Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

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.