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