Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

THROUGH THE AIR TO 88° NORTH

The day the brothers Wright rose and flew the curtain went up on a new era in the history of mankind. Many were certain that they could see great possibilities opening up for mankind in general, and particularly for them in their own branch of work, but few, I think, saw such possibilities of making a full and complete change in his work as the Polar explorer. What he has tried for years to accomplish would now be possible for him to achieve in a very short space of time. Century after century had he worked with his primitive means, the dog—the sledge. Day after day he had exerted himself with all his craft, all his intelligence, and all his will, yet had only covered a few miles over the vast ice desert. What courage, what tenacity, had been shown in the fight against cold, hunger and hardships. What a brilliant example of sacrifice and self-denial. Year after year shut up in a tiny little ship, surrounded by the same people, equipped with only the most necessary things, he had worked up to this time through the greatest of difficulties, through the hardest tests—cold and darkness. And now, all at once, in one moment, the whole of this was to be changed. Cold and darkness should be dispersed becoming warmth and light instead; for the complete and troublesome journey should be changed now to a speedy flight. In truth the possibilities were great. No rationing, no hunger or thirst—only a short flight. As in a dream, seen as a far-away possibility, there was ignited that day a small spark which should quickly blaze up to a mighty fire and in the course of a few years become one of our most important means of communication. Emerging from its swaddling-clothes, flying freed itself and went into its cradle when Bleriot flew across the Channel. It was then speedily led by the world’s war through its childhood where it (developing with the years—slowly or quickly who can say?) was led into youth—into manhood! What the possibilities would become it was difficult to say, but one had to be satisfied with what was there—flying’s childhood. The young inexperienced birds leaving their nests show us an example. Some will hurt their wings, others will break them altogether, but, it is just as certain that, just as they do, so will mankind also succeed in reaching his goal in the world of flying.

As I learned of Bleriot’s flight, I knew at once that the time had come to think of using the air to help the Polar expeditions. Certainly human power and skill had overcome and conquered vast tracts of this mighty unknown whiteness, but enormous tracts remained unexplored—tracts which now could be reached from the air. My thoughts turned especially to the enormous area in the Arctic which until now had withstood every attempt. Certainly Nansen, the Duke of the Abruzzi, and Peary had drawn lines through the unknown doing great and brilliant work, but colossal and unknown tracts still lay in front of them unexplored. Should we have had to continue exploration in the same old manner we should have had to wait many years before our knowledge had become complete. If one had used the word “impossible” it seems absolutely reasonable to have used it in connection with the exploration of this immense ice desert; but it seems that the word “impossible” has been scratched out of the dictionary of mankind. How often have we seen the impossible made possible! What was impossible yesterday is an easy matter to-day. Bleriot’s flight across the Channel showed me the conquering of the impossible. When I, in the year 1909, equipped the “Fram” for a trip to the Arctic, I had a conference with one of the most esteemed aviators of the day. He declared himself as willing to go with me. But it never came off, a fact which probably was for the best, as in the case of both parties it was put off on economical grounds. I mention this in order to draw attention to the fact that the idea of exploring the Polar regions from the air is not a recent plan. I have been attacked from many sides because I have “stolen” the plans of others; this seems to me childish and scarcely worth talking about, but many people take childish things for grim earnest if they have not a closer knowledge of the circumstances. Therefore, these few words.

In 1914 I managed to get sufficient means to buy my first aeroplane for use in Arctic exploration. As an independent means of transport in those vast tracts it certainly could not be used where all circumstances seemed to be against it, but, in conjunction with a mother-ship, would be of invaluable service. It was therefore my intention to take it on board the “Fram,” which at that time was ready to begin its journey north, and there to use it in the best possible way. What immense areas would it not be possible to observe in an Arctic trip if one only was able to rise a few thousand yards? By what I had seen of the ice I was certain one could always find flat places to rise from and to land on. But later experience showed me that it takes an aviator to express an opinion about landing conditions amidst Polar ice, and not an Arctic explorer. What the second considers to be a flat plateau can be absolutely useless in the opinion of the first.

My first aeroplane was a Farman biplane mounted on skis. We scarcely could have got any benefit from this. Later years’ experience shows me that. The war broke out in the meantime and put a stop to that part of my program. But then, as so often later in life, I experienced the fact that an apparent obstacle often had the opposite effect. Flying technique at that time took enormous steps forward; the child shot up, grew, and learned to move on its own account.

In 1921 the world’s record for the longest sojourn in the air reached about twenty-seven hours on a Junker machine in America. It was a monoplane, built entirely of aluminum, and therefore specially suitable for working in the Polar regions. Sun, cold, snow, and rain would not hurt it. I was living at that time in Seattle, Washington, where “Maud” lay, being equipped for a new journey north. As soon as that news reached me my decision was made. Such a machine I must have at all costs. With such an apparatus the impossible would become almost possible. The door to the Unknown seemed to me to be opening, but my hopes were dashed and the door remained locked for many years still. The machine at last was obtained and Lieutenant Omdal appointed to be its pilot. In May, 1922, we decided, as soon as we had learned to know the machine, to fly from the works in New York over America to Seattle. The engine failed as we were over the town of Marion in Pennsylvania, and we had to make an irritating forced landing in the Oil Fields. The machine was entirely ruined; a new one was hastily ordered, sent through America by rail just in time to be taken on board the “Maud.” Simultaneously the well-known American Curtis Aeroplane Factory put at our disposal a small reconnoitring machine. Therefore, as the “Maud” sailed in 1922 she was completely equipped, not only for a trip through the ice, but also for exploration from the air. The Curtis machine should be used for reconnoitring and accompany “Maud” all the time. I promised myself endless results from it. Whilst “Maud” went on right into the ice and explored sea, ice and air, Omdal and I went ashore at Wainright on Alaska’s north coast from whence we intended to trek as far as possible into the unknown territory to the north of that Coast, but everything went to pieces. On account of the stormy summer and autumn Omdal and I could not leave the place as arranged, but must build a house and spend the winter there.

In May, 1923, we were ready for flight, but already on our first trial flight the Junker broke the whole of its underpart in landing and became so damaged that all hope of repairing it had to be abandoned. Thus we gathered no experience. Things went somewhat better however with the little machine on board the “Maud.” A wireless telegram announced that it had been twice in the air with Odd Dahl as pilot and Wisting as observer, but it was crushed in the second landing. So far as I understand these two flights had not been of long duration; therefore it was scarcely possible to have studied anything of the immense area. It is, however, certain that these two were the first to fly over the actual drift ice. Thus we hear from them, for the first time, of the great difficulties which flying in this district presents. It was impossible from the air to determine the condition of the ice they said; it appeared to be absolutely flat, but it was quite different as results showed. The prospects now were not any brighter. On my return to Seattle I had only my two empty hands and a ruined aeroplane which nobody would have. I did not, however, give up, but continued to work in order to get a new equipment. Nineteen twenty-four passed, up till now, without luck. In September of the same year I went to the Norsk Luftseiladsforeningen (Aero Club of Norway) and proposed that they should work with me; I was received with open arms. Whilst they should try to do what they could at home I should travel to America to see what I could do there. I had already held some lectures on the subject, and sat one morning in my hotel deeply engrossed in reckoning out how long it would take me with my earnings to pay my creditors and start a new flight. The result was not heartening. I found out that if nothing unforseen happened I should be clear by the time I was 110 years old! But see, the unexpected did happen just then. The telephone rang and a voice said, “Are you Captain Amundsen?” (They always called me Captain Amundsen in America, but as all the negro conductors receive the same honor it does not make me proud.) “Yes, I am.” “Well,” continued the voice, “I am Lincoln Ellsworth.” That was how I became acquainted with the man to whom I should later owe so very, very much. The Luftseiladsforeningen (The Aero Club) will certainly agree with me when I say that without his assistance the expedition could hardly have taken place. It is not my intention by this to belittle the great and excellent work which the Club did; in deep thankfulness will I always remember the names of the three members of the Board with whom I came into direct touch: the president, Dr. Rolf Thommesen, and the two members, Dr. Ræstad and Major Swerre. Thanks to their energetic work, together with the State’s kindly aid, the expedition was soon ready to start. During my stay in America all the winter, the entire organizing of the work fell on these gentlemen, but the technical part of the arrangements fell on First Lieutenant of the Royal Norwegian Navy—Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen.

Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen had already taken part in the spring attempt to get the expedition going, so he was quite familiar with everything. It was therefore both with gladness and with trust that I was able to telegraph to him $85,000—James W. Ellsworth’s gift—begging him to order the two seaplanes. From this moment Riiser-Larsen got permission for leave and was able to give himself up entirely to the expedition. As a flying man he is so well known by every person in the land that it is superfluous and stupid to mention more. But he has dozens of other notable qualities which I need not enumerate and which made him specially qualified to fill his difficult post. With such an assistant a difficult trip becomes for the leader a pleasant and light effort.

He was assisted in his work by First Naval Lieutenant Leif Dietrichson and Flight Lieutenant Oskar Omdal. Both these gentlemen had been in the spring fiasco and thus knew all the details. It is quite unnecessary to talk about Dietrichson. His skill as a flyer is recognized by all. His bravery and resolution will stand out clearly later in this record. With his light outlook on life, his glad smile, and happy nature, he was an invaluable comrade on the flight. Omdal is known. If things went with him or against him it was all the same. Nothing seemed to depress him. He stood beside me in my two unhappy attempts in 1923 and 1924, and you can believe that it took a real man to show courage and keenness in a third attempt, but Omdal did not disappoint me. “So long as you don’t give in,” he said to me, “you shall always find me ready.” He is a marvelous being; he seems to have several limbs more than the rest of us. He moves slicker and thinks quicker. It is impossible to depress him. With three such men I knew that the technical part of the expedition was in the very best hands. The objective of the expedition was to trek in, as far as possible, over the unknown stretch between Spitzbergen and the Pole in order to find out what is there, or what isn’t there. It was not only to substantiate evidence of land, but to make a geographical research. This substantiation was as equally important as learning the composition of the land. From Nansen’s, the Duke of the Abruzzi’s, and Peary’s discoveries we had certainly good reason to believe that no land existed in that part of the Arctic Ocean, but our knowledge must be built on certainties, not on beliefs. Modern exploration insists on certainties. How miserably our maps have suffered in this district just on account of “beliefs.” Land has been put down instead of ocean, ocean instead of land, all on account of these same “beliefs.” More accidents have been caused by this than one would think; many people have lost their lives.

Apart from this we hoped to be able to make a number of meteorological observations which, even although they would not bring us many rich scientific results, would still give us interesting enlightenment. In the end we hoped, as at first, to harvest great and rich experiences which could be, to us and to others, of the greatest help when we once should be ready to start for the long arranged flight from Spitzbergen to Alaska. I lay special weight on the fact that I hope our experiences will be found of use by others. I do not belong to that class of explorer who believes that the North Pole is a place for himself alone. My outlook shows that I have an absolutely opposite disposition; “the more the better,” say I. Rather, let all of us be at the same time at the same place. Nothing stimulates like competition, nothing encourages exploration more. How would it appear if, for example, a man made public his intention to fly across the Polar regions, but for some unforeseen reasons could not accomplish it? Should every one therefore stay away from the place so long as the first one was alive? It seems to me an absurdity which is little in keeping with the sporting spirit one would expect to reign in these regions. “He who comes first to the mill gets his grist first milled,” says an old proverb. I hope to be able to make an attempt to fly from Spitzbergen to Alaska next summer. I must not, however, declare this to be my private ground, but I wish, on the contrary, that many will go there too. All the experience which I have stands at their disposal.

The trend of a wireless telegram from Dr. Sverdrup on the “Maud” in the summer of 1924 intimated that large tracts of land were not likely to be found north of Alaska. This theory he has based after careful tide observations. I have great faith in Sverdrup; I have never met a cleverer man than he, in his own line, but I feel absolutely certain that he will agree with me that one should go further in and explore the place. Without having actually seen it one cannot substantiate the evidence.

Our hope to get right along to the Pole was very small, for that our radius of action was too limited. Apart from that I had not any great interest in reaching the Pole, as I had always regarded Peary as being the first on the spot. Our objective was only, therefore, to cover the great distance by flying over it and over the great area we were exploring.

On the 9th April all the long and many preparations were finished, and we left Tromsö at five in the morning. The expedition had two ships. The motor ship “Hobby,” which should bring the two seaplanes up to Spitzbergen, and the Navy’s transport ship “Fram” which the State had placed at our disposal for the undertaking. On board the “Hobby” were Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Omdal, Berge, the photographer, and the Rolls-Royce mechanic Green.

On board the “Fram”—Captain Hagerup, the second in command Lieut. Torkeldsen, ice-pilot Ness, Dr. Matheson, Director of the Pisaverkene Schulte-Frohlinde with two mechanics Feucht and Zinsmayer, the journalists Ramm and Wharton, the meteorologist Dr. Bjerknes, the guide Calwagen, also Devold, the cook Olsen, Sailmaker Rönne, Horgen, the chemist Zapffe, Lincoln Ellsworth and myself. This may appear almost unbelievable, but that part of the journey was regarded by us as one of the most anxious. It was still early in the year and the fairway between Norway and Spitzbergen was anything but safe for two smacks like ours. The “Fram” is a midsummer boat, intended for an ice-free sea, sunny and calm. But in the month of April one must not reckon with these three factors. One would be much cleverer to expect lots of ice, no sun, and heavy storms, and for that “Fram” is not a suitable ship. “Hobby” was more of an ice-ship and would in general plow her way as well as any other, but this was an extraordinary occasion. The tremendous cases which the flying boats were packed in had no other place to lie but on deck and in consequence of this “Hobby” became in very truth not much of a sea ship. The ubiquitous prophet had foretold her death and her sinking, and I must say that I was almost inclined to agree with him when I saw the big boxes lifted in the air. After leaving Tromsö “Hobby” had already given up trying to be a boat; she looked like a mass of gigantic cases which was wandering along over the sea.

The arrangements were that both ships should keep together in order to be of mutual assistance and cheer. It is always comforting in the loneliness of the sea to be cheered by the near presence of another ship; assistance too we might both have need of.

It was a dark unpleasant night as we left Tromsö—wet and black. A foreign film photographer, who accompanied us to Spitzbergen, showed his spirit by operating his camera under all conditions and filming for all he was worth. (Had he wished to take a film of a dark night he must in very truth have been lucky.) Just outside Skaarö Sound we got into tremendous snow-storms and the meteorologists at the same time announced that the storm center was in the west. I decided along with the “Fram’s” captain, Hagerup, that it would be advisable to go into Skaarö Sound, anchor there and wait. The meteorologists thought that the bad weather would be of short duration. We signaled to “Hobby”: “We shall anchor at Skaarö,” after which we steered towards land. We lost “Hobby” in a snow shower. At 11:45 A.M. we anchored and expected “Hobby” to arrive soon. Frequent blasts amidst thick snowfalls made the atmosphere impenetrable. We waited in vain for our comrade.

At four o’clock P.M. the storm center passed and we set off again. We passed close to Fugleö, peering and glancing into all the creeks and inlets looking for “Hobby,” but there was nothing to be seen. We understood, therefore, that she must have mis-read our signal and steered in a direct course for Björneöen.

In spite of the officers’ and the men’s unchanging kindness and willingness, the journey was not altogether pleasant. We were packed as tightly together as it was in any way possible to pack human beings, and then as the boat began to roll, so the air got thicker and thicker—I refer to the inside air—and what under normal conditions would have been perpendicularly hanging things, such as towels, coats, etc., all stood right out from the wall in such a way that people began to feel themselves a little uncomfortable—I say uncomfortable, for nobody would ever be sea-sick! Now I have been at sea for over thirty years, but I have yet to meet the person who will admit to being sea-sick. Oh, no, not at all! Sea-sick? Far from it: only a little uncomfortable in the stomach or the head. In my diary I believe I have written that there were a number of sea-sick people on board, but I ask all the people to excuse me if I have been mistaken! I am also so very frank in my diary that I remark that I, too, am not so sure of myself, but that remark was presumably only meant for my private eye. The night of the 10th was particularly unpleasant: Zapffe, Ellsworth and I lay in the dining-room. Zapffe reclined in a corner of the sofa looking very pale, but insisting that he had never felt better in his life. Ellsworth and I lay in our sleeping-bags and, should I judge from the sounds and movements I heard and saw, I should be bold enough to say that we were in the same condition of well-being as Zapffe. Everything that could tear itself free did it, the chairs in particular appeared to have taken full possession of the dining saloon; the tricks they performed during the night were absolutely unbelievable. Now and again they performed alone, now and again they united and performed in troops. They had also been joined by a box of cigars which fell down and performed with them, and I can remember how these cigars flew round our ears. In spite of his paleness Zapffe had not lost his good-humor. “I thought I was in Havana,” came calm and dry from him as the first cargo of cigars struck him. I asked him if he would not be satisfied with Bremen, but that he would not agree to at all. In the pantry, which lay beside the saloon, there seemed to be a veritable and forcible jazz band now playing. Which instrument was being used at the moment was not quite clear to me, but in every case a zinc bucket was certainly doing its best. The rolling calmed down on the following day and most of the “souls” showed themselves on deck, with a pale sleepy look in their faces. I asked one who seemed in a bad way if he had been sea-sick, but I should never have done that. With cold scorn he replied that he had never felt such a thing in his life. What he felt half a minute later when a sudden roll landed him between two boxes and deprived him of the last part of his breakfast I don’t know. Certainly not sea-sick!

It is astonishing to notice how people’s interests can change in one moment. Yesterday we went round Tromsö and not the finest drug store, or the most tempting grocery shop, or the best set-out shoemaker’s window would have made us turn our heads to look at them. But this afternoon one of the members of the expedition had opened a box, which he had kept standing on the afterdeck, apparently with a view to taking something out. In a second he was surrounded by a curious crowd. The object of interest felt himself particularly flattered by so much notice being taken of him and he took out one thing after another. First came a tube of tooth paste. All necks were stretched, each one longer than the other, to get a sight of the wonderful thing. After that came a tablet of chocolate. What comments this brought forth I am unable to say as my point of observation was so far away. Certain is it, however, that the interest in the chocolate was quite intense. A pair of shoes came next. Had they been new and fine, I could have understood it. But that anybody could show any interest in these old, worn, down-trodden shoes is to me unbelievable. A snow storm closed the entertainment.

Word came that Björneöen was free from ice and we could approach without fear of meeting any. At four o’clock in the morning of the 11th we passed the island’s most southerly point. We had built on the possibility of seeing “Hobby” there, but in vain. We sent Björneöen a wireless and asked them to keep a lookout for “Hobby” and to inform us immediately if they sighted her. Simultaneously we telegraphed to King’s Bay and asked them for information regarding the ice conditions there. Beside the island we ran into a southeasterly wind, which during the day developed into a fresh breeze. At five o’clock in the afternoon we came into small ice, but, steering a westerly course, got quickly clear of it. On the 12th we passed through some fields of mush and quite small ice. The “Fram” is far from being an ideal ship for ice navigation, but so well did Captain Hagerup and Ice Pilot Ness guide us through in such a careful and comfortable manner that they earned our fullest appreciation. A less worthy man could have sent a boat such as “Fram” to the bottom in much less ice than we passed through. The atmosphere was impenetrable during most of the day. At ten o’clock in the evening—in a little clear glow—land was discernible. It was Quade Hoock in King’s Bay. At two o’clock we arrived at the edge of the ice and moored fast to it. The “Knut Skaaluren,” a little steamboat which had brought the two Directors, Brandal and Knutsen, here, lay there already.

King’s Bay had been free from ice the whole winter. Only in the last two days had the ice acquired a temperature of -26°c. We naturally regarded this as a great misfortune as it seemed that we should be prevented from getting in to the Coal Company’s quay where we were to begin the unloading of our boats. So far from being a misfortune this proved itself later to be our first and greatest piece of luck, that King’s Bay was icebound.

At ten o’clock in the morning I went ashore in order to pay the Directors a visit to see what they could do for us. The distance from where we had moored the “Fram” up to the quayside was a good three miles; there was a lot of water on the ice, dark and mushy. It was not easy to see Ny Aalesund, which was snow covered. But the moment I arrived at the quay and climbed from the ice a hand was stretched out giving me a warm handshake and a cheery welcome. It was Director M. Knutsen who, with the Company’s other Director, was to show us the most glorious hospitality during the whole of our long stay in King’s Bay. I may as well say it now as later, that without these practical men’s assistance we could scarcely have brought our arrangements to completion as they eventually were.

It was soon fixed up that all who were participating in the expedition should come ashore and stay there where room must be found for them. “Where there is room in the heart there is room in the house,” they said. Nothing greater than the “heart room” of Knutsen and Brandal could any one ever wish to find.

Now there was a matter which weighed on my mind—depressing me in a high degree. Where was “Hobby”? I went on board the “Fram” at eventide and walked up and down on the deck. It was about seven o’clock at eventide when Horgen came up to me and said that he saw something which stood high above the ice, and according to his opinion only “Hobby” could present such an appearance. Up with the glasses! Yes!—quite right, there came a heavy-looking box rustling and crushing through the ice. “Hobby” itself I could not see even now, but I could see that there was life on board. Every one ran around and shouted, “‘Hobby’ comes!” “‘Hobby’ comes!” In a second all hands were called on deck and to the accompaniment of ringing hurrahs “Hobby” lay by the side of the ice. All was well on board. The first part of the journey was over. Our boats were safely in King’s Bay. Honor where honor is due and it should be given to the expedition’s airmen, Captain Holm, Pilot Johannesen and the whole of “Hobby’s” crew. It was no small act of seamanship which they had accomplished.

“FRAM” MOORED TO THE ICE AT THE EDGE OF KING’S BAY

UNLOADING

The next day was very wintry—sea fog with a temperature -10°. We took advantage of this for the members of the expedition to flit ashore and make themselves at home in the Coal Company’s station. The airmen—Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Horgen, Omdal, in company with Ellsworth and Ramm—got their cozy little house. Zapffe and I were quartered in the Directors’ house and the others in the hospital. The sailing-boat workshop was cleared and prepared as a dining-room. This was baptized “the salon.” Here the scepter was waved by our steward, purser, chemist, and purveyor of entertainment. Yes, dear steward, you won all hearts with your glad, happy spirit. To me you were an invaluable and priceless aid with your dutiful and conscientious work.

THE GAMES ON MAY 17TH

THE PLANES WERE PUT TOGETHER NEAR THE COAL COMPANY’S WORKSHOPS

The newly frozen ice, which prevented us from approaching the quay, might have become embarrassing had not Captain Jensen of the “Skaaluren,” on the 15th April, become tired of waiting and decided to make an attempt to force it. The attempt was crowned with success in the highest degree. Never, I believe, had the “Skaaluren” been so absolutely astonished at herself. She broke through very quickly and lay a short time afterwards by the quay. “Fram” and “Hobby” followed behind her in line, and by the evening we all lay alongside the quay. There we had a northerly breeze of about -13° c.—Mid-winter!

By the following day every one was fully occupied taking our belongings ashore. Riiser-Larsen organized the work with the frequent assistance of his comrades and the officers from the “Hobby.” At this point I would like to hand out a few compliments to the crew of the “Fram.” When and where they could help, they were always at hand. Quick, skillful, and willing at all times. Fortunately the ice here was so strong that one could discharge the seaplanes on to it. This was a great help and lightened the work considerably. Everybody at the same time hauled them along a natural slide towards land and placed them outside the station-workshop, where all the necessary help was obtainable. Director Schulte-Frohlinde from the Pisa Works, with his two mechanics, Feucht and Zinsmayer, along with Omdal and the Rolls-Royce mechanic, Green, who had got the very worst jobs, remained in charge. In spite of snow and cold they continued “hard at it” from morning until evening without any one ever hearing them grumble once; but they were men of steel!

It was gratifying to see how the machines grew from day to day. Frohlinde believed that he could have them completed by the 2nd of May, and it very nearly proved so. There was another duty which had to be carried out each day under the same difficult conditions and with the same unabated energy. This was the weather report service. No matter how it blew, no matter how it snowed, nor how bitterly cold it was, Bjerknes and Calwagen were always “on the go.” Nothing seemed to tire these two young scientists and the expedition owes them the greatest gratitude for their splendid work. They were assisted in their work by Devold, who was principally employed receiving messages from the numerous stations in Europe, Canada, Alaska, and Siberia. The weather report service is still in its swaddling clothes, but there is no doubt that in time it will become a strong factor in our progress. Already we could see the benefit to be derived from this particular service by any expedition whether it should go north, south, east or west.

Others of our “most occupied men” were the photographer Berge, and the journalist Ramm. The first of these two could always be seen with his camera in his hand and his tripod on his shoulder. He was everywhere. One could not even blow his nose without Berge being there to immortalize the event. Ramm kept the world advised of the expedition’s progress; if we did anything, it was immediately telegraphed. If we did not do anything, it was likewise immediately telegraphed. His strongest competitors were the meteorologists; not that they were giving news to the world’s press in competition with Ramm. No, they did not do that, but they were in frequent use of the wireless. Between the two parties there arose a burning question as to which was the more important—the weather reports or the news reports. The meteorologists voted for the weather, Ramm for the news. And so it remained. Dr. Matheson acted as the “Fram’s” and the expedition’s doctor. As a doctor he fortunately did not get much to do, but it seemed safe and comforting to know that he was near if anything should happen.

I now come to the expedition’s most occupied man. That was my old traveling companion from the “Fram” and the “Maud” trips, Sailmaker Rönne. Since he first joined my service for the “Fram” expedition in 1910—fifteen years ago—any weakening in his work was undiscernible by me. In view of what he did on this trip one could only come to the conclusion that he had improved. He was the first man up every single morning, and in full swing long before any one else. But it was quite necessary for him to do this if he was to complete in good time all the little orders which came streaming in to him every day in large numbers. At one moment he was sewing shoes, soon afterwards trousers, then tents and sleeping bags. He worked at the boats and made the sledges ship-shape. His strongest forte was to bring along with him everything that other people had forgotten. If anything was missing any one could be absolutely sure that Rönne would be able to help him out of the difficulty. His greatest service at this time was that during the flight to the North he gave me a long knife made from an old bayonet which was to prove our best ice-tool. It was during our last dinner in the “salon” that he came to me and honored me with the knife. I had a splendid clasp-knife already, but accepted his gift in order not to offend him. I intended to lay it away in one or other of my lockers as it was too big to carry about. But how it happened I cannot say—the knife appeared in my rucksack and was of invaluable use to us later. Ton after ton of ice has been shifted by my comrades and myself with this same knife. When I travel next time I shall have at least a dozen with me.

Our cook, Einer Olsen, could prepare a rum omelette—now, I must not let my tongue run away with me—just as well as any chef in the best hotel of any seaside resort, and that is not saying enough. Apart from this he absolutely astonished us with what he called “gateau danoise” (Olsen was a linguist). I sought in vain, from the point of view of a baker, to analyze this confection, but without success. The nearest I can describe it is a cross between a cream bun and a “gateau de mille feuilles.” He got up still earlier in the morning than Rönne and thus deprived him of his record-breaking honor.

Our stay in King’s Bay began really with the baptism of the “salon.” That was on Sunday April 19th. The furniture of the “salon” was quite different from what it originally had been. Its contents were composed of a long board and four trestles. In addition to this, and on account of the shortage of room elsewhere, it was necessary for the “salon” to house the pantry. This stood beside the entrance. A little gramophone supplied us with all the jazz we desired. In addition to this it could play music! But what was missing in the way of furniture in the “salon” was made up for by the culinary masterpieces. And here competition was strengthened by originality. Yes, there were even a few who risked saying that.... No, I won’t repeat it, as one says so many things. On the evening of the christening there were twenty-six people round the table. I see by my diary that the number was “legion,” but my diary has to be discreet, so it keeps silent about the rest.

There is nothing particular to relate about the days which followed. One followed the other just exactly as ordained by the almanac. Some (yes, the most) were beautifully sunny and beautifully colored from the magnificent glaciers. Others were overshadowed with fog and snow. The day in the week which we looked forward to with the most pleasure was not Sunday, as you might be inclined to believe, but Friday. Every Friday at 5:30 P.M. there was a steam bath; a proper, really good steam bath. There was nothing mean about the heat in this as we had coal all around us, wherever we went, and wherever we stood. It was far meaner as regards the quantity of water, but we did not bother about that. The bath was naturally very popular. In the morning the ladies had their turn; in the afternoon the Directors with their staff along with the members of the expedition. Saturday was bath day for the miners.

Over and above this a very important piece of work had to be done in these days: i.e., getting the provisions and equipment ready for the flight. In case it should interest anybody, I will here repeat my list exactly as it appeared:

Provisions

Salt Beef	400 gr.	per man per day
Chocolate	250 gr.	„
Biscuits	125 gr.	„
Dried milk	100 gr.	„
Malted milk	125 gr.	„
Total	1000 gr.	kg.

Rucksack

1 change, diary, compass, matches tinder, housewife, snow glasses, cup & spoon, pipe & tobacco, linen thread, sail-cloth gloves, 1 pr. ski-shoes, 1 long knife, 1 pr. skis, 2 staves, 1 pole, 1 sleeping-bag

Equipment Principally for the Machines

1 boat, 1 sledge, 1 tent, 1 medicine case, 1 Primus, petroleum, reserve belts, 1 Meta cooking stove with plates, 2 sextants, 1 level, navigating equipment, six small and 4 large smoke bombs, 1 cooking pot, motor spare parts, tools, 2 snow shovels, 1 ice anchor, 1 log, 1 sun compass, 1 pair of glasses, ten plugs, meteorological instruments, 1 shot gun, 1 rifle, 400 cartridges, Colt revolver, 25 shots, senna grass, benzine pump, hose and bucket, camera, films and plates, soldering lamp.

* * * * *

On the 29th of April the “Fram” attempted to go to Green Harbour to fetch and take the mail. However, she did not get far before the ice stopped her. By dinner time the next day she had returned.

Ellsworth and I now went every day to the wireless station in order to take the time signal from the Eiffel Tower so that we might check our watches. We had each three watches for use on the flight. Fortunately they never went wrong. We checked the time signals for fourteen days before our departure and thus we were absolutely certain of the correctness of our watches.

On the 4th of May, a strange restless and unsettling sort of day, we began to long for the moment when we could leave. The meteorologists announced that that particular morning would be a fine opportunity to go and we were not long in replying, “All is ready.” “Fram” and “Hobby” got orders to make ready to sail northwards and all hands were called on deck to help to get everything in order. In the meantime a northeasterly wind sprang up and retarded the mechanics from completing the final little “finishing-off” touches. We were therefore compelled to put off our intended start until the weather improved. In the meantime the boats made ready and on the next evening—May 5th—“Fram” and “Hobby” steered northwards in order to reconnoiter round the Danske Öen to see if they could find a good place for us to start off from on the ice. That evening we had -18° c. No work could be done. On the 6th we received a wireless from the “Fram” from South Gate which announced that the weather was very uncertain and that we ought to wait. They announced also that they had found no suitable starting place on the ice. The ice all around was uneven and banked up and consequently useless for our purpose.

After the machines were ready to start we saw clearly that the maximum weight of 2,600 kg., which the factory said we could carry, was going to be considerably increased. We could see that if we had to make the flight we must at least carry 3,000 kg.—perhaps more. The two, Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson, thought that it would be quite possible to rise with this from the ice. Director Schulte-Frohlinde doubted the possibility of this. The two former, however, had great experience in rising from the ice and my trust in them was complete. To rise from the water with this weight would hardly have been possible. On the eighth evening “Hobby” came back announcing that the ice conditions were bad, the weather was stormy and the temperature as low as -23° c.

We decided, therefore, to wait some time hoping for an improvement in the weather and a more reasonable temperature.

On the 9th N 25 left its “cradle” on Spitzbergen for the first time and made a few trial runs on the ice. Everything went well and the pilot was very satisfied. On the morning of the 11th “Fram” returned, thus finishing this part. Now we were all ready to make use of the first opportunity which the meteorologists should advise. The temperature rose quickly and steadily and in the days that followed it was quite clear that spring was coming.

The 17th of May dawned and was spent exactly as it should have been. A salute in the morning, Olympic games, and a gala dinner in the evening in the “salon.” On the 18th Dr. Bjerknes announced that the prospects were so good that we should hold ourselves ready for a flight at short notice. We were ready. The weather on the 19th was still not exactly as the prophet wished it to be. In the meantime, however, we made “all clear” and got the machines down to a definite starting place where one could slide down a grade direct on to the fjord ice. Local bad weather on the 20th prevented us from starting. The filling of the petrol tanks was finished and by eventide we were absolutely ready.

As I, on the morning of the 20th of May, stuck my nose out of the window I realized at once, without further confirmation from our weather prophets, that our day had arrived. It was brilliant summer weather with a tiny breeze blowing from the fjord, exactly what the pilot wished for. The starting time was fixed for four P.M. The sun was in a favorable position for our sun compass and gave us the greatest aid on our flight. Even at breakfast time we could notice that there was a little excitement in the camp. Many of the members of the expedition, who otherwise would still have been invisible during the time I usually took my breakfast, had in this case already breakfasted and disappeared. It was unnecessary to send a messenger round to say the day had arrived. Every one was making his preparations for departure and the different members could be seen with hands full of private belongings disappear beside the machines and return empty-handed. Each of these little journeys brought more weight and by the time the last pin was fastened we were carrying a load of 3,100 kg., or about 500 kg. more than we were supposed to carry. Director Frohlinde had always insisted in his opinion that we ought to make some trial trips. The airmen said, “No.” As the differences of opinions will be disentangled later on I shall not say more about this here. All the morning a crowd of people were crossing over to the starting place. Everybody who could be there was on the spot. Dinner was taken in the “salon” and if some one had come in by chance he would have noticed something unusual going on. The only guests we had in the “salon” were six Thermos flasks, set up ready for the road. These contained chocolate; beside them were our only provisions for the flight, and the box of Mrs. Clausen’s good oatcakes. The only person who disturbed the dinner’s quiet and friendly course was the steward, who thought he ought to wish his comrades a good journey and thank them for assembling there. Thus was the last dinner at an end and the “salon” again took on its old form as the Coal Company’s sailboat works. “Sic transit gloria mundi.”

As I left my good and comfortable quarters in the house of the Director, his good-natured housekeeper Berta stood there with two packets, which she held out to me. “There is one for each machine,” she said. “Just a little ‘snack’ for the journey.” Oh, Berta, could you but see how gladly and with what warm thanks in our hearts we took the delicious sandwiches and eggs carefully and slowly from the packages, eating them with pleasure, as our last civilized meal for a long time to come,—you would certainly be overjoyed!

At three o’clock in the afternoon we were all gathered beside the machines. As I have already remarked—one is never ready. Director Frohlinde went round and looked carefully at everything. Green, the Rolls-Royce mechanic, listened first to the one and then to the other of the motors. At four o’clock all four motors were warming up. It was a sign for all of us that our hour was almost there. Both sun compasses, which had been set at four o’clock, started going—and the motors started humming. Whilst we put on our heavy flying clothes the two flying men and observers did likewise, wearing similar garments—thick underclothes of wool with leather on top. The point which I personally had always been afraid of during a flight was the condition of my legs. The tremendous speed, which necessarily causes a strong draught and lowers the temperature, puts our shoes naturally to a very strong test. It was not often that my experience proved of actual use to me, but this time I really did get some good out of it. On my earlier journeys it had often been necessary for me to stand hour after hour as observer. When the temperature was below -50° c. and -60° c., which often happened, one must have very special footwear. I found out then that one ought to have good warm footwear on, preferably loose leather stockings and leather shoes (such as the Eskimos wear), and in addition to this the feet should be put into enormous canvas shoes filled with senna grass, which forms a complete lining to the shoes and renders protection to the feet. That time years ago we had taken no Eskimo shoes, but used felt shoes with a pair of thin stockings and above these we wore gigantic canvas shoes filled with large quantities of senna grass. The result was brilliant. Not only did we not freeze, but one or two grumbled because they were too warm. The pilots wore thick leather gloves which gave complete protection to their hands. Personally I wore only an old pair of woolen gloves as I had to write continually. The mechanics were not so heavily clad, as they were continually on the move, passing between the petrol store and the motor, and for this reason they had to be lightly clad. As soon as we were dressed the various members took their places. Ellsworth and I were in the observation seats. Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson were in the pilots’ seats and the two mechanics, Feucht and Omdal, were beside the motors. My place was in the observation seat of N 25, which lay forward. In the seat behind me—the pilot’s seat—was Riiser-Larsen and in the petrol store behind him was Feucht. In N 24 the arrangements were the same for Ellsworth, Dietrichson, Omdal. Feucht, who had accompanied Director Schulte-Frohlinde from Pisa, was only taken on as a member of the expedition a few days before the start; he had up to that time remained in the Factory’s service. He is a German by birth and had been employed by the Factory for a long time, being considered an exceptionally capable mechanic which will be proved here later. Every one was now ready to say good-by and a long queue passed by the machines. Mention of the photographer must not be forgotten, either, in this connection.

Whilst we waited the motors continued to run and the clock went round to five. Before the two planes got away the following orders were sent out: (1) The command of the remaining part of the expedition should be taken over by Captain Hagerup of the “Fram.” (2) In fourteen days from the start the expedition’s return by flying-machine might be expected. “Fram” and “Hobby” should remain together in the fairway by the Danske Öen so long as it was possible to see the North Coast. Should the light diminish “Hobby” must steer towards the east as far as conditions allowed, but not east of Verlegen Hook. (3) After fourteen days had passed “Hobby” was in any event to steer eastwards if possible as far as Nordkap. After collaborating with “Fram” they were to take up the work of patrolling as near the edge of the ice as possible, both ships keeping a sharp lookout. (4) From the 16th to the 19th of May “Fram” shall remain in King’s Bay for boiler-survey. (5) The ships (if necessary “Hobby” doing this alone should “Fram” have gone back earlier) shall remain by the north coast of Spitzbergen and continue patrolling for six weeks counting from the start; “Hobby” going afterwards to King’s Bay to collect the remaining material to be delivered at Tromsö, where it will be sent back in accordance with special instructions here enclosed. The despatching will be attended to by the chemist Zapffe. (6) When “Fram” goes to King’s Bay for boiler survey it will give those members of the expedition who wish it the opportunity to accompany the boat to King’s Bay in order to travel home by the first opportunity. (From here Horgen, Ramm and Berge are the first to return when both boats definitely set off.)

First Lieutenant E. Horgen, who was engaged as the expedition’s reserve airman (after he had obtained permission from the Norwegian American Line, where he was first mate), became the expedition’s leader on board the “Hobby.” The services Horgen rendered us were many and valuable. I would have liked so much to have granted his great wish to fly northwards with us, but there was no room. Next time I hope to see Horgen an active participator in the flight. He belongs absolutely to the type which I have always sought for, calm, resolute, and afraid of nothing. As a flyer Horgen is now counted among the best.

THE CREW OF N 25

LEFT TO RIGHT: RIISER-LARSEN, AMUNDSEN, FEUCHT

THE CREW OF N 24

ELLSWORTH, DIETRICHSON, OMDAL

It was now ten minutes past five. The motors were quite warm and Green nodded approvingly. His smile expressed complete satisfaction. A last handshake from Director Knutsen and then good-by. The motor was running at top speed as N 25 trembled and shook. The plan was that our machine should make the first start and try if possible to start out over the fjord with the wind in order to glide and swing at a low altitude between the fjord boundaries. If this were not successful we were to set our course direct against the wind, towards King’s Bay Glacier. It was also agreed that the machines should try to keep together during the entire flight. What the one did the other should do afterwards. One last pull and then N 25 was free and glided gracefully down the slide on to the frozen fjord. The trip was started. “Welcome back to-morrow,” was the last I heard as with tremendous speed—1,800 revolutions a minute—it set off towards the starting place in the middle of the fjord. There we noticed all at once that the ice was bending right over and the water surging up. In a second the machine was across the fjord heading straight for the glacier and making 2,000 revolutions. This was one of the most anxious moments. Could the machine bear the tremendous excess weight or must we stop and lighten it? The pilot sat at the wheel. Had he been seated at the breakfast table he could scarcely have looked less concerned. As the speed still continued, and we were nearing the glacier at a mighty rate, the pilot’s coolness seemed greater than ever. His mouth was the only indication of his resolution and determination. We went over the ice like a hurricane. The speed continued and continued; then suddenly the miracle happened. With a mighty pull the machine raised itself from the earth. We were in the air. The master stroke was accomplished. It seemed to me after the breathless anxiety that I at last heard a light Ah! which grew into a ringing shout of joy.

PHOTOGRAPH OF AMUNDSEN’S MACHINE TAKEN FROM ELLSWORTH’S WHILE IN FLIGHT, SHORTLY BEFORE LANDING AND WITHIN 250 MILES OF THE POLE

After this calmness again took possession of the man who had performed this master stroke, and it left him no more during the whole trip. Feucht was always going up and down between the tank compartment and the motor; his duty was to keep the pilot advised of everything: how the engine worked: how much petrol had been used, etc. All seemed in the finest order and Feucht announced, “All clear.” Before we rose I had tried to get my things in order as the space was limited and my belongings numerous.

Over Cape Mitra we had already risen to 400 m. and everything beneath us seemed exceedingly small. Time after time I turned round and looked for the other machine, but never managed to discern it. Therefore we turned our plane completely round, flying back to look for N 24. One never knew what might have happened. It was possible that something had struck it as it tried to rise. The ice might have broken, or its load might have been too heavy for it. Suddenly something blazed in the sun; it glittered like gold. It was the sun playing on N 24’s wings. There it came in full flight to meet us. Everything seemed to be in order. Had I known then what I know now, I should have held my breath for a moment and taken off my hat to the man who sat at the wheel. But more about that later. Then the machine turned its nose again towards the north, and the two enormous birds started their flight together towards the “Unknown.”

My feelings at that moment were one whirl of burning gratitude. I gave a bow and a grateful glance to the man sitting behind me who had accomplished this brilliant master stroke—a warm silent thank-you to those who had just joined us; a thank-you so deep and so heartfelt to my five comrades, who have all willingly placed their lives upon the scales—a thank-you because the heavy yoke was at last lifted from my shoulders (the disdainful scorn which I had been forced to feel so many times during the last year of constant misfortune had disappeared for ever). Even if we fell right down now where we were this proof of our earnestness could nevermore be taken away.

We passed quickly over the northwest coast of Spitzbergen, where the sea below us was entirely free from ice. Then we reached Magdalena Bay, the South Gate with the Moss Islands, and then came the Danske Öen. I knew them all again from my trip with Gjoa in 1901. After an hour’s flight we were level with the Amsterdam Islands. Here we met most unpleasant weather. Fog as thick as porridge. First it came densely, thickeningly, from the northeast—then thicker—thicker. The pilot rose higher and we were flying above the woolen blanket. The other machine accompanied us at a somewhat lower altitude. Here I saw the strangest optical illusion I have ever seen and nothing seems to me to have ever equaled it in beauty. Directly pictured in the fog I could see a complete reflection of our own machine surrounded by a halo of all the spectrum’s colors. The sight was miraculously beautiful and original.

We took our bearings from the Amsterdam Islands and steered north for Taakeheimen. Here the fog came down quite unexpectedly. We had not looked for it so quickly, nor such a big stretch of it; it was certainly not local, but a field of colossal dimensions lay before us. For two complete hours we flew over it; a stretch of fully 200 kilometers. Occasionally we passed over a little break or hole in it, but never big enough to give me an opportunity to take my bearings. These holes were of great interest. Through them I got an idea of the territory below. The sea here was filled with small ice with water amongst it. These conditions continued to 82° n. and I am certain that a vessel with any power at all could have navigated it. A little after eight o’clock it began suddenly to clear and in a second the fog disappeared as though charmed. And there below us and in front of us lay the great shining plain of the notorious pack-ice. “How many misfortunes have you been responsible for during the passage of years, you vast ‘Whiteness’? What have you not seen in the way of need and misery? And you have also met those who set their foot upon your neck and brought you to your knees. Can you remember Nansen and Johansen? Can you remember the Duke of the Abruzzi? Can you remember Peary? Can you remember how they crossed over you and how you put obstacles in their way? But they brought you to your knees. You must respect these heroes. But what have you done with the numbers who sought to free themselves from your embrace in vain? What have you done with the many proud ships which were steered direct towards your heart never to be seen again? What have you done with them I ask? No clew, no sign—only the vast white waste.”

Quite naturally an airman’s thoughts turn towards a landing place. Should his motor fail and he has no place to land, he is indeed in a bad way. But no matter where we looked there was not the sign of a landing place. So far as we could see the ice looked like a number of furrows, stretched out without rhyme or reason, and between the furrows rose a high stone fence. Conditions however were unusual, the fence took up more room than the plowed field. Had the field been even and flat it would not have appeared so strange, but a flat part simply did not exist. The plow seemed to have been everywhere between stones and stubble. A little brook was also there, but so small that one could have jumped over it anywhere. A more monotonous territory it had never been my lot to see. Not the slightest change. Had I not been engaged in making many kinds of observations and notes it is certain that the uniformity of the outlook and the monotony of the engine’s hum would have sent me to sleep, but fortunately my task kept me awake. Riiser-Larsen confessed to me later that he had had a little snooze. I can understand that as he had monotonous work to do.

The mean temperature during the flight had been -13 °c. N 24 kept beside us with no thought of separating. I tried continually to take the sun but unsuccessfully. The sun was all right, but the horizon was useless. Our plane level was fastened to the sextant (a bulb sextant, of American make). We had used it several times at a trial in King’s Bay, but the results were most unsatisfactory, so much so that we had stopped using it. Therefore I was left to use whatever nature placed at my disposal. But nature was not obliging. There was no horizon. Sky and ice blended into one.

Two hours after I had taken soundings at the Amsterdam Islands I got an opportunity to calculate our speed and the deviation. What had happened in two hours? It was exceedingly difficult to say. If one does not get an opportunity to calculate speed and the deviation it is naturally difficult to know the direction of the wind when one comes flying at a speed of 150 kilometers. It was quite clear as we came out of the fog with a few high cirri in the east. About ten o’clock a fine mist crept up from the north, but too high and fine to annoy one. The sun was not quite visible, but from the sun’s position and the compass’s variations it was quite clear that we were well over to the west. There was therefore nothing else to do but to steer eastwards. I have never seen anything more deserted and forlorn; at least I thought we might see a bear or anything to break the monotony a little, but no,—absolutely nothing living. Had I been sure of this condition before, I would have taken a flea with me in order to have life near.

At five o’clock on the morning of the 22nd we came to the first waterway. It was not a small brook but a big dam with arms stretching in different directions. It offered our first possibility of finding a landing place. According to our bearings we should now be 88° N. lat., but with regard to longitude we were quite confused. That we were westerly was certain, but where? Feucht announced here that half the benzine was used so it became necessary to look for a landing place. Our intention was, therefore, to descend, take the necessary observations, and act in the best way according to the conditions. The question now was where should we land? Naturally a landing on the water would have been safest, so far as the landing was concerned, but there was always the fear that the ice could close in and crush us before we were able to rise again. We decided unanimously that if it were possible we should land on the ice. In order to observe the territory as conveniently as possible we descended in big spirals. During these maneuvers the aft motor began to misfire and changed the whole situation. Instead of choosing a place now we would have to take what offered. The machine was much too heavy to remain in the air with one motor. A forced landing became necessary. At this low altitude we could not reach the main dam, but had to be satisfied with the nearest arm. It was not particularly inviting—full of slush and small ice. But we had no choice. Under such conditions it was worth much to have a cool unruffled pilot who never lost his self-possession, but even in flight was able to make a clear decision and act accordingly. The slightest wobbling and the game would have been lost. The arm was just wide enough for the machine so it was not so dangerous. Every clump of ice could have torn it through; the danger lay in the high icebergs which lay at each side. It took a master to guide the machine in between these and save the wings. We landed squat in the slush and here arose the most difficult problem any airman could have to solve. It was a piece of luck for us that we landed in the slush, for that slowed down our speed somewhat. But on the other hand it reduced the boat’s maneuvering powers. We were passing a small iceberg on the right. The machine turned to the left with the result that the wings stroked the top of the iceberg and loose snow was whirled in the air. Here we zig-zagged along in a manner which was most impressive and alarming. Can we clear it? The anxiety was great for those who were only spectators; it seemed not to have the slightest effect on the pilot; he was quite cool and calm. When I say we cleared the iceberg by two millimeters it is no exaggeration. I expected every moment to see the left wing destroyed. The speed now slackened in the thick slush and we stopped at the end of the arm—nose up against the iceberg. It was again a question of millimeters. A little more speed and the nose would have been stove in.

So far so good. We had still our lives—what did this place look like? The arm ended in a little pool surrounded by high icebergs and with nose against this we lay with our tail towards the entrance. We hopped out on the ice and looked around. What was to be done? Only one thing. To try and get out as quickly as possible. Should the ice freeze together we were sentenced to death in five minutes. What was necessary now was to turn the machine round 180°. I must say we put all our force into the work and tried in different ways, but all in vain. The slush and small ice stuck fast to the boat and it lay as if in glue. If we managed to free the boat a few inches the slush went with it. If we got rid of that the boat fell back into its old position, and then so did the slush. Oh, how we struggled and strove. But after the space of a few hours we had to put that plan aside and take on another. But first we must find out where we were. Our observations gave 87° 43′ N. lat. and 10° 20′ L. Our presumption that there was a westerly current proved to be correct.

At eight o’clock A.M. we decided we had earned a little food and rest. But before we could gratify this need there were two things to be done. First to take all the provisions and equipment on to the big ice, in case the ice should begin to screw. Also we must look around to see if our comrades on N 24 were in sight. The small quantity of provisions that we had were shifted onto the ice in a few minutes, and then we set off with glasses to take observations from the top of the highest iceberg. We thought we had heard a shot after we had landed, but we were not certain. There are so many noises like shots amongst the ice. The last I saw of N 24 just before our landing was that it was flying very low on the other side of the dam. If I was right we must look for it in a southerly direction, but everywhere we looked there was nothing to be seen. The mist now lay somewhat lower than when we landed and a few snowflakes came whirling along. The temperature was about -15° c. I had never looked upon our machine before as a dwelling but that must be done now. It was divided into five rooms. The first, the observer’s room, was too small for occupation. No. 2, the pilot’s place, offered the best sleeping room for one or two men. No. 3, the petrol store, was full of tanks and could not be used. Room No. 4 was the best of them and we decided to make it a dining room and sleeping room. It was four meters long diminishing in width towards the tail. I assume that the builder had never thought of it as a dining room when he built it, but certain it is that it seemed absolutely prepared for that purpose. At all times our Primus apparatus got a good position here. Room No. 5 lay right in the tail and you entered it through a round door in the wall. It was long, small, and dark, as it had no window. As a bedroom for one man it might have been used had it not been for the ribs which converged tightly here. In the dining room we set our Primus going and soon had our first meal of chocolate and biscuits. It was comfortable in here so long as we could keep it warm and this was easy in the beginning while we still trusted and hoped that our stay should be short. We had brought with us some small petrol apparatus called Therm’x and with these we kept the temperature fine and high.

I cannot pass by our friend Therm’x without giving him a good word. How it is constructed I cannot say and it will not interest many. But what will interest most people is the fact that with one liter of petrol this apparatus will give out considerable heat for twelve hours. In addition to this it is absolutely fireproof. It gives a glowing heat, but burns without a flame. You could pour petrol over it whilst it functioned, yet nothing would result except smoke and an unpleasant smell. For a trip like ours where we were surrounded by benzine it was a priceless possession. Add to this its astonishing economy and it is not necessary to say more. Two Therm’xs made each room quite cozy, but as events will show even Therm’x had afterwards to be used sparingly and our cozy corners were cozy no longer. Riiser-Larsen, unselfish as ever, took up his quarters in the tail. How he managed to bear four weeks in it puzzles me. He must still have five blue stripes exactly like the five tail ribs! Feucht had his place in the dining room, and I mine in the pilot’s room. We did not rest long at first, for at ten o’clock we were in full swing again. We tried once more to turn the machine round, but soon gave it up for another plan, namely, to get the machine into safety as quickly as possible, for without any warning the fissure might close up and crush us like a nut between nut-crackers. To guard against this we decided to place it on top of the iceberg which lay beside us. It seemed a hopeless task at first, but it meant much. Firstly, part of the iceberg must come down, for a slide to be made. “But however could we accomplish that task?” asked one. Yes, that is the question. When we left we had 500 kilos too much on board and therefore must deny ourselves many things. To carry with us a number of ice tools, which we might never need, was out of the question. We had only calculated with landing on, and rising from, suitable ice. No one had dreamed of the present situation. We looked at our available tools: three slip knives, one big knife, one ax, one ice-anchor, which in time of need could be used as a pick. It is unbelievable what people can do when they are driven to it. There was only one way to get the machine into safety—and for that the iceberg must come down and be leveled and it would appear that we only had our fingers to do it with. Wholly inexperienced in work of this kind, we were rather clumsy in the beginning, but we were willing and incredibly persevering and were lucky enough to get the better of the situation. Later we managed to level an iceberg in a fabulously short time, but at present we were unused to the work and it went slowly. From time to time during our work we went up to the top of the machine, or to the top of an iceberg, and looked around to find the others. Anything might have happened in such a morass, and at lunch time we discussed the various probabilities. Had they made a bad landing? Had they decided that it was hopeless to land in this chaos?

The next day we got ready to march to Cape Columbia. The sledge was secured and put ready so that we, with the shortest possible warning, could set off if the ice should close in and crush the machine. Our provisions were sufficient to last for a month giving 1 kilo per man per day. As soon as we saw our situation was serious we began quickly to take less and in a short time our ration was reduced to 300 grammes per day. It was naturally too little for any length of time, but for a shorter period would suffice. We all felt very weak after the first day, but it appeared that we could get used to it. We got noticeably thinner, tightening our belts every day. My belt, which had often been too tight in King’s Bay, was now too slack even when worn outside my thick leather clothes. Our sleeping equipment consisted of one light reindeer skin bag, only designed for summer use. Most of us grumbled at the cold in the beginning, as the temperature remained about -10° c., but one must have practice in using a sleeping bag, and one must understand it in order to pass in it what turns out to be a warm balmy night, while another person without experience freezes. It is necessary to take plenty of time and to work oneself right down to the bottom when getting into a sleeping bag, for one can often see people who have no knowledge of these things, only halfway wriggled in, and naturally they pass an uncomfortable night.

On the 23rd we were able to cross the new frozen ice into the pool. We were early at work that day and kept on hacking at the slide. During a little interval I took the glasses, climbed to the top of the machine in order to look round after N 24. Who can describe my pleasure as I, almost with the first glance, observed it? South-west, on the other side of the great dam, there it lay looking quite cheeky. A little to the left stood the tent. And still a little further away, on the top of a high iceberg, a flag. This was pleasant news for my comrades and in haste we hoisted our flag. Anxiously I followed progress through my glasses to see if they were observing us. Yes, right enough, in a few moments I saw signs of life. They sprang to the flag, caught hold of it and in a few moments we had a means of communication, as fortunately our two pilots were practiced signalers. The distance between us was too great for semaphoring, so we had to use the Morse system. Apart from the fact that it took a little longer, everything went splendidly. Dietrichson announced that his machine on leaving King’s Bay had started an ugly leak, but that he had hoped all the same to be able to manage. We could tell them that our machine was absolutely undamaged. No further announcements were made. We went on with our work on the slide all day.

WHEN THE TWO PLANES WERE NEAR EACH OTHER

The 24th was given up to the same work. Most of the ice was as hard as flint and it took us a long time to work through it. In the afternoon I discovered suddenly through my glasses that there was an unusual stir on the other side. I could see them jumping backwards and forwards, preparing to do something or other. An hour later they put skis on; slung two heavy packages on their backs and set off towards us. It was just what I had wished to happen, though I had not expressed my wish so long as they were working at their machine. If they were able, by some means, to get their boat clear for a start, I naturally had no desire to hinder them. We could well have done with their assistance in our work of saving our machine, but, so long as they had their own work to do, we could not ask for help. I watched them anxiously through the glasses, noting their mode of approach through the icebergs (let me make it clear that they had very heavy packages on their backs), and I did not like the direction they took. They set their course directly towards the new frozen ice in the dam and I doubted its solidity. Certainly the ice in the little fissure was strong enough, but the ice on the great dam was a different matter. I held my breath as they descended from the old ice towards the new. Things could go wrong and prove fatal. Fortunately they were sufficiently foresighted to stay on the old ice; to my relief they kept to it, coming straight across and throwing off their packages. I thought they were going to rest a few moments, but was pleasantly surprised when they produced two flags and started semaphoring. It was not long before Riiser-Larsen was also on the job and the conversation started. They told us that they could not get their machine clear away alone and asked if they should come over and join us. As they apparently intended to cross the new ice, we hastily answered that it was better for them to turn back and consider matters a little, arranging to continue semaphoring the next morning at ten o’clock. With a sigh of relief I saw them go on to the old ice again.

A NEW LEAD OPENING IN THE ICE

GETTING READY FOR A FRESH START

On May 25th we managed to get our machine onto the slide so that the heavy end lay on the old ice. This was a great advantage, as any screwing which might take place would only push us higher up into complete safety. At ten o’clock the next morning we semaphored again. Dietrichson announced that conditions were better over there. In reply we asked them if they were finished with their work to come and help us. I would rather have seen them set off immediately, but such a course would have hindered their own work. While we chatted a big seal head suddenly appeared from a little fissure. I was astonished. Seals in 88° N. Lat. I had not expected to find.

With a satisfied feeling we drank our chocolate that evening. Our condition was much better. If we were not in absolute safety, we still had found a way to work clear. Our stay on the waterway had been a nightmare. High icebergs grinned down on us the whole time.

The 26th was a busy day. It dawned overshadowed; with a temperature of -10° c. The ice on both sides of the great dam had been moving a good deal during the night and both machines were driven nearer each other. We could thus quite easily see everything that happened in the other camp. We worked as usual on the slide and hoped in course of the day to raise the machine absolutely. At three P.M. there was great excitement on the other side and we thought at once that they were crossing to us. The great dam had become considerably smaller during the night; we looked at the old ice with large round eyes as we saw the people from N 24 coming round it towards us. We thought that they would have a dreary march of several hours, so we got on with our work in the meantime.

Who can describe my surprise when some one suddenly said, “Look, there they are!” Twenty minutes after leaving their resting place they had nearly reached us. Two hundred yards away we could see them working their way between the icebergs. We knew, however, that they could not come straight over, as there was a little fissure lying between us and them. Riiser-Larsen and I left our work, took the canvas boat, and went to meet them. We had scarcely set the boat on the water when Riiser-Larsen got into it to cross and fetch one of the advancing party. As he broke his way through the thin ice, I stood on the old ice and waited, when I was alarmed by a ringing shriek; a shriek which went to my marrow and made my hair stand up on end. It was followed by a number of cries, each one more alarming and terrifying than the last. I had not the slightest doubt but that a drama of the most horrible kind was being played on the other side of the iceberg. A man was in danger of drowning. There I must stand and listen to it without being able to raise a finger to help him. The situation seemed hopeless. The dying cries got less and I thought to myself, “Yes, now all is over. How many of them and who?” Just then came a head from the back of the iceberg. “Fortunately all three are not drowned.” One appeared and then another one joined him; then all three were there. To say I was glad is a mild expression. The two first shook themselves like dogs, but the third conducted himself normally. Riiser-Larsen carried them quickly over the fissure. Dietrichson and Omdal were wet to the skin, but Ellsworth was dry. We got them quickly on board the boat and their wet clothes were changed for dry ones.

To burn in the Primus stove, I had been clever enough to bring spirits of wine with me, and smiled slyly to myself over my farsightedness. As they arrived their teeth chattered so that they could not speak, a fact which was quite understandable, as falling into icy water and having to remain in a temperature of -10° c. for ten minutes afterwards, while a fresh little breeze is blowing, is enough to freeze one’s marrow. A dram of 97 p. c. possibly saved them from unpleasant consequences. A cup of steaming chocolate performed wonders, but it took twenty minutes to get ready, while the dram was ready at once. The work at eventide was stopped and we gathered in the little dining room to hear each others’ news. As the three left their camp at three P.M. with their packages of forty kilos weight, they had fastened lifebelts on and put skis on their feet without fastening the lashings. When they found that the old ice was difficult to negotiate on account of small open cracks, they decided it would be better to link hands and cross the new ice. The result was better than one might have expected and they got safely near to the old ice. But that lay on our side, and in such a condition that they preferred to continue on the new ice. Omdal went first, then Dietrichson, and last Ellsworth. The first to break through was Dietrichson, in fact one could hardly use the word “break,” as “sink” suits the situation better. The slush is very treacherous, it disappears underneath without a sound. When Dietrichson fell through he quite reasonably gave a loud cry and Omdal turned round to see what was wrong. In the same moment he himself fell through, and both lay there. Without a thought and with brilliant presence of mind Ellsworth rushed to them, pulled Dietrichson out and together they ran to Omdal. It was in the last moment that they reached him, loosened his rucksack, and hauled him out. He had stuck his nails into the ice and held on with the greatest desperation, but it did not help him much as the current carried his legs under the ice and threatened to draw him under if help had not come to him in the last moment. Lincoln Ellsworth was later decorated with the Medal for Bravery by H. M. the King and no one who wears it has earned it more bravely. There is no doubt that by his action he saved the whole expedition as later experience showed us; for without the power of six men the N 25 could never have got home.

And now we got Dietrichson’s story of his departure from King’s Bay; notwithstanding the fact that he knew a large part of the bonnet had been torn open he decided to continue the flight in order not to restrain N 25, which was already in the air. He thought it was better to risk life than to stop the trip. I know there are people who will shrug their shoulders and say “Idiotic.” I take off my hat and say, “Courage—splendid, brilliant, indomitable Courage. Oh! if only we had a number of such men.”

When N 24 saw us land they prepared to follow suit, but as Dietrichson knew that the water would surge in as soon as he came down, he sought a landing place on the old ice whence he thought he could raise his machine. To land on it he found was impossible, but he managed to land half on the old ice and thereby saved the situation. A quantity of the material they carried got wet and everything was hung out to dry. It sounds strange to speak of drying things in -10° c., but when they were hung on the dark gray wall of the machine they did not take long. From this moment all six of us took up quarters on board the N 25. Dietrichson and Omdal went into the mess with Feucht, Ellsworth in the pilot’s room with me. It was not a wonderful place that we had, but in 80 °N. Lat. one is not so particular. The three in the mess must each evening lay skis on the floor in order to have something to lie on.

On the 24th of May the six of us finished the work of bringing the machine into safety. How lightly and pleasantly it went, now that we were all together. The thought of what might have happened to the others had often proved detrimental to progress. Now we worked on amidst laughter and song and no one could have believed that we were prisoners in Nature’s most solid prison. In the beginning we three had only had one goal before us, namely, to raise N 25 onto the nearest solid ice. The slide was ready, but until the others joined us we had not managed to raise the machine. Now we broadened our plans arranging to bring the machine to a floe which we had examined and discovered to be safe and solid. In order to reach it it was necessary to get the machine across an intermediate floe. To do this we found it would be necessary to negotiate some small icebergs and unevenesses, and to fill up two ditches or trenches two meters wide. Our first work therefore was to get the machine on the slide. What we three had found difficult was easy for six men to accomplish; it was not only the addition of physical power, but also the knowledge that we were re-united, and it seemed that nothing could stop us as the machine glided out on the first floe. We were all pleased and satisfied. We believed we could make great progress in this frame of mind. How hopeless much of this work appeared to be when we started, but self-confidence and unity quickly changed the prospects. Riiser-Larsen was a builder of bridges and roads. He seemed to have done no other kind of work in all his life than what he was doing now. The two holes were filled up, the whole place was evened out, and at 8 P.M. to the sound of loud hurrahs we glided on the thick solid floe where we felt absolutely safe, or as safe as we could. Casting the lead the following day gave us 3,750 meters. Adding to this the fact that we had reached 88° 30 N. Lat. when we landed I believe that we confirmed Peary’s observations that no land exists in the northern sector of the Arctic Ocean. But this cannot be absolutely decided until some one flies over. The evening of the 29th the dam closed considerably and the distance now between the two boats could scarcely be more than 1 kilo as the crow flies. In the evening Dietrichson, Ellsworth, Feucht and Omdal went over to see if it would be possible to bring petrol back with them, but the ice was moving and they had to make a long detour to get back again. They tried to bring one petrol can with them, but were forced to leave it on the ice. “As soon as we have got two cans of petrol here,” said I in my diary, “we shall start for Spitzbergen. By our bearings we can take it for granted that the territory from here to the Pole is just the same—drift-ice and again drift-ice. And what should we do there? Substantiate the existence of land. But what is in that? Nothing—it is not worth while. But—perhaps it will be possible to find a place to rise from here. The prospects are not too good but conditions can change quickly.”

The next day passed and we succeeded in bringing the petrol in safety to our own floe. Later at eventide Dietrichson and Omdal crossed to N 24 to bring back most of the provisions and equipment which had been left there. The temperature was rising steadily, and was now about -6° c. By the 1st of June we had let the new frozen ice get an opportunity to set and become strong enough for a track. That day we tested its thickness and found that it was eight inches (solid enough for our purpose). As soon as we discovered this condition we started to level the track; it was not so easy as one might think. Although the new frozen ice was fine and level in long stretches there were places where the old ice had taken the liberty of mingling with the new and upsetting conditions entirely. Here the floe was on the slant, with ditches and unevenesses, which gave us much hard work, but it was necessary to get the machine down from the height above to the new ice. For this a slide was necessary. It is difficult to calculate how much we hacked away and how much we filled in, before we completed the work, but it was many tons of ice and snow. By twilight we had finished the track and the slide.

Early the next day we prepared to make ready. Everything must be in good order. Everything must have its place and be properly secured. When we rise nothing must be faulty. By 2:15 P.M. the engine was warm and ready to start. Riiser-Larsen was in the pilot’s seat, Feucht beside the motor. We four others stood by, ready to either push off or haul in the seaplane just as circumstances demanded. Here began a new task—to maneuver the seaplane amidst deep loose snow. When I call this work wearisome I think I have used the right term. While at first the work was particularly heavy, later, when we had had more practice, it was easier, but the whole time it was “weary.” Our first attempt was unsuccessful as the thin ice could not carry us. We broke through almost at once, breaking the ice on the greater part of the area. The track was about 500 yards long ending in old screw ice. As we had neared the end of this we turned the machine round preparatory to starting in the opposite direction in the pool which we had broken up. But, as it is said, “the traveler meets many obstacles,” and I think this applies particularly to any one who lands with a flying machine amidst the Polar ice. Hardly had we swung the seaplane round than thick fog descended like a wall. We could scarcely see from fore to aft, far less think of flying through the fog at a speed of 110 kilometers. “Therefore, my friend, cover yourself with patience,—the explorer’s indispensable salve.” We arranged to watch and to sleep—it was ten o’clock.

Feucht was keeping watch; he passed the time in pushing the machine backwards and forwards in the mushy water to prevent it from being frozen in. I got quite used to the crackling noise of the ice breaking against the sides and in the end I slept to this music. I had slept for an hour, I think, when I was suddenly awakened by a terrific shout—“Come out, every one, the ice is closing in!” I knew that Riiser-Larsen’s voice and tone were not to be mistrusted. Here was danger ahead. There were cracklings and smashings all around and I expected every moment to see the sides stove in like a concertina. In a rush Ellsworth and I dived for our shoes, the only things we took off during our stay amongst the ice. When I say “in a rush” it is only relatively speaking. For a rush was impossible in our circumstances. The pilot’s room offered good sleeping accommodation for two people if they went to bed quietly and carefully. There were so many uprights, struts, and pipes that our bedroom had the appearance of a birdcage. The making of a miscalculated movement landed one against a pipe or a strut, sometimes both. In addition to this one could not stand at full height. To speak of a rush under such conditions is therefore stupid. The sight which met us when we put our heads through the trap-door was interesting, but not altogether inviting. It was interesting to note how much four desperate men can straighten out. The pool we had made was now covered with ice in the center of which N 25 was stuck. The pressure was tremendous and a catastrophe seemed unavoidable. Gathering all his strength, Riiser-Larsen sprang like a tiger. He jumped high in the air in order to land anywhere on the ice which jammed the seaplane. The result was always the same. The ice broke under him without resistance. Omdal had got hold of a tool (I don’t know which one) and helped his comrade splendidly with its aid. Larsen pushed for all he was worth against the seaplane’s nose and tried to free it from the ice pressure. By this united work they managed to loosen the machine about 45° and thereby lighten the pressure against the sides. In the meantime Ellsworth and I were occupied in putting the provisions and equipment on the old ice. We were masters of the situation at last, but it was a near thing that time.

To return to our old quarters was unthinkable, so we looked round for a safe place somewhere else. We lay in a favorable position for crossing to N 24 and decided it might be wise to pursue this course. There was a possibility that we might reach it by way of the new ice, but this seemed unlikely after our last experience. However we would try our best to get over because it would be an advantage to be able to use N 24’s petrol without transporting it. Moreover it appeared that conditions across there were calmer and offered a safer resting place. That this was not the case we shall see later.

Thus we began again to hack and to level and by breakfast time the track was finished. Exactly as though we ourselves had dispersed it the fog lifted, and we could soon start. This reminds me of an amusing occurrence, amusing for others, but not exactly for me. On account of the small accommodation in the machines it was necessary for us always to move about in tabloid form, bent, drawn together and compact. The result of this was cramp, sometimes in the legs, in the thighs, in the stomach, in the back. These attacks came on at the most inopportune moments and the martyr was a never-failing object of general amusement. Everything was ready that morning for departure and I suddenly remembered my glasses which I had forgotten in the mess and which I now rushed to fetch. But it was a mistaken move on my part. My first hasty jerk gave me cramp in both thighs with the result that I could not move from the spot. I heard titters and giggles and notwithstanding the infernal pain I could not do otherwise than join in the general amusement.

The second start was not more fortunate than the first. The ice broke all the way and N 25 became famous as an icebreaker. One good result came from it, however, namely, that we got near to the other machine. That presented a sad appearance as it lay there lonely and forlorn with one wing high in the air, and the other down on the ice. They had been lucky enough to get its nose up on to a grade of the old ice floe, but the tail lay right out in the ice.

The conditions here seemed quite promising. We had an open waterway about 400 meters long with fine new ice quite near. The third attempt to start was undertaken the same afternoon but without result. We decided to join up the waterway and the new ice. It was possible that the great speed one could attain on the waterway would carry one up onto the ice and if that happened there was a big chance of rising in the air as the track would then have become about 700 meters long. At 2 A.M. on the 4th June we started the work, continuing all day. As by eventide we had got the track finished, down came the fog and prevented us from starting. A little later the ice got rather lively, beginning to screw during the night. Fortunately it was only the new-frozen ice, but even it was eight inches thick. There were pipings and singings all round us as the ice jammed against the machine. The methods and tools we now used were most original. Dietrichson armed himself with a four-yard-long aluminium pole with which he did wonderful work. Omdal used the film camera tripod, which was very heavy, ending in three iron-bound points. Every blow therefore was trebled and was most effective. Riiser-Larsen was the only one who had brought rubber boots with him; these reached to his waist. As the ice encroached it was met by ringing blows. The battle against it continued the whole night and by morning we could once again look back upon a conquest. Meantime the old ice had crept up nearer to us. It now appeared as though the “Sphinx” was taking aim at us; this was an ugly forbidding iceberg, formed in the shape of the Sphinx. The movements of the ice had caused the sides of the waterway to set together and our starting place was ruined again. The fog lay thick on the 5th of June while fine rain was falling. The ice cracked and piped as though it would draw our attention to the fact that it still existed. Now what should one do?

With his usual energy Riiser-Larsen had gone for a walk that afternoon amongst the icebergs accompanied by Omdal; they wished to see if they could find another place which could be converted into a starting place. They had already turned round to return home, as the fog was preventing them from seeing anything, when suddenly it lifted and there they stood in the center of the only plain which could be used. This was 500 meters square and not too uneven to be made level by a little work and patience. They came back happy and full of hope and shouted to the “Sphinx”: “You may be amused and smile even when others despair—even when the position is hopeless we still sing with pleasure aha! aha! aha! Things are improving day by day.”

The “Sphinx” frowned! It did not like this!

COLLECTING SNOW BLOCKS FOR A RUN-WAY

The way to the plain which the two men had found was both long and difficult, but we lived under conditions where difficulties frightened us no more. First of all the machine must be driven there—about 300 meters through new ice to a high old plain. Here we would have to hack out a slide to drive the machine up. From here the road crossed over to the Thermopylæ Pass, which was formed by two moderately sized icebergs, and ended in a three-yards-wide ditch over which the machine must be negotiated on to the next plain. On the other side one could see the last obstacle which must be overcome in the form of an old crack about five yards wide with sides formed of high icebergs and loose snow—rotten conditions to work in. Early on the morning of the 6th the work was started. After breakfast we took all our tools and attacked the old ice where the grade should be built. In order to get to this spot we had to pass round a corner which took us out of sight of N 25. Under general circumstances one would not have left the machine unattended, but conditions were otherwise than general and we had no man we could spare. Singing “In Swinemunde träumt man im Sand,” the popular melody associated with our comfortable days in Spitzbergen, we used our knives, axes, and ice-anchor to the best advantage, and fragments of ice flew in all directions. It is with pride and joy that I look back on these days, joy because I worked in company with such men, proud because our task was accomplished. Let me say quite frankly and honestly that I often regarded the situation as hopeless and impossible. Ice-walls upon ice-walls raised themselves up and had to be removed from our course; an unfathomable gulf seemed to yawn before us threatening to stop our progress. It had to be bridged by cheeky heroes who, never grumbling, tackled the most hopeless tasks with laughter and with song.

TRYING OUT OUR BULB SEXTANTS

FAST IN THE ICE

At 1 P.M. we went on board for soup. The ice was then calm. The “Sphinx” lay in the same position. Oh! how good the thick pemmican soup tasted! Five hours’ hard work on a cup of chocolate and three small oatcakes gives one a good appetite. At 4 P.M. Dietrichson went on board to fetch something, and on his return remarked that it seemed to him that the old ice was approaching the seaplane. Now, he, during the last days, had suffered a little from snow blindness and we thought accordingly he had made a mistake. It was indeed a mistake. We should have gone at once and looked into the matter. One must however remember that every second is precious and that we grudged stopping work. At 7 P.M. we went on board to eat our three biscuits. The sight which then met us would have filled the bravest heart with despair. The great pack had approached the seaplane to within some meters. The “Sphinx” seemed to bow and chuckle with amusement. Now it would have us! But it had laughed too soon. The six men that it now looked upon were not the same six who some days ago had arrived through the air from a place full of life’s comforts; the six now were hardened by obstacles, weariness and hunger, and they feared nothing on earth, not even the “Sphinx.” “Hurrah! heroes. Hurrah for home and all we hold dear. The devil take the ‘Sphinx.’” And so the work began and in its performance we got more self-confident than ever before, as we managed to turn the heavy machine round in the course of a few minutes. What task each person specially performed it is difficult to say, but it was a Herculean task. We lay down, we pulled, we toiled, we scratched. “You shall go round!” Before we realized it there it was, turned 180° and the course set for the new slide. The “Sphinx” hung its head and looked sad; but the next day it lay exactly on the spot where N 25 had lain. During this performance N 24 was pushed on to the plain beside which it had lain. Still a little more leveling and the slide was ready. To shouts of joy the machine, in the evening at eleven o’clock, was driven over the track and stopped exactly beside the Thermopylæ Pass. To-morrow there would not be much to be done.

The 7th of June. Norway’s Day! At home they would be wearing light summer clothes and enjoying life, while flags flew over the whole land from the North Cape to Neset. But don’t think that we forgot this day. No! From the N 25’s highest point our silk flag flew and our thoughts—oh! don’t let us think at all of them!

The side of the pass was formed by two gigantic icebergs which would have to be more than half cut down before the wings could pass over and the great ditch had to be filled up with ton after ton of snow. But the 7th of June is a good day to work for homesick folk. The knives are driven with greater certainty, the axes swung with greater power, and in a remarkably short time the ice giants dwindled to dwarfs. We experienced a very exciting episode on this occasion. While Riiser-Larsen drove the machine over the snow glacier Dietrichson went past and did not get out of the way. At the last moment he threw himself down flat on the ground and the tail-skid passed so near to him that I could not see daylight between. It was in the words’ fullest meaning a narrow escape. “I saw you all right,” remarked the pilot later. “But I could not stop in the middle of the bridge.” That his words were true was proved by looking back and noting that the bridge was no longer there. It was a delightful feeling to sit on a “flynder” and rush across the snow plains. It was not often we got the satisfaction, as we usually had to stand by ready to push or haul the machine over the snow. But this intermediate plain was hard and the pilot could manage to steer with the wheel. And thus we stood before the last ditch which had to be filled and leveled. It took us six hours before it was finished and the machine landed in safety on the big plain. It had been thawing the whole day and was uncomfortably warm for working, but one could always throw some clothes off. We were not so particular about our appearance.

The 8th of June brought us fog and half a degree of heat. It drizzled the whole time and we were exceptionally uncomfortable. We were now faced by another hard task, namely, turning the machine round in the deep wet snow. We were unused to this work and consequently were fairly clumsy. In addition to this we had to decrease our daily rations from 300 to 250 grammes, insufficient to keep up our strength. Our work in the deep wet snow of this plain was wearying. More wearying than ever before. Do you remember, comrades, how we made the turning platform? You will scarcely have forgotten that? The machine had to be driven up to the starting place and then swung round 180° to face the right direction. The snow as already said was deep and wet, and any turning of the machine under these conditions was hardly possible. What should we do now? There was only one thing to be done, namely, to dig down to the ice and turn the machine on that. The snow here was from two to three feet deep and every spadeful was a heavy weight to lift, particularly as we used the big shovels. We cleared a circular place with a diameter of fifteen meters. That got the name “turning-table.” Had we solved our problem by this you might have forgotten the turning-table by now, but when we tried to turn the machine, we found that the skids caught in the ice and stopped the whole progress. Again we were faced with the question—“What shall we do?” And some one was struck by a bright idea—to lay a snow-skate underneath. We all agreed the idea was good, but to accomplish it was not easy. We must lift the machine and it weighed four and one-half tons. But even that did not frighten us. It was not to a great height that we had to lift it—just about two centimeters, but only five men were available while the sixth must place the snow-skate underneath. Never mind, come on, my heroes. Lay your shoulders to the wheel and lift. And then five backs are bent in unison, and one! two! three!—we had got it up on the snow-skate at last. We continued working steadily, regardless of time’s flight, from 4 A.M. on the 8th of June to 4 A.M. the next day. During that time starting place No. 5 was worked on, tried, and approved. The fog lay thick and heavy while the drizzle continued all day on the 9th, but Riiser-Larsen insisted that the track should be completed. Think now what a problem we had before us when we started to work that morning. A track—500 meters long—twelve meters broad—should be made in wet snow three feet in depth. The snow cleared away from the track must be thrown at least six yards away from each side so that it should not get in the way of the machine. We had lived on 250 grammes daily for several days so you will not be astonished when I say that by evening we were absolutely worn out. I watched, with wonder, the two giants who wielded the shovels all day. We others did what we could, but our work was trifling compared to theirs. On the 11th we set to again after breakfast, but we could not keep up this strenuous work; an observer would have noticed at once that he had a number of worn-out people before him. The clang of the spades got slower, the rest-intervals longer and longer till in the end we stood quite still and stared at each other. It seemed an impossibility to get the snow shoveled aside in a reasonable time. Whilst we stood discussing it, Omdal walked up and down in the snow. It was only a chance that he did so, but a chance which brought about important results. “See,” he shouted suddenly, “this is what we can do instead of shoveling.” The place where he had trekked was quite hard and with a little frost would give a splendid surface. In the afternoon we started our great trek. Foot by foot of the track of soft wet snow was trodden into a solid road. It was still thawing, but we knew that if it turned frosty it would become a perfect track—and it was only natural to expect that frost would come. To make the surface even we had to remove long and high stretches of ice-formation containing tons upon tons of ice. On the 14th of June as we laid down our tools I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that all in all we had removed 500 tons of ice and snow. That day we made two starts, 6 and 7, but the foundation was still too soft as we had had no constant frost. Certainly the temperature that day had been as low as -12° c., but then it rose immediately after to 0° again. It was impossible to get up sufficient speed to rise, the machine sank down into the snow, and in a number of places dragged the whole of the underlying snow with it. Now will it freeze or not?

The 15th of June was fixed as the latest day for our next attempt to start. If that was not successful we must collaborate and decide what could be done. There were not many courses to choose. Either we must desert the machine and attempt to reach the nearest land, or we must stay where we were and hope for an opportunity to rise in the air. We had performed the miracle of leaving Spitzbergen with one month’s provisions, and yet after four weeks had passed we found we had provisions for six weeks. We could thus hold out until the 1st of August. In my lifetime I have often been faced by situations where I found it difficult to decide on the right course of action, but to choose in this case with any degree of certainty was more difficult than the making of any previous decision. The first alternative—to set off in search of land—appeared to me to be the most sensible as, should our provisions run out, it was possible further south that we might find edible animal life. In addition this plan had the great advantage that it would occupy our thoughts with the work we had ahead. Against this plan the fact of our modest equipment and our probably weakened condition must be weighed. When I privately considered these two alternatives I always came to the conclusion that to look for land was the most sensible, but as soon as I decided on this course a voice whispered in my ear: “Are you mad, Boy? Will you leave a complete and good machine, filled with petrol, and go down into the high broken ice where you know you may perish miserably? A waterway may open up before you to-morrow and then you will be home in eight hours’ time.” Will any one blame me for my indecision when I found it so difficult to choose.

On the evening of the 14th we unloaded everything on the ice except the most necessary, and that we placed in a canvas boat. We kept sufficient petrol and oil for eight hours, one canvas boat, two shotguns, six sleeping bags, one tent, cooking utensils and provisions for a few weeks. Even our splendid ski-shoes had to be set aside as they were too heavy. Of our clothes we only kept what we could not do without. All told it amounted to about 300 kg.

On the 15th of June we had a temperature of -3° c. with a little breeze from the southeast, just the very wind we required. The track was frozen fine and hard during the night, but the sky was not too promising—low-lying clouds—but what in all the world did we care about the sky! The thickest fog would not have kept us back. In this light the track was very difficult to see; small black objects were therefore placed at each side so that the pilot would be certain to make no mistake. A little too much to one side or the other could be fatal. At 9:30 P.M. everything was clear and ready for a start. The solar-compasses and the engines started. They were three-quarters warmed up. I cast a last glance over the track and walked along it to pass the time. It ran from northeast towards southeast. A few yards in front of the machine there was a small crack across the ice. It was only a few inches wide, but there it was, and at any moment it might open and separate the little corner we stood upon from all the rest. For the distance of 100 meters the track rose quite gradually in order to become level. Two hundred meters away, on the floe’s southeast end, there also lay a crack right across, but this was of a much more serious nature, and had caused us many uneasy moments. It was about two feet wide and filled with water and mush. This seemed to show that it was connected with the sea and could give us a few unpleasant surprises sooner or later. Should this crack widen and tear away 200 meters of our track, the latter would be entirely ruined. The floe ended in a three-foot broad water-lane; on the other side of it, direct in the line of the track, lay a flat forty-meter long plain, which one will understand was far from ideal, but absolutely the best which the place could offer us. At 10:30 everything was in order. In the pilot’s seat sat Riiser-Larsen, behind him Dietrichson and I, in the petrol tank Omdal and Feucht, and Ellsworth in the mess. Dietrichson was to navigate us homewards and should really have taken his place in the observer’s seat in front of the pilot. But as that was too exposed in view of the nature of the task we were undertaking, his place was allotted further back at the start. This was undeniably a most anxious moment. As soon as the machine began to glide one could notice a great difference from the day before. The hasty forward glide was not to be mistaken. One hundred meters off, we started at top-speed, 2,000 revolutions a minute. It trembled and shook, shivered and piped. It was as though N 25 understood the situation. It was as though the whole of its energy had been gathered for one last and decisive spring from the floe’s southern edge. Now—or never.

We rushed over the three-meter wide crack, dashed down from the forty-meter broad floe and then? Was it possible? Yes, indeed! The scraping noise stopped, only the humming of the motor could be heard. At last we were in flight. A smile and a nod and Dietrichson disappeared into the observation compartment.

And now started the flight which will take its place amongst the most supreme in flying’s history. An 850-kilometer flight with death as the nearest neighbor. One must remember that we had thrown practically everything away from us. Even though we had managed by a miracle to get away with our lives, after a forced landing, still our days were numbered.

The sky was low and for two hours we were compelled to fly at a height of fifty meters. It was interesting to observe the ice conditions, so we eased down. We believed that in different places we observed from the sky we could distinguish open water all around us. But it was not the case. Not a drop was to be seen anywhere, nothing but ice in a chaotic jumble all around. It was interesting also to see that the floe, which from first to last had given us freedom, was the only floe within a radius of many miles which could have been of any use to us. N 24 got a farewell wave and was lost to sight for ever. Everything worked excellently, the engines went like sewing machines and gave us unqualified confidence. Both solar-compasses ticked and worked, and we knew that if only the sun would appear, they would be of invaluable assistance to us. The speedometers were placed. By the wheel sat the pilot, cool and confident as always. In the navigating compartment was a man I trusted absolutely, and by the engines two men who knew their work perfectly. Ellsworth spent his time making geographical observations and photographs. I myself managed to get what was impossible on the journey north, a splendid opportunity to study the whole flight. The course was set towards Spitzbergen’s north coastland, around Nord Kap. In the two first hours we steered by the magnetic compass. This had been considered an impossibility, hitherto, so far north, but the result was excellent. When the sun broke through after two hours and shone direct on the solar-compass, it showed us how exactly we had steered. For three hours the atmosphere had been clear, but now it turned to thick fog. We rose to a height of 200 meters, flying over it in brilliant sunshine. Here we derived much benefit from the solar-compasses and were able to compare their readings with the magnetic-compass. We had fog for an hour and then it cleared again. The condition of the ice was as on the northern trip, small floes, with icebergs on all sides. There was apparently no system in its formation; everything was a jumble. There was more open water than on the northern tour, but no waterways, only basins.

In 82° N. Lat. the fog descended again. The pilot tried for some time to fly under it, and this was a flight which would have delighted people who seek nerve-splitting thrills. The fog came lower and lower till at last it stretched right over the icebergs. With a speed of about 120 miles at a low altitude one gets a new impression of flying. With a rush we passed over the top of the icebergs one after the other. At a great height one does not notice the terrific speed. One is, on the contrary, astonished how slowly one appears to be traveling. Several times icebergs peeped up directly under us, so close in fact that I thought, “We shall never clear that one!” But the next moment we were across it. There could not have been more than a hair’s breadth to spare. At last the conditions became impossible; fog and ice blended into one. We could see nothing. There was another matter as well which was of special weight, namely, the nearness of Spitzbergen. Should we fly into the high cliff walls with a speed of 120 kilometers there would not be much left of us. There was only one thing to do—to fly over the fog and that was exactly what the pilot decided to do.

Up 100 meters high—and we were above the fog in brilliant sunshine. It was observable soon that the fog was thinning, it began to lift more and more in big masses, and soon we could see territory under it. It was not inviting; nothing but small ice with a little water. When I speak of the impossible landing conditions it is only to show that to land here would have meant certain death. Such a landing would have crushed the machine and sent it to the bottom. The fog lifted steadily and soon disappeared entirely. It was a fresh southerly breeze which brought about this welcome change. The fog had lain thickest in the south, but now that began to move away as well. Large sections of it tore themselves away from the great mass and disappeared in small driving clouds. Where was Spitzbergen? Had we steered so mistakenly that we had flown to the side of it? It was quite possible. One had no experience in the navigation of the air in these regions. Over and over again the general opinion of the magnetic compass’s uselessness in this district came back to my mind as I sat there. The solar-compass had—as soon as we got the sun—shown a reading in agreement with the magnetic compass, but it was set at ——? At what? If only I knew! There was probably no ground for anxiety, yet I felt dubious. We ought to see land by now. We had not enough petrol to last long—and still no land. Then suddenly a big heavy fog-cloud tore itself away and rose slowly, disclosing a high glittering hill-top. There was scarcely any doubt. It must be Spitzbergen. To the north lay some islands. They coincided with Syvöene and the land stretched out in a westerly direction. But even if it were not Spitzbergen, it was still land—good, solid land. From the islands there stretched a dark strip northwards. It was water—the great open sea. Oh! what a delightful feeling—sea and land and no more ice. Our course lay southwards, but to get more quickly away from the ugly conditions beneath us, the course was set westwards and downwards to the open sea. It was more than a clever move on the part of the pilot—it was refreshing to see how instinct came to his aid—because the controls were showing signs of wear. It is enough to say before we had got right across the sea the controls jammed and an immediate landing was necessary. The wind blew with a cold blast from what we learned later was Hinlopen Strait and the sea was high and rough. The forced landing was accomplished with all the assurance and experience which always distinguished our pilot. We left our places and all went aft in order to allow the nose to lift as high as possible. The pilot was the only one left forward. He flew most carefully, guiding the boat and maneuvering it against the highest waves, which were of tremendous dimensions. We who were aft kept warm and dry, but it was a different matter for the man at the wheel. Time after time the waves lashed over him, wetting him to the skin in a few minutes. It was not “spray” which we shipped when the waves broke over us. Unused as I was to maneuvers of this kind I expected every moment to see the bottom stove in. It was seven in the evening when the forced landing was accomplished, and it was not until eight that we reached land. It was a fairly shoal bay we entered and the landing places it offered us were not of the best. We found a sloping side of the coast ice where we could climb ashore. The wind now died away and the sun shone on the heavy stones which lay on the beach. Here and there a little fresh rill ran between them singing as it descended from the hillsides. The sweet voices of birds fitted in with our gentle mood of eventide and inspired in us a feeling of solemnity. There was no need to look for a church wherein to praise God the Almighty and offer up to Him our burning thanks. Here was a spot amidst His own wonderful nature. The sea lay smooth and calm with here and there tremendous pieces of ice protruding from the water. The whole scene made an ineradicable impression on us which we shall never forget. The plane was moored to a large piece of ice so that it swung free, and all of us went ashore. There were two things which it was necessary for us to do in our own interests. First to discover our whereabouts and then to have a little food. The chocolate and the three biscuits we had taken at 8 A.M. no longer satisfied us. While Dietrichson “took the sun” the rest of us got the meal ready—a repetition of breakfast. How good it tasted! How fine it was to jump about among the big rocks! We became children again. All around lay driftwood which we could use for firing if we remained here any time. The ninety liters of petrol which we had must be used sparingly.

Omdal, who had been our cook during the whole trip, wished to set the Primus going, as there was still a little drop of petrol left in it, and he was busy with it when suddenly Riiser-Larsen shouted, “There is a ship.” And truly there in the east round the nearest point came a little cutter, gliding along. Had misfortune earlier been our lot luck seemed now to overwhelm us. It was now 9 P.M. and Dietrichson had just completed his observations. We found that we were exactly at Nord Kap on Nordostland, the very spot we had steered for in the morning. Thus the flight was a master-stroke on the part of the man who directed the machine, while the navigator shares the distinction with him. It was a splendid deed! But—the little cutter had changed her course and apparently had not noticed us. She moved quickly and was probably fitted with a motor engine. What should we do? What should we do to communicate with it? “Nothing easier,” said the flying-men. “Just sit tight and you shall see.” In a second everything was brought on board the plane, the motor started and we rushed over the sea stopping exactly beside the cutter. It was the cutter “Sjöliv” of Balsfjord—Captain Nils Wollan. A jolly-boat was lowered and with two men rowed across to us. They seemed in doubt as to who we could be, dirty and bearded as we were. But when I turned slightly round I exposed my profile—and they knew us at once. Would they tow us down to King’s Bay as our petrol was almost done? They would be delighted to do this, in fact Wollan would have certainly towed us to China if we had asked him, so glad was he to see us, so beaming with kindness and goodwill. We had a rope attached to N 25 and we all went on board the “Sjöliv.” There for the first time we felt that the expedition was finished. Quietly and calmly we shook hands with each other—it was a handshake that said much. We were received by all the crew with hearty welcome and shown down to the cabins. While this part of the ship was not exactly a ballroom, the cabins on “Sjöliv”—2 × 2 meters—compared with what we had had in the last four weeks, were roomy and comfortable. These good people cleared out of them absolutely and handed over the whole place to us. In the two broad bunks four of us were able to sleep, while two found berths in the men’s quarters. “Will you have coffee?” was the first question. Would we! Yes, certainly, and as quickly as possible with a smoke thrown in. We had been tobaccoless for the last days and now were longing for a smoke. The first coffee was not an unqualified success; the coffee pot was set on the fire to warm and, on a mighty roll the cutter gave, it flew straight onto Riiser-Larsen’s back. He was thus the first to get coffee, but if he appreciated the honor, his language expressed a totally different opinion. They apologized to us for the egg pancake and the seal-flesh which comprised the next course, but apologies were unnecessary. All the food disappeared as though a whirlwind had passed over the table—and this, despite the fact that we had decided to eat sparingly after our long restriction.

The towing of N 25 proceeded satisfactorily in the beginning, but during the night a southerly breeze came up blowing directly down from the hills. The waves increased steadily and as we steered westwards towards Hinlopen Strait we decided that we must turn landwards and anchor. We only got to bed at 5:30 A.M., after traversing an endless number of roods.

At eleven o’clock the next morning we were up again. It was blowing a gale and we lay badly. We decided therefore that we should go into the nearest bay to find a calm and safe harborage for N 25, let it remain there while we went on to King’s Bay for assistance, return for the seaplane and fly it down. The nearest harbor was Brandy Bay. We looked at each other as much as to say, “Can we really permit ourselves to enter a place with such a name?” The ice here lay at the bottom of the Bay and we towed the machine safely through it. At 8 P.M. we steered for King’s Bay. It was a windy passage through Hinlopen Strait. The sea was high and rough and the “Sjöliv” enjoyed herself royally. If our feelings agreed with hers, I should not like to say. On the 17th we sailed along Spitzbergen’s north coast in summer sunshine and warmth. We passed a few vessels and asked if they had seen “Hobby”—but “No, they had not.”

As we passed Virgo-havn we hoisted all our flags and the little “Sjöliv” was in gala attire. We wanted to honor the memory of the man who, for the first time, sought to reach the Pole through the air—Salomon August Andrëe. Was there any one in the world who had more right to honor the memory of this man than we six who stood here looking over the place from which he set out on his sad expedition. I scarcely think so. We lowered our flag and continued.

At 11 P.M. we rounded Cape Mitra and there lay King’s Bay before us. It was a wonderful sensation to sail back through the Bay and see all the old well-known places again. The ice had vanished, melted by the sunshine as loon and auk gamboled in its rays. Anxiety was rife among us as we sailed in as to whether “Hobby” was here or not? The skipper looked out, came back and announced that “Hobby” was not here; only a coal-boat lay by the quay. As we approached one or other of us went continually to look out; suddenly some one cried, “Yes, there is ‘Hobby.’ And another boat lies there also, but I can’t distinguish which it is.” Our relief was great. There lay “Hobby” and many of our dear friends were near. “Hullo,” some one cried from above, “the other boat is the Heimdal.’” “No, you must be mad. What would the ‘Heimdal’ be doing here?” answered another. We had not the slightest idea what awaited us. Nearer and nearer we approached. “Shall we raise the flag?” said the skipper. “No,” I answered, “there is no reason to do so.” But a little later some one said, “Surely we must greet the naval flag.” “Yes, naturally. I have forgotten my good manners on the trip,” I had to admit. So up went the flag and the “Sjöliv” approached the quay. We continually had our glasses directed on the ships ahead; suddenly some one exclaimed, “Good gracious, two flying machines are lying there.” And, true enough, there lay two Hansa-Brandenburgers ready for flight. Surely they were destined for a North Coast charting survey, as that had been discussed last year. Yes, that seemed quite possible! That we were the reason for all this excitement never entered our minds. We came on nearer and nearer. We could now see that they were beginning to direct glasses on us from the Coast, showing interest in the little cutter. As we sailed in one of our people who saw a comrade on board the “Hobby” shouted, “Hullo, Finn, how is everything at home?” That was the signal for great excitement. We saw them run round each other in jubilation, shouting and gesticulating. What in the world was the reason for all this? Soon we were to know. The motor stopped and the “Sjöliv” sailed up alongside “Hobby.”

MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION ARRIVING AT KING’S BAY

The reception we received will never be forgotten, not even when other things fill our thoughts. Our friends wept, they took hold of us, they looked at us with unbelieving glance—“But, Great God, is it you?” They simply did not realize that we had returned. But they explained how they had waited and waited, insisting that they had never given us up, while in their hearts they knew they had. And suddenly there we stood among them—the dead returned to life. No wonder that the reaction was great. Not one sensible word was said during the first half hour. There stood all our dear old friends: Captain Hagerup, Lieutenant Horgen, Zapffe, Ramm, Berge, etc. They looked so happy. And there were the dear fellows who had been sent to our relief: Captain Blom of the “Heimdal” and First Lieutenant F. Lutzow-Holm with the air fleet.

ROALD AMUNDSEN AND LINCOLN ELLSWORTH AT THE RECEPTION BY THE KING OF NORWAY

The last to come down, not because he wished to be late, but because it took him a long time to traverse the road from the Director’s house, was our dear host, Stakkars Knutsen. He had run so fast that he had to stand for a time to regain his breath. It was a warm reunion. Among all who had missed us in that time there was scarcely anybody whom our absence had made more uneasy. Late and early, we were told, he had scanned the horizon looking for us. Never had we been out of his thoughts. Big, strong man as he was, he had the warmest and softest of hearts. No wonder then that the meeting with Knutsen was regarded as an outstandingly important incident.

We had to be photographed from all sides, although a record would appear on the plate of a month’s whiskers and dirt. In an hour both would have vanished. And so we set off to our old King’s Bay quarters where we had passed unforgettable days before our departure. It was like a delightful dream to see it again. Every day as we had sat in our little mess on N 25 taking our humble meal, it was remarked on every side, “Oh! if only we were back at Knutsen’s.” And now we were there. We felt we wanted to pinch ourselves and ask, “Is this really possible? Can you really eat as many biscuits as you wish?” There was no time to shave and wash first. No! Berta had now taken command, and we should first and foremost have food. As we stepped into the room, cheering broke out. The Station welcomed us back, and never has our National Anthem sounded finer than it did as we stood in the little square room listening to the tones of what is our dearest hymn. I believe there was not one dry eye in the company. “Gud sygne dig landet vaart. Vi gir dig med glede alt.”

On the next day about three or four o’clock the steam bath was ready and a change was effected; hair and whiskers disappeared. We were all very thin, but we noticed it now more distinctly. It looked as though Riiser-Larsen could have put his collar twice round his neck—the same size collar which had even been tight for him when he set out for the north.

What time we went to bed that night I really cannot say, but I do know that when I came out next morning and looked around, one of the finest sights met me, making an ineradicable impression. On the flagstaff, right before the house, waved our big, beautiful National flag in a light summer breeze. The sun was blazing down and the glaciers around shone like silver in its rays. All seemed to be in festal dress. The hills blushed with the finest little flowers, and the birds twittered and sang. In the harbor lay the boats fully be-flagged. Yes! it was almost necessary to pinch myself to see if I was really awake. It seemed more like a fable.

On June 20th at 2 A.M. the “Heimdal” left the Bay with flying-men, mechanics, and photographer on board. They were off to Brandy Bay to fetch the machine. At eight next evening they were back with the apparatus in good order. We were dining when they arrived, but the hum of the motor brought us all to our feet. There she came gliding elegantly along and landed immediately afterwards. Now we got a holiday which we all keenly appreciated. It reminded me of my happy days when I could lie in idleness in the country and get fat! Hundreds of telegrams streamed in daily from all corners of the world. The King and Queen were first to send a greeting: “The Queen and I wish you and your companions welcome back. I thank you for your enterprise and that you have again brought honor to Norway. Haakon R.” The Crown Prince’s followed immediately after. Then came the Storthing, the Government, the Universities, all the towns, a number of districts and clubs and all the foreign Legations. Telegrams from abroad also poured in with congratulations—one from the English King, the German President, the Geographic and Scientific Associations, among others. Those were hard days for the telegraphers here in the north, but they were unusually smart. The telegraph service on board the “Fram” and the “Heimdal” gave us invaluable assistance. In addition to this the King’s Bay Coal Company’s telegrapher, Herr Hagenis, worked at high pressure all the time.

On June 23rd “Hobby” left us to return to her home—Tromsö. It was like losing an old friend, for we had been so glad to have with us all these clever, splendid people, who went with her; Ramm and Berge accompanied them.

St. Hans’ Eve was celebrated with due ceremony,—bonfire, song and dance. The Coal Company’s chartered boat “Albr. W. Selmer,” which came into the station on the 21st of June, was finished by the 25th with loading coal and took on board (the same afternoon) N 25 and the Navy’s two Hansa-Brandenburgers. They were shipped as they lay on the water—N 25 forward and the two others aft. The “Albr. W. Selmer” was suddenly turned into something which looked like a cross between fish and fowl. The planes were stretched out at both sides, and must have offered a most unusual sight to any ship meeting her. “Selmer” was an old boat, but quite able to take the whole expedition south. Furthermore, she had sufficient room to carry the machines quite easily and could house all the members. Captain Aasgard, her captain, and his officers made room for us with customary Norwegian hospitality and kindness and we of the expedition had the whole of the ship’s after-part given over to us. Thus we had the officers’ quarters and saloon. It was hard to say good-by to Knutsen and King’s Bay. We shall always hold as one of our dearest memories the wonderful hospitality and kindly care which was shown to us there on our return. At eleven o’clock the “Selmer” left King’s Bay in glorious weather. The midnight sun stood high in the heavens and the hills around were brightly illumined. From the “Heimdal” we heard the sounds of them playing “Ja vi elker” and from the Station’s height cheers broke out. The flags were dipped—one last farewell and the Station disappears—our dear home—behind us. We were ten passengers: Captain Hagerup, Lieuts. Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Horgen, Lutzow-Holm, Omdal, Zapffe, Feucht, Ellsworth and myself. It was an unforgettable holiday—and festal journey. The intention was that we should sail down outside the Islands all the way, anchoring at Lang-Grunnen, from whence we should enter Horten. This, however, was altered as time passed. We met a heavy swell coming from the east, making it dangerous for our machines. We must therefore “hug the coast” as quickly as possible, and at 11 A.M., June 29th, we passed Fugleö. Telegrams continued to come in such numbers that the ship’s second mate, who was also radio-telegrapher, was overworked. Near Tromsö we were overhauled by the S.S. “Richard With,” belonging to the Vesteraalske Steamship Company. As it passed, it hoisted its flags and broke out into loud cheers, as all on board waved and shouted. This was the first greeting we had had of this kind. Unexpectedly as it came it absolutely overwhelmed us. It was a delightful greeting and will never be forgotten. Now we had an idea what awaited us elsewhere and as we saw the tremendous preparations in Tromsö Sound we were prepared. Out shot two large flag-bedecked ships full of festal-clad jubilant people. A little further forward we saw our old friend “Hobby” so gayly decorated and so laden with people that she took our breath away. Speeches were made, songs were sung and people cheered. The passage through Tromsö Sound was triumphant—a proof of the warm-hearted hospitality characteristic of the people. The wonderful summer weather continued all the time and our journey along the coast was like a trip through Dreamland. Our beautiful flag was to be seen everywhere and greeted us with the same glowing warmth. Fir trees and birches were dressed in their most lovely green reminding us of Fairyland as we glided past. Here and there lay solitary little fishing-boats and I felt many times a lump in my throat when their sunburnt men stood up, raised their hats and sent us their “Welcome Home.” It was a calm but deep welcome which, in contrast to other more demonstrative greetings, filled us with emotion.

Outside Kristiansand we received our first welcome from the air. It was the Fleet and the Army greeting us. Four Hansa-Brandenburgers circled round us once and then disappeared.

On the afternoon of July 4th we passed Færder and entered Oslo-Fjord and were met with jubilant crowds by air and by sea. At Fuglehuk we encountered one of the most affecting scenes which we had lived through all the time, the meeting between the flying-men and their wives. The companion ladder was lowered, all heads were bared, and the two women, who had borne the hardest part of the expedition, climbed on board. If I only had command of all the world’s flags I would dip them in honor, if I only had all the world’s guns I would fire them all, to give these brave women a reception worthy of an Empress, for as such I regarded them.

At eleven o’clock at night we sailed into Horten’s Quay. Any attempt to describe this would be in vain. It was like the Arabian Nights. I was happy to go ashore at Horten, for in the past I had harvested so much good there that I was deeply grateful to this place. Not one of my expeditions had ever set out without the Norwegian Navy playing a great part; this last one being indebted in an overwhelming degree. It was through the Norwegian Navy’s Air Service that this last trip was really made possible. Thanks to their liberal granting of necessary permission, thanks to their giving us clever men; thanks to them again it was possible to set off on our enterprise.

Thus came the day—the great, the unforgettable day—the 5th of July, 1925. Summer favored us in its fullest glory. Who can describe the feelings which rose within us as we of the N 25 flew in, over the flag-bedecked capital, where thousands upon thousands of people stood rejoicing? Who can describe the sights that met us as we descended to the water surrounded by thousands of boats? The reception on the quay? The triumphant procession through the streets? The reception at the Castle? And then, like a shining crown set upon the whole, their Majesties’ dinner at the Castle. All belongs to remembrance—the undying memory of the best in a lifetime.

Part II
THE AMUNDSEN-ELLSWORTH POLAR FLIGHT
By Lincoln Ellsworth