The South Pole, Volume 2 by Roald Amundsen

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We reckoned now that we were at the Pole. Of course, every one of us
knew that we were not standing on the absolute spot; it would be an
impossibility with the time and the instruments at our disposal to
ascertain that exact spot. But we were so near it that the few miles
which possibly separated us from it could not be of the slightest
importance. It was our intention to make a circle round this camp,
with a radius of twelve and a half miles (20 kilometres), and to be
satisfied with that. After we had halted we collected and congratulated
each other. We had good grounds for mutual respect in what had been
achieved, and I think that was just the feeling that was expressed in
the firm and powerful grasps of the fist that were exchanged. After
this we proceeded to the greatest and most solemn act of the whole
journey -- the planting of our flag. Pride and affection shone in the
five pairs of eyes that gazed upon the flag, as it unfurled itself
with a sharp crack, and waved over the Pole. I had determined that
the act of planting it -- the historic event -- should be equally
divided among us all. It was not for one man to do this; it was for
all who had staked their lives in the struggle, and held together
through thick and thin. This was the only way in which I could show my
gratitude to my comrades in this desolate spot. I could see that they
understood and accepted it in the spirit in which it was offered. Five
weather-beaten, frost-bitten fists they were that grasped the pole,
raised the waving flag in the air, and planted it as the first at the
geographical South Pole. "Thus we plant thee, beloved flag, at the
South Pole, and give to the plain on which it lies the name of King
Haakon VII.'s Plateau." That moment will certainly be remembered by
all of us who stood there.

One gets out of the way of protracted ceremonies in those regions
-- the shorter they are the better. Everyday life began again at
once. When we had got the tent up, Hanssen set about slaughtering
Helge, and it was hard for him to have to part from his best
friend. Helge had been an uncommonly useful and good-natured dog;
without making any fuss he had pulled from morning to night, and had
been a shining example to the team. But during the last week he had
quite fallen away, and on our arrival at the Pole there was only a
shadow of the old Helge left. He was only a drag on the others, and
did absolutely no work. One blow on the skull, and Helge had ceased
to live. "What is death to one is food to another," is a saying that
can scarcely find a better application than these dog meals. Helge
was portioned out on the spot, and within a couple of hours there
was nothing left of him but his teeth and the tuft at the end of his
tail. This was the second of our eighteen dogs that we had lost. The
Major, one of Wisting's fine dogs, left us in 88)deg) 25' S., and
never returned. He was fearfully worn out, and must have gone away
to die. We now had sixteen dogs left, and these we intended to divide
into two equal teams, leaving Bjaaland's sledge behind.

Of course, there was a festivity in the tent that evening -- not that
champagne corks were popping and wine flowing -- no, we contented
ourselves with a little piece of seal meat each, and it tasted well
and did us good. There was no other sign of festival indoors. Outside
we heard the flag flapping in the breeze. Conversation was lively in
the tent that evening, and we talked of many things. Perhaps, too,
our thoughts sent messages home of what we had done.

Everything we had with us had now to be marked with the words "South
Pole" and the date, to serve afterwards as souvenirs. Wisting proved
to be a first-class engraver, and many were the articles he had to
mark. Tobacco -- in the form of smoke -- had hitherto never made its
appearance in the tent. From time to time I had seen one or two of
the others take a quid, but now these things were to be altered. I
had brought with me an old briar pipe, which bore inscriptions from
many places in the Arctic regions, and now I wanted it marked "South
Pole." When I produced my pipe and was about to mark it, I received
an unexpected gift Wisting offered me tobacco for the rest of the
journey. He had some cakes of plug in his kit-bag, which he would
prefer to see me smoke. Can anyone grasp what such an offer meant at
such a spot, made to a man who, to tell the truth, is very fond of a
smoke after meals? There are not many who can understand it fully. I
accepted the offer, jumping with joy, and on the way home I had a pipe
of fresh, fine-cut plug every evening. Ah! that Wisting, he spoiled
me entirely. Not only did he give me tobacco, but every evening --
and I must confess I yielded to the temptation after a while, and
had a morning smoke as well -- he undertook the disagreeable work of
cutting the plug and filling my pipe in all kinds of weather.

But we did not let our talk make us forget other things. As we had got
no noon altitude, we should have to try and take one at midnight. The
weather had brightened again, and it looked as if midnight would be
a good time for the observation. We therefore crept into our bags to
get a little nap in the intervening hours. In good time -- soon after
11 p.m. -- we were out again, and ready to catch the sun; the weather
was of the best, and the opportunity excellent. We four navigators
all had a share in it, as usual, and stood watching the course of the
sun. This was a labour of patience, as the difference of altitude
was now very slight. The result at which we finally arrived was of
great interest, as it clearly shows how unreliable and valueless a
single observation like this is in these regions. At 12.30 a.m. we
put our instruments away, well satisfied with our work, and quite
convinced that it was the midnight altitude that we had observed. The
calculations which were carried out immediately afterwards gave us 89deg.
56' S. We were all well pleased with this result.

The arrangement now was that we should encircle this camp with a
radius of about twelve and a half miles. By encircling I do not, of
course, mean that we should go round in a circle with this radius;
that would have taken us days, and was not to be thought of. The
encircling was accomplished in this way: Three men went out in
three different directions, two at right angles to the course we
had been steering, and one in continuation of that course. To carry
out this work I had chosen Wisting, Hassel, and Bjaaland. Having
concluded our observations, we put the kettle on to give ourselves
a drop of chocolate; the pleasure of standing out there in rather
light attire had not exactly put warmth into our bodies. As we were
engaged in swallowing the scalding drink, Bjaaland suddenly observed:
"I'd like to tackle this encircling straight away. We shall have
lots of time to sleep when we get back." Hassel and Wisting were
quite of the same opinion, and it was agreed that they should start
the work immediately. Here we have yet another example of the good
spirit that prevailed in our little community. We had only lately
come in from our day's work -- a march of about eighteen and a half
miles -- and now they were asking to be allowed to go on another
twenty-five miles. It seemed as if these fellows could never be
tired. We therefore turned this meal into a little breakfast --
that is to say, each man ate what he wanted of his bread ration,
and then they began to get ready for the work. First, three small
bags of light windproof stuff were made, and in each of these was
placed a paper, giving the position of our camp. In addition, each
of them carried a large square flag of the same dark brown material,
which could be easily seen at a distance. As flag-poles we elected
to use our spare sledge-runners, which were both long -- 12 feet --
and strong, and which we were going to take off here in any case,
to lighten the sledges as much as possible for the return journey.

Thus equipped, and with thirty biscuits as an extra ration, the three
men started off in the directions laid down. Their march was by no
means free from danger, and does great honour to those who undertook
it, not merely without raising the smallest objection, but with the
greatest keenness. Let us consider for a moment the risk they ran. Our
tent on the boundless plain, without marks of any kind, may very well
be compared with a needle in a haystack. From this the three men were
to steer out for a distance of twelve and a half miles. Compasses would
have been good things to take on such a walk, but our sledge-compasses
were too heavy and unsuitable for carrying. They therefore had to
go without. They had the sun to go by, certainly, when they started,
but who could say how long it would last? The weather was then fine
enough, but it was impossible to guarantee that no sudden change would
take place. If by bad luck the sun should be hidden, then their own
tracks might help them. But to trust to tracks in these regions is a
dangerous thing. Before you know where you are the whole plain may be
one mass of driving snow, obliterating all tracks as soon as they are
made. With the rapid changes of weather we had so often experienced,
such a thing was not impossible. That these three risked their lives
that morning, when they left the tent at 2.30, there can be no doubt at
all, and they all three knew it very well. But if anyone thinks that
on this account they took a solemn farewell of us who stayed behind,
he is much mistaken. Not a bit; they all vanished in their different
directions amid laughter and chaff.

The first thing we did -- Hanssen and I -- was to set about arranging
a lot of trifling matters; there was something to be done here,
something there, and above all we had to be ready for the series of
observations we were to carry out together, so as to get as accurate
a determination of our position as possible. The first observation
told us at once how necessary this was. For it turned out that this,
instead of giving us a greater altitude than the midnight observation,
gave us a smaller one, and it was then clear that we had gone out of
the meridian we thought we were following. Now the first thing to be
done was to get our north and south line and latitude determined,
so that we could find our position once more. Luckily for us, the
weather looked as if it would hold. We measured the sun's altitude at
every hour from 6 a.m. to 7 p.m., and from these observations found,
with some degree of certainty, our latitude and the direction of
the meridian.

By nine in the morning we began to expect the return of our comrades;
according to our calculation they should then have covered the distance
-- twenty-five miles. It was not till ten o'clock that Hanssen made
out the first black dot on the horizon, and not long after the second
and third appeared. We both gave a sigh of relief as they came on;
almost simultaneously the three arrived at the tent. We told them
the result of our observations up to that time; it looked as if our
camp was in about 89deg. 54' 30'' S., and that with our encircling we
had therefore included the actual Pole. With this result we might
very well have been content, but as the weather was so good and gave
the impression that it would continue so, and our store of provisions
proved on examination to be very ample, we decided to go on for the
remaining ten kilometres (five and a half geographical miles), and
get our position determined as near to the Pole as possible. Meanwhile
the three wanderers turned in -- not so much because they were tired,
as because it was the right thing to do -- and Hanssen and I continued
the series of observations.

In the afternoon we again went very carefully through our provision
supply before discussing the future. The result was that we had food
enough for ourselves and the dogs for eighteen days. The surviving
sixteen dogs were divided into two teams of eight each, and the
contents of Bjaaland's sledge were shared between Hanssen's and
Wisting's. The abandoned sledge was set upright in the snow, and proved
to be a splendid mark. The sledge-meter was screwed to the sledge,
and we left it there; our other two were quite sufficient for the
return journey; they had all shown themselves very accurate. A couple
of empty provision cases were also left behind. I wrote in pencil on
a piece of case the information that our tent -- "Polheim" -- would
be found five and a half geographical miles north-west quarter west
by compass from the sledge. Having put all these things in order the
same day, we turned in, very well satisfied.

Early next morning, December 16, we were on our feet again. Bjaaland,
who had now left the company of the drivers and been received with
jubilation into that of the forerunners, was immediately entrusted
with the honourable task of leading the expedition forward to the Pole
itself. I assigned this duty, which we all regarded as a distinction,
to him as a mark of gratitude to the gallant Telemarkers for their
pre-eminent work in the advancement of ski spot. The leader that
day had to keep as straight as a line, and if possible to follow the
direction of our meridian. A little way after Bjaaland came Hassel,
then Hanssen, then Wisting, and I followed a good way behind. I could
thus check the direction of the march very accurately, and see that no
great deviation was made. Bjaaland on this occasion showed himself a
matchless forerunner; he went perfectly straight the whole time. Not
once did he incline to one side or the other, and when we arrived
at the end of the distance, we could still clearly see the sledge we
had set up and take its bearing. This showed it to be absolutely in
the right direction.

It was 11 a.m. when we reached our destination. While some of us
were putting up the tent, others began to get everything ready for
the coming observations. A solid snow pedestal was put up, on which
the artificial horizon was to be placed, and a smaller one to rest
the sextant on when it was not in use. At 11.30 a.m. the first
observation was taken. We divided ourselves into two parties --
Hanssen and I in one, Hassel and Wisting in the other. While one
party slept, the other took the observations, and the watches were
of six hours each. The weather was altogether grand, though the sky
was not perfectly bright the whole time. A very light, fine, vaporous
curtain would spread across the sky from time to time, and then quickly
disappear again. This film of cloud was not thick enough to hide the
sun, which we could see the whole time, but the atmosphere seemed
to be disturbed. The effect of this was that the sun appeared not to
change its altitude for several hours, until it suddenly made a jump.

Observations were now taken every hour through the whole
twenty-four. It was very strange to turn in at 6 p.m., and then on
turning out again at midnight to find the sun apparently still at
the same altitude, and then once more at 6 a.m. to see it still no
higher. The altitude had changed, of course, but so slightly that it
was imperceptible with the naked eye. To us it appeared as though the
sun made the circuit of the heavens at exactly the same altitude. The
times of day that I have given here are calculated according to the
meridian of Framheim; we continued to reckon our time from this. The
observations soon told us that we were not on the absolute Pole,
but as close to it as we could hope to get with our instruments. The
observations, which have been submitted to Mr. Anton Alexander,
will be published, and the result given later in this book.

On December 17 at noon we had completed our observations, and it is
certain that we had done all that could be done. In order if possible
to come a few inches nearer to the actual Pole, Hanssen and Bjaaland
went out four geographical miles (seven kilometres) in the direction
of the newly found meridian.

Bjaaland astonished me at dinner that day. Speeches had not hitherto
been a feature of this journey, but now Bjaaland evidently thought the
time had come, and surprised us all with a really fine oration. My
amazement reached its culmination when, at the conclusion of his
speech, he produced a cigar-case full of cigars and offered it
round. A cigar at the Pole! What do you say to that? But it did not end
there. When the cigars had gone round, there were still four left. I
was quite touched when he handed the case and cigars to me with the
words: "Keep this to remind you of the Pole." I have taken good care
of the case, and shall preserve it as one of the many happy signs of my
comrades' devotion on this journey. The cigars I shared out afterwards,
on Christmas Eve, and they gave us a visible mark of that occasion.

When this festival dinner at the Pole was ended, we began our
preparations for departure. First we set up the little tent we had
brought with us in case we should be compelled to divide into two
parties. It had been made by our able sailmaker, Rionne, and was of
very thin windproof gabardine. Its drab colour made it easily visible
against the white surface. Another pole was lashed to the tent-pole,
making its total height about 13 feet. On the top of this a little
Norwegian flag was lashed fast, and underneath it a pennant, on which
"Fram" was painted. The tent was well secured with guy-ropes on all
sides. Inside the tent, in a little bag, I left a letter, addressed
to H.M. the King, giving information of what we had accomplished. The
way home was a long one, and so many things might happen to make it
impossible for us to give an account of our expedition. Besides this
letter, I wrote a short epistle to Captain Scott, who, I assumed,
would be the first to find the tent. Other things we left there were
a sextant with a glass horizon, a hypsometer case, three reindeer-skin
foot-bags, some kamiks and mits.

When everything had been laid inside, we went into the tent,
one by one, to write our names on a tablet we had fastened to the
tent-pole. On this occasion we received the congratulations of our
companions on the successful result, for the following messages were
written on a couple of strips of leather, sewed to the tent

"Good luck," and "Welcome to 90deg.." These good wishes, which we
suddenly discovered, put us in very good spirits. They were signed
by Beck and Ronne. They had good faith in us. When we had finished
this we came out, and the tent-door was securely laced together,
so that there was no danger of the wind getting a hold on that side.

And so good-bye to Polheim. It was a solemn moment when we bared
our heads and bade farewell to our home and our flag. And then
the travelling tent was taken down and the sledges packed. Now the
homeward journey was to begin -- homeward, step by step, mile after
mile, until the whole distance was accomplished. We drove at once into
our old tracks and followed them. Many were the times we turned to
send a last look to Polheim. The vaporous, white air set in again,
and it was not long before the last of Polheim, our little flag,
disappeared from view.

CHAPTER XIII

The Return to Framheim

The going was splendid and all were in good spirits, so we went along
at a great pace. One would almost have thought the dogs knew they were
homeward bound. A mild, summer-like wind, with a temperature of -22deg.
F., was our last greeting from the Pole.

When we came to our last camp, where the sledge was left, we stopped
and took a few things with us. From this point we came into the line
of beacons. Our tracks had already become very indistinct, but, thanks
to his excellent sight, Bjaaland kept in them quite well. The beacons,
however, served their purpose so satisfactorily that the tracks were
almost superfluous. Although these beacons were not more than about 3
feet high, they were extremely conspicuous on the level surface. When
the sun was on them, they shone like electric lighthouses; and when
the sun was on the other side, they looked so dark in the shadow that
one would have taken them for black rocks. We intended in future to
travel at night; the advantages of this were many and great. In the
first place, we should have the sun behind us, which meant a good deal
to our eyes. Going against the sun on a snow surface like this tells
fearfully on the eyes, even if one has good snow-goggles; but with
the sun at one's back it is only play. Another great advantage --
which we did not reap till later -- was that it gave us the warmest
part of the twenty-four hours in the tent, during which time we had
an opportunity of drying wet clothes, and so on. This last advantage
was, however, a doubtful one, as we shall see in due course.

It was a great comfort to turn our backs to the south. The wind,
which had nearly always been in this quarter, had often been very
painful to our cracked faces; now we should always have it at our
backs, and it would help us on our way, besides giving our faces
time to heal. Another thing we were longing for was to come down
to the Barrier again, so that we could breathe freely. Up here we
were seldom able to draw a good long breath; if we only had to say
"Yes," we had to do it in two instalments. The asthmatic condition in
which we found ourselves during our six weeks' stay on the plateau
was anything but pleasant. We had fixed fifteen geographical miles
(seventeen and three-eighths statute miles) as a suitable day's march
on the homeward journey. We had, of course, many advantages now as
compared with the southward journey, which would have enabled us to
do longer marches than this; but we were afraid of overworking the
dogs, and possibly using them up before we had gone very far, if we
attempted too great a distance daily. It soon proved, however, that
we had underestimated our dogs' powers; it only took us five hours
to cover the appointed distance, and our rest was therefore a long one.

On December 19 we killed the first dog on the homeward trip. This was
Lasse, my own favourite dog. He had worn himself out completely, and
was no longer worth anything. He was divided into fifteen portions,
as nearly equal as possible, and given to his companions. They had
now learnt to set great store by fresh meat, and it is certain that
the extra feeds, like this one, that took place from time to time
on the way home, had no small share in the remarkably successful
result. They seemed to benefit by these meals of fresh meat for
several days afterwards, and worked much more easily.

December 20 began with bitter weather, a breeze from the south-east,
grey and thick. We lost the trail, and for some time had to go by
compass. But as usual it suddenly cleared, and once more the plain
lay before us, light and warm. Yes, too warm it was. We had to take
off everything -- nearly -- and still the sweat poured off us. It was
not for long that we were uncertain of the way: our excellent beacons
did us brilliant service, and one after another they came up on the
horizon, flashed and shone, and drew us on to our all-important depot
in 88deg. 25' S. We were now going slightly uphill, but so slightly that
it was unnoticeable. The hypsometer and barometer, however, were
not to be deceived, and both fell in precisely the same degree as
they had risen before. Even if we had not exactly noticed the rise,
the feeling of it was present. It may perhaps be called imagination,
but I certainly thought I could notice the rise by my breathing.

Our appetite had increased alarmingly during the last few days. It
appeared that we ski-runners evinced a far greater voracity than
the drivers. There were days -- only a few days, be it said --
when I believe any of us three -- Bjaaland, Hassel, and myself --
would have swallowed pebbles without winking. The drivers never
showed such signs of starvation. It has occurred to me that this may
possibly have been due to their being able to lean on the sledges
as they went along, and thus have a rest and support which we had
to do without. It seems little enough simply to rest one's hand on
a sledge on the march, but in the long run, day after day, it may
perhaps make itself felt. Fortunately we were so well supplied that
when this sensation of hunger came over us, we could increase our
daily rations. On leaving the Pole we added to our pemmican ration,
with the result that our wild-beast appetites soon gave way and
shrank to an ordinary good, everyday twist. Our daily programme on
entering upon the return journey was so arranged that we began to get
breakfast ready at 6 p.m., and by 8 p.m. we were usually quite ready
to start the day's march. An hour or so after midnight the fifteen
geographical miles were accomplished, and we could once more put
up our tent, cook our food, and seek our rest. But this rest soon
became so insufferably long. And then there was the fearful heat --
considering the circumstances -- which often made us get out of our
sleeping-bags and lie with nothing over us. These rests of twelve,
fourteen, sometimes as much as sixteen hours, were what most tried our
patience during the early part of the return journey. We could see
so well that all this rest was unnecessary, but still we kept it up
as long as we were on the high ground. Our conversation at this time
used to turn very often on the best way of filling up these long,
unnecessary waits.

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