Chapter IV.
Nansen Meets Nordenskjöld.[1]—Preparations for the Greenland Expedition.—Nansen’s Followers on the Expedition.—Starting on the Expedition.—Drifting on an Ice-floe.—Landing on East Coast of Greenland.
Nansen had an arduous task before him in the spring of 1888, one that demanded all his strength and energy, for he would take his doctor’s degree, and make preparations for his expedition to Greenland.
He had already, in the autumn of 1887, made up his mind to accomplish both these things. In November of that year, accordingly, he went to Stockholm to confer with Nordenskjöld. Professor Brögger, who introduced him to that gentleman, gives the following account of the interview:—
“On Thursday, Nov. 3, as I was sitting in my study in the Mineralogical Institute, my messenger came in and said a Norwegian had been inquiring for me. He had left no card, neither had he given his name. Doubtless, I thought, it was some one who wanted help out of a difficulty.
“‘What was he like?’ I inquired.
“‘Tall and fair,’ replied the messenger.
“‘Was he dressed decently?’ I asked.
“‘He hadn’t an overcoat on.’ This with a significant smile, as he added, ‘Looked for all the world like a seafaring man—or a tramp.’
“‘Humph!’ I muttered to myself; ‘sailor with no overcoat! Very likely thinks I’m going to give him one—yes, I think I understand.’
“Later on in the afternoon Wille[2] came in. ‘Have you seen Nansen?’ he said.
“‘Nansen?’ I replied. ‘Was that sailor fellow without an overcoat Nansen?’
“‘Without an overcoat! Why, he means to cross over the inland ice of Greenland;’ and out went Wille—he was in a hurry.
“Presently entered Professor Lecke with the same question, ‘Have you seen Nansen? Isn’t he a fine fellow? such a lot of interesting discoveries he told me of, and then his researches into the nervous system—a grand fellow!’ and off went Lecke.
“But before long the man himself entered the room. Tall, upright, broad-shouldered, strongly built, though slim and very youthful looking, with his shock of hair brushed off his well-developed forehead. Coming toward me and holding out his hand, he introduced himself by name, while a pleasing smile played over his face.
“‘And you mean to cross over Greenland?’ I asked.
“‘Yes; I’ve been thinking of it,’ was the reply.
“I looked him in the face, as he stood before me with an air of conscious self-reliance about him. With every word he spoke he seemed to grow on me; and this plan of his to cross over Greenland on ski from the east coast, which but a moment ago I had looked on as a madman’s idea, during our conversation gradually grew on me, till it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world; and all at once it flashed on my mind, ‘And he’ll do it, too, as sure as ever we are sitting here talking about it.’
“He, whose name but two hours ago I had not known, became in those few minutes (and it all came about so naturally) as if he were an old acquaintance, and I felt I should be proud and fortunate indeed to have him for my friend my whole life through.
“‘We will go and see Nordenskjöld at once,’ I said, rising up. And we went.
“With his strange attire,—he was dressed in a tight-fitting, dark-blue blouse or coatee, a kind of knitted jacket,—he was, as may be supposed, stared at in Drottning-gatan. Some people, indeed, took him for an acrobat or tight-rope dancer.”
Nordenskjöld, “old Nor” as he was often termed, was in his laboratory, and looked up sharply as his two visitors entered the room, for he was, as ever, “busy.”
The professor saluted, and introduced his companion, “Conservator Nansen from Bergen, who purposes to cross over the inland ice of Greenland.”
“The deuce he does!” muttered “old Nor,” staring with all his eyes at the fair-haired young viking.
“And would like to confer with you about it,” continued the professor.
“Quite welcome; and so Herr Nansen thinks of crossing over Greenland?”
“Yes; such was his intention.” Thereon, without further ado, he sketched out his projected plan, to which “old Nor” listened with great attention, shaking his head every now and then, as if rather sceptical about it, but evidently getting more and more interested as he proceeded.
As Nansen and Professor Brögger were sitting in the latter’s house that evening, a knock was heard at the door, and who should come in but “old Nor” himself—a convincing proof to Brögger that the old man entertained a favorable idea of the proposed plan. And many a valuable hint did the young ice-bear get from the old one, as they sat opposite each other—the man of the past and the coming man of the present—quietly conversing together that evening.
Now Nansen sets off for home in order to prepare for the arduous task of the ensuing spring. In December, 1887, he is in Bergen again, and at the end of January he travels on ski from Hardanger to Kongsberg, thence by rail to Christiania.
In March we see him once more in Bergen, giving lectures in order to awaken public interest in Greenland; now sleeping out on the top of Blaamand,[3] a mountain near Bergen, in a sleeping-bag, to test its efficiency; now standing on the cathedra in the university auditorium to claim his right to the degree of doctor of philosophy, which on April 28 was honorably awarded him; and on May 2 he sets out for Copenhagen, en route for Greenland. For unhappily it was the case in Norway in 1888 that Norwegian exploits must be carried out with Danish help. In vain had he sought for assistance from the regents of the university. They recommended the matter to the government, but the government had no 5,000 kroner[4] ($1,350) to throw away on such an enterprise,—the enterprise of a madman, as most people termed it.
Yet when that enterprise had been carried to a successful issue, and that same lunatic had become a great man and asked the government and the storthing[5] for a grant of 200,000 kroner ($54,000) for his second mad expedition, his request was promptly granted. A new Norway had grown up meanwhile, a new national spirit had forced its way into existence, a living testimony to the power of the Nansen expedition.
As stated above, Nansen had to go to Denmark for the 5,000 kroner; and it was the wealthy merchant, Augustin Gamel, who placed that amount at his disposal. Still, certain is it, had not that sum of money been forthcoming as it was, Fridtjof Nansen would have plucked himself bare to the last feather in order to carry out his undertaking.
But what was there to be gained from an expedition to Greenland worth the risking of human life,—for a life-risk it unquestionably would be,—to say nothing of the cost thereof? What was there to be learned from the ice?
The question is soon answered.
The island of Greenland,—for it is now well ascertained that it is an island, and that the largest in the world,—this Sahara of the North, contains within its ice-plains the key to the history of the human race. For it is the largest homogeneous relic we possess of the glacial age. Such as Greenland now is, so large tracts of the world have been; and, what is of more interest to us, so has the whole of the north been. It is this mighty ice-realm that has caused a large proportion of the earth’s surface to assume its present appearance. The lowlands of Mid-Germany and Denmark have been scoured and transported thither from the rocks of Norway and Sweden. The Swedish rock at Lützen in Saxony is Swedish granite that the ice has carried with it. And the small glaciers still left in Norway, such as the Folgefond, Jostedalsbræ, Svartis,[6] etc., are merely “calves” of that ancient, stupendous mass of ice that time and heat have transported, even though it once lay more than a thousand metres in thickness over widely extended plains.
To investigate, therefore, the inland ice of Greenland is, in a word, to investigate the great glacial age; and one may learn from such a study many a lesson explanatory of our earth’s appearance at the present day, and ascertain what could exist, and what could not, under such conditions.
We know now that, during the glacial age, human beings lived on this earth, even close up to this gigantic glacier, that subsequently destroyed all life on its course. It may be safely asserted that the struggle with the ice, and with the variations of climate, have been important factors in making the human race what it will eventually be, the lords of nature.
The Esquimaux in their deerskin dress, the aborigines of Australia, the pigmy tribes of Africa’s primeval forests, are a living testimony of the tenacious powers of the soul and body of mankind,—civilization’s trusty outposts. An Esquimau living on blubber under fifty degrees of cold is just as much a man of achievement in this work-a-day world as an Edison, who, with every comfort at his disposal, forces nature to disclose her hidden marvels. But he who, born in the midst of civilization, and who forces his way to an outpost farther advanced than any mankind has yet attained, is greater, perhaps, than either, especially when in his struggle for existence he wrests from nature her inmost secrets.
This was the kernel of Nansen’s exploits—his first and his last.
Nansen was fully alive to the fact that his enterprise would involve human life; and he formed his plans in such wise that he would either attain his object or perish in the attempt. He would make the dangerous, uninhabited coast of East Greenland his starting-point as one which presented no enticement for retracing his steps. He would force his way onward. The instinct of self-preservation should impel him toward the west—the greater his advance in that direction the greater his hopes. Behind him naught but death; before him, life!
But he must have followers! Where were men to be found to risk their lives on such a venture? to form one of a madman’s retinue? And not only that, he must have men with him who, like himself, were well versed in all manly sports, especially in running on ski; men hard as iron, as he was; men who, like himself, were unencumbered with family ties. Where were such to be found? He sought long and diligently, and he found them.
There was a man named Sverdrup—Otto Sverdrup. Yes, we all of us know him now! But then he was an unknown Nordland youth, inured to hardship on sea and land, an excellent sailor, a skilful ski-runner, firm of purpose; one to whom fatigue was a stranger, physically strong and able in emergency, unyielding as a rod of iron, firm as a rock. A man chary of words in fine weather, but eloquent in storm: possessed, too, of a courage that lay so deep that it needed almost a peril involving life to arouse it. Yet, when the pinch came Sverdrup was in his element. Then would his light blue eyes assume a darker hue, and a smile creep over his hard-set features; then he would resemble a hawk that sits on a perch with ruffled feathers, bidding defiance to every one who approaches it, but which, when danger draws nigh, flaps its pinions, and soars aloft in ever widening circles, increasing with the force of the tempest, borne along by the storm.
This man accompanied him.
Otto Sverdrup.
Number two was Lieutenant, now Captain, Olaf Dietrichson. He, too, hailed from the north. A man who loved a life in the open air, a master in all manly exploits, elastic as a steel spring, a proficient on ski, and a sportsman in heart and soul. And added to this, a man possessed of great knowledge in those matters especially that were needed in an expedition like the present. He, too, was enrolled among the number.
Number three was also from Nordland, from Sverdrup’s neighborhood, who recommended him. His name was Kristian Kristiansen Trana—a handy and reliable youth.
These three were all Nordlanders. But Nansen had a great desire to have a couple of Fjeld-Finns with him, for he considered that, inured as they were to ice and snow, their presence would be of great service to him. They came from Karasjok.[7] The one a fine young fellow, more Qvæn[8] than Lapp; the other a little squalid-looking, dark-haired, pink-eyed Fjeld-Finn. The name of the first was Balto; of the other, Ravna. These two children of the mountains came to Christiania looking dreadfully perplexed, with little of the heroic about them. For they had agreed to accompany the expedition principally for the sake of the good pay, and now learned for the first time that their lives might be endangered. Nansen, however, managed to instil a little confidence into them, and as was subsequently proved, they turned out to be useful and reliable members of the expedition. Old Ravna, who was forty-five, was a married man,—a fact Nansen did not know when he engaged him,—and was possessed of great physical strength and powers of endurance.
Nansen now had the lives of five persons beside his own on his conscience. He would, therefore, make his equipment in such manner that he should have nothing to reproach himself with in case anything went wrong, a work that he conscientiously and carefully carried out. There was not a single article or implement that was not scientifically and practically discussed and tested, measured and weighed, before they set out. Hand-sleighs and ski, boats and tent, cooking-utensils, sleeping-bags, shoes and clothes, food and drink, all were of the best kind; plenty of everything, but nothing superfluous—light, yet strong, nourishing and strengthening. Everything, in fact, was well thought over, and as was subsequently proved, the mistakes that did occur were few and trifling.
Nansen made most of the implements with his own hands, and nothing came to pieces during the whole expedition saving a boat plank that was crushed by the ice.
But one thing Nansen omitted to take with him, and that was a supply of spirituous liquor. It did not exist in his dictionary of sport. For he had long entertained the opinion—an opinion very generally held by the youth of Norway at the present day—that strong drink is a foe to manly exploit, sapping and undermining man’s physical and mental powers. In former days, indeed, in Norway, as elsewhere, it was considered manly to drink, but now the drinker is looked down on with a pity akin to contempt.
Thus equipped, these six venturesome men set out on their way; first by steamer to Iceland, thence by the Jason, a sealer, Captain Jacobsen its commander, who, as opportunity should offer, was to set them ashore on the east coast of Greenland. And here, after struggling for a month with the ice, they finally arrived, on July 19, so near to the Sermilik Fjord that Nansen determined to leave the Jason and make his way across the ice to land. The whole ship’s crew were on deck to bid them farewell. Nansen was in command of one of the two boats, and when he gave the word “set off,” they shot off from the ship’s side, while the Jason’s two guns and a spontaneous hurrah from sixty-four stalwart sailors’ throats resounded far and wide over the sea. As the boats worked their way into the ice, the Jason changed her course, and ere long our six travellers watched the Norwegian flag, waving like a distant tongue of fire, gradually fade from sight and disappear among the mist and fog.
These six men set out on their arduous journey with all the indomitable fearlessness and disregard of danger that youth inspires,—qualifications that would speedily be called into requisition.
Before many hours of toiling in the ice, the rain came down in torrents, and the current drove them with irresistible force away from the land, while ice-floes kept striking against their boats’ sides, threatening to crush or capsize them. A plank, indeed, in Nansen’s boat was broken by the concussion, and had to be instantly repaired, the rain meanwhile pouring down a perfect deluge. They determined, therefore, to drag the boats upon an ice-floe, and to pitch their tent on it; and having done this they got into their sleeping-bags, the deafening war of the raging storm in their ears. The two Fjeld-Lapps, however, thinking their end was drawing near, sat with a dejected air gazing in silence out over the sea.
Camp on the drift-ice.
Far away in the distance the roar of the surge dashing against the edge of the ice could be heard, while the steadily increasing swell portended an approaching tempest.
Next morning, July 20, Nansen was awakened by a violent concussion. The ice-floe on which they were was rent asunder, and the current was rapidly drifting them out toward the open sea. The roar of the surge increased; the waves broke over the ice-floe on all sides. Balto and Ravna lay crouching beneath a tarpaulin reading the New Testament in Lappish, while the tears trickled down their cheeks; but out on the floe Dietrichson and Kristiansen were making jokes as every fresh wave dashed over them. Sverdrup was standing with hands folded behind his back, chewing his quid, his eyes directed towards the sea, as if in expectation.
They are but a few hundred metres distant from the open sea, and soon will have to take to the boats, or be washed off the floe. The swell is so heavy that the floe ducks up and down like a boat in the trough of the sea. So the order is given, “All hands turn in,” for all their strength will be needed, in the fierce struggle they will shortly have to encounter. So they sleep on the very brink of death, the roar of the storm their lullaby—Ravna and Balto in one of the boats, Nansen and the others in the tent, where the water pours in and out.
But there is one outside, on the floe. It is his watch. Hour by hour he walks up and down, his hands behind his back. It is Sverdrup. Every now and then he stands still, turns his sharp, thin face with the sea-blue eyes towards the breakers, and then once more resumes his walk.
The storm is raging outside, and the surge is dashing over the ice. He goes to the boat where Ravna and Balto lie sleeping, and lays hold of it, lest it should be swept away by the backwash. Then he goes to the tent, undoes a hook, and again stands gazing over the sea; then turns round, and resumes his walk as before.
Their floe is now at the extreme edge of the ice, close to the open sea. A huge crag of ice rises up like some white-clad threatening monster, and the surf dashes furiously over the floe. Again the man on the watch arrests his steps; he undoes another hook in the tent. Matters are at their worst! He must arouse his comrades! He is about to do so when he turns once more and gazes seaward. He becomes aware of a new and strange motion in the floe beneath him. Its course is suddenly changed; it is speeding swiftly away from the open sea—inward, ever inward toward calm water, toward life, toward safety. And as that bronze-faced man stands there, a strange and serious look passes over his features. For that has occurred,—that wondrous thing that he and many another sailor has often experienced,—salvation from death without the mediation of human agency. That moment was for him what the stormy night on the Hardanger waste was to Nansen. It was like divine service! It was as if some invisible hand had steered the floe, he said afterwards to Nansen. So he rolled his quid round into the other cheek, stuck his hands in his pockets; and hour after hour, till late in the morning, the steps of that iron-hearted man on the watch might be heard pacing to and fro.
When Nansen awoke, the floe was in safe shelter.
Still for another week they kept drifting southward, the glaciers and mountain ridges one after another disappearing from view—a weary, comfortless time. Then, toward midnight on July 28, when it was Sverdrup’s watch again, he thought he could hear the sound of breakers in the west. What it was he could not rightly make out; he thought, perhaps, his senses deceived him; for, at other times, the sound had always come from the east where the sea was. But next morning, when it was Ravna’s watch, Nansen was awakened by seeing the Finn’s grimy face peering at him through an opening in the tent.
“Now, Ravna, what is it? can you see land?” he asked at a venture.
“Yes—yes—land too close!” croaked Ravna, as he drew his head back.
Nansen sprang out of the tent. Yes, there was the land, but a short distance off; and the ice was loose so that a way could easily be forced through it. In a twinkling all hands were busy; and a few hours later Nansen planted his foot on the firm land of Greenland.
[1] Nordenskjöld (pron. Nordenshuld), famous Swedish explorer, discoverer of the North-east Passage.
[2] Wille, another Norwegian, who at that time was professor at the High School in Stockholm.
[3] Blaamand (pron. Blohmann).
[4] One krone (crown) equals twenty-seven cents.
[5] Storthing, the legislative assembly (congress) of Norway.
[6] Folgefond, Jostedalsbræ, Svartisen, glaciers in Norway.
[7] Karasjok (pron. Karashok), one of the northernmost districts of Norway, chiefly inhabited by Lapps.
[8] Qvæn, the Norwegian name for a man of the race inhabiting the grand duchy of Finland. The Lapps are in Norway called Finns.