fathoms (170 m.) to-day, and it seemed by the line as if we were
drifting northwest. We are almost certainly farther north now; hopes
are rising, and life is looking brighter again. My spirits are like a
pendulum, if one could imagine such an instrument giving all sorts of
irregular swings backward and forward. It is no good trying to take
the thing philosophically; I cannot deny that the question whether we
are to return successful or unsuccessful affects me very deeply. It
is quite easy to convince myself with the most incontrovertible
reasoning that what really matters is to carry through the expedition,
whether successfully or not, and get safe home again. I could not
but undertake it; for my plan was one that I felt must succeed, and
therefore it was my duty to try it. Well, if it does not succeed,
is that my affair? I have done my duty, done all that could be done,
and can return home with an easy conscience to the quiet happiness I
have left behind. What can it matter whether chance, or whatever name
you like to give it, does or does not allow the plan to succeed and
make our names immortal? The worth of the plan is the same whether
chance smiles or frowns upon it. And as to immortality, happiness is
all we want, and that is not to be had here.
"I can say all this to myself a thousand times; I can bring myself to
believe honestly that it is all a matter of indifference to me; but
none the less my spirits change like the clouds of heaven according
as the wind blows from this direction or from that, or the soundings
show the depth to be increasing or not, or the observations indicate a
northerly or southerly drift. When I think of the many that trust us,
think of Norway, think of all the friends that gave us their time,
their faith, and their money, the wish comes that they may not be
disappointed, and I grow sombre when our progress is not what we
expected it would be. And she that gave most--does she deserve that
her sacrifice should have been made in vain? Ah, yes, we must and
will succeed!
"Sunday, December 3d. Sunday again, with its feeling of peace,
and its permission to indulge in the narcotic of happy day-dreams,
and let the hours go idly by without any prickings of conscience.
"To-day the bottom was not reached with over 133 fathoms (250 m.) of
line. There was a northeasterly drift. Yesterday's observation showed
us to be in 78° 44' north latitude, that is 5' farther north than on
Tuesday. It is horribly slow; but it is forward, and forward we must
go; there can be no question of that.
"Tuesday, December 5th. This is the coldest day we have had yet, with
the thermometer 31° below zero (-35.7° C.) and a biting wind from the
E.S.E. Observation in the afternoon shows 78° 50' north latitude; that
is 6' farther north than on Saturday, or 2' per day. In the afternoon
we had magnificent aurora borealis--glittering arches across the whole
vault of the sky from the east towards west; but when I was on deck
this evening the sky was overcast: only one star shone through the
cloudy veil--the home star. How I love it! It is the first thing my
eye seeks, and it is always there, shining on our path. I feel as if
no ill could befall us as long as I see it there....
"Wednesday, December 6th. This afternoon the ice cracked abaft the
starboard quarter; this evening I see that the crack has opened. We
may expect pressure now, as it is new moon either to-day or to-morrow."
"Thursday, December 7th. The ice pressed at the stern at 5 o'clock
this morning for about an hour. I lay in my berth and listened to it
creaking and grinding and roaring. There was slight pressure again
in the afternoon; nothing to speak of. No slackening in the forenoon.
"Friday, December 8th. Pressure from seven till eight this morning. As
I was sitting drawing in the afternoon I was startled by a sudden
report or crash. It seemed to be straight overhead, as if great masses
of ice had fallen from the rigging on to the deck above my cabin. Every
one starts up and throws on some extra garment; those that are taking
an afternoon nap jump out of their berths right into the middle of the
saloon, calling out to know what has happened. Pettersen rushes up the
companion-ladder in such wild haste that he bursts open the door in the
face of the mate, who is standing in the passage holding back 'Kvik,'
who has also started in fright from the bed in the chart-room, where
she is expecting her confinement. On deck we could discover nothing,
except that the ice was in motion, and seemed to be sinking slowly
away from the ship. Great piles had been packed up under the stern
this morning and yesterday. The explosion was probably caused by a
violent pressure suddenly loosening all the ice along the ship's side,
the ship at the same time taking a strong list to port. There was
no cracking of wood to be heard, so that, whatever it was, the Fram
cannot have been injured. But it was cold, and we crept down again.
"As we were sitting at supper about 6 o'clock, pressure suddenly
began. The ice creaked and roared so along the ship's sides close by
us that it was not possible to carry on any connected conversation;
we had to scream, and all agreed with Nordahl when he remarked
that it would be much pleasanter if the pressure would confine its
operations to the bow instead of coming bothering us here aft. Amidst
the noise we caught every now and again from the organ a note or
two of Kjerulf's melody--'I could not sleep for the nightingale's
voice.' The hurly-burly outside lasted for about twenty minutes,
and then all was still.
"Later in the evening Hansen came down to give notice of what really
was a remarkable appearance of aurora borealis. The deck was brightly
illuminated by it, and reflections of its light played all over the
ice. The whole sky was ablaze with it, but it was brightest in the
south; high up in that direction glowed waving masses of fire. Later
still Hansen came again to say that now it was quite extraordinary. No
words can depict the glory that met our eyes. The glowing fire-masses
had divided into glistening, many-colored bands, which were writhing
and twisting across the sky both in the south and north. The rays
sparkled with the purest, most crystalline rainbow colors, chiefly
violet-red or carmine and the clearest green. Most frequently the rays
of the arch were red at the ends, and changed higher up into sparkling
green, which quite at the top turned darker and went over into blue or
violet before disappearing in the blue of the sky; or the rays in one
and the same arch might change from clear red to clear green, coming
and going as if driven by a storm. It was an endless phantasmagoria
of sparkling color, surpassing anything that one can dream. Sometimes
the spectacle reached such a climax that one's breath was taken away;
one felt that now something extraordinary must happen--at the very
least the sky must fall. But as one stands in breathless expectation,
down the whole thing trips, as if in a few quick, light scale-runs,
into bare nothingness. There is something most undramatic about such a
dénouement, but it is all done with such confident assurance that one
cannot take it amiss; one feels one's self in the presence of a master
who has the complete command of his instrument. With a single stroke of
the bow he descends lightly and elegantly from the height of passion
into quiet, every-day strains, only with a few more strokes to work
himself up into passion again. It seems as if he were trying to mock,
to tease us. When we are on the point of going below, driven by 61
degrees of frost (-34.7 C.), such magnificent tones again vibrate over
the strings that we stay until noses and ears are frozen. For a finale,
there is a wild display of fireworks in every tint of flame--such a
conflagration that one expects every minute to have it down on the
ice, because there is not room for it in the sky. But I can hold out
no longer. Thinly dressed, without a proper cap and without gloves,
I have no feeling left in body or limbs, and I crawl away below.
"Sunday, December 10th. Another peaceful Sunday. The motto for the
day in the English almanac is: 'He is happy whose circumstances suit
his temper: but he is more excellent who can suit his temper to any
circumstances' (Hume). Very true, and exactly the philosophy I am
practising at this moment. I am lying on my berth in the light of
the electric lamp, eating cake and drinking beer while I am writing
my journal; presently I shall take a book and settle down to read
and sleep. The arc lamp has shone like a sun to-day over a happy
company. We have no difficulty now in distinguishing hearts from
diamonds on our dirty cards. It is wonderful what an effect light
has. I believe I am becoming a fire-worshipper. It is strange enough
that fire-worship should not exist in the Arctic countries.
"'For the sons of men
Fire is the best,
And the sight of the sun.'
"A newspaper appears on board now. Framsjaa [38] (news of, or outlook
from, the Fram) is its name, and our doctor is its irresponsible
editor. The first number was read aloud this evening, and gave occasion
for much merriment. Among its contents are:
'"WINTER IN THE ICE
(Contribution to the Infant Framsjaa)
Far in the ice there lies a ship, boys,
Mast and sail ice to the very tip, boys;
But, perfectly clear,
If you listen you can hear,
There is life and fun on board that ship, boys.
What can it be?
Come along and see--
It is Nansen and his men that laugh, boys.
Nothing to be heard at night but glasses' clink, boys,
Fall of greasy cards and counters' chink, boys;
If he won't "declare,"
Nordahl he will swear
Bentzen is stupid as an owl, boys.
Bentzen cool, boys,
Is not a fool, boys;
"You're another!" quickly he replies, boys.
Among those sitting at the table, boys,
Is "Heika," [39] with his body big and stable, boys;
He and Lars, so keen,
It would almost seem
They would stake their lives if they were able, boys.
Amundsen, again,
Looks at these two men,
Shakes his head and sadly goes to bed, boys. [40]
Sverdrup, Blessing, Hansen, and our Mohn, [41] boys,
Say of "marriage," "This game is our own," boys;
Soon for them, alas!
The happy hour is past;
And Hansen he says, "Come away, old Mohn!" boys.
"It is getting late,
And the stars won't wait,
You and I must up and out alone," boys.
The doctor here on board has nought to do, boys;
Not a man to test his skill among the crew, boys;
Well may he look blue,
There's nought for him to do,
When every man is strong and hearty, too, boys.
"Now on the Fram," boys,
He says "I am," boys,
"Chief editor of newspaper for you!" boys.
"'WARNING!!!
"'I think it is my duty to warn the public that a travelling
watchmaker has been making the round of this neighborhood lately,
getting watches to repair, and not returning them to their
owners. How long is this to be allowed to go on under the eyes
of the authorities?
"'The watchmaker's appearance is as follows: Middle height,
fair, gray eyes, brown full beard, round shoulders, and generally
delicate-looking.
"'A. Juell. [42]
"'The person above notified was in our office yesterday,
asking for work, and we consider it right to add the following
particulars as completing the description. He generally goes
about with a pack of mongrel curs at his heels; he chews tobacco,
and of this his beard shows traces. This is all we have to say,
as we did not consider ourselves either entitled or called upon
to put him under the microscope.
"'Ed. Framsjaa.'
"Yesterday's observation placed us in 79° 0' north latitude, 139° 14'
east longitude. At last, then, we have got as far north again as we
were in the end of September, and now the northerly drift seems to
be steady: 10 minutes in 4 days.
"Monday, December 11th. This morning I took a long excursion to
westward. It is hard work struggling over the packed ice in the
dark, something like scrambling about a moraine of big boulders at
night. Once I took a step in the air, fell forward, and bruised my
right knee. It is mild to-day, only 9 1/2° below zero (-23° C.). This
evening there was a strange appearance of aurora borealis--white,
shining clouds, which I thought at first must be lit up by the moon,
but there is no moon yet. They were light cumuli, or cirro-cumuli,
shifting into a brightly shining mackerel sky. I stood and watched them
as long as my thin clothing permitted, but there was no perceptible
pulsation, no play of flame; they sailed quietly on. The light seemed
to be strongest in the southeast, where there were also dark clouds to
be seen. Hansen said that it moved over later into the northern sky;
clouds came and went, and for a time there were many white shining
ones--'white as lambs,' he called them--but no aurora played behind
them.
"In this day's meteorological journal I find noted for 4 P.M.: 'Faint
aurora borealis in the north. Some distinct branchings or antlers
(they are of ribbon crimped like blond) in some diffused patches on the
horizon in the N.N.E.' In his aurora borealis journal Hansen describes
that of this evening as follows: 'About 8 P.M. an aurora borealis arch
of light was observed, stretching from E.S.E. to N.W., through the
zenith; diffused quiet intensity 3-4 most intense in N.W. The arch
spread at the zenith by a wave to the south. At 10 o'clock there was
a fainter aurora borealis in the southern sky; eight minutes later it
extended to the zenith, and two minutes after this there was a shining
broad arch across the zenith with intensity 6. Twelve seconds later
flaming rays shot from the zenith in an easterly direction. During
the next half-hour there was constant aurora, chiefly in bands across
or near the zenith, or lower in the southern sky. The observation
ended about 10.38. The intensity was then 2, the aurora diffused
over the southern sky. There were cumulus clouds of varying closeness
all the time. They came up in the southeast at the beginning of the
observation, and disappeared towards the end of it; they were closest
about 10 minutes past 10. At the time that the broad shining arch
through the zenith was at its highest intensity the cumulus clouds in
the northwest shone quite white, though we were unable to detect any
aurora borealis phenomena in this quarter. The reflection of light
on the ice-field was pretty strong at the same time. In the aurora
borealis the cumulus clouds appeared of a darker color, almost the
gray of wool. The colors of the aurora were yellowish, bluish white,
milky blue--cold coloring.' According to the meteorological journal
there was still aurora borealis in the southern sky at midnight.
"Tuesday, December 12th. Had a long walk southeast this morning. The
ice is in much the same condition there as it is to the west, packed
or pressed up into mounds, with flat floes between. This evening
the dogs suddenly began to make a great commotion on deck. We were
all deep in cards, some playing whist, others 'marriage.' I had no
shoes on, so said that some one else must go up and see what was the
matter. Mogstad went. The noise grew worse and worse. Presently Mogstad
came down and said that all the dogs that could get at the rail were
up on it, barking out into the dark towards the north. He was sure
there must be an animal of some sort there, but perhaps it was only a
fox, for he thought he had heard the bark of a fox far in the north;
but he was not sure. Well,--it must be a devil of a fox to excite
the dogs like that. As the disturbance continued, I at last went
up myself, followed by Johansen. From different positions we looked
long and hard into the darkness in the direction in which the dogs
were barking, but we could see nothing moving. That something must
be there was quite certain; and I had no doubt that it was a bear,
for the dogs were almost beside themselves. 'Pan' looked up into my
face with an odd expression, as if he had something important to tell
me, and then jumped up on the rail and barked away to the north. The
dogs' excitement was quite remarkable; they had not been so keen when
the bear was close in to the side of the ship. However, I contented
myself with remarking that the thing to do would be to loose some
dogs and go north with them over the ice. But these wretched dogs
won't tackle a bear, and besides it is so dark that there is hardly
a chance of finding anything. If it is a bear he will come again. At
this season, when he is so hungry, he will hardly go right away from
all the good food for him here on board. I struck about with my arms
to get a little heat into me, then went below and to bed. The dogs went
on barking, sometimes louder than before. Nordahl, whose watch it was,
went up several times, but could discover no reason for it. As I was
lying reading in my berth I heard a peculiar sound; it was like boxes
being dragged about on deck, and there was also scraping, like a dog
that wanted to get out, scratching violently at a door. I thought of
'Kvik,' who was shut up in the chart-room. I called into the saloon
to Nordahl that he had better go up again and see what this new noise
was. He did so, but came back saying that there was still nothing to be
seen. It was difficult to sleep, and I lay long tossing about. Peter
came on watch. I told him to go up and turn the air-sail to the wind,
to make the ventilation better. He was a good time on deck doing this
and other things, but he also could see no reason for the to-do the
dogs were still making. He had to go forward, and then noticed that
the three dogs nearest the starboard gangway were missing. He came
down and told me, and we agreed that possibly this might be what all
the excitement was about; but never before had they taken it so to
heart when some of their number had run away. At last I fell asleep,
but heard them in my sleep for a long time.
"Wednesday, December 13th. Before I was rightly awake this morning I
heard the dogs 'at it' still, and the noise went on all the time of
breakfast, and had, I believe, gone on all night. After breakfast
Mogstad and Peter went up to feed the wretched creatures and let
them loose on the ice. Three were still missing. Peter came down to
get a lantern; he thought he might as well look if there were any
tracks of animals. Jacobsen called after him that he had better
take a gun. No, he did not need one, he said. A little later, as
I was sitting sorrowfully absorbed in the calculation of how much
petroleum we had used, and how short a time our supply would last if
we went on burning it at the same rate, I heard a scream at the top
of the companion. 'Come with a gun!' In a moment I was in the saloon,
and there was Peter tumbling in at the door, breathlessly shouting,
'A gun! a gun!' The bear had bitten him in the side. I was thankful
that it was no worse. Hearing him put on so much dialect, [43]
I had thought it was a matter of life and death. I seized one gun,
he another, and up we rushed, the mate with his gun after us. There
was not much difficulty in knowing in what direction to turn, for from
the rail on the starboard side came confused shouts of human voices,
and from the ice below the gangway the sound of a frightful uproar
of dogs. I tore out the tow-plug at the muzzle of my rifle, then up
with the lever and in with a cartridge; it was a case of hurry. But,
hang it! there is a plug in at this end too. I poked and poked,
but could not get a grip of it. Peter screamed: 'Shoot, shoot! Mine
won't go off!' He stood clicking and clicking, his lock full of frozen
vaseline again, while the bear lay chewing at a dog just below us at
the ship's side. Beside me stood the mate, groping after a tow-plug
which he also had shoved down into his gun, but now he flung the gun
angrily away and began to look round the deck for a walrus spear to
stick the bear with. Our fourth man, Mogstad, was waving an empty
rifle (he had shot away his cartridges), and shouting to some one
to shoot the bear. Four men, and not one that could shoot, although
we could have prodded the bear's back with our gun-barrels. Hansen,
making a fifth, was lying in the passage to the chart-room, groping
with his arm through a chink in the door for cartridges; he could
not get the door open because of 'Kvik's' kennel. At last Johansen
appeared and sent a ball straight down into the bear's hide. That
did some good. The monster let go the dog and gave a growl. Another
shot flashed and hissed down on the same spot. One more, and we saw
the white dog the bear had under him jump up and run off, while the
other dogs stood round, barking. Another shot still, for the animal
began to stir a little. At this moment my plug came out, and I gave
him a last ball through the head to make sure. The dogs had crowded
round barking as long as he moved, but now that he lay still in death
they drew back terrified. They probably thought it was some new ruse
of the enemy. It was a little thin one-year-old bear that had caused
all this terrible commotion.
"While it was being flayed I went off in a northwesterly direction
to look for the dogs that were still missing. I had not gone far
when I noticed that the dogs that were following me had caught scent
of something to the north and wanted to go that way. Soon they got
frightened, and I could not get them to go on; they kept close in to
my side or slunk behind me. I held my gun ready, while I crawled on
all-fours over the pack-ice, which was anything but level. I kept
a steady lookout ahead, but it was not far my eyes could pierce in
that darkness. I could only just see the dogs, like black shadows,
when they were a few steps away from me. I expected every moment
to see a huge form rise among the hummocks ahead, or come rushing
towards me. The dogs got more and more cautious; one or two of them
sat down, but they probably felt that it would be a shame to let me
go on alone, so followed slowly after. Terrible ice to force one's
way over. Crawling along on hands and knees does not put one in a
very convenient position to shoot from if the bear should make a
sudden rush. But unless he did this, or attacked the dogs, I had no
hope of getting him. We now came out on some flat ice. It was only
too evident that there must be something quite near now. I went on,
and presently saw a dark object on the ice in front of me. It was not
unlike an animal. I bent down--it was poor 'Johansen's Friend,' the
black dog with the white tip to his tail, in a sad state, and frozen
stiff. Beside him was something else dark. I bent down again and
found the second of the missing dogs, brother of the corpse-watcher
'Suggen.' This one was almost whole, only eaten a little about the
head, and it was not frozen quite stiff. There seemed to be blood all
round on the ice. I looked about in every direction, but there was
nothing more to be seen. The dogs stood at a respectful distance,
staring and sniffing in the direction of their dead comrades. Some
of us went, not long after this, to fetch the dogs' carcasses,
taking a lantern to look for bear tracks, in case there had been
some big fellows along with the little one. We scrambled on among
the pack-ice. 'Come this way with the lantern, Bentzen; I think
I see tracks here.' Bentzen came, and we turned the light on some
indentations in the snow; they were bear-paw marks, sure enough, but
only the same little fellow's. 'Look! the brute has been dragging
a dog after him here.' By the light of the lantern we traced the
blood-marked path on among the hummocks. We found the dead dogs, but
no footprints except small ones, which we all thought must be those of
our little bear. 'Svarten,' alias 'Johansen's Friend,' looked bad in
the lantern-light. Flesh and skin and entrails were gone; there was
nothing to be seen but a bare breast and back-bone, with some stumps
of ribs. It was a pity that the fine strong dog should come to such
an end. He had just one fault: he was rather bad-tempered. He had
a special dislike to Johansen; barked and showed his teeth whenever
he came on deck or even opened a door, and when he sat whistling in
the top or in the crow's-nest these dark winter days the 'Friend'
would answer with a howl of rage from far out on the ice. Johansen
bent down with the lantern to look at the remains.
"'Are you glad, Johansen, that your enemy is done for?'
"'No, I am sorry.'
"'Why?'
"'Because we did not make it up before he died.'
"And we went on to look for more bear-tracks, but found none; so we
took the dead dogs on our backs and turned homeward.
"On the way I asked Peter what had really happened with him and the
bear. 'Well, you see,' said he, 'when I came along with the lantern
we saw a few drops of blood by the gangway; but that might quite well
have been a dog that had cut itself. On the ice below the gangway
we saw some bear-tracks, and we started away west, the whole pack of
dogs with us, running on far ahead. When we had got away a bit from
the ship, there was suddenly an awful row in front, and it wasn't long
before a great beast came rushing at us, with the whole troop of dogs
around it. As soon as we saw what it was, we turned and ran our best
for the ship. Mogstad, you see, had moccasins (komager) on, and knew
his way better and got there before me. I couldn't get along so fast
with my great wooden shoes, and in my confusion I got right on to the
big hummock to the west of the ship's bow, you know. I turned here and
lighted back to see if the bear was behind me, but I saw nothing and
pushed on again, and in a minute these slippery wooden shoes had me
flat on my back among the hummocks. I was up again quick enough; but
when I got down on to the flat ice close to the ship I saw something
coming straight for me on the right-hand side. First I thought it
was a dog--it's not so easy to see in the dark, you know. I had no
time for a second thought, for the beast jumped on me and bit me in
the side. I had lifted my arm like this, you see, and so he caught
me here, right on the hip. He growled and hissed as he bit.'
"'What did you think then, Peter?'
"'What did I think? I thought it was all up with me. What was I to
do? I had neither gun nor knife. But I took the lantern and gave
him such a whack on the head with it that the thing broke, and went
flying away over the ice. The moment he felt the blow he sat down and
looked at me. I was just taking to my heels when he got up; I don't
know whether it was to grip me again or what it was for, but anyhow
at that minute he caught sight of a dog coming and set off after it,
and I got on board.'
"'Did you scream, Peter?'
"'Scream! I screamed with all my might.'
"And apparently this was true, for he was quite hoarse.
"'But where was Mogstad all this time?'
"'Well, you see, he had reached the ship long before me, but he
never thought of running down and giving the alarm, but takes his gun
from the round-house wall and thinks he'll manage all right alone;
but his gun wouldn't go off, and the bear would have had time to eat
me up before his nose.'
"We were now near the ship, and Mogstad, who had heard the last
part of the story from the deck, corrected it in so far that he had
just reached the gangway when Peter began to roar. He jumped up and
fell back three times before he got on board, and had no time to do
anything then but seize his gun and go to Peter's assistance.
"When the bear left Peter and rushed after the dogs he soon had the
whole pack about him again. Now he would make a spring and get one
below him; but then all the rest would set upon him and jump on his
back, so that he had to turn to defend himself. Then he would spring
upon another dog, and the whole pack would be on him again. And so
the dance went on, backward and forward over the ice, until they were
once more close to the ship. A dog stood there, below the gangway,
wanting to get on board; the bear made a spring on it, and it was
there, by the ship's side, that the villain met his fate.
"An examination on board showed that the hook of 'Svarten's' leash
was pulled out quite straight; 'Gammelen's' was broken through; but
the third dog's was only wrenched a little; it hardly looked as if
the bear had done it. I had a slight hope that this dog might still
be in life, but, though we searched well, we could not find it.
"It was altogether a deplorable story. To think that we should have let
a bear scramble on board like this, and should have lost three dogs at
once! Our dogs are dwindling down; we have only 26 now. That was a wily
demon of a bear, to be such a little one. He had crawled on board by
the gangway, shoved away a box that was standing in front of it, taken
the dog that stood nearest, and gone off with it. When he had satisfied
the first pangs of his hunger, he had come back and fetched No. 2,
and, if he had been allowed, he would have continued the performance
until the deck was cleared of dogs. Then he would probably have come
bumping down-stairs 'and beckoned with cold hand' in at the galley
door to Juell. It must have been a pleasant feeling for 'Svarten'
to stand there in the dark and see the bear come creeping in upon him.
"When I went below after this bear affair, Juell said as I passed the
galley door, 'You'll see that "Kvik" will have her pups to-day; for
it's always the way here on board, that things happen together.' And,
sure enough, when we were sitting in the saloon in the evening,
Mogstad, who generally plays 'master of the hounds,' came and
announced the arrival of the first. Soon there was another, and then
one more. This news was a little balsam to our wounds. 'Kvik' has got
a good warm box, lined with fur, up in the passage on the starboard;
it is so warm there that she is lying sweating, and we hope that the
young ones will live, in spite of 54 degrees of frost. It seems this
evening as if every one had some hesitation in going out on the ice
unarmed. Our bayonet-knives have been brought out, and I am providing
myself with one. I must say that I felt quite certain that we should
find no bears as far north as this in the middle of winter; and it
never occurred to me, in making long excursions on the ice without
so much as a penknife in my pocket, that I was liable to encounters
with them. But, after Peter's experience, it seems as if it might be
as well to have, at any rate, a lantern to hit them with. The long
bayonet-knife shall accompany me henceforth.
"They often chaffed Peter afterwards about having screamed so horribly
when the bear seized him. 'H'm! I wonder,' said he, 'if there aren't
others that would have screeched just as loud. I had to yell after
the fellows that were so afraid of frightening the bear that when
they ran they covered seven yards at each stride.'
"Thursday, December 14th. 'Well, Mogstad, how many pups have you
now?' I asked at breakfast. 'There are five now.' But soon after he
came down to tell me that there were at least twelve. Gracious! that
is good value for what we have lost. But we were almost as pleased
when Johansen came down and said that he heard the missing dog
howling on the ice far away to the northwest. Several of us went up
to listen, and we could all hear him quite well; but it sounded as
if he were sitting still, howling in despair. Perhaps he was at an
opening in the ice that he could not get across. Blessing had also
heard him during his night-watch, but then the sound had come more
from a southwesterly direction. When Peter went after breakfast to
feed the dogs, there was the lost one, standing below the gangway
wanting to get on board. Hungry he was--he dashed straight into the
food-dish--but otherwise hale and hearty.
"This evening Peter came and said that he was certain he had heard
a bear moving about and pawing the ice; he and Pettersen had stood
and listened to him scraping at the snow crust. I put on my 'pesk'
(a fur blouse), got hold of my double-barrelled rifle, and went on
deck. The whole crew were collected aft, gazing out into the night. We
let loose 'Ulenka' and 'Pan,' and went in the direction where the bear
was said to be. It was pitch-dark, but the dogs would find the tracks
if there was anything there. Hansen thought he had seen something
moving about the hummock near the ship, but we found and heard nothing,
and, as several of the others had by this time come out on the ice
and could also discover nothing, we scrambled on board again. It is
extraordinary all the sounds that one can fancy one hears out on that
great, still space, mysteriously lighted by the twinkling stars.
"Friday, December 15th. This morning Peter saw a fox on the ice astern,
and he saw it again later, when he was out with the dogs. There is
something remarkable about this appearance of bears and foxes now,
after our seeing no life for so long. The last time we saw a fox we
were far south of this, possibly near Sannikoff Land. Can we have
come into the neighborhood of land again?
"I inspected 'Kvik's' pups in the afternoon. There were thirteen,
a curious coincidence--thirteen pups on December 13th, for thirteen
men. Five were killed; 'Kvik' can manage eight, but more would
be bad for her. Poor mother! she was very anxious about her young
ones--wanted to jump up into the box beside them and take them from
us. And you can see that she is very proud of them.
"Peter came this evening and said that there must be a ghost on the
ice, for he heard exactly the same sounds of walking and pawing as
yesterday evening. This seems to be a populous region, after all.
"According to an observation taken on Tuesday we must be pretty nearly
in 79° 8' north latitude. That was 8 minutes' drift in the three days
from Saturday; we are getting on better and better.
"Why will it not snow? Christmas is near, and what is Christmas without
snow, thickly falling snow? We have not had one snowfall all the time
we have been drifting. The hard grains that come down now and again are
nothing. Oh the beautiful white snow, falling so gently and silently,
softening every hard outline with its sheltering purity! There is
nothing more deliciously restful, soft, and white. This snowless
ice-plain is like a life without love--nothing to soften it. The
marks of all the battles and pressures of the ice stand forth just
as when they were made, rugged and difficult to move among. Love is
life's snow. It falls deepest and softest into the gashes left by
the fight--whiter and purer than snow itself. What is life without
love? It is like this ice--a cold, bare, rugged mass, the wind driving
it and rending it and then forcing it together again, nothing to cover
over the open rifts, nothing to break the violence of the collisions,
nothing to round away the sharp corners of the broken floes--nothing,
nothing but bare, rugged drift-ice.
"Saturday, December 16th. In the afternoon Peter came quietly into the
saloon, and said that he heard all sorts of noises on the ice. There
was a sound to the north exactly like that of ice packing against
land, and then suddenly there was such a roar through the air that
the dogs started up and barked. Poor Peter! They laugh at him when
he comes down to give an account of his many observations; but there
is not one among us as sharp as he is.
"Wednesday, December 20th. As I was sitting at breakfast, Peter came
roaring that he believed he had seen a bear on the ice, 'and that
"Pan" set off the moment he was loosed.' I rushed on to the ice with my
gun. Several men were to be seen in the moonlight, but no bear. It was
long before 'Pan' came back; he had followed him far to the northwest.
"Sverdrup and 'Smith Lars' in partnership have made a great bear-trap,
which was put out on the ice to-day. As I was afraid of more dogs
than bears being caught in it, it was hung from a gallows, too high
for the dogs to jump up to the piece of blubber which hangs as bait
right in the mouth of the trap. All the dogs spend the evening now
sitting on the rail barking at this new man they see out there on
the ice in the moonlight.
"Thursday, December 21st. It is extraordinary, after all, how the time
passes. Here we are at the shortest day, though we have no day. But now
we are moving on to light and summer again. We tried to sound to-day;
had out 2100 metres (over 1100 fathoms) of line without reaching
the bottom. We have no more line; what is to be done? Who could have
guessed that we should find such deep water? There has been an arch of
light in the sky all day, opposite the moon; so it is a lunar rainbow,
but without color, so far as I have been able to see.
"Friday, December 22d. A bear was shot last night. Jacobsen saw it
first, during his watch. He shot at it. It made off; and he then
went down and told about it in the cabin. Mogstad and Peter came on
deck; Sverdrup was called, too, and came up a little later. They
saw the bear on his way towards the ship again; but he suddenly
caught sight of the gallows with the trap on the ice to the west,
and went off there. He looked well at the apparatus, then raised
himself cautiously on his hind-legs, and laid his right paw on the
cross-beam just beside the trap, stared for a little, hesitating,
at the delicious morsel, but did not at all like the ugly jaws round
it. Sverdrup was by this time out at the deck-house, watching in
the sparkling moonshine. His heart was jumping--he expected every
moment to hear the snap of his trap. But the bear shook his head
suspiciously, lowered himself cautiously on to all-fours again,
and sniffed carefully at the wire that the trap was fastened by,
following it along to where it was made fast to a great block of
ice. He went round this, and saw how cleverly it was all arranged,
then slowly followed the wire back, raised himself up as before, with
his paw on the beam of the gallows, had a long look at the trap, and
shook his head again, probably saying to himself, 'These wily fellows
have planned this very cleverly for me.' Now he resumed his march
to the ship. When he was within 60 paces of the bow Peter fired. The
bear fell, but jumped up and again made off. Jacobsen, Sverdrup, and
Mogstad all fired now, and he fell among some hummocks. He was flayed
at once, and in the skin there was only the hole of one ball, which
had gone through him from behind the shoulder-blade. Peter, Jacobsen,
and Mogstad all claimed this ball. Sverdrup gave up his claim, as
he had stood so far astern. Mogstad, seeing the bear fall directly
after his shot, called out, 'I gave him that one'; Jacobsen swears
that it was he that hit; and Bentzen, who was standing looking on,
is prepared to take his oath anywhere that it was Peter's ball that
did the deed. The dispute upon this weighty point remained unsettled
during the whole course of the expedition.
"Beautiful moonlight. Pressure in several directions. To-day we carried
our supply of gun-cotton and cannon and rifle powder on deck. It is
safer there than in the hold. In case of fire or other accident,
an explosion in the hold might blow the ship's sides out and send
us to the bottom before we had time to turn round. Some we put on
the forecastle, some on the bridge. From these places it would be
quickly thrown on to the ice.
"Saturday, December 23d. What we call in Norway 'Little
Christmas-eve.' I went a long way west this morning, coming home
late. There was packed up ice everywhere, with flat floes between. I
was turned by a newly formed opening in the ice, which I dared not
cross on the thin layer of fresh ice. In the afternoon, as a first
Christmas entertainment, we tried an ice-blasting with four prisms
of gun-cotton. A hole was made with one of the large iron drills we
had brought with us for this purpose, and the charge, with the end
of the electric connecting wire, was sunk about a foot below the
surface of the ice. Then all retired, the knob was touched, there
was a dull crash, and water and pieces of ice were shot up into the
air. Although it was 60 yards off, it gave the ship a good jerk that
shook everything on board, and brought the hoar-frost down from the
rigging. The explosion blew a hole through the four-feet-thick ice,
but its only other effect was to make small cracks round this hole.
"Sunday, December 24th (Christmas-eve), 67 degrees of cold (-37°
C.). Glittering moonlight and the endless stillness of the Arctic
night. I took a solitary stroll over the ice. The first Christmas-eve,
and how far away! The observation shows us to be in 79° 11' north
latitude. There is no drift. Two minutes farther south than six
days ago."
There are no further particulars given of this day in the diary;
but when I think of it, how clearly it all comes back to me! There
was a peculiar elevation of mood on board that was not at all common
among us. Every man's inmost thoughts were with those at home; but
his comrades were not to know that, and so there was more joking
and laughing than usual. All the lamps and lights we had on board
were lit, and every corner of the saloon and cabins was brilliantly
illuminated. The bill of fare for the day, of course, surpassed
any previous one--food was the chief thing we had to hold festival
with. The dinner was a very fine one indeed; so was the supper,
and after it piles of Christmas cakes came on the table; Juell had
been busy making them for several weeks. After that we enjoyed a
glass of toddy and a cigar, smoking in the saloon being, of course,
allowed. The culminating point of the festival came when two boxes with
Christmas presents were produced. The one was from Hansen's mother,
the other from his fiancée--Miss Fougner. It was touching to see the
childlike pleasure with which each man received his gift--it might
be a pipe or a knife or some little knickknack--he felt that it was
like a message from home. After this there were speeches; and then
the Framsjaa appeared, with an illustrated supplement, selections
from which are given. The drawings are the work of the famous Arctic
draughtsman, Huttetu. Here are two verses from the poem for the day:
"When the ship's path is stopped by fathom-thick ice,
And winter's white covering is spread,
When we're quite given up to the power of the stream,
Oh! 'tis then that so often of home we must dream.
"We wish them all joy at this sweet Christmas-tide,
Health and happiness for the next year,
Ourselves patience to wait; 'twill bring us to the Pole,
And home the next spring, never fear!"
There were many more poems, among others one giving some account of
the principal events of the last weeks, in this style:
"Bears are seen, and dogs are born,
Cakes are baked, both small and large;
Henriksen, he does not fall,
Spite of bear's most violent charge;
Mogstad with his rifle clicks,
Jacobsen with long lance sticks,"
and so on. There was a long ditty on the subject of the "Dog Rape on
board the Fram:"
"Up and down on a night so cold,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
Walk harpooner and kennelman bold,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom;
Our kennelman swings, I need hardly tell,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
The long, long lash you know so well,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom;
Our harpooner, he is a man of light,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
A burning lantern he grasps tight,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
They as they walk the time beguile,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
With tales of bears and all their wile,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom.
"Now suddenly a bear they see,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
Before whom all the dogs do flee,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom;
Kennelman, like a deer, runs fast,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,
Harpooner slow comes in the last,
Kvirre virre vip, bom, bom,"
and so on.
Among the announcements are--
"Instruction in Fencing.
"In consequence of the indefinite postponement of our departure,
a limited number of pupils can be received for instruction in
both fencing and boxing.
"Majakoft,
"Teacher of Boxing,
"Next door to the Doctor's."
Again--
"On account of want of storage room, a quantity of old clothes
are at present for sale, by private arrangement, at No. 2 Pump
Lane. [44] Repeated requests to remove them having been of no
effect, I am obliged to dispose of them in this way. The clothes
are quite fresh, having been in salt for a long time."
After the reading of the newspaper came instrumental music and singing,
and it was far on in the night before we sought our berths.
"Monday, December 25th (Christmas-day). Thermometer at 36° Fahr. below
zero (-38° C.). I took a walk south in the beautiful light of the
full moon. At a newly made crack I went through the fresh ice with
one leg and got soaked; but such an accident matters very little in
this frost. The water immediately stiffens into ice; it does not make
one very cold, and one feels dry again soon.
"They will be thinking much of us just now at home and giving many
a pitying sigh over all the hardships we are enduring in this cold,
cheerless, icy region. But I am afraid their compassion would cool
if they could look in upon us, hear the merriment that goes on, and
see all our comforts and good cheer. They can hardly be better off
at home. I myself have certainly never lived a more sybaritic life,
and have never had more reason to fear the consequences it brings in
its train. Just listen to to-day's dinner menu:
1. Ox-tail soup;
2. Fish-pudding, with potatoes and melted butter;
3. Roast of reindeer, with pease, French beans, potatoes, and
cranberry jam;
4. Cloudberries with cream;
5. Cake and marchpane (a welcome present from the baker to the
expedition; we blessed that man).
And along with all this that Ringnes bock-beer which is so famous in
our part of the world. Was this the sort of dinner for men who are
to be hardened against the horrors of the Arctic night?
"Every one had eaten so much that supper had to be skipped
altogether. Later in the evening coffee was served, with pineapple
preserve, gingerbread, vanilla-cakes, cocoanut macaroons, and various
other cakes, all the work of our excellent cook, Juell; and we ended
up with figs, almonds, and raisins.
"Now let us have the breakfast, just to complete the day: coffee,
freshly baked bread, beautiful Danish butter, Christmas cake, Cheddar
cheese, clove-cheese, tongue, corned-beef, and marmalade. And if
any one thinks that this is a specially good breakfast because it is
Christmas-day he is wrong. It is just what we have always, with the
addition of the cake, which is not part of the every-day diet.
"Add now to this good cheer our strongly built, safe house, our
comfortable saloon, lighted up with the large petroleum lamp and
several smaller ones (when we have no electric light), constant gayety,
card-playing, and books in any quantity, with or without illustrations,
good and entertaining reading, and then a good, sound sleep--what
more could one wish?
" ... But, O Arctic night, thou art like a woman, a marvellously lovely
woman. Thine are the noble, pure outlines of antique beauty, with its
marble coldness. On thy high, smooth brow, clear with the clearness of
ether, is no trace of compassion for the little sufferings of despised
humanity; on thy pale, beautiful cheek no blush of feeling. Among thy
raven locks, waving out into space, the hoar-frost has sprinkled its
glittering crystals. The proud lines of thy throat, thy shoulders'
curves, are so noble, but, oh! unbendingly cold; thy bosom's white
chastity is feelingless as the snowy ice. Chaste, beautiful, and
proud, thou floatest through ether over the frozen sea, thy glittering
garment, woven of aurora beams, covering the vault of heaven. But
sometimes I divine a twitch of pain on thy lips, and endless sadness
dreams in thy dark eye.
"Oh, how tired I am of thy cold beauty! I long to return to
life. Let me get home again, as conqueror or as beggar; what does
that matter? But let me get home to begin life anew. The years are
passing here, and what do they bring? Nothing but dust, dry dust,
which the first wind blows away; new dust comes in its place, and the
next wind takes it too. Truth? Why should we always make so much of
truth? Life is more than cold truth, and we live but once.
"Tuesday, December 26th. 36° Fahr. below zero (-38° C.). This (the
same as yesterday's) is the greatest cold we have had yet. I went
a long way north to-day; found a big lane covered with newly frozen
ice, with a quite open piece of water in the middle. The ice rocked
up and down under my steps, sending waves out into the open pool. It
was strange once more to see the moonlight playing on the coal-black
waves, and awakened a remembrance of well-known scenes. I followed
this lane far to the north, seemed to see the outlines of high land
in the hazy light below the moon, and went on and on; but in the end
it turned out to be a bank of clouds behind the moonlit vapor rising
from the open water. I saw from a high hummock that this opening
stretched north as far as the eye could reach.
"The same luxurious living as yesterday; a dinner of four
courses. Shooting with darts at a target for cigarettes has been the
great excitement of the day. Darts and target are Johansen's Christmas
present from Miss Fougner.
"Wednesday, December 27th. Wind began to blow this afternoon, 19 1/2 to
26 feet per second; the windmill is going again, and the arc lamp once
more brightens our lives. Johansen gave notice of 'a shooting-match
by electric light, with free concert,' for the evening. It was a
pity for himself that he did, for he and several others were shot
into bankruptcy and beggary, and had to retire one after the other,
leaving their cigarettes behind them."
"Thursday, December 28th. A little forward of the Fram there is a
broad, newly formed open lane, in which she could lie crossways. It
was covered with last night's ice, in which slight pressure began
to-day. It is strange how indifferent we are to this pressure,
which was the cause of such great trouble to many earlier Arctic
navigators. We have not so much as made the smallest preparation
for possible accident, no provisions on deck, no tent, no clothing
in readiness. This may seem like recklessness, but in reality there
is not the slightest prospect of the pressure harming us; we know
now what the Fram can bear. Proud of our splendid, strong ship, we
stand on her deck watching the ice come hurtling against her sides,
being crushed and broken there and having to go down below her,
while new ice-masses tumble upon her out of the dark, to meet the
same fate. Here and there, amid deafening noise, some great mass
rises up and launches itself threateningly upon the bulwarks, only
to sink down suddenly, dragged the same way as the others. But at
times when one hears the roaring of tremendous pressure in the night,
as a rule so deathly still, one cannot but call to mind the disasters
that this uncontrollable power has wrought.
"I am reading the story of Kane's expedition just now. Unfortunate
man, his preparations were miserably inadequate; it seems to me to
have been a reckless, unjustifiable proceeding to set out with such
equipments. Almost all the dogs died of bad food; all the men had
scurvy from the same cause, with snow-blindness, frost-bites, and all
kinds of miseries. He learned a wholesome awe of the Arctic night,
and one can hardly wonder at it. He writes on page 173: 'I feel
that we are fighting the battle of life at disadvantage, and that
an Arctic day and an Arctic night age a man more rapidly and harshly
than a year anywhere else in this weary world.' In another place he
writes that it is impossible for civilized men not to suffer in such
circumstances. These were sad but by no means unique experiences. An
English Arctic explorer with whom I had some conversation also
expressed himself very discouragingly on the subject of life in the
polar regions, and combated my cheerful faith in the possibility
of preventing scurvy. He was of opinion that it was inevitable, and
that no expedition yet had escaped it, though some might have given
it another name: rather a humiliating view to take of the matter,
I think. But I am fortunately in a position to maintain that it
is not justified; and I wonder if they would not both change their
opinions if they were here. For my own part, I can say that the Arctic
night has had no aging, no weakening, influence of any kind upon me;
I seem, on the contrary, to grow younger. This quiet, regular life
suits me remarkably well, and I cannot remember a time when I was in
better bodily health balance than I am at present. I differ from these
other authorities to the extent of feeling inclined to recommend this
region as an excellent sanatorium in cases of nervousness and general
breakdown. This is in all sincerity.
"I am almost ashamed of the life we lead, with none of those darkly
painted sufferings of the long winter night which are indispensable to
a properly exciting Arctic expedition. We shall have nothing to write
about when we get home. I may say the same of my comrades as I have
said for myself; they all look healthy, fat, in good condition; none
of the traditional pale, hollow faces; no low spirits--any one hearing
the laughter that goes on in the saloon, 'the fall of greasy cards,'
etc. (see Juell's poem), would be in no doubt about this. But how,
indeed, should there be any illness? With the best of food of every
kind, as much of it as we want, and constant variety, so that even the
most fastidious cannot tire of it, good shelter, good clothing, good
ventilation, exercise in the open air ad libitum, no over-exertion
in the way of work, instructive and amusing books of every kind,
relaxation in the shape of cards, chess, dominoes, halma, music,
and story-telling--how should any one be ill? Every now and then I
hear remarks expressive of perfect satisfaction with the life. Truly
the whole secret lies in arranging things sensibly, and especially in
being careful about the food. A thing that I believe has a good effect
upon us is this living together in the one saloon, with everything
in common. So far as I know, it is the first time that such a thing
has been tried; but it is quite to be recommended. I have heard some
of the men complain of sleeplessness. This is generally considered
to be one inevitable consequence of the Arctic darkness. As far as I
am personally concerned, I can say that I have felt nothing of it; I
sleep soundly at night. I have no great belief in this sleeplessness;
but then I do not take an after-dinner nap, which most of the others
are addicted to; and if they sleep for several hours during the day
they can hardly expect to sleep all night as well. 'One must be awake
part of one's time,' as Sverdrup said.
"Sunday, December 31st. And now the last day of the year has come;
it has been a long year, and has brought much both of good and bad. It
began with good by bringing little Liv--such a new, strange happiness
that at first I could hardly believe in it. But hard, unspeakably hard,
was the parting that came later; no year has brought worse pain than
that. And the time since has been one great longing.
"'Would'st thou be free from care and pain,
Thou must love nothing here on earth."
"But longing--oh, there are worse things than that! All that is good
and beautiful may flourish in its shelter. Everything would be over
if we cease to long.
"But you fell off at the end, old year; you hardly carried us so far
as you ought. Still you might have done worse; you have not been so
bad, after all. Have not all hopes and calculations been justified,
and are we not drifting away just where I wished and hoped we should
be? Only one thing has been amiss--I did not think the drift would
have gone in quite so many zig-zags.
"One could not have a more beautiful New-year's-eve. The aurora
borealis is burning in wonderful colors and bands of light over the
whole sky, but particularly in the north. Thousands of stars sparkle
in the blue firmament among the northern lights. On every side the
ice stretches endless and silent into the night. The rime-covered
rigging of the Fram stands out sharp and dark against the shining sky.
"The newspaper was read aloud; only verses this time; among other
poems the following:
"'TO THE NEW YEAR.
"'And you, my boy, must give yourself trouble
Of your old father to be the double;
Your lineage, honor, and fight hard to merit
Our praise for the habits we trust you inherit.
On we must go if you want to please us;
To make us lie still is the way to tease us.
In the old year we sailed not so badly,
Be it so still, or you'll hear us groan sadly.
When the time comes you must break up the ice for us;
When the time comes you must win the great prize for us;
We fervently hope, having reached our great goal,
To eat next Christmas dinner beyond the North Pole.'
"During the evening we were regaled with pineapple, figs, cakes,
and other sweets, and about midnight Hansen brought in toddy, and
Nordahl cigars and cigarettes. At the moment of the passing of the
year all stood up and I had to make an apology for a speech--to the
effect that the old year had been, after all, a good one, and I hoped
the new would not be worse; that I thanked them for good comradeship,
and was sure that our life together this year would be as comfortable
and pleasant as it had been during the last. Then they sang the songs
that had been written for the farewell entertainments given to us at
Christiania and at Bergen:
"'Our mother, weep not! it was thou
Gave them the wish to wander;
To leave our coasts and turn their prow
Towards night and perils yonder.
Thou pointedst to the open sea,
The long cape was thy finger;
The white sail wings they got from thee;
Thou canst not bid them linger!
"'Yes, they are thine, O mother old!
And proud thou dost embrace them;
Thou hear'st of dangers manifold,
But know'st thy sons can face them.
And tears of joy thine eyes will rain,
The day the Fram comes steering
Up fjord again to music strain,
And the roar of thousands cheering.
"'E. N.'
"Then I read aloud our last greeting, a telegram we received at Tromsö
from Moltke Moe:
"'Luck on the way,
Sun on the sea,
Sun on your minds,
Help from the winds;
May the packed floes
Part and unclose
Where the ship goes.
Forward her progress be,
E'en though the silent sea,
Then
After her freeze up again.
"'Strength enough, meat enough,
Hope enough, heat enough;
The Fram will go sure enough then
To the Pole and so back to the dwellings of men.
Luck on the way
To thee and thy band,
And welcome back to the fatherland!'
"After this we read some of Vinje's poems, and then sang songs from
the Framsjaa and others.
"It seems strange that we should have seen the New Year in already,
and that it will not begin at home for eight hours yet. It is almost 4
A.M. now. I had thought of sitting up till it was New Year in Norway
too; but no; I will rather go to bed and sleep, and dream that I am
at home.
"Monday, January 1st, 1894. The year began well. I was awakened by
Juell's cheerful voice wishing me a Happy New Year. He had come
to give me a cup of coffee in bed--delicious Turkish coffee, his
Christmas present from Miss Fougner. It is beautiful clear weather,
with the thermometer at 36° below zero (-38° C.). It almost seems to
me as if the twilight in the south were beginning to grow; the upper
edge of it to-day was 14° above the horizon.
"An extra good dinner at 6 P.M.
1. Tomato soup.
2. Cod roe with melted butter and potatoes.
3. Roast reindeer, with green pease, potatoes, and cranberry jam.
4. Cloudberries with milk.
Ringnes beer.
"I do not know if this begins to give any impression of great
sufferings and privations. I am lying in my berth, writing, reading,
and dreaming. It is always a curious feeling to write for the first
time the number of a New Year. Not till then does one grasp the fact
that the old year is a thing of the past; the new one is here, and one
must prepare to wrestle with it. Who knows what it is bringing? Good
and evil, no doubt, but most good. It cannot but be that we shall go
forward towards our goal and towards home.
"'Life is rich and wreathed in roses;
Gaze forth into a world of dreams.'
"Yes; lead us, if not to our goal--that would be too early--at least
towards it; strengthen our hope; but perhaps--no, no perhaps. These
brave boys of mine deserve to succeed. There is not a doubt in their
minds. Each one's whole heart is set on getting north. I can read
it in their faces--it shines from every eye. There is one sigh of
disappointment every time that we hear that we are drifting south, one
sigh of relief when we begin to go north again, to the unknown. And
it is in me and my theories that they trust. What if I have been
mistaken, and am leading them astray? Oh, I could not help myself! We
are the tools of powers beyond us. We are born under lucky or unlucky
stars. Till now I have lived under a lucky one; is its light to be
darkened? I am superstitious, no doubt, but I believe in my star. And
Norway, our fatherland, what has the old year brought to thee, and
what is the new year bringing? Vain to think of that; but I look
at our pictures, the gifts of Werenskjöld, Munthe, Kitty Kielland,
Skredsvig, Hansteen, Eilif Pettersen, and I am at home, at home!
"Wednesday, January 3d. The old lane about 1300 feet ahead of the Fram
has opened again--a large rift, with a coating of ice and rime. As
soon as ice is formed in this temperature the frost forces it to throw
out its salinity on the surface, and this itself freezes into pretty
salt flowers, resembling hoar-frost. The temperature is between 38°
Fahr. and 40° Fahr. below zero (-39° C. to -40° C), but when there
is added to this a biting wind, with a velocity of from 9 to 16 feet
per second, it must be allowed that it is rather 'cool in the shade.'
"Sverdrup and I agreed to-day that the Christmas holidays had better
stop now and the usual life begin again; too much idleness is not good
for us. It cannot be called a full nor a complicated one, this life
of ours; but it has one advantage, that we are all satisfied with it,
such as it is.
"They are still working in the engine-room, but expect to finish
what they are doing to the boiler in a few days, and then all is done
there. Then the turning-lathe is to be set up in the hold, and tools
for it have to be forged. There is often a job for Smith Lars, and
then the forge flames forward by the forecastle, and sends its red
glow on to the rime-covered rigging, and farther up into the starry
night, and out over the waste of ice. From far off you can hear the
strokes on the anvil ringing through the silent night. When one is
wandering alone out there, and the well-known sound reaches one's ear,
and one sees the red glow, memory recalls less solitary scenes. While
one stands gazing, perhaps a light moves along the deck and slowly
up the rigging. It is Johansen on his way up to the crow's-nest to
read the temperature. Blessing is at present engaged in counting
blood corpuscles again, and estimating amounts of hæmoglobin. For
this purpose he draws blood every month from every mother's son of
us, the bloodthirsty dog, with supreme contempt for all the outcry
against vivisection. Hansen and his assistant take observations. The
meteorological ones, which are taken every four hours, are Johansen's
special department. First he reads the thermometer, hygrometer,
and thermograph on deck (they were afterwards kept on the ice);
next the barometer, barograph, and thermometer in the saloon; and
then the minimum and maximum thermometers in the crow's-nest (this
to take the record of the temperature of a higher air stratum). Then
he goes to read the thermometers that are kept on the ice to measure
the radiations from its surface, and perhaps down to the hold, too,
to see what the temperature is there. Every second day, as a rule,
astronomical observations are taken, to decide our whereabouts and
keep us up to date in the crab's progress we are making. Taking these
observations with the thermometer between 22° Fahr. and 40° Fahr. below
zero (-30° C. to -40° C.) is a very mixed pleasure. Standing still
on deck working with these fine instruments, and screwing in metal
screws with one's bare fingers, is not altogether agreeable. It
often happens that they must slap their arms about and tramp hard up
and down the deck. They are received with shouts of laughter when
they reappear in the saloon after the performance of one of these
thundering nigger break-downs above our heads that has shaken the
whole ship. We ask innocently if it was cold on deck. 'Not the very
least,' says Hansen; 'just a pleasant temperature.' 'And your feet
are not cold now?' 'No, I can't say that they are, but one's fingers
get a little cold sometimes.' Two of his had just been frost-bitten;
but he refused to wear one of the wolf-skin suits which I had given
out for the meteorologists. 'It is too mild for that yet; and it does
not do to pamper one's self,' he says.
"I believe it was when the thermometer stood at 40° below zero that
Hansen rushed up on deck one morning in shirt and drawers to take an
observation. He said he had not time to get on his clothes.
"At certain intervals they also take magnetic observations on the
ice, these two. I watch them standing there with lanterns, bending
over their instruments; and presently I see them tearing away over
the floe, their arms swinging like the sails of the windmill when
there is a wind pressure of 32 to 39 feet--but 'it is not at all
cold.' I cannot help thinking of what I have read in the accounts of
some of the earlier expeditions--namely, that at such temperatures
it was impossible to take observations. It would take worse than
this to make these fellows give in. In the intervals between their
observations and calculations I hear a murmuring in Hansen's cabin,
which means that the principal is at present occupied in inflicting
a dose of astronomy or navigation upon his assistant.
"It is something dreadful the amount of card-playing that goes on in
the saloon in the evenings now; the gaming demon is abroad far into
the night; even our model Sverdrup is possessed by him. They have
not yet played the shirts off their backs, but some of them have
literally played the bread out of their mouths; two poor wretches
have had to go without fresh bread for a whole month because they had
forfeited their rations of it to their opponents. But, all the same,
this card-playing is a healthy, harmless recreation, giving occasion
for much laughter, fun, and pleasure.
"An Irish proverb says, 'Be happy; and if you cannot be happy,
be careless; and if you cannot be careless, be as careless as you
can.' This is good philosophy, which--no, what need of proverbs here,
where life is happy! It was in all sincerity that Amundsen burst
out yesterday with, 'Yes, isn't it just as I say, that we are the
luckiest men on earth that can live up here where we have no cares,
get everything given us without needing to trouble about it, and are
well off in every possible way?' Hansen agreed that it certainly
was a life without care. Juell said much the same a little ago;
what seems to please him most is that there are no summonses here,
no creditors, no bills. And I? Yes, I am happy too. It is an easy
life; nothing that weighs heavy on one, no letters, no newspapers,
nothing disturbing; just that monastic, out-of-the-world existence
that was my dream when I was younger and yearned for quietness in
which to give myself up to my studies. Longing, even when it is
strong and sad, is not unhappiness. A man has truly no right to be
anything but happy when fate permits him to follow up his ideals,
exempting him from the wearing strain of every-day cares, that he
may with clearer vision strive towards a lofty goal.
"'Where there is work, success will follow,' said a poet of the
land of work. I am working as hard as I can, so I suppose success
will pay me a visit by-and-by. I am lying on the sofa, reading about
Kane's misfortunes, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes. Truth obliges
me to confess that I have become addicted to the vice I condemn so
strongly--but flesh is grass; so I blow the smoke clouds into the air
and dream sweet dreams. It is hard work, but I must do the best I can.
"Thursday, January 4th. It seems as if the twilight were increasing
quite perceptibly now, but this is very possibly only imagination. I
am in good spirits in spite of the fact that we are drifting south
again. After all, what does it matter? Perhaps the gain to science
will be as great, and, after all, I suppose this desire to reach the
North Pole is only a piece of vanity. I have now a very good idea of
what it must be like up there. ('I like that!' say you.) Our deep
water here is connected with, is a part of, the deep water of the
Atlantic Ocean--of this there can be no doubt. And have not I found
that things go exactly as I calculated they would whenever we get a
favorable wind? Have not many before us had to wait for wind? And
as to vanity--that is a child's disease, got over long ago. All
calculations, with but one exception, have proved correct. We made
our way along the coast of Asia, which many prophesied we should
have great difficulty in doing. We were able to sail farther north
than I had dared to hope for in my boldest moments, and in just the
longitude I wished. We are closed in by the ice, also as I wished. The
Fram has borne the ice-pressure splendidly, and allows herself to
be lifted by it without so much as creaking, in spite of being more
heavily loaded with coal, and drawing more water than we reckoned on
when we made our calculations; and this after her certain destruction
and ours was prophesied by those most experienced in such matters. I
have not found the ice higher nor heavier than I expected it to be;
and the comfort, warmth, and good ventilation on board are far beyond
my expectations. Nothing is wanting in our equipment, and the food
is quite exceptionally good. As Blessing and I agreed a few days
ago, it is as good as at home; there is not a thing we long for;
not even the thought of a beefsteak à la Châteaubriand, or a pork
cutlet with mushrooms and a bottle of Burgundy, can make our mouths
water; we simply don't care about such things. The preparations for
the expedition cost me several years of precious life; but now I do
not grudge them: my object is attained. On the drifting ice we live a
winter life, not only in every respect better than that of previous
expeditions, but actually as if we had brought a bit of Norway, of
Europe, with us. We are as well off as if we were at home. All together
in one saloon, with everything in common, we are a little part of the
fatherland, and daily we draw closer and closer together. In one point
only have my calculations proved incorrect, but unfortunately in one
of the most important. I presupposed a shallow Polar Sea, the greatest
depth known in these regions up till now being 80 fathoms, found by the
Jeannette. I reasoned that all currents would have a strong influence
in the shallow Polar Sea, and that on the Asiatic side the current of
the Siberian rivers would be strong enough to drive the ice a good way
north. But here I already find a depth which we cannot measure with
all our line, a depth of certainly 1000 fathoms, and possibly double
that. This at once upsets all faith in the operation of a current;
we find either none, or an extremely slight one; my only trust now
is in the winds. Columbus discovered America by means of a mistaken
calculation, and even that not his own; heaven only knows where my
mistake will lead us. Only I repeat once more--the Siberian driftwood
on the coast of Greenland cannot lie, and the way it went we must go.
"Monday, January 8th. Little Liv is a year old to-day; it will be a
fête day at home. As I was lying on the sofa reading after dinner,
Peter put his head in at the door and asked me to come up and look at
a strange star which had just shown itself above the horizon, shining
like a beacon flame. I got quite a start when I came on deck and saw
a strong red light just above the edge of the ice in the south. It
twinkled and changed color; it looked just as if some one were coming
carrying a lantern over the ice; I actually believe that for a moment
I so far forgot our surroundings as to think that it really was some
person approaching from the south. It was Venus, which we see to-day
for the first time, as it has till now been beneath the horizon. It
is beautiful with its red light. Curious that it should happen to come
to-day. It must be Liv's star, as Jupiter is the home star. And Liv's
birthday is a lucky day--we are on our way north again. According to
observations we are certainly north of 79° north latitude. On the home
day, September 6th, the favorable wind began to blow that carried us
along the coast of Asia; perhaps Liv's day has brought us into a good
current, and we are making the real start for the north under her star.
"Friday, January 12th. There was pressure about 10 o'clock this morning
in the opening forward, but I could see no movement when I was there
a little later. I followed the opening some way to the north. It is
pretty cold work walking with the thermometer at 40° Fahr. below zero,
and the wind blowing with a velocity of 16 feet per second straight in
your face. But now we are certainly drifting fast to the north under
Liv's star. After all, it is not quite indifferent to me whether we
are going north or south. When the drift is northward new life seems
to come into me, and hope, the ever-young, springs fresh and green
from under the winter snow. I see the way open before me, and I see
the home-coming in the distance--too great happiness to believe in.
"Sunday, January 14th. Sunday again. The time is passing almost
quickly, and there is more light every day. There was great excitement
to-day when yesterday evening's observations were being calculated. All
guessed that we had come a long way north again. Several thought to
79° 18' or 20'. Others, I believe, insisted on 80°. The calculation
places us in 79° 19' north latitude, 137° 31' east longitude. A good
step onward. Yesterday the ice was quiet, but this morning there
was considerable pressure in several places. Goodness knows what is
causing it just now; it is a whole week after new moon. I took a long
walk to the southwest, and got right in among it. Packing began where
I stood, with roars and thunders below me and on every side. I jumped,
and ran like a hare, as if I had never heard such a thing before; it
came so unexpectedly. The ice was curiously flat there to the south;
the farther I went the flatter it grew, with excellent sledging
surface. Over such ice one could drive many miles a day.
"Monday, January 15th. There was pressure forward both this morning and
towards noon, but we heard the loudest sounds from the north. Sverdrup,
Mogstad, and Peter went in that direction and were stopped by a
large, open channel. Peter and I afterwards walked a long distance
N.N.E., past a large opening that I had skirted before Christmas. It
was shining, flat ice, splendid for sledging on, always better the
farther north we went. The longer I wander about and see this sort
of ice in all directions, the more strongly does a plan take hold of
me that I have long had in my mind. It would be possible to get with
dogs and sledges over this ice to the Pole, if one left the ship for
good and made one's way back in the direction of Franz Josef Land,
Spitzbergen, or the west coast of Greenland. It might almost be called
an easy expedition for two men.
"But it would be too hasty to go off in spring. We must first see
what kind of drift the summer brings. And as I think over it, I feel
doubtful if it would be right to go off and leave the others. Imagine
if I came home and they did not! Yet it was to explore the unknown
polar regions that I came; it was for that the Norwegian people
gave their money; and surely my first duty is to do that if I can. I
must give the drift plan a longer trial yet; but if it takes us in a
wrong direction, then there is nothing for it but to try the other,
come what may.
"Tuesday, January 16th. The ice is quiet to-day. Does longing
stupefy one, or does it wear itself out and turn at last into
stolidity? Oh that burning longing night and day were happiness! But
now its fire has turned to ice. Why does home seem so far away? It
is one's all; life without it is so empty, so empty--nothing but
dead emptiness. Is it the restlessness of spring that is beginning
to come over one?--the desire for action, for something different
from this indolent, enervating life? Is the soul of man nothing but
a succession of moods and feelings, shifting as incalculably as the
changing winds? Perhaps my brain is over-tired; day and night my
thoughts have turned on the one point, the possibility of reaching
the Pole and getting home. Perhaps it is rest I need--to sleep,
sleep! Am I afraid of venturing my life? No, it cannot be that. But
what else, then, can be keeping me back? Perhaps a secret doubt of
the practicability of the plan. My mind is confused; the whole thing
has got into a tangle; I am a riddle to myself. I am worn out, and
yet I do not feel any special tiredness. Is it perhaps because I sat
up reading last night? Everything around is emptiness, and my brain
is a blank. I look at the home pictures and am moved by them in a
curious, dull way; I look into the future, and feel as if it does
not much matter to me whether I get home in the autumn of this year
or next. So long as I get home in the end, a year or two seem almost
nothing. I have never thought this before. I have no inclination to
read, nor to draw, nor to do anything else whatever. Folly! Shall I
try a few pages of Schopenhauer? No, I will go to bed, though I am
not sleepy. Perhaps, if the truth were known, I am longing now more
than ever. The only thing that helps me is writing, trying to express
myself on these pages, and then looking at myself, as it were, from
the outside. Yes, man's life is nothing but a succession of moods,
half memory and half hope.