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The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2

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




Now we have finished here, and must in all probability have seen
everything. My guide goes over to the wall where the clothing is lying
and begins to rummage in it. A clothing inspection, I say to myself;
there's no great fun in that. I sit down on the pile of sledges by
the opposite wall, and am going over in my mind all I have seen,
when suddenly he thrusts his head forward -- like a man who is going
to make a dive -- and disappears among the bundles of skins. I jump
up and make for the piles of clothing; I am beginning to feel quite
lost in this mysterious world. In my hurry I collide with Hanssen's
sledge, which falls off the table; he looks round furiously. It is a
good thing he could not see me; he looked like murder. I squeeze in
between the bundles of clothing, and what do I see? Another hole in
the wall; another low, dark passage. I pluck up courage and plunge
in. This tunnel is rather higher than the other, and I can walk,
bending double. Fortunately, the light at the other end shows up at
once, so that my journey in the dark is not a long one this time. I
come out into another large room of about the same size as the last,
and afterwards learn that it is known as the Crystal Palace. The name
is appropriate, as crystals sparkle on every side. Against one wall
a number of pairs of ski are resting; elsewhere there are cases,
some yellow and some black. I guess the meaning of this at once,
after my visit to Stubberud. The yellow cases are the original ones,
and the black the improved ones. They think of everything here. Of
course, in snow black is a far better colour than light yellow; the
cases will be pleasanter to look at, and very much easier to see at
a distance. And if they happen to run short of marks, all they need
do will be to break up a case and make as many black marks as they
want; they will be easily seen in the snow. The lids of these cases
surprise me. They are no bigger than ordinary large milk-can lids,
and of the same form; they are loose, as with a milk-can, and are
put on in the same way. Then it suddenly occurs to me. When I was
sitting on the sledges in Hanssen's workshop, I noticed little pieces
of wire rope fixed to both ribs of the sledge. There were eight of
them on each side -- just the right number. They are lashings for
four cases, and they will hardly take more than that on a sledge. On
one rib all the wire ropes ended in eyes; on the other they ended in
thin lashings. Obviously there were four of them to each case -- two
forward and two aft of the lid. If these were reeved and drawn taut,
the cases would be held as in a vice, and the lids could be taken
off freely at any time. It was an ingenious idea, which would save
a lot of work.

But there sits Johansen in the middle of the Palace, packing. He
seems to have a difficult problem to solve; he looks so profoundly
thoughtful. Before him is a case half packed, marked "Sledge No. V.,
Case No. 4." More singular contents I have never seen -- a mixture
of pemmican and sausage. I have never heard of sausages on a sledge
journey; it must be something quite new. The pieces of pemmican
are cylindrical in shape, about 2 inches high and 4 and 3/4 inches
in diameter; when they are packed, there will be large star-shaped
openings between every four of them. Each of these openings is filled
up with a sausage, which stands straight up and down, and is of
exactly the height of the case. But sausage -- let me see. Ah! there's
a sausage with a tear in its skin; I run across and look at it. Oh,
the cunning rascals! if it isn't milk-powder they are smuggling in
like this! So every bit of space is utilized. The gaps left by these
round pieces of pemmican at the sides of the cases are, of course,
only half as large as the rest, and so cannot take a milk-sausage; but
don't imagine that the space is wasted. No; chocolate is broken up into
small pieces and stowed in there. When all these cases are packed,
they will be as full as if they were of solid wood. There is one
ready packed; I must see what it contains. Biscuits -- 5,400 biscuits
is marked on the lid. They say that angels are specially gifted with
patience, but theirs must be a trifle compared with Johansen's. There
was absolutely not a fraction of an inch left in that case.

The Crystal Palace at present reminds one strongly of a grocer's and
chandler's store -- pemmican, biscuits, chocolate, and milk-sausage,
lie about everywhere. In the other wall, opposite the ski, there is
an opening. I see my companion making for it, but this time I intend
to keep an eye on him. He goes up two steps, pushes a trap-door,
and there he stands on the Barrier -- but I am there, too. The
trap-door is replaced, and I see that we are close to another door
in the Barrier, but this is a modern sliding-door. It leads into
the clothing store. I turn to my host and give him my best thanks
for the interesting circular trip through the Barrier, expressing
my admiration of all the fine engineering works I have seen, and
so on. He cuts me short with the remark that we are not nearly done
yet. He has only brought me up this way to save my having to crawl
back again. "We are going in now," he adds, "to continue our journey
under the surface." I see that there is no getting out of it, although
I am beginning to have enough of these underground passages. My host
seems to guess my thoughts, as he adds: "We must see them now when the
men are working. Afterwards they will not have the same interest." I
see that he is right, pull myself together, and follow him.

But Fate wills it otherwise. As we come out on the Barrier, Hanssen
is standing there with his sledge and six fresh dogs harnessed. My
companion has just time to whisper to me, " Jump on; I'll wait here,"
when the sledge starts off at a terrific pace with me as a passenger,
unsuspected by Hanssen.

We went along so that the snow dashed over us. He had his dogs well
in hand, this fellow, I could see that; but they were a wild lot of
rascals he had to deal with. I heard the names of Hok and Togo in
particular; they seemed inclined for mischief. All of a sudden they
darted back on their companions under the traces, and got the whole
team in a tangle; but they were not able to do very much, as the
whip, which was wielded with great dexterity, constantly sang about
their ears. The two sausages I had noticed on the slope -- Ring and
Mylius -- were leaders; they, too, were full of pranks, but kept their
places. Hai and Rap were also in the team. Rap, whose ear was split,
would have liked very much to get his friend Hai to join in a little
fight with Hok and Togo, but for the whip. It swished to and fro,
in and out, among them without mercy, and made them behave like good
boys. After us, some yards behind, came Zanko. He seemed to be put
out because he had not been harnessed. Meanwhile we went at a gallop
up the hill to the depot, and the last flag was passed. There was a
marked difference in the daylight here now. It was eleven o'clock, and
the flush of dawn had risen a good way in the sky and was approaching
the north. The numbers and marks on the cases were easily visible.

Hanssen drew up smartly by the rows of cases and halted. We stepped
off the sledge. He stood still for a moment and looked round, then
turned the sledge over, with the runners in the air. I supposed he
did this to prevent the dogs making off when his back was turned;
personally, I thought it was a poor safeguard. I jumped up on a case,
and sat there to await what developments might come. And they came in
the form of Zanko. Hanssen had moved off a little way with a piece
of paper in his hand, and seemed to be examining the cases as he
went along. Zanko had now reached his friends, Ring and Mylius,
and the meeting was a very cordial one on both sides. This was
too much for Hok; he was on to them like a rocket, followed by his
friend Togo. Hai and Rap never let such an opportunity escape them,
and they eagerly flung themselves into the thick of the fight. "Stop
that, you blackguards!" It was Hanssen who threw this admonition in
advance, as he came rushing back. Zanko, who was free, had kept his
head sufficiently to observe the approaching danger; without much
hesitation, he cut away and made for Framheim with all possible
speed. Whether the others missed their sixth combatant, or whether
they, too, became aware of Hanssen's threatening approach, I am unable
to determine; certain it is that they all got clear of each other,
as though at a given signal, and made off the same way. The capsized
sledge made no difference to them; they went like the wind over the
slope, and disappeared by the flagstaff. Hanssen did not take long to
make up his mind, but what was the use? He went as fast as he could,
no doubt, but had reached no farther than to the flagstaff, when the
dogs, with the capsized sledge behind them, ran into Framheim and
were stopped there.

I went quietly back, well pleased with the additional experience. Down
on the level I met Hanssen on his way to the depot a second time;
he looked extremely angry, and the way in which he used the whip
did not promise well for the dogs' backs. Zanko was now harnessed in
the team. On my return to Framheim I saw no one, so I slipped into
the pent-house, and waited for an opportunity of getting into the
kitchen. This was not long in coming. Puffing and gasping like a small
locomotive, Lindström swung in from the passage that led round the
house. In his arms he again carried the big bucket full of ice, and an
electric lamp hung from his mouth. In order to open the kitchen-door,
he had only to give it a push with his knee; I slipped in. The house
was empty. Now, I thought, I shall have a good chance of seeing what
Lindström does when he is left alone. He put down the bucket of ice,
and gradually filled up the water-pot which was on the fire. Then he
looked at the clock: a quarter-past eleven -- good; dinner will be
ready in time. He drew a long, deep sigh, then went into the room,
filled and lit his pipe. Thereupon he sat down and took up a doll
that was sitting on a letter-weight. His whole face lighted up; one
could see how pleased he was. He wound up the doll and put it on
the table; as soon as he let it go, it began to turn somersaults,
one after another, endlessly. And Lindström? Well, he laughed till
he must have been near convulsions, crying out all the while: "That's
right, Olava; go it again!" I then looked at the doll carefully, and
it was certainly something out of the common. The head was that of an
old woman -- evidently a disagreeable old maid -- with yellow hair,
a hanging under-jaw, and a love-sick expression. She wore a dress of
red-and-white check, and when she turned head over heels it caused,
as might be expected, some disturbance of her costume. The figure,
one could see, had originally been an acrobat, but these ingenious
Polar explorers had transformed it into this hideous shape. When the
experiment was repeated, and I understood the situation, I could not
help roaring, too, but Lindström was so deeply occupied that he did
not hear me. After amusing himself for about ten minutes with this,
he got tired of Olava, and put her up on the weight again. She sat
there nodding and bowing until she was forgotten.

Meanwhile Lindström had gone to his bunk, and was lying half in
it. Now, I thought to myself, he is going to take a little nap before
dinner. But no; he came out again at once, holding a tattered old
pack of cards in his hand. He went back to his place, and began a
quiet and serious game of patience. It did not take long, and was
probably not very complicated, but it served its purpose. One could
see what a pleasure it was to him whenever a card came in its right
place. Finally, all the cards were in order; he had finished the
game. He sat a little while longer, enjoying the sight of the finished
packs; then he picked them all up with a sigh, and rose, mumbling:
"Yes, he'll get to the Pole, that's sure; and, what's more, he'll
get there first." He put the cards back on the shelf in his bunk,
and looked well pleased with himself.

Then the process of laying the table began once more, but with far
less noise than in the morning; there was nobody to be annoyed by it
now. At five minutes to twelve a big ship's bell was rung, and not
long after the diners began to arrive. They did not make any elaborate
toilet, but sat down to table at once. The dishes were not many:
a thick, black seal soup, with all manner of curious things in it --
seal meat cut into " small dice" is no doubt the expression, but it
would be misleading here; "large dice" we had better call them --
with potatoes, carrots, cabbage, turnips, peas, celery, prunes, and
apples. I should like to know what our cooks at home would call that
dish. Two large jugs of syrup and water stood on the table. Now I had
another surprise; I was under the impression that a dinner like this
passed off in silence, but that was by no means the case here. They
talked the whole time, and the conversation chiefly turned on what
they had been doing during the forenoon. For dessert they had some
green plums. Pipes and books soon made their appearance.

By about two o'clock the boys gave fresh signs of life. I knew they
were not going to work that afternoon -- St. Hans' Eve -- but habit
is a strange thing. Bjaaland rose in a peremptory fashion, and asked
who was going to have the first turn. After a lot of questions and
answers, it was decided that Hassel should be the first. What it was
I could not make out. I heard them talk about one or two Primuses,
and say that half an hour was the most one could stand, but that did
not mean anything to me. I should have to stick to Hassel; he was
going first. If there should be no second man, I should, at any rate,
have seen what the first one did. Everything became quiet again; it was
only in the kitchen that one could tell that the Barrier was inhabited.

At half-past two Bjaaland, who had been out, came in and announced
that now it was all a mass of steam. I watched Hassel anxiously. Yes;
this announcement seemed to put life into him. He got up and began
to undress. Very strange, I thought; what can this be? I tried the
Sherlock Holmes method -- first Bjaaland goes out; that is fact number
one. Then he comes back; that I could also make sure of. So far the
method worked well. But then comes the third item "It is all a mass of
steam." What in the world does that mean? The man has gone out -- if
not out on to the Barrier, then certainly into it -- into snow-ice, and
then he comes back and says that it is all a mass of steam. It seems
ridiculous -- absurd. I send Sherlock Holmes to the deuce, and watch
Hassel with increasing excitement; if he takes any more off -- I felt
I was blushing, and half turned my head, but there he stopped. Then
he picked up a towel, and away we went: out through the pent-house
door -- it was all I could do to follow him -- along the snow tunnel
in nothing but -- Here steam really began to meet us, getting thicker
and thicker as we came into the Barrier. The tunnel became so full of
steam that I could see nothing. I thought with longing of the tail
of Amundsen's anorak that was so useful on such occasions, but here
there was nothing to take hold of. Far away in the fog I could see a
light, and made my way to it with caution. Before I knew where I was,
I stood at the other end of the passage, which led into a large room,
covered with rime, and closed overhead by a mighty dome of ice. The
steam was troublesome, and spoilt my view of the room. But what had
become of Hassel? I could only see Bjaaland. Then suddenly the fog
seemed to clear for an instant, and I caught sight of a bare leg
disappearing into a big black box, and a moment later I saw Hassel's
smiling face on the top of the box. A shudder passed through my frame
-- he looked as if he had been decapitated. On further consideration,
his features were too smiling; the head could not be severed from the
body yet. Now the steam began to clear away little by little, and at
last one could see clearly what was going on. I had to laugh; it was
all very easy to understand now. But I think Sherlock Holmes would
have found it a hard-nut to crack if he had been set down blindfold
on the Antarctic Barrier, as I was, so to speak, and asked to explain
the situation. It was one of those folding American vapour-baths that
Hassel sat in. The bathroom, which had looked so spacious and elegant
in the fog, reduced itself to a little snow-hut of insignificant
appearance. The steam was now collected in the bath, and one could
see by the face above that it was beginning to be warm there. The last
thing I saw Bjaaland do was to pump two Primus lamps that were placed
just under the bath up to high pressure, and then disappear. What
a lesson an actor might have had in watching the face before me! It
began with such a pleasant expression -- well-being was written upon
it in the brightest characters -- then by degrees the smile wore off,
and gave place to seriousness. But this did not last long; there was
a trembling of the nostrils, and very soon it could clearly be seen
that the bath was no longer of a pleasant nature. The complexion,
from being normal, had changed to an ultra-violet tint; the eyes
opened wider and wider, and I was anxiously awaiting a catastrophe.

It came, but in a very different form from that I had
expected. Suddenly and noiselessly the bath was raised, and the steam
poured out, laying a soft white curtain over what followed. I could
see nothing; only heard that the two Primuses were turned down. I
think it took about five minutes for the steam to disappear, and
what did I see then? -- Hassel, bright as a new shilling, dressed in
his best for St. Hans' Eve. I availed myself of the opportunity to
examine the first, and probably the only, vapour-bath on the Antarctic
Barrier. It was, like everything else I had seen, very ingeniously
contrived. The bath was a high box without bottom, and with a hole,
large enough for the head, in the top. Ail the walls were double and
were made of windproof material, with about an inch between for the
air to circulate. This box stood on a platform, which was raised a
couple of feet above the snow surface. The box fitted into a groove,
and was thus absolutely tight. In the platform immediately under the
bath a rectangular opening was cut, lined round with rubber packing,
and into this opening a tin box fitted accurately. Under the tin box
stood two Primus lamps, and now everyone will be able to understand why
Hassel felt warm. A block hung from the top of the hut, with a rope
reeved in it; one end was made fast to the upper edge of the bath,
and the other went down into the bath. In this way the bather himself
could raise the bath without assistance, and free himself when the
heat became too great. The temperature outside the snow-wall was -65°
F. Cunning lads! I afterwards heard that Bjaaland and Hassel had
constructed this ingenious bath.

I now went back to the house, and saw how they all -- almost -- made
use of the vapour-bath. By a quarter-past five all the bathing was
concluded, and everyone put on his furs; it was evident that they
were going out. I followed the first man who left the hut; he was
provided with a lantern, and indeed it was wanted. The weather had
changed: a south-west wind had sprung up suddenly, and now the air
was thick with snow. It was not a fall of snow, for one could see
the stars in the zenith, but snow caught up by the wind and whirled
along. A man had to know the surroundings well to find his way now;
one had to feel -- it was impossible to keep one's eyes open. I took
up a position in lee of a snow-drift, and waited to see what would
happen. The dogs did not seem to be inconvenienced by the change of
weather; some of them lay curled up in a ring, with their nose under
their tail, on the snow, while others were running about. One by one
the men came out; each had a lantern in his hand. As they arrived at
the place where the dogs were, each was surrounded by his team, who
followed him to the tents with joyous howls. But everything did not
pass off peacefully; I heard -- I think it was in Bjaaland's tent --
a deafening noise going on, and looked in at the door. Down there,
deep below the surface, they were having a warm time. All the dogs
were mixed up together in one mass: some were biting, some shrieking,
some howling. In the midst of this mass of raging dogs I saw a human
figure swinging round, with a bunch of dog-collars in one hand, while
he dealt blows right and left with the other, and blessed the dogs all
the time. I thought of my calves and withdrew. But the human figure
that I had seen evidently won the mastery, as the noise gradually
subsided and all became quiet. As each man got his dogs tied up, he
went over to the meat-tent and took a box of cut-up seal meat, which
stood on the wall out of the dogs' reach. This meat had been cut up
earlier in the day by two men. They took it in turns, I heard; two men
had this duty daily. The dogs were then fed, and half an hour after
this was done the camp again lay as I had found it in the morning,
quiet and peaceful. With a temperature of -65° F., and a velocity of
twenty-two miles an hour, the south-wester swept over the Barrier, and
whirled the snow high into the air above Framheim; but in their tents
the dogs lay, full-fed and contented, and felt nothing of the storm.

In the hut preparations for a feast were going on, and now one could
really appreciate a good house. The change from the howling wind,
the driving snow, the intense cold, and the absolute darkness,
was great indeed when one came in. Everything was newly washed,
and the table was gaily decorated. Small Norwegian flags were
everywhere, on the table and walls. The festival began at six, and
all the "vikings" came merrily in. Lindström had done his best, and
that is not saying a little. I specially admired his powers and his
liberality -- and I think, even in the short time I have observed him,
he has shown no sign of being stingy -- when he appeared with the
"Napoleon" cakes. Now I must tell you that these cakes were served
after every man had put away a quarter of a plum-pudding. The cakes
were delightful to look at -- the finest puff-pastry, with layers of
vanilla custard and cream. They made my mouth water. But the size of
them! -- there could not be one of those mountains of cake to every
man? One among them all, perhaps -- if they could be expected to eat
Napoleon cakes at all after plum-pudding. But why had he brought in
eight -- two enormous dishes with four on each? Good heavens! --
one of the vikings had just started, and was making short work of
his mountain. And one after another they all walked into them, until
the whole eight had disappeared. I should have nothing to say about
hunger, misery, and cold, when I came hone. My head was going round;
the temperature must have been as many degrees above zero in here
as it was below zero outside. I looked up at Wisting's bunk, where
a thermometer was hanging: +95° F. The vikings did not seem to take
the slightest notice of this trifle; their work with the "Napoleons"
continued undisturbed.

Soon the gorgeous cake was a thing of the past, and cigars came
out. Everyone, without exception, allowed himself this luxury. Up
to now they had not shown much sign of abstinence; I wanted to know
what was their attitude with regard to strong drinks. I had heard,
of course, that indulgence in alcohol on Polar expeditions was very
harmful, not to say dangerous. "Poor boys!" I thought to myself; "that
must be the reason of your fondness for cake. A man must have one vice,
at least. Deprived of the pleasure of drinking, they make up for it in
gluttony." Yes, now I could see it quite plainly, and I was heartily
sorry for them. I wondered how the "Napoleons" felt now; they looked
rather depressed. No doubt the cake took some time to settle down.

Lindström, who now seemed unquestionably the most wideawake of them
all, came in and began to clear the table. I expected to see every
man roll into his bunk to digest. But no; that side of the question
did not appear to trouble them much. They remained seated, as though
expecting more. Oh yes, of course; there was coffee to come. Lindström
was already in the doorway with cups and jugs. A cup of coffee would
be just the thing after such a meal.

"Stubberud!" -- this was Lindström's voice, calling from some
place in the far distance -- "hurry up, before they get warm!" I
rushed after Stubberud to see what the things were that were not
to get warm; I thought it might possibly be something that was to
be taken outside. Great Heaven! there was Lindström lying on his
stomach up in the loft, and handing down through the trap-door --
what do you think? -- a bottle of Benedictine and a bottle of punch,
both white with frost! Now I could see that the fish were to swim --
what's more, they were to be drowned. A happier smile than that with
which Stubberud received the bottles, or more careful and affectionate
handling than they received on their way through the kitchen, I have
never seen. I was touched. Ah, these boys knew how a liqueur should
be served! "Must be served cold," was on the label of the punch
bottle. I can assure P. A. Larsen that his prescription was followed
to the letter that evening. Then the gramophone made its appearance,
and it did me good to see the delight with which it was received. They
seemed to like this best, after all, and every man had music to suit
his taste. All agreed to honour the cook for all his pains, and the
concert therefore began with "Tarara-boom-de-ay," followed by the
"Apache" waltz. His part of the programme was concluded with a humorous
recitation. Meanwhile he stood in the doorway with a beatific smile;
this did him good. In this way the music went the round, and all
had their favourite tunes. Certain numbers were kept to the last; I
could see that they were to the taste of all. First came an air from
"The Huguenots," sung by Michalowa; this showed the vikings to be
musical. It was beautifully sung. "But look here," cried an impatient
voice: "aren't we going to have Borghild Bryhn to-night?" "Yes," was
the answer; "here she comes." And Solveig's Song followed. It was
a pity Borghild Bryhn was not there; I believe the most rapturous
applause would not have moved her so much as the way her song was
received here that evening. As the notes rang clear and pure through
the room, one could see the faces grow serious. No doubt the words of
the poem affected them all as they sat there in the dark winter night
on the vast wilderness of ice, thousands and thousands of miles from
all that was dear to them. I think that was so; but it was the lovely
melody, given with perfect finish and rich natural powers, that opened
their hearts. One could see how it did them good; it was as though
they were afraid of the sound of their own voices afterwards. At last
one of them could keep silence no longer. "My word, how beautifully
she sings!" he exclaimed; "especially the ending. I was a little bit
afraid that she would give the last note too sharp, in spite of the
masterly way in which she controls her voice. And it is outrageously
high, too. But instead of that, the note came so pure and soft and full
that it alone was enough to make a better man of one." And then this
enthusiastic listener tells them how he once heard the same song,
but with a very different result. "It went quite well," he says,
"until it came to the final note. Then you could see the singer fill
her mighty bosom for the effort, and out came a note so shrill that --
well, you remember the walls of Jericho." After this the gramophone
is put away. No one seems to want any more.

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