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The South Pole, Volume 1

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volume 1




One often hears it asked, Which is to be preferred, severe heat or
severe cold? It is not easy to give a definite answer; neither of
the two is pleasant, and it must remain a matter of taste which is
least so. On board ship no doubt most people will vote for heat, as,
even if the days are rather distressing, one has the glorious nights
to make up for them. A bitterly cold day is poorly compensated for
by an even colder night.

One decided advantage of a warm climate for men who have to be
frequently in and out of their clothes and their bunks is the
simplicity of costume which it allows. When you wear hardly anything
it takes a very short time to dress.

If we had been able to take the opinion of our dogs on their existence
in the tropics, they would probably have answered as one dog: "Thanks,
let us get back to rather cooler surroundings." Their coats were not
exactly calculated for a temperature of 90° in the shade, and the
worst of it was that they could not change them. It is, by the way,
a misunderstanding to suppose that these animals absolutely must have
hard frost to be comfortable; on the contrary, they prefer to be nice
and warm. Here in the tropics of course they had rather too much of
a good thing, but they did not suffer from the heat. By stretching
awnings over the whole ship we contrived that they should all be
constantly in the shade, and so long as they were not directly exposed
to the sun's rays, there was no fear of anything going wrong. How
well they came through it appears best from the fact that not one of
them was on the sick-list on account of the heat. During the whole
voyage only two deaths occurred from sickness -- one was the case of
a bitch that died after giving birth to eight pups -- which might
just as easily have caused her death under other conditions. What
was the cause of death in the other case we were unable to find out;
at any rate, it was not an infectious disease.

One of our greatest fears was the possibility of an epidemic among
the dogs, but thanks to the care with which they had been picked,
there was never a sign of anything of the sort.

In the neighbourhood of the Equator, between the north-east and
the south-east trades, lies what is called the "belt of calms." The
position and extent of this belt vary somewhat with the season. If
you are extremely lucky, it may happen that one trade-wind will
practically take you over into the other; but, as a rule, this region
will cause quite a serious delay to sailing-ships; either there are
frequent calms, or shifting and unsteady winds. We arrived there at
an unfavourable time of the year and lost the north-east trade as
early as ten degrees north of the line. If we had had the calms we
looked for, we could have got across with the help of the engine in
a reasonably short time, but we saw very little sign of calms. As a
rule, there was an obstinate south wind blowing, and it would not have
taken very much of it to make the last few degrees of north latitude
stiffer than we cared for.

The delay was annoying enough, but we had another disappointment
of a more serious kind, for, curiously enough, we never had a
proper shower of rain. Generally in these latitudes one encounters
extremely heavy downpours, which make it possible to collect water
by the barrelful in a very short space of time. We had hoped in this
way to increase our store of fresh water, which was not so large
but that extreme economy had to be practised if we were to avoid
running short. However, this hope failed us, practically speaking. We
managed to catch a little water, but it was altogether insufficient,
and the husbanding of our supply had to be enforced in future with
authority. The dogs required their daily ration, and they got it --
measured out to a hair's-breadth. Our own consumption was limited
to what was strictly necessary; soups were banished from the bill
of fare, they used too much of the precious fluid; washing in fresh
water was forbidden. It must not be supposed from this that we had
no opportunity of washing. We had a plentiful supply of soap, which
lathered just as well in salt water as in fresh, and was thus capable
of keeping ourselves and our clothes as clean as before. If for a time
we had felt a certain anxiety about our water-supply, these fears were
banished comparatively quickly, as the reserve we had taken in the
long-boat on deck lasted an incredibly long time, almost twice as long
as we had dared to hope, and this saved the situation, or very nearly
so. If the worst came to the worst, we should be obliged to call at one
of the numerous groups of islands that would lie in our route later on.

For over six weeks the dogs had now been chained up in the places
assigned to them when they came on board. In the course of that time
most of them had become so tame and tractable that we thought we
might soon let them loose. This would be a welcome change for them,
and, what was more important, it would give them an opportunity for
exercise. To tell the truth, we also expected some amusement from
it; there would certainly be a proper shindy when all this pack got
loose. But before we gave them their liberty we were obliged to
disarm them, otherwise the inevitable free fight would be liable
to result in one or more of them being left on the battle-field,
and we could not afford that. Every one of them was provided with a
strong muzzle; then we let them loose and waited to see what would
happen. At first nothing at all happened; it looked as if they had
abandoned once for all the thought of ever moving from the spot they
had occupied so long At last a solitary individual had the bright idea
of attempting a walk along the deck. But he should not have done so;
it was dangerous to move about here. The unaccustomed sight of a
loose dog at once aroused his nearest neighbours. A dozen of them
flung themselves upon the unfortunate animal who had been the first
to leave his place, rejoicing in the thought of planting their teeth
in his sinful body. But to their disappointment the enjoyment was
not so great as they expected. The confounded strap round their jaws
made it impossible to get hold of the skin; the utmost they could do
was to pull a few tufts of hair out of the object of their violent
onslaught. This affair of outposts gave the signal for a general
engagement all along the line. What an unholy row there was for the
next couple of hours! The hair flew, but skins remained intact. The
muzzles saved a good many lives that afternoon.

These fights are the chief amusement of the Eskimo dogs; they follow
the sport with genuine passion. There would be no great objection
to it if they had not the peculiar habit of always combining to set
upon a single dog, who is chosen as their victim for the occasion;
they all make for this one, and if they are left to themselves they
will not stop until they have made an end of the poor beast. In this
way a valuable dog may be destroyed in a moment.

We therefore naturally made every effort from the first to quench their
love of fighting, and the dogs very soon began to understand that we
were not particularly fond of their combats; but we had here to deal
with a natural characteristic, which it was impossible to eradicate;
in any case, one could never be sure that nature would not reassert
itself over discipline. When the dogs had once been let loose, they
remained free to run about wherever they liked for the remainder
of the voyage; only at meal-times were they tied up. It was quite
extraordinary how they managed to hide themselves in every hole and
comer; on some mornings there was hardly a dog to be seen when daylight
came. Of course they visited every place where they ought not to have
gone. Several of them repeatedly took the opportunity of tumbling into
the forehold, when the hatches were open; but a fall of 25 feet did
not seem to trouble them in the least. One even found his way into
the engine-room, difficult as it might seem to gain access to it,
and curled himself up between the piston-rods. Fortunately for the
visitor, the engine was not started while he was there.

When the first furious battles had been fought out, a calm soon
settled upon the dogs' spirits. It was easy to notice a feeling of
shame and disappointment in the champions when they found that all
their efforts led to nothing. The sport had lost its principal charm
as soon as they saw what a poor chance there was of tasting blood.

From what has here been said, and perhaps from other accounts of the
nature of Arctic dogs, it may appear as though the mutual relations
of these animals consisted exclusively of fighting. This, however,
is far from being the case. On the contrary, they very often form
friendships, which are sometimes so strong that one dog simply cannot
live without the other. Before we let the dogs loose we had remarked
that there were a few who, for some reason or other, did not seem as
happy as they should have been: they were more shy and restless than
the others. No particular notice was taken of this, and no one tried to
find out the cause of it. The day we let them loose we discovered what
had been the matter with the ones that had moped: they had some old
friend who had chanced to be placed in some other part of the deck,
and this separation had been the cause of their low spirits. It was
really touching to see the joy they showed on meeting again; they
became quite different animals. Of course in these cases a change of
places was arranged between the different groups, so that those who
had associated from their own inclination would in future be members
of the same team.

We had expected to reach the Equator by October 1, but the unfavourable
conditions of wind that we met with to the north of it caused us to be
a little behind our reckoning, though not much. On the afternoon of
October 4 the Fram crossed the line. Thus an important stage of the
voyage was concluded: the feeling that we had now reached southern
latitudes was enough to put us all in holiday humour, and we felt
we must get up a modest entertainment. According to ancient custom,
crossing the line should be celebrated by a visit from Father Neptune
himself, whose part is taken for the occasion by someone chosen
from among the ship's company. If in the course of his inspection
this august personage comes upon anyone who is unable to prove that
he has already crossed the famous circle, he is handed over at once
to the attendants, to be "shaved and baptized." This process, which
is not always carried out with exaggerated gentleness, causes much
amusement, and forms a welcome variety in the monotonous life of a
long sea voyage, and probably many on board the Fram looked forward
with eagerness to Neptune's visit, but he did not come. There simply
was no room for him on our already well-occupied deck.

We contented ourselves with a special dinner, followed by coffee,
liqueurs, and cigars. Coffee was served on the fore-deck, where by
moving a number of the dogs we had contrived to get a few square yards
of space. There was no lack of entertainment. A violin and mandolin
orchestra, composed of Prestrud, Sundbeck, and Beck, contributed
several pieces, and our excellent gramophone was heard for the first
time. Just as it started the waltz from "The Count of Luxembourg,"
there appeared in the companion-way a real ballet-girl, masked, and
in very short skirts. This unexpected apparition from a better world
was greeted with warm applause, which was no less vigorous when the
fair one had given proof of her skill in the art of dancing. Behind
the mask could be detected Gjertsen's face, but both costume and
dance were in the highest degree feminine. Rönne was not satisfied
until he had the "lady" on his knees -- hurrah for illusion!

The gramophone now changed to a swinging American cake-walk, and at
the same moment there opportunely appeared on the scene a nigger in
a tail-coat, a silk hat, and -- a pair of wooden shoes. Black as he
was, we saw at once that it was the second in command who had thus
disguised himself. The mere sight of him was enough to set us all
shrieking with laughter, but he made his great success when he began
to dance. He was intensely amusing.

It did us a great deal of good to have a little amusement just then,
for this part of the voyage was a trial of patience more than anything
else. Possibly we were rather hard to please, but the south-east trade,
which we were expecting to meet every day, was, in our opinion, far too
late in coming, and when at length it arrived, it did not behave at all
as becomes a wind that has the reputation of being the steadiest in the
world. Besides being far too light, according to our requirements,
it permitted itself such irregularities as swinging between the
points of south and east, but was mostly in the neighbourhood of
the former. For us, who had to lie all the time close-hauled to the
westward, this had the effect of increasing our western longitude a
great deal faster than our latitude. We were rapidly approaching the
north-eastern point of South America -- Cape San Roque. Fortunately
we escaped any closer contact with this headland, which shoots so far
out into the Atlantic. The wind at last shifted aft, but it was so
light that the motor had to be constantly in use. Slowly but surely
we now went southward, and the temperature again began to approach
the limits that are fitting according to a Northerner's ideas. The
tiresome, rather low awning could be removed, and it was a relief to
be rid of it, as one could then walk upright everywhere.

On October 16, according to the observations at noon, we were in the
vicinity of the island of South Trinidad, one of the lonely oases
in the watery desert of the South Atlantic. It was our intention
to go close under the island, and possibly to attempt a landing;
but unfortunately the motor had to be stopped for cleaning, and
this prevented our approaching it by daylight. We caught a glimpse
of the land at dusk, which was, at all events, enough to check our
chronometers.

South of the 20th degree of latitude the south-east trade was nearly
done with, and we were really not sorry to be rid of it; it remained
light and scant to the last, and sailing on a wind is not a strong
point with the Fram. In the part of the ocean where we now were there
was a hope of getting a good wind, and it was wanted if we were to
come out right: we had now covered 6,000 miles, but there were still
10,000 before us, and the days went by with astonishing rapidity. The
end of October brought the change we wanted; with a fresh northerly
breeze she went gallantly southward, and before the end of the month
we were down in lat. 40°. Here we had reached the waters where we
were almost certain to have all the wind we wished, and from the
right quarter. From now our course was eastward along what is known
as the southern west wind belt. This belt extends between the 40th
and 50th parallels all round the earth, and is distinguished by the
constant occurrence of westerly winds, which as a rule blow with great
violence. We had put our trust in these west winds; if they failed us
we should be in a mess. But no sooner had we reached their domain than
they were upon us with full force; it was no gentle treatment that we
received, but the effect was excellent -- we raced to the eastward. An
intended call at Gough Island had to be abandoned; the sea was running
too high for us to venture to approach the narrow little harbour. The
month of October had put us a good deal behindhand, but now we were
making up the distance we had lost. We had reckoned on being south of
the Cape of Good Hope within two months after leaving Madeira, and this
turned out correct. The day we passed the meridian of the Cape we had
the first regular gale; the seas ran threateningly high, but now for
the first time our splendid little ship showed what she was worth. A
single one of these gigantic waves would have cleared our decks
in an instant if it had come on board, but the Fram did not permit
any such impertinence. When they came up behind the vessel, and we
might expect at any moment to see them break over the low after-deck,
she just raised herself with an elegant movement, and the wave had
to be content with slipping underneath. An albatross could not have
managed the situation better. It is said that the Fram was built for
the ice, and that cannot, of course, be denied; but at the same time
it is certain that when Colin Archer created his famous masterpiece
of an ice boat, she was just as much a masterpiece of a sea boat --
a vessel it would be difficult to match for seaworthiness. To be able
to avoid the seas as the Fram did, she had to roll, and this we had
every opportunity of finding out. The whole long passage through the
westerly belt was one continual rolling; but in course of time one
got used even to that discomfort. It was awkward enough, but less
disagreeable than shipping water. Perhaps it was worse for those who
had to work in the galley: it is no laughing matter to be cook, when
for weeks together you cannot put down so much as a coffee-cup without
its immediately turning a somersault. It requires both patience and
strong will to carry it through, but the two -- Lindström and Olsen
-- who looked after our food under these difficult conditions, had
the gift of taking it all from the humorous point of view, and that
was well.

As regards the dogs, it mattered little to them whether a gale was
blowing, so long as the rain kept off. They hate rain; wet in any form
is the worst one can offer an Arctic dog. If the deck was wet, they
would not lie down, but would remain standing motionless for hours,
trying to take a nap in that uncomfortable position. Of course, they
did not get much sleep in that way, but to make up for it they could
sleep all day and all night when the weather was fine. South of the
Cape we lost two dogs; they went overboard one dark night when the ship
was rolling tremendously. We had a coal-bunker on the port side of the
after-deck, reaching up to the height of the bulwarks; probably these
fellows had been practising boarding drill, and lost their balance. We
took precautions that the same thing should not happen again.

Fortunately for our animals, the weather in the westerly belt was
subject to very frequent changes. No doubt they had many a sleepless
night, with rain, sleet, and hail; but on the other hand they never had
to wait very long for a cheerful glimpse of the sun. The wind is for
the most part of cyclonic character, shifting suddenly from one quarter
to another, and these shifts always involve a change of weather. When
the barometer begins to fall, it is a sure warning of an approaching
north-westerly wind, which is always accompanied by precipitation,
and increases in force until the fall of the barometer ceases. When
this occurs, there follows either a short pause, or else the wind
suddenly shifts to the south-west, and blows from that quarter with
increasing violence, while the barometer rises rapidly. The change
of wind is almost always followed by a clearing of the weather.

A circumstance which contributes an element of risk to navigation in
the latitudes where we found ourselves is the possibility of colliding
with an iceberg in darkness or thick weather; for it sometimes happens
that these sinister monsters in the course of their wanderings find
their way well up into the "forties." The probability of a collision
is of course in itself not very great, and it can be reduced to
a minimum by taking proper precautions. At night an attentive and
practised look-out man will always be able to see the blink of the
ice at a fairly long distance. From the time when we had to reckon
with any likelihood of meeting icebergs, the temperature of the water
was also taken every two hours during the night.

As Kerguelen Island lay almost directly in the course we intended to
follow, it was decided for several reasons that we should call there,
and pay a visit to the Norwegian whaling-station. Latterly many of
the dogs had begun to grow thin, and it seemed probable that this was
owing to their not having enough fatty substances in their food; on
Kerguelen Island there would presumably be an opportunity of getting
all the fat we wanted. As to water, we had, it was true, just enough to
last us with economy, but it would do no harm to fill up the tanks. I
was also hoping that there would be a chance of engaging three or four
extra hands, for the Fram would be rather short-handed with only ten
men to sail her out of the ice and round the Horn to Buenos Aires after
the rest of us had been landed on the Barrier. Another reason for the
contemplated visit was that it would be an agreeable diversion. We now
only had to get there as quickly as possible, and the west wind helped
us splendidly; one stiff breeze succeeded another, without our having
any excessive weather. Our daily distance at this time amounted as a
rule to about one hundred and fifty miles; in one twenty-four hours
we made one hundred and seventy-four miles. This was our best day's
work of the whole voyage, and it is no bad performance for a vessel
like the Fram, with her limited sail area and her heavily-laden hull.

On the afternoon of November 28 we sighted land. It was only a barren
rocky knoll, and according to our determination of the position it
would be the island called Bligh's Cap, which lies a few miles north
of Kerguelen Island; but as the weather was not very clear, and we
were unacquainted with the channels, we preferred to lie-to for the
night before approaching any nearer. Early next morning the weather
cleared, and we got accurate bearings. A course was laid for Royal
Sound, where we supposed the whaling-station to be situated. We were
going well in the fresh morning breeze, and were just about to round
the last headland, when all at once a gale sprang up again, the bare
and uninviting coast was hidden in heavy rain, and we had the choice
of waiting for an indefinite time or continuing our voyage. Without
much hesitation we chose the latter alternative. It might be tempting
enough to come in contact with other men, especially as they were
fellow-countrymen, but it was even more tempting to have done with the
remaining 4,000 miles that lay between us and the Barrier as quickly as
possible. It turned out that we had chosen rightly. December brought us
a fair wind, even fresher than that of November, and by the middle of
the month we had already covered half the distance between Kerguelen
Island and our goal. We fortified the dogs from time to time with
a liberal allowance of butter, which had a marvellous effect. There
was nothing wrong with ourselves; we were all in the best of health,
and our spirits rose as we drew nearer our goal.

That the state of our health was so remarkably good during the whole
voyage must be ascribed in a material degree to the excellence of
our provisions. During the trip from home to Madeira we had lived
sumptuously on some little pigs that we took with us, but after these
luxuries we had to take to tinned meat for good. The change was not
felt much, as we had excellent and palatable things with us. There was
a separate service for the two cabins, but the food was precisely the
same in each. Breakfast was at eight, consisting of American hot cakes,
with marmalade or jam, cheese, fresh bread, and coffee or cocoa. Dinner
as a rule was composed of one dish of meat and sweets. As has already
been said, we could not afford to have soup regularly on account of
the water it required, and it was only served on Sundays. The second
course usually consisted of Californian fruit. It was our aim all
through to employ fruit, vegetables, and jam, to the greatest possible
extent; there is undoubtedly no better means of avoiding sickness. At
dinner we always drank syrup and water; every Wednesday and Saturday
we were treated to a glass of spirits. I knew from my own experience
how delicious a cup of coffee tastes when one turns out to go on
watch at night. However sleepy and grumpy one may be, a gulp of hot
coffee quickly makes a better man of one; therefore coffee for the
night watch was a permanent institution on board the Fram.

By about Christmas we had reached nearly the 150th meridian in
lat. 56° S. This left not much more than 900 miles before we might
expect to meet with the pack-ice. Our glorious west wind, which had
driven us forward for weeks, and freed us from all anxiety about
arriving too late, was now a thing of the past. For a change we again
had to contend for some days with calms and contrary wind. The day
before Christmas Eve brought rain and a gale from the south-west,
which was not very cheerful. If we were to keep Christmas with any
festivity, fine weather was wanted, otherwise the everlasting rolling
would spoil all our attempts. No doubt we should all have got over
it if it had fallen to our lot to experience a Christmas Eve with
storm, shortened sail, and other delights; worse things had happened
before. On the other hand, there was not one of us who would not be
the better for a little comfort and relaxation; our life had been
monotonous and commonplace enough for a long time. But, as I said,
the day before Christmas Eve was not at all promising. The only sign
of the approaching holiday was the fact that Lindström, in spite of
the rolling, was busy baking Christmas cakes. We suggested that he
might just as well give us each our share at once, as it is well known
that the cakes are best when they come straight out of the oven, but
Lindström would not hear of it. His cakes vanished for the time being
under lock and key, and we had to be content with the smell of them.

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