 CHAPTER 15 THE EASTERN SLEDGE JOURNEY PART II by Lt. K. Prestred On November 16 we found ourselves at the 158th Meridian, but on every side the eye encountered the level uninterrupted snow-surface and nothing else. Should we go on, it was tempting enough, as the probability was that sooner or later we should come upon something, but there was a point in our instructions that had to be followed, and it said, go to the point where land is marked on the chart. This point was now about 120 geographical miles to the north of us. Therefore, instead of going on to the east in uncertainty, we decided to turn to the left and go north. The position of the spot where we altered our course was determined and it was marked by a snow-beacon seven feet high on the top of which was placed a tin box containing a brief report. On that part of the way which we now had before us, there was little prospect of meeting with surprises, nor did any fall to our lot. In days' marches that varied from 17 to 20 geographical miles, we went forward over practically level ground. The nature of the surface was at first ideal, but as we came farther north and thus nearer to the sea our progress was impeded by a great number of big snow-waves, Sastruji, which had probably been formed during the long period of bad weather that preceded our departure from Framheim. We did not escape damage on this bad surface. Stubberwood broke the forward part of the spare ski he had lashed under his sledge, and Johansson's sledge also suffered from the continual bumping against the hard Sastruji. Luckily he had been foreseeing enough to bring a little hickory bar which came in very handy as a splint for the broken part. As we were now following the direction of the Meridian, or in other words as our course was now true north, the daily observations of latitude gave a direct check on the readings of the sledge meter, as a rule they agreed to the nearest minute. Whilst I was taking the noon altitude my companions had the choice of standing by the side of their sledges and eating their lunch, or setting the tent and taking shelter. They generally chose the latter alternative making up for it by going an hour longer in the afternoon. Besides the astronomical observations the barometric pressure, temperature, force and direction of the wind, and amount of cloud were noted three times daily. Every evening a hypsometer reading was taken. If I were to undertake the description of a long series of days like those that passed while we were travelling on the flat barrier, I am afraid the narrative would be strikingly reminiscent of the celebrated song of a hundred and twenty verses all with the same rhyme. One day was very much like another. One would think that this monotony would make the time long, but the direct opposite was the case. I have never known time fly so rapidly as on these sledge journeys, and seldom have I seen men more happy and contented with their existence than we three, when after a successful day's march we could set about taking our simple meal with a pipe of cut plug to follow. The bill of fare was identically the same every day, perhaps a fault in the eyes of many, variety of diet is supposed to be the thing, hang variety I say, appetite is what matters, to a man who is really hungry it is a very subordinate matter what he shall eat, the main thing is to have something to satisfy his hunger. After going north for seven days we found that according to observations and sledge meter we ought to be in the neighborhood of the sea. This was correct, my diary for November 23 reads, Today we were to see something besides sky and snow. An hour after breaking camp this morning two snowy petrels came sailing over us. A little while later a couple of skew of gulls we welcomed them as the first living creatures we had seen since leaving winter quarters. The constantly increasing water sky to the north had long ago warned us that we were approaching the sea. The presence of the birds told us it was not far off. The skew of gulls, settled very nearest, and the dogs no doubt taking them for baby seals were of course ready to break the line of march and go off hunting, but their keenness soon passed when they discovered that the game had wings. The edge of the barrier was difficult to see, and profiting by previous experience of how easy it is to go down when the light is bad, we felt our way forward step by step. At four o'clock we thought we could see the precipice. A halt was made at a safe distance, and I went in advance to look over. To my surprise I found that there was open water right into the wall of ice. We had expected the sea ice to extend a good way out still, seeing it was so early in summer, but there lay the sea almost free of ice as far as the horizon. Black and threatening it was to look at, but still a beneficent contrast to the everlasting snow surface on which we had now tramped for three hundred geographical miles. The perpendicular drop of one hundred feet that forms the boundary between the dead barrier and the sea, with its varied swarm of life, is truly an abrupt and imposing transition. The panorama from the top of the ice wall is always grand, and it can be beautiful as well. On a sunny day or still more on a moonlit night it has a fairy-like beauty. Today a heavy black sky hung above a still blacker sea, and the ice wall which shines in light with a dazzling white purity looked more like an old whitewashed wall than anything else. There was not a breath of wind, the sound of the surf at the bottom of the precipice now and then reached my ears. This was the only thing that broke the vast silence. One's own dear self becomes so miserably small in these mighty surroundings. It was a sheer relief to get back to the company of my comrades. As things now were, with open water up to the barrier itself, our prospect of getting seals here at the edge of the ice seemed a poor one. Next morning, however, we found a few miles farther east, a bay about four miles long, and almost entirely enclosed. It was still frozen over, and seals were lying on the ice by the dozen. Here was food enough to give both ourselves and the dogs an extra feed and to replenish our supplies. We camped and went off to examine the ground more closely. There were plenty of crevasses, but a practicable descent was found. And in a very short time three full-grown seals and a fat young one were dispatched. We hauled half a carcass out to the camp with the alpine rope. As we were hard at work dragging our spoil up the steep slope, we heard stubberwood sing out, below there, and away he went like a stone in a well. He had gone through the snow bridge on which we were standing, but a lucky projection stopped our friend from going very far down, besides which he had taken a firm round turn with the rope round his wrist. It was, therefore, a comparatively easy matter to get him up on the surface again. This little intermezzo probably would have been avoided if we had not been without our ski, but the slope was so steep and smooth that we could not use them. After a few more hauls we had the seal up by the tent, where a large quantity of it disappeared in a surprisingly short time down the throats of fifteen hungry dogs. The ice of the bay was furrowed by numerous leads, and while the hunters were busy cutting up the seals I tried to get a sounding, but the thirty fathoms of alpine rope I had were not enough. No bottom was reached. After having something to eat we went down again, in order, if possible, to find out the depth. This time we were better supplied with sounding tackle, two reels of thread, a marlin spike, and our geological hammer. First the marlin spike was sent down with the thread as a line, an inquisitive lout of a seal did all it could to bite through the thread, but whether this was too strong or its teeth too poor we managed, after a lot of trouble, to coax the marlin spike up again, and the interfering rascal who had come up to the surface now and then to take breath got the spike of a ski pole in his thick hide. This unexpected treatment was evidently not at all to his liking, and after acknowledging it by a roar of disgust he vanished into the depths. Now we got on better. The marlin spike sank and sank until it had drawn with it 130 fathoms of thread, a very small piece of seaweed clung to the thread as we hauled it in again. On the spike there was nothing to be seen. As its weight was rather light for so great a depth the possible setting of current might have carried it a little to one side, we decided to try once more with the hammer, which was considerably heavier, in order to check the result. The hammer, on the other hand, was so heavy that with the delicate thread as a line the probability of successfully carrying out the experiment seemed small, but we had to risk it. The improvised sinker was well smeared with blubber, and this time it sank so rapidly to the bottom as to leave no doubt of the correctness of the sounding, 130 fathoms again. By using extreme care we succeeded in getting the hammer up again in safety, but no specimen of the bottom was clinging to it. On the way back to the camp we dragged with us the carcass of the young seal. It was past three when we got into our sleeping bags that night, and in consequence we slept a good deal later than usual the next morning. The forenoon was spent by Johansen and Stubberwood in hauling up another seal from the bay, and packing as much flesh on the sledges as possible. As fresh meat is a commodity that takes up a great deal of space and proportion to its weight, the quantity we were able to take with us was not large. The chief advantage we had gained was that a considerable supply could be stored on the spot, and it might be useful to fall back upon in case of delay or other mishaps. I took the observation for longitude and latitude, found the height by hypsometer, and took some photographs. After laying down the depot and directing beacons, we broke camp at three p.m. South of the head of the bay there were a number of elevations and pressure masses exactly like the formations to be found at Fromheim. To the east a prominent ridge appeared, and with the glass it could be seen to extend inland in a southeasterly direction. According to our observations this must be the same that Captain Scott has marked with land shading on his chart. We made a wide detour outside the worst pressure ridges, and then set our course east-north-east towards the ridge just mentioned. It was a pretty steep rise, which was not at all a good thing for the dogs. They had overeaten themselves shockingly, and most of the seals' flesh came up again. So that their feast should not be altogether wasted, we stopped as soon as we had come far enough up the ridge to be able to regard the surface as comparatively safe. For in the depression round the bay, it was somewhat doubtful. On the following morning, Sunday, November 26, there was a gale from the north-east with sky and barrier lost in driving snow. That put an end to our plans of a long Sunday march. It was in the midst of our disappointment I had a sudden bright idea. It was Queen Maud's birthday. If we could not go on, we could at least celebrate the day in modest fashion. In one of the provision cases there was still a solitary scavenger tin containing salt, beef, and peas. It was opened at once, and its contents provided a banquet that tasted better to us than the most carefully chosen menu had ever done. In this connection I cannot help thinking of the joy it would bring to many a household in this world if its master were possessed of an appetite like ours. The wife would then have no need to dread the consequences, however serious the short comings of the cuisine might be. But to return to the feast, Her Majesty's health was drunk in a very small but at the same time very good tot of aquavit, served in enameled iron mugs. Carrying alcohol was of course against regulations, strictly speaking, but as everyone knows prohibition is not an easy thing to put into practice. Even in Antarctica this proved to be the case. Lindstrom had a habit of sending a little surprise packet with each sledging party that went out, and on our departure he had handed us one of these. With the injunction that the packet was only to be opened on some festive occasion, we chose as such Her Majesty's birthday. On examination of the packet was found to contain a little flask of spirits in which we had once agreed to drink the Queen's health. The twenty-seventh brought the same nasty weather, and the twenty-eighth was not much better, although not bad enough to stop us. After a deal of hard work in hauling up our buried belongings out of the snow, we got away and continued our course to the north-eastward. It was not exactly an agreeable morning, a brisk wind with driving snow right in one's face. After trudging against this for a couple of hours I heard Stoberit call Halt. Half his team were hanging by the traces in a crevasse. I had gone across without noticing anything, no doubt owing to the snow in my face. One would think the dogs would be suspicious of a place like this, but they are not. They plunge on till the snow bridge bricks under them. Luckily the harness held, so that it was the affair of a moment to pull the poor beasts up again. Then a dog might well be expected to be a trifle shaken after hanging head downwards over such a fearful chasm, but apparently they took it very calmly, and were quite prepared to do the same thing over again. For my own part I looked out more carefully after this, and although there were good many ugly fishers on the remaining part of the ascent, we crossed them all without further incident. Unpleasant as these crevasses are, they do not involve any direct danger, so long as the weather is clear and delight favorable. One can then judge by the appearance of the surface whether there is danger ahead, and if crevasses are seen in time there is always a suitable crossing to be found. The case is somewhat different in fog, drift, or when the light is such, that the small inequalities marking the course of the crevasse do not show up. This last is often the case in cloudy weather, when even a fairly prominent rise will not be noticed on the absolutely white surface until one falls over it. In such conditions it is safest to feel one's way forward with the ski pole, though this mode of proceeding is more troublesome than effective. In the course of the 28th the ascent came to an end, and with it the crevasses. The wind fell quite light, and the blinding drift was succeeded by clear sunshine. We had now come sufficiently high up to have a view of the sea, far to the northwest. During the high wind a quantity of ice had been driven southward, so that for a great distance there was no open water to be seen, but a number of huge icebergs. From the distance of the sea horizon we guessed our height to be about one thousand feet, and in the evening the hypsometer showed the guests to be very nearly right. November 29th, weather and going all that could be wished on breaking camp this morning, before us we had a level plateau which appeared to be quite free from unpleasant obstructions. When we halted for the noon observation, the sledge meter showed ten geographical miles, and before evening we had brought the day's distance up to twenty. The latitude was then seventy-seven degrees, thirty-two minutes. The distance to the barrier edge on the north was, at a guess, about twenty geographical miles. We were now a good way along the peninsula, the northern point of which Captain Scott named Cape Colbeck, and at the same time a good way to the east of the meridian in which he put land shading on his chart, our height above the sea, which was now about one thousand feet, was evidence enough that we had firm land under us. But it was still sheathed in ice, and that respect the landscape offered no change from what we had learnt to know by the name of barrier. It cannot be denied that at this juncture I began to entertain a certain doubt of the existence of bare land in this quarter. The doubt was not diminished when we had done another good day's march to the eastward on November thirty. According to our observations we were just below the point where the Alexandra Mountains should begin, but there was no sign of mountain ranges. The surface was a little rougher, perhaps. However it was still too soon to abandon the hope. It would be unreasonable to expect any great degree of accuracy of the chart we had to go by. Its scale was far too large for that. It was, moreover, more than probable that our own determination of longitude was open to doubt. Assuming their proximate accuracy of the chart, by holding on to the northeast we out soon to come down to the seaboard. And with this object in view we continued our march. On December one, in the middle of the day, we saw that everything agreed. From the top of an eminence in the sea was visible due north, and on the east two domed summits were outlined, apparently high enough to be worthy of the name of mountains. They were covered with snow, but on the north side of them there was an abrupt precipice in which many black patches showed up sharply against the white background. It was still too soon to form an idea as to whether they were bare rock or not. They might possibly be fishers in the mass of ice. The appearance of the summits agreed exactly with Captain Scott's description of what he saw from the deck of the Discovery in 1902. He assumed that the black patches were rocks emerging from the snow slopes. As will be seen later our respective precursor was right. In order to examine the nature of the seaboard we began by steering down towards it. But in the meantime the weather underwent an unfavorable change. The sky clouded over and the light became as vile as it could be. The point we were anxious to clear up was whether there was any barrier wall here, or whether the land and sea ice gradually passed into each other in an easy slope. As the light was there might well have been a drop of one hundred feet without our seeing anything of it. Securely roped together we made our way down until our progress was stopped by a huge pressure ridge which as far as could be made out formed the boundary between land and sea ice. It was, however, impossible in the circumstances to get any clear view of the surroundings and after trudging back to the sledges which had been left up on the slope we turned to the east to make a closer examination of the summits already mentioned. I went in front, as usual, in the cheerful belief that we had a fairly level stretch before us, but I was far out in my calculation. My ski began to slip along at a terrific speed, and it was advisable to put on the brake. This was easily done as far as I was concerned, but with the dogs it was a different matter. Nothing could stop them when they felt that the sledge was running by its own weight. They went in a wild gallop down the slope, the end of which could not at present be seen. I suppose it will sound like a tall story, but it is a fact. Nevertheless, that to our eyes the surface appeared to be horizontal all the time. Snow, horizon, and sky all ran together in a white chaos, in which all lines of demarcation were obliterated. Unfortunately nothing came of our expectation that the scamper would have a frightful ending in some insidious abyss. It was stopped quite naturally by an opposing slope, which appeared to be as steep as the one we had just slid down. If the pace had been rather too rapid before, there was now no ground of complaint on that score. Step by step we crawled up to the top of the ridge, but the ground was carefully surveyed before we proceeded farther. In the course of the afternoon we groped our way forward over a whole series of ridges and intervening depressions. Although nothing could be seen, it was obvious enough that our surroundings were now of an entirely different character from anything we had previously been accustomed to. The two mountain summits had disappeared in the fleecy mist, but the increasing unevenness of the ground showed that we were approaching them. Meanwhile I considered it inadvisable to come to close quarters with them so long as we were unable to use our eyes, and remembering what happens when the blind leaps the blind we camped. For the first time during the trip I had a touch of snow blindness that afternoon. This troublesome and rightly dreaded complaint was a thing that we had hitherto succeeded in keeping off by a judicious use of our excellent snow goggles. Among my duties as forerunner was that of maintaining the direction, and this, at times, involved a very severe strain on the eyes. In thick weather it is only too easy to a yield to the temptation of throwing off the protective goggles with the idea that one can see better without them. Although I knew perfectly well what the consequence would be, I had that afternoon broken the commandment of prudence. The trifling smart I felt in my eyes was cured by keeping the goggles on for a couple of hours after we were in the tent, like all other ills of snow blindness may easily be dispelled by taking it in time. Next morning the sun's disk could just be made out through a veil of thin stratus clouds, and then the light was more or less normal again. As soon as we could see what our surroundings were it was clear enough that we had done right in stopping the game of Blind Man's Bluff we had been playing on the previous day. It might otherwise have had an unpleasant ending. Right across our line of route and about five hundred yards from our camp the surface was so broken up that it was more like a sieve than anything else. In the background the masses of snow were piled in huge drifts down a steep slope on the northwest side of the two mountains. It was impossible to take the sledges any farther on the way we had hither tube in following, but in the course of the day we worked round by a long detour to the foot of the most westerly of the mountains. We were then about one thousand feet above the sea. To the north of us we had the abrupt descent already mentioned. To the south it was quite flat. Our view to the east was shot in by the two mountains, and our first idea was to ascend to the top of them, but the powers of the weather again opposed us with their full force. A stiff southeast wind set in, and increased in the course of half an hour, to a regular blizzard. Little as it suited our wishes there was nothing to be done but to creep back into the tent. For a whole month now we had seen scarcely anything but fair weather, and the advance of summer had given us hopes that it would hold, but just when it suited us least of all came a dismal change. 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 southeastly 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 pemicin to eat on the way, and then we 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 aneroids showed a rise of seven hundred feet when we reached the top. As our camp lay at a height of one thousand feet, this gave us one thousand seven hundred 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, a 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 had once began to scale the neighboring hill, which was a trifle higher than the one we had first ascended. The precipice was, however perpendicular, with a huge snow-cornus overhanging it. Lowering a man on the rope would be rather too hazardous 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, one thousand seven hundred 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 toward 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 was snow-clad from one end to the other. Only on the most easterly spur was the rock just visible. On the south and southwest nothing was to be seen but the usual undulating barrier surface. Bisco 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-beak and six feet high on the summit, we put on our ski again, 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 one thousand feet. The cliff was covered with ice up to a height of about a hundred feet, and this circumstance threatened to be a serious obstacle to our obtaining specimens of the rocks. But in one place a nun attack about two hundred fifty 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 seen 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 Nun Attack. At any rate the sport had the interest of novelty. This little peak was built up of very heterogeneous materials. As a 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 had been made in other parts of Antarctica it is known that in former geological periods the Jurassic Epic, even this desolate continent possessed a rich and luxurious vegetation. The leader of the Swedish expedition to Gramland, Dr. Nordenskold 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 might 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 summits 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 snowstorm. 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 than 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 it 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, the actual existence of solid ground, in a region which otherwise bore the greatest resemblance to what we call 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 today the reading was plus 26.6 degrees Fahrenheit. 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 a freezing point as this, the floor of the tent is always damp. Today, 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 roundabout, 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 Linnstrom. 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. END OF SECTION 31 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 hold 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 snowdrift keeps us comfortable and we are under the lee of a hill. Otherwise it would look badly for our tent. Here the two it has held well but it is beginning to be rather damp inside. The temperature remains very high, plus twenty-seven point two degrees Fahrenheit at noon today, and the mass of snow pressing against the tent causes the formation of rhyme. 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 afton post, 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, Stuborod, 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 eight p.m. it was down to twenty-seven point thirty. 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 6th. 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, eight 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 Lindström's. Probably he has had his share of the storm and in that case it will have given him some exercise in snow shoveling. 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. Tomorrow 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. Sturbot is certain of fair weather tomorrow, 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 plucked tobacco is a 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 tapestuous character, but Sturbot thought the contrary. It seems to me just as bad, said he. He was right enough, as a matter of fact, for 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 Stuberth'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 canvases 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, hardly if they generally are. The protected 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 let 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 unwanted sight at once banished all further thoughts of sleep. The premise was lighted, a cup of chocolate swallowed, and out we went. Stubbeut 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 favorable. This time we were able to achieve our object. Scott's Nunatex, 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 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 have a depot at our Bay of Seals to fall back upon. In the immediate neighborhood of our present position we could not reckon on being able to replenish our supply in the continued unfavorable 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 50 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 26 geographical miles a 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 us out to the depot and replenish our supply of meat as a precaution, but Johansson suggested leaving out this detour and going straight on. We might thereby run the risk of having to go on short rations, but Johansson 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 20 geographical miles. After men and dogs had received our 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 20 geographical miles more to Framheim. Saturday, December 16th. 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 northwest showing that there was open sea off the mouth of the Bay of Wales. We went on till 1030, our course being true west, when we made out far to the northwest 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 southwest and northeast. 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-eyes from drifting out. With this excellent mark and view the rest of the way was plain sailing. The sledge meter showed 19.5 geographical miles when in the afternoon we came inside 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 Lindström 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 his 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. Lindström was the last person we should have suspected of that melody. 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 hammock out by the western Cape ten miles from the station. But Lindström, 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'd made him put on plenty of red eye ointment and supplied him with a proper pair of goggles, he was soon cured. Farmheim had had the same protected storms with heavy snowfall. On several mornings the master of the house had had to dig his way out through the snowball 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 Lindström 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 loathe 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. Lindström 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 trapdoor. 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 have been made along this remarkable formation, but although some of these ski runs had extended as far as 12 miles in one direction, there was no sign of a hammock coming to an end. These great disturbances of the ice mars 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 one thousand 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 call it, right up to its head, 23 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 sheet by the still more solid rock. The day before Christmas eve we were back at Framheim. Lindström 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 paintbrush were visible in 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 24 hours could not be reconciled with the northerner's idea of Christmas, and for that reason we'd kept the festival six months before. Christmas eve fell on 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 Lindström prepared a banquet of squargles. Despite 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 stall we kept all our skin clothing, besides a good deal of outfit, which it was intended to take on board the frown 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 vapor bath or the carpenter's shop just then. There still remained the survey of the southwestern corner of the Bay of Wales and its surroundings. On an eight-day sledge journey, starting at the New Year, we arranged 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 two hundred pheasants. The only rational explanation we could think of was that there must be a group of low lying islands here, or in any case shells. These ice islands, if one may call them so, had a height of ninety 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 southwards 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 that 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'd been taken in too many times to make any remark about it. As the dogs now had a mark to go by, Johansson was driving in front without my help. I went by the side of Stubbritt 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 Johansson 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 too 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 Stubbritt and saw his face expanding into its most amiable smile. Though I had not much doubt at the correctness of Johansson'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 Lindström 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. Lindström was standing before his range in the best of health when I entered the kitchen. The Frams 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 Lindström went off to his bunk and asked if I could guess what he had hidden there. There was no time to guess anything, but before the blankets were thrown onto the floor, and after them bounded a bearded Ruffian, clad in a jersey and a pair of overalls of indeterminable age and colour. Hello, said the Ruffian, and the voice was that of Lieutenant Gjörtsson. Lindström was shaking with laughter while I stood open-mouthed before this apparition, I had been given a good surprise. We agreed to treat Johansson and Stubboth in the same way, and as soon as they were heard outside Gjörtsson hid himself again among the blankets, but Stubboth had smelled 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 Lindström'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 Lindström. We were therefore not inclined to talk about ourselves, we wanted news from without, and Gjörtsson 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, Gjörtsson had grown so curious to know how things were at Framheim that he had asked Captain Nilsson 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-eyes were scored with lanes, some of them fairly wide. Finally Gjörtsson had his way, and he left the ship, taking a single 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 carvings suggested themselves until at last he caught sight of Capeman'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 Nilsson, 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 somber pile of ruins. But his anxiety quickly vanished when a man emerged from the confusion. The man was Lindström, and the supposed ruin was the most ingenious of all winter quarters. Lindström was ignorant of the Fram's arrival, and the face he showed on seeing Gjörtsson 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-eyes, 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 into the ice food. Yes, there lay our good little ship, as trim as when we'd last seen her. The long voyage round the world had left no mark on our 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 with a 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 Nielsen pulled me into the charge 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 Nielsen's asking about the prospects of the southern party, I avenged to assure him that in all probability we should have our chief and his companions back in a few days with a poll in their pockets. Our letters from home brought nothing but good news. What interest at us most in the newspapers was, of course, the account of how the expedition's change of route had been received. At eight 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 seventeenth, we found Lieutenant Gertsen 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 docks could go, since Gertsen 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 led a Kainanmaru, with the ensign of the rising sun of the peak. Vanzai, with come in time. Although it was rather late in the evening, Nielsen 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. Oh, hey oh, 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 Kainanmaru had been on a cruise in the direction of King Edward VII's 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 charred 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 see in a gale that sprang up during the night, and before we had another opportunity of going on board the Kainanmaru, 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 breakup of the Sea Eyes, 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 a 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 two thousand geographical miles. And in the second, there is a serious obstruction on this route in the shape of the belt of pack eyes 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 a 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 finna, apheleth the blue whale. As regards seals, they appeared in great quantities along the edge of the barrier so long as the sea eyes still lay there. After the breakup 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 250 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 eyewitnesses 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. 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 movement, and is constantly exercising itself in high jumps from the water onto the ice food. 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, gray 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 a layer of blubber, an inch thick, which covers the seal's body like a protective armor. 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 color. In the frying pan it turns quite black. The flesh of the crab eater is of about the same color as beef, and to us, at any rate, its taste was equally good. We therefore always try 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 as 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's 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 counter-distinction 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 would take themselves to Antarctica, where they have their regular rookries 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 neighborhood 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 a 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. End of Section 32 Volume 2, Chapter 15 The Eastern Sledge Journey by Lieutenant K. Priesthood Section 33 of the South Pole This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Christine Blashford. The South Pole by Rold Amundsen Translation by A. G. Carter Section 33, Volume 2, Chapter 16 The Voyage of the Fram From Norway to the Barrier and Off the Barrier by First Lieutenant Thorvald Nilsson From Norway to the Barrier After the Fram had undergone extensive repairs in Horton Dockyard and had loaded provisions and equipment in Christiania, we left the latter port on June 7th, 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 ship-shaped 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 HP 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. Since then there has never been anything wrong with the engine. From Bergen we went to Christian sand, where the Fram was docked, and as already mentioned, the remaining outfit with the dogs and dog food was taken on board. The number of living creatures on board when we left Norway was 19 men, 97 dogs, four pigs, six carrier pigeons, and one canary. At last we were ready to leave Christian sand on Thursday, August the 9th, 1910, and at nine o'clock that evening the anchor was got up and the motor started. After the busy time we had had, no doubt we were all glad to get off. As our departure had not been made public, only the pilot and a few acquaintances accompanied us a little way out. It was glorious weather, and everyone stayed on deck till far into the light night, watching the land slowly disappear. All the 97 dogs were chained round the deck, on which we also had coal, oil, timber, and other things, so that there was not much room to move about. The rest of the vessel was absolutely full. To take an example, in the For Saloon we had placed 43 sledging cases, which were filled with books, Christmas presents, underclothing, and the like. In addition to these, one hundred complete sets of dog harnesses, all our ski, ski poles, snowshoes, etc. Smaller articles were stowed in the cabins, and every man had something. When I complained, as happened pretty often, that I could not imagine where this or that was to be put, the chief of the expedition used generally to say, oh, that's all right, you can just put it in your cabin. Thus it was with every imaginable thing, from barrels of paraffin and newborn pups, to writing materials and charts. As the story of this voyage has already been told, it may be rapidly passed over here. After much delay through headwinds in the channel, we picked up the northeast trade in about the latitude of Gibraltar, and arrived at Madeira on September the 6th. At nine p.m. on September the 9th, we weighed anchor for the last time, and left Madeira. As soon as we were clear of the land, we got the northeast trade again, and it held more or less fresh till about latitude eleven degrees north. After our departure from Madeira, I took over the morning watch from four to eight a.m. Prestrid and Giertzen divided the remainder of the twenty-four hours. In order, if possible, to get a little more way on the ship, a studying sail and a sky sail were rigged up with two awnings. It did not increase our speed very much, but no doubt it helped a little. The highest temperature we observed was eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit. In the trade winds, we constantly saw flying fish, but as far as I know not one was ever found on deck. Those that came on board were, of course, instantly snapped up by the dogs. In about latitude eleven degrees north, we lost the northeast trade, and thus came into the Belt of Calms, a belt that extends on each side of the equator between the northeast and southeast trades. Here, as a rule, one encounters violent rain squalls, to sailing ships in general, and ourselves in particular, this heavy rain is welcome, as water tanks can be filled up. Only on one day were we lucky enough to have rain, but as it was accompanied by a strong squall of wind, we did not catch all the water we wanted. All hands were on deck carrying water, some in oil skins, some in Adam's costume, the chief in a white tropical suit, and as far as I remember, clogs. As the latter were rather slippery, and the frown suddenly gave an unexpected lurch, he was carried off his legs and left sitting on the deck, while his bucket of water poured all over him. But it was all in his country's cause, so he did not mind. We caught about three tons of water, and then had our tanks full, or about thirty tons, when the shower passed off. Later in the voyage, we filled the bucket now and again, but it never amounted to much, and if we had not been as careful as we were, our water supply would hardly have lasted out. On October the 4th, we crossed the equator. The southeast trade was not so fresh as we had expected, and the engine had to be kept going the whole time. At the beginning of November, we came down into the West Wind Belt, or the Roaring Forties, as they are called, and from that time, we ran down our Easting at a great rate. We were very lucky there, and had strong fair winds for nearly seven weeks at a stretch. In the heavy sea, we found out what it was to sail in the Fram. She rolls incessantly, and there is never a moment's rest. The dogs were thrown backwards and forwards over the deck, and when one of them rolled into another, it was taken as a personal insult and a fight followed at once. But for all that, the Fram is a first-rate sea-boat and hardly ever ships any water. If this had been otherwise, the dogs would have been far worse off than they were. The weather in the foggy fifties varied between gales, calms, fogs, snowstorms, and other delights. As a rule, the engine was now kept constantly ready in case of our being so unlucky as to come too near an iceberg. Fortunately, however, we did not meet any of these until early on the morning of January 1st, 1911, when we saw some typical Antarctic bugs, that is to say entirely tabular. Our latitude was then a little over sixty degrees south, and we were not far off the pack. On the first and second, we sailed southward without seeing anything but scattered bugs and a constantly increasing number of lumps of ice, which showed us we were getting near. By ten p.m. on the second, we came into slack drift ice, the weather was foggy, and we therefore kept going as near as might be on the course to the Bay of Whales, which was destined to be our base. A good many seals were lying on the ice-flows, and as we went forward we shot some. As soon as the first seal was brought on board, all our dogs had their first meat-meal since Madeira. They were given as much as they wanted, and ate as much as they could. We too had our share of the seal, and from this time forward we had fresh seal steak for breakfast at least every day. It tasted excellent to us, who for nearly half a year had been living on nothing but tinned meat. With the steak, waterlberries were always served, which of course helped to make it appreciated. The biggest seal we got in the pack ice was about twelve feet long, and weighed nearly half a tonne. A few penguins were also shot, mostly Adeli penguins. These are extraordinarily amusing, and as inquisitive as an animal can be. When any of them saw us, they at once came nearer to get a better view of the unbidden guests. If they became too impertinent, we did not hesitate to take them, for their flesh, especially the liver, was excellent. The albatrosses, which had followed us through the whole of the West Wind Belt, had now departed, and in their place came the beautiful snowy petrols and Antarctic petrols. We had more or less fog all through the pack ice, only on the night of the fifth did we have sun and fine weather, when we saw the midnight sun for the first time. A more beautiful morning it would be difficult to imagine, radiantly clear with thick ice everywhere, as far as the eye could see. The lanes of water between the flows gleamed in the sun, and the ice crystals glittered like thousands of diamonds. It was a pure delight to go on deck and drink in the fresh air. One felt altogether a new man. I believe everyone on board found this passage through the pack the most interesting part of the whole voyage, and of course it all had the charm of novelty. Those who had not been in the ice before, myself among them, and who were hunting for the first time, ran about after seals and penguins, and amused themselves like children. At ten p.m. on the sixth, we were already out of the ice after a passage of exactly four days. We had been extremely lucky, and the frown went very easily through the ice. After coming out of the pack, our course was continued through the open Ross Sea to the Bay of Wales, which from the previous description was to be found in about longitude one hundred and sixty-four degrees west. On the afternoon of the eleventh we had strong ice blink ahead, by which is meant the luminous stripe that is seen above a considerable accumulation of ice, the nearest thing one can compare it to is the glare that is always seen over a great city on approaching it at night. We knew at once that this was the glare of the mighty Ross Barrier, named after Sir James Clark Ross, who first saw it in 1841. The barrier is a wall of ice several hundred miles long and about a hundred feet high, which forms the southern boundary of Ross Sea. We were of course very intent upon seeing what it looked like, but to me it did not appear so imposing as I had imagined it. Possibly this was because I had become familiar with it, in a way, from the many descriptions of it. From these descriptions we had expected to find a comparatively narrow opening into balloon bite, as shown in the photographs we had before us. But as we went along the barrier on the twelfth, we could find no opening. In longitude one hundred and sixty-four degrees west, on the other hand, there was a great break in the wall forming a cape, West Cape. From here to the other side of the barrier was about eight geographical miles, and southward as far as we could see lay loose bay ice. We held onto the east outside this drift ice, and along the eastern barrier till past midnight. But as balloon bite was not to be found, we returned to the above mentioned break or cape, where we lay during the whole forenoon of the thirteenth, as the ice was too thick to allow us to make any progress. After midday however the ice loosened and began to drift out. At the same time we went in and having gone as far as possible, the frown was moored to the fast ice-foot on the western side of the Great Bay we had entered. It proved that balloon bite and another bite had merged to form a Great Bay, exactly as described by Sir Ernest Chackleton, and named by him the Bay of Whales. After mooring here the chief and one or two others went on a reconaturing tour, but it began to snow pretty thickly, and as far as I am aware nothing was accomplished beyond seeing that the barrier at the southernmost end of the bay sloped evenly down to the sea ice, but between the latter and the slope there was open water, so that they could not go any further. We lay all night drifting in the ice, which was constantly breaking up, and during this time several seals and penguins were shot. Towards morning on the fourteenth it became quite clear, and we had a splendid view of the surroundings. Right over on the eastern side of the bay it looked as if there was more open water, we therefore went along the fast ice-foot and moored off the eastern barrier at about three in the afternoon. The cape in the barrier under which we lay was given the name of man's head on account of its resemblance to a human profile. All the time we were going along the ice we were shooting seals, so that on arrival at our final moorings we already had a good supply of meat. For my part I was rather unlucky on one of these hunts. Four seals were lying on the ice-foot, and I jumped down with rifle and five cartridges. To take any cartridges in reserve did not occur to me, as of course I regarded myself as a mighty hunter, and thought that one shot per seal was quite enough. The three first died without a grain, but the fourth took the alarm and made off as fast as it could. I fired my fourth cartridge, but it did not hit as it ought to have done, and the seal was in full flight, leaving a streak of blood behind it. I was not anxious to let a wounded seal go, and as I had only one cartridge left, and the seal had its tail turned towards me, I wanted to come to close quarters to make sure of it. I therefore ran as hard as I could, but the seal was quicker, and it determined the range. After running half way to the south pole, I summoned my remaining strength and fired the last shot. Whether the bullet went above or below, I have no idea. All I know is that on arriving on board I was met by scornful smiles, and had to stand a good deal of chaff. As already mentioned, we left Norway on August 9th, 1910, and arrived at our final moorings on January 14th, 1911, in the course of which time we had only called at Madeira. The barrier is 16,000 geographical miles from Norway, a distance which we took five months to cover. From Madeira we had had 127 days in open sea, and therewith the first part of the voyage was brought to an end. Off the barrier. As soon as we had moored, the chief, Prestred Johansen and I went up onto the barrier on a tour of reconnaissance. The ascent from the sea ice to the barrier was fine, a perfectly even slope. When no more than a mile from the ship, we found a good site for the first dog camp, and another mile to the south it was decided that the house was to stand on the slope of the hill, where it would be least exposed to the strong south-easterly gales, which might be expected from previous descriptions. Up on the barrier all was absolutely still, and there was not a sign of life, indeed what should anything live on. This delightful ski-run was extended a little further to the south, and after a couple of hours we returned on board. Here in the meantime the slaughtering of seals had been going on, and there were plenty to be had, as several hundreds of them lay about on the ice. After the rather long sea voyage in the cramped quarters on board, I must say it was a pleasure to have firm ground under one's feet and to be able to move about a little. The dogs evidently thought the same, when they came down onto the ice they rolled in the snow and ran about wild with delight. During our whole stay a great part of the time was spent in ski-runs and seal-hunts, and an agreeable change it was. Sunday the fifteenth was spent in setting up tents at the first dog camp, and at Framheim as the winter station was named. A team of dogs was used, and as they were unused to being driven, it is not surprising that some lay down, others fought, a few wanted to go on board, but hardly any of them appreciated the seriousness of the situation or understood that their good time had come to an end. On Monday all the dogs were landed, and on the following day the supplies began to be put ashore. The landing of the cases was done in this way. The sea-party brought up on deck as many cases as the drivers could take in one journey. As the sledges came down to the vessel, the cases were sent down onto the ice on skids, so that it all went very rapidly. We would not put the cases out on the ice before the sledges came back, as in case the ice should break up, we should be obliged to heave them all on board again, or we might even lose them. At night no one was ever allowed to stay on the ice. Before we reached the ice, we had counted on having fifty percent of idle days, that is, from previous descriptions, we had reckoned on having such bad weather half the time that the Fram would be obliged to leave her moorings. In this respect we were far luckier than we expected, and only had to put out twice. The first time was on the night of January 25th, when we had a stiff breeze from the north with some sea, so that the vessel was bumping rather hard against the ice. Drifting flows came down upon us, and so as not to be caught by any iceberg that might suddenly come sailing in from the point of the barrier we called man's head, we took our moorings on board and went. When the shore party next morning came down as usual at a swinging pace, they sought to their astonishment that the Fram was gone. In the course of the day the weather became fine, and we tried to go back about noon. But the bay was so full of drift ice that we could not come in to the fast ice-foot. About nine in the evening we saw from the crow's nest that the ice was loosening, we made the attempt, and by midnight we were again moored. But the day was not wasted by the shore party, for on the day before, Christensen, Elle Hansen and I had been out on ski, and had shot forty seals, which were taken up to the station while we were away. Only once or twice more did we have to leave our berth, until on February the 7th, when almost all the ice had left the bay, we were able to moor alongside the low, fast barrier, where we lay in peace until we went for good. There was a great deal of animal life about us, a number of whales came close into the vessel, where they stayed still to look at the uninvited guests. On the ice seals came right up to the ship, as did large and small flocks of penguins to have a look at us. These latter were altogether extraordinarily inquisitive creatures. Two emperor-penguins often came to our last moorings to watch us laying out an ice anchor, or hauling on a hawzer, while they put their heads on one side and jabbered, and they were given the names of the harbour master and his misses. A great number of birds, skewer-gulls, snowy-petrels, and Antarctic-petrels flew around the ship, and gave us many a good roast-tarmigan. On the morning of February the 4th, about one a.m., the watchman Beck came and called me with the news that a vessel was coming in. I guessed at once, of course, that it was the Terra Nova, but I must confess that I did not feel inclined to turn out and look at her. We hoisted the colours, however. As soon as she was moored, Beck told me, some of her party went ashore, presumably to look for the house. They did not find it, though, and at three a.m., Beck came below again, and said that now they were coming on board. So then I turned out and received them. They were Lieutenant Campbell, the leader of Captain Scott's Second Shore Party, and Lieutenant Pennell, the commander of the Terra Nova. They naturally asked a number of questions, and evidently had some difficulty in believing that it was actually the Fram that was lying here. We had at first been taken for a whaler. They offered to take our mail to New Zealand, but we had no mail ready, and had to decline the offer with thanks. Later in the day a number of the Terra Nova's officers went to breakfast at Framheim, and the Chief Prestred and I lunched with them. At about two in the afternoon the Terra Nova sailed again. On Friday, February the 16th, a number of the shore parties started on the first trip to lay down depots. We cleared up, filled our water tanks with snow, and made the ship ready for sea. We had finished this by the evening of the fourteenth. End of section thirty-three Section thirty-four of the South Pole. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine Blashford. The South Pole by Rold Amundsen. Translation by A. G. Carter. Section thirty-four, volume two, chapter sixteen. The Voyage of the Fram. From the Bay of Wales to Buenos Aires. By First Lieutenant Thorwald Nilsson. The sea party consisted of the following ten men Thorwald Nilsson, L. Hansen, H. Christensen, and J. Nodfed, H. F. Geertsen, A. Beck, M. Ron, A. Cutschin, and O. K. Sundbeck. The first four formed one watch from eight to two, and the last five the other, from two to eight. Last but not least comes K. Olsen Cook. Having made ready for sea, we let go our moorings on the ice barrier at nine a.m. on February the fifteenth, 1911. Hassell, Wisting, Bjarland and Stuberard came down to see us off. As in the course of the last few days, the ice had broken up right to the end of the bay. We went as far south as possible to take a sounding. The shallowerest we got was 155 and three-quarter fathoms, 285 meters. The bay ended in a ridge of ice on the east, which was continued in a northerly direction, so that at the spot where we were stopped by the barrier we reached the most southerly point that a vessel can attain, so long as the barrier remains as it is now. Highest latitude, seventy-eight degrees forty-one south. When the Terra Nova was here, her latitude and ours was seventy-eight degrees thirty-eight south. The last two days before our departure had been calm, and a thick dense sludge lay over the whole bay, so dense was it that the frown lost her way altogether, and we had to keep going ahead in a stern until we came out into a channel. Seals by the hundred were lying on the flows, but as we had a quantity of seals flesh we left them in peace for a change. Before the chief began the laying out of depots, I received from him the following orders. To first lieutenant Thorwald Nielsen, with the departure of the frown from the ice barrier you will take over the command on board, in accordance with the plan we have mutually agreed upon. One, you will sail direct to Buenos Aires, where the necessary repairs will be executed, provisions taken on board, and the crew completed. When this has been done, two, you will sail from Buenos Aires to carry out oceanographical observations in the South Atlantic Ocean. It would be desirable if you could investigate the conditions between South America and Africa in two sections. These investigations must, however, be dependent on the prevailing conditions, and on the time at your disposal. When the time arrives you will return to Buenos Aires, where the final preparations will be made for, three, your departure for the ice barrier to take off the shore party. The sooner you can make your way into the barrier in 1912, the better. I mention no time, as everything depends on circumstances, and I leave it to you to act according to your judgment. In all else that concerns the interests of the expedition, I leave you entire freedom of action. If on your return to the barrier you should find that I am prevented by illness or death from taking over the leadership of the expedition, I place this in your hands, and beg you most earnestly to endeavour to carry out the original plan of the expedition, the exploration of the North Polar Basin. With thanks for the time we have spent together, and in the hope that when we meet again we shall have reached our respective goals, I am yours sincerely, Rold Amonson. When Sir James Ross was in these waters for the first time in 1842, he marked appearance of land in longitude 160 degrees west and latitude about 78 degrees south. Afterwards, in 1902, Captain Scott named this land King Edward VII land. One of the Terra Nova's objects was to explore this land, but when we met the ship on February the 4th, they told us on board that on account of the ice conditions they had not been able to land. As no one had ever been ashore there, I thought it might be interesting to go and see what it looked like. Consequently our course was laid north eastward along the barrier. During the night a thick sea-fog came on, and it was only now and then that we could see the barrier over our heads. All of a sudden we were close upon a lofty iceberg, so that we had to put the helm hard over to go clear. The Fram steers splendidly, however, when she is in proper trim, and turns as if on a pivot, besides which it was calm. As the day advanced the weather cleared more and more, and by noon it was perfectly clear. The sight that then met us was the lofty barrier to starboard, and elsewhere all round about some fifty icebergs great and small. The barrier rose from about one hundred feet at its edge to something like one thousand two hundred feet. We followed the barrier for some distance, but in the neighbourhood of Cape Colbeck we met the drift ice, and as I had no wish to come between this and the barrier, we stood out in the north-westerly direction. There is, besides the disadvantage about a propeller like ours, that it is apt to wear out the brasses, so that these have to be renewed from time to time. It was imperative that this should be done before we came into the pack ice, and the sooner the better. When, therefore, we had gone along the barrier for about a day and a half without seeing any bare land, we set our course north-west in open water, and after we had come some way out we got a slant of easterly wind, so that the sails could be set. We saw the snow-covered land and the glare above it all night. The date had not yet been changed, but as this had to be done it was changed on February the fifteenth. At noon on the sixteenth the propeller was lifted, and by the evening of the seventeenth the job was done, a record in spite of the temperature. Capital fellows to work are engineers. On the night of the fifteenth we saw the midnight sun, unfortunately for the last time. The same night something dark was sighted on the port bow, in that light it looked very like an islet. The sounding apparatus was got ready, and we who were on watch, of course, saw ourselves in our minds as great discoverers. I was already wondering what would be the most appropriate name to give it, but alas the discovery became clearer and the name, while it was a rather prosaic one, dead whale islet, for it turned out to be a huge inflated whale that was drifting covered with birds. We went rather slowly north-westward under sail alone. On the morning of the seventeenth we saw ice-blink on the starboard bow, and about noon we were close to the pack itself. It was here quite thick and raised by pressure, so that an attempt to get through it was out of the question. We were, therefore, obliged to follow the ice to the west. Due aft we saw in the sky the same glare as above the great ice barrier, which may possibly show that the barrier turns towards the north and north-west, besides which the masses of pressure ice that collect here must go to show that it encounters an obstruction, probably the barrier. When we went out in 1912 the ice lay in exactly the same place and in the same way. Our course was still to the west along the pack ice, and it was not till the twentieth that we could turn her nose northward again. For a change we now had a stiff breeze from the southeast with thick snow, so we got on very well. On the whole the fram goes much more easily through the water now than on the way south. Her bottom has probably been cleaned by the cold water and all the scraping against the ice, besides which we have no more than a third of the load with which we left Norway. On the night of the twentieth we had to light the binnacle lamps again, and now the days grew rapidly shorter. It may possibly be a good thing to have dark nights on land, but at sea it ought always to be light, especially in these waters, which are more or less unknown and full of drifting icebergs. At four p.m. on the twenty-second we entered the drift ice in latitude seventy point five degrees south, longitude one hundred and seventy seven point five degrees east. The ice was much higher and uglier than when we were going south, but as there was nothing but ice as far as we could see both east and west, and it was fairly loose, we had to make the attempt where there seemed to be the best chance of getting through. The seals, which to the south of the ice had been following us in decreasing numbers, had now disappeared almost entirely, and curiously enough we saw very few seals in the pack. Luckily, however, Lieutenant Gjertsen's watch got three seals, and for a week we were able to enjoy seal-beef, popularly known as crocodile-beef three times a day. Seal-beef and fresh water-berries delicioso. We went comparatively well through the ice, though at night from eleven to one we had to slacken speed as it was impossible to steer clear on account of the darkness, and towards morning we had a heavy fall of snow so that nothing could be seen and the engine had to be stopped. When it cleared, at about nine a.m. we had come into a dam, out of which we luckily managed to turn fairly easily, coming out into a bay. This was formed by over a hundred icebergs, many of which lay in contact with each other, and had packed the ice close together. On the west was the outlet which we steered for, and by ten p.m. on February the 23rd we were already out of the ice and in open water. Our latitude was then sixty-nine degrees south, longitude one hundred and seventy-five point five degrees east. It is very curious to find such calm weather in Ross Sea. In the two months we have been here we have hardly had a strong breeze. Thus when I was relieved at two a.m. on the twenty-fifth, I wrote in my diary, It is calm, not a ripple on the water. The three men forming the watch walk up and down the deck. Now and then one hears the penguins cry, Qua-qua! But except these there is no other sound than the tough-tough of the motor. Two hundred and twenty times a minute. Ah! that motor! It goes unwearedly. It has now gone for one thousand hours without being cleaned, while on our Atlantic cruise last year it stopped dead after going for eighty hours. Right over us we have the Southern Cross. All round glow the splendid Southern Lights, and in the darkness can be seen the gleaming outline of an iceberg. On the twenty-sixth we crossed the Antarctic Circle, and the same day the temperature both of air and water rose above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit. It was with sorrow in our hearts that we ate our last piece of crocodile beef, but I hoped we should get a good many albatrosses, which we saw as soon as we came out of the ice. They were mostly the sooty albatross, that tireless bird that generally circles alone about the ship, and is so difficult to catch, as he seldom tries to bite at the pork that is used as bait. When I saw these birds for the first time, as a deck-boy, I was told they were called Parsons, because they were the souls of ungodly clergymen, who had to wait down here till doomsday without rest. More or less in our course to Cape Horn, there are supposed to be two groups of islands, the Nimrod group in about longitude one hundred and fifty-eight degrees west, and Doherty Island in about longitude one hundred and twenty degrees west. They are both marked D, doubtful, on the English charts, Lieutenant Shackleton's vessel, the Nimrod, Captain Davis, searched for both, but found neither. Doherty Island, however, is said to have been twice sighted. The Fram's course was therefore laid for the Nimrod group. For a time things went very well, but then we had a week of northerly winds, that is, headwinds, and when at last we had a fair wind again, we were so far to the southeast of them, that there was no sense in sailing back to the northwest to look for doubtful islands. It would certainly have taken us weeks. Consequently our course was laid for Doherty Island. We had westerly winds for about two weeks, and were only two or three days sail from the island in question, when suddenly we had a gale from the northeast, which lasted for three days, and ended in a hurricane from the same quarter. When this was over we had come according to dead reckoning about eighteen nautical miles to the southeast of the island. The heavy swell, which lasted for days, made it out of the question to attempt to go against it with the motor. We hardly had a glimpse of sun or stars, and weeks passed without her being able to get an observation, so that for that matter we might easily be a degree or two out in our reckoning. For the present therefore we must continue to regard these islands as doubtful. Moral, don't go on voyages of discovery, my friend, you're no good at it. As soon as we were out of Ross Sea, and had entered the South Pacific Ocean, the old circus started again. In other words, the Fram began her everlasting rolling from one side to the other. When this was at its worst, and cups and plates were dancing the Fandango in the galley, its occupants only wished was, oh, to be in Buenos Aires! For that matter it is not a very easy job to be cooked in such circumstances, but ours was always in a good humour, singing and whistling all day long. How well the Fram understands the art of rolling is shown by the following little episode. One afternoon a couple of us were sitting drinking coffee on a toolbox that stood outside the galley. As ill luck would have it, during one of the lurches the lashing came loose, and the box shot along the deck. Suddenly it was checked by an obstacle, and one of those who were sitting on it flew into the air, through the galley door, and dashed past the cook with a splendid tiger's leap until he landed face downwards at the other end of the galley, still clinging like grim death to his cup. As though he wanted something to hold on to. The face he presented after this successful feat of aviation was extremely comical, and those who saw it had a hearty fit of laughter. As has already been said, we went very well for a time after reaching the Pacific, a fair wind for fourteen days together, and I began to hope that we were once more in what are called the Westerlies. However, nothing is perfect in this world, and we found that out here, as we had icebergs every day, and were constantly bothered by snow squalls, or fog. The former were, of course, to be preferred, as it was at any rate clear between the squalls, but fog is the worst thing of all. It sometimes happened that all hands were on deck the whole night to work the ship to moment's notice, and there were never less than two men on the lookout forward. The engine, too, was always ready to be started instantly. A little example will show how ready the crew were at any time. One Sunday afternoon, when Hanson, Christensen, and I were on watch, the wind began to draw ahead so that we had to beat. It was blowing quite freshly, but I did not want to call the watch below, as they might need all the sleep they could get, and Hanson and I were about to put the ship about. Christensen was steering, but gave us a hand when he could leave the wheel. As the ship left up into the wind, and the sails began to flap pretty violently, the whole of the watch below suddenly came rushing on deck in nothing but their unmentionables, and started to haul. Chance willed it that at the same moment an iceberg came out of the fog right in front of our bows. It was not many minutes, either, before we were on the other tack, and the watch below did not linger long on deck. With so few clothes on, it was no pleasure to be out in that cold foggy air. They slept so lightly, then, that it took no more noise than that to wake them. When I afterwards asked one of them, I think it was Beck, what made them think of coming up, he replied that they thought we were going to run into an iceberg, and were trying to get out of the way. It has happened at night that I have seen the ice blink as far off as eight miles, and then there is nothing to fear, but sometimes in the middle of the day we have sailed close to icebergs that have only been seen a few minutes before we were right on them. As the voyage was long, we sailed as fast as we could as a rule, but on two or three nights we had to reduce our way to a minimum, as we could not see much further than the end of the bowsprit. After two or three weeks sailing, the icebergs began gradually to decrease, and I hoped we should soon come to the end of them, but on Sunday March the fifth, when it was fairly clear, we saw about midday a whole lot of big birds ahead. One of the watch-below, who had just come on deck, exclaimed, What the devil is this beastly mess you fellows have got into? He might well ask, for in the course of that afternoon we passed no less than about a hundred birds. They were big, tabular birds, all at the same height, about one hundred feet, are about as high as the crow's nest of the Fram. The birds were not the least worn, but looked as if they had carved quite recently. As I said it was clear enough, we even got an observation that day. Latitude sixty-one degrees south, longitude one hundred and fifty degrees west, and as we had a west wind we twisted quite elegantly past one iceberg after another. The sea, which during the morning had been high enough for the spray to dash over the tops of the birds, gradually went down, and in the evening, when we were well to leeward of them all, it was as smooth as if we had been in harbour. In the course of the night we passed a good many more birds, and the next day we only saw about twenty. In the various descriptions of voyages in these waters, opinions are divided as to the temperature of the water falling in the neighbourhood of icebergs, that it falls steadily as one approaches the pack ice is certain enough, but whether it falls for one or a few scattered icebergs, no doubt depends on circumstances. One night at twelve o'clock we had a temperature in the water of thirty-four point one degrees Fahrenheit, at four a.m. thirty-three point eight degrees Fahrenheit, and at eight a.m. thirty-three point six degrees Fahrenheit. At six a.m. we passed an iceberg. At twelve noon the temperature had risen to thirty-three point nine degrees Fahrenheit. In this case one might say that the temperature gave warning, but as a rule in high latitudes it has been constant both before and after passing an iceberg. On Christmas Eve, 1911, when on our second trip southward we saw the first real iceberg, the temperature of the water fell in four hours from thirty-five point six degrees Fahrenheit to thirty-two point seven degrees Fahrenheit, which was the temperature when the birds were passed, after which it rose rather rapidly to thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit. In the West Wind Belt I believe one can tell with some degree of certainty when one is approaching ice. In the middle of November, 1911, between Prince Edward Island and the Crozet Islands, about latitude forty-seven degrees south, the temperature fell. Towards morning I remarked to someone, the temperature of the water is falling as if we were getting near the ice. On the four noon of the same day we sailed past a very small berg, the temperature again rose to the normal, and we met no more ice until Christmas Eve. On Saturday March the fourth, the day before we met that large collection of bergs, the temperature fell pretty rapidly from thirty-three point nine degrees Fahrenheit to thirty-two point five degrees Fahrenheit. We had not then seen ice for nearly twenty-four hours. At the same time the colour of the water became unusually green, and it is possible that we had come into a cold current. The temperature remained as low as this till Sunday morning, when at eight a.m. it rose to thirty-two point seven degrees Fahrenheit, at twelve noon close to a berg to thirty-two point nine degrees Fahrenheit, and a mile to Leavitt to thirty-three degrees Fahrenheit. It continued to rise, and at four p.m. when the bergs were thickest, it was thirty-three point four degrees Fahrenheit, at eight p.m. thirty-three point six degrees Fahrenheit, and at midnight thirty-three point eight degrees Fahrenheit. If there had been a fog we should certainly have thought we were leaving the ice instead of approaching it. It's very curious too that the temperature of the water should not be more constant in the presence of such a great quantity of ice, but as I have said it may have been a current. In the course of the week following March the fifth the bergs became rarer, but the same kind of weather prevailed. Our speed was irreproachable, and in one day's work, from noon to noon, we covered a distance of two hundred nautical miles, or an average of about eighty-two knots an hour, which was the best day's work the Fram had done up to that time. The wind, which had been westerly and northwesterly, went by degrees to the north, and ended in a hurricane from the northeast on Sunday March the twelfth. I shall quote here what I wrote about this in my diary on the thirteenth. Well, now we have experienced the first hurricane on the Fram. On Saturday afternoon the eleventh the wind went to the northeast as an ordinary breeze with rain. The barometer had been steady between 29.29 inches, 744 millimeters, and 29.33 inches, 745 millimeters. During the afternoon it began to fall, and at 8 p.m. it was 29.25 inches, 743 millimeters, without the wind having freshened at all. The outer jib was taken in, however. By midnight the barometer had fallen to 29.0 inches, 737 millimeters, and while the wind had increased to a stiff breeze we took in the foresail, main sail, and inner jib, and had now only the top sail and a storm tri-sail left. The wind gradually increased to a gale. At 4 a.m. on Sunday the barometer had fallen again to 28.66 inches, 728 millimeters, and at 6 a.m. the top sail was made fast. The wind increased and the seas ran higher, but we did not ship much water. At 8 a.m. the barometer was 28.30 inches, 719 millimeters, and at 9 a.m. 28.26 inches, 718 millimeters. When at last it stopped going down and remained steady till about noon, during which time a furious hurricane was blowing. The clouds were brown, the colour of chocolate. I cannot remember ever having seen such an ugly sky. Little by little the wind went to the north, and we sailed large under two storm tri-sails. Finally we had the seas on our beam, and now the Fram showed herself in all her glory as the best sea-boat in the world. It was extraordinary to watch how she behaved. Enormous seas came surging high to Windward, and we, who were standing on the bridge, turned our backs to receive them, with some such remarkers, ugh, that's a nasty one coming. But the sea never came. A few yards from the ship it looked over the bulwarks and got ready to hurl itself upon her, but at the last moment the Fram gave a wriggle of her body and was instantly at the top of the wave which slipped under the vessel. Can anyone be surprised if one gets fond of such a ship? Then she went down with the speed of lightning from the top of the wave into the trough, a fall of fourteen or fifteen yards. When we sank like this it gave one the same feeling as dropping from the twelfth to the ground floor in an American express elevator, as if everything inside you was coming up. It was so quick that we seemed to be lifted off the deck, we went up and down like this all the afternoon and evening till during the night the wind gradually dropped and it became calm. That the storm would not be of long duration might almost be assumed from its suddenness, and the English rule, long foretold, long last, short notice soon past, may thus be said to have held good. When there is a strong wind on her beam the Fram does not roll so much as usual, except for an occasional leeward lurch, nor was any excessive quantity of water shipped in this boisterous sea. The watch went below as usual when they were relieved, and as somebody very truly remarked, all hands might quite well have turned in if we had not had to keep a look out for ice. And fortune willed it that the day of the hurricane was the first since we had left the barrier that we did not see ice, whether this was because the spray was so high that it hid our view or because there really was none. Be that as it may the main thing was that we saw no ice. During the night we had a glimpse of the full moon which gave the man at the wheel occasion to call out hurrah! and with good reason as we had been waiting a long time for the moon to help us in looking out for ice. In weather like this one notices nothing out of the ordinary below deck. Here hardly anything is heard of the wind, and in the after saloon which is below the waterline it is perfectly comfortable. The cook who resides below therefore reckons ugly weather according to the motion of the vessel, and not according to storms, fog, or rain. On deck we do not mind much how it blows, so long as it is only clear and the wind is not against us. How little one here's below deck may be understood from the fact that yesterday morning, while it was blowing a hurricane, the cook went about as usual whistling his two verses of the whistling bowery boy. While he was in the middle of the first I came by and told him that it was blowing a hurricane if he cared to see what it looked like. Oh yes, he said, I could guess it was blowing, for the galley fire has never drawn so well, the bits of coal are flying up the chimney. And then he whistled through the second verse, all the same he could not resist going up to sea. It was not long before he came down again with a, my word, it is blowing and waves up to the sky. No, it was warmer and more cozy below among his pots and pans. For dinner, which was eaten as usual amid cheerful conversation, we had green pea soup, roast sirloin with a glass of aquavit and caramel pudding, so it may be seen that the cook was not behind hand in opening tins, even in a hurricane. After dinner we enjoyed our usual Sunday cigar while the canary, which has become Christensen's pet and hangs in his cabin, sang at the top of its voice. On March 14th we saw the last iceberg, during the whole trip we had seen and passed between five hundred and six hundred birds. The wind held steady from the north-east for a week and a half, and I was beginning to think we should be stuck down here to play the flying Dutchman. There was every possible sign of a west wind, but it did not come. On the night of the seventeenth it cleared, light, serious clouds covered the sky, and there was a ring about the moon. This, together with the heavy swell and the pronounced fall of the barometer, showed that something might be expected. And sure enough, on Sunday March the nineteenth we were in a cyclone. By manoeuvring according to the rules for avoiding a cyclone in the southern hemisphere we at any rate went well clear of one semicircle. About four p.m. on Sunday afternoon the barometer was down to twenty-seven point five six inches, seven hundred millimeters, the lowest barometer reading I have ever heard of. From noon to four p.m. there was a calm with heavy sea. Immediately after a gale sprang up from the north-west and in the course of a couple of days it slowly moderated to a breeze from the same quarter. Sunday March the fifth, a hundred icebergs. Sunday March the twelfth, a hurricane. And Sunday March the nineteenth, a cyclone. Truly three pleasant days of rest. The curves given on the next page, which show the course of barometric pressure for a week, from Monday to Monday, are interesting. By way of comparison a third curve is given from the northeast trade, where there is an almost constant breeze and fine weather. On this trip the four saloon was converted into a sail loft, where Ron and Hanson carried on their work, each in his watch. The after saloon was used as a common mess room as it is warmer, and the motion is far less felt than forward. From the middle of March it looked as if the equinoctial gales were over, for we had quite fine weather all the way to Buenos Aires. Cape Horn was passed on March 31st in the most delightful weather, a light westerly breeze, not a cloud in the sky, and only a very slight swell from the west. Who would have guessed that such splendid weather was to be found in these parts, and that in March the most stormy month of the year. Lieutenant Getsen and Kutschin collected plankton all the time, the latter smiled all over his face whenever he chanced to get one or two tadpoles in his toe-net. From the Falkland Islands onward the Fram was washed and painted, so that we might not present two polar and appearance on arrival at Buenos Aires. It may be mentioned as a curious fact that the snow with which we filled our water tanks on the barrier did not melt till we were in the River La Plata, which shows what an even temperature is maintained in the Fram's hold. About midday on Easter Sunday we were at the mouth of the River La Plata, without seeing land, however. During the night the weather became perfect, a breeze from the south, moonlight, and starry, and we went up the river by soundings and observations of the stars, until at one a.m. on Monday when we had the Recalada Lightship right ahead. We had not seen any light since we left Madeira on September the 9th. At 2.30 this same morning we got a pilot aboard, and at seven in the evening we anchored in the roads of Buenos Aires. We had then been nearly once round the world, and for over seven months the anchor had not been out. We had reckoned on a two-month voyage from the ice, and it had taken us sixty-two days.