REPORT ABOUT N 24 FROM THE START UNTIL WE JOINED N 25 AND ITS CREW ON
THE 26TH MAY
BY L. DIETRICHSON
REPORT ABOUT N 24 FROM THE START UNTIL WE JOINED N 25 AND ITS CREW ON
THE 26TH MAY
I am sitting in the South in real, tropical, summer heat. Outside my
windows roses of all colors are blooming, and the air is positively
saturated with the perfume of flowers. Beyond the harbor, as far as the
eye can see, the water is like a mirror, clear and inviting.
I have to write a few words regarding our experience on the polar
flight. The events seem so far, so far away, that it appears almost as
a dream. The _present_ is a reality. It reminds me of the days when, up
in the ice desert, we had a similar if not quite so strong a feeling
that the glorious days which we had spent with Director Knutsen in
King’s Bay were mere fantasies.
Meantime my diary with its few daily notes lies before me, and with the
help of these I hope I can manage to give a correct description of the
events which I am trying to depict. I may add that I am principally
concerned in giving a correct narration of the actual happenings, and
nothing is further from my thoughts than literary ambition.
I will start by quoting my notes of the 21st May: “Easterly breeze,
clear weather, excellent conditions for starting. Hope that the great
day has now come. Try to start with 3,100 kilo weight, but am prepared
to have to reduce same.”
This was written on the morning of the 21st and my hope was to be
realized. Meteorologists predicted good weather conditions in the polar
basin and the plane was loaded and ready. In the afternoon the members
of the expedition, accompanied by friends and the people of King’s Bay,
went out to the plane. The lashings received final touches, instruments
were placed in position, and engines were started. In the half hour
during which the engines warmed up we said good-by to friends and
acquaintances, and we placed special value on the good wish, “God bless
your trip,” which we received from the miners’ representatives and the
crew of the “Fram.” Our tireless friend, Director Knutsen, gave us
practical proof of his kindness by handing us, when we were on board, a
parcel of sandwiches, cold meat and hard-boiled eggs as well as a box
of excellent oatcakes baked by Fru Director Clausen of Aalesund. As
transpired later, these provisions came in exceedingly handy.
At last both planes were ready. Omdal reported that the engines
were all right, and Ellsworth was ready with his navigating and
meteorological instruments. N 25 was lying with its nose facing the
fjord, where the start was to be made. N 24, somewhat further in,
lay parallel with the beach in order to escape the air pressure and
the snow spray from N 25’s propeller. The latter plane at last slid
down the hacked-out glide onto the ice, and N 24 proceeded in a half
circle in order to follow down the same track. Meantime it was no
easy task to raise the heavily laden plane 90°. At the same time as
the engines pulled the plane slowly forward something snapped through
the pressure on the tail. But there were plenty of willing hands--too
many in fact. Above the humming of the engine I suddenly heard a noise
which sounded to me as if a row of rivets in the bottom had sprung.
Meantime the plane was in starting position. The people were quickly
waved aside, and we glided down on the ice in the track of N 25.
Director Schulte-Frohlinde from the Pisa Works had undoubtedly heard
a suspicious noise when the rivets burst (that could be seen by the
concerned look on his face) although the noise probably sounded worse
in the plane than outside. I presume he calmed down when we continued
on our way, but I smiled to myself at the sight of his sudden shock.
As far as I was concerned the occurrence was quite clear. I knew that
some of the rivets were out, although I could not judge how many. But
I took it for granted that it would not place any special difficulties
in the way of our landing or starting, even on the water, after we had
lightened the plane by over 1,000 kg. of petrol and oil on the way up
to the Pole. Added to this was the chance that we might possibly land
and start from the ice, where the leakage would not matter. On the
other hand, repairs would have delayed the start indefinitely; then
again we might have periods when, impatiently waiting to start, every
minute of the day we would look concernedly at the weather conditions
becoming foggier and foggier and delaying us. My all-engrossing thought
was: “Now or never.” And thus we carried on.
The arrangement was that N 25 should start first. There was a slight
breeze from the end of the fjord, but in order to prevent a turning
of 180° with the heavy-laden plane, we decided to try first to make a
start beyond the fjord. We therefore stopped in the middle of the ice
and started to put our flying suits on, which we did not want to don
until the last minute in order not to get too warm before starting.
Suddenly we saw N 25 gliding landwards and flying past us with both
engines working at full power with constantly increasing speed. It
was clear immediately that the start would be successful. I did not
get time to see more nor to put on snow-glasses and gloves, for the
ice began to sink more and more under the plane’s weight. There was
already a foot of water on the ice round about us, and at the same
time Omdal informed us that the water was also rising inside fairly
rapidly. These conditions coming all at once made it imperative to act,
and a few seconds later I had given N 24’s 720-horsepower full scope.
It looked as if the plane spent a little time in consideration, then
started slowly to glide ahead, the water on the ice disappeared, and
quicker and quicker we drove over the lightly snow-covered ice-plain.
It seemed as if the high glacier at the end of the fjord was coming to
meet us at a dangerous speed. But a glance at the speedometer showed
a steady, regularly increasing speed which had a completely calming
effect. As the indicator showed 110 kilometers per hour I thought that
the plane could rise, but in order to make quite certain, I waited
until the indicator showed 120 kilometers before I let it rise slowly.
It was an inspiring feeling to be in the air at last. The fascinating
expedition had at last begun. The time of preparation was over.
Our admiration for the plane’s ability knew no bounds. As mentioned
before we were quite prepared to face the necessity of having to
jettison a part of the load, namely petrol. According to the contract
the plane was only bound to carry 2,500 kilos weight, but we got away
all right with 3,100 kilos. As we learned later, the starting track was
1,400 meters long, but if necessity had demanded it could have been
considerably shorter.
As soon as the nose of N 24 had been slowly and carefully steered round
outside the fjord, I started to look out for N 25. It is surprising
how difficult it often is to discover a plane in the air from another
one. But at last I saw it, and apparently on board N 25 they were also
on the lookout for us. All the circumstances which could possibly
arise had been thoroughly discussed before starting and the main thing
was, if possible, to keep together. Written orders were therefore not
necessary, and only one written order was issued as a guide in case we
should be separated, and it read as follows:
“In case the two planes and their crews should lose contact with one
another, N 24 and its crew shall continue operations under Lieutenant
Dietrichson’s leadership as agreed. Lieutenant Dietrichson has the
right in the name of His Majesty the King of Norway to take possession
of any land that may be discovered.”
As we then glided northwards along the west coast of Spitzbergen past
the seven glaciers and further past Dansköen and Amsterdamöen, it was
certainly our mutual wish that luck would favor us so that we should
never lose sight of one another. This wish was strengthened when early
in the course of the flight thick clouds and fog met us, forcing us
to rise to about 1,000 meters, where we found the sky beautiful, blue
and sunny, whilst the fog lay below us like a blanket stretching out
northwards as far as the eye could see.
The arrangement was that the flight up to the north coast should be
considered as a trial flight, and that both planes should return
to King’s Bay if everything was not going on all right; but if the
contrary was the case, to continue. With a feeling of relief I saw
that N 25 continued its course northwards, so that everything on
board there must be in order. But shortly afterwards I noticed by the
cooling-gauge that the temperature of the water had risen alarmingly.
Omdal, always practical, had been prudent enough to fix a bell from
my compartment to the petrol-store and to the engine-gondolas, and as
soon as I had pressed the button Omdal was beside me. I pointed to
the thermometer, which was steadily rising, and Omdal disappeared aft
again like a rocket. He is a phenomenon in wriggling round the engines,
where (to use a mild phrase) space is scarce. I glanced aft and saw
that the radiator blinds were not quite open, but even after they had
been opened wide, the temperature continued to rise. The indicator
had passed 100° and I felt sure that we would have to make a forced
landing. Through small holes in the fog we could see the drift ice
below us where a landing would certainly mean a wrecked plane. The
temperature rose higher and the last I saw was that it indicated 115°,
when the thermometer burst and my hopes sank to zero. I rang again for
Omdal, but a little time elapsed before he came, and I judged that he
was busy. Meantime I was astonished to see that the engines still went
as well as ever. I had throttled them down to 1,600 revolutions, but
expected to hear a crack any minute; and how goes it with the forward
motor? The two engines had a common radiator, but the thermometer
showed the temperature of the water after it passed the aft-motor, so
there was still a hope for the forward one. The radiator gauge for this
motor was, however, fixed in the engine gondolas out of the pilot’s
control. After what in my anxiety seemed to be several minutes, Omdal
appeared again, and when I asked him what was the matter replied that
everything was all right. I knew anyway that the expression “all right”
was (to say the least of it) an exaggeration, in view of the fact that
I had seen the temperature rise to over 115°. But at the same time I
knew that the engines worked with a regular hum, and if anybody could
manage to keep them going it was Omdal. I therefore hoped to keep in
the air by very careful flying. As minute after minute passed, without
catastrophe, my confidence rose.
Side by side these two gigantic birds flew northwards towards the
unknown, cold, inhospitable polar regions, which for centuries have
been the scene of so many men’s cravings and strugglings, where so
many defeats have been borne after unbearable sufferings, privations
and vain endeavors, and where also a few mighty victories have been won.
One could not avoid thinking about the difference between our present
journey and the previous expedition. Roald Amundsen thought of the
new element--the air as the connecting link--making use of it for the
first time in polar exploration (if one excludes the congenial Swedish
explorer Andre’s trial with his balloon in 1897, the result of which
has been lost to the world’s records). Would the world gather new
knowledge from our experiences? How far it would benefit depended, in
my opinion, on the landing possibilities. If we should be lucky in
finding suitable landing-places, at not too lengthy distances apart,
our undertaking would certainly succeed. If the opposite should be
the case, the chances would of course be small. But just the question
of landing-places gave an element of uncertainty to our expedition.
The presumptuous “specialists” gave distinctly opposite opinions
regarding the conditions of the water-lanes of the ice regions. All
these opinions showed one common result, namely, that we could not
depend upon any of them. Nobody had so far observed the conditions from
a flying-man’s point of view. This we were quite clear about, but we
depended upon the material at our disposal, namely, our flying-boats,
which, if the worst should happen, ought to be able to take us back
home without our making a landing.
I believe we all sat there thinking how previous expeditions had
advanced laboriously, kilometer after kilometer, had climbed over high
icebergs and passed water-lanes during exciting marches which lasted
days, sometimes their path was blocked by waterways which must be
crossed with the aid of the frail equipment which the explorers could
carry with them. In contrast to this we were now, three men in each
plane, steering, with slight touches and very little work, these flying
boats, which not only carried us but also our equipment high over all
obstacles with a speed of some kilometers per minute. Frithjof Nansen
mentions several times in his reports about his and Johansen’s journey
towards the North Pole that he wished he had wings in order to pass the
countless icebergs. The dream has become true. As long as we can remain
in the air the icebergs cannot hinder us.
But to return to the business of our flight. The fog extended further
north than we expected, and although this did not interfere with our
flying, it interfered with the deviation and speed observations--a
matter which was very annoying.
[Illustration: THE _Sjoliv_, THE SEALER THAT PICKED THEM UP]
Mr. Ellsworth told me later that he had been very impressed by the
flight over the fog-belt. Wherever our plane threw a shadow on the
fog-belt below, a double halo in all the colors of the rainbow
appeared, and in the midst of this the silhouette of N 24 could be seen
quite clearly. This phenomenon accompanied us all the time we were over
the fog-belt and was very impressive. Roald Amundsen had observed the
same thing in connection with the flight of N 25.
[Illustration: AT BRANDY BAY, NORTH-EAST LAND, ON THE WAY HOME]
Just after we had passed 82° north the fog disappeared and we continued
to fly over these boundless icefields, which stretched monotonously as
far as the eye could see. We flew at different heights, varying from
1,000 to 3,000 meters.
The ice looked quite different to what I expected. Instead of the
big kilometer-long ice plain, we saw ice plains which through cracks
or bergs had been divided into small irregular pieces, where it was
impossible to land. And open water-lanes! These were reduced to quite
small snakelike cracks, following a winding course on which it was also
impossible to land. As far as I was concerned, I consoled myself with
the belief that probably once we came nearer our goal, we should find
the ice plains a little larger and evener. But hour after hour passed
without the conditions below us changing to any noticeable degree.
Notwithstanding this and in spite of the fact that our second engine
had been exposed to extraordinary strain, I still felt quite safe. The
regular beat of our two Rolls-Royce engines, which never varied in the
slightest, and which might well be considered the height of perfection
in British workmanship and exactitude, gave one confidence. And it was
a necessary factor. Every flying man will understand this.
One question which always cropped up whenever the North Pole flight was
discussed was in regard to the cold, which one thought would be found
unbearable by the crew. Let me say at once that it did not bother us
in the least. Even in the case of the pilot, who is so closely tied to
his place, it proved to be of no great discomfort. This of course was
on account of the carefulness with which we selected our kit, thanks to
the long experience of our leaders in the polar regions. I was rather
afraid about my hands and feet, but the clothes, which are described in
another part of this book, stood the test splendidly.
Meantime one hour after another passed and we had soon made a flight of
eight hours duration. Reckoning on a speed of 140 kilometers per hour,
that ought to have brought us directly into the neighborhood of the
Pole. Our position now depended solely on how strong the wind had been
blowing against us, or in other words, what ground speed we had made.
But what was to be done? Landing places were still not to be found.
Omdal came forward to me and shook his head for once, pointing to the
icefields below us.
Then we suddenly saw--for the first time since we went above the
fog-belts at Spitzbergen--the sun playing on blue water, which was
rippling under the influence of a slight breeze. We could hardly
believe our eyes. N 25 changed its course down towards the tempting
water and started slowly to descend. We followed. The water-lane was
apparently large enough to land on, but was divided into several
portions by icebergs and banks of snow and ice. It was hopeless to
land on the ice round about and it presented an increasingly worse
appearance the lower we got. I saw N 25 land in an arm, or, speaking
correctly, in a branch of the waterway, where as far as I could see
there was very little room. I came to the conclusion, in any case, that
there was only room for one plane, and therefore I flew round a little,
and landed on an ideal place a little to the south, in a fine little
lake. With slow speed we proceeded on to the biggest ice-floe we could
see, and secured N 24 there. I noticed that the aft motor stopped of
its own accord as soon as I had throttled it down.
The first surprise we met with, as soon as we arrived on the ice, was
a big seal which, inquisitive as usual, put its head out and looked
enquiringly over us. I am not sure who was more surprised, we or it.
Never had we heard about animal existence so far north, and the seal
had certainly never seen a flying machine before, either there or
further south.
We of course went ashore immediately in order to look for N 25 and
its crew. I had taken note of the direction of their landing place,
and thought we would be about three-quarters of a mile away from them.
The sight that met us when we climbed the highest ice-clump was just
as depressing as it was surprising. No sign of N 25. As far as the
eye could see there was nothing but ice, and ice again, on all sides,
except in the direction of the water-lane from whence we had come. And
_what_ ice! Not large--not even small--plains of ice, but hills of it,
and long high icebanks which impeded the view on all sides. We had seen
from above quite plainly that landing-places on the ice were very poor,
but what we saw now affected us overwhelmingly and surprisingly. We
shuddered involuntarily, and yet at the same time we were gripped by a
sense of the wildness and beauty.
But we must get to work. We must find N 25, so out came the glasses.
After having eagerly looked for a little while, we discovered the end
of a propeller and a wing sticking out over an iceberg. We estimated
the distance to be three-quarters to one mile, and decided to walk
across to that spot as soon as we had eaten a little. Personally I
had not tasted anything (wet or dry) and had not missed it. But now I
had developed an appetite and Director Knutsen’s sandwiches were more
than welcome. Omdal immediately got busy with his beloved engines,
Ellsworth sacrificed himself to the studying of the meteorological
conditions, while I quickly “took the sun,” which showed that we were
about 87° 50′ north.
It appeared to us that the plane lay safe and sound and Ellsworth and
I decided to walk across to N 25. We expected that by walking along by
the water-lane we would be able to cover the distance in one and a half
hours, and for safety’s sake took the canvas boat along with us. We
did not bother about provisions or anything else. Before we started we
hoisted our brave Norwegian flag on the top of the iceberg.
Ellsworth and I set out most confidently, but reaped our first bitter
experience of marching on the polar ice. It _looked_ difficult to
get along, but it proved to be still more so. We climbed up and down
icebergs, carrying our canvas boat, of which we had to take the utmost
care so that no sharp piece of ice should tear a hole in it. Soon we
had to use the boat as a bridge in order to cross a small crack filled
up with broken ice and mush--or as an aid to fighting our way through
thin new ice in somewhat broader ditches. At last we got full use of
the boat in a broad water-lane, where we paddled along a good distance.
Now and again we got sight of N 25 above the icebergs as we approached.
Suddenly we saw the propeller moving. We were therefore certain that
the crew and also the plane were “all right,” and as the new ice was
completely blocking our course, we decided to return to N 24. With the
same toil (and after we had tumbled into the water several times) we
returned tired and fagged out.
Omdal awaited us with steaming chocolate and it tasted excellent.
Whilst we had been away he had discovered that several exhaust pipes
of the aft engine had become clogged, so they had to be exchanged
for spares. He expected that the work would take two or three days.
Meantime the ice started to close in round the plane, which we
therefore decided to turn round with the nose pointed out of the
water-lane so that, if necessary, we could leave by only using the
“fore” engine.
It was easier said than done because, first of all, the ice had to
be broken round about the flying machine, and more than once we got
thoroughly drenched. But after three hours’ work the plane was in the
desired position. The question now was whether the crew of N 25 had
seen us. We presumed they had seen our flag, but of course this was not
certain. If everything was in good order, they would start off to join
us as soon as they had been able to take careful observations. Anyway
we were sure that they would see us when they started out, and so we
climbed a little higher than we already were. We had nothing else to do
but to put our engines in order as quickly as possible, to be ready at
the earliest moment. We therefore put our tent up “_on the land_” of
the ice-plain, and took the necessary mess requisites and sleeping bags
with us. In addition we also armed ourselves with a gun and revolver,
in case we should be surprised by a polar bear. A seal we had already
seen, and a bear might also be lurking about. Omdal was to work solely
on the motor, helped if necessary by Ellsworth and myself, whilst we
had to do the cooking, take observations, keep a lookout and now and
again pump the boat free of water. The leakage proved to be less than
I expected, but still large enough to make us prefer to stick to our
tent. This was quite small and light, made of thin aeroplane cloth. The
bottom was of the same material. It was quite snug and warm when the
Primus stove was lit, but when the snow underneath started to melt, on
account of the heat in the tent, it got damp on the floor. We were of
course entirely cut off from wood, leaves or branches of trees.
At midday--still on the 22nd--the sky got overcast and we could no
longer see N 25. With our lack of experience in the ice regions
Ellsworth and I had the impression that we were quite safe where we
were. Omdal, who _had_ some experience from his sojourn in Alaska, was
not quite so calm about it, but thought that the new ice where we lay
would in any case act as a protection against possible drift ice.
In the afternoon the weather cleared again for about an hour and it
seemed to us that we could see the top of N 25 again. Later the sky
was overcast with threatening snow squalls. It was clear that the
ice was constantly on the move. Meantime the water-lane was so broad
that we were not afraid of it closing in. What concerned us most was
the uncertainty about N 25 and its crew. We reasoned out and imagined
every possible theory. If everything was all right, they would of
course fly down to join us in this place, where they could land without
difficulty. If the machine had been hopelessly damaged, they would come
on foot over the ice to us. We ruminated thus, because it seemed to us
that they _must_ have seen our flag, and, as meantime we saw nothing of
them, we presumed that they had some necessary repairs to effect.
The whole night, until the morning of the 23rd of May, we had
snow--with bad visibility. Omdal worked at the motors while Ellsworth
and I pumped. The leakage appeared to be getting gradually worse. We
had a northerly breeze and about -10° c.
At midday the weather cleared and the sun shone out from a clear sky.
In the course of the day I was able to make two good observations,
although the spirit level which Ellsworth had brought with him was
too small and besides was of a very unsuitable construction. I had
already pointed this out at Spitzbergen, but there was no opportunity
of getting a new one. I must admit that I was disappointed with the
result of our observations. I had believed that we were considerably
nearer the Pole. The others thought the same. Judging by the flying and
our speed through the air, we must have had a very strong wind current
against us. At that time, however, we did not doubt that we could
continue northwards as soon as the motors were in working order again.
At midday we saw N 25 again. It had drifted nearer to us, and we
noticed that tarpaulins had been put over the motor-gondolas and that
the flag was flying over it. If only the weather would remain clear
now, they ought to be able to see us. We tried several times to attract
their attention by using smoke-bombs, and now and again we fired a gun.
The part of the water-lane where we were encamped froze up more and
more, a condition which rather pleased us as we expected that we would
soon be able to make a start from the ice.
In the afternoon we at last noticed that N 25 must have observed us
because we noticed a flag being waved backwards and forwards. This
was the customary sign used in the Navy for starting flag-signaling.
I was not slow in taking up the challenge, and soon a connection was
established. The distance was so long that we had to use glasses, and
as these had to be dried continuously the signaling took some time. At
last we got the following message: “We are frozen in twenty meters from
the water-lane--working in order to get free. If your position hopeless
come to us, bring food, axes, deflection instruments, engine O.K.” We
replied: “Expect we can start on the ice from here, but are leaking
badly, therefore longer sojourn on the water impossible.”
I think few can imagine what relief it was to us to have established
signal-communication with each other. I immediately gave a grateful
thought to Riiser-Larsen and to my naval education.
The whole night, until the morning of the 24th of May, we had a fresh
breeze with drifting snow, the temperature being -11° to -12°. It was
bitterly cold in the tent and the wind was blowing right through it.
The sleeping-bags were very excellent, but really only meant for summer
use. We had the “Thermix” heating apparatus with us. It was really
extraordinarily good, but, as we had hardly any petrol to spare, we did
without the comfort of a heated tent. On our flight northwards we had
been exceedingly economical regarding the consumption of petrol, and we
therefore still had half a drum more than half our original quantity.
But one could not tell how much might be required for our return
journey.
In the course of the day (24th of May) the whole fjord was frozen over.
The leakage in the boat got continually worse, and thus we were quite
pleased to see the ice freezing round our machine as it would form a
resting place for the wings, and would prevent the machine sinking
further, even if we should stop pumping-work, which took up much time
and prevented us from performing other necessary tasks.
During the course of the afternoon Omdal finished changing the exhaust
ventilators, and we thought that the motors were now all ready. The
fact that they would not start in the severe cold, and especially in
the strong wind which hindered the warming of the motors, did not
concern us greatly. Spring was on the way, and the temperature would
soon rise.
The movements of the ice, however, disturbed us very much. We had the
feeling that the icebergs on the other side of the water-lane had come
somewhat nearer, and the whole “landscape” seemed to change from time
to time. In order to be on the safe side we decided to put all our
provisions and outfit ashore. We started this immediately, and in the
course of the forenoon everything was on the ice-plain near the tent.
Gradually the ice began to encroach more and more. To our joy we
noticed that the two machines got nearer together, and we decided to
try and get into communication with N 25. We were anxious to find out
their position in order to discuss things with our leader, the only one
with experience of drift ice, and the only one who could judge the
situation.
On account of the uncertain conditions we did not want to leave more
of our equipment behind than was absolutely necessary. We tried first
of all to put our canvas boat (loaded with provisions, etc.) on the
ski-sledge. This was the course we should have to adopt if for one
reason or another we had to march southwards. After a few hundred
meters of toil, fighting our way amongst the icebergs, we realized
that it would be quite impossible to get along in a reasonable time,
handicapped by this outfit, so we therefore took only the most
necessary things in our knapsacks. All the same it amounted to forty
kg. each, and with this on our backs we started off on our skis. We
toiled forward over high icebergs and ice-clumps, and crossed the most
fantastic and uneven territory, where skis of course could not be
used. Therefore we carried them again, and jumped over the water-lanes
or crossed the new ice which moved under our weight. This was very
exciting and tiring and I admired the progress made by Ellsworth, who
is not a skiing man. (In addition to his many excellent qualities he
is also a true sportsman.) Omdal’s Alaskan experiences also came in
handy. He was very clever in finding the easiest and safest passages,
and we progressed without accident. N 25 was getting nearer and nearer
with every minute’s march. After we had traveled about half the
distance a long water-lane covered with very thin new ice stopped
our progress. It was right across our path, about a quarter of a mile
broad, and reached as far as the eye could see. On the other side lay
N 25. We were so near that Riiser-Larsen and I could signal to each
other without difficulty and without using glasses. We received word
that they considered it impossible for us to get across, and we had
nothing else to do but to go back the way we had come. Before leaving
we arranged that we should signal to each other the next day at ten
o’clock Greenwich mean time.
After seven hours’ toil we were back again at N 24. It was lying just
as we had left it and all three of us went to “bed.” It was bitterly
cold, but we got the first decent sleep since we had left Spitzbergen.
We had gradually got more accustomed to the use of sleeping-bags; it
required a good deal of practice to get down into them with the thick
clothes we had to wear, for while sleeping we had to be clad in as many
clothes as possible.
The 25th of May dawned with the same hopeless overcast sky as before.
Now and again we had heavy snowdrifts. The temperature was about -10°
c. After having tried in vain to start the aft motor, Omdal worked
some time at the engine, but still it would not start. At 10 A.M. they
signaled from N 25 that it appeared as if we could now manage to get
to them if laden only with small packages and taking extreme care. We
replied that we first wanted to try our engines and endeavor to get
N 24 on to the ice-plain beside the tent, where it would be quite safe
under any circumstances. We therefore started to prepare a slide over
which we could push the machine. Whilst busy with this we received a
further communication from N 25 that they required help as soon as we
were ready to give it. We replied that we now expected an early result,
and that we then would cross at the first opportunity in order to help
them.
Meantime the aft engine was out of order and remained so. Compression
was poor and Omdal poured buckets of warm oil on the valves, lighting
all the Thermix apparatus and setting them in the motor gondola in
the hope that the engine might start. The water-lane where we had
landed was now nearly closed, and the icebergs on the other side
were encroaching nearer so that the situation was not particularly
bright. Until now we had lived only for lunch and dinner, eating the
traveling provisions which Director Knutsen had given us and taking a
cup of chocolate as well. For dinner we had a cup of pemmican soup,
but instead of using one and three-quarter tablets per man, which was
the original calculated ration, we only used two tablets altogether.
In order to be on the safe side we started rationing the biscuits by
allowing each man six biscuits served in threes, twice a day, although
none of us expected then that we should remain here for weeks.
After a hard day’s work we sat again in the tent enjoying a pipe of
tobacco after our evening meal, when I started to blink as my eyes
suddenly began to smart. At first I thought it was the smoke, but the
smarting did not stop; it got worse and worse. Tears flowed slowly and
scaldingly. There could be no doubt about it. I had become snow-blind.
It had come on me without any warning. We had had an overcast sky
and snow most of the time, but it had never dawned on me to use
snow-glasses. It seemed therefore that I would have to lie like a wreck
for a few days, and I admit it now seemed to me that the situation
was fairly precarious. I did the only things possible, namely, to get
into my sleeping-bag and shut my eyes. Notwithstanding the pain and
the trepidation, nature craved its right after the last day’s toil and
mental strain, and I slept soundly. Late in the forenoon the following
day I wakened somewhat confused in my head. To my great joy I could
open my eyes. I noticed that it was twelve o’clock, but whether day or
night I did not know. The other two slept, but as Ellsworth awakened
at that moment, I learned that it must be midday, as he had crept into
his sleeping-bag about 11 P.M. and had slept a long time. My eyes
pained a little, but I could see all right, and I put on my spectacles
immediately. We had a quiet meal and then arose the question of how
to start the engine. We worked and worked, but there was no result.
Probably it had been so warm that the valves must have got jammed, and
it would take Omdal a week to take the cylinders off and put things
right. After this discovery there was only one thing to do. We must
secure the machine in the best possible way and try to get across to
N 25. We presumed that with united efforts, we could have it ready for
flight in the course of a few days, and then Feucht could remain with
Omdal and help him to get the aft motor going.
[Illustration: AMUNDSEN--BEFORE THE TRIP]
[Illustration: AMUNDSEN--AFTER]
[Illustration: ELLSWORTH--BEFORE]
[Illustration: ELLSWORTH--AFTER]
We started the first motor, therefore, and with the help of this
got the machine as far as possible up the slip. Ellsworth and Omdal
worked like heroes in order to turn the machine, whilst I worked the
engine. But what could three men do with such a heavy machine? We got
it well up onto the ice-floe so that only the after-end and part of
the propeller remained in the water-lane. It could not sink now in any
case, and the new ice outside would in all probability prevent the
drift-ice from getting near it while we were away. We considered under
the circumstances that it was lying in as safe a position as possible,
and we got ready to go across to N 25. The ice in the water-lane did
not look very safe and N 25 had drifted somewhat nearer. We lightened
our packs, but they still weighed forty kg. It was impossible to
know beforehand how long the trip would take us. First there was one
thing and then another which we thought we ought to have with us. Off
we went right across the water-lane, although it presented such an
uncanny appearance. Omdal led. I followed, and then came Ellsworth.
As soon as we had to leave the new ice, it was a case of climbing up
and down high icebergs, where in addition to other things we had to
carry our skis. We remained as near as possible to the edge of the
water-lane, and everything went well until we were near the other
machine. We were already going to start boasting, as we had no idea of
any danger, when I suddenly found myself immersed in water up to my
neck. I noticed that my skis had disappeared, but my knapsack, which
weighed forty kg., was very embarrassing. I shouted loudly as soon as
I fell through, and Omdal quickly turned round. I had hardly seen his
face when he also disappeared like magic. There we both were. I managed
to get my gun up over the ice, which had broken several times under my
hands. I got a good firm hold and remained as quiet as possible because
I knew that Ellsworth would soon be with me--unless he also tumbled
in. The current was strong and pulled my legs up in front of me under
the ice so that my boot-tops actually touched it. To get out by my own
efforts with the heavy knapsack was hopeless. I was not going to risk
losing my knapsack, before I knew how it stood with Ellsworth. Omdal
called for assistance in the hope that the crew of N 25 would come and
help. In a little while Ellsworth, who had saved himself by getting
out of the water-lane, came to my rescue. He came creeping along,
and handed me a ski, which I got hold of, and by its help I wriggled
along to the edge of the firm ice. In a second I managed to slip off
my knapsack and its precious contents, and got it onto the ice, and I
scrambled up after it with Ellsworth’s help. Then Ellsworth dashed off
to Omdal, who was getting weaker and weaker. I stumbled to my legs and
ran as quickly as my tired condition allowed me. Omdal was so exhausted
that it was exceedingly difficult to get him out. I got my knife and
cut the straps of his knapsack, whilst Ellsworth held him up, and with
our joint efforts we at last got him safely onto the land. He could
not stand on his legs. We had both had a narrow escape, and we have
to thank Ellsworth’s self-possession and quickness that we escaped
with our lives. The honor which he received later--the gold medal for
bravery--pleased Omdal and myself as much as it pleased him. It was
well earned.
[Illustration: RIISER-LARSEN--BEFORE]
[Illustration: RIISER-LARSEN--AFTER]
[Illustration: DIETRICHSON--BEFORE]
[Illustration: DIETRICHSON--AFTER]
Our foresight in unstrapping the laces of the skis and putting our
boots loosely into the ski-shoes, putting on our air-filled lifebelts
was what made it possible to save us at all. How we blessed this,
our own farsightedness! By way of curiosity I may mention that
Riiser-Larsen and I bought the lifebelts in Bodö just as we were on
the point of starting. A man came on board and announced himself as
the manufacturer of the lifebelt “Tethys.” He brought a sample which
appealed to us, and so we ordered six belts. It is strange how life is
full of chance actions which lead to fateful results.
About forty minutes after the accident we reached the N 24. We received
a hearty reception, and as Omdal and I got a good drop of spirit and
some dry clothes, we soon started talking. Answers to innumerable
questions tripped off our tongues. I can well remember that I said,
“I am glad to see you again,” when I pressed Roald Amundsen’s hand.
It is a saying which generally does not mean much, but I believe
Amundsen understood. These few words, and still more the handshake,
were an expression of joy at being again with our beloved leader, whose
insight, experience and great capability, in conjunction with his
untiring energy, overcame all difficulties. I have the impression that
Amundsen’s few words to me, “same here” (“i like maate”), were just as
sincere. All three of us from N 24 had arrived with a whole skin, and
we could report that the machine in the meantime at least was safe,
and, with our combined efforts, could be got ready to start in a few
days’ time.
N 25’s position was such that only our united strength could save it
from its precarious situation. It had made a forced landing and was
lying worse than N 24, but both its motors were in working order. If
the machines had by chance separated instead of coming close together
we would probably not have been able to get into contact with one
another and one crew, unless reënforced by the other, could hardly have
managed to start its machine alone.
Even now, although we were six men all told, it seemed to us something
of a riddle how we, with our primitive implements, should manage to
get the machine onto the great ice-plain, which was our goal. But in
this difficulty our leader’s wide experience and inventive mind was
put to its full use. It became apparent that if six men are working on
a matter of life and death they can accomplish the unbelievable. Most
of us soon knew that our only salvation lay in getting one or both
machines in a good position to start. A march southwards would (no
matter which way we chose) have very little chance of success.
Our work and our mode of life in the weeks which followed are described
in another chapter, so I shall only add that we were disappointed in
our hopes of being able to get N 24 ready as soon as we had finished
with N 25. Instead we had weeks of strenuous work to get N 25 into
readiness for flight. It was absolutely a game of “cat and mouse,” but
it was a game in which life and death were the stakes.
The thought of leaving our machine there behind us, in the ice, was
very bitter at first. But as time passed and we saw the difficulties we
had to contend with on every side, the bitterness gradually got less
and less--especially when we found that it would be necessary to use
N 24’s supply of petrol to augment the other supply for the homeward
flight and for the various attempts to start which had to be made
before N 25 finally got clear away.
I might mention too that the absence of landing places made it seem
advisable for the return journey to be accomplished with one machine.
The risk of having to make a forced landing would thus only be half as
great, and the forced landing of one of the machines would have meant a
catastrophe for the whole expedition. (I personally did not share this
opinion, for in spite of the misfortune to the aft engines my trust in
both of these was great, as they had gone like clockwork during the
entire northward flight.) Circumstances however settled the question of
choice, and as we at last, on the 15th of June, found ourselves in our
right element again, it was only a passing thought which we gave to our
dear N 24 as it disappeared behind us in the fog.