smell of fresh, almost warm musk ox droppings, our joy knew no bounds. That there were also lots of tracks of the hares’ and musk oxen’s grim followers, the fox and the wolf, was only in the order of things. They, too, were greeted with delight, for so many tracks of beasts of prey were warranty for the presence there of many herbivorous creatures.
To our eyes, this was a fertile land immensely rich in animal life; yet just behind us stood the all but vertical face of the glacier, 1,000 feet high and exhaling the searing breath of the inland ice. The edge of the ice gleamed white and blue in the sunlight; it was beautiful to look at, yet the outpost of the dead and desolate inland ice, a place abandoned by the gods and soon to be abandoned by us as well.
It was not easy to leave so wonderful a spot, but we could not enjoy it to the full while our sledges were still up on the inland ice, so laboriously we clambered back to them. Whipping up the dogs, we drove down towards the gorge through which we had just come — and halted spellbound: the sun was standing right above a dip in the ice, and its rays were pouring in between the tall ice-cliffs straight towards us. There was a sparkling and glittering on the mirror-smooth, crystal-clear banks, the ice-crystals which, as numerous as the sands of the sea, caught the sun’s rays and reflected them in condensed, blazing splendour. Wherever we looked was the flash and sparkle of light and colour; it was like a fantastically lavish firework display, something out of the Arabian Nights, like all the fireflies of the Tropics and all the phosphorescence of the seas.
So much beauty almost took our breath away, and we sat down on our sledges to enjoy the magnificent spectacle. Thus it was that the inland ice took leave of two exhausted travellers, to whom the journey across its immense mass had been like a month-long nightmare. This was showing us an entirely new face, a side of the ice we did not know at all, a brilliant bemusing sight that branded itself upon eye and mind and cannot be forgotten as a nightmare can.
And yet one should be able to forget it, for, after all, it was merely splendour stolen from the glorious sun and ought not to have impressed those who, in toil and pain, had made the acquaintance of the Ice King’s accursed and merciless realm. But even though we knew it was a fraud, we could not do other than delight in the display; it was such a blaze that you almost felt it must set the ice on fire, at the least melt it. We enjoyed the spectacle, but the lure of the land was stronger still. The dogs were got up again, the whip lash slipped across their backs: “Forget it, dogs, it’s only a damned lie. The inland ice is not like that.”
So we slithered down through the gorge, the sledges creaking and groaning. Though the sun was still shining brightly, it seemed as though it were refusing to have anything more to do with the fraud, for when we came into an ice-glen which lay in a direction different than that in which the firework display was being given, every sparkling gleam of light was extinguished, and around us the ice was as naked ice is — cold, hard and glassy, evil and grim, a realm of death from which man should keep away.
We wriggled the sledges downwards along narrow, sinuous beds of streams eaten out of the smooth ice by the foaming torrents of summer. We toiled with those sledges, onward and downward, using their own weight to propel them, edging them between walls of ice where it was scarcely wide enough to take them, and though we gradually took off more and more of our things until we were half undressed, the sweat was pouring off our bodies. We struggled hard to get away from the accursed ice and down to the land so temptingly bare of ice and snow, with its beautiful vegetation and tracks of other live creatures. At length, after many hours’ toil, we emerged from the winding gorge. The walls of ice opened out, as though the inland ice were giving up any further attempt to hold us back, and the long hard bridge of snow linking the hated ice with the land lay in front of us; could we let the sledges take this last hurdle in one glorious rush, or should we be careful and lower them down?
We looked at the steep fall, measured the distance to the ice-free land with our eyes, but we were fagged and wanted to have it over and done with, so we closed our minds to the voice of caution and common sense, let the sledges balance on the brink for a moment and then gave them a shove. Off we rushed down the snow drift in a smother of swirling snow, and with the wind whistling round our ears, we swept right out on to the land, to the willow bushes, to the waving stalks of grass with their heavy rime-encrusted seed-cases, to the heather on which we had been so greatly looking forward to pitching our tent, so that, for the first time for ages, we might lie on a bed of something other than ice.
It went all right, except that the dogs could not keep up with that breakneck speed and some of them were run down by their own sledge and got under the runners. They yelled a bit as the sledge, weighing five or six hundredweight, squeezed them into the hard snow. It must have hurt, but it also braked the sledge and that was badly needed. And, besides, such treatment has no great effect on sledge dogs. They can take the most incredible blows and bumps and squeezes, and ours had all suffered much worse things up there on the inland ice that none of us would ever tread again, if we could help it.
CHAPTER VIII
On Land Again
Fertile land — Musk oxen — Orgy — Snow-blindness — Sledging over land — Harbingers of spring — Danmarks Fjord
How we revelled in it all; the heather, the grass and the dwarf willow copse that to us looked a wood, the sunshine and being able to walk safely where we liked without having to be everlastingly on the watch for bottomless chasms, and always being prepared to hear a warning shout of “Crevasse.” The dogs enjoyed it all as much as we did. Now they were allowed to run around freely, for there was no danger there of their disappearing into some gaping crevasse from which there was no escape.
They made full use of their freedom, smelling the heather, the grass and the willows, cocking their legs as is the way of dogs, and giving full vent to their joy as they roamed around, uttering little joyful whimpers over the lovely things they were finding, sniffing at the tracks of hares and musk oxen and scampering back to us as though to tell us of the wonderful experiences and smells of that extraordinary day, which had begun in the grey of morning up on the eternal ice, 1,170 feet above where we were, and had ended in the glow of the evening sun on fertile land.
We pitched our tent, brought armfuls of heather to make a bed softer and more heavenly than any we had ever lain on, lit a little fire of fragrant heather, cooked some pemmican and ate, laughing and revelling in it all, then rolled over in our sleeping bags as we swallowed the last mouthful, and fell asleep from sheer joy and exhaustion. And it was no wonder that we were exhausted, for it had taken us thirty-six hours’ uninterrupted struggling to get down off the inland ice.
So happy were we, that we soon woke again; and how we revelled in being there, despite our aching limbs! The sun was shining on to our little tent and it was warm inside it. A few midges were humming round us; perhaps they had come out a little too early, but it was a sort of spring, summer even for us, and a large bumble bee was already busy about whatever is its purpose in life.
We had been looking forward to reaching land as much as if we had been shipwrecked and in the utmost distress on a foaming, storm-whipped sea. Great as had been our expectation, it was as nothing compared with the delight of reality. And that is a thing that seldom happens to me.
There was, however, one little snake in our Garden of Eden. The firework display given by the inland ice, and the many hours we had spent out on snow and ice glittering with sunlight had been too much for my eyes; they had been prickly and sore when I went to sleep but, when I woke up, they were horribly painful, as though fine salt and pepper had been sprinkled on them.
How I cursed! Here was I wanting my eyes for revelling in the beauties of God’s nature and well on the way to being snow-blind! I should have to be very careful. A bandage over my eyes would soon put them right and some drops of cocaine would relieve the pain. But, nevertheless, it was a sad business having to sit in the lovely sunshine outside the tent and not be able to see all the glories around me.
Iver helped me as well as he could, talking the whole time. “See here,” he said to me, who could not see, “here’s the loveliest heather. And here’s such a big willow, and over there by the slope to the left is taller grass than any we’ve yet seen.”
We had to have at least one quiet day so that my snow blindness might pass off, and also we had solemnly promised the dogs that they should have a whole day’s rest when we reached land, and that promise had to be kept; thus it made little difference that my eyes also made it essential to stay where we were for a day; so we made a virtue of necessity, rested and enjoyed the delight of the dogs, the sun and the fact of having got down to land.
Suddenly, Iver exclaimed in a voice that trembled with excitement. “Look, see there! Don’t you see the cows?” “Cows?” I thought angrily and said so too, “Has the inland ice robbed you of your senses, Iver, or are you dreaming of your family’s farm in Jutland?”
“No, no,” cried Iver, “you must be able to see them. There they are again!” Iver was so excited that it was obvious there must be something, so cautiously I lifted the bandage from my eyes and just caught a glimpse of what, to my painful, watering eyes, looked like two large stones. Iver said they were cows, he meant musk oxen but, in his joy, had forgotten where we were. He thrust a rifle into my hand and, while I floundered along behind, he ran on ahead. A shot rang out, and so I too shot at the nearest stone, which seemed as big as a haystack and impossible to miss, even for someone who was half blind. Iver gave a joyful yell. He had been right; they were musk oxen and one was dead, the other wounded and soon dead as well. And then there was feasting in the land!
The dogs went quite wild at the sight and smell of blood and meat. They ate till their bellies were almost bursting, paused for a moment to recover, then ate again, digging into the carcase of the big bull till they had blood and shreds of meat sticking to their heads and bodies. They ate on and on until they collapsed, exhausted and gasping, then they slept for a while, snoring loudly, woke themselves with their snores and went on eating.
It was a magnificent feast. There was a heavenly smell in our tent, as Iver cooked us steaks an inch thick. As we ate them, the juice ran down our chins and over our fingers, which we licked clean. And then we ate some more, threw the bones out to the dogs which could scarcely bother to touch them. That feast of ours on the fringe of the inland ice was worthy of the heroes in Valhalla.
As dogs and men fell asleep in utter repletion, the news of the feast went out over the land to its wild creatures, the foxes and wolves. They came from afar to our little camp and carried on where we and the dogs had given up, feasting undisturbed. The dogs did not even resent the fact that their close but hated relatives had come unbidden to their feast. Thus, if one of them, waking from its sleep of repletion, felt an urge to eat and went on again, dog and fox would each be so occupied with eating, that neither paid any attention to the presence of the other.
We could not stay long, though, and once we had more or less recovered from our repletion, we harnessed the dogs to the sledges and drove off across the lake, to which chance had brought us. We took one last look at the inland ice, glad to be rid of the sight of it, however lovely it now was in the bright sunshine.
We now saw nothing but high and lovely land on either shore of the lake, rounded hillocks covered with grass and heather; every step revealed something new and pretty to go into ecstasies over — it was, indeed, different from the dead and desolate expanse of the inland ice.
And see! There on the slope was a herd of musk oxen grazing within range, big stolid bulls, sure-footed cows and slight heifers and some small, new-born calves as well. We sat down on the slopes to enjoy the sight of the splendid creatures. They seemed to be playing, though it looked a dangerous game; and there were a couple of bulls who were especially fierce.
They backed away from each other, sharpened their horns on large stones and then thundered across the ground straight at each other and collided head on. The impact was so violent that both bulls were forced almost vertically up on their hind legs. The noise of it aroused echoes far and wide, yet long before the last of them had died away in a whispering, the two bulls had forgotten they were fighting and had taken to grazing, though glaring balefully at each other as they cropped the grass. They could not eat long, however, but had to have another trial of strength; they were the males fighting for the favour of the females.
It was tempting for us to intervene, but the sledges were already piled with meat and we hoped that, if we shewed moderation that day, luck would smile on us when we had real need for game.
We had been so hungry ourselves that we did not want to kill unless absolutely necessary, and so we decided to let the musk oxen live. We put our hands to our mouths and uttered great bellows that echoed from mountain to mountain. The musk oxen paused in their trial of strength and looked wonderingly at the strange noisy creatures who had burst in upon their domain. They did not feel altogether happy in our vicinity, yet they walked along the hillside quite quietly, snatching mouthfuls as they went and so disappeared over the crest.
We were pleased and proud of our self-control, and hoped most heartily that, in some days’ time, when we should be without meat again, it would be rewarded.
We sledged on northwards towards Danmarks Fjord, following a long, narrow lake, little more than a broad river bed, surrounded by a confusion of domed hilltops with little valleys in between. Near us, all round us, we saw signs of spring’s arrival, saw it in the delicate greenish garb that the domed hilltops and valleys were on the point of assuming. The grass and the heather were beginning to sprout, and the willows, the lovely little willows, were covered with catkins. We heard the coming of spring in the slight drip and trickle of water in every furrow upon the rounded hilltops, where moss and lichen were green on the sunny side, but still frozen and grey where they faced the mountain and the icy north. And some small birds were chirruping joyfully in the golden sunshine that filled the valley and caressed the blunt tops of the hills.
We rejoiced in the spring and when, every hour or so, we halted for a short rest, we sat and revelled in the sight of that lovely land and of the huge masses of mountains far to the east and west standing up blue and cold against the light shimmering spring sky; meanwhile the dogs bustled about to the extent of their traces, till they found a nice spot smelling of spring on which to lie. The harsh inland ice was already forgotten by both men and dogs.
Every now and again we clambered up an eminence to see what awaited us beyond, where the lake disappeared behind a large black mountain-side — often we caught a glimpse of Danmarks Fjord, the high Sjӕllands Mountains and the black nose of Cape Holbaek bathed in a strip of bright sunshine, a magnificent sight. As we lay there in the heather enjoying the rest, the spring, the sunshine and the view of the nearby mountains and the others in the distance, my thoughts went back to that other autumn when Mylius-Erichsen, Høeg-Hagen and Brønlund had been making their way from the north towards the very parts where we now were, looking for the inland ice which we had just left so gladly, but which they had thought was the road to deliverance, the shortest way to a snug ship and their comrades.
What had their thoughts been on those dark, cold and stormy days, when they were where we now lay sunning ourselves? Were they prepared for the fate that awaited them up there on the merciless inland ice? Had they lost hope of being able to get through, or were they still animated by the optimism which is so general among polar travellers, who always believe that, somehow or other, they will manage, however dark and uncertain the outlook may be at the time.
And how had they got up on to the inland ice in the autumn, when the sunshine and floods of summer must have melted the great snow-drifts like that we had successfully come down? And where was the long, dead glacier which Brønlund mentioned in his journal, the place which, when they saw it in the distance, they had thought would provide easy access up on to the inland ice?
We had not seen it. On the contrary, the place where we now were, and where they had been three years before, was bounded to the south by an almost vertical wall of ice, at least a thousand feet high, and no ascent of it was possible, not even where we had come down. Had the dead, flat glacier for which they had been making been an optical illusion? Had refracted light conjured up the vision of a practicable route where no way existed?
It was pointless to puzzle one’s head over this but, nevertheless, my thoughts kept turning to the three unfortunate men, who had been as young and as fond of life as we. They had succumbed to the cold somewhere between the place where we now stood and the sheer, black mountains at Lamberts Land, on the same route as that along which we had just come. We, however, had travelled at a time of relatively good weather and with good equipment; yet the inland ice had given us toil and trouble enough. Mylius and his companions were going in the opposite direction, and that at a time of darkness, cold and storm, with wretched clothing, no nourishing food, no dogs. They probably still had hope that they would get through somehow or other, but they couldn’t have had much faith in their doing so.
