The South Pole, Volumes 1 and 2 by Roald Amundsen

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After we had examined the conditions here, and found out that on
the following day -- if the weather permitted -- we should reach the
plateau, we turned back, well satisfied with the result of our trip. We
all agreed that we were tired, and longing to reach camp and get some
food. The place where we turned was, according to the aneroid, 8,000
feet above the sea; we were therefore 2,500 feet higher than our tent
down on the hill-side. Going down in our old tracks was easier work,
though the return journey was somewhat monotonous. In many places the
slope was rapid, and not a few fine runs were made. On approaching
our camping-ground we had the sharpest descent, and here, reluctant
as we might be, we found it wiser to put both our poles together and
form a strong brake. We came down smartly enough, all the same. It
was a grand and imposing sight we had when we came out on the ridge
under which -- far below -- our tent stood. Surrounded on all sides by
huge crevasses and gaping chasms, it could not be said that the site
of our camp looked very inviting. The wildness of the landscape seen
from this point is not to be described; chasm after chasm, crevasse
after crevasse, with great blocks of ice scattered promiscuously about,
gave one the impression that here Nature was too powerful for us. Here
no progress was to be thought of.

It was not without a certain satisfaction that we stood there and
contemplated the scene. The little dark speck down there -- our
tent -- in the midst of this chaos, gave us a feeling of strength
and power. We knew in our hearts that the ground would have to be
ugly indeed if we were not to manoeuvre our way across it and find a
place for that little home of ours. Crash upon crash, roar upon roar,
met our ears. Now it was a shot from Mount Nansen, now from one of the
others; we could see the clouds of snow rise high into the air. It was
evident that these mountains were throwing off their winter mantles
and putting on a more spring-like garb.

We came at a tearing pace down to the tent, where our companions had
everything in most perfect order. The dogs lay snoring in the heat
of the sun, and hardly condescended to move when we came scudding
in among them. Inside the tent a regular tropical heat prevailed;
the sun was shining directly on to the red cloth and warming it. The
Primus hummed and hissed, and the pemmican-pot bubbled and spurted. We
desired nothing better in the world than to get in, fling ourselves
down, eat, and drink. The news we brought was no trifling matter --
the plateau to-morrow. It sounded almost too good to be true; we
had reckoned that it would take us ten days to get up, and now we
should do it in four. In this way we saved a great deal of dog food,
as we should be able to slaughter the superfluous animals six days
earlier than we had calculated. It was quite a little feast that
evening in the tent; not that we had any more to eat than usual --
we could not allow ourselves that -- but the thought of the fresh
dog cutlets that awaited us when we got to the top made our mouths
water. In course of time we had so habituated ourselves to the idea
of the approaching slaughter that this event did not appear to us
so horrible as it would otherwise have done. Judgment had already
been pronounced, and the selection made of those who were worthy of
prolonged life and those who were to be sacrificed. This had been,
I may add, a difficult problem to solve, so efficient were they all.

The rumblings continued all night, and one avalanche after another
exposed parts of the mountain-sides that had been concealed from
time immemorial. The following day, November 20, we were up and away
at the usual time, about 8 a.m. The weather was splendid, calm and
clear. Getting up over the saddle was a rough beginning of the day
for our dogs, and they gave a good account of themselves, pulling
the sledges up with single teams this time. The going was heavy,
as on the preceding day, and our advance through the loose snow was
not rapid. We did not follow our tracks of the day before, but laid
our course directly for the place where we had decided to attempt the
ascent. As we approached Mount Ole Engelstad, under which we had to
pass in order to come into the arm of the glacier between it and Mount
Nansen, our excitement began to rise. What does the end look like? Does
the glacier go smoothly on into the plateau, or is it broken up and
impassable? We rounded Mount Engelstad more and more; wider and wider
grew the opening. The surface looked extremely good as it gradually
came into view, and it did not seem as though our assumption of the
previous day would be put to shame. At last the whole landscape opened
out, and without obstruction of any kind whatever the last part of the
ascent lay before us. It was both long and steep from the look of it,
and we agreed to take a little rest before beginning the final attack.

We stopped right under Mount Engelstad in a warm and sunny place,
and allowed ourselves on this occasion a little lunch, an indulgence
that had not hitherto been permitted. The cooking-case was taken out,
and soon the Primus was humming in a way that told us it would not
be long before the chocolate was ready. It was a heavenly treat, that
drink. We had all walked ourselves warm, and our throats were as dry
as tinder. The contents of the pot were served round by the cook --
Hanssen. It was no use asking him to share alike; he could not be
persuaded to take more than half of what was due to him -- the rest he
had to divide among his comrades. The drink he had prepared this time
was what he called chocolate, but I had some difficulty in believing
him. He was economical, was Hanssen, and permitted no extravagance;
that could be seen very well by his chocolate. Well, after all, to
people who were accustomed to regard "bread and water" as a luxury,
it tasted, as I have said, heavenly. It was the liquid part of the
lunch that was served extra; if anyone wanted something to eat, he
had to provide it himself -- nothing was offered him. Happy was he
who had saved some biscuits from his breakfast! Our halt was not a
very long one. It is a queer thing that, when one only has on light
underclothing and windproof overalls, one cannot stand still for long
without feeling cold. Although the temperature was no lower than -4deg.
F., we were glad to be on the move again. The last ascent was fairly
hard work, especially the first half of it. We never expected to
do it with single teams, but tried it all the same. For this last
pull up I must give the highest praise both to the dogs and their
drivers; it was a brilliant performance on both sides. I can still
see the situation clearly before me. The dogs seemed positively
to understand that this was the last big effort that was asked of
them; they lay flat down and hauled, dug their claws in and dragged
themselves forward. But they had to stop and get breath pretty often,
and then the driver's strength was put to the test. It is no child's
play to set a heavily-laden sledge in motion time after time. How they
toiled, men and beasts, up that slope! But they got on, inch by inch,
until the steepest part was behind them. Before them lay the rest
of the ascent in a gentle rise, up which they could drive without a
stop. It was stiff, nevertheless, and it took a long time before we
were all up on the plateau on the southern side of Mount Engelstad.

We were very curious and anxious to see what the plateau
looked. like. We had expected a great, level plain,
extending boundlessly towards the south; but in this we were
disappointed. Towards the south-west it looked very level and fine,
but that was not the way we had to go. Towards the south the ground
continued to rise in long ridges running east and west, probably a
continuation of the mountain chain running to the south-east, or a
connection between it and the plateau. We stubbornly continued our
march; we would not give in until we had the plain itself before
us. Our hope was that the ridge projecting from Mount Don Pedro
Christophersen would be the last; we now had it before us. The
going changed at once up here; the loose snow disappeared, and a few
wind-waves (sastrugi) began to show themselves. These were specially
unpleasant to deal with on this last ridge; they lay from south-east
to north-west, and were as hard as flints and as sharp as knives. A
fall among them might have had very serious consequences. One would
have thought the dogs had had enough work that day to tire them,
but this last ridge, with its unpleasant snow-waves, did not seem
to trouble them in the least. We all drove up gaily, towed by the
sledges, on to what looked to us like the final plateau, and halted
at 8 p.m. The weather had held fine, and we could apparently see
a very long way. In the far distance, extending to the north-west,
rose peak after peak; this was the chain of mountains running to the
south-east, which we now saw from the other side. In our own vicinity,
on the other band, we saw nothing but the backs of the mountains so
frequently mentioned. We afterwards learned how deceptive the light
can be. I consulted the aneroid immediately on our arrival at the
camping-ground, and it showed 10,920 feet above the sea, which the
hypsometer afterwards confirmed. All the sledge-meters gave seventeen
geographical miles, or thirty-one kilometres (nineteen and a quarter
statute miles). This day's work -- nineteen and a quarter miles,
with an ascent of 5,750 feet -- gives us some idea of what can be
performed by dogs in good training. Our sledges still had what might
be considered heavy loads; it seems superfluous to give the animals
any other testimonial than the bare fact.

It was difficult to find a place for the tent, so hard was the snow
up here. We found one, however, and set the tent. Sleeping-bags
and kit-bags were handed in to me, as usual, through the tent-door,
and I arranged everything inside. The cooking-case and the necessary
provisions for that evening and the next morning were also passed in;
but the part of my work that went more quickly than usual that night
was getting the Primus started, and pumping it up to high-pressure. I
was hoping thereby to produce enough noise to deaden the shots that I
knew would soon be heard -- twenty-four of our brave companions and
faithful helpers were marked out for death. It was hard -- but it
had to be so. We had agreed to shrink from nothing in order to reach
our goal. Each man was to kill his own dogs to the number that had
been fixed.

The pemmican was cooked remarkably quickly that evening, and I believe
I was unusually industrious in stirring it. There went the first shot
-- I am not a nervous man, but I must admit that I gave a start. Shot
now followed upon shot -- they had an uncanny sound over the great
plain. A trusty servant lost his life each time. It was long before
the first man reported that he had finished; they were all to open
their dogs, and take out the entrails to prevent the meat being
contaminated. The entrails were for the most part devoured warm on
the spot by the victims' comrades, so voracious were they all. Suggen,
one of Wisting's dogs, was especially eager for warm entrails; after
enjoying this luxury, he could be seen staggering about in a quite
misshapen condition. Many of the dogs would not touch them at first,
but their appetite came after a while.

The holiday humour that ought to have prevailed in the tent that
evening -- our first on the plateau -- did not make its appearance;
there was depression and sadness in the air -- we had grown so fond
of our dogs. The place was named the "Butcher's Shop." It had been
arranged that we should stop here two days to rest and eat dog. There
was more than one among us who at first would not hear of taking any
part in this feast; but as time went by, and appetites became sharper,
this view underwent a change, until, during the last few days before
reaching the Butcher's Shop, we all thought and talked of nothing
but dog cutlets, dog steaks, and the like. But on this first evening
we put a restraint on ourselves; we thought we could not fall upon
our four-footed friends and devour them before they had had time to
grow cold.

We quickly found out that the Butcher's Shop was not a hospitable
locality. During the night the temperature sank, and violent gusts
of wind swept over the plain; they shook and tore at the tent, but
it would take more than that to get a hold of it. The dogs spent the
night in eating; we could hear the crunching and grinding of their
teeth whenever we were awake for a moment. The effect of the great and
sudden change of altitude made itself felt at once; when I wanted to
turn round in my bag, I had to do it a bit at a time, so as not to
get out of breath. That my comrades were affected in the same way,
I knew without asking them; my ears told me enough.

It was calm when we turned out, but the weather did not look
altogether promising; it was overcast and threatening. We occupied
the forenoon in flaying a number of dogs. As I have said, all the
survivors were not yet in a mood for dog's flesh, and it therefore
had to be served in the most enticing form. When flayed and cut up,
it went down readily all along the line; even the most fastidious
then overcame their scruples. But with the skin on we should not
have been able to persuade them all to eat that morning; probably
this distaste was due to the smell clinging to the skins, and I must
admit that it was not appetizing. The meat itself, as it lay there
cut up, looked well enough, in all conscience; no butcher's shop
could have exhibited a finer sight than we showed after flaying and
cutting up ten dogs. Great masses of beautiful fresh, red meat, with
quantities of the most tempting fat, lay spread over the snow. The
dogs went round and sniffed at it. Some helped themselves to a piece;
others were digesting. We men had picked out what we thought was
the youngest and tenderest one for ourselves. The whole arrangement
was left to Wisting, both the selection and the preparation of the
cutlets. His choice fell upon Rex, a beautiful little animal -- one
of his own dogs, by the way. With the skill of an expert, he hacked
and cut away what he considered would be sufficient for a meal. I
could not take my eyes off his work; the delicate little cutlets
had an absolutely hypnotizing effect as they were spread out one by
one over the snow. They recalled memories of old days, when no doubt
a dog cutlet would have been less tempting than now -- memories of
dishes on which the cutlets were elegantly arranged side by side,
with paper frills on the bones, and a neat pile of petits pois in
the middle. Ah, my thoughts wandered still farther afield -- but that
does not concern us now, nor has it anything to do with the South Pole.

I was aroused from my musings by Wisting digging his axe into the
snow as a sign that his work was done, after which he picked up the
cutlets, and went into the tent. The clouds had dispersed somewhat,
and from time to time the sun appeared, though not in its most genial
aspect. We succeeded in catching it just in time to get our latitude
determined -- 85deg. 36' S. We were lucky, as not long after the wind got
up from the east-south-east, and, before we knew what was happening,
everything was in a cloud of snow. But now we snapped our fingers
at the weather; what difference did it make to us if the wind howled
in the guy-ropes and the snow drifted? We had, in any case, made up
our minds to stay here for a while, and we had food in abundance. We
knew the dogs thought much the same so long as we have enough to eat,
let the weather go hang. Inside the tent Wisting was getting on well
when we came in after making these observations. The pot was on,
and, to judge by the savoury smell, the preparations were already far
advanced. The cutlets were not fried; we had neither frying-pan nor
butter. We could, no doubt, have got some lard out of the pemmican,
and we might have contrived some sort of a pan, so that we could
have fried them if it had been necessary; but we found it far easier
and quicker to boil them, and in this way we got excellent soup into
the bargain. Wisting knew his business surprisingly well; he had put
into the soup all those parts of the pemmican that contained most
vegetables, and now he served us the finest fresh meat soup with
vegetables in it. The clou of the repast was the dish of cutlets. If
we had entertained the slightest doubt of the quality of the meat,
this vanished instantly on the first trial. The meat was excellent,
quite excellent, and one cutlet after another disappeared with
lightning-like rapidity. I must admit that they would have lost
nothing by being a little more tender, but one must not expect too
much of a dog. At this first meal I finished five cutlets myself,
and looked in vain in the pot for more. Wisting appeared not to have
reckoned on such a brisk demand.

We employed the afternoon in going through our stock of provisions, and
dividing the whole of it among three sledges; the fourth -- Hassel's --
was to be left behind. The provisions were thus divided. Sledge No.1
(Wisting's) contained

Biscuits, 3,700 (daily ration, 40 biscuits per man).

Dogs' pemmican, 277 3/4 pounds (1/2 kilogram, or 1 pound 1 1/2 ounces
per dog per day).

Men's pemmican, 59 1/2 pounds (350 grams, or 12.34 ounces per man
per day).

Chocolate, 12 3/4 pounds (40 grams, or 1.4 ounces per man per day).

Milk-powder, 13 1/4 pounds (60 grams, or 2.1 ounces per man per day).

The other two sledges had approximately the same supplies, and thus
permitted us on leaving this place to extend our march over a period
of sixty days with full rations. Our eighteen surviving dogs were
divided into three teams, six in each. According to our calculation,
we ought to be able to reach the Pole from here with these eighteen,
and to leave it again with sixteen. Hassel, who was to leave his
sledge at this point, thus concluded his provision account, and the
divided provisions were entered in the books of the three others.

All this, then, was done that day on paper. It remained to make the
actual transfer of provisions later, when the weather permitted. To
go out and do it that afternoon was not advisable. Next day, November
23, the wind had gone round to the north-east, with comparatively
manageable weather, so at seven in the morning we began to repack
the sledges. This was not an altogether pleasant task; although the
weather was what I have called "comparatively manageable," it was
very far from being suitable for packing provisions. The chocolate,
which by this time consisted chiefly of very small pieces, had to
be taken out, counted, and then divided among the three sledges. The
same with the biscuits; every single biscuit had to be taken out and
counted, and as we had some thousands of them to deal with, it will
readily be understood what it was to stand there in about -4deg. F. and
a gale of wind, most of the time with bare hands, fumbling over this
troublesome occupation. The wind increased while we were at work,
and when at last we had finished, the snow was so thick that we could
scarcely see the tent.

Our original intention of starting again as soon as the sledges
were ready was abandoned. We did not lose very much by this; on the
contrary, we gained on the whole. The dogs -- the most important
factor of all -- had a thorough rest, and were well fed. They had
undergone a remarkable change since our arrival at the Butcher's Shop;
they now wandered about, fat, sleek, and contented, and their former
voracity had completely disappeared. As regards ourselves, a day or
two longer made no difference; our most important article of diet,
the pemmican, was practically left untouched, as for the time being
dog had completely taken its place. There was thus no great sign
of depression to be noticed when we came back into the tent after
finishing our work, and had to while away the time. As I went in,
I could descry Wisting a little way off kneeling on the ground,
and engaged in the manufacture of cutlets. The dogs stood in a ring
round him, and looked on with interest. The north-east wind whistled
and howled, the air was thick with driving snow, and Wisting was not
to be envied. But he managed his work well, and we got our dinner as
usual. During the evening the wind moderated a little, and went more to
the east; we went to sleep with the best hopes for the following day.

Saturday, November 25, came; it was a grand day in many respects. I had
already seen proofs on several occasions of the kind of men my comrades
were, but their conduct that day was such that I shall never forget
it, to whatever age I may live. In the course of the night the wind
had gone back to the north, and increased to a gale. It was blowing
and snowing so that when we came out in the morning we could not
see the sledges; they were half snowed under. The dogs had all crept
together, and protected themselves as well as they could against the
blizzard. The temperature was not so very low (-16.6deg. F.), but low
enough to be disagreeably felt in a storm. We had all taken a turn
outside to look at the weather, and were sitting on our sleeping-bags
discussing the poor prospect. "It's the devil's own weather here at
the Butcher's," said one; "it looks to me as if it would never get any
better. This is the fifth day, and it's blowing worse than ever." We
all agreed. "There's nothing so bad as lying weather-bound like this,"
continued another; "it takes more out of you than going from morning to
night." Personally, I was of the same opinion. One day may be pleasant
enough, but two, three, four, and, as it now seemed, five days -- no,
it was awful. "Shall we try it?" No sooner was the proposal submitted
than it was accepted unanimously and with acclamation. When I think
of my four friends of the southern journey, it is the memory of that
morning that comes first to my mind. All the qualities that I most
admire in a man were clearly shown at that juncture: courage and
dauntlessness, without boasting or big words. Amid joking and chaff,
everything was packed, and then -- out into the blizzard.

It was practically impossible to keep one's eyes open; the fine
drift-snow penetrated everywhere, and at times one had a feeling of
being blind. The tent was not only drifted up, but covered with ice,
and in taking it down we had to handle it with care. so as not to break
it in pieces. The dogs were not much inclined to start, and it took
time to get them into their harness, but at last we were ready. One
more glance over the camping-ground to see that nothing we ought to
have with us had been forgotten. The fourteen dogs' carcasses that
were left were piled up in a heap, and Hassel's sledge was set up
against it as a mark. The spare sets of dog-harness, some Alpine ropes,
and all our crampons for ice-work, which we now thought would not be
required, were left behind. The last thing to be done was planting a
broken ski upright by the side of the depot. It was Wisting who did
this, thinking, presumably, that an extra mark would do no harm. That
it was a happy thought the future will show.

And then we were off: It was a hard pull to begin with, both for
men and beasts, as the high sastrugi continued towards the south,
and made it extremely difficult to advance. Those who had sledges
to drive had to be very attentive, and support them so that they did
not capsize on the big waves, and we who had no sledges found great
difficulty in keeping our feet, as we had nothing to lean against. We
went on like this, slowly enough, but the main thing was that we
made progress. The ground at first gave one the impression of rising,
though not much. The going was extremely heavy; it was like dragging
oneself through sand. Meanwhile the sastrugi grew smaller and smaller,
and finally they disappeared altogether, and the surface became
quite flat. The going also improved by degrees, for what reason it
is difficult to say, as the storm continued unabated, and the drift
-- now combined with falling snow -- was thicker than ever. It was
all the driver could do to see his own dogs. The surface, which had
become perfectly level, had the appearance at times of sinking; in
any case, one would have thought so from the pace of the sledges. Now
and again the dogs would set off suddenly at a gallop. The wind aft,
no doubt, helped the pace somewhat, but it alone could not account
for the change.

I did not like this tendency of the ground to fall away. In my opinion,
we ought to have done with anything of that sort after reaching the
height at which we were; a slight slope upward, possibly, but down --
no, that did not agree with my reckoning. So far the incline had not
been so great as to cause uneasiness, but if it seriously began to go
downhill, we should have to stop and camp. To run down at full gallop,
blindly and in complete ignorance of the ground, would be madness. We
might risk falling into some chasm before we had time to pull up.