The South Pole, Volume 2 by Roald Amundsen

R >> Roald Amundsen >> The South Pole, Volume 2

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

The light Antarctic summer night ran its course, while the gusts
of wind tugged and tore at the thin sides of our tent; no snowfall
accompanied the south-easterly wind, but the loose snow of the surface
was whirled up into a drift that stood like an impenetrable wall round
the tent. After midnight it moderated a little, and by four o'clock
there was comparatively fair weather. We were on our feet at once, put
together camera, glasses, aneroids, axe, Alpine rope, with some lumps
of pemmican to eat on the way, and then went off for a morning walk
with the nearer of the two hills as our goal. All three of us went,
leaving the dogs in charge of the camp. They were not so fresh now that
they would not gladly accept all the rest that was offered them. We
had no need to fear any invasion of strangers; the land we had come
to appeared to be absolutely devoid of living creatures of any kind.

The hill was farther off and higher than it appeared at first; the
aneroid showed a rise of 700 feet when we reached the top. As our
camp lay at a height of 1,000 feet, this gave us 1,700 feet as the
height of this hill above the sea. The side we went up was covered
by neve, which, to judge from the depth of the cracks, must have been
immense. As we approached the summit and our view over the surrounding
ground became wider, the belief that we should see so much as a crag
of this King Edward Land grew weaker and weaker. There was nothing
but white on every side, not a single consolatory little black patch,
however carefully we looked. And to think that we had been dreaming
of great mountain masses in the style of McMurdo Sound, with sunny
slopes, penguins by the thousand, seals and all the rest! All these
visions were slowly but surely sunk in an endless sea of snow, and
when at last we stood on the highest point, we certainly thought
there could be no chance of a revival of our hopes.

But the unexpected happened after all. On the precipitous northern
side of the adjacent hill our eyes fell upon bare rock -- the
first glimpse we had had of positive land during the year we had
been in Antarctica. Our next thought was of how to get to it and
take specimens, and with this object we at once began to scale the
neighbouring hill, which was a trifle higher than the one we had
first ascended. The precipice was, however, perpendicular, with a
huge snow cornice over-hanging it. Lowering a man on the rope would be
rather too hazardous a proceeding; besides which, a length of thirty
yards would not go very far. If we were to get at the rock, it would
have to be from below. In the meantime we availed ourselves of the
opportunity offered by the clear weather to make a closer examination
of our surroundings. From the isolated summit, 1,700 feet high, on
which we stood, the view was fairly extensive. Down to the sea on
the north the distance was about five geographical miles. The surface
descended in terraces towards the edge of the water, where there was
quite a low Barrier wall. As might be expected, this stretch of the
ice-field was broken by innumerable crevasses, rendering any passage
across it impossible.

On the east extended a well-marked mountain-ridge, about twenty
geographical miles in length, and somewhat lower than the summit on
which we stood. This was the Alexandra Mountains. It could not be
called an imposing range, and it was snow-clad from one end to the
other. Only on the most easterly spur was the rock just visible.

On the south and south-west nothing was to be seen but the usual
undulating Barrier surface. Biscoe Bay, as Captain Scott has named
it, was for the moment a gathering-place for numerous icebergs; one
or two of these seemed to be aground. The inmost corner of the bay
was covered with sea-ice. On its eastern side the Barrier edge could
be seen to continue northward, as marked in Captain Scott's chart;
but no indication of bare land was visible in that quarter.

Having built a snow beacon, 6 feet high, on the summit, we put on our
ski again and went down the eastern slope of the hill at a whizzing
pace. On this side there was an approach to the level on the north
of the precipice, and we availed ourselves of it. Seen from below
the mountain crest looked quite grand, with a perpendicular drop
of about 1,000 feet. The cliff was covered with ice up to a height
of about 100 feet, and this circumstance threatened to be a serious
obstacle to our obtaining specimens of the rocks. But in one place
a nunatak about 250 feet high stood out in front of the precipice,
and the ascent of this offered no great difficulty.

A wall of rock of very ordinary appearance is not usually reckoned
among things capable of attracting the attention of the human eye
to any marked extent; nevertheless, we three stood and gazed at it,
as though we had something of extraordinary beauty and interest before
us. The explanation is very simple, if we remember the old saying about
the charm of variety. A sailor, who for months has seen nothing but
sea and sky, will lose himself in contemplation of a little islet,
be it never so barren and desolate. To us, who for nearly a year
had been staring our eyes out in a dazzling white infinity of snow
and ice, it was indeed an experience to see once more a bit of the
earth's crust. That this fragment was as poor and bare as it could
be was not taken into consideration at the moment.

The mere sight of the naked rock was, however, only an anticipatory
pleasure. A more substantial one was the feeling of again being able
to move on ground that afforded a sure and trustworthy foothold. It
is possible that we behaved rather like children on first reaching
bare land. One of us, in any case, found immense enjoyment in rolling
one big block after another down the steep slopes of the nunatak. At
any rate, the sport had the interest of novelty.

This little peak was built up of very heterogenous materials. As the
practical result of our visit, we brought away a fairly abundant
collection of specimens of all the rocks to be found there. Not
being a specialist, I cannot undertake any classification of the
specimens. It will be the task of geologists to deal with them, and
to obtain if possible some information as to the structure of the
country. I will only mention that some of the stones were so heavy
that they must certainly have contained metallic ore of one kind or
another. On returning to camp that evening, we tried them with the
compass-needle, and it showed very marked attraction in the case of
one or two of the specimens. These must, therefore, contain iron-ore.

This spur, which had been severely handled by ice-pressure and the
ravages of time, offered a poor chance of finding what we coveted most
-- namely, fossils -- and the most diligent search proved unsuccessful
in this respect. From finds that have been made in other parts of
Antarctica it is known that in former geological periods -- the
Jurassic epoch -- even this desolate continent possessed a rich and
luxurious vegetation. The leader of the Swedish expedition to Graham
Land, Dr. Nordenskjold, and his companion, Gunnar Andersson, were
the first to make this exceedingly interesting and important discovery.

While it did not fall to our lot to furnish any proof of the existence
of an earlier flora in King Edward Land, we found living plants of
the most primitive form. Even on that tiny islet in the ocean of
snow the rock was in many places covered with thick moss. How did
that moss come there? Its occurrence might, perhaps, be quoted in
support of the hypothesis of the genesis of organic life from, dead
matter. This disputed question must here be left open, but it may be
mentioned in the same connection that we found the remains of birds'
nests in many places among the rocks. Possibly the occupants of these
nests may have been instrumental in the conveyance of the moss.

Otherwise, the signs of bird life were very few. One or two solitary
snowy petrels circled round the summit while we were there; that
was all.

It was highly important to obtain some successful photographs from
this spot, and I was setting about the necessary preparations, when
one of my companions made a remark about the changed appearance of the
sky. Busy with other things, I had entirely neglected to keep an eye
on the weather, an omission for which, as will be seen, we might have
had to pay dearly. Fortunately, another had been more watchful than
I, and the warning came in time. A glance was enough to convince me
of the imminent approach of a snow-storm; the fiery red sky and the
heavy ring round the sun spoke a language that was only too clear. We
had a good hour's march to the tent, and the possibility of being
surprised by the storm before we arrived was practically equivalent
to never arriving at all.

We very soon put our things together, and came down the nunatak
even more quickly. On the steep slopes leading up to the plateau on
which the tent stood the pace was a good deal slower, though we made
every possible effort to hurry. There was no need to trouble about
the course; we had only to follow the trail of our own ski -- so
long as it was visible. But the drift was beginning to blot it out,
and if it once did that, any attempt at finding the tent would be
hopeless. For a long and anxious quarter of an hour it looked as if
we should be too late, until at last the tent came in sight, and we
were saved. We had escaped the blizzard so far; a few minutes later
it burst in all its fury, and the whirling snow was so thick that it
would have been impossible to see the tent at a distance of ten paces,
but by then we were all safe and sound inside. Ravenously hungry
after the twelve hours that had passed since our last proper meal, we
cooked an extra large portion of pemmican and the same of chocolate,
and with this sumptuous repast we celebrated the event of the day --
the discovery of land. From what we had seen in the course of the day
it might be regarded as certain that we should be disappointed in our
hopes of finding any great and interesting field for our labours in
this quarter; King Edward Land was still far too well hidden under
eternal snow and ice to give us that. But even the establishment of
this, to us, somewhat unwelcome fact marked an increase of positive
human knowledge of the territory that bears the name of King Edward
VII.; and with the geological specimens that we had collected, we were
in possession of a tangible proof of the actual existence of solid
ground in a region which otherwise bore the greatest resemblance to
what we called "Barrier" elsewhere, or in any case to the Barrier as
it appears in the neighbourhood of our winter-quarters at Framheim.

Monday, December 4. -- The gale kept on at full force all night,
and increased rather than moderated as the day advanced. As usual,
the storm was accompanied by a very marked rise of temperature. At the
noon observation to-day the reading was + 26.6deg. F. This is the highest
temperature we have had so far on this trip, and a good deal higher
than we care about. When the mercury comes so near freezing-point as
this, the floor of the tent is always damp.

To-day, for once in a way, we have falling snow, and enough of it. It
is snowing incessantly -- big, hard flakes, almost like hail. When the
cooker was filled to provide water for dinner, the half-melted mass
looked like sago. The heavy flakes of snow make a noise against the
tent that reminds one of the safety-valve of a large boiler blowing
off: Inside the tent it is difficult to hear oneself speak; when we
have anything to say to each other we have to shout.

These days of involuntary idleness on a sledge journey may safely be
reckoned among the experiences it is difficult to go through without
a good deal of mental suffering. I say nothing of the purely physical
discomfort of having to pass the day in a sleeping-bag. That may be
endured; in any case, so long as the bag is fairly dry. It is a far
worse matter to reconcile oneself to the loss of the many solid hours
that might otherwise have been put to a useful purpose, and to the
irritating consciousness that every bit of food that is consumed is
so much wasted of the limited store. At this spot of all others we
should have been so glad to spend the time in exploring round about,
or still more in going farther. But if we are to go on, we must be
certain of having a chance of getting seals at a reasonable distance
from here. With our remaining supply of dogs' food we cannot go on
for more than three days.

What we have left will be just enough for the return journey, even if
we should not find the depot of seals' flesh left on the way. There
remained the resource of killing dogs, if it was a question of getting
as far to the east as possible, but for many reasons I shrank from
availing myself of that expedient. We could form no idea of what would
happen to the southern party's animals. The probability was that they
would have none left on their return. Supposing their return were
delayed so long as to involve spending another winter on the Barrier,
the transport of supplies from the ship could hardly be carried out
in the necessary time with the ten untrained puppies that were left
with Lindstrom. We had picked out the useful ones, and I thought that,
should the necessity arise, they could be used with greater advantage
for this work than we should derive from slaughtering them here, and
thereby somewhat prolonging the distance covered; the more so as, to
judge from all appearance, there was a poor prospect of our finding
anything of interest within a reasonable time.

Tuesday, December 5. -- It looks as if our patience is to be given
a really hard trial this time. Outside the same state of things
continues, and the barometer is going down. A mass of snow has fallen
in the last twenty-four hours. The drift on the windward side of the
tent is constantly growing; if it keeps on a little longer it will
be as high as the top of the tent. The sledges are completely snowed
under, and so are the dogs; we had to haul them out one by one in the
middle of the day. Most of them are now loose, as there is nothing
exposed to the attacks of their teeth. It is now blowing a regular
gale; the direction of the wind is about true east. Occasionally
squalls of hurricane-like violence occur. Fortunately the big
snow-drift keeps us comfortable, and we are under the lee of a hill,
otherwise it would look badly for our tent. Hitherto it has held well,
but it is beginning to be rather damp inside. The temperature remains
very high (+ 27.2deg. F. at noon to-day), and the mass of snow pressing
against the tent causes the formation of rime.

In order to while away the time to some extent under depressing
circumstances like these, I put into my diary on leaving Framheim a
few loose leaves of a Russian grammar; Johansen solaced himself with
a serial cut out of the Aftenpost; as far as I remember, the title of
it was "The Red Rose and the White." Unfortunately the story of the
Two Roses was very soon finished; but Johansen had a good remedy for
that: he simply began it over again. My reading had the advantage of
being incomparably stiffer. Russian verbs are uncommonly difficult
of digestion, and not to be swallowed in a hurry. For lack of mental
nutriment, Stubberud with great resignation consoled himself with
a pipe, but his enjoyment must have been somewhat diminished by
the thought that his stock of tobacco was shrinking at an alarming
rate. Every time he filled his pipe, I could see him cast longing looks
in the direction of my pouch, which was still comparatively full. I
could not help promising a fraternal sharing in case he should run
short; and after that our friend puffed on with an easy mind.

Although I look at it at least every half-hour, the barometer will
not go up. At 8 p.m. it was down to 27.30. If this means anything,
it can only be that we shall have the pleasure of being imprisoned
here another day. Some poor consolation is to be had in the thought of
how lucky we were to reach the tent at the last moment the day before
yesterday. A storm as lasting as this one would in all probability
have been too much for us if we had not got in.

Wednesday, December 6. -- the third day of idleness has at last crept
away after its predecessors. We have done with it. It has not brought
any marked variation. The weather has been just as violent, until
now -- 8 p.m. -- the wind shows a slight tendency to moderate. It
is, surely, time it did; three days and nights should be enough for
it. The heavy snowfall continues. Big, wet flakes come dancing down
through the opening in the drift in which the peak of the tent still
manages to show itself. In the course of three days we have had more
snowfall here than we had at Framheim in ten whole months. It will
be interesting to compare our meteorological log with Lindstrom's;
probably he has had his share of the storm, and in that case it will
have given him some exercise in snow-shovelling.

The moisture is beginning to be rather troublesome now; most of our
wardrobe is wet through, and the sleeping-bags will soon meet with
the same fate. The snow-drift outside is now so high that it shuts
out most of the daylight; we are in twilight. To-morrow we shall be
obliged to dig out the tent, whatever the weather is like, otherwise
we shall be buried entirely, and run the additional risk of having
the tent split by the weight of snow. I am afraid it will be a day's
work to dig out the tent and the two sledges; we have only one little
shovel to do it with.

A slight rise of both barometer and thermometer tells us that at last
we are on the eve of the change we have been longing for. Stubberud is
certain of fair weather to-morrow, he says. I am by no means so sure,
and offer to bet pretty heavily that there will be no change. Two
inches of Norwegian plug tobacco is the stake, and with a heartfelt
desire that Jorgen may win I await the morrow.

Thursday, December 7. -- Early this morning I owned to having lost my
bet, as the weather, so far as I could tell, was no longer of the same
tempestuous character; but Stubberud thought the contrary. "It seems
to me just as bad," said he. He was right enough, as a matter of fact,
but this did not prevent my persuading him to accept payment. Meanwhile
we were obliged to make an attempt to dig out the tent, regardless
of the weather; the situation was no longer endurable. We waited all
the forenoon in the hope of an improvement; but as none came, we set
to work at twelve o'clock. Our implements showed some originality and
diversity: a little spade, a biscuit-tin, and a cooker. The drift did
its best to undo our work as fast as we dug, but we managed to hold
our own against it. Digging out the tent-pegs gave most trouble. After
six hours' hard work we got the tent set up a few yards to windward of
its first position; the place where it had stood was now a well about
seven feet deep. Unfortunately there was no chance of immortalizing
this scene of excavation. It would have been amusing enough to have it
on the plate; but drifting snow is a serious obstacle to an amateur
photographer -- besides which, my camera was on Stubberud's sledge,
buried at least four feet down.

In the course of our digging we had had the misfortune to make two or
three serious rents in the thin canvas of the tent, and the drift was
not long in finding a way through these when the tent was up again. To
conclude my day's work I had, therefore, a longish tailor's job,
while the other two men were digging out a good feed for the dogs,
who had been on half-rations for the last two days. That night we went
rather short of sleep. Vulcan, the oldest dog in Johansen's team,
was chiefly to blame for this. In his old age Vulcan was afflicted
with a bad digestion, for even Eskimo dogs may be liable to this
infirmity, hardy as they generally are. The protracted blizzard had
given the old fellow a relapse, and he proclaimed this distressing
fact by incessant howling. This kind of music was not calculated to
lull us to sleep, and it was three or four in the morning before we
could snatch a nap. During a pause I was just dropping off, when the
sun showed faintly through the tent. This unwonted sight at once
banished all further thoughts of sleep; the Primus was lighted,
a cup of chocolate swallowed, and out we went. Stubberud and
Johansen set to work at the hard task of digging out the sledges;
they had to go down four feet to get hold of them. I dragged our
wet clothes, sleeping-bags, and so forth out of the tent, and hung
them all up to dry. In the course of the morning observations were
taken for determining the geographical longitude and latitude, as
well as a few photographs, which will give some idea of what our
camp looked like after the blizzard. Having made good the damage
and put everything fairly in order, we hurried away to our peaks,
to secure some photographs while the light was favourable. This time
we were able to achieve our object. "Scott's Nunataks," as they were
afterwards named -- after Captain Scott, who first saw them -- were
now for the first time recorded by the camera. Before we left the
summit the Norwegian flag was planted there, a snow beacon erected,
and a report of our visit deposited in it. The weather would not
keep clear; before we were back at the camp there was a thick fog,
and once more we had to thank the tracks of our ski for showing us the
way. During the time we had been involuntarily detained at this spot,
our store of provisions had decreased alarmingly; there was only a bare
week's supply left, and in less than a week we should hardly be able
to make home; probably it would take more than a week, but in that
case we had the depot at our Bay of Seals to fall back upon. In the
immediate neighbourhood of our present position we could not reckon
on being able to replenish our supply in the continued unfavourable
state of the weather. We therefore made up our minds on the morning of
December 9 to break off the journey and turn our faces homeward. For
three days more we had to struggle with high wind and thick snow,
but as things now were, we had no choice but to keep going, and by
the evening of the 11th we had dragged ourselves fifty geographical
miles to the west. The weather cleared during the night, and at last,
on December 12, we had a day of real sunshine. All our discomforts
were forgotten; everything went easily again. In the course of nine
hours we covered twenty-six geographical miles that day, without any
great strain on either dogs or men.

At our midday rest we found ourselves abreast of the bay, where, on
the outward journey, we had laid down our depot of seals' flesh. I
had intended to turn aside to the depot and replenish our supply of
meat as a precaution, but Johansen suggested leaving out this detour
and going straight on. We might thereby run the risk of having to
go on short rations; but Johansen thought it a greater risk to cross
the treacherous ground about the bay, and, after some deliberation,
I saw he was right. It was better to go on while we were about it.

From this time on we met with no difficulty, and rapidly drew near
to our destination in regular daily marches of twenty geographical
miles. After men and dogs had received their daily ration on the
evening of the 15th, our sledge cases were practically empty; but,
according to our last position, we should not have more than twenty
geographical miles more to Framheim.

Saturday, December 16. -- We broke camp at the usual time, in overcast
but perfectly clear weather, and began what was to be our last day's
march on this trip. A dark water-sky hung over the Barrier on the
west and north-west, showing that there was open sea off the mouth of
the Bay of Whales. We went on till 10.30, our course being true west,
when we made out far to the north-west an ice-cape that was taken to
be the extreme point on the western side of the bay. Immediately after
we were on the edge of the Barrier, the direction of which was here
south-west and north-east. We altered our course and followed the edge
at a proper distance until we saw a familiar iceberg that had broken
off to the north of Framheim, but had been stopped by the sea-ice from
drifting out. With this excellent mark in view the rest of the way
was plain sailing. The sledge-meter showed 19.5 geographical miles,
when in the afternoon we came in sight of our winter home. Quiet and
peaceful it lay there, if possible more deeply covered in snow than
when we had left it. At first we could see no sign of life, but soon
the glasses discovered a lonely wanderer on his way from the house
to the "meteorological institute." So Lindstrom was still alive and
performing his duties.

When we left, our friend had expressed his satisfaction at "getting
us out of the way"; but I have a suspicion that he was quite as
pleased to see us back again. I am not quite certain, though, that
he did see us for the moment, as he was about as snow-blind as a
man can be. Lindstrom was the last person we should have suspected
of that malady. On our asking him how it came about, he seemed at
first unwilling to give any explanation; but by degrees it came out
that the misfortune had happened a couple of days before, when he
had gone out after seals. His team, composed of nothing but puppies,
had run away and pulled up at a big hummock out by the western cape,
ten miles from the station. But Lindstrom, who is a determined man,
would not give up before he had caught the runaways; and this was
too much for his eyes, as he had no goggles with him. "When I got
home I couldn't see what the time was," he said; "but it must have
been somewhere about six in the morning." When we had made him put
on plenty of red eye-ointment and supplied him with a proper pair of
goggles, he was soon cured.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25