Farthest North, Vol. I
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Title: Farthest North, Vol. I
Author: Fridtjof Nansen
Contributor: Otto Neumann Sverdrup
Release date: October 7, 2009 [eBook #30197]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FARTHEST NORTH, VOL. I ***
FARTHEST NORTH
Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship "Fram"
1893-96 and of a Fifteen Months' Sleigh Journey by Dr. Nansen and
Lieut. Johansen
By
Dr. FRIDTJOF NANSEN
With an Appendix by Otto Sverdrup Captain of the Fram
About 120 Full-page and Numerous Text Illustrations 16 Colored
Plates in Facsimile from Dr. Nansen's Own Sketches, Etched Portrait,
and Photogravures
In two volumes
Vol. I.
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
Copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers.
All rights reserved.
TO
HER
WHO CHRISTENED THE SHIP
AND
HAD THE COURAGE TO REMAIN BEHIND
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
CHAP. PAGE
I. Introduction 1
II. Preparations and Equipment 54
III. The Start 81
IV. Farewell To Norway 104
V. Voyage Through the Kara Sea 146
VI. The Winter Night 237
VII. The Spring and Summer of 1894 442
VIII. Second Autumn in the Ice 525
ILLUSTRATIONS IN VOL. I.
PAGE.
Fridtjof Nansen Etched Frontispiece
Colin Archer 58
Design of the "Fram" 61
Sigurd Scott-Hansen 85
Adolf Juell 89
The "Fram" leaving Bergen 93
Otto Sverdrup 99
First drift-ice (July 28, 1893) 107
The new church and the old church at Khabarova 116
Peter Henriksen 119
Our trial trip with the dogs 127
Evening scene at Khabarova 131
O. Christofersen and A. Trontheim 135
Landing on Yalmal 148
The plain of Yalmal 150
In the Kara Sea 152
The "Fram" in the Kara Sea 155
Ostrova Kamenni (Rocky Island), off the coast
of Siberia 158
Theodor C. Jacobsen, mate of the "Fram" 161
Henrik Blessing 167
A dead bear on Reindeer Island (August 21, 1893) 172
"We first tried to drag the bears" 173
Bernard Nordahl 177
Ivar Mogstad 185
Bernt Bentzen 193
Lars Pettersen 205
Anton Amundsen 213
Cape Chelyuskin, the Northernmost point of
the Old World 218
On land East of Cape Chelyuskin (September 10, 1893) 219
A warm corner among the walruses, off East Taimur 223
The ice into which the "Fram" was frozen
(September 25, 1893) 234
The smithy on the "Fram" 239
The thermometer house 244
Magnetic observations 247
A smoke in the galley of the "Fram" 250
"The saloon was converted into a reading-room" 252
Scott-Hansen and Johansen inspecting the
barometers Facing p. 254
Dr. Blessing in his cabin 257
"I let loose some of the dogs" 263
The men who were afraid of frightening the bear.
"Off steals Blessing on tiptoe" 267
Dogs chained on the ice 272
We lay in open water 275
My first attempt at dog driving 289
A chronometer--observation with the theodolite
Facing p. 314
A lively game of cards 318
"'I took the lantern and gave him such a whack
on the head with it'" 330
A nocturnal visitant 336
Sverdrup's bear-trap (moonlight, December 20, 1893) 339
"He stared, hesitating, at the delicious morsel" 341
Promenade in times of peace with Sverdrup's
patent foot-gear 345
"Fram" fellows on the war-path: difference
between the Sverdrup and the Lapp foot-gear 346
"Fram" fellows still on the war-path 347
"It was strange once more to see the moonlight
playing on the coal-black waves" 351
A game of halma 355
First appearance of the sun 394
Diagrams of ice with layers 401
Johansen reading the anemometer 409
Two friends 418
Experiment in sledge sailing 421
At the coming of the Spring (March, 1894) 425
Returning home after sunset (March 31, 1894) 429
Observing the eclipse of the sun (April 6, 1894) 433
Tailpiece 441
Taking a sounding of 2058 fathoms 447
Home-sickness (June 16, 1894) 451
Sailing on the fresh-water pool (July 12, 1894) 454
Reading temperatures with lens Facing p. 456
Peter Henriksen in a brown study (July 6, 1894) 461
Taking water temperatures 466
Summer guests 469
Rhodos Tethia 473
Nansen takes a walk (July 6, 1894) 477
Our kennels (September 27, 1894) 480
The dogs basking in the sun (June 13, 1894) 482
The Seventeenth-of-May procession, 1894 485
The drift-ice in Summer (July 12, 1894) 487
A Summer scene (July 21, 1894) 493
The stern of the "Fram." Johansen and "Sultan"
(June 16, 1894) 499
Blessing goes off in search of algæ 503
A Summer evening (July 14, 1894) 505
Blessing fishing for algæ 507
Pressure-ridge on the port quarter of the "Fram"
(July 1, 1894) 509
Skeletons of a kayak for one man (bamboo) and of
a double kayak, lying on a hand-sledge 511
A Summer evening (July 14, 1894) 519
Tailpiece 524
Pettersen after the explosion 529
Snow-shoe practice (September 28, 1894) 542
Return from a snow-shoe run (September 28, 1894) 544
Block of ice (September 28, 1894) 546
The waning day (October, 1894) 548
A snow-shoe excursion (October, 1894) 553
In line for the photographer 555
Deep-water temperature. "Up with the
thermometer" (July 12, 1894) 559
On the after-deck of the "Fram" (October, 1894) 563
The return of snow-shoers Facing p. 566
COLORED PLATES IN VOL. I.
Facing p.
I. Walruses killed off the East coast of the
Taimur Peninsula (September 12, 1893) 220
II. Sleepy and cross (September 12, 1893) 228
III. Sunset off the North coast of Asia, North of
the mouth of the Chatanga (September 12, 1893) 232
IV. Off the edge of the ice.--Gathering storm
(September 14, 1893) 290
V. Evening among the drift-ice (September 22, 1893) 304
VI. At sunset (September 22, 1893) 324
VII. The waning polar day (September 22, 1893) 352
VIII. Moonlight (November 22, 1893) 576
PUBLISHER'S NOTE
The Author had not originally contemplated the publication of the
colored sketches which are produced in this work. He has permitted
their reproduction because they may be useful as showing color effects
in the Arctic; but he wishes it understood that he claims no artistic
merit for them.
FARTHEST NORTH
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION
"A time will come in later years when the Ocean will
unloose the bands of things, when the immeasurable
earth will lie open, when seafarers will discover new
countries, and Thule will no longer be the extreme
point among the lands."--Seneca.
Unseen and untrodden under their spotless mantle of ice the rigid
polar regions slept the profound sleep of death from the earliest dawn
of time. Wrapped in his white shroud, the mighty giant stretched his
clammy ice-limbs abroad, and dreamed his age-long dreams.
Ages passed--deep was the silence.
Then, in the dawn of history, far away in the south, the awakening
spirit of man reared its head on high and gazed over the earth. To
the south it encountered warmth, to the north, cold; and behind the
boundaries of the unknown it placed in imagination the twin kingdoms
of consuming heat and of deadly cold.
But the limits of the unknown had to recede step by step before the
ever-increasing yearning after light and knowledge of the human mind,
till they made a stand in the north at the threshold of Nature's
great Ice Temple of the polar regions with their endless silence.
Up to this point no insuperable obstacles had opposed the progress
of the advancing hosts, which confidently proceeded on their way. But
here the ramparts of ice and the long darkness of winter brought them
to bay. Host after host marched on towards the north, only to suffer
defeat. Fresh ranks stood ever ready to advance over the bodies of
their predecessors. Shrouded in fog lay the mythic land of Nivlheim,
where the "Rimturser" [1] carried on their wild gambols.
Why did we continually return to the attack? There in the darkness
and cold stood Helheim, where the death-goddess held her sway;
there lay Nåstrand, the shore of corpses. Thither, where no living
being could draw breath, thither troop after troop made its way. To
what end? Was it to bring home the dead, as did Hermod when he
rode after Baldur? No! It was simply to satisfy man's thirst for
knowledge. Nowhere, in truth, has knowledge been purchased at greater
cost of privation and suffering. But the spirit of mankind will never
rest till every spot of these regions has been trodden by the foot
of man, till every enigma has been solved.
Minute by minute, degree by degree, we have stolen forward, with
painful effort. Slowly the day has approached; even now we are but in
its early dawn; darkness still broods over vast tracts around the Pole.
Our ancestors, the old Vikings, were the first Arctic voyagers. It has
been said that their expeditions to the frozen sea were of no moment,
as they have left no enduring marks behind them. This, however,
is scarcely correct. Just as surely as the whalers of our age, in
their persistent struggles with ice and sea, form our outposts of
investigation up in the north, so were the old Northmen, with Eric
the Red, Leif, and others at their head, the pioneers of the polar
expeditions of future generations.
It should be borne in mind that as they were the first ocean
navigators, so also were they the first to combat with the ice. Long
before other seafaring nations had ever ventured to do more than hug
the coast lines, our ancestors had traversed the open seas in all
directions, had discovered Iceland and Greenland, and had colonized
them. At a later period they discovered America, and did not shrink
from making a straight course over the Atlantic Ocean, from Greenland
to Norway. Many and many a bout must they have had with the ice along
the coasts of Greenland in their open barks, and many a life must
have been lost.
And that which impelled them to undertake these expeditions was not the
mere love of adventure, though that is, indeed, one of the essential
traits of our national character. It was rather the necessity of
discovering new countries for the many restless beings that could
find no room in Norway. Furthermore, they were stimulated by a real
interest for knowledge. Othar, who about 890 resided in England at
Alfred's Court, set out on an errand of geographical investigation;
or, as he says himself, "he felt an inspiration and a desire to learn,
to know, and to demonstrate how far the land stretched towards the
north, and if there were any regions inhabited by man northward beyond
the desert waste." He lived in the northernmost part of Helgeland,
probably at Bjarköi, and sailed round the North Cape and eastward,
even to the White Sea.
Adam of Bremen relates of Harald Hårdråde, "the experienced king of
the Northmen," that he undertook a voyage out into the sea towards
the north and "explored the expanse of the northern ocean with his
ships, but darkness spread over the verge where the world falls away,
and he put about barely in time to escape being swallowed in the
vast abyss." This was Ginnungagap, the abyss at the world's end. How
far he went no one knows, but at all events he deserves recognition
as one of the first of the polar navigators that were animated by
pure love of knowledge. Naturally, these Northmen were not free from
the superstitious ideas about the polar regions prevalent in their
times. There, indeed, they placed their Ginnungagap, their Nivlheim,
Helheim, and later on Trollebotn; but even these mythical and poetical
ideas contained so large a kernel of observation that our fathers may
be said to have possessed a remarkably clear conception of the true
nature of things. How soberly and correctly they observed may best
be seen a couple of hundred years later in Kongespeilet ("The Mirror
of Kings"), the most scientific treatise of our ancient literature,
where it is said that "as soon as one has traversed the greater
part of the wild sea, one comes upon such a huge quantity of ice
that nowhere in the whole world has the like been known. Some of the
ice is so flat that it looks as if it were frozen on the sea itself;
it is from 8 to 10 feet thick, and extends so far out into the sea
that it would take a journey of four or more days to reach the land
over it. But this ice lies more to the northeast or north, beyond
the limits of the land, than to the south and southwest or west....
"This ice is of a wonderful nature. It lies at times quite still, as
one would expect, with openings or large fjords in it; but sometimes
its movement is so strong and rapid as to equal that of a ship running
before the wind, and it drifts against the wind as often as with it."
This is a conception all the more remarkable when viewed in the light
of the crude ideas entertained by the rest of the world at that period
with regard to foreign climes.
The strength of our people now dwindled away, and centuries elapsed
before explorers once more sought the northern seas. Then it was
other nations, especially the Dutch and the English, that led the
van. The sober observations of the old Northmen were forgotten, and
in their stead we meet with repeated instances of the attraction of
mankind towards the most fantastic ideas; a tendency of thought that
found ample scope in the regions of the north. When the cold proved
not to be absolutely deadly, theories flew to the opposite extreme,
and marvellous were the erroneous ideas that sprang up and have
held their own down to the present day. Over and over again it has
been the same--the most natural explanation of phenomena is the very
one that men have most shunned; and, if no middle course was to be
found, they have rushed to the wildest hypothesis. It is only thus
that the belief in an open polar sea could have arisen and held its
ground. Though everywhere ice was met with, people maintained that
this open sea must lie behind the ice. Thus the belief in an ice-free
northeast and northwest passage to the wealth of Cathay or of India,
first propounded towards the close of the 15th century, cropped up
again and again, only to be again and again refuted. Since the ice
barred the southern regions, the way must lie farther north; and
finally a passage over the Pole itself was sought for. Wild as these
theories were, they have worked for the benefit of mankind; for by
their means our knowledge of the earth has been widely extended. Hence
we may see that no work done in the service of investigation is ever
lost, not even when carried out under false assumptions. England has
to thank these chimeras in no small degree for the fact that she has
become the mightiest seafaring nation of the world.
By many paths and by many means mankind has endeavored to penetrate
this kingdom of death. At first the attempt was made exclusively by
sea. Ships were then ill adapted to combat the ice, and people were
loath to make the venture. The clinker-built pine and fir barks of
the old Northmen were no better fitted for the purpose than were
the small clumsy carvels of the first English and Dutch Arctic
explorers. Little by little they learnt to adapt their vessels to
the conditions, and with ever-increasing daring they forced them in
among the dreaded floes.
But the uncivilized polar tribes, both those that inhabit the Siberian
tundras and the Eskimo of North America, had discovered, long before
polar expeditions had begun, another and a safer means of traversing
these regions--to wit, the sledge, usually drawn by dogs. It was in
Siberia that this excellent method of locomotion was first applied
to the service of polar exploration. Already in the 17th and 18th
centuries the Russians undertook very extensive sledge journeys, and
charted the whole of the Siberian coast from the borders of Europe
to Bering Strait. And they did not merely travel along the coasts,
but crossed the drift-ice itself to the New Siberian Islands, and
even north of them. Nowhere, perhaps, have travellers gone through
so many sufferings, or evinced so much endurance.
In America, too, the sledge was employed by Englishmen at an early date
for the purpose of exploring the shores of the Arctic seas. Sometimes
the toboggan or Indian sledge was used, sometimes that of the
Eskimo. It was under the able leadership of M'Clintock that sledge
journeys attained their highest development. While the Russians had
generally travelled with a large number of dogs, and only a few men,
the English employed many more men on their expeditions, and their
sledges were entirely, or for the most part, drawn by the explorers
themselves. Thus in the most energetic attempt ever made to reach high
latitudes, Albert Markham's memorable march towards the north from the
Alert's winter quarters, there were 33 men who had to draw the sledges,
though there were plenty of dogs on board the ship. It would appear,
indeed, as if dogs were not held in great estimation by the English.
The American traveller Peary has, however, adopted a totally different
method of travelling on the inland ice of Greenland, employing as
few men and as many dogs as possible. The great importance of dogs
for sledge journeys was clear to me before I undertook my Greenland
expedition, and the reason I did not use them then was simply that
I was unable to procure any serviceable animals. [2]
A third method may yet be mentioned which has been employed in the
Arctic regions--namely, boats and sledges combined. It is said of the
old Northmen in the Sagas and in the Kongespeilet, that for days on
end they had to drag their boats over the ice in the Greenland sea,
in order to reach land. The first in modern times to make use of
this means of travelling was Parry, who, in his memorable attempt
to reach the Pole in 1827, abandoned his ship and made his way over
the drift-ice northward with boats, which he dragged on sledges. He
succeeded in attaining the highest latitude (82° 45') that had yet been
reached; but here the current carried him to the south more quickly
than he could advance against it, and he was obliged to turn back.
Of later years this method of travelling has not been greatly employed
in approaching the Pole. It may, however, be mentioned that Markham
took boats with him also on his sledge expedition. Many expeditions
have through sheer necessity accomplished long distances over the
drift-ice in this way, in order to reach home after having abandoned or
lost their ship. Especial mention may be made of the Austro-Hungarian
Tegethoff expedition to Franz Josef Land, and the ill-fated American
Jeannette expedition.
It seems that but few have thought of following the example of the
Eskimo--living as they do, and, instead of heavy boats, taking light
kayaks drawn by dogs. At all events, no attempts have been made in
this direction.
The methods of advance have been tested on four main routes: the
Smith Sound route, the sea route between Greenland and Spitzbergen,
Franz Josef Land route, and the Bering Strait route.
In later times, the point from which the Pole has been most
frequently assailed is Smith Sound, probably because American
explorers had somewhat too hastily asserted that they had there
descried the open Polar Sea, extending indefinitely towards the
north. Every expedition was stopped, however, by immense masses of
ice, which came drifting southward, and piled themselves up against
the coasts. The most important expedition by this route was the
English one conducted by Nares in 1875-76, the equipment of which
involved a vast expenditure. Markham, the next in command to Nares,
reached the highest latitude till then attained, 83° 20', but at
the cost of enormous exertion and loss; and Nares was of opinion
that the impossibility of reaching the Pole by this route was fully
demonstrated for all future ages.
During the stay of the Greely expedition (from 1881 to 1884) in this
same region, Lockwood attained a somewhat higher record, viz., 83°
24', the most northerly point on the globe that human feet had trodden
previous to the expedition of which the present work treats.
By way of the sea between Greenland and Spitzbergen, several attempts
have been made to penetrate the secrets of the domain of ice. In
1607 Henry Hudson endeavored to reach the Pole along the east coast
of Greenland, where he was in hopes of finding an open basin and a
waterway to the Pacific. His progress was, however, stayed at 73°
north latitude, at a point of the coast which he named "Hold with
Hope." The German expedition under Koldeway (1869-70), which visited
the same waters, reached by the aid of sledges as far north as 77°
north latitude. Owing to the enormous masses of ice which the polar
current sweeps southward along this coast, it is certainly one of the
most unfavorable routes for a polar expedition. A better route is that
by Spitzbergen, which was essayed by Hudson, when his progress was
blocked off Greenland. Here he reached 80° 23' north latitude. Thanks
to the warm current that runs by the west coast of Spitzbergen in a
northerly direction, the sea is kept free from ice, and it is without
comparison the route by which one can the most safely and easily reach
high latitudes in ice-free waters. It was north of Spitzbergen that
Edward Parry made his attempt in 1827, above alluded to.
Farther eastward the ice-conditions are less favorable, and therefore
few polar expeditions have directed their course through these
regions. The original object of the Austro-Hungarian expedition
under Weyprecht and Payer (1872-74) was to seek for the Northeast
Passage; but at its first meeting with the ice it was set fast off
the north point of Novaya Zemlya, drifted northward, and discovered
Franz Josef Land, whence Payer endeavored to push forward to the
north with sledges, reaching 82° 5' north latitude on an island,
which he named Crown-Prince Rudolf's Land. To the north of this he
thought he could see an extensive tract of land, lying in about 83°
north latitude, which he called Petermann's Land. Franz Josef Land
was afterwards twice visited by the English traveller Leigh Smith in
1880 and 1881-82; and it is here that the English Jackson-Harmsworth
expedition is at present established.
The plan of the Danish expedition under Hovgaard was to push forward
to the North Pole from Cape Chelyuskin along the east coast of an
extensive tract of land which Hovgaard thought must lie to the east
of Franz Josef Land. He got set fast in the ice, however, in the Kara
Sea, and remained the winter there, returning home the following year.
Only a few attempts have been made through Bering Strait. The first was
Cook's, in 1776; the last the Jeannette expedition (1879-81), under De
Long, a lieutenant in the American navy. Scarcely anywhere have polar
travellers been so hopelessly blocked by ice in comparatively low
latitudes. The last-named expedition, however, had a most important
bearing upon my own. As De Long himself says in a letter to James
Gordon Bennett, who supplied the funds for the expedition, he was
of opinion that there were three routes to choose from--Smith Sound,
the east coast of Greenland, or Bering Strait; but he put most faith
in the last, and this was ultimately selected. His main reason for
this choice was his belief in a Japanese current running north through
Bering Strait and onward along the east coast of Wrangel Land, which
was believed to extend far to the north. It was urged that the warm
water of this current would open a way along that coast, possibly
up to the Pole. The experience of whalers showed that whenever their
vessels were set fast in the ice here they drifted northwards; hence it
was concluded that the current generally set in that direction. "This
will help explorers," says De Long, "to reach high latitudes, but at
the same time will make it more difficult for them to come back." The
truth of these words he himself was to learn by bitter experience.
The Jeannette stuck fast in the ice on September 6th, 1879, in 71°
35' north latitude and 175° 6' east longitude, southeast of Wrangel
Land--which, however, proved to be a small island--and drifted with
the ice in a west-northwesterly direction for two years, when it
foundered, June 12th, 1881, north of the New Siberian Islands, in 77°
15' north latitude and 154° 59' east longitude.
Everywhere, then, has the ice stopped the progress of mankind
towards the north. In two cases only have ice-bound vessels drifted
in a northerly direction--in the case of the Tegethoff and the
Jeannette--while most of the others have been carried away from their
goal by masses of ice drifting southward.
On reading the history of Arctic explorations, it early occurred to
me that it would be very difficult to wrest the secrets from these
unknown regions of ice by adopting the routes and the methods hitherto
employed. But where did the proper route lie?
It was in the autumn of 1884 that I happened to see an article by
Professor Mohn in the Norwegian Morgenblad, in which it was stated that
sundry articles which must have come from the Jeannette had been found
on the southwest coast of Greenland. He conjectured that they must have
drifted on a floe right across the Polar Sea. It immediately occurred
to me that here lay the route ready to hand. If a floe could drift
right across the unknown region, that drift might also be enlisted in
the service of exploration--and my plan was laid. Some years, however,
elapsed before, in February, 1890, after my return from my Greenland
expedition, I at last propounded the idea in an address before the
Christiania Geographical Society. As this address plays an important
part in the history of the expedition, I shall reproduce its principal
features, as printed in the March number of Naturen, 1891.
After giving a brief sketch of the different polar expeditions of
former years, I go on to say: "The results of these numerous attempts,
as I have pointed out, seem somewhat discouraging. They appear to
show plainly enough that it is impossible to sail to the Pole by any
route whatever; for everywhere the ice has proved an impenetrable
barrier, and has stayed the progress of invaders on the threshold of
the unknown regions.
"To drag boats over the uneven drift-ice, which moreover is constantly
moving under the influence of the current and wind, is an equally
great difficulty. The ice lays such obstacles in the way that any one
who has ever attempted to traverse it will not hesitate to declare
it well-nigh impossible to advance in this manner with the equipment
and provisions requisite for such an undertaking."
Had we been able to advance over land, I said, that would have been the
most certain route; in that case the Pole could have been reached "in
one summer by Norwegian snow-shoe runners." But there is every reason
to doubt the existence of any such land. Greenland, I considered,
did not extend farther than the most northerly known point of its
west coast. "It is not probable that Franz Josef Land reaches to the
Pole; from all we can learn it forms a group of islands separated
from each other by deep sounds, and it appears improbable that any
large continuous track of land is to be found there.
"Some people are perhaps of opinion that one ought to defer the
examination of regions like those around the Pole, beset, as they
are, with so many difficulties, till new means of transport have been
discovered. I have heard it intimated that one fine day we shall be
able to reach the Pole by a balloon, and that it is only waste of time
to seek to get there before that day comes. It need scarcely be shown
that this line of reasoning is untenable. Even if one could really
suppose that in the near or distant future this frequently mooted idea
of travelling to the Pole in an air-ship would be realized, such an
expedition, however interesting it might be in certain respects, would
be far from yielding the scientific results of expeditions carried out
in the manner here indicated. Scientific results of importance in all
branches of research can be attained only by persistent observations
during a lengthened sojourn in these regions, while those of a balloon
expedition cannot but be of a transitory nature.
"We must, then, endeavor to ascertain if there are not other
routes--and I believe there are. I believe that if we pay attention
to the actually existent forces of nature, and seek to work with and
not against them, we shall thus find the safest and easiest method
of reaching the Pole. It is useless, as previous expeditions have
done, to work against the current; we should see if there is not a
current we can work with. The Jeannette expedition is the only one,
in my opinion, that started on the right track, though it may have
been unwittingly and unwillingly.
"The Jeannette drifted for two years in the ice, from Wrangel Land
to the New Siberian Islands. Three years after she foundered to the
north of these islands there was found frozen into the drift-ice, in
the neighborhood of Julianehaab, on the southwest coast of Greenland,
a number of articles which appeared, from sundry indubitable marks, to
proceed from the sunken vessel. These articles were first discovered
by the Eskimo, and were afterwards collected by Mr. Lytzen, Colonial
Manager at Julianehaab, who has given a list of them in the Danish
Geographical Journal for 1885. Among them the following may especially
be mentioned:
"1. A list of provisions, signed by De Long, the commander of
the Jeannette.
"2. A MS. list of the Jeannette's boats.
"3. A pair of oilskin breeches marked 'Louis Noros,' the name of
one of the Jeannette's crew, who was saved.
"4. The peak of a cap on which, according to Lytzen's statement,
was written F. C. Lindemann. The name of one of the crew of
the Jeannette, who was also saved, was F. C. Nindemann. This
may either have been a clerical error on Lytzen's part or a
misprint in the Danish journal.
"In America, when it was reported that these articles had been found,
people were very sceptical, and doubts of their genuineness were
expressed in the American newspapers. The facts, however, can scarcely
be sheer inventions; and it may therefore be safely assumed that an
ice-floe bearing these articles from the Jeannette had drifted from
the place where it sank to Julianehaab.
"By what route did this ice-floe reach the west coast of Greenland?
"Professor Mohn, in a lecture before the Scientific Society of
Christiania, in November, 1894, showed that it could have come by no
other way than across the Pole. [3]
"It cannot possibly have come through Smith Sound, as the current
there passes along the western side of Baffin's Bay, and it would
thus have been conveyed to Baffin's Land or Labrador, and not to
the west coast of Greenland. The current flows along this coast in
a northerly direction, and is a continuation of the Greenland polar
current, which comes along the east coast of Greenland, takes a bend
round Cape Farewell, and passes upward along the west coast.
"It is by this current only that the floe could have come.
"But the question now arises: What route did it take from the New
Siberian Islands in order to reach the east coast of Greenland?
"It is conceivable that it might have drifted along the north coast
of Siberia, south of Franz Josef Land, up through the sound between
Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen, or even to the south of Spitzbergen,
and might after that have got into the polar current which flows along
Greenland. If, however, we study the directions of the currents in
these regions so far as they are at present ascertained, it will be
found that this is extremely improbable, not to say impossible."
Having shown that this is evident from the Tegethoff drift and from
many other circumstances, I proceeded:
"The distance from the New Siberian Islands to the 80th degree
of latitude on the east coast of Greenland is 1360 miles, and the
distance from the last-named place to Julianehaab 1540 miles, making
together a distance of 2900 miles. This distance was traversed by
the floe in 1100 days, which gives a speed of 2.6 miles per day of 24
hours. The time during which the relics drifted after having reached
the 80th degree of latitude, till they arrived at Julianehaab, can be
calculated with tolerable precision, as the speed of the above-named
current along the east coast of Greenland is well known. It may be
assumed that it took at least 400 days to accomplish this distance;
there remain, then, about 700 days as the longest time the drifting
articles can have taken from the New Siberian Islands to the 80th
degree of latitude. Supposing that they took the shortest route--i. e.,
across the Pole--this computation gives a speed of about 2 miles in
24 hours. On the other hand, supposing they went by the route south of
Franz Josef Land, and south of Spitzbergen, they must have drifted at
much higher speed. Two miles in the 24 hours, however, coincides most
remarkably with the rate at which the Jeannette drifted during the
last months of her voyage, from January 1 to June 12, 1881. In this
time she drifted at an average rate of a little over 2 miles in the 24
hours. If, however, the average speed of the whole of the Jeannette's
drifting be taken, it will be found to be only 1 mile in the 24 hours.
"But are there no other evidences of a current flowing across the
North Pole from Bering Sea on the one side to the Atlantic Ocean on
the other?
"Yes, there are.
"Dr. Rink received from a Greenlander at Godthaab a remarkable piece
of wood which had been found among the drift-timber on the coast. It
is one of the 'throwing sticks' which the Eskimo use in hurling their
bird-darts, but altogether unlike those used by the Eskimo on the west
coast of Greenland. Dr. Rink conjectured that it possibly proceeded
from the Eskimo on the east coast of Greenland.
"From later inquiries, [4] however, it appeared that it must have
come from the coast of Alaska in the neighborhood of Bering Strait,
as that is the only place where 'throwing sticks' of a similar form
are used. It was even ornamented with Chinese glass beads, exactly
similar to those which the Alaskan Eskimo obtain by barter from
Asiatic tribes, and use for the decoration of their 'throwing sticks.'
"We may, therefore, with confidence assert that this piece of wood
was carried from the west coast of Alaska over to Greenland by a
current the whole course of which we do not know, but which may be
assumed to flow very near the North Pole, or at some place between
it and Franz Josef Land.
"There are, moreover, still further proofs that such a current
exists. As is well known, no trees grow in Greenland that can be used
for making boats, sledges, or other appliances. The driftwood that is
carried down by the polar current along the east coast of Greenland
and up the west coast is, therefore, essential to the existence of
the Greenland Eskimo. But whence does this timber come?
"Here our inquiries again carry us to lands on the other side of the
Pole. I have myself had an opportunity of examining large quantities of
driftwood both on the west coast and on the east coast of Greenland. I
have, moreover, found pieces drifting in the sea off the east coast,
and, like earlier travellers, have arrived at the conclusion that
much the greater part of it can only have come from Siberia, while
a smaller portion may possibly have come from America. For amongst
it are to be found fir, Siberian larch, and other kinds of wood
peculiar to the north, which could scarcely have come from any other
quarter. Interesting in this respect are the discoveries that have
been made on the east coast of Greenland by the second German Polar
Expedition. Out of twenty-five pieces of driftwood, seventeen were
Siberian larch, five Norwegian fir (probably Picea obovata), two a
kind of alder (Alnus incana?), and one a poplar (Populus tremula? the
common aspen), all of which are trees found in Siberia.
"By way of supplement to these observations on the Greenland side,
it may be mentioned that the Jeannette expedition frequently found
Siberian driftwood (fir and birch) between the floes in the strong
northerly current to the northward of the New Siberian Islands.
"Fortunately for the Eskimo, such large quantities of this driftwood
come every year to the coasts of Greenland that in my opinion one
cannot but assume that they are conveyed thither by a constantly
flowing current, especially as the wood never appears to have been
very long in the sea--at all events, not without having been frozen
in the ice.
"That this driftwood passes south of Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen
is quite as unreasonable a theory as that the ice-floe with the relics
from the Jeannette drifted by this route. In further disproof of this
assumption it may be stated that Siberian driftwood is found north
of Spitzbergen in the strong southerly current, against which Parry
fought in vain.
"It appears, therefore, that on these grounds also we cannot but admit
the existence of a current flowing across, or in close proximity to,
the Pole.
"As an interesting fact in this connection, it may also be mentioned
that the German botanist Grisebach has shown that the Greenland flora
includes a series of Siberian vegetable forms that could scarcely
have reached Greenland in any other way than by the help of such a
current conveying the seeds.
"On the drift-ice in Denmark Strait (between Iceland and Greenland)
I have made observations which tend to the conclusion that this ice
too was of Siberian origin. For instance, I found quantities of mud on
it, which seemed to be of Siberian origin, or might possibly have come
from North American rivers. It is possible, however, to maintain that
this mud originates in the glacier rivers that flow from under the ice
in the north of Greenland, or in other unknown polar lands; so that
this piece of evidence is of less importance than those already named.
"Putting all this together, we seem driven to the conclusion that
a current flows at some point between the Pole and Franz Josef Land
from the Siberian Arctic Sea to the east coast of Greenland.
"That such must be the case we may also infer in another way. If we
regard, for instance, the polar current--that broad current which
flows down from the unknown polar regions between Spitzbergen and
Greenland--and consider what an enormous mass of water it carries
along, it must seem self-evident that this cannot come from a
circumscribed and small basin, but must needs be gathered from
distant sources, the more so as the Polar Sea (so far as we know
it) is remarkably shallow everywhere to the north of the European,
Asiatic, and American coasts. The polar current is no doubt fed by
that branch of the Gulf Stream which makes its way up the west side
of Spitzbergen; but this small stream is far from being sufficient,
and the main body of its water must be derived from farther northward.
"It is probable that the polar current stretches its suckers,
as it were, to the coast of Siberia and Bering Strait, and draws
its supplies from these distant regions. The water it carries off
is replaced partly through the warm current before mentioned which
makes its way through Bering Strait, and partly by that branch of the
Gulf Stream which, passing by the north of Norway, bends eastward
towards Novaya Zemlya, and of which a great portion unquestionably
continues its course along the north coast of this island into the
Siberian Arctic Sea. That a current coming from the south takes this
direction--at all events, in some measure--appears probable from
the well-known fact that in the northern hemisphere the rotation of
the earth tends to compel a northward-flowing current, whether of
water or of air, to assume an easterly course. The earth's rotation
may also cause a southward-flowing stream, like the polar current,
to direct its course westward to the east coast of Greenland.
"But even if these currents flowing in the polar basin did not exist,
I am still of opinion that in some other way a body of water must
collect in it, sufficient to form a polar current. In the first place,
there are the North European, the Siberian, and North American rivers
debouching into the Arctic Sea, to supply this water. The fluvial basin
of these rivers is very considerable, comprising a large portion of
Northern Europe, almost the whole of Northern Asia or Siberia down
to the Altai Mountains and Lake Baikal, together with the principal
part of Alaska and British North America. All these added together
form no unimportant portion of the earth, and the rainfall of these
countries is enormous. It is not conceivable that the Arctic Sea of
itself could contribute anything of importance to this rainfall; for,
in the first place, it is for the most part covered with drift-ice,
from which the evaporation is but trifling; and, in the next place,
the comparatively low temperature in these regions prevents any
considerable evaporation taking place even from open surfaces of
water. The moisture that produces this rainfall must consequently in
a great measure come from elsewhere, principally from the Atlantic
and Pacific oceans, and the amount of water which thereby feeds the
Arctic Sea must be very considerable. If we possessed sufficient
knowledge of the rainfall in the different localities it might be
exactly calculated. [5]
"The importance of this augmentation appears even greater when we
consider that the polar basin is comparatively small, and, as has
been already remarked, very shallow; its greatest known depth being
from 60 to 80 fathoms.
"But there is still another factor that must help to increase
the quantity of water in the polar basin, and that is its own
rainfall. Weyprecht has already pointed out the probability that
the large influx of warm, moist atmosphere from the south, attracted
by the constant low atmospheric pressure in the polar regions, must
engender so large a rainfall as to augment considerably the amount
of water in the Polar Sea. Moreover, the fact that the polar basin
receives large supplies of fresh water is proved by the small amount
of salt in the water of the polar current.
"From all these considerations it appears unquestionable that the
sea around the Pole is fed with considerable quantities of water,
partly fresh, as we have just seen, partly salt, as we indicated
further back, proceeding from the different ocean currents. It thus
becomes inevitable, according to the law of equilibrium, that these
masses of water should seek such an outlet as we find in the Greenland
polar current.
"Let us now inquire whether further reasons can be found to show why
this current flows exactly in the given direction.
"If we examine the ocean soundings, we at once find a conclusive reason
why the main outlet must lie between Spitzbergen and Greenland. The
sea here, so far as we know it, is at all points very deep; there is,
indeed, a channel of as much as 2500 fathoms depth; while south of
Spitzbergen and Franz Josef Land it is remarkably shallow--not more
than 160 fathoms. As has been stated, a current passes northward
through Bering Strait and Smith Sound, and the sounds between the
islands north of America, though here, indeed, there is a southward
current, are far too small and narrow to form adequate outlets for
the mass of water of which we are speaking. There is, therefore,
no other assumption left than that this mass of water must find its
outlet by the route actually followed by the polar current. The channel
discovered by the Jeannette expedition between Wrangel Land and the
New Siberian Islands may here be mentioned as a notable fact. It
extended in a northerly direction, and was at some points more than
80 fathoms deep, while at the sides the soundings ran only to 40 or
50 fathoms. It is by no means impossible that this channel may be a
continuation of the channel between Spitzbergen and Greenland, [6]
in which case it would certainly influence, if not actually determine,
the direction of the main current.
"If we examine the conditions of wind and atmospheric pressure over
the Polar Sea, as far as they are known, it would appear that they
must tend to produce a current across the Pole in the direction
indicated. From the Atlantic to the south of Spitzbergen and Franz
Josef Land a belt of low atmospheric pressure (minimum belt) extends
into the Siberian Arctic Sea. In accordance with well-known laws, the
wind must have a preponderating direction from west to east on the
south side of this belt, and this would promote an eastward-flowing
current along the north coast of Siberia, such as has been found
to exist there. [7] The winds on the north side of the minimum
belt must, however, blow mainly in a direction from east to west,
and will consequently produce a westerly current, passing across the
Pole towards the Greenland Sea, exactly as we have seen to be the case.
"It thus appears that, from whatever side we consider this question,
even apart from the specially cogent evidences above cited, we cannot
escape the conclusion that a current passes across or very near to
the Pole into the sea between Greenland and Spitzbergen.
"This being so, it seems to me that the plain thing for us to do is to
make our way into the current on that side of the Pole where it flows
northward, and by its help to penetrate into those regions which all
who have hitherto worked against it have sought in vain to reach.
"My plan is, briefly, as follows: I propose to have a ship built as
small and as strong as possible--just big enough to contain supplies
of coals and provisions for twelve men for five years. A ship of
about 170 tons (gross) will probably suffice. Its engine should be
powerful enough to give a speed of 6 knots; but in addition it must
also be fully rigged for sailing.
"The main point in this vessel is that it be built on such principles
as to enable it to withstand the pressure of the ice. The sides must
slope sufficiently to prevent the ice, when it presses together, from
getting firm hold of the hull, as was the case with the Jeannette and
other vessels. Instead of nipping the ship, the ice must raise it up
out of the water. No very new departure in construction is likely
to be needed, for the Jeannette, notwithstanding her preposterous
build, was able to hold out against the ice pressure for about two
years. That a vessel can easily be built on such lines as to fulfil
these requirements no one will question who has seen a ship nipped
by the ice. For the same reason, too, the ship ought to be a small
one; for, besides being thus easier to manoeuvre in the ice, it will
be more readily lifted by the pressure of the ice, not to mention
that it will be easier to give it the requisite strength. It must,
of course, be built of picked materials. A ship of the form and size
here indicated will not be a good or comfortable sea-boat, but that
is of minor importance in waters filled with ice such as we are here
speaking of. It is true that it would have to travel a long distance
over the open sea before it would get so far, but it would not be
so bad a sea-boat as to be unable to get along, even though sea-sick
passengers might have to offer sacrifices to the gods of the sea.
"With such a ship and a crew of ten, or at the most twelve, able-bodied
and carefully picked men, with a full equipment for five years, in
every respect as good as modern appliances permit of, I am of opinion
that the undertaking would be well secured against risk. With this
ship we should sail up through Bering Strait and westward along the
north coast of Siberia towards the New Siberian Islands [8] as early
in the summer as the ice would permit.
"Arrived at the New Siberian Islands, it will be advisable to employ
the time to the best advantage in examining the conditions of currents
and ice, and to wait for the most opportune moment to advance as
far as possible in ice-free water, which, judging by the accounts of
the ice conditions north of Bering Strait given by American whalers,
will probably be in August or the beginning of September.
"When the right time has arrived, then we shall plough our way in
amongst the ice as far as we can. We may venture to conclude from
the experience of the Jeannette expedition that we should thus be
able to reach a point north of the most northerly of the New Siberian
Islands. De Long notes in his journal that while the expedition was
drifting in the ice north of Bennett Island they saw all around them a
dark 'water-sky'--that is to say, a sky which gives a dark reflection
of open water--indicating such a sea as would be, at all events, to
some extent navigable by a strong ice-ship. Next, it must be borne in
mind that the whole Jeannette expedition travelled in boats, partly
in open water, from Bennett Island to the Siberian coast, where, as
we know, the majority of them met with a lamentable end. Nordenskiöld
advanced no farther northward than to the southernmost of the islands
mentioned (at the end of August) but here he found the water everywhere
open.
"It is, therefore, probable that we may be able to push our way up
past the New Siberian Islands, and that accomplished we shall be right
in the current which carried the Jeannette. The thing will then be
simply to force our way northward till we are set fast. [9]
"Next we must choose a fitting place and moor the ship firmly between
suitable ice-floes, and then let the ice screw itself together as much
as it likes--the more the better. The ship will simply be hoisted up
and will ride safely and firmly. It is possible it may heel over to
a certain extent under this pressure; but that will scarcely be of
much importance. ... Henceforth the current will be our motive power,
while our ship, no longer a means of transport, will become a barrack,
and we shall have ample time for scientific observations.
"In this manner the expedition will, as above indicated, probably
drift across the Pole, and onward to the sea between Greenland and
Spitzbergen. And when we get down to the 80th degree of latitude,
or even sooner, if it is summer, there is every likelihood of our
getting the ship free and being able to sail home. Should she,
however, be lost before this--which is certainly possible, though,
as I think, very unlikely if she is constructed in the way above
described--the expedition will not, therefore, be a failure, for our
homeward course must in any case follow the polar current on to the
North Atlantic basin; there is plenty of ice to drift on, and of this
means of locomotion we have already had experience. If the Jeannette
expedition had had sufficient provisions, and had remained on the
ice-floe on which the relics were ultimately found, the result would
doubtless have been very different from what it was. Our ship cannot
possibly founder under the ice-pressure so quickly but that there would
be time enough to remove, with all our equipment and provisions, to a
substantial ice-floe, which we should have selected beforehand in view
of such a contingency. Here the tents, which we should take with us
to meet this contingency, would be pitched. In order to preserve our
provisions and other equipments, we should not place them all together
on one spot, but should distribute them over the ice, laying them
on rafts of planks and beams which we should have built on it. This
will obviate the possibility of any of our equipments sinking, even
should the floe on which they are break up. The crew of the Hansa, who
drifted for more than half a year along the east coast of Greenland,
in this way lost a great quantity of their supplies.
"For the success of such an expedition two things only are required,
viz., good clothing and plenty of food, and these we can take care
to have with us. We should thus be able to remain as safely on our
ice-floe as in our ship, and should advance just as well towards the
Greenland Sea. The only difference would be that on our arrival there,
instead of proceeding by ship, we must take to our boats, which would
convey us just as safely to the nearest harbor.
"Thus it seems to me there is an overwhelming probability that such an
expedition would be successful. Many people, however, will certainly
urge: 'In all currents there are eddies and backwaters; suppose, then,
you get into one of these, or perhaps stumble on an unknown land
up by the Pole and remain lying fast there, how will you extricate
yourselves?' To this I would merely reply, as concerns the backwater,
that we must get out of it just as surely as we got into it, and that
we shall have provisions for five years. And as regards the other
possibility, we should hail such an occurrence with delight, for no
spot on earth could well be found of greater scientific interest. On
this newly discovered land we should make as many observations as
possible. Should time wear on and find us still unable to get our ship
into the set of the current again, there would be nothing for it but
to abandon her, and with our boats and necessary stores to search for
the nearest current, in order to drift in the manner before mentioned.
"How long may we suppose such a voyage to occupy? As we have already
seen, the relics of the Jeannette expedition at most took two years to
drift along the same course down to the 80th degree of latitude, where
we may, with tolerable certainty, count upon getting loose. This would
correspond to a rate of about two miles per day of twenty-four hours.
"We may therefore not unreasonably calculate on reaching this point in
the course of two years; and it is also possible that the ship might
be set free in a higher latitude than is here contemplated. Five years'
provisions must therefore be regarded as ample.
"But is not the cold in winter in these regions so severe that life
will be impossible? There is no probability of this. We can even say
with tolerable certainty that at the Pole itself it is not so cold in
winter as it is (for example) in the north of Siberia, an inhabited
region, or on the northern part of the west coast of Greenland,
which is also inhabited. Meteorologists have calculated that the mean
temperature at the Pole in January is about -33° Fahr. (-36° C), while,
for example, in Yakutsk it is -43° Fahr. (-42° C), and in Verkhoyansk
-54° Fahr. (-48° C.). We should remember that the Pole is probably
covered with sea, radiation from which is considerably less than from
large land surfaces, such as the plains of North Asia. The polar region
has, therefore, in all probability a marine climate with comparatively
mild winters, but, by way of a set-off, with cold summers.
"The cold in these regions cannot, then, be any direct obstacle. One
difficulty, however, which many former expeditions have had to contend
against, and which must not be overlooked here, is scurvy. During
a sojourn of any long duration in so cold a climate this malady
will unquestionably show itself unless one is able to obtain fresh
provisions. I think, however, it may be safely assumed that the very
various and nutritious foods now available in the form of hermetically
closed preparations of different kinds, together with the scientific
knowledge we now possess of the food-stuffs necessary for bodily
health, will enable us to hold this danger at a distance. Nor do I
think that there will be an entire absence of fresh provisions in the
waters we shall travel through. Polar bears and seals we may safely
calculate on finding far to the north, if not up to the very Pole. It
may be mentioned also that the sea must certainly contain quantities
of small animals that might serve as food in case of necessity.
"It will be seen that whatever difficulties may be suggested as
possible, they are not so great but that they can be surmounted by
means of a careful equipment, a fortunate selection of the members
of the expedition, and judicious leadership; so that good results
may be hoped for. We may reckon on getting out into the sea between
Greenland and Spitzbergen as surely as we can reckon on getting into
the Jeannette current off the New Siberian Islands.
"But if this Jeannette current does not pass right across the
Pole? If, for instance, it passes between the Pole and Franz Josef
Land, as above intimated? What will the expedition do in that case
to reach the earth's axis? Yes, this may seem to be the Achilles'
heel of the undertaking; for should the ship be carried past the
Pole at more than one degree's distance it may then appear extremely
imprudent and unsafe to abandon it in mid-current and face such a long
sledge-journey over uneven sea-ice, which itself is drifting. Even if
one reached the Pole it would be very uncertain whether one could find
the ship again on returning. ... I am, however, of opinion that this
is of small import: it is not to seek for the exact mathematical point
that forms the northern extremity of the earth's axis that we set out,
for to reach this point is intrinsically of small moment. Our object
is to investigate the great unknown region that surrounds the Pole,
and these investigations will be equally important, from a scientific
point of view, whether the expedition passes over the polar point
itself or at some distance from it."
In this lecture I had submitted the most important data on which my
plan was founded; but in the following years I continued to study
the conditions of the northern waters, and received ever fresh proofs
that my surmise of a drift right across the Polar Sea was correct. In
a lecture delivered before the Geographical Society in Christiania,
on September 28, 1892, I alluded to some of these inquiries. [10] I
laid stress on the fact that on considering the thickness and extent
of the drift-ice in the seas on both sides of the Pole, one cannot
but be struck by the fact that while the ice on the Asiatic side,
north of the Siberian coast, is comparatively thin (the ice in which
the Jeannette drifted was, as a rule, not more than from 7 to 10
feet thick), that on the other side, which comes drifting from the
north in the sea between Greenland and Spitzbergen, is remarkably
massive, and this, notwithstanding that the sea north of Siberia is
one of the coldest tracts on the earth. This, I suggested, could be
explained only on the assumption that the ice is constantly drifting
from the Siberian coast, and that, while passing through the unknown
and cold sea there is time for it to attain its enormous thickness,
partly by freezing, partly by the constant packing that takes place
as the floes screw themselves together.
I further mentioned in the same lecture that the mud found on this
drift-ice seemed to point to a Siberian origin. I did not at the time
attach great importance to this fact, but on a further examination
of the deposits I had collected during my Greenland expedition
it appeared that it could scarcely come from anywhere else but
Siberia. On investigating its mineralogical composition, Dr. Törnebohm,
of Stockholm, came to the conclusion that the greater part of it must
be Siberian river mud. He found about twenty different minerals in
it. "This quantity of dissimilar constituent mineral parts appears to
me," he says, "to point to the fact that they take their origin from
a very extensive tract of land, and one's thoughts naturally turn to
Siberia." Moreover, more than half of this mud deposit consisted of
humus, or boggy soil. More interesting, however, than the actual mud
deposit were the diatoms found in it, which were examined by Professor
Cleve, of Upsala, who says: "These diatoms are decidedly marine (i.e.,
take their origin from salt-water), with some few fresh-water forms
which the wind has carried from land. The diatomous flora in this dust
is quite peculiar, and unlike what I have found in many thousands
of other specimens, with one exception, with which it shows the
most complete conformity--namely, a specimen which was collected by
Kellman during the Vega expedition on an ice-floe off Cape Wankarem,
near Bering Strait. Species and varieties were perfectly identical
in both specimens." Cleve was able to distinguish sixteen species
of diatoms. All these appear also in the dust from Cape Wankarem,
and twelve of them have been found at that place alone, and nowhere
else in all the world. This was a notable coincidence between two
such remote points, and Cleve is certainly right in saying: "It is,
indeed, quite remarkable that the diatomous flora on the ice-floes off
Bering Strait and on the east coast of Greenland should so completely
resemble each other, and should be so utterly unlike all others;
it points to an open connection between the seas east of Greenland
and north of Asia." "Through this open connection," I continued in
my address, "drift-ice is, therefore, yearly transported across the
unknown Polar Sea. On this same drift-ice, and by the same route,
it must be no less possible to transport an expedition."
When this plan was propounded it certainly met with approval in various
quarters, especially here at home. Thus it was vigorously supported
by Professor Mohn, who, indeed, by his explanation of the drift of the
Jeannette relics, had given the original impulse to it. But as might be
expected, it met with opposition in the main, especially from abroad,
while most of the polar travellers and Arctic authorities declared,
more or less openly, that it was sheer madness. The year before we
set out, in November, 1892, I laid it before the Geographical Society
in London in a lecture at which the principal Arctic travellers of
England were present. After the lecture a discussion took place, [11]
which plainly showed how greatly I was at variance with the generally
accepted opinions as to the conditions in the interior of the Polar
Sea, the principles of ice navigation, and the methods that a polar
expedition ought to pursue. The eminent Arctic traveller, Admiral Sir
Leopold M'Clintock, opened the discussion with the remark: "I think I
may say this is the most adventurous programme ever brought under the
notice of the Royal Geographical Society." He allowed that the facts
spoke in favor of the correctness of my theories, but was in a high
degree doubtful whether my plan could be realized. He was especially of
opinion that the danger of being crushed in the ice was too great. A
ship could, no doubt, be built that would be strong enough to resist
the ice pressure in summer; but should it be exposed to this pressure
in the winter months, when the ice resembled a mountain frozen fast
to the ship's side, he thought that the possibility of being forced
up on the surface of the ice was very remote. He firmly believed,
as did the majority of the others, that there was no probability of
ever seeing the Fram again when once she had given herself over to
the pitiless polar ice, and concluded by saying, "I wish the doctor
full and speedy success. But it will be a great relief to his many
friends in England when he returns, and more particularly to those
who have had experience of the dangers at all times inseparable from
ice navigation, even in regions not quite so far north."
Admiral Sir George Nares said:
"The adopted Arctic axioms for successfully navigating an icy region
are that it is absolutely necessary to keep close to a coast line, and
that the farther we advance from civilization, the more desirable it
is to insure a reasonably safe line of retreat. Totally disregarding
these, the ruling principle of the voyage is that the vessel--on
which, if the voyage is in any way successful, the sole future
hope of the party will depend--is to be pushed deliberately into
the pack-ice. Thus, her commander--in lieu of retaining any power
over her future movements--will be forced to submit to be drifted
helplessly about in agreement with the natural movements of the ice
in which he is imprisoned. Supposing the sea currents are as stated,
the time calculated as necessary to drift with the pack across the
polar area is several years, during which time, unless new lands are
met with, the ice near the vessel will certainly never be quiet and
the ship herself never free from the danger of being crushed by ice
presses. To guard against this the vessel is said to be unusually
strong, and of a special form to enable her to rise when the ice
presses against her sides. This idea is no novelty whatever; but
when once frozen into the polar pack the form of the vessel goes
for nothing. She is hermetically sealed to, and forms a part of, the
ice block surrounding her. The form of the ship is for all practical
purposes the form of the block of ice in which she is frozen. This is
a matter of the first importance, for there is no record of a vessel
frozen into the polar pack having been disconnected from the ice,
and so rendered capable of rising under pressure as a separate body
detached from the ice block, even in the height of summer. In the event
of the destruction of the vessel, the boats--necessarily fully stored,
not only for the retreat, but for continuing the voyage--are to be
available. This is well in theory, but extremely difficult to arrange
for in practice. Preparation to abandon the vessel is the one thing
that gives us the most anxiety. To place boats, etc., on the ice,
packed ready for use, involves the danger of being separated from
them by a movement of the ice, or of losing them altogether should a
sudden opening occur. If we merely have everything handy for heaving
over the side, the emergency may be so sudden that we have not time
to save anything..."
As regards the assumed drift of the polar ice, Nares expressed himself
on the whole at variance with me. He insisted that the drift was
essentially determined by the prevailing winds:
"As to the probable direction of the drift, the Fram, starting from
near the mouth of the Lena River, may expect to meet the main pack
not farther north than about latitude 76° 30'. I doubt her getting
farther north before she is beset, but taking an extreme case, and
giving her 60 miles more, she will then only be in the same latitude as
Cape Chelyuskin, 730 miles from the Pole, and about 600 miles from my
supposed limit of the effective homeward-carrying ocean current. After
a close study of all the information we possess, I think the wind
will be more likely to drift her towards the west than towards the
east. With an ice-encumbered sea north of her, and more open water or
newly made ice to the southward, the chances are small for a northerly
drift, at all events, at first, and afterwards I know of no natural
forces that will carry the vessel in any reasonable time much farther
from the Siberian coast than the Jeannette was carried, and during
the whole of this time, unless protected by newly discovered lands,
she will be to all intents and purposes immovably sealed up in the
pack, and exposed to its well-known dangers. There is no doubt that
there is an ocean connection across the area proposed to be explored."
In one point, however, Nares was able to declare himself in agreement
with me. It was the idea "that the principal aim of all such voyages
is to explore the unknown polar regions, not to reach exactly that
mathematical point in which the axis of our globe has its northern
termination." [12]
Sir Allen Young says, among other things: "Dr. Nansen assumes the
blank space around the axis of the earth to be a pool of water or ice;
I think the great danger to contend with will be the land in nearly
every direction near the Pole. Most previous navigators seem to have
continued seeing land again and again farther and farther north. These
Jeannette relics may have drifted through narrow channels, and thus
finally arrived at their destination, and, I think, it would be an
extremely dangerous thing for the ship to drift through them, where
she might impinge upon the land, and be kept for years."
With regard to the ship's form, Sir Allen Young says: "I do not think
the form of the ship is any great point, for, when a ship is fairly
nipped, the question is if there is any swell or movement of the ice
to lift the ship. If there is no swell the ice must go through her,
whatever material she is made of."
One or two authorities, however, expressed themselves in favor of
my plan. One was the Arctic traveller, Sir E. Inglefield, another
Captain (now Admiral) Wharton, Director of the Hydrographic Department
of England.
In a letter to the Geographical Society, Admiral Sir George H. Richards
says, on the occasion of my address: "I regret to have to speak
discouragingly of this project, but I think that any one who can speak
with authority ought to speak plainly where so much may be at stake."
With regard to the currents, he says: "I believe there is a constant
outflow (I prefer this word to current) from the north, in consequence
of the displacement of the water from the region of the Pole by the
ice-cap which covers it, intensified in its density by the enormous
weight of snow accumulated on its surface." This outflow takes place
on all sides, he thinks, from the polar basin, but should be most
pronounced in the tract between the western end of the Parry Islands
and Spitzbergen; and with this outflow all previous expeditions have
had to contend. He does not appear to make any exception as to the
Tegethoff or Jeannette, and can find no reason "for believing that
a current sets north over the Pole from the New Siberian Islands,
which Dr. Nansen hopes for and believes in. ... It is my opinion
that when really within what may be called the inner circle, say
about 78° of latitude, there is little current of any kind that would
influence a ship in the close ice that must be expected; it is when
we get outside this circle--round the corners, as it were--into the
straight wide channels, where the ice is loose, that we are really
affected by its influence, and here the ice gets naturally thinner,
and more decayed in autumn, and less dangerous to a ship. Within the
inner circle probably not much of the ice escapes; it becomes older
and heavier every year, and in all probability completely blocks the
navigation of ships entirely. This is the kind of ice which was brought
to Nares's winter quarters at the head of Smith Sound in about 82°
30' north; and this is the ice which Markham struggled against in
his sledge journey, and against which no human power could prevail."
He attached "no real importance" to the Jeannette relics. "If found
in Greenland, they may well have drifted down on a floe from the
neighborhood of Smith Sound, from some of the American expeditions
which went to Greely's rescue." "It may also well be that some of
De Long's printed or written documents in regard to his equipment
may have been taken out by these expeditions, and the same may apply
to the other articles." He does not, however, expressly say whether
there was any indication of such having been the case.
In a similar letter to the Geographical Society the renowned botanist
Sir Joseph Hooker says: "Dr. Nansen's project is a wide departure
from any hitherto put in practice for the purpose of polar discovery,
and it demands the closest scrutiny both on this account, and because
it is one involving the greatest peril...
"From my experience of three seasons in the Antarctic regions I do not
think that a ship, of whatever build, could long resist destruction if
committed to the movements of the pack in the polar regions. One built
as strongly as the Fram would no doubt resist great pressures in the
open pack, but not any pressure or repeated pressures, and still less
the thrust of the pack if driven with or by it against land. The lines
of the Fram might be of service so long as she was on an even keel or
in ice of no great height above the water-line; but amongst floes and
bergs, or when thrown on her beam-ends, they would avail her nothing."
If the Fram were to drift towards the Greenland coast or the American
polar islands he is of opinion that, supposing a landing could be
effected, there would be no probability at all of salvation. Assuming
that a landing could be effected, it must be on an inhospitable and
probably ice-bound coast, or on the mountainous ice of a palæocrystic
sea. With a certainly enfeebled, and probably reduced ship's company,
there could, in such a case, be no prospect of reaching succor. Putting
aside the possibility of scurvy (against which there is no certain
prophylactic), have the depressing influence on the minds of the crew
resulting from long confinement in very close quarters during many
months of darkness, extreme cold, inaction, ennui, constant peril,
and the haunting uncertainty as to the future, been sufficiently
taken into account? Perfunctory duties and occupations do not avert
the effects of these conditions; they hardly mitigate them, and have
been known to aggravate them. I do not consider the attainment of
Dr. Nansen's object by the means at his disposal to be impossible;
but I do consider that the success of such an enterprise would not
justify the exposure of valuable lives for its attainment.
In America, General Greely, the leader of the ill-fated expedition
generally known by his name (1881-84), wrote an article in The Forum
(August, 1891), in which he says, among other things: "It strikes
me as almost incredible that the plan here advanced by Dr. Nansen
should receive encouragement or support. It seems to me to be based
on fallacious ideas as to physical conditions within the polar
regions, and to foreshadow, if attempted, barren results, apart
from the suffering and death among its members. Dr. Nansen, so far
as I know, has had no Arctic service; his crossing of Greenland,
however difficult, is no more polar work than the scaling of
Mount St. Elias. It is doubtful if any hydrographer would treat
seriously his theory of polar currents, or if any Arctic traveller
would indorse the whole scheme. There are perhaps a dozen men whose
Arctic service has been such that the positive support of this plan
by even a respectable minority would entitle it to consideration and
confidence. These men are: Admiral M'Clintock, Richards, Collinson,
and Nares, and Captain Markham of the Royal Navy, Sir Allen Young
and Leigh-Smith of England, Koldewey of Germany, Payer of Austria,
Nordenskiöld of Sweden, and Melville in our own country. I have no
hesitation in asserting that no two of these believe in the possibility
of Nansen's first proposition--to build a vessel capable of living
or navigating in a heavy Arctic pack, into which it is proposed
to put his ship. The second proposition is even more hazardous,
involving as it does a drift of more than 2000 miles in a straight
line through an unknown region, during which the party in its voyage
(lasting two or more years, we are told) would take only boats along,
encamp on an iceberg, and live there while floating across."
After this General Greely proceeds to prove the falsity of all my
assumptions. Respecting the objects from the Jeannette, he says plainly
that he does not believe in them. "Probably some drift articles were
found," he says, "and it would seem more reasonable to trace them
to the Porteus, which was wrecked in Smith Sound, about 1000 miles
north of Julianehaab... It is further important to note that, if the
articles were really from the Jeannette, the nearest route would have
been, not across the North Pole along the east coast of Greenland,
but down Kennedy Channel and by way of Smith Sound and Baffin's Bay,
as was suggested, as to drift from the Porteus."
We could not possibly get near the Pole itself by a long distance, says
Greely, as "we know almost as well as if we had seen it that there is
in the unknown regions an extensive land which is the birthplace of the
flat-topped icebergs or the palæocrystic ice." In this glacier-covered
land, which he is of opinion must be over 300 miles in diameter, and
which sends out icebergs to Greenland as well as to Franz Josef Land,
[13] the Pole itself must be situated.
"As to the indestructible ship," he says, "it is certainly a most
desirable thing for Dr. Nansen." His meaning, however, is that it
cannot be built. "Dr. Nansen appears to believe that the question of
building on such lines as will give the ship the greatest power of
resistance to the pressure of the ice-floe has not been thoroughly and
satisfactorily solved, although hundreds of thousands of dollars have
been spent for this end by the seal and whaling companies of Scotland
and Newfoundland." As an authority he quotes Melville, and says "every
Arctic navigator of experience agrees with Melville's dictum that even
if built solid a vessel could not withstand the ice-pressure of the
heavy polar pack." To my assertion that the ice along the "Siberian
coast is comparatively thin, 7 to 10 feet," he again quotes Melville,
who speaks of ice "50 feet high, etc." (something we did not discover,
by-the-way, during the whole of our voyage).
After giving still more conclusive proofs that the Fram must inevitably
go to the bottom as soon as it should be exposed to the pressure of
the ice, he goes on to refer to the impossibility of drifting in the
ice with boats. And he concludes his article with the remark that
"Arctic exploration is sufficiently credited with rashness and danger
in its legitimate and sanctioned methods, without bearing the burden
of Dr. Nansen's illogical scheme of self-destruction."
From an article Greely wrote after our return home, in Harper's Weekly
for September 19th, 1896, he appears to have come to the conclusion
that the Jeannette relics were genuine and that the assumption of
their drift may have been correct, mentioning "Melville, Dall, and
others" as not believing in them. He allows also that my scheme has
been carried out in spite of what he had said. This time he concludes
the article as follows: "In contrasting the expeditions of De Long and
Nansen, it is necessary to allude to the single blemish that mars the
otherwise magnificent career of Nansen, who deliberately quitted his
comrades on the ice-beset ship hundreds of miles from any known land,
with the intention of not returning, but, in his own reported words,
'to go to Spitzbergen, where he felt certain to find a ship,' 600
miles away. De Long and Ambler had such a sense of honor that they
sacrificed their lives rather than separate themselves from a dying
man, whom their presence could not save. It passes comprehension how
Nansen could have thus deviated from the most sacred duty devolving on
the commander of a naval expedition. The safe return of brave Captain
Sverdrup with the Fram does not excuse Nansen. Sverdrup's consistency,
courage, and skill in holding fast to the Fram and bringing his
comrades back to Norway will win for him, in the minds of many,
laurels even brighter than those of his able and accomplished chief."
One of the few who publicly gave to my plan the support of his
scientific authority was Professor Supan, the well-known editor
of Petermann's Mitteilungen. In an article in this journal for 1891
(p. 191), he not only spoke warmly in its favor, but supported it with
new suggestions. His view was that what he terms the Arctic "wind-shed"
probably for the greater part of the year divides the unknown polar
basin into two parts. In the eastern part the prevailing winds blow
towards the Bering Sea, while those of the western part blow towards
the Atlantic. He thought that, as a rule, this "wind-shed" must lie
near the Bering Sea, and that the prevailing winds in the tracts we
purposed traversing would thus favor our drift. Our experience bore
out Professor Supan's theory in a remarkable degree.
CHAPTER II
PREPARATIONS AND EQUIPMENT
Foolhardy as the scheme appeared to some, it received powerful support
from the Norwegian Government and the King of Norway. A bill was
laid before the Storthing for a grant of £11,250 (200,000 kroner),
or two-thirds of the estimated cost. The remaining third I hoped
to be able to raise from private sources, as I had already received
promises of support from many quarters.
On June 30, 1890, the amount demanded was voted by the Storthing,
which thereby expressed its wish that the expedition should be a
Norwegian one. In January, 1891, Mr. Thomas Fearnley, Consul Axel
Heiberg, and Mr. Ellef Ringnes set to work to collect the further
sum required, and in a few days the amount was subscribed.
His Majesty King Oscar gave £1125 (20,000 kroner), while private
individuals in Norway gave as follows:
£ s. d.
Consul Axel Heiberg 562 10 0
Ditto (later) 393 15 0
Mr. Anton Chr. Houen 1125 0 0
Mr. A. Dick, Hövik 281 5 0
Ditto (later) 393 15 0
Mr. Thomas Fearnley (merchant) 281 5 0
Ditto (later) 56 5 0
Messrs. Ringnes & Co. (brewers) 281 5 0
Ditto (later) 56 5 0
Mr. A. S. Kjösterud (merchant), Drammen 281 5 0
Ditto (later) 56 5 0
Mr. E. Sundt (merchant), Bergen 281 5 0
Consul Westye Egeberg 562 10 0
Mr. Halver Schou 281 5 0
Baron Harald Wedel Jarlsberg and C. Iövenskiold,
Minister of State 562 10 0
Consul Nicolay H. Knudtzon, Christiansund 281 5 0
Among foreign contributors may be mentioned the Royal Geographical
Society of London, which showed its sympathy with the undertaking by
subscribing £300 sterling. Baron Oscar Dickson provided at his own
cost the electric installation (dynamo accumulators, and conductors).
As the work of equipment proceeded, it appeared that the first estimate
was not sufficient. This was especially due to the ship, which was
estimated to cost £8437 10s. (150,000 kroner), but which came to
nearly double that sum. Where so much was at stake, I did not think
it right to study the cost too much, if it seemed that a little extra
outlay could insure the successful result of the expedition. The three
gentlemen who had taken the lead in the first collection, Mr. Thomas
Fearnley, Consul Axel Heiberg, and Mr. Ellef Ringnes, undertook at my
request to constitute themselves the committee of the expedition and
to take charge of its pecuniary affairs. In order to cover a portion
of the deficiency, they, together with certain members of the Council
of the Geographical Society, set on foot another private subscription
all over the country, while the same society at a later period headed
a national subscription. By these means about £956 5s. was collected
in all. I had further to petition the Norwegian Storthing for an
additional sum of £4500, when our national assembly again gave proof
of its sympathy with the undertaking by granting the amount named
(June 9, 1890).
Finally Consul Axel Heiberg and Mr. Dick subscribed an additional £337
10s. each, while I myself made up the deficiency that still remained
on the eve of our departure.
Statement of Accounts of the Expedition on its Setting Out, 1893.
Income.
Kroner ore.
State Grant 280,000 0
H.M. The King, and original private subscribers 105,000 0
Private subscription of the Geographical Society 12,781 23
National subscription 2,287 23
Interest accrued 9,729 78
Guaranteed by private individuals 5,400 0
Deficit covered by A. Heiberg and A. Dick 12,000 0
Ditto F. Nansen 5,400 0
Geographical Society, London (£300) ...
H. Simon, Manchester (£100) ...
A Norwegian in Riga (1000 roubles) and others . 9,278 62
------------
Total 444,339 36 [14]
Expenditure.
Kroner ore.
Wages account 46,440 0
Life insurance premiums of married participators 5,361 90
Instruments account 12,978 68
Ship account 271,927 8
Provisions account 39,172 98
Expenses account 10,612 38
Equipment account 57,846 34
------------
Total 444,339 36
It will be evident from the plan above expounded that the most
important point in the equipment of our expedition was the building
of the ship that was to carry us through the dreaded ice regions. The
construction of this vessel was accordingly carried out with greater
care, probably, than has been devoted to any ship that has hitherto
ploughed the Arctic waters. I found in the well-known shipbuilder,
Colin Archer, a man who thoroughly understood the task I set him,
and who concentrated all his skill, foresight, and rare thoroughness
upon the work. We must gratefully recognize that the success of the
expedition was in no small degree due to this man.
If we turn our attention to the long list of former expeditions
and to their equipments, it cannot but strike us that scarcely a
single vessel had been built specially for the purpose--in fact,
the majority of explorers have not even provided themselves with
vessels which were originally intended for ice navigation. This is
the more surprising when we remember the sums of money that have been
lavished on the equipment of some of these expeditions. The fact is,
they have generally been in such a hurry to set out that there has
been no time to devote to a more careful equipment. In many cases,
indeed, preparations were not begun until a few months before the
expedition sailed. The present expedition, however, could not be
equipped in so short a time, and if the voyage itself took three years,
the preparations took no less time, while the scheme was conceived
thrice three years earlier.
Plan after plan did Archer make of the projected ship; one model
after another was prepared and abandoned.
Fresh improvements were constantly being suggested. The form were
finally adhered to may seem to many people by no means beautiful; but
that it is well adapted to the ends in view I think our expedition
has fully proved. What was especially aimed at was, as mentioned
on page 29, to give the ship such sides that it could readily be
hoisted up during ice-pressure without being crushed between the
floes. Greely, Nares, etc., etc., are certainly right in saying that
this is nothing new. I relied here simply on the sad experiences of
earlier expeditions. What, however, may be said to be new is the fact
that we not only realized that the ship ought to have such a form,
but that we gave it that form, as well as the necessary strength for
resisting great ice-pressure, and that this was the guiding idea
in the whole work of construction. Colin Archer is quite right in
what he says in an article in the Norsk Tidsskrift for Sövæsen, 1892:
"When one bears in mind what is, so to speak, the fundamental idea of
Dr. Nansen's plan in his North Pole Expedition ... it will readily be
seen that a ship which is to be built with exclusive regard to its
suitability for this object must differ essentially from any other
previously known vessel....
"In the construction of the ship two points must be especially
studied: (1) that the shape of the hull be such as to offer as small
a vulnerable target as possible to the attacks of the ice; and (2)
that it be built so solidly as to be able to withstand the greatest
possible pressure from without in any direction whatsoever."
And thus she was built, more attention being paid to making her a
safe and warm stronghold while drifting in the ice than to endowing
her with speed or good sailing qualities.
As above stated, our aim was to make the ship as small as possible. The
reason of this was that a small ship is, of course, lighter than a
large one, and can be made stronger in proportion to her weight. A
small ship, too, is better adapted for navigation among the ice; it is
easier to handle her in critical moments, and to find a safe berth for
her between the packing ice-floes. I was of opinion that a vessel of
170 tons register would suffice, but the Fram is considerably larger,
402 tons gross and 307 tons net. It was also our aim to build a short
vessel, which could thread her way easily among the floes, especially
as great length would have been a source of weakness when ice-pressure
set in. But in order that such a ship, which has, moreover, very
sloping sides, shall possess the necessary carrying capacity, she
must be broad; and her breadth is, in fact, about a third of her
length. Another point of importance was to make the sides as smooth
as possible, without projecting edges, while plane surfaces were as
much as possible avoided in the neighborhood of the most vulnerable
points, and the hull assumed a plump and rounded form. Bow, stern,
and keel--all were rounded off so that the ice should not be able to
get a grip of her anywhere. For this reason, too, the keel was sunk
in the planking, so that barely three inches protruded, and its edges
were rounded. The object was that "the whole craft should be able to
slip like an eel out of the embraces of the ice."
The hull was made pointed fore and aft, and somewhat resembles a
pilot-boat, minus the keel and the sharp garboard strakes. Both ends
were made specially strong. The stem consists of three stout oak beams,
one inside the other, forming an aggregate thickness of 4 feet (1.25
m.) of solid oak; inside the stem are fitted solid breasthooks of oak
and iron to bind the ship's sides together, and from these breasthooks
stays are placed against the pawl-bit. The bow is protected by an
iron stem, and across it are fitted transverse bars which run some
small distance backwards on either side, as is usual in sealers.
The stern is of a special and somewhat particular construction. On
either side of the rudder and propeller posts--which are sided 24
inches (65 cm.)--is fitted a stout oak counter-timber following
the curvature of the stern right up to the upper deck, and forming,
so to speak, a double stern-post. The planking is carried outside
these timbers, and the stern protected by heavy iron plates wrought
outside the planking.
Between these two counter-timbers there is a well for the screw,
and also one for the rudder, through which they can both be hoisted
up on deck. It is usual in sealers to have the screw arranged in this
way, so that it can easily be replaced by a spare screw should it be
broken by the ice. But such an arrangement is not usual in the case
of the rudder, and, while with our small crew, and with the help
of the capstan, we could hoist the rudder on deck in a few minutes
in case of any sudden ice-pressure or the like, I have known it take
sealers with a crew of over 60 men several hours, or even a whole day,
to ship a fresh rudder.
The stern is, on the whole, the Achilles' heel of ships in the Polar
Seas; here the ice can easily inflict great damage, for instance,
by breaking the rudder. To guard against this danger, our rudder was
placed so low down as not to be visible above water, so that if a
floe should strike the vessel aft, it would break its force against
the strong stern-part, and could hardly touch the rudder itself. As
a matter of fact, notwithstanding the violent pressures we met with,
we never suffered any injury in this respect.
Everything was of course done to make the sides of the ship as strong
as possible. The frame timbers were of choice Italian oak that had
originally been intended for the Norwegian navy, and had lain under
cover at Horten for 30 years. They were all grown to shape, and
10-11 inches thick. The frames were built in two courses or tiers,
closely wrought together, and connected by bolts, some of which were
riveted. Over each joint flat iron bands were placed. The frames
were about 21 inches (56 cm.) wide, and were placed close together,
with only about an inch or an inch and a half between; and these
interstices were filled with pitch and sawdust mixed, from the keel
to a little distance above the water-line, in order to keep the ship
moderately water-tight, even should the outer skin be chafed through.
The outside planking consists of three layers. The inner one is
of oak, 3 inches thick, fastened with spikes and carefully calked;
outside this another oak sheathing, 4 inches thick, fastened with
through bolts and calked; and outside these comes the ice-skin of
greenheart, which like the other planking runs right down to the
keel. At the water-line it is 6 inches thick, gradually diminishing
towards the bottom to 3 inches. It is fastened with nails and jagged
bolts, and not with through bolts; so that if the ice had stripped
off the whole of the ice sheathing the hull of the ship would not
have suffered any great damage. The lining inside the frame timbers
is of pitch-pine planks, some 4, some 8 inches thick; it was also
carefully calked once or twice.
The total thickness of the ship's sides is, therefore, from 24 to 28
inches of solid water-tight wood. It will readily be understood that
such a ship's side, with its rounded form, would of itself offer a
very good resistance to the ice; but to make it still stronger the
inside was shored up in every possible way, so that the hold looks
like a cobweb of balks, stanchions, and braces. In the first place,
there are two rows of beams, the upper deck and between decks,
principally of solid oak, partly also of pitch pine; and all of
these are further connected with each other, as well as with the
sides of the ship, by numerous supports. The accompanying diagrams
will show how they are arranged. The diagonal stays are, of course,
placed as nearly as possible at right angles to the sides of the ship,
so as to strengthen them against external pressure and to distribute
its force. The vertical stanchions between both tiers of beams and
between the lower beams and keelson are admirably adapted for this
latter object. All are connected together with strong knees and iron
fastenings, so that the whole becomes, as it were, a single coherent
mass. It should be borne in mind that, while in former expeditions
it was thought sufficient to give a couple of beams amidships some
extra strengthening, every single cross beam in the Fram was stayed
in the manner described and depicted.
In the engine-room there was, of course, no space for supports in the
middle, but in their place two stay ends were fixed on either side. The
beams of the lower deck were placed a little under the water-line,
where the ice pressure would be severest. In the after-hold these
beams had to be raised a little to give room for the engine. The
upper deck aft, therefore, was somewhat higher than the main deck,
and the ship had a poop or half-deck, under which were the cabins for
all the members of the expedition, and also the cooking-galley. Strong
iron riders were worked in for the whole length of the ship in the
spaces between the beams, extending in one length from the clamp
under the upper deck nearly to the keelson. The keelson was in two
tiers and about 31 inches (80 cm.) high, save in the engine-room,
where the height of the room only allows one tier. The keel consists
of two heavy American elm logs 14 inches square; but, as has been
mentioned, so built in that only 3 inches protrude below the outer
planking. The sides of the hull are rounded downward to the keel, so
that a transverse section at the midship frame reminds one forcibly
of half a cocoanut cut in two. The higher the ship is lifted out of
the water, the heavier does she, of course, become, and the greater
her pressure on the ice, but for the above reason the easier also
does it become for the ice to lift. To obviate much heeling, in
case the hull should be lifted very high, the bottom was made flat,
and this proved to be an excellent idea. I endeavored to determine
experimentally the friction of ice against wood, and taking into
account the strength of the ship, and the angle of her sides with the
surface of the water, I came to the conclusion that her strength must
be many times sufficient to withstand the pressure necessary to lift
her. This calculation was amply borne out by experience.
The principal dimensions of the ship were as follows: Length of keel,
102 feet; length of water-line, 113 feet; length from stem to stern
on deck, 128 feet; extreme breadth, 36 feet; breadth of water-line,
exclusive of ice-skin, 34 feet; depth, 17 feet; draught of water with
light cargo, 12 1/2 feet; displacement with light cargo, 530 tons;
with heavy cargo the draught is over 15 feet and the displacement is
800 tons; there is a freeboard of about 3 feet 6 inches. The hull,
with boilers filled, was calculated to weigh about 420 tons, and with
800 tons displacement there should, therefore, be spare carrying power
for coal and other cargo to the amount of 380 tons. Thus, in addition
to the requisite provisions for dogs and men for more than five years,
we could carry coal for four months' steaming at full speed, which
was more than sufficient for such an expedition as this.
As regards the rigging, the most important object was to have it as
simple and as strong as possible, and at the same time so contrived
as to offer the least possible resistance to the wind while the ship
was under steam. With our small crew it was, moreover, of the last
importance that it should be easy to work from deck. For this reason
the Fram was rigged as a three-masted fore-and-aft schooner. Several
of our old Arctic skippers disapproved of this arrangement. They
had always been used to sail with square-rigged ships, and, with the
conservatism peculiar to their class, were of opinion that what they
had used was the only thing that could be used in the ice. However,
the rig we chose was unquestionably the best for our purpose. In
addition to the ordinary fore-and-aft sails we had two movable yards
on the foremast for a square foresail and topsail. As the yards were
attached to a sliding truss they could easily be hauled down when not
in use. The ship's lower masts were tolerably high and massive. The
mainmast was about 80 feet high, the maintopmast was 50 feet high,
and the crow's-nest on the top was about 102 feet (32 m.) above the
water. It was important to have this as high as possible, so as to
have a more extended view when it came to picking our way through
the ice. The aggregate sail area was about 6000 square feet.
The ship's engine, a triple expansion, was made with particular
care. The work was done at the Akers Mechanical Factory, and Engineer
Norbeck deserves especial credit for its construction. With his
quick insight he foresaw the various possibilities that might occur,
and took precautions against them. The triple-expansion system was
chosen as being the most economical in the consumption of coal;
but as it might happen that one or other of the cylinders should
get out of order, it was arranged, by means of separate pipes, that
any of the cylinders could be cut off, and thus the other two, or,
at a pinch, even one alone, could be used. In this way the engine,
by the mere turning of a cock or two, could be changed at will into a
compound high-pressure or low-pressure engine. Although nothing ever
went wrong with any of the cylinders, this arrangement was frequently
used with advantage. By using the engine as a compound one, we could,
for instance, give the Fram greater speed for a short time, and when
occasion demanded we often took this means of forcing our way through
the ice. The engine was of 220 indicated horse-power, and we could
in calm weather with a light cargo attain a speed of 6 or 7 knots.
The propellers, of which we had two in reserve, were two-bladed, and
made of cast-iron; but we never used either the spare propellers or
a spare rudder which we had with us.
Our quarters lay, as before mentioned, abaft under the half-deck,
and were arranged so that the saloon, which formed our dining-room
and drawing-room, was in the middle, surrounded on all sides by the
sleeping-cabins. These consisted of four state-rooms with one berth
apiece and two with four berths. The object of this arrangement
was to protect the saloon from external cold; but, further, the
ceiling, floors, and walls were covered with several thick coatings of
non-conducting material, the surface layer, in touch with the heat of
the cabin, consisting of air-tight linoleum, to prevent the warm, damp
air from penetrating to the other side and depositing moisture, which
would soon turn to ice. The sides of the ship were lined with tarred
felt, then came a space with cork padding, next a deal panelling,
then a thick layer of felt, next air-tight linoleum, and last of all
an inner panelling. The ceiling of the saloon and cabins consisted
of many different layers: air, felt, deal panelling, reindeer-hair
stuffing, deal panelling, linoleum, air and deal panelling, which,
with the 4-inch deck planks, gave a total thickness of about 15
inches. To form the floor of the saloon, cork padding, 6 or 7 inches
thick, was laid on the deck planks, on this a thick wooden floor, and
above all linoleum. The skylight which was most exposed to the cold
was protected by three panes of glass, one within the other, and in
various other ways. One of the greatest difficulties of life on board
ship which former Arctic expeditions had had to contend with was that
moisture collecting on the cold outside walls either froze at once or
ran down in streams into the berths and on to the floor. Thus it was
not unusual to find the mattresses converted into more or less solid
masses of ice. We, however, by these arrangements, entirely avoided
such an unpleasant state of things, and when the fire was lighted in
the saloon there was not a trace of moisture on the walls, even in
the sleeping-cabins. In front of the saloon lay the cook's galley,
on either side of which was a companion leading to the deck.
As a protection against the cold, each of these companion-ways was
fitted with four small solid doors consisting of several layers of
wood with felt between, all of which had to be passed through on going
out. And the more completely to exclude the cold air the thresholds
of the doors were made more than ordinarily high. On the half-deck
over the cook's galley, between the mainmast and the funnel, was a
chart-room facing the bow, and a smaller work-room abaft.
In order to secure the safety of the ship in case of a leak,
the hold was divided into three compartments by water-tight
bulkheads. Besides the usual pumps, we had a powerful centrifugal
pump driven by the engine, which could be connected with each of
the three compartments. It may be mentioned as an improvement on
former expeditions that the Fram was furnished with an electric light
installation. The dynamo was to be driven by the engine while we were
under steam; while the intention was to drive it partly by means of
the wind, partly by hand power, during our sojourn in the ice. For
this purpose we took a windmill with us, and also a "horse-mill"
to be worked by ourselves. I had anticipated that this latter might
have been useful in giving us exercise in the long polar night. We
found, however, that there were plenty of other things to do, and
we never used it; on the other hand, the windmill proved extremely
serviceable. For illumination when we might not have enough power to
produce electric light, we took with us about 16 tons of petroleum,
which was also intended for cooking purposes and for warming the
cabins. This petroleum, as well as 20 tons of common kerosene,
[15] intended to be used along with coal in the boiler, was stored
in massive iron tanks, eight of which were in the hold, and one on
deck. In all, the ship had eight boats, two of which were especially
large, 29 feet long and 9 feet wide. These were intended for use
in case the ship should, after all, be lost, the idea being that
we should live in them while drifting in the ice. They were large
enough to accommodate the whole ship's company with provisions for
many months. Then there were four smaller boats of the form sealers
generally use. They were exceedingly strong and lightly built, two
of oak and two of elm. The seventh boat was a small pram, and the
eighth a launch with a petroleum engine, which, however, was not very
serviceable, and caused us a great deal of trouble.
As I shall have frequent occasion later on to speak of other details
of our equipment, I shall content myself here with mentioning a few
of the most important.
Special attention was, of course, devoted to our commissariat with
a view to obviating the danger of scurvy and other ailments. The
principle on which I acted in the choice of provisions was to combine
variety with wholesomeness. Every single article of food was chemically
analyzed before being adopted, and great care was taken that it should
be properly packed. Such articles, even, as bread, dried vegetables,
etc., etc., were soldered down in tins as a protection against damp.
A good library was of great importance to an expedition like ours,
and thanks to publishers and friends, both in our own and in other
countries, we were very well supplied in this respect.
The instruments for taking scientific observations of course formed
an important part of our equipment, and special care was bestowed
upon them. In addition to the collection of instruments I had used on
my Greenland expedition, a great many new ones were provided, and no
pains were spared to get them as good and complete as possible. For
meteorological observations, in addition to the ordinary thermometers,
barometers, aneroids, psychrometers, hygrometers, anemometers, etc.,
etc., self-registering instruments were also taken. Of special
importance were a self-registering aneroid barometer (barograph)
and a pair of self-registering thermometers (thermographs). For
astronomical observations we had a large theodolite and two smaller
ones, intended for use on sledge expeditions, together with several
sextants of different sizes. We had, moreover, four ship's chronometers
and several pocket-chronometers. For magnetic observations, for taking
the declination, inclination, and intensity (both horizontal and total
intensity) we had a complete set of instruments. Among others may be
mentioned a spectroscope especially adapted for the northern lights,
an electroscope for determining the amount of electricity in the air,
photographic apparatuses, of which we had seven, large and small,
and a photographometer for making charts. I considered a pendulum
apparatus with its adjuncts to be of special importance to enable
us to make pendulum experiments in the far north. To do this,
however, land was necessary, and, as we did not find any, this
instrument unfortunately did not come into use. For hydrographic
observations we took a full equipment of water-samplers, deep-water
thermometers, etc. To ascertain the saltness of the water, we had,
in addition to the ordinary areometers, an electric apparatus
specially constructed by Mr. Thornöe. Altogether, our scientific
equipment was especially excellent, thanks in great measure to the
obliging assistance rendered me by many men of science. I would take
this opportunity of tendering my special thanks to Professor Mohn,
who, besides seeing to the meteorological instruments, helped me in
many other ways with his valuable advice; to Professor Geelmuyden,
who undertook the supervision of the astronomical instruments; to
Dr. Neumeyer, of Hamburg, who took charge of the magnetic equipment;
and to Professor Otto Petterson, of Stockholm, and Mr. Thornöe, of
Christiania, both of whom superintended the hydrographic department. Of
no less importance were the physiologico-medicinal preparations,
to which Professor Torup devoted particular care.
As it might be of the utmost importance in several contingencies to
have good sledge-dogs, I applied to my friend, Baron Edward von Toll,
of St. Petersburg, and asked him whether it was possible to procure
serviceable animals from Siberia. [16] With great courtesy Von Toll
replied that he thought he himself could arrange this for me, as he
was just on the point of undertaking his second scientific expedition
to Siberia and the New Siberian Islands. He proposed to send the
dogs to Khabarova, on Yugor Strait. On his journey through Tiumen in
January, 1893, by the help of an English merchant named Wardroper,
who resided there, he engaged Alexander Ivanovitch Trontheim to
undertake the purchase of thirty Ostiak dogs and their conveyance to
Yugor Strait. But Von Toll was not content with this. Mr. Nikolai
Kelch having offered to bear the expense, my friend procured the
East Siberian dogs, which are acknowledged to be better draught
dogs than those of West Siberia (Ostiak dogs), and Johan Torgersen,
a Norwegian, undertook to deliver them at the mouth of the Olenek,
where it was arranged that we should touch.
Von Toll, moreover, thought it would be important to establish some
depots of provisions on the New Siberian Islands, in case the Fram
should meet with disaster and the expedition should be obliged to
return home that way. On Von Toll's mentioning this, Kelch at once
expressed himself willing to bear the cost, as he wished us in that
event to meet with Siberian hospitality even on the New Siberian
Islands. As it was difficult to find trustworthy agents to carry out a
task involving so much responsibility, Von Toll determined to establish
the depots himself, and in May, 1893, he set out on an adventurous
and highly interesting journey from the mainland over the ice to the
New Siberian Islands, where, besides laying down three depots for us,
[17] he made some very important geological researches.
Another important matter, I thought, was to have a cargo of coal
sent out as far as possible on our route, so that when we broke off
all connection with the rest of the world we should have on board the
Fram as much coal as she could carry. I therefore joyfully accepted an
offer from an Englishman, who was to accompany us with his steam-yacht
to Novaya Zemlya or the Kara Sea and give us 100 tons of coal on
parting company. As our departure was drawing nigh I learnt, however,
that other arrangements had been made. It being now too late to take
any other measures, I chartered the sloop Urania, of Brönösund, in
Nordland, to bring a cargo of coals to Khabarova, on the Yugor Strait.
No sooner did the plan of my expedition become known than petitions
poured in by the hundred from all quarters of the earth--from Europe,
America, Australia--from persons who wished to take part in it,
in spite of the many warning voices that had been raised. It was
no easy thing to choose among all the brave men who applied. As a
matter of course, it was absolutely essential that every man should
be strong and healthy, and not one was finally accepted till he had
been carefully examined by Professor Hialmar Heiberg, of Christiania.
The following is a list of the members of the expedition:
Otto Neumann Sverdrup, commander of the Fram, was born in Bindal,
in Helgeland, 1855. At the age of seventeen he went to sea, passed
his mate's examination in 1878, and for some years was captain of a
ship. In 1888-89 he took part in the Greenland expedition. As soon as
he heard of the plan of the polar expedition he expressed his desire
to accompany it, and I knew that I could not place the Fram in better
hands. He is married, and has one child.
Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the navy, undertook
the management of the meteorological, astronomical, and magnetic
observations. He was born in Christiania in 1868. After passing
through the naval school at Horten, he became an officer in 1889,
and first lieutenant in 1892. He is a son of Andreas Hansen, parish
priest in Christiania.
Henrik Greve Blessing, doctor and botanist to the expedition, was born
in Drammen in 1866, where his father was at that time a clergyman. He
became a student in 1885, and graduated in medicine in the spring
of 1893.
Theodore Claudius Jacobsen, mate of the Fram, was born at Tromsö in
1855, where his father was a ship's captain, afterwards harbor-master
and head pilot. At the age of fifteen he went to sea, and passed his
mate's examination four years later. He spent two years in New Zealand,
and from 1886-90 he went on voyages to the Arctic Sea as skipper of
a Tromsö sloop. He is married, and has one child.
Anton Amundsen, chief engineer of the Fram, was born at Horten in
1853. In 1884 he passed his technical examination, and soon afterwards
his engineer's examination. For twenty-five years he has been in the
navy, where he attained the rank of chief engineer. He is married,
and has six children.
Adolf Juell, steward and cook of the Fram, was born in the parish of
Skåtö, near Kragerö, in 1860. His father, Claus Nielsen, was a farmer
and ship-owner. In 1879 he passed his mate's examination, and has been
captain of a ship many years. He is married, and has four children.
Lars Pettersen, second engineer of the Fram, was born in 1860, at
Borre, near Landskrona, in Sweden, of Norwegian parents. He is a
fully qualified smith and machinist, in which capacity he has served
in the Norwegian navy for several years. Is married, and has children.
Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant in the Reserve, was born at
Skien in 1867, and matriculated at the University in 1886. In 1891-92
he went to the Military School and became a supernumerary officer. He
was so eager to take part in the expedition that, as no other post
could be found for him, he accepted that of stoker.
Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner, was born in Balsfjord, near Tromsö,
in 1859. From childhood he has been a sailor, and from fourteen years
old has gone on voyages to the Arctic Sea as harpooner and skipper. In
1888 he was shipwrecked off Novaya Zemlya in the sloop Enigheden,
from Christiansund. He is married, and has four children.
Bernhard Nordahl was born in Christiania in 1862. At the age of
fourteen he entered the navy, and advanced to be a gunner. Subsequently
he has done a little of everything, and, among other things, has
worked as an electrical engineer. He had charge of the dynamo and
electric installation on board, acted, moreover, as stoker, and for
a time assisted in the meteorological observations. He is married,
and has five children.
Ivar Otto Irgens Mogstad was born at Aure, in Nordmöre, in 1856. In
1877 passed his examination as first assistant, and from 1882 onward
was one of the head keepers at the Gaustad Lunatic Asylum.
Bernt Bentzen, born in 1860, went to sea for several years. In 1890
he passed his mate's examination, since which he has sailed as mate
in several voyages to the Arctic Sea. We engaged him at Tromsö, just
as we were starting. It was 8.30 when he came on board to speak to me,
and at 10 o'clock the Fram set sail.
CHAPTER III
THE START
"So travel I north to the gloomy abode
That the sun never shines on--
There is no day."
It was midsummer day. A dull, gloomy day; and with it came the
inevitable leave-taking. The door closed behind me. For the last time
I left my home and went alone down the garden to the beach, where the
Fram's little petroleum launch pitilessly awaited me. Behind me lay
all I held dear in life. And what before me? How many years would
pass ere I should see it all again? What would I not have given at
that moment to be able to turn back; but up at the window little Liv
was sitting clapping her hands. Happy child, little do you know what
life is--how strangely mingled and how full of change. Like an arrow
the little boat sped over Lysaker Bay, bearing me on the first stage
of a journey on which life itself, if not more, was staked.
At last everything was in readiness. The hour had arrived towards
which the persevering labor of years had been incessantly bent, and
with it the feeling that, everything being provided and completed,
responsibility might be thrown aside and the weary brain at last
find rest. The Fram lies yonder at Pepperviken, impatiently panting
and waiting for the signal, when the launch comes puffing past Dyna
and runs alongside. The deck is closely packed with people come
to bid a last farewell, and now all must leave the ship. Then the
Fram weighs anchor, and, heavily laden and moving slowly, makes the
tour of the little creek. The quays are black with crowds of people
waving their hats and handkerchiefs. But silently and quietly the Fram
heads towards the fjord, steers slowly past Bygdö and Dyna out on her
unknown path, while little nimble craft, steamers, and pleasure-boats
swarm around her. Peaceful and snug lay the villas along the shore
behind their veils of foliage, just as they ever seemed of old. Ah,
"fair is the woodland slope, and never did it look fairer!" Long,
long, will it be before we shall plough these well-known waters again.
And now a last farewell to home. Yonder it lies on the point--the
fjord sparkling in front, pine and fir woods around, a little smiling
meadow-land and long wood-clad ridges behind. Through the glass one
could descry a summer-clad figure by the bench under the fir-tree....
It was the darkest hour of the whole journey.
And now out into the fjord. It was rainy weather, and a feeling
of melancholy seemed to brood over the familiar landscape with all
its memories.
It was not until noon next day (June 25th) that the Fram glided into
the bay by Rækvik, Archer's shipyard, near Laurvik, where her cradle
stood, and where many a golden dream had been dreamt of her victorious
career. Here we were to take the two long-boats on board and have
them set up on their davits, and there were several other things to
be shipped. It took the whole day and a good part of the next before
all was completed. About three o'clock on the 26th we bade farewell
to Rækvik and made a bend into Laurvik Bay, in order to stand out to
sea by Frederiksværn. Archer himself had to take the wheel and steer
his child this last bit before leaving the ship. And then came the
farewell hand-shake; but few words were spoken, and they got into
the boat, he, my brothers, and a friend, while the Fram glided ahead
with her heavy motion, and the bonds that united us were severed. It
was sad and strange to see this last relic of home in that little
skiff on the wide blue surface, Anker's cutter behind, and Laurvik
farther in the distance. I almost think a tear glittered on that fine
old face as he stood erect in the boat and shouted a farewell to us
and to the Fram. Do you think he does not love the vessel? That he
believes in her I know well. So we gave him the first salute from
the Fram's guns--a worthier inauguration they could not well have had.
Full speed ahead, and in the calm, bright summer weather, while the
setting sun shed his beams over the land, the Fram stood out towards
the blue sea, to get its first roll in the long, heaving swell. They
stood up in the boat and watched us for long.
We bore along the coast in good weather, past Christiansand. The
next evening, June 27th, we were off the Naze. I sat up and chatted
with Scott-Hansen till late in the night. He acted as captain on
the trip from Christiania to Trondhjem, where Sverdrup was to join,
after having accompanied his family to Steenkiær. As we sat there
in the chart-house and let the hours slip by while we pushed on in
the ever-increasing swell, all at once a sea burst open the door and
poured in. We rushed out on deck. The ship rolled like a log, the
seas broke in over the rails on both sides, and one by one up came
all the crew. I feared most lest the slender davits which supported
the long-boats should give way, and the boats themselves should go
overboard, perhaps carrying away with them a lot of the rigging. Then
twenty-five empty paraffin casks which were lashed on deck broke loose,
washed backward and forward, and gradually filled with water; so that
the outlook was not altogether agreeable. But it was worst of all when
the piles of reserve timber, spars, and planks began the same dance,
and threatened to break the props under the boats. It was an anxious
hour. Sea-sick, I stood on the bridge, occupying myself in alternately
making libations to Neptune and trembling for the safety of the boats
and the men, who were trying to make snug what they could forward on
deck. I often saw only a hotch-potch of sea, drifting planks, arms,
legs, and empty barrels. Now a green sea poured over us and knocked
a man off his legs so that the water deluged him; now I saw the lads
jumping over hurtling spars and barrels, so as not to get their feet
crushed between them. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell, who
lay asleep in the "Grand Hotel," as we called one of the long-boats,
awoke to hear the sea roaring under him like a cataract. I met him
at the cabin door as he came running down. It was no longer safe
there, he thought; best to save one's rags--he had a bundle under
his arm. Then he set off forward to secure his sea-chest, which
was floating about on the fore-deck, and dragged it hurriedly aft,
while one heavy sea after another swept over him. Once the Fram
buried her bows and shipped a sea over the forecastle. There was
one fellow clinging to the anchor-davits over the frothing water. It
was poor Juell again. We were hard put to it to secure our goods and
chattels. We had to throw all our good paraffin casks overboard, and
one prime timber balk after another went the same way, while I stood
and watched them sadly as they floated off. The rest of the deck cargo
was shifted aft on to the half-deck. I am afraid the shares in the
expedition stood rather low at this moment. Then all at once, when
things were about at their worst with us, we sighted a bark looming
out of the fog ahead. There it lay with royals and all sails set, as
snugly and peacefully as if nothing were the matter, rocking gently
on the sea. It made one feel almost savage to look at it. Visions of
the Flying Dutchman and other devilry flashed through my mind.
Terrible disaster in the cook's galley! Mogstad goes in and sees the
whole wall sprinkled over with dark-red stains--rushes off to Nordahl,
and says he believes Juell has shot himself through despair at the
insufferable heat he complains so about. "Great revolver disaster on
board the Fram!..." On close inspection, however, the stains appeared
to proceed from a box of chocolate that had upset in the cupboard.
Owing to the fog we dared not go too near land, so kept out to sea,
till at last, towards morning, the fog lifted somewhat, and the pilot
found his bearings between Farsund and Hummerdus. We put into Lister
Fjord, intending to anchor there and get into better sea trim; but as
the weather improved we went on our way. It was not till the afternoon
that we steered into Ekersund, owing to thick weather and a stiff
breeze, and anchored in Hovland's Bay, where our pilot, Hovland, [18]
lived. Next morning the boat davits, etc., were put in good working
order. The Fram, however, was too heavily laden to be at all easy
in a seaway; but this we could not alter. What we had we must keep,
and if we only got everything on deck shipshape and properly lashed,
the sea could not do us much harm, however rough it might be; for we
knew well enough that ship and rigging would hold out.
It was late in the evening of the last day of June when we rounded
Kvarven and stood in for Bergen in the gloom of the sullen night. Next
morning when I came on deck Vågen lay clear and bright in the sun,
all the ships being gayly decked out with bunting from topmost to
deck. The sun was holding high festival in the sky--Ulriken, Flöiren,
and Lövstakken sparkled and glittered, and greeted me as of old. It
is a marvellous place, that old Hanseatic town!
In the evening I was to give a lecture, but arrived half an hour too
late. For just as I was dressing to go a number of bills poured in,
and if I was to leave the town as a solvent man I must needs pay them,
and so the public perforce had to wait. But the worst of it was that
the saloon was full of those everlastingly inquisitive tourists. I
could hear a whole company of them besieging my cabin door while I was
dressing, declaring "they must shake hands with the doctor!" [19] One
of them actually peeped in through the ventilator at me, my secretary
told me afterwards. A nice sight she must have seen, the lovely
creature! Report says she drew her head back very quickly. Indeed,
at every place where we put in we were looked on somewhat as wild
animals in a menagerie. For they peeped unceremoniously at us in our
berths as if we had been bears and lions in a den, and we could hear
them loudly disputing among themselves as to who was who, and whether
those nearest and dearest to us whose portraits hung on the walls could
be called pretty or not. When I had finished my toilette I opened the
door cautiously and made a rush through the gaping company. "There
he is--there he is!" [20] they called to each other as they tumbled
up the steps after me. It was no use; I was on the quay and in the
carriage long before they had reached the deck.
At 8 o'clock there was a great banquet, many fine speeches, good fare
and excellent wine, pretty ladies, music, and dancing till far into
the night.
Next morning at 11 o'clock--it was Sunday--in bright, sunshiny weather,
we stood northward over Bergen Fjord, many friends accompanying us. It
was a lovely, never-to-be-forgotten summer day. In Herlö Fjord, right
out by the skerries, they parted from us, amid wavings of hats and
pocket-handkerchiefs; we could see the little harbor boat for a long
while with its black cloud of smoke on the sparkling surface of the
water. Outside, the sea rolled in the hazy sunlight; and within lay the
flat Mangerland, full of memories for me of zoological investigations
in fair weather and foul, years and years ago. Here it was that one of
Norway's most famous naturalists, a lonely pastor far removed from
the outer world, made his great discoveries. Here I myself first
groped my way along the narrow path of zoological research.
It was a wondrous evening. The lingering flush of vanished day
suffused the northern sky, while the moon hung large and round over
the mountains behind us. Ahead lay Alden and Kinn, like a fairyland
rising up from the sea. Tired as I was, I could not seek my berth;
I must drink in all this loveliness in deep refreshing draughts. It
was like balm to the soul after all the turmoil and friction with
crowds of strangers.
So we went on our way, mostly in fair weather, occasionally in fog
and rain, through sounds and between islands, northward along the
coast of Norway. A glorious land--I wonder if another fairway like
this is to be found the whole world over? Those never-to-be-forgotten
mornings, when nature wakens to life, wreaths of mist glittering like
silver over the mountains, their tops soaring above the mist like
islands of the sea! Then the day gleaming over the dazzling white
snow-peaks! And the evenings, and the sunsets with the pale moon
overhead, white mountains and islands lay hushed and dreamlike as a
youthful longing! Here and there past homely little havens with houses
around them set in smiling green trees! Ah! those snug homes in the lee
of the skerries awake a longing for life and warmth in the breast. You
may shrug your shoulders as much as you like at the beauties of nature,
but it is a fine thing for a people to have a fair land, be it never so
poor. Never did this seem clearer to me than now when I was leaving it.
Every now and then a hurrah from land--at one time from a troop of
children, at another from grown-up people, but mostly from wondering
peasants who gaze long at the strange-looking ship and muse over its
enigmatic destination. And men and women on board sloops and ten-oared
boats stand up in their red shirts that glow in the sunlight, and rest
on their oars to look at us. Steamboats crowded with people came out
from the towns we passed to greet us, and bid us God-speed on our way
with music, songs, and cannon salutes. The great tourist steamboats
dipped flags to us and fired salutes, and the smaller craft did the
same. It is embarrassing and oppressive to be the object of homage like
this before anything has been accomplished. There is an old saying:
"At eve the day shall be praised,
The wife when she is burnt,
The sword when tried,
The woman when married,
The ice when passed over,
Ale when drunk."
Most touching was the interest and sympathy with which these poor
fisher-folk and peasants greeted us. It often set me wondering. I
felt they followed us with fervent eagerness. I remember one day--it
was north in Helgeland--an old woman was standing waving and waving
to us on a bare crag. Her cottage lay some distance inland. "I wonder
if it can really be us she is waving to," I said to the pilot, who was
standing beside me. "You may be sure it is," was the answer. "But how
can she know who we are?" "Oh! they know all about the Fram up here,
in every cabin, and they will be on the lookout for you as you come
back, I can tell you," he answered. Aye, truly, it is a responsible
task we are undertaking, when the whole nation are with us like
this. What if the thing should turn out a huge disappointment!
In the evening I would sit and look around--lonely huts lay scattered
here and there on points and islets. Here the Norwegian people wear
out their lives in the struggle with the rocks, in the struggle
with the sea; and it is this people that is sending us out into
the great hazardous unknown; the very folk who stand there in their
fishing-boats and look wonderingly after the Fram as she slowly and
heavily steams along on her northward course. Many of them wave their
sou'-westers and shout "Hurrah!" Others have barely time to gape at
us in wonderment. In on the point are a troop of women waving and
shouting; outside a few boats with ladies in light summer-dresses,
and gentlemen at the oars entertaining them with small-talk as they
wave their parasols and pocket-handkerchiefs. Yes; it is they who
are sending us out. It is not a cheering thought. Not one of them,
probably, knows what they are paying their money for. Maybe they
have heard it is a glorious enterprise; but why? To what end? Are
we not defrauding them? But their eyes are riveted on the ship,
and perhaps there dawns before their minds a momentary vision of a
new and inconceivable world, with aspirations after a something of
which they know naught.... And here on board are men who are leaving
wife and children behind them. How sad has been the separation! what
longing, what yearning, await them in the coming years! And it is not
for profit they do it. For honor and glory then? These may be scant
enough. It is the same thirst for achievement, the same craving to
get beyond the limits of the known, which inspired this people in
the Saga times that is stirring in them again to-day. In spite of
all our toil for subsistence, in spite of all our "peasant politics,"
sheer utilitarianism is perhaps not so dominant among us, after all.
As time was precious I did not, as originally intended, put in at
Trondhjem, but stopped at Beian, where Sverdrup joined us. Here
Professor Brögger also came on board, to accompany us as far as Tromsö.
Here, too, our doctor received three monstrous chests with the medicine
supply, a gift from Apothecary Bruun, of Trondhjem.
And so on towards the north, along the lovely coast of Nordland. We
stopped at one or two places to take dried fish on board as provision
for the dogs. Past Torghatten, the Seven Sisters, and Hestemanden; past
Lovunen and Trænen, far out yonder in the sea; past Lofoten and all the
other lovely places--each bold gigantic form wilder and more beautiful
than the last. It is unique--a fairyland--a land of dreams. We felt
afraid to go on too fast, for fear of missing something.
On July 12th we arrived at Tromsö, where we were to take in coal and
other things, such as reindeer cloaks, "komager" (a sort of Lapp
moccasin), Finn shoes, "senne" grass, dried reindeer flesh, etc.,
etc., all of which had been procured by that indefatigable friend
of the expedition, Advocate Mack. Tromsö gave us a cold reception--a
northwesterly gale, with driving snow and sleet. Mountains, plains,
and house-roofs were all covered with snow down to the water's edge. It
was the very bitterest July day I ever experienced. The people there
said they could not remember such a July. Perhaps they were afraid
the place would come into disrepute, for in a town where they hold
snow-shoe races on Midsummer Day one may be prepared for anything in
the way of weather.
In Tromsö the next day a new member of the expedition was engaged,
Bernt Bentzen--a stout fellow to look at. He originally intended
accompanying us only as far as Yugor Strait, but as a matter of fact
he went the whole voyage with us, and proved a great acquisition,
being not only a capital seaman, but a cheerful and amusing comrade.
After a stay of two days we again set out. On the night of the 16th,
east of the North Cape or Magerö, we met with such a nasty sea,
and shipped so much water on deck, that we put into Kjöllefjord to
adjust our cargo better by shifting the coal and making a few other
changes. We worked at this the whole of two days, and made everything
clear for the voyage to Novaya Zemlya. I had at first thought of taking
on board a fresh supply of coal at Vardö, but as we were already deeply
laden, and the Urania was to meet us at Yugor Strait with coal, we
thought it best to be contented with what we had already got on board,
as we might expect bad weather in crossing the White Sea and Barents
Sea. At ten o'clock in the evening we weighed anchor, and reached Vardö
next evening, where we met with a magnificent reception. There was a
band of music on the pier, the fjord teemed with boats, flags waved
on every hand, and salutes were fired. The people had been waiting
for us ever since the previous evening, we were told--some of them,
indeed, coming from Vadsö--and they had seized the opportunity to
get up a subscription to provide a big drum for the town band, the
"North Pole." And here we were entertained at a sumptuous banquet,
with speeches, and champagne flowing in streams, ere we bade Norway
our last farewell.
The last thing that had now to be done for the Fram was to have her
bottom cleaned of mussels and weeds, so that she might be able to
make the best speed possible. This work was done by divers, who were
readily placed at our service by the local inspector of the Government
Harbor Department.
But our own bodies also claimed one last civilized feast of
purification before entering on a life of savagery. The bath-house
of the town is a small timber building. The bath-room itself is low,
and provided with shelves where you lie down and are parboiled with
hot steam, which is constantly kept up by water being thrown on the
glowing hot stones of an awful oven, worthy of hell itself; while all
the time young quæn (lasses) flog you with birch twigs. After that
you are rubbed down, washed, and dried delightfully--everything being
well managed, clean, and comfortable. I wonder whether old Father
Mahomet has set up a bath like this in his paradise.
CHAPTER IV
FAREWELL TO NORWAY
I felt in a strange mood as I sat up the last night writing letters
and telegrams. We had bidden farewell to our excellent pilot,
Johan Hågensen, who had piloted us from Bergen, and now we were only
the thirteen members of the expedition, together with my secretary,
Christofersen, who had accompanied us so far, and was to go on with us
as far as Yugor Strait. Everything was so calm and still, save for the
scraping of the pen that was sending off a farewell to friends at home.
All the men were asleep below.
The last telegram was written, and I sent my secretary ashore with
it. It was 3 o'clock in the morning when he returned, and I called
Sverdrup up, and one or two others. We weighed anchor, and stood
out of the harbor in the silence of the morning. The town still lay
wrapped in sleep; everything looked so peaceful and lovely all around,
with the exception of a little stir of awakening toil on board one
single steamer in the harbor. A sleepy fisherman stuck his head up
out of the half-deck of his ten-oared boat, and stared at us as we
steamed past the breakwater; and on the revenue cutter outside there
was a man fishing in that early morning light.
This last impression of Norway was just the right one for us to
carry away with us. Such beneficent peace and calm; such a rest for
the thoughts; no hubbub and turmoil of people with their hurrahs and
salutes. The masts in the harbor, the house-roofs, and chimneys stood
out against the cool morning sky. Just then the sun broke through
the mist and smiled over the shore--rugged, bare, and weather-worn
in the hazy morning, but still lovely--dotted here and there with
tiny houses and boats, and all Norway lay behind it....
While the Fram was slowly and quietly working her way out to sea,
towards our distant goal, I stood and watched the land gradually
fading away on the horizon. I wonder what will happen to her and to
us before we again see Norway rising up over the sea?
But a fog soon came on and obscured everything.
And through fog, nothing but fog, we steamed away for four days without
stopping, until, when I came on deck on the morning of the 25th of
July, behold clear weather! The sun was shining in a cloudless sky,
the bright blue sea was heaving with a gentle swell. Again it was
good to be a living being, and to drink in the peacefulness of the
sea in long draughts. Towards noon we sighted Goose Land on Novaya
Zemlya, and stood in towards it. Guns and cartridges were got ready,
and we looked forward with joyful anticipation to roast goose and
other game; but we had gone but a short distance when the gray
woolly fog from the southeast came up and enveloped us. Again we
were shut off from the world around us. It was scarcely prudent to
make for land, so we set our course eastward towards Yugor Strait;
but a head-wind soon compelled us to beat up under steam and sail,
which we went on doing for a couple of days, plunged in a world
of fog. Ugh! that endless, stubborn fog of the Arctic Sea! When it
lowers its curtain, and shuts out the blue above and the blue below,
and everything becomes a damp gray mist, day in and day out, then all
the vigor and elasticity of the soul is needed to save one from being
stifled in its clammy embrace. Fog, and nothing but fog, wherever we
turn our eyes. It condenses on the rigging and drips down on every
tiniest spot on deck. It lodges on your clothes, and finally wets
you through and through. It settles down on the mind and spirits,
and everything becomes one uniform gray.
On the evening of July 27th, while still fog-bound, we quite
unexpectedly met with ice; a mere strip, indeed, which we easily
passed through, but it boded ill. In the night we met with more--a
broader strip this time, which also we passed through. But next
morning I was called up with the information that there was thick,
old ice ahead. Well, if ice difficulties were to begin so soon, it
would be a bad lookout indeed. Such are the chill surprises that
the Arctic Sea has more than enough of. I dressed and was up in
the crow's-nest in a twinkling. The ice lay extended everywhere,
as far as the eye could reach through the fog, which had lifted a
little. There was no small quantity of ice, but it was tolerably
open, and there was nothing for it but to be true to our watchword
and "gå fram"--push onward. For a good while we picked our way. But
now it began to lie closer, with large floes every here and there,
and at the same time the fog grew denser, and we could not see our
way at all. To go ahead in difficult ice and in a fog is not very
prudent, for it is impossible to tell just where you are going, and
you are apt to be set fast before you know where you are. So we had to
stop and wait. But still the fog grew ever denser, while the ice did
the same. Our hopes meanwhile rose and fell, but mostly the latter,
I think. To encounter so much ice already in these waters, where at
this time of year the sea is, as a rule, quite free from it, boded
anything but good. Already at Tromsö and Vardö we had heard bad news;
the White Sea, they said, had only been clear of ice a very short time,
and a boat that had tried to reach Yugor Strait had had to turn back
because of the ice. Neither were our anticipations of the Kara Sea
altogether cheerful. What might we not expect there? For the Urania,
with our coals, too, this ice was a bad business; for it would be
unable to make its way through unless it had found navigable water
farther south along the Russian coast.
Just as our prospects were at their darkest, and we were preparing to
seek a way back out of the ice, which kept getting ever denser, the
joyful tidings came that the fog was lifting, and that clear water
was visible ahead to the east on the other side of the ice. After
forcing our way ahead for some hours between the heavy floes, we
were once more in open water. This first bout with the ice, however,
showed us plainly what an excellent ice-boat the Fram was. It was a
royal pleasure to work her ahead through difficult ice. She twisted
and turned "like a ball on a platter." No channel between the floes so
winding and awkward but she could get through it. But it is hard work
for the helmsman. "Hard astarboard! Hard aport! Steady! Hard astarboard
again!" goes on incessantly without so much as a breathing-space. And
he rattles the wheel round, the sweat pours off him, and round it
goes again like a spinning-wheel. And the ship swings round and
wriggles her way forward among the floes without touching, if there
is only just an opening wide enough for her to slip through; and where
there is none she drives full tilt at the ice, with her heavy plunge,
runs her sloping bows up on it, treads it under her, and bursts the
floes asunder. And how strong she is too! Even when she goes full
speed at a floe, not a creak, not a sound, is to be heard in her;
if she gives a little shake it is all she does.
On Saturday, July 29th, we again headed eastward towards Yugor Strait
as fast as sails and steam could take us. We had open sea ahead, the
weather was fine and the wind fair. Next morning we came under the
south side of Dolgoi or Langöia, as the Norwegian whalers call it,
where we had to stand to the northward. On reaching the north of the
island we again bore eastward. Here I descried from the crow's-nest,
as far as I could make out, several islands which are not given on
the charts. They lay a little to the east of Langöia.
It was now pretty clear that the Urania had not made her way through
the ice. While we were sitting in the saloon in the forenoon, talking
about it, a cry was heard from deck that the sloop was in sight. It
was joyful news, but the joy was of no long duration. The next moment
we heard she had a crow's-nest on her mast, so she was doubtless a
sealer. When she sighted us she bore off to the south, probably fearing
that we were a Russian war-ship or something equally bad. So, as we
had no particular interest in her, we let her go on her way in peace.
Later in the day we neared Yugor Strait. We kept a sharp lookout
for land ahead, but none could be seen. Hour after hour passed as we
glided onward at good speed, but still no land. Certainly it would not
be high land, but nevertheless this was strange. Yes--there it lies,
like a low shadow over the horizon, on the port bow. It is land--it is
Vaigats Island. Soon we sight more of it--abaft the beam; then, too,
the mainland on the south side of the strait. More and more of it comes
in sight--it increases rapidly. All low and level land, no heights, no
variety, no apparent opening for the strait ahead. Thence it stretches
away to the north and south in a soft low curve. This is the threshold
of Asia's boundless plains, so different from all we have been used to.
We now glided into the strait, with its low rocky shores on either
side. The strata of the rocks lie endways, and are crumpled and broken,
but on the surface everything is level and smooth. No one who travels
over the flat green plains and tundras would have any idea of the
mysteries and upheavals that lie hidden beneath the sward. Here
once upon a time were mountains and valleys, now all worn away and
washed out.
We looked out for Khabarova. On the north side of the sound there
was a mark; a shipwrecked sloop lay on the shore; it was a Norwegian
sealer. The wreck of a smaller vessel lay by its side. On the south
side was a flag-staff, and on it a red flag; Khabarova must then lie
behind it. At last one or two buildings or shanties appeared behind a
promontory, and soon the whole place lay exposed to view, consisting
of tents and a few houses. On a little jutting-out point close by us
was a large red building, with white door-frames, of a very homelike
appearance. It was indeed a Norwegian warehouse which Sibiriakoff had
imported from Finmarken. But here the water was shallow, and we had to
proceed carefully for fear of running aground. We kept heaving the lead
incessantly--we had 5 fathoms of water, and then 4, then not much more
than we needed, and then it shelved to a little over 3 fathoms. This
was rather too close work, so we stood out again a bit to wait till
we got a little nearer the place before drawing in to the shore.
A boat was now seen slowly approaching from the land. A man of middle
height, with an open, kindly face and reddish beard, came on board. He
might have been a Norwegian from his appearance. I went to meet him,
and asked him in German if he was Trontheim. Yes, he was. After
him there came a number of strange figures clad in heavy robes of
reindeer-skin, which nearly touched the deck. On their heads they wore
peculiar "bashlyk"-like caps of reincalf-skin, beneath which strongly
marked bearded faces showed forth, such as might well have belonged
to old Norwegian Vikings. The whole scene, indeed, called up in my
mind a picture of the Viking Age, of expeditions to Gardarike and
Bjarmeland. They were fine, stalwart-looking fellows, these Russian
traders, who barter with the natives, giving them brandy in exchange
for bearskins, sealskins, and other valuables, and who, when once
they have a hold on a man, keep him in such a state of dependence that
he can scarcely call his soul his own. "Es ist eine alte Geschichte,
doch wird sie immer neu." Soon, too, the Samoyedes came flocking on
board, pleasant-featured people of the broad Asiatic type. Of course
it was only the men who came.
The first question I asked Trontheim was about the ice. He replied that
Yugor Strait had been open a long while, and that he had been expecting
our arrival every day since then with ever-increasing anxiety. The
natives and the Russians had begun to jeer at him as time went on,
and no Fram was to be seen; but now he had his revenge and was all
sunshine. He thought the state of the ice in the Kara Sea would be
favorable; some Samoyedes had said so, who had been seal-hunting near
the eastern entrance of the Strait a day or two previously. This was
not very much to build upon, certainly, but still sufficient to make us
regret that we had not got there before. Then we spoke of the Urania,
of which no one, of course, had seen anything. No ship had put in there
for some time, except the sealing sloop we had passed in the morning.
Next we inquired about the dogs, and learned that everything was all
right with them. To make sure, Trontheim had purchased forty dogs,
though I had only asked for thirty. Five of these, from various
mishaps, had died during their journey--one had been bitten to death,
two had got hung fast and had been strangled while passing through a
forest, etc., etc. One, moreover, had been taken ill a few days before,
and was still on the sick list; but the remaining thirty-four were in
good condition: we could hear them howling and barking. During this
conversation we had come as near to Khabarova as we dared venture,
and at seven in the evening cast anchor in about 3 fathoms of water.
Over the supper-table Trontheim told us his adventures. On the way
from Sopva and Ural to the Pechora he heard that there was a dog
epidemic in that locality; consequently he did not think it advisable
to go to the Pechora as he had intended, but laid his course instead
direct from Ural to Yugor Strait. Towards the end of the journey
the snow had disappeared, and, in company with a reindeer caravan,
he drove on with his dogs over the bare plain, stocks and stones and
all, using the sledges none the less. The Samoyedes and natives of
Northern Siberia have no vehicles but sledges. The summer sledge
is somewhat higher than the winter sledge, in order that it may
not hang fast upon stones and stumps. As may be supposed, however,
summer sledging is anything but smooth work.
After supper we went ashore, and were soon on the flat beach of
Khabarova, the Russians and Samoyedes regarding us with the utmost
curiosity. The first objects to attract our attention were the
two churches--an old venerable-looking wooden shed, of an oblong
rectangular form, and an octagonal pavilion, not unlike many
summer-houses or garden pavilions that I have seen at home. How
far the divergence between the two forms of religion was indicated
in the two mathematical figures I am unable to say. It might be
that the simplicity of the old faith was expressed in the simple,
four-sided building, while the rites and ceremonies of the other were
typified in the octagonal form, with its double number of corners
to stumble against. Then we must go and see the monastery--"Skit,"
as it was called--where the six monks had lived, or rather died, from
what people said was scurvy, probably helped out by alcohol. It lay
over against the new church, and resembled an ordinary low Russian
timber-house. The priest and his assistants were living there now,
and had asked Trontheim to take up his quarters with them. Trontheim,
therefore, invited us in, and we soon found ourselves in a couple of
comfortable log-built rooms with open fireplaces like our Norwegian
"peis."
After this we proceeded to the dog-camp, which was situated on a
plain at some distance from the houses and tents. As we approached
it the howling and barking kept getting worse and worse. When a short
distance off we were surprised to see a Norwegian flag on the top of
a pole. Trontheim's face beamed with joy as our eyes fell on it. It
was, he said, under the same flag as our expedition that his had
been undertaken. There stood the dogs tied up, making a deafening
clamor. Many of them appeared to be well-bred animals--long-haired,
snow-white, with up-standing ears and pointed muzzles. With their
gentle, good-natured looking faces they at once ingratiated themselves
in our affections. Some of them more resembled a fox, and had shorter
coats, while others were black or spotted. Evidently they were of
different races, and some of them betrayed by their drooping ears
a strong admixture of European blood. After having duly admired the
ravenous way in which they swallowed raw fish (gwiniad), not without
a good deal of snarling and wrangling, we took a walk inland to a lake
close by in search of game; but we only found an Arctic gull with its
brood. A channel had been dug from this lake to convey drinking-water
to Khabarova. According to what Trontheim told us, this was the work
of the monks--about the only work, probably, they had ever taken in
hand. The soil here was a soft clay, and the channel was narrow and
shallow, like a roadside ditch or gutter; the work could not have
been very arduous. On the hill above the lake stood the flagstaff
which we had noticed on our arrival. It had been erected by the
excellent Trontheim to bid us welcome, and on the flag itself, as I
afterwards discovered by chance, was the word "Vorwärts." Trontheim
had been told that was the name of our ship, so he was not a little
disappointed when he came on board to find it was Fram instead. I
consoled him, however, by telling him they both meant the same thing,
and that his welcome was just as well meant, whether written in German
or Norwegian. Trontheim told me afterwards that he was by descent a
Norwegian, his father having been a ship's captain from Trondhjem,
and his mother an Esthonian, settled at Riga. His father had been
much at sea, and had died early, so the son had not learnt Norwegian.
Naturally our first and foremost object was to learn all we could
about the ice in the Arctic Sea. We had determined to push on as
soon as possible; but we must have the boiler put in order first,
while sundry pipes and valves in the engine wanted seeing to. As it
would take several days to do this, Sverdrup, Peter Henriksen, and
I set out next morning in our little petroleum launch to the eastern
opening of the Yugor Strait, to see with our own eyes what might be
the condition of the ice to the eastward. It was 28 miles thither. A
quantity of ice was drifting through the strait from the east, and, as
there was a northerly breeze, we at once turned our course northward to
get under the lee of the north shore, where the water was more open. I
had the rather thankless task of acting as helmsman and engineer at
one and the same time. The boat went on like a little hero and made
about six knots. Everything looked bright. But, alas! good fortune
seldom lasts long, especially when one has to do with petroleum
launches. A defect in the circulation-pump soon stopped the engine,
and we could only go for short distances at a time, till we reached
the north shore, where, after two hours' hard work, I got the engines
so far in order as to be able to continue our journey to the northeast
through the sound between the drifting floes. We got on pretty well,
except for an interruption every now and then when the engine took
it into its head to come to a standstill. It caused a good deal of
merriment when the stalwart Peter turned the crank to set her off
again and the engine gave a start so as nearly to pull his arms out
of joint and upset him head over heels in the boat. Every now and
then a flock of long-tailed duck (Harelda glacialis) or other birds
came whizzing by us, one or two of them invariably falling to our guns.
We had kept along the Vaigats shore, but now crossed over towards the
south side of the strait. When about the middle of the channel I was
startled by all at once seeing the bottom grow light under us, and had
nearly run the boat on a shoal of which no one knew anything. There
was scarcely more than two or three feet of water, and the current
ran over it like a rapid river. Shoals and sunken rocks abound there
on every hand, especially on the south side of the strait, and it
required great care to navigate a vessel through it. Near the eastern
mouth of the strait we put into a little creek, dragged the boat up on
the beach, and then, taking our guns, made for some high-lying land
we had noticed. We tramped along over the same undulating plain-land
with low ridges, as we had seen everywhere round the Yugor Strait. A
brownish-green carpet of moss and grass spread over the plain, bestrewn
with flowers of rare beauty. During the long, cold Siberian winter
the snow lies in a thick mass over the tundra; but no sooner does the
sun get the better of it than hosts of tiny northern flowers burst
their way up through the fast-disappearing coating of snow and open
their modest calices, blushing in the radiant summer day that bathes
the plain in its splendor. Saxifrages with large blooms, pale-yellow
mountain poppies (Papaver nudicaule) stand in bright clusters, and
here and there with bluish forget-me-nots and white cloud-berry
flowers; in some boggy hollows the cotton-grass spreads its wavy
down carpet, while in other spots small forests of bluebells softly
tingle in the wind on their upright stalks. These flowers are not at
all brilliant specimens, being in most cases not more than a couple
of inches high, but they are all the more exquisite on that account,
and in such surroundings their beauty is singularly attractive. While
the eye vainly seeks for a resting-place over the boundless plain,
these modest blooms smile at you and take the fancy captive.
And over these mighty tundra-plains of Asia, stretching infinitely
onward from one sky-line to the other, the nomad wanders with his
reindeer herds, a glorious, free life! Where he wills he pitches
his tent, his reindeer around him; and at his will again he goes on
his way. I almost envied him. He has no goal to struggle towards, no
anxieties to endure--he has merely to live! I wellnigh wished that I
could live his peaceful life, with wife and child, on these boundless,
open plains, unfettered, happy.
After we had proceeded a short distance, we became aware of a white
object sitting on a stone heap beneath a little ridge, and soon noticed
more in other directions. They looked quite ghostly as they sat there
silent and motionless. With the help of my field-glass I discovered
that they were snow-owls. We set out after them, but they took care
to keep out of the range of a fowling-piece. Sverdrup, however,
shot one or two with his rifle. There was a great number of them;
I could count as many as eight or ten at once. They sat motionless
on tussocks of grass or stones, watching, no doubt, for lemmings, of
which, judging from their tracks, there must have been quantities. We,
however, did not see any.
From the tops of the ridges we could see over the Kara Sea to the
northeast. Everywhere ice could be descried through the telescope, far
on the horizon--ice, too, that seemed tolerably close and massive. But
between it and the coast there was open water, stretching, like a wide
channel, as far as the eye could reach to the southeast. This was all
we could make out, but it was in reality all we wanted. There seemed to
be no doubt that we could make our way forward, and, well satisfied,
we returned to our boat. Here we lighted a fire of driftwood, and
made some glorious coffee.
As the coffee-kettle was singing over a splendid fire, and we
stretched ourselves at full length on the slope by its side and
smoked a quiet pipe, Sverdrup made himself thoroughly comfortable,
and told us one story after another. However gloomy a country might
look, however desolate, if only there were plenty of driftwood on
the beach, so that one could make a right good fire, the bigger the
better, then his eyes would glisten with delight--that land was his
El Dorado. So from that time forth he conceived a high opinion of
the Siberian coast--a right good place for wintering, he called it.
On our way back we ran at full speed on to a sunken rock. After
a bump or two the boat slid over it; but just as she was slipping
off on the other side the propeller struck on the rock, so that the
stern gave a bound into the air while the engine whizzed round at a
tearing rate. It all happened in a second, before I had time to stop
her. Unluckily one screw blade was broken off, but we drove ahead with
the other as best we could. Our progress was certainly rather uneven,
but for all that we managed to get on somehow.
Towards morning we drew near the Fram, passing two Samoyedes, who had
drawn their boat up on an ice-floe and were looking out for seals. I
wonder what they thought when they saw our tiny boat shoot by them
without steam, sails, or oars. We, at all events, looked down on these
"poor savages" with the self-satisfied compassion of Europeans, as,
comfortably seated, we dashed past them.
But pride comes before a fall! We had not gone far when--whir, whir,
whir--a fearful racket! bits of broken steel springs whizzed past my
ears, and the whole machine came to a dead stop. It was not to be
moved either forward or backward. The vibration of the one-bladed
propeller had brought the lead line little by little within the
range of the fly-wheel, and all at once the whole line was drawn
into the machinery, and got so dreadfully entangled in it that we
had to take the whole thing to pieces to get it clear once more. So
we had to endure the humiliation of rowing back to our proud ship,
for whose flesh-pots we had long been anhungered.
The net result of the day was: tolerably good news about the Kara Sea;
forty birds, principally geese and long-tailed ducks; one seal; and
a disabled boat. Amundsen and I, however, soon put this in complete
repair again--but in so doing I fear I forfeited forever and a day
the esteem of the Russians and Samoyedes in these parts. Some of them
had been on board in the morning and seen me hard at work in the boat
in my shirt-sleeves, face and bare arms dirty with oil and other
messes. They went on shore afterwards to Trontheim, and said that
I could not possibly be a great person, slaving away like any other
workman on board, and looking worse than a common rough. Trontheim,
unfortunately, knew of nothing that could be said in my excuse;
there is no fighting against facts.
In the evening some of us went on shore to try the dogs. Trontheim
picked out ten of them and harnessed them to a Samoyede sledge. No
sooner were we ready and I had taken my seat than the team caught sight
of a wretched strange dog that had come near, and off dashed dogs,
sledge, and my valuable person after the poor creature. There was
a tremendous uproar; all the ten tumbled over each other like wild
wolves, biting and tearing wherever they could catch hold; blood
ran in streams, and the culprit howled pitiably, while Trontheim
tore round like a madman, striking right and left with his long
switch. Samoyedes and Russians came screaming from all sides. I sat
passively on the sledge in the middle of it all, dumb with fright,
and it was ever so long before it occurred to me that there was
perhaps something for me too to do. With a horrible yell I flung
myself on some of the worst fighters, got hold of them by the neck,
and managed to give the culprit time to get away.
Our team had got badly mixed up during the battle, and it took some
time to disentangle them. At last everything was once more ready
for the start. Trontheim cracked his whip, and called, "Pr-r-r-r,
pr-r-r-r," and off we went at a wild gallop, over grass, clay, and
stones, until it seemed as if they were going to carry us right
across the lagoon at the mouth of the river. I kicked and pulled
in with all my might, but was dragged along, and it was all that
Trontheim and I with our united strength could do to stop them
just as they were going into the water, although we shouted "Sass,
sass," so that it echoed over the whole of Khabarova. But at last
we got our team turned in another direction, and off we set again
merrily at such a pace that I had enough to do to hold on. It was an
extraordinary summer ride; and it gave us a high opinion of the dogs'
strength, seeing how easily they drew two men over this, to put it
mildly, bad sledding ground. We went on board again well satisfied,
also the richer by a new experience, having learnt that dog-driving,
at any rate to begin with, requires much patience.
Siberian dog-harness is remarkably primitive. A thick rope or a strap
of sail-cloth passes round the animal's back and belly. This is held
in its place above by a piece of cord attached to the collar. The
single trace is fastened under the belly, goes back between the legs,
and must often plague the animal. I was unpleasantly surprised when
I noticed that, with four exceptions, all the dogs were castrated,
and this surprise I did not conceal. But Trontheim on his side was at
least equally astonished, and informed me that in Siberia castrated
dogs are considered the best. [21] This was a disappointment to me,
as I had reckoned on my canine family increasing on the way. For
the present I should just have to trust to the four "whole" dogs and
"Kvik," the bitch I had brought with me from home.
Next day, August 1st, there was a great religious festival in
Khabarova, that of St. Elias. Samoyedes from far and near had come in
with their reindeer teams to celebrate the day by going to church and
then getting roaring drunk. We were in need of men in the morning
to help in filling the boiler with fresh water and the tank with
drinking-water, but on account of this festival it was difficult to get
hold of any at all. At last, by dint of promising sufficient reward,
Trontheim succeeded in collecting some poor fellows who had not money
enough to drink themselves as drunk as the day required of them. I
was on shore in the morning, partly to arrange about the provision
of water, partly to collect fossils, in which the rock here abounds,
especially one rock below Sibiriakoff's warehouse. I also took a walk
up the hill to the west, to Trontheim's flag-staff, and looked out
to sea in that direction after the Urania. But there was nothing to
be seen except an unbroken sea-line. Loaded with my find I returned
to Khabarova, where I, of course, took advantage of the opportunity
to see something of the festival.
From early morning the women had been dressed in their finest
clothes--brilliant colors, skirts with many tucks, and great
colored bows at the end of plaits of hair which hung far down their
backs. Before service an old Samoyede and a comely young girl led
out a lean reindeer which was to be offered to the church--to the old
church, that is to say. Even up here, as already mentioned, religious
differences have found their way. Nearly all the Samoyedes of these
parts belong to the old faith and attend the old church. But they go
occasionally to the new one too; as far as I could make out, so as
not to offend the priest and Sibiriakoff--or perhaps to be surer of
heaven? From what I got out of Trontheim on the subject, the chief
difference between the two religions lies in the way they make the
sign of the cross, or something of that sort. To-day was high festival
in both churches. All the Samoyedes first paid a short visit to the
new church and then immediately streamed over into the old one. The
old church was for the moment without a priest, but to-day they had
clubbed together and offered the priest of the new church two roubles
to hold a service in the old one too. After careful consideration, he
agreed, and in all his priestly pomp crossed the old threshold. The
air inside was so bad that I could not stand it for more than two
minutes, so I now made my way on board again.
During the afternoon the howling and screaming began, and increased
as time went on. We did not need to be told that the serious part of
the festival had now begun. Some of the Samoyedes tore about over the
plain with their reindeer teams like furious animals. They could not
sit on their sledges, but lay on them, or were dragged behind them,
howling. Some of my comrades went on shore, and brought back anything
but an edifying account of the state of things. Every single man
and woman appeared to be drunk, reeling about the place. One young
Samoyede in particular had made an ineffaceable impression on them. He
mounted a sledge, lashed at the reindeer, and drove "amuck" in among
the tents, over the tied-up dogs, foxes, and whatever came in his way;
he himself fell off the sledge, was caught in the reins, and dragged
behind, shrieking, through sand and clay. Good St. Elias must be much
flattered by such homage. Towards morning the howling gradually died
away, and the whole town slept the loathsome sleep of the drunkard.
There was not a man to be got to help with our coal-shifting next
day. Most of them slept all day after the orgie of the night. We
had just to do without help; but we had not finished by evening,
and I began to be impatient to get away. Precious time was passing;
I had long ago given up the Urania. We did not really need more
coal. The wind had been favorable for several days. It was a south
wind, which was certainly blowing the ice to the northward in the
Kara Sea. Sverdrup was now positive that we should be able to sail
in open water all the way to the New Siberian Islands, so it was
his opinion that there was no hurry for the present. But hope is a
frail reed to lean on, and my expectations were not quite so bright;
so I hurried things on, to get away as soon as possible.
At the supper-table this evening King Oscar's gold medal of merit
was solemnly presented to Trontheim, in recognition of the great care
with which he had executed his difficult commission, and the valuable
assistance thereby rendered to the expedition. His honest face beamed
at the sight of the beautiful medal and the bright ribbon.
Next day, August 3d, we were at last ready for a start, and the 34
dogs were brought on board in the afternoon, with great noise and
confusion. They were all tied up on the deck forward, and began by
providing more musical entertainment than we desired. By evening
the hour had come. We got up steam--everything was ready. But such
a thick fog had set in that we could not see the land. Now came
the moment when our last friend, Christofersen, was to leave the
ship. We supplied him with the barest sufficiency of provisions and
some Ringnes's ale. While this was being done, last lines were added
in feverish eagerness to the letters home. Then came a last hand-clasp;
Christofersen and Trontheim got into the boat, and had soon disappeared
in the fog. With them went our last post; our last link with home
was broken. We were alone in the mist on the sea. It was not likely
that any message from us would reach the world before we ourselves
brought the news of our success or defeat. How much anxiety were
those at home to suffer between now and then! It is true we might
possibly be able to send letters home from the mouth of the Olenek,
where, according to the agreement with Baron Toll, we were to call in
for another supply of dogs; but I did not consider this probable. It
was far on in the summer, and I had an instinctive feeling that the
state of the ice was not so favorable as I could have wished it to be.
TRONTHEIM'S NARRATIVE
Alexander Ivanovitch Trontheim has himself given an account, in the
Tobolsk official newspaper, of his long and difficult journey with
our dogs. The account was written by A. Kryloff from Trontheim's
story. The following is a short résumé:
After having made the contract with Baron Toll, Trontheim was on
January 28th (January 16th by Russian reckoning) already at Berezoff,
where there was then a Yassak-meeting, [22] and consequently a
great assembly of Ostiaks and Samoyedes. Trontheim made use of this
opportunity and bought 33 (this ought probably to be 40) choice sledge
dogs. These he conveyed to the little country town of Muzhi, where
he made preparations for the "very long journey," passing the time in
this way till April 16th. By this date he had prepared 300 pud (about
9600 lbs.) of dog provender, consisting chiefly of dried fish. For
300 roubles he engaged a Syriane, named Terentieff, with a reindeer
herd of 450, to convey him, his dogs, and baggage to Yugor Strait. For
three months these two with their caravan--reindeer, drivers, dogs,
women, and children--travelled through the barren tracts of northern
Siberia. At first their route lay through the Ural Mountains. "It was
more a sort of nomadic life than a journey. They did not go straight on
towards their destination, but wandered over wide tracts of country,
stopping wherever it was suitable for the reindeer, and where they
found lichen. From the little town of Muzhi the expedition passed
up the Voikara River to its sources; and here began the ascent of
the Ural Mountains by the Pass of Kjaila (Kjola). In their crossing
of the chain they tried to skirt along the foot of the mountains,
climbing as little as possible....
"They noticed one marked contrast between the mountains in the northern
and those in the southern part of the Ural chain. In the south the snow
melts quickly in the lower regions and remains lying on the tops. Here
(in the northern Ural), on the contrary, the mountain-tops are free
from snow before the sun's rays penetrate into the valleys and melt
it there. In some valleys, especially those closed by mountains to
the south, and more exposed to north winds, the snow lies the whole
summer. When they had got across the Ural Mountains they first
followed the course of the River Lemva, then crossed it, and now
followed a whole system of small rivers, for which even the natives
have no names. At last, on May 4th, the expedition reached the River
Ussa, on the banks of which lay the hut of the Syriane Nikitsa." This
was "the one inhabited spot in this enormous tract of country," and
here they stopped two weeks to rest the reindeer and get provender
for them. "The country lying between the sources of the Voikara and
the Ussa is wooded in every direction." "Between the River Ussa and
the River Vorkuta, and even beyond that, Trontheim and his company
travelled through quite luxuriant wood. In the middle of May, as the
caravan approached the tundra region, the wood got thinner and thinner,
and by May 27th it was nothing but scattered underwood. After this came
quite small bushes and weeds, and then at last the interminable tundra
came in sight. Not to be without fuel on the tundra, they felled some
dead trees and other wood--eight sledge loads. The day after they got
out on the tundra (May 29th) the caravan set off at full speed, the
Syrianes being anxious to get quickly past a place where a whole herd
of reindeer had perished some years before. The reindeer-drivers take
good note of such places, and do everything possible to avoid them, as
the animals may easily be infected by gnawing the bones of their dead
comrades. God help the herd that this happens to! The disease passes
rapidly from animal to animal, and scores may die of it in a day. [23]
"In this region there are many bogs; the low land forms one continuous
morass. Sometimes we had to walk up to the waist in water; thus on
June 5th we splashed about the whole day in water, in constant fear of
the dogs catching cold. On the 6th a strong northeast wind blew, and
at night the cold was so severe that two reindeer-calves were frozen
to death; and besides this two grown ones were carried off by wolves."
The caravan had often to cross rapid rivers, where it was sometimes
very difficult to find a ford. They were frequently obliged to
construct a bridge with the help of tent-poles and sometimes blocks
of ice, and it occasionally took them a whole day to get across. By
degrees their supply of wood was used up, and it was difficult to
get food cooked. Few bushes were to be found. On June 17th they met a
Syriane reindeer driver and trader; from him they bought two bottles
of wine (brandy) at 70 kopecks each. "It was, as is customary, a very
friendly encounter, and ended with treatings on both sides. One can
see a long way on the tundra; the Syriane's keen eye detects another
herd, or smoke from inhabited tents, 10 versts off; and a nomad who
has discovered the presence of another human being 10 or 12 versts off
never lets slip the opportunity of visiting him in his camp, having
a talk, and being regaled with tea, or, in preference, brandy. The
day after, June 18th, some Samoyedes, who had heard of the caravan,
came on four sledges to the camp. They were entertained with tea. The
conversation, carried on in Samoyede, was about the health of the
reindeer, our journey, and the way to Yugor Strait. When the scanty
news of the tundra had been well discussed they took their departure."
By the end of June, when they had got through all the ramifications of
the Little Ural Mountains, the time was drawing near when, according
to his agreement, Trontheim was due at Yugor Strait. He was obliged
to hasten the rate of travelling, which was not an easy matter, with
more than 40 sledges and 450 reindeer, not counting the calves. He,
therefore, determined to divide the caravan into two parts, leave
the women, children, and domestic animals behind, and push forward
without any baggage, except the necessary food. So, on June 28th,
"thirty sledges, tents, etc., were left with the women and children,
who were to live their nomadic life as best they could. The male
Syrianes took ten sledges and went on with Trontheim." At last, on
July 9th, after more wanderings, they saw the sea from a "high hill,"
and next day they reached Khabarova, where Trontheim learned that no
steamer had arrived yet in Yugor Strait, nor had any sail been seen. At
this time the whole shore of Yugor Strait and all the sea within sight
was covered with ice, driven there by northerly winds. The sea was
not quite open till July 22d. Trontheim passed the time while he was
waiting for the Fram in hunting and making excursions with his dogs,
which were in excellent condition. He was often in the Sibiriakoff
colony, a meeting-place for the Samoyedes of the district, who come
here in considerable numbers to dispose of their wares. And it was a
melancholy phase of life he saw here in this little "world-forsaken"
colony. "Every summer two or three merchants or peasant traders,
generally from Pustozersk, come for the purpose of bartering with the
Samoyedes, and sometimes the Syrianes, too, for their wares--bearskins,
blubber, and sealskins, reindeer-skins, and such like--giving in
exchange tea, sugar, flour, household utensils, etc. No transaction
takes place without the drinking of brandy, for which the Samoyede
has an insatiable craving. When the trader has succeeded in making
a poor wretch quite tipsy, he fleeces him, and buys all he wants at
some ridiculous price--the result of the transaction generally being
that the Samoyede is in debt to his 'benefactor.' All the traders that
come to the colony bring brandy, and one great drinking-bout goes on
all the summer. You can tell where much business is done by the number
of brandy casks in the trader's booth. There is no police inspection,
and it would be difficult to organize anything of the kind. As soon as
there is snow enough for the sledges, the merchants' reindeer caravans
start from the colony on their homeward journey, loaded with empty
brandy casks and with the proceeds of this one-sided bartering.
"On July 30th [this ought to be 29th] Trontheim saw from the shore,
first, smoke, and soon after a steamer. There could be no doubt
of its being the Fram. He went out in a little Samoyede boat to
meet her, and called out in Russian that he wanted to be taken on
board. From the steamer they called back, asking who he was, and when
they heard his name he was hauled up. On deck he met Nansen himself,
in a greasy working-jacket. He is still quite a young man, of middle
height...." Here follows a flattering description of the leader of
the expedition, and the state of matters on board. "It is evident,"
he then goes on, "that we have here one family, united and inspired
by one idea, for the carrying out of which all labor devotedly. The
hard and dirty work on board is fairly divided, no difference being
made between the common sailor and the captain, or even the chief of
the expedition. The doctor, too, takes his share in the general work,
and this community of labor is a close bond between all on board. The
existence of such relations among the ship's company made a very
favorable impression on Trontheim, and this most of all (in his
opinion) justified the hope that in difficult crises the expedition
would be able to hold its own.
"A. I. Trontheim was on board the Fram every day, breakfasting and
dining there. From what he relates, the ship must be admirably built,
leaving nothing whatever to be desired. The cabins are roomy, and
comfortably fitted up; there is an excellent library, containing
the classics of European literature; various musical instruments,
from a beautiful grand-piano [24] to flutes and guitars; then chess,
draughts, etc.--all for the recreation of the company."
Here follows a description of the Fram, her general equipments,
and commissariat. It seems to have made a great impression on him
that we had no wine (brandy) on board. "I was told," he exclaims,
"that only among the medicine stores have they some 20 or 30 bottles
of the best cognac--pure, highly rectified spirit. It is Nansen's
opinion that brandy-drinking in these northern regions is injurious,
and may, if indulged in on such a difficult and dangerous voyage, have
very serious consequences; he has therefore considered it expedient
to supply its place by fruit and various sorts of sweets, of which
there are large supplies on board." "In harbor the crew spent most of
the day together; in spite of community of work, each individual's
duties are fixed down to the minutest detail. They all sit down to
meals together, with the exception of the acting cook, whose duty they
take by turns. Health and good spirits are to be read on every face;
Nansen's immovable faith in a successful and happy issue to their
expedition inspires the whole crew with courage and confidence.
"On August 3d they shifted coal on board the Fram from the ship's
hold down to the stoke-hold (coal bunkers). All the members of
the expedition took part in this work, Nansen at their head, and
they worked unitedly and cheerfully. This same day Nansen and his
companions tried the dogs on shore. Eight [this should be ten] were
harnessed to a sledge on which three persons took their places. Nansen
expressed his satisfaction with the dogs, and thanked Trontheim for
the good selection he had made, and for the excellent condition the
animals were in. When the dogs were taken over and brought on board,
[25] Trontheim applied to Nansen for a certificate of the exact and
scrupulous way in which he had fulfilled his contract. Nansen's
answer was: 'No; a certificate is not enough. Your duty has been
done with absolute conscientiousness, and you have thereby rendered
a great service to the expedition. I am commissioned to present you
with a gold medal from our king in recognition of the great help you
have given us.' With these words Nansen handed to Trontheim a very
large gold medal with a crown on it. On the obverse is the following
inscription: 'Oscar II., King of Norway and Sweden. For the Welfare of
the Brother-Nations.' And on the reverse: 'Reward for valuable service,
A. I. Trontheim.' Along with this Nansen also gave Trontheim a written
testimonial as to the admirable manner in which he had carried out his
commission, mentioning that for this he had been rewarded with a medal.
"Nansen determined to weigh anchor during the night of this same day,
[26] and set sail on his long voyage without waiting for the coal
sloop Urania, which he thought must have been delayed by the ice. In
the evening Trontheim took leave of the whole party, with hearty
wishes for the success of the expedition. Along with him Herr Ole
Christofersen, correspondent of one of the chief London newspapers,
[27] left the ship. He had accompanied Nansen from Vardö. At parting,
Nansen gave them a plentiful supply of provisions, Christofersen and
Trontheim having to await the arrival of the Urania, as they were to
go home by her. Precisely at 12 o'clock on the night between August
4th and 5th the signal for starting was given, and the Fram stood
out to sea."
On August 7th the Urania at last arrived. As I had supposed,
she had been stopped by ice, but had at last got out of it
uninjured. Christofersen and Trontheim were able to sail for home
in her on the 11th, and reached Vardö on the 22d, food having been
very scarce during the last part of the time. The ship, which had
left her home port, Brönö, in May, was not provided for so long
a voyage, and these last days they lived chiefly on dry biscuits,
water, and--weevils.
CHAPTER V
VOYAGE THROUGH THE KARA SEA
It was well into the night, after Christofersen and Trontheim had left
us, before we could get away. The channel was too dangerous for us to
risk it in the thick fog. But it cleared a little, and the petroleum
launch was got ready; I had determined to go on ahead with it and
take soundings. We started about midnight. Hansen stood in the bow
with the lead-line. First we bore over towards the point of Vaigats
to the northwest, as Palander directs, then on through the strait,
keeping to the Vaigats side. The fog was often so thick that it was
with difficulty we could catch a glimpse of the Fram, which followed
close behind us, and on board the Fram they could not see our boat. But
so long as we had enough water, and so long as we saw that they were
keeping to the right course behind us, we went ahead. Soon the fog
cleared again a little. But the depth was not quite satisfactory; we
had been having steadily 4 1/2 to 5 fathoms; then it dropped to 4,
and then to 3 1/2. This was too little. We turned and signalled to
the Fram to stop. Then we held farther out from land and got into
deeper water, so that the Fram could come on again at full speed.
From time to time our petroleum engine took to its old tricks and
stopped. I had to pour in more oil to set it going again, and as I was
standing doing this the boat gave a lurch, so that a little oil was
spilt and took fire. The burning oil ran over the bottom of the boat,
where a good deal had been spilt already. In an instant the whole
stern was in a blaze, and my clothes, which were sprinkled with oil,
caught fire. I had to rush to the bow, and for a moment the situation
was a critical one, especially as a big pail that was standing full
of oil also took fire. As soon as I had stopped the burning of my
clothes I rushed aft again, seized the pail, and poured the flaming
oil into the sea, burning my fingers badly. At once the whole surface
of the water round was in flames. Then I got hold of the baler, and
baled water into the boat as hard as I could, and soon the worst was
over. Things had looked anything but well from the Fram, however,
and they were standing by with ropes and buoys to throw to us.
Soon we were out of Yugor Strait. There was now so little fog that
the low land round us was visible, and we could also see a little
way out to sea, and, in the distance, all drift-ice. At 4 o'clock
in the morning (August 4th) we glided past Sokolii, or Hawk Island,
out into the dreaded Kara Sea.
Now our fate was to be decided. I had always said that if we could get
safely across the Kara Sea and past Cape Cheliuskin, the worst would
be over. Our prospects were not bad--an open passage to the east,
along the land, as far as we could see from the masthead.
An hour and a half later we were at the edge of the ice. It was so
close that there was no use in attempting to go on through it. To the
northwest it seemed much looser, and there was a good deal of blue in
the atmosphere at the horizon there. [28] We kept southeast along the
land through broken ice, but in the course of the day went further
out to sea, the blueness of the atmosphere to the east and northeast
promising more open water in that direction. However, about 3 P.M. the
ice became so close that I thought it best to get back into the open
channel along the land. It was certainly possible that we might have
forced our way through the ice in the sea here, but also possible
that we might have stuck fast, and it was too early to run this risk.
Next morning (August 5th), being then off the coast near to the
mouth of the River Kara, we steered across towards Yalmal. We soon
had that low land in sight, but in the afternoon we got into fog and
close ice. Next day it was no better, and we made fast to a great
ice-block which was lying stranded off the Yalmal coast.
In the evening some of us went on shore. The water was so shallow
that our boat stuck fast a good way from the beach, and we had to
wade. It was a perfectly flat, smooth sand-beach, covered by the
sea at full tide, and beyond that a steep sand-bank, 30 to 40 feet,
in some places probably 60 feet, high.
We wandered about a little. Flat, bare country on every hand. Any
driftwood we saw was buried in the sand and soaking wet. Not a bird
to be seen except one or two snipe. We came to a lake, and out of
the fog in front of me I heard the cry of a loon, but saw no living
creature. Our view was blocked by a wall of fog whichever way we
turned. There were plenty of reindeer tracks, but of course they were
only those of the Samoyedes' tame reindeer. This is the land of the
Samoyedes--and oh but it is desolate and mournful! The only one of
us that bagged anything was the botanist. Beautiful flowers smiled
to us here and there among the sand-mounds--the one message from a
brighter world in this land of fogs. We went far in over the flats,
but came only to sheets of water, with low spits running out into them,
and ridges between. We often heard the cry of loons on the water,
but could never catch sight of one. All these lakelets were of a
remarkable, exactly circular conformation, with steep banks all round,
just as if each had dug out a hole for itself in the sandy plain.
With the oars of our boat and a large tarpaulin we had made a sort
of tent. We were lucky enough to find a little dry wood, and soon the
tent was filled with the fragrant odor of hot coffee. When we had eaten
and drunk and our pipes were lit, Johansen, in spite of fatigue and
a full meal, surprised us by turning one somersault after another on
the heavy, damp sand in front of the tent in his long military cloak
and sea-boots half full of water.
By 6.30 next morning we were on board again. The fog had cleared,
but the ice, which lay drifting backward and forward according to the
set of the tide, looked as close as ever towards the north. During
the morning we had a visit from a boat with two stalwart Samoyedes,
who were well received and treated to food and tobacco. They gave us
to understand that they were living in a tent some distance inland
and farther north. Presently they went off again, enriched with
gifts. These were the last human beings we met.
Next day the ice was still close, and, as there was nothing else to
be done, some of us went ashore again in the afternoon, partly to see
more of this little-known coast, and partly, if possible, to find the
Samoyedes' camp, and get hold of some skins and reindeer flesh. It
is a strange, flat country. Nothing but sand, sand everywhere. Still
flatter, still more desolate than the country about Yugor Strait,
with a still wider horizon. Over the plain lay a green carpet of grass
and moss, here and there spoiled by the wind having torn it up and
swept sand over it. But trudge as we might, and search as we might,
we found no Samoyede camp. We saw three men in the far distance, but
they went off as fast as they could the moment they caught sight of
us. There was little game--just a few ptarmigan, golden plovers, and
long-tailed ducks. Our chief gain was another collection of plants,
and a few geological and geographical notes. Our observations showed
that the land at this place was charted not less than half a degree
or 36 to 38 minutes too far west.
It was not till next forenoon (August 9th) that we went on board
again. The ice to the north now seemed to be rather looser, and at
8 P.M. we at last began once more to make our way north. We found
ice that was easy to get through, and held on our course until,
three days later, we got into open water. On Sunday, August 18th,
we stood out into the open Kara Sea, past the north point of Yalmal
and Bieloi-Ostrov (White Island). There was no ice to be seen in
any direction. During the days that followed we had constant strong
east winds, often increasing to half a gale. We kept on tacking to
make our way eastward, but the broad and keelless Fram can hardly be
called a good "beater"; we made too much leeway, and our progress was
correspondingly slow. In the journal there is a constantly recurring
entry of "Head-wind," "Head-wind." The monotony was extreme; but as
they may be of interest as relating to the navigation of this sea,
I shall give the most important items of the journal, especially
those regarding the state of the ice.
On Monday, August 14th, we beat with only sail against a strong
wind. Single pieces of ice were seen during the middle watch, but
after that there was none within sight.
Tuesday, August 15th. The wind slackened in the middle watch; we
took in sail and got up steam. At 5 in the morning we steamed away
east over a sea perfectly clear of ice; but after mid-day the wind
began to freshen again from E.N.E., and we had to beat with steam
and sail. Single floes of ice were seen during the evening and night.
Wednesday, August 16th. As the Kara Sea seemed so extraordinarily
free from ice, and as a heavy sea was running from the northeast,
we decided to hold north as far as we could, even if it should be
to the Einsamkeit (Lonely) Island. But about half-past three in
the afternoon we had a strip of close ice ahead, so that we had to
turn. Stiff breeze and sea. Kept on beating east along the edge of
the ice. Almost lost the petroleum launch in the evening. The waves
were constantly breaking into it and filling it, the gunwale was burst
in at two places, and the heavy davits it hung on were twisted as if
they had been copper wires. Only just in the nick of time, with the
waves washing over us, some of us managed to get it lashed to the
side of the ship. There seemed to be some fatality about this boat.
Thursday, August 17th. Still beating eastward under sail and steam
through scattered ice, and along a margin of fixed ice. Still blowing
hard, with a heavy sea as soon as we headed a little out from the ice.
Friday, August 18th. Continued storm. Stood southeast. At 4.30 A.M.,
Sverdrup, who had gone up into the crow's-nest to look out for bears
and walrus on the ice-floes, saw land to the south
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