From Pole to Pole

S >> Sven Anders Hedin >> From Pole to Pole

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

The progress would be slow, no doubt, but the expedition would see
regions of the world never before visited, and would have opportunities
of investigating the depth of the sea, the weather and winds. To reach
the small point called the North Pole was in Nansen's opinion of minor
importance.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIX. THE "FRAM."]

Among the many who wished to go with him he chose the best twelve. The
vessel was christened the _Fram_ (Plate XXXIX.), and the captain was
named Sverdrup. He had been with Nansen before on an expedition when
they crossed the inland ice of Greenland from coast to coast. They took
provisions for five years and were excellently equipped.

The first thing was to reach the New Siberia Islands. To those the
_Vega_ had shown the way, and the _Fram_ had only to follow in her
track. Just to the west of them a course was steered northwards, and
soon the vessel was set fast in the ice and was lifted satisfactorily on
to its surface without the smallest leak. So far everything had gone as
Nansen anticipated, and the experienced Polar voyagers who had declared
that the whole scheme was madness had to acknowledge that they were not
so clever as they thought.

We have unfortunately no time to accompany the voyagers on their slow
journey. They got on well, and were comfortable on board. The ice
groaned and cracked as usual, but within the heavy timbers of the _Fram_
there was peace. The night came, long, dark, and silent. Polar bears
stalked outside and were often shot. Before it became quite dark Nansen
tried the dogs at drawing sledges. They were harnessed, but when he took
his seat, off they went in the wildest career. They romped over blocks
and holes, and Nansen was thrown backwards, but sat fast in the sledge
and could not be thrown out. In time the driving went better, and the
poor, faithful animals had always to go on sledge excursions. Two were
seized by Polar bears and two were bitten to death by their comrades.
One fine day, however, puppies came into the world in the midst of the
deepest darkness. When they first saw the sun they barked furiously.

The _Fram_ drifted north-west just as Nansen had foreseen, passing over
great depths where the two thousand fathom line did not reach the
bottom. Christmas was kept with a Norwegian festival, and when the
eightieth parallel was crossed a tremendous feast was held; but the
return of the sun on February 20 excited the greatest delight. The
spring and summer passed without any remarkable events. Kennels were
erected on the ice out of boxes, and more puppies came into the world.
Possibly these were as much astonished at the winter darkness as their
cousins had been at seeing the sun.

Nansen had long been pondering on a bold scheme--namely, to advance with
dog sledges as far as possible to the north and then turn southwards to
Franz Josef Land. The ship was meanwhile to go on with the drift and the
usual observations were to be taken on board. Only one man was to go
with him, and he chose Lieutenant Johansen. He first spoke to him about
the scheme in November, 1894. It was, of course, a matter of life or
death, so he told Johansen to take a day or two to think it over before
he gave his answer. But the latter said "Yes" at once without a moment's
hesitation. "Then we will begin our preparations to-morrow," said
Nansen.

All the winter was spent in them. They made two "kayaks," each to hold a
single man, somewhat larger and stronger than those the Eskimos use when
they go fishing or seal-hunting. With a frame of ribs and covered with
sailcloth these canoes weighed only thirty pounds. They were covered in
all over, and when the boatman had taken his seat in the middle and made
all tight around him, seas might sweep right over him and the kayak
without doing any harm. A dog sledge, harness, a sleeping-bag for two,
skis, staffs, provisions, oil cooking-stove--all was made ready.

The start took place at the turn of the year, when the most terrible ice
pressure broke loose on all sides threatening the _Fram_. Mountains of
ice-blocks and snow were thrust against the vessel, which was in danger
of being buried under them. The sea water was forced up over the ice and
the dogs were nearly drowned in their kennels and had to be rescued
quickly. Banks of ice were pushed against the vessel, rolled over the
bulwarks, and weighed down the awning on the deck; and it was pitch
dark, so that they could not find out where danger threatened. They had,
however, stored provisions for two hundred days in a safe place. By
degrees the ice came to rest again and the great rampart was digged
away.

Twice did Nansen and Johansen set out northwards, only to come back
again. Once a sledge broke, and on the other occasion the load was too
heavy. On March 14 they left the _Fram_ for the last time and directed
their steps northward. They had three sledges and twenty-eight dogs, but
they themselves walked on skis and looked after their teams. At first
the ice was level and the pace was rapid, but afterwards it became lumpy
and uneven, and travelling was slow, as first one sledge and then
another stuck fast.

After two marches the temperature fell to-45 deg., and it was very cold in
the small silk tent. They were able to march for nine hours, and when
the ice was level it seemed as if the endless white plains might extend
up to the Pole. So long as they were travelling they did not feel the
cold, but the perspiration from their bodies froze in their clothes, so
that they were encased in a hauberk of ice which cracked at every step.
Nansen's wrists were made sore by rubbing against his hard sleeves, and
did not heal till far on in the summer.

They always looked out for some sheltered crevice in the ice to camp in.
Johansen looked after the dogs and fed them, while Nansen set up the
tent and filled the pot with ice. The evening meal was the pleasantest
in the day, for then at any rate they were warmed inside. After it they
packed themselves in their sleeping bag, when the ice on their clothes
melted and they lay all night as in a cold compress. They dreamed of
sledges and dog teams, and Johansen would call out to the dogs in his
sleep, urging them on. Then they would wake up again in the bitter
morning, rouse up the dogs, lying huddled up together and growling at
the cold, disentangle the trace lines, load the sledges, and off they
would go through the great solitude.

Only too frequently the ice was unfavourable, the sledges stuck fast,
and had to be pushed over ridges and fissures. They struggle on
northwards, however, and have travelled a degree of latitude. It is
tiring work to march and crawl in this way, and sometimes they are so
worn out that they almost go to sleep on their skis while the dogs
gently trot beside them. The dogs too are tired of this toil, and two of
them have to be killed. They are cut up and distributed among their
comrades, some of whom refuse to turn cannibals.

When the ice became still worse and the cold white desert looked like a
heap of stones as far northwards as the eye could see, Nansen decided to
turn back. It was impossible to find their way back to the _Fram_, for
several snowstorms had swept over the ice obliterating their tracks. The
only thing to do was to steer a course for the group of islands called
Franz Josef Land. It was 430 miles off, and the provisions were coming
to an end; but when the spring really set in they would surely find
game, and they had for their two guns a hundred and eighty cartridges
with ball and a hundred and fifty with shot. The dogs had the worst of
it; for them it was a real "dog's life" up there. The stronger were
gradually to eat up the weaker.

So they turned back and made long marches over easy ice. One day they
saw a complete tree trunk sticking up out of the ice. What singular
fortunes it must have experienced since it parted from its root! At the
end of April the spoor of two foxes was seen in the snow. Was land near,
or what were these fellows doing out here on the ice-covered sea? Two
days later a dog named Gulen was sacrificed. He was born on the _Fram_,
and during his short life had never seen anything but snow and ice; now
he was worn out and exhausted, and the travellers were sorry to part
from the faithful soul.

Open water, sunlit billows! How delightful to hear them splash against
the edge of the ice! The sound seemed to speak of spring and summer, and
to give them a greeting from the great ocean and the way back home. More
tracks of foxes indicated land, and they looked out for it daily. They
did not suspect that they had to travel for three months to the nearest
island.

At the beginning of May only sixteen dogs were left. Now the long summer
day commenced in the Arctic Ocean, and when the temperature was only
twenty degrees below freezing point they suffered from heat. But the ice
was bad, and they had to force the sledges over deep channels and high
hummocks thrust up by pressure. After great difficulties they staggered
along on skis. The work became heavier for the dogs as fewer were left,
but the provisions also diminished.

A furious snowstorm compelled them to remain in a camp. There they left
one of the sledges, and some broken skis were offered to the flames and
made a grand fire. Six dogs could still be harnessed to each of the two
remaining sledges.

At the end of May they came to an expanse of ice intersected by a
network of channels with open water, which blocked the way. Now animal
life began to appear with the coming of summer. In a large opening were
seen the grey backs of narwhals rolling over in the dark-blue water. A
seal or two were seeking fish, and tracks of Polar bears made them long
for fresh meat. Nansen often made long excursions in front to see where
the ice was best. Then Johansen remained waiting by the sledges, and if
the bold ski-runner were long away he began to fear that an accident had
happened. He dared not pursue his thoughts to an end--he would then be
quite alone.

June comes. The scream of ivory gulls pierces the air. The two men
remain a week in a camp to make their kayaks seaworthy. They have still
bread for quite a month. Only six dogs are left; when only three remain
they will have to harness themselves to the sledges.

In a large strip of open water they shoved out the kayaks, fastened them
together with skis, and paddled them along the margin of the ice. On the
other side they shot two seals and three Polar bears, and therefore had
meat for a long time. The last two dogs, too, could eat their fill.

At last the land they longed for appeared to the south, and they
hastened thither, a man and a dog to each sledge. Once they had again to
cross a strip of open water in kayaks, Nansen was at the edge of the ice
when he heard Johansen call out, "Get your gun." Nansen turned and saw
that a large bear had knocked Johansen down and was sniffing at him.
Nansen was about to take up his gun when the kayak slipped out into the
water, and while he was hauling and pulling at it he heard Johansen say
quite quietly, "You must look sharp if you want to be in time." So at
last he got hold of his gun, and the bear received his death-wound.

For five months they had struggled over the ice, when at the beginning
of August they stood at the margin of the ice and had open water before
them off the land. Now the sea voyage was to begin, and they had to part
with their last two dogs. It was a bitter moment. Nansen took Johansen's
dog and Johansen Nansen's, and a couple of bullets were the reward of
their faithfulness.

Now they travelled more easily and quickly. The kayaks were fastened
together, and with masts and sails they skimmed past unknown islands.
Heavy seas forced them to land on one of them. Just as they drew up
their kayaks a white bear came waddling along, got scent of them, and
began to sniff along their track. To our travellers his visit meant
provisions for a long time. Nansen and his travelling companion took
possession of their new territory, wandered over the island, and
returned to their dinner of bear, which did them good. Next day they
looked for a suitable dwelling-place. As they could not find a cave,
they built a small stone cabin, which they roofed with skis and the silk
tent. Light and wind came in on all sides, but it was comfortable enough
and the meat pot bubbled over a fire of fat.

Nansen decided to remain on this island for the winter. The islands they
had hitherto seen were unlike any of the known parts of Franz Josef
Land, and Nansen did not know exactly where he was. It was impossible
to venture out on the open sea in the kayaks. It was better to lay in a
supply of food for the winter, for when darkness came all the game would
disappear. First of all they must build a comfortable hut. There was
plenty of stone and moss, a trunk of driftwood found on the beach would
form a roof ridge, and if they could only get hold of a couple of
walruses, their roofing would be provided.

A large male walrus was lying puffing out in the water. The kayaks were
shoved out and lashed together, and from them the colossus was
bombarded. He dived, but came up under the boats, and the whole
contrivance was nearly capsized. At last he received his death-wound,
but just as Nansen was about to strike his harpoon into him he sank.
They had better luck, however, with two others which lay bellowing on
the ice and gradually went to sleep, unconscious that their minutes were
numbered. Nansen says that it seemed like murder to shoot them, and that
he never forgot their brown, imploring, melancholy eyes as they lay
supporting their heads on their tusks and coughing up blood. Then the
great brutes were flayed, and their flesh, blubber, and hides carried
into the hut. When they brought out the sledges and knives, Nansen
thought it might be as well to take the kayaks with them also. And that
was fortunate, for while they stood cutting up as in a slaughter-house,
a strong, biting land wind sprang up, their ice-floe parted from the
land ice and drifted away from the island. Dark-green water and white
foaming surge yawned behind them. There was no time to think. They were
drifting out to sea as fast as they could. But to go back empty-handed
would have been too vexatious; so they cut off a quarter of a hide and
dragged it with some lumps of blubber to the kayaks. They reached the
land in safety, dead tired after an adventurous row, and sought the
shelter of the hut.

In the night came a bear mamma with two large cubs, and made a thorough
inspection of the outside of the hut. The mother was shot and the cubs
made off to the shore, plunged in, and swam out to a slab of ice which
would just bear them, and scrambled up. There they stood moaning and
whining, and wondering why their mother stayed so long on shore. One
tumbled over the edge, but climbed up again on to the slippery floe and
the clean salt water ran off his fur. They drifted away with the wind
and soon looked like two white spots on the almost black water. Nansen
and Johansen wanted their meat, the more because the bears had torn and
mangled all the walrus meat lying outside the hut. The kayaks were
pushed out and were soon on the farther side of the floe with the bear
cubs. They were chased into the water and followed all the way to the
beach, where they were shot.

Things now began to look better--three bears all at once! Then the first
walrus came to the surface again, and while he was being skinned another
came to look on and had to join him. It was disgusting work to flay the
huge brutes. Both the men had their worn clothes smeared with train-oil
and blood, so that they were soaked right through. Ivory and glaucous
gulls, noisy and greedy, collected from far and near and picked up all
the offal. They would soon fly south, the sea would be covered with ice,
and the Polar night would be so dismal and silent.

It took a week to get the new hut ready. The shoulder blade of a walrus
fastened to a ski served as spade. A walrus tusk tied to a broken ski
staff made an excellent hoe. Then they raised the walls of the hut, and
inside they dug into the ground and made a sort of couch for both of
them, which they covered with bearskin. After two more walruses had been
shot they had plenty of roofing material, which they laid over the trunk
of driftwood. A bear came, indeed, and pulled down everything, but it
cost him dear, and afterwards the roof was strengthened with a weight of
stones. To make a draught through the open fireplace they set up on the
roof a chimney of ice. Then they moved into the new hut, which was to be
their abode through the long winter.

On October 15 they saw the sun for the last time. The bears vanished,
and did not return till the next spring. But foxes were left, and they
were extremely inquisitive and thievish. They stole their sail thread
and steel wire, their harpoon and line, and it was quite impossible to
find the stolen goods again. What they wanted with a thermometer which
lay outside it is hard to conceive, for it must have been all the same
to the foxes how many degrees of temperature there were in their earths.
All winter they were up on the roof pattering, growling, howling, and
quarrelling. There was a pleasant rattling up above, and the two men
really would not have been without their fox company.

One can hardly say that the days passed slowly, for the whole winter
was, of course, one long night. It was so silent and empty, and an
oppressive, solemn stillness reigned during the calm night. Sometimes
the aurora blazed in a mysterious crown in the sky, at other times so
dark, and the stars glittered with inconceivable brilliance. The
weather, however, was seldom calm. Usually the wind howled round the
bare rocks lashed by millions of storms since the earliest times, and
snow swished outside and built up walls close around the hut.

The endlessly long night passed slowly on. The men ate and slept, and
walked up and down in the darkness to stretch their limbs. Then came
Christmas with its old memories. They clean up, sweep and brush, and
take up a foot's depth of frozen refuse from the floor of the hut. They
rummage for some of the last good things from the _Fram_, and then
Nansen lies listening and fancies he hears the church bells at home.

In the midst of the winter night comes New Year's Day, when it is so
cold that they can only lie down and sleep, and look out of their
sleeping-bag only to eat. Sometimes they do not put out their noses for
twenty hours on end, but lie dosing just like bears in their lairs.

On the last day of February the sun at last appears again. He is
heartily welcome, and he is accompanied by some morning birds, Little
Auks. The two men are frightened of each other when daylight shines on
them, as their hair and beards have grown so long. They have not washed
for a year or more, and are as black in the face as negroes. Nansen, who
is usually extremely fair, has now jet-black hair. They may be excused
for not bathing at a temperature of-40 deg.

The first bear has come. Here he is scratching at the hut and wanting to
get in; there is such a good smell from inside. A bullet meets him on
the way. And as he runs off up a steep slope he gets another, and comes
rolling down in wild bounces like a football. They lived on him for six
weeks.

While the days grew lighter they worked at a new outfit. They made
trousers out of their blankets. Shoes were patched, rope was cut out of
walrus hide, new runners were put on the sledges, the provisions were
packed, and on May 19 they left their cabin and marched farther
south-west.

Time after time they had to rest on account of snowstorms. They had
thrown away the tent, and instead they crept in between the sledges
covered with the sail. Once Nansen came down when on skis, and would
have been drowned if Johansen had not helped him up in time. The snow
lying on this ice was soaked with water. They had always to keep their
eyes open and look for firm ice. The provisions came to an end, but the
sea swarmed with walruses. Sometimes the animals were so bold that
Nansen could go up to them and take photographs. When a fine brute had
been shot the others still lay quiet, and only by hitting them with
their alpenstocks could the travellers get rid of them. Then the animals
would waddle off in single file and plunge head first into the water,
which seemed to boil up around them.

Once they had such level ice and a good wind behind them that they
hoisted sail on the sledges, stood on skis in front of them to steer,
and flew along so that the snow was thrown up around them.

Another time they sailed with the kayaks lashed together and went ashore
on an island to get a better view. The kayak raft was moored with a
walrus rope. As they were strolling round Johansen called out, "Hullo,
the kayaks are adrift."

They ran down. The wind was blowing off the land. Out on the fiord all
they possessed in the world was being mercilessly carried away.

"Take my watch," cried Nansen, and throwing off a few clothes he jumped
into the ice-cold water, and swam after the kayaks. But they drifted
more rapidly than Nansen swam, and the case seemed hopeless. He felt his
limbs growing numb, but he thought he might as well drown as swim back
without the boats. He struck out for his life, became tired, lay on his
back, went on again, saw that the distance was lessening, and put out
all his strength for a last spurt. He was quite spent and on the point
of sinking when he caught hold of one of the canoes and could hang on
and get his breath. Then he heaved himself up into the kayak, and rowed
back shivering, with chattering teeth, benumbed, and frozen blue. When
he reached the land Johansen put him in the sleeping-bag and laid over
him everything he could find. And when he had slept a few hours he was
as lively as a cricket and did justice to the supper.

Farther and farther south they continued their daring journey over ice
and waves. A walrus came up beside Nansen's canoe, and tried its
solidity with his tusks, nearly taking kayak and oarsman down with him
to the salt depths. When the animal went off, Nansen felt uncomfortably
cold and wet about the legs. He rowed to the nearest ice, where the
kayak sank in shallow water and all he possessed was wet and spoiled.
Then they had to give themselves a good rest and repair all damages,
while walruses grunted and snorted close beside them.

This journey of Nansen's is a unique feat in the history of Polar
travels. Of the crews of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, a hundred and
thirty-four men, not one had escaped, though they had not lost their
vessels and though they lay quite close to a coast where there were
human beings and game. But these two Norwegians had now held out in the
Polar sea for fifteen months, and had preserved their lives and limbs
and were in excellent condition.

Their hour of delivery was at hand. On June 17 Nansen ascended an ice
hummock and listened to the commotion made by a whole multitude of
birds. What now? He listens holding his breath. No, it is impossible!
Yes, indeed, that is a dog's bark. It must surely be a bird with a
peculiar cry. No, it _is_ a dog barking.

He hurried back to the camp. Johansen thought it was a mistake. They
bolted their breakfast. Then Nansen fastened skis on his feet, took his
gun, field-glass, and alpenstock, and flew swiftly as the wind over the
white snow.

See, there are the footprints of a dog! Perhaps a fox? No, they would be
much smaller. He flies over the ice towards the land. Now he hears a
man's voice. He yells with all the power of his lungs and takes no heed
of holes and lumps as he speeds along towards life, safety, and home.

Then a dog runs up barking. Behind him comes a man. Nansen hurries to
meet him, and both wave their caps. Whoever this traveller with the dog
may be, he has good reason for astonishment at seeing a jet-black giant
come jolting on skis straight from the North Pole.

They meet. They put out their hands.

"How do you do?" asks the Englishman.

"Very well, thank you," says Nansen.

"I am very glad to see you here."

"So am I," cries Nansen.

The Englishman with the dog is named Jackson, and has been for two years
in Franz Joseph Land making sledge journeys and explorations. He
concludes that the black man on skis is some one from the _Fram_, but
when he hears that it is Nansen himself he is still more astonished and
agreeably surprised.

They went to Jackson's house, whither Johansen also was fetched. Both
our explorers washed with soap and brush several times to get off the
worst of the dirt, all that was not firmly set and imbedded in their
skins. They scrubbed and scraped and changed their clothes from top to
toe, and at last looked like human beings.

Later in the summer a vessel came with supplies for Jackson. With this
vessel Nansen and Johansen sailed home. At Vardoe they received telegrams
from their families, and their delight was unbounded. Only one thing
troubled them. Where was the _Fram_? Some little time later Nansen was
awakened at Hammerfest one morning by a telegraph messenger. The
telegram he brought read: "_Fram_ arrived in good condition. All well on
board. Shall start at once for Tromsoe. Welcome home." The sender of the
telegram was the captain of the _Fram_, the brave and faithful
Sverdrup.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37