Farthest North, Vol. II / Being the Record of a Voyage of Exploration of the Ship 'Fram' 1893-1896

Chapter V

The Third Summer

On the Seventeenth of May the Fram was in about 83° 45′ north latitude and 12° 50′ east longitude. We again celebrated the day with a flag procession, as on the previous Seventeenth of May. Mogstad sat on the bearskins in the sledge, driving a team of seven dogs, and with the band (i.e., Bentzen) at his side. Just as we were arranging the procession for the march upon the ice, five female narwhals suddenly appeared, and immediately afterwards a small seal was seen in the lane abreast of the ship—an enlivening sight, which we accepted as a good omen for the coming summer.

The great hummock, which was the scene of our merry-makings on the Seventeenth of May last year, was now so far away and so difficult to reach on account of lanes and rugged ice that the festivities in the open air were limited to the flag procession. The cortège took its way southward, past the thermometer-hut, to the lane, thence northward along the lane, and then back to the ship, where it dispersed, but not before it had been photographed.

At 12 o’clock a salute was fired, after which we sat down to an excellent dinner, with genuine “Château la Fram,” vintage 1896.1 The table was laid with great taste, and there was an elegant paper napkin at each cover, with the word Fram in the corner and the following inscription:

During the dinner speeches were made in honor of the day, of Norway, of Nansen and Johansen, etc.

During the days following May 17th we were occupied in getting the engine and its appurtenances ready for work and clearing the rudder-well and the propeller-well. First we attempted to pump water into the boiler through a hose let down into a hole out upon the ice. But the cold was still so intense that the water froze in the pump. We were obliged to carry water in buckets and pour it into the boiler by means of a canvas hose, made for the occasion and carried from the boiler to the hatchway above the engine-room. Amundsen thought at first that he had got the bottom cock clear so that he could let the water run direct into the boiler, but it soon became evident that it was too slow work as long as there was still any ice around the cock. Later on we hoisted the funnel and lighted the furnaces, and on the afternoon of May 19th the steam was up for the first time since we got into the ice in the autumn of 1893.

Next we cut away as much of the ice as possible in the propeller-well, and carried a steam hose down into it. It was very effectual. We also attempted to use the steam for melting away the ice in the propeller-sheath around the shaft, but without apparent success. We easily procured water for the boiler now by filling the water-tank on the deck with ice and melting it with steam.

After supper we went down into the engine-room to try to turn the shaft, and finally we succeeded in giving it a three-quarters turn. This was victory, and we were all fully satisfied with the day’s work.

The following day we melted away the ice in the rudder-well by steam, and at 1.30 P.M. Amundsen began to “move” the engine. Some large pieces of ice floated up from the rudder-stock or frame; we fished them up, and everything was in order. Amundsen let the engine work some time, and everybody was down with him to see the wonder with their own eyes, and to be convinced that he really had got it to turn round.

This was quite an event for us. It filled us with renewed courage and hope of soon getting out of our long captivity, though the way might be ever so long and weary. The Fram was no longer a helpless ball, tossed to and fro at the caprice of the drift-ice. Our gallant ship had awakened to renewed life after her year-long winter sleep, and we rejoiced to feel the first pulsations of her strongly beating heart. It seemed as if the Fram understood us, and wanted to say: “Onward! southward! homeward!”

The state of the ice around the ship, however, was still far from being so favorable as to give us any prospect of getting out just at present. It is true that symptoms of spring began to show themselves; the temperature rose, and the snow vanished rapidly; but we still remained at about the same latitude where we had been lying for months—namely, at about 84°. From the crow’s-nest, indeed, we could see a large channel, which extended southward as far as the eye could reach; but to get through the belt of ice, over 200 yards wide, which separated us from it, was impossible before the thick pack-ice slackened somewhat. We therefore made no attempt to blast the ship free, but devoted our time to various duties on board, did whatever was left undone, got the steam windlass in order, examined all our cordage, and so forth.

In the hole in the ice which was always kept open for the striking of the log-line, we had placed the heads of the two bears, so that the amphipodes might pick off the meat for us, a task which they usually perform quickly and effectually. One day, when a swarm of amphipodes appeared above the bears’ heads, Scott-Hansen caught a lot of them in a bag-net, and had them cooked for supper, intending to give us a regular treat. But we were sadly disappointed. There was not a particle of meat on the miserable creatures—nothing but shells and emptiness. If we put a couple of dozen into our mouths at a time they tasted somewhat like shrimps. But I am afraid that were we limited to such fare, and nothing else, we should soon diminish unpleasantly in weight.

In the later days of May the prospects became brighter, as the wind changed to half a gale from the east and north. The ice began to drift slowly towards the southwest, and continued to slacken at the same time, so that on May 29th we could see to the southward a good deal of open water, with dark air above, as far as the eye could reach.

After several requests had been made to me, I decided to make an attempt at blasting the vessel clear. At 1 P.M. we set off a mine of 110 pounds of gunpowder. It had an astonishingly good effect, wrenching up heavy masses of ice and sending them rushing out into the channel. Our hopes revived, and it really seemed that another such blasting would entirely liberate the vessel. Immediately after dinner we went to work to lay out another large mine 20 yards abaft the stern. It gave us an incredible amount of work to make a hole in the ice to get the charge down. We first bored a hole; then we tried to make it larger by blowing it out by means of small gunpowder charges, and later with gun-cotton; but it was of no avail. Then we had to resort to lances, ice-picks, steam—in short, to every possible means; but all in vain. The ice had, however, got so cracked in all directions, owing to the many charges which had been exploded in the same place, that we presumed that a large mine in the log-line hole would blow up the whole mass. As the ice was thinner at that part, the mine was lowered to a depth of 10 yards. It exploded with terrific effect. A mighty column of water was forced as high as the foretop. It did not consist of water alone, but contained a good many lumps of ice, which rained down for some distance round. One piece of over one hundredweight came down right through the tent and on to the forecastle; other pieces flew over the vessel, and fell on the starboard side. Scott-Hansen and Henriksen, who were standing on the ice at the electric battery used for firing the mine, were not pleasantly situated when the mine exploded. When the shock came they of course started to run as fast as their legs would carry them, but they did not get away quickly enough to reach the deep snow. The pieces of ice rained unmercifully down upon their backs. After a great deal of trouble we laid and fired two other large gunpowder mines, besides some smaller ones, but without much effect. We then began to bore holes for two gun-cotton mines, which were to be fired simultaneously. But when we had got down two and a half drill-lengths the screw broke, and before we could proceed new grooves had to be filed on the other drill before we could use it again. At 12 o’clock at night we knocked off work, after having been at it unceasingly since the morning.

Next day at 6 o’clock the boring was continued. But the ice was so hard and difficult to work at that, although four men were handling the drill, we had to erect a small crane with tackle to hoist the drill out every time it got clogged up. The ice was so thick that it took four drill-lengths (about 20 feet) to make a hole through it. One of the gun-cotton mines was now lowered into the hole, while the other was put beneath the edge of an old channel by means of a long pole. Both mines were fired simultaneously, but only one exploded. We connected the wires, and then the other went off too. But the result was far from answering our expectations. Although the large mines were carried down to a depth of 20 yards where the ice was thin, the resistance was too great for us.

The blasting was now discontinued till June 2d, when during the night the ice opened up along the old lane close to the vessel. First we fired a gun-cotton mine right abaft. It took effect, and split the ice close to the stern. Next we drilled a hole about 16 feet deep right abreast of the ship, and loaded it with 10 prismer, or 330 grammes, of gun-cotton (equivalent to about 30 pounds of ordinary gunpowder); but as I thought it would be too risky to explode a mine of this strength so near the vessel, we first fired a small gunpowder mine of 11 pounds, to see what effect it would have. The result was insignificant, so the large mine was fired. It made things lively indeed! The ship received such a shock that one of the paintings and a rifle fell down on the floor in the saloon, and the clock in my cabin was hurled from the wall. It was evidently felt in the engine-room as well, for Amundsen had a bottle and a lamp-chimney smashed. On the ice the explosion took such good effect that the ship nearly broke loose at one blow; she was now merely hanging on a little forward and aft. With a little more work we might have got quite clear the same evening, but I left her as she was to avoid the trouble of mooring her. Instead of that we had something extra after supper; we considered that we had done such a good stroke of work that day that we deserved a reward.

Next morning we blew away the ice that held our bow. I myself took a pickaxe and commenced to hack away at the ice which held the stern fast. I had hardly been at work at this for more than four or five minutes before the vessel suddenly gave a lurch, settled a little deeper at the stern, and moved away from the edge of the ice, until the hawsers became taut. She now lay about 6 inches higher at the bow than when she froze fast in the autumn. Thus the Fram was free, and ready to force her way through the ice as soon as the circumstances would permit. But we were still unable to move.

Even in the month of May there had been signs of whales and seals in the channels, and an occasional sea-bird had also put in an appearance. During the months of June and July there was still more animal life around us, so that we could soon go in for hunting to our hearts’ content. During the summer we not only shot a number of fulmars, black guillemots, skuas, auks, and little auks, but also a couple of eider-ducks, and even a brace of broad-beaked snipe. We also shot a number of small seals, but only got hold of six; the others sank so rapidly that we could not reach them in time. As a matter of course, we welcomed every opportunity of a hunting expedition, especially when there was a bear in the case. It was not often he did us the honor, but the greater was the excitement and interest when his appearance was announced. Then the lads would get lively, and hastily prepare to give the visitor a suitable reception. Altogether we killed sixteen or seventeen full-grown bears during the summer, and a young one, which we captured alive, but had to kill later on, as it made a fearful noise on board.

One night in the beginning of June, when Henriksen was on his way to the observation-house to take the readings of the instruments, a bear suddenly came upon him. Before starting on his scientific quest he had been prudent enough to go up on the bridge to have a look around and see whether the coast was clear, but he did not observe anything suspicious. When he approached the observation-house he suddenly heard a hissing sound close by, and caught sight of a grinning bear, which was standing at a pressure-ridge staring at him. Naturally Henriksen felt anything but comfortable at this unexpected meeting, unarmed as he was. He at first considered whether he should beat a dignified retreat, or whether he should fly at the top of his speed. Both parties were equally far from the vessel, and if the bear had evil intentions it might be advisable to retreat without delay before he approached any nearer. He started off as fast as he could, and was not sure whether the beast was not at his heels; but he reached the vessel safely and seized his gun, which was standing ready on deck. Before he came out upon the ice again the dogs had scented the bear, and at once attacked him. The bear at first jumped up on the observation-house, but the dogs followed, so down he went again, and with such alacrity, too, that Henriksen had no time to fire. The bear started off to the nearest channel, where he disappeared both from the dogs and the hunter. In his eagerness “Gorm” jumped out upon some pieces of ice which were floating in the thick brash in the channel, and now he was afraid to jump back again. There he sat howling. I heard the wailing, and soon caught sight of him from the crow’s-nest, whereupon Scott-Hansen and I started off and rescued him.

Some days later, at about 10 o’clock in the morning, we heard Nordahl crying, “Bear!” and all hurried on deck with our rifles. But the dogs had had the start of us, and had already put the bears to flight. Mogstad perceived, however, from the crow’s-nest, that the dogs had come up with them at a small lane, where they had taken the water, and he then came down to tell me. He and I started off in pursuit. The condition of the ice was good, and we made rapid progress; but as we had the wind on our side, it was some time before we could distinguish the barking of the dogs so as to be able to guide ourselves by it. Presently I caught sight of one of the dogs behind a small ridge; soon I saw some more, and at last I sighted the bears. They were both sitting on a floe in the channel, leaning with their backs against a big piece of ice. Two of the dogs had jumped out upon the floe, while the others stood on guard round the channel or pool. The dogs had played their part well, keeping such a close watch upon the bears that we had no difficulty in giving them their quietus. They both tumbled over on the spot; but as they moved slightly, we gave them a final shot, just to make sure.

Well, there they lay. But to get out to them was not so easy. Finally, having walked round the pool, we succeeded in getting out upon the floe from the other side, where the distance from the solid ice was less and where some small floes formed a kind of bridge. We cleaned the game, and then tried to haul the bodies over upon the solid ice. This we accomplished by putting a running noose over the muzzles of the bears and pulling them through the water to the edge of the ice, where we pushed some small floes beneath them; and then, with our united strength, we hauled them up. When homeward bound we met Nordahl, Pettersen, Bentzen, Henriksen, and the mate, who had guessed from the report of our guns that there was business on hand, and had started out to meet us with sledges and harness for the dogs. The sledges were lashed together, one bear was placed on each, and, with nine dogs harnessed to them and a man sitting astride each bear, off they went at such a speed that the rest of us had to run to keep pace with them.

On the night of June 24th we again received a visit from two bears. Nordahl discovered them when, at 12 o’clock, he went out to the observation-house; he came running back, and called those who had not yet gone to bed. But when they hurried out upon the ice the bears saw them immediately and disappeared.

Three days later a she-bear, with a young cub, came trotting towards the vessel at noon. We burned some blubber in order to attract them, but the bear was very cautious, and it was some time before she approached to within 200 to 300 yards. Then the mate could not restrain himself any longer and fired, so the rest of us sent her a few shots at the same time, and she fell after walking a few paces. Some of us took the “pram” and pulled across to the place, as there was a wide channel between the bear and the vessel. The cub, poor thing, was a fine little fellow, with almost perfectly white fur and a dark muzzle; it was about the size of one of our smallest dogs. When they came up, he sat down on his mother’s body, remained there quite still, and seeming for the present to take matters calmly. Henriksen put a strap around his neck, and when the mother was conveyed to the channel he followed quite willingly, and sat down on her back again when she was towed across. But when, on arriving at the ship, he found he was to be separated from his mother and brought on board, it was quite another story. He resisted with all his strength, and was in a perfect rage. He got worse when he was let loose under the companion-hood on board. He carried on like a frenzied being, biting, tearing, growling, and howling with wild rage, like a veritable fiend, ceasing only as long as he was occupied in devouring the pieces of meat thrown to him. Never have I seen in any one creature such a combination of all the most savage qualities of wild beasts as I found in this little monster. And he was still quite a cub! In the evening I gave orders to rid us of this unpleasant passenger, and Mogstad ended his days with a well-aimed blow of the hatchet.

For about a fortnight we saw no bears, but during the night of July 12th we had a visit from three, one of which, after a hot pursuit, was killed by Scott-Hansen, the mate, Nordahl, and Bentzen. The dogs, too, did good service this time. The other two bears sneaked off at the first shot, and were lost to sight in the fog.

On the evening of July 18th Mogstad and I shot a bear, which we should hardly have got hold of but for the sagacity and alacrity of “Bella.” The dogs at first attacked him once or twice, but after a short resistance he jumped into the water, and crossed over two broad lanes, which it took the dogs a long time to get round. He was just about to plunge into a third channel when “Bella,” who in the meantime had come round, intercepted him not 20 feet from the edge. At a distance of 200 or 300 yards Mogstad fired, and was lucky enough to hit him in the head, bringing him down, and he now made only some feeble attempts to keep the dogs off. I then sent him a shot behind the shoulder; but, as he was not quite dead, Mogstad gave him the final one.

On July 20th the mate shot a large bear, which came swimming across a channel; and we killed our last bear on the evening of August 6th, but in such an awkward position that we had to leave the meat, and it was as much as we could do to get the hide on board.

In the matter of birds, we were also pretty fortunate. For instance, Scott-Hansen and I one night shot 9 little auks, 1 kittiwake, and 1 skua, and the following day 21 more little auks and 2 black guillemots. Henriksen in one day’s shooting bagged 18 little auks and 1 black guillemot, and Nordahl, 26 little auks and 1 black guillemot; and, later on, when there had been an abundance of game for some days, we killed as many as 30 to 40 birds in the course of a few hours.

This hunting life had not only a beneficial effect upon our spirits, which occasionally were rather low, but it also gave us an appetite, which sometimes was quite ravenous. When we were weighed at the end of the month we found that, whereas some of us had previously been losing weight, we had now steadily and uniformly increased from the time when auk’s breast, roast guillemot, stewed kittiwake, skua soup, and last, but not least, ribs of bear, became the daily fare on board.

Indeed, we stood in need of all the encouragement and good living which our hunting procured us. The state of the ice was anything but cheering, and the prospect of getting out of it during the present year became less every day.

During the first days following the release of the Fram the ice was comparatively quiet; but on June 8th and 9th we had some bad pressures, especially on the latter day, when the stern of the vessel was pressed about 6 feet upward, so that the rudder-well was quite out of the water, while the bow was raised about 2 feet, with 4° list to port. On the 10th and 11th the pressure was also strong, especially during the night, from 11.30 P.M. till 3 or 4 A.M.

Finally the ice slackened so much on the morning of June 12th that there was a prospect of warping the vessel some distance ahead. As the brash was still very thick we did not think it possible to haul ourselves along without using the steam windlass, so I gave orders to start a fire under the boiler. But before steam was up the channel opened so much that we succeeded in warping the ship through the narrowest passage. When steam was up we steamed through the pool, where I had found a good berth for the ship. As the rudder was not yet shipped I had sometimes to go astern, so as to be able to turn the vessel. We remained there till June 14th, when the ice slackened a little, and we saw a channel in a S.S.W. direction, and determined to make for it. So we lighted the furnace, shipped the rudder, and made at full speed for a narrow rift, which led into the channel. Time after time we forced the vessel into the rift, but all in vain: the edges would not budge a hair’s-breadth. I let the vessel remain for some time, working at full speed endeavoring to force the rift, altering the position of the rudder occasionally. This manœuvre was partially successful, as we got the vessel into the rift as far as the fore-rigging. But that was all we could do. The opening began to close up, and we had to return and moor in the same place as before. This was all the more provoking as the whole opening was not longer than about three-fourths the ship’s length.

We remained there till the evening of the 27th, when the ice slackened so much that I decided to make a new attempt. We got up steam and commenced to force the ice at 11.30. It was slow work in the heavy ice, and at 2 o’clock we had to moor the ship, having advanced about 2 miles S.E. by S. We tried the engine this time as a compound engine, with a favorable result. It made 160 revolutions per minute; but the consumption of coal was of course correspondingly greater, almost twice as much as usual. We remained there about a week, until on July 3d the ice opened sufficiently to allow us to advance about 3 miles through a channel, which ran S.S.W. During the night between the 6th and the 7th we made another attempt to force the ice, but had only made about 1 mile when we had to moor again.

The southerly wind which predominated at that time held the ice thickly packed together, and there was no drift to speak of. On the other hand, there had been since the middle of June a good deal of current, owing to the set of the tide. We could not, however, observe that the current really flowed in any definite direction; sometimes the line would show every point in the compass during the twenty-four hours. The current was, however, often very strong, and would occasionally spin the ice-floes around in the channels in a way that made you uncomfortable to look at it. The ship, too, would often receive such violent shocks from these dancing floes and blocks of ice that loose objects tumbled down, and the whole rigging shook. The sea continued very deep. For instance, on July 6th we could not get bottom at 3000 metres (1625 fathoms); but two days later—we were then about 83° 2′ north latitude—we took soundings and reached bottom at 3400 metres (1841 fathoms).

On July 6th we succeeded in warping the ship some two or three short stretches at a time, but it was slow and hard work: the ice was bad, and the contrary wind impeded us very much. But though progress was slow, yet progress it was, and I gave orders that the ship should be hauled along as often as there was any opportunity to advance a little southward.

But although we struggled along in this manner by short distances at a time, the observation on the 13th revealed to us the fact that we had actually been drifting a considerable way backward, having returned to 83° 12′ north latitude. It might seem ridiculous, under such circumstances, to continue pushing forward; but, gloomy as the prospects were, we tried to keep up our hopes, and were ready to utilize the very first chance which should present itself.

Late in the evening of July 17th the ice began to slacken so much that we decided to get up steam. True, it closed up again at once, but nevertheless we kept up steam. Nor were we disappointed, for at 1 o’clock in the morning the water opened so much that we were able to steam ahead, and we made 3 miles in a southerly direction. Later in the morning we were stopped by an immense floe of ice, extending many miles; and we had to make fast. The whole day following we remained there. About midnight the ice slackened a good deal, but the fog was so dense that we could see nothing. At last, on the 19th, we made what we considered excellent headway. Starting when the fog lifted a little in the forenoon, we made about 10 miles from 12.30 P.M. till 8 P.M. This stroke of good luck made our spirits revive wonderfully, and they rose still more the following day when, notwithstanding the fog and though we had to stop three times, we advanced from 83° 14′ in the morning to 82° 52′ at noon and 82° 39′ midnight. From the 20th to the 27th we continued to make good progress. By midnight on the last-named day we had reached 81° 32′ north latitude.

From July 27th till August 2d it was slow and tiresome work. By August 2d we had not got beyond 81° 26′ north latitude. At the same time we had been carried some distance eastward—namely, to 13° 41′ east longitude.

On Monday, August 3d, we made about 2 miles to the southwest, but had to remain moored in impossible waters till the 8th, when it slackened so much around the vessel that we were able to proceed again at 9 A.M. However, we had only made about 6 miles, when we were stopped by a long, narrow strait. We tried blasting with ordinary gunpowder, and later with gun-cotton, and time after time we steamed full speed against the smaller floes that blocked the strait, but without effect. These floes, as a rule, are not so small and innocent as they appear. They consist generally of the fragments of old, thick, and very tough pressure-ridges which have been broken up. When these pieces get free, they sink deep below the surface of the water, leaving only a comparatively insignificant part of them discernible, while the lower parts may be very large. It was precisely this description of floe that blocked the channel against us. They were so tough that it was useless to try to break them with the stem of the vessel, although we repeatedly made at them with full speed. We could plainly see how the tough old ice bent and rose up at the shock without breaking. The blasting of such floes was frequently impracticable, as they were of such a thickness that we were unable to lay the mine under them. And even if we succeeded in blowing up one of these floes we gained little or nothing, as the channel was too narrow to allow the pieces to float astern, and they were too heavy and thick to be forced beneath the solid edge of ice.

Occasionally it happened that old, thick ice suddenly emerged from beneath the water in a channel or opening which we were just about to pass into, thus blocking up the passage before us. On one of these occasions the Fram received a blow in the ribs that hardly any other vessel would have withstood. As we were passing through an open channel I saw from the crow’s-nest one end of a large submerged floe appearing above the edge of the solid ice, and I immediately gave orders to steer clear so as to pass round it. But at the very moment when we reckoned to clear it the floe was released, and came to the surface with such a rush that the spray rose high into the air and struck the Fram at the fore-rigging on the starboard side with such tremendous force that the ship lurched violently and fell about 10 points out of her course, until she ran up against some small floes. When the monster floe emerged it lifted a huge mass of water and sent it like a roaring cataract out into the channel.

Something similar happened when we occasionally touched a drifting hummock that was just on the point of rolling over, owing to the quicker melting of the ice below the water-line. The slightest push would be enough to capsize the hummock and turn it over in such a violent way that the sea around us would become as agitated as during a storm.

On August 9th we worked the whole day clearing the channel, but only made slight headway. On the 10th the work was continued, and in the course of the forenoon we finally succeeded in getting through. During the rest of the day we also made some headway to the south until the ice became impassable, and we were compelled to make fast at 10 P.M., having made about 2 miles.

On account of the fog we were unable to take any observation until the 9th, when we found ourselves in 81° 48′ north latitude, the last latitude observation we made in the drift-ice.

On Tuesday, the 11th, we again proceeded southward by dint of arduous labor in clearing floes and brash, which often blocked our way. At 7.30 P.M. we had to make fast in a narrow strait, until, in the course of the night, we cleared the obstacles away and were able to proceed to the southwest. Progress was, however, slow, and on the morning of August 12th we were stopped by a very awkward floe. We tried to blast it away, but while we were at work on this the ice tightened up quickly, and left the vessel imprisoned between two big floes. In the course of a couple of hours it slackened again in a S.W. direction, and we steamed off in comparatively fair channels until 12.30 P.M., when a floe stopped our farther progress. We had made 9½ miles in about five hours this forenoon. Some thin ice now appeared, and from the crow’s-nest we could see, when the fog cleared off a little for a few moments, several large channels running in a southerly direction both east and west of our position. Besides, we noticed an increase in the number of birds and small seals, and we also saw an occasional bearded seal—all evidences that we could not be very far from the open water.

Between 3 and 4 P.M. we were released from the floes which had held us enclosed, and at 5.30 P.M. we steamed off in a S.E. direction through steadily improving ice. The ice now became noticeably thin and brittle, so that we were able to force the smaller floes. From 5.30 P.M. till midnight we advanced about 16 miles; the engine was used as compound during the last watch.

After midnight on August 13th we steered S.W., then S. and S.E., the ice continuing to grow slacker. At 3 o’clock we sighted a dark expanse of water to the S.S.E., and at 3.45 we steered through the last ice-floes out into open water.2

We were free! Behind us lay three years of work and hardships, with their burden of sad thought during the long nights, before us life and reunion with all those who were dear to us. Just a few more days! A chaos of contending feelings came over each and every one. For some time it seemed as if we could hardly realize what we saw, as if the deep blue, lapping water at the bow were an illusion, a dream. We were still a good way above the eightieth degree of latitude, and it is only in very favorable summers that ice-free water stretches so far north. Were we, perhaps, in a large, open pool? Had we still a great belt of ice to clear?

No, it was real! The free, unbounded sea was around us on every side; and we felt, with a sense of rapture, how the Fram gently pitched with the first feeble swells.

We paid the final honors to our vanquished antagonist by firing a thundering salute as a farewell. One more gaze at the last faint outlines of hummocks and floes, and the mist concealed them from our view.

We now shaped our course by the compass S.S.E., as the fog was still so dense that no observation could be taken. Our plan was at first to steer towards Red Bay, get our landfall, and thence to follow the west coast of Spitzbergen southward till we found a suitable anchoring-place, where we could take in water, shift the coal from the hold into the bunkers, and, in fact, make the Fram quite ship-shape for our homeward trip.

At 7 A.M., when the fog lifted slightly, we sighted a sail on to port, and shaped our course for her, in order to speak to her and try to get some news of Dr. Nansen and Johansen. In an hour or so we were quite near her. She was lying to, and did not seem to have sighted us until we were close on her. The mate then ran down to announce that a monster ship was bearing down upon them in the fog. Soon the deck was crowded with people, and just as the captain put his head out the Fram passed close up on the weather-side of the vessel, and we greeted her in passing with a thundering broadside from our starboard cannon. We then turned round astern of her, and fired another salute to leeward, after which “hostilities” were discontinued. No doubt it was a rather demonstrative way of making ourselves known to our countrymen, who were lying there so peacefully, drifting in the morning mist, and probably thinking more of seals and whales than of the Fram. But we trust that Captain Botolfsen and his crew will forgive us our overflowing joy at this our first meeting with human beings after three long years.

The vessel was the galliot Söstrene (The Sisters), of Tromsö. The first question which was shouted to him as we passed alongside was this: “Have Nansen and Johansen arrived?” We had hoped to receive a roaring “Yes,” and were ready to greet the answer with a thundering “Hurrah” and salute; but the answer we got was short and sad “No.”

Captain Botolfsen and some of his crew came on board to us, and had to go through a regular cross-fire of questions of every conceivable kind. Such an examination they had certainly never been subjected to, and probably never will be again.

Among the many items of news which we received was one to the effect that the Swedish aeronaut, Engineer Andrée, had arrived at Danes Island, intending to proceed thence by balloon to discover the North Pole.

Botolfsen came with us as a passenger, leaving his vessel in charge of the mate, and accompanied us as far as Tromsö. We reshaped our course about noon for Red Bay, intending to steam from there to Danes Island and see Mr. Andrée. About midnight we sighted land ahead, and supposed it to be the cape immediately to the west of Red Bay. It was 1041 days since we last saw land.

We lay to for some time at this point, waiting for the fog to clear away sufficiently to allow us to find the landmarks. As it did not clear, we steamed slowly westward, taking frequent soundings, and soon found ourselves, as we anticipated, right in “Norsksundet” (Norwegian Sound), and proceeding up, we anchored at 9.30 A.M., off “Hollændernæset” (Dutch Cape). The fog was now cleared, and we soon saw the steamship Virgo, of the Andrée Expedition, and the balloon-house ashore.

Through the telescope we could see that our arrival had been observed, and a steam-launch soon came alongside with Mr. Andrée, the other members of the expedition, and Captain Zachau, of the Virgo.

Neither could these gentlemen give us any news of the fate of our comrades. Our spirits became still more depressed than before. We had confidently expected that Nansen and Johansen would reach home before us. Now it seemed as if we were to be the first to arrive.

We did not, however, entertain any serious fears for their safety, especially when we learned that the Jackson expedition had spent two winters in Franz Josef Land. It was highly probable that Dr. Nansen and Johansen would sooner or later meet with this expedition, and were, perhaps, only waiting for a chance of getting home. But if they had not met with Jackson, something had evidently gone amiss with them, in which case they needed assistance, and that as soon as possible.

Our plans were soon laid. We would hurry home to Tromsö to get reliable information, and, in case nothing had been learned there either, we would complete our coal supply—we were not in want of anything else—and immediately proceed to Franz Josef Land, to make a search for them, and, as we hoped, have the unspeakable pleasure of bringing them home to our expectant fatherland in our own faithful Fram.

Our stay at Danes Island was consequently cut as short as possible. We paid visits to the Virgo, saw the balloon, which was now ready to start as soon as a favorable wind would permit of it, and received return visits from our amiable Swedish friends. During the night we finished taking in water and shifting the coal; the vessel was ready for sea, and at 3 A.M. on August 15th the Fram steamed off, with sails set, through Sneerenburg Bay and out to sea.

During the passage across we had good weather and a fair and often fresh breeze, the vessel making good speed: upward of 9¼ knots.

At 9 A.M. on the 19th we saw the first blue ridges of our native mountains. By noon we sighted Lögö, and at 8 P.M. the north point of Loppen. Then we steered into Kvænangen Fjord, and anchored off Skjærvö at 2 o’clock in the morning of August 20th.

As soon as the anchor had fallen, I called the doctor and Scott-Hansen, who both wanted to go ashore with me. But as they were too slow with their toilet, I asked Bentzen to put me ashore in the pram, and was soon at the telegraph station, where I tried to knock life into the people by thundering with my clinched fist first at one door, then at another, but for a long time in vain. At last a man put his head out of a window on the second floor to inquire what kind of night-prowlers were making such a disturbance. It was the chief of the telegraph station himself. He describes the nocturnal incident in a letter to one of the Christiania newspapers in the following pleasant manner:

On my way to the fjord I met five of our comrades. Nordahl hurried at once on board with the glad tidings, while the rest of us settled down with the telegraph manager around a smoking cup of coffee, which tasted delicious. A better welcome we could not have had. But it did not end with the coffee or with the telegraph manager. Soon the popping of champagne corks sounded successively in the houses of the store-keeper and local magistrate, while the telegraph manager sent message upon message announcing our arrival to Dr. Nansen, his Majesty the King, the Norwegian Government, and to relations and friends.

At 10 A.M. we weighed anchor and set off to meet Nansen and Johansen at Tromsö, passed to the north of Skjærvö, and steamed south. Off Ulfstinden we met the steamer King Halfdan, with 600 passengers on board, coming from Tromsö to meet us. We accepted the offer to take us in tow, and at 8.30 P.M. the Fram glided into the harbor of Tromsö, accompanied by hundreds of flag-covered boats, and was received with cheers and hearty welcome.

Next day, August 25th, at 4 P.M., Sir George Baden-Powell’s steam-yacht Otaria, with Dr. Nansen and Johansen on board, arrived. After a separation of seventeen months, our number was again complete, and the Norwegian Polar Expedition was once more united.