CHAPTER XI

Through the Mountains

On the following day -- November 17 -- we began the ascent. To provide

for any contingency, I left in the depot a paper with information of

the way we intended to take through the mountains, together with our

plan for the future, our outfit, provisions, etc. The weather was fine,

as usual, and the going good. The dogs exceeded our expectations;

they negotiated the two fairly steep slopes at a jog-trot. We began

to think there was no difficulty they could not surmount; the five

miles or so that we had gone the day before, and imagined would be

more than enough for this day's journey, were now covered with full

loads in shorter time. The small glaciers higher up turned out fairly

steep, and in some places we had to take two sledges at a time with

double teams. These glaciers had an appearance of being very old,

and of having entirely ceased to move. There were no new crevasses to

be seen; those that there were, were large and wide, but their edges

were rounded off everywhere, and the crevasses themselves were almost

entirely filled with snow. So as not to fall into these on the return,

we erected our beacons in such a way that the line between any two

of them would take us clear of any danger. It was no use working in

Polar clothing among these hills; the sun, which stood high and clear,

was uncomfortably warm, and we were obliged to take off most of our

things. We passed several summits from 3,000 to 7,000 feet high;

the snow on one of them had quite a reddish-brown tint.

Our distance this first day was eleven and a half miles, with a rise of

2,000 feet. Our camp that evening lay on a little glacier among huge

crevasses; on three sides of us were towering summits. When we had

set our tent, two parties went out to explore the way in advance. One

party -- Wisting and Hanssen -- took the way that looked easiest from

the tent -- namely, the course of the glacier; it here rose rapidly

to 4,000 feet, and disappeared in a south-westerly direction between

two peaks. Bjaaland formed the other party. He evidently looked upon

this ascent as too tame, and started up the steepest part of the

mountain -- side. I saw him disappear up aloft like a fly. Hassel

and I attended to the necessary work round about and in the tent.

We were sitting inside chatting, when we suddenly heard someone come

swishing down towards the tent. We looked at each other; that fellow

had some pace on. We had no doubt as to who it was -- Bjaaland, of

course. He must have gone off to refresh old memories. He had a lot

to tell us; amongst other things, he had found "the finest descent"

on the other side. What he meant by "fine" I was not certain. If it

was as fine as the ascent he had made, then I asked to be excused. We

now heard the others coming, and these we could hear a long way

off. They had also seen a great deal, not to mention "the finest

descent." But both parties agreed in the mournful intelligence that

we should have to go down again. They had both observed the immense

glacier that stretched beneath us running east and west. A lengthy

discussion took place between the two parties, who mutually scorned

each other's "discoveries." "Yes; but look here, Bjaaland, we could

see that from where you were standing there's a sheer drop--" --

"You couldn't see me at all. I tell you I was to the west of the peak

that lies to the south of the peak that" I gave up trying to follow

the discussion any longer. The way in which the different parties had

disappeared and come in sight again gave me every reason to decide

in favour of the route the last arrivals had taken. I thanked these

keen gentlemen for their strenuous ramble in the interests of the

expedition, and went straight off to sleep. I dreamed of mountains

and precipices all night, and woke up with Bjaaland whizzing down

from the sky. I announced once more that I had made up my mind for

the other course, and went to sleep again.

We debated next morning whether it would not be better to take the

sledges two by two to begin with; the glacier before us looked quite

steep enough to require double teams. It had a rise of 2,000 feet

in quite a short distance. But we would try first with the single

teams. The dogs had shown that their capabilities were far above

our expectation; perhaps they would be able to do even this. We

crept off: The ascent began at once -- good exercise after a quart

of chocolate. We did not get on fast, but we won our way. It often

looked as if the sledge would stop, but a shout from the driver and

a sharp crack of the whip kept the dogs on the move. It was a fine

beginning to the day, and we gave them a well-deserved rest when we

got up. We then drove in through the narrow pass and out on the other

side. It was a magnificent panorama that opened before us. From the

pass we had come out on to a very small flat terrace, which a few

yards farther on began to drop steeply to a long valley. Round about

us lay summit after summit on every side. We had now come behind the

scenes, and could get our bearings better. We now saw the southern

side of the immense Mount Nansen; Don Pedro Christophersen we could

see in his full length. Between these two mountains we could follow

the course of a glacier that rose in terraces along their sides. It

looked fearfully broken and disturbed, but we could follow a little

connected line among the many crevasses; we saw that we could go a

long way, but we also saw that the glacier forbade us to use it in

its full extent. Between the first and second terraces the ice was

evidently impassable. But we could see that there was an unbroken

ledge up on the side of the mountain; Don Pedro would help us out. On

the north along the Nansen Mountain there was nothing but chaos,

perfectly impossible to get through. We put up a big beacon where we

were standing, and took bearings from it all round the compass.

I went back to the pass to look out over the Barrier for the

last time. The new mountain chain lay there sharp and clear; we

could see how it turned from the east up to east-north-east, and

finally disappeared in the north-east -- as we judged, about 84°

S. From the look of the sky, it appeared that the chain was continued

farther. According to the aneroid, the height of the terrace on which

we stood was 4,000 feet above the sea. From here there was only one

way down, and we began to go. In making these descents with loaded

sledges, one has to use the greatest care, lest the speed increase

to such a degree that one loses command over the sledge. If this

happens, there is a danger, not only of running over the dogs, but of

colliding with the sledge in front and smashing it. This was all the

more important in our case, as the sledges carried sledge-meters. We

therefore put brakes of rope under our runners when we were to go

downhill. This was done very simply by taking a few turns with a thin

piece of rope round each runner; the more of these turns one took,

the more powerful, of course, was the brake. The art consisted in

choosing the right number of turns, or the right brake; this was not

always attained, and the consequence was that, before we had come

to the end of these descents, there were several collisions. One

of the drivers, in particular, seemed to have a supreme contempt

for a proper brake; he would rush down like a flash of lightning,

and carry the man in front with him. With practice we avoided this,

but several times things had an ugly look.

The first drop took us down 800 feet; then we had to cross a wide,

stiff piece of valley before the ascent began again. The snow between

the mountains was loose and deep, and gave the dogs hard work. The next

ascent was up very steep glaciers, the last of which was the steepest

bit of climbing we had on the whole journey -- stiff work even for

double teams. Going in front of the dogs up these slopes was, I could

see, a business that Bjaaland would accomplish far more satisfactorily

than I, and I gave up the place to him. The first glacier was steep,

but the second was like the side of a house. It was a pleasure to watch

Bjaaland use his ski up there; one could see that he had been up a hill

before. Nor was it less interesting to see the dogs and the drivers go

up. Hanssen drove one sledge alone; Wisting and Hassel the other. They

went by jerks, foot by foot, and ended by reaching the top. The second

relay went somewhat more easily in the tracks made by the first.

Our height here was 4,550 feet, the last ascent having brought us

up 1,250 feet; we had arrived on a plateau, and after the dogs had

rested we continued our march. Now, as we advanced, we had a better

view of the way we were going; before this the nearest mountains had

shut us in. The mighty glacier opened out before us, stretching, as we

could now see, right up from the Barrier between the lofty mountains

running east and west. It was by this glacier that we should have to

gain the plateau; we could see that. We had one more descent to make

before reaching it, and from above we could distinguish the edges

of some big gaps in this descent, and found it prudent to examine it

first. As we thought, there was a side-glacier coming down into it,

with large, ugly crevasses in many places; but it was not so bad as

to prevent our finally reaching, with caution and using good brakes,

the great main ice-field -- Axel Heiberg Glacier. The plan we had

proposed to ourselves was to work our way up to the place where the

glacier rose in abrupt masses between the two mountains. The task

we had undertaken was greater than we thought. In the first place,

the distance was three times as great as any of us had believed;

and, in the second place, the snow was so loose and deep that it was

hard work for the dogs after all their previous efforts. We set our

course along the white line that we had been able to follow among

the numerous crevasses right up to the first terrace. Here tributary

glaciers came down on all sides from the mountains and joined the main

one; it was one of these many small arms that we reached that evening,

directly under Don Pedro Christophersen.

The mountain below which we had our camp was covered with a chaos of

immense blocks of ice. The glacier on which we were was much broken

up, but, as with all the others, the fissures were of old date, and,

to a large extent, drifted up. The snow was so loose that we had to

trample a place for the tent, and we could push the tent-pole right

down without meeting resistance; probably it would be better higher

up. In the evening Hanssen and Bjaaland went out to reconnoitre, and

found the conditions as we had seen them from a distance. The way up

to the first terrace was easily accessible; what the conditions would

be like between this and the second terrace we had still to discover.

It was stiff work next day getting up to the first terrace. The arm

of the glacier that led up was not very long, but extremely steep

and full of big crevasses; it had to be taken in relays, two sledges

at a time. The state of the going was, fortunately, better than on

the previous day, and the surface of the glacier was fine and hard,

so that the dogs got a splendid hold. Bjaaland went in advance up

through this steep glacier, and had his work cut out to keep ahead of

the eager animals. One would never have thought we were between 85°

and 86° S.; the heat was positively disagreeable, and, although lightly

clad, we sweated as if we were running races in the tropics. We were

ascending rapidly, but, in spite of the sudden change of pressure,

we did not yet experience any difficulty of breathing, headache,

or other unpleasant results. That these sensations would make their

appearance in due course was, however, a matter of which we could

be certain. Shackleton's description of his march on the plateau,

when headache of the most violent and unpleasant kind was the order

of the day, was fresh in the memory of all of us.

In a comparatively short time we reached the ledge in the glacier

that we had noticed a long way off; it was not quite flat, but sloped

slightly towards the edge. When we came to the place to which Hanssen

and Bjaaland had carried their reconnaissance on the previous evening,

we had a very fine prospect of the further course of the glacier. To

continue along it was an impossibility; it consisted here -- between

the two vast mountains -- of nothing but crevasse after crevasse,

so huge and ugly that we were forced to conclude that our further

advance that way was barred. Over by Fridtjof Nansen we could not

go; this mountain here rose perpendicularly, in parts quite bare,

and formed with the glacier a surface so wild and cut up that

all thoughts of crossing the ice-field in that direction had to be

instantly abandoned. Our only chance lay in the direction of Don Pedro

Christophersen; here, so far as we could see, the connection of the

glacier and the land offered possibilities of further progress. Without

interruption the glacier was merged in the snow-clad mountain-side,

which rose rapidly towards the partially bare summit. Our view,

however, did not extend very far. The first part of the mountain-side

was soon bounded by a lofty ridge running east and west, in which

we could see huge gaps here and there. From the place where we were

standing, we had the impression that we should be able to continue our

course up there under the ridge between these gaps, and thus come out

beyond the disturbed tract of glacier. We might possibly succeed in

this, but we could not be certain until we were up on the ridge itself.

We took a little rest -- it was not a long one -- and then started. We

were impatient to see whether we could get forward up above. There

could be no question of reaching the height without double teams;

first we had to get Hanssen's and Wisting's sledges up, and then

the two others. We were not particularly keen on thus covering the

ground twice, but the conditions made it imperative. We should have

been pleased just then if we had known that this was to be the last

ascent that would require double teams; but we did not know this,

and it was more than any of us dared to hope. The same hard work, and

the same trouble to keep the dogs at an even pace, and then we were

up under the ridge amongst the open chasms. To go farther without a

careful examination of the ground was not to be thought of. Doubtless,

our day's march had not been a particularly long one, but the piece

we had covered had indeed been fatiguing enough. We therefore camped,

and set our tent at an altitude of 5,650 feet above the sea.

We at once proceeded to reconnoitre, and the first thing to be

examined was the way we had seen from below. This led in the right

direction -- that is, in the direction of the glacier, east and west

-- and was thus the shortest. But it is not always the shortest way

that is the best; here, in any case, it was to be hoped that another

and longer one would offer better conditions. The shortest way was

awful -- possibly not altogether impracticable, if no better was to

be found. First we had to work our way across a hard, smooth slope,

which formed an angle of 45 degrees, and ended in a huge, bottomless

chasm. It was no great pleasure to cross over here on ski, but with

heavily-laden sledges the enjoyment would be still less. The prospect

of seeing sledge, driver, and dogs slide down sideways and disappear

into the abyss was a great one. We got across with whole skins on

ski, and continued our exploration. The mountain-side along which

we were advancing gradually narrowed between vast fissures above and

vaster fissures below, and finally passed by a very narrow bridge --

hardly broader than the sledges -- into the glacier. On each side of

the bridge, one looked down into a deep blue chasm. To cross here did

not look very inviting; no doubt we could take the dogs out and haul

the sledges over, and thus manage it -- presuming the bridge held --

but our further progress, which would have to be made on the glacier,

would apparently offer many surprises of an unpleasant kind. It was

quite possible that, with time and patience, one would be able to

tack through the apparently endless succession of deep crevasses;

but we should first have to see whether something better than this

could not be found in another direction. We therefore returned to camp.

Here in the meantime everything had been put in order, the tent set

up, and the dogs fed. Now came the great question: What was there on

the other side of the ridge? Was it the same desperate confusion,

or would the ground offer better facilities? Three of us went off

to see. Excitement rose as we neared the saddle; so much depended on

finding a reasonable way. One more pull and we were up; it was worth

the trouble. The first glance showed us that this was the way we had to

go. The mountain-side ran smooth and even under the lofty summit-like a

gabled church tower -- of Mount Don Pedro Christophersen, and followed

the direction of the glacier. We could see the place where this long,

even surface united with the glacier; to all appearance it was free

from disturbance. We saw some crevasses, of course, but they were far

apart, and did not give us the idea that they would be a hindrance. But

we were still too far from the spot to be able to draw any certain

conclusions as to the character of the ground; we therefore set off

towards the bottom to examine the conditions more closely. The surface

was loose up here, and the snow fairly deep; our ski slipped over it

well, but it would be heavy for dogs. We advanced rapidly, and soon

came to the huge crevasses. They were big enough and deep enough, but

so scattered that, without much trouble, we could find a way between

them. The hollow between the two mountains, which was filled by the

Heiberg Glacier, grew narrower and narrower towards the end, and,

although appearances were still very pleasant, I expected to find some

disturbance when we arrived at the point where the mountain-side passed

into the glacier. But my fears proved groundless; by keeping right

under Don Pedro we went clear of all trouble, and in a short time,

to our great joy, we found ourselves above and beyond that chaotic

part of the Heiberg Glacier which had completely barred our progress.

Up here all was strangely peaceful; the mountain-side and the glacier

united in a great flat terrace -- a plain, one might call it --

without disturbance of any kind. We could see depressions in the

surface where the huge crevasses had formerly existed, but now they

were entirely filled up, and formed one with the surrounding level. We

could now see right to the end of this mighty glacier, and form some

idea of its proportions. Mount Wilhelm Christophersen and Mount Ole

Engelstad formed the end of it; these two beehive-shaped summits,

entirely covered with snow, towered high into the sky. We understood

now that the last of the ascent was before us, and that what we saw

in the distance between these two mountains was the great plateau

itself. The question, then, was to find a way up, and to conquer

this last obstruction in the easiest manner. In the radiantly clear

air we could see the smallest details with our excellent prismatic

glasses, and make our calculations with great confidence. It would

be possible to clamber up Don Pedro himself; we had done things as

difficult before. But here the side of the mountain was fairly steep,

and full of big crevasses and a fearful quantity of gigantic blocks

of ice. Between Don Pedro and Wilhelm Christophersen an arm of the

glacier went up on to the plateau, but it was so disturbed and broken

up that it could not be used. Between Wilhelm Christophersen and Ole

Engelstad there was no means of getting through. Between Ole Engelstad

and Fridtjof Nansen, on the other hand, it looked more promising,

but as yet the first of these mountains obstructed our view so much

that we could not decide with certainty. We were all three rather

tired, but agreed to continue our excursion, and find out what was

here concealed. Our work to-day would make our progress to-morrow so

much the easier. We therefore went on, and laid our course straight

over the topmost flat terrace of the Heiberg Glacier. As we advanced,

the ground between Nansen and Engelstad opened out more and more, and

without going any farther we were able to decide from the formations

that here we should undoubtedly find the best way up. If the final

ascent at the end of the glacier, which was only partly visible,

should present difficulties, we could make out from where we stood

that it would be possible, without any great trouble, to work our way

over the upper end of the Nansen Mountain itself, which here passed

into the plateau by a not too difficult glacier. Yes, now we were

certain that it was indeed the great plateau and nothing else that we

saw before us. In the pass between the two mountains, and some little

distance within the plateau, Helland Hansen showed up, a very curious

peak to look at. It seemed to stick its nose up through the plateau,

and no more; its shape was long, and it reminded one of nothing so

much as the ridge of a roof. Although this peak was thus only just

visible, it stood 11,000 feet above the sea.

After we had examined the conditions here, and found out that on

the following day -- if the weather permitted -- we should reach the

plateau, we turned back, well satisfied with the result of our trip. We

all agreed that we were tired, and longing to reach camp and get some

food. The place where we turned was, according to the aneroid, 8,000

feet above the sea; we were therefore 2,500 feet higher than our tent

down on the hill-side. Going down in our old tracks was easier work,

though the return journey was somewhat monotonous. In many places the

slope was rapid, and not a few fine runs were made. On approaching

our camping-ground we had the sharpest descent, and here, reluctant

as we might be, we found it wiser to put both our poles together and

form a strong brake. We came down smartly enough, all the same. It

was a grand and imposing sight we had when we came out on the ridge

under which -- far below -- our tent stood. Surrounded on all sides by

huge crevasses and gaping chasms, it could not be said that the site

of our camp looked very inviting. The wildness of the landscape seen

from this point is not to be described; chasm after chasm, crevasse

after crevasse, with great blocks of ice scattered promiscuously about,

gave one the impression that here Nature was too powerful for us. Here

no progress was to be thought of.

It was not without a certain satisfaction that we stood there and

contemplated the scene. The little dark speck down there -- our

tent -- in the midst of this chaos, gave us a feeling of strength

and power. We knew in our hearts that the ground would have to be

ugly indeed if we were not to manoeuvre our way across it and find a

place for that little home of ours. Crash upon crash, roar upon roar,

met our ears. Now it was a shot from Mount Nansen, now from one of the

others; we could see the clouds of snow rise high into the air. It was

evident that these mountains were throwing off their winter mantles

and putting on a more spring-like garb.

We came at a tearing pace down to the tent, where our companions had

everything in most perfect order. The dogs lay snoring in the heat

of the sun, and hardly condescended to move when we came scudding

in among them. Inside the tent a regular tropical heat prevailed;

the sun was shining directly on to the red cloth and warming it. The

Primus hummed and hissed, and the pemmican-pot bubbled and spurted. We

desired nothing better in the world than to get in, fling ourselves

down, eat, and drink. The news we brought was no trifling matter --

the plateau to-morrow. It sounded almost too good to be true; we

had reckoned that it would take us ten days to get up, and now we

should do it in four. In this way we saved a great deal of dog food,

as we should be able to slaughter the superfluous animals six days

earlier than we had calculated. It was quite a little feast that

evening in the tent; not that we had any more to eat than usual --

we could not allow ourselves that -- but the thought of the fresh

dog cutlets that awaited us when we got to the top made our mouths

water. In course of time we had so habituated ourselves to the idea

of the approaching slaughter that this event did not appear to us

so horrible as it would otherwise have done. Judgment had already

been pronounced, and the selection made of those who were worthy of

prolonged life and those who were to be sacrificed. This had been,

I may add, a difficult problem to solve, so efficient were they all.

The rumblings continued all night, and one avalanche after another

exposed parts of the mountain-sides that had been concealed from

time immemorial. The following day, November 20, we were up and away

at the usual time, about 8 a.m. The weather was splendid, calm and

clear. Getting up over the saddle was a rough beginning of the day

for our dogs, and they gave a good account of themselves, pulling

the sledges up with single teams this time. The going was heavy,

as on the preceding day, and our advance through the loose snow was

not rapid. We did not follow our tracks of the day before, but laid

our course directly for the place where we had decided to attempt the

ascent. As we approached Mount Ole Engelstad, under which we had to

pass in order to come into the arm of the glacier between it and Mount

Nansen, our excitement began to rise. What does the end look like? Does

the glacier go smoothly on into the plateau, or is it broken up and

impassable? We rounded Mount Engelstad more and more; wider and wider

grew the opening. The surface looked extremely good as it gradually

came into view, and it did not seem as though our assumption of the

previous day would be put to shame. At last the whole landscape opened

out, and without obstruction of any kind whatever the last part of the

ascent lay before us. It was both long and steep from the look of it,

and we agreed to take a little rest before beginning the final attack.

We stopped right under Mount Engelstad in a warm and sunny place,

and allowed ourselves on this occasion a little lunch, an indulgence

that had not hitherto been permitted. The cooking-case was taken out,

and soon the Primus was humming in a way that told us it would not

be long before the chocolate was ready. It was a heavenly treat, that

drink. We had all walked ourselves warm, and our throats were as dry

as tinder. The contents of the pot were served round by the cook --

Hanssen. It was no use asking him to share alike; he could not be

persuaded to take more than half of what was due to him -- the rest he

had to divide among his comrades. The drink he had prepared this time

was what he called chocolate, but I had some difficulty in believing

him. He was economical, was Hanssen, and permitted no extravagance;

that could be seen very well by his chocolate. Well, after all, to

people who were accustomed to regard "bread and water" as a luxury,

it tasted, as I have said, heavenly. It was the liquid part of the

lunch that was served extra; if anyone wanted something to eat, he

had to provide it himself -- nothing was offered him. Happy was he

who had saved some biscuits from his breakfast! Our halt was not a

very long one. It is a queer thing that, when one only has on light

underclothing and windproof overalls, one cannot stand still for long

without feeling cold. Although the temperature was no lower than -4°

F., we were glad to be on the move again. The last ascent was fairly

hard work, especially the first half of it. We never expected to

do it with single teams, but tried it all the same. For this last

pull up I must give the highest praise both to the dogs and their

drivers; it was a brilliant performance on both sides. I can still

see the situation clearly before me. The dogs seemed positively

to understand that this was the last big effort that was asked of

them; they lay flat down and hauled, dug their claws in and dragged

themselves forward. But they had to stop and get breath pretty often,

and then the driver's strength was put to the test. It is no child's

play to set a heavily-laden sledge in motion time after time. How they

toiled, men and beasts, up that slope! But they got on, inch by inch,

until the steepest part was behind them. Before them lay the rest

of the ascent in a gentle rise, up which they could drive without a

stop. It was stiff, nevertheless, and it took a long time before we

were all up on the plateau on the southern side of Mount Engelstad.

We were very curious and anxious to see what the plateau

looked. like. We had expected a great, level plain,

extending boundlessly towards the south; but in this we were

disappointed. Towards the south-west it looked very level and fine,

but that was not the way we had to go. Towards the south the ground

continued to rise in long ridges running east and west, probably a

continuation of the mountain chain running to the south-east, or a

connection between it and the plateau. We stubbornly continued our

march; we would not give in until we had the plain itself before

us. Our hope was that the ridge projecting from Mount Don Pedro

Christophersen would be the last; we now had it before us. The

going changed at once up here; the loose snow disappeared, and a few

wind-waves (sastrugi) began to show themselves. These were specially

unpleasant to deal with on this last ridge; they lay from south-east

to north-west, and were as hard as flints and as sharp as knives. A

fall among them might have had very serious consequences. One would

have thought the dogs had had enough work that day to tire them,

but this last ridge, with its unpleasant snow-waves, did not seem

to trouble them in the least. We all drove up gaily, towed by the

sledges, on to what looked to us like the final plateau, and halted

at 8 p.m. The weather had held fine, and we could apparently see

a very long way. In the far distance, extending to the north-west,

rose peak after peak; this was the chain of mountains running to the

south-east, which we now saw from the other side. In our own vicinity,

on the other band, we saw nothing but the backs of the mountains so

frequently mentioned. We afterwards learned how deceptive the light

can be. I consulted the aneroid immediately on our arrival at the

camping-ground, and it showed 10,920 feet above the sea, which the

hypsometer afterwards confirmed. All the sledge-meters gave seventeen

geographical miles, or thirty-one kilometres (nineteen and a quarter

statute miles). This day's work -- nineteen and a quarter miles,

with an ascent of 5,750 feet -- gives us some idea of what can be

performed by dogs in good training. Our sledges still had what might

be considered heavy loads; it seems superfluous to give the animals

any other testimonial than the bare fact.

It was difficult to find a place for the tent, so hard was the snow

up here. We found one, however, and set the tent. Sleeping-bags

and kit-bags were handed in to me, as usual, through the tent-door,

and I arranged everything inside. The cooking-case and the necessary

provisions for that evening and the next morning were also passed in;

but the part of my work that went more quickly than usual that night

was getting the Primus started, and pumping it up to high-pressure. I

was hoping thereby to produce enough noise to deaden the shots that I

knew would soon be heard -- twenty-four of our brave companions and

faithful helpers were marked out for death. It was hard -- but it

had to be so. We had agreed to shrink from nothing in order to reach

our goal. Each man was to kill his own dogs to the number that had

been fixed.

The pemmican was cooked remarkably quickly that evening, and I believe

I was unusually industrious in stirring it. There went the first shot

-- I am not a nervous man, but I must admit that I gave a start. Shot

now followed upon shot -- they had an uncanny sound over the great

plain. A trusty servant lost his life each time. It was long before

the first man reported that he had finished; they were all to open

their dogs, and take out the entrails to prevent the meat being

contaminated. The entrails were for the most part devoured warm on

the spot by the victims' comrades, so voracious were they all. Suggen,

one of Wisting's dogs, was especially eager for warm entrails; after

enjoying this luxury, he could be seen staggering about in a quite

misshapen condition. Many of the dogs would not touch them at first,

but their appetite came after a while.

The holiday humour that ought to have prevailed in the tent that

evening -- our first on the plateau -- did not make its appearance;

there was depression and sadness in the air -- we had grown so fond

of our dogs. The place was named the "Butcher's Shop." It had been

arranged that we should stop here two days to rest and eat dog. There

was more than one among us who at first would not hear of taking any

part in this feast; but as time went by, and appetites became sharper,

this view underwent a change, until, during the last few days before

reaching the Butcher's Shop, we all thought and talked of nothing

but dog cutlets, dog steaks, and the like. But on this first evening

we put a restraint on ourselves; we thought we could not fall upon

our four-footed friends and devour them before they had had time to

grow cold.

We quickly found out that the Butcher's Shop was not a hospitable

locality. During the night the temperature sank, and violent gusts

of wind swept over the plain; they shook and tore at the tent, but

it would take more than that to get a hold of it. The dogs spent the

night in eating; we could hear the crunching and grinding of their

teeth whenever we were awake for a moment. The effect of the great and

sudden change of altitude made itself felt at once; when I wanted to

turn round in my bag, I had to do it a bit at a time, so as not to

get out of breath. That my comrades were affected in the same way,

I knew without asking them; my ears told me enough.

It was calm when we turned out, but the weather did not look

altogether promising; it was overcast and threatening. We occupied

the forenoon in flaying a number of dogs. As I have said, all the

survivors were not yet in a mood for dog's flesh, and it therefore

had to be served in the most enticing form. When flayed and cut up,

it went down readily all along the line; even the most fastidious

then overcame their scruples. But with the skin on we should not

have been able to persuade them all to eat that morning; probably

this distaste was due to the smell clinging to the skins, and I must

admit that it was not appetizing. The meat itself, as it lay there

cut up, looked well enough, in all conscience; no butcher's shop

could have exhibited a finer sight than we showed after flaying and

cutting up ten dogs. Great masses of beautiful fresh, red meat, with

quantities of the most tempting fat, lay spread over the snow. The

dogs went round and sniffed at it. Some helped themselves to a piece;

others were digesting. We men had picked out what we thought was

the youngest and tenderest one for ourselves. The whole arrangement

was left to Wisting, both the selection and the preparation of the

cutlets. His choice fell upon Rex, a beautiful little animal -- one

of his own dogs, by the way. With the skill of an expert, he hacked

and cut away what he considered would be sufficient for a meal. I

could not take my eyes off his work; the delicate little cutlets

had an absolutely hypnotizing effect as they were spread out one by

one over the snow. They recalled memories of old days, when no doubt

a dog cutlet would have been less tempting than now -- memories of

dishes on which the cutlets were elegantly arranged side by side,

with paper frills on the bones, and a neat pile of petits pois in

the middle. Ah, my thoughts wandered still farther afield -- but that

does not concern us now, nor has it anything to do with the South Pole.

I was aroused from my musings by Wisting digging his axe into the

snow as a sign that his work was done, after which he picked up the

cutlets, and went into the tent. The clouds had dispersed somewhat,

and from time to time the sun appeared, though not in its most genial

aspect. We succeeded in catching it just in time to get our latitude

determined -- 85° 36' S. We were lucky, as not long after the wind got

up from the east-south-east, and, before we knew what was happening,

everything was in a cloud of snow. But now we snapped our fingers

at the weather; what difference did it make to us if the wind howled

in the guy-ropes and the snow drifted? We had, in any case, made up

our minds to stay here for a while, and we had food in abundance. We

knew the dogs thought much the same so long as we have enough to eat,

let the weather go hang. Inside the tent Wisting was getting on well

when we came in after making these observations. The pot was on,

and, to judge by the savoury smell, the preparations were already far

advanced. The cutlets were not fried; we had neither frying-pan nor

butter. We could, no doubt, have got some lard out of the pemmican,

and we might have contrived some sort of a pan, so that we could

have fried them if it had been necessary; but we found it far easier

and quicker to boil them, and in this way we got excellent soup into

the bargain. Wisting knew his business surprisingly well; he had put

into the soup all those parts of the pemmican that contained most

vegetables, and now he served us the finest fresh meat soup with

vegetables in it. The clou of the repast was the dish of cutlets. If

we had entertained the slightest doubt of the quality of the meat,

this vanished instantly on the first trial. The meat was excellent,

quite excellent, and one cutlet after another disappeared with

lightning-like rapidity. I must admit that they would have lost

nothing by being a little more tender, but one must not expect too

much of a dog. At this first meal I finished five cutlets myself,

and looked in vain in the pot for more. Wisting appeared not to have

reckoned on such a brisk demand.

We employed the afternoon in going through our stock of provisions, and

dividing the whole of it among three sledges; the fourth -- Hassel's --

was to be left behind. The provisions were thus divided. Sledge No.1

(Wisting's) contained

Biscuits, 3,700 (daily ration, 40 biscuits per man).

Dogs' pemmican, 277 3/4 pounds (1/2 kilogram, or 1 pound 1 1/2 ounces

per dog per day).

Men's pemmican, 59 1/2 pounds (350 grams, or 12.34 ounces per man

per day).

Chocolate, 12 3/4 pounds (40 grams, or 1.4 ounces per man per day).

Milk-powder, 13 1/4 pounds (60 grams, or 2.1 ounces per man per day).

The other two sledges had approximately the same supplies, and thus

permitted us on leaving this place to extend our march over a period

of sixty days with full rations. Our eighteen surviving dogs were

divided into three teams, six in each. According to our calculation,

we ought to be able to reach the Pole from here with these eighteen,

and to leave it again with sixteen. Hassel, who was to leave his

sledge at this point, thus concluded his provision account, and the

divided provisions were entered in the books of the three others.

All this, then, was done that day on paper. It remained to make the

actual transfer of provisions later, when the weather permitted. To

go out and do it that afternoon was not advisable. Next day, November

23, the wind had gone round to the north-east, with comparatively

manageable weather, so at seven in the morning we began to repack

the sledges. This was not an altogether pleasant task; although the

weather was what I have called "comparatively manageable," it was

very far from being suitable for packing provisions. The chocolate,

which by this time consisted chiefly of very small pieces, had to

be taken out, counted, and then divided among the three sledges. The

same with the biscuits; every single biscuit had to be taken out and

counted, and as we had some thousands of them to deal with, it will

readily be understood what it was to stand there in about -4° F. and

a gale of wind, most of the time with bare hands, fumbling over this

troublesome occupation. The wind increased while we were at work,

and when at last we had finished, the snow was so thick that we could

scarcely see the tent.

Our original intention of starting again as soon as the sledges

were ready was abandoned. We did not lose very much by this; on the

contrary, we gained on the whole. The dogs -- the most important

factor of all -- had a thorough rest, and were well fed. They had

undergone a remarkable change since our arrival at the Butcher's Shop;

they now wandered about, fat, sleek, and contented, and their former

voracity had completely disappeared. As regards ourselves, a day or

two longer made no difference; our most important article of diet,

the pemmican, was practically left untouched, as for the time being

dog had completely taken its place. There was thus no great sign

of depression to be noticed when we came back into the tent after

finishing our work, and had to while away the time. As I went in,

I could descry Wisting a little way off kneeling on the ground,

and engaged in the manufacture of cutlets. The dogs stood in a ring

round him, and looked on with interest. The north-east wind whistled

and howled, the air was thick with driving snow, and Wisting was not

to be envied. But he managed his work well, and we got our dinner as

usual. During the evening the wind moderated a little, and went more to

the east; we went to sleep with the best hopes for the following day.

Saturday, November 25, came; it was a grand day in many respects. I had

already seen proofs on several occasions of the kind of men my comrades

were, but their conduct that day was such that I shall never forget

it, to whatever age I may live. In the course of the night the wind

had gone back to the north, and increased to a gale. It was blowing

and snowing so that when we came out in the morning we could not

see the sledges; they were half snowed under. The dogs had all crept

together, and protected themselves as well as they could against the

blizzard. The temperature was not so very low (-16.6° F.), but low

enough to be disagreeably felt in a storm. We had all taken a turn

outside to look at the weather, and were sitting on our sleeping-bags

discussing the poor prospect. "It's the devil's own weather here at

the Butcher's," said one; "it looks to me as if it would never get any

better. This is the fifth day, and it's blowing worse than ever." We

all agreed. "There's nothing so bad as lying weather-bound like this,"

continued another; "it takes more out of you than going from morning to

night." Personally, I was of the same opinion. One day may be pleasant

enough, but two, three, four, and, as it now seemed, five days -- no,

it was awful. "Shall we try it?" No sooner was the proposal submitted

than it was accepted unanimously and with acclamation. When I think

of my four friends of the southern journey, it is the memory of that

morning that comes first to my mind. All the qualities that I most

admire in a man were clearly shown at that juncture: courage and

dauntlessness, without boasting or big words. Amid joking and chaff,

everything was packed, and then -- out into the blizzard.

It was practically impossible to keep one's eyes open; the fine

drift-snow penetrated everywhere, and at times one had a feeling of

being blind. The tent was not only drifted up, but covered with ice,

and in taking it down we had to handle it with care. so as not to break

it in pieces. The dogs were not much inclined to start, and it took

time to get them into their harness, but at last we were ready. One

more glance over the camping-ground to see that nothing we ought to

have with us had been forgotten. The fourteen dogs' carcasses that

were left were piled up in a heap, and Hassel's sledge was set up

against it as a mark. The spare sets of dog-harness, some Alpine ropes,

and all our crampons for ice-work, which we now thought would not be

required, were left behind. The last thing to be done was planting a

broken ski upright by the side of the depot. It was Wisting who did

this, thinking, presumably, that an extra mark would do no harm. That

it was a happy thought the future will show.

And then we were off: It was a hard pull to begin with, both for

men and beasts, as the high sastrugi continued towards the south,

and made it extremely difficult to advance. Those who had sledges

to drive had to be very attentive, and support them so that they did

not capsize on the big waves, and we who had no sledges found great

difficulty in keeping our feet, as we had nothing to lean against. We

went on like this, slowly enough, but the main thing was that we

made progress. The ground at first gave one the impression of rising,

though not much. The going was extremely heavy; it was like dragging

oneself through sand. Meanwhile the sastrugi grew smaller and smaller,

and finally they disappeared altogether, and the surface became

quite flat. The going also improved by degrees, for what reason it

is difficult to say, as the storm continued unabated, and the drift

-- now combined with falling snow -- was thicker than ever. It was

all the driver could do to see his own dogs. The surface, which had

become perfectly level, had the appearance at times of sinking; in

any case, one would have thought so from the pace of the sledges. Now

and again the dogs would set off suddenly at a gallop. The wind aft,

no doubt, helped the pace somewhat, but it alone could not account

for the change.

I did not like this tendency of the ground to fall away. In my opinion,

we ought to have done with anything of that sort after reaching the

height at which we were; a slight slope upward, possibly, but down --

no, that did not agree with my reckoning. So far the incline had not

been so great as to cause uneasiness, but if it seriously began to go

downhill, we should have to stop and camp. To run down at full gallop,

blindly and in complete ignorance of the ground, would be madness. We

might risk falling into some chasm before we had time to pull up.

Hanssen, as usual, was driving first. Strictly speaking, I should now

have been going in advance, but the uneven surface at the start and the

rapid pace afterwards had made it impossible to walk as fast the dogs

could pull. I was therefore following by the side of Wisting's sledge,

and chatting with him. Suddenly I saw Hanssen's dogs shoot ahead,

and downhill they went at the wildest pace, Wisting after them. I

shouted to Hanssen to stop, and he succeeded in doing so by twisting

his sledge. The others, who were following, stopped when they came up

to him. We were in the middle of a fairly steep descent; what there

might be below was not easy to decide, nor would we try to find out

in that weather. Was it possible that we were on our way down through

the mountains again? It seemed more probable that we lay on one of the

numerous ridges; but we could be sure of nothing before the weather

cleared. We trampled down a place for the tent in the loose snow,

and soon got it up. It was not a long day's march that we had done --

eleven and three-quarter miles -- but we had put an end to our stay at

the Butcher's Shop, and that was a great thing. The boiling-point test

that evening showed that we were 10,300 feet above the sea, and that

we had thus gone down 620 feet from the Butcher's. We turned in and

went to sleep. As soon as it brightened, we should have to be ready to

jump out and look at the weather; one has to seize every opportunity

in these regions. If one neglects to do so, it may mean a long wait

and much may be lost. We therefore all slept with one eye open,

and we knew well that nothing could happen without our noticing it.

At three in the morning the sun cut through the clouds and we

through the tent-door. To take in the situation was more than the

work of a moment. The sun showed as yet like a pat of butter, and

had not succeeded in dispersing the thick mists; the wind had dropped

somewhat, but was still fairly strong. This is, after all, the worst

part of one's job -- turning out of one's good, warm sleeping-bag,

and standing outside for some time in thin clothes, watching the

weather. We knew by experience that a gleam like this, a clearing

in the weather, might come suddenly, and then one had to be on the

spot. The gleam came; it did not last long, but long enough. We lay

on the side of a ridge that fell away pretty steeply. The descent on

the south was too abrupt, but on the south-east it was better and more

gradual, and ended in a wide, level tract. We could see no crevasses

or unpleasantness of any kind. It was not very far that we could

see, though; only our nearest surroundings. Of the mountains we saw

nothing, neither Fridtjof Nansen nor Don Pedro Christophersen. Well

content with our morning's work, we turned in again and slept till

6 a.m., when we began our morning preparations. The weather, which

had somewhat improved during the night, had now broken loose again,

and the north-easter was doing all it could. However, it would take

more than storm and snow to stop us now, since we had discovered the

nature of our immediate surroundings; if we once got down to the plain,

we knew that we could always feel our way on.

After putting ample brakes on the sledge-runners, we started off

downhill in a south-easterly direction. The slight idea of the position

that we had been able to get in the morning proved correct. The

descent was easy and smooth, and we reached the plain without any

adventure. We could now once more set our faces to the south, and in

thick driving snow we continued our way into the unknown, with good

assistance from the howling north-easterly gale. We now recommenced the

erection of beacons, which had not been necessary during the ascent. In

the course of the forenoon we again passed over a little ridge, the

last of them that we encountered. The surface was now fine enough,

smooth as a floor and without a sign of sastrugi. If our progress was

nevertheless slow and difficult, this was due to the wretched going,

which was real torture to all of us. A sledge journey through the

Sahara could not have offered a worse surface to move over. Now the

forerunners came into their own, and from here to the Pole Hassel. and

I took it in turns to occupy the position.

The weather improved in the course of the day, and when we camped in

the afternoon it looked quite smiling. The sun came through and gave

a delightful warmth after the last few bitter days. It was not yet

clear, so that we could see nothing of our surroundings. The distance

according to our three sledge-meters was eighteen and a half miles;

taking the bad going into consideration, we had reason to be well

satisfied with it. Our altitude came out at 9,475 feet above the sea,

or a drop of 825 feet in the course of the day. This surprised me

greatly. What did it mean? Instead of rising gradually, we were going

slowly down. Something extraordinary must await us farther on, but,

what? According to dead reckoning our latitude that evening was 86° S.

November 27 did not bring us the desired weather; the night was filled

with sharp gusts from the north; the morning came with a slack wind,

but accompanied by mist and snowfall. This was abominable; here

we were, advancing over absolutely virgin ground, and able to see

nothing. The surface remained about the same -- possibly rather more

undulating. That it had been blowing here at some time, and violently

too, was shown by the under-surface, which was composed of sastrugi

as hard as iron. Luckily for us, the snowfall of the last few days

had filled these up, so as to present a level surface. It was heavy

going, though better than on the previous day.

As we were advancing, still blindly, and fretting at the

persistently thick weather, one of us suddenly called out: "Hullo,

look there!" A wild, dark summit rose high out of the mass of fog to

the east-south-east. It was not far away -- on the contrary, it seemed

threateningly near and right over us. We stopped and looked at the

imposing sight, but Nature did not expose her objects of interest for

long. The fog rolled over again, thick, heavy and dark, and blotted out

the view. We knew now that we had to be prepared for surprises. After

we had gone about ten miles the fog again lifted for a moment, and

we saw quite near -- a mile or so away -- two long, narrow mountain

ridges to the west of us, running north and south, and completely

covered with snow. These -- Helland Hansen's Mountains -- were the

only ones we saw on our right hand during the march on the plateau;

they were between 9,000 and 10,000 feet high, and would probably serve

as excellent landmarks on the return journey. There was no connection

to be traced between these mountains and those lying to the east of

them; they gave us the impression of being entirely isolated summits,

as we could not make out any lofty ridge running east and west. We

continued our course in the constant expectation of finding some

surprise or other in our line of route. The air ahead of us was as

black as pitch, as though it concealed something. It could not be a

storm, or it would have been already upon us. But we went on and on,

and nothing came. Our day's march was eighteen and a half miles.

I see that my diary for November 28 does not begin very promisingly:

"Fog, fog -- and again fog. Also fine falling snow, which makes the

going impossible. Poor beasts, they have toiled hard to get the sledges

forward to-day." But the day did not turn out so badly after all,

as we worked our way out of this uncertainty and found out what was

behind the pitch-dark clouds. During the forenoon the sun came through

and thrust aside the fog for a while; and there, to the south-east,

not many miles away, lay an immense mountain mass. From this mass,

right across our course, ran a great, ancient glacier; the sun shone

down upon it and showed us a surface full of huge irregularities. On

the side nearest to the mountain these disturbances were such that a

hasty glance was enough to show us the impossibility of advancing that

way. But right in our line of route -- straight on to the glacier --

it looked, as far as we could see, as though we could get along. The

fog came and went, and we had to take advantage of the clear intervals

to get our bearings. It would, no doubt, have been better if we could

have halted, set up our tent, and waited for decently clear weather,

so that we might survey the ground at our ease and choose the best

way. Going forward without an idea of what the ground was like,

was not very pleasant. But how long should we have to wait for clear

weather? That question was unanswerable; possibly a week, or even a

fortnight, and we had no time for that. Better go straight on, then,

and take what might come.

What we could see of the glacier appeared to be pretty steep; but

it was only between the south and south-east, under the new land,

that the fog now and again lifted sufficiently to enable us to see

anything. From the south round to the west the fog lay as thick as

gruel. We could see that the big crevasses lost themselves in it,

and the question of what the glacier looked like on the west had

to be put aside for the moment. It was to the south we had to go,

and there it was possible to go forward a little way. We continued

our march until the ground began to show signs of the glacier in the

form of small crevasses, and then we halted. It was our intention to

lighten our sledges before tackling the glacier; from the little we

could see of it, it was plain enough that we should have stiff work. It

was therefore important to have as little as possible on the sledges.

We set to work at once to build the depot; the snow here was excellent

for this purpose -- as hard as glass. In a short time an immense

erection of adamantine blocks of snow rose into the air, containing

provisions for five men for six days and for eighteen dogs for five

days. A number of small articles were also left behind.

While we were thus occupied, the fog had been coming and going; some

of the intervals had been quite clear, and had given me a good view of

the nearest part of the range. It appeared to be quite isolated, and

to consist of four mountains; one of these -- Mount Helmer Hanssen --

lay separated from the rest. The other three -- Mounts Oscar Wisting,

Sverre Hassel, and Olav Bjaaland -- lay closer together. Behind this

group the air had been heavy and black the whole time, showing that

more land must be concealed there. Suddenly, in one of the brightest

intervals, there came a rift in this curtain, and the summits of

a colossal mountain mass appeared. Our first impression was that

this mountain -- Mount Thorvald Nilsen -- must be something over

20,000 feet high; it positively took our breath away, so formidable

did it appear. But it was only a glimpse that we had, and then the

fog enclosed it once more. We had succeeded in taking a few meagre

bearings of the different summits of the nearest group; they were not

very grand, but better ones were not to be obtained. For that matter,

the site of the depot was so well marked by its position under the

foot of the glacier that we agreed it would be impossible to miss it.

Having finished the edifice, which rose at least 6 feet into the air,

we put one of our black provision cases on the top of it, so as to be

able to see it still more easily on the way back. An observation we had

contrived to take while the work was in progress gave us our latitude

as 86° 21' S. This did not agree very well with the latitude of our

dead reckoning -- 86° 23' S. Meanwhile the fog had again enveloped

everything, and a fine, light snow was falling. We had taken a

bearing of the line of glacier that was most free of crevasses,

and so we moved on again. It was some time before we felt our way

up to the glacier. The crevasses at its foot were not large, but we

had no sooner entered upon the ascent than the fun began. There was

something uncanny about this perfectly blind advance among crevasses

and chasms on all sides. We examined the compass from time to time,

and went forward cautiously.

Hassel and I went in front on a rope; but that, after all, was not much

of a help to our drivers. We naturally glided lightly on our ski over

places where the dogs would easily fall through. This lowest part of

the glacier was not entirely free from danger, as the crevasses were

often rendered quite invisible by a thin overlying layer of snow. In

clear weather it is not so bad to have to cross such a surface,

as the effect of light and shade is usually to show up the edges of

these insidious pitfalls, but on a day like this, when everything

looked alike, one's advance is doubtful. We kept it going, however,

by using the utmost caution. Wisting came near to sounding the depth

of one of these dangerous crevasses with sledge, dogs and all, as

the bridge he was about to cross gave way. Thanks to his presence

of mind and a lightning-like movement -- some would call it luck --

he managed to save himself. In this way we worked up about 200 feet,

but then we came upon such a labyrinth of yawning chasms and open

abysses that we could not move. There was nothing to be done but to

find the least disturbed spot, and set the tent there.

As soon as this was done Hanssen and I set out to explore. We were

roped, and therefore safe enough. It required some study to find a

way out of the trap we had run ourselves into. Towards the group of

mountains last described -- which now lay to the east of us -- it had

cleared sufficiently to give us a fairly good view of the appearance of

the glacier in that direction. What we had before seen at a distance,

was now confirmed. The part extending to the mountains was so ground

up and broken that there was positively not a spot where one could

set one's foot. It looked as if a battle had been fought here, and

the ammunition had been great blocks of ice. They lay pell-mell,

one on the top of another, in all directions, and evoked a picture of

violent confusion. Thank God we were not here while this was going on,

I thought to myself, as I stood looking out over this battlefield;

it must have been a spectacle like doomsday, and not on a small scale

either. To advance in that direction, then, was hopeless, but that

was no great matter, since our way was to the south. On the south we

could see nothing; the fog lay thick and heavy there. All we could

do was to try to make our way on, and we therefore crept southward.

On leaving our tent we had first to cross a comparatively narrow

snow-bridge, and then go along a ridge or saddle, raised by pressure,

with wide open crevasses on both sides. This ridge led us on to

an icewave about 25 feet high -- a formation which was due to the

pressure having ceased before the wave had been forced to break and

form hummocks. We saw well enough that this would be a difficult place

to pass with sledges and dogs, but in default of anything better it

would have to be done. From the top of this wave-formation we could see

down on the other side, which had hitherto been hidden from us. The

fog prevented our seeing far, but the immediate surroundings were

enough to convince us that with caution we could beat up farther. From

the height on which we stood, every precaution would be required to

avoid going down on the other side; for there the wave ended in an

open crevasse, specially adapted to receive any drivers, sledges or

dogs that might make a slip.

This trip that Hanssen and I took to the south was made entirely at

random, as we saw absolutely nothing; our object was to make tracks for

the following day's journey. The language we used about the glacier

as we went was not altogether complimentary; we had endless tacking

and turning to get on. To go one yard forward, I am sure we had to

go at least ten to one side. Can anyone be surprised that we called

it the Devil's Glacier? At any rate, our companions acknowledged the

justness of the name with ringing acclamations when we told them of it.

At Hell's Gate Hanssen and I halted. This was a very remarkable

formation; the glacier had here formed a long ridge about 20 feet

high; then, in the middle of this ridge, a fissure had opened,

making a gateway about 6 feet wide. This formation -- like every --

thing else on the glacier-was obviously very old, and for the most

part filled with snow. From this point the glacier, as far as our

view extended to the south, looked better and better; we therefore

turned round and followed our tracks in the comforting conviction

that we should manage to get on.

Our companions were no less pleased with the news we brought of our

prospects. Our altitude that evening was 8,650 feet above the sea --

that is to say, at the foot of the glacier we had reached an altitude

of 8,450 feet, or a drop from the Butcher's of 2,570 feet. We now knew

very well that we should have this ascent to make again, perhaps even

more; and this idea did not arouse any particular enthusiasm. In my

diary I see that I conclude the day with the following words "What

will the next surprise be, I wonder?"

It was, in fact, an extraordinary journey that we were undertaking,

through new regions, new mountains, glaciers, and so on, without being

able to see. That we were prepared for surprises was perhaps quite

natural. What I liked least about this feeling one's way forward in

the dark was that it would be difficult -- very difficult indeed --

to recognize the ground again on the way back. But with this glacier

lying straight across our line of route, and with the numerous beacons

we had erected, we reassured ourselves on this score. It would take

a good deal to make us miss them on the return. The point for us,

of course, was to find our descent on to the Barrier again -- a

mistake there might be serious enough. And it will appear later in

this narrative that my fear of our not being able to recognize the

way was not entirely groundless. The beacons we had put up came to

our aid, and for our final success we owe a deep debt of gratitude

to our prudence and thoughtfulness in adopting this expedient.

Next morning, November 29, brought considerably clearer weather,

and allowed us a very good survey of our position. We could now see

that the two mountain ranges uniting in 86° S. were continued in a

mighty chain running to the south-east, with summits from 10,000 to

15,000 feet. Mount Thorvald Nilsen was the most southerly we could

see from this point. Mounts Hanssen, Wisting, Bjaaland, and Hassel

formed, as we had thought the day before, a group by themselves,

and lay separated from the main range.

The drivers had a warm morning's work. They had to drive with great

circumspection and patience to grapple with the kind of ground we

had before us; a slight mistake might be enough to send both sledge

and dogs with lightning rapidity into the next world. It took,

nevertheless, a remarkably short time to cover the distance we had

explored on the previous evening; before we knew it, we were at

Hell's Gate.

Bjaaland took an excellent photograph here, which gives a very good

idea of the difficulties this part of the journey presented. In the

foreground, below the high snow-ridge that forms one side of a very

wide but partly filled-up crevasse, the marks of ski can be seen in the

snow. This was the photographer, who, in passing over this snow-bridge,

struck his ski into it to try the strength of the support. Close to

the tracks can be seen an open piece of the crevasse; it is a pale

blue at the top, but ends in the deepest black -- in a bottomless

abyss. The photographer got over the bridge and back with a whole skin,

but there could be no question of risking sledges and dogs on it, and

it can be seen in the photograph that the sledges have been turned

right round to try another way. The two small black figures in the

distance, on the right, are Hassel and I, who are reconnoitring ahead.

It was no very great distance that we put behind us that day-nine

and a quarter miles in a straight line. But, taking into account all

the turns and circuits we had been compelled to make, it was not so

short after all. We set our tent on a good, solid foundation, and were

well pleased with the day's work. The altitude was 8,960 feet above

the sea. The sun was now in the west, and shining directly upon the

huge mountain masses. It was a fairy landscape in blue and white, red

and black, a play of colours that defies description. Clear as it now

appeared to be, one could understand that the weather was not all that

could be wished, for the south-eastern end of Mount Thorvald Nilsen

lost itself in a dark, impenetrable cloud, which led one to suspect

a continuation in that direction, though one could not be certain.

Mount Nilsen -- ah! anything more beautiful, taking it altogether,

I have never seen. Peaks of the most varied forms rose high into the

air, partly covered with driving clouds. Some were sharp, but most

were long and rounded. Here and there one saw bright, shining glaciers

plunging wildly down the steep sides, and merging into the underlying

ground in fearful confusion. But the most remarkable of them all was

Mount Helmer Hanssen; its top was as round as the bottom of a bowl,

and covered by an extraordinary ice-sheet, which was so broken up and

disturbed that the blocks of ice bristled in every direction like the

quills of a porcupine. It glittered and burned in the sunlight -- a

glorious spectacle. There could only be one such mountain in the world,

and as a landmark it was priceless. We knew that we could not mistake

that, however the surroundings might appear on the return journey,

when possibly the conditions of lighting might be altogether different.

After camping, two of us went out to explore farther. The prospect from

the tent was not encouraging, but we might possibly find things better

than we expected. We were lucky to find the going so fine as it was

on the glacier; we had left our crampons behind at the Butcher's Shop,

and if we had found smooth ice, instead of a good, firm snow surface,

such as we now had, it would have caused us much trouble. Up --

still up, among monsters of crevasses, some of them hundreds of feet

wide and possibly thousands of feet deep. Our prospects of advancing

were certainly not bright; as far as we could see in the line of our

route one immense ridge towered above another, concealing on their

farther sides huge, wide chasms, which all had to be avoided. We went

forward -- steadily forward -- though the way round was both long and

troublesome. We had no rope on this time, as the irregularities were

so plain that it would have been difficult to go into them. It turned

out, however, at several points, that the rope would not have been

out of place. We were just going to cross over one of the numerous

ridges -- the surface here looked perfectly whole -- when a great

piece broke right under the back half of Hanssen's ski. We could

not deny ourselves the pleasure of glancing down into the hole. The

sight was not an inviting one, and we agreed to avoid this place when

we came on with our dogs and sledges. Every day we had occasion to

bless our ski. We often used to ask each other where we should now

have been without these excellent appliances. The usual answer was:

Most probably at the bottom of some crevasse. When we first read

the different accounts of the aspect and nature of the Barrier, it

was clear to all of us, who were born and bred with ski on our feet,

that these must be regarded as indispensable. This view was confirmed

and strengthened every day, and I am not giving too much credit to our

excellent ski when I say that they not only played a very important

part, but possibly the most important of all, on our journey to the

South Pole. Many a time we traversed stretches of surface so cleft

and disturbed that it would have been an impossibility to get over

them on foot. I need scarcely insist on the advantages of ski in deep,

loose snow.

After advancing for two hours, we decided to return. From the raised

ridge on which we were then standing, the surface ahead of us looked

more promising than ever; but we had so often been deceived on the

glacier that we had now become definitely sceptical. How often,

for instance, had we thought that beyond this or that undulation

our trials would be at an end, and that the way to the south would

lie open and free; only to reach the place and find that the ground

behind the ridge was, if possible, worse than what we had already been

struggling with. But this time we seemed somehow to feel victory in

the air. The formations appeared to promise it, and yet -- had we been

so often deceived by these formations that we now refused to offer

them a thought? Was it possibly instinct that told us this? I do not

know, but certain it is that Hanssen and I agreed, as we stood there

discussing our prospects, that behind the farthest ridge we saw, we

should conquer the glacier. We had a feverish desire to go and have

a look at it; but the way round the many crevasses was long, and --

I may as well admit it -- we were beginning to get tired. The return,

downhill as it was, did not take long, and soon we were able to tell

our comrades that the prospects for the morrow were very promising.

While we had been away, Hassel had measured the Nilsen Mountain,

and found its height to be 15,500 feet above the sea. How well

I remember that evening, when we stood contemplating the glorious

sight that Nature offered, and believing the air to be so clear that

anything within range of vision must have shown itself; and how well,

too, I remember our astonishment on the return journey on finding

the whole landscape completely transformed! If it had not been for

Mount Helmer Hanssen, it would have been difficult for us to know

where we were. The atmosphere in these regions may play the most

awkward tricks. Absolutely clear as it seemed to us that evening,

it nevertheless turned out later that it had been anything but

clear. One has, therefore, to be very careful about what one sees

or does not see. In most cases it has proved that travellers in the

Polar regions have been more apt to see too much than too little;

if, however, we had charted this tract as we saw it the first time,

a great part of the mountain ranges would have been omitted.

During the night a gale sprang up from the south-east, and blew so

that it howled in the guy-ropes of the tent; it was well that the

tent-pegs had a good hold. In the morning, while we were at breakfast,

it was still blowing, and we had some thoughts of waiting for a time;

but suddenly, without warning, the wind dropped to such an extent

that all our hesitation vanished. What a change the south-east wind

had produced! The splendid covering of snow that the day before had

made ski-running a pleasure, was now swept away over great stretches

of surface, exposing the hard substratum. Our thoughts flew back;

the crampons we had left behind seemed to dance before my eyes,

backwards and forwards, grinning and pointing fingers at me. It would

be a nice little extra trip back to the Butcher's to fetch them.

Meanwhile, we packed and made everything ready. The tracks of the day

before were not easy to follow; but if we lost them now and again

on the smooth ice surface, we picked them up later on a snow-wave

that had resisted the attack of the wind. It was hard and strenuous

work for the drivers. The sledges were difficult to manage over the

smooth, sloping ice; sometimes they went straight, but just as often

cross-wise, requiring sharp attention to keep them from capsizing. And

this had to be prevented at all costs, as the thin provision cases

would not stand many bumps on the ice; besides which, it was such

hard work righting the sledges again that for this reason alone

the drivers exercised the greatest care. The sledges were put to a

severe test that day, with the many great and hard irregularities we

encountered on the glacier; it is a wonder they survived it, and is

a good testimonial for Bjaaland's work.

The glacier that day presented the worst confusion we had yet had

to deal with. Hassel and I went in front, as usual, with the rope

on. Up to the spot Hanssen and I had reached the evening before our

progress was comparatively easy; one gets on so much quicker when one

knows that the way is practicable. After this point it became worse;

indeed, it was often so bad that we had to stop for a long time and

try in various directions, before finding a way. More than once the

axe had to be used to hack away obstructions. At one time things

looked really serious; chasm after chasm, hummock after hummock, so

high and steep that they were like mountains. Here we went out and

explored in every direction to find a passage; at last we found one,

if, indeed, it deserved the name of a passage. It was a bridge so

narrow that it scarcely allowed room for the width of the sledge;

a fearful abyss on each side. The crossing of this place reminded

me of the tight-rope walker going over Niagara. It was a good thing

none of us was subject to giddiness, and that the dogs did not know

exactly what the result of a false step would be.

On the other side of this bridge we began to go downhill, and our

course now lay in a long valley between lofty undulations on each

side. It tried our patience severely to advance here, as the line of

the hollow was fairly long and ran due west. We tried several times

to lay our course towards the south and clamber up the side of the

undulation, but these efforts did not pay us. We could always get up on

to the ridge, but we could not come down again on the other side; there

was nothing to be done but to follow the natural course of the valley

until it took us into the tract lying to the south. It was especially

the drivers whose patience was sorely tried, and I could see them now

and then take a turn up to the top of the ridge, not satisfied with

the exploration Hassel and I had made. But the result was always the

same; they had to submit to Nature's caprices and follow in our tracks.

Our course along this natural line was not entirely free from

obstruction; crevasses of various dimensions constantly crossed our

path. The ridge or undulation, at the top of which we at last arrived,

had quite an imposing effect. It terminated on the east in a steep drop

to the underlying surface, and attained at this point a height of over

100 feet. On the west it sloped gradually into the lower ground and

allowed us to advance that way. In order to have a better view of the

surroundings we ascended the eastern and highest part of the ridge,

and from here we at once had a confirmation of our supposition of the

day before. The ridge we had then seen, behind which we hoped to find

better conditions, could now be seen a good way ahead. And what we

then saw made our hearts beat fast with joy. Could that great white,

unbroken plain over there be real, or was it only an illusion? Time

would show.

Meanwhile Hassel and I jogged on, and the others followed. We had

to get through a good many difficulties yet before we reached that

point, but, compared with all the breakneck places we had already

crossed, these were of a comparatively tame description. It was

with a sigh of relief that we arrived at the plain that promised so

well; its extent was not very great, but we were not very exacting

either in this respect, after our last few days' march over the

broken surface. Farther to the south we could still see great masses

piled up by pressure, but the intervals between them were very great

and the surface was whole. This was, then, the first time since we

tackled the Devil's Glacier that we were able to steer true south

for a few minutes.

As we progressed, it could be seen that we had really come upon another

kind of ground; for once we had not been made fools of. Not that we

had an unbroken, level surface to go upon -- it would be a long time

before we came to that -- but we were able to keep our course for long

stretches at a time. The huge crevasses became rarer, and so filled up

at both ends that we were able to cross them without going a long way

round. There was new life in all of us, both dogs and men, and we went

rapidly southward. As we advanced, the conditions improved more and

more. We could see in the distance some huge dome-shaped formations,

that seemed to tower high into the air: these turned out to be the

southernmost limit of the big crevasses and to form the transition

to the third phase of the glacier.

It was a stiff climb to get up these domes, which were fairly high

and swept smooth by the wind. They lay straight in our course, and

from their tops we had a good view. The surface we were entering upon

was quite different from that on the northern side of the domes. Here

the big crevasses were entirely filled with snow and might be crossed

anywhere. What specially attracted one's attention here was an immense

number of small formations in the shape of haycocks. Great stretches

of the surface were swept bare, exposing the smooth ice.

It was evident that these various formations or phases in the glacier

were due to the underlying ground. The first tract we had passed,

where the confusion was so extreme, must be the part that lay

nearest the bare land; in proportion as the glacier left the land,

it became less disturbed: In the haycock district the disturbance

had not produced cracks in the surface to any extent, only upheaval

here and there. How these haycocks were formed and what they looked

like inside we were soon to find out. It was a pleasure to be able to

advance all the time, instead of constantly turning and going round;

only once or twice did we have to turn aside for the larger haycocks,

otherwise we kept our course. The great, clean-swept stretches of

surface that we came upon from time to time were split in every

direction, but the cracks were very narrow -- about half an inch wide.

We had difficulty in finding a place for the tent that evening;

the surface was equally hard everywhere, and at last we had to set

it on the bare ice. Luckily for our tent-pegs, this ice was not of

the bright, steely variety; it was more milky in appearance and

not so hard, and we were thus able to knock in the pegs with the

axe. When the tent was up, Hassel went out as usual to fetch snow

for the cooker. As a rule he performed this task with a big knife,

specially made for snow; but this evening he went out armed with an

axe. He was very pleased with the abundant and excellent material

that lay to his hand; there was no need to go far. Just outside the

tent door, two feet away, stood a fine little haycock, that looked

as if it would serve the purpose well. Hassel raised his axe and

gave a good sound blow; the axe met with no resistance, and went in

up to the haft. The haycock was hollow. As the axe was pulled out

the surrounding part gave way, and one could hear the pieces of ice

falling down through the dark hole. It appeared, then, that two feet

from our door we had a most convenient way down into the cellar. Hassel

looked as if he enjoyed the situation. "Black as a sack," he smiled;

"couldn't see any bottom." Hanssen was beaming; no doubt he would

have liked the tent a little nearer. The material provided by the

haycock was of the best quality, and well adapted for cooking purposes.

The next day, December 1, was a very fatiguing one for us all. From

early morning a blinding blizzard raged from the south-east,

with a heavy fall of snow. The going was of the very worst kind --

polished ice. I stumbled forward on ski, and had comparatively easy

work. The drivers had been obliged to take off their ski and put

them on the loads, so as to walk by the side, support the sledges,

and give the dogs help when they came to a difficult place; and that

was pretty often, for on this smooth ice surface there were a number

of small scattered sastrugi, and these consisted of a kind of snow

that reminded one more of fish-glue than of anything else when the

sledges came in contact with it. The dogs could get no hold with

their claws on the smooth ice, and when the sledge came on to one

of these tough little waves, they could not manage to haul it over,

try as they might. The driver then had to put all his strength into

it to prevent the sledge stopping. Thus in most cases the combined

efforts of men and dogs carried the sledge on.

In the course of the afternoon the surface again began to be more

disturbed, and great crevasses crossed our path time after time. These

crevasses were really rather dangerous; they looked very innocent,

as they were quite filled up with snow, but on a nearer acquaintance

with them we came to understand that they were far more hazardous

than we dreamed of at first. It turned out that between the loose

snow-filling and the firm ice edges there was a fairly broad, open

space, leading straight down into the depths. The layer of snow

which covered it over was in most cases quite thin. In driving out

into one of these snow-filled crevasses nothing happened as a rule;

but it was in getting off on the other side that the critical moment

arrived. For here the dogs came up on to the smooth ice surface, and

could get no hold for their claws, with the result that it was left

entirely to the driver to haul the the sledge up. The strong pull he

then had to give sent him through the thin layer of snow. Under these

circumstances he took a good, firm hold of the sledge-lashing, or of

a special strap that had been made with a view to these accidents. But

familiarity breeds contempt, even with the most cautious, and some of

the drivers were often within an ace of going down into "the cellar."

If this part of the journey was trying for the dogs, it was certainly

no less so for the men. If the weather had even been fine, so that we

could have looked about us, we should not have minded it so much, but

in this vile weather it was, indeed, no pleasure. Our time was also

a good deal taken up with thawing noses and cheeks as they froze --

not that we stopped; we had no time for that. We simply took off a mit,

and laid the warm hand on the frozen spot as we went; when we thought

we had restored sensation, we put the hand back into the mit. By

this time it would want warming. One does not keep one's hands bare

for long with the thermometer several degrees below zero and a storm

blowing. In spite of the unfavourable conditions we had been working

in, the sledge-meters that evening showed a distance of fifteen and a

half miles. We were well satisfied with the day's work when we camped.

Let us cast a glance into the tent this evening. It looks cosy

enough. The inner half of the tent is occupied by three sleeping-bags,

whose respective owners have found it both comfortable and expedient

to turn in, and may now be seen engaged with their diaries. The outer

half -- that nearest the door -- has only two sleeping-bags, but

the rest of the space is taken up with the whole cooking apparatus

of the expedition. The owners of these two bags are still sitting

up. Hanssen is cook, and will not turn in until the food is ready and

served. Wisting is his sworn comrade and assistant, and is ready to

lend him any aid that may be required. Hanssen appears to be a careful

cook; he evidently does not like to burn the food, and his spoon stirs

the contents of the pot incessantly. "Soup!" The effect of the word

is instantaneous. Everyone sits up at once with a cup in one hand and

a spoon in the other. Each one in his turn has his cup filled with

what looks like the most tasty vegetable soup. Scalding hot it is,

as one can see by the faces, but for all that it disappears with

surprising rapidity. Again the cups are filled, this time with more

solid stuff pemmican. With praiseworthy despatch their contents are

once more demolished, and they are filled for the third time. There is

nothing the matter with these men's appetites. The cups are carefully

scraped, and the enjoyment of bread and water begins. It is easy to

see, too, that it is an enjoyment -- greater, to judge by the pleasure

on their faces, than the most skilfully devised menu could afford. They

positively caress the biscuits before they eat them. And the water --

ice-cold water they all call for -- this also disappears in great

quantities, and procures, I feel certain from their expression,

a far greater pleasure and satisfaction than the finest wine that

was ever produced. The Primus hums softly during the whole meal,

and the temperature in the tent is quite pleasant.

When the meal is over, one of them calls for scissors and

looking-glass, and then one may see the Polar explorers dressing their

hair for the approaching Sunday. The beard is cut quite short with the

clipper every Saturday evening; this is done not so much from motives

of vanity as from considerations of utility and comfort. The beard

invites an accumulation of ice, which may often be very embarrassing. A

beard in the Polar regions seems to me to be just as awkward and

unpractical as -- well, let us say, walking with a tall hat on each

foot. As the beard-clipper and the mirror make their round, one

after the other disappears into his bag, and with five "Good-nights,"

silence falls upon the tent. The regular breathing soon announces that

the day's work demands its tribute. Meanwhile the south-easter howls,

and the snow beats against the tent. The dogs have curled themselves

up, and do not seem to trouble themselves about the weather.

The storm continued unabated on the following day, and on account of

the dangerous nature of the ground we decided to wait awhile. In the

course of the morning -- towards noon, perhaps -- the wind dropped

a little, and out we went. The sun peeped through at times, and

we took the welcome opportunity of getting an altitude -- 86° 47'

S. was the result.

At this camp we left behind all our delightful reindeer-skin clothing,

as we could see that we should have no use for it, the temperature

being far too high. We kept the hoods of our reindeer coats, however;

we might be glad of them in going against the wind. Our day's march

was not to be a long one; the little slackening of the wind about

midday was only a joke. It soon came on again in earnest, with a

sweeping blizzard from the same quarter -- the south-east. If we

had known the ground, we should possibly have gone on; but in this

storm and driving snow, which prevented our keeping our eyes open,

it was no use. A serious accident might happen and ruin all. Two and

half miles was therefore our whole distance. The temperature when we

camped was -5.8° F. Height above the sea, 9,780 feet.

In the course of the night the wind veered from south-east to north,

falling light, and the weather cleared. This was a good chance for us,

and we were not slow to avail ourselves of it. A gradually rising ice

surface lay before us, bright as a mirror. As on the preceding days,

I stumbled along in front on ski, while the others, without their ski,

had to follow and support the sledges. The surface still offered filled

crevasses, though perhaps less frequently than before. Meanwhile small

patches of snow began to show themselves on the polished surface,

and soon increased in number and size, until before very long they

united and covered the unpleasant ice with a good and even layer of

snow. Then ski were put on again, and we continued our way to the

south with satisfaction.

We were all rejoicing that we had now conquered this treacherous

glacier, and congratulating ourselves on having at last arrived on

the actual plateau. As we were going along, feeling pleased about

this, a ridge suddenly appeared right ahead, telling us plainly that

perhaps all our sorrows were not yet ended. The ground had begun

to sink a little, and as we came nearer we could see that we had to

cross a rather wide, but not deep, valley before we arrived under the

ridge. Great lines of hummocks and haycock-shaped pieces of ice came

in view on every side; we could see that we should have to keep our

eyes open.

And now we came to the formation in the glacier that we called the

Devil's Ballroom. Little by little the covering of snow that we had

praised in such high terms disappeared, and before us lay this wide

valley, bare and gleaming. At first it went well enough; as it was

downhill, we were going at a good pace on the smooth ice. Suddenly

Wisting's sledge cut into the surface, and turned over on its

side. We all knew what had happened -- one of the runners was in

a crevasse. Wisting set to work, with the assistance of Hassel,

to raise the sledge, and take it out of its dangerous position;

meanwhile Bjaaland had got out his camera and was setting it

up. Accustomed as we were to such incidents, Hanssen and I were

watching the scene from a point a little way in advance, where we had

arrived when it happened. As the photography took rather a long time,

I assumed that the crevasse was one of the filled ones and presented no

particular danger, but that Bjaaland wanted to have a souvenir among

his photographs of the numerous crevasses and ticklish situations

we had been exposed to. As to the crack being filled up, there was

of course no need to inquire. I hailed them, and asked how they were

getting on. "Oh, all right," was the answer; "we've just finished." --

"What does the crevasse look like?" -- "Oh, as usual," they shouted

back; "no bottom." I mention this little incident just to show how

one can grow accustomed to anything in this world. There were these

two -- Wisting and Hassel -- lying over a yawning, bottomless abyss,

and having their photograph taken; neither of them gave a thought

to the serious side of the situation. To judge from the laughter and

jokes we heard, one would have thought their position was something

quite different.

When the photographer had quietly and leisurely finished his work

-- he got a remarkably good picture of the scene -- the other two

together raised the sledge, and the journey was continued. It was at

this crevasse that we entered his Majesty's Ballroom. The surface

did not really look bad. True, the snow was blown away, which made

it difficult to advance, but we did not see many cracks. There were

a good many pressure-masses, as already mentioned, but even in the

neighbourhood of these we could not see any marked disturbance. The

first sign that the surface was more treacherous than it appeared to

be was when Hanssen's leading dogs went right through the apparently

solid floor. They remained hanging by their harness, and were easily

pulled up again. When we looked through the hole they had made in the

crust, it did not give us the impression of being very dangerous, as,

2 or 3 feet below the outer crust, there lay another surface, which

appeared to consist of pulverized ice. We assumed that this lower

surface was the solid one, and that therefore there was no danger

in falling through the upper one. But Bjaaland was able to tell us

a different story. He had, in fact, fallen through the outer crust,

and was well on his way through the inner one as well, when he got

hold of a loop of rope on his sledge and saved himself in the nick of

time. Time after time the dogs now fell through, and time after time

the men went in. The effect of the open space between the two crusts

was that the ground under our feet sounded unpleasantly hollow as we

went over it. The drivers whipped up their dogs as much as they could,

and with shouts and brisk encouragement they went rapidly over the

treacherous floor. Fortunately this curious formation was not of great

extent, and we soon began to observe a change for the better as we came

up the ridge. It soon appeared that the Ballroom was the glacier's last

farewell to us. With it all irregularities ceased, and both surface

and going improved by leaps and bounds, so that before very long we

had the satisfaction of seeing that at last we had really conquered

all these unpleasant difficulties. The surface at once became fine

and even, with a splendid covering of snow everywhere, and we went

rapidly on our way to the south with a feeling of security and safety.