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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. Captain George DeLong hammers a nail into the wall of his cabin aboard the USS Jeanette. Then he picks up a framed photograph of his wife and young daughter. Carefully, he hangs it from the nail, then steps back to check his work.
The photo hangs a bit crooked, so he adjusts it. Then he smiles. It's the most precious item he brought with him on his two-year journey to the North Pole. In the photo, his wife Emma sits in their garden, her curls spilling down her shoulders. Their seven-year-old daughter Sylvie stands beside her mother, looking as adorable as a ladybug.
DeLong gazes wistfully at the family he left behind, but reminds himself how lucky he is to return to them, and how proud he'll feel telling them all about his adventure. It's August 1st, 1879, three weeks since the Jeannette departed San Francisco. DeLong and his crew are sailing north toward Alaska. They'll make one last stop there for supplies, then veer west toward Wrangel Land, north of Siberia.
That's where they'll spend the winter, waiting until the ice thaws. Finally, next summer, they'll sail straight to the North Pole, becoming the first human beings in history to reach it. DeLong's chest swells with pride at the thought.
Suddenly, the ship lurches. His porthole window shatters and a torrent of icy seawater surges into his cabin. DeLong slips and ends up sprawled on the floor, soaking wet. He scrambles to his feet and rushes toward the deck. Have they struck an iceberg? All accounted for? It came out of nowhere. What was that? I almost lost my life. Holy smokes.
On deck, DeLong hurries over to his second-in-command, Charles Chip. Charles, what happened? Are we in trouble? It was the damnedest thing. A forty-foot rogue wave struck us. It came out of nowhere. Perhaps it came from an earthquake along the coast. I'm not sure, sir. But it's a bad omen.
DeLong is surprised Chip isn't the superstitious type. And if Chip's nervous, the rest of the crew probably is too. He decides to nip this in the bud and turns to the other men on deck. Yes, we had a mild fright, but we came through just fine. One rogue wave is not stopping us. Now, everyone, back to your post.
DeLong returns to his cabin. There's a puddle of water on the floor and his bed is soaked. Worse, the picture of Emma and Sylvie has been knocked off the wall. The frame is broken and the glass plate covering the photo has shattered. He stoops to pick up the shards of broken glass and the picture of Emma and Sylvie.
He's disappointed to see that the glass has left a slash mark right across the faces of his wife and daughter. The photo is ruined. Heartbroken, he sticks it into a drawer. Then he draws himself up tall and straight. Despite what Chip said about a bad omen, he knows there's nothing to fear. He's confident in his men and confident in his mission. Nothing can stop them from reaching the North Pole.
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In the summer of 1879, a crew of 33 men set sail aboard the USS Jeannette on a mission to become the first people to reach the North Pole.
Captain George DeLong believed the Jeannette was strong enough to withstand the brutal Arctic conditions. She was reinforced with iron and heavy wooden beams to handle the crushing pack ice up north, and was carrying more than two years' worth of provisions. Plus, the world's leading geographers promised that a warm water current would propel the Jeannette through the Bering Strait between Alaska and Russia.
Unfortunately, those geographers were wrong. The current didn't run nearly that far north, and the Jeannette would soon become stranded in one of the harshest environments on Earth. This is Episode 2: Icebound. George DeLong trudges along a muddy path, annoyed at the muck sticking to his boots. He slips, nearly dropping his rifle, but he catches himself in time and keeps slogging forward.
He's making his way through St. Michael, a village along the upper Alaskan coast. There's not much to St. Michael, just a few wooden shacks, some rundown storehouses, and a small Russian Orthodox church. It's mid-August 1879, 35 days since the Jeannette set sail from San Francisco. The stop in St. Michael is the crew's last chance to mail letters home for the next two years, and their last chance to buy supplies.
DeLong has taken full advantage, purchasing fur blankets, seal skins for making tents and pants, and a few tons of dried fish. He also topped off the Jeanette's fuel supply with a coal ship sent by his expedition sponsor, newspaper publisher Gordon Bennett. DeLong now just has one more task to complete before they go back out to sea.
On the edge of town, DeLong knocks on the door of a small shack he visited a few days ago. Two native Alaskan men answer, Alexi and Anaegwynn. Both are in their 20s, with thick black hair and full cheeks. Anaegwynn's the tall, stern one, and Alexi has a quick grin and a better grasp of English.
Your families know that you'll be gone for two years, correct?
I want to be clear about this. The two men nod, but they seem more focused on the rifle. Because of the language barrier, DeLong isn't sure if they understand all they're getting themselves into. Not just the journey's length, but the dangers as well. Their main concern seems to be the salary DeLong is offered. $20 a month, a large sum for these parts. DeLong decides he's done his best and hands over the gun.
There you go. May I see the sled dogs now? Alexi and Anna Gwynn lead DeLong out back to a wooden corral. There are 40 sled dogs inside, who begin howling when they see DeLong. He reaches a hand out to pet one, but the dog snaps, nearly biting him. Another dog then bites the first dog, which sets off a scrum of snapping and snarling.
DeLong takes a step back and turns to Alexei. "Are they always this vicious?" "They just hate being cooped up. They'll be better on the ice." DeLong sure hopes so. They'll need these sled dogs to hunt seals and walruses on the ice, and haul supplies if they want to explore any uncharted islands or landmasses. He tells Alexei to give them a hearty meal, then bring them to the ship.
DeLong retraces his steps through St. Michael along the muddy path. He pauses by the Russian Orthodox Church, admiring the onion dome on top. He's always been fascinated by different cultures, and his crew of 33 sailors will be quite a mixed bunch: Germans, Irish, Finns, Chinese, and now two native Alaskans. Then he turns and takes in the rest of the village, the huts and the crumbling sheds.
He tries to fix it in his mind. Honestly, it's a miserable place, but it's his last glimpse of civilization, and after a few months on the ice, he knows he might remember even this poor village as a paradise.
Engineer George Melville grips the gunwale and bends his knees to brace for impact. A moment later, the nose of the Jeanette slams into the ice ahead of it. Melville peers down, and his shoulders slump in disappointment. He can see spiderweb cracks in the ice below, but nothing more. He turns to the officers behind him, George DeLong, John Danenhauer, and Charles Chip, and shakes his head.
"It didn't work. There's not enough power." DeLong sighs. "What now?" No one says anything, but Melville has an idea. It's September 1st, and they're now 900 miles from St. Michael and 250 miles north of the Arctic Circle.
A week after leaving St. Michael, the Jeannette encountered pack ice, small icebergs and ice flows that sometimes freeze and lock together, covering the ocean in a nearly impenetrable sheet. The crew knew they'd encounter pack ice on the journey north, and the Jeannette is designed to break through it,
She's well reinforced and has a sharp nose. Normally, they just line up her nose with a crack between two icebergs, then fire the steam engines and ram the crack until it breaks open. But that's not working today. It's only early September, but the slabs here are already seven feet thick, probably due to the unseasonable cold. It's just 20 degrees.
They're already days behind schedule. They should be dozens of miles further north if they want to reach Wrangeland before the winter freeze comes. So Melville proposes an idea. The ship has two steam-powered winches on deck, strong cranks to haul in ropes. He wants to anchor the winches' ropes on the ice in front of them, then flip the winches on at full power. This should jerk the ship forward, adding momentum to help break through the ice.
Melville's optimistic about the idea, but as soon as he finishes explaining, the navigator, John Danenhower, objects. The long interrupts.
Melville is the engineer. He knows what the ship's equipment can and can't do, and we do need to get through this ice. I say we give it a try. Danenhauer looks furious, so Melville hurries away. He summons two sailors, William Nindemann and Louis Noros. Nindemann is still recovering from nearly having his finger severed, but he's the strongest man aboard. Noros is nearly as tough.
Melville explains his plan to them, then watches them climb down onto the nearby ice. Melville tosses down the ropes from the winch, as well as two thick metal hooks and a hammer to anchor them into the ice. A few minutes later, Nindemann and Noros climb back up. Two other sailors get ready to fire the winches. Then Melville raises his hand and drops it. The signal to start.
The ship's engines fire and the steam winch is grown. The ship jerks forward. Melville grips the railing to keep balance. The maneuver works. There's a tremendous crack and the ice blocking the route splits cleanly. The Jeannette can now nose her way forward and continue on.
Yes! It worked! Yeah, you did it! It worked! Danenhauer still looks annoyed, but the rest of the deck cheers. DeLong pats Melville on the back, and Melville smiles, pleased with himself. But despite his pride, he's still worried. Smashing the ice apart is a slow, labor-intensive process, and they're already behind schedule. Plus, if the pack ice is this thick now, what lies ahead?
They need to get to Wrangeland soon to take shelter from the winter ice or risk severely damaging the ship. Melville just hopes they're in a temporary rough patch and that soon they'll break through to the open sea. George DeLong tucks his spyglass into his pocket, then grabs hold of the rigging and starts to climb. As the captain, he doesn't often ascend to the crow's nest. He feels like a young midshipman again.
It's September 5th and the progress has been slow for several days now. The pack ice just keeps getting thicker. Up in the crow's nest, DeLong huddles against the sharp wind and points his spyglass forward. Due north, he's immediately disappointed. The ice ahead looks worse. And that's not the only thing that's troubling him.
He looks down to see engineer George Melville dipping a thermometer over the side of the genet into the water. He's looking for the warmer waters of the Japanese current that's supposed to propel them northward. When Melville hauls up the device, DeLong hollers down. "Any sign of the current, Melville?" Melville frowns and shakes his head no. DeLong curses. "Where is that current?"
They've been tacking back and forth for weeks to find it, but there's no sign. And if their speed doesn't increase soon, they're in real danger of not getting to Wrangeland before winter. They might even have to retreat. Then a thought occurs to DeLong. He points his spyglass south, behind the ship, and encounters a chilling sight.
The ice is equally thick behind them. However daunting the path forward, the retreat looks just as hard. They have no choice but to press on. George Melville peers down from the bow of the ship, studying the angle at which they're approaching a crack in the ice. Once again, they have to smash their way through using the winches. The angle looks off, so he signals a sailor manning the starboard winch to let out some rope to realign it.
It's September 7th, still technically summer, but the ice slabs are 15 feet thick now, and he's worried about their slow progress. He's starting to believe this isn't just a rough patch, but a major miscalculation.
By now, they were hoping to have spotted Wrangeland, their winter refuge, to shield them from the crushing force of the pack ice. But according to their sextants and their charts, they're still a hundred miles away. Melville's method of using the winches to ram the ice has helped them inch forward, but if the ice continues to get thicker, he's not sure how much longer the winches will work.
The ship's angle looks better, so Melville calls out, "Fire the engines and the winches on my count. One, two..." Just then, something collides with the port side of the ship, almost knocking Melville off his feet. It's an iceberg.
Melville hears a terrible scraping noise and feels the ship rising. The iceberg is actually lifting them out of the water. Buckets and other gear start sliding across the deck as the ship tilts to one side. He hears men shouting an alarm. Panic seizes Melville. Is the ship going down? But then, everything stops.
The ship must have reached some sort of equilibrium with the iceberg wedged beneath her, but she remains leaning to one side, probably 10 degrees off-level. Melville sees George DeLong emerge from his cabin.
Fire the boiler! We've got to get off this shelf! Melville hears the engines whine and strain, but the ship remains locked in place. DeLong calls out again. Full power! Go! Ships don't normally risk taxing their engines by going full power, but the situation is desperate. Thick black smoke erupts from the smokestack. Melville has never heard the engines labor so hard. He's worried something will break.
But it does no good. The Jeannette remains pinned at an awkward tilt. DeLong finally calls for the engines to cut power. And in the silence, Melville gets a sickening feeling in his stomach. They're now trapped in the ice with no way to sail forward. And if they don't free themselves soon, they'll be imprisoned here for the entire winter.
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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code ODDS for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. Engineer George Melville huddles against the wind in the crow's nest of the Jeanette, trying to keep his balance. The ship has been stuck in the ice for three weeks now, and she's still tilted to one side.
Melville can't get used to it. It's like living in a bizarre funhouse. Even now he feels like, with one wrong move, he'll tumble from the platform of the crow's nest. He peers through a spyglass and frowns at the grey landmass on the horizon. That's Wrangel Land. It's late September, 1879, three weeks after the ship got trapped in ice. But they're not stationary.
Pack ice drifts over time, and the genet is drifting along with it, slowly and erratically, a drunkard stumble north. The pack ice that surrounds them isn't a flat sheet, but disjointed and wildly uneven. There are bergs fused together at crazy, unstable angles, sometimes with canals and channels of seawater flowing between them.
As the temperatures continue to drop, new ice is constantly forming, expanding, and battling for space. A few days ago, Wrangel Land finally came into view. The crew was thrilled. Wrangel Land will serve as their winter refuge, protecting them from the pack ice, and also help them find their path to the North Pole.
According to the geographers back home, it's a long, skinny continent that points like a finger toward the pole. Once the ice melts, they'll sail north along Wrangell's coast. But after studying Wrangell Land the past few days, Melville has some doubts. And today, in the crow's nest, those suspicions are confirmed. With a heavy heart, Melville carefully descends the rigging, then makes his way along the slanted deck.
He knocks on the cabin door of George DeLong. Melville opens it to find DeLong studying a map. The ship's second-in-command, Charles Chip, sits beside him. DeLong looks up expectantly. "What did you see, George?" Melville grabs a pen from the table and dips it in ink. Then he finds the words "Wrangleland" on the map. He adds two letters: an "I" and an "S."
DeLong frowns and reads the new label. "Wrangle Island? No. Does this mean-" "Yes, I'm afraid so. I saw it with my own eyes from the crow's nest just now. Wrangle is definitely not a continent. It's an island. And we're drifting past it." DeLong and Chip exchange a worried look. Chip breaks the silence. "What does this mean for our prospects of reaching the Pole?" DeLong takes a deep breath.
It's not ideal, but I'm still confident. With luck, there will be an Indian summer soon, and the warm weather will unlock us from the ice. Then we'll sail to Wrangell Island, I guess we should call it now, hunker down, and push north later from there. We'll start planning for that contingency. Thank you, George. Melville nods and leaves.
He appreciates the long's positivity and determination, but he suspects the captain is being overly optimistic. Wrangel was supposed to be a place where they could hunt and protect themselves from the ice, but soon they'll be past it and alone in the vast frozen sea, with winter approaching.
Emma DeLong hurries up the last few feet of the trail and stops in her tracks. It's the most beautiful view she's ever seen. A sparkling waterfall drops from a granite cliffside into a valley of majestic pine trees. She feels the warm sunshine on her face and drinks everything in. Yosemite Park is even more spectacular than people said.
A minute later, Emma's friends William and Mary Bradford catch up to her. William smiles. "You certainly look more chipper. I told you, it's impossible to feel sad at Yosemite." Emma laughs. This trip was William's idea. After her husband's departure on the Jeannette, Emma spent several more weeks in the luxury hotel in San Francisco, feeling empty and anxious.
She'd sent her daughter Sylvie to stay with her sister in Iowa. Finally, the Bradfords urged her to join them on this trip to Yosemite. Emma's glad she did. Mary suggests they have a picnic here, and Emma agrees. They've got roast chicken, fresh pears, and strawberries and cream. They spread a blanket, and they sit down.
Meanwhile, William sets up an easel. He's a landscape painter and came here to work, but his specialty is ice scapes. He's been to the Arctic several times.
As Emma tears off some chicken to eat, she can feel the melancholy of the past three months melt away, or at least some of it. But no matter how lovely the scene, her mind keeps circling back to her husband. She turns to William. What do you think the crew's doing right now? Well, with any luck, they've reached Wrangeland already. So then, you think they're safe?
William puts down his brush. Emma, there's no one I'd trust with my life more than George DeLong. Besides, didn't you help him plan everything? I'm sure he's prepared for every contingency. John Danenhower is a fine navigator, too, and George Melville's the best engineer in the Navy. Emma tries to smile, but the mention of Melville disturbs her.
She got a letter last week from Melville's wife, Hetty. It was full of talk about ghosts. She claimed the ship's crew haunted her dreams, and though she guesses Hetty is unhinged, she can't get the letter out of her mind. She turns back to the landscape and tries to shake her fears off. She knows William is right. George is fine. So why won't her silly worries go away?
Charles Tong Sing places a pot onto the stove in the galley of the Jeanette, then starts opening a dozen tins of canned tomatoes. When the last one's open, he looks around to make sure he's alone. Then he fishes a tomato out with his fingers and gobbles it down. Delicious.
He tucks his black braids behind his ears and plops the tomatoes into a pot. Like the entire ship, the stove is now at an angle, so he can't fill the pot all the way or it'll spill over the side. So annoying. Normally, his friend Assam would help him make dinner, but he's sick today. So Tong Sing is left to cook for the entire crew himself.
It's mid-October, five weeks since the ship first got stuck in the ice. With no sailing to occupy them, the crew spends their idle hours reading or playing a game on the ice they call football.
But for Tong Sing, there are no idle hours. He's either preparing a meal or cleaning up after one, and now he has to do it in a kitchen that's 10 degrees off-kilter. He'd love an afternoon off. He brought a kite with him, and there's plenty of wind up here. He can just imagine its colorful streamers flashing overhead on the stark white ice scape, if only.
As he works, he hears two crew members approaching. It's Raymond Newcomb, the ship's naturalist, and Alexei, one of the Inuit dogsledders. The sight of Newcomb makes Tong Sing wrinkle his nose.
The scientist spends his days scavenging dead scraps on the ice. Half-eaten birds, decaying bits of whale. Then he drags everything back to his cabin where he pickles it in foul-smelling chemicals. The odors seem to have soaked into Newcomb's very skin. Not that Alexei smells much better. He's out hunting most days. In fact, he and Newcomb are dragging a carcass into the kitchen now.
Alexei grins as they hoist it up for Tong Sing's inspection. "Baby walrus. It's very tender." Tong Sing shakes his head. "I've never cooked walrus. It's easy. Just make sausages." They drop the carcass on the floor.
Tong Sing then notices Newcomb looking at him expectantly. I was just hoping for a favor. I have several other walrus organs in my collection, but I don't have a gallbladder. I was wondering if you could be a sport and set it aside for me. Tong Sing sighs and promises to do his best. He has no idea what a walrus gallbladder looks like, but doesn't want Newcomb hanging around. The naturalist claps his hands in delight, then heads out with Alexei.
After they leave, Tong Sing bends over and prods the carcass. It's a baby, but it still weighs a good 150 pounds. He hopes Ah Sam gets better soon so he can help Tong Sing butcher it. But in the meantime, he has to finish cooking these tomatoes and get the rest of tonight's dinner ready. George DeLong grabs a hammer and uses its claw to tear open a wooden crate on the deck of the Jeanette.
He eagerly starts unpacking the electrical equipment from the straw inside. The men are in for a big treat tonight after the sun goes down. He calls up to Jerome Collins, the New York Herald newspaper correspondent who was sent along by the ship's patron. Collins has climbed up into the rigging above the ship to help with the surprise. Need anything more? Nope, just those few final crates. We should have everything wired soon.
It's now late October, and it seems less and less likely that any warm snap will come along and free the ship. Each passing day brings them closer to winter. The crew has had to accept that the ship will be trapped in the ice for up to nine months. Even worse, that ice could squeeze and damage the ship. So after weeks of idleness, the last few days have been busy.
The crew raised the rudder and propeller to protect them and smeared all the pipes below decks with tallow for insulation. They also used shovels to pile snow against the sides of the Jeannette to insulate her from the winter wind.
DeLong believes the activity was good for the men. It kept their minds off the tedium and hardships that await, like the approaching darkness. The nights are rapidly getting longer. A few weeks from now, the sun will set completely and not rise again for 71 days. That's why DeLong is breaking out this gift from Thomas Edison. It's one of his most spectacular inventions, electric light bulbs.
It will be the perfect remedy to banish the darkness and brighten the men's mood. Edison has sent 60 light bulbs plus a steam generator to power them. Collins and a few others string the bulbs from the rigging and wire them together. DeLong didn't tell the rest of the crew what's happening, but they have an idea by now. They're all crowded on deck, pointing and nudging.
A half hour later, as the sun is setting, Collins gives DeLong a thumbs up, and DeLong calls out to his crew. Men, here's your reward for several days of good work. It's going to be a long winter, but I do think this will help. And as the Bible says, let there be light. A sailor throws a lever on the generator.
But all they hear is the sound of the generator sputtering. A few bulbs flicker for a few seconds, but most remain cold and dark. DeLong calls up to Collins. What's the matter? Probably just crossed a few wires. Just a moment. A moment quickly turns into 20 minutes as Collins climbs from bulb to bulb. DeLong can see his men exchanging looks as they shiver on deck in the darkness.
The temperature is probably 10 degrees. Finally, DeLong orders engineer George Melville to diagnose the problem. Like a bloodhound on ascent, Melville starts by checking the generator, then follows the wires as he climbs. But after he inspects a few bulbs, he shakes his head and calls down to DeLong. It looks like seawater got into them at some point. Possibly when that rogue wave hit. I can see corroded metal inside the bulbs.
I bet ten to one that they'll never light. The crew groans, and DeLong feels his heart sink. He didn't realize just how much he'd also been counting on the lights. Okay, we'll take a closer look tomorrow. And even if they don't work, it's no matter. Other expeditions have endured the dark winters here before, and we're twice the men they are.
His crew, though, doesn't look convinced. Their faces remain glum. And, truth be told, DeLong feels the same way. The prospect of being trapped on the ice all winter is bad enough, but enduring it in darkness might just push his men over the edge.
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He inhales deeply, letting the warm smoke fill his lungs in the chilly night air. It tastes delicious. His wife Emma never let him smoke much, and however much he misses her, he does enjoy the freedom to smoke as often as he wants on this expedition. It's 2 in the morning on November 1st, 1879, and DeLong is taking a stroll across the ice that surrounds the Jeannette. He likes to take walks at night sometimes, to clear his head.
He enjoys the solitude, and the stars above are spectacular. Tonight, there's even an aurora, with streaks of green, blue, and pink dancing across the vault of the sky. It's breathtaking.
Despite the disappointment of the failed Edison lights a few days ago, he's proud of how his crew is holding up. Charles Chip has instituted a schedule to keep his men sharp and disciplined. They wake up at 7 a.m., eat breakfast at 8, they do chores in the morning to keep the ship in good condition. Then Chip uses a sextant to gauge their latitude and longitude at noon, to see where the drifting pack ice is taking them.
Then it's two hours of calisthenics and exercise in the afternoon, followed by dinner at 3 p.m. Eating early conserves coal because they don't have to keep the cooking fires running all day. It also gives Charles Tong Sing and Assam some leisure time in the evening. After the early dinner, the men read or play cards, then have a late snack. Most hit their bunks by 10 o'clock, unless they have watch duty.
Per Navy protocol, the Long likes to keep at least one sailor on deck at all times, even if all they're doing is keeping an eye out for polar bears. His officers have been especially wonderful. When the distillation machine began coughing up salty water last week, George Melville tore it apart to the last bolt and rebuilt it better than ever. Their water's now as pure as a mountain stream.
Even DeLong's biggest worry, John Danenhower, has proved to be a rock. He gets a bit bossy with the lower ranks sometimes, and his eyes have been troubling him lately from reading in low light, but he hasn't shown the slightest mental instability. And his charm and wit have gotten DeLong and ship through many evenings that would have been tedious otherwise. All in all, DeLong couldn't ask for more from his crew.
So, then why does he feel unsettled? Unsettled enough to leave his snug cabin and pace around the ice until he exhausts himself and can fall asleep. He sighs. He knows the answer. He's worried about how little they've accomplished so far. They were supposed to reach Wrangel Land and map it, but what geographers had called a continent was nothing more than an island.
They're also supposed to be hundreds of miles farther north by now, studying the ocean and seeking potential new land, but they haven't achieved anything at all.
His thoughts are interrupted by a whining noise. It's one of the dogs. The dogs usually sleep out on the ice to avoid fouling the deck. They're less prone to fighting out here too, since they're not competing for space. But the temperature tonight has dropped sharply, and as DeLong approaches the dogs, he sees something pitiful.
One dog's body heat melted the snow beneath it, which then froze solid and froze the fur of the dog's legs to the ice. It's trying to stand now, pulling hard. DeLong can see its flesh stretching. He kneels down to try to comfort it. Hey, boy, hey, stop that. Stop. Stay. Hey, stay down.
The dog snarls at him. DeLong tries to help anyway, kicking the nearby ice with his boot, but it's no use. He finally rises. "Stay. Hey, stay. Yeah. Good boy. Let me get a shovel. I'll free you that way." He hurries back toward the ship. The suffering of this poor sled dog is a stark reminder that his focus can no longer be on making discoveries and completing their mission.
With Arctic winter coming, he needs to focus on one thing, and that's survival. Emma DeLong grabs her handkerchief from the nightstand and tries to muffle her cough. Her seven-year-old daughter Sylvie is napping in the bed next to hers, and she doesn't want to wake her. When the fit passes, Emma takes a few deep breaths. Then she returns to the letter she's writing on a book in her lap.
She's been sick in bed for days, and unfortunately, she got Sylvie sick as well, but she wants to finish the letter. It's a sunny, cold afternoon in mid-November. After visiting Yosemite last month, Emma took the train here to visit her sister's home in Burlington, Iowa, a small town on the bluffs of the Mississippi River. It was such a relief to be reunited with Sylvie, who'd been staying here.
Emma initially planned for them to return home to New York, but when her sister invited them to stay longer, Emma said yes. She's grateful for the support and comfort while George is gone. She just wishes she could shake this cough.
Writing to George is the one thing that makes her feel better. She knows the letter has little chance of reaching him anytime soon, and she's a little peeved that she hasn't heard a single word from him since he left four months ago, but it's therapeutic to write to him anyway. She reads over what she's written. "I soon hope to receive some letters from you. I'm longing for the sight of your handwriting, and what I wouldn't give for the joy of seeing you in person.
I often imagine you in your room on board the ship, seated in your big chair, smoking your pipe after dinner, and I wish I could be with you to share it. As she finishes the letter, there's a gentle knock on the door. Her sister Gladys pokes her head in. A little package came for you. Forwarded from the hotel in San Francisco.
Emma feels her heart racing. And sure enough, it's a package of letters from George. It's a thinner bundle than she hoped, but as her sister withdraws, Emma tears into them. Sadly, most of the letters are short and businesslike. George has never been effusive, but she's slightly hurt. Where's the passion? Has he nothing more to tell his wife than a rundown of each day's activities?
She opens the last letter from St. Michael in Alaska and her heart swells to see finally something different. George says he won't be able to post any more letters for a while, but thoughts of her are always in his head and in his heart. He falls asleep each night looking at her blue silk flag, which he keeps hanging on the wall of his cabin. She finds herself reading over the last line several times.
"Do not give me up," he writes, "for I shall one day or another come back to claim my wife and child. May God keep and bless you, wherever you are, and save your love for me." Emma is touched. She chokes up a bit. The thought of not being able to see him for two years seems intolerable.
But there is one thing she can do. She takes her newly finished letter and begins to copy it, word for word. After helping to plan the expedition last year, she knows how challenging it is to send mail to the Arctic. Depending on where new discoveries take the ship, George's next chance to get mail could be in Greenland, Siberia, Northern Canada, almost anywhere above the Arctic Circle.
So she wants to send the same letter to all the major polar stations. It'll cost a bundle, but she wants to make sure he'll get her letter no matter where he lands next. It's all she can do, but at least it's something. Engineer George Melville stretches and yawns, then stamps his feet on the crooked deck of the Jeannette to keep them warm.
He's on watch duty tonight. A dreary task, but at least there's plenty of moon to see by. He's standing watch mostly to make sure no polar bears approach. Tonight is especially gloomy. It's November 16th, and at their current latitude, the sun sets at 1pm this afternoon, and it won't rise again for 10 full weeks. It's hard for Melville to fathom that they'll be living in darkness for that long.
Equally bad, the temperature is currently hovering around zero, meaning more ice continues to form around the ship. But even as the ice gets thicker, it still moves and shifts, driven by wind above and ocean currents below.
As a result, there have been violent upheavals in the pack ice lately. Every night sounds like an artillery battle in the distance, as the massive blocks crack and crash together. The ice is also squeezing harder on the Jeanette. As Melville peers over the side now, he can see tar oozing from the seams in the boards.
Given the risk of the ice crushing the ship, DeLong has ordered everyone to sleep in their coats since they might have to abandon ship at any moment. It's stressful. And tonight, the ice sounds especially alive.
Melville peers into the distance with a spyglass. In the moonlight, he sees two giant floes that must be grinding against each other. They're maybe a half mile away. The scene would be beautiful if it weren't so ominous. Suddenly, a gigantic boom sounds like a clap of thunder.
Through the spyglass, Melville sees one of the icebergs snap, broken by the pressure on it. This causes all the other flows in the vicinity to rearrange themselves. Then a ripple of pressure starts to spread outward. The power of it surprises him. There are bergs out there as big as whales. Some are as big as churches. And this ripple is tossing them around like ice cubes.
Then Melville sees something that sends him scrambling over the slick surface of the crooked deck to the alarm bell. He bangs the clapper frantically to wake everyone up.
As the echo of the bell dies, the booming of the ice continues. And Melville looks through the spyglass again. Fear grips his heart as he confirms what he saw. There's a huge pressure wave burrowing through the pack ice, like a giant mole tunneling underneath. And it's headed right for the ship.
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 second 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 Keen 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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