A busy life is a happy one, and the Fram’s company lived in harmonious good-fellowship and drifted leisurely with the great ice-pack, just as Nansen had predicted they would, with only occasional visits from bears to break the monotony of complete isolation.
In December, Nansen, who had read Dr. Kane’s fearful experiences in the Arctic night, with insufficient food for dogs and men, suffering from the ravages of scurvy, compares his own condition in the comfortable warm quarters on board the Fram. No ageing or depressing effects had been felt by any member of his party. The quiet, regular life seemed to agree with them, and with good food, in profusion and variety, a warm shelter, plenty of exercise in the open air, and cheerful diversions in the shape of instructive books and amusing games, the men kept up a cheerful balance of good health and spirits. Nevertheless, the patience of all on board was sorely tried before the cruise was over.
The drift of the ship during the thirty-five months of her besetment, was uneven and irregular; her zigzag course as she receded or approached her goal, encouraged or disheartened her enthusiastic crew. She met bravely and withstood in a remarkable manner threatened disaster from the ice pressures. Wild enthusiasm greeted the slightest advance, such as was found February 16, 1894, when the observations showed 80° 1´ north latitude, a few minutes north of the observations taken the week before. And a corresponding depression is noticed when contrary winds retard or actually force the Fram to retrace her hard-earned progress.
It is not surprising that Nansen’s adventurous spirit grew restive under the enforced inactivity of the Fram’s uncertain drift. Early in the year 1894 one finds his mind working upon deep-laid plans to force the issue with the enemy, and eventually he announced his intentions of attempting one of the most daring and hazardous sledge journeys in the annals of Arctic adventure. His plan was to leave the ship with one companion, advance over the frozen polar ocean, as far as possible, and without making an effort to rejoin the ship, retreat by way of Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen, back to Norway. February 26, 1895, he officially informed the crew that after his departure, Captain Sverdrup was to be chief officer of the expedition, with Lieutenant Scott-Hansen second in command.
On the 14th of March, 1895, the Fram stood in 84° 04´ N., 102° E., and amid a parting salute with flag, pennant, and guns, Nansen’s third and final sledge dash to the north was taken. Johannesen, who had been chosen as his companion for this arduous undertaking, was in all respects qualified for the work—an accomplished snow-shoer equalled by few “in his powers of endurance,—a fine fellow physically and mentally.”
NANSEN AND JOHANNESEN START FOR THE POLE
Off they went, accompanied for a short distance by several of the crew. Three sledges drawn by twenty-eight dogs were loaded with two kayaks, and provisions for one hundred days for the men and fifty days’ dog-food. Nansen and Johannesen, fully confident that fifty days would see them at the Pole, plunged into the unknown and met bravely the pitiless foe. Hummocks and ridges, lanes and slush, cold and exhaustion, these were the impediments to progress.
It was Nansen’s rule to march nine or ten hours, broken by a midday halt for a little rest and a bit to eat. These stops were a bitter trial to the men exposed to the merciless winds without fire or shelter, to be followed by the uncomfortable task of disentangling the dogs’ traces, before they were able to take up the march again. On March 29, they were “grinding on, but very slowly”; the dogs were showing signs of weakening—there was endless disentangling of the hauling ropes.
On April 3 they were making their desperate way over ridges and lanes which had frozen together with rubble on either side. It was impossible to use snow-shoes, there being too little snow between the hummocks. Thick weather, with deceptive mists making all things white, added to their miseries; irregularities and holes and the spaces between, so that the men and dogs stumbled blindly on, crashing into pitfalls and cracks and running the grave risk of broken bones.
On April 6 the ice grew worse and worse; after an advance of only four miles Nansen and Johannesen were in despair.