December 1, 1813
We set sail for a new path across the Arctic Ocean and into the tropical paradise of the Indonesian islands. The land is cold, but I have full faith in the captain, who has over 20 years of experience sailing these waters. The supplies are plenty, and the crew is cheerful. Our ship, the HMS Hope, is strong and perfectly built for the snow.
December 2, 1813
The cold breeze is getting stronger. We must be approaching the center now.
December 3, 1813
We seem to be slightly behind schedule, but the captain assures us it is a small delay.
December 4, 1813
Food and water are running low. The supplies were not counted correctly. I am starting to be afraid we will not have enough to sustain the crew of 40 men.
December 5, 1813
We have been going through the same stretch of sea constantly. I see the same iceberg over and over. I am starting to be think that we are lost.
December 6, 1813
A massive snowstorm hit us. We have fired up the heat inside, but it proves to be futile as we are all still shivering. I pray that it will end soon.
December 7, 1813
As we woke up, we found ourselves stuck in the middle of the ice so huge we cannot break it at all. We have no choice but to set foot on the ice.
December 8, 1813
It is cold, but the days are somehow bearable. It is the nights which are impossible to live through. Despite huddling together, many froze to death. We are now only 15 men in a mere day. Some even had the idea of eating the dead—a heinous thought—but the flesh was so frozen it was impossible to eat.
December 9, 1813
As we walked, we spotted a polar bear. It was a sight to behold; I had never seen such beauty, but I felt bad for it. The poor creature was skin and bones. We observed it as it snuck up on a ringed seal. When it was close enough, it charged, but the seal noticed its presence just in the nick of time and went to the water. The bear plunged in pursuit, but after a few seconds, it came out empty-handed. Only 1 in 10 hunts are successful, but in this treacherous frozen land, only 1 in 20 hunts end up successful. We began to move, but I looked at the bear one final time, lying down on the verge of starvation. Then the bear made direct eye contact with me.
December 10, 1813
The bear had been stalking us for an entire day, getting closer and closer. We threw the little food we had to deter it, but the bear ignored it, instead going straight for us. One of our men was tired and struggled to breathe; his lungs inhaled too much cold air. The bear snatched him by the leg and began dragging him. The captain tried to save him, but with one swipe, he was killed. We had no guns, only small knives. With the captain dead, we were lost. We had no idea how we could survive this. We watched in horror as the bear dragged the two dead corpses, its face covered in red. Then I saw... two cubs with her.
December 11, 1813
The bear keeps coming. We keep making loud noises and waving our arms to appear bigger to deter her. At first, it worked, and she was hesitant, but quickly she began to attack. We are dropping like flies. The bear has lost her fear of humans and sees us as... easy prey.
December 12, 1813
I am the last one left. I do not know where I am, and I'm on the verge of frostbite. I see the bear dragging the corpses. It feels like I'd be spared from the jaws. I... oh God, I... it's coming, it's running. I-I'm writing to you. If anyone gets to read this, I leave everything to my wife, Rachel. I lov-