I am sitting in the South in real, tropical, summer heat. Outside my windows roses of all colors are blooming, and the air is positively saturated with the perfume of flowers. Beyond the harbor, as far as the eye can see, the water is like a mirror, clear and inviting.

I have to write a few words regarding our experience on the polar flight. The events seem so far, so far away, that it appears almost as a dream. The present is a reality. It reminds me of the days when, up in the ice desert, we had a similar if not quite so strong a feeling that the glorious days which we had spent with Director Knutsen in King’s Bay were mere fantasies.

Meantime my diary with its few daily notes lies before me, and with the help of these I hope I can manage to give a correct description of the events which I am trying to depict. I may add that I am principally concerned in giving a correct narration of the actual happenings, and nothing is further from my thoughts than literary ambition.

I will start by quoting my notes of the 21st May: “Easterly breeze, clear weather, excellent conditions for starting. Hope that the great day has now come. Try to start with 3,100 kilo weight, but am prepared to have to reduce same.”

This was written on the morning of the 21st and my hope was to be realized. Meteorologists predicted good weather conditions in the polar basin and the plane was loaded and ready. In the afternoon the members of the expedition, accompanied by friends and the people of King’s Bay, went out to the plane. The lashings received final touches, instruments were placed in position, and engines were started. In the half hour during which the engines warmed up we said good-by to friends and acquaintances, and we placed special value on the good wish, “God bless your trip,” which we received from the miners’ representatives and the crew of the “Fram.” Our tireless friend, Director Knutsen, gave us practical proof of his kindness by handing us, when we were on board, a parcel of sandwiches, cold meat and hard-boiled eggs as well as a box of excellent oatcakes baked by Fru Director Clausen of Aalesund. As transpired later, these provisions came in exceedingly handy.

At last both planes were ready. Omdal reported that the engines were all right, and Ellsworth was ready with his navigating and meteorological instruments. N 25 was lying with its nose facing the fjord, where the start was to be made. N 24, somewhat further in, lay parallel with the beach in order to escape the air pressure and the snow spray from N 25’s propeller. The latter plane at last slid down the hacked-out glide onto the ice, and N 24 proceeded in a half circle in order to follow down the same track. Meantime it was no easy task to raise the heavily laden plane 90°. At the same time as the engines pulled the plane slowly forward something snapped through the pressure on the tail. But there were plenty of willing hands—too many in fact. Above the humming of the engine I suddenly heard a noise which sounded to me as if a row of rivets in the bottom had sprung. Meantime the plane was in starting position. The people were quickly waved aside, and we glided down on the ice in the track of N 25. Director Schulte-Frohlinde from the Pisa Works had undoubtedly heard a suspicious noise when the rivets burst (that could be seen by the concerned look on his face) although the noise probably sounded worse in the plane than outside. I presume he calmed down when we continued on our way, but I smiled to myself at the sight of his sudden shock. As far as I was concerned the occurrence was quite clear. I knew that some of the rivets were out, although I could not judge how many. But I took it for granted that it would not place any special difficulties in the way of our landing or starting, even on the water, after we had lightened the plane by over 1,000 kg. of petrol and oil on the way up to the Pole. Added to this was the chance that we might possibly land and start from the ice, where the leakage would not matter. On the other hand, repairs would have delayed the start indefinitely; then again we might have periods when, impatiently waiting to start, every minute of the day we would look concernedly at the weather conditions becoming foggier and foggier and delaying us. My all-engrossing thought was: “Now or never.” And thus we carried on.

The arrangement was that N 25 should start first. There was a slight breeze from the end of the fjord, but in order to prevent a turning of 180° with the heavy-laden plane, we decided to try first to make a start beyond the fjord. We therefore stopped in the middle of the ice and started to put our flying suits on, which we did not want to don until the last minute in order not to get too warm before starting. Suddenly we saw N 25 gliding landwards and flying past us with both engines working at full power with constantly increasing speed. It was clear immediately that the start would be successful. I did not get time to see more nor to put on snow-glasses and gloves, for the ice began to sink more and more under the plane’s weight. There was already a foot of water on the ice round about us, and at the same time Omdal informed us that the water was also rising inside fairly rapidly. These conditions coming all at once made it imperative to act, and a few seconds later I had given N 24’s 720-horsepower full scope. It looked as if the plane spent a little time in consideration, then started slowly to glide ahead, the water on the ice disappeared, and quicker and quicker we drove over the lightly snow-covered ice-plain. It seemed as if the high glacier at the end of the fjord was coming to meet us at a dangerous speed. But a glance at the speedometer showed a steady, regularly increasing speed which had a completely calming effect. As the indicator showed 110 kilometers per hour I thought that the plane could rise, but in order to make quite certain, I waited until the indicator showed 120 kilometers before I let it rise slowly.

It was an inspiring feeling to be in the air at last. The fascinating expedition had at last begun. The time of preparation was over.

Our admiration for the plane’s ability knew no bounds. As mentioned before we were quite prepared to face the necessity of having to jettison a part of the load, namely petrol. According to the contract the plane was only bound to carry 2,500 kilos weight, but we got away all right with 3,100 kilos. As we learned later, the starting track was 1,400 meters long, but if necessity had demanded it could have been considerably shorter.

As soon as the nose of N 24 had been slowly and carefully steered round outside the fjord, I started to look out for N 25. It is surprising how difficult it often is to discover a plane in the air from another one. But at last I saw it, and apparently on board N 25 they were also on the lookout for us. All the circumstances which could possibly arise had been thoroughly discussed before starting and the main thing was, if possible, to keep together. Written orders were therefore not necessary, and only one written order was issued as a guide in case we should be separated, and it read as follows:

“In case the two planes and their crews should lose contact with one another, N 24 and its crew shall continue operations under Lieutenant Dietrichson’s leadership as agreed. Lieutenant Dietrichson has the right in the name of His Majesty the King of Norway to take possession of any land that may be discovered.”

As we then glided northwards along the west coast of Spitzbergen past the seven glaciers and further past Dansköen and Amsterdamöen, it was certainly our mutual wish that luck would favor us so that we should never lose sight of one another. This wish was strengthened when early in the course of the flight thick clouds and fog met us, forcing us to rise to about 1,000 meters, where we found the sky beautiful, blue and sunny, whilst the fog lay below us like a blanket stretching out northwards as far as the eye could see.

The arrangement was that the flight up to the north coast should be considered as a trial flight, and that both planes should return to King’s Bay if everything was not going on all right; but if the contrary was the case, to continue. With a feeling of relief I saw that N 25 continued its course northwards, so that everything on board there must be in order. But shortly afterwards I noticed by the cooling-gauge that the temperature of the water had risen alarmingly. Omdal, always practical, had been prudent enough to fix a bell from my compartment to the petrol-store and to the engine-gondolas, and as soon as I had pressed the button Omdal was beside me. I pointed to the thermometer, which was steadily rising, and Omdal disappeared aft again like a rocket. He is a phenomenon in wriggling round the engines, where (to use a mild phrase) space is scarce. I glanced aft and saw that the radiator blinds were not quite open, but even after they had been opened wide, the temperature continued to rise. The indicator had passed 100° and I felt sure that we would have to make a forced landing. Through small holes in the fog we could see the drift ice below us where a landing would certainly mean a wrecked plane. The temperature rose higher and the last I saw was that it indicated 115°, when the thermometer burst and my hopes sank to zero. I rang again for Omdal, but a little time elapsed before he came, and I judged that he was busy. Meantime I was astonished to see that the engines still went as well as ever. I had throttled them down to 1,600 revolutions, but expected to hear a crack any minute; and how goes it with the forward motor? The two engines had a common radiator, but the thermometer showed the temperature of the water after it passed the aft-motor, so there was still a hope for the forward one. The radiator gauge for this motor was, however, fixed in the engine gondolas out of the pilot’s control. After what in my anxiety seemed to be several minutes, Omdal appeared again, and when I asked him what was the matter replied that everything was all right. I knew anyway that the expression “all right” was (to say the least of it) an exaggeration, in view of the fact that I had seen the temperature rise to over 115°. But at the same time I knew that the engines worked with a regular hum, and if anybody could manage to keep them going it was Omdal. I therefore hoped to keep in the air by very careful flying. As minute after minute passed, without catastrophe, my confidence rose.

Side by side these two gigantic birds flew northwards towards the unknown, cold, inhospitable polar regions, which for centuries have been the scene of so many men’s cravings and strugglings, where so many defeats have been borne after unbearable sufferings, privations and vain endeavors, and where also a few mighty victories have been won.

One could not avoid thinking about the difference between our present journey and the previous expedition. Roald Amundsen thought of the new element—the air as the connecting link—making use of it for the first time in polar exploration (if one excludes the congenial Swedish explorer Andre’s trial with his balloon in 1897, the result of which has been lost to the world’s records). Would the world gather new knowledge from our experiences? How far it would benefit depended, in my opinion, on the landing possibilities. If we should be lucky in finding suitable landing-places, at not too lengthy distances apart, our undertaking would certainly succeed. If the opposite should be the case, the chances would of course be small. But just the question of landing-places gave an element of uncertainty to our expedition. The presumptuous “specialists” gave distinctly opposite opinions regarding the conditions of the water-lanes of the ice regions. All these opinions showed one common result, namely, that we could not depend upon any of them. Nobody had so far observed the conditions from a flying-man’s point of view. This we were quite clear about, but we depended upon the material at our disposal, namely, our flying-boats, which, if the worst should happen, ought to be able to take us back home without our making a landing.

I believe we all sat there thinking how previous expeditions had advanced laboriously, kilometer after kilometer, had climbed over high icebergs and passed water-lanes during exciting marches which lasted days, sometimes their path was blocked by waterways which must be crossed with the aid of the frail equipment which the explorers could carry with them. In contrast to this we were now, three men in each plane, steering, with slight touches and very little work, these flying boats, which not only carried us but also our equipment high over all obstacles with a speed of some kilometers per minute. Frithjof Nansen mentions several times in his reports about his and Johansen’s journey towards the North Pole that he wished he had wings in order to pass the countless icebergs. The dream has become true. As long as we can remain in the air the icebergs cannot hinder us.

But to return to the business of our flight. The fog extended further north than we expected, and although this did not interfere with our flying, it interfered with the deviation and speed observations—a matter which was very annoying.

Mr. Ellsworth told me later that he had been very impressed by the flight over the fog-belt. Wherever our plane threw a shadow on the fog-belt below, a double halo in all the colors of the rainbow appeared, and in the midst of this the silhouette of N 24 could be seen quite clearly. This phenomenon accompanied us all the time we were over the fog-belt and was very impressive. Roald Amundsen had observed the same thing in connection with the flight of N 25.

Just after we had passed 82° north the fog disappeared and we continued to fly over these boundless icefields, which stretched monotonously as far as the eye could see. We flew at different heights, varying from 1,000 to 3,000 meters.

The ice looked quite different to what I expected. Instead of the big kilometer-long ice plain, we saw ice plains which through cracks or bergs had been divided into small irregular pieces, where it was impossible to land. And open water-lanes! These were reduced to quite small snakelike cracks, following a winding course on which it was also impossible to land. As far as I was concerned, I consoled myself with the belief that probably once we came nearer our goal, we should find the ice plains a little larger and evener. But hour after hour passed without the conditions below us changing to any noticeable degree. Notwithstanding this and in spite of the fact that our second engine had been exposed to extraordinary strain, I still felt quite safe. The regular beat of our two Rolls-Royce engines, which never varied in the slightest, and which might well be considered the height of perfection in British workmanship and exactitude, gave one confidence. And it was a necessary factor. Every flying man will understand this.

One question which always cropped up whenever the North Pole flight was discussed was in regard to the cold, which one thought would be found unbearable by the crew. Let me say at once that it did not bother us in the least. Even in the case of the pilot, who is so closely tied to his place, it proved to be of no great discomfort. This of course was on account of the carefulness with which we selected our kit, thanks to the long experience of our leaders in the polar regions. I was rather afraid about my hands and feet, but the clothes, which are described in another part of this book, stood the test splendidly.

Meantime one hour after another passed and we had soon made a flight of eight hours duration. Reckoning on a speed of 140 kilometers per hour, that ought to have brought us directly into the neighborhood of the Pole. Our position now depended solely on how strong the wind had been blowing against us, or in other words, what ground speed we had made. But what was to be done? Landing places were still not to be found. Omdal came forward to me and shook his head for once, pointing to the icefields below us.

Then we suddenly saw—for the first time since we went above the fog-belts at Spitzbergen—the sun playing on blue water, which was rippling under the influence of a slight breeze. We could hardly believe our eyes. N 25 changed its course down towards the tempting water and started slowly to descend. We followed. The water-lane was apparently large enough to land on, but was divided into several portions by icebergs and banks of snow and ice. It was hopeless to land on the ice round about and it presented an increasingly worse appearance the lower we got. I saw N 25 land in an arm, or, speaking correctly, in a branch of the waterway, where as far as I could see there was very little room. I came to the conclusion, in any case, that there was only room for one plane, and therefore I flew round a little, and landed on an ideal place a little to the south, in a fine little lake. With slow speed we proceeded on to the biggest ice-floe we could see, and secured N 24 there. I noticed that the aft motor stopped of its own accord as soon as I had throttled it down.

The first surprise we met with, as soon as we arrived on the ice, was a big seal which, inquisitive as usual, put its head out and looked enquiringly over us. I am not sure who was more surprised, we or it. Never had we heard about animal existence so far north, and the seal had certainly never seen a flying machine before, either there or further south.

We of course went ashore immediately in order to look for N 25 and its crew. I had taken note of the direction of their landing place, and thought we would be about three-quarters of a mile away from them. The sight that met us when we climbed the highest ice-clump was just as depressing as it was surprising. No sign of N 25. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but ice, and ice again, on all sides, except in the direction of the water-lane from whence we had come. And what ice! Not large—not even small—plains of ice, but hills of it, and long high icebanks which impeded the view on all sides. We had seen from above quite plainly that landing-places on the ice were very poor, but what we saw now affected us overwhelmingly and surprisingly. We shuddered involuntarily, and yet at the same time we were gripped by a sense of the wildness and beauty.

But we must get to work. We must find N 25, so out came the glasses. After having eagerly looked for a little while, we discovered the end of a propeller and a wing sticking out over an iceberg. We estimated the distance to be three-quarters to one mile, and decided to walk across to that spot as soon as we had eaten a little. Personally I had not tasted anything (wet or dry) and had not missed it. But now I had developed an appetite and Director Knutsen’s sandwiches were more than welcome. Omdal immediately got busy with his beloved engines, Ellsworth sacrificed himself to the studying of the meteorological conditions, while I quickly “took the sun,” which showed that we were about 87° 50′ north.

It appeared to us that the plane lay safe and sound and Ellsworth and I decided to walk across to N 25. We expected that by walking along by the water-lane we would be able to cover the distance in one and a half hours, and for safety’s sake took the canvas boat along with us. We did not bother about provisions or anything else. Before we started we hoisted our brave Norwegian flag on the top of the iceberg.

Ellsworth and I set out most confidently, but reaped our first bitter experience of marching on the polar ice. It looked difficult to get along, but it proved to be still more so. We climbed up and down icebergs, carrying our canvas boat, of which we had to take the utmost care so that no sharp piece of ice should tear a hole in it. Soon we had to use the boat as a bridge in order to cross a small crack filled up with broken ice and mush—or as an aid to fighting our way through thin new ice in somewhat broader ditches. At last we got full use of the boat in a broad water-lane, where we paddled along a good distance. Now and again we got sight of N 25 above the icebergs as we approached. Suddenly we saw the propeller moving. We were therefore certain that the crew and also the plane were “all right,” and as the new ice was completely blocking our course, we decided to return to N 24. With the same toil (and after we had tumbled into the water several times) we returned tired and fagged out.

Omdal awaited us with steaming chocolate and it tasted excellent. Whilst we had been away he had discovered that several exhaust pipes of the aft engine had become clogged, so they had to be exchanged for spares. He expected that the work would take two or three days. Meantime the ice started to close in round the plane, which we therefore decided to turn round with the nose pointed out of the water-lane so that, if necessary, we could leave by only using the “fore” engine.

It was easier said than done because, first of all, the ice had to be broken round about the flying machine, and more than once we got thoroughly drenched. But after three hours’ work the plane was in the desired position. The question now was whether the crew of N 25 had seen us. We presumed they had seen our flag, but of course this was not certain. If everything was in good order, they would start off to join us as soon as they had been able to take careful observations. Anyway we were sure that they would see us when they started out, and so we climbed a little higher than we already were. We had nothing else to do but to put our engines in order as quickly as possible, to be ready at the earliest moment. We therefore put our tent up “on the land” of the ice-plain, and took the necessary mess requisites and sleeping bags with us. In addition we also armed ourselves with a gun and revolver, in case we should be surprised by a polar bear. A seal we had already seen, and a bear might also be lurking about. Omdal was to work solely on the motor, helped if necessary by Ellsworth and myself, whilst we had to do the cooking, take observations, keep a lookout and now and again pump the boat free of water. The leakage proved to be less than I expected, but still large enough to make us prefer to stick to our tent. This was quite small and light, made of thin aeroplane cloth. The bottom was of the same material. It was quite snug and warm when the Primus stove was lit, but when the snow underneath started to melt, on account of the heat in the tent, it got damp on the floor. We were of course entirely cut off from wood, leaves or branches of trees.

At midday—still on the 22nd—the sky got overcast and we could no longer see N 25. With our lack of experience in the ice regions Ellsworth and I had the impression that we were quite safe where we were. Omdal, who had some experience from his sojourn in Alaska, was not quite so calm about it, but thought that the new ice where we lay would in any case act as a protection against possible drift ice.

In the afternoon the weather cleared again for about an hour and it seemed to us that we could see the top of N 25 again. Later the sky was overcast with threatening snow squalls. It was clear that the ice was constantly on the move. Meantime the water-lane was so broad that we were not afraid of it closing in. What concerned us most was the uncertainty about N 25 and its crew. We reasoned out and imagined every possible theory. If everything was all right, they would of course fly down to join us in this place, where they could land without difficulty. If the machine had been hopelessly damaged, they would come on foot over the ice to us. We ruminated thus, because it seemed to us that they must have seen our flag, and, as meantime we saw nothing of them, we presumed that they had some necessary repairs to effect.

The whole night, until the morning of the 23rd of May, we had snow—with bad visibility. Omdal worked at the motors while Ellsworth and I pumped. The leakage appeared to be getting gradually worse. We had a northerly breeze and about -10° c.

At midday the weather cleared and the sun shone out from a clear sky. In the course of the day I was able to make two good observations, although the spirit level which Ellsworth had brought with him was too small and besides was of a very unsuitable construction. I had already pointed this out at Spitzbergen, but there was no opportunity of getting a new one. I must admit that I was disappointed with the result of our observations. I had believed that we were considerably nearer the Pole. The others thought the same. Judging by the flying and our speed through the air, we must have had a very strong wind current against us. At that time, however, we did not doubt that we could continue northwards as soon as the motors were in working order again.

At midday we saw N 25 again. It had drifted nearer to us, and we noticed that tarpaulins had been put over the motor-gondolas and that the flag was flying over it. If only the weather would remain clear now, they ought to be able to see us. We tried several times to attract their attention by using smoke-bombs, and now and again we fired a gun.

The part of the water-lane where we were encamped froze up more and more, a condition which rather pleased us as we expected that we would soon be able to make a start from the ice.

In the afternoon we at last noticed that N 25 must have observed us because we noticed a flag being waved backwards and forwards. This was the customary sign used in the Navy for starting flag-signaling. I was not slow in taking up the challenge, and soon a connection was established. The distance was so long that we had to use glasses, and as these had to be dried continuously the signaling took some time. At last we got the following message: “We are frozen in twenty meters from the water-lane—working in order to get free. If your position hopeless come to us, bring food, axes, deflection instruments, engine O.K.” We replied: “Expect we can start on the ice from here, but are leaking badly, therefore longer sojourn on the water impossible.”

I think few can imagine what relief it was to us to have established signal-communication with each other. I immediately gave a grateful thought to Riiser-Larsen and to my naval education.

The whole night, until the morning of the 24th of May, we had a fresh breeze with drifting snow, the temperature being -11° to -12°. It was bitterly cold in the tent and the wind was blowing right through it. The sleeping-bags were very excellent, but really only meant for summer use. We had the “Thermix” heating apparatus with us. It was really extraordinarily good, but, as we had hardly any petrol to spare, we did without the comfort of a heated tent. On our flight northwards we had been exceedingly economical regarding the consumption of petrol, and we therefore still had half a drum more than half our original quantity. But one could not tell how much might be required for our return journey.

In the course of the day (24th of May) the whole fjord was frozen over. The leakage in the boat got continually worse, and thus we were quite pleased to see the ice freezing round our machine as it would form a resting place for the wings, and would prevent the machine sinking further, even if we should stop pumping-work, which took up much time and prevented us from performing other necessary tasks.

During the course of the afternoon Omdal finished changing the exhaust ventilators, and we thought that the motors were now all ready. The fact that they would not start in the severe cold, and especially in the strong wind which hindered the warming of the motors, did not concern us greatly. Spring was on the way, and the temperature would soon rise.

The movements of the ice, however, disturbed us very much. We had the feeling that the icebergs on the other side of the water-lane had come somewhat nearer, and the whole “landscape” seemed to change from time to time. In order to be on the safe side we decided to put all our provisions and outfit ashore. We started this immediately, and in the course of the forenoon everything was on the ice-plain near the tent.

Gradually the ice began to encroach more and more. To our joy we noticed that the two machines got nearer together, and we decided to try and get into communication with N 25. We were anxious to find out their position in order to discuss things with our leader, the only one with experience of drift ice, and the only one who could judge the situation.

On account of the uncertain conditions we did not want to leave more of our equipment behind than was absolutely necessary. We tried first of all to put our canvas boat (loaded with provisions, etc.) on the ski-sledge. This was the course we should have to adopt if for one reason or another we had to march southwards. After a few hundred meters of toil, fighting our way amongst the icebergs, we realized that it would be quite impossible to get along in a reasonable time, handicapped by this outfit, so we therefore took only the most necessary things in our knapsacks. All the same it amounted to forty kg. each, and with this on our backs we started off on our skis. We toiled forward over high icebergs and ice-clumps, and crossed the most fantastic and uneven territory, where skis of course could not be used. Therefore we carried them again, and jumped over the water-lanes or crossed the new ice which moved under our weight. This was very exciting and tiring and I admired the progress made by Ellsworth, who is not a skiing man. (In addition to his many excellent qualities he is also a true sportsman.) Omdal’s Alaskan experiences also came in handy. He was very clever in finding the easiest and safest passages, and we progressed without accident. N 25 was getting nearer and nearer with every minute’s march. After we had traveled about half the distance a long water-lane covered with very thin new ice stopped our progress. It was right across our path, about a quarter of a mile broad, and reached as far as the eye could see. On the other side lay N 25. We were so near that Riiser-Larsen and I could signal to each other without difficulty and without using glasses. We received word that they considered it impossible for us to get across, and we had nothing else to do but to go back the way we had come. Before leaving we arranged that we should signal to each other the next day at ten o’clock Greenwich mean time.

After seven hours’ toil we were back again at N 24. It was lying just as we had left it and all three of us went to “bed.” It was bitterly cold, but we got the first decent sleep since we had left Spitzbergen. We had gradually got more accustomed to the use of sleeping-bags; it required a good deal of practice to get down into them with the thick clothes we had to wear, for while sleeping we had to be clad in as many clothes as possible.

The 25th of May dawned with the same hopeless overcast sky as before. Now and again we had heavy snowdrifts. The temperature was about -10° c. After having tried in vain to start the aft motor, Omdal worked some time at the engine, but still it would not start. At 10 A.M. they signaled from N 25 that it appeared as if we could now manage to get to them if laden only with small packages and taking extreme care. We replied that we first wanted to try our engines and endeavor to get N 24 on to the ice-plain beside the tent, where it would be quite safe under any circumstances. We therefore started to prepare a slide over which we could push the machine. Whilst busy with this we received a further communication from N 25 that they required help as soon as we were ready to give it. We replied that we now expected an early result, and that we then would cross at the first opportunity in order to help them.

Meantime the aft engine was out of order and remained so. Compression was poor and Omdal poured buckets of warm oil on the valves, lighting all the Thermix apparatus and setting them in the motor gondola in the hope that the engine might start. The water-lane where we had landed was now nearly closed, and the icebergs on the other side were encroaching nearer so that the situation was not particularly bright. Until now we had lived only for lunch and dinner, eating the traveling provisions which Director Knutsen had given us and taking a cup of chocolate as well. For dinner we had a cup of pemmican soup, but instead of using one and three-quarter tablets per man, which was the original calculated ration, we only used two tablets altogether. In order to be on the safe side we started rationing the biscuits by allowing each man six biscuits served in threes, twice a day, although none of us expected then that we should remain here for weeks.

After a hard day’s work we sat again in the tent enjoying a pipe of tobacco after our evening meal, when I started to blink as my eyes suddenly began to smart. At first I thought it was the smoke, but the smarting did not stop; it got worse and worse. Tears flowed slowly and scaldingly. There could be no doubt about it. I had become snow-blind. It had come on me without any warning. We had had an overcast sky and snow most of the time, but it had never dawned on me to use snow-glasses. It seemed therefore that I would have to lie like a wreck for a few days, and I admit it now seemed to me that the situation was fairly precarious. I did the only things possible, namely, to get into my sleeping-bag and shut my eyes. Notwithstanding the pain and the trepidation, nature craved its right after the last day’s toil and mental strain, and I slept soundly. Late in the forenoon the following day I wakened somewhat confused in my head. To my great joy I could open my eyes. I noticed that it was twelve o’clock, but whether day or night I did not know. The other two slept, but as Ellsworth awakened at that moment, I learned that it must be midday, as he had crept into his sleeping-bag about 11 P.M. and had slept a long time. My eyes pained a little, but I could see all right, and I put on my spectacles immediately. We had a quiet meal and then arose the question of how to start the engine. We worked and worked, but there was no result. Probably it had been so warm that the valves must have got jammed, and it would take Omdal a week to take the cylinders off and put things right. After this discovery there was only one thing to do. We must secure the machine in the best possible way and try to get across to N 25. We presumed that with united efforts, we could have it ready for flight in the course of a few days, and then Feucht could remain with Omdal and help him to get the aft motor going.

We started the first motor, therefore, and with the help of this got the machine as far as possible up the slip. Ellsworth and Omdal worked like heroes in order to turn the machine, whilst I worked the engine. But what could three men do with such a heavy machine? We got it well up onto the ice-floe so that only the after-end and part of the propeller remained in the water-lane. It could not sink now in any case, and the new ice outside would in all probability prevent the drift-ice from getting near it while we were away. We considered under the circumstances that it was lying in as safe a position as possible, and we got ready to go across to N 25. The ice in the water-lane did not look very safe and N 25 had drifted somewhat nearer. We lightened our packs, but they still weighed forty kg. It was impossible to know beforehand how long the trip would take us. First there was one thing and then another which we thought we ought to have with us. Off we went right across the water-lane, although it presented such an uncanny appearance. Omdal led. I followed, and then came Ellsworth. As soon as we had to leave the new ice, it was a case of climbing up and down high icebergs, where in addition to other things we had to carry our skis. We remained as near as possible to the edge of the water-lane, and everything went well until we were near the other machine. We were already going to start boasting, as we had no idea of any danger, when I suddenly found myself immersed in water up to my neck. I noticed that my skis had disappeared, but my knapsack, which weighed forty kg., was very embarrassing. I shouted loudly as soon as I fell through, and Omdal quickly turned round. I had hardly seen his face when he also disappeared like magic. There we both were. I managed to get my gun up over the ice, which had broken several times under my hands. I got a good firm hold and remained as quiet as possible because I knew that Ellsworth would soon be with me—unless he also tumbled in. The current was strong and pulled my legs up in front of me under the ice so that my boot-tops actually touched it. To get out by my own efforts with the heavy knapsack was hopeless. I was not going to risk losing my knapsack, before I knew how it stood with Ellsworth. Omdal called for assistance in the hope that the crew of N 25 would come and help. In a little while Ellsworth, who had saved himself by getting out of the water-lane, came to my rescue. He came creeping along, and handed me a ski, which I got hold of, and by its help I wriggled along to the edge of the firm ice. In a second I managed to slip off my knapsack and its precious contents, and got it onto the ice, and I scrambled up after it with Ellsworth’s help. Then Ellsworth dashed off to Omdal, who was getting weaker and weaker. I stumbled to my legs and ran as quickly as my tired condition allowed me. Omdal was so exhausted that it was exceedingly difficult to get him out. I got my knife and cut the straps of his knapsack, whilst Ellsworth held him up, and with our joint efforts we at last got him safely onto the land. He could not stand on his legs. We had both had a narrow escape, and we have to thank Ellsworth’s self-possession and quickness that we escaped with our lives. The honor which he received later—the gold medal for bravery—pleased Omdal and myself as much as it pleased him. It was well earned.

Our foresight in unstrapping the laces of the skis and putting our boots loosely into the ski-shoes, putting on our air-filled lifebelts was what made it possible to save us at all. How we blessed this, our own farsightedness! By way of curiosity I may mention that Riiser-Larsen and I bought the lifebelts in Bodö just as we were on the point of starting. A man came on board and announced himself as the manufacturer of the lifebelt “Tethys.” He brought a sample which appealed to us, and so we ordered six belts. It is strange how life is full of chance actions which lead to fateful results.

About forty minutes after the accident we reached the N 24. We received a hearty reception, and as Omdal and I got a good drop of spirit and some dry clothes, we soon started talking. Answers to innumerable questions tripped off our tongues. I can well remember that I said, “I am glad to see you again,” when I pressed Roald Amundsen’s hand. It is a saying which generally does not mean much, but I believe Amundsen understood. These few words, and still more the handshake, were an expression of joy at being again with our beloved leader, whose insight, experience and great capability, in conjunction with his untiring energy, overcame all difficulties. I have the impression that Amundsen’s few words to me, “same here” (“i like maate”), were just as sincere. All three of us from N 24 had arrived with a whole skin, and we could report that the machine in the meantime at least was safe, and, with our combined efforts, could be got ready to start in a few days’ time.

N 25’s position was such that only our united strength could save it from its precarious situation. It had made a forced landing and was lying worse than N 24, but both its motors were in working order. If the machines had by chance separated instead of coming close together we would probably not have been able to get into contact with one another and one crew, unless reënforced by the other, could hardly have managed to start its machine alone.

Even now, although we were six men all told, it seemed to us something of a riddle how we, with our primitive implements, should manage to get the machine onto the great ice-plain, which was our goal. But in this difficulty our leader’s wide experience and inventive mind was put to its full use. It became apparent that if six men are working on a matter of life and death they can accomplish the unbelievable. Most of us soon knew that our only salvation lay in getting one or both machines in a good position to start. A march southwards would (no matter which way we chose) have very little chance of success.

Our work and our mode of life in the weeks which followed are described in another chapter, so I shall only add that we were disappointed in our hopes of being able to get N 24 ready as soon as we had finished with N 25. Instead we had weeks of strenuous work to get N 25 into readiness for flight. It was absolutely a game of “cat and mouse,” but it was a game in which life and death were the stakes.

The thought of leaving our machine there behind us, in the ice, was very bitter at first. But as time passed and we saw the difficulties we had to contend with on every side, the bitterness gradually got less and less—especially when we found that it would be necessary to use N 24’s supply of petrol to augment the other supply for the homeward flight and for the various attempts to start which had to be made before N 25 finally got clear away.

I might mention too that the absence of landing places made it seem advisable for the return journey to be accomplished with one machine. The risk of having to make a forced landing would thus only be half as great, and the forced landing of one of the machines would have meant a catastrophe for the whole expedition. (I personally did not share this opinion, for in spite of the misfortune to the aft engines my trust in both of these was great, as they had gone like clockwork during the entire northward flight.) Circumstances however settled the question of choice, and as we at last, on the 15th of June, found ourselves in our right element again, it was only a passing thought which we gave to our dear N 24 as it disappeared behind us in the fog.