(By A. Eiebakke, from a photograph)
During the succeeding days the storm raged, and we could not move. The entry for Tuesday, May 26th, is as follows: “We have lain weather-bound yesterday and to-day beneath the glacier cliff on the north side of this island. The snow is so wet that it will be difficult to get anywhere; but it is to be hoped that the open channel outside is not far off, and we shall get on quickly there when once the storm abates. We shall then make up for this long delay.” But our stay was to be longer than we thought. On Thursday, May 28th, the journal says: “We were up on the island yesterday, and saw open sea to the south, but are still lying weather-bound as before. I only moved our tent-place a little on account of the cracks; the ice threatened to open just beneath us. There are a great many walruses here. When we go out over the ice the fellows follow us and come up in the cracks beside us. We can often hear them grunting as they go, and butting at the ice under our feet.”
That day, however, the storm so far abated that we were able to move southward along the east side of the island. On the way we passed a large open pool in the shore-ice between this island and the land. It must have been shallow here, for there was a strong current, which was probably the cause of this pool being kept open. We passed two or three herds of walruses lying on the ice near it. Concerning these I wrote that evening: “I went up to one herd of about nine to take photographs of the animals. I went close up to them, behind a little mound, and they did not see me; but directly I rose up, not more than 20 feet away from them, a female with her young one plunged into the water through a hole close by. I could not get the others to stir, however much I shouted. Johansen now joined me, and, although he threw lumps of snow and ice at them, they would not move; they only struck their tusks into the lumps and sniffed at them, while I kept on photographing them. When I went right up to them, most of them at last got up and floundered away towards the hole, and one plunged in; but the others stopped and composed themselves to sleep again. Soon, too, the one that had first disappeared came back and crept on to the ice. The two that lay nearest to me never stirred at all; they raised their heads a little once or twice, looked contemptuously at me as I stood three paces from them, laid their heads down and went to sleep again. They barely moved when I pricked them in the snout with my pikestaff, but I was able to get a pretty good photograph of them. I thought I now had enough, but before I went I gave the nearest one a parting poke in the snout with my pikestaff; it got right up, grunted discontentedly, looked in astonishment at me with its great round eyes, and then quietly began to scratch the back of its head, and I got another photograph, whereupon it again lay quietly down. When we went on, they all immediately settled themselves again, and were lying like immovable masses of flesh when we finally rounded the promontory and lost sight of them.”
Once more we had snow-storms, and now lay weather-bound on the south side of the island.
“Friday, May 29th. Lying weather-bound.
“Saturday, May 30th. Lying weather-bound, stopping up the tent against the driving snow while the wind flits round us, attacking first one side and then another.” It was all we could do to keep ourselves tolerably dry during this time, with the snow drifting in through the cracks on all sides, on us and our bag, melting and saturating everything.
“Monday, June 1st. Yesterday it at last grew a little calmer, and cleared up so that we had bright sunshine in the evening. We rejoiced in the thought of moving on, got our kayaks and everything ready to launch, and crept into our bag, to turn out early this morning for a fine day, as we thought. The only thing that made it a little doubtful was that the barometer had ceased rising—had fallen again 1 millim., in fact. In the night the storm came on again—the same driving snow, only with this difference, that now the wind is going round the compass with the sun, so there must soon be an end of it. This is beginning to be too much of a good thing; I am now seriously afraid that the Fram will get home before us. I went for a walk inland yesterday. There were flat clay and gravel stretches everywhere. I saw numerous traces of geese, and in one place some white egg-shell, undoubtedly belonging to a goose’s egg.” We therefore called the island Goose Island.[3]
“Tuesday, June 2d. Still lay weather-bound last night, and to-day it has been windier than ever. But now, towards evening, it has begun to abate a little, with a brightening sky and sunshine now and again; so we hope that there will really be a change for the better. Here we lie in a hollow in the snow, getting wetter and wetter, and thinking that it is June already and everything looks beautiful at home, while we have got no farther than this. But it cannot be much longer before we are there. Oh, it is too much to think of! If only I could be sure about the Fram! If she arrives before us, ah! what will those poor waiting ones do?”
At length, on Wednesday, June 3d, we went on; but now the west wind had driven the ice landward, so that there was no longer open sea to travel south upon, and there was nothing for it but to go over the ice along the land. However, the wind was from the north, and we could put up a sail on our sledges, and thus get along pretty fast. We still saw several walruses on the ice, and there were also some in the water that were continually putting their heads up in the cracks and grunting after us. The ice we were crossing here was remarkably thin and bad, and as we got farther south it became even worse. It was so weighed down with the masses of snow that lay upon it that there was water beneath the snow wherever we turned. We had to make towards land as quickly as possible, as it looked still worse farther south. By going on snow-shoes, however, we kept fairly well on the top of the snow, though often both sledge and snow-shoes sank down into the water below and stuck fast, and no little trouble would be caused in getting everything safely on to firmer ice again. At last, however, we got in under a high, perpendicular basaltic cliff,[4] which swarmed with auks. This was the first time we had seen these birds in any great quantity; hitherto we had only seen one or two singly. We took it as a sign that we were approaching better-known regions. Alongside of it, to the southeast, there was a small rocky knoll, where numbers of fulmar (Procellaria glacialis) seemed to be breeding. Our supply of food was now getting very low, and we had been hoping for a visit from some bear or other; but now that we needed them they of course kept away. We then determined to shoot birds, but the auks flew too high, and all we got was a couple of fulmars. As we just then passed a herd of walruses we determined to take some of this despised food, and we shot one of them, killing it on the spot. At the report the others raised their heads a little, but only to let them fall again, and went on sleeping. To get our prize skinned with these brutes lying around us was not to be thought of, and we must drive them into the water in some way or other. This was no easy matter, however. We went up to them, shouted and halloed, but they only looked at us lazily, and did not move. Then we hit them with snow-shoe staves; they became angry, and struck their tusks into the ice until the chips flew, but still would not move. At last, however, by continuing to poke and beat, we drove the whole herd into the water, but it was not quick work. In stately, dignified procession they drew back and shambled slowly off, one after the other, to the water’s edge. Here they again looked round at us, grunting discontentedly, and then plunged into the water one by one. But while we were cutting up their comrade they kept coming up again in the crack beside us, grunting and creeping half up on the ice, as if to demand an explanation of our conduct.
After having supplied ourselves with as much meat and blubber as we thought we needed for the moment, as well as a quantity of blood, we pitched our tent close by and boiled a good mess of blood porridge, which consisted of a wonderful mixture of blood, powdered fish, Indian meal, and blubber. We still had a good wind, and sailed away merrily with our sledges all night. When we got to the promontory to the south of us we came to open water, which here ran right up to the edge of the glacier-covered land; and all we had to do was to launch our kayaks and set off along by the glacier cliff, in open sea for the first time this year. It was strange to be using paddles again and to see the water swarming with birds—auks and little auks and kittiwakes all round. The land was covered with glaciers, the basaltic rock only projecting in one or two places. There were moraines, too, in several places on the glaciers. We were not a little surprised, after going some way, when we discovered a flock of eider-ducks on the water. A little later we saw two geese sitting on the shore, and felt as if we had come into quite civilized regions again. After a couple of hours’ paddling our progress south was stopped by shore-ice, while the open water extended due west towards some land we had previously seen in that direction, but which was now covered by mist. We were very much in doubt as to which way to choose, whether to go on in the open water westward—which must take us towards Spitzbergen—or to leave it and again take to our sledges over the smooth shore-ice to the south. Although the air was thick and we could not see far, we felt convinced that by going over the ice we should at last reach open water on the south side of these islands among which we were. Perhaps we might there find a shorter route to Spitzbergen. In the meantime morning was far advanced (June 5th), and we pitched our camp, well pleased at having got so far south.[5]