The South Pole; an account of the Norwegian Antarctic expedition in the "Fram," 1910-12 — Volume 1 and Volume 2
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Title: The South Pole; an account of the Norwegian Antarctic expedition in the "Fram," 1910-12 — Volume 1 and Volume 2
Author: Roald Amundsen
Author of introduction, etc.: Fridtjof Nansen
Translator: Arthur G. Chater
Release date: July 1, 2003 [eBook #4229]
Most recently updated: August 22, 2012
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4229
Credits: Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and Gregory B. Newby
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SOUTH POLE; AN ACCOUNT OF THE NORWEGIAN ANTARCTIC EXPEDITION IN THE "FRAM," 1910-12 — VOLUME 1 AND VOLUME 2 ***
Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and Gregory B. Newby
The South Pole
An Account of the Norwegian
Antarctic Expedition in the "Fram,"
1910 -- 1912
By Roald Amundsen
Translated from the Norwegian by
A. G. Chater
To
My Comrades,
The Brave Little Band That Promised
In Funchal Roads
To Stand by Me in the Struggle for the
South Pole,
I Dedicate this Book.
Roald Amundsen.
Uranienborg,
August 15, 1912.
Chapter
The First Account
Introduction, by Fridtjof Nansen
I. The History of the South Pole
II. Plan and Preparations
III. On the Way to the South
IV. From Madeira to the Barrier
V. On the Barrier
VI. Depot Journeys
VII. Preparing for Winter
VIII. A Day at Framheim
IX. The End of the Winter
X. The Start for the Pole
XI. Through the Mountains
XII. At the Pole
XIII. The Return to Framheim
XIV. Northward
XV. The Eastern Sledge Journey
By Lieutenant K. Prestrud
XVI. The Voyage of the "Fram"
By First-Lieutenant Thorvald Nilsen
I. From Norway to the Barrier
II. Off the Barrier
III. From the Bay of Whales to Buenos Aires
IV. The Oceanographical Cruise
V. At Buenos Aires
VI. From Buenos Aires to the Ross Barrier
VII. From the Barrier to Buenos Aires, Via Hobart
Appendix I : The "Fram"
By Commodore Christian Blom
Appendix II. : Remarks on the Meteorological Observations at
Framheim
By B. J. Birkeland
Appendix III: Geology
By J. Schetelig
Appendix IV.: The Astronomical Observations at the Pole
By A. Alexander, with Note by Professor H. Geelmuyden
Appendix V.: Oceanography
By Professors Bjorn Helland-Hansen and Fridtjof Nansen
List of Illustrations
Roald Amundsen
Approximate Bird's-eye View, Drawn from the First Telegraphic Account
Reproduced by permission of the Daily Chronicle
The Opening of Roald Amundsen's Manuscript
Helmer Hanssen, Ice Pilot, a Member of the Polar Party
The "Fram's" Pigsty
The Pig's Toilet
Hoisting the Flag
A Patient
Some Members of the Expedition
Sverre Hassel
Oscar Wisting
In the North-east Trades
In the Rigging
Taking an Observation
Ronne Felt Safer when the Dogs were Muzzled
Starboard Watch on the Bridge
Olav Bjaaland, a Member of the Polar Party 136
In the Absence of Lady Partners, Ronne Takes a Turn with the Dogs
An Albatross
In Warmer Regions
A Fresh Breeze in the West Wind Belt
The Propeller Lifted in the Westerlies
The "Fram's" Saloon Decorated for Christmas Eve
Ronne at a Sailor's Job
The "Fram" In Drift-ice
Drift-ice in Ross Sea
A Clever Method of Landing
The "Fram" under Sail
Cape Man's Head on the Barrier
Seal-hunting
The "Fram"
The Crew of the "Fram" in the Bay of Whales
The "Fram" in the Bay of Whales
The First Dog-camp
Digging the Foundations of Framheim
Building the Hut
Unloading the Six Sledge-drivers
Polar Transport
Penguins
The Provision Store
Framheim, January, 1911
Suggen, Arne, and the Colonel
Mikkel, Ravn, and Mas-mas
Framheim, February, 1911
Prestrud in Winter Dress
Bjaaland in Winter Dress
The "Fram" Veteran, Lindstrom: the Only Man Who has Sailed round the
Continent of America
The Start of the First Depot Journey
A Page from the Sledge Diary, Giving Details of Depots I. and II.
Framheim, March, 1911
Killing Seals for the Depot
The Meat Tent
The Meteorological Screen
Inside a Dog-tent
A Winter Evening at Framheim
The Carpenters' Shop
Entrance to the Hut
Entrance to the Western Workshop
Prestrud in His Observatory
Wisting at the Sewing-machine
Packing Sledges in the "Crystal Palace"
Lindstrom with the Buckwheat Cakes
On His "Native Heath": A Dog on the Barrier Ice
Dogs Exercising
Helmer Hanssen on a Seal-hunt
Hanssen and Wisting Lashing the New Sledges
Passage in the Ice
Johansen Packing Provisions in the "Crystal Palace"
A Corner of the Kitchen
Stubberud Taking it Easy
Johansen Packing Biscuits in the "Crystal Palace"
Hassel and the Vapour-bath
Midwinter Day, June, 1911
Our Ski-binding in its Final Form
At Work on Personal Outfit
Trying on Patent Goggles
Hassel in the Oil-store
Deep in Thought
Funcho
The Loaded Sledges in the Clothing Store
Sledges Ready for Use Being Hauled Out of the Store-room
At the Depot in Lat. 80deg. S.
Some of the Land Party in Winter Costume
General Map of the South Polar Region
Roald Amundsen in Polar Kit
A Snow Beacon on the Barrier Surface
Crevassed Surface on the Barrier
Depot in 83 Degrees S.
Depot in 82 Degrees S.
At the Depot in Lat. 84 Degrees S.
The Depot and Mountains in Lat. 85 Degrees S.
Ascending Mount Betty
Mount Fridtjof Nansen, 15,000 Feet Above the Sea
At the End of a Day's March: the Pole Expedition
The Tent After a Blizzard
A Large Filled Crevasse on the Devil's Glacier
Hell's Gate on the Devil's Glacier
Mount Thorvald Nilsen
The Sledges Packed for the Final March
Taking an Observation at the Pole
At the South Pole: Oscar Wisting and His Team Arrive at the Goal
A Page from the Observation Book, December 17, 1911
At the South Pole, December 16 and 17, 1911
Mount Don Pedro Christophersen
Framheim on the Return of the Polar Party
Lindstrom in the Kitchen
Farewell to the Barrier
Bjaaland as Tinker
Dogs Landed at Hobart for Dr. Mawson's Expedition
Members of the Japanese Antarctic Expedition
Lieutenant Prestrud
An Original Inhabitant of the Antarctic
Stubberud Reviews the Situation
Camp on the Barrier: Eastern Expedition
A Broken-off Cape
Off to the East
The Junction of the Great Barrier and King Edward Land
Improvised Sounding Tackle
The Leader of the Eastern Expedition, Prestrud, on Scott's Nunatak
First in King Edward Land
In King Edward Land: After a Three Days' Storm
On Scott's Nunatak
Scott's Nunatak
The "Fram" at the Ice-edge, January, 1912
The "Kainan Maru"
Seals on Sea-ice near the Barrier
Seals: Mother and Calf
A Group of Adelie Penguins
A Quiet Pipe
First-lieutenant Thorvald Nilsen, Norwegian Navy
The Second in Command Takes a Nap
The "Fram" Sighted
On the Ice-edge, January, 1911
Our Last Moorings on the Ice-foot
A Hunting Expedition at the Foot of the Barrier
Beck Steers the "Fram" through Unknown Waters
Our Cook, Cheerful and Contented as Usual
Sectional Diagrams of the "Fram"
List of Maps and Charts
Fig.
Chart of the Immediate Surroundings of the South Pole to face
Chart of the Ross Sea
Chart of the Bay of Whales
1. Hypothetical Representation of the Surface Currents in the Northern
Atlantic in April
2. The "Fram's" Route from June 20 To July 7, 1910
3. Temperature and Salinity in the "Fram's" Southern Section, June, 1910
4. Temperature and Salinity in the "Fram's" Northern Section, July, 1910
5. The "Fram's" Stations in the South Atlantic (June -- August, 1911)
6. Currents in the South Atlantic (June -- August, 1911)
7. Salinities and Temperatures at the Surface in the
South Atlantic (June -- August, 1911)
8. Temperatures (Centigrade) at a Depth of 400 Metres (218 Fathoms)
9. Temperatures at Station 32 (In the Benguela Current, July 22, 1911),
and at Station 60 (In the Brazil Current, August 19, 1911)
10. Salinities at Station 32 (In the Benguela Current, July 22, 1911),
and at Station 60 (In the Brazil Current, August 19, 1911)
11. Salinities and Temperatures in the Southern Section (June --
July, 1911)
12. Salinities and Temperatures in the Northern Section (July --
August, 1911)
13. Temperatures at one of the "Fram's" and one of the "Challenger's"
Stations, to the South of the South Equatorial Current
14. Temperatures at one of the "Fram's" and one of the "Valdivia's"
Stations, in the Benguela Current
15. Temperatures at the "Planet's" Station 25, And the "Fram's"
Station 39 -- Both in the Neighbourhood of St. Helena
16. Salinities at the "Planet's" Station 25 (March 19, 1906), and the
"Fram's" Station 39 (July 29, 1911)
Chart of the Antarctic Region
The First Account
On February 10, 1911, we started for the South to establish depots,
and continued our journey until April 11. We formed three depots and
stored in them 3 tons of provisions, including 22 hundredweight of
seal meat. As there were no landmarks, we had to indicate the position
of our depots by flags, which were posted at a distance of about four
miles to the east and west. The first barrier afforded the best going,
and was specially adapted for dog-sledging. Thus, on February 15 we
did sixty-two miles with sledges. Each sledge weighed 660 pounds,
and we had six dogs for each. The upper barrier ("barrier surface")
was smooth and even. There were a few crevasses here and there, but
we only found them dangerous at one or two points. The barrier went
in long, regular undulations. The weather was very favourable, with
calms or light winds. The lowest temperature at this station was -49°
F., which was taken on March 4.
When we returned to winter quarters on February 5 from a first trip,
we found that the Fram had already left us. With joy and pride we heard
from those who had stayed behind that our gallant captain had succeeded
in sailing her farther south than any former ship. So the good old
Fram has shown the flag of Norway both farthest north and farthest
south. The most southerly latitude reached by the Fram was 78° 41'.
Before the winter set in we had 60 tons of seal meat in our winter
quarters; this was enough for ourselves and our 110 dogs. We had built
eight kennels and a number of connecting tents and snow huts. When we
had provided for the dogs, we thought of ourselves. Our little hut
was almost entirely covered with snow. Not till the middle of April
did we decide to adopt artificial light in the hut. This we did with
the help of a Lux lamp of 200 candle-power, which gave an excellent
light and kept the indoor temperature at about 68° F. throughout the
winter. The ventilation was very satisfactory, and we got sufficient
fresh air. The hut was directly connected with the house in which we
had our workshop, larder, storeroom, and cellar, besides a single
bathroom and observatory. Thus we had everything within doors and
easily got at, in case the weather should be so cold and stormy that
we could not venture out.
The sun left us on April 22, and we did not see it again for four
months. We spent the winter in altering our whole equipment, which our
depot journeys had shown to be too heavy and clumsy for the smooth
barrier surface. At the same time we carried out all the scientific
work for which there was opportunity. We made a number of surprising
meteorological observations. There was very little snow, in spite
of there being open water in the neighbourhood. We had expected to
observe higher temperatures in the course of the winter, but the
thermometer remained very low. During five months temperatures were
observed varying between -58° and -74° F. We had the lowest (-74°
F.) on August 13; the weather was calm. On August 1 we had -72°
F. with a wind of thirteen miles an hour. The mean temperature for
the year was -15° F. We expected blizzard after blizzard, but had
only two moderate storms. We made many excellent observations of the
aurora australis in all parts of the heavens. Our bill of health was
the best possible throughout the whole winter. When the sun returned
on August 24 it shone upon men who were healthy in mind and body,
and ready to begin the task that lay before them.
We had brought the sledges the day before to the starting-point of the
southern journey. At the beginning of September the temperature rose,
and it was decided to commence the journey. On September 8 a party of
eight men set out, with seven sledges and ninety dogs, provisioned for
ninety days. The surface was excellent, and the temperature not so bad
as it might have been. But on the following day we saw that we had
started too early. The temperature then fell, and remained for some
days between -58° and -75° F. Personally we did not suffer at all, as
we had good fur clothing, but with the dogs it was another matter. They
grew lanker and lanker every day, and we soon saw that they would not
be able to stand it in the long run. At our depot in lat. 80° we agreed
to turn back and await the arrival of spring. After having stored our
provisions, we returned to the hut. Excepting the loss of a few dogs
and one or two frostbitten heels, all was well. It was not till the
middle of October that the spring began in earnest. Seals and birds
were sighted. The temperature remained steady, between -5° and -22° F.
Meanwhile we had abandoned the original plan, by which all were to
go to the south. Five men were to do this, while three others made
a trip to the east, to visit King Edward VII. Land. This trip did
not form part of our programme, but as the English did not reach
this land last summer, as had been their intention, we agreed that
it would be best to undertake this journey in addition.
On October 20 the southern party left. It consisted of five men
with four sledges and fifty-two dogs, and had provisions for four
months. Everything was in excellent order, and we had made up our minds
to take it easy during the first part of the journey, so that we and
the dogs might not be too fatigued, and we therefore decided to make
a little halt on the 22nd at the depot that lay in lat. 80°. However,
we missed the mark owing to thick fog, but after two or three miles'
march we found the place again.
When we had rested here and given the dogs as much seal meat as
they were able to eat, we started again on the 26th. The temperature
remained steady, between -5° and -22° F.
At first we had made up our minds not to drive more than twelve to
eighteen miles a day; but this proved to be too little, thanks to
our strong and willing animals. At lat. 80° we began to erect snow
beacons, about the height of a man, to show us the way home.
On the 31st we reached the depot in lat. 81°. We halted for a day
and fed the dogs on pemmican. On November 5 we reached the depot
in 82°, where for the last time the dogs got as much to eat as they
could manage.
On the 8th we started southward again, and now made a daily march of
about thirty miles. In order to relieve the heavily laden sledges, we
formed a depot at every parallel we reached. The journey from lat. 82°
to 83° was a pure pleasure trip, on account of the surface and the
temperature, which were as favourable as one could wish. Everything
went swimmingly until the 9th, when we sighted South Victoria Land
and the continuation of the mountain chain, which Shackleton gives
on his map, running southeast from Beardmore Glacier. On the same
day we reached lat. 83°, and established here Depot No. 4.
On the 11th we made the interesting discovery that the Ross Barrier
ended in an elevation on the south-east, formed between a chain of
mountains running south-eastward from South Victoria Land and another
chain on the opposite side, which runs south-westward in continuation
of King Edward VII. Land.
On the 13th we reached lat. 84°, where we established a depot. On the
16th we got to 85°, where again we formed a depot. From our winter
quarters at Framheim we had marched due south the whole time.
On November 17, in lat. 85°, we came to a spot where the land barrier
intersected our route, though for the time being this did not cause
us any difficulty. The barrier here rises in the form of a wave to
a height of about 300 feet, and its limit is shown by a few large
fissures. Here we established our main depot. We took supplies for
sixty days on the sledges and left behind enough provisions for
thirty days.
The land under which we now lay, and which we were to attack, looked
perfectly impossible, with peaks along the barrier which rose to
heights of from 2,000 to 10,000 feet. Farther south we saw more peaks,
of 15,000 feet or higher.
Next day we began to climb. The first part of the work was easy,
as the ground rose gradually with smooth snow-slopes below the
mountain-side. Our dogs working well, it did not take us long to get
over these slopes.
At the next point we met with some small, very steep glaciers,
and here we had to harness twenty dogs to each sledge and take the
four sledges in two journeys. Some places were so steep that it was
difficult to use our ski. Several times we were compelled by deep
crevasses to turn back.
On the first day we climbed 2,000 feet. The next day we crossed
small glaciers, and camped at a height of 4,635 feet. On the third
day we were obliged to descend the great Axel Heiberg Glacier, which
separates the mountains of the coast from those farther south.
On the following day the longest part of our climbing began. Many
detours had to be made to avoid broad fissures and open crevasses. Most
of them were filled up, as in all probability the glacier had long
ago ceased to move; but we had to be very careful, nevertheless,
as we could never know the depth of snow that covered them. Our camp
that night was in very picturesque surroundings, at a height of about
5,000 feet.
The glacier was here imprisoned between two mountains of 15,000 feet,
which we named after Fridtjof Nansen and Don Pedro Christophersen.
At the bottom of the glacier we saw Ole Engelstad's great snow-cone
rising in the air to 19,000 feet. The glacier was much broken up in
this narrow defile; enormous crevasses seemed as if they would stop
our going farther, but fortunately it was not so bad as it looked.
Our dogs, which during the last few days had covered a distance of
nearly 440 miles, put in a very good piece of work that day, as they
did twenty-two miles on ground rising to 5,770 feet. It was an almost
incredible record. It only took us four days from the barrier to reach
the immense inland plateau. We camped at a height of 7,600 feet. Here
we had to kill twenty-four of our brave dogs, keeping eighteen --
six for each of our three sledges. We halted here for four days on
account of bad weather. On November 25 we were tired of waiting, and
started again. On the 26th we were overtaken by a raging blizzard. In
the thick, driving snow we could see absolutely nothing; but we felt
that, contrary to what we had expected -- namely, a further ascent
-- we were going rapidly downhill. The hypsometer that day showed a
descent of 600 feet. We continued our march next day in a strong wind
and thick, driving snow. Our faces were badly frozen. There was no
danger, but we simply could see nothing. Next day, according to our
reckoning, we reached lat. 86°. The hypsometer showed a fall of 800
feet. The following day passed in the same way. The weather cleared up
about noon, and there appeared to our astonished eyes a mighty mountain
range to the east of us, and not far away. But the vision only lasted
a moment, and then disappeared again in the driving snow. On the 29th
the weather became calmer and the sun shone -- a pleasant surprise. Our
course lay over a great glacier, which ran in a southerly direction. On
its eastern side was a chain of mountains running to the southeast. We
had no view of its western part, as this was lost in a thick fog. At
the foot of the Devil's Glacier we established a depot in lat. 86°
21', calculated for six days. The hypsometer showed 8,000 feet above
sea level. On November 30 we began to ascend the glacier. The lower
part was much broken up and dangerous, and the thin bridges of snow
over the crevasses often broke under us. From our camp that evening
we had a splendid view of the mountains to the east. Mount Helmer
Hansen was the most remarkable of them all; it was 12,000 feet high,
and covered by a glacier so rugged that in all probability it would
have been impossible to find foothold on it. Here were also Mounts
Oskar Wisting, Sverre Hassel, and Olav Bjaaland, grandly lighted up
by the rays of the sun. In the distance, and only visible from time
to time through the driving mists, we saw Mount Thorvald Nilsen,
with peaks rising to 15,000 feet. We could only see those parts of
them that lay nearest to us. It took us three days to get over the
Devil's Glacier, as the weather was unusually misty.
On December 1 we left the glacier in high spirits. It was cut up by
innumerable crevasses and holes. We were now at a height of 9,370
feet. In the mist and driving snow it looked as if we had a frozen
lake before us; but it proved to be a sloping plateau of ice, full
of small blocks of ice. Our walk across this frozen lake was not
pleasant. The ground under our feet was evidently hollow, and it
sounded as if we were walking on empty barrels. First a man fell
through, then a couple of dogs; but they got up again all right. We
could not, of course, use our ski on this smooth-polished ice, but we
got on fairly well with the sledges. We called this place the Devil's
Ballroom. This part of our march was the most unpleasant of the whole
trip. On December 2 we reached our greatest elevation. According to
the hypsometer and our aneroid barometer we were at a height of 11,075
feet -- this was in lat. 87° 51'. On December 8 the bad weather came
to an end, the sun shone on us once more, and we were able to take our
observations again. It proved that the observations and our reckoning
of the distance covered gave exactly the same result -- namely, 88°
16' S. lat. Before us lay an absolutely flat plateau, only broken
by small crevices. In the afternoon we passed 88° 23', Shackleton's
farthest south. We pitched our camp in 88° 25', and established our
last depot -- No. 10. From 88° 25' the plateau began to descend evenly
and very slowly. We reached 88° 29' on December 9. On December 10, 88°
56'; December 11, 89° 15'; December 12, 89° 30'; December 13, 89° 45'.
Up to this moment the observations and our reckoning had shown a
surprising agreement. We reckoned that we should be at the Pole on
December 14. On the afternoon of that day we had brilliant weather --
a light wind from the south-east with a temperature of -10° F. The
sledges were going very well. The day passed without any occurrence
worth mentioning, and at three o'clock in the afternoon we halted,
as according to our reckoning we had reached our goal.
We all assembled about the Norwegian flag -- a handsome silken flag --
which we took and planted all together, and gave the immense plateau
on which the Pole is situated the name of "King Haakon VII.'s Plateau."
It was a vast plain of the same character in every direction, mile
after mile. During the afternoon we traversed the neighbourhood of
the camp, and on the following day, as the weather was fine, we were
occupied from six in the morning till seven in the evening in taking
observations, which gave us 89° 55' as the result. In order to take
observations as near the Pole as possible, we went on, as near true
south as we could, for the remaining 9 kilometres. On December 16 we
pitched our camp in brilliant sunshine, with the best conditions for
taking observations. Four of us took observations every hour of the
day -- twenty-four in all. The results of these will be submitted to
the examination of experts.
We have thus taken observations as near to the Pole as was humanly
possible with the instruments at our disposal. We had a sextant and
artificial horizon calculated for a radius of 8 kilometres.
On December 17 we were ready to go. We raised on the spot a little
circular tent, and planted above it the Norwegian flag and the Fram's
pennant. The Norwegian camp at the South Pole was given the name of
"Polheim." The distance from our winter quarters to the Pole was about
870 English miles, so that we had covered on an average 15 1/2 miles
a day.
We began the return journey on December 17. The weather was unusually
favourable, and this made our return considerably easier than the
march to the Pole. We arrived at "Framheim," our winter quarters,
in January, 1912, with two sledges and eleven dogs, all well. On the
homeward journey we covered an average of 22 1/2 miles a day. The
lowest temperature we observed on this trip was -24° F., and the
highest +23° F.
The principal result -- besides the attainment of the Pole -- is
the determination of the extent and character of the Ross Barrier. Next
to this, the discovery of a connection between South Victoria Land
and, probably, King Edward VII. Land through their continuation in
huge mountain-ranges, which run to the south-east and were seen as far
south as lat. 88° 8', but which in all probability are continued right
across the Antarctic Continent. We gave the name of "Queen Maud's
Mountains" to the whole range of these newly discovered mountains,
about 530 miles in length.
The expedition to King Edward VII. Land, under Lieutenant Prestrud,
has achieved excellent results. Scott's discovery was confirmed, and
the examination of the Bay of Whales and the Ice Barrier, which the
party carried out, is of great interest. Good geological collections
have been obtained from King Edward VII. Land and South Victoria Land.
The Fram arrived at the Bay of Whales on January 9, having been
delayed in the "Roaring Forties" by easterly winds.
On January 16 the Japanese expedition arrived at the Bay of Whales,
and landed on the Barrier near our winter quarters.
We left the Bay of Whales on January 30. We had a long voyage on
account of contrary wind.
We are all in the best of health.
Roald Amundsen.
Hobart,
March 8, 1912.
Introduction
When the explorer comes home victorious, everyone goes out to cheer
him. We are all proud of his achievement -- proud on behalf of the
nation and of humanity. We think it is a new feather in our cap,
and one we have come by cheaply.
How many of those who join in the cheering were there when the
expedition was fitting out, when it was short of bare necessities,
when support and assistance were most urgently wanted? Was there
then any race to be first? At such a time the leader has usually
found himself almost alone; too often he has had to confess that his
greatest difficulties were those he had to overcome at home before
he could set sail. So it was with Columbus, and so it has been with
many since his time.
So it was, too, with Roald Amundsen -- not only the first time, when he
sailed in the Gjöa with the double object of discovering the Magnetic
North Pole and of making the North-West Passage, but this time again,
when in 1910 he left the fjord on his great expedition in the Fram,
to drift right across the North Polar Sea. What anxieties that man has
gone through, which might have been spared him if there had been more
appreciation on the part of those who had it in their power to make
things easier! And Amundsen had then shown what stuff he was made of:
both the great objects of the Gjöa's expedition were achieved. He
has always reached the goal he has aimed at, this man who sailed his
little yacht over the whole Arctic Ocean, round the north of America,
on the course that had been sought in vain for four hundred years. If
he staked his life and abilities, would it not have been natural if
we had been proud of having such a man to support?
But was it so?
For a long time he struggled to complete his equipment. Money was still
lacking, and little interest was shown in him and his work, outside the
few who have always helped so far as was in their power. He himself
gave everything he possessed in the world. But this time, as last,
he nevertheless had to put to sea loaded with anxieties and debts,
and, as before, he sailed out quietly on a summer night.
Autumn was drawing on. One day there came a letter from him. In
order to raise the money he could not get at home for his North Polar
expedition he was going to the South Pole first. People stood still
-- did not know what to say. This was an unheard-of thing, to make
for the North Pole by way of the South Pole! To make such an immense
and entirely new addition to his plans without asking leave! Some
thought it grand; more thought it doubtful; but there were many who
cried out that it was inadmissible, disloyal -- nay, there were some
who wanted to have him stopped. But nothing of this reached him. He
had steered his course as he himself had set it, without looking back.
Then by degrees it was forgotten, and everyone went on with his own
affairs. The mists were upon us day after day, week after week --
the mists that are kind to little men and swallow up all that is
great and towers above them.
Suddenly a bright spring day cuts through the bank of fog. There
is a new message. People stop again and look up. High above them
shines a deed, a man. A wave of joy runs through the souls of men;
their eyes are bright as the flags that wave about them.
Why? On account of the great geographical discoveries, the
important scientific results? Oh no; that will come later, for the
few specialists. This is something all can understand. A victory of
human mind and human strength over the dominion and powers of Nature;
a deed that lifts us above the grey monotony of daily life; a view
over shining plains, with lofty mountains against the cold blue sky,
and lands covered by ice-sheets of inconceivable extent; a vision
of long-vanished glacial times; the triumph of the living over the
stiffened realm of death. There is a ring of steeled, purposeful
human will -- through icy frosts, snowstorms, and death.
For the victory is not due to the great inventions of the present
day and the many new appliances of every kind. The means used are
of immense antiquity, the same as were known to the nomad thousands
of years ago, when he pushed forward across the snow-covered plains
of Siberia and Northern Europe. But everything, great and small, was
thoroughly thought out, and the plan was splendidly executed. It is
the man that matters, here as everywhere.
Like everything great, it all looks so plain and simple. Of course,
that is just as it had to be, we think.
Apart from the discoveries and experiences of earlier explorers --
which, of course, were a necessary condition of success -- both
the plan and its execution are the ripe fruit of Norwegian life
and experience in ancient and modern times. The Norwegians' daily
winter life in snow and frost, our peasants' constant use of ski and
ski-sledge in forest and mountain, our sailors' yearly whaling and
sealing life in the Polar Sea, our explorers' journeys in the Arctic
regions -- it was all this, with the dog as a draught animal borrowed
from the primitive races, that formed the foundation of the plan and
rendered its execution possible -- when the man appeared.
Therefore, when the man is there, it carries him through all
difficulties as if they did not exist; every one of them has been
foreseen and encountered in advance. Let no one come and prate
about luck and chance. Amundsen's luck is that of the strong man who
looks ahead.
How like him and the whole expedition is his telegram home -- as
simple and straightforward as if it concerned a holiday tour in the
mountains. It speaks of what is achieved, not of their hardships. Every
word a manly one. That is the mark of the right man, quiet and strong.
It is still too early to measure the extent of the new discoveries,
but the cablegram has already dispersed the mists so far that the
outlines are beginning to shape themselves. That fairyland of ice, so
different from all other lands, is gradually rising out of the clouds.
In this wonderful world of ice Amundsen has found his own way. From
first to last he and his companions have traversed entirely unknown
regions on their ski, and there are not many expeditions in history
that have brought under the foot of man so long a range of country
hitherto unseen by human eye. People thought it a matter of course that
he would make for Beardmore Glacier, which Shackleton had discovered,
and by that route come out on to the high snow plateau near the Pole,
since there he would be sure of getting forward. We who knew Amundsen
thought it would be more like him to avoid a place for the very reason
that it had been trodden by others. Happily we were right. Not at
any point does his route touch that of the Englishmen -- except by
the Pole itself.
This is a great gain to research. When in a year's time we have Captain
Scott back safe and sound with all his discoveries and observations on
the other route, Amundsen's results will greatly increase in value,
since the conditions will then be illuminated from two sides. The
simultaneous advance towards the Pole from two separate points was
precisely the most fortunate thing that could happen for science. The
region investigated becomes so much greater, the discoveries so many
more, and the importance of the observations is more than doubled,
often multiplied many times. Take, for instance, the meteorological
conditions: a single series of observations from one spot no doubt has
its value, but if we get a simultaneous series from another spot in
the same region, the value of both becomes very much greater, because
we then have an opportunity of understanding the movements of the
atmosphere. And so with other investigations. Scott's expedition will
certainly bring back rich and important results in many departments,
but the value of his observations will also be enhanced when placed
side by side with Amundsen's.
An important addition to Amundsen's expedition to the Pole is the
sledge journey of Lieutenant Prestrud and his two companions eastward
to the unknown King Edward VII. Land, which Scott discovered in
1902. It looks rather as if this land was connected with the masses
of land and immense mountain-chains that Amundsen found near the
Pole. We see new problems looming up.
But it was not only these journeys over ice-sheets and mountain-ranges
that were carried out in masterly fashion. Our gratitude is also due
to Captain Nilsen and his men. They brought the Fram backwards and
forwards, twice each way, through those ice-filled southern waters
that many experts even held to be so dangerous that the Fram would
not be able to come through them, and on both trips this was done
with the speed and punctuality of a ship on her regular route. The
Fram's builder, the excellent Colin Archer, has reason to be proud
of the way in which his "child" has performed her latest task --
this vessel that has been farthest north and farthest south on our
globe. But Captain Nilsen and the crew of the Fram have done more than
this; they have carried out a work of research which in scientific
value may be compared with what their comrades have accomplished
in the unknown world of ice, although most people will not be able
to recognize this. While Amundsen and his companions were passing
the winter in the South, Captain Nilsen, in the Fram, investigated
the ocean between South America and Africa. At no fewer than sixty
stations they took a number of temperatures, samples of water, and
specimens of the plankton in this little-known region, to a depth of
2,000 fathoms and more. They thus made the first two sections that
have ever been taken of the South Atlantic, and added new regions of
the unknown ocean depths to human knowledge. The Fram's sections are
the longest and most complete that are known in any part of the ocean.
Would it be unreasonable if those who have endured and achieved so much
had now come home to rest? But Amundsen points onward. So much for
that; now for the real object. Next year his course will be through
Behring Strait into the ice and frost and darkness of the North, to
drift right across the North Polar Sea -- five years, at least. It
seems almost superhuman; but he is the man for that, too. Fram is
his ship, "forward" is his motto, and he will come through.[1] He
will carry out his main expedition, the one that is now before him,
as surely and steadily as that he has just come from.
But while we are waiting, let us rejoice over what has already been
achieved. Let us follow the narrow sledge-tracks that the little black
dots of dogs and men have drawn across the endless white surface down
there in the South -- like a railroad of exploration into the heart
of the unknown. The wind in its everlasting flight sweeps over these
tracks in the desert of snow. Soon all will be blotted out.
But the rails of science are laid; our knowledge is richer than before.
And the light of the achievement shines for all time.
Fridtjof Nansen.
Lysaker,
May 3, 1912.
FIGURE 1
The Opening of Roald Amundsen's Manuscript.
To face page I, Vol. I.
CHAPTER I
The History of the South Pole[2]
"Life is a ball In the hands of chance."
Brisbane, Queensland, April 13, 1912.
Here I am, sitting in the shade of palms, surrounded by the most
wonderful vegetation, enjoying the most magnificent fruits, and writing
-- the history of the South Pole. What an infinite distance seems to
separate that region from these surroundings! And yet it is only four
months since my gallant comrades and I reached the coveted spot.
I write the history of the South Pole! If anyone had hinted a word of
anything of the sort four or five years ago, I should have looked upon
him as incurably mad. And yet the madman would have been right. One
circumstance has followed on the heels of another, and everything
has turned out so entirely different from what I had imagined.
On December 14, 1911, five men stood at the southern end of our earth's
axis, planted the Norwegian flag there, and named the region after
the man for whom they would all gladly have offered their lives --
King Haakon VII. Thus the veil was torn aside for all time, and one
of the greatest of our earth's secrets had ceased to exist.
Since I was one of the five who, on that December afternoon, took part
in this unveiling, it has fallen to my lot to write -- the history
of the South Pole.
Antarctic exploration is very ancient. Even before our conception
of the earth's form had taken definite shape, voyages to the South
began. It is true that not many of the explorers of those distant times
reached what we now understand by the Antarctic regions, but still
the intention and the possibility were there, and justify the name of
Antarctic exploration. The motive force of these undertakings was --
as has so often been the case -- the hope of gain. Rulers greedy of
power saw in their mind's eye an increase of their possessions. Men
thirsting for gold dreamed of an unsuspected wealth of the alluring
metal. Enthusiastic missionaries rejoiced at the thought of a multitude
of lost sheep. The scientifically trained world waited modestly in
the background. But they have all had their share: politics, trade,
religion, and science.
The history of Antarctic discovery may be divided at the outset into
two categories. In the first of these I would include the numerous
voyagers who, without any definite idea of the form or conditions of
the southern hemisphere, set their course toward the South, to make
what landfall they could. These need only be mentioned briefly before
passing to the second group, that of Antarctic travellers in the proper
sense of the term, who, with a knowledge of the form of the earth,
set out across the ocean, aiming to strike the Antarctic monster --
in the heart, if fortune favoured them.
We must always remember with gratitude and admiration the first sailors
who steered their vessels through storms and mists, and increased our
knowledge of the lands of ice in the South. People of the present day,
who are so well supplied with information about the most distant parts
of the earth, and have all our modern means of communication at their
command, find it difficult to understand the intrepid courage that
is implied by the voyages of these men.
They shaped their course toward the dark unknown, constantly exposed
to being engulfed and destroyed by the vague, mysterious dangers that
lay in wait for them somewhere in that dim vastness.
The beginnings were small, but by degrees much was won. One stretch
of country after another was discovered and subjected to the power of
man. Knowledge of the appearance of our globe became ever greater and
took more definite shape. Our gratitude to these first discoverers
should be profound.
And yet even to-day we hear people ask in surprise: What is the use
of these voyages of exploration? What good do they do us? Little
brains, I always answer to myself, have only room for thoughts of
bread and butter.
The first name on the roll of discovery is that of Prince Henry of
Portugal, surnamed the Navigator, who is ever to be remembered as
the earliest promoter of geographical research. To his efforts was
due the first crossing of the Equator, about 1470.
With Bartholomew Diaz another great step in advance was made. Sailing
from Lisbon in 1487, he reached Algoa Bay, and without doubt passed
the fortieth parallel on his southward voyage.
Vasco da Gama's voyage of 1497 is too well known to need
description. After him came men like Cabral and Vespucci, who
increased our knowledge, and de Gonneville, who added to the romance
of exploration.
We then meet with the greatest of the older explorers, Ferdinand
Magellan, a Portuguese by birth, though sailing in the service of
Spain. Setting out in 1519, he discovered the connection between the
Atlantic and Pacific Oceans in the strait that bears his name. No one
before him had penetrated so far South -- to about lat. 52° S. One
of his ships, the Victoria, accomplished the first circumnavigation
of the world, and thus established in the popular mind the fact that
the earth was really round. From that time the idea of the Antarctic
regions assumed definite shape. There must be something in the South:
whether land or water the future was to determine.
In 1578 we come to the renowned English seaman, Sir Francis
Drake. Though he was accounted a buccaneer, we owe him honour for the
geographical discoveries he made. He rounded Cape Horn and proved
that Tierra del Fuego was a great group of islands and not part of
an Antarctic continent, as many had thought.
The Dutchman, Dirk Gerritsz, who took part in a plundering expedition
to India in 1599 by way of the Straits of Magellan, is said to have
been blown out of his course after passing the straits, and to have
found himself in lat. 64° S. under high land covered with snow. This
has been assumed to be the South Shetland Islands, but the account
of the voyage is open to doubt.
In the seventeenth century we have the discoveries of Tasman, and
towards its close English adventurers reported having reached high
latitudes in the South Atlantic.
The English Astronomer Royal, Halley, undertook a scientific voyage to
the South in 1699 for the purpose of making magnetic observations, and
met with ice in 52° S., from which latitude he returned to the north.
The Frenchman, Bouvet (1738), was the first to follow the southern
ice-pack for any considerable distance, and to bring reports of the
immense, flat-topped Antarctic icebergs.
In 1756 the Spanish trading-ship Leon came home and reported high,
snow-covered land in lat. 55° S. to the east of Cape Horn. The
probability is that this was what we now know by the name of
South Georgia. The Frenchman, Marion-Dufresne, discovered, in
1772, the Marion and Crozet Islands. In the same year Joseph de
Kerguélen-Trémarec -- another Frenchman -- reached Kerguelen Land.
This concludes the series of expeditions that I have thought it proper
to class in the first group. "Antarctica," the sixth continent itself,
still lay unseen and untrodden. But human courage and intelligence
were now actively stirred to lift the veil and reveal the many secrets
that were concealed within the Antarctic Circle.
Captain James Cook -- one of the boldest and most capable seamen
the world has known -- opens the series of Antarctic expeditions
properly so called. The British Admiralty sent him out with orders
to discover the great southern continent, or prove that it did not
exist. The expedition, consisting of two ships, the Resolution and
the Adventure, left Plymouth on July 13, 1772. After a short stay at
Madeira it reached Cape Town on October 30. Here Cook received news of
the discovery of Kerguelen and of the Marion and Crozet Islands. In
the course of his voyage to the south Cook passed 300 miles to the
south of the land reported by Bouvet, and thereby established the fact
that the land in question -- if it existed -- was not continuous with
the great southern continent.
On January 17, 1773, the Antarctic Circle was crossed for the first
time -- a memorable day in the annals of Antarctic exploration. Shortly
afterwards a solid pack was encountered, and Cook was forced to return
to the north. A course was laid for the newly discovered islands --
Kerguelen, Marion, and the Crozets -- and it was proved that they
had nothing to do with the great southern land. In the course of his
further voyages in Antarctic waters Cook completed the most southerly
circumnavigation of the globe, and showed that there was no connection
between any of the lands or islands that had been discovered and
the great mysterious "Antarctica." His highest latitude (January 30,
1774) was 71° 10' S.
Cook's voyages had important commercial results, as his reports of
the enormous number of seals round South Georgia brought many sealers,
both English and American, to those waters, and these sealers, in turn,
increased the field of geographical discovery.
In 1819 the discovery of the South Shetlands by the Englishman,
Captain William Smith, is to be recorded. And this discovery led to
that of the Palmer Archipelago to the south of them.
The next scientific expedition to the Antarctic regions was that
despatched by the Emperor Alexander I. of Russia, under the command
of Captain Thaddeus von Bellingshausen. It was composed of two ships,
and sailed from Cronstadt on July 15, 1819. To this expedition belongs
the honour of having discovered the first land to the south of the
Antarctic Circle -- Peter I. Island and Alexander I. Land.
The next star in the Antarctic firmament is the British seaman, James
Weddell. He made two voyages in a sealer of 160 tons, the Jane of
Leith, in 1819 and 1822, being accompanied on the second occasion by
the cutter Beaufoy. In February, 1823, Weddell had the satisfaction
of beating Cook's record by reaching a latitude of 74° 15' S. in the
sea now known as Weddell Sea, which in that year was clear of ice.
The English firm of shipowners, Enderby Brothers, plays a not
unimportant part in Antarctic exploration. The Enderbys had carried on
sealing in southern waters since 1785. They were greatly interested,
not only in the commercial, but also in the scientific results of
these voyages, and chose their captains accordingly. In 1830 the
firm sent out John Biscoe on a sealing voyage in the Antarctic Ocean
with the brig Tula and the cutter Lively. The result of this voyage
was the sighting of Enderby Land in lat. 66° 25' S., long. 49° 18'
E. In the following year Adelaide, Biscoe, and Pitt Islands, on the
west coast of Graham Land were charted, and Graham Land itself was
seen for the first time.
Kemp, another of Enderby's skippers, reported land in lat. 66° S.,
and about long. 60° E.
In 1839 yet another skipper of the same firm, John Balleny, in the
schooner Eliza Scott, discovered the Balleny Islands.
We then come to the celebrated French sailor, Admiral Jules
Sébastien Dumont d'Urville. He left Toulon in September, 1837, with
a scientifically equipped expedition, in the ships Astrolabe and
Zélée. The intention was to follow in Weddell's track, and endeavour
to carry the French flag still nearer to the Pole. Early in 1838 Louis
Philippe Land and Joinville Island were discovered and named. Two
years later we again find d'Urville's vessels in Antarctic waters,
with the object of investigating the magnetic conditions in the
vicinity of the South Magnetic Pole. Land was discovered in lat. 66°
30' S. and long. 138° 21' E. With the exception of a few bare islets,
the whole of this land was completely covered with snow. It was given
the name of Adélie Land, and a part of the ice-barrier lying to the
west of it was called C^ote Clarie, on the supposition that it must
envelop a line of coast.
The American naval officer, Lieutenant Charles Wilkes, sailed in
August, 1838, with a fleet of six vessels. The expedition was sent out
by Congress, and carried twelve scientific observers. In February,
1839, the whole of this imposing Antarctic fleet was collected in
Orange Harbour in the south of Tierra del Fuego, where the work
was divided among the various vessels. As to the results of this
expedition it is difficult to express an opinion. Certain it is
that Wilkes Land has subsequently been sailed over in many places
by several expeditions. Of what may have been the cause of this
inaccurate cartography it is impossible to form any opinion. It
appears, however, from the account of the whole voyage, that the
undertaking was seriously conducted.
Then the bright star appears -- the man whose name will ever be
remembered as one of the most intrepid polar explorers and one of
the most capable seamen the world has produced -- Admiral Sir James
Clark Ross.
The results of his expedition are well known. Ross himself commanded
the Erebus and Commander Francis Crozier the Terror. The former
vessel, of 370 tons, had been originally built for throwing bombs;
her construction was therefore extraordinarily solid. The Terror,
340 tons, had been previously employed in Arctic waters, and on this
account had been already strengthened. In provisioning the ships,
every possible precaution was taken against scurvy, with the dangers
of which Ross was familiar from his experience in Arctic waters.
The vessels sailed from England in September, 1839, calling at
many of the Atlantic Islands, and arrived in Christmas Harbour,
Kerguelen Land, in the following May. Here they stayed two months,
making magnetic observations, and then proceeded to Hobart.
Sir John Franklin, the eminent polar explorer, was at that time
Governor of Tasmania, and Ross could not have wished for a better
one. Interested as Franklin naturally was in the expedition, he
afforded it all the help he possibly could. During his stay in Tasmania
Ross received information of what had been accomplished by Wilkes and
Dumont d'Urville in the very region which the Admiralty had sent him
to explore. The effect of this news was that Ross changed his plans,
and decided to proceed along the 170th meridian E., and if possible
to reach the Magnetic Pole from the eastward.
Here was another fortuitous circumstance in the long chain of
events. If Ross had not received this intelligence, it is quite
possible that the epoch-making geographical discoveries associated
with his name would have been delayed for many years.
On November 12, 1840, Sir John Franklin went on board the Erebus
to accompany his friend Ross out of port. Strange are the ways of
life! There stood Franklin on the deck of the ship which a few years
later was to be his deathbed. Little did he suspect, as he sailed
out of Hobart through Storm Bay -- the bay that is now wreathed by
the flourishing orchards of Tasmania -- that he would meet his death
in a high northern latitude on board the same vessel, in storms and
frost. But so it was.
After calling at the Auckland Islands and at Campbell Island, Ross
again steered for the South, and the Antarctic Circle was crossed on
New Year's Day, 1841. The ships were now faced by the ice-pack, but
to Ross this was not the dangerous enemy it had appeared to earlier
explorers with their more weakly constructed vessels. Ross plunged
boldly into the pack with his fortified ships, and, taking advantage
of the narrow leads, he came out four days later, after many severe
buffets, into the open sea to the South.
Ross had reached the sea now named after him, and the boldest voyage
known in Antarctic exploration was accomplished.
Few people of the present day are capable of rightly appreciating this
heroic deed; this brilliant proof of human courage and energy. With
two ponderous craft -- regular "tubs" according to our ideas -- these
men sailed right into the heart of the pack, which all previous polar
explorers had regarded as certain death. It is not merely difficult
to grasp this; it is simply impossible -- to us, who with a motion
of the hand can set the screw going, and wriggle out of the first
difficulty we encounter. These men were heroes -- heroes in the
highest sense of the word.
It was in lat. 69° 15' S. and long. 176° 15' E. that Ross found the
open sea. On the following day the horizon was perfectly clear of
ice. What joy that man must have felt when he saw that he had a clear
way to the South!
The course was set for the Magnetic Pole, and the hope of soon reaching
it burned in the hearts of all. Then -- just as they had accustomed
themselves to the idea of open sea, perhaps to the Magnetic Pole
itself -- the crow's-nest reported "High land right ahead." This was
the mountainous coast of South Victoria Land.
What a fairyland this must have seemed to the first voyagers who
approached it! Mighty mountain-ranges with summits from 7,000 to
10,000 feet high, some covered with snow and some quite bare --
lofty and rugged, precipitous and wild.
It became apparent that the Magnetic Pole was some 500 miles distant
-- far inland, behind the snow-covered ridges. On the morning of
January 12 they came close under a little island, and Ross with a
few companions rowed ashore and took possession of the country. They
could not reach the mainland itself on account of the thick belt of
ice that lay along the coast.
The expedition continued to work its way southward, making fresh
discoveries. On January 28 the two lofty summits, Mount Erebus and
Mount Terror, were sighted for the first time. The former was seen to
be an active volcano, from which smoke and flames shot up into the
sky. It must have been a wonderfully fine sight, this flaming fire
in the midst of the white, frozen landscape. Captain Scott has since
given the island, on which the mountains lie, the name of Ross Island,
after the intrepid navigator.
Naturally there were great expectations on board. If they had
penetrated so far south, there might be no limit to their further
progress. But, as had happened so many times before, their hopes were
disappointed. From Ross Island, as far to the eastward as the eye
could see, there extended a lofty, impenetrable wall of ice. To sail
through it was as impossible as sailing through the cliffs of Dover,
Ross says in his description. All they could do was to try to get
round it. And then began the first examination of that part of the
great Antarctic Barrier which has since been named the Ross Barrier.
The wall of ice was followed to the eastward for a distance of 250
miles. Its upper surface was seen to be perfectly flat. The most
easterly point reached was long. 167° W., and the highest latitude
78° 4' S. No opening having been found, the ships returned to the
west, in order to try once more whether there was any possibility of
reaching the Magnetic Pole. But this attempt soon had to be abandoned
on account of the lateness of the season, and in April, 1841, Ross
returned to Hobart.
His second voyage was full of dangers and thrilling incidents, but
added little to the tale of his discoveries.
On February 22, 1842, the ships came in sight of the Barrier, and,
following it to the east, found that it turned north-eastward. Here
Ross recorded an "appearance of land" in the very region in which
Captain Scott, sixty years later, discovered King Edward VII. Land.
On December 17, 1842, Ross set out on his third and last Antarctic
voyage. His object this time was to reach a high latitude along
the coast of Louis Philippe Land, if possible, or alternatively
by following Weddell's track. Both attempts were frustrated by the
ice conditions.
On sighting Joinville Land, the officers of the Terror thought they
could see smoke from active volcanoes, but Ross and his men did not
confirm this. About fifty years later active volcanoes were actually
discovered by the Norwegian, Captain C. A. Larsen, in the Jason. A
few minor geographical discoveries were made, but none of any great
importance.
This concluded Ross's attempts to reach the South Pole. A magnificent
work had been achieved, and the honour of having opened up the way
by which, at last, the Pole was reached must be ascribed to Ross.
The Pagoda, commanded by Lieutenant Moore, was the next vessel to make
for the South. Her chief object was to make magnetic observations in
high latitudes south of the Indian Ocean.
The first ice was met with in lat. 53° 30' S., on January 25,1845. On
February 5 the Antarctic Circle was crossed in long. 30° 45' E. The
most southerly latitude attained on this voyage was 67° 50', in
long. 39°41' E.
This was the last expedition to visit the Antarctic regions in a ship
propelled by sails alone.
The next great event in the history of the southern seas is the
Challenger expedition. This was an entirely scientific expedition,
splendidly equipped and conducted.
The achievements of this expedition are, however, so well known over
the whole civilized world that I do not think it necessary to dwell
upon them.
Less known, but no less efficient in their work, were the whalers
round the South Shetlands and in the regions to the south of them. The
days of sailing-ships were now past, and vessels with auxiliary steam
appear on the scene.
Before passing on to these, I must briefly mention a man who throughout
his life insisted on the necessity and utility of Antarctic expeditions
-- Professor Georg von Neumayer.
Never has Antarctic research had a warmer, nobler, and more high-minded
champion. So long as "Antarctica" endures, the name of Neumayer will
always be connected with it.
The steam whaler Grönland left Hamburg on July 22, 1872, in command
of Captain Eduard Dallmann, bound for the South Shetlands. Many
interesting geographical discoveries were made on this voyage.
Amongst other whalers may be mentioned the Balæna, the Diana, the
Active, and the Polar Star of Dundee.
In 1892 the whole of this fleet stood to the South to hunt for
whales in the vicinity of the South Shetlands. They each brought home
with them some fresh piece of information. On board the Balæna was
Dr. William S. Bruce. This is the first time we meet with him on his
way to the South, but it was not to be the last.
Simultaneously with the Scottish whaling fleet, the Norwegian whaling
captain, C. A. Larsen, appears in the regions to the south of the
South Shetlands. It is not too much to say of Captain Larsen that
of all those who have visited the Antarctic regions in search of
whales, he has unquestionably brought home the best and most abundant
scientific results. To him we owe the discovery of large stretches
of the east coast of Graham Land, King Oscar II. Land, Foyn's Land,
etc. He brought us news of two active volcanoes, and many groups of
islands. But perhaps the greatest interest attaches to the fossils
he brought home from Seymour Island -- the first to be obtained from
the Antarctic regions.
In November, 1894, Captain Evensen in the Hertha succeeded in
approaching nearer to Alexander I. Land than either Bellingshausen
or Biscoe. But the search for whales claimed his attention, and he
considered it his duty to devote himself to that before anything else.
A grand opportunity was lost: there can be no doubt that, if Captain
Evensen had been free, he would here have had a chance of achieving
even better work than he did -- bold, capable, and enterprising as
he is.
The next whaling expedition to make its mark in the South Polar regions
is that of the Antarctic, under Captain Leonard Kristensen. Kristensen
was an extraordinarily capable man, and achieved the remarkable record
of being the first to set foot on the sixth continent, the great
southern land -- "Antarctica." This was at Cape Adare, Victoria Land,
in January, 1895.
An epoch-making phase of Antarctic research is now ushered in by the
Belgian expedition in the Belgica, under the leadership of Commander
Adrien de Gerlache. Hardly anyone has had a harder fight to set his
enterprise on foot than Gerlache. He was successful, however, and on
August 16, 1897, the Belgica left Antwerp.
The scientific staff had been chosen with great care, and Gerlache
had been able to secure the services of exceedingly able men. His
second in command, Lieutenant G. Lecointe, a Belgian, possessed every
qualification for his difficult position. It must be remembered that
the Belgica's company was as cosmopolitan as it could be -- Belgians,
Frenchmen, Americans, Norwegians, Swedes, Rumanians, Poles, etc. --
and it was the business of the second in command to keep all these
men together and get the best possible work out of them. And Lecointe
acquitted himself admirably; amiable and firm, he secured the respect
of all.
As a navigator and astronomer he was unsurpassable, and when he
afterwards took over the magnetic work he rendered great services in
this department also. Lecointe will always be remembered as one of
the main supports of this expedition.
Lieutenant Emile Danco, another Belgian, was the physicist of the
expedition. Unfortunately this gifted young man died at an early
stage of the voyage -- a sad loss to the expedition. The magnetic
observations were then taken over by Lecointe.
The biologist was the Rumanian, Emile Racovitza. The immense mass
of material Racovitza brought home speaks better than I can for his
ability. Besides a keen interest in his work, he possessed qualities
which made him the most agreeable and interesting of companions.
Henryk Arçtowski and Antoine Dobrowolski were both Poles. Their share
of the work was the sky and the sea; they carried out oceanographical
and meteorological observations.
Henry Arçtowski was also the geologist of the expedition -- an
all-round man. It was a strenuous task he had, that of constantly
watching wind and weather. Conscientious as he was, he never let slip
an opportunity of adding to the scientific results of the voyage.
Frederick A. Cook, of Brooklyn, was surgeon to the expedition
-- beloved and respected by all. As a medical man, his calm and
convincing presence had an excellent effect. As things turned out,
the greatest responsibility fell upon Cook, but he mastered the
situation in a wonderful way. Through his practical qualities he
finally became indispensable. It cannot be denied that the Belgian
Antarctic expedition owes a great debt to Cook.
The object of the expedition was to penetrate to the South Magnetic
Pole, but this had to be abandoned at an early stage for want of time.
A somewhat long stay in the interesting channels of Tierra del Fuego
delayed their departure till January 13, 1898. On that date the
Belgica left Staten Island and stood to the South.
An interesting series of soundings was made between Cape Horn and the
South Shetlands. As these waters had not previously been investigated,
these soundings were, of course, of great importance.
The principal work of the expedition, from a geographical point of
view, was carried out on the north coast of Graham Land.
A large channel running to the south-west was discovered, dividing a
part of Palmer Land from the mainland -- Danco's Land. The strait was
afterwards named by the Belgian authorities "Gerlache Strait." Three
weeks were spent in charting it and making scientific observations. An
excellent collection of material was made.
This work was completed by February 12, and the Belgica left Gerlache
Strait southward along the coast of Graham Land, at a date when all
previous expeditions had been in a hurry to turn their faces homeward.
On the 15th the Antarctic Circle was crossed on a south-westerly
course. Next day they sighted Alexander Land, but could not approach
nearer to it than twenty miles on account of impenetrable pack-ice.
On February 28 they had reached lat. 70° 20' S. and long. 85° W. Then a
breeze from the north sprang up and opened large channels in the ice,
leading southward. They turned to the south, and plunged at haphazard
into the Antarctic floes.
On March 3 they reached lat. 70° 30' S., where all further progress
was hopeless. An attempt to get out again was in vain -- they were
caught in the trap. They then had to make the best of it.
Many have been disposed to blame Gerlache for having gone into the ice,
badly equipped as he was, at a time of year when he ought rather to
have been making his way out, and they may be right. But let us look
at the question from the other side as well.
After years of effort he had at last succeeded in getting the
expedition away. Gerlache knew for a certainty that unless he returned
with results that would please the public, he might just as well never
return at all. Then the thickly packed ice opened, and long channels
appeared, leading as far southward as the eye could reach. Who could
tell? Perhaps they led to the Pole itself. There was little to lose,
much to gain; he decided to risk it.
Of course, it was not right, but we can easily understand it.
The Belgica now had thirteen long months before her. Preparations
were commenced at once for the winter. As many seals and penguins as
could be found were shot, and placed in store.
The scientific staff was constantly active, and brilliant
oceanographical, meteorological, and magnetic work was accomplished.
On May 17 the sun disappeared, not to be seen again for seventy
days. The first Antarctic night had begun. What would it bring? The
Belgica was not fitted for wintering in the ice. For one thing,
personal equipment was insufficient. They had to do the best they
could by making clothes out of blankets, and the most extraordinary
devices were contrived in the course of the winter. Necessity is the
mother of invention.
On June 5 Danco died of heart-failure.
On the same day they had a narrow escape of being squeezed in the
ice. Fortunately the enormous block of ice passed under the vessel
and lifted her up without doing her any damage. Otherwise, the first
part of the winter passed off well.
Afterwards sickness appeared, and threatened the most serious danger
to the expedition -- scurvy and insanity. One of them by itself would
have been bad enough. Scurvy especially increased, and did such havoc
that finally there was not a single man who escaped being attacked
by this fearful disease.
Cook's behaviour at this time won the respect and devotion of
all. It is not too much to say that Cook was the most popular man
of the expedition, and he deserved it. From morning to night he
was occupied with his many patients, and when the sun returned it
happened not infrequently that, after a strenuous day's work, the
doctor sacrificed his night's sleep to go hunting seals and penguins,
in order to provide the fresh meat that was so greatly needed by all.
On July 22 the sun returned.
It was not a pleasant sight that it shone upon. The Antarctic winter
had set its mark upon all, and green, wasted faces stared at the
returning light.
Time went on, and the summer arrived. They waited day by day to see a
change in the ice. But no; the ice they had entered so light-heartedly
was not to be so easy to get out of again.
New Year's Day came and went without any change in the ice.
The situation now began to be seriously threatening. Another winter
in the ice would mean death and destruction on a large scale. Disease
and insufficient nourishment would soon make an end of most of the
ship's company.
Again Cook came to the aid of the expedition.
In conjunction with Racovitza he had thought out a very ingenious way
of sawing a channel, and thus reaching the nearest lead. The proposal
was submitted to the leader of the expedition and accepted by him;
both the plan and the method of carrying it out were well considered.
After three weeks' hard work, day and night, they at last reached
the lead.
Cook was incontestably the leading spirit in this work, and gained
such honour among the members of the expedition that I think it just
to mention it. Upright, honourable, capable, and conscientious in
the extreme -- such is the memory we retain of Frederick A. Cook from
those days.
Little did his comrades suspect that a few years later he would be
regarded as one of the greatest humbugs the world has ever seen. This
is a psychological enigma well worth studying to those who care to
do so.
But the Belgica was not yet clear of the ice. After having worked
her way out into the lead and a little way on, she was stopped by
absolutely close pack, within sight of the open sea.
For a whole month the expedition lay here, reaping the same experiences
as Ross on his second voyage with the Erebus and Terror. The immense
seas raised the heavy ice high in the air, and flung it against the
sides of the vessel. That month was a hell upon earth. Strangely
enough, the Belgica escaped undamaged, and steamed into Punta Arenas
in the Straits of Magellan on March 28, 1899.
Modern scientific Antarctic exploration had now been initiated,
and de Gerlache had won his place for all time in the first rank of
Antarctic explorers.
While the Belgica was trying her hardest to get out of the ice,
another vessel was making equally strenuous efforts to get in. This
was the Southern Cross, the ship of the English expedition, under the
leadership of Carstens Borchgrevink. This expedition's field of work
lay on the opposite side of the Pole, in Ross's footsteps.
On February 11, 1899, the Southern Cross entered Ross Sea in lat. 70°
S. and long. 174° E., nearly sixty years after Ross had left it.
A party was landed at Cape Adare, where it wintered. The ship wintered
in New Zealand.
In January, 1900, the land party was taken off, and an examination
of the Barrier was carried out with the vessel. This expedition
succeeded for the first time in ascending the Barrier, which from
Ross's day had been looked upon as inaccessible. The Barrier formed
a little bight at the spot where the landing was made, and the ice
sloped gradually down to the sea.
We must acknowledge that by ascending the Barrier, Borchgrevink
opened a way to the south, and threw aside the greatest obstacle
to the expeditions that followed. The Southern Cross returned to
civilization in March, 1900.
The Valdivia's expedition, under Professor Chun, of Leipzig, must
be mentioned, though in our day it can hardly be regarded as an
Antarctic expedition. On this voyage the position of Bouvet Island
was established once for all as lat. 54° 26' S., long. 3° 24' E.
The ice was followed from long. 8° E. to 58° E., as closely as the
vessel could venture to approach. Abundance of oceanographical material
was brought home.
Antarctic exploration now shoots rapidly ahead, and the twentieth
century opens with the splendidly equipped British and German
expeditions in the Discovery and the Gauss, both national undertakings.
Captain Robert F. Scott was given command of the Discovery's
expedition, and it could not have been placed in better hands.
The second in command was Lieutenant Armitage, who had taken part in
the Jackson-Harmsworth North Polar expedition.
The other officers were Royds, Barne, and Shackleton.
Lieutenant Skelton was chief engineer and photographer to the
expedition. Two surgeons were on board -- Dr. Koettlitz, a former
member of the Jackson-Harmsworth expedition, and Dr. Wilson. The latter
was also the artist of the expedition. Bernacchi was the physicist,
Hodgson the biologist, and Ferrar the geologist.
On August 6, 1901, the expedition left Cowes, and arrived at Simon's
Bay on October 3. On the 14th it sailed again for New Zealand.
The official plan was to determine as accurately as possible the
nature and extent of the South Polar lands that might be found, and
to make a magnetic survey. It was left to the leader of the expedition
to decide whether it should winter in the ice.
It was arranged beforehand that a relief ship should visit and
communicate with the expedition in the following year.
The first ice was met with in the neighbourhood of the Antarctic
Circle on January 1, 1902, and a few days later the open Ross Sea
was reached. After several landings had been made at Cape Adare and
other points, the Discovery made a very interesting examination of
the Barrier to the eastward. At this part of the voyage King Edward
VII. Land was discovered, but the thick ice-floes prevented the
expedition from landing. On the way back the ship entered the same
bight that Borchgrevink had visited in 1900, and a balloon ascent
was made on the Barrier. The bay was called Balloon Inlet.
From here the ship returned to McMurdo Bay, so named by Ross. Here
the Discovery wintered, in a far higher latitude than any previous
expedition. In the course of the autumn it was discovered that the
land on which the expedition had its winter quarters was an island,
separated from the mainland by McMurdo Sound. It was given the name
of Ross Island.
Sledge journeys began with the spring. Depots were laid down, and
the final march to the South was begun on November 2, 1902, by Scott,
Shackleton, and Wilson.
They had nineteen dogs to begin with. On November 27 they passed the
80th parallel. Owing to the nature of the ground their progress was
not rapid; the highest latitude was reached on December 30 -- 82°
17' S. New land was discovered -- a continuation of South Victoria
Land. One summit after another rose higher and higher to the south.
The return journey was a difficult one. The dogs succumbed one after
another, and the men themselves had to draw the sledges. It went
well enough so long as all were in health; but suddenly Shackleton
was incapacitated by scurvy, and there were only two left to pull
the sledges.
On February 3 they reached the ship again, after an absence of
ninety-three days.
Meanwhile Armitage and Skelton had reached, for the first time in
history, the high Antarctic inland plateau at an altitude of 9,000
feet above the sea.
The relief ship Morning had left Lyttelton on December 9. On her way
south Scott Island was discovered, and on January 25 the Discovery's
masts were seen. But McMurdo Sound lay icebound all that year, and
the Morning returned home on March 3.
The expedition passed a second winter in the ice, and in the following
spring Captain Scott led a sledge journey to the west on the ice
plateau. In January, 1904, the Morning returned, accompanied by the
Terra Nova, formerly a Newfoundland sealing vessel. They brought
orders from home that the Discovery was to be abandoned if she could
not be got out. Preparations were made for carrying out the order,
but finally, after explosives had been used, a sudden break-up of
the ice set the vessel free.
All the coal that could be spared was put on board the Discovery from
the relief ships, and Scott carried his researches further. If at that
time he had had more coal, it is probable that this active explorer
would have accomplished even greater things than he did. Wilkes's
"Ringgold's Knoll" and "Eld's Peak" were wiped off the map, and
nothing was seen of "Cape Hudson," though the Discovery passed well
within sight of its supposed position.
On March 14 Scott anchored in Ross Harbour, Auckland Islands. With
rich results, the expedition returned home in September, 1904.
Meanwhile the German expedition under Professor Erich von Drygalski
had been doing excellent work in another quarter.
The plan of the expedition was to explore the Antarctic regions to
the south of Kerguelen Land, after having first built a station on
that island and landed a scientific staff, who were to work there,
while the main expedition proceeded into the ice. Its ship, the Gauss,
had been built at Kiel with the Fram as a model.
The Gauss's navigator was Captain Hans Ruser, a skilful seaman of
the Hamburg-American line.
Drygalski had chosen his scientific staff with knowledge and care,
and it is certain that he could not have obtained better assistants.
The expedition left Kiel on August 11, 1901, bound for Cape Town. An
extraordinarily complete oceanographical, meteorological, and magnetic
survey was made during this part of the voyage.
After visiting the Crozet Islands, the Gauss anchored in Royal Sound,
Kerguelen Land, on December 31. The expedition stayed here a month,
and then steered for the south to explore the regions between Kemp
Land and Knox Land. They had already encountered a number of bergs
in lat. 60° S.
On February 14 they made a sounding of 1,730 fathoms near the supposed
position of Wilkes's Termination Land. Progress was very slow hereabout
on account of the thick floes.
Suddenly, on February 19, they had a sounding of 132 fathoms, and on
the morning of February 21 land was sighted, entirely covered with
ice and snow. A violent storm took the Gauss by surprise, collected
a mass of icebergs around her, and filled up the intervening space
with floes, so that there could be no question of making any way. They
had to swallow the bitter pill, and prepare to spend the winter where
they were.
Observatories were built of ice, and sledge journeys were undertaken as
soon as the surface permitted. They reached land in three and a half
days, and there discovered a bare mountain, about 1,000 feet high,
fifty miles from the ship. The land was named Kaiser Wilhelm II. Land,
and the mountain the Gaussberg.
They occupied the winter in observations of every possible kind. The
weather was extremely stormy and severe, but their winter harbour,
under the lee of great stranded bergs, proved to be a good one. They
were never once exposed to unpleasant surprises.
On February 8, 1903, the Gauss was able to begin to move again. From
the time she reached the open sea until her arrival at Cape Town on
June 9, scientific observations were continued.
High land had been seen to the eastward on the bearing of Wilkes's
Termination Land, and an amount of scientific work had been
accomplished of which the German nation may well be proud. Few
Antarctic expeditions have had such a thoroughly scientific equipment
as that of the Gauss, both as regards appliances and personnel.
The Swedish Antarctic expedition under Dr. Otto Nordenskjöld left
Gothenburg on October 16, 1901, in the Antarctic, commanded by Captain
C. A. Larsen, already mentioned. The scientific staff was composed
of nine specialists.
After calling at the Falkland Islands and Staten Island, a course was
made for the South Shetlands, which came in sight on January 10, 1902.
After exploring the coast of Louis Philippe Land, the ship visited
Weddell Sea in the hope of getting southward along King Oscar II. Land,
but the ice conditions were difficult, and it was impossible to reach
the coast.
Nordenskjöld and five men were then landed on Snow Hill Island, with
materials for an observatory and winter quarters and the necessary
provisions. The ship continued her course northward to the open sea.
The first winter on Snow Hill Island was unusually stormy and cold, but
during the spring several interesting sledge journeys were made. When
summer arrived the Antarctic did not appear, and the land party were
obliged to prepare for a second winter. In the following spring,
October, 1903, Nordenskjöld made a sledge journey to explore the
neighbourhood of Mount Haddington, and a closer examination showed
that the mountain lay on an island. In attempting to work round this
island, he one day stumbled upon three figures, doubtfully human,
which might at first sight have been taken for some of our African
brethren straying thus far to the south.
It took Nordenskjöld a long time to recognize in these beings
Dr. Gunnar Andersson, Lieutenant Duse, and their companion during
the winter, a Norwegian sailor named Grunden.
The way it came about was this. The Antarctic had made repeated
attempts to reach the winter station, but the state of the ice was
bad, and they had to give up the idea of getting through. Andersson,
Duse and Grunden were then landed in the vicinity, to bring news
to the winter quarters as soon as the ice permitted them to arrive
there. They had been obliged to build themselves a stone hut, in
which they had passed the winter.
This experience is one of the most interesting one can read of
in the history of the Polar regions. Badly equipped as they were,
they had to have recourse, like Robinson Crusoe, to their inventive
faculties. The most extraordinary contrivances were devised in the
course of the winter, and when spring came the three men stepped out
of their hole, well and hearty, ready to tackle their work.
This was such a remarkable feat that everyone who has some knowledge
of Polar conditions must yield them his admiration. But there is more
to tell.
On November 8, when both parties were united at Snow Hill, they
were unexpectedly joined by Captain Irizar, of the Argentine gunboat
Uruguay, and one of his officers. Some anxiety had been felt owing to
the absence of news of the Antarctic, and the Argentine Government
had sent the Uruguay to the South to search for the expedition. But
what in the world had become of Captain Larsen and the Antarctic? This
was the question the others asked themselves.
The same night -- it sounds almost incredible -- there was a knock
at the door of the hut, and in walked Captain Larsen with five of his
men. They brought the sad intelligence that the good ship Antarctic
was no more. The crew had saved themselves on the nearest island,
while the vessel sank, severely damaged by ice.
They, too, had had to build themselves a stone hut and get through the
winter as best they could. They certainly did not have an easy time,
and I can imagine that the responsibility weighed heavily on him who
had to bear it. One man died; the others came through it well.
Much of the excellent material collected by the expedition was lost
by the sinking of the Antarctic, but a good deal was brought home.
Both from a scientific and from a popular point of view this expedition
may be considered one of the most interesting the South Polar regions
have to show.
We then come to the Scotsman, Dr. William S. Bruce, in the Scotia.
We have met with Bruce before: first in the Balæna in 1892, and
afterwards with Mr. Andrew Coats in Spitzbergen. The latter voyage
was a fortunate one for Bruce, as it provided him with the means of
fitting out his expedition in the Scotia to Antarctic waters.
The vessel left the Clyde on November 2,1902, under the command of
Captain Thomas Robertson, of Dundee. Bruce had secured the assistance
of Mossman, Rudmose Brown and Dr. Pirie for the scientific work. In
the following February the Antarctic Circle was crossed, and on the
22nd of that month the ship was brought to a standstill in lat. 70°
25' S. The winter was spent at Laurie Island, one of the South Orkneys.
Returning to the south, the Scotia reached, in March, 1904, lat. 74° 1'
S., long. 22° W., where the sea rapidly shoaled to 159 fathoms. Further
progress was impossible owing to ice. Hilly country was sighted beyond
the barrier, and named "Coats Land," after Bruce's chief supporters.
In the foremost rank of the Antarctic explorers of our time stands
the French savant and yachtsman, Dr. Jean Charcot. In the course of
his two expeditions of 1903 -- 1905 and 1908 -- 1910 he succeeded in
opening up a large extent of the unknown continent. We owe to him
a closer acquaintance with Alexander I. Land, and the discovery of
Loubet, Fallières and Charcot Lands is also his work.
His expeditions were splendidly equipped, and the scientific results
were extraordinarily rich. The point that compels our special
admiration in Charcot's voyages is that he chose one of the most
difficult fields of the Antarctic zone to work in. The ice conditions
here are extremely unfavourable, and navigation in the highest degree
risky. A coast full of submerged reefs and a sea strewn with icebergs
was what the Frenchmen had to contend with. The exploration of such
regions demands capable men and stout vessels.
Sir Ernest Shackleton! -- the name has a brisk sound. At its mere
mention we see before us a man of indomitable will and boundless
courage. He has shown us what the will and energy of a single man
can perform. He gained his first experience of Antarctic exploration
as a member of the British expedition in the Discovery, under Captain
Scott. It was a good school. Scott, Wilson, and Shackleton, formed the
southern party, with the highest latitude as their goal. They reached
82° 17' S. -- a great record at that time. Being attacked by scurvy,
Shackleton had to go home at the first opportunity.
Shortly after his return Shackleton began to make active
preparations. Few people had any faith in Shackleton. Wasn't it
he who was sent home from the Discovery after the first year? What
does he want to go out for again? He has shown well enough that he
can't stand the work! Shackleton had a hard struggle to find the
necessary funds. He left England unheeded and loaded with debts in
August, 1907, on board the Nimrod, bound for the South Pole. With
surprising frankness he declared his intention of trying to reach the
Pole itself. So far as I know, he was the first who ventured to say
straight out that the Pole was his object. This hearty frankness was
the first thing that struck me, and made me look more closely at the
man. Later on I followed his steps with the greatest interest. The
expedition, unnoticed when it left England, was soon forgotten. At
most, people connected the name of Shackleton with the rank of
"Lieutenant R.N.R." And the months went by ....
Then suddenly came a piece of news that made a great stir. It was in
the latter half of March, 1909. The telegraphic instruments were busy
all over the world; letter by letter, word by word, they ticked out the
message, until it could be clearly read that one of the most wonderful
achievements of Polar exploration had been accomplished. Everyone was
spellbound. Was it possible? Could it be true? Shackleton, Lieutenant
R.N.R., had fought his way to lat. 88° 23' S.
Seldom has a man enjoyed a greater triumph; seldom has a man deserved
it better.
As the details of Sir Ernest Shackleton's expedition will be fresh
in the minds of English readers, it is unnecessary to recapitulate
them here. A few points may, however, be noted, for comparison with
the Fram's expedition.
The plan was to leave New Zealand at the beginning of 1908 and go
into winter quarters on the Antarctic continent with the necessary
provisions and equipment, while the vessel returned to New Zealand
and came back to take off the land party in the following year.
The land party that wintered in the South was divided into three. One
party was to go eastward to King Edward VII. Land and explore it,
the second was to go westward to the South Magnetic Pole, and the
third southward toward the Geographical Pole.
In the plan submitted to the Royal Geographical Society Shackleton
says: "I do not intend to sacrifice the scientific utility of the
expedition to a mere record-breaking journey, but say frankly, all
the same, that one of my great efforts will be to reach the Southern
Geographical Pole."
It was further intended that the Nimrod should explore Wilkes Land.
As draught animals Shackleton had both ponies and dogs, but chiefly
ponies. The dogs were regarded more as a reserve. Shackleton's
experience was that the Ice Barrier was best suited for ponies. They
also took a motor-car, besides the usual equipment of sledges, ski,
tents, etc.
Leaving Lyttelton on January 1, 1908, the Nimrod reached the ice-pack
on the 15th, and arrived in the open Ross Sea in lat. 70° 43' S.,
long. 178° 58' E. The Ross Barrier was sighted on January 23. The
original intention was to follow this, and try to land the shore party
in Barrier Inlet, which was practically the beginning of King Edward
VII. Land; but it was found that Barrier Inlet had disappeared, owing
to miles of the Barrier having calved away. In its place was a long,
wide bay, which Shackleton named the Bay of Whales. This discovery
determined him not to attempt to winter on the Barrier, but on solid
land. At this part of the voyage the course of the Nimrod coincided
very nearly with that of the Fram on her second outward trip.
After an unsuccessful attempt to reach King Edward VII. Land,
Shackleton turned to the west and took up his winter quarters on Ross
Island in McMurdo Sound.
The southern party, composed of Shackleton, Adams, Marshall, and
Wild, started on October 29, 1908, with four sledges, four ponies,
and provisions for ninety-one days. On November 26 Scott's farthest
south, 82° 17' S. was passed. By the time lat. 84° was reached all the
ponies were dead, and the men had to draw the sledges themselves. They
were then faced by the long and difficult ascent of Beardmore Glacier,
and it was not until seventeen days later that they came out on the
high plateau surrounding the Pole. At last, on January 9, 1909, they
were compelled to return by shortness of provisions, having planted
Queen Alexandra's flag in lat. 88° 23' S., long. 162° E.
Everyone who reads Shackleton's diary must feel a boundless admiration
for these four heroes. History can scarcely show a clearer proof of
what men can accomplish when they exert their full strength of will
and body. These men have raised a monument, not only to themselves
and their achievement, but also to the honour of their native land
and the whole of civilized humanity.
Shackleton's exploit is the most brilliant incident in the history
of Antarctic exploration.
The distance covered, out and back, was 1,530 geographical miles. The
time occupied was 127 days -- 73 days out and 54 days back. The
average daily march was about 12 miles.
Meanwhile the other party, composed of Professor David, Mawson,
and Mackay, had set off to determine the position of the South
Magnetic Pole. They had neither ponies nor dogs, and had therefore
to depend solely on their own powers. It seems almost incredible,
but these men succeeded in working their way on foot over sea-ice
and land-ice, cracks and crevasses, hard snow and loose snow, to the
Magnetic Pole, and making observations there. What was better still,
they all came back safe and sound. The total distance covered was
1,260 geographical miles.
It must have been a proud day for the two parties of the expedition
when they met again on the deck of the Nimrod, and could tell each
other of their experiences. More than any of their predecessors,
these men had succeeded in raising the veil that lay over "Antarctica."
But a little corner remained.
CHAPTER II
Plan and Preparations
"The deity of success is a woman, and she insists on being won,
not courted. You've got to seize her and bear her off, instead of
standing under her window with a mandolin." -- Rex Beach.
"The North Pole is reached."
In a flash the news spread over the world. The goal of which so
many had dreamed, for which so many had laboured and suffered and
sacrificed their lives, was attained. It was in September, 1909,
that the news reached us.
At the same instant I saw quite clearly that the original plan of
the Fram's third voyage -- the exploration of the North Polar basin
-- hung in the balance. If the expedition was to be saved, it was
necessary to act quickly and without hesitation. Just as rapidly as
the message had travelled over the cables I decided on my change of
front -- to turn to the right-about, and face to the South.
It was true that I had announced in my plan that the Fram's third
voyage would be in every way a scientific expedition, and would have
nothing to do with record-breaking; it was also true that many of
the contributors who had so warmly supported me had done so with the
original plan before them; but in view of the altered circumstances,
and the small prospect I now had of obtaining funds for my original
plan, I considered it neither mean nor unfair to my supporters to
strike a blow that would at once put the whole enterprise on its feet,
retrieve the heavy expenses that the expedition had already incurred,
and save the contributions from being wasted.
It was therefore with a clear conscience that I decided to postpone
my original plan for a year or two, in order to try in the meantime
to raise the funds that were still lacking. The North Pole, the
last problem but one of popular interest in Polar exploration,
was solved. If I was now to succeed in arousing interest in my
undertaking, there was nothing left for me but to try to solve the
last great problem -- the South Pole.
I know that I have been reproached for not having at once made
the extended plan public, so that not only my supporters, but the
explorers who were preparing to visit the same regions might have
knowledge of it. I was well aware that these reproaches would come,
and had therefore carefully weighed this side of the matter. As
regards the former -- the contributors to my expedition -- my mind
was soon at rest. They were all men of position, and above discussing
the application of the sums they had dedicated to the enterprise. I
knew that I enjoyed such confidence among these people that they
would all judge the circumstances aright, and know that when the time
came their contributions would be used for the purpose for which they
were given. And I have already received countless proofs that I was
not mistaken.
Nor did I feel any great scruples with regard to the other Antarctic
expeditions that were being planned at the time. I knew I should be
able to inform Captain Scott of the extension of my plans before he
left civilization, and therefore a few months sooner or later could
be of no great importance. Scott's plan and equipment were so widely
different from my own that I regarded the telegram that I sent him
later, with the information that we were bound for the Antarctic
regions, rather as a mark of courtesy than as a communication which
might cause him to alter his programme in the slightest degree. The
British expedition was designed entirely for scientific research. The
Pole was only a side-issue, whereas in my extended plan it was the
main object. On this little détour science would have to look after
itself; but of course I knew very well that we could not reach the
Pole by the route I had determined to take without enriching in a
considerable degree several branches of science.
Our preparations were entirely different, and I doubt whether Captain
Scott, with his great knowledge of Antarctic exploration, would
have departed in any point from the experience he had gained and
altered his equipment in accordance with that which I found it best
to employ. For I came far short of Scott both in experience and means.
As regards Lieutenant Shirase in the Kainan Maru, I understood it to
be his plan to devote his whole attention to King Edward VII. Land.
After thus thoroughly considering these questions, I came to the
conclusions I have stated, and my plan was irrevocably fixed. If at
that juncture I had made my intention public, it would only have given
occasion for a lot of newspaper discussion, and possibly have ended
in the project being stifled at its birth. Everything had to be got
ready quietly and calmly. My brother, upon whose absolute silence
I could blindly rely, was the only person I let into the secret of
my change of plan, and he did me many important services during the
time when we alone shared the knowledge. Then Lieutenant Thorvald
Nilsen -- at that time first officer of the Fram, now her commander --
returned home, and I considered it my duty to inform him immediately
of my resolve. The way in which he received it made me feel safe in
my choice of him. I saw that in him I had found not only a capable
and trustworthy man, but a good comrade as well; and this was a point
of the highest importance. If the relations between the chief and the
second in command are good, much unpleasantness and many unnecessary
worries can be avoided. Besides which, a good understanding in this
quarter gives an example to the whole ship. It was a great relief to
me when Captain Nilsen came home in January, 1910, and was able to
help -- which he did with a good will, a capability, and a reliability
that I have no words to commend.
The following was the plan of the Fram's southern voyage: Departure
from Norway at latest before the middle of August. Madeira was to be
the first and only place of call. From there a course was to be made on
the best route for a sailing-ship -- for the Fram cannot be regarded
as anything else -- southward through the Atlantic, and then to the
east, passing to the south of the Cape of Good Hope and Australia,
and finally pushing through the pack and into Ross Sea about New
Year, 1911.
As a base of operations I had chosen the most southerly point we could
reach with the vessel -- the Bay of Whales in the great Antarctic
Barrier. We hoped to arrive here about January 15. After having
landed the selected shore party -- about ten men -- with materials
for a house, equipment, and provisions for two years, the Fram was
to go out again and up to Buenos Aires, in order to carry out from
there an oceanographical voyage across the Atlantic to the coast of
Africa and back. In October she was to return to the Bay of Whales
and take off the shore party. So much, but no more, could be settled
beforehand. The further progress of the expedition could only be
determined later, when the work in the South was finished.
My knowledge of the Ross Barrier was due to descriptions alone;
but I had so carefully studied all the literature that treats of
these regions, that, on first encountering this mighty mass of ice,
I felt as if I had known it for many years.
After thorough consideration, I fixed upon the Bay of Whales as a
winter station, for several reasons. In the first place, because we
could there go farther south in the ship than at any other point
-- a whole degree farther south than Scott could hope to get in
McMurdo Sound, where he was to have his station. And this would be
of very great importance in the subsequent sledge journey toward the
Pole. Another great advantage was that we came right on to our field
of work, and could see from our hut door the conditions and surface we
should have to deal with. Besides this, I was justified in supposing
that the surface southward from this part of the Barrier would be
considerably better, and offer fewer difficulties than the piled-up
ice along the land. In addition, animal life in the Bay of Whales was,
according to the descriptions, extraordinarily rich, and offered all
the fresh meat we required in the form of seals, penguins, etc.
Besides these purely technical and material advantages which the
Barrier seemed to possess as a winter station, it offered a specially
favourable site for an investigation of the meteorological conditions,
since here one would be unobstructed by land on all sides. It would be
possible to study the character of the Barrier by daily observations on
the very spot better than anywhere else. Such interesting phenomena as
the movement, feeding, and calving of this immense mass of ice could,
of course, be studied very fully at this spot.
Last, but not least, there was the enormous advantage that it was
comparatively easy to reach in the vessel. No expedition had yet been
prevented from coming in here.
I knew that this plan of wintering on the Barrier itself would be
exposed to severe criticism as recklessness, foolhardiness, and so
forth, for it was generally assumed that the Barrier was afloat here,
as in other places. Indeed, it was thought to be so even by those who
had themselves seen it. Shackleton's description of the conditions
at the time of his visit did not seem very promising. Mile after
mile had broken away, and he thanked God he had not made his camp
there. Although I have a very great regard for Shackleton, his work
and his experience, I believe that in this case his conclusion was
too hasty -- fortunately, I must add. For if, when Shackleton passed
the Bay of Whales on January, 24, 1908, and saw the ice of the bay in
process of breaking up and drifting out, he had waited a few hours,
or at the most a couple of days, the problem of the South Pole would
probably have been solved long before December, 1911. With his keen
sight and sound judgment, it would not have taken him long to determine
that the inner part of the bay does not consist of floating barrier,
but that the Barrier there rests upon a good, solid foundation,
probably in the form of small islands, skerries, or shoals, and from
this point he and his able companions would have disposed of the South
Polar question once for all. But circumstances willed it otherwise,
and the veil was only lifted, not torn away.
I had devoted special study to this peculiar formation in the Barrier,
and had arrived at the conclusion that the inlet that exists to-day in
the Ross Barrier under the name of the Bay of Whales is nothing else
than the self-same bight that was observed by Sir James Clark Ross
-- no doubt with great changes of outline, but still the same. For
seventy years, then, this formation -- with the exception of the
pieces that had broken away -- had persisted in the same place. I
therefore concluded that it could be no accidental formation. What,
once, in the dawn of time, arrested the mighty stream of ice at this
spot and formed a lasting bay in its edge, which with few exceptions
runs in an almost straight line, was not merely a passing whim of
the fearful force that came crashing on, but something even stronger
than that -- something that was firmer than the hard ice -- namely,
the solid land. Here in this spot, then, the Barrier piled itself up
and formed the bay we now call the Bay of Whales. The observations we
made during our stay there confirm the correctness of this theory. I
therefore had no misgivings in placing our station on this part of
the Barrier.
The plan of the shore party was, as soon as the hut was built and
provisions landed, to carry supplies into the field, and lay down
depots as far to the south as possible. I hoped to get such a quantity
of provisions brought down to lat. 80° S., that we should be able to
regard this latitude as the real starting-place of the actual sledge
journey to the Pole. We shall see later that this hope was more than
fulfilled, and a labour many times greater than this was performed. By
the time this depot work was accomplished winter would be before us,
and with the knowledge we had of the conditions in the Antarctic
regions, every precaution would have to be taken to meet the coldest
and probably the most stormy weather that any Polar expedition had
hitherto encountered. My object was, when winter had once set in, and
everything in the station was in good working order, to concentrate
all our forces upon the one object -- that of reaching the Pole.
I intended to try to get people with me who were specially fitted for
outdoor work in the cold. Even more necessary was it to find men who
were experienced dog-drivers; I saw what a decisive bearing this would
have on the result. There are advantages and disadvantages in having
experienced people with one on an expedition like this. The advantages
are obvious. If a variety of experiences are brought together and
used with common sense, of course a great deal can be achieved. The
experience of one man will often come in opportunely where that
of another falls short. The experiences of several will supplement
each other, and form something like a perfect whole; this is what I
hoped to obtain. But there is no rose without a thorn; if it has its
advantages, it also has its drawbacks. The drawback to which one is
liable in this case is that someone or other may think he possesses
so much experience that every opinion but his own is worthless. It
is, of course, regrettable when experience takes this turn, but
with patience and common sense it can be broken of it. In any case,
the advantages are so great and predominant that I had determined
to have experienced men to the greatest extent possible. It was my
plan to devote the entire winter to working at our outfit, and to
get it as near to perfection as possible. Another thing to which we
should have to give some time was the killing of a sufficient number
of seals to provide fresh meat both for ourselves and our dogs for
the whole time. Scurvy, the worst enemy of Polar expeditions, must
be kept off at all costs, and to achieve this it was my intention
to use fresh meat every day. It proved easy to carry out this rule,
since everyone, without exception, preferred seal meat to tinned
foods. And when spring came I hoped that my companions and I would
be ready, fit and well, with an outfit complete in every way.
The plan was to leave the station as early in the spring as
possible. If we had set out to capture this record, we must at any
cost get there first. Everything must be staked upon this. From the
very moment when I had formed the plan, I had made up my mind that
our course from the Bay of Whales must be set due south, and follow
the same meridian, if possible, right up to the Pole. The effect
of this would be that we should traverse an entirely new region,
and gain other results besides beating the record.
I was greatly astonished to hear, on my return from the South, that
some people had actually believed we had set our course from the Bay
of Whales for Beardmore Glacier -- Shackleton's route -- and followed
it to the south. Let me hasten to assure them that this idea never
for a single instant crossed my mind when I made the plan. Scott
had announced that he was going to take Shackleton's route, and that
decided the matter. During our long stay at Framheim not one of us
ever hinted at the possibility of such a course. Without discussion
Scott's route was declared out of bounds.
No; due south was our way, and the country would have to be difficult
indeed to stop our getting on to the plateau. Our plan was to go
south, and not to leave the meridian unless we were forced to do so
by insuperable difficulties. I foresaw, of course, that there would
be some who would attack me and accuse me of "shabby rivalry," etc.,
and they would perhaps have had some shadow of justification if we had
really thought of taking Captain Scott's route. But it never occurred
to us for a moment. Our starting-point lay 350 geographical miles from
Scott's winter quarters in McMurdo Sound, so there could be no question
of encroaching upon his sphere of action. Moreover, Professor Nansen,
in his direct and convincing way, has put an end once for all to this
twaddle, so that I need not dwell upon it any longer.
I worked out the plan, as here given, at my home on Bundefjord, near
Christiania, in September, 1909, and as it was laid, so was it carried
out to the last detail. That my estimate of the time it would take
was not so very far out is proved by the final sentence of the plan:
"Thus we shall be back from the Polar journey on January 25." It was
on January 25, 1912, that we came into Framheim after our successful
journey to the Pole.
This was not the only time our calculations proved correct; Captain
Nilsen showed himself to be a veritable magician in this way. While I
contented myself with reckoning dates, he did not hesitate to go into
hours. He calculated that we should reach the Barrier on January 15,
1911; this is a distance of 16,000 geographical miles from Norway. We
were at the Barrier on January 14, one day before the time. There
was not much wrong with that estimate.
In accordance with the Storthing's resolution of February 9, 1909,
the Fram was lent for the use of the expedition, and a sum of 75,000
kroner (4,132 pounds sterling) was voted for repairs and necessary
alterations.
The provisions were chosen with the greatest care, and packed with
every precaution. All groceries were soldered in tin boxes, and then
enclosed in strong wooden cases. The packing of tinned provisions
is of enormous importance to a Polar expedition; it is impossible to
give too much attention to this part of the supplies. Any carelessness,
any perfunctory packing on the part of the factory, will as a rule lead
to scurvy. It is an interesting fact that on the four Norwegian Polar
expeditions -- the three voyages of the Fram and the Gjöa's voyage --
not a single case of scurvy occurred. This is good evidence of the
care with which these expeditions were provisioned.
In this matter we owe a deep debt of gratitude above all to Professor
Sophus Torup, who has always been the supervising authority in the
matter of provisioning, this time as well as on the former occasions.
Great praise is also due to the factories that supplied our tinned
goods. By their excellent and conscientious work they deserved well
of the expedition. In this case a part of the supplies was entrusted
to a Stavanger factory, which, in addition to the goods supplied to
order, with great generosity placed at the disposal of the expedition
provisions to the value of 2,000 kroner (£110). The other half of the
tinned foods required was ordered from a firm at Moss. The manager
of this firm undertook at the same time to prepare the necessary
pemmican for men and dogs, and executed this commission in a way that
I cannot sufficiently praise. Thanks to this excellent preparation,
the health both of men and dogs on the journey to the Pole was always
remarkably good. The pemmican we took was essentially different from
that which former expeditions had used. Previously the pemmican had
contained nothing but the desired mixture of dried meat and lard;
ours had, besides these, vegetables and oatmeal, an addition which
greatly improves its flavour, and, as far as we could judge, makes
it easier to digest.
This kind of pemmican was first produced for the use of the Norwegian
Army; it was intended to take the place of the "emergency ration." The
experiment was not concluded at the time the expedition left, but
it may be hoped that the result has proved satisfactory. A more
stimulating, nourishing, and appetizing food, it would be impossible
to find.
But besides the pemmican for ourselves, that for our dogs was equally
important, for they are just as liable to be attacked by scurvy as
we men. The same care had therefore to be devoted to the preparation
of their food. We obtained from Moss two kinds of pemmican, one made
with fish and the other with meat. Both kinds contained, besides the
dried fish (or meat) and lard, a certain proportion of dried milk
and middlings. Both kinds were equally excellent, and the dogs were
always in splendid condition. The pemmican was divided into rations of
1 pound 1.5 ounces, and could be served out to the dogs as it was. But
before we should be able to use this pemmican we had a five months'
voyage before us, and for this part of the expedition I had to look
for a reliable supply of dried fish. This I found through the agent of
the expedition at Tromsö, Mr. Fritz Zappfe. Two well-known firms also
placed large quantities of the best dried fish at my disposal. With
all this excellent fish and some barrels of lard we succeeded in
bringing our dogs through in the best of condition.
One of the most important of our preparations was to find good
dogs. As I have said, I had to act with decision and promptitude if
I was to succeed in getting everything in order. The day after my
decision was made, therefore, I was on my way to Copenhagen, where
the Inspectors for Greenland, Messrs. Daugaard-Jensen and Bentzen,
were to be found at that moment. The director of the Royal Greenland
Trading Company, Mr. Rydberg, showed, as before, the most friendly
interest in my undertaking, and gave the inspectors a free hand. I then
negotiated with these gentlemen, and they undertook to provide 100
of the finest Greenland dogs and to deliver them in Norway in July,
1910. The dog question was thus as good as solved, since the choice
was placed in the most expert hands. I was personally acquainted
with Inspector Daugaard-Jensen from former dealings with him, and
knew that whatever he undertook would be performed with the greatest
conscientiousness. The administration of the Royal Greenland Trading
Company gave permission for the dogs to be conveyed free of charge
on board the Hans Egede and delivered at Christiansand.
Before I proceed to our further equipment, I must say a few more
words about the dogs. The greatest difference between Scott's and
my equipment lay undoubtedly in our choice of draught animals. We
had heard that Scott, relying on his own experience, and that of
Shackleton, had come to the conclusion that Manchurian ponies were
superior to dogs on the Barrier. Among those who were acquainted with
the Eskimo dog, I do not suppose I was the only one who was startled
on first hearing this. Afterwards, as I read the different narratives
and was able to form an accurate opinion of the conditions of surface
and going, my astonishment became even greater. Although I had never
seen this part of the Antarctic regions, I was not long in forming
an opinion diametrically opposed to that of Shackleton and Scott, for
the conditions both of going and surface were precisely what one would
desire for sledging with Eskimo dogs, to judge from the descriptions
of these explorers. If Peary could make a record trip on the Arctic
ice with dogs, one ought, surely, with equally good tackle, to be
able to beat Peary's record on the splendidly even surface of the
Barrier. There must be some misunderstanding or other at the bottom
of the Englishmen's estimate of the Eskimo dog's utility in the Polar
regions. Can it be that the dog has not understood his master? Or
is it the master who has not understood his dog? The right footing
must be established from the outset; the dog must understand that
he has to obey in everything, and the master must know how to make
himself respected. If obedience is once established, I am convinced
that the dog will be superior to all other draught animals over these
long distances.
Another very important reason for using the dog is that this small
creature can much more easily cross the numerous slight snow-bridges
that are not to be avoided on the Barrier and on the glaciers. If a
dog falls into a crevasse there is no great harm done; a tug at his
harness and he is out again; but it is another matter with a pony. This
comparatively large and heavy animal of course falls through far more
easily, and if this happens, it is a long and stiff job to get the
beast hauled up again -- unless, indeed, the traces have broken and
the pony lies at the bottom of a crevasse 1,000 feet deep.
And then there is the obvious advantage that dog can be fed on
dog. One can reduce one's pack little by little, slaughtering the
feebler ones and feeding the chosen with them. In this way they get
fresh meat. Our dogs lived on dog's flesh and pemmican the whole way,
and this enabled them to do splendid work.
And if we ourselves wanted a piece of fresh meat we could cut off a
delicate little fillet; it tasted to us as good as the best beef. The
dogs do not object at all; as long as they get their share they do not
mind what part of their comrade's carcass it comes from. All that was
left after one of these canine meals was the teeth of the victim --
and if it had been a really hard day, these also disappeared.
If we take a step farther, from the Barrier to the plateau, it would
seem that every doubt of the dog's superiority must disappear. Not
only can one get the dogs up over the huge glaciers that lead to the
plateau, but one can make full use of them the whole way. Ponies, on
the other hand, have to be left at the foot of the glacier, while the
men themselves have the doubtful pleasure of acting as ponies. As I
understand Shackleton's account, there can be no question of hauling
the ponies over the steep and crevassed glaciers. It must be rather
hard to have to abandon one's motive power voluntarily when only a
quarter of the distance has been covered. I for my part prefer to
use it all the way.
From the very beginning I saw that the first part of our expedition,
from Norway to the Barrier, would be the most dangerous section. If we
could only reach the Barrier with our dogs safe and well, the future
would be bright enough. Fortunately all my comrades took the same view
of the matter, and with their cooperation we succeeded not only in
bringing the dogs safely to our field of operations, but in landing
them in far better condition than when we received them. Their number
was also considerably increased on the way, which seems to be another
proof of a flourishing state of things. To protect them against damp
and heat we laid a loose deck of planed boards about 3 inches above
the fixed deck, an arrangement by which all the rain and spray ran
underneath the dogs. In this way we kept them out of the water, which
must always be running from side to side on the deck of a deep-laden
vessel on her way to the Antarctic Ocean. Going through the tropics
this loose deck did double service. It always afforded a somewhat cool
surface, as there was a fresh current of air between the two decks. The
main deck, which was black with tar, would have been unbearably hot
for the animals; the false deck was high, and kept fairly white during
the whole voyage. We carried awnings in addition, chiefly on account
of the dogs. These awnings could be stretched over the whole vessel
and give the dogs constant protection from the burning sun.
I still cannot help smiling when I think of the compassionate voices
that were raised here and there -- and even made their way into
print -- about the "cruelty to animals" on board the Fram. Presumably
these cries came from tender-hearted individuals who themselves kept
watch-dogs tied up.
Besides our four-footed companions, we took with us a two-footed one,
not so much on account of the serious work in the Polar regions as for
pleasant entertainment on the way. This was our canary "Fridtjof." It
was one of the many presents made to the expedition, and not the
least welcome of them. It began to sing as soon as it came on board,
and has now kept it going on two circumnavigations through the most
inhospitable waters of the earth. It probably holds the record as a
Polar traveller among its kind.
Later on we had a considerable collection of various families: pigs,
fowls, sheep, cats, and -- rats. Yes, unfortunately, we knew what it
was to have rats on board, the most repulsive of all creatures, and
the worst vermin I know of. But we have declared war against them,
and off they shall go before the Fram starts on her next voyage. We
got them in Buenos Aires, and the best thing will be to bury them in
their native land.
On account of the rather straitened circumstances the expedition had
to contend with, I had to look twice at every shilling before I spent
it. Articles of clothing are an important factor in a Polar expedition,
and I consider it necessary that the expedition should provide each
of its members with the actual "Polar clothing." If one left this
part of the equipment to each individual, I am afraid things would
look badly before the journey was done. I must admit that there was
some temptation to do this. It would have been very much cheaper if
I had simply given each man a list of what clothes he was required
to provide for himself. But by so doing I should have missed the
opportunity of personally supervising the quality of the clothing to
the extent I desired.
It was not an outfit that cut a dash by its appearance, but it was warm
and strong. From the commissariat stores at Horten I obtained many
excellent articles. I owe Captain Pedersen, the present chief of the
Commissariat Department, my heartiest thanks for the courtesy he always
showed me when I came to get things out of him. Through him I had about
200 blankets served out to me. Now, the reader must not imagine a bed
and bedding, such as he may see exhibited in the windows of furniture
shops, with thick, white blankets, so delicate that in spite of their
thickness they look as if they might float away of their own accord,
so light and fine do they appear. It was not blankets like these
that Captain Pedersen gave us; we should not have known what to do
with them if he had. The blankets the commissariat gave us were of an
entirely different sort. As to their colour -- well, I can only call
it indeterminable -- and they did not give one the impression that
they would float away either, if one let go of them. No, they would
keep on the ground right enough; they were felted and pressed together
into a thick, hard mass. From the dawn of time they had served our
brave warriors at sea, and it is by no means impossible that some of
them had gruesome stories to tell of the days of Tordenskjold. The
first thing I did, on obtaining possession of these treasures, was
to get them into the dyeing-vat. They were unrecognizable when I
got them back -- in ultramarine blue, or whatever it was called. The
metamorphosis was complete: their warlike past was wiped out.
My intention was to have these two hundred blankets made into Polar
clothing, and I took counsel with myself how I might get this done. To
disclose the origin of the stuff would be an unfortunate policy. No
tailor in the world would make clothes out of old blankets, I was
pretty sure of that. I had to hit upon some stratagem. I heard of
a man who was a capable worker at his trade, and asked him to come
and see me. My office looked exactly like a woollen warehouse, with
blankets everywhere. The tailor arrived. "Was that the stuff?" "Yes,
that was it. Just imported from abroad. A great bargain. A lot of
samples dirt cheap." I had put on my most innocent and unconcerned
expression. I saw the tailor glance at me sideways; I suppose he
thought the samples were rather large. "A closely woven stuff,"
said he, holding it up to the light. "I could almost swear it was
'felted.'" We went carefully through every single sample, and took
the number. It was a long and tedious business, and I was glad when
I saw that at last we were nearing the end. Over in a corner there
lay a few more; we had reached the one hundred and ninety-third, so
there could not be many in the pile. I was occupied with something
else, and the tailor went through the remainder by himself. I was
just congratulating myself on the apparently fortunate result of the
morning's work when I was startled by an exclamation from the man
in the corner. It sounded like the bellow of a mad bull. Alas! there
stood the tailor enveloped in ultramarine, and swinging over his head
a blanket, the couleur changeante of which left no doubt as to the
origin of the "directly imported" goods. With a look of thunder the man
quitted me, and I sank in black despair. I never saw him again. The
fact was that in my hurry I had forgotten the sample blanket that
Captain Pedersen had sent me. That was the cause of the catastrophe.
Well, I finally succeeded in getting the work executed, and it is
certain that no expedition has ever had warmer and stronger clothing
than this. It was in great favour on board.
I also thought it best to provide good oilskins, and especially
good sea-boots for every man. The sea-boots were therefore made to
measure, and of the very best material. I had them made by the firm
I have always regarded as the best in that branch. How, then, shall
I describe our grief when, on the day we were to wear our beautiful
sea-boots, we discovered that most of them were useless? Some of the
men could dance a hornpipe in theirs without taking the boots off
the deck. Others, by exerting all their strength, could not squeeze
their foot through the narrow way and reach paradise. The leg was so
narrow that even the most delicate little foot could not get through
it, and to make up for this the foot of the boot was so huge that
it could comfortably accommodate twice as much as its owner could
show. Very few were able to wear their boots. We tried changing,
but that was no use; the boots were not made for any creatures of
this planet. But sailors are sailors wherever they may be; it is not
easy to beat them. Most of them knew the proverb that one pair of
boots that fit is better than ten pairs that you can't put on, and
had brought their own with them. And so we got out of that difficulty.
We took three sets of linen underclothing for every man, to wear
in the warm regions. This part of the equipment was left to each
individual; most men possess a few old shirts, and not much more is
wanted through the tropics. For the cold regions there were two sets
of extra thick woollen underclothing, two thick hand-knitted woollen
jerseys, six pairs of knitted stockings, Iceland and other lighter
jackets, socks and stockings from the penitentiary.
Besides these we had a quantity of clothing from the army depots. I
owe many thanks to General Keilhau for the kind way in which he fell
in with all my wishes. From this quarter we obtained outer clothing for
both cold and warm climates, underclothes, boots, shoes, wind-clothing,
and cloths of different kinds.
As the last item of our personal equipment I may mention that each
man had a suit of sealskin from Greenland. Then there were such things
as darning-wool, sewing-yarn, needles of all possible sizes, buttons,
scissors, tapes -- broad and narrow, black and white, blue and red. I
may safely assert that nothing was forgotten; we were well and amply
equipped in every way.
Another side of our preparations which claimed some attention was
the fitting up of the quarters we were to inhabit, the saloons and
cabins. What an immense difference it makes if one lives in comfortable
surroundings. For my part, I can do twice the amount of work when I
see tidiness and comfort around me. The saloons on the Fram were very
handsomely and tastefully fitted. Here we owe, in the first place, our
respectful thanks to King Haakon and Queen Maud for the photographs
they presented to us; they were the most precious of our gifts. The
ladies of Horten gave us a number of pretty things for decorating the
cabins, and they will no doubt be glad to hear of the admiration they
aroused wherever we went. "Is this really a Polar ship?" people asked;
"we expected to see nothing but wooden benches and bare walls." And
they began to talk about "boudoirs" and things of that sort. Besides
splendid embroideries, our walls were decorated with the most wonderful
photographs; it would have rejoiced the giver of these to hear all
the words of praise that have been bestowed upon them.
The sleeping quarters I left to individual taste: every man could
take a bit of his home in his own little compartment. The bedclothes
came from the naval factory at Horten; they were first-class work,
like everything else that came from there. We owe our best thanks to
the giver of the soft blankets that have so often been our joy and
put warmth into us after a bitter day; they came from a woollen mill
at Trondhjem.
I must also mention our paper-supply, which was in all respects as fine
and elegant as it could possibly be: the most exquisite notepaper,
stamped with a picture of the Fram and the name of the expedition,
in large and small size, broad and narrow, old style and new style --
every kind of notepaper, in fact. Of pens and penholders, pencils,
black and coloured, india-rubber, Indian ink, drawing-pins and
other kinds of pins, ink and ink-powder, white chalk and red chalk,
gum arabic and other gums, date-holders and almanacs, ship's logs
and private diaries, notebooks and sledging diaries, and many other
things of the same sort, we have such a stock that we shall be able to
circumnavigate the earth several times more before running short. This
gift does honour to the firm which sent it; every time I have sent
a letter or written in my diary, I have had a grateful thought for
the givers.
From one of the largest houses in Christiania we had a complete set
of kitchen utensils and breakfast and dinner services, all of the
best kind. The cups, plates, knives, forks, spoons, jugs, glasses,
etc., were all marked with the ship's name.
We carried an extraordinarily copious library; presents of books were
showered upon us in great quantities. I suppose the Fram's library
at the present moment contains at least 3,000 volumes.
For our entertainment we also had a good many different games. One
of these became our favourite pastime in leisure evenings down in
the South. Packs of cards we had by the dozen, and many of them have
already been well used. A gramophone with a large supply of records
was, I think, our best friend. Of musical instruments we had a piano,
a violin, a flute, mandolins, not forgetting a mouth-organ and an
accordion. All the publishers had been kind enough to send us music,
so that we could cultivate this art as much as we wished.
Christmas presents streamed in from all sides; I suppose we had about
five hundred on board. Christmas-trees and decorations for them,
with many other things to amuse us at Christmas, were sent with us
by friends and acquaintances. People have indeed been kind to us,
and I can assure the givers that all their presents have been, and
are still, much appreciated.
We were well supplied with wines and spirits, thanks to one of the
largest firms of wine-merchants in Christiania. An occasional glass of
wine or a tot of spirits were things that we all, without exception,
were very glad of. The question of alcohol on Polar expeditions has
often been discussed. Personally, I regard alcohol, used in moderation,
as a medicine in the Polar regions -- I mean, of course, so long as
one is in winter quarters. It is another matter on sledge journeys:
there we all know from experience that alcohol must be banished --
not because a drink of spirits can do any harm, but on account of
the weight and space. On sledging journeys one has, of course, to
save weight as much as possible, and to take only what is strictly
necessary; and I do not include alcohol under the head of strictly
necessary things. Nor was it only in winter quarters that we had use
for alcohol, but also on the long, monotonous voyage through raw, cold,
and stormy regions. A tot of spirits is often a very good thing when
one goes below after a bitter watch on deck and is just turning in. A
total abstainer will no doubt turn up his nose and ask whether a cup
of good warm coffee would not do as well. For my part, I think the
quantity of coffee people pour into themselves at such times is far
more harmful than a little Lysholmer snaps. And think of the important
part a glass of wine or toddy plays in social gatherings on such a
voyage. Two men who have fallen out a little in the course of the week
are reconciled at once by the scent of rum; the past is forgotten,
and they start afresh in friendly co-operation. Take alcohol away from
these little festivities, and you will soon see the difference. It is
a sad thing, someone will say, that men absolutely must have alcohol to
put them in a good humour -- and I am quite ready to agree. But seeing
that our nature is what it is, we must try to make the best of it. It
seems as though we civilized human beings must have stimulating drinks,
and that being so, we have to follow our own convictions. I am for a
glass of toddy. Let who will eat plum-cake and swill hot coffee --
heartburn and other troubles are often the result of this kind of
refreshment. A little toddy doesn't hurt anybody.
The consumption of alcohol on the Fram's third voyage was as follows:
One dram and fifteen drops at dinner on Wednesdays and Sundays,
and a glass of toddy on Saturday evenings. On holidays there was an
additional allowance.
We were all well supplied with tobacco and cigars from various firms
at home and abroad. We had enough cigars to allow us one each on
Saturday evenings and after dinner on Sundays.
Two Christiania manufacturers sent us their finest bonbons and drops,
and a foreign firm gave us "Gala Peter," so that it was no rare thing
to see the Polar explorers helping themselves to a sweetmeat or a
piece of chocolate. An establishment at Drammen gave us as much fruit
syrup as we could drink, and if the giver only knew how many times
we blessed the excellent product he supplied, I am sure he would be
pleased. On the homeward march from the Pole we looked forward every
day to getting nearer to our supply of syrup.
From three different firms in Christiania we received all our
requirements in the way of cheese, biscuits, tea, sugar, and
coffee. The packing of the last-named was so efficient that, although
the coffee was roasted, it is still as fresh and aromatic as the day
it left the warehouse. Another firm sent us soap enough for five
years, and one uses a good deal of that commodity even on a Polar
voyage. A man in Christiania had seen to the care of our skin, hair,
and teeth, and it is not his fault if we have not delicate skins,
abundant growth of hair, and teeth like pearls, for the outfit was
certainly complete enough.
An important item of the equipment is the medical department, and
here my advisers were Dr. Jacob Roll and Dr. Holth; therefore nothing
was wanting. A chemist in Christiania supplied all the necessary
medicines as a contribution, carefully chosen, and beautifully
arranged. Unfortunately no doctor accompanied the expedition, so that
I was obliged to take all the responsibility myself.
Lieutenant Gjertsen, who had a pronounced aptitude both for drawing
teeth and amputating legs, went through a "lightning course" at the
hospital and the dental hospital. He clearly showed that much may be
learnt in a short time by giving one's mind to it. With surprising
rapidity and apparent confidence Lieutenant Gjertsen disposed of the
most complicated cases -- whether invariably to the patient's advantage
is another question, which I shall leave undecided. He drew teeth
with a dexterity that strongly reminded one of the conjurer's art;
one moment he showed an empty pair of forceps, the next there was a
big molar in their grip. The yells one heard while the operation was
in progress seemed to indicate that it was not entirely painless.
A match factory gave us all the safety matches we wanted. They were
packed so securely that we could quite well have towed the cases
after us in the sea all the way, and found the matches perfectly dry
on arrival. We had a quantity of ammunition and explosives. As the
whole of the lower hold was full of petroleum, the Fram had a rather
dangerous cargo on board. We therefore took all possible precautions
against fire; extinguishing apparatus was fitted in every cabin and
wherever practicable, and pumps with hose were always in readiness
on deck.
The necessary ice-tools, such as saws from 2 to 6 metres long,
ice-drills, etc., were not forgotten.
We had a number of scientific instruments with us. Professors Nansen
and Helland-Hansen had devoted many an hour to our oceanographical
equipment, which was therefore a model of what such an equipment
should be. Lieutenants Prestrud and Gjertsen had both gone through the
necessary course in oceanography under Helland-Hansen at the Bergen
biological station. I myself had spent a summer there, and taken part
in one of the oceanographical courses. Professor Helland-Hansen was a
brilliant teacher; I am afraid I cannot assert that I was an equally
brilliant pupil.
Professor Mohn had given us a complete meteorological outfit. Among the
instruments belonging to the Fram I may mention a pendulum apparatus,
an excellent astronomical theodolite, and a sextant. Lieutenant
Prestrud studied the use of the pendulum apparatus under Professor
Schiotz and the use of the astronomical theodolite under Professor
Geelmuyden. We had in addition several sextants and artificial
horizons, both glass and mercury. We had binoculars of all sizes,
from the largest to the smallest.
So far I have been dealing with our general outfit, and shall now pass
to the special equipment of the shore party. The hut we took out was
built on my property on Bundefjord, so that I was able to watch the
work as it progressed. It was built by the brothers Hans and Jörgen
Stubberud, and was throughout a splendid piece of work, which did
honour to both the brothers. The materials proved excellent in every
way. The hut was 26 feet long by 13 feet wide; its height from the
floor to the ridge of the roof was about 12 feet. It was built as an
ordinary Norwegian house, with pointed gable, and had two rooms. One
of these was 19 1/2 feet long, and was to serve as our dormitory,
dining-room, and sitting-room; the other room was 6 1/2 feet long,
and was to be Lindström's kitchen. From the kitchen a double trap-door
led to the loft, where we intended to keep a quantity of provisions and
outfit. The walls consisted of 3-inch planks, with air space between;
panels outside and inside, with air space between them and the plank
walling. For insulation we used cellulose pulp. The floor and the
ceiling between the rooms and the loft were double, while the upper
roof was single. The doors were extraordinarily thick and strong, and
fitted into oblique grooves, so that they closed very tightly. There
were two windows -- a triple one in the end wall of the main room,
and a double one in the kitchen. For the covering of the roof we
took out roofing-paper, and for the floor linoleum. In the main room
there were two air-pipes, one to admit fresh air, the other for the
exhaust. There were bunks for ten men in two stages, six on one wall
and four on the other. The furniture of the room consisted of a table,
a stool for each man, and a Lux lamp.
One half of the kitchen was occupied by the range, the other by shelves
and cooking utensils. The hut was tarred several times, and every part
was carefully marked, so that it could easily be set up. To fasten it
to the ground and prevent the Antarctic storms from blowing it away I
had strong eyebolts screwed into each end of the roof-ridge and the
four corners of the roof; we carried six strong eyebolts, a metre
long, to be rammed into the barrier; between these bolts and those
on the hut, steel wires were to be stretched, which could be drawn
quite tight. We also had two spare cables, which could be stretched
over the roof if the gales were too severe. The two ventilating pipes
and the chimney were secured outside with strong stays.
As will be seen, every precaution was taken to make the hut warm and
comfortable, and to hold it down on the ground. We also took on board
a quantity of loose timber, boards and planks.
Besides the hut we took with us fifteen tents for sixteen men each. Ten
of these were old, but good; they were served out to us from the naval
stores; the other five were new, and we bought them from the army
depots. It was our intention to use the tents as temporary houses;
they were easily and quickly set up, and were strong and warm. On the
voyage to the South Rönne sewed new floors of good, strong canvas to
the five new tents.
All cases of provisions that were intended for winter quarters were
marked and stowed separately in the hold in such a way that they
could be put out on to the ice at once.
We had ten sledges made by a firm of sporting outfitters in
Christiania. They were built like the old Nansen sledges, but rather
broader, and were 12 feet long. The runners were of the best American
hickory, shod with steel. The other parts were of good, tough Norwegian
ash. To each sledge belonged a pair of spare runners, which could
easily be fitted underneath by means of clamps, and as easily removed
when not required. The steel shoeing of the runners was well coated
with red lead, and the spare runners with tar. These sledges were
extremely strongly built, and could stand all kinds of work on every
sort of surface. At that time I did not know the conditions on the
Barrier as I afterwards came to know them. Of course, these sledges
were very heavy.
We took twenty pairs of ski, all of the finest hickory; they were
8 feet long, and proportionately narrow. I chose them of this length
with a view to being able to cross the numerous cracks in the glaciers;
the greater the surface over which the weight could be distributed, the
better prospect we should have of slipping over the snow-bridges. We
had forty ski-poles, with ebonite points. The ski-bindings were a
combination of the Huitfeldt and the Höyer Ellefsen bindings. We also
had quantities of loose straps.
We had six three-man tents, all made in the navy workshops. The
workmanship could not have been better; they were the strongest and
most practical tents that have ever been used. They were made of the
closest canvas, with the floor in one piece. One man was sufficient to
set up the tent in the stiffest breeze; I have come to the conclusion
that the fewer poles a tent has, the easier it is to set up, which
seems quite natural. These tents have only one pole. How often one
reads in narratives of Polar travel that it took such and such a time
-- often hours -- to set up the tent, and then, when at last it was
up, one lay expecting it to be blown down at any moment. There was
no question of this with our tents. They were up in a twinkling,
and stood against all kinds of wind; we could lie securely in our
sleeping-bags, and let it blow.
The arrangement of the door was on the usual sack principle, which is
now recognized as the only serviceable one for the Polar regions. The
sack patent is quite simple, like all patents that are any good. You
cut an opening in the tent of the size you wish; then you take a sack,
which you leave open at both ends, and sew one end fast round the
opening of the tent. The funnel formed by the open sack is then the
entrance. When you have come in, you gather up the open end of the
funnel or sack, and tie it together. Not a particle of snow can get
into a tent with the floor sewed on and an entrance of this kind,
even in the worst storm.
The cases for sledging provisions were made of fairly thin, tough ash,
which came from the estate of Palsgaard in Jutland, and the material
did all it promised. These cases were 1 foot square and 15 1/2 inches
high. They had only a little round opening on the top, closed with an
aluminium lid, which fitted exactly like the lid of a milk-can. Large
lids weaken the cases, and I had therefore chosen this form. We did
not have to throw off the lashing of the case to get the lid off,
and this is a very great advantage; we could always get at it. A case
with a large lid, covered by the lashing, gives constant trouble;
the whole lashing has to be undone for every little thing one wants
out of the case. This is not always convenient; if one is tired and
slack, it may sometimes happen that one will put off till to-morrow
what ought to be done to-day, especially when it is bitterly cold. The
handier one's sledging outfit, the sooner one gets into the tent and
to rest, and that is no small consideration on a long journey.
Our outfit of clothing was abundant and more complete, I suppose, than
that of any former Polar expedition. We may divide it into two classes,
the outfit for specially low temperatures and that for more moderate
temperatures. It must be remembered that no one had yet wintered on
the Barrier, so we had to be prepared for anything. In order to be
able to grapple with any degree of cold, we were supplied with the
richest assortment of reindeer-skin clothing; we had it specially
thick, medium, and quite light. It took a long time to get these
skin clothes prepared. First the reindeer-skins had to be bought
in a raw state, and this was done for me by Mr. Zappfe at Tromsö,
Karasjok, and Kaatokeino. Let me take the opportunity of thanking
this man for the many and great services he has rendered me, not
only during my preparations for the third voyage of the Fram, but
in the fitting out of the Gjöa expedition as well. With his help
I have succeeded in obtaining things that I should otherwise never
have been able to get. He shrank from no amount of work, but went
on till he had found what I wanted. This time he procured nearly
two hundred and fifty good reindeer-skins, dressed by the Lapps,
and sent them to Christiania. Here I had great trouble in finding
a man who could sew skins, but at last I found one. We then went
to work to make clothes after the pattern of the Netchelli Eskimo,
and the sewing went on early and late -- thick anoraks and thin ones,
heavy breeches and light, winter stockings and summer stockings. We
also had a dozen thin sleeping-bags, which I thought of using inside
the big thick ones if the cold should be too severe. Everything was
finished, but not until the last moment. The outer sleeping-bags were
made by Mr. Brandt, furrier, of Bergen, and they were so excellent,
both in material and making-up, that no one in the world could
have done better; it was a model piece of work. To save this outer
sleeping-bag, we had it provided with a cover of the lightest canvas,
which was a good deal longer than the bag itself. It was easy to tie
the end of the cover together like the mouth of the sack, and this kept
the snow out of the bag during the day's march. In this way we always
kept ourselves free from the annoyance of drifting snow. We attached
great importance to having the bags made of the very best sort of skin,
and took care that the thin skin of the belly was removed. I have seen
sleeping-bags of the finest reindeer-skin spoilt in a comparatively
short time if they contained a few patches of this thin skin, as
of course the cold penetrates more easily through the thin skin,
and gives rise to dampness in the form of rime on meeting the warmth
of the body. These thin patches remain damp whenever one is in the
bag, and in a short time they lose their hair. The damp spreads,
like decay in wood, and continually attacks the surrounding skin,
with the result that one fine day you find yourself with a hairless
sleeping-bag. One cannot be too careful in the choice of skins. For
the sake of economy, the makers of reindeer-skin sleeping-bags are in
the habit of sewing them in such a way that the direction of the hair
is towards the opening of the bag. Of course this suits the shape of
the skins best, but it does not suit the man who is going to use the
bag. For it is no easy matter to crawl into a sleeping-bag which is
only just wide enough to allow one to get in, and if the way of the
hair is against one it is doubly difficult. I had them all made as
one-man bags, with lacing round the neck; this did not, of course,
meet with the approval of all, as will be seen later. The upper
part of this thick sleeping-bag was made of thinner reindeer-skin,
so that we might be able to tie it closely round the neck; the thick
skin will not draw so well and fit so closely as the thin.
Our clothing in moderate temperatures consisted of thick woollen
underclothing and Burberry windproof overalls. This underclothing
was specially designed for the purpose; I had myself watched the
preparation of the material, and knew that it contained nothing
but pure wool. We had overalls of two different materials: Burberry
"gabardine" and the ordinary green kind that is used in Norway in the
winter. For sledge journeys, where one has to save weight, and to work
in loose, easy garments, I must unhesitatingly recommend Burberry. It
is extraordinarily light and strong, and keeps the wind completely
out. For hard work I prefer the green kind. It keeps out the wind
equally well, but is heavier and more bulky, and less comfortable
to wear on a long march. Our Burberry wind-clothes were made in the
form of anorak (blouse) and trousers, both very roomy. The others
consisted of trousers and jacket with hood.
Our mits were for the most part such as one can buy in any shop; we
wanted nothing else in and around winter quarters. Outside the mits
we wore an outer covering of windproof material, so as not to wear
them out too quickly. These mits are not very strong, though they are
good and warm. Besides these, we had ten pairs of ordinary kid mits,
which were bought at a glove-shop in Christiania, and were practically
impossible to wear out. I wore mine from Framheim to the Pole and back
again, and afterwards on the voyage to Tasmania. The lining, of course,
was torn in places, but the seams of the mits were just as perfect as
the day I bought them. Taking into consideration the fact that I went
on ski the whole way and used two poles, it will be understood that
the mits were strongly made. We also had a number of woollen gloves,
which, curiously enough, the others greatly prized. For myself, I was
never able to wear such things; they simply freeze the fingers off me.
But most important of all is the covering of the feet, for the feet
are the most exposed members and the most difficult to protect. One
can look after the hands; if they grow cold it is easy to beat them
into warmth again. Not so with the feet; they are covered up in the
morning, and this is a sufficiently troublesome piece of work to make
one disinclined to undo it again until one is turning in. They cannot
be seen in the course of the day, and one has to depend entirely on
feeling; but feeling in this case often plays curious tricks. How
often has it happened that men have had their feet
frozen off without knowing it! For if they had known it, they could not
possibly have let it go so far. The fact is that in this case sensation
is a somewhat doubtful guide, for the feet lose all sensation. It
is true that there is a transitional stage, when one feels the
cold smarting in one's toes, and tries to get rid of it by stamping
the feet. As a rule this is successful; the warmth returns, or the
circulation is restored; but it occasionally happens that sensation is
lost at the very moment when these precautions are taken. And then one
must be an old hand to know what has happened. Many men conclude that,
as they no longer feel the unpleasant smarting sensation, all is well;
and at the evening inspection a frozen foot of tallow-like appearance
presents itself. An event of this kind may ruin the most elaborately
prepared enterprise, and it is therefore advisable in the matter of
feet to carry one's caution to lengths which may seem ridiculous.
Now, it is a fact that if one can wear soft foot-gear exclusively
the risk of frost-bite is far less than if one is compelled to wear
stiff boots; in soft foot-gear, of course, the foot can move far more
easily and keep warm. But we were to take ski and to get full use
out of them, so that in any case we had to have a stiff sole for the
sake of the bindings. It is of no use to have a good binding unless
you can use it in the right way. In my opinion, on a long journey
such as that we had before us, the ski must be perfectly steady. I
do not know anything that tires me more than a bad fastening -- that
is, one that allows the foot to shift in the binding. I want the
ski to be a part of oneself, so that one always has full command of
them. I have tried many patents, for I have always been afraid of a
stiff fastening in cold temperatures; but all these patents, without
exception, are worthless in the long-run. I decided this time to
try a combination of stiff and soft foot-gear, so that we could use
the splendid Huitfeldt-Höyer Ellefsen bindings; but this was no easy
matter. Of our whole outfit nothing caused me more worry or gave us
all more work in the course of the expedition than the stiff outer
covering which we had to have; but we solved the problem at last. I
applied to one of the leading makers of ski-boots in Christiania, and
explained the difficulty to him; fortunately I had found a man who
was evidently interested in the question. We agreed that he should
make a sample pair after the pattern of ski-boots. The sole was to
be thick and stiff -- for we had to be prepared to use crampons --
but the uppers as soft as possible. In order to avoid leather, which
usually becomes stiff and easily cracked in the cold, he was to use
a combination of leather and thin canvas for the uppers -- leather
nearest the sole, and canvas above it.
The measurements were taken from my foot, which is not exactly a
child's foot, with two pairs of reindeer-skin stockings on, and ten
pairs were made. I well remember seeing these boots in civilized
Christiania. They were exhibited in the bootmaker's windows -- I
used to go a long way round to avoid coming face to face with these
monsters in public. We are all a trifle vain, and dislike having our
own shortcomings shown up in electric light. If I had ever cherished
any illusions on the subject of "a dainty little foot," I am sure the
last trace of such vanity died out on the day I passed the shoemaker's
window and beheld my own boots. I never went that way again until
I was certain that the exhibition was closed. One thing is certain,
that the boots were a fine piece of workmanship. We shall hear later
on of the alterations they had to undergo before we at last made them
as large as we wanted, for the giant boots turned out much too small!
Among other equipment I must mention our excellent Primus cooking
apparatus. This all came complete from a firm in Stockholm. For cooking
on sledge journeys the Primus stove ranks above all others; it gives
a great deal of heat, uses little oil, and requires no attention --
advantages which are important enough anywhere, but especially when
sledging. There is never any trouble with this apparatus; it has come
as near perfection as possible. We took five Nansen cookers with
us. This cooker utilizes the heat more completely than any other;
but I have one objection to make to it -- it takes up space. We used
it on our depot journeys, but were unfortunately obliged to give it up
on the main southern journey. We were so many in a tent, and space was
so limited, that I dared not risk using it. If one has room enough,
it is ideal in my opinion.
We had with us ten pairs of snow-shoes and one hundred sets of
dog-harness of the Alaska Eskimo pattern. The Alaska Eskimo drive
their dogs in tandem; the whole pull is thus straight ahead in the
direction the sledge is going, and this is undoubtedly the best way of
utilizing the power. I had made up my mind to adopt the same system
in sledging on the Barrier. Another great advantage it had was that
the dogs would pass singly across fissures, so that the danger of
falling through was considerably reduced. The exertion of pulling is
also less trying with Alaska harness than with the Greenland kind,
as the Alaska harness has a shallow, padded collar, which is slipped
over the animal's head and makes the weight of the pull come on his
shoulders, whereas the Greenland harness presses on his chest. Raw
places, which occur rather frequently with the Greenland harness, are
almost entirely avoided with the other. All the sets of harness were
made in the navy workshops, and after their long and hard use they
are as good as ever. There could be no better recommendation than this.
Of instruments and apparatus for the sledge journeys we carried
two sextants, three artificial horizons, of which two were glass
horizons with dark glasses, and one a mercury horizon, and four spirit
compasses, made in Christiania. They were excellent little compasses,
but unfortunately useless in cold weather -- that is to say, when the
temperature went below -40° F.; at this point the liquid froze. I had
drawn the maker's attention to this beforehand and asked him to use as
pure a spirit as possible. What his object was I still do not know,
but the spirit he employed was highly dilute. The best proof of this
was that the liquid in our compasses froze before the spirits in a
flask. We were naturally inconvenienced by this. Besides these we had
an ordinary little pocket-compass, two pairs of binoculars, one by
Zeiss and the other by Goertz, and snow-goggles from Dr. Schanz. We
had various kinds of glasses for these, so that we could change when
we were tired of one colour. During the whole stay on the Barrier I
myself wore a pair of ordinary spectacles with yellow glasses of quite
a light tint. These are prepared by a chemical process in such a way
that they nullify the harmful colours in the sun's rays. How excellent
these glasses are appears clearly enough from the fact that I never
had the slightest touch of snow-blindness on the southern journey,
although the spectacles were perfectly open and allowed the light to
enter freely everywhere. It will perhaps be suggested that I am less
susceptible to this ailment than others, but I know from personal
experience that such is not the case. I have previously had several
severe attacks of snow-blindness.
We had two photographic cameras, an air thermometer, two aneroids with
altitude scale to 15,000 feet, and two hypsometers. The hypsometer
is only an instrument for determining the boiling-point, which gives
one the height above the sea. The method is both simple and reliable.
The medical stores for sledging were given by a London firm,
and the way in which the things were packed speaks for the whole
outfit. There is not a speck of rust on needles, scissors, knives,
or anything else, although they have been exposed to much damp. Our
own medical outfit, which was bought in Christiania, and according
to the vendor's statement unusually well packed, became in a short
time so damaged that the whole of it is now entirely spoilt.
The sledging provisions must be mentioned briefly. I have already
spoken of the pemmican. I have never considered it necessary to
take a whole grocer's shop with me when sledging; the food should be
simple and nourishing, and that is enough -- a rich and varied menu
is for people who have no work to do. Besides the pemmican, we had
biscuits, milk-powder, and chocolate. The biscuits were a present
from a well-known Norwegian factory, and did all honour to their
origin. They were specially baked for us, and were made of oatmeal with
the addition of dried milk and a little sugar; they were extremely
nourishing and pleasant to the taste. Thanks to efficient packing,
they kept fresh and crisp all the time. These biscuits formed a great
part of our daily diet, and undoubtedly contributed in no small degree
to the successful result. Milk-powder is a comparatively new commodity
with us, but it deserves to be better known. It came from the district
of Jæderen. Neither heat nor cold, dryness nor wet, could hurt it;
we had large quantities of it lying out in small, thin linen bags in
every possible state of the weather: the powder was as good the last
day as the first. We also took dried milk from a firm in Wisconsin;
this milk had an addition of malt and sugar, and was, in my opinion,
excellent; it also kept good the whole time. The chocolate came from
a world-renowned firm, and was beyond all praise. The whole supply
was a very acceptable gift.
We are bringing all the purveyors of our sledging provisions samples
of their goods that have made the journey to the South Pole and back,
in gratitude for the kind assistance they afforded us.
CHAPTER III
On the Way to the South
The month of May, 1910, ran its course, beautiful as only a spring
month in Norway can be -- a lovely dream of verdure and flowers. But
unfortunately we had little time to admire all the splendour that
surrounded us; our watchword was "Away" -- away from beautiful sights,
as quickly as possible.
From the beginning of the month the Fram lay moored to her buoy
outside the old walls of Akershus. Fresh and trim she came from the
yard at Horten; you could see the shine on her new paint a long way
off. Involuntarily one thought of holidays and yachting tours at the
sight of her; but the thought was soon banished. The first day after
her arrival, the vessel's deck assumed the most everyday appearance
that could be desired: the loading had begun.
A long procession of cases of provisions made its way unceasingly
from the basement of the Historical Museum down into the roomy hold
of the Fram, where Lieutenant Nilsen and the three Nordlanders were
ready to receive them. This process was not an altogether simple one;
on the contrary, it was a very serious affair. It was not enough to
know that all the cases were duly on board; the problem was to know
exactly where each particular case was placed, and, at the same time,
to stow them all in such a way that they could easily be got at in
future. This was a difficult piece of work, and it was not rendered
any more easy by the attention that had to be paid to the numerous
hatches leading down into the lower hold, where the big petroleum
tanks stood. All these hatches had to be left accessible, otherwise
we should have been cut off from pumping the oil into the engine-room.
However, Nilsen and his assistants accomplished their task with
brilliant success. Among the hundreds of cases there was not one that
was misplaced; not one that was stowed so that it could not instantly
be brought into the light of day.
While the provisioning was going on, the rest of the equipment was
also being taken on board. Each member of the expedition was busily
engaged in looking after the needs of his own department in the best
way possible. Nor was this a question of trifles: one may cudgel one's
brains endlessly in advance, but some new requirement will constantly
be cropping up -- until one puts a full stop to it by casting off
and sailing. This event was becoming imminent with the arrival of June.
The day before leaving Christiania we had the honour and pleasure
of receiving a visit from the King and Queen of Norway on board the
Fram. Having been informed beforehand of their Majesties' coming, we
endeavoured as far as possible to bring some order into the chaos that
reigned on board. I do not know that we were particularly successful,
but I am sure that every one of the Fram's crew will always remember
with respectful gratitude King Haakon's cordial words of farewell.
On the same occasion the expedition received from their Majesties
the gift of a beautiful silver jug, which afterwards formed the most
handsome ornament of our table on every festive occasion.
On June 3, early in the forenoon, the Fram left Christiania, bound
at first for my home on Bundefjord. The object of her call there was
to take on board the house for the winter station, which stood ready
built in the garden. Our excellent carpenter Jörgen Stubberud had
superintended the construction of this strong building. It was now
rapidly taken to pieces, and every single plank and beam was carefully
numbered. We had quite an imposing pile of materials to get aboard,
where even before there was not much room to spare. The bulk of it
was stowed forward, and the remainder in the hold.
The more experienced among the members of the expedition were evidently
absorbed in profound conjectures as to the meaning of this "observation
house," as the newspapers had christened it. It may willingly be
admitted that they had good reason for their speculations. By an
observation house is usually meant a comparatively simple construction,
sufficient to provide the necessary shelter from wind and weather. Our
house, on the other hand, was a model of solidity, with three double
walls, double roof and floor. Its arrangements included ten inviting
bunks, a kitchener, and a table; the latter, moreover, had a brand-new
American-cloth cover. "I can understand that they want to keep
themselves warm when they're making observations," said Helmer Hanssen;
"but what they want with a cloth on the table I can't make out."
On the afternoon of June 6 it was announced that everything was ready,
and in the evening we all assembled at a simple farewell supper in
the garden. I took the opportunity of wishing good luck to every man
in turn, and finally we united in a
"God preserve the King and Fatherland!"
Then we broke up. The last man to get into the boat was the second
in command; he arrived armed with a horseshoe. In his opinion it is
quite incredible what luck an old horseshoe will bring. Possibly he
is right. Anyhow, the horseshoe was firmly nailed to the mast in the
Fram's saloon, and there it still hangs.
When on board, we promptly set to work to get up the anchor. The
Bolinder motor hummed, and the heavy cable rattled in through the
hawse-hole. Precisely at midnight the anchor let go of the bottom,
and just as the Seventh of June[3], rolled in over us, the Fram stood
out of Christiania Fjord for the third time. Twice already had a band
of stout-hearted men brought this ship back with honour after years
of service. Would it be vouchsafed to us to uphold this honourable
tradition? Such were, no doubt, the thoughts with which most of us
were occupied as our vessel glided over the motionless fjord in the
light summer night. The start was made under the sign of the Seventh
of June, and this was taken as a promising omen; but among our bright
and confident hopes there crept a shadow of melancholy. The hillsides,
the woods, the fjord -- all were so bewitchingly fair and so dear to
us. They called to us with their allurement, but the Diesel motor knew
no pity. Its tuff-tuff went on brutally through the stillness. A little
boat, in which were some of my nearest relations, dropped gradually
astern. There was a glimpse of white handkerchiefs in the twilight,
and then -- farewell!
The next morning we were moored in the inner harbour at Horten. An
apparently innocent lighter came alongside at once, but the lighter's
cargo was not quite so innocent as its appearance. It consisted
of no less than half a ton of gun-cotton and rifle ammunition,
a somewhat unpleasant, but none the less necessary, item of our
equipment. Besides taking on board the ammunition, we availed
ourselves of the opportunity of completing our water-supply. When
this was done, we lost no time in getting away. As we passed the
warships lying in the harbour they manned ship, and the bands played
the National Anthem. Outside Vealös we had the pleasure of waving a
last farewell to a man to whom the expedition will always owe a debt
of gratitude, Captain Christian Blom, Superintendent of the dockyard,
who had supervised the extensive repairs to the Fram with unrelaxing
interest and obligingness. He slipped past us in his sailing-boat;
I do not remember if he got a cheer. If he did not, it was a mistake.
Now we were on our way to the South, as the heading of this
chapter announces, though not yet in earnest. We had an additional
task before us: the oceanographical cruise in the Atlantic. This
necessitated a considerable détour on the way. The scientific results
of this cruise will be dealt with by specialists in due course;
if it is briefly referred to here, this is chiefly for the sake
of continuity. After consultation with Professor Nansen, the plan
was to begin investigations in the region to the south of Ireland,
and thence to work our way westward as far as time and circumstances
permitted. The work was to be resumed on the homeward voyage in the
direction of the North of Scotland. For various reasons this programme
afterwards had to be considerably reduced.
For the first few days after leaving Norway we were favoured with
the most splendid summer weather. The North Sea was as calm as a
millpond; the Fram had little more motion than when she was lying
in Bundefjord. This was all the better for us, as we could hardly be
said to be absolutely ready for sea when we passed Færder, and came
into the capricious Skagerak. Hard pressed as we had been for time,
it had not been possible to lash and stow the last of our cargo as
securely as was desirable; a stiff breeze at the mouth of the fjord
would therefore have been rather inconvenient. As it was, everything
was arranged admirably, but to do this we had to work night and day. I
have been told that on former occasions sea-sickness made fearful
ravages on board the Fram, but from this trial we also had an easy
escape. Nearly all the members of the expedition were used to the sea,
and the few who, perhaps, were not so entirely proof against it had a
whole week of fine weather to get into training. So far as I know, not
a single case occurred of this unpleasant and justly dreaded complaint.
After passing the Dogger Bank we had a very welcome north-east breeze;
with the help of the sails we could now increase the not very reckless
speed that the motor was capable of accomplishing. Before we sailed,
the most contradictory accounts were current of the Fram's sailing
qualities. There were some who asserted that the ship could not be
got through the water at all, while with equal force the contrary
view was maintained -- that she was a notable fast sailer. As might
be supposed, the truth as usual lay about half-way between these two
extremes. The ship was no racer, nor was she an absolute log. We
ran before the north-east wind towards the English Channel at a
speed of about seven knots, and with that we were satisfied for the
time being. The important question for us was whether we should keep
the favourable wind till we were well through the Straits of Dover,
and, preferably, a good way down Channel. Our engine power was far
too limited to make it of any use trying to go against the wind,
and we should have been obliged in that case to have recourse to the
sailing-ship's method -- beating. Tacking in the English Channel -- the
busiest part of the world's seas -- is in itself no very pleasant work;
for us it would be so much the worse, as it would greatly encroach on
the time that could be devoted to oceanographical investigations. But
the east wind held with praiseworthy steadiness. In the course of a
few days we were through the Channel, and about a week after leaving
Norway we were able to take the first oceanographical station at the
point arranged according to the plan. Hitherto everything had gone
as smoothly as we could wish, but now, for a change, difficulties
began to appear, first in the form of unfavourable weather When the
north-wester begins to blow in the North Atlantic, it is generally a
good while before it drops again, and this time it did not belie its
reputation. Far from getting to the westward, we were threatened for
a time with being driven on to the Irish coast. It was not quite so
bad as that, but we soon found ourselves obliged to shorten the route
originally laid down very considerably. A contributing cause of this
determination was the fact that the motor was out of order. Whether it
was the fault of the oil or a defect in the engine itself our engineer
was not clear. It was therefore necessary to make for home in good
time, in case of extensive repairs being required. In spite of these
difficulties, we had a quite respectable collection of samples of
water and temperatures at different depths before we set our course
for Norway at the beginning of July, with Bergen as our destination.
During the passage from the Pentland Firth we had a violent gale from
the north, which gave us an opportunity of experiencing how the Fram
behaved in bad weather. The trial was by no means an easy one. It
was blowing a gale, with a cross sea; we kept going practically
under full sail, and had the satisfaction of seeing our ship make
over nine knots. In the rather severe rolling the collar of the mast
in the fore-cabin was loosened a little; this let the water in, and
there was a slight flooding of Lieutenant Nilsen's cabin and mine. The
others, whose berths were to port, were on the weather side, and kept
dry. We came out of it all with the loss of a few boxes of cigars,
which were wet through. They were not entirely lost for all that;
Rönne took charge of them, and regaled himself with salt and mouldy
cigars for six months afterwards. Going eight or nine knots an hour,
we did not make much of the distance between Scotland and Norway. On
the afternoon of Saturday, July 9, the wind dropped, and at the same
time the lookout reported land in sight. This was Siggen on Bömmelö. In
the course of the night we came under the coast, and on Sunday morning,
July 10, we ran into Sælbjömsfjord. We had no detailed chart of this
inlet, but after making a great noise with our powerful air-siren,
we at last roused the inmates of the pilot-station, and a pilot
came aboard. He showed visible signs of surprise when he found out,
by reading the name on the ship's side, that it was the Fram he had
before him. "Lord, I thought you were a Russian!" he exclaimed. This
supposition was presumably intended to serve as a sort of excuse for
his small hurry in coming on board.
It was a lovely trip through the fjords to Bergen, as warm and
pleasant in here as it had been bitter and cold outside. We had a
dead calm all day, and with the four knots an hour, which was all
the motor could manage, it was late in the evening when we anchored
off the naval dockyard in Solheimsvik. Our stay in Bergen happened
at the time of the exhibition, and the committee paid the expedition
the compliment of giving all its members free passes.
Business of one kind and another compelled me to go to Christiania,
leaving the Fram in charge of Lieutenant Nilsen. They had their
hands more than full on board. Diesel's firm in Stockholm sent their
experienced fitter, Aspelund, who at once set to work to overhaul the
motor thoroughly. The work that had to be done was executed gratis by
the Laxevaag engineering works. After going into the matter thoroughly,
it was decided to change the solar oil we had on board for refined
petroleum. Through the courtesy of the West of Norway Petroleum
Company, we got this done on very favourable terms at the company's
storage dock in Skaalevik. This was troublesome work, but it paid in
the future.
The samples of water from our trip were taken to the biological
station, where Kutschin at once went to work with the filtering
(determination of the proportion of chlorine).
Our German shipmate, the oceanographer Schroer, left us at Bergen. On
July 23 the Fram left Bergen, and arrived on the following day at
Christiansand, where I met her. Here we again had a series of busy
days. In one of the Custom-house warehouses were piled a quantity
of things that had to go on board: no less than 400 bundles of dried
fish, all our ski and sledging outfit, a waggon-load of timber, etc. At
Fredriksholm, out on Flekkerö, we had found room for perhaps the most
important of all -- the passengers, the ninety-seven Eskimo dogs,
which had arrived from Greenland in the middle of July on the steamer
Hans Egede. The ship had had a rather long and rough passage, and the
dogs were not in very good condition on their arrival, but they had
not been many days on the island under the supervision of Hassel and
Lindström before they were again in full vigour. A plentiful supply
of fresh meat worked wonders. The usually peaceful island, with the
remains of the old fortress, resounded day by day, and sometimes at
night, with the most glorious concerts of howling. These musical
performances attracted a number of inquisitive visitors, who were
anxious to submit the members of the chorus to a closer examination,
and therefore, at certain times, the public were admitted to see the
animals. It soon turned out that the majority of the dogs, far from
being ferocious or shy, were, on the contrary, very appreciative of
these visits. They sometimes came in for an extra tit-bit in the form
of a sandwich or something of the sort. Besides which, it was a little
diversion in their life of captivity, so uncongenial to an Arctic dog;
for every one of them was securely chained up. This was necessary,
especially to prevent fighting among themselves. It happened not
infrequently that one or more of them got loose, but the two guardians
were always ready to capture the runaways. One enterprising rascal
started to swim over the sound to the nearest land -- the object of
his expedition was undoubtedly certain unsuspecting sheep that were
grazing by the shore -- but his swim was interrupted in time.
After the Fram's arrival Wisting took over the position of dog-keeper
in Hassel's place. He and Lindström stayed close to the island where
the dogs were. Wisting had a way of his own with his four-footed
subjects, and was soon on a confidential footing with them. He also
showed himself to be possessed of considerable veterinary skill -- an
exceedingly useful qualification in this case, where there was often
some injury or other to be attended to. As I have already mentioned,
up to this time no member of the expedition, except Lieutenant Nilsen,
knew anything of the extension of plan that had been made. Therefore,
amongst the things that came on board, and amongst the preparations
that were made during our stay at Christiansand, there must have
been a great deal that appeared very strange to those who, for the
present, were only looking forward to a voyage round Cape Horn to San
Francisco. What was the object of taking all these dogs on board and
transporting them all that long way? And if it came to that, would any
of them survive the voyage round the formidable promontory? Besides,
were there not dogs enough, and good dogs too, in Alaska? Why was
the whole after-deck full of coal? What was the use of all these
planks and boards? Would it not have been much more convenient to
take all that kind of goods on board in 'Frisco? These and many
similar questions began to pass from man to man; indeed, their very
faces began to resemble notes of interrogation. Not that anyone asked
me -- far from it; it was the second in command who had to bear the
brunt and answer as well as he could -- an extremely thankless and
unpleasant task for a man who already had his hands more than full.
In order to relieve his difficult situation, I resolved, shortly before
leaving Christiansand, to inform Lieutenants Prestrud and Gjertsen
of the true state of affairs. After having signed an undertaking of
secrecy, they received full information of the intended dash to the
South Pole, and an explanation of the reasons for keeping the whole
thing secret. When asked whether they wished to take part in the
new plan, they both answered at once in the affirmative, and that
settled it.
There were now three men on board -- all the officers -- who were
acquainted with the situation, and were thus in a position to parry
troublesome questions and remove possible anxieties on the part of
the uninitiated.
Two of the members of the expedition joined during the stay at
Christiansand -- Hassel and Lindström -- and one change was made:
the engineer Eliassen was discharged. It was no easy matter to find
a man who possessed the qualifications for taking over the post of
engineer to the Fram. Few, or perhaps no one, in Norway could be
expected to have much knowledge of motors of the size of ours. The
only thing to be done was to go to the place where the engine was
built -- to Sweden. Diesel's firm in Stockholm helped us out of the
difficulty; they sent us the man, and it afterwards turned out that
he was the right man. Knut Sundbeck was his name. A chapter might be
written on the good work that man did, and the quiet, unostentatious
way in which he did it. From the very beginning he had assisted in
the construction of the Fram's motor, so that he knew his engine
thoroughly. He treated it as his darling; therefore there was never
anything the matter with it. It may truly be said that he did honour
to his firm and the nation to which he belongs.
Meanwhile we were hard at work, getting ready to sail. We decided to
leave before the middle of August -- the sooner the better.
The Fram had been in dry dock, where the hull was thoroughly coated
with composition. Heavily laden as the ship was, the false keel was
a good deal injured by the severe pressure on the blocks, but with
the help of a diver the damage was quickly made good.
The many hundred bundles of dried fish were squeezed into the main
hold, full as it was. All sledging and ski outfit was carefully stowed
away, so as to be protected as far as possible from damp. These
things had to be kept dry, otherwise they, would become warped and
useless. Bjaaland had charge of this outfit, and he knew how it should
be treated.
As is right and proper, when all the goods had been shipped, it was
the turn of the passengers. The Fram was anchored off Fredriksholm,
and the necessary preparations were immediately made for receiving
our four-footed friends. Under the expert direction of
Bjaaland and Stubberud, as many as possible of the crew were set to
work with axe and saw, and in the course of a few hours the Fram had
got a new deck. This consisted of loose pieces of decking, which could
easily be raised and removed for flushing and cleaning. This false
deck rested on three-inch planks nailed to the ship's deck; between
the latter and the loose deck there was therefore a considerable space,
the object of which was a double one -- namely, to let the water, which
would unavoidably be shipped on such a voyage, run off rapidly, and
to allow air to circulate, and thus keep the space below the animals
as cool as possible. The arrangement afterwards proved very successful.
The bulwarks on the fore-part of the Fram's deck consisted of an iron
railing covered with wire-netting. In order to provide both shade and
shelter from the wind, a lining of boards was now put up along the
inside of the railing, and chains were fastened in all possible and
impossible places to tie the dogs up to. There could be no question of
letting them go loose -- to begin with, at any rate; possibly, we might
hope to be able to set them free later on, when they knew their masters
better and were more familiar with their surroundings generally.
Late in the afternoon of August 9 we were ready to receive our new
shipmates, and they were conveyed across from the island in a big
lighter, twenty at a time. Wisting and Lindström superintended the
work of transport, and maintained order capitally. They had succeeded
in gaining the dogs' confidence, and at the same time their complete
respect -- just what was wanted, in fact. At the Fram's gangway the
dogs came in for an active and determined reception, and before they
had recovered from their surprise and fright, they were securely
fastened on deck and given to understand with all politeness that
the best thing they could do for the time being was to accept the
situation with calmness. The whole proceeding went so rapidly that
in the course of a couple of hours we had all the ninety-seven dogs
on board and had found room for them; but it must be added that the
Fram's deck was utilized to the utmost. We had thought we should be
able to keep the bridge free, but this could not be done if we were
to take them all with us. The last boat-load, fourteen in number, had
to be accommodated there. All that was left was a little free space
for the man at the wheel. As for the officer of the watch, it looked
as if he would be badly off for elbow-room; there was reason to fear
that he would be compelled to kill time by standing stock-still in
one spot through the whole watch; but just then there was no time for
small troubles of this sort. No sooner was the last dog on board than
we set about putting all visitors ashore, and then the motor began
working the windlass under the forecastle. "The anchor's up!" Full
speed ahead, and the voyage towards our goal, 16,000 miles away,
was begun. Quietly and unobserved we went out of the fjord at dusk;
a few of our friends accompanied us out.
After the pilot had left us outside Flekkerö, it was not long before
the darkness of the August evening hid the outlines of the country
from our view; but Oxö and Ryvingen flashed their farewells to us
all through the night.
We had been lucky with wind and weather at the commencement of our
Atlantic cruise in the early summer; this time we were, if possible,
even more favoured. It was perfectly calm when we sailed, and the
North Sea lay perfectly calm for several days after. What we had
to do now was to become familiar with and used to, all these dogs,
and this was enormously facilitated by the fact that for the first
week we experienced nothing but fine weather.
Before we sailed there was no lack of all kinds of prophecies of the
evil that would befall us with our dogs. We heard a number of these
predictions; presumably a great many more were whispered about, but
did not reach our ears. The unfortunate beasts were to fare terribly
badly. The heat of the tropics would make short work of the greater
part of them. If any were left, they would have but a miserable respite
before being washed overboard or drowned in the seas that would come
on deck in the west wind belt. To keep them alive with a few bits of
dried fish was an impossibility, etc.
As everyone knows, all these predictions were very far from being
fulfilled; the exact opposite happened. Since then I expect most of us
who made the trip have been asked the question -- Was not that voyage
to the South an excessively wearisome and tedious business? Didn't
you get sick of all those dogs? How on earth did you manage to keep
them alive?
It goes without saying that a five months' voyage in such waters as we
were navigating must necessarily present a good deal of monotony; how
much will depend on what resources one has for providing occupation. In
this respect we had in these very dogs just what was wanted. No doubt
it was work that very often called for the exercise of patience;
nevertheless, like any other work, it furnished diversion and
amusement, and so much the more since we here had to deal with living
creatures that had sense enough fully to appreciate and reciprocate
in their own way any advance that was made to them.
From the very first I tried in every way to insist upon the paramount
importance to our whole enterprise of getting our draught animals
successfully conveyed to our destination. If we had any watchword at
this time it was: "Dogs first, and dogs all the time." The result
speaks best for the way in which this watchword was followed. The
following was the arrangement we made: The dogs, who at first were
always tied up on the same spot, were divided into parties of ten; to
each party one or two keepers were assigned, with full responsibility
for their animals and their treatment. For my own share I took the
fourteen that lived on the bridge. Feeding the animals was a manoeuvre
that required the presence of all hands on deck; it therefore took
place when the watch was changed. The Arctic dog's greatest enjoyment
in life is putting away his food; it may be safely asserted that
the way to his heart lies through his dish of meat. We acted on this
principle, and the result did not disappoint us. After the lapse of
a few days the different squads were the best of friends with their
respective keepers.
As may be supposed, it was not altogether to the taste of the dogs to
stand chained up all the time; their temperament is far too lively for
that. We would gladly have allowed them the pleasure of running about
and thus getting healthy exercise, but for the present we dared not run
the risk of letting the whole pack loose. A little more education was
required first. It was easy enough to win their affection; to provide
them with a good education was of course a more difficult matter. It
was quite touching to see their joy and gratitude when one gave up
a little time to their entertainment. One's first meeting with them
in the morning was specially cordial. Their feelings were then apt
to find vent in a chorus of joyful howls; this was called forth by
the very sight of their masters, but they asked more than that. They
were not satisfied until we had gone round, patting and talking to
every one. If by chance one was so careless as to miss a dog, he at
once showed the most unmistakable signs of disappointment.
There can hardly be an animal that is capable of expressing its
feelings to the same extent as the dog. Joy, sorrow, gratitude,
scruples of conscience, are all reflected as plainly as could be
desired in his behaviour, and above all in his eyes. We human beings
are apt to cherish the conviction that we have a monopoly of what is
called a living soul; the eyes, it is said, are the mirror of this
soul. That is all right enough; but now take a look at a dog's eyes,
study them attentively. How often do we see something "human" in their
expression, the same variations that we meet with in human eyes. This,
at all events, is something that strikingly resembles "soul." We will
leave the question open for those who are interested in its solution,
and will here only mention another point, which seems to show that
a dog is something more than a mere machine of flesh and blood --
his pronounced individuality. There were about a hundred dogs on
board the Fram. Gradually, as we got to know each one of them by
daily intercourse, they each revealed some characteristic trait, some
peculiarity. Hardly two of them were alike, either in disposition or
in appearance. To an observant eye there was here ample opportunity
for the most amusing exercise. If now and then one grew a little
tired of one's fellow-men -- which, I must admit, seldom happened --
there was, as a rule, diversion to be found in the society of the
animals. I say, as a rule; there were, of course, exceptions. It was
not an unmixed pleasure having the whole deck full of dogs for all
those months; our patience was severely tested many a time. But in
spite of all the trouble and inconvenience to which the transport of
the dogs necessarily gave rise, I am certainly right in saying that
these months of sea voyage would have seemed far more monotonous and
tedious if we had been without our passengers.
During the first four or five days we had now been making our way
towards the Straits of Dover, and the hope began to dawn within us
that this time, as last, we should slip through without any great
difficulty. There had been five days of absolute calm; why should it
not last out the week? But it did not. As we passed the lightship at
the western end of the Goodwins the fine weather left us, and in its
place came the south-west wind with rain, fog, and foul weather in
its train. In the course of half an hour it became so thick that it
was impossible to see more than two or three ship's lengths ahead;
but if we could see nothing, we heard all the more. The ceaseless
shrieks of many steam-whistles and sirens told us only too plainly
what a crowd of vessels we were in. It was not exactly a pleasant
situation; our excellent ship had many good points, but they did not
prevent her being extraordinarily slow and awkward in turning. This is
an element of great danger in these waters. It must be remembered that
a possible accident -- whether our own fault or not -- would to us be
absolutely fatal. We had so little time to spare that the resulting
delay might ruin the whole enterprise. An ordinary trading vessel can
take the risk; by careful manoeuvring a skipper can almost always keep
out of the way. Collisions are, as a rule, the result of rashness
or carelessness on one side or the other. The rash one has to pay;
the careful one may perhaps make money out of it. Carefulness on our
part was a matter of course; it would have been a poor consolation
to us if another ship had had to pay for her carelessness. We could
not take that risk; therefore, little as we liked doing so, we put
into the Downs and anchored there.
Right opposite to us we had the town of Deal, then in the height
of its season. The only amusement we had was to observe all these
apparently unconcerned people, who passed their time in bathing, or
walking about the white, inviting sands. They had no need to worry
themselves much about what quarter the wind blew from. Our only wish
was that it would veer, or in any case drop. Our communication with
the land was limited to sending ashore telegrams and letters for home.
By the next morning our patience was already quite exhausted, but
not so with the south-wester. It kept going as steadily as ever,
but it was clear weather, and therefore we decided at once to make
an attempt to get to the west. There was nothing to be done but
to have recourse to the ancient method of beating. We cleared one
point, and then another, but more than that we could not manage for
the time being. We took one bearing after another; no, there was no
visible progress. Off Dungeness we had to anchor again, and once more
console ourselves with the much-vaunted balm of patience. This time
we escaped with passing the night there. The wind now thought fit to
veer sufficiently to let us get out at daybreak, but it was still a
contrary wind, and we had to beat almost all the way down the English
Channel. A whole week was spent in doing these three hundred miles;
that was rather hard, considering the distance we had to go.
I fancy most of us gave a good sigh of relief when at last we were
clear of the Scilly Isles. The everlasting south-west wind was still
blowing, but that did not matter so much now. The main thing was
that we found ourselves in open sea with the whole Atlantic before
us. Perhaps one must have sailed in the Fram to be able fully to
understand what a blessing it was to feel ourselves altogether clear
of the surrounding land and the many sailing-ships in the Channel --
to say nothing of constantly working the ship with a deck swarming with
dogs. On our first voyage through the Channel in June we had caught
two or three carrier pigeons, which had come to rest in the rigging
utterly tired out. On the approach of darkness we were able to get
hold of them without difficulty. Their numbers and marks were noted,
and after they had been taken care of for a couple of days and had
recovered their strength, we let them go. They circled once or twice
round the mast-heads, and then made for the English coast.
I think this episode led to our taking a few carrier pigeons with us
when we left Christiansand; Lieutenant Nilsen, as a former owner of
pigeons, was to take charge of them. Then a nice house was made for
them, and the pigeons lived happily in their new abode on the top
of the whale-boat amidships. Now, in some way or other the second
in command found out that the circulation of air in the pigeon-house
was faulty; to remedy this defect, he one day set the door a little
ajar. Air certainly got into the house, but the pigeons came out. A
joker, on discovering that the birds had flown, wrote up "To Let"
in big letters on the wall of the pigeon-house. The second in command
was not in a very gentle frame of mind that day.
As far as I know, this escape took place in the Channel. The pigeons
found their way home to Norway.
The Bay of Biscay has a bad name among seamen, and it fully deserves
it; that tempestuous corner of the sea conceals for ever in its
depths so many a stout ship and her crew. We for our part, however,
had good hopes of escaping unharmed, considering the time of year,
and our hopes were fulfilled. We had better luck than we dared to
anticipate. Our stubborn opponent, the south-west wind, got tired at
last of trying to stop our progress; it was no use. We went slowly,
it was true, but still we got along. Of the meteorological lessons
of our youth, we especially recalled at that moment the frequent
northerly winds off the coast of Portugal, and as a pleasant surprise
we already had them far up in the Bay. This was an agreeable change
after all our close-hauled tacking in the Channel. The north wind held
almost as bravely as the south-west had done before, and at what was
to our ideas quite a respectable rate, we went southward day after day
towards the fine-weather zone, where we could be sure of a fair wind,
and where a sailor's life is, as a rule, a pleasant one.
For that matter, as far as seamanship was concerned, our work
had gone on smoothly enough, even during these first difficult
weeks. There were always willing and practised hands enough for what
was wanted, even though the work to be done was frequently of a not
very pleasant kind. Take washing decks, for instance. Every seaman
will have something to say about what this is like on board ships
that carry live animals, especially when these are carried on deck,
in the way of all work that has to be done. I have always held the
opinion that a Polar ship ought not, any more than any other vessel,
to be a wholesale establishment for dirt and filth, however many dogs
there may be on board. On the contrary, I should say that on voyages
of this kind it is more than ever vitally necessary to keep one's
surroundings as clean and sweet as possible. The important thing is
to get rid of anything that may have a demoralizing and depressing
effect. The influence of uncleanliness in this way is so well known
that it is needless to preach about it here.
My views were shared by everyone on board the Fram, and everything
was done to act in accordance with them, in spite of what may
be considered great difficulties. Twice a day the whole deck was
thoroughly washed down, besides all the extra turns at odd times with
bucket and scrubber. At least once a week the whole of the loose deck
was taken up, and each separate part of it thoroughly washed, until
it was as clean as when it was laid down at Christiansand. This was
a labour that required great patience and perseverance on the part of
those who had to perform it, but I never saw any shortcomings. "Let's
just see and get it clean," they said.
At night, when it was not always easy to see what one was doing,
it might often happen that one heard some more or less heated
exclamations from those who had to handle coils of rope in working
the ship. I need not hint more explicitly at the cause of them,
if it is remembered that there were dogs lying about everywhere,
who had eaten and drunk well in the course of the day. But after a
time the oaths gave way to jokes. There is nothing in the world that
custom does not help us to get over.
It is the universal practice on board ship to divide the day and
night into watches of four hours; the two watches into which the
crew is divided relieve each other every four hours. But on vessels
that sail to the Arctic Ocean, it is customary to have watches of six
hours. We adopted the latter plan, which, on its being put to the vote,
proved to have a compact majority in its favour. By this arrangement
of watches we only had to turn out twice in the course of twenty-four
hours, and the watch below had had a
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