Otto Sverdrup.—Four years’ voyage of the _Fram_.—Journeys in
Ellesmere Land.—Important exploration of Jones Sound.—Discovery
of new lands.—Release of the _Fram_. Captain Roald
Amundsen.—The voyage of the _Gjoa_.—Reaches head of Petersen
Bay (King William Land).—Two years’ stay.—Valuable scientific
observations.—Visits from Eskimos.—Sledge journeys.—Release
from the ice.—August 14, 1906.—Completion of the Northwest
Passage.—Another Arctic winter.—Sledge journey of Amundsen to
Eagle City.—Release of the _Gjoa_.—Reaches San Francisco, 1907.
In the _Geographical Journal_ of November, 1902, Sir Clements R. Markham,
President of the Royal Geographical Society of London, commenting on the
remarkable achievement of Otto Sverdrup and his gallant companions during
four travelling seasons entailing four Arctic winters, expresses himself
as follows:—
“They have discovered the western side of Ellesmere Island and the
intricate system of fiords, as well as three large islands west of
Ellesmere Island; they have explored the northern coast of North Devon;
they have connected Belcher’s work with the coasts of Jones Sound; they
have reached a point within 60 miles of Aldrich’s farthest; and they
have discovered that land north of the Parry Islands, the existence of
which was conjectured, as far west as the longitude of the eastern coast
of Melville Island. This includes the discovery of the northern sides
of North Cornwall and Findlay Islands. In addition to the main Arctic
problem which is thus solved, it is likely that the regions discovered
will be of exceptional interest, from the winds and currents, the varying
character of the ice, the existence of coal-beds, and the abundance
of animal life. A systematic survey has been made of these important
discoveries, checked by astronomical observations.”
“We must look forward,” concludes Markham, “to an account of these
things, and to the details of the expedition, with the deepest interest;
and meanwhile we may well express admiration for the way in which the
work was conceived and executed, and at the perfect harmony with which
all loyally worked under their chief. Without such harmonious work,
success was not possible.”
The Norwegian, Otto Neumann Sverdrup, was born in Bindalen, in Helgeland,
in 1855. At seventeen years of age he went to sea, passed his mate’s
examination in 1878, and for some years was captain of a ship. He
accompanied Nansen on the Greenland expedition in 1888-1889 and was
captain of the _Fram_ on Nansen’s famous Polar voyage. A few days after
the return of this expedition in September, 1896, while the _Fram_ was
lying in Lysaker Bay, Dr. Nansen came aboard one morning.
“Do you still wish to go on another expedition to the north?” he asked
Sverdrup.
“Yes, certainly, if only I had the chance,” came the prompt reply.
[Sidenote: _FOUR YEARS’ VOYAGE OF THE “FRAM”_]
Then Nansen told him that Consul Axel Heiberg and the firm of brewers,
Messrs. Ringnes Brothers, were willing to finance and equip another
scientific Polar expedition, with Captain Sverdrup as leader.
[Illustration: ANTHONY FIALA
_Courtesy of Doubleday, Page and Co._]
The _Fram_ was loaned by the Norwegian government, and about eleven
hundred pounds was granted by the “Storthing” for necessary alterations
and repairs. The personnel of the expedition was most carefully selected,
including Lieutenant Victor Banman of the Norwegian Navy, Lieutenant
Ingvald Isachsen of the Army, the botanist Herman Georg Simmons, a
graduate of the University of Lund; and Edvard Bay, zoölogist, a
graduate of the University of Copenhagen, the latter a member of
Lieutenant Ryder’s expedition to the east coast of Greenland in 1891.
The _Fram_ was ready for sea, June 24, 1898, and left her moorings with
the quay packed with people and the fiord covered with small craft “which
had come to see the last of us and wish us a safe return home.”
Captain Sverdrup’s original plan was to push through Kennedy and Robeson
channels and as far along the north coast of Greenland as possible
before seeking winter quarters. The unfavourable seasons of 1898-1899
prevented him from carrying out his intentions, and he fortunately turned
his attention to Jones Sound, which led to the completion of the most
important Arctic work yet remaining; “namely, the discovery of what
was hitherto unknown in the wide gap between Prince Patrick Island and
Aldrich’s farthest.”
Frustrated in his attempt to enter Kane Basin, Sverdrup wintered in Rice
Strait, west of Cape Sabine. Immediate preparations were made for passing
the cold season, and scientific observations and exploring trips occupied
the autumn.
In describing the sun sinking out of sight, Sunday, October 16, 1898,
Sverdrup says:—
“We were looking at the sun for the last time that year. Its pale light
lay dying over the ‘inland ice’; its disk, light red, was veiled on the
horizon; it was like a day in the land of the dead. All light was so
hopelessly cold, all life so far away. We stood and watched it until
it sank; then everything became so still it made one shudder—as if the
Almighty had deserted us, and shut the Gates of Heaven. The light died
away across the mountains, and slowly vanished, while over us crept the
great shades of the polar night, the night that kills all life. I think
that each of us, as we stood there, felt his heart swell within him.
Never before had we experienced homesickness like this—and little was
said when we continued on our way.... Here came Franklin, with a hundred
and thirty-eight men. The polar night stopped him; and not one returned.
Here came Greely, with five and twenty men; six returned.... Well! there
lay the _Fram_, stout and defiant, like a little fairy-house, in the
midst of the polar night. It was warm and bright in her cabins, and we
worked with a will from morning to night.”
Sledge journeys, including a visit to the _Windward_, Lieutenant Peary’s
ship, and a personal interview with the explorer himself; visits to the
_Fram_ by neighbouring Eskimos and a brilliant journey across Ellesmere
Land, occupied members of the Sverdrup expedition until May 17, 1899,
when those on board the _Fram_ celebrated with true patriotism the
Independence Day of Norway.
On one of the early summer sledge journeys, Dr. Johan Svendsen sacrificed
his life. Overrating his endurance, he had rapidly failed, and though he
persisted in remaining in the field, his strength did not return. After a
day’s work, Sverdrup came into camp, where Sclei and Simmons were cooking
dinner. “The doctor said he felt much better,” writes Sverdrup; “the pain
in his side was gone, and his eyes had so far recovered that he could sit
inside the tent without spectacles.... I then asked him for a second time
if he would not let me take him on board, now that we had all rested, but
he would not hear of it, and said that he should prefer to remain where
he was. I then offered to stay behind with him—we could collect insects
and shoot seals together. But he would not let me defer the journey to
Beitstadfjord, and said that the time would pass quickly, even when he
was there alone. He could go out shooting, collect insects, and look
after his dogs;—he would have plenty to do.... We got ready for our four
days’ trip to Beitstadfjord, and the doctor helped us to carry down our
things, lash the loads to the sledges, and harness the dogs. And then we
said good-by to one another, little thinking what was about to happen.”
Four days later the absent party returned. “To our great sorrow we found
the doctor dead.”
On June 16, 1899, Captain Sverdrup made the entry in his journal:—
“The flag is flying at half mast from the pole to-day. It is the first
time it has been in this position on board the _Fram_, let us hope it
will indeed be the last.”
The interesting journey across the “inland ice” of Ellesmere Land, by
Isachsen and Braskerud was undertaken May 23, 1899, with food for thirty
days, and instruments and equipment; a total weight of eight hundred and
seventy-two pounds, divided equally upon the sledges, each drawn by six
dogs. Choosing a route to the westward, Isachsen writes in his report:—
“About midnight on June 2, we saw from the high ground to the northwest
the first sight of what, later, proved the west coast. It was a
fiord-arm, which cut into the land in an easterly direction from the
larger fiord lying almost due north and south. From the outer part
of this fiord-arm a chain of mountains of equal heights ran in a
southeasterly direction. Nearer, and in front of this chain, was a wide
level waste—‘Brakerndflya.’ There was no snow, either on the waste or on
the mountains. In one part only of the chain was a fragment of glacier
to be seen hanging over the upper part of the mountain side. In the
southeast the waste abutted immediately on the ‘inland ice.’”
Travelling over a glacier, they endeavoured to reach the bare land of the
fiord; this they succeeded in doing, June 4. “Three converging glaciers
fell into a glacier-lake, and the following day we drove on this down
the valley, but only for a couple of miles, which was the extent of its
length. The ice on it was about to break up.”
Having encamped, the two men rambled over a considerable area in the
vicinity; finding luxuriant vegetation wherever there was bare land. At a
distance some ten or eleven miles in a northwesterly direction, there was
no “inland ice” west of the northernmost glaciers previously mentioned.
After continuing their explorations for several days, they were forced
to return through continued bad weather, fogs, and gales. On June 22,
the thirtieth day since leaving the ship,—the food supply remaining was
reduced to about fifty biscuits, ten and a half tablets of compressed
lentils, about four pounds of pemmican, enough coffee for twice, six
whole rounds, or seventy-two rations, of dog-food, and a half gallon of
petroleum. After a delay of six days by the inclement weather and a slow
and difficult progress to the top of Leffert Glacier, it was with joy
that a relief party from the ship were met with, and “the following day
we drove down Leffert Glacier, on splendid snow, and reached the _Fram_
on Sunday, July 2, at five in the morning.”
On August 4, the conditions being more favourable than heretofore,
Captain Sverdrup endeavoured to navigate the _Fram_ through Kane Basin.
In Payer Harbor an American steamer was sighted, going northeast. To
the joy of all, the steamer signalled she had letters on board for the
Norwegians.
The attempt to penetrate Kane Basin was unsuccessful; the _Fram_ was
forced back to Foulke Fjord, a short distance from one of Peary’s ships.
Captain Bartlett, Dr. Diedrick, and one or two other members of the
expedition exchanged courtesies with the Norwegians. Mr. Bridgman and
Professor Libbey came aboard the _Fram_.
[Sidenote: _SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS_]
It was learned that the mail brought north had been left at Payer Harbor.
The _Fram_ endeavoured to get it, but the impenetrable pack prevented,
and after the most desperate efforts they gave up in despair. It was at
this juncture, after the abandonment of the plan to trace the northern
extremity of Greenland, that Sverdrup transferred his base to the fiords
of the north coast of Jones Sound. Securing no less than thirty-three
walrus for dog-food, the _Fram_ established the second winter quarters at
Havnefjord in 96° 29´ N., 84° 25´ W. Game and seals were found in plenty
during the autumn, also musk-oxen, hares, and reindeer. Most successful
scientific researches were promoted, sledging parties continued
explorations, and the only event to mar a happy autumn was the death of
Braskerud. He had had a very bad cold, was ill a fortnight with a cough
and had great difficulty in breathing, but had suffered no pain; there
was no doctor, and nothing could be done to relieve him; he had kept his
bed the last three days of his illness, and no one dreamed the end was so
near.
Preparations for the “grand sledge journey” of the spring kept the men
busy during the winter and early in the season Isachsen, Bay, Schei,
and Stolz, each man with a full load, went to examine the outlying
depots placed the previous fall. At Björneborg, the ravages of bears
had caused loss of food and damaged equipment, and this serious menace
to the success of the future journeys decided Captain Sverdrup to
place a watchman at this lonely and isolated spot. Bay, the zoölogist,
volunteered for the duty and was appointed “Commandant of Björneborg.”
“On March 7,” writes Sverdrup, “Fosheim and I started west in company
with the newly appointed commandant. A little after twelve the following
day we arrived at the boat-house.... After finishing our work we had
dinner, which was as sustaining as it was splendid, and consisted of
boiled beef, sausage, soup, and green peas. After dinner we had drams
and coffee, and after supper grog. Early next morning, and on good ice,
we drove on, running by the side of the loads nearly the whole day to
increase the pace. We reached Björneborg in the evening, where we found
our new depot in good order.
“Next day we set to work on the erection of the Commandant’s residence.
We built a very respectable house.... Like other residences of the kind,
‘Björneborg’ must have its flag, we thought, and as we were in possession
of a flagstaff, which, considering our circumstances, was irreproachable,
we secured it to the roof, and ran up a 17th of May flag. But our
Commandant was economical, and would only use it on occasions of especial
ceremony.
“Here Bay lived, absolutely alone, for three months, and during the
first part of the time without so much as a living being for company;
afterwards he had a garrison consisting of a whole watch-dog. During all
this long period I never saw him out of spirits.”
The following day, Sverdrup and Fosheim made an examination of the ice,
which in the fiords was rugged and hummocky. Upon the return to the ship
it was decided that Banmann, leading the supporting party, should leave
the ship Saturday, March 17, with full loads, “with Björneborg as their
destination; returning thence to the boat-house to fetch provisions and
dog-food, which were to be used on the approaching journeys westward.”
For these journeys, Isachsen and Hassel were to make one party, Fosheim
and Sverdrup the second, Schei and Peder the third. All were to meet
at Björneborg on March 21, later to separate and journey in different
directions.
The following rations were allotted to the different parties:—
Banmann and his men, 240 days’ rations, about 530 pounds.
Isachsen and Hassel, 100 days’ rations, about 220 pounds.
Sverdrup and Fosheim, 100 days’ rations, about 200 pounds.
Schei and Peder, 80 days’ rations, about 175 pounds.
Bay, 90 days’ rations, about 200 pounds.
[Sidenote: _SLEDGE JOURNEYS_]
The “Great Expedition,” upon which so much thought and care had
been expended, was ready to start, March 20, 1900. “The weather was
beautiful,” writes Sverdrup, “and we drove out through the sound, east
of Skreia, at a smart pace, taking, when south of it, a line direct for
South Cape.”
On this journey in which Sverdrup and Fosheim traced the west shore of
Ellesmere Land to 80° 50´ N., a serious, yet amusing, incident occurred.
“At certain places on our way,” writes Sverdrup, “we came across huge
rocks, some of which were as big as a cottage, and round them the snow
had drifted to such a height that we could only just see the top. When
we came nearer, we found that, as a rule, the wind had hollowed out a
large empty space between the drift, and we were often met by a yawning
pitfall twelve to eighteen feet in depth.... I should mention that we
were obliged to drive above the rocks, as below was the open sea.... It
once happened that, just as we were passing a rock of this kind, a gap
occurred between my sledge and the one following it. As soon as I became
aware of this, I pulled up; but almost before I knew what was taking
place, the dogs had made their usual frantic rush to catch up, and the
sledge, men, and team were precipitated into the hole twelve feet below.
A moment afterwards, before anything could be done to prevent it, the
next sledge came tearing up and fell into the hole, and on the heels of
number two came a third, which followed their example.... In the grave
lay pell-mell three men, eighteen dogs, and three sledges with their
loads, and the snow was flying up from it in clouds. Here and there a
sledge runner, or a sealskin strap, was sticking out. Then I saw one of
the men crawling out of the medley and pulling himself together, then
another, and another. Thank God, they were all alive! And the dogs?
They were lying in a black heap, one team on top of the other, kicking,
howling, and fighting, till we could hardly hear the men’s voices for
their noise, so, apparently, they, too, were alive. As soon as we had
hauled them all up, we set to work to shovel part of the drift away so
that we could drag up the loads. The first sledge, which, after much
toil, we succeeded in bringing up, strange to say, was whole, nor was
there anything wrong with number two, while number three was as intact as
the two former. The very astonishing result of this flight through the
air was, therefore, that not a limb, nor a lashing, nor bit of wood was
broken.”
While the travellers were in the field pursuing their perilous and
exciting adventures, the Commandant at Björneborg was leading a lonely
and monotonous life awaiting his chance to annihilate marauding Bruins.
His first call to arms came soon after Captain Sverdrup’s departure.
Late one night, while half asleep, the Commandant, at that time without
a garrison, thought he heard a faint sound in the depot. “I only turned
round in the bag,” he says, “and inwardly cursed Hassel’s dogs, which
were loose again and ransacking the depot. I was on the point of falling
asleep once more, when it began to dawn on me that my reasoning had been
wrong, for there were no dogs within many miles, and therewith I heard
a crash, which seemed to make the earth tremble. A moment later I was
out of the bag, had dragged my gun from its cover, and cocked it, for it
suddenly occurred to me that my guest was a serious one. The first thing
I did was to light the lamp, after which I began to move away some tins
I had put in front of the door, that night for the first time, to keep
it in place. The sounds still continued at the depot, but, in moving the
last tin, I happened to make a slight noise, and then everything became
as still as death. I raised the door and crept out. It was one o’clock
(I had looked at my watch when I lit the lamp), and much darker than was
pleasant for the work before me.
[Illustration: ROALD AMUNDSEN
_Courtesy of Constable and Co., London, and E. P. Dutton and Co._]
“The bear, meanwhile, had made itself quite at home. In order to get at
one of the blubber-cases, it had thrust the empty boxes out of its way,
and had thrown down one of the dog-food boxes which had been placed on
the cases of blubber. The marks of all its claws were clearly visible
in the tin. The other box was open, and the bear had tasted a couple of
rations, but had evidently not found them to his liking, for he had spat
them out again into the box. It had then very carefully lifted the tin
down on to the snow, and then—also very carefully—raised the lid of the
blubber box. But just as it was going to begin its meal, it had evidently
heard my clatter inside the hut, and had sat down to listen, with its
right paw clasping the edge of the box. It was in this position at any
rate that I found it, when I raised myself up, after creeping out. The
bear was about fifteen yards away from me, and as soon as it saw me rose,
large, and fat and hissing; it made the open tin rattle as it put its
left paw down on it. It looked just as if it were thumping the table, to
show what a fine fellow it was, and reminded me of one of my friends on
board—so much so that I half unwittingly addressed it in the way usual
between us; a manner, however, hardly fit for publication. Whether the
bear felt offended at this I know not, but certain it is that it got up
and walked, growling, with long measured steps round the depot. I aimed,
and shot it in the shoulder; I could just discern the sights through
the darkness.” “The bear uttered such a loud growl,” continues the
Commandant, “that it seemed to make the stillness ring. The fire from my
gun had dazzled me, and I could no longer see the sights, and the bear
itself I only saw as a shapeless mass, which seemed to have grown most
incredibly larger. The other barrel, the small-shot barrel, which was
loaded with a large ball, I fired straight into the mass without going
through any such formality as aiming. Then I made a well-ordered retreat
behind the hut, and put in some fresh cartridges. I do not much believe
in hurrying, but I did this in less time than it takes to tell. To my
great astonishment I did not see anything—not that I wanted to—of my
enemy during this operation, but as soon as I was ready, I began to peer
about after it, though at first without success. At last, on bending
down, I caught sight of a large dark object a short distance away, at
a spot where I knew there was no rock,—this, of course, must be the
bear, but whether dead or alive it was impossible to tell. I therefore
advanced with much caution, and fired a shot at what I supposed to be its
head. On closer examination it proved to be the other end of the bear I
had bombarded; but as a zoölogist I, of course, knew that the head in
_Ursus maritimus_ is, as a rule, exactly at the opposite extremity to the
after-end of the animal, and at last really succeeded in giving it some
lead in the right place. The bear had, no doubt, been dead for some time,
but discretion is the better part of valour. I then realized that I had
killed my first bear; to say that I was proud is nowhere near the mark.”
The Commandant had other visits from bears while leading the hermit’s
life at Björneborg, and the killing of a seal was also added to his
achievements. On June 2, however, he left the castle where he had lived
alone for almost a quarter of a year.—“It was not without a feeling of
sadness,” he writes, “that I saw the last glimpse of the spot as we
rounded the steep bluffs of Stormkap, for, although my life there had
been solitary and monotonous enough,—except on occasions when it had been
extremely lively,—I felt I was leaving a home where I knew every stone
and every irregularity of the ground—a place I had known in calm and the
glory of sunshine, as well as during the raging of the storms. And then,
too, I had a feeling as if peace and quietness were at an end, for east
of the Stormkap began for me the great busy world, which for so long now
I had almost forgotten.”
A serious fire occurred on board the _Fram_, May 27, 1900. A spark from
the galley falling upon the winter awning, was supposed to be the cause
of the conflagration. The loss of paraffin-prepared kayaks, a quantity
of skis, and wood and other valuables were consumed, but the chief
danger, which threatened the safety of the ship and all on board, was the
proximity of the fire to an iron tank containing fifty gallons of spirit;
so great was the heat of the fire that, though the tank held, the tinning
on the outside was found melted.
[Sidenote: _RELEASE FROM THE ICE_]
On August 9, after a summer of successful research, the conditions being
favourable, Captain Sverdrup decided to push westward with the _Fram_.
“Through the ice-free sound all went well,” he writes; “but farther out,
east of the rocks, we entered the ice, and lay there ramming the whole
day long. Whenever we got a chance we forged on full speed ahead; and
when perforce we came to a standstill, we backed to get an impetus, and
gave another ram.” Skirting the coast, the _Fram_ pushed her difficult
course to within about a mile and a half from North Devon, where on
September 3, 1900, the ship was made ready for her third winter in the
Arctic. On the 15th, a storm disrupted the pack, and quick action on
the part of officers and men was required to prepare the _Fram_ for the
opening of the ice which suddenly released her. As quickly as possible
she was bearing toward Cardigan Strait, and steered through in easy
waters, finally anchoring in the good winter harbour of Gaasefjord.
The land in the vicinity of this harbour was rich in game, fauna, and
interesting fossils.
Captain Sverdrup describes a curious experience while out hunting. In
a small valley he discovered countless hare-tracks, which crossed and
recrossed one another in every direction, the snow in places having been
trodden in hard runs. Calling his telescope to his aid, he made out what
he had mistaken for a group of white stones a short distance off, to be a
group of Arctic hares, thirty-one in number, evidently at rest, with one
plainly acting as sentinel.
Although Sverdrup approached with great caution, the hare on guard
suddenly took alarm and, starting up, ran wildly round her flock,
striking her hind legs on the ground till it fairly resounded, then
setting off at a brisk pace over the ridge of a hill, the others
following in a long line and presently disappearing.
At a short distance two others, evidently not belonging to the other
lot, remained by themselves. “I thought,” writes Sverdrup, “it would be
interesting to go across to them if possible, and see what they were
about, but realized I must make use of other tactics if I would approach
near them. This, I thought, was a fitting moment to impersonate a
reindeer, or some other kind of big game, and I made a valiant attempt to
simulate their grazing movements backwards and forwards on the sward....
My tactics were so successful that, in the end, I was not much more than
two or three yards away from them. It was quite touching to see these
great innocent Arctic hares sitting only a few paces off, quietly gnawing
roots. The only notice they vouchsafed me was an occasional sniff in my
direction....
“I stayed long fraternizing with the hares down on the grass, and at last
we did not mind each other in the very least. They went on with their
occupations quite unconcernedly; I with mine. I felt something like Adam
in Paradise before Eve came, and all that about the serpent happened.”
Hunting expeditions and autumnal sledge journeys at an end, the winter
set in with plenty of work to do for every one on board the _Fram_. The
smithy was called upon for endless labour; the taking of observations
and the many other daily occupations caused the long Arctic night to
pass with less monotony and depression. A visitation from wolves added
excitement to the winter, and various methods were tried for their
capture.
[Illustration: CAPE FLORA IN EARLY JULY, 1904
_Courtesy of Doubleday, Page and Co._]
[Illustration: THE COAL MINE AT CAPE FLORA, 600 FEET ABOVE THE LEVEL OF
THE SEA
_Courtesy of Doubleday, Page and Co._]
[Sidenote: _“FRAM’S” SECOND POLAR EXPEDITION_]
The explorations of 1901 proved Heiberg Land to be an island, separated
by Heureka Strait; this was explored as far as its junction with Greely
Fjord, but another year remained before the Norwegian standard was
carried to 81° 37´ N., 92° W., where it was raised, May 13, 1902, and the
outline of coast completed to Aldrich’s farthest.
Having made one of the most brilliant records in Arctic history, the
members of the _Fram’s_ second polar expedition turned toward their
native land, and on August 6, 1902, the _Fram_ began her triumphant
retreat from the Great White North.
“Homeward! What a strange ring in the simple word!” cries Captain
Sverdrup. “On our long and laborious sledge journeys we had many a time
used it when we thought of the _Fram_, and a good home the _Fram_ had
been these four years, warm and strong and well provided, but that was in
another way. Now the longing for home coursed through our blood, and all
the yearning, which we had thrust aside during these long years, broke
loose, rang in our ears, and made our hearts beat faster. Half-forgotten
memories and dawning hopes came back again. A sea of thoughts streamed in
on us and tied our tongues in the midst of the joy at going home. It was
a moment full of promise when we knew that we were looking for the last
time on these mountains and fiords, which for so long had been the object
and scene of our endeavor.”
September 26, the _Fram_ reached Christiansand, and two days later she
dropped anchor for a few hours at Langgrunden, off Horten. Quite a fleet
of steamers and sailing-boats escorted her from Stavanger to Christiania,
which was reached “on a beautiful Sunday which recalled to us the day,
four years since, when we had gone the other way.” ... “So the _Fram’s_
second polar expedition was at an end,” concludes Captain Sverdrup. “An
approximate area of one hundred thousand square miles had been explored,
and, in the name of the Norwegian King, taken possession of. If the
members of the expedition have been able to do _anything_, this is owing
in the first instance to the sacrifices of generous Norwegians; that we
have not done more is, at any rate, not owing to want of will.”
The successful navigation of the long-sought Northwest Passage by Captain
Roald Amundsen has been one of the stirring events of the early twentieth
century. Of this hardy Norseman, and what he accomplished, Mr. Alger
gives an interesting account in _Putnam’s Magazine_:—
“Born July 16, 1872, at Borge, in the district of Smaalenene, southern
Norway, he comes from an old sea-faring family, and has had much
experience as a sailor. As an officer he took part in the Belgian South
Pole expedition of 1897, on board the _Belgica_, and it was down in the
Antarctic regions that he first planned his famous Arctic voyage. On
the whaler, _Gjoa_, a ship of only 46 tons, he left Christiania in May,
1903, with a crew of seven men; and three years later, in the summer of
1906, the news was spread over the world that he had accomplished what
no man before him had succeeded in doing. He had not only sailed through
the Northwest Passage, but had located the Magnetic Pole and otherwise
gathered much scientific information of the greatest value in regard to
these little-known regions.”
The _Gjoa_ was especially strengthened and refitted throughout. She
was amply provisioned for five years, and her crew most carefully
selected. Second in command was Lieutenant Godfred Hansen of the Danish
Navy. First mate Auto Lund of Tromsoe had had long years of service in
the sealing trade. Peder Ristredt, a sergeant in the Norwegian Army,
was first engineer. Helmer Hansen, also an experienced sealer, a good
snow-shoer and hunter, was second mate. Gustav Juel, second engineer, was
to take part in the magnetic observations, but he died on the trip from
pneumonia, in March, 1906. Adolf Linstrom served as cook, having served
in the same capacity aboard the _Fram_.
Sailing at midnight, June 16, 1903, from Christiania, Cape Farewell,
Greenland was sighted five weeks later. Securing ten fine dogs at
Godhaven from Herr Dongaad Jensen, Inspector for North Greenland,
they entered Melville Bay, August 8. On August 15, they came in sight
of Dalrymple Rock; at this point two Scotch whaling captains—Milne
and Adams—had deposited certain stores for Amundsen. The _Gjoa_ was
unexpectedly met in kayaks by members of the Danish Literary Greenland
expedition, Herr Mylius Eriksen and Herr Knut Rasmussen. An exchange of
courtesies was followed by the loading of the _Gjoa_ with the packages
from Dalrymple Rock. Pushing through the lanes, at full steam, they
emerged into open water in Baffin Bay, and later entered Lancaster Sound,
anchoring at Beechey, August 22. On August 24, they pushed into Peel
Sound. The efficiency of the compass now ceased, and they were compelled
to navigate by the stars whenever they appeared through the fog, which
prevailed most of the time. Passing along the west coast of Boothia
Felix, they came to grief by grounding on September 1 and were obliged
to “lighten the ship by throwing overboard the greater part of the deck
cargo. On Saturday, September 12, entered Gjoa Harbor”—a small landlocked
cove at the head of Petersen Bay (King William Land), and here they
remained for nearly two years.
[Sidenote: _SCIENTIFIC OBSERVATIONS_]
Immediate preparations were made for wintering, provisions landed,
observatories erected, and Amundsen at once began his valuable scientific
observations.
“In order to ensure accuracy,” writes General Greely in the _Century_,
1907, “the magnetic instruments were installed in temporary wooden
buildings, built with copper nails, and entirely free of any iron,
heat, or even light, except the lamp behind the reflector. Here day
and night, for twenty months, were made photograph records, and these
were supplemented by personal eye-readings to serve as needful checks
on those photographically obtained. The observers in this work were
clothed entirely in deerskin garments, and before entering the building
where the magnetometres were installed, carefully divested themselves of
watches, keys, knives, and other metallic objects. The observations were
made in winter under such conditions of cold, monotony, and darkness as
to merit the highest commendation for endurance and constancy.” And he
continues, “The value of the continuous observations at Gjoa Harbor was
largely increased by similar observations in the field, which necessarily
entailed severe exposure and consequent hardships on the sledging
parties. In March, 1904, a preliminary journey, made for the purpose of
establishing food depots, involved much suffering owing to excessive
cold, the temperature falling to 79° below zero, Fahr. The sledge journey
to the Magnetic Pole itself was made by Amundsen and Ristvedt, starting
April 2, 1904, with ten dogs and two sledges, much difficulty resulting
from rough ice.
“Five observation stations were occupied between Gjoa Harbor and Tasmania
Islands, which are about eighty miles directly north of Ross’s magnetic
pole. This field work occupied about two months, being summarily
finished at the end of May, owing to loss of food through the thieving
Itchnachtorviks of eastern Boothia. While no definite result of the field
observations can yet be given, it is not thought that there has been any
decided change from the magnetic conditions observed by Ross in 1831,
when the pole of declination was in the neighborhood of Cape Adelaide,
70° 05´ N., 96° 44´ W.”
On April 1, 1905, Lieutenant Hansen and Ristvedt, with two sledges,
twelve dogs, and provisions for three months, visited Victoria, and after
charting half of the missing coastline returned June 24.
Neighbours were not lacking these isolated white men. Frequent visits
from Eskimos, and the news of American fishermen to the south, permitted
of letters being forwarded by Eskimos.
[Sidenote: _AUGUST 14, 1906_]
On August 14, 1906, all conditions being favourable, the _Gjoa_ weighed
anchor and proceeded westward in open water, and within a few hours
had successfully passed through Etta Sound, the narrowest place in
the Northwest Passage, a tortuous channel between Etta Island and the
mainland. The following day they threaded their way through a group of
newly discovered islands in shallows that constantly necessitated the use
of the lead.
A heavy pack was encountered in Victoria Strait, but they continued on
their way “through the strait between Victoria Land and the mainland,”
thence through “Dease Strait and Coronation Gulf out into Dolphin and
Union straits, and on the morning of August 25 sighted Nelson Head—a tall
and imposing headland.”
Having successfully passed from the Atlantic side into the Pacific side,
the _Gjoa_ had the good fortune to speak on the same day the American
whaling schooner, _Charles Hansson_, from San Francisco. A delay of
twenty-four hours was caused by the ice off Cape Bathurst. Near Bailey
Island, several beset whalers were encountered, and the barks _Alexander_
and _Bowhead_ were sighted off Pullen Island.
Cape Sabine was reached September 2—but progress was only made to King
Point, about thirty-five miles east of Herschel Island, where the _Gjoa_
was forced to put in another Arctic winter.
On October 13, Amundsen, with a sledge and five dogs, made a journey of
five months’ duration, covering a distance of fifteen hundred miles to
Eagle City, Alaska. This included a two months’ sojourn in Eagle City,
when all despatches were forwarded, and mails received, for himself and
other members of the expedition.
The following August, the _Gjoa_ was freed, but on the 19th of that month
she received a bad injury to her propeller by grounding on a piece of
ice, so continued her journey entirely under sail. She arrived at San
Francisco, October 19, with a rich cargo of ethnographical, zoölogical,
and botanical specimens, and many furs and curios. These were freighted
to Christiania, the _Gjoa_ taken charge of by Admiral Lyons, commandant
of the Mare Island Navy-yard, and Amundsen and his companions started by
rail for home.