The Mean Temperature of Every Month during Nansen and Johansen’s Sledge Journey
| Date | Mean Temperature (Fahr.) | Maximum | Minimum |
| ° | ° | ° | |
| March (16–31), 1895 | -37 | -9 | -51 |
| April, 1895 | -20 | -2 | -35 |
| May, 1895 | -24 | 28 | -11 |
| June, 1895 | 30 | 38 | 9 |
| July, 1895 | 32 | 37 | 28 |
| August, 1895 | 29 | 36 | 19 |
| September, 1895 | +20 | 41 | -4 |
| October, 1895 | -1 | 16 | -13 |
| November, 1895 | -13 | 10 | -35 |
| December, 1895 | -13 | 12 | -37 |
| January, 1896 | -14 | 19 | -46 |
| February, 1896 | -10 | 30 | -40 |
| March, 1896 | 10 | 30 | -29 |
| April, 1896 | 8 | 27 | -16 |
| May, 1896 | 18 | 43 | -11 |
| June (1–16), 1896 | 29 | 39 | 23 |
Original Map of the Kaiser Franz Josef Land
surveyed by Julius Payer
[1] This was a slip of the pen; it ought to be 102° east longitude.
[2] Jackson’s “Cape M’Clintock.”
[3] Jackson, who saw it in the spring of 1895, called it Mary Elizabeth Island.
[4] Jackson’s “Cape Fisher.”
[5] This was on the south side of Jackson’s “Cape Richthofen,” the most northerly point which Jackson had reached earlier the same spring.
[6] It proved afterwards to be “Hooker Island.”
[7] It proved to be “Northbrook Island.”
[8] The sound between Northbrook Island and Bruce Island on the one side and Peter Head, on Alexandra Land, on the other side.
[9] Cape Barents.
[10] The ice-foot is the part of a floe which often projects into the water under the surface. It is formed through the thawing of the upper part of the ice in the summer-time by the warmer surface layer of the sea.
[11] He had reached Cape Richthofen, about 35 miles to the south of us.
[12] We had not any nautical almanac for 1896, and had hitherto used the almanac for the previous year.
[13] New Lands within the Arctic Circle. By J. Payer, Vol. II., p. 129.
[14] Where they are generally called diabases.
[15] Leigh Smith had already brought back from Spitzbergen a fossil cone, which Carruthers classified as a Pinus; but he regarded it as belonging to the upper part of the cretaceous system.
[16] I did not dream that Sverdrup a year after would be in command of this steamer.
[17] Jackson had brought with him several Russian horses, which he had used along with dogs on his sledge expeditions. Only one of these horses was alive at the time of our arrival.
Appendix
Report of Captain Otto Sverdrup on the Drifting of the “Fram” from March 14, 1895
Chapter I
March 15 to June 22, 1895
As far back as February 26th Dr. Nansen had officially informed the crew that after he left the ship I was to be chief officer of the expedition, and Lieutenant Scott-Hansen second in command. Before starting, he handed me a letter, or set of instructions, which have been mentioned earlier in the volume.[1]
The day after that on which the postscript to my instructions is dated—i.e., on Thursday, March 14th, at 11.30 A.M.—Dr. Nansen and Johansen left the Fram and set forth on their sledge expedition. We gave them a parting salute with flag, pennant, and guns. Scott-Hansen, Henriksen, and Pettersen accompanied them as far as the first camping-place, 7 or 8 miles from the vessel, and returned the next day at 2.30 P.M.
In the morning they had helped to harness the dogs and put them to the three sledges. In the team of the last sledge there were “Barnet” and “Pan,” who all the time had been mortal enemies.[2] They began to fight, and Henriksen had to give “Barnet” a good thrashing in order to part him from the other. In consequence of this fight the last team was somewhat behind in starting. The other dogs were all the while hauling with all their might, and when the thrashing scene was over, and the disturbers of the peace suddenly commenced to pull, the sledge started off faster than Johansen had calculated, and he was left behind and had to strike out well on his snowshoes. Scott-Hansen and the others followed the sledging party with their eyes until they looked like little black dots far, far away on the boundless plain of ice. With a last sad lingering look after the two whom, perhaps, they might never see again, they put on their snow-shoes and started on their journey back.
At the time when the sledge expedition started the Fram lay in 84° 4′ north latitude and 102° east longitude. The situation was briefly as follows: The vessel was ice-bound in about 25 feet of ice, with a slight list to starboard. She had thus a layer of ice, several feet in thickness, underneath her keel. Piled high against the vessel’s side, to port, along her entire length, there extended from S.S.E. to N.N.W. a pressure-ridge reaching up to about the height of the rail on the half-deck aft and slanting slightly eastward from the ship. At a distance of about 160 yards to the northwest there extended in the direction from south to north a long and fairly broad ice-mound, the so-called “great hummock,” as much as 22 feet high in places. Midway between the Fram and the great hummock there was a newly formed open lane about 50 yards wide, while across her bow, at a distance of 50 yards, there was an old channel that had been closed up by the ice-pressure, but which opened later on in the spring.
Digging out the “Fram.” March, 1895
Upon the “great hummock,” which had been formed by the violent ice-pressure on January 27, 1894, we had established our depot on the slope looking towards the ship. The depot consisted of piled-up tin boxes, containing provisions and other necessaries, and formed six or seven small mounds covered with sail-cloth. Moreover, our snow-shoes and sledges were stored there. Half-way between the vessel and the great hummock lay the petroleum launch, which, when the new channel or rift had opened right under her, had to be drawn a little way farther out on to the ice. Finally, there was our forge. This was situated about 30 yards off, a little abaft the port quarter, and was hewn out in the slope of the above-mentioned pressure-ridge, the roof being made of a quantity of spars over which blocks of ice were piled, with a layer of snow on the top, all frozen together so as to form a compact mass. A tarpaulin served in place of a door.
The first and most pressing work which we had to take in hand was to remove part of the high-pressure ridge on the port side. I was afraid that if the ice-pressure continued the vessel might be forced down instead of upward while she had so high a ridge of ice resting against the whole of her port side. The work was commenced by all hands on March 19th. We had five sledges, and a box on each, and each worked by two men. There were two parties at work simultaneously with one sledge each—forward, and two parties aft—working towards each other, while the fifth party, of two men with one sledge, were cutting a passage 13 feet wide right up to the middle of the vessel. The layer of ice which was in this way removed from all along the vessel’s side reached to double the height of a man, except in the central passage, where it had previously been removed to a depth of about three yards, partly in view of possible ice-pressure against this, the lowest part of the hull, and partly in order to clear the gangway, by which the dogs passed to and from the vessel.
The carting away of ice commenced on the 19th and concluded on March 27th. The whole of the pressure-ridge on the port side was removed down to such a depth that two and a half planks of the ship’s ice-skin were free. All the time while this work was going on the weather was fairly cold, the temperature down to -38° and -40°C. (-36.4° and -40° Fahr.). However, all passed off well and successfully, except that Scott-Hansen was unfortunate enough to have one of his big toes frozen.
The doctor and I were together at the same sledge. My diary says: “He always suspected me of being out of temper, and I him.” As a matter of fact, it is my habit to dislike talking when I am busy with any work, while the reverse is the case with the doctor. As, according to my custom, I kept silence, the doctor believed that I was in a bad humor, and in the same way I fancied that he was in the sulks, because he abstained from chatting. But the misunderstanding was soon cleared up, and we laughed heartily at it.
As Dr. Nansen’s and Johansen’s departure afforded an opportunity for a more comfortable redistribution of quarters, I moved into Nansen’s cabin, after having packed in cases the effects he left behind, and stowed them away in the forehold. Jacobsen, the mate, who was formerly quartered with four of the crew in the large cabin on the port side, had my cabin allotted to him; and in the starboard cabin, where four men had been quartered, there were now only three. The workroom, too, was restored to its former honor and dignity. The lamp-glasses of the oil-stove there had got broken in the course of the year. Amundsen now replaced these with chimneys of tin, and fitted thin sheets of mica over the peep-holes. The stove having thus been repaired, the workroom became the busiest and most comfortable compartment in the whole vessel.
After the various operations of shifting and putting in order the things on board and in the depot, our next care was to insure easy and convenient access to the vessel by constructing a proper gangway aft, consisting of two spars with packing-case planks nailed between them and a rope hand-rail attached.
When all this was done we set to work at the long and manifold preparations of every kind for a sledge journey southward, in the event (which, as a matter of fact, none of us considered likely) of our being obliged to abandon the Fram. We constructed sledges and kayaks, sewed bags for our stores, selected and weighed out provisions and other necessaries, etc., etc. This work kept us busy for a long time.
The “Fram” when Dug Out of the Pressure-mound at the End of March, 1895
In addition to all the other things we had to provide ourselves with more snow-shoes, as we were scantily supplied with them. Snow-shoes we must have, good strong ones, at least one pair to every man. But where were the materials to come from? There was no more wood fit for making snow-shoes to be found on board. It is true that we had a large piece of oak timber left available, but we were in need of a suitable instrument to split it with, as it could not be cut up with the small saws we had on board. In our dilemma we had recourse to the ice-saw. Amundsen converted it (by filing it in a different way) into a rip-saw; Bentzen made handles for it; and as soon as it was ready, Mogstad and Henriksen commenced to saw the beam of oak to pieces. At first the work went slowly, most of the time being taken up with filing and setting the saw; but gradually it went better, and on April 6th the timber was cut up into six pairs of good boards for making snow-shoes, which we temporarily deposited in the saloon for drying. As I consider Canadian snowshoes superior to Norwegian snow-shoes, when it is a question of hauling heavily loaded sledges over such a rough and uneven surface as is presented by polar ice, I directed Mogstad to make ten Canadian pairs of maple-wood, of which we had a quantity on board. Instead of the netting of reindeer-skin we stretched sail-cloth over the frames. This did the same service as network, while it had the advantage of being easier to repair. With the snow-shoes which we had we undertook frequent excursions, more particularly Scott-Hansen and myself. While out on one of these trips, on which Amundsen, Nordahl, and Pettersen also accompanied us, 3 miles west of the vessel we came across a large hummock, which we named “Lovunden,” on account of its resemblance to the island “Lovunden,” off the coast of Heligoland. This hummock presented very good snow-shoeing slopes, and we practised there to our heart’s content.
On May 1st we had finished the snow-shoes intended for daily use, and I gave orders that, henceforth, daily snow-shoe trips should be made by all hands from 11 A.M. till 1 P.M., if the weather was good. These snow-shoe runs were to everybody’s taste, and were necessary, not only in order to afford brisk exercise in the open air, but also in order to impart to those who were less accustomed to snow-shoes a sufficient degree of skill in the event of our having to abandon the Fram.
While the removal of the ridge was proceeding there continued to be a good deal of disturbance in the ice. Twenty yards from the vessel a new lane was formed running parallel to the old one between us from the depot; and in addition to this a number of larger or smaller cracks had opened in all directions. A little later on, during the time from April 11th to May 9th, there was on the whole considerable disturbance in the ice, with several violent pressures in the lanes around the vessel. On the first-mentioned day, in the evening, Scott-Hansen and I took a snow-shoe trip towards the northeast, along the new channel between the vessel and the depot. On our way back pressure set in in the channel, and we had an opportunity of witnessing a “screwing” such as I had never seen equalled. First there was quite a narrow channel, running parallel to the principal channel, which was covered over with young ice about 2 feet thick. Thereupon a larger channel opened just beyond the first and running alongside it. During the pressure which then followed, the edges crashed against each other with such violence as to force the ice down, so that we frequently saw it from 3 to 4 fathoms deep under water.
Newly frozen sea-ice is marvellously elastic, and will bend to an astonishing degree without breaking. In another place we saw how the new ice had bulged up in large wave-like eminences, without breaking.
On May 5th the wide lane aft was jammed up by ice-pressure, and in its stead a rift was formed in the ice on the port side about 100 yards from us, and approximately parallel to the ship. Thus we now lay in an altered position, inasmuch as the Fram was no longer connected with and dependent on one solid and continuous ice-field, but separated from it by more or less open channels and attached to a large floe which was daily decreasing in size as new cracks were formed.
Fitting the Hand-sledges with Runners. July, 1895
The principal channel aft of the vessel continued to open out during the latter part of April, and on the 29th had become very wide. It extended north as far as the eye could reach, and was conspicuous, moreover, by reason of the dark reflection which seemed to hover above it in the sky. It probably attained its maximum width on May 1st, when Scott-Hansen and I measured it and found that just astern of the vessel it was 975 yards, and farther north over 1500 yards (1432 metres) in width. Had the Fram been loose at the time I should have gone north in the channel as far as possible; but this was not to be thought of, seeing how the ship had been raised up on and walled in by the ice.
No later than May 2d the principal channel closed up again. The mate, Nordahl, and Amundsen, who just then happened to be out on a snow-shoe trip south along the channel, were eye-witnesses of the jamming of the ice, which they described as having been a grand sight. The fresh southeasterly wind had imparted a considerable impetus to the ice, and when the edges of the ice approached each other with considerable velocity and force, two large projecting tongues first came into collision with a crash like thunder, and in a moment were forced up in a hummock about 20 feet high, only to collapse soon after, and disappear with equal suddenness under the edge of the ice. Wherever the ice was not forced up into the air, the one ice-edge would slide over or under the other, while all the projecting tongues and blocks of ice were crushed to thousands of fragments, which filled up pretty evenly any small crevices still remaining of what had before been such a mighty opening.
Our drift towards the north during the first month was almost nil. For instance, on April 19th we had not advanced more than 4 minutes of latitude (about 4 miles) to the north. Nor did we drift much to the west in the same period. Later on we made better headway, but not, by a long way, as much as in 1894. On May 23d I wrote in the Journal as follows: “We are all very anxious to see what will be the net result of our spring drift. If we could reach 60° east longitude by the summer or autumn, I believe we could be certain to get back home about the autumn of 1896. The spring drift this year is considerably less strong than last year, but perhaps it may continue longer into the summer. If we were to drift this year as far as last, during the time from May 16th to June 16th, we should reach 68° east longitude, but it will not be possible now to reach that longitude so early. Possibly we may manage this year to escape the strong back-drift during the summer, make a little headway instead, and if so it will be all the better for us. The ice is not so much cut up by channels this year as it was this time last year. It is true there are a good many; but last year we could scarcely get about at all, simply on account of the lanes. This year we have large sheets of ice ahead of us in which scarcely any openings are to be found.”
In order to observe the drift of the ice we prepared a kind of log-line, from 100 to 150 fathoms in length, to the end of which there was attached a conical open bag of loosely woven material, in which small animals could be caught up. Immediately above the bag a lead was fitted to the line, so that the bag itself might drag freely in the water. The log was lowered through a fairly wide hole in the ice, which it was a most difficult task to keep open during the cold season. Several times a day the line was examined and the “angle of drift” was measured. For this measurement we had constructed a quadrant fitted with a plumb-line. Now and then we would haul in the log-line to see whether it was still in order and to collect whatever the bag might contain in the way of little animals or other objects. As a rule the contents were insignificant, consisting only of a few specimens of low organisms.
At the end of May the “spring drift” was over. The wind veered round to the S.W., W., and N.W. The back-drift or “summer drift” then set in. However, it was not of long duration, as by June 8th we again had an easterly wind with a good drift to the west, so that on the 22d we were at 84° 31.7′ north latitude and 80° 58′ east longitude; and during the last days of June and the greater part of July the drift went still better.
A circumstance which helped to increase the monotony of our drift in the ice during the winter and spring, 1895, was the great scarcity of animal life in that part of the Polar Sea. For long periods at a stretch we did not see a single living thing; even the polar bears, who roam so far, were not to be seen. Hence the appearance in the afternoon of May 7th of a small seal in a newly opened lane, close by the vessel, was hailed with universal delight. It was the first seal that we had set eyes upon since March. Subsequently we often saw seals of the same kind in the open channels, but they were very shy, so that it was not until well on in the summer that we succeeded in killing one, and this was so small that we ate the whole of it at one meal.
View over the Drift-ice. Depot in Foreground
On May 14th Pettersen told us that he had seen a white bird, as he thought an ice-gull, flying westward. On the 22d Mogstad saw a snow-bunting, which circled round the vessel, and after this the harbingers of spring became daily more numerous.
Our hunting-bags, however, were very scanty. It was not until June 10th that we secured the first game, when the doctor succeeded in shooting a fulmar and a kittiwake (Larus tridactylus). True, he prefaced these exploits by sundry misses, but in the end he managed to hit the birds, and “all’s well that ends well.” As regards the fulmar, it was an exciting chase, as it had only been winged, and took refuge in the open channel. Pettersen was the first to go after it, followed by Amundsen, the doctor, Scott-Hansen, and the whole pack of dogs, and at last they managed to secure it.
After this it was a matter of daily occurrence to see birds quite near, and in order to be better able to secure them, and seals to boot, we moored our sealing-boat in the open channel. This was equipped with a sail, and with ballast composed of some of the castings from the windmill; which we had been obliged to take down; and the very first evening after the boat had been put on the water, Scott-Hansen, Henriksen, and Bentzen went for a sail in the channel. The dogs seized this occasion to take some capital exercise. They took it into their heads to follow the boat along the edge of the channel backward and forward as the boat tacked; it was stiff work for them to keep always abreast of it, as they had to make many detours round small channels and bays in the ice, and when at last they had got near it, panting, and with their tongues protruding far from their mouths, the boat would go about, and they had to cover the same ground over again.
On June 20th the doctor and I shot one black guillemot each. We also saw some little auks, but the dogs, entering too eagerly into the sport, as a welcome break in the prolonged oppressive solitude and monotony, rushed ahead of us and scared the birds away before we could get a shot at them.
As I have already mentioned, the mill had to be taken down. The shaft broke one fine day below the upper driving-wheel, and had to be removed and taken to the forge for repair. Pettersen welded it together again, and on May 9th the mill was again in sufficiently good order for use. But it wore out very speedily, more especially in the gearings, so that, after the first week or two in June, it was almost useless. We therefore pulled it down, and stowed away all wooden parts and castings on the ridge on the port side, except portions of hard wood, which we kept on board, and found very useful for making up into sledge-shafts and other things.
The weather was good all through March, April, and May, with mild easterly breezes or calms, and, as a rule, a clear atmosphere. Once or twice the wind veered round to the south or west, but these changes were invariably of short duration. This settled calm weather at last became quite a trial to us, as it contributed in a great measure to increase the dreariness and monotony of the scene around us, and had a depressing effect on our spirits. Matters improved a little towards the end of May, when for a time we had a fresh westerly breeze. To be sure this was a contrary wind, but it was, at any rate, a little change. On June 8th the wind veered round to the east again, and now increased in strength, so that on Sunday, the 9th, we had half a gale from the E.S.E., with a velocity of 33 feet per second, being the strongest fair wind we had had for a long time.
It was astonishing what a change a single day of fair wind would work in the spirits of all on board. Those who previously moved about dreamily and listlessly now awakened to fresh courage and enterprise. Every face beamed with satisfaction. Previously our daily intercourse consisted of the monosyllables “Yes” and “No”; now we were brimming over with jokes and fun from morning to night: laughter and song and lively chat was heard all around. And with our spirits rose our hopes for a favorable drift. The chart was brought out again and again, and the forecasts made were apt to be sanguine enough. “If the wind keeps long in this quarter we shall be at such and such a spot on such and such a day. It is as clear as daylight we shall be home some time in the autumn of 1896. Just see how we have drifted up to now, and the farther we get west the faster we shall go,” and so forth.
The cold which in the middle of March did not exceed -40° C., kept steadily at from -30° to -25° during April, but it decreased at a comparatively rapid rate in May, so that by about the middle of the month the thermometer registered -14°, and in the latter part only -6°. On June 3d—so far the warmest day—a large pond of water had formed close to the vessel, although the highest temperature attained that day was -2°, and the weather was overcast.[3]
On June 5th the thermometer for the first time stood above freezing-point—viz., at +0.2°. It then fell again for a few days, going down to -6°; but on the 11th it rose again to about 2° above freezing-point, and so on.
The amount of atmospheric moisture deposited during the above-mentioned period was most insignificant; only a very slight snowfall now and then. However, Thursday, June 6th, was an exception. The wind, which for several days had been blowing from the south and west, veered round to the northwest during the night, and at 8 A.M. next morning it changed to the north, blowing a fresh breeze, with an exceptionally heavy snowfall.
We saw the midnight sun for the first time during the night of April 2d.
One of the scientific tasks of the expedition was to investigate the depth of the Polar Sea. Our lines, which were weak and not very suitable for this purpose, were soon so worn by friction, corrosion, oxidation, etc., that we were compelled not only to use them most cautiously, but also to limit the number of soundings far more than was desirable. It sometimes happened that the line would break while being hauled in, so that a good deal of it was lost.
The first sounding after the departure of Dr. Nansen and Johansen was taken on April 23d. We thought we should be able to lower away down to 3000 metres (1625 fathoms) in one run, but as the line commenced to slacken at 1900 metres (1029 fathoms) we thought we had touched bottom and hauled the line up again. As it appeared that the line had not reached the bottom, we now let down 3000 metres of line (1625 fathoms), but in doing so we lost about 900 metres of line (487 fathoms). Accordingly I assumed that we had touched ground at 2100 metres (1138 fathoms), and I therefore lowered the line to that depth without touching bottom. The next day we took new soundings at depths of 2100, 2300, 2500, and 3000 metres respectively (1137, 1245, 1353, and 1625 fathoms), but all without touching bottom. On the third day, April 25th, we sounded first at 3000 metres, and then at 3200 metres (1625 and 1733 fathoms) without touching bottom. The steel-line being too short we had to lengthen it with a hemp-line, and now went down to 3400 metres (1841 fathoms). While hauling up we perceived that the line broke, and found that, in addition to the 110 fathoms’ length of hemp-line, we had lost about 275 fathoms of steel-line. We then stopped taking soundings till July 22d, as the hemp-lines were so badly worn that we dared not venture to use them again until milder weather set in.
Wind and weather were, of course, a favorite topic on board the Fram, especially in connection with our drift. As is but right and proper, we had a weather-prophet on board—to wit, Pettersen. His specialty was to predict fair wind, and in this respect he was untiring, although his predictions were by no means invariably fulfilled. But he also posed as a prophet in other departments, and nothing seemed to delight him more than the offer of a bet with him on his predictions. If he won he was beaming with good humor for days at a stretch, and if he lost he often knew how to shroud both his forecast and the result in oracular mystery and darkness so that both parties appeared to be right. At times, as already hinted, he was unlucky, and then he was mercilessly chaffed; but at other times he would have a run of astounding luck, and then his courage would rise to such an extent that he was ready to prophesy and bet about anything.
Pressure-mound near the “Fram.” April, 1895
Among his great misfortunes was a bet made with the mate on May 4th that we should have land in sight by the end of October. And on May 24th he made a bet with Nordahl that by Monday night (the 27th) we should be at 80° east longitude. Needless to say we all wished that his incredible predictions might come true; but alas! the miracle did not happen, for it was not until June 27th that the Fram passed the 80th degree of longitude.
During the latter part of May the sun and the spring weather commenced to disperse the layer of snow around the vessel to such an extent as to make quite a little pond of snow-water on the ice forward. As at that part especially, but also all along the side of the vessel, the snow was full of soot, refuse, and the clearings from the kennels, it was greatly to be feared that an injurious, or, at any rate, obnoxious smell might arise, and if, besides this, as was the case last year, a pond should form round the vessel, the water in it would be too impure to be used in flushing the deck. I therefore set all hands to work to cart away the snow from the starboard side—a job which took about two days.
The setting in of spring now kept us busy with various things for some time, both on board and on the ice. One of the first things to be done was to bring our depot safely on board, as lanes and rifts were now forming more frequently in the ice, and some of the goods in the depot would not bear exposure to damp.
The action of the sun’s rays on the awning or tent soon became so strong that the snow underneath the boats and on the davits began to melt. All snow and ice had therefore to be removed or scraped away not only under the awning but also under the boats, on the deck-house, in the passage on the starboard side, in the holds, and wherever else it was necessary. In the after-hold there was much more ice now than last winter, probably owing to the fact that we had kept the saloon much warmer this winter than before.
In the saloon, the library, and the cabins we had a thorough “spring cleaning.” This was very badly needed, as the ceilings, walls, and all the furniture and fittings, in the course of the long polar night, had got covered with a thick, grimy-looking coating composed of soot, grease, smoke, dust, and other ingredients.
I myself took in hand the painting of the saloon and of my own cabin, which little by little had assumed the same dusky ground-tint as their surroundings, and on the whole looked rather enigmatic. By dint of much labor, and the application of a liberal supply of soap and water, I succeeded in restoring them to something like their pristine beauty.
We finished our general clean-up on Whitsun-eve, June 1st, and thus spent a really comfortable Whitsuntide, with butter-porridge for supper and a few extra delicacies afterwards.
After Whitsuntide we again took in hand various things required in view of the season, and of the possibility that the Fram might get afloat in the course of the summer. On the great hummock were many things I thought might be left there for the present—for instance, the greater part of our dogs’ food. The cases containing this were piled up to four different heights so as to form a sloping roof off which the water could easily run, and I had the whole covered over with tarpaulin. The long-boat on the port side, which I proposed to leave on the ice till the winter, was deposited in a safe place about 50 yards from the ship, and provided with sails, rigging, oars, and a full equipment, ready for any emergency.
Ice-smithy. May, 1895
The scraping away of the ice in the holds and on the half-deck was finished on June 12th. We tried to cut the steam-pipe aft (the pipe for rinse-water) out of the ice, but had to abandon the attempt. One end of this pipe had been resting ever since last year on the ice, and it was now so deeply frozen in that we could not release it. We cut a hole all round it 4 feet deep, but the hole quickly filled with water, so we left it to the summer heat to thaw the pipe loose.
The “Fram” Before Her Release
So much water commenced to accumulate in the engine-room about this time that we had to bale out considerable quantities—certainly 130 gallons per day. We at first thought that the water was produced by the thawing of the ice on board, but it subsequently appeared that it was mainly due to leakages, which probably arose from the fact that ice forming in the different layers of the ship’s skin forced the planking somewhat apart.
The state of health continued excellent, and the doctor had virtually nothing to do in his professional capacity. In the way of “casualties” there were only a few of the most trifling nature, such as a frozen big toe, a little skin-chafing here and there, a sore eye or two; that was all. However, we led a very regular life, with the twenty-four hours suitably distributed between work, exercise, and rest. We slept well and fed well, and so we were very little concerned at the fact that when being weighed on May 7th we were found to have lost flesh. However, the falling off was not great; the aggregate weight of the whole party was barely 8 pounds less than the month before.
There was, however, one complaint that we suffered from—a contagious one, though not of a dangerous nature. It became a fashion, or, if you like, a fashionable complaint, on board the Fram, to shave one’s head. It was said that an infallible method of producing a more luxuriant growth of hair was to shave away the little hair that still adorned the head of the patient. Juell first started it, and then a regular mania set in, the others following his example one by one, with the exception of myself and one or two more. Like a cautious general, I first waited a while to see whether the expected harvest sprouted on my comrades’ shaven polls; and as the hair did not seem to grow any stronger than before, I preferred a recipe ordered by the doctor—viz., to wash the head daily with soft soap and subsequently rub in an ointment. To make this treatment more effectual, however, and let the ointment get at the scalp, I followed the example of the others and shaved my head several times. Personally I do not believe that the process did any good, but Pettersen was of a different opinion. “The deuce take me,” said he, one day afterwards when cutting my hair, “if the captain hasn’t got some jolly strong bristles on his crown after that treatment.”
The Procession. May 17, 1895
The Seventeenth of May brought the finest weather that could be imagined. A clear, bright sky, dazzling sunshine, 10° to 12° of cold, and an almost perfect calm. The sun, which at this time of the year never sets throughout the twenty-four hours, was already high in the heavens, when at 8 A.M. we were awakened by the firing of a gun, and by joyous strains of the organ. We jumped into our clothes more speedily than usual, swallowed our breakfast, and with the liveliest expectation prepared for what was in store; for the “Festival Committee” had been very busy the previous day. Punctually at 11 o’clock the various corporations assembled under their flags and insignia, and were assigned their position in the grand procession. I marched at the head with the Norwegian flag. Next came Scott-Hansen with the Fram’s pennant, and then followed Mogstad with the banner of the Meteorological Department, richly bedecked with “cyclonic centres” and “prospects of fair weather.” He was seated on a box covered with bearskin placed on a sledge drawn by seven dogs, the banner waving behind him on a pole rigged as a mast. Amundsen was No. 4, bearing a demonstration banner in favor of “the Pure Flag,” and he was followed by his esquire, Nordahl, on snow-shoes with a spear in his hand and a rifle slung on his back. The flag showed on the red ground a picture of an old Norwegian warrior breaking his spear over his knee, with the inscription “Onward! Onward! [Fram! Fram!], ye Norseman! Your own flag in your own land. What we do we do for Norway.” Fifth in the procession came the mate, with the Norwegian arms on a red background, and sixth was Pettersen with the flag of the Mechanical Department. Last came the “Band,” represented by Bentzen with an accordion. The procession was followed by the public dressed in their best—viz., the doctor, Juell, and Henriksen in picturesque confusion.
To the waving of banners and strains of music the procession wended its way past the corner of the University (viz., the Fram), down “Karl Johan’s Street” and “Church Street” (a road laid out by Scott-Hansen for the occasion across the rift in front and the pressure-ridge), past Engebret’s (the depot on the ice), and then wheeled round to the “Fortification Parade”[4] (viz., the top of the great hummock), where it stopped and faced round with flags erect.
There I called for cheers in honor of the festive occasion, in response to which there rose a ninefold hurrah from the densely packed multitude.
At exactly 12 o’clock the official salute of the Seventeenth May was fired from our big bow guns. Then came a splendid banquet; the doctor had contributed a bottle of aqua vitæ, and every man had a bottle of genuine Crown Malt Extract, from the “Royal Brewery” in Copenhagen.
When the roast was served Scott-Hansen proposed the health of our dear ones at home and of our two absent comrades, who he hoped might achieve the task they had set themselves and return home safely. This toast was accompanied by a salute of two guns.
At 4 P.M. a great popular festival was held on the ice. The place was prettily decorated with flags and other emblems, and the programme offered a rich variety of entertainments. There was rope-dancing, gymnastics, shooting at running hares, and many other items. The public were in a highly festive mood throughout, and vigorously applauded the artists in all their performances. After a supper which was not far behind the dinner in excellence we gathered at night in the saloon around a steaming bowl of punch. The doctor, amid loud applause, proposed the health of the organizing committee, and I proposed the Fram. After this we kept it up in the merriest and most cordial spirit until far into the night.
[1] Vide pp. 91–98, Vol. II.
[2] Little “Barnet,” who weighed only 38 pounds, and was one of the smallest of the dogs, was a regular fighter, and, as a rule, the aggressor.
[3] On April 18th, when the doctor and I were out looking for a suitable piece of ice for determining the specific gravity of the ice, we observed a remarkable drop of water hanging under a projecting corner of a large block of ice, reared up high by pressure. There it hung, in the shade, quivering in the fresh breeze, although the thermometer registered about -23° of frost. “That must be very salt,” I said, and tasted it—“Phew!” It was salt in very truth—rank salt, like the strongest brine.
[4] These are well-known localities in Christiania, Engebret’s being a restaurant.
Chapter II
June 22 to August 15, 1895
As spring advanced the disturbance in the ice increased, and new lanes and pools were formed in every direction. At the same time there was a daily increase in the number of aquatic animals and birds around us.
On the night of June 22d I was awakened by the watch, who told me that there were whales in the lane on the starboard side. Every one hurried on deck, and we now saw that some seven or eight female narwhals were gambolling in the channel close upon us. We fired some shots at them, but these did not seem to affect them. Later in the day I went after them in the sealing-boat, but without getting within range. In order to be able to give effectual chase, should they, as we hoped, pay us a visit in the future, we made ready two harpoon-bladders and an oak anchor, which we attached to the end of the harpoon line. Should the whale, when harpooned, prove too strong for us, we would let go the anchor and the bladders, and if the fates were not against us, we might be successful.
We were quite anxious to try the new apparatus, and therefore kept a sharp lookout for the whales. One or two were seen occasionally in the channel, but they disappeared again so quickly that we had no time to pursue them. On the evening of July 2d we had the prospect of a good hunt. The lane swarmed with whales, and we quickly started out with the boat in pursuit. But this time, too, they were so shy that we could not get at them. One of them remained some time in a small channel, which was so narrow that we could throw across it. We attempted to steal on him along the edge, but as soon as we had got within a short distance of him he took alarm, and swam out into the large channel, where he remained rolling about, turning over on his back for some four or five minutes at a time with his head above water, puffing away, and positively jeering at us. When at length we had wearily worked our way back again to the large channel, intending to assist him a little in his performances—pop, away he went.
Some days later we again received a visit from a troupe of these comedians in another channel newly formed in close proximity to the vessel. Three of them had long, heavy tusks, which they showed high above the water, and then used to scratch their female friends on the back with. We immediately prepared ourselves with rifles and harpoons, and ran towards the channel as fast as our legs would carry us. But before we got there the beasts had fled. It was of no use trying to get within range of these shy creatures, so, after that, as a rule, we allowed them to remain unmolested.
Once, however, during the spring of 1896, we were near catching a narwhal. I had been out fowling, and was just busily taking out of the boat the birds I had shot, when suddenly a narwhal appeared in the channel close to our usual landing-place, where the harpoon with the line attached lay ready for immediate use. I quickly seized the harpoon, but the coil of line was too short, and when I had got this right the whale dived below the water, just as I was ready to harpoon him.
An occasional large seal (Phoca barbata) also appeared at this time; we chased them sometimes, but without success; they were too shy.
With the fowling our luck was better, and so early as June 7th we shot so many black guillemots, gulls, fulmars, and little auks that we partook on that day of our first meal of fresh meat during the year. The flesh of these birds is not, as a rule, valued very much, but we ate it with ravenous appetites, and found that it had an excellent flavor—better than the tenderest young ptarmigan.
Channel Astern of the “Fram.” June, 1895
One day three gulls appeared, and settled down at some distance from the vessel. Pettersen fired twice at them and missed, they meanwhile resting calmly on the snow, and regarding him with intense admiration. Finally they flew away, accompanied by sundry blessings from the hunter, who was exasperated at his “mishap,” as he called it. The eye-witnesses of the bombardment had another idea of the “mishap,” and many were the jokes that rained down upon the fellow when he returned empty-handed.
However, Pettersen soon became an ardent sportsman, and declared that one of the first things he would do when he returned home would be to buy a fowling-piece. He appeared to have some talent as a marksman, though he had hardly ever fired a shot before he came on board the Fram. Like all beginners, he had to put up with a good many misses before he got so far as to hit his mark. But practice makes perfect; and one fine day he began to win our respect as a marksman, for he actually hit a bird on the wing. But then came a succession of “mishaps” for some time, and he lost faith in his power of killing his game on the wing, and sought less ambitious outlets for his skill. Long afterwards the real cause of his many bad shots came to light. A wag, who thought that Pettersen was doing too much execution among the game, had quietly reloaded his cartridges, so that Pettersen had all the time been shooting with salt instead of lead, and that, of course, would make a little difference.
Besides the animals named, it appears that Greenland sharks are also found in these latitudes. One day Henriksen went to remove the blubber from some bearskins, which he had had hanging out in the channel for a week or so; he found that the two smallest skins had been nearly devoured, so that only a few shreds were left. It could hardly have been any other animal than the Greenland shark which had played us this trick. We put out a big hook with a piece of blubber on it, to try if we could catch one of the thieves, but it was of no use.
One day in the beginning of August the mate and Mogstad were out upon the ice trying to find the keel of the petroleum launch, which had been forgotten. They said that they had seen fresh tracks of a bear, which had been trotting about the great hummock. It was now almost a year since we last had a bear in our neighborhood, and we felt, therefore, much elated at the prospect of a welcome change in our bill of fare. For a long time, however, we had nothing but the prospect. True, Mogstad saw a bear at the great hummock, but, as it was far off to begin with, and going rapidly farther, it was not pursued. Almost half a year elapsed before another bear paid us a visit—it was not till February 28, 1896.
As I said before, the Fram had, ever since the first week in May, been fast embedded in a large floe of ice, which daily diminished in extent. Cracks were constantly formed in all directions, and new lanes were opened, often only to close up again in a few hours. When the edges of the ice crashed against each other with their tremendous force, all the projecting points were broken off, forming smaller floes, and pushed over and under each other, or piled up into large or small hummocks, which would collapse again when the pressure ceased, and break off large floes in their fall. In consequence of these repeated disturbances the cracks in our floe constantly increased, particularly after a very violent pressure on July 14th, when rifts and channels were formed right through the old pressure-ridge to port, and close up to the side of the vessel, so that it appeared for a time as if the Fram would soon slip down into the water. For the time being, however, she remained in her old berth, but frequently veered round to different points of the compass during all these disturbances in the ice. The great hummock, which constantly increased its distance from the vessel, also drifted very irregularly, so that it was at one time abeam, at another right ahead.
Movable Meteorological Station on the Ice. July, 1895
Scott-Hansen Nordahl
(From a photograph)
On July 27th there was a disturbance in the ice such as we had not experienced since we got fast. Wide lanes were formed in every direction, and the floe upon which the smith’s forge was placed danced round in an incessant whirl, making us fear we might lose the whole apparatus at any moment. Scott-Hansen and Bentzen, who were just about to have a sail in the fresh breeze, undertook to transport the forge and all its belongings to the floe on which we were lying. They took two men to help them, and succeeded, with great difficulty, in saving the things. At the same time there was a violent disturbance in the water around the vessel. She turned round with the floe, so that she rapidly came to head W. ½ S., instead of N.E. All hands were busy getting back into the ship all the things which had been placed upon the floes, and this was successfully accomplished, although it was no trifling labor, and not without danger to the boats, owing to the strong breeze and the violent working of the floes and blocks of ice. The floe with the ruins of the forge was slowly bearing away in the same direction as the great hummock, and served for some time as a kind of beacon for us. Indeed, in the distance it looked like one, crowned as it was on its summit with a dark skull-cap, a huge iron kettle, which lay there bottom upward. The kettle was originally bought by Trontheim, and came on board at Khabarova, together with the dogs. He had used it on the trip through Siberia for cooking the food for the dogs. We used to keep blubber and other dogs’ food in it. In the course of its long service the rust had eaten holes in the bottom, and it was therefore cashiered, and thrown away upon the pressure-ridge close to the smithy. It now served, as I have said, as a beacon, and is perhaps to-day drifting about in the Polar Sea in that capacity—unless it has been found and taken possession of by some Eskimo housewife on the east coast of Greenland.
As the sun and mild weather brought their influence to bear upon the surface of the ice and the snow, the vessel rose daily higher and higher above the ice, so that by July 23d we had three and a half planks of the greenheart ice-hide clear on the port side and ten planks to starboard. In the evening of August 8th our floe cracked on the port, and the Fram altered her list from 7° to port to 1.5° starboard side, with respectively four and two planks of the ice-hide clear, and eleven bow-irons clear forward.
I feared that the small floe in which we were now embedded might drift off down the channel if the ice slackened any more, and I therefore ordered the mate to moor the vessel to the main flow, where many of our things were stored. The order, however, was not quickly enough executed, and when I came on deck half an hour later the Fram was already drifting down through the channel. All hands were called up immediately, and with our united strength we succeeded in hauling the vessel up to the floe again and mooring her securely.
As we were desirous of getting the Fram quite clear of the ice-bed in which she had been lying so long, I determined to try blasting her loose. The next day, therefore, August 9th, at 7.30 P.M., we fired a mine of about 7 pounds of gunpowder, placed under the floe 6 feet from the stern of the vessel. There was a violent shock in the vessel when the mine exploded, but the ice was apparently unbroken. A lively discussion arose touching the question of blasting. The majority believed that the mine was not powerful enough; one even maintained that the quantity of gunpowder used should have been 40 or 50 pounds. But just as we were in the heat of the debate the floe suddenly burst. Big lumps of ice from below the ship came driving up through the openings: the Fram gave a great heave with her stern, started forward and began to roll heavily, as if to shake off the fetters of ice, and then plunged with a great splash out into the water. The way on her was so strong that one of the bow hawsers parted, but otherwise the launch went so smoothly that no ship-builder could have wished it better. We moored the stern to the solid edge of ice by means of ice-anchors, which we had recently forged for this purpose.
Scott-Hansen and Pettersen, however, were very near getting a cold bath. Having laid the mine under the floe, they placed themselves abaft with the “pram,”[1] in order to haul in the string of the fuse. When the floe burst, and the Fram plunged, and the remainder of the floe capsized as soon as it became free of its 600 tons’ burden, the two men in the boat were in no pleasant predicament right in the midst of the dangerous maelstrom of waves and pieces of ice; their faces, especially Pettersen’s, were worth seeing while the boat was dancing about with them in the caldron.
The vessel now had a slight list to starboard (0.75°), and floated considerably lighter upon the water than before, as three oak planks were clear to starboard, and somewhat more to port, with nine bow-irons clear forward. So far as we could see, her hull had suffered no damage whatever, either from the many and occasionally violent pressures to which she had been subjected, or from the recent launching.
The only fault about the vessel was that she still leaked a little, rendering it necessary to use the pumps frequently. For a short time, indeed, she was nearly tight, which made us inclined to believe that the leakage must be above the water-line, but we soon found we were in error about this, when she began to make more water than ever.
For the rest, she was lying very well now, with the port side along an even and rather low edge of ice, and with an open channel to starboard; the channel soon closed up, but still left a small opening, about 200 yards long and 120 yards wide. I only wished that winter would soon come, so that we might freeze securely into this favorable position. But it was too early in the year, and there was too much disturbance in the ice to allow of that. We had still many a tussle to get through before the Fram settled in her last winter haven.
Our drift westward in the latter half of June and the greater part of July was, on the whole, satisfactory. I give the following observations:
| Date | Latitude | Longitude | Direction of Wind |
| ° ′ | ° ′ | ||
| June 22d | 84 32 | 80 58 | N. |
| June 27th | 84 44 | 79 35 | N. by E. |
| June 29th | 84 33 | 79 50 | E.N.E. |
| July 5th | 84 48 | 75 3 | S.E. |
| July 7th | 84 48 | 74 7 | W.S.W. |
| July 12th | 84 41 | 76 20 | W.S.W. |
| July 22d | 84 36 | 72 56 | N.N.W. |
| July 27th | 84 29 | 73 49 | S.W. by S. |
| July 31st | 84 27 | 76 10 | S.W. |
| August 8th | 84 38 | 77 36 | N.W. |
| August 22d | 84 9 | 78 47 | S.W. |
| August 25th | 84 17 | 79 2 | E. by N. |
| September 2d | 84 47 | 77 17 | S.E. |
| September 6th | 84 43 | 79 52 | S.W. |
As will be seen from the above, there were comparatively small deviations towards the south and the north in the line of the drift, whereas the deviations to east and west were much greater.
From June 22d to the 29th it bore rapidly westward, then back some distance in the beginning of July; again for a couple of days quickly towards the west, and then a rapid return till July 12th. From this day until the 22d we again drifted well to the west, to 72° 56′, but from that time the backward drift predominated, placing us at 79° 52′ on September 6th, or about the same longitude as we started from on June 29th.
During this period the weather was, on the whole, fair and mild. Occasionally we had some bad weather, with drift-snow and sleet, compelling us to stay indoors. However, the bad weather did not worry us much; on the contrary, we looked rather eagerly for changes in the weather, especially if they revived our hopes of a good drift westward, with a prospect of soon getting out of our prison. It must not be understood that we dreaded another winter in the ice before getting home. We had provisions enough, and everything else needful to get over some two or three polar winters, if necessary, and we had a ship in which we all placed the fullest confidence, in view of the many tests she had been put to. We were all sound and healthy, and had learned to stick ever closer to one another for better and for worse.
With regard to Nansen and Johansen, hardly any of us entertained serious fears; however dangerous their trip was, we were not afraid that they would succumb to their hardships on the way, and be prevented from reaching Franz Josef Land, and thence getting back to Norway before the year was out. On the contrary, we rejoiced at the thought that they would soon be home, telling our friends that we were getting on all right, and that there was every prospect of our return in the autumn of 1896. It is no wonder, however, that we were impatient, and that both body and soul suffered when the drift was slow, or when a protracted contrary wind and back-drift seemed to make it highly improbable that we should be able to reach home by the time we were expected.
Observation with Sextant and Artificial Horizon. July, 1895
Scott-Hansen Nordahl
(From a photograph)
Furthermore, the most important part of our mission was in a way accomplished. There was hardly any prospect that the drift would carry us much farther northward than we were now, and whatever could be done to explore the regions to the north would be done by Nansen and Johansen. It was our object, therefore, in compliance with the instructions from Dr. Nansen, to make for open water and home by the shortest way and in the safest manner, doing, however, everything within our power to carry home with us the best possible scientific results. These results, to judge from our experience up to this point, were almost a foregone conclusion—to wit, that the Polar Sea retained its character almost unchanged as we drifted westward, showing the same depths, the same conditions of ice and currents, and the same temperatures. No islands, rocks, shoals, and, still less, no mainland, appeared in the neighborhood of our frequently irregular course; wherever we looked there was the same monotonous and desolate plain of more or less rugged ice, holding us firmly, and carrying us willy-nilly along with it. Our scientific observations were continued uninterruptedly, as regularly and accurately as possible, and comprised, besides the usual meteorological observations, soundings, measurement of the thickness of the ice, longitude and latitude, taking the temperature of the sea at various depths, determining its salinity, collecting specimens of the fauna of the sea, magnetic and electrical observations, and so forth.
[1] A small keelless boat.
Chapter III
August 15 to January 1, 1896
With the rise in the temperature the snow surface became daily worse, so that it was seldom fit for snow-shoeing; even with “truger”[1] on it was most laborious to get along, for the snow was so soft that we sank in up to our knees. Now and then for an odd day or so the surface would be fit, even in the month of July, and we took these opportunities of making short excursions for shooting and the like. Then the surface would be as bad as ever again, and one day when I had to go out on the ice to fetch a fulmar which had been wounded, the snow was so soft that I constantly sank in up to my waist. Before I could reach the bird the whole pack of dogs came tearing by, got hold of it, and killed it. One of the dogs seized the bird in his mouth, and then there was a wild race between it and the others. At last the whole pack turned back towards the lane in the ice again, and I watched my opportunity and snatched the bird from them. I had paid pretty dearly for my booty, all spent and dripping with perspiration as I was from plodding through that bottomless morass of snow.
Our chief occupation was still the work at our sledges and kayaks. The sledges, which were all brought on board from the great hummock where they had lain all the winter, were repaired and fitted with runners. By July 16th they were all in good order—eight hand-sledges and two dog-sledges.
The kayaks, upon which we had long been engaged, were finished about the same time. We had now in all five double and one single kayak. Of these I myself made one, the single kayak, which weighed 32 pounds. All of them were tested in the channel, and proved sound and watertight. Both the kayaks and the sledges were hoisted on the davits, so that they could be let down at a moment’s notice in case of need.
The petroleum launch, which was of no use to us as it was, but would afford good materials for runners and other things, was brought from the great hummock and taken to pieces. It was built of choice elm, and a couple of planks were immediately used for runners to those of the sledges, which, for lack of material, were as yet unprovided with these appliances.
The medicine-chest, which had also lain in depot at the great hummock, was fetched and stowed away in one of the long-boats, which had been placed on the pressure-ridge hard by the ship. The contents had taken no harm, and nothing had burst with the frost, although there were several medicines in the chest which contained no more than 10 per cent. of alcohol.
At that time we were also busy selecting and weighing provisions and stores for eleven men for a seventy days’ sledging expedition and a six months’ sojourn on the ice. The kinds of provisions and their weight will be seen from the accompanying table:
Seventy Days’ Sledge Provisions for Eleven Men
| Pounds | |
| Cadbury’s chocolate, 5 boxes of 48 pounds | 240 |
| Meat chocolate | 25 |
| Wheaten bread, 16 boxes of 44 pounds | 704 |
| Danish butter, 12 tins of 28 pounds | 336 |
| Lime-juice tablets | 2 |
| Fish flour (Professor Våge’s) | 50 |
| Viking potatoes, 3 tins of 26 pounds | 78 |
| Knorr’s pea-soup | 5 |
| Knorr’s lentil-soup | 5 |
| Knorr’s bean-soup | 5 |
| Bovril, 2 boxes | 104 |
| Vril-food, 1 box | 48 |
| Oatmeal, 1 box | 80 |
| Serin powder, 1 box | 50 |
| Aleuronate bread, 5 boxes of 50 pounds | 250 |
| Pemmican, 6 boxes | 340 |
| Pemmican, 7 sacks | 592 |
| Liver, 1 sack | 102 |
| Total | 3016 |
Besides these we took salt, pepper, and mustard.
Provisions for Eleven Men During a Six Months’ Stay on the Ice
| Pounds | |
| Roast and boiled beef, 14 tins of 72 pounds | 1008 |
| Minced collops, 3 tins of 48 pounds | 144 |
| Corned beef, 3 tins of 84 pounds | 252 |
| Compressed ham, 3 tins of 84 pounds | 252 |
| Corned mutton, 17 tins of 6 pounds | 102 |
| Bread, 37 tins of 50 pounds | 1850 |
| Knorr’s soups, various, 2 tins of 56½ pounds | 113 |
| Vegetables: white cabbage, julienne, pot-herbs | 60 |
| Flour, sugar, 3 cases of 40 pounds | 120 |
| Oatmeal, 4 cases of 80 pounds | 320 |
| Groats, 4 cases of 80 pounds | 320 |
| Cranberry, 2 cases of 10 pounds | 20 |
| Margarine, 20 jars of 28 pounds | 560 |
| Lunch tongue, 1 case | 20 |
| Danish butter, 2 cases | 336 |
| Stearine candles, 5 cases | 200 |
| Preserved fish, 1 tin | 22 |
| Macaroni, 1 case | 50 |
| Viking potatoes, 4 cases | 208 |
| Våge’s fish flour, 2 cases | 200 |
| Frame-food jelly, 1 jar | 190 |
| Marmalade jelly, 1 jar | 54 |
| Lime-juice jelly, 1 jar | 54 |
| Cadbury’s chocolate, 3 cases | 144 |
| Lactoserin cocoa, 1 case | 18 |
| Milk, 10 cases of 48 tins | 480 |
| Tea, 1 case | 20 |
| English pemmican, 13 cases | 756 |
| Danish pemmican, 1 case | 68 |
| Dried liver patties, 3 cases | 204 |
| Vril-food, 5 cases | 208 |
Besides these, 2 tins of salt, 1 tin of mustard, and 1 tin of pepper.
When all the stores were ready and packed, they were provisionally stowed at certain fixed points on deck, under the awning forward. I did not want them taken out on the ice until later in the year, or until circumstances rendered it necessary. We had still abundance of coal—about 100 tons. I considered that 20 tons would be about enough for six months’ consumption on the ice. With that quantity, therefore, we filled butts, casks, and sacks, and took it out on the ice, together with 1400 pounds of tinned potatoes, about 45 gallons of petroleum, about 80 gallons of gas-oil, and about 34 gallons of coal-oil.
As the ship was still deeply laden, I wished to lighten her as much as possible, if only it could be managed without exposing to risk any of the stores which had to be unloaded. After the windmill was worn out and taken away we had, of course, no use for the battery and dynamo, so we took the whole concern to pieces and packed it up, with lamps, globes, and everything belonging to it. The same was done with the petroleum motor. The “horse-mill” was also taken down and put out on the ice, with a lot of heavy materials. One long-boat had been put out earlier, and now we took the other down from the davits and took it up to the great hummock. But as the hummock shortly afterwards drifted a good way off from us, the boat, with everything else that lay there, was brought back again and placed upon the great ice-floe to which we were moored—our “estate,” as we used to call it. On top of the davits, and right aft to the half-deck, we ran a platform of planks, on which the sledges, kayaks, and other things were to be laid up in the winter.
On July 22d we continued our deep-sea soundings, taking two on that day, the first to 1354 fathoms (2500 metres) and the second to 1625 fathoms (3000 metres), without touching bottom either time. In order to make sure that the lead should sink, we lowered away the line very slowly, so that it took two hours and a quarter to reach a depth of 3000 metres. On the 23d we again took two soundings, one of 1840 fathoms (3400 metres), without finding bottom, and then one in which we found bottom at 2056 fathoms (3800 metres). It took two hours and a half to lower the lead to the latter depth. Finally, on July 24th we again took a sounding of 3600 metres without finding bottom, and therefore concluded the depth to be from 3700 to 3800 metres.
On July 7th the doctor rowed out in the “pram” in search of algæ, but came back empty-handed. There were remarkably few algæ to be found this summer, nor did there seem to be so much animal life in the water as there had been the year before.
For a few days after she got loose, the Fram lay in a very good position in the pool; but during the night of August 14th a high block of ice came floating down the lane, which had now widened a little, and jammed itself between the ship’s side and the farther edge of the pool, which it thus entirely blocked. As we did not like having this uncomfortable and dangerous colossus close at our side, in case we should remain at the same spot throughout the autumn and winter, we determined to blast it away. Scott-Hansen and Nordahl at once took this in hand, and accomplished the task after several days’ labor.
On Saturday afternoon, August 17th, a pretty strong ice-pressure suddenly set in around us. In the course of a few minutes the Fram was lifted 22 inches by the stern, and 14 inches by the bow. In stately fashion, with no noise, and without heeling over in the least, the heavy vessel was swiftly and lightly raised, as if she had been a feather—a spectacle at once impressive and reassuring.
The next day the ice slackened a little again, and the ship was once more afloat. So it lay quietly until the morning of the 21st, when another strong pressure began. The ship now lay in a very awkward position, with a high hummock on each side, which gripped her amidships for a space of about 9 yards, and screwed her up 6 or 8 inches. But the pressure ended in half an hour or so, and the Fram sank again into her former berth.
When there were symptoms of pressure we always tried to warp the ship as far away as possible from the threatening point, and occasionally we succeeded. But during the stormy weather, with southerly winds, which prevailed at this time, it was often quite impossible to get her to budge; for she offered a great surface to the wind, with her heavy rigging and the high awning forward. Our united forces were often unable to move her an inch, and ice-anchors, moorings, and warping-cables were perpetually breaking.
Cleaning the Accumulators before Stowing Away. July, 1895
At last, on August 22d, we succeeded in warping the ship along a bit, so that we might hope to escape pressure if the ice should again begin to pinch. As the ice soon after slackened a good deal, and became more broken than before, we some days later made another attempt to haul her a little farther, but had soon to give it up; there was not enough space between the two great floes on either hand of us. We now lay at the same spot until September 2d, with half a gale blowing continually from the southwest, and with heavy rain now and then. On the evening of August 30th, for instance, we had a violent rain-storm, which loosened the ice-coating of the rigging and made a frightful racket as it brought the pieces of ice clattering down upon the deck, the deck-house, and the awning.
Our “estate” was very thoroughly ploughed, harrowed, and drained at this time by wind, rain, pressure, and other such doughty laborers. Then came the tiresome business of moving the things out from the ship, which involved the cutting up and parcelling out of almost the whole “estate,” so that what was left open to us was scanty and cramped enough.
Thus reduced, the “estate” now formed an approximately oblong floe, with its greatest length from east to west, and surrounded on all sides by more or less open rifts and lanes. The Fram lay moored to the north side close to the northeast point, with her bow heading west. Immediately astern of her, and separated from the point only by a narrow lane, lay a large floe, upon which was stowed, among other things, a part of our provision of coal. Far off to the westward the great hummock still lay drifting.
While the other sides of the “estate” were pretty nearly straight, the east side formed a concave arc or bay, which offered an excellent winter berth for the Fram. But there was no possibility of getting the ship into it so long as the channel between the “estate” and the floe to eastward remained closed. Late in the afternoon of September 2d the ice at last slackened so much that we could make an attempt. By the help of our tackle we managed to get her warped a ship’s length eastward, but it was impossible for the moment to get her any farther, as the new ice was already pretty thick (the night temperature was -5° C.), and also a good deal packed. Nor was it any use to bring the ice-saw into play and cut a channel, for the slush was so deep that we could not shove the fragments aside or under each other.
The next day began with half a gale from the southeast and rain; but at 6 o’clock the wind moderated and veered to the south, and at 8 o’clock the ice around the lane began to slacken a good deal. As there was now more room, we made good progress with cutting our way through the new ice, and before midday we had got the Fram hauled into the bay and moored in the winter harbor which we all hoped might prove her last.
When Nansen and Johansen set out, they left seven dogs behind, the bitch “Sussi” and the six youngest puppies: “Kobben,” “Snadden,” “Bella,” “Skvint,” “Axel,” and “Boris.” On April 25th “Sussi” gave birth to twelve puppies. We had made a cozy little kennel for her on deck, lining it with reindeer-skin. Pettersen came down in the morning, and told us that “Sussi” was running round whining and howling. Mogstad and I went up and shut her into the kennel, where she at once gave birth to a puppy. When the afternoon came, and we saw that more and more citizens were being added to our community, we feared that the mother would not be able to warm all her litter, and consequently removed the whole family into the saloon. All the puppies were large and handsome, most of them quite white, and looking as though they would turn out regular little “bjelkier,” as the Samoyedes call all white dogs. They grew and throve excellently as saloon passengers, and were petted and spoiled by every one. They made their home in the saloon for a month, and then we transferred them to the above-mentioned kennel on deck. After they had been up there for some weeks it appeared as though they had suddenly stopped growing, although they were constantly well fed with raw bear’s-flesh, milk, and the broken meat from our table. About the second week of August two of the puppies died of convulsions. The doctor managed to save a third by means of warm baths and careful nursing. At the end of the month another of them was seized with convulsions and died, although it, too, was treated with warm baths and comfortably housed, first in the saloon, and afterwards in the work-room.
In the beginning of September, when the frequent rain made things very moist and uncomfortable in the kennel and on deck, we built a kennel out on the ice with a tarpaulin roof and a floor of planks, with plenty of shavings spread over them. While it was being built we let the whole pack of dogs out upon the ice; but after playing for half an hour the puppies, one after another, began to have convulsions. The attacks passed quickly over, however. We drenched them with soap and water, and then settled them in their new abode.
As the puppies grew older we had to keep a sharp watch upon them when we let them out upon the ice. They romped and gambolled with such ungovernable glee that it often happened that one or other of them plumped into the water, and had to be laboriously fished out again by the Master of the Hounds for the time being or whoever else happened to be at hand. Moreover, they soon acquired a taste for longer excursions, and followed our tracks far over the ice.
One day the doctor and I were out photographing. At a considerable distance from the ship we came upon a large pool of fresh water, and took a little rest upon its inviting, mirror-like ice. While we lay there chatting at our ease, we saw “Kobben” coming after us. As soon as he caught sight of us, he stopped and stood wondering what strange creatures we could be. Then we began to creep on all-fours towards him; and the moment we did so, “Kobben” found his legs to some purpose. He set off homeward as though he were running for dear life; and even when we got back to the ship and several other puppies met us and knew us, the poor creature was still so panic-stricken that it was a good while before he ventured to come near us.
On September 28th we again lost one of the puppies. It was seized with convulsions, and lay whining and howling all day. As the evening advanced, and it became paralyzed along one side, there was no hope of saving it, so we put an end to its misery. It was pitiful to see how these pretty little creatures suffered when the convulsions came upon them.
On October 9th “Skvint” gave birth to puppies, but as so young an animal could not have brought them up, especially in such a cold season, we allowed her to keep only one of them as an experiment; the others were at once killed. A week later “Sussi” produced a second litter, two he-dogs and nine she-dogs. We let her keep the two males and one of the females.
It proved inadvisable to have both the mothers with their families in the same kennel. If one of the mothers went out for a moment, the other at once took all the puppies into her keeping, and then there was a battle royal when the first one returned and wanted to reclaim her property. Something of this sort had, no doubt, occurred one night in the case of “Skvint,” whom Henriksen found in the morning lying at the door of the kennel frozen so fast to the ice that it cost us a good deal of trouble to get her loose again. She must have had anything but a pleasant night—the thermometer had been down to -33° C. (-27.4° Fahr.)—and her tail was frozen fast to one of her hind-legs, so that we had to take her down into the saloon to get her thawed. To obviate such misadventures for the future I had a detached villa built for her where she could be at peace with her child.
One evening, when Mogstad was housing the puppies for the night, two of them were missing. Henriksen and I at once set off with lanterns and guns to hunt for them. We thought that there had been a bear in the neighborhood, as we had heard a great deal of barking earlier in the day out upon the ice to the east of the ship; but we could find no tracks. After supper we set out again, five of us, all carrying lanterns. After an hour’s search along the lanes and up in the pressure-ridges we at last found the puppies on the other side of a new lane. Although the new ice on the lane was strong enough to bear them, they were so terrified after having been in the water that they dared not come over to us, and we had to make a long detour to get hold of them.
In the middle of December we took the youngest puppies on board, as they had now grown so big, and ran away if they were not very closely watched. The gangway was left open at night so that the mothers could come into them from the ice whenever they wanted to.
Workshop on Deck. July, 1895
In respect to temper, there was a great difference between the generation of dogs we had originally taken on board and those we now had. While the former were great fighters, perpetually at feud with each other, and often to the death, the latter were exceedingly quiet and well-behaved, although wild and fierce enough when it came to chasing a bear. Now and then there would be a little squabble among them, but this was rare. “Axel” was the worst of them. Shortly before Christmas he all of a sudden made a fierce attack upon the unoffending “Kobben,” against whom he bore a grudge. But he got the rope’s-end for supper several times, and that improved his manners amazingly.
During the first half of September the weather was very unsettled, with prevailing westerly and southwesterly winds, a good deal of rain and snow, especially rain, and frequent disturbance in the ice. The frost at night, which sometimes reached 10° or 11°, soon made the new ice strong enough to bear a man, except just at the stern of the ship, where all the slops were thrown out. Here the ice was much broken up, and formed a thick slush, the surface of which was frozen over, but so thinly that it would not bear much weight. Thus it happened one day that three men got a ducking, one after another, at the same treacherous spot. The first was Pettersen. He had to go round the stern to look to the log-line which hung from the ship’s side to port; but before he got so far, down he went through the ice. Shortly after the same thing happened to Nordahl, and half an hour later it was Bentzen’s turn to plump in. He plunged right up to his neck, but at once bobbed up again like a cork, and scrambled gallantly up on to the edge of the ice without a moment’s delay. The observation of the log-line had to be postponed, while a grand changing and drying of clothes took place on board.
On September 15th the ice slackened so much that there was quite a little sea between us and the great hummock. The following day the ice was still so much disturbed that we had to think seriously of fetching back the things which still lay there. About midday I took a walk over towards the hummock to find out a suitable transport path, and discovered an excellent one. But some hours later, when I set off with men and sledges to fetch back the things, so many lanes had opened around the “estate” that we had to give up the attempt for that day. During the whole of September, and well on in October, there was almost incessant disturbance in the ice. New lanes opened on all sides, some close to the ship, and there were frequent pressures. The winter harbor we had found proved an excellent one. There was very little disturbance in the bay where the Fram was moored, thanks to the new ice we here had around us, of which the pressure was quite inconsiderable. It was quickly broken up, and the fragments forced over or under each other, while the two solid points of the bay bore the brunt of the attacks. Once or twice it seemed as though the Fram would be afloat again before the winter finally chained her in its icy fetters. On October 25th, for instance, it slackened so much in the lane nearest us that the ship lay free from the stern right to the fore-chains; but soon the ice packed together again, so that she was once more frozen quite fast. The hardest pressure occurred on October 26th and 27th, but the ship was not very severely attacked. Pressure, however, is more unpleasant in winter, on account of the deafening noise it makes when the ice is hurled against the ship’s side. It was quite different in summer, when the ice is more tough and elastic, and the pressure goes on calmly and quietly.
After November 1st a more peaceful period set in; the pressures almost entirely ceased, the cold increased, the wind remained easterly, and we drifted at a steady rate northward and westward for the rest of the year.
During the autumn the drift had put our patience to a severe test. Owing to the prevailing westerly winds it bore steadily eastward, and day after day we looked in vain for a change. The only thing that kept our spirits up was the knowledge that, if we were going backward, it was slowly, sometimes very slowly, indeed. Even several days of westerly wind did not take us so far to the east but that a day or two of favorable wind would enable us to make up what we had lost, with something to boot.
September 22d was the second anniversary of our being frozen in, and the event was celebrated with a little festivity in the evening. We had reason to be satisfied with the second year’s drift, since we had advanced nearly double as far as during the first year, and, if this continued, there could scarcely be any doubt that we should get clear of the ice in the autumn of 1896.
As will be seen from the following table, September 22d also brought us a marked change for the better. On that day the winter drift set in for good, and lasted without intermission through the remainder of the year, so that between that day and the second week in January we drifted from 82° 5′ to 41° 41′ east longitude.
| Date | Latitude | Longitude | Direction of Wind |
| ° ′ | ° ′ | ||
| September 6th, 1895 | 84 43 | 79 52 | S.W. |
| September 11th, 1895 | 84 59 | 78 15 | E. |
| September 22d, 1895 | 85 2 | 82 5 | Calm. |
| October 9th, 1895 | 85 4 | 79 30 | E. |
| October 19th, 1895 | 85 45 | 78 21 | E. to N. |
| October 25th, 1895 | 85 46 | 73 25 | N.E. |
| October 30th, 1895 | 85 46 | 70 50 | N.N.W. |
| November 8th, 1895 | 85 41 | 65 2 | E. |
| November 15th, 1895 | 85 55.5 | 66 31 | E.N.E. |
| November 25th, 1895 | 85 47.5 | 62 56 | N.E. to N. |
| December 1st, 1895 | 85 28 | 58 45 | E. |
| December 7th, 1895 | 85 26 | 54 40 | N.E. |
| December 14th, 1895 | 85 24 | 50 2 | Calm. |
| December 21st, 1895 | 85 15 | 47 56 | N.E. |
| December 28th, 1895 | 85 24 | 48 22 | N.W. |
| January 9th, 1896 | 84 57 | 41 41 | N. |
On October 11th we hauled up the log-line and cut a new hole for it in the ice right astern. Hitherto the log had had only 100 metres (54 fathoms) of line; now we gave it 300 metres (162 fathoms).
After the middle of September the cold steadily increased, as the following observations will show:
| Date | MinimumTemperature | |
| Centigrade | Fahrenheit | |
| ° | ° | |
| September 18th | -12.5 | +9.6 |
| September 26th | -24.0 | -11.2 |
| October 19th | -30.0 | -22.0 |
| November 5th | -32.2 | -25.8 |
| November 9th | -38.3 | -36.8 |
| November 22d | -43.6 | -46.4 |
| December 31st | -44.6 | -48.2 |
The weather was, as a rule, fine during the last three months of 1895, with clear air and light breezes; only now and then (for example, on October 29th, and November 11th, 26th, and 27th) the wind freshened to half a gale, with a velocity of as much as 48 feet per second.
In the beginning of September we found that the Fram was drawing more and more water, so that we had a stiff job every day to pump and bale her empty. But from the 23d onward the leakage steadily declined, and about the second week of October the engine-room was quite water-tight. It still leaked a little, however, in the main hold; but soon the leak ceased here also, the water having frozen in the ship’s side. For the rest, we employed our time in all sorts of work about the ship, cutting up and removing ice in the hold, cleaning, putting things in order, etc.
Not until September 23d did the state of the ice permit us to carry out our intention of fetching back the things from the great hummock. The surface was that day excellent for sledges with German-silver runners; wooden runners, on the other hand, went rather heavily. We had also done some road-making here and there, so that the conveyance of the goods went on easily and rapidly. We brought back to the ship, in all, thirty-six boxes of dog biscuits, and four barrels of petroleum. Next day we brought all that was left, and stacked it on the ice close to the ship.
Plate XVI.
An Auroral Crown, December 1894. Pencil Sketch.
On September 16th Scott-Hansen and Nordahl set about preparations for building a proper house for their magnetic observations. Their building material consisted of great blocks of new ice, which they piled upon sledges and drove with the aid of the dogs to the site they had chosen. Except for one or two trial trips which Scott-Hansen had previously made with the dogs, this was the first time they had been employed as draught-animals. They drew well, and the carting went excellently. The house was built entirely of hewn blocks of ice, which were ranged above each other with an inward slant, so that when finished it formed a compact circular dome of ice, in form and appearance not unlike a Finn tent. A covered passage of ice led into the house, with a wooden flap for a door.
When this observatory was finished, Scott-Hansen gave a house-warming, the hut being magnificently decorated for the occasion. It was furnished with a sofa, and with arm-chairs covered with bear and reindeer skins. The pedestal in the middle of the floor, on which the magnetic instruments were to be established, was covered with a flag, and an ice-floe served as a table. On the table stood a lamp with a red shade, and along the walls were fixed a number of red paper lanterns. The effect was quite festal, and we all sat round the room in the highest of spirits. Our amiable host addressed little humorous speeches to every one. Pettersen expressed the wish that this might be the last ice-hut Scott-Hansen should build on this trip, and that we might all be home again this time next autumn, and “none the worse for it all.” Pettersen’s artless little address was received with frantic enthusiasm.
For the rest, Pettersen had just about this time entered upon a new office, having from September 10th onward undertaken the whole charge of Juell’s former domain, the galley, a department to which he gave his whole heart, and in which his performances denoted entire satisfaction to every one. The only branch of the culinary art with which he would have nothing to do was the baking of Christmas cakes. This Juell himself had to attend to when the time came.
When winter set in we built ourselves a new smithy in the place of the one which drifted off on July 27th. It was constructed on the pressure-ridge where the boats and part of the stores from the great hummock had been placed. Its plan was very much like that of the former smithy. We first hollowed out a cavity of sufficient size in the pressure-ridge, and then roofed it over with blocks of ice and snow.
As the year waned, and the winter night impended, all the sea animals and birds of passage which had swarmed around us and awakened our longings during the short summer deserted us one by one. They set off for the south, towards sunshine and light and hospitable shores, while we lay there in the ice and darkness for yet another winter. On September 6th we saw the last narwhals gambolling in the lanes around the ship, and a few days later the last flock of skuas (Lestris parasiticus) took their departure. The sun moves quickly in these latitudes from the first day that he peers over the horizon in the south till he circles round the heavens all day and all night; but still quicker do his movements seem when he is on the downward path in autumn. Before you know where you are he has disappeared, and the crushing darkness of the Arctic night surrounds you once more.
On September 12th we should have seen the midnight sun for the last time if it had been clear; and no later than October 8th we caught the last glimpse of the sun’s rim at midday. Thus we plunged into the longest Arctic night any human beings have yet lived through, in about 85° north latitude. Henceforth there was nothing that could for a moment be called daylight, and by October 26th there was scarcely any perceptible difference between day and night.
Whenever time permitted and the surface was at all favorable we wandered about on snow-shoes in the neighborhood of the ship, either singly or several together. On October 7th, when all of us were out snow-shoeing in the morning, the mate found a log of drift-wood 7 feet long and 7 inches thick. Part of the root was still attached to the trunk. The mate and I went out in the afternoon and brought it in on a hand-sledge. No doubt it had grown in one of the Siberian forests, had been swept away by a flood or by the current of a river, and carried out to sea to be conveyed hither by the drift-ice.
Besides snow-shoeing, we also took frequent walks on the ice, and on November 20th I gave orders that every man should take two hours’ exercise a day in the fresh air. I myself was very fond of these walks, which freshened up both soul and body, and I often wandered backward and forward on the ice four or five hours a day—as a rule, two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon.
On October 8th Scott-Hansen and Mogstad made an experiment in dragging sledges with 230 pounds of freight. They started at half-past nine and returned at five in the afternoon, after having been about four miles from the ship, and traversed pretty heavy country.
We did not believe, indeed, that the Fram ran the slightest risk of being crushed in any ice-pressure; but it was obviously possible, or at least conceivable, so that it was our duty to be prepared for all contingencies. Accordingly we devoted much labor and care to securing ourselves against being taken by surprise.
At the end of October we established a new depot on the ice consisting of provisions for six months, with a full equipment of sledges, kayaks, snow-shoes, etc. The provisions were divided into five different piles, and stacked so that the boxes in each pile formed an arch. Thus stored, not more than two cases could well be lost even if the worst happened, and the ice split up right under the heap. The provisions consisted partly of pemmican, as may be seen by the list quoted—a very nutritious article of diet, which makes an excellent sort of Irish stew (lobscouse). With 200 grammes of pemmican, 100 grammes of bread, and 120 grammes of potatoes you can make a very satisfying and palatable dish.
On November 28th we passed the sixtieth degree of longitude, and celebrated the occasion by a little feast. The saloon was decorated with flags, and a rather more sumptuous dinner than usual was served, with coffee after it, while supper was followed by a dessert of fruits and preserves. This meridian passes near Cape Fligely in Franz Josef Land, and through Khabarova, where we two years ago had bidden farewell to the last faint traces of civilization. So it seemed as though we really felt ourselves nearer the world and life.
[1] A round wicker snow-shoe like a basket-lid.
Chapter IV
January 1 to May 17, 1896
New-year’s-day came with fine, clear weather, moonlight, and about 43 degrees of cold. The ice kept remarkably quiet for about a month, but on February 4th the pressure commenced again. It was not of long duration, but made a great noise while it lasted; the ice all round us roared and screamed as if a tremendous gale were blowing. I took a walk on the ice for the purpose, if possible, of observing the pressure more closely, but could see nothing. The following day we again sallied forth on the ice, and found a comparatively new channel and a large new pressure-ridge about a mile from the ship. It was impossible, however, to get any comprehensive view of the state of the ice, as it was still too dark, even at midday. The surface of the snow was hard and good, but the hollow edges of the snow-drifts were so deceptive that we every now and then tumbled head over heels.
On February 7th Scott-Hansen, Henriksen, Amundsen, and myself took a run northward from the ship. The farther north we went the more broken and uneven the ice became, and at last we had to turn, as we came to a new and wide lane. During the morning a dark bank of clouds had been gathering in the southwest, and now the fog got so thick that it was not easy to find our way back to the ship again. At last we heard the voice of “Sussi,” and from the top of a pressure-ridge which we ascended we got sight of the crow’s-nest and the main-topmast of the Fram, towering above the fog, only a little way off. Close as we were to the ship, it was not so easy to get on board again. We were stopped by a large lane which had formed just abaft the ship during our absence, and we had to skirt it a long way westward before we could cross it. Those on board told us that the opening of the lane had given the ship a great shock, very much like the shock felt when we blasted the Fram loose in August. At 12.30 at night we felt another shock in the ice. When we came on deck we found that the ice had cracked about 30 yards abaft the ship, parallel with the large lane. The crack passed along the side of the nearest long-boat, and right through one of the coal-heaps. On the heap a barrel was standing, which would have been lost if the crack had not divided itself in front of it at about right angles and then joined again, after passing through the outer edges of the heap. On the island thus formed the barrel and some coal-bags floated about in the channel. However, we soon got the island hooked to shore, and the coals were all saved, with the exception of a sack of one hundredweight, which went to the bottom. By way of making sure, I gave orders that the depot should be inspected once during each watch, or oftener if the pressure began again.
On February 13th Henriksen, Amundsen, and I made an expedition southward to examine into the state of the ice in that direction. We found that it was very uneven there, too, and full of comparatively new lanes. The channel abaft the ship widened during the forenoon, and gave off such masses of fog that we soon lost sight of the ship. The next day it opened still more, and on the 16th there was a very strong pressure in it. The ice trembled and roared like a great waterfall, and splintered into small horizontal flakes on the surface. The pressure was repeated almost every day, and more cracks and lanes were constantly to be seen for some time. But after that the ice was comparatively quiet until April 10th, when it again began to be very restless. On the night of the 15th the pressure was very strong in the lane on the port side. We were obliged to haul up the log-line with the bag and shift the sounding apparatus. The same night the ice split under two of the provision depots, so that we had to get them closer to the ship.
On the morning of the 21st we were awakened by a violent pressure astern. Nordahl came down and woke me, saying that the ice threatened to rush in over the vessel. We found that a tremendous ice-floe had been pressed up over the edge of the ice astern, and came gliding along unchecked until it ran right against our stern. But the Fram had borne shocks like this before, and now again she held her own well. The ice was split against the strong stern, and lay shattered on both sides of the ship on a level with the edge of the half-deck all the way forward to the mizzen-shrouds. The ship now lay almost loose in her berth, and the ice round about was broken up into a mass of smaller floes. As these were passed down by the heavy drifts, it was hard work to get round the ship, as one ran the risk of plumping down into the slush at any moment.
Late in the afternoon of May 13th the lane between the forge and the ship began to widen very much, so that in a couple of hours’ time it was about 90 yards wide. From the crow’s-nest I saw on the southeast a large channel extending southward as far as I could see, and the channel abaft us extended to the northeast as far as my sight could reach. I therefore went out in the “pram” to try to find a passage through to the channel on the southeast, but without result. After supper I was off again southward, but I could not find any thoroughfare. At 10 o’clock in the evening I again went up in the crow’s-nest, and now saw that the channel had widened considerably and reached away southward as far as the eye could reach, with dark air over it.
Scott-Hansen and I deliberated as to what was to be done. Although I did not believe it would do much good under the circumstances, we decided upon an attempt to blast the vessel free. We agreed to try some mines right aft, and all hands were at once put to this work. First we fired six powder-mines at about the same spot, but without much result. Then we made an unsuccessful trial with gun-cotton. At 3 o’clock in the morning we concluded operations for the time being, as the ice was so thick that the drill did not reach through, and the slush so bad that it was impossible to get the ice-floes shoved away. At 8 o’clock the next morning we laid two new mines, which Scott-Hansen and Nordahl had made ready during the night, but neither of them would go off. One or two of the mines which we had fired during the day had produced some effect, but so little that it was not worth while to continue. We were obliged to wait for a more favorable condition of the ice.
The weather during the two first weeks of January was settled and good, with clear air and 40 to 50 degrees of cold. The coldest day was January 15th, when the thermometer showed from -50° C. (-58° Fahr.) to -52° C. (-61.6° Fahr.). The last two weeks of January the temperature was considerably higher, but dropped again in February, until on the 13th it was about -48° C. (-54.4° Fahr.), after which it was somewhat higher: about -35° C. (-41° Fahr.) during the remainder of February. On March 5th the thermometer again showed 40 degrees of cold; but from that time the temperature rose quickly. Thus on March 12th it was -12°, on the 27th -6°, with a few colder days of course now and then. April was somewhat cold throughout, about -25°; the coldest day was the 13th, with -34°. The first week of May was also somewhat cold, about -20° to -25°, the second week somewhat milder, about -14°, and on May 21st we had the first rise above freezing-point of this year, the maximum thermometer showing at the evening observation +0.9°.
Some days during this winter were remarkable for very great and sudden changes in temperature. One instance was Friday, February 21st. In the morning it was cloudy, with a stiff breeze from the southeast. Late in the afternoon the wind suddenly changed to the southwest, and slackened off to a velocity of 14 feet; and the temperature went down from -7° in the morning to -25° shortly before the change in the wind, rapidly rising again to -6.2° at 8 o’clock P.M.
In my Journal I wrote of this day as follows: “I was walking on deck to-night, and before I went down had a lookout astern. When I put my head out of the tent I felt so warm a current of air that my first thought was that there must be fire somewhere on board. I soon made out, however, that it was the temperature which had risen so greatly since I was under the open sky. Scott-Hansen and I afterwards went up and placed a thermometer under the ship’s tent, where it showed -19°, while the thermometer outside showed only -6°. We walked for some time backward and forward, and breathed the warm air in deep draughts. It was beyond all description pleasant to feel the mild wind caress one’s cheek. Yes, there is a great difference between living in such a temperature and daily breathing an air 40° to 50° below freezing-point. Personally, I am not very much incommoded by it, but many complain that they feel a pain deep in the chest. I only find when I have been taking a good deal of exercise that my mouth is parched.”
The following day, February 22d, it first blew from the S.S.E., but later the wind changed to half a gale from the west, with a velocity of 55 feet per second. The barometer showed the lowest reading during the whole voyage up till then—namely, 723.6 mm. The air was so full of drifting snow that we could not see 6 feet from the ship, and the thermometer-house out on the ice was in a few minutes so packed with drift-snow that it was impossible to read off the instruments. It was not very comfortable down in the saloon, as it was impossible to create any draught. We made unsuccessful attempts to light the stoves, but soon had to take the fire away, to prevent suffocation by smoke. Sunday night the storm abated, but on Monday and Tuesday there was again half a gale, with snowfall and drift, and nearly 28 degrees of frost. Not before Wednesday afternoon did the weather improve in earnest; it then cleared up, and the wind slackened to 20 feet, so both we and the dogs could get out on the ice and take a little exercise. The dogs wanted to get out of their kennels in the morning, but even they found the weather too bad, and slunk in again.
We had a good many rough-weather days like this, not only in the winter, but also in the summer; but as a rule the rough weather lasted only a day at a time, and did not involve any great discomfort. On the contrary, we had no objection to a little rough weather, especially when it was accompanied by a fresh breeze that might drift the ice speedily westward. Of course, what most interested us was the drifting and everything connected with it. Our spirits were often far better in rough weather than on glittering days of clear weather, with only a slight breeze or a calm and a brilliant aurora borealis at night.
Pettersen and Blessing on a Hummock. April, 1895
With the drift we had reason to be well satisfied, especially in January and the first week in February. During that time we drifted all the way from the 48th to the 25th degree of longitude, while our latitude kept steady—about 84° 50′. The best drift we had was from January 28th to February 3d, when there was a constant stiff breeze blowing from the east, which on Sunday, February 2d, increased to a speed of 58 feet 6 inches to 69 feet a second, or even more during squalls. This was, however, the only real gale during the whole of our voyage. On Saturday, February 1st, we passed the longitude of Vardö, and celebrated the occasion by some festivities in the evening. On February 15th we were in 84° 20′ north latitude and 23° 28′ east longitude, and we now drifted some distance back, so that on February 29th we were in 27° east longitude. Afterwards the drift westward was very slow, but it was better towards the south, so that on May 16th we were at 83° 45′ north latitude and 12° 50′ east longitude.
The drift gave occasion to many bets, especially when it was good, and spirits proportionately high. One day at the end of January, when the line showed that we were drifting briskly in the right direction, Henriksen found his voice and said: “We have never made a bet before, captain; suppose we make a bet now as to how far south we have got.” “All right,” I said, and we accordingly made a bet of a ration of salmon, I that we were not south of 84° 40′, or between 40′ and 41′, and he said we were between 36′ and 37′. Scott-Hansen then took an observation, and found that Henriksen had lost. The latitude was 84° 40.2′.
Since the last bird of passage left us we had nowhere seen a single living creature, right up to February 28th. Not even a bear had been seen during our many rambles on the ice.
At 6 A.M. Pettersen came rushing into the cabin, and told me that he saw two bears near the ship. I hurried up on deck, but it was still so dark that I could not at once get sight of them, although Pettersen was pointing in their direction. At last I saw them trotting along slowly towards the ship. About 150 yards away they stopped. I tried to take aim at them, but as it was still too dark to be sure of my shot, I waited a little, hoping that they would come nearer. They stood for a time staring at the ship, but then wheeled round and sneaked off again. I asked Pettersen if he had something to fry which would smell really nice and strong and attract the bears back. He stood ruminating a little, then ran down-stairs, and came up again with a pan of fried butter and onions. “I am blowed if I haven’t got something savory for them,” he said, and tossed the pan up on the rail. The bears had long been out of sight. It was cold, 35 degrees I should think, and I hurried down to get my fur coat on, but before I had done so Bentzen came running down and told me to make haste, as the bears were coming back. We tore on deck at full speed, and now had the animals well within range, about 100 yards away. I squatted down behind the rail, took a good aim, and—missed fire. The bears were a little startled, and seemed to be contemplating a retreat. I quickly cocked the rifle again and fired at the largest one. It fell head over heels, with a tremendous roar. Then I fired at the second one. It first turned a fine somersault before it fell. After that they both got up and took a few steps forward, but then they both came down again. I gave them each one of the two cartridges I had left, but still this was not enough for these long-lived animals. Pettersen was very much interested in the sport. Without any weapon he ran down the gangway and away towards the bears, but then he suddenly had misgivings and called to Bentzen to follow him. Bentzen, who had no weapons either, was naturally not very keen about running after two wounded bears. After getting some more cartridges I met Pettersen midway between the bears and the Fram. The animals were now crawling along a pressure-ridge. I stopped at a distance of 30 yards, but first of all I had to shout to Pettersen, who, in his eagerness, hurried on before me, and now stood just in the line of fire. At last the great she-bear got her death-wound, and I ran along the pressure-ridge in order to see where the other one had got to. Suddenly it stuck its head up over the ridge, and I at once sent a shot through its neck close up to the head.
All hands were then called out, and great was the rejoicing. Our mouths watered at the thought of the delicious fresh meat we should now enjoy for a long time. It was about 16 months since we had last shot a bear, and for 14 months we had not had any fresh meat, except one or two dishes of seals and birds shot during the summer. We blessed Pettersen’s savory frying-pan. The bears were cut up and made into steaks, rissoles, roasts, etc. Even the bones we laid aside to make soup of. The ribs were the most succulent. We had them for dinner, and everybody voted that a sirloin of bear was a dish for a king. Accordingly we all ate very large helpings, with heartfelt wishes that it might not be long before some bears again paid us a visit.
After this Pettersen became so infatuated with bear-hunting that he talked of it early and late. One day he got it into his head that some bears would come during the night. He had such a belief in his forebodings that he made all possible preparations for the night and got Bentzen to join forces with him. Bentzen had the morning watch, and was to call him as soon as the bears appeared. A merry fellow, who wanted to make sure of seeing Pettersen bear-hunting, had taken the precaution to hang a little bell on Bentzen’s rifle, so that he could hear when they started. Unfortunately no bear appeared. Pettersen, however, had so set his heart on shooting a bear, that I had to promise to let him have a shot some time when I myself was by and had a charge ready, in case the inconceivable should happen, and Pettersen should miss—a mishap which he would find it very hard to get over.
On Sunday, March 8th, we had another instance of a sudden change in temperature like that of February 21st. In the morning it was cloudy, with a fresh breeze from the E.N.E., but at 3 P.M. the wind fell, and at 6 o’clock changed to a light S.S.E. breeze. At the same time the temperature rose from -26° to -8°, and it was very pleasant to saunter round on the half-deck in the evening and breathe the mild air.
On March 4th we saw the sun for the first time. It should have been visible the day before, but then it was too cloudy. By way of compensation it was now a double festival day, as we could celebrate both the return of the sun and Nordahl’s birthday in one.
On March 14th it was one year since Nansen and Johansen commenced their long ice-journey. The day was celebrated by a better dinner, with coffee afterwards and a punch-bowl in the evening.
Besides the usual scientific observations, which were continued without any interruptions worth mentioning, we also took soundings during the winter, but did not reach bottom with a 3000-metre line (1625 fathoms).
On April 13th Scott-Hansen and I took an observation with the theodolite, and Nordahl an observation with the sextant, on the natural horizon. According to the theodolite, the latitude was 84° 11.5′, and by the sextant 84° 13′. We had previously ascertained that there was a difference of about two minutes between the artificial and natural horizons. In using the natural horizon a smaller latitude is obtained, even though there is no mirage. The deviation will, however, under favorable circumstances, seldom exceed two minutes. But if there is much mirage, it becomes almost impossible to obtain a fairly correct result. As a rule, therefore, in taking observations in the drift-ice, one has to use the artificial horizon or theodolite, if a very exact result is desired.
As the time passed on towards spring the days became longer, and more rifts and channels were formed round the ship. It was time to think of beginning preparations for forcing the Fram ahead as soon as sufficiently large openings should appear in the ice. The things stored on the ice had been frequently shifted about in the course of the winter, but as the ice became more broken up, it was of little use to shift them. So in the middle of April we took the winter depot on board and stowed it away in the main hold. We also took on board the sacks from the coal depot, while the barrels and hogsheads, together with the dog-biscuits, kayaks, and sledges, were for the present left upon the ice. The sun at this time became so strong that on April 19th the snow began to melt away on the tent; along the ship’s side it had been melting for several days.
Lars Pettersen on Snow-shoes
The first harbinger of spring we saw this year was a snow-bunting, which made its appearance on the evening of April 25th. It took up permanent quarters in one of the sealing-boats, where it was treated with groats and scraps of food, and soon got very tame. It favored us with its presence for several days, and then flew away. The Fram had evidently been a welcome resting-place for it; it had eaten its fill, and gathered new strength for the remainder of its journey. On May 3d we were again visited by a snow-bunting, and a couple of days later by two more. I fancy it was our former guest, who in the meantime had found its mate, and now returned with her to call and thank us for our hospitality. They remained with us about an hour, and did their best to cheer us with their chirping and twittering; but as the dogs would not give them any peace, but chased them everywhere, they finally took flight, and did not return again.
After the first few days in May we removed the temporary deck, which had been laid over the davits, cleared the main-deck, and took both the sealing-boats and the long-boats on board. The gangway was also removed, and a ladder put in its place. Next we shipped the rest of the coal depot, the dog provisions, and the sledges; in fact, we took in everything that was left on the ice. All that was now left to be done was to get the engine ready for getting up steam, and this we set about on May 18th.
The dogs got on well in their kennels on the ice, in spite of the prolonged and strong cold, and we had very little trouble with them. But after the first month in the new year some of the bigger dogs became so fierce towards the smaller ones that we had to take two of the worst tyrants on board and keep them locked up for a time. They also did a good deal of mischief whenever they had an opportunity. One day, for instance, they began to gnaw at the kayaks that were placed on the top of the largest dog-kennel. However, we got hold of them in time before any serious damage was done, and cleared away the snow round the kennel, so that they could not climb up again to go on with this amusement.
On February 10th one of “Sussi’s” puppies littered. We took her on board, and laid her in a large box filled with shavings. We allowed her to keep only one of her five pups; we killed two at once, one was born dead, and she had devoured her first-born, the cannibal!
Some days later “Kara” had a litter. She was the only one of the dogs who manifested any maternal instinct. It was quite touching to see her, and we felt sorry to have to take the pups away from her; but we were forced to make away with them, not only because it was impossible to bring them up at that time of the year, but also because the mother herself was only a puppy, delicate and diminutive.
In the beginning of March the October whelps were let out all day, and on March 5th we put them, with the older dogs, under the hood of the fore-companion. In the evening the cover was put on, and when during the night the hole near the edge of the ice became filled up with snow, it got so warm in the hutch that the hoar-frost and ice melted and all the dogs got wet. The pups felt the cold terribly when they were let out in the morning, and we therefore took them down into the saloon until they were warm again.
Chapter V
The Third Summer
On the Seventeenth of May the Fram was in about 83° 45′ north latitude and 12° 50′ east longitude. We again celebrated the day with a flag procession, as on the previous Seventeenth of May. Mogstad sat on the bearskins in the sledge, driving a team of seven dogs, and with the band (i.e., Bentzen) at his side. Just as we were arranging the procession for the march upon the ice, five female narwhals suddenly appeared, and immediately afterwards a small seal was seen in the lane abreast of the ship—an enlivening sight, which we accepted as a good omen for the coming summer.
The great hummock, which was the scene of our merry-makings on the Seventeenth of May last year, was now so far away and so difficult to reach on account of lanes and rugged ice that the festivities in the open air were limited to the flag procession. The cortège took its way southward, past the thermometer-hut, to the lane, thence northward along the lane, and then back to the ship, where it dispersed, but not before it had been photographed.
At 12 o’clock a salute was fired, after which we sat down to an excellent dinner, with genuine “Château la Fram,” vintage 1896.[1] The table was laid with great taste, and there was an elegant paper napkin at each cover, with the word Fram in the corner and the following inscription:
“The Seventeenth May, our memorial day,
Recalls what our fathers have done;
It cheers us and heartens us on to the fray,
And shows us that where there’s a will there’s a way,
And, with right on our side, we may hope to display
The proud banner of victory won.”
During the dinner speeches were made in honor of the day, of Norway, of Nansen and Johansen, etc.
During the days following May 17th we were occupied in getting the engine and its appurtenances ready for work and clearing the rudder-well and the propeller-well. First we attempted to pump water into the boiler through a hose let down into a hole out upon the ice. But the cold was still so intense that the water froze in the pump. We were obliged to carry water in buckets and pour it into the boiler by means of a canvas hose, made for the occasion and carried from the boiler to the hatchway above the engine-room. Amundsen thought at first that he had got the bottom cock clear so that he could let the water run direct into the boiler, but it soon became evident that it was too slow work as long as there was still any ice around the cock. Later on we hoisted the funnel and lighted the furnaces, and on the afternoon of May 19th the steam was up for the first time since we got into the ice in the autumn of 1893.
Next we cut away as much of the ice as possible in the propeller-well, and carried a steam hose down into it. It was very effectual. We also attempted to use the steam for melting away the ice in the propeller-sheath around the shaft, but without apparent success. We easily procured water for the boiler now by filling the water-tank on the deck with ice and melting it with steam.
After supper we went down into the engine-room to try to turn the shaft, and finally we succeeded in giving it a three-quarters turn. This was victory, and we were all fully satisfied with the day’s work.
The following day we melted away the ice in the rudder-well by steam, and at 1.30 P.M. Amundsen began to “move” the engine. Some large pieces of ice floated up from the rudder-stock or frame; we fished them up, and everything was in order. Amundsen let the engine work some time, and everybody was down with him to see the wonder with their own eyes, and to be convinced that he really had got it to turn round.
This was quite an event for us. It filled us with renewed courage and hope of soon getting out of our long captivity, though the way might be ever so long and weary. The Fram was no longer a helpless ball, tossed to and fro at the caprice of the drift-ice. Our gallant ship had awakened to renewed life after her year-long winter sleep, and we rejoiced to feel the first pulsations of her strongly beating heart. It seemed as if the Fram understood us, and wanted to say: “Onward! southward! homeward!”
The state of the ice around the ship, however, was still far from being so favorable as to give us any prospect of getting out just at present. It is true that symptoms of spring began to show themselves; the temperature rose, and the snow vanished rapidly; but we still remained at about the same latitude where we had been lying for months—namely, at about 84°. From the crow’s-nest, indeed, we could see a large channel, which extended southward as far as the eye could reach; but to get through the belt of ice, over 200 yards wide, which separated us from it, was impossible before the thick pack-ice slackened somewhat. We therefore made no attempt to blast the ship free, but devoted our time to various duties on board, did whatever was left undone, got the steam windlass in order, examined all our cordage, and so forth.
In the hole in the ice which was always kept open for the striking of the log-line, we had placed the heads of the two bears, so that the amphipodes might pick off the meat for us, a task which they usually perform quickly and effectually. One day, when a swarm of amphipodes appeared above the bears’ heads, Scott-Hansen caught a lot of them in a bag-net, and had them cooked for supper, intending to give us a regular treat. But we were sadly disappointed. There was not a particle of meat on the miserable creatures—nothing but shells and emptiness. If we put a couple of dozen into our mouths at a time they tasted somewhat like shrimps. But I am afraid that were we limited to such fare, and nothing else, we should soon diminish unpleasantly in weight.
In the later days of May the prospects became brighter, as the wind changed to half a gale from the east and north. The ice began to drift slowly towards the southwest, and continued to slacken at the same time, so that on May 29th we could see to the southward a good deal of open water, with dark air above, as far as the eye could reach.
After several requests had been made to me, I decided to make an attempt at blasting the vessel clear. At 1 P.M. we set off a mine of 110 pounds of gunpowder. It had an astonishingly good effect, wrenching up heavy masses of ice and sending them rushing out into the channel. Our hopes revived, and it really seemed that another such blasting would entirely liberate the vessel. Immediately after dinner we went to work to lay out another large mine 20 yards abaft the stern. It gave us an incredible amount of work to make a hole in the ice to get the charge down. We first bored a hole; then we tried to make it larger by blowing it out by means of small gunpowder charges, and later with gun-cotton; but it was of no avail. Then we had to resort to lances, ice-picks, steam—in short, to every possible means; but all in vain. The ice had, however, got so cracked in all directions, owing to the many charges which had been exploded in the same place, that we presumed that a large mine in the log-line hole would blow up the whole mass. As the ice was thinner at that part, the mine was lowered to a depth of 10 yards. It exploded with terrific effect. A mighty column of water was forced as high as the foretop. It did not consist of water alone, but contained a good many lumps of ice, which rained down for some distance round. One piece of over one hundredweight came down right through the tent and on to the forecastle; other pieces flew over the vessel, and fell on the starboard side. Scott-Hansen and Henriksen, who were standing on the ice at the electric battery used for firing the mine, were not pleasantly situated when the mine exploded. When the shock came they of course started to run as fast as their legs would carry them, but they did not get away quickly enough to reach the deep snow. The pieces of ice rained unmercifully down upon their backs. After a great deal of trouble we laid and fired two other large gunpowder mines, besides some smaller ones, but without much effect. We then began to bore holes for two gun-cotton mines, which were to be fired simultaneously. But when we had got down two and a half drill-lengths the screw broke, and before we could proceed new grooves had to be filed on the other drill before we could use it again. At 12 o’clock at night we knocked off work, after having been at it unceasingly since the morning.
Next day at 6 o’clock the boring was continued. But the ice was so hard and difficult to work at that, although four men were handling the drill, we had to erect a small crane with tackle to hoist the drill out every time it got clogged up. The ice was so thick that it took four drill-lengths (about 20 feet) to make a hole through it. One of the gun-cotton mines was now lowered into the hole, while the other was put beneath the edge of an old channel by means of a long pole. Both mines were fired simultaneously, but only one exploded. We connected the wires, and then the other went off too. But the result was far from answering our expectations. Although the large mines were carried down to a depth of 20 yards where the ice was thin, the resistance was too great for us.
The blasting was now discontinued till June 2d, when during the night the ice opened up along the old lane close to the vessel. First we fired a gun-cotton mine right abaft. It took effect, and split the ice close to the stern. Next we drilled a hole about 16 feet deep right abreast of the ship, and loaded it with 10 prismer, or 330 grammes, of gun-cotton (equivalent to about 30 pounds of ordinary gunpowder); but as I thought it would be too risky to explode a mine of this strength so near the vessel, we first fired a small gunpowder mine of 11 pounds, to see what effect it would have. The result was insignificant, so the large mine was fired. It made things lively indeed! The ship received such a shock that one of the paintings and a rifle fell down on the floor in the saloon, and the clock in my cabin was hurled from the wall. It was evidently felt in the engine-room as well, for Amundsen had a bottle and a lamp-chimney smashed. On the ice the explosion took such good effect that the ship nearly broke loose at one blow; she was now merely hanging on a little forward and aft. With a little more work we might have got quite clear the same evening, but I left her as she was to avoid the trouble of mooring her. Instead of that we had something extra after supper; we considered that we had done such a good stroke of work that day that we deserved a reward.
Next morning we blew away the ice that held our bow. I myself took a pickaxe and commenced to hack away at the ice which held the stern fast. I had hardly been at work at this for more than four or five minutes before the vessel suddenly gave a lurch, settled a little deeper at the stern, and moved away from the edge of the ice, until the hawsers became taut. She now lay about 6 inches higher at the bow than when she froze fast in the autumn. Thus the Fram was free, and ready to force her way through the ice as soon as the circumstances would permit. But we were still unable to move.
Even in the month of May there had been signs of whales and seals in the channels, and an occasional sea-bird had also put in an appearance. During the months of June and July there was still more animal life around us, so that we could soon go in for hunting to our hearts’ content. During the summer we not only shot a number of fulmars, black guillemots, skuas, auks, and little auks, but also a couple of eider-ducks, and even a brace of broad-beaked snipe. We also shot a number of small seals, but only got hold of six; the others sank so rapidly that we could not reach them in time. As a matter of course, we welcomed every opportunity of a hunting expedition, especially when there was a bear in the case. It was not often he did us the honor, but the greater was the excitement and interest when his appearance was announced. Then the lads would get lively, and hastily prepare to give the visitor a suitable reception. Altogether we killed sixteen or seventeen full-grown bears during the summer, and a young one, which we captured alive, but had to kill later on, as it made a fearful noise on board.
One night in the beginning of June, when Henriksen was on his way to the observation-house to take the readings of the instruments, a bear suddenly came upon him. Before starting on his scientific quest he had been prudent enough to go up on the bridge to have a look around and see whether the coast was clear, but he did not observe anything suspicious. When he approached the observation-house he suddenly heard a hissing sound close by, and caught sight of a grinning bear, which was standing at a pressure-ridge staring at him. Naturally Henriksen felt anything but comfortable at this unexpected meeting, unarmed as he was. He at first considered whether he should beat a dignified retreat, or whether he should fly at the top of his speed. Both parties were equally far from the vessel, and if the bear had evil intentions it might be advisable to retreat without delay before he approached any nearer. He started off as fast as he could, and was not sure whether the beast was not at his heels; but he reached the vessel safely and seized his gun, which was standing ready on deck. Before he came out upon the ice again the dogs had scented the bear, and at once attacked him. The bear at first jumped up on the observation-house, but the dogs followed, so down he went again, and with such alacrity, too, that Henriksen had no time to fire. The bear started off to the nearest channel, where he disappeared both from the dogs and the hunter. In his eagerness “Gorm” jumped out upon some pieces of ice which were floating in the thick brash in the channel, and now he was afraid to jump back again. There he sat howling. I heard the wailing, and soon caught sight of him from the crow’s-nest, whereupon Scott-Hansen and I started off and rescued him.
Some days later, at about 10 o’clock in the morning, we heard Nordahl crying, “Bear!” and all hurried on deck with our rifles. But the dogs had had the start of us, and had already put the bears to flight. Mogstad perceived, however, from the crow’s-nest, that the dogs had come up with them at a small lane, where they had taken the water, and he then came down to tell me. He and I started off in pursuit. The condition of the ice was good, and we made rapid progress; but as we had the wind on our side, it was some time before we could distinguish the barking of the dogs so as to be able to guide ourselves by it. Presently I caught sight of one of the dogs behind a small ridge; soon I saw some more, and at last I sighted the bears. They were both sitting on a floe in the channel, leaning with their backs against a big piece of ice. Two of the dogs had jumped out upon the floe, while the others stood on guard round the channel or pool. The dogs had played their part well, keeping such a close watch upon the bears that we had no difficulty in giving them their quietus. They both tumbled over on the spot; but as they moved slightly, we gave them a final shot, just to make sure.
Well, there they lay. But to get out to them was not so easy. Finally, having walked round the pool, we succeeded in getting out upon the floe from the other side, where the distance from the solid ice was less and where some small floes formed a kind of bridge. We cleaned the game, and then tried to haul the bodies over upon the solid ice. This we accomplished by putting a running noose over the muzzles of the bears and pulling them through the water to the edge of the ice, where we pushed some small floes beneath them; and then, with our united strength, we hauled them up. When homeward bound we met Nordahl, Pettersen, Bentzen, Henriksen, and the mate, who had guessed from the report of our guns that there was business on hand, and had started out to meet us with sledges and harness for the dogs. The sledges were lashed together, one bear was placed on each, and, with nine dogs harnessed to them and a man sitting astride each bear, off they went at such a speed that the rest of us had to run to keep pace with them.
On the night of June 24th we again received a visit from two bears. Nordahl discovered them when, at 12 o’clock, he went out to the observation-house; he came running back, and called those who had not yet gone to bed. But when they hurried out upon the ice the bears saw them immediately and disappeared.
Three days later a she-bear, with a young cub, came trotting towards the vessel at noon. We burned some blubber in order to attract them, but the bear was very cautious, and it was some time before she approached to within 200 to 300 yards. Then the mate could not restrain himself any longer and fired, so the rest of us sent her a few shots at the same time, and she fell after walking a few paces. Some of us took the “pram” and pulled across to the place, as there was a wide channel between the bear and the vessel. The cub, poor thing, was a fine little fellow, with almost perfectly white fur and a dark muzzle; it was about the size of one of our smallest dogs. When they came up, he sat down on his mother’s body, remained there quite still, and seeming for the present to take matters calmly. Henriksen put a strap around his neck, and when the mother was conveyed to the channel he followed quite willingly, and sat down on her back again when she was towed across. But when, on arriving at the ship, he found he was to be separated from his mother and brought on board, it was quite another story. He resisted with all his strength, and was in a perfect rage. He got worse when he was let loose under the companion-hood on board. He carried on like a frenzied being, biting, tearing, growling, and howling with wild rage, like a veritable fiend, ceasing only as long as he was occupied in devouring the pieces of meat thrown to him. Never have I seen in any one creature such a combination of all the most savage qualities of wild beasts as I found in this little monster. And he was still quite a cub! In the evening I gave orders to rid us of this unpleasant passenger, and Mogstad ended his days with a well-aimed blow of the hatchet.
For about a fortnight we saw no bears, but during the night of July 12th we had a visit from three, one of which, after a hot pursuit, was killed by Scott-Hansen, the mate, Nordahl, and Bentzen. The dogs, too, did good service this time. The other two bears sneaked off at the first shot, and were lost to sight in the fog.
On the evening of July 18th Mogstad and I shot a bear, which we should hardly have got hold of but for the sagacity and alacrity of “Bella.” The dogs at first attacked him once or twice, but after a short resistance he jumped into the water, and crossed over two broad lanes, which it took the dogs a long time to get round. He was just about to plunge into a third channel when “Bella,” who in the meantime had come round, intercepted him not 20 feet from the edge. At a distance of 200 or 300 yards Mogstad fired, and was lucky enough to hit him in the head, bringing him down, and he now made only some feeble attempts to keep the dogs off. I then sent him a shot behind the shoulder; but, as he was not quite dead, Mogstad gave him the final one.
On July 20th the mate shot a large bear, which came swimming across a channel; and we killed our last bear on the evening of August 6th, but in such an awkward position that we had to leave the meat, and it was as much as we could do to get the hide on board.
In the matter of birds, we were also pretty fortunate. For instance, Scott-Hansen and I one night shot 9 little auks, 1 kittiwake, and 1 skua, and the following day 21 more little auks and 2 black guillemots. Henriksen in one day’s shooting bagged 18 little auks and 1 black guillemot, and Nordahl, 26 little auks and 1 black guillemot; and, later on, when there had been an abundance of game for some days, we killed as many as 30 to 40 birds in the course of a few hours.
This hunting life had not only a beneficial effect upon our spirits, which occasionally were rather low, but it also gave us an appetite, which sometimes was quite ravenous. When we were weighed at the end of the month we found that, whereas some of us had previously been losing weight, we had now steadily and uniformly increased from the time when auk’s breast, roast guillemot, stewed kittiwake, skua soup, and last, but not least, ribs of bear, became the daily fare on board.
Indeed, we stood in need of all the encouragement and good living which our hunting procured us. The state of the ice was anything but cheering, and the prospect of getting out of it during the present year became less every day.
During the first days following the release of the Fram the ice was comparatively quiet; but on June 8th and 9th we had some bad pressures, especially on the latter day, when the stern of the vessel was pressed about 6 feet upward, so that the rudder-well was quite out of the water, while the bow was raised about 2 feet, with 4° list to port. On the 10th and 11th the pressure was also strong, especially during the night, from 11.30 P.M. till 3 or 4 A.M.
Finally the ice slackened so much on the morning of June 12th that there was a prospect of warping the vessel some distance ahead. As the brash was still very thick we did not think it possible to haul ourselves along without using the steam windlass, so I gave orders to start a fire under the boiler. But before steam was up the channel opened so much that we succeeded in warping the ship through the narrowest passage. When steam was up we steamed through the pool, where I had found a good berth for the ship. As the rudder was not yet shipped I had sometimes to go astern, so as to be able to turn the vessel. We remained there till June 14th, when the ice slackened a little, and we saw a channel in a S.S.W. direction, and determined to make for it. So we lighted the furnace, shipped the rudder, and made at full speed for a narrow rift, which led into the channel. Time after time we forced the vessel into the rift, but all in vain: the edges would not budge a hair’s-breadth. I let the vessel remain for some time, working at full speed endeavoring to force the rift, altering the position of the rudder occasionally. This manœuvre was partially successful, as we got the vessel into the rift as far as the fore-rigging. But that was all we could do. The opening began to close up, and we had to return and moor in the same place as before. This was all the more provoking as the whole opening was not longer than about three-fourths the ship’s length.
We remained there till the evening of the 27th, when the ice slackened so much that I decided to make a new attempt. We got up steam and commenced to force the ice at 11.30. It was slow work in the heavy ice, and at 2 o’clock we had to moor the ship, having advanced about 2 miles S.E. by S. We tried the engine this time as a compound engine, with a favorable result. It made 160 revolutions per minute; but the consumption of coal was of course correspondingly greater, almost twice as much as usual. We remained there about a week, until on July 3d the ice opened sufficiently to allow us to advance about 3 miles through a channel, which ran S.S.W. During the night between the 6th and the 7th we made another attempt to force the ice, but had only made about 1 mile when we had to moor again.
The southerly wind which predominated at that time held the ice thickly packed together, and there was no drift to speak of. On the other hand, there had been since the middle of June a good deal of current, owing to the set of the tide. We could not, however, observe that the current really flowed in any definite direction; sometimes the line would show every point in the compass during the twenty-four hours. The current was, however, often very strong, and would occasionally spin the ice-floes around in the channels in a way that made you uncomfortable to look at it. The ship, too, would often receive such violent shocks from these dancing floes and blocks of ice that loose objects tumbled down, and the whole rigging shook. The sea continued very deep. For instance, on July 6th we could not get bottom at 3000 metres (1625 fathoms); but two days later—we were then about 83° 2′ north latitude—we took soundings and reached bottom at 3400 metres (1841 fathoms).
On July 6th we succeeded in warping the ship some two or three short stretches at a time, but it was slow and hard work: the ice was bad, and the contrary wind impeded us very much. But though progress was slow, yet progress it was, and I gave orders that the ship should be hauled along as often as there was any opportunity to advance a little southward.
But although we struggled along in this manner by short distances at a time, the observation on the 13th revealed to us the fact that we had actually been drifting a considerable way backward, having returned to 83° 12′ north latitude. It might seem ridiculous, under such circumstances, to continue pushing forward; but, gloomy as the prospects were, we tried to keep up our hopes, and were ready to utilize the very first chance which should present itself.
Late in the evening of July 17th the ice began to slacken so much that we decided to get up steam. True, it closed up again at once, but nevertheless we kept up steam. Nor were we disappointed, for at 1 o’clock in the morning the water opened so much that we were able to steam ahead, and we made 3 miles in a southerly direction. Later in the morning we were stopped by an immense floe of ice, extending many miles; and we had to make fast. The whole day following we remained there. About midnight the ice slackened a good deal, but the fog was so dense that we could see nothing. At last, on the 19th, we made what we considered excellent headway. Starting when the fog lifted a little in the forenoon, we made about 10 miles from 12.30 P.M. till 8 P.M. This stroke of good luck made our spirits revive wonderfully, and they rose still more the following day when, notwithstanding the fog and though we had to stop three times, we advanced from 83° 14′ in the morning to 82° 52′ at noon and 82° 39′ midnight. From the 20th to the 27th we continued to make good progress. By midnight on the last-named day we had reached 81° 32′ north latitude.
From July 27th till August 2d it was slow and tiresome work. By August 2d we had not got beyond 81° 26′ north latitude. At the same time we had been carried some distance eastward—namely, to 13° 41′ east longitude.
On Monday, August 3d, we made about 2 miles to the southwest, but had to remain moored in impossible waters till the 8th, when it slackened so much around the vessel that we were able to proceed again at 9 A.M. However, we had only made about 6 miles, when we were stopped by a long, narrow strait. We tried blasting with ordinary gunpowder, and later with gun-cotton, and time after time we steamed full speed against the smaller floes that blocked the strait, but without effect. These floes, as a rule, are not so small and innocent as they appear. They consist generally of the fragments of old, thick, and very tough pressure-ridges which have been broken up. When these pieces get free, they sink deep below the surface of the water, leaving only a comparatively insignificant part of them discernible, while the lower parts may be very large. It was precisely this description of floe that blocked the channel against us. They were so tough that it was useless to try to break them with the stem of the vessel, although we repeatedly made at them with full speed. We could plainly see how the tough old ice bent and rose up at the shock without breaking. The blasting of such floes was frequently impracticable, as they were of such a thickness that we were unable to lay the mine under them. And even if we succeeded in blowing up one of these floes we gained little or nothing, as the channel was too narrow to allow the pieces to float astern, and they were too heavy and thick to be forced beneath the solid edge of ice.
Occasionally it happened that old, thick ice suddenly emerged from beneath the water in a channel or opening which we were just about to pass into, thus blocking up the passage before us. On one of these occasions the Fram received a blow in the ribs that hardly any other vessel would have withstood. As we were passing through an open channel I saw from the crow’s-nest one end of a large submerged floe appearing above the edge of the solid ice, and I immediately gave orders to steer clear so as to pass round it. But at the very moment when we reckoned to clear it the floe was released, and came to the surface with such a rush that the spray rose high into the air and struck the Fram at the fore-rigging on the starboard side with such tremendous force that the ship lurched violently and fell about 10 points out of her course, until she ran up against some small floes. When the monster floe emerged it lifted a huge mass of water and sent it like a roaring cataract out into the channel.
Something similar happened when we occasionally touched a drifting hummock that was just on the point of rolling over, owing to the quicker melting of the ice below the water-line. The slightest push would be enough to capsize the hummock and turn it over in such a violent way that the sea around us would become as agitated as during a storm.
Flaying Walruses
(By Otto Sinding, from a photograph)
On August 9th we worked the whole day clearing the channel, but only made slight headway. On the 10th the work was continued, and in the course of the forenoon we finally succeeded in getting through. During the rest of the day we also made some headway to the south until the ice became impassable, and we were compelled to make fast at 10 P.M., having made about 2 miles.
On account of the fog we were unable to take any observation until the 9th, when we found ourselves in 81° 48′ north latitude, the last latitude observation we made in the drift-ice.
On Tuesday, the 11th, we again proceeded southward by dint of arduous labor in clearing floes and brash, which often blocked our way. At 7.30 P.M. we had to make fast in a narrow strait, until, in the course of the night, we cleared the obstacles away and were able to proceed to the southwest. Progress was, however, slow, and on the morning of August 12th we were stopped by a very awkward floe. We tried to blast it away, but while we were at work on this the ice tightened up quickly, and left the vessel imprisoned between two big floes. In the course of a couple of hours it slackened again in a S.W. direction, and we steamed off in comparatively fair channels until 12.30 P.M., when a floe stopped our farther progress. We had made 9½ miles in about five hours this forenoon. Some thin ice now appeared, and from the crow’s-nest we could see, when the fog cleared off a little for a few moments, several large channels running in a southerly direction both east and west of our position. Besides, we noticed an increase in the number of birds and small seals, and we also saw an occasional bearded seal—all evidences that we could not be very far from the open water.
Between 3 and 4 P.M. we were released from the floes which had held us enclosed, and at 5.30 P.M. we steamed off in a S.E. direction through steadily improving ice. The ice now became noticeably thin and brittle, so that we were able to force the smaller floes. From 5.30 P.M. till midnight we advanced about 16 miles; the engine was used as compound during the last watch.
After midnight on August 13th we steered S.W., then S. and S.E., the ice continuing to grow slacker. At 3 o’clock we sighted a dark expanse of water to the S.S.E., and at 3.45 we steered through the last ice-floes out into open water.[2]
We were free! Behind us lay three years of work and hardships, with their burden of sad thought during the long nights, before us life and reunion with all those who were dear to us. Just a few more days! A chaos of contending feelings came over each and every one. For some time it seemed as if we could hardly realize what we saw, as if the deep blue, lapping water at the bow were an illusion, a dream. We were still a good way above the eightieth degree of latitude, and it is only in very favorable summers that ice-free water stretches so far north. Were we, perhaps, in a large, open pool? Had we still a great belt of ice to clear?
No, it was real! The free, unbounded sea was around us on every side; and we felt, with a sense of rapture, how the Fram gently pitched with the first feeble swells.
We paid the final honors to our vanquished antagonist by firing a thundering salute as a farewell. One more gaze at the last faint outlines of hummocks and floes, and the mist concealed them from our view.
We now shaped our course by the compass S.S.E., as the fog was still so dense that no observation could be taken. Our plan was at first to steer towards Red Bay, get our landfall, and thence to follow the west coast of Spitzbergen southward till we found a suitable anchoring-place, where we could take in water, shift the coal from the hold into the bunkers, and, in fact, make the Fram quite ship-shape for our homeward trip.
At 7 A.M., when the fog lifted slightly, we sighted a sail on to port, and shaped our course for her, in order to speak to her and try to get some news of Dr. Nansen and Johansen. In an hour or so we were quite near her. She was lying to, and did not seem to have sighted us until we were close on her. The mate then ran down to announce that a monster ship was bearing down upon them in the fog. Soon the deck was crowded with people, and just as the captain put his head out the Fram passed close up on the weather-side of the vessel, and we greeted her in passing with a thundering broadside from our starboard cannon. We then turned round astern of her, and fired another salute to leeward, after which “hostilities” were discontinued. No doubt it was a rather demonstrative way of making ourselves known to our countrymen, who were lying there so peacefully, drifting in the morning mist, and probably thinking more of seals and whales than of the Fram. But we trust that Captain Botolfsen and his crew will forgive us our overflowing joy at this our first meeting with human beings after three long years.
The vessel was the galliot Söstrene (The Sisters), of Tromsö. The first question which was shouted to him as we passed alongside was this: “Have Nansen and Johansen arrived?” We had hoped to receive a roaring “Yes,” and were ready to greet the answer with a thundering “Hurrah” and salute; but the answer we got was short and sad “No.”
Captain Botolfsen and some of his crew came on board to us, and had to go through a regular cross-fire of questions of every conceivable kind. Such an examination they had certainly never been subjected to, and probably never will be again.
Among the many items of news which we received was one to the effect that the Swedish aeronaut, Engineer Andrée, had arrived at Danes Island, intending to proceed thence by balloon to discover the North Pole.
Botolfsen came with us as a passenger, leaving his vessel in charge of the mate, and accompanied us as far as Tromsö. We reshaped our course about noon for Red Bay, intending to steam from there to Danes Island and see Mr. Andrée. About midnight we sighted land ahead, and supposed it to be the cape immediately to the west of Red Bay. It was 1041 days since we last saw land.
We lay to for some time at this point, waiting for the fog to clear away sufficiently to allow us to find the landmarks. As it did not clear, we steamed slowly westward, taking frequent soundings, and soon found ourselves, as we anticipated, right in “Norsksundet” (Norwegian Sound), and proceeding up, we anchored at 9.30 A.M., off “Hollændernæset” (Dutch Cape). The fog was now cleared, and we soon saw the steamship Virgo, of the Andrée Expedition, and the balloon-house ashore.
Through the telescope we could see that our arrival had been observed, and a steam-launch soon came alongside with Mr. Andrée, the other members of the expedition, and Captain Zachau, of the Virgo.
Neither could these gentlemen give us any news of the fate of our comrades. Our spirits became still more depressed than before. We had confidently expected that Nansen and Johansen would reach home before us. Now it seemed as if we were to be the first to arrive.
We did not, however, entertain any serious fears for their safety, especially when we learned that the Jackson expedition had spent two winters in Franz Josef Land. It was highly probable that Dr. Nansen and Johansen would sooner or later meet with this expedition, and were, perhaps, only waiting for a chance of getting home. But if they had not met with Jackson, something had evidently gone amiss with them, in which case they needed assistance, and that as soon as possible.
Our plans were soon laid. We would hurry home to Tromsö to get reliable information, and, in case nothing had been learned there either, we would complete our coal supply—we were not in want of anything else—and immediately proceed to Franz Josef Land, to make a search for them, and, as we hoped, have the unspeakable pleasure of bringing them home to our expectant fatherland in our own faithful Fram.
Our stay at Danes Island was consequently cut as short as possible. We paid visits to the Virgo, saw the balloon, which was now ready to start as soon as a favorable wind would permit of it, and received return visits from our amiable Swedish friends. During the night we finished taking in water and shifting the coal; the vessel was ready for sea, and at 3 A.M. on August 15th the Fram steamed off, with sails set, through Sneerenburg Bay and out to sea.
During the passage across we had good weather and a fair and often fresh breeze, the vessel making good speed: upward of 9¼ knots.
At 9 A.M. on the 19th we saw the first blue ridges of our native mountains. By noon we sighted Lögö, and at 8 P.M. the north point of Loppen. Then we steered into Kvænangen Fjord, and anchored off Skjærvö at 2 o’clock in the morning of August 20th.
As soon as the anchor had fallen, I called the doctor and Scott-Hansen, who both wanted to go ashore with me. But as they were too slow with their toilet, I asked Bentzen to put me ashore in the pram, and was soon at the telegraph station, where I tried to knock life into the people by thundering with my clinched fist first at one door, then at another, but for a long time in vain. At last a man put his head out of a window on the second floor to inquire what kind of night-prowlers were making such a disturbance. It was the chief of the telegraph station himself. He describes the nocturnal incident in a letter to one of the Christiania newspapers in the following pleasant manner:
“It was with anything but amiable feelings and intentions that at about half-past four I turned out to see what wretch it was who was making such a lively rattle at my front door. Rather lightly clad, I put my head out of the window, and roared out, ‘Hallo! What’s the matter? Deuce of a noise to make at this time of night!’
“A man dressed in gray, with a heavy beard, stepped forward. There was something about his appearance that made me think at once that I had perhaps been somewhat too hasty in giving vent to my displeasure at being called up, and I felt a little crestfallen when he slyly remarked, ‘Yes, that’s true; but all the same I must ask you to open the door. I come from the Fram.’ Immediately it dawned upon me who it was. It could be none other than Sverdrup. ‘Coming directly, captain,’ I answered, and jumping into the most necessary clothes, down I went to let him in. He was not at all annoyed at the long waiting, or the unfriendly words with which he had been received, when he set foot again in his native country after the long and famous expedition, but was very kind and good-humored when I begged his pardon for the rudeness with which I had received him. In my inmost heart I made an even warmer apology than I had stammered out in my first embarrassment.
“When Sverdrup was seated, the first question was naturally as to the way he had come. They had just arrived from off the coast of Spitzbergen. On the 13th they had got out into open water, where they almost immediately met with Captain Botolfsen, from Tromsö, who was there with his whaling-ship. They had brought him with them. They had next visited Andrée, who was about to pack up and go home, and had then proceeded to this place. They had first learned from Botolfsen, and then from Andrée, who ought to have had some of the latest tidings from Norway, that nothing was known about Nansen, whom they hoped to find at home, and the joy they were feeling at the prospect of reaching home soon was considerably damped by this news.
“‘Ah, but I can give you news of Nansen,’ said I. ‘He arrived at Vardö on August 13th, and is now at Hammerfest. He’s probably starting for Tromsö to-day in an English yacht.’
“‘Has Nansen arrived?’
“The stalwart form bounded up in a state of excitement rarely shown by this man, and exclaiming, ‘I must tell the others at once,’ he vanished out of the door.
“A moment later he returned, accompanied by Scott-Hansen, Blessing, Mogstad, and Bentzen, all of them perfectly wild with joy at the latest news, which crowned all, and allowed them to give full vent to their exultation at being once more in their native land after their long and wearisome absence, which the uncertain fate of their leader and his comrade would otherwise have damped. And they did rejoice! ‘Is it true? Has Nansen arrived?’ was repeated on all sides. ‘What a day this is, what joy! And what a curious coincidence that Nansen should arrive on the same day that we cleared the last ice and steered homeward!’ And they congratulated each other, all quivering with emotion, these sturdy fellows.
“In the early morning two thundering reports were suddenly heard from the Fram, followed by the ringing cheers of the crew in honor of their absent comrades. The inhabitants of the place, who were fast asleep, were quite startled, and soon got out of bed; but when it finally dawned upon them that it could be none other than the Fram, they were not slow in turning out to have a look at her.
“As they anchored here, the fragrance of the new-mown hay was wafted to them from the shore, and to them it seemed marvellous. The green meadows with their humble flowers, and the few trees bent and almost withered by the merciless wind and weather, looked to them so delightful that our poor island was a veritable Eden in their eyes. ‘Yes, to-day they would have a good roll on the grass.’
“For the rest, Mother Nature was as smiling and festally arrayed as could be expected so late in the year in these northern latitudes. The fjord was calm, as though it feared by the faintest ripple to interrupt the tranquillity which enveloped the tried and weather-beaten warrior now resting upon its smooth surface.
“They were all quite enthusiastic about the vessel. I do not believe there is a man on board who does not love the Fram. Sverdrup declared that a ‘stronger and finer ship had never been built, and was not to be found in the wide world!’”
On my way to the fjord I met five of our comrades. Nordahl hurried at once on board with the glad tidings, while the rest of us settled down with the telegraph manager around a smoking cup of coffee, which tasted delicious. A better welcome we could not have had. But it did not end with the coffee or with the telegraph manager. Soon the popping of champagne corks sounded successively in the houses of the store-keeper and local magistrate, while the telegraph manager sent message upon message announcing our arrival to Dr. Nansen, his Majesty the King, the Norwegian Government, and to relations and friends.
At 10 A.M. we weighed anchor and set off to meet Nansen and Johansen at Tromsö, passed to the north of Skjærvö, and steamed south. Off Ulfstinden we met the steamer King Halfdan, with 600 passengers on board, coming from Tromsö to meet us. We accepted the offer to take us in tow, and at 8.30 P.M. the Fram glided into the harbor of Tromsö, accompanied by hundreds of flag-covered boats, and was received with cheers and hearty welcome.
Next day, August 25th, at 4 P.M., Sir George Baden-Powell’s steam-yacht Otaria, with Dr. Nansen and Johansen on board, arrived. After a separation of seventeen months, our number was again complete, and the Norwegian Polar Expedition was once more united.
[1] This claret was made for the occasion, and consisted of the juice of dried red whortleberries and bilberries, with the addition of a little spirits. I was highly complimented on this beverage, and served it again on other occasions.
[2] Twenty-eight days’ work of forcing this more or less closely packed ice had brought us a distance of 180 miles.