Korolkov. What can be delaying the walking party? In any case we
cannot stay here any longer-it spells death.
Monday, July 20. Bell Island. When we stepped out of the kayaks we
saw that Nils could not walk any more. He fell down and tried to crawl
forward on all fours. We put up a tent of sorts, carried Nils into it and
wrapped him up in our only blanket. He kept trying to crawl away, but
then quieted down. Nils is a Dane. During his two years' service aboard
the St. Maria he learned to speak Russian well. But since yesterday he
has forgotten his Russian. What strikes me most of all is the blank, fear-
stunned look in his eyes, the eyes of a man who has lost his reason. We
boiled some broth and gave him half a cupful. He drank it and lay down.
I feel sorry for him. He is a good sailor, a sensible, hard-working man.
All went to sleep, but I took my rifle and went to look at Cape Flora from
the cliffs.
Tuesday, July 21. Nils died in the night. He had not even thrown off
the blanket we had wrapped him in. His face was serene, undistorted by
death agonies. Within a couple of hours we carried out our dead
comrade and laid him on a sledge. The grave was a shallow one, as the
earth was frozen hard. No one shed a tear over this solitary, remote
grave. His death did not come as a surprise to us and we took it as a
matter of course. This was not callousness or heartlessness on our part.
It was the abnormal torpor one feels in the face of death, a sense of
irrevocable doom that haunted every one of us. It was with something
akin to animosity that we now kept glancing at the next 'candidate',
Dunayev, trying to guess whether he would 'make it or not'. One of his
mates even shouted at him angrily: 'What are you sitting there like a
wet hen? Want to go after Nils? Come on, get some driftwood, stir your
stumps!' When Dunayev humbly rose to go, they shouted after him:
'Now, no buckling, mind!' There was no resentment against Dunayev.
Even the driftwood was of no importance now. It was resentment
against the sickness which had claimed their comrade, it was a call to
fight death to one's last breath. Buckling, when your legs give way under
you as though paralysed, is very characteristic. After that your tongue
refuses to obey you. The sick man articulates his words carefully, then
gives it up in some confusion when he sees that nothing comes of it.
Wednesday, July 22. At three o'clock we started out for Cape Flora. My
thoughts again were with Captain Tatarinov. I have no further doubt
now that he was somewhat obsessed with this new land we had
discovered. Lately he kept reproaching himself for not having sent out a
party to explore it. He spoke about it also in Ms farewell speech to us. I
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shall never forget that leavetaking. That pale, inspired face with its
inward look! How different from that once ruddy-faced, cheerful man
with his fund of yarns and funny stories, the idol of his crew, a man who
always came to his task, however difficult, with a joke on his lips!
Nobody moved after his speech. He stood there with closed eyes, as
though nerving himself for the last word of farewell. But instead of
words, a low moan broke from his lips and tears glistened in the corners
of his eyes. He began jerkily, then continued more calmly: 'We all find it
hard to say goodbye to friends with whom we have lived through two
years of struggle and work. But we must remember that, although the
expedition's main task has not been accomplished, we have done a good
deal. By the labours of Russian men, some very important pages have
been written in the history of the North, and Russia can be proud of
them. It is up to us to show ourselves worthy successors of the Russian
explorers of the North. And if we perish, our discovery must not perish
with us. So let our friends report that through the efforts of our
expedition an extensive territory, which we have named Maria Land, has
been added to Russia.' He stopped, then embraced each of us in turn
and said: 'I want to say to you not 'goodbye', but 'till we meet again'.'
Thursday, July 30. There are only eight of us left now-four in the
kayaks and four somewhere on Alexandra Land.
Saturday, August 1. This is what happened today: we were within two
or three miles of Cape Flora when a strong Northeaster rose, which
quickly built up to gale force and whipped up a heavy swell. Before we
knew it we lost the second kayak in the mist, the one with Dunayev and
Korolkov in it. It was impossible to battle against the wind and current
in this swell, so we sought the protection on one of the larger icebergs,
climbed up it and dragged our kayak on to it. We planted a mast at the
top of the iceberg and hoisted a flag in the hope that Dunayev would see
it and follow our example. It was pretty cold, and, being rather tired, we
decided to get some sleep. We put on our parkas and lay down on the
top of the iceberg head-to-toe, so that Maxim's feet were in my parka,
behind my back, and my feet were in Maxim's parka, behind his back.
We slept soundly for some 7 or 8 hours. Our awakening was frightful.
We were wakened by a terrific crash and found ourselves hurtling down.
The next moment our improvised double sleeping-bag was full of water;
we were submerged and making desperate efforts to get out of this
treacherous bag by trying to kick each other away. We were like cats
thrown into the water to be drowned. I don't remember how many
seconds we threshed about in the water, but it seemed a dreadfully long
time to me. Together with thoughts of rescue and death, a kaleidoscope
of scenes from our voyage whirled through my head—the death of
Morev, Nils and the four who had set out on foot. Now it was our turn
and nobody would ever know what had happened to us. At that moment
my feet found Maxim's and we kicked each other free. The next moment
found us standing drenched to the skin on the under-water foot of the
iceberg, fishing out of the water our boots, caps, blanket and mittens
which were floating round us in the water. Our parkas were so heavy
that we had to lift each one out together, and the blanket sank before we
could get to it. I cudgelled my brain what to do now. We would surely
freeze to death! As if in answer to our question, our kayak dropped
down into the water from the top of the iceberg: either the wind had
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blown it down or the ice had given way under it as it had under us. Now
