CHAPTER VIII

SECOND AUTUMN IN THE ICE

So summer was over, and our second autumn and winter was beginning. But

we were now more inured to the trials of patience attendant on this

life, and time passed quickly. Besides, I myself was now taken up with

new plans and preparations. Allusion has several times been made to

the fact that we had, during the course of the summer, got everything

into readiness for the possibility of having to make our way home

across the ice. Six double kayaks had been built, the hand-sledges

were in good order, and careful calculation had been made of the

amount of food, clothing, fuel, etc., that it would be necessary

to carry. But I had also quietly begun to make preparations for my

own meditated expedition north. In August, as already mentioned, I

had begun to work at a single kayak, the framework made of bamboo. I

had said nothing about my plan yet, except a few words to Sverdrup;

it was impossible to tell how far north the drift would take us,

and so many things might happen before spring.

In the meantime life on board went on as usual. There were the

regular observations and all sorts of occupations, and I myself

was not so absorbed in my plans that I did not find time for other

things too. Thus I see from my diary that in the end of August and in

September I must have been very proud of a new invention that I made

for the galley. All last year we had cooked on a particular kind of

copper range, heated by petroleum lamps. It was quite satisfactory,

except that it burned several quarts of petroleum a day. I could not

help fearing sometimes that our lighting supply might run short, if

the expedition lasted longer than was expected, and always wondered

if it would not be possible to construct an apparatus that would

burn coal-oil--"black-oil," as we call it on board--of which we

had 20 tons, originally intended for the engine. And I succeeded

in making such an apparatus. On August 30th I write: "Have tried my

newly invented coal-oil apparatus for heating the range, and it is

beyond expectation successful. It is splendid that we shall be able

to burn coal-oil in the galley. Now there is no fear of our having

to cry ourselves blind for lack of light by-and-by. This adds more

than 4000 gallons to our stock of oil; and we can keep all our fine

petroleum now for lighting purposes, and have lamps for many a year,

even if we are a little extravagant. The 20 tons of coal-oil ought

to keep the range going for 4 years, I think.

"The contrivance is as simple as possible. From a reservoir of oil

a pipe leads down and into the fireplace; the oil drips down from

the end of this pipe into an iron bowl, and is here sucked up by

a sheet of asbestos, or by coal ashes. The flow of oil from the

pipe is regulated by a fine valve cock. To insure a good draught,

I bring a ventilating pipe from outside right by the range door. Air

is pressed through this by a large wind-sail on deck, and blows

straight on to the iron bowl, where the oil burns briskly with a

clear, white flame. Whoever lights the fire in the morning has only

to go on deck and see that the wind-sail is set to the wind, to open

the ventilator, to turn the cock so that the oil runs properly, and

then set it burning with a scrap of paper. It looks after itself, and

the water is boiling in twenty minutes or half an hour. One could not

have anything much easier than this, it seems to me. But of course in

our, as in other communities, it is difficult to introduce reforms;

everything new is looked upon with suspicion."

Somewhat later I write of the same apparatus: "We are now using the

galley again, with the coal-oil fire; the moving down took place the

day before yesterday, [63] and the fire was used yesterday. It works

capitally; a three-foot wind is enough to give a splendid draught. The

day before yesterday, when I was sitting with some of the others in

the saloon in the afternoon, I heard a dull report out in the galley,

and said at once that it sounded like an explosion. Presently Pettersen

[64] stuck a head in at the door as black as a sweep's, great lumps

of soot all over it, and said that the stove had exploded right

into his face; he was only going to look if it was burning rightly,

and the whole fiendish thing flew out at him. A stream of words not

unmingled with oaths flowed like peas out of a sack, while the rest

of us yelled with laughter. In the galley it was easy to see that

something had happened; the walls were covered with soot in lumps

and stripes pointing towards the fireplace. The explanation of the

accident was simple enough. The draught had been insufficient, and

a quantity of gas had formed which had not been able to burn until

air was let in by Pettersen opening the door.

"This is a good beginning. I told Pettersen in the evening that I

would do the cooking myself next day, when the real trial was to be

made. But he would not hear of such a thing; he said 'I was not to

think that he minded a trifle like that; I might trust to its being

all right'--and it was all right. From that day I heard nothing but

praise of the new apparatus, and it was used until the Fram was out

in the open sea again.

"Thursday, September 6th. 81° 13.7' north latitude. Have I been married

five years to-day? Last year this was a day of victory--when the

ice-fetters burst at Taimur Island--but there is no thought of victory

now; we are not so far north as I had expected; the northwest wind has

come again, and we are drifting south. And yet the future does not seem

to me so long and so dark as it sometimes has done. Next September 6th

... can it be possible that then every fetter will have burst, and we

shall be sitting together talking of this time in the far north and

of all the longing, as of something that once was and that will never

be again? The long, long night is past; the morning is just breaking,

and a glorious new day lies before us. And what is there against this

happening next year? Why should not this winter carry the Fram west

to some place north of Franz Josef Land?... and then my time has come,

and off I go with dogs and sledges--to the north. My heart beats with

joy at the very thought of it. The winter shall be spent in making

every preparation for that expedition, and it will pass quickly.

"I have already spent much time on these preparations. I think

of everything that must be taken, and how it is to be arranged,

and the more I look at the thing from all points of view, the more

firmly convinced do I become that the attempt will be successful,

if only the Fram can get north in reasonable time, not too late in

the spring. If she could just reach 84° or 85°, then I should be off

in the end of February or the first days of March, as soon as the

daylight comes, after the long winter night, and the whole would go

like a dance. Only four or five months, and the time for action will

have come again. What joy! When I look out over the ice now it is

as if my muscles quivered with longing to be striding off over it in

real earnest--fatigue and privation will then be a delight. It may seem

foolish that I should be determined to go off on this expedition, when,

perhaps, I might do more important work quietly here on board. But

the daily observations will be carried on exactly the same.

"I have celebrated the day by arranging my workroom for the winter. I

have put in a petroleum stove, and expect that this will make it

warm enough even in the coldest weather, with the snowballs that I

intend to build round the outside of it, and a good roof-covering

of snow. At least, double the amount of work will be done if this

cabin can be used in winter, and I can sit up here instead of in the

midst of the racket below. I have such comfortable times of it now,

in peace and quietness, letting my thoughts take their way unchecked.

"Sunday, September 9th. 81° 4' north latitude. The midnight sun

disappeared some days ago, and already the sun sets in the northwest;

it is gone by 10 o'clock in the evening, and there is once more a

glow over the eternal white. Winter is coming fast.

"Another peaceful Sunday, with rest from work, and a little

reading. Out snow-shoeing to-day I crossed several frozen-over lanes,

and very slight packing has begun here and there. I was stopped

at last by a broad open lane lying pretty nearly north and south;

at places it was 400 to 500 yards across, and I saw no end to it

either north or south. The surface was good; one got along quickly,

with no exertion at all when it was in the direction of the wind.

"This is undeniably a monotonous life. Sometimes it feels to me

like a long dark night, my life's 'Ragnarok,' [65] dividing it into

two.... 'The sun is darkened, the summers with it, all weather is

weighty with woe'; snow covers the earth, the wind whistles over the

endless plains, and for three years this winter lasts, till comes

the time for the great battle, and 'men tramp Hel's way.' There is a

hard struggle between life and death; but after that comes the reign

of peace. The earth rises from the sea again, and decks itself anew

with verdure. 'Torrents roar, eagles hover over them, watching for

fish among the rocks,' and then 'Valhalla,' fairer than the sun,

and long length of happy days.

"Pettersen, who is cook this week, came in here this evening, as usual,

to get the bill of fare for next day. When his business was done, he

stood for a minute, and then said that he had had such a strange dream

last night; he had wanted to be taken as cook with a new expedition,

but Dr. Nansen wouldn't have him.

"'And why not?'

"'Well, this was how it was: I dreamed that Dr. Nansen was going off

across the ice to the Pole with four men, and I asked to be taken,

but you said that you didn't need a cook on this expedition, and

I thought that was queer enough, for you would surely want food on

this trip as well. It seemed to me that you had ordered the ship to

meet you at some other place; anyhow, you were not coming back here,

but to some other land. It's strange that one can lie and rake up

such a lot of nonsense in one's sleep.'

"'That was perhaps not such very great nonsense, Pettersen; it is

quite possible that we might have to make such an expedition; but if

we did, we should certainly not come back to the Fram.'

"'Well, if that happened, I would ask to go, sure enough; for it's

just what I should like. I'm no great snow-shoer, but I would manage

to keep up somehow.'

"'That's all very well; but there's a great deal of weary hard work

on a journey like that; you needn't think it's all pleasure.'

"'No, no one would expect that; but it would be all right if I might

only go.'

"'But there might be worse than hardships, Pettersen. It would more

than likely mean risking your life.'

"'I don't care for that either. A man has got to die sometime.'

"'Yes, but you don't want to shorten your life.'

"'Oh, I would take my chance of that. You can lose your life at home,

too, though, perhaps, not quite so easily as here. But if a man was

always to be thinking about that he would never do anything.'

"'That's true. Anyhow, he would not need to come on an expedition

like this. But remember that a journey northward over the ice would

be no child's play.'

"'No, I know that well enough, but if it was with you I shouldn't be

afraid. It would never do if we had to manage alone. We'd be sure to

go wrong; but it's quite a different thing, you see, when there is

one to lead that you know has been through it all before.'

"It is extraordinary the blind faith such men have in their leader! I

believe they would set off without a moment's reflection if they were

asked to join in an expedition to the Pole now, with black winter at

the door. It is grand as long as the faith lasts, but God be merciful

to him on the day that it fails!

"Saturday, September 15th. This evening we have seen the moon again

for the first time--beautiful full moon--and a few stars were also

visible in the night sky, which is still quite light.

"Notices were posted up to-day in several places. They ran as follows:

"'As fire here on board might be followed by the most terrible

consequences, too great precaution cannot be taken. For this

reason every man is requested to observe the following rules

most conscientiously:

1. No one is to carry matches.

2. The only places where matches may be kept are--

(1) The galley, where the cook for the time being is

responsible for them.

(2) The four single cabins, where the inmate of each is

responsible for his box.

(3) The work-cabin, when work is going on.

(4) On the mast in the saloon, from which neither box nor

single matches must be taken away under any

circumstances.

3. Matches must not be struck anywhere except in the places

above named.

4. The one exception to the above rules is made when the

forge has to be lighted.

5. All the ship's holds are to be inspected every evening at

8 o'clock by the fire-inspector, who will give in his

report to the undersigned. After that time no one may,

without special permission, take a light into the holds

or into the engine-room.

6. Smoking is only allowed in the living-rooms and on

deck. Lighted pipes or cigars must on no account be seen

elsewhere.

Fridtjof Nansen.

Fram, September 15th, 1894.'

"Some of these regulations may seem to infringe on the principle of

equality which I have been so anxious to maintain; but these seem to

me the best arrangements I can make to insure the good of all--and

that must come before everything else.

"Friday, September 21st. We have had tremendously strong wind from

the northwest and north for some days, with a velocity at times of

39 and 42 feet. During this time we must have drifted a good way

south. 'The Radical Right' had got hold of the helm, said Amundsen;

but their time in power was short; for it fell calm yesterday, and

now we are going north again, and it looks as if the 'Left' were to

have a spell at the helm, to repair the wrongs done by the 'Right.'

"Kennels for the dogs have been built this week--a row of splendid

ice-houses along the port side of the ship; four dogs in each house;

good warm winter quarters. In the meantime our eight little pups

are thriving on board; they have a grand world to wander round--the

whole fore-deck, with an awning over it. You can hear their little

barks and yelps as they rush about among shavings, hand-sledges,

the steam-winch, mill-axle, and other odds and ends. They play a

little and they fight a little, and forward under the forecastle

they have their bed among the shavings--a very cozy corner, where

'Kvik' lies stretched out like a lioness in all her majesty. There

they tumble over each other in a heap round her, sleep, yawn, eat,

and pull each other's tails. It is a picture of home and peace here

near the Pole which one could watch by the hour.

"Life goes its regular, even, uneventful way, quiet as the ice itself;

and yet it is wonderful how quickly the time passes. The equinox has

come, the nights are beginning to turn dark, and at noon the sun is

only 9 degrees above the horizon. I pass the day busily here in the

work cabin, and often feel as if I were sitting in my study at home,

with all the comforts of civilization round me. If it were not for

the separation, one could be as well off here as there. Sometimes I

forget where I am. Not infrequently in the evening, when I have been

sitting absorbed in work, I have jumped up to listen when the dogs

barked, thinking to myself, who can be coming? Then I remember that

I am not at home, but drifting out in the middle of the frozen Polar

Sea, at the commencement of the second long Arctic night.

"The temperature has been down to 1.4° Fahr. below zero (-17°

C.) to-day; winter is coming on fast. There is little drift just now,

and yet we are in good spirits. It was the same last autumn equinox;

but how many disappointments we have had since then! How terrible

it was in the later autumn when every calculation seemed to fail,

as we drifted farther and farther south! Not one bright spot on our

horizon! But such a time will never come again. There may still be

great relapses; there may be slow progress for a time; but there

is no doubt as to the future; we see it dawning bright in the west,

beyond the Arctic night.

"Sunday, September 23d. It was a year yesterday since we made fast

for the first time to the great hummock in the ice. Hansen improved

the occasion by making a chart of our drift for the year. It does not

look so very bad, though the distance is not great; the direction is

almost exactly what I had expected. But more of this to-morrow; it

is so late that I cannot write about it now. The nights are turning

darker and darker; winter is settling down upon us.

"Tuesday, September 25th. I have been looking more carefully at the

calculation of our last year's drift. If we reckon from the place where

we were shut in on the 22d of September last year to our position

on the 22d of September this year, the distance we have drifted is

189 miles, equal to 3° 9' latitude. Reckoning from the same place,

but to the farthest north point we reached in summer (July 16th),

makes the drift 225 miles, or 3° 46'. But if we reckon from our

most southern point in the autumn of last year (November 7th) to our

most northern point this summer, then the drift is 305 miles, or 5°

5'. We got fully 4° north, from 77° 43' to 81° 53'. To give the course

of the drift is a difficult task in these latitudes, as there is a

perceptible deviation of the compass with every degree of longitude

as one passes east or west; the change, of course, given in degrees

will be almost exactly the same as the number of degrees of longitude

that have been passed. Our average course will be about N. 36° W. The

direction of our drift is consequently a much more northerly one than

the Jeannette's was, and this is just what we expected; ours cuts hers

at an angle of 59°. The line of this year's drift continued will cut

the northeast island of Spitzbergen, and take us as far north as 84°

7', in 75° east longitude, somewhere N.N.E. of Franz Josef Land. The

distance by this course to the Northeast Island is 827 miles. Should

we continue to progress only at the rate of 189 miles a year it would

take us 4.4 years to do this distance. But assuming our progress to

be at the rate of 305 miles a year, we shall do it in 2.7 years. That

we should drift at least as quickly as this seems probable, because

we can hardly now be driven back as we were in October last year,

when we had the open water to the south and the great mass of ice to

the north of us.

"The past summer seems to me to have proved that while the ice is

very unwilling to go back south, it is most ready to go northwest as

soon as there is ever so little easterly, not to mention southerly,

wind. I therefore believe, as I always have believed, that the drift

will become faster as we get farther northwest, and the probability

is that the Fram will reach Norway in two years, the expedition

having lasted its full three years, as I somehow had a feeling that

it would. As our drift is 59° more northerly than the Jeannette's,

and as Franz Josef Land must force the ice north (taking for granted

that all that comes from this great basin goes round to the north of

Franz Josef Land), it is probable that our course will become more

northerly the farther on we go, until we are past Franz Josef Land,

and that we shall consequently reach a higher latitude than our drift

so far would indicate. I hope 85° at least. Everything has come right

so far; the direction of our drift is exactly parallel with the course

which I conjectured to have been taken by the floe with the Jeannette

relics, and which I pricked out on the chart prepared for my London

Address. [66] This course touched about 87 1/2° north latitude. I

have no right to expect a more northerly drift than parallel to this,

and have no right to be anything but happy if I get as far. Our aim,

as I have so often tried to make clear, is not so much to reach the

point in which the earth's axis terminates, as to traverse and explore

the unknown Polar Sea; and yet I should like to get to the Pole, too,

and hope that it will be possible to do so, if only we can reach 84°

or 85° by March. And why should we not?

"Thursday, September 27th. Have determined that, beginning from

to-morrow, every man is to go out snow-shoeing two hours daily, from

11 to 1, so long as the daylight lasts. It is necessary. If anything

happened that obliged us to make our way home over the ice, I am afraid

some of the company would be a terrible hinderance to us, unpractised

as they are now. Several of them are first-rate snow-shoers, but

five or six of them would soon be feeling the pleasures of learning;

if they had to go out on a long course, and without snow-shoes,

it would be all over with us.

"After this we used to go out regularly in a body. Besides being good

exercise, it was also a great pleasure; every one seemed to thrive on

it, and they all became accustomed to the use of the shoes on this

ground, even though they often got them broken in the unevennesses

of the pressure-ridges; we just patched and riveted them together to

break them again.

"Monday, October 1st. We tried a hand-sledge to-day with a load of

250 pounds. It went along easily, and yet was hard to draw, because

the snow-shoes were apt to slip to the side on the sort of surface we

had. I almost believe that Indian snow-shoes would be better on this

ground, where there are so many knobs and smooth hillocks to draw the

sledges over. When Amundsen first began to pull the sledge he thought

it was nothing at all; but when he had gone on for a time he fell into

a fit of deep and evidently sad thought, and went silently home. When

he got on board he confided to the others that if a man had to draw a

load like that he might just as well lie down at once--it would come

to the same thing in the end. That is how practice is apt to go. In

the afternoon I yoked three dogs to the same little sledge with the

250-pound load, and they drew it along as if it were nothing at all.

"Tuesday October 2d. Beautiful weather, but coldish; 49° Fahr. of

frost (-27° C.) during the night, which is a good deal for October,

surely. It will be a cold winter if it goes on at the same rate. But

what do we care whether there are 90° of frost or 120°? A good

snow-shoeing excursion to-day. They are all becoming most expert now;

but darkness will be on us presently, and then there will be no more

of it. It is a pity; this exercise is so good for us--we must think

of something to take its place.

"I have a feeling now as if this were to be my last winter on

board. Will it really come to my going off north in spring? The

experiment in drawing a loaded hand-sledge over this ice was certainly

anything but promising; and if the dogs should not hold out, or should

be of less use than we expect; and if we should come to worse ice

instead of better--well, we should only have ourselves to trust to. But

if we can just get so far on with the Fram that the distance left to

be covered is at all a reasonable one, I believe that it is my duty

to make the venture, and I cannot imagine any difficulty that will not

be overcome when our choice lies between death--and onward and home!

"Thursday, October 4th. The ice is rather impassable in places,

but there are particular lanes or tracts; taking it altogether,

it is in good condition for sledging and snow-shoeing, though the

surface is rather soft, so that the dogs sink in a little. This is

probably chiefly owing to there having been no strong winds of late,

so that the snow has not been well packed together.

"Life goes on in the regular routine; there is always some little

piece of work turning up to be done. Yesterday the breaking in of

the young dogs began. [67] It was just the three--'Barbara,' 'Freia,'

and 'Susine.' 'Gulabrand' is such a miserable, thin wretch that he is

escaping for the present. They were unmanageable at first, and rushed

about in all directions; but in a little while they drew like old dogs,

and were altogether better than we expected. 'Kvik,' of course, set

them a noble example. It fell to Mogstad's lot to begin the training,

as it was his week for looking after the dogs. This duty is taken in

turns now, each man has his week of attending to them both morning

and afternoon.

"It seems to me that a very satisfactory state of feeling prevails

on board at present, when we are just entering on our second Arctic

night, which we hope is to be a longer, and probably also a colder,

one than any people before us have experienced. There is appreciably

less light every day; soon there will be none; but the good spirits

do not wane with the light. It seems to me that we are more uniformly

cheerful than we have ever been. What the reason of this is I cannot

tell; perhaps just custom. But certainly, too, we are well off--in

clover, as the saying is. We are drifting gently, but it is to be

hoped surely, on through the dark unknown Nivlheim, where terrified

fancy has pictured all possible horrors. Yet we are living a life of

luxury and plenty, surrounded by all the comforts of civilization. I

think we shall be better off this winter than last.

"The firing apparatus in the galley is working splendidly, and the cook

himself is now of opinion that it is an invention which approaches

perfection. So we shall burn nothing but coal-oil there now; it

warms the place well, and a good deal of the heat comes up here

into the work-room, where I sometimes sit and perspire until I have

to take off one garment after another, although the window is open,

and there are 30 odd degrees of cold outside. I have calculated that

the petroleum which this enables us to keep for lighting purposes

only will last at least 10 years, though we burn it freely 300 days

in the year. At present we are not using petroleum lamps at the

rate assumed in my calculation, because we frequently have electric

light; and then even here summer comes once a year, or, at any rate,

something which we must call summer. Even allowing for accidents,

such as the possibility of a tank springing a leak and the oil running

out, there is still no reason whatever for being sparing of light,

and every man can have as much as he wants. What this means can best

be appreciated by one who for a whole year has felt the stings of

conscience every time he went to work or read alone in his cabin,

and burned a lamp that was not absolutely necessary, because he could

have used the general one in the saloon.

"As yet the coals are not being touched, except for the stove in the

saloon, where they are to be allowed to burn as much as they like this

winter. The quantity thus consumed will be a trifle in comparison

with our store of about 100 tons, for which we cannot well have any

other use until the Fram once more forces her way out of the ice on

the other side. Another thing that is of no little help in keeping

us warm and comfortable is the awning that is now stretched over the

ship. [68] The only part I have left open is the stern, abaft the

bridge, so as to be able to see round over the ice from there.

"Personally, I must say that things are going well with me; much

better than I could have expected. Time is a good teacher; that

devouring longing does not gnaw so hard as it did. Is it apathy

beginning? Shall I feel nothing at all by the time ten years have

passed? Oh! sometimes it comes on with all its old strength, as

if it would tear me in pieces! But this is a splendid school of

patience. Much good it does to sit wondering whether they are alive

or dead at home; it only almost drives one mad.

"All the same, I never grow quite reconciled to this life. It is really

neither life nor death, but a state between the two. It means never

being at rest about anything or in any place--a constant waiting for

what is coming; a waiting in which, perhaps, the best years of one's

manhood will pass. It is like what a young boy sometimes feels when

he goes on his first voyage. The life on board is hateful to him;

he suffers cruelly from all the torments of sea-sickness; and being

shut in within the narrow walls of the ship is worse than prison;

but it is something that has to be gone through. Beyond it all lies

the south, the land of his youthful dreams, tempting with its sunny

smile. In time he arises, half dead. Does he find his south? How

often it is but a barren desert he is cast ashore on!

"Sunday, October 7th. It has cleared up this evening, and there is

a starry sky and aurora borealis. It is a little change from the

constant cloudy weather, with frequent snow-showers, which we have

had these last days.

"Thoughts come and thoughts go. I cannot forget, and I cannot

sleep. Everything is still; all are asleep. I only hear the quiet step

of the watch on deck; the wind rustling in the rigging and the canvas,

and the clock gently hacking the time in pieces there on the wall. If

I go on deck there is black night, stars sparkling high overhead,

and faint aurora flickering across the gloomy vault, and out in the

darkness I can see the glimmer of the great monotonous plain of the

ice: it is all so inexpressibly forlorn, so far, far removed from

the noise and unrest of men and all their striving. What is life

thus isolated? A strange, aimless process; and man a machine which

eats, sleeps, awakes; eats and sleeps again, dreams dreams, but never

lives. Or is life really nothing else? And is it just one more phase

of the eternal martyrdom, a new mistake of the erring human soul, this

banishing of one's self to the hopeless wilderness, only to long there

for what one has left behind? Am I a coward? Am I afraid of death? Oh,

no! but in these nights such longing can come over one for all beauty,

for that which is contained in a single word, and the soul flees from

this interminable and rigid world of ice. When one thinks how short

life is, and that one came away from it all of one's own free will,

and remembers, too, that another is suffering the pain of constant

anxiety--'true, true till death.' 'O mankind, thy ways are passing

strange! We are but as flakes of foam, helplessly driven over the

tossing sea.'

"Wednesday, October 10th. Exactly 33 years old, then. There is nothing

to be said to that, except that life is moving on, and will never turn

back. They have all been touchingly nice to me to-day, and we have held

fête. They surprised me in the morning by having the saloon ornamented

with flags. They had hung the 'Union' above Sverdrup's place. [69]

We accused Amundsen of having done this, but he would not confess to

it. Above my door and on over Hansen's they had the pennant with Fram

in big letters. It looked most festive when I came into the saloon,

and they all stood up and wished me 'Many happy returns.' When I went

on deck the flag was waving from the mizzenmast-head.

"We took a snow-shoeing excursion south in the morning. It was windy,

bitter weather; I have not felt so cold for long. The thermometer

is down to 24° Fahr. below zero (-31° C.) this evening; this is

certainly the coldest birthday I have had yet. A sumptuous dinner:

1. Fish-pudding. 2. Sausages and tongue, with potatoes, haricot

beans, and pease. 3. Preserved strawberries, with rice and cream;

Crown extract of malt. Then, to every one's surprise, our doctor

began to take out of the pocket of the overcoat he always wears

remarkable-looking little glasses--medicine-glasses, measuring-glasses,

test-glasses--one for each man, and lastly a whole bottle of Lysholmer

liqueur--real native Lysholmer--which awakened general enthusiasm. Two

drams of that per man was not so bad, besides a quarter of a bottle

of extract of malt. Coffee after dinner, with a surprise in the shape

of apple-cake, baked by our excellent cook, Pettersen, formerly smith

and engineer. Then I had to produce my cigars, which were also much

enjoyed; and of course we kept holiday all the afternoon. At supper

there was another surprise--a large birthday cake from the same baker,

with the inscription 'T. L. M. D.' (Til lykke med dagen, the Norwegian

equivalent for 'Wishing a happy birthday'), '10.10.94.' In the evening

came pineapples, figs, and sweets. Many a worse birthday might be

spent in lower latitudes than 81°. The evening is passing with all

kinds of merriment; every one is in good spirits; the saloon resounds

with laughter--how many a merry meeting it has been the scene of!

"But when one has said good-night and sits here alone, sadness comes;

and if one goes on deck there are the stars high overhead in the clear

sky. In the south is a smouldering aurora arch, which from time to

time sends up streamers; a constant, restless flickering.

"We have been talking a little about this expedition, Sverdrup and

I. When we were out on the ice in the afternoon he suddenly said,

'Yes, next October you will, perhaps, not be on board the Fram.' To

which I had to answer that, unless the winter turned out badly, I

probably should not. But still I cannot believe in this rightly myself.

"Every night I am at home in my dreams, but when the morning breaks

I must again, like Helge, gallop back on the pale horse by the way

of the reddening dawn, not to the joys of Valhalla, but to the realm

of eternal ice.

"'For thee alone Sigrun,

Of the Sæva Mountain,

Must Helge swim

In the dew of sorrow.'

"Friday, October 12th. A regular storm has been blowing from the

E.S.E. since yesterday evening. Last night the mill went to bits;

the teeth broke off one of the toothed wheels, which has been

considerably worn by a year's use. The velocity of the wind was over

40 feet this morning, and it is long since I have heard it blow as

it is doing this evening. We must be making good progress north just

now. Perhaps October is not to be such a bad month as I expected from

our experiences of last year. Was out snow-shoeing before dinner. The

snow was whistling about my ears. I had not much trouble in getting

back; the wind saw to that. A tremendous snow squall is blowing just

now. The moon stands low in the southern sky, sending a dull glow

through the driving masses. One has to hold on to one's cap. This

is a real dismal polar night, such as one imagines it to one's self

sitting at home far away in the south. But it makes me cheerful to

come on deck, for I feel that we are moving onward.

"Saturday, October 13th. Same wind to-day; velocity up to 39 feet

and higher, but Hansen has taken an observation this evening in spite

of it. He is, as always, a fine, indefatigable fellow. We are going

northwest (81° 32' 8'' north latitude, 118° 28' east longitude).

"Sunday, October 14th. Still the same storm going on. I am reading

of the continual sufferings which the earlier Arctic explorers had

to contend with for every degree, even for every minute, of their

northward course. It gives me almost a feeling of contempt for us,

lying here on sofas, warm and comfortable, passing the time reading

and writing and smoking and dreaming, while the storm is tugging

and tearing at the rigging above us and the whole sea is one mass of

driving snow, through which we are carried degree by degree northward

to the goal our predecessors struggled towards, spending their strength

in vain. And yet....

"'Now sinks the sun, now comes the night.'

"Monday, October 15th. Went snow-shoeing eastward this morning, still

against the same wind and the same snowfall. You have to pay careful

attention to your course these days, as the ship is not visible any

great distance, and if you did not find your way back, well--But

the tracks remain pretty distinct, as the snow-crust is blown bare

in most places, and the drifting snow does not fasten upon it. We

are moving northward, and meanwhile the Arctic night is making its

slow and majestic entrance. The sun was low to-day; I did not see it

because of banks of cloud in the south; but it still sent its light

up over the pale sky. There the full moon is now reigning, bathing

the great ice plain and the drifting snow in its bright light. How a

night such as this raises one's thoughts! It does not matter if one

has seen the like a thousand times before; it makes the same solemn

impression when it comes again; one cannot free one's mind from its

power. It is like entering a still, holy temple, where the spirit of

nature hovers through the place on glittering silver beams, and the

soul must fall down and adore--adore the infinity of the universe.

"Wednesday, October 17th. We are employed in taking deep-water

temperatures. It is a doubtful pleasure at this time of year. Sometimes

the water-lifter gets coated with ice, so that it will not close down

below in the water, and has, therefore, to hang for ever so long each

time; and sometimes it freezes tight during the observation after

it is brought up, so that the water will not run out of it into the

sample bottles, not to mention all the bother there is getting the

apparatus ready to lower. We are lucky if we do not require to take

the whole thing into the galley every time to thaw it. It is slow work;

the temperatures have sometimes to be read by lantern light. The water

samples are not so reliable, because they freeze in the lifter. But

the thing can be done, and we must just go on doing it. The same

easterly wind is blowing, and we are drifting onward. Our latitude

this evening is about 81° 47' N.

"Thursday, October 18th. I continue taking the temperatures of the

water, rather a cool amusement with the thermometer down to -29°

C. (20.2° Fahr. below zero) and a wind blowing. Your fingers are apt

to get a little stiff and numb when you have to manipulate the wet

or ice-covered metal screws with bare hands and have to read off the

thermometer with a magnifying-glass in order to insure accuracy to

the hundredth part of a degree, and then to bottle the samples of

water, which you have to keep close against your breast, to prevent

the water from freezing. It is a nice business!

"There was a lovely aurora borealis at 8 o'clock this evening. It wound

itself like a fiery serpent in a double coil across the sky. The tail

was about 10° above the horizon in the north. Thence it turned off

with many windings in an easterly direction, then round again, and

westward in the form of an arch from 30° to 40° above the horizon,

sinking down again to the west and rolling itself up into a ball,

from which several branches spread out over the sky. The arches were

in active motion, while pencils of streamers shot out swiftly from

the west towards the east, and the whole serpent kept incessantly

undulating into fresh curves. Gradually it mounted up over the sky

nearly to the zenith, while at the same time the uppermost bend or

arch separated into several fainter undulations, the ball in the

northeast glowed intensely, and brilliant streamers shot upwards to

the zenith from several places in the arches, especially from the ball

and from the bend farthest away in the northeast. The illumination

was now at its highest, the color being principally a strong yellow,

though at some spots it verged towards a yellowish red, while at

other places it was a greenish white. When the upper wave reached the

zenith the phenomenon lost something of its brilliancy, dispersing

little by little, leaving merely a faint indication of an aurora in

the southern sky. On coming up again on deck later in the evening,

I found nearly the whole of the aurora collected in the southern

half of the sky. A low arch, 5° in height, could be seen far down in

the south over the dark segment of the horizon. Between this and the

zenith were four other vague, wavy arches, the topmost of which passed

right across it; here and there vivid streamers shot flaming upward,

especially from the undermost arch in the south. No arch was to be

seen in the northern part of the sky, only streamers every here and

there. To-night, as usual, there are traces of aurora to be seen over

the whole sky; light mists or streamers are often plainly visible,

and the sky seems to be constantly covered with a luminous veil,

[70] in which every here and there are dark holes.

"There is scarcely any night, or rather I may safely say there is

no night, on which no trace of aurora can be discerned as soon as

the sky becomes clear, or even when there is simply a rift in the

clouds large enough for it to be seen; and as a rule we have strong

light phenomena dancing in ceaseless unrest over the firmament. They

mainly appear, however, in the southern part of the sky.

"Friday, October 19th. A fresh breeze from E.S.E. Drifting northward

at a good pace. Soon we shall probably have passed the long-looked-for

82°, and that will not be far from 82° 27', when the Fram will be

the vessel that will have penetrated farthest to the north on this

globe. But the barometer is falling; the wind probably will not remain

in that quarter long, but will shift round to the west. I only hope

for this once the barometer may prove a false prophet. I have become

rather sanguine; things have been going pretty well for so long;

and October, a month which last year's experience had made me dread,

has been a month of marked advance, if only it doesn't end badly.

"The wind to-day, however, was to cost a life. The mill, which had

been repaired after the mishap to the cog-wheel the other day, was set

going again. In the afternoon a couple of the puppies began fighting

over a bone, when one of them fell underneath one of the cog-wheels on

the axle of the mill, and was dragged in between it and the deck. Its

poor little body nearly made the whole thing come to a standstill;

and, unfortunately, no one was on the spot to stop it in time. I

heard the noise, and rushed on deck; the puppy had just been drawn

out nearly dead; the whole of its stomach was torn open. It gave

a faint whine, and was at once put out of its misery. Poor little

frolicsome creature! Only a little while ago you were gambolling

around, enjoying an innocent romp with your brothers and sisters;

then came the thigh-bone of a bear trundling along the deck from the

galley; you and the others made a headlong rush for it, and now there

you lie, cruelly lacerated and dead as a herring. Fate is inexorable!

"Sunday, October 31st. North latitude 82° 0.2'; east longitude 114°

9'. It is late in the evening, and my head is bewildered, as if I

had been indulging in a regular debauch, but it was a debauch of a

very innocent nature.

"A grand banquet to-day to celebrate the eighty-second degree of

latitude. The observation gave 82° 0.2' last night, and we have now

certainly drifted a little farther north. Honey-cakes (gingerbread)

were baked for the occasion first-class honey-cakes, too, you may

take my word for it; and then, after a refreshing snow-shoe run,

came a festal banquet. Notices were stuck up in the saloon requesting

the guests to be punctual at dinner-time, for the cook had exerted

himself to the utmost of his power. The following deeply felt lines

by an anonymous poet also appeared on a placard:

"'When dinner is punctually served at the time,

No fear that the milk soup will surely be prime;

But the viands are spoiled if you come to it late,

The fish-pudding will lie on your chest a dead weight;

What's preserved in tin cases, there can be no doubt,

If you wait long enough will force its way out.

Even meat of the ox, of the sheep, or of swine,

Very different in this from the juice of the vine!

Ramornie, and Armour, and Thorne, and Herr Thüs,

Good meats have preserved, and they taste not amiss;

So I'll just add a word, friends, of warning to you:

If you want a good dinner, come at one, not at two.'

The lyric melancholy which here finds utterance must have been the

outcome of many bitter disappointments, and furnishes a valuable

internal evidence as to the anonymous author's profession. Meanwhile

the guests assembled with tolerable punctuality, the only exception

being your humble servant, who was obliged to take some photographs

in the rapidly waning daylight. The menu was splendid: 1. Ox-tail

soup. 2. Fish-pudding, with melted butter and potatoes. 3. Turtle, with

marrowfat pease, etc., etc. 4. Rice, with multer (cloudberries) and

cream; Crown malt extract. After dinner, coffee and honey-cakes. After

supper, which also was excellent, there was a call for music, which was

liberally supplied throughout the whole evening by various accomplished

performers on the organ, among whom Bentzen specially distinguished

himself, his late experiences on the ice with the crank-handle [71]

having put him in first-rate training. Every now and then the music

dragged a bit, as though it were being hauled up from an abyss some

1000 or 1500 fathoms deep; then it would quicken and get more lively,

as it came nearer to the surface. At last the excitement rose to such

a pitch that Pettersen and I had to get up and have a dance, a waltz

and a polka or two; and we really executed some very tasteful pas de

deux on the limited floor of the saloon. Then Amundsen also was swept

into the mazes of the dance, while the others played cards. Meanwhile

refreshments were served in the form of preserved peaches, dried

bananas, figs, honey-cakes, etc., etc. In short, we made a jovial

evening of it, and why should we not? We are progressing merrily

towards our goal, we are already half-way between the New Siberian

Islands and Franz Josef Land, and there is not a soul on board who

doubts that we shall accomplish what we came out to do; so long

live merriment!

"But the endless stillness of the polar night holds its sway aloft; the

moon, half full, shines over the ice, and the stars sparkle brilliantly

overhead; there are no restless northern lights, and the south wind

sighs mournfully through the rigging. A deep, peaceful stillness

prevails everywhere. It is the infinite loveliness of death--Nirvana.

"Monday, October 22d. It is beginning to be cold now; the thermometer

was -34.6° C. (30.2° Fahr. below zero) last night, and this evening

it is -36° C. (32.8 Fahr. below zero).

"A lovely aurora this evening (11.30). A brilliant corona encircled

the zenith with a wreath of streamers in several layers, one outside

the other; then larger and smaller sheaves of streamers spread over the

sky, especially low down towards S.W. and E.S.E. All of them, however,

tended upward towards the corona, which shone like a halo. I stood

watching it a long while. Every now and then I could discern a dark

patch in its middle, at the point where all the rays converged. It

lay a little south of the Pole-star, and approached Cassiopeia in the

position it then occupied. But the halo kept smouldering and shifting

just as if a gale in the upper strata of the atmosphere were playing

the bellows to it. Presently fresh streamers shot out of the darkness

outside the inner halo, followed by other bright shafts of light in

a still wider circle, and meanwhile the dark space in the middle was

clearly visible; at other times it was entirely covered with masses of

light. Then it appeared as if the storm abated, and the whole turned

pale, and glowed with a faint whitish hue for a little while, only to

shoot wildly up once more and to begin the same dance over again. Then

the entire mass of light around the corona began to rock to and fro in

large waves over the zenith and the dark central point, whereupon the

gale seemed to increase and whirl the streamers into an inextricable

tangle, till they merged into a luminous vapor, that enveloped the

corona and drowned it in a deluge of light, so that neither it,

nor the streamers, nor the dark centre could be seen--nothing, in

fact, but a chaos of shining mist. Again it became paler, and I went

below. At midnight there was hardly anything of the aurora to be seen.

"Friday, October 26th. Yesterday evening we were in 82° 3' north

latitude. To-day the Fram is two years old. The sky has been overcast

during the last two days, and it has been so dark at midday that I

thought we should soon have to stop our snow-shoe expeditions. But

this morning brought us clear still weather, and I went out on a

delightful trip to the westward, where there had been a good deal

of fresh packing, but nothing of any importance. In honor of the

occasion we had a particularly good dinner, with fried halibut,

turtle, pork chops, with haricot beans and green pease, plum-pudding

(real burning plum-pudding for the first time) with custard sauce,

and wound up with strawberries. As usual, the beverages consisted

of wine (that is to say, lime-juice, with water and sugar) and Crown

malt extract. I fear there was a general overtaxing of the digestive

apparatus. After dinner, coffee and honey-cakes, with which Nordahl

stood cigarettes. General holiday.

"This evening it has begun to blow from the north, but probably this

does not mean much; I must hope so, at all events, and trust that we

shall soon get a south wind again. But it is not the mild zephyr we

yearn for, not the breath of the blushing dawn. No, a cold, biting

south wind, roaring with all the force of the Polar Sea, so that

the Fram, the two-year-old Fram, may be buried in the snow-storm,

and all around her be but a reeking frost--it is this we are waiting

for, this that will drift us onward to our goal. To-day, then, Fram,

thou art two years old. I said at the dinner-table that if a year

ago we were unanimous in believing that the Fram was a good ship,

we had much better grounds for that belief to-day, for safely and

surely she is carrying us onward, even if the speed be not excessive,

and so we drank the Fram's good health and good progress. I did not

say too much. Had I said all that was in my heart, my words would not

have been so measured; for, to say the truth, we all of us dearly love

the ship, as much as it is possible to love any impersonal thing. And

why should we not love her? No mother can give her young more warmth

and safety under her wings than she affords to us. She is indeed

like a home to us. We all rejoice to return to her from out on the

icy plains, and when I have been far away and have seen her masts

rising over the everlasting mantle of snow, how often has my heart

glowed with warmth towards her! To the builder of this home grateful

thoughts often travel during the still nights. He, I feel certain,

sits yonder at home often thinking of us; but he knows not where

his thought can seek the Fram in the great white tract around the

Pole. But he knows his child; and though all else lose faith in her,

he will believe that she will hold out. Yes, Colin Archer, could you

see us now, you would know that your faith in her is not misplaced.

"I am sitting alone in my berth, and my thoughts glide back over the

two years that have passed. What demon is it that weaves the threads

of our lives, that makes us deceive ourselves, and ever sends us forth

on paths we have not ourselves laid out--paths on which we have no

desire to walk? Was it a mere feeling of duty that impelled me? Oh

no! I was simply a child yearning for a great adventure out in the

unknown, who had dreamed of it so long that at last I believed it

really awaited me. And it has, indeed, fallen to my lot, the great

adventure of the ice, deep and pure as infinity; the silent, starlit

polar night; nature itself in its profundity; the mystery of life;

the ceaseless circling of the universe; the feast of death--without

suffering, without regret--eternal in itself. Here in the great night

thou standest in all thy naked pettiness, face to face with nature;

and thou sittest devoutly at the feet of eternity, intently listening;

and thou knowest God the all-ruling, the centre of the universe. All

the riddles of life seem to grow clear to thee, and thou laughest

at thyself that thou couldst be consumed by brooding, it is all so

little, so unutterably little.... 'Whoso sees Jehovah dies.'

"Sunday, November 4th. At noon I had gone out on a snow-shoe

expedition, and had taken some of the dogs with me. Presently I noticed

that those that had been left behind at the ship began to bark. Those

with me pricked up their ears, and several of them started off back,

with 'Ulenka' at their head. Most of them soon stopped, listening and

looking behind them to see if I were following. I wondered for a little

while whether it could be a bear, and then continued on my way; but

at length I could stand it no longer, and set off homeward, with the

dogs dashing wildly on in front. On approaching the ship I saw some of

the men setting off with guns; they were Sverdrup, Johansen, Mogstad,

and Henriksen. They had got a good start of me in the direction in

which the dogs were barking before I, too, got hold of a gun and set

off after them. All at once I saw through the darkness the flash of

a volley from those in front, followed by another shot; then several

more, until at last it sounded like regular platoon firing. What the

deuce could it be? They were standing on the same spot, and kept firing

incessantly. Why on earth did they not advance nearer? I hurried on,

thinking it was high time I came up with my snow-shoes to follow the

game, which must evidently be in full flight. Meanwhile they advanced

a little, and then there was another flash to be seen through the

darkness, and so they went on two or three times. One of the number

at last dashed forward over the ice and fired straight down in front

of him, while another knelt down and fired towards the east. Were they

trying their guns? But surely it was a strange time for doing so, and

there were so many shots. Meanwhile the dogs tore around over the ice,

and gathered in clumps, barking furiously. At length I overtook them,

and saw three bears scattered over the ice, a she-bear and two cubs,

while the dogs lay over them, worrying them like mad and tearing

away at paws, throat, and tail. 'Ulenka' especially was beside

herself. She had gripped one of the cubs by the throat, and worried

it like a mad thing, so that it was difficult to get her away. The

bears had gone very leisurely away from the dogs, which dared not

come to sufficiently close quarters to use their teeth till the old

she-bear had been wounded and had fallen down. The bears, indeed, had

acted in a very suspicious manner. It seemed just as if the she-bear

had some deep design, some evil intent, in her mind, if she could

only have lured the dogs near enough to her. Suddenly she halted,

let the cubs go on in front, sniffed a little, and then came back

to meet the dogs, who at the same time, as if at a word of command,

all turned tail and set off towards the west. It was then that the

first shot was fired, and the old bear tottered and fell headlong,

when immediately some of the dogs set to and tackled her. One of the

cubs then got its quietus, while the other one was fired at and made

off over the ice with three dogs after it. They soon overtook it and

pulled it down, so that when Mogstad came up he was obliged first of

all to get the dogs off before he could venture to shoot. It was a

glorious slaughter, and by no means unwelcome, for we had that very

day eaten the last remains of our last bear in the shape of meat-cakes

for dinner. The two cubs made lovely Christmas pork.

"In all probability these were the same bears whose tracks we had

seen before. Sverdrup and I had followed on the tracks of three such

animals on the last day of October, and had lost them to N.N.W. of

the ship. Apparently they had come from that quarter now.

"When they wanted to shoot, Peter's gun, as usual, would not go off;

it had again been drenched with vaseline, and he kept calling out:

'Shoot! shoot! Mine won't go off.' Afterwards, on examining the gun

I had taken with me to the fray, I found there were no cartridges in

it. A nice account I should have given of myself had I come on the

bears alone with that weapon!

"Monday, November 5th. As I was sitting at work last night I heard a

dog on the deck howling fearfully. I sprang up, and found it was one

of the puppies that had touched an iron bolt with its tongue and was

frozen fast to it. There the poor beast was, straining to get free,

with its tongue stretched out so far that it looked like a thin rope

proceeding out of its throat; and it was howling piteously. Bentzen,

whose watch it was, had come up, but scarcely knew what to do. He

took hold of it, however, by the neck, and held it close to the

bolt, so that its tongue was less extended. After having warmed the

bolt somewhat with his hand, he managed to get the tongue free. The

poor little puppy seemed overjoyed at its release, and, to show its

gratitude, licked Bentzen's hand with its bloody tongue, and seemed

as if it could not be grateful enough to its deliverer. It is to

be hoped that it will be some time before this puppy, at any rate,

gets fast again in this way; but such things happen every now and then.

"Sunday, November 11th. I am pursuing my studies as usual day after

day; and they lure me, too, deeper and deeper into the insoluble

mystery that lies behind all these inquiries. Nay! why keep revolving

in this fruitless circuit of thought? Better go out into the winter

night. The moon is up, great and yellow and placid; the stars are

twinkling overhead through the drifting snow-dust.... Why not rock

yourself into a winter night's dream filled with memories of summer?

"Ugh, no! The wind is howling too shrilly over the barren ice-plains;

there are 33 degrees of cold, and summer, with its flowers, is far,

far away. I would give a year of my life to hold them in my embrace;

they loom so far off in the distance, as if I should never come back

to them.

"But the northern lights, with their eternally shifting loveliness,

flame over the heavens each day and each night. Look at them; drink

oblivion and drink hope from them: they are even as the aspiring

soul of man. Restless as it, they will wreathe the whole vault of

heaven with their glittering, fleeting light, surpassing all else

in their wild loveliness, fairer than even the blush of dawn; but,

whirling idly through empty space, they bear no message of a coming

day. The sailor steers his course by a star. Could you but concentrate

yourselves, you too, O northern lights, might lend your aid to guide

the wildered wanderer! But dance on, and let me enjoy you; stretch

a bridge across the gulf between the present and the time to come,

and let me dream far, far ahead into the future.

"O thou mysterious radiance! what art thou, and whence comest thou? Yet

why ask? Is it not enough to admire thy beauty and pause there? Can we

at best get beyond the outward show of things? What would it profit

even if we could say that it is an electric discharge or currents of

electricity through the upper regions of the air, and were able to

describe in minutest detail how it all came to be? It would be mere

words. We know no more what an electric current really is than what

the aurora borealis is. Happy is the child.... We, with all our views

and theories, are not in the last analysis a hair's-breadth nearer

the truth than it.

"Tuesday, November 13th. Thermometer -38° C. (-36.4° Fahr.). The ice

is packing in several quarters during the day, and the roar is pretty

loud, now that the ice has become colder. It can be heard from afar--a

strange roar, which would sound uncanny to any one who did not know

what it was.

"A delightful snow-shoe run in the light of the full moon. Is life a

vale of tears? Is it such a deplorable fate to dash off like the wind,

with all the dogs skipping around one, over the boundless expanse of

ice, through a night like this, in the fresh, crackling frost, while

the snow-shoes glide over the smooth surface, so that you scarcely

know you are touching the earth, and the stars hang high in the blue

vault above? This is more, indeed, than one has any right to expect

of life; it is a fairy tale from another world, from a life to come.

"And then to return home to one's cozy study-cabin, kindle the stove,

light the lamp, fill a pipe, stretch one's self on the sofa, and send

dreams out into the world with the curling clouds of smoke--is that a

dire infliction? Thus I catch myself sitting staring at the fire for

hours together, dreaming myself away--a useful way of employing the

time. But at least it makes it slip unnoticed by, until the dreams

are swept away in an ice-blast of reality, and I sit here in the

midst of desolation, and nervously set to work again.

"Wednesday, November 14th. How marvellous are these snow-shoe runs

through this silent nature! The ice-fields stretch all around, bathed

in the silver moonlight; here and there dark cold shadows project from

the hummocks, whose sides faintly reflect the twilight. Far, far out

a dark line marks the horizon, formed by the packed-up ice, over it

a shimmer of silvery vapor, and above all the boundless deep-blue,

starry sky, where the full moon sails through the ether. But in the

south is a faint glimmer of day low down of a dark, glowing red hue,

and higher up a clear yellow and pale-green arch, that loses itself

in the blue above. The whole melts into a pure harmony, one and

indescribable. At times one longs to be able to translate such scenes

into music. What mighty chords one would require to interpret them!

"Silent, oh, so silent! You can hear the vibrations of your own

nerves. I seem as if I were gliding over and over these plains into

infinite space. Is this not an image of what is to come? Eternity and

peace are here. Nirvana must be cold and bright as such an eternal

star-night. What are all our research and understanding in the midst

of this infinity?

"Friday, November 16th. In the forenoon I went out with Sverdrup on

snow-shoes in the moonlight, and we talked seriously of the prospects

of our drift and of the proposed expedition northward over the ice in

the spring. In the evening we went into the matter more thoroughly in

his cabin. I stated my views, in which he entirely coincided. I have

of late been meditating a great deal on what is the proper course

to pursue, supposing the drift does not take us so far north by the

month of March as I had anticipated. But the more I think of it, the

more firmly am I persuaded that it is the thing to do. For if it be

right to set out at 85°, it must be no less right to set out at 82°

or 83°. In either case we should penetrate into more northerly regions

than we should otherwise reach, and this becomes all the more desirable

if the Fram herself does not get so far north as we had hoped. If we

cannot actually reach the Pole, why, we must turn back before reaching

it. The main consideration, as I must constantly repeat, is not to

reach that exact mathematical point, but to explore the unknown parts

of the Polar Sea, whether these be near to or more remote from the

Pole. I said this before setting out, and I must keep it continually

in mind. Certainly there are many important observations to be made on

board during the further drift of the ship, many which I would dearly

like to carry on myself; but all the more important of these will be

made equally well here, even though two of our number leave the ship;

and there can scarcely be any doubt that the observations we shall

make farther north will not many times outweigh in value those I

could have made during the remainder of the time on board. So far,

then, it is absolutely desirable that we set out.

"Then comes the question: What is the best time to start? That the

spring--March, at the latest--is the only season for such a venture

there can be no doubt at all. But shall it be next spring? Suppose,

at the worst, we have not advanced farther than to 83° north latitude

and 110° east longitude; then something might be said for waiting till

the spring of 1896; but I cannot but think that we should thus in all

probability let slip the propitious moment. The drifting could not be

so wearingly slow but that after another year had elapsed we should

be far beyond the point from which the sledge expedition ought to set

out. If I measure the distance we have drifted from November of last

year with the compasses, and mark off the same distance ahead, by next

November we should be north of Franz Josef Land, and a little beyond

it. It is conceivable, of course, that we were no farther advanced in

February, 1896, either; but it is more likely, from all I can make

out, that the drift will increase rather than diminish as we work

westward, and, consequently, in February, 1896, we should have got

too far; while, even if one could imagine a better starting-point

than that which the Fram will possibly offer us by March 1, 1895,

it will, at all events, be a possible one. It must, consequently,

be the safest plan not to wait for another spring.

"Such, then, are the prospects before us of pushing through. The

distance from this proposed starting-point to Cape Fligely,

which is the nearest known land, I set down at about 370 miles,

[72] consequently not much more than the distance we covered in

Greenland; and that would be easy work enough over this ice, even if

it did become somewhat bad towards land. If once a coast is reached,

any reasonable being can surely manage to subsist by hunting, whether

large or small game, whether bears or sandhoppers. Thus we can always

make for Cape Fligely or Petermann's Land, which lies north of it,

if our situation becomes untenable. The distance will, of course, be

increased the farther we advance northward, but at no point whatever

between here and the Pole is it greater than we can and will manage,

with the help of our dogs. 'A line of retreat' is therefore secured,

though there are those doubtless who hold that a barren coast, where

you must first scrape your food together before you can eat it,

is a poor retreat for hungry men; but that is really an advantage,

for such a retreat would not be too alluring. A wretched invention,

forsooth, for people who wish to push on is a 'line of retreat'--an

everlasting inducement to look behind, when they should have enough

to do in looking ahead.

"But now for the expedition itself. It will consist of 28 dogs,

two men, and 2100 pounds of provisions and equipments. The distance

to the Pole from 83° is 483 miles. Is it too much to calculate that

we may be able to accomplish that distance in 50 days? I do not of

course know what the staying powers of the dogs may be; but that,

with two men to help, they should be able to do 9 1/2 miles a day

with 75 pounds each for the first few days, sounds sufficiently

reasonable, even if they are not very good ones. This, then, can

scarcely be called a wild calculation, always, of course, supposing

the ice to be as it is here, and there is no reason why it should

not be. Indeed, it steadily improves the farther north we get; and

it also improves with the approach of spring. In 50 days, then, we

should reach the Pole (in 65 days we went 345 miles over the inland

ice of Greenland at an elevation of more than 8000 feet, without

dogs and with defective provisions, and could certainly have gone

considerably farther). In 50 days we shall have consumed a pound of

pemmican a day for each dog [73]--that is, 1400 pounds altogether;

and 2 pounds of provisions for each man daily is 200 pounds. As

some fuel also will have been consumed during this time, the freight

on the sledges will have diminished to less than 500 pounds; but a

burden like this is nothing for 28 dogs to draw, so that they ought

to go ahead like a gale of wind during the latter part of the time,

and thus do it in less than the 50 days. However, let us suppose

that it takes this time. If all has gone well, we shall now direct

our course for the Seven Islands, north of Spitzbergen. That is 9°,

or 620 miles. But if we are not in first-rate condition it will be

safer to make for Cape Fligely or the land to the north of it. Let us

suppose we decide on this route. We set out from the Fram on March

1st (if circumstances are favorable, we should start sooner), and

therefore arrive at the Pole April 30th. We shall have 500 pounds of

our provisions left, enough for another 50 days; but we can spare none

for the dogs. We must, therefore, begin killing some of them, either

for food for the others or for ourselves, giving our provisions to

them. Even if my figures are somewhat too low, I may assume that by

the time twenty-three dogs have been killed we shall have travelled

41 days, and still have five dogs left. How far south shall we have

advanced in this time? The weight of baggage was, to begin with, less

than 500 pounds--that is to say, less than 18 pounds for each dog

to draw. After 41 days this will at least have been reduced to 280

pounds (by the consumption of provisions and fuel and by dispensing

with sundry articles of our equipment, such as sleeping-bags, tent,

etc., etc., which will have become superfluous). There remain, then,

56 pounds for each of the five dogs, if we draw nothing ourselves;

and should it be desirable, our equipment might be still further

diminished. With a burden of from 18 to 56 pounds apiece (the latter

would only be towards the end), the dogs would on an average be able to

do 13-4/5 miles a day, even if the snow-surface should become somewhat

more difficult. That is to say, we shall have gone 565 miles to the

south, or we shall be 18 1/2 miles past Cape Fligely, on June 1st,

with five dogs and nine days' provisions left. But it is probable,

in the first place, that we shall long before this have reached land;

and, secondly, so early as the first half of April the Austrians found

open water by Cape Fligely and abundance of birds. Consequently,

in May and June we should have no difficulty as regards food, not

to mention that it would be strange indeed if we had not before that

time met with a bear or a seal or some stray birds.

"That we should now be pretty safe I consider as certain, and we can

choose whichever route we please: either along the northwest coast

of Franz Josef Land, by Gillis Land towards Northeast Island and

Spitzbergen (and, should circumstances prove favorable, this would

decidedly be my choice), or we can go south through Austria Sound

towards the south coast of Franz Josef Land, and thence to Novaya

Zemlya or Spitzbergen, the latter by preference. We may, of course,

find Englishmen on Franz Josef Land, but that we must not reckon on.

"Such, then, is my calculation. Have I made it recklessly? No, I think

not. The only thing would be if during the latter part of the journey,

in May, we should find the surface like what we had here last spring,

at the end of May, and should be considerably delayed by it. But

this would only be towards the very end of our time, and at worst it

could not be entirely impassable. Besides, it would be strange if we

could not manage to average 11 1/2 miles a day during the whole of the

journey, with an average load for each dog of from 30 to 40 pounds--it

would not be more. However, if our calculations should prove faulty,

we can always, as aforesaid, turn back at any moment.

"What unforeseen obstacles may confront us?

"1. The ice may be more impracticable than was supposed.

"2. We may meet with land.

"3. The dogs may fail us, may sicken, or freeze to death.

"4. We ourselves may suffer from scurvy.

"1 and 2. That the ice may be more impracticable farther north is

certainly possible, but hardly probable. I can see no reason why

it should be, unless we have unknown lands to the north. But should

this be so--very well, we must take what chance we find. The ice can

scarcely be altogether impassable. Even Markham was able to advance

with his scurvy-smitten people. And the coasts of this land may

possibly be advantageous for an advance; it simply depends on their

direction and extent. It is difficult to say anything beforehand,

except that I think the depth of water we have here and the drift

of the ice render it improbable that we can have land of any extent

at all close at hand. In any case, there must, somewhere or other,

be a passage for the ice, and at the worst we can follow that passage.

"3. There is always a possibility that the dogs may fail us, but,

as may be seen, I have not laid out any scheme of excessive work

for them. And even if one or two of them should prove failures, that

could not be the case with all. With the food they have hitherto had

they have got through the winter and the cold without mishap, and the

food they will get on the journey will be better. In my calculations,

moreover, I have taken no account of what we shall draw ourselves. And,

even supposing all the dogs to fail us, we could manage to get along

by ourselves pretty well.

"4. The worst event would undeniably be that we ourselves should

be attacked by scurvy; and, notwithstanding our excellent health,

such a contingency is quite conceivable when it is borne in mind how

in the English North Pole Expedition all the men, with the exception

of the officers, suffered from scurvy when the spring and the sledge

journeys began, although as long as they were on board ship they had

not the remotest suspicion that anything of the kind was lying in

wait for them. As far, however, as we are concerned, I consider this

contingency very remote. In the first place, the English expedition

was remarkably unfortunate, and hardly any others can show a similar

experience, although they may have undertaken sledge journeys of

equal lengths--for example, M'Clintock's. During the retreat of the

Jeannette party, so far as is known, no one was attacked with scurvy;

Peary and Astrup did not suffer from scurvy either. Moreover, our

supply of provisions has been more carefully selected, and offers

greater variety than has been the case in former expeditions, not

one of which has enjoyed such perfect health as ours. I scarcely

think, therefore, that we should take with us from the Fram any

germs of scurvy; and as regards the provisions for the sledge journey

itself, I have taken care that they shall consist of good all-round,

nutritious articles of food, so that I can scarcely believe that they

would be the means of developing an attack of this disease. Of course,

one must run some risk; but in my opinion all possible precautions

have been taken, and, when that is done, it is one's duty to go ahead.

"There is yet another question that must be taken into

consideration. Have I the right to deprive the ship and those who

remain behind of the resources such an expedition entails? The fact

that there will be two men less is of little importance, for the

Fram can be handled quite as well with eleven men. A more important

point is that we shall have to take with us all the dogs except the

seven puppies; but they are amply supplied with sledge provisions and

first-class sledge equipments on board, and it is inconceivable that

in case anything happened to the Fram they should be unable to reach

Franz Josef Land or Spitzbergen. It is scarcely likely that in case

they had to abandon her it would be farther north than 85°; probably

not even so far north. But suppose they were obliged to abandon her

at 85°, it would probably be about north of Franz Josef Land, when

they would be 207 miles from Cape Fligely; or if farther to the east

it would be some 276 miles from the Seven Islands, and it is hard

to believe that they could not manage a distance like that with our

equipments. Now, as before, I am of opinion that the Fram will in

all probability drift right across the polar basin and out on the

other side without being stopped, and without being destroyed; but

even if any accident should occur, I do not see why the crew should

not be able to make their way home in safety, provided due measures

of precaution are observed. Consequently, I think there is no reason

why a sledge expedition should not leave the Fram, and I feel that

as it promises such good results it ought certainly to be attempted."

END OF VOL. I

NOTES

[1] Frost-giants.

[2] First Crossing of Greenland, Vol. I., p. 30.

[3] Mr. Lytzen, of Julianehaab, afterwards contributed an article to

the Geografisk Tidsskrift (8th Vol., 1885-86, pp. 49-51, Copenhagen),

in which he expressed himself, so far at least as I understand

him, in the same sense, and, remarkably enough, suggested that this

circumstance might possibly be found to have an important bearing on

Arctic exploration. He says: "It will therefore be seen that polar

explorers who seek to advance towards the Pole from the Siberian

Sea will probably at one place or another be hemmed in by the ice,

but these masses of ice will be carried by the current along the

Greenland coast. It is not, therefore, altogether impossible that,

if the ship of such an expedition is able to survive the pressure

of the masses of ice for any length of time, it will arrive safely

at South Greenland; but in that case it must be prepared to spend

several years on the way."

[4] See on this point Dr. Y. Nielsen, in Forhandlinger i

Videnskabsselskabet i Christiania. Meeting held June 11, 1886.

[5] Since writing the above I have tried to make such a calculation,

and have come to the conclusion that the aggregate rainfall is not

so large as I had at first supposed. See my paper in The Norwegian

Geographical Society's Annual, III., 1891-92, p. 95; and The

Geographical Journal, London, 1893, p. 5.

[6] The discovery during our expedition of a great depth in the polar

basin renders it highly probable that this assumption is correct.

[7] The experience of our expedition, however, does not point to any

such eastward-flowing current along the Siberian coast.

[8] I first thought of choosing the route through Bering Strait,

because I imagined that I could reach the New Siberian Islands safer

and earlier in the year from that side. On further investigation

I found that this was doubtful, and I decided on the shorter route

through the Kara Sea and north of Cape Cheliuskin.

[9] As subsequently stated in my lecture in London (Geographical

Society's Journal, p. 18), I purposed to go north along the west coast

of the New Siberian Islands, as I thought that the warm water coming

from the Lena would keep the sea open here.

[10] See the Society's Annual, III., 1892, p. 91.

[11] Both my lecture and the discussion are printed in The Geographical

Journal, London, 1893, Vol. I., pp. 1-32.

[12] After our return home, Admiral Nares, in the most chivalrous

fashion, sent me a letter of congratulation, in which he said that

the Fram's remarkable voyage over the Polar Sea proved that my theory

was correct and his scepticism unfounded.

[13] With reference to his statement that Leigh-Smith had observed

such icebergs on the northwest coast of Franz Josef Land, it may be

remarked that no human being has ever been there.

[14] Nearly £25,000.

[15] This oil, by means of a specially constructed steam-jet apparatus,

was injected into the furnaces in the form of a fine spray, where

it burned in a very economical and saving manner, giving forth a

great amount of heat. The apparatus was one which has been applied to

locomotives in England, whence it was procured. It appeared, however,

that it tended to overheat the boiler at one particular point, where

it made a dent, so that we soon abandoned this method of firing.

[16] I had thought of procuring dogs from the Eskimo of Greenland

and Hudson Bay, but there proved to be insuperable difficulties in

the way of getting them conveyed from there.

[17] These depots were arranged most carefully, and every precaution so

well taken that we certainly should not have suffered from famine had

we gone there. In the northernmost depot at Stan Durnova on the west

coast of Kotelnoi, at 75° 37' N. L., we should have found provisions

for a week; with these we could easily have made our way 65 miles

southward along the coast to the second depot at Urassalach, where,

in a house built by Baron Von Toll in 1886, we should have found

provisions for a whole month. Lastly, a third depot in a house on the

south side of Little Liakhoff Island, with provisions for two months,

would have enabled us to reach the mainland with ease.

[18] Both Hovland, who piloted us from Christiania to Bergen, and Johan

Hågensen, who took us from Bergen to Vardö, were most kindly placed

at the disposal of the expedition by the Nordenfjeldske Steamship

Company, of Trondhjem.

[19] English in the original.

[20] English in the original.

[21] The ordinary male dog is liable to get inflammation of the

scrotum from the friction of the trace.

[22] Yassak is a tax paid in fur by the Siberians.

[23] This disease is probably anthrax, or something of the same nature

[24] By this he probably means our organ. Our other musical instruments

were as follows: An accordion, belonging to the ship, and a flute,

violin, and several Jew's-harps, belonging to one of the ship's

company.

[25] It will be observed that there is some slip of memory here--it

was the evening before.

[26] It was, in fact, the day after.

[27] I do not believe that Christofersen ever in his life had anything

to do with a London newspaper.

[28] There is a white reflection from white ice, so that the sky above

fields of ice has a light or whitish appearance; wherever there is

open water it is blue or dark. In this way the Arctic navigator can

judge by the appearance of the sky what is the state of the sea at

a considerable distance.

[29] It is true that in his account of the voyage he expressly states

that the continued very thick fog "prevented us from doing more than

mapping out most vaguely the islands among and past which the Vega

sought her way."

[30] Later, when I had investigated the state of matters outside

Nordenskiöld's Taimur Island, it seemed to me that the same remark

applied here with even better reason, as no sledge expedition could

go round the coast of this island without seeing Almquist's Islands,

which lie so near, for instance, to Cape Lapteff, that they ought

to be seen even in very thick weather. It would be less excusable

to omit marking these islands, which are much larger, than to omit

the small ones lying off the coast of the large island (or as I now

consider it, group of large islands) we were at present skirting.

[31] In his account of his voyage Nordenskiöld writes as follows of

the condition of this channel: "We were met by only small quantities

of that sort of ice which has a layer of fresh-water ice on the top

of the salt, and we noticed that it was all melting fjord or river

ice. I hardly think that we came all day on a single piece of ice

big enough to have cut up a seal upon."

[32] Peter Henriksen.

[33] This silk bag-net is intended to be dragged after a boat or ship

to catch the living animals or plant organisms at various depths. We

used them constantly during our drifting, sinking them to different

depths under the ice, and they often brought up rich spoils.

[34] This phosphorescence is principally due to small luminous

crustacea (Copepoda).

[35] Markham's account gives us to understand that on the north side

of Grinnell Land he came across hummocks which measured 43 feet. I

do not feel at all certain that these were not in reality icebergs;

but it is no doubt possible that such hummocks might be formed by

violent pressure against land or something resembling it. After our

experience, however, I cannot believe in the possibility of their

occurring in open sea.

[36] On a later occasion they bored down 30 feet without reaching

the lower surface of the ice.

[37] When we had fire in the stoves later, especially during the

following winter, there was not a sign of damp anywhere--neither

in saloon nor small cabins. It was, if anything, rather too dry,

for the panels of the walls and roof dried and shrank considerably.

[38] Apparently modelled on the title of the well-known magazine,

Kringsjaa, which means "A Look Around" or "Survey." Framsjaa might

be translated "The Fram's Lookout."

[39] The name Peter Henriksen generally went by on board.

[40] Refers to the fact that Amundsen hated card-playing more than

anything else in the world. He called cards "the devil's playbooks."

[41] Nickname of our meteorologist, Johansen, Professor Mohn being

a distinguished Norwegian meteorologist.

[42] This signature proved to be forged, and gave rise to a lawsuit

so long and intricate that space does not permit an account of it to

be given.

[43] He says "ei borsja" for "a gun" instead of "en bosse."

[44] This was the nickname of the starboard four-berth cabin.

[45] A Norwegian newspaper.

[46] In spite of this bending of the strata, the surface of the ice

and snow remained even.

[47] So we called some light trousers of thin close cotton, which we

used as a protection against the wind and snow.

[48] This gull is often called by this name, after its first

discoverer. It has acquired its other name, "rose gull," from its

pink color.

[49] Up to now they had their kennels on deck.

[50] The anniversary of the Norwegian Constitution.

[51] Without the mark of the "union" with Sweden.

[52] "Normal arbeidsdage" = normal working-day.

[53] The pet name of the cooking-range in the galley.

[54] Up to this day I am not quite clear as to what these emblems were

intended to signify. That the doctor, from want of practice, would

have been glad of a normal day's work ("normal Arbeidsdag") can readily

be explained, but why the meteorologists should cry out for universal

suffrage passes my comprehension. Did they want to overthrow despotism?

[55] With reference to the resolution of the Storthing, on June

9, 1880.

[56] It was seal, walrus, and bear's flesh from last autumn, which was

used for the dogs. During the winter it had been hung up in the ship,

and was still quite fresh. But henceforth it was stored on the ice

until, before autumn set in, it was consumed. It is remarkable how

well meat keeps in these regions. On June 28th we had reindeer-steak

for dinner that we had killed on the Siberian coast in September of

the previous year.

[57] The same kind of dust that I found on the ice on the east coast of

Greenland, which is mentioned in the Introduction to this book, p. 39.

[58] This dust, which is to be seen in summer on the upper surface

of almost all polar ice of any age, is no doubt, for the most part,

dust that hovers in the earth's atmosphere. It probably descends with

the falling snow, and gradually accumulates into a surface layer as

the snow melts during the summer. Larger quantities of mud, however,

are also often to be found on the ice, which strongly resemble this

dust in color, but are doubtless more directly connected with land,

being formed on floes that have originally lain in close proximity

to it. (Compare Wissensch. Ergebnisse von Dr. F. Nansens Durchquerung

von Grönland. Ergänzungsheft No. 105 zu Petermanns Mittheilungen.)

[59] I have not yet had time to examine them closely.

[60] We always had a line, with a net at the end, hanging out, in

order to see the direction we were drifting, or to ascertain whether

there was any perceptible current in the water.

[61] The name given to the cooking-stove.

[62] It was two years later to a day that the Fram put in at Skjervö,

on the coast of Norway.

[63] During the summer we had made a kitchen of the chart-room on

deck, because of the good daylight there; and, besides, the galley

proper was to be cleaned and painted.

[64] Pettersen had been advanced from smith to cook, and he and Juell

took turns of a fortnight each in the galley.

[65] "Twilight of the gods."

[66] See Geographical Journal, London, 1893. See also the map in

Naturen, 1890, and the Norwegian Geographical Society's Year Book,

I., 1890.

[67] These were the puppies born on December 13, 1893; only four of

them were now alive.

[68] We had no covering over the ship the first winter, as we thought

it would make it so dark, and make it difficult to find one's way

about on deck. But when we put in on the second winter we found that

it was an improvement.

[69] An allusion, no doubt, to his political opinions (Trans.).

[70] This luminous veil, which was always spread over the sky, was less

distinct on the firmament immediately overhead, but became more and

more conspicuous near the horizon, though it never actually reached

down to it; indeed, in the north and south it generally terminated

in a low, faintly outlined arch over a kind of dark segment. The

luminosity of this veil was so strong that through it I could never

with any certainty distinguish the Milky Way.

[71] Used in hoisting up the lead-line.

[72] There must be an error here, as the distance to Cape Fligely from

the point proposed, 83° north latitude and 110° east longitude, is

quite 460 miles. I had probably taken the longitude as 100° instead

of 110°.

[73] During the actual expedition the dogs had to be content with

a much smaller daily ration, on an average scarcely more than 9 or

10 ounces.