Drifting Through the Ice.--Christmas.--Daily Life on the
Fram.--Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.
From Sept. 26 the Fram lay frozen in in the drift-ice, and many a
long day would pass ere she would be loose again. Nansen's theory of
a current over the North Pole would now be proved to be correct or
the reverse.
It was a monotonous time that was approaching for the men on board. At
first they drifted but very little northward, each succeeding day
bringing but little alteration; but they kept a good heart, for they
had not to suffer from lack of anything that could conduce to their
comfort. They had a good ship, excellently equipped, and so passed
the days as best they could,--now occupying themselves with seeing
to the dogs or taking observations, etc.; while reading, playing
cards, chess, halma, and making all kinds of implements, filled up
the remainder of their time. Every now and then the monotony of their
existence would undergo variation, when the ice-pressure set in. Then
there was plenty of life and stir on board, and all hands would turn
out to do battle with the foe.
It was on Monday, Oct. 9, that the Fram underwent her first experience
of a regular ice-pressure. Nansen and the others were sitting after
dinner, as usual, chatting about one thing and another, when all at
once a deafening sound was heard, and the ship quivered from stem to
stern. Up they rushed on deck; for now the Fram was to be put to the
test--and gloriously she passed through it! When the ice nipped she
lifted herself up, as if raised by invisible hands, and pushed the
floes down below her.
An ice-pressure is a most wonderful thing. Let us hear what Nansen
says of it:--
"It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the ship's sides,
gradually sounding louder in every conceivable key. Now it is a high
plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship
gives a start up. Steadily the noise increases till it is like all the
pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and
starts, or is gently lifted up. But presently the uproar slackens, and
the ship sinks down into her old position again, as if in a safe bed."
But woe to them who have not such a ship to resort to under a pressure
like this; for when once it begins in real earnest, it is as if there
could not be a spot on the earth's surface that would not tremble
and shake.
"First," says Nansen, "you hear a sound like the thundering rumble
of an earthquake far away on the great waste; then you hear it in
several places, always coming nearer and nearer. The silent ice
world re-echoes with thunders; nature's giants are awakening to
the battle. The ice cracks on every side of you, and begins to pile
itself up in heaps. There are howlings and thunderings around you;
you feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet. In
the semi-darkness you can see it piling and tossing itself up into
high ridges,--floes ten, twelve, fifteen feet thick, broken and flung
up on the top of each other,--you jump away to save your life. But the
ice splits in front of you; a black gulf opens, and the water streams
up. You turn in another direction; but there through the dark you can
just see a new ridge of moving ice-blocks coming toward you. You try
another direction, but there it is just the same. All around there is
thundering and roaring, as of some enormous waterfall with explosions
like cannon salvoes. Still nearer you it comes. The floe you are
standing on gets smaller and smaller; water pours over it; there can
be no escape except by scrambling over the ice-blocks to get to the
other side of the pack. But little by little the disturbance calms down
again, and the noise passes on and is lost by degrees in the distance."
Another thing brought life and stir into the camp, viz., "bears." And
many a time the cry of "bears" was heard in those icy plains.
In Farthest North, Nansen describes a number of amusing incidents
with these animals. We must, however, content ourselves with giving
only a brief sketch of some of the most interesting of these.
Nansen and Sverdrup, and indeed several of the others, had shot polar
bears before; but some of their number were novices in the sport,
among whom were Blessing, Johansen and Scott-Hansen. One day, when
the latter were taking observations a short distance from the ship, a
bear was seen but a little way off--in fact, just in front of the Fram.
"Hush! don't make a noise, or we shall frighten him," said Hansen;
and they all crouched down to watch him.
"I think I'd better slip off on board and tell them about it," said
Blessing. And off he started on tiptoe, so as not to alarm the bear.
The beast meanwhile came sniffing and shambling along toward where
they were, so that evidently he had not been frightened.
Catching sight of Blessing, who was slinking off to the ship, the
brute made straight for him.
Blessing, seeing that the bear was by no means alarmed, now made his
way back to his companions as quickly as he could, closely followed
by the bear. Matters began to look rather serious, and they each
snatched up their weapons. Hansen, an ice-staff, Johansen, an axe,
and Blessing nothing at all, shouting at the top of their voices,
"Bear! bear!" after which they all took to their heels as fast as
ever they could for the ship. The bear, however, held on his course
toward the tent, which he examined very closely before following on
their tracks. The animal was subsequently shot on approaching the
Fram. Nansen was not a little surprised on finding in its stomach
a piece of paper stamped, "Lutken & Mohn, Christiania," which he
recognized as belonging to the ship.
On another occasion, toward the end of 1893, Hendriksen, whose
business it was to see to the dogs that were tethered on an ice-floe,
came tearing into the ship, and shouting, "Come with a gun! Come
with a gun!" The bear, it seems, had bitten him on his side. Nansen
immediately caught up his gun, as also did Hendriksen, and off they
set after the bear. There was a confused sound of human voices on
the starboard side of the ship, while on the ice below the gangway
the dogs were making a tremendous uproar.
Nansen put his gun up to his shoulder, but it wouldn't go off. There
was a plug of tow in the barrel. And Hendriksen kept crying out,
"Shoot, shoot! mine won't go off!" There he stood clicking and
clicking, for his gun was stuffed up with vaseline. Meanwhile the
bear was lying close under the ship, worrying one of the dogs. The
mate, too, was fumbling away at his gun, which was also plugged,
while Mogstad, the fourth man, was brandishing an empty rifle, for
he had shot all his cartridges away, crying out, "Shoot him! shoot
him!" The fifth man, Scott-Hansen, was lying in the passage leading
into the chart-room, groping after cartridges through a narrow chink
in the door; for Kvik's kennel stood against it, so that he could not
get it wide open. At last, however, Johansen came, and fired right
into the bear's hide. This shot had the effect of making the brute
let go of the dog, which jumped up and ran away. Several shots were
now fired, which killed the bear.
Hendriksen tells this story about his being bitten:--
"You see," he said, "as I was going along with the lantern, I saw
some drops of blood by the gangway, but thought one of the dogs had
very likely cut its foot. On the ice, however, we saw bear-tracks,
and started off to the west, the whole pack of dogs with us running on
ahead. When we had got some little distance from the Fram, we heard a
terrible row in front, and presently saw a great brute coming straight
toward us, closely followed by the dogs. No sooner did we see what
it was than we set off for the ship as fast as we could. Mogstad
had his Lappish moccasons on, and knew the way better than I did,
so he got to the ship before me; for I couldn't go very fast with
these heavy wooden shoes, you see. I missed my way, I suppose, for I
found myself on the big hummock to the west of the ship's bows. There
I took a good look round, to see if the bear was after me. But I
could not see any signs of it, so I started off again, but fell down
flat on my back among the hummocks. Oh, yes, I was soon up again, and
got down to the level ice near the ship's side, when I saw something
coming at me on the right. At first I thought it was one of the dogs;
for it isn't so easy to see in the dark, you know. But I hadn't much
time for thinking, for the brute jumped right on me, and bit me here,
on the side. I had lifted my arm up like this, you see, and then he
bit me on the hip, growling and foaming at the mouth all the while."
"What did you think then, Peter?" asked Nansen.
"What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn't
any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard
as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the
pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him
he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set
off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or
what for, I can't say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along,
and set off after it, and so I got on board."
"Did you call out, Peter?"
"I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!"
And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.
"But where was Mogstad all the while?" asked Nansen.
"Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never
occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun
off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun
wouldn't go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat
me up right under his very nose."
On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs;
and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing
one of the dogs, it was shot.
In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own
invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear
was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much
to Sverdrup's delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself
on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork,
stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn't seem to
approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his
head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the
steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if
to say, "Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for
me, no doubt." Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another
sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the
ship and was shot.
Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting
between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This
tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that
there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly
lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such
sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit
faith in him; while overhead the star--his star--shone out brilliantly
in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.
The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board
should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting
cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.
Christmas Eve was ushered in with -35 deg. Fahrenheit. The Fram lay in
seventy-nine degrees, eleven minutes, north latitude, two minutes
farther south than was the case a week before.
There was a peculiar feeling of solemnity on board. Every one was
thinking of home, and trying at the same time to keep his thoughts to
himself, and so there was more noise and laughter than usual. They
ate and they drank and made speeches, and the Christmas presents
were given out, and the Framsjaa, the Fram's newspaper, with an extra
illustrated Christmas number, appeared.
In the poem for the day it said:--
"When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,
When we drift at the will of the stream,
When the white veil of winter is spread all around,
In our sleep of our dear home we dream.
Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,
Good luck may the coming year bring;
We'll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,
Then hurrah for our home in the spring."
The menu for Christmas Eve was:--
1. Oxtail Soup.
2. Fish Pudding.
3. Reindeer-steak and Green Peas. French Beans, Potatoes, and
Huckleberry Jelly.
4. Cloudberries and Cream.
5. Cake and Marzipan.
6. Beer.
The Nansen lads knew how to live. But this night they had no supper;
they simply could not manage it. Indeed, it was all they could do
to get through an extra dessert, consisting of pineapple preserve,
honey-cakes, vanilla biscuits, cocoa macaroons, figs, raisins,
almonds, etc.
The banquet was held in their cosey saloon, which was lighted with
electric lights; and in the evening they had organ recitals, songs,
and many other recreations. Yes, there was merriment galore on the
Fram, frozen in though she was in the Polar sea.
If it had not been for the noise of the ice-pressures they might indeed
have imagined themselves to be in the very middle of civilization. In
their inmost hearts they longed for a pressure,--a pressure of the hand
from dear ones at home. A long time must elapse before that could be.
Then came New Year's Eve, with a brilliant aurora shining overhead, and
still each one on board felt that irrepressible longing in his heart.
Nansen read out on this occasion the last salutation he had received
from Norway. It was a telegram from Professor Moltke Moe at Tromsoe:--
"Luck on the way,
Sun on the sea,
Sun in your minds,
Help from the winds.
Wide open floes
Part and unclose
Where the ship goes.
Onward! Good cheer!
Tho' ice in the rear
Pack--it will clear.
Food enough--strength enough--
Means enough--clothes enough.
Then will the Fram's crew
Reach the Pole in months few.
Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,
And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!"
These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.
Meanwhile month after month passes without much change. The men on
the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting
frost--Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are
sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck,
as if some one were dancing a jig.
"Is it cold?" asks Nansen, when Hansen and his assistants come below.
"Cold? oh, no! not at all!--quite a pleasant temperature!" a piece
of information which is received with shouts of laughter.
"Don't you find it cold about the feet either?"
"No, can't say I do; but every now and then it's rather cool for
one's fingers!" He had just had two of his frostbitten.
One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry,
Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and
trousers when the thermometer registered -40 deg. Fahrenheit.
Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations,
when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle,
bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away
over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill;
but it was always, "Oh! it's not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!"
On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north latitude,
an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover,
in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning
to lighten at the approach of spring.
By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till
April 17 that they reached 80 deg. 20' north latitude. On May 21, it was
81 deg. 20', one degree further north, and on June 18, 81 deg. 52'. They were
progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15,
1894, the Fram lay in 81 deg. 14' north latitude.
The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there
was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain
the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect
specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and
darkness was approaching.
During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of
leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh
expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would
not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling
to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the
northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in
making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training,
and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup,
who quite approved of it.
About the middle of September a rather strange thing
happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to
Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen
intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men,
but would not take him with them.
"You told me," he said, "you wouldn't want a cook on your expedition,
and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that
you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It's
strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!"
Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all;
whereon Petersen said, "Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me
with you; I should like it very much! I can't say I am a good hand on
ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest." When Nansen remarked
that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one
involving even the risk of life; "Psha!" answered Petersen, "one can
but die once! If I were with you I shouldn't be a bit afraid!" And
that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole
in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation,
is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.
On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he
had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took
the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest
interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly
necessary that such an expedition should take place.
And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary
preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs,
and weighing out provisions, etc.
Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came,
finding them in latitude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were
increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and
was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure
occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever
encountered, and lived.
At 8 A.M. on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by
the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he
was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty
paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the
ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At
noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearer and
nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship,
the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it
began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had
better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose,
for the water stood high in their kennels.
During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning
the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from
the ship.
At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the
ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All
hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day
till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eight P.M. the
crunching and thundering was worse than ever; masses of ice and snow
dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to
save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them
think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing
about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling,
and masses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with
a will till everything was put in a place of safety.
When the pressure finally was over, the Fram's port-side was completely
buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But
she had stood the trial--passed through it gloriously; for she came
out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound
as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the
second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.