The South Pole, Volume 2 by Roald Amundsen

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Framheim had had the same protracted storms with heavy snowfall. On
several mornings the master of the house had had to dig his way out
through the snow-wall outside the door; but during the last three
fine days he had managed to clear a passage, not only to the door,
but to the window as well. Daylight came down into the room through
a well nine feet deep. This had been a tremendous piece of work;
but, as already hinted, nothing can stop Lindstrom when he makes up
his mind. His stock of seals' flesh was down to a minimum; the little
there was vanished on the appearance of our ravenous dogs. We ourselves
were in no such straits; sweets were the only things in special demand.

We stayed at home one day. After bringing up two loads of seals'
flesh, filling our empty provision cases, carrying out a number of
small repairs, and checking our watches, we were again on the road
on Monday the 18th. We were not very loth to leave the house; indoor
existence had become rather uncomfortable on account of constant
dripping from the ceiling. In the course of the winter a quantity
of ice had formed in the loft. As the kitchen fire was always going
after our return, the temperature became high enough to melt the ice,
and the water streamed down. Lindstrom was annoyed and undertook
to put a stop to it. He disappeared into the loft, and sent down a
hail of ice, bottle-straw, broken cases, and other treasures through
the trap-door. We fled before the storm and drove away. This time
we had to carry out our instructions as to the exploration of the
long eastern arm of the Bay of Whales. During the autumn several
Sunday excursions had been made along this remarkable formation;
but although some of these ski-runs had extended as far as twelve
miles in one direction, there was no sign of the hummocks coming to
an end. These great disturbances of the ice-mass must have a cause,
and the only conceivable one was that the subjacent land had brought
about this disruption of the surface. For immediately to the south
there was undoubtedly land, as there the surface rose somewhat rapidly
to a height of 1,000 feet; but it was covered with snow. There was
a possibility that the rock might project among the evidences of
heavy pressure at the foot of this slope; and with this possibility
in view we made a five days' trip, following the great fissure, or
"bay," as we generally called it, right up to its head, twenty-three
geographical miles to the east of our winter-quarters.

Although we came across no bare rock, and in that respect the journey
was a disappointment, it was nevertheless very interesting to observe
the effects of the mighty forces that had here been at work, the
disruption of the solid ice-sheath by the still more solid rock.

The day before Christmas Eve we were back at Framheim. Lindstrom had
made good use of his time in our absence. The ice had disappeared
from the loft, and therewith the rain from the ceiling. New linoleum
had been laid down over half the floor, and marks of the paint-brush
were visible on the ceiling. These efforts had possibly been made
with an eye to the approaching festival, but in other respects we
abstained from any attempt at keeping Christmas. It did not agree
with the time of year; constant blazing sunshine all through the
twenty-four hours could not be reconciled with a northerner's idea of
Christmas. And for that reason we had kept the festival six months
before. Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday, and it passed just like any
ordinary Sunday. Perhaps the only difference was that we used a razor
that day instead of the usual beard-clipper. On Christmas Day we took
a holiday, and Lindstrom prepared a banquet of skua gulls. Despise
this dish as one may, it tasted undeniably of -- bird.

The numerous snow-houses were now in a sad way. Under the weight
of the constantly increasing mass, the roofs of most of the rooms
were pressed so far in that there was just enough space to crawl
on hands and knees. In the Crystal Palace and the Clothing Store
we kept all our skin clothing, besides a good deal of outfit, which
it was intended to take on board the Fram when she and the southern
party arrived. If the sinking continued, it would be a long business
digging these things out again, and in order to have everything ready
we made up our minds to devote a few days to this work at once. We
hauled the snow up from these two rooms through a well twelve feet
deep by means of tackles. It was a long job, but when we had finished
this part of the labyrinth was as good as ever. We had no time to
deal with the vapour-bath or the carpenter's shop just then. There
still remained the survey of the south-western corner of the Bay
of Whales and its surroundings. On an eight days' sledge journey,
starting at the New Year, we ranged about this district, where we
were surprised to find the solid Barrier divided into small islands,
separated by comparatively broad sounds. These isolated masses of ice
could not possibly be afloat, although the depth in one or two places,
where we had a chance of making soundings, proved to be as much as
200 fathoms. The only rational explanation we could think of was
that there must be a group of low-lying islands here, or in any case
shoals. These "ice islands," if one may call them so, had a height
of 90 feet and sloped evenly down to the water on the greater part
of their circumference. One of the sounds, that penetrated into the
Barrier a short distance inside the western cape of the bay, continued
southward and gradually narrowed to a mere fissure. We followed this
until it lost itself, thirty geographical miles within the Barrier.

The last day of this trip -- Thursday, January 11 -- will always be
fixed in our memory; it was destined to bring us experiences of the
kind that are never forgotten. Our start in the morning was made at
exactly the same time and in exactly the same way as so many times
before. We felt pretty certain of reaching Framheim in the course of
the day, but that prospect was for the moment of minor importance. In
the existing state of the weather our tent offered us as comfortable
quarters as our snowed-up winter home. What made us look forward to
our return with some excitement was the possibility of seeing the
Fram again, and this thought was no doubt in the minds of all of us
that January morning, though we did not say much about it.

After two hours' march we caught sight of West Cape, at the entrance
to the bay, in our line of route, and a little later we saw a black
strip of sea far out on the horizon. As usual, a number of bergs
of all sizes were floating on this strip, in every variety of shade
from white to dark grey, as the light fell on them. One particular
lump appeared to us so dark that it could hardly be made of ice;
but we had been taken in too many times to make any remark about it.

As the dogs now had a mark to go by, Johansen was driving in front
without my help; I went by the side of Stubberud's sledge. The man at
my side kept staring out to sea, without uttering a word. On my asking
him what in the world he was looking at, he replied "I could almost
swear it was a ship, but of course it's only a wretched iceberg." We
were just agreed upon this, when suddenly Johansen stopped short and
began a hurried search for his long glass. "Are you going to look at
the Fram?" I asked ironically. "Yes, I am," he said; and while he
turned the telescope upon the doubtful object far out in Ross Sea,
we two stood waiting for a few endless seconds. "It's the Fram sure
enough, as large as life!" was the welcome announcement that broke our
suspense. I glanced at Stubberud and saw his face expanding into its
most amiable smile. Though I had not much doubt of the correctness
of Johansen's statement, I borrowed his glass, and a fraction of a
second was enough to convince me. That ship was easily recognized;
she was our own old Fram safely back again.

We had still fourteen long miles to Framheim and an obstinate
wind right in our faces, but that part of the way was covered in a
remarkably short time. On arriving at home at two in the afternoon
we had some expectation of finding a crowd of people in front of the
house; but there was not a living soul to be seen. Even Lindstrom
remained concealed, though as a rule he was always about when anyone
arrived. Thinking that perhaps our friend had had a relapse of
snow-blindness, I went in to announce our return. Lindstrom was
standing before his range in the best of health when I entered
the kitchen. "The Fram's come!" he shouted, before I had shut the
door. "Tell me something I don't know," said I, "and be so kind as to
give me a cup of water with a little syrup in it if you can." I thought
somehow that the cook had a sly grin on his face when he brought
what I asked for, but with the thirst I had after the stiff march,
I gave a great part of my attention to the drink. I had consumed
the best part of a quart, when Lindstrom went off to his bunk and
asked if I could guess what he had hidden there. There was no time to
guess anything before the blankets were thrown on to the floor, and
after them bounded a bearded ruffian clad in a jersey and a pair of
overalls of indeterminable age and colour. "Hullo!" said the ruffian,
and the voice was that of Lieutenant Gjertsen. Lindstrom was shaking
with laughter while I stood open-mouthed before this apparition;
I had been given a good surprise. We agreed to treat Johansen and
Stubberud in the same way, and as soon as they were heard outside,
Gjertsen hid himself again among the blankets. But Stubberud had smelt
a rat in some way or other. "There are more than two in this room,"
he said, as soon as he came in. It was no surprise to him to find a
man from the Fram in Lindstrom's bunk.

When we heard that the visitor had been under our roof for a whole day,
we assumed that in the course of that time he had heard all about our
own concerns from Lindstrom. We were therefore not inclined to talk
about ourselves; we wanted news from without, and Gjertsen was more
than ready to give us them. The Fram had arrived two days before,
all well. After lying at the ice edge for a day and a night, keeping
a constant lookout for the "natives," Gjertsen had grown so curious
to know how things were at Framheim that he had asked Captain Nilsen
for "shore leave." The careful skipper had hesitated a while before
giving permission; it was a long way up to the house, and the sea-ice
was scored with lanes, some of them fairly wide. Finally Gjertsen had
his way, and he left the ship, taking a signal flag with him. He found
it rather difficult to recognize his surroundings, to begin with; one
ice cape was very like another, and ugly ideas of calvings suggested
themselves, until at last he caught sight of Cape Man's Head, and then
he knew that the foundations of Framheim had not given way. Cheered by
this knowledge, he made his way towards Mount Nelson, but on arriving
at the top of this ridge, from which there was a view over Framheim,
the eager explorer felt his heart sink. Where our new house had
made such a brave show a year before on the surface of the Barrier,
there was now no house at all to be seen. All that met the eyes of the
visitor was a sombre pile of ruins. But his anxiety quickly vanished
when a man emerged from the confusion. The man was Lindstrom, and the
supposed ruin was the most ingenious of all winter-quarters. Lindstrom
was ignorant of the Fram's arrival, and the face he showed on seeing
Gjertsen must have been worth some money to look at.

When our first curiosity was satisfied, our thoughts turned to our
comrades on board the Fram. We snatched some food, and then went
down to the sea-ice, making our way across the little bay due north
of the house. Our well-trained team were not long in getting there,
but we had some trouble with them in crossing the cracks in the ice,
as some of the dogs, especially the puppies, had a terror of water.

The Fram was cruising some way out, but when we came near enough for
them to see us, they made all haste to come in to the ice-foot. Yes,
there lay our good little ship, as trim as when we had last seen
her; the long voyage round the world had left no mark on her strong
hull. Along the bulwarks appeared a row of smiling faces, which we were
able to recognize in spite of the big beards that half concealed many
of them. While clean-shaven chins had been the fashion at Framheim,
almost every man on board appeared with a flowing beard. As we came
over the gangway questions began to hail upon us. I had to ask for a
moment's grace to give the captain and crew a hearty shake of the hand,
and then I collected them all about me and gave a short account of the
most important events of the past year. When this was done, Captain
Nilsen pulled me into the chart-house, where we had a talk that lasted
till about four the next morning -- to both of us certainly one of
the most interesting we have ever had. On Nilsen's asking about the
prospects of the southern party, I ventured to assure him that in
all probability we should have our Chief and his companions back in
a few days with the Pole in their pockets.

Our letters from home brought nothing but good news. What interested
us most in the newspapers was, of course, the account of how the
expedition's change of route had been received.

At 8 a.m. we left the Fram and returned home. For the next few
days we were occupied with the work of surveying and charting,
which went comparatively quickly in the favourable weather. When we
returned after our day's work on the afternoon of the 17th, we found
Lieutenant Gjertsen back at the hut. He asked us if we could guess the
news, and as we had no answer ready, he told us that the ship of the
Japanese expedition had arrived. We hurriedly got out the cinematograph
apparatus and the camera, and went off as fast as the dogs could go,
since Gjertsen thought this visit would not be of long duration.

When we caught sight of the Fram she had her flag up, and just beyond
the nearest cape lay the Kainan Maru, with the ensign of the Rising
Sun at the peak. Banzai! We had come in time. Although it was rather
late in the evening, Nilsen and I decided to pay her a visit, and if
possible to see the leader of the expedition. We were received at
the gangway by a young, smiling fellow, who beamed still more when
I produced the only Japanese word I knew: Oheio -- Good-day. There
the conversation came to a full stop, but soon a number of the
inquisitive sons of Nippon came up, and some of them understood a
little English. We did not get very far, however. We found out that
the Kainan Maru had been on a cruise in the direction of King Edward
VII. Land; but we could not ascertain whether any landing had been
attempted or not.

As the leader of the expedition and the captain of the ship had
turned in, we did not want to disturb them by prolonging our visit;
but we did not escape before the genial first officer had offered us
a glass of wine and a cigar in the chart-house. With an invitation
to come again next day, and permission to take some photographs, we
returned to the Fram; but nothing came of the projected second visit
to our Japanese friends. Both ships put out to sea in a gale that
sprang up during the night, and before we had another opportunity of
going on board the Kainan Maru the southern party had returned.

The days immediately preceding the departure of the expedition for
the north fell about the middle of the short Antarctic summer, just
at the time when the comparatively rich animal life of the Bay of
Whales shows itself at its best.

The name of the Bay of Whales is due to Shackleton, and is appropriate
enough; for from the time of the break-up of the sea-ice this huge
inlet in the Barrier forms a favourite playground for whales, of which
we often saw schools of as many as fifty disporting themselves for
hours together. We had no means of disturbing their peaceful sport,
although the sight of all these monsters, each worth a small fortune,
was well calculated to make our fingers itch. It was the whaling
demon that possessed us.

For one who has no special knowledge of the industry it is difficult
to form an adequate opinion as to whether this part of Antarctica is
capable of ever becoming a field for whaling enterprise. In any case,
it will probably be a long time before such a thing happens. In the
first place, the distance to the nearest inhabited country is very
great -- over 2,000 geographical miles -- and in the second, there is a
serious obstruction on this route in the shape of the belt of pack-ice,
which, narrow and loose as it may be at times, will always necessitate
the employment of timber-built vessels for the work of transport.

The conditions prevailing in the Bay of Whales must presumably offer
a decisive obstacle to the establishment of a permanent station. Our
winter house was snowed under in the course of two months, and to us
this was only a source of satisfaction, as our quarters became all
the warmer on this account; but whether a whaling station would find
a similar fate equally convenient is rather doubtful.

Lastly, it must be said that, although in the bay itself huge
schools of whales were of frequent occurrence, we did not receive
the impression that there was any very great number of them out in
Ross Sea. The species most commonly seen was the Finner; after that
the Blue Whale.

As regards seals, they appeared in great quantities along the edge
of the Barrier so long as the sea-ice still lay there; after the
break-up of the ice the Bay of Whales was a favourite resort of
theirs all through the summer. This was due to its offering them an
easy access to the dry surface, where they could abandon themselves
to their favourite occupation of basking in the sunshine.

During our whole stay we must have killed some two hundred and fifty
of them, by far the greater number of which were shot in the autumn
immediately after our arrival. This little inroad had no appreciable
effect. The numerous survivors, who had been eye-witnesses of their
companions' sudden death, did not seem to have the slightest idea
that the Bay of Whales had become for the time being a somewhat unsafe
place of residence.

As early as September, while the ice still stretched under in the
course of two months, and to us this was only a source of satisfaction,
as our quarters became all the warmer on this account; but whether
a whaling station would find a similar fate equally convenient is
rather doubtful.

Lastly, it must be said that, although in the bay itself huge
schools of whales were of frequent occurrence, we did not receive
the impression that there was any very great number of them out in
Ross Sea. The species most commonly seen was the Finner; after that
the Blue Whale.

As regards seals, they appeared in great quantities along the edge
of the Barrier so long as the sea-ice still lay there; after the
break-up of the ice the Bay of Whales was a favourite resort of
theirs all through the summer. This was due to its offering them an
easy access to the dry surface, where they could abandon themselves
to their favourite occupation of basking in the sunshine.

During our whole stay we must have killed some two hundred and fifty
of them, by far the greater number of which were shot in the autumn
immediately after our arrival. This little inroad had no appreciable
effect. The numerous survivors, who had been eye-witnesses of their
companions' sudden death, did not seem to have the slightest idea
that the Bay of Whales had become for the time being a somewhat unsafe
place of residence.

As early as September, while the ice still stretched The name
crab-eater may possibly evoke ideas of some ferocious creature; in
that case it is misleading. The animal that bears it is, without
question, the most amicable of the three species. It is of about
the same size as our native seal, brisk and active in its movements,
and is constantly exercising itself in high jumps from the water on
to the ice-foot. Even on the ice it can work its way along so fast
that it is all a man can do to keep up. Its skin is extraordinarily
beautiful -- grey, with a sheen of silver and small dark spots.

One is often asked whether seal's flesh does not taste of train
oil. It seems to be a common assumption that it does so. This,
however, is a mistake; the oil and the taste of it are only present
in the layer of blubber, an inch thick, which covers the seal's body
like a protective armour. The flesh itself contains no fat; on the
other hand, it is extremely rich in blood and its taste in consequence
reminds one of black-puddings. The flesh of the Weddell seal is very
dark in colour; in the frying-pan it turns quite black. The flesh
of the crab-eater is of about the same colour as beef, and to us,
at any rate, its taste was equally good. We therefore always tried
to get crab-eater when providing food for ourselves.

We found the penguins as amusing as the seals were useful. So much has
been written recently about these remarkable creatures, and they have
been photographed and cinematographed so many times, that everyone
is acquainted with them. Nevertheless, anyone who sees a living
penguin for the first time will always be attracted and interested,
both by the dignified Emperor penguin, with his three feet of stature,
and by the bustling little Adelie.

Not only in their upright walk, but also in their manners and antics,
these birds remind one strikingly of human beings. It has been
remarked that an Emperor is the very image of "an old gentleman in
evening dress," and the resemblance is indeed very noticeable. It
becomes still more so when the Emperor -- as is always his habit --
approaches the stranger with a series of ceremonious bows; such is
their good breeding!

When this ceremony is over, the penguin will usually come quite close;
he is entirely unsuspecting and is not frightened even if one goes
slowly towards him. On the other hand, if one approaches rapidly or
touches him, he is afraid and immediately takes to flight. It sometimes
happens, though, that he shows fight, and then it is wiser to keep out
of range of his flippers; for in these he has a very powerful weapon,
which might easily break a man's arm. If you wish to attack him, it is
better to do so from behind; both flippers must be seized firmly at the
same time and bent backwards along his back; then the fight is over.

The little Adelie is always comic. On meeting a flock of these
little busybodies the most ill-humoured observer is forced to burst
into laughter. During the first weeks of our stay in the Bay of
Whales, while we were still unloading stores, it was always a welcome
distraction to see a flock of Adelie penguins, to the number of a dozen
or so, suddenly jump out of the water, as though at a word of command,
and then sit still for some moments, stiff with astonishment at the
extraordinary things they saw. When they had recovered from the first
surprise, they generally dived into the sea again, but their intense
curiosity soon drove them back to look at us more closely.

In contradistinction to their calm and self-controlled relative,
the Emperor penguin, these active little creatures have an extremely
fiery temperament, which makes them fly into a passion at the slightest
interference with their affairs; and this, of course, only makes them
still more amusing.

The penguins are birds of passage; they spend the winter on the various
small groups of islands that are scattered about the southern ocean. On
the arrival of spring they betake themselves to Antarctica, where they
have their regular rookeries in places where there is bare ground. They
have a pronounced taste for roaming, and as soon as the chicks are
grown they set out, young and old together, on their travels. It was
only as tourists that the penguins visited Framheim and its environs;
for there was, of course, no bare land in our neighbourhood that
might offer them a place of residence. For this reason we really saw
comparatively little of them; an Emperor was a very rare visitor;
but the few occasions on which we met these peculiar "bird people"
of Antarctica will remain among the most delightful memories of our
stay in the Bay of Whales.

CHAPTER XVI

The Voyage of the "Fram"

By First-Lieutenant Thorvald Nilsen

From Norway to the Barrier.

After the Fram had undergone extensive repairs in Horten Dockyard,
and had loaded provisions and equipment in Christiania, we left the
latter port on June 7, 1910. According to the plan we were first
to make an oceanographical cruise of about two months in the North
Atlantic, and then to return to Norway, where the Fram was to be
docked and the remaining outfit and dogs taken on board.

This oceanographical cruise was in many respects successful. In the
first place, we gained familiarity with the vessel, and got everything
shipshape for the long voyage to come; but the best of all was, that
we acquired valuable experience of our auxiliary engine. This is a
180 h.p. Diesel motor, constructed for solar oil, of which we were
taking about 90,000 litres (about 19,800 gallons). In this connection
it may be mentioned that we consumed about 500 litres (about 110
gallons) a day, and that the Fram's radius of action was thus about
six months. For the first day or two the engine went well enough,
but after that it went slower and slower, and finally stopped of its
own accord. After this it was known as the "Whooping Cough." This
happened several times in the course of the trip; the piston-rods had
constantly to be taken out and cleared of a thick black deposit. As
possibly our whole South Polar Expedition would depend on the motor
doing its work properly, the result of this was that the projected
cruise was cut short, and after a lapse of three weeks our course
was set for Bergen, where we changed the oil for refined paraffin,
and at the same time had the motor thoroughly overhauled.

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