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The South Pole, Volume 1

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




We had two photographic cameras, an air thermometer, two aneroids with
altitude scale to 15,000 feet, and two hypsometers. The hypsometer
is only an instrument for determining the boiling-point, which gives
one the height above the sea. The method is both simple and reliable.

The medical stores for sledging were given by a London firm,
and the way in which the things were packed speaks for the whole
outfit. There is not a speck of rust on needles, scissors, knives,
or anything else, although they have been exposed to much damp. Our
own medical outfit, which was bought in Christiania, and according
to the vendor's statement unusually well packed, became in a short
time so damaged that the whole of it is now entirely spoilt.

The sledging provisions must be mentioned briefly. I have already
spoken of the pemmican. I have never considered it necessary to
take a whole grocer's shop with me when sledging; the food should be
simple and nourishing, and that is enough -- a rich and varied menu
is for people who have no work to do. Besides the pemmican, we had
biscuits, milk-powder, and chocolate. The biscuits were a present
from a well-known Norwegian factory, and did all honour to their
origin. They were specially baked for us, and were made of oatmeal with
the addition of dried milk and a little sugar; they were extremely
nourishing and pleasant to the taste. Thanks to efficient packing,
they kept fresh and crisp all the time. These biscuits formed a great
part of our daily diet, and undoubtedly contributed in no small degree
to the successful result. Milk-powder is a comparatively new commodity
with us, but it deserves to be better known. It came from the district
of Jæderen. Neither heat nor cold, dryness nor wet, could hurt it;
we had large quantities of it lying out in small, thin linen bags in
every possible state of the weather: the powder was as good the last
day as the first. We also took dried milk from a firm in Wisconsin;
this milk had an addition of malt and sugar, and was, in my opinion,
excellent; it also kept good the whole time. The chocolate came from
a world-renowned firm, and was beyond all praise. The whole supply
was a very acceptable gift.

We are bringing all the purveyors of our sledging provisions samples
of their goods that have made the journey to the South Pole and back,
in gratitude for the kind assistance they afforded us.



CHAPTER III

On the Way to the South

The month of May, 1910, ran its course, beautiful as only a spring
month in Norway can be -- a lovely dream of verdure and flowers. But
unfortunately we had little time to admire all the splendour that
surrounded us; our watchword was "Away" -- away from beautiful sights,
as quickly as possible.

From the beginning of the month the Fram lay moored to her buoy
outside the old walls of Akershus. Fresh and trim she came from the
yard at Horten; you could see the shine on her new paint a long way
off. Involuntarily one thought of holidays and yachting tours at the
sight of her; but the thought was soon banished. The first day after
her arrival, the vessel's deck assumed the most everyday appearance
that could be desired: the loading had begun.

A long procession of cases of provisions made its way unceasingly
from the basement of the Historical Museum down into the roomy hold
of the Fram, where Lieutenant Nilsen and the three Nordlanders were
ready to receive them. This process was not an altogether simple one;
on the contrary, it was a very serious affair. It was not enough to
know that all the cases were duly on board; the problem was to know
exactly where each particular case was placed, and, at the same time,
to stow them all in such a way that they could easily be got at in
future. This was a difficult piece of work, and it was not rendered
any more easy by the attention that had to be paid to the numerous
hatches leading down into the lower hold, where the big petroleum
tanks stood. All these hatches had to be left accessible, otherwise
we should have been cut off from pumping the oil into the engine-room.

However, Nilsen and his assistants accomplished their task with
brilliant success. Among the hundreds of cases there was not one that
was misplaced; not one that was stowed so that it could not instantly
be brought into the light of day.

While the provisioning was going on, the rest of the equipment was
also being taken on board. Each member of the expedition was busily
engaged in looking after the needs of his own department in the best
way possible. Nor was this a question of trifles: one may cudgel one's
brains endlessly in advance, but some new requirement will constantly
be cropping up -- until one puts a full stop to it by casting off
and sailing. This event was becoming imminent with the arrival of June.

The day before leaving Christiania we had the honour and pleasure
of receiving a visit from the King and Queen of Norway on board the
Fram. Having been informed beforehand of their Majesties' coming, we
endeavoured as far as possible to bring some order into the chaos that
reigned on board. I do not know that we were particularly successful,
but I am sure that every one of the Fram's crew will always remember
with respectful gratitude King Haakon's cordial words of farewell.

On the same occasion the expedition received from their Majesties
the gift of a beautiful silver jug, which afterwards formed the most
handsome ornament of our table on every festive occasion.

On June 3, early in the forenoon, the Fram left Christiania, bound
at first for my home on Bundefjord. The object of her call there was
to take on board the house for the winter station, which stood ready
built in the garden. Our excellent carpenter Jörgen Stubberud had
superintended the construction of this strong building. It was now
rapidly taken to pieces, and every single plank and beam was carefully
numbered. We had quite an imposing pile of materials to get aboard,
where even before there was not much room to spare. The bulk of it
was stowed forward, and the remainder in the hold.

The more experienced among the members of the expedition were evidently
absorbed in profound conjectures as to the meaning of this "observation
house," as the newspapers had christened it. It may willingly be
admitted that they had good reason for their speculations. By an
observation house is usually meant a comparatively simple construction,
sufficient to provide the necessary shelter from wind and weather. Our
house, on the other hand, was a model of solidity, with three double
walls, double roof and floor. Its arrangements included ten inviting
bunks, a kitchener, and a table; the latter, moreover, had a brand-new
American-cloth cover. "I can understand that they want to keep
themselves warm when they're making observations," said Helmer Hanssen;
"but what they want with a cloth on the table I can't make out."

On the afternoon of June 6 it was announced that everything was ready,
and in the evening we all assembled at a simple farewell supper in
the garden. I took the opportunity of wishing good luck to every man
in turn, and finally we united in a

"God preserve the King and Fatherland!"

Then we broke up. The last man to get into the boat was the second
in command; he arrived armed with a horseshoe. In his opinion it is
quite incredible what luck an old horseshoe will bring. Possibly he
is right. Anyhow, the horseshoe was firmly nailed to the mast in the
Fram's saloon, and there it still hangs.

When on board, we promptly set to work to get up the anchor. The
Bolinder motor hummed, and the heavy cable rattled in through the
hawse-hole. Precisely at midnight the anchor let go of the bottom,
and just as the Seventh of June[3], rolled in over us, the Fram stood
out of Christiania Fjord for the third time. Twice already had a band
of stout-hearted men brought this ship back with honour after years
of service. Would it be vouchsafed to us to uphold this honourable
tradition? Such were, no doubt, the thoughts with which most of us
were occupied as our vessel glided over the motionless fjord in the
light summer night. The start was made under the sign of the Seventh
of June, and this was taken as a promising omen; but among our bright
and confident hopes there crept a shadow of melancholy. The hillsides,
the woods, the fjord -- all were so bewitchingly fair and so dear to
us. They called to us with their allurement, but the Diesel motor knew
no pity. Its tuff-tuff went on brutally through the stillness. A little
boat, in which were some of my nearest relations, dropped gradually
astern. There was a glimpse of white handkerchiefs in the twilight,
and then -- farewell!

The next morning we were moored in the inner harbour at Horten. An
apparently innocent lighter came alongside at once, but the lighter's
cargo was not quite so innocent as its appearance. It consisted
of no less than half a ton of gun-cotton and rifle ammunition,
a somewhat unpleasant, but none the less necessary, item of our
equipment. Besides taking on board the ammunition, we availed
ourselves of the opportunity of completing our water-supply. When
this was done, we lost no time in getting away. As we passed the
warships lying in the harbour they manned ship, and the bands played
the National Anthem. Outside Vealös we had the pleasure of waving a
last farewell to a man to whom the expedition will always owe a debt
of gratitude, Captain Christian Blom, Superintendent of the dockyard,
who had supervised the extensive repairs to the Fram with unrelaxing
interest and obligingness. He slipped past us in his sailing-boat;
I do not remember if he got a cheer. If he did not, it was a mistake.

Now we were on our way to the South, as the heading of this
chapter announces, though not yet in earnest. We had an additional
task before us: the oceanographical cruise in the Atlantic. This
necessitated a considerable détour on the way. The scientific results
of this cruise will be dealt with by specialists in due course;
if it is briefly referred to here, this is chiefly for the sake
of continuity. After consultation with Professor Nansen, the plan
was to begin investigations in the region to the south of Ireland,
and thence to work our way westward as far as time and circumstances
permitted. The work was to be resumed on the homeward voyage in the
direction of the North of Scotland. For various reasons this programme
afterwards had to be considerably reduced.

For the first few days after leaving Norway we were favoured with
the most splendid summer weather. The North Sea was as calm as a
millpond; the Fram had little more motion than when she was lying
in Bundefjord. This was all the better for us, as we could hardly be
said to be absolutely ready for sea when we passed Færder, and came
into the capricious Skagerak. Hard pressed as we had been for time,
it had not been possible to lash and stow the last of our cargo as
securely as was desirable; a stiff breeze at the mouth of the fjord
would therefore have been rather inconvenient. As it was, everything
was arranged admirably, but to do this we had to work night and day. I
have been told that on former occasions sea-sickness made fearful
ravages on board the Fram, but from this trial we also had an easy
escape. Nearly all the members of the expedition were used to the sea,
and the few who, perhaps, were not so entirely proof against it had a
whole week of fine weather to get into training. So far as I know, not
a single case occurred of this unpleasant and justly dreaded complaint.

After passing the Dogger Bank we had a very welcome north-east breeze;
with the help of the sails we could now increase the not very reckless
speed that the motor was capable of accomplishing. Before we sailed,
the most contradictory accounts were current of the Fram's sailing
qualities. There were some who asserted that the ship could not be
got through the water at all, while with equal force the contrary
view was maintained -- that she was a notable fast sailer. As might
be supposed, the truth as usual lay about half-way between these two
extremes. The ship was no racer, nor was she an absolute log. We
ran before the north-east wind towards the English Channel at a
speed of about seven knots, and with that we were satisfied for the
time being. The important question for us was whether we should keep
the favourable wind till we were well through the Straits of Dover,
and, preferably, a good way down Channel. Our engine power was far
too limited to make it of any use trying to go against the wind,
and we should have been obliged in that case to have recourse to the
sailing-ship's method -- beating. Tacking in the English Channel -- the
busiest part of the world's seas -- is in itself no very pleasant work;
for us it would be so much the worse, as it would greatly encroach on
the time that could be devoted to oceanographical investigations. But
the east wind held with praiseworthy steadiness. In the course of a
few days we were through the Channel, and about a week after leaving
Norway we were able to take the first oceanographical station at the
point arranged according to the plan. Hitherto everything had gone
as smoothly as we could wish, but now, for a change, difficulties
began to appear, first in the form of unfavourable weather When the
north-wester begins to blow in the North Atlantic, it is generally a
good while before it drops again, and this time it did not belie its
reputation. Far from getting to the westward, we were threatened for
a time with being driven on to the Irish coast. It was not quite so
bad as that, but we soon found ourselves obliged to shorten the route
originally laid down very considerably. A contributing cause of this
determination was the fact that the motor was out of order. Whether it
was the fault of the oil or a defect in the engine itself our engineer
was not clear. It was therefore necessary to make for home in good
time, in case of extensive repairs being required. In spite of these
difficulties, we had a quite respectable collection of samples of
water and temperatures at different depths before we set our course
for Norway at the beginning of July, with Bergen as our destination.

During the passage from the Pentland Firth we had a violent gale from
the north, which gave us an opportunity of experiencing how the Fram
behaved in bad weather. The trial was by no means an easy one. It
was blowing a gale, with a cross sea; we kept going practically
under full sail, and had the satisfaction of seeing our ship make
over nine knots. In the rather severe rolling the collar of the mast
in the fore-cabin was loosened a little; this let the water in, and
there was a slight flooding of Lieutenant Nilsen's cabin and mine. The
others, whose berths were to port, were on the weather side, and kept
dry. We came out of it all with the loss of a few boxes of cigars,
which were wet through. They were not entirely lost for all that;
Rönne took charge of them, and regaled himself with salt and mouldy
cigars for six months afterwards. Going eight or nine knots an hour,
we did not make much of the distance between Scotland and Norway. On
the afternoon of Saturday, July 9, the wind dropped, and at the same
time the lookout reported land in sight. This was Siggen on Bömmelö. In
the course of the night we came under the coast, and on Sunday morning,
July 10, we ran into Sælbjömsfjord. We had no detailed chart of this
inlet, but after making a great noise with our powerful air-siren,
we at last roused the inmates of the pilot-station, and a pilot
came aboard. He showed visible signs of surprise when he found out,
by reading the name on the ship's side, that it was the Fram he had
before him. "Lord, I thought you were a Russian!" he exclaimed. This
supposition was presumably intended to serve as a sort of excuse for
his small hurry in coming on board.

It was a lovely trip through the fjords to Bergen, as warm and
pleasant in here as it had been bitter and cold outside. We had a
dead calm all day, and with the four knots an hour, which was all
the motor could manage, it was late in the evening when we anchored
off the naval dockyard in Solheimsvik. Our stay in Bergen happened
at the time of the exhibition, and the committee paid the expedition
the compliment of giving all its members free passes.

Business of one kind and another compelled me to go to Christiania,
leaving the Fram in charge of Lieutenant Nilsen. They had their
hands more than full on board. Diesel's firm in Stockholm sent their
experienced fitter, Aspelund, who at once set to work to overhaul the
motor thoroughly. The work that had to be done was executed gratis by
the Laxevaag engineering works. After going into the matter thoroughly,
it was decided to change the solar oil we had on board for refined
petroleum. Through the courtesy of the West of Norway Petroleum
Company, we got this done on very favourable terms at the company's
storage dock in Skaalevik. This was troublesome work, but it paid in
the future.

The samples of water from our trip were taken to the biological
station, where Kutschin at once went to work with the filtering
(determination of the proportion of chlorine).

Our German shipmate, the oceanographer Schroer, left us at Bergen. On
July 23 the Fram left Bergen, and arrived on the following day at
Christiansand, where I met her. Here we again had a series of busy
days. In one of the Custom-house warehouses were piled a quantity
of things that had to go on board: no less than 400 bundles of dried
fish, all our ski and sledging outfit, a waggon-load of timber, etc. At
Fredriksholm, out on Flekkerö, we had found room for perhaps the most
important of all -- the passengers, the ninety-seven Eskimo dogs,
which had arrived from Greenland in the middle of July on the steamer
Hans Egede. The ship had had a rather long and rough passage, and the
dogs were not in very good condition on their arrival, but they had
not been many days on the island under the supervision of Hassel and
Lindström before they were again in full vigour. A plentiful supply
of fresh meat worked wonders. The usually peaceful island, with the
remains of the old fortress, resounded day by day, and sometimes at
night, with the most glorious concerts of howling. These musical
performances attracted a number of inquisitive visitors, who were
anxious to submit the members of the chorus to a closer examination,
and therefore, at certain times, the public were admitted to see the
animals. It soon turned out that the majority of the dogs, far from
being ferocious or shy, were, on the contrary, very appreciative of
these visits. They sometimes came in for an extra tit-bit in the form
of a sandwich or something of the sort. Besides which, it was a little
diversion in their life of captivity, so uncongenial to an Arctic dog;
for every one of them was securely chained up. This was necessary,
especially to prevent fighting among themselves. It happened not
infrequently that one or more of them got loose, but the two guardians
were always ready to capture the runaways. One enterprising rascal
started to swim over the sound to the nearest land -- the object of
his expedition was undoubtedly certain unsuspecting sheep that were
grazing by the shore -- but his swim was interrupted in time.

After the Fram's arrival Wisting took over the position of dog-keeper
in Hassel's place. He and Lindström stayed close to the island where
the dogs were. Wisting had a way of his own with his four-footed
subjects, and was soon on a confidential footing with them. He also
showed himself to be possessed of considerable veterinary skill -- an
exceedingly useful qualification in this case, where there was often
some injury or other to be attended to. As I have already mentioned,
up to this time no member of the expedition, except Lieutenant Nilsen,
knew anything of the extension of plan that had been made. Therefore,
amongst the things that came on board, and amongst the preparations
that were made during our stay at Christiansand, there must have
been a great deal that appeared very strange to those who, for the
present, were only looking forward to a voyage round Cape Horn to San
Francisco. What was the object of taking all these dogs on board and
transporting them all that long way? And if it came to that, would any
of them survive the voyage round the formidable promontory? Besides,
were there not dogs enough, and good dogs too, in Alaska? Why was
the whole after-deck full of coal? What was the use of all these
planks and boards? Would it not have been much more convenient to
take all that kind of goods on board in 'Frisco? These and many
similar questions began to pass from man to man; indeed, their very
faces began to resemble notes of interrogation. Not that anyone asked
me -- far from it; it was the second in command who had to bear the
brunt and answer as well as he could -- an extremely thankless and
unpleasant task for a man who already had his hands more than full.

In order to relieve his difficult situation, I resolved, shortly before
leaving Christiansand, to inform Lieutenants Prestrud and Gjertsen
of the true state of affairs. After having signed an undertaking of
secrecy, they received full information of the intended dash to the
South Pole, and an explanation of the reasons for keeping the whole
thing secret. When asked whether they wished to take part in the
new plan, they both answered at once in the affirmative, and that
settled it.

There were now three men on board -- all the officers -- who were
acquainted with the situation, and were thus in a position to parry
troublesome questions and remove possible anxieties on the part of
the uninitiated.

Two of the members of the expedition joined during the stay at
Christiansand -- Hassel and Lindström -- and one change was made:
the engineer Eliassen was discharged. It was no easy matter to find
a man who possessed the qualifications for taking over the post of
engineer to the Fram. Few, or perhaps no one, in Norway could be
expected to have much knowledge of motors of the size of ours. The
only thing to be done was to go to the place where the engine was
built -- to Sweden. Diesel's firm in Stockholm helped us out of the
difficulty; they sent us the man, and it afterwards turned out that
he was the right man. Knut Sundbeck was his name. A chapter might be
written on the good work that man did, and the quiet, unostentatious
way in which he did it. From the very beginning he had assisted in
the construction of the Fram's motor, so that he knew his engine
thoroughly. He treated it as his darling; therefore there was never
anything the matter with it. It may truly be said that he did honour
to his firm and the nation to which he belongs.

Meanwhile we were hard at work, getting ready to sail. We decided to
leave before the middle of August -- the sooner the better.

The Fram had been in dry dock, where the hull was thoroughly coated
with composition. Heavily laden as the ship was, the false keel was
a good deal injured by the severe pressure on the blocks, but with
the help of a diver the damage was quickly made good.

The many hundred bundles of dried fish were squeezed into the main
hold, full as it was. All sledging and ski outfit was carefully stowed
away, so as to be protected as far as possible from damp. These
things had to be kept dry, otherwise they, would become warped and
useless. Bjaaland had charge of this outfit, and he knew how it should
be treated.

As is right and proper, when all the goods had been shipped, it was
the turn of the passengers. The Fram was anchored off Fredriksholm,
and the necessary preparations were immediately made for receiving
our four-footed friends. Under the expert direction of

Bjaaland and Stubberud, as many as possible of the crew were set to
work with axe and saw, and in the course of a few hours the Fram had
got a new deck. This consisted of loose pieces of decking, which could
easily be raised and removed for flushing and cleaning. This false
deck rested on three-inch planks nailed to the ship's deck; between
the latter and the loose deck there was therefore a considerable space,
the object of which was a double one -- namely, to let the water, which
would unavoidably be shipped on such a voyage, run off rapidly, and
to allow air to circulate, and thus keep the space below the animals
as cool as possible. The arrangement afterwards proved very successful.

The bulwarks on the fore-part of the Fram's deck consisted of an iron
railing covered with wire-netting. In order to provide both shade and
shelter from the wind, a lining of boards was now put up along the
inside of the railing, and chains were fastened in all possible and
impossible places to tie the dogs up to. There could be no question of
letting them go loose -- to begin with, at any rate; possibly, we might
hope to be able to set them free later on, when they knew their masters
better and were more familiar with their surroundings generally.

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