THE SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1894
So came the season which we at home call spring, the season of
joy and budding life, when Nature awakens after her long winter
sleep. But there it brought no change; day after day we had to
gaze over the same white lifeless mass, the same white boundless
ice-plains. Still we wavered between despondency, idle longing, and
eager energy, shifting with the winds as we drift forward to our goal
or are driven back from it. As before, I continued to brood upon the
possibilities of the future and of our drift. One day I would think
that everything was going on as we hoped and anticipated. Thus on
April 17th I was convinced that there must be a current through the
unknown polar basin, as we were unmistakably drifting northward. The
midday observation gave 80° 20' northeast; that is, 9' since the day
before yesterday. Strange! A north wind of four whole days took us
to the south, while twenty-four hours of this scanty wind drifts
us 9' northward. This is remarkable; it looks as if we were done
with drifting southward. And when, in addition to this, I take into
consideration the striking warmth of the water deep down, it seems
to me that things are really looking brighter. The reasoning runs as
follows: The temperature of the water in the East Greenland current,
even on the surface, is nowhere over zero (the mean temperature for
the year), and appears generally to be -1° C. (30.2° Fahr.), even in
70° north latitude. In this latitude the temperature steadily falls
as you get below the surface; nowhere at a greater depth than 100
fathoms is it above -1° C., and generally from -1.5° (29.3° Fahr.) to
-1.7° C. (28.94° Fahr.) right to the bottom. Moreover, the bottom
temperature of the whole sea north of the 60th degree of latitude is
under -1° C., a strip along the Norwegian coast and between Norway and
Spitzbergen alone excepted, but here the temperature is over -1° C.,
from 86 fathoms (160 metres) downward, and 135 fathoms (250 metres)
the temperature is already +0.55° C. (32.99° Fahr.), and that, too,
be it remarked, north of the 80th degree of latitude, and in a sea
surrounding the pole of maximum cold.
This warm water can hardly come from the Arctic Sea itself, while the
current issuing thence towards the south has a general temperature
of about -1.5° C. It can hardly be anything other than the Gulf
Stream that finds its way hither, and replaces the water which in its
upper layers flows towards the north, forming the sources of the East
Greenland polar current. All this seems to chime in with my previous
assumptions, and supports the theory on which this expedition was
planned. And when, in addition to this, one bears in mind that the
winds seem, as anticipated, to be as a rule southeasterly, as was,
moreover, the case at the international station at Sagastyr (by the
Lena mouth), our prospects do not appear to be unfavorable.
Frequently, moreover, I thought I could detect unmistakable symptoms
of a steadily flowing northwesterly current under the ice, and then, of
course, my spirits rose; but at other times, when the drift again bore
southward--and that was often--my doubts would return, and it seemed
as if there was no prospect of getting through within any reasonable
time. Truly such drifting in the ice is extremely trying to the mind;
but there is one virtue it fosters, and that is patience. The whole
expedition was in reality one long course of training in this useful
virtue.
Our progress as the spring advanced grew somewhat better than it
had been during the winter, but on the whole it was always the same
sort of crab-like locomotion; for each time we made a long stretch
to the north, a longer period of reaction was sure to follow. It was,
in the opinion of one of our number, who was somewhat of a politician,
a constant struggle between the Left and Right, between Progressionists
and Recessionists. After a period of Left wind and a glorious drift
northward, as a matter of course the "Radical Right" took the helm,
and we remained lying in dead-water or drifted backward, thereby
putting Amundsen into a very bad temper. It was a remarkable fact
that during the whole time the Fram's bow turned towards the south,
generally S. 1/4 W., and shifted but very little during the whole
drift. As I say on May 14th: "She went backward towards her goal in
the north, with her nose ever turned to the south. It is as though she
shrank from increasing her distance from the world; as though she were
longing for southern shores, while some invisible power is drawing
her on towards the unknown. Can it be an ill omen, this backward
advance towards the interior of the Polar Sea? I cannot think it;
even the crab ultimately reaches its goal."
A statement of our latitude and longitude on different days will best
indicate the general course of our drift:
May 1st, 80° 46' N. lat.; May 4th, 80° 50'; May 6th, 80° 49'; May
8th, 80° 55' N. lat., 129° 58' E. long.; May 12th, 80° 52' N. lat.;
May 15th, 129° 20' E. long.; May 21st, 81° 20' N. lat., 125° 45'
E. long.; May 23d, 81° 26' N. lat.; May 27th, 81° 31'; June 2d, 81°
31' N. lat., 121° 47' E. long.; June 13th, 81° 46'; June 18th, 81°
52'. Up to this we had made fairly satisfactory progress towards
the north, but now came the reaction: June 24th, 81° 42'; July 1st,
81° 33'; July 10th, 81° 20'; July 14th, 81° 32'; July 18th, 81° 26';
July 31st, 81° 2' N. lat., 126° 5' 5'' E. long.; August 8th, 81° 8';
August 14th, 81° 5' N. lat., 127° 38' E. long.; August 26th, 81° 1';
September 5th, 81° 14' N. lat., 123° 36' E. long.
After this we began once more to drift northward, but not very fast.
As before, we were constantly on the look-out for land, and were
inclined, first from one thing, then from another, to think we saw
signs of its proximity; but they always turned out to be imaginary,
and the great depth of the sea, moreover, showed that, at all events,
land could not be near.
Later on--August 7th--when I had found over 2085 fathoms (3850 metres)
depth, I say in my diary: "I do not think we shall talk any more about
the shallow Polar Sea, where land may be expected anywhere. We may
very possibly drift out into the Atlantic Ocean without having seen
a single mountain-top. An eventful series of years to look forward to!"
The plan already alluded to of travelling over the ice with
dogs and sledges occupied me a good deal, and during my daily
expeditions--partly on snow-shoes, partly with dogs--my attention
was constantly given to the condition of the ice and our prospects
of being able to make our way over it. During April it was specially
well adapted for using dogs. The surface was good, as the sun's power
had made it smoother than the heavy drift-snow earlier in the winter;
besides, the wind had covered the pressure-ridges pretty evenly,
and there were not many crevasses or channels in the ice, so that
one could proceed for miles without much trouble from them. In May,
however, a change set in. So early as May 8th the wind had broken up
the ice a good deal, and now there were lanes in all directions, which
proved a great obstacle when I went out driving with the dogs. The
temperature, however, was still so low that the channels were quickly
frozen over again and became passable; but later on in the month the
temperature rose, so that ice was no longer so readily formed on the
water, and the channels became ever more and more numerous.
On May 20th I write: "Went out on snow-shoes in the forenoon. The
ice has been very much broken up in various directions, owing to
the continual winds during the last week. The lanes are difficult
to cross over, as they are full of small pieces of ice, that lie
dispersed about, and are partly covered with drift-snow. This is very
deceptive, for one may seem to have firm ice under one at places where,
on sticking one's staff in, it goes right down without any sign of
ice." On many occasions I nearly got into trouble in crossing over
snow like this on snow-shoes. I would suddenly find that the snow
was giving way under me, and would manage with no little difficulty
to get safely back on to the firm ice.
On June 5th the ice and the snow surface were about as before. I
write: "Have just been out on a snow-shoe excursion with Sverdrup
in a southerly direction, the first for a long while. The condition
of the ice has altered, but not for the better; the surface, indeed,
is hard and good, but the pressure-ridges are very awkward, and there
are crevasses and hummocks in all directions. A sledge expedition
would make poor enough progress on such ice as this."
Hitherto, however, progress had always been possible, but now the
snow began to melt, and placed almost insuperable difficulties in the
way. On June 13th I write: "The ice gets softer and softer every day,
and large pools of water are formed on the floes all around us. In
short, the surface is abominable. The snow-shoes break through into the
water everywhere. Truly one would not be able to get far in a day now
should one be obliged to set off towards the south or west. It is as if
every outlet were blocked, and here we stick--we stick. Sometimes it
strikes me as rather remarkable that none of our fellows have become
alarmed, even when we are bearing farther and farther northward,
farther and farther into the unknown; but there is no sign of fear in
any one of them. All look gloomy when we are bearing south or too much
to the west, and all are beaming with joy when we are drifting to the
northward, the farther the better. Yet none of them can be blind to the
fact that it is a matter of life and death if anything of what nearly
every one prophesied should now occur. Should the ship be crushed in
this ice and go to the bottom, like the Jeannette, without our being
able to save sufficient supplies to continue our drift on the ice, we
should have to turn our course to the south, and then there would be
little doubt as to our fate. The Jeannette people fared badly enough,
but their ship went down in 77° north latitude, while the nearest land
to us is many times more than double the distance it was in their
case, to say nothing of the nearest inhabited land. We are now more
than 70 miles from Cape Chelyuskin, while from there to any inhabited
region we are a long way farther. But the Fram will not be crushed,
and nobody believes in the possibility of such an event. We are like
the kayak-rower, who knows well enough that one faulty stroke of his
paddle is enough to capsize him and send him into eternity; but none
the less he goes on his way serenely, for he knows that he will not
make a faulty stroke. This is absolutely the most comfortable way
of undertaking a polar expedition; what possible journey, indeed,
could be more comfortable? Not even a railway journey, for then you
have the bother of changing carriages. Still a change now and then
would be no bad thing."
Later on--in July--the surface was even worse. The floes were
everywhere covered with slush, with water underneath, and on the
pressure-ridges and between the hummocks where the snow-drifts were
deep one would often sink in up to the middle, not even the snow-shoes
bearing one up in this soft snow. Later on in July matters improved,
the snow having gradually melted away, so that there was a firmer
surface of ice to go on.
But large pools of water now formed on the ice-floes. Already on
the 8th and 9th of June such a pool had begun to appear round the
ship, so that she lay in a little lake of fresh water, and we were
obliged to make use of a bridge in order to reach a dry spot on the
ice. Some of these fresh-water pools were of respectable dimensions
and depth. There was one of these on the starboard side of the ship,
so large that in the middle of July we could row and sail on it with
the boats. This was a favorite evening amusement with some of us,
and the boat was fully officered with captain, mate; and second mate,
but had no common sailors. They thought it an excellent opportunity
of practising sailing with a square sail; while the rest of our
fellows, standing on the icy shore, found it still more diverting
to bombard the navigators with snowballs and lumps of ice. It was
in this same pool that we tried one day if one of our boats could
carry all thirteen of us at once. When the dogs saw us all leave the
ship to go to the pool, they followed us in utter bewilderment as to
what this unusual movement could mean; but when we got into the boat
they, all of them, set to work and howled in wild despair; thinking,
probably, that they would never see us again. Some of them swam after
us, while two cunning ones, "Pan" and "Kvik," conceived the brilliant
idea of galloping round the pool to the opposite side to meet us. A
few days afterwards I was dismayed to find the pool dried up; a hole
had been worn through the ice at the bottom, and all the fresh water
had drained out into the sea. So that amusement came to an end.
In the summer, when we wanted to make an excursion over the ice, in
addition to such pools we met with lanes in the ice in all directions;
but as a rule could easily cross them by jumping from one loose floe
to another, or leaping right across at narrow places.
These lanes never attained any great width, and there was consequently
no question of getting the Fram afloat in any of them; and even could
we have done so, it would have been of very little avail, as none of
them was large enough to have taken her more than a few cable-lengths
farther north. Sometimes there were indications in the sky that there
must be large stretches of open water in our vicinity, and we could
now and then see from the crow's-nest large spaces of clear water in
the horizon; but they could not have been large enough to be of much
use when it came to a question of pushing forward with a ship.
Sanguine folk on board, however, attached more importance to such
open stretches. June 15th I wrote in my diary: "There are several
lanes visible in different directions, but none of them is wide or
of any great extent. The mate, however, is always insisting that we
shall certainly get open water before autumn, and be able to creep
along northward, while with the rest, Sverdrup excepted, it seems
to be a generally accepted belief. Where they are to get their open
water from I do not know. For the rest, this is the first ice-bound
expedition that has not spent the summer spying after open water, and
sighing and longing for the ice to disperse. I only wish it may keep
together, and hurry up and drift northward. Everything in this life
depends on what one has made up one's mind to. One person sets forth
to sail in open water, perhaps to the very Pole, but gets stuck in
the ice and laments; another is prepared to get stuck in the ice, but
will not grumble even should he find open water. It is ever the safest
plan to expect the least of life, for then one often gets the most."
The open spaces, the lanes, and the rifts in the ice are, of course,
produced, like the pressure and packing, by the shifting winds and
the tidal currents that set the ice drifting first in one direction,
then in another. And they best prove, perhaps, how the surface of
the Polar Sea must be considered as one continuous mass of ice-floes
in constant motion, now frozen together, now torn apart, or crushed
against each other.
During the whole of our drift I paid great attention to this ice,
not only with respect to its motion, but to its formation and growth
as well. In the Introduction of this book I have pointed out that,
even should the ice pass year after year in the cold Polar Sea, it
could not by mere freezing attain more than a certain thickness. From
measurements that were constantly being made, it appeared that the ice
which was formed during the autumn in October or November continued
to increase in size during the whole of the winter and out into the
spring, but more slowly the thicker it became. On April 10th it was
about 2.31 metres; April 21st, 2.41 metres; May 5th, 2.45 metres;
May 31st, 2.52 metres; June 9th, 2.58 metres. It was thus continually
increasing in bulk, notwithstanding that the snow now melted quickly
on the surface, and large pools of fresh water were formed on the
floes. On June 20th the thickness was the same, although the melting on
the surface had now increased considerably. On July 4th the thickness
was 2.57 metres. On July 10th I was amazed to find that the ice had
increased to 2.76 metres, notwithstanding that it would now diminish
several centimetres daily from surface melting. I bored in many places,
but found it everywhere the same--a thin, somewhat loose ice mass lay
under the old floe. I first thought it was a thin ice-floe that had
got pushed under, but subsequently discovered that it was actually
a new formation of fresh-water ice on the lower side of the old ice,
due to the layer of fresh water of about 9 feet 9 inches (3 metres)
in depth, formed by the melting of the snow on the ice. Owing to
its lightness this warm fresh water floated on the salt sea-water,
which was at a temperature of about -1.5° C. on its surface. Thus
by contact with the colder sea-water the fresh water became cooler,
and so a thick crust of ice was formed on the fresh water, where it
came in contact with the salt water lying underneath it. It was this
ice crust, then, that augmented the thickness of the ice on its under
side. Later on in the summer, however, the ice diminished somewhat,
owing to melting on the surface. On July 23d the old ice was only
2.33 metres, and with the newly formed layer 2.49 metres. On August
10th the thickness of the old ice had decreased to 1.94 metres,
and together the aggregate thickness to 3.17 metres. On August
22d the old ice was 1.86 metres, and the aggregate thickness 3.06
metres. On September 3d the aggregate thickness was 2.02 metres,
and on September 30th 1.98 metres. On October 3d it was the same;
the thickness of the old ice was then 1.75 metres. On October 12th
the aggregate thickness was 2.08 metres, while the old ice was 1.8
metres. On November 10th it was still about the same, with only a
slight tendency to increase. Further on, in November and in December,
it increased quite slowly. On December 11th the aggregate thickness
reached 2.11 metres. On January 3d, 1895, 2.32 metres; January 10th,
2.48 metres; February 6th, 2.59 metres. Hence it will be seen that
the ice does not attain any enormous thickness by direct freezing. The
packing caused by pressure can, however, produce blocks and floes of
a very different size. It often happens that the floes get shoved in
under each other in several layers, and are frozen together so as to
appear like one originally continuous mass of ice. Thus the Fram had
got a good bed under her.
Juell and Peter had often disputed together during the winter as to the
thickness of ice the Fram had under her. Peter, who had seen a good
deal of the ice before, maintained that it must at least be 20 feet
thick, while Juell would not believe it, and betted 20 kroner that it
was not as thick as that. On April 19th this dispute again broke out,
and I say of it in my diary: "Juell has undertaken to make a bore, but
unfortunately our borer reaches no farther than 16 feet down. Peter,
however, has undertaken to cut away the 4 feet that are lacking. There
has been a lot of talk about this wager during the whole winter,
but they could never agree about it. Peter says that Juell should
begin to bore, while Juell maintains that Peter ought to cut the
4 feet first. This evening it ended in Juell incautiously offering
10 kroner to any one who would bore. Bentzen took him at his word,
and immediately set to work at it with Amundsen; he thought one did
not always have the chance of earning 10 kroner so easily. Amundsen
offered him a kroner an hour, or else payment per foot; and time
payment was finally agreed to. They worked till late on into the night,
and when they had got down 12 feet the borer slipped a little way, and
water rose in the hole, but this did not come to much, and presently
the borer struck on ice again. They went on for some time, but now
the borer would reach no farther, and Peter had to be called up to
cut his four feet. He and Amundsen worked away at cutting till they
were dripping with perspiration. Amundsen, as usual, was very eager,
and vowed he would not give in till he had got through it, even if it
were 30 feet thick. Meanwhile Bentzen had turned in, but a message was
sent to him to say that the hole was cut, and that boring could now
begin again. When it was only an inch or an inch and a half short of
20 feet the borer slipped through, and the water spurted up and filled
the hole. They now sank a lead-line down it, and at 30 feet it again
brought up against ice. Now they were obliged to give it up. A fine
lump of ice we are lying on! Not taking into account a large, loose
ice-floe that is lying packed up on the ice, it is 16 inches above
the water; and adding to this the 2 feet which the Fram is raised up
above the ice, there is no small distance between her and the water."
The temperature on the ice in summer is about thawing-point, but
gradually as the winter cold comes on, it, of course, falls rapidly
on the surface, whence the cold slowly penetrates deeper and deeper
down towards the lower surface, where it naturally keeps at an even
temperature with the underlying water. Observations of the temperature
of the ice in its different layers were constantly taken in order to
ascertain how quickly this cooling-down process of the ice took place
during the winter, and also how the temperature rose again towards
spring. The lowest temperature of the ice occurred in March and the
beginning of April, when at 1.2 metres it was about 3.2° Fahr. (-16°
C), and at 0.8 metre about 22° Fahr. below zero (-30° C). After the
beginning of April it began to rise slowly.
At these low temperatures the ice became very hard and brittle, and was
readily cracked or broken up by a blow or by packing. In the summer,
on the other hand, when its temperature was near melting-point, the
ice became tough and plastic, and was not so readily broken up under
packing. This difference between the condition of the ice in summer
and winter was apparent also to the ear, as the ice-packing in winter
was always accompanied by the frequently mentioned loud noises,
while the packing of the tough summer ice was almost noiseless,
so that the most violent convulsions might take place close to us
without our noticing them.
In the immediate vicinity of the Fram the ice remained perfectly at
rest the whole year through, and she was not at this time exposed to
any great amount of pressure; she lay safe and secure on the ice-floe
to which she was firmly frozen; and gradually, as the surface of the
ice thawed under the summer sun, she rose up higher and higher. In
the autumn she again began to sink a little, either because the ice
gave way under her weight, or because it melted somewhat on the under
surface, so that it no longer had so much buoyancy as before.
Meanwhile, life on board went on in its usual way. Now that we had
daylight, there was of course more work of various descriptions on the
ice than had been the case during the winter. I have already alluded
more than once to our unsuccessful endeavors to reach the bottom by
sounding. Unfortunately we were not prepared for such great depths,
and had not brought any deep-sea sounding apparatus with us. We
had, therefore, to do the best we could under the circumstances,
and that was to sacrifice one of the ship's steel cables in order
to make a lead-line. It was not difficult to find sufficient space
on the ice for a rope-walk, and although a temperature of from 22°
Fahr. below zero (-30° C.) to 40° Fahr. below zero (-40° C.) is not
the pleasantest in which to manipulate such things as steel wire,
yet for all that the work went on well. The cable was unlaid into
its separate strands, and a fresh, pliant lead-line manufactured by
twisting two of these strands together. In this way we made a line of
between 4000 and 5000 metres (2150 to 2700 fathoms) long, and could
now at last reach the bottom. The depth proved to range between 3300
and 3900 metres (1800 to 2100 fathoms).
This was a remarkable discovery, for, as I have frequently mentioned,
the unknown polar basin has always been supposed to be shallow,
with numerous unknown lands and islands. I, too, had assumed it to be
shallow when I sketched out my plan (see page 24), and had thought it
was traversed by a deep channel which might possibly be a continuation
of the deep channel in the North Atlantic (see page 28).
From this assumption of a shallow Polar Sea it was concluded
that the regions about the Pole had formerly been covered with an
extensive tract of land, of which the existing islands are simply the
remains. This extensive tract of polar land was furthermore assumed to
have been the nursery of many of our animal and plant forms, whence
they had found their way to lower latitudes. These conjectures now
appear to rest on a somewhat infirm basis.
This great depth indicates that here, at all events, there has not
been land in any very recent geological period; and this depth is,
no doubt, as old as the depth of the Atlantic Ocean, of which it is
almost certainly a part.
Another task to which I attached great importance, and to which I have
frequently alluded, was the observation of the temperature of the
sea at different depths, from the surface down to the bottom. These
observations we took as often as time permitted, and, as already
mentioned, they gave some surprising results, showing the existence
of warmer water below the cold surface stratum. This is not the place
to give the results of the different measurements, but as they are
all very similar I will instance one of them in order that an idea
may be formed how the temperature is distributed.
This series of temperatures, of which an extract is given here,
was taken from the 13th to the 17th of August.
TABLE OF TEMPERATURES
Depths Temperature
Degrees
Metres Fathoms Centigrade Fahrenheit
Surface ... +1.02 33.83
2 1 -1.32 29.62
20 10 -1.33 29.61
40 21 -1.50 29.3
60 32 -1.50 29.3
80 43 -1.50 29.3
100 54 -1.40 29.48
120 65 -1.24 29.77
140 76 -0.97 30.254
160 87 -0.58 30.96
180 98 -0.31 31.44
200 109 -0.03 31.95
220 120 +0.19 32.34
240 131 +0.20 32.36
260 142 +0.34 32.61
280 153 +0.42 32.76
300 164 +0.34 32.61
350 191 +0.44 32.79
400 218 +0.35 32.63
450 273 +0.34 32.61
600 328 +0.26 32.47
700 382 +0.14 32.25
800 437 +0.07 32.126
900 492 -0.04 31.928
1000 546 -0.10 31.82
1200 656 -0.28 31.496
1400 765 -0.34 31.39
1600 874 -0.46 31.17
1800 984 -0.60 30.92
2000 1093 -0.66 30.81
2600 1421 -0.74 30.67
2900 1585 -0.76 30.63
3000 1640 -0.73 30.76
3700 2023 -0.65 30.83
3800 2077 -0.64 30.85
325 177 +0.49 32.88
+0.85 33.53
+0.76 33.37
+0.78 33.40
+0.62 33.12
These temperatures of the water are in many respects remarkable. In
the first place, the temperature falls, as will be seen, from the
surface downward to a depth of 80 metres, after which it rises to 280
metres, falls again at 300 metres, then rises again at 326 metres,
where it was +0.49°; then falls to rise again at 450 metres, then
falls steadily down to 2000 metres, to rise once more slowly at the
bottom. Similar risings and fallings were to be found in almost all
the series of temperatures taken, and the variations from one month
to another were so small that at the respective depths they often
merely amounted to the two-hundredth part of a degree. Occasionally
the temperature of the warm strata mounted even higher than mentioned
here. Thus on October 17th at 300 metres it was +0.85°, at 350 metres
+0.76°, at 400 metres +0.78°, and at 500 metres +0.62°, after which
it sank evenly, until, towards the bottom, it again rose as before.
We had not expected to meet with much bird life in these desolate
regions. Our surprise, therefore, was not small when on Whitsunday,
May 13th, a gull paid us a visit. After that date we regularly saw
birds of different kinds in our vicinity till at last it became a
daily occurrence, to which we did not pay any particular attention. For
the most part they were ice mews (Larus eburneus), kittiwakes (Rissa
tridactyla), fulmars (Procellaria glacialis), and now and then a
blue gull (L. glaucus), a herring gull (L. argentatus?), or a black
guillemot (Uria grylle); once or twice we also saw a skua (probably
Lestris parasitica)--for instance, on July 14th. On July 21st we had
a visit from a snow-bunting.
On August 3d a remarkable occurrence took place: we were visited by the
Arctic rose gull (Rhodostethia rosea). I wrote as follows about it in
my diary: "To-day my longing has at last been satisfied. I have shot
Ross's gull," [48] three specimens in one day. This rare and mysterious
inhabitant of the unknown north, which is only occasionally seen,
and of which no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth, which
belongs exclusively to the world to which the imagination aspires,
is what, from the first moment I saw these tracts, I had always hoped
to discover, as my eyes roamed over the lonely plains of ice. And
now it came when I was least thinking of it. I was out for a little
walk on the ice by the ship, and as I was sitting down by a hummock
my eyes wandered northward and lit on a bird hovering over the great
pressure-mound away to the northwest. At first I took it to be a
kittiwake, but soon discovered it rather resembled the skua by its
swift flight, sharp wings, and pointed tail. When I had got my gun,
there were two of them together flying round and round the ship. I
now got a closer view of them, and discovered that they were too
light colored to be skuas. They were by no means shy, but continued
flying about close to the ship. On going after them on the ice I soon
shot one of them, and was not a little surprised, on picking it up,
to find it was a little bird about the size of a snipe; the mottled
back, too, reminded me also of that bird. Soon after this I shot the
other. Later in the day there came another, which was also shot. On
picking this one up I found it was not quite dead, and it vomited up
a couple of large shrimps, which it must have caught in some channel
or other. All three were young birds, about 12 inches in length,
with dark mottled gray plumage on the back and wings; the breast and
under side white, with a scarcely perceptible tinge of orange-red,
and round the neck a dark ring sprinkled with gray." At a somewhat
later age this mottled plumage disappears; they then become blue on
the back, with a black ring round the neck, while the breast assumes
a delicate pink hue. Some few days afterwards (August 6th and 8th)
some more of these birds were shot, making eight specimens in all.
While time was passing on, the plan I had been revolving in my mind
during the winter was ever uppermost in my thoughts--the plan, that
is to say, of exploring the unknown sea apart from the track in which
the Fram was drifting. I kept an anxious eye upon the dogs, for fear
anything should happen to them, and also to see that they continued
in good condition, for all my hopes centred in them. Several of them,
indeed, had been bitten to death, and two had been killed by bears;
but there were still twenty-six remaining, and as a set-off against
our losses we had the puppies, eight of which had been permitted
to live. As spring advanced they were allowed to roam the deck,
but on May 5th their world was considerably extended. I wrote thus:
"In the afternoon we let the puppies loose on the ice, and 'Kvik'
at once took long expeditions with them to familiarize them with
their surroundings. First she introduced them to our meteorological
apparatus, then to the bear-trap, and after that to different
pressure-mounds. They were very cautious at first, staring timidly
all around, and venturing out very slowly, a step at a time, from
the ship's side; but soon they began to run riot in their newly
discovered world.
"'Kvik' was very proud to conduct her litter out into the world,
and roamed about in the highest of spirits, though she had only
just returned from a long driving expedition, in which, as usual,
she had done good work in harness. In the afternoon one of the black
and white puppies had an attack of madness. It ran round the ship,
barking furiously; the others set on it, and it bit at everything
that came in its way. At last we got it shut in on the deck forward,
where it was furious for a while, then quieted down, and now seems
to be all right again. This makes the fourth that has had a similar
attack. What can it possibly be? It cannot be hydrophobia, or it
would have appeared among the grown-up dogs. Can it be toothache, or
hereditary epilepsy--or some other infernal thing?" Unfortunately,
several of them died from these strange attacks. The puppies were
such fine, nice animals, that we were all very sorry when a thing
like this occurred.
On June 3d I write: "Another of the puppies died in the forenoon
from one of those mysterious attacks, and I cannot conceal from
myself that I take it greatly to heart, and feel low-spirited
about it, I have been so used to these small polar creatures living
their sorrowless life on deck, romping and playing around us from
morning to evening, and a little of the night as well. I can watch
them with pleasure by the hour together, or play with them as with
little children--have a game at hide-and-seek with them round the
skylight, the while they are beside themselves with glee. It is the
largest and strongest of the lot that has just died, a handsome dog;
I called him 'Löva' (Lion). He was such a confiding, gentle animal,
and so affectionate. Only yesterday he was jumping and playing about
and rubbing himself against me, and to-day he is dead. Our ranks are
thinning, and the worst of it is we try in vain to make out what it is
that ails them. This one was apparently quite in his normal condition
and as cheerful as ever until his breakfast was given him; then he
began to cry and tear round, yelping and barking as if distracted,
just as the others had done. After this convulsions set in, and the
froth poured from his mouth. One of these convulsions no doubt carried
him off. Blessing and I held a post mortem upon him in the afternoon,
but we could discover no signs of anything unusual. It does not seem
to be an infectious ailment. I cannot understand it.
"'Ulenka,' too, the handsomest dog in the whole pack, our consolation
and our hope, suddenly became ill the other day. It was the morning
of May 24th that we found it paralyzed and quite helpless, lying
in its cask on deck. It kept trying to get up, but couldn't, and
immediately fell down again--just like a man who has had a stroke
and has lost all power over his limbs. It was at once put to bed in
a box and nursed most carefully; except for being unable to walk,
it is apparently quite well." It must have been a kind of apoplectic
seizure that attacked the spinal cord in some spot or other, and
paralyzed one side of the body. The dog recovered slowly, but never
got the complete use of its legs again. It accompanied us, however,
on our subsequent sledge expedition.
The dogs did not seem to like the summer, it was so wet on the ice,
and so warm. On June 11th I write: "To-day the pools on the ice all
round us have increased wonderfully in size, and it is by no means
agreeable to go off the ship with shoes that are not water-tight; it
is wetter and wetter for the dogs in the daytime, and they sweat more
and more from the heat, though it as yet only rarely rises above zero
(C.). A few days ago they were shifted on to the ice, where two long
kennels were set up for them." [49] They were made out of boxes, and
really consist of only a wall and a roof. Here they spend the greater
part of the twenty-four hours, and we are now rid of all uncleanliness
on board, except for the four puppies which still remain, and lead a
glorious life of it up there between sleep and play. "Ulenka" is still
on deck, and is slowly recovering. There is the same daily routine
for the dogs as in the winter. We let them loose in the morning about
half-past eight, and as the time for their release draws near they
begin to get very impatient. Every time any one shows himself on deck
a wild chorus of howls issues from twenty-six throats, clamoring for
food and freedom.
After being let loose they get their breakfast, consisting of half
a dried fish or three biscuits apiece. The rest of the forenoon is
spent in rooting round among all the refuse heaps they can find; and
they gnaw and lick all the empty tin cases which they have ransacked
hundreds of times before. If the cook sends a fresh tin dancing along
the ice a battle immediately rages around the prize. It often happens
that one or another of them, trying to get at a tempting piece of fat
at the bottom of a deep, narrow tin, sticks his head so far down into
it that the tin sits fast, and he cannot release himself again; so with
this extinguisher on his head he sprawls about blindly over the ice,
indulging in the most wonderful antics in the effort to get rid of it,
to the great amusement of us the spectators. When tired of their work
at the rubbish heaps they stretch out their round, sausage-like bodies,
panting in the sun, if there is any, and if it is too warm they get
into the shade. They are tied up again before dinner; but "Pan," and
others like-minded, sneak away a little before that time, and hide up
behind a hummock, so that one can only see a head or an ear sticking
up here and there. Should any one go to fetch him in he will probably
growl, show his teeth, or even snap; after which he will lie flat down,
and allow himself to be dragged off to prison. The remainder of the
twenty-four hours they spend sleeping, puffing and panting in the
excessive heat, which, by-the-way, is two degrees of cold. Every now
and then they set up a chorus of howls that certainly must be heard
in Siberia, and quarrel among themselves till the fur flies in all
directions. This removal of the dogs on to the ice has imposed upon
the watch the arduous duty of remaining on deck at nights, which was
not the practice before. But a bear having once been on board and taken
off two of our precious animals, we don't want any more such visitors.
"On July 31st 'Kvik' again increased our population by bringing eleven
puppies into the world, one of which was deformed, and was at once
killed; two others died later, but most of them grew up and became
fine, handsome animals. They are still living.
"Few or no incidents occurred during this time, except, naturally,
the different red-letter days were celebrated with great ceremony."
May 17th [50] we observed with special pomp, the following description
of which I find in my journal:
"Friday, May 18th. May 17th was celebrated yesterday with all possible
festivity. In the morning we were awakened with organ music--the
enlivening strains of the 'College Hornpipe.' After this a splendid
breakfast off smoked salmon, ox tongues, etc., etc. The whole ship's
company wore bows of ribbon in honor of the day--even old 'Suggen' had
one round his tail. The wind whistled, and the Norwegian flag floated
on high, fluttering bravely at the mast-head. About 11 o'clock the
company assembled with their banners on the ice on the port side of
the ship, and the procession arranged itself in order. First of all
came the leader of the expedition with the 'pure' Norwegian flag;
[51] after him Sverdrup with the Fram's pennant, which, with its
'FRAM' on a red ground, 3 fathoms long, looked splendid. Next came a
dog-sledge, with the band (Johansen with the accordion), and Mogstad,
as coach-man; after them came the mate with rifles and harpoons,
Henriksen carrying a long harpoon; then Amundsen and Nordahl,
with a red banner. The doctor followed, with a demonstration flag
in favor of a normal working-day. It consisted of a woollen jersey,
with the letters 'N. A.' [52] embroidered on the breast, and at the
top of a very long pole it looked most impressive. After him followed
our chef, Juell, with 'peik's' [53] saucepan on his back; and then
came the meteorologists, with a curious apparatus, consisting of a
large tin scutcheon, across which was fastened a red band, with the
letters 'Al. St.,' signifying 'almindelig stemmeret,' or 'universal
suffrage.' [54]
"At last the procession began to move on. The dogs marched demurely,
as if they had never done anything else in all their lives than walk
in procession, and the band played a magnificent festive march,
not composed for the occasion. The stately cortège marched twice
round the Fram, after which with great solemnity it moved off in the
direction of the large hummock, and was photographed on the way by
the photographer of the expedition. At the hummock a hearty cheer was
given for the Fram, which had brought us hither so well, and which
would, doubtless, take us equally well home again. After this the
procession turned back, cutting across the Fram's bow. At the port
gangway a halt was called, and the photographer, mounting the bridge,
made a speech in honor of the day. This was succeeded by a thundering
salute, consisting of six shots, the result of which was that five
or six of the dogs rushed off over hummocks and pressure-ridges,
and hid themselves for several hours. Meanwhile we went down into the
cozy cabin, decorated with flags for the occasion in a right festive
manner, where we partook of a splendid dinner, preluded by a lovely
waltz. The menu was as follows: Minced fish with curried lobster,
melted butter, and potatoes; music; pork cutlets, with green pease,
potatoes, mango chutney, and Worcester sauce; music; apricots and
custard, with cream; much music. After this a siesta; then coffee,
currants, figs, cakes; and the photographer stood cigars. Great
enthusiasm, then more siesta. After supper the violinist, Mogstad,
gave a recital, when refreshments were served in the shape of figs,
sweetmeats, apricots, and gingerbread (honey cakes). On the whole, a
charming and very successful Seventeenth of May, especially considering
that we had passed the 81st degree of latitude.
"Monday, May 28th. Ugh! I am tired of these endless, white
plains--cannot even be bothered snow-shoeing over them, not to mention
that the lanes stop one on every hand. Day and night I pace up and
down the deck, along the ice by the ship's sides, revolving the most
elaborate scientific problems. For the past few days it is especially
the shifting of the Pole that has fascinated me. I am beset by the
idea that the tidal wave, along with the unequal distribution of
land and sea, must have a disturbing effect on the situation of the
earth's axis. When such an idea gets into one's head, it is no easy
matter to get it out again. After pondering over it for several days,
I have finally discovered that the influence of the moon on the sea
must be sufficient to cause a shifting of the Pole to the extent of one
minute in 800,000 years. In order to account for the European Glacial
Age, which was my main object, I must shift the Pole at least ten or
twenty degrees. This leaves an uncomfortably wide interval of time
since that period, and shows that the human race must have attained
a respectable age. Of course, it is all nonsense. But while I am
indefatigably tramping the deck in a brown study, imagining myself
no end of a great thinker, I suddenly discover that my thoughts
are at home, where all is summer and loveliness, and those I have
left are busy building castles in the air for the day when I shall
return. Yes, yes. I spend rather too much time on this sort of thing;
but the drift goes as slowly as ever, and the wind, the all-powerful
wind, is still the same. The first thing my eyes look for when I set
foot on deck in the morning is the weathercock on the mizzen-top,
to see how the wind lies; thither they are forever straying during
the whole day, and there again they rest the last thing before I turn
in. But it ever points in the same direction, west and southwest,
and we drift now quicker, now more slowly westward, and only a little
to the north. I have no doubt now about the success of the expedition,
and my miscalculation was not so great, after all; but I scarcely think
we shall drift higher than 85°, even if we do that. It will depend on
how far Franz Josef Land extends to the north. In that case it will
be hard to give up reaching the Pole; it is in reality a mere matter
of vanity, merely child's play, in comparison with what we are doing
and hoping to do; and yet I must confess that I am foolish enough to
want to take in the Pole while I am about it, and shall probably have
a try at it if we get into its neighborhood within any reasonable time.
"This is a mild May; the temperature has been about zero several times
of late, and one can walk up and down and almost imagine one's self
at home. There is seldom more than a few degrees of cold; but the
summer fogs are beginning, with occasional hoar-frost. As a rule,
however, the sky, with its light, fleeting clouds, is almost like a
spring sky in the south.
"We notice, too, that it has become milder on board; we no longer need
to light a fire in the stove to make ourselves warm and cozy; though,
indeed, we have never indulged in much luxury in this respect. In the
store-room the rime frost and ice that had settled on the ceiling
and walls are beginning to melt; and in the compartments astern of
the saloon, and in the hold, we have been obliged to set about a
grand cleaning-up, scraping off and sweeping away the ice and rime,
to save our provisions from taking harm, through the damp penetrating
the wrappings and rusting holes in the tin cases. We have, moreover,
for a long time kept the hatchways in the hold open, so that there
has been a thorough draught through it, and a good deal of the rime
has evaporated. It is remarkable how little damp we have on board. No
doubt this is due to the Fram's solid construction, and to the deck
over the hold being panelled on the under side. I am getting fonder
and fonder of this ship.
"Saturday, June 9th. Our politician, Amundsen, is celebrating the
day with a white shirt and collar. [55] To-day I have moved with my
work up into the deck-house again, where I can sit and look out of
the window in the daytime, and feel that I am living in the world
and not in a cavern, where one must have lamplight night and day. I
intend remaining here as long as possible out into the winter: it is
so cozy and quiet, and the monotonous surroundings are not constantly
forcing themselves in upon me.
"I really have the feeling that summer has come. I can pace up and
down the deck by the hour together with the sun, or stand still and
roast myself in it, while I smoke a pipe, and my eyes glide over
the confused masses of snow and ice. The snow is everywhere wet now,
and pools are beginning to form every here and there. The ice too is
getting more and more permeated with salt-water; if one bores ever so
small a hole in it, it is at once filled with water. The reason, of
course, is that, owing to the rise in the temperature, the particles
of salt contained in the ice begin to melt their surroundings, and
more and more water is formed with a good admixture of salt in it,
so that its freezing-point is lower than the temperature of the ice
around it. This, too, had risen materially; at about 4 feet depth it
is only 25.2° Fahr. (-3.8° C), at 5 feet it is somewhat warmer again,
26.5° Fahr. (-3.1° C).
"Sunday, June 10th. Oddly enough we have had no cases of snow-blindness
on board, with the exception of the doctor, who, a couple of days
ago, after we had been playing at ball, got a touch of it in the
evening. The tears poured from his eyes for some time, but he soon
recovered. Rather a humiliating trick of fate that he should be the
first to suffer from this ailment." Subsequently we had a few isolated
cases of slight snow-blindness, so that one or two of our men had to go
about with dark spectacles; but it was of little importance and was due
to their not thinking it worth while to take the necessary precautions.
"Monday, June 11th. To-day I made a joyful discovery. I thought I
had begun my last bundle of cigars, and calculated that by smoking
one a day they would last a month, but found quite unexpectedly
a whole box in my locker. Great rejoicing! it will help to while
away a few more months, and where shall we be then? Poor fellow,
you are really at a low ebb! 'To while away time'--that is an idea
that has scarcely ever entered your head before. It has always been
your great trouble that time flew away so fast, and now it cannot
go fast enough to please you. And then so addicted to tobacco--you
wrap yourself in clouds of smoke to indulge in your everlasting
day dreams. Hark to the south wind, how it whistles in the rigging;
it is quite inspiriting to listen to it. On Midsummer-eve we ought,
of course, to have had a bonfire as usual, but from my diary it does
not seem to have been the sort of weather for it.
"Saturday, June 23, 1894.
"'Mid the shady vales and the leafy trees,
How sweet the approach of the summer breeze!
When the mountain slopes in the sunlight gleam,
And the eve of St. John comes in like a dream.
The north wind continues with sleet. Gloomy weather. Drifting
south. 81° 43' north latitude; that is, 9' southward since Monday.
"I have seen many Midsummer-eves under different skies, but never
such a one as this. So far, far from all that one associates with this
evening. I think of the merriment round the bonfires at home, hear the
scraping of the fiddle, the peals of laughter, and the salvoes of the
guns, with the echoes answering from the purple-tinted heights. And
then I look out over this boundless, white expanse into the fog
and sleet and the driving wind. Here is truly no trace of midsummer
merriment. It is a gloomy lookout altogether! Midsummer is past--and
now the days are shortening again, and the long night of winter
approaching, which, maybe, will find us as far advanced as it left us.
"I was busily engaged with my examination of the salinity of the
sea-water this afternoon when Mogstad stuck his head in at the door
and said that a bear must be prowling about in the neighborhood. On
returning after dinner to their work at the great hummock, where they
were busy making an ice-cellar for fresh meat, [56] the men found
bear-tracks which were not there before. I put on my snow-shoes
and went after it. But what terrible going it had been the last
few days! Soft slush, in which the snow-shoes sink helplessly. The
bear had come from the west right up to the Fram, had stopped and
inspected the work that was going on, had then retreated a little,
made a considerable detour, and set off eastward at its easy, shambling
gait, without deigning to pay any further attention to such a trifle
as a ship. It had rummaged about in every hole and corner where there
seemed to be any chance of finding food, and had rooted in the snow
after anything the dogs had left, or whatever else it might be. It
had then gone to the lanes in the ice, and skirted them carefully,
no doubt in the hope of finding a seal or two, and after that it had
gone off between the hummocks and over floes, with a surface of nothing
but slush and water. Had the surface been good I should no doubt have
overtaken Master Bruin, but he had too long a start in the slushy snow.
"A dismal, dispiriting landscape--nothing but white and gray,
No shadows--merely half-obliterated forms melting into the fog and
slush. Everything is in a state of disintegration, and one's foothold
gives way at every step. It is hard work for the poor snow-shoer who
stamps along through the slush and fog after bear-tracks that wind in
and out among the hummocks, or over them. The snow-shoes sink deep in,
and the water often reaches up to the ankles, so that it is hard work
to get them up or to force them forward; but without them one would
be still worse off.
"Every here and there this monotonous grayish whiteness is broken
by the coal-black water, which winds, in narrower or broader lanes,
in between the high hummocks. White, snow-laden floes and lumps of
ice float on the dark surface, looking like white marble on a black
ground. Occasionally there is a larger dark-colored pool, where the
wind gets a hold of the water and forms small waves that ripple and
plash against the edge of the ice, the only signs of life in this
desert tract. It is like an old friend, the sound of these playful
wave-lets. And here, too, they eat away the floes and hollow out
their edges. One could almost imagine one's self in more southern
latitudes. But all around is wreathed with ice, towering aloft in
its ever-varying fantastic forms, in striking contrast to the dark
water on which a moment before the eye had rested. Everlastingly is
this shifting ice modelling, as it were, in pure, gray marble, and,
with nature's lavish prodigality, strewing around the most glorious
statuary, which perishes without any eye having seen it. Wherefore? To
what end all this shifting pageant of loveliness? It is governed by
the mere caprices of nature, following out those everlasting laws
that pay no heed to what we regard as aims and objects.
"In front of me towers one pressure-ridge after another, with lane
after lane between. It was in June the Jeannette was crushed and sank;
what if the Fram were to meet her fate here? No, the ice will not
get the better of her. Yet, if it should, in spite of everything! As
I stood gazing around me I remembered it was Midsummer-eve. Far
away yonder her masts pointed aloft, half lost to view in the snowy
haze. They must, indeed, have stout hearts, those fellows on board
that craft. Stout hearts, or else blind faith in a man's word.
"It is all very well that he who has hatched a plan, be it never so
wild, should go with it to carry it out; he naturally does his best
for the child to which his thoughts have given birth. But they--they
had no child to tend, and could, without feeling any yearning balked,
have refrained from taking part in an expedition like this. Why should
any human being renounce life to be wiped out here?
"Sunday, June 24th. The anniversary of our departure from
home. Northerly wind; still drifting south. Observations to-day gave
81° 41' 7'' north latitude, so we are not going at a breakneck speed.
"It has been a long year--a great deal has been gone through in
it--though we are quite as far advanced as I had anticipated. I
am sitting, and look out of the window at the snow whirling
round in eddies as it is swept along by the north wind. A strange
Midsummer-day! One might think we had had enough of snow and ice; I
am not, however, exactly pining after green fields--at all events,
not always. On the contrary, I find myself sitting by the hour
laying plans for other voyages into the ice after our return from
this one.... Yes, I know what I have attained, and, more or less,
what awaits me. It is all very well for me to sketch plans for the
future. But those at home.... No, I am not in a humor for writing
this evening; I will turn in.
"Wednesday, July 11th. Lat. 81° 18' 8''. At last the southerly wind
has returned, so there is an end of drifting south for the present.
"Now I am almost longing for the polar night, for the everlasting
wonderland of the stars with the spectral northern lights, and the
moon sailing through the profound silence. It is like a dream, like a
glimpse into the realms of fantasy. There are no forms, no cumbrous
reality--only a vision woven of silver and violet ether, rising up
from earth and floating out into infinity.... But this eternal day,
with its oppressive actuality, interests me no longer--does not entice
me out of my lair. Life is one incessant hurrying from one task to
another; everything must be done and nothing neglected, day after day,
week after week; and the working-day is long, seldom ending till far
over midnight. But through it all runs the same sensation of longing
and emptiness, which must not be noted. Ah, but at times there is no
holding it aloof, and the hands sink down without will or strength--so
weary, so unutterably weary.
"Ah! life's peace is said to be found by holy men in the desert. Here,
indeed, there is desert enough; but peace--of that I know nothing. I
suppose it is the holiness that is lacking.
"Wednesday, July 18th. Went on excursion with Blessing in the forenoon
to collect specimens of the brown snow and ice, and gather seaweed
and diatoms in the water. The upper surface of the floes is nearly
everywhere of a dirty brown color, or, at least, this sort of ice
preponderates, while pure white floes, without any traces of a dirty
brown on their surface, are rare. I imagined this brown color must
be due to the organisms I found in the newly-frozen, brownish-red
ice last autumn (October); but the specimens I took to-day consist,
for the most part, of mineral dust mingled with diatoms and other
ingredients of organic origin. [57]
"Blessing collected several specimens on the upper surface of the ice
earlier in the summer, and came to the same conclusions. I must look
further into this, in order to see whether all this brown dust is of
a mineral nature, and consequently originates from the land. [58] We
found in the lanes quantities of algæ like those we had often found
previously. There were large accumulations of them in nearly every
little channel. We could also see that a brown surface layer spread
itself on the sides of the floes far down into the water. This is due
to an alga that grows on the ice. There were also floating in the water
a number of small viscid lumps, some white, some of a yellowish red
color; and of these I collected several. Under the microscope they
all appeared to consist of accumulations of diatoms, among which,
moreover, were a number of larger cellular organisms of a very
characteristic appearance. [59] All of these diatomous accumulations
kept at a certain depth, about a yard below the surface of the water;
in some of the small lanes they appeared in large masses. At the same
depth the above-named alga seemed especially to flourish, while parts
of it rose up to the surface. It was evident that these accumulations
of diatoms and alga remained floating exactly at the depth where the
upper stratum of fresh water rests on the sea-water. The water on
the surface was entirely fresh, and the masses of diatoms sank in it,
but floated on reaching the salt-water below.
"Thursday, July 19th. It is as I expected. I am beginning to know
the ways of the wind up here pretty well now. After having blown a
'windmill breeze' to-day it falls calm in the evening, and to-morrow
we shall probably have wind from the west or northwest.
"Yesterday evening the last cigar out of the old box! And now I have
smoked the first out of the last box I have got. We were to have got
so far by the time that box was finished; but are scarcely any farther
advanced than when I began it, and goodness knows if we shall be that
when this, too, has disappeared. But enough of that. Smoke away.
"Sunday, July 22d. The northwest wind did not come quite up to
time; on Friday we had northeast instead, and during the night it
gradually went round to N.N.E., and yesterday forenoon it blew due
north. To-day it has ended in the west, the old well-known quarter,
of which we have had more than enough. This evening the line [60]
shows about N.W. to N., and it is strong, so we are moving south again.
"I pass the day at the microscope. I am now busied with the diatoms
and algæ of all kinds that grow on the ice in the uppermost fresh
stratum of the sea. These are undeniably most interesting things,
a whole new world of organisms that are carried off by the ice from
known shores across the unknown Polar Sea, there to awaken every
summer and develop into life and bloom. Yes, it is very interesting
work, but yet there is not that same burning interest as of old,
although the scent of oil of cloves, Canada balsam, and wood-oil
awakens many dear reminiscences of that quiet laboratory at home,
and every morning as I come in here the microscope and glasses and
colors on the table invite me to work. But though I work indefatigably
day after day till late in the night, it is mostly duty work, and I am
not sorry when it is finished, to go and lie for some few hours in my
berth reading a novel and smoking a cigar. With what exultation would
I not throw the whole aside, spring up, and lay hold of real life,
fighting my way over ice and sea with sledges, boats, or kayaks! It
is more than true that it is 'easy to live a life of battle'; but
here there is neither storm nor battle, and I thirst after them. I
long to enlist titanic forces and fight my way forward--that would be
living! But what pleasure is there in strength when there is nothing
for it to do? Here we drift forward, and here we drift back, and now
we have been two months on the same spot.
"Everything, however, is being got ready for a possible expedition,
or for the contingency of its becoming necessary to abandon the
ship. All the hand-sledges are lashed together, and the iron fittings
carefully seen to. Six dog-sledges are also being made, and to-morrow
we shall begin building kayaks ready for the men. They are easy to
draw on hand-sledges in case of a retreat over the ice without the
ship. For a beginning we are making kayaks to hold two men each. I
intend to have them about 12 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 18 inches
in depth. Six of these are to be made. They are to be covered with
sealskin or sail-cloth, and to be decked all over, except for two
holes--one for each man.
"I feel that we have, or rather shall have, everything needful for
a brilliant retreat. Sometimes I seem almost to be longing for a
defeat--a decisive one--so that we might have a chance of showing
what is in us, and putting an end to this irksome inactivity.
"Monday, July 30th. Westerly wind, with northwesterly by way of a
pleasant variety; such is our daily fare week after week. On coming
up in the morning I no longer care to look at the weathercock on the
masthead, or at the line in the water; for I know beforehand that
the former points east or southeast, and the line in the contrary
direction, and that we are ever bearing to the southeast. Yesterday
it was 81° 7' north latitude, the day before 81° 11', and last Monday,
July 25th, 81° 26'.
"But it occupies my thoughts no longer. I know well enough there
will be a change some time or other, and the way to the stars
leads through adversity. I have found a new world; and that is
the world of animal and plant life that exists in almost every
fresh-water pool on the ice-floes. From morning till evening and
till late in the night I am absorbed with the microscope, and see
nothing around me. I live with these tiny beings in their separate
universe, where they are born and die, generation after generation;
where they pursue each other in the struggle for life, and carry on
their love affairs with the same feelings, the same sufferings, and
the same joys that permeate every living being from these microscopic
animalcules up to man--self-preservation and propagation--that is the
whole story. Fiercely as we human beings struggle to push our way
on through the labyrinth of life, their struggles are assuredly no
less fierce than ours--one incessant, restless hurrying to and fro,
pushing all others aside, to burrow out for themselves what is needful
to them. And as to love, only mark with what passion they seek each
other out. With all our brain-cells, we do not feel more strongly than
they, never live so entirely for a sensation. But what is life? What
matters the individual's suffering so long as the struggle goes on?
"And these are small, one-celled lumps of viscous matter, teeming in
thousands and millions, on nearly every single floe over the whole
of this boundless sea, which we are apt to regard as the realm
of death. Mother Nature has a remarkable power of producing life
everywhere--even this ice is a fruitful soil for her.
"In the evening a little variety occurred in our uneventful existence,
Johansen having discovered a bear to the southeast of the ship, but
out of range. It had, no doubt, been prowling about for some time
while we were below at supper, and had been quite near us; but, being
alarmed by some sound or other, had gone off eastward. Sverdrup and I
set out after it, but to no purpose; the lanes hindered us too much,
and, moreover, a fog came on, so that we had to return after having
gone a good distance."
The world of organisms I above alluded to was the subject of special
research through the short summer, and in many respects was quite
remarkable. When the sun's rays had gained power on the surface of
the ice and melted the snow, so that pools were formed, there was
soon to be seen at the bottom of these pools small yellowish-brown
spots, so small that at first one hardly noticed them. Day by day
they increased in size, and absorbing, like all dark substances, the
heat of the sun's rays, they gradually melted the underlying ice and
formed round cavities, often several inches deep. These brown spots
were the above-mentioned algæ and diatoms. They developed speedily
in the summer light, and would fill the bottoms of the cavities
with a thick layer. But there were not plants only, the water also
teemed with swarms of animalcules, mostly infusoria and flagellata,
which subsisted on the plants. I actually found bacteria--even these
regions are not free from them!
But I could not always remain chained by the microscope. Sometimes,
when the fine weather tempted me irresistibly, I had to go out and
bake myself in the sun, and imagine myself in Norway.
"Saturday, August 4th. Lovely weather yesterday and to-day. Light,
fleecy clouds sailing high aloft through the sparkling azure
sky--filling one's soul with longings to soar as high and as free as
they. I have just been out on deck this evening; one could almost
imagine one's self at home by the fjord. Saturday evening's peace
seemed to rest on the scene and on one's soul.
"Our sailmakers, Sverdrup and Amundsen, have to-day finished
covering the first double kayak with sail-cloth. Fully equipped,
it weighs 30.5 kilos. (60 lbs.). I think it will prove a first-rate
contrivance. Sverdrup and I tried it on a pool. It carried us
splendidly, and was so stiff that even sitting on the deck we could
handle it quite comfortably. It will easily carry two men with full
equipment for 100 days. A handier or more practical craft for regions
like this I cannot well imagine.
"Sunday, August 5th. 81° 7' north latitude.
"'I can't forget the sparkling fjord
When the church boat rows in the morning.'
"Brilliant summer weather. I bathe in the sun and dream I am at home
either on the high mountains or--heaven knows why--on the fjords of
the west coast. The same white fleecy clouds in the clear blue summer
sky; heaven arches itself overhead like a perfect dome, there is
nothing to bar one's way, and the soul rises up unfettered beneath
it. What matters it that the world below is different--the ice no
longer single glittering glaciers, but spread out on every hand? Is
it not these same fleecy clouds far away in the blue expanse that
the eye looks for at home on a bright summer day? Sailing on these,
fancy steers its course to the land of wistful longing. And it is
just at these glittering glaciers in the distance that we direct our
longing gaze. Why should not a summer day be as lovely here? Ah,
yes! it is lovely, pure as a dream, without desire, without sin;
a poem of clear white sunbeams refracted in the cool crystal blue of
the ice. How unutterably delightful does not this world appear to us
on some stifling summer day at home?
"Have rested and 'kept Sunday.' I could not remain in the whole day,
so took a trip over the ice. Progress is easy except for the lanes.
"Hansen practised kayak-paddling this afternoon on the pool around
the ship, from which several channels diverge over the ice; but he
was not content with paddling round in them, but must, of course,
make an experiment in capsizing and recovering himself as the Eskimos
do. It ended by his not coming up again, losing his paddle, remaining
head downward in the water, and beating about with his hands till the
kayak filled, and he got a cold bath from top to toe. Nordahl, who
was standing by on the ice to help him, at last found it necessary
to go in after him and raise him up on an even keel again, to the
great amusement of us others.
"One can notice that it is summer. This evening a game of cards is
being played on deck, with 'Peik's' [61] big pot for a card-table. One
could almost think it was an August evening at home; only the toddy
is wanting, but the pipes and cigars we have.
"Sunday, August 12th. We had a shooting competition in the forenoon.
"A glorious evening. I took a stroll over the ice among the lanes
and hummocks. It was so wonderfully calm and still. Not a sound to be
heard but the drip, drip of water from a block of ice, and the dull
sound of a snow-slip from some hummock in the distance. The sun is
low down in the north, and overhead is the pale blue dome of heaven,
with gold-edged clouds. The profound peace of the Arctic solitudes. My
thoughts fly free and far. If one could only give utterance to all that
stirs one's soul on such an evening as this! What an incomprehensible
power one's surroundings have over one!
"Why is it that at times I complain of the loneliness? With Nature
around one, with one's books and studies, one can never be quite alone.
"Thursday, August 16th. Yesterday evening, as I was lying in my berth
reading, and all except the watch had turned in, I heard the report of
a gun on deck over my head. Thinking it was a bear, I hurriedly put
on my sea-boots and sprang on deck. There I saw Johansen bareheaded,
rifle in hand. 'Was it you that fired the shot?' 'Yes. I shot at
the big hummock yonder--I thought something was stirring there, and
I wanted to see what it was, but it seems to have been nothing.' I
went to the railings and looked out. 'I fancied it was a bear that
was after our meat--but it was nothing.' As we stood there one of the
dogs came jogging along from the big hummock. 'There, you see what you
have shot at,' I said, laughing. 'I'm bothered if it wasn't a dog!' he
replied. 'Ice-bear' it was, true enough, for so we called this dog. It
had seemed so large in the fog, scratching at the meat hummock. 'Did
you aim at the dog and miss? That was a lucky chance!' 'No! I simply
fired at random in that direction, for I wanted to see what it
was.' I went below and turned in again. At breakfast to-day he had,
of course, to run the gantlet of some sarcastic questions about his
'harmless thunderbolt,' but he parried them adroitly enough.
"Tuesday, August 21st. North latitude, 81° 4.2'. Strange how little
alteration there is: we drift a little to the north, then a little to
the south, and keep almost to the same spot. But I believe, as I have
believed all along, since before we even set out, that we should be
away three years, or rather three winters and four summers, neither
more nor less, and that in about two years' time from this present
autumn we shall reach home. [62] The approaching winter will drift
us farther, however slowly, and it begins already to announce itself,
for there were four degrees of cold last night.
"Sunday, August 26th. It seems almost as if winter had come; the
cold has kept on an average between 24.8° Fahr. (-4° C.) and 21.2°
Fahr. (-6° C.) since Thursday. There are only slight variations in
the temperature up here, so we may expect it to fall regularly from
this time forth, though it is rather early for winter to set in. All
the pools and lanes are covered with ice, thick enough to bear a man
even without snow-shoes.
"I went out on my snow-shoes both morning and afternoon. The
surface was beautiful everywhere. Some of the lanes had opened out
or been compressed a little, so that the new ice was thin and bent
unpleasantly under the snow-shoes; but it bore me, though two of the
dogs fell through. A good deal of snow had fallen, so there was fine,
soft new snow to travel over. If it keeps on as it is now, there will
be excellent snow-shoeing in the winter; for it is fresh water that
now freezes on the surface, so that there is no salt that the wind
can carry from the new ice to spoil the snow all around, as was the
case last winter. Such snow with salt in it makes as heavy a surface
as sand.
"Monday, August 27th. Just as Blessing was going below after his
watch to-night, and was standing by the rail looking out, he saw
a white form that lay rolling in the snow a little way off to
the southeast. Afterwards it remained for a while lying quite
still. Johansen, who was to relieve Blessing, now joined him,
and they both stood watching the animal intently. Presently it got
up, so there was no longer any doubt as to what it was. Each got
hold of a rifle and crept stealthily towards the forecastle, where
they waited quietly while the bear cautiously approached the ship,
making long tacks against the wind. A fresh breeze was blowing, and
the windmill going round at full speed; but this did not alarm him
at all; very likely it was this very thing he wanted to examine. At
last he reached the lane in front, when they both fired and he fell
down dead on the spot. It was nice to get fresh meat again. This was
the first bear we had shot this year, and of course we had roast bear
for dinner to-day. Regular winter with snow-storms.
"Wednesday, August 29th. A fresh wind; it rattles and pipes in the
rigging aloft. An enlivening change and no mistake! The snow drifts
as if it were midwinter. Fine August weather! But we are bearing north
again, and we have need to! Yesterday our latitude was 80° 53.5'. This
evening I was standing in the hold at work on my new bamboo kayak,
which will be the very acme of lightness. Pettersen happened to come
down, and gave me a hand with some lashings that I was busy with. We
chatted a little about things in general; and he was of opinion
'that we had a good crib of it on board the Fram, because here we
had everything we wanted, and she was a devil of a ship--and any
other ship would have been crushed flat long ago.' But for all that
he would not be afraid, he said, to leave her, when he saw all the
contrivances, such as these new kayaks, we had been getting ready. He
was sure no former expedition had ever had such contrivances, or been
so equipped against all possible emergencies as we. But, after all,
he would prefer to return home on the Fram." Then we talked about
what we should do when we did get home.
"'Oh, for your part, no doubt you'll be off to the South Pole,'
he said.
"'And you?' I replied. 'Will you tuck up your sleeves and begin again
at the old work?'
"'Oh, very likely! but on my word I ought to have a week's holiday
first. After such a trip I should want it, before buckling to at the
sledge-hammer again.'"