Map showing Nansen’s route.

Fridtjof Nansen

A Book for the Young

By
Jacob B. Bull
Translated
By the
Rev. Mordaunt R. Barnard
Vicar of Margaretting, Essex
One of the translators of Dr. Nansen’s “Farthest North”

Boston, U.S.A.
D. C. Heath & Co., Publishers
1903

Copyright, 1898,
By D. C. Heath & Co.

The illustrations on pages 85, 95, 125, are from Dr. Nansen’s book entitled “Farthest North: Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship Fram, 1893–1896; etc.” Copyright, 1897, 1898, by Harper & Brothers.

Contents.

Illustrations.

• Page
• [Map of Nansen’s Polar Route] Frontispiece
• [Store Fröen, Nansen’s Birthplace] 3
• [Nansen at Nineteen] 21
• [Otto Sverdrup] 43
• [Camp on the Drift Ice] 47
• [East Greenland Esquimaux] 56
• [Sledging Across Greenland] 64
• [On the Way To Godthaab] 68
• [Crew of the Fram] 85
• [The Fram in an Ice Pressure] 95
• [Nansen and Johansen Leaving the Fram] 110
• [Meeting of Nansen and Jackson] 125

Fridtjof Nansen.

Chapter I.

Nansen’s Birthplace and Childhood Home.—Burgomaster Nansen, his Ancestor.—His Boyhood and Education.—Early Love of Sport and Independent Research.

In West Aker, a short distance from Christiania, there is an old manor-house called Store Fröen. It is surrounded by a large courtyard, in the middle of which is a dovecot. The house itself, as well as the out-houses, is built in the old-fashioned style. The garden, with its green and white painted fence, is filled with fruit-trees, both old and young, whose pink and snow-white blossoms myriads of bumblebees delight to visit in springtime, while in autumn their boughs are so laden with fruit that they are bent down under a weight they can scarcely support.

Close by the garden runs the Frogner River. Here and there in its course are deep pools, while in other places it runs swiftly along, and is so shallow that it can readily be forded. All around are to be seen in winter snow-covered heights, while far away in the background a dense pine forest extends beyond Frogner Sæter,[1] beyond which again lies Nordmarken, with its hidden lakes, secret brooklets, and devious paths, like a fairy-tale. And yet close by the hum of a busy city life with all its varied sounds may be heard.

It was in this house that, on Oct. 10, 1861, a baby boy, Fridtjof Nansen, was born.

Many years before this, on Oct. 9, 1660, two of Denmark’s most powerful men were standing on the castle bridge at Copenhagen eyeing each other with looks of hatred and defiance. One of these, named Otto Krag, was glancing angrily at Blaataarn (the Blue Tower) with its dungeons. “Know you that?” he inquired of his companion, the chief burgomaster of the city. Nodding assent, and directing his looks toward the church tower of “Our Lady,” in which were hung the alarm bells, the latter replied, “And know you what hangs within yonder tower?”

Four days later the burghers of Copenhagen, with the burgomaster at their head, overthrew the arrogant Danish nobles, and made Frederick III absolute monarch over Denmark and Norway.

Store Fröen.

It needed unyielding strength and indomitable courage to carry out such an undertaking, but these were qualifications which the burgomaster possessed, and had at an early age learned to employ. When but sixteen he had set out from Flensborg on an expedition to the White Sea in a vessel belonging to his uncle, and had then alone traversed a great portion of Russia. Four years later he commanded an expedition to the Arctic Ocean, and subsequently entered the service of the Iceland Company as captain of one of their ships.

When forty years of age he was made an alderman of Copenhagen, and in 1654 became its chief burgomaster. During the siege of that city in the war with Charles the Tenth (Gustavus), he was one of its most resolute and intrepid defenders; and so when the power of the Danish nobility was to be overthrown, it was he who took the chief part in the movement.

This man, who was neither cowed by the inherited tyranny of the nobles, nor daunted by the terrors of war or the mighty forces of nature, was named Hans Nansen; and it is from him, on his father’s side, that Fridtjof Nansen descended.

Our hero’s mother is a niece of Count Wedel Jarlsberg, the Statholder[2] of Norway,—the man who in 1814 risked life and fortune to provide Norway with grain from Denmark, and who did his share toward procuring a free and equable union with Sweden.

Fridtjof Nansen grew up at Store Fröen, and it was not long before the strongly marked features of his race became apparent in the fair, shock-haired lad with the large, dark-blue, dreamy eyes.

Whatever was worthy of note, he must thoroughly master; whatever was impossible for others, he must do himself. He would bathe in the Frogner River in spring and autumn in the coldest pools; fish bare-legged with self-made tackle in the swiftest foss;[3] contrive and improve on everything pertaining to tools and implements, and examine and take to pieces all the mechanical contrivances that came in his way; often succeeding, frequently failing, but never giving in.

Once, when only three years old, he was nearly burned to death. He had been meddling with the copper fire in the brewhouse, and was standing in the courtyard busied with a little wheelbarrow. All at once his clothes were on fire, for a spark, it seems, had lighted on them, and from exposure to the air, burst out into flames. Out rushed the housekeeper to the rescue. Meanwhile Fridtjof stood hammering away at his barrow, utterly indifferent to the danger he was in, while the housekeeper was extinguishing the fire. “It was quite enough for one person to see to that sort of thing,” he thought.

On one occasion he very nearly caused the drowning of his younger brother in the icy river. His mother appeared on the scene as he was in the act of dragging him up out of the water. She scolded him severely; but the lad tried to comfort her by saying, that “once he himself had nearly been drowned in the same river when he was quite alone.”

Once or twice on his early fishing-excursions he managed to get the fishhook caught in his lip, and his mother had to cut it out with a razor, causing the lad a great deal of pain, but he bore it all without a murmur.

The pleasures of the chase, too, were a great source of enjoyment to him in his childish years. At first he would go out after sparrows and squirrels with a bow and arrow like the Indian hunters. Naturally he did not meet with much success. It then occurred to him that a cannon would be an excellent weapon for shooting sparrows. Accordingly he procured one, and after loading it up to the muzzle with gunpowder, fired it off, with the result that the cannon burst into a hundred pieces, and a large part of the charge was lodged in his face, involving the interesting operation of having the grains of powder picked out with a needle.

The system on which the Nansen boys were brought up at Store Fröen was to inure them in both mind and body. Little weight was attached to trivial matters. The mistakes they made they must correct for themselves as far as possible; and if they brought suffering on themselves they were taught to endure it. The principles of self-help were thus inculcated at an early age—principles which they never forgot in later days.

As Fridtjof grew up from the child into the boy, the two opposite sides of his character became apparent,—inflexible determination, and a dreamy love of adventure; and the older he grew, the more marked did these become. He was, as the saying is, “a strange boy.” Strong as a young bear, he was ever foremost in fight with street boys, whom he daily met between his home and school. When the humor took him, especially if his younger brother was molested, he would fight fiercely, though the odds were three or four to one against him. But in general, he was of a quiet, thoughtful disposition.

Sometimes indeed he would sit buried in deep thought half an hour at a time, and when dressing would every now and then remain sitting with one stocking on and the other in his hand so long that his brother had to call out to him to make haste. At table, too, he would every now and then forget to eat his food, or else would devour anything and everything that came in his way.

The craving to follow out his own thoughts and his own way thus displayed itself in his early childhood, and he had not attained a great age before his longing to achieve exploits and to test his powers of endurance became apparent.

It began with a pair of ski[4] made by himself for use on the Frogner hills, developed in the hazardous leaps on the Huseby[5] slopes, and culminated in his becoming one of Norway’s cleverest and most enduring runners on ski. It began with fishing for troutlets in the river, and ended with catching seals in the Arctic seas. It began with shooting sparrows with cannons, and ended with shooting the polar bear and walrus with tiny Krag-Jörgensen conical bullets. It began with splashing about in the cold pools of the Frogner river, and ended in having to swim for dear life amid the ice floes of the frozen ocean. Persevering and precise, enduring and yet defiant, step by step he progressed.

Nothing was ever skipped over—everything was thoroughly learned and put into practice. Thus the boy produced the man!

There was a certain amount of pride in Fridtjof’s nature that under different circumstances might have proved injurious to him. He was proud of his descent, and of his faith in his own powers. But the strict and wise guidance of his parents directed this feeling into one of loyalty—loyalty toward his friends, his work, his plans. His innate pride thus became a conscientious feeling of honor in small things as well as great—a mighty lever, forsooth, to be employed in future exploits.

Meanness was a thing unknown to Fridtjof Nansen, nor did he ever cherish rancorous feelings in his breast. A quarrel he was ever ready to make up, and this done it was at once and for all forgotten.

The following instance of his school-days shows what his disposition was:—

Fridtjof was in the second class of the primary school. One day a new boy, named Karl, was admitted. Now Fridtjof was the strongest boy in the class, but the newcomer was also a stout-built lad. It happened that they fell out on some occasion or other. Karl was doing something the other did not approve of, whereupon Fridtjof called out, “You’ve no right to do that.”—“Haven’t I?” was the reply, and a battle at once ensued. Blood began to flow freely, when the principal appeared on the scene. Taking the two combatants, he locked them up in the class-room. “Sit there, you naughty boys! you ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” he said, as he left them in durance vile.

On his return to the class-room a short time afterward, he found the two lads sitting with their arms around each other’s neck, reading out of the same book. Henceforth they were bosom friends.

As a boy Nansen possessed singular powers of endurance and hardiness, and could put up with cold, hunger, thirst, or pain to a far greater degree than other boys of his age. But with all this he had a warm heart, sympathizing in the troubles of others, and evincing sincere interest in their welfare,—traits of character of childhood’s days that became so strongly developed in Nansen the leader. Side by side with his yearning to achieve exploits there grew up within his breast, under the strict surveillance of his father, the desire of performing good, solid work.

Here may be mentioned another instance, well worthy of notice:—

Fridtjof and his brother went one day to the fair. There were jugglers and cake-stalls and gingerbread, sweets, toys, etc., in abundance. In fine, Christiania fair, coming as it does on the first Tuesday in February, was a very child’s paradise, with all its varied attractions. Peasants from the country driving around in their quaint costumes, the townspeople loafing and enjoying themselves, all looking pleased as they made their purchases at the stalls in the marketplace, added to the “fun of the fair.”

Fridtjof and his brother Alexander went well furnished with money; for their parents had given them a dime each, while aunt and grandmamma gave them each a quarter apiece. Off the lads started, their faces beaming with joy. On returning home, however, instead of bringing with them sweets and toys, it was seen that they had spent their money in buying tools. Their father was not a little moved at seeing this, and the result was that more money was forthcoming for the lads. But it all went the same way, and was spent in the purchase of tools, with the exception of a nickel that was invested in rye cakes.

More than one boy has on such an occasion remembered his father’s and mother’s advice not to throw money away on useless things, and has set out with the magnanimous resolve of buying something useful. The difference between them and the Nansen boys is this: the latter not only made good resolutions, but carried them out. It is the act that shows the spirit, and boys who do such things are generally to be met with in later days holding high and responsible positions.

Fridtjof was a diligent boy at school, especially at first, and passed his middle school examination[6] successfully. He worked hard at the natural sciences, which had a special attraction for him. But gradually, as he rose higher in the classes, it was the case with him as it is with others who are destined to perform something exceptional in the world; that is, he preferred to follow out his own ideas—ideas that were not always in accordance with the school plan. His burning thirst after knowledge impelled him to devote his attention to what lay nearest, and thoroughly to investigate whatever was most worthy of note, most wonderful, and most difficult. High aspirations soon make themselves apparent.

The mighty hidden forces of nature had a great attraction for him. He and his friend Karl (who after their fight were inseparable), when Fridtjof was about fifteen, one day got hold of a lot of fireworks. These they mixed up together in a mortar, adding to the compound some “new kinds of fluid” they had bought for their experiment. Nature, however, anticipated them, for a spark happening to fall on the mixture, it burst into flames.

Our two experimentalists thereon seized hold of the mortar and threw it out of the window. It fell on the stones and broke into a thousand pieces, and thus they gained the new experience,—how a new chemical substance should not be compounded. The humorous whim, however, seized them to blacken their hands and faces, and to lie on the floor as if they were dead. And when Alexander entered the room, they made him believe that the explosion had been the cause of it all. Thus, though the experiment had failed, they got some amusement out of its failure.

Although Fridtjof had so many interests outside his actual school studies, he was very diligent in his school work. In 1880 he took his real artium,[7] with twenty-one marks in twelve subjects. In natural science, mathematics, and history he had the best marks, and in the following examination in 1881 he gained the distinction of passing laudabilis præ ceteris.

Though brought up at home very strictly, for his father was extremely particular about the smallest matters, yet his life must have possessed great charm for him, spent as it was in the peaceful quiet of his home at Store Fröen. If on the one hand his father insisted that he should never shirk his duty, but should strictly fulfil it, on the other he never denied him anything that could afford him pleasure.

This is evident from a letter Fridtjof Nansen wrote home during one of his first sojourns among strangers. On writing to his father in 1883 he dwells on the Christmas at home, terms it the highest ideal of happiness and blessedness, dwells on the bright peaceful reminiscences of his childhood and ends with the following description of a Christmas Eve:—

“At last the day dawned,—Christmas Eve. Now impatience was at its height. It was impossible to sit still for one minute; it was absolute necessary to be doing something to get the time to pass, or to occupy one’s thoughts either by peeping through the keyhole to try and catch a glimpse of the Christmas-tree with its bags of raisins and almonds, or by rushing out-of-doors and sliding down the hills on a hand-sleigh; or if there were snow enough, we could go out on ski till it was dark. Sometimes it would happen that Einar had to go on an errand into the town, and it was so nice to sit on the saddle at the back of the sleigh, while the sleigh-bells tinkled so merrily, and the stars glittered in the dark sky overhead.

“The long-expected moment arrived at last,—father went in to light up. How my heart thumped and throbbed! Ida was sitting in an armchair in a corner, guessing what would fall to her share; others of the party might be seen to smile in anticipation of some surprise or other of which they had got an inkling—when all at once the doors were thrown wide open, and the dazzling brilliancy of the lights on the Christmas-tree well nigh blinded us. Oh, what a sight it was! For the first few minutes we were literally dumb from joy, could scarcely draw our breath—only a moment afterward to give free vent to our pent-up feelings, like wild things.... Yes—yes—never shall I forget them—never will those Christmas Eves fade from my memory as long as I live.”

Reminiscences of a good home, of a good and happy childhood, are the very best things a man can take with him amid the storms and struggles of life; and we may be sure of this,—that on many a day that has been beset with almost insurmountable difficulties, when his powers were almost exhausted, and his heart feeling faint within, the recollection of those early years at Store Fröen has more than once recurred to Nansen’s mind.

The peace and comfort of the old home, with all its dear associations, the beloved faces of its inmates—these have passed before his mind’s eye, cheering him on in the accomplishment of his last tremendous undertaking.

[1] Frognersæteren, a forest-covered hill about six miles from Christiania. Nordmarken, an extensive woodland stretching for miles and miles to the north of Christiania.

[2] Statholder, vice-regent. In the early days of the union with Sweden the king had the right of appointing a vice-regent for Norway. The last time the king made use of this prerogative was in 1844, and the right was abrogated in 1872.

[3] Foss, waterfall.

[4] Ski, Norwegian snowshoes; pronounced shee.

[5] Huseby, a farm near Christiania, where the annual ski-match was formerly held.

[6] Middle school examination, passed on graduating from the grammar school to the high school.

[7] Examen artium, the entrance examination to the university. For real artium the chief topics of examination are sciences, mathematics, and the English language. The best mark in any subject is 1 (excellent), the poorest 6 (bad).

Chapter II.

Youthful Excursions.—Studies.—Goes on a Sealing Expedition to the Arctic Sea.—Hunts Ice-bear.

There is hardly a boy in Christiania or its neighborhood who is fond of sport that does not know Nordmarken, and you may hear many and many a one speak of its lakes, the deafening roar of its cascades, of the mysterious silence of its endless forest tracts, and the refreshing odor of the pine-trees. You may hear, too, how the speckled trout have been lured out of some deep pool, the hare been hunted among the purple mountain ridges, or the capercailzie approached with noiseless footsteps when in early spring the cock bird is wooing his mate; or again, of expeditions on ski over the boundless tracts of snow in the crisp winter air beneath the feathery snowladen trees of the forest.

In the days of Nansen’s boyhood it was very different from what it is now. Then the spell of enchantment that ever lies over an unknown and unexplored region brooded over it—a feeling engendered by Asbjörnsen’s[1] well-known tales.

It was as if old Asbjörnsen himself, the fairy-tale king, was trudging along rod in hand by the side of some hidden stream—he who alone knew how to find his way through the pathless forest to the dark waters of some remote lake. And it was but once in a while that the most venturesome lads, enticed by the tales he had devoured in that favorite story-book, dared pry into the secrets of that enchanted land. Only a few of the rising generation then had the courage and the hardihood to penetrate into those wilds whence they returned with faces beaming with joy, and with reinvigorated health and strength. But now the whole Norwegian youth do the same thing.

Among the few who in those days ventured there were the Nansen boys. They had the pluck, the hardiness, and yearning after adventure that Nordmarken demanded. They were not afraid of lying out in the forest during a pouring wet summer night, neither were they particular as to whether they had to fast for a day or two.

Fridtjof Nansen was about eleven years old when, in company with his brother Alexander, he paid his first independent visit to it. Two of their friends were living in Sörkedal,[2] so they determined to go and see them—for the forest looked so attractive that they could not resist the temptation. For once they started off without asking leave. They knew their way as far as Bogstad,[3] but after that had to ask the road to Sörkedal. Arriving at their destination, they passed the day in playing games, and in fishing in the river.

But it was not altogether an enjoyable visit, for conscience pricked, and as they set out for home late in the evening, their hearts sank. Their father was a strict disciplinarian, and a thrashing rose up before them, and what was even worse than that, mother might be grieved, and that was something they could not endure to think of.

On reaching home they found its inmates had not gone to bed, though it was late in the night. Of course they had been searching for the truants, and their hearts, which a moment before had been very low down, now jumped up into their throats, for they could see mother coming toward them.

“Is that you, boys?” she asked.

“Now for it,” they thought.

“Where have you been?” asked their mother.

Yes, they had been to Sörkedal, and they looked up at her half afraid of what would happen next. Then they saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

“You are strange boys!” she murmured; and that was all she said. But those words made the hearts of the young culprits turn cold and hot by turns, and they there and then registered a vow that they would never do anything again to cause mother pain, but would always try to please her—a resolution they kept, as far as was possible, their whole lives through.

Subsequently they had leave given them to go to Sörkedal, and wherever else they wanted. But they had to go on their own responsibility, and look out for themselves as best they could. But Fridtjof never forgot the lesson he had learned on that first expedition to Nordmarken. Who can tell whether his mother’s tearful face, and her gentle words, “You are strange boys!” have not appeared to him in wakeful hours, and been the means of preventing many a venturesome deed being rashly undertaken, many a headstrong idea from becoming defiant.

This at all events is certain,—Nansen when a man always knew how to turn aside in a spirit of self-denial when the boundary line between prudence and rashness had been reached. And for this it may be safely said he had to thank his father and mother.

Those who are in the habit of going about in forests are pretty sure to meet with some wonderful old fellow who knows where the best fish lie in the river, and the favorite haunts of game in the woods. Such a one was an old man named Ola Knub, whose acquaintance Nansen made in the Nordmarken forest. His wife used to come to Store Fröen with baskets of huckleberries, strawberries, cranberries, etc., and it was through her Fridtjof got to know him. Often they would set off on an expedition, rod in hand, and coffee kettle on their back, and be away for days together. They would fish for trout from early morning till late at night, sleeping on a plank bed in some wood-cutter’s hut, after partaking of a supper of trout broiled in the ashes, and black coffee.

Toward the end of May, when the birch and the oak began to bud, and the timber floats had gone down the river, they would start on such an expedition, taking with them a goodly supply of bread and butter, and perhaps the stump of a sausage.

It took them generally quite five hours to reach their destination, but once arrived there they would immediately set to work with rod and line, and fish up to midnight, when they would crawl into some charcoal-burner’s hut for a few hours’ sleep, or as was often the case, sleep out in the open, resting their backs against a tree, and then at daybreak would be off again, to the river. For time was precious, and they had to make the best use they could of the hours between Saturday evening and Monday morning, when they must be in school.

When autumn set in, and hare-hunting began, they would often be on foot for twenty-four hours together without any food at all. As the boys grew older, they would follow the chase in winter on ski, often, indeed, almost to the detriment of their health. Once when they had been hare-hunting for a whole fortnight, they found their provision-bag was empty, and as they would not touch the hares they had killed, they had to subsist as best they could on potatoes only.

In this way Fridtjof grew up to be exceptionally hardy. When, as it often happened, his companions got worn out, he would suggest their going to some spot a long distance off. It seemed to be a special point of honor with him to bid defiance to fatigue. On one occasion, after one of these winter excursions to Nordmarken, he set off alone without any provisions in his knapsack to a place twenty-five kilometres (fifteen and a half miles) distant, for none of his companions dared accompany him. On arriving at the place where he was bound, he almost ate its inmates out of house and home.

On another occasion, on a long expedition on ski with some of his comrades, all of whom had brought a plentiful supply of food with them in their knapsacks, Fridtjof had nothing. When they halted to take some necessary refreshment, he unbuttoned his jacket and pulled out some pancakes from his pocket, quite warm from the heat of his body. “Here, you fellows,” he said, “won’t you have some pancakes?” But pancakes, his friends thought, might be nice things in general, yet pancakes kept hot in that way were not appetizing, and so they refused his proffered hospitality.

“You are a lot of geese! there’s jam on them too,” he said, as he eagerly devoured the lot.

Even as a boy Fridtjof was impressed with the idea that hardiness and powers of endurance were qualifications absolutely essential for the life he was bent on leading; so he made it his great aim to be able to bear everything, and to require as little as was possible.

If there were things others found impracticable, he would at once set to work and attempt them. And when once he had taken a matter in hand, he would never rest till he had gone through with it, even though his life might be at stake. For instance, he and his brother once set out to climb the Svartdal’s peak in Jotunheim.[4] People usually made the ascent from the rear side of the mountain; but this was not difficult enough for him. He would climb it from the front, a route no one had ever attempted; and he did it.

Up under Svartdal’s peak there was a glacier that they must cross, bounded on its farther side by a precipice extending perpendicularly down into the valley below. His brother relates, “I had turned giddy, so Fridtjof let me have his staff. Then he set off over the ice; but instead of going with the utmost caution, advancing foot by foot at a time, as he now would do, off went my brother as hard as he could—his foot slipped, and he commenced to slide down the glacier. I saw that he turned pale, for in a few seconds more he would be hurled over the abyss, and be crushed to pieces on the rocks below. He saw his danger, however, just in the nick of time, and managed to arrest his progress by digging his heels into the snow. Never shall I forget that moment; neither shall I forget when we arrived at the tourist’s cabin how he borrowed a pair of trousers belonging to the club’s corpulent secretary—for they completely swallowed him up. His own garment, be it stated, had lost an essential part by the excessive friction caused by his slide down the glacier.”

Such were the foolhardy exploits Fridtjof would indulge in as a boy; but when he arrived at manhood he would never risk his life in any undertaking that was not worth a life’s venture.

When nineteen he entered the university, and in the following year passed his second examination;[5] and now arose the question what was he to be? As yet the idea of the future career which has rendered his name famous had not occurred to his mind, so we see him hesitating over which of the many roads that lay before him to adopt. He applied to have his name put down for admission as cadet in the military school, but quickly withdrew the application. Next he began the study of medicine, after which all his time was devoted to a special study of zoölogy. In 1882 he sought the advice of Professor Collet as to the best method of following up this branch of science, and the professor’s reply was that he had better go on a sealing-expedition to the Arctic seas. Nansen took a week to reflect on this advice before finally deciding; and on March 11 we see him on board the sealer Viking, steering out of Arendal harbor to the Arctic ocean—the ocean that subsequently was to mark an epoch in his life, and become the scene of his memorable exploit.

Nansen at nineteen.

It was with wondrously mixed feelings that he turned his gaze toward the north as he stood on the deck that March morning. Behind him lay the beloved home of his childhood and youth. The first rays of the rising sun were shining over the silent forests whither the woodcock and other birds of passage would soon be journeying from southern climes, and the capercailzie beginning his amorous manœuvres on the sombre pine tops, while the whole woodland would speedily be flooded with the songs of its feathered denizens.

And there before him was the sea, the wondrous sea, where he would behold wrecked vessels drifting along in the raging tempest, with flocks of stormy petrels in attendance—and beyond, the Polar sea, that fairy region, was pictured in his dreams. Yes, he could see it in his spirit—could see the mighty icebergs, with their crests sparkling in the sunlight in thousands of varied forms and hues, and between these the boundless tracts of ice extending as far as the eye could reach in one level unbroken plain. When this dream became reality, how did he meet it?

Flat, drifting floes of ice, rocked up and down in the blue-green sea, alike in sunshine and in fog, in storm and calm. One monotonous infinity of ice to struggle through, floe after floe rising up like white-clad ghosts from the murky sea, gliding by with a soughing, rippling murmur to vanish from sight, or to dash against the ship’s sides till masts and hull quivered; and then when morning broke, a faint, mysterious light, a hollow murmur in the air, like the roar of distant surge, far away to the north.

This was the Arctic sea! this the drift ice! They were soon in the midst of it. The sea-gulls circled about, and the snow-bunting whirled around the floes of ice on which the new-fallen snow lay and glittered.

A gale set in; then it blew a hurricane; and the Viking groaned like a wounded whale, quivering as if in the agonies of death from the fierce blows on her sides. At last they approached the scene of their exertions, and the excitement of the impending chase for seals drove out every other feeling from the mind, and every one was wondering “were there many seals this year? would the weather be propitious?”

One forenoon “a sail to leeward” was reported by the man in the crow’s-nest, and all hands were called up on deck, every stitch of canvas spread, and all the available steam-power used to overtake the stranger.

There were two ships; one of them being Nordenskjöld’s famous Vega, now converted into a sealer. Nansen took his hat off to her; and it may well be that this strange encounter imbued his mind with a yearning to accomplish some exploit of a similar perilous nature and world-wide renown as that of the famed Vega expedition. It is a significant fact that the Vega was the first ship Nansen met with in the Arctic sea—a fact that forces itself upon the mind with all the might of a historic moment, with all the fateful force of destiny. It addresses us like one of those many accidental occurrences that seem as if they had a purpose—occurrences that every man who is on the alert and mindful of his future career will meet once at least if not oftener on his journey through life. Such things are beyond our finite comprehension. Some people may term them “the finger of God,” others the new, higher, unknown laws of nature; it may be these names signify but one and the same thing.

That year the Viking did not meet with great success among the seals, for the season was rather too advanced by the time she reached the sealing-grounds. But all the more did Nansen get to learn about the Arctic sea; and of the immense waste of waters of that free, lonely ocean, his inmost being drank in refreshing draughts.

On May 2, Spitzbergen was sighted, and on the 25th they were off the coast of Iceland, where Nansen for a while planted his foot once more on firm land. But their stay there was short, and soon they were off to sea again, and in among the seals. And now the continual report of guns sounded all around; the crew singing and shouting; flaying seals and boiling the blubber—a life forsooth of busy activity.

Toward the end of June the Viking got frozen in off the East Greenland coast, where she lay imprisoned a whole month, unfortunately during the best of the sealing season; a loss, indeed, to the owners, but a gain for Nansen, who now for the first time in his life got his full enjoyment in the chase of the polar bear.

During all these days of their imprisonment in the ice there was one incessant chase after bears,—looking out for bears from the crow’s-nest, racing after bears over the ice, resulting in loss of life to a goodly number of those huge denizens of the Polar regions.

“Bear on the weather bow!” “Bear to leeward! all hands turn out!” were the cries from morning till night; and many a time did Nansen jump up from his berth but half dressed, and away over the ice to get a shot.

Toward evening one day in July Nansen was sitting up in the crow’s-nest, making a sketch of the Greenland coast. On deck one of the crew, nicknamed Balloon, was keeping watch, and just as our artist was engrossed with his pencil, he heard Balloon shouting at the top of his voice, “Bear ahead!” In an instant Nansen sprang up, threw his painting-materials down on the deck below, quickly following the same himself down the rigging. But alas! by the time he had reached the deck and seized his rifle, the bear had disappeared.

“A pretty sort of fellow to sit up in the crow’s-nest and not see a bear squatting just in front of the bows!” said the captain tauntingly.

But a day or two afterward Nansen fully retrieved his reputation. It was his last bear-hunt on the expedition, and this is what occurred:—

He and the captain and one of the sailors set out after a monstrous bear. The beast, however, was shy, and beat a speedy retreat. All three sprang after it. But as Nansen was jumping over an open place in the ice, he fell plump into the sea. His first thought on finding himself in the water was his rifle, which he flung upon the ice. But it slipped off again into the water, so Nansen had to dive after it. Next time he managed to throw it some distance across the ice, and then clambered up himself, of course wet through to the skin. But his cartridges, which were water-tight ones, were all right, and soon he rejoined his companions in pursuit, and outstripped them. In a little while he saw the bear making for a hummock, and made straight for him; on coming up to closer quarters the beast turned sharp round and dropped into the water, but not before Nansen was able to put a bullet into him. On reaching the edge of the ice, he could see no trace of the animal. Yes—there was something white yonder, a little below the surface, for the bear had dived. Presently he saw the animal pop its head up just in front of him, and a moment after its paws were on the edge of the floe, on which, with a fierce and angry growl, the huge beast managed to drag himself up. Nansen now fired again, and had the satisfaction of seeing the bear drop back dead into the water, where he had to hold it by the ears to prevent it sinking, till his companions came up, when they were able to haul it up on the ice.

The captain now bade Nansen return to the ship as quickly as he could to change his clothes; but on his road thither he met with some others of the crew in pursuit of a couple of bears. The temptation was too strong for him, so he joined them. He was fortunate enough to shoot one of the bears that they had wounded, and then started after bear number two, which was leisurely devouring the carcass of a seal some little distance off. On coming up with it he fired. The bear reeled and fell backwards into the water, but speedily coming up again, made off for a large hummock, under cover of which it hoped to be able to sneak off.

But Nansen was not far behind. It was an exciting chase. First over a wide space of open water, then across some firm ice; the bear dashed along for dear life, and now the iron muscles, hardened by his exploits on the Huseby hills and his Nordmarken experiences, stood his pursuer in good stead. Following on the blood-stained track, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Now the bear, now Nansen, seemed to be getting the advantage. Whenever a broad opening in the ice or a pool of clear water came in their way, they swam across it; bear first, Nansen a good second—and so it went on mile after mile. Presently, however, Nansen thought his competitor in the race began to slacken speed, and to turn and twist in his course, as if seeking for some friendly shelter; and coming up within a reasonable distance he gave him two bullets, one lodging in the chest, the other behind the ear, when to his great joy the bear lay dead at his feet. Nansen at once set to work to skin the brute with a penknife—rather a tedious operation with such an instrument. Presently one of the sailors came up, and off they started for the ship with the skin, on their road meeting a man whom the captain had thoughtfully despatched with a supply of bread and meat, without which, indeed, as is well known, a hero, especially when ravenously hungry, is a nobody.

In all, nineteen bears were bagged during this time.

Soon after this bear-hunt the Viking set out for home, and great was the joy of all on board when the coast of “old Norway,” with its lofty mountain ridges, was seen towering up over the sea. This expedition of the Viking was termed by the sailors, “Nansen’s cruise,”—an exceptional reminiscence, a monolith in the midst of the ice!

“Ay, he was a chap after bears!” said one of the sailors afterward; “just as much under the water as over it, when he was after bears. I told him that he was going to injure his health that way; but he only laughed, and pointing to his woollen jersey said, ‘I do not feel cold.’”

To Fridtjof Nansen this Arctic expedition became the turning-point of his life. The dream of the mighty ocean never left him; it was ever before his eyes with all its inexplicable riddles.

Here was something to do—something that people called impossible. He would test it. Some years, however, must elapse before that dream should become reality. Nansen must first be a man. Everything that tended to retard his progress must be removed or shattered to pieces—all that would promote it, improved upon and set in order.

[1] P. C. Asbjörnsen (pron. Asbyurnsen) together with Jörgen (pron. Yurgen) Moe collected the popular and fairy tales of Norway.

[2] Sörkedal, a valley about eight miles to the north of Christiania.

[3] Bogstad, a baronial manor about five miles north of Christiania.

[4] Jotunheim, the giant’s world, a group of mountains in the centre of southern Norway.

[5] Second examination, graduating as a bachelor of arts.

Chapter III.

Fridtjof Nansen Accepts a Position in the Bergen Museum.—Crosses the Mountains in the Winter.—Prepares Himself for the Doctor’s Degree.

The very same day that Nansen set foot on land after his return from this expedition he was offered the Conservatorship of the Bergen[1] Museum by Professor Collett. Old Danielsen, the chief physician, a man of iron capacity for work, and who had attained great renown in his profession, wanted to place a new man in charge. Nansen promptly accepted the offer, but asked first to be allowed to visit a sister in Denmark. But a telegram from Danielsen, “Nansen must come at once,” compelled him, though with no little regret, to give up his projected visit.

The meeting of these two men was as if two clouds heavily laden with electricity had come in contact, producing a spark that blazed over the northern sky. That spark resulted in the famous Greenland expedition.

Danielsen was one of those who held that a youth possessed of health, strength, and good abilities should be able to unravel almost anything and everything in this world, and in Fridtjof Nansen he found such an one. So these two worked together assiduously; for both were alike enthusiastic in the cause of science, both possessed the same strong faith in its advancement. And Danielsen, the clear-headed scientist, after being associated with his colleague for some few years, entertained such firm confidence in his powers and capabilities, that a short time before the expedition to the North Pole set out, he wrote in a letter:—

“Fridtjof Nansen will as surely return crowned with success from the North Pole as it is I who am writing these lines—such is an old man’s prophecy!”

The old scientist, who felt his end was drawing near, sent him before his death an anticipatory letter of greeting when the expedition should happily be over.

Nansen devoted himself to the study of science with the same indomitable energy that characterized all of his achievements.

Hour by hour he would sit over his microscope, month after month devote himself to the pursuit of knowledge. Yet every now and then, when he felt he must go out to get some fresh air, he would buckle on his ski, and dash along over the mountain or through the forest till the snow spurted up in clouds behind him. Thus he spent several years in Bergen.

But one fine day, chancing to read in the papers that Nordenskjöld had returned from his expedition to Greenland, and had said that the interior of the country was a boundless plain of ice and snow, it flashed on his mind that here was a field of work for him. Yes—he would cross Greenland on ski! and he at once set to work to prepare a plan for the expedition. But such an adventurous task, in which life would be at stake, must not be undertaken till he himself had become a proficient in that branch of science which he had selected as his special study. So he remains yet some more years in Bergen, after which he spends twelve months in Naples, working hard at the subjects in which he subsequently took his doctor’s degree in 1888.

Those years of expectation in Bergen were busy years. Every now and then he would become homesick. In winter time he would go by the railway from Bergen to Voss,[2] thence on ski over the mountains to Christiania, down the Stalheim road,[2] with its sinuous twists and bends, on through Nærödal, noted for its earth slips, on by the swift Lerdals river fretting and fuming on one side, and a perpendicular mountain wall on the other. And here he would sit to rest in that narrow gorge where avalanches are of constant occurrence. Let them come! he must rest awhile and eat. A solitary wayfarer hurries by on his sleigh as fast as his horse will go. “Take care!” shouts the traveller as he passes by; and Nansen looks up, gathers his things together, and proceeds on his journey through the valley. It was Sauekilen, the most dangerous spot in Lerdals, where he was resting. Then the night falls, the moon shines brightly overhead, and the creaking sound of his footsteps follows him over the desert waste, and his dark-blue shadow stays close beside him. And he, the man possessed of ineffable pride and indomitable resolution, feels how utterly insignificant he is in that lonely wilderness of snow—naught but an insect under the powerful microscope of the starlit sky, for the far-seeing eye of the Almighty is piercing through his inmost soul. Here it avails not to seek to hide aught from that gaze. So he pours out his thoughts to Him who alone has the right to search them. That midnight pilgrimage over the snowy waste was like a divine service on ski; and it was as an invigorated man, weary though he was in body, that he knocked at the door of a peasant’s cabin, while its astonished inmates looked out in amazement, and the old housewife cried out, “Nay! in Jesus’ name, are there folk on the fjeld[3] so late in the night? Nay! is it you? Suppose you are always so late on the road!”

Even still more arduous was the return journey that same winter. The people in the last house on the eastern side of the mountain, in bidding him “God speed,” entreat him to go cautiously, for the road over the fjeld is well nigh impassable in winter, they say. Not a man in the whole district would follow him, they add. Nansen promises them to be very careful, as he sets off in the moonlight at three o’clock in the morning. Soon he reaches the wild desert, and the glittering snow blushes like a golden sea in the beams of the rising sun. Presently he reaches Myrstölen.[4] The houseman is away from home, and the women-folk moan and weep on learning the road he means to take. On resuming his journey he shortly comes to a cross-road. Shall it be Aurland or Vosse skavlen?[5] He chooses the latter route across the snow plateau, for it is the path the wild reindeer follow. On he skims over the crisp surface enveloped in the cloud of snow-dust his ski stir up, for the wind is behind him. But now he loses his way, falls down among the clefts and fissures, toils along step by step, and at last has to turn back and retrace his steps. There ought to be a sæter[6] somewhere about there, but it seems as if it had been spirited away. A pitchy darkness sets in; for the stars have disappeared one by one, and the night is of a coal-black hue, and Fridtjof has to make his bed on the snow-covered plateau, under the protecting shelter of a bowlder, his faithful dog by his side, his knapsack for a pillow, while the night wind howls over the waste.

Again, at three in the morning, he resumes his journey, only again to lose his way, and burying himself in the snow, determines to wait for daybreak. Dawn came over the mountain-tops in a sea of rosy light, while the dark shadows of night fled to their hiding-places in the deep valleys below—a proclamation of eternity, where nature was the preacher and nature the listener, the voice of God speaking to himself.

At broad daylight he sees Vosse skavlen close at hand, and thither he drags his weary, stiffened limbs; but on reaching the summit he drinks “skaal[7] to the fjeld,” a frozen orange, the last he has, being his beverage. Before the sun sets again, Fridtjof has crossed that mountain height, as King Sverre[8] did of yore—an achievement performed by those two alone!

Fridtjof Nansen’s father died in 1885, and it was largely consideration for his aged parent’s failing health during the last few years that delayed Nansen’s setting out on his Greenland expedition. The letters that passed between father and son during this period strikingly evince the tender relationship existing between them. On receipt of the tidings of his father’s last illness he hurried off at a moment’s notice, never resting on his long homeward journey, inexpressibly grieved at arriving too late to see him alive.

Then, after a year’s sojourn in Naples, where he met the genial and energetic Professor Dohrn, the founder of the biological station[9] in that city, having no further ties to hinder him, he enters heart and soul into the tasks he has set himself to accomplish,—to take his degree as doctor of philosophy, and to make preparation for his expedition to Greenland, both of which tasks he accomplished in the same year with credit. For he not only made himself a name as a profound researcher in the realms of science, but at the same time equipped an expedition that was soon destined to excite universal attention, not in the north alone, but throughout the length and breadth of Europe.

[1] Bergen, the metropolis of western Norway, the second largest city in Norway.

[2] Voss, a country district of western Norway, connected with Bergen by railway. Stalheim road, a piece of road winding in a slow decline down a steep hill, famous for the beauty of its scenery and the engineering skill with which it has been built. Nærödal and Lerdals river must be passed on the way from Bergen to Christiania.

[3] Fjeld (pron. fyell), mountain.

[4] Myrstölen, the last house on the eastern side of the mountain inhabited the whole year through.

[5] Aurland and Vosse skavlen, alternative routes across the mountains from Christiania to Bergen.

[6] Sæter, mountain hut, used by graziers during the summer months.

[7] Skaal, your health.

[8] King Sverre, King of Norway 1177 to 1202.

[9] An institution where animal life is studied.

Chapter IV.

Nansen Meets Nordenskjöld.[1]—Preparations for the Greenland Expedition.—Nansen’s Followers on the Expedition.—Starting on the Expedition.—Drifting on an Ice-floe.—Landing on East Coast of Greenland.

Nansen had an arduous task before him in the spring of 1888, one that demanded all his strength and energy, for he would take his doctor’s degree, and make preparations for his expedition to Greenland.

He had already, in the autumn of 1887, made up his mind to accomplish both these things. In November of that year, accordingly, he went to Stockholm to confer with Nordenskjöld. Professor Brögger, who introduced him to that gentleman, gives the following account of the interview:—

“On Thursday, Nov. 3, as I was sitting in my study in the Mineralogical Institute, my messenger came in and said a Norwegian had been inquiring for me. He had left no card, neither had he given his name. Doubtless, I thought, it was some one who wanted help out of a difficulty.

“‘What was he like?’ I inquired.

“‘Tall and fair,’ replied the messenger.

“‘Was he dressed decently?’ I asked.

“‘He hadn’t an overcoat on.’ This with a significant smile, as he added, ‘Looked for all the world like a seafaring man—or a tramp.’

“‘Humph!’ I muttered to myself; ‘sailor with no overcoat! Very likely thinks I’m going to give him one—yes, I think I understand.’

“Later on in the afternoon Wille[2] came in. ‘Have you seen Nansen?’ he said.

“‘Nansen?’ I replied. ‘Was that sailor fellow without an overcoat Nansen?’

“‘Without an overcoat! Why, he means to cross over the inland ice of Greenland;’ and out went Wille—he was in a hurry.

“Presently entered Professor Lecke with the same question, ‘Have you seen Nansen? Isn’t he a fine fellow? such a lot of interesting discoveries he told me of, and then his researches into the nervous system—a grand fellow!’ and off went Lecke.

“But before long the man himself entered the room. Tall, upright, broad-shouldered, strongly built, though slim and very youthful looking, with his shock of hair brushed off his well-developed forehead. Coming toward me and holding out his hand, he introduced himself by name, while a pleasing smile played over his face.

“‘And you mean to cross over Greenland?’ I asked.

“‘Yes; I’ve been thinking of it,’ was the reply.

“I looked him in the face, as he stood before me with an air of conscious self-reliance about him. With every word he spoke he seemed to grow on me; and this plan of his to cross over Greenland on ski from the east coast, which but a moment ago I had looked on as a madman’s idea, during our conversation gradually grew on me, till it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world; and all at once it flashed on my mind, ‘And he’ll do it, too, as sure as ever we are sitting here talking about it.’

“He, whose name but two hours ago I had not known, became in those few minutes (and it all came about so naturally) as if he were an old acquaintance, and I felt I should be proud and fortunate indeed to have him for my friend my whole life through.

“‘We will go and see Nordenskjöld at once,’ I said, rising up. And we went.

“With his strange attire,—he was dressed in a tight-fitting, dark-blue blouse or coatee, a kind of knitted jacket,—he was, as may be supposed, stared at in Drottning-gatan. Some people, indeed, took him for an acrobat or tight-rope dancer.”

Nordenskjöld, “old Nor” as he was often termed, was in his laboratory, and looked up sharply as his two visitors entered the room, for he was, as ever, “busy.”

The professor saluted, and introduced his companion, “Conservator Nansen from Bergen, who purposes to cross over the inland ice of Greenland.”

“The deuce he does!” muttered “old Nor,” staring with all his eyes at the fair-haired young viking.

“And would like to confer with you about it,” continued the professor.

“Quite welcome; and so Herr Nansen thinks of crossing over Greenland?”

“Yes; such was his intention.” Thereon, without further ado, he sketched out his projected plan, to which “old Nor” listened with great attention, shaking his head every now and then, as if rather sceptical about it, but evidently getting more and more interested as he proceeded.

As Nansen and Professor Brögger were sitting in the latter’s house that evening, a knock was heard at the door, and who should come in but “old Nor” himself—a convincing proof to Brögger that the old man entertained a favorable idea of the proposed plan. And many a valuable hint did the young ice-bear get from the old one, as they sat opposite each other—the man of the past and the coming man of the present—quietly conversing together that evening.

Now Nansen sets off for home in order to prepare for the arduous task of the ensuing spring. In December, 1887, he is in Bergen again, and at the end of January he travels on ski from Hardanger to Kongsberg, thence by rail to Christiania.

In March we see him once more in Bergen, giving lectures in order to awaken public interest in Greenland; now sleeping out on the top of Blaamand,[3] a mountain near Bergen, in a sleeping-bag, to test its efficiency; now standing on the cathedra in the university auditorium to claim his right to the degree of doctor of philosophy, which on April 28 was honorably awarded him; and on May 2 he sets out for Copenhagen, en route for Greenland. For unhappily it was the case in Norway in 1888 that Norwegian exploits must be carried out with Danish help. In vain had he sought for assistance from the regents of the university. They recommended the matter to the government, but the government had no 5,000 kroner[4] ($1,350) to throw away on such an enterprise,—the enterprise of a madman, as most people termed it.

Yet when that enterprise had been carried to a successful issue, and that same lunatic had become a great man and asked the government and the storthing[5] for a grant of 200,000 kroner ($54,000) for his second mad expedition, his request was promptly granted. A new Norway had grown up meanwhile, a new national spirit had forced its way into existence, a living testimony to the power of the Nansen expedition.

As stated above, Nansen had to go to Denmark for the 5,000 kroner; and it was the wealthy merchant, Augustin Gamel, who placed that amount at his disposal. Still, certain is it, had not that sum of money been forthcoming as it was, Fridtjof Nansen would have plucked himself bare to the last feather in order to carry out his undertaking.

But what was there to be gained from an expedition to Greenland worth the risking of human life,—for a life-risk it unquestionably would be,—to say nothing of the cost thereof? What was there to be learned from the ice?

The question is soon answered.

The island of Greenland,—for it is now well ascertained that it is an island, and that the largest in the world,—this Sahara of the North, contains within its ice-plains the key to the history of the human race. For it is the largest homogeneous relic we possess of the glacial age. Such as Greenland now is, so large tracts of the world have been; and, what is of more interest to us, so has the whole of the north been. It is this mighty ice-realm that has caused a large proportion of the earth’s surface to assume its present appearance. The lowlands of Mid-Germany and Denmark have been scoured and transported thither from the rocks of Norway and Sweden. The Swedish rock at Lützen in Saxony is Swedish granite that the ice has carried with it. And the small glaciers still left in Norway, such as the Folgefond, Jostedalsbræ, Svartis,[6] etc., are merely “calves” of that ancient, stupendous mass of ice that time and heat have transported, even though it once lay more than a thousand metres in thickness over widely extended plains.

To investigate, therefore, the inland ice of Greenland is, in a word, to investigate the great glacial age; and one may learn from such a study many a lesson explanatory of our earth’s appearance at the present day, and ascertain what could exist, and what could not, under such conditions.

We know now that, during the glacial age, human beings lived on this earth, even close up to this gigantic glacier, that subsequently destroyed all life on its course. It may be safely asserted that the struggle with the ice, and with the variations of climate, have been important factors in making the human race what it will eventually be, the lords of nature.

The Esquimaux in their deerskin dress, the aborigines of Australia, the pigmy tribes of Africa’s primeval forests, are a living testimony of the tenacious powers of the soul and body of mankind,—civilization’s trusty outposts. An Esquimau living on blubber under fifty degrees of cold is just as much a man of achievement in this work-a-day world as an Edison, who, with every comfort at his disposal, forces nature to disclose her hidden marvels. But he who, born in the midst of civilization, and who forces his way to an outpost farther advanced than any mankind has yet attained, is greater, perhaps, than either, especially when in his struggle for existence he wrests from nature her inmost secrets.

This was the kernel of Nansen’s exploits—his first and his last.

Nansen was fully alive to the fact that his enterprise would involve human life; and he formed his plans in such wise that he would either attain his object or perish in the attempt. He would make the dangerous, uninhabited coast of East Greenland his starting-point as one which presented no enticement for retracing his steps. He would force his way onward. The instinct of self-preservation should impel him toward the west—the greater his advance in that direction the greater his hopes. Behind him naught but death; before him, life!

But he must have followers! Where were men to be found to risk their lives on such a venture? to form one of a madman’s retinue? And not only that, he must have men with him who, like himself, were well versed in all manly sports, especially in running on ski; men hard as iron, as he was; men who, like himself, were unencumbered with family ties. Where were such to be found? He sought long and diligently, and he found them.

There was a man named Sverdrup—Otto Sverdrup. Yes, we all of us know him now! But then he was an unknown Nordland youth, inured to hardship on sea and land, an excellent sailor, a skilful ski-runner, firm of purpose; one to whom fatigue was a stranger, physically strong and able in emergency, unyielding as a rod of iron, firm as a rock. A man chary of words in fine weather, but eloquent in storm: possessed, too, of a courage that lay so deep that it needed almost a peril involving life to arouse it. Yet, when the pinch came Sverdrup was in his element. Then would his light blue eyes assume a darker hue, and a smile creep over his hard-set features; then he would resemble a hawk that sits on a perch with ruffled feathers, bidding defiance to every one who approaches it, but which, when danger draws nigh, flaps its pinions, and soars aloft in ever widening circles, increasing with the force of the tempest, borne along by the storm.

This man accompanied him.

Otto Sverdrup.

Number two was Lieutenant, now Captain, Olaf Dietrichson. He, too, hailed from the north. A man who loved a life in the open air, a master in all manly exploits, elastic as a steel spring, a proficient on ski, and a sportsman in heart and soul. And added to this, a man possessed of great knowledge in those matters especially that were needed in an expedition like the present. He, too, was enrolled among the number.

Number three was also from Nordland, from Sverdrup’s neighborhood, who recommended him. His name was Kristian Kristiansen Trana—a handy and reliable youth.

These three were all Nordlanders. But Nansen had a great desire to have a couple of Fjeld-Finns with him, for he considered that, inured as they were to ice and snow, their presence would be of great service to him. They came from Karasjok.[7] The one a fine young fellow, more Qvæn[8] than Lapp; the other a little squalid-looking, dark-haired, pink-eyed Fjeld-Finn. The name of the first was Balto; of the other, Ravna. These two children of the mountains came to Christiania looking dreadfully perplexed, with little of the heroic about them. For they had agreed to accompany the expedition principally for the sake of the good pay, and now learned for the first time that their lives might be endangered. Nansen, however, managed to instil a little confidence into them, and as was subsequently proved, they turned out to be useful and reliable members of the expedition. Old Ravna, who was forty-five, was a married man,—a fact Nansen did not know when he engaged him,—and was possessed of great physical strength and powers of endurance.

Nansen now had the lives of five persons beside his own on his conscience. He would, therefore, make his equipment in such manner that he should have nothing to reproach himself with in case anything went wrong, a work that he conscientiously and carefully carried out. There was not a single article or implement that was not scientifically and practically discussed and tested, measured and weighed, before they set out. Hand-sleighs and ski, boats and tent, cooking-utensils, sleeping-bags, shoes and clothes, food and drink, all were of the best kind; plenty of everything, but nothing superfluous—light, yet strong, nourishing and strengthening. Everything, in fact, was well thought over, and as was subsequently proved, the mistakes that did occur were few and trifling.

Nansen made most of the implements with his own hands, and nothing came to pieces during the whole expedition saving a boat plank that was crushed by the ice.

But one thing Nansen omitted to take with him, and that was a supply of spirituous liquor. It did not exist in his dictionary of sport. For he had long entertained the opinion—an opinion very generally held by the youth of Norway at the present day—that strong drink is a foe to manly exploit, sapping and undermining man’s physical and mental powers. In former days, indeed, in Norway, as elsewhere, it was considered manly to drink, but now the drinker is looked down on with a pity akin to contempt.

Thus equipped, these six venturesome men set out on their way; first by steamer to Iceland, thence by the Jason, a sealer, Captain Jacobsen its commander, who, as opportunity should offer, was to set them ashore on the east coast of Greenland. And here, after struggling for a month with the ice, they finally arrived, on July 19, so near to the Sermilik Fjord that Nansen determined to leave the Jason and make his way across the ice to land. The whole ship’s crew were on deck to bid them farewell. Nansen was in command of one of the two boats, and when he gave the word “set off,” they shot off from the ship’s side, while the Jason’s two guns and a spontaneous hurrah from sixty-four stalwart sailors’ throats resounded far and wide over the sea. As the boats worked their way into the ice, the Jason changed her course, and ere long our six travellers watched the Norwegian flag, waving like a distant tongue of fire, gradually fade from sight and disappear among the mist and fog.

These six men set out on their arduous journey with all the indomitable fearlessness and disregard of danger that youth inspires,—qualifications that would speedily be called into requisition.

Before many hours of toiling in the ice, the rain came down in torrents, and the current drove them with irresistible force away from the land, while ice-floes kept striking against their boats’ sides, threatening to crush or capsize them. A plank, indeed, in Nansen’s boat was broken by the concussion, and had to be instantly repaired, the rain meanwhile pouring down a perfect deluge. They determined, therefore, to drag the boats upon an ice-floe, and to pitch their tent on it; and having done this they got into their sleeping-bags, the deafening war of the raging storm in their ears. The two Fjeld-Lapps, however, thinking their end was drawing near, sat with a dejected air gazing in silence out over the sea.

Camp on the drift-ice.

Far away in the distance the roar of the surge dashing against the edge of the ice could be heard, while the steadily increasing swell portended an approaching tempest.

Next morning, July 20, Nansen was awakened by a violent concussion. The ice-floe on which they were was rent asunder, and the current was rapidly drifting them out toward the open sea. The roar of the surge increased; the waves broke over the ice-floe on all sides. Balto and Ravna lay crouching beneath a tarpaulin reading the New Testament in Lappish, while the tears trickled down their cheeks; but out on the floe Dietrichson and Kristiansen were making jokes as every fresh wave dashed over them. Sverdrup was standing with hands folded behind his back, chewing his quid, his eyes directed towards the sea, as if in expectation.

They are but a few hundred metres distant from the open sea, and soon will have to take to the boats, or be washed off the floe. The swell is so heavy that the floe ducks up and down like a boat in the trough of the sea. So the order is given, “All hands turn in,” for all their strength will be needed, in the fierce struggle they will shortly have to encounter. So they sleep on the very brink of death, the roar of the storm their lullaby—Ravna and Balto in one of the boats, Nansen and the others in the tent, where the water pours in and out.

But there is one outside, on the floe. It is his watch. Hour by hour he walks up and down, his hands behind his back. It is Sverdrup. Every now and then he stands still, turns his sharp, thin face with the sea-blue eyes towards the breakers, and then once more resumes his walk.

The storm is raging outside, and the surge is dashing over the ice. He goes to the boat where Ravna and Balto lie sleeping, and lays hold of it, lest it should be swept away by the backwash. Then he goes to the tent, undoes a hook, and again stands gazing over the sea; then turns round, and resumes his walk as before.

Their floe is now at the extreme edge of the ice, close to the open sea. A huge crag of ice rises up like some white-clad threatening monster, and the surf dashes furiously over the floe. Again the man on the watch arrests his steps; he undoes another hook in the tent. Matters are at their worst! He must arouse his comrades! He is about to do so when he turns once more and gazes seaward. He becomes aware of a new and strange motion in the floe beneath him. Its course is suddenly changed; it is speeding swiftly away from the open sea—inward, ever inward toward calm water, toward life, toward safety. And as that bronze-faced man stands there, a strange and serious look passes over his features. For that has occurred,—that wondrous thing that he and many another sailor has often experienced,—salvation from death without the mediation of human agency. That moment was for him what the stormy night on the Hardanger waste was to Nansen. It was like divine service! It was as if some invisible hand had steered the floe, he said afterwards to Nansen. So he rolled his quid round into the other cheek, stuck his hands in his pockets; and hour after hour, till late in the morning, the steps of that iron-hearted man on the watch might be heard pacing to and fro.

When Nansen awoke, the floe was in safe shelter.

Still for another week they kept drifting southward, the glaciers and mountain ridges one after another disappearing from view—a weary, comfortless time. Then, toward midnight on July 28, when it was Sverdrup’s watch again, he thought he could hear the sound of breakers in the west. What it was he could not rightly make out; he thought, perhaps, his senses deceived him; for, at other times, the sound had always come from the east where the sea was. But next morning, when it was Ravna’s watch, Nansen was awakened by seeing the Finn’s grimy face peering at him through an opening in the tent.

“Now, Ravna, what is it? can you see land?” he asked at a venture.

“Yes—yes—land too close!” croaked Ravna, as he drew his head back.

Nansen sprang out of the tent. Yes, there was the land, but a short distance off; and the ice was loose so that a way could easily be forced through it. In a twinkling all hands were busy; and a few hours later Nansen planted his foot on the firm land of Greenland.

[1] Nordenskjöld (pron. Nordenshuld), famous Swedish explorer, discoverer of the North-east Passage.

[2] Wille, another Norwegian, who at that time was professor at the High School in Stockholm.

[3] Blaamand (pron. Blohmann).

[4] One krone (crown) equals twenty-seven cents.

[5] Storthing, the legislative assembly (congress) of Norway.

[6] Folgefond, Jostedalsbræ, Svartisen, glaciers in Norway.

[7] Karasjok (pron. Karashok), one of the northernmost districts of Norway, chiefly inhabited by Lapps.

[8] Qvæn, the Norwegian name for a man of the race inhabiting the grand duchy of Finland. The Lapps are in Norway called Finns.

Chapter V.

Journey across Greenland.—Meeting Esquimaux.—Reaching the West Coast.—Return to Civilization and Home.

When Nansen and his companions, after their perilous adventures in the drift-ice, landed with flags flying on their boats on the east waste of Greenland, the first thing they did was to give vent to their feelings in a ringing hurrah—a sound which those wild and barren crags had never re-echoed before. Their joy, indeed, on feeling firm ground beneath their feet once more baffles description. In a word, they conducted themselves like a pack of schoolboys, singing, laughing, and playing all manner of pranks. The Lapps, however, did not partake in the general merriment, but took themselves off up the mountain-side, where they remained several hours.

But when their first ebullition of joy had somewhat subsided, Nansen himself followed the example of the Lapps, and clambered up the slope in order to get a good view over the landscape, leaving the others to prepare the banquet they determined to indulge in that evening on the sea-beach. And here he remained some little while, entranced with the wondrous beauty of the scene. The sea and the ice stretched far away to the east, shining like a belt of silver beneath him, while on the west the mountain-tops were bathed in a flood of hazy sunshine, and the inland ice, the “Sahara of the North,” extended in a level unbroken plain for miles and miles into the interior.

A snow bunting perched on a stone close by him, and chirped a welcome; a mosquito came humming through the air to greet the stranger, and settled on his hand. He would not disturb it; it was a welcome from home. It wanted his blood, and he let it take its fill. To the south the grand outline of Cape Tordenskjold rose up in the horizon, its name and form recalling his country to his mind; and there arose in his breast an earnest desire, a deep longing, to sacrifice anything and everything for his beloved “Old Norway.”

On rejoining his comrades, the feast was ready. It consisted of oatmeal biscuits, Gruyère cheese, whortleberry jam, and chocolate; and there is little doubt that these six adventurers “ate as one eats in the springtime of youth.” For it had been unanimously resolved that, for this one day at least, they would enjoy themselves to the full; on the morrow their daily fare would be, to eat little, sleep little, and work as hard as possible. To-day, then, should be the first and the last of such indulgence. Time was precious!

On the next day, therefore, they resumed their northward journey, along the east coast, fighting their way day and night, inch by inch, foot by foot, through the drift-ice; at times in peril, at others in safety; past Cape Adelaer, past Cape Garde, ever forward in one incessant, monotonous struggle. And now they approached the ill-omened Puisortok, of which Esquimaux and European seafarers had many an evil tale to tell. There, it was said, masses of ice would either shoot up suddenly from beneath the surface of the water, and crush any vessel that ventured near, or would fall down from the overhanging height, and overwhelm it. There not a word must be spoken! there must be no laughing, no eating, no smoking, if one would pass it in safety! Above all, the fatal name of Puisortok must not pass the lips, else the glacier would be angry, and certain destruction ensue.

Nansen, however, it may be said, did not observe these regulations, and yet managed to pass it in safety. In his opinion there was nothing very remarkable or terrible about it.

But something else took place at Puisortok that surprised him and his companions.

On July 30, as they were preparing their midday meal, Nansen heard, amid the shrill cries of the seabirds, a strange weird sound. What it could be he could not conceive. It resembled the cry of a loon more than anything else, and kept coming nearer and nearer. Through his telescope, however, he discerned two dark specks among the ice-floes, now close together, now a little apart, making straight for them. They were human beings evidently—human beings in the midst of that desert region of ice, which they had thought to be a barren, uninhabited waste. Balto, too, watched their approach attentively, with a half astonished, half uneasy look, for he believed them to be supernatural beings.

On came the strangers, one of them bending forward in his kayak[1] as if bowing in salutation; and, on coming alongside the rock, they crawled out of their kayaks and stood before Nansen and his companions with bare heads, dressed in jackets and trousers of seal-skin, smiling, and making all manner of friendly gestures. They were Esquimaux, and had glass beads in their jet-black hair. Their skin was of a chestnut hue, and their movements, if not altogether graceful, were attractive.

On coming up to our travellers they began to ask questions in a strange language, which, needless to say, was perfectly unintelligible. Nansen, indeed, tried to talk to them in Esquimau from a conversation book in that tongue he had with him, but it was perfectly useless. And it was not till both parties had recourse to the language of signs that Nansen was able to ascertain that they belonged to an Esquimau encampment to the north of Puisortok.

These two Esquimaux were good-natured looking little beings; and now they began to examine the equipments of the travellers, and taste their food, with which they seemed beyond measure pleased, expressing their admiration at all they saw by a long-drawn kind of bovine bellow. Finally they took leave, and set off northward in their kayaks which they managed with wonderful dexterity, and soon disappeared from sight.

At six the same evening our travellers followed in the same direction, and in a short time reached the Esquimau encampment at Cape Bille. Long, however, before their eyes could detect any signs of tents or of human beings, their sense of smell became aware of a rank odor of train-oil, accompanied by a sound of voices; and they presently saw numbers of Esquimaux standing on the sea-beach, and on the rocks, earnestly watching the approach of the strangers.

It was a picturesque sight that presented itself to the eyes of our travellers.

“All about the ledges of the rocks,” writes Nansen, “stood long rows of strangely wild, shaggy looking creatures, men, women and children—all dressed in much the same scanty attire, staring and pointing at us, and uttering the same cowlike sound we had heard in the forenoon. It was just as if a whole herd of cows were lowing one against another, as when the cowhouse door is opened in the morning to admit the expected fodder.”

They were all smiling,—a smile indeed, is the only welcoming salute of the Esquimaux,—all eager to help Nansen and his companions ashore, chattering away incessantly in their own tongue, like a saucepan boiling and bubbling over with words, not one of which, alas, could Nansen or his companions understand.

Presently Nansen was invited to enter one of their tents, in which was an odor of such a remarkable nature, such a blending of several ingredients, that a description thereof is impossible. It was the smell, as it were, of a mixture of train-oil, human exhalations, and the effluvium of fetid liquids all intimately mixed up together; while men and women, lying on the floor round the fire, children rolling about everywhere, dogs sniffing all around, helped to make up a scene that was decidedly unique.

East Greenland Esquimaux.

All of the occupants were of a brownish-greyish hue, due mostly to the non-application of soap and water, and were swarming with vermin. All of them were shiny with train-oil, plump, laughing, chattering creatures—in a word, presenting a picture of primitive social life, in all its original blessedness.

Nansen does not consider the Esquimaux, crosseyed and flat-featured though they be, as by any means repulsive looking. The nose he describes, in the case of children, “as a depression in the middle of the face,” the reverse ideal, indeed, of a European nose.

On the whole he considers their plump, rounded forms to have a genial appearance about them, and that the seal is the Esquimau prototype.

The hospitality of these children of nature was boundless. They would give away all they possessed, even to the shirt on their backs, had they possessed such an article; and certainly showed extreme gratitude when their liberality was reciprocated, evidently placing a high value on empty biscuit-tins, for each time any of them got one presented to him he would at once bellow forth his joy at the gift.

But what especially seemed to attract their interest was when Nansen and his companions began to undress, before turning in for the night into their sleeping-bags; while to watch them creep out of the same the next morning afforded them no less interest. They entertained, however, a great dread of the camera, for every time Nansen turned its dark glass eye upon them, a regular stampede would take place.

Next day Nansen and the Esquimaux parted company, some of the latter proceeding on their way to the south, others accompanying him on his journey northward. The leavetaking between the Esquimaux was peculiar, being celebrated by cramming their nostrils full of snuff from each other’s snuff-horns. Snuff indeed is the only benefit, or the reverse, it seems the Esquimaux have derived from European civilization up to date; and is such a favorite, one might say necessary, article with them that they will go on a shopping expedition to the south to procure it, a journey that often takes them four years to accomplish!

The journey northward was an extremely fatiguing one, for they encountered such stormy weather that their boats more than once narrowly escaped being nipped in the ice. As a set-off, however, to this, the scenery proved to be magnificent,—the floating mountains of ice resembling enchanted castles, and all nature was on a stupendous scale. Finally they reached a harbor on Griffenfeldt’s Island, where they enjoyed the first hot meal they had had on their coasting expedition, consisting of caraway soup. This meal of soup was a great comfort to the weary and worn-out travellers. Here a striking but silent testimony of that severe and pitiless climate presented itself in the form of a number of skulls and human bones lying blanched and scattered among the rocks, evidently the remains of Esquimaux who in times long gone by had perished from starvation.

After an incredible amount of toil, Nansen arrived at a small island in the entrance of the Inugsuazmuit Fjord, and thence proceeded to Skjoldungen where the water was more open. Here they encamped, and were almost eaten up by mosquitoes.

On Aug. 6 they again set out on their way northward, meeting with another encampment of Esquimaux, who were, however, so terrified at the approach of the strangers, that they one and all bolted off to the mountain, and it was not till Nansen presented them with an empty tin box and some needles that they became reassured, after which they accompanied the expedition for some little distance, and on parting gave Nansen a quantity of dried seal’s flesh.

The farther our travellers proceeded on their journey, the more dissatisfied and uneasy did Balto and Ravna become. Accordingly one day Nansen took the opportunity of giving Balto a good scolding, who with tears and sobs gave vent to his complaints, “They had not had food enough—coffee only three times during the whole journey; and they had to work harder than any beast the whole livelong day, and he would gladly give many thousands of kroner to be safe at home once more.”

There was indeed something in what Balto said. The fare had unquestionably been somewhat scanty, and the work severe; and it was evident that these children of nature, hardy though they were, could not vie with civilized people when it became a question of endurance for any length of time, and of risking life and taxing one’s ability to the utmost.

Finally, on Aug. 10, the expedition reached Umivik in a dense fog, after a very difficult journey through the ice, and encamped for the last time on the east coast of Greenland. Here they boiled coffee, shot a kind of snipe, and lived like gentlemen, so that even Balto and Ravna were quite satisfied. The former, indeed, began intoning some prayers, as he had heard the priest in Finmarken do, in a very masterly manner,—a pastime, by the way, he never indulged in except he felt his life to be quite safe.

The next day, Aug. 11, rose gloriously bright. Far away among the distant glaciers a rumbling sound as of cannon could be heard, while snow-covered mountains towered high, overhead, on the other side of which lay boundless tracts of inland ice. Nansen and Sverdrup now made a reconnoitring expedition, and did not return till five o’clock the next morning. It still required some days to overhaul and get everything in complete order for their journey inland; and it was not till nine o’clock in the evening of Aug. 16, after first dragging up on land the boats, in which a few necessary articles of food were stored, together with a brief account of the progress of the expedition carefully packed in a tin box, that they commenced their journey across the inland ice.

Nansen and Sverdrup led the way with the large sleigh, while the others, each dragging a smaller one, followed in their wake. Thus these six men, confident of solving the problem before them, with the firm earth beneath their feet, commenced the ascent of the mountain-slope which Nansen christened “Nordenskjöld’s Nunatak.”[2]

Their work had now begun in real earnest—a work so severe and arduous that it would require all the strength and powers of endurance they possessed to accomplish it. The ice was full of fissures, and these had either to be circumvented or crossed, a very difficult matter with heavily laden sleighs. A covering of ice often lay over these fissures, so that great caution was required. Hence their progress was often very slow, each man being roped to his fellow; so that if one of them should happen to disappear into one of these fathomless abysses, his companion could haul him up. Such an occurrence happened more than once; for Nansen as well as the others would every now and then fall plump in up to the arms, dangling with his legs over empty space. But it always turned out well; for powerful hands took hold of the rope, and the practised gymnasts knew how to extricate themselves.

At first the ascent was very hard work, and it will readily be understood that the six tired men were not sorry on the first night of their journey to crawl into their sleeping-bags, after first refreshing the inner man with cup after cup of hot tea.

Yet, notwithstanding all the fatigue they had undergone, there was so much strength left in them that Dietrichson volunteered to go back and fetch a piece of Gruyère cheese they had left behind when halting for their midday meal. “It would be a nice little morning walk,” he said, “before turning in!” And he actually went—all for the sake of a precious bit of cheese!

Next day there was a pouring rain that wet them through. The work of hauling the sleighs, however, kept them warm. But later in the evening, it came down in such torrents that Nansen deemed it advisable to pitch the tent, and here they remained, weather-bound, for three whole days. And long days they were! But our travellers followed the example of bruin in winter; that is, they lay under shelter the greater part of the time, Nansen taking care that they should also imitate bruin in another respect,—who sleeps sucking his paw,—by giving them rations once a day only. “He who does no work shall have little food,” was his motto.

On the forenoon of the twentieth, however, the weather improved; and our travellers again set out on their journey, having first indulged in a good warm meal by way of recompense for their three days’ fasting. The ice at first was very difficult, so much so that they had to retrace their steps, and, sitting on their sleighs, slide down the mountain slope. But the going improved, as also did the weather. “If it would only freeze a little,” sighed Nansen. But he was to get enough of frost before long.

On they tramped, under a broiling sun, over the slushy snow. As there was no drinking-water to be had, they filled their flasks with snow, carrying them in their breast-pockets for the heat of their bodies to melt it.

On Aug. 22 there was a night frost; the snow was hard and in good condition, but the surface so rough and full of lumps and frozen waves of slush, that the ropes with which they dragged the sleighs cut and chafed their shoulders. “It was just as if our shoulders were being burnt,” Balto said.

They now travelled mostly by night, for it was better going then, and there was no sun to broil them; while the aurora borealis, bathing as it were the whole of the frozen plain in a flood of silvery light, inspired them with fresh courage. The surface of the ice over which they travelled was as smooth and even as a lake newly frozen over. Even Balto on such occasions would indulge in a few oaths, a thing he never allowed himself except when he felt “master of the situation.” He was a Finn, you see, and perhaps had no other way of giving expression to his feelings!

As they got into higher altitudes the cold at night became more intense. Occasionally they were overtaken by a snowstorm, when they had to encamp in order to avoid being frozen to death; while at times, again, the going would become so heavy in the fine drifting snow that they had to drag their sleighs one by one, three or four men at a time to each sleigh, an operation involving such tremendous exertion that Kristiansen, a man of few words, on one such occasion said to Nansen, “What fools people must be to let themselves in for work like this!”

To give some idea of the intense cold they had to encounter it may be stated that, at the highest altitude they reached,—9,272 feet above the sea,—the temperature fell to below -49° Fahrenheit, and this, too, in the tent at night, the thermometer being under Nansen’s pillow. And all this toil and labor, be it remembered, went on from Aug. 16 to the end of September, with sleighs weighing on an average about two hundred and twenty pounds each, in drifting snow-dust, worse than even the sandstorms of Sahara.

In order to lighten their labor, Nansen resolved to use sails on the sleighs—a proceeding which Balto highly disapproved of: “Such mad people he had never seen before, to want to sail over the snow! He was a Lapp, he was, and there was nothing they could teach him on land. It was the greatest nonsense he had ever heard of!”

Sledging across Greenland.

Sails, however, were forthcoming, notwithstanding Balto’s objections; and they sat and stitched them with frozen fingers in the midst of the snow. But it was astonishing what a help they proved to be; and so they proceeded on their way, after slightly altering their course in the direction of Godthaab.[3]

Thus, then, we see these solitary beings, looking like dark spots moving on an infinite expanse of snow, wending their way ever onward, Nansen and Sverdrup side by side, ski-staff and ice-axe in hand, in front, earnestly gazing ahead as they dragged the heavy sleigh, while close behind followed Dietrichson and Kristiansen, Balto and Ravna bringing up the rear, each dragging a smaller sleigh. So it went on for weeks; and though it tried their strength, and put their powers of endurance to a most severe test, yet, if ever the thought of “giving it up” arose in their minds, it was at once scouted by all the party, the two Lapps excepted. One day Balto complained loudly to Nansen. “When you asked us,” he said, “in Christiania, what weight we could drag, we told you we could manage one hundredweight each, but now we have double that weight, and all I can say is, that, if we can drag these loads over to the west coast, we are stronger than horses.”

Onward, however, they went, in spite of the cold, which at times was so intense that their beards froze fast to their jerseys, facing blinding snowstorms that well-nigh made old Ravna desperate. The only bright moments they enjoyed were when sleeping or at their meals. The sleeping-bags, indeed, were a paradise; their meals, ideals of perfect bliss.

Unfortunately, Nansen had not taken a sufficient supply of fatty food with him, and to such an extent did the craving for fat go, that Sverdrup one day seriously suggested that they should eat boot-grease—a compound of boiled grease and old linseed oil! Their great luxury was to eat raw butter, and smoke a pipe after it. First they would smoke the fragrant weed pure and simple; when that was done, the tobacco ash, followed by the oil as long as it would burn; and when this was all exhausted, they would smoke tarred yarn, or anything else that was a bit tasty! Nansen, who neither smoked nor chewed, would content himself with a chip of wood, or a sliver off one of the “truger” (snowshoes). “It tasted good,” he said, “and kept his mouth moist.”

Finally, on Sept. 14, they had reached their highest altitude, and now began to descend toward the coast, keeping a sharp lookout for “land ahead.” But none was yet to be seen, and one day Ravna’s patience completely gave way. With sobs and moans he said to Nansen,—

“I’m an old Fjeld-Lapp, and a silly old fool! I’m sure we shall never get to the coast!”