Nansen.—The man.—First Arctic experience.—Plans the crossing
of Greenland.—Carries out his great undertaking.—Voyage on the
_Fram_.—Drifting with the current.—Life aboard.—Nansen and
Johannesen start for the Pole.—Difficulties of travel. The
“Farthest North.”—The retreat.—A winter on the Franz Josef
Land.—Attempt to reach Spitzbergen by kayak.—The meeting at
Cape Flora with Frederick Jackson.—Home in the _Windward_.
The character of the explorer Nansen is best summarized in the brief
paragraph explaining his plan for the first crossing of Greenland.
“My notion,” he says, “was that if a party of good ‘ski-lobers’ were
equipped in a practical and sensible way, they must get across Greenland
if they began from the right side, this latter point being of extreme
importance. For if they were to start, as all other expeditions have
done, from the west side, they were practically certain never to get
across. They would have the same journey back again in order to reach
home. So it struck me that the only sure road to success was to force a
passage through the floe-belt, land on the desolate and ice-bound east
coast, and thence cross over to the inhabited west coast. In this way
one would burn all one’s ships behind one, there would be no need to
urge one’s men on, as the east coast would attract no one back, while in
front would lie the west coast with all the allurements and amenities
of civilization. There was no choice of route, ‘forward’ being the only
word. The order would be: ‘Death or the west coast of Greenland.’”
Between these lines one sees the fibre of this man, who deliberately
stakes out his course and invites a race with Death to the goal of
victory; who carefully curtails to the minimum the possibility of
failure; who thoughtfully removes from weaker companions all temptations
that might jeopardize his chances of success, and who carries through a
plan scoffed at by the world as the impracticable scheme of a madman.
There is an indescribable charm about this bold Norwegian, “who was a
terrible one for falling into brown studies,” as a child; of whom his
masters wrote, “He is unstable, and in several subjects his progress is
not nearly so satisfactory as might have been expected”; who combines a
gentle, childlike disposition with an indomitable will, never doubting
for an instant that he is right and the world wrong, and who steadfastly
goes to work to prove his point. Born in 1861 near Christiania; educated
in the university of his native city; fond of all the sciences; trained
as a zoölogist; a natural athlete, an expert “skilober,” a good hunter,
with the spirit for adventure, which is totally careless of all creature
comforts, Fridtjof Nansen, at twenty-one, stood on the prow of the
_Viking_, a Norwegian sealer, bound for Arctic seas, ready to meet a foe
worthy of his mettle.
[Sidenote: _FIRST ARCTIC EXPERIENCE_]
This trip to East Greenland waters for the purpose of gathering
zoölogical specimens was followed by his appointment the same year as
curator in the Natural History Museum at Bergen.
The return of Nordenskjöld in 1883, from his second remarkable journey to
Greenland, determined Nansen upon a similar journey, the success of which
he carefully planned. Nordenskjöld had made fifteen marches on the inland
ice from Sophia Harbor south to Disco Bay, and reached an altitude of
forty-nine hundred feet, sending skilled Lapps on skis a farther distance
of one hundred and forty miles, where they reached an elevation of
sixty-six hundred feet, on the marvellous ice-cap which still rose before
them.
Accompanied by three Norwegians, Otto Sverdrup, Lieutenant Oluf
Christian Dietrichson, of the Norwegian army, and Kristian Trana, and
two Lapps, Balto and Ravna, Nansen sailed on the Danish steamer _Thyra_
from Scotland, May 9, 1888. The _Thyra_ was to carry the little band
of explorers the first stage of their journey to Iceland. At the Faroe
Islands, Nansen learned of the extremely bad condition of the ice round
Iceland. The east coast of the island was reported inaccessible. By May
17 the _Thyra_ stood off the Vestmanna Islands, and later she passed
Reydjanaes, which carries the only lighthouse Iceland possesses.
Anchoring off Thingeyre, the party took leave of the _Thyra_, and,
warmly welcomed by Herr Gram, the merchant of Thingeyre, they awaited
the _Jason_, which was to convey them to the coast of Greenland. On the
morning of June 3, the expectant party sighted a little steamer slowly
working inwards. As she came nearer, she was found to be the _Isafold_
of the Norwegian Whaling Company. She anchored and sent a boat on shore
amid increasing excitement. “I had begun to suspect the truth,” says
Nansen, “when, to my astonishment as well as joy, I recognized in the
first man who stepped ashore Captain Jacobsen of the _Jason_. Our meeting
was almost frantic, but the story was soon told. He had reached Isafjord,
and, not finding us there, had thought of coming on to Dyrafjord with
the _Jason_. But with the strong wind blowing it would have taken his
heavily rigged ship a whole day to make the voyage, and, as the Norwegian
Company’s manager most kindly offered to send the _Isafold_ to fetch us,
he had taken the opportunity of coming too.
“Farewells were hastily said; willing hands transferred the baggage,
which consisted, in addition to the usual Alpine outfit, of Canadian and
Norwegian snow-shoes, instruments, food, fuel, and sleeping gear, a
load of twelve hundred pounds for their five sledges; and a restive and
unwilling pony bought of Herr Gram, and the _Isafold_ steamed out of the
fiord and to the northwards.”
For six weeks the _Jason_ made fruitless attempts to land the impatient
explorers on this barren coast of Greenland, when, July 17, 1888, Nansen
and his party attempted by boat to make Cape Dan, from which they were
separated by an ice stream ten miles wide.
“When Ravna saw the ship for the last time,” writes Balto, the Lapp, “he
said to me: ‘What fools we were to leave her to die in this place. There
is no hope of life; the great sea will be our graves!’”
Sleeping upon the floes at night, dragging or rowing their boats by day,
the journey to the coast was perilous and dangerous in the extreme. After
several days they found themselves being carried south upon the floe
and “straight away from shore, at a pace that rendered all resistance
completely futile.”
“July 20,” says Nansen, “I was roused by some violent shocks to the floe
on which we were encamped, and thought the motion of the sea must have
increased very considerably. When we get outside we discover that the
floe has split in two not far from the tent. The Lapps, who had at once
made for the highest points of our piece of ice, now shout that they can
see the open sea....
“The swell is growing heavier and heavier, and the water breaking over
our floe with ever-increasing force. The blocks of ice and slush, which
come from the grinding of the floes together and are thrown up round the
edges of our piece, do a good deal to break the violence of the waves.
The worst of it is that we are being carried seawards with ominous
rapidity.”
Taking refuge upon a stronger and larger floe, the party awaited the
issue with courage and resignation, though it must be confessed the poor
Lapps were not in the best of spirits. “They had given up hope of life,
and were making ready for death.” A night of fearful promise succeeded
a day of imminent peril. Sverdrup took the watch and paced alone the
sea-washed floe. Several times he had stood by the tent door prepared to
turn his comrades out.
“Once he actually undid one hood,” says Nansen, “took another turn to the
boats, and then another look at the surf, leaving the hood unfastened in
case of accidents. A huge crag of ice was swaying in the sea close beside
us, and threatening every moment to fall upon our floe. The surf was
washing us on all sides.... The other boat, in which Balto was asleep,
was washed so heavily that again and again Sverdrup had to hold it in its
place.”
A second time he came to undo the tent hood, but just as things looked
their worst, the floe changed her course and as if directed by an unseen
hand, sailed toward land, and took refuge in a good harbour. On July 29,
the fates were kind, and they made a landing at Anoritok, 62° 05´ N.,
nearly two hundred miles south of Cape Dan. Following the shore to the
north, they fell in with natives near Cape Bille.
The ice journey commenced from Ninivik 64° 45´ N., which was reached
August 10, after pursuing their journey up steep, irregular slopes,
covered with soft snow and beset with dangerous crevasses; they made
only forty miles inland after seventeen days of most arduous travel, and
reached an elevation of six thousand feet.
[Sidenote: _PLANS THE CROSSING OF GREENLAND_]
“It was now late in the year,” writes Nansen, “and the autumn of the
‘inland ice’ was not likely to prove a gentle season, so the fact that it
was considerably shorter crossing to the head of one of the fiords in the
neighbourhood of Godthaab to Christianshaab was an argument that had its
weight.... I consulted the map again and again, made the calculations
to myself, and finally determined upon the Godthaab route.... The point
where I thought of getting down was that which we actually hit, and which
lies at about latitude 64° 10´ N.... The rest of the party hailed my
change of plan with acclamation. They seemed to have already had more
than enough of ‘inland ice,’ were longing for kindlier scenes, and gave
their unqualified approval to the new route.”
[Sidenote: _CARRIES OUT HIS UNDERTAKINGS_]
Sails had been rigged to the sleds, and with the terrific winds which
swept the ice-cap, advance was assisted by this means, the men marching
on skis. So frightful were the storms that raged over these desolate snow
fields that at night it seemed as if the tent would be torn to shreds,
and before a start could be made in the morning, the sledges had to be
dug out of the drifts and unloaded so that their runners might be scraped
clean of snow and ice, “a task which we found anything but grateful in
the biting wind, ... but the cruellest work of the whole day was getting
the tent up in the evening, for we had to begin by lacing the floor and
walls together; as this had to be done with the unprotected fingers, we
had to take good care not to get them seriously frozen.” “One evening
when I was at work,” says Nansen, “I suddenly discovered that the fingers
of both my hands were white up to the palms. I felt them and found they
were as hard and senseless as wood. By rubbing and beating them, however,
I soon set the blood in circulation and brought their colour back.”
The Lapps suffered from snow-blindness, and all were burned by the sun’s
rays. This was largely due to the want of density in the air, and the
reflection of the rays from the level expanse of snow.
“About ten in the morning of August 31,” writes Dietrichson, “we saw land
for the last time. We were upon the crest of one of the great waves, or
gentle undulations in the surface, and had our final glimpse of a little
point of rock which protruded from the snow. It lay, of course, far
in the interior, and for many days had been the only dark point, save
ourselves and the sledges, on which our eyes could rest.”
At an altitude of nearly eight thousand feet, they toiled on for days
over the interminable desert of snow; there was no break in the horizon,
no object to rest the eye upon, and a course was laid out by the diligent
use of the compass alone. From the second week in September the party
had been anxiously looking for the beginning of the western slope. On
September 19, Balto’s joyful cry of “Land ahead!” greeted the advancing
sledge fleet. The ice conditions had become more formidable in character,
the gradual descent treacherous in the extreme.
“It was a curious sight for me to see the two vessels coming rushing
along behind me,” says Nansen, “with their square Viking-like sails
showing dark against the white snow fields and the big round disk of the
moon behind. Faster and faster I go flying on, while the ice gets more
and more difficult. There is worse still ahead, I can see, and in another
moment I am into it. The ground is here seamed with crevasses, but they
are full of snow and not dangerous. Every now and then I feel my staff
go through into space, but the cracks are narrow and the sledges glide
easily over. Presently I cross a broader one, and see just in front of me
a huge black abyss. I creep cautiously to its edge on the slippery ice,
which here is covered by scarcely any snow, and look down into the deep,
dark chasm. Beyond it I can see crevasse after crevasse, running parallel
with one another, and showing dark blue in the moonlight. I now tell the
others to stop, as this is no ground to traverse in the dark, and we must
halt for the night.”
The joy of having crossed the ice-cap and the prospect of successfully
passing the inland ice to the more congenial soil of the western coast
caused the little band to meet cheerfully the most arduous labour in a
perilous descent over crevasses and glacier, mountain, and valley into
the promised land, of which old Ravna spoke with enthusiasm:—
“I like the west coast well; it is a good place for an old Lapp to live
in; there are plenty of reindeer; it is just like the mountains of
Finmarken.”
Having reached the coast, it became essential to reach civilization
as well, and to expedite the journey it was found desirable to go by
sea. The lack of a boat was a small consideration to men who had boldly
sailed sledges across the Greenland ice-cap—for though wood, tools, and
materials were lacking, there was the tent and plenty of willow bushes
around, some six or seven feet in height. “Ribs made of these would not
be as straight as we could wish,” says Nansen, “and would not stretch
the canvas very evenly, but the main thing was to get her to carry
us.... By the evening the boat was finished. She was no boat for a prize
competition, indeed in shape she was more like a tortoise-shell than
anything else.”
In this crazy little craft Nansen and Sverdrup rowed away to get
relief from the inhabitants of Godthaab. Their companions remained in
Ameralikfjord, in charge of the sledges and equipment. Great was the
rejoicing in Godthaab when the explorers reached there and immediate
preparations were made to succour the remainder of the party. These had
slowly moved in the direction of Godthaab and gratefully welcomed the
Eskimos who met them with supplies.
Unfortunately the party missed the last European vessel that left port
that season and were obliged to spend the winter in Greenland. Letters
and despatches, however, had been carried by the Eskimos down the coast
to the _Fox_, M’Clintock’s old vessel, in his famous search for Sir John
Franklin, and this veteran little craft carried the thrilling news of
the “First crossing of Greenland” to Europe. The winter passed, and
on April 15 “the settlement rang with the single shriek—‘The ship, the
ship.’—Joyfully the brave band of explorers received news from home,
and almost sorrowfully prepared to leave their hospitable friends of
Godthaab.”
On May 21, 1889, Nansen and his companions made their triumphant entry
into Copenhagen—and, concludes Nansen, “May 30 we entered Christiania
Fjord, and were received by hundreds of sailing boats and a whole fleet
of steamers.... When we got near the harbour, and saw the ramparts of the
old fortress and the quays on all sides black with people, Dietrichson
said to Ravna: ‘Are not all these people a fine sight, Ravna?’ ‘Yes, it
is fine, very fine;—but if they had only been reindeer!’ was Ravna’s
answer.”
Previous to his famous journey across Greenland, in one of his many
conferences with Dr. H. Rink, that veteran explorer of Greenland,
Nansen was addressed by Mrs. Rink, who said to him: “You must go to
the North Pole, too, some day,” and without hesitation he answered her
emphatically, as though his mind had long ago been made up on that point,
“I mean to.”
From his twenty-third year, Nansen had bent his mind and energies upon
that great journey into the Polar regions, upon which he did not embark,
however, until nine years later.
In the meantime, he was appointed curator in the Museum of Comparative
Anatomy at the Christiania University.
In the Danish Geographical Journal for 1885, Mr. Lytzen, Colonial
Manager at Julianshaab, gave an interesting account of certain relics of
the ill-fated _Jeannette_ expedition picked up by Eskimos on the west
Greenland coast. Among these articles was a list of provisions, signed
by Captain De Long, a manuscript list of the _Jeannette’s_ boats, a pair
of oil-skin breeches marked “Louis Noros,” the name of a member of the
_Jeannette’s_ crew, the peak of a cap with F. C. Lindemann, or Nindemann,
written on it.
It was plain to Dr. Nansen that these articles had drifted no less than
twenty-nine hundred miles and in a period of eleven hundred days, nor
could he escape the conviction that a current passes across or very
near the Pole into the sea between Greenland and Spitzbergen. Upon this
hypothesis Dr. Nansen urged his plan to take a well-provisioned ship,
“built on such principles as to enable it to withstand the pressure of
ice—for on this same drift-ice, and by the same route, it must be no less
possible to transport an expedition.”
In spite of the madness of his scheme, its condemnation by many of the
most eminent Arctic authorities of Europe and America, the Norwegian
government extended its patronage, and the “Storthing” granted eleven
thousand two hundred and fifty pounds toward the expenses of the
expedition, the remainder being collected by private subscription.
The _Fram_, eight hundred tons displacement, was built with especial
attention to the construction of the shape of the hull, so as to offer
the greatest possible resistance to the attacks of the ice. She carried
requisite provisions for dogs and men for five years, and coal for four
months’ steaming at full speed.
The navigation of the _Fram_ was given to Captain Otto Sverdrup;
Lieutenant Sigurd Scott-Hansen, of the Norwegian navy, was tendered
the management of the meteorological, astronomical, and magnetic
observations. Dr. Henrik Blessing, physician and botanist, Chief Engineer
Anton Amundsen, Lieutenant in the Reserve, Frederick Johannesen, whose
eagerness to accompany the expedition led him to accept the position of
stoker, and seven others, made up the personnel of the expedition.
[Sidenote: _VOYAGE ON THE “FRAM”_]
The _Fram_ left Norway in June, 1893, skirted the north coasts of Europe
and Asia, and put into the Polar pack ice near the New Siberia Island,
September 22, 1893.
Frozen fast in the ice three days later, the _Fram_ stood off northwest
of Saunikof Land in 78° 50´ N., 134° E. It now behooved the company to
ship rudder, clean the boilers, and prepare for winter. No idle moments
could be spared, rigging must be cared for, sails inspected, provisions
of all kinds got out from the cases down in the hold, and handed over to
the cook, and the smithy called upon for his offices in repairing bear
traps, hooks, knives, etc.
A busy life is a happy one, and the _Fram’s_ company lived in harmonious
good-fellowship and drifted leisurely with the great ice-pack, just as
Nansen had predicted they would, with only occasional visits from bears
to break the monotony of complete isolation.
In December, Nansen, who had read Dr. Kane’s fearful experiences in the
Arctic night, with insufficient food for dogs and men, suffering from the
ravages of scurvy, compares his own condition in the comfortable warm
quarters on board the _Fram_. No ageing or depressing effects had been
felt by any member of his party. The quiet, regular life seemed to agree
with them, and with good food, in profusion and variety, a warm shelter,
plenty of exercise in the open air, and cheerful diversions in the shape
of instructive books and amusing games, the men kept up a cheerful
balance of good health and spirits. Nevertheless, the patience of all on
board was sorely tried before the cruise was over.
The drift of the ship during the thirty-five months of her besetment,
was uneven and irregular; her zigzag course as she receded or approached
her goal, encouraged or disheartened her enthusiastic crew. She met
bravely and withstood in a remarkable manner threatened disaster from the
ice pressures. Wild enthusiasm greeted the slightest advance, such as
was found February 16, 1894, when the observations showed 80° 1´ north
latitude, a few minutes north of the observations taken the week before.
And a corresponding depression is noticed when contrary winds retard or
actually force the _Fram_ to retrace her hard-earned progress.
It is not surprising that Nansen’s adventurous spirit grew restive under
the enforced inactivity of the _Fram’s_ uncertain drift. Early in the
year 1894 one finds his mind working upon deep-laid plans to force the
issue with the enemy, and eventually he announced his intentions of
attempting one of the most daring and hazardous sledge journeys in the
annals of Arctic adventure. His plan was to leave the ship with one
companion, advance over the frozen polar ocean, as far as possible,
and without making an effort to rejoin the ship, retreat by way of
Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen, back to Norway. February 26, 1895, he
officially informed the crew that after his departure, Captain Sverdrup
was to be chief officer of the expedition, with Lieutenant Scott-Hansen
second in command.
On the 14th of March, 1895, the _Fram_ stood in 84° 04´ N., 102° E.,
and amid a parting salute with flag, pennant, and guns, Nansen’s third
and final sledge dash to the north was taken. Johannesen, who had been
chosen as his companion for this arduous undertaking, was in all respects
qualified for the work—an accomplished snow-shoer equalled by few “in his
powers of endurance,—a fine fellow physically and mentally.”
[Sidenote: _NANSEN AND JOHANNESEN START FOR THE POLE_]
Off they went, accompanied for a short distance by several of the crew.
Three sledges drawn by twenty-eight dogs were loaded with two kayaks, and
provisions for one hundred days for the men and fifty days’ dog-food.
Nansen and Johannesen, fully confident that fifty days would see them
at the Pole, plunged into the unknown and met bravely the pitiless foe.
Hummocks and ridges, lanes and slush, cold and exhaustion, these were the
impediments to progress.
It was Nansen’s rule to march nine or ten hours, broken by a midday halt
for a little rest and a bit to eat. These stops were a bitter trial to
the men exposed to the merciless winds without fire or shelter, to be
followed by the uncomfortable task of disentangling the dogs’ traces,
before they were able to take up the march again. On March 29, they
were “grinding on, but very slowly”; the dogs were showing signs of
weakening—there was endless disentangling of the hauling ropes.
On April 3 they were making their desperate way over ridges and lanes
which had frozen together with rubble on either side. It was impossible
to use snow-shoes, there being too little snow between the hummocks.
Thick weather, with deceptive mists making all things white, added to
their miseries; irregularities and holes and the spaces between, so that
the men and dogs stumbled blindly on, crashing into pitfalls and cracks
and running the grave risk of broken bones.
On April 6 the ice grew worse and worse; after an advance of only four
miles Nansen and Johannesen were in despair.
The following day, the limit of patience was reached—a world’s record
made—Nansen found himself in 86° 13.6´ N., about 95° east longitude;
a distance of one hundred and twenty-one geographical miles from the
_Fram_, with two hundred and thirty-five miles between himself and the
Pole. Twenty-three days had passed; Nansen and Johannesen turned their
backs upon a veritable chaos of ice-blocks, stretching as far as the
horizon, and prepared for their retreat to Cape Fligely.
On this remarkable journey southward, confidently expected by Nansen to
extend over not more than three months, but which in reality lengthened
to one hundred and fifty-three days, the courage and ability of these
men was tested to the utmost. Frightful gales, which disrupted the
pack, and thick fogs, which made advance almost impossible, added to
their discomforts and privations. The dogs reduced in strength from
exhaustion and lack of food, died one by one or were killed and fed to
the survivors. The work of hauling became heavier and heavier, as their
numbers diminished. The men had the misfortune to allow their watches
to run down, thereby making their longitude observations uncertain, the
result of which was that they travelled far out of their course in search
of the land, which persistently remained hidden.
Early in June it became necessary to curtail the rations, and although
they steadfastly kept to weights, in order that their remaining
provisions would last, they were reduced, June 18, to a frugal supper of
two ounces aleuronic bread and one ounce butter per man—and crept into
their sleeping-bags hungry and exhausted.
The capture of a seal relieved a situation that threatened to become very
serious. At last, on July 24, the tired eyes of the travellers rested
upon something rising above the never-ending white line of the horizon,
and the joyful cry was raised of “Land! Land!” Progress to the happy
hunting-ground was exasperatingly slow and not without its startling
adventures. Johannesen was attacked by a bear, and without the prompt
action on the part of Nansen would doubtless have proved its victim.
Open water was reached August 6, 1895, and, by dint of paddling and
hauling up on the floes to advance by sledge, on August 16 they stood
on the dry land of Houen Island. Continuing on their journey they soon
realized that the rapid approach of winter would make the effort to
reach Spitzbergen impossible, so they encamped on one of the outlying
islands off Franz Josef Land and, building themselves a stone hut covered
with walrus hides, prepared to spend the winter. Bears and walrus
were plentiful and supplied them with abundant food; other game was
occasionally shot. The cold Arctic night found them, on the whole, quite
comfortable in their hut. The train-oil lamps kept the temperature in the
middle of the room about freezing. For nine months Nansen and Johannesen
hibernated thus, with no variation to their existence but the taking of
the most necessary meteorological observations.
[Sidenote: _DIFFICULTIES OF TRAVEL_]
With the return of spring the two “wild men” made every preparation for
their journey to Spitzbergen. This was no easy matter, considering they
lacked everything, and the few reserve stores of flour and chocolate had
mildewed and spoiled during the winter. On May 19, 1896, the sledges
stood loaded and lashed and after leaving inside the hut a short report
of their journey and adventures, Nansen and Johannesen started for
Spitzbergen. Though the winter had been long and monotonous, adventure
greeted them frequently in their advance. Nansen nearly lost his life
by falling into a water-hole. They were delayed by a gale, during which
they nearly lost their kayaks. Seeing these frail crafts, with all they
possessed on board, drifting rapidly away from their moorings, Nansen
sprang into the icy water and made a desperate attempt at rescue.
Meanwhile, Johannesen paced restlessly up and down the ice in an agony of
suspense. With strokes growing more and more feeble, the swimmer realized
the desperate situation and, putting forth his last benumbed energies in
a final stroke, grasped a snow-shoe which lay across the end. All but
frozen, Nansen had great difficulty in getting into the kayak and still
more trouble in paddling to land. Numb and shivering, the wind biting his
very marrow, he yet had courage to fire at two auks which he secured for
a warm and welcome supper.
In the meantime, their meat was nearly gone. The outlook was anything
but promising. In these frail, weather-worn, canvas-covered kayaks,
twelve feet long, about two and one half feet wide and hardly more than
one and one fourth feet deep, there was yet a journey of two hundred
miles of ocean, more or less encumbered by ice, which intervened between
them and Spitzbergen, where their only hope lay in being taken aboard
one of the small vessels, which visit these shores every summer. The
future for Nansen and Johannesen was indeed desperate, but a happy chance
brought them timely deliverance, and the dramatic meeting with Frederick
G. Jackson, June 17, 1896, in the isolated regions of Franz Josef Land
terminated one of the most brilliant retreats in Arctic history.
Mr. Jackson and his companions, who for two years had been making
most valuable scientific observations and collecting specimens in all
departments of natural science which the islands and surroundings seas
afforded, welcomed the wanderers with open arms, brought them to the
house, fed, and warmed them, and, best of all, gave them news from home
and letters. It was not surprising that the first night was spent in
reading home letters, which Jackson had faithfully carried for them into
these desolate regions, and in talking over the strange adventures now so
happily ended. For at last their work was done, and, as Nansen said, “he
didn’t want to sleep, he felt so happy.”
So the days passed rapidly until the _Windward_ came, which brought
yearly supplies to Jackson and carried home the adventurous explorers.
They reached Vardo Haven, August 13. All that was needed to complete the
happiness of the home-coming was news of the _Fram_, and this was not
long withheld. On August 20, 1896, the joyful tidings of the arrival
of the _Fram_ reached Nansen in a brief telegram sent from Skyaervo,
Kraenangem Fiord.
She had pursued her monotonous drift to her highest point to the
west-northwest, 85° 57´ N., 60° E., changing to a south-southeast
direction, to 84° 09´ N., 15° E., where she remained nearly stationary
from February until June, 1896. The open summer permitted Captain
Sverdrup to push through her ice barrier, and, by the judicious use of
explosives, blast her way to the open water, August 13, 1896, north of
Spitzbergen.