Our polar flight

by Roald Amundsen; Lincoln Ellsworth

The arrangements were that both ships should keep together in order to be of mutual assistance and cheer. It is always comforting in the loneliness of the sea to be cheered by the near presence of another ship; assistance too we might both have need of.

It was a dark unpleasant night as we left Tromsö—wet and black. A foreign film photographer, who accompanied us to Spitzbergen, showed his spirit by operating his camera under all conditions and filming for all he was worth. (Had he wished to take a film of a dark night he must in very truth have been lucky.) Just outside Skaarö Sound we got into tremendous snow-storms and the meteorologists at the same time announced that the storm center was in the west. I decided along with the “Fram’s” captain, Hagerup, that it would be advisable to go into Skaarö Sound, anchor there and wait. The meteorologists thought that the bad weather would be of short duration. We signaled to “Hobby”: “We shall anchor at Skaarö,” after which we steered towards land. We lost “Hobby” in a snow shower. At 11:45 A.M. we anchored and expected “Hobby” to arrive soon. Frequent blasts amidst thick snowfalls made the atmosphere impenetrable. We waited in vain for our comrade.

At four o’clock P.M. the storm center passed and we set off again. We passed close to Fugleö, peering and glancing into all the creeks and inlets looking for “Hobby,” but there was nothing to be seen. We understood, therefore, that she must have mis-read our signal and steered in a direct course for Björneöen.

In spite of the officers’ and the men’s unchanging kindness and willingness, the journey was not altogether pleasant. We were packed as tightly together as it was in any way possible to pack human beings, and then as the boat began to roll, so the air got thicker and thicker—I refer to the inside air—and what under normal conditions would have been perpendicularly hanging things, such as towels, coats, etc., all stood right out from the wall in such a way that people began to feel themselves a little uncomfortable—I say uncomfortable, for nobody would ever be sea-sick! Now I have been at sea for over thirty years, but I have yet to meet the person who will admit to being sea-sick. Oh, no, not at all! Sea-sick? Far from it: only a little uncomfortable in the stomach or the head. In my diary I believe I have written that there were a number of sea-sick people on board, but I ask all the people to excuse me if I have been mistaken! I am also so very frank in my diary that I remark that I, too, am not so sure of myself, but that remark was presumably only meant for my private eye. The night of the 10th was particularly unpleasant: Zapffe, Ellsworth and I lay in the dining-room. Zapffe reclined in a corner of the sofa looking very pale, but insisting that he had never felt better in his life. Ellsworth and I lay in our sleeping-bags and, should I judge from the sounds and movements I heard and saw, I should be bold enough to say that we were in the same condition of well-being as Zapffe. Everything that could tear itself free did it, the chairs in particular appeared to have taken full possession of the dining saloon; the tricks they performed during the night were absolutely unbelievable. Now and again they performed alone, now and again they united and performed in troops. They had also been joined by a box of cigars which fell down and performed with them, and I can remember how these cigars flew round our ears. In spite of his paleness Zapffe had not lost his good-humor. “I thought I was in Havana,” came calm and dry from him as the first cargo of cigars struck him. I asked him if he would not be satisfied with Bremen, but that he would not agree to at all. In the pantry, which lay beside the saloon, there seemed to be a veritable and forcible jazz band now playing. Which instrument was being used at the moment was not quite clear to me, but in every case a zinc bucket was certainly doing its best. The rolling calmed down on the following day and most of the “souls” showed themselves on deck, with a pale sleepy look in their faces. I asked one who seemed in a bad way if he had been sea-sick, but I should never have done that. With cold scorn he replied that he had never felt such a thing in his life. What he felt half a minute later when a sudden roll landed him between two boxes and deprived him of the last part of his breakfast I don’t know. Certainly not sea-sick!

It is astonishing to notice how people’s interests can change in one moment. Yesterday we went round Tromsö and not the finest drug store, or the most tempting grocery shop, or the best set-out shoemaker’s window would have made us turn our heads to look at them. But this afternoon one of the members of the expedition had opened a box, which he had kept standing on the afterdeck, apparently with a view to taking something out. In a second he was surrounded by a curious crowd. The object of interest felt himself particularly flattered by so much notice being taken of him and he took out one thing after another. First came a tube of tooth paste. All necks were stretched, each one longer than the other, to get a sight of the wonderful thing. After that came a tablet of chocolate. What comments this brought forth I am unable to say as my point of observation was so far away. Certain is it, however, that the interest in the chocolate was quite intense. A pair of shoes came next. Had they been new and fine, I could have understood it. But that anybody could show any interest in these old, worn, down-trodden shoes is to me unbelievable. A snow storm closed the entertainment.

Word came that Björneöen was free from ice and we could approach without fear of meeting any. At four o’clock in the morning of the 11th we passed the island’s most southerly point. We had built on the possibility of seeing “Hobby” there, but in vain. We sent Björneöen a wireless and asked them to keep a lookout for “Hobby” and to inform us immediately if they sighted her. Simultaneously we telegraphed to King’s Bay and asked them for information regarding the ice conditions there. Beside the island we ran into a southeasterly wind, which during the day developed into a fresh breeze. At five o’clock in the afternoon we came into small ice, but, steering a westerly course, got quickly clear of it. On the 12th we passed through some fields of mush and quite small ice. The “Fram” is far from being an ideal ship for ice navigation, but so well did Captain Hagerup and Ice Pilot Ness guide us through in such a careful and comfortable manner that they earned our fullest appreciation. A less worthy man could have sent a boat such as “Fram” to the bottom in much less ice than we passed through. The atmosphere was impenetrable during most of the day. At ten o’clock in the evening—in a little clear glow—land was discernible. It was Quade Hoock in King’s Bay. At two o’clock we arrived at the edge of the ice and moored fast to it. The “Knut Skaaluren,” a little steamboat which had brought the two Directors, Brandal and Knutsen, here, lay there already.

King’s Bay had been free from ice the whole winter. Only in the last two days had the ice acquired a temperature of -26°c. We naturally regarded this as a great misfortune as it seemed that we should be prevented from getting in to the Coal Company’s quay where we were to begin the unloading of our boats. So far from being a misfortune this proved itself later to be our first and greatest piece of luck, that King’s Bay was icebound.

At ten o’clock in the morning I went ashore in order to pay the Directors a visit to see what they could do for us. The distance from where we had moored the “Fram” up to the quayside was a good three miles; there was a lot of water on the ice, dark and mushy. It was not easy to see Ny Aalesund, which was snow covered. But the moment I arrived at the quay and climbed from the ice a hand was stretched out giving me a warm handshake and a cheery welcome. It was Director M. Knutsen who, with the Company’s other Director, was to show us the most glorious hospitality during the whole of our long stay in King’s Bay. I may as well say it now as later, that without these practical men’s assistance we could scarcely have brought our arrangements to completion as they eventually were.

It was soon fixed up that all who were participating in the expedition should come ashore and stay there where room must be found for them. “Where there is room in the heart there is room in the house,” they said. Nothing greater than the “heart room” of Knutsen and Brandal could any one ever wish to find.

Now there was a matter which weighed on my mind—depressing me in a high degree. Where was “Hobby”? I went on board the “Fram” at eventide and walked up and down on the deck. It was about seven o’clock at eventide when Horgen came up to me and said that he saw something which stood high above the ice, and according to his opinion only “Hobby” could present such an appearance. Up with the glasses! Yes!—quite right, there came a heavy-looking box rustling and crushing through the ice. “Hobby” itself I could not see even now, but I could see that there was life on board. Every one ran around and shouted, “‘Hobby’ comes!” “‘Hobby’ comes!” In a second all hands were called on deck and to the accompaniment of ringing hurrahs “Hobby” lay by the side of the ice. All was well on board. The first part of the journey was over. Our boats were safely in King’s Bay. Honor where honor is due and it should be given to the expedition’s airmen, Captain Holm, Pilot Johannesen and the whole of “Hobby’s” crew. It was no small act of seamanship which they had accomplished.