Chapter 13

TRYING OUT OUR BULB SEXTANTS

FAST IN THE ICE

At 1P.M.we went on board for soup. The ice was then calm. The “Sphinx” lay in the same position. Oh! how good the thick pemmican soup tasted! Five hours’ hard work on a cup of chocolate and three small oatcakes gives one a good appetite. At 4P.M.Dietrichson went on board to fetch something, and on his return remarked that it seemed to him that the old ice was approaching the seaplane. Now, he, during the last days, had suffered a little from snow blindness and we thought accordingly he had made a mistake. It was indeed a mistake. We should have gone at once and looked into the matter. One must however remember that every second is precious and that we grudged stopping work. At 7P.M.we went on board to eat our three biscuits.The sight which then met us would have filled the bravest heart with despair. The great pack had approached the seaplane to within some meters. The “Sphinx” seemed to bow and chuckle with amusement. Now it would have us! But it had laughed too soon. The six men that it now looked upon were not the same six who some days ago had arrived through the air from a place full of life’s comforts; the six now were hardened by obstacles, weariness and hunger, and they feared nothing on earth, not even the “Sphinx.” “Hurrah! heroes. Hurrah for home and all we hold dear. The devil take the ‘Sphinx.’” And so the work began and in its performance we got more self-confident than ever before, as we managed to turn the heavy machine round in the course of a few minutes. What task each person specially performed it is difficult to say, but it was a Herculean task. We lay down, we pulled, we toiled, we scratched. “You shall go round!” Before we realized it there it was, turned 180° and the course set for the new slide. The “Sphinx” hung its head and looked sad; but the next day it lay exactly on the spot where N 25 had lain. During this performance N 24 was pushed on to the plain beside which it had lain. Still a little more leveling and the slide was ready. To shouts of joy the machine, in the evening at eleven o’clock, was driven over the track and stopped exactly beside the ThermopylæPass. To-morrow there would not be much to be done.

The 7th of June. Norway’s Day! At home they would be wearing light summer clothes and enjoying life, while flags flew over the whole land from the North Cape to Neset. But don’t think that we forgot this day. No! From the N 25’s highest point our silk flag flew and our thoughts—oh! don’t let us think at all of them!

The side of the pass was formed by two gigantic icebergs which would have to be more than half cut down before the wings could pass over and the great ditch had to be filled up with ton after ton of snow. But the 7th of June is a good day to work for homesick folk. The knives are driven with greater certainty, the axes swung with greater power, and in a remarkably short time the ice giants dwindled to dwarfs. We experienced a very exciting episode on this occasion. While Riiser-Larsen drove the machine over the snow glacier Dietrichson went past and did not get out of the way. At the last moment he threw himself down flat on the ground and the tail-skid passed so near to him that I could not see daylight between. It was in the words’ fullest meaning a narrow escape. “I saw you all right,” remarked the pilot later. “But I could not stop in the middle of the bridge.” That his words were true was proved by looking back and noting that the bridgewas no longer there. It was a delightful feeling to sit on a “flynder” and rush across the snow plains. It was not often we got the satisfaction, as we usually had to stand by ready to push or haul the machine over the snow. But this intermediate plain was hard and the pilot could manage to steer with the wheel. And thus we stood before the last ditch which had to be filled and leveled. It took us six hours before it was finished and the machine landed in safety on the big plain. It had been thawing the whole day and was uncomfortably warm for working, but one could always throw some clothes off. We were not so particular about our appearance.

The 8th of June brought us fog and half a degree of heat. It drizzled the whole time and we were exceptionally uncomfortable. We were now faced by another hard task, namely, turning the machine round in the deep wet snow. We were unused to this work and consequently were fairly clumsy. In addition to this we had to decrease our daily rations from 300 to 250 grammes, insufficient to keep up our strength. Our work in the deep wet snow of this plain was wearying. More wearying than ever before. Do you remember, comrades, how we made the turning platform? You will scarcely have forgotten that? The machine had to be driven up to the starting place and then swung round 180° to face the right direction. The snow as already said was deep and wet, and anyturning of the machine under these conditions was hardly possible. What should we do now? There was only one thing to be done, namely, to dig down to the ice and turn the machine on that. The snow here was from two to three feet deep and every spadeful was a heavy weight to lift, particularly as we used the big shovels. We cleared a circular place with a diameter of fifteen meters. That got the name “turning-table.” Had we solved our problem by this you might have forgotten the turning-table by now, but when we tried to turn the machine, we found that the skids caught in the ice and stopped the whole progress. Again we were faced with the question—“What shall we do?” And some one was struck by a bright idea—to lay a snow-skate underneath. We all agreed the idea was good, but to accomplish it was not easy. We must lift the machine and it weighed four and one-half tons. But even that did not frighten us. It was not to a great height that we had to lift it—just about two centimeters, but only five men were available while the sixth must place the snow-skate underneath. Never mind, come on, my heroes. Lay your shoulders to the wheel and lift. And then five backs are bent in unison, and one! two! three!—we had got it up on the snow-skate at last. We continued working steadily, regardless of time’s flight, from 4A.M.on the 8th of June to 4A.M.the next day. During that time starting placeNo. 5 was worked on, tried, and approved. The fog lay thick and heavy while the drizzle continued all day on the 9th, but Riiser-Larsen insisted that the track should be completed. Think now what a problem we had before us when we started to work that morning. A track—500 meters long—twelve meters broad—should be made in wet snow three feet in depth. The snow cleared away from the track must be thrown at least six yards away from each side so that it should not get in the way of the machine. We had lived on 250 grammes daily for several days so you will not be astonished when I say that by evening we were absolutely worn out. I watched, with wonder, the two giants who wielded the shovels all day. We others did what we could, but our work was trifling compared to theirs. On the 11th we set to again after breakfast, but we could not keep up this strenuous work; an observer would have noticed at once that he had a number of worn-out people before him. The clang of the spades got slower, the rest-intervals longer and longer till in the end we stood quite still and stared at each other. It seemed an impossibility to get the snow shoveled aside in a reasonable time. Whilst we stood discussing it, Omdal walked up and down in the snow. It was only a chance that he did so, but a chance which brought about important results. “See,” he shouted suddenly, “this is what we can do instead of shoveling.”The place where he had trekked was quite hard and with a little frost would give a splendid surface. In the afternoon we started our great trek. Foot by foot of the track of soft wet snow was trodden into a solid road. It was still thawing, but we knew that if it turned frosty it would become a perfect track—and it was only natural to expect that frost would come. To make the surface even we had to remove long and high stretches of ice-formation containing tons upon tons of ice. On the 14th of June as we laid down our tools I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that all in all we had removed 500 tons of ice and snow. That day we made two starts, 6 and 7, but the foundation was still too soft as we had had no constant frost. Certainly the temperature that day had been as low as -12° c., but then it rose immediately after to 0° again. It was impossible to get up sufficient speed to rise, the machine sank down into the snow, and in a number of places dragged the whole of the underlying snow with it. Now will it freeze or not?

The 15th of June was fixed as the latest day for our next attempt to start. If that was not successful we must collaborate and decide what could be done. There were not many courses to choose. Either we must desert the machine and attempt to reach the nearest land, or we must stay where we were and hope for an opportunity to rise in the air. We had performed the miracle of leaving Spitzbergen withone month’s provisions, and yet after four weeks had passed we found we had provisions for six weeks. We could thus hold out until the 1st of August. In my lifetime I have often been faced by situations where I found it difficult to decide on the right course of action, but to choose in this case with any degree of certainty was more difficult than the making of any previous decision. The first alternative—to set off in search of land—appeared to me to be the most sensible as, should our provisions run out, it was possible further south that we might find edible animal life. In addition this plan had the great advantage that it would occupy our thoughts with the work we had ahead. Against this plan the fact of our modest equipment and our probably weakened condition must be weighed. When I privately considered these two alternatives I always came to the conclusion that to look for land was the most sensible, but as soon as I decided on this course a voice whispered in my ear: “Are you mad, Boy? Will you leave a complete and good machine, filled with petrol, and go down into the high broken ice where you know you may perish miserably? A waterway may open up before you to-morrow and then you will be home in eight hours’ time.” Will any one blame me for my indecision when I found it so difficult to choose.

On the evening of the 14th we unloaded everything on the ice except the most necessary, andthatwe placed in a canvas boat. We kept sufficient petrol and oil for eight hours, one canvas boat, two shotguns, six sleeping bags, one tent, cooking utensils and provisions for a few weeks. Even our splendid ski-shoes had to be set aside as they were too heavy. Of our clothes we only kept what we could not do without. All told it amounted to about 300 kg.

On the 15th of June we had a temperature of -3° c. with a little breeze from the southeast, just the very wind we required. The track was frozen fine and hard during the night, but the sky was not too promising—low-lying clouds—but what in all the world did we care about the sky! The thickest fog would not have kept us back. In this light the track was very difficult to see; small black objects were therefore placed at each side so that the pilot would be certain to make no mistake. A little too much to one side or the other could be fatal. At 9:30P.M.everything was clear and ready for a start. The solar-compasses and the engines started. They were three-quarters warmed up. I cast a last glance over the track and walked along it to pass the time. It ran from northeast towards southeast. A few yards in front of the machine there was a small crack across the ice. It was only a few inches wide, but there it was, and at any moment it might open and separate the little corner we stood upon from all the rest. For the distance of 100 meters the track rose quite graduallyin order to become level. Two hundred meters away, on the floe’s southeast end, there also lay a crack right across, but this was of a much more serious nature, and had caused us many uneasy moments. It was about two feet wide and filled with water and mush. This seemed to show that it was connected with the sea and could give us a few unpleasant surprises sooner or later. Should this crack widen and tear away 200 meters of our track, the latter would be entirely ruined. The floe ended in a three-foot broad water-lane; on the other side of it, direct in the line of the track, lay a flat forty-meter long plain, which one will understand was far from ideal, but absolutely the best which the place could offer us. At 10:30 everything was in order. In the pilot’s seat sat Riiser-Larsen, behind him Dietrichson and I, in the petrol tank Omdal and Feucht, and Ellsworth in the mess. Dietrichson was to navigate us homewards and should really have taken his place in the observer’s seat in front of the pilot. But as that was too exposed in view of the nature of the task we were undertaking, his place was allotted further back at the start. This was undeniably a most anxious moment. As soon as the machine began to glide one could notice a great difference from the day before. The hasty forward glide was not to be mistaken. One hundred meters off, we started at top-speed, 2,000 revolutions a minute. It trembled and shook,shivered and piped. It was as though N 25 understood the situation. It was as though the whole of its energy had been gathered for one last and decisive spring from the floe’s southern edge. Now—or never.

We rushed over the three-meter wide crack, dashed down from the forty-meter broad floe and then? Was it possible? Yes, indeed! The scraping noise stopped, only the humming of the motor could be heard. At last we were in flight. A smile and a nod and Dietrichson disappeared into the observation compartment.

And now started the flight which will take its place amongst the most supreme in flying’s history. An 850-kilometer flight with death as the nearest neighbor. One must remember that we had thrown practically everything away from us. Even though we had managed by a miracle to get away with our lives, after a forced landing, still our days were numbered.

The sky was low and for two hours we were compelled to fly at a height of fifty meters. It was interesting to observe the ice conditions, so we eased down. We believed that in different places we observed from the sky we could distinguish open water all around us. But it was not the case. Not a drop was to be seen anywhere, nothing but ice in a chaotic jumble all around. It was interesting also to see that the floe, which from first to last had given us freedom,was the only floe within a radius of many miles which could have been of any use to us. N 24 got a farewell wave and was lost to sight for ever. Everything worked excellently, the engines went like sewing machines and gave us unqualified confidence. Both solar-compasses ticked and worked, and we knew that if only the sun would appear, they would be of invaluable assistance to us. The speedometers were placed. By the wheel sat the pilot, cool and confident as always. In the navigating compartment was a man I trusted absolutely, and by the engines two men who knew their work perfectly. Ellsworth spent his time making geographical observations and photographs. I myself managed to get what was impossible on the journey north, a splendid opportunity to study the whole flight. The course was set towards Spitzbergen’s north coastland, around Nord Kap. In the two first hours we steered by the magnetic compass. This had been considered an impossibility, hitherto, so far north, but the result was excellent. When the sun broke through after two hours and shone direct on the solar-compass, it showed us how exactly we had steered. For three hours the atmosphere had been clear, but now it turned to thick fog. We rose to a height of 200 meters, flying over it in brilliant sunshine. Here we derived much benefit from the solar-compasses and were able to compare their readings with the magnetic-compass.We had fog for an hour and then it cleared again. The condition of the ice was as on the northern trip, small floes, with icebergs on all sides. There was apparently no system in its formation; everything was a jumble. There was more open water than on the northern tour, but no waterways, only basins.

In 82° N. Lat. the fog descended again. The pilot tried for some time to fly under it, and this was a flight which would have delighted people who seek nerve-splitting thrills. The fog came lower and lower till at last it stretched right over the icebergs. With a speed of about 120 miles at a low altitude one gets a new impression of flying. With a rush we passed over the top of the icebergs one after the other. At a great height one does not notice the terrific speed. One is, on the contrary, astonished how slowly one appears to be traveling. Several times icebergs peeped up directly under us, so close in fact that I thought, “We shall never clear that one!” But the next moment we were across it. There could not have been more than a hair’s breadth to spare. At last the conditions became impossible; fog and ice blended into one. We could see nothing. There was another matter as well which was of special weight, namely, the nearness of Spitzbergen. Should we fly into the high cliff walls with a speed of 120 kilometers there would not be much left of us. There was only one thing todo—to fly over the fog and that was exactly what the pilot decided to do.

Up 100 meters high—and we were above the fog in brilliant sunshine. It was observable soon that the fog was thinning, it began to lift more and more in big masses, and soon we could see territory under it. It was not inviting; nothing but small ice with a little water. When I speak of the impossible landing conditions it is only to show that to land here would have meant certain death. Such a landing would have crushed the machine and sent it to the bottom. The fog lifted steadily and soon disappeared entirely. It was a fresh southerly breeze which brought about this welcome change. The fog had lain thickest in the south, but now that began to move away as well. Large sections of it tore themselves away from the great mass and disappeared in small driving clouds. Where was Spitzbergen? Had we steered so mistakenly that we had flown to the side of it? It was quite possible. One had no experience in the navigation of the air in these regions. Over and over again the general opinion of the magnetic compass’s uselessness in this district came back to my mind as I sat there. The solar-compass had—as soon as we got the sun—shown a reading in agreement with the magnetic compass, but it was set at ——? At what? If only I knew! There was probably no ground for anxiety, yet I felt dubious. We oughtto see land by now. We had not enough petrol to last long—and still no land. Then suddenly a big heavy fog-cloud tore itself away and rose slowly, disclosing a high glittering hill-top. There was scarcely any doubt. It must be Spitzbergen. To the north lay some islands. They coincided with Syvöene and the land stretched out in a westerly direction. But even if it were not Spitzbergen, it was still land—good, solid land. From the islands there stretched a dark strip northwards. It was water—the great open sea. Oh! what a delightful feeling—sea and land and no more ice. Our course lay southwards, but to get more quickly away from the ugly conditions beneath us, the course was set westwards and downwards to the open sea. It was more than a clever move on the part of the pilot—it was refreshing to see how instinct came to his aid—because the controls were showing signs of wear. It is enough to say before we had got right across the sea the controls jammed and an immediate landing was necessary. The wind blew with a cold blast from what we learned later was Hinlopen Strait and the sea was high and rough. The forced landing was accomplished with all the assurance and experience which always distinguished our pilot. We left our places and all went aft in order to allow the nose to lift as high as possible. The pilot was the only one left forward. He flew most carefully, guiding the boat and maneuvering itagainst the highest waves, which were of tremendous dimensions. We who were aft kept warm and dry, but it was a different matter for the man at the wheel. Time after time the waves lashed over him, wetting him to the skin in a few minutes. It was not “spray” which we shipped when the waves broke over us. Unused as I was to maneuvers of this kind I expected every moment to see the bottom stove in. It was seven in the evening when the forced landing was accomplished, and it was not until eight that we reached land. It was a fairly shoal bay we entered and the landing places it offered us were not of the best. We found a sloping side of the coast ice where we could climb ashore. The wind now died away and the sun shone on the heavy stones which lay on the beach. Here and there a little fresh rill ran between them singing as it descended from the hillsides. The sweet voices of birds fitted in with our gentle mood of eventide and inspired in us a feeling of solemnity. There was no need to look for a church wherein to praise God the Almighty and offer up to Him our burning thanks. Here was a spot amidst His own wonderful nature. The sea lay smooth and calm with here and there tremendous pieces of ice protruding from the water. The whole scene made an ineradicable impression on us which we shall never forget. The plane was moored to a large piece of ice so that it swung free, and all of us went ashore. There weretwo things which it was necessary for us to do in our own interests. First to discover our whereabouts and then to have a little food. The chocolate and the three biscuits we had taken at 8A.M.no longer satisfied us. While Dietrichson “took the sun” the rest of us got the meal ready—a repetition of breakfast. How good it tasted! How fine it was to jump about among the big rocks! We became children again. All around lay driftwood which we could use for firing if we remained here any time. The ninety liters of petrol which we had must be used sparingly.

Omdal, who had been our cook during the whole trip, wished to set the Primus going, as there was still a little drop of petrol left in it, and he was busy with it when suddenly Riiser-Larsen shouted, “There is a ship.” And truly there in the east round the nearest point came a little cutter, gliding along. Had misfortune earlier been our lot luck seemed now to overwhelm us. It was now 9P.M.and Dietrichson had just completed his observations. We found that we were exactly at Nord Kap on Nordostland, the very spot we had steered for in the morning. Thus the flight was a master-stroke on the part of the man who directed the machine, while the navigator shares the distinction with him. It was a splendid deed! But—the little cutter had changed her course and apparently had not noticed us. She moved quicklyand was probably fitted with a motor engine. What should we do? What should we do to communicate with it? “Nothing easier,” said the flying-men. “Just sit tight and you shall see.” In a second everything was brought on board the plane, the motor started and we rushed over the sea stopping exactly beside the cutter. It was the cutter “Sjöliv” of Balsfjord—Captain Nils Wollan. A jolly-boat was lowered and with two men rowed across to us. They seemed in doubt as to who we could be, dirty and bearded as we were. But when I turned slightly round I exposed my profile—and they knew us at once. Would they tow us down to King’s Bay as our petrol was almost done? They would be delighted to do this, in fact Wollan would have certainly towed us to China if we had asked him, so glad was he to see us, so beaming with kindness and goodwill. We had a rope attached to N 25 and we all went on board the “Sjöliv.” There for the first time we felt that the expedition was finished. Quietly and calmly we shook hands with each other—it was a handshake that said much. We were received by all the crew with hearty welcome and shown down to the cabins. While this part of the ship was not exactly a ballroom, the cabins on “Sjöliv”—2 × 2 meters—compared with what we had had in the last four weeks, were roomy and comfortable. These good people cleared out of them absolutely and handed over thewhole place to us. In the two broad bunks four of us were able to sleep, while two found berths in the men’s quarters. “Will you have coffee?” was the first question. Would we! Yes, certainly, and as quickly as possible with a smoke thrown in. We had been tobaccoless for the last days and now were longing for a smoke. The first coffee was not an unqualified success; the coffee pot was set on the fire to warm and, on a mighty roll the cutter gave, it flew straight onto Riiser-Larsen’s back. He was thus the first to get coffee, but if he appreciated the honor, his language expressed a totally different opinion. They apologized to us for the egg pancake and the seal-flesh which comprised the next course, but apologies were unnecessary. All the food disappeared as though a whirlwind had passed over the table—and this, despite the fact that we had decided to eat sparingly after our long restriction.

The towing of N 25 proceeded satisfactorily in the beginning, but during the night a southerly breeze came up blowing directly down from the hills. The waves increased steadily and as we steered westwards towards Hinlopen Strait we decided that we must turn landwards and anchor. We only got to bed at 5:30A.M., after traversing an endless number of roods.

At eleven o’clock the next morning we were up again. It was blowing a gale and we lay badly. Wedecided therefore that we should go into the nearest bay to find a calm and safe harborage for N 25, let it remain there while we went on to King’s Bay for assistance, return for the seaplane and fly it down. The nearest harbor was Brandy Bay. We looked at each other as much as to say, “Can we really permit ourselves to enter a place with such a name?” The ice here lay at the bottom of the Bay and we towed the machine safely through it. At 8P.M.we steered for King’s Bay. It was a windy passage through Hinlopen Strait. The sea was high and rough and the “Sjöliv” enjoyed herself royally. If our feelings agreed with hers, I should not like to say. On the 17th we sailed along Spitzbergen’s north coast in summer sunshine and warmth. We passed a few vessels and asked if they had seen “Hobby”—but “No, they had not.”

As we passed Virgo-havn we hoisted all our flags and the little “Sjöliv” was in gala attire. We wanted to honor the memory of the man who, for the first time, sought to reach the Pole through the air—Salomon August Andrëe. Was there any one in the world who had more right to honor the memory of this man than we six who stood here looking over the place from which he set out on his sad expedition. I scarcely think so. We lowered our flag and continued.

At 11P.M.we rounded Cape Mitra and there layKing’s Bay before us. It was a wonderful sensation to sail back through the Bay and see all the old well-known places again. The ice had vanished, melted by the sunshine as loon and auk gamboled in its rays. Anxiety was rife among us as we sailed in as to whether “Hobby” was here or not? The skipper looked out, came back and announced that “Hobby” was not here; only a coal-boat lay by the quay. As we approached one or other of us went continually to look out; suddenly some one cried, “Yes, there is ‘Hobby.’ And another boat lies there also, but I can’t distinguish which it is.” Our relief was great. There lay “Hobby” and many of our dear friends were near. “Hullo,” some one cried from above, “the other boat is the Heimdal.’” “No, you must be mad. What would the ‘Heimdal’ be doing here?” answered another. We had not the slightest idea what awaited us. Nearer and nearer we approached. “Shall we raise the flag?” said the skipper. “No,” I answered, “there is no reason to do so.” But a little later some one said, “Surely we must greet the naval flag.” “Yes, naturally. I have forgotten my good manners on the trip,” I had to admit. So up went the flag and the “Sjöliv” approached the quay. We continually had our glasses directed on the ships ahead; suddenly some one exclaimed, “Good gracious, two flying machines are lying there.” And, true enough, there lay two Hansa-Brandenburgers ready for flight. Surely they weredestined for a North Coast charting survey, as that had been discussed last year. Yes, that seemed quite possible! Thatwewere the reason for all this excitement never entered our minds. We came on nearer and nearer. We could now see that they were beginning to direct glasses on us from the Coast, showing interest in the little cutter. As we sailed in one of our people who saw a comrade on board the “Hobby” shouted, “Hullo, Finn, how is everything at home?” That was the signal for great excitement. We saw them run round each other in jubilation, shouting and gesticulating. What in the world was the reason for all this? Soon we were to know. The motor stopped and the “Sjöliv” sailed up alongside “Hobby.”

MEMBERS OF THE EXPEDITION ARRIVING AT KING’S BAY

The reception we received will never be forgotten, not even when other things fill our thoughts. Our friends wept, they took hold of us, they looked at us with unbelieving glance—“But, Great God, is it you?” They simply did not realize that we had returned. But they explained how they had waited and waited, insisting that they had never given us up, while in their hearts they knew they had. And suddenly there we stood among them—the dead returned to life. No wonder that the reaction was great. Not one sensible word was said during the first half hour. There stood all our dear old friends: Captain Hagerup, Lieutenant Horgen, Zapffe, Ramm, Berge, etc. They looked so happy. And there were the dear fellows whohad been sent to our relief: Captain Blom of the “Heimdal” and First Lieutenant F. Lutzow-Holm with the air fleet.

ROALD AMUNDSEN AND LINCOLN ELLSWORTH AT THE RECEPTION BY THE KING OF NORWAY

The last to come down, not because he wished to be late, but because it took him a long time to traverse the road from the Director’s house, was our dear host, Stakkars Knutsen. He had run so fast that he had to stand for a time to regain his breath. It was a warm reunion. Among all who had missed us in that time there was scarcely anybody whom our absence had made more uneasy. Late and early, we were told, he had scanned the horizon looking for us. Never had we been out of his thoughts. Big, strong man as he was, he had the warmest and softest of hearts. No wonder then that the meeting with Knutsen was regarded as an outstandingly important incident.

We had to be photographed from all sides, although a record would appear on the plate of a month’s whiskers and dirt. In an hour both would have vanished. And so we set off to our old King’s Bay quarters where we had passed unforgettable days before our departure. It was like a delightful dream to see it again. Every day as we had sat in our little mess on N 25 taking our humble meal, it was remarked on every side, “Oh! if only we were back at Knutsen’s.” And now we were there. We felt we wanted to pinch ourselves and ask, “Is this really possible?Can you really eat as many biscuits as you wish?” There was no time to shave and wash first. No! Berta had now taken command, and we should first and foremost have food. As we stepped into the room, cheering broke out. The Station welcomed us back, and never has our National Anthem sounded finer than it did as we stood in the little square room listening to the tones of what is our dearest hymn. I believe there was not one dry eye in the company. “Gud sygne dig landet vaart. Vi gir dig med glede alt.”

On the next day about three or four o’clock the steam bath was ready and a change was effected; hair and whiskers disappeared. We were all very thin, but we noticed it now more distinctly. It looked as though Riiser-Larsen could have put his collar twice round his neck—the same size collar which had even been tight for him when he set out for the north.

What time we went to bed that night I really cannot say, but I do know that when I came out next morning and looked around, one of the finest sights met me, making an ineradicable impression. On the flagstaff, right before the house, waved our big, beautiful National flag in a light summer breeze. The sun was blazing down and the glaciers around shone like silver in its rays. All seemed to be in festal dress. The hills blushed with the finest little flowers, and thebirds twittered and sang. In the harbor lay the boats fully be-flagged. Yes! it was almost necessary to pinch myself to see if I was really awake. It seemed more like a fable.

On June 20th at 2A.M.the “Heimdal” left the Bay with flying-men, mechanics, and photographer on board. They were off to Brandy Bay to fetch the machine. At eight next evening they were back with the apparatus in good order. We were dining when they arrived, but the hum of the motor brought us all to our feet. There she came gliding elegantly along and landed immediately afterwards. Now we got a holiday which we all keenly appreciated. It reminded me of my happy days when I could lie in idleness in the country and get fat! Hundreds of telegrams streamed in daily from all corners of the world. The King and Queen were first to send a greeting: “The Queen and I wish you and your companions welcome back. I thank you for your enterprise and that you have again brought honor to Norway. Haakon R.” The Crown Prince’s followed immediately after. Then came the Storthing, the Government, the Universities, all the towns, a number of districts and clubs and all the foreign Legations. Telegrams from abroad also poured in with congratulations—one from the English King, the German President, the Geographic and Scientific Associations, among others. Those were hard days for the telegraphershere in the north, but they were unusually smart. The telegraph service on board the “Fram” and the “Heimdal” gave us invaluable assistance. In addition to this the King’s Bay Coal Company’s telegrapher, Herr Hagenis, worked at high pressure all the time.

On June 23rd “Hobby” left us to return to her home—Tromsö. It was like losing an old friend, for we had been so glad to have with us all these clever, splendid people, who went with her; Ramm and Berge accompanied them.

St. Hans’ Eve was celebrated with due ceremony,—bonfire, song and dance. The Coal Company’s chartered boat “Albr. W. Selmer,” which came into the station on the 21st of June, was finished by the 25th with loading coal and took on board (the same afternoon) N 25 and the Navy’s two Hansa-Brandenburgers. They were shipped as they lay on the water—N 25 forward and the two others aft. The “Albr. W. Selmer” was suddenly turned into something which looked like a cross between fish and fowl. The planes were stretched out at both sides, and must have offered a most unusual sight to any ship meeting her. “Selmer” was an old boat, but quite able to take the whole expedition south. Furthermore, she had sufficient room to carry the machines quite easily and could house all the members. Captain Aasgard, her captain, and his officers made room for us with customaryNorwegian hospitality and kindness and we of the expedition had the whole of the ship’s after-part given over to us. Thus we had the officers’ quarters and saloon. It was hard to say good-by to Knutsen and King’s Bay. We shall always hold as one of our dearest memories the wonderful hospitality and kindly care which was shown to us there on our return. At eleven o’clock the “Selmer” left King’s Bay in glorious weather. The midnight sun stood high in the heavens and the hills around were brightly illumined. From the “Heimdal” we heard the sounds of them playing “Ja vi elker” and from the Station’s height cheers broke out. The flags were dipped—one last farewell and the Station disappears—our dear home—behind us. We were ten passengers: Captain Hagerup, Lieuts. Riiser-Larsen, Dietrichson, Horgen, Lutzow-Holm, Omdal, Zapffe, Feucht, Ellsworth and myself. It was an unforgettable holiday—and festal journey. The intention was that we should sail down outside the Islands all the way, anchoring at Lang-Grunnen, from whence we should enter Horten. This, however, was altered as time passed. We met a heavy swell coming from the east, making it dangerous for our machines. We must therefore “hug the coast” as quickly as possible, and at 11A.M., June 29th, we passed Fugleö. Telegrams continued to come in such numbers that the ship’s second mate, who was also radio-telegrapher, was overworked.Near Tromsö we were overhauled by the S.S. “Richard With,” belonging to the Vesteraalske Steamship Company. As it passed, it hoisted its flags and broke out into loud cheers, as all on board waved and shouted. This was the first greeting we had had of this kind. Unexpectedly as it came it absolutely overwhelmed us. It was a delightful greeting and will never be forgotten. Now we had an idea what awaited us elsewhere and as we saw the tremendous preparations in Tromsö Sound we were prepared. Out shot two large flag-bedecked ships full of festal-clad jubilant people. A little further forward we saw our old friend “Hobby” so gayly decorated and so laden with people that she took our breath away. Speeches were made, songs were sung and people cheered. The passage through Tromsö Sound was triumphant—a proof of the warm-hearted hospitality characteristic of the people. The wonderful summer weather continued all the time and our journey along the coast was like a trip through Dreamland. Our beautiful flag was to be seen everywhere and greeted us with the same glowing warmth. Fir trees and birches were dressed in their most lovely green reminding us of Fairyland as we glided past. Here and there lay solitary little fishing-boats and I felt many times a lump in my throat when their sunburnt men stood up, raised their hats and sent us their “Welcome Home.” It was a calm but deep welcomewhich, in contrast to other more demonstrative greetings, filled us with emotion.

Outside Kristiansand we received our first welcome from the air. It was the Fleet and the Army greeting us. Four Hansa-Brandenburgers circled round us once and then disappeared.

On the afternoon of July 4th we passed Færder and entered Oslo-Fjord and were met with jubilant crowds by air and by sea. At Fuglehuk we encountered one of the most affecting scenes which we had lived through all the time, the meeting between the flying-men and their wives. The companion ladder was lowered, all heads were bared, and the two women, who had borne the hardest part of the expedition, climbed on board. If I only had command of all the world’s flags I would dip them in honor, if I only had all the world’s guns I would fire them all, to give these brave women a reception worthy of an Empress, for as such I regarded them.

At eleven o’clock at night we sailed into Horten’s Quay. Any attempt to describe this would be in vain. It was like the Arabian Nights. I was happy to go ashore at Horten, for in the past I had harvested so much good there that I was deeply grateful to this place. Not one of my expeditions had ever set out without the Norwegian Navy playing a great part; this last one being indebted in an overwhelming degree. It was through the NorwegianNavy’s Air Service that this last trip was really made possible. Thanks to their liberal granting of necessary permission, thanks to their giving us clever men; thanks to them again it was possible to set off on our enterprise.

Thus came the day—the great, the unforgettable day—the 5th of July, 1925. Summer favored us in its fullest glory. Who can describe the feelings which rose within us as we of the N 25 flew in, over the flag-bedecked capital, where thousands upon thousands of people stood rejoicing? Who can describe the sights that met us as we descended to the water surrounded by thousands of boats? The reception on the quay? The triumphant procession through the streets? The reception at the Castle? And then, like a shining crown set upon the whole, their Majesties’ dinner at the Castle. All belongs to remembrance—the undying memory of the best in a lifetime.

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