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The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2

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




On leaving Norway we had ninety-seven dogs in all, and of these no
less than ten were bitches. This fact justified us in expecting an
increase of the canine population on our voyage to the South, and
our expectations were very soon fulfilled. The first "happy event
" occurred when we had been no more than three weeks at sea. An
incident of this kind may seem in itself of no great importance; to
us, living under conditions in which one day was almost exactly like
another, it was more than enough to be an object of the greatest
interest. Therefore, when the report went round that "Camilla"
had got four shapely youngsters, there was general rejoicing. Two
of the pups, who happened to be of the male sex, were allowed to
live; the females were sent out of this world long before their
eyes were opened to its joys and sorrows. It might be thought that,
seeing we had nearly a hundred grown-up dogs on board, there would
be little opportunity for looking after puppies; that this was done,
nevertheless, with all the care that could be wished, is due in the
first instance to the touching affection of the second in command
for the little ones. From the very first moment he was their avowed
protector. Gradually, as the numbers increased, there was a difficulty
in finding room on the already well-occupied deck. "I'll take them
in my bunk," said the second in command. It did not come to that,
but if it had been necessary he would certainly have done so. The
example was catching. Later on, when the little chaps were weaned,
and had begun to take other nourishment, one might see regularly,
after every meal, one after another of the crew coming on deck with
some carefully scraped-up bits of food on his plate; the little hungry
mouths were to have what was left over.

Something more than patience and punctual performance of duty is
displayed in such things as those of which I have been speaking;
it is love of, and a living interest in, one's work. From what I saw
and heard every day, I was certain that these necessary incentives
were present; although, as far as most of the men were concerned,
our object was still the protracted one of drifting for years in
the Arctic ice. The extension of the plan -- the far more imminent
battle with the ice-floes of the South -- was still undreamt of by the
majority of the ship's company. I considered it necessary to keep it
to myself for a little while yet -- until our departure from the port
we were now making for: Funchal, Madeira. It may possibly appear to
many people that I was running a pretty big risk in thus putting off
till the last moment the duty of informing my comrades of the very
considerable détour we were to make. Suppose some, or perhaps all,
of them had objected! It must be admitted that it was a big risk,
but there were so many risks that had to be taken at that time.

However, as I got to know each man during these first few weeks of our
long voyage, I soon arrived at the conviction that there was nobody
on board the Fram who would try to put difficulties in the way. On
the contrary, I had more and more reason to hope that they would all
receive the news with joy when they heard it; for then their whole
prospect would be so different. Everything had gone with surprising
ease up to this time; in future it would go even better.

It was not without a certain longing that I looked forward to our
arrival at Madeira: it would be grand to be able to speak out! No
doubt the others who knew of the plan were equally eager. Secrets
are neither amusing nor easy to carry about -- least of all on board
a ship, where one has to live at such close quarters as we had. We
were chatting together every day, of course, and the uninitiated
could not be deterred from leading the conversation round to the ugly
difficulties that would embitter our lives and hinder our progress
when rounding the Horn. It was likely enough that we should manage
to bring the dogs safely through the tropics once, but whether we
should succeed in doing so twice was more doubtful; and so on to
infinity. It is easier to imagine than to describe how awkward all
this was, and how cunningly one had to choose one's words to avoid
saying too much. Among inexperienced men there would have been no
great difficulty, but it must be remembered that on the Fram pretty
nearly every second man had spent years of his life in Polar voyages:
a single slight hint to them would have been enough to expose the
whole plan. That neither those on board nor anyone else discovered
it prematurely can only be explained by its being so obvious.

Our ship was a good deal too dependent on wind and weather to
enable us to make any accurate estimate of the time our voyage would
occupy, especially as regards those latitudes in which the winds are
variable. The estimate for the whole voyage was based on an average
speed of four knots, and at this very modest rate, as it may seem,
we ought to arrive at the lce Barrier about the middle of January,
1911. As will be seen later, this was realized with remarkable
exactness. For reaching Madeira we had allowed a month as a reasonable
time. We did a good deal better than this, as we were able to leave
Funchal a month to the day after our departure from Christiansand. We
were always ready to forgive the estimate when it was at fault in
this way.

The delay to which we had been subjected in the English Channel
was fortunately made up along the coast of Spain and to the south
of it. The north wind held until we were in the north-east trade,
and then we were all right. On September 5 our observations at noon
told us that we might expect to see the lights that evening, and
at 10 p.m. the light of San Lorenzo on the little island of Fora,
near Madeira, was reported from the rigging.



CHAPTER IV

From Madeira to the Barrier

On the following morning we anchored in Funchal Roads. My brother
was to arrive at Funchal, by arrangement, early enough to be sure
of preceding us there. It was, however, a good while before we saw
anything of him, and we were already flattering ourselves that we had
arrived first when he was suddenly observed in a boat coming under our
stern. We were able to tell him that all was well on board, and he
brought us a big packet of letters and newspapers that gave us news
of home. A little officious gentleman, who said he was a doctor, and
as such had come in an official capacity to inquire as to the state
of our health, was in an amazing hurry to leave the ship again when,
at the top of the gangway, he found himself confronted with a score
of dogs' jaws, which at the moment were opened wide on account of the
heat. The learned man's interest in our health had suddenly vanished;
his thoughts flew to the safety of his own life and limbs.

As Funchal was the last place where we could communicate with the
outside world, arrangements were made for completing our supplies
in every possible way, and in particular we had to take on board all
the fresh water we could. The consumption of this commodity would be
very large, and the possibility of running short had to be avoided
at any price. For the time being we could do no more than fill all
our tanks and every imaginable receptacle with the precious fluid,
and this was done. We took about 1,000 gallons in the long-boat
that was carried just above the main hatch. This was rather a risky
experiment, which might have had awkward consequences in the event of
the vessel rolling; but we consoled ourselves with the hope of fine
weather and a smooth sea during the next few weeks. During the stay at
Funchal the dogs had two good meals of fresh meat as a very welcome
variety in their diet; a fair-sized carcass of a horse disappeared
with impressive rapidity at each of these banquets. For our own
use we naturally took a plentiful supply of vegetables and fruits,
which were here to be had in abundance; it was the last opportunity
we should have of regaling ourselves with such luxuries.

Our stay at Funchal was somewhat longer than was intended at first,
as the engineers found it necessary to take up the propeller and
examine the brasses. This work would occupy two days, and while the
three mechanics were toiling in the heat, the rest of the ship's
company took the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the town
and its surroundings; the crew had a day's leave, half at a time. An
excursion was arranged to one of the numerous hotels that are situated
on the heights about the town. The ascent is easily made by means of
a funicular railway, and in the course of the half-hour it takes to
reach the top one is able to get an idea of the luxuriant fertility of
the island. At the hotels one finds a good cuisine, and, of course,
still better wine. It is scarcely necessary to add that we did full
justice to both.

For the descent a more primitive means of transport was employed:
we came down on sledges. It may be startling to hear of sledging in
Madeira, but I must explain that the sledges had wooden runners, and
that the road was paved with a black stone that was very smooth. We
went at a creditable pace down the steep inclines, each sledge being
drawn or pushed by three or four swarthy natives, who seemed to be
possessed of first-rate legs and lungs.

It may be mentioned as a curiosity that the newspapers of Funchal did
not hesitate to connect our expedition with the South Pole. The native
journalists had no idea of the value of the startling piece of news
they were circulating. It was a canard invented on the supposition
that when a Polar ship steers to the south, she must, of course,
be making for the South Pole. In this case the canard happened to be
true. Fortunately for us, it did not fly beyond the shores of Madeira.

By the afternoon of September 9 we could begin to make our preparations
for departure. The engineers had replaced the propeller and tested it;
all supplies were on board, and the chronometers had been checked. All
that remained was to get rid of the importunate bumboat -- men who
swarmed round the vessel in their little craft, each looking like
a small floating shop. These obtrusive fellows were quickly sent
off down the gangway: besides ourselves only my brother was left
on board. Now that we were thus completely isolated from the outer
world, the long-expected moment had arrived when I could proceed to
inform all my comrades of my decision, now a year old, to make for
the South. I believe all who were on board will long remember that
sultry afternoon in Funchal Roads. All hands were called on deck:
what they thought of I do not know, but it was hardly Antarctica and
the South Pole. Lieutenant Nilsen carried a big rolled-up chart; I
could see that this chart was the object of many interrogative glances.

Not many words were needed before everyone could see where the
wind lay, and what course we should steer henceforward. The second
in command unrolled his big chart of the southern hemisphere, and
I briefly explained the extended plan, as well as my reasons for
keeping it secret until this time. Now and again I had to glance at
their faces. At first, as might be expected, they showed the most
unmistakable signs of surprise; but this expression swiftly changed,
and before I had finished they were all bright with smiles. I was
now sure of the answer I should get when I finally asked each man
whether he was willing to go on, and as the names were called,
every single man had his "Yes" ready. Although, as I have said,
I had expected it to turn out as it did, it is difficult to express
the joy I felt at seeing how promptly my comrades placed themselves
at my service on this momentous occasion. It appeared, however, that
I was not the only one who was pleased. There was so much life and
good spirits on board that evening that one would have thought the
work was successfully accomplished instead of being hardly begun.

For the present, however, there was not much time to spare
for discussing the news. We had first to see about getting away;
afterwards there would be many months before us. Two hours' grace was
allowed, in which every man could write to his people at home about
what had just passed. The letters were probably not very long ones;
at all events, they were soon finished. The mail was handed over to
my brother to take to Christiania, from whence the letters were sent
to their respective destinations; but this did not take place until
after the alteration of our plans had been published in the Press.

It had been easy enough to tell my comrades the news, and they could
not have given it a better reception; it was another question what
people at home would say when the intelligence reached their ears. We
afterwards heard that both favourable and unfavourable opinions were
expressed. For the moment we could not trouble ourselves very greatly
with that side of the matter; my brother had undertaken to announce the
way we had taken, and I cannot say that I envied him the task. After
we had all given him a final hearty shake of the hand he left us, and
thereby our communication with the busy world was broken off. We were
left to our own resources. No one can say that the situation oppressed
us greatly. Our long voyage was entered upon as though it were a dance;
there was not a trace of the more or less melancholy feeling that
usually accompanies any parting. The men joked and laughed, while
witticisms, both good and bad, were bandied about on the subject of
our original situation. The anchor came up more quickly than usual,
and after the motor had helped us to escape from the oppressive heat
of the harbour, we had the satisfaction of seeing every sail filled
with the fresh and cooling north-east trade.

The dogs, who must have found the stay at Funchal rather too warm for
their taste, expressed their delight at the welcome breeze by getting
up a concert. We felt we could not grudge them the pleasure this time.

It was pure enjoyment to come on deck the morning after leaving
Madeira; there was an added note of friendliness in every man's
"Good-morning," and a smile twinkled in the corner of every eye. The
entirely new turn things had taken, and the sudden change to fresh
fields for thought and imagination, acted as a beneficent stimulus
to those who, the day before, had contemplated a trip round the
Horn. I think what chiefly amused them was their failure to smell a
rat before. "How could I have been such an ass as not to think of it
long ago?" said Beck, as he sent a nearly new quid into the sea. "Of
course, it was as plain as a pikestaff. Here we are with all these
dogs, this fine 'observation house,' with its big kitchen-range and
shiny cloth on the table, and everything else. Any fool might have
seen what it meant." I consoled him with the remark that it is always
easy to be wise after the event, and that I thought it very lucky no
one had discovered our destination prematurely.

Those of us who had been obliged hitherto to keep to themselves what
they knew, and to resort to all kinds of stratagems to avoid making
any disclosure, were certainly no less pleased at being rid of the
secret; now they could talk freely to their heart's content. If we
had previously had to resort to mystification, there was now nothing
to prevent our laying our cards on the table. So many a conversation
had come to a standstill because those who had a number of questions
to ask did not dare to put them, and those who could have told held
their tongues. Hereafter it would be a very long time before we were
at a loss for subjects of conversation; a theme had suddenly presented
itself, so varied and comprehensive that it was difficult at first
to know where to begin. There were many men on board the Fram with
a wealth of experience gained during years spent within the Arctic
Circle, but to almost all of us the great Antarctic continent was
a terra incognita. I myself was the only man on board who had seen
Antarctica; perhaps one or two of my companions had in former days
passed in the vicinity of an Antarctic iceberg on a voyage round Cape
Horn, but that was all.

What had previously been accomplished in the way of exploration in the
South, and the narratives of the men who had endeavoured to extend
our knowledge of that inhospitable continent, were also things that
very few of the ship's company had had time or opportunity to study,
nor had they perhaps had any reason to do so. Now there was every
possible reason. I considered it an imperative necessity that every man
should acquaint himself as far as possible with the work of previous
expeditions; this was the only way of becoming in some measure familiar
with the conditions in which we should have to work. For this reason
the Fram carried a whole library of Antarctic literature, containing
everything that has been written by the long succession of explorers
in these regions, from James Cook and James Clark Ross to Captain
Scott and Sir Ernest Shackleton. And, indeed, good use was made of
this library. The works of the two last-named explorers were in chief
request; they were read from cover to cover by all who could do so,
and, well written and excellently illustrated as these narratives are,
they were highly instructive. But if ample time was thus devoted to the
theoretical study of our problem, the practical preparations were not
neglected. As soon as we were in the trade-winds, where the virtually
constant direction and force of the wind permitted a reduction of
the watch on deck, the various specialists went to work to put our
extensive wintering outfit in the best possible order. It is true that
every precaution had been taken beforehand to have every part of the
equipment as good and as well adapted to its purpose as possible, but
the whole of it, nevertheless, required a thorough overhauling. With
so complicated an outfit as ours was, one is never really at the end
of one's work; it will always be found that some improvement or other
can be made. It will appear later that we had our hands more than
full of the preparations for the sledge journey, not only during the
long sea voyage, but also during the still longer Antarctic winter.

Our sailmaker, Rönne, was transformed into a -- well, let us call it
tailor. Rönne's pride was a sewing-machine, which he had obtained from
the yard at Horten after considerable use of his persuasive tongue. His
greatest sorrow on the voyage was that, on arriving at the Barrier, he
would be obliged to hand over his treasure to the shore party. He could
not understand what we wanted with a sewing-machine at Framheim. The
first thing he did when the Fram reached Buenos Aires was to explain
to the local representative of the Singer Sewing Machine Company how
absolutely necessary it was to have his loss made good. His gift of
persuasion helped him again, and he got a new machine.

For that matter, it was not surprising that Rönne was fond of his
machine. He could use it for all sorts of things -- sailmaker's,
shoemaker's, saddler's, and tailor's work was all turned out with
equal celerity. He established his workshop in the chart-house,
and there the machine hummed incessantly through the tropics, the
west wind belt, and the ice-floes too; for, quick as our sailmaker
was with his fingers, the orders poured in even more quickly. Rönne
was one of those men whose ambition it is to get as much work as
possible done in the shortest possible time, and with increasing
astonishment he saw that here he would never be finished; he might
go at it as hard as he liked -- there was always something more. To
reckon up all that he delivered from his workshop during these months
would take us too long; it is enough to say that all the work was
remarkably well done, and executed with admirable rapidity. Perhaps
one of the things he personally prided himself most on having made
was the little three-man tent which was afterwards left at the South
Pole. It was a little masterpiece of a tent, made of thin silk, which,
when folded together, would easily have gone into a fair-sized pocket,
and weighed hardly a kilogram.

At this time we could not count with certainty on the possibility of
all those who made the southern journey reaching latitude 90°. On
the contrary, we had to be prepared for the probability of some
of the party being obliged to turn back. It was intended that we
should use the tent in question, in case it might be decided to let
two or three men make the final dash, and therefore it was made as
small and light as possible. Fortunately we had no need to use it,
as every man reached the goal; and we then found that the best way
of disposing of Rönne's work of art was to let it stay there as a mark.

Our sailmaker had no dogs of his own to look after; he had no time
for that. On the other hand, he often assisted me in attending to
my fourteen friends up on the bridge; but he seemed to have some
difficulty in getting on terms of familiarity with the dogs and all
that belonged to them. It did not quite agree with his idea of life
on board ship to have a deck swarming with dogs. He regarded this
abnormal state of things with a sort of scornful compassion. "So you
carry dogs, too, aboard this ship," he would say, every time he came on
deck and found himself face to face with the "brutes." The poor brutes,
I am sure, made no attempt to attack Rönne's person more than anyone
else's, but he seemed for a long time to have great doubts about it. I
don't think he felt perfectly safe until the dogs had been muzzled.

A part of our equipment to which we gave special care was, of course,
the ski; in all probability they would be our chief weapon in the
coming fight. However much we might have to learn from Scott's and
Shackleton's narratives, it was difficult for us to understand their
statements that the use of ski on the Barrier was not a success. From
the descriptions that were given of the nature of the surface and
the general conditions, we were forced to the opposite conclusion,
that ski were the only means to employ. Nothing was spared to provide
a good skiing outfit, and we had an experienced man in charge of it --
Olav Bjaaland. It is sufficient to mention his name. When, on leaving
Norway, it was a question of finding a good place for our twenty pairs
of ski, we found we should have to share our own quarters with them;
they were all disposed under the ceiling of the fore-cabin. At any
rate, we had no better place to put them. Bjaaland, who during the
last month or two had tried his hand at the unaccustomed work of a
seaman, went back to his old trade of ski-maker and carpenter when
we came into the trade-winds. Both ski and bindings were delivered
ready for use by Hagen and Co., of Christiania; it remained to adapt
them, and fit the backstraps to each man's boots, so that all might
be ready for use on arrival at the Barrier. A full skiing outfit had
been provided for every man, so that those who were to be left on board
might also have a run now and then during their stay at the ice edge.

For each of our ten sledges, Bjaaland made during the voyage a pair
of loose runners, which it was intended to use in the same way as the
Eskimo use theirs. These primitive people have -- or, at all events,
had -- no material that was suited for shoeing sledge-runners. They
get over the difficulty by covering the runners with a coating of
ice. No doubt it requires a great deal of practice and patience to put
on this kind of shoeing properly, but when it is once on there can be
no question that this device throws all others into the shade. As I
say, we had intended to try this on the Barrier; we found, however,
that the pulling power of our teams was so good as to allow us to
retain our steel-shod runners with an easy conscience.

For the first fourteen days after leaving Madeira the north-east trade
was fresh enough to enable us to keep up our average rate, or a little
more, with the help of the sails alone. The engine was therefore
allowed a rest, and the engineers had an opportunity of cleaning
and polishing it; this they did early and late, till it seemed as if
they could never get it bright enough. Nödtvedt now had a chance of
devoting himself to the occupation which is his delight in this world
-- that of the blacksmith; and, indeed, there was opportunity enough
for his use of the hammer and anvil. If Rönne had plenty of sewing,
Nödtvedt had no less forging -- sledge-fittings, knives, pickaxes,
bars and bolts, patent hooks by the hundred for dogs, chains, and so
on to infinity. The clang and sparks of the anvil were going all day
long till we were well into the Indian Ocean. And in the westerly
belt the blacksmith's lot was not an enviable one; it is not always
easy to hit the nail on the head when one's feet rest on so unstable
a foundation as the Fram's deck, nor is it altogether pleasant when
the forge is filled with water several times a day.

While we were fitting out for the voyage, the cry was constantly
raised in certain quarters at home that the old Fram's hull was in a
shocking state. It was said to be in bad repair, to leak like a sieve
-- in fact, to be altogether rotten. It throws a curious light on these
reports when we look at the voyages that the Fram has accomplished in
the last two years. For twenty months out of twenty-four she has kept
going in open sea, and that, too, in waters which make very serious
demands on a vessel's strength. She is just as good as when she sailed,
and could easily do it all over again without any repairs. We who were
on board all knew perfectly well before we sailed how groundless and
foolish these cries about her "rottenness" were; we knew, too, that
there is scarcely a wooden ship afloat on which it is not necessary
to use the pumps now and then. When the engine was stopped, we found
it was sufficient to take a ten minutes' turn at the hand-pump every
morning; that was all the "leaking" amounted to. Oh no! there was
nothing wrong with the Fram's hull. On the other hand, there might be
a word or two to say about the rigging; if this was not all it should
have been, the fault lay entirely with the plaguy considerations of our
budget. On the foremast we had two squaresails; there ought to have
been four. On the jib-boom there were two staysails; there was room
enough for three, but the money would not run to it. In the Trades
we tried to make up for the deficiency by rigging a studding-sail
alongside the foresail and a sky-sail above the topsail. I will not
assert that these improvised sails contributed to improve the vessel's
appearance, but they got her along, and that is a great deal more
important. We made very fair progress southward during these September
days, and before the month was half over we had come a good way into
the tropical belt. No particularly tropical heat was felt, at any
rate by us men; and as a rule the heat is not severely felt on board
ship in open sea so long as the vessel is moving. On a sailing-ship,
lying becalmed with the sun in the zenith, it might be warmer than
one would wish; but in case of calms we had the engine to help us, so
that there was always a little breeze -- that is, on deck. Down below
it was worse; sometimes "hoggishly mild," as Beck used to put it. Our
otherwise comfortable cabins had one fault; there were no portholes
in the ship's side, and therefore we could not get a draught; but
most of us managed without shifting our quarters. Of the two saloons,
the fore-saloon was decidedly preferable in warm weather; in a cold
climate probably the reverse would be the case. We were able to
secure a thorough draught of air forward through the alleyway leading
to the forecastle; it was difficult to get a good circulation aft,
where they also had the warm proximity of the engine. The engineers,
of course, had the hottest place, but the ever-inventive Sundbeck
devised a means of improving the ventilation of the engine-room,
so that even there they were not so badly off under the circumstances.

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