The weather was good all through March, April, and May, with mild easterly breezes or calms, and, as a rule, a clear atmosphere. Once or twice the wind veered round to the south or west, but these changes were invariably of short duration. This settled calm weather at last became quite a trial to us, as it contributed in a great measure to increase the dreariness and monotony of the scene around us, and had a depressing effect on our spirits. Matters improved a little towards the end of May, when for a time we had a fresh westerly breeze. To be sure this was a contrary wind, but it was, at any rate, a little change. On June 8th the wind veered round to the east again, and now increased in strength, so that on Sunday, the 9th, we had half a gale from the E.S.E., with a velocity of 33 feet per second, being the strongest fair wind we had had for a long time.
It was astonishing what a change a single day of fair wind would work in the spirits of all on board. Those who previously moved about dreamily and listlessly now awakened to fresh courage and enterprise. Every face beamed with satisfaction. Previously our daily intercourse consisted of the monosyllables “Yes” and “No”; now we were brimming over with jokes and fun from morning to night: laughter and song and lively chat was heard all around. And with our spirits rose our hopes for a favorable drift. The chart was brought out again and again, and the forecasts made were apt to be sanguine enough. “If the wind keeps long in this quarter we shall be at such and such a spot on such and such a day. It is as clear as daylight we shall be home some time in the autumn of 1896. Just see how we have drifted up to now, and the farther we get west the faster we shall go,” and so forth.
The cold which in the middle of March did not exceed -40° C., kept steadily at from -30° to -25° during April, but it decreased at a comparatively rapid rate in May, so that by about the middle of the month the thermometer registered -14°, and in the latter part only -6°. On June 3d—so far the warmest day—a large pond of water had formed close to the vessel, although the highest temperature attained that day was -2°, and the weather was overcast.[3]
On June 5th the thermometer for the first time stood above freezing-point—viz., at +0.2°. It then fell again for a few days, going down to -6°; but on the 11th it rose again to about 2° above freezing-point, and so on.
The amount of atmospheric moisture deposited during the above-mentioned period was most insignificant; only a very slight snowfall now and then. However, Thursday, June 6th, was an exception. The wind, which for several days had been blowing from the south and west, veered round to the northwest during the night, and at 8 A.M. next morning it changed to the north, blowing a fresh breeze, with an exceptionally heavy snowfall.
We saw the midnight sun for the first time during the night of April 2d.
One of the scientific tasks of the expedition was to investigate the depth of the Polar Sea. Our lines, which were weak and not very suitable for this purpose, were soon so worn by friction, corrosion, oxidation, etc., that we were compelled not only to use them most cautiously, but also to limit the number of soundings far more than was desirable. It sometimes happened that the line would break while being hauled in, so that a good deal of it was lost.
The first sounding after the departure of Dr. Nansen and Johansen was taken on April 23d. We thought we should be able to lower away down to 3000 metres (1625 fathoms) in one run, but as the line commenced to slacken at 1900 metres (1029 fathoms) we thought we had touched bottom and hauled the line up again. As it appeared that the line had not reached the bottom, we now let down 3000 metres of line (1625 fathoms), but in doing so we lost about 900 metres of line (487 fathoms). Accordingly I assumed that we had touched ground at 2100 metres (1138 fathoms), and I therefore lowered the line to that depth without touching bottom. The next day we took new soundings at depths of 2100, 2300, 2500, and 3000 metres respectively (1137, 1245, 1353, and 1625 fathoms), but all without touching bottom. On the third day, April 25th, we sounded first at 3000 metres, and then at 3200 metres (1625 and 1733 fathoms) without touching bottom. The steel-line being too short we had to lengthen it with a hemp-line, and now went down to 3400 metres (1841 fathoms). While hauling up we perceived that the line broke, and found that, in addition to the 110 fathoms’ length of hemp-line, we had lost about 275 fathoms of steel-line. We then stopped taking soundings till July 22d, as the hemp-lines were so badly worn that we dared not venture to use them again until milder weather set in.
Wind and weather were, of course, a favorite topic on board the Fram, especially in connection with our drift. As is but right and proper, we had a weather-prophet on board—to wit, Pettersen. His specialty was to predict fair wind, and in this respect he was untiring, although his predictions were by no means invariably fulfilled. But he also posed as a prophet in other departments, and nothing seemed to delight him more than the offer of a bet with him on his predictions. If he won he was beaming with good humor for days at a stretch, and if he lost he often knew how to shroud both his forecast and the result in oracular mystery and darkness so that both parties appeared to be right. At times, as already hinted, he was unlucky, and then he was mercilessly chaffed; but at other times he would have a run of astounding luck, and then his courage would rise to such an extent that he was ready to prophesy and bet about anything.
