Preparations for the Polar Expedition.--Starting from
Norway.--Journey along the Siberian Coast.
Nansen's theory as regards the expedition to the North Pole was
as simple as it was daring. He believed that he had discovered the
existence of a current passing over the pole, and of this he would
avail himself. His idea, in fact, was to work his way into the ice
among the New Siberian Islands, let his vessel be fast frozen into
the drift-ice, and be carried by the current over the Pole to the
east coast of Greenland. There articles had been found on ice-floes
that had unquestionably belonged to former Arctic expeditions, a fact
that convinced him of the existence of such a current.
It might take some years for a vessel to drift all that way; he must,
therefore, make his preparations accordingly. Such at all events
was Nansen's theory--a theory which, it must be said, few shared
with him. For none of the world's noted explorers of those regions
believed in the existence of such a current, and people generally
termed the scheme, "a madman's idea!"
Nansen, therefore, stood almost alone in this, and yet not altogether
alone, either. For the Norwegian people who would not sacrifice $1,350
for the Greenland expedition gave him now in a lump sum 280,000 kroner
($75,600). They were convinced of his gigantic powers, and when the
Norwegians are fully convinced of a thing, they are willing to make
any sacrifice to carry it out. They believed in him now!
Nansen then set to work in earnest at his gigantic undertaking.
First of all a vessel must be designed,--one that would be able to
defy the ice. Availing himself, therefore, of the services of the
famous shipbuilder, Colin Archer, he had the Fram [36] built--a name
suggestive of noble achievements to the youth of Norway.
On Oct. 26, 1892, she was launched at Laurvig. During the previous
night the temperature had been fourteen degrees above zero, and a
slight sprinkling of snow had covered valley and height with a thin
veil of white. The morning sun peered through the mist with that
peculiar hazy light that foretells a bright winter day.
At the station at Laurvig, Nansen waited to receive his guests. A
whaler, with a crow's-nest on her foretop, was lying in the harbor, to
convey the visitors to the spot where the Fram was lying on the stocks.
In the bay at Reykjavik the huge hull of a vessel may be seen raised up
on the beach, with her stern toward the sea. It is Fridtjof Nansen's
new ship that is now to be launched. She is a high vessel, of great
beam, painted black below and white above. Three stout masts of
American pitch-pine are lying by her side on the quay, while three
flagstaffs, two of them only with flags flying, rear themselves up
aloft on her deck. The flag which is to be run up the bare staff is
to bear the vessel's name--unknown as yet. Everybody is wondering
what that name will be, and conjectures whether it will be Eva, Leif,
Norway, Northpole, are rife.
Crowds of spectators are assembled at the wharf, while as many have
clambered upon the adjacent rocks. But around the huge ship, which
lies on the slips firmly secured with iron chains, are standing groups
of stalwart, weather-beaten men in working attire. They are whalers,
who for years have frequented the polar seas and braved its dangers,
and are now attentively examining and criticising the new ship's
construction. A goodly number, too, of workmen are there,--the men
who built the ship; and they are looking at their work with feelings
of pride. And yonder is the vessel's architect,--that stately,
earnest-looking man with the long, flowing white beard,--Colin Archer.
And now, accompanied by his wife, Nansen ascends the platform that has
been erected in the ship's bow. Mrs. Nansen steps forward, breaks a
bottle of champagne on the prow, and in clear, ringing tones declares,
"Fram is her name." At the same moment a flag on which the vessel's
name can be read in white letters on a red ground, is run up to the
top of the bare flagstaff.
The last bands and chains are quickly removed, and the ponderous mass
glides, stern first, slowly down the incline, but with ever-increasing
velocity, toward the water. For a moment some anxiety is felt lest
she should sink or get wedged; but as soon as her bows touch the
water the stern rises up, and the Fram floats proudly on the sea,
and is then at once moored fast with warps to the quay.
Meanwhile Nansen stood beside his wife, and all eyes turned toward
them. But not a trace of anxiety or doubt could be discerned on his
frank and open countenance; for he possessed that faith in his project
that is able to remove mountains.
The next matter of importance was to select the crew. There was
ample material to choose from, for hundreds of volunteers from
abroad offered themselves, besides Norwegians. But it was a Norwegian
expedition--her crew, then, must be exclusively a national crew! And so
Otto Sverdrup, who had earned his laurels in the Greenland expedition;
Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the royal navy; Henrik Greve
Blessing, surgeon; Theodor Claudius Jacobsen and Adolf Juell of the
mercantile marine; Anton Amundsen and Lars Petterson, engineers;
Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant of the royal army reserve,
Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner; Bernt Nordahl, electrician; Ivar
Otto Irgens Mogstad, head keeper at the lunatic asylum; and Bernt
Berntsen, common sailor,--were selected. Most of them were married
and had children.
Sverdrup was to be the Fram's commander, for Nansen knew that the
ship would be safer in his hands than in his own.
Finally, after an incredible deal of hard work in getting everything
in order, the day of their departure arrived.
It was midsummer--a dull, gloomy day. The Fram, heavily laden, is
lying at Pipperviken Quay, waiting for Nansen. The appointed hour is
past, and yet there are no signs of him. Members of the storthing,
who had assembled there to bid him farewell, can wait no longer,
and the crowds of people that line the quay are one and all anxiously
gazing over the fjord.
But presently a quick-sailing little petroleum boat heaves in sight. It
swings round Dyna, [37] and quickly lies alongside the Fram; and
Nansen goes on board his ship at once, and gives the order to "go
ahead." Every eye is fixed on him. He is as calm as ever, firm as a
rock, but his face is pale.
The anchor is weighed; and after making the tour of the little creek,
the Fram steams down the fjord. "Full speed" is the command issued
from the bridge; and as she proceeds on her way, Nansen turns round to
take a farewell look over Svartebugta where Godthaab lies. He discerns
a glimpse of a woman's form dressed in white by the bench under the
fir-tree, and then turns his face away; it was there he had bidden her
farewell. Little Liv, his only child, had been carried by her mother,
crowing and smiling, to bid father good-by, and he had taken her in
his arms.
"Yes, you smile, little one!" he said; "but I"--and he sobbed.
This had taken place but an hour before. And now he was standing on
the bridge alone, leaving all he held dear behind.
The twelve men who accompanied him,--they, too, had made
sacrifices,--each had his own sorrow to meet at this hour; but at
the word of command, one and all went about their duty as if nothing
was amiss.
For the first few days it was fine weather, but on getting out as far
as Lindesnaes [38] it became very stormy. The ship rolled like a log,
and seas broke over the rails on both sides. Great fear was entertained
lest the deck cargo should be carried overboard, a contingency, indeed,
that soon occurred; for twenty-five empty paraffin casks broke loose
from their lashings, and a quantity of reserve timber balks followed.
"It was an anxious time," says Nansen. "Seasick I stood on the bridge,
alternately offering libations to the gods of the sea, and trembling
for the safety of the boats and of the men who were trying to make
snug what they could on deck. Now a green sea poured over us, and
knocked one fellow off his legs so that he was deluged; now the
lads were jumping over hurtling spars to avoid getting their feet
crushed. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell was lying asleep
in the 'Grand Hotel,' as we called one of the long boats, and awoke
to find the sea roaring under him. I met him at the cabin door as he
came running down. Once the Fram buried her bows and shipped a sea
over the forecastle. One fellow was clinging to the anchor davits
over the foaming water; it was poor Juell again."
Then all the casks, besides a quantity of timber, had to be thrown
overboard. It was, indeed, an anxious time.
But fine weather came at last, and Bergen turned out to meet them
in brilliant sunshine. Then on again, along the wonderful coast of
Norway, while the people on shore stood gazing after them, marvelling
as they passed.
At Beian [39] Sverdrup joined the ship, and Berntsen, the thirteenth
member of the crew, at Tromsoe. [40]
Still onward toward the north, till finally the last glimpse of
their native country faded from their sight in the hazy horizon,
and a dense fog coming on enveloped them in its shroud. They were to
have met the Urania, laden with coal, in Jugor straits; but as that
vessel had not arrived, and time was precious, the Fram proceeded on
her course, after having shipped a number of Esquimau dogs which a
Russian, named Trontheim, had been commissioned to procure for the
expedition. It was here that Nansen took leave of his secretary,
Cristophersen, who was to return by the Urania; and the last tie that
united them with Norway was severed.
The Fram now heads out from the Jugor straits into the dreaded Kara
sea, which many had prophesied would be her destruction. But they
worked their way through storm and ice, at times satisfactorily, at
others encountering slight mishaps; but the Fram proved herself to be
a reliable iceworthy vessel, and Nansen felt more and more convinced
that, when the ice-pressure began in real earnest, she would acquit
herself well.
"It was a royal pleasure," he writes, "to take her into difficult
ice. She twists and turns like a ball on a plate--and so strong! If
she runs into a floe at full speed, she scarcely utters a sound,
only quivers a little, perhaps."
When, as was often the case, they had to anchor on account of bad
weather, Nansen and his companions would go ashore, either for the
purpose of taking observations or for sport. One day they shot two
bears and sundry reindeer; but, when they started to row back to
the Fram in the evening, they had a severe task before them. For
a strong breeze was blowing, and the current was dead against
them. "We rowed as if our finger-tips would burst," says Nansen,
"but could hardly make any headway. So we had to go in under land
again to get out of the current. But no sooner did we set out for
the Fram again than we got into it once more, and then the whole
manoeuvre had to be repeated, with the same result. Presently a buoy
was lowered from the ship: if we could only reach it, all would be
right. But no such luck was in store for us yet. We would make one
more desperate effort, and we rowed with a will, every muscle of our
bodies strained to the utmost. But to our vexation we now saw the
buoy being hauled up. We rowed a little to the windward of the Fram,
and then tried again to sheer over. This time we got nearer her than
we had been before, but still no buoy was thrown over--not even a
man was to be seen on deck. We roared like madmen," writes Nansen,
"for a buoy--we had no strength left for another attempt. It was
not a pleasing prospect to have to drift back, and go ashore again
in our wet clothes,--we would get on board! Once more we yelled like
wild Indians, and now they came rushing aft, and threw out the buoy
in our direction. We put our last strength into our oars. There were
only a few boat-lengths to cover, and the lads bent flat over the
thwarts. Now only three boat-lengths. Another desperate spurt! Now
only two and a half boat-lengths--presently two--then only one! A few
more frantic pulls, and there was a little less. 'Now, my lads, one
or two more hard pulls--keep to it!--Now another--don't give in--one
more--there we have it!' And a joyful sigh of relief passed round the
boat. 'Keep her going, or the rope will break--row, my lads!' And row
we did, and soon they had hauled us alongside the Fram. Not till we
were lying there, getting our bearskins and flesh hauled on board,
did we realize what we had had to fight against. The current was
running along the side of the ship like a millstream. At last we were
on board. It was evening by this time, and it was a comfort to get some
hot food, and then stretch one's limbs in a comfortable, dry berth."
The Fram proceeded on her course the next day, passing a number
of unknown islands, to which Nansen gave names. Among these were
Scott-Hansen's Islands, Ringnes, Mohns, etc.
On Sept. 6, the anniversary of Nansen's wedding, they passed Taimar
Island, and after a prosperous passage through open water reached
Cape Tscheljuskin on Sept. 9.
Nansen was sitting in the crow's nest that evening. The weather was
perfectly still, and the sky lay in a dream of gold and yellow. A
solitary star was visible; it stood directly over Cape Tscheljuskin,
twinkling brightly, though sadly, in the pale sky overhead. As the
vessel proceeded on her course it seemed to follow them. There was
something about that star that attracted Nansen's attention, and
brought him peace. It was as it were his star, and he felt that she who
was at home was sending him a message by it. Meanwhile the Fram toiled
on through the gloomy melancholy of the night out into the unknown.
In the morning, when the sun rose up, a salute was fired, and high
festival held on board.
A few days later a herd of walrus was sighted. It was a lovely
morning, and perfectly calm, so that they could distinctly hear their
bellowings over the clear surface of the water, as they lay in a
heap on an ice-floe, the blue mountains glittering in the sunlight
in the background.
"My goodness, what a lot of meat!" ejaculated Juell, the cook. And at
once Nansen, Juell, and Henriksen set out after them, Juell rowing,
Nansen armed with a gun, and Henriksen with a harpoon. On getting to
close quarters Henriksen threw the harpoon at the nearest walrus,
but it struck too high, and glanced off the tough hide, and went
skipping over the rounded backs of the others. Now all was stir
and life. Ten or a dozen of the bulky animals waddled with upraised
heads to the extreme edge of the floe, whereupon Nansen took aim at
the largest, and fired. The brute staggered, and fell headlong into
the water. Another bullet into a second walrus was attended with
the same result, and the rest of the herd plunged into the water,
so that it boiled and seethed. Soon, however, they were up again,
all around the boat, standing upright in the water, bellowing and
roaring till the air shook. Every now and then they would make a dash
toward the boat, then dive, and come up again. The sea boiled like
a cauldron, and every moment they seemed about to dash their tusks
through the side of the boat, and capsize it. Fortunately, however,
this did not occur. Walrus after walrus was shot by Nansen, while
Henriksen was busy with his harpoon to prevent them sinking.
At last, after a favorable journey through open water, the Fram finally
reached firm ice on Sept. 25, and allowed herself to be frozen in;
for winter was fast approaching, and it was no longer possible to
drive her through the ice.