so urgently in need of, send them on to us here, and we shall welcome
them as messengers from our good friends on board the _Erline Jarl_.
“My friends of the _Virgo_, a fourfold cheer for our friends who will
send us a South Wind!”
During this touching speech the _Erline Jarl_ fires off a salvo of
twenty-one guns in honour of the Andrée Expedition, the report of which
shook the valleys to the echo.
Thereupon, the speeches being over, we leave the isle in order to spend
the rest of the night on board the _Erline Jarl_, which is dressed, as
is also the _Virgo_, with a multitude of flags, as on great gala days,
and I never feel weary of contemplating the noble colours of the French
flag proudly floating at the head of the splendid vessel,—a delicate
compliment to me on the part of the captain, which moves me more than I
can tell.
How full of meaning to me is this flag! How full of souvenirs and
consolation! And how well one can understand, when far away from his
native country, all the silent eloquence of this impersonal being, this
glorious symbol! Amidst all these people, speaking languages which I do
not understand, amidst all this group of men isolated at the world’s
end, and I myself feeling lost in the midst of them, so to speak, owing
to the difficulty of making myself understood by them, it contains a
living embodiment of my native land, the very representative of the soil
of France—her flag hoisted on a foreign vessel in token of the esteem in
which the children of this noble country are held. And this flag seems to
say to me: “You are not alone; I am here too! You are no longer isolated;
we are _some one_; we are taken into account here!”
We go on board, and soon the peaceful reports of champagne corks—another
reminder of French soil—accentuate the numerous toasts which follow
each other in the large saloon. Then our spirits becoming more and more
elated, there are songs, cheers, the loud hum of animated conversation,
wishes of good luck, plans for future meetings, and we leave the
hospitable vessel in order to return to the _Virgo_ at a very advanced
hour.
What a day! And how hearts are drawn to each other under circumstances
like these, when at rare intervals, few and far between, the oppressive
and monotonous loneliness of arduous travels in these frigid solitudes is
suddenly broken by boisterous meetings of persons, hitherto strangers,
who are so speedily transformed into old friends!
_August 1st, 9 a.m._—Under a misty sky, heavy with snow, the _Erline
Jarl_ hoists her anchor, sweeps round majestically, sends us her last
farewells and good wishes, and then slowly glides away over the waters,
leaving behind her a foamy wake. The throbs of her engine become more
and more regular; soon we no longer hear them; and it is with a choking
sensation in our bosom, which will readily be understood, that we see
this fine vessel outlined and gradually disappearing on the horizon,
which, for a short moment, had come to bring life and joy into our midst.
Yet a long time after, leaning with my arms on the handrail of the
gangway, I followed with my eyes the black cloud of smoke which the
_Erline Jarl_ trails over the waves; I still hear a last salute from the
siren, and return in deep thought to my cabin, in a sadder frame of mind
than I should care to admit.
Grumberg, the naturalist, is working unceasingly to enrich his
collection; he dredges, fishes, hunts, and sets snares for foxes. He has
succeeded in capturing two very young animals, which he has installed
on the island, in a nice improvised cage, to which some anonymous wag
has attached a card bearing one of the petitions of the Lord’s Prayer in
Swedish: “Give us this day our daily bread.”
[Illustration: STRINDBERG.]
Grumberg watches his protégés with jealous care, and intends to offer
them to a zoological garden in Stockholm; but on the night of the
departure the foxes, who for a long time past had been working to effect
their escape by gnawing through the boards of the cage, made good their
escape and fled into the mountains, pursued by the sailors, who gave
chase. They are not caught yet. I much doubt whether Grumberg will be
able to catch them again next summer.
But who knows; Fate is so fitful! You ought, said some one, to have
attached a “favour” to their tails, so as to recognise them again. I,
on my part, remarked that these young foxes might, perhaps, have been
acquainted with La Fontaine’s fable, entitled “The Little Fish and the
Fisherman,” and that they would be sure to return to him as soon as
they had grown to a reasonable size. And I amused myself by producing a
revised copy of this fable, specially re-edited to meet the circumstances.
TRANSLATION.
The little fox will grow a big fox,
Provided God will grant him life;
But to release him in the meantime
I think would be foolish indeed.
Two foxes that were but foxlets, as yet,
Quite young little things,
Were captured by chance
By the good Doctor Grumberg
On the Isles of Spitzbergen.
“All is fish that comes to the net,” said he, on beholding his prey.
They will serve to start a collection;
Let us make a pretty cage for them.
One of these foxlets, regretting his captivity, said to him, in his own
fashion,—
“What are you going to do with us? We should make a very poor present for
a small museum.
“Let us grow up into foxes; you can catch us later on, some fine day, and
a good museum will pay you a good price for us.
“Whereas, in order to make a gift worth giving, you would have to get
about a hundred of our size, which gift, after all, would be little
worth.”
Little worth? “Well then,” replied the hunter, “that may be.
“My good friend, Renard, you who preach so well, you must go into the
cage; and you may say what you like, it will be made at once.
“‘One bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’—one is sure and the
other is not.”
But the two foxlets, deaf to these remarks,—possibly they did not
understand the doctor’s language,—worked so hard and so well, that one
day the learned man, in search of curiosities, found an empty cage.
The amiable Dr. Ekelund has rarely had any occasion to act in his
professional character, as apart from a few jammed fingers and other
minor injuries the state of health is excellent. Hence he employs his
leisure time in pulling nails out of cases, or else he prepares for
stuffing the birds of various species which he has killed when out
hunting. During the inflation of the balloon, he superintends the action
of the gas apparatus, and takes turns in this duty with Professor
Arrhénius and Stake.
These gentlemen are also taking their share in the meteorological service
which is carried on regularly by the staff of the expedition.
The observations are minutely recorded every hour in the ship’s
log. On the Isle of Amsterdam the snow is tinged with red for a
considerable distance, and the _savants_ are collecting it to examine
it microscopically. It presents, in fact, certain peculiarities; it is
thought that it contains very small plants. Scoresby, the famous whaler,
had already remarked this.
IX
The Snow
_Dansk-Gatt, August 4th._—The _Express_ left last night, carrying away
our last letters; and as the season is advanced, we have now no hope of
receiving at Dansk-Gatt any more news from Europe.
The north wind is still blowing, and has brought a regular snowstorm; the
mountains have donned their winter mantle, and nature seems to prepare
for sleep. Birds are becoming rare, and their joyful cries are no longer
to be heard. A white hood covers the top of the balloon, which only
awaits a current of wind from the south to take flight; but this wind,
which was blowing during July, has now completely subsided. What an
irony of fate! Who could foresee such a _contretemps_, and how admirably
successful the expedition would have been were we in possession of the
secrets of the gods.
[Illustration: THE CUPOLA OF THE BALLOON (TOP OF THE SHED).]
At present the sky is overcast and dark in the north; it is a long time
since the sun has shown itself. The sea is very rough.
The flag hoisted on top of the mountain, behind the balloon-shed, to
indicate the direction of the wind, was blown down last night by the
squall. It was the opinion of the ice-pilot that we were in no danger
of being packed in the ice until the end of the month; but the captain,
who was answerable for the safety of the men, declared that the _Virgo_
should weigh anchor on the 20th at the latest, at any cost, to resume her
voyage southwards, no matter what the fate of the polar expedition might
be.
Andrée and his two companions were patiently waiting for the clouds to
break up and for a fresh southern wind, in order to take their flight.
They have the faith which gives courage. The balloon seems anxious to be
freed from her fetters to show her strength and her power. Everything is
ready, weighed and anticipated; everything is seen to and checked in the
smallest details by Andrée; provisions, instruments, and outfits, all are
in their places.
We have only to suspend the car and to pull down the northern part of the
shed. This would not take many hours, but we want a favourable wind, and
for this we are waiting in vain. The delay, unavoidable though it is,
endangers the success of Andrée’s expedition, and is very regrettable,
for the sun is very low, and the polar night is approaching.
_August 5th, noon._—The snow keeps on falling, but the wind is turning
to the south-west. It is almost what is required, and hope is quickly
reviving. May Fate soon open the route to the north to Andrée, and return
me to my country and my anxious family! At seven o’clock in the evening
the state of the atmosphere remains unchanged; the snow is whirling
about, and the sky is gloomy.
_Dansk-Gatt, August 6th._—A small balloon, launched at 6 o’clock, having
ascended to the height of 325 yards, took an easterly direction. The gas
apparatus is working; the balloon which has been inflated for ten days,
is full. It is covered with snow and there is not a single spot on the
balloon shed that is not white. The car is, however, protected by an
awning, but the whirling snow penetrates everywhere.
It is impossible to stop on deck, for the wind is raging, and the day
goes by in monotony and gloom. Every one longs for the end of this
campaign which seems interminable; so long as tourists and whaling boats
were moored near us, and brought with them life and movement to this
solitary spot, our stay was very agreeable—it was a lively and cheerful
international colony. Now Dansk-Gatt has resumed its mournful and
forsaken aspect. “And the snow was still falling,” as Xavier de Montépin
would say.
Then, confined within the walls of my cabin, my dominion of two square
metres, I begin to peruse the few books I have and which, alas! I know
already by heart, but still hoping to find therein something very
interesting, if not new, at least old. And I was not disappointed, for I
read over with great interest _La Mer_, by my playfellow, the excellent
poet Jean Richepin, whose verses on snow were very much to the point.
It is long, long since, when sitting on the benches in our little school
at Belleville, we were looking together over the top of the map of Europe
at this small archipelago, named Spitzbergen, which appeared to my
childest imagination to be an inaccessible point.
X
A Long Wait
_Smeerenburg, Friday, August 7th._—Noon. The sky is bright and the sun is
sending us a few rays which are reviving our hopes a little. The snow is
melting; but the wind, though slight, is still blowing from the west. The
balloon which holds its gas well is dripping little by little.
I made a long excursion on the east side of Dane’s Island. The island
of Fogll-Sund is glittering in the midday sun. The birds have awakened.
I saw several flocks of eiders. At six o’clock four pilot balloons are
launched, three were driven south-west at 547 yards and one towards the
sea at 65 yards.
_Saturday, 8th, 10 o’clock._—Sky overcast, wind slight and uncertain,
with tendency to turn S.E. Thermometer 7° (44·6 Fahr.).
Afternoon, S.E. wind at 1,093 yards; on land wind still, or slightly to
the north.
At nine o’clock in the evening the upper wind is still S. Let us hope
that it will descend and that, at last, our plans may be realized.
_Sunday, August 9th._—Morning, S. wind slight; afternoon, dead calm;
hardly any need to say every one is weary. Ekholm declares that the
balloon is losing about 66 lbs. per day; he thinks it able to stand a
voyage of from forty to fifty days’ duration. But under the circumstances
it is really very little; yet the envelope is solid and well finished.
_Monday, August 10th._—Balloon very full although no gas was let in since
last Friday (sixty-five yards). Temperature somewhat higher. S. wind,
very slight, barometer at a standstill.
_4 o’clock p.m._—Wind on land, nil.
A pilot balloon launched at 2 o’clock. Rose to 109 yards; direction N.
Speed from thirteen to fourteen feet per second. Evening, 7 p.m., S.
wind, pretty strong in the upper regions.
Then a complete change, the north wind prevailing.
What, then, are we going to fail at the last moment?
Must we pack up this balloon, ready to take her flight to a land around
which so many vain efforts have been made for centuries past?
“My kingdom for a horse!” cried Richard III., in one of those struggles
in which the human wretch thinks he acquires so much glory by massacring
his fellow-man and by spreading death in his path. And what would not
the three hardy explorers have given for a breath of favourable wind,
which would have enabled them to carry on the struggle they had commenced
against the unknown!
What bitter reflections came into my mind!
In a smiling country, where everything bespeaks work and prosperity,
where each one trusts to the future, happy in the labours undertaken,
happy in his daily tasks, suddenly there arises this very wind so much
longed for here, and in a few minutes the tempest in its blind fury has
sown death and ruin where life and wealth were working together!
Here science stood in need of a little of this destructive wind, of ever
so little, but none came.
And possibly, further away, ships were being wrecked and lives destroyed
by it.
[Illustration: THE BALLOON IN THE SHED DURING ITS DEFLATION.]
Oh, for a balloon that could be steered! Why have we not one here?
_Friday, August 14th (19th day of inflation), 7 a.m._—The lieutenant
has just informed us that a south wind is blowing; in fact it is pretty
strong. The gas apparatus is set to work to complete the inflation.
The snow is falling gently, but it melts quickly. At nine o’clock Andrée
launches a small balloon which takes a northerly course at an elevation
of forty to fifty yards, but it immediately turns off to the east as it
rises, _then the wind turns due west and we cease to hope_.
Our joy was of short duration. Besides, the season is now too far
advanced to attempt such a voyage. It is winter.
XI
The _Fram_
At half-past nine the ice-pilot signalled a three-master off the eastern
cape of the Isle of Amsterdam.
Great excitement prevails on board the _Virgo_. What object has this
vessel in coming to these regions visited only by whalers and tourists?
She stops and hoists the Norwegian flag on her main mast. One cry went up
from all hearts: “Nansen! Nansen coming back from the Pole.”
Those who had seen the photo of the ship _Fram_, recognise her perfectly
well in the steamer which is lying at a distance of 2½ miles from us.
The snow is falling fine and thick. The captain and Andrée, Ekholm and
Strindberg, are leaving in a steam launch to receive their valiant
compatriots. When a few fathoms from the _Fram_, Andrée and his
companions raise a vigorous cheer in honour of Nansen, but the faces
of the sailors on board are saddened with a painful expression. Nansen
is not with them. On the 14th of March, 1895, he left them at 84° lat.,
accompanied by the young lieutenant, Johannsen, taking with him sledges,
twenty-eight dogs, and provisions for 120 days. He directed his steps
towards the North Pole in the hope of returning by way of Franz-Josef
land, where the Jackson Expedition was to winter.
After the exchange of greetings of welcome and when the emotion of the
first moment had subsided, the members of the two expeditions indulged
in a friendly conversation, happy and surprised at the same time to meet
again in the glacial Arctic Ocean, free at last.
The _Fram_, which only a day before was packed in the ice at 81°, heard
of our presence from a whaler; as soon as she was in open water she made
for Dansk-Gatt in the hope of getting news of Nansen.
Captain Sverdrup, Lieutenant Hansen, the doctor and five other members of
the crew, take their places in the launch. The remaining three men stay
on board, while the small party are coming to visit our quarters and the
balloon, which is waiting in the shed.
It is easy to imagine how greatly these brave men are astonished.
Then the expedition comes on board the _Virgo_ where champagne soon foams
in glasses. It is a pleasure to look at these brave sailors who, after
three years and two months passed amidst the polar ice, are so happy to
find themselves in the company of their “brothers in arms, and companions
in peril.”
I am proud to be one of the first to greet the _Fram_ on her return to
these distant regions. I had the good fortune to converse at some length
with Lieutenant Hansen, who speaks French fairly well. He is an amiable
man, of about thirty years of age, a little over medium height, dark,
with bright eyes and intelligent forehead, and pleasing manner.
He put numerous questions to me concerning the events which had taken
place in Europe during the last three years. I informed him of the death
of Alexander III., of the assassination of President Carnot, etc., and
I spoke to him also of new discoveries and inventions: cinematographe,
X-rays, etc., etc.
[Illustration: THE SHED AND THE BALLOON CASE.]
All this seemed to greatly interest him. Then in a few words he told me
the extremely touching story of the _Fram’s_ voyage.
Andrée made a speech and proposed a toast to Nansen and his gallant
companions. The captain and the lieutenant replied in a few vigorous and
moving words, and I felt myself struck with admiration for these brave
men who have carried the European colours to the 86th degree of latitude.
They are happy to see their country and their homes again, but they are
calm and patient as becomes true heroes. The lieutenant has a _fiancée_
awaiting him, Andrée hands him a letter, only just arrived, from his
mother. He also hands Captain Sverdrup a letter addressed to Nansen, and
bearing the inscription, “The North Pole.”
The _Fram’s_ library contains the _Five Weeks in a Balloon_, by Jules
Verne, and the crew had often dreamt of the possibility of a balloon
expedition coming to their relief. The dream was very near reality. In
life everything is unforeseen, yet everything happens. If the polar
balloon had started a few days ago it would have surely noticed the
_Fram_ on its way. “Man proposes and God disposes.”
It is painful to think that we shall have to take the aerostatic material
back to Sweden and wait.
Disappointment for Andrée’s polar expedition: joy and triumph for the
Nansen expedition if their commander returns soon.
Andrée places in the captain’s button-hole a sweet-scented rose, “La
France,” a rare flower in Spitzbergen, and offers him a box of excellent
cigars, a present which is greatly appreciated by our genial guests. Then
the launch takes them back to their vessel amidst the hurrahs of the crew
of the _Virgo_.
At five p.m., in a fine chilling snow, we pay our visit to the _Fram_ and
take photos of her.
When we are near the ship about twenty Siberian dogs, ranged in her bow,
receive us with loud barks, but soon they recognise that we are friends
and their bark is rather one of joy than any indication of hostility.
They are all pleased at our caresses. Captain Sverdrup does the honours
of his ship, which, if she has not the refined elegance of the _Erline
Jarl_, yet inspires confidence by her sturdy appearance. She is the
traditional Norwegian ship, with wooden hull well strengthened, her masts
and her bulwarks roughly cut; in the bow the upturned boats, placed on
frames, form a kind of shelter under which are suspended a couple of
dozen bears’ hams, partly cured and dried; birds freshly killed for
eating, casks and articles of every description, winch, anchors, cables,
etc. In the stern the tiller is placed in a square hole made in the hull
of the ship. On one side a spare tiller consisting of a massive piece of
wood; compass, instruments, and the necessary rigging.
I stop at the observation post where the lieutenant tells us about his
work and shows us the charts of the voyage; then we descend into the
cabins, passing near the kitchen from which proceeds a very agreeable
odour.
Traversing about ten steps of a very dark staircase, I find myself in the
saloon, which has a hexagonal shape not devoid of originality. A lamp,
with a reflector, fixed on the central pillar, emits a vague light to
which my eyes accustom themselves with difficulty.
The wainscotting is of a primitive style of decoration, painted white,
picked out with bright colours, in which red and green predominate.
There is a very comfortable sofa in the background, placed opposite a
table, at which the crew take their meals. The walls are adorned with
several pictures, one of which is an illustration of a Norwegian legend:
three princes, who have metamorphosed themselves into white bears in
order to win the hearts of three coy princesses whose hair seems to be
flying heavenwards. The bears, good princes as they are, are licking
their feet. Another picture is the portrait in crayons of Mrs. Nansen and
her child. The saloon is heated by a stove, which keeps it at an even
temperature of 15 to 16 degrees. Air and light are admitted by a glazed
skylight running across the stern deck.
On the left there is an automatic harmonium with a keyboard, to amuse the
crew on dull days. One of our hosts, the engineer, improvised several
tunes for us; it is wonderfully original, and if it were not for the
respect due to Nansen, we would have invited the fair Charlotte, the
stewardess with whom the reader is already acquainted, to have a dance,
as the ladies were with us.
For more than three years woman had not entered Nansen’s ark, and the
crew were demonstratively gallant. The cabins of the crew are situated
around the saloon whence they receive their supply of air, having no
other communication with the outside; they are lighted by lamps fixed
on the walls. The cabins of the captain, lieutenant and doctor, with
their maps, instruments, arms, and different other objects, are very
interesting: photographs and hundreds of weird objects constitute a droll
_ensemble_.
In every cabin there is a portrait of the loved one.
The captain showed us the chart of the _Fram’s_ voyage as made out by the
observations; and after that a collection of very curious photographs
representing the life and the stirring wanderings of the crew since their
departure in 1893. The vessel in the midst of the ice, their winter
quarters, the encampment, the glaciers, the icebergs, the observations,
the mirage, the aurora borealis, the _Fram_ buried under the ice which
almost annihilated her, the crew working fifteen days with pickaxes to
clear away the ice, the sledges, the dogs, the windmill at the mizzen
mast for driving the electric dynamo, the moonlight, Nansen’s departure,
etc., are so many pictures which one cannot look at without heartfelt
emotion, and which leave far behind everything written or pictured by
Jules Verne in _Captain Hatteras_.
We leave the _Fram_ at nine p.m. after hearty farewells.
During the night the Nansen expedition peacefully took its course to the
south. They have still on board provisions and coal for three years.
_Sunday, August 16th._—The snow ceased falling, and the sun who does not
renounce his rights, comes for an instant to restore another glimmer of
hope; the wind, although mild, vacillates and appears to tend northwards.
Another disappointment.