Farthest North

Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship “Fram” 1893–96 and of a Fifteen Months’ Sleigh Journey by Dr. Nansen and Lieut. Johansen

By Dr. Fridtjof Nansen
With an Appendix by Otto Sverdrup Captain of the Fram

About 120 Full-page and Numerous Text Illustrations 16 Colored Plates in Facsimile from Dr. Nansen’s Own Sketches, Etched Portrait, and Photogravures
In two volumes
Vol. II.
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers

Sailing Kayaks

Copyright, 1897, by Harper & Brothers.

All rights reserved.

Contents of Vol. II.

Appendix

Illustrations in Vol. II.

Appendix

Colored Plates in Vol. II.

Farthest North

Chapter I

We Prepare for the Sledge Expedition

Who are to be the two members of the expedition? Sverdrup and I have tested each other before at this sort of work, and we could manage very well; but we cannot both leave the Fram: that is perfectly clear without further argument. One of us must remain behind to take on himself the responsibility of bringing the others home in safety; but it is equally clear that one of us two must conduct the sledge expedition, as it is we who have the necessary experience. Sverdrup has a great desire to go; but I cannot think otherwise than that there is more risk in leaving the Fram than in remaining on board her. Consequently if I were to let him go, I should be transferring to him the more dangerous task, while keeping the easier one to myself. If he perished, should I ever be able to forgive myself for letting him go, even if it was at his own desire? He is nine years older than I am; I should certainly feel it to be a very uncomfortable responsibility. And as regards our comrades, which of us would it be most to their interest to keep on board? I think they have confidence in both of us, and I think either of us would be able to take them home in safety, whether with or without the Fram. But the ship is his especial charge, while on me rests the conduct of the whole, and especially of the scientific investigations; so that I ought to undertake the task in which important discoveries are to be made. Those who remain with the ship will be able, as aforesaid, to carry on the observations which are to be made on board. It is my duty therefore, to go, and his to remain behind. He, too, thinks this reasonable.

I have chosen Johansen to be my companion, and he is in all respects well qualified for that work. He is an accomplished snow-shoer, and few can equal his powers of endurance—a fine fellow, physically and mentally. I have not yet asked him, but think of doing so soon, in order that he may be prepared betimes. Blessing and Hansen also would certainly be all eagerness to accompany me; but Hansen must remain behind to take charge of the observations, and Blessing cannot desert his post as doctor. Several of the others, too, would do quite well, and would, I doubt not, be willing enough.

This expedition to the north, then, is provisionally decided on. I shall see what the winter will bring us. Light permitting, I should prefer to start in February.

Hjalmar Johansen

(From a photograph taken in December, 1893)

“Sunday, November 18th. It seems as if I could not properly realize the idea that I am really to set out, and that in three months’ time. Sometimes I delude myself with charming dreams of my return home after toil and victory, and then all is clear and bright. Then these are succeeded by thoughts of the uncertainty and deceptiveness of the future and what may be lurking in it, and my dreams fade away like the northern lights, pale and colorless.

“‘Ihr naht euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten.’

“Ugh! These everlasting cold fits of doubt! Before every decisive resolution the dice of death must be thrown. Is there too much to venture, and too little to gain? There is more to be gained, at all events, than there is here. Then is it not my duty? Besides, there is only one to whom I am responsible, and she...? I shall come back, I know it. I have strength enough for the task. ‘Be thou true unto death, and thou shalt inherit the crown of life.’

“We are oddly constructed machines. At one moment all resolution, at the next all doubt.... To-day our intellect, our science, all our ‘Leben und Treiben,’ seem but a pitiful Philistinism, not worth a pipe of tobacco; to-morrow we throw ourselves heart and soul into these very researches, consumed with a burning thirst, to absorb everything into ourselves, longing to spy out fresh paths, and fretting impatiently at our inability to solve the problem fully and completely. Then down we sink again in disgust at the worthlessness of it all.

“‘As a grain of dust on the balance is the whole world; as a drop of morning dew that falls on the ground.’ If man has two souls, which then is the right one?

“It is nothing new to suffer from the fact that our knowledge can be but fragmentary, that we can never fathom what lies behind. But suppose, now, that we could reckon it out, that the inmost secret of it all lay as clear and plain to us as a rule-of-three sum, should we be any the happier? Possibly just the reverse. Is it not in the struggle to attain knowledge that happiness consists? I am very ignorant, consequently the conditions of happiness are mine.

“Let me fill a soothing pipe and be happy.

“No, the pipe is not a success. Twist tobacco is not delicate enough for airy dreams. Let me get a cigar. Oh, if one had a real Havana!

“H’m! as if dissatisfaction, longing, suffering, were not the very basis of life. Without privation there would be no struggle, and without struggle no life, that is as certain as that two and two make four. And now the struggle is to begin; it is looming yonder in the north. Oh, to drink delight of battle in long, deep draughts! Battle means life, and behind it victory beckons us on.

“I close my eyes. I hear a voice singing to me:

“‘In amongst the fragrant birch,

In amongst the flowers’ perfume,

Deep into the pine-wood’s church.’

“Monday, November 19th. Confounded affectation all this Weltschmerz; you have no right to be anything but a happy man. And if you feel out of spirits, it ought to cheer you up simply to go on deck and look at these seven puppies that come frisking and springing about you, and are ready to tear you to pieces in sheer enjoyment of life. Life is sunshine to them, though the sun has long since gone, and they live on deck beneath a tent, so that they cannot even see the stars. There is ‘Kvik,’ the mother of the family, among them, looking so plump and contented as she wags her tail. Have you not as much reason to be happy as they? Yet they too have their misfortunes. The afternoon of the day before yesterday, as I was sitting at work, I heard the mill going round and round, and Peter taking food to the puppies, which, as usual, had a bit of a fight over the meat-pan; and it struck me that the axle of the mill whirling unguarded on the deck was an extremely dangerous affair for them. Ten minutes later I heard a dog howling, a more long-drawn, uncomfortable kind of howl than was usual when they were fighting, and at the same moment the mill slowed down. I rushed out. There I saw a puppy right in the axle, whirling round with it and howling piteously, so that it cut one to the soul. Bentzen was hanging on to the brake-rope, hauling at it with all his might and main; but still the mill went round. My first idea was to seize an axe that was lying there to put the dog out of its misery, its cries were so heartrending; but on second thoughts I hurried on to help Bentzen, and we got the mill stopped. At the same moment Mogstad also came up, and while we held the mill he managed to set the puppy free. Apparently there was still some life in it, and he set to work to rub it gently and coax it. The hair of its coat had somehow or other got frozen on to the smooth steel axle, and the poor beast had been swung round and bumped on the deck at every revolution of the wheel. At last it actually raised its head, and looked round in a dazed way. It had made a good many revolutions, so that it is no wonder if it found some difficulty in getting its bearings at first. Then it raised itself on its fore-paws, and I took it aft to the half-deck and stroked and patted it. Soon it got on all four legs again, and began shambling about, without knowing where it was going.

“‘It is a good thing it was caught by the hair,’ said Bentzen, ‘I thought it was hanging fast by its tongue, as the other one did.’ Only think of being fixed by the tongue to a revolving axle—the mere notion makes one shudder! I took the poor thing down into the saloon and did all I could for it. It soon got all right again, and began playing with its companions as before. A strange life to rummage about on deck in the dark and cold; but whenever one goes up with a lantern they come tearing round, stare at the light, and begin bounding and dancing and gambolling with each other round it, like children round a Christmas-tree. This goes on day after day, and they have never seen anything else than this deck with a tarpaulin over it, not even the clear blue sky; and we men have never seen anything else than this earth!

“The last step over the bridge of resolution has now been taken. In the forenoon I explained the whole matter to Johansen in pretty much the same terms as I have used above; and then I expatiated on the difficulties that might occur, and laid strong emphasis on the dangers one must be prepared to encounter. It was a serious matter—a matter of life or death—this one must not conceal from one’s self. He must think the thing well over before determining whether he would accompany me or not. If he was willing to come I should be glad to have him with me; but I would rather, I said, he should take a day or two to think it well over before he gave me his answer. He did not need any time for reflection, he said; he was quite willing to go. Sverdrup had long ago mentioned the possibility of such an expedition, and he had thought it well over, and made up his mind that if my choice should fall on him he would take it as a great favor to be permitted to accompany me. ‘I don’t know whether you’ll be satisfied with this answer, or whether you would like me still to think it over; but I should certainly never change my mind.’ ‘No, if you have already thought it seriously over—thought what risks you expose yourself to—the chance, for instance, that neither of us may ever see the face of man again—and if you have reflected that even if we get through safe and sound you must necessarily face a great deal of hardship on an expedition like this—if you have made up your mind to all this I don’t insist on your reflecting any longer about it.’ ‘Yes, that I have.’ ‘Well, then, that is settled. To-morrow we shall begin our preparations for the trip. Hansen must see about appointing another meteorological assistant.’

“Tuesday, November 20th. This evening I delivered an address to the whole ship’s company, in which I announced the determination that had been arrived at, and explained to them the projected expedition. First of all, I briefly went through the whole theory of our undertaking, and its history from the beginning, laying stress on the idea on which my plans had been built up—namely, that a vessel which got frozen in north of Siberia must drift across the Polar Sea and out into the Atlantic, and must pass somewhere or other north of Franz Josef Land and between it and the Pole. The object of the expedition was to accomplish this drift across the unknown sea, and to pursue investigations there. I pointed out to them that these investigations would be of equal importance whether the expedition actually passed across the Pole itself or at some distance from it. Judging from our experiences hitherto, we could not entertain any doubt that the expedition would solve the problem it had set before it; everything had up to the present gone according to our anticipations, and it was to be hoped and expected that this would continue to be the case for the remainder of the voyage. We had, therefore, every prospect of accomplishing the principal part of our task; but then the question arose whether more could not be accomplished, and thereupon I proceeded to explain, in much the same terms as I have used above, how this might be effected by an expedition northward.

At the Supper-table, February 14, 1895.

1. Scott-Hansen 2. Johansen 3. Nansen 4. Pettersen 5. Nordahl 6. Amundsen 7. Bentzen 8. Juell 9. Henriksen 10. Mogstad 11. Jacobsen 12. Blessing 13. Sverdrup

(By Johan Nordhagen, from a photograph)

“I had the impression that every one was deeply interested in the projected expedition, and that they all thought it most desirable that it should be attempted. The greatest objection, I think, they would have urged against it, had they been asked, would have been that they themselves could not take part in it. I impressed on them, however, that while it was unquestionably a fine thing to push on as far as possible towards the north, it was no whit less honorable an undertaking to bring the Fram safe and sound right through the Polar Sea, and out on the other side; or if not the Fram, at all events themselves without any loss of life. This done, we might say, without fear of contradiction, that it was well done. I think they all saw the force of this, and were satisfied. So now the die is cast, and I must believe that this expedition will really take place.”

So we set about our preparations for it in downright earnest. I have already mentioned that at the end of the summer I had begun to make a kayak for a single man, the frame of which was of bamboo carefully lashed together. It was rather slow work, and took several weeks, but it turned out both light and strong. When completed the framework weighed 16 pounds. It was afterwards covered with sail-cloth by Sverdrup and Blessing, when the whole boat weighed 30 pounds. After finishing this I had intrusted Mogstad with the task of building a similar one. Johansen and I now set to work to make a cover for it. These kayaks were 3.70 metres (12 feet) long, about O.7 metre (28 inches) wide in the middle, and one was 30 centims. (12 inches) and the other 38 centims. (15 inches) deep. This is considerably shorter and wider than an ordinary Eskimo kayak, and consequently these boats were not so light to propel through the water. But as they were chiefly intended for crossing over channels and open spaces in the ice, and coasting along possible land, speed was not of much importance. The great thing was that the boats should be strong and light, and should be able to carry, in addition to ourselves, provisions and equipments for a considerable time. If we had made them longer and narrower, besides being heavier they would have been more exposed to injury in the course of transport over the uneven ice. As they were built they proved admirably adapted for our purpose. When we loaded them with care we could stow away in them provisions and equipment for three months at least for ourselves, besides a good deal of food for the dogs; and we could, moreover, carry a dog or two on the deck. In other respects they were essentially like the Eskimo kayaks, full decked, save for an aperture in the middle for a man to sit in. This aperture was encircled by a wooden ring, after the Eskimo fashion, over which we could slip the lower part of our sealskin jackets, specially adjusted for this purpose, so that the junction between boat and jacket was water-tight. When these jackets were drawn tight round the wrists and face the sea might sweep right over us without a drop of water coming into the kayak. We had to provide ourselves with such boats in case of having to cross open stretches of sea on our way to Spitzbergen, or, if we chose the other route, between Franz Josef Land and Novaya Zemlya. Besides this aperture in the middle, there were small trap-doors fore and aft in the deck, to enable us to put our hands in and stow the provisions, and also get things out more readily, without having to take out all the freight through the middle aperture, in case what we wanted lay at either extremity. These trap-doors, however, could be closed so as to be quite water-tight. To make the canvas quite impervious to water, the best plan would have been to have sized it, and then painted it externally with ordinary oil paint; but, on the one hand, it was very difficult to do this work in the extreme cold (in the hold the temperature was -20° C., -4° Fahr.), and, on the other hand, I was afraid the paint might render the canvas too hard and brittle, and apt to have holes knocked in it during transport over the ice. Therefore I preferred to steep it in a mixture of paraffin and tallow, which added somewhat to the weight of the kayaks, so that altogether they came to weigh about 36 pounds apiece.

I had, moreover, some hand-sledges made especially for this expedition; they were supple and strong, designed to withstand the severe tests to which an expedition with dogs and heavy freights over the uneven drift-ice would necessarily expose them. Two of these sledges were about the same length as the kayaks—that is, 12 feet. I also made several experiments with respect to the clothes we should wear, and was especially anxious to ascertain whether it would do to go in our thick wolfskin garments, but always came to the conclusion that they were too warm. Thus, on November 29th I write: “Took another walk northward in my wolfskin dress; but it is still too mild (-37.6° C.). I sweated like a horse, though I went fasting and quite gently. It is rather heavy going now in the dark when one cannot use snowshoes. I wonder when it will be cold enough to use this dress.”

On December 9th again we went out on snow-shoes. “It was -41° C. (-41.8° Fahr.). Went in wolfskin dress, but the perspiration poured down our backs enough to turn a mill. Too warm yet; goodness knows if it ever will be cold enough.”

Of course, we made some experiments with the tent and with the cooking apparatus. On December 7th I write: “I pitched the silk tent we are going to take, and used our cooking apparatus in it. From repeated trials it appeared that from ice of -35° C. (-31° Fahr.), we boiled 3 litres of water (5¼ pints), and at the same time melted 5 litres (8¾ pints) in an hour and a half, with a consumption of about 120 grammes of snowflake petroleum. Next day we boiled 2½ litres of water (over 4 pints), and melted 2½ litres in one hour with 100 grammes of snowflake petroleum. Yesterday we made about two litres of excellent oatmeal porridge, and at the same time got some half-melted ice and a little water in little over half an hour, with 50 grammes of snowflake petroleum. Thus there will be no very great consumption of fuel in the day.”

Then I made all kinds of calculations and computations in order to find out what would be the most advantageous kind of provisions for our expedition, where it was of the greatest moment that the food both for dogs and men should be nutritious, and yet should not weigh more than was absolutely necessary. Later on, in the list of our equipments, I shall give the final result of my deliberations on this matter. Besides all this, we had, of course, to consider and test the instruments to be taken with us, and to go into many other matters, which, though perhaps trifles in themselves, were yet absolutely necessary. It is on the felicitous combination of all these trifles that ultimate success depends.

We two passed the greater portion of our time in these preparations, which also kept many of the others pretty busy during the winter. Mogstad, for instance, found steady employment in making sledges and fitting them with runners, etc. Sverdrup busied himself in making sleeping-bags and many other things. Juell was appointed dog-tailor, and when he was not busy in the galley, his time was devoted to taking the measurements of the dogs, making harness for them and testing it. Blessing, too, fitted up for us a small, light medicine-chest, containing selected drugs, bandages, and such other things as might be of use. One man was constantly employed in copying out all our journals and scientific observations, etc., etc., on thin paper in a contracted form, as I wanted, by way of doubly assuring their preservation, to take a copy of them along with me. Hansen was occupied in preparing tabular forms necessary for our observations, curves of the movement of our chronometers, and other such things. Besides this, he was to make a complete chart of our voyage and drifting up to the present time.

Scott-Hansen’s Observatory

I could not, however, lay too great a claim on his valuable time, as it was necessary that he should continue his scientific observations without interruption. During this autumn he had greatly increased the comfort of his work by building, along with Johansen, an observation-hut of snow, not unlike an Eskimo cabin. He found himself very much at his ease in it, with a petroleum lamp hanging from the roof, the light of which, being reflected by the white snow walls, made quite a brilliant show. Here he could manipulate his instruments quietly and comfortably, undisturbed by the biting wind outside. He thought it quite warm there, too, when he could get the temperature up to something like 20° below freezing-point, so that he was able without much inconvenience to adjust his instruments with bare hands. Here he worked away indefatigably at his observations day after day, watching the often mysterious movements of the magnetic needle, which would sometimes give him no end of trouble. One day—it was November 24th—he came into supper a little after 6 o’clock quite alarmed and said, “There has just been a singular inclination of the needle to 24°, and, remarkably enough, its northern extremity pointed to the east. I cannot remember ever having heard of such an inclination.” He also had several others of about 15°. At the same time, through the opening into his observatory he noticed that it was unusually light out-of-doors, and that not only the ship, but the ice in the distance, was as plainly visible as if it had been full moonlight. No aurora, however, could be discerned through the thick clouds that covered the sky. It would appear, then, that this unusual inclination was in some way connected with the northern lights, though it was to the east and not to the west, as usual. There could be no question of any disturbance of the floe on which we were lying; for everything had been perfectly still and quiet, and it is inconceivable that a disturbance which could cause such a remarkable oscillation of two points and back again in so short a space of time should not have been noticed and heard on board. This theory, therefore, is entirely excluded, and the whole matter seems to me, for the present, to be incomprehensible. Blessing and I at once went on deck to look at the sky. Certainly it was so light that we could see the lanes in the ice astern quite plainly; but there was nothing remarkable in that, it happened often enough.

“Friday, November 30th. I found a bear’s track on the ice in front of our bow. The bear had come from the east, trotting very gently along the lane, on the newly frozen ice, but he must have been scared by something or other ahead of the vessel, as he had gone off again with long strides in the same direction in which he had come. Strange that living creatures should be roaming about in this desert. What can they have to do here? If only one had such a stomach one could at least stand a journey to the Pole and back without a meal. We shall probably have him back again soon—that is, if I understand his nature aright—and then perhaps he will come a little closer, so that we may have a good look at him.[1]

“I paced the lane in front of the port bow. It was 348 paces across, and maintained the same width for a considerable distance eastward; nor can it be much narrower for a great distance to the west. Now, when one bears in mind that the lane behind us is also of considerable width, it is rather consoling, after all, to think that the ice does permit of such large openings. There must be room enough to drift, if we only get wind—wind which will never come. On the whole, November has been an uncommonly wretched month. Driven back instead of forward—and yet this month was so good last year. But one can never rely on the seasons in this dreadful sea; taking all in all, perhaps, the winter will not be a bit better than the summer. Yet, it surely must improve—I cannot believe otherwise.

“The skies are clouded with a thick veil, through which the stars barely glisten. It is darker than usual, and in this eternal night we drift about, lonely and forsaken, ‘for the whole world was filled with a shining light and undisturbed activity. Above those men alone brooded nought but depressing night—an image of that gloom which was soon to swallow them up.’

“This dark, deep, silent void is like the mysterious, unfathomable well into which you look for that something which you think must be there, only to meet the reflection of your own eyes. Ugh! the worn-out thoughts you can never get rid of become in the end very wearisome company. Is there no means of fleeing from one’s self, to grasp one single thought—only a single one, which lies outside one’s self—is there no way except death? But death is certain; one day it will come, silent and majestic; it will open Nirvana’s mighty portal, and we shall be swept away into the sea of eternity.

“Sunday, December 2d. Sverdrup has now been ill for some days; during the last day or two he has been laid up in his berth, and is still there. I trust it is nothing serious; he himself thinks nothing of it, nevertheless it is very disquieting. Poor fellow, he lives entirely on oatmeal gruel. It is an intestinal catarrh, which he probably contracted through catching cold on the ice. I am afraid he has been rather careless in this respect. However, he is now improving, so that probably it will soon pass off; but it is a warning not to be over-confident. I went for a long walk this morning along the lane; it is quite a large one, extending a good way to the east, and being of considerable breadth at some points. It is only after walking for a while on the newly frozen ice, where walking is as easy and comfortable as on a well-trodden path, and then coming up to the snow-covered surface of the old ice again, that one thoroughly appreciates for the first time what it means to go without snow-shoes; the difference is something marvellous. Even if I have not felt warm before, I break out into a perspiration after going a short distance over the rough ice. But what can one do? One cannot use snow-shoes; it is so dark that it is difficult enough to grope one’s way about with ordinary boots, and even then one stumbles about or slips down between great blocks of ice.

“I am now reading the various English stories of the polar expeditions during the Franklin period, and the search for him, and I must admit I am filled with admiration for these men and the amount of labor they expended. The English nation, truly, has cause to be proud of them. I remember reading these stories as a lad, and all my boyish fancies were strangely thrilled with longing for the scenery and the scenes which were displayed before me. I am reading them now as a man, after having had a little experience myself; and now, when my mind is uninfluenced by romance, I bow in admiration. There was grit in men like Parry, Franklin, James Ross, Richardson, and last, but not least, in M’Clintock, and, indeed, in all the rest. How well was their equipment thought out and arranged, with the means they had at their disposal! Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. Most of what I prided myself upon, and what I thought to be new, I find they had anticipated. M’Clintock used the same thing forty years ago. It was not their fault that they were born in a country where the use of snow-shoes is unknown, and where snow is scarcely to be found throughout the whole winter. Nevertheless, despite the fact that they had to gain their experience of snow and snow travel during their sojourn up here; despite the fact that they were without snow-shoes and had to toil on as best they could with sledges with narrow runners over uneven snow-covered drift-ice—what distances did they not cover, what fatigues and trials did they not endure! No one has surpassed and scarcely any one approached them, unless, perhaps, the Russians on the Siberian coast; but then they have the great advantage of being natives of a country where snow is not uncommon.

“Friday, December 14th. Yesterday we held a great festivity in honor of the Fram as being the vessel which has attained the highest latitude (the day before yesterday we reached 82° 30′ north latitude).

“The bill of fare at dinner was boiled mackerel, with parsely-butter sauce; pork cutlets and French pease; Norwegian wild strawberries, with rice and milk; Crown malt extract; afterwards coffee. For supper: new bread and currant cake, etc., etc. Later in the evening, a grand concert. Sweets and preserved pears were handed round. The culminating point of the entertainment was reached when a steaming hot and fragrant bowl of cherry-punch was carried in and served round amidst general hilarity. Our spirits were already very high, but this gave color to the whole proceedings. The greatest puzzle to most of them was where the ingredients for the punch, and more particularly the alcohol, had come from.[2]

“Then followed the toasts. First, a long and festive one to ‘The Fram,’ which had now shown what she was capable of. It ran somewhat to this effect: ‘There were many wise men who shook their heads when we started, and sent us ominous farewell greetings. But their head-shakings would have been less vigorous and their evil forebodings milder if they could have seen us at this moment, drifting quietly and at our ease across the most northerly latitudes ever attained by any vessel, and still farther northward. And the Fram is now not only the most northerly vessel on the globe, but has already passed over a large expanse of hitherto unknown regions, many degrees farther north than have ever been reached in this ocean on this side of the Pole. But we hope she will not stop here; concealed behind the mist of the future there are many triumphs in store for us—triumphs which will dawn upon us one by one when their time has come. But we will not speak of this now; we will be content with what has hitherto been achieved, and I believe that the promise implied in Björnson’s greeting to us and to the Fram, when she was launched, has already been fulfilled, and with him we can exclaim:

“‘“Hurrah for the ship and her voyage dread!

Where never before a keel has sped,

Where never before a name was spoken,

By Norway’s name is the silence broken.’”

“‘We could not help a peculiar feeling, almost akin to shame, when comparing the toil and privation, and frequently incredible sufferings, undergone by our predecessors in earlier expeditions with the easy manner in which we are drifting across unknown expanses of our globe larger than it has been the lot of most, if not all, of the former polar explorers to travel over at a stretch. Yes, truly, I think we have every reason to be satisfied with our voyage so far and with the Fram, and I trust we shall be able to bring something back to Norway in return for the trust, the sympathy, and the money which she has expended on us. But let us not on this account forget our predecessors; let us admire them for the way in which they struggled and endured; let us remember that it is only through their labors and achievements that the way has been prepared for the present voyage. It is owing to their collective experience that man has now got so far as to be able to cope to some extent with what has hitherto been his most dangerous and obstinate enemy in the Arctic regions—viz., the drift-ice—and to do so by the very simple expedient of going with it and not against it, and allowing one’s self to be hemmed in by it, not involuntarily, but intentionally, and preparing for it beforehand. On board this vessel we try to cull the fruits of all our predecessors’ experiences. It has taken years to collect them; but I felt that with these I should be enabled to face any vicissitude of fate in unknown waters. I think we have been fortunate. I think we are all of the opinion that there is no imaginable difficulty or obstacle before us that we ought not to be able to overcome with the means and resources we possess on board, and be thus enabled to return at last to Norway safe and sound, with a rich harvest. Therefore let us drink a bumper to the Fram!’

“Next there followed some musical items and a performance by Lars, the smith, who danced a pas seul, to the great amusement of the company. Lars assured us that if he ever reached home again and were present at a gathering similar to those held at Christiania and Bergen on our departure, his legs should be taxed to their uttermost. This was followed by a toast to those at home who were waiting for us year after year, not knowing where to picture us in thought, who were vainly yearning for tidings of us, but whose faith in us and our voyage was still firm—to those who consented to our departure, and who may well be said to have made the greatest sacrifice.

“The festivity continued with music and merriment throughout the evening, and our good humor was certainly not spoiled when our excellent doctor came forward with cigars—a commodity which is getting highly valued up here, as, unfortunately it is becoming very scarce. The only cloud in our existence is that Sverdrup has not yet quite recovered from his catarrh. He must keep strict diet, and this does not at all suit him, poor fellow! He is only allowed wheaten bread, milk, raw bear’s flesh, and oatmeal porridge; whereas if he had his own way he would eat everything, including cake, preserves, and fruit. But he has returned to duty now, and has already been out for a turn on the ice.

“It was late at night when I retired to my cabin, but I was not yet in a fit mood to go to sleep. I felt I must go out and saunter in the wonderful moonlight. Around the moon there was, as usual, a large ring, and above it there was an arc, which just touched it at the upper edge, but the two ends of which curved downward instead of upward. It looked as if it were part of a circle whose centre was situated far below the moon. At the lower edge of the ring there was a large mock moon, or, rather, a large luminous patch, which was most pronounced at the upper part, where it touched the ring, and had a yellow upper edge, from which it spread downward in the form of a triangle. It looked as if it might be an arc of a circle on the lower side of, and in contact with, the ring. Right across the moon there were drifting several luminous cirrus streaks. The whole produced a fantastic effect.

“Saturday, December 22d. The same southeasterly wind has turned into a regular storm, howling and rattling cheerily through the rigging, and we are doubtless drifting northward at a good rate. If I go outside the tent on deck, the wind whistles round my ears, and the snow beats into my face, and I am soon covered with it. From the snow-hut observatory, or even at a lesser distance, the Fram is invisible, and it is almost impossible to keep one’s eyes open, owing to the blinding snow. I wonder whether we have not passed 83°? But I am afraid this joy will not be a lasting one; the barometer has fallen alarmingly, and the wind has generally been up to 13 or 14 metres (44 or 50 feet) per second. About half-past twelve last night the vessel suddenly received a strong pressure, rattling everything on board. I could feel the vibration under me for a long time afterwards while lying in my berth. Finally, I could hear the roaring and grating caused by the ice-pressure. I told the watch to listen carefully, and ascertain where the pressure was, and to notice whether the floe on which we were lying was likely to crack, and whether any part of our equipment was in danger. He thought he could hear the noise of ice-pressure both forward and aft, but it was not easy to distinguish it from the roar of the tempest in the rigging. To-day about 12.30 P.M. the Fram received another violent shock, even stronger than that we had experienced during the night. There was another shake a little later; I suppose there has been a pressure aft, but could hear nothing for the storm. It is odd about this pressure: one would think that the wind was the primary cause; but it recurs pretty regularly, notwithstanding the fact that the spring-tide has not yet set in; indeed, when it commenced a few days ago it was almost a neap-tide. In addition to the pressure of yesterday and last night, we had pressure on Thursday morning at half-past nine and again at half-past eleven. It was so strong that Peter, who was at the sounding-hole, jumped up repeatedly, thinking that the ice would burst underneath him. It is very singular, we have been quiet for so long now that we feel almost nervous when the Fram receives those shocks; everything seems to tremble as if in a violent earthquake.

“Sunday, December 23d. Wind still unchanged, and blowing equally fresh, up to 13 or 14 metres (44 or 47 feet). The snow is drifting and sweeping so that nothing can be distinguished; the darkness is intense. Abaft on the deck there are deep mounds of snow lying round the wheel and the rails, so that when we go up on deck we get a genuine sample of an Arctic winter. The outlook is enough to make you shudder, and feel grateful that instead of having to turn out in such weather, you may dive back again into the tent, and down the companionway into your warm bunk; but soon, no doubt, Johansen and I will have to face it out, day and night, even in such weather as this, whether we like it or not. This morning Pettersen, who has had charge of the dogs this week, came down to the saloon and asked whether some one would come out with him on the ice with a rifle, as he was sure there was a bear. Peter and I went, but we could not find anything. The dogs left off barking when we arrived on the scene, and commenced to play with each other. But Pettersen was right in saying that it was ‘horrid weather,’ it was almost enough to take away one’s breath to face the wind, and the drifting snow forced its way into the mouth and nostrils. The vessel could not be distinguished beyond a few paces, so that it was not advisable to go any distance away from her, and it was very difficult to walk; for, what with snow-drifts and ice-mounds, at one moment you stumbled against the frozen edge of a snow-drift, at another you tumbled into a hole. It was pitch-dark all round. The barometer had been falling steadily and rapidly, but at last it has commenced to rise slightly. It now registers about 726 mm. (28.6 inches). The thermometer, as usual, is describing the inverse curve. In the afternoon it rose steadily until it registered -21.3°C. Now it appears to be falling again a little, but the wind still keeps exactly in the same quarter. It has surely shifted us by now a good way to the north, well beyond the 83d degree. It is quite pleasant to hear the wind whistling and rattling in the rigging overhead. Alas! we know that all terrestrial bliss is short-lived.

“About midnight the mate, who has the watch, comes down and reports that the ice has cracked just beyond the thermometer house, between it and the sounding-hole. This is the same crack that we had in the summer, and it has now burst open again, and probably the whole floe in which we are lying is split from the lane ahead to the lane astern of us. The thermograph and other instruments are being brought on board, so that we may run no risk of losing them in the event of pressure of ice. But otherwise there is scarcely anything that could be endangered. The sounding apparatus is at some distance from the open channel, on the other side. The only thing left there is the shears with the iron block standing over the hole.

“Thursday, December 27th. Christmas has come round again, and we are still so far from home. How dismal it all is! Nevertheless, I am not melancholy. I might rather say I am glad; I feel as if awaiting something great which lies hidden in the future; after long hours of uncertainty I can now discern the end of this dark night; I have no doubt all will turn out successfully, that the voyage is not in vain and the time not wasted, and that our hopes will be realized. An explorer’s lot is, perhaps, hard and his life full of disappointments, as they all say; but it is also full of beautiful moments—moments when he beholds the triumphs of human faith and human will, when he catches sight of the haven of success and peace.

“I am in a singular frame of mind just now, in a state of sheer unrest. I have not felt inclined for writing during the last few days; thoughts come and go, and carry me irresistibly ahead. I can scarcely make myself out, but who can fathom the depths of the human mind. The brain is a puzzling piece of mechanism: ‘We are such stuff as dreams are made of.’ Is it so? I almost believe it—a microcosm of eternity’s infinite ‘stuff that dreams are made of.’

“This is the second Christmas spent far away in the solitude of night, in the realm of death, farther north and deeper into the midst of it than any one has been before. There is something strange in the feeling; and then this, too, is our last Christmas on board the Fram. It makes one almost sad to think of it. The vessel is like a second home, and has become dear to us. Perhaps our comrades may spend another Christmas here, possibly several, without us who will go forth from them into the midst of the solitude. This Christmas passed off quietly and pleasantly, and every one seems to be well content. By no means the least circumstance that added to our enjoyment was that the wind brought us the 83d degree as a Christmas-box. Our luck was, this time, more lasting than I had anticipated; the wind continued fresh on Monday and Tuesday, but little by little it lulled down and veered round to the north and northeast. Yesterday and to-day it has been in the northwest. Well, we must put up with it; one cannot help having a little contrary wind at times, and probably it will not last long.

“Christmas-eve was, of course, celebrated with great feasting. The table presented a truly imposing array of Christmas confectionery: ‘Poor man’s’ pastry, ‘Staghorn’ pastry, honey-cakes, macaroons, ‘Sister’ cake, and what not, besides sweets and the like; many may have fared worse. Moreover, Blessing and I had worked during the day in the sweat of our brow and produced a ‘Polar Champagne 83d Degree,’ which made a sensation, and which we two, at least, believed we had every reason to be proud of, being a product derived from the noble grape of the polar regions—viz., the cloudberry (multer). The others seemed to enjoy it too, and, of course, many toasts were drunk in this noble beverage. Quantities of illustrated books were then brought forth; there was music, and stories, and songs, and general merriment.

“On Christmas day, of course, we had a special dinner. After dinner coffee and curaçao made here on board, and Nordahl then came forward with Russian cigarettes. At night a bowl of cloudberry punch was served out, which did not seem by any means unwelcome. Mogstad played the violin, and Pettersen was electrified thereby to such a degree that he sang and danced to us. He really exhibits considerable talent as a comedian, and has a decided bent towards the ballet. It is astonishing what versatility he displays: engineer, blacksmith, tinsmith, cook, master of ceremonies, comedian, dancer, and, last of all, he has come out in the capacity of a first-class barber and hair-dresser. There was a grand ‘ball’ at night; Mogstad had to play till the perspiration poured from him; Hansen and I had to figure as ladies. Pettersen was indefatigable. He faithfully and solemnly vowed that if he has a pair of boots to his feet when he gets home he will dance as long as the soles hold together.

Musical Entertainment in the Saloon

(From a photograph)

“Day after day, as we progressed with a rattling wind, first from S.E. and later on E.S.E. and E., we felt more anxious to know how far we had got; but there had always been a snow-storm or a cloudy sky, so that we could not make any observations. We were all confident that we must have got a long way up north, but how far beyond the 83d degree no one could tell. Suddenly Hansen was called on deck this afternoon by the news that the stars were visible overhead. All were on the tiptoe of expectation. But when he came down he had only observed one star, which, however, was so near the meridian that he could calculate that, at any rate, we were north of 83° 20′ north latitude, and this communication was received with shouts of joy. If we were not yet in the most northerly latitude ever reached by man, we were, at all events, not far from it. This was more than we had expected, and we were in high spirits. Yesterday, being ‘the Second Christmas-day,’ of course, both on this account and because it was Juell’s birthday, we had a special dinner, with oxtail soup, pork cutlets, red whortleberry preserve, cauliflowers, fricandeau, potatoes, preserved currants, also pastry, and a wonderful iced-almond cake with the words ‘Glædelig Jul’ (A Merry Christmas) on it, from Hansen, baker, Christiania, and then malt extract. We cannot complain that we are faring badly here. About 4 o’clock this morning the vessel received a violent shock which made everything tremble, but no noise of ice-packing was to be heard. At about half-past five I heard at intervals the crackling and crunching of the pack-ice which was surging in the lane ahead. At night similar noises were also heard; otherwise the ice was quiet, and the crack on the port-side has closed up tight again.

“Friday, December 28th. I went out in the morning to have a look at the crack on the port side which has now widened out so as to form an open lane. Of course, all the dogs followed me, and I had not got far when I saw a dark form disappear. This was ‘Pan,’ who rolled down the high steep edge of the ice and fell into the water. In vain he struggled to get out again; all around him there was nothing but snow slush, which afforded no foothold. I could scarcely hear a sound of him, only just a faint whining noise now and then. I leaned down over the edge in order to get near him, but it was too high, and I very nearly went after him head-first; all that I could get hold of was loose fragments of ice and lumps of snow. I called for a seal-hook, but before it was brought to me ‘Pan’ had scrambled out himself, and was leaping to and fro on the floe with all his might to keep himself warm, followed by the other dogs, who loudly barked and gambolled about with him, as though they wished to demonstrate their joy at his rescue. When he fell in they all rushed forward, looking at me and whining; they evidently felt sorry for him and wished me to help him. They said nothing, but just ran up and down along the edge until he got out. At another moment, perhaps, they may all unite in tearing him to pieces; such is canine and human nature. ‘Pan’ was allowed to dry himself in the saloon all the afternoon.

“A little before half-past nine to-night the vessel received a tremendous shock. I went out, but no noise of ice-packing could be heard. However, the wind howled so in the rigging that it was not easy to distinguish any other sound. At half-past ten another shock followed; later on, from time to time, vibrations were felt in the vessel, and towards half-past eleven the shocks became stronger. It was clear that the ice was packing at some place or other about us, and I was just on the point of going out when Mogstad came to announce that there was a very ugly pressure-ridge ahead. We went out with lanterns. Fifty-six paces from the bow there extended a perpendicular ridge stretching along the course of the lane, and there was a terrible pressure going on at the moment. It roared and crunched and crackled all along; then it abated a little and recurred at intervals, as though in a regular rhythm; finally it passed over into a continuous roar. It seemed to be mostly newly frozen ice from the channels which had formed this ridge; but there were also some ponderous blocks of ice to be seen among it. It pressed slowly but surely forward towards the vessel; the ice had given way before it to a considerable distance and was still being borne down little by little. The floe around us has cracked, so that the block of ice in which the vessel is embedded is smaller than it was. I should not like to have that pressure-ridge come in right under the nose of the Fram, as it might soon do some damage. Although there is hardly any prospect of its getting so far, nevertheless I have given orders to the watch to keep a sharp lookout; and if it comes very near, or if the ice should crack under us, he is to call me. Probably the pressure will soon abate, as it has now kept up for several hours. At this moment (12.45 A.M.) there have just been some violent shocks, and above the howling of the wind in the rigging I can hear the roar of the ice-pressure as I lie in my berth.”

[1] He did not return, after all.

[2] We had used for this purpose our pure grape-spirit.

Chapter II

The New Year, 1895

“Wednesday, January 2, 1895. Never before have I had such strange feelings at the commencement of the new year. It cannot fail to bring some momentous events, and will possibly become one of the most remarkable years in my life, whether it leads me to success or to destruction. Years come and go unnoticed in this world of ice, and we have no more knowledge here of what these years have brought to humanity than we know of what the future ones have in store. In this silent nature no events ever happen; all is shrouded in darkness; there is nothing in view save the twinkling stars, immeasurably far away in the freezing night, and the flickering sheen of the aurora borealis. I can just discern close by the vague outline of the Fram, dimly standing out in the desolate gloom, with her rigging showing dark against the host of stars. Like an infinitesimal speck, the vessel seems lost amidst the boundless expanse of this realm of death. Nevertheless, under her deck there is a snug and cherished home for thirteen men undaunted by the majesty of this realm. In there, life is freely pulsating, while far away outside in the night there is nothing save death and silence, only broken now and then, at long intervals, by the violent pressure of the ice as it surges along in gigantic masses. It sounds most ominous in the great stillness, and one cannot help an uncanny feeling as if supernatural powers were at hand, the Jötuns and Rimturser (frost-giants) of the Arctic regions, with whom we may have to engage in deadly combat at any moment; but we are not afraid of them.

“I often think of Shakespeare’s Viola, who sat ‘like Patience on a monument.’ Could we not pass as representatives of this marble Patience, imprisoned here on the ice while the years roll by, awaiting our time? I should like to design such a monument. It should be a lonely man in shaggy wolfskin clothing, all covered with hoar-frost, sitting on a mound of ice, and gazing out into the darkness across these boundless, ponderous masses of ice, awaiting the return of daylight and spring.

“The ice-pressure was not noticeable after 1 o’clock on Friday night until it suddenly recommenced last night. First I heard a rumbling outside, and some snow fell down from the rigging upon the tent roof as I sat reading; I thought it sounded like packing in the ice, and just then the Fram received a violent shock, such as she had not received since last winter. I was rocked backward and forward on the chest on which I was sitting. Finding that the trembling and rumbling continued, I went out. There was a loud roar of ice-packing to the west and northwest, which continued uniformly for a couple of hours or so. Is this the New-year’s greeting from the ice?

“We spent New-year’s-eve cozily, with a cloudberry punch-bowl, pipes, and cigarettes. Needless to say, there was an abundance of cakes and the like, and we spoke of the old and the new year and days to come. Some selections were played on the organ and violin. Thus midnight arrived. Blessing produced from his apparently inexhaustible store a bottle of genuine ‘linje akkevit’ (line eau-de-vie), and in this Norwegian liquor we drank the old year out and the new year in. Of course there was many a thought that would obtrude itself at the change of the year, being the second which we had seen on board the Fram, and also, in all probability, the last that we should all spend together. Naturally enough, one thanked one’s comrades, individually and collectively, for all kindness and good-fellowship. Hardly one of us had thought, perhaps, that the time would pass so well up here. Sverdrup expressed the wish that the journey which Johansen and I were about to make in the coming year might be fortunate and bring success in all respects. And then we drank to the health and well-being in the coming year of those who were to remain behind on board the Fram. It so happened that just now at the turn of the year we stood on the verge of an entirely new world. The wind which whistled up in the rigging overhead was not only wafting us on to unknown regions, but also up into higher latitudes than any human foot had ever trod. We felt that this year, which was just commencing, would bring the culminating-point of the expedition, when it would bear its richest fruits. Would that this year might prove a good year for those on board the Fram; that the Fram might go ahead, fulfilling her task as she has hitherto done; and in that case none of us could doubt that those on board would also prove equal to the task intrusted to them.

“New-year’s-day was ushered in with the same wind, the same stars, and the same darkness as before. Even at noon one cannot see the slightest glimmer of twilight in the south. Yesterday I thought I could trace something of the kind; it extended like a faint gleam of light over the sky, but it was yellowish-white, and stretched too high up; hence I am rather inclined to think that it was an aurora borealis. Again to-day the sky looks lighter near the edge, but this can scarcely be anything except the gleam of the aurora borealis, which extends all round the sky, a little above the fog-banks on the horizon, and which is strongest at the edge. Exactly similar lights may be observed at other times in other parts of the horizon. The air was particularly clear yesterday, but the horizon is always somewhat foggy or hazy. During the night we had an uncommonly strong aurora borealis; wavy streamers were darting in rapid twists over the southern sky, their rays reaching to the zenith, and beyond it there was to be seen for a time a band in the form of a gorgeous corona, casting a reflection like moonshine across the ice. The sky had lit up its torch in honor of the new year—a fairy dance of darting streamers in the depth of night. I cannot help often thinking that this contrast might be taken as typical of the Northman’s character and destiny. In the midst of this gloomy, silent nature, with all its numbing cold, we have all these shooting, glittering, quivering rays of light. Do they not typify our impetuous ‘spring-dances,’ our wild mountain melodies, the auroral gleams in our souls, the rushing, surging, spiritual forces behind the mantle of ice? There is a dawning life in the slumbering night, if it could only reach beyond the icy desert, out over the world.

“Thus 1895 comes in:

“‘Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud;

Turn thy wild wheel thro’ sunshine, storm, and cloud;

Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.

“‘Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;

Frown and we frown, the lords of our own hands;

For man is man and master of his fate.’

“Thursday, January 3d. A day of unrest, a changeful life, notwithstanding all its monotony. But yesterday we were full of plans for the future, and to-day how easily might we have been left on the ice without a roof over our heads! At half-past four, in the morning a fresh rush of ice set in in the lane aft, and at five it commenced in the lane on our port side. About 8 o’clock I awoke, and heard the crunching and crackling of the ice, as if ice-pressure were setting in. A slight trembling was felt throughout the Fram, and I heard the roar outside. When I came out I was not a little surprised to find a large pressure-ridge all along the channel on the port side scarcely thirty paces from the Fram; the cracks on this side extended to quite eighteen paces from us. All loose articles that were lying on the ice on this side were stowed away on board; the boards and planks which, during the summer, had supported the meteorological hut and the screen for the same were chopped up, as we could not afford to lose any materials; but the line, which had been left out in the sounding-hole with the bag-net attached to it, was caught in the pressure. Just after I had come on board again shortly before noon the ice suddenly began to press on again. I went out to have a look; it was again in the lane on the port side; there was a strong pressure, and the ridge was gradually approaching. A little later on Sverdrup went up on deck, but soon after came below and told us that the ridge was quickly bearing down on us, and a few hands were required to come up and help to load the sledge with the sounding apparatus, and bring it round to the starboard side of the Fram, as the ice had cracked close by it. The ridge began to come alarmingly near, and, should it be upon us before the Fram had broken loose from the ice, matters might become very unpleasant. The vessel had now a greater list to the port side than ever.

“During the afternoon various preparations were made to leave the ship if the worst should happen. All the sledges were placed ready on deck, and the kayaks were also made clear; 25 cases of dog-biscuits were deposited on the ice on the starboard side, and 19 cases of bread were brought up and placed forward; also 4 drums, holding altogether 22 gallons of petroleum, were put on deck. Ten smaller-sized tins had previously been filled with 100 litres of snowflake oil, and various vessels containing gasoline were also standing on deck. As we were sitting at supper we again heard the same crunching and crackling noise in the ice as usual, coming nearer and nearer, and finally we heard a crash proceeding from right underneath where we sat. I rushed up. There was a pressure of ice in the lane a little way off, almost on our starboard beam. I went down again, and continued my meal. Peter, who had gone out on the ice, soon after came down and said, laughing as usual, that it was no wonder we heard some crackling, for the ice had cracked not a sledge-length away from the dog-biscuit cases, and the crack was extending abaft of the Fram. I went out, and found the crack was a very considerable one. The dog-biscuit cases were now shifted a little more forward for greater safety. We also found several minor cracks in the ice around the vessel. I then went down and had a pipe and a pleasant chat with Sverdrup in his cabin. After we had been sitting a good while the ice again began to crack and jam. I did not think that the noise was greater than usual; nevertheless, I asked those in the saloon, who sat playing halma, whether there was any one on deck; if not, would one of them be kind enough to go and see where the ice was packing. I heard hurried steps above; Nordahl came down and reported that it was on the port side, and that it would be best for us to be on deck. Peter and I jumped up and several followed. As I went down the ladder Peter called out to me from above: ‘We must get the dogs out; see, there is water on the ice!’ It was high time that we came; the water was rushing in and already stood high in the kennel. Peter waded into the water up to his knees and pushed the door open. Most of the dogs rushed out and jumped about, splashing in the water; but some, being frightened, had crept back into the innermost corner and had to be dragged out, although they stood in water reaching high up their legs. Poor brutes, it must have been miserable enough, in all conscience, to be shut up in such a place while the water was steadily rising about them, yet they are not more noisy than usual.

Captain Sverdrup in His Cabin

(From a photograph)

“The dogs having been put in safety, I walked round the Fram to see what else had happened. The ice had cracked along her to the fore, near the starboard bow; from this crack the water had poured aft along the port side, which was weighed down by the weight of the ridge steadily pressing on towards us. The crack has just passed under the middle of the portable forge, which was thus endangered, and it was therefore put on a sledge and removed to the great hummock on the starboard quarter. The pemmican—altogether 11 cases—the cases of dog-biscuits, and 19 cases of bread were conveyed to the same place. Thus we have now a complete depot lying over there, and, I trust, in entire safety, the ice being so thick that it is not likely to give way. This has brought life into the lads; they have all turned out. We took out 4 more tin cans of petroleum to the hummock, then proceeded to bring up from the hold and place on deck ready for removal 21 cases of bread, and a supply of pemmican, chocolate, butter, ‘vril-food,’ soup, etc., calculated to last us 200 days. Also tents, cooking apparatus, and the like, were got ready, so that now all is clear up there, and we may sleep securely; but it was past midnight before we had done. I still trust that it is all a false alarm, and that we shall have no occasion for these supplies now, at any rate; nevertheless, it is our duty to keep everything ready in case the unthinkable should happen. Moreover, the watch has been enjoined to mind the dogs on the ice and to keep a sharp lookout in case the ice should crack underneath our cases or the ice-pressure should recommence; if anything should happen we are to be called out at once, too early rather than too late. While I sit here and write I hear the crunching and crackling beginning again outside, so that there must still be a steady pressure on the ice. All are in the best spirits; it almost appears as if they looked upon this as a pleasant break in the monotony of our existence. Well, it is half-past one, I had better turn into my bunk; I am tired, and goodness knows how soon I may be called up.

“Friday, January 4th. The ice kept quiet during the night, but all day, with some intervals, it has been crackling and settling, and this evening there have been several fits of pressure from 9 o’clock onward. For a time it came on, sometimes rather lightly, at regular intervals; sometimes with a rush and a regular roar; then it subsided somewhat, and then it roared anew. Meanwhile the pressure-ridge towers higher and higher and bears right down upon us slowly, while the pressure comes on at intervals only, and more quickly when the onset continues for a time. One can actually see it creeping nearer and nearer; and now, at 1 o’clock at night, it is not many feet—scarcely five—away from the edge of the snow-drift on the port side near the gangway, and thence to the vessel is scarcely more than ten feet, so that it will not be long now before it is upon us. Meanwhile the ice continues to split, and the solid mass in which we are embedded grows less and less, both to port and starboard. Several fissures extend right up to the Fram. As the ice sinks down under the weight of the ridge on the port side and the Fram lists more that way, more water rushes up over the new ice which has frozen on the water that rose yesterday. This is like dying by inches. Slowly but surely the baleful ridge advances, and it looks as if it meant going right over the rail; but if the Fram will only oblige by getting free of the ice she will, I feel confident, extricate herself yet, even though matters look rather awkward at present. We shall probably have a hard time of it, however, before she can break loose if she does not do so at once. I have been out and had a look at the ridge, and seen how surely it is advancing! I have looked at the fissures in the ice and noted how they are forming and expanding round the vessel; I have listened to the ice crackling and crunching underfoot, and I do not feel much disposed to turn into my berth before I see the Fram quite released. As I sit here now I hear the ice making a fresh assault, and roaring and packing outside, and I can tell that the ridge is coming nearer. This is an ice-pressure with a vengeance, and it seems as if it would never cease. I do not think there is anything more that we can do now. All is in readiness for leaving the vessel, if need be. To-day the clothing, etc., was taken out and placed ready for removal in separate bags for each man.

“It is very strange; there is certainly a possibility that all our plans may be crossed by unforeseen events, although it is not very probable that this will happen. As yet I feel no anxiety in that direction, only I should like to know whether we are really to take everything on to the ice or not. However, it is past 1 o’clock, and I think the most sensible thing to do would be to turn in and sleep. The watch has orders to call me when the hummock reaches the Fram. It is lucky it is moonlight now, so that we are able to see something of all this abomination.

“The day before yesterday we saw the moon for the first time just above the horizon. Yesterday it was shining a little, and now we have it both day and night. A most favorable state of things. But it is nearly 2 o’clock, and I must go to sleep now. The pressure of the ice, I can hear, is stronger again.

“Saturday, January 5th. To-night everybody sleeps fully dressed, and with the most indispensable necessaries either by his side or secured to his body, ready to jump on the ice at the first warning. All other requisites, such as provisions, clothing, sleeping-bags, etc., etc., have been brought out on the ice. We have been at work at this all day, and have got everything into perfect order, and are now quite ready to leave if necessary, which, however, I do not believe will be the case, though the ice-pressure has been as bad as it could be.

The “Fram” in the Ice.

“I slept soundly, woke up only once, and listened to the crunching and jamming and grinding till I fell asleep again. I was called at 5.30 in the morning by Sverdrup, who told me that the hummock had now reached the Fram, and was bearing down on us violently, reaching as high as the rail. I was not left in doubt very long, as hardly had I opened my eyes when I heard a thundering and crashing outside in the ice, as if doomsday had come. I jumped up. There was nothing left for it but to call all hands, to put all the remaining provisions on the ice, and then put all our furs and other equipment on deck, so that they could be thrown overboard at a moment’s notice if necessary. Thus the day passed, but the ice kept quiet. Last of all, the petroleum launch, which was hanging in the davits on the port side, was lowered, and was dragged towards the great hummock. At about 8 o’clock in the evening, when we thought the ice-pressure had subsided, it started thundering and crashing again worse than ever. I hurried up. Masses of snow and ice rushed on us, high above the rail amidships and over the tent. Peter, who also came up, seized a spade and rushed forward outside the awning as far as the forepart of the half-deck, and stood in the midst of the ice, digging away, and I followed to see how matters stood. I saw more than I cared to see; it was hopeless to fight that enemy with a spade. I called out to Peter to come back, and said, ‘We had better see to getting everything out on to the ice.’ Hardly had I spoken, when it pressed on again with renewed strength, and thundered and crashed, and, as Peter said, and laughed till he shook again, ‘nearly sent both me and the spade to the deuce.’ I rushed back to the main-deck; on the way I met Mogstad, who hurried up, spade in hand, and sent him back. Running forward under the tent towards the ladder, I saw that the tent-roof was bent down under the weight of the masses of ice, which were rushing over it and crashing in over the rail and bulwarks to such an extent that I expected every moment to see the ice force its way through and block up the passage. When I got below, I called all hands on deck; but told them when going up not to go out through the door on the port side, but through the chart-room and out on the starboard side. In the first place, all the bags were to be brought up from the saloon, and then we were to take those lying on deck. I was afraid that if the door on the port side was not kept closed the ice might, if it suddenly burst through the bulwarks and tent, rush over the deck and in through the door, fill the passage and rush down the ladder, and thus imprison us like mice in a trap. True, the passage up from the engine-room had been cleared for this emergency, but this was a very narrow hole to get through with heavy bags, and no one could tell how long this hole would keep open when the ice once attacked us in earnest. I ran up again to set free the dogs, which were shut up in ‘Castle-garden’—an enclosure on the deck along the port bulwark. They whined and howled most dolefully under the tent as the snow masses threatened at any moment to crush it and bury them alive. I cut away the fastening with a knife, pulled the door open, and out rushed most of them by the starboard gangway at full speed.[1]

“All Hands on Deck!”

Meantime the hands started bringing up the bags. It was quite unnecessary to ask them to hurry up—the ice did that, thundering against the ship’s sides in a way that seemed irresistible. It was a fearful hurly-burly in the darkness; for, to cap all, the mate had, in the hurry, let the lanterns go out. I had to go down again to get something on my feet; my Finland shoes were hanging up to dry in the galley. When I got there the ice was at its worst, and the half-deck beams were creaking overhead, so that I really thought they were all coming down.

“The saloon and the berths were soon cleared of bags, and the deck as well, and we started taking them along the ice. The ice roared and crashed against the ship’s side, so that we could hardly hear ourselves speak; but all went quickly and well, and before long everything was in safety.

“While we were dragging the bags along, the pressure and jamming of the ice had at last stopped, and all was quiet again as before.

“But what a sight! The Fram’s port side was quite buried under the snow; all that could be seen was the top of the tent projecting. Had the petroleum launch been hanging in the davits, as it was a few hours previously, it would hardly have escaped destruction. The davits were quite buried in ice and snow. It is curious that both fire and water have been powerless against that boat; and it has now come out unscathed from the ice, and lies there bottom upward on the floe. She has had a stormy existence and continual mishaps; I wonder what is next in store for her?

“It was, I must admit, a most exciting scene when it was at its worst, and we thought it was imperative to get the bags up from the saloon with all possible speed. Sverdrup now tells me that he was just about to have a bath, and was as naked as when he was born, when he heard me call all hands on deck. As this had not happened before, he understood there was something serious the matter, and he jumped into his clothes anyhow. Amundsen, apparently, also realized that something was amiss. He says he was the first who came up with his bag. He had not understood, or had forgotten, in the confusion, the order about going out through the starboard door; he groped his way out on the port side and fell in the dark over the edge of the half-deck. ‘Well, that did not matter,’ he said; ‘he was quite used to that kind of thing;’ but having pulled himself together after the fall, and as he was lying there on his back, he dared not move, for it seemed to him as if tent and all were coming down on him, and it thundered and crashed against the gunwale and the hull as if the last hour had come. It finally dawned on him why he ought to have gone out on the starboard and not on the port side.

“All that could possibly be thought to be of any use was taken out. The mate was seen dragging along a big bag of clothes with a heavy bundle of cups fastened outside it. Later he was stalking about with all sorts of things, such as mittens, knives, cups, etc., fastened to his clothes and dangling about him, so that the rattling noise could be heard afar off. He is himself to the last.

“In the evening the men all started eating their stock of cakes, sweetmeats, and such-like, smoked tobacco, and enjoyed themselves in the most animated fashion. They evidently thought it was uncertain when they should next have such a time on board the Fram, and therefore they thought it was best to avail themselves of the opportunity. We are now living in marching order on an empty ship.

“By way of precaution we have now burst open again the passage on the starboard side which was used as a library and had therefore been closed, and all doors are now kept always open, so that we can be sure of getting out, even if anything should give way. We do not want the ice-pressure to close the doors against us by jamming the doorposts together. But she certainly is a strong ship. It is a mighty ridge that we have in our port side, and the masses of ice are tremendous. The ship is listing more than ever, nearly 7°; but since the last pressure she has righted herself a little again, so that she must surely have broken away from the ice and begun to rise, and all danger is doubtless over. So, after all, it has been a case of ‘Much ado about nothing.’

“Sunday, January 6th. A quiet day; no jamming since last night. Most of the fellows slept well on into the morning. This afternoon all have been very busy digging the Fram out of the ice again, and we have now got the rail clear right aft to the half-deck; but a tremendous mass had fallen over the tent. It was above the second ratline in the fore-shrouds, and fully six feet over the rail. It is a marvel that the tent stood it; but it was a very good thing that it did do so, for otherwise it is hard to say what might have become of many of the dogs. This afternoon Hansen took a meridian observation, which gave 83° 34′ north latitude. Hurrah! We are getting on well northward—thirteen minutes since Monday—and the most northern latitude is now reached. It goes without saying that the occasion was duly celebrated with a bowl of punch, preserved fruits, cakes, and the doctor’s cigars.

“Last night we were running with the bags for our lives; to-night we are drinking punch and feasting: such are, indeed, the vicissitudes of fate. All this roaring and crashing for the last few days has been, perhaps, a cannonade to celebrate our reaching such a high latitude. If that be so, it must be admitted that the ice has done full honor to the occasion. Well, never mind, let it crash on so long as we only get northward. The Fram will, no doubt, stand it now; she has lifted fully one foot forward and fully six inches aft, and she has slipped a little astern. Moreover, we cannot find so much as a single stanchion in the bulwarks that has started, yet to-night every man will sleep fully prepared to make for the ice.

“Monday, January 7th. There was a little jamming of the ice occasionally during the day, but only of slight duration, then all was quiet again. Evidently the ice has not yet settled, and we have perhaps more to expect from our friend to port, whom I would willingly exchange for a better neighbor.

“It seems, however, as if the ice-pressure had altered its direction since the wind has changed to S.E. It is now confined to the ridges fore and aft athwart the wind; while our friend to port, lying almost in the line of the wind, has kept somewhat quieter.

“Everything has an end, as the boy said when he was in for a birching. Perhaps the growth of this ridge has come to an end now, perhaps not; the one thing is just as likely as the other.

“To-day the work of extricating the Fram is proceeding; we will at all events get the rails clear of the ice. It presents a most imposing sight by the light of the moon, and, however conscious of one’s own strength, one cannot help respecting an antagonist who commands such powers, and who, in a few moments, is capable of putting mighty machinery into action. It is rather an awkward battering-ram to face. The Fram is equal to it, but no other ship could have resisted such an onslaught. In less than an hour this ice will build up a wall alongside us and over us which it might take us a month to get out of, and possibly longer than that. There is something gigantic about it; it is like a struggle between dwarfs and an ogre, in which the pygmies have to resort to cunning and trickery to get out of the clutches of one who seldom relaxes his grip. The Fram is the ship which the pygmies have built with all their cunning in order to fight the ogre; and on board this ship they work as busily as ants, while the ogre only thinks it worth while to roll over and twist his body about now and then, but every time he turns over it seems as though the nutshell would be smashed and buried, and would disappear; but the pygmies have built their nutshell so cleverly that it always keeps afloat, and wriggles itself free from the deadly embrace. The old traditions and legends about giants, about Thor’s battles in the Jötunheim, when rocks were split and crags were hurled about, and the valleys were filled with falling boulders, all come back to me when I look at these mighty ridges of ice winding their way far off in the moonlight; and when I see the men standing on the ice-heap cutting and digging to remove a fraction of it, then they seem to me smaller than pygmies, smaller than ants; but although each ant carries only a single fir-needle, yet in course of time they build an ant-hill, where they can live comfortably, sheltered from storm and winter.

“Had this attack on the Fram been planned by the aid of all the wickedness in the world, it could not have been a worse one. The floe, seven feet thick, has borne down on us on the port side, forcing itself up on the ice, in which we are lying, and crushing it down. Thus the Fram was forced down with the ice, while the other floe, packed up on the ice beneath, bore down on her, and took her amidships while she was still frozen fast. As far as I can judge, she could hardly have had a tighter squeeze; it was no wonder that she groaned under it; but she withstood it, broke loose, and eased. Who shall say after this that a vessel’s shape is of little consequence? Had the Fram not been designed as she was, we should not have been sitting here now. Not a drop of water is to be found in her anywhere. Strangely enough, the ice has not given us another such squeeze since then; perhaps it was its expiring grip we felt on Saturday.

“It is hard to tell, but it was terrific enough. This morning Sverdrup and I went for a walk on the ice, but when we got a little way from the ship we found no sign of any new packing; the ice was smooth and unbroken as before. The packing has been limited to a certain stretch from east to west, and the Fram has been lying at the very worst point of it.

“This afternoon Hansen has worked out yesterday’s observations, the result being 83° 34.2′ north latitude and 102° 51′ east longitude. We have therefore drifted north and westward; 15 miles west, indeed, and only 13.5 north since New-year’s-eve, while the wind has been mostly from the southwest. It seems as if the ice has taken a more decided course towards the northwest than ever, and therefore it is not to be wondered at that there is some pressure when the wind blows athwart the course of the ice. However, I hardly think we need any particular explanation of the pressure, as we have evidently again got into a packing-centre with cracks, lanes, and ridges, where the pressure is maintained for some time, such as we were in during the first winter. We have constantly met with several similar stretches on the surrounding ice, even when it has been most quiet.

“This evening there was a most remarkable brightness right under the moon. It was like an immense luminous haycock, which rose from the horizon and touched the great ring round the moon. At the upper side of this ring there was a segment of the usual inverted arc of light.”

“A Most Remarkable Moon”

The next day, January 8th, the ice began grinding occasionally, and while Mogstad and I stood in the hold working on hand sledges we heard creakings in the ship both above and below us. This was repeated several times; but in the intervals it was quiet. I was often on the ice listening to the grinding and watching how it went on, but it did not go beyond crackling and creaking beneath our feet and in the ridge at our side. Perhaps it is to warn us not to be too confident! I am not so sure that it is not necessary. It is in reality like living on a smoking volcano. The eruption that will seal our fate may occur at any moment. It will either force the ship up or swallow her down. And what are the stakes? Either the Fram will get home and the expedition be fully successful, or we shall lose her and have to be content with what we have done, and possibly on our way home we may explore parts of Franz Josef Land. That is all; but most of us feel that it would be hard to lose the ship, and it would be a very sad sight to see her disappear.

“Some of the hands, under Sverdrup, are working, trying to cut away the hummock ice on the port side, and they have already made good headway. Mogstad and I are busy getting the sledges in order, and preparing them for use as I want them, whether we go north or south.

“Liv is two years old to-day.

“She is a big girl now. I wonder if I should be able to recognize her? I suppose I should hardly find a single familiar feature. They are sure to celebrate the day, and she will get all kinds of presents. Many a thought will be sent northward, but they know not where to look for us; are not aware that we are drifting here embedded in the ice in the highest northern latitudes ever reached, in the deepest polar night ever penetrated.”

The “Fram” after an Ice-pressure. January 10, 1895

(From a photograph)

During the following days the ice became steadily quieter. In the course of the night of the 9th of January the ice was still slightly cracking and grinding; then it quite subsided, and on the 10th of January the report is “ice perfectly quiet, and if it were not for the ridge on the port side one would never have thought there had ever been any breach in the eternal stillness, so calm and peaceful is it.” Some men went on cutting away the ice, and little by little we could see it was getting less. Mogstad and I were busily engaged in the hold with the new sledges, and during this time I also made an attempt to photograph the Fram by moonlight from different points. The results surpassed my expectations; but as the top of the pressure-ridge had now been cut away, these photos do not give an exact impression of the pack-ice, and of how it came hurtling down upon the Fram. We then put in order our depot on the great hummock on the starboard quarter, and all sleeping-bags, Lapland boots, Finn shoes, wolfskin clothing, etc., were wrapped in the foresail and placed to the extreme west, the provisions were collected into six different heaps, and the rifles and guns were distributed among three of the heaps and wrapped up in boat-sails. Next, Hansen’s instrument-case and my own, together with a bucketful of rifle-cartridges, were placed under a boat-sail. Then the forge and the smith’s tools were arranged separately, and up on the top of the great hummock we laid a heap of sledges and snow-shoes. All the kayaks were laid side by side bottom upward, the cooking apparatus and lamps, etc., being placed under them. They were spread out in this way, so that in the improbable event of the thick floe splitting suddenly our loss would not be so great. We knew where to find everything, and it might blow and drift to its heart’s content without our losing anything.

On the evening of January 14th I wrote in my diary: “Two sharp reports were heard in the ship, like shots from a cannon, and then followed a noise as of something splitting—presumably this must be the cracking of the ice, on account of the frost. It appeared to me that the list on the ship increased at that moment, but perhaps it was only imagination.”

As time passed on we all gradually got busy again preparing for the sledge expedition. On Tuesday, January 15th, I say: “This evening the doctor gave a lesson to Johansen and myself in bandaging and repairing broken limbs. I lay on the table and had a plaster-of-Paris bandage put round the calf of my leg, while all the crew were looking on. The very sight of this operation cannot fail to suggest unpleasant thoughts. An accident of this nature out in the polar night, with 40° to 50° of cold, would be anything but pleasant, to say nothing of how easily it might mean death to both of us. But who knows? We might manage somehow. However, such things must not be allowed to happen, and, what is more, they shall not.”

The Winter Night. January 14, 1895

(From a photograph)

As January went on we could by noon just see the faint dawn of day—that day at whose sunrise we were to start. On January 18th I say: “By 9 o’clock in the morning I could already distinguish the first indications of dawn, and by noon it seemed to be getting bright; but it seems hardly credible that in a month’s time there will be light enough to travel by, yet it must be so. True, February is a month which all ‘experienced’ people consider far too early and much too cold for travelling; hardly any one would do so in the month of March. But it cannot be helped; we have no time to waste in waiting for additional comfort if we are to make any progress before the summer, when travelling will be impossible. I am not afraid of the cold; we can always protect ourselves against that.

“Meantime all preparations are proceeding, and I am now getting everything in order connected with copying of diaries, observation-books, photographs, etc., that we are to take with us. Mogstad is working in the hold making maple guard-runners to put under the sledges. Jacobsen has commenced to put a new sledge together. Pettersen is in the engine-room, making nails for the sledge-fittings, which Mogstad is to put on. In the meantime some of the others have built a large forge out on the ice with blocks of ice and snow, and to-morrow Sverdrup and I will heat and bend the runners in tar and stearine at such a heat as we can produce in the forge. We trust we shall be able to get a sufficient temperature to do this important work thoroughly, in spite of the 40° of frost. Amundsen is now repairing the mill, as there is something wrong with it again, the cog-wheels being worn. He thinks he will be able to get it all right again. Rather chilly work to be lying up there in the wind on the top of the mill, boring in the hard steel and cast-iron by lantern-light, and at such a temperature as we are having now. I stood and watched the lantern-light up there to-day, and I soon heard the drill working; one could tell the steel was hard; then I could hear clapping of hands. ‘Ah,’ thought I, ‘you may well clap your hands together; it is not a particularly warm job to be lying up there in the wind.’ The worst of it is one cannot wear mittens for such work, but has to use the bare hands if one is to make any progress, and it would not take long to freeze them off; but it has to be done, he says, and he will not give in. He is a splendid fellow in all he undertakes, and I console him by saying that there are not many before him who have worked on the top of a mill in such frost north of 83°. On many expeditions they have avoided out-of-door work when the temperature got so low. ‘Indeed,’ he says, ‘I thought that other expeditions were in advance of us in that respect. I imagined we had kept indoors too much.’ I had no hesitation in enlightening him on this point; I know he will do his best in any case.

“This is, indeed, a strange time for me; I feel as if I were preparing for a summer trip and the spring were already here, yet it is still midwinter, and the conditions of the summer trip may be somewhat ambiguous. The ice keeps quiet; the cracking in it and in the Fram is due only to the cold. I have during the last few days again read Payer’s account of his sledge expedition northward through Austria Sound. It is not very encouraging. The very land he describes as the realm of Death, where he thinks he and his companions would inevitably have perished had they not recovered the vessel, is the place to which we look for salvation; that is the region we hope to reach when our provisions have come to an end. It may seem reckless, but nevertheless I cannot imagine that it is so. I cannot help believing that a land which even in April teems with bears, auks, and black guillemots, and where seals are basking on the ice, must be a Canaan, ‘flowing with milk and honey,’ for two men who have good rifles and good eyes; it must surely yield food enough not only for the needs of the moment, but also provisions for the journey onward to Spitzbergen. Sometimes, however, the thought will present itself that it may be very difficult to get the food when it is most sorely needed; but these are only passing moments. We must remember Carlyle’s words: ‘A man shall and must be valiant; he must march forward, and quit himself like a man—trusting imperturbably in the appointment and choice of the Upper Powers.’ I have not, it is true, any ‘Upper Powers’; it would probably be well to have them in such a case, but we nevertheless are starting, and the time approaches rapidly; four weeks or a little more soon pass by, and then farewell to this snug nest, which has been our home for eighteen months, and we go out into the darkness and cold, out into the still more unknown:

“‘Out yonder ’tis dark,

But onward we must,

Over the dewy wet mountains,

Ride through the land of the ice-troll;

We shall both be saved,

Or the ice-troll’s hand

Shall clutch us both.’”

On January 23d I write: “The dawn has grown so much that there was a visible light from it on the ice, and for the first time this year I saw the crimson glow of the sun low down in the dawn.” We now took soundings with the lead before I was to leave the vessel; we found 1876 fathoms (3450 metres). I then made some snow-shoes down in the hold; it was important to have them smooth, tough, and light, on which one could make good headway; “they shall be well rubbed with tar, stearine, and tallow, and there shall be speed in them; then it is only a question of using one’s legs, and I have no doubt that can be managed.

“Tuesday, January 29th. Latitude yesterday, 83° 30′. (Some days ago we had been so far north as 83° 40′, but had again drifted southward.) The light keeps on steadily increasing, and by noon it almost seems to be broad daylight. I believe I could read the title of a book out in the open if the print were large and clear. I take a stroll every morning, greeting the dawning day, before I go down into the hold to my work at the snowshoes and equipment. My mind is filled with a peculiar sensation, which I cannot clearly define; there is certainly an exulting feeling of triumph, deep in the soul, a feeling that all one’s dreams are about to be realized with the rising sun, which steers northward across the ice-bound waters. But while I am busy in these familiar surroundings a wave of sadness sometimes comes over me; it is like bidding farewell to a dear friend and to a home which has long afforded me a sheltering roof. At one blow all this and my dear comrades are to be left behind forever; never again shall I tread this snow-clad deck, never again creep under this tent, never hear the laughter ring in this familiar saloon, never again sit in this friendly circle.

“And then I remember that when the Fram at last bursts from her bonds of ice, and turns her prow towards Norway, I shall not be with her. A farewell imparts to everything in life its own tinge of sadness, like the crimson rays of the sun, when the day, good or bad, sinks in tears below the horizon.

“Hundreds of times my eye wanders to the map hanging there on the wall, and each time a chill creeps over me. The distance before us seems so long, and the obstacles in our path may be many; but then again the feeling comes that we are bound to pull through: it cannot be otherwise; everything is too carefully prepared to fail now, and meanwhile the southeast wind is whistling above us, and we are continually drifting northward nearer our goal. When I go up on deck and step out into the night with its glittering starry vault and the flaring aurora borealis, then all these thoughts recede, and I must, as ever, pause on the threshold of this sanctuary—this dark, deep, silent space, this infinite temple of nature, in which the soul seeks to find its origin. Toiling ant, what matters it whether you reach your goal with your fir-needle or not? Everything disappears none the less in the ocean of eternity, in the great Nirvana; and as time rolls on our names are forgotten, our deeds pass into oblivion, and our lives flit by like the traces of a cloud, and vanish like the mist dispelled by the warm rays of the sun. Our time is but a fleeting shadow, hurrying us on to the end—so it is ordained; and having reached that end, none ever retraces his steps.

“Two of us will soon be journeying farther through this immense waste, into greater solitudes and deeper stillness.

“Wednesday, January 30th. To-day the great event has happened, that the windmill is again at work for the first time after its long rest. In spite of the cold and the darkness, Amundsen had got the cog-wheels into order, and now it is running as smoothly and steadily as gutta-percha.”

A Whist Party in the Saloon. February 15, 1895

Blessing Scott Hansen Sverdrup

(From a photograph)

We have now constant northeast winds, and we again bore northward. On Sunday, February 3d, we were at 83° 43′. The time for our departure approached, and the preparations were carried on with great activity. The sledges were completed, and I tried them under various conditions. I have alluded to the fact that we made maple guards to put under the fixed nickel-plated runners. The idea of this was to strengthen both the sledges and the runners, so that they would at the beginning of the journey, when the loads were heavy, be less liable to breakage from the jolting to which they would probably be exposed. Later on, when the load got lighter, we might, if we thought fit, easily remove them. These guards were also to serve another purpose. I had an idea that, in view of the low temperature we had during the winter, and on the dry drift-snow which then covered the ice-floes, metal would glide less easily than smooth wood, especially if the latter were well rubbed with rich tar and stearine. By February 8th one of the sledges with wooden guard-runners was finished, so that we could make experiments in this direction, and we then found that it was considerably easier to haul than a similar sledge running on the nickel-plate, though the load on each was exactly the same. The difference was so great that we found that it was at least half as hard again to draw a sledge on the nickel runners as on the tarred maple runners.

Our new ash sledges were now nearly finished and weighed 30 pounds without the guard-runners. “Everybody is hard at work. Sverdrup is sewing bags or bolsters to put on the sledges as beds for the kayaks to rest on. To this end the bags are to be made up to fit the bottoms of the boats. Johansen with one or two other men are stuffing the bags with pemmican, which has to be warmed, beaten, and kneaded in order to give it the right form for making a good bed for our precious boats. When these square, flat bags are carried out into the cold they freeze as hard as stone, and keep their form well. Blessing is sitting up in the work-room, copying the photographs of which I have no prints. Hansen is working out a map of our route so far, and copying out his observations for us, etc., etc. In short, there is hardly a man on board who does not feel that the moment for departure approaches; perhaps the galley is the only place where everything goes on in the usual way under the management of Lars. Our position yesterday was 83° 32.1′ north latitude and 102° 28′ east longitude, so we are southward again; but never mind, what do a couple of miles more or less matter to us?

The Upper End of the Supper-table. February 15, 1895.

Jacobsen Johansen Blessing Sverdrup Nansen Scott-Hansen

(By Johan Nordhagen, from a photograph)

“Sunday, February 10th. To-day there was so much daylight that at 1 o’clock I could fairly well read the Verdens Gang, when I held the paper up towards the light; but when I held it towards the moon, which was low in the north, it was no go. Before dinner I went for a short drive with ‘Gulen’ and ‘Susine’ (two of the young dogs) and ‘Kaifas.’ ‘Gulen’ had never been in harness before, but yet she went quite well; she was certainly a little awkward at first, but that soon disappeared, and I think she will make a good dog when she is well trained. ‘Susine,’ who was driven a little last autumn, conducted herself quite like an old sledge-dog. The surface is hard, and easy for the dogs to haul on. They get a good foothold, and the snow is not particularly sharp for their feet; however, it is not over-smooth; this drift-snow makes heavy going. The ice is smooth, and easy to run on, and I trust we shall be able to make good day-journeys; after all, we shall reach our destination sooner than we had expected. I cannot deny that it is a long journey, and scarcely any one has ever more effectually burned his boats behind him. If we wished to turn back we have absolutely nothing to return to, not even a bare coast. It will be impossible to find the ship, and before us lies the great unknown. But there is only one road, and that lies straight ahead, right through, be it land or sea, be it smooth or rough, be it mere ice or ice and water. And I cannot but believe that we must get through, even if we should meet with the worst—viz., land and pack-ice.

Stopping a Dog-fight

“Wednesday, February 13th. The pemmican bolsters and dried-liver pie are now ready; the kayaks will get an excellent bedding, and I venture to say that such meat-bolsters are an absolute novelty. Under each kayak there are three of them, they are made to fit the sledge, and, as already stated, are moulded to the shape of the kayak. They weigh 100 to 120 pounds each. The empty sacks weigh 2 or 3 pounds each, so that altogether the meat (pemmican and liver pie) in these three bags will weigh about 320 pounds. We each had our light sleeping-bags of reindeer-skin, and we tried to sleep out in them last night, but both Johansen and I found it rather cold, although it was only 37° Fahr. of frost. We were, perhaps, too lightly clad under the wolfskin clothing; we are making another experiment with a little more on to-night.

Lower End of Supper-table

“Saturday, February 16th. The outfitting is still progressing; but there are various small things yet to do which take time, and I do not know whether we shall be ready to start on Wednesday, February 20th, as I originally intended. The day is now so light that, so far as that is concerned, we might quite well start then; but perhaps we had better wait a day or two longer. Three sledge-sails (for single sledges) are now finished; they are made of very light calico, and are about 7 feet 2 inches broad by 4 feet 4 inches long; they are made so that two of them may be laced together and used as one sail for a double sledge, and I believe they will act well; they weigh a little over one pound each. Moreover, we have now most of the provisions ready stowed away in bags.”

[1] The word svalkelem, which has throughout been translated “gangway,” means rather a sort of port-hole. As the svalkelem, however, was the means of exit from and entrance to the ship, “gangway” seemed the most convenient expression for it.

Chapter III

We Make a Start

“Tuesday, February 26th. At last the day has arrived, the great day, when the journey is to commence. The week has passed in untiring work to get everything ready. We should have started on the 20th, but it has been postponed from day to day; there was always something still to do. My head has been full night and day, with all that was to be done and that must not be forgotten. Oh, this unceasing mental strain, which does not allow a minute’s respite in which to throw off the responsibility, to give loose rein to the thoughts, and let the dreams have full sway! The nerves are in a state of tension from the moment of awaking in the morning till the eyes close late at night. Ah! how well I know this state, which I have experienced each time I have been about to set out and retreat was to be cut off—never, I believe, more effectually than now! The last few nights I did not get to bed before half-past three or half-past four o’clock in the morning. It is not only what we ought to take with us that has to be taken care of, but we have to leave the vessel; its command and responsibility have to be placed in other hands, and care must be taken that nothing is forgotten in the way of instructions to the men who remain, as the scientific observations will have to be continued on the same lines as they have been carried on hitherto, and other observations of all kinds will have to be made, etc., etc.”

The last night we were to spend on board the Fram eventually arrived, and we had a farewell party. In a strange, sad way, reminiscences were revived of all that had befallen us here on board, mingled with hope and trust in what the future would bring. I remained up till far into the night; letters and remembrances had to be sent to those at home, in case the unforeseen should happen. Among the last things I wrote were the following instructions to Sverdrup, in which I handed over to him the command of the expedition:

“Captain Otto Sverdrup, Commander of the Fram:

“As I am now leaving the Fram, accompanied by Johansen, to undertake a journey northward—if possible, to the Pole—and from there to Spitzbergen, most likely via Franz Josef Land, I make over to you the command of the remaining part of the expedition. From the day I leave the Fram, all the authority which hitherto was vested in me shall devolve upon you to an equal extent, and the others will have to render absolute obedience to you, or to whomsoever you may depute as their leader. I consider it superfluous to give any orders about what is to be done under various contingencies, even if it were possible to give any. I am certain you will know best yourself what ought to be done in any emergency, and I therefore consider that I may with confidence leave the Fram.

“The chief aim of the expedition is to push through the unknown Polar Sea from the region around the New Siberian Islands, north of Franz Josef Land, and onward to the Atlantic Ocean, near Spitzbergen or Greenland. The most essential part of this task, I consider, we have already accomplished; the remainder will be achieved as the expedition gets farther west. In order to make the expedition still more fruitful of results, I am making an attempt to push farther up north with the dogs. Your task will then be to convey home, in the safest manner possible, the human lives now confided to your care, and not to expose them to any unnecessary danger, either out of regard for the ship or cargo, or for the scientific outcome of the expedition. No one can tell how long it may take before the Fram drifts out into open water. You have provisions for several years to come; if for any unknown reason it should take too long, or if the crew should begin to suffer in health, or if from other reasons you should think it best to abandon the vessel, it should unquestionably be done. As to the time of the year when this should be done, and the route to be chosen, you yourself will be best able to judge. If it should be necessary, I consider Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen favorable lands to make for. If search is made for the expedition after the arrival home of Johansen and myself, it will be made there first. Wherever you come to land, you should, as often as you can, erect conspicuous beacons on promontories and projecting headlands, and place within the beacons a short report of what has occurred, and whither you are going. In order to distinguish these beacons from others, a small beacon should be erected 4 metres from the larger one in the direction of the magnetic North Pole. The question as to what outfit would be most advantageous in case the Fram should have to be abandoned is one which we have so frequently discussed that I consider it superfluous to dwell on it here. I know that you will take care that the requisite number of kayaks for all the men, sledges, snow-shoes, ‘truger,’ and other articles of outfit are put in complete order as soon as possible, and kept in readiness, so that such a journey home over the ice could be undertaken with the greatest possible ease. Elsewhere I give you directions as to the provisions which I consider most suitable for such a journey, and the quantity necessary for each man.

The Crew of the “Fram” after their Second Winter. About February 24, 1895

1. Mogstad 2. Blessing 3. Johansen 4. Scott-Hansen 5. Amundsen 6. Bentzen 7. Sverdrup 8. Jacobsen 9. Juell 10. Nordahl 11. Pettersen 12. Henriksen

(From a photograph)

“I also know that you will hold everything in readiness to abandon the Fram in the shortest possible time in the event of her suffering sudden damage, whether through fire or ice-pressure. If the ice permits it, I consider it advisable that a depot, with sufficient provisions, etc., should be established at a safe place on the ice, such as we have lately had. All necessaries which cannot be kept on the ice ought to be so placed on board that they are easy to get at under any circumstances. As you are aware, all the provisions now in the depot are concentrated foods for sledging journeys only; but as it may happen that you will have to remain inactive for a time before going farther, it would be highly desirable to save as much tinned meat, fish, and vegetables as possible; should troublous times come then, I should consider it advisable to have a supply of these articles ready on the ice.

“Should the Fram while drifting be carried far to the north of Spitzbergen, and get over into the current under the east coast of Greenland, many possibilities may be imagined which it is not easy to form an opinion on now; but should you be obliged to abandon the Fram and make for the land, it would be best for you to erect beacons there, as stated above (with particulars as to whither you are going, etc.), as search might possibly be made there for the expedition. Whether in that case you ought to make for Iceland (which is the nearest land, and where you should be able to get in the early part of summer, if following the edge of the ice), or for the Danish colonies west of Cape Farewell, you will be best able to judge on considering all the circumstances.

Plate IX.

Light Phenomena in the Polar Night, 22nd November 1893. Pastel Sketch.

Moon-ring with vertical axis through the moon.

“As regards what you ought to take with you in the event of abandoning the Fram, besides the necessary provisions, I may mention weapons, ammunition, and equipment, all scientific and other journals and observations, all scientific collections that are not too heavy, or, if too heavy, small samples thereof; photographs, preferably the original plates (or films); or should these prove too heavy, then prints taken from them; also the ‘Aderman’ aerometer, with which most of the observations on the specific gravity of sea-water are taken; as well as, of course, all journals and memoranda which are of any interest. I leave behind some diaries and letters, which I would request you to take special care of and deliver to Eva if I should not return home, or if, contrary to all expectation, you should return home before us.

“Hansen and Blessing will, as you know, attend to the various scientific expeditions and to the collecting of specimens. You yourself will attend to the soundings, and see that they are taken as frequently as possible and as the condition of the line permits. I should consider at least once in every 60 miles covered to be extremely desirable; if it can be done oftener so much the better. Should the depth become less than now and more variable, it goes without saying that soundings should be taken more frequently.

“As the crew was small before, and will now be still further reduced by two men, more work will probably fall to each man’s lot; but I know that, whenever you can, you will spare men to assist in the scientific observations, and make them as complete as possible. Please also see that every tenth day (the first, tenth, and twentieth of every month) the ice is bored through, and the thickness measured, in the same way as has been done hitherto. Henriksen has for the most part made these borings, and is a trustworthy man for this work.

“In conclusion, I wish all possible success to you, and to those for whom you are now responsible, and may we meet again in Norway, whether it be on board of this vessel or without her.

“Yours affectionately,

“Fridtjof Nansen.

“On board the Fram,

“February 25, 1895.”

“Now at last the brain was to get some rest, and the work for the legs and arms to commence. Everything was got ready for the start this morning. Five of our comrades, Sverdrup, Hansen, Blessing, Henriksen, and Mogstad, were to see us off on our way, bringing a sledge and a tent with them. The four sledges were got ready, the dogs harnessed to them, lunch, with a bottle of malt extract per man, was taken just before starting, and then we bade the last hearty farewell to those left behind. We were off into the drifting snow. I myself took the lead with ‘Kvik’ as leading dog, in the first sledge, and then sledge after sledge followed amid cheers, accompanied by the cracking of whips and the barking of dogs. At the same time a salute was fired from the quarter-deck, shot after shot, into the whirling drift. The sledges moved heavily forward; it was slow travelling uphill, and they came to a dead stop where the ascent was too steep, and we all had to help them along—one man alone could not do it; but over level ground we flew along like a whirlwind, and those on snow-shoes found it difficult enough to keep pace with the sledges. I had to strike out as best I could when they came up to me to avoid getting my legs entangled in the line. A man is beckoning with his staff far in the rear. It is Mogstad, who comes tearing along and shouting that three ‘flöitstokker’[1] (crossbars) had been torn off a sledge in driving. The sledge, with its heavy load, had lurched forward over an upright piece of ice, which struck the crossbars, breaking all three of them, one after the other; one or two of the perpendicular supports of the runners were also smashed. There was nothing for it but to return to the ship to get it repaired and have the sledges made stronger. Such a thing ought not to happen again. During the return one of the sledges lurched up against another, and a cane in the bow snapped. The bows would, therefore, also have to be made stronger.[2]

“The sledges have again been unloaded and brought on board in order that this may be done, and here we are again to-night. I am glad, however, that this happened when it did; it would have been worse to have had such an experience a few days later. I will now take six sledges instead of four, so that the load on each may be less, and so that it will be easier to lift them over the irregularities of the ground. I shall also have a broad board fitted lengthwise to the sledge, underneath the crossbars, so as to protect them against projecting pieces of ice. As a great deal of time is saved in the end by doing such things thoroughly before starting, we shall not be ready to start before the day after to-morrow. It seemed strange to be on board again after having said good-bye, as I thought, forever, to these surroundings. When I came up on the after-deck, I found the guns lying there in the snow, one of them turned over on its back, the other had recoiled a long way aft, when saluting us; from the mizzen-top the red and black flag was still waving.

“I am in wonderfully high spirits, and feel confident of success; the sledges seemed to glide so easily, although carrying 200 pounds more than was originally intended (about 2200 pounds altogether), and everything looks very promising. We shall have to wait a couple of days, but as we are having a southeasterly wind all day long we are no doubt getting on towards the north, all the same. Yesterday we were 83° 47′; to-day I suppose we are at least 83° 50′.”

At last, on Thursday, February 28th, we started again with our six sledges. Sverdrup, Hansen, Blessing, Henriksen, and Mogstad saw us off. When we started, most of the others also accompanied us some distance. We soon found that the dogs did not draw as well as I had expected, and I came to the conclusion that with this load we should get on too slowly. We had not proceeded far from the ship before I decided to leave behind some of the sacks with provisions for the dogs, and these were later on taken back on board by the others.

At 4 o’clock in the afternoon, when we stopped, our odometer[3] showed that we had gone about 4 miles from the Fram. We had a pleasant evening in the tent, together with our friends who were going back the next day. To my surprise a punch-bowl was prepared, and toasts were proposed for those who were starting and those who remained behind. It was not until 11 o’clock that we crept into our sleeping-bags.

There were illuminations in our honor that night on board the Fram. The electric arc lamp was hoisted on the maintop, and the electric light for the first time shone forth over the ice masses of the Polar Sea. Torches had also been lit, and bonfires of oakum-ends and other combustibles were burning on several floes around the Fram and making a brilliant show. Sverdrup had, by-the-way, given orders that the electric light or a lantern should be hoisted on the maintop every night until he and the others had returned, for fear they might lose their way if the tracks should be obliterated by bad weather. It would then be very difficult to find the ship; but such a light can be seen a long distance over these plains, where by merely standing on a hummock one can easily get a view for many miles round.

I was afraid that the dogs, if they got loose, would go back to the Fram, and I therefore got two steel lines made, to which short leashes were fastened a little distance apart, so that the dogs could be secured to these lines between two sticks or sledges. In spite of this, several of the dogs got loose; but, strange to say, they did not leave us, but remained with their comrades and us. There was, of course, a doleful howling round the tents the first night, and they disturbed our sleep to some extent.

The “Fram” in the Ice. 1895

The next morning (Friday, March 1st) it took one of our comrades three hours to make the coffee, being unaccustomed to the apparatus. We then had a very nice breakfast together. Not before 11.30 A.M. did we get under way. Our five comrades accompanied us for an hour or two and then turned to get back to the Fram the same evening. “It was certainly a most cheerful good-bye,” says the diary, “but it is always hard to part, even at 84°, and maybe there was a tearful eye or two.” The last thing Sverdrup asked me when sitting on his sledge, just as we were about to part, was, if I thought I should go to the South Pole when I got home; for if so, he hoped I would wait till he arrived; and then he asked me to give his love to his wife and child.

And so we proceeded, Johansen and I, but it was slow work for us alone with six sledges, which were impeded on their way by all sorts of obstacles and inequalities. Besides this, the ice became rougher, so that it was difficult to get on during the afternoon on account of the darkness, the days being still very short and the sun was not yet above the horizon. We therefore camped rather early.

“Wednesday, March 6th. We are again on board the Fram to make a fresh start, for the third time, and then, I suppose, it will be in earnest. On Saturday, March 2d, we proceeded with the six sledges after I had been a trip to the northward and found it passable. Progress was slow, and we had to do nearly six turns each, as the sledges stopped everywhere and had to be helped along. I saw now too clearly that we should never get on in this manner; a change would have to be made, and I decided to camp in order to have a look at the ice northward and consider the matter. Having tied up the dogs, I set out, while Johansen was to feed the dogs and put up the tent. They were fed once in every 24 hours, at night, when the day’s march was done.

“I had not gone far when I came upon excellent spacious plains; good progress could be made, and so far everything was all right; but the load had to be diminished and the number of sledges reduced. Undoubtedly, therefore, it would be best to return to the Fram to make the necessary alterations on board, and get the sledges we were to take with us further strengthened, so as to have perfect confidence in their durability.

“We might, of course, have dragged along somehow towards the north for a while, and the load would gradually have decreased; but it would have been slow work, and before the load would be sufficiently lightened the dogs would perhaps be worn out. It was cold for them at night; we heard many of them howling most of the night. If, however, we diminished the load, and consequently allowed a shorter time for the journey, it would be preferable to wait, and not start till a little later in the month, when we could make more out of the time, as the days would be lighter and not so cold and the snow-surface better. Having spent another night in the tent—into which it was a hard job to get, dressed in a fur that was stiff with frost, and then into a bag that was also hard frozen—I decided next morning (Sunday, March 3d) to return to the Fram. I harnessed a double team of dogs to one of the sledges, and off they went over pressure-ridges and all other obstacles so rapidly that I could hardly keep up with them. In a few hours I covered the same distance which had taken us three days when we started out. The advantage of a lighter load was only too apparent.

Sunday Afternoon on Board

“As I approached the Fram I saw, to my surprise, the upper edge of the sun above the ice in the south. It was the first time this year, but I had not expected it as yet. It was the refraction caused by the low temperature which made it visible so soon. The first news I heard from those who came to meet me was that Hansen had the previous afternoon taken an observation, which gave 84° 4′ north latitude.

“It was undoubtedly very pleasant once more to stretch my limbs on the sofa in the Fram’s saloon, to quench my thirst in delicious lime-juice with sugar, and again to dine in a civilized manner. In the afternoon Hansen and Nordahl went back to Johansen with my team of dogs, to keep him company overnight. When I left him it was understood that he was to start on the return journey as best he could, until I came with others to help him. The dogs lost no time, and the two men reached Johansen’s tent in an hour and twenty minutes. At night both they and we had rejoicings in honor of the sun, and the 84th degree.

“The next morning three of us went off and fetched the sledges back. Now, when we made for the ship, the dogs dragged much better, and in a short time we should have been on board had it not been for a long lane in the ice which we could see no end to, and which stopped us. Finally we left the sledges and, together with the dogs, managed to cross over on some loose pieces of ice and got on board. Yesterday we twice tried to fetch the sledges, but there had evidently been some movement in the lane, and the new ice was still so thin that we dared not trust it. We have, however, to-day got them on board, and we will now for the last time, it is to be hoped, prepare ourselves for the journey. I will now plan out the journey so as to take the shortest possible time, using light sledges and tearing along as fast as legs and snowshoes will carry us. We shall be none the worse for this delay, provided we do not meet too much pack-ice or too many openings in the ice.

“I have weighed all the dogs and have come to the conclusion that we can feed them on each other and keep going for about fifty days; having, in addition to this, dog provisions for about thirty days, we ought to be able to travel with dogs for eighty days, and in that time it seems to me we should have arrived somewhere. And, besides, we have provisions for ourselves for one hundred days. This will be about 440 pounds on each sledge if we take three, and with nine dogs per sledge we ought to manage it.”

So here we were again, busy with preparations and improvements. In the meantime the ice moved a little, broke up, and lanes were formed in various directions. On March 8th I say: “The crack in the large floe to starboard, formed while we were away, opened yesterday into a broad lane, which we can see stretching with newly frozen ice towards the horizon, both north and south. It is odd how that petroleum launch is always in ‘hot water’ wherever it is. This crack formed underneath it, so it was hanging with the stern over the water when they found it in the morning. We have now decided to cut it up and use the elm-boards for the sledge-runners. That will be the end of it.

“Wednesday, March 13th. 84° north latitude, 101° 55′ east longitude. The days have passed, working again at the equipment. Everything is now in order. Three sledges are standing ready out on the ice, properly strengthened in every way, with iron fastenings between uprights and crossbars. These last-mentioned are securely strengthened with extra top-pieces of ash, and protected underneath by boards. This afternoon we tried the dogs with sledges loaded, and they went as easily as could be, and to-morrow we start again for the last time, full of courage and confidence and with the sun up, in the assurance that we are going towards ever brighter days.

“To-night there has been a great farewell feast, with many hearty speeches, and to-morrow we depart as early as possible, provided our dissipation has not delayed us. I have to-night added the following postscript to Sverdrup’s instructions:

“‘P.S.—In the foregoing instructions, which I wrote rather hurriedly on the night of February 25th, I omitted to mention things that should have been alluded to. I will restrict myself here to stating, further, that should you sight unknown land, everything ought, of course, to be done in order to ascertain and examine it, as far as circumstances will permit. Should the Fram drift so near that you think it can be reached without great risk, everything that can be done to explore the land would be of the greatest interest. Every stone, every blade of grass, lichen, or moss, every animal, from the largest to the smallest, would be of great importance; photographs, and an exact description should not be neglected; at the same time, it should be traversed to the greatest possible extent, in order to ascertain its coast-line, size, etc. All such things should, however, only be done, provided they can be accomplished without danger. If the Fram is adrift in the ice, it is clear that only short excursions should be made from her, as the members of such expeditions might encounter great difficulties in reaching the vessel again. Should the Fram remain stationary for any time, such expeditions should still be undertaken only with great discretion, and not be extended over any great length of time, as no one can foresee when she may commence to drift again, and it would be very undesirable for all concerned if the crew of the Fram were to be still further reduced.

“‘We have so often spoken together about the scientific researches, that I do not consider it necessary to give any further suggestions here. I am certain that you will do everything in your power to make them as perfect as possible, so that the expedition may return with as good results as the circumstances will permit. And now once again, my wishes for all possible success, and may we meet again before long.

“‘Your affectionate,

“‘Fridtjof Nansen.

“‘The Fram, March 13, 1895.’”

Before leaving the Fram for good I ought, perhaps, to give a short account of the equipment we finally decided on as the most likely to suit our purposes.

I have already mentioned the two kayaks that had been made during the course of the winter, and that we required to have with us in order to cross possible channels and pools, and also for use when we should come to open sea. Instead of these kayaks, I had at first thought of taking ready-made canvas boat-covers, and of using the sledges as frames to stretch them over. By this means a craft perfectly capable of carrying us over lanes and short bits of open sea could have been rigged up in a very short space of time. I subsequently gave up this idea, however, and decided on the kayak, a craft with which I was familiar, and which I knew would render valuable assistance in several respects. Even if we had been able to contrive a cover for the sledges in such a manner that a boat could have been got ready in a short space of time, it would not have been such quick work as simply launching a ready-made kayak. Added to this, the craft would, necessarily, have been heavy to row; and when it was a question of long distances in open water, such as along the coasts of Franz Josef Land, or across thence to Spitzbergen, much time would have been lost. One consideration indeed, and that of some moment, was the saving in weight if the sledges were made use of; but even this was not of so much importance as it seemed, as the covers of both kinds of craft would have weighed about the same, and what would have been saved in the weight of the frames was not much, if one remembers that a whole kayak-frame only weighs about 16 pounds. Then, too, if kayaks were used, some weight would be saved by being able to carry our provisions and other impedimenta in bags of thin material, which could be stowed away in the kayaks, and the latter lashed to the sledges. Our provisions would thus be protected against all risk of attack by dogs, or of being cut by sharp pieces of ice. The other alternative—the canvas cover—which would have required fitting on and folding up again after being in the water, would, necessarily, in the low temperatures we had to expect, have become spoiled and leaky. Last, but not least, the kayak, with its tightly covered deck, is a most efficient sea-boat, in which one can get along in any kind of weather, and is also an admirable craft for shooting and fishing purposes. The boat which one could have contrived by the other expedient could with difficulty have been made any way satisfactory in this respect.

I have also mentioned the sledges which I had made for this expedition. They were of the same pattern as those built for the Greenland one; somewhat resembling in shape the Norwegian “skikjelke,”[4] which is a low hand-sledge on broad runners, similar to our ordinary “ski.” But instead of the broad, flat runners we used in Greenland, I had the runners made in this case about the same in width (3⅙ inches), but somewhat convex underneath, like those to be found on the “skikjelke” of Österdalen and elsewhere. These convex runners proved to move very easily on the kind of country which we had to travel over, and they enabled the long sledges to be turned with ease, which was particularly convenient in the drift-ice, where the many irregularities often necessitated a very zigzag route. The runners were covered with a thin plate of German silver, which, as it always keeps bright and smooth and does not rust, answered its purpose well. As I mentioned before, there were thin, loose, well-tarred guard-runners of a kind of maple (Acer platonides) underneath the German-silver ones. The sledges were also prepared in various other ways, which have been treated of before, for the heavy loads they were to carry at the beginning. The result of this was that they were somewhat heavier than I had intended at first; but in return I had the satisfaction of their being fit for use during the whole journey, and not once were we stopped or delayed by their breaking down. This has hardly been the case with former sledge journeys.

I have referred several times to our clothes, and our trial-trips in them. Although we had come to the conclusion that our wolfskin garments were too warm for travelling in, we took them with us all the same on our first trip, and wore them too, to a certain extent; but we soon discovered that they were always too warm, and caused undue perspiration. By absorbing all the moisture of the body they became so heavy that they made an appreciable difference in the weight of our loads, and on our return from our three days’ absence from the vessel were so wet that they had to be hung for a long time over the saloon stove to dry. To this was added the experience that when we took them off in the cold, after having worn them for a time, they froze so stiff that it was difficult to get them on again. The result of all this was that I was not very favorably disposed towards them, and eventually made up my mind to keep to my woollen clothes, which I thought would give free outlet to the perspiration. Johansen followed my example. Our clothes then came to consist of about the following: On the upper part of the body two woollen shirts (Jaeger’s); outside these I had a camel’s-hair coat, and last of all a thick, rough jersey. Instead of the jersey, Johansen wore what is called on board ship an “anorak,” of thick homespun, provided with a hood, which he could pull forward in front of his face, and made after an Eskimo pattern. On our legs we had, next our skin, woollen drawers, and over these knickerbockers and loose gaiters of close Norwegian homespun. To protect us from wind and fine-driven snow, which, being of the nature of dust, forces itself into every pore of a woollen fabric, we wore a suit which has been mentioned before, made of a thin, close kind of cotton canvas, and consisting of an upper garment to pull over the head, provided with a hood in Eskimo fashion, and a lower one in the shape of a pair of wide overalls.

An important item in an outfit is the foot-gear. Instead of wearing long stockings, I preferred to use loose stocking-legs and socks, as these are easy to dry on one’s chest when asleep at night. On a journey of this kind, where one is continually travelling over snow and in a low temperature, whether it be on “ski” or not, my experience is that Finn shoes are, without doubt, the most satisfactory covering for the feet in every way, but they must be made of the skin of the hind-legs of the reindeer buck. They are warm and strong, they are always flexible, and are easy to put on and take off. They require careful management, however, if they are not to be spoiled at the outset, and one must try as well as one can to dry them when asleep at night. If it be sunny and good drying weather outside, the best plan is to hang them on a couple of “ski” staffs, or something of the kind, in the wind outside the tent, preferably turned inside out, so that the skin itself can dry quickly. If one does not take this precaution the hair will soon begin to fall out. In severe cold, such as we had on the first part of our journey, it was impossible to dry them in this way, and our only resource was then to dry them on the feet at night, after having carefully brushed and scraped them free from snow and moisture. Then the next process is to turn them inside out, fill them with “sennegraes,” or sedge, if one have it, thrust one’s feet in, and creep into the sleeping-bag with them on.[5] For milder weather later on we had provided ourselves with leather boots of the “komager” type, such as the Lapps use in summer. In this case they were made of under-tanned ox-hide, with soles of the skin of the blue seal (Phoca barbara); well rubbed in with a composition of tar and tallow, they make a wonderfully strong and water-tight boot, especially for use in wet weather. Inside the “finsko” we used, at the beginning of our journey, this “sennegraes” (Carex æsicaria), of which we had taken a supply. This is most effective in keeping the feet dry and warm, and if used Lapp-wise, i.e., with bare feet, it draws all moisture to itself. At night the wet “sennegraes” must be removed from the boots, well pulled out with the fingers, so that it does not cling together, and then dried during the night by being worn inside the coat or trousers-leg. In the morning it will be about dry, and can be pressed into the boots again. Little by little, however, it becomes used up, and if it is to last out a long journey a good supply must be taken.

We also had with us socks made of sheep’s wool and human hair, which were both warm and durable. Then, too, we took squares of “vadmel,” or Norwegian homespun, such as are used in our army, which we wore inside our “komager” (particularly myself) on the latter part of the journey, when the snow was wet. They are comfortable to wear and easy to dry, as one can spread them out under one’s coat or trousers at night.

On our hands we wore large gloves of wolfskin, in addition to ordinary woollen mittens underneath, neither of them having separate divisions for the fingers. Exactly the same drying process had to be gone through with the gloves as with the foot-gear. Altogether the warmth of one’s unfortunate body, which is the only source of heat one has for this sort of work, is chiefly expended in the effort to dry one’s various garments; and we spent our nights in wet compresses, in order that the morrow might pass in a little more comfort.

On our heads we wore felt hats, which shaded the eyes from the dazzling light, and were less pervious to the wind than an ordinary woollen cap. Outside the hat we generally had one or two hoods of cloth. By this means we could regulate the warmth of our heads to a certain extent, and this is no unimportant thing.

It had been my original intention to use light one-man sleeping-bags, made of the skin of the reindeer calf. As these, however, proved to be insufficiently warm, I had to resort to the same principle we went on in Greenland, i.e., a double bag of adult reindeer-skin; a considerable increase of warmth is thus attained by the fact that the occupants warm each other. Furthermore, a bag for two men is not a little lighter than two single bags. An objection has been raised to joint bags on the score that one’s night’s rest is apt to be disturbed, but this I have not found to be the case.

Something which, in my opinion, ought not to be omitted from a sledge journey is a tent. Even if thin and frail, it affords the members of an expedition so much protection and comfort that the inconsiderable increase in weight to the equipment is more than compensated for. The tents that I had had made for the expedition were of strong undressed silk and very light. They were square at the base and pointed at the top, and were pitched by means only of a tent-pole in the middle, on the same principle as the four-man tents used in our army. Most of them had canvas floors attached. On our first start we took with us a tent of this kind, intended to hold four men and weighing a little over 7 pounds. The floor is a certain advantage, as it makes the whole tent compact and is quick to put up, besides being more impervious to wind. The whole tent is sewed in one piece, walls and floor together, and the only opening a little split through which to crawl. One drawback, however, to it is, that it is almost impossible not to carry in with one a certain amount of snow on the feet. This melts during the night from the heat of one’s body lying on it, and the floor absorbs the moisture, thereby causing the tent to be always a good deal heavier than the figures given here.

I accordingly relinquished all idea of a tent of this kind, and took with me one of about the same dimensions, but without a floor, and of the same silk material as the other. It took a little longer to put up, but the difference was not great. The walls were kept down by pegs, and when all was finished we would bank it carefully round with snow to exclude wind and draughts. Then came the actual pitching of the tent, which was accomplished by crawling in through the entrance and poking it up with a “ski” staff, which also served as tent-pole. It weighed a fraction over 3 pounds, including 16 pegs, lasted the whole journey through—that is to say, until the autumn—and was always a cherished place of refuge.

The cooking apparatus we took with us had the advantage of utilizing to the utmost the fuel consumed. With it we were able, in a very short space of time, to cook food and simultaneously melt an abundance of drinking-water, so that both in the morning and in the evening we were able to drink as much as we wished, and even a surplus remained. The apparatus consisted of two boilers and a vessel for melting snow or ice in, and was constructed in the following manner: Inside a ring-shaped vessel was placed the boiler, while underneath this again was the lamp. The entire combustion output was thus forced to mount into the space between the boiler and the ring-shaped vessel. Over this was a tight-fitting lid with a hole in the middle, through which the hot air was obliged to pass before it could penetrate farther and reach the bottom of a flat snow-melter, which was placed above it. Then, after having delivered some part of its heat, the air was forced down again on the outside of the ring-shaped vessel by the help of a mantle, or cap, which surrounded the whole. Here it parted with its last remaining warmth to the outer side of the ring-vessel, and finally escaped, almost entirely cooled, from the lower edge of the mantle.

For the heating was used a Swedish gas-petroleum lamp, known as the “Primus,” in which the heat turns the petroleum into gas before it is consumed. By this means it renders the combustion unusually complete. Numerous experiments made by Professor Torup at his laboratory proved that the cooker in ordinary circumstances yielded 90 to 93 per cent. of the heat which the petroleum consumed should, by combustion, theoretically evolve. A more satisfactory result, I think, it would be difficult to obtain. The vessels in this cooker were made of German silver, while the lid, outside cap, etc., were of aluminium. Together with two tin mugs, two tin spoons, and a tin ladle, it weighed exactly 8 pounds 13 ounces, while the lamp, the “Primus,” weighed 4½ ounces.

The Cooking Apparatus

As fuel, my choice this time fell on petroleum (“snowflake”). Alcohol, which has generally been used before on Arctic expeditions, has several advantages, and, in particular, is easy to burn. One decided drawback to it, however, is the fact that it does not by any means generate so much heat in comparison with its weight as petroleum when the latter is entirely consumed, as was the case with the lamp used by us. As I was afraid that petroleum might freeze, I had a notion of employing gas-oil, but gave up the idea, as it escapes so easily that it is difficult to preserve, and is, moreover, very explosive. We had no difficulties with our “snowflake” petroleum on account of the cold. We took with us rather more than 4 gallons, and this quantity lasted us 120 days, enabling us to cook two hot meals a day and melt an abundance of water.

Of snow-shoes we took several pairs, as we had to be prepared for breakages in the uneven drift-ice; besides this, they would probably get considerably worn in the summer-time when the snow became wet and granular. Those we took with us were particularly tough, and slid readily. They were, for the most part, of the same kind of maple as the sledges, and of birch and hickory. They had all been well rubbed in with a concoction of tar, stearine, and tallow.

As we calculated to subsist, in a measure, on what we could shoot ourselves, it was necessary for us to have firearms. The most important gun for this kind of work is, naturally, the rifle; but as, in all likelihood, we should have to go across large expanses of snow, where probably there would be little big game, and whereas, on the other hand, birds might very likely come flying over our heads, I thought shot-guns would be the most serviceable to us. Therefore we decided on the same equipment in this respect as we had in Greenland. We took with us two double-barrelled guns (büchsflints); each of them having a shot-barrel of 20-bore and a barrel for ball (Express) of about .360 calibre. Our supply of ammunition consisted of about 180 rifle cartridges and 150 shot cartridges.

Our instruments for determining our position and for working sights were: a small, light theodolite, specially constructed for the purpose, which, with its case (this I had also had made to act as a stand) only weighed a little over two pounds. We had, furthermore, a pocket sextant and an artificial glass horizon, a light azimuth compass of aluminium, and a couple of other compasses. For the meteorological observations we had a couple of aneroid barometers, two minimum spirit-thermometers and three quicksilver sling-thermometers. In addition to these, we had a good aluminium telescope, and also a photographic camera.

The most difficult, but also, perhaps, the most important, point in the equipment of a sledge expedition is thoroughly good and adequate victualling. I have already mentioned, in the Introduction to this book, that the first and foremost object is to protect one’s self against scurvy and other maladies by the choice of foods, which, through careful preparation and sterilization, are assured against decomposition. On a sledge expedition of this kind, where so much attention must be paid to the weight of the equipment, it is hardly possible to take any kinds of provisions, except those of which the weight has been reduced as much as possible by careful and complete drying. As, however, meat and fish are not so easily digested when dried, it is no unimportant thing to have them in a pulverized form. The dried food is, in this manner, so finely distributed that it can with equal facility be digested and received into the organism. This preparation of meat and fish was, therefore, the only kind we took with us. The meat was muscular beef, taken from the ox, and freed from all fat, gristle, etc.; it was then dried as quickly as possible, in a completely fresh condition, and thereupon ground and mixed with the same proportion of beef suet as is used in the ordinary preparation of pemmican. This form of food, which has been used for a considerable time on sledge expeditions, has gained for itself much esteem, and rightly; if well prepared, as ours was, it is undeniably a nourishing and easily digested food.[6] One ought not, however, to trust to its always being harmless, as, if carelessly prepared—i.e., slowly or imperfectly dried—it may also be very injurious to the health.

Another item of our provisions, by which we set great store, was Våge’s fish flour. It is well prepared and has admirable keeping qualities; if boiled in water and mixed with flour and butter or dried potatoes, it furnishes a very appetizing dish. Another point which should be attended to is that the food be of such a kind that it can be eaten without cooking. Fuel is part of an equipment, no doubt; but if for some reason or other this be lost or used up, one would be in a bad case indeed, had one not provided against such a contingency by taking food which could be eaten in spite of that. In order to save fuel, too, it is important that the food should not require cooking, but merely warming. The flour that we took with us had therefore been steamed, and could, if necessary, have been eaten as it was, without further preparation. Merely brought to a boil, it made a good hot dish. We also took dried boiled potatoes, pea-soup, chocolate, vril-food, etc. Our bread was partly carefully dried wheaten biscuits, and partly aleuronate bread, which I had caused to be made of wheat flour mixed with about 30 per cent. of aleuronate flour (vegetable albumen).

We also took with us a considerable quantity of butter (86 pounds) which had been well worked on board in order to get out all superfluous water. By this means not only was considerable weight saved, but the butter did not become so hard in the cold. On the whole, it must be said that our menus included considerable variety, and we were never subjected to that sameness of food which former sledge expeditions have complained so much of. Finally, we always had ravenous appetites, and always thought our meals as delicious as they could be.

Our medicine-chest consisted, on this occasion, of a little bag, containing, naturally, only the most absolutely necessary drugs, etc. Some splints and some ligatures, and plaster-of-Paris bandages, for possible broken legs and arms; aperient pills and laudanum for derangements of the stomach, which were never required; chloroform in case of an amputation, for example, from frost-bite; a couple of small glasses of cocaine in solution for snow-blindness (also unused); drops for toothache, carbolic acid, iodoform gauze, a couple of curved needles, and some silk for sewing up wounds; a scalpel, two artery tweezers (also for amputations), and a few other sundries. Happily our medicines were hardly ever required, except that the ligatures and bandages came in very handily the following winter as wicks for our train-oil lamps. Still better for this purpose, however, is Nicolaysen’s plaster, of which we had taken a supply for possible broken collar-bones. The layer of wax we scraped carefully off and found it most satisfactory for calking our leaky kayaks.

List of the Equipment

Sledge No. 1 (with Nansen’s Kayak)

Lbs.Oz.Kilos.
Kayak41218.7
Pump (for pumping kayaks in case of leakage)120.5
Sail190.7
Axe and geological hammer150.6
Gun and case743.3
Two small wooden rods belonging to cooker0140.4
Theodolite and case4132.2
Three reserve cross-pieces for sledges00.9
Some pieces of wood0110.3
Harpoon line08.40.24
Fur gaiters130.55
Five balls of cord291.17
Cooker, with two mugs, ladle, and two spoons8134.0
Petroleum lamp (Primus)04½0.1
Pocket-flask060.17
Bag, with sundry articles of clothing8134.0
Blanket462.0
Jersey281.15
Finn shoes filled with grass311.4
Cap for fitting over opening in kayak070.2
One pair “komager”210.95
Two pair kayak gloves and one harpoon and line150.6
One waterproof sealskin kayak overcoat311.4
Tool-bag2101.2
Bag of sewing materials, including sailmaker’spalm, sail needles, and other sundries2101.2
Three Norwegian flags040.1
Medicines, etc.4152.25
Photographic camera4102.1
One cassette and one tin box of films3141.75
One wooden cup030.08
One rope (for lashing kayak to sledge)200.9
Pieces of reindeer-skin to prevent kayaks fromchafing3151.8
Wooden shovel231.0
Ski-staff with disk at bottom190.7
One bamboo staff100.45
Two oak staffs2101.2
Seven reserve dog harnesses and two reserve haulingropes2101.2
One coil of rope060.18
Four bamboo poles for masts and for steeringsledges8134.0
One bag of bread5152.7
One bag of whey-powder351.5
One bag of sugar231.0
One bag of albuminous flour1120.8
One bag of lime-juice tablets1100.73
One bag of Frame-food stamina tablets271.1
As boat’s grips, under the sledges,were:
Three sacks of pemmican (together)2381108.2
One sack “leverpostei,” orpâté made of calf’s liver931542.7

Sledge No. 2. On this were carried, in strong sacks:

Lbs. Oz. Kilos.
Albuminous flour 14 15 6.8
Wheat flour 15 6 7.0
Whey-powder 16 15 7.7
Corn flour 8 13 4.0
Sugar 7 1 3.2
Vril-food 31 4 14.2
Australian pemmican 13 0 5.9
Chocolate 12 12 5.8
Oatmeal 11 0 5.0
Dried red whortleberries 0 14 0.4
Two sacks of white bread (together) 69 5 31.5
One sack of aleuronate bread 46 10 21.2
“Special food” (a mixture of pea flour, meat-powder, fat, etc.) 63 13 29.0
Butter 85 13 39.0
Fish flour (Våge’s) 34 2 15.5
Dried potatoes 15 3 6.9
One reindeer-skin sleeping-bag 19 13 9.0
Two steel-wire ropes, with couples for twenty-eight dogs 11 0 5.0
One pair hickory snow-shoes 11 0 5.0
Weight of sledge 43 5 19.7

Sledge No. 3 (with Johansen’s Kayak)

Lbs. Oz. Kilos.
Kayak 41 6 18.8
Two pieces of reindeer-skin, to prevent chafing 1 12 0.8
A supply of dog-shoes 1 3 0.55
One Eskimo shooting-sledge with sail (intended for possible seal-shooting on the ice) 1 10 0.73
Two sledge sails 2 10 1.2
Pump 0 14 0.4
Oar-blades (made of canvas stretched on frames, and intended to be lashed to the ski-staffs) 1 2 0.5
Gun 7 2.7 3.26
Flask 0 5.9 0.17
Net (for catching crustacea in the sea) 0 5.2 0.15
One pair “komager” 1 15.7 0.9

Sledge No. 3—continued

Lbs.Oz.Kilos.
Waterproof kayak overcoat of sealskin231.0
Fur gaiters07.30.21
Two reserve pieces of wood09.80.28
Two tins of petroleum (about 5 gallons)400.618.2
Several reserve snow-shoe fastenings015.10.43
Lantern for changing plates, etc.11.20.49
Artificial glass horizon010.20.29
Bag with cords and nautical almanac04.60.13
Pocket sextant013.70.39
Two packets of matches013.70.39
One reserve sheet of German silver (for repavingplates under sledge-runners)07.40.21
Pitch03.50.1
Two minimum thermometers in cases07.40.21
Three quicksilver thermometers in cases04.90.14
One compass08.80.25
One aluminium compass08.40.24
One aluminium telescope18.60.7
“Sennegraes” or sedge for Finn shoes070.2
Bag with cartridges26111.85
Leather pouch with reserve shooting requisites, partsfor gun-locks, reserve cocks, balls, powder, etc.311.4
Leather pouch with glass bottle, one spoon, and fivepencils010.60.3
Bag with navigation tables, nautical almanac, cards,etc.271.1
Tin box with diaries, letters, photographs,observation-journals, etc.3101.65
One cap for covering hole in deck of kayak080.23
One sack of meat-chocolate17108.0
One bag of soups6103.0
One bag of cocoa763.35
One bag of fish flour3121.70
One bag of wheat flour200.90
One bag of chocolate462.0
One bag of oatmeal462.0
One bag of vril-food462.0
As grips under the sledge were:
One sack of oatmeal29113.2
One sack of pemmican115152.3
One sack of liver pâté1111250.8

A list of our dogs and their weights on starting may be of interest:

Lbs. Kilos.
Kvik 78 35.7
Freia 50 22.7
Barbara 49½ 22.5
Suggen 61½ 28.0
Flint 59½ 27.0
Barrabas 61½ 28.0
Gulen 60½ 27.5
Haren 61½ 28.0
Barnet 39 17.7
Sultan 68 31.0
Klapperslangen 59½ 27.0
Blok 59 26.8
Bjelki 38 17.3
Sjöliget 40 18.0
Katta 45½ 20.7
Narrifas 46 21.0
Livjægeren 38½ 17.5
Potifar 57 26.0
Storræven 70 31.8
Isbjön 61½ 28.0
Lilleræven 59 26.7
Kvindfolket 37 26.0
Perpetuum 63 28.6
Baro 60½ 27.5
Russen 58 26.5
Kaifas 69 31.5
Ulenka 57 26.0
Pan 65 29.5

[1] The crossbars on the sledge that connect the perpendicular supports of the runners with each other.

[2] The sledge runners were connected in front by a bow, consisting of three or four pieces of rattan cane lashed together; it is to this bow the hauling-lines are fastened.

[3] This odometer had been made on board, shortly before starting, out of the works of an old anemometer. The odometer was fastened behind the last sledge, and indicated fairly correctly the distance covered by us.