Voyage to the North Pole | Crushed | 3
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Wondery Plus subscribers can listen to Against the Odds early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Engineer George Melville rings the ship's alarm bell again and again to wake up his sleeping crewmates. As they start to emerge from below deck, he summons them to the railing and points dead ahead. Look!

He points north, across the moonlit sea of ice that surrounds their ship, the USS Jeanette. A minute ago, Melville saw two giant sheets of pack ice collide, less than a mile away. The force of the collision pushed entire icebergs up out of the ocean like children's toys. Then, in horror, Melville realized that a shockwave of rippling ice flows was headed straight toward the ship.

The crew watches as the shockwave sends giant blocks of ice hurtling 30 feet into the air. Melville fears that when the wave of ice reaches them, it'll smash their ship into matchsticks. He turns to the ship's captain, George DeLong. "What should we do? Should we abandon ship?" DeLong shakes his head. "No, I don't see what good it'll do. We only have a minute before it hits."

And less than 60 seconds later, the crunching, grinding shockwave reaches the ship. The last thing Melville hears above the roar is DeLong shouting to his men. "Hold fast!" Melville looks up and blinks. A million stars seem to fill his field of vision. He realizes that there's shattered ice crystals flying everywhere, twinkling in the moonlight. He shields his eyes as they stab his skin like tiny needles.

Then Melville feels the force of a massive chunk of ice slamming into the starboard hull, smashing against the timbers. He prays for a swift death. But miraculously, the big crunch he's expecting never comes. After the shower of ice crystals passes by, it's eerily quiet. Melville opens his eyes to find the ship is still intact.

He looks around and sees that everyone is still on deck too. All hands accounted for. DeLong cries out, "Men, we've been saved by God's grace. It's a miracle. I can't believe it." The men cheer and hug, and the dogs howl. Privately, Melville doesn't buy the miracle stuff. He's not a religious man, but he has no better explanation. If he's ever seen a miracle, this was it.

But it doesn't change their reality. He and his crewmates are still trapped on the ice, facing a long, sunless winter ahead. He wonders just how many more miracles they'll need to survive it.

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After setting out for the North Pole in July 1879, USS Jeanette got trapped in polar pack ice that September. The 33 men aboard had plenty of food and supplies, but as they settled into living in 24-hour darkness during the Arctic winter, the crew's morale began to suffer. It didn't help that their ship was wedged against an iceberg, slanting at a 10-degree angle, and they were still a thousand miles from the North Pole.

As they drifted through the shifting pack ice, the crew began to spot islands that could serve as refuges. But reaching those islands would prove daunting. Before long, the sailors began to wonder if they would ever return safely from the endless expanse of cold, harsh ice. This is Episode 3, Crushed.

Dr. James Ammler opens his cabin door to find one of his least favorite crew members standing there. The Navigator, John Danenhauer. Still, Dr. Ammler is a professional. He reminds himself of his duty and invites the Navigator into his cabin, hiding his annoyance.

Before the expedition departed, Ambler learned that Danenhauer had lied about his medical history. Danenhauer spent time in a mental asylum a few years ago, but claimed that it was a rest cure after a broken romance. In truth, Danenhauer had gone temporarily insane.

Ambler thought Danenhauer would be a liability and recommended he be cut from the mission. But Danenhauer's powerful brother in Washington, D.C. threatened to destroy George DeLonge's career if that happened. So, Danenhauer stayed on. Ambler offers Danenhauer a seat. "Tell me, John, how's that eye doing?" "It's worse, actually. It's getting painful, and it's leaking fluid."

Ambler frowns. It's late December, and for the past month, Danenhauer has been complaining of eye trouble. He's finding it hard to read maps. Ambler sits down opposite Danenhauer to take a look, holding up a candle and opening the lid wide with his fingers. What the doctor sees startles him. The iris is inflamed, and a sticky fluid is oozing out from the tear duct.

He's seen this ailment only once before, in a naval captain who frequently patronized brothels. Ambler leans back, then asks his next question as delicately as possible. "John, do you know what the French pox is?"

Danenhauer's face turns red. To Ambler, that's answer enough. The source of his eye trouble is clear: its syphilis. But Danenhauer shakes his head. "What? No, you've got the wrong idea. I've never had it." "Are you sure?" "Whatever you tell me is confidential." The Navigator takes a long time to answer. "Well, if I'm being fully truthful..."

I did have a mild case once. It was very mild. But I saw a homeopathic doctor, and he cured me. Ambler groans. There is no cure for syphilis, especially not through homeopathy. Danenhauer's case probably just went into remission, but now it's back. Syphilis could also explain the Navigator's bout of insanity. The disease can infect the brain and drive people mad.

Ambler outlines a treatment plan. "Well, John, you need to avoid all strain on that eye. And you'll have to wear smoked lenses when the sun returns. Or you can wrap that eye in a bandage. And no more studying maps, either. Okay? But I'm the navigator! Well, as long as we're stuck in the ice, there's nowhere to navigate to, is there? I'll give you some eyedrops now. And a shot of mercury." Danenhower nods sadly, and Ambler moves to his trunk to prepare the shot.

He doesn't tell Danenhauer that he's not optimistic. This infection is fairly advanced. The eye will likely require surgery. And even surgery can't help much if the infection has reached Danenhauer's brain. The navigator's eye is probably a lost cause. And over time, his mind might be as well.

William Nindemann lies in his cramped bunk, whistling a tune and doing stretching exercises for his finger. It's January 1880, five months since his pinky nearly got severed when a hatch slammed down onto it. The finger's been sore and stiff ever since. The stretching helps. After 10 minutes, he closes his eyes and thinks back on some of the wild adventures he's had over the course of his life at sea.

He remembers the time he got shipwrecked in the Mediterranean and was taken hostage by pirates. Even that seems preferable to this. Endless days of darkness, trapped in ice with nothing to do. The boredom is almost intolerable. But just as he's nodding off, he hears a panicked voice. "Man, the pumps! There's a leak!"

Nindaman throws off his blanket and rushes down the corridor. Charles Chip, one of the crew's officers, is standing above a hatch that leads down into the bottom hold of the ship. He beckons over Nindaman. Nindaman peers down. It's dark, but he can hear water pouring in. Chip grabs his arm. "We'll need to send someone down to find the leak. We'll lower them down on a rope so they can stay above the water. It's too deadly cold otherwise."

But Nindaman has already yanked off his boots. He pushes past Chip and hops down into the hole. The water is thigh-deep, and given the freezing temperatures outside, it's half slush. It stings his legs and sends his heart racing.

As Nindaman's eyes adjust to the dark, he hears Chip above him. For God's sake, William! You'll freeze solid in less than five minutes! Nindaman ignores him and begins wading towards the hull wall. The pack ice outside has squeezed the ship so hard that it's forced two timbers apart and water is pouring in.

Nindaman splashes back over to the hatch above him. "There's a breach in the hull, alright. Bring me something to stuff into it. Fel, rags, whatever's on hand. Go!" A few minutes later, crew members start handing down thick wads of cloth. Nindaman spends the next hour jamming them into the hull as tightly as he can. Eventually, he stems the flow to a trickle, then calls up the chip.

Hand me the pumps. William, no! I'm ordering you out of the hold. You'll catch your death. Well, does anyone else want to come down? No one above him says anything. Chip sighs and orders someone to bring the hand pumps. Nindemund smiles ruefully beneath his thick black mustache. His feet are numb and his finger is aching. But all in all, he hasn't felt this invigorated in months.

George Melville pounds an empty tomato can flat with a hammer. He's kneeling on the deck of the Jeanette, which is still slanted at a 10 degree angle. It's a freezing cold morning in late January, a few weeks after the leak in the hull started. There's still no daylight, so he's working by lantern in the dark. Once he flattens the can, he nails it to a wooden cross that already has several other flattened cans affixed to it.

Together, they form the blades of a makeshift windmill. He holds it up to the wind and it starts turning, slowly. He crimps the metal cans a bit to adjust their angle, and the arms of the windmill turn faster. Satisfied, Melville hooks up the windmill to a chain that will act as a drive belt. Once everything's secure, he lowers the chain into a nearby hatch, then calls down. I'm all set up. Hook it to the pump.

Even after William Nindemann blocked up the hole in the hull, water has continued to leak into the ship. As a result, the sailors have spent the last few weeks using hand-cranked pumps to bail the water out. But it's cold, exhausting work. Even the superhuman Nindemann has grown weary after several long shifts, standing knee-deep in freezing slush in the ship's hold. That's why Melville is building this windmill to automate the pumping.

Melville blows on his hands to warm them as the men connect the chain. When they signal they're done, Melville grabs the rope locking the arms in place. Here goes nothing. He unties the rope and the windmill begins churning. The setup is noisy and jerky and the engineer in him winces at the clumsiness of the device. But when he peeks over the edge of the ship, he sees water streaming out of a hose through a porthole below.

Melville sighs in relief. However ugly it is, his makeshift windmill works. Nindaman and the others can finally rest. As he's staring down, Melville notices a strange glint in the stream of water. It takes him a moment to realize what this means. He looks up toward the horizon and grins. Sure enough, there's light.

After 71 days of darkness, the sun is finally returning. Melville's heart swells. It's the greatest sunrise of his life. Maybe soon, as the summer thaw comes, they can resume their push to the North Pole.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. George DeLong begins scaling the rigging toward the crow's nest of the Jeanette. With the ship still tilted at an angle, it's a more dangerous climb than his last. And he's far wearier.

It's August 22nd, 1880, and the bright summer sun is blazing in his eyes. And yet, almost a year since the ice first closed in around them, they are still stuck. It's as if they're trapped in an endless, frozen purgatory.

When he reaches the crow's nest, Galang studies the horizon, pointing his spyglass in every direction. But all he sees are endless fields of ice with no signs of a summer thaw. They are imprisoned in a veritable continent of frozen water.

Even though the sun has returned, the warm temperatures have not. DeLong reckons this summer may be the coldest on record. Most days, it barely gets above freezing. Even the endless sunlight of the Arctic summer isn't doing much to break up the ice. As a result, it's been an awful few months.

The ship has continued drifting with the pack ice. According to the sun, their latitude and longitude changes weekly. They're generally moving northwest, but only generally. They've drifted 700 miles overall, but only 150 miles northward. They're barely any closer to their goal of reaching the North Pole, and the crew is frustrated and restless.

Now, as DeLong surveys the scene from the crow's nest, his heart sinks. It looks like they're going to be trapped here for yet another winter. But as disappointed as he is, he's not panicked. If they're careful, they'll have enough coal and food to survive. But the blow to his men's morale will be sharp, and he feels his own spirit sinking too.

Today is DeLong's 36th birthday, and what does he have to show for it? The mission hasn't accomplished a single thing. There have been times over the past few months when DeLong strongly considered abandoning the Jeannette and striking out for Siberia, dragging their smaller boats until they found open seas to the south. But he couldn't bear to abandon the quest for the North Pole. Not yet.

Unfortunately, that ambition will have to wait until next summer. But who's to say whether the temperatures next summer will be warm enough to melt the ice? For the first time, DeLong admits to himself that their mission might not succeed. There's a good chance they might never reach the North Pole.

Dr. James Ambler flips the page of his novel and suddenly stops. He realizes he's reading without absorbing anything. He puts down the book and stretches.

It's January, 1881. The morning of, well, Ambler isn't sure. Days all blend together now. It might not be morning either. It's too dark to tell. If he were one of his patients, he'd diagnose acute cabin fever.

A knock startles him. He answers the door to find the steward, Charles Tong Singh. Ambler welcomes him in and listens as Tong Singh relays a list of symptoms. Intestinal cramps, headaches. He looks pale too. He has Tong Singh lie down and taps his stomach, listening with a stethoscope. He sees the steward wincing. Ambler removes the stethoscope from his ears. Charles, say ah, ah.

His tongue looks strangely pale, coated with a white film. "Hmm, tell me, do you have a metallic taste in your mouth?" "Maybe a little bit. What about fevers?" "No." Ambler frowns. Charles Chip, the boat's second-in-command, complained of similar symptoms last week. Ambler gives Tong Sing a few pills for his cramps and tells him to come back if his condition gets worse.

As the cook leaves, Ambler steps over to his bookshelf and grabs a volume entitled Toxicology. He starts flipping the pages. He doesn't know whether Chip or Tong Sing's complaints are related. It could be a coincidence. But intuition tells him they are. He's pretty certain it's not an infectious disease or else they'd probably have fevers. But what could it be?

Ambler returns to his chair, puts aside the novel, and begins to read the toxicology volume in earnest. He would certainly never wish for any of the crew to get sick, but deep down, a part of him is grateful for a medical puzzle to occupy his mind.

George DeLong studies the horizon with his spyglass, then snaps it closed in frustration. He turns to the sailor next to him. Go find Melville. I want to see him. Restlessly, he brings the spyglass to his eye again. At last, there's an island out there, but the Jeannette can't reach it.

It's late May 1881, their 20th straight month trapped in ice. The island on the horizon first appeared last week. DeLong reckons it's roughly 12 miles away. A volcanic peak towers from its center, and saddle mountains bookend both sides. The site of the island was a huge morale boost for everyone. It's the first land they've seen in over 400 days.

DeLong was especially thrilled. He scoured every map on board and could not find the island anywhere. It's genuinely new. They can now say that at least they've discovered something on this dreadful journey. DeLong christened it Henrietta Island in honor of their patron, Gordon Bennett, whose mother is named Henrietta.

At first, the pack ice was pushing the ship straight toward the island. For the past few nights, DeLong has been imagining a place with reindeer and birds and dreaming of the taste of fresh meat and eggs cooked over a campfire. But now, the random movements of the pack ice are pushing them in a different direction. As a result, they're going to miss the island.

The thought stings DeLong's heart. No fresh meat, no fire, and no chance to explore this new discovery and document what they find. But he isn't giving up yet. When George Melville appears on deck, DeLong points to the horizon. "George, prepare the dog sleds and a whale boat. You're gonna make a run for that island." Melville looks surprised. "Will you be accompanying me, sir?"

DeLong wants to, badly, and normally he'd be fine leaving Charles Chip in charge, but Chip and a few others have been knocked down by a mysterious ailment, which means DeLong can't leave the ship. Unfortunately, no, I need to stay here, but pick a few men to go with you. Well, Nindaman for sure, and Dunbar, he knows the ice best, plus Alexei for the dogs. DeLong approves of these choices, then hesitates before speaking again.

Melville nods and leaves. DeLong watches him go. And for the first time in days, he feels a bit of hope himself. If anyone can get to that island, it's George Melville.

George Melville jams his boots into the crusty snow and struggles up a mound of ice. He's dragging the whaling boat behind him, and the straps are digging into his shoulders, rubbing them raw beneath his coat. Around him, he hears his expedition mates straining and groaning. He calls out encouragement. Come on, men, just 50 yards more, to the top of this mound. Then we'll rest.

Five minutes later, they reach the top. Melville unhitches himself and stands there panting. The push to the island has been a non-stop struggle. It's just day two since they set out from the Jeanette, but the four men are already exhausted, mostly due to the jagged contours of the ice.

Every half mile, they have to cross channels of open water between the flows, which is slowing them down. The flows themselves are slick and uneven. It's like walking across an endless white kaleidoscope.

The dogs haven't been much help. Alexei has struggled to control them, and they often refuse to pull. As a result, Melville and the others have been dragging the boat themselves over the pack ice. It contains their tents, food, and fresh water, and must weigh a full ton. But they need all those supplies to survive on the exposed ice.

Melville looks around him now. They're probably six miles from the island, about halfway there. But the path ahead looks even more daunting. More steep crags of ice. More perilous drops into frigid water. Behind him, Melville hears someone collapse to the ground. He turns to see William Dunbar sprawled on the ice and rushes over.

Dunbar is a balding man with a trim white beard and frosty white hair, which is fitting since he's the ice pilot for the Jeannette, a grizzled arctic expert who can read the ice and navigate the flows. But Dunbar has been suffering on this trek. He was struck snowblind yesterday from the reflected glare off the ice and has been stumbling around like a drunkard ever since. He appears delirious now.

Melville kneels down, gently patting his face and giving him water from his canteen. "Hey Dunbar. Dunbar, wake up. Wake up." Dunbar's grey eyes regain focus. Then, to Melville's surprise, he gives him a shove. "Get away. Leave me here. Oh, you just stumbled. You'll be fine." "Go! Get the hell away! I deserve to be left here!"

Melville is startled by his anger. He tries to help Dunbar sit up, but Dunbar takes a swing at him. It's a feeble blow, but it catches Melville in the chin. The dogs start howling at the scuffle. Melville turns to Nindaman and Alexei, who are standing nearby. Load him into the boat. We'll have to drag him. No, no, stop it!

"Hey, stop it! No!" Dunbar screams like a child, kicking and flailing. But Nindemann and Alexei do as Melville says. Then, Melville announces that they'll be taking off again in five minutes.

They need the break to rest, but Melville also needs the time to consider their options. They're never going to make it to the island dragging all the equipment they've brought, and the dogs are useless. Melville decides that at some point they'll have to cash the boat and dogs and go for the island on foot.

It's a risky plan. Without the boat, they could end up stranded if the flows rearrange themselves, and who knows if Dunbar will be strong enough to walk by then. But sooner rather than later, they'll have to take the chance. Dr. James Ambler picks gloomily at his lunch in the slanted mess room of the Jeanette.

boiled pemmican jerky, and stewed tomatoes. Again. But even if this weren't the same meal for the fourth time in a row, he wouldn't have much of an appetite. He feels a hand on his shoulder and hears the voice of George DeLong. "Hey, you're doing your best, James. You'll figure this out." Ambler nods half-heartedly.

The other day, Charles Tong Singh returned to Ambler's cabin in worse shape than ever, complaining of intense headaches, bowel pain, and a lingering metallic taste in his mouth. Six other men had similar symptoms. Then Tong Singh mentioned something else too, that he was peeing blood. All at once, Ambler put the clues together. He hurried to his toxicology book and flipped to the L section and found it.

Lead poisoning. All the symptoms matched. Somehow, the crew was being exposed to lead. After thinking things through, Ambler realized the probable culprit. The water distillation machine. So, he and DeLong spent all day yesterday dismantling it. After months of frustration, Ambler could sense a breakthrough. But, they came up empty.

There were a few lead components inside the distiller, but none looked corroded. So the source of the lead poisoning remains a mystery.

At least the non-poisoned men seem chipper. On the benches around Ambler, they're eagerly discussing the reindeer meat and bird eggs that Melville's crew is sure to bring back from the island. From there, they start talking about hunting in general, including the best way to remove the lead buckshot from game. Ambler tries to listen. It's a welcome distraction from his gloom.

One sailor bites down on something in his stew and yelps. He spits the mouthful back into his bowl and fishes something out. Everyone laughs, except Ambler, who's staring at the chunk of metal.

He hops up and runs from the mess to the galley. He finds the discarded trash from today's meals and examines the tomato cans. Specifically, the lead solder sealing the rim. Sure enough, it's corroded. The acidic tomatoes must be reacting with the solder, dissolving the lead and causing it to leach into the juices. That would explain why Chip and Tong Sing are suffering the most. Both men love tomatoes.

Ambler finds DeLong and explains his new theory. He's overjoyed to have finally identified the source of the men's illness. But to his surprise, DeLong looks morose. He points at all the cans of tomatoes stacked up in the galley. "We'll have to throw them all out then." Ambler swallows hard.

He knows they only have a few months worth of food left on the ship, and all those tomatoes will now have to go. And they might need to toss their other canned goods as well, which means their shrinking food supply is now even thinner than before. George Melville trudges forward, ignoring the cramps in his legs as he and his men drag the sledge behind them.

It's a fog-choked afternoon, late on day three of their trek. He can't see the island ahead, but he knows it's there. He calls out behind him, "Come on! One last push!"

Melville adjusts his shoulder straps and keeps trudging. A few miles back, they stash their boat, the dogs, and most of their supplies. The sledge is loaded with a day's worth of rations, along with ice pilot William Dunbar, who's regained his senses, but not his strength. They've dragged him every yard so far.

After 20 minutes, they break through the fog. Melville sees a sight that gives him a burst of energy. A rocky beach only a few hundred feet ahead. He hugs William Nindemund next to him as they hurry forward. Minutes later, they step from the ice onto the shoreline.

The crunching stones underfoot are disconcerting. They last stood on solid ground more than 600 days ago. They're not used to it, and for a few moments, they wobble as they walk. As they stagger farther inland, Melville's heart sinks. The rest of the island is little more than ugly black rock.

Streaks of guano stain the cliffs, but only in a few spots, meaning there's likely no permanent bird population. And there's no vegetation except for mosses, so no chance of reindeer. They don't see any signs of seals or walruses either.

They had hoped that this island might be a welcoming refuge, but instead, it seems barren. Melville glances around to see the disappointment on the other men's faces too. As they walk along, Melville feels his cramps flare up.

He sits down on a flat boulder to massage his legs, grateful for the distraction. Because otherwise, all he would have to think about is the long trek back to the Jeannette. And breaking the news to the crew that all their hopes for an island oasis have been dashed.

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Melville's team returned from the barren island last week with the news that there was no game to hunt and nothing but rocky terrain. In fact, they barely made it back, dragging the dogs and the whaling boat behind them. The Long decided the best remedy for despair is to keep his men busy.

He calls out instructions. "That needs two coats of paint, Frank. And you've gotta sand it first." After two years at sea, there's plenty to do. All the metal components of the ship are getting fresh coats of paint. He also ordered every wooden surface to be scrubbed to get rid of the fuzzy moss that's growing in every nook and cranny. Beyond keeping everyone busy, DeLong also wants to keep things shipshape in case the Jeannette can soon set sail again.

To his delight, temperatures have recently rocketed into the 40s and the ice around them is starting to break up. They hear rumblings in the distance every hour as the flows crack and tumble into each other.

With the work on deck proceeding well, DeLong decides it's time to tackle an unpleasant duty, visiting James Danenhauer. The navigator had another eye surgery yesterday, and rumors have been swirling about the cause of his malady. This morning, DeLong spoke with Dr. Ambler, who confirmed that Danenhauer has syphilis, and that it's getting worse.

The news made DeLong furious. How could Danenhauer have concealed something like that? It's so reckless. DeLong wishes he'd had the guts to fire the Navigator before the mission even started. Now, Danenhauer's going to get an earful. But before DeLong can go below deck, he hears a giant crack. Startlingly close.

Huge chunks of ice splash into the water nearby, sending spray onto the deck. DeLong grabs a nearby post, fearful that the ship is breaking apart. But no. For nearly two years, the Jeannette has tilted starboard, forcing them to walk and sleep on a slant. But like a seesaw gently coming down, DeLong now feels the ship tipping to the port side.

A few seconds later, the ship splashes into an upright position, rocks a bit, and stays put. Cautiously, DeLong releases the post, and feels an odd but familiar sensation in his legs. The Jeannette is bobbing. He waits a moment to be sure, but the joyful surprise on everyone else's faces confirms it. They're floating again!

DeLong races to the gunwale and peers down. There's a ring of water around the ship. It's only a modest pool, so they can't sail anywhere, at least not yet. But for the first time in ages, the Jeannette is no longer locked in ice. Cheers sound across the deck, and DeLong draws a deep breath.

Based on the readings of the Sun they took this morning, they're just 700 miles from the North Pole. With a little luck and a few more weeks of warm weather, they can resume their mission north. George Melville grabs a bottle of developer from a nearby shelf and pours it over a photographic glass plate in a metal tray, making sure the chemical coats the surface evenly. Then he rinses the plate in a basin of water.

When it's clean, he dips the plate into another chemical bath. Then he raises it up into the dim light of the dark room and smiles as a negative image of the Jeanette appears. It's June 12th, and with the Jeanette floating again, the men on board are feeling grand. To commemorate the occasion, Captain DeLong asks Melville to photograph the ship.

Melville did so from the surrounding ice, then headed down to the darkroom on the ship's lowest deck. Melville beams at the image of the majestic triple-masted ship floating proudly amid the ice. He can't wait to make a print and show everyone. But while he's studying the image, Melville hears a creaking noise.

Is the pack ice shifting again? The thick wooden walls of the dark room start bulging and cracking. Worse, the whole ship begins tilting sideways again. Melville nearly drops the glass plate. Above him, he hears shouting. Melville lays down the plate, then flings open the door and scrambles up a nearby ladder to the top deck.

Squinting in the sunlight, Melville sees icebergs crammed against the Jeanette's hull. She's tipped to one side again, even farther than before. To move across the deck, Melville has to use his hands as much as his feet, pulling himself along. Suddenly, there's a screeching sound from the starboard side, followed by a sickening snap. "Hey iceberg, look at the hull!" "What's happening?" "Where?" "The iceberg, it hit us!"

Then Melville hears DeLong cry out the words that everyone has been dreading for months. Abandon ship! Move to the ice! The Jeanette's crew has drilled on this evacuation procedure several times over the past two years, so they know what to do. But every last man looks grim as they hurry off to their tasks. Melville heads below decks. His first job is to get sick crew members off the ship.

He scuttles down a crooked corridor and throws open the door to the sickbay. We've got to move. Let's go. John Danenauer rises groggily, a crusty bandage over his eye. At least he can walk. So can Charles Tong-Singh, more or less. But not Charles Chip, who's still ailing from the lead poisoning.

A moment later, Dr. Ambler arrives. Together, they pick up Chip by the legs and shoulders. It's tough getting him through the crooked door, and they end up banging him around a bit, but they manage to get him down the corridor and up the stairs to the main deck. Outside, the boards of the deck have started to buckle and break apart. Melville nearly trips, but after some struggle, he and Ambler deposit Chip in one of the Jeanette's small support boats, which will be lowered to the ice.

Melville's mind jumps to his next tasks. There are still tons of food and other supplies to get off the ship. But even if the evacuation goes perfectly, there are still hundreds of miles from the nearest inhabited land, and he has no idea what they'll do next. George DeLong rolls over in his sleeping bag and pulls out his pocket watch.

It's 4 a.m. on June 13th, just over 12 hours since his men abandoned ship. But with the summer sun still up and with all the thoughts racing through his mind, there's no chance he'll fall asleep.

They finished their evacuation in an hour. The last thing DeLong grabbed was the blue silk flag given to him by his wife Emma. By the end, the ship was listing so sharply that the men were crawling out of the larger portholes. Then, they dragged everything 500 yards away and set up camp with six large tents made of waterproof seal skin. DeLong is inside one of the tents now, alongside several of his crew.

Even at this distance, they can hear the Jeannette being tortured by the ice. Bolts are popping, boards are snapping, and all the while, there's an undercurrent of gurgling as the ship takes on water. It's painful to listen to. The other idea pounding inside DeLong's skull is the image of the map he looked at just before turning in.

Frankly, he's grown to distrust his maps of the Arctic, drawn by supposedly brilliant geographers. So far, they've been wrong about Wrangeland, wrong about the warm-water Japanese Current, and wrong about the open polar sea. But these maps are the only ones DeLong has. And if they are accurate, then he and his men are nearly a thousand miles from the nearest inhabited land in Siberia.

The long closes his eyes again. He needs to sleep, so he's clear-headed tomorrow, but he doesn't get the chance. He hears a loud crack and feels the ice jolt beneath him. Then he feels his body plummeting.

He splashes down in freezing water. The sting of it robs him of breath. He starts gasping, flailing in the cocoon of his sleeping bag. The ice flow must have cracked beneath the tent, plunging him into the ocean below. "He's in the water! Grab him! Quick, pull him back!" But something breaks his fall before he goes under completely. DeLong realizes it's the large, waterproof seal-skin tarp they laid down over the ice to keep their sleeping bags dry.

Six men were sleeping on the tarp, and their weight has kept DeLong suspended in the tarp like a hammock, just a few inches below the water's surface. A moment later, several arms grab him and drag him up to safety. But he's soaked. After he peels himself out of his sleeping bag, someone throws a musk ox fur around him.

As he sits there shivering, DeLong hears the voice of William Nindemann, who's standing watch outside the tent. "If anyone wants to say goodbye, she's going down." DeLong and everyone else hurries outside. To his surprise in the distance, he sees the Jeannette sitting upright in the water, as if she's about to sail off. Despite Nindemann's shout, he feels a surge of hope. Could she still be seaworthy?

But it's a short-lived moment. There's a huge gurgling noise. Then the Jeanette begins sinking. Not quite as fast as a stone, but not much slower either. DeLong watches as water begins lapping over the deck, a deck he first strode across on the Isle of Wight when he fell in love with the ship.

Then the masts go under until just the crow's nest remains. A few seconds later, even that vanishes into the deep. The only noise afterwards is the howling of the dogs around them on the ice.

Even after the other men shuffle back inside the tent, DeLong keeps staring at the hole in the ice. He's sailed the Jeannette around the world, from Europe to South America, to San Francisco, to Siberia. Now, she's gone, and with her, his dream of reaching the North Pole.

He feels a stab of pain and nearly chokes up. But then, he collects himself. The ship may be dead, but his men are not. And if they're going to stay alive, it will require every bit of leadership he can muster. They need to find their way across 500 miles of frozen ocean before they'll get to safety. What had begun as a quest for glory has now turned into a struggle for survival.

If you like Against the Odds, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. This is the third episode of our five-part series, Voyage to the North Pole.

A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't exactly know what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we recommend the books In the Kingdom of Ice by Hampton Sides and Icebound by Leonard Guttridge. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Sam Kean wrote this episode. Our editor is Steve Fennessy. Sound design by Rob Schieliga.

Audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Coordinating producer is Desi Blaylock. Produced by Emily Frost. Managing producer is Matt Gant. Senior managing producer is Ryan Lohr. Senior producer is Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer-Beckman, Stephanie Jens, Marshall Louis, and Aaron O'Flaherty. For Wondery.

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