Chapter VI.Engagement and Marriage.—Home-Life.—Planning the Polar Expedition.Two months after Nansen had returned home from his Greenland expedition he became engaged to Eva Sars, daughter of the late Professor Sars, and was married to her the same autumn. Her mother was the sister of the poet Welhaven.The following story of his engagement is related:—“On the night of Aug. 12 a shower of gravel and small pebbles rattled against the panes of a window in the house where Fridtjof Nansen’s half-sister lived. He was very fond of her, and of her husband also, who had indeed initiated him in the use of gun and rod, and who had taken him with him, when a mere lad, on many a sporting excursion to Nordmarken.“On hearing this unusual noise at the dead of night, his brother-in-law jumped out of bed in no very amiable frame of mind, and opening the window, called out, ‘What is it?’“‘I want to come in!’ said a tall figure dressed in gray, from the street below.“A volley of expletives greeted the nocturnal visitor, who kept on saying, ‘I want to come in.’“Before long Fridtjof Nansen was standing in his sister’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning.“Raising herself up in the bed, she said, ‘But, Fridtjof, whatever is it?’“‘I’m engaged to be married—that’s all!’ was the laconic reply.“‘Engaged! But with whom?’“‘Why, with Eva, of course!’“Then he said he felt very hungry, and his brother-in-law had to take a journey into the larder and fetch out some cold meat, and then down into the cellar after a bottle of champagne. His sister’s bed served for a table, and a new chapter in ‘Fridtjof’s saga’ was inaugurated at this nocturnal banquet.”The story goes, Nansen first met his future wife in a snowdrift. One day, it appears, when up in the Frogner woods, he espied two little boots sticking up out of the snow. Curiosity prompted him to go and see to whom the said boots belonged, and as he approached for that purpose, a little snow be-sprinkled head peered up at him. It was Eva Sars!What gives this anecdote interest is that it was out of the snow and the cold to which he was to dedicate his life, she, who became dearer to him than life itself, first appeared.Another circumstance connected therewith worthy of note is that Eva Sars was a person of rather a cold and repellent nature, and gave one the impression that there was a good deal of snow in her disposition. Hence the reason perhaps why she kept aloof rather than attracted those who would know her. Fridtjof Nansen, however, was not the man to be deterred by coldness. He was determined to win her, even if heshould have to cross the inland ice of Greenland for that purpose.But when she became his wife all the reserve and coldness of her nature disappeared. She took the warmest interest in his plans, participated in his work, making every sacrifice a woman can make to promote his purpose. In all his excursions in the open air she accompanied him; and when she knew that he was making preparations for another expedition, one involving life itself, not a murmur escaped her lips. And when the hour of parting came at last, and a long, lonely time of waiting lay before her, she broke out into song. For in those dreary years of hope deferred she developed into an accomplished songstress; and when the fame of Nansen’s exploit resounded throughout the whole north, the echo of her song answered in joyful acclaim. The maidens of Norway listening to her spirited strains, and beholding this brave little woman with her proudly uplifted head, learnt from Eva Nansen that such was the way in which a woman should meet a sorrow—such the way in which she should undergo a time of trial.The following story, in Nansen’s own words, will serve to give an idea of the sort of woman she was:“It was New Year’s Eve, 1890. Eva and I had gone on a little trip to Kröderen,1and we determined to get to the top of Norefjeld. “We slept at Olberg, and, feeling rather lazy next morning, did not set out tillnearly noon. We took it very easily, moreover! Even in summer-time it is a stiff day’s work to clamber up Norefjeld; but in winter, when the days are short, one has to look pretty sharp to reach the top while it is light. Moreover, the route we chose, though perhaps the most direct, was not by any means the shortest. The snow lay very deep; and soon it became impossible to go on ski, the ascent being so steep, that we had to take them off and carry them. However, we had made up our minds to reach the top; for it would never do to turn back after having gone half-way, difficult though the ascent might be. The last part of our journey was the most trying of all; I had to cut out steps with my ski-staff to get a foothold in the frozen snow. I went in front, and Eva followed close behind me. It really seemed that we slipped two steps backward for every one we took forward. At last we reached the top; it was pitch dark, and we had been going from tenA.M.to fiveP.M., without food. But, thank goodness, we had some cheese and pemmican with us, so we sat down on the snow, and ate it.“Yes! there were we two alone on the top of Norefjeld, five thousand feet above the sea, with a biting wind blowing that made our cheeks tingle, and the darkness growing thicker and thicker every moment. Far away in the west there was a faint glimmer of daylight,—of the last day of the old year,—just enough to guide us by. The next thing to be done was to get down to Eggedal. From where we were it was a distance of about six and one-half miles, a matter of little consequence in broad daylight, but in the present instanceno joke, I can assure you! However, it had to be done. So off we started, I leading the way, Eva following.“We went like the wind down the slope, but had to be very careful. When one has been out in the dark some little time, it is just as if the snow gives out a faint light—though light it cannot really be termed, but a feeble kind of shimmer. Goodness only knows how we managed to get down, but get down we did! As it was too steep to go on ski, there was nothing for it but to squat and slide down—a kind of locomotion detrimental, perhaps, to one’s breeches, but under the circumstances unquestionably the safest mode of proceeding in the dark!“When we had got half-way down my hat blew off. So I had to ‘put the brake on,’ and get up on my legs, and go after it. Far away above me I got a glimpse of a dark object on the snow, crawled after it, got up to it, and grasped it, to find it was only a stone! My hat, then, must be further up. Surely that was it—again I got hold of a stone! The snow seemed to be alive with stones. Hat after hat, hat after hat, but whenever I tried to put it on my head, it turned out to be a stone. A stone for bread is bad enough, and stones for hats are not a bit better! So I had to give it up, and go hatless.“Eva had been sitting waiting for me all this while. ‘Eva,’ I shouted, and a faint answer came back from below.“Those miles seemed to be uncommonly long ones. Every now and then we could use our ski, and then itwould become so steep again that we had to carry them. At last we came to a standstill. There was a chasm right in front of us,—how deep it was it was too dark to ascertain. However, we bundled over it somehow or other, and happily the snow was very deep. It is quite incredible how one can manage to get over a difficulty!“As regards our direction, we had lost it completely; all we knew was that we must get down into the valley. Again we came to a standstill, and Eva had to wait while I went on, groping in the dark, trying to find a way. I was absent on this errand some little time. Presently it occurred to me, ‘What if she should have fallen asleep!’“‘Eva!’ I shouted, ‘Eva!’ Yes, she answered; but she must be a long way above where I was. If she had been asleep it would have been a difficult matter to have found her. But I groped my way up-hill to her, with the consolation that I had found the bed of a stream. Now the bed of a stream is not very well adapted for ski, especially when it is pitch dark, and the stomach is empty, and conscience pricks you,—for really I ought not to have ventured on such an expedition with her. However, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ and we got through all right.“We had now got down to the birch scrub, and at last found our road.“After some little time we passed a cabin. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to take refuge in, but Eva said it was so horribly dirty! She was full of spirits now, and voted for going on. So on we went, and in due time reached the parish clerk’s house in Eggedal.Of course the inmates were in bed, so we had to arouse them. The clerk was horrified when I told him we had just come from the top of Norefjeld. This time Eva was not so nice about lodgings, for no sooner had she sat down on a chair, than she fell asleep. It was midnight, mind you, and she had been in harness fourteen hours.“‘He’s a bit tired, poor lad!’ said the clerk. For Eva had on a ski-dress with a very small skirt, trousers, and a Lapp fur cloak.“‘That’s my wife,’ I replied, whereupon he burst out into a laugh. ‘Nay, nay! to drag his wife with him over the top of Norefjeld on New Year’s Eve!’ he said.“Presently he brought in something to eat, for we were famished; and when Eva smelt it wasn’t cheese and pemmican, she woke up.“We rested here three days. Yes, it had been a New Year’s Eve trip. A very agreeable one in my opinion, but I’m not so sure Eva altogether agreed with me!“Two days later I and the ‘poor little lad’ drove through Numedal to Kongsberg in nine degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), which nearly froze the little fellow. But it is not a bad thing occasionally to have to put up with some inconveniences—you appreciate comforts afterward so much the more. He who has never experienced what cold is, does not really know the meaning of warmth!”The day after the wedding the newly married pair set out for Newcastle, where there was to be a meetingof the Geographical Society, travellingviaGothenburg, Hamburg, and London. After this they went to Stockholm, and here Nansen was presented with the “Vega” medal by His Majesty. This was a distinguished honor, the more so as it had hitherto only been awarded to five persons, among whom were Stanley and Nordenskjöld. Nansen subsequently was presented with several medals in foreign countries, and was made a Knight of the Order of St. Olaf and Danebrog.On their return from Stockholm to Norway, Nansen and his wife took apartments at Marte Larsen’s, the old housekeeper at Store Fröen, and stayed there two months, after which they took a house on the Drammen road. But they did not enjoy themselves there, and Nansen determined to build a house, for which purpose he bought a site at Svartebugta, near Lysaker.2It was here that, as a boy, he had often watched for wild ducks. It was a charming spot, moreover, and within easy distance of the town. The house was finished in the spring of 1890. During the whole of the winter, while building operations were going on, they lived in an icy cold pavillion near Lysaker railway station.“It was here he weaned me from freezing,” says Eva Nansen.In this wretched habitation, where the water froze in the bedroom at night, Nansen would sit and work at his book on Greenland, and when he had time would superintend the building of the new house. It was called “Godthaab”—a name given it by Björnstjerne Björnson.In the autumn of this year Nansen set out on a lengthened lecturing tour, accompanied by his wife. He lectured in Copenhagen, London, Berlin, and Dresden, about his Greenland experiences, and also about the projected expedition to the North Pole. Everywhere people were attracted by his captivating individuality; but most thought this new expedition too venturesome. Even the most experienced Arctic explorers shook their heads, for they thought that, from such a daring enterprise, not a single member of the expedition would ever return alive.But Nansen adhered to his own opinions, and we see him in the intervening years occupied with the equipment required for an expedition to the polar regions—a work so stupendous that the preparations for the Greenland expedition were but child’s play in comparison.1Kröderen, a lake about forty miles to the northwest of Christiania.Norefjeld, a mountain on the west side of the lake.Olberg, a farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.2Lysaker, a railroad station about four miles west of Christiania.Chapter VII.Preparations for the Polar Expedition.—Starting from Norway.—Journey along the Siberian Coast.Nansen’s theory as regards the expedition to the North Pole was as simple as it was daring. He believed that he had discovered the existence of a current passing over the pole, and of this he would avail himself. His idea, in fact, was to work his way into the ice among the New Siberian Islands, let his vessel be fast frozen into the drift-ice, and be carried by the current over the Pole to the east coast of Greenland. There articles had been found on ice-floes that had unquestionably belonged to former Arctic expeditions, a fact that convinced him of the existence of such a current.It might take some years for a vessel to drift all that way; he must, therefore, make his preparations accordingly. Such at all events was Nansen’s theory—a theory which, it must be said, few shared with him. For none of the world’s noted explorers of those regions believed in the existence of such a current, and people generally termed the scheme, “a madman’s idea!”Nansen, therefore, stood almost alone in this, and yet not altogether alone, either. For the Norwegian people who would not sacrifice $1,350 for the Greenland expedition gave him now in a lump sum 280,000 kroner ($75,600). They were convinced of his gigantic powers,and when the Norwegians are fully convinced of a thing, they are willing to make any sacrifice to carry it out. They believed in him now!Nansen then set to work in earnest at his gigantic undertaking.First of all a vessel must be designed,—one that would be able to defy the ice. Availing himself, therefore, of the services of the famous shipbuilder, Colin Archer, he had the Fram1built—a name suggestive of noble achievements to the youth of Norway.On Oct. 26, 1892, she was launched at Laurvig. During the previous night the temperature had been fourteen degrees above zero, and a slight sprinkling of snow had covered valley and height with a thin veil of white. The morning sun peered through the mist with that peculiar hazy light that foretells a bright winter day.At the station at Laurvig, Nansen waited to receive his guests. A whaler, with a crow’s-nest on her foretop, was lying in the harbor, to convey the visitors to the spot where the Fram was lying on the stocks.In the bay at Reykjavik the huge hull of a vessel may be seen raised up on the beach, with her stern toward the sea. It is Fridtjof Nansen’s new ship that is now to be launched. She is a high vessel, of great beam, painted black below and white above. Three stout masts of American pitch-pine are lying by her side on the quay, while three flagstaffs, two of them only with flags flying, rear themselves up aloft on her deck. The flag which is to be run up the bare staff is to bear thevessel’s name—unknown as yet. Everybody is wondering what that name will be, and conjectures whether it will be Eva, Leif, Norway, Northpole, are rife.Crowds of spectators are assembled at the wharf, while as many have clambered upon the adjacent rocks. But around the huge ship, which lies on the slips firmly secured with iron chains, are standing groups of stalwart, weather-beaten men in working attire. They are whalers, who for years have frequented the polar seas and braved its dangers, and are now attentively examining and criticising the new ship’s construction. A goodly number, too, of workmen are there,—the men who built the ship; and they are looking at their work with feelings of pride. And yonder is the vessel’s architect,—that stately, earnest-looking man with the long, flowing white beard,—Colin Archer.And now, accompanied by his wife, Nansen ascends the platform that has been erected in the ship’s bow. Mrs. Nansen steps forward, breaks a bottle of champagne on the prow, and in clear, ringing tones declares, “Framis her name.” At the same moment a flag on which the vessel’s name can be read in white letters on a red ground, is run up to the top of the bare flagstaff.The last bands and chains are quickly removed, and the ponderous mass glides, stern first, slowly down the incline, but with ever-increasing velocity, toward the water. For a moment some anxiety is felt lest she should sink or get wedged; but as soon as her bows touch the water the stern rises up, and the Fram floats proudly on the sea, and is then at once moored fast with warps to the quay.Crew of the Fram.Crew of the Fram.By Permission of Harper & BrothersMeanwhile Nansen stood beside his wife, and all eyes turned toward them. But not a trace of anxiety or doubt could be discerned on his frank and open countenance; for he possessed that faith in his project that is able to remove mountains.The next matter of importance was to select the crew. There was ample material to choose from, for hundreds of volunteers from abroad offered themselves, besides Norwegians. But it was a Norwegian expedition—her crew, then, must be exclusively a national crew! And so Otto Sverdrup, who had earned his laurels in the Greenland expedition; Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the royal navy; Henrik Greve Blessing, surgeon; Theodor Claudius Jacobsen and Adolf Juell of the mercantile marine; Anton Amundsen and Lars Petterson, engineers; Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant of the royal army reserve, Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner; Bernt Nordahl, electrician; Ivar Otto Irgens Mogstad, head keeper at the lunatic asylum; and Bernt Berntsen, common sailor,—were selected. Most of them were married and had children.Sverdrup was to be the Fram’s commander, for Nansen knew that the ship would be safer in his hands than in his own.Finally, after an incredible deal of hard work in getting everything in order, the day of their departure arrived.It was midsummer—a dull, gloomy day. The Fram, heavily laden, is lying at Pipperviken Quay, waiting for Nansen. The appointed hour is past, and yet there are no signs of him. Members of the storthing,who had assembled there to bid him farewell, can wait no longer, and the crowds of people that line the quay are one and all anxiously gazing over the fjord.But presently a quick-sailing little petroleum boat heaves in sight. It swings round Dyna,2and quickly lies alongside the Fram; and Nansen goes on board his ship at once, and gives the order to “go ahead.” Every eye is fixed on him. He is as calm as ever, firm as a rock, but his face is pale.The anchor is weighed; and after making the tour of the little creek, the Fram steams down the fjord. “Full speed” is the command issued from the bridge; and as she proceeds on her way, Nansen turns round to take a farewell look over Svartebugta where Godthaab lies. He discerns a glimpse of a woman’s form dressed in white by the bench under the fir-tree, and then turns his face away; it was there he had bidden her farewell. Little Liv, his only child, had been carried by her mother, crowing and smiling, to bid father good-by, and he had taken her in his arms.“Yes, you smile, little one!” he said; “but I”—and he sobbed.This had taken place but an hour before. And now he was standing on the bridge alone, leaving all he held dear behind.The twelve men who accompanied him,—they, too, had made sacrifices,—each had his own sorrow to meet at this hour; but at the word of command, one and all went about their duty as if nothing was amiss.For the first few days it was fine weather, but on getting out as far as Lindesnæs3it became very stormy. The ship rolled like a log, and seas broke over the rails on both sides. Great fear was entertained lest the deck cargo should be carried overboard, a contingency, indeed, that soon occurred; for twenty-five empty paraffin casks broke loose from their lashings, and a quantity of reserve timber balks followed.“It was an anxious time,” says Nansen. “Seasick I stood on the bridge, alternately offering libations to the gods of the sea, and trembling for the safety of the boats and of the men who were trying to make snug what they could on deck. Now a green sea poured over us, and knocked one fellow off his legs so that he was deluged; now the lads were jumping over hurtling spars to avoid getting their feet crushed. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell was lying asleep in the ‘Grand Hotel,’ as we called one of the long boats, and awoke to find the sea roaring under him. I met him at the cabin door as he came running down. Once the Fram buried her bows and shipped a sea over the forecastle. One fellow was clinging to the anchor davits over the foaming water; it was poor Juell again.”Then all the casks, besides a quantity of timber, had to be thrown overboard. It was, indeed, an anxious time.But fine weather came at last, and Bergen turned out to meet them in brilliant sunshine. Then on again, along the wonderful coast of Norway, while the people on shore stood gazing after them, marvelling as they passed.At Beian4Sverdrup joined the ship, and Berntsen, the thirteenth member of the crew, at Tromsö.5Still onward toward the north, till finally the last glimpse of their native country faded from their sight in the hazy horizon, and a dense fog coming on enveloped them in its shroud. They were to have met the Urania, laden with coal, in Jugor straits; but as that vessel had not arrived, and time was precious, the Fram proceeded on her course, after having shipped a number of Esquimau dogs which a Russian, named Trontheim, had been commissioned to procure for the expedition. It was here that Nansen took leave of his secretary, Cristophersen, who was to return by the Urania; and the last tie that united them with Norway was severed.The Fram now heads out from the Jugor straits into the dreaded Kara sea, which many had prophesied would be her destruction. But they worked their way through storm and ice, at times satisfactorily, at others encountering slight mishaps; but the Fram proved herself to be a reliable iceworthy vessel, and Nansen felt more and more convinced that, when the ice-pressure began in real earnest, she would acquit herself well.“It was a royal pleasure,” he writes, “to take her into difficult ice. She twists and turns like a ball on a plate—and so strong! If she runs into a floe at full speed, she scarcely utters a sound, only quivers a little, perhaps.”When, as was often the case, they had to anchor on account of bad weather, Nansen and his companions would go ashore, either for the purpose of taking observations or for sport. One day they shot two bears and sundry reindeer; but, when they started to row back to the Fram in the evening, they had a severe task before them. For a strong breeze was blowing, and the current was dead against them. “We rowed as if our finger-tips would burst,” says Nansen, “but could hardly make any headway. So we had to go in under land again to get out of the current. But no sooner did we set out for the Fram again than we got into it once more, and then the whole manœuvre had to be repeated, with the same result. Presently a buoy was lowered from the ship: if we could only reach it, all would be right. But no such luck was in store for us yet. We would make one more desperate effort, and we rowed with a will, every muscle of our bodies strained to the utmost. But to our vexation we now saw the buoy being hauled up. We rowed a little to the windward of the Fram, and then tried again to sheer over. This time we got nearer her than we had been before, but still no buoy was thrown over—not even a man was to be seen on deck. We roared like madmen,” writes Nansen, “for a buoy—we had no strength left for another attempt. It was not a pleasing prospect to have to drift back, and go ashore again in our wet clothes,—wewouldget on board! Once more we yelled like wild Indians, and now they came rushing aft, and threw out the buoy in our direction. We put our last strength into our oars. There wereonly a few boat-lengths to cover, and the lads bent flat over the thwarts. Now only three boat-lengths. Another desperate spurt! Now only two and a half boat-lengths—presently two—then only one! A few more frantic pulls, and there was a little less. ‘Now, my lads, one or two more hard pulls—keep to it!—Now another—don’t give in—one more—there we have it!’ And a joyful sigh of relief passed round the boat. ‘Keep her going, or the rope will break—row, my lads!’ And row we did, and soon they had hauled us alongside the Fram. Not till we were lying there, getting our bearskins and flesh hauled on board, did we realize what we had had to fight against. The current was running along the side of the ship like a millstream. At last we were on board. It was evening by this time, and it was a comfort to get some hot food, and then stretch one’s limbs in a comfortable, dry berth.”The Fram proceeded on her course the next day, passing a number of unknown islands, to which Nansen gave names. Among these were Scott-Hansen’s Islands, Ringnes, Mohns, etc.On Sept. 6, the anniversary of Nansen’s wedding, they passed Taimar Island, and after a prosperous passage through open water reached Cape Tscheljuskin on Sept. 9.Nansen was sitting in the crow’s nest that evening. The weather was perfectly still, and the sky lay in a dream of gold and yellow. A solitary star was visible; it stood directly over Cape Tscheljuskin, twinkling brightly, though sadly, in the pale sky overhead. As the vessel proceeded on her course it seemed to followthem. There was something about that star that attracted Nansen’s attention, and brought him peace. It was as it werehisstar, and he felt that she who was at home was sending him a message by it. Meanwhile the Fram toiled on through the gloomy melancholy of the night out into the unknown.In the morning, when the sun rose up, a salute was fired, and high festival held on board.A few days later a herd of walrus was sighted. It was a lovely morning, and perfectly calm, so that they could distinctly hear their bellowings over the clear surface of the water, as they lay in a heap on an ice-floe, the blue mountains glittering in the sunlight in the background.“My goodness, what a lot of meat!” ejaculated Juell, the cook. And at once Nansen, Juell, and Henriksen set out after them, Juell rowing, Nansen armed with a gun, and Henriksen with a harpoon. On getting to close quarters Henriksen threw the harpoon at the nearest walrus, but it struck too high, and glanced off the tough hide, and went skipping over the rounded backs of the others. Now all was stir and life. Ten or a dozen of the bulky animals waddled with upraised heads to the extreme edge of the floe, whereupon Nansen took aim at the largest, and fired. The brute staggered, and fell headlong into the water. Another bullet into a second walrus was attended with the same result, and the rest of the herd plunged into the water, so that it boiled and seethed. Soon, however, they were up again, all around the boat, standing upright in the water, bellowing and roaring till the air shook. Everynow and then they would make a dash toward the boat, then dive, and come up again. The sea boiled like a cauldron, and every moment they seemed about to dash their tusks through the side of the boat, and capsize it. Fortunately, however, this did not occur. Walrus after walrus was shot by Nansen, while Henriksen was busy with his harpoon to prevent them sinking.At last, after a favorable journey through open water, the Fram finally reached firm ice on Sept. 25, and allowed herself to be frozen in; for winter was fast approaching, and it was no longer possible to drive her through the ice.1Frammeans onward.2Dyna, an islet with a lighthouse in Christiania harbor.3Cape Lindesnæs, the southernmost point of Norway.4Beian(pron. By-an), a village and stopping-place for the coast-wise steamers in northern Norway, near Trondhjem.5Tromsö, the chief city and bishop’s see of the bishopric of same name, the northernmost diocese in Norway.Chapter VIII.Drifting Through the Ice.—Christmas.—Daily Life on the Fram.—Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.From Sept. 26 the Fram lay frozen in in the drift-ice, and many a long day would pass ere she would be loose again. Nansen’s theory of a current over the North Pole would now be proved to be correct or the reverse.It was a monotonous time that was approaching for the men on board. At first they drifted but very little northward, each succeeding day bringing but little alteration; but they kept a good heart, for they had not to suffer from lack of anything that could conduce to their comfort. They had a good ship, excellently equipped, and so passed the days as best they could,—now occupying themselves with seeing to the dogs or taking observations, etc.; while reading, playing cards, chess, halma, and making all kinds of implements, filled up the remainder of their time. Every now and then the monotony of their existence would undergo variation, when the ice-pressure set in. Then there was plenty of life and stir on board, and all hands would turn out to do battle with the foe.The Fram in an ice pressure.The Fram in an ice pressure.By Permission of Harper & Brothers.It was on Monday, Oct. 9, that the Fram underwent her first experience of a regular ice-pressure. Nansen and the others were sitting after dinner, as usual, chattingabout one thing and another, when all at once a deafening sound was heard, and the ship quivered from stem to stern. Up they rushed on deck; for now the Fram was to be put to the test—and gloriously she passed through it! When the ice nipped she lifted herself up, as if raised by invisible hands, and pushed the floes down below her.An ice-pressure is a most wonderful thing. Let us hear what Nansen says of it:—“It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the ship’s sides, gradually sounding louder in every conceivable key. Now it is a high plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship gives a start up. Steadily the noise increases till it is like all the pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or is gently lifted up. But presently the uproar slackens, and the ship sinks down into her old position again, as if in a safe bed.”But woe to them who have not such a ship to resort to under a pressure like this; for when once it begins in real earnest, it is as if there could not be a spot on the earth’s surface that would not tremble and shake.“First,” says Nansen, “you hear a sound like the thundering rumble of an earthquake far away on the great waste; then you hear it in several places, always coming nearer and nearer. The silent ice world re-echoes with thunders; nature’s giants are awakening to the battle. The ice cracks on every side of you, and begins to pile itself up in heaps. There are howlings and thunderings around you; you feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet. In the semi-darknessyou can see it piling and tossing itself up into high ridges,—floes ten, twelve, fifteen feet thick, broken and flung up on the top of each other,—you jump away to save your life. But the ice splits in front of you; a black gulf opens, and the water streams up. You turn in another direction; but there through the dark you can just see a new ridge of moving ice-blocks coming toward you. You try another direction, but there it is just the same. All around there is thundering and roaring, as of some enormous waterfall with explosions like cannon salvoes. Still nearer you it comes. The floe you are standing on gets smaller and smaller; water pours over it; there can be no escape except by scrambling over the ice-blocks to get to the other side of the pack. But little by little the disturbance calms down again, and the noise passes on and is lost by degrees in the distance.”Another thing brought life and stir into the camp, viz., “bears.” And many a time the cry of “bears” was heard in those icy plains.InFarthest North, Nansen describes a number of amusing incidents with these animals. We must, however, content ourselves with giving only a brief sketch of some of the most interesting of these.Nansen and Sverdrup, and indeed several of the others, had shot polar bears before; but some of their number were novices in the sport, among whom were Blessing, Johansen and Scott-Hansen. One day, when the latter were taking observations a short distance from the ship, a bear was seen but a little way off—in fact, just in front of the Fram.“Hush! don’t make a noise, or we shall frighten him,” said Hansen; and they all crouched down to watch him.“I think I’d better slip off on board and tell them about it,” said Blessing. And off he started on tiptoe, so as not to alarm the bear.The beast meanwhile came sniffing and shambling along toward where they were, so that evidently he had not been frightened.Catching sight of Blessing, who was slinking off to the ship, the brute made straight for him.Blessing, seeing that the bear was by no means alarmed, now made his way back to his companions as quickly as he could, closely followed by the bear. Matters began to look rather serious, and they each snatched up their weapons. Hansen, an ice-staff, Johansen, an axe, and Blessing nothing at all, shouting at the top of their voices, “Bear! bear!” after which they all took to their heels as fast as ever they could for the ship. The bear, however, held on his course toward the tent, which he examined very closely before following on their tracks. The animal was subsequently shot on approaching the Fram. Nansen was not a little surprised on finding in its stomach a piece of paper stamped, “Lutken & Mohn, Christiania,” which he recognized as belonging to the ship.On another occasion, toward the end of 1893, Hendriksen, whose business it was to see to the dogs that were tethered on an ice-floe, came tearing into the ship, and shouting, “Come with a gun! Come with a gun!” The bear, it seems, had bitten him on his side. Nansenimmediately caught up his gun, as also did Hendriksen, and off they set after the bear. There was a confused sound of human voices on the starboard side of the ship, while on the ice below the gangway the dogs were making a tremendous uproar.Nansen put his gun up to his shoulder, but it wouldn’t go off. There was a plug of tow in the barrel. And Hendriksen kept crying out, “Shoot, shoot! mine won’t go off!” There he stood clicking and clicking, for his gun was stuffed up with vaseline. Meanwhile the bear was lying close under the ship, worrying one of the dogs. The mate, too, was fumbling away at his gun, which was also plugged, while Mogstad, the fourth man, was brandishing an empty rifle, for he had shot all his cartridges away, crying out, “Shoot him! shoot him!” The fifth man, Scott-Hansen, was lying in the passage leading into the chart-room, groping after cartridges through a narrow chink in the door; for Kvik’s kennel stood against it, so that he could not get it wide open. At last, however, Johansen came, and fired right into the bear’s hide. This shot had the effect of making the brute let go of the dog, which jumped up and ran away. Several shots were now fired, which killed the bear.Hendriksen tells this story about his being bitten:—“You see,” he said, “as I was going along with the lantern, I saw some drops of blood by the gangway, but thought one of the dogs had very likely cut its foot. On the ice, however, we saw bear-tracks, and started off to the west, the whole pack of dogs with us running on ahead. When we had got some little distance from the Fram, we heard a terrible row in front, and presentlysaw a great brute coming straight toward us, closely followed by the dogs. No sooner did we see what it was than we set off for the ship as fast as we could. Mogstad had his Lappish moccasons on, and knew the way better than I did, so he got to the ship before me; for I couldn’t go very fast with these heavy wooden shoes, you see. I missed my way, I suppose, for I found myself on the big hummock to the west of the ship’s bows. There I took a good look round, to see if the bear was after me. But I could not see any signs of it, so I started off again, but fell down flat on my back among the hummocks. Oh, yes, I was soon up again, and got down to the level ice near the ship’s side, when I saw something coming at me on the right. At first I thought it was one of the dogs; for it isn’t so easy to see in the dark, you know. But I hadn’t much time for thinking, for the brute jumped right on me, and bit me here, on the side. I had lifted my arm up like this, you see, and then he bit me on the hip, growling and foaming at the mouth all the while.”“What did you think then, Peter?” asked Nansen.“What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn’t any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or what for, I can’t say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along, and set off after it, and so I got on board.”“Did you call out, Peter?”“I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!”And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.“But where was Mogstad all the while?” asked Nansen.“Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun wouldn’t go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat me up right under his very nose.”On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs; and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing one of the dogs, it was shot.In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much to Sverdrup’s delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork, stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn’t seem to approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if to say, “Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for me, no doubt.” Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the ship and was shot.Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit faith in him; while overhead the star—his star—shone out brilliantly in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.Christmas Eve was ushered in with -35° Fahrenheit. The Fram lay in seventy-nine degrees, eleven minutes, north latitude, two minutes farther south than was the case a week before.There was a peculiar feeling of solemnity on board. Every one was thinking of home, and trying at the same time to keep his thoughts to himself, and so there was more noise and laughter than usual. They ate and they drank and made speeches, and the Christmas presents were given out, and theFramsjaa, the Fram’s newspaper, with an extra illustrated Christmas number, appeared.Inthepoem for the day it said:—“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,When we drift at the will of the stream,When the white veil of winter is spread all around,In our sleep of our dear home we dream.Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,Good luck may the coming year bring;We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”Themenufor Christmas Eve was:—1.Oxtail Soup.2.Fish Pudding.3.Reindeer-steak and Green Peas. French Beans, Potatoes, and Huckleberry Jelly.4.Cloudberries and Cream.5.Cake and Marzipan.6.Beer.The Nansen lads knew how to live. But this night they had no supper; they simply could not manage it. Indeed, it was all they could do to get through an extra dessert, consisting of pineapple preserve, honey-cakes, vanilla biscuits, cocoa macaroons, figs, raisins, almonds, etc.The banquet was held in their cosey saloon, which was lighted with electric lights; and in the evening they had organ recitals, songs, and many other recreations. Yes, there was merriment galore on the Fram, frozen in though she was in the Polar sea.If it had not been for the noise of the ice-pressures they might indeed have imagined themselves to be in the very middle of civilization. In their inmost hearts they longed for a pressure,—a pressure of the hand from dear ones at home. A long time must elapse before that could be.Then came New Year’s Eve, with a brilliant aurora shining overhead, and still each one on board felt that irrepressible longing in his heart.Nansen read out on this occasion the last salutation he had received from Norway. It was a telegram from Professor Moltke Moe at Tromsö:—“Luck on the way,Sun on the sea,Sun in your minds,Help from the winds.Wide open floesPart and uncloseWhere the ship goes.Onward! Good cheer!Tho’ ice in the rearPack—it will clear.Food enough—strength enough—Means enough—clothes enough.Then will the Fram’s crewReach the Pole in months few.Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!”These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.Meanwhile month after month passes without much change. The men on the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting frost—Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck, as if some one were dancing a jig.“Is it cold?” asks Nansen, when Hansen and his assistants come below.“Cold? oh, no! not at all!—quite a pleasant temperature!” a piece of information which is received with shouts of laughter.“Don’t you find it cold about the feet either?”“No, can’t say I do; but every now and then it’s rather cool for one’s fingers!” He had just had two of his frostbitten.One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry, Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and trousers when the thermometer registered -40° Fahrenheit.Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations, when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle, bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill; but it was always, “Oh! it’s not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!”On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north latitude, an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover, in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning to lighten at the approach of spring.By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till April 17 that they reached 80° 20′ north latitude. On May 21, it was 81° 20′, one degree further north, and on June 18, 81° 52′. They were progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15, 1894, the Fram lay in 81° 14′ north latitude.The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and darkness was approaching.During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training, and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup, who quite approved of it.About the middle of September a rather strange thing happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men, but would not take him with them.“You told me,” he said, “you wouldn’t want a cook on your expedition, and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It’s strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!”Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all; whereon Petersen said, “Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me with you; I should like it very much! I can’t say I am a good hand on ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest.” When Nansen remarked that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one involving even the risk of life; “Psha!” answered Petersen, “one can but die once! If I were with you I shouldn’t be a bitafraid!” And that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation, is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly necessary that such an expedition should take place.And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs, and weighing out provisions, etc.Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came, finding them in latitude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever encountered, and lived.At 8A.M.on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearerand nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship, the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose, for the water stood high in their kennels.During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from the ship.At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eightP.M.the crunching and thundering was worse than ever; masses of ice and snow dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling, and masses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with a will till everything was put in a place of safety.When the pressure finally was over, the Fram’s port-side was completely buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But she had stood the trial—passed through it gloriously; for she came out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.
Chapter VI.Engagement and Marriage.—Home-Life.—Planning the Polar Expedition.Two months after Nansen had returned home from his Greenland expedition he became engaged to Eva Sars, daughter of the late Professor Sars, and was married to her the same autumn. Her mother was the sister of the poet Welhaven.The following story of his engagement is related:—“On the night of Aug. 12 a shower of gravel and small pebbles rattled against the panes of a window in the house where Fridtjof Nansen’s half-sister lived. He was very fond of her, and of her husband also, who had indeed initiated him in the use of gun and rod, and who had taken him with him, when a mere lad, on many a sporting excursion to Nordmarken.“On hearing this unusual noise at the dead of night, his brother-in-law jumped out of bed in no very amiable frame of mind, and opening the window, called out, ‘What is it?’“‘I want to come in!’ said a tall figure dressed in gray, from the street below.“A volley of expletives greeted the nocturnal visitor, who kept on saying, ‘I want to come in.’“Before long Fridtjof Nansen was standing in his sister’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning.“Raising herself up in the bed, she said, ‘But, Fridtjof, whatever is it?’“‘I’m engaged to be married—that’s all!’ was the laconic reply.“‘Engaged! But with whom?’“‘Why, with Eva, of course!’“Then he said he felt very hungry, and his brother-in-law had to take a journey into the larder and fetch out some cold meat, and then down into the cellar after a bottle of champagne. His sister’s bed served for a table, and a new chapter in ‘Fridtjof’s saga’ was inaugurated at this nocturnal banquet.”The story goes, Nansen first met his future wife in a snowdrift. One day, it appears, when up in the Frogner woods, he espied two little boots sticking up out of the snow. Curiosity prompted him to go and see to whom the said boots belonged, and as he approached for that purpose, a little snow be-sprinkled head peered up at him. It was Eva Sars!What gives this anecdote interest is that it was out of the snow and the cold to which he was to dedicate his life, she, who became dearer to him than life itself, first appeared.Another circumstance connected therewith worthy of note is that Eva Sars was a person of rather a cold and repellent nature, and gave one the impression that there was a good deal of snow in her disposition. Hence the reason perhaps why she kept aloof rather than attracted those who would know her. Fridtjof Nansen, however, was not the man to be deterred by coldness. He was determined to win her, even if heshould have to cross the inland ice of Greenland for that purpose.But when she became his wife all the reserve and coldness of her nature disappeared. She took the warmest interest in his plans, participated in his work, making every sacrifice a woman can make to promote his purpose. In all his excursions in the open air she accompanied him; and when she knew that he was making preparations for another expedition, one involving life itself, not a murmur escaped her lips. And when the hour of parting came at last, and a long, lonely time of waiting lay before her, she broke out into song. For in those dreary years of hope deferred she developed into an accomplished songstress; and when the fame of Nansen’s exploit resounded throughout the whole north, the echo of her song answered in joyful acclaim. The maidens of Norway listening to her spirited strains, and beholding this brave little woman with her proudly uplifted head, learnt from Eva Nansen that such was the way in which a woman should meet a sorrow—such the way in which she should undergo a time of trial.The following story, in Nansen’s own words, will serve to give an idea of the sort of woman she was:“It was New Year’s Eve, 1890. Eva and I had gone on a little trip to Kröderen,1and we determined to get to the top of Norefjeld. “We slept at Olberg, and, feeling rather lazy next morning, did not set out tillnearly noon. We took it very easily, moreover! Even in summer-time it is a stiff day’s work to clamber up Norefjeld; but in winter, when the days are short, one has to look pretty sharp to reach the top while it is light. Moreover, the route we chose, though perhaps the most direct, was not by any means the shortest. The snow lay very deep; and soon it became impossible to go on ski, the ascent being so steep, that we had to take them off and carry them. However, we had made up our minds to reach the top; for it would never do to turn back after having gone half-way, difficult though the ascent might be. The last part of our journey was the most trying of all; I had to cut out steps with my ski-staff to get a foothold in the frozen snow. I went in front, and Eva followed close behind me. It really seemed that we slipped two steps backward for every one we took forward. At last we reached the top; it was pitch dark, and we had been going from tenA.M.to fiveP.M., without food. But, thank goodness, we had some cheese and pemmican with us, so we sat down on the snow, and ate it.“Yes! there were we two alone on the top of Norefjeld, five thousand feet above the sea, with a biting wind blowing that made our cheeks tingle, and the darkness growing thicker and thicker every moment. Far away in the west there was a faint glimmer of daylight,—of the last day of the old year,—just enough to guide us by. The next thing to be done was to get down to Eggedal. From where we were it was a distance of about six and one-half miles, a matter of little consequence in broad daylight, but in the present instanceno joke, I can assure you! However, it had to be done. So off we started, I leading the way, Eva following.“We went like the wind down the slope, but had to be very careful. When one has been out in the dark some little time, it is just as if the snow gives out a faint light—though light it cannot really be termed, but a feeble kind of shimmer. Goodness only knows how we managed to get down, but get down we did! As it was too steep to go on ski, there was nothing for it but to squat and slide down—a kind of locomotion detrimental, perhaps, to one’s breeches, but under the circumstances unquestionably the safest mode of proceeding in the dark!“When we had got half-way down my hat blew off. So I had to ‘put the brake on,’ and get up on my legs, and go after it. Far away above me I got a glimpse of a dark object on the snow, crawled after it, got up to it, and grasped it, to find it was only a stone! My hat, then, must be further up. Surely that was it—again I got hold of a stone! The snow seemed to be alive with stones. Hat after hat, hat after hat, but whenever I tried to put it on my head, it turned out to be a stone. A stone for bread is bad enough, and stones for hats are not a bit better! So I had to give it up, and go hatless.“Eva had been sitting waiting for me all this while. ‘Eva,’ I shouted, and a faint answer came back from below.“Those miles seemed to be uncommonly long ones. Every now and then we could use our ski, and then itwould become so steep again that we had to carry them. At last we came to a standstill. There was a chasm right in front of us,—how deep it was it was too dark to ascertain. However, we bundled over it somehow or other, and happily the snow was very deep. It is quite incredible how one can manage to get over a difficulty!“As regards our direction, we had lost it completely; all we knew was that we must get down into the valley. Again we came to a standstill, and Eva had to wait while I went on, groping in the dark, trying to find a way. I was absent on this errand some little time. Presently it occurred to me, ‘What if she should have fallen asleep!’“‘Eva!’ I shouted, ‘Eva!’ Yes, she answered; but she must be a long way above where I was. If she had been asleep it would have been a difficult matter to have found her. But I groped my way up-hill to her, with the consolation that I had found the bed of a stream. Now the bed of a stream is not very well adapted for ski, especially when it is pitch dark, and the stomach is empty, and conscience pricks you,—for really I ought not to have ventured on such an expedition with her. However, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ and we got through all right.“We had now got down to the birch scrub, and at last found our road.“After some little time we passed a cabin. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to take refuge in, but Eva said it was so horribly dirty! She was full of spirits now, and voted for going on. So on we went, and in due time reached the parish clerk’s house in Eggedal.Of course the inmates were in bed, so we had to arouse them. The clerk was horrified when I told him we had just come from the top of Norefjeld. This time Eva was not so nice about lodgings, for no sooner had she sat down on a chair, than she fell asleep. It was midnight, mind you, and she had been in harness fourteen hours.“‘He’s a bit tired, poor lad!’ said the clerk. For Eva had on a ski-dress with a very small skirt, trousers, and a Lapp fur cloak.“‘That’s my wife,’ I replied, whereupon he burst out into a laugh. ‘Nay, nay! to drag his wife with him over the top of Norefjeld on New Year’s Eve!’ he said.“Presently he brought in something to eat, for we were famished; and when Eva smelt it wasn’t cheese and pemmican, she woke up.“We rested here three days. Yes, it had been a New Year’s Eve trip. A very agreeable one in my opinion, but I’m not so sure Eva altogether agreed with me!“Two days later I and the ‘poor little lad’ drove through Numedal to Kongsberg in nine degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), which nearly froze the little fellow. But it is not a bad thing occasionally to have to put up with some inconveniences—you appreciate comforts afterward so much the more. He who has never experienced what cold is, does not really know the meaning of warmth!”The day after the wedding the newly married pair set out for Newcastle, where there was to be a meetingof the Geographical Society, travellingviaGothenburg, Hamburg, and London. After this they went to Stockholm, and here Nansen was presented with the “Vega” medal by His Majesty. This was a distinguished honor, the more so as it had hitherto only been awarded to five persons, among whom were Stanley and Nordenskjöld. Nansen subsequently was presented with several medals in foreign countries, and was made a Knight of the Order of St. Olaf and Danebrog.On their return from Stockholm to Norway, Nansen and his wife took apartments at Marte Larsen’s, the old housekeeper at Store Fröen, and stayed there two months, after which they took a house on the Drammen road. But they did not enjoy themselves there, and Nansen determined to build a house, for which purpose he bought a site at Svartebugta, near Lysaker.2It was here that, as a boy, he had often watched for wild ducks. It was a charming spot, moreover, and within easy distance of the town. The house was finished in the spring of 1890. During the whole of the winter, while building operations were going on, they lived in an icy cold pavillion near Lysaker railway station.“It was here he weaned me from freezing,” says Eva Nansen.In this wretched habitation, where the water froze in the bedroom at night, Nansen would sit and work at his book on Greenland, and when he had time would superintend the building of the new house. It was called “Godthaab”—a name given it by Björnstjerne Björnson.In the autumn of this year Nansen set out on a lengthened lecturing tour, accompanied by his wife. He lectured in Copenhagen, London, Berlin, and Dresden, about his Greenland experiences, and also about the projected expedition to the North Pole. Everywhere people were attracted by his captivating individuality; but most thought this new expedition too venturesome. Even the most experienced Arctic explorers shook their heads, for they thought that, from such a daring enterprise, not a single member of the expedition would ever return alive.But Nansen adhered to his own opinions, and we see him in the intervening years occupied with the equipment required for an expedition to the polar regions—a work so stupendous that the preparations for the Greenland expedition were but child’s play in comparison.1Kröderen, a lake about forty miles to the northwest of Christiania.Norefjeld, a mountain on the west side of the lake.Olberg, a farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.2Lysaker, a railroad station about four miles west of Christiania.
Chapter VI.Engagement and Marriage.—Home-Life.—Planning the Polar Expedition.
Engagement and Marriage.—Home-Life.—Planning the Polar Expedition.
Engagement and Marriage.—Home-Life.—Planning the Polar Expedition.
Two months after Nansen had returned home from his Greenland expedition he became engaged to Eva Sars, daughter of the late Professor Sars, and was married to her the same autumn. Her mother was the sister of the poet Welhaven.The following story of his engagement is related:—“On the night of Aug. 12 a shower of gravel and small pebbles rattled against the panes of a window in the house where Fridtjof Nansen’s half-sister lived. He was very fond of her, and of her husband also, who had indeed initiated him in the use of gun and rod, and who had taken him with him, when a mere lad, on many a sporting excursion to Nordmarken.“On hearing this unusual noise at the dead of night, his brother-in-law jumped out of bed in no very amiable frame of mind, and opening the window, called out, ‘What is it?’“‘I want to come in!’ said a tall figure dressed in gray, from the street below.“A volley of expletives greeted the nocturnal visitor, who kept on saying, ‘I want to come in.’“Before long Fridtjof Nansen was standing in his sister’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning.“Raising herself up in the bed, she said, ‘But, Fridtjof, whatever is it?’“‘I’m engaged to be married—that’s all!’ was the laconic reply.“‘Engaged! But with whom?’“‘Why, with Eva, of course!’“Then he said he felt very hungry, and his brother-in-law had to take a journey into the larder and fetch out some cold meat, and then down into the cellar after a bottle of champagne. His sister’s bed served for a table, and a new chapter in ‘Fridtjof’s saga’ was inaugurated at this nocturnal banquet.”The story goes, Nansen first met his future wife in a snowdrift. One day, it appears, when up in the Frogner woods, he espied two little boots sticking up out of the snow. Curiosity prompted him to go and see to whom the said boots belonged, and as he approached for that purpose, a little snow be-sprinkled head peered up at him. It was Eva Sars!What gives this anecdote interest is that it was out of the snow and the cold to which he was to dedicate his life, she, who became dearer to him than life itself, first appeared.Another circumstance connected therewith worthy of note is that Eva Sars was a person of rather a cold and repellent nature, and gave one the impression that there was a good deal of snow in her disposition. Hence the reason perhaps why she kept aloof rather than attracted those who would know her. Fridtjof Nansen, however, was not the man to be deterred by coldness. He was determined to win her, even if heshould have to cross the inland ice of Greenland for that purpose.But when she became his wife all the reserve and coldness of her nature disappeared. She took the warmest interest in his plans, participated in his work, making every sacrifice a woman can make to promote his purpose. In all his excursions in the open air she accompanied him; and when she knew that he was making preparations for another expedition, one involving life itself, not a murmur escaped her lips. And when the hour of parting came at last, and a long, lonely time of waiting lay before her, she broke out into song. For in those dreary years of hope deferred she developed into an accomplished songstress; and when the fame of Nansen’s exploit resounded throughout the whole north, the echo of her song answered in joyful acclaim. The maidens of Norway listening to her spirited strains, and beholding this brave little woman with her proudly uplifted head, learnt from Eva Nansen that such was the way in which a woman should meet a sorrow—such the way in which she should undergo a time of trial.The following story, in Nansen’s own words, will serve to give an idea of the sort of woman she was:“It was New Year’s Eve, 1890. Eva and I had gone on a little trip to Kröderen,1and we determined to get to the top of Norefjeld. “We slept at Olberg, and, feeling rather lazy next morning, did not set out tillnearly noon. We took it very easily, moreover! Even in summer-time it is a stiff day’s work to clamber up Norefjeld; but in winter, when the days are short, one has to look pretty sharp to reach the top while it is light. Moreover, the route we chose, though perhaps the most direct, was not by any means the shortest. The snow lay very deep; and soon it became impossible to go on ski, the ascent being so steep, that we had to take them off and carry them. However, we had made up our minds to reach the top; for it would never do to turn back after having gone half-way, difficult though the ascent might be. The last part of our journey was the most trying of all; I had to cut out steps with my ski-staff to get a foothold in the frozen snow. I went in front, and Eva followed close behind me. It really seemed that we slipped two steps backward for every one we took forward. At last we reached the top; it was pitch dark, and we had been going from tenA.M.to fiveP.M., without food. But, thank goodness, we had some cheese and pemmican with us, so we sat down on the snow, and ate it.“Yes! there were we two alone on the top of Norefjeld, five thousand feet above the sea, with a biting wind blowing that made our cheeks tingle, and the darkness growing thicker and thicker every moment. Far away in the west there was a faint glimmer of daylight,—of the last day of the old year,—just enough to guide us by. The next thing to be done was to get down to Eggedal. From where we were it was a distance of about six and one-half miles, a matter of little consequence in broad daylight, but in the present instanceno joke, I can assure you! However, it had to be done. So off we started, I leading the way, Eva following.“We went like the wind down the slope, but had to be very careful. When one has been out in the dark some little time, it is just as if the snow gives out a faint light—though light it cannot really be termed, but a feeble kind of shimmer. Goodness only knows how we managed to get down, but get down we did! As it was too steep to go on ski, there was nothing for it but to squat and slide down—a kind of locomotion detrimental, perhaps, to one’s breeches, but under the circumstances unquestionably the safest mode of proceeding in the dark!“When we had got half-way down my hat blew off. So I had to ‘put the brake on,’ and get up on my legs, and go after it. Far away above me I got a glimpse of a dark object on the snow, crawled after it, got up to it, and grasped it, to find it was only a stone! My hat, then, must be further up. Surely that was it—again I got hold of a stone! The snow seemed to be alive with stones. Hat after hat, hat after hat, but whenever I tried to put it on my head, it turned out to be a stone. A stone for bread is bad enough, and stones for hats are not a bit better! So I had to give it up, and go hatless.“Eva had been sitting waiting for me all this while. ‘Eva,’ I shouted, and a faint answer came back from below.“Those miles seemed to be uncommonly long ones. Every now and then we could use our ski, and then itwould become so steep again that we had to carry them. At last we came to a standstill. There was a chasm right in front of us,—how deep it was it was too dark to ascertain. However, we bundled over it somehow or other, and happily the snow was very deep. It is quite incredible how one can manage to get over a difficulty!“As regards our direction, we had lost it completely; all we knew was that we must get down into the valley. Again we came to a standstill, and Eva had to wait while I went on, groping in the dark, trying to find a way. I was absent on this errand some little time. Presently it occurred to me, ‘What if she should have fallen asleep!’“‘Eva!’ I shouted, ‘Eva!’ Yes, she answered; but she must be a long way above where I was. If she had been asleep it would have been a difficult matter to have found her. But I groped my way up-hill to her, with the consolation that I had found the bed of a stream. Now the bed of a stream is not very well adapted for ski, especially when it is pitch dark, and the stomach is empty, and conscience pricks you,—for really I ought not to have ventured on such an expedition with her. However, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ and we got through all right.“We had now got down to the birch scrub, and at last found our road.“After some little time we passed a cabin. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to take refuge in, but Eva said it was so horribly dirty! She was full of spirits now, and voted for going on. So on we went, and in due time reached the parish clerk’s house in Eggedal.Of course the inmates were in bed, so we had to arouse them. The clerk was horrified when I told him we had just come from the top of Norefjeld. This time Eva was not so nice about lodgings, for no sooner had she sat down on a chair, than she fell asleep. It was midnight, mind you, and she had been in harness fourteen hours.“‘He’s a bit tired, poor lad!’ said the clerk. For Eva had on a ski-dress with a very small skirt, trousers, and a Lapp fur cloak.“‘That’s my wife,’ I replied, whereupon he burst out into a laugh. ‘Nay, nay! to drag his wife with him over the top of Norefjeld on New Year’s Eve!’ he said.“Presently he brought in something to eat, for we were famished; and when Eva smelt it wasn’t cheese and pemmican, she woke up.“We rested here three days. Yes, it had been a New Year’s Eve trip. A very agreeable one in my opinion, but I’m not so sure Eva altogether agreed with me!“Two days later I and the ‘poor little lad’ drove through Numedal to Kongsberg in nine degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), which nearly froze the little fellow. But it is not a bad thing occasionally to have to put up with some inconveniences—you appreciate comforts afterward so much the more. He who has never experienced what cold is, does not really know the meaning of warmth!”The day after the wedding the newly married pair set out for Newcastle, where there was to be a meetingof the Geographical Society, travellingviaGothenburg, Hamburg, and London. After this they went to Stockholm, and here Nansen was presented with the “Vega” medal by His Majesty. This was a distinguished honor, the more so as it had hitherto only been awarded to five persons, among whom were Stanley and Nordenskjöld. Nansen subsequently was presented with several medals in foreign countries, and was made a Knight of the Order of St. Olaf and Danebrog.On their return from Stockholm to Norway, Nansen and his wife took apartments at Marte Larsen’s, the old housekeeper at Store Fröen, and stayed there two months, after which they took a house on the Drammen road. But they did not enjoy themselves there, and Nansen determined to build a house, for which purpose he bought a site at Svartebugta, near Lysaker.2It was here that, as a boy, he had often watched for wild ducks. It was a charming spot, moreover, and within easy distance of the town. The house was finished in the spring of 1890. During the whole of the winter, while building operations were going on, they lived in an icy cold pavillion near Lysaker railway station.“It was here he weaned me from freezing,” says Eva Nansen.In this wretched habitation, where the water froze in the bedroom at night, Nansen would sit and work at his book on Greenland, and when he had time would superintend the building of the new house. It was called “Godthaab”—a name given it by Björnstjerne Björnson.In the autumn of this year Nansen set out on a lengthened lecturing tour, accompanied by his wife. He lectured in Copenhagen, London, Berlin, and Dresden, about his Greenland experiences, and also about the projected expedition to the North Pole. Everywhere people were attracted by his captivating individuality; but most thought this new expedition too venturesome. Even the most experienced Arctic explorers shook their heads, for they thought that, from such a daring enterprise, not a single member of the expedition would ever return alive.But Nansen adhered to his own opinions, and we see him in the intervening years occupied with the equipment required for an expedition to the polar regions—a work so stupendous that the preparations for the Greenland expedition were but child’s play in comparison.
Two months after Nansen had returned home from his Greenland expedition he became engaged to Eva Sars, daughter of the late Professor Sars, and was married to her the same autumn. Her mother was the sister of the poet Welhaven.
The following story of his engagement is related:—
“On the night of Aug. 12 a shower of gravel and small pebbles rattled against the panes of a window in the house where Fridtjof Nansen’s half-sister lived. He was very fond of her, and of her husband also, who had indeed initiated him in the use of gun and rod, and who had taken him with him, when a mere lad, on many a sporting excursion to Nordmarken.
“On hearing this unusual noise at the dead of night, his brother-in-law jumped out of bed in no very amiable frame of mind, and opening the window, called out, ‘What is it?’
“‘I want to come in!’ said a tall figure dressed in gray, from the street below.
“A volley of expletives greeted the nocturnal visitor, who kept on saying, ‘I want to come in.’
“Before long Fridtjof Nansen was standing in his sister’s bedroom at two o’clock in the morning.
“Raising herself up in the bed, she said, ‘But, Fridtjof, whatever is it?’
“‘I’m engaged to be married—that’s all!’ was the laconic reply.
“‘Engaged! But with whom?’
“‘Why, with Eva, of course!’
“Then he said he felt very hungry, and his brother-in-law had to take a journey into the larder and fetch out some cold meat, and then down into the cellar after a bottle of champagne. His sister’s bed served for a table, and a new chapter in ‘Fridtjof’s saga’ was inaugurated at this nocturnal banquet.”
The story goes, Nansen first met his future wife in a snowdrift. One day, it appears, when up in the Frogner woods, he espied two little boots sticking up out of the snow. Curiosity prompted him to go and see to whom the said boots belonged, and as he approached for that purpose, a little snow be-sprinkled head peered up at him. It was Eva Sars!
What gives this anecdote interest is that it was out of the snow and the cold to which he was to dedicate his life, she, who became dearer to him than life itself, first appeared.
Another circumstance connected therewith worthy of note is that Eva Sars was a person of rather a cold and repellent nature, and gave one the impression that there was a good deal of snow in her disposition. Hence the reason perhaps why she kept aloof rather than attracted those who would know her. Fridtjof Nansen, however, was not the man to be deterred by coldness. He was determined to win her, even if heshould have to cross the inland ice of Greenland for that purpose.
But when she became his wife all the reserve and coldness of her nature disappeared. She took the warmest interest in his plans, participated in his work, making every sacrifice a woman can make to promote his purpose. In all his excursions in the open air she accompanied him; and when she knew that he was making preparations for another expedition, one involving life itself, not a murmur escaped her lips. And when the hour of parting came at last, and a long, lonely time of waiting lay before her, she broke out into song. For in those dreary years of hope deferred she developed into an accomplished songstress; and when the fame of Nansen’s exploit resounded throughout the whole north, the echo of her song answered in joyful acclaim. The maidens of Norway listening to her spirited strains, and beholding this brave little woman with her proudly uplifted head, learnt from Eva Nansen that such was the way in which a woman should meet a sorrow—such the way in which she should undergo a time of trial.
The following story, in Nansen’s own words, will serve to give an idea of the sort of woman she was:
“It was New Year’s Eve, 1890. Eva and I had gone on a little trip to Kröderen,1and we determined to get to the top of Norefjeld. “We slept at Olberg, and, feeling rather lazy next morning, did not set out tillnearly noon. We took it very easily, moreover! Even in summer-time it is a stiff day’s work to clamber up Norefjeld; but in winter, when the days are short, one has to look pretty sharp to reach the top while it is light. Moreover, the route we chose, though perhaps the most direct, was not by any means the shortest. The snow lay very deep; and soon it became impossible to go on ski, the ascent being so steep, that we had to take them off and carry them. However, we had made up our minds to reach the top; for it would never do to turn back after having gone half-way, difficult though the ascent might be. The last part of our journey was the most trying of all; I had to cut out steps with my ski-staff to get a foothold in the frozen snow. I went in front, and Eva followed close behind me. It really seemed that we slipped two steps backward for every one we took forward. At last we reached the top; it was pitch dark, and we had been going from tenA.M.to fiveP.M., without food. But, thank goodness, we had some cheese and pemmican with us, so we sat down on the snow, and ate it.
“Yes! there were we two alone on the top of Norefjeld, five thousand feet above the sea, with a biting wind blowing that made our cheeks tingle, and the darkness growing thicker and thicker every moment. Far away in the west there was a faint glimmer of daylight,—of the last day of the old year,—just enough to guide us by. The next thing to be done was to get down to Eggedal. From where we were it was a distance of about six and one-half miles, a matter of little consequence in broad daylight, but in the present instanceno joke, I can assure you! However, it had to be done. So off we started, I leading the way, Eva following.
“We went like the wind down the slope, but had to be very careful. When one has been out in the dark some little time, it is just as if the snow gives out a faint light—though light it cannot really be termed, but a feeble kind of shimmer. Goodness only knows how we managed to get down, but get down we did! As it was too steep to go on ski, there was nothing for it but to squat and slide down—a kind of locomotion detrimental, perhaps, to one’s breeches, but under the circumstances unquestionably the safest mode of proceeding in the dark!
“When we had got half-way down my hat blew off. So I had to ‘put the brake on,’ and get up on my legs, and go after it. Far away above me I got a glimpse of a dark object on the snow, crawled after it, got up to it, and grasped it, to find it was only a stone! My hat, then, must be further up. Surely that was it—again I got hold of a stone! The snow seemed to be alive with stones. Hat after hat, hat after hat, but whenever I tried to put it on my head, it turned out to be a stone. A stone for bread is bad enough, and stones for hats are not a bit better! So I had to give it up, and go hatless.
“Eva had been sitting waiting for me all this while. ‘Eva,’ I shouted, and a faint answer came back from below.
“Those miles seemed to be uncommonly long ones. Every now and then we could use our ski, and then itwould become so steep again that we had to carry them. At last we came to a standstill. There was a chasm right in front of us,—how deep it was it was too dark to ascertain. However, we bundled over it somehow or other, and happily the snow was very deep. It is quite incredible how one can manage to get over a difficulty!
“As regards our direction, we had lost it completely; all we knew was that we must get down into the valley. Again we came to a standstill, and Eva had to wait while I went on, groping in the dark, trying to find a way. I was absent on this errand some little time. Presently it occurred to me, ‘What if she should have fallen asleep!’
“‘Eva!’ I shouted, ‘Eva!’ Yes, she answered; but she must be a long way above where I was. If she had been asleep it would have been a difficult matter to have found her. But I groped my way up-hill to her, with the consolation that I had found the bed of a stream. Now the bed of a stream is not very well adapted for ski, especially when it is pitch dark, and the stomach is empty, and conscience pricks you,—for really I ought not to have ventured on such an expedition with her. However, ‘all’s well that ends well,’ and we got through all right.
“We had now got down to the birch scrub, and at last found our road.
“After some little time we passed a cabin. I thought it wouldn’t be a bad place to take refuge in, but Eva said it was so horribly dirty! She was full of spirits now, and voted for going on. So on we went, and in due time reached the parish clerk’s house in Eggedal.Of course the inmates were in bed, so we had to arouse them. The clerk was horrified when I told him we had just come from the top of Norefjeld. This time Eva was not so nice about lodgings, for no sooner had she sat down on a chair, than she fell asleep. It was midnight, mind you, and she had been in harness fourteen hours.
“‘He’s a bit tired, poor lad!’ said the clerk. For Eva had on a ski-dress with a very small skirt, trousers, and a Lapp fur cloak.
“‘That’s my wife,’ I replied, whereupon he burst out into a laugh. ‘Nay, nay! to drag his wife with him over the top of Norefjeld on New Year’s Eve!’ he said.
“Presently he brought in something to eat, for we were famished; and when Eva smelt it wasn’t cheese and pemmican, she woke up.
“We rested here three days. Yes, it had been a New Year’s Eve trip. A very agreeable one in my opinion, but I’m not so sure Eva altogether agreed with me!
“Two days later I and the ‘poor little lad’ drove through Numedal to Kongsberg in nine degrees below zero (Fahrenheit), which nearly froze the little fellow. But it is not a bad thing occasionally to have to put up with some inconveniences—you appreciate comforts afterward so much the more. He who has never experienced what cold is, does not really know the meaning of warmth!”
The day after the wedding the newly married pair set out for Newcastle, where there was to be a meetingof the Geographical Society, travellingviaGothenburg, Hamburg, and London. After this they went to Stockholm, and here Nansen was presented with the “Vega” medal by His Majesty. This was a distinguished honor, the more so as it had hitherto only been awarded to five persons, among whom were Stanley and Nordenskjöld. Nansen subsequently was presented with several medals in foreign countries, and was made a Knight of the Order of St. Olaf and Danebrog.
On their return from Stockholm to Norway, Nansen and his wife took apartments at Marte Larsen’s, the old housekeeper at Store Fröen, and stayed there two months, after which they took a house on the Drammen road. But they did not enjoy themselves there, and Nansen determined to build a house, for which purpose he bought a site at Svartebugta, near Lysaker.2It was here that, as a boy, he had often watched for wild ducks. It was a charming spot, moreover, and within easy distance of the town. The house was finished in the spring of 1890. During the whole of the winter, while building operations were going on, they lived in an icy cold pavillion near Lysaker railway station.
“It was here he weaned me from freezing,” says Eva Nansen.
In this wretched habitation, where the water froze in the bedroom at night, Nansen would sit and work at his book on Greenland, and when he had time would superintend the building of the new house. It was called “Godthaab”—a name given it by Björnstjerne Björnson.
In the autumn of this year Nansen set out on a lengthened lecturing tour, accompanied by his wife. He lectured in Copenhagen, London, Berlin, and Dresden, about his Greenland experiences, and also about the projected expedition to the North Pole. Everywhere people were attracted by his captivating individuality; but most thought this new expedition too venturesome. Even the most experienced Arctic explorers shook their heads, for they thought that, from such a daring enterprise, not a single member of the expedition would ever return alive.
But Nansen adhered to his own opinions, and we see him in the intervening years occupied with the equipment required for an expedition to the polar regions—a work so stupendous that the preparations for the Greenland expedition were but child’s play in comparison.
1Kröderen, a lake about forty miles to the northwest of Christiania.Norefjeld, a mountain on the west side of the lake.Olberg, a farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.2Lysaker, a railroad station about four miles west of Christiania.
1Kröderen, a lake about forty miles to the northwest of Christiania.Norefjeld, a mountain on the west side of the lake.Olberg, a farmhouse at the foot of the mountain.
2Lysaker, a railroad station about four miles west of Christiania.
Chapter VII.Preparations for the Polar Expedition.—Starting from Norway.—Journey along the Siberian Coast.Nansen’s theory as regards the expedition to the North Pole was as simple as it was daring. He believed that he had discovered the existence of a current passing over the pole, and of this he would avail himself. His idea, in fact, was to work his way into the ice among the New Siberian Islands, let his vessel be fast frozen into the drift-ice, and be carried by the current over the Pole to the east coast of Greenland. There articles had been found on ice-floes that had unquestionably belonged to former Arctic expeditions, a fact that convinced him of the existence of such a current.It might take some years for a vessel to drift all that way; he must, therefore, make his preparations accordingly. Such at all events was Nansen’s theory—a theory which, it must be said, few shared with him. For none of the world’s noted explorers of those regions believed in the existence of such a current, and people generally termed the scheme, “a madman’s idea!”Nansen, therefore, stood almost alone in this, and yet not altogether alone, either. For the Norwegian people who would not sacrifice $1,350 for the Greenland expedition gave him now in a lump sum 280,000 kroner ($75,600). They were convinced of his gigantic powers,and when the Norwegians are fully convinced of a thing, they are willing to make any sacrifice to carry it out. They believed in him now!Nansen then set to work in earnest at his gigantic undertaking.First of all a vessel must be designed,—one that would be able to defy the ice. Availing himself, therefore, of the services of the famous shipbuilder, Colin Archer, he had the Fram1built—a name suggestive of noble achievements to the youth of Norway.On Oct. 26, 1892, she was launched at Laurvig. During the previous night the temperature had been fourteen degrees above zero, and a slight sprinkling of snow had covered valley and height with a thin veil of white. The morning sun peered through the mist with that peculiar hazy light that foretells a bright winter day.At the station at Laurvig, Nansen waited to receive his guests. A whaler, with a crow’s-nest on her foretop, was lying in the harbor, to convey the visitors to the spot where the Fram was lying on the stocks.In the bay at Reykjavik the huge hull of a vessel may be seen raised up on the beach, with her stern toward the sea. It is Fridtjof Nansen’s new ship that is now to be launched. She is a high vessel, of great beam, painted black below and white above. Three stout masts of American pitch-pine are lying by her side on the quay, while three flagstaffs, two of them only with flags flying, rear themselves up aloft on her deck. The flag which is to be run up the bare staff is to bear thevessel’s name—unknown as yet. Everybody is wondering what that name will be, and conjectures whether it will be Eva, Leif, Norway, Northpole, are rife.Crowds of spectators are assembled at the wharf, while as many have clambered upon the adjacent rocks. But around the huge ship, which lies on the slips firmly secured with iron chains, are standing groups of stalwart, weather-beaten men in working attire. They are whalers, who for years have frequented the polar seas and braved its dangers, and are now attentively examining and criticising the new ship’s construction. A goodly number, too, of workmen are there,—the men who built the ship; and they are looking at their work with feelings of pride. And yonder is the vessel’s architect,—that stately, earnest-looking man with the long, flowing white beard,—Colin Archer.And now, accompanied by his wife, Nansen ascends the platform that has been erected in the ship’s bow. Mrs. Nansen steps forward, breaks a bottle of champagne on the prow, and in clear, ringing tones declares, “Framis her name.” At the same moment a flag on which the vessel’s name can be read in white letters on a red ground, is run up to the top of the bare flagstaff.The last bands and chains are quickly removed, and the ponderous mass glides, stern first, slowly down the incline, but with ever-increasing velocity, toward the water. For a moment some anxiety is felt lest she should sink or get wedged; but as soon as her bows touch the water the stern rises up, and the Fram floats proudly on the sea, and is then at once moored fast with warps to the quay.Crew of the Fram.Crew of the Fram.By Permission of Harper & BrothersMeanwhile Nansen stood beside his wife, and all eyes turned toward them. But not a trace of anxiety or doubt could be discerned on his frank and open countenance; for he possessed that faith in his project that is able to remove mountains.The next matter of importance was to select the crew. There was ample material to choose from, for hundreds of volunteers from abroad offered themselves, besides Norwegians. But it was a Norwegian expedition—her crew, then, must be exclusively a national crew! And so Otto Sverdrup, who had earned his laurels in the Greenland expedition; Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the royal navy; Henrik Greve Blessing, surgeon; Theodor Claudius Jacobsen and Adolf Juell of the mercantile marine; Anton Amundsen and Lars Petterson, engineers; Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant of the royal army reserve, Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner; Bernt Nordahl, electrician; Ivar Otto Irgens Mogstad, head keeper at the lunatic asylum; and Bernt Berntsen, common sailor,—were selected. Most of them were married and had children.Sverdrup was to be the Fram’s commander, for Nansen knew that the ship would be safer in his hands than in his own.Finally, after an incredible deal of hard work in getting everything in order, the day of their departure arrived.It was midsummer—a dull, gloomy day. The Fram, heavily laden, is lying at Pipperviken Quay, waiting for Nansen. The appointed hour is past, and yet there are no signs of him. Members of the storthing,who had assembled there to bid him farewell, can wait no longer, and the crowds of people that line the quay are one and all anxiously gazing over the fjord.But presently a quick-sailing little petroleum boat heaves in sight. It swings round Dyna,2and quickly lies alongside the Fram; and Nansen goes on board his ship at once, and gives the order to “go ahead.” Every eye is fixed on him. He is as calm as ever, firm as a rock, but his face is pale.The anchor is weighed; and after making the tour of the little creek, the Fram steams down the fjord. “Full speed” is the command issued from the bridge; and as she proceeds on her way, Nansen turns round to take a farewell look over Svartebugta where Godthaab lies. He discerns a glimpse of a woman’s form dressed in white by the bench under the fir-tree, and then turns his face away; it was there he had bidden her farewell. Little Liv, his only child, had been carried by her mother, crowing and smiling, to bid father good-by, and he had taken her in his arms.“Yes, you smile, little one!” he said; “but I”—and he sobbed.This had taken place but an hour before. And now he was standing on the bridge alone, leaving all he held dear behind.The twelve men who accompanied him,—they, too, had made sacrifices,—each had his own sorrow to meet at this hour; but at the word of command, one and all went about their duty as if nothing was amiss.For the first few days it was fine weather, but on getting out as far as Lindesnæs3it became very stormy. The ship rolled like a log, and seas broke over the rails on both sides. Great fear was entertained lest the deck cargo should be carried overboard, a contingency, indeed, that soon occurred; for twenty-five empty paraffin casks broke loose from their lashings, and a quantity of reserve timber balks followed.“It was an anxious time,” says Nansen. “Seasick I stood on the bridge, alternately offering libations to the gods of the sea, and trembling for the safety of the boats and of the men who were trying to make snug what they could on deck. Now a green sea poured over us, and knocked one fellow off his legs so that he was deluged; now the lads were jumping over hurtling spars to avoid getting their feet crushed. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell was lying asleep in the ‘Grand Hotel,’ as we called one of the long boats, and awoke to find the sea roaring under him. I met him at the cabin door as he came running down. Once the Fram buried her bows and shipped a sea over the forecastle. One fellow was clinging to the anchor davits over the foaming water; it was poor Juell again.”Then all the casks, besides a quantity of timber, had to be thrown overboard. It was, indeed, an anxious time.But fine weather came at last, and Bergen turned out to meet them in brilliant sunshine. Then on again, along the wonderful coast of Norway, while the people on shore stood gazing after them, marvelling as they passed.At Beian4Sverdrup joined the ship, and Berntsen, the thirteenth member of the crew, at Tromsö.5Still onward toward the north, till finally the last glimpse of their native country faded from their sight in the hazy horizon, and a dense fog coming on enveloped them in its shroud. They were to have met the Urania, laden with coal, in Jugor straits; but as that vessel had not arrived, and time was precious, the Fram proceeded on her course, after having shipped a number of Esquimau dogs which a Russian, named Trontheim, had been commissioned to procure for the expedition. It was here that Nansen took leave of his secretary, Cristophersen, who was to return by the Urania; and the last tie that united them with Norway was severed.The Fram now heads out from the Jugor straits into the dreaded Kara sea, which many had prophesied would be her destruction. But they worked their way through storm and ice, at times satisfactorily, at others encountering slight mishaps; but the Fram proved herself to be a reliable iceworthy vessel, and Nansen felt more and more convinced that, when the ice-pressure began in real earnest, she would acquit herself well.“It was a royal pleasure,” he writes, “to take her into difficult ice. She twists and turns like a ball on a plate—and so strong! If she runs into a floe at full speed, she scarcely utters a sound, only quivers a little, perhaps.”When, as was often the case, they had to anchor on account of bad weather, Nansen and his companions would go ashore, either for the purpose of taking observations or for sport. One day they shot two bears and sundry reindeer; but, when they started to row back to the Fram in the evening, they had a severe task before them. For a strong breeze was blowing, and the current was dead against them. “We rowed as if our finger-tips would burst,” says Nansen, “but could hardly make any headway. So we had to go in under land again to get out of the current. But no sooner did we set out for the Fram again than we got into it once more, and then the whole manœuvre had to be repeated, with the same result. Presently a buoy was lowered from the ship: if we could only reach it, all would be right. But no such luck was in store for us yet. We would make one more desperate effort, and we rowed with a will, every muscle of our bodies strained to the utmost. But to our vexation we now saw the buoy being hauled up. We rowed a little to the windward of the Fram, and then tried again to sheer over. This time we got nearer her than we had been before, but still no buoy was thrown over—not even a man was to be seen on deck. We roared like madmen,” writes Nansen, “for a buoy—we had no strength left for another attempt. It was not a pleasing prospect to have to drift back, and go ashore again in our wet clothes,—wewouldget on board! Once more we yelled like wild Indians, and now they came rushing aft, and threw out the buoy in our direction. We put our last strength into our oars. There wereonly a few boat-lengths to cover, and the lads bent flat over the thwarts. Now only three boat-lengths. Another desperate spurt! Now only two and a half boat-lengths—presently two—then only one! A few more frantic pulls, and there was a little less. ‘Now, my lads, one or two more hard pulls—keep to it!—Now another—don’t give in—one more—there we have it!’ And a joyful sigh of relief passed round the boat. ‘Keep her going, or the rope will break—row, my lads!’ And row we did, and soon they had hauled us alongside the Fram. Not till we were lying there, getting our bearskins and flesh hauled on board, did we realize what we had had to fight against. The current was running along the side of the ship like a millstream. At last we were on board. It was evening by this time, and it was a comfort to get some hot food, and then stretch one’s limbs in a comfortable, dry berth.”The Fram proceeded on her course the next day, passing a number of unknown islands, to which Nansen gave names. Among these were Scott-Hansen’s Islands, Ringnes, Mohns, etc.On Sept. 6, the anniversary of Nansen’s wedding, they passed Taimar Island, and after a prosperous passage through open water reached Cape Tscheljuskin on Sept. 9.Nansen was sitting in the crow’s nest that evening. The weather was perfectly still, and the sky lay in a dream of gold and yellow. A solitary star was visible; it stood directly over Cape Tscheljuskin, twinkling brightly, though sadly, in the pale sky overhead. As the vessel proceeded on her course it seemed to followthem. There was something about that star that attracted Nansen’s attention, and brought him peace. It was as it werehisstar, and he felt that she who was at home was sending him a message by it. Meanwhile the Fram toiled on through the gloomy melancholy of the night out into the unknown.In the morning, when the sun rose up, a salute was fired, and high festival held on board.A few days later a herd of walrus was sighted. It was a lovely morning, and perfectly calm, so that they could distinctly hear their bellowings over the clear surface of the water, as they lay in a heap on an ice-floe, the blue mountains glittering in the sunlight in the background.“My goodness, what a lot of meat!” ejaculated Juell, the cook. And at once Nansen, Juell, and Henriksen set out after them, Juell rowing, Nansen armed with a gun, and Henriksen with a harpoon. On getting to close quarters Henriksen threw the harpoon at the nearest walrus, but it struck too high, and glanced off the tough hide, and went skipping over the rounded backs of the others. Now all was stir and life. Ten or a dozen of the bulky animals waddled with upraised heads to the extreme edge of the floe, whereupon Nansen took aim at the largest, and fired. The brute staggered, and fell headlong into the water. Another bullet into a second walrus was attended with the same result, and the rest of the herd plunged into the water, so that it boiled and seethed. Soon, however, they were up again, all around the boat, standing upright in the water, bellowing and roaring till the air shook. Everynow and then they would make a dash toward the boat, then dive, and come up again. The sea boiled like a cauldron, and every moment they seemed about to dash their tusks through the side of the boat, and capsize it. Fortunately, however, this did not occur. Walrus after walrus was shot by Nansen, while Henriksen was busy with his harpoon to prevent them sinking.At last, after a favorable journey through open water, the Fram finally reached firm ice on Sept. 25, and allowed herself to be frozen in; for winter was fast approaching, and it was no longer possible to drive her through the ice.1Frammeans onward.2Dyna, an islet with a lighthouse in Christiania harbor.3Cape Lindesnæs, the southernmost point of Norway.4Beian(pron. By-an), a village and stopping-place for the coast-wise steamers in northern Norway, near Trondhjem.5Tromsö, the chief city and bishop’s see of the bishopric of same name, the northernmost diocese in Norway.
Chapter VII.Preparations for the Polar Expedition.—Starting from Norway.—Journey along the Siberian Coast.
Preparations for the Polar Expedition.—Starting from Norway.—Journey along the Siberian Coast.
Preparations for the Polar Expedition.—Starting from Norway.—Journey along the Siberian Coast.
Nansen’s theory as regards the expedition to the North Pole was as simple as it was daring. He believed that he had discovered the existence of a current passing over the pole, and of this he would avail himself. His idea, in fact, was to work his way into the ice among the New Siberian Islands, let his vessel be fast frozen into the drift-ice, and be carried by the current over the Pole to the east coast of Greenland. There articles had been found on ice-floes that had unquestionably belonged to former Arctic expeditions, a fact that convinced him of the existence of such a current.It might take some years for a vessel to drift all that way; he must, therefore, make his preparations accordingly. Such at all events was Nansen’s theory—a theory which, it must be said, few shared with him. For none of the world’s noted explorers of those regions believed in the existence of such a current, and people generally termed the scheme, “a madman’s idea!”Nansen, therefore, stood almost alone in this, and yet not altogether alone, either. For the Norwegian people who would not sacrifice $1,350 for the Greenland expedition gave him now in a lump sum 280,000 kroner ($75,600). They were convinced of his gigantic powers,and when the Norwegians are fully convinced of a thing, they are willing to make any sacrifice to carry it out. They believed in him now!Nansen then set to work in earnest at his gigantic undertaking.First of all a vessel must be designed,—one that would be able to defy the ice. Availing himself, therefore, of the services of the famous shipbuilder, Colin Archer, he had the Fram1built—a name suggestive of noble achievements to the youth of Norway.On Oct. 26, 1892, she was launched at Laurvig. During the previous night the temperature had been fourteen degrees above zero, and a slight sprinkling of snow had covered valley and height with a thin veil of white. The morning sun peered through the mist with that peculiar hazy light that foretells a bright winter day.At the station at Laurvig, Nansen waited to receive his guests. A whaler, with a crow’s-nest on her foretop, was lying in the harbor, to convey the visitors to the spot where the Fram was lying on the stocks.In the bay at Reykjavik the huge hull of a vessel may be seen raised up on the beach, with her stern toward the sea. It is Fridtjof Nansen’s new ship that is now to be launched. She is a high vessel, of great beam, painted black below and white above. Three stout masts of American pitch-pine are lying by her side on the quay, while three flagstaffs, two of them only with flags flying, rear themselves up aloft on her deck. The flag which is to be run up the bare staff is to bear thevessel’s name—unknown as yet. Everybody is wondering what that name will be, and conjectures whether it will be Eva, Leif, Norway, Northpole, are rife.Crowds of spectators are assembled at the wharf, while as many have clambered upon the adjacent rocks. But around the huge ship, which lies on the slips firmly secured with iron chains, are standing groups of stalwart, weather-beaten men in working attire. They are whalers, who for years have frequented the polar seas and braved its dangers, and are now attentively examining and criticising the new ship’s construction. A goodly number, too, of workmen are there,—the men who built the ship; and they are looking at their work with feelings of pride. And yonder is the vessel’s architect,—that stately, earnest-looking man with the long, flowing white beard,—Colin Archer.And now, accompanied by his wife, Nansen ascends the platform that has been erected in the ship’s bow. Mrs. Nansen steps forward, breaks a bottle of champagne on the prow, and in clear, ringing tones declares, “Framis her name.” At the same moment a flag on which the vessel’s name can be read in white letters on a red ground, is run up to the top of the bare flagstaff.The last bands and chains are quickly removed, and the ponderous mass glides, stern first, slowly down the incline, but with ever-increasing velocity, toward the water. For a moment some anxiety is felt lest she should sink or get wedged; but as soon as her bows touch the water the stern rises up, and the Fram floats proudly on the sea, and is then at once moored fast with warps to the quay.Crew of the Fram.Crew of the Fram.By Permission of Harper & BrothersMeanwhile Nansen stood beside his wife, and all eyes turned toward them. But not a trace of anxiety or doubt could be discerned on his frank and open countenance; for he possessed that faith in his project that is able to remove mountains.The next matter of importance was to select the crew. There was ample material to choose from, for hundreds of volunteers from abroad offered themselves, besides Norwegians. But it was a Norwegian expedition—her crew, then, must be exclusively a national crew! And so Otto Sverdrup, who had earned his laurels in the Greenland expedition; Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the royal navy; Henrik Greve Blessing, surgeon; Theodor Claudius Jacobsen and Adolf Juell of the mercantile marine; Anton Amundsen and Lars Petterson, engineers; Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant of the royal army reserve, Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner; Bernt Nordahl, electrician; Ivar Otto Irgens Mogstad, head keeper at the lunatic asylum; and Bernt Berntsen, common sailor,—were selected. Most of them were married and had children.Sverdrup was to be the Fram’s commander, for Nansen knew that the ship would be safer in his hands than in his own.Finally, after an incredible deal of hard work in getting everything in order, the day of their departure arrived.It was midsummer—a dull, gloomy day. The Fram, heavily laden, is lying at Pipperviken Quay, waiting for Nansen. The appointed hour is past, and yet there are no signs of him. Members of the storthing,who had assembled there to bid him farewell, can wait no longer, and the crowds of people that line the quay are one and all anxiously gazing over the fjord.But presently a quick-sailing little petroleum boat heaves in sight. It swings round Dyna,2and quickly lies alongside the Fram; and Nansen goes on board his ship at once, and gives the order to “go ahead.” Every eye is fixed on him. He is as calm as ever, firm as a rock, but his face is pale.The anchor is weighed; and after making the tour of the little creek, the Fram steams down the fjord. “Full speed” is the command issued from the bridge; and as she proceeds on her way, Nansen turns round to take a farewell look over Svartebugta where Godthaab lies. He discerns a glimpse of a woman’s form dressed in white by the bench under the fir-tree, and then turns his face away; it was there he had bidden her farewell. Little Liv, his only child, had been carried by her mother, crowing and smiling, to bid father good-by, and he had taken her in his arms.“Yes, you smile, little one!” he said; “but I”—and he sobbed.This had taken place but an hour before. And now he was standing on the bridge alone, leaving all he held dear behind.The twelve men who accompanied him,—they, too, had made sacrifices,—each had his own sorrow to meet at this hour; but at the word of command, one and all went about their duty as if nothing was amiss.For the first few days it was fine weather, but on getting out as far as Lindesnæs3it became very stormy. The ship rolled like a log, and seas broke over the rails on both sides. Great fear was entertained lest the deck cargo should be carried overboard, a contingency, indeed, that soon occurred; for twenty-five empty paraffin casks broke loose from their lashings, and a quantity of reserve timber balks followed.“It was an anxious time,” says Nansen. “Seasick I stood on the bridge, alternately offering libations to the gods of the sea, and trembling for the safety of the boats and of the men who were trying to make snug what they could on deck. Now a green sea poured over us, and knocked one fellow off his legs so that he was deluged; now the lads were jumping over hurtling spars to avoid getting their feet crushed. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell was lying asleep in the ‘Grand Hotel,’ as we called one of the long boats, and awoke to find the sea roaring under him. I met him at the cabin door as he came running down. Once the Fram buried her bows and shipped a sea over the forecastle. One fellow was clinging to the anchor davits over the foaming water; it was poor Juell again.”Then all the casks, besides a quantity of timber, had to be thrown overboard. It was, indeed, an anxious time.But fine weather came at last, and Bergen turned out to meet them in brilliant sunshine. Then on again, along the wonderful coast of Norway, while the people on shore stood gazing after them, marvelling as they passed.At Beian4Sverdrup joined the ship, and Berntsen, the thirteenth member of the crew, at Tromsö.5Still onward toward the north, till finally the last glimpse of their native country faded from their sight in the hazy horizon, and a dense fog coming on enveloped them in its shroud. They were to have met the Urania, laden with coal, in Jugor straits; but as that vessel had not arrived, and time was precious, the Fram proceeded on her course, after having shipped a number of Esquimau dogs which a Russian, named Trontheim, had been commissioned to procure for the expedition. It was here that Nansen took leave of his secretary, Cristophersen, who was to return by the Urania; and the last tie that united them with Norway was severed.The Fram now heads out from the Jugor straits into the dreaded Kara sea, which many had prophesied would be her destruction. But they worked their way through storm and ice, at times satisfactorily, at others encountering slight mishaps; but the Fram proved herself to be a reliable iceworthy vessel, and Nansen felt more and more convinced that, when the ice-pressure began in real earnest, she would acquit herself well.“It was a royal pleasure,” he writes, “to take her into difficult ice. She twists and turns like a ball on a plate—and so strong! If she runs into a floe at full speed, she scarcely utters a sound, only quivers a little, perhaps.”When, as was often the case, they had to anchor on account of bad weather, Nansen and his companions would go ashore, either for the purpose of taking observations or for sport. One day they shot two bears and sundry reindeer; but, when they started to row back to the Fram in the evening, they had a severe task before them. For a strong breeze was blowing, and the current was dead against them. “We rowed as if our finger-tips would burst,” says Nansen, “but could hardly make any headway. So we had to go in under land again to get out of the current. But no sooner did we set out for the Fram again than we got into it once more, and then the whole manœuvre had to be repeated, with the same result. Presently a buoy was lowered from the ship: if we could only reach it, all would be right. But no such luck was in store for us yet. We would make one more desperate effort, and we rowed with a will, every muscle of our bodies strained to the utmost. But to our vexation we now saw the buoy being hauled up. We rowed a little to the windward of the Fram, and then tried again to sheer over. This time we got nearer her than we had been before, but still no buoy was thrown over—not even a man was to be seen on deck. We roared like madmen,” writes Nansen, “for a buoy—we had no strength left for another attempt. It was not a pleasing prospect to have to drift back, and go ashore again in our wet clothes,—wewouldget on board! Once more we yelled like wild Indians, and now they came rushing aft, and threw out the buoy in our direction. We put our last strength into our oars. There wereonly a few boat-lengths to cover, and the lads bent flat over the thwarts. Now only three boat-lengths. Another desperate spurt! Now only two and a half boat-lengths—presently two—then only one! A few more frantic pulls, and there was a little less. ‘Now, my lads, one or two more hard pulls—keep to it!—Now another—don’t give in—one more—there we have it!’ And a joyful sigh of relief passed round the boat. ‘Keep her going, or the rope will break—row, my lads!’ And row we did, and soon they had hauled us alongside the Fram. Not till we were lying there, getting our bearskins and flesh hauled on board, did we realize what we had had to fight against. The current was running along the side of the ship like a millstream. At last we were on board. It was evening by this time, and it was a comfort to get some hot food, and then stretch one’s limbs in a comfortable, dry berth.”The Fram proceeded on her course the next day, passing a number of unknown islands, to which Nansen gave names. Among these were Scott-Hansen’s Islands, Ringnes, Mohns, etc.On Sept. 6, the anniversary of Nansen’s wedding, they passed Taimar Island, and after a prosperous passage through open water reached Cape Tscheljuskin on Sept. 9.Nansen was sitting in the crow’s nest that evening. The weather was perfectly still, and the sky lay in a dream of gold and yellow. A solitary star was visible; it stood directly over Cape Tscheljuskin, twinkling brightly, though sadly, in the pale sky overhead. As the vessel proceeded on her course it seemed to followthem. There was something about that star that attracted Nansen’s attention, and brought him peace. It was as it werehisstar, and he felt that she who was at home was sending him a message by it. Meanwhile the Fram toiled on through the gloomy melancholy of the night out into the unknown.In the morning, when the sun rose up, a salute was fired, and high festival held on board.A few days later a herd of walrus was sighted. It was a lovely morning, and perfectly calm, so that they could distinctly hear their bellowings over the clear surface of the water, as they lay in a heap on an ice-floe, the blue mountains glittering in the sunlight in the background.“My goodness, what a lot of meat!” ejaculated Juell, the cook. And at once Nansen, Juell, and Henriksen set out after them, Juell rowing, Nansen armed with a gun, and Henriksen with a harpoon. On getting to close quarters Henriksen threw the harpoon at the nearest walrus, but it struck too high, and glanced off the tough hide, and went skipping over the rounded backs of the others. Now all was stir and life. Ten or a dozen of the bulky animals waddled with upraised heads to the extreme edge of the floe, whereupon Nansen took aim at the largest, and fired. The brute staggered, and fell headlong into the water. Another bullet into a second walrus was attended with the same result, and the rest of the herd plunged into the water, so that it boiled and seethed. Soon, however, they were up again, all around the boat, standing upright in the water, bellowing and roaring till the air shook. Everynow and then they would make a dash toward the boat, then dive, and come up again. The sea boiled like a cauldron, and every moment they seemed about to dash their tusks through the side of the boat, and capsize it. Fortunately, however, this did not occur. Walrus after walrus was shot by Nansen, while Henriksen was busy with his harpoon to prevent them sinking.At last, after a favorable journey through open water, the Fram finally reached firm ice on Sept. 25, and allowed herself to be frozen in; for winter was fast approaching, and it was no longer possible to drive her through the ice.
Nansen’s theory as regards the expedition to the North Pole was as simple as it was daring. He believed that he had discovered the existence of a current passing over the pole, and of this he would avail himself. His idea, in fact, was to work his way into the ice among the New Siberian Islands, let his vessel be fast frozen into the drift-ice, and be carried by the current over the Pole to the east coast of Greenland. There articles had been found on ice-floes that had unquestionably belonged to former Arctic expeditions, a fact that convinced him of the existence of such a current.
It might take some years for a vessel to drift all that way; he must, therefore, make his preparations accordingly. Such at all events was Nansen’s theory—a theory which, it must be said, few shared with him. For none of the world’s noted explorers of those regions believed in the existence of such a current, and people generally termed the scheme, “a madman’s idea!”
Nansen, therefore, stood almost alone in this, and yet not altogether alone, either. For the Norwegian people who would not sacrifice $1,350 for the Greenland expedition gave him now in a lump sum 280,000 kroner ($75,600). They were convinced of his gigantic powers,and when the Norwegians are fully convinced of a thing, they are willing to make any sacrifice to carry it out. They believed in him now!
Nansen then set to work in earnest at his gigantic undertaking.
First of all a vessel must be designed,—one that would be able to defy the ice. Availing himself, therefore, of the services of the famous shipbuilder, Colin Archer, he had the Fram1built—a name suggestive of noble achievements to the youth of Norway.
On Oct. 26, 1892, she was launched at Laurvig. During the previous night the temperature had been fourteen degrees above zero, and a slight sprinkling of snow had covered valley and height with a thin veil of white. The morning sun peered through the mist with that peculiar hazy light that foretells a bright winter day.
At the station at Laurvig, Nansen waited to receive his guests. A whaler, with a crow’s-nest on her foretop, was lying in the harbor, to convey the visitors to the spot where the Fram was lying on the stocks.
In the bay at Reykjavik the huge hull of a vessel may be seen raised up on the beach, with her stern toward the sea. It is Fridtjof Nansen’s new ship that is now to be launched. She is a high vessel, of great beam, painted black below and white above. Three stout masts of American pitch-pine are lying by her side on the quay, while three flagstaffs, two of them only with flags flying, rear themselves up aloft on her deck. The flag which is to be run up the bare staff is to bear thevessel’s name—unknown as yet. Everybody is wondering what that name will be, and conjectures whether it will be Eva, Leif, Norway, Northpole, are rife.
Crowds of spectators are assembled at the wharf, while as many have clambered upon the adjacent rocks. But around the huge ship, which lies on the slips firmly secured with iron chains, are standing groups of stalwart, weather-beaten men in working attire. They are whalers, who for years have frequented the polar seas and braved its dangers, and are now attentively examining and criticising the new ship’s construction. A goodly number, too, of workmen are there,—the men who built the ship; and they are looking at their work with feelings of pride. And yonder is the vessel’s architect,—that stately, earnest-looking man with the long, flowing white beard,—Colin Archer.
And now, accompanied by his wife, Nansen ascends the platform that has been erected in the ship’s bow. Mrs. Nansen steps forward, breaks a bottle of champagne on the prow, and in clear, ringing tones declares, “Framis her name.” At the same moment a flag on which the vessel’s name can be read in white letters on a red ground, is run up to the top of the bare flagstaff.
The last bands and chains are quickly removed, and the ponderous mass glides, stern first, slowly down the incline, but with ever-increasing velocity, toward the water. For a moment some anxiety is felt lest she should sink or get wedged; but as soon as her bows touch the water the stern rises up, and the Fram floats proudly on the sea, and is then at once moored fast with warps to the quay.
Crew of the Fram.Crew of the Fram.By Permission of Harper & Brothers
Crew of the Fram.
By Permission of Harper & Brothers
Meanwhile Nansen stood beside his wife, and all eyes turned toward them. But not a trace of anxiety or doubt could be discerned on his frank and open countenance; for he possessed that faith in his project that is able to remove mountains.
The next matter of importance was to select the crew. There was ample material to choose from, for hundreds of volunteers from abroad offered themselves, besides Norwegians. But it was a Norwegian expedition—her crew, then, must be exclusively a national crew! And so Otto Sverdrup, who had earned his laurels in the Greenland expedition; Sigurd Scott-Hansen, first lieutenant in the royal navy; Henrik Greve Blessing, surgeon; Theodor Claudius Jacobsen and Adolf Juell of the mercantile marine; Anton Amundsen and Lars Petterson, engineers; Frederik Hjalmar Johansen, lieutenant of the royal army reserve, Peter Leonard Henriksen, harpooner; Bernt Nordahl, electrician; Ivar Otto Irgens Mogstad, head keeper at the lunatic asylum; and Bernt Berntsen, common sailor,—were selected. Most of them were married and had children.
Sverdrup was to be the Fram’s commander, for Nansen knew that the ship would be safer in his hands than in his own.
Finally, after an incredible deal of hard work in getting everything in order, the day of their departure arrived.
It was midsummer—a dull, gloomy day. The Fram, heavily laden, is lying at Pipperviken Quay, waiting for Nansen. The appointed hour is past, and yet there are no signs of him. Members of the storthing,who had assembled there to bid him farewell, can wait no longer, and the crowds of people that line the quay are one and all anxiously gazing over the fjord.
But presently a quick-sailing little petroleum boat heaves in sight. It swings round Dyna,2and quickly lies alongside the Fram; and Nansen goes on board his ship at once, and gives the order to “go ahead.” Every eye is fixed on him. He is as calm as ever, firm as a rock, but his face is pale.
The anchor is weighed; and after making the tour of the little creek, the Fram steams down the fjord. “Full speed” is the command issued from the bridge; and as she proceeds on her way, Nansen turns round to take a farewell look over Svartebugta where Godthaab lies. He discerns a glimpse of a woman’s form dressed in white by the bench under the fir-tree, and then turns his face away; it was there he had bidden her farewell. Little Liv, his only child, had been carried by her mother, crowing and smiling, to bid father good-by, and he had taken her in his arms.
“Yes, you smile, little one!” he said; “but I”—and he sobbed.
This had taken place but an hour before. And now he was standing on the bridge alone, leaving all he held dear behind.
The twelve men who accompanied him,—they, too, had made sacrifices,—each had his own sorrow to meet at this hour; but at the word of command, one and all went about their duty as if nothing was amiss.
For the first few days it was fine weather, but on getting out as far as Lindesnæs3it became very stormy. The ship rolled like a log, and seas broke over the rails on both sides. Great fear was entertained lest the deck cargo should be carried overboard, a contingency, indeed, that soon occurred; for twenty-five empty paraffin casks broke loose from their lashings, and a quantity of reserve timber balks followed.
“It was an anxious time,” says Nansen. “Seasick I stood on the bridge, alternately offering libations to the gods of the sea, and trembling for the safety of the boats and of the men who were trying to make snug what they could on deck. Now a green sea poured over us, and knocked one fellow off his legs so that he was deluged; now the lads were jumping over hurtling spars to avoid getting their feet crushed. There was not a dry thread on them. Juell was lying asleep in the ‘Grand Hotel,’ as we called one of the long boats, and awoke to find the sea roaring under him. I met him at the cabin door as he came running down. Once the Fram buried her bows and shipped a sea over the forecastle. One fellow was clinging to the anchor davits over the foaming water; it was poor Juell again.”
Then all the casks, besides a quantity of timber, had to be thrown overboard. It was, indeed, an anxious time.
But fine weather came at last, and Bergen turned out to meet them in brilliant sunshine. Then on again, along the wonderful coast of Norway, while the people on shore stood gazing after them, marvelling as they passed.
At Beian4Sverdrup joined the ship, and Berntsen, the thirteenth member of the crew, at Tromsö.5
Still onward toward the north, till finally the last glimpse of their native country faded from their sight in the hazy horizon, and a dense fog coming on enveloped them in its shroud. They were to have met the Urania, laden with coal, in Jugor straits; but as that vessel had not arrived, and time was precious, the Fram proceeded on her course, after having shipped a number of Esquimau dogs which a Russian, named Trontheim, had been commissioned to procure for the expedition. It was here that Nansen took leave of his secretary, Cristophersen, who was to return by the Urania; and the last tie that united them with Norway was severed.
The Fram now heads out from the Jugor straits into the dreaded Kara sea, which many had prophesied would be her destruction. But they worked their way through storm and ice, at times satisfactorily, at others encountering slight mishaps; but the Fram proved herself to be a reliable iceworthy vessel, and Nansen felt more and more convinced that, when the ice-pressure began in real earnest, she would acquit herself well.
“It was a royal pleasure,” he writes, “to take her into difficult ice. She twists and turns like a ball on a plate—and so strong! If she runs into a floe at full speed, she scarcely utters a sound, only quivers a little, perhaps.”
When, as was often the case, they had to anchor on account of bad weather, Nansen and his companions would go ashore, either for the purpose of taking observations or for sport. One day they shot two bears and sundry reindeer; but, when they started to row back to the Fram in the evening, they had a severe task before them. For a strong breeze was blowing, and the current was dead against them. “We rowed as if our finger-tips would burst,” says Nansen, “but could hardly make any headway. So we had to go in under land again to get out of the current. But no sooner did we set out for the Fram again than we got into it once more, and then the whole manœuvre had to be repeated, with the same result. Presently a buoy was lowered from the ship: if we could only reach it, all would be right. But no such luck was in store for us yet. We would make one more desperate effort, and we rowed with a will, every muscle of our bodies strained to the utmost. But to our vexation we now saw the buoy being hauled up. We rowed a little to the windward of the Fram, and then tried again to sheer over. This time we got nearer her than we had been before, but still no buoy was thrown over—not even a man was to be seen on deck. We roared like madmen,” writes Nansen, “for a buoy—we had no strength left for another attempt. It was not a pleasing prospect to have to drift back, and go ashore again in our wet clothes,—wewouldget on board! Once more we yelled like wild Indians, and now they came rushing aft, and threw out the buoy in our direction. We put our last strength into our oars. There wereonly a few boat-lengths to cover, and the lads bent flat over the thwarts. Now only three boat-lengths. Another desperate spurt! Now only two and a half boat-lengths—presently two—then only one! A few more frantic pulls, and there was a little less. ‘Now, my lads, one or two more hard pulls—keep to it!—Now another—don’t give in—one more—there we have it!’ And a joyful sigh of relief passed round the boat. ‘Keep her going, or the rope will break—row, my lads!’ And row we did, and soon they had hauled us alongside the Fram. Not till we were lying there, getting our bearskins and flesh hauled on board, did we realize what we had had to fight against. The current was running along the side of the ship like a millstream. At last we were on board. It was evening by this time, and it was a comfort to get some hot food, and then stretch one’s limbs in a comfortable, dry berth.”
The Fram proceeded on her course the next day, passing a number of unknown islands, to which Nansen gave names. Among these were Scott-Hansen’s Islands, Ringnes, Mohns, etc.
On Sept. 6, the anniversary of Nansen’s wedding, they passed Taimar Island, and after a prosperous passage through open water reached Cape Tscheljuskin on Sept. 9.
Nansen was sitting in the crow’s nest that evening. The weather was perfectly still, and the sky lay in a dream of gold and yellow. A solitary star was visible; it stood directly over Cape Tscheljuskin, twinkling brightly, though sadly, in the pale sky overhead. As the vessel proceeded on her course it seemed to followthem. There was something about that star that attracted Nansen’s attention, and brought him peace. It was as it werehisstar, and he felt that she who was at home was sending him a message by it. Meanwhile the Fram toiled on through the gloomy melancholy of the night out into the unknown.
In the morning, when the sun rose up, a salute was fired, and high festival held on board.
A few days later a herd of walrus was sighted. It was a lovely morning, and perfectly calm, so that they could distinctly hear their bellowings over the clear surface of the water, as they lay in a heap on an ice-floe, the blue mountains glittering in the sunlight in the background.
“My goodness, what a lot of meat!” ejaculated Juell, the cook. And at once Nansen, Juell, and Henriksen set out after them, Juell rowing, Nansen armed with a gun, and Henriksen with a harpoon. On getting to close quarters Henriksen threw the harpoon at the nearest walrus, but it struck too high, and glanced off the tough hide, and went skipping over the rounded backs of the others. Now all was stir and life. Ten or a dozen of the bulky animals waddled with upraised heads to the extreme edge of the floe, whereupon Nansen took aim at the largest, and fired. The brute staggered, and fell headlong into the water. Another bullet into a second walrus was attended with the same result, and the rest of the herd plunged into the water, so that it boiled and seethed. Soon, however, they were up again, all around the boat, standing upright in the water, bellowing and roaring till the air shook. Everynow and then they would make a dash toward the boat, then dive, and come up again. The sea boiled like a cauldron, and every moment they seemed about to dash their tusks through the side of the boat, and capsize it. Fortunately, however, this did not occur. Walrus after walrus was shot by Nansen, while Henriksen was busy with his harpoon to prevent them sinking.
At last, after a favorable journey through open water, the Fram finally reached firm ice on Sept. 25, and allowed herself to be frozen in; for winter was fast approaching, and it was no longer possible to drive her through the ice.
1Frammeans onward.2Dyna, an islet with a lighthouse in Christiania harbor.3Cape Lindesnæs, the southernmost point of Norway.4Beian(pron. By-an), a village and stopping-place for the coast-wise steamers in northern Norway, near Trondhjem.5Tromsö, the chief city and bishop’s see of the bishopric of same name, the northernmost diocese in Norway.
1Frammeans onward.
2Dyna, an islet with a lighthouse in Christiania harbor.
3Cape Lindesnæs, the southernmost point of Norway.
4Beian(pron. By-an), a village and stopping-place for the coast-wise steamers in northern Norway, near Trondhjem.
5Tromsö, the chief city and bishop’s see of the bishopric of same name, the northernmost diocese in Norway.
Chapter VIII.Drifting Through the Ice.—Christmas.—Daily Life on the Fram.—Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.From Sept. 26 the Fram lay frozen in in the drift-ice, and many a long day would pass ere she would be loose again. Nansen’s theory of a current over the North Pole would now be proved to be correct or the reverse.It was a monotonous time that was approaching for the men on board. At first they drifted but very little northward, each succeeding day bringing but little alteration; but they kept a good heart, for they had not to suffer from lack of anything that could conduce to their comfort. They had a good ship, excellently equipped, and so passed the days as best they could,—now occupying themselves with seeing to the dogs or taking observations, etc.; while reading, playing cards, chess, halma, and making all kinds of implements, filled up the remainder of their time. Every now and then the monotony of their existence would undergo variation, when the ice-pressure set in. Then there was plenty of life and stir on board, and all hands would turn out to do battle with the foe.The Fram in an ice pressure.The Fram in an ice pressure.By Permission of Harper & Brothers.It was on Monday, Oct. 9, that the Fram underwent her first experience of a regular ice-pressure. Nansen and the others were sitting after dinner, as usual, chattingabout one thing and another, when all at once a deafening sound was heard, and the ship quivered from stem to stern. Up they rushed on deck; for now the Fram was to be put to the test—and gloriously she passed through it! When the ice nipped she lifted herself up, as if raised by invisible hands, and pushed the floes down below her.An ice-pressure is a most wonderful thing. Let us hear what Nansen says of it:—“It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the ship’s sides, gradually sounding louder in every conceivable key. Now it is a high plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship gives a start up. Steadily the noise increases till it is like all the pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or is gently lifted up. But presently the uproar slackens, and the ship sinks down into her old position again, as if in a safe bed.”But woe to them who have not such a ship to resort to under a pressure like this; for when once it begins in real earnest, it is as if there could not be a spot on the earth’s surface that would not tremble and shake.“First,” says Nansen, “you hear a sound like the thundering rumble of an earthquake far away on the great waste; then you hear it in several places, always coming nearer and nearer. The silent ice world re-echoes with thunders; nature’s giants are awakening to the battle. The ice cracks on every side of you, and begins to pile itself up in heaps. There are howlings and thunderings around you; you feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet. In the semi-darknessyou can see it piling and tossing itself up into high ridges,—floes ten, twelve, fifteen feet thick, broken and flung up on the top of each other,—you jump away to save your life. But the ice splits in front of you; a black gulf opens, and the water streams up. You turn in another direction; but there through the dark you can just see a new ridge of moving ice-blocks coming toward you. You try another direction, but there it is just the same. All around there is thundering and roaring, as of some enormous waterfall with explosions like cannon salvoes. Still nearer you it comes. The floe you are standing on gets smaller and smaller; water pours over it; there can be no escape except by scrambling over the ice-blocks to get to the other side of the pack. But little by little the disturbance calms down again, and the noise passes on and is lost by degrees in the distance.”Another thing brought life and stir into the camp, viz., “bears.” And many a time the cry of “bears” was heard in those icy plains.InFarthest North, Nansen describes a number of amusing incidents with these animals. We must, however, content ourselves with giving only a brief sketch of some of the most interesting of these.Nansen and Sverdrup, and indeed several of the others, had shot polar bears before; but some of their number were novices in the sport, among whom were Blessing, Johansen and Scott-Hansen. One day, when the latter were taking observations a short distance from the ship, a bear was seen but a little way off—in fact, just in front of the Fram.“Hush! don’t make a noise, or we shall frighten him,” said Hansen; and they all crouched down to watch him.“I think I’d better slip off on board and tell them about it,” said Blessing. And off he started on tiptoe, so as not to alarm the bear.The beast meanwhile came sniffing and shambling along toward where they were, so that evidently he had not been frightened.Catching sight of Blessing, who was slinking off to the ship, the brute made straight for him.Blessing, seeing that the bear was by no means alarmed, now made his way back to his companions as quickly as he could, closely followed by the bear. Matters began to look rather serious, and they each snatched up their weapons. Hansen, an ice-staff, Johansen, an axe, and Blessing nothing at all, shouting at the top of their voices, “Bear! bear!” after which they all took to their heels as fast as ever they could for the ship. The bear, however, held on his course toward the tent, which he examined very closely before following on their tracks. The animal was subsequently shot on approaching the Fram. Nansen was not a little surprised on finding in its stomach a piece of paper stamped, “Lutken & Mohn, Christiania,” which he recognized as belonging to the ship.On another occasion, toward the end of 1893, Hendriksen, whose business it was to see to the dogs that were tethered on an ice-floe, came tearing into the ship, and shouting, “Come with a gun! Come with a gun!” The bear, it seems, had bitten him on his side. Nansenimmediately caught up his gun, as also did Hendriksen, and off they set after the bear. There was a confused sound of human voices on the starboard side of the ship, while on the ice below the gangway the dogs were making a tremendous uproar.Nansen put his gun up to his shoulder, but it wouldn’t go off. There was a plug of tow in the barrel. And Hendriksen kept crying out, “Shoot, shoot! mine won’t go off!” There he stood clicking and clicking, for his gun was stuffed up with vaseline. Meanwhile the bear was lying close under the ship, worrying one of the dogs. The mate, too, was fumbling away at his gun, which was also plugged, while Mogstad, the fourth man, was brandishing an empty rifle, for he had shot all his cartridges away, crying out, “Shoot him! shoot him!” The fifth man, Scott-Hansen, was lying in the passage leading into the chart-room, groping after cartridges through a narrow chink in the door; for Kvik’s kennel stood against it, so that he could not get it wide open. At last, however, Johansen came, and fired right into the bear’s hide. This shot had the effect of making the brute let go of the dog, which jumped up and ran away. Several shots were now fired, which killed the bear.Hendriksen tells this story about his being bitten:—“You see,” he said, “as I was going along with the lantern, I saw some drops of blood by the gangway, but thought one of the dogs had very likely cut its foot. On the ice, however, we saw bear-tracks, and started off to the west, the whole pack of dogs with us running on ahead. When we had got some little distance from the Fram, we heard a terrible row in front, and presentlysaw a great brute coming straight toward us, closely followed by the dogs. No sooner did we see what it was than we set off for the ship as fast as we could. Mogstad had his Lappish moccasons on, and knew the way better than I did, so he got to the ship before me; for I couldn’t go very fast with these heavy wooden shoes, you see. I missed my way, I suppose, for I found myself on the big hummock to the west of the ship’s bows. There I took a good look round, to see if the bear was after me. But I could not see any signs of it, so I started off again, but fell down flat on my back among the hummocks. Oh, yes, I was soon up again, and got down to the level ice near the ship’s side, when I saw something coming at me on the right. At first I thought it was one of the dogs; for it isn’t so easy to see in the dark, you know. But I hadn’t much time for thinking, for the brute jumped right on me, and bit me here, on the side. I had lifted my arm up like this, you see, and then he bit me on the hip, growling and foaming at the mouth all the while.”“What did you think then, Peter?” asked Nansen.“What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn’t any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or what for, I can’t say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along, and set off after it, and so I got on board.”“Did you call out, Peter?”“I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!”And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.“But where was Mogstad all the while?” asked Nansen.“Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun wouldn’t go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat me up right under his very nose.”On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs; and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing one of the dogs, it was shot.In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much to Sverdrup’s delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork, stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn’t seem to approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if to say, “Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for me, no doubt.” Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the ship and was shot.Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit faith in him; while overhead the star—his star—shone out brilliantly in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.Christmas Eve was ushered in with -35° Fahrenheit. The Fram lay in seventy-nine degrees, eleven minutes, north latitude, two minutes farther south than was the case a week before.There was a peculiar feeling of solemnity on board. Every one was thinking of home, and trying at the same time to keep his thoughts to himself, and so there was more noise and laughter than usual. They ate and they drank and made speeches, and the Christmas presents were given out, and theFramsjaa, the Fram’s newspaper, with an extra illustrated Christmas number, appeared.Inthepoem for the day it said:—“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,When we drift at the will of the stream,When the white veil of winter is spread all around,In our sleep of our dear home we dream.Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,Good luck may the coming year bring;We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”Themenufor Christmas Eve was:—1.Oxtail Soup.2.Fish Pudding.3.Reindeer-steak and Green Peas. French Beans, Potatoes, and Huckleberry Jelly.4.Cloudberries and Cream.5.Cake and Marzipan.6.Beer.The Nansen lads knew how to live. But this night they had no supper; they simply could not manage it. Indeed, it was all they could do to get through an extra dessert, consisting of pineapple preserve, honey-cakes, vanilla biscuits, cocoa macaroons, figs, raisins, almonds, etc.The banquet was held in their cosey saloon, which was lighted with electric lights; and in the evening they had organ recitals, songs, and many other recreations. Yes, there was merriment galore on the Fram, frozen in though she was in the Polar sea.If it had not been for the noise of the ice-pressures they might indeed have imagined themselves to be in the very middle of civilization. In their inmost hearts they longed for a pressure,—a pressure of the hand from dear ones at home. A long time must elapse before that could be.Then came New Year’s Eve, with a brilliant aurora shining overhead, and still each one on board felt that irrepressible longing in his heart.Nansen read out on this occasion the last salutation he had received from Norway. It was a telegram from Professor Moltke Moe at Tromsö:—“Luck on the way,Sun on the sea,Sun in your minds,Help from the winds.Wide open floesPart and uncloseWhere the ship goes.Onward! Good cheer!Tho’ ice in the rearPack—it will clear.Food enough—strength enough—Means enough—clothes enough.Then will the Fram’s crewReach the Pole in months few.Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!”These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.Meanwhile month after month passes without much change. The men on the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting frost—Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck, as if some one were dancing a jig.“Is it cold?” asks Nansen, when Hansen and his assistants come below.“Cold? oh, no! not at all!—quite a pleasant temperature!” a piece of information which is received with shouts of laughter.“Don’t you find it cold about the feet either?”“No, can’t say I do; but every now and then it’s rather cool for one’s fingers!” He had just had two of his frostbitten.One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry, Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and trousers when the thermometer registered -40° Fahrenheit.Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations, when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle, bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill; but it was always, “Oh! it’s not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!”On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north latitude, an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover, in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning to lighten at the approach of spring.By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till April 17 that they reached 80° 20′ north latitude. On May 21, it was 81° 20′, one degree further north, and on June 18, 81° 52′. They were progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15, 1894, the Fram lay in 81° 14′ north latitude.The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and darkness was approaching.During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training, and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup, who quite approved of it.About the middle of September a rather strange thing happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men, but would not take him with them.“You told me,” he said, “you wouldn’t want a cook on your expedition, and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It’s strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!”Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all; whereon Petersen said, “Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me with you; I should like it very much! I can’t say I am a good hand on ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest.” When Nansen remarked that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one involving even the risk of life; “Psha!” answered Petersen, “one can but die once! If I were with you I shouldn’t be a bitafraid!” And that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation, is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly necessary that such an expedition should take place.And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs, and weighing out provisions, etc.Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came, finding them in latitude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever encountered, and lived.At 8A.M.on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearerand nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship, the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose, for the water stood high in their kennels.During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from the ship.At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eightP.M.the crunching and thundering was worse than ever; masses of ice and snow dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling, and masses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with a will till everything was put in a place of safety.When the pressure finally was over, the Fram’s port-side was completely buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But she had stood the trial—passed through it gloriously; for she came out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.
Chapter VIII.Drifting Through the Ice.—Christmas.—Daily Life on the Fram.—Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.
Drifting Through the Ice.—Christmas.—Daily Life on the Fram.—Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.
Drifting Through the Ice.—Christmas.—Daily Life on the Fram.—Bear-Hunt and Ice-Pressure.
From Sept. 26 the Fram lay frozen in in the drift-ice, and many a long day would pass ere she would be loose again. Nansen’s theory of a current over the North Pole would now be proved to be correct or the reverse.It was a monotonous time that was approaching for the men on board. At first they drifted but very little northward, each succeeding day bringing but little alteration; but they kept a good heart, for they had not to suffer from lack of anything that could conduce to their comfort. They had a good ship, excellently equipped, and so passed the days as best they could,—now occupying themselves with seeing to the dogs or taking observations, etc.; while reading, playing cards, chess, halma, and making all kinds of implements, filled up the remainder of their time. Every now and then the monotony of their existence would undergo variation, when the ice-pressure set in. Then there was plenty of life and stir on board, and all hands would turn out to do battle with the foe.The Fram in an ice pressure.The Fram in an ice pressure.By Permission of Harper & Brothers.It was on Monday, Oct. 9, that the Fram underwent her first experience of a regular ice-pressure. Nansen and the others were sitting after dinner, as usual, chattingabout one thing and another, when all at once a deafening sound was heard, and the ship quivered from stem to stern. Up they rushed on deck; for now the Fram was to be put to the test—and gloriously she passed through it! When the ice nipped she lifted herself up, as if raised by invisible hands, and pushed the floes down below her.An ice-pressure is a most wonderful thing. Let us hear what Nansen says of it:—“It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the ship’s sides, gradually sounding louder in every conceivable key. Now it is a high plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship gives a start up. Steadily the noise increases till it is like all the pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or is gently lifted up. But presently the uproar slackens, and the ship sinks down into her old position again, as if in a safe bed.”But woe to them who have not such a ship to resort to under a pressure like this; for when once it begins in real earnest, it is as if there could not be a spot on the earth’s surface that would not tremble and shake.“First,” says Nansen, “you hear a sound like the thundering rumble of an earthquake far away on the great waste; then you hear it in several places, always coming nearer and nearer. The silent ice world re-echoes with thunders; nature’s giants are awakening to the battle. The ice cracks on every side of you, and begins to pile itself up in heaps. There are howlings and thunderings around you; you feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet. In the semi-darknessyou can see it piling and tossing itself up into high ridges,—floes ten, twelve, fifteen feet thick, broken and flung up on the top of each other,—you jump away to save your life. But the ice splits in front of you; a black gulf opens, and the water streams up. You turn in another direction; but there through the dark you can just see a new ridge of moving ice-blocks coming toward you. You try another direction, but there it is just the same. All around there is thundering and roaring, as of some enormous waterfall with explosions like cannon salvoes. Still nearer you it comes. The floe you are standing on gets smaller and smaller; water pours over it; there can be no escape except by scrambling over the ice-blocks to get to the other side of the pack. But little by little the disturbance calms down again, and the noise passes on and is lost by degrees in the distance.”Another thing brought life and stir into the camp, viz., “bears.” And many a time the cry of “bears” was heard in those icy plains.InFarthest North, Nansen describes a number of amusing incidents with these animals. We must, however, content ourselves with giving only a brief sketch of some of the most interesting of these.Nansen and Sverdrup, and indeed several of the others, had shot polar bears before; but some of their number were novices in the sport, among whom were Blessing, Johansen and Scott-Hansen. One day, when the latter were taking observations a short distance from the ship, a bear was seen but a little way off—in fact, just in front of the Fram.“Hush! don’t make a noise, or we shall frighten him,” said Hansen; and they all crouched down to watch him.“I think I’d better slip off on board and tell them about it,” said Blessing. And off he started on tiptoe, so as not to alarm the bear.The beast meanwhile came sniffing and shambling along toward where they were, so that evidently he had not been frightened.Catching sight of Blessing, who was slinking off to the ship, the brute made straight for him.Blessing, seeing that the bear was by no means alarmed, now made his way back to his companions as quickly as he could, closely followed by the bear. Matters began to look rather serious, and they each snatched up their weapons. Hansen, an ice-staff, Johansen, an axe, and Blessing nothing at all, shouting at the top of their voices, “Bear! bear!” after which they all took to their heels as fast as ever they could for the ship. The bear, however, held on his course toward the tent, which he examined very closely before following on their tracks. The animal was subsequently shot on approaching the Fram. Nansen was not a little surprised on finding in its stomach a piece of paper stamped, “Lutken & Mohn, Christiania,” which he recognized as belonging to the ship.On another occasion, toward the end of 1893, Hendriksen, whose business it was to see to the dogs that were tethered on an ice-floe, came tearing into the ship, and shouting, “Come with a gun! Come with a gun!” The bear, it seems, had bitten him on his side. Nansenimmediately caught up his gun, as also did Hendriksen, and off they set after the bear. There was a confused sound of human voices on the starboard side of the ship, while on the ice below the gangway the dogs were making a tremendous uproar.Nansen put his gun up to his shoulder, but it wouldn’t go off. There was a plug of tow in the barrel. And Hendriksen kept crying out, “Shoot, shoot! mine won’t go off!” There he stood clicking and clicking, for his gun was stuffed up with vaseline. Meanwhile the bear was lying close under the ship, worrying one of the dogs. The mate, too, was fumbling away at his gun, which was also plugged, while Mogstad, the fourth man, was brandishing an empty rifle, for he had shot all his cartridges away, crying out, “Shoot him! shoot him!” The fifth man, Scott-Hansen, was lying in the passage leading into the chart-room, groping after cartridges through a narrow chink in the door; for Kvik’s kennel stood against it, so that he could not get it wide open. At last, however, Johansen came, and fired right into the bear’s hide. This shot had the effect of making the brute let go of the dog, which jumped up and ran away. Several shots were now fired, which killed the bear.Hendriksen tells this story about his being bitten:—“You see,” he said, “as I was going along with the lantern, I saw some drops of blood by the gangway, but thought one of the dogs had very likely cut its foot. On the ice, however, we saw bear-tracks, and started off to the west, the whole pack of dogs with us running on ahead. When we had got some little distance from the Fram, we heard a terrible row in front, and presentlysaw a great brute coming straight toward us, closely followed by the dogs. No sooner did we see what it was than we set off for the ship as fast as we could. Mogstad had his Lappish moccasons on, and knew the way better than I did, so he got to the ship before me; for I couldn’t go very fast with these heavy wooden shoes, you see. I missed my way, I suppose, for I found myself on the big hummock to the west of the ship’s bows. There I took a good look round, to see if the bear was after me. But I could not see any signs of it, so I started off again, but fell down flat on my back among the hummocks. Oh, yes, I was soon up again, and got down to the level ice near the ship’s side, when I saw something coming at me on the right. At first I thought it was one of the dogs; for it isn’t so easy to see in the dark, you know. But I hadn’t much time for thinking, for the brute jumped right on me, and bit me here, on the side. I had lifted my arm up like this, you see, and then he bit me on the hip, growling and foaming at the mouth all the while.”“What did you think then, Peter?” asked Nansen.“What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn’t any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or what for, I can’t say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along, and set off after it, and so I got on board.”“Did you call out, Peter?”“I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!”And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.“But where was Mogstad all the while?” asked Nansen.“Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun wouldn’t go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat me up right under his very nose.”On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs; and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing one of the dogs, it was shot.In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much to Sverdrup’s delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork, stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn’t seem to approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if to say, “Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for me, no doubt.” Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the ship and was shot.Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit faith in him; while overhead the star—his star—shone out brilliantly in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.Christmas Eve was ushered in with -35° Fahrenheit. The Fram lay in seventy-nine degrees, eleven minutes, north latitude, two minutes farther south than was the case a week before.There was a peculiar feeling of solemnity on board. Every one was thinking of home, and trying at the same time to keep his thoughts to himself, and so there was more noise and laughter than usual. They ate and they drank and made speeches, and the Christmas presents were given out, and theFramsjaa, the Fram’s newspaper, with an extra illustrated Christmas number, appeared.Inthepoem for the day it said:—“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,When we drift at the will of the stream,When the white veil of winter is spread all around,In our sleep of our dear home we dream.Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,Good luck may the coming year bring;We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”Themenufor Christmas Eve was:—1.Oxtail Soup.2.Fish Pudding.3.Reindeer-steak and Green Peas. French Beans, Potatoes, and Huckleberry Jelly.4.Cloudberries and Cream.5.Cake and Marzipan.6.Beer.The Nansen lads knew how to live. But this night they had no supper; they simply could not manage it. Indeed, it was all they could do to get through an extra dessert, consisting of pineapple preserve, honey-cakes, vanilla biscuits, cocoa macaroons, figs, raisins, almonds, etc.The banquet was held in their cosey saloon, which was lighted with electric lights; and in the evening they had organ recitals, songs, and many other recreations. Yes, there was merriment galore on the Fram, frozen in though she was in the Polar sea.If it had not been for the noise of the ice-pressures they might indeed have imagined themselves to be in the very middle of civilization. In their inmost hearts they longed for a pressure,—a pressure of the hand from dear ones at home. A long time must elapse before that could be.Then came New Year’s Eve, with a brilliant aurora shining overhead, and still each one on board felt that irrepressible longing in his heart.Nansen read out on this occasion the last salutation he had received from Norway. It was a telegram from Professor Moltke Moe at Tromsö:—“Luck on the way,Sun on the sea,Sun in your minds,Help from the winds.Wide open floesPart and uncloseWhere the ship goes.Onward! Good cheer!Tho’ ice in the rearPack—it will clear.Food enough—strength enough—Means enough—clothes enough.Then will the Fram’s crewReach the Pole in months few.Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!”These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.Meanwhile month after month passes without much change. The men on the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting frost—Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck, as if some one were dancing a jig.“Is it cold?” asks Nansen, when Hansen and his assistants come below.“Cold? oh, no! not at all!—quite a pleasant temperature!” a piece of information which is received with shouts of laughter.“Don’t you find it cold about the feet either?”“No, can’t say I do; but every now and then it’s rather cool for one’s fingers!” He had just had two of his frostbitten.One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry, Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and trousers when the thermometer registered -40° Fahrenheit.Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations, when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle, bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill; but it was always, “Oh! it’s not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!”On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north latitude, an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover, in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning to lighten at the approach of spring.By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till April 17 that they reached 80° 20′ north latitude. On May 21, it was 81° 20′, one degree further north, and on June 18, 81° 52′. They were progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15, 1894, the Fram lay in 81° 14′ north latitude.The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and darkness was approaching.During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training, and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup, who quite approved of it.About the middle of September a rather strange thing happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men, but would not take him with them.“You told me,” he said, “you wouldn’t want a cook on your expedition, and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It’s strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!”Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all; whereon Petersen said, “Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me with you; I should like it very much! I can’t say I am a good hand on ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest.” When Nansen remarked that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one involving even the risk of life; “Psha!” answered Petersen, “one can but die once! If I were with you I shouldn’t be a bitafraid!” And that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation, is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly necessary that such an expedition should take place.And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs, and weighing out provisions, etc.Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came, finding them in latitude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever encountered, and lived.At 8A.M.on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearerand nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship, the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose, for the water stood high in their kennels.During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from the ship.At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eightP.M.the crunching and thundering was worse than ever; masses of ice and snow dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling, and masses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with a will till everything was put in a place of safety.When the pressure finally was over, the Fram’s port-side was completely buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But she had stood the trial—passed through it gloriously; for she came out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.
From Sept. 26 the Fram lay frozen in in the drift-ice, and many a long day would pass ere she would be loose again. Nansen’s theory of a current over the North Pole would now be proved to be correct or the reverse.
It was a monotonous time that was approaching for the men on board. At first they drifted but very little northward, each succeeding day bringing but little alteration; but they kept a good heart, for they had not to suffer from lack of anything that could conduce to their comfort. They had a good ship, excellently equipped, and so passed the days as best they could,—now occupying themselves with seeing to the dogs or taking observations, etc.; while reading, playing cards, chess, halma, and making all kinds of implements, filled up the remainder of their time. Every now and then the monotony of their existence would undergo variation, when the ice-pressure set in. Then there was plenty of life and stir on board, and all hands would turn out to do battle with the foe.
The Fram in an ice pressure.The Fram in an ice pressure.By Permission of Harper & Brothers.
The Fram in an ice pressure.
By Permission of Harper & Brothers.
It was on Monday, Oct. 9, that the Fram underwent her first experience of a regular ice-pressure. Nansen and the others were sitting after dinner, as usual, chattingabout one thing and another, when all at once a deafening sound was heard, and the ship quivered from stem to stern. Up they rushed on deck; for now the Fram was to be put to the test—and gloriously she passed through it! When the ice nipped she lifted herself up, as if raised by invisible hands, and pushed the floes down below her.
An ice-pressure is a most wonderful thing. Let us hear what Nansen says of it:—
“It begins with a gentle crack and moan along the ship’s sides, gradually sounding louder in every conceivable key. Now it is a high plaintive tone, now it is a grumble, now it is a snarl, and the ship gives a start up. Steadily the noise increases till it is like all the pipes of an organ; the ship trembles and shakes, and rises by fits and starts, or is gently lifted up. But presently the uproar slackens, and the ship sinks down into her old position again, as if in a safe bed.”
But woe to them who have not such a ship to resort to under a pressure like this; for when once it begins in real earnest, it is as if there could not be a spot on the earth’s surface that would not tremble and shake.
“First,” says Nansen, “you hear a sound like the thundering rumble of an earthquake far away on the great waste; then you hear it in several places, always coming nearer and nearer. The silent ice world re-echoes with thunders; nature’s giants are awakening to the battle. The ice cracks on every side of you, and begins to pile itself up in heaps. There are howlings and thunderings around you; you feel the ice trembling, and hear it rumbling under your feet. In the semi-darknessyou can see it piling and tossing itself up into high ridges,—floes ten, twelve, fifteen feet thick, broken and flung up on the top of each other,—you jump away to save your life. But the ice splits in front of you; a black gulf opens, and the water streams up. You turn in another direction; but there through the dark you can just see a new ridge of moving ice-blocks coming toward you. You try another direction, but there it is just the same. All around there is thundering and roaring, as of some enormous waterfall with explosions like cannon salvoes. Still nearer you it comes. The floe you are standing on gets smaller and smaller; water pours over it; there can be no escape except by scrambling over the ice-blocks to get to the other side of the pack. But little by little the disturbance calms down again, and the noise passes on and is lost by degrees in the distance.”
Another thing brought life and stir into the camp, viz., “bears.” And many a time the cry of “bears” was heard in those icy plains.
InFarthest North, Nansen describes a number of amusing incidents with these animals. We must, however, content ourselves with giving only a brief sketch of some of the most interesting of these.
Nansen and Sverdrup, and indeed several of the others, had shot polar bears before; but some of their number were novices in the sport, among whom were Blessing, Johansen and Scott-Hansen. One day, when the latter were taking observations a short distance from the ship, a bear was seen but a little way off—in fact, just in front of the Fram.
“Hush! don’t make a noise, or we shall frighten him,” said Hansen; and they all crouched down to watch him.
“I think I’d better slip off on board and tell them about it,” said Blessing. And off he started on tiptoe, so as not to alarm the bear.
The beast meanwhile came sniffing and shambling along toward where they were, so that evidently he had not been frightened.
Catching sight of Blessing, who was slinking off to the ship, the brute made straight for him.
Blessing, seeing that the bear was by no means alarmed, now made his way back to his companions as quickly as he could, closely followed by the bear. Matters began to look rather serious, and they each snatched up their weapons. Hansen, an ice-staff, Johansen, an axe, and Blessing nothing at all, shouting at the top of their voices, “Bear! bear!” after which they all took to their heels as fast as ever they could for the ship. The bear, however, held on his course toward the tent, which he examined very closely before following on their tracks. The animal was subsequently shot on approaching the Fram. Nansen was not a little surprised on finding in its stomach a piece of paper stamped, “Lutken & Mohn, Christiania,” which he recognized as belonging to the ship.
On another occasion, toward the end of 1893, Hendriksen, whose business it was to see to the dogs that were tethered on an ice-floe, came tearing into the ship, and shouting, “Come with a gun! Come with a gun!” The bear, it seems, had bitten him on his side. Nansenimmediately caught up his gun, as also did Hendriksen, and off they set after the bear. There was a confused sound of human voices on the starboard side of the ship, while on the ice below the gangway the dogs were making a tremendous uproar.
Nansen put his gun up to his shoulder, but it wouldn’t go off. There was a plug of tow in the barrel. And Hendriksen kept crying out, “Shoot, shoot! mine won’t go off!” There he stood clicking and clicking, for his gun was stuffed up with vaseline. Meanwhile the bear was lying close under the ship, worrying one of the dogs. The mate, too, was fumbling away at his gun, which was also plugged, while Mogstad, the fourth man, was brandishing an empty rifle, for he had shot all his cartridges away, crying out, “Shoot him! shoot him!” The fifth man, Scott-Hansen, was lying in the passage leading into the chart-room, groping after cartridges through a narrow chink in the door; for Kvik’s kennel stood against it, so that he could not get it wide open. At last, however, Johansen came, and fired right into the bear’s hide. This shot had the effect of making the brute let go of the dog, which jumped up and ran away. Several shots were now fired, which killed the bear.
Hendriksen tells this story about his being bitten:—
“You see,” he said, “as I was going along with the lantern, I saw some drops of blood by the gangway, but thought one of the dogs had very likely cut its foot. On the ice, however, we saw bear-tracks, and started off to the west, the whole pack of dogs with us running on ahead. When we had got some little distance from the Fram, we heard a terrible row in front, and presentlysaw a great brute coming straight toward us, closely followed by the dogs. No sooner did we see what it was than we set off for the ship as fast as we could. Mogstad had his Lappish moccasons on, and knew the way better than I did, so he got to the ship before me; for I couldn’t go very fast with these heavy wooden shoes, you see. I missed my way, I suppose, for I found myself on the big hummock to the west of the ship’s bows. There I took a good look round, to see if the bear was after me. But I could not see any signs of it, so I started off again, but fell down flat on my back among the hummocks. Oh, yes, I was soon up again, and got down to the level ice near the ship’s side, when I saw something coming at me on the right. At first I thought it was one of the dogs; for it isn’t so easy to see in the dark, you know. But I hadn’t much time for thinking, for the brute jumped right on me, and bit me here, on the side. I had lifted my arm up like this, you see, and then he bit me on the hip, growling and foaming at the mouth all the while.”
“What did you think then, Peter?” asked Nansen.
“What did I think? Why, I thought it was all up with me. I hadn’t any weapon, you see; so I took my lantern and hit the beast as hard as ever I could with it on the head, and the lantern broke, and the pieces went skimming over the ice. On receiving the blow I gave him he squatted down and had a good look at me; but no sooner did I set off again than up he got too, whether to have another go at me, or what for, I can’t say. Anyhow, he caught sight of a dog coming along, and set off after it, and so I got on board.”
“Did you call out, Peter?”
“I should think I did! I holloaed as loud as ever I could!”
And no doubt he did, for he was quite hoarse.
“But where was Mogstad all the while?” asked Nansen.
“Why, you see, he had got to the ship long before me. It never occurred to him, I suppose, to give the alarm; but he takes his gun off the cabin wall, thinking he could manage by himself. But his gun wouldn’t go off, and the bear might have had plenty of time to eat me up right under his very nose.”
On leaving Peter, the bear, it seems, had set off after the dogs; and it was in this way it came near the ship, where, after killing one of the dogs, it was shot.
In the course of the winter Sverdrup set up a bear-trap of his own invention, but it did not prove very successful. One evening, a bear was seen approaching the trap; it was a bright moonlight night, much to Sverdrup’s delight. On reaching the trap, the bear reared itself on its hind legs very cautiously, laid his right paw on the woodwork, stared for a little while at the tempting bait, but didn’t seem to approve altogether of the ugly rows of teeth around it. Shaking his head suspiciously, he lowered himself on all fours, and sniffed at the steel wire fastened to the trap, and once more shook his head as if to say, “Those cunning beggars have planned this very carefully for me, no doubt.” Then he got up again on his hind legs and had another sniff, and down again on all fours, after which he came toward the ship and was shot.
Autumn passed away and Christmas arrived while the Fram was drifting between seventy-nine and eighty-one degrees north latitude. This tedious drifting was a sore trial to Nansen. He often thought that there must be some error in his calculations, often very nearly lost heart. But then he thought of those at home who had made such sacrifices for him, and of those on board who placed such implicit faith in him; while overhead the star—his star—shone out brilliantly in the wintry night, and inspired him with renewed courage.
The time was now drawing near when their first Christmas on board should be kept. The polar night, with its prolonged darkness and biting cold, brooded over the ship, and ice-pressures thundered all around.
Christmas Eve was ushered in with -35° Fahrenheit. The Fram lay in seventy-nine degrees, eleven minutes, north latitude, two minutes farther south than was the case a week before.
There was a peculiar feeling of solemnity on board. Every one was thinking of home, and trying at the same time to keep his thoughts to himself, and so there was more noise and laughter than usual. They ate and they drank and made speeches, and the Christmas presents were given out, and theFramsjaa, the Fram’s newspaper, with an extra illustrated Christmas number, appeared.
Inthepoem for the day it said:—
“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,When we drift at the will of the stream,When the white veil of winter is spread all around,In our sleep of our dear home we dream.Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,Good luck may the coming year bring;We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”
“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,When we drift at the will of the stream,When the white veil of winter is spread all around,In our sleep of our dear home we dream.
“When the ship is hemmed in by ice fathom-thick,
When we drift at the will of the stream,
When the white veil of winter is spread all around,
In our sleep of our dear home we dream.
Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,Good luck may the coming year bring;We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”
Let us wish them a right merry Christmas at home,
Good luck may the coming year bring;
We’ll be patient and wait, for the Pole we will gain,
Then hurrah for our home in the spring.”
Themenufor Christmas Eve was:—
The Nansen lads knew how to live. But this night they had no supper; they simply could not manage it. Indeed, it was all they could do to get through an extra dessert, consisting of pineapple preserve, honey-cakes, vanilla biscuits, cocoa macaroons, figs, raisins, almonds, etc.
The banquet was held in their cosey saloon, which was lighted with electric lights; and in the evening they had organ recitals, songs, and many other recreations. Yes, there was merriment galore on the Fram, frozen in though she was in the Polar sea.
If it had not been for the noise of the ice-pressures they might indeed have imagined themselves to be in the very middle of civilization. In their inmost hearts they longed for a pressure,—a pressure of the hand from dear ones at home. A long time must elapse before that could be.
Then came New Year’s Eve, with a brilliant aurora shining overhead, and still each one on board felt that irrepressible longing in his heart.
Nansen read out on this occasion the last salutation he had received from Norway. It was a telegram from Professor Moltke Moe at Tromsö:—
“Luck on the way,Sun on the sea,Sun in your minds,Help from the winds.Wide open floesPart and uncloseWhere the ship goes.Onward! Good cheer!Tho’ ice in the rearPack—it will clear.Food enough—strength enough—Means enough—clothes enough.Then will the Fram’s crewReach the Pole in months few.Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!”
“Luck on the way,
Sun on the sea,
Sun in your minds,
Help from the winds.
Wide open floes
Part and unclose
Where the ship goes.
Onward! Good cheer!
Tho’ ice in the rear
Pack—it will clear.
Food enough—strength enough—
Means enough—clothes enough.
Then will the Fram’s crew
Reach the Pole in months few.
Good luck on thy journey to thee and thy hand,
And a good welcome back to the dear Fatherland!”
These lines, needless to say, were received with great acclamation.
Meanwhile month after month passes without much change. The men on the Fram live their lonely lives. They take observations in the biting frost—Scott Hansen usually attends to this work. The others, who are sitting down in the cabins, often hear a noise of feet on the deck, as if some one were dancing a jig.
“Is it cold?” asks Nansen, when Hansen and his assistants come below.
“Cold? oh, no! not at all!—quite a pleasant temperature!” a piece of information which is received with shouts of laughter.
“Don’t you find it cold about the feet either?”
“No, can’t say I do; but every now and then it’s rather cool for one’s fingers!” He had just had two of his frostbitten.
One morning, indeed, when an observation had to be taken in a hurry, Scott Hansen was seen on deck with nothing on but his shirt and trousers when the thermometer registered -40° Fahrenheit.
Occasionally they would have to go out on the ice to take observations, when they might be seen standing with their lanterns and tackle, bending over their instruments, and then all at once tearing away over the ice, swinging their arms like the sails of a windmill; but it was always, “Oh! it’s not at all cold! Nothing to speak of!”
On Friday, Feb. 2, the Fram reached eighty degrees north latitude, an event that was duly celebrated on board. They were all, moreover, in wonderful spirits, especially as the gloom of winter was beginning to lighten at the approach of spring.
By March 23 they had again drifted to the south, and it was not till April 17 that they reached 80° 20′ north latitude. On May 21, it was 81° 20′, one degree further north, and on June 18, 81° 52′. They were progressing! But after this a back drift set in, and on Sept. 15, 1894, the Fram lay in 81° 14′ north latitude.
The weather had been tolerably fine during the summer; but there was little else for them to do except take observations, ascertain the temperature of the water at different depths, etc., and collect specimens of sea-weed, etc. And so another winter with its gloom and darkness was approaching.
During this summer Nansen had often contemplated the idea of leaving the Fram, and of going with one of his companions on a sleigh expedition to the regions nearer the Pole; for he feared the Fram would not drift much farther in a northerly direction, and was most unwilling to return home without first having done his utmost to explore the northern regions. Accordingly he occupied himself a good deal in making sleigh excursions in order to get the dogs into training, and in other preparations. He had mentioned his plan to Sverdrup, who quite approved of it.
About the middle of September a rather strange thing happened. Peterson, who was acting as cook that week, came one day to Nansen, and said he had had a wonderful dream. He dreamt that Nansen intended to go on an expedition to the Pole with four of the men, but would not take him with them.
“You told me,” he said, “you wouldn’t want a cook on your expedition, and that the ship was to meet you at some other place; anyhow, that you would not return here, but would go to some other land. It’s strange what a lot of nonsense one can dream!”
Nansen replied that perhaps it was not such great nonsense, after all; whereon Petersen said, “Well, if you do go, I would ask you to take me with you; I should like it very much! I can’t say I am a good hand on ski, but I could manage to keep up with the rest.” When Nansen remarked that such an expedition would be attended with no little danger, one involving even the risk of life; “Psha!” answered Petersen, “one can but die once! If I were with you I shouldn’t be a bitafraid!” And that he would willingly have accompanied Nansen to the North Pole in the middle of the dark winter, without the slightest hesitation, is sure enough. And so, indeed, would all the others have done.
On Monday, Nov. 19, Nansen mentioned his scheme to Johansen, whom he had selected to be his companion, and on the following day he took the rest of the crew into his confidence. They evinced the greatest interest in the proposed scheme, and, indeed, considered it highly necessary that such an expedition should take place.
And now they all set to work in earnest about the necessary preparations, such as making sleighs, kayaks, exercising the dogs, and weighing out provisions, etc.
Meanwhile winter dragged on its weary way. Another Christmas came, finding them in latitude, eighty-three degrees, and ice pressures were increasing daily. The New Year of 1895 was ushered in with wind, and was dark and dreary in the extreme. On Jan. 3, the famous ice-pressure occurred, that exposed the Fram to the severest strain any ship ever encountered, and lived.
At 8A.M.on the morning of the 3d of January Nansen was awakened by the familiar sound of an approaching pressure. On going up on deck he was not a little surprised to see a huge pressure-ridge scarcely thirty paces away from the Fram, with deep cracks reaching almost to the ship itself. All loose articles were at once stowed away on board. At noon the pressure began again, and the dreaded ridge came nearerand nearer. In the afternoon preparations were made to abandon the ship, the sleighs and kayaks being placed ready on deck. At supper-time it began crunching again, and Nordahl came below to say that they had better go up on deck at once. The dogs, too, had to be let loose, for the water stood high in their kennels.
During the night the ice remained comparatively quiet, but next morning the pressure began again. The huge ridge was now only a few feet from the ship.
At 6.30 Jan. 5 Nansen was awakened by Sverdrup telling him that the ridge had now reached the ship, and was level with the rails. All hands at once rushed on deck; but nothing further occurred that day till late in the evening, when the climax came. At eightP.M.the crunching and thundering was worse than ever; masses of ice and snow dashed over the tent and rails amidships. Every one set to work to save what he could. Indeed, the crashing and thundering made them think doomsday had come; and all the while the crew were rushing about here and there, carrying sacks and bags, the dogs howling, and masses of ice pouring in every moment. Yet they worked away with a will till everything was put in a place of safety.
When the pressure finally was over, the Fram’s port-side was completely buried in the ice-mound; only the top of the tent being visible. But she had stood the trial—passed through it gloriously; for she came out of it all uninjured, without even a crack. There she lay as sound as ever, but with a mound of ice over her, higher indeed than the second ratline of her fore-shrouds, and six feet above the rails.