CHAPTER IX

THE JOURNEY SOUTHWARD

At last, on Tuesday, May 19th, we were ready for the start. Our sledges

stood loaded and lashed. The last thing we did was to photograph our

hut, both outside and inside, and to leave in it a short report of

our journey. It ran thus:

"Tuesday, May 19, 1896. We were frozen in north of Kotelnoi at about

78° 43' north latitude, September 22, 1893. Drifted northwestward

during the following year, as we had expected to do. Johansen and

I left the Fram, March 14, 1895, at about 84° 4' north latitude and

103° east longitude, [68] to push on northward. The command of the

remainder of the expedition was transferred to Sverdrup. Found no

land northward. On April 6, 1895, we had to turn back at 86° 14'

north latitude and about 95° east longitude, the ice having become

impassable. Shaped our course for Cape Fligely; but our watches having

stopped, we did not know our longitude with certainty, and arrived

on August 6, 1895, at four glacier-covered islands to the north of

this line of islands, at about 81° 30' north latitude, and about 7°

E. of this place. Reached this place August 26, 1895, and thought

it safest to winter here. Lived on bear's flesh. Are starting to-day

southwestward along the land, intending to cross over to Spitzbergen

at the nearest point. We conjecture that we are on Gillies Land.

"Fridtjof Nansen."

This earliest report of our journey was deposited in a brass tube which

had formed the cylinder of the airpump of our "Primus." The tube was

closed with a plug of wood and hung by a wire to the roof-tree of

the hut.

At length, on Tuesday, the 19th of May, we were ready, and at 7

P.M. left our winter lair and began our journey south. After having

had so little exercise all the winter, we were not much disposed

for walking, and thought our sledges with the loaded kayaks heavy to

pull along. In order not to do too much at first, but make our joints

supple before we began to exert ourselves seriously, we walked for

only a few hours the first day, and then, well satisfied, pitched our

camp. There was such a wonderfully happy feeling in knowing that we

were, at last, on the move, and that we were actually going homeward.

The following day (Wednesday, May 20th) we also did only a short

day's march. We were making for the promontory to the southwest

of us that we had been looking at all the winter. Judging from the

sky, it was on the farther side of this headland that we should find

open water. We were very eager to see how the land lay ahead of this

point. If we were north of Cape Lofley, the land must begin to trend

to the southeast. If, on the other hand, the trend of the coast was

to the southwest, then this must be a new land farther west, and near

Gillies Land.

The next day (Thursday, May 21st) we reached this promontory, and

pitched our camp there. All through the winter we had called it

the Cape of Good Hope, as we expected to find different conditions

there which would facilitate our advance; and our hopes were not to

be disappointed. From the crest of the mountain I saw open water not

far off to the south, and also two new snow-lands, one large one in

front (in the south, 40° W.), and one not much smaller in the west

(S. 85° W.). It was completely covered with glacier, and looked like

an evenly vaulted shield. I could not see clearly how the coast ran

on account of a headland to the southward. But it did not seem to

trend to the southeast, so that we could not be near Cape Lofley. We

now hoped that we might be able to launch our kayaks the very next

day, and that we should then make rapid progress in a southwesterly

direction; but in this we were disappointed. The next day there was

a snow-storm, and we had to stay where we were. As I lay in the bag

in the morning, preparing breakfast, I all at once caught sight of a

bear walking quietly past us at a distance of about twenty paces. It

looked at us and our kayaks once or twice, but could not quite make

out what we were, as the wind was in another direction and it could

not get scent of us, so it continued its way. I let it go unharmed;

we still had food enough.

On Saturday, May 23d, the weather was still bad, but we went ahead a

little way to examine our road onward. The point to be found out was

whether we ought at once to make for the open water, that lay on the

other side of an island to the west, or whether we ought to travel

southward upon the shore-ice along the land. We came to a headland

consisting of uncommonly marked columnar basalt, which on account of

its peculiar form we called the "Castle." [69] We here saw that the

land stretched farther in a southerly direction, and that the open

water went the same way, only separated from the land by a belt of

shore-ice. As the latter appeared to be full of cracks, we decided

to go over to the island in the west, and put to sea as quickly as

possible. We therefore returned and made all ready. Our preparations

consisted, first and foremost, in carefully calking the seams of our

kayaks by melting stearine over them, and then restowing the cargo so

as to leave room for us to sit in them. The following day (Sunday,

May 24th) we moved on westward towards the island, and as the wind

was easterly and we were able to employ sails on the sledges we got

on pretty quickly across the flat ice. As we approached the island,

however, a storm blew up from the southwest, and after the sledges

had upset several times we were obliged to take down our sails. The

sky became overcast, the air grew misty, and we worked our way against

the strong wind in towards the land. The thing was to get to land as

quickly as possible, as we might evidently expect bad weather. But

now the ice became treacherous. As we approached the land there were

a number of cracks in every direction, and these were covered with a

layer of snow, so that it was difficult to see them. While Johansen

was busy lashing the sail and mast securely to the deck of his kayak,

so that the wind should not carry them away, I went on ahead as fast

as I could to look for a camping-ground; but all of a sudden the ice

sank beneath me, and I lay in the water in a broad crack which had

been concealed by the snow. I tried to get out again, but with my

snow-shoes firmly fastened it was not possible to get them through

all the rubble of snow and lumps of ice that had fallen into the

water on the top of them. In addition to this, I was fastened to the

sledge by the harness, so that I could not turn round. Fortunately,

in the act of falling, I had dug my pikestaff into the ice on the

opposite side of the crack, and, holding myself up by its aid and

the one arm that I had got above the edge of the ice, I lay waiting

patiently for Johansen to come and pull me out. I was sure he must

have seen me fall in, but could not turn enough to look back. When I

thought a long time had passed, and I felt the staff giving way and

the water creeping farther and farther up my body, I began to call out,

but received no answer. I shouted louder for help, and at last heard a

"Hullo!" far behind. After some little time, when the water was up to

my chest, and it would not have been long before I was right under,

Johansen came up and I was pulled out. He had been so occupied with his

sledge that he had not noticed that I was in the water until the last

time I called. This experience had the effect of making me careful in

the future not to go on such deceitful ice with my snow-shoes firmly

attached. By observing a little more caution, we at length reached

the land, and found a camping-place where there was a certain amount

of shelter. To our surprise, we discovered a number of walruses lying

along the shore here, herd upon herd, beside the cracks; but we took

no notice of them either, for the present; we thought we still had

a sufficient supply of food and blubber to draw upon.

During the succeeding days the storm raged, and we could not move. The

entry for Tuesday, May 26th, is as follows: "We have lain weather-bound

yesterday and to-day beneath the glacier cliff on the north side of

this island. The snow is so wet that it will be difficult to get

anywhere; but it is to be hoped that the open channel outside is

not far off, and we shall get on quickly there when once the storm

abates. We shall then make up for this long delay." But our stay

was to be longer than we thought. On Thursday, May 28th, the journal

says: "We were up on the island yesterday, and saw open sea to the

south, but are still lying weather-bound as before. I only moved our

tent-place a little on account of the cracks; the ice threatened to

open just beneath us. There are a great many walruses here. When we

go out over the ice the fellows follow us and come up in the cracks

beside us. We can often hear them grunting as they go, and butting

at the ice under our feet."

That day, however, the storm so far abated that we were able to move

southward along the east side of the island. On the way we passed a

large open pool in the shore-ice between this island and the land. It

must have been shallow here, for there was a strong current, which

was probably the cause of this pool being kept open. We passed two or

three herds of walruses lying on the ice near it. Concerning these

I wrote that evening: "I went up to one herd of about nine to take

photographs of the animals. I went close up to them, behind a little

mound, and they did not see me; but directly I rose up, not more than

20 feet away from them, a female with her young one plunged into the

water through a hole close by. I could not get the others to stir,

however much I shouted. Johansen now joined me, and, although he

threw lumps of snow and ice at them, they would not move; they only

struck their tusks into the lumps and sniffed at them, while I kept

on photographing them. When I went right up to them, most of them at

last got up and floundered away towards the hole, and one plunged in;

but the others stopped and composed themselves to sleep again. Soon,

too, the one that had first disappeared came back and crept on to

the ice. The two that lay nearest to me never stirred at all; they

raised their heads a little once or twice, looked contemptuously at

me as I stood three paces from them, laid their heads down and went

to sleep again. They barely moved when I pricked them in the snout

with my pikestaff, but I was able to get a pretty good photograph

of them. I thought I now had enough, but before I went I gave the

nearest one a parting poke in the snout with my pikestaff; it got

right up, grunted discontentedly, looked in astonishment at me with

its great round eyes, and then quietly began to scratch the back of

its head, and I got another photograph, whereupon it again lay quietly

down. When we went on, they all immediately settled themselves again,

and were lying like immovable masses of flesh when we finally rounded

the promontory and lost sight of them."

Once more we had snow-storms, and now lay weather-bound on the south

side of the island.

"Friday, May 29th. Lying weather-bound.

"Saturday, May 30th. Lying weather-bound, stopping up the tent against

the driving snow while the wind flits round us, attacking first one

side and then another." It was all we could do to keep ourselves

tolerably dry during this time, with the snow drifting in through

the cracks on all sides, on us and our bag, melting and saturating

everything.

"Monday, June 1st. Yesterday it at last grew a little calmer, and

cleared up so that we had bright sunshine in the evening. We rejoiced

in the thought of moving on, got our kayaks and everything ready to

launch, and crept into our bag, to turn out early this morning for a

fine day, as we thought. The only thing that made it a little doubtful

was that the barometer had ceased rising--had fallen again 1 millim.,

in fact. In the night the storm came on again--the same driving snow,

only with this difference, that now the wind is going round the compass

with the sun, so there must soon be an end of it. This is beginning to

be too much of a good thing; I am now seriously afraid that the Fram

will get home before us. I went for a walk inland yesterday. There

were flat clay and gravel stretches everywhere. I saw numerous traces

of geese, and in one place some white egg-shell, undoubtedly belonging

to a goose's egg." We therefore called the island Goose Island. [70]

"Tuesday, June 2d. Still lay weather-bound last night, and to-day it

has been windier than ever. But now, towards evening, it has begun

to abate a little, with a brightening sky and sunshine now and again;

so we hope that there will really be a change for the better. Here we

lie in a hollow in the snow, getting wetter and wetter, and thinking

that it is June already and everything looks beautiful at home, while

we have got no farther than this. But it cannot be much longer before

we are there. Oh, it is too much to think of! If only I could be sure

about the Fram! If she arrives before us, ah! what will those poor

waiting ones do?"

At length, on Wednesday, June 3d, we went on; but now the west wind

had driven the ice landward, so that there was no longer open sea to

travel south upon, and there was nothing for it but to go over the

ice along the land. However, the wind was from the north, and we could

put up a sail on our sledges, and thus get along pretty fast. We still

saw several walruses on the ice, and there were also some in the water

that were continually putting their heads up in the cracks and grunting

after us. The ice we were crossing here was remarkably thin and bad,

and as we got farther south it became even worse. It was so weighed

down with the masses of snow that lay upon it that there was water

beneath the snow wherever we turned. We had to make towards land as

quickly as possible, as it looked still worse farther south. By going

on snow-shoes, however, we kept fairly well on the top of the snow,

though often both sledge and snow-shoes sank down into the water

below and stuck fast, and no little trouble would be caused in getting

everything safely on to firmer ice again. At last, however, we got in

under a high, perpendicular basaltic cliff, [71] which swarmed with

auks. This was the first time we had seen these birds in any great

quantity; hitherto we had only seen one or two singly. We took it as

a sign that we were approaching better-known regions. Alongside of

it, to the southeast, there was a small rocky knoll, where numbers

of fulmar (Procellaria glacialis) seemed to be breeding. Our supply

of food was now getting very low, and we had been hoping for a visit

from some bear or other; but now that we needed them they of course

kept away. We then determined to shoot birds, but the auks flew too

high, and all we got was a couple of fulmars. As we just then passed

a herd of walruses we determined to take some of this despised food,

and we shot one of them, killing it on the spot. At the report the

others raised their heads a little, but only to let them fall again,

and went on sleeping. To get our prize skinned with these brutes lying

around us was not to be thought of, and we must drive them into the

water in some way or other. This was no easy matter, however. We went

up to them, shouted and halloed, but they only looked at us lazily,

and did not move. Then we hit them with snow-shoe staves; they became

angry, and struck their tusks into the ice until the chips flew, but

still would not move. At last, however, by continuing to poke and beat,

we drove the whole herd into the water, but it was not quick work. In

stately, dignified procession they drew back and shambled slowly off,

one after the other, to the water's edge. Here they again looked round

at us, grunting discontentedly, and then plunged into the water one

by one. But while we were cutting up their comrade they kept coming

up again in the crack beside us, grunting and creeping half up on

the ice, as if to demand an explanation of our conduct.

After having supplied ourselves with as much meat and blubber as we

thought we needed for the moment, as well as a quantity of blood, we

pitched our tent close by and boiled a good mess of blood porridge,

which consisted of a wonderful mixture of blood, powdered fish,

Indian meal, and blubber. We still had a good wind, and sailed away

merrily with our sledges all night. When we got to the promontory to

the south of us we came to open water, which here ran right up to the

edge of the glacier-covered land; and all we had to do was to launch

our kayaks and set off along by the glacier cliff, in open sea for

the first time this year. It was strange to be using paddles again

and to see the water swarming with birds--auks and little auks and

kittiwakes all round. The land was covered with glaciers, the basaltic

rock only projecting in one or two places. There were moraines, too,

in several places on the glaciers. We were not a little surprised,

after going some way, when we discovered a flock of eider-ducks on the

water. A little later we saw two geese sitting on the shore, and felt

as if we had come into quite civilized regions again. After a couple

of hours' paddling our progress south was stopped by shore-ice, while

the open water extended due west towards some land we had previously

seen in that direction, but which was now covered by mist. We were

very much in doubt as to which way to choose, whether to go on in

the open water westward--which must take us towards Spitzbergen--or

to leave it and again take to our sledges over the smooth shore-ice

to the south. Although the air was thick and we could not see far, we

felt convinced that by going over the ice we should at last reach open

water on the south side of these islands among which we were. Perhaps

we might there find a shorter route to Spitzbergen. In the meantime

morning was far advanced (June 5th), and we pitched our camp, well

pleased at having got so far south. [72]

As it was still so hazy the following day (Saturday, June 6th)

that we could not see any more of our surroundings than before,

and as there was a strong north wind, which would be inconvenient in

crossing the open sea westward, we determined on going southward over

the shore-ice. We were once more able to use a sail on our sledges, and

we got on better than ever. We often went along without any exertion;

we could stand on our snow-shoes, each in front of our sledge,

holding the steering-pole (a bamboo cane bound firmly to the stem

of the kayaks) and letting the wind carry us along. In the gusts we

often went along like feathers, at other times we had to pull a little

ourselves. We made good progress, and kept on until far into the night,

as we wanted to make as much use of the wind as possible. We crossed

right over the broad sound we had had in front of us, and did not stop

until we were able to pitch our camp by an island on its southern side.

Next evening (Sunday, June 7th) we went on again, still southward,

before the same northerly wind, and we could sail well. We had

hoped to be able to reach the land before we again pitched our camp,

but it was farther than we had thought, and at last, when morning

(Monday, June 8th) was far advanced, we had to stop in the middle

of the ice in a furious storm. The numerous islands among which we

now were seemed more and more mysterious to us. I find in my journal

for that day: "Are continually discovering new islands or lands to

the south. There is one great land of snow beyond us in the west,

and it seems to extend southward a long way." This snow land seemed

to us extremely mysterious; we had not yet discovered a single dark

patch upon it, only snow and ice everywhere. We had no clear idea of

its extent, as we had only caught glimpses of it now and then when the

mist lifted a little. It seemed to be quite low, but we thought that

it must be of a wider extent than any of the lands we had hitherto

travelled along. To the east we found island upon island, and sounds

and fjords the whole way along. We mapped it all as well as we could,

but this did not help us to find out where we were; they seemed to

be only a crowd of small islands, and every now and then a view of

what we took to be the ocean to the east opened up between them.

The ice over which we were now travelling was remarkably different

from that which we had had farther north, near our winter-hut; it

was considerably thinner, and covered, too, with very thick snow,

so that it was not in a good condition for travelling over. When,

therefore, the following day (Tuesday, June 9th), it also began to

stick in lumps to our snow-shoes and the sledge-runners, they both

worked rather heavily; but the wind was still favorable, and we

sailed along well notwithstanding. As we were sailing full speed,

flying before the wind, and had almost reached the land, Johansen

and his sledge suddenly sank down, and it was with difficulty that

he managed to back himself and his things against the wind and on to

the firmer ice. As I was rushing along, I saw that the snow in front

of me had a suspiciously wet color, and my snow-shoes began to cut

through; but fortunately I still had time to luff before any further

misfortune occurred. We had to take down our sails and make a long

detour westward, before we could continue our sail. Next day, also,

the snow clogged, but the wind had freshened, and we sailed better

than ever. As the land to the east [73] now appeared to trend to the

southeast, we steered for the southernmost point of a land to the

southwest. [74] It began to be more and more exciting. We thought we

must have covered about 14 miles that day, and reckoned that we must

be in 80° 8' north latitude, and we still had land in the south. If

it continued far in that direction it was certain that we could not

be on Franz Josef Land (as I still thought might be the case); but we

could not see far in this hazy atmosphere, and then it was remarkable

that the coast on the east began to run in an easterly direction. I

thought it might agree with Leigh-Smith's map of Markham Sound. In

that case we must have come south through a sound which neither he

nor Payer could have seen, and we were therefore not so far out of

our longitude, after all. But no! in our journey southward we could

not possibly have passed right across Payer's Dove Glacier and his

various islands and lands without having seen them. There must still be

a land farther west of this, between Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen;

Payer's map could not be altogether wrong. I wanted to reach the land

in the southwest, but had to stop on the ice; it was too far.

"Our provisions are getting low; we have a little meat for one more

day, but there is no living thing to be seen, not a seal on the ice,

and no open water anywhere. How long is this going on? If we do not

soon reach open sea again, where there may be game to be had, things

will not look very pleasant.

"Tuesday, June 16th. The last few days have been so eventful that there

has been no time to write. I must try to make up for lost time this

beautiful morning, while the sun is peeping in under the tent. The

sea lies blue and shining outside, and one can lie and fancy one's

self at home on a June morning."

On Friday, June 12th, we started again at 4 A.M. with sails on our

sledges. There had been frost, so the snow was in much better condition

again. It had been very windy in the night, too, so we hoped for a good

day. On the preceding day it had cleared up so that we could at last

see distinctly the lands around. We now discovered that we must steer

in a more westerly direction than we had done during the preceding

days, in order to reach the south point of the land to the west. The

lands to the east disappeared eastward, so we had said good-bye to

them the day before. We now saw, too, that there was a broad sound

in the land to the west, [75] and that it was not one entire land,

as we had taken it to be. The land north of this sound was now so

far away that I could only just see it. In the meantime the wind had

dropped a good deal; the ice, too, became more and more uneven--it

was evident that we had come to the drift-ice, and it was much harder

work than we had expected. We could see by the air that there must

be open water to the south, and as we went on we heard, to our joy,

the sound of breakers. At 6 A.M. we stopped to rest a little, and on

going up on to a hummock to take a longitude observation I saw the

water not far off. From a higher piece of glacier-ice we could see

it better. It extended towards the promontory to the southwest. Even

though the wind had become a little westerly now, we still hoped to

be able to sail along the edge of the ice, and determined to go to

the water by the shortest way. We were quickly at the edge of the ice,

and once more saw the blue water spread out before us. We soon had our

kayaks lashed together and the sail up, and put to sea. Nor were our

hopes disappointed; we sailed well all day long. At times the wind

was so strong that we cut through the water, and the waves washed

unpleasantly over our kayaks; but we got on, and we had to put up with

being a little wet. We soon passed the point we had been making for,

[76] and here we saw that the land ran westward, that the edge of

the unbroken shore-ice extended in the same direction, and that we

had water in front of us. In good spirits, we sailed westward along

the margin of the ice. So we were at last at the south of the land

in which we had been wandering for so long, and where we had spent a

long winter. It struck me more than ever that, in spite of everything,

this south coast would agree well with Leigh Smith's map of Franz

Josef Land and the country surrounding their winter quarters; but

then I remembered Payer's map and dismissed the thought.

In the evening we put in to the edge of the ice, so as to stretch our

legs a little; they were stiff with sitting in the kayak all day, and

we wanted to get a little view over the water to the west by ascending

a hummock. As we went ashore the question arose as to how we should

moor our precious vessel. "Take one of the braces," said Johansen; he

was standing on the ice. "But is it strong enough?" "Yes," he answered;

"I have used it as a halyard on my sledge-sail all the time." "Oh,

well, it doesn't require much to hold these light kayaks," said I,

a little ashamed of having been so timid, and I moored them with the

halyard, which was a strap cut from a raw walrus hide. We had been on

the ice a little while, moving up and down close to the kayaks. The

wind had dropped considerably, and seemed to be more westerly, making

it doubtful whether we could make use of it any longer, and we went

up on to a hummock close by to ascertain this better. As we stood

there, Johansen suddenly cried, "I say! the kayaks are adrift!" We

ran down as hard as we could. They were already a little way out,

and were drifting quickly off; the painter had given way. "Here,

take my watch!" I said to Johansen, giving it to him; and as quickly

as possible I threw off some clothing, so as to be able to swim more

easily. I did not dare to take everything off, as I might so easily

get cramp. I sprang into the water, but the wind was off the ice, and

the light kayaks, with their high rigging, gave it a good hold. They

were already well out, and were drifting rapidly. The water was icy

cold; it was hard work swimming with clothes on; and the kayaks

drifted farther and farther, often quicker than I could swim. It

seemed more than doubtful whether I could manage it. But all our hope

was drifting there; all we possessed was on board--we had not even a

knife with us; and whether I got cramp and sank here, or turned back

without the kayaks, it would come to pretty much the same thing; so

I exerted myself to the utmost. When I got tired I turned over, and

swam on my back, and then I could see Johansen walking restlessly up

and down on the ice. Poor lad! He could not stand still, and thought

it dreadful not to be able to do anything. He had not much hope that

I could do it, but it would not improve matters in the least if he

threw himself into the water too. He said afterwards that these were

the worst moments he had ever lived through. But when I turned over

again and saw that I was nearer the kayaks, my courage rose, and I

redoubled my exertions. I felt, however, that my limbs were gradually

stiffening and losing all feeling, and I knew that in a short time

I should not be able to move them. But there was not far to go now;

if I could only hold out a little longer we should be saved--and I

went on. The strokes became more and more feeble, but the distance

became shorter and shorter, and I began to think I should reach the

kayaks. At last I was able to stretch out my hand to the snow-shoe

which lay across the sterns. I grasped it, pulled myself in to the

edge of the kayak--and we were saved! I tried to pull myself up,

but the whole of my body was so stiff with cold that this was an

impossibility. For a moment I thought that, after all, it was too

late; I was to get so far, but not be able to get in. After a little,

however, I managed to swing one leg up on to the edge of the sledge

which lay on the deck, and in this way managed to tumble up. There I

sat, but so stiff with cold that I had difficulty in paddling. Nor

was it easy to paddle in the double vessel, where I first had to

take one or two strokes on one side, and then step into the other

kayak to take a few strokes on the other side. If I had been able

to separate them, and row in one while I towed the other, it would

have been easy enough; but I could not undertake that piece of work,

for I should have been stiff before it was done; the thing to be done

was to keep warm by rowing as hard as I could. The cold had robbed my

whole body of feeling, but when the gusts of wind came they seemed to

go right through me as I stood there in my thin, wet woollen shirt. I

shivered, my teeth chattered, and I was numb almost all over; but I

could still use the paddle, and I should get warm when I got back on to

the ice again. Two auks were lying close to the bow, and the thought

of having auk for supper was too tempting; we were in want of food

now. I got hold of my gun and shot them with one discharge. Johansen

said afterwards that be started at the report, thinking some accident

had happened, and could not understand what I was about out there,

but when he saw me paddle and pick up two birds he thought I had gone

out of my mind. At last I managed to reach the edge of the ice, but

the current had driven me a long way from our landing-place. Johansen

came along the edge of the ice, jumped into the kayak beside me, and

we soon got back to our place, I was undeniably a good deal exhausted,

and could barely manage to crawl on land. I could scarcely stand;

and while I shook and trembled all over Johansen had to pull off the

wet things I had on, put on the few dry ones I still had in reserve,

and spread the sleeping-bag out upon the ice. I packed myself well

into it, and he covered me with the sail and everything he could find

to keep out the cold air. There I lay shivering for a long time, but

gradually the warmth began to return to my body. For some time longer,

however, my feet had no more feeling in them than icicles, for they

had been partly naked in the water. While Johansen put up the tent and

prepared supper, consisting of my two auks, I fell asleep. He let me

sleep quietly, and when I awoke supper had been ready for some time,

and stood simmering over the fire. Auk and hot soup soon effaced the

last traces of my swim. During the night my clothes were hung out to

dry, and the next day were all nearly dry again.

As the tidal current was strong here, and there was no wind for

sailing, we had to wait for the turn of the tide, so as not to have

the current against us; and it was not until late the following evening

that we went on again. We paddled and got on well until towards morning

(June 14th), when we came to some great herds of walrus on the ice. Our

supply of meat was exhausted but for some auks we had shot, and we

had not many pieces of blubber left. We would rather have had a bear,

but as we had seen none lately it was perhaps best to supply ourselves

here. We put in, and went up to one herd behind a hummock. We preferred

young ones, as they were much easier to manipulate; and there were

several here. I first shot one quite small, and then another. The

full-grown animals started up at the first report and looked round,

and at the second shot the whole herd began to go into the water. The

mothers, however, would not leave their dead young ones. One sniffed

at its young one, and pushed it, evidently unable to make out what

was the matter; it only saw the blood spurting from its head. It

cried and wailed like a human being. At last, when the herd began

to plunge in, the mother pushed her young one before her towards the

water. I now feared that I should lose my booty, and ran forward to

save it; but she was too quick for me. She took the young one by one

fore-leg, and disappeared with it like lightning into the depths. The

other mother did the same. I hardly knew how it had all happened, and

remained standing at the edge looking down after them. I thought the

young ones must rise to the surface again, but there was nothing to

be seen; they had disappeared for good. The mothers must have taken

them a long way. I then went towards another herd, where there were

also young ones, and shot one of them; but, made wiser by experience,

I shot the mother too. It was a touching sight to see her bend over her

dead young one before she was shot, and even in death she lay holding

it with one fore-leg. So now we had meat and blubber enough to last a

long time, and meat, too, that was delicious, for the side of young

walrus tastes like loin of mutton. To this we added a dozen auks,

so our larder was now well furnished with good food; and if we needed

more the water was full of auks and other food, so there was no dearth.

The walruses here were innumerable. The herds that had been lying on

the ice and had now disappeared were large; but there had been many

more in the water outside. It seemed to seethe with them on every

side, great and small; and when I estimate their number to have been

at least 300, it is certainly not over the mark.

At 1.30 the next morning (Monday, June 15th) we proceeded on our

way in beautifully calm weather. As walruses swarmed on all sides,

we did not much like paddling singly, and for some distance lashed

the kayaks together; for we knew how obtrusive these gentlemen could

be. The day before they had come pretty near, popped up close beside

my kayak, and several times followed us closely a long distance, but

without doing us any harm. I was inclined to think it was curiosity,

and that they were not really dangerous; but Johansen was not so sure

of this. He thought we had had experience to the contrary, and urged

that at any rate caution could do no harm. All day long we saw herds,

that often followed us a long way, pressing in round the kayaks. We

kept close to the edge of the ice; and if any came too near, we put

in, if possible, on an ice-foot. [77] We also kept close together

or beside one another. We paddled past one large herd on the ice,

and could hear them a long way off lowing like cows.

We glided quickly on along the coast, but unfortunately a mist hung

over it, so that it was often impossible to determine whether they

were channels or glaciers between the dark patches which we could just

distinguish upon it. I wanted very much to have seen a little more of

this land. My suspicion that we were in the neighborhood of the Leigh

Smith winter quarters had become stronger than ever. Our latitude, as

also the direction of the coast-line and the situation of the islands

and sounds, seemed to agree far too well to admit of the possibility

of imagining that another such group of islands could lie in the short

distance between Franz Josef Land and Spitzbergen. Such a coincidence

would be altogether too remarkable. Moreover, we caught glimpses

of land in the far west which in that case could not lie far from

Northeast Land. But Payer's map of the land north of this? Johansen

maintained, with reason, that Payer could not possibly have made such

mistakes as we should in that case be obliged to assume.

Towards morning we rowed for some time without seeing any walrus,

and now felt more secure. Just then we saw a solitary rover pop up

a little in front of us. Johansen, who was in front at the time,

put in to a sunken ledge of ice; and although I really thought that

this was caution carried to excess, I was on the point of following

his example. I had not got so far, however, when suddenly the walrus

shot up beside me, threw itself on to the edge of the kayak, took

hold farther over the deck with one fore-flipper, and, as it tried

to upset me, aimed a blow at the kayak with its tusks. I held on

as tightly as possible, so as not to be upset into the water, and

struck at the animal's head with the paddle as hard as I could. It

took hold of the kayak once more and tilted me up, so that the deck

was almost under water, then let go, and raised itself right up. I

seized my gun, but at the same moment it turned round and disappeared

as quickly as it had come. The whole thing had happened in a moment,

and I was just going to remark to Johansen that we were fortunate in

escaping so easily from that adventure, when I noticed that my legs

were wet. I listened, and now heard the water trickling into the kayak

under me. To turn and run her in on to the sunken ledge of ice was the

work of a moment, but I sank there. The thing was to get out and on

to the ice, the kayak all the time getting fuller. The edge of the ice

was high and loose, but I managed to get up; and Johansen, by tilting

the sinking kayak over to starboard, so that the leak came above the

water, managed to bring her to a place where the ice was low enough to

admit of our drawing her up. All I possessed was floating about inside,

soaked through. "What I most regret is that the water has got into the

photographic apparatus, and perhaps my precious photographs are ruined.

"So here we lie, with all our worldly goods spread out to dry and a

kayak that must be mended before we can face the walrus again. It is

a good big rent that he has made, at least six inches long; but it

is fortunate that it was no worse. How easily he might have wounded

me in the thigh with that tusk of his! And it would have fared ill

with me if we had been farther out, and not just at such a convenient

place by the edge of the ice, where there was a sunken ledge. The

sleeping-bag was soaking wet; we wrung it out as well as we could,

turned the hair outside, and have spent a capital night in it."

On the evening of the same day I wrote: "To-day I have patched

my kayak, and we have gone over all the seams in both kayaks with

stearine; so now we hope we shall be able to go on in quite sound

boats. In the meantime the walruses are lying outside, staring at us

with their great, round eyes, grunting and blowing, and now and then

clambering up on the edge of the ice, as though they wanted to drive

us away.

"Tuesday, June 23d.

"'Do I sleep? Do I dream?

Do I wonder and doubt?

Are things what they seem?

Or are visions about?'

What has happened? I can still scarcely grasp it. How incessant are

the vicissitudes in this wandering life! A few days ago swimming

in the water for dear life, attacked by walrus, living the savage

life which I have lived for more than a year now, and sure of a long

journey before us over ice and sea through unknown regions before we

should meet with other human beings--a journey full of the same ups

and downs, the same disappointments, that we have become so accustomed

to--and now living the life of a civilized European, surrounded by

everything that civilization can afford of luxury and good living, with

abundance of water, soap, towels, clean, soft woollen clothes, books,

and everything that we have been sighing for all these weary months.

"It was past midday on June 17th when I turned out to prepare

breakfast. I had been down to the edge of the ice to fetch salt-water,

had made up the fire, cut up the meat and put it in the pot, and had

already taken off one boot, preparatory to creeping into the bag again,

when I saw that the mist over the land had risen a little since the

preceding day. I thought it would be as well to take the opportunity

of having a look round, so I put on my boot again and went up on to

a hummock near to look at the land beyond. A gentle breeze came from

the land, bearing with it a confused noise of thousands of bird-voices

from the mountain there. As I listened to these sounds of life and

movement, watched flocks of auks flying to and fro above my head,

and as my eye followed the line of coast, stopping at the dark,

naked cliffs, glancing at the cold, icy plains and glaciers in a

land which I believed to be unseen by any human eye and untrodden

by any human foot, reposing in Arctic majesty behind its mantle of

mist--a sound suddenly reached my ear so like the barking of a dog

that I started. It was only a couple of barks, but it could not be

anything else. I strained my ears, but heard no more, only the same

bubbling noise of thousands of birds. I must have been mistaken,

after all; it was only birds I had heard; and again my eye passed

from sound to island in the west. Then the barking came again--first

single barks, then full cry; there was one deep bark, and one sharper;

there was no longer any room for doubt. At that moment I remembered

having heard two reports the day before which I thought sounded

like shots, but I had explained them away as noises in the ice. I

now shouted to Johansen that I heard dogs farther inland. Johansen

started up from the bag where he lay sleeping and tumbled out of the

tent. 'Dogs?' He could not quite take it in, but had to get up and

listen with his own ears while I got breakfast ready. He very much

doubted the possibility of such a thing, yet fancied once or twice

that he heard something which might be taken for the barking of dogs;

but then it was drowned again in the bird-noises, and, everything

considered, he thought that what I had heard was nothing more than

that. I said he might believe what he liked, but I meant to set off as

quickly as possible, and was impatient to get breakfast swallowed. I

had emptied the last of the Indian meal into the soup, feeling sure

that we should have farinaceous food enough by the evening. As we

were eating we discussed who it could be, whether our countrymen or

Englishmen. If it was the English expedition to Franz Josef Land which

had been in contemplation when we started, what should we do? 'Oh,

we'll just have to remain with them a day or two,' said Johansen,

'and then we'll have to go on to Spitzbergen, else it will be too long

before we get home.' We were quite agreed on this point; but we would

take care to get some good provisions for the voyage out of them. While

I went on, Johansen was to stay behind and mind the kayaks, so that we

should run no risk of their drifting away with the ice. I got out my

snow-shoes, glass, and gun, and was ready. Before starting I went up

once more to listen and look out a road across the uneven ice to the

land. But there was not a sound like the barking of dogs, only noisy

auks, harsh-toned little auks, and screaming kittiwakes. Was it these,

after all, that I had heard? I set off in doubt. Then in front of me

I saw the fresh tracks of an animal. They could hardly have been made

by a fox, for if they were, the foxes here must be bigger than any

I had ever seen. But dogs? Could a dog have been no more than a few

hundred paces from us in the night without barking, or without our

having heard it? It seemed scarcely probable; but, whatever it was,

it could never have been a fox. A wolf, then? I went on, my mind full

of strange thoughts, hovering between certainty and doubt. Was all

our toil, were all our troubles, privations, and sufferings to end

here? It seemed incredible, and yet--Out of the shadow-land of doubt,

certainty was at last beginning to dawn. Again the sound of a dog

yelping reached my ear, more distinctly than ever; I saw more and

more tracks which could be nothing but those of a dog. Among them

were foxes' tracks, and how small they looked! A long time passed,

and nothing was to be heard but the noise of the birds. Again arose

doubt as to whether it was all an illusion. Perhaps it was only a

dream. But then I remembered the dogs' tracks; they, at any rate,

were no delusion. But if there were people here we could scarcely be

on Gillies Land or a new land, as we had believed all the winter. We

must, after all, be on the south side of Franz Josef Land, and the

suspicion I had had a few days ago was correct, namely, that we had

come south through an unknown sound and out between Hooker Island

and Northbrook Island, and were now off the latter, in spite of the

impossibility of reconciling our position with Payer's map.

"It was with a strange mixture of feelings that I made my way in

towards land among the numerous hummocks and inequalities. Suddenly I

thought I heard a shout from a human voice, a strange voice, the first

for three years. How my heart beat and the blood rushed to my brain

as I ran up on to a hummock and hallooed with all the strength of my

lungs! Behind that one human voice in the midst of the icy desert--this

one message from life--stood home and she who was waiting there; and I

saw nothing else as I made my way between bergs and ice-ridges. Soon

I heard another shout, and saw, too, from an ice-ridge, a dark form

moving among the hummocks farther in. It was a dog; but farther off

came another figure, and that was a man. Who was it? Was it Jackson,

or one of his companions, or was it perhaps a fellow-countryman? We

approached one another quickly. I waved my hat; he did the same. I

heard him speak to the dog, and I listened. It was English, and as

I drew nearer I thought I recognized Mr. Jackson, whom I remembered

once to have seen.

"I raised my hat; we extended a hand to one another, with a hearty

'How do you do?' Above us a roof of mist shutting out the world

around, beneath our feet the rugged, packed drift-ice, and in the

background a glimpse of the land, all ice, glacier, and mist. On one

side the civilized European in an English check suit and high rubber

water-boots, well shaved, well groomed, bringing with him a perfume

of scented soap, perceptible to the wild man's sharpened senses; on

the other side the wild man clad in dirty rags, black with oil and

soot, with long uncombed hair and shaggy beard, black with smoke,

with a face in which the natural fair complexion could not possibly

be discerned through the thick layer of fat and soot which a winter's

endeavors with warm water, moss, rags, and at last a knife, had sought

in vain to remove. No one suspected who he was or whence he came.

"Jackson: 'I'm immensely glad to see you.'

"'Thank you; I also.'

"'Have you a ship here?'

"'No; my ship is not here.'

"'How many are there of you?'

"'I have one companion at the ice-edge.'

"As we talked, we had begun to go in towards land. I took it for

granted that he had recognized me, or at any rate understood who it

was that was hidden behind this savage exterior, not thinking that

a total stranger would be received so heartily. Suddenly he stopped,

looked me full in the face, and said, quickly:

"'Aren't you Nansen?'

"'Yes, I am.'

"'By Jove! I am glad to see you!'

"And he seized my hand and shook it again, while his whole face became

one smile of welcome, and delight at the unexpected meeting beamed

from his dark eyes.

"'Where have you come from now?' he asked.

"'I left the Fram in 84° north latitude, after having drifted for two

years, and I reached the 86° 15' parallel, where we had to turn and

make for Franz Josef Land. We were, however, obliged to stop for the

winter somewhere north here, and are now on our route to Spitzbergen.'

"'I congratulate you most heartily. You have made a good trip of it,

and I am awfully glad to be the first person to congratulate you on

your return.'

"Once more he seized my hand and shook it heartily. I could not

have been welcomed more warmly; that hand-shake was more than a mere

form. In his hospitable English manner, he said at once that he had

'plenty of room' for us, and that he was expecting his ship every

day. By 'plenty of room' I discovered afterwards that he meant that

there were still a few square feet on the floor of their hut that

were not occupied at night by himself and his sleeping companions. But

'heart-room makes house-room,' and of the former there was no lack. As

soon as I could get a word in, I asked how things were getting on

at home, and he was able to give me the welcome intelligence that

my wife and child had both been in the best of health when he left

two years ago. Then came Norway's turn, and Norwegian politics; but

he knew nothing about that, and I took it as a sign that they must

be all right too. He now asked if we could not go out at once and

fetch Johansen and our belongings; but I thought that our kayaks

would be too heavy for us to drag over this packed-up ice alone,

and that if he had men enough it would certainly be better to send

them out. If we only gave Johansen notice by a salute from our guns he

would wait patiently; so we each fired two shots. We soon met several

men--Mr. Armitage, the second in command; Mr. Child, the photographer;

and the doctor, Mr. Koetlitz. As they approached, Jackson gave them

a sign, and let them understand who I was; and I was again welcomed

heartily. We met yet others--the botanist, Mr. Fisher; Mr. Burgess,

and the Finn Blomqvist (his real name was Melenius). Fisher has since

told me that he at once thought it must be me when he saw a man out

on the ice; but he quite gave up that idea when he met me, for he had

seen me described as a fair man, and here was a dark man, with black

hair and beard. When they were all there, Jackson said that I had

reached 86° 15' north latitude, and from seven powerful lungs I was

given a triple British cheer that echoed among the hummocks. Jackson

immediately sent his men off to fetch sledges and go out to Johansen,

while we went on towards the house, which I now thought I could see on

the shore. Jackson now told me that he had letters for me from home,

and that both last spring and this he had had them with him when he

went north, on the chance of our meeting. We now found that in March

he must have been at no great distance south of our winter-hut, [78]

but had to turn there, as he was stopped by open water--the same open

water over which we had seen the dark atmosphere all the winter. Only

when we came up nearly to the houses did he inquire more particularly

about the Fram and our drifting, and I briefly told him our story. He

told me afterwards that from the time we met he had believed that the

ship had been destroyed, and that we two were the only survivors of the

expedition. He thought he had seen a sad expression in my face when he

first asked about the ship, and was afraid of touching on the subject

again. Indeed, he had even quietly warned his men not to ask. It was

only through a chance remark of mine that he found out his mistake,

and began to inquire more particularly about the Fram and the others.

"Then we arrived at the house, a low Russian timber hut lying on a

flat terrace, an old shore-line beneath the mountain, and 50 feet above

the sea. It was surrounded by a stable and four circular tent-houses,

in which stores were kept. We entered a comfortable, warm nest in

the midst of these desolate, wintry surroundings, the roof and walls

covered with green cloth. On the walls hung photographs, etchings,

photo-lithographs, and shelves everywhere, containing books and

instruments; under the roof clothes and shoes hung drying, and from

the little stove in the middle of the floor of this cozy room the

warm coal fire shone out a hospitable welcome. A strange feeling came

over me as I seated myself in a comfortable chair in these unwonted

surroundings. At one stroke of changing fate all responsibility,

all troubles were swept away from a mind that had been oppressed by

them during three long years; I was in a safe haven, in the midst of

the ice, and the longings of three years were lulled in the golden

sunshine of the dawning day. My duty was done; my task was ended;

now I could rest, only rest and wait.

"A carefully soldered tin packet was handed to me; it contained letters

from Norway. It was almost with a trembling hand and a beating heart

that I opened it; and there were tidings, only good tidings, from

home. A delightful feeling of peace settled upon the soul.

"Then dinner was served, and how nice it was to have bread, butter,

milk, sugar, coffee, and everything that a year had taught us to do

without and yet to long for! But the height of comfort was reached

when we were able to throw off our dirty rags, have a warm bath,

and get rid of as much dirt as was possible in one bout; but we only

succeeded in becoming anything like clean after several days and

many attempts. Then clean, soft clothes from head to foot, hair cut,

and the shaggy beard shaved off, and the transformation from savage

to European was complete, and even more sudden than in the reverse

direction. How delightfully comfortable it was to be able to put on

one's clothes without being made greasy, but, most of all, to be able

to move without feeling them stick to the body with every movement!

"It was not very long before Johansen and the others followed, with

the kayaks and our things. Johansen related how these warm-hearted

Englishmen had given him and the Norwegian flag a hearty cheer when

they came up and saw it waving beside a dirty woollen shirt on a

bamboo rod, which he had put up by my orders, so that I could find my

way back to him. On the way hither they had not allowed him to touch

the sledges, he had only to walk beside them like a passenger, and he

said that, of all the ways in which we had travelled over drift-ice,

this was without comparison the most comfortable. His reception in the

hut was scarcely less hospitable than mine, and he soon went through

the same transformation that I had undergone. I no longer recognize my

comrade of the long winter night, and search in vain for any trace of

the tramp who wandered up and down that desolate shore, beneath the

steep talus and the dark basalt cliff, outside the low underground

hut. The black, sooty troglodyte has vanished, and in his place sits a

well-favored, healthy-looking European citizen in a comfortable chair,

puffing away at a short pipe or a cigar, and with a book before him,

doing his best to learn English. It seems to me that he gets fatter

and fatter every day, with an almost alarming rapidity. It is indeed

surprising that we have both gained considerably in weight since we

left the Fram. When I came here I myself weighed about 14 1/2 stone,

or nearly 22 pounds more than I did when I left the Fram; while

Johansen weighs over 11 stone 11 pounds, having gained a little more

than 13 pounds. This is the result of a winter's feeding on nothing

but bear's meat and fat in an Arctic climate. It is not quite like

the experiences of others in parallel circumstances; it must be

our laziness that has done it. And here we are, living in peace and

quietness, waiting for the ship from home and for what the future will

bring us, while everything is being done for us to make us forget a

winter's privations. We could not have fallen into better hands, and

it is impossible to describe the unequalled hospitality and kindness

we meet with on all hands, and the comfort we feel. Is it the year's

privations and want of human society, is it common interests, that so

draw us to these men in these desolate regions? I do not know; but we

are never tired of talking, and it seems as if we had known one another

for years, instead of having met for the first time a few days ago.

"Wednesday, June 23d. It is now three years since we left home. As

we sat at the dinner-table this evening, Hayward, the cook, came

rushing in and said there was a bear outside. We went out, Jackson

with his camera and I with my rifle. We saw the head of the bear

above the edge of the shore; it was sniffing the air in the direction

of the hut, while a couple of dogs stood at a respectful distance

and barked. As we approached, it came right up over the edge to us,

stopped, showed its teeth, and hissed, then turned round and went

slowly back down towards the shore. To hinder it enough for Jackson

to get near and photograph it, I sent a bullet into its hind-quarters

as it disappeared over the edge. This helped, and a ball in the left

shoulder still more. Surrounded by a few dogs, it now made a stand. The

dogs grew bolder, and a couple of shots in the muzzle from Jackson's

revolver made the bear quite furious. It sprang first at one dog,

'Misère,' caught hold of it by the back, and flung it a good way out

over the ice, then sprang at the other, seizing it by one paw and

tearing one toe badly. It then found an old tin box, bit it flat,

and flung it far away. It was wild with fury, but a ball behind the

ear ended its sufferings. It was a she-bear with milk in the breast;

but there was no sign of any embryo, and no young one was discovered

in the neighborhood.

"Sunday, July 15th. This evening, when Jackson and the doctor were up

on the mountain shooting auks, the dogs began to make a tremendous

row (especially the bear-dog 'Nimrod,' which is chained outside

the door), and howled and whined in a suspicious manner. Armitage

went out, coming back a little while after and asking if I cared to

shoot a bear. I accompanied him with my rifle and camera. The bear

had taken flight to a little hummock out on the ice south of the

house, and was lying at full length on the top of it, with 'Misère'

and a couple of puppies round it, standing at a little distance and

barking persistently. As we approached it fled over the ice. The

range was long, but, nevertheless, we sent a few shots after it,

thinking we might perhaps retard its progress. With one of these

I was fortunate enough to hit it in the hind-quarters, and it now

fled to a new ice-hill. Here I was able to get nearer to it. It was

evidently very much enraged; and when I came under the hummock where

it stood it showed its teeth and hissed at me, and repeatedly gave

signs of wanting to jump down on to the top of me. On these occasions

I rapidly got ready my rifle instead of the camera. It scraped away

the loose snow from under its feet to get a better footing for the

leap which, however, it never took; and I re-exchanged my rifle for

my camera. In the meantime, Jackson had arrived with his camera on

the other side; and when we had taken all the photographs we wanted

we shot the bear. It was an unusually large she-bear."

One of the first things we did when we came to Mr. Jackson's station

was of course to make a close comparison of our watches with his

chronometer; and Mr. Armitage was also kind enough to take careful

time-observations for me. It now appears that we had not been so far

out, after all. We had put our watches about 26 minutes wrong, making

a difference of about 6 1/2° in longitude. A protracted comparison

undertaken by Mr. Armitage also showed that the escapement of our

watches was very nearly what we had assumed. With the help of this

information I was now enabled to work out our longitude observations

pretty correctly; and one of the first tasks I here set about, now

that we once more had access to paper, writing and drawing materials,

and all that we had longed for so much during the winter, was to

prepare a sketch-map of Franz Josef Land, as our observations led me to

conclude that it must actually be. Mr. Jackson very kindly allowed me

to consult the map he had made of that part of the land which he had

explored. This enabled me to dispense with the labor of reckoning out

my own observations in these localities. Furthermore, I have to thank

Mr. Jackson for aid in every possible way, with navigation-tables,

nautical almanac, [79] scales, and all sorts of drawing material.

It is by a comparison of Payer's map, Jackson's map, and my own

observations that I have made out the sketch-map reproduced on page

599. I have altered Payer's and Jackson's map only at places where my

observations differ essentially from theirs. I make no pretence to give

more than a provisional sketch; I had not even time to work out my own

observations with absolute accuracy. When this has been done, and if I

can gain access to all Payer's material, no doubt a considerably more

trustworthy map can be produced. The only importance which I claim for

the accompanying map is that it shows roughly how what we have hitherto

called Franz Josef Land is cut up into innumerable small islands,

without any continuous and extensive mass of land. Much of Payer's

map I found to coincide well enough with our observations. But the

enigma over which we had pondered the whole winter still remained

unsolved. Where was Dove Glacier and the whole northern part of

Wilczek Land? Where were the islands which Payer had named Braun

Island, Hoffmann Island, and Freeden Island? The last might, no

doubt, be identified with the southernmost island of Hvidtenland

(White Land), but the others had completely disappeared. I pondered

for a long time over the question how such a mistake could have

crept into a map by such a man as Payer--an experienced topographer,

whose maps, as a rule, bear the stamp of great accuracy and care,

and a polar traveller for whose ability I have always entertained

a high respect. I examined his account of his voyage, and there

I found that he expressly mentions that during the time he was

coasting along this Dove Glacier he had a great deal of fog, which

quite concealed the land ahead. But one day (it was April 7, 1874)

he says: [80] "At this latitude (81° 23') it seemed as if Wilczek

Land suddenly terminated, but when the sun scattered the driving

mists we saw the glittering ranges of its enormous glaciers--the Dove

Glaciers--shining down on us. Towards the northeast we could trace

land trending to a cape lying in the gray distance: Cape Buda-Pesth,

as it was afterwards called. The prospect thus opened to us of a vast

glacier land conflicted with the general impression we had formed of

the resemblance between the newly discovered region and Spitzbergen;

for glaciers of such extraordinary magnitude presuppose the existence

of a country stretching far into the interior."

I have often thought over this description, and I cannot find

in Payer's book any other information that throws light upon the

mystery. Although, according to this, it would appear as if they

had had clear weather that day, there must, nevertheless, have been

fog-banks lying over Hvidtenland, uniting it with Wilczek Land to

the south and stretching northward towards Crown Prince Rudolf

Land. The sun shining on these fog-banks must have glittered so

that they were taken for glaciers along a continuous coast. I can

all the more easily understand this mistake, as I was myself on the

point of falling into it. As before related, if the weather had not

cleared on the evening of June 11th, enabling us to discern the sound

between Northbrook Island and Peter Head (Alexandra Land), we should

have remained under the impression that we had here continuous land,

and should have represented it as such in mapping this region.

Mr. Jackson and I frequently discussed the naming of the lands we had

explored. I asked him whether he would object to my naming the land on

which I had wintered "Frederick Jackson's Island," as a small token

of our gratitude for the hospitality he had shown us. We had made

the discovery that this island was separated by sounds from the land

farther north which Payer had named Karl Alexander Land. For the rest,

I refrained from giving names to any of the places which Jackson had

seen before I saw them.

The country around Cape Flora proved to be very interesting from

the geological point of view, and as often as time permitted I

investigated its structure, either alone, or more frequently in

company with the doctor and geologist of the English expedition,

Dr. Koetlitz. Many an interesting excursion did we make together up

and down those steep moraines in search of fossils, which in certain

places we found in great numbers. It appeared that from the sea-level

up to a height of about 500 or 600 feet the land consisted of a soft

clay mixed with lumps of a red-brown clay sandstone, in which lumps

the fossils chiefly abounded. But the earth was so overstrewn with

loose stones, which had rolled down from the basalt walls above,

that it was difficult to reach it. For a long time I maintained

that all this clay was only a comparatively late strand formation;

but the doctor was indefatigable in his efforts to convince me that

it really was an old and very extensive formation, stretching right

under the superimposed basalt. At last I had to yield, when we arrived

at the topmost stratum of the clay and I saw it actually going under

the basalt, and found some shallower strata of basalt lower down in

the clay. An examination of the fossils, which consisted for the most

part of ammonites and belemnites, convinced me that the whole of this

clay formation must date from the Jurassic period. At several places

Dr. Koetlitz had found thin strata of coal in the clay. Petrified

wood was also of common occurrence. But over the clay formation

lay a mighty bed of basalt 600 or 700 feet in height, which was

certainly not the least interesting feature of the country. It was

distinguished by its coarse-grained structure from the majority of

typical basalts, and seemed to be closely related to those which are

found in Spitsbergen and Northeast Land. [81] The basalt, however,

seems to vary a good deal in appearance here in Franz Josef Land. That

which we found farther north--for example, at Cape M'Clintock and on

Goose Island--was considerably more coarse-grained than that which

we found here. The situation of the basalt here on Northbrook Island

and the surrounding islands was also very different from that which we

had observed farther north. It is here met with, as a rule, only at a

height of 500 or 600 feet above the sea, while on the more northerly

islands--from 81° northward--it reached right to the shore. Thus

it dropped in an almost perpendicular wall straight into the sea at

Jackson's Cape Fisher, in 81°. It was the same at Cape M'Clintock,

at our winter cabin, at the headland of columnar basalt where we

passed the night of August 25, 1895, at Cape Clements Markham, and at

the sharp point of rock where we landed on the night between August

16th and 17th. The structure seemed to be similar, too, so far as we

had seen, on the south side of Crown Prince Rudolf's Land. Wherever

we had been to the northward I had kept a sharp lookout for strata

whose fossils could give us any information as to the geological

age of this country. According to what I here found at Cape Flora,

it appeared as if a great part at least of this basalt dated from the

Jurassic period, as it lay immediately above, and was partly intermixed

with, strata of this age. Moreover, on the top of the basalt, as will

presently appear, vegetable fossils were found dating from the later

part of the Jurassic period. It thus seems as though Franz Josef Land

were of a comparatively old formation. All these horizontal strata

of basalt, stretching over all the islands at about the same height,

seem to indicate that there was once a continuous mass of land here,

which in the course of time, being exposed to various disintegrating

forces, such as frost, damp, snow, glaciers, and the sea, has been

split up and worn away, and has in part disappeared under the sea,

so that now only scattered islands and rocks remain, separated from

each other by fjords and sounds. As these formations bear a certain

resemblance to what has been found in several places in Spitzbergen

and Northeast Land, we may plausibly assume that these two groups

of islands originally belonged to the same mass of land. It would

therefore be interesting to investigate the as yet unknown region which

separates them, the region which we should have had to traverse had

we not fallen in with Jackson and his expedition. There is doubtless

much that is new, and especially many new islands, to be found in this

strait--possibly a continuous series of islands, so that there may be

some difficulty in determining where the one archipelago ends and the

other begins. The investigation of this region is a problem of no small

scientific importance, which we may hope that the Jackson-Harmsworth

expedition will succeed in solving.

How far the Franz Josef Land archipelago stretches towards the

north cannot as yet be determined with certainty. According to our

experience, indeed, it would seem improbable that there is land of

any great extent in that direction. It is true that Payer, when he

was upon Crown Prince Rudolf's Land, saw Petermann's Land and Oscar's

Land, the first to the north and the second to the west; but that

Petermann's Land, at any rate, cannot be of any size seems to be

proved by our observations, since we saw no land at all as we came

southward a good way east of it, and the ice seemed to drift to the

westward practically unimpeded when we were in its latitude. That

King Oscar's Land also cannot be of any great extent seems to me

evident from what we saw in the course of the winter and spring,

as the wind swept the ice unhindered away from the land, so that

there can scarcely be any extensive and continuous mass of land to

the north or northwest to keep it back.

It is, perhaps, even more difficult to determine how far the Franz

Josef Land archipelago stretches to the eastward. From all we saw,

I should judge that Wilczek Land cannot be of any great extent;

but there may nevertheless be new islands farther to the east. This

seems probable, indeed, from the fact that in June and July, 1895,

we remained almost motionless at about 82° 5' north latitude, in spite

of a long continuance of northerly winds; whence it seemed that there

must be a stretch of land south of us obstructing, like a long wall,

the farther drift of the ice to the southward. But it is useless to

discuss this question minutely here, as it, too, will doubtless be

answered authoritatively by the English expedition.

Another feature of Northbrook Island which greatly interested me was

the evidence it presented of changes in the level of the sea. I have

already mentioned that Jackson's hut lay on an old strand-line or

terrace about from 40 to 50 feet high, but there were also several

other strand-lines, both lower and higher. Thus I found that Leigh

Smith, who also had wintered on this headland, had built his hut upon

an old strand-line 17 feet above the sea-level, while at other places

I found strand-lines at a height of 80 feet. I had already noticed

such strand-lines at different elevations when I first arrived in the

previous autumn at the more northern part of this region (for example,

on Torup's Island). Indeed, we had lived all winter on such a terrace.

Jackson had found whales' skeletons at several places about Cape

Flora. Close to his hut, for instance, at a height of 50 feet, there

lay the skull of a whale, a balæna, possibly a Greenland whale (Balæna

mysticetus?). At a point farther north there lay fragments of a whole

skeleton, probably of the same species. The underjaw was 18 feet 3

inches long; but these bones lay at an elevation of not more than 9

feet above the present sea-level. I also found other indications that

the sea must at a comparatively recent period have risen above these

low strand-terraces. For instance, they were at many points strewn

with mussel-shells. This land, then, seems to have been subjected

to changes of level analogous to those which have occurred in other

northern countries, of which, as above mentioned, I had also seen

indications on the north coast of Asia.

One day when Mr. Jackson and Dr. Koetlitz were out on an excursion

together they found on a "nunatak," or spur of rock, projecting above a

glacier on the north side of Cape Flora, two places which were strewn

with vegetable fossils. This discovery, of course, aroused my keenest

interest, and on July 17th Dr. Koetlitz and I set out for the spot

together. The spur of rock consisted entirely of basalt, at some points

showing a marked columnar structure, and projected in the middle of

the glacier, at a height which I estimated at 600 or 700 feet above

the sea. Unfortunately, there was no time to measure its elevation

exactly. At two points on the surface of the basalt there was a layer

consisting of innumerable fragments of sandstone. In almost every

one of these impressions were to be found, for the most part, of the

needles and leaves of pine-trees, but also of small fern-leaves. We

picked up as many of these treasures as we could carry, and returned

that evening heavily laden and in high contentment. On a snow-shoe

excursion some days later Johansen also chanced unwittingly upon the

same place, and gathered fossils, which he brought to me. Since my

return home this collection of vegetable fossils has been examined by

Professor Nathorst, and it appears that Mr. Jackson and Dr. Koetlitz

have here made an extremely interesting find.

Professor Nathorst writes to me as follows: "In spite of their very

fragmentary condition the vegetable fossils brought home by you

are of great interest, as they give us our first insight into the

plant-world in regions north of the eightieth degree of latitude during

the latter part of the Jurassic period. The most common are leaves

of a fir-tree (Pinus) which resembles the Pinus Nordenskiöldi (Heer)

found in the Jurassic strata of Spitzbergen, East Siberia, and Japan,

but which probably belongs to a different species. There occur also

narrower leaves of another species, and furthermore male flowers and

fragments of a pine cone [82] with several seeds (Figs. 1-3), one of

which (Fig. 1) suggests the Pinus Maakiana (Heer) from the Jurassic

strata of Siberia. Among traces of other pine-trees may be mentioned

those of a broad-leaved Taxites, resembling Taxites gramineus (Heer),

specially found in the Jurassic strata of Spitzbergen and Siberia,

which has leaves of about the same size as those of the Cephalotaxus

Fortunei, at present existing in China and Japan. It is interesting,

too, to find remains of the genus Feildenia (Figs. 4 and 5), which has

as yet been found only in the polar regions. It was first discovered

by Nordenskiöld in the Tertiary strata near Cape Staratschin,

on Spitzbergen, in 1868, and was described by Heer under the name

of Torellia. It was subsequently found by Feilden in the Tertiary

strata at Discovery Bay, in Grinnell Land, during the English Polar

Expedition of 1875-76; and Heer now changed the generic name to

Feildenia, as Torellia had already been employed as the name of a

mussel. This species has since been found by me in 1882 in the Upper

Jurassic strata of Spitzbergen. The leaves remind one of the leaves

of the subspecies nageia of the existing genus Podocarpus.

"The finest specimens of the whole collection are the leaves of a small

Gingko, of which one is complete (Fig. 6). This genus, with plum-like

seeds and with leaves which, unlike those of other pine-trees, have

a real leaf-blade, is found at present, in one single species only,

in Japan, but existed in former times in numerous forms and in many

regions. During the Jurassic period it flourished especially in East

Siberia, and has also been found on Spitzbergen, in East Greenland

(at Scoresby Sound), and at many places in Europe, etc. During the

Cretaceous and the Tertiary periods it was still found on the west

coast of Greenland at 70° north latitude. The leaf here reproduced

belongs to a new species, which might be called Gingko polaris, and

which is most closely related to the G. flabellata (Heer) from the

Jurassic strata of Siberia. It bears a certain habitual resemblance

to Gingko digitata (Lindley and Hutton), particularly as found in

the brown Jurassic strata of England and Spitzbergen; but its leaves

are considerably smaller. Besides this species, one or two others may

also occur in this collection, as well as fragments of the leaves of

the genus Czekanowskia, related to the Gingko family, but with narrow

leaf-blades resembling pine-needles.

"Ferns are very scantily represented. Such fragments as there are

belong to four different types; but the species can scarcely be

determined. One fragment belongs to the genus Cladophlebis, common

in Jurassic strata; another suggests the Thyrsopteris, found in the

Jurassic strata of East Siberia and of England; a third suggests the

Onychiopsis characteristic of the Upper Jurassic strata. The fourth,

again, seems to be closely related to the Asplenium (Petruschinense),

which Heer has described, found in the Siberian Jurassic strata. The

specimen is remarkable from the fact that the epidermis cells of the

leaf have left a clear impression on the rock.

"With its wealth of pine leaves, its poverty of ferns, and its

lack of Cycadaceæ, this Franz Josef Land flora has somewhat the same

character as that of the Upper Jurassic flora of Spitzbergen, although

the species are somewhat different. Like the Spitzbergen flora, it

does not indicate a particularly genial climate, although doubtless

enormously more so than that of the present day. The deposits must

doubtless have occurred in the neighborhood of a pine forest. So far as

the specimens enable one to judge, the flora seems to belong rather to

the Upper (White) Jurassic system than to the Middle (Brown) system."

It was undeniably a sudden transition to come straight from our

long inert life in our winter lair, where one's scientific interests

found little enough stimulus, right into the midst of this scientific

oasis, where there was plenty of opportunity for work, where books

and all necessary apparatus were at hand, and where one could employ

one's leisure moments in discussing with men of similar tastes all

sorts of scientific questions connected with the Arctic zone. In the

botanist of the expedition, Mr. Harry Fisher, I found a man full of

the warmest interest in the fauna and flora of the polar regions, and

the exhaustive investigations which his residence here has enabled him

to make into the plant-life and animal-life (especially the former) of

the locality, both by sea and land, will certainly augment in a most

valuable degree our knowledge of its biological conditions. I shall

not easily forget the many pleasant talks in which he communicated to

me his discoveries and observations. They were all eagerly absorbed

by a mind long deprived of such sustenance. I felt like a piece of

parched soil drinking in rain after a drouth of a whole year.

But other diversions were also available. If my brain grew fatigued

with unwonted labor, I could set off with Jackson for the top of

the moraine to shoot auks, which swarmed under the basalt walls. They

roosted in hundreds and hundreds on the shelves and ledges above us; at

other places the kittiwakes brooded on their nests. It was a refreshing

scene of life and activity. As we stood up there at a height of 500

feet, and could look far out over the sea, the auks flew in swarms

backward and forward over our heads, and every now and then we would

knock over one or two as they passed. Every time a gun was fired the

report echoed through all the rocky clefts, and thousands of birds flew

shrieking down from the ledges. It seemed as though a blast of wind

had swept a great dust-cloud down from the crest above; but little by

little they returned to their nests, many of them meanwhile falling

to our guns. Jackson had here a capital larder, and he made ample

use of it. Almost every day he was up under the rock shooting auks,

which formed a daily dish at dinner. In the autumn great stores of

them were laid in to last through the winter. At other times Jackson

and Blomqvist would go up and gather eggs. They dragged a ladder up

with them, and by its aid Jackson clambered up the perpendicular

cliffs. This egg-hunting among the loose basalt cliffs, where the

stones were perpetually slipping away from under one, appeared to

me such dare-devil work that I was chary in taking part in it. Far

be it from me to deny, however, that the eggs made delicious eating,

whether we had them soft-boiled for breakfast or made into pancakes for

dinner. It was remarkable how entirely I had got out of training for

climbing in precipitous places. I well remember that the first time I

went up the moraine with Jackson I had to stop and take breath every

hundred paces or so. This was, no doubt, due to our long inactivity;

perhaps, too, I had become somewhat anæmic during the winter in our

lair. But there was more than that in it; the very height and steepness

made me uneasy; I was inclined to turn dizzy, and had great difficulty

in coming down again, preferring, if possible, simply to sit down

and slide. After a while this passed off a little, and I became more

accustomed to the heights again. I also became less short-winded,

and at last I could climb almost like a normal human being.

In the meantime the days wore on, and still we saw nothing of the

Windward. Johansen and I began to get a little impatient. We discussed

the possibility that the ship might not make its way through the

ice, and that we should have to winter here, after all. This idea

was not particularly attractive to us--to be so near home and yet

not to reach home. We regretted that we had not at once pushed on

for Spitzbergen; perhaps we should by this time have reached the

much-talked-of sloop. When we came to think of it, why on earth had

we stopped here? That was easily explained. These people were so kind

and hospitable to us that it would have been more than Spartan had we

been able to resist their amiability. And then we had gone through a

good deal before we arrived, and here was a warm, cozy nest, where

we had nothing to do but to sit down and wait. Waiting, however,

is not always the easiest of work, and we began seriously to think

of setting off again for Spitzbergen. But had we not delayed too

long? It was the middle of July, and although we should probably

get on quickly enough, we might meet with unexpected impediments,

and it might take us a month or more to reach the waters in which

we could hope to find a ship. That would bring us to the middle or

perhaps to the end of August, by which time the sloops had begun to

make for home. If we did not come across one at once, when we got

into September it would be difficult enough to get hold of one, and

then we should perhaps be in for another winter of it, after all. No,

it was best to remain here, for there was every chance that the ship

would make its appearance. The best time for navigating these waters

is August and the beginning of September, when there is generally

the least ice. We must trust to that, and let the time pass as best

it might. There were others than we who waited impatiently for the

ship. Four members of the English expedition were also to go home in

her, after two years' absence.

"Monday, July 20th. We begin to get more and more impatient for

the arrival of the vessel, but the ice is still tolerably thick

here. Jackson says that she should have been here by the middle

of June, and thinks that there has several times been sufficiently

open water for her to have got through; but I have my doubts about

that. Though only a little scattered ice is to be seen here, even from

a height of 500 feet, that does not mean much; there may be more ice

farther south blocking the way. One day Jackson and the doctor were on

the top of the mountain here, and from that point, too, there seemed

to be very little ice in the south; but I am not convinced any the

more. I think all experience goes to show that there must still be

plenty of ice in the sea to the south. What Mr. Jackson says about the

Windward having been able to get through as early as July last year

without needing to touch the ice, adding that then, too, there was

no ice to be seen from here, I do not find at all conclusive. During

the last few days more ice has again come drifting in from the east. I

long to get away. What if we are shut in here all the winter? Then we

shall have done wrong in stopping here. Why did we not continue our

journey to Spitzbergen? We should have been at home by now. The eye

wanders out over the boundless white plain. Not one dark streak of

water--ice, ice!--shut out from the world, from the throbbing life,

the life that we believed to be so near.

"Low down on the horizon there is a strip of blue-gray cloud. Far,

far away beyond the ice there is open water, and perhaps there, rocked

on long swelling billows from the great ocean, lies the vessel which

is to bear us to the familiar shores, the vessel which brings tidings

from home and from those we love.

"Dream, dream of home and beauty! Stray bird, here among the ice and

snow you will seek for them all in vain. Dream the golden dream of

future reunion!

"Tuesday, July 21st. Have at last got a good wind from the north which

is sending the ice out to sea. There is nothing but open sea to be

seen this evening; now perhaps there is hope of soon seeing the vessel.

"Wednesday, July 22d. Continual changes and continual

disappointments. Yesterday hope was strong; to-day the wind has

changed to the southeast, and driven the ice in again. We may still

have to wait a long time.

"Sunday, July 26th. The vessel has come at last. I was awakened this

morning by feeling some one pull my legs. It was Jackson, who, with

beaming countenance, announced that the Windward had come. I jumped

up and looked out of the window. There she was, just beyond the edge

of the ice, steaming slowly in to find an anchorage. Wonderful to

see a ship again! How high the rigging seemed, and the hull! It was

like an island. There would be tidings on board from the great world

far beyond."

There was a great stir. Every man was up, arrayed in the most wonderful

costumes, to gaze out of the window. Jackson and Blomqvist rushed off

as soon as they had got on their clothes. As I scarcely had anything

to do on board at present I went to bed again, but it was not long

before Blomqvist came panting back, sent by the thoughtful Jackson,

to say that all was well at home, and that nothing had been heard of

the Fram. This was the first thing Jackson had asked about. I felt my

heart as light as a feather. He said, too, that when Jackson had told

the men who had come to meet him on the ice about us and our journey,

they had greeted the intelligence with three hearty cheers.

I had hardly slept two hours that night, and not much more the night

before. I tried to sleep, but there was no rest to be had; I might just

as well dress and go on board. As I drew near the vessel I was greeted

with ringing cheers by the whole crew gathered on the deck, where I

was heartily received by the excellent Captain Brown, commander of the

Windward; by Dr. Bruce and Mr. Wilton, who were both to winter with

Jackson, and by the ship's company. We went below into the roomy, snug

cabin, and all kinds of news were eagerly swallowed by listening ears,

while an excellent breakfast with fresh potatoes and other delicacies

glided down past a palate which needed less than that to satisfy

it. There were remarkable pieces of news indeed. One of the first was

that now they could photograph people through doors several inches

thick. I confess I pricked up my ears at this information. That they

could photograph a bullet buried in a person's body was wonderful too,

but nothing to this. And then we heard that the Japanese had thrashed

the Chinese, and a good deal more. Not least remarkable, we thought,

was the interest which the whole world now seemed to take in the

Arctic regions. Spitzbergen had become a tourist country; a Norwegian

steamship company (the Vesteraalen) had started a regular passenger

service to it, [83] a hotel had been built up there, and there was

a post-office and a Spitzbergen stamp. And then we heard that Andrée

was there waiting for wind to go to the Pole in a balloon. If we had

pursued our course to Spitzbergen we should thus have dropped into the

very middle of all this. We should have found a hotel and tourists,

and should have been brought home in a comfortable modern steamboat,

very different from the whaling-sloop we had been talking of all the

winter, and, indeed, all the previous year. People are apt to think

that it would be amusing to see themselves, and I form no exception to

this rule. I would have given a good deal to see us in our unwashed,

unsophisticated condition, as we came out of our winter lair, plumping

into the middle of a band of English tourists, male and female. I doubt

whether there would then have been much embracing or shaking of hands,

but I don't doubt that there would have been a great deal of peering

through ventilators or any other loophole that could have been found.

The Windward had left London on June 9th, and Vardö on the 25th. They

had brought four reindeer with them for Jackson, but no horses,

as he had expected. [84] One reindeer had died on the voyage.

Every one was now busily employed in unlading the Windward, and

bringing to land the supplies of provisions, coal, reindeer-moss,

and other such things which it had brought for the expedition. Both

the ship's crew and the members of the English expedition took part

in this work, which proceeded rapidly, and had soon made a level road

over the uneven ice; and now load after load was driven on sledges to

land. In less than a week Captain Brown was ready to start for home,

and only awaited Jackson's letters and telegrams. They took a few

more days, and then everything was ready. In the meantime, however,

a gale had sprung up, blowing on the shore, the Windward's moorings

at the edge of the ice had given way, she was set adrift and obliged

to seek a haven farther in, where, however, it was so shallow that

there was only one or two feet of water beneath her keel. Meanwhile,

the wind drove the ice in, the navigable water closed in all round it

outside, and the floes were continually drawing nearer. For a time the

situation looked anything but pleasant; but fortunately the ice did

not reach the vessel, and she thus escaped being screwed out of the

water. After a delay of a couple of days on this account the vessel

got out again.

And now we were to bid adieu to this last station on our route, where

we had met with such a cordial and hospitable reception. A feverish

energy came over the little colony. Those who were going home had to

make themselves ready for the voyage, and those who were to remain

had to bring their letters and other things on board. This, however,

was sufficiently difficult. The vessel lay waiting impatiently and

incessantly sounding her steam-whistle; and a quantity of loose ice

had packed itself together outside the edge of the shore-ice, so that

it was not easy to move. At last, however, those who were to remain had

gone on shore, and we who were going home were all on board--that is to

say, Mr. Fisher, the botanist; Mr. Child, the chemist; Mr. Burgess; and

the Finn, Blomqvist, of the English expedition, along with Johansen and

myself. As the sun burst through the clouds above Cape Flora we waved

our hats, and sent our last cheer as a farewell to the six men standing

like a little dark spot on the floe in that great icy solitude; and

under full sail and steam we set out on August 7th, with a fair wind,

over the undulating surface of the ocean, towards the south.

Fortune favored us. On her northward voyage the Windward had much and

difficult ice to combat with before she at last broke through and came

in to land. Now, too, we met a quantity of ice, but it was slack and

comparatively easy to get through. We were stopped in a few places,

and had to break a way through with the engine; but the ship was

in good hands. From his long experience as a whaler, Captain Brown

knew well how to contend with greater odds than the thin ice we met

with here--the only ice that is found in this sea. From morning till

night he sat up in the crow's-nest as long as there was a bit of ice

in the water. He gave himself little time for sleep; the point was,

as he often said to me, to bring us home before the Fram arrived,

for he understood well what a blow it would give to those near and

dear to us if she got home before us. Thanks to him, we had as short

and pleasant a homeward voyage as few, if any, can have had from

these inhospitable regions, where we had spent three years. From the

moment we set foot on deck, he did everything to make us comfortable

and at home on board, and we spent many a pleasant hour together,

which will never be forgotten by either of us. But it was not only

the captain who treated us in this way. Every man of the excellent

crew showed us kindness and goodwill in every way. I cannot think of

them--of the little steward, for instance, when he popped his head

into the cabin to ask what he could get for us, or wakened me in the

morning with his cheery voice, or sang his songs for us--without a

feeling of unspeakable well-being and happiness. Then, too, we were

continually drawing nearer home; we could count the days and hours

that must pass before we could reach a Norwegian port and be once

more in communication with the world.

From the experience he had had on the northward voyage, Captain Brown

had come to the conclusion that he would find his way out of the ice

most easily by first steering in a southeasterly direction towards

Novaya Zemlya, which he thought would be the nearest way to the open

sea. This proved also to be exactly the case. After having gone about

220 knots through the ice, we came into the open sea at the end of

a long bay, which ran northward into the ice. It was just at the

right spot; had we been a little farther east or a little farther

west, we might have spent as many weeks drifting about in the ice

as we now spent days in it. Once more we saw the blue ocean itself

in front of us, and we shaped our course straight for Vardö. It was

an indescribably delightful feeling once more to gaze over the blue

expanse, as we paced up and down the deck, and were day by day carried

nearer home. One morning, as we stood looking over the sea, our gaze

was arrested by something; what could that be on the horizon? We ran

on to the bridge and looked through the glass. The first sail. Fancy

being once more in waters where other people went to and fro! But

it was far away; we could not go to it. Then we saw more, and later

in the day four great monsters ahead. They were British men-of-war,

probably on their way home after having been at Vadsö for the eclipse

of the sun, which was to have taken place on August 9th. Later in

the evening (August 12th) I saw something dark ahead, low down on the

horizon. What was it? I saw it on the starboard bow, stretching low

and even towards the south. I looked again and again. It was land,

it was Norway! I stood as if turned to stone, and gazed and gazed out

into the night at this same dark line, and fear began to tremble in

my breast. What were the tidings that awaited me there?

When I came on deck next morning we were close under the land. It was

a bare and naked shore we had come up to, scarcely more inviting than

the land we had left up in the mist of the Arctic Ocean--but it was

Norway. The captain had mistaken the coast in the night and had come

in too far north, and we were still to have some labor in beating down

against wind and sea before we could reach Vardö. We passed several

vessels, and dipped our flag to them. We passed the revenue-cutter;

she came alongside, but they had nothing to do there, and no one came

on board. Then came pilots, father and son. They greeted Brown, but

were not prepared to meet a countryman on board an English vessel. They

were a little surprised to hear me speak Norwegian, but did not pay

much attention to it. But when Brown asked them if they knew who I was,

the old man gazed at me again, and a gleam, as it were, of a possible

recognition crept over his face. But when the name Nansen dropped

from the lips of the warm-hearted Brown, as he took the old man by the

shoulders and shook him in his delight at being able to give him such

news, an expression came into the old pilot's weather-beaten face, a

mixture of joy and petrified astonishment, which was indescribable. He

seized my hand, and wished me welcome back to life; the people here

at home had long ago laid me in my grave. And then came questions

as to news from the expedition, and news from home. Nothing had yet

been heard of the Fram, and a load was lifted from my breast when I

knew that those at home had been spared that anxiety.

Then, silently and unobserved, the Windward glided with colors

flying into Vardö Haven. Before the anchor was dropped, I was in

a boat with Johansen on our way to the telegraph-station. We put

in at the quay, but there was still so much of our former piratical

appearance left that no one recognized us; they scarcely looked at us,

and the only being that took any notice of the returned wanderers was

an intelligent cow, which stopped in the middle of a narrow street

and stared at us in astonishment as we tried to pass. That cow was

so delightfully summery to look at that I felt inclined to go up

and pat her; I felt now that I really was in Norway. When I got to

the telegraph-station I laid a huge bundle down on the counter, and

said that it consisted of telegrams that I should like to have sent

as soon as possible. There were nearly a hundred of them, one or two

rather long, of about a thousand words each.

The head of the telegraph-office looked hard at me, and quietly took

up the bundle; but as his eye fell upon the signature of the telegram

that lay on the top, his face suddenly changed, he wheeled sharp round,

and went over to the lady clerk who was sitting at the table. When he

again turned and came towards me his face was radiant, and he bade me

a hearty welcome. The telegrams should be despatched as quickly as

possible, he said; but it would take several days and nights to get

them all through. And then the instrument began to tick and tick and

to send through the country and the world the news that two members

of the Norwegian Polar Expedition had returned safe and sound, and

that I expected the Fram home in the course of the autumn. I pitied

the four young ladies in the telegraph-office at Vardö; they had hard

work of it during the following days. Not only had all my telegrams

to be despatched, but hundreds streamed in from the south--both to

us and to the people in the town, begging them to obtain information

about us. Among the first were telegrams to my wife, to the King of

Norway, and to the Norwegian Government. The last ran as follows:

"To his Excellency Secretary Hagerup:

"I have the pleasure of announcing to you and to the Norwegian

Government that the expedition has carried out its plan, has traversed

the unknown Polar Sea from north of the New Siberian Islands, and

has explored the region north of Franz Josef Land as far as 86° 14'

north latitude. No land was seen north of 82°.

"Lieutenant Johansen and I left the Fram, and the other members of

the expedition on March 14, 1895, in 84° north latitude and 102° 27'

east longitude. We went northward to explore the sea north of the

Fram's course, and then came south to Franz Josef Land, whence the

Windward has now brought us.

"I expect the Fram to return this year.

"Fridtjof Nansen."

As I was leaving the telegraph-office the manager told me that my

friend Professor Mohn was in the town, staying, he understood,

at the hotel. Strange that Mohn, a man so intimately connected

with the expedition, should be the first friend I was to meet! Even

while we were handing in our telegrams the news of our arrival had

begun to filter through the town, and people were gradually flocking

together to see the two polar bears who strode through the streets

to the hotel. I rushed in and inquired for Mohn. He was in his room,

number so-and-so, they told me, but he was taking his siesta. I had

no respect for siestas at that moment; I thundered at the door and

tore it open. There lay Mohn on the sofa, reading, with a long pipe

in his mouth. He started up and stared fixedly, like a madman, at the

long figure standing on the threshold; his pipe fell to the ground,

his face twitched, and then he burst out, "Can it be true? Is it

Fridtjof Nansen?" I believe he was alarmed about himself, thinking

he had seen an apparition; but when he heard my well-known voice

the tears came to his eyes, and, crying, "Thank God, you're still

alive!" he rushed into my arms. Then came Johansen's turn. It was a

moment of wild rejoicing, and numberless were the questions asked

and answered on both sides. As one thing after another came into

our heads, the questions rained around without coherence and almost

without meaning. The whole thing seemed so incredible that a long

time passed before we even collected ourselves sufficiently to sit

down, and I could tell him in a somewhat more connected fashion what

experiences we had gone through during these three years. But where

was the Fram? Had we left her? Where were the others? Was anything

amiss? These questions poured forth with breathless anxiety, and it

was no doubt the hardest thing of all to understand that there was

nothing amiss, and yet that we had left our splendid ship. But little

by little even that became comprehensible; and then all was rejoicing,

and champagne and cigars presently appeared on the scene. Another

acquaintance from the south was also in the hotel; he came in to

speak to Mohn; but, seeing that he had visitors, was on the point

of going again. Then he stopped, stared at us, discovered who the

visitors were, and stood as though nailed to the spot; and then

we all drank to the expedition and to Norway. It was clear that we

must stop there that evening, and we sat the whole afternoon talking

and talking without a pause. But meanwhile the whole town had learnt

the names of its newly arrived guests, and when we looked out of the

window the street was full of people, and from all the flagstaffs over

the town, and from all the masts in the harbor, the Norwegian flag

waved in the evening sunshine. And then came telegrams in torrents,

all of them bringing good news. Now all our troubles were over. Only

the arrival of the Fram was wanting to complete things; but we were

quite at ease about her; she would soon turn up. The first thing we

had to do, now that we were on Norwegian soil and could look about

us a little, was to replenish our wardrobe. But it was now no joke

to make our way through the streets, and if we went into a shop it

was soon overflowing with people.

Thus we spent some never-to-be-forgotten days in Vardö, and the

hospitality which we met was lavish and cordial. After we had said

good-bye to our hosts on board the Windward and thanked them for all

the kindness they had shown us, Captain Brown weighed anchor on the

morning of Sunday, the 16th, to go on to Hammerfest. He wanted to pay

his respects to my wife, who was to meet us there. On August 21st

Johansen and I arrived at Hammerfest. Everywhere on the way people

had greeted us with flowers and flags, and now, as we sailed into its

harbor, the northernmost town in Norway was in festal array from the

sea to the highest hilltop, and thousands of people were afoot. To

my surprise, I also met here my old friend Sir George Baden-Powell,

whose fine yacht, the Otaria, was in the harbor. He had just returned

from a very successful scientific expedition to Novaya Zemlya, where

he had been with several English astronomers to observe the solar

eclipse of August 9th. With true English hospitality, he placed his

yacht entirely at my disposal and I willingly accepted his generous

invitation. Sir George Baden-Powell was one of the last people I had

seen in England. When we parted--it was in the autumn of 1892--he

asked me where we ought to be looked for if we were too long away. I

answered that it would be of little use to look for us--it would be

like searching for a needle in a hay-stack. He told me I must not think

that people would be content to sit still and do nothing. In England,

at any rate, he was sure that something would be done--and where ought

they to go? "Well," I replied, "I can scarcely think of any other

place than Franz Josef Land; for if the Fram goes to the bottom, or

we are obliged to abandon her, we must come out that way. If the Fram

does not go to the bottom, and the drift is as I believe it to be,

we shall reach the open sea between Spitzbergen and Greenland." Sir

George now thought that the time had come to look for us, and since he

could not do more for the present, it was his intention, after having

carried out his expedition to Novaya Zemlya, to skirt along the edge

of the ice, and see if he could not pick up any news of us. Then,

just at the right moment, we made our appearance at Hammerfest. In

the evening, my wife arrived, and my secretary, Christofersen; and

after having attended a brilliant fête given that night by the town of

Hammerfest in our honor, we took up our quarters on board the Otaria,

where the days now glided past so smoothly that we scarcely noticed

the lapse of time. Telegrams of congratulation, and testimonies of

goodwill and hearty rejoicing, arrived in an unbroken stream from

all quarters of the world.

But the Fram? I had telegraphed confidently that I expected her home

this year; but why had she not already arrived? I began more and

more to think over this, and the more I calculated all chances and

possibilities, the more firmly was I convinced that she ought to be

out of the ice by this time if nothing had gone amiss. It was strange

that she was not already here, and I thought with horror that if the

autumn should pass without news of her, the coming winter and summer

would be anything but pleasant.

Just as I had turned out on the morning of August 20th, Sir George

knocked at my door and said there was a man there who insisted on

speaking to me. I answered that I wasn't dressed yet, but that I

would come immediately. "Oh, that doesn't matter," said he; "come

as you are." I was a little surprised at all this urgency, and asked

what it was all about. He said he did not know, but it was evidently

something pressing. I nevertheless put on my clothes, and then went

out into the saloon. There stood a gentleman with a telegram in his

hand, who introduced himself as the head of the telegraph-office, and

said that he had a telegram to deliver to me which he thought would

interest me, so he had come with it himself. Something that would

interest me? There was only one thing left in the world that could

really interest me. With trembling hands I tore open the telegram:

"Fridtjof Nansen:

"Fram arrived in good condition. All well on board. Shall start at

once for Tromsö. Welcome home!

"Otto Sverdrup."