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The South Pole, Volume 2

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volume 2




The cylinder, while being lowered in an inverted position, is open
at both ends, so that the water can pass through. But at its upper
and lower ends are valves, working on hinges and provided with
packing. When the apparatus is released, the cylinder swings round,
and these valves then automatically close the ends of the cylinder. The
water that is thus caught in the cylinder at the required depth remains
in it while it is being heaved up, and is collected in bottles. When
the apparatus is released, the column of mercury in the thermometer
is broken, and the temperature of the water is read at the same depth
as the water is taken from.

The release takes place in the following manner: when all the
cylinders have been lowered to the required depths, they are left
hanging for a few minutes, so that the thermometers may be set at
the right temperature before the column of mercury is broken. Then a
slipping sinker is sent down the line. When this sinker strikes the
first apparatus, a spring is pressed, a hook (e) which has held the
cylinder slips loose, and the cylinder turns completely over (Apparatus
I.). As it does this, the valves, as already mentioned, close the
ends of the cylinder, which is fixed in its new position by a hook
in the bottom of the frame. At the same instant the slipping sinker
that hangs under Apparatus I. is released, and continues the journey
to Apparatus II., where the same thing happens. It is then repeated
with Apparatus III. When they are all ready, they are heaved in.

By holding one's finger on the line one can feel, at all events in
fairly calm weather, when the sinkers strike against the cylinders;
but I used to look at my watch, as it takes about half a minute for
the sinker to go down 100 metres.

The necessary data are entered in a book.

On the morning of the 17th, then, the sails were clewed up, and the
Fram began to roll even worse than with the sails set. We first tried
taking soundings with a sinker of 66 pounds, and a tube for taking
specimens of the sea-bed. At 2,000 metres (1,093 fathoms) or more
the line (piano wire) broke, so that sinker, tube, and over 2,000
metres of line continued their way unhindered to the bottom. I had
thought of taking samples of water at 4,000, 3,000, and 2,000 metres
(2,187, 1,639, 1,093 fathoms), and so on, and water-cylinders were put
on from 0 to 2,000 metres. This, however, took six hours. Next day,
on account of the heavy sea, only a few samples from 0 to 100 metres
(54 fathoms) were taken. On the third day we made another attempt to
get the bottom. This time we got specimens of the sea-bed from about
4,500 metres (about 2,500 fathoms); but the heaving in and taking of
water samples and temperatures occupied eight hours, from 7 a.m. till
3 p.m., or a third part of the twenty-four hours. In this way we should
want at least nine months on the route that had been laid down; but as,
unfortunately, this time was not at our disposal, we at once gave up
taking specimens of the bottom and samples of water at greater depths
than 1,000 metres (546 fathoms). For the remainder of the trip we took
temperatures and samples of water at the following depths: 0, 5, 10,
25, 50, 75, 100, 150, 200, 250, 300, 400, 500, 750, and 1,000 metres
(0, 2 3/4, 5 1/2, 13 1/2, 27, 41, 54, 81, 108, 135, 164, 218, 273,
410, and 546 fathoms), in all, fifteen samples from each station,
and from this time forward we went on regularly with one station
every day. Finally, we managed to heave up two water-cylinders on
the same line by hand without great difficulty. At first this was
done with the motor and sounding-machine, but this took too long,
and we afterwards used nothing but a light hand-winch. Before very
long we were so practised that the whole business only took two hours.

These two hours were those we liked best of the twenty-four. All kinds
of funny stories were told, especially about experiences in Buenos
Aires, and every day there was something new. Here is a little yarn:

One of the members of the expedition had been knocked down by
a motor-car in one of the busiest streets; the car stopped and of
course a crowd collected at once. Our friend lay there, wondering
whether he ought not to be dead, or at least to have broken a leg, so
as to get compensation. While he lay thus, being prodded and examined
by the public, he suddenly remembered that he had half a dollar in
his pocket. With all that money it didn't matter so much about the
compensation; up jumped our friend like an india-rubber ball, and
in a second he had vanished in the crowd, who stood open-mouthed,
gazing after the "dead" man.

Our speed on this cruise was regulated as nearly as possible so
that there might be about 100 nautical miles between each station,
and I must say we were uncommonly lucky in the weather. We made two
fairly parallel sections with comparatively regular intervals between
the stations; as regular, in any case, as one can hope to get with a
vessel like the Fram, which really has too little both of sail area
and engine power. The number of stations was 60 in all and 891 samples
of water were taken. Of plankton specimens 190 were sent home. The
further examination of these specimens in Norway will show whether
the material collected is of any value, and whether the cruise has
yielded satisfactory results.

As regards the weather on the trip, it was uniformly good the whole
time; we had a good deal of wind now and then, with seas and rolling,
but for the most part there was a fresh breeze. In the south-east
trade we sailed for four weeks at a stretch without using the engine,
which then had a thorough overhauling. At the same time we had a good
opportunity of smartening up the ship, which she needed badly. All
the iron was freed from rust, and the whole vessel painted both
below and above deck. The decks themselves were smeared with a
mixture of oil, tar and turpentine, after being scoured. All the
rigging was examined. At the anchorage at Buenos Aires nearly the
whole ship was painted again, masts and yards, the outside of the
vessel and everything inboard, both deck-houses, the boats and the
various winches, pumps, etc. In the engine-room everything was either
shining bright or freshly painted, everything hung in its place and
such order and cleanliness reigned that it was a pleasure to go down
there. The result of all this renovating and smartening up was that,
when we fetched up by the quay at Buenos Aires, the Fram looked
brighter than I suppose she has ever done since she was new.

During the trip the holds were also cleaned up, and all the provisions
re-stowed and an inventory made of them.

A whole suit of sails was completely worn out on this voyage; but
what can one expect when the ship is being worked every single day,
with clewing up, making fast and setting of sails both in calms
and winds? This work every day reminded me of the corvette Ellida,
when the order was "all hands aloft." As a rule, though, it was only
clewing up the sails that had to be done, as we always had to take
soundings on the weather side, so that the sounding-line should not
foul the bottom of the vessel and smash the apparatus. And we did
not lose more than one thermometer in about nine hundred soundings.

On account of all this wear and tear of sails Rönne was occupied the
whole time, both at sea and in Buenos Aires, in making and patching
sails, as there was not much more than the leeches left of those
that had been used, and on the approaching trip (to the Ice Barrier)
we should have to have absolutely first-class things in the "Roaring
Forties."

June 30, 1911, is a red-letter day in the Fram's history, as on that
day we intersected our course from Norway to the Barrier, and the
Franz thus completed her first circumnavigation of the globe. Bravo,
Fram! It was well done, especially after the bad character you have
been given as a sailer and a sea-boat. In honour of the occasion we
had a better dinner than usual, and the Franz was congratulated by
all present on having done her work well.

On the evening of July 29 St. Helena was passed. It was the first
time I had seen this historic island. It was very strange to think
that "the greatest spirit of a hundred centuries," as some author has
called Napoleon, should have ending his restless life on this lonely
island of the South Atlantic.

On August 12, when daylight came, we sighted the little Martin Vaz
Islands ahead, and a little later South Trinidad (in 1910 this island
was passed on October 16). We checked our chronometers, which, however,
proved to be correct. From noon till 2 p.m., while we were lying
still and taking our daily hydrographic observations, a sailing ship
appeared to the north of us, lying close-hauled to the south. She bore
down on us and ran up her flag, and we exchanged the usual greetings;
she was a Norwegian barque bound for Australia. Otherwise we did not
see more than four or five ships on the whole voyage, and those were
pretty far off:

Never since leaving Madeira (September, 1910) had we been troubled
with animals or insects of any kind whatever; but when we were in
Buenos Aires for the first time, at least half a million flies came
aboard to look at the vessel. I hoped they would go ashore when the
Fram sailed; but no, they followed us, until by degrees they passed
peacefully away on fly-paper.

Well, flies are one thing, but we had something else that was worse --
namely, rats -- our horror and dread, and for the future our deadly
enemies. The first signs of them I found in my bunk and on the table
in the fore-saloon; they were certainly not particular. What I said on
that occasion had better not be printed, though no expression could be
strong enough to give vent to one's annoyance at such a discovery. We
set traps, but what was the use of that, when the cargo consisted
exclusively of provisions?

One morning, as Rönne was sitting at work making sails, he observed
a "shadow" flying past his feet, and, according to his account,
into the fore-saloon. The cook came roaring: "There's a rat in the
fore-saloon!" Then there was a lively scene; the door was shut, and
all hands started hunting. All the cabins were emptied and rummaged,
the piano, too; everything was turned upside down, but the rat had
vanished into thin air.

About a fortnight later I noticed a corpse-like smell in Hassel's
cabin, which was empty. On closer sniffing and examination it turned
out to be the dead rat, a big black one, unfortunately a male rat. The
poor brute, that had starved to death, had tried to keep itself alive
by devouring a couple of novels that lay in a locked drawer. How the
rat got into that drawer beats me.

On cleaning out the provision hold nests were found with several
rats in them: six were killed, but at least as many escaped, so now
no doubt we have a whole colony. A reward was promised of ten cigars
for each rat; traps were tried again, but all this did very little
good. When we were in Buenos Aires for the second time we got a cat
on board; it certainly kept the rats down, but it was shot on the
Barrier. At Hobart we provided a few traps, which caught a good many;
but we shall hardly get rid of them altogether until we have landed
most of the provisions, and smoked them out.

We have also had a lot of moth; at present they have done nothing
beyond eating a couple of holes in my best trousers.

During the whole of this cruise we had a fishing-line hanging out,
but it hung for a whole month without there being a sign of a fish,
in spite of the most delicate little white rag that was attached
to the hook. One morning the keenest of our fishermen came up as
usual and felt the line. Yes, by Jove! at last there was one, and a
big one, too, as he could hardly haul in the line by himself. There
was a shout for assistance. "Hi, you beggar! come and lend a hand;
there's a big fish!" Help came in a second, and they both hauled for
all they were worth. "Ah! he's a fine, glistening fish; it'll be grand
to get fresh fish for dinner!" At last the fish appeared over the rail;
but, alas! it was seen to have no head. It was an ordinary stockfish,
about three-quarters of a yard long, that some joker had hung on the
line during the night. That we all had a hearty laugh goes without
saying, the fishermen included, as they took it all in good part.

As a fishing-boat the Fram is on the whole not very successful. The
only fish we caught, besides the above-mentioned stockfish, was a real
live fish; but, unfortunately, it fell off the hook as it was being
hauled in. According to the account of eye-witnesses, this fish was
. . . six feet long and one broad.

Now we don't fish any more.

On August 19 the hydrographic observations were brought to an end,
and a course was laid for Buenos Aires, where we anchored in the
roads at midnight on September 1.


At Buenos Aires.

To arrive at Buenos Aires in the early part of 1911 was not an unmixed
pleasure, especially when one had no money. The Fram Expedition
was apparently not very popular at that time, and our cash balance
amounted to about forty pesos (about (L)3 10s.), but that would not
go very far; our supply of provisions had shrunk to almost nothing,
and we had not enough to be able to leave the port. I had been told
that a sum had been placed to the credit of the Fram for our stay
in Buenos Aires, but I neither saw nor heard anything of it while we
were there, and it was no doubt somewhat imaginary.

If we were to be at all able to go down and take off the shore party
money must be found. We had come to the end of sail-cloth and ropes,
we had too little food and a minimum of oil; all this would have to be
provided. At the worst the oceanographical cruise could be cut out,
and we could lie still at Buenos Aires; then, as our comrades could
not very well be left to perish on the ice, enough would have to be
sent us from Norway to enable us to go down there; but that would
finish the whole expedition, as in such a case the Fram had orders
to go back to Norway.

As usual, however, the Fram's luck helped her again. A few days
before we left Norway our distinguished compatriot in Buenos Aires,
Don Pedro Christophersen, had cabled that he would supply us with
what provisions we might require, if, after leaving Madeira, we would
call at Buenos Aires. Of course, he did not know at that time that the
voyage would be extended to include the South Pole, and that the Fram
on arrival at Buenos Aires would be almost empty instead of having
a full cargo, but that did not prevent his helping us. I immediately
called on him and his brother, the Norwegian Minister; fortunately,
they were both very enthusiastic about our Chief's change of plan.

When, on a subsequent occasion, I expressed my astonishment at not
hearing from home, I was told that the funds of the Expedition were
exhausted, and Mr. Christophersen promised me, on hearing what straits
we were in, to pay all our expenses in Buenos Aires, and to supply
us with provisions and fuel. That brought us out of our difficulties
at a bound, and we had no more need to take thought for the morrow.

Everyone on board received a sum of money for his personal expenses
from the Norwegian colony of the River Plate, and we were invited to
their dinner on Independence Day, May 17.

Our second stay at Buenos Aires was very pleasant; everyone was
amiability itself, and festivities were even got up for us. We
took on board provisions that had been sent out from Norway by
Mr. Christophersen's orders, about 50,000 litres (11,000 gallons)
of petroleum, ship's stores, and so on; enough for a year. But this
was not all. Just before we sailed Mr. Christophersen said he would
send a relief expedition, if the Fram did not return to Australia by
a certain date; but, as everyone knows, this was happily unnecessary.

During the three weeks we were lying at the quay in Buenos Aires we
were occupied in getting everything on board, and making the vessel
ready for sea. We had finished this by the afternoon of Wednesday,
October 4, and next morning the Pram was ready to continue her second
circumnavigation of the globe.

In Buenos Aires we lay at the same quay as the Deutschland, the German
Antarctic Expedition's ship.

A. Kutschin and the second engineer, J. Nödtvedt, went home, and
seaman J. Andersen was discharged.


From Buenos Aires to the Ross Barrier.

On the trip from Buenos Aires to the Barrier the watches were divided
as follows: From eight to two: T. Nilsen, L. Hansen, H. Halvorsen,
and A. Olsen. From two to eight: H. Gjertsen, A. Beck, M. Rönne, and
F. Steller. In the engine-room: K. Sundbeck and H. Kristensen. Lastly,
K. Olsen, cook. In all eleven men.

It is said that "well begun is half done," and it almost seems as if a
bad beginning were likely to have a similar continuation. When we left
the northern basin on the morning of October 5, there was a head wind,
and it was not till twenty-four hours later that we could drop the
pilot at the Recalada lightship. After a time it fell calm, and we made
small progress down the River La Plata, until, on the night of the 6th,
we were clear of the land, and the lights disappeared on the horizon.

Properly speaking, we ought to have been in the west wind belt as
soon as we came out, and the drift of the clouds and movement of
the barograph were examined at least twenty-four times a day, but
it still remained calm. At last, after the lapse of several days, we
had a little fresh south-westerly wind with hail showers, and then,
of course, I thought we had made a beginning; but unfortunately it
only lasted a night, so that our joy was short-lived.

We took with us from Buenos Aires fifteen live sheep and fifteen live
little pigs, for which two houses were built on the after-deck; as,
however, one of the pigs was found dead on the morning after the
south-westerly breeze just mentioned, I assumed that this was on
account of the cold, and another house was at once built for them
between decks (in the work-room), where it was very warm. They were
down here the whole time; but as their house was cleaned out twice
a day and dry straw put on the floor, they did not cause us much
inconvenience; besides which, their house was raised more than half a
foot above the deck itself, so that the space below could always be
kept clean. The pigs thrived so well down here that we could almost
see them growing; on arrival at the Barrier we had no fewer than
nine alive.

The sheep had a weather-tight house with a tarpaulin over the roof,
and they grew fatter and fatter; we had every opportunity of noticing
this, as we killed one of them regularly every Saturday until we
came into the pack-ice and got seal-meat. We had four sheep left on
reaching the Barrier.

We did wretchedly in October -- calms and east winds, nothing but
east winds; as regards distance it was the worst month we had had
since leaving Norway, notwithstanding that the Fram had been in dry
dock, had a clean bottom and a light cargo. When close-hauled with
any head sea, we scarcely move; a stiff fair wind is what is wanted
if we are to get on. Somebody said we got on so badly because we had
thirteen pigs on board; another said it was because we caught so many
birds, and I had caught no less than fourteen albatrosses and four
Cape pigeons. Altogether there is quite enough of what I will call
superstition at sea. One particular bird brings fine weather, another
storms; it is very important to notice which way the whale swims or
the dolphin leaps; the success of seal-hunting depends on whether
the first seal is seen ahead or astern, and so on. Enough of that.

October went out and November came in with a fresh breeze from the
south-south-west, so that we did nine and a half knots. This promised
well for November, but the promise was scarcely fulfilled. We had
northerly wind or southerly wind continually, generally a little to
the east of north or south, and I believe I am not saying too much
when I state that in the "west wind belt" with an easterly course we
lay close-hauled on one tack or the other for about two-thirds of the
way. For only three days out of three months did we have a real west
wind, a wind which, with south-westerly and north-westerly winds,
I had reckoned on having for 75 per cent. of the trip from Buenos
Aires to about the longitude of Tasmania.

In my enthusiasm over the west wind in question, I went so far as
to write in my diary at 2 a.m. on November 11: "There is a gale from
the west, and we are making nine knots with foresail and topsail. The
sea is pretty high and breaking on both sides of the vessel, so that
everything about us is a mass of spray. In spite of this, not a drop
of water comes on deck, and it is so dry that the watch are going
about in clogs. For my part I am wearing felt slippers, which will
not stand wet. Sea-boots and oilskins hang ready in the chart-house,
in case it should rain. On a watch like to-night, when the moon is kind
enough to shine, everyone on deck is in the best of humours, whistling,
chattering, and singing. Somebody comes up with the remark that 'She
took that sea finely,' or 'Now she's flying properly.' 'Fine' is almost
too feeble an expression; one ought to say 'lightly and elegantly'
when speaking of the Fram . . . . What more can one wish?" etc.

But whatever time Adam may have spent in Paradise, we were not
there more than three days, and then the same wretched state of
things began again. What I wrote when there was a head wind or calm,
I should be sorry to reproduce. Woe to him who then came and said it
was fine weather.

It was lucky for us that the Fram sails so much more easily now
than in 1910, otherwise we should have taken six months to reach the
Barrier. When we had wind, we used it to the utmost; but we did not do
this without the loss of one or two things; the new jib-sheet broke
a couple of times, and one night we carried away the outer bobstay
of the jib-boom. The foresail and topsail were neither made fast nor
reefed during the whole trip.

The last time the jib-sheet broke there was a strong breeze from the
south-west with a heavy sea; all sail was set with the exception of
the spanker, as the ship would not steer with that. There was an extra
preventer on the double jib-sheet, but in spite of that the sheets
broke and the jib was split with a fearful crack. Within a minute
the mainsail and gaff-topsail were hauled down, so that the ship
might fall off, and the jib hauled down. This was instantly unbent
and a new one bent. The man at the helm, of course, got the blame
for this, and the first thing he said to me was "I couldn't help it,
she was twisting on the top of a wave." We were then making ten knots,
and more than that we shall not do.

The Fram rolled well that day. A little earlier in the afternoon,
at two o'clock, when the watch had gone below to dinner and were just
eating the sweet, which on that occasion consisted of preserved pears,
we felt that there was an unusually big lurch coming. Although, of
course, we had fiddles on the table, the plates, with meat, potatoes,
etc., jumped over the fiddles, which they didn't care a button for,
into Beck's cabin. I caught one of the pears in its flight, but the
plate with the rest of them went on its way. Of course there was a
great shout of laughter, which stopped dead as we heard a violent
noise on deck, over our heads; I guessed at once it was an empty
water-tank that had broken loose, and with my mouth full of pear
I yelled "Tank!" and flew on deck with the whole watch below at my
heels. A sea had come in over the after-deck, and had lifted the tank
up from its lashings. All hands threw themselves upon the tank, and
held on to it till the water had poured off the deck, when it was
again fixed in its place. When this was done, my watch went below
again and lit their pipes as if nothing had happened.

On November 13 we passed the northernmost of the Prince Edward Islands,
and on the 18th close to Penguin Island, the most south-westerly
of the Crozets. In the neighbourhood of the latter we saw a great
quantity of birds, a number of seals and penguins, and even a little
iceberg. I went close to the land to check the chronometers, which
an observation and bearings of the islands showed to be correct.

Our course was then laid for Kerguelen Island, but we went too far
north to see it, as for two weeks the wind was south-easterly and
southerly, and the leeway we made when sailing close-hauled took us
every day a little to the north of east. When we were in the same
waters in 1910, there was gale after gale; then we did not put in at
Kerguelen on account of the force of the wind; this time we could not
approach the island because of the wind's direction. In no respect
can the second trip be compared with the first; I should never have
dreamed that there could be so much difference in the "Roaring Forties"
in two different years at the same season. In the "Foggy Fifties"
the weather was calm and fine, and we had no fog until lat. 58° S.

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