it is constructed I cannot say and it will not interest many. But what
will interest most people is the fact that with one liter of petrol
this apparatus will give out considerable heat for twelve hours. In
addition to this it is absolutely fireproof. It gives a glowing heat,
but burns without a flame. You could pour petrol over it whilst it
functioned, yet nothing would result except smoke and an unpleasant
smell. For a trip like ours where we were surrounded by benzine it was
a priceless possession. Add to this its astonishing economy and it is
not necessary to say more. Two Therm’xs made each room quite cozy, but
as events will show even Therm’x had afterwards to be used sparingly
and our cozy corners were cozy no longer. Riiser-Larsen, unselfish as
ever, took up his quarters in the tail. How he managed to bear four
weeks in it puzzles me. He must still have five blue stripes exactly
like the five tail ribs! Feucht had his place in the dining room, and
I mine in the pilot’s room. We did not rest long at first, for at ten
o’clock we were in full swing again. We tried once more to turn the
machine round, but soon gave it up for another plan, namely, to get the
machine into safety as quickly as possible, for without any warning the
fissure might close up and crush us like a nut between nut-crackers.
To guard against this we decided to place it on top of the iceberg
which lay beside us. It seemed a hopeless task at first, but it meant
much. Firstly, part of the iceberg must come down, for a slide to be
made. “But however could we accomplish that task?” asked one. Yes, that
is the question. When we left we had 500 kilos too much on board and
therefore must deny ourselves many things. To carry with us a number
of ice tools, which we might never need, was out of the question. We
had only calculated with landing on, and rising from, suitable ice. No
one had dreamed of the present situation. We looked at our available
tools: three slip knives, one big knife, one ax, one ice-anchor, which
in time of need could be used as a pick. It is unbelievable what people
can do when they are driven to it. There was only one way to get the
machine into safety--and for that the iceberg must come down and be
leveled and it would appear that we only had our fingers to do it with.
Wholly inexperienced in work of this kind, we were rather clumsy in
the beginning, but we were willing and incredibly persevering and were
lucky enough to get the better of the situation. Later we managed
to level an iceberg in a fabulously short time, but at present we
were unused to the work and it went slowly. From time to time during
our work we went up to the top of the machine, or to the top of an
iceberg, and looked around to find the others. Anything might have
happened in such a morass, and at lunch time we discussed the various
probabilities. Had they made a bad landing? Had they decided that it
was hopeless to land in this chaos?
The next day we got ready to march to Cape Columbia. The sledge was
secured and put ready so that we, with the shortest possible warning,
could set off if the ice should close in and crush the machine. Our
provisions were sufficient to last for a month giving 1 kilo per man
per day. As soon as we saw our situation was serious we began quickly
to take less and in a short time our ration was reduced to 300 grammes
per day. It was naturally too little for any length of time, but for
a shorter period would suffice. We all felt very weak after the first
day, but it appeared that we could get used to it. We got noticeably
thinner, tightening our belts every day. My belt, which had often been
too tight in King’s Bay, was now too slack even when worn outside my
thick leather clothes. Our sleeping equipment consisted of one light
reindeer skin bag, only designed for summer use. Most of us grumbled
at the cold in the beginning, as the temperature remained about -10°
c., but one must have practice in using a sleeping bag, and one must
understand it in order to pass in it what turns out to be a warm balmy
night, while another person without experience freezes. It is necessary
to take plenty of time and to work oneself right down to the bottom
when getting into a sleeping bag, for one can often see people who have
no knowledge of these things, only halfway wriggled in, and naturally
they pass an uncomfortable night.
On the 23rd we were able to cross the new frozen ice into the pool. We
were early at work that day and kept on hacking at the slide. During a
little interval I took the glasses, climbed to the top of the machine
in order to look round after N 24. Who can describe my pleasure as I,
almost with the first glance, observed it? South-west, on the other
side of the great dam, there it lay looking quite cheeky. A little to
the left stood the tent. And still a little further away, on the top
of a high iceberg, a flag. This was pleasant news for my comrades and
in haste we hoisted our flag. Anxiously I followed progress through my
glasses to see if they were observing us. Yes, right enough, in a few
moments I saw signs of life. They sprang to the flag, caught hold of it
and in a few moments we had a means of communication, as fortunately
our two pilots were practiced signalers. The distance between us was
too great for semaphoring, so we had to use the Morse system. Apart
from the fact that it took a little longer, everything went splendidly.
Dietrichson announced that his machine on leaving King’s Bay had
started an ugly leak, but that he had hoped all the same to be able to
manage. We could tell them that our machine was absolutely undamaged.
No further announcements were made. We went on with our work on the
slide all day.
[Illustration: WHEN THE TWO PLANES WERE NEAR EACH OTHER]
The 24th was given up to the same work. Most of the ice was as hard as
flint and it took us a long time to work through it. In the afternoon I
discovered suddenly through my glasses that there was an unusual stir
on the other side. I could see them jumping backwards and forwards,
preparing to do something or other. An hour later they put skis on;
slung two heavy packages on their backs and set off towards us. It was
just what I had wished to happen, though I had not expressed my wish so
long as they were working at their machine. If they were able, by some
means, to get their boat clear for a start, I naturally had no desire
to hinder them. We could well have done with their assistance in our
work of saving our machine, but, so long as they had their own work to
do, we could not ask for help. I watched them anxiously through the
glasses, noting their mode of approach through the icebergs (let me
make it clear that they had very heavy packages on their backs), and I
did not like the direction they took. They set their course directly
towards the new frozen ice in the dam and I doubted its solidity.
Certainly the ice in the little fissure was strong enough, but the
ice on the great dam was a different matter. I held my breath as they
descended from the old ice towards the new. Things could go wrong and
prove fatal. Fortunately they were sufficiently foresighted to stay
on the old ice; to my relief they kept to it, coming straight across
and throwing off their packages. I thought they were going to rest a
few moments, but was pleasantly surprised when they produced two flags
and started semaphoring. It was not long before Riiser-Larsen was also
on the job and the conversation started. They told us that they could
not get their machine clear away alone and asked if they should come
over and join us. As they apparently intended to cross the new ice, we
hastily answered that it was better for them to turn back and consider
matters a little, arranging to continue semaphoring the next morning
at ten o’clock. With a sigh of relief I saw them go on to the old ice
again.
[Illustration: A NEW LEAD OPENING IN THE ICE]
[Illustration: GETTING READY FOR A FRESH START]
On May 25th we managed to get our machine onto the slide so that the
heavy end lay on the old ice. This was a great advantage, as any
screwing which might take place would only push us higher up into
complete safety. At ten o’clock the next morning we semaphored again.
Dietrichson announced that conditions were better over there. In reply
we asked them if they were finished with their work to come and help
us. I would rather have seen them set off immediately, but such a
course would have hindered their own work. While we chatted a big seal
head suddenly appeared from a little fissure. I was astonished. Seals
in 88° N. Lat. I had not expected to find.
With a satisfied feeling we drank our chocolate that evening. Our
condition was much better. If we were not in absolute safety, we still
had found a way to work clear. Our stay on the waterway had been a
nightmare. High icebergs grinned down on us the whole time.
The 26th was a busy day. It dawned overshadowed; with a temperature
of -10° c. The ice on both sides of the great dam had been moving a
good deal during the night and both machines were driven nearer each
other. We could thus quite easily see everything that happened in the
other camp. We worked as usual on the slide and hoped in course of the
day to raise the machine absolutely. At three P.M. there was great
excitement on the other side and we thought at once that they were
crossing to us. The great dam had become considerably smaller during
the night; we looked at the old ice with large round eyes as we saw the
people from N 24 coming round it towards us. We thought that they would
have a dreary march of several hours, so we got on with our work in the
meantime.
Who can describe my surprise when some one suddenly said, “Look, there
they are!” Twenty minutes after leaving their resting place they had
nearly reached us. Two hundred yards away we could see them working
their way between the icebergs. We knew, however, that they could not
come straight over, as there was a little fissure lying between us
and them. Riiser-Larsen and I left our work, took the canvas boat,
and went to meet them. We had scarcely set the boat on the water when
Riiser-Larsen got into it to cross and fetch one of the advancing
party. As he broke his way through the thin ice, I stood on the old ice
and waited, when I was alarmed by a ringing shriek; a shriek which went
to my marrow and made my hair stand up on end. It was followed by a
number of cries, each one more alarming and terrifying than the last. I
had not the slightest doubt but that a drama of the most horrible kind
was being played on the other side of the iceberg. A man was in danger
of drowning. There I must stand and listen to it without being able to
raise a finger to help him. The situation seemed hopeless. The dying
cries got less and I thought to myself, “Yes, now all is over. How many
of them and who?” Just then came a head from the back of the iceberg.
“Fortunately all three are not drowned.” One appeared and then another
one joined him; then all three were there. To say I was glad is a mild
expression. The two first shook themselves like dogs, but the third
conducted himself normally. Riiser-Larsen carried them quickly over the
fissure. Dietrichson and Omdal were wet to the skin, but Ellsworth was
dry. We got them quickly on board the boat and their wet clothes were
changed for dry ones.
To burn in the Primus stove, I had been clever enough to bring spirits
of wine with me, and smiled slyly to myself over my farsightedness. As
they arrived their teeth chattered so that they could not speak, a fact
which was quite understandable, as falling into icy water and having to
remain in a temperature of -10° c. for ten minutes afterwards, while
a fresh little breeze is blowing, is enough to freeze one’s marrow.
A dram of 97 p. c. possibly saved them from unpleasant consequences.
A cup of steaming chocolate performed wonders, but _it_ took twenty
minutes to get ready, while the dram was ready at once. The work at
eventide was stopped and we gathered in the little dining room to hear
each others’ news. As the three left their camp at three P.M. with
their packages of forty kilos weight, they had fastened lifebelts on
and put skis on their feet without fastening the lashings. When they
found that the old ice was difficult to negotiate on account of small
open cracks, they decided it would be better to link hands and cross
the new ice. The result was better than one might have expected and
they got safely near to the old ice. But that lay on _our_ side, and
in such a condition that they preferred to continue on the new ice.
Omdal went first, then Dietrichson, and last Ellsworth. The first to
break through was Dietrichson, in fact one could hardly use the word
“break,” as “_sink_” suits the situation better. The slush is very
treacherous, it disappears underneath without a sound. When Dietrichson
fell through he quite reasonably gave a loud cry and Omdal turned round
to see what was wrong. In the same moment he himself fell through, and
both lay there. Without a thought and with brilliant presence of mind
Ellsworth rushed to them, pulled Dietrichson out and together they ran
to Omdal. It was in the last moment that they reached him, loosened his
rucksack, and hauled him out. He had stuck his nails into the ice and
held on with the greatest desperation, but it did not help him much as
the current carried his legs under the ice and threatened to draw him
under if help had not come to him in the last moment. Lincoln Ellsworth
was later decorated with the Medal for Bravery by H. M. the King and no
one who wears it has earned it more bravely. There is no doubt that by
his action he saved the whole expedition as later experience showed us;
for without the power of six men the N 25 could never have got home.
And now we got Dietrichson’s story of his departure from King’s Bay;
notwithstanding the fact that he knew a large part of the bonnet
had been torn open he decided to continue the flight in order not to
restrain N 25, which was already in the air. He thought it was better
to risk life than to stop the trip. I know there are people who will
shrug their shoulders and say “Idiotic.” I take off my hat and say,
“Courage--splendid, brilliant, indomitable Courage. Oh! if only we had
a number of such men.”
When N 24 saw us land they prepared to follow suit, but as Dietrichson
knew that the water would surge in as soon as he came down, he sought
a landing place on the old ice whence he thought he could raise his
machine. To land on it he found was impossible, but he managed to land
half on the old ice and thereby saved the situation. A quantity of
the material they carried got wet and everything was hung out to dry.
It sounds strange to speak of drying things in -10° c., but when they
were hung on the dark gray wall of the machine they did not take long.
From this moment all six of us took up quarters on board the N 25.
Dietrichson and Omdal went into the mess with Feucht, Ellsworth in the
pilot’s room with me. It was not a wonderful place that we had, but in
80 °N. Lat. one is not so particular. The three in the mess must each
evening lay skis on the floor in order to have something to lie on.
On the 24th of May the six of us finished the work of bringing the
machine into safety. How lightly and pleasantly it went, now that
we were all together. The thought of what might have happened to the
others had often proved detrimental to progress. Now we worked on
amidst laughter and song and no one could have believed that we were
prisoners in Nature’s most solid prison. In the beginning we three had
only had one goal before us, namely, to raise N 25 onto the nearest
solid ice. The slide was ready, but until the others joined us we had
not managed to raise the machine. Now we broadened our plans arranging
to bring the machine to a floe which we had examined and discovered to
be safe and solid. In order to reach it it was necessary to get the
machine across an intermediate floe. To do this we found it would be
necessary to negotiate some small icebergs and unevenesses, and to fill
up two ditches or trenches two meters wide. Our first work therefore
was to get the machine on the slide. What we three had found difficult
was easy for six men to accomplish; it was not only the addition of
physical power, but also the knowledge that we were re-united, and it
seemed that nothing could stop us as the machine glided out on the
first floe. We were all pleased and satisfied. We believed we could
make great progress in this frame of mind. How hopeless much of this
work appeared to be when we started, but self-confidence and unity
quickly changed the prospects. Riiser-Larsen was a builder of bridges
and roads. He seemed to have done no other kind of work in all his
life than what he was doing now. The two holes were filled up, the
whole place was evened out, and at 8 P.M. to the sound of loud hurrahs
we glided on the thick solid floe where we felt absolutely safe, or
as safe as we could. Casting the lead the following day gave us 3,750
meters. Adding to this the fact that we had reached 88° 30 N. Lat. when
we landed I believe that we confirmed Peary’s observations that no land
exists in the northern sector of the Arctic Ocean. But this cannot be
absolutely decided until some one flies over. The evening of the 29th
the dam closed considerably and the distance now between the two boats
could scarcely be more than 1 kilo as the crow flies. In the evening
Dietrichson, Ellsworth, Feucht and Omdal went over to see if it would
be possible to bring petrol back with them, but the ice was moving and
they had to make a long detour to get back again. They tried to bring
one petrol can with them, but were forced to leave it on the ice. “As
soon as we have got two cans of petrol here,” said I in my diary, “we
shall start for Spitzbergen. By our bearings we can take it for granted
that the territory from here to the Pole is just the same--drift-ice
and again drift-ice. And what should we do there? Substantiate the
existence of land. But what is in that? Nothing--it is not worth while.
But--perhaps it will be possible to find a place to rise from here.
The prospects are not too good but conditions can change quickly.”
The next day passed and we succeeded in bringing the petrol in safety
to our own floe. Later at eventide Dietrichson and Omdal crossed to
N 24 to bring back most of the provisions and equipment which had
been left there. The temperature was rising steadily, and was now
about -6° c. By the 1st of June we had let the new frozen ice get an
opportunity to set and become strong enough for a track. That day we
tested its thickness and found that it was eight inches (solid enough
for our purpose). As soon as we discovered this condition we started
to level the track; it was not so easy as one might think. Although
the new frozen ice was fine and level in long stretches there were
places where the old ice had taken the liberty of mingling with the
new and upsetting conditions entirely. Here the floe was on the slant,
with ditches and unevenesses, which gave us much hard work, but it was
necessary to get the machine down from the height above to the new ice.
For this a slide was necessary. It is difficult to calculate how much
we hacked away and how much we filled in, before we completed the work,
but it was many tons of ice and snow. By twilight we had finished the
track and the slide.
Early the next day we prepared to make ready. Everything must be in
good order. Everything must have its place and be properly secured.
When we rise nothing must be faulty. By 2:15 P.M. the engine was warm
and ready to start. Riiser-Larsen was in the pilot’s seat, Feucht
beside the motor. We four others stood by, ready to either push off
or haul in the seaplane just as circumstances demanded. Here began
a new task--to maneuver the seaplane amidst deep loose snow. When I
call this work wearisome I think I have used the right term. While at
first the work was particularly heavy, later, when we had had more
practice, it was easier, but the whole time it was “weary.” Our first
attempt was unsuccessful as the thin ice could not carry us. We broke
through almost at once, breaking the ice on the greater part of the
area. The track was about 500 yards long ending in old screw ice. As we
had neared the end of this we turned the machine round preparatory to
starting in the opposite direction in the pool which we had broken up.
But, as it is said, “the traveler meets many obstacles,” and I think
this applies particularly to any one who lands with a flying machine
amidst the Polar ice. Hardly had we swung the seaplane round than thick
fog descended like a wall. We could scarcely see from fore to aft, far
less think of flying through the fog at a speed of 110 kilometers.
“Therefore, my friend, cover yourself with patience,--the explorer’s
indispensable salve.” We arranged to watch and to sleep--it was ten
o’clock.
Feucht was keeping watch; he passed the time in pushing the machine
backwards and forwards in the mushy water to prevent it from being
frozen in. I got quite used to the crackling noise of the ice breaking
against the sides and in the end I slept to this music. I had slept
for an hour, I think, when I was suddenly awakened by a terrific
shout--“Come out, every one, the ice is closing in!” I knew that
Riiser-Larsen’s voice and tone were not to be mistrusted. Here was
danger ahead. There were cracklings and smashings all around and I
expected every moment to see the sides stove in like a concertina. In
a rush Ellsworth and I dived for our shoes, the only things we took
off during our stay amongst the ice. When I say “in a rush” it is only
relatively speaking. For a rush was impossible in our circumstances.
The pilot’s room offered good sleeping accommodation for two people if
they went to bed quietly and carefully. There were so many uprights,
struts, and pipes that our bedroom had the appearance of a birdcage.
The making of a miscalculated movement landed one against a pipe or a
strut, sometimes both. In addition to this one could not stand at full
height. To speak of a rush under such conditions is therefore stupid.
The sight which met us when we put our heads through the trap-door was
interesting, but not altogether inviting. It was interesting to note
how much four desperate men can straighten out. The pool we had made
was now covered with ice in the center of which N 25 was stuck. The
pressure was tremendous and a catastrophe seemed unavoidable. Gathering
all his strength, Riiser-Larsen sprang like a tiger. He jumped high in
the air in order to land anywhere on the ice which jammed the seaplane.
The result was always the same. The ice broke under him without
resistance. Omdal had got hold of a tool (I don’t know which one) and
helped his comrade splendidly with its aid. Larsen pushed for all he
was worth against the seaplane’s nose and tried to free it from the ice
pressure. By this united work they managed to loosen the machine about
45° and thereby lighten the pressure against the sides. In the meantime
Ellsworth and I were occupied in putting the provisions and equipment
on the old ice. We were masters of the situation at last, but it was a
near thing that time.
To return to our old quarters was unthinkable, so we looked round
for a safe place somewhere else. We lay in a favorable position for
crossing to N 24 and decided it might be wise to pursue this course.
There was a possibility that we might reach it by way of the new ice,
but this seemed unlikely after our last experience. However we would
try our best to get over because it would be an advantage to be able to
use N 24’s petrol without transporting it. Moreover it appeared that
conditions across there were calmer and offered a safer resting place.
That this was not the case we shall see later.
Thus we began again to hack and to level and by breakfast time the
track was finished. Exactly as though we ourselves had dispersed it
the fog lifted, and we could soon start. This reminds me of an amusing
occurrence, amusing for others, but not exactly for me. On account of
the small accommodation in the machines it was necessary for us always
to move about in tabloid form, bent, drawn together and compact. The
result of this was cramp, sometimes in the legs, in the thighs, in the
stomach, in the back. These attacks came on at the most inopportune
moments and the martyr was a never-failing object of general amusement.
Everything was ready that morning for departure and I suddenly
remembered my glasses which I had forgotten in the mess and which I
now rushed to fetch. But it was a mistaken move on my part. My first
hasty jerk gave me cramp in both thighs with the result that I could
not move from the spot. I heard titters and giggles and notwithstanding
the infernal pain I could not do otherwise than join in the general
amusement.
The second start was not more fortunate than the first. The ice broke
all the way and N 25 became famous as an icebreaker. One good result
came from it, however, namely, that we got near to the other machine.
That presented a sad appearance as it lay there lonely and forlorn
with one wing high in the air, and the other down on the ice. They had
been lucky enough to get its nose up on to a grade of the old ice floe,
but the tail lay right out in the ice.
The conditions here seemed quite promising. We had an open waterway
about 400 meters long with fine new ice quite near. The third attempt
to start was undertaken the same afternoon but without result. We
decided to join up the waterway and the new ice. It was possible that
the great speed one could attain on the waterway would carry one up
onto the ice and if that happened there was a big chance of rising in
the air as the track would then have become about 700 meters long. At
2 A.M. on the 4th June we started the work, continuing all day. As by
eventide we had got the track finished, down came the fog and prevented
us from starting. A little later the ice got rather lively, beginning
to screw during the night. Fortunately it was only the new-frozen ice,
but even it was eight inches thick. There were pipings and singings
all round us as the ice jammed against the machine. The methods and
tools we now used were most original. Dietrichson armed himself with
a four-yard-long aluminium pole with which he did wonderful work.
Omdal used the film camera tripod, which was very heavy, ending in
three iron-bound points. Every blow therefore was trebled and was most
effective. Riiser-Larsen was the only one who had brought rubber boots
with him; these reached to his waist. As the ice encroached it was met
by ringing blows. The battle against it continued the whole night and
by morning we could once again look back upon a conquest. Meantime
the old ice had crept up nearer to us. It now appeared as though the
“Sphinx” was taking aim at us; this was an ugly forbidding iceberg,
formed in the shape of the Sphinx. The movements of the ice had caused
the sides of the waterway to set together and our starting place was
ruined again. The fog lay thick on the 5th of June while fine rain
was falling. The ice cracked and piped as though it would draw our
attention to the fact that it still existed. _Now_ what should one do?
With his usual energy Riiser-Larsen had gone for a walk that afternoon
amongst the icebergs accompanied by Omdal; they wished to see if they
could find another place which could be converted into a starting
place. They had already turned round to return home, as the fog was
preventing them from seeing anything, when suddenly it lifted and
there they stood in the center of the only plain which could be used.
This was 500 meters square and not too uneven to be made level by
a little work and patience. They came back happy and full of hope
and shouted to the “Sphinx”: “You may be amused and smile even when
others despair--even when the position is hopeless we still sing with
pleasure aha! aha! aha! Things are improving day by day.”
The “Sphinx” frowned! It did not like this!
[Illustration: COLLECTING SNOW BLOCKS FOR A RUN-WAY]
The way to the plain which the two men had found was both long and
difficult, but we lived under conditions where difficulties frightened
us no more. First of all the machine must be driven there--about 300
meters through new ice to a high old plain. Here we would have to
hack out a slide to drive the machine up. From here the road crossed
over to the Thermopylæ Pass, which was formed by two moderately sized
icebergs, and ended in a three-yards-wide ditch over which the machine
must be negotiated on to the next plain. On the other side one could
see the last obstacle which must be overcome in the form of an old
crack about five yards wide with sides formed of high icebergs and
loose snow--rotten conditions to work in. Early on the morning of the
6th the work was started. After breakfast we took all our tools and
attacked the old ice where the grade should be built. In order to
get to this spot we had to pass round a corner which took us out of
sight of N 25. Under general circumstances one would not have left the
machine unattended, but conditions were otherwise than general and we
had no man we could spare. Singing “In Swinemunde träumt man im Sand,”
the popular melody associated with our comfortable days in Spitzbergen,
we used our knives, axes, and ice-anchor to the best advantage, and
fragments of ice flew in all directions. It is with pride and joy that
I look back on these days, joy because I worked in company with such
men, proud because our task was accomplished. Let me say quite frankly
and honestly that I often regarded the situation as hopeless and
impossible. Ice-walls upon ice-walls raised themselves up and had to be
removed from our course; an unfathomable gulf seemed to yawn before us
threatening to stop our progress. It had to be bridged by cheeky heroes
who, never grumbling, tackled the most hopeless tasks with laughter and
with song.
[Illustration: TRYING OUT OUR BULB SEXTANTS]
[Illustration: FAST IN THE ICE]
At 1 P.M. we went on board for soup. The ice was then calm. The
“Sphinx” lay in the same position. Oh! how good the thick pemmican
soup tasted! Five hours’ hard work on a cup of chocolate and three
small oatcakes gives one a good appetite. At 4 P.M. Dietrichson went
on board to fetch something, and on his return remarked that it seemed
to him that the old ice was approaching the seaplane. Now, he, during
the last days, had suffered a little from snow blindness and we thought
accordingly he had made a mistake. It was indeed a mistake. We should
have gone at once and looked into the matter. One must however remember
that every second is precious and that we grudged stopping work. At 7
P.M. we went on board to eat our three biscuits. The sight which then
met us would have filled the bravest heart with despair. The great pack
had approached the seaplane to within some meters. The “Sphinx” seemed
to bow and chuckle with amusement. Now it would have us! But it had
laughed too soon. The six men that it now looked upon were not the same
six who some days ago had arrived through the air from a place full
of life’s comforts; the six now were hardened by obstacles, weariness
and hunger, and they feared nothing on earth, not even the “Sphinx.”
“Hurrah! heroes. Hurrah for home and all we hold dear. The devil take
the ‘Sphinx.’” And so the work began and in its performance we got
more self-confident than ever before, as we managed to turn the heavy
machine round in the course of a few minutes. What task each person
specially performed it is difficult to say, but it was a Herculean
task. We lay down, we pulled, we toiled, we scratched. “You shall go
round!” Before we realized it there it was, turned 180° and the course
set for the new slide. The “Sphinx” hung its head and looked sad; but
the next day it lay exactly on the spot where N 25 had lain. During
this performance N 24 was pushed on to the plain beside which it had
lain. Still a little more leveling and the slide was ready. To shouts
of joy the machine, in the evening at eleven o’clock, was driven over
the track and stopped exactly beside the Thermopylæ Pass. To-morrow
there would not be much to be done.
The 7th of June. Norway’s Day! At home they would be wearing light
summer clothes and enjoying life, while flags flew over the whole land
from the North Cape to Neset. But don’t think that we forgot this
day. No! From the N 25’s highest point our silk flag flew and our
thoughts--oh! don’t let us think at all of them!
The side of the pass was formed by two gigantic icebergs which would
have to be more than half cut down before the wings could pass over
and the great ditch had to be filled up with ton after ton of snow.
But the 7th of June is a good day to work for homesick folk. The
knives are driven with greater certainty, the axes swung with greater
power, and in a remarkably short time the ice giants dwindled to
dwarfs. We experienced a very exciting episode on this occasion. While
Riiser-Larsen drove the machine over the snow glacier Dietrichson
went past and did not get out of the way. At the last moment he threw
himself down flat on the ground and the tail-skid passed so near
to him that I could not see daylight between. It was in the words’
fullest meaning a narrow escape. “I saw you all right,” remarked the
pilot later. “But I could not stop in the middle of the bridge.” That
his words were true was proved by looking back and noting that the
bridge was no longer there. It was a delightful feeling to sit on a
“flynder” and rush across the snow plains. It was not often we got the
satisfaction, as we usually had to stand by ready to push or haul the
machine over the snow. But this intermediate plain was hard and the
pilot could manage to steer with the wheel. And thus we stood before
the last ditch which had to be filled and leveled. It took us six hours
before it was finished and the machine landed in safety on the big
plain. It had been thawing the whole day and was uncomfortably warm for
working, but one could always throw some clothes off. We were not so
particular about our appearance.
The 8th of June brought us fog and half a degree of heat. It drizzled
the whole time and we were exceptionally uncomfortable. We were now
faced by another hard task, namely, turning the machine round in the
deep wet snow. We were unused to this work and consequently were fairly
clumsy. In addition to this we had to decrease our daily rations from
300 to 250 grammes, insufficient to keep up our strength. Our work in
the deep wet snow of this plain was wearying. More wearying than ever
before. Do you remember, comrades, how we made the turning platform?
You will scarcely have forgotten that? The machine had to be driven
up to the starting place and then swung round 180° to face the right
direction. The snow as already said was deep and wet, and any turning
of the machine under these conditions was hardly possible. What should
we do now? There was only one thing to be done, namely, to dig down
to the ice and turn the machine on that. The snow here was from two
to three feet deep and every spadeful was a heavy weight to lift,
particularly as we used the big shovels. We cleared a circular place
with a diameter of fifteen meters. That got the name “turning-table.”
Had we solved our problem by this you might have forgotten the
turning-table by now, but when we tried to turn the machine, we found
that the skids caught in the ice and stopped the whole progress. Again
we were faced with the question--“What shall we do?” And some one was
struck by a bright idea--to lay a snow-skate underneath. We all agreed
the idea was good, but to accomplish it was not easy. We must lift the
machine and it weighed four and one-half tons. But even that did not
frighten us. It was not to a great height that we had to lift it--just
about two centimeters, but only five men were available while the sixth
must place the snow-skate underneath. Never mind, come on, my heroes.
Lay your shoulders to the wheel and lift. And then five backs are bent
in unison, and one! two! three!--we had got it up on the snow-skate
at last. We continued working steadily, regardless of time’s flight,
from 4 A.M. on the 8th of June to 4 A.M. the next day. During that time
starting place No. 5 was worked on, tried, and approved. The fog lay
thick and heavy while the drizzle continued all day on the 9th, but
Riiser-Larsen insisted that the track should be completed. Think now
what a problem we had before us when we started to work that morning.
A track--500 meters long--twelve meters broad--should be made in wet
snow three feet in depth. The snow cleared away from the track must be
thrown at least six yards away from each side so that it should not
get in the way of the machine. We had lived on 250 grammes daily for
several days so you will not be astonished when I say that by evening
we were absolutely worn out. I watched, with wonder, the two giants
who wielded the shovels all day. We others did what we could, but our
work was trifling compared to theirs. On the 11th we set to again after
breakfast, but we could not keep up this strenuous work; an observer
would have noticed at once that he had a number of worn-out people
before him. The clang of the spades got slower, the rest-intervals
longer and longer till in the end we stood quite still and stared at
each other. It seemed an impossibility to get the snow shoveled aside
in a reasonable time. Whilst we stood discussing it, Omdal walked up
and down in the snow. It was only a chance that he did so, but a chance
which brought about important results. “See,” he shouted suddenly,
“this is what we can do instead of shoveling.” The place where he had
trekked was quite hard and with a little frost would give a splendid
surface. In the afternoon we started our great trek. Foot by foot
of the track of soft wet snow was trodden into a solid road. It was
still thawing, but we knew that if it turned frosty it would become a
perfect track--and it was only natural to expect that frost would come.
To make the surface even we had to remove long and high stretches of
ice-formation containing tons upon tons of ice. On the 14th of June
as we laid down our tools I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that
all in all we had removed 500 tons of ice and snow. That day we made
two starts, 6 and 7, but the foundation was still too soft as we had
had no constant frost. Certainly the temperature that day had been as
low as -12° c., but then it rose immediately after to 0° again. It
was impossible to get up sufficient speed to rise, the machine sank
down into the snow, and in a number of places dragged the whole of the
underlying snow with it. Now will it freeze or not?
The 15th of June was fixed as the latest day for our next attempt
to start. If that was not successful we must collaborate and decide
what could be done. There were not many courses to choose. Either we
must desert the machine and attempt to reach the nearest land, or we
must stay where we were and hope for an opportunity to rise in the
air. We had performed the miracle of leaving Spitzbergen with one
month’s provisions, and yet after four weeks had passed we found we
had provisions for six weeks. We could thus hold out until the 1st of
August. In my lifetime I have often been faced by situations where I
found it difficult to decide on the right course of action, but to
choose in this case with any degree of certainty was more difficult
than the making of any previous decision. The first alternative--to
set off in search of land--appeared to me to be the most sensible as,
should our provisions run out, it was possible further south that we
might find edible animal life. In addition this plan had the great
advantage that it would occupy our thoughts with the work we had ahead.
Against this plan the fact of our modest equipment and our probably
weakened condition must be weighed. When I privately considered these
two alternatives I always came to the conclusion that to look for land
was the most sensible, but as soon as I decided on this course a voice
whispered in my ear: “Are you mad, Boy? Will you leave a complete and
good machine, filled with petrol, and go down into the high broken ice
where you know you may perish miserably? A waterway may open up before
you to-morrow and then you will be home in eight hours’ time.” Will any
one blame me for my indecision when I found it so difficult to choose.
On the evening of the 14th we unloaded everything on the ice except
the most necessary, and _that_ we placed in a canvas boat. We kept
sufficient petrol and oil for eight hours, one canvas boat, two
shotguns, six sleeping bags, one tent, cooking utensils and provisions
for a few weeks. Even our splendid ski-shoes had to be set aside as
they were too heavy. Of our clothes we only kept what we could not do
without. All told it amounted to about 300 kg.
On the 15th of June we had a temperature of -3° c. with a little
breeze from the southeast, just the very wind we required. The track
was frozen fine and hard during the night, but the sky was not too
promising--low-lying clouds--but what in all the world did we care
about the sky! The thickest fog would not have kept us back. In this
light the track was very difficult to see; small black objects were
therefore placed at each side so that the pilot would be certain to
make no mistake. A little too much to one side or the other could be
fatal. At 9:30 P.M. everything was clear and ready for a start. The
solar-compasses and the engines started. They were three-quarters
warmed up. I cast a last glance over the track and walked along it to
pass the time. It ran from northeast towards southeast. A few yards in
front of the machine there was a small crack across the ice. It was
only a few inches wide, but there it was, and at any moment it might
open and separate the little corner we stood upon from all the rest.
For the distance of 100 meters the track rose quite gradually in order
to become level. Two hundred meters away, on the floe’s southeast
end, there also lay a crack right across, but this was of a much more
serious nature, and had caused us many uneasy moments. It was about
two feet wide and filled with water and mush. This seemed to show
that it was connected with the sea and could give us a few unpleasant
surprises sooner or later. Should this crack widen and tear away 200
meters of our track, the latter would be entirely ruined. The floe
ended in a three-foot broad water-lane; on the other side of it, direct
in the line of the track, lay a flat forty-meter long plain, which one
will understand was far from ideal, but absolutely the best which the
place could offer us. At 10:30 everything was in order. In the pilot’s
seat sat Riiser-Larsen, behind him Dietrichson and I, in the petrol
tank Omdal and Feucht, and Ellsworth in the mess. Dietrichson was to
navigate us homewards and should really have taken his place in the
observer’s seat in front of the pilot. But as that was too exposed
in view of the nature of the task we were undertaking, his place was
allotted further back at the start. This was undeniably a most anxious
moment. As soon as the machine began to glide one could notice a great
difference from the day before. The hasty forward glide was not to
be mistaken. One hundred meters off, we started at top-speed, 2,000
revolutions a minute. It trembled and shook, shivered and piped. It
was as though N 25 understood the situation. It was as though the whole
of its energy had been gathered for one last and decisive spring from
the floe’s southern edge. Now--or never.
We rushed over the three-meter wide crack, dashed down from the
forty-meter broad floe and then? Was it possible? Yes, indeed! The
scraping noise stopped, only the humming of the motor could be
heard. At last we were in flight. A smile and a nod and Dietrichson
disappeared into the observation compartment.
And now started the flight which will take its place amongst the most
supreme in flying’s history. An 850-kilometer flight with death as the
nearest neighbor. One must remember that we had thrown practically
everything away from us. Even though we had managed by a miracle to
get away with our lives, after a forced landing, still our days were
numbered.
The sky was low and for two hours we were compelled to fly at a height
of fifty meters. It was interesting to observe the ice conditions,
so we eased down. We believed that in different places we observed
from the sky we could distinguish open water all around us. But it
was not the case. Not a drop was to be seen anywhere, nothing but ice
in a chaotic jumble all around. It was interesting also to see that
the floe, which from first to last had given us freedom, was the
only floe within a radius of many miles which could have been of any
use to us. N 24 got a farewell wave and was lost to sight for ever.
Everything worked excellently, the engines went like sewing machines
and gave us unqualified confidence. Both solar-compasses ticked and
worked, and we knew that if only the sun would appear, they would be
of invaluable assistance to us. The speedometers were placed. By the
wheel sat the pilot, cool and confident as always. In the navigating
compartment was a man I trusted absolutely, and by the engines two
men who knew their work perfectly. Ellsworth spent his time making
geographical observations and photographs. I myself managed to get
what was impossible on the journey north, a splendid opportunity to
study the whole flight. The course was set towards Spitzbergen’s north
coastland, around Nord Kap. In the two first hours we steered by the
magnetic compass. This had been considered an impossibility, hitherto,
so far north, but the result was excellent. When the sun broke through
after two hours and shone direct on the solar-compass, it showed us how
exactly we had steered. For three hours the atmosphere had been clear,
but now it turned to thick fog. We rose to a height of 200 meters,
flying over it in brilliant sunshine. Here we derived much benefit from
the solar-compasses and were able to compare their readings with the
magnetic-compass. We had fog for an hour and then it cleared again.
The condition of the ice was as on the northern trip, small floes, with
icebergs on all sides. There was apparently no system in its formation;
everything was a jumble. There was more open water than on the northern
tour, but no waterways, only basins.
In 82° N. Lat. the fog descended again. The pilot tried for some time
to fly under it, and this was a flight which would have delighted
people who seek nerve-splitting thrills. The fog came lower and lower
till at last it stretched right over the icebergs. With a speed of
about 120 miles at a low altitude one gets a new impression of flying.
With a rush we passed over the top of the icebergs one after the other.
At a great height one does not notice the terrific speed. One is,
on the contrary, astonished how slowly one appears to be traveling.
Several times icebergs peeped up directly under us, so close in fact
that I thought, “We shall never clear that one!” But the next moment we
were across it. There could not have been more than a hair’s breadth to
spare. At last the conditions became impossible; fog and ice blended
into one. We could see nothing. There was another matter as well which
was of special weight, namely, the nearness of Spitzbergen. Should we
fly into the high cliff walls with a speed of 120 kilometers there
would not be much left of us. There was only one thing to do--to fly
over the fog and that was exactly what the pilot decided to do.
Up 100 meters high--and we were above the fog in brilliant sunshine. It
was observable soon that the fog was thinning, it began to lift more
and more in big masses, and soon we could see territory under it. It
was not inviting; nothing but small ice with a little water. When I
speak of the impossible landing conditions it is only to show that to
land here would have meant certain death. Such a landing would have
crushed the machine and sent it to the bottom. The fog lifted steadily
and soon disappeared entirely. It was a fresh southerly breeze which
brought about this welcome change. The fog had lain thickest in the
south, but now that began to move away as well. Large sections of it
tore themselves away from the great mass and disappeared in small
driving clouds. Where was Spitzbergen? Had we steered so mistakenly
that we had flown to the side of it? It was quite possible. One had no
experience in the navigation of the air in these regions. Over and over
again the general opinion of the magnetic compass’s uselessness in this
district came back to my mind as I sat there. The solar-compass had--as
soon as we got the sun--shown a reading in agreement with the magnetic
compass, but it was set at ----? At what? If only I knew! There was
probably no ground for anxiety, yet I felt dubious. We ought to see
land by now. We had not enough petrol to last long--and still no land.
Then suddenly a big heavy fog-cloud tore itself away and rose slowly,
disclosing a high glittering hill-top. There was scarcely any doubt. It
must be Spitzbergen. To the north lay some islands. They coincided with
Syvöene and the land stretched out in a westerly direction. But even
if it were not Spitzbergen, it was still land--good, solid land. From
the islands there stretched a dark strip northwards. It was water--the
great open sea. Oh! what a delightful feeling--sea and land and no more
ice. Our course lay southwards, but to get more quickly away from the
ugly conditions beneath us, the course was set westwards and downwards
to the open sea. It was more than a clever move on the part of the
pilot--it was refreshing to see how instinct came to his aid--because
the controls were showing signs of wear. It is enough to say before
we had got right across the sea the controls jammed and an immediate
landing was necessary. The wind blew with a cold blast from what we
learned later was Hinlopen Strait and the sea was high and rough. The
forced landing was accomplished with all the assurance and experience
which always distinguished our pilot. We left our places and all went
aft in order to allow the nose to lift as high as possible. The pilot
was the only one left forward. He flew most carefully, guiding the
boat and maneuvering it against the highest waves, which were of
tremendous dimensions. We who were aft kept warm and dry, but it was a
different matter for the man at the wheel. Time after time the waves
lashed over him, wetting him to the skin in a few minutes. It was not
“_spray_” which we shipped when the waves broke over us. Unused as
I was to maneuvers of this kind I expected every moment to see the
bottom stove in. It was seven in the evening when the forced landing
was accomplished, and it was not until eight that we reached land. It
was a fairly shoal bay we entered and the landing places it offered us
were not of the best. We found a sloping side of the coast ice where
we could climb ashore. The wind now died away and the sun shone on the
heavy stones which lay on the beach. Here and there a little fresh rill
ran between them singing as it descended from the hillsides. The sweet
voices of birds fitted in with our gentle mood of eventide and inspired
in us a feeling of solemnity. There was no need to look for a church
wherein to praise God the Almighty and offer up to Him our burning
thanks. Here was a spot amidst His own wonderful nature. The sea lay
smooth and calm with here and there tremendous pieces of ice protruding
from the water. The whole scene made an ineradicable impression on us
which we shall never forget. The plane was moored to a large piece
of ice so that it swung free, and all of us went ashore. There were
two things which it was necessary for us to do in our own interests.
First to discover our whereabouts and then to have a little food. The
chocolate and the three biscuits we had taken at 8 A.M. no longer
satisfied us. While Dietrichson “took the sun” the rest of us got the
meal ready--a repetition of breakfast. How good it tasted! How fine
it was to jump about among the big rocks! We became children again.
All around lay driftwood which we could use for firing if we remained
here any time. The ninety liters of petrol which we had must be used
sparingly.
Omdal, who had been our cook during the whole trip, wished to set the
Primus going, as there was still a little drop of petrol left in it,
and he was busy with it when suddenly Riiser-Larsen shouted, “There
is a ship.” And truly there in the east round the nearest point came
a little cutter, gliding along. Had misfortune earlier been our lot
luck seemed now to overwhelm us. It was now 9 P.M. and Dietrichson
had just completed his observations. We found that we were exactly
at Nord Kap on Nordostland, the very spot we had steered for in the
morning. Thus the flight was a master-stroke on the part of the man
who directed the machine, while the navigator shares the distinction
with him. It was a splendid deed! But--the little cutter had changed
her course and apparently had not noticed us. She moved quickly and
was probably fitted with a motor engine. What should we do? What should
we do to communicate with it? “Nothing easier,” said the flying-men.
“Just sit tight and you shall see.” In a second everything was brought
on board the plane, the motor started and we rushed over the sea
stopping exactly beside the cutter. It was the cutter “Sjöliv” of
Balsfjord--Captain Nils Wollan. A jolly-boat was lowered and with
two men rowed across to us. They seemed in doubt as to who we could
be, dirty and bearded as we were. But when I turned slightly round I
exposed my profile--and they knew us at once. Would they tow us down
to King’s Bay as our petrol was almost done? They would be delighted
to do this, in fact Wollan would have certainly towed us to China if
we had asked him, so glad was he to see us, so beaming with kindness
and goodwill. We had a rope attached to N 25 and we all went on board
the “Sjöliv.” There for the first time we felt that the expedition
was finished. Quietly and calmly we shook hands with each other--it
was a handshake that said much. We were received by all the crew
with hearty welcome and shown down to the cabins. While this part
of the ship was not exactly a ballroom, the cabins on “Sjöliv”--2
× 2 meters--compared with what we had had in the last four weeks,
were roomy and comfortable. These good people cleared out of them
absolutely and handed over the whole place to us. In the two broad
bunks four of us were able to sleep, while two found berths in the
men’s quarters. “Will you have coffee?” was the first question. Would
we! Yes, certainly, and as quickly as possible with a smoke thrown in.
We had been tobaccoless for the last days and now were longing for a
smoke. The first coffee was not an unqualified success; the coffee pot
was set on the fire to warm and, on a mighty roll the cutter gave,
it flew straight onto Riiser-Larsen’s back. He was thus the first to
get coffee, but if he appreciated the honor, his language expressed a
totally different opinion. They apologized to us for the egg pancake
and the seal-flesh which comprised the next course, but apologies were
unnecessary. All the food disappeared as though a whirlwind had passed
over the table--and this, despite the fact that we had decided to eat
sparingly after our long restriction.
The towing of N 25 proceeded satisfactorily in the beginning, but
during the night a southerly breeze came up blowing directly down from
the hills. The waves increased steadily and as we steered westwards
towards Hinlopen Strait we decided that we must turn landwards and
anchor. We only got to bed at 5:30 A.M., after traversing an endless
number of roods.
At eleven o’clock the next morning we were up again. It was blowing a
gale and we lay badly. We decided therefore that we should go into the
nearest bay to find a calm and safe harborage for N 25, let it remain
there while we went on to King’s Bay for assistance, return for the
seaplane and fly it down. The nearest harbor was Brandy Bay. We looked
at each other as much as to say, “Can we really permit ourselves to
enter a place with such a name?” The ice here lay at the bottom of the
Bay and we towed the machine safely through it. At 8 P.M. we steered
for King’s Bay. It was a windy passage through Hinlopen Strait. The sea
was high and rough and the “Sjöliv” enjoyed herself royally. If our
feelings agreed with hers, I should not like to say. On the 17th we
sailed along Spitzbergen’s north coast in summer sunshine and warmth.
We passed a few vessels and asked if they had seen “Hobby”--but “No,
they had not.”
As we passed Virgo-havn we hoisted all our flags and the little
“Sjöliv” was in gala attire. We wanted to honor the memory of the
man who, for the first time, sought to reach the Pole through the
air--Salomon August Andrëe. Was there any one in the world who had
more right to honor the memory of this man than we six who stood here
looking over the place from which he set out on his sad expedition. I
scarcely think so. We lowered our flag and continued.
At 11 P.M. we rounded Cape Mitra and there lay King’s Bay before us.
It was a wonderful sensation to sail back through the Bay and see
all the old well-known places again. The ice had vanished, melted by
the sunshine as loon and auk gamboled in its rays. Anxiety was rife
among us as we sailed in as to whether “Hobby” was here or not? The
skipper looked out, came back and announced that “Hobby” was not here;
only a coal-boat lay by the quay. As we approached one or other of us
went continually to look out; suddenly some one cried, “Yes, there is
‘Hobby.’ And another boat lies there also, but I can’t distinguish
which it is.” Our relief was great. There lay “Hobby” and many of our
dear friends were near. “Hullo,” some one cried from above, “the other
boat is the Heimdal.’” “No, you must be mad. What would the ‘Heimdal’
be doing here?” answered another. We had not the slightest idea what
awaited us. Nearer and nearer we approached. “Shall we raise the flag?”
said the skipper. “No,” I answered, “there is no reason to do so.” But
a little later some one said, “Surely we must greet the naval flag.”
“Yes, naturally. I have forgotten my good manners on the trip,” I had
to admit. So up went the flag and the “Sjöliv” approached the quay. We
continually had our glasses directed on the ships ahead; suddenly some
one exclaimed, “Good gracious, two flying machines are lying there.”
And, true enough, there lay two Hansa-Brandenburgers ready for flight.
Surely they were destined for a North Coast charting survey, as that
had been discussed last year. Yes, that seemed quite possible! That
_we_ were the reason for all this excitement never entered our minds.
We came on nearer and nearer. We could now see that they were beginning
to direct glasses on us from the Coast, showing interest in the little
cutter. As we sailed in one of our people who saw a comrade on board
the “Hobby” shouted, “Hullo, Finn, how is everything at home?” That
was the signal for great excitement. We saw them run round each other
in jubilation, shouting and gesticulating. What in the world was the
reason for all this? Soon we were to know. The motor stopped and the
“Sjöliv” sailed up alongside “Hobby.”
[Illustration: MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION ARRIVING AT KING’S BAY]
The reception we received will never be forgotten, not even when other
things fill our thoughts. Our friends wept, they took hold of us, they
looked at us with unbelieving glance--“But, Great God, is it you?” They
simply did not realize that we had returned. But they explained how
they had waited and waited, insisting that they had never given us up,
while in their hearts they knew they had. And suddenly there we stood
among them--the dead returned to life. No wonder that the reaction was
great. Not one sensible word was said during the first half hour. There
stood all our dear old friends: Captain Hagerup, Lieutenant Horgen,
Zapffe, Ramm, Berge, etc. They looked so happy. And there were the
dear fellows who had been sent to our relief: Captain Blom of the
“Heimdal” and First Lieutenant F. Lutzow-Holm with the air fleet.
[Illustration: ROALD AMUNDSEN AND LINCOLN ELLSWORTH AT THE RECEPTION BY
THE KING OF NORWAY]
The last to come down, not because he wished to be late, but because it
took him a long time to traverse the road from the Director’s house,
was our dear host, Stakkars Knutsen. He had run so fast that he had to
stand for a time to regain his breath. It was a warm reunion. Among
all who had missed us in that time there was scarcely anybody whom
our absence had made more uneasy. Late and early, we were told, he
had scanned the horizon looking for us. Never had we been out of his
thoughts. Big, strong man as he was, he had the warmest and softest of
hearts. No wonder then that the meeting with Knutsen was regarded as an
outstandingly important incident.
We had to be photographed from all sides, although a record would
appear on the plate of a month’s whiskers and dirt. In an hour both
would have vanished. And so we set off to our old King’s Bay quarters
where we had passed unforgettable days before our departure. It was
like a delightful dream to see it again. Every day as we had sat in
our little mess on N 25 taking our humble meal, it was remarked on
every side, “Oh! if only we were back at Knutsen’s.” And now we were
there. We felt we wanted to pinch ourselves and ask, “Is this really
possible? Can you really eat as many biscuits as you wish?” There was
no time to shave and wash first. No! Berta had now taken command, and
we should first and foremost have food. As we stepped into the room,
cheering broke out. The Station welcomed us back, and never has our
National Anthem sounded finer than it did as we stood in the little
square room listening to the tones of what is our dearest hymn. I
believe there was not one dry eye in the company. “Gud sygne dig landet
vaart. Vi gir dig med glede alt.”
On the next day about three or four o’clock the steam bath was ready
and a change was effected; hair and whiskers disappeared. We were all
very thin, but we noticed it now more distinctly. It looked as though
Riiser-Larsen could have put his collar twice round his neck--the same
size collar which had even been tight for him when he set out for the
north.
What time we went to bed that night I really cannot say, but I do know
that when I came out next morning and looked around, one of the finest
sights met me, making an ineradicable impression. On the flagstaff,
right before the house, waved our big, beautiful National flag in a
light summer breeze. The sun was blazing down and the glaciers around
shone like silver in its rays. All seemed to be in festal dress. The
hills blushed with the finest little flowers, and the birds twittered
and sang. In the harbor lay the boats fully be-flagged. Yes! it was
almost necessary to pinch myself to see if I was really awake. It
seemed more like a fable.
On June 20th at 2 A.M. the “Heimdal” left the Bay with flying-men,
mechanics, and photographer on board. They were off to Brandy Bay
to fetch the machine. At eight next evening they were back with the
apparatus in good order. We were dining when they arrived, but the
hum of the motor brought us all to our feet. There she came gliding
elegantly along and landed immediately afterwards. Now we got a holiday
which we all keenly appreciated. It reminded me of my happy days
when I could lie in idleness in the country and get fat! Hundreds of
telegrams streamed in daily from all corners of the world. The King
and Queen were first to send a greeting: “The Queen and I wish you and
your companions welcome back. I thank you for your enterprise and that
you have again brought honor to Norway. Haakon R.” The Crown Prince’s
followed immediately after. Then came the Storthing, the Government,
the Universities, all the towns, a number of districts and clubs and
all the foreign Legations. Telegrams from abroad also poured in with
congratulations--one from the English King, the German President, the
Geographic and Scientific Associations, among others. Those were hard
days for the telegraphers here in the north, but they were unusually
smart. The telegraph service on board the “Fram” and the “Heimdal”
gave us invaluable assistance. In addition to this the King’s Bay Coal
Company’s telegrapher, Herr Hagenis, worked at high pressure all the
time.
On June 23rd “Hobby” left us to return to her home--Tromsö. It was like
losing an old friend, for we had been so glad to have with us all these
clever, splendid people, who went with her; Ramm and Berge accompanied
them.
St. Hans’ Eve was celebrated with due ceremony,--bonfire, song and
dance. The Coal Company’s chartered boat “Albr. W. Selmer,” which
came into the station on the 21st of June, was finished by the 25th
with loading coal and took on board (the same afternoon) N 25 and the
Navy’s two Hansa-Brandenburgers. They were shipped as they lay on the
water--N 25 forward and the two others aft. The “Albr. W. Selmer”
was suddenly turned into something which looked like a cross between
fish and fowl. The planes were stretched out at both sides, and must
have offered a most unusual sight to any ship meeting her. “Selmer”
was an old boat, but quite able to take the whole expedition south.
Furthermore, she had sufficient room to carry the machines quite easily
and could house all the members. Captain Aasgard, her captain, and
his officers made room for us with customary Norwegian hospitality
and kindness and we of the expedition had the whole of the ship’s
after-part given over to us. Thus we had the officers’ quarters and
saloon. It was hard to say good-by to Knutsen and King’s Bay. We shall
always hold as one of our dearest memories the wonderful hospitality
and kindly care which was shown to us there on our return. At eleven
o’clock the “Selmer” left King’s Bay in glorious weather. The midnight
sun stood high in the heavens and the hills around were brightly
illumined. From the “Heimdal” we heard the sounds of them playing “Ja
vi elker” and from the Station’s height cheers broke out. The flags
were dipped--one last farewell and the Station disappears--our dear
home--behind us. We were ten passengers: Captain Hagerup, Lieuts.
Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Horgen, Lutzow-Holm, Omdal, Zapffe, Feucht,
Ellsworth and myself. It was an unforgettable holiday--and festal
journey. The intention was that we should sail down outside the Islands
all the way, anchoring at Lang-Grunnen, from whence we should enter
Horten. This, however, was altered as time passed. We met a heavy
swell coming from the east, making it dangerous for our machines.
We must therefore “hug the coast” as quickly as possible, and at 11
A.M., June 29th, we passed Fugleö. Telegrams continued to come in such
numbers that the ship’s second mate, who was also radio-telegrapher,
was overworked. Near Tromsö we were overhauled by the S.S. “Richard
With,” belonging to the Vesteraalske Steamship Company. As it passed,
it hoisted its flags and broke out into loud cheers, as all on board
waved and shouted. This was the first greeting we had had of this
kind. Unexpectedly as it came it absolutely overwhelmed us. It was a
delightful greeting and will never be forgotten. Now we had an idea
what awaited us elsewhere and as we saw the tremendous preparations in
Tromsö Sound we were prepared. Out shot two large flag-bedecked ships
full of festal-clad jubilant people. A little further forward we saw
our old friend “Hobby” so gayly decorated and so laden with people
that she took our breath away. Speeches were made, songs were sung and
people cheered. The passage through Tromsö Sound was triumphant--a
proof of the warm-hearted hospitality characteristic of the people. The
wonderful summer weather continued all the time and our journey along
the coast was like a trip through Dreamland. Our beautiful flag was to
be seen everywhere and greeted us with the same glowing warmth. Fir
trees and birches were dressed in their most lovely green reminding
us of Fairyland as we glided past. Here and there lay solitary little
fishing-boats and I felt many times a lump in my throat when their
sunburnt men stood up, raised their hats and sent us their “Welcome
Home.” It was a calm but deep welcome which, in contrast to other more
demonstrative greetings, filled us with emotion.
Outside Kristiansand we received our first welcome from the air. It was
the Fleet and the Army greeting us. Four Hansa-Brandenburgers circled
round us once and then disappeared.
On the afternoon of July 4th we passed Færder and entered Oslo-Fjord
and were met with jubilant crowds by air and by sea. At Fuglehuk we
encountered one of the most affecting scenes which we had lived through
all the time, the meeting between the flying-men and their wives. The
companion ladder was lowered, all heads were bared, and the two women,
who had borne the hardest part of the expedition, climbed on board. If
I only had command of all the world’s flags I would dip them in honor,
if I only had all the world’s guns I would fire them all, to give these
brave women a reception worthy of an Empress, for as such I regarded
them.
At eleven o’clock at night we sailed into Horten’s Quay. Any attempt
to describe this would be in vain. It was like the Arabian Nights. I
was happy to go ashore at Horten, for in the past I had harvested so
much good there that I was deeply grateful to this place. Not one of
my expeditions had ever set out without the Norwegian Navy playing a
great part; this last one being indebted in an overwhelming degree. It
was through the Norwegian Navy’s Air Service that this last trip was
really made possible. Thanks to their liberal granting of necessary
permission, thanks to their giving us clever men; thanks to them again
it was possible to set off on our enterprise.
Thus came the day--the great, the unforgettable day--the 5th of July,
1925. Summer favored us in its fullest glory. Who can describe the
feelings which rose within us as we of the N 25 flew in, over the
flag-bedecked capital, where thousands upon thousands of people stood
rejoicing? Who can describe the sights that met us as we descended
to the water surrounded by thousands of boats? The reception on the
quay? The triumphant procession through the streets? The reception at
the Castle? And then, like a shining crown set upon the whole, their
Majesties’ dinner at the Castle. All belongs to remembrance--the
undying memory of the best in a lifetime.