Chapter III

August 15 to January 1, 1896

With the rise in the temperature the snow surface became daily worse, so that it was seldom fit for snow-shoeing; even with “truger”1 on it was most laborious to get along, for the snow was so soft that we sank in up to our knees. Now and then for an odd day or so the surface would be fit, even in the month of July, and we took these opportunities of making short excursions for shooting and the like. Then the surface would be as bad as ever again, and one day when I had to go out on the ice to fetch a fulmar which had been wounded, the snow was so soft that I constantly sank in up to my waist. Before I could reach the bird the whole pack of dogs came tearing by, got hold of it, and killed it. One of the dogs seized the bird in his mouth, and then there was a wild race between it and the others. At last the whole pack turned back towards the lane in the ice again, and I watched my opportunity and snatched the bird from them. I had paid pretty dearly for my booty, all spent and dripping with perspiration as I was from plodding through that bottomless morass of snow.

Our chief occupation was still the work at our sledges and kayaks. The sledges, which were all brought on board from the great hummock where they had lain all the winter, were repaired and fitted with runners. By July 16th they were all in good order—eight hand-sledges and two dog-sledges.

The kayaks, upon which we had long been engaged, were finished about the same time. We had now in all five double and one single kayak. Of these I myself made one, the single kayak, which weighed 32 pounds. All of them were tested in the channel, and proved sound and watertight. Both the kayaks and the sledges were hoisted on the davits, so that they could be let down at a moment’s notice in case of need.

The petroleum launch, which was of no use to us as it was, but would afford good materials for runners and other things, was brought from the great hummock and taken to pieces. It was built of choice elm, and a couple of planks were immediately used for runners to those of the sledges, which, for lack of material, were as yet unprovided with these appliances.

The medicine-chest, which had also lain in depot at the great hummock, was fetched and stowed away in one of the long-boats, which had been placed on the pressure-ridge hard by the ship. The contents had taken no harm, and nothing had burst with the frost, although there were several medicines in the chest which contained no more than 10 per cent. of alcohol.

At that time we were also busy selecting and weighing provisions and stores for eleven men for a seventy days’ sledging expedition and a six months’ sojourn on the ice. The kinds of provisions and their weight will be seen from the accompanying table:

Seventy Days’ Sledge Provisions for Eleven Men

Besides these we took salt, pepper, and mustard.

Provisions for Eleven Men During a Six Months’ Stay on the Ice

Besides these, 2 tins of salt, 1 tin of mustard, and 1 tin of pepper.

---

When all the stores were ready and packed, they were provisionally stowed at certain fixed points on deck, under the awning forward. I did not want them taken out on the ice until later in the year, or until circumstances rendered it necessary. We had still abundance of coal—about 100 tons. I considered that 20 tons would be about enough for six months’ consumption on the ice. With that quantity, therefore, we filled butts, casks, and sacks, and took it out on the ice, together with 1400 pounds of tinned potatoes, about 45 gallons of petroleum, about 80 gallons of gas-oil, and about 34 gallons of coal-oil.

As the ship was still deeply laden, I wished to lighten her as much as possible, if only it could be managed without exposing to risk any of the stores which had to be unloaded. After the windmill was worn out and taken away we had, of course, no use for the battery and dynamo, so we took the whole concern to pieces and packed it up, with lamps, globes, and everything belonging to it. The same was done with the petroleum motor. The “horse-mill” was also taken down and put out on the ice, with a lot of heavy materials. One long-boat had been put out earlier, and now we took the other down from the davits and took it up to the great hummock. But as the hummock shortly afterwards drifted a good way off from us, the boat, with everything else that lay there, was brought back again and placed upon the great ice-floe to which we were moored—our “estate,” as we used to call it. On top of the davits, and right aft to the half-deck, we ran a platform of planks, on which the sledges, kayaks, and other things were to be laid up in the winter.

On July 22d we continued our deep-sea soundings, taking two on that day, the first to 1354 fathoms (2500 metres) and the second to 1625 fathoms (3000 metres), without touching bottom either time. In order to make sure that the lead should sink, we lowered away the line very slowly, so that it took two hours and a quarter to reach a depth of 3000 metres. On the 23d we again took two soundings, one of 1840 fathoms (3400 metres), without finding bottom, and then one in which we found bottom at 2056 fathoms (3800 metres). It took two hours and a half to lower the lead to the latter depth. Finally, on July 24th we again took a sounding of 3600 metres without finding bottom, and therefore concluded the depth to be from 3700 to 3800 metres.

On July 7th the doctor rowed out in the “pram” in search of algæ, but came back empty-handed. There were remarkably few algæ to be found this summer, nor did there seem to be so much animal life in the water as there had been the year before.

For a few days after she got loose, the Fram lay in a very good position in the pool; but during the night of August 14th a high block of ice came floating down the lane, which had now widened a little, and jammed itself between the ship’s side and the farther edge of the pool, which it thus entirely blocked. As we did not like having this uncomfortable and dangerous colossus close at our side, in case we should remain at the same spot throughout the autumn and winter, we determined to blast it away. Scott-Hansen and Nordahl at once took this in hand, and accomplished the task after several days’ labor.

On Saturday afternoon, August 17th, a pretty strong ice-pressure suddenly set in around us. In the course of a few minutes the Fram was lifted 22 inches by the stern, and 14 inches by the bow. In stately fashion, with no noise, and without heeling over in the least, the heavy vessel was swiftly and lightly raised, as if she had been a feather—a spectacle at once impressive and reassuring.

The next day the ice slackened a little again, and the ship was once more afloat. So it lay quietly until the morning of the 21st, when another strong pressure began. The ship now lay in a very awkward position, with a high hummock on each side, which gripped her amidships for a space of about 9 yards, and screwed her up 6 or 8 inches. But the pressure ended in half an hour or so, and the Fram sank again into her former berth.

When there were symptoms of pressure we always tried to warp the ship as far away as possible from the threatening point, and occasionally we succeeded. But during the stormy weather, with southerly winds, which prevailed at this time, it was often quite impossible to get her to budge; for she offered a great surface to the wind, with her heavy rigging and the high awning forward. Our united forces were often unable to move her an inch, and ice-anchors, moorings, and warping-cables were perpetually breaking.

At last, on August 22d, we succeeded in warping the ship along a bit, so that we might hope to escape pressure if the ice should again begin to pinch. As the ice soon after slackened a good deal, and became more broken than before, we some days later made another attempt to haul her a little farther, but had soon to give it up; there was not enough space between the two great floes on either hand of us. We now lay at the same spot until September 2d, with half a gale blowing continually from the southwest, and with heavy rain now and then. On the evening of August 30th, for instance, we had a violent rain-storm, which loosened the ice-coating of the rigging and made a frightful racket as it brought the pieces of ice clattering down upon the deck, the deck-house, and the awning.

Our “estate” was very thoroughly ploughed, harrowed, and drained at this time by wind, rain, pressure, and other such doughty laborers. Then came the tiresome business of moving the things out from the ship, which involved the cutting up and parcelling out of almost the whole “estate,” so that what was left open to us was scanty and cramped enough.

Thus reduced, the “estate” now formed an approximately oblong floe, with its greatest length from east to west, and surrounded on all sides by more or less open rifts and lanes. The Fram lay moored to the north side close to the northeast point, with her bow heading west. Immediately astern of her, and separated from the point only by a narrow lane, lay a large floe, upon which was stowed, among other things, a part of our provision of coal. Far off to the westward the great hummock still lay drifting.

While the other sides of the “estate” were pretty nearly straight, the east side formed a concave arc or bay, which offered an excellent winter berth for the Fram. But there was no possibility of getting the ship into it so long as the channel between the “estate” and the floe to eastward remained closed. Late in the afternoon of September 2d the ice at last slackened so much that we could make an attempt. By the help of our tackle we managed to get her warped a ship’s length eastward, but it was impossible for the moment to get her any farther, as the new ice was already pretty thick (the night temperature was -5° C.), and also a good deal packed. Nor was it any use to bring the ice-saw into play and cut a channel, for the slush was so deep that we could not shove the fragments aside or under each other.

The next day began with half a gale from the southeast and rain; but at 6 o’clock the wind moderated and veered to the south, and at 8 o’clock the ice around the lane began to slacken a good deal. As there was now more room, we made good progress with cutting our way through the new ice, and before midday we had got the Fram hauled into the bay and moored in the winter harbor which we all hoped might prove her last.

When Nansen and Johansen set out, they left seven dogs behind, the bitch “Sussi” and the six youngest puppies: “Kobben,” “Snadden,” “Bella,” “Skvint,” “Axel,” and “Boris.” On April 25th “Sussi” gave birth to twelve puppies. We had made a cozy little kennel for her on deck, lining it with reindeer-skin. Pettersen came down in the morning, and told us that “Sussi” was running round whining and howling. Mogstad and I went up and shut her into the kennel, where she at once gave birth to a puppy. When the afternoon came, and we saw that more and more citizens were being added to our community, we feared that the mother would not be able to warm all her litter, and consequently removed the whole family into the saloon. All the puppies were large and handsome, most of them quite white, and looking as though they would turn out regular little “bjelkier,” as the Samoyedes call all white dogs. They grew and throve excellently as saloon passengers, and were petted and spoiled by every one. They made their home in the saloon for a month, and then we transferred them to the above-mentioned kennel on deck. After they had been up there for some weeks it appeared as though they had suddenly stopped growing, although they were constantly well fed with raw bear’s-flesh, milk, and the broken meat from our table. About the second week of August two of the puppies died of convulsions. The doctor managed to save a third by means of warm baths and careful nursing. At the end of the month another of them was seized with convulsions and died, although it, too, was treated with warm baths and comfortably housed, first in the saloon, and afterwards in the work-room.

In the beginning of September, when the frequent rain made things very moist and uncomfortable in the kennel and on deck, we built a kennel out on the ice with a tarpaulin roof and a floor of planks, with plenty of shavings spread over them. While it was being built we let the whole pack of dogs out upon the ice; but after playing for half an hour the puppies, one after another, began to have convulsions. The attacks passed quickly over, however. We drenched them with soap and water, and then settled them in their new abode.

As the puppies grew older we had to keep a sharp watch upon them when we let them out upon the ice. They romped and gambolled with such ungovernable glee that it often happened that one or other of them plumped into the water, and had to be laboriously fished out again by the Master of the Hounds for the time being or whoever else happened to be at hand. Moreover, they soon acquired a taste for longer excursions, and followed our tracks far over the ice.

One day the doctor and I were out photographing. At a considerable distance from the ship we came upon a large pool of fresh water, and took a little rest upon its inviting, mirror-like ice. While we lay there chatting at our ease, we saw “Kobben” coming after us. As soon as he caught sight of us, he stopped and stood wondering what strange creatures we could be. Then we began to creep on all-fours towards him; and the moment we did so, “Kobben” found his legs to some purpose. He set off homeward as though he were running for dear life; and even when we got back to the ship and several other puppies met us and knew us, the poor creature was still so panic-stricken that it was a good while before he ventured to come near us.

On September 28th we again lost one of the puppies. It was seized with convulsions, and lay whining and howling all day. As the evening advanced, and it became paralyzed along one side, there was no hope of saving it, so we put an end to its misery. It was pitiful to see how these pretty little creatures suffered when the convulsions came upon them.

On October 9th “Skvint” gave birth to puppies, but as so young an animal could not have brought them up, especially in such a cold season, we allowed her to keep only one of them as an experiment; the others were at once killed. A week later “Sussi” produced a second litter, two he-dogs and nine she-dogs. We let her keep the two males and one of the females.

It proved inadvisable to have both the mothers with their families in the same kennel. If one of the mothers went out for a moment, the other at once took all the puppies into her keeping, and then there was a battle royal when the first one returned and wanted to reclaim her property. Something of this sort had, no doubt, occurred one night in the case of “Skvint,” whom Henriksen found in the morning lying at the door of the kennel frozen so fast to the ice that it cost us a good deal of trouble to get her loose again. She must have had anything but a pleasant night—the thermometer had been down to -33° C. (-27.4° Fahr.)—and her tail was frozen fast to one of her hind-legs, so that we had to take her down into the saloon to get her thawed. To obviate such misadventures for the future I had a detached villa built for her where she could be at peace with her child.

One evening, when Mogstad was housing the puppies for the night, two of them were missing. Henriksen and I at once set off with lanterns and guns to hunt for them. We thought that there had been a bear in the neighborhood, as we had heard a great deal of barking earlier in the day out upon the ice to the east of the ship; but we could find no tracks. After supper we set out again, five of us, all carrying lanterns. After an hour’s search along the lanes and up in the pressure-ridges we at last found the puppies on the other side of a new lane. Although the new ice on the lane was strong enough to bear them, they were so terrified after having been in the water that they dared not come over to us, and we had to make a long detour to get hold of them.

In the middle of December we took the youngest puppies on board, as they had now grown so big, and ran away if they were not very closely watched. The gangway was left open at night so that the mothers could come into them from the ice whenever they wanted to.

In respect to temper, there was a great difference between the generation of dogs we had originally taken on board and those we now had. While the former were great fighters, perpetually at feud with each other, and often to the death, the latter were exceedingly quiet and well-behaved, although wild and fierce enough when it came to chasing a bear. Now and then there would be a little squabble among them, but this was rare. “Axel” was the worst of them. Shortly before Christmas he all of a sudden made a fierce attack upon the unoffending “Kobben,” against whom he bore a grudge. But he got the rope’s-end for supper several times, and that improved his manners amazingly.

During the first half of September the weather was very unsettled, with prevailing westerly and southwesterly winds, a good deal of rain and snow, especially rain, and frequent disturbance in the ice. The frost at night, which sometimes reached 10° or 11°, soon made the new ice strong enough to bear a man, except just at the stern of the ship, where all the slops were thrown out. Here the ice was much broken up, and formed a thick slush, the surface of which was frozen over, but so thinly that it would not bear much weight. Thus it happened one day that three men got a ducking, one after another, at the same treacherous spot. The first was Pettersen. He had to go round the stern to look to the log-line which hung from the ship’s side to port; but before he got so far, down he went through the ice. Shortly after the same thing happened to Nordahl, and half an hour later it was Bentzen’s turn to plump in. He plunged right up to his neck, but at once bobbed up again like a cork, and scrambled gallantly up on to the edge of the ice without a moment’s delay. The observation of the log-line had to be postponed, while a grand changing and drying of clothes took place on board.

On September 15th the ice slackened so much that there was quite a little sea between us and the great hummock. The following day the ice was still so much disturbed that we had to think seriously of fetching back the things which still lay there. About midday I took a walk over towards the hummock to find out a suitable transport path, and discovered an excellent one. But some hours later, when I set off with men and sledges to fetch back the things, so many lanes had opened around the “estate” that we had to give up the attempt for that day. During the whole of September, and well on in October, there was almost incessant disturbance in the ice. New lanes opened on all sides, some close to the ship, and there were frequent pressures. The winter harbor we had found proved an excellent one. There was very little disturbance in the bay where the Fram was moored, thanks to the new ice we here had around us, of which the pressure was quite inconsiderable. It was quickly broken up, and the fragments forced over or under each other, while the two solid points of the bay bore the brunt of the attacks. Once or twice it seemed as though the Fram would be afloat again before the winter finally chained her in its icy fetters. On October 25th, for instance, it slackened so much in the lane nearest us that the ship lay free from the stern right to the fore-chains; but soon the ice packed together again, so that she was once more frozen quite fast. The hardest pressure occurred on October 26th and 27th, but the ship was not very severely attacked. Pressure, however, is more unpleasant in winter, on account of the deafening noise it makes when the ice is hurled against the ship’s side. It was quite different in summer, when the ice is more tough and elastic, and the pressure goes on calmly and quietly.

After November 1st a more peaceful period set in; the pressures almost entirely ceased, the cold increased, the wind remained easterly, and we drifted at a steady rate northward and westward for the rest of the year.

During the autumn the drift had put our patience to a severe test. Owing to the prevailing westerly winds it bore steadily eastward, and day after day we looked in vain for a change. The only thing that kept our spirits up was the knowledge that, if we were going backward, it was slowly, sometimes very slowly, indeed. Even several days of westerly wind did not take us so far to the east but that a day or two of favorable wind would enable us to make up what we had lost, with something to boot.

September 22d was the second anniversary of our being frozen in, and the event was celebrated with a little festivity in the evening. We had reason to be satisfied with the second year’s drift, since we had advanced nearly double as far as during the first year, and, if this continued, there could scarcely be any doubt that we should get clear of the ice in the autumn of 1896.

As will be seen from the following table, September 22d also brought us a marked change for the better. On that day the winter drift set in for good, and lasted without intermission through the remainder of the year, so that between that day and the second week in January we drifted from 82° 5′ to 41° 41′ east longitude.

On October 11th we hauled up the log-line and cut a new hole for it in the ice right astern. Hitherto the log had had only 100 metres (54 fathoms) of line; now we gave it 300 metres (162 fathoms).

After the middle of September the cold steadily increased, as the following observations will show:

The weather was, as a rule, fine during the last three months of 1895, with clear air and light breezes; only now and then (for example, on October 29th, and November 11th, 26th, and 27th) the wind freshened to half a gale, with a velocity of as much as 48 feet per second.

In the beginning of September we found that the Fram was drawing more and more water, so that we had a stiff job every day to pump and bale her empty. But from the 23d onward the leakage steadily declined, and about the second week of October the engine-room was quite water-tight. It still leaked a little, however, in the main hold; but soon the leak ceased here also, the water having frozen in the ship’s side. For the rest, we employed our time in all sorts of work about the ship, cutting up and removing ice in the hold, cleaning, putting things in order, etc.

Not until September 23d did the state of the ice permit us to carry out our intention of fetching back the things from the great hummock. The surface was that day excellent for sledges with German-silver runners; wooden runners, on the other hand, went rather heavily. We had also done some road-making here and there, so that the conveyance of the goods went on easily and rapidly. We brought back to the ship, in all, thirty-six boxes of dog biscuits, and four barrels of petroleum. Next day we brought all that was left, and stacked it on the ice close to the ship.

On September 16th Scott-Hansen and Nordahl set about preparations for building a proper house for their magnetic observations. Their building material consisted of great blocks of new ice, which they piled upon sledges and drove with the aid of the dogs to the site they had chosen. Except for one or two trial trips which Scott-Hansen had previously made with the dogs, this was the first time they had been employed as draught-animals. They drew well, and the carting went excellently. The house was built entirely of hewn blocks of ice, which were ranged above each other with an inward slant, so that when finished it formed a compact circular dome of ice, in form and appearance not unlike a Finn tent. A covered passage of ice led into the house, with a wooden flap for a door.

When this observatory was finished, Scott-Hansen gave a house-warming, the hut being magnificently decorated for the occasion. It was furnished with a sofa, and with arm-chairs covered with bear and reindeer skins. The pedestal in the middle of the floor, on which the magnetic instruments were to be established, was covered with a flag, and an ice-floe served as a table. On the table stood a lamp with a red shade, and along the walls were fixed a number of red paper lanterns. The effect was quite festal, and we all sat round the room in the highest of spirits. Our amiable host addressed little humorous speeches to every one. Pettersen expressed the wish that this might be the last ice-hut Scott-Hansen should build on this trip, and that we might all be home again this time next autumn, and “none the worse for it all.” Pettersen’s artless little address was received with frantic enthusiasm.

For the rest, Pettersen had just about this time entered upon a new office, having from September 10th onward undertaken the whole charge of Juell’s former domain, the galley, a department to which he gave his whole heart, and in which his performances denoted entire satisfaction to every one. The only branch of the culinary art with which he would have nothing to do was the baking of Christmas cakes. This Juell himself had to attend to when the time came.

When winter set in we built ourselves a new smithy in the place of the one which drifted off on July 27th. It was constructed on the pressure-ridge where the boats and part of the stores from the great hummock had been placed. Its plan was very much like that of the former smithy. We first hollowed out a cavity of sufficient size in the pressure-ridge, and then roofed it over with blocks of ice and snow.

As the year waned, and the winter night impended, all the sea animals and birds of passage which had swarmed around us and awakened our longings during the short summer deserted us one by one. They set off for the south, towards sunshine and light and hospitable shores, while we lay there in the ice and darkness for yet another winter. On September 6th we saw the last narwhals gambolling in the lanes around the ship, and a few days later the last flock of skuas (Lestris parasiticus) took their departure. The sun moves quickly in these latitudes from the first day that he peers over the horizon in the south till he circles round the heavens all day and all night; but still quicker do his movements seem when he is on the downward path in autumn. Before you know where you are he has disappeared, and the crushing darkness of the Arctic night surrounds you once more.

On September 12th we should have seen the midnight sun for the last time if it had been clear; and no later than October 8th we caught the last glimpse of the sun’s rim at midday. Thus we plunged into the longest Arctic night any human beings have yet lived through, in about 85° north latitude. Henceforth there was nothing that could for a moment be called daylight, and by October 26th there was scarcely any perceptible difference between day and night.

Whenever time permitted and the surface was at all favorable we wandered about on snow-shoes in the neighborhood of the ship, either singly or several together. On October 7th, when all of us were out snow-shoeing in the morning, the mate found a log of drift-wood 7 feet long and 7 inches thick. Part of the root was still attached to the trunk. The mate and I went out in the afternoon and brought it in on a hand-sledge. No doubt it had grown in one of the Siberian forests, had been swept away by a flood or by the current of a river, and carried out to sea to be conveyed hither by the drift-ice.

Besides snow-shoeing, we also took frequent walks on the ice, and on November 20th I gave orders that every man should take two hours’ exercise a day in the fresh air. I myself was very fond of these walks, which freshened up both soul and body, and I often wandered backward and forward on the ice four or five hours a day—as a rule, two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon.

On October 8th Scott-Hansen and Mogstad made an experiment in dragging sledges with 230 pounds of freight. They started at half-past nine and returned at five in the afternoon, after having been about four miles from the ship, and traversed pretty heavy country.

We did not believe, indeed, that the Fram ran the slightest risk of being crushed in any ice-pressure; but it was obviously possible, or at least conceivable, so that it was our duty to be prepared for all contingencies. Accordingly we devoted much labor and care to securing ourselves against being taken by surprise.

At the end of October we established a new depot on the ice consisting of provisions for six months, with a full equipment of sledges, kayaks, snow-shoes, etc. The provisions were divided into five different piles, and stacked so that the boxes in each pile formed an arch. Thus stored, not more than two cases could well be lost even if the worst happened, and the ice split up right under the heap. The provisions consisted partly of pemmican, as may be seen by the list quoted—a very nutritious article of diet, which makes an excellent sort of Irish stew (lobscouse). With 200 grammes of pemmican, 100 grammes of bread, and 120 grammes of potatoes you can make a very satisfying and palatable dish.

On November 28th we passed the sixtieth degree of longitude, and celebrated the occasion by a little feast. The saloon was decorated with flags, and a rather more sumptuous dinner than usual was served, with coffee after it, while supper was followed by a dessert of fruits and preserves. This meridian passes near Cape Fligely in Franz Josef Land, and through Khabarova, where we two years ago had bidden farewell to the last faint traces of civilization. So it seemed as though we really felt ourselves nearer the world and life.

Chapter IV

January 1 to May 17, 1896

New-year’s-day came with fine, clear weather, moonlight, and about 43 degrees of cold. The ice kept remarkably quiet for about a month, but on February 4th the pressure commenced again. It was not of long duration, but made a great noise while it lasted; the ice all round us roared and screamed as if a tremendous gale were blowing. I took a walk on the ice for the purpose, if possible, of observing the pressure more closely, but could see nothing. The following day we again sallied forth on the ice, and found a comparatively new channel and a large new pressure-ridge about a mile from the ship. It was impossible, however, to get any comprehensive view of the state of the ice, as it was still too dark, even at midday. The surface of the snow was hard and good, but the hollow edges of the snow-drifts were so deceptive that we every now and then tumbled head over heels.

On February 7th Scott-Hansen, Henriksen, Amundsen, and myself took a run northward from the ship. The farther north we went the more broken and uneven the ice became, and at last we had to turn, as we came to a new and wide lane. During the morning a dark bank of clouds had been gathering in the southwest, and now the fog got so thick that it was not easy to find our way back to the ship again. At last we heard the voice of “Sussi,” and from the top of a pressure-ridge which we ascended we got sight of the crow’s-nest and the main-topmast of the Fram, towering above the fog, only a little way off. Close as we were to the ship, it was not so easy to get on board again. We were stopped by a large lane which had formed just abaft the ship during our absence, and we had to skirt it a long way westward before we could cross it. Those on board told us that the opening of the lane had given the ship a great shock, very much like the shock felt when we blasted the Fram loose in August. At 12.30 at night we felt another shock in the ice. When we came on deck we found that the ice had cracked about 30 yards abaft the ship, parallel with the large lane. The crack passed along the side of the nearest long-boat, and right through one of the coal-heaps. On the heap a barrel was standing, which would have been lost if the crack had not divided itself in front of it at about right angles and then joined again, after passing through the outer edges of the heap. On the island thus formed the barrel and some coal-bags floated about in the channel. However, we soon got the island hooked to shore, and the coals were all saved, with the exception of a sack of one hundredweight, which went to the bottom. By way of making sure, I gave orders that the depot should be inspected once during each watch, or oftener if the pressure began again.

On February 13th Henriksen, Amundsen, and I made an expedition southward to examine into the state of the ice in that direction. We found that it was very uneven there, too, and full of comparatively new lanes. The channel abaft the ship widened during the forenoon, and gave off such masses of fog that we soon lost sight of the ship. The next day it opened still more, and on the 16th there was a very strong pressure in it. The ice trembled and roared like a great waterfall, and splintered into small horizontal flakes on the surface. The pressure was repeated almost every day, and more cracks and lanes were constantly to be seen for some time. But after that the ice was comparatively quiet until April 10th, when it again began to be very restless. On the night of the 15th the pressure was very strong in the lane on the port side. We were obliged to haul up the log-line with the bag and shift the sounding apparatus. The same night the ice split under two of the provision depots, so that we had to get them closer to the ship.

On the morning of the 21st we were awakened by a violent pressure astern. Nordahl came down and woke me, saying that the ice threatened to rush in over the vessel. We found that a tremendous ice-floe had been pressed up over the edge of the ice astern, and came gliding along unchecked until it ran right against our stern. But the Fram had borne shocks like this before, and now again she held her own well. The ice was split against the strong stern, and lay shattered on both sides of the ship on a level with the edge of the half-deck all the way forward to the mizzen-shrouds. The ship now lay almost loose in her berth, and the ice round about was broken up into a mass of smaller floes. As these were passed down by the heavy drifts, it was hard work to get round the ship, as one ran the risk of plumping down into the slush at any moment.

Late in the afternoon of May 13th the lane between the forge and the ship began to widen very much, so that in a couple of hours’ time it was about 90 yards wide. From the crow’s-nest I saw on the southeast a large channel extending southward as far as I could see, and the channel abaft us extended to the northeast as far as my sight could reach. I therefore went out in the “pram” to try to find a passage through to the channel on the southeast, but without result. After supper I was off again southward, but I could not find any thoroughfare. At 10 o’clock in the evening I again went up in the crow’s-nest, and now saw that the channel had widened considerably and reached away southward as far as the eye could reach, with dark air over it.

Scott-Hansen and I deliberated as to what was to be done. Although I did not believe it would do much good under the circumstances, we decided upon an attempt to blast the vessel free. We agreed to try some mines right aft, and all hands were at once put to this work. First we fired six powder-mines at about the same spot, but without much result. Then we made an unsuccessful trial with gun-cotton. At 3 o’clock in the morning we concluded operations for the time being, as the ice was so thick that the drill did not reach through, and the slush so bad that it was impossible to get the ice-floes shoved away. At 8 o’clock the next morning we laid two new mines, which Scott-Hansen and Nordahl had made ready during the night, but neither of them would go off. One or two of the mines which we had fired during the day had produced some effect, but so little that it was not worth while to continue. We were obliged to wait for a more favorable condition of the ice.

The weather during the two first weeks of January was settled and good, with clear air and 40 to 50 degrees of cold. The coldest day was January 15th, when the thermometer showed from -50° C. (-58° Fahr.) to -52° C. (-61.6° Fahr.). The last two weeks of January the temperature was considerably higher, but dropped again in February, until on the 13th it was about -48° C. (-54.4° Fahr.), after which it was somewhat higher: about -35° C. (-41° Fahr.) during the remainder of February. On March 5th the thermometer again showed 40 degrees of cold; but from that time the temperature rose quickly. Thus on March 12th it was -12°, on the 27th -6°, with a few colder days of course now and then. April was somewhat cold throughout, about -25°; the coldest day was the 13th, with -34°. The first week of May was also somewhat cold, about -20° to -25°, the second week somewhat milder, about -14°, and on May 21st we had the first rise above freezing-point of this year, the maximum thermometer showing at the evening observation +0.9°.

Some days during this winter were remarkable for very great and sudden changes in temperature. One instance was Friday, February 21st. In the morning it was cloudy, with a stiff breeze from the southeast. Late in the afternoon the wind suddenly changed to the southwest, and slackened off to a velocity of 14 feet; and the temperature went down from -7° in the morning to -25° shortly before the change in the wind, rapidly rising again to -6.2° at 8 o’clock P.M.

In my Journal I wrote of this day as follows: “I was walking on deck to-night, and before I went down had a lookout astern. When I put my head out of the tent I felt so warm a current of air that my first thought was that there must be fire somewhere on board. I soon made out, however, that it was the temperature which had risen so greatly since I was under the open sky. Scott-Hansen and I afterwards went up and placed a thermometer under the ship’s tent, where it showed -19°, while the thermometer outside showed only -6°. We walked for some time backward and forward, and breathed the warm air in deep draughts. It was beyond all description pleasant to feel the mild wind caress one’s cheek. Yes, there is a great difference between living in such a temperature and daily breathing an air 40° to 50° below freezing-point. Personally, I am not very much incommoded by it, but many complain that they feel a pain deep in the chest. I only find when I have been taking a good deal of exercise that my mouth is parched.”

The following day, February 22d, it first blew from the S.S.E., but later the wind changed to half a gale from the west, with a velocity of 55 feet per second. The barometer showed the lowest reading during the whole voyage up till then—namely, 723.6 mm. The air was so full of drifting snow that we could not see 6 feet from the ship, and the thermometer-house out on the ice was in a few minutes so packed with drift-snow that it was impossible to read off the instruments. It was not very comfortable down in the saloon, as it was impossible to create any draught. We made unsuccessful attempts to light the stoves, but soon had to take the fire away, to prevent suffocation by smoke. Sunday night the storm abated, but on Monday and Tuesday there was again half a gale, with snowfall and drift, and nearly 28 degrees of frost. Not before Wednesday afternoon did the weather improve in earnest; it then cleared up, and the wind slackened to 20 feet, so both we and the dogs could get out on the ice and take a little exercise. The dogs wanted to get out of their kennels in the morning, but even they found the weather too bad, and slunk in again.

We had a good many rough-weather days like this, not only in the winter, but also in the summer; but as a rule the rough weather lasted only a day at a time, and did not involve any great discomfort. On the contrary, we had no objection to a little rough weather, especially when it was accompanied by a fresh breeze that might drift the ice speedily westward. Of course, what most interested us was the drifting and everything connected with it. Our spirits were often far better in rough weather than on glittering days of clear weather, with only a slight breeze or a calm and a brilliant aurora borealis at night.

With the drift we had reason to be well satisfied, especially in January and the first week in February. During that time we drifted all the way from the 48th to the 25th degree of longitude, while our latitude kept steady—about 84° 50′. The best drift we had was from January 28th to February 3d, when there was a constant stiff breeze blowing from the east, which on Sunday, February 2d, increased to a speed of 58 feet 6 inches to 69 feet a second, or even more during squalls. This was, however, the only real gale during the whole of our voyage. On Saturday, February 1st, we passed the longitude of Vardö, and celebrated the occasion by some festivities in the evening. On February 15th we were in 84° 20′ north latitude and 23° 28′ east longitude, and we now drifted some distance back, so that on February 29th we were in 27° east longitude. Afterwards the drift westward was very slow, but it was better towards the south, so that on May 16th we were at 83° 45′ north latitude and 12° 50′ east longitude.

The drift gave occasion to many bets, especially when it was good, and spirits proportionately high. One day at the end of January, when the line showed that we were drifting briskly in the right direction, Henriksen found his voice and said: “We have never made a bet before, captain; suppose we make a bet now as to how far south we have got.” “All right,” I said, and we accordingly made a bet of a ration of salmon, I that we were not south of 84° 40′, or between 40′ and 41′, and he said we were between 36′ and 37′. Scott-Hansen then took an observation, and found that Henriksen had lost. The latitude was 84° 40.2′.

Since the last bird of passage left us we had nowhere seen a single living creature, right up to February 28th. Not even a bear had been seen during our many rambles on the ice.

At 6 A.M. Pettersen came rushing into the cabin, and told me that he saw two bears near the ship. I hurried up on deck, but it was still so dark that I could not at once get sight of them, although Pettersen was pointing in their direction. At last I saw them trotting along slowly towards the ship. About 150 yards away they stopped. I tried to take aim at them, but as it was still too dark to be sure of my shot, I waited a little, hoping that they would come nearer. They stood for a time staring at the ship, but then wheeled round and sneaked off again. I asked Pettersen if he had something to fry which would smell really nice and strong and attract the bears back. He stood ruminating a little, then ran down-stairs, and came up again with a pan of fried butter and onions. “I am blowed if I haven’t got something savory for them,” he said, and tossed the pan up on the rail. The bears had long been out of sight. It was cold, 35 degrees I should think, and I hurried down to get my fur coat on, but before I had done so Bentzen came running down and told me to make haste, as the bears were coming back. We tore on deck at full speed, and now had the animals well within range, about 100 yards away. I squatted down behind the rail, took a good aim, and—missed fire. The bears were a little startled, and seemed to be contemplating a retreat. I quickly cocked the rifle again and fired at the largest one. It fell head over heels, with a tremendous roar. Then I fired at the second one. It first turned a fine somersault before it fell. After that they both got up and took a few steps forward, but then they both came down again. I gave them each one of the two cartridges I had left, but still this was not enough for these long-lived animals. Pettersen was very much interested in the sport. Without any weapon he ran down the gangway and away towards the bears, but then he suddenly had misgivings and called to Bentzen to follow him. Bentzen, who had no weapons either, was naturally not very keen about running after two wounded bears. After getting some more cartridges I met Pettersen midway between the bears and the Fram. The animals were now crawling along a pressure-ridge. I stopped at a distance of 30 yards, but first of all I had to shout to Pettersen, who, in his eagerness, hurried on before me, and now stood just in the line of fire. At last the great she-bear got her death-wound, and I ran along the pressure-ridge in order to see where the other one had got to. Suddenly it stuck its head up over the ridge, and I at once sent a shot through its neck close up to the head.

All hands were then called out, and great was the rejoicing. Our mouths watered at the thought of the delicious fresh meat we should now enjoy for a long time. It was about 16 months since we had last shot a bear, and for 14 months we had not had any fresh meat, except one or two dishes of seals and birds shot during the summer. We blessed Pettersen’s savory frying-pan. The bears were cut up and made into steaks, rissoles, roasts, etc. Even the bones we laid aside to make soup of. The ribs were the most succulent. We had them for dinner, and everybody voted that a sirloin of bear was a dish for a king. Accordingly we all ate very large helpings, with heartfelt wishes that it might not be long before some bears again paid us a visit.

After this Pettersen became so infatuated with bear-hunting that he talked of it early and late. One day he got it into his head that some bears would come during the night. He had such a belief in his forebodings that he made all possible preparations for the night and got Bentzen to join forces with him. Bentzen had the morning watch, and was to call him as soon as the bears appeared. A merry fellow, who wanted to make sure of seeing Pettersen bear-hunting, had taken the precaution to hang a little bell on Bentzen’s rifle, so that he could hear when they started. Unfortunately no bear appeared. Pettersen, however, had so set his heart on shooting a bear, that I had to promise to let him have a shot some time when I myself was by and had a charge ready, in case the inconceivable should happen, and Pettersen should miss—a mishap which he would find it very hard to get over.

On Sunday, March 8th, we had another instance of a sudden change in temperature like that of February 21st. In the morning it was cloudy, with a fresh breeze from the E.N.E., but at 3 P.M. the wind fell, and at 6 o’clock changed to a light S.S.E. breeze. At the same time the temperature rose from -26° to -8°, and it was very pleasant to saunter round on the half-deck in the evening and breathe the mild air.

On March 4th we saw the sun for the first time. It should have been visible the day before, but then it was too cloudy. By way of compensation it was now a double festival day, as we could celebrate both the return of the sun and Nordahl’s birthday in one.

On March 14th it was one year since Nansen and Johansen commenced their long ice-journey. The day was celebrated by a better dinner, with coffee afterwards and a punch-bowl in the evening.

Besides the usual scientific observations, which were continued without any interruptions worth mentioning, we also took soundings during the winter, but did not reach bottom with a 3000-metre line (1625 fathoms).

On April 13th Scott-Hansen and I took an observation with the theodolite, and Nordahl an observation with the sextant, on the natural horizon. According to the theodolite, the latitude was 84° 11.5′, and by the sextant 84° 13′. We had previously ascertained that there was a difference of about two minutes between the artificial and natural horizons. In using the natural horizon a smaller latitude is obtained, even though there is no mirage. The deviation will, however, under favorable circumstances, seldom exceed two minutes. But if there is much mirage, it becomes almost impossible to obtain a fairly correct result. As a rule, therefore, in taking observations in the drift-ice, one has to use the artificial horizon or theodolite, if a very exact result is desired.

As the time passed on towards spring the days became longer, and more rifts and channels were formed round the ship. It was time to think of beginning preparations for forcing the Fram ahead as soon as sufficiently large openings should appear in the ice. The things stored on the ice had been frequently shifted about in the course of the winter, but as the ice became more broken up, it was of little use to shift them. So in the middle of April we took the winter depot on board and stowed it away in the main hold. We also took on board the sacks from the coal depot, while the barrels and hogsheads, together with the dog-biscuits, kayaks, and sledges, were for the present left upon the ice. The sun at this time became so strong that on April 19th the snow began to melt away on the tent; along the ship’s side it had been melting for several days.

The first harbinger of spring we saw this year was a snow-bunting, which made its appearance on the evening of April 25th. It took up permanent quarters in one of the sealing-boats, where it was treated with groats and scraps of food, and soon got very tame. It favored us with its presence for several days, and then flew away. The Fram had evidently been a welcome resting-place for it; it had eaten its fill, and gathered new strength for the remainder of its journey. On May 3d we were again visited by a snow-bunting, and a couple of days later by two more. I fancy it was our former guest, who in the meantime had found its mate, and now returned with her to call and thank us for our hospitality. They remained with us about an hour, and did their best to cheer us with their chirping and twittering; but as the dogs would not give them any peace, but chased them everywhere, they finally took flight, and did not return again.

After the first few days in May we removed the temporary deck, which had been laid over the davits, cleared the main-deck, and took both the sealing-boats and the long-boats on board. The gangway was also removed, and a ladder put in its place. Next we shipped the rest of the coal depot, the dog provisions, and the sledges; in fact, we took in everything that was left on the ice. All that was now left to be done was to get the engine ready for getting up steam, and this we set about on May 18th.

The dogs got on well in their kennels on the ice, in spite of the prolonged and strong cold, and we had very little trouble with them. But after the first month in the new year some of the bigger dogs became so fierce towards the smaller ones that we had to take two of the worst tyrants on board and keep them locked up for a time. They also did a good deal of mischief whenever they had an opportunity. One day, for instance, they began to gnaw at the kayaks that were placed on the top of the largest dog-kennel. However, we got hold of them in time before any serious damage was done, and cleared away the snow round the kennel, so that they could not climb up again to go on with this amusement.

On February 10th one of “Sussi’s” puppies littered. We took her on board, and laid her in a large box filled with shavings. We allowed her to keep only one of her five pups; we killed two at once, one was born dead, and she had devoured her first-born, the cannibal!

Some days later “Kara” had a litter. She was the only one of the dogs who manifested any maternal instinct. It was quite touching to see her, and we felt sorry to have to take the pups away from her; but we were forced to make away with them, not only because it was impossible to bring them up at that time of the year, but also because the mother herself was only a puppy, delicate and diminutive.

In the beginning of March the October whelps were let out all day, and on March 5th we put them, with the older dogs, under the hood of the fore-companion. In the evening the cover was put on, and when during the night the hole near the edge of the ice became filled up with snow, it got so warm in the hutch that the hoar-frost and ice melted and all the dogs got wet. The pups felt the cold terribly when they were let out in the morning, and we therefore took them down into the saloon until they were warm again.