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The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2




The sun continued its daily course, lower and lower. We did not see
much of it after the return from the last depot journey; on April
11 it came, and vanished again at once. Easter came round on the
Barrier, as in other parts of the globe, and had to be kept. Holidays
with us were marked by eating a little more than usual; there was no
other sign. We did not dress differently, nor did we introduce any
other change. In the evening of a holiday we generally had a little
gramophone, a glass of toddy, and a cigar; but we were careful with
the gramophone. We knew we should soon get tired of it if we used
it too often; therefore we only brought it out on rare occasions,
but we enjoyed its music all the more when we heard it. When Easter
was over, a sigh of relief escaped us all; these holidays are always
tiring. They are tedious enough in places which have more amusements
to offer than the Barrier, but here they were insufferably long.

Our manner of life was now completely in order, and everything worked
easily and well. The chief work of the winter would be the perfecting
of our outfit for the coming sledge journey to the South. Our
object was to reach the Pole -- everything else was secondary. The
meteorological observations were in full swing and arranged for
the winter. Observations were made at 8 a.m., 2 p.m., and 8 p.m. We
were so short-handed that I could not spare anyone for night duty,
besides which, living as we did in a small space, it would have a
disturbing effect if there were always someone moving about; there
would never be any peace. My special aim was that everyone should
be happy and comfortable, so that, when the spring came, we might
all be fresh and well and eager to take up the final task. It was
not my intention that we should spend the winter in idleness -- far
from it. To be contented and well, a man must always be occupied. I
therefore expected everyone to be busy during the hours that were set
apart for work. At the end of the day each man was free to do what
he pleased. We had also to keep some sort of order and tidiness, as
well as circumstances permitted. It was therefore decided that each
of us should take a week's duty as "orderly." This duty consisted
in sweeping the floor every morning, emptying ash-trays, etc. To
secure plenty of ventilation -- especially in our sleeping-places --
a rule was made that no one might have anything under his bunk except
the boots he had in wear. Each man had two pegs to hang his clothes
on, and this was sufficient for what he was wearing every day; all
superfluous clothing was stuffed into our kit-bags and put out. In
this way we succeeded in maintaining some sort of tidiness; in any
case, the worst of the dirt was got rid of. Whether a fastidious
housekeeper would have found everything in order is doubtful.

Everyone had his regular work. Prestrud, with the assistance
of Johansen, looked after the astronomical observations and the
pendulum observations. Hassel was set in authority over coal, wood,
and paraffin; he was responsible for the supply lasting out. As manager
of the Framheim coal and wood business, he, of course, received the
title of Director, and this dignity might possibly have gone to his
head if the occupation of errand-boy had not been combined with it. But
it was. Besides receiving the orders, he had to deliver the goods, and
he discharged his duties with distinction. He succeeded in hoodwinking
his largest customer -- Lindström -- to such an extent that, in the
course of the winter, he saved a good deal of coal. Hanssen had to
keep the depot in order and bring in everything we required. Wisting
had charge of the whole outfit, and was responsible that nothing was
touched without permission. Bjaaland and Stubberud were to look after
the pent-house and the passage round the hut. Lindström was occupied in
the kitchen -- the hardest and most thankless work on an expedition
like this. No one says anything so long as the food is good; but
let the cook be unlucky and burn the soup one day, and he will hear
something. Lindström had the excellent disposition of a man who is
never put out; whatever people might say, it was "all the same" to him.

On April 19 we saw the sun for the last time, since it then went
below our horizon -- the ridge to the north. It was intensely red,
and surrounded by a sea of flame, which did not disappear altogether
until the 21st. Now everything was well. As far as the hut was
concerned, it could not be better; but the pent-house, which it was
originally intended to use as a workroom, soon proved too small,
dark, and cold, besides which all the traffic went through that room,
so that work would be constantly interrupted or stopped altogether
at times. Except this dark hole we had no workroom, and we had a lot
of work to do. Of course, we might use our living-room, but then we
should be in each other's way all day long; nor would it be a good
plan to give up the only room where we could sometimes find peace
and comfort to be a workshop. I know it is the usual custom to
do so, but I have always found it a bad arrangement. Now, indeed,
we were at our wits' end, but circumstances once more came to our
aid. For we may just as well confess it: we had forgotten to bring
out a tool which is a commonplace necessity on a Polar expedition --
namely, a snow-shovel. A well-equipped expedition, as ours was to
a certain extent, ought to have at least twelve strong, thick iron
spades. We had none. We had two remnants, but they did not help
us very far. Fortunately, however, we had a very good, solid iron
plate with us, and now Bjaaland stepped into the breach, and made a
whole dozen of the very best spades. Stubberud managed the handles,
and they might all have been turned out by a big factory. This
circumstance had very important results for our future well-being,
as will be seen. If we had had the shovels with us from the start,
we should have cleared the snow away from our door every morning,
like tidy people. But as we had none, the snow had increased daily
before our door, and, before Bjaaland was ready with the spades,
had formed a drift extending from the entrance along the western side
of the house. This snow-drift, which was as big as the house itself,
naturally caused some frowns, when one morning all hands turned out,
armed with the new shovels, to make a clearance. As we stood there,
afraid to begin, one of us -- it must have been Lindström, or Hanssen
perhaps, or was it myself? well, it doesn't matter -- one of us had
the bright idea of taking Nature in hand, and working with her instead
of against her. The proposal was that we should dig out a carpenter's
shop in the big snow-drift, and put it in direct communication with
the hut. This was no sooner suggested than adopted unanimously. And
now began a work of tunnelling which lasted a good while, for one
excavation led to another, and we did not stop until we had a whole
underground village -- probably one of the most interesting works
ever executed round a Polar station. Let us begin with the morning
when we thrust the first spade into the drift; it was Thursday,
April 20. While three men went to work to dig right into the drift
from the hut door westward, three more were busy connecting it with
the hut. This was done by stretching boards -- the same that we had
used on the Fram as a false deck for the dogs -- from the drift up
to the roof of the pent-house. The open part between the drift and
the pent-house on the northern side was filled up entirely into a
solid wall, which went up to join the roof that had just been put
on. The space between the pent-house and the drift on the south wall
was left open as an exit. But now we had the building fever on us,
and one ambitious project succeeded another. Thus we agreed to dig
a passage the whole length of the drift, and terminate it by a large
snow-hut, in which we were to have a vapour bath. That was something
like a plan -- a vapour bath in 79°S. Hanssen, snow-hut builder by
profession, went to work at it. He built it quite small and solid,
and extended it downward, so that, when at last it was finished, it
measured 12 feet from floor to roof. Here we should have plenty of
room to fit up a vapour bath. Meanwhile the tunnellers were advancing;
we could hear the sound of their pickaxes and spades coming nearer
and nearer. This was too much for Hanssen. As he had now finished
the hut, he set to work to dig his way to the others; and when he
begins a thing, it does not take him very long. We could hear the two
parties continually nearing each other. The excitement increases. Will
they meet? Or are they digging side by side on different lines? The
Simplon, Mont Cenis, and other engineering works, flashed through my
brain. If they were going to hit it off, we must be -- hullo! I was
interrupted in my studies by a glistening face, which was thrust
through the wall just as I was going to dig my spade into it. It
was Wisting, pioneer of the Framheim tunnel. He had good reason to
be glad he escaped with his nose safe and sound. In another instant
I should have had it on my spade. It was a fine sight, this long,
white passage, ending in the high, shining dome. As we dug forward,
we dug down at the same time so as not to weaken the roof. There was
plenty to take down below; the Barrier was deep enough.

When this was finished, we began to work on the carpenter's shop. This
had to be dug considerably deeper, as the drift was rounded off
a little to the side. We therefore dug first into the drift, and
then right down; as far as I remember, we went 6 feet down into the
Barrier here. The shop was made roomy, with space enough for both
carpenters and length enough for our sledges. The planing-bench was
cut out in the wall and covered with boards. The workshop terminated
at its western end in a little room, where the carpenters kept their
smaller tools. A broad stairway, cut in the snow and covered with
boards, led from the shop into the passage. As soon as the workshop
was finished, the workmen moved in, and established themselves under
the name of the Carpenters' Union. Here the whole sledging outfit for
the Polar journey was remodelled. Opposite the carpenters came the
smithy, dug to the same depth as the other; this was less used. On the
other side of the smithy, nearer to the hut, a deep hole was dug to
receive all the waste water from the kitchen. Between the Carpenters'
Union and the entrance to the pent-house, opposite the ascent to the
Barrier, we built a little room, which, properly speaking, deserves
a very detailed explanation; but, for want of space, this must be
deferred till later. The ascent to the Barrier, which had been left
open while all these works were in progress, was now closed by a
contrivance which is also worth mentioning. There are a great many
people who apparently have never learnt to shut a door after them;
where two or three are gathered together, you generally find at least
one who suffers from this defect. How many would there be among us,
who numbered nine? It is no use asking a victim of this complaint
to shut the door after him; he is simply incapable of doing it. I
was not yet well enough acquainted with my companions as regards the
door-shutting question, and in order to be on the safe side we might
just as well put up a self-closing door. This was done by Stubberud,
by fixing the door-frame into the wall in an oblique position just
like a cellar-door at home. Now the door could not stay open; it had
to fall to. I was glad when I saw it finished; we were secured against
an invasion of dogs. Four snow steps covered with boards led from
the door down into the passage. In addition to all these new rooms,
we had thus gained an extra protection for our house.

While this work was in progress, our instrument-maker had his hands
full; the clockwork mechanism of the thermograph had gone wrong: the
spindle was broken, I believe. This was particularly annoying, because
this thermograph had been working so well in low temperatures. The
other thermograph had evidently been constructed with a view to the
tropics; at any rate, it would not go in the cold. Our instrument-maker
has one method of dealing with all instruments -- almost without
exception. He puts them in the oven, and stokes up the fire. This time
it worked remarkably well, since it enabled him to ascertain beyond a
doubt that the thing was useless. The thermograph would not work in
the cold. Meanwhile he got it cleared of all the old oil that stuck
to it everywhere, on wheels and pins, like fish-glue; then it was
hung up to the kitchen ceiling. The temperature there may possibly
revive it, and make it think it is in the tropics. In this way we
shall have the temperature of the "galley" registered, and later on
we shall probably be able to reckon up what we have had for dinner
in the course of the week. Whether Professor Mohn will be overjoyed
with this result is another question, which the instrument-maker and
director did not care to go into. Besides these instruments we have
a hygrograph -- we are well supplied; but this takes one of us out
of doors once in the twenty-four hours. Lindström has cleaned it and
oiled it and set it going. In spite of this, at three in the morning
it comes to a stop. But I have never seen Lindström beaten yet. After
many consultations he was given the task of trying to construct
a thermograph out of the hygrograph and the disabled thermograph;
this was just the job for him. The production he showed me a few
hours later made my hair stand on end. What would Steen say? Do you
know what it was? Well, it was an old meat-tin circulating inside
the thermograph case. Heavens! what an insult to the self-registering
meteorological instruments! I was thunderstruck, thinking, of course,
that the man was making a fool of me. I had carefully studied his face
all the time to find the key to this riddle, and did not know whether
to laugh or weep. Lindström's face was certainly serious enough; if
it afforded a measure of the situation, I believe tears would have
been appropriate. But when my eye fell upon the thermograph and read,
"Stavanger Preserving Co.'s finest rissoles," I could contain myself
no longer. The comical side of it was too much for me, and I burst
into a fit of laughter. When my laughter was subdued, I heard the
explanation. The cylinder did not fit, so he had tried the tin, and
it went splendidly. The rissole-thermograph worked very well as far
as -40° C., but then it gave up.

Our forces were now divided into two working parties. One of them
was to dig out some forty seals we had lying about 3 feet under the
snow; this took two days. The heavy seals' carcasses, hard as flint,
were difficult to deal with. The dogs were greatly interested in
these proceedings. Each carcass, on being raised to the surface,
was carefully inspected; they were piled up in two heaps, and would
provide food enough for the dogs for the whole winter. Meanwhile the
other party were at work under Hassel's direction on a petroleum
cellar. The barrels which had been laid up at the beginning of
February were now deep below the snow. They now dug down at both ends
of the store, and made a passage below the surface along the barrels;
at the same time they dug far enough into the Barrier to give the
requisite height for the barrels. When the snow had been thrown out,
one hole was walled up again, while a large entrance was constructed
over the other. Stubberud's knowledge of vaulting came in useful here,
and he has the credit of having built the splendid arched entrance
to the oil-store. It was a pleasure to go down into it; probably no
one has had so fine a storehouse for petroleum before. But Hassel did
not stop here; he had the building fever on him in earnest. His great
project of connecting the coal and wood store with the house below
the surface nearly took my breath away; it seemed to me an almost
superhuman labour, but they did it. The distance from the coal-tent
to the house was about ten yards. Here Hassel and Stubberud laid out
their line so that it would strike the passage round the house at
the south-east angle. When they had done this, they dug a gigantic
hole down into the Barrier half-way between the tent and the house,
and then dug in both directions from here and soon finished the
work. But now Prestrud had an idea. While the hole remained open he
wished to avail himself of the opportunity of arranging an observatory
for his pendulum apparatus, and he made a very good one. He did it by
digging at right angles to the passage, and had his little observatory
between the coal-tent and the house. When all the snow was cleared
out, the big hole was covered over again, and now we could go from
the kitchen direct to the coal-store without going out. First we
followed the passage round the house -- you remember where all the
tinned provisions stood in such perfect order -- then, on reaching
the south-east angle of the house, this new passage opened out and
led across to the coal-tent. In the middle of the passage, on the
right-hand side, a door led into the pendulum observatory. Continuing
along the passage, one came first to some steps leading down, and then
the passage ended in a steep flight of steps which led up through a
hole in the snow surface. On going up this one suddenly found oneself
in the middle of the coal-tent. It was a fine piece of work, and did
all honour to its designers. It paid, too -- Hassel could now fetch
coal at any time under cover, and escaped having to go out of doors.

But this was not the end of our great underground works. We wanted a
room where Wisting could store all the things in his charge; he was
specially anxious about the reindeer-skin clothing, and wished to
have it under a roof. We therefore decided upon a room sufficiently
large to house all these articles, and at the same time to provide
working-space for Wisting and Hanssen, who would have to lash all
the sledges as fast as they came from Bjaaland. Wisting elected to
build this room in a big snow-drift that had formed around the tent
in which he had kept all his stuff; the spot lay to the north-east
of the house. The Clothing Store, as this building was called, was
fairly large, and provided space not only for all our equipment, but
also for a workshop. From it a door led into a very small room, where
Wisting set up his sewing-machine and worked on it all through the
winter. Continuing in a north-easterly direction, we came to another
big room, called the Crystal Palace, in which all the ski and sledging
cases were stored. Here all the provisions for the sledge journey were
packed. For the time being this room remained separate from the others,
and we had to go out of doors to reach it. Later, when Lindström had
dug out an enormous hole in the Barrier at the spot where he took all
the snow and ice for cooking, we connected this with the two rooms last
mentioned, and were thus finally able to go everywhere under the snow.

The astronomical observatory had also arisen; it lay right
alongside the Crystal Palace. But it had an air of suffering from
debility, and before very long it passed peacefully away. Prestrud
afterwards invented many patents; he used an empty barrel for a
time as a pedestal, then an old block of wood. His experience of
instrument-stands is manifold.

All these undertakings were finished at the beginning of May. One last
piece of work remained, and then at last we should be ready. This was
the rebuilding of the depot. The small heaps in which the cases were
piled proved unsatisfactory, as the passages between the different
piles offered a fine site for snow-drifts. All the cases were now taken
out and laid in two long rows, with sufficient intervals between them
to prevent their offering resistance to the drifting snow. This work
was carried out in two days.

The days were now fairly short, and we were ready to take up our indoor
work. The winter duties were assigned as follows: Prestrud, scientific
observations; Johansen, packing of sledging provisions; Hassel had
to keep Lindström supplied with coal, wood, and paraffin, and to make
whip-lashes -- an occupation he was very familiar with from the Fram's
second expedition; Stubberud was to reduce the weight of the sledge
cases to a minimum, besides doing a lot of other things. There was
nothing he could not turn his hand to, so the programme of his winter
work was left rather vague. I knew he would manage a great deal more
than the sledge cases, though it must be said that it was a tiresome
job he had. Bjaaland was allotted the task which we all regarded
with intense interest -- the alteration of the sledges. We knew that
an enormous amount of weight could be saved, but how much? Hanssen
and Wisting had to lash together the different parts as they were
finished; this was to be done in the Clothing Store. These two had
also a number of other things on their programme for the winter.

There are many who think that a Polar expedition is synonymous with
idleness. I wish I had had a few adherents of this belief at Framheim
that winter; they would have gone away with a different opinion. Not
that the hours of work were excessively long, the circumstances
forbade that. But during those hours the work was brisk.

On several previous sledge journeys I had made the experience that
thermometers are very fragile things. It often happens that at the
beginning of a journey one breaks all one's thermometers, and is
left without any means of determining the temperature. If in such
circumstances one had accustomed oneself to guess the temperature,
it would have given the mean temperature for the month with a fair
degree of accuracy. The guesses for single days might vary somewhat
from reality on one side or the other, but, as I say, one would arrive
at a fair estimate of the mean temperature. With this in my mind I
started a guessing competition. As each man came in in the morning he
gave his opinion of the temperature of the day, and this was entered
in a book. At the end of the month the figures were gone through,
and the one who had guessed correctly the greatest number of times
won the prize -- a few cigars. Besides giving practice in guessing the
temperature, it was a very good diversion to begin the day with. When
one day is almost exactly like another, as it was with us, the first
hour of the morning is often apt to be a little sour, especially before
one has had one's cup of coffee. I may say at once that this morning
grumpiness very seldom showed itself with us. But one never knows --
one cannot always be sure. The most amiable man may often give one a
surprise before the coffee has had its effect. In this respect the
guessing was an excellent thing; it took up everyone's attention,
and diverted the critical moments. Each man's entrance was awaited
with excitement, and one man was not allowed to make his guess in
the hearing of the next -- that would undoubtedly have exercised an
influence. Therefore they had to speak as they came in, one by one.

"Now, Stubberud, what's the temperature to-day ?" Stubberud had his
own way of calculating, which I never succeeded in getting at. One day,
for instance, he looked about him and studied the various faces.

"It isn't warm to-day," he said at last, with a great deal of
conviction. I could immediately console him with the assurance that
he had guessed right. It was -69°F. The monthly results were very
interesting. So far as I remember, the best performance the competition
could show in any month was eight approximately correct guesses. A man
might keep remarkably close to the actual temperature for a long time,
and then suddenly one day make an error of 25°. It proved that the
winner's mean temperature agreed within a few tenths of a degree with
the actual mean temperature of the month, and if one took the mean
of all the competitors' mean temperatures, it gave a result which,
practically speaking, agreed with the reality. It was especially
with this object in view that this guessing was instituted. If
later on we should be so unlucky as to lose all our thermometers,
we should not be entirely at a loss. It may be convenient to mention
here that on the southern sledge journey we had four thermometers
with us. Observations were taken three times daily, and all four
were brought home in undamaged condition. Wisting had charge of this
scientific branch, and I think the feat he achieved in not breaking
any thermometers is unparalleled.



CHAPTER VIII

A Day at Framheim

In order to understand our daily life better, we will now make a tour
of Framheim. It is June 23, early in the morning. Perfect stillness
lies over the Barrier -- such stillness as no one who has not been
in these regions has any idea of. We come up the old sledge road from
the place where the Fram used to lie. You will stop several times on
the way and ask whether this can be real; anything so inconceivably
beautiful has never yet been seen. There lies the northern edge of the
Fram Barrier, with Mounts Nelson and Rönniken nearest; behind them,
ridge after ridge, peak after peak, the venerable pressure masses rise,
one higher than another. The light is so wonderful; what causes this
strange glow? It is clear as daylight, and yet the shortest day of the
year is at hand. There are no shadows, so it cannot be the moon. No;
it is one of the few really intense appearances of the aurora australis
that receives us now. It looks as though Nature wished to honour our
guests, and to show herself in her best attire. And it is a gorgeous
dress she has chosen. Perfectly calm, clear with a starry sparkle,
and not a sound in any direction. But wait: what is that? Like a
stream of fire the light shoots across the sky, and a whistling sound
follows the movement. Hush! can't you hear? It shoots forward again,
takes the form of a band, and glows in rays of red and green. It
stands still for a moment, thinking of what direction it shall take,
and then away again, followed by an intermittent whistling sound. So
Nature has offered us on this wonderful morning one of her most
mysterious, most incomprehensible, phenomena -- the audible southern
light. "Now you will be able to go home and tell your friends that you
have personally seen and heard the southern lights, for I suppose you
have no doubt that you have really done so?" "Doubt? How can one be in
doubt about what one has heard with one's own ears and seen with one's
own eyes? "And yet you have been deceived, like so many others! The
whistling northern and southern lights have never existed. They are
only a creation of your own yearning for the mystical, accompanied
by your own breath, which freezes in the cold air. Goodbye, beautiful
dream! It vanishes from the glorious landscape." Perhaps it was stupid
of me to call attention to that; my guests have now lost much of the
beautiful mystery, and the landscape no longer has the same attraction.

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