THE NEW YEAR, 1895
"Wednesday, January 2, 1895. Never before have I had such strange
feelings at the commencement of the new year. It cannot fail to bring
some momentous events, and will possibly become one of the most
remarkable years in my life, whether it leads me to success or to
destruction. Years come and go unnoticed in this world of ice, and
we have no more knowledge here of what these years have brought to
humanity than we know of what the future ones have in store. In this
silent nature no events ever happen; all is shrouded in darkness;
there is nothing in view save the twinkling stars, immeasurably
far away in the freezing night, and the flickering sheen of the
aurora borealis. I can just discern close by the vague outline of
the Fram, dimly standing out in the desolate gloom, with her rigging
showing dark against the host of stars. Like an infinitesimal speck,
the vessel seems lost amidst the boundless expanse of this realm of
death. Nevertheless, under her deck there is a snug and cherished home
for thirteen men undaunted by the majesty of this realm. In there,
life is freely pulsating, while far away outside in the night there
is nothing save death and silence, only broken now and then, at long
intervals, by the violent pressure of the ice as it surges along in
gigantic masses. It sounds most ominous in the great stillness, and
one cannot help an uncanny feeling as if supernatural powers were at
hand, the Jötuns and Rimturser (frost-giants) of the Arctic regions,
with whom we may have to engage in deadly combat at any moment;
but we are not afraid of them.
"I often think of Shakespeare's Viola, who sat 'like Patience on
a monument.' Could we not pass as representatives of this marble
Patience, imprisoned here on the ice while the years roll by, awaiting
our time? I should like to design such a monument. It should be a
lonely man in shaggy wolfskin clothing, all covered with hoar-frost,
sitting on a mound of ice, and gazing out into the darkness across
these boundless, ponderous masses of ice, awaiting the return of
daylight and spring.
"The ice-pressure was not noticeable after 1 o'clock on Friday night
until it suddenly recommenced last night. First I heard a rumbling
outside, and some snow fell down from the rigging upon the tent
roof as I sat reading; I thought it sounded like packing in the ice,
and just then the Fram received a violent shock, such as she had not
received since last winter. I was rocked backward and forward on the
chest on which I was sitting. Finding that the trembling and rumbling
continued, I went out. There was a loud roar of ice-packing to the
west and northwest, which continued uniformly for a couple of hours
or so. Is this the New-year's greeting from the ice?
"We spent New-year's-eve cozily, with a cloudberry punch-bowl, pipes,
and cigarettes. Needless to say, there was an abundance of cakes
and the like, and we spoke of the old and the new year and days
to come. Some selections were played on the organ and violin. Thus
midnight arrived. Blessing produced from his apparently inexhaustible
store a bottle of genuine 'linje akkevit' (line eau-de-vie), and
in this Norwegian liquor we drank the old year out and the new year
in. Of course there was many a thought that would obtrude itself at
the change of the year, being the second which we had seen on board the
Fram, and also, in all probability, the last that we should all spend
together. Naturally enough, one thanked one's comrades, individually
and collectively, for all kindness and good-fellowship. Hardly one
of us had thought, perhaps, that the time would pass so well up
here. Sverdrup expressed the wish that the journey which Johansen
and I were about to make in the coming year might be fortunate and
bring success in all respects. And then we drank to the health and
well-being in the coming year of those who were to remain behind on
board the Fram. It so happened that just now at the turn of the year we
stood on the verge of an entirely new world. The wind which whistled
up in the rigging overhead was not only wafting us on to unknown
regions, but also up into higher latitudes than any human foot had
ever trod. We felt that this year, which was just commencing, would
bring the culminating-point of the expedition, when it would bear its
richest fruits. Would that this year might prove a good year for those
on board the Fram; that the Fram might go ahead, fulfilling her task
as she has hitherto done; and in that case none of us could doubt that
those on board would also prove equal to the task intrusted to them.
"New-year's-day was ushered in with the same wind, the same stars,
and the same darkness as before. Even at noon one cannot see the
slightest glimmer of twilight in the south. Yesterday I thought I
could trace something of the kind; it extended like a faint gleam of
light over the sky, but it was yellowish-white, and stretched too
high up; hence I am rather inclined to think that it was an aurora
borealis. Again to-day the sky looks lighter near the edge, but this
can scarcely be anything except the gleam of the aurora borealis,
which extends all round the sky, a little above the fog-banks on the
horizon, and which is strongest at the edge. Exactly similar lights may
be observed at other times in other parts of the horizon. The air was
particularly clear yesterday, but the horizon is always somewhat foggy
or hazy. During the night we had an uncommonly strong aurora borealis;
wavy streamers were darting in rapid twists over the southern sky,
their rays reaching to the zenith, and beyond it there was to be
seen for a time a band in the form of a gorgeous corona, casting
a reflection like moonshine across the ice. The sky had lit up its
torch in honor of the new year--a fairy dance of darting streamers in
the depth of night. I cannot help often thinking that this contrast
might be taken as typical of the Northman's character and destiny. In
the midst of this gloomy, silent nature, with all its numbing cold,
we have all these shooting, glittering, quivering rays of light. Do
they not typify our impetuous 'spring-dances,' our wild mountain
melodies, the auroral gleams in our souls, the rushing, surging,
spiritual forces behind the mantle of ice? There is a dawning life in
the slumbering night, if it could only reach beyond the icy desert,
out over the world.
"Thus 1895 comes in:
"'Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel thro' sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
"'Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we frown, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.'
"Thursday, January 3d. A day of unrest, a changeful life,
notwithstanding all its monotony. But yesterday we were full of plans
for the future, and to-day how easily might we have been left on the
ice without a roof over our heads! At half-past four, in the morning
a fresh rush of ice set in in the lane aft, and at five it commenced
in the lane on our port side. About 8 o'clock I awoke, and heard the
crunching and crackling of the ice, as if ice-pressure were setting
in. A slight trembling was felt throughout the Fram, and I heard
the roar outside. When I came out I was not a little surprised to
find a large pressure-ridge all along the channel on the port side
scarcely thirty paces from the Fram; the cracks on this side extended
to quite eighteen paces from us. All loose articles that were lying
on the ice on this side were stowed away on board; the boards and
planks which, during the summer, had supported the meteorological
hut and the screen for the same were chopped up, as we could not
afford to lose any materials; but the line, which had been left out
in the sounding-hole with the bag-net attached to it, was caught in
the pressure. Just after I had come on board again shortly before
noon the ice suddenly began to press on again. I went out to have a
look; it was again in the lane on the port side; there was a strong
pressure, and the ridge was gradually approaching. A little later on
Sverdrup went up on deck, but soon after came below and told us that
the ridge was quickly bearing down on us, and a few hands were required
to come up and help to load the sledge with the sounding apparatus,
and bring it round to the starboard side of the Fram, as the ice had
cracked close by it. The ridge began to come alarmingly near, and,
should it be upon us before the Fram had broken loose from the ice,
matters might become very unpleasant. The vessel had now a greater
list to the port side than ever.
"During the afternoon various preparations were made to leave the ship
if the worst should happen. All the sledges were placed ready on deck,
and the kayaks were also made clear; 25 cases of dog-biscuits were
deposited on the ice on the starboard side, and 19 cases of bread
were brought up and placed forward; also 4 drums, holding altogether
22 gallons of petroleum, were put on deck. Ten smaller-sized tins had
previously been filled with 100 litres of snowflake oil, and various
vessels containing gasoline were also standing on deck. As we were
sitting at supper we again heard the same crunching and crackling
noise in the ice as usual, coming nearer and nearer, and finally
we heard a crash proceeding from right underneath where we sat. I
rushed up. There was a pressure of ice in the lane a little way off,
almost on our starboard beam. I went down again, and continued my
meal. Peter, who had gone out on the ice, soon after came down and
said, laughing as usual, that it was no wonder we heard some crackling,
for the ice had cracked not a sledge-length away from the dog-biscuit
cases, and the crack was extending abaft of the Fram. I went out,
and found the crack was a very considerable one. The dog-biscuit
cases were now shifted a little more forward for greater safety. We
also found several minor cracks in the ice around the vessel. I then
went down and had a pipe and a pleasant chat with Sverdrup in his
cabin. After we had been sitting a good while the ice again began to
crack and jam. I did not think that the noise was greater than usual;
nevertheless, I asked those in the saloon, who sat playing halma,
whether there was any one on deck; if not, would one of them be kind
enough to go and see where the ice was packing. I heard hurried steps
above; Nordahl came down and reported that it was on the port side,
and that it would be best for us to be on deck. Peter and I jumped
up and several followed. As I went down the ladder Peter called out
to me from above: 'We must get the dogs out; see, there is water on
the ice!' It was high time that we came; the water was rushing in
and already stood high in the kennel. Peter waded into the water up
to his knees and pushed the door open. Most of the dogs rushed out
and jumped about, splashing in the water; but some, being frightened,
had crept back into the innermost corner and had to be dragged out,
although they stood in water reaching high up their legs. Poor brutes,
it must have been miserable enough, in all conscience, to be shut
up in such a place while the water was steadily rising about them,
yet they are not more noisy than usual.
"The dogs having been put in safety, I walked round the Fram to see
what else had happened. The ice had cracked along her to the fore, near
the starboard bow; from this crack the water had poured aft along the
port side, which was weighed down by the weight of the ridge steadily
pressing on towards us. The crack has just passed under the middle of
the portable forge, which was thus endangered, and it was therefore
put on a sledge and removed to the great hummock on the starboard
quarter. The pemmican--altogether 11 cases--the cases of dog-biscuits,
and 19 cases of bread were conveyed to the same place. Thus we have
now a complete depot lying over there, and, I trust, in entire safety,
the ice being so thick that it is not likely to give way. This has
brought life into the lads; they have all turned out. We took out 4
more tin cans of petroleum to the hummock, then proceeded to bring up
from the hold and place on deck ready for removal 21 cases of bread,
and a supply of pemmican, chocolate, butter, 'vril-food,' soup, etc.,
calculated to last us 200 days. Also tents, cooking apparatus, and the
like, were got ready, so that now all is clear up there, and we may
sleep securely; but it was past midnight before we had done. I still
trust that it is all a false alarm, and that we shall have no occasion
for these supplies now, at any rate; nevertheless, it is our duty to
keep everything ready in case the unthinkable should happen. Moreover,
the watch has been enjoined to mind the dogs on the ice and to keep
a sharp lookout in case the ice should crack underneath our cases
or the ice-pressure should recommence; if anything should happen we
are to be called out at once, too early rather than too late. While
I sit here and write I hear the crunching and crackling beginning
again outside, so that there must still be a steady pressure on the
ice. All are in the best spirits; it almost appears as if they looked
upon this as a pleasant break in the monotony of our existence. Well,
it is half-past one, I had better turn into my bunk; I am tired,
and goodness knows how soon I may be called up.
"Friday, January 4th. The ice kept quiet during the night, but all
day, with some intervals, it has been crackling and settling, and
this evening there have been several fits of pressure from 9 o'clock
onward. For a time it came on, sometimes rather lightly, at regular
intervals; sometimes with a rush and a regular roar; then it subsided
somewhat, and then it roared anew. Meanwhile the pressure-ridge
towers higher and higher and bears right down upon us slowly, while
the pressure comes on at intervals only, and more quickly when the
onset continues for a time. One can actually see it creeping nearer and
nearer; and now, at 1 o'clock at night, it is not many feet--scarcely
five--away from the edge of the snow-drift on the port side near the
gangway, and thence to the vessel is scarcely more than ten feet,
so that it will not be long now before it is upon us. Meanwhile the
ice continues to split, and the solid mass in which we are embedded
grows less and less, both to port and starboard. Several fissures
extend right up to the Fram. As the ice sinks down under the weight
of the ridge on the port side and the Fram lists more that way, more
water rushes up over the new ice which has frozen on the water that
rose yesterday. This is like dying by inches. Slowly but surely the
baleful ridge advances, and it looks as if it meant going right over
the rail; but if the Fram will only oblige by getting free of the
ice she will, I feel confident, extricate herself yet, even though
matters look rather awkward at present. We shall probably have a hard
time of it, however, before she can break loose if she does not do
so at once. I have been out and had a look at the ridge, and seen
how surely it is advancing! I have looked at the fissures in the ice
and noted how they are forming and expanding round the vessel; I have
listened to the ice crackling and crunching underfoot, and I do not
feel much disposed to turn into my berth before I see the Fram quite
released. As I sit here now I hear the ice making a fresh assault,
and roaring and packing outside, and I can tell that the ridge is
coming nearer. This is an ice-pressure with a vengeance, and it
seems as if it would never cease. I do not think there is anything
more that we can do now. All is in readiness for leaving the vessel,
if need be. To-day the clothing, etc., was taken out and placed ready
for removal in separate bags for each man.
"It is very strange; there is certainly a possibility that all our
plans may be crossed by unforeseen events, although it is not very
probable that this will happen. As yet I feel no anxiety in that
direction, only I should like to know whether we are really to take
everything on to the ice or not. However, it is past 1 o'clock,
and I think the most sensible thing to do would be to turn in and
sleep. The watch has orders to call me when the hummock reaches the
Fram. It is lucky it is moonlight now, so that we are able to see
something of all this abomination.
"The day before yesterday we saw the moon for the first time just
above the horizon. Yesterday it was shining a little, and now we have
it both day and night. A most favorable state of things. But it is
nearly 2 o'clock, and I must go to sleep now. The pressure of the ice,
I can hear, is stronger again.
"Saturday, January 5th. To-night everybody sleeps fully dressed, and
with the most indispensable necessaries either by his side or secured
to his body, ready to jump on the ice at the first warning. All other
requisites, such as provisions, clothing, sleeping-bags, etc., etc.,
have been brought out on the ice. We have been at work at this all
day, and have got everything into perfect order, and are now quite
ready to leave if necessary, which, however, I do not believe will
be the case, though the ice-pressure has been as bad as it could be.
"I slept soundly, woke up only once, and listened to the crunching
and jamming and grinding till I fell asleep again. I was called at
5.30 in the morning by Sverdrup, who told me that the hummock had now
reached the Fram, and was bearing down on us violently, reaching as
high as the rail. I was not left in doubt very long, as hardly had I
opened my eyes when I heard a thundering and crashing outside in the
ice, as if doomsday had come. I jumped up. There was nothing left
for it but to call all hands, to put all the remaining provisions
on the ice, and then put all our furs and other equipment on deck,
so that they could be thrown overboard at a moment's notice if
necessary. Thus the day passed, but the ice kept quiet. Last of all,
the petroleum launch, which was hanging in the davits on the port
side, was lowered, and was dragged towards the great hummock. At
about 8 o'clock in the evening, when we thought the ice-pressure
had subsided, it started thundering and crashing again worse than
ever. I hurried up. Masses of snow and ice rushed on us, high above
the rail amidships and over the tent. Peter, who also came up, seized
a spade and rushed forward outside the awning as far as the forepart
of the half-deck, and stood in the midst of the ice, digging away,
and I followed to see how matters stood. I saw more than I cared
to see; it was hopeless to fight that enemy with a spade. I called
out to Peter to come back, and said, 'We had better see to getting
everything out on to the ice.' Hardly had I spoken, when it pressed
on again with renewed strength, and thundered and crashed, and,
as Peter said, and laughed till he shook again, 'nearly sent both
me and the spade to the deuce.' I rushed back to the main-deck; on
the way I met Mogstad, who hurried up, spade in hand, and sent him
back. Running forward under the tent towards the ladder, I saw that
the tent-roof was bent down under the weight of the masses of ice,
which were rushing over it and crashing in over the rail and bulwarks
to such an extent that I expected every moment to see the ice force
its way through and block up the passage. When I got below, I called
all hands on deck; but told them when going up not to go out through
the door on the port side, but through the chart-room and out on the
starboard side. In the first place, all the bags were to be brought
up from the saloon, and then we were to take those lying on deck. I
was afraid that if the door on the port side was not kept closed
the ice might, if it suddenly burst through the bulwarks and tent,
rush over the deck and in through the door, fill the passage and rush
down the ladder, and thus imprison us like mice in a trap. True, the
passage up from the engine-room had been cleared for this emergency,
but this was a very narrow hole to get through with heavy bags,
and no one could tell how long this hole would keep open when the
ice once attacked us in earnest. I ran up again to set free the dogs,
which were shut up in 'Castle-garden'--an enclosure on the deck along
the port bulwark. They whined and howled most dolefully under the tent
as the snow masses threatened at any moment to crush it and bury them
alive. I cut away the fastening with a knife, pulled the door open,
and out rushed most of them by the starboard gangway at full speed. [3]
Meantime the hands started bringing up the bags. It was quite
unnecessary to ask them to hurry up--the ice did that, thundering
against the ship's sides in a way that seemed irresistible. It was a
fearful hurly-burly in the darkness; for, to cap all, the mate had,
in the hurry, let the lanterns go out. I had to go down again to get
something on my feet; my Finland shoes were hanging up to dry in the
galley. When I got there the ice was at its worst, and the half-deck
beams were creaking overhead, so that I really thought they were all
coming down.
"The saloon and the berths were soon cleared of bags, and the deck
as well, and we started taking them along the ice. The ice roared
and crashed against the ship's side, so that we could hardly hear
ourselves speak; but all went quickly and well, and before long
everything was in safety.
"While we were dragging the bags along, the pressure and jamming of
the ice had at last stopped, and all was quiet again as before.
"But what a sight! The Fram's port side was quite buried under the
snow; all that could be seen was the top of the tent projecting. Had
the petroleum launch been hanging in the davits, as it was a few
hours previously, it would hardly have escaped destruction. The
davits were quite buried in ice and snow. It is curious that both
fire and water have been powerless against that boat; and it has
now come out unscathed from the ice, and lies there bottom upward
on the floe. She has had a stormy existence and continual mishaps;
I wonder what is next in store for her?
"It was, I must admit, a most exciting scene when it was at its
worst, and we thought it was imperative to get the bags up from the
saloon with all possible speed. Sverdrup now tells me that he was
just about to have a bath, and was as naked as when he was born,
when he heard me call all hands on deck. As this had not happened
before, he understood there was something serious the matter, and he
jumped into his clothes anyhow. Amundsen, apparently, also realized
that something was amiss. He says he was the first who came up with
his bag. He had not understood, or had forgotten, in the confusion,
the order about going out through the starboard door; he groped his
way out on the port side and fell in the dark over the edge of the
half-deck. 'Well, that did not matter,' he said; 'he was quite used
to that kind of thing;' but having pulled himself together after
the fall, and as he was lying there on his back, he dared not move,
for it seemed to him as if tent and all were coming down on him,
and it thundered and crashed against the gunwale and the hull as if
the last hour had come. It finally dawned on him why he ought to have
gone out on the starboard and not on the port side.
"All that could possibly be thought to be of any use was taken
out. The mate was seen dragging along a big bag of clothes with
a heavy bundle of cups fastened outside it. Later he was stalking
about with all sorts of things, such as mittens, knives, cups, etc.,
fastened to his clothes and dangling about him, so that the rattling
noise could be heard afar off. He is himself to the last.
"In the evening the men all started eating their stock of cakes,
sweetmeats, and such-like, smoked tobacco, and enjoyed themselves in
the most animated fashion. They evidently thought it was uncertain when
they should next have such a time on board the Fram, and therefore
they thought it was best to avail themselves of the opportunity. We
are now living in marching order on an empty ship.
"By way of precaution we have now burst open again the passage on
the starboard side which was used as a library and had therefore
been closed, and all doors are now kept always open, so that we
can be sure of getting out, even if anything should give way. We do
not want the ice-pressure to close the doors against us by jamming
the doorposts together. But she certainly is a strong ship. It is
a mighty ridge that we have in our port side, and the masses of ice
are tremendous. The ship is listing more than ever, nearly 7°; but
since the last pressure she has righted herself a little again, so
that she must surely have broken away from the ice and begun to rise,
and all danger is doubtless over. So, after all, it has been a case of
'Much ado about nothing.'
"Sunday, January 6th. A quiet day; no jamming since last night. Most
of the fellows slept well on into the morning. This afternoon all have
been very busy digging the Fram out of the ice again, and we have
now got the rail clear right aft to the half-deck; but a tremendous
mass had fallen over the tent. It was above the second ratline in the
fore-shrouds, and fully six feet over the rail. It is a marvel that
the tent stood it; but it was a very good thing that it did do so,
for otherwise it is hard to say what might have become of many of the
dogs. This afternoon Hansen took a meridian observation, which gave 83°
34' north latitude. Hurrah! We are getting on well northward--thirteen
minutes since Monday--and the most northern latitude is now reached. It
goes without saying that the occasion was duly celebrated with a bowl
of punch, preserved fruits, cakes, and the doctor's cigars.
"Last night we were running with the bags for our lives; to-night we
are drinking punch and feasting: such are, indeed, the vicissitudes
of fate. All this roaring and crashing for the last few days has been,
perhaps, a cannonade to celebrate our reaching such a high latitude. If
that be so, it must be admitted that the ice has done full honor to
the occasion. Well, never mind, let it crash on so long as we only
get northward. The Fram will, no doubt, stand it now; she has lifted
fully one foot forward and fully six inches aft, and she has slipped a
little astern. Moreover, we cannot find so much as a single stanchion
in the bulwarks that has started, yet to-night every man will sleep
fully prepared to make for the ice.
"Monday, January 7th. There was a little jamming of the ice
occasionally during the day, but only of slight duration, then all
was quiet again. Evidently the ice has not yet settled, and we have
perhaps more to expect from our friend to port, whom I would willingly
exchange for a better neighbor.
"It seems, however, as if the ice-pressure had altered its direction
since the wind has changed to S.E. It is now confined to the ridges
fore and aft athwart the wind; while our friend to port, lying almost
in the line of the wind, has kept somewhat quieter.
"Everything has an end, as the boy said when he was in for a
birching. Perhaps the growth of this ridge has come to an end now,
perhaps not; the one thing is just as likely as the other.
"To-day the work of extricating the Fram is proceeding; we will
at all events get the rails clear of the ice. It presents a most
imposing sight by the light of the moon, and, however conscious
of one's own strength, one cannot help respecting an antagonist
who commands such powers, and who, in a few moments, is capable
of putting mighty machinery into action. It is rather an awkward
battering-ram to face. The Fram is equal to it, but no other ship
could have resisted such an onslaught. In less than an hour this ice
will build up a wall alongside us and over us which it might take us a
month to get out of, and possibly longer than that. There is something
gigantic about it; it is like a struggle between dwarfs and an ogre,
in which the pygmies have to resort to cunning and trickery to get out
of the clutches of one who seldom relaxes his grip. The Fram is the
ship which the pygmies have built with all their cunning in order to
fight the ogre; and on board this ship they work as busily as ants,
while the ogre only thinks it worth while to roll over and twist his
body about now and then, but every time he turns over it seems as
though the nutshell would be smashed and buried, and would disappear;
but the pygmies have built their nutshell so cleverly that it always
keeps afloat, and wriggles itself free from the deadly embrace. The
old traditions and legends about giants, about Thor's battles in the
Jötunheim, when rocks were split and crags were hurled about, and the
valleys were filled with falling boulders, all come back to me when I
look at these mighty ridges of ice winding their way far off in the
moonlight; and when I see the men standing on the ice-heap cutting
and digging to remove a fraction of it, then they seem to me smaller
than pygmies, smaller than ants; but although each ant carries only
a single fir-needle, yet in course of time they build an ant-hill,
where they can live comfortably, sheltered from storm and winter.
"Had this attack on the Fram been planned by the aid of all the
wickedness in the world, it could not have been a worse one. The floe,
seven feet thick, has borne down on us on the port side, forcing itself
up on the ice, in which we are lying, and crushing it down. Thus the
Fram was forced down with the ice, while the other floe, packed up on
the ice beneath, bore down on her, and took her amidships while she
was still frozen fast. As far as I can judge, she could hardly have
had a tighter squeeze; it was no wonder that she groaned under it;
but she withstood it, broke loose, and eased. Who shall say after
this that a vessel's shape is of little consequence? Had the Fram
not been designed as she was, we should not have been sitting here
now. Not a drop of water is to be found in her anywhere. Strangely
enough, the ice has not given us another such squeeze since then;
perhaps it was its expiring grip we felt on Saturday.
"It is hard to tell, but it was terrific enough. This morning Sverdrup
and I went for a walk on the ice, but when we got a little way from
the ship we found no sign of any new packing; the ice was smooth
and unbroken as before. The packing has been limited to a certain
stretch from east to west, and the Fram has been lying at the very
worst point of it.
"This afternoon Hansen has worked out yesterday's observations, the
result being 83° 34.2' north latitude and 102° 51' east longitude. We
have therefore drifted north and westward; 15 miles west, indeed,
and only 13.5 north since New-year's-eve, while the wind has been
mostly from the southwest. It seems as if the ice has taken a more
decided course towards the northwest than ever, and therefore it is
not to be wondered at that there is some pressure when the wind blows
athwart the course of the ice. However, I hardly think we need any
particular explanation of the pressure, as we have evidently again
got into a packing-centre with cracks, lanes, and ridges, where the
pressure is maintained for some time, such as we were in during the
first winter. We have constantly met with several similar stretches
on the surrounding ice, even when it has been most quiet.
"This evening there was a most remarkable brightness right under the
moon. It was like an immense luminous haycock, which rose from the
horizon and touched the great ring round the moon. At the upper side
of this ring there was a segment of the usual inverted arc of light."
The next day, January 8th, the ice began grinding occasionally,
and while Mogstad and I stood in the hold working on hand sledges we
heard creakings in the ship both above and below us. This was repeated
several times; but in the intervals it was quiet. I was often on the
ice listening to the grinding and watching how it went on, but it did
not go beyond crackling and creaking beneath our feet and in the ridge
at our side. Perhaps it is to warn us not to be too confident! I am
not so sure that it is not necessary. It is in reality like living on
a smoking volcano. The eruption that will seal our fate may occur at
any moment. It will either force the ship up or swallow her down. And
what are the stakes? Either the Fram will get home and the expedition
be fully successful, or we shall lose her and have to be content with
what we have done, and possibly on our way home we may explore parts
of Franz Josef Land. That is all; but most of us feel that it would
be hard to lose the ship, and it would be a very sad sight to see
her disappear.
"Some of the hands, under Sverdrup, are working, trying to cut away
the hummock ice on the port side, and they have already made good
headway. Mogstad and I are busy getting the sledges in order, and
preparing them for use as I want them, whether we go north or south.
"Liv is two years old to-day.
"She is a big girl now. I wonder if I should be able to recognize
her? I suppose I should hardly find a single familiar feature. They are
sure to celebrate the day, and she will get all kinds of presents. Many
a thought will be sent northward, but they know not where to look
for us; are not aware that we are drifting here embedded in the ice
in the highest northern latitudes ever reached, in the deepest polar
night ever penetrated."
During the following days the ice became steadily quieter. In the
course of the night of the 9th of January the ice was still slightly
cracking and grinding; then it quite subsided, and on the 10th of
January the report is "ice perfectly quiet, and if it were not for
the ridge on the port side one would never have thought there had
ever been any breach in the eternal stillness, so calm and peaceful
is it." Some men went on cutting away the ice, and little by little
we could see it was getting less. Mogstad and I were busily engaged
in the hold with the new sledges, and during this time I also made an
attempt to photograph the Fram by moonlight from different points. The
results surpassed my expectations; but as the top of the pressure-ridge
had now been cut away, these photos do not give an exact impression of
the pack-ice, and of how it came hurtling down upon the Fram. We then
put in order our depot on the great hummock on the starboard quarter,
and all sleeping-bags, Lapland boots, Finn shoes, wolfskin clothing,
etc., were wrapped in the foresail and placed to the extreme west,
the provisions were collected into six different heaps, and the rifles
and guns were distributed among three of the heaps and wrapped up in
boat-sails. Next, Hansen's instrument-case and my own, together with
a bucketful of rifle-cartridges, were placed under a boat-sail. Then
the forge and the smith's tools were arranged separately, and
up on the top of the great hummock we laid a heap of sledges and
snow-shoes. All the kayaks were laid side by side bottom upward,
the cooking apparatus and lamps, etc., being placed under them. They
were spread out in this way, so that in the improbable event of the
thick floe splitting suddenly our loss would not be so great. We knew
where to find everything, and it might blow and drift to its heart's
content without our losing anything.
On the evening of January 14th I wrote in my diary: "Two sharp
reports were heard in the ship, like shots from a cannon, and then
followed a noise as of something splitting--presumably this must be
the cracking of the ice, on account of the frost. It appeared to me
that the list on the ship increased at that moment, but perhaps it
was only imagination."
As time passed on we all gradually got busy again preparing for the
sledge expedition. On Tuesday, January 15th, I say: "This evening
the doctor gave a lesson to Johansen and myself in bandaging and
repairing broken limbs. I lay on the table and had a plaster-of-Paris
bandage put round the calf of my leg, while all the crew were looking
on. The very sight of this operation cannot fail to suggest unpleasant
thoughts. An accident of this nature out in the polar night, with 40°
to 50° of cold, would be anything but pleasant, to say nothing of
how easily it might mean death to both of us. But who knows? We might
manage somehow. However, such things must not be allowed to happen,
and, what is more, they shall not."
As January went on we could by noon just see the faint dawn of
day--that day at whose sunrise we were to start. On January 18th I say:
"By 9 o'clock in the morning I could already distinguish the first
indications of dawn, and by noon it seemed to be getting bright;
but it seems hardly credible that in a month's time there will be
light enough to travel by, yet it must be so. True, February is a
month which all 'experienced' people consider far too early and much
too cold for travelling; hardly any one would do so in the month of
March. But it cannot be helped; we have no time to waste in waiting for
additional comfort if we are to make any progress before the summer,
when travelling will be impossible. I am not afraid of the cold;
we can always protect ourselves against that.
"Meantime all preparations are proceeding, and I am now
getting everything in order connected with copying of diaries,
observation-books, photographs, etc., that we are to take with
us. Mogstad is working in the hold making maple guard-runners to
put under the sledges. Jacobsen has commenced to put a new sledge
together. Pettersen is in the engine-room, making nails for the
sledge-fittings, which Mogstad is to put on. In the meantime some of
the others have built a large forge out on the ice with blocks of ice
and snow, and to-morrow Sverdrup and I will heat and bend the runners
in tar and stearine at such a heat as we can produce in the forge. We
trust we shall be able to get a sufficient temperature to do this
important work thoroughly, in spite of the 40° of frost. Amundsen is
now repairing the mill, as there is something wrong with it again,
the cog-wheels being worn. He thinks he will be able to get it all
right again. Rather chilly work to be lying up there in the wind
on the top of the mill, boring in the hard steel and cast-iron by
lantern-light, and at such a temperature as we are having now. I stood
and watched the lantern-light up there to-day, and I soon heard the
drill working; one could tell the steel was hard; then I could hear
clapping of hands. 'Ah,' thought I, 'you may well clap your hands
together; it is not a particularly warm job to be lying up there in
the wind.' The worst of it is one cannot wear mittens for such work,
but has to use the bare hands if one is to make any progress, and
it would not take long to freeze them off; but it has to be done,
he says, and he will not give in. He is a splendid fellow in all
he undertakes, and I console him by saying that there are not many
before him who have worked on the top of a mill in such frost north
of 83°. On many expeditions they have avoided out-of-door work when
the temperature got so low. 'Indeed,' he says, 'I thought that other
expeditions were in advance of us in that respect. I imagined we had
kept indoors too much.' I had no hesitation in enlightening him on
this point; I know he will do his best in any case.
"This is, indeed, a strange time for me; I feel as if I were preparing
for a summer trip and the spring were already here, yet it is still
midwinter, and the conditions of the summer trip may be somewhat
ambiguous. The ice keeps quiet; the cracking in it and in the Fram
is due only to the cold. I have during the last few days again read
Payer's account of his sledge expedition northward through Austria
Sound. It is not very encouraging. The very land he describes as the
realm of Death, where he thinks he and his companions would inevitably
have perished had they not recovered the vessel, is the place to which
we look for salvation; that is the region we hope to reach when our
provisions have come to an end. It may seem reckless, but nevertheless
I cannot imagine that it is so. I cannot help believing that a land
which even in April teems with bears, auks, and black guillemots,
and where seals are basking on the ice, must be a Canaan, 'flowing
with milk and honey,' for two men who have good rifles and good eyes;
it must surely yield food enough not only for the needs of the moment,
but also provisions for the journey onward to Spitzbergen. Sometimes,
however, the thought will present itself that it may be very difficult
to get the food when it is most sorely needed; but these are only
passing moments. We must remember Carlyle's words: 'A man shall
and must be valiant; he must march forward, and quit himself like
a man--trusting imperturbably in the appointment and choice of the
Upper Powers.' I have not, it is true, any 'Upper Powers'; it would
probably be well to have them in such a case, but we nevertheless are
starting, and the time approaches rapidly; four weeks or a little more
soon pass by, and then farewell to this snug nest, which has been our
home for eighteen months, and we go out into the darkness and cold,
out into the still more unknown:
"'Out yonder 'tis dark,
But onward we must,
Over the dewy wet mountains,
Ride through the land of the ice-troll;
We shall both be saved,
Or the ice-troll's hand
Shall clutch us both.'"
On January 23d I write: "The dawn has grown so much that there was
a visible light from it on the ice, and for the first time this year
I saw the crimson glow of the sun low down in the dawn." We now took
soundings with the lead before I was to leave the vessel; we found 1876
fathoms (3450 metres). I then made some snow-shoes down in the hold; it
was important to have them smooth, tough, and light, on which one could
make good headway; "they shall be well rubbed with tar, stearine, and
tallow, and there shall be speed in them; then it is only a question
of using one's legs, and I have no doubt that can be managed.
"Tuesday, January 29th. Latitude yesterday, 83° 30'. (Some days
ago we had been so far north as 83° 40', but had again drifted
southward.) The light keeps on steadily increasing, and by noon it
almost seems to be broad daylight. I believe I could read the title
of a book out in the open if the print were large and clear. I take
a stroll every morning, greeting the dawning day, before I go down
into the hold to my work at the snowshoes and equipment. My mind
is filled with a peculiar sensation, which I cannot clearly define;
there is certainly an exulting feeling of triumph, deep in the soul, a
feeling that all one's dreams are about to be realized with the rising
sun, which steers northward across the ice-bound waters. But while I
am busy in these familiar surroundings a wave of sadness sometimes
comes over me; it is like bidding farewell to a dear friend and to
a home which has long afforded me a sheltering roof. At one blow all
this and my dear comrades are to be left behind forever; never again
shall I tread this snow-clad deck, never again creep under this tent,
never hear the laughter ring in this familiar saloon, never again
sit in this friendly circle.
"And then I remember that when the Fram at last bursts from her bonds
of ice, and turns her prow towards Norway, I shall not be with her. A
farewell imparts to everything in life its own tinge of sadness,
like the crimson rays of the sun, when the day, good or bad, sinks
in tears below the horizon.
"Hundreds of times my eye wanders to the map hanging there on the
wall, and each time a chill creeps over me. The distance before us
seems so long, and the obstacles in our path may be many; but then
again the feeling comes that we are bound to pull through: it cannot
be otherwise; everything is too carefully prepared to fail now,
and meanwhile the southeast wind is whistling above us, and we are
continually drifting northward nearer our goal. When I go up on deck
and step out into the night with its glittering starry vault and the
flaring aurora borealis, then all these thoughts recede, and I must,
as ever, pause on the threshold of this sanctuary--this dark, deep,
silent space, this infinite temple of nature, in which the soul
seeks to find its origin. Toiling ant, what matters it whether you
reach your goal with your fir-needle or not? Everything disappears
none the less in the ocean of eternity, in the great Nirvana; and as
time rolls on our names are forgotten, our deeds pass into oblivion,
and our lives flit by like the traces of a cloud, and vanish like
the mist dispelled by the warm rays of the sun. Our time is but a
fleeting shadow, hurrying us on to the end--so it is ordained; and
having reached that end, none ever retraces his steps.
"Two of us will soon be journeying farther through this immense waste,
into greater solitudes and deeper stillness.
"Wednesday, January 30th. To-day the great event has happened, that
the windmill is again at work for the first time after its long
rest. In spite of the cold and the darkness, Amundsen had got the
cog-wheels into order, and now it is running as smoothly and steadily
as gutta-percha."
We have now constant northeast winds, and we again bore northward. On
Sunday, February 3d, we were at 83° 43'. The time for our departure
approached, and the preparations were carried on with great
activity. The sledges were completed, and I tried them under various
conditions. I have alluded to the fact that we made maple guards
to put under the fixed nickel-plated runners. The idea of this was
to strengthen both the sledges and the runners, so that they would
at the beginning of the journey, when the loads were heavy, be less
liable to breakage from the jolting to which they would probably be
exposed. Later on, when the load got lighter, we might, if we thought
fit, easily remove them. These guards were also to serve another
purpose. I had an idea that, in view of the low temperature we had
during the winter, and on the dry drift-snow which then covered the
ice-floes, metal would glide less easily than smooth wood, especially
if the latter were well rubbed with rich tar and stearine. By February
8th one of the sledges with wooden guard-runners was finished, so that
we could make experiments in this direction, and we then found that
it was considerably easier to haul than a similar sledge running on
the nickel-plate, though the load on each was exactly the same. The
difference was so great that we found that it was at least half as
hard again to draw a sledge on the nickel runners as on the tarred
maple runners.
Our new ash sledges were now nearly finished and weighed 30 pounds
without the guard-runners. "Everybody is hard at work. Sverdrup is
sewing bags or bolsters to put on the sledges as beds for the kayaks
to rest on. To this end the bags are to be made up to fit the bottoms
of the boats. Johansen with one or two other men are stuffing the bags
with pemmican, which has to be warmed, beaten, and kneaded in order
to give it the right form for making a good bed for our precious
boats. When these square, flat bags are carried out into the cold
they freeze as hard as stone, and keep their form well. Blessing
is sitting up in the work-room, copying the photographs of which I
have no prints. Hansen is working out a map of our route so far, and
copying out his observations for us, etc., etc. In short, there is
hardly a man on board who does not feel that the moment for departure
approaches; perhaps the galley is the only place where everything
goes on in the usual way under the management of Lars. Our position
yesterday was 83° 32.1' north latitude and 102° 28' east longitude,
so we are southward again; but never mind, what do a couple of miles
more or less matter to us?
"Sunday, February 10th. To-day there was so much daylight that at 1
o'clock I could fairly well read the Verdens Gang, when I held the
paper up towards the light; but when I held it towards the moon,
which was low in the north, it was no go. Before dinner I went for
a short drive with 'Gulen' and 'Susine' (two of the young dogs) and
'Kaifas.' 'Gulen' had never been in harness before, but yet she went
quite well; she was certainly a little awkward at first, but that soon
disappeared, and I think she will make a good dog when she is well
trained. 'Susine,' who was driven a little last autumn, conducted
herself quite like an old sledge-dog. The surface is hard, and easy
for the dogs to haul on. They get a good foothold, and the snow is
not particularly sharp for their feet; however, it is not over-smooth;
this drift-snow makes heavy going. The ice is smooth, and easy to run
on, and I trust we shall be able to make good day-journeys; after all,
we shall reach our destination sooner than we had expected. I cannot
deny that it is a long journey, and scarcely any one has ever more
effectually burned his boats behind him. If we wished to turn back
we have absolutely nothing to return to, not even a bare coast. It
will be impossible to find the ship, and before us lies the great
unknown. But there is only one road, and that lies straight ahead,
right through, be it land or sea, be it smooth or rough, be it mere ice
or ice and water. And I cannot but believe that we must get through,
even if we should meet with the worst--viz., land and pack-ice.
"Wednesday, February 13th. The pemmican bolsters and dried-liver pie
are now ready; the kayaks will get an excellent bedding, and I venture
to say that such meat-bolsters are an absolute novelty. Under each
kayak there are three of them, they are made to fit the sledge, and,
as already stated, are moulded to the shape of the kayak. They weigh
100 to 120 pounds each. The empty sacks weigh 2 or 3 pounds each, so
that altogether the meat (pemmican and liver pie) in these three bags
will weigh about 320 pounds. We each had our light sleeping-bags of
reindeer-skin, and we tried to sleep out in them last night, but both
Johansen and I found it rather cold, although it was only 37° Fahr. of
frost. We were, perhaps, too lightly clad under the wolfskin clothing;
we are making another experiment with a little more on to-night.
"Saturday, February 16th. The outfitting is still progressing;
but there are various small things yet to do which take time,
and I do not know whether we shall be ready to start on Wednesday,
February 20th, as I originally intended. The day is now so light
that, so far as that is concerned, we might quite well start then;
but perhaps we had better wait a day or two longer. Three sledge-sails
(for single sledges) are now finished; they are made of very light
calico, and are about 7 feet 2 inches broad by 4 feet 4 inches long;
they are made so that two of them may be laced together and used
as one sail for a double sledge, and I believe they will act well;
they weigh a little over one pound each. Moreover, we have now most
of the provisions ready stowed away in bags."