CHAPTER VI

THE WINTER NIGHT

It really looked as if we were now frozen in for good, and I did not

expect to get the Fram out of the ice till we were on the other side of

the Pole, nearing the Atlantic Ocean. Autumn was already well advanced;

the sun stood lower in the heavens day by day, and the temperature

sank steadily. The long night of winter was approaching--that dreaded

night. There was nothing to be done except prepare ourselves for

it, and by degrees we converted our ship, as well as we could, into

comfortable winter quarters; while at the same time we took every

precaution to assure her against the destructive influences of cold,

drift-ice, and the other forces of nature to which it was prophesied

that we must succumb. The rudder was hauled up, so that it might not

be destroyed by the pressure of the ice. We had intended to do the

same with the screw; but as it, with its iron case, would certainly

help to strengthen the stern, and especially the rudder-stock, we let

it remain in its place. We had a good deal of work with the engine,

too; each separate part was taken out, oiled, and laid away for the

winter; slide-valves, pistons, shafts, were examined and thoroughly

cleaned. All this was done with the very greatest care. Amundsen

looked after that engine as if it had been his own child; late and

early he was down tending it lovingly; and we used to tease him about

it, to see the defiant look come into his eyes and hear him say:

"It's all very well for you to talk, but there's not such another

engine in the world, and it would be a sin and a shame not to take

good care of it." Assuredly he left nothing undone. I don't suppose

a day passed, winter or summer, all these three years, that he did

not go down and caress it, and do something or other for it.

We cleared up in the hold to make room for a joiner's workshop down

there; our mechanical workshop we had in the engine-room. The smithy

was at first on deck, and afterwards on the ice; tinsmith's work

was done chiefly in the chart-room; shoemaker's and sailmaker's, and

various odd sorts of work, in the saloon. And all these occupations

were carried on with interest and activity during the rest of the

expedition. There was nothing, from the most delicate instruments

down to wooden shoes and axe-handles, that could not be made on

board the Fram. When we were found to be short of sounding-line,

a grand rope-walk was constructed on the ice. It proved to be a very

profitable undertaking, and was well patronized.

Presently we began putting up the windmill which was to drive the

dynamo and produce the electric light. While the ship was going, the

dynamo was driven by the engine, but for a long time past we had had

to be contented with petroleum lamps in our dark cabins. The windmill

was erected on the port side of the fore-deck, between the main-hatch

and the rail. It took several weeks to get this important appliance

into working order.

As mentioned on page 71, we had also brought with us a "horse-mill"

for driving the dynamo. I had thought that it might be of service

in giving us exercise whenever there was no other physical work

for us. But this time never came, and so the "horse-mill" was never

used. There was always something to occupy us; and it was not difficult

to find work for each man that gave him sufficient exercise, and so

much distraction that the time did not seem to him unbearably long.

There was the care of the ship and rigging, the inspection of sails,

ropes, etc., etc.; there were provisions of all kinds to be got out

from the cases down in the hold, and handed over to the cook; there

was ice--good, pure, fresh-water ice--to be found and carried to the

galley to be melted for cooking, drinking, and washing water. Then,

as already mentioned, there was always something doing in the various

workshops. Now "Smith Lars" had to straighten the long-boat davits,

which had been twisted by the waves in the Kara Sea; now it was a hook,

a knife, a bear-trap, or something else to be forged. The tinsmith,

again "Smith Lars," had to solder together a great tin pail for the

ice-melting in the galley. The mechanician, Amundsen, would have an

order for some instrument or other--perhaps a new current-gauge. The

watchmaker, Mogstad, would have a thermograph to examine and clean,

or a new spring to put into a watch. The sailmaker might have an

order for a quantity of dog-harness. Then each man had to be his own

shoemaker--make himself canvas boots with thick, warm, wooden soles,

according to Sverdrup's newest pattern. Presently there would come an

order to mechanician Amundsen for a supply of new zinc music-sheets

for the organ--these being a brand-new invention of the leader of

the expedition. The electrician would have to examine and clean the

accumulator batteries, which were in danger of freezing. When at last

the windmill was ready, it had to be attended to, turned according to

the wind, etc. And when the wind was too strong some one had to climb

up and reef the mill sails, which was not a pleasant occupation in

this winter cold, and involved much breathing on fingers and rubbing

of the tip of the nose.

It happened now and then, too, that the ship required to be

pumped. This became less and less necessary as the water froze round

her and in the interstices in her sides. The pumps, therefore, were

not touched from December, 1893, till July, 1895. The only noticeable

leakage during that time was in the engine-room, but it was nothing

of any consequence: just a few buckets of ice that had to be hewn

away every month from the bottom of the ship and hoisted up.

To these varied employments was presently added, as the most important

of all, the taking of scientific observations, which gave many of us

constant occupation. Those that involved the greatest labor were,

of course, the meteorological observations, which were taken every

four hours day and night; indeed, for a considerable part of the time,

every two hours. They kept one man, sometimes two, at work all day. It

was Hansen who had the principal charge of this department, and his

regular assistant until March, 1895, was Johansen, whose place was then

taken by Nordahl. The night observations were taken by whoever was

on watch. About every second day, when the weather was clear, Hansen

and his assistant took the astronomical observation which ascertained

our position. This was certainly the work which was followed with

most interest by all the members of the expedition; and it was not

uncommon to see Hansen's cabin, while he was making his calculations,

besieged with idle spectators, waiting to hear the result--whether

we had drifted north or south since the last observation, and how

far. The state of feeling on board very much depended on these results.

Hansen had also at stated periods to take observations to determine

the magnetic constant in this unknown region. These were carried on

at first in a tent, specially constructed for the purpose, which was

soon erected on the ice; but later we built him a large snow hut,

as being both more suitable and more comfortable.

For the ship's doctor there was less occupation. He looked long and

vainly for patients, and at last had to give it up and in despair take

to doctoring the dogs. Once a month he too had to make his scientific

observations, which consisted in the weighing of each man, and the

counting of blood corpuscles, and estimating the amount of blood

pigment, in order to ascertain the number of red-blood corpuscles

and the quantity of red coloring matter (hæmoglobin) in the blood

of each. This was also work that was watched with anxious interest,

as every man thought he could tell from the result obtained how long

it would be before scurvy overtook him.

Among our scientific pursuits may also be mentioned the determining

of the temperature of the water and of its degree of saltness at

varying depths; the collection and examination of such animals as are

to be found in these northern seas; the ascertaining of the amount of

electricity in the air; the observation of the formation of the ice,

its growth and thickness, and of the temperature of the different

layers of ice; the investigation of the currents in the water under it,

etc., etc. I had the main charge of this department. There remains to

be mentioned the regular observation of the aurora borealis, which we

had a splendid opportunity of studying. After I had gone on with it

for some time, Blessing undertook this part of my duties; and when

I left the ship I made over to him all the other observations that

were under my charge. Not an inconsiderable item of our scientific

work were the soundings and dredgings. At the greater depths it was

such an undertaking that every one had to assist; and, from the way

we were obliged to do it later, one sounding sometimes gave occupation

for several days.

One day differed very little from another on board, and the description

of one is, in every particular of any importance, a description of all.

We all turned out at eight, and breakfasted on hard bread (both rye

and wheat), cheese (Dutch-clove cheese, Cheddar, Gruyère, and Mysost,

or goat's-whey cheese, prepared from dry powder), corned beef or corned

mutton, luncheon ham or Chicago tinned tongue or bacon, cod-caviare,

anchovy roe; also oatmeal biscuits or English ship-biscuits--with

orange marmalade or Frame Food jelly. Three times a week we had

fresh-baked bread as well, and often cake of some kind. As for our

beverages, we began by having coffee and chocolate day about; but

afterwards had coffee only two days a week, tea two, and chocolate

three.

After breakfast some men went to attend to the dogs--give them their

food, which consisted of half a stockfish or a couple of dog-biscuits

each, let them loose, or do whatever else there was to do for them. The

others went all to their different tasks. Each took his turn of a

week in the galley--helping the cook to wash up, lay the table, and

wait. The cook himself had to arrange his bill of fare for dinner

immediately after breakfast, and to set about his preparations at

once. Some of us would take a turn on the floe to get some fresh air,

and to examine the state of the ice, its pressure, etc. At 1 o'clock

all were assembled for dinner, which generally consisted of three

courses--soup, meat, and dessert; or, soup, fish, and meat; or, fish,

meat, and dessert; or sometimes only fish and meat. With the meat we

always had potatoes, and either green vegetables or macaroni. I think

we were all agreed that the fare was good; it would hardly have been

better at home; for some of us it would perhaps have been worse. And we

looked like fatted pigs; one or two even began to cultivate a double

chin and a corporation. As a rule, stories and jokes circulated at

table along with the bock-beer.

After dinner the smokers of our company would march off, well fed and

contented, into the galley, which was smoking-room as well as kitchen,

tobacco being tabooed in the cabins except on festive occasions. Out

there they had a good smoke and chat; many a story was told, and not

seldom some warm dispute arose. Afterwards came, for most of us, a

short siesta. Then each went to his work again until we were summoned

to supper at 6 o'clock, when the regulation day's work was done. Supper

was almost the same as breakfast, except that tea was always the

beverage. Afterwards there was again smoking in the galley, while

the saloon was transformed into a silent reading-room. Good use was

made of the valuable library presented to the expedition by generous

publishers and other friends. If the kind donors could have seen us

away up there, sitting round the table at night with heads buried in

books or collections of illustrations, and could have understood how

invaluable these companions were to us, they would have felt rewarded

by the knowledge that they had conferred a real boon--that they had

materially assisted in making the Fram the little oasis that it was in

this vast ice desert. About half-past seven or eight cards or other

games were brought out, and we played well on into the night, seated

in groups round the saloon table. One or other of us might go to the

organ, and, with the assistance of the crank-handle, perform some of

our beautiful pieces, or Johansen would bring out the accordion and

play many a fine tune. His crowning efforts were "Oh, Susanna!" and

"Napoleon's March Across the Alps in an Open Boat." About midnight we

turned in, and then the night watch was set. Each man went on for an

hour. Their most trying work on watch seems to have been writing their

diaries and looking out, when the dogs barked, for any signs of bears

at hand. Besides this, every two hours or four hours the watch had

to go aloft or on to the ice to take the meteorological observations.

I believe I may safely say that on the whole the time passed pleasantly

and imperceptibly, and that we throve in virtue of the regular habits

imposed upon us.

My notes from day to day will give the best idea of our life, in all

its monotony. They are not great events that are here recorded, but

in their very bareness they give a true picture. Such, and no other,

was our life. I shall give some quotations direct from my diary:

"Tuesday, September 26th. Beautiful weather. The sun stands much

lower now; it was 9° above the horizon at midday. Winter is rapidly

approaching; there are 14 1/2° of frost this evening, but we do not

feel it cold. To-day's observations unfortunately show no particular

drift northward; according to them we are still in 78° 50' north

latitude. I wandered about over the floe towards evening. Nothing

more wonderfully beautiful can exist than the Arctic night. It is

dreamland, painted in the imagination's most delicate tints; it

is color etherealized. One shade melts into the other, so that you

cannot tell where one ends and the other begins, and yet they are

all there. No forms--it is all faint, dreamy color music, a far-away,

long-drawn-out melody on muted strings. Is not all life's beauty high,

and delicate, and pure like this night? Give it brighter colors, and

it is no longer so beautiful. The sky is like an enormous cupola, blue

at the zenith, shading down into green, and then into lilac and violet

at the edges. Over the ice-fields there are cold violet-blue shadows,

with lighter pink tints where a ridge here and there catches the last

reflection of the vanished day. Up in the blue of the cupola shine the

stars, speaking peace, as they always do, those unchanging friends. In

the south stands a large red-yellow moon, encircled by a yellow ring

and light golden clouds floating on the blue background. Presently the

aurora borealis shakes over the vault of heaven its veil of glittering

silver--changing now to yellow, now to green, now to red. It spreads,

it contracts again, in restless change; next it breaks into waving,

many-folded bands of shining silver, over which shoot billows of

glittering rays, and then the glory vanishes. Presently it shimmers

in tongues of flame over the very zenith, and then again it shoots a

bright ray right up from the horizon, until the whole melts away in

the moonlight, and it is as though one heard the sigh of a departing

spirit. Here and there are left a few waving streamers of light,

vague as a foreboding--they are the dust from the aurora's glittering

cloak. But now it is growing again; new lightnings shoot up, and the

endless game begins afresh. And all the time this utter stillness,

impressive as the symphony of infinitude. I have never been able to

grasp the fact that this earth will some day be spent and desolate

and empty. To what end, in that case, all this beauty, with not a

creature to rejoice in it? Now I begin to divine it. This is the

coming earth--here are beauty and death. But to what purpose? Ah,

what is the purpose of all these spheres? Read the answer, if you can,

in the starry blue firmament.

"Wednesday, September 27th. Gray weather and strong wind from the

south-southwest. Nordahl, who is cook to-day, had to haul up some

salt meat which, rolled in a sack, had been steeping for two days

in the sea. As soon as he got hold of it he called out, horrified,

that it was crawling with animals. He let go the sack and jumped

away from it, the animals scattering round in every direction. They

proved to be sandhoppers, or Amphipoda, which had eaten their way

into the meat. There were pints of them, both inside and outside of

the sack. A pleasant discovery; there will be no need to starve when

such food is to be had by hanging a sack in the water.

"Bentzen is the wag of the party; he is always playing some practical

joke. Just now one of the men came rushing up and stood respectfully

waiting for me to speak to him. It was Bentzen that had told him I

wanted him. It won't be long before he has thought of some new trick.

"Thursday, September 28th. Snowfall with wind. To-day the dogs'

hour of release has come. Until now their life on board has been

really a melancholy one. They have been tied up ever since we left

Khabarova. The stormy seas have broken over them, and they have

been rolled here and there in the water on the deck; they have half

hanged themselves in their leashes, howling miserably; they have had

the hose played over them every time the deck was washed; they have

been sea-sick; in bad as in good weather they have had to lie on the

spot hard fate had chained them to, without more exercise than going

backward and forward the length of their chains. It is thus you are

treated, you splendid animals, who are to be our stay in the hour of

need! When that time comes, you will, for a while at least, have the

place of honor. When they were let loose there was a perfect storm of

jubilation. They rolled in the snow, washed and rubbed themselves,

and rushed about the ice in wild joy, barking loudly. Our floe, a

short time ago so lonesome and forlorn, was quite a cheerful sight

with this sudden population; the silence of ages was broken."

It was our intention after this to tie up the dogs on the ice.

"Friday, September 29th. Dr. Blessing's birthday, in honor of which

we of course had a fête, our first great one on board. There was a

double occasion for it. Our midday observation showed us to be in

latitude 79° 5' north; so we had passed one more degree. We had no

fewer than five courses at dinner, and a more than usually elaborate

concert during the meal. Here follows a copy of the printed menu:

'FRAM'

Menu. September 29, 1893

Soupe à la julienne avec des macaroni-dumplings.

Potage de poison (sic) avec des pommes de terre.

Pudding de Nordahl.

Glacé du Greenland.

De la table bière de la Ringnæes.

Marmalade intacte.

MUSIC À DINÉ (sic)

1. Valse Myosotic.

2. Menuette de Don Juan de Mozart.

3. Les Troubadours.

4. College Hornpipe.

5. Die letzte Rose de Martha.

6. Ein flotter Studio Marsch de Phil. Farbach.

7. Valse de Lagune de Strauss.

8. Le Chanson du Nord (Du gamla, du friska....).

9. Hoch Habsburg Marsch de Kral.

10. Josse Karads Polska.

11. Vårt Land, vårt Land.

12. Le Chanson de Chaseuse.

13. Les Roses, Valse de Métra.

14. Fischers Hornpipe.

15. Traum-Valse de Millocher.

16. Hemlandssång. 'A le misérable.'

17. Diamanten und Perlen.

18. Marsch de 'Det lustiga Kriget.'

19. Valse de 'Det lustiga Kriget.'

20. Prière du Freischütz.

I hope my readers will admit that this was quite a fine entertainment

to be given in latitude 79° north; but of such we had many on board

the Fram at still higher latitudes.

"Coffee and sweets were served after dinner; and after a better

supper than usual came strawberry and lemon ice (alias granitta) and

limejuice toddy, without alcohol. The health of the hero of the day

was first proposed 'in a few well-chosen words'; and then we drank a

bumper to the seventy-ninth degree, which we were sure was only the

first of many degrees to be conquered in the same way.

"Saturday, September 30th. I am not satisfied that the Fram's present

position is a good one for the winter. The great floe on the port side

to which we are moored sends out an ugly projection about amidships,

which might give her a bad squeeze in case of the ice packing. We

therefore began to-day to warp her backward into better ice. It is by

no means quick work. The comparatively open channel around us is now

covered with tolerably thick ice, which has to be hewn and broken in

pieces with axes, ice-staves, and walrus-spears. Then the capstan is

manned, and we heave her through the broken floe foot by foot. The

temperature this evening is -12.6° C. A wonderful sunset.

"Sunday, October 1st. Wind from the W.S.W. and weather mild. We

are taking a day of rest, which means eating, sleeping, smoking,

and reading.

"Monday, October 2d. Warped the ship farther astern, until we found a

good berth for her out in the middle of the newly frozen pool. On the

port side we have our big floe, with the dogs' camp--thirty-five black

dogs tied up on the white ice. This floe turns a low, and by no means

threatening, edge towards us. We have good low ice on the starboard

too; and between the ship and the floes we have on both sides the

newly frozen surface ice, which has, in the process of warping, also

got packed in under the ship's bottom, so that she lies in a good bed.

"As Sverdrup, Juell, and I were sitting in the chart-room in the

afternoon, splicing rope for the sounding-line, Peter [32] rushed

in shouting, 'A bear! a bear!' I snatched up my rifle and tore

out. 'Where is it?' 'There, near the tent, on the starboard side;

it came right up to it, and had almost got hold of them!'

"And there it was, big and yellow, snuffing away at the tent

gear. Hansen, Blessing, and Johansen were running at the top of

their speed towards the ship. On to the ice I jumped, and off I went,

broke through, stumbled, fell, and up again. The bear in the meantime

had done sniffing, and had probably determined that an iron spade,

an ice-staff, an axe, some tent-pegs, and a canvas tent were too

indigestible food even for a bear's stomach. Anyhow, it was following

with mighty strides in the track of the fugitives. It caught sight

of me and stopped, astonished, as if it were thinking, 'What sort of

insect can that be?' I went on to within easy range; it stood still,

looking hard at me. At last it turned its head a little, and I gave

it a ball in the neck. Without moving a limb, it sank slowly to the

ice. I now let loose some of the dogs, to accustom them to this sort

of sport, but they showed a lamentable want of interest in it; and

'Kvik,' on whom all our hope in the matter of bear-hunting rested,

bristled up and approached the dead animal very slowly and carefully,

with her tail between her legs--a sorry spectacle.

"I must now give the story of the others who made the bear's

acquaintance first. Hansen had to-day begun to set up his observatory

tent a little ahead of the ship, on the starboard bow. In the afternoon

he got Blessing and Johansen to help him. While they were hard at

work they caught sight of the bear not far from them, just off the

bow of the Fram.

"'Hush! Keep quiet, in case we frighten him,' says Hansen.

"'Yes, yes!' And they crouch together and look at him.

"'I think I'd better try to slip on board and announce him,' says

Blessing.

"'I think you should,' says Hansen.

"And off steals Blessing on tiptoe, so as not to frighten the bear. By

this time Bruin has seen and scented them, and comes jogging along,

following his nose, towards them.

"Hansen now began to get over his fear of startling him. The bear

caught sight of Blessing slinking off to the ship and set after

him. Blessing also was now much less concerned than he had been as to

the bear's nerves. He stopped, uncertain what to do; but a moment's

reflection brought him to the conclusion that it was pleasanter to

be three than one just then, and he went back to the others faster

than he had gone from them. The bear followed at a good rate. Hansen

did not like the look of things, and thought the time had come to try

a dodge he had seen recommended in a book. He raised himself to his

full height, flung his arms about, and yelled with all the power of

his lungs, ably assisted by the others. But the bear came on quite

undisturbed. The situation was becoming critical. Each snatched

up his weapon--Hansen an ice-staff, Johansen an axe, and Blessing

nothing. They screamed with all their strength, 'Bear! bear!' and

set off for the ship as hard as they could tear. But the bear held on

his steady course to the tent, and examined everything there before

(as we have seen) he went after them.

"It was a lean he-bear. The only thing that was found in its stomach

when it was opened was a piece of paper, with the names 'Lütken and

Mohn.' This was the wrapping-paper of a 'ski' light, and had been

left by one of us somewhere on the ice. After this day some of the

members of the expedition would hardly leave the ship without being

armed to the teeth.

"Wednesday, October 4th. Northwesterly wind yesterday and

to-day. Yesterday we had -16°, and to-day -14° C. I have worked

all day at soundings and got to about 800 fathoms depth. The bottom

samples consisted of a layer of gray clay 4 to 4 1/2 inches thick, and

below that brown clay or mud. The temperature was, strangely enough,

just above freezing-point (+0.18° C.) at the bottom, and just below

freezing-point (-0.4° C.) 75 fathoms up. This rather disposes of the

story of a shallow polar basin and of the extreme coldness of the

water of the Arctic Ocean.

"While we were hauling up the line in the afternoon the ice cracked

a little astern of the Fram, and the crack increased in breadth so

quickly that three of us, who had to go out to save the ice-anchors,

were obliged to make a bridge over it with a long board to get back

to the ship again. Later in the evening there was some packing in

the ice, and several new passages opened out behind this first one.

"Thursday, October 5th. As I was dressing this morning, just before

breakfast, the mate rushed down to tell me a bear was in sight. I was

soon on deck and saw him coming from the south, to the lee of us. He

was still a good way off, but stopped and looked about. Presently he

lay down, and Henriksen and I started off across the ice, and were

lucky enough to send a bullet into his breast at about 310 yards,

just as he was moving off.

"We are making everything snug for the winter and for the

ice-pressure. This afternoon we took up the rudder. Beautiful weather,

but cold, -18° C. at 8 P.M. The result of the medical inspection

to-day was the discovery that we still have bugs on board; and I do

not know what we are to do. We have no steam now, and must fix our

hopes on the cold.

"I must confess that this discovery made me feel quite ill. If bugs

got into our winter furs the thing was hopeless. So the next day

there was a regular feast of purification, according to the most rigid

antiseptic prescriptions. Each man had to deliver up his old clothes,

every stitch of them, wash himself, and dress in new ones from top to

toe. All the old clothes, fur rugs, and such things, were carefully

carried up on to the deck, and kept there the whole winter. This was

more than even these animals could stand; 53° C. of cold proved to

be too much for them, and we saw no more of them. As the bug is made

to say in the popular rhyme:

"'Put me in the boiling pot, and shut me down tight;

But don't leave me out on a cold winter night!'

"Friday, October 6th. Cold, down to 11° below zero (Fahr.). To-day

we have begun to rig up the windmill. The ice has been packing to

the north of the Fram's stern. As the dogs will freeze if they are

kept tied up and get no exercise, we let them loose this afternoon,

and are going to try if we can leave them so. Of course they at

once began to fight, and some poor creatures limped away from the

battle-field scratched and torn. But otherwise great joy prevailed;

they leaped, and ran, and rolled themselves in the snow. Brilliant

aurora in the evening.

"Saturday, October 7th. Still cold, with the same northerly wind we

have had all these last days. I am afraid we are drifting far south

now. A few days ago we were, according to the observations, in 78°

47' north latitude. That was 16' south in less than a week. This

is too much; but we must make it up again; we must get north. It

means going away from home now, but soon it will mean going nearer

home. What depth of beauty, with an undercurrent of endless sadness,

there is in these dreamily glowing evenings! The vanished sun has

left its track of melancholy flame. Nature's music, which fills

all space, is instinct with sorrow that all this beauty should be

spread out day after day, week after week, year after year, over a

dead world. Why? Sunsets are always sad at home too. This thought

makes the sight seem doubly precious here and doubly sad. There is

red burning blood in the west against the cold snow--and to think

that this is the sea, stiffened in chains, in death, and that the

sun will soon leave us, and we shall be in the dark alone! 'And the

earth was without form and void;' is this the sea that is to come?

"Sunday, October 8th. Beautiful weather. Made a snow-shoe expedition

westward, all the dogs following. The running was a little spoiled

by the brine, which soaks up through the snow from the surface of

the ice--flat, newly frozen ice, with older, uneven blocks breaking

through it. I seated myself on a snow hummock far away out; the dogs

crowded round to be patted. My eye wandered over the great snow plain,

endless and solitary--nothing but snow, snow everywhere.

"The observations to-day gave us an unpleasant surprise; we

are now down in 78° 35' north latitude; but there is a simple

enough explanation of this when one thinks of all the northerly and

northwesterly wind we have had lately, with open water not far to the

south of us. As soon as everything is frozen we must go north again;

there can be no question of that; but none the less this state of

matters is unpleasant. I find some comfort in the fact that we have

also drifted a little east, so that at all events we have kept with

the wind and are not drifting down westward.

"Monday, October 9th. I was feverish both during last night and

to-day. Goodness knows what is the meaning of such nonsense. When

I was taking water samples in the morning I discovered that the

water-lifter suddenly stopped at the depth of a little less than 80

fathoms. It was really the bottom. So we have drifted south again to

the shallow water. We let the weight lie at the bottom for a little,

and saw by the line that for the moment we were drifting north. This

was some small comfort, anyhow.

"All at once in the afternoon, as we were sitting idly chattering,

a deafening noise began, and the whole ship shook. This was the first

ice-pressure. Every one rushed on deck to look. The Fram behaved

beautifully, as I had expected she would. On pushed the ice with

steady pressure, but down under us it had to go, and we were slowly

lifted up. These 'squeezings' continued off and on all the afternoon,

and were sometimes so strong that the Fram was lifted several feet;

but then the ice could no longer bear her, and she broke it below

her. Towards evening the whole slackened again, till we lay in a

good-sized piece of open water, and had hurriedly to moor her to our

old floe, or we should have drifted off. There seems to be a good deal

of movement in the ice here. Peter has just been telling us that he

hears the dull booming of strong pressures not far off.

"Tuesday, October 10th. The ice continues disturbed.

"Wednesday, October 11th. The bad news was brought this afternoon

that 'Job' is dead, torn in pieces by the other dogs. He was found

a good way from the ship, 'Old Suggen' lying watching the corpse,

so that no other dog could get to it. They are wretches, these dogs;

no day passes without a fight. In the day-time one of us is generally

at hand to stop it, but at night they seldom fail to tear and bite

one of their comrades. Poor 'Barabbas' is almost frightened out of his

wits. He stays on board now, and dares not venture on the ice, because

he knows the other monsters would set on him. There is not a trace

of chivalry about these curs. When there is a fight, the whole pack

rush like wild beasts on the loser. But is it not, perhaps, the law of

nature that the strong, and not the weak, should be protected? Have

not we human beings, perhaps, been trying to turn nature topsy-turvy

by protecting and doing our best to keep life in all the weak?

"The ice is restless, and has pressed a good deal to-day again. It

begins with a gentle crack and moan along the side of the ship, which

gradually sounds louder in every 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. The noise steadily grows till it is like all the pipes of an

organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or

is sometimes gently lifted. There is a pleasant, comfortable feeling

in sitting listening to all this uproar and knowing the strength of

our ship. Many a one would have been crushed long ago. But outside

the ice is ground against our ship's sides, the piles of broken-up

floe are forced under her heavy, invulnerable hull, and we lie as if

in a bed. Soon the noise begins to die down; the ship sinks into its

old position again, and presently all is silent as before. In several

places round us the ice is piled up, at one spot to a considerable

height. Towards evening there was a slackening, and we lay again in

a large, open pool.

"Thursday, October 12th. In the morning we and our floe were drifting

on blue water in the middle of a large, open lane, which stretched

far to the north, and in the north the atmosphere at the horizon was

dark and blue. As far as we could see from the crow's-nest with the

small field-glass, there was no end to the open water, with only single

pieces of ice sticking up in it here and there. These are extraordinary

changes. I wondered if we should prepare to go ahead. But they had

long ago taken the machinery to pieces for the winter, so that it

would be a matter of time to get it ready for use again. Perhaps

it would be best to wait a little. Clear weather, with sunshine--a

beautiful, inspiriting winter day--but the same northerly wind. Took

soundings, and found 50 fathoms of water (90 metres). We are drifting

slowly southward. Towards evening the ice packed together again with

much force; but the Fram can hold her own. In the afternoon I fished

in a depth of about 27 fathoms (50 metres) with Murray's silk net,

[33] and had a good take, especially of small crustaceans (Copepoda,

Ostracoda, Amphipoda, etc.) and of a little Arctic worm (Spadella)

that swims about in the sea. It is horribly difficult to manage a

little fishing here. No sooner have you found an opening to slip

your tackle through than it begins to close again, and you have to

haul up as hard as you can, so as not to get the line nipped and

lose everything. It is a pity, for there are interesting hauls to

be made. One sees phosphorescence [34] in the water here whenever

there is the smallest opening in the ice. There is by no means such

a scarcity of animal life as one might expect.

"Friday, October 13th. Now we are in the very midst of what the

prophets would have had us dread so much. The ice is pressing and

packing round us with a noise like thunder. It is piling itself up into

long walls, and heaps high enough to reach a good way up the Fram's

rigging; in fact, it is trying its very utmost to grind the Fram into

powder. But here we sit quite tranquil, not even going up to look at

all the hurly-burly, but just chatting and laughing as usual. Last

night there was tremendous pressure round our old dog-floe. The ice

had towered up higher than the highest point of the floe and hustled

down upon it. It had quite spoiled a well, where we till now had found

good drinking-water, filling it with brine. Furthermore, it had cast

itself over our stern ice-anchor and part of the steel cable which

held it, burying them so effectually that we had afterwards to cut

the cable. Then it covered our planks and sledges, which stood on

the ice. Before long the dogs were in danger, and the watch had to

turn out all hands to save them. At last the floe split in two. This

morning the ice was one scene of melancholy confusion, gleaming in

the most glorious sunshine. Piled up all round us were high, steep

ice walls. Strangely enough, we had lain on the very verge of the

worst confusion, and had escaped with the loss of an ice-anchor, a

piece of steel cable, a few planks and other bits of wood, and half

of a Samoyede sledge, all of which might have been saved if we had

looked after them in time. But the men have grown so indifferent to

the pressure now that they do not even go up to look, let it thunder

ever so hard. They feel that the ship can stand it, and so long as

that is the case there is nothing to hurt except the ice itself.

"In the morning the pressure slackened again, and we were soon lying

in a large piece of open water, as we did yesterday. To-day, again,

this stretched far away towards the northern horizon, where the same

dark atmosphere indicated some extent of open water. I now gave the

order to put the engine together again; they told me it could be

done in a day and a half or at most two days. We must go north and

see what there is up there. I think it possible that it may be the

boundary between the ice-drift the Jeannette was in and the pack we

are now drifting south with--or can it be land?

"We had kept company quite long enough with the old, now broken-up

floe, so worked ourselves a little way astern after dinner, as the

ice was beginning to draw together. Towards evening the pressure began

again in earnest, and was especially bad round the remains of our old

floe, so that I believe we may congratulate ourselves on having left

it. It is evident that the pressure here stands in connection with,

is perhaps caused by, the tidal wave. It occurs with the greatest

regularity. The ice slackens twice and packs twice in 24 hours. The

pressure has happened about 4, 5, and 6 o'clock in the morning, and

almost at exactly the same hour in the afternoon, and in between we

have always lain for some part of the time in open water. The very

great pressure just now is probably due to the spring-tide; we had

new moon on the 9th, which was the first day of the pressure. Then

it was just after mid-day when we noticed it, but it has been later

every day, and now it is at 8 P.M."

The theory of the ice-pressure being caused to a considerable extent by

the tidal wave has been advanced repeatedly by Arctic explorers. During

the Fram's drifting we had better opportunity than most of them to

study this phenomenon, and our experience seems to leave no doubt

that over a wide region the tide produces movement and pressure of the

ice. It occurs especially at the time of the spring-tides, and more at

new moon than at full moon. During the intervening periods there was,

as a rule, little or no trace of pressure. But these tidal pressures

did not occur during the whole time of our drifting. We noticed them

especially the first autumn, while we were in the neighborhood of

the open sea north of Siberia, and the last year, when the Fram was

drawing near the open Atlantic Ocean; they were less noticeable while

we were in the polar basin. Pressure occurs here more irregularly,

and is mainly caused by the wind driving the ice. When one pictures to

one's self these enormous ice-masses, drifting in a certain direction,

suddenly meeting hinderances--for example, ice-masses drifting from

the opposite direction, owing to a change of wind in some more or

less distant quarter--it is easy to understand the tremendous pressure

that must result.

Such an ice conflict is undeniably a stupendous spectacle. One

feels one's self to be in the presence of titanic forces, and it

is easy to understand how timid souls may be overawed and feel as

if nothing could stand before it. For when the packing begins in

earnest it seems as though there could be no spot on the earth's

surface left unshaken. First you hear a sound like the thundering

rumbling 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; and all of a sudden you too find yourself in the midst

of the struggle. There are howlings and thunderings round you; you

feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet; there

is no peace anywhere. In the semi-darkness you can see it piling and

tossing itself up into high ridges nearer and nearer you--floes 10,

12, 15 feet thick, broken, and flung on the top of each other as if

they were feather-weights. They are quite near you now, and you jump

away to save your life. But the ice splits in front of you, a black

gulf opens, and 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 towards you. You try another direction, but there

it is the same. All round 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 rolling ice-blocks to get to the other side of the pack. But now

the disturbance begins to calm down. The noise passes on, and is lost

by degrees in the distance.

This is what goes on away there in the north month after month and

year after year. The ice is split and piled up into mounds, which

extend in every direction. If one could get a bird's-eye view of the

ice-fields, they would seem to be cut up into squares or meshes by a

network of these packed ridges, or pressure-dikes, as we called them,

because they reminded us so much of snow-covered stone dikes at home,

such as, in many parts of the country, are used to enclose fields. At

first sight these pressure-ridges appeared to be scattered about in

all possible directions, but on closer inspection I was sure that I

discovered certain directions which they tended to take, and especially

that they were apt to run at right angles to the course of the pressure

which produced them. In the accounts of Arctic expeditions one often

reads descriptions of pressure-ridges or pressure-hummocks as high

as 50 feet. These are fairy tales. The authors of such fantastic

descriptions cannot have taken the trouble to measure. During the

whole period of our drifting and of our travels over the ice-fields

in the far north I only once saw a hummock of a greater height than

23 feet. Unfortunately, I had not the opportunity of measuring this

one, but I believe I may say with certainty that it was very nearly 30

feet high. All the highest blocks I measured--and they were many--had

a height of 18 to 23 feet; and I can maintain with certainty that

the packing of sea ice to a height of over 25 feet is a very rare

exception. [35]

"Saturday, October 14th. To-day we have got on the rudder; the

engine is pretty well in order, and we are clear to start north

when the ice opens to-morrow morning. It is still slackening and

packing quite regularly twice a day, so that we can calculate on

it beforehand. To-day we had the same open channel to the north,

and beyond it open sea as far as our view extended. What can this

mean? This evening the pressure has been pretty violent. The floes

were packed up against the Fram on the port side, and were once

or twice on the point of toppling over the rail. The ice, however,

broke below; they tumbled back again, and had to go under us after

all. It is not thick ice, and cannot do much damage; but the force is

something enormous. On the masses come incessantly without a pause;

they look irresistible; but slowly and surely they are crushed

against the Fram's sides. Now (8.30 P.M.) the pressure has at last

stopped. Clear evening, sparkling stars, and flaming northern lights."

I had finished writing my diary, gone to bed, and was lying reading,

in The Origin of Species, about the struggle for existence, when

I heard the dogs out on the ice making more noise than usual. I

called into the saloon that some one ought to go up and see if it was

bears they were barking at. Hansen went, and came back immediately,

saying that he believed he had seen some large animal out in the

dark. "Go and shoot it, then." That he was quite ready to do, and

went up again at once, accompanied by some of the others. A shot

went off on deck above my head, then another; shot followed shot,

nine in all. Johansen and Henriksen rushed down for more cartridges,

and declared that the creature was shot, it was roaring so horribly;

but so far they had only indistinctly seen a large grayish-white

mass out there in the dark, moving about among the dogs. Now they

were going on to the ice after it. Four of them set off, and not far

away they really did find a dead bear, with marks of two shots. It

was a young one. The old one must be at hand, and the dogs were still

barking loudly. Now they all felt sure that they had seen two together,

and that the other also must be badly wounded. Johansen and Henriksen

heard it groaning in the distance when they were out on the ice again

afterwards to fetch a knife they had left lying where the dead one

had lain. The creature had been dragged on board and skinned at once,

before it had time to stiffen in the cold.

"Sunday, October 15th. To our surprise, the ice did not slacken away

much during last night after the violent pressure; and, what was worse,

there was no indication of slackening in the morning, now that we

were quite ready to go. Slight signs of it showed themselves a little

later, upon which I gave orders to get up steam; and while this was

being done I took a stroll on the ice, to look for traces of yesterday

evening. I found tracks not only of the bear that had been killed and

of a larger one that might be the mother, but of a third, which must

have been badly wounded, as it had sometimes dragged itself on its

hind quarters, and had left a broad track of blood. After following

the traces for a good way and discovering that I had no weapon to

despatch the animal with but my own fists, I thought it would be as

well to return to the ship to get a gun and companions who would help

to drag the bear back. I had also some small hope that in the meantime

the ice might have slackened, so that, in place of going after game,

we might go north with the Fram. But no such luck! So I put on my

snow-shoes and set off after our bear, some of the dogs with me, and

one or two men following. At some distance we came to the place where

it had spent the night--poor beast, a ghastly night! Here I also saw

tracks of the mother. One shudders to think of her watching over her

poor young one, which must have had its back shot through. Soon we

came up to the cripple, dragging itself away from us over the ice as

best it could. Seeing no other way of escape, it threw itself into a

small water opening and dived time after time. While we were putting

a noose on a rope the dogs rushed round the hole as if they had gone

mad, and it was difficult to keep them from jumping into the water

after the bear. At last we were ready, and the next time the creature

came up it got a noose round one paw and a ball in the head. While

the others drew it to the ship, I followed the mother's tracks for

some way, but could not find her. I had soon to turn back to see if

there was no prospect of moving the Fram; but I found that the ice

had packed together again a little at the very time when we could

generally calculate on its slackening. In the afternoon Hansen and I

went off once more after the bear. We saw, as I expected, that she had

come back, and had followed her daughter's funeral procession for some

way, but then she had gone off east, and as it grew dark we lost her

tracks in some newly packed ice. We have only one matter for regret

in connection with this bear episode, and that is the disappearance

of two dogs--'Narrifas' and 'Fox.' Probably they went off in terror

on the first appearance of the three bears. They may have been hurt,

but I have seen nothing to suggest this. The ice is quiet this evening

also, only a little pressure about 7 o'clock.

"Monday, October 16th. Ice quiet and close. Observations on the 12th

placed us in 78° 5' north latitude. Steadily southward. This is almost

depressing. The two runaways returned this morning.

"Tuesday, October 17th. Continuous movement in the ice. It slackened

a little again during the night; some way off to starboard there was

a large opening. Shortly after midnight there was strong pressure,

and between 11 and 12 A.M. came a tremendous squeeze; since then it

has slackened again a little.

"Wednesday, October 18th. When the meteorologist, Johansen, was on deck

this morning reading the thermometers, he noticed that the dogs, which

are now tied up on board, were barking loudly down at something on the

ice. He bent over the rail astern, near the rudder, and saw the back of

a bear below him, close in at the ship's side. Off he went for a gun,

and the animal fell with a couple of shots. We saw afterwards by its

tracks that it had inspected all the heaps of sweepings round the ship.

"A little later in the morning I went for a stroll on the ice. Hansen

and Johansen were busy with some magnetic observations to the south

of the ship. It was beautiful sunshiny weather. I was standing beside

an open pool a little way ahead, examining the formation and growth

of the new ice, when I heard a gun go off on board. I turned, and

just caught a glimpse of a bear making off towards the hummocks. It

was Henriksen who had seen it from the deck coming marching towards

the ship. When it was a few paces off it saw Hansen and Johansen,

and made straight for them. By this time Henriksen had got his gun,

but it missed fire several times. He has an unfortunate liking for

smearing the lock so well with vaseline that the spring works as if

it lay in soft soap. At last it went off, and the ball went through

the bear's back and breast in a slanting direction. The animal stood

up on its hind-legs, fought the air with its fore-paws, then flung

itself forward and sprang off, to fall after about 30 steps; the ball

had grazed the heart. It was not till the shot went off that Hansen

saw the bear, and then he rushed up and put two revolver-balls into

its head. It was a large bear, the largest we had got yet.

"About midday I was in the crow's-nest. In spite of the clear weather I

could not discover land on any side. The opening far to the north has

quite disappeared; but during the night a large new one has formed

quite close to us. It stretches both north and south, and has now

a covering of ice. The pressure is chiefly confined to the edges of

this opening, and can be traced in walls of packed ice as far as the

horizon in both directions. To the east the ice is quite unbroken

and flat. We have lain just in the worst pressure.

"Thursday, October 19th. The ice again slackened a little last

night. In the morning I attempted a drive with six of the dogs. When I

had managed to harness them to the Samoyede sledge, had seated myself

on it, and called 'Pr-r-r-r, pr-r-r-r!' they went off in quite good

style over the ice. But it was not long before we came to some high

pack-ice and had to turn. This was hardly done before they were off

back to the ship at lightning speed, and they were not to be got

away from it again. Round and round it they went, from refuse-heap

to refuse-heap. If I started at the gangway on the starboard side,

and tried by thrashing them to drive them out over the ice, round

the stern they flew to the gangway on the port side. I tugged, swore,

and tried everything I could think of, but all to no purpose. I got

out and tried to hold the sledge back, but was pulled off my feet,

and dragged merrily over the ice in my smooth sealskin breeches, on

back, stomach, side--just as it happened. When I managed to stop them

at some pieces of pack-ice or a dust-heap, round they went again to

the starboard gangway, with me dangling behind, swearing madly that I

would break every bone in their bodies when I got at them. This game

went on till they probably tired of it, and thought they might as

well go my way for a change. So now they went off beautifully across

the flat floe until I stopped for a moment's breathing space. But

at the first movement I made in the sledge they were off again,

tearing wildly back the way we had come. I held on convulsively,

pulled, raged, and used the whip; but the more I lashed the faster

they went on their own way. At last I got them stopped by sticking

my legs down into the snow between the sledge-shafts, and driving a

strong seal-hook into it as well. But while I was off my guard for a

moment they gave a tug. I lay with my hinder-part where my legs had

been, and we went on at lightning speed--that substantial part of my

body leaving a deep track in the snow. This sort of thing went on time

after time. I lost the board I should have sat on, then the whip, then

my gloves, then my cap--these losses not improving my temper. Once

or twice I ran round in front of the dogs, and tried to force them

to turn by lashing at them with the whip. They jumped to both sides

and only tore on the faster; the reins got twisted round my ankles,

and I was thrown flat on the sledge, and they went on more wildly

than ever. This was my first experience in dog driving on my own

account, and I will not pretend that I was proud of it. I inwardly

congratulated myself that my feats had been unobserved.

"In the afternoon I examined the melted water of the newly formed

brownish-red ice, of which there is a good deal in the openings round

us here. The microscope proved this color to be produced by swarms of

small organisms, chiefly plants--quantities of diatomæ and some algæ,

a few of them very peculiar in form.

"Saturday, October 21st. I have stayed in to-day because of an

affection of the muscles, or rheumatism, which I have had for some days

on the right side of my body, and for which the doctor is 'massaging'

me, thereby greatly adding to my sufferings. Have I really grown so

old and palsied, or is the whole thing imagination? It is all I can do

to limp about; but I just wonder if I could not get up and run with

the best of them if there happened to be any great occasion for it:

I almost believe I could. A nice Arctic hero of 32, lying here in my

berth! Have had a good time reading home letters, dreaming myself at

home, dreaming of the home-coming--in how many years? Successful or

unsuccessful, what does that matter?

"I had a sounding taken; it showed over 73 fathoms (135 m.), so we are

in deeper water again. The sounding-line indicated that we are drifting

southwest. I do not understand this steady drift southward. There has

not been much wind either lately; there is certainly a little from

the north to-day, but not strong. What can be the reason of it? With

all my information, all my reasoning, all my putting of two and two

together, I cannot account for any south-going current here--there

ought to be a north-going one. If the current runs south here, how

is that great open sea we steamed north across to be explained? and

the bay we ended in farthest north? These could only be produced by

the north-going current which I presupposed. The only thing which

puts me out a bit is that west-going current which we had against us

during our whole voyage along the Siberian coast. We are never going

to be carried away south by the New Siberian Islands, and then west

along the coast of Siberia, and then north by Cape Chelyuskin, the

very way we came! That would be rather too much of a good thing--to

say nothing of its being dead against every calculation.

"Well, who cares? Somewhere we must go; we can't stay here forever. 'It

will all come right in the end,' as the saying goes; but I wish we

could get on a little faster wherever we are going. On our Greenland

expedition, too, we were carried south to begin with, and that

ended well.

"Sunday, October 22d. Henriksen took soundings this morning, and found

70 fathoms (129 m.) of water. 'If we are drifting at all,' said he,

'it is to the east; but there seems to be almost no movement.' No

wind to-day. I am keeping in my den.

"Monday, October 23d. Still in the den. To-day, 5 fathoms shallower

than yesterday. The line points southwest, which means that we are

drifting northeast-ward. Hansen has reckoned out the observation for

the 19th, and finds that we must have got 10 minutes farther north,

and must be in 78° 15' N. lat. So at last, now that the wind has gone

down, the north-going current is making itself felt. Some channels

have opened near us, one along the side of the ship, and one ahead,

near the old channel. Only slight signs of pressure in the afternoon.

"Tuesday, October 24th. Between 4 and 5 A.M. there was strong pressure,

and the Fram was lifted up a little. It looks as if the pressure were

going to begin again; we have spring-tide with full moon. The ice

opened so much this morning that the Fram was afloat in her cutting;

later on it closed again, and about 11 there was some strong pressure;

then came a quiet time; but in the afternoon the pressure began once

more, and was violent from 4 to 4.30. The Fram was shaken and lifted

up; didn't mind a bit. Peter gave it as his opinion that the pressure

was coming from the northeast, for he had heard the noise approaching

from that direction. Johansen let down the silk net for me about 11

fathoms. It was all he could do to get it up again in time, but it

brought up a good catch. Am still keeping in.

"Wednesday, October 25th. We had a horrible pressure last night. I

awoke and felt the Fram being lifted, shaken, and tossed about, and

heard the loud cracking of the ice breaking against her sides. After

listening for a little while I fell asleep again, with a snug feeling

that it was good to be on board the Fram; it would be confoundedly

uncomfortable to have to be ready to turn out every time there was a

little pressure, or to have to go off with our bundles on our backs

like the Tegethoff people.

"It is quickly getting darker. The sun stands lower and lower every

time we see it; soon it will disappear altogether, if it has not done

so already. The long, dark winter is upon us, and glad shall we be

to see the spring; but nothing matters much if we could only begin to

move north. There is now southwesterly wind, and the windmill, which

has been ready for several days, has been tried at last and works

splendidly. We have beautiful electric light to-day, though the wind

has not been especially strong (5-8 m. per second). Electric lamps

are a grand institution. What a strong influence light has on one's

spirits! There was a noticeable brightening-up at the dinner-table

to-day; the light acted on our spirits like a draught of good wine. And

how festive the saloon looks! We felt it quite a great occasion--drank

Oscar Dickson's health, and voted him the best of good fellows.

"Wonderful moonshine this evening, light as day; and along with it

aurora borealis, yellow and strange in the white moonlight; a large

ring round the moon--all this over the great stretch of white,

shining ice, here and there in our neighborhood piled up high by

the pressure. And in the midst of this silent silvery ice-world the

windmill sweeps round its dark wings against the deep-blue sky and

the aurora. A strange contrast: civilization making a sudden incursion

into this frozen ghostly world.

"To-morrow is the Fram's birthday. How many memories it recalls of

the launch-day a year ago!

"Thursday, October 26th. 54 fathoms (90 m.) of water when the soundings

were taken this morning. We are moving quickly north--due north--says

Peter. It does look as if things were going better. Great celebration

of the day, beginning with target-shooting. Then we had a splendid

dinner of four courses, which put our digestive apparatus to a severe

test. The Fram's health was drunk amidst great and stormy applause. The

proposer's words were echoed by all hearts when he said that she was

such an excellent ship for our purpose that we could not imagine a

better (great applause), and we therefore wished her, and ourselves

with her, long life (hear, hear!). After supper came strawberry

and lemon punch, and prizes were presented with much ceremony and a

good deal of fun; all being 'taken off' in turn in suitable mottoes,

for the most part composed by the ship's doctor. There was a prize

for each man. The first prize-taker was awarded the wooden cross of

the Order of the Fram, to wear suspended from his neck by a ribbon

of white tape; the last received a mirror, in which to see his

fallen greatness. Smoking in the saloon was allowed this evening,

so now pipes, toddy, and an animated game of whist ended a bright

and successful holiday.

"Sitting here now alone, my thoughts involuntarily turn to the year

that has gone since we stood up there on the platform, and she threw

the champagne against the bow, saying: 'Fram is your name!' and

the strong, heavy hull began to glide so gently. I held her hand

tight; the tears came into eyes and throat, and one could not get

out a word. The sturdy hull dived into the glittering water; a sunny

haze lay over the whole picture. Never shall I forget the moment we

stood there together, looking out over the scene. And to think of

all that has happened these four last months! Separated by sea and

land and ice; coming years, too, lying between us--it is all just

the continuation of what happened that day. But how long is it to

last? I have such difficulty in feeling that I am not to see home

again soon. When I begin to reflect, I know that it may be long,

but I will not believe it.

"To-day, moreover, we took solemn farewell of the sun. Half of its

disk showed at noon for the last time above the edge of the ice in

the south, a flattened body, with a dull red glow, but no heat. Now

we are entering the night of winter. What is it bringing us? Where

shall we be when the sun returns? No one can tell. To console us for

the loss of the sun we have the most wonderful moonlight; the moon

goes round the sky night and day. There is, strange to say, little

pressure just now; only an occasional slight squeeze. But the ice

often opens considerably; there are large pieces of water in several

directions; to-day there were some good-sized ones to the south.

"Friday, October 27th. The soundings this morning showed 52 fathoms

(95 m.) of water. According to observations taken yesterday afternoon,

we are about 3' farther north and a little farther west than on the

19th. It is disgusting the way we are muddling about here. We must

have got into a hole where the ice grinds round and round, and can't

get farther. And the time is passing all to no purpose; and goodness

only knows how long this sort of thing may go on. If only a good

south wind would come and drive us north out of this hobble! The boys

have taken up the rudder again to-day. While they were working at

this in the afternoon, it suddenly grew as bright as day. A strange

fireball crossed the sky in the west--giving a bluish-white light,

they said. Johansen ran down to the saloon to tell Hansen and me;

he said they could still see the bright trails it had left in its

train. When we got on deck we saw a bent bow of light in the Triangle,

near Deneb. The meteor had disappeared in the neighborhood of Epsilon

Cygni (constellation Swan), but its light remained for a long time

floating in the air like glowing dust. No one had seen the actual

fire-ball, as they had all had their backs turned to it, and they

could not say if it had burst. This is the second great meteor of

exceptional splendor that has appeared to us in these regions. The

ice has a curious inclination to slacken, without pressure having

occurred, and every now and then we find the ship floating in open

water. This is the case to-day.

"Saturday, October 28th. Nothing of any importance. Moonshine night

and day. A glow in the south from the sun.

"Sunday, October 29th. Peter shot a white fox this morning close in to

the ship. For some time lately we have been seeing fox-tracks in the

mornings, and one Sunday Mogstad saw the fox itself. It has, no doubt,

been coming regularly to feed on the offal of the bears. Shortly after

the first one was shot another was seen; it came and smelt its dead

comrade, but soon set off again and disappeared. It is remarkable

that there should be so many foxes on this drift-ice so far from

land. But, after all, it is not much more surprising than my coming

upon fox-tracks out on the ice between Jan Mayen and Spitzbergen.

"Monday, October 30th. To-day the temperature has gone down to 18°

below zero (-27° C.). I took up the dredge I had put out yesterday. It

brought up two pails of mud from the bottom, and I have been busy all

day washing this out in the saloon in a large bath, to get the many

animals contained in it. They were chiefly starfish, waving starfish,

medusæ (Astrophyton), sea-slugs, coral insects (Alcyonaria), worms,

sponges, shell-fish, and crustaceans; and were, of course, all

carefully preserved in spirits.

"Tuesday, October 31st. Forty-nine fathoms (90 m.) of water to-day,

and the current driving us hard to the southwest. We have good wind

for the mill now, and the electric lamps burn all day. The arc lamp

under the skylight makes us quite forget the want of sun. Oh! light is

a glorious thing, and life is fair in spite of all privations! This is

Sverdrup's birthday, and we had revolver practice in the morning. Of

course a magnificent dinner of five courses--chicken soup, boiled

mackerel, reindeer ribs with baked cauliflower and potatoes, macaroni

pudding, and stewed pears with milk--Ringnes ale to wash it down.

"Thursday, November 2d. The temperature keeps at about 22° below

zero (-30° C.) now; but it does not feel very cold, the air is so

still. We can see the aurora borealis in the daytime too. I saw a very

remarkable display of it about 3 this afternoon. On the southwestern

horizon lay the glow of the sun; in front of it light clouds were

swept together--like a cloud of dust rising above a distant troop

of riders. Then dark streamers of gauze seemed to stretch from the

dust-cloud up over the sky, as if it came from the sun, or perhaps

rather as if the sun were sucking it in to itself from the whole

sky. It was only in the southwest that these streamers were dark;

a little higher up, farther from the sun-glow, they grew white and

shining, like fine, glistening silver gauze. They spread over the vault

of heaven above us, and right away towards the north. They certainly

resembled aurora borealis; but perhaps they might be only light vapors

hovering high up in the sky and catching the sunlight? I stood long

looking at them. They were singularly still, but they were northern

lights, changing gradually in the southwest into dark cloud-streamers,

and ending in the dust-cloud over the sun. Hansen saw them too, later,

when it was dark. There was no doubt of their nature. His impression

was that the aurora borealis spread from the sun over the whole vault

of heaven like the stripes on the inner skin of an orange.

"Sunday, November 5th. A great race on the ice was advertised for

to-day. The course was measured, marked off, and decorated with

flags. The cook had prepared the prizes--cakes, numbered, and properly

graduated in size. The expectation was great; but it turned out that,

from excessive training during the few last days, the whole crew

were so stiff in the legs that they were not able to move. We got

our prizes all the same. One man was blindfolded, and he decided who

was to have each cake as it was pointed at. This just arrangement met

with general approbation, and we all thought it a pleasanter way of

getting the prizes than running half a mile for them.

"So it is Sunday once more. How the days drag past! I work, read,

think, and dream; strum a little on the organ; go for a walk on the

ice in the dark. Low on the horizon in the southwest there is the

flush of the sun--a dark fierce red, as if of blood aglow with all

life's smouldering longings--low and far-off, like the dreamland of

youth. Higher in the sky it melts into orange, and that into green

and pale blue; and then comes deep blue, star-sown, and then infinite

space, where no dawn will ever break. In the north are quivering

arches of faint aurora, trembling now like awakening longings, but

presently, as if at the touch of a magic wand, to storm as streams of

light through the dark blue of heaven--never at peace, restless as the

very soul of man. I can sit and gaze and gaze, my eyes entranced by

the dream-glow yonder in the west, where the moon's thin, pale, silver

sickle is dipping its point into the blood; and my soul is borne beyond

the glow, to the sun, so far off now--and to the home-coming! Our

task accomplished, we are making our way up the fjord as fast as

sail and steam can carry us. On both sides of us the homeland lies

smiling in the sun; and then ... the sufferings of a thousand days

and hours melt into a moment's inexpressible joy. Ugh! that was a

bitter gust--I jump up and walk on. What am I dreaming about! so far

yet from the goal--hundreds and hundreds of miles between us, ice and

land and ice again. And we are drifting round and round in a ring,

bewildered, attaining nothing, only waiting, always waiting, for what?

"'I dreamt I lay on a grassy bank,

And the sun shone warm and clear;

I wakened on a desert isle,

And the sky was black and drear.'

"One more look at the star of home, the one that stood that evening

over Cape Chelyuskin, and I creep on board, where the windmill is

turning in the cold wind, and the electric light is streaming out

from the skylight upon the icy desolation of the Arctic night.

"Wednesday, November 8th. The storm (which we had had the two

previous days) is quite gone down; not even enough breeze for the

mill. We tried letting the dogs sleep on the ice last night, instead

of bringing them on board in the evening, as we have been doing

lately. The result was that another dog was torn to pieces during the

night. It was 'Ulabrand,' the old brown, toothless fellow, that went

this time. 'Job' and 'Moses' had gone the same way before. Yesterday

evening's observations place us in 77° 43' north latitude and 138° 8'

east longitude. This is farther south than we have been yet. No help

for it; but it is a sorry state of matters; and that we are farther

east than ever before is only a poor consolation. It is new moon again,

and we may therefore expect pressure; the ice is, in fact, already

moving; it began to split on Saturday, and has broken up more each

day. The channels have been of a good size, and the movement becomes

more and more perceptible. Yesterday there was slight pressure, and

we noticed it again this morning about 5 o'clock. To-day the ice by

the ship has opened, and we are almost afloat.

"Here I sit in the still winter night on the drifting ice-floe,

and see only stars above me. Far off I see the threads of life

twisting themselves into the intricate web which stretches unbroken

from life's sweet morning dawn to the eternal death-stillness of the

ice. Thought follows thought--you pick the whole to pieces, and it

seems so small--but high above all towers one form.... Why did you

take this voyage?... Could I do otherwise? Can the river arrest its

course and run up hill? My plan has come to nothing. That palace of

theory which I reared, in pride and self-confidence, high above all

silly objections has fallen like a house of cards at the first breath

of wind. Build up the most ingenious theories and you may be sure

of one thing--that fact will defy them all. Was I so very sure? Yes,

at times; but that was self-deception, intoxication. A secret doubt

lurked behind all the reasoning. It seemed as though the longer I

defended my theory, the nearer I came to doubting it. But no, there

is no getting over the evidence of that Siberian drift-wood.

"But if, after all, we are on the wrong track, what then? Only

disappointed human hopes, nothing more. And even if we perish, what

will it matter in the endless cycles of eternity?

"Thursday, November 9th. I took temperatures and sea-water samples

to-day every 10 yards from the surface to the bottom, The depth was 9

1/2 fathoms. An extraordinarily even temperature of 30° Fahr. (-1.5

C.) through all the layers. I have noticed the same thing before as

far south as this. So it is only polar water here? There is not much

pressure; an inclination to it this morning, and a little at 8 o'clock

this evening; also a few squeezes later, when we were playing cards.

"Friday, November 10th. This morning made despairing examinations of

yesterday's water samples with Thornöe's electric apparatus. There

must be absolute stillness on board when this is going on. The men are

all terrified, slip about on tiptoe, and talk in the lowest possible

whispers. But presently one begins to hammer at something on deck, and

another to file in the engine-room, when the chief's commanding voice

is at once heard ordering silence. These examinations are made by means

of a telephone, through which a very faint noise is heard, which dies

slowly away; the moment at which it stops must be exactly ascertained.

"I find remarkably little salt all the way to the bottom in the water

here; it must be mixed with fresh water from the Siberian river.

"There was some pressure this morning, going on till nearly noon,

and we heard the noise of it in several directions. In the afternoon

the ice was quite slack, with a large opening alongside the port

side of the ship. At half-past seven pretty strong pressure began,

the ice crashing and grinding along the ship's side. About midnight

the roar of packing was heard to the south.

"Saturday, November 11th. There has been some pressure in the course

of the day. The newly formed ice is about 15 inches thick. It is hard

on the top, but looser and porous below. This particular piece of ice

began to form upon a large opening in the night between the 27th and

28th October, so it has frozen 15 inches in 15 days. I observed that

it froze 3 inches the first night, and 5 inches altogether during

the three first nights; so that it has taken 12 days to the last

10 inches."

Even this small observation serves to show that the formation of ice

goes on most easily where the crust is thin, becoming more and more

difficult as the thickness increases, until at a certain thickness,

as we observed later, it stops altogether. "It is curious that the

pressure has gone on almost all day--no slackening such as we have

usually observed."

"Sunday, November 19th. Our life has gone on its usual monotonous

routine since the 11th. The wind has been steadily from the south all

week, but to-day there is a little from N.N.W. We have had pressure

several times, and have heard sounds of it in the southeast. Except

for this, the ice has been unusually quiet, and it is closed in tightly

round the ship. Since the last strong pressure we have probably 10 to

20 feet of ice packed in below us. [36] Hansen to-day worked out an

observation taken the day before yesterday, and surprised us with the

welcome intelligence that we have travelled 44' north and a little

east since the 8th. We are now in 78° 27' north latitude, 139° 23'

east longitude. This is farther east than we have been yet. For any

sake, let us only keep on as we are going!

"The Fram is a warm, cozy abode. Whether the thermometer stands at

22° above zero or at 22° below it we have no fire in the stove. The

ventilation is excellent, especially since we rigged up the air sail,

which sends a whole winter's cold in through the ventilator; yet

in spite of this we sit here warm and comfortable, with only a lamp

burning. I am thinking of having the stove removed altogether; it is

only in the way. At least, as far as our protection from the winter

cold is concerned, my calculations have turned out well. Neither do

we suffer much from damp. It does collect and drop a little from the

roof in one or two places, especially astern in the four-man cabins,

but nothing in comparison with what is common in other ships; and

if we lighted the stove it would disappear altogether. When I have

burned a lamp for quite a short time in my cabin every trace of

damp is gone. [37] These are extraordinary fellows for standing the

cold. With the thermometer at 22° below zero Bentzen goes up in his

shirt and trousers to read the thermometer on deck.

"Monday, November 27th. The prevailing wind has been southerly, with

sometimes a little east. The temperature still keeps between 13°

and 22° below zero; in the hold it has fallen to 12°."

It has several times struck me that the streamers of the aurora

borealis followed in the direction of the wind, from the wind's eye on

the horizon. On Thursday morning, when we had very slight northeasterly

wind, I even ventured to prophesy, from the direction of the streamers,

that it would go round to the southeast, which it accordingly did. On

the whole there has been much less of the aurora borealis lately

than at the beginning of our drift. Still, though it may have been

faint, there has been a little every day. To-night it is very strong

again. These last days the moon has sometimes had rings round it, with

mock-moons and axes, accompanied by rather strange phenomena. When the

moon stands so low that the ring touches the horizon, a bright field

of light is formed where the horizon cuts the ring. Similar expanses

of light are also formed where the perpendicular axis from the moon

intersects the horizon. Faint rainbows are often to be seen in these

shining light-fields; yellow was generally the strongest tint nearest

the horizon, passing over into red, and then into blue. Similar colors

could also be distinguished in the mock-moons. Sometimes there are

two large rings, the one outside the other, and then there may be four

mock-moons. I have also seen part of a new ring above the usual one,

meeting it at a tangent directly above the moon. As is well known,

these various ring formations round the sun, as well as round the

moon, are produced by the refraction of rays of light by minute ice

crystals floating in the air.

"We looked for pressure with full moon and springtide on 23d of

November; but then, and for several days afterwards, the ice was

quite quiet. On the afternoon of Saturday, the 25th, however, its

distant roar was heard from the south, and we have heard it from

the same direction every day since. This morning it was very loud,

and came gradually nearer. At 9 o'clock it was quite close to us,

and this evening we hear it near us again. It seems, however, as if

we had now got out of the groove to which the pressure principally

confines itself. We were regularly in it before. The ice round us

is perfectly quiet. The probability is that the last severe pressure

packed it very tight about us, and that the cold since has frozen it

into such a thick, strong mass that it offers great resistance, while

the weaker ice in other places yields to the pressure. The depth of the

sea is increasing steadily, and we are drifting north. This evening

Hansen has worked out the observations of the day before yesterday,

and finds that we are in 79° 11' north latitude. That is good, and the

way we ought to get on. It is the most northern point we have reached

yet, and to-day we are in all likelihood still farther north. We

have made good way these last days, and the increasing depth seems

to indicate a happy change in the direction of our drift. Have we,

perhaps, really found the right road at last? We are drifting about 5'

a day. The most satisfactory thing is that there has not been much

wind lately, especially not the last two days; yesterday it was only

1 metre per second; to-day is perfectly still, and yet the depth has

increased 21 fathoms (40 m.) in these two days. It seems as if there

were a northerly current, after all. No doubt many disappointments

await us yet; but why not rejoice while fortune smiles?

"Tuesday, November 28th. The disappointment lost no time in

coming. There had been a mistake either in the observation or in

Hansen's calculations. An altitude of Jupiter taken yesterday evening

shows us to be in 76° 36' north latitude. The soundings to-day showed

74 fathoms (142 m.) of water, or about the same as yesterday, and the

sounding-line indicated a southwesterly drift. However anxious one

is to take things philosophically, one can't help feeling a little

depressed. I try to find solace in a book; absorb myself in the

learning of the Indians--their happy faith in transcendental powers,

in the supernatural faculties of the soul, and in a future life. Oh,

if one could only get hold of a little supernatural power now, and

oblige the winds always to blow from the south!

"I went on deck this evening in rather a gloomy frame of mind,

but was nailed to the spot the moment I got outside. There is the

supernatural for you--the northern lights flashing in matchless power

and beauty over the sky in all the colors of the rainbow! Seldom

or never have I seen the colors so brilliant. The prevailing one at

first was yellow, but that gradually flickered over into green, and

then a sparkling ruby-red began to show at the bottom of the rays on

the under side of the arch, soon spreading over the whole arch. And

now from the far-away western horizon a fiery serpent writhed itself

up over the sky, shining brighter and brighter as it came. It split

into three, all brilliantly glittering. Then the colors changed. The

serpent to the south turned almost ruby-red, with spots of yellow;

the one in the middle, yellow; and the one to the north, greenish

white. Sheaves of rays swept along the side of the serpents, driven

through the ether-like waves before a storm-wind. They sway backward

and forward, now strong, now fainter again. The serpents reached and

passed the zenith. Though I was thinly dressed and shivering with

cold, I could not tear myself away till the spectacle was over, and

only a faintly glowing fiery serpent near the western horizon showed

where it had begun. When I came on deck later the masses of light had

passed northward and spread themselves in incomplete arches over the

northern sky. If one wants to read mystic meanings into the phenomena

of nature, here, surely, is the opportunity.

"The observation this afternoon showed us to be in 78° 38' 42''

north latitude. This is anything but rapid progress.

"Wednesday, November 29th. Another dog has been bitten to death

to-day--'Fox,' a handsome, powerful animal. He was found lying dead

and stiff on the ice at our stern this evening when they went to

bring the dogs in, 'Suggen' performing her usual duty of watching the

body. They are wretches, these dogs. But now I have given orders that

some one must always watch them when they are out on the ice.