At the Pole
In lat. 87° S. -- according to dead reckoning -- we saw the last of the
land to the north-east. The atmosphere was then apparently as clear
as could be, and we felt certain that our view covered all the land
there was to be seen from that spot. We were deceived again on this
occasion, as will be seen later. Our distance that day (December 4)
was close upon twenty-five miles; height above the sea, 10,100 feet.
The weather did not continue fine for long. Next day (December 5) there
was a gale from the north, and once more the whole plain was a mass
of drifting snow. In addition to this there was thick falling snow,
which blinded us and made things worse, but a feeling of security had
come over us and helped us to advance rapidly and without hesitation,
although we could see nothing. That day we encountered new surface
conditions -- big, hard snow-waves (sastrugi). These were anything
but pleasant to work among, especially when one could not see them. It
was of no use for us "forerunners" to think of going in advance under
these circumstances, as it was impossible to keep on one's feet. Three
or four paces was often the most we managed to do before falling
down. The sastrugi were very high, and often abrupt; if one came on
them unexpectedly, one required to be more than an acrobat to keep on
one's feet. The plan we found to work best in these conditions was to
let Hanssen's dogs go first; this was an unpleasant job for Hanssen,
and for his dogs too, but it succeeded, and succeeded well. An upset
here and there was, of course, unavoidable, but with a little patience
the sledge was always righted again. The drivers had as much as they
could do to support their sledges among these sastrugi, but while
supporting the sledges, they had at the same time a support for
themselves. It was worse for us who had no sledges, but by keeping
in the wake of them we could see where the irregularities lay, and
thus get over them. Hanssen deserves a special word of praise for his
driving on this surface in such weather. It is a difficult matter to
drive Eskimo dogs forward when they cannot see; but Hanssen managed it
well, both getting the dogs on and steering his course by compass. One
would not think it possible to keep an approximately right course
when the uneven ground gives such violent shocks that the needle flies
several times round the compass, and is no sooner still again than it
recommences the same dance; but when at last we got an observation,
it turned out that Hanssen had steered to a hair, for the observations
and dead reckoning agreed to a mile. In spite of all hindrances,
and of being able to see nothing, the sledge-meters showed nearly
twenty-five miles. The hypsometer showed 11,070 feet above the sea;
we had therefore reached a greater altitude than the Butcher's.
December 6 brought the same weather: thick snow, sky and plain all
one, nothing to be seen. Nevertheless we made splendid progress. The
sastrugi gradually became levelled out, until the surface was
perfectly smooth; it was a relief to have even ground to go upon
once more. These irregularities that one was constantly falling over
were a nuisance; if we had met with them in our usual surroundings
it would not have mattered so much; but up here on the high ground,
where we had to stand and gasp for breath every time we rolled over,
it was certainly not pleasant.
That day we passed 88° S., and camped in 88° 9' S. A great surprise
awaited us in the tent that evening. I expected to find, as on the
previous evening, that the boiling-point had fallen somewhat; in
other words, that it would show a continued rise of the ground, but
to our astonishment this was not so. The water boiled at exactly the
same temperature as on the preceding day. I tried it several times,
to convince myself that there was nothing wrong, each time with the
same result. There was great rejoicing among us all when I was able
to announce that we had arrived on the top of the plateau.
December 7 began like the 6th, with absolutely thick weather, but, as
they say, you never know what the day is like before sunset. Possibly
I might have chosen a better expression than this last -- one
more in agreement with the natural conditions -- but I will let it
stand. Though for several weeks now the sun had not set, my readers
will not be so critical as to reproach me with inaccuracy. With a
light wind from the north-east, we now went southward at a good
speed over the perfectly level plain, with excellent going. The
uphill work had taken it out of our dogs, though not to any serious
extent. They had turned greedy -- there is no denying that -- and the
half kilo of pemmican they got each day was not enough to fill their
stomachs. Early and late they were looking for something -- no matter
what -- to devour. To begin with they contented themselves with such
loose objects as ski-bindings, whips, boots, and the like; but as
we came to know their proclivities, we took such care of everything
that they found no extra meals lying about. But that was not the end
of the matter. They then went for the fixed lashings of the sledges,
and -- if we had allowed it -- would very quickly have resolved the
various sledges into their component parts. But we found a way of
stopping that: every evening, on halting, the sledges were buried
in the snow, so as to hide all the lashings. That was successful;
curiously enough, they never tried to force the "snow rampart." I
may mention as a curious thing that these ravenous animals, that
devoured everything they came across, even to the ebonite points of
our ski-sticks, never made any attempt to break into the provision
cases. They lay there and went about among the sledges with their
noses just on a level with the split cases, seeing and scenting the
pemmican, without once making a sign of taking any. But if one raised
a lid, they were not long in showing themselves. Then they all came
in a great hurry and flocked about the sledges in the hope of getting
a little extra bit. I am at a loss to explain this behaviour; that
bashfulness was not at the root of it, I am tolerably certain.
During the forenoon the thick, grey curtain of cloud began to grow
thinner on the horizon, and for the first time for three days we could
see a few miles about us. The feeling was something like that one has
on waking from a good nap, rubbing one's eyes and looking around. We
had become so accustomed to the grey twilight that this positively
dazzled us. Meanwhile, the upper layer of air seemed obstinately
to remain the same and to be doing its best to prevent the sun
from showing itself. We badly wanted to get a meridian altitude,
so that we could determine our latitude. Since 86° 47' S. we had
had no observation, and it was not easy to say when we should get
one. Hitherto, the weather conditions on the high ground had not
been particularly favourable. Although the prospects were not very
promising, we halted at 11 a.m. and made ready to catch the sun if
it should be kind enough to look out. Hassel and Wisting used one
sextant and artificial horizon, Hanssen and I the other set.
I don't know that I have ever stood and absolutely pulled at the sun
to get it out as I did that time. If we got an observation here which
agreed with our reckoning, then it would be possible, if the worst came
to the worst, to go to the Pole on dead reckoning; but if we got none
now, it was a question whether our claim to the Pole would be admitted
on the dead reckoning we should be able to produce. Whether my pulling
helped or not, it is certain that the sun appeared. It was not very
brilliant to begin with, but, practised as we now were in availing
ourselves of even the poorest chances, it was good enough. Down it
came, was checked by all, and the altitude written down. The curtain
of cloud was rent more and more, and before we had finished our work --
that is to say, caught the sun at its highest, and convinced ourselves
that it was descending again -- it was shining in all its glory. We had
put away our instruments and were sitting on the sledges, engaged in
the calculations. I can safely say that we were excited. What would the
result be, after marching blindly for so long and over such impossible
ground, as we had been doing? We added and subtracted, and at last
there was the result. We looked at each other in sheer incredulity:
the result was as astonishing as the most consummate conjuring trick
-- 88° 16' S., precisely to a minute the same as our reckoning, 88°
16' S. If we were forced to go to the Pole on dead reckoning, then
surely the most exacting would admit our right to do so. We put away
our observation books, ate one or two biscuits, and went at it again.
We had a great piece of work before us that day nothing less than
carrying our flag farther south than the foot of man had trod. We
had our silk flag ready; it was made fast to two ski-sticks and laid
on Hanssen's sledge. I had given him orders that as soon as we had
covered the distance to 88°S., which was Shackleton's farthest south,
the flag was to be hoisted on his sledge. It was my turn as forerunner,
and I pushed on. There was no longer any difficulty in holding one's
course; I had the grandest cloud-formations to steer by, and everything
now went like a machine. First came the forerunner for the time being,
then Hanssen, then Wisting, and finally Bjaaland. The forerunner who
was not on duty went where he liked; as a rule he accompanied one
or other of the sledges. I had long ago fallen into a reverie --
far removed from the scene in which I was moving; what I thought
about I do not remember now, but I was so preoccupied that I had
entirely forgotten my surroundings. Then suddenly I was roused from
my dreaming by a jubilant shout, followed by ringing cheers. I turned
round quickly to discover the reason of this unwonted occurrence,
and stood speechless and overcome.
I find it impossible to express the feelings that possessed me at
this moment. All the sledges had stopped, and from the foremost of
them the Norwegian flag was flying. It shook itself out, waved and
flapped so that the silk rustled; it looked wonderfully well in the
pure, clear air and the shining white surroundings. 88° 23' was past;
we were farther south than any human being had been. No other moment
of the whole trip affected me like this. The tears forced their way
to my eyes; by no effort of will could I keep them back. It was the
flag yonder that conquered me and my will. Luckily I was some way in
advance of the others, so that I had time to pull myself together and
master my feelings before reaching my comrades. We all shook hands,
with mutual congratulations; we had won our way far by holding
together, and we would go farther yet -- to the end.
We did not pass that spot without according our highest tribute of
admiration to the man, who -- together with his gallant companions
-- had planted his country's flag so infinitely nearer to the
goal than any of his precursors. Sir Ernest Shackleton's name will
always be written in the annals of Antarctic exploration in letters
of fire. Pluck and grit can work wonders, and I know of no better
example of this than what that man has accomplished.
The cameras of course had to come out, and we got an excellent
photograph of the scene which none of us will ever forget. We went
on a couple of miles more, to 88° 25', and then camped. The weather
had improved, and kept on improving all the time. It was now almost
perfectly calm, radiantly clear, and, under the circumstances, quite
summer-like: -0.4° F. Inside the tent it was quite sultry. This was
more than we had expected.
After much consideration and discussion we had come to the conclusion
that we ought to lay down a depot -- the last one -- at this spot. The
advantages of lightening our sledges were so great that we should
have to risk it. Nor would there be any great risk attached to it,
after all, since we should adopt a system of marks that would lead
even a blind man back to the place. We had determined to mark it not
only at right angles to our course -- that is, from east to west --
but by snow beacons at every two geographical miles to the south.
We stayed here on the following day to arrange this depot. Hanssen's
dogs were real marvels, all of them; nothing seemed to have any effect
on them. They had grown rather thinner, of course, but they were still
as strong as ever. It was therefore decided not to lighten Hanssen's
sledge, but only the two others; both Wisting's and Bjaaland's teams
had suffered, especially the latter's. The reduction in weight that
was effected was considerable -- nearly 110 pounds on each of the
two sledges; there was thus about 220 pounds in the depot. The snow
here was ill-adapted for building, but we put up quite a respectable
monument all the same. It was dogs' pemmican and biscuits that
were left behind; we carried with us on the sledges provisions for
about a month. If, therefore, contrary to expectation, we should be
so unlucky as to miss this depot, we should nevertheless be fairly
sure of reaching our depot in 86° 21' before supplies ran short. The
cross-marking of the depot was done with sixty splinters of black
packing-case on each side, with 100 paces between each. Every other
one had a shred of black cloth on the top. The splinters on the east
side were all marked, so that on seeing them we should know instantly
that we were to the east of the depot. Those on the west had no marks.
The warmth of the past few days seemed to have matured our frost-sores,
and we presented an awful appearance. It was Wisting, Hanssen, and
I who had suffered the worst damage in the last south-east blizzard;
the left side of our faces was one mass of sore, bathed in matter and
serum. We looked like the worst type of tramps and ruffians, and would
probably not have been recognized by our nearest relations. These
sores were a great trouble to us during the latter part of the
journey. The slightest gust of wind produced a sensation as if one's
face were being cut backwards and forwards with a blunt knife. They
lasted a long time, too; I can remember Hanssen removing the last
scab when we were coming into Hobart -- three months later. We were
very lucky in the weather during this depot work; the sun came out
all at once, and we had an excellent opportunity of taking some good
azimuth observations, the last of any use that we got on the journey.
December 9 arrived with the same fine weather and sunshine. True,
we felt our frost-sores rather sharply that day, with -18.4° F. and
a little breeze dead against us, but that could not be helped. We
at once began to put up beacons -- a work which was continued with
great regularity right up to the Pole. These beacons were not so big
as those we had built down on the Barrier; we could see that they
would be quite large enough with a height of about 3 feet, as it
was, very easy to see the slightest irregularity on this perfectly
flat surface. While thus engaged we had an opportunity of becoming
thoroughly acquainted with the nature of the snow. Often -- very often
indeed -- on this part of the plateau, to the south of 88° 25', we had
difficulty in getting snow good enough -- that is, solid enough for
cutting blocks. The snow up here seemed to have fallen very quietly,
in light breezes or calms. We could thrust the tent-pole, which was
6 feet long, right down without meeting resistance, which showed that
there was no hard layer of snow. The surface was also perfectly level;
there was not a sign of sastrugi in any direction.
Every step we now took in advance brought us rapidly nearer the goal;
we could feel fairly certain of reaching it on the afternoon of the
14th. It was very natural that our conversation should be chiefly
concerned with the time of arrival. None of us would admit that he
was nervous, but I am inclined to think that we all had a little
touch of that malady. What should we see when we got there? A vast,
endless plain, that no eye had yet seen and no foot yet trodden; or --
No, it was an impossibility; with the speed at which we had travelled,
we must reach the goal first, there could be no doubt about that. And
yet -- and yet -- Wherever there is the smallest loophole, doubt creeps
in and gnaws and gnaws and never leaves a poor wretch in peace. "What
on earth is Uroa scenting?" It was Bjaaland who made this remark,
on one of these last days, when I was going by the side of his sledge
and talking to him. "And the strange thing is that he's scenting to
the south. It can never be--" Mylius, Ring, and Suggen, showed the
same interest in the southerly direction; it was quite extraordinary
to see how they raised their heads, with every sign of curiosity,
put their noses in the air, and sniffed due south. One would really
have thought there was something remarkable to be found there.
From 88° 25' S. the barometer and hypsometer indicated slowly but
surely that the plateau was beginning to descend towards the other
side. This was a pleasant surprise to us; we had thus not only found
the very summit of the plateau, but also the slope down on the far
side. This would have a very important bearing for obtaining an idea
of the construction of the whole plateau. On December 9 observations
and dead reckoning agreed within a mile. The same result again on
the 10th: observation 2 kilometres behind reckoning. The weather
and going remained about the same as on the preceding days: light
south-easterly breeze, temperature -18.4° F. The snow surface was
loose, but ski and sledges glided over it well. On the 11th, the same
weather conditions. Temperature -13° F. Observation and reckoning
again agreed exactly. Our latitude was 89° 15' S. On the 12th we
reached 89° 30', reckoning 1 kilometre behind observation. Going and
surface as good as ever. Weather splendid -- calm with sunshine. The
noon observation on the 13th gave 89° 37' S. Reckoning 89° 38.5'
S. We halted in the afternoon, after going eight geographical miles,
and camped in 89° 45', according to reckoning.
The weather during the forenoon had been just as fine as before;
in the afternoon we had some snow-showers from the south-east. It
was like the eve of some great festival that night in the tent. One
could feel that a great event was at hand. Our flag was taken out
again and lashed to the same two ski-sticks as before. Then it was
rolled up and laid aside, to be ready when the time came. I was
awake several times during the night, and had the same feeling that
I can remember as a little boy on the night before Christmas Eve --
an intense expectation of what was going to happen. Otherwise I think
we slept just as well that night as any other.
On the morning of December 14 the weather was of the finest, just as
if it had been made for arriving at the Pole. I am not quite sure,
but I believe we despatched our breakfast rather more quickly than
usual and were out of the tent sooner, though I must admit that we
always accomplished this with all reasonable haste. We went in the
usual order -- the forerunner, Hanssen, Wisting, Bjaaland, and the
reserve forerunner. By noon we had reached 89° 53' by dead reckoning,
and made ready to take the rest in one stage. At 10 a.m. a light
breeze had sprung up from the south-east, and it had clouded over,
so that we got no noon altitude; but the clouds were not thick, and
from time to time we had a glimpse of the sun through them. The going
on that day was rather different from what it had been; sometimes the
ski went over it well, but at others it was pretty bad. We advanced
that day in the same mechanical way as before; not much was said,
but eyes were used all the more. Hanssen's neck grew twice as long
as before in his endeavour to see a few inches farther. I had asked
him before we started to spy out ahead for all he was worth, and he
did so with a vengeance. But, however keenly he stared, he could not
descry anything but the endless flat plain ahead of us. The dogs had
dropped their scenting, and appeared to have lost their interest in
the regions about the earth's axis.
At three in the afternoon a simultaneous "Halt!" rang out from the
drivers. They had carefully examined their sledge-meters, and they
all showed the full distance -- our Pole by reckoning. The goal
was reached, the journey ended. I cannot say -- though I know it
would sound much more effective -- that the object of my life was
attained. That would be romancing rather too bare-facedly. I had
better be honest and admit straight out that I have never known any
man to be placed in such a diametrically opposite position to the
goal of his desires as I was at that moment. The regions around the
North Pole -- well, yes, the North Pole itself -- had attracted me
from childhood, and here I was at the South Pole. Can anything more
topsy-turvy be imagined?
We reckoned now that we were at the Pole. Of course, every one of us
knew that we were not standing on the absolute spot; it would be an
impossibility with the time and the instruments at our disposal to
ascertain that exact spot. But we were so near it that the few miles
which possibly separated us from it could not be of the slightest
importance. It was our intention to make a circle round this camp,
with a radius of twelve and a half miles (20 kilometres), and to be
satisfied with that. After we had halted we collected and congratulated
each other. We had good grounds for mutual respect in what had been
achieved, and I think that was just the feeling that was expressed in
the firm and powerful grasps of the fist that were exchanged. After
this we proceeded to the greatest and most solemn act of the whole
journey -- the planting of our flag. Pride and affection shone in the
five pairs of eyes that gazed upon the flag, as it unfurled itself
with a sharp crack, and waved over the Pole. I had determined that
the act of planting it -- the historic event -- should be equally
divided among us all. It was not for one man to do this; it was for
all who had staked their lives in the struggle, and held together
through thick and thin. This was the only way in which I could show my
gratitude to my comrades in this desolate spot. I could see that they
understood and accepted it in the spirit in which it was offered. Five
weather-beaten, frost-bitten fists they were that grasped the pole,
raised the waving flag in the air, and planted it as the first at the
geographical South Pole. "Thus we plant thee, beloved flag, at the
South Pole, and give to the plain on which it lies the name of King
Haakon VII.'s Plateau." That moment will certainly be remembered by
all of us who stood there.
One gets out of the way of protracted ceremonies in those regions
-- the shorter they are the better. Everyday life began again at
once. When we had got the tent up, Hanssen set about slaughtering
Helge, and it was hard for him to have to part from his best
friend. Helge had been an uncommonly useful and good-natured dog;
without making any fuss he had pulled from morning to night, and had
been a shining example to the team. But during the last week he had
quite fallen away, and on our arrival at the Pole there was only a
shadow of the old Helge left. He was only a drag on the others, and
did absolutely no work. One blow on the skull, and Helge had ceased
to live. "What is death to one is food to another," is a saying that
can scarcely find a better application than these dog meals. Helge
was portioned out on the spot, and within a couple of hours there
was nothing left of him but his teeth and the tuft at the end of his
tail. This was the second of our eighteen dogs that we had lost. The
Major, one of Wisting's fine dogs, left us in 88)deg) 25' S., and
never returned. He was fearfully worn out, and must have gone away
to die. We now had sixteen dogs left, and these we intended to divide
into two equal teams, leaving Bjaaland's sledge behind.
Of course, there was a festivity in the tent that evening -- not that
champagne corks were popping and wine flowing -- no, we contented
ourselves with a little piece of seal meat each, and it tasted well
and did us good. There was no other sign of festival indoors. Outside
we heard the flag flapping in the breeze. Conversation was lively in
the tent that evening, and we talked of many things. Perhaps, too,
our thoughts sent messages home of what we had done.
Everything we had with us had now to be marked with the words "South
Pole" and the date, to serve afterwards as souvenirs. Wisting proved
to be a first-class engraver, and many were the articles he had to
mark. Tobacco -- in the form of smoke -- had hitherto never made its
appearance in the tent. From time to time I had seen one or two of
the others take a quid, but now these things were to be altered. I
had brought with me an old briar pipe, which bore inscriptions from
many places in the Arctic regions, and now I wanted it marked "South
Pole." When I produced my pipe and was about to mark it, I received
an unexpected gift Wisting offered me tobacco for the rest of the
journey. He had some cakes of plug in his kit-bag, which he would
prefer to see me smoke. Can anyone grasp what such an offer meant at
such a spot, made to a man who, to tell the truth, is very fond of a
smoke after meals? There are not many who can understand it fully. I
accepted the offer, jumping with joy, and on the way home I had a pipe
of fresh, fine-cut plug every evening. Ah! that Wisting, he spoiled
me entirely. Not only did he give me tobacco, but every evening --
and I must confess I yielded to the temptation after a while, and
had a morning smoke as well -- he undertook the disagreeable work of
cutting the plug and filling my pipe in all kinds of weather.
But we did not let our talk make us forget other things. As we had got
no noon altitude, we should have to try and take one at midnight. The
weather had brightened again, and it looked as if midnight would be
a good time for the observation. We therefore crept into our bags to
get a little nap in the intervening hours. In good time -- soon after
11 p.m. -- we were out again, and ready to catch the sun; the weather
was of the best, and the opportunity excellent. We four navigators
all had a share in it, as usual, and stood watching the course of the
sun. This was a labour of patience, as the difference of altitude
was now very slight. The result at which we finally arrived was of
great interest, as it clearly shows how unreliable and valueless a
single observation like this is in these regions. At 12.30 a.m. we
put our instruments away, well satisfied with our work, and quite
convinced that it was the midnight altitude that we had observed. The
calculations which were carried out immediately afterwards gave us 89°
56' S. We were all well pleased with this result.
The arrangement now was that we should encircle this camp with a
radius of about twelve and a half miles. By encircling I do not, of
course, mean that we should go round in a circle with this radius;
that would have taken us days, and was not to be thought of. The
encircling was accomplished in this way: Three men went out in
three different directions, two at right angles to the course we
had been steering, and one in continuation of that course. To carry
out this work I had chosen Wisting, Hassel, and Bjaaland. Having
concluded our observations, we put the kettle on to give ourselves
a drop of chocolate; the pleasure of standing out there in rather
light attire had not exactly put warmth into our bodies. As we were
engaged in swallowing the scalding drink, Bjaaland suddenly observed:
"I'd like to tackle this encircling straight away. We shall have
lots of time to sleep when we get back." Hassel and Wisting were
quite of the same opinion, and it was agreed that they should start
the work immediately. Here we have yet another example of the good
spirit that prevailed in our little community. We had only lately
come in from our day's work -- a march of about eighteen and a half
miles -- and now they were asking to be allowed to go on another
twenty-five miles. It seemed as if these fellows could never be
tired. We therefore turned this meal into a little breakfast --
that is to say, each man ate what he wanted of his bread ration,
and then they began to get ready for the work. First, three small
bags of light windproof stuff were made, and in each of these was
placed a paper, giving the position of our camp. In addition, each
of them carried a large square flag of the same dark brown material,
which could be easily seen at a distance. As flag-poles we elected
to use our spare sledge-runners, which were both long -- 12 feet --
and strong, and which we were going to take off here in any case,
to lighten the sledges as much as possible for the return journey.
Thus equipped, and with thirty biscuits as an extra ration, the three
men started off in the directions laid down. Their march was by no
means free from danger, and does great honour to those who undertook
it, not merely without raising the smallest objection, but with the
greatest keenness. Let us consider for a moment the risk they ran. Our
tent on the boundless plain, without marks of any kind, may very well
be compared with a needle in a haystack. From this the three men were
to steer out for a distance of twelve and a half miles. Compasses would
have been good things to take on such a walk, but our sledge-compasses
were too heavy and unsuitable for carrying. They therefore had to
go without. They had the sun to go by, certainly, when they started,
but who could say how long it would last? The weather was then fine
enough, but it was impossible to guarantee that no sudden change would
take place. If by bad luck the sun should be hidden, then their own
tracks might help them. But to trust to tracks in these regions is a
dangerous thing. Before you know where you are the whole plain may be
one mass of driving snow, obliterating all tracks as soon as they are
made. With the rapid changes of weather we had so often experienced,
such a thing was not impossible. That these three risked their lives
that morning, when they left the tent at 2.30, there can be no doubt at
all, and they all three knew it very well. But if anyone thinks that
on this account they took a solemn farewell of us who stayed behind,
he is much mistaken. Not a bit; they all vanished in their different
directions amid laughter and chaff.
The first thing we did -- Hanssen and I -- was to set about arranging
a lot of trifling matters; there was something to be done here,
something there, and above all we had to be ready for the series of
observations we were to carry out together, so as to get as accurate
a determination of our position as possible. The first observation
told us at once how necessary this was. For it turned out that this,
instead of giving us a greater altitude than the midnight observation,
gave us a smaller one, and it was then clear that we had gone out of
the meridian we thought we were following. Now the first thing to be
done was to get our north and south line and latitude determined,
so that we could find our position once more. Luckily for us, the
weather looked as if it would hold. We measured the sun's altitude at
every hour from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m., and from these observations found,
with some degree of certainty, our latitude and the direction of
the meridian.
By nine in the morning we began to expect the return of our comrades;
according to our calculation they should then have covered the distance
-- twenty-five miles. It was not till ten o'clock that Hanssen made
out the first black dot on the horizon, and not long after the second
and third appeared. We both gave a sigh of relief as they came on;
almost simultaneously the three arrived at the tent. We told them
the result of our observations up to that time; it looked as if our
camp was in about 89° 54' 30'' S., and that with our encircling we
had therefore included the actual Pole. With this result we might
very well have been content, but as the weather was so good and gave
the impression that it would continue so, and our store of provisions
proved on examination to be very ample, we decided to go on for the
remaining ten kilometres (five and a half geographical miles), and
get our position determined as near to the Pole as possible. Meanwhile
the three wanderers turned in -- not so much because they were tired,
as because it was the right thing to do -- and Hanssen and I continued
the series of observations.
In the afternoon we again went very carefully through our provision
supply before discussing the future. The result was that we had food
enough for ourselves and the dogs for eighteen days. The surviving
sixteen dogs were divided into two teams of eight each, and the
contents of Bjaaland's sledge were shared between Hanssen's and
Wisting's. The abandoned sledge was set upright in the snow, and proved
to be a splendid mark. The sledge-meter was screwed to the sledge,
and we left it there; our other two were quite sufficient for the
return journey; they had all shown themselves very accurate. A couple
of empty provision cases were also left behind. I wrote in pencil on
a piece of case the information that our tent -- "Polheim" -- would
be found five and a half geographical miles north-west quarter west
by compass from the sledge. Having put all these things in order the
same day, we turned in, very well satisfied.
Early next morning, December 16, we were on our feet again. Bjaaland,
who had now left the company of the drivers and been received with
jubilation into that of the forerunners, was immediately entrusted
with the honourable task of leading the expedition forward to the Pole
itself. I assigned this duty, which we all regarded as a distinction,
to him as a mark of gratitude to the gallant Telemarkers for their
pre-eminent work in the advancement of ski spot. The leader that
day had to keep as straight as a line, and if possible to follow the
direction of our meridian. A little way after Bjaaland came Hassel,
then Hanssen, then Wisting, and I followed a good way behind. I could
thus check the direction of the march very accurately, and see that no
great deviation was made. Bjaaland on this occasion showed himself a
matchless forerunner; he went perfectly straight the whole time. Not
once did he incline to one side or the other, and when we arrived
at the end of the distance, we could still clearly see the sledge we
had set up and take its bearing. This showed it to be absolutely in
the right direction.
It was 11 a.m. when we reached our destination. While some of us
were putting up the tent, others began to get everything ready for
the coming observations. A solid snow pedestal was put up, on which
the artificial horizon was to be placed, and a smaller one to rest
the sextant on when it was not in use. At 11.30 a.m. the first
observation was taken. We divided ourselves into two parties --
Hanssen and I in one, Hassel and Wisting in the other. While one
party slept, the other took the observations, and the watches were
of six hours each. The weather was altogether grand, though the sky
was not perfectly bright the whole time. A very light, fine, vaporous
curtain would spread across the sky from time to time, and then quickly
disappear again. This film of cloud was not thick enough to hide the
sun, which we could see the whole time, but the atmosphere seemed
to be disturbed. The effect of this was that the sun appeared not to
change its altitude for several hours, until it suddenly made a jump.
Observations were now taken every hour through the whole
twenty-four. It was very strange to turn in at 6 p.m., and then on
turning out again at midnight to find the sun apparently still at
the same altitude, and then once more at 6 a.m. to see it still no
higher. The altitude had changed, of course, but so slightly that it
was imperceptible with the naked eye. To us it appeared as though the
sun made the circuit of the heavens at exactly the same altitude. The
times of day that I have given here are calculated according to the
meridian of Framheim; we continued to reckon our time from this. The
observations soon told us that we were not on the absolute Pole,
but as close to it as we could hope to get with our instruments. The
observations, which have been submitted to Mr. Anton Alexander,
will be published, and the result given later in this book.
On December 17 at noon we had completed our observations, and it is
certain that we had done all that could be done. In order if possible
to come a few inches nearer to the actual Pole, Hanssen and Bjaaland
went out four geographical miles (seven kilometres) in the direction
of the newly found meridian.
Bjaaland astonished me at dinner that day. Speeches had not hitherto
been a feature of this journey, but now Bjaaland evidently thought the
time had come, and surprised us all with a really fine oration. My
amazement reached its culmination when, at the conclusion of his
speech, he produced a cigar-case full of cigars and offered it
round. A cigar at the Pole! What do you say to that? But it did not end
there. When the cigars had gone round, there were still four left. I
was quite touched when he handed the case and cigars to me with the
words: "Keep this to remind you of the Pole." I have taken good care
of the case, and shall preserve it as one of the many happy signs of my
comrades' devotion on this journey. The cigars I shared out afterwards,
on Christmas Eve, and they gave us a visible mark of that occasion.
When this festival dinner at the Pole was ended, we began our
preparations for departure. First we set up the little tent we had
brought with us in case we should be compelled to divide into two
parties. It had been made by our able sailmaker, Rionne, and was of
very thin windproof gabardine. Its drab colour made it easily visible
against the white surface. Another pole was lashed to the tent-pole,
making its total height about 13 feet. On the top of this a little
Norwegian flag was lashed fast, and underneath it a pennant, on which
"Fram" was painted. The tent was well secured with guy-ropes on all
sides. Inside the tent, in a little bag, I left a letter, addressed
to H.M. the King, giving information of what we had accomplished. The
way home was a long one, and so many things might happen to make it
impossible for us to give an account of our expedition. Besides this
letter, I wrote a short epistle to Captain Scott, who, I assumed,
would be the first to find the tent. Other things we left there were
a sextant with a glass horizon, a hypsometer case, three reindeer-skin
foot-bags, some kamiks and mits.
When everything had been laid inside, we went into the tent,
one by one, to write our names on a tablet we had fastened to the
tent-pole. On this occasion we received the congratulations of our
companions on the successful result, for the following messages were
written on a couple of strips of leather, sewed to the tent
"Good luck," and "Welcome to 90°." These good wishes, which we
suddenly discovered, put us in very good spirits. They were signed
by Beck and Rönne. They had good faith in us. When we had finished
this we came out, and the tent-door was securely laced together,
so that there was no danger of the wind getting a hold on that side.
And so good-bye to Polheim. It was a solemn moment when we bared
our heads and bade farewell to our home and our flag. And then
the travelling tent was taken down and the sledges packed. Now the
homeward journey was to begin -- homeward, step by step, mile after
mile, until the whole distance was accomplished. We drove at once into
our old tracks and followed them. Many were the times we turned to
send a last look to Polheim. The vaporous, white air set in again,
and it was not long before the last of Polheim, our little flag,
disappeared from view.