Transcriber’s Notes: Italics are enclosed in _underscores_. Other notes
will be found near the end of this eBook.
OUR POLAR FLIGHT
[Illustration: BEFORE WE LEFT WE PLANTED OUR NORWEGIAN FLAG]
OUR
POLAR FLIGHT
_The Amundsen-Ellsworth Polar Flight_
BY
ROALD AMUNDSEN
LINCOLN ELLSWORTH
AND
OTHER MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION
ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
TAKEN ON THE EXPEDITION
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1925
COPYRIGHT, 1925,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
The Quinn & Boden Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
RAHWAY NEW JERSEY
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART I: THE EXPEDITION 1
BY ROALD AMUNDSEN
PART II: THE AMUNDSEN-ELLSWORTH POLAR FLIGHT 101
BY LINCOLN ELLSWORTH
PART III: THE NAVIGATOR’S TASK 141
BY LIEUT. HJALMAR RIISER-LARSEN
PART IV: REPORT ABOUT N 24 FROM THE START UNTIL
WE JOINED N 25 AND ITS CREW ON THE
26TH MAY 219
BY L. DIETRICHSON
PART V: WHILST WE WAIT 253
LEAVES FROM THE DIARY OF FREDRIK RAMM
FROM MAY 21ST TO JUNE 18TH
PART VI: THE WEATHER 341
BY JAKOB BJERKENS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Before We Left We Planted our Norwegian Flag _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Lincoln Ellsworth 2
The Directors of the King’s Bay Coal Company, Messrs. Brandal
and Knutsen 3
Sailmaker Rönne 3
“Fram” Moored to the Ice at the Edge of King’s Bay 22
Unloading 22
The Games on May 17th 23
The Planes Were Put Together Near the Coal Company’s Workshops 23
The Crew of N 25: Riiser-Larsen, Amundsen, Feucht 38
The Crew of N 24: Ellsworth, Dietrichson, Omdal 38
Photograph of Amundsen’s Machine Taken in Flight 39
When the Two Planes Were Near Each Other 54
A New Lead Opening in the Ice 55
Getting Ready for a Fresh Start 55
Collecting Snow Blocks for a Run-way 70
Trying Out Our Bulb Sextants 71
Fast in the Ice 71
Members of the Expedition Arriving at King’s Bay 92
Roald Amundsen and Lincoln Ellsworth at the Reception by the
King of Norway 93
Lincoln Ellsworth and N 24 Just Before the Start 104
The Polar Sea from the Sky 105
N 25 Above the Polar Pack Just Before Landing at 87° 44’ 118
N 24 and Our Arctic Home 119
Ellsworth, Amundsen, Larsen and Feucht with the Implements
with Which They Moved 300 Tons of Ice 134
Lincoln Ellsworth After the Trip 135
Captain Roald Amundsen, Just Before the Take-off from Spitzbergen 150
Just Before the Take-off 151
Our Footgear 151
Taking the Wings Out of Their Boxes 166
Setting Up the Wings 166
Mounting the Wings 167
The Last Meeting Before the Flight 167
The Edge of the Polar Ice Pack 182
Our Last Hope for a Take-off 183
Disembarking from the _Sjoliv_ at King’s Bay 198
Members of the Expedition After Their First Dinner Ashore 199
Our First Solid Camp 199
Preparing the Planes for Their Arctic Flight 214
The Last View of Spitzbergen 215
Edge of the Polar Pack 215
The _Sjoliv_, the Sealer That Picked Them Up 230
At Brandy Bay, Northeast Land, on the Way Home 231
Amundsen--Before the Trip 246
Amundsen--After 246
Ellsworth--Before 246
Ellsworth--After 246
Riiser-Larsen--Before 247
Riiser-Larsen--After 247
Dietrichson--Before 247
Dietrichson--After 247
Omdal--Before 262
Omdal--After 262
Feucht--Before 262
Feucht--After 262
The Explorers at Oslo 263
The Two Meteorologists 344
N 25 on the Way to Oslo 344
Route of the Amundsen-Ellsworth Flight 345
The Course of the Ships on Watch 356
Territory Explored by the Flight Expedition 357
PART I
THE EXPEDITION
BY ROALD AMUNDSEN
[Illustration: LINCOLN ELLSWORTH]
[Illustration: THE DIRECTORS OF THE KING’S BAY COAL COMPANY, MESSRS.
BRANDAL AND KNUTSEN]
[Illustration: SAILMAKER RÖNNE]
THROUGH THE AIR TO 88° NORTH
The day the brothers Wright rose and flew the curtain went up on a new
era in the history of mankind. Many were certain that they could see
great possibilities opening up for mankind in general, and particularly
for them in their own branch of work, but few, I think, saw such
possibilities of making a full and complete change in his work as the
Polar explorer. What he has tried for years to accomplish would now
be possible for him to achieve in a very short space of time. Century
after century had he worked with his primitive means, the dog--the
sledge. Day after day he had exerted himself with all his craft, all
his intelligence, and all his will, yet had only covered a few miles
over the vast ice desert. What courage, what tenacity, had been shown
in the fight against cold, hunger and hardships. What a brilliant
example of sacrifice and self-denial. Year after year shut up in a tiny
little ship, surrounded by the same people, equipped with only the most
necessary things, he had worked up to this time through the greatest of
difficulties, through the hardest tests--cold and darkness. And now,
all at once, in one moment, the whole of this was to be changed. Cold
and darkness should be dispersed becoming warmth and light instead;
for the complete and troublesome journey should be changed now to a
speedy flight. In truth the possibilities were great. No rationing,
no hunger or thirst--only a short flight. As in a dream, seen as a
far-away possibility, there was ignited that day a small spark which
should quickly blaze up to a mighty fire and in the course of a few
years become one of our most important means of communication. Emerging
from its swaddling-clothes, flying freed itself and went into its
cradle when Bleriot flew across the Channel. It was then speedily led
by the world’s war through its childhood where it (developing with
the years--slowly or quickly who can say?) was led into youth--into
manhood! What the possibilities would become it was difficult to say,
but one had to be satisfied with what was there--flying’s childhood.
The young inexperienced birds leaving their nests show us an example.
Some will hurt their wings, others will break them altogether, but, it
is just as certain that, just as they do, so will mankind also succeed
in reaching his goal in the world of flying.
As I learned of Bleriot’s flight, I knew at once that the time
had come to think of using the air to help the Polar expeditions.
Certainly human power and skill had overcome and conquered vast
tracts of this mighty unknown whiteness, but enormous tracts remained
unexplored--tracts which now could be reached from the air. My
thoughts turned especially to the enormous area in the Arctic which
until now had withstood every attempt. Certainly Nansen, the Duke of
the Abruzzi, and Peary had drawn lines through the unknown doing great
and brilliant work, but colossal and unknown tracts still lay in front
of them unexplored. Should we have had to continue exploration in
the same old manner we should have had to wait many years before our
knowledge had become complete. If one _had_ used the word “impossible”
it seems absolutely reasonable to have used it in connection with the
exploration of this immense ice desert; but it seems that the word
“impossible” has been scratched out of the dictionary of mankind. How
often have we seen the impossible made possible! What was impossible
yesterday is an easy matter to-day. Bleriot’s flight across the Channel
showed me the conquering of the impossible. When I, in the year 1909,
equipped the “Fram” for a trip to the Arctic, I had a conference with
one of the most esteemed aviators of the day. He declared himself as
willing to go with me. But it never came off, a fact which probably
was for the best, as in the case of both parties it was put off on
economical grounds. I mention this in order to draw attention to the
fact that the idea of exploring the Polar regions from the air is not
a recent plan. I have been attacked from many sides because I have
“_stolen_” the plans of others; this seems to me childish and scarcely
worth talking about, but many people take childish things for grim
earnest if they have not a closer knowledge of the circumstances.
Therefore, these few words.
In 1914 I managed to get sufficient means to buy my first aeroplane
for use in Arctic exploration. As an independent means of transport
in those vast tracts it certainly could not be used where all
circumstances seemed to be against it, but, in conjunction with a
mother-ship, would be of invaluable service. It was therefore my
intention to take it on board the “Fram,” which at that time was ready
to begin its journey north, and there to use it in the best possible
way. What immense areas would it not be possible to observe in an
Arctic trip if one only was able to rise a few thousand yards? By what
I had seen of the ice I was certain one could always find flat places
to rise from and to land on. But later experience showed me that it
takes an aviator to express an opinion about landing conditions amidst
Polar ice, and not an Arctic explorer. What the second considers to be
a flat plateau can be absolutely useless in the opinion of the first.
My first aeroplane was a Farman biplane mounted on skis. We scarcely
could have got any benefit from this. Later years’ experience shows me
that. The war broke out in the meantime and put a stop to that part of
my program. But then, as so often later in life, I experienced the
fact that an apparent obstacle often had the opposite effect. Flying
technique at that time took enormous steps forward; the child shot up,
grew, and learned to move on its own account.
In 1921 the world’s record for the longest sojourn in the air reached
about twenty-seven hours on a Junker machine in America. It was a
monoplane, built entirely of aluminum, and therefore specially suitable
for working in the Polar regions. Sun, cold, snow, and rain would
not hurt it. I was living at that time in Seattle, Washington, where
“Maud” lay, being equipped for a new journey north. As soon as that
news reached me my decision was made. Such a machine I must have at
all costs. With such an apparatus the impossible would become almost
possible. The door to the Unknown seemed to me to be opening, but my
hopes were dashed and the door remained locked for many years still.
The machine at last was obtained and Lieutenant Omdal appointed to be
its pilot. In May, 1922, we decided, as soon as we had learned to know
the machine, to fly from the works in New York over America to Seattle.
The engine failed as we were over the town of Marion in Pennsylvania,
and we had to make an irritating forced landing in the Oil Fields.
The machine was entirely ruined; a new one was hastily ordered, sent
through America by rail just in time to be taken on board the “Maud.”
Simultaneously the well-known American Curtis Aeroplane Factory put at
our disposal a small reconnoitring machine. Therefore, as the “Maud”
sailed in 1922 she was completely equipped, not only for a trip through
the ice, but also for exploration from the air. The Curtis machine
should be used for reconnoitring and accompany “Maud” all the time. I
promised myself endless results from it. Whilst “Maud” went on right
into the ice and explored sea, ice and air, Omdal and I went ashore
at Wainright on Alaska’s north coast from whence we intended to trek
as far as possible into the unknown territory to the north of that
Coast, but everything went to pieces. On account of the stormy summer
and autumn Omdal and I could not leave the place as arranged, but must
build a house and spend the winter there.
In May, 1923, we were ready for flight, but already on our first trial
flight the Junker broke the whole of its underpart in landing and
became so damaged that all hope of repairing it had to be abandoned.
Thus we gathered no experience. Things went somewhat better however
with the little machine on board the “Maud.” A wireless telegram
announced that it had been twice in the air with Odd Dahl as pilot
and Wisting as observer, but it was crushed in the second landing. So
far as I understand these two flights had not been of long duration;
therefore it was scarcely possible to have studied anything of the
immense area. It is, however, certain that these two were the first
to fly over the actual drift ice. Thus we hear from them, for the
first time, of the great difficulties which flying in this district
presents. It was impossible from the air to determine the condition of
the ice they said; it appeared to be absolutely flat, but it was quite
different as results showed. The prospects now were not any brighter.
On my return to Seattle I had only my two empty hands and a ruined
aeroplane which nobody would have. I did not, however, give up, but
continued to work in order to get a new equipment. Nineteen twenty-four
passed, up till now, without luck. In September of the same year I went
to the Norsk Luftseiladsforeningen (Aero Club of Norway) and proposed
that they should work with me; I was received with open arms. Whilst
they should try to do what they could at home I should travel to
America to see what I could do there. I had already held some lectures
on the subject, and sat one morning in my hotel deeply engrossed in
reckoning out how long it would take me with my earnings to pay my
creditors and start a new flight. The result was not heartening. I
found out that if nothing unforseen happened I should be clear by the
time I was 110 years old! But see, the unexpected _did_ happen just
then. The telephone rang and a voice said, “Are you Captain Amundsen?”
(They always called me Captain Amundsen in America, but as all the
negro conductors receive the same honor it does not make me proud.)
“Yes, I am.” “Well,” continued the voice, “I am Lincoln Ellsworth.”
That was how I became acquainted with the man to whom I should later
owe so very, very much. The Luftseiladsforeningen (The Aero Club)
will certainly agree with me when I say that without his assistance
the expedition could hardly have taken place. It is not my intention
by this to belittle the great and excellent work which the Club did;
in deep thankfulness will I always remember the names of the three
members of the Board with whom I came into direct touch: the president,
Dr. Rolf Thommesen, and the two members, Dr. Ræstad and Major Swerre.
Thanks to their energetic work, together with the State’s kindly aid,
the expedition was soon ready to start. During my stay in America all
the winter, the entire organizing of the work fell on these gentlemen,
but the technical part of the arrangements fell on First Lieutenant of
the Royal Norwegian Navy--Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen.
Hjalmar Riiser-Larsen had already taken part in the spring attempt to
get the expedition going, so he was quite familiar with everything.
It was therefore both with gladness and with trust that I was able to
telegraph to him $85,000--James W. Ellsworth’s gift--begging him to
order the two seaplanes. From this moment Riiser-Larsen got permission
for leave and was able to give himself up entirely to the expedition.
As a flying man he is so well known by every person in the land that
it is superfluous and stupid to mention more. But he has dozens of
other notable qualities which I need not enumerate and which made him
specially qualified to fill his difficult post. With such an assistant
a difficult trip becomes for the leader a pleasant and light effort.
He was assisted in his work by First Naval Lieutenant Leif Dietrichson
and Flight Lieutenant Oskar Omdal. Both these gentlemen had been in the
spring fiasco and thus knew all the details. It is quite unnecessary
to talk about Dietrichson. His skill as a flyer is recognized by all.
His bravery and resolution will stand out clearly later in this record.
With his light outlook on life, his glad smile, and happy nature, he
was an invaluable comrade on the flight. Omdal is known. If things went
_with_ him or _against_ him it was all the same. Nothing seemed to
depress him. He stood beside me in my two unhappy attempts in 1923 and
1924, and you can believe that it took a real man to show courage and
keenness in a third attempt, but Omdal did not disappoint me. “So long
as you don’t give in,” he said to me, “you shall always find me ready.”
He is a marvelous being; he seems to have several limbs more than the
rest of us. He moves slicker and thinks quicker. It is impossible to
depress him. With three such men I knew that the technical part of the
expedition was in the very best hands. The objective of the expedition
was to trek in, as far as possible, over the unknown stretch between
Spitzbergen and the Pole in order to find out what _is_ there, or what
_isn’t_ there. It was not only to substantiate evidence of land, but
to make a geographical research. This substantiation was as equally
important as learning the composition of the land. From Nansen’s, the
Duke of the Abruzzi’s, and Peary’s discoveries we had certainly good
reason to believe that no land existed in that part of the Arctic
Ocean, but our knowledge must be built on _certainties_, not on
_beliefs_. Modern exploration insists on certainties. How miserably
our maps have suffered in this district just on account of “beliefs.”
Land has been put down instead of ocean, ocean instead of land, all on
account of these same “beliefs.” More accidents have been caused by
this than one would think; many people have lost their lives.
Apart from this we hoped to be able to make a number of meteorological
observations which, even although they would not bring us many rich
scientific results, would still give us interesting enlightenment. In
the end we hoped, as at first, to harvest great and rich experiences
which could be, to us and to others, of the greatest help when we once
should be ready to start for the long arranged flight from Spitzbergen
to Alaska. I lay special weight on the fact that I hope our experiences
will be found of use by others. I do not belong to that class of
explorer who believes that the North Pole is a place for himself alone.
My outlook shows that I have an absolutely opposite disposition; “the
more the better,” say I. Rather, let _all_ of us be at the same time at
the same place. Nothing stimulates like competition, nothing encourages
exploration more. How would it appear if, for example, a man made
public his intention to fly across the Polar regions, but for some
unforeseen reasons could not accomplish it? Should every one therefore
stay away from the place so long as the first one was alive? It seems
to me an absurdity which is little in keeping with the sporting spirit
one would expect to reign in these regions. “He who comes first to the
mill gets his grist first milled,” says an old proverb. I hope to be
able to make an attempt to fly from Spitzbergen to Alaska next summer.
I must not, however, declare this to be my private ground, but I wish,
on the contrary, that many will go there too. All the experience which
I have stands at their disposal.
The trend of a wireless telegram from Dr. Sverdrup on the “Maud” in
the summer of 1924 intimated that large tracts of land were not likely
to be found north of Alaska. This theory he has based after careful
tide observations. I have great faith in Sverdrup; I have never met a
cleverer man than he, in his own line, but I feel absolutely certain
that he will agree with me that one should go further in and explore
the place. Without having actually seen it one cannot substantiate the
evidence.
Our hope to get right along to the Pole was very small, for that our
radius of action was too limited. Apart from that I had not any great
interest in reaching the Pole, as I had always regarded Peary as being
the first on the spot. Our objective was only, therefore, to cover
the great distance by flying over it and over the great area we were
exploring.
On the 9th April all the long and many preparations were finished, and
we left Tromsö at five in the morning. The expedition had two ships.
The motor ship “Hobby,” which should bring the two seaplanes up to
Spitzbergen, and the Navy’s transport ship “Fram” which the State had
placed at our disposal for the undertaking. On board the “Hobby” were
Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Omdal, Berge, the photographer, and the
Rolls-Royce mechanic Green.
On board the “Fram”--Captain Hagerup, the second in command Lieut.
Torkeldsen, ice-pilot Ness, Dr. Matheson, Director of the Pisaverkene
Schulte-Frohlinde with two mechanics Feucht and Zinsmayer, the
journalists Ramm and Wharton, the meteorologist Dr. Bjerknes, the guide
Calwagen, also Devold, the cook Olsen, Sailmaker Rönne, Horgen, the
chemist Zapffe, Lincoln Ellsworth and myself. This may appear almost
unbelievable, but that part of the journey was regarded by us as one
of the most anxious. It was still early in the year and the fairway
between Norway and Spitzbergen was anything but safe for two smacks
like ours. The “Fram” is a midsummer boat, intended for an ice-free
sea, sunny and calm. But in the month of April one must not reckon
with these three factors. One would be much cleverer to expect lots of
ice, no sun, and heavy storms, and for that “Fram” is not a suitable
ship. “Hobby” was more of an ice-ship and would in general plow her
way as well as any other, but this was an extraordinary occasion. The
tremendous cases which the flying boats were packed in had no other
place to lie but on deck and in consequence of this “Hobby” became in
very truth not much of a sea ship. The ubiquitous prophet had foretold
her death and her sinking, and I must say that I was almost inclined
to agree with him when I saw the big boxes lifted in the air. After
leaving Tromsö “Hobby” had already given up trying to be a boat; she
looked like a mass of gigantic cases which was wandering along over the
sea.
The arrangements were that both ships should keep together in order
to be of mutual assistance and cheer. It is always comforting in the
loneliness of the sea to be cheered by the near presence of another
ship; assistance too we might both have need of.
It was a dark unpleasant night as we left Tromsö--wet and black. A
foreign film photographer, who accompanied us to Spitzbergen, showed
his spirit by operating his camera under all conditions and filming
for all he was worth. (Had he wished to take a film of a dark night he
must in very truth have been lucky.) Just outside Skaarö Sound we got
into tremendous snow-storms and the meteorologists at the same time
announced that the storm center was in the west. I decided along with
the “Fram’s” captain, Hagerup, that it would be advisable to go into
Skaarö Sound, anchor there and wait. The meteorologists thought that
the bad weather would be of short duration. We signaled to “Hobby”:
“We shall anchor at Skaarö,” after which we steered towards land. We
lost “Hobby” in a snow shower. At 11:45 A.M. we anchored and expected
“Hobby” to arrive soon. Frequent blasts amidst thick snowfalls made the
atmosphere impenetrable. We waited in vain for our comrade.
At four o’clock P.M. the storm center passed and we set off again.
We passed close to Fugleö, peering and glancing into all the creeks
and inlets looking for “Hobby,” but there was nothing to be seen. We
understood, therefore, that she must have mis-read our signal and
steered in a direct course for Björneöen.
In spite of the officers’ and the men’s unchanging kindness and
willingness, the journey was not altogether pleasant. We were packed
as tightly together as it was in any way possible to pack human
beings, and then as the boat began to roll, so the air got thicker and
thicker--I refer to the inside air--and what under normal conditions
would have been perpendicularly hanging things, such as towels, coats,
etc., all stood right out from the wall in such a way that people
began to feel themselves a little uncomfortable--I say uncomfortable,
for nobody would ever be sea-sick! Now I have been at sea for over
thirty years, but I have yet to meet the person who will admit to being
sea-sick. Oh, no, not at all! Sea-sick? Far from it: only a little
uncomfortable in the stomach or the head. In my diary I believe I have
written that there were a number of sea-sick people on board, but I
ask all the people to excuse me if I have been mistaken! I am also so
very frank in my diary that I remark that I, too, am not so sure of
myself, but that remark was presumably only meant for my private eye.
The night of the 10th was particularly unpleasant: Zapffe, Ellsworth
and I lay in the dining-room. Zapffe reclined in a corner of the sofa
looking very pale, but insisting that he had never felt better in his
life. Ellsworth and I lay in our sleeping-bags and, should I judge
from the sounds and movements I heard and saw, I should be bold enough
to say that we were in the same condition of well-being as Zapffe.
Everything that could tear itself free did it, the chairs in particular
appeared to have taken full possession of the dining saloon; the tricks
they performed during the night were absolutely unbelievable. Now and
again they performed alone, now and again they united and performed
in troops. They had also been joined by a box of cigars which fell
down and performed with them, and I can remember how these cigars
flew round our ears. In spite of his paleness Zapffe had not lost his
good-humor. “I thought I was in Havana,” came calm and dry from him as
the first cargo of cigars struck him. I asked him if he would not be
satisfied with Bremen, but that he would not agree to at all. In the
pantry, which lay beside the saloon, there seemed to be a veritable and
forcible jazz band now playing. Which instrument was being used at the
moment was not quite clear to me, but in every case a zinc bucket was
certainly doing its best. The rolling calmed down on the following day
and most of the “souls” showed themselves on deck, with a pale sleepy
look in their faces. I asked one who seemed in a bad way if he had
been sea-sick, but I should never have done that. With cold scorn he
replied that he had never felt such a thing in his life. What he felt
half a minute later when a sudden roll landed him between two boxes and
deprived him of the last part of his breakfast I don’t know. Certainly
not sea-sick!
It is astonishing to notice how people’s interests can change in one
moment. Yesterday we went round Tromsö and not the finest drug store,
or the most tempting grocery shop, or the best set-out shoemaker’s
window would have made us turn our heads to look at them. But this
afternoon one of the members of the expedition had opened a box, which
he had kept standing on the afterdeck, apparently with a view to taking
something out. In a second he was surrounded by a curious crowd. The
object of interest felt himself particularly flattered by so much
notice being taken of him and he took out one thing after another.
First came a tube of tooth paste. All necks were stretched, each one
longer than the other, to get a sight of the wonderful thing. After
that came a tablet of chocolate. What comments this brought forth I
am unable to say as my point of observation was so far away. Certain
is it, however, that the interest in the chocolate was quite intense.
A pair of shoes came next. Had they been new and fine, I could have
understood it. But that anybody could show any interest in these old,
worn, down-trodden shoes is to me unbelievable. A snow storm closed the
entertainment.
Word came that Björneöen was free from ice and we could approach
without fear of meeting any. At four o’clock in the morning of the
11th we passed the island’s most southerly point. We had built on the
possibility of seeing “Hobby” there, but in vain. We sent Björneöen a
wireless and asked them to keep a lookout for “Hobby” and to inform
us immediately if they sighted her. Simultaneously we telegraphed to
King’s Bay and asked them for information regarding the ice conditions
there. Beside the island we ran into a southeasterly wind, which during
the day developed into a fresh breeze. At five o’clock in the afternoon
we came into small ice, but, steering a westerly course, got quickly
clear of it. On the 12th we passed through some fields of mush and
quite small ice. The “Fram” is far from being an ideal ship for ice
navigation, but so well did Captain Hagerup and Ice Pilot Ness guide
us through in such a careful and comfortable manner that they earned
our fullest appreciation. A less worthy man could have sent a boat such
as “Fram” to the bottom in much less ice than we passed through. The
atmosphere was impenetrable during most of the day. At ten o’clock in
the evening--in a little clear glow--land was discernible. It was Quade
Hoock in King’s Bay. At two o’clock we arrived at the edge of the ice
and moored fast to it. The “Knut Skaaluren,” a little steamboat which
had brought the two Directors, Brandal and Knutsen, here, lay there
already.
King’s Bay had been free from ice the whole winter. Only in the last
two days had the ice acquired a temperature of -26°c. We naturally
regarded this as a great misfortune as it seemed that we should be
prevented from getting in to the Coal Company’s quay where we were to
begin the unloading of our boats. So far from being a misfortune this
proved itself later to be our first and greatest piece of luck, that
King’s Bay was icebound.
At ten o’clock in the morning I went ashore in order to pay the
Directors a visit to see what they could do for us. The distance from
where we had moored the “Fram” up to the quayside was a good three
miles; there was a lot of water on the ice, dark and mushy. It was
not easy to see Ny Aalesund, which was snow covered. But the moment
I arrived at the quay and climbed from the ice a hand was stretched
out giving me a warm handshake and a cheery welcome. It was Director
M. Knutsen who, with the Company’s other Director, was to show us the
most glorious hospitality during the whole of our long stay in King’s
Bay. I may as well say it now as later, that without these practical
men’s assistance we could scarcely have brought our arrangements to
completion as they eventually were.
It was soon fixed up that all who were participating in the expedition
should come ashore and stay there where room must be found for them.
“Where there is room in the heart there is room in the house,” they
said. Nothing greater than the “heart room” of Knutsen and Brandal
could any one ever wish to find.
Now there was a matter which weighed on my mind--depressing me in a
high degree. Where was “Hobby”? I went on board the “Fram” at eventide
and walked up and down on the deck. It was about seven o’clock at
eventide when Horgen came up to me and said that he saw something which
stood high above the ice, and according to his opinion only “Hobby”
could present such an appearance. Up with the glasses! Yes!--quite
right, there came a heavy-looking box rustling and crushing through the
ice. “Hobby” itself I could not see even now, but I _could_ see that
there was life on board. Every one ran around and shouted, “‘Hobby’
comes!” “‘Hobby’ comes!” In a second all hands were called on deck and
to the accompaniment of ringing hurrahs “Hobby” lay by the side of the
ice. All was well on board. The first part of the journey was over. Our
boats were safely in King’s Bay. Honor where honor is due and it should
be given to the expedition’s airmen, Captain Holm, Pilot Johannesen and
the whole of “Hobby’s” crew. It was no small act of seamanship which
they had accomplished.
[Illustration: “FRAM” MOORED TO THE ICE AT THE EDGE OF KING’S BAY]
[Illustration: UNLOADING]
The next day was very wintry--sea fog with a temperature -10°. We took
advantage of this for the members of the expedition to flit ashore
and make themselves at home in the Coal Company’s station. The
airmen--Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Horgen, Omdal, in company with
Ellsworth and Ramm--got their cozy little house. Zapffe and I were
quartered in the Directors’ house and the others in the hospital. The
sailing-boat workshop was cleared and prepared as a dining-room. This
was baptized “the salon.” Here the scepter was waved by our steward,
purser, chemist, and purveyor of entertainment. Yes, dear steward,
you won all hearts with your glad, happy spirit. To me you were an
invaluable and priceless aid with your dutiful and conscientious work.
[Illustration: THE GAMES ON MAY 17TH]
[Illustration: THE PLANES WERE PUT TOGETHER NEAR THE COAL COMPANY’S
WORKSHOPS]
The newly frozen ice, which prevented us from approaching the
quay, might have become embarrassing had not Captain Jensen of the
“Skaaluren,” on the 15th April, become tired of waiting and decided
to make an attempt to force it. The attempt was crowned with success
in the highest degree. Never, I believe, had the “Skaaluren” been so
absolutely astonished at herself. She broke through very quickly and
lay a short time afterwards by the quay. “Fram” and “Hobby” followed
behind her in line, and by the evening we all lay alongside the quay.
There we had a northerly breeze of about -13° c.--Mid-winter!
By the following day every one was fully occupied taking our belongings
ashore. Riiser-Larsen organized the work with the frequent assistance
of his comrades and the officers from the “Hobby.” At this point I
would like to hand out a few compliments to the crew of the “Fram.”
When and where they could help, they were always at hand. Quick,
skillful, and willing at all times. Fortunately the ice here was so
strong that one could discharge the seaplanes on to it. This was a
great help and lightened the work considerably. Everybody at the
same time hauled them along a natural slide towards land and placed
them outside the station-workshop, where all the necessary help was
obtainable. Director Schulte-Frohlinde from the Pisa Works, with
his two mechanics, Feucht and Zinsmayer, along with Omdal and the
Rolls-Royce mechanic, Green, who had got the very worst jobs, remained
in charge. In spite of snow and cold they continued “hard at it” from
morning until evening without any one ever hearing them grumble once;
but they were men of steel!
It was gratifying to see how the machines grew from day to day.
Frohlinde believed that he could have them completed by the 2nd of May,
and it very nearly proved so. There was another duty which had to be
carried out each day under the same difficult conditions and with the
same unabated energy. This was the weather report service. No matter
how it blew, no matter how it snowed, nor how bitterly cold it was,
Bjerknes and Calwagen were always “on the go.” Nothing seemed to tire
these two young scientists and the expedition owes them the greatest
gratitude for their splendid work. They were assisted in their work
by Devold, who was principally employed receiving messages from the
numerous stations in Europe, Canada, Alaska, and Siberia. The weather
report service is still in its swaddling clothes, but there is no doubt
that in time it will become a strong factor in our progress. Already we
could see the benefit to be derived from this particular service by any
expedition whether it should go north, south, east or west.
Others of our “most occupied men” were the photographer Berge, and the
journalist Ramm. The first of these two could always be seen with his
camera in his hand and his tripod on his shoulder. He was everywhere.
One could not even blow his nose without Berge being there to
immortalize the event. Ramm kept the world advised of the expedition’s
progress; if we did anything, it was immediately telegraphed. If we did
not do anything, it was likewise immediately telegraphed. His strongest
competitors were the meteorologists; not that they were giving news to
the world’s press in competition with Ramm. No, they did not do that,
but they were in frequent use of the wireless. Between the two parties
there arose a burning question as to which was the more important--the
weather reports or the news reports. The meteorologists voted for the
weather, Ramm for the news. And so it remained. Dr. Matheson acted as
the “Fram’s” and the expedition’s doctor. As a doctor he fortunately
did not get much to do, but it seemed safe and comforting to know that
he was near if anything should happen.
I now come to the expedition’s most occupied man. That was my old
traveling companion from the “Fram” and the “Maud” trips, Sailmaker
Rönne. Since he first joined my service for the “Fram” expedition in
1910--fifteen years ago--any weakening in his work was undiscernible
by me. In view of what he did on this trip one could only come to the
conclusion that he had improved. He was the first man up every single
morning, and in full swing long before any one else. But it was quite
necessary for him to do this if he was to complete in good time all
the little orders which came streaming in to him every day in large
numbers. At one moment he was sewing shoes, soon afterwards trousers,
then tents and sleeping bags. He worked at the boats and made the
sledges ship-shape. His strongest forte was to bring along with him
everything that other people had forgotten. If anything was missing
any one could be absolutely sure that Rönne would be able to help him
out of the difficulty. His greatest service at this time was that
during the flight to the North he gave me a long knife made from an old
bayonet which was to prove our best ice-tool. It was during our last
dinner in the “salon” that he came to me and honored me with the knife.
I had a splendid clasp-knife already, but accepted his gift in order
not to offend him. I intended to lay it away in one or other of my
lockers as it was too big to carry about. But how it happened I cannot
say--the knife appeared in my rucksack and was of invaluable use to us
later. Ton after ton of ice has been shifted by my comrades and myself
with this same knife. When I travel next time I shall have at least a
dozen with me.
Our cook, Einer Olsen, could prepare a rum omelette--now, I must not
let my tongue run away with me--just as well as any chef in the best
hotel of any seaside resort, and that is not saying enough. Apart from
this he absolutely astonished us with what he called “gateau danoise”
(Olsen was a linguist). I sought in vain, from the point of view of a
baker, to analyze this confection, but without success. The nearest I
can describe it is a cross between a cream bun and a “gateau de mille
feuilles.” _He_ got up still earlier in the morning than Rönne and thus
deprived him of his record-breaking honor.
Our stay in King’s Bay began really with the baptism of the “salon.”
That was on Sunday April 19th. The furniture of the “salon” was quite
different from what it originally had been. Its contents were composed
of a long board and four trestles. In addition to this, and on account
of the shortage of room elsewhere, it was necessary for the “salon” to
house the pantry. This stood beside the entrance. A little gramophone
supplied us with all the _jazz_ we desired. In addition to this it
could play music! But what was missing in the way of furniture in
the “salon” was made up for by the culinary masterpieces. And here
competition was strengthened by originality. Yes, there were even a few
who risked saying that.... No, I won’t repeat it, as one says so many
things. On the evening of the christening there were twenty-six people
round the table. I see by my diary that the number was “legion,” but my
diary _has_ to be discreet, so it keeps silent about the rest.
There is nothing particular to relate about the days which followed.
One followed the other just exactly as ordained by the almanac. Some
(yes, the most) were beautifully sunny and beautifully colored from
the magnificent glaciers. Others were overshadowed with fog and snow.
The day in the week which we looked forward to with the most pleasure
was not Sunday, as you might be inclined to believe, but Friday. Every
Friday at 5:30 P.M. there was a steam bath; a proper, really good steam
bath. There was nothing mean about the heat in this as we had coal all
around us, wherever we went, and wherever we stood. It was far meaner
as regards the quantity of water, but we did not bother about that. The
bath was naturally very popular. In the morning the ladies had their
turn; in the afternoon the Directors with their staff along with the
members of the expedition. Saturday was bath day for the miners.
Over and above this a very important piece of work had to be done in
these days: i.e., getting the provisions and equipment ready for the
flight. In case it should interest anybody, I will here repeat my list
exactly as it appeared:
_Provisions_
Salt Beef 400 gr. per man per day
Chocolate 250 gr. „
Biscuits 125 gr. „
Dried milk 100 gr. „
Malted milk 125 gr. „
Total 1000 gr. kg.
_Rucksack_
1 change, diary, compass, matches tinder, housewife, snow glasses,
cup & spoon, pipe & tobacco, linen thread, sail-cloth gloves, 1 pr.
ski-shoes, 1 long knife, 1 pr. skis, 2 staves, 1 pole, 1 sleeping-bag
_Equipment Principally for the Machines_
1 boat, 1 sledge, 1 tent, 1 medicine case, 1 Primus, petroleum,
reserve belts, 1 Meta cooking stove with plates, 2 sextants, 1 level,
navigating equipment, six small and 4 large smoke bombs, 1 cooking
pot, motor spare parts, tools, 2 snow shovels, 1 ice anchor, 1 log, 1
sun compass, 1 pair of glasses, ten plugs, meteorological instruments,
1 shot gun, 1 rifle, 400 cartridges, Colt revolver, 25 shots, senna
grass, benzine pump, hose and bucket, camera, films and plates,
soldering lamp.
* * * * *
On the 29th of April the “Fram” attempted to go to Green Harbour to
fetch and take the mail. However, she did not get far before the ice
stopped her. By dinner time the next day she had returned.
Ellsworth and I now went every day to the wireless station in order to
take the time signal from the Eiffel Tower so that we might check our
watches. We had each three watches for use on the flight. Fortunately
they never went wrong. We checked the time signals for fourteen days
before our departure and thus we were absolutely certain of the
correctness of our watches.
On the 4th of May, a strange restless and unsettling sort of day, we
began to long for the moment when we could leave. The meteorologists
announced that _that_ particular morning would be a fine opportunity
to go and we were not long in replying, “All is ready.” “Fram” and
“Hobby” got orders to make ready to sail northwards and all hands were
called on deck to help to get everything in order. In the meantime a
northeasterly wind sprang up and retarded the mechanics from completing
the final little “finishing-off” touches. We were therefore compelled
to put off our intended start until the weather improved. In the
meantime the boats made ready and on the next evening--May 5th--“Fram”
and “Hobby” steered northwards in order to reconnoiter round the Danske
Öen to see if they could find a good place for us to start off from on
the ice. That evening we had -18° c. No work could be done. On the 6th
we received a wireless from the “Fram” from South Gate which announced
that the weather was very uncertain and that we ought to wait. They
announced also that they had found no suitable starting place on the
ice. The ice all around was uneven and banked up and consequently
useless for our purpose.
After the machines were ready to start we saw clearly that the maximum
weight of 2,600 kg., which the factory said we could carry, was going
to be considerably increased. We could see that if we had to make
the flight we must at least carry 3,000 kg.--perhaps more. The two,
Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson, thought that it would be quite possible
to rise with this from the ice. Director Schulte-Frohlinde doubted the
possibility of this. The two former, however, had great experience in
rising from the ice and my trust in them was complete. To rise from the
water with this weight would hardly have been possible. On the eighth
evening “Hobby” came back announcing that the ice conditions were bad,
the weather was stormy and the temperature as low as -23° c.
We decided, therefore, to wait some time hoping for an improvement in
the weather and a more reasonable temperature.
On the 9th N 25 left its “cradle” on Spitzbergen for the first time and
made a few trial runs on the ice. Everything went well and the pilot
was very satisfied. On the morning of the 11th “Fram” returned, thus
finishing this part. Now we were all ready to make use of the first
opportunity which the meteorologists should advise. The temperature
rose quickly and steadily and in the days that followed it was quite
clear that spring was coming.
The 17th of May dawned and was spent exactly as it should have been. A
salute in the morning, Olympic games, and a gala dinner in the evening
in the “salon.” On the 18th Dr. Bjerknes announced that the prospects
were so good that we should hold ourselves ready for a flight at short
notice. We were ready. The weather on the 19th was still not exactly
as the prophet wished it to be. In the meantime, however, we made “all
clear” and got the machines down to a definite starting place where one
could slide down a grade direct on to the fjord ice. Local bad weather
on the 20th prevented us from starting. The filling of the petrol
tanks was finished and by eventide we were absolutely ready.
As I, on the morning of the 20th of May, stuck my nose out of the
window I realized at once, without further confirmation from our
weather prophets, that our day had arrived. It was brilliant summer
weather with a tiny breeze blowing from the fjord, exactly what the
pilot wished for. The starting time was fixed for four P.M. The sun
was in a favorable position for our sun compass and gave us the
greatest aid on our flight. Even at breakfast time we could notice
that there was a little excitement in the camp. Many of the members
of the expedition, who otherwise would still have been invisible
during the time I usually took my breakfast, had in this case already
breakfasted and disappeared. It was unnecessary to send a messenger
round to say the day had arrived. Every one was making his preparations
for departure and the different members could be seen with hands
full of private belongings disappear beside the machines and return
empty-handed. Each of these little journeys brought more weight and by
the time the last pin was fastened we were carrying a load of 3,100
kg., or about 500 kg. more than we were supposed to carry. Director
Frohlinde had always insisted in his opinion that we ought to make some
trial trips. The airmen said, “No.” As the differences of opinions will
be disentangled later on I shall not say more about this here. All the
morning a crowd of people were crossing over to the starting place.
Everybody who could be there was on the spot. Dinner was taken in the
“salon” and if some one had come in by chance he would have noticed
something unusual going on. The only guests we had in the “salon”
were six Thermos flasks, set up ready for the road. These contained
chocolate; beside them were our only provisions for the flight, and
the box of Mrs. Clausen’s good oatcakes. The only person who disturbed
the dinner’s quiet and friendly course was the steward, who thought he
ought to wish his comrades a good journey and thank them for assembling
there. Thus was the last dinner at an end and the “salon” again took on
its old form as the Coal Company’s sailboat works. “Sic transit gloria
mundi.”
As I left my good and comfortable quarters in the house of the
Director, his good-natured housekeeper Berta stood there with two
packets, which she held out to me. “There is one for each machine,” she
said. “Just a little ‘snack’ for the journey.” Oh, Berta, could you
but see how gladly and with what warm thanks in our hearts we took the
delicious sandwiches and eggs carefully and slowly from the packages,
eating them with pleasure, as our last civilized meal for a long time
to come,--you would certainly be overjoyed!
At three o’clock in the afternoon we were all gathered beside the
machines. As I have already remarked--one is never ready. Director
Frohlinde went round and looked carefully at everything. Green, the
Rolls-Royce mechanic, listened first to the one and then to the other
of the motors. At four o’clock all four motors were warming up. It
was a sign for all of us that our hour was almost there. Both sun
compasses, which had been set at four o’clock, started going--and the
motors started humming. Whilst we put on our heavy flying clothes
the two flying men and observers did likewise, wearing similar
garments--thick underclothes of wool with leather on top. The point
which I personally had always been afraid of during a flight was the
condition of my legs. The tremendous speed, which necessarily causes
a strong draught and lowers the temperature, puts our shoes naturally
to a very strong test. It was not often that my experience proved of
actual use to me, but this time I really did get some good out of it.
On my earlier journeys it had often been necessary for me to stand hour
after hour as observer. When the temperature was below -50° c. and -60°
c., which often happened, one must have very special footwear. I found
out then that one ought to have good warm footwear on, preferably loose
leather stockings and leather shoes (such as the Eskimos wear), and
in addition to this the feet should be put into enormous canvas shoes
filled with senna grass, which forms a complete lining to the shoes
and renders protection to the feet. That time years ago we had taken
no Eskimo shoes, but used felt shoes with a pair of thin stockings and
above these we wore gigantic canvas shoes filled with large quantities
of senna grass. The result was brilliant. Not only did we not freeze,
but one or two grumbled because they were too warm. The pilots wore
thick leather gloves which gave complete protection to their hands.
Personally I wore only an old pair of woolen gloves as I had to write
continually. The mechanics were not so heavily clad, as they were
continually on the move, passing between the petrol store and the
motor, and for this reason they _had_ to be lightly clad. As soon as
we were dressed the various members took their places. Ellsworth and I
were in the observation seats. Riiser-Larsen and Dietrichson were in
the pilots’ seats and the two mechanics, Feucht and Omdal, were beside
the motors. My place was in the observation seat of N 25, which lay
forward. In the seat behind me--the pilot’s seat--was Riiser-Larsen and
in the petrol store behind him was Feucht. In N 24 the arrangements
were the same for Ellsworth, Dietrichson, Omdal. Feucht, who had
accompanied Director Schulte-Frohlinde from Pisa, was only taken on as
a member of the expedition a few days before the start; he had up to
that time remained in the Factory’s service. He is a German by birth
and had been employed by the Factory for a long time, being considered
an exceptionally capable mechanic which will be proved here later.
Every one was now ready to say good-by and a long queue passed by the
machines. Mention of the photographer must not be forgotten, either, in
this connection.
Whilst we waited the motors continued to run and the clock went round
to five. Before the two planes got away the following orders were sent
out: (1) The command of the remaining part of the expedition should
be taken over by Captain Hagerup of the “Fram.” (2) In fourteen days
from the start the expedition’s return by flying-machine might be
expected. “Fram” and “Hobby” should remain together in the fairway
by the Danske Öen so long as it was possible to see the North Coast.
Should the light diminish “Hobby” must steer towards the east as
far as conditions allowed, but not east of Verlegen Hook. (3) After
fourteen days had passed “Hobby” was in any event to steer eastwards
if possible as far as Nordkap. After collaborating with “Fram” they
were to take up the work of patrolling as near the edge of the ice as
possible, both ships keeping a sharp lookout. (4) From the 16th to the
19th of May “Fram” shall remain in King’s Bay for boiler-survey. (5)
The ships (if necessary “Hobby” doing this alone should “Fram” have
gone back earlier) shall remain by the north coast of Spitzbergen and
continue patrolling for six weeks counting from the start; “Hobby”
going afterwards to King’s Bay to collect the remaining material to
be delivered at Tromsö, where it will be sent back in accordance with
special instructions here enclosed. The despatching will be attended to
by the chemist Zapffe. (6) When “Fram” goes to King’s Bay for boiler
survey it will give those members of the expedition who wish it the
opportunity to accompany the boat to King’s Bay in order to travel home
by the first opportunity. (From here Horgen, Ramm and Berge are the
first to return when both boats definitely set off.)
First Lieutenant E. Horgen, who was engaged as the expedition’s reserve
airman (after he had obtained permission from the Norwegian American
Line, where he was first mate), became the expedition’s leader on board
the “Hobby.” The services Horgen rendered us were many and valuable.
I would have liked so much to have granted his great wish to fly
northwards with us, but there was no room. Next time I hope to see
Horgen an active participator in the flight. He belongs absolutely to
the type which I have always sought for, calm, resolute, and afraid of
nothing. As a flyer Horgen is now counted among the best.
[Illustration: THE CREW OF N 25
LEFT TO RIGHT: RIISER-LARSEN, AMUNDSEN, FEUCHT]
[Illustration: THE CREW OF N 24
ELLSWORTH, DIETRICHSON, OMDAL]
It was now ten minutes past five. The motors were quite warm and Green
nodded approvingly. His smile expressed complete satisfaction. A
last handshake from Director Knutsen and then good-by. The motor was
running at top speed as N 25 trembled and shook. The plan was that
our machine should make the first start and try if possible to start
out over the fjord with the wind in order to glide and swing at a low
altitude between the fjord boundaries. If this were not successful
we were to set our course direct against the wind, towards King’s
Bay Glacier. It was also agreed that the machines should try to keep
together during the entire flight. What the one did the other should do
afterwards. One last pull and then N 25 was free and glided gracefully
down the slide on to the frozen fjord. The trip was started. “Welcome
back to-morrow,” was the last I heard as with tremendous speed--1,800
revolutions a minute--it set off towards the starting place in the
middle of the fjord. There we noticed all at once that the ice was
bending right over and the water surging up. In a second the machine
was across the fjord heading straight for the glacier and making 2,000
revolutions. This was one of the most anxious moments. Could the
machine bear the tremendous excess weight or must we stop and lighten
it? The pilot sat at the wheel. Had he been seated at the breakfast
table he could scarcely have looked less concerned. As the speed still
continued, and we were nearing the glacier at a mighty rate, the
pilot’s coolness seemed greater than ever. His mouth was the only
indication of his resolution and determination. We went over the ice
like a hurricane. The speed continued and continued; then suddenly the
miracle happened. With a mighty pull the machine raised itself from
the earth. We were in the air. The master stroke was accomplished. It
seemed to me after the breathless anxiety that I at last heard a light
Ah! which grew into a ringing shout of joy.
[Illustration: PHOTOGRAPH OF AMUNDSEN’S MACHINE TAKEN FROM ELLSWORTH’S
WHILE IN FLIGHT, SHORTLY BEFORE LANDING AND WITHIN 250 MILES OF THE
POLE]
After this calmness again took possession of the man who had performed
this master stroke, and it left him no more during the whole trip.
Feucht was always going up and down between the tank compartment and
the motor; his duty was to keep the pilot advised of everything: how
the engine worked: how much petrol had been used, etc. All seemed in
the finest order and Feucht announced, “All clear.” Before we rose I
had tried to get my things in order as the space was limited and my
belongings numerous.
Over Cape Mitra we had already risen to 400 m. and everything beneath
us seemed exceedingly small. Time after time I turned round and looked
for the other machine, but never managed to discern it. Therefore we
turned our plane completely round, flying back to look for N 24. One
never knew what might have happened. It was possible that something had
struck it as it tried to rise. The ice might have broken, or its load
might have been too heavy for it. Suddenly something blazed in the sun;
it glittered like gold. It was the sun playing on N 24’s wings. There
it came in full flight to meet us. Everything seemed to be in order.
Had I known then what I know now, I should have held my breath for a
moment and taken off my hat to the man who sat at the wheel. But more
about that later. Then the machine turned its nose again towards the
north, and the two enormous birds started their flight together towards
the “Unknown.”
My feelings at that moment were one whirl of burning gratitude. I
gave a bow and a grateful glance to the man sitting behind me who had
accomplished this brilliant master stroke--a warm silent thank-you to
those who had just joined us; a thank-you so deep and so heartfelt to
my five comrades, who have all willingly placed their lives upon the
scales--a thank-you because the heavy yoke was at last lifted from my
shoulders (the disdainful scorn which I had been forced to feel so many
times during the last year of constant misfortune had disappeared for
ever). Even if we fell right down now where we were this proof of our
earnestness could nevermore be taken away.
We passed quickly over the northwest coast of Spitzbergen, where the
sea below us was entirely free from ice. Then we reached Magdalena Bay,
the South Gate with the Moss Islands, and then came the Danske Öen.
I knew them all again from my trip with Gjoa in 1901. After an hour’s
flight we were level with the Amsterdam Islands. Here we met most
unpleasant weather. Fog as thick as porridge. First it came densely,
thickeningly, from the northeast--then thicker--thicker. The pilot rose
higher and we were flying above the woolen blanket. The other machine
accompanied us at a somewhat lower altitude. Here I saw the strangest
optical illusion I have ever seen and nothing seems to me to have
ever equaled it in beauty. Directly pictured in the fog I could see a
complete reflection of our own machine surrounded by a halo of all the
spectrum’s colors. The sight was miraculously beautiful and original.
We took our bearings from the Amsterdam Islands and steered north
for Taakeheimen. Here the fog came down quite unexpectedly. We had
not looked for it so quickly, nor such a big stretch of it; it was
certainly not local, but a field of colossal dimensions lay before
us. For two complete hours we flew over it; a stretch of fully 200
kilometers. Occasionally we passed over a little break or hole in it,
but never big enough to give me an opportunity to take my bearings.
These holes were of great interest. Through them I got an idea of the
territory below. The sea here was filled with small ice with water
amongst it. These conditions continued to 82° n. and I am certain
that a vessel with any power at all could have navigated it. A little
after eight o’clock it began suddenly to clear and in a second the
fog disappeared as though charmed. And there below us and in front of
us lay the great shining plain of the notorious pack-ice. “How many
misfortunes have you been responsible for during the passage of years,
you vast ‘Whiteness’? What have you not seen in the way of need and
misery? And you have also met those who set their foot upon your neck
and brought you to your knees. Can you remember Nansen and Johansen?
Can you remember the Duke of the Abruzzi? Can you remember Peary? Can
you remember how they crossed over you and how you put obstacles in
their way? But they brought you to your knees. You must respect these
heroes. But what have you done with the numbers who sought to free
themselves from your embrace in vain? What have you done with the many
proud ships which were steered direct towards your heart never to be
seen again? What have you done with them I ask? No clew, no sign--only
the vast white waste.”
Quite naturally an airman’s thoughts turn towards a landing place.
Should his motor fail and he has no place to land, he is indeed in a
bad way. But no matter where we looked there was not the sign of a
landing place. So far as we could see the ice looked like a number
of furrows, stretched out without rhyme or reason, and between the
furrows rose a high stone fence. Conditions however were unusual, the
fence took up more room than the plowed field. Had the field been
even and flat it would not have appeared so strange, but a flat part
simply did not exist. The plow seemed to have been everywhere between
stones and stubble. A little brook was also there, but so small that
one could have jumped over it anywhere. A more monotonous territory it
had never been my lot to see. Not the slightest change. Had I not been
engaged in making many kinds of observations and notes it is certain
that the uniformity of the outlook and the monotony of the engine’s hum
would have sent me to sleep, but fortunately my task kept me awake.
Riiser-Larsen confessed to me later that he had had a little snooze. I
can understand that as he had monotonous work to do.
The mean temperature during the flight had been -13 °c. N 24 kept
beside us with no thought of separating. I tried continually to take
the sun but unsuccessfully. The sun was all right, but the horizon was
useless. Our plane level was fastened to the sextant (a bulb sextant,
of American make). We had used it several times at a trial in King’s
Bay, but the results were most unsatisfactory, so much so that we had
stopped using it. Therefore I was left to use whatever nature placed at
my disposal. But nature was not obliging. There was no horizon. Sky
and ice blended into one.
Two hours after I had taken soundings at the Amsterdam Islands I got an
opportunity to calculate our speed and the deviation. What had happened
in two hours? It was exceedingly difficult to say. If one does not get
an opportunity to calculate speed and the deviation it is naturally
difficult to know the direction of the wind when one comes flying at a
speed of 150 kilometers. It was quite clear as we came out of the fog
with a few high cirri in the east. About ten o’clock a fine mist crept
up from the north, but too high and fine to annoy one. The sun was not
quite visible, but from the sun’s position and the compass’s variations
it was quite clear that we were well over to the west. There was
therefore nothing else to do but to steer eastwards. I have never seen
anything more deserted and forlorn; at least I thought we might see a
bear or anything to break the monotony a little, but no,--absolutely
nothing living. Had I been sure of this condition before, I would have
taken a flea with me in order to have life near.
At five o’clock on the morning of the 22nd we came to the first
waterway. It was not a small brook but a big dam with arms stretching
in different directions. It offered our first possibility of finding
a landing place. According to our bearings we should now be 88° N.
lat., but with regard to longitude we were quite confused. That we
were westerly was certain, but where? Feucht announced here that half
the benzine was used so it became necessary to look for a landing
place. Our intention was, therefore, to descend, take the necessary
observations, and act in the best way according to the conditions.
The question now was where should we land? Naturally a landing on the
water would have been safest, so far as the landing was concerned,
but there was always the fear that the ice could close in and crush
us before we were able to rise again. We decided unanimously that if
it were possible we should land on the ice. In order to observe the
territory as conveniently as possible we descended in big spirals.
During these maneuvers the aft motor began to misfire and changed the
whole situation. Instead of choosing a place now we would have to take
what offered. The machine was much too heavy to remain in the air with
one motor. A forced landing became necessary. At this low altitude we
could not reach the main dam, but had to be satisfied with the nearest
arm. It was not particularly inviting--full of slush and small ice.
But we had no choice. Under such conditions it was worth much to have
a cool unruffled pilot who never lost his self-possession, but even
in flight was able to make a clear decision and act accordingly. The
slightest wobbling and the game would have been lost. The arm was
just wide enough for the machine so it was not so dangerous. Every
clump of ice could have torn it through; the danger lay in the high
icebergs which lay at each side. It took a master to guide the machine
in between these and save the wings. We landed squat in the slush and
here arose the most difficult problem any airman could have to solve.
It was a piece of luck for us that we landed in the slush, for that
slowed down our speed somewhat. But on the other hand it reduced the
boat’s maneuvering powers. We were passing a small iceberg on the
right. The machine turned to the left with the result that the wings
stroked the top of the iceberg and loose snow was whirled in the air.
Here we zig-zagged along in a manner which was most impressive and
alarming. Can we clear it? The anxiety was great for those who were
only spectators; it seemed not to have the slightest effect on the
pilot; he was quite cool and calm. When I say we cleared the iceberg by
two millimeters it is no exaggeration. I expected every moment to see
the left wing destroyed. The speed now slackened in the thick slush and
we stopped at the end of the arm--nose up against the iceberg. It was
again a question of millimeters. A little more speed and the nose would
have been stove in.
So far so good. We had still our lives--what did this place look
like? The arm ended in a little pool surrounded by high icebergs and
with nose against this we lay with our tail towards the entrance. We
hopped out on the ice and looked around. What was to be done? Only one
thing. To try and get out as quickly as possible. Should the ice freeze
together we were sentenced to death in five minutes. What was necessary
now was to turn the machine round 180°. I must say we put all our force
into the work and tried in different ways, but all in vain. The slush
and small ice stuck fast to the boat and it lay as if in glue. If we
managed to free the boat a few inches the slush went with it. If we got
rid of that the boat fell back into its old position, and then so did
the slush. Oh, how we struggled and strove. But after the space of a
few hours we had to put that plan aside and take on another. But first
we must find out where we were. Our observations gave 87° 43′ N. lat.
and 10° 20′ L. Our presumption that there was a westerly current proved
to be correct.
At eight o’clock A.M. we decided we had earned a little food and rest.
But before we could gratify this need there were two things to be done.
First to take all the provisions and equipment on to the big ice, in
case the ice should begin to screw. Also we must look around to see if
our comrades on N 24 were in sight. The small quantity of provisions
that we had were shifted onto the ice in a few minutes, and then we
set off with glasses to take observations from the top of the highest
iceberg. We thought we had heard a shot after we had landed, but we
were not certain. There are so many noises like shots amongst the ice.
The last I saw of N 24 just before our landing was that it was flying
very low on the other side of the dam. If I was right we must look for
it in a southerly direction, but everywhere we looked there was nothing
to be seen. The mist now lay somewhat lower than when we landed and a
few snowflakes came whirling along. The temperature was about -15° c.
I had never looked upon our machine before as a dwelling but that must
be done now. It was divided into five rooms. The first, the observer’s
room, was too small for occupation. No. 2, the pilot’s place, offered
the best sleeping room for one or two men. No. 3, the petrol store, was
full of tanks and could not be used. Room No. 4 was the best of them
and we decided to make it a dining room and sleeping room. It was four
meters long diminishing in width towards the tail. I assume that the
builder had never thought of it as a dining room when he built it, but
certain it is that it seemed absolutely prepared for that purpose. At
all times our Primus apparatus got a good position here. Room No. 5
lay right in the tail and you entered it through a round door in the
wall. It was long, small, and dark, as it had no window. As a bedroom
for one man it might have been used had it not been for the ribs
which converged tightly here. In the dining room we set our Primus
going and soon had our first meal of chocolate and biscuits. It was
comfortable in here so long as we could keep it warm and this was easy
in the beginning while we still trusted and hoped that our stay should
be short. We had brought with us some small petrol apparatus called
Therm’x and with these we kept the temperature fine and high.