Depot Journeys
There was now too little work for eight of us in bringing up stores
from the Fram, and it became evident that some of us might be more
usefully employed elsewhere. It was therefore decided that four
men should bring ashore the little that remained, while the other
four went southward to lat. 80° S., partly to explore the immediate
neighbourhood, and partly to begin the transport of provisions to the
south. This arrangement gave us all enough to do. The four who were
to continue the work at the station -- Wisting, Hassel, Stubberud,
and Bjaaland -- now had as much as their sledges could carry. The
rest of us were busy getting ready. For that matter, everything was
prepared in advance, but as yet we had had no experience of a long
journey. That was what we were going to get now.
Our departure was fixed for Friday, February 10. On the 9th I went on
board to say good-bye, as presumably the Fram would have sailed when
we came back. I had so much to thank all these plucky fellows for. I
knew it was hard for all of them -- almost without exception -- to
have to leave us now, at the most interesting time, and go out to sea
to battle for months with cold and darkness, ice and storms, and then
have the same voyage over again the next year when they came to fetch
us. It was certainly a hard task, but none of them complained. They
had all promised to do their best to promote our common object,
and therefore all went about their duty without grumbling. I left
written orders with the commander of the Fram, Captain Nilsen. The
substance of these orders may be given in a few words: Carry out
our plan in the way you may think best. I knew the man I was giving
orders to. A more capable and honourable second in command I could
never have had. I knew that the Fram was safe in his hands.
Lieutenant Prestrud and I made a trip to the south to find a suitable
place for ascending the Barrier on the other side of the bay. The
sea-ice was fairly even for this distance; only a few cracks here
and there. Farther up the bay there were, curiously enough, long
rows of old hummocks. What could this mean? This part was really
quite protected from the sea, so that these formations could not
be attributed to its action. We hoped to have an opportunity of
investigating the conditions more closely later on; there was no time
for it now. The shortest and most direct way to the south was the one
we were on now. The bay was not wide here. The distance from Framheim
to this part of the Barrier was about three miles. The ascent of the
Barrier was not difficult; with the exception of a few fissures it
was quite easy. It did not take long to get up, except perhaps in
the steepest part. The height was 60 feet. It was quite exciting to
go up; what should we see at the top? We had never yet had a real
uninterrupted view over the Barrier to the south; this was the first
time. As it happened, we were not surprised at what we saw when we got
up -- an endless plain, that was lost in the horizon on the extreme
south. Our course, we could see, would take us just along the side of
the ridge before mentioned -- a capital mark for later journeys. The
going was excellent; a thin layer of conveniently loose snow was spread
over a hard under-surface, and made it very suitable for skiing. The
lie of the ground told us at once that we had the right pattern of ski
-- the kind for level ground, long and narrow. We had found what we
wanted -- an ascent for our southern journeys and an open road. This
spot was afterwards marked with a flag, and went by the name of "the
starting-place." On the way back, as on the way out, we passed large
herds of seals, lying asleep. They did not take the least notice
of us. If we went up and woke them, they just raised their heads a
little, looked at us for a moment, and then rolled over on the other
side and went to sleep again. It was very evident that these animals
here on the ice have no enemies. They would certainly have set a watch,
as their brothers in the North do, if they had had anything to fear.
On this day we used skin clothing for the first time -- reindeer-skin
clothes of Eskimo cut -- but they proved to be too warm. We had the
same experience later. In low temperatures these reindeer clothes are
beyond comparison the best, but here in the South we did not as a rule
have low temperatures on our sledge journeys. On the few occasions
when we experienced any cold worth talking about, we were always
in skins. When we returned in the evening after our reconnoitring,
we had no need of a Turkish bath.
On February 10, at 9.30 a.m., the first expedition left for the
South. We were four men, with three sledges and eighteen dogs, six
for each sledge. The load amounted to about 550 pounds of provisions
per sledge, besides the provisions and outfit for the journey. We
could not tell, even approximately, how long the journey would take,
as everything was unknown. The chief thing we took on our sledges
was dogs' pemmican for the depot, 350 pounds per sledge. We also
took a quantity of seal meat cut into steaks, blubber, dried fish,
chocolate, margarine, and biscuits. We had ten long bamboo poles,
with black flags, to mark the way. The rest of our outfit consisted
of two three-man tents, four one-man sleeping-bags, and the necessary
cooking utensils.
The dogs were very willing, and we left Framheim at full gallop. Along
the Barrier we went well. Going down to the sea-ice we had to pass
through a number of big hummocks -- a fairly rough surface. Nor
was this without consequences; first one sledge, then another, swung
round. But no harm was done; we got our gear tested, and that is always
an advantage. We also had to pass rather near several large groups of
seals, and the temptation was too great. Away went the dogs to one side
in full gallop towards the seals. But this time the load was heavy,
and they were soon tired of the extra work. In the bay we were in sight
of the Fram. The ice had now given way entirely, so that she lay close
to the Barrier itself. Our four comrades, who were to stay at home,
accompanied us. In the first place, they wanted to see us on our way,
and in the second, they would be able to lend us a hand in getting
up the Barrier, for we were rather apprehensive that it would cost
us a wet shirt. Finally, they were to hunt seals. There was plenty
of opportunity here; where-ever one looked there were seals -- fat
heavy beasts.
I had put the home party under Wisting's command, and given them
enough work to do. They were to bring up the remainder of the stores
from the ship, and to build a large, roomy pent-house against the
western wall of the hut, so that we should not have to go directly
on to the ice from the kitchen. We also intended to use this as a
carpenter's workshop. But they were not to forget the seal-hunting,
early and late. It was important to us to get seals enough to enable
us all, men and dogs, to live in plenty. And there were enough to
be had. If we ran short of fresh meat in the course of the winter,
it would be entirely our own fault.
It was a good thing we had help for the climb. Short as it was,
it caused us a good deal of trouble; but we had dogs enough, and by
harnessing a sufficient number we got the sledges up. I should like
to know what they thought on board. They could see we were already
hard put to it to get up here. What would it be like when we had to
get on to the plateau? I do not know whether they thought of the old
saying: Practice makes perfect.
We halted at the starting-place, where we were to separate from
our comrades. None of us was particularly sentimental. An honest
shake of the hand, and so "Good-bye." The order of our march was as
follows: Prestrud first on ski, to show the direction and encourage
the dogs. We always went better with someone going in front. Next
came Helmer Hanssen. He kept this place on all our journeys -- the
leading sledge. I knew him well from our previous work together,
and regarded him as the most efficient dog-driver I had met. He
carried the standard compass on his sledge and checked Prestrud's
direction. After him came Johansen, also with a compass. Lastly,
I came, with sledge-meter and compass. I preferred to take the last
sledge because it enabled me to see what was happening. However careful
one may be, it is impossible to avoid dropping things from sledges
in making a journey. If the last man keeps a lookout for such things,
great inconvenience may often be avoided. I could mention many rather
important things that were dropped in the course of our journeys and
picked up again by the last man. The hardest work, of course, falls on
the first man. He has to open up the road and drive his dogs forward,
while we others have only to follow. All honour, then, to the man who
performed this task from the first day to the last -- Helmer Hanssen.
The position of the "forerunner" is not a very enviable one either. Of
course he escapes all bother with dogs, but it is confoundedly tedious
to walk there alone, staring at nothing. His only diversion is a
shout from the leading sledge: "A little to the right," "A little
to the left." It is not so much these simple words that divert him
as the tone in which they are called. Now and then the cry comes
in a way that makes him feel he is acquitting himself well. But
sometimes it sends a cold shiver down his back; the speaker might
just as well have added the word "Duffer!" -- there is no mistaking
his tone. It is no easy matter to go straight on a surface without
landmarks. Imagine an immense plain that you have to cross in thick
fog; it is dead calm, and the snow lies evenly, without drifts. What
would you do? An Eskimo can manage it, but none of us. We should turn
to the right or to the left, and give the leading dog-driver with the
standard compass endless trouble. It is strange how this affects the
mind. Although the man with the compass knows quite well that the man
in front cannot do any better, and although he knows that he could not
do better himself, he nevertheless gets irritated in time and works
himself into the belief that the unsuspecting, perfectly innocent
leader only takes these turns to annoy him; and so, as I have said,
the words "A little to the left" imply the unspoken addition --
perfectly understood on both sides -- "Duffer!" I have personal
experience of both duties. With the dog-driver time passes far more
quickly. He has his dogs to look after, and has to see that all are
working and none shirking. Many other points about a team claim his
attention, and he must always keep an eye on the sledge itself. If
he does not do this, some slight unevenness may throw the runners in
the air before he knows where he is. And to right a capsized sledge,
weighing about eight hundredweight, is no fun. So, instead of running
this risk, he gives his whole attention to what is before him.
From the starting-place the Barrier rises very slightly, until at a
cross-ridge it passes into the perfect level. Here on the ridge we
halt once more. Our comrades have disappeared and gone to their work,
but in the distance the Fram lies, framed in shining, blue-white
ice. We are but human; uncertainty always limits our prospect. Shall
we meet again? And if so, under what conditions? Much lay between
that moment and the next time we should see her. The mighty ocean
on one side, and the unknown region of ice on the other; so many
things might happen. Her flag floats out, waves us a last adieu,
and disappears. We are on our way to the South.
This first inland trip on the Barrier was undeniably exciting. The
ground was absolutely unknown, and our outfit untried. What kind
of country should we have to deal with? Would it continue in this
boundless plain without hindrance of any kind? Or would Nature present
insurmountable difficulties? Were we right in supposing that dogs were
the best means of transport in these regions, or should we have done
better to take reindeer, ponies, motor-cars, aeroplanes, or anything
else? We went forward at a rattling pace; the going was perfect. The
dogs' feet trod on a thin layer of loose snow, just enough to give
them a secure hold.
The weather conditions were not quite what we should have wished
in an unknown country. It is true that it was calm and mild, and
altogether pleasant for travelling, but the light was not good. A
grey haze, the most unpleasant kind of light after fog, lay upon the
landscape, making the Barrier and the sky merge into one. There was
no horizon to be seen. This grey haze, presumably a younger sister
of fog, is extremely disagreeable. One can never be certain of one's
surroundings. There are no shadows; everything looks the same. In a
light like this it is a bad thing to be the forerunner; he does not
see the inequalities of the ground until too late -- until he is right
on them. This often ends in a fall, or in desperate efforts to keep
on his feet. It is better for the drivers, they can steady themselves
with a hand on the sledge. But they also have to be on the lookout for
inequalities, and see that the sledges do not capsize. This light is
also very trying to the eyes, and one often hears of snow-blindness
after such a day. The cause of this is not only that one strains one's
eyes continually; it is also brought about by carelessness. One is
very apt to push one's snow-goggles up on to one's forehead, especially
if they are fitted with dark glasses. However, we always came through
it very well; only a few of us had a little touch of this unpleasant
complaint. Curiously enough, snow-blindness has something in common
with seasickness. If you ask a man whether he is seasick, in nine
cases out of ten he will answer: "No, not at all -- only a little
queer in the stomach." It is the same, in a slightly different way,
with snow-blindness. If a man comes into the tent in the evening with
an inflamed eye and you ask him whether he is snow-blind, you may
be sure he will be almost offended. "Snow-blind? Is it likely? No,
not at all, only a little queer about the eye."
We did seventeen miles[5] that day without exertion. We had two tents,
and slept two in a tent. These tents were made for three men, but were
too small for four. Cooking was only done in one, both for the sake
of economy, so that we might leave more at the depot, and because it
was unnecessary, as the weather was still quite mild.
On this first trip, as on all the depot journeys, our morning
arrangements took far too long. We began to get ready at four, but
were not on the road till nearly eight. I was always trying some means
of remedying this, but without success. It will naturally be asked,
What could be the cause of this? and I will answer candidly -- it was
dawdling and nothing else. On these depot journeys it did not matter so
much, but on the main journey we had to banish dawdling relentlessly.
Next day we did the allotted seventeen miles in six hours, and pitched
our camp early in the afternoon. The dogs were rather tired, as it
had been uphill work all day. To-day, from a distance of twenty-eight
miles, we could look down into the Bay of Whales; this shows that we
had ascended considerably. We estimated our camp that evening to be 500
feet above the sea. We were astonished at this rise, but ought not to
have been so really, since we had already estimated this ridge at 500
feet when we first saw it from the end of the bay. But however it may
be, most of us have a strong propensity for setting up theories and
inventing something new. What others have seen does not interest us,
and on this occasion we took the opportunity -- I say we, because I
was one of them -- of propounding a new theory -- that of an evenly
advancing ice-slope from the Antarctic plateau. We saw ourselves in
our mind's eye ascending gradually to the top, and thus avoiding a
steep and laborious climb among the mountains.
The day had been very warm, +12.2° F., and I had been obliged to
throw off everything except the most necessary underclothes. My
costume may be guessed from the name I gave to the ascent --
Singlet Hill. There was a thick fog when we turned out next morning,
exceedingly unpleasant. Here every inch was over virgin ground, and we
had to do it blindly. That day we had a feeling of going downhill. At
one o'clock land was reported right ahead. From the gesticulations
of those in front I made out that it must be uncommonly big. I saw
absolutely nothing, but that was not very surprising. My sight is
not specially good, and the land did not exist.
The fog lifted, and the surface looked a little broken. The
imaginary land lasted till the next day, when we found out that it
had only been a descending bank of fog. That day we put on the pace,
and did twenty-five miles instead of our usual seventeen. We were
very lightly clad. There could be no question of skins; they were
laid aside at once. Very light wind-clothing was all we wore over
our underclothes. On this journey most of us slept barelegged in
the sleeping-bags. Next day we were surprised by brilliantly clear
weather and a dead calm. For the first time we had a good view. Towards
the south the Barrier seemed to continue, smooth and even, without
ascending. Towards the east, on the other hand, there was a marked
rise -- presumably towards King Edward VII. Land, we thought then. In
the course of the afternoon we passed the first fissure we had met
with. It had apparently been filled up long ago. Our distance that
day was twenty-three miles.
On these depot journeys we were always very glad of our Thermos
flasks. In the middle of the day we made a halt, and took a cup of
scalding hot chocolate, and it was very pleasant to be able to get one
without any trouble in the middle of the snow plateau. On the final
southern journey we did not take Thermos flasks. We had no lunch then.
On February 14, after a march of eleven and a half miles, we reached
80° S. Unfortunately we did not succeed in getting any astronomical
observation on this trip, as the theodolite we had brought with us
went wrong, but later observations on several occasions gave 79°
59' S. Not so bad in fog. We had marked out the route up to this
point with bamboo poles and flags at every 15 kilometres. Now, as
we had not fixed the position by astronomical observation, we found
that the flags would not be sufficient, and we had to look for some
other means of marking the spot. A few empty cases were broken up and
gave a certain number of marks, but not nearly enough. Then our eyes
fell upon a bundle of dried fish lying on one of the sledges, and our
marking pegs were found. I should like to know whether any road has
been marked out with dried fish before; I doubt it. Immediately on
our arrival in lat. 80° -- at eleven in the morning -- we began to
erect the depot. It was made quite solid, and was 12 feet high. The
going here in 80° was quite different from what we had had all the
rest of the way. Deep, loose snow every-where gave us the impression
that it must have fallen in perfectly still weather. Generally when
we passed by here -- but not always -- we found this loose snow.
When the depot was finished and had been photographed, we threw
ourselves on the sledges and began the homeward journey. It was
quite a treat to sit and be drawn along, a thing that otherwise
never happened. Prestrud sat with me. Hanssen drove first, but as
he now had the old track to follow, he wanted no one in front. On
the last sledge we had the marking pegs. Prestrud kept an eye on the
sledge-meter, and sang out at every half-kilometre, while at the same
time I stuck a dried fish into the snow. This method of marking the
route proved a brilliant one. Not only did the dried fish show us the
right way on several occasions, but they also came in very useful on
the next journey, when we returned with starving dogs. That day we
covered forty-three miles. We did not get to bed till one o'clock at
night, but this did not prevent our being up again at four and off
at half-past seven. At half-past nine in the evening we drove into
Framheim, after covering sixty-two miles that day. Our reason for
driving that distance was not to set up any record for the Barrier,
but to get home, if possible, before the Fram sailed, and thus have an
opportunity of once more shaking hands with our comrades and wishing
them a good voyage. But as we came over the edge of the Barrier we
saw that, in spite of all our pains, we had come too late. The Fram
was not there. It gave us a strange and melancholy feeling, not easy
to understand. But the next moment common sense returned, and our
joy at her having got away from the Barrier undamaged after the long
stay was soon uppermost. We heard that she had left the bay at noon
the same day -- just as we were spurting our hardest to reach her.
This depot journey was quite sufficient to tell us what the future
had in store. After this we were justified in seeing it in a rosy
light. We now had experience of the three important factors --
the lie of the ground, the going, and the means of traction --
and the result was that nothing could be better. Everything was in
the most perfect order. I had always had a high opinion of the dog
as a draught animal, but after this last performance my admiration
for these splendid animals rose to the pitch of enthusiasm. Let us
look at what my dogs accomplished on this occasion: On February 14
they went eleven miles southward with a load of 770 pounds, and on
the same day thirty-two miles northward -- only four of them, the
"Three Musketeers" and Lassesen, as Fix and Snuppesen refused to do any
work. The weight they started with from 80°S. was that of the sledge,
165 pounds; Prestrud, 176 pounds; and myself, 182 pounds. Add to this
154 pounds for sleeping-bags, ski, and dried fish, and we have a total
weight of 677 pounds, or about 170 pounds per dog. The last day they
did sixty-two miles. I think the dogs showed on this occasion that
they were well suited for sledging on the Barrier.
In addition to this brilliant result, we arrived at several other
conclusions. In the first place, the question of the long time spent in
our morning preparations thrust itself on our notice: this could not
be allowed to occur on the main journey. At least two hours might be
saved, I had no doubt of that -- but how? I should have to take time to
think it over. What required most alteration was our heavy outfit. The
sledges were constructed with a view to the most difficult conditions
of ground. The surface here was of the easiest kind, and consequently
permitted the use of the lightest outfit. We ought to be able to reduce
the weight of the sledges by at least half -- possibly more. Our big
canvas ski-boots were found to need thorough alteration. They were too
small and too stiff, and had to be made larger and softer. Foot-gear
had such an important bearing on the success of the whole expedition
that we had to do all that could be done to get it right.
The four who had stayed at home had accomplished a fine piece of
work. Framheim was hardly recognizable with the big new addition on
its western wall. This pent-house was of the same width as the hut --
13 feet -- and measured about 10 feet the other way. Windows had been
put in -- two of them -- and it looked quite bright and pleasant when
one came in; but this was not to last for long. Our architects had
also dug a passage, 5 feet wide, round the whole hut, and this was now
covered over, simply by prolonging the sloping roof down to the snow
to form a roof over this passage. On the side facing east a plank was
fixed across the gable at the required height, and from this boards
were brought down to the snow. The lower part of this new extension
of the roof was well strengthened, as the weight of snow that would
probably accumulate upon it in the course of the winter would be very
great. This passage was connected with the pent-house by a side-door
in the northern wall. The passage was constructed to serve as a place
for storing tinned foods and fresh meat, besides which its eastern end
afforded an excellent place to get snow for melting. Here Lindström
could be sure of getting as much clean snow as he wanted, which was
an impossibility outside the house. We had 120 dogs running about,
and they were not particular as to the purpose for which we might want
the snow. But here in this snow wall Lindström had no need to fear the
dogs. Another great advantage was that he would not have to go out in
bad weather, darkness, and cold, every time he wanted a piece of ice.
We now had to turn our attention in the first place, before the cold
weather set in, to the arrangement of our dog tents. We could not leave
them standing as they were on the snow; if we did so, we should soon
find that dogs' teeth are just as sharp as knives; besides which, they
would be draughty and cold for the animals. To counteract this, the
floor of each tent was sunk 6 feet below the surface of the Barrier. A
great part of this excavation had to be done with axes, as we soon came
to the bare ice. One of these dog tents, when finished, had quite an
important appearance, when one stood at the bottom and looked up. It
measured 18 feet from the floor to the peak of the tent, and the
diameter of the floor was 15 feet. Then twelve posts were driven into
the ice of the floor at equal intervals round the wall of the tent,
and the dogs were tethered to them. From the very first day the dogs
took a liking to their quarters, and they were right, as they were well
off there. I do not remember once seeing frost-rime on the coats of
my dogs down in the tent. They enjoyed every advantage there -- air,
without draughts, light, and sufficient room. Round the tent-pole we
left a pillar of snow standing in the middle of the tent to the height
of a man. It took us two days to put our eight dog tents in order.
Before the Fram sailed one of the whale-boats had been put ashore on
the Barrier. One never knew; if we found ourselves in want of a boat,
it would be bad to have none, and if we did not have to use it, there
was no great harm done. It was brought up on two sledges drawn by
twelve dogs, and was taken some distance into the Barrier. The mast
stood high in the air, and showed us its position clearly.
Besides all their other work, the four men had found time for shooting
seals while we were away, and large quantities of meat were now
stowed everywhere. We had to lose no time in getting ready the tent
in which we stored our chief supply of seal meat. It would not have
lasted long if we had left it unprotected on the ground. To keep off
the dogs, we built a wall 7 feet high of large blocks of snow. The
dogs themselves saw to its covering with ice, and for the time being
all possibility of their reaching the meat was removed.
We did not let the floor grow old under our feet; it was time to be
off again to the south with more food. Our departure was fixed for
February 22, and before that time we had a great deal to do. All the
provisions had first to be brought from the main depot and prepared
for the journey. Then we had to open the cases of pemmican, take
out the boxes in which it was soldered, four rations in each, cut
these open, and put the four rations back in the case without the
tin lining. By doing this we saved so much weight, and at the same
time avoided the trouble of having this work to do later on in the
cold. The tin packing was used for the passage through the tropics,
where I was afraid the pemmican might possibly melt and run into
the hold of the ship. This opening and repacking took a long time,
but we got through it. We used the pent-house as a packing-shed.
Another thing that took up a good deal of our time was our personal
outfit. The question of boots was gone into thoroughly. Most of us were
in favour of the big outer boots, but in a revised edition. There
were a few -- but extremely few -- who declared for nothing but
soft foot-gear. In this case it did not make so much difference,
since they all knew that the big boots would have to be brought on
the final journey on account of possible work on glaciers. Those,
therefore, who wanted to wear soft foot-gear, and hang their boots
on the sledge, might do so if they liked. I did not want to force
anyone to wear boots he did not care for; it might lead to too much
unpleasantness and responsibility. Everyone, therefore, might do as he
pleased. Personally I was in favour of boots with stiff soles, so long
as the uppers could be made soft and sufficiently large to give room
for as many stockings as one wished to wear. It was a good thing the
boot-maker could not look in upon us at Framheim just then -- and many
times afterwards, for that matter. The knife was mercilessly applied
to all his beautiful work, and all the canvas, plus a quantity of the
superfluous leather, was cut away. As I had no great knowledge of the
shoemaker's craft, I gladly accepted Wisting's offer to operate on
mine. The boots were unrecognizable when I got them back from him. As
regards shape, they were perhaps just as smart before the alteration,
but as that is a very unimportant matter in comparison with ease
and comfort, I considered them improved by many degrees. The thick
canvas was torn off and replaced by thin weather-proof fabric. Big
wedges were inserted in the toes, and allowed room for several more
pairs of stockings. Besides this, one of the many soles was removed,
thus increasing the available space. It appeared to me that now I had
foot-gear that combined all the qualities I demanded -- stiff soles,
on which Huitfeldt-Höyer Ellefsen ski-bindings could be used, and
otherwise soft, so that the foot was not pinched anywhere. In spite
of all these alterations, my boots were once more in the hands of the
operator before the main journey, but then they were made perfect. The
boots of all the others underwent the same transformation, and every
day our outfit became more complete. A number of minor alterations
in our wardrobe were also carried out. One man was an enthusiast
for blinkers on his cap; another did not care for them. One put on
a nose-protector; another took his off; and if there was a question
of which was right, each was prepared to defend his idea to the
last. These were all alterations of minor importance, but being due to
individual judgment, they helped to raise the spirits and increase
self-confidence. Patents for braces also became the fashion. I
invented one myself, and was very proud of it for a time -- indeed,
I had the satisfaction of seeing it adopted by one of my rivals. But
that rarely happened; each of us wanted to make his own inventions,
and to be as original as possible. Any contrivance that resembled
something already in use was no good. But we found, like the farmer,
that the old way often turned out to be the best.
By the evening of February 21 we were again ready to start. The sledges
-- seven in number -- stood ready packed, and were quite imposing
in appearance. Tempted by the favourable outcome of our former trip,
we put too much on our sledges this time -- on some of them, in any
case. Mine was overloaded. I had to suffer for it afterwards -- or,
rather, my noble animals did.
On February 22, at 8.30 a.m., the caravan moved off -- eight men, seven
sledges, and forty-two dogs -- and the most toilsome part of our whole
expedition began. As usual, we began well from Framheim. Lindström,
who was to stay at home alone and look after things, did not stand
and wave farewells to us. Beaming with joy, he made for the hut as
soon as the last sledge was in motion. He was visibly relieved. But
I knew very well that before long he would begin to take little turns
outside to watch the ridge. Would they soon be coming?
There was a light breeze from the south, dead against us, and the sky
was overcast. Newly fallen snow made the going heavy, and the dogs had
hard work with their loads. Our former tracks were no longer visible,
but we were lucky enough to find the first flag, which stood eleven
miles inland. From there we followed the dried fish, which stood out
sharply against the white snow and were very easy to see. We pitched
our camp at six o'clock in the evening, having come a distance
of seventeen miles. Our camp was quite imposing -- four tents for
three men apiece, with two in each. In two of them the housekeeping
arrangements were carried on. The weather had improved during the
afternoon, and by evening we had the most brilliantly clear sky.
Next day the going was even heavier, and the dogs were severely
tried. W e did no more than twelve and a half miles after eight hours'
march. The temperature remained reasonable, +5° F. We had lost our
dried fish, and for the last few hours were going only by compass.
February 24 began badly -- a strong wind from the south-east, with
thick driving snow. We could see nothing, and had to steer our
course by compass. It was bitter going against the wind, although
the temperature was no worse than -0.4° F. We went all day without
seeing any mark. The snow stopped falling about noon, and at three
o'clock it cleared. As we were looking about for a place to pitch
the tents, we caught sight of one of our flags. When we reached it,
we found it was flag No. 5 -- all our bamboos were numbered, so we
knew the exact position of the flag. No. 5 was forty-four and a half
miles from Framheim. This agreed well with the distance recorded --
forty-four miles.
The next day was calm and clear, and the temperature began to
descend, -13° F. But in spite of this lower temperature the air
felt considerably milder, as it was quite still. We followed marks
and fish the whole way, and at the end of our day's journey we had
covered eighteen miles -- a good distance for heavy going.
We then had a couple of days of bitter cold with fog, so that we did
not see much of our surroundings. We followed the fish and the marks
most of the way. We had already begun to find the fish useful as
extra food; the dogs took it greedily. The forerunner had to take up
each fish and throw it on one side; then one of the drivers went out,
took it up, and put it on his sledge. If the dogs had come upon the
fish standing in the snow we should soon have had fierce fights. Even
now, before we reached the depot in 80° S., the dogs began to show
signs of exhaustion, probably as a result of the cold weather (-16.6°
F.) and the hard work. They were stiff in the legs in the morning
and difficult to set going.
On February 27, at 10.30 a.m., we reached the depot in 80° S. The
depot was standing as we had left it, and no snow-drifts had formed
about it, from which we concluded that the weather conditions had been
quiet. The snow, which we had found very loose when we were there
before, was now hardened by the cold. We were lucky with the sun,
and got the position of the depot accurately determined.
On our way across these endless plains, where no landmarks of
any kind are to be found, we had repeatedly thought of a means of
marking our depots so that we might be perfectly sure of finding
them again. Our fight for the Pole was entirely dependent on this
autumn work, in laying down large supplies of provisions as far to
the south as possible in such a way that we could be certain of
finding them again. If we missed them, the battle would probably
be lost. As I have said, we had discussed the question thoroughly,
and come to the conclusion that we should have to try to mark our
depots at right angles to the route, in an east and west direction,
instead of in a line with the route, north and south. These marks
along the line of the route may easily be missed in fog, if they
are not close enough together; and if one thus gets out of the line,
there is a danger of not picking it up again. According to this new
arrangement we therefore marked this depot in 80° S. with high bamboo
poles carrying black flags. We used twenty of these -- ten on each side
of the depot. Between each two flags there was a distance of 984 yards
(900 metres), so that the distance marked on each side of the depot
was five and a half miles (nine kilometres). Each bamboo was marked
with a number, so that we should always be able to tell from this
number on which side the depot lay, and how far off. This method
was entirely new and untried, but proved afterwards to work with
absolute certainty. Our compasses and sledge-meters had, of course,
been carefully adjusted at the station, and we knew that we could
rely on them.
Having put this in order, we continued our journey on the following
day. The temperature fell steadily as we went inland; if it continued
in this way it would be cold before one got to the Pole. The surface
remained as before -- flat and even. We ourselves had a feeling
that we were ascending, but, as the future will show, this was only
imagination. We had had no trouble with fissures, and it almost looked
as if we should avoid them altogether, since, of course, it might
be supposed that the part of the Barrier nearest the edge would be
the most fissured, and we had already left that behind us. South of
80° we found the going easier, but the dogs were now beginning to
be stiff and sore-footed, and it was hard work to get them started
in the morning. The sore feet I am speaking of here are not nearly
so bad as those the dogs are liable to on the sea-ice of the Arctic
regions. What caused sore feet on this journey was the stretches of
snow-crust we had to cross; it was not strong enough to bear the dogs,
and they broke through and cut their paws. Sore feet were also caused
by the snow caking and sticking between the toes. But the dog that has
to travel on sea-ice in spring and summer is exposed to worse things --
the sharp ice cuts the paws and the salt gets in. To prevent this kind
of sore feet one is almost obliged to put socks on the dogs. With the
kind of foot-trouble our dogs experienced it is not necessary to take
any such precautions. As a result of the long sea voyage their feet
had become unusually tender and could not stand much. On our spring
journey we noticed no sore-footedness, in spite of the conditions
being worse rather than better; probably their feet had got into
condition in the course of the winter.
On March 3 we reached 81° S. The temperature was then -45.4° F.,
and it did not feel pleasant. The change had come too rapidly; this
could be seen both in men and in dogs. We pitched our camp at three
in the afternoon, and went straight into the tents. The following
day was employed in building and marking the depot. That night was
the coldest we observed on the trip, as the temperature was -49°
F. when we turned out in the morning. If one compares the conditions
of temperature in the Arctic and Antarctic regions, it will be seen
that this temperature is an exceptionally low one. The beginning of
March corresponds, of course, to the beginning of September in the
northern hemisphere -- a time of year when summer still prevails. We
were astonished to find this low temperature while summer ought still
to have lasted, especially when I remembered the moderate temperatures
Shackleton had observed on his southern sledge journey. The idea at
once occurred to me of the existence of a local pole of maximum cold
extending over the central portion of the Ross Barrier. A comparison
with the observations recorded at Captain Scott's station in McMurdo
Sound might to some extent explain this. In order to establish it
completely one would require to have information about the conditions
in King Edward Land as well. The observations Dr. Mawson is now engaged
upon in Adélie Land and on the Barrier farther west will contribute
much to the elucidation of this question.
In 81° S. we laid down a depot consisting of fourteen cases of dogs'
pemmican -- 1,234 pounds. For marking this depot we had no bamboo
poles, so there was nothing to be done but to break up some cases
and use the pieces as marks; this was, at any rate, better than
nothing. Personally, I considered these pieces of wood, 2 feet high,
good enough, considering the amount of precipitation I had remarked
since our arrival in these regions. The precipitation we had observed
was very slight, considering the time of year -- spring and summer. If,
then, the snowfall was so inconsiderable at this time of the year
and along the edge of the Barrier, what might it not be in autumn
and winter in the interior? As I have said, something was better than
nothing, and Bjaaland, Hassel, and Stubberud, who were to return to
Lindström's flesh-pots on the following day, were given the task of
setting up these marks. As with the former depot, this one was marked
for nine kilometres on each side from east to west. So that we might
know where the depot was, in case we should come upon one of these
marks in a fog, all those on the east were marked with a little cut
of an axe. I must confess they looked insignificant, these little
bits of wood that were soon lost to sight on the boundless plain,
and the idea that they held the key of the castle where the fair one
slept made me smile. They looked altogether too inconsiderable for
such an honour. Meanwhile, we others, who were to go on to the south,
took it easy. The rest was good for the dogs especially, though the
cold prevented their enjoying it as they should have done.
At eight o'clock next morning we parted company with the three who
went north. I had to send home one of my dogs, Odin, who had got an
ugly raw place -- I was using Greenland harness on him -- and I went
on with five dogs. These were very thin, and apparently worn out;
but in any case we had to reach 82° S. before we gave up. I had had
some hope that we might have got to 83°, but it began to look as if
we had a poor chance of that. After 81° S. the Barrier began to take
on a slightly different appearance instead of the absolutely flat
surface, we saw on the first day a good many small formations of
the shape of haycocks. At that time we did not pay much attention
to these apparently insignificant irregularities, but later on we
learned to keep our eyes open and our feet active when passing in
their vicinity. On this first day southward from 81° S. we noticed
nothing; the going was excellent, the temperature not so bad as it
had been, -27.4° F., and the distance covered very creditable. The
next day we got our first idea of the meaning of these little mounds,
as the surface was cut up by crevasse after crevasse. These fissures
were not particularly wide, but were bottomless, as far as we could
see. About noon Hanssen's three leading dogs, Helge, Mylius, and Ring,
fell into one of them, and remained hanging by their harness; and it
was lucky the traces held, as the loss of these three would have been
severely felt. When the rest of the team saw these three disappear,
they stopped short. Fortunately, they had a pronounced fear of these
fissures, and always stopped when anything happened. We understood
now that the haycock formations were the result of pressure, and that
crevasses were always found in their neighbourhood.
That day was for the most part thick and hazy, with a northerly wind,
and snow-showers from time to time. Between the showers we caught
sight of lofty -- very lofty -- pressure ridges, three or four of them,
to the eastward. We estimated their distance at about six miles. Next
day, March 7, we had the same experience that Shackleton mentions on
several occasions. The morning began clear and fine, with a temperature
of -40° F. In the course of the forenoon a breeze sprang up from
the south-east, and increased to a gale during the afternoon. The
temperature rose rapidly, and when we pitched our camp at three in
the afternoon it was only -0.4° F. At our camping-place that morning
we left a case of dogs' pemmican, for use on the homeward journey,
and marked the way to the south with splinters of board at every
kilometre. Our distance that day was only twelve and a half miles. Our
dogs, especially mine, looked miserable -- terribly emaciated. It
was clear that they could only reach 82° S. at the farthest. Even
then the homeward journey would be a near thing.
We decided that evening to be satisfied with reaching 82°, and then
return. During this latter part of the trip we put up our two tents
front to front, so that the openings joined; in this way we were able
to send the food direct from one tent to the other without going
outside, and that was a great advantage. This circumstance led to
a radical alteration in our camping system, and gave us the idea
of the best five-man tent that has probably yet been seen in the
Polar regions. As we lay dozing that evening in our sleeping-bags,
thinking of everything and nothing, the idea suddenly occurred to
us that if the tents were sewed together as they now stood -- after
the fronts had been cut away -- we should get one tent that would
give us far more room for five than the two separate tents as they
were. The idea was followed up, and the fruit of it was the tent we
used on the journey to the Pole -- an ideal tent in every way. Yes,
circumstances work wonders; for I suppose one need not make Providence
responsible for these trifles?
On March 8 we reached 82° S., and it was the utmost my five dogs could
manage. Indeed, as will shortly be seen, it was already too much. They
were completely worn out, poor beasts. This is the only dark memory of
my stay in the South -- the over-taxing of these fine animals -- I had
asked more of them than they were capable of doing. My consolation is
that I did not spare myself either. To set this sledge, weighing nearly
half a ton, in motion with tired-out dogs was no child's play. And
setting it in motion was not always the whole of it: sometimes one
had to push it forward until one forced the dogs to move. The whip had
long ago lost its terrors. When I tried to use it, they only crowded
together, and got their heads as much out of the way as they could;
the body did not matter so much. Many a time, too, I failed altogether
to get them to go, and had to have help. Then two of us shoved the
sledge forward, while the third used the whip, shouting at the same
time for all he was worth. How hard and unfeeling one gets under such
conditions; how one's whole nature may be changed! I am naturally fond
of all animals, and try to avoid hurting them. There is none of the
"sportsman's" instinct in me; it would never occur to me to kill an
animal -- rats and flies excepted -- unless it was to support life. I
think I can say that in normal circumstances I loved my dogs, and the
feeling was undoubtedly mutual. But the circumstances we were now in
were not normal -- or was it, perhaps, myself who was not normal? I
have often thought since that such was really the case. The daily hard
work and the object I would not give up had made me brutal, for brutal
I was when I forced those five skeletons to haul that excessive load. I
feel it yet when I think of Thor -- a big, fine, smooth-haired dog --
uttering his plaintive howls on the march, a thing one never hears
a dog do while working. I did not understand what it meant -- would
not understand, perhaps. On he had to go -- on till he dropped. When
we cut him open we found that his whole chest was one large abscess.
The altitude at noon gave us 81° 54' 30'',
and we therefore went the other six miles to the south, and pitched
our camp at 3.30 p.m. in 82° S. We had latterly had a constant
impression that the Barrier was rising, and in the opinion of all
of us we ought now to have been at a height of about 1,500 feet and
a good way up the slope leading to the Pole. Personally I thought
the ground continued to rise to the south. It was all imagination,
as our later measurements showed.
We had now reached our highest latitude that autumn, and had reason
to be well satisfied. We laid down 1,370 pounds here, chiefly dogs'
pemmican. We did nothing that afternoon, only rested a little. The
weather was brisk, clear and calm, -13° F. The distance this last
day was thirteen and a half miles.
Next day we stayed where we were, built our depot, and marked it. The
marking was done in the same way as in 81° S., with this difference,
that here the pieces of packing-case had small, dark blue strips
of cloth fastened to the top, which made them easier to see. We
made this depot very secure, so that we could be certain it would
stand bad weather in the course of the winter. I also left my sledge
behind, as I saw the impossibility of getting it home with my team;
besides which, an extra sledge at this point might possibly be useful
later. This depot -- 12 feet high -- was marked with a bamboo and a
flag on the top, so that it could be seen a great way off.
On March 10 we took the road for home. I had divided my dogs between
Wisting and Hanssen, but they got no assistance from these bags of
bones, only trouble. The other three teams had held out well. There
was hardly anything wrong to be seen with Hanssen's. Wisting's team
was looked upon as the strongest, but his dogs had got very thin;
however, they did their work well. Wisting's sledge had also been
overloaded; it was even heavier than mine. Johansen's animals had
originally been regarded as the weakest, but they proved themselves
very tough in the long-run. They were no racers, but always managed
to scramble along somehow. Their motto was: "If we don't get there
to-day, we'll get there to-morrow." They all came home.
Our original idea was that the homeward journey should be a sort of
pleasure trip, that we should sit on the sledges and take it easy;
but in the circumstances this was not to be thought of. The dogs had
quite enough to do with the empty sledges. The same day we reached the
place where we had left a case of dogs' pemmican, and camped there,
having done twenty-nine and three-quarter miles. The weather was cold
and raw; temperature, -25.6° F. This weather took the last remnant of
strength out of my dogs; instead of resting at night, they lay huddled
together and freezing. It was pitiful to see them. In the morning they
had to be lifted up and put on their feet; they had not strength enough
to raise themselves. When they had staggered on a little way and got
some warmth into their bodies, they seemed to be rather better --
at any rate, they could keep up with us. The following day we did
twenty-four and three-quarter miles; temperature, -32.8° F.
On the 12th we passed the depot in 81° S. The big pressure ridges
to the east were easily visible, and we got a good bearing, which
would possibly come in useful later for fixing the position of
the depot. That day we did twenty-four and three-quarter miles;
temperature, -39° F. March 13 began calm and fine, but by half-past
ten in the morning a strong wind had sprung up from the east-south-east
with thick driving snow. So as not to lose the tracks we had followed
so far, we pitched our camp, to wait till the storm was over. The wind
howled and took hold of the tents, but could not move them. The next
day it blew just as hard from the same quarter, and we decided to
wait. The temperature was as usual, with the wind in this quarter;
-11.2° F. The wind did not moderate till 10.30 a.m. on the 15th,
when we were able to make a start.
What a sight there was outside! How were we going to begin to bring
order out of this chaos? The sledges were completely snowed up;
whips, ski-bindings, and harness largely eaten up. It was a nice
predicament. Fortunately we were well supplied with Alpine rope,
and that did for the harness; spare straps came in for ski-bindings,
but the whips were not so easy to make good. Hanssen, who drove first,
was bound to have a fairly serviceable whip; the others did not matter
so much, though it was rather awkward for them. In some way or other
he provided himself with a whip that answered his purpose. I saw one
of the others armed with a tent-pole, and he used it till we reached
Framheim. At first the dogs were much afraid of this monster of a whip,
but they soon found out that it was no easy matter to reach them with
the pole, and then they did not care a scrap for it.
At last everything seemed to be in order, and then we only had to get
the dogs up and in their places. Several of them were so indifferent
that they had allowed themselves to be completely snowed under,
but one by one we got them out and put them on their feet. Thor,
however, refused absolutely. It was impossible to get him to stand
up; he simply lay and whined. There was nothing to be done but to put
an end to him, and as we had no firearms, it had to be done with an
axe. It was quite successful; less would have killed him. Wisting took
the carcass on his sledge to take it to the next camp, and there cut it
up. The day was bitterly cold -- fog and snow with a southerly breeze;
temperature, -14.8° F. We were lucky enough to pick up our old tracks
of the southern journey, and could follow them. Lurven, Wisting's
best dog, fell down on the march, and died on the spot. He was one
of those dogs who had to work their hardest the whole time; he never
thought of shirking for a moment; he pulled and pulled until he died.
All sentimental feeling had vanished long ago; nobody thought of giving
Lurven the burial he deserved. What was left of him, skin and bones,
was cut up and divided among his companions.
On March 16 we advanced seventeen miles; temperature, -29.2° F. Jens,
one of my gallant "Three Musketeers," had been given a ride all day
on Wisting's sledge; he was too weak to walk any longer. Thor was to
have been divided among his companions that evening, but, on account
of the abscess in his chest, we changed our minds. He was put into an
empty case and buried. During the night we were wakened by a fearful
noise. The dogs were engaged in a fierce fight, and it was easy to
guess from their howls that it was all about food. Wisting, who always
showed himself quickest in getting out of the bag, was instantly on
the spot, and then it was seen that they had dug up Thor, and were
now feasting on him. It could not be said that they were hard to
please in the way of food. Associations of ideas are curious things;
"sauce hollandaise" suddenly occurred to my mind. Wisting buried the
carcass again, and we had peace for the rest of the night.
On the 17th it felt bitterly cold, with -41.8° F., and a sharp
snowstorm from the south-east. Lassesen, one of my dogs, who had
been following the sledges loose, was left behind this morning at
the camping-place; we did not miss him till late in the day. Rasmus,
one of the "Three Musketeers," fell to-day. Like Lurven, he pulled
till he died. Jens was very ill, could not touch food, and was taken
on Wisting's sledge. We reached our depot in 80° S. that evening,
and were able to give the dogs a double ration. The distance covered
was twenty-one and three-quarter miles. The surface about here had
changed in our absence; great, high snow-waves were now to be seen
in all directions. On one of the cases in the depot Bjaaland had
written a short message, besides which we found the signal arranged
with Hassel -- a block of snow on the top of the depot to show
that they had gone by, and that all was well. The cold continued
persistently. The following day we had -41.8° F. Ola and Jens, the
two survivors of the "Three Musketeers," had to be put an end to that
day; it was a shame to keep them alive any longer. And with them the
"Three Musketeers" disappear from this history. They were inseparable
friends, these three; all of them almost entirely black. At Flekkerö,
near Christiansand, where we kept our dogs for several weeks before
taking them on board, Rasmus had got loose, and was impossible to
catch. He always came and slept with his two friends, unless he was
being hunted. We did not succeed in catching him until a few days
before we took them on board, and then he was practically wild. They
were all three tied up on the bridge on board, where I was to have
my team, and from that day my closer acquaintance with the trio is
dated. They were not very civilly disposed for the first month. I
had to make my advances with a long stick -- scratch them on the
back. In this way I insinuated myself into their confidence, and we
became very good friends. But they were a terrible power on board;
wherever these three villains showed themselves, there was always a
row. They loved fighting. They were our fastest dogs. In our races
with empty sledges, when we were driving around Framheim, none of the
others could beat these three. I was always sure of leaving the rest
behind when I had them in my team.
I had quite given up Lassesen, who had been left behind that morning,
and I was very sorry for it, as he was my strongest and most willing
beast. I was glad, therefore, when he suddenly appeared again,
apparently fit and well. We presumed that he had dug up Thor again,
and finished him. It must have been food that had revived him. From
80° S. home he did remarkably good work in Wisting's team.
That day we had a curious experience, which was useful for the
future. The compass on Hanssen's sledge, which had always been
reliability itself, suddenly began to go wrong; at any rate, it did
not agree with the observations of the sun, which we fortunately had
that day. We altered our course in accordance with our bearings. In
the evening, when we took our things into the tent, the housewife,
with scissors, pins, needles, etc., had lain close against the
compass. No wonder it turned rebellious.
On March 19 we had a breeze from the south-east and -45.4° F. "Rather
fresh," I find noted in my diary. Not long after we had started that
morning, Hanssen caught sight of our old tracks. He had splendid
eyesight -- saw everything long before anyone else. Bjaaland also had
good sight, but he did not come up to Hanssen. The way home was now
straightforward, and we could see the end of our journey. Meanwhile
a gale sprang up from the south-east, which stopped us for a day;
temperature, -29.2° F. Next day the temperature had risen, as usual,
with a south-east wind; we woke up to find it +15.8° F. on the
morning of the 21st. That was a difference that could be felt, and
not an unpleasant one; we had had more than enough of -40°. It was
curious weather that night: violent gusts of wind from the east and
south-east, with intervals of dead calm -- just as if they came off
high land. On our way northward that day we passed our flag No. 6,
and then knew that we were fifty-three miles from Framheim. Pitched
our camp that evening at thirty-seven miles from the station. We
had intended to take this stretch of the way in two days, seeing
how tired the dogs were; but it turned out otherwise, for we lost
our old tracks during the forenoon, and in going on we came too far
to the east, and high up on the ridge mentioned before. Suddenly
Hanssen sang out that he saw something funny in front -- what it
was he did not know. When that was the case, we had to apply to the
one who saw even better than Hanssen, and that was my glass. Up with
the glass, then -- the good old glass that has served me for so many
years. Yes, there was certainly something curious. It must be the
Bay of Whales that we were looking down into, but what were those
black things moving up and down? They are our fellows hunting seals,
someone suggested, and we all agreed. Yes, of course, it was so clear
that there was no mistaking it. "I can see a sledge -- and there's
another -- and there's a third." We nearly had tears in our eyes to
see how industrious they were. "Now they're gone. No; there they are
again. Strange how they bob up and down, those fellows!" It proved to
be a mirage; what we saw was Framheim with all its tents. Our lads,
we were sure, were just taking a comfortable midday nap, and the
tears we were nearly shedding were withdrawn. Now we could survey
the situation calmly. There lay Framheim, there was Cape Man's Head,
and there West Cape, so that we had come too far to the east. "Hurrah
for Framheim! half-past seven this evening," shouted one. "Yes, that's
all we can do," cried another; and away we went. We set our course
straight for the middle of the bay. We must have got pretty high up,
as we went down at a terrific pace. This was more than the forerunner
could manage; he flung himself on a sledge as it went by. I had a
glimpse of Hanssen, who was busy making a whip-handle, as I passed;
the soles of his feet were then very prominent. I myself was lying
on Hanssen's sledge, shaking with laughter; the situation was too
comical. Hanssen picked himself up again just as the last sledge was
passing and jumped on. We all collected in a mass below the ridge --
sledges and dogs mixed up together.
The last part of the way was rather hard work. We now found the
tracks that we had lost early in the day; one dried fish after
another stuck up out of the snow and led us straight on. We reached
Framheim at seven in the evening, half an hour earlier than we had
thought. It was a day's march of thirty-seven miles -- not so bad
for exhausted dogs. Lassesen was the only one I brought home out of
my team. Odin, whom I had sent home from 81° S., died after arriving
there. We lost altogether eight dogs on this trip; two of Stubberud's
died immediately after coming home from 81° S. Probably the cold was
chiefly responsible; I feel sure that with a reasonable temperature
they would have come through. The three men who came home from 81°
S. were safe and sound. It is true that they had run short of food
and matches the last day, but if the worst came to the worst, they
had the dogs. Since their return they had shot, brought in, cut up,
and stowed away, fifty seals -- a very good piece of work.
Lindström had been untiring during our absence; he had put everything
in splendid order. In the covered passage round the hut he had cut out
shelves in the snow and filled them with slices of seal meat. Here
alone there were steaks enough for the whole time we should spend
here. On the outer walls of the hut, which formed the other side of
the passage, he had put up shelves, and there all kinds of tinned
foods were stored. All was in such perfect order that one could put
one's hand on what one wanted in the dark. There stood salt meat
and bacon by themselves, and there were fish-cakes. There you read
the label on a tin of caramel pudding, and you could be sure that
the rest of the caramel puddings were in the vicinity. Quite right;
there they stood in a row, like a company of soldiers. Oh, Lindström,
how long will this order last?
Well, that was, of course, a question I put to myself in the strictest
secrecy. Let me turn over my diary. On Thursday, July 27, I find the
following entry: "The provision passage turns our days into chaotic
confusion. How my mind goes back to the time when one could find
what one wanted without a light of any kind! If you put out your hand
to get a plum-pudding and shut it again, you could be sure it was a
plum-pudding you had hold of. And so it was throughout Lindström's
department. But now -- good Heavens! I am ashamed to put down what
happened to me yesterday. I went out there in the most blissful
ignorance of the state of things now prevailing, and, of course,
I had no light with me, for everything had its place. I put out my
hand and grasped. According to my expectation I ought to have been in
possession of a packet of candles, but the experiment had failed. That
which I held in my hand could not possibly be a packet of candles. It
was evident from the feel that it was something of a woollen nature. I
laid the object down, and had recourse to the familiar expedient
of striking a match. Do you know what it was? A dirty old -- pair
of pants! and do you want to know where I found it? Well, it was
between the butter and the sweetmeats. That was mixing things up
with a vengeance." But Lindström must not have all the blame. In this
passage everyone was running backwards and forwards, early and late,
and as a rule in the dark. And if they knocked something down on the
way, I am not quite sure that they always stopped to pick it up again.
Then he had painted the ceiling of the room white. How cosy it
looked when we put our heads in that evening! He had seen us a long
way off on the Barrier, the rascal, and now the table was laid with
all manner of dainties. But seal-steaks and the smell of coffee were
what attracted us, and it was no small quantity that disappeared that
evening. Home! -- that word has a good sound, wherever it may be, at
sea, on land, or on -- the Barrier. How comfortable we made ourselves
that night! The first thing we did now was to dry all our reindeer-skin
clothes; they were wet through. This was not to be done in a hurry. We
had to stretch the garments that were to be dried on lines under the
ceiling of the room, so that we could not dry very much at a time.
We got everything ready, and made some improvements in our outfit
for a last depot journey before the winter set in. This time the
destination was 80° S., with about a ton and a quarter of fresh seal
meat. How immensely important it would be on the main journey if we
could give our dogs as much seal meat as they could eat at 80° S.;
we all saw the importance of this, and were eager to carry it out. We
set to work once more at the outfit; the last trip had taught us much
that was new. Thus Prestrud and Johansen had come to the conclusion
that a double sleeping-bag was preferable to two single ones. I will
not enter upon the discussion that naturally arose on this point. The
double bag has many advantages, and so has the single bag; let it
therefore remain a matter of taste. Those two were, however, the only
ones who made this alteration. Hanssen and Wisting were busy carrying
out the new idea for the tents, and it was not long before they had
finished. These tents are as much like a snow hut in form as they can
be; instead of being entirely round, they have a more oblong form,
but there is no flat side, and the wind has no point of attack. Our
personal outfit also underwent some improvements.
The Bay of Whales -- the inner part of it, from Man's Head to West
Cape -- was now entirely frozen over, but outside the sea lay immense
and dark. Our house was now completely covered with snow. Most of
this was Lindström's work; the blizzard had not helped him much. This
covering with snow has a great deal to do with keeping the hut snug
and warm. Our dogs -- 107 in number -- mostly look like pigs getting
ready for Christmas; even the famished ones that made the last trip
are beginning to recover. It is an extraordinary thing how quickly
such an animal can put on flesh.
It was interesting to watch the home-coming of the dogs from the
last trip. They showed no sign of surprise when we came into camp;
they might have been there all the time. It is true they were rather
more hungry than the rest. The meeting between Lassesen and Fix was
comic. These two were inseparable friends; the first-named was boss,
and the other obeyed him blindly. On this last trip I had left Fix at
home, as he did not give me the impression of being quite up to the
work; he had therefore put on a lot of flesh, big eater as he was. I
stood and watched their meeting with intense curiosity. Would not Fix
take advantage of the occasion to assume the position of boss? In such
a mass of dogs it took some little time before they came across each
other. Then it was quite touching. Fix ran straight up to the other,
began to lick him, and showed every sign of the greatest affection
and joy at seeing him again. Lassesen, on his part, took it all with
a very superior air, as befits a boss. Without further ceremony, he
rolled his fat friend in the snow and stood over him for a while --
no doubt to let him know that he was still absolute master, beyond
dispute. Poor Fix! -- he looked quite crestfallen. But this did not
last long; he soon avenged himself on the other, knowing that he
could tackle him with safety.
In order to give a picture of our life as it was at this time, I
will quote a day from my diary. March 25 -- Saturday: "Beautiful mild
weather, +6.8° F. all day. Very light breeze from the south-east. Our
seal-hunters -- the party that came home from 81° S. -- were out this
morning, and brought back three seals. This makes sixty-two seals
altogether since their return on March 11. We have now quite enough
fresh meat both for ourselves and for all our dogs. We get to like
seal-steak more and more every day. We should all be glad to eat it
at every meal, but we think it safer to make a little variety. For
breakfast -- eight o'clock -- we now have regularly hot cakes with
jam, and Lindström knows how to prepare them in a way that could not
be surpassed in the best American houses. In addition, we have bread,
butter, cheese, and coffee. For dinner we mostly have seal meat (we
introduced rather more tinned meat into the menu in the course of the
winter), and sweets in the form of tinned Californian fruit, tarts,
and tinned puddings. For supper, seal-steak, with whortleberry jam,
cheese, bread, butter, and coffee. Every Saturday evening a glass of
toddy and a cigar. I must frankly confess that I have never lived so
well. And the consequence is that we are all in the best of health, and
I feel certain that the whole enterprise will be crowned with success.
"It is strange indeed here to go outside in the evening and see the
cosy, warm lamp-light through the window of our little snow-covered
hut, and to feel that this is our snug, comfortable home on the
formidable and dreaded Barrier. All our little puppies -- as round
as Christmas pigs -- are wandering about outside, and at night they
lie in crowds about the door. They never take shelter under a roof
at night. They must be hardy beasts. Some of them are so fat that
they waddle just like geese."
The aurora australis was seen for the first time on the evening of
March 28. It was composed of shafts and bands, and extended from the
south-west to the north-east through the zenith. The light was pale
green and red. We see many fine sunsets here, unique in the splendour
of their colour. No doubt the surroundings in this fairyland of blue
and white do much to increase their beauty.
The departure of the last depot journey was fixed for Friday, March
31. A few days before, the seal-hunting party went out on the ice and
shot six seals for the depot. They were cleaned and all superfluous
parts removed, so that they should not be too heavy. The weight of
these six seals was then estimated at about 2,400 pounds.
On March 31, at 10 a.m., the last depot party started. It consisted
of seven men, six sledges, and thirty-six dogs. I did not go myself
this time. They had the most beautiful weather to begin their journey
-- dead calm and brilliantly clear. At seven o'clock that morning,
when I came out of the hut, I saw a sight so beautiful that I shall
never forget it. The whole surroundings of the station lay in deep,
dark shadow, in lee of the ridge to the east. But the sun's rays
reached over the Barrier farther to the north, and there the Barrier
lay golden red, bathed in the morning sun. It glittered and shone,
red and gold, against the jagged row of mighty masses of ice that
bounds our Barrier on the north. A spirit of peace breathed over
all. But from Framheim the smoke ascended quietly into the air,
and proclaimed that the spell of thousands of years was broken.
The sledges were heavily loaded when they went southward. I saw them
slowly disappear over the ridge by the starting-place. It was a quiet
time that followed after all the work and hurry of preparation. Not
that we two who stayed at home sat still doing nothing. We made
good use of the time. The first thing to be done was to put our
meteorological station in order. On April 1 all the instruments
were in use. In the kitchen were hung our two mercury barometers,
four aneroids, barograph, thermograph, and one thermometer. They were
placed in a well-protected corner, farthest from the stove. We had
no house as yet for our outside instruments, but the sub-director
went to work to prepare one as quickly as possible, and so nimble
were his hands that when the depot party returned there was the
finest instrument-screen standing ready on the hill, painted white
so that it shone a long way off: The wind-vane was a work of art,
constructed by our able engineer, Sundbeck. No factory could have
supplied a more handsome or tasteful one. In the instrument-screen we
had a thermograph, hygrometer, and thermometers. Observations were
made at 8 a.m., 2 p.m., and 8 p.m. When I was at home I took them,
and when I was away it was Lindström's work.
On the night before April 11 something or other fell down in the
kitchen -- according to Lindström, a sure sign that the travellers
might be expected home that day. And, sure enough, at noon we caught
sight of them up at the starting-place. They came across at such a
pace that the snow was scattered all round them, and in an hour's
time we had them back. They had much to tell us. In the first place,
that everything had been duly taken to the depot in 80°S. Then they
surprised me with an account of a fearfully crevassed piece of
surface that they had come upon, forty-six and a half miles from
the station, where they had lost two dogs. This was very strange;
we had now traversed this stretch of surface four times without being
particularly troubled with anything of this sort, and then, all of a
sudden, when they thought the whole surface was as solid as a rock,
they found themselves in danger of coming to grief altogether. In
thick weather they had gone too far to the west; then, instead of
arriving at the ridge, as we had done before, they came down into the
valley, and there found a surface so dangerous that they nearly had
a catastrophe. It was a precisely similar piece of surface to that
already mentioned to the south of 81° S., but full of small hummocks
everywhere. The ground was apparently solid enough, and this was just
the most dangerous thing about it; but, as they were crossing it,
large pieces of the surface fell away just in rear of them, disclosing
bottomless crevasses, big enough to swallow up everything -- men, dogs,
and sledges. With some difficulty they got out of this ugly place by
steering to the east. Now we knew of it, and we should certainly be
very careful not to come that way again. In spite of this, however,
we afterwards had an even more serious encounter with this nasty trap.
One dog had also been left behind on the way; it had a wound on one
of its feet, and could not be harnessed in the sledge. It had been
let loose a few miles to the north of the depot, doubtless with the
idea that it would follow the sledges. But the dog seemed to have
taken another view of the matter, and was never seen again. There
were some who thought that the dog had probably returned to the depot,
and was now passing its days in ease and luxury among the laboriously
transported seals' carcasses. I must confess that this idea was not
very attractive to me; there was, indeed, a possibility that such a
thing had happened, and that the greater part of our seal meat might
be missing when we wanted it. But our fears proved groundless; Cook --
that was the name of the dog; we had a Peary as well, of course --
was gone for ever.
The improved outfit was in every way successful. Praises of the new
tent were heard on every hand, and Prestrud and Johansen were in the
seventh heaven over their double sleeping-bag. I fancy the others
were very well satisfied with their single ones.
And with this the most important part of the autumn's work came to
an end. The foundation was solidly laid; now we had only to raise
the edifice. Let us briefly sum up the work accomplished between
January 14 and April 11: The complete erection of the station,
with accommodation for nine men for several years; provision of
fresh meat for nine men and a hundred and fifteen dogs for half a
year -- the weight of the seals killed amounted to about 60 tons;
and, finally, the distribution of 3 tons of supplies in the depots in
latitudes 80°, 81°, and 82°S. The depot in 80°S. contained seal meat,
dogs' pemmican, biscuits, butter, milk-powder, chocolate, matches,
and paraffin, besides a quantity of outfit. The total weight of this
depot was 4,200 pounds. In 81°S., 1/2 ton of dogs' pemmican. In 82°S.,
pemmican, both for men and dogs, biscuits, milk-powder, chocolate,
and paraffin, besides a quantity of outfit. The weight of this depot
amounted to 1,366 pounds.