Ice-smithy. May, 1895
The scraping away of the ice in the holds and on the half-deck was finished on June 12th. We tried to cut the steam-pipe aft (the pipe for rinse-water) out of the ice, but had to abandon the attempt. One end of this pipe had been resting ever since last year on the ice, and it was now so deeply frozen in that we could not release it. We cut a hole all round it 4 feet deep, but the hole quickly filled with water, so we left it to the summer heat to thaw the pipe loose.
The “Fram” Before Her Release
So much water commenced to accumulate in the engine-room about this time that we had to bale out considerable quantities—certainly 130 gallons per day. We at first thought that the water was produced by the thawing of the ice on board, but it subsequently appeared that it was mainly due to leakages, which probably arose from the fact that ice forming in the different layers of the ship’s skin forced the planking somewhat apart.
The state of health continued excellent, and the doctor had virtually nothing to do in his professional capacity. In the way of “casualties” there were only a few of the most trifling nature, such as a frozen big toe, a little skin-chafing here and there, a sore eye or two; that was all. However, we led a very regular life, with the twenty-four hours suitably distributed between work, exercise, and rest. We slept well and fed well, and so we were very little concerned at the fact that when being weighed on May 7th we were found to have lost flesh. However, the falling off was not great; the aggregate weight of the whole party was barely 8 pounds less than the month before.
There was, however, one complaint that we suffered from—a contagious one, though not of a dangerous nature. It became a fashion, or, if you like, a fashionable complaint, on board the Fram, to shave one’s head. It was said that an infallible method of producing a more luxuriant growth of hair was to shave away the little hair that still adorned the head of the patient. Juell first started it, and then a regular mania set in, the others following his example one by one, with the exception of myself and one or two more. Like a cautious general, I first waited a while to see whether the expected harvest sprouted on my comrades’ shaven polls; and as the hair did not seem to grow any stronger than before, I preferred a recipe ordered by the doctor—viz., to wash the head daily with soft soap and subsequently rub in an ointment. To make this treatment more effectual, however, and let the ointment get at the scalp, I followed the example of the others and shaved my head several times. Personally I do not believe that the process did any good, but Pettersen was of a different opinion. “The deuce take me,” said he, one day afterwards when cutting my hair, “if the captain hasn’t got some jolly strong bristles on his crown after that treatment.”
The Procession. May 17, 1895
The Seventeenth of May brought the finest weather that could be imagined. A clear, bright sky, dazzling sunshine, 10° to 12° of cold, and an almost perfect calm. The sun, which at this time of the year never sets throughout the twenty-four hours, was already high in the heavens, when at 8 A.M. we were awakened by the firing of a gun, and by joyous strains of the organ. We jumped into our clothes more speedily than usual, swallowed our breakfast, and with the liveliest expectation prepared for what was in store; for the “Festival Committee” had been very busy the previous day. Punctually at 11 o’clock the various corporations assembled under their flags and insignia, and were assigned their position in the grand procession. I marched at the head with the Norwegian flag. Next came Scott-Hansen with the Fram’s pennant, and then followed Mogstad with the banner of the Meteorological Department, richly bedecked with “cyclonic centres” and “prospects of fair weather.” He was seated on a box covered with bearskin placed on a sledge drawn by seven dogs, the banner waving behind him on a pole rigged as a mast. Amundsen was No. 4, bearing a demonstration banner in favor of “the Pure Flag,” and he was followed by his esquire, Nordahl, on snow-shoes with a spear in his hand and a rifle slung on his back. The flag showed on the red ground a picture of an old Norwegian warrior breaking his spear over his knee, with the inscription “Onward! Onward! [Fram! Fram!], ye Norseman! Your own flag in your own land. What we do we do for Norway.” Fifth in the procession came the mate, with the Norwegian arms on a red background, and sixth was Pettersen with the flag of the Mechanical Department. Last came the “Band,” represented by Bentzen with an accordion. The procession was followed by the public dressed in their best—viz., the doctor, Juell, and Henriksen in picturesque confusion.