FAREWELL TO NORWAY
I felt in a strange mood as I sat up the last night writing letters
and telegrams. We had bidden farewell to our excellent pilot,
Johan Hågensen, who had piloted us from Bergen, and now we were only
the thirteen members of the expedition, together with my secretary,
Christofersen, who had accompanied us so far, and was to go on with us
as far as Yugor Strait. Everything was so calm and still, save for the
scraping of the pen that was sending off a farewell to friends at home.
All the men were asleep below.
The last telegram was written, and I sent my secretary ashore with
it. It was 3 o'clock in the morning when he returned, and I called
Sverdrup up, and one or two others. We weighed anchor, and stood
out of the harbor in the silence of the morning. The town still lay
wrapped in sleep; everything looked so peaceful and lovely all around,
with the exception of a little stir of awakening toil on board one
single steamer in the harbor. A sleepy fisherman stuck his head up
out of the half-deck of his ten-oared boat, and stared at us as we
steamed past the breakwater; and on the revenue cutter outside there
was a man fishing in that early morning light.
This last impression of Norway was just the right one for us to
carry away with us. Such beneficent peace and calm; such a rest for
the thoughts; no hubbub and turmoil of people with their hurrahs and
salutes. The masts in the harbor, the house-roofs, and chimneys stood
out against the cool morning sky. Just then the sun broke through
the mist and smiled over the shore--rugged, bare, and weather-worn
in the hazy morning, but still lovely--dotted here and there with
tiny houses and boats, and all Norway lay behind it....
While the Fram was slowly and quietly working her way out to sea,
towards our distant goal, I stood and watched the land gradually
fading away on the horizon. I wonder what will happen to her and to
us before we again see Norway rising up over the sea?
But a fog soon came on and obscured everything.
And through fog, nothing but fog, we steamed away for four days without
stopping, until, when I came on deck on the morning of the 25th of
July, behold clear weather! The sun was shining in a cloudless sky,
the bright blue sea was heaving with a gentle swell. Again it was
good to be a living being, and to drink in the peacefulness of the
sea in long draughts. Towards noon we sighted Goose Land on Novaya
Zemlya, and stood in towards it. Guns and cartridges were got ready,
and we looked forward with joyful anticipation to roast goose and
other game; but we had gone but a short distance when the gray
woolly fog from the southeast came up and enveloped us. Again we
were shut off from the world around us. It was scarcely prudent to
make for land, so we set our course eastward towards Yugor Strait;
but a head-wind soon compelled us to beat up under steam and sail,
which we went on doing for a couple of days, plunged in a world
of fog. Ugh! that endless, stubborn fog of the Arctic Sea! When it
lowers its curtain, and shuts out the blue above and the blue below,
and everything becomes a damp gray mist, day in and day out, then all
the vigor and elasticity of the soul is needed to save one from being
stifled in its clammy embrace. Fog, and nothing but fog, wherever we
turn our eyes. It condenses on the rigging and drips down on every
tiniest spot on deck. It lodges on your clothes, and finally wets
you through and through. It settles down on the mind and spirits,
and everything becomes one uniform gray.
On the evening of July 27th, while still fog-bound, we quite
unexpectedly met with ice; a mere strip, indeed, which we easily
passed through, but it boded ill. In the night we met with more--a
broader strip this time, which also we passed through. But next
morning I was called up with the information that there was thick,
old ice ahead. Well, if ice difficulties were to begin so soon, it
would be a bad lookout indeed. Such are the chill surprises that
the Arctic Sea has more than enough of. I dressed and was up in
the crow's-nest in a twinkling. The ice lay extended everywhere,
as far as the eye could reach through the fog, which had lifted a
little. There was no small quantity of ice, but it was tolerably
open, and there was nothing for it but to be true to our watchword
and "gå fram"--push onward. For a good while we picked our way. But
now it began to lie closer, with large floes every here and there,
and at the same time the fog grew denser, and we could not see our
way at all. To go ahead in difficult ice and in a fog is not very
prudent, for it is impossible to tell just where you are going, and
you are apt to be set fast before you know where you are. So we had to
stop and wait. But still the fog grew ever denser, while the ice did
the same. Our hopes meanwhile rose and fell, but mostly the latter,
I think. To encounter so much ice already in these waters, where at
this time of year the sea is, as a rule, quite free from it, boded
anything but good. Already at Tromsö and Vardö we had heard bad news;
the White Sea, they said, had only been clear of ice a very short time,
and a boat that had tried to reach Yugor Strait had had to turn back
because of the ice. Neither were our anticipations of the Kara Sea
altogether cheerful. What might we not expect there? For the Urania,
with our coals, too, this ice was a bad business; for it would be
unable to make its way through unless it had found navigable water
farther south along the Russian coast.
Just as our prospects were at their darkest, and we were preparing to
seek a way back out of the ice, which kept getting ever denser, the
joyful tidings came that the fog was lifting, and that clear water
was visible ahead to the east on the other side of the ice. After
forcing our way ahead for some hours between the heavy floes, we
were once more in open water. This first bout with the ice, however,
showed us plainly what an excellent ice-boat the Fram was. It was a
royal pleasure to work her ahead through difficult ice. She twisted
and turned "like a ball on a platter." No channel between the floes so
winding and awkward but she could get through it. But it is hard work
for the helmsman. "Hard astarboard! Hard aport! Steady! Hard astarboard
again!" goes on incessantly without so much as a breathing-space. And
he rattles the wheel round, the sweat pours off him, and round it
goes again like a spinning-wheel. And the ship swings round and
wriggles her way forward among the floes without touching, if there
is only just an opening wide enough for her to slip through; and where
there is none she drives full tilt at the ice, with her heavy plunge,
runs her sloping bows up on it, treads it under her, and bursts the
floes asunder. And how strong she is too! Even when she goes full
speed at a floe, not a creak, not a sound, is to be heard in her;
if she gives a little shake it is all she does.
On Saturday, July 29th, we again headed eastward towards Yugor Strait
as fast as sails and steam could take us. We had open sea ahead, the
weather was fine and the wind fair. Next morning we came under the
south side of Dolgoi or Langöia, as the Norwegian whalers call it,
where we had to stand to the northward. On reaching the north of the
island we again bore eastward. Here I descried from the crow's-nest,
as far as I could make out, several islands which are not given on
the charts. They lay a little to the east of Langöia.
It was now pretty clear that the Urania had not made her way through
the ice. While we were sitting in the saloon in the forenoon, talking
about it, a cry was heard from deck that the sloop was in sight. It
was joyful news, but the joy was of no long duration. The next moment
we heard she had a crow's-nest on her mast, so she was doubtless a
sealer. When she sighted us she bore off to the south, probably fearing
that we were a Russian war-ship or something equally bad. So, as we
had no particular interest in her, we let her go on her way in peace.
Later in the day we neared Yugor Strait. We kept a sharp lookout
for land ahead, but none could be seen. Hour after hour passed as we
glided onward at good speed, but still no land. Certainly it would not
be high land, but nevertheless this was strange. Yes--there it lies,
like a low shadow over the horizon, on the port bow. It is land--it is
Vaigats Island. Soon we sight more of it--abaft the beam; then, too,
the mainland on the south side of the strait. More and more of it comes
in sight--it increases rapidly. All low and level land, no heights, no
variety, no apparent opening for the strait ahead. Thence it stretches
away to the north and south in a soft low curve. This is the threshold
of Asia's boundless plains, so different from all we have been used to.
We now glided into the strait, with its low rocky shores on either
side. The strata of the rocks lie endways, and are crumpled and broken,
but on the surface everything is level and smooth. No one who travels
over the flat green plains and tundras would have any idea of the
mysteries and upheavals that lie hidden beneath the sward. Here
once upon a time were mountains and valleys, now all worn away and
washed out.
We looked out for Khabarova. On the north side of the sound there
was a mark; a shipwrecked sloop lay on the shore; it was a Norwegian
sealer. The wreck of a smaller vessel lay by its side. On the south
side was a flag-staff, and on it a red flag; Khabarova must then lie
behind it. At last one or two buildings or shanties appeared behind a
promontory, and soon the whole place lay exposed to view, consisting
of tents and a few houses. On a little jutting-out point close by us
was a large red building, with white door-frames, of a very homelike
appearance. It was indeed a Norwegian warehouse which Sibiriakoff had
imported from Finmarken. But here the water was shallow, and we had to
proceed carefully for fear of running aground. We kept heaving the lead
incessantly--we had 5 fathoms of water, and then 4, then not much more
than we needed, and then it shelved to a little over 3 fathoms. This
was rather too close work, so we stood out again a bit to wait till
we got a little nearer the place before drawing in to the shore.
A boat was now seen slowly approaching from the land. A man of middle
height, with an open, kindly face and reddish beard, came on board. He
might have been a Norwegian from his appearance. I went to meet him,
and asked him in German if he was Trontheim. Yes, he was. After
him there came a number of strange figures clad in heavy robes of
reindeer-skin, which nearly touched the deck. On their heads they wore
peculiar "bashlyk"-like caps of reincalf-skin, beneath which strongly
marked bearded faces showed forth, such as might well have belonged
to old Norwegian Vikings. The whole scene, indeed, called up in my
mind a picture of the Viking Age, of expeditions to Gardarike and
Bjarmeland. They were fine, stalwart-looking fellows, these Russian
traders, who barter with the natives, giving them brandy in exchange
for bearskins, sealskins, and other valuables, and who, when once
they have a hold on a man, keep him in such a state of dependence that
he can scarcely call his soul his own. "Es ist eine alte Geschichte,
doch wird sie immer neu." Soon, too, the Samoyedes came flocking on
board, pleasant-featured people of the broad Asiatic type. Of course
it was only the men who came.
The first question I asked Trontheim was about the ice. He replied that
Yugor Strait had been open a long while, and that he had been expecting
our arrival every day since then with ever-increasing anxiety. The
natives and the Russians had begun to jeer at him as time went on,
and no Fram was to be seen; but now he had his revenge and was all
sunshine. He thought the state of the ice in the Kara Sea would be
favorable; some Samoyedes had said so, who had been seal-hunting near
the eastern entrance of the Strait a day or two previously. This was
not very much to build upon, certainly, but still sufficient to make us
regret that we had not got there before. Then we spoke of the Urania,
of which no one, of course, had seen anything. No ship had put in there
for some time, except the sealing sloop we had passed in the morning.
Next we inquired about the dogs, and learned that everything was all
right with them. To make sure, Trontheim had purchased forty dogs,
though I had only asked for thirty. Five of these, from various
mishaps, had died during their journey--one had been bitten to death,
two had got hung fast and had been strangled while passing through a
forest, etc., etc. One, moreover, had been taken ill a few days before,
and was still on the sick list; but the remaining thirty-four were in
good condition: we could hear them howling and barking. During this
conversation we had come as near to Khabarova as we dared venture,
and at seven in the evening cast anchor in about 3 fathoms of water.
Over the supper-table Trontheim told us his adventures. On the way
from Sopva and Ural to the Pechora he heard that there was a dog
epidemic in that locality; consequently he did not think it advisable
to go to the Pechora as he had intended, but laid his course instead
direct from Ural to Yugor Strait. Towards the end of the journey
the snow had disappeared, and, in company with a reindeer caravan,
he drove on with his dogs over the bare plain, stocks and stones and
all, using the sledges none the less. The Samoyedes and natives of
Northern Siberia have no vehicles but sledges. The summer sledge
is somewhat higher than the winter sledge, in order that it may
not hang fast upon stones and stumps. As may be supposed, however,
summer sledging is anything but smooth work.
After supper we went ashore, and were soon on the flat beach of
Khabarova, the Russians and Samoyedes regarding us with the utmost
curiosity. The first objects to attract our attention were the
two churches--an old venerable-looking wooden shed, of an oblong
rectangular form, and an octagonal pavilion, not unlike many
summer-houses or garden pavilions that I have seen at home. How
far the divergence between the two forms of religion was indicated
in the two mathematical figures I am unable to say. It might be
that the simplicity of the old faith was expressed in the simple,
four-sided building, while the rites and ceremonies of the other were
typified in the octagonal form, with its double number of corners
to stumble against. Then we must go and see the monastery--"Skit,"
as it was called--where the six monks had lived, or rather died, from
what people said was scurvy, probably helped out by alcohol. It lay
over against the new church, and resembled an ordinary low Russian
timber-house. The priest and his assistants were living there now,
and had asked Trontheim to take up his quarters with them. Trontheim,
therefore, invited us in, and we soon found ourselves in a couple of
comfortable log-built rooms with open fireplaces like our Norwegian
"peis."
After this we proceeded to the dog-camp, which was situated on a
plain at some distance from the houses and tents. As we approached
it the howling and barking kept getting worse and worse. When a short
distance off we were surprised to see a Norwegian flag on the top of
a pole. Trontheim's face beamed with joy as our eyes fell on it. It
was, he said, under the same flag as our expedition that his had
been undertaken. There stood the dogs tied up, making a deafening
clamor. Many of them appeared to be well-bred animals--long-haired,
snow-white, with up-standing ears and pointed muzzles. With their
gentle, good-natured looking faces they at once ingratiated themselves
in our affections. Some of them more resembled a fox, and had shorter
coats, while others were black or spotted. Evidently they were of
different races, and some of them betrayed by their drooping ears
a strong admixture of European blood. After having duly admired the
ravenous way in which they swallowed raw fish (gwiniad), not without
a good deal of snarling and wrangling, we took a walk inland to a lake
close by in search of game; but we only found an Arctic gull with its
brood. A channel had been dug from this lake to convey drinking-water
to Khabarova. According to what Trontheim told us, this was the work
of the monks--about the only work, probably, they had ever taken in
hand. The soil here was a soft clay, and the channel was narrow and
shallow, like a roadside ditch or gutter; the work could not have
been very arduous. On the hill above the lake stood the flagstaff
which we had noticed on our arrival. It had been erected by the
excellent Trontheim to bid us welcome, and on the flag itself, as I
afterwards discovered by chance, was the word "Vorwärts." Trontheim
had been told that was the name of our ship, so he was not a little
disappointed when he came on board to find it was Fram instead. I
consoled him, however, by telling him they both meant the same thing,
and that his welcome was just as well meant, whether written in German
or Norwegian. Trontheim told me afterwards that he was by descent a
Norwegian, his father having been a ship's captain from Trondhjem,
and his mother an Esthonian, settled at Riga. His father had been
much at sea, and had died early, so the son had not learnt Norwegian.
Naturally our first and foremost object was to learn all we could
about the ice in the Arctic Sea. We had determined to push on as
soon as possible; but we must have the boiler put in order first,
while sundry pipes and valves in the engine wanted seeing to. As it
would take several days to do this, Sverdrup, Peter Henriksen, and
I set out next morning in our little petroleum launch to the eastern
opening of the Yugor Strait, to see with our own eyes what might be
the condition of the ice to the eastward. It was 28 miles thither. A
quantity of ice was drifting through the strait from the east, and, as
there was a northerly breeze, we at once turned our course northward to
get under the lee of the north shore, where the water was more open. I
had the rather thankless task of acting as helmsman and engineer at
one and the same time. The boat went on like a little hero and made
about six knots. Everything looked bright. But, alas! good fortune
seldom lasts long, especially when one has to do with petroleum
launches. A defect in the circulation-pump soon stopped the engine,
and we could only go for short distances at a time, till we reached
the north shore, where, after two hours' hard work, I got the engines
so far in order as to be able to continue our journey to the northeast
through the sound between the drifting floes. We got on pretty well,
except for an interruption every now and then when the engine took
it into its head to come to a standstill. It caused a good deal of
merriment when the stalwart Peter turned the crank to set her off
again and the engine gave a start so as nearly to pull his arms out
of joint and upset him head over heels in the boat. Every now and
then a flock of long-tailed duck (Harelda glacialis) or other birds
came whizzing by us, one or two of them invariably falling to our guns.
We had kept along the Vaigats shore, but now crossed over towards the
south side of the strait. When about the middle of the channel I was
startled by all at once seeing the bottom grow light under us, and had
nearly run the boat on a shoal of which no one knew anything. There
was scarcely more than two or three feet of water, and the current
ran over it like a rapid river. Shoals and sunken rocks abound there
on every hand, especially on the south side of the strait, and it
required great care to navigate a vessel through it. Near the eastern
mouth of the strait we put into a little creek, dragged the boat up on
the beach, and then, taking our guns, made for some high-lying land
we had noticed. We tramped along over the same undulating plain-land
with low ridges, as we had seen everywhere round the Yugor Strait. A
brownish-green carpet of moss and grass spread over the plain, bestrewn
with flowers of rare beauty. During the long, cold Siberian winter
the snow lies in a thick mass over the tundra; but no sooner does the
sun get the better of it than hosts of tiny northern flowers burst
their way up through the fast-disappearing coating of snow and open
their modest calices, blushing in the radiant summer day that bathes
the plain in its splendor. Saxifrages with large blooms, pale-yellow
mountain poppies (Papaver nudicaule) stand in bright clusters, and
here and there with bluish forget-me-nots and white cloud-berry
flowers; in some boggy hollows the cotton-grass spreads its wavy
down carpet, while in other spots small forests of bluebells softly
tingle in the wind on their upright stalks. These flowers are not at
all brilliant specimens, being in most cases not more than a couple
of inches high, but they are all the more exquisite on that account,
and in such surroundings their beauty is singularly attractive. While
the eye vainly seeks for a resting-place over the boundless plain,
these modest blooms smile at you and take the fancy captive.
And over these mighty tundra-plains of Asia, stretching infinitely
onward from one sky-line to the other, the nomad wanders with his
reindeer herds, a glorious, free life! Where he wills he pitches
his tent, his reindeer around him; and at his will again he goes on
his way. I almost envied him. He has no goal to struggle towards, no
anxieties to endure--he has merely to live! I wellnigh wished that I
could live his peaceful life, with wife and child, on these boundless,
open plains, unfettered, happy.
After we had proceeded a short distance, we became aware of a white
object sitting on a stone heap beneath a little ridge, and soon noticed
more in other directions. They looked quite ghostly as they sat there
silent and motionless. With the help of my field-glass I discovered
that they were snow-owls. We set out after them, but they took care
to keep out of the range of a fowling-piece. Sverdrup, however,
shot one or two with his rifle. There was a great number of them;
I could count as many as eight or ten at once. They sat motionless
on tussocks of grass or stones, watching, no doubt, for lemmings, of
which, judging from their tracks, there must have been quantities. We,
however, did not see any.
From the tops of the ridges we could see over the Kara Sea to the
northeast. Everywhere ice could be descried through the telescope, far
on the horizon--ice, too, that seemed tolerably close and massive. But
between it and the coast there was open water, stretching, like a wide
channel, as far as the eye could reach to the southeast. This was all
we could make out, but it was in reality all we wanted. There seemed to
be no doubt that we could make our way forward, and, well satisfied,
we returned to our boat. Here we lighted a fire of driftwood, and
made some glorious coffee.
As the coffee-kettle was singing over a splendid fire, and we
stretched ourselves at full length on the slope by its side and
smoked a quiet pipe, Sverdrup made himself thoroughly comfortable,
and told us one story after another. However gloomy a country might
look, however desolate, if only there were plenty of driftwood on
the beach, so that one could make a right good fire, the bigger the
better, then his eyes would glisten with delight--that land was his
El Dorado. So from that time forth he conceived a high opinion of
the Siberian coast--a right good place for wintering, he called it.
On our way back we ran at full speed on to a sunken rock. After
a bump or two the boat slid over it; but just as she was slipping
off on the other side the propeller struck on the rock, so that the
stern gave a bound into the air while the engine whizzed round at a
tearing rate. It all happened in a second, before I had time to stop
her. Unluckily one screw blade was broken off, but we drove ahead with
the other as best we could. Our progress was certainly rather uneven,
but for all that we managed to get on somehow.
Towards morning we drew near the Fram, passing two Samoyedes, who had
drawn their boat up on an ice-floe and were looking out for seals. I
wonder what they thought when they saw our tiny boat shoot by them
without steam, sails, or oars. We, at all events, looked down on these
"poor savages" with the self-satisfied compassion of Europeans, as,
comfortably seated, we dashed past them.
But pride comes before a fall! We had not gone far when--whir, whir,
whir--a fearful racket! bits of broken steel springs whizzed past my
ears, and the whole machine came to a dead stop. It was not to be
moved either forward or backward. The vibration of the one-bladed
propeller had brought the lead line little by little within the
range of the fly-wheel, and all at once the whole line was drawn
into the machinery, and got so dreadfully entangled in it that we
had to take the whole thing to pieces to get it clear once more. So
we had to endure the humiliation of rowing back to our proud ship,
for whose flesh-pots we had long been anhungered.
The net result of the day was: tolerably good news about the Kara Sea;
forty birds, principally geese and long-tailed ducks; one seal; and
a disabled boat. Amundsen and I, however, soon put this in complete
repair again--but in so doing I fear I forfeited forever and a day
the esteem of the Russians and Samoyedes in these parts. Some of them
had been on board in the morning and seen me hard at work in the boat
in my shirt-sleeves, face and bare arms dirty with oil and other
messes. They went on shore afterwards to Trontheim, and said that
I could not possibly be a great person, slaving away like any other
workman on board, and looking worse than a common rough. Trontheim,
unfortunately, knew of nothing that could be said in my excuse;
there is no fighting against facts.
In the evening some of us went on shore to try the dogs. Trontheim
picked out ten of them and harnessed them to a Samoyede sledge. No
sooner were we ready and I had taken my seat than the team caught sight
of a wretched strange dog that had come near, and off dashed dogs,
sledge, and my valuable person after the poor creature. There was
a tremendous uproar; all the ten tumbled over each other like wild
wolves, biting and tearing wherever they could catch hold; blood
ran in streams, and the culprit howled pitiably, while Trontheim
tore round like a madman, striking right and left with his long
switch. Samoyedes and Russians came screaming from all sides. I sat
passively on the sledge in the middle of it all, dumb with fright,
and it was ever so long before it occurred to me that there was
perhaps something for me too to do. With a horrible yell I flung
myself on some of the worst fighters, got hold of them by the neck,
and managed to give the culprit time to get away.
Our team had got badly mixed up during the battle, and it took some
time to disentangle them. At last everything was once more ready
for the start. Trontheim cracked his whip, and called, "Pr-r-r-r,
pr-r-r-r," and off we went at a wild gallop, over grass, clay, and
stones, until it seemed as if they were going to carry us right
across the lagoon at the mouth of the river. I kicked and pulled
in with all my might, but was dragged along, and it was all that
Trontheim and I with our united strength could do to stop them
just as they were going into the water, although we shouted "Sass,
sass," so that it echoed over the whole of Khabarova. But at last
we got our team turned in another direction, and off we set again
merrily at such a pace that I had enough to do to hold on. It was an
extraordinary summer ride; and it gave us a high opinion of the dogs'
strength, seeing how easily they drew two men over this, to put it
mildly, bad sledding ground. We went on board again well satisfied,
also the richer by a new experience, having learnt that dog-driving,
at any rate to begin with, requires much patience.
Siberian dog-harness is remarkably primitive. A thick rope or a strap
of sail-cloth passes round the animal's back and belly. This is held
in its place above by a piece of cord attached to the collar. The
single trace is fastened under the belly, goes back between the legs,
and must often plague the animal. I was unpleasantly surprised when
I noticed that, with four exceptions, all the dogs were castrated,
and this surprise I did not conceal. But Trontheim on his side was at
least equally astonished, and informed me that in Siberia castrated
dogs are considered the best. [21] This was a disappointment to me,
as I had reckoned on my canine family increasing on the way. For
the present I should just have to trust to the four "whole" dogs and
"Kvik," the bitch I had brought with me from home.
Next day, August 1st, there was a great religious festival in
Khabarova, that of St. Elias. Samoyedes from far and near had come in
with their reindeer teams to celebrate the day by going to church and
then getting roaring drunk. We were in need of men in the morning
to help in filling the boiler with fresh water and the tank with
drinking-water, but on account of this festival it was difficult to get
hold of any at all. At last, by dint of promising sufficient reward,
Trontheim succeeded in collecting some poor fellows who had not money
enough to drink themselves as drunk as the day required of them. I
was on shore in the morning, partly to arrange about the provision
of water, partly to collect fossils, in which the rock here abounds,
especially one rock below Sibiriakoff's warehouse. I also took a walk
up the hill to the west, to Trontheim's flag-staff, and looked out
to sea in that direction after the Urania. But there was nothing to
be seen except an unbroken sea-line. Loaded with my find I returned
to Khabarova, where I, of course, took advantage of the opportunity
to see something of the festival.
From early morning the women had been dressed in their finest
clothes--brilliant colors, skirts with many tucks, and great
colored bows at the end of plaits of hair which hung far down their
backs. Before service an old Samoyede and a comely young girl led
out a lean reindeer which was to be offered to the church--to the old
church, that is to say. Even up here, as already mentioned, religious
differences have found their way. Nearly all the Samoyedes of these
parts belong to the old faith and attend the old church. But they go
occasionally to the new one too; as far as I could make out, so as
not to offend the priest and Sibiriakoff--or perhaps to be surer of
heaven? From what I got out of Trontheim on the subject, the chief
difference between the two religions lies in the way they make the
sign of the cross, or something of that sort. To-day was high festival
in both churches. All the Samoyedes first paid a short visit to the
new church and then immediately streamed over into the old one. The
old church was for the moment without a priest, but to-day they had
clubbed together and offered the priest of the new church two roubles
to hold a service in the old one too. After careful consideration, he
agreed, and in all his priestly pomp crossed the old threshold. The
air inside was so bad that I could not stand it for more than two
minutes, so I now made my way on board again.
During the afternoon the howling and screaming began, and increased
as time went on. We did not need to be told that the serious part of
the festival had now begun. Some of the Samoyedes tore about over the
plain with their reindeer teams like furious animals. They could not
sit on their sledges, but lay on them, or were dragged behind them,
howling. Some of my comrades went on shore, and brought back anything
but an edifying account of the state of things. Every single man
and woman appeared to be drunk, reeling about the place. One young
Samoyede in particular had made an ineffaceable impression on them. He
mounted a sledge, lashed at the reindeer, and drove "amuck" in among
the tents, over the tied-up dogs, foxes, and whatever came in his way;
he himself fell off the sledge, was caught in the reins, and dragged
behind, shrieking, through sand and clay. Good St. Elias must be much
flattered by such homage. Towards morning the howling gradually died
away, and the whole town slept the loathsome sleep of the drunkard.
There was not a man to be got to help with our coal-shifting next
day. Most of them slept all day after the orgie of the night. We
had just to do without help; but we had not finished by evening,
and I began to be impatient to get away. Precious time was passing;
I had long ago given up the Urania. We did not really need more
coal. The wind had been favorable for several days. It was a south
wind, which was certainly blowing the ice to the northward in the
Kara Sea. Sverdrup was now positive that we should be able to sail
in open water all the way to the New Siberian Islands, so it was
his opinion that there was no hurry for the present. But hope is a
frail reed to lean on, and my expectations were not quite so bright;
so I hurried things on, to get away as soon as possible.
At the supper-table this evening King Oscar's gold medal of merit
was solemnly presented to Trontheim, in recognition of the great care
with which he had executed his difficult commission, and the valuable
assistance thereby rendered to the expedition. His honest face beamed
at the sight of the beautiful medal and the bright ribbon.
Next day, August 3d, we were at last ready for a start, and the 34
dogs were brought on board in the afternoon, with great noise and
confusion. They were all tied up on the deck forward, and began by
providing more musical entertainment than we desired. By evening
the hour had come. We got up steam--everything was ready. But such
a thick fog had set in that we could not see the land. Now came
the moment when our last friend, Christofersen, was to leave the
ship. We supplied him with the barest sufficiency of provisions and
some Ringnes's ale. While this was being done, last lines were added
in feverish eagerness to the letters home. Then came a last hand-clasp;
Christofersen and Trontheim got into the boat, and had soon disappeared
in the fog. With them went our last post; our last link with home
was broken. We were alone in the mist on the sea. It was not likely
that any message from us would reach the world before we ourselves
brought the news of our success or defeat. How much anxiety were
those at home to suffer between now and then! It is true we might
possibly be able to send letters home from the mouth of the Olenek,
where, according to the agreement with Baron Toll, we were to call in
for another supply of dogs; but I did not consider this probable. It
was far on in the summer, and I had an instinctive feeling that the
state of the ice was not so favorable as I could have wished it to be.
TRONTHEIM'S NARRATIVE
Alexander Ivanovitch Trontheim has himself given an account, in the
Tobolsk official newspaper, of his long and difficult journey with
our dogs. The account was written by A. Kryloff from Trontheim's
story. The following is a short résumé:
After having made the contract with Baron Toll, Trontheim was on
January 28th (January 16th by Russian reckoning) already at Berezoff,
where there was then a Yassak-meeting, [22] and consequently a
great assembly of Ostiaks and Samoyedes. Trontheim made use of this
opportunity and bought 33 (this ought probably to be 40) choice sledge
dogs. These he conveyed to the little country town of Muzhi, where
he made preparations for the "very long journey," passing the time in
this way till April 16th. By this date he had prepared 300 pud (about
9600 lbs.) of dog provender, consisting chiefly of dried fish. For
300 roubles he engaged a Syriane, named Terentieff, with a reindeer
herd of 450, to convey him, his dogs, and baggage to Yugor Strait. For
three months these two with their caravan--reindeer, drivers, dogs,
women, and children--travelled through the barren tracts of northern
Siberia. At first their route lay through the Ural Mountains. "It was
more a sort of nomadic life than a journey. They did not go straight on
towards their destination, but wandered over wide tracts of country,
stopping wherever it was suitable for the reindeer, and where they
found lichen. From the little town of Muzhi the expedition passed
up the Voikara River to its sources; and here began the ascent of
the Ural Mountains by the Pass of Kjaila (Kjola). In their crossing
of the chain they tried to skirt along the foot of the mountains,
climbing as little as possible....
"They noticed one marked contrast between the mountains in the northern
and those in the southern part of the Ural chain. In the south the snow
melts quickly in the lower regions and remains lying on the tops. Here
(in the northern Ural), on the contrary, the mountain-tops are free
from snow before the sun's rays penetrate into the valleys and melt
it there. In some valleys, especially those closed by mountains to
the south, and more exposed to north winds, the snow lies the whole
summer. When they had got across the Ural Mountains they first
followed the course of the River Lemva, then crossed it, and now
followed a whole system of small rivers, for which even the natives
have no names. At last, on May 4th, the expedition reached the River
Ussa, on the banks of which lay the hut of the Syriane Nikitsa." This
was "the one inhabited spot in this enormous tract of country," and
here they stopped two weeks to rest the reindeer and get provender
for them. "The country lying between the sources of the Voikara and
the Ussa is wooded in every direction." "Between the River Ussa and
the River Vorkuta, and even beyond that, Trontheim and his company
travelled through quite luxuriant wood. In the middle of May, as the
caravan approached the tundra region, the wood got thinner and thinner,
and by May 27th it was nothing but scattered underwood. After this came
quite small bushes and weeds, and then at last the interminable tundra
came in sight. Not to be without fuel on the tundra, they felled some
dead trees and other wood--eight sledge loads. The day after they got
out on the tundra (May 29th) the caravan set off at full speed, the
Syrianes being anxious to get quickly past a place where a whole herd
of reindeer had perished some years before. The reindeer-drivers take
good note of such places, and do everything possible to avoid them, as
the animals may easily be infected by gnawing the bones of their dead
comrades. God help the herd that this happens to! The disease passes
rapidly from animal to animal, and scores may die of it in a day. [23]
"In this region there are many bogs; the low land forms one continuous
morass. Sometimes we had to walk up to the waist in water; thus on
June 5th we splashed about the whole day in water, in constant fear of
the dogs catching cold. On the 6th a strong northeast wind blew, and
at night the cold was so severe that two reindeer-calves were frozen
to death; and besides this two grown ones were carried off by wolves."
The caravan had often to cross rapid rivers, where it was sometimes
very difficult to find a ford. They were frequently obliged to
construct a bridge with the help of tent-poles and sometimes blocks
of ice, and it occasionally took them a whole day to get across. By
degrees their supply of wood was used up, and it was difficult to
get food cooked. Few bushes were to be found. On June 17th they met a
Syriane reindeer driver and trader; from him they bought two bottles
of wine (brandy) at 70 kopecks each. "It was, as is customary, a very
friendly encounter, and ended with treatings on both sides. One can
see a long way on the tundra; the Syriane's keen eye detects another
herd, or smoke from inhabited tents, 10 versts off; and a nomad who
has discovered the presence of another human being 10 or 12 versts off
never lets slip the opportunity of visiting him in his camp, having
a talk, and being regaled with tea, or, in preference, brandy. The
day after, June 18th, some Samoyedes, who had heard of the caravan,
came on four sledges to the camp. They were entertained with tea. The
conversation, carried on in Samoyede, was about the health of the
reindeer, our journey, and the way to Yugor Strait. When the scanty
news of the tundra had been well discussed they took their departure."
By the end of June, when they had got through all the ramifications of
the Little Ural Mountains, the time was drawing near when, according
to his agreement, Trontheim was due at Yugor Strait. He was obliged
to hasten the rate of travelling, which was not an easy matter, with
more than 40 sledges and 450 reindeer, not counting the calves. He,
therefore, determined to divide the caravan into two parts, leave
the women, children, and domestic animals behind, and push forward
without any baggage, except the necessary food. So, on June 28th,
"thirty sledges, tents, etc., were left with the women and children,
who were to live their nomadic life as best they could. The male
Syrianes took ten sledges and went on with Trontheim." At last, on
July 9th, after more wanderings, they saw the sea from a "high hill,"
and next day they reached Khabarova, where Trontheim learned that no
steamer had arrived yet in Yugor Strait, nor had any sail been seen. At
this time the whole shore of Yugor Strait and all the sea within sight
was covered with ice, driven there by northerly winds. The sea was
not quite open till July 22d. Trontheim passed the time while he was
waiting for the Fram in hunting and making excursions with his dogs,
which were in excellent condition. He was often in the Sibiriakoff
colony, a meeting-place for the Samoyedes of the district, who come
here in considerable numbers to dispose of their wares. And it was a
melancholy phase of life he saw here in this little "world-forsaken"
colony. "Every summer two or three merchants or peasant traders,
generally from Pustozersk, come for the purpose of bartering with the
Samoyedes, and sometimes the Syrianes, too, for their wares--bearskins,
blubber, and sealskins, reindeer-skins, and such like--giving in
exchange tea, sugar, flour, household utensils, etc. No transaction
takes place without the drinking of brandy, for which the Samoyede
has an insatiable craving. When the trader has succeeded in making
a poor wretch quite tipsy, he fleeces him, and buys all he wants at
some ridiculous price--the result of the transaction generally being
that the Samoyede is in debt to his 'benefactor.' All the traders that
come to the colony bring brandy, and one great drinking-bout goes on
all the summer. You can tell where much business is done by the number
of brandy casks in the trader's booth. There is no police inspection,
and it would be difficult to organize anything of the kind. As soon as
there is snow enough for the sledges, the merchants' reindeer caravans
start from the colony on their homeward journey, loaded with empty
brandy casks and with the proceeds of this one-sided bartering.
"On July 30th [this ought to be 29th] Trontheim saw from the shore,
first, smoke, and soon after a steamer. There could be no doubt
of its being the Fram. He went out in a little Samoyede boat to
meet her, and called out in Russian that he wanted to be taken on
board. From the steamer they called back, asking who he was, and when
they heard his name he was hauled up. On deck he met Nansen himself,
in a greasy working-jacket. He is still quite a young man, of middle
height...." Here follows a flattering description of the leader of
the expedition, and the state of matters on board. "It is evident,"
he then goes on, "that we have here one family, united and inspired
by one idea, for the carrying out of which all labor devotedly. The
hard and dirty work on board is fairly divided, no difference being
made between the common sailor and the captain, or even the chief of
the expedition. The doctor, too, takes his share in the general work,
and this community of labor is a close bond between all on board. The
existence of such relations among the ship's company made a very
favorable impression on Trontheim, and this most of all (in his
opinion) justified the hope that in difficult crises the expedition
would be able to hold its own.
"A. I. Trontheim was on board the Fram every day, breakfasting and
dining there. From what he relates, the ship must be admirably built,
leaving nothing whatever to be desired. The cabins are roomy, and
comfortably fitted up; there is an excellent library, containing
the classics of European literature; various musical instruments,
from a beautiful grand-piano [24] to flutes and guitars; then chess,
draughts, etc.--all for the recreation of the company."
Here follows a description of the Fram, her general equipments,
and commissariat. It seems to have made a great impression on him
that we had no wine (brandy) on board. "I was told," he exclaims,
"that only among the medicine stores have they some 20 or 30 bottles
of the best cognac--pure, highly rectified spirit. It is Nansen's
opinion that brandy-drinking in these northern regions is injurious,
and may, if indulged in on such a difficult and dangerous voyage, have
very serious consequences; he has therefore considered it expedient
to supply its place by fruit and various sorts of sweets, of which
there are large supplies on board." "In harbor the crew spent most of
the day together; in spite of community of work, each individual's
duties are fixed down to the minutest detail. They all sit down to
meals together, with the exception of the acting cook, whose duty they
take by turns. Health and good spirits are to be read on every face;
Nansen's immovable faith in a successful and happy issue to their
expedition inspires the whole crew with courage and confidence.
"On August 3d they shifted coal on board the Fram from the ship's
hold down to the stoke-hold (coal bunkers). All the members of
the expedition took part in this work, Nansen at their head, and
they worked unitedly and cheerfully. This same day Nansen and his
companions tried the dogs on shore. Eight [this should be ten] were
harnessed to a sledge on which three persons took their places. Nansen
expressed his satisfaction with the dogs, and thanked Trontheim for
the good selection he had made, and for the excellent condition the
animals were in. When the dogs were taken over and brought on board,
[25] Trontheim applied to Nansen for a certificate of the exact and
scrupulous way in which he had fulfilled his contract. Nansen's
answer was: 'No; a certificate is not enough. Your duty has been
done with absolute conscientiousness, and you have thereby rendered
a great service to the expedition. I am commissioned to present you
with a gold medal from our king in recognition of the great help you
have given us.' With these words Nansen handed to Trontheim a very
large gold medal with a crown on it. On the obverse is the following
inscription: 'Oscar II., King of Norway and Sweden. For the Welfare of
the Brother-Nations.' And on the reverse: 'Reward for valuable service,
A. I. Trontheim.' Along with this Nansen also gave Trontheim a written
testimonial as to the admirable manner in which he had carried out his
commission, mentioning that for this he had been rewarded with a medal.
"Nansen determined to weigh anchor during the night of this same day,
[26] and set sail on his long voyage without waiting for the coal
sloop Urania, which he thought must have been delayed by the ice. In
the evening Trontheim took leave of the whole party, with hearty
wishes for the success of the expedition. Along with him Herr Ole
Christofersen, correspondent of one of the chief London newspapers,
[27] left the ship. He had accompanied Nansen from Vardö. At parting,
Nansen gave them a plentiful supply of provisions, Christofersen and
Trontheim having to await the arrival of the Urania, as they were to
go home by her. Precisely at 12 o'clock on the night between August
4th and 5th the signal for starting was given, and the Fram stood
out to sea."
On August 7th the Urania at last arrived. As I had supposed,
she had been stopped by ice, but had at last got out of it
uninjured. Christofersen and Trontheim were able to sail for home
in her on the 11th, and reached Vardö on the 22d, food having been
very scarce during the last part of the time. The ship, which had
left her home port, Brönö, in May, was not provided for so long
a voyage, and these last days they lived chiefly on dry biscuits,
water, and--weevils.